s came back to the
end of the barge and to St. Pierre's wife.

Her little toes were tapping the floor of the deck. She, too, was
looking out over the wilderness. And again it seemed to him that she
was like a bird that wanted to fly.

"I should like to go into those hills," she said, without looking at
him. "Away off yonder!"

"And I--I should like to go with you."

"You love all that, m'sieu?" she asked.

"Yes, madame!"

"Why 'madame,' when I have given you permission to call me
'Marie-Anne'?" she demanded.

"Because you call me 'm'sieu'."

"But you--you have not given me permission--"

"Then I do now," he interrupted quickly.

"Merci! I have wondered why you did not return the courtesy," she
laughed softly. "I do not like the m'sieu. I shall call you 'David'!"

She rose out of the hammock suddenly and dropped her needles and lace
work into the little basket. "I have forgotten something. It is for you
to eat when it comes dinner-time, m'sieu--I mean David. So I must turn
fille de cuisine for a little while. That is what St. Pierre sometimes
calls me, because I love to play at cooking. I am going to bake a pie!"

The dark-screened door of the kitchenette closed behind her, and
Carrigan walked out from under the awning, so that the sun beat down
upon him. There was no longer a doubt in his mind. He was more than
fool. He envied St. Pierre, and he coveted that which St. Pierre
possessed. And yet, before he would take what did not belong to him, he
knew he would put a pistol to his head and blow his life out. He was
confident of himself there. Yet he had fallen, and out of the mire into
which he had sunk he knew also that he must drag himself, and quickly,
or be everlastingly lowered in his own esteem. He stripped himself
naked and did not lie to that other and greater thing of life that was
in him.

He was not only a fool, but a coward. Only a coward would have touched
the hair of St. Pierre's wife with his lips; only a coward would have
let live the thoughts that burned in his brain. She was St. Pierre's
wife--and he was anxious now for the quick homecoming of the chief of
the Boulains. After that everything would happen quickly. He thanked
God that the inspiration of the wager had come to him. After the fight,
after he had won, then once more would he be the old Dave Carrigan,
holding the trump hand in a thrilling game.

Loud voices from the York boats ahead and answering cries from Bateese
in the ste