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Updated: June 12, 2025
It was Pied-Bot's going, cautious and soft-footed, as if danger and menace might lurk just ahead of him, that brought another look into McKay's eyes as Nada's hand crept to his cheek, and rested there. "You love me very much?" "More than life," he answered, and as he spoke he was watching Peter, questing the soft wind that came whispering from the south.
"With your hair like that you are my Margaret of Anjou, and the other way with it down you are my little Nada of Cragg's Ridge. And I I don't quite understand why God should be so good to me." And this day Peter was trying in his dumb way to analyze the change. The touch of Nada's hand thrilled him, as it did a long time ago, and still he sensed the difference.
And in another moment, out in the clean and glorious sun that had followed storm, McKay held the shining tress of Nada's hair. It was a real sob that broke in his throat now, and Peter saw him crush the shining thing to his face, and hold it there, while strange quivers ran through his strong shoulders, and a wetness that was not rain gathered in his eyes. "God bless her!" he whispered.
Nor could he speak in words the message which he carried in his heart that last crying agony of the girl when she had sent him out on the trail of Roger McKay, entreating him to bring back the man she loved and would always love in spite of all the broken and unbroken laws in the world. That night, as they lay beside the Burntwood, Peter heard his master crying out Nada's name in his sleep.
Always he caught the sweet, illusive perfume of the girl when Jolly Roger drew out their preciously guarded package. He unwrapped it gently now, and in a moment held in his hands the tress of Nada's hair, the last of her they would ever possess or see. And Peter wondered again why they did not go back to where they had left the rest of the girl.
Nada's arms tightened convulsively, and in that moment there came a warning growl from outside the cabin door. "Peter!" she cried. In another moment Father John had extinguished the light. "Go, my children," he commanded. "You must be quick. Twenty paces below the pool is a canoe. I had one of my Indians leave it there yesterday, and it is ready. Roger Nada "
Nada's arms tightened convulsively, and in that moment there came a warning growl from outside the cabin door. "Peter!" she cried. In another moment Father John had extinguished the light. "Go, my children," he commanded. "You must be quick. Twenty paces below the pool is a canoe. I had one of my Indians leave it there yesterday, and it is ready. Roger Nada "
Softly, in that low Cree voice which is the sweetest of all voices, she asked him many questions about Nada, and gently her slim fingers caressed the tress of Nada's hair which he let her take in her hands. And after a long time, she said. "I have given her a name. She is Oo-Mee, the Pigeon." Slim Buck started at the strange note in her voice. "The Pigeon," he repeated,
And in Nada's eyes and voice as she led in Cree the song, "Nearer, My God, to Thee," he heard and saw the living fire of that faith, and had Breault come in through the open doorway then he would have accepted him calmly as the beginning of that sacrifice which he had made up his mind to make.
And shame possessed him when he saw the sweet glory in Nada's face later that morning, and the happiness that was in Roger McKay's. Yet was that aching place in his heart, and the hidden fear which he could not vanquish. And that day, it seemed to him, his lips gave voice to lies.
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