"And the taxi-driver? What did he say? Eh?"

"We never were able to find him."

"Oh, ho! Golemar! You hear?" The old trapper's voice was stinging with sarcasm. "They nev' fin' heem. But the woman she was in a taxi.

Ah, _oui_. She could pa.s.s, just at the moment. She could put in the mind of the jury the fact that there was a quarrel, while she preten'

to help M'sieu Houston. But the taxi-driver--no, they nev' fin' heem!"

"Let's wait, Ba'tiste."

"Oh--ah, _oui_."

On they drove in silence, talking of trivial things, each fencing away from the subject that was on their minds and from mention of the unfortunate interview with Medaine Robinette. The miles faded slowly, at last to bring the camp into view. Ten minutes later, Houston leaped from the buggy and knocked at the door of the cottage.

"I want to see Miss Jierdon," he told the cook who had opened the door.

That person shook her head.

"She's gone."

"Gone? Where?"

"To town, I guess. She came back here from Miss Robinette's last night and packed her things and left. She didn't say where she was going.

She left a note for you."

"Let me have it!" There was anxiety in the command. The cook bustled back into the house, to return with a sealed envelope addressed to Houston. He slit it with a trembling finger.

"What she say?" Ba'tiste was leaning from the buggy. Houston took his place beside him, and as the horse was turned back toward the trapper's cabin, read aloud:

"Dearest Barry:

"Hate awfully to run away like this without seeing you, but it can't be helped. Have an offer of a position in St. Louis that I can't very well refuse. Will write you from there.

"Love and kisses.

"AGNES."

Ba'tiste slapped the reins on the horse's back.

"She is like the Judas, eh?" he asked quietly, and Houston cringed with the realization that he had spoken the truth. Judas! A feminine Judas, who had come to him when his guard had been lowered, who had pretended that she believed in him, that she even loved him, that she might wreck his every plan and hope in life. A Judas, a--

"Let's don't talk about it, Ba'tiste!" Houston's voice was hoa.r.s.e, weary. "It's a little too much to take, all in one day."

"_Tres bien_," answered the old French-Canadian, not to speak again until they had reached his cabin and, red-faced, he had turned from the stove to place the evening meal on the table. Then, his mouth full of crisply fried bacon, he waved a hand and spluttered with a sudden inspiration:

"What you do, now?"

"Queer question, isn't it?" The grim humor of it brought a smile, in spite of the lead in Houston's heart. "What is there to do?"

"What?" Ba'tiste gulped his food, rose and waved a hand with a sudden flash of emphasis. "Peuff! And there is ever'thin'. You have a mill."

"Such as it is."

"But eet is a mill. And eet can saw timber--enough to keep the wolf from the door. You have yourself. Your arm, he is near' well. And there is alway'--" he gestured profoundly--"the future. He is like a woman, the future," he added, with a little smile. "He always look good when he is in the far away."

The enthusiasm of the trapper found a faint echo in Houston's heart.

"I'm not whipped yet, Ba'tiste. But I'm near it. I've had some pretty hard knocks."

"Ah, _oui_! But so have Ba'teese!" The shadows were falling, and the old French-Canadian walked to the window. "_Oui, oui, oui_! Look."

And he pointed to the white cross, still faintly visible, like a luminous thing, beneath the pines. "Ev' day, Ba'teese, he see that.

Ev' day, Ba'teese remember--how he work for others, how he is _L'

M'sieu Doctaire_, how he help and help and help--but how he cannot help his own. Ev' day, Ba'teese, he live again that night in the cathedral when he call, so, 'Pierre! Pierre!' But Pierre does not answer. Ev'

day, he remind how he come home, and how his heart, eet is cold, but how he hope that his Julienne, she will warm eet again--to fin' that.

But does Ba'teese stop? Does Ba'teese fol' his hands? No! No!" He thundered the words and beat his heavy chest. "Some day, Ba'teese will fin' what he look for! When the cloud, he get heavy, Ba'teese, he go out there--out to his Julienne--and he kneel down and he pray that she give to heem the strength to go on--to look and look and look until he find eet--the thing he is want'! Ba'teese, he too have had his trouble. Ba'teese, he too would like to quit! But no, he shall not!

And you shall not! By the cross of my Julienne, you shall not! Eet is to the end--and not before! You look like my Pierre! My Pierre had in heem the blood of Ba'teese--Ba'teese, who had broke' the way. And Pierre would not quit, and you will not quit. And--"

"I will not quit!" Barry Houston said the words slowly, in a voice heightened by feeling and by a new strength, a sudden flooding of a reserve power that he did not know he possessed. "That is my absolute promise to you, Ba'tiste. I will not quit!"

"_Bon_! Good! Golemar, you hear, eh? _Mon ami_, he come to the barrier, and he look at the trouble, but he say he will not quit.

_Veritas_! _Bon_! He is my Pierre! He speak like my Pierre would speak! He will not quit!"

"No," and then Houston repeated it, a strange light shining in his eyes, his hands clenched, breath pulling deep into his lungs. "I will not quit."

"Ah, _oui_! Eet is now the, what-you-say, the swing-around point.

To-night Ba'teese go out. Where? Ah, you shall wait an' see.

Ba'teese go--Ba'teese come back. Then you shall see. Ah, _oui_! Then you shall see."

For an hour or so after that he boomed about the cabin, singing queer old songs in a _patois_, rumbling to the faithful Golemar, washing the dishes while Houston wiped them, joking, talking of everything but the troubles of the day and the plans of the night. Outside the shadows grew heavier, finally to turn to pitch darkness. The bull bats began to circle about the cabin. Ba'tiste walked to the door.

"_Bon_! Good!" he exclaimed. "The sky, he is full of cloud'. The star, he do not shine. _Bon_! Ba'teese shall go."

And with a final wave of the hand, still keeping his journey a mystery, he went forth into the night.

Long Houston waited for his return, but he did not come. The old, creaking clock on the rustic ledge ticked away the minutes and the hours until midnight, but still no crunching of gravel relieved his anxious ears, still no gigantic form of the grizzled, bearded trapper showed in the doorway. One o'clock came and went. Two--three.

Houston still waited. Four--and a scratch on the door. It was Golemar, followed a moment later by a grinning, twinkling-eyed Ba'tiste.

"_Bon_! Good!" he exclaimed. "See, Golemar? What I say to you? He wait up for Ba'teese. _Bon_! Now--_alert, mon ami_! The pencil and the paper!"

He slumped into a chair and dived into a pocket of his red shirt, to bring forth a ma.s.s of scribbled sheets, to stare at them, striving studiously to make out the writing.

"Ba'teese, he put eet down by a match in the shelter of a lumber pile,"

came at last. "Eet is all, what-you-say, scramble up. But we shall see--ah, _oui_--we shall see. Now," he looked toward Houston, waiting anxiously with paper and pencil, "we shall put eet in the list. So.

One million ties, seven by eight by eight feet, at the one dollar and the forty cents. Put that down."

"I have it. But what--"

"Wait! Five thousan' bridge timber, ten by ten by sixteen feet, at the three dollar and ninety cents."

"Yes--"