"Parsons?" Courant breathed.
She drew in the fingers spread on his breast with a clawing movement and emitted an inarticulate sound that meant "Hush."
"Not a clergyman or missionary among all these people?"
"Not one."
"We must wait till to-morrow, then."
"Yes—mebbe there'll be one to-morrow."
"I hope so."
Then silence fell and the shadow flickered again on the canvas.
She made a struggle against Courant's hold, which for a moment he tried to resist, but her fingers plucked against his hand, and she tore herself free and ran to the tent opening. She entered without speaking, threw herself at the foot of the couch, and laid her head against her father's knees.
"Is that you, Missy?" he said, feeling for her with a groping hand. "Daddy John couldn't find a clergyman."