A moment later, whirling his whip, he swept off behind his dogs, fleeing like a shadow, under the mysterious sheen of the northern lights—swept off into the vast silence, down the Prospect trail.
Welland, roused from sleep by the jingle of bells, gave a thought to the 'poor blind fool,' turned over in bed and slept again.
Chapter V
I
In Hector's view, the biggest man, mentally or spiritually, in Black Elk Territory, was Northcote—by this time one of his closest friends.
With the approach of the long winter night and the slowing down of the wheels of Black Elk activity, Hector saw more of Northcote than ever. The clergyman liked to talk to the Superintendent, whom he ardently admired. Hector liked to talk to the clergyman, because Northcote knew Life as few men know it, was charitable and merciful, friend of the fallen, rarely criticising, never condemning—no pink-tea preacher, shivering at the sight of sin, but a great knight wielding a mighty lance in the heart of the dark fight. So Hector liked him.
From Northcote—though the clergyman did not know it—Hector learned much.
Northcote had several favourite themes. And, reclining in his chair, pipe in mouth, feet on the stove, he would ramble on in his deep, quiet voice, from one theme to another, as the spirit moved him, while Hector sat content to listen.
Men open their hearts to each other in that way.