Yes, surely there was light moisture on the glass.
Then began another fight with death--William Rufus Holly struggling to
bring to life again Wingo, the waif of the Crees.
The blood came back to his own heart with a rush as the mad desire to
save this life came on him. He talked to the dumb face, he prayed in a
kind of delirium, as he moved the arms up and down, as he tilted the
body, as he rubbed, chafed and strove. He forgot he was a missionary,
he almost cursed himself. "For them--for cowards, I risked his life,
the brave lad with no home. Oh, God! give him back to me!" he sobbed.
"What right had I to risk his life for theirs? I should have shot the
first man that refused to go.... Wingo, speak! Wake up! Come back!"
The sweat poured from him in his desperation and weakness. He said to
himself that he had put this young life into the hazard without cause.
Had he, then, saved the lad from the rapids and Silver Tassel's brutality
only to have him drag fish out of the jaws of death for Silver Tassel's
meal?
It seemed to him that he had been working for hours, though it was in
fact only a short time, when the eyes of the lad slowly opened and closed
again, and he began to breathe spasmodically.
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