PIERRE AND HIS PEOPLE

TALES OF THE FAR NORTH

By Gilbert Parker

 CONTENTS

 Volume 1. THE PATROL OF THE CYPRESS HILLS GOD'S GARRISON A HAZARD OF THE NORTH

 Volume 2. A PRAIRIE VAGABOND SHE OF THE TRIPLE CHEVRON THREE OUTLAWS

 Volume 3. SHON MCGANN'S TOBOGAN RIDE PERE CHAMPAGNE THE SCARLET HUNTER THE STONE

 Volume 4. THE TALL MASTER THE CRIMSON FLAG THE FLOOD IN PIPI VALLEY

 Volume 5. ANTOINE AND ANGELIQUE THE CIPHER A TRAGEDY OF NOBODIES A SANCTUARY OF THE PLAINS

GENERAL INTRODUCTION

With each volume of this subscription edition (1912) there is a specialintroduction, setting forth, in so far as seemed possible, the relationof each work to myself, to its companion works, and to the scheme of myliterary life. Only one or two things, therefore, need be said here, asI wish God-speed to this edition, which, I trust, may help to make oldfriends warmer friends and new friends more understanding. Most of thenovels and most of the short stories were suggested by incidents orcharacters which I had known, had heard of intimately, or, as inthe case of the historical novels, had discovered in the works ofhistorians. In no case are the main characters drawn absolutely fromlife; they are not portraits; and the proof of that is that no one hasever been able to identify, absolutely, any single character in thesebooks. Indeed, it would be impossible for me to restrict myself toactual portraiture. It is trite to say that photography is not art, andphotography has no charm for the artist, or the humanitarian indeed, in the portrayal of life. At its best it is only an exhibition of outerformal characteristics, idiosyncrasies, and contours. Freedom isthe first essential of the artistic mind. As will be noticed in theintroductions and original notes to several of these volumes, it isstated that they possess anachronisms; that they are not portraits ofpeople living or dead, and that they only assume to be in harmony withthe spirit of men and times and things. Perhaps in the first few pagesof 'The Right of Way' portraiture is more nearly reached than in anyother of these books, but it was only the nucleus, if I may say so, of alarger development which the original Charley Steele never attained. Inthe novel he grew to represent infinitely more than the original everrepresented in his short life. 

That would not be strange when it is remembered that the germ of The'Right of Way' was growing in my mind over a long period of years, andit must necessarily have developed into a larger conception than theoriginal character could have suggested. The same may be said of thechief characters in 'The Weavers'. The story of the two brothers--DavidClaridge and Lord Eglington--in that book was brewing in my mind forquite fifteen years, and the main incidents and characters of othernovels in this edition had the same slow growth. My forthcoming novel, called 'The Judgment House', had been in my mind for nearly twentyyears and only emerged when it was full grown, as it were; when I wasso familiar with the characters that they seemed as real in all ways asthough they were absolute people and incidents of one's own experience. 

Little more need be said. In outward form the publishers have made thisedition beautiful. I should be ill-content if there was not also anelement of beauty in the work of the author. To my mind truth aloneis not sufficient. Every work of art, no matter how primitive inconception, how tragic or how painful, or even how grotesque indesign--like the gargoyles on Notre Dame must have, too, the elements ofbeauty--that which lures and holds, the durable and delightful thing. I have a hope that these books of mine, as faithful to life as I couldmake them, have also been touched here and there by the staff of beauty. Otherwise their day will be short indeed; and I should wish for them aday a little longer at least than my day and span. 

I launch the ship. May it visit many a port! May its freight never lieneglected on the quays!

INTRODUCTION

So far as my literary work is concerned 'Pierre and His People' maybe likened to a new city built upon the ashes of an old one. Let meexplain. While I was in Australia I began a series of short stories andsketches of life in Canada which I called 'Pike Pole Sketches on theMadawaska'. A very few of them were published in Australia, and Ibrought with me to England in 1889 about twenty of them to make into avolume. I told Archibald Forbes, the great war correspondent, of my wishfor publication, and asked him if he would mind reading the sketches andstories before I approached a publisher. He immediately consented, andone day I brought him the little brown bag containing the tales. 

A few days afterwards there came an invitation to lunch, and I went toClarence Gate, Regent's Park, to learn what Archibald Forbes thought ofmy tales. We were quite merry at luncheon, and after luncheon, whichfor him was a glass of milk and a biscuit, Forbes said to me, "Thosestories, Parker--you have the best collection of titles I have everknown. " He paused. I understood. To his mind the tales did not live upto their titles. He hastily added, "But I am going to give you a letterof introduction to Macmillan. I may be wrong. " My reply was: "You neednot give me a letter to Macmillan unless I write and ask you for it. "

I took my little brown bag and went back to my comfortable rooms in anold-fashioned square. I sat down before the fire on this bleak winter'snight with a couple of years' work on my knee. One by one I glancedthrough the stories and in some cases read them carefully, and one byone I put them in the fire, and watched them burn. I was heavy at heart, but I felt that Forbes was right, and my own instinct told me that myideas were better than my performance--and Forbes was right. Nothing wasleft of the tales; not a shred of paper, not a scrap of writing. Theyhad all gone up the chimney in smoke. There was no self-pity. I had agrim kind of feeling regarding the thing, but I had no regrets, and Ihave never had any regrets since. I have forgotten most of the titles, and indeed all the stories except one. But Forbes and I were right; ofthat I am sure. 

The next day after the arson I walked for hours where London wasbusiest. The shop windows fascinated me; they always did; but that day Iseemed, subconsciously, to be looking for something. At last I found it. It was a second-hand shop in Covent Garden. In the window there wasthe uniform of an officer of the time of Wellington, and beside it--theleather coat and fur cap of a trapper of the Hudson's Bay Company! Atthat window I commenced to build again upon the ashes of last night'sfire. Pretty Pierre, the French half-breed, or rather the original ofhim as I knew him when a child, looked out of the window at me. SoI went home, and sitting in front of the fire which had received mymanuscript the night before, with a pad upon my knee, I began to write'The Patrol of the Cypress Hills' which opens 'Pierre and His People'. 

The next day was Sunday. I went to service at the Foundling Hospital inBloomsbury, and while listening superficially to the sermon I was alsoreading the psalms. I came upon these words, "Free among the Deadlike unto them that are wounded and lie in the grave, that are out ofremembrance, " and this text, which I used in the story 'The Patrol ofthe Cypress Hills', became, in a sense, the text for all the storieswhich came after. It seemed to suggest the lives and the end of thelives of the workers of the pioneer world. 

So it was that Pierre and His People chiefly concerned those who hadbeen wounded by Fate, and had suffered the robberies of life and timewhile they did their work in the wide places. It may be that my readershave found what I tried, instinctively, to convey in the pioneer life Iportrayed--"The soul of goodness in things evil. " Such, on the whole, myobservation had found in life, and the original of Pierre, with all hismistakes, misdemeanours, and even crimes, was such an one as I wouldhave gone to in trouble or in hour of need, knowing that his face wouldnever be turned from me. 

These stories made their place at once. The 'Patrol of the CypressHills' was published first in 'The Independent' of New York and in'Macmillan's Magazine' in England. Mr. Bliss Carman, then editor of'The Independent', eagerly published several of them--'She of the TripleChevron' and others. Mr. Carman's sympathy and insight were a great helpto me in those early days. The then editor of 'Macmillan's Magazine', Mr. Mowbray Morris, was not, I think, quite so sure of the merits ofthe Pierre stories. He published them, but he was a little credulousregarding them, and he did not pat me on the back by any means. Therewas one, however, who made the best that is in 'Pierre and His People'possible; this was the unforgettable W. E. Henley, editor of The'National Observer'. One day at a sitting I wrote a short story called'Antoine and Angelique', and sent it to him almost before the ink wasdry. The reply came by return of post: "It is almost, or quite, as goodas can be. Send me another. " So forthwith I sent him 'God's Garrison', and it was quickly followed by 'The Three Outlaws', 'The Tall Master', 'The Flood', 'The Cipher', 'A Prairie Vagabond', and several others. Atlength came 'The Stone', which brought a telegram of congratulation, andfinally 'The Crimson Flag'. The acknowledgment of that was a postcardcontaining these all too-flattering words: "Bravo, Balzac!" Henley wouldprint what no other editor would print; he gave a man his chance to dothe boldest thing that was in him, and I can truthfully say thatthe doors which he threw open gave freedom to an imagination and anindividuality of conception, for which I can never be sufficientlygrateful. 

These stories and others which appeared in 'The National Observer', in'Macmillan's', in 'The English Illustrated Magazine' and others mademany friends; so that when the book at length came out it was receivedwith generous praise, though not without some criticism. It made itsplace, however, at once, and later appeared another series, called 'AnAdventurer of the North', or, as it is called in this edition, 'A Romanyof the Snows'. Through all the twenty stories of this second volume thecharacter of Pierre moved; and by the time the last was written therewas scarcely an important magazine in the English-speaking world whichhad not printed one or more of them. Whatever may be thought of thestories themselves, or of the manner in which the life of the Far Northwas portrayed, of one thing I am sure: Pierre was true to the life--tohis race, to his environment, to the conditions of pioneer life throughwhich he moved. When the book first came out there was some criticismfrom Canada itself, but that criticism has long since died away, and itnever was determined. 

Plays have been founded on the 'Pierre' series, and one in particular, 'Pierre of the Plains', had a considerable success, with Mr. EdgarSelwyn, the adapter, in the main part. I do not know whether, if I wereto begin again, I should have written all the Pierre stories in quitethe same way. Perhaps it is just as well that I am not able to beginagain. The stories made their own place in their own way, and that thereis still a steady demand for 'Pierre and His People' and 'A Romany ofthe Snows' seems evidence that the editor of an important magazine inNew York who declined to recommend them for publication to his firm (andlater published several of the same series) was wrong, when he said thatthe tales "seemed not to be salient. " Things that are not "salient"do not endure. It is twenty years since 'Pierre and His People'was produced--and it still endures. For this I cannot but be deeplygrateful. In any case, what 'Pierre' did was to open up a field whichhad not been opened before, but which other authors have exploited sincewith success and distinction. 'Pierre' was the pioneer of the Far Northin fiction; that much may be said; and for the rest, Time is the test, and Time will have its way with me as with the rest. 

NOTE

It is possible that a Note on the country portrayed in these stories maybe in keeping. Until 1870, the Hudson's Bay Company--first grantedits charter by King Charles II--practically ruled that vast regionstretching from the fiftieth parallel of latitude to the Arctic Ocean--ahandful of adventurous men entrenched in forts and posts, yet tradingwith, and mostly peacefully conquering, many savage tribes. Once thesole master of the North, the H. B. C. (as it is familiarly called) isreverenced by the Indians and half-breeds as much as, if not more than, the Government established at Ottawa. It has had its forts within theArctic Circle; it has successfully exploited a country larger thanthe United States. The Red River Valley, the Saskatchewan Valley, andBritish Columbia, are now belted by a great railway, and given to theplough; but in the far north life is much the same as it was a hundredyears ago. There the trapper, clerk, trader, and factor are cast in themould of another century, though possessing the acuter energies of this. The 'voyageur' and 'courier de bois' still exist, though, generally, under less picturesque names. 

The bare story of the hardy and wonderful career of the adventurerstrading in Hudson's Bay, --of whom Prince Rupert was once chiefest, --andthe life of the prairies, may be found in histories and books of travel;but their romances, the near narratives of individual lives, have waitedthe telling. In this book I have tried to feel my way towards the heartof that life--worthy of being loved by all British men, for it hasgiven honest graves to gallant fellows of our breeding. Imperfectly, ofcourse, I have done it; but there is much more to be told. 

When I started Pretty Pierre on his travels, I did not know--nor didhe--how far or wide his adventurers and experiences would run. Theyhave, however, extended from Quebec in the east to British Columbiain the west, and from the Cypress Hills in the south to the CoppermineRiver in the north. With a less adventurous man we had had fewerhappenings. His faults were not of his race, that is, French andIndian, --nor were his virtues; they belong to all peoples. But theexpression of these is affected by the country itself. Pierre passesthrough this series of stories, connecting them, as he himself connectstwo races, and here and there links the past of the Hudson's Bay Companywith more modern life and Canadian energy pushing northward. Hereis something of romance "pure and simple, " but also traditions andcharacter, which are the single property of this austere but notcheerless heritage of our race. 

All of the tales have appeared in magazines and journals--namely, 'TheNational Observer', 'Macmillan's', 'The National Review', and 'TheEnglish Illustrated'; and 'The Independent of New York'. By the courtesyof the proprietors of these I am permitted to republish. 

 G. P. 

HARPENDEN, HERTFORDSHIRE, July, 1892. 

THE PATROL OF THE CYPRESS HILLS

"He's too ha'sh, " said old Alexander Windsor, as he shut the creakingdoor of the store after a vanishing figure, and turned to the big ironstove with outstretched hands; hands that were cold both summer andwinter. He was of lean and frigid make. 

"Sergeant Fones is too ha'sh, " he repeated, as he pulled out the damperand cleared away the ashes with the iron poker. 

Pretty Pierre blew a quick, straight column of cigarette smoke into theair, tilted his chair back, and said: "I do not know what you mean by'ha'sh, ' but he is the devil. Eh, well, there was more than one devilmade sometime in the North West. " He laughed softly. 

"That gives you a chance in history, Pretty Pierre, " said a voice frombehind a pile of woollen goods and buffalo skins in the centre of thefloor. The owner of the voice then walked to the window. He scratchedsome frost from the pane and looked out to where the trooper in dog-skincoat, gauntlets and cap, was mounting his broncho. The old man cameand stood near the young man, --the owner of the voice, --and said again:"He's too ha'sh. "

"Harsh you mean, father, " added the other. 

"Yes, harsh you mean, Old Brown Windsor, --quite harsh, " said Pierre. 

Alexander Windsor, storekeeper and general dealer, was sometimes called"Old Brown Windsor" and sometimes "Old Aleck, " to distinguish him fromhis son, who was known as "Young Aleck. "

As the old man walked back again to the stove to warm his hands, YoungAleck continued: "He does his duty, that's all. If he doesn't wear kidgloves while at it, it's his choice. He doesn't go beyond his duty. Youcan bank on that. It would be hard to exceed that way out here. "

"True, Young Aleck, so true; but then he wears gloves of iron, of ice. That is not good. Sometime the glove will be too hard and cold ona man's shoulder, and then!--Well, I should like to be there, " saidPierre, showing his white teeth. 

Old Aleck shivered, and held his fingers where the stove was red hot. 

The young man did not hear this speech; from the window he was watchingSergeant Fones as he rode towards the Big Divide. Presently he said:"He's going towards Humphrey's place. I--" He stopped, bent his brows, caught one corner of his slight moustache between his teeth, and did notstir a muscle until the Sergeant had passed over the Divide. 

