is hands? No! No!" He
thundered the words and beat his heavy chest. "Some day, Ba'teese will
fin' what he look for! When the cloud, he get heavy, Ba'teese, he go
out there--out to his Julienne--and he kneel down and he pray that she
give to heem the strength to go on--to look and look and look until he
find eet--the thing he is want'! Ba'teese, he too have had his
trouble. Ba'teese, he too would like to quit! But no, he shall not!
And you shall not! By the cross of my Julienne, you shall not! Eet is
to the end--and not before! You look like my Pierre! My Pierre had in
heem the blood of Ba'teese--Ba'teese, who had broke' the way. And
Pierre would not quit, and you will not quit. And--"

"I will not quit!" Barry Houston said the words slowly, in a voice
heightened by feeling and by a new strength, a sudden flooding of a
reserve power that he did not know he possessed. "That is my absolute
promise to you, Ba'tiste. I will not quit!"

"_Bon_! Good! Golemar, you hear, eh? _Mon ami_, he come to the
barrier, and he look at the trouble, but he say he will not quit.
_Veritas_! _Bon_! He is my Pierre! He speak like my Pierre would
speak! He will not quit!"

"No," and then Houston repeated it, a strange light shining in his
eyes, his hands clenched, breath pulling deep into his lungs. "I will
not quit."

"Ah, _oui_! Eet is now the, what-you-say, the swing-around point.
To-night Ba'teese go out. Where? Ah, you shall wait an' see.
Ba'teese go--Ba'teese come back. Then you shall see. Ah, _oui_! Then
you shall see."

For an hour or so after that he boomed about the cabin, singing queer
old songs in a _patois_, rumbling to the faithful Golemar, washing the
dishes while Houston wiped them, joking, talking of everything but the
troubles of the day and the plans of the night. Outside the shadows
grew heavier, finally to turn to pitch darkness. The bull bats began
to circle about the cabin. Ba'tiste walked to the door.

"_Bon_! Good!" he exclaimed. "The sky, he is full of cloud'. The
star, he do not shine. _Bon_! Ba'teese shall go."

And with a final wave of the hand, still keeping his journey a mystery,
he went forth into the night.

Long Houston waited for his return, but he did not come. The old,
creaking clock on the rustic ledge ticked away the minutes and the
hours until midnight, but still no crunching of gravel relieved his
anxious ears, still no gigantic form of the grizzled, beard