"I understand," came quietly, and in those two words Houston felt that her opinion had been formed; that to her, he was the father; the quiet form in his arms his own child! It was like a blow to him; yet it was only what he had expected from the moment that he had recognized her. And after all, he felt that it did not matter; it was only one more false accusation to be added to the total, only one more height to be added to the barrier which already existed between them. He accepted her attitude--in spite of the pain it brought--and faced her. "You were willing to help--before you--knew. You would have been glad to help in the case of a stranger. Are you still willing--now?" She hesitated a moment, her eyes downcast, at last to force a smile. "Of course. But you are asking something almost impossible. The nearest priest is at Crestline." "Crestline?" Houston instinctively turned toward the hills, a bleak, forbidding wall against the sky. "I--" "Rather, a mile below there at the Croatian settlement on Mount Harris. I am afraid you couldn't find it." "I can try. Will you lend me Lost Wing to run an errand? I want to get Ba'tiste--for her." "Certainly." "May I talk to him privately? He understands English?" She nodded. Then: "I will tell Lost Wing that anything you have to say to him shall be a secret even from me. I--do not want to know it." She spoke to the Indian in Sioux then and drew away, her eyes on the tracings of a snowshoe. Houston, pointing with his head, gave the Indian his directions. "A woman is sick in a cabin, two miles straight west from here. Get Ba'tiste Renaud and take him there. Turn away from the stream at a tall, dead lodgepole and go to the left. You will see the cabin. I would rather that you would not go in and that you know nothing about the woman. Tell Ba'tiste that her name must stay a secret until she herself is willing that it be otherwise. Do you understand?" "A'ri." The Indian went then toward his mistress, waiting her sanction to the mission. She looked at Barry Houston. "Have you given him his directions?" "Yes." "Then, Lost Wing, do as he has told you." The Sioux started on, soon to be engulfed in the swirling veil of the storm. Barry turned again to the girl. "Just one more request: I can't carry the child up there--this way. Will you help strap her to my pack?" Silently she assisted him in the grim task of mercy. Then: "Do you know the Pass?" "I can find my way." "Do you know it?" He shook his head. She tapped one glove against the other. "It is impossible then. You--" "I'll make it some way. Thank you--for helping me." He started on. But she called him back. "It's dangerous--too dangerous," and there was a note of pity in her voice. "It's bad enough on foot when there's no snow--if you're not familiar with it. I--" "Tell me the way. Perhaps I could find it. It's not for myself. I made a promise to the child's mother. I'm afraid she's dying."