Philip Steele of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police | Page 7

sat as rigid as if
he had stopped the beat of his own life. A pair of dark eyes laughing in
at him, a flash of laughing teeth, a low titter that was scarce more than a

rippling throat-note, and the face was gone, leaving him still staring
into the blank space where it had been.
With a cough to give warning of his wakefulness, Steele flung off his
blanket and drew himself through the low opening of the tent. On the
extreme right of the fire stood a man and woman, warming themselves
over the coals. They straightened from their leaning posture as he
appeared.
"This is too bad, too bad, Mr. Steele," exclaimed the man, advancing
quickly. "I was afraid we'd make a blunder and awaken you. We were
about to camp on a mountain back there when we saw your fire and
drove on to it. I'm sorry--"
"Wouldn't have had you miss me for anything," interrupted Steele,
gripping the other's proffered hand. "You see, I'm out from Lac Bain to
meet Colonel and Mrs. Becker, and--" He hesitated purposely, his
white teeth gleaming in the frank smile which made people like him
immensely, from the first.
"You've met them," completed the laughing voice from across the fire.
"Please, Mr. Steele, will you forgive me for looking in at you and
waking you up? But your feet looked so terribly funny, and I assure
you that was all I could see, though I tried awfully hard. Anyway, I saw
your name printed on the flap of your tent."
Steele felt a slow fire burning in his cheeks as he encountered the
beautiful eyes glowing at him from behind the colonel. The woman was
smiling at him. In the heat of the fire she had pushed back her fur
turban, and he saw that her hair was the same shining red gold that had
come to him in the letter, and that her lips and eyes and the glorious
color in her face were remarkably like those of which he had dreamed,
and of which waking visions had come with the hyacinth letter to fill
him with unrest and homesickness. In spite of himself he had reasoned
that she would be young and that she would have golden hair, but these
other things, the laughing beauty of her face, the luring depth of her
eyes.

He caught himself staring.
"I--I was dreaming," he almost stammered. He pulled himself together
quickly. "I was dreaming of a face, Mrs. Becker, It seems strange that
this should happen--away up here, in this way. The face that I dreamed
of is a thousand miles from here, and it is wonderfully like yours."
The colonel was laughing at him when he turned. He was a little man,
as straight as a gun rod, pale of face except for his nose, which was
nipped red by the cold, and with a pointed beard as white as the snow
under his feet. That part of his countenance which exposed itself above
the top of his great fur coat and below his thick beaver cap was alive
with good cheer, notwithstanding its pallor.
"Glad you're good humored about it, Steele," he cried with an
immediate tone of comradeship. "We wouldn't have ventured into your
camp if it hadn't been for Isobel. She was positively insistent, sir.
Wanted to see who was here and what it looked like. Eh, Isobel, my
dear, are you satisfied?"
"I surely didn't expect to find 'It' asleep at this time of the day," said
Mrs. Becker. She laughed straight into Philip's face, and so roguishly
sweet was the curve of her red lips and the light in her eyes that his
heart quickened its beating, and the flush deepened in his cheeks.
"It's only six," he said, looking at his watch. "I don't usually turn in this
early. I was tired to-night--though I am not, now," he added quickly. "I
could sit up until morning--and talk. We don't often meet people from
outside, you know. Where are the others?"
"Back there," said the colonel, waving an arm into the gloom. "Isobel
made 'em sit down and be quiet, dogs and all, sir, while we came on
alone. There are Indians, two sledges, and a ton of duff."
"Call them," said Steele. "There's room for your tent beside mine,
Colonel, close against the face of this rock. It's as good as a furnace."
The colonel moved a little out into the gloom and shouted to those

behind. Philip turned to find Mrs. Becker looking at him in a timid,
questioning sort of way, the laughter gone from her eyes. For a moment
she seemed to be on the point of speaking to him, then picked up a
short stick and began toying with the coals.