It follows
him like a hungry dog. There are times when I would swear it is not fear
of a living thing. That is what makes it--disturbing. It is
weird--distressing. It makes one shiver."
The Missioner was silent for some moments, as if lost in a reverie. Then
he said, reflectively:
"I have seen strange things. I have had many penitents. My ears have
heard much that you would not believe. It has all come in my long day's
work in the wilderness. But never, never have I seen a fight like this
that is being made by Tavish--a fight against that mysterious fear, of
which he will not speak. I would give a year of my life--yes, even
more--to help him. There is something about him that is lovable, that
makes you want to cling to him, be near him. But he will have none of
that. He wants to be alone with his fear. Is it not strange? I have
pieced little things together, and that night--when terror drove him to
my cabin--he betrayed himself, and I learned one thing. He is afraid of
a _woman_!"
"A woman!" gasped David.
"Yes, a woman--a woman who lives--or lived--up in the Stikine River
country you mentioned to-day."
David's heart stirred strangely.
"The Stikine River, or--or--Firepan Creek?" he asked.
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