The events incident to the wedding of Bill Carmody and Ethel Manton are indelibly stamped upon the memory of every person present. The day was warmer than any preceding one, with a lowering, overcast sky. The dark, soggy snow melted rapidly, and the swollen surface stream gnawed and tore at the honeycombed ice of the river.

In the cook-shack Daddy Dunnigan superintended the labors of half a dozen flunkies in the preparation of the Gargantuan wedding feast which was to follow the ceremony, and each man of the crew worked feverishly in the staging of the great event.

The table, which extended the full length of the grub-shack, was scrubbed until it shone and was moved to one side to make room for the heavy benches arranged transversely, one behind the other.

The wide aisle between the table and the ends of the benches, leading from the door to the improvised altar at the farther end of the room, was carpeted with blankets from the bunk-house, and suspended from the ceiling immediately in front of the altar swung the massive horseshoe, fresh and green with sprouting grain.

During the afternoon a warm drizzle set in and the men completed the preparations amid a muttered cursing of the weather.

An ominous booming and cracking now and then reached their ears from the direction of the river where the sullen, pent-up waters threatened momentarily to break their ice bonds, and the men knew that the logs must go out on the flood though the heavens fell.

The drizzle continued, the gray daylight wore into darkness, and with the darkness came the return of good cheer. For rollways must be broken out in the light of day, and the air rang with loud laughter and the rhythmic swing of roaring chanteys, as the men realized that they were not to be robbed of their gala day with its long night of feasting.

The phonograph, with its high-piled box of records, occupied a conspicuous place upon the dais, and upon the long table was displayed an enormous collection of gifts, chief among which was the ingeniously constructed chair with its broad back of flaring moose antlers.

At seven-thirty the men filed in from the bunk-house and found places upon the benches where they sat awkwardly, conversing in loud whispers.

Father Lapre, book in hand, took his place at the altar, and a few minutes later Bill Carmody entered with Sheridan and strode rapidly up the aisle. At the sight of the boss the crew rose as one man and the room rang with a loud, spontaneous cheer.

The little priest held up his hand for silence. At a signal someone started the graphophone, and to the sweet strains of a march the bride appeared, leaning upon the arm of her uncle.

Slowly, with bowed head, in the midst of a strained silence, she traversed the length of the long room, the cynosure of all eyes. When almost at the altar she raised her eyes to the man who awaited her there.

Her quick, indrawn breath was almost a gasp, and Appleton felt her arm tremble upon his.

He stood waiting for her-this man into whose keeping she was giving her life-exactly as she had seen him at the time of their first meeting in the North country when he stood, big and bearded, in the gathering dusk, framed in the doorway of the little office.

In one swift glance she saw that every detail was the same, from the high-laced boots to the embroidered hunting-shirt open at the throat-only his eyes were different-there was no pain, now, in the gray eyes that blazed eagerly into her own-only happiness, and the burning passion of love.

And then her uncle retired, and she stood alone with the man, facing the priest. She could hear the voice of the little pink priest and of the big man at her side, and as in a dream she found herself repeating the words of the ritual.

She knew that a ring was being placed upon her finger, and she was a wife. And that the priest, in solemn voice, with outstretched hands, was extending them his blessing.

The voice hesitated-stopped.

In the rear of the room the door was thrown violently open and banged loudly against the log wall. There was a confused scuffling of feet and a scraping of heavy benches as the men craned their necks toward the entrance.

Involuntarily Ethel turned, and there, gliding swiftly toward her up the blanket-carpeted aisle, was the most picturesquely beautiful woman she had ever seen.

Wide-eyed she stared at the newcomer. Her face went deathly white, and the heart within her breast turned to ice, for instinctively she knew, by the wild, intense beauty of the woman, that she stood face to face with the Indian girl-the Jeanne of Bill Carmody’s whispered words!

Her brain took in the details with incredible rapidity; and the girl was still coming toward her as she noted the dazzling brightness of the great silvery wolf-skin that was flung about her shoulders and caught together at her soft throat; the mass of black hair, upon which the mist-beads sparkled like a million diamonds; the dark, liquid eyes, and the even, white teeth that glistened between the curving red lips.

The girl was at her side now, and with a low cry threw herself upon her knees before the man, and stretched her arms toward him gropingly.

“M’s’u’ Bill!” she cried, and the voice was sweet and soft; the words uttered with imploring intensity. And then in Ethel’s ears was the voice of her husband.

“Jeanne, Jeanne,” he said; “why have you come? Speak, girl; why have you come to me?”

