A sweet resinous smell floated across the clearing. The afternoon was hot, and Helen, sitting under a shady spruce, put down an old newspaper, and looked about. The sparkling river dazzled her eyes, and she languidly studied the group by the log-pile.
Louis, the half-breed, lifted the wooden yoke from the big red oxen’s necks; Fraser examined a broken rope, and Grant, behind the pile, lighted his pipe. On a hot day, log-rolling is a strenuous occupation, and Helen suspected that David was not sorry the rope had broken. For all that, Helen doubted if the muscular effort were the cause of his tired and moody look.
Something obviously bothered Grant, and Helen, speculating about it, rather thought she saw a light, but admitted that she had not yet much to go upon. Although she was disturbed
