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Updated: May 24, 2025
Prescott asked for a room; and sitting outside after dinner, he gathered from some men, who were not working, the story of Kermode's next exploit. Their accounts of it were terse and somewhat disconnected, but Prescott was afterward able to amplify them from the narrative of a more cultured person.
At breakfast the next morning he learned that a man answering Kermode's description had spent a night there eight or nine days ago. That showed that he was gaining, and he forced his pace all day. At sunset he made a fire beside a frozen lake, and after three or four days of arduous toil reached another camp.
"Then I'll have the boys you mentioned sent up the track; they're a crowd I've had my eye on. One of your friends and you can lie off." Kermode thanked him and went back to the shack, where he kept watch with the leader of the Presbyterians until two police troopers rode up late in the afternoon. They opened the cases and heard Kermode's story.
His house was rudely put together, shingle-roofed and walled with shiplap boards that gave out strong resinous odors. The joints were not tight and stinging draughts crept in. Deep snow lay about the camp and the frost was keen. "I can't venture to predict Kermode's movements," said the clergyman.
So to finish his work well, he hacked at the neck with the tomahawk until he had severed the head completely from the body; then taking the head by the hair, he threw it as far as he could to the other side of the track. By this time he began to feel faint from loss of blood, so he mounted his horse and galloped to Joe Kermode's hut.
Prescott knew nothing of mountaineering, but he judged that Kermode's companion must be accustomed to the ranges. The slope grew sharper, there seemed to be an unbroken wall of rock ahead; but, climbing higher, Prescott saw a small smooth track running up the barrier.
She smiled at him rather dubiously and at the next step he sank deeper and dragged the horse round as he clung to the bridle. The roan plunged savagely and the water rippled about Kermode's waist as he struggled for a foothold on the slippery stones. With a desperate effort he managed to find firmer bottom and soon came out on a strip of shingle.
Take a smoke; you're not paid on time." "I'm not sure it would matter if I were." Kermode's eyes twinkled as he filled his pipe. "An idea of the kind you suggested doesn't go far in a construction camp, unless, of course, a foreman happens to be about. However, you made one rash statement, didn't you?" "I'm afraid I make a good many," replied the clergyman good-humoredly. "But you are right.
The shacks and tents were white in the hollow, over which there floated a haze of thin, blue smoke; the rapid creek that flowed past them showed in leaden-colored streaks among the ice; and somber pines rose in harsh distinctness from the hillside. Then the half-covered frame of the church caught Kermode's eye. Something was wrong with it.
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