Old Aleck was meanwhile dilating upon his theme before a passivelistener. But Pierre was only passive outwardly. Besides hearkeningto the father's complaints he was closely watching the son. Pierrewas clever, and a good actor. He had learned the power of reserve andoutward immobility. The Indian in him helped him there. He had heardwhat Young Aleck had just muttered; but to the man of the cold fingershe said: "You keep good whisky in spite of the law and the iron glove, Old Aleck. " To the young man: "And you can drink it so free, eh, YoungAleck?"

The half-breed looked out of the corners of his eyes at the youngman, but he did not raise the peak of his fur cap in doing so, and hisglances askance were not seen. 

Young Aleck had been writing something with his finger-nail on thefrost of the pane, over and over again. When Pierre spoke to him thushe scratched out the word he had written, with what seemed unnecessaryforce. But in one corner it remained:

"Mab--"

Pierre added: "That is what they say at Humphrey's ranch. "

"Who says that at Humphrey's?--Pierre, you lie!" was the sharp andthreatening reply. The significance of this last statement hadbeen often attested on the prairies by the piercing emphasis of asix-chambered revolver. It was evident that Young Aleck was in earnest. Pierre's eyes glowed in the shadow, but he idly replied:

"I do not remember quite who said it. Well, 'mon ami, ' perhaps I lie;perhaps. Sometimes we dream things, and these dreams are true. You callit a lie--'bien!' Sergeant Fones, he dreams perhaps Old Aleck sellswhisky against the law to men you call whisky runners, sometimes toIndians and half-breeds--halfbreeds like Pretty Pierre. That was a dreamof Sergeant Fones; but you see he believes it true. It is good sport, eh? Will you not take--what is it?--a silent partner? Yes; a silentpartner, Old Aleck. Pretty Pierre has spare time, a little, to makemoney for his friends and for himself, eh?"

When did not Pierre have time to spare? He was a gambler. Unlike themajority of half-breeds, he had a pronounced French manner, nonchalantand debonair. 

The Indian in him gave him coolness and nerve. His cheeks had a tinge ofdelicate red under their whiteness, like those of a woman. That was whyhe was called Pretty Pierre. The country had, however, felt a kind ofweird menace in the name. It was used to snakes whose rattle gavenotice of approach or signal of danger. But Pretty Pierre was like thedeath-adder, small and beautiful, silent and deadly. At one time he hadmade a secret of his trade, or thought he was doing so. In those dayshe was often to be seen at David Humphrey's home, and often in talk withMab Humphrey; but it was there one night that the man who was ha'sh gavehim his true character, with much candour and no comment. 

Afterwards Pierre was not seen at Humphrey's ranch. Men prophesied thathe would have revenge some day on Sergeant Fones; but he did not showanything on which this opinion could be based. He took no umbrageat being called Pretty Pierre the gambler. But for all that he waspossessed of a devil. 

Young Aleck had inherited some money through his dead mother from hisgrandfather, a Hudson's Bay factor. He had been in the East for someyears, and when he came back he brought his "little pile" and animpressionable heart with him. The former Pretty Pierre and his friendsset about to win; the latter, Mab Humphrey won without the trying. YetMab gave Young Aleck as much as he gave her. More. Because her lovesprang from a simple, earnest, and uncontaminated life. Her purity andaffection were being played against Pierre's designs and Young Aleck'sweakness. With Aleck cards and liquor went together. Pierre seldomdrank. 

But what of Sergeant Fones? If the man that knew him best--theCommandant--had been asked for his history, the reply would have been:"Five years in the Service, rigid disciplinarian, best non-commissionedofficer on the Patrol of the Cypress Hills. " That was all the Commandantknew. 

A soldier-policeman's life on the frontier is rough, solitary, andsevere. Active duty and responsibility are all that make it endurable. To few is it fascinating. A free and thoughtful nature would, however, find much in it, in spite of great hardships, to give interest and evenpleasure. The sense of breadth and vastness, and the inspiration of pureair could be a very gospel of strength, beauty, and courage, to such anone--for a time. But was Sergeant Fones such an one? The Commandant'sscornful reply to a question of the kind would have been: "He is thebest soldier on the Patrol. "

And so with hard gallops here and there after the refugees of crime ormisfortune, or both, who fled before them like deer among the passes ofthe hills, and, like deer at bay, often fought like demons to the death;with border watchings, and protection and care and vigilance of theIndians; with hurried marches at sunrise, the thermometer at fiftydegrees below zero often in winter, and open camps beneath the stars, and no camp at all, as often as not, winter and summer; with roughbarrack fun and parade and drill and guard of prisoners; and withchances now and then to pay homage to a woman's face, the Mounted Forcegrew full of the Spirit of the West and became brown, valiant, andhardy, with wind and weather. Perhaps some of them longed to touch, oftener than they did, the hands of children, and to consider more thefaces of women, --for hearts are hearts even under a belted coat ofred on the Fiftieth Parallel, --but men of nerve do not blazon theirfeelings. 

No one would have accused Sergeant Fones of having a heart. Men of keendiscernment would have seen in him the little Bismarck of the MountedPolice. His name carried farther on the Cypress Hills Patrol than anyother; and yet his officers could never say that he exceeded his dutyor enlarged upon the orders he received. He had no sympathy with crime. Others of the force might wink at it; but his mind appeared to sitseverely upright upon the cold platform of Penalty, in beholdingbreaches of the statutes. He would not have rained upon the unjust asthe just if he had had the directing of the heavens. As Private Gellatlyput it: "Sergeant Fones has the fear o' God in his heart, and the law ofthe land across his saddle, and the newest breech-loading at that!"He was part of the great machine of Order, the servant of Justice, thesentinel in the vestibule of Martial Law. His interpretation of dutyworked upward as downward. Officers and privates were acted on by theforce known as Sergeant Fones. Some people, like Old Brown Windsor, spoke hardly and openly of this force. There were three people who neverdid--Pretty Pierre, Young Aleck, and Mab Humphrey. Pierre hated him;Young Aleck admired in him a quality lying dormant in himself--decision;Mab Humphrey spoke unkindly of no one. Besides--but no!

What was Sergeant Fones's country? No one knew. Where had he come from?No one asked him more than once. He could talk French with Pierre, --akind of French that sometimes made the undertone of red in theFrenchman's cheeks darker. He had been heard to speak German to a Germanprisoner, and once, when a gang of Italians were making trouble on aline of railway under construction, he arrested the leader, and, ina few swift, sharp words in the language of the rioters, settled thebusiness. He had no accent that betrayed his nationality. 

He had been recommended for a commission. The officer in command hadhinted that the Sergeant might get a Christmas present. The officerhad further said: "And if it was something that both you and thePatrol would be the better for, you couldn't object, Sergeant. " But theSergeant only saluted, looking steadily into the eyes of the officer. That was his reply. Private Gellatly, standing without, heard SergeantFones say, as he passed into the open air, and slowly bared his foreheadto the winter sun:

"Exactly. "

And Private Gellatly cried, with revolt in his voice, "Divils me own, the word that a't to have been full o' joy was like the clip of arifle-breech. "

Justice in a new country is administered with promptitude and vigour, or else not administered at all. Where an officer of the MountedPolice-Soldiery has all the powers of a magistrate, the law's delay andthe insolence of office have little space in which to work. One ofthe commonest slips of virtue in the Canadian West was selling whiskycontrary to the law of prohibition which prevailed. Whisky runners wereland smugglers. Old Brown Windsor had, somehow, got the reputationof being connected with the whisky runners; not a very respectablebusiness, and thought to be dangerous. Whisky runners were inclinedto resent intrusion on their privacy with a touch of that bitinginhospitableness which a moonlighter of Kentucky uses toward aninquisitive, unsympathetic marshal. On the Cypress Hills Patrol, however, the erring servants of Bacchus were having a hard time ofit. Vigilance never slept there in the days of which these lines bearrecord. Old Brown Windsor had, in words, freely espoused the cause ofthe sinful. To the careless spectator it seemed a charitable siding withthe suffering; a proof that the old man's heart was not so cold as hishands. Sergeant Fones thought differently, and his mission had justbeen to warn the store-keeper that there was menacing evidence gatheringagainst him, and that his friendship with Golden Feather, the IndianChief, had better cease at once. Sergeant Fones had a way of puttingthings. Old Brown Windsor endeavoured for a moment to be sarcastic. Thiswas the brief dialogue in the domain of sarcasm:

"I s'pose you just lit round in a friendly sort of way, hopin' that I'dkenoodle with you later. "

"Exactly. "

There was an unpleasant click to the word. The old man's hands gotcolder. He had nothing more to say. 

Before leaving, the Sergeant said something quietly and quickly to YoungAleck. Pierre observed, but could not hear. Young Aleck was uneasy;Pierre was perplexed. The Sergeant turned at the door, and said inFrench: "What are your chances for a Merry Christmas at Pardon's Drive, Pretty Pierre?" Pierre answered nothing. He shrugged his shoulders, andas the door closed, muttered, "Il est le diable. " And he meant it. Whatshould Sergeant Fones know of that intended meeting at Pardon's Drive onChristmas Day? And if he knew, what then? It was not against the law toplay euchre. Still it perplexed Pierre. Before the Windsors, father andson, however, he was, as we have seen, playfully cool. 

After quitting Old Brown Windsor's store, Sergeant Fones urged his stoutbroncho to a quicker pace than usual. The broncho was, like himself, wasteful of neither action nor affection. The Sergeant had caught himwild and independent, had brought him in, broken him, and taught himobedience. They understood each other; perhaps they loved each other. But about that even Private Gellatly had views in common with thegeneral sentiment as to the character of Sergeant Fones. The privateremarked once on this point "Sarpints alive! the heels of the one andthe law of the other is the love of them. They'll weather together likethe Divil and Death. "

The Sergeant was brooding; that was not like him. He was hesitating;that was less like him. He turned his broncho round as if to cross theBig Divide and to go back to Windsor's store; but he changed his mindagain, and rode on toward David Humphrey's ranch. He sat as if he hadbeen born in the saddle. His was a face for the artist, strong andclear, and having a dominant expression of force. The eyes were deepsetand watchful. A kind of disdain might be traced in the curve of theshort upper lip, to which the moustache was clipped close--a good fit, like his coat. The disdain was more marked this morning. 

The first part of his ride had been seen by Young Aleck, the second partby Mab Humphrey. Her first thought on seeing him was one of apprehensionfor Young Aleck and those of Young Aleck's name. She knew that peoplespoke of her lover as a ne'er-do-weel; and that they associated hisname freely with that of Pretty Pierre and his gang. She had a dread ofPierre, and, only the night before, she had determined to make one lastgreat effort to save Aleck, and if he would not be saved--strange that, thinking it all over again, as she watched the figure on horsebackcoming nearer, her mind should swerve to what she had heard of SergeantFones's expected promotion. Then she fell to wondering if anyone hadever given him a real Christmas present; if he had any friends at all;if life meant anything more to him than carrying the law of the landacross his saddle. Again he suddenly came to her in a new thought, free from apprehension, and as the champion of her cause to defeat thehalf-breed and his gang, and save Aleck from present danger or futureperils. 

She was such a woman as prairies nurture; in spirit broad andthoughtful and full of energy; not so deep as the mountain woman, not soimaginative, but with more persistency, more daring. Youth to her wasa warmth, a glory. She hated excess and lawlessness, but she couldunderstand it. She felt sometimes as if she must go far away into theunpeopled spaces, and shriek out her soul to the stars from the fulnessof too much life. She supposed men had feelings of that kind too, butthat they fell to playing cards and drinking instead of crying to thestars. Still, she preferred her way. 

Once, Sergeant Fones, on leaving the house, said grimly after hisfashion: "Not Mab but Ariadne--excuse a soldier's bluntness. .. .. Good-bye!" and with a brusque salute he had ridden away. What he meantshe did not know and could not ask. The thought instantly came to hermind: Not Sergeant Fones; but who? She wondered if Ariadne was born onthe prairie. What knew she of the girl who helped Theseus, her lover, toslay the Minotaur? What guessed she of the Slopes of Naxos? How old wasAriadne? Twenty? For that was Mab's age. Was Ariadne beautiful? She ranher fingers loosely through her short brown hair, waving softlyabout her Greek-shaped head, and reasoned that Ariadne must have beenpresentable, or Sergeant Fones would not have made the comparison. Shehoped Ariadne could ride well, for she could. 

But how white the world looked this morning, and how proud and brilliantthe sky! Nothing in the plane of vision but waves of snow stretching tothe Cypress Hills; far to the left a solitary house, with its tinroof flashing back the sun, and to the right the Big Divide. It was anold-fashioned winter, not one in which bare ground and sharp winds makelife outdoors inhospitable. Snow is hospitable-clean, impacted snow;restful and silent. But there was one spot in the area of white, onwhich Mab's eyes were fixed now, with something different in them fromwhat had been there. Again it was a memory with which Sergeant Fones wasassociated. One day in the summer just past she had watched him and hiscompany put away to rest under the cool sod, where many another lay insilent company, a prairie wanderer, some outcast from a better life goneby. Afterwards, in her home, she saw the Sergeant stand at the window, looking out towards the spot where the waves in the sea of grass weremore regular and greener than elsewhere, and were surmounted by a highcross. She said to him--for she of all was never shy of his stern ways:

"Why is the grass always greenest there, Sergeant Fones?"

He knew what she meant, and slowly said: "It is the Barracks of theFree. "

She had no views of life save those of duty and work and natural joy andloving a ne'er-do-weel, and she said: "I do not understand that. "

And the Sergeant replied: "'Free among the Dead like unto them that arewounded and lie in the grave, who are out of remembrance. '"

But Mab said again: "I do not understand that either. "

The Sergeant did not at once reply. He stepped to the door and gavea short command to some one without, and in a moment his company wasmounted in line; handsome, dashing fellows; one the son of an Englishnobleman, one the brother of an eminent Canadian politician, one relatedto a celebrated English dramatist. He ran his eye along the line, thenturned to Mab, raised his cap with machine-like precision, and said:"No, I suppose you do not understand that. Keep Aleck Windsor fromPretty Pierre and his gang. Good-bye. "

Then he mounted and rode away. Every other man in the company lookedback to where the girl stood in the doorway; he did not. PrivateGellatly said, with a shake of the head, as she was lost to view:"Devils bestir me, what a widdy she'll make!" It was understood thatAleck Windsor and Mab Humphrey were to be married on the coming NewYear's Day. What connection was there between the words of SergeantFones and those of Private Gellatly? None, perhaps. 

Mab thought upon that day as she looked out, this December morning, and saw Sergeant Fones dismounting at the door. David Humphrey, who wasoutside, offered to put up the Sergeant's horse; but he said: "No, ifyou'll hold him just a moment, Mr. Humphrey, I'll ask for a drink ofsomething warm, and move on. Miss Humphrey is inside, I suppose?"

"She'll give you a drink of the best to be had on your patrol, Sergeant, " was the laughing reply. "Thanks for that, but tea or coffeeis good enough for me, " said the Sergeant. Entering, the coffee was soonin the hand of the hardy soldier. Once he paused in his drinking andscanned Mab's face closely. Most people would have said the Sergeant hadan affair of the law in hand, and was searching the face of a criminal;but most people are not good at interpretation. Mab was speaking to thechore-girl at the same time and did not see the look. If she could havedefined her thoughts when she, in turn, glanced into the Sergeant'sface, a moment afterwards, she would have said, "Austerity fills thisman. Isolation marks him for its own. " In the eyes were only purpose, decision, and command. Was that the look that had been fixed upon herface a moment ago? It must have been. His features had not changed abreath. Mab began their talk. 

