On the outskirts of the concourse, just at the edge of shadow and
light, Edmonton Ridgar stood apart and the look on his face was of
mortal agony. As his eyes met those of his factor all doubt was swept
away. This was his friend, McElroy knew in that one swift moment, even
as he watched his torture, his friend on whose faith and goodness he
would stake his soul anew. It was strange what a keen joy surged
through him with that subtle knowledge, what smart of tear-mist stung
his eyes.
Long their gaze clung, filled with unspeakable things, things that were
high as Heaven itself, that pass only between men clean of heart on the
Calvaries of earth.
Then, as gleaming eyes began to follow the fixed look of McElroy, heads
to turn with waving of feathers on scalp-locks, the factor with an
effort took his eyes from Ridgar's.
"Dog-eaters!" De Courtenay was laughing. "Birds of carrion! Old men!
Squaws of the North!"
And above the hubbub the ritual chanting in his brain turned into an
Act of Thanksgiving.
CHAPTER XXII "CHOOSE, WHITE WOMAN!"
Another day had gone into the great back country of time, from which
the hand of God alone can pluck them and their secrets.
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