Yet he was glad to turn away from the face of the storm and stride on
down-wind. Even traveling with the gale grew more and more impossible.
The snowdrifts which the wind picked up and hurried across the hills
pressed against Pierre's back like a great, invisible hand, bowing him
as if beneath a burden. In the hollows the labor was not so great, but
when he approached a summit the gale screamed in his ear and struck
him savagely.
For all his optimism, for all his young, undrained strength, a doubt
began to grow in the mind of Pierre le Rouge. At length, remembering
how that weight of gold came in his pockets, he slipped his left hand
into the bosom of his shirt and touched the icy metal of the cross.
Almost at once he heard, or thought he heard, a faint, sweet sound
of singing.
The heart of Red Pierre stopped. For he knew the visions which came to
men perishing with cold; but he grew calmer again in a moment. This
touch of cold was nothing compared with whole months of hard exposure
which he had endured in the northland.
Pages:
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67