"They say you are to get a Christmas present of promotion, SergeantFones. "

"I have not seen it gazetted, " he answered enigmatically. 

"You and your friends will be glad of it. "

"I like the service. "

"You will have more freedom with a commission. " He made no reply, butrose and walked to the window, and looked out across the snow, drawingon his gauntlets as he did so. 

She saw that he was looking where the grass in summer was the greenest!

He turned and said:

"I am going to barracks now. I suppose Young Aleck will be in quartershere on Christmas Day, Miss Mab?"

"I think so, " and she blushed. 

"Did he say he would be here?"

"Yes. "

"Exactly. "

He looked toward the coffee. Then: "Thank you. .. .. Good-bye. "

"Sergeant?"

"Miss Humphrey!"

"Will you not come to us on Christmas Day?"

His eyelids closed swiftly and opened again. "I shall be on duty. "

"And promoted?"

"Perhaps. "

"And merry and happy?"--she smiled to herself to think of Sergeant Fonesbeing merry and happy. 

"Exactly. "

The word suited him. 

He paused a moment with his fingers on the latch, and turned round as ifto speak; pulled off his gauntlet, and then as quickly put it on again. Had he meant to offer his hand in good-bye? He had never been seen totake the hand of anyone except with the might of the law visible insteel. 

He opened the door with the right hand, but turned round as he steppedout, so that the left held it while he faced the warmth of the room andthe face of the girl. The door closed. 

Mounted, and having said good-bye to Mr. Humphrey, he turned towards thehouse, raised his cap with soldierly brusqueness, and rode away in thedirection of the barracks. 

The girl did not watch him. She was thinking of Young Aleck, and ofChristmas Day, now near. The Sergeant did not look back. 

Meantime the party at Windsor's store was broken up. Pretty Pierre andYoung Aleck had talked together, and the old man had heard his son say:"Remember, Pierre, it is for the last time. " Then they talked after thisfashion:

"Ah, I know, 'mon ami;' for the last time! 'Eh, bien, ' you will spendChristmas Day with us too--no? You surely will not leave us on the dayof good fortune? Where better can you take your pleasure for the lasttime? One day is not enough for farewell. Two, three; that is the magicnumber. You will, eh? no? Well, well, you will come to-morrow--and--eh, 'mon ami, ' where do you go the next day? Oh, 'pardon, ' I forgot, youspend the Christmas Day--I know. And the day of the New Year? Ah, YoungAleck, that is what they say--the devil for the devil's luck. So. "

"Stop that, Pierre. " There was fierceness in the tone. "I spend theChristmas Day where you don't, and as I like, and the rest doesn'tconcern you. I drink with you, I play with you--'bien!' As you sayyourself, 'bien, ' isn't that enough?"

"'Pardon!' We will not quarrel. No; we spend not the Christmas Day afterthe same fashion, quite. Then, to-morrow at Pardon's Drive! Adieu!"

Pretty Pierre went out of one door, a malediction between his whiteteeth, and Aleck went out of another door with a malediction upon hisgloomy lips. But both maledictions were levelled at the same person. Poor Aleck. 

"Poor Aleck!" That is the way we sometimes think of a good nature goneawry; one that has learned to say cruel maledictions to itself, andagainst which demons hurl their deadly maledictions too. Alas, for thene'er-do-weel!

That night a stalwart figure passed from David Humphrey's door, carryingwith him the warm atmosphere of a good woman's love. The chilly outerair of the world seemed not to touch him, Love's curtains were drawnso close. Had one stood within "the Hunter's Room, " as it was called, a little while before, one would have seen a man's head bowed before awoman, and her hand smoothing back the hair from the handsome brow wheredissipation had drawn some deep lines. Presently the hand raised thehead until the eyes of the woman looked full into the eyes of the man. 

"You will not go to Pardon's Drive again, will you, Aleck?"

"Never again after Christmas Day, Mab. But I must go to-morrow. I havegiven my word. "

"I know. To meet Pretty Pierre and all the rest, and for what? Oh, Aleck, isn't the suspicion about your father enough, but you must putthis on me as well?"

"My father must suffer for his wrong-doing if he does wrong, and I formine. "

There was a moment's silence. He bowed his head again. 

"And I have done wrong to us both. Forgive me, Mab. "

She leaned over and caressed his hair. "I forgive you, Aleck. "

A thousand new thoughts were thrilling through him. Yet this man hadgiven his word to do that for which he must ask forgiveness of the womanhe loved. But to Pretty Pierre, forgiven or unforgiven, he would keephis word. She understood it better than most of those who read thisbrief record can. Every sphere has its code of honour and duty peculiarto itself. 

"You will come to me on Christmas morning, Aleck?"

"I will come on Christmas morning. "

"And no more after that of Pretty Pierre?"

"And no more of Pretty Pierre. "

She trusted him; but neither could reckon with unknown forces. 

Sergeant Fones, sitting in the barracks in talk with Private Gellatly, said at that moment in a swift silence, "Exactly. "

Pretty Pierre, at Pardon's Drive, drinking a glass of brandy at thatmoment, said to the ceiling:

"No more of Pretty Pierre after to-morrow night, monsieur! Bien! If itis for the last time, then it is for the last time. So. .. . So. "

He smiled. His teeth were amazingly white. 

The stalwart figure strode on under the stars, the white night a lensfor visions of days of rejoicing to come. All evil was far from him. Thedolorous tide rolled back in this hour from his life, and he revelled inthe light of a new day. 

"When I've played my last card to-morrow night with Pretty Pierre, I'llbegin the world again, " he whispered. 

And Sergeant Fones in the barracks said just then, in response to afurther remark of Private Gellatly, --"Exactly. "

Young Aleck fell to singing:

 "Out from your vineland come Into the prairies wild; Here will we make our home, Father, mother, and child; Come, my love, to our home, Father, mother, and child, Father, mother, and--"

He fell to thinking again--"and child--and child, "--it was in his earsand in his heart. 

But Pretty Pierre was singing softly to himself in the room at Pardon'sDrive:

 "Three good friends with the wine at night Vive la compagnie! Two good friends when the sun grows bright Vive la compagnie! Vive la, vive la, vive l'amour! Vive la, vive la, vive l'amour! Three good friends, two good friends Vive la compagnie!"

What did it mean?

Private Gellatly was cousin to Idaho Jack, and Idaho Jack dislikedPretty Pierre, though he had been one of the gang. The cousins had seeneach other lately, and Private Gellatly had had a talk with the man whowas ha'sh. It may be that others besides Pierre had an idea of what itmeant. 

In the house at Pardon's Drive the next night sat eight men, of whomthree were Pretty Pierre, Young Aleck, and Idaho Jack. Young Aleck'sface was flushed with bad liquor and the worse excitement of play. Thiswas one of the unreckoned forces. Was this the man that sang the tendersong under the stars last night? Pretty Pierre's face was less prettythan usual; the cheeks were pallid, the eyes were hard and cold. Once helooked at his partner as if to say, "Not yet. " Idaho Jack saw the look;he glanced at his watch; it was eleven o'clock. At that moment the dooropened, and Sergeant Fones entered. All started to their feet, most withcurses on their lips; but Sergeant Fones never seemed to hear anythingthat could make a feature of his face alter. Pierre's hand was on hiship, as if feeling for something. Sergeant Fones saw that; but he walkedto where Aleck stood, with his unplayed cards still in his hand, and, laying a hand on his shoulder, said, "Come with me. "

"Why should I go with you?"--this with a drunken man's bravado. 

"You are my prisoner. "

Pierre stepped forward. "What is his crime?" he exclaimed. 

"How does that concern you, Pretty Pierre?"

"He is my friend. "

"Is he your friend, Aleck?"

What was there in the eyes of Sergeant Fones that forced thereply, --"To-night, yes; to-morrow, no. "

"Exactly. It is near to-morrow; come. "

Aleck was led towards the door. Once more Pierre's hand went to his hip;but he was looking at the prisoner, not at the Sergeant. The Sergeantsaw, and his fingers were at his belt. He opened the door. Aleck passedout. He followed. Two horses were tied to a post. With difficulty Aleckwas mounted. Once on the way his brain began slowly to clear, but hegrew painfully cold. It was a bitter night. How bitter it might havebeen for the ne'er-do-weel let the words of Idaho Jack, spoken in a longhour's talk next day with Old Brown Windsor, show. "Pretty Pierre, afterthe two were gone, said, with a shiver of curses, --'Another hour and itwould have been done, and no one to blame. He was ready for trouble. Hismoney was nearly finished. A little quarrel easily made, the door wouldopen, and he would pass out. His horse would be gone, he could not comeback; he would walk. The air is cold, quite, quite cold; and the snow isa soft bed. He would sleep well and sound, having seen Pretty Pierre forthe last time. And now--' The rest was French and furtive. "

From that hour Idaho Jack and Pretty Pierre parted company. 

Riding from Pardon's Drive, Young Aleck noticed at last that they werenot going towards the barracks. He said: "Why do you arrest me?"

The Sergeant replied: "You will know that soon enough. You are nowgoing to your own home. Tomorrow you will keep your word and go to DavidHumphrey's place; the next day I will come for you. Which do you choose:to ride with me to-night to the barracks and know why you are arrested, or go, unknowing, as I bid you, and keep your word with the girl?"

Through Aleck's fevered brain, there ran the words of the song he sangbefore--

 "Out from your vineland come Into the prairies wild; Here will we make our home, Father, mother, and child. "

He could have but one answer. 

At the door of his home the Sergeant left him with the words, "Rememberyou are on parole. "

Aleck noticed as the Sergeant rode away that the face of the sky hadchanged, and slight gusts of wind had come up. At any other time hismind would have dwelt upon the fact. It did not do so now. 

Christmas Day came. People said that the fiercest night, since theblizzard day of 1863, had been passed. But the morning was clear andbeautiful. The sun came up like a great flower expanding. First theyellow, then the purple, then the red, and then a mighty shield ofroses. The world was a blanket of drift, and down, and glisteningsilver. 

Mab Humphrey greeted her lover with such a smile as only springs to athankful woman's lips. He had given his word and had kept it; and thepath of the future seemed surer. 

He was a prisoner on parole; still that did not depress him. Plans forcoming days were talked of, and the laughter of many voices filledthe house. The ne'er-do-weel was clothed and in his right mind. In theHunter's Room the noblest trophy was the heart of a repentant prodigal. 

In the barracks that morning a gazetted notice was posted, announcing, with such technical language as is the custom, that Sergeant Fones waspromoted to be a lieutenant in the Mounted Police Force of the NorthWest Territory. When the officer in command sent for him he could not befound. But he was found that morning; and when Private Gellatly, with awarm hand, touching the glove of "iron and ice" that, indeed, now said:"Sergeant Fones, you are promoted, God help you!" he gave no sign. Motionless, stern, erect, he sat there upon his horse, beside a stuntedlarch tree. The broncho seemed to understand, for he did not stir, andhad not done so for hours;--they could tell that. The bridle rein wasstill in the frigid fingers, and a smile was upon the face. 

A smile upon the face of Sergeant Fones!

Perhaps he smiled that he was going to the Barracks of the Free--

"Free among the Dead like unto them that are wounded and lie in thegrave, that are out of remembrance. "

In the wild night he had lost his way, though but a few miles from thebarracks. 

He had done his duty rigidly in that sphere of life where he had livedso much alone among his many comrades. Had he exceeded his duty once inarresting Young Aleck?

When, the next day, Sergeant Fones lay in the barracks, over him theflag for which he had sworn to do honest service, and his promotionpapers in his quiet hand, the two who loved each other stood beside himfor many a throbbing minute. And one said to herself, silently: "I feltsometimes"--but no more words did she say even to herself. 

Old Aleck came in, and walked to where the Sergeant slept, wrapped closein that white frosted coverlet which man wears but once. He stood for amoment silent, his fingers numbly clasped. 

Private Gellatly spoke softly: "Angels betide me, it's little we knewthe great of him till he wint away; the pride, and the law--and the loveof him. "

In the tragedy that faced them this Christmas morning one at least hadseen "the love of him. " Perhaps the broncho had known it before. 

Old Aleck laid a palm upon the hand he had never touched when it hadlife. "He's--too--ha'sh, " he said slowly. 

Private Gellatly looked up wonderingly. But the old man's eyes were wet. 

GOD'S GARRISON

Twenty years ago there was trouble at Fort o' God. "Out of this place weget betwixt the suns, " said Gyng the Factor. "No help that falls abafttomorrow could save us. Food dwindles, and ammunition's nearly gone, andthey'll have the cold steel in our scalp-locks if we stay. We'll creepalong the Devil's Causeway, then through the Red Horn Woods, and soacross the plains to Rupert House. Whip in the dogs, Baptiste, and beready all of you at midnight. "

"And Grah the Idiot--what of him"? asked Pretty Pierre. 

"He'll have to take his chance. If he can travel with us, so much thebetter for him"; and the Factor shrugged his shoulders. 

"If not, so much the worse, eh"? returned Pretty Pierre. 

"Work the sum out to suit yourself. We've got our necks to save. God'llhave to help the Idiot if we can't. "

"You hear, Grah Hamon, Idiot, " said Pierre an hour afterwards, "we'regoing to leave Fort o' God and make for Rupert House. You've a draggingleg, you're gone in the savvy, you have to balance yourself with yourhands as you waddle along, and you slobber when you talk; but you've gotto cut away with us quick across the Beaver Plains, and Christ'll haveto help you if we can't. That's what the Factor says, and that's how thecase stands, Idiot--'bien?'"

"Grah want pipe--bubble--bubble--wind blow, " muttered the daft one. 

Pretty Pierre bent over and said slowly: "If you stay here, Grah, theIndian get your scalp; if you go, the snow is deep and the frost is likea badger's tooth, and you can't be carried. "

"Oh, Oh!--my mother dead--poor Annie--by God, Grah want pipe--poor Grahsleep in snow-bubble, bubble--Oh, Oh!--the long wind, fly away. "

Pretty Pierre watched the great head of the Idiot as it swung heavily onhis shoulders, and then said: "'Mais, ' like that, so!" and turned away. 

When the party were about to sally forth on their perilous path tosafety, Gyng stood and cried angrily: "Well, why hasn't some one bundledup that moth-eaten Caliban? Curse it all, must I do everything myself?"

"But you see, " said Pierre, "the Caliban stays at Fort o' God. "

"You've got a Christian heart in you, so help me, Heaven!" repliedthe other. "No, sir, we give him a chance, --and his Maker too for thatmatter, to show what He's willing to do for His misfits. "

Pretty Pierre rejoined, "Well, I have thought. The game is all againstGrah if he go; but there are two who stay at Fort o' God. "

And that is how, when the Factor and his half-breeds and trappers stoleaway in silence towards the Devil's Causeway, Pierre and the Idiotremained behind. And that is why the flag of the H. B. C. Still flewabove Fort o' God in the New Year's sun just twenty years ago to-day. 

