"When?"

"An hour or so ago."

Once again the priest's eyes glanced towards the lighted candles.

Presently he said: "You asked me if I had heard anything of your wife.
Listen, and be patient while you listen. . . . Three weeks ago I was
camping on the Sundust Plains, over against the Young Sky River. In the
morning, as I was lighting a fire outside my tent, my young Cree Indian
with me, I saw coming over the crest of a land-wave, from the very lips
of the sunrise, as it were, a band of Indians. I could not quite make
them out. I hoisted my little flag on the tent, and they hurried on to
me. I did not know the tribe--they had come from near Hudson's Bay. They
spoke Chinook, and I could understand them. Well, as they came near I saw
that they had a woman with them."

Bagot leaned forward, his body strained, every muscle tense. "A woman?"
he said, as if breathing gave him sorrow--"my wife?"

"Your wife."

"Quick! Quick! Go on--oh, go on, m'sieu'--good father."

"She fell at my feet, begging me to save her. . . . I waved her off."

The sweat dropped from Bagot's forehead, a low growl broke from him, and
he made such a motion as a lion might make at its prey.