two western windows came the last glow
of the western sun, like a golden benediction finding its way into a
sacred place. Here there was--or had been--a great happiness, for only
a great pride and a great happiness could have made it as it was.
Nothing that wealth and toil could drag up out of a civilization a
thousand miles away had been too good for St. Pierre's wife. And about
him, looking more closely, David saw the undisturbed evidences of a
woman's contentment. On the table were embroidery materials with which
she had been working, and a lamp-shade half finished. A woman's
magazine printed in a city four thousand miles away lay open at the
fashion plates. There were other magazines, and many books, and open
music above the white keyboard of the piano, and vases glowing red and
yellow with wild-flowers and silver birch leaves. He could smell the
faint perfume of the fireglow blossoms, red as blood. In a pool of
sunlight on one of the big white bear rugs lay the sleeping cat. And
then, at the far end of the cabin, an ivory-white Cross of Christ
glowed for a few moments in a last homage of the sinking sun.

Uneasiness stole upon him. This was the woman's holy ground, her
sanctuary and her home, and for three days his presence had driven her
from it. There was no other room. In making restitution she had given
up to him her most sacred of all things. And again there rose up in him
that new-born thing which had set strange fires stirring in his heart,
and which from this hour on he knew he must fight until it was dead.

For an hour after the last of the sun was obliterated by the western
mountains he lay in the gloom of coming darkness. Only the lapping of
water under the bateau broke the strange stillness of the evening. He
heard no sound of life, no voice, no tread of feet, and he wondered
where the woman and her men had gone and if the scow was still tied up
at the edge of the tar-sands. And for the first time he asked himself
another question, Where was the man, St. Pierre?

VIII

It was utterly dark in the cabin, when the stillness was broken by low
voices outside. The door opened, and some one came in. A moment later a
match flared up, and in the shifting glow of it Carrigan saw the dark
face of Bateese, the half-breed. One after another he lighted the four
lamps. Not until he had finished did he turn toward the bed. It was
then that David had his first good impression of the man. He was not
tall, but