The Hudson's Bay Company had never done a worse day's work than whenthey promoted Gyng to be chief factor. He loathed the heathen and heshowed his loathing. He had a heart harder than iron, a speech thatbruised worse than the hoof of an angry moose. And when at last he droveaway a band of wandering Sioux, foodless, from the stores, siege andambush took the place of prayer, and a nasty portion fell to Fort o'God. For the Indians found a great cache of buffalo meat, and, havingsent the women and children south with the old men, gave constant andbiting assurances to Gyng that the heathen hath his hour, even though hebe a dog which is refused those scraps from the white man's table whichgive life in the hour of need. Besides all else, there was in the Fortthe thing which the gods made last to humble the pride of men--there wasrum. 

And the morning after Gyng and his men had departed, because it wasa day when frost was master of the sun, and men grew wild for action, since to stand still was to face indignant Death, they, who campedwithout, prepared to make a sally upon the wooden gates. Pierre sawtheir intent, and hid in the ground some pemmican and all the scantyrum. Then he looked at his powder and shot, and saw that there waslittle left. If he spent it on the besiegers, how should they fare forbeast and fowl in hungry days? And for his rifle he had but a braceof bullets. He rolled these in his hand, looking upon them with a grimsmile. And the Idiot, seeing, rose and sidled towards him, and said:"Poor Grah want pipe--bubble--bubble. " Then a light of childish cunningcame into his eyes, and he touched the bullets blunderingly, andcontinued: "Plenty, plenty b'longs Grah--give poor Grah pipe--plenty, plenty, give you these. "

And Pretty Pierre after a moment replied: "So that's it, Grah?--you'vegot bullets stowed away? Well, I must have them. It's a one-sided gamein which you get the tricks; but here's the pipe, Idiot--my only pipefor your dribbling mouth--my last good comrade. Now show me the bullets. Take me to them, daft one, quick. "

A little later the Idiot sat inside the store, wrapped in loose furs, and blowing bubbles; while Pretty Pierre, with many handfuls of bulletsby him, waited for the attack. 

"Eh, " he said, as he watched from a loophole, "Gyng and the others havegot safely past the Causeway, and the rest is possible. Well, it hurtsan idiot as much to die, perhaps, as a half-breed or a factor. It isgood to stay here. If we fight, and go out swift like Grah's bubbles, itis the game. If we starve and sleep as did Grah's mother, then it alsois the game. It is great to have all the chances against and then towin. We shall see. "

With a sharp relish in his eye he watched the enemy coming slowlyforward. Yet he talked almost idly to himself: "I have a thought of solong ago. A woman--she was a mother, and it was on the Madawaska River, and she said: 'Sometimes I think a devil was your father, an angelsometimes. You were begot in an hour between a fighting and a mass:between blood and heaven. And when you were born you made no cry. Theysaid that was a sign of evil. You refused the breast, and drank only ofthe milk of wild cattle. In baptism you flung your hand before your facethat the water might not touch, nor the priest's finger make a crossupon the water. And they said it were better if you had been born anidiot than with an evil spirit; and that your hand would be against theloins that bore you. But Pierre, ah Pierre, you love your mother, do younot?'" . .. And he standing now, his eye closed with the gate-chink infront of Fort o' God, said quietly: "She was of the race that hatedthese--my mother; and she died of a wound they gave her at the TeteBlanche Hill. Well, for that you die now, Yellow Arm, if this gun has abullet cold enough. "

A bullet pinged through the sharp air, as the Indians swarmed towardsthe gate, and Yellow Arm, the chief, fell. The besiegers paused; andthen, as if at the command of the fallen man, they drew back, bearinghim to the camp, where they sat down and mourned. 

Pierre watched them for a time; and, seeing that they made no furthermove, retired into the store, where the Idiot muttered and was happyafter his kind. "Grah got pipe--blow away--blow away to Annie--prettysoon. "

"Yes, Grah, there's chance enough that you'll blow away to Annie prettysoon, " remarked the other. 

"Grah have white eagles--fly, fly on the wind--oh, oh, bubble, bubble!"and he sent the filmy globes floating from the pipe that a camp ofriver-drivers had given the half-breed winters before. 

Pierre stood and looked at the wandering eyes, behind which were thetorturings of an immense and confused intelligence; a life that felldeformed before the weight of too much brain, so that all tottered fromthe womb into the gutters of foolishness, and the tongue mumbled ofchaos when it should have told marvellous things. And the half-breed, the thought of this coming upon him, said: "Well, I think the matters ofhell have fallen across the things of heaven, and there is storm. If forone moment he could think clear, it would be great. "

He bethought him of a certain chant, taught him by a medicine man inchildhood, which, sung to the waving of a torch in a place of darkness, caused evil spirits to pass from those possessed, and good spirits toreign in their stead. And he raised the Idiot to his feet, and broughthim, maundering, to a room where no light was. He kneeled before himwith a lighted torch of bear's fat and the tendons of the deer, andwaving it gently to and fro, sang the ancient rune, until the eye ofthe Idiot, following the torch at a tangent as it waved, suddenly becamefixed upon the flame, when it ceased to move. And the words of the chantran through Grah's ears, and pierced to the remote parts of his being;and a sickening trouble came upon his face, and the lips ceased todrip, and were caught up in twinges of pain. .. . The chant rolled on: "Goforth, go forth upon them, thou, the Scarlet Hunter! Drive them forthinto the wilds, drive them crying forth! Enter in, O enter in, and lieupon the couch of peace, the couch of peace within my wigwam, thou thewise one! Behold, I call to thee!"

And Pierre, looking upon the Idiot, saw his face glow, and his eyestream steadily to the light, and he said, "What is it that you see, Grah?--speak!"

All pitifulness and struggle had gone from the Idiot's face, and astrong calm fell upon it, and the voice of a man that God had createdspoke slowly: "There is an end of blood. The great chief Yellow Arm isfallen. He goeth to the plains where his wife will mourn upon his knees, and his children cry, because he that gathered food is gone, and thepots are empty on the fire. And they who follow him shall fight no more. Two shall live through bitter days, and when the leaves shall shine inthe sun again, there shall good things befal. But one shall go upon along journey with the singing birds in the path of the white eagle. Heshall travel, and not cease until he reach the place where fools, andchildren, and they into whom a devil entered through the gates of birth, find the mothers who bore them. But the other goeth at a differenttime--" At this point the light in Pretty Pierre's hand flickered andwent out, and through the darkness there came a voice, the voice of anidiot, that whimpered: "Grah want pipe--Annie, Annie dead. "

The angel of wisdom was gone, and chaos spluttered on the lolling lipsagain; the Idiot sat feeling for the pipe that he had dropped. 

And never again through the days that came and went could Pierre, byany conjuring, or any swaying torch, make the fool into a man again. The devils of confusion were returned forever. But there had been oneglimpse of the god. And it was as the Idiot had said when he saw withthe eyes of that god: no more blood was shed. The garrison of this fortheld it unmolested. The besiegers knew not that two men only stayedwithin the walls; and because the chief begged to be taken south to die, they left the place surrounded by its moats of ice and its trenches offamine; and they came not back. 

But other foes more deadly than the angry heathen came, and they werecalled Hunger and Loneliness. The one destroyeth the body and the otherthe brain. But Grah was not lonely, nor did he hunger. He blew hisbubbles, and muttered of a wind whereon a useless thing--a film ofwater, a butterfly, or a fool--might ride beyond the reach of spirit, or man, or heathen. His flesh remained the same, and grew not less; butthat of Pierre wasted, and his eye grew darker with suffering. For manis only man, and hunger is a cruel thing. To give one's food to feed afool, and to search the silent plains in vain for any living thing tokill, is a matter for angels to do and bear, and not mere mortals. Butthis man had a strength of his own like to his code of living, which washis own and not another's. And at last, when spring leaped gaily forthfrom the grey cloak of winter, and men of the H. B. C. Came to relieveFort o' God, and entered at its gates, a gaunt man, leaning on hisrifle, greeted them standing like a warrior, though his body was likethat of one who had lain in the grave. He answered to the name of Pierrewithout pride, but like a man and not as a sick woman. And huddledon the floor beside him was an idiot fondling a pipe, with a shred ofpemmican at his lips. 

As if in irony of man's sacrifice, the All Hail and the Master of Thingspermitted the fool to fulfil his own prophecy, and die of a suddensickness in the coming-on of summer. But he of God's Garrison thatremained repented not of his deed. Such men have no repentance, neitherof good nor evil. 

A HAZARD OF THE NORTH

Nobody except Gregory Thorne and myself knows the history of the Man andWoman, who lived on the Height of Land, just where Dog Ear River fallsinto Marigold Lake. This portion of the Height of Land is a lonelycountry. The sun marches over it distantly, and the man of the East--thebraggart--calls it outcast; but animals love it; and the shades of thelong-gone trapper and 'voyageur' saunter without mourning through itsfastnesses. When you are in doubt, trust God's dumb creatures--and thehappy dead who whisper pleasant promptings to us, and whose knowledge ismighty. Besides, the Man and Woman lived there, and Gregory Thornesays that they could recover a lost paradise. But Gregory Thorne isan insolent youth. The names of these people were John and AudreyMalbrouck; the Man was known to the makers of backwoods history asCaptain John. Gregory says about that--but no, not yet!--let his firstmeeting with the Man and the Woman be described in his own words, unusual and flippant as they sometimes are; for though he is a graduateof Trinity College, Cambridge, and a brother of a Right Honourable, hehas conceived it his duty to emancipate himself in the matter of stylein language; and he has succeeded. 

"It was autumn, " he said, "all colours; beautiful and nippy on theHeight of Land; wild ducks, the which no man could number, and bear'smeat abroad in the world. I was alone. I had hunted all day, leaving mymark now and then as I journeyed, with a cache of slaughter here, and ablazed hickory there. I was hungry as a circus tiger--did you ever eatslippery elm bark?--yes, I was as bad as that. I guessed from what I hadbeen told, that the Malbrouck show must be hereaway somewhere. I smelledthe lake miles off--oh, you could too if you were half the animal I am;I followed my nose and the slippery-elm between my teeth, and came at adouble-quick suddenly on the fair domain. There the two sat in front ofthe house like turtle-doves, and as silent as a middy after his firstkiss. Much as I ached to get my tooth into something filling, I wishedthat I had 'em under my pencil, with that royal sun making a rainbow ofthe lake, the woods all scarlet and gold, and that mist of purple--eh, you've seen it?--and they sitting there monarchs of it all, like thatduffer of a king who had operas played for his solitary benefit. ButI hadn't a pencil and I had a hunger, and I said 'How!' like anyother Injin--insolent, wasn't it? Then the Man rose, and he said I waswelcome, and she smiled an approving but not very immediate smile, andshe kept her seat, --she kept her seat, my boy, --and that was the firstthing that set me thinking. She didn't seem to be conscious that therewas before her one of the latest representatives from Belgravia, notshe! But when I took an honest look at her face, I understood. I'm gladthat I had my hat in my hand, polite as any Frenchman on the thresholdof a blanchisserie: for I learned very soon that the Woman had been inBelgravia too, and knew far more than I did about what was what. Whenshe did rise to array the supper table, it struck me that if JosephineBeauharnais had been like her, she might have kept her hold on Napoleon, and saved his fortunes; made Europe France; and France the world. Icould not understand it. Jimmy Haldane had said to me when I was askingfor Malbrouck's place on the compass, --'Don't put on any side with them, my Greg, or you'll take a day off for penitence. ' They were both talland good to look at, even if he was a bit rugged, with neck all wire andmuscle, and had big knuckles. But she had hands like those in a pictureof Velasquez, with a warm whiteness and educated--that's it, educatedhands. 

"She wasn't young, but she seemed so. Her eyes looked up and out at youearnestly, yet not inquisitively, and more occupied with something inher mind, than with what was before her. In short, she was a lady; notone by virtue of a visit to the gods that rule o'er Buckingham Palace, but by the claims of good breeding and long descent. She puzzled me, eluded me--she reminded me of someone; but who? Someone I liked, becauseI felt a thrill of admiration whenever I looked at her--but it was nouse, I couldn't remember. I soon found myself talking to her accordingto St. James--the palace, you know--and at once I entered a bet with mybeloved aunt, the dowager--who never refuses to take my offer, thoughshe seldom wins, and she's ten thousand miles away, and has to take myword for it--that I should find out the history of this Man and Womanbefore another Christmas morning, which wasn't more than two months off. You know whether or not I won it, my son. "

I had frequently hinted to Gregory that I was old enough to be hisfather, and that in calling me his son, his language was misplaced; andI repeated it at that moment. He nodded good-humouredly, and continued:

"I was born insolent, my s--my ancestor. Well, after I had cleared aspace at the supper table, and had, with permission, lighted my pipe, I began to talk. .. Oh yes, I did give them a chance occasionally; don'tinterrupt. .. . I gossiped about England, France, the universe. From thebrief comments they made I saw they knew all about it, and understood mysocial argot, all but a few words--is there anything peculiar about anyof my words? After having exhausted Europe and Asia I discussedAmerica; talked about Quebec, the folklore of the French Canadians, the'voyageurs' from old Maisonneuve down. All the history I knew I rallied, and was suddenly bowled out. For Malbrouck followed my trail from thetime I began to talk, and in ten minutes he had proved me to be a babyin knowledge, an emaciated baby; he eliminated me from the equation. Hefirst tripped me on the training of naval cadets; then on the Crimea;then on the taking of Quebec; then on the Franco-Prussian War; then, with a sudden round-up, on India. I had been trusting to vague outlinesof history; I felt when he began to talk that I was dealing with a manwho not only knew history, but had lived it. He talked in the fewestbut directest words, and waxed eloquent in a blunt and colossal way. Butseeing his wife's eyes fixed on him intently, he suddenly pulled up, andno more did I get from him on the subject. He stopped so suddenly thatin order to help over the awkwardness, though I'm not really sure therewas any, I began to hum a song to myself. Now, upon my soul, I didn'tthink what I was humming; it was some subterranean association ofthings, I suppose--but that doesn't matter here. I only state it toclear myself of any unnecessary insolence. These were the words I wasmaundering with this noble voice of mine:

 "'The news I bring, fair Lady, Will make your tears run down

 Put off your rose-red dress so fine And doff your satin gown!

 Monsieur Malbrouck is dead, alas! And buried, too, for aye;

 I saw four officers who bore His mighty corse away. . .. .. .. .. .. .. We saw above the laurels, His soul fly forth amain. 

 And each one fell upon his face And then rose up again. 

