"Has he said anything?" asked Jack, looking toward the tent.
Mary shook her head. "Nothing you could understand. He is very low. We will not get him back to the fort. He was four days in the bush. He had only berries."
"Then it's too late after all," said Jack apathetically.
"Who can tell?" said Mary. "They say often they get their full senses back for a little while before they die."
Jack shrugged. "Who would believe what he said at such a time?"
Mary was silent. Her capacity for silence was greater perhaps than Jack's.
"Tell me about finding him," Jack said.
"We started out as soon as you left," she said, carefully schooling her voice. "It was clear Jean Paul would take him among the hills to lose him, so we struck up the coulee at once. Too many days had passed for us to find their tracks, and it had rained. But I was sure we would find him in the valley. The hills were too steep; besides, even a madman stays by the water. We looked all day without finding anything until near dark. Then we came on some tracks in the mud by the stream. We camped right there the first night. There were many coyotes on the hills, both sides, and I thought he must be near and they were—waiting." She shuddered.
"In the morning we found him," she went on in a low voice. "Just below here. He had fallen down beside the water. His face was in the mud, but the mosquitoes had not left him. So I knew he was not dead. Davy and I carried him up here where it was dry. I fed him a little bread soaked in water. Davy went back for the other horses and the dunnage, and to leave a sign for you. That was yesterday. This morning Davy went to the cache."
"Oh, Mary! what a woman you are!" Jack murmured out of the deeps of his heart.