"Help him!" cried Rising Wolf. "Oh, I do wish I could help!"
"Your first prayer, answered!" said Rain, as Crittenden held up a white bean.
For some time after that Rising Wolf joined his wishes to the prayers of Rain and Storm for those who were murdered or for those who lived. Then Storm was left to the duty, while the priestess led the white adventurer upon another quest.
"How do you find your way?" asked Rising Wolf, as they went southward into deepening twilight, guided now for vast distances by the heights upon their left, of the white Andes.
"My secret helper," answered the priestess, "tells me the names and the places. Then I just wish, and I am there. Pray now for those in peril." The southern ocean lay beneath, lashed by an icy hurricane. Through the gray dusk loomed icebergs spectral and enormous above the black white-capped ranges of seas mountainous. There, like poor ghosts half seen amid the level driving snow, two ice-clad ships fled under bare poles eastward.
"What ships?" asked Rising Wolf.
"The Erebus and the Terror," answered Rain, "and they are so frightened!"
The ships passed into the night, and Rain's prayer went with them.
"I always help them a little at evening prayer," she said.
But Rising Wolf was troubled. "You do a hard day's work; then travel ten thousand miles to pray for people in danger, and that when you're dead tired."