his cheek, and stroked it tenderly, bristly beard and all.

"I'll never let you run away from me again--Mister--Jolly Roger," she
said, and it was the little Nada of Cragg's Ridge who whispered the
words, half sobbing; but in the voice there was also something very
definite and very sure, and McKay felt the glorious thrill of it as he
raised his face from her hair, and saw once more the sun-filled world
about him.

CHAPTER XVIII

Following this day Peter was observant of a strange excitement in
the cabin on the Burntwood. It was not so much a thing of physical
happening, but more the mysterious FEEL of something impending and very
near. The day following their arrival in the Pashkokogon country his
master seemed to have forgotten him entirely. It was Nada who noticed
him, but even she was different; and Father John went about, overseeing
two Indians whom he kept very busy, his pale, thin face luminous with an
anticipation which roused Peter's curiosity, and kept him watchful. He
was puzzled, too, by the odd actions of the humans about him. The second
morning Nada remained in her room, and Jolly Roger wandered off into the
woods without his breakfast, and Father John ate alone, smiling
gently as he looked at the tightly closed door of Nada's bedroom. Even
Oosimisk, the Leaf Bud, the sleek-haired Indian woman who cared for the
house, was nervously expectant as she watched for Nada, and Mistoos,
her husband, grunted and grimaced as he carried in from the edge of the
forest many loads of soft evergreens on his shoulders.

Into the forest Jolly Roger went alone, puffing furiously at his pipe.
He was all a-tremble and his blood seemed to quiver and dance as it ran
through his veins. Since the first rose-flush of dawn he had been awake,
fighting against this upsetting of every nerve that was in him.

He felt pitiably weak and helpless. But it was the weakness and
helplessness of a happiness too vast for him to measure. It was Nada in
her ragged shoes and dress, with the haunting torture of Jed Hawkins'
brutality in her eyes and face, that he had expected to find, if he
found her at all; someone to fight for, and kill for if necessary,
someone his muscle and brawn would always protect against evil. He had
not dreamed that in these many months with Father John she would change
from "a little kid goin' on eighteen" into--A WOMAN.

He tried to recall just what he had said to her last night--that he was
still an outlaw