ing in the unclouded blaze
of a sun. It was the first sun--the first real sun--he had seen for many
days, and with Peter he went to the rim of the barren a hundred yards
distant. He wanted to shout. As far as he could see the white plain was
ablaze with eye-blinding light, and never had the sky at Cragg's Ridge
been clearer than the sky that was over him now.

He returned to the fire, singing. Back through the months leapt Peter's
memory to the time when his master had sung like that. It was in Indian
Tom's cabin, with Cragg's Ridge just beyond the creek, and it was in
those days before Terence Cassidy had come to drive them to another
hiding place; in the happy days of Nada's visits and of their trysts
under the Ridge, when even the little gray mother mouse lived in a
paradise with her nest of babies in the box on their cabin shelf. He
had almost forgotten but it came back to him now. It was the old Jolly
Roger--the old master come to life again.

In the clear stillness of the morning one might have heard that shouting
song half a mile away. But McKay was no longer afraid. As the storm
seemed to have cleaned the world so the sun cleared his soul of its last
shadow of doubt. It was not merely an omen or a promise, but for him
proclaimed a certainty. God was with him. Life was with him. His world
was opening its arms to him again--and he sang as if Nada was only a
mile away from him instead of a thousand.

When he went on, after their breakfast, he laughed at the thought of
Breault discovering their trail. The Ferret would be more than human to
do that after what wind and storm and fire had done for them.

This first day of their pilgrimage into the southland was a day of glory
from its beginning until the setting of the sun. There was no cloud in
the sky. And it grew warmer, until Jolly Roger flung back the hood of
his parkee and turned up the fur of his cap. That night a million stars
lighted the heaven.

After this first day and night nothing could break down the hope and
confidence of Jolly Roger and his, dog. Peter knew they were going
south, in which direction lay everything he had ever yearned for; and
each night beside their campfire McKay made a note with pencil and paper
and measured the distance they had come and the distance they had yet
to go. Hope in a little while became certainty. Into his mind urged no
thought of changes that might have taken place at Cragg's Ridge; or, if
the thought did come, it c