allen quietly and without a betrayal
of passion from St. Pierre's lips. Inwardly he was crushed. Yet his
face was like stone, hiding his shame. And then, suddenly, there came a
sound from outside that sent the blood through his cold veins again. It
was laughter, the great, booming laughter of St. Pierre! It was not the
merriment of a man whose heart was bleeding, or into whose life had
come an unexpected pain or grief. It was wild and free, and filled with
the joy of the sun-filled day.

And David, listening to it, felt something that was more than
admiration for this man growing within him. And unconsciously his lips
repeated St. Pierre's words.

"Tomorrow--you will fight."

XVII

For many minutes David stood at the bateau window and watched the canoe
that carried St. Pierre Boulain and the Broken Man back to the raft. It
moved slowly, as if St. Pierre was loitering with a purpose and was
thinking deeply of what had passed. Carrigan's fingers tightened, and
his face grew tense, as he gazed out into the glow of the western sun.
Now that the stress of nerve-breaking moments in the cabin was over, he
no longer made an effort to preserve the veneer of coolness and
decision with which he had encountered the chief of the Boulains. Deep
in his soul he was crushed and humiliated. Every nerve in his body was
bleeding.

He had heard St. Pierre's big laugh a moment before, but it must have
been the laugh of a man who was stabbed to the heart. And he was going
back to Marie-Anne like that--drifting scarcely faster than the current
that he might steal time to strengthen himself before he looked into
her eyes again. David could see him, motionless, his giant shoulders
hunched forward a little, his head bowed, and in the stern the Broken
Man paddled listlessly, his eyes on the face of his master. Without
voice David cursed himself. In his egoism he had told himself that he
had made a splendid fight in resisting the temptation of a great love
for the wife of St. Pierre. But what was his own struggle compared with
this tragedy which St. Pierre was now facing?

He turned from the window and looked about the cabin room again--the
woman's room and St. Pierre's--and his face burned in its silent
accusation. Like a living thing it painted another picture for him. For
a space he lost his own identity. He saw himself in the place of St.
Pierre. He was the husband of Marie-Anne, worshipping her even as St.
Pierre must worship h