"On that same night of the storm when you thought you left him dead in the trail, he stumbled back to his cabin, alive.

But God's vengeance came soon.
"A few days later, while drunk, he missed his footing and fell from a ledge to his death.

His wife, poor creature, wished him buried in sight of the cabin door--" But in this moment Roger McKay was thinking less of Breault the Ferret and the loosening of the hangman's rope from about his neck than he was of another thing.

And Father John was saying in a voice that seemed far away and unreal: "We've sent out word to all parts of the north, hoping someone would find you and send you back.

And she has prayed each night, and each hour of the day the same prayer has been in her heart and on her lips.