months in the North-West. Dick destested him; and de Choiseaux, never guessing that Dick could have used to him much better French than his own, accepted the disabilities of "these so gauche English," and extended him a gentle compassion mixed with encouragement. But Dick proving blank against all things just now, de Choiseaux cracked his whip at the solitudes and talked to his mad-headed pony instead.
The pines were ebony columns upbearing a mighty nave-roof of snow on frozen branches, and the little trees stood among them like tufted candles at a shrine. The whole forest was very still, with the thrumming note of the sled runners sounding through it like the diapason of an organ. Once Dick's trained eyes saw a single footprint which showed where a trapper had left the trail. Once a flurry of snow that told where a struggle had been. And once again a black stick explained that it had snapped and shed its burden since the last snowfall. He noted these things because it was his nature. But the whole of his conscious mind was focussed on Ducane.
He had no special quarrel with Ducane, any more than he had special interest in the people of Grey Wolf. When Tempest spoke, vague desire stirred in him to look on his work as a sacred thing. When alone he knew that he looked on it as a mink looks on the trail which it follows. To track a man into the very burrow where he lies hid; to jump on him sudden and sharp, noting in what manner he bears himself under the supreme moment—these were some of the very few things that did not grow stale to Dick. The unexpectedness of the human; the impossibility of calculating exactly when he will double or run backwards or spring; these were the things that gave joy to the chase and made it worth while. And all the good or evil that neglect or fulfilment of his work might mean to Canada were such a side issue that he always roused in new surprise when Tempest spoke of it. And yet he had a genius for his work which Tempest would never have, although Tempest offered flesh and spirit to it daily.
The sled swayed out of the forest and a white ocean heaved broad billows about them. Bush and hollow, ridge and snake-fence were as levelly white as paper.
