“Wake up,” he ordered. “What’s the matter with you? Do you realize where you are? Fight! I’m not going to fight a half-crazed man.”
The rough shake and the plain words brought North to his senses. He looked around for an instant, and then his eyes sought his rescuer’s face.
“Forgive me,” he said. “But I guess I have been a little off my base. And no wonder. I’ve been in hell.”
“True to your orders, for all that, eh?” Hugo queried. “Lost, half frozen, daft, and yet hanging on like a bulldog. Lord! is it any wonder that the Force is what it is when it contains men like you? But tell me, where is my daughter?”
“Marion?”
“Yes.”
“Back there with Constable Rolfe. I was on my way to The Gap for aid when this storm knocked me out. Will you help me?”
“Is it a truce, then?” Hugo asked.
“A truce to what?”
“To our enmity. We are enemies, so it seems. But we must be friends for a time to save my daughter.”
“Yes, and to save the girl I love, and who has promised to be my wife,” the sergeant replied.
Hugo’s face darkened and a terrible temptation smote his heart. It was only for an instant, however, and then reaching out, he seized North’s mittened hand.
“It is well,” he simply said. “Let it be the truce of the storm.”
