The primitive feast at last was ready and they fell upon it seated tailor-fashion upon the moss. The caribou was so tender, remarked Rev. Morrow in complimenting the fair spit attendant, that you could put your finger through it.
"Don't waste time putting anything through it but your teeth," remarked their host.
Later, when they had turned to moss berries and condensed "cow," provided as a typical desert, Moira expressed regret that Seymour's attractive young constable was not present to share the feast.
"Have you heard anything from La Marr, Seymour?" asked the missionary.
"Not a word."
Something in his tone startled the girl. "Has he gone on a dangerous mission?" she asked. "Are you worried about him?"
The sergeant shook his head. "He's one of the trail-boys and will find others to stand by if he's in trouble." And after a moment's silence, he quoted:
"The cord that ties the trail-boys has lashed
Them heart to heart;
No stage presents their joys, no actors
Play their parts;
Their struggles are seldom known, because
Through wilds untrod
These daring spirits roam where there is
Naught but God."
The spell of silence that followed his pronouncement of the Deity was rudely broken by a hammering on the outer door. So peremptory was the summons that Seymour sprang to his feet, crossed the room and flung the door open, only to start back in amazement.
"Avic of the foxes, by all that's holy!" he exclaimed.