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Updated: May 4, 2025
I've sort of planned on something like this happening, and right now we're hittin' for the tail-end of Cragg's Ridge where there's a mess of rock that the devil himself can hardly get into. We've got to do it, boy. We can't leave the girl just now. We can't leave her " Jolly Roger's voice choked. Then he paused for a moment, and bent over to put his hand on Peter.
He would always be pursuing in the form of a Breault, a Cassidy, a Tavish, or a Somebody Else of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police. It would be that way until the end came. And when the end did come, when they finally got him, the blow would be easier at Cragg's Ridge than up here on the edge of the Barren Land.
"If it hadn't been for you, Peter Cassidy would have got me sure. And I'm wondering, Peter I'm wondering why did God forget to give a dog speech?" Peter whined in answer, and through the darkness of the night they went on together. A frosty mist dulled the light of the stars, but this cleared away as Jolly Roger and Peter crossed the plain between the creek and Cragg's Ridge.
She was the Nada of Cragg's Ridge, the Nada of that wild night of storm when he had fled into the north.
Then he turned toward Cragg's Ridge, and what he saw seemed slowly to shrink up the pugnaciousness that was in him, and his stiffened tail drooped until the knotty end of it touched the ground.
That was before Peter had come to leaven the drab of her life. But the hell was still there. One would not have guessed its existence, standing at the bald top of Cragg's Ridge this wonderful thirtieth day of May.
He was sure of himself now. It was as if he had come up from out of the shadow of a great sickness. He had been unwise. He had not reasoned as a man should reason. The hangman might be waiting for him at Cragg's Ridge, down on the rim of civilization, but that same grim executioner was also pursuing close at his heels.
Only once in the first three weeks did they seek human company. This was at a small Indian camp where Jolly Roger bartered for caribou meat and moccasins for Peter's feet. Twice between there and God's Lake they stopped at trappers' cabins. It was early in March when they struck the Lost Lake country, three hundred miles from Cragg's Ridge.
Beverley mightily, more especially when I related Cragg's mysterious disappearance. "Oh, gad!" cried Beverley, wiping his eyes on the tattered lapel of his coat, "the resemblance served you luckily there; your cousin gave him the thrashing of his life, and poor Tom evidently thought he was in for another. That was the last you saw of him, I'll be bound."
And then, as he remained silent, with his lips on the velvety smoothness of her hair, she told him what Father John had already told him of her wild effort to overtake him in that night of storm when he had fled from the Missioner's cabin at Cragg's Ridge; and in turn he told her how Peter came to him in the break of the morning with the treasure which had saved him heart and soul, and how he had given that treasure into the keeping of Yellow Bird, on the shores of Wollaston.
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