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Updated: June 4, 2025
He realized then that his possession of the picture and the manner in which it had come into his keeping were matters of great perplexity to her, and that the woman whom he had met in the Transcontinental held no significance for her at all, although he had told her with rather marked emphasis that this woman whom he had thought was her mother had been searching for a man who bore her own name, O'Doone.
There swept through him the wild thrill of the thought that once more the fight was up to him. Marge O'Doone had done her part. She had struck down the Indian woman Hauck had placed over her as a guard had escaped from her room, unbound him, and put a knife into his hands. The rest was his fight. How long before Brokaw or Hauck would come?
Out there, so close that they seemed to be in each other's arms, the stories were told, David's first briefly, swiftly; and when Michael O'Doone learned that his daughter was in David's camp, he bowed his face in his hands and David heard him giving thanks to his God. And then he, also, told what had happened briefly, too, for the minutes of this night were too precious to lose.
And she was still searching for him when he had met her that night on the Transcontinental! For it was she Marge O'Doone, the mother, the wife, into whose dark, haunting eyes he had gazed from out the sunless depths of his own despair! Her mother. Alive. Seeking a Michael O'Doone seeking seeking....
Her eyes widened when he told her that he did not believe Hauck was her uncle, and that he was certain the woman whom he had met that night on the Transcontinental, and who was searching for an O'Doone, had some deep interest in her.
He was undergoing a smashing of his conceptions of this girl as he had visioned her from the picture, and a readjustment of her as she existed for him now. And he was not disappointed. He had never seen anything quite like this Marge O'Doone and her bear. O'Doone!
He drove his mind back to the photograph of the girl and the woman. How had she come into possession of the picture which Brokaw had taken? What had Nisikoos tried to say to Marge O'Doone in those last moments when she was dying whispered words which the girl had not heard because she was crying, and her heart was breaking? Did Nisikoos know that the mother was alive?
He went to bed, after placing the table against the door, and his automatic under his pillow absurd and unnecessary details of caution, he assured himself. And while Marge O'Doone sat awake close to the door of her room all night, with a little rifle that had belonged to Nisikoos across her lap, David slept soundly in the amazing confidence and philosophy of that perilous age thirty-eight!
David, feeling quite sure of himself, said: "How did it happen that you were away up here, and not with your mother that night when I met her on the train?" "She wasn't my mother," replied the girl, looking at him still in that strange way. "My mother is dead." After that quietly spoken fact that her mother was dead, David waited for Marge O'Doone to make some further explanation.
I heard him telling them about you that you were a spy that you belonged to the provincial police...." A sound in the hall interrupted her. She grew suddenly tense in his arms, then slipped from them and ran noiselessly to the door. There were shuffling steps outside, a thick voice growling unintelligibly. The sounds passed. Marge O'Doone was whiter still when she faced David. "Hauck and Brokaw!"
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