David was looking at him as if he expected an answer.
"What an accursed fool a man is to waste his soul and voice in
lamentation--especially his voice," he went on harshly, his teeth
gleaming for an instant in a bitter smile. "One ought to act and not
whine. That beast back there is ready to act. He would tear Thoreau's
jugular out if he had half a chance. And I ... why, I sneaked off like a
whipped cur. That's why Baree is better than I am, even though he is
nothing more than a four-footed brute. In that room I should have had
the moral courage that Baree has; I should have killed--killed them
both!" He shrugged his shoulders. "I am quite convinced that it would
have been justice, _mon Pere_. What do you think?"
The Missioner smiled enigmatically.
"The soul of many a man has gone from behind steel bars to heaven or I
vastly miss my guess," he said. "But--we don't like the thought of steel
bars, do we, David? Man-made laws and justice don't always run tandem.
But God evens things up in the final balance. You'll live to see that.
He's back there now, meting out your vengeance to them. _Your_
vengeance. Do you understand? And you won't be called to take a hand in
the business." Suddenly he pointed toward the cabin, where Thoreau and
Mukoki were already at work packing a sledge.
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