 And so we sang the glories, For which great Malbrouck bled; Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine, Great Malbrouck, he is dead. '

"I felt the silence grow peculiar, uncomfortable. I looked up. Mrs. Malbrouck was rising to her feet with a look in her face that would makeangels sorry--a startled, sorrowful thing that comes from a sleepingpain. What an ass I was! Why, the Man's name was Malbrouck; her name wasMalbrouck--awful insolence! But surely there was something in the storyof the song itself that had moved her. As I afterward knew, that was it. Malbrouck sat still and unmoved, though I thought I saw something sternand masterful in his face as he turned to me; but again instantlyhis eyes were bent on his wife with a comforting and affectionateexpression. She disappeared into the house. Hoping to make it appearthat I hadn't noticed anything, I dropped my voice a little and went on, intending, however, to stop at the end of the verse:

 "'Malbrouck has gone a-fighting, Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine!'

"I ended there; because Malbrouck's heavy hand was laid on my shoulder, and he said: 'If you please, not that song. '

"I suspect I acted like an idiot. I stammered out apologies, went downon my litanies, figuratively speaking, and was all the same confidentthat my excuses were making bad infernally worse. But somehow the oldchap had taken a liking to me. --No, of course you couldn't understandthat. Not that he was so old, you know; but he had the way of retiredroyalty about him, as if he had lived life up to the hilt, and was allpulse and granite. Then he began to talk in his quiet way about huntingand fishing; about stalking in the Highlands and tiger-hunting in India;and wound up with some wonderful stuff about moose-hunting, the sport ofCanada. This made me itch like sin, just to get my fingers on a trigger, with a full moose-yard in view. I can feel it now--the bound in theblood as I caught at Malbrouck's arm and said: 'By George, I must killmoose; that's sport for Vikings, and I was meant to be a Viking--ora gladiator. ' Malbrouck at once replied that he would give me somemoose-hunting in December if I would come up to Marigold Lake. Icouldn't exactly reply on the instant, because, you see, there wasn'tmuch chance for board and lodging thereabouts, unless--but he went onto say that I should make his house my 'public, 'perhaps he didn't sayit quite in those terms, that he and his wife would be glad to have me. With a couple of Indians we could go north-west, where the moose-yardswere, and have some sport both exciting and prodigious. Well, I'm amuff, I know, but I didn't refuse that. Besides, I began to see the safeside of the bet I had made with my aunt, the dowager, and I was morethan pleased with what had come to pass so far. Lucky for you, too, youyarn-spinner, that the thing did develop so, or you wouldn't be gettingfame and shekels out of the results of my story. 

"Well, I got one thing out of the night's experience; and it was thatthe Malbroucks were no plebs. , that they had had their day where platesare blue and gold and the spoons are solid coin. But what had sent themup here among the moose, the Indians, and the conies--whatever THEY are?How should I get at it? Insolence, you say? Yes, that. I should comeup here in December, and I should mulct my aunt in the price of a newbreech-loader. But I found out nothing the next morning, and I left witha paternal benediction from Malbrouck, and a smile from his wife thatsent my blood tingling as it hadn't tingled since a certain season inLondon, which began with my tuneful lyre sounding hopeful numbers andended with it hanging on the willows. 

"When I thought it all over, as I trudged back on yesterday's track, I concluded that I had told them all my history from my youth up untilnow, and had got nothing from them in return. I had exhausted my familyrecords, bit by bit, like a curate in his first parish; and had goneso far as to testify that one of my ancestors had been banished toAustralia for political crimes. Distinctly they had me at an advantage, though, to be sure, I had betrayed Mrs. Malbrouck into something morethan a suspicion of emotion. 

"When I got back to my old camp, I could find out nothing from the otherfellows; but Jacques Pontiac told me that his old mate, Pretty Pierre, who in recent days had fallen from grace, knew something of these peoplethat no one else guessed, because he had let them a part of his housein the parish of St. Genevieve in Quebec, years before. Pierre hadtestified to one fact, that a child--a girl--had been born to Mrs. Malbrouck in his house, but all further knowledge he had withheld. Pretty Pierre was off in the Rocky Mountains practising hisprofession--chiefly poker--and was not available for information. Whatdid I, Gregory Thorne, want of the information anyway? That's thepoint, my son. Judging from after-developments I suppose it was what thefoolish call occult sympathy. Well, where was that girl-child? JacquesPontiac didn't know. Nobody knew. And I couldn't get rid of Mrs. Malbrouck's face; it haunted me; the broad brow, deep eyes, andhigh-bred sweetness--all beautifully animal. Don't laugh: I findastonishing likenesses between the perfectly human and the perfectlyanimal. Did you never see how beautiful and modest the faces of deerare; how chic and sensitive is the manner of a hound; nor the keen, warmlook in the eye of a well-bred mare? Why, I'd rather be a good horseof blood and temper than half the fellows I know. You are not an animallover as I am; yes, even when I shoot them or fight them I admire them, just as I'd admire a swordsman who, in 'quart, ' would give me death bythe wonderful upper thrust. It's all a battle; all a game of love andslaughter, my son, and both go together. 

"Well, as I say, her face followed me. Watch how the thing developed. Bythe prairie-track I went over to Fort Desire, near the Rockies, almostimmediately after this, to see about buying a ranch with my old chum atTrinity, Polly Cliffshawe--Polydore, you know. Whom should I meet in ahut on the ranch but Jacques's friend, Pretty Pierre. This was luck; buthe was not like Jacques Pontiac, he was secretive as a Buddhist deity. He had a good many of the characteristics that go to a fashionablediplomatist: clever, wicked, cool, and in speech doing the vanishingtrick just when you wanted him. But my star of fortune was with me. Oneday Silverbottle, an Indian, being in a murderous humour, put a bulletin Pretty Pierre's leg, and would have added another, only I stopped itsuddenly. While in his bed he told me what he knew of the Malbroucks. 

"This is the fashion of it. John and Audrey Malbrouck had come to Quebecin the year 1865, and sojourned in the parish of St. Genevieve, in thehouse of the mother of Pretty Pierre. Of an inquiring turn of mind, the French half-breed desired to know concerning the history of theseEnglish people, who, being poor, were yet gentle, and spoke Frenchwith a grace and accent which was to the French-Canadian patois asShakespeare's English is to that of Seven Dials. Pierre's methods ofinquisitiveness were not strictly dishonest. He did not open letters, he did not besiege dispatch-boxes, he did not ask impudent questions; hewatched and listened. In his own way he found out that the man had beena soldier in the ranks, and that he had served in India. They were mostattached to the child, whose name was Marguerite. One day a visitor, alady, came to them. She seemed to be the cause of much unhappinessto Mrs. Malbrouck. And Pierre was alert enough to discover that thisdistinguished-looking person desired to take the child away with her. Tothis the young mother would not consent, and the visitor departed withsome chillingly-polite phrases, part English, part French, beyond theexact comprehension of Pierre, and leaving the father and mother andlittle Marguerite happy. Then, however, these people seemed to becomesuddenly poorer, and Malbrouck began farming in a humble, but notentirely successful way. The energy of the man was prodigious; but hisluck was sardonic. Floods destroyed his first crops, prices ran low, debt accumulated, foreclosure of mortgage occurred, and Malbrouck andthe wife and child went west. 

"Five years later, Pretty Pierre saw them again at Marigold Lake:Malbrouck as agent for the Hudson's Bay Company--still poor, butcontented. It was at this period that the former visitor again appeared, clothed in purple and fine linen, and, strange as it may seem, succeededin carrying off the little child, leaving the father and mother broken, but still devoted to each other. 

"Pretty Pierre closed his narration with these words: ''Bien, ' thatMalbrouck, he is great. I have not much love of men, but he--well, ifhe say, --"See, Pierre, I go to the home of the white bear and the winterthat never ends; perhaps we come back, perhaps we die; but there willbe sport for men--" 'voila!' I would go. To know one strong man in thisworld is good. Perhaps, some time I will go to him--yes, Pierre, thegambler, will go to him, and say: It is good for the wild dog that helive near the lion. And the child, she was beautiful; she had a lightheart and a sweet way. '"

It was with this slight knowledge that Gregory Thorne set out on hisjourney over the great Canadian prairie to Marigold Lake, for hisDecember moose-hunt. 

Gregory has since told me that, as he travelled with Jacques Pontiacacross the Height of Land to his destination, he had uncomfortablefeelings; presentiments, peculiar reflections of the past, andmelancholy--a thing far from habitual with him. Insolence is all verywell, but you cannot apply it to indefinite thoughts; it isn't effectivewith vague presentiments. And when Gregory's insolence was taken awayfrom him, he was very like other mortals; virtue had gone out of him;his brown cheek and frank eye had lost something of their charm. It wasthese unusual broodings that worried him; he waked up suddenly one nightcalling, "Margaret! Margaret!" like any childlike lover. And that didnot please him. He believed in things that, as he said himself, "hecould get between his fingers;" he had little sympathy with morbidsentimentalities. But there was an English Margaret in his life; and he, like many another childlike man, had fallen in love, and with her--verymuch in love indeed; and a star had crossed his love to a degree thatgreatly shocked him and pleased the girl's relatives. She was thegranddaughter of a certain haughty dame of high degree, who regardedicily this poorest of younger sons, and held her darling aloof. Gregory, very like a blunt unreasoning lover, sought to carry the redoubt by wildassault; and was overwhelmingly routed. The young lady, thoughfinding some avowed pleasure in his company, accompanied by brilliantmisunderstanding of his advances and full-front speeches, had nevergiven him enough encouragement to warrant his playing young Lochinvar inPark Lane; and his cup became full when, at the close of the season, shewas whisked off to the seclusion of a country-seat, whose walls to himwere impregnable. His defeat was then, and afterwards, complete. Hepluckily replied to the derision of his relatives with multipliedderision, demanded his inheritance, got his traps together, bought a furcoat, and straightway sailed the wintry seas to Canada. 

His experiences had not soured his temper. He believed that every doghas his day, and that Fate was very malicious; that it brought down theproud, and rewarded the patient; that it took up its abode in marblehalls, and was the mocker at the feast. All this had reference, ofcourse, to the time when he should--rich as any nabob--return to London, and be victorious over his enemy in Park Lane. It was singular that hebelieved this thing would occur; but he did. He had not yet made hisfortune, but he had been successful in the game of buying and sellinglands, and luck seemed to dog his path. He was fearless, and he had akeen eye for all the points of every game--every game but love. 

Yet he was born to succeed in that game too. For though his theory was, that everything should be treated with impertinence before you couldget a proper view of it, he was markedly respectful to people. Fewcould resist him; his impudence of ideas was so pleasantly mixed withdelicately suggested admiration of those to whom he talked. It wasimpossible that John Malbrouck and his wife could have received himother than they did; his was the eloquent, conquering spirit. 

II. 

By the time he reached Lake Marigold he had shaken off all thosehovering fancies of the woods, which, after all, might only have beenthe whisperings of those friendly and far-seeing spirits who likedthe lad as he journeyed through their lonely pleasure-grounds. JohnMalbrouck greeted him with quiet cordiality, and Mrs. Malbrouck smiledupon him with a different smile from that with which she had speeded hima month before; there was in it a new light of knowledge, and Gregorycould not understand it. It struck him as singular that the lady shouldbe dressed in finer garments than she wore when he last saw her; thoughcertainly her purple became her. She wore it as if born to it; and withan air more sedately courteous than he had ever seen, save at one housein Park Lane. Had this rustle of fine trappings been made for him? No;the woman had a mind above such snobbishness, he thought. He sufferedfor a moment the pang of a cynical idea; but the eyes of Mrs. Malbrouckwere on him and he knew that he was as nothing before her. Her eyes--howthey were fixed upon him! Only two women had looked so truthfully at himbefore: his dead mother and--Margaret. And Margaret--why, how strangelynow at this instant came the thought that she was like his Margaret!Wonder sprang to his eyes. At that moment a door opened and a girlentered the room--a girl lissome, sweet-faced, well-bred of manner, whocame slowly towards them. 

"My daughter, Mr. Thorne, " the mother briefly remarked. There was nosurprise in the girl's face, only an even reserve of pleasure, as sheheld out her hand and said: "Mr. Gregory Thorne and I are old enemies. "Gregory Thorne's nerve forsook him for an instant. He knew now thereason of his vague presentiments in the woods; he understood why, onenight, when he had been more childlike than usual in his memory of theone woman who could make life joyous for him, the voice of a voyageur, not Jacques's nor that of any one in camp, sang:

 "My dear love, she waits for me, None other my world is adorning; My true love I come to thee, My dear, the white star of the morning. Eagles spread out your wings, Behold where the red dawn is breaking! Hark, 'tis my darling sings, The flowers, the song-birds awaking; See, where she comes to me, My love, ah, my dear love!"

And here she was. He raised her hand to his lips, and said: "MissCarley, you have your enemy at an advantage. "

"Miss Carley in Park Lane, Margaret Malbrouck here in my old home, " shereplied. 

There ran swiftly through the young man's brain the brief story thatPretty Pierre had told him. This, then, was the child who had beencarried away, and who, years after, had made captive his heart in Londontown! Well, one thing was clear, the girl's mother here seemed inclinedto be kinder to him than was the guardian grandmother--if she was thegrandmother--because they had their first talk undisturbed, it may beencouraged; amiable mothers do such deeds at times. 

"And now pray, Mr. Thorne, " she continued, "may I ask how came youhere in my father's house after having treated me so cavalierlyin London?--not even sending a P. P. C. When you vanished from yourworshippers in Vanity Fair. "

"As for my being here, it is simply a case of blind fate; as for myfriends, the only one I wanted to be sorry for my going was behindearthworks which I could not scale in order to leave my card, or--oranything else of more importance; and being left as it were to theinclemency of a winter world, I fled from--"

She interrupted him. "What! the conqueror, you, flying from yourMoscow?"

He felt rather helpless under her gay raillery; but he said:

"Well, I didn't burn my kremlin behind me. "

"Your kremlin?"

"My ships, then: they--they are just the same, " he earnestly pleaded. Foolish youth, to attempt to take such a heart by surprise and storm!

"That is very interesting, " she said, "but hardly wise. To makefortunes and be happy in new countries, one should forget the old ones. Meditation is the enemy of action. "

"There's one meditation could make me conquer the North Pole, if I couldbut grasp it definitely. "

"Grasp the North Pole? That would be awkward for your friends andgratifying to your enemies, if one may believe science and history. But, perhaps, you are in earnest after all, poor fellow! for my father tellsme you are going over the hills and far away to the moose-yards. How valiant you are, and how quickly you grasp the essentials offortune-making!"

"Miss Malbrouck, I am in earnest, and I've always been in earnest in onething at least. I came out here to make money, and I've made some, andshall make more; but just now the moose are as brands for the burning, and I have a gun sulky for want of exercise. "

"What an eloquent warrior-temper! And to whom are your deeds of valourto be dedicated? Before whom do you intend to lay your trophies of thechase?"

"Before the most provoking but worshipful lady that I know. "

"Who is the sylvan maid? What princess of the glade has now the homageof your impressionable heart, Mr. Thorne?"

And Gregory Thorne, his native insolence standing him in no stead, saidvery humbly:

"You are that sylvan maid, that princess--ah, is this fair to me, is itfair, I ask you?"

"You really mean that about the trophies"? she replied. "And shall youreturn like the mighty khans, with captive tigers and lions, led bystalwart slaves, in your train, or shall they be captive moose orgrizzlies?"

