s slowly down.... The two still
bodies on bearskins in the hut, and a hundred superstitious Indians flying
from the face of death.... The two alone in the light of the flickering
fire; the many gone to feast on fish, the price of lives.

But the price was not yet paid, for the man waked from
insensibility--waked to see himself with the body of the boy beside him
in the red light of the fires.

For a moment his heart stopped beating, he turned sick and faint. Deserted
by those for whom he risked his life!... How long had he lain there? What
time was it? When was it that he had fought his way to the nets and back
again--hours, maybe? And the dead boy there, Wingo, who had risked his
life, also dead--how long? His heart leaped--ah, not hours, only minutes,
maybe. It was sundown as unconsciousness came on him--Indians would not
stay with the dead after sundown. Maybe it was only ten minutes--five
minutes--one minute ago since they left him!...

His watch! Shaking fingers drew it out, wild eyes scanned it. It was not
stopped. Then it could have only been minutes ago. Trembling to his feet,
he staggered over to Wingo, he felt the body, he held a mirror to the
lips. Yes, surely there was light moisture on the glass.

Then began another fight with death--William Rufus Holly struggling to
bring to life again Wingo, the waif of of the Crees.

The blood came back to his own heart with a rush as the mad desire to save
this life came on him. He talked to the dumb face, he prayed in a kind of
delirium, as he moved the arms up and down, as he tilted the body, as he
rubbed, chafed, and strove. He forgot he was a missionary, he almost
cursed himself. "For them--for cowards, I risked his life, the brave lad
with no home! Oh, God! give him back to me!" he sobbed. "What right had I
to risk his life for theirs? I should have shot the first man that refused
to go.... Wingo, speak! Wake up! Come back!"

The sweat poured from him in his desperation and weakness. He said to
himself that he had put this young life into the hazard without cause. Had
he, then, saved the lad from the rapids and Silver Tassel's brutality only
to have him drag fish out of the jaws of death for Silver Tassel's meal?

It seemed to him that he had been working for hours, though it was in fact
only a short time, when the eyes of the lad slowly opened and closed
again, and he began to breathe spasmodically. A cry of joy came from the
lips of the missionary, and he w