facing the
bulkhead beyond which he was certain St. Pierre's wife lay wide awake.
He tried to laugh. It was inexcusable, he told himself, to let his
thoughts become involved in the family affairs of St. Pierre and
Marie-Anne. That was not his business. Marie-Anne, in the final
analysis, did not appear to be especially abused, and her mind was not
a child's mind. Probably she would not thank him for his interest in
the matter. She would tell him, like any other woman with pride, that
it was none of his business and that he was presuming upon forbidden
ground.

He went to the window. There was scarcely a breath of air, and
unfastening the screen, he thrust out his head and shoulders into the
night. It was so black that he could not see the shadow of the water
almost within reach of his hands, but through the chaos of gloom that
lay between him and the opposite shore he made out a single point of
yellow light. He was positive the light was in the cabin on the raft.
And St. Pierre was probably in that cabin.

A huge drop of rain splashed on his hand, and behind him he heard
sweeping over the forest tops the quickening march of the deluge. There
was no crash of thunder or flash of lightning when it broke. Straight
down, in an inundation, it came out of a sky thick enough to slit with
a knife. Carrigan drew in his head and shoulders and sniffed the sweet
freshness of it. He tried again to make out the light on the raft, but
it was obliterated.

Mechanically he began taking off his clothes, and in a few moments he
stood again at the window, naked. Thunder and lightning had caught up
with the rain, and in the flashes of fire Carrigan's ghost-white face
stared in the direction of the raft. In his veins was at work an
insistent and impelling desire. Over there was St. Pierre, he was
undoubtedly in the cabin, and something might happen if he, Dave
Carrigan, took advantage of storm and gloom to go to the raft.

It was almost a presentiment that drew his bare head and shoulders out
through the window, and every hunting instinct in him urged him to the
adventure. The stygian darkness was torn again by a flash of fire. In
it he saw the river and the vivid silhouette of the distant shore. It
would not be a difficult swim, and it would be good training for
tomorrow.

Like a badger worming his way out of a hole a bit too small for him,
Carrigan drew himself through the window. A lightning flash caught him
at the edge of the bateau