A single low sound of horror was forced from the crowd.  The prisoner half rose with a choking cry and collapsed with his head in his arms on the table.

Denholm, as pale as a sheet, flung an arm around his shoulders.  Every man connected with the case stared before him as if he beheld the horror with his physical eyes.  Colina’s self-control escaped her entirely.

She covered her face with her hands and wept like any girl.

CHAPTER XLI.

FROM DUMB LIPS.

The judge proposed an adjournment.  The witness, the prisoner, the prisoner’s counsel were all against it.  It was decided to continue.  A breath of relief escaped the spectators.  Another day they might not be able to secure seats in the court-room.

Colina described how they gave their pursuers the slip and gained the prairie.

“We decided to make for the nearest point on the Spirit River,” she went on, “and headed southeast.  After we had ridden for two hours we came to a slough of fresh water, and camped for the rest of the night to let the horses feed and rest.  Nesis and I could not sleep.  We talked until morning.

“I asked her questions, and she would answer yes or no, or let me know by signs when I was on the wrong track.  She was wonderfully clever in making up signs.

“As she made signs to me I interpreted them aloud, and she would nod or shake her head according to whether I was right or wrong.  I had to try one question after another until I hit on the one she could answer.  In this way little by little I built up her story.

“The next day we continued on the prairie.  The sky was heavily overclouded, and there were flurries of snow.  We were lost for several hours, until the sun came out again.  Our food was almost gone, but I managed to shoot a rabbit.

“The horses were very tired.  Whenever we stopped I talked to Nesis.  We stayed up most of that night.  It was too cold to sleep.  By the end of the second day I knew everything she had to tell me.”

Colina drank some water and went on.  “Nesis’s story begins a year ago.  In the middle of the winter my father was accustomed to send Gordon Strange with an outfit to the Kakisa River to trade with the tribe and bring back the fur.

“While there he lived in a little log shack overlooking the Indian village.  Nesis said it was Watusk’s custom to go up to the shack every night and the two men would talk.  She knew that they talked English together, and she used to steal up after Watusk and listen outside through a chink between the logs.”

Every eye in the court-room was turned on Gordon Strange.  The half-breed made marks with a pencil on a pad and tried to call up the old modest, deprecating smile.  But an extraordinary ashy tint crept under his swarthy skin.

In spite of himself, his eyes darted furtively to measure the distance to the door.  There were half a thousand people between; moreover, the doors were closed and guarded by six policemen.