David's eyes traveled slowly to
his own feet. The divan had been opened and transformed into a
bed. He was undressed. He had on somebody's white nightgown. And
there was a big bunch of wild roses on the table where three days
ago the cat had been sleeping in the work-basket. His head cleared
swiftly, and he raised himself a little on one elbow, with extreme
caution, and listened. The big bateau was not moving. It was still
tied up, but he could hear no voices out where the tar-sands were.
He dropped back on his pillow, and his eyes rested on the black
pennon. His blood stirred again as he looked at the white bear and
the fighting wolves. Wherever men rode the waters of the Three
Rivers that pennon was known. Yet it was not common. Seldom was it
seen, and never had it come south of Chipewyan. Many things came
to Carrigan now, things that he had heard at the Landing and up
and down the rivers. Once he had read the tail-end of a report the
Superintendent of "N" Division had sent in to headquarters.
"We do not know this St. Pierre. Few men have seen him out of his
own country, the far headwaters of the Yellowknife, where he rules
like a great overlord.
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