At the sound of the name, the thought that at the very altar this woman’s name was upon the lips of her husband, the hot blood surged to her face and the tiny fists clenched. She was about to speak, but was forestalled by the half-breed girl who had leaped to her feet and thrown her arms about Bill’s neck and was speaking in short, stabbing words:

“Come! Come now-with me! Oh, do not wait! Come-even now it may be too late!”

The low voice quivered with excitement, and the man’s hand patted her shoulder soothingly as he endeavored to quiet her. Ethel took a quick step forward, and the hard tone of her voice cut upon the air like the ring of tempered steel.

“Who are you?” she cried. “Speak! What is this man to you?”

The Indian girl turned and faced her, seeming for the first time aware of her presence. The dark, liquid eyes flashed as she drew herself to her full height.

“To me, he is everything! I would die for him! I love him!”

The tense tones rang through the long room where a hundred and fifty big men sat silent-hypnotized by the intense drama of the scene.

With a lithe, swift movement the half-breed girl raised her hands to her bosom and tore at the fastenings of her hunting-shirt. There was the sound of popping buttons, the heavily embroidered shirt flew open, and there, gleaming cold and gray in the lamplight, upon the warm ivory of her bared breast lay a naked blade-the broken blade of a sheath knife!

She broke the cord that held it suspended about her neck and extended the blade toward the man, uttering but a single word:

“Come!”

And as Bill’s eyes fell upon the bit of metal his form stiffened and his fists clenched.

“I will come-lead on!” he answered For in his mind rang the words of his solemn promise: “No people of the earth, and nothing that is upon the earth, nor of the earth, shall prevent me-and one day you will know that my words are true.”

The half-breed girl had already turned away when the man’s eyes sought the eyes of his wife. She was regarding him with a strange, frightened stare. Her face had turned marble white at his words, and she gasped uncertainly for breath.

Her pallor alarmed Bill, who stepped toward her with outstretched arms; but she shrank from his touch and her blue eyes fixed him with their cold, frightened stare.

“Ethel!” he cried. “Darling-my wife! I must go! It is The Promise!” Unconsciously he repeated the words of the old squaw. “Wa-ha-ta-na-ta, in the last extremity of her need, is calling-and I must go to her.

“Oh, can’t you see?” he cried suddenly, as the look of horror deepened upon the face of his wife. “Darling-only long enough to give her aid-then I will return! Surely, surely, dear, you trust me! You will believe in me-just this once! When I return to you I will explain all-I can’t wait, now-good-by!”

He turned to follow the Indian girl, but before he could take a step his wife’s arms were about his neck and her words came in great choking sobs:

“No! No! No! You are mine! You cannot go! You will not leave me at the altar! Oh, if you loved me-if you loved me, you could not go!”

Bill’s arms were about her, and the words rushed from his lips: “Love you! I love you more than life itself-I live for you! But I promised-my word has passed-I must go! In a day-two days-a week-you shall know and understand.”

With a low, moaning cry Ethel tore herself from his embrace and reeled, fainting into the arms of the priest, while her husband, white lipped, followed swiftly after the Indian girl who had already gained the end of the aisle.

But a few moments had elapsed since Jeanne Lacombie had burst into the room. Moments so tense-so laden with terrible portent-that, although every person in the room heard each spoken word, brains failed to grasp their significance; and Appleton, from his bench near the door, as he saw Bill Carmody turn from his fainting wife, for the first time doubted his sincerity.

Men were on their feet now, gazing incredulously at the boss, who, looking neither to the left nor to the right, strode rapidly down the aisle.

Scarcely knowing what he did, with the one thought uppermost in his mind, to stop the foreman and bring him to his senses, Appleton leaped the intervening benches and, slamming the heavy door, shot the stout bar.

With a roar of anger Bill seized a heavy split log bench, sending a couple of lumber-jacks tumbling among the feet of their fellows, and whirling it high above his head, drove it crashing through the door.

The bar snapped like a toothpick, the heavy panel split in half and dropped sidewise, and without a moment’s hesitation Bill grasped the half-breed girl about the waist and swung her through the splintered aperture.

Turning, he swept the room with a glare of defiance. For a moment men looked into the narrowed eyes; and then, as the eyes of the boss rested for an instant upon the inert form of his wife, they saw the defiant glare melt into a look of compassion and misery such as none had ever seen in human eyes.

Then his shoulders stiffened, his jaw squared, and without a word he stepped through the shattered door and disappeared in the black drizzle.