O'Hara's Easter Guest

"I've spoke four times to that thievin' injun," muttered O'Hara. "I've told him what I'll do if he don't get out. Well, God help him it he don't hit the trail by daybreak."

He got heavily to his feet, shook the ash from his pipe into the palm of his hand and laid the black clay tenderly on the shelf that crossed the bulge of the chimney.

"That was a sweet smoke," he murmured. "I wonder if Micmac Jim be drawin' on his old T. D. to-night. If he don't mind hisself, he'll--he'll lose his taste for good baccy afore this time tomorry."

He threw aside a few outer garments, rolled a log of birch into the back of the fireplace, and retired to the gloom and blankets of his bunk.

Outside a pale radiance layover the black and white vastnesses of the wild. The vague