till light when the bateau was run ashore and tied up, but
tonight there were no singing voices or wild laughter of men whose
hours of play-time and rest had come. To Carrigan, looking through his
window, there was an oppressive menace about it all. The shadowy
figures ashore were more like a death-watch than a guard, and to dispel
the gloom of it he lighted two of the lamps in the cabin, whistled,
drummed a simple chord he knew on the piano, and finally settled down
to smoking his pipe. He would have welcomed the company of Bateese, or
Joe Clamart, or one of the guards, and as his loneliness grew upon him
there was something of companionship even in the subdued voices he
heard occasionally outside. He tried to read, but the printed words
jumbled themselves and meant nothing.

It was ten o'clock, and clouds had darkened the night, when through his
open windows he heard a shout coming from the river. Twice it came
before it was answered from the bateau, and the second time Carrigan
recognized it as the voice of Roger Audemard. A brief interval passed
between that and the scraping of a canoe alongside, and then there was
a low conversation in which even Audemard's great voice was subdued,
and after that the grating of a key in the lock, and the opening of the
door, and Black Roger came in, bearing an Indian reed basket under his
arm. Carrigan did not rise to meet him. It was not like the coming of
the old St. Pierre, and on Black Roger's lips there was no twist of a
smile, nor in his eyes the flash of good-natured greeting. His face was
darkly stern, as if he had traveled far and hard on an unpleasant
mission, but in it there was no shadow of menace, as there had been in
that of Concombre Bateese. It was rather the face of a tired man, and
yet David knew what he saw was not physical exhaustion. Black Roger
guessed something of his thought, and his mouth for an instant
repressed a smile.

"Yes, I have been having a rough time," he nodded, "This is for you!"

He placed the basket on the table. It held half a bushel, and was
filled to the curve of the handle. What lay in it was hidden under a
cloth securely tied about it.

"And you are responsible," he added, stretching himself in a chair with
a gesture of weariness. "I should kill you, Carrigan. And instead of
that I bring you good things to eat! Half the day she has been fussing
with the things in the basket, and then insisted that I bring them to
you. And I have broug