"Grizzlies are not possible here, " he said, with cheerful seriousness, "but the moose is possible, and more, if you would be kinder--Margaret. "

"Your supper, see, is ready, " she said. "I venture to hope your appetitehas not suffered because of long absence from your friends. "

He could only dumbly answer by a protesting motion of the hand, and hissmile was not remarkably buoyant. 

The next morning they started on their moose-hunt. Gregory Thorne wascast down when he crossed the threshold into the winter morning withouthand-clasp or god-speed from Margaret Malbrouck; but Mrs. Malbrouck wasthere, and Gregory, looking into her eyes, thought how good a thing itwould be for him, if some such face looked benignly out on him everymorning, before he ventured forth into the deceitful day. But what wasthe use of wishing! Margaret evidently did not care. And though the airwas clear and the sun shone brightly, he felt there was a cheerlesswind blowing on him; a wind that chilled him; and he hummed to himselfbitterly a song of the voyageurs:

 "O, O, the winter wind, the North wind, My snow-bird, where art thou gone? O, O, the wailing wind the night wind, The cold nest; I am alone. O, O, my snow-bird!

 "O, O, the waving sky, the white sky, My snow-bird thou fliest far; O, O, the eagle's cry, the wild cry, My lost love, my lonely star. O, O, my snow-bird!"

He was about to start briskly forward to join Malbrouck and his Indians, who were already on their way, when he heard his name called, and, turning, he saw Margaret in the doorway, her fingers held to the tipsof her ears, as yet unused to the frost. He ran back to where shestood, and held out his hand. "I was afraid, " he bluntly said, "that youwouldn't forsake your morning sleep to say good-bye to me. "

"It isn't always the custom, is it, " she replied, "for ladies to sendthe very early hunter away with a tally-ho? But since you have the graceto be afraid of anything, I can excuse myself to myself for fleeing thepleasantest dreams to speed you on your warlike path. "

At this he brightened very much, but she, as if repenting she had givenhim so much pleasure, added: "I wanted to say good-bye to my father, youknow; and--" she paused. 

"And"? he added. 

"And to tell him that you have fond relatives in the old land who wouldmourn your early taking off; and, therefore, to beg him, for theirsakes, to keep you safe from any outrageous moose that mightn't know howthe world needed you. "

"But there you are mistaken, " he said; "I haven't anyone who wouldreally care, worse luck! except the dowager; and she, perhaps, would beconsoled to know that I had died in battle, --even with a moose, --andwas clear of the possibility of hanging another lost reputation on thefamily tree, to say nothing of suspension from any other kind of tree. But, if it should be the other way; if I should see your father in thepath of an outrageous moose--what then?"

"My father is a hunter born, " she responded; "he is a great man, " sheproudly added. 

"Of course, of course, " he replied. "Good-bye. I'll take him yourlove. --Good-bye!" and he turned away. 

"Good-bye, " she gaily replied; and yet, one looking closely would haveseen that this stalwart fellow was pleasant to her eyes, and as sheclosed the door to his hand waving farewell to her from the pines, shesaid, reflecting on his words:

"You'll take him my love, will you? But, Master Gregory, you carry afreight of which you do not know the measure; and, perhaps, you nevershall, though you are very brave and honest, and not so impudent as youused to be, --and I'm not so sure that I like you so much better for thateither, Monsieur Gregory. "

Then she went and laid her cheek against her mother's, and said:"They've gone away for big game, mother dear; what shall be our quarry?"

"My child, " the mother replied, "the story of our lives since last youwere with me is my only quarry. I want to know from your own lips allthat you have been in that life which once was mine also, but far awayfrom me now, even though you come from it, bringing its memories withoutits messages. "

"Dear, do you think that life there was so sweet to me? It meant aslittle to your daughter as to you. She was always a child of the wildwoods. What rustle of pretty gowns is pleasant as the silken shiver ofthe maple leaves in summer at this door? The happiest time in that lifewas when we got away to Holwood or Marchurst, with the balls and callsall over. "

Mrs. Malbrouck smoothed her daughter's hand gently and smiledapprovingly. 

"But that old life of yours, mother; what was it? You said that youwould tell me some day. Tell me now. Grandmother was fond of me--poorgrandmother! But she would never tell me anything. How I longed to beback with you!. .. Sometimes you came to me in my sleep, and called tome to come with you; and then again, when I was gay in the sunshine, youcame, and only smiled but never beckoned; though your eyes seemed tome very sad, and I wondered if mine would not also become sad throughlooking in them so--are they sad, mother?" And she laughed up brightlyinto her mother's face. 

"No, dear; they are like the stars. You ask me for my part in that life. I will tell you soon, but not now. Be patient. Do you not tire of thislonely life? Are you truly not anxious to return to--"

"'To the husks that the swine did eat?' No, no, no; for, see: I was bornfor a free, strong life; the prairie or the wild wood, or else to livein some far castle in Welsh mountains, where I should never hear thevoice of the social Thou must!--oh, what a must! never to be quite freeor natural. To be the slave of the code. I was born--I know not how! butso longing for the sky, and space, and endless woods. I think I neversaw an animal but I loved it, nor ever lounged the mornings out atHolwood but I wished it were a hut on the mountain side, and you andfather with me. " Here she whispered, in a kind of awe: "And yet to thinkthat Holwood is now mine, and that I am mistress there, and that I mustgo back to it--if only you would go back with me. .. . Ah, dear, isn't ityour duty to go back with me"? she added, hesitatingly. 

Audrey Malbrouck drew her daughter hungrily to her bosom, and said:"Yes, dear, I will go back, if it chances that you need me; but yourfather and I have lived the best days of our lives here, and we arecontent. But, my Margaret, there is another to be thought of too, isthere not? And in that case is my duty then so clear?"

The girl's hand closed on her mother's, and she knew her heart had beentruly read. 

III. 

The hunters pursued their way, swinging grandly along on theirsnow-shoes, as they made for the Wild Hawk Woods. It would seem as ifMalbrouck was testing Gregory's strength and stride, for the march thatday was a long and hard one. He was equal to the test, and even BigMoccasin, the chief, grunted sound approval. But every day brought outnew capacities for endurance and larger resources; so that Malbrouck, who had known the clash of civilisation with barbarian battle, and deedsboth dour and doughty, and who loved a man of might, regarded this youthwith increasing favour. By simple processes he drew from Gregory hisaims and ambitions, and found the real courage and power behind thefront of irony--the language of manhood and culture which was crusted byfree and easy idioms. Now and then they saw moose-tracks, but they weresome days out before they came to a moose-yard--a spot hoof-beaten bythe moose; his home, from which he strays, and to which he returns attimes like a repentant prodigal. Now the sport began. The dog-trainswere put out of view, and Big Moccasin and another Indian went offimmediately to explore the country round about. A few hours, and wordwas brought that there was a small herd feeding not far away. Togetherthey crept stealthily within range of the cattle. Gregory Thorne'sblood leaped as he saw the noble quarry, with their wide-spread horns, sniffing the air, in which they had detected something unusual. Theirleader, a colossal beast, stamped with his forefoot, and threw back hishead with a snort. 

"The first shot belongs to you, Mr. Thorne, " said Malbrouck. "In theshoulder, you know. You have him in good line. I'll take the heifer. "

Gregory showed all the coolness of an old hunter, though his lipstwitched slightly with excitement. He took a short but steady aim, andfired. The beast plunged forward and then fell on his knees. The othersbroke away. Malbrouck fired and killed a heifer, and then all ran inpursuit as the moose made for the woods. 

Gregory, in the pride of his first slaughter, sprang away towards thewounded leader, which, sunk to the earth, was shaking its great horns toand fro. When at close range, he raised his gun to fire again, but themoose rose suddenly, and with a wild bellowing sound rushed at Gregory, who knew full well that a straight stroke from those hoofs would endhis moose-hunting days. He fired, but to no effect. He could not, likea toreador, jump aside, for those mighty horns would sweep too wide aspace. He dropped on his knees swiftly, and as the great antlers almosttouched him, and he could feel the roaring breath of the mad creature inhis face, he slipped a cartridge in, and fired as he swung round; but atthat instant a dark body bore him down. He was aware of grasping thosesweeping horns, conscious of a blow which tore the flesh from his chest;and then his knife--how came it in his hand?--with the instinct of thetrue hunter. He plunged it once, twice, past a foaming mouth, into thatfirm body, and then both fell together; each having fought valiantlyafter his kind. 

Gregory dragged himself from beneath the still heaving body, andstretched to his feet; but a blindness came, and the next knowledge hehad was of brandy being poured slowly between his teeth, and of a voicecoming through endless distances: "A fighter, a born fighter, " it said. "The pluck of Lucifer--good boy!"

Then the voice left those humming spaces of infinity, and said: "Tilthim this way a little, Big Moccasin. There, press firmly, so. Now theband steady--together--tighter--now the withes--a little higher up--cutthem here. " There was a slight pause, and then: "There, that's as goodas an army surgeon could do it. He'll be as sound as a bell in twoweeks. Eh, well, how do you feel now? Better? That's right! Like to beon your feet, would you? Wait. Here, a sup of this. There you are. .. . Well?"

"Well, " said the young man, faintly, "he was a beauty. "

Malbrouck looked at him a moment, thoughtfully, and then said: "Yes, hewas a beauty. "

"I want a dozen more like him, and then I shall be able to drop 'em asneat as, you do. "

"H'm! the order is large. I'm afraid we shall have to fill it at someother time;" and Malbrouck smiled a little grimly. 

"What! only one moose to take back to the Height of Land, to--"something in the eye of the other stopped him. 

"To? Yes, to"? and now the eye had a suggestion of humour. 

"To show I'm not a tenderfoot. "

"Yes, to show you're not a tenderfoot. I fancy that will be hardlynecessary. Oh, you will be up, eh? Well!"

"Well, I'm a tottering imbecile. What's the matter with my legs?--myprophetic soul, it hurts! Oh, I see; that's where the old warrior's hoofcaught me sideways. Now, I'll tell you what, I'm going to have anothermoose to take back to Marigold Lake. "

"Oh?"

"Yes. I'm going to take back a young, live moose. "

"A significant ambition. For what?--a sacrifice to the gods you haveoffended in your classic existence?"

"Both. A peace-offering, and a sacrifice to--a goddess. "

"Young man, " said the other, the light of a smile playing on his lips, "'Prosperity be thy page!' Big Moccasin, what of this young live moose?"

The Indian shook his head doubtfully. 

"But I tell you I shall have that live moose, if I have to stay here tosee it grow. "

And Malbrouck liked his pluck, and wished him good luck. And the goodluck came. They travelled back slowly to the Height of Land, making acircuit. For a week they saw no more moose; but meanwhile Gregory's hurtquickly healed. They had now left only eight days in which to get backto Dog Ear River and Marigold Lake. If the young moose was to come itmust come soon. It came soon. 

They chanced upon a moose-yard, and while the Indians were beating thewoods, Malbrouck and Gregory watched. 

Soon a cow and a young moose came swinging down to the embankment. Malbrouck whispered: "Now if you must have your live moose, here's alasso. I'll bring down the cow. The young one's horns are not large. Remember, no pulling. I'll do that. Keep your broken chest and bad armsafe. Now!"

Down came the cow with a plunge into the yard-dead. The lasso, too, wasover the horns of the calf, and in an instant Malbrouck was swingingaway with it over the snow. It was making for the trees--exactly whatMalbrouck desired. He deftly threw the rope round a sapling, but not tootaut, lest the moose's horns should be injured. The plucky animal nowturned on him. He sprang behind a tree, and at that instant he heard thethud of hoofs behind him. He turned to see a huge bull-moose boundingtowards him. He was between two fires, and quite unarmed. Those hoofshad murder in them. But at the instant a rifle shot rang out, and heonly caught the forward rush of the antlers as the beast fell. 

The young moose now had ceased its struggles, and came forward to thedead bull with that hollow sound of mourning peculiar to its kind. Though it afterwards struggled once or twice to be free, it becamedocile and was easily taught, when its anger and fear were over. 

And Gregory Thorne had his live moose. He had also, by that splendidshot, achieved with one arm, saved Malbrouck from peril, perhaps fromdeath. 

They drew up before the house at Marigold Lake on the afternoon of theday before Christmas, a triumphal procession. The moose was driven, a peaceful captive with a wreath of cedar leaves around its neck--thehumourous conception of Gregory Thorne. Malbrouck had announced theircoming by a blast from his horn, and Margaret was standing in thedoorway wrapped in furs, which may have come originally from Hudson'sBay, but which had been deftly re-manufactured in Regent Street. 

Astonishment, pleasure, beamed in her eyes. She clapped her hands gaily, and cried: "Welcome, welcome, merry-men all!" She kissed her father;she called to her mother to come and see; then she said to Gregory, with arch raillery, as she held out her hand: "Oh, companion of hunters, comest thou like Jacques in Arden from dropping the trustful tear uponthe prey of others, or bringest thou quarry of thine own? Art thou awarrior sated with spoil, master of the sports, spectator of the fight, Prince, or Pistol? Answer, what art thou?"

And he, with a touch of his old insolence, though with something ofirony too, for he had hoped for a different fashion of greeting, said:

"All, lady, all! The Olympian all! The player of many parts. I amTouchstone, Jacques, and yet Orlando too. "

"And yet Orlando too, my daughter, " said Malbrouck, gravely. "He savedyour father from the hoofs of a moose bent on sacrifice. Had your fatherhis eye, his nerve, his power to shoot with one arm a bull moose at longrange, so!--he would not refuse to be called a great hunter, but wearthe title gladly. "

Margaret Malbrouck's face became anxious instantly. "He saved you fromdanger--from injury, father"? she slowly said, and looked earnestly atGregory; "but why to shoot with one arm only?"

"Because in a fight of his own with a moose--a hand-to-hand fight--hehad a bad moment with the hoofs of the beast. "

And this young man, who had a reputation for insolence, blushed, so thatthe paleness which the girl now noticed in his face was banished; and toturn the subject he interposed:

"Here is the live moose that I said I should bring. Now say that he's abeauty, please. Your father and I--"

But Malbrouck interrupted:

"He lassoed it with his one arm, Margaret. He was determined to do ithimself, because, being a superstitious gentleman, as well as a hunter, he had some foolish notion that this capture would propitiate a goddesswhom he imagined required offerings of the kind. "

"It is the privilege of the gods to be merciful, " she said. "Thispeace-offering should propitiate the angriest, cruellest goddess in theuniverse; and for one who was neither angry nor really cruel--well, sheshould be satisfied. .. . Altogether satisfied, " she added, as she put hercheek against the warm fur of the captive's neck, and let it feel herhand with its lips. 

There was silence for a minute, and then with his old gay spirit allreturned, and as if to give an air not too serious to the situation, Gregory, remembering his Euripides, said:

 ". .. .. .. . Let the steer bleed, And the rich altars, as they pay their vows, Breathe incense to the gods: for me, I rise To better life, and grateful own the blessing. "

"A pagan thought for a Christmas Eve, " she said to him, with her fingersfeeling for the folds of silken flesh in the throat of the moose; "butwounded men must be humoured. And, mother dear, here are our Argonautsreturned; and--and now I think I will go. "

With a quick kiss on her father's cheek--not so quick but he caught thetear that ran through her happy smile--she vanished into the house. 

