The two men were standing in the doorway of the store, just where they had met. Outside were two dog trains newly drawn up, and four figures, stranger figures, were moving about them.
Inside the store the clamour of traffic went on undisturbed by the new arrival. Oolak, with his club, continued to shepherd the queer, squat creatures he despised. Julyman was at the rough counter at the command of An-ina, whose outward calm was a perfect mask for the feelings stirred at the unexpected return of Marcel. It was all so characteristic of these people, for all there were momentous words and happenings passing, for all Marcel was conveying news of the threat to their lives which had brought him at such speed back to his home.
The older man, broad of shoulder, sturdy under his rough buckskin, was no match for the youngster who towered over him. And that which he lacked in stature was made up for in the undisturbed expression of his face. Marcel was urgent in his youthful grasp of the threat overshadowing. Steve, while apparently listening to him, seemed to be absorbed in the movements of the strangers beyond the door.
Marcel's story was a brief outline, almost disjointed. It was the story, roughly, as Keeko had brought it to him. He told of the purpose of the man Nicol, bribed by Lorson Harris to steal the secret of their trade. He told of Nicol's confession to Keeko that he had located the whereabouts of the fort, and his purpose forthwith to raid it, and wipe out its occupants, and so earn the price of his crime. He told of Keeko's ultimate terror of this creature's proposals to herself and of the desperate nature of her flight from Fort Duggan to warn Marcel, and seek his protection.
It was all told without a thought for anything beyond the urgency of the threat, and his own youthful absorption in the girl who had taught him the meaning of love. In that supreme moment he had no thought for the thing that had driven Steve out into the winter wilderness, fighting the battle of his great purpose. He had no thought for the success or failure that had attended him. Steve was there in the flesh, the same "Uncle" Steve he had always known. It was sufficient. An-ina, too, was there, safe and well, and the sight of her had banished his worst anxieties. The lover's selfishness was his. Keeko was outside. She had come with him to his home. She had promised him the fulfilment of his man's great desire. Where then was the blame? Steve had no thought of blame in his mind. And An-ina? An-ina's complete happiness lay in the fact of her boy's return.
"Say, Uncle," Marcel cried in conclusion, with impulsive vehemence. "It's been one hell of a trip. It certainly has. And I'd say a feller don't know one haf the deviltry of this forsaken country till he's hit it haf thawed."
"No." Steve smiled at the four figures he was watching as there flashed through his mind the recollection of the journey of a white man, and a woman, and two Indians, and a child at such a time of year a good many seasons ago.
"You're right, Uncle," Marcel went on, without observing the smile. "But it just needed a woman to show the way, I guess," he cried, in a wave of burning enthusiasm. "Keeko had us well-nigh hollering help from the start. She set the gait. She showed us the way. She guessed that warning needed to get through quick, with An-ina here alone. And she meant to save her if the work of it killed her. She's just the greatest ever. She's the bravest, the best——"
Steve nodded.