mpelled to trot for
a few steps to keep up. And Fingers did not sink into the chair on the
shady porch when he reached his shack. He threw off his coat and
waistcoat and rolled up his sleeves, and for hours after that he was
buried deep in the accumulated masses of dust-covered legal treasures
stored away in hidden corners of the Good Old Queen Bess.

CHAPTER XII

That morning Kent had heard wild songs floating up from the river, and
now he felt like shouting forth his own joy and exultation in song. He
wondered if he could hide the truth from the eyes of others, and
especially from Kedsty if he came to see him. It seemed that some
glimmer of the hope blazing within him must surely reveal itself, no
matter how he tried to hold it back. He felt the vital forces of that
hope more powerful within him now than in the hour when he had crept
from the hospital window with freedom in his face. For then he was not
sure of himself. He had not tested his physical strength. And in the
present moment, fanned by his unbounded optimism, the thought came to
him that perhaps it was good luck and not bad that had thrown Mercer in
his way. For with Fingers behind him now, his chances for a clean
get-away were better. He would not be taking a hazardous leap chanced
on the immediate smiles of fortune. He would be going deliberately,
prepared.

He blessed the man who had been known as Dirty Fingers, but whom he
could not think of now in the terms of that name. He blessed the day he
had heard that chance story of Fingers, far north. He no longer
regarded him as the fat pig of a man he had been for so many years. For
he looked upon the miracle of a great awakening. He had seen the soul
of Fingers lift itself up out of its tabernacle of flesh and grow young
again; he had seen stagnant blood race with new fire. He had seen
emotions roused that had slept for long years. And he felt toward
Fingers, in the face of that awakening, differently than he had felt
toward any other living man. His emotion was one of deep and embracing
comradeship.

Father Layonne did not come again until afternoon, and then he brought
information that thrilled Kent. The missioner had walked down to see
Fingers, and Fingers was not on his porch. Neither was the dog. He had
knocked loudly on the door, but there was no answer. Where was Fingers?
Kent shook his head, feigning an anxious questioning, but inside him
his heart was leaping. He knew! He told Father La