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They walked slowly down the long straight street that led past Filmer's house, which was surrounded by trees, and reached the corner where Fisette's cottage marked the turn up to the bishop's residence. Fisette was on his front doorstep with small people around him, and waved gayly as they passed. "He's very happy now, isn't he?" said Elsie. Belding nodded.
Fisette found himself throttled by a muscular arm which shot round his neck, and two minutes later they were surrounded and fighting for their lives. The battle surged and palpitated. What remained of Baudette's axemen were behind the big gates, where Belding had dragged the prostrate foreman. Clark stood in absolute calmness, though he knew that presently this barrier would be battered down.
Twenty minutes later it touched the shore, and Fisette, leaning forward on the thwarts, surveyed him with black and lustrous eyes. Manson nodded. He did not speak at once. It was palpable that Fisette had been prospecting, and always in the north country the returning prospector brings with him a peculiar fascination. He is the herald of the hitherto unknown.
The breed's eyes opened wider. Manson said it while his soul revolted within him, but he would get Fisette later on. Then there gleamed in the breed's dark eyes a flicker of Indian fury, and Manson breathed an inarticulate prayer as the knife approached his throat, until as though from a great distance he heard a voice. "You not going to tell any one I find iron.
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