the tops of the north and eastern forests, as if mighty breaths
were playing with them from behind.

David thrust the big end of the caribou horn between two of the
white-birch bars, but before he had put his weight to the lever he
heard a great voice coming round the end of the chateau, and it was
calling for Andre, the Broken Man. In a moment it was followed by Black
Roger Audemard, who ran under the window and faced the lightning-struck
spruce as he shouted Andre's name again.

Suddenly David called down to him, and Black Roger turned and looked up
through the smoke-gloom, his head bare, his arms naked, and his eyes
gleaming wildly as he listened.

"He went that way twenty minutes ago," David shouted. "He disappeared
into the forest where you see the dead spruce yonder. And he was
crying, Black Roger--he was crying like a child."

If there had been other words to finish, Black Roger would not have
heard them. He was running toward the old spruce, and David saw him
disappear where the Broken Man had gone. Then he put his weight on the
horn, and one of the tough birch bars gave way slowly, and after that a
second was wrenched loose, and a third, until the lower half of the
window was free of them entirely. He thrust out his head and found no
one within the range of his vision. Then he worked his way through the
window, feet first, and hanging the length of arms and body from the
lower sill, dropped to the ground.

Instantly he faced the direction taken by Roger Audemard, it was HIS
turn now, and he felt a savage thrill in his blood. For an instant he
hesitated, held by the impulse to rush to Carmin Fanchet and with his
fingers at her throat, demand what she and her paramour had done with
Marie-Anne. But the mighty determination to settle it all with Black
Roger himself overwhelmed that impulse like an inundation. Black Roger
had gone into the forest. He was separated from his people, and the
opportunity was at hand.

Positive that Marie-Anne had been left with the raft, the thought that
the Chateau Boulain might be devoured by the onrushing conflagration
did not appal David. The chateau held little interest for him now. It
was Black Roger he wanted. As he ran toward the old spruce, he picked
up a club that lay in the path.

This path was a faintly-worn trail where it entered the forest beyond
the spruce, very narrow, and with brush hanging close to the sides of
it, so that David knew it was not in general use