He was there on the tenth night, looking
steadily at David with his two bloodshot eyes, wondering what it was
that his master held in his hands. From the lips and eyes of the Girl,
trembling and aglow in the firelight, David looked at Baree. In the
bloodshot eyes he saw the immeasurable faith of an adoring slave. He
knew that Baree would never leave him. And the Girl, looking at him as
steadily as Baree, would never leave him. There was a tremendous thrill
in the thought. He leaned over the dog, and with a tremulous stir in
his voice, he whispered:
"Some day, boy, we may go to her."
Baree shivered with joy. David's voice, whispering to him in that way,
was like a caress, and he whined softly as he crept an inch or two
nearer to his master's feet.
That night Father Roland was restless. Hours later, when he was lying
snug and warm in his own blankets, David heard him get up, and watched
him as he scraped together the burned embers of the fire and added
fresh fuel to them. The flap of the tent was back a little, so that he
could see plainly. It could not have been later than midnight. The
Missioner was fully dressed, and as the fire burned brighter David
could see the ruddy glow of his face, and it struck him that it
looked singularly boyish in the flame-glow.
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