rcer the other fifty dollars
under his pillow.

At seven Mercer came with his supper. A little gleam of disappointment
shot into his pale eyes when he found the last cigar gone from the box.
Kent saw the expression and tried to grin good-humoredly.

"I'm going to have Father Layonne bring me up another box in the
morning, Mercer," he said. "That is, if I can get hold of him."

"You probably can," snapped Mercer. "He doesn't live far from barracks,
and that's where you are going. I've got orders to have you ready to
move in the morning."

Kent's blood seemed for an instant to flash into living flame. He drank
a part of his cup of coffee and said then, with a shrug of his
shoulders: "I'm glad of it, Mercer. I'm anxious to have the thing over.
The sooner they get me down there, the quicker they will take action.
And I'm not afraid, not a bit of it. I'm bound to win. There isn't a
chance in a hundred that they can convict me." Then he added: "And I'm
going to have a box of cigars sent up to you, Mercer. I'm grateful to
you for the splendid treatment you have given me."

No sooner had Mercer gone with the supper things than Kent's knotted
fist shook itself fiercely in the direction of the door.

"My God, how I'd like to have you out in the woods--alone--for just one
hour!" he whispered.

Eight o'clock came, and nine. Two or three times he heard voices in the
hall, probably Mercer talking with the guard. Once he thought he heard
a rumble of thunder, and his heart throbbed joyously. Never had he
welcomed a storm as he would have welcomed it tonight. But the skies
remained clear. Not only that, but the stars as they began to appear
seemed to him more brilliant than he had ever seen them before. And it
was very still. The rattle of a scow-chain came up to him from the
river as though it were only a hundred yards away. He knew that it was
one of Mooie's dogs he heard howling over near the sawmill. The owls,
flitting past his window, seemed to click their beaks more loudly than
last night. A dozen times he fancied he could hear the rippling voice
of the river that very soon was to carry him on toward freedom.

The river! Every dream and aspiration found its voice for him in that
river now. Down it Marette Radisson had gone. And somewhere along it,
or on the river beyond, or the third river still beyond that, he would
find her. In the long, tense wait between the hours of nine and ten he
brought the girl back into his room