k hands with Kent, and nodded, and chuckled. And
Kent, after that, gripped him by the shoulders and shook him in his
silent joy.

"I was up all last night," said Fingers in a low voice. "I don't dare
move much in the day, or people will wonder. But, God bless my soul!--I
did move last night, Kent. I must have walked ten miles, more or less.
And things are coming--coming!"

"And Ponte, Kinoo, Mooie--?"

"Are working like devils," whispered Fingers. "It's the only way, Kent.
I've gone through all my law, and there's nothing in man-made law that
can save you. I've read your confession, and I don't think you could
even get off with the penitentiary. A noose is already tied around your
neck. I think you'd hang. We've simply got to get you out some other
way. I've had a talk with Kedsty. He has made arrangements to have you
sent to Edmonton two weeks from tomorrow. We'll need all that time, but
it's enough."

For three days thereafter Fingers came to Kent's cell each afternoon,
and each time was looking better. Something was swiftly putting
hardness into his flesh and form into his body. The second day he told
Kent that he had found the way at last, and that when the hour came,
escape would be easy, but he thought it best not to let Kent in on the
little secret just yet. He must be patient and have faith. That was the
chief thing, to have faith at all times, no matter what happened.
Several times he emphasized that "no matter what happens." The third
day he puzzled Kent. He was restless, a bit nervous. He still thought
it best not to tell Kent what his scheme was, until to-morrow. He was
in the cell not more than five or ten minutes, and there was an unusual
pressure in the grip of his hand when he bade Kent good-by. Somehow
Kent did not feel so well when he had gone. He waited impatiently for
the next day. It came, and hour after hour he listened for Fingers'
heavy tread in the hall. The morning passed. The afternoon lengthened.
Night came, and Fingers had not come. Kent did not sleep much between
the hour when he went to bed and morning. It was eleven o'clock when
the missioner made his call. Before he left, Kent gave him a brief note
for Fingers. He had just finished his dinner, and Carter had taken the
dishes away, when Father Layonne returned. A look at his face, and Kent
knew that he bore unpleasant tidings.

"Fingers is an--an apostate," he said, his lips twitching as if to keep
back a denunciation still more emp