When he
looked out of the window again they were paler and more distant.
He had no intention of going back to bed. He was restless and felt
himself surrendering more and more to the grip of presentiment.
It was still early, not later than six o'clock, when Bateese came
in with his breakfast. He was surprised, as he had heard no
movement or sound of voices to give evidence of life anywhere near
the bateau. Instantly he made up his mind that it was not Bateese
who had uttered the mysterious words of a few hours ago, for the
half-breed had evidently experienced a most uncomfortable night.
He was like a rat recently pulled out of water. His clothes hung
upon him sodden and heavy, his head kerchief dripped, and his lank
hair was wet. He slammed the breakfast things down on the table
and went out again without so much as nodding at his prisoner.
Again a sense of discomfort and shame swept over David, as he sat
down to breakfast. Here he was comfortably, even luxuriously,
housed, while out there somewhere St. Pierre's lovely wife was
drenched and even more miserable than Bateese. And the breakfast
amazed him. It was not so much the caribou tenderloin, rich in its
own red juice, or the potato, or the pot of coffee that was
filling the cabin with its aroma, that roused his wonder, but the
hot, brown muffins that accompanied the other things.
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