"Here, my daughter—keep this in my memory, and with my blessing. It is a poor thing to remember me by, and yet it is all I have; it is the sole trace of honor that has come to me for all my labors, and I would that you keep it alway."
"Oh, we need naught to remember—" began Ruth, but ended in a sob. Perhaps to check her grief, Radisson asked her to read to him from the Book, and so she took it up again and after a little began to read, while the tears ran over her cheeks. Whether by accident or by design she never told me, but the passage was that wherein the prophet met and spoke with his God upon the mountain.
I watched Radisson as she read, and saw his face light up, then the look passed into one of awe and wonder. Slowly his head bowed down, until I checked Ruth with my hand, for I thought that the end had come; but it was not so, for he signed to her to continue, and raised his head once more, looking up at the roof of the cave with startled eyes, as though he saw there more than the bare rock. And with that he stretched out his arm, and I helped him to his feet. He shook me off and took one step forward alone.
"Not in the whirlwind," he cried passionately, his voice ringing deep echoes from all around, "not in the whirlwind, O Lord, nor in the fire, nor in the storm have I found Thee! But in the—still—small—"
He swayed forward, all the life gone out of him suddenly, and when I lowered him to the skins I knew that Radisson had departed upon the spirit-trail. I signed to The Crane, and we carried him into the inner chamber and seated him across the table from Hudson. Then—for I knew that in the morning no power would tempt me to enter that room again—I carried out the keg, which proved to be nearly full of coarse, dry powder, and left it in the passage.
"Come," said Ruth, catching at my arm, "we will sleep out by the fire. Here I—I cannot, Davie."
I held her to me for a moment, then told The Crane to lead her to the fire. When she had gone I gathered up the skins and furs, and after a little time we had fixed up a shelter for her in a cranny of the rocks, where I left her. I rejoined the silent Crees and flung myself down in the warmth of the fire to sleep, for I was very weary.
The day was high when I wakened. Ruth, it seemed, was still asleep. In the early morning the band of Talking Owl had arrived, and with Uchichak's warriors had swept away those that remained of the Chippewas. The days of the band were over; few ever returned to their villages, and those that did bore with them such a tale as kept Chippewa hunters in their own country for many winters to come.
My first duty before Ruth was up, was to clear away all signs of conflict. Gib and his dead were laid to rest in the outer cave, decently enough. The giant moose had already been quartered and the great antlers were preserved for me as trophies. So when Ruth appeared, naught remained of the struggle save the trampled snow and a few shattered fragments of arrows.
The Crees were anxious to be home again, having raided the lodges in the basin and burned them. So without delay I whistled Grim and entered the cave. Placing the keg of powder in the narrowest part of the entrance, I set a long train with a final fuse of birch bark. When all was ready I warned off the curious Crees and lit the bark with a stick from the fire.