"No," said Father Lucien. "He was white."

Thirlwell started. "A white man? It looks impossible. But why didn't
you--?"

"I did not speak. You see, I had not heard him come, and imagine now
that I thought I was dreaming and was afraid to wake and find my hope of
help had gone. After a few moments, he stepped back very quietly into
the shadow, and I called out. There was no answer and I got up. It took
a little time--the blanket was round my legs and my foot hurt--and when
I stumbled away from the fire he had vanished and there was no sound in
the bush. Soon afterwards I fell down in the snow, and lay until the
cold roused me to an effort and I crawled back to the fire. By and by I
went to sleep again and did not waken until daybreak."

"Then," said Thirlwell, meaningly, "you could find no tracks."

"I could not," Father Lucien agreed. "That was not strange, because
light snow was falling when I got up and the wind was fresh. Still I
found this; it shows I was not dreaming."

He gave Thirlwell a wooden pipe with a nickel band round the stem.

"Ah!" said Thirlwell, who examined the frozen pipe and scraped out a
little half-burned tobacco with his knife. "Fifty-cents, at a settlement
store! Not the kind of things the Indians buy, and this is not the stuff
they generally smoke. Besides, you would know an Indian, whether he
spoke or not, by his figure and his pose."

Father Lucien said nothing, but looked at him with a quiet smile, and