shrivel up and die. Besides, you
could not go in the canoe. So be good, and remain with me, Peter--with
me--"

And the Leaf Bud, standing wide-eyed and motionless, heard a strange
little choking laugh come from Father John as he groped in darkness for
a light.

CHAPTER XXI

A slow illumination filled the cabin, first the yellow flare of a match
and then the light of a lamp, and as Father John's waxen face grew out
of the darkness Peter whimpered and whined and scratched with, his paws
at the closed door.

Oosimisk, the Leaf Bud, stood like a statue, with her wide, dark eyes
staring at Father John, but scarcely seeming to breathe.

In the old Missioner's face came a trembling smile and a look of
triumph as he read the fear-written question in her steady gaze.

"All is well, Oosimisk," he said quietly, speaking in Cree. "They are
safely away, and will not be caught. Continue with your duties and let
no one see that anything unusual has happened. Breault will come very
soon."

He straightened his shoulders, as if to give himself confidence and
strength, and then he called Peter, and comforted the dog whose master
and mistress were fleeing through the dark.

"They have reached the pool," he said, seating himself and holding
Peter's shaggy head between his hands. "They have just about reached
the pool, and Breault must be entering the clearing on the other side.
Roger cannot miss the canoe--twenty paces down and with nothing to
shadow it overhead; I think he has found it by this time, and in
another half minute they will be off. And it is very black down the
Burntwood, with deep timber close to the water, and for many miles no
man can follow by night along its shores." Suddenly his hands
tightened, and the Leaf Bud, watching him slyly, saw the last of
suspense go out of his face. "And now--they are safe," he cried
exultantly. "They must be on their way--and Breault has not come across
the clearing!"

He rose to his feet, and began pacing back and forth, while Peter
sniffed yearningly at the door again. Oosimisk, with the caution of her
race in moments of danger, was drawing the curtains at the windows, and
Father John smiled his approbation. He did not want Breault, the
man-hunter, peering through one of the windows at him. Even as he
walked back and forth he listened intently for Breault's footsteps.
Peter, with a sigh, gave up his scratching and settled himself on his
haunches close to Nada's door.