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Updated: May 4, 2025
So drank only at Cragg's with Doll, and so to the Swan, and there baiser a new maid that is there, and so to White Hall again, to a Committee of Tangier, where I see all things going to rack in the business of the Corporation, and consequently in the place, by Middleton's going.
The fourth evening after the stranger's visit to the cabin Jolly Roger was later than usual in returning from Cragg's Ridge. Peter had been on a hunting adventure of his own, and came to the cabin at sunset. But he never came out of cover now without standing quietly for a few moments, getting the wind, and listening.
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.
For many days after this first night in the cabin, Peter did not see Nada. There was more rain, and the creek flooded higher, so that each time Jolly Roger went over to Cragg's Ridge he took his life in his hands in fording the stream. Peter saw no one but Jolly Roger, and at the end of the second week he was going about on his mended leg.
And then again she reached out, and found his hand, and twined her fingers about his big thumb and Jolly Roger went on with her over the plain toward Cragg's Ridge, dripping wet, just as the rim of the moon began to rise over the edge of the eastern forests. It seemed an interminable wait to Peter, back in the cabin.
So it came to pass, after a time, that when Peter heard footsteps approaching the cabin he made no effort to reveal himself until he knew it was Jolly Roger who was coming. And this was strangely in spite of the fact that in the five weeks since Nada had brought him from Cragg's Ridge no one but Jolly Roger and Nada had set foot within sight of the shack.
He's hunting for some one, and maybe you can give him information. He's going to Cragg's Ridge." "Cragg's Ridge!" exclaimed Jolly Roger. "What is his name?" "Breault," said the youth. "Sergeant Breault, of the Royal Northwest Mounted Police." Jolly Roger turned to stroke the neck of a horse waiting for its morning feed. But he felt nothing of the touch of flesh under his hand.
Then he put out the light and quietly laid himself down where through the nights of many a month and year Nada had slept in the moon glow. The moon was there tonight. The faint glow of it rose in the east and swiftly it climbed over the ragged shoulder of Cragg's Ridge, flooding the blackened world with light and filling the room with a soft and golden radiance.
He looked more keenly as his eyes took in Jolly Roger's boots and clothes, and the gray pallor in his face. "Just get in?" he asked kindly. "And from the burnt country?" "Yes, from the burnt country. I've been away a long time, and I'm trying to find out if my friends are among the living or the dead. Did you ever hear of Father John, the Missioner at Cragg's Ridge?"
Cragg had started up in his chair and now sat scowling at his inquisitor open-mouthed; and in the hush I could hear the ticking of the clock in the corner, and the crackle of the logs upon the hearth. Then, all at once, Cragg's pipe shivered to fragments on the floor and he leapt to his feet.
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