there was something of humor as well as tragedy in its wild frenzy, and
Peter heard him laugh softly in the darkness. More and more frequently
he had heard that laugh since those warm days of autumn when they had
last met the red-headed man, Terence Cassidy, of the Royal Northwest
Mounted Police, and his master had shot him on the white shore of
Wollaston.

"You see," said McKay, caressing Peter's hairy neck in the gloom.
"Everything is turning out right for us, and I'm beginning to believe
more and more what Yellow Bird told us, and that in the end we're going
to be happy--somewhere--with Nada. What do you think, Pied-Bot? Shall we
take a chance, and go back to Cragg's Ridge in the spring?"

Peter wriggled himself in answer, as a wild shriek of wind wailed over
the huge snow-dune.

Jolly Roger's fingers tightened at Peter's neck.

"Well, we're going," he said, as though he was telling Peter something
new. "I'm believing Yellow Bird, Pied-Bot. I'm believing her--now.
What she told us was more than fortune-telling. It wasn't just Indian
sorcery. When she shut herself up and starved for those three days and
nights in her little conjurer's house, just for you and me--SOMETHING
HAPPENED. Didn't it? Wouldn't you say something happened?"

Peter swallowed and his teeth clicked as he gave evidence of
understanding.

"She told us a lot of truth," went on Jolly Roger, with deep faith in
his voice "And we must believe, Pied-Bot. She told us Cassidy was coming
after us, and he came. She said the spirits promised her the law would
never get us, and we thought it looked bad when Cassidy had us covered
with his gun on the shore at Wollaston. But something more than luck was
with us, and we shot him. Then we brought him back to life and lugged
him to a cabin, and the little stranger girl took him, and nursed him,
and Cassidy fell in love with her--and married her. So Yellow Bird was
right again, Pied-Bot. We've got to believe her. And she says everything
is coming out right for us, and that we are going back to Nada, and be
happy--"

Jolly Roger's pipe-bowl glowed in the blackness.

"I'm going to light the alcohol lamp," he said. "We can't sleep. And I
want a good smoke. It isn't fun when you can't see the smoke. Too bad
God forgot to make you so you could use a pipe, Peter. You don't know
what you are missing--in times like these."

He fumbled in his pack and found the alcohol lamp, which was fresh
filled and screwed tigh