Suddenly his mind was filled only with her.  Had she been his friend, using all her influence to protect him, because her heart was sick of the environment of which she was a part?  His own heart jumped at the thought.  It was easy to believe.  In Marie-Anne he had faith, and that faith refused to be destroyed, but persisted—­ even clearer and stronger as he thought again of Carmin Fanchet and Black Roger.  In his heart grew the conviction it was sacrilege to believe the kiss she had given him that morning was a lie.  It was something else—­a spontaneous gladness, a joyous exultation that he had returned unharmed, a thing unplanned in the soul of the woman, leaping from her before she could stop it.  Then had come shame, and she had run away from him so swiftly he had not seen her face again after the touch of her lips.  If it had been a subterfuge, a lie, she would not have done that.

He rose to his feet and paced restlessly back and forth as he tried to bring together a few tangled bits of the puzzle.  He heard voices outside, and very soon felt the movement of the bateau under his feet, and through one of the shoreward windows he saw trees and sandy beach slowly drifting away.  On that shore, as far as his eyes could travel up and down, he saw no sign of Marie-Anne, but there remained a canoe, and near the canoe stood Black Roger Audemard, and beyond him, huddled like a charred stump in the sand, was Andre, the Broken Man.  On the opposite shore the raft was getting under way.

During the next half-hour several things happened which told him there was no longer a sugar-coating to his imprisonment.  On each side of the bateau two men worked at his windows, and when they had finished, no one of them could be opened more than a few inches.  Then came the rattle of the lock at the door, the grating of a key, and somewhat to Carrigan’s surprise it was Bateese who came in.  The half-reed bore no facial evidence of the paralyzing blows which had knocked him out a short time before.  His jaw, on which they had landed, was as aggressive as ever, yet in his face and his attitude, as he stared curiously at Carrigan, there was no sign of resentment or unfriendliness.  Nor did he seem to be ashamed.  He merely stared, with the curious and rather puzzled eyes of a small boy gazing at an inexplicable oddity.  Carrigan, standing before him, knew what was passing in the other’s mind, and the humor of it brought a smile to his lips.

Instantly Concombre’s face split into a wide grin.  “Mon dieu, w’at if you was on’y brother to Concombre Bateese, m’sieu.  T’ink of zat—­you—­me—­Frere D’ARMES!  Ventre Saint Gris, but we mak’ all fightin’ men in nort’ countree run lak rabbits ahead of ze fox!  Oui, we mak’ gr-r-r-eat pair, m’sieu—­you, w’at knock down Bateese—­an’ Bateese, w’at keel polar bear wit hees naked hands, w’at pull down trees, w’at chew flint w’en hees tobacco gone.”