That night there was gladness in this home. Mirth sprang to the lips ofthe men like foam on a beaker of wine, so that the evening ran towardsmidnight swiftly. All the tale of the hunt was given by Malbrouck tojoyful ears; for the mother lived again her youth in the sunrise of thisromance which was being sped before her eyes; and the father, knowingthat in this world there is nothing so good as courage, nothing so baseas the shifting eye, looked on the young man, and was satisfied, andtold his story well;--told it as a brave man would tell it, bluntly asto deeds done, warmly as to the pleasures of good sport, directly asto all. In the eye of the young man there had come the glance of largerlife, of a new-developed manhood. When he felt that dun body crashingon him, and his life closing with its strength, and ran the good knifehome, there flashed through his mind how much life meant to the dying, how much it ought to mean to the living; and then this girl, thisMargaret, swam before his eyes--and he had been graver since. 

He knew, as truly as if she had told him, that she could never mate withany man who was a loiterer on God's highway, who could live life withoutsome sincerity in his aims. It all came to him again in this room, soaustere in its appointments, yet so gracious, so full of the spirit ofhumanity without a note of ennui, or the rust of careless deeds. As thisthought grew he looked at the face of the girl, then at the faces of thefather and mother, and the memory of his boast came back--that he wouldwin the stake he laid, to know the story of John and Audrey Malbrouckbefore this coming Christmas morning. With a faint smile at his own pastinsolent self, he glanced at the clock. It was eleven. "I have lost mybet, " he unconsciously said aloud. 

He was roused by John Malbrouck remarking: "Yes, you have lost your bet?Well, what was it? The youth, the childlike quality in him, " flushed hisface deeply, and then, with a sudden burst of frankness, he said:

"I did not know that I had spoken. As for the bet, I deserve to bethrashed for ever having made it; but, duffer as I am, I want you toknow that I'm something worse than duffer. The first time I met youI made a bet that I should know your history before Christmas Day. Ihaven't a word to say for myself. I'm contemptible. I beg your pardon;for your history is none of my business. I was really interested; that'sall; but your lives, I believe it, as if it was in the Bible, have beengreat--yes, that's the word! and I'm a better chap for having known you, though, perhaps, I've known you all along, because, you see, I've--I'vebeen friends with your daughter--and-well, really I haven't anythingelse to say, except that I hope you'll forgive me, and let me know youalways. "

Malbrouck regarded him for a moment with a grave smile, and then lookedtoward his wife. Both turned their glances quickly upon Margaret, whoseeyes were on the fire. The look upon her face was very gentle; somethingnew and beautiful had come to reign there. 

A moment, and Malbrouck spoke: "You did what was youthful and curious, but not wrong; and you shall not lose your hazard. I--"

"No, do not tell me, " Gregory interrupted; "only let me be pardoned. "

"As I said, lad, you shall not lose your hazard. I will tell you thebrief tale of two lives. "

"But, I beg of you! For the instant I forgot. I have more to confess. "And Gregory told them in substance what Pretty Pierre had disclosed tohim in the Rocky Mountains. 

When he had finished, Malbrouck said: "My tale then is briefer still: Iwas a common soldier, English and humble by my mother, French and noblethrough my father--noble, but poor. In Burmah, at an outbreak among thenatives, I rescued my colonel from immediate and horrible death, thoughhe died in my arms from the injuries he received. His daughter too, itwas my fortune, through God's Providence, to save from great danger. She became my wife. You remember that song you sang the day we first metyou?

"It brought her father back to mind painfully. When we came to Englandher people--her mother--would not receive me. For myself I did not care;for my wife, that was another matter. She loved me and preferred to gowith me anywhere; to a new country, preferably. We came to Canada. 

"We were forgotten in England. Time moves so fast, even if the recordsin red-books stand. Our daughter went to her grandmother to be broughtup and educated in England--though it was a sore trial to us both--thatshe might fill nobly that place in life for which she is destined. With all she learned she did not forget us. We were happy save in herabsence. We are happy now; not because she is mistress of Holwood andMarchurst--for her grandmother and another is dead--but because such asshe is our daughter, and--"

He said no more. Margaret was beside him, and her fingers were on hislips. 

Gregory came to his feet suddenly, and with a troubled face. 

"Mistress of Holwood and Marchurst!" he said; and his mind ran over hisown great deficiencies, and the list of eligible and anxious suitorsthat Park Lane could muster. He had never thought of her in the light ofa great heiress. 

But he looked down at her as she knelt at her father's knee, her eyesupturned to his, and the tide of his fear retreated; for he saw in themthe same look she had given him when she leaned her cheek against themoose's neck that afternoon. 

When the clock struck twelve upon a moment's pleasant silence, JohnMalbrouck said to Gregory Thorne:

"Yes, you have won your Christmas hazard, my boy. "

But a softer voice than his whispered: "Are you--content--Gregory?"

The Spirits of Christmas-tide, whose paths lie north as well as south, smiled as they wrote his answer on their tablets; for they knew, as theman said, that he would always be content, and--which is more in thesight of angels--that the woman would be content also. 

A PRAIRIE VAGABOND

Little Hammer was not a success. He was a disappointment to themissionaries; the officials of the Hudson's Bay Company said he was "nogood;" the Mounted Police kept an eye on him; the Crees and Blackfeetwould have nothing to do with him; and the half-breeds were profaneregarding him. But Little Hammer was oblivious to any depreciationof his merits, and would not be suppressed. He loved the Hudson's BayCompany's Post at Yellow Quill with an unwavering love; he ranged thehalf-breed hospitality of Red Deer River, regardless of it being thrownat him as he in turn threw it at his dog; he saluted Sergeant Gellatlywith a familiar How! whenever he saw him; he borrowed tabac of thehalf-breed women, and, strange to say, paid it back--with other tabacgot by daily petition, until his prayer was granted, at the H. B. C. Post. He knew neither shame nor defeat, but where women were concernedhe kept his word, and was singularly humble. It was a woman that inducedhim to be baptised. The day after the ceremony he begged "the loan ofa dollar for the love of God" from the missionary; and being refused, straightway, and for the only time it was known of him, delivered arumbling torrent of half-breed profanity, mixed with the unusual oathsof the barracks. Then he walked away with great humility. There was noswagger about Little Hammer. He was simply unquenchable and continuous. He sometimes got drunk; but on such occasions he sat down, or lay down, in the most convenient place, and, like Caesar beside Pompey's statue, wrapped his mantle about his face and forgot the world. He was avagabond Indian, abandoned yet self-contained, outcast yet gregarious. No social ostracism unnerved him, no threats of the H. B. C. Officialsmoved him; and when in the winter of 187 he was driven from one placeto another, starving and homeless, and came at last emaciated and nearlydead to the Post at Yellow Quill, he asked for food and shelter as if itwere his right, and not as a mendicant. 

One night, shortly after his reception and restoration, he was sittingin the store silently smoking the Company's tabac. Sergeant Gellatlyentered. Little Hammer rose, offered his hand, and muttered, "How!"

The Sergeant thrust his hand aside, and said sharply: "Whin I take y'rhand, Little Hammer, it'll be to put a grip an y'r wrists that'll staythere till y'are in quarters out of which y'll come nayther winter norsummer. Put that in y'r pipe and smoke it, y' scamp!"

Little Hammer had a bad time at the Post that night. Lounginghalf-breeds reviled him; the H. B. C. Officials rebuked him; andtravellers who were coming and going shared in the derision, as foolishpeople do where one is brow-beaten by many. At last a trapper entered, whom seeing, Little Hammer drew his blanket up about his head. Thetrapper sat down very near Little Hammer, and began to smoke. He laidhis plug-tabac and his knife on the counter beside him. Little Hammerreached over and took the knife, putting it swiftly within his blanket. The trapper saw the act, and, turning sharply on the Indian, called hima thief. Little Hammer chuckled strangely and said nothing; but his eyespeered sharply above the blanket. A laugh went round the store. In aninstant the trapper, with a loud oath, caught at the Indian's throat;but as the blanket dropped back he gave a startled cry. There was theflash of a knife, and he fell back dead. Little Hammer stood above him, smiling, for a moment, and then, turning to Sergeant Gellatly, held outhis arms silently for the handcuffs. 

The next day two men were lost on the prairies. One was SergeantGellatly; the other was Little Hammer. The horses they rode travelled soclose that the leg of the Indian crowded the leg of the white man; andthe wilder the storm grew, the closer still they rode. A 'poudre' day, with its steely air and fatal frost, was an ill thing in the world; butthese entangling blasts, these wild curtains of snow, were desolatingeven unto death. The sun above was smothered; the earth beneath wastrackless; the compass stood for loss all round. 

What could Sergeant Gellatly expect, riding with a murderer on his lefthand: a heathen that had sent a knife through the heart of one of thelords of the North? What should the gods do but frown, or the elementsbe at, but howling on their path? What should one hope for but thatvengeance should be taken out of the hands of mortals, and be deliveredto the angry spirits?

But if the gods were angry at the Indian, why should Sergeant Gellatlyonly sway to and fro, and now laugh recklessly, and now fall sleepilyforward on the neck of his horse; while the Indian rode straight, andneither wavered nor wandered in mind, but at last slipped from his horseand walked beside the other? It was at this moment that the soldierheard, "Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly, " called through the blast;and he thought it came from the skies, or from some other world. "Medarlin', " he said, "have y' come to me?" But the voice called again:"Sergeant Gellatly, keep awake! keep awake! You sleep, you die; that'sit. Holy. Yes. How!" Then he knew that it was Little Hammer callingin his ear, and shaking him; that the Indian was dragging him from hishorse . .. His revolver, where was it? he had forgotten. .. He nodded. .. Nodded. But Little Hammer said: "Walk, hell! you walk, yes;" and LittleHammer struck him again and again; but one arm of the Indian was underhis shoulder and around him, and the voice was anxious and kind. Slowlyit came to him that Little Hammer was keeping him alive against the willof the spirits--but why should they strike him instead of the Indian?Was there any sun in the world? Had there ever been? or fire or heatanywhere, or anything but wind and snow in all God's universe?. .. Yes, there were bells ringing--soft bells of a village church; and there wasincense burning--most sweet it was! and the coals in the censer--howbeautiful, how comforting! He laughed with joy again, and he forgot howcold, how maliciously cold, he had been; he forgot how dreadful thathour was before he became warm; when he was pierced by myriad needlesthrough the body, and there was an incredible aching at his heart. 

And yet something kept thundering on his body, and a harsh voiceshrieked at him, and there were many lights dancing over his shut eyes;and then curtains of darkness were dropped, and centuries of oblivioncame; and then--then his eyes opened to a comforting silence, and someone was putting brandy between his teeth, and after a time he heard avoice say: "'Bien, ' you see he was a murderer, but he save his captor. 'Voila, ' such a heathen! But you will, all the same, bring him tojustice--you call it that? But we shall see. "

Then some one replied, and the words passed through an outer web ofdarkness and an inner haze of dreams. "The feet of Little Hammer werelike wood on the floor when you brought the two in, Pretty Pierre--andlucky for them you found them. .. . The thing would read right in a book, but it's not according to the run of things up here, not by a damnedsight!"

"Private Bradshaw, " said the first voice again, "you do not know LittleHammer, nor that story of him. You wait for the trial. I have somethingto say. You think Little Hammer care for the prison, the rope?--Ah, whena man wait five years to kill--so! and it is done, he is glad sometimeswhen it is all over. Sergeant Gellatly there will wish he went to sleepforever in the snow, if Little Hammer come to the rope. Yes, I think. "

And Sergeant Gellatly's brain was so numbed that he did not grasp themeaning of the words, though he said them over and over again. .. . Was hedead? No, for his body was beating, beating. .. Well, it didn't matter. .. Nothing mattered. .. He was sinking to forgetfulness. .. Sinking. 

So, for hours, for weeks--it might have been for years--and then hewoke, clear and knowing, to "the unnatural, intolerable day"--it wasthat to him, with Little Hammer in prison. It was March when his memoryand vigour vanished; it was May when he grasped the full remembrance ofhimself, and of that fight for life on the prairie: of the hands thatsmote him that he should not sleep; of Little Hammer the slayer, who haddriven death back discomfited, and brought his captor safe to where hisown captivity and punishment awaited him. 

When Sergeant Gellatly appeared in court at the trial he refused to bearwitness against Little Hammer. "D' ye think--does wan av y' think--thatI'll speak a word agin the man--haythen or no haythen--that pulled meout of me tomb and put me betune the barrack quilts? Here's the stripesaff me arm, and to gaol I'll go; but for what wint before I clapt theiron on his wrists, good or avil, divil a word will I say. An' here's meleft hand, and there's me right fut, and an eye of me too, that I'd partwith, for the cause of him that's done a trick that your honour wouldn'tdo--an' no shame to y' aither--an' y'd been where Little Hammer was withme. "

His honour did not reply immediately, but he looked meditatively atLittle Hammer before he said quietly, --"Perhaps not, perhaps not. "

And Little Hammer, thinking he was expected to speak, drew his blanketup closely about him and grunted, "How!"

Pretty Pierre, the notorious half-breed, was then called. He kissed theBook, making the sign of the Cross swiftly as he did so, and unheedingthe ironical, if hesitating, laughter in the court. Then he said:"'Bien, ' I will tell you the story-the whole truth. I was in the StonyPlains. Little Hammer was 'good Injin' then. .. . Yes, sacre! it is a foolwho smiles at that. I have kissed the Book. Dam!. .. He would be chiefsoon when old Two Tails die. He was proud, then, Little Hammer. He gonot to the Post for drink; he sell not next year's furs for this year'srations; he shoot straight. "

Here Little Hammer stood up and said: "There is too much talk. Let mebe. It is all done. The sun is set--I care not--I have killed him;" andthen he drew his blanket about his face and sat down. 

But Pierre continued: "Yes, you killed him-quick, after five years--thatis so; but you will not speak to say why. Then, I will speak. The Injinssay Little Hammer will be great man; he will bring the tribes together;and all the time Little Hammer was strong and silent and wise. ThenBrigley the trapper--well, he was a thief and coward. He come to LittleHammer and say, 'I am hungry and tired. ' Little Hammer give him food andsleep. He go away. 'Bien, ' he come back and say, --'It is far to go; Ihave no horse. ' So Little Hammer give him a horse too. Then he come backonce again in the night when Little Hammer was away, and before morninghe go; but when Little Hammer return, there lay his bride--only an Injingirl, but his bride-dead! You see? Eh? No? Well, the Captain at the Posthe says it was the same as Lucrece. --I say it was like hell. It is notmuch to kill or to die--that is in the game; but that other, 'mon Dieu!'Little Hammer, you see how he hide his head: not because he kill theTarquin, that Brigley, but because he is a poor 'vaurien' now, and heonce was happy and had a wife. .. . What would you do, judge honourable?. .. Little Hammer, I shake your hand--so--How!"

