He went back to the window and leaned far out.  He looked at the forest and saw it with new eyes.  The gleam of the slowly moving river held a meaning for him that it had never held before.  Doctor Cardigan, seeing him then, would have sworn the fever had returned.  His eyes held a slumbering fire.  His face was flushed.  In these moments Kent did not see death.  He was not visioning the iron bars of a prison.  His blood pulsed only to the stir of that greatest of all adventures which lay ahead of him.  He, the best man-hunter in two thousand miles of wilderness, would beat the hunters themselves.  The hound had turned fox, and that fox knew the tricks of both the hunter and the hunted.  He would win!  A world beckoned to him, and he would reach the heart of that world.  Already there began to flash through his mind memory of the places where he could find safety and freedom for all time.  No man in all the Northland knew its out-of-the-way corners better than he—­its unmapped and unexplored places, the far and mysterious patches of terra incognita, where the sun still rose and set without permission of the Law, and God laughed as in the days when prehistoric monsters fed from the tops of trees no taller than themselves.  Once through that window, with the strength to travel, and the Law might seek him for a hundred years without profit to itself.

It was not bravado in his blood that stirred these thoughts.  It was not panic or an unsound excitement.  He was measuring things even as he visioned them.  He would go down-river way, toward the Arctic.  And he would find Marette Radisson!  Yes, even though she lived at Barracks at Fort Simpson, he would find her!  And after that?  The question blurred all other questions in his mind.  There were many answers to it.

Knowing that it would be fatal to his scheme if he were found on his feet, he returned to his bed.  The flush of his exertion and excitement was still in his face when Doctor Cardigan came half an hour later.

Within the next few minutes he put Cardigan more at his ease than he had been during the preceding day and night.  It was, after all, an error which made him happier the more he thought about it, he told the surgeon.  He admitted that at first the discovery that he was going to live had horrified him.  But now the whole thing bore a different aspect for him.  As soon as he was sufficiently strong, he would begin gathering the evidences for his alibi, and he was confident of proving himself innocent of John Barkley’s murder.

He anticipated ten years in the Edmonton penitentiary.  But what were ten years there as compared with forty or fifty under the sod?  He wrung Cardigan’s hand.  He thanked him for the splendid care he had given him.  It was he, Cardigan, who had saved him from the grave, he said—­and Cardigan grew younger under his eyes.

“I thought you’d look at it differently, Kent,” he said, drawing in a deep breath.  “My God, when I found I had made that mistake—­”