But now he was helpless.
There was, however, a ray of hope in the possibility that they believed
him dead. If they who had flung him into the dungeon believed this, then
he was safe for several hours. No one would come for his body until
broad day, and possibly not until the following night, when a grave
could be dug and he could be carried out with some secrecy. In that
time, if he could escape from his prison, he would be well on his way to
the Wekusko. He had no doubt that Jean was still a prisoner on the
mountain top. The dogs and sledge were there and both rifles were where
he had concealed them. It would be a hard race--a running fight
perhaps--but he would win, and after a time Meleese would come to him,
away down at the little hotel on the Saskatchewan.
He rose to his feet, his blood growing warm, his eyes shining in the
candle-light. The thought of the girl as she had come to him out in the
night put back into him all of his old fighting strength, all of his
unconquerable hope and confidence. She had followed him when the dog
yelped at his heels, as the first shots had been fired; she had knelt
beside him in the snow as he lay bleeding at the feet of his enemies. He
had heard her voice calling to him, had felt the thrilling touch of her
arms, the terror and love of her lips as she thought him dying.
Pages:
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205