But Little Hammer made no reply. 

The judge sentenced Little Hammer to one month in gaol. He might havemade it one thousand months--it would have been the same; for when, onthe last morning of that month, they opened the door to set him free, hewas gone. That is, the Little Hammer whom the high gods knew was gone;though an ill-nourished, self-strangled body was upright by the wall. The vagabond had paid his penalty, but desired no more of earth. 

Upon the door was scratched the one word: How!

SHE OF THE TRIPLE CHEVRON

Between Archangel's Rise and Pardon's Drive there was but one house. Itwas a tavern, and it was known as Galbraith's Place. There was no manin the Western Territories to whom it was not familiar. There was notraveller who crossed the lonely waste but was glad of it, and would gotwenty miles out of his way to rest a night on a corn-husk bed which JenGalbraith's hands had filled, to eat a meal that she had prepared, and to hear Peter Galbraith's tales of early days on the plains, whenbuffalo were like clouds on the horizon, when Indians were many andhostile, and when men called the great western prairie a wedge of theAmerican desert. 

It was night on the prairie. Jen Galbraith stood in the doorway of thetavern sitting-room and watched a mighty beacon of flame rising beforeher, a hundred yards away. Every night this beacon made a circle oflight on the prairie, and Galbraith's Place was in the centre of thecircle. Summer and winter it burned from dusk to daylight. No hand fedit but that of Nature. It never failed; it was a cruse that was neverempty. Upon Jen Galbraith it had a weird influence. It grew to be to hera kind of spiritual companion, though, perhaps, she would not so havenamed it. This flaming gas, bubbling up from the depths of the earth onthe lonely plains, was to her a mysterious presence grateful to her; thereceiver of her thoughts, the daily necessity in her life. It filledher too with a kind of awe; for, when it burned, she seemed not herselfalone, but another self of her whom she could not quite understand. Yetshe was no mere dreamer. Upon her practical strength of body and mindhad come that rugged poetical sense, which touches all who live the lifeof mountain and prairie. She showed it in her speech; it had a measuredcadence. She expressed it in her body; it had a free and rhythmicmovement. And not Jen alone, but many another dweller on the prairie, looked upon it with a superstitious reverence akin to worship. Ablizzard could not quench it. A gale of wind only fed its strength. Arain-storm made a mist about it, in which it was enshrined like a god. Peter Galbraith could not fully understand his daughter's fascinationfor this Prairie Star, as the North-West people called it. It was notwithout its natural influence upon him; but he regarded it most asa comfortable advertisement, and he lamented every day that thisnever-failing gas well was not near a large population, and he still itsowner. He was one of that large family in the earth who would turn thebest things in their lives into merchandise. As it was, it broughtmuch grist to his mill; for he was not averse to the exercise ofthe insinuating pleasures of euchre and poker in his tavern; and thehospitality which ranchmen, cowboys, and travellers sought at his handwas often prolonged, and also remunerative to him. 

Pretty Pierre, who had his patrol as gamester defined, made semi-annualvisits to Galbraith's Place. It occurred generally after the rounding-upand branding seasons, when the cowboys and ranchmen were "flush" withmoney. It was generally conceded that Monsieur Pierre would have madean early excursion to a place where none is ever "ordered up, " if he hadnot been free with the money which he so plentifully won. 

Card-playing was to him a science and a passion. He loved to win forwinning's sake. After that, money, as he himself put it, was only fitto be spent for the good of the country, and that men should earn more. Since he put his philosophy into instant and generous practice, activeand deadly prejudice against him did not have lengthened life. 

The Mounted Police, or as they are more poetically called, the Ridersof the Plains, watched Galbraith's Place, not from any apprehension ofviolent events, but because Galbraith was suspected of infringing theprevailing law of Prohibition, and because for some years it had been atradition and a custom to keep an eye on Pierre. 

As Jen Galbraith stood in the doorway looking abstractedly at thebeacon, her fingers smoothing her snowy apron the while, she wasthinking thus to herself: "Perhaps father is right. If that Prairie Starwere only at Vancouver or Winnipeg instead of here, our Val could besomething, more than a prairie-rider. He'd have been different, iffather hadn't started this tavern business. Not that our Val is bad. Heisn't; but if he had money he could buy a ranch, --or something. "

Our Val, as Jen and her father called him, was a lad of twenty-two, one year younger than Jen. He was prairie-rider, cattle-dealer, scout, cowboy, happy-go-lucky vagrant, --a splendid Bohemian of the plains. AsJen said, he was not bad; but he had a fiery, wandering spirit, touchedwithal by the sunniest humour. He had never known any curb but Jen'slove and care. That had kept him within bounds so far. All men of theprairie spoke well of him. The great new lands have codes and standardsof morals quite their own. One enthusiastic admirer of this youthsaid, in Jen's hearing, "He's a Christian--Val Galbraith!" That wasthe western way of announcing a man as having great civic and socialvirtues. Perhaps the respect for Val Galbraith was deepened by thefact that there was no broncho or cayuse that he could not tame to thesaddle. 

Jen turned her face from the flame and looked away from the oasis ofwarmth it made, to where the light shaded away into darkness, a darknessthat was unbroken for many a score of miles to the north and west. Shesighed deeply and drew herself up with an aggressive motion as thoughshe was freeing herself of something. So she was. She was trying toshake off a feeling of oppression. Ten minutes ago the gaslighted housebehind her had seemed like a prison. She felt that she must have air, space, and freedom. 

She would have liked a long ride on the buffalo-track. That, she felt, would clear her mind. She was no romantic creature out of her sphere, noexotic. She was country-born and bred, and her blood had been chargedby a prairie instinct passing through three generations. She was partof this life. Her mind was free and strong, and her body was free andhealthy. While that freedom and health was genial, it revolted againstwhat was gross or irregular. She loved horses and dogs, she liked totake a gun and ride away to the Poplar Hills in search of game, shefound pleasure in visiting the Indian Reservation, and talking toSun-in-the-North, the only good Indian chief she knew, or that anyoneelse on the prairies knew. She loved all that was strong and untamed, all that was panting with wild and glowing life. Splendidly developed, softly sinewy, warmly bountiful, yet without the least physicalover-luxuriance or suggestiveness, Jen, with her tawny hair anddark-brown eyes, was a growth of unrestrained, unconventional, andeloquent life. Like Nature around her, glowing and fresh, yet glowingand hardy. There was, however, just a strain of pensiveness in her, partly owing to the fact that there were no women near her, that shehad, virtually, lived her life as a woman alone. 

As she thus looked into the undefined horizon two things were happening:a traveller was approaching Galbraith's Place from a point in thathorizon; and in the house behind her someone was singing. The travellersat erect upon his horse. He had not the free and lazy seat of theordinary prairie-rider. It was a cavalry seat, and a military manner. Hebelonged to that handful of men who patrol a frontier of near a thousandmiles, and are the security of peace in three hundred thousand miles ofterritory--the Riders of the Plains, the North-West Mounted Police. 

This Rider of the Plains was Sergeant Thomas Gellatly, familiarlyknown as Sergeant Tom. Far away as he was he could see that a womanwas standing in the tavern door. He guessed who it was, and his bloodquickened at the guessing. But reining his horse on the furthest edge ofthe lighted circle, he said, debatingly: "I've little time enough to getto the Rise, and the order was to go through, hand the information toInspector Jules, and be back within forty-eight hours. Is it flesh andblood they think I am? Me that's just come back from a journey of ahundred miles, and sent off again like this with but a taste of sleepand little food, and Corporal Byng sittin' there at Fort Desire with apipe in his mouth and the fat on his back like a porpoise. It's famishedI am with hunger, and thirty miles yet to do; and she, standin' therewith a six months' welcome in her eye. .. . It's in the interest ofJustice if I halt at Galbraith's Place for half-an-hour, bedad! Theblackguard hid away there at Soldier's Knee will be arrested all thesooner; for horse and man will be able the better to travel. I'm gladit's not me that has to take him whoever he is. It's little I likeleadin' a fellow-creature towards the gallows, or puttin' a bullet intohim if he won't come. .. . Now what will we do, Larry, me boy?" this tothe broncho--"Go on without bite or sup, me achin' behind and emptybefore, and you laggin' in the legs, or stay here for the slice of anhour and get some heart into us? Stay here is it, me boy? then lavego me fut with your teeth and push on to the Prairie Star there. " Sosaying, Sergeant Tom, whose language in soliloquy, or when excited, was more marked by a brogue than at other times, rode away towardsGalbraith's Place. 

In the tavern at that moment, Pretty Pierrre was sitting on thebar-counter, where temperance drinks were professedly sold, singing tohimself. His dress was singularly neat, if coarse, and his slouch hatwas worn with an air of jauntiness according well with his slight makeand almost girlish delicacy of complexion. He was puffing a cigarette, in the breaks of the song. Peter Galbraith, tall, gaunt, andsombre-looking, sat with his chair tilted back against the wall, rathernervously pulling at the strips of bark of which the yielding chair-seatwas made. He may or may not have been listening to the song which hadrun through several verses. Where it had come from, no one knew; no onecared to know. The number of its verses were legion. Pierre had asweet voice, of a peculiarly penetrating quality; still it was low andwell-modulated, like the colour in his cheeks, which gave him his name. 

These were the words he was singing as Sergeant Tom rode towards thetavern:

 "The hot blood leaps in his quivering breast Voila! 'Tis his enemies near! There's a chasm deep on the mountain crest Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! They follow him close and they follow him fast, And he flies like a mountain deer; Then a mad, wild leap and he's safe at last! Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! A cry and a leap and the danger's past Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!"

At the close of the verse, Galbraith said: "I don't like that song. I--Idon't like it. You're not a father, Pierre. "

"No, I am not a father. I have some virtue of that. I have spared theworld something, Pete Galbraith. "

"You have the Devil's luck; your sins never get YOU into trouble. "

A curious fire flashed in the half-breed's eyes, and he said, quietly:"Yes, I have great luck; but I have my little troubles at times--attimes. "

"They're different, though, from this trouble of Val's. " There wassomething like a fog in the old man's throat. 

"Yes, Val was quite foolish, you see. If he had killed a whiteman--Pretty Pierre, for instance--well, there would have been a show ofarrest, but he could escape. It was an Injin. The Government cherishthe Injin much in these days. The redskin must be protected. It must beshown that at Ottawa there is justice. That is droll--quite. Eh, bien!Val will not try to escape. He waits too long-near twenty-four hours. Then, it is as you see. .. . You have not told her?" He nodded towards thedoor of the sittingroom. 

"Nothing. It'll come on Jen soon enough if he doesn't get away, and badenough if he does, and can't come back to us. She's fond of him--as fondof him as a mother. Always was wiser than our Val or me, Jen was. Moresense than a judge, and proud but not too proud, Pierre--not too proud. She knows the right thing to do, like the Scriptures; and she does ittoo. .. . Where did you say he was hid?"

"In the Hollow at Soldier's Knee. He stayed too long at Moose Horn. Injins carried the news on to Fort Desire. When Val started south forthe Border other Injins followed, and when a halt was made at Soldier'sKnee they pushed across country over to Fort Desire. You see, Val'shorse give out. I rode with him so far. My horse too was broke up. Whatwas to be done? Well, I knew a ranchman not far from Soldier's Knee. Itold Val to sleep, and I would go on and get the ranchman to send hima horse, while I come on to you. Then he could push on to the Border. Isaw the ranchman, and he swore to send a horse to Val to-night. He willkeep his word. He knows Val. That was at noon to-day, and I am here, yousee, and you know all. The danger? Ah, my friend, --the Police Barracksat Archangel's Rise! If word is sent down there from Fort Desire beforeVal passes, they will have out a big patrol, and his chances, --well, youknow them, the Riders of the Plains. But Val, I think will have luck, and get into Montana before they can stop him. I hope; yes. "

"If I could do anything, Pierre! Can't we--"

The half-breed interrupted: "No, we can't do anything, Galbraith. I havedone all. The ranchman knows me. He will keep his word, by the GreatHeaven!" It would seem as if Pierre had reasons for relying on theranchman other than ordinary prairie courtesy to law-breakers. 

"Pierre, tell me the whole story over, slow and plain. It don't seemnateral to think of it; but if you go over it again, perhaps I canget the thing more reas'nable in my mind. No, it ain't nateral to me, Pierre--our Val running away. " The old man leaned forward and put hiselbows on his knees and his face in his hands. 

"Eh, well, it was an Injin. So much. It was in self-defence--a little, but of course to prove that. There is the difficulty. You see, they wereall drinking, and the Injin--he was a chief---proposed--he proposed thatVal should sell him his sister, Jen Galbraith, to be the chief's squaw. He would give him a cayuse. Val's blood came up quick--quite quick. Youknow Val. He said between his teeth: 'Look out, Snow Devil, you Injindog, or I'll have your heart. Do you think a white girl is like aredskin woman, to be sold as you sell your wives and daughters to thesquaw-men and white loafers, you reptile?' Then the Injin said an uglyword about Val's sister, and Val shot him dead like lightning. .. . Yes, that is good to swear, Galbraith. You are not the only one that cursesthe law in this world. It is not Justice that fills the gaols, but Law. "

The old man rose and walked up and down the room in a shuffling kind ofway. His best days were done, the spring of his life was gone, and thestep was that of a man who had little more of activity and force withwhich to turn the halting wheels of life. His face was not altogethergood, yet it was not evil. There was a sinister droop to the eyelids, asuggestion of cruelty about the mouth; but there was more of good-natureand passive strength than either in the general expression. One couldsee that some genial influence had dominated what was inherently crueland sinister in him. Still the sinister predisposition was there. 

"He can't never come here, Pierre, can he"? he asked, despairingly. 

"No, he can't come here, Galbraith. And look: if the Riders of thePlains should stop here to-night, or to-morrow, you will be cool--cool, eh?"

"Yes, I will be quite cool, Pierre. " Then he seemed to think ofsomething else and looked up half-curiously, half-inquiringly at thehalf-breed. 

Pierre saw this. He whistled quietly to himself for a little, and thencalled the old man over to where he sat. Leaning slightly forward hemade his reply to the look that had been bent upon him. He touchedGalbraith's breast lightly with his delicate fingers, and said: "I havenot much love for the world, Pete Galbraith, and not much love formen and women altogether; they are fools--nearly all. Some men--youknow--treat me well. They drink with me--much. They would make life ahell for me if I was poor--shoot me, perhaps, quick!--if--if I didn'tshoot first. They would wipe me with their feet. They would spoil PrettyPierre. " This he said with a grim kind of humour and scorn, refined inits suppressed force. Fastidious as he was in appearance, Pierre was notvain. He had been created with a sense of refinement that reduced thegrossness of his life; but he did not trade on it; he simply accepted itand lived it naturally after his kind. He was not good at heart, and henever pretended to be so. He continued: "No, I have not much love; butVal, well, I think of him some. His tongue is straight; he makes nolies. His heart is fire; his arms are strong; he has no fear. He doesnot love Pierre; but he does not pