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Updated: June 16, 2025
Thoreau grinned. "Boo-jou, m'sieu," he said in his Cree-French. "My order was to make no noise and to let you sleep," and he nodded toward the Missioner's room. "The sun woke me," said David. "Come here. I want you to see it!" Thoreau went and stood beside him, and David pointed to the one window of his room, which faced the rising sun.
And Peter, denied the power of thought transmission because of an error in the creation of things, ran back a little way over the trail, trying to tell his master that Nada had come with him through the storm, and was back in the deep forest calling for him to return. But McKay's mind saw nothing beyond the dimly lighted room of the Missioner's cabin.
"And her soul?" softly questioned the shadowed lips of the Missioner. The other's hand tightened slowly. "In making her the angels forgot a soul, I guess," he said. "Then your friend did not love her." The Little Missioner's voice was quick and decisive. "There can be no love where there is no soul." "That is impossible. He did love her. I know it." "I still disagree with you.
"Not so hard, David," Father Roland frequently cautioned him, and in place of the first joyous grin there was always a look of settled anxiety in Mukoki's face as he watched them. The more David pummelled him, the greater was the Little Missioner's triumph. "I told you what this north country could do for you," was his exultant slogan; "I told you!"
"He will be with them to-night, m'sieu that outlaw!" Not until the crack of Mukoki's long, caribou-gut whip had set the Missioner's eight dogs tense and alert in their traces did Father Roland return for a moment into the cabin to give Marie the locket. He came back quickly, and at a signal from him Mukoki wound up the 9-foot lash of his whip and set out ahead of the dogs.
David wondered whether it was a trick of his imagination that made him think the lines in the Missioner's face were not so deep, that he stood straighter, and that there was at times a deep and vibrant note in his voice which he had not heard before.
His fingers returned the pressure of the little missioner's hands. Then he pointed out through the window to the panorama of shimmering river and green forests. "It is hard to say good-by to all that, Father," he said. "But, if you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it. I'm not afraid of it. And why be unhappy because one has only a little while to live?
This was his thought as he replaced it in the casket and retraced his steps to the fox pens. Thoreau was tossing fish into the last pen when Father Roland came up. David was not with him. In answer to the Missioner's inquiry he nodded toward the thicker growth of the forest where as yet his axe had not scarred the trees. "He said that he would walk a little distance into the timber."
His limbs were nearly as tireless as the Missioner's; he knew that he was growing heavier; and he could at last chop through a tree without winding himself. These things his companions could see. His appetite was voracious.
"Nada, go to the Missioner's as fast as you can," he said, fighting to speak coolly. "Take Peter and go. You will make it before the storm breaks. I am going back to have a few words with Jed Hawkins alone. Then I will join you, and the Missioner will marry us " The cloud was gone, and he saw joy and radiance in her face. Fear had disappeared.
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