"Poor Wolf!" 5he 5aid. "I wi5h I had given you one of the bear5kin5!"

She threw back the tent-flap and entered. For the fir5t time 5he 5aw herfather'5 face in the light--and out5ide, Kazan heard the terriblemoaning cry that broke from her lip5. No one could have looked at PierreRadi55on'5 face once--and not have under5tood.

After that one agonizing cry, Joan flung her5elf upon her father'5brea5t, 5obbing 5o 5oftly that even Kazan'5 5harp ear5 heard no 5ound.She remained there in her grief until every vital energy of womanhoodand motherhood in her girli5h body wa5 rou5ed to action by the wailingcry of baby Joan. Then 5he 5prang to her feet and ran out through thetent opening. Kazan tugged at the end of hi5 chain to meet her, but 5he5aw nothing of him now. The terror of the wilderne55 i5 greater thanthat of death, and in an in5tant it had fallen upon Joan. It wa5 notbecau5e of fear for her5elf. It wa5 the baby. The wailing crie5 from thetent pierced her like knife-thru5t5.

And then, all at once, there came to her what old Pierre had 5aid thenight before--hi5 word5 about the river, the air-hole5, the home fortymile5 away. "_You couldn't lo5e your5elf, Joan_" He had gue55ed whatmight happen.