t was involuntary, or was, maybe, a vague reflection of
his dreams, themselves most vague, for he was only soaking in sun and
air and life.

Within an hour they saw the wild duck-again passing the crest of Guidon,
and they watched it sailing down to the Post, Pierre idly fondling
the gun, Macavoy half roused from his dreams. But presently they were
altogether roused, the gun was put away, and both were on their feet;
for after the pigeon arrived there was a stir at the Post, and Hilton
could be seen running from the store to his house, not far away.

"Something's wrong there," said Pierre.

"D'ye think 'twas the duck brought it?" asked Macavoy.

Without a word Pierre started away towards the Post, Macavoy following.
As they did so, a half-breed boy came from the house, hurrying towards
them.

Inside the house Hilton's wife lay in her bed, her great hour coming on
before the time, because of ill news from beyond the Guidon. There was
with her an old Frenchwoman, who herself, in her time, had brought many
children into the world, whose heart brooded tenderly, if uncouthly,
over the dumb girl. She it was who had handed to Hilton the paper the
wild duck had brought, after Ida had read it and fallen in a faint on
the floor.

The message that had felled the young wife was brief and awful. A
cloud-burst had fallen on Champak Hill, had torn part of it away, and
a part of this part had swept down into the path that led to the little
house, having been stopped by some falling trees and a great boulder.
It blocked the only way to escape above, and beneath, the river was
creeping up to sweep away the little house. So, there the mother and
her children waited (the father was in the farthest north), facing death
below and above. The wild duck had carried the tale in its terrible
simplicity. The last words were, "There mayn't be any help for me and
my sweet chicks, but I am still hoping, and you must send a man or many.
But send soon, for we are cut off, and the end may come any hour."

Macavoy and Pierre were soon at the Post, and knew from Hilton all there
was to know. At once Pierre began to gather men, though what one or many
could do none could say. Eight white men and three Indians watched the
wild duck sailing away again from the bedroom window where Ida lay, to
carry a word of comfort to Champak Hill. Before it went, Ida asked for
Macavoy, and he was brought to her bedroom by Hilton. He saw a pale,
almost unearthly, ye