Amazed and a little
stunned by the change they had seen in the Missioner's ghastly face, and
perplexed by the strangeness of his voice and the unsteadiness of his
walk as he had gone away from them, they looked expectantly for him to
return out of the shadows of the timber. His last words had come to them
with metallic hardness, and their effect, in a way, had been rather
appalling: "There will be--no prayer." Why? The question was in Mukoki's
gleaming, narrow eyes as he faced the dark spruce, and it was on David's
lips as he turned at last to look at the Cree. There was to be no prayer
for Tavish! David felt himself shuddering, when suddenly, breaking the
silence like a sinister cackle, an exultant exclamation burst from the
Indian, as though, all at once, understanding had dawned upon him. He
pointed to the dead man, his eyes widening.
"Tavish--he great devil," he said. "_Mon Pere_ make no prayer.
_Mey-oo!_" and he grinned in triumph, for had he not, during all these
months, told his master that Tavish was a devil, and that his cabin was
filled with little devils? "Mey-oo," he cried again, louder than before.
"A devil!" and with a swift, vengeful movement he sprang to Tavish,
caught him by his moccasined feet, and to David's horror flung him
fiercely into the shallow grave.
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