of a second ridge. The Cree
looked back and pointed with an exultant cry. Where the cabin had been a
red flare of flame was rising above the tree tops. David understood what
the flickering light in the cabin had meant. Mukoki had spilled Tavish's
kerosene and had touched a match to it so that the little devils might
follow their master into the black abyss. He almost fancied he could
hear the agonized squeaking of Tavish's pets.

* * * * *

Straight northward, through the white moonlight of that night, Mukoki
broke their trail, travelling at times so swiftly that the Missioner
commanded him to slacken his pace on David's account. Even David did not
think of stopping. He had no desire to stop so long as their way was
lighted ahead of them. It seemed to him that the world was becoming
brighter and the forest gloom less cheerless as they dropped that evil
valley of Tavish's farther and farther behind them. Then the moon began
to fade, like a great lamp that had burned itself out of oil, and
darkness swept over them like huge wings. It was two o'clock when they
camped and built a fire.

So, day after day, they continued into the North. At the end of his
tenth day--the sixth after leaving Tavish's--David felt that he was no
longer a stranger in the country of the big snows. He did not say as
much to Father Roland, for to express such a thought to one who had
lived there all his life seemed to him to be little less than a bit of
sheer imbecility. Ten days! That was all, and yet they might have been
ten months, or as many years for that matter, so completely had they
changed him. He was not thinking of himself physically--not a day passed
that Father Roland did not point out some fresh triumph for him there.
His limbs were nearly as tireless as the Missioner's; he knew that he
was growing heavier; and he could at last chop through a tree without
winding himself. These things his companions could see. His appetite
was voracious. His eyes were keen and his hands steady, so that he was
doing splendid practice shooting with both rifle and pistol, and each
day when the Missioner insisted on their bout with the gloves he found
it more and more difficult to hold himself in. "Not so hard, David,"
Father Roland frequently cautioned him, and in place of the first joyous
grin there was always a look of settled anxiety in Mukoki's face as he
watched them. The more David pummelled him, the greater was the L