dicted the salvation that had come to him out on
the Barren. And so--was it not conceivable that the other would also
come true?

But these visions came to him only in flashes. As he traveled through
the hours the one vital desire of his being was to bring himself
physically into the presence of Nada, to feel the wild joy of her in his
arms once more, the crush of her lips to his, the caress of her hands in
their old sweet way at his face--and to hear her voice, the girl's voice
with the woman's soul behind it, crying out its undying love, as he had
last heard it that night in the Missioner's cabin many months ago. After
this had happened, then--if fate decreed it so--all other things might
end. Breault, the Ferret, might come. Or Porter. Or that Somebody Else
who was always on his trail. If the game finished thus, he would be
satisfied.

When he stopped to make a pot of black tea and warm a snack to eat Jolly
Roger tried to explain this new meaning of life to Peter.

"The big thing we must do is to get there--safely," he said, already
beginning to make plans in the back of his head. And then he went on,
building up his fabric of new hope before Peter, while he crunched his
luncheon of toasted bannock and fat bacon. There was something joyous
and definite in his voice which entered into Peter's blood and body.
There was even a note of excitement in it, and Peter's whiskers bristled
with fresh courage and his eyes gleamed and his tail thumped the snow
comprehendingly. It was like having a master come back to him from the
dead.

And Jolly Roger even laughed, softly, under his breath.

"This is February," he said. "We ought to make it late in March. I mean
Cragg's Ridge, Pied-Bot."

After that they went on, traveling hard to reach their cabin before the
darkness of night, which would drop upon them like a thick blanket at
four o'clock. In these last hours there pressed even more heavily upon
Jolly Roger that growing realization of the vastness and emptiness of
the world. It was as if blindness had dropped from his eyes and he saw
the naked truth at last. Out of this world everything had emptied itself
until it held only Nada. Only she counted. Only she held out her arms to
him, entreating him to keep for her that life in his body which meant
so little in all other ways. He thought of one of the little worn books
which he carried in his shoulder-pack--Jeanne D'Arc. As she had fought,
with the guidance of God, so he b