“An Indian?” Thirlwell asked.

“No,” said Father Lucien.  “He was white.”

Thirlwell started.  “A white man?  It looks impossible.  But why didn’t you—?”

“I did not speak.  You see, I had not heard him come, and imagine now that I thought I was dreaming and was afraid to wake and find my hope of help had gone.  After a few moments, he stepped back very quietly into the shadow, and I called out.  There was no answer and I got up.  It took a little time—­the blanket was round my legs and my foot hurt—­and when I stumbled away from the fire he had vanished and there was no sound in the bush.  Soon afterwards I fell down in the snow, and lay until the cold roused me to an effort and I crawled back to the fire.  By and by I went to sleep again and did not waken until daybreak.”

“Then,” said Thirlwell, meaningly, “you could find no tracks.”

“I could not,” Father Lucien agreed.  “That was not strange, because light snow was falling when I got up and the wind was fresh.  Still I found this; it shows I was not dreaming.”

He gave Thirlwell a wooden pipe with a nickel band round the stem.

“Ah!” said Thirlwell, who examined the frozen pipe and scraped out a little half-burned tobacco with his knife.  “Fifty-cents, at a settlement store!  Not the kind of things the Indians buy, and this is not the stuff they generally smoke.  Besides, you would know an Indian, whether he spoke or not, by his figure and his pose.”

Father Lucien said nothing, but looked at him with a quiet smile, and Thirlwell resumed:  “Well, there was a man; a white man.  But the thing’s not to be understood.  He knew you were starving and stole away!  Then where did he come from?  There’s no white man except Driscoll between the Hudson’s Bay post and the mine, and you saved Driscoll’s life.”

“When I last heard of him, Driscoll was trapping about Stony Creek, a long way to the east.”

Thirlwell knitted his brows and lighted his pipe, which he had put near the fire to thaw, and there was silence until the Metis arrived with the sledge, when they took the missionary to their camp and gave him food.  After he had eaten they lay down with their feet to the fire and Thirlwell said:  “If the man had seen your fire and come to borrow something or find out who you were, he would have spoken.  There’s nobody I can think of who has not some grounds for wishing you well, but it looks as if the fellow thought you were asleep and meant to let you starve.”

“It looks like that,” Father Lucien agreed with a curious calm.  “Perhaps we shall find out who he was some day, and if not, it does not matter.”

Then he drew the blanket across his face and went to sleep.

CHAPTER VII

AGATHA’S RESOLVE