In her eagerness she laid a hand on his arm.
"I am going back. It would be possible to see Peter God."
The touch of her hand did not lighten the weight that was tugging again at his heart.
"Peter God's cabin is a hundred miles from Fort MacPherson," he added. "He will be hunting foxes by the time I get there."
"You mean—it will be winter."
"Yes. It is a long journey. And"—he was looking at her closely as he spoke—"Peter God may not be there when I return. It is possible he may have gone into another part of the wilderness."
He saw her quiver as she drew back.
"He has been there—for seven—years," she said, as if speaking to herself. "He would not move—now!"
"No; I don't think he would move now."
His own voice was low, scarcely above a whisper, and she looked at him quickly and strangely, a flush in her cheeks.