the sacred figure.

"Oh, Christ, have mercy on me, and bring me safe to my journey's end--in
time," she said, breathlessly; then she went softly to the door, leaving
the dog behind.

It opened, closed, and the night swallowed her. Like a ghost she sped the
quick way to Askatoon. She was six hours behind Ba'tiste, and, going hard
all the time, it was doubtful if she could get there before the fatal
hour.

On the trail Ba'tiste had taken there were two huts where he could rest,
and he had carried his blanket slung on his shoulder. The way she went
gave no shelter save the trees and caves which had been used to _cache_
buffalo meat and hides in old days. But beyond this there was danger in
travelling by night, for the springs beneath the ice of the three lakes
she must cross made it weak and rotten even in the fiercest weather, and
what would no doubt have been death to Ba'tiste would be peril at least to
her. Why had she not gone with him?

"He had in his face what was in Lucy's," she said to herself, as she sped
on. "She was fine like him, ready to break her heart for those she cared
for. My, if she had seen him first instead of--"

She stopped short, for the ice gave way to her foot, and she only sprang
back in time to save herself. But she trotted on, mile after mile, the
dog-trot of the Indian, head bent forward, toeing in, breathing steadily
but sharply.

The morning came, noon, then a fall of snow and a keen wind, and despair
in her heart; but she had passed the danger-spots, and now, if the storm
did not overwhelm her, she might get to Askatoon in time. In the midst of
the storm she came to one of the caves of which she had known. Here was
wood for a fire, and here she ate, and in weariness unspeakable fell
asleep. When she waked it was near sundown, the storm had ceased, and, as
on the night before, the sky was stained with color and drowned in
splendor.

"I will do it--I will do it, Ba'tiste!" she called, and laughed aloud into
the sunset. She had battled with herself all the way, and she had
conquered. Right was right, and Rube Haman must not be hung for what he
did not do. Her heart hardened whenever she thought of the woman, but
softened again when she thought of Ba'tiste, who had to suffer for the
deed of a brother in "purgatore." Once again the night and its silence and
loneliness followed her, the only living thing near the trail till long
after midnight. After that, as she knew, there were houses