"

"There are men who like the dark, in spite of the terrors it has for
some."

"I wonder whether you are thinking of a particular example," Thirlwell
suggested, remembering a night watch he had kept while the blizzard
raged about Driscoll's shack.

"One does think of examples. Perhaps we generalize too much. It is easy
to let an individual stand for a type."

"If the individual is Black Steve Driscoll, I hope he's an uncommon
type."

Father Lucien made a sign of agreement. "Driscoll was in my thoughts. A
strange man; dogged and sullen, with a heart that kindness cannot touch.
Yet one feels he is afraid."

"He was afraid when he was ill; I wonder why. The fellow has no
religious or moral code. But he drinks hard and perhaps he's
superstitious."

"What is superstition?" the missionary asked with a smile. "The old
atavistic fear of the dark and the mysterious dangers that threatened
our savage ancestors? Or is it an instinctive knowledge that there are
supernatural powers, able to punish and reward?"

"I don't know," said Thirlwell, who mused and watched the smoke drift
past.

The bush was very quiet; he could hear nothing but the crackle of the
fire. Now and then a blaze leaped up and pierced the shadows among the
pine trunks. A few yards away, the trees got blurred and melted into the
encircling gloom. In one place, however, there was an opening, and when
he turned his back to the light, he saw a faint glimmer in the mist that
indicated the frozen lake. Although he was used to the wilds, he felt
the silence and desolation.

"It's easy to be superstitious here," he resumed. "One feels that human
power is limited and loses one's confidence. I expect something of the
kind accounts for Driscoll's nervous fears. In the city, he would have
no time to brood; he'd spend his days in a noisy workshop and his
evenings in a crowded tenement or saloon. But if he's scared of the dark
and loneliness, why doesn't he pull out?"

"Human nature's stubborn. A man with a compelling object may be afraid
and fight his fears."

"I'd like to know what Driscoll's object is. Since the night in his
shack, when the fellow was sick, I've wondered why Strange's canoe
capsized. Strange was a clever _voyageur_; so's Black Steve."

Father Lucien looked at him curiously and there was a hint of shrinking
in his eyes. "I cannot tell; perhaps we shall never know! But if there
was foul play, what would Driscoll gain?"

"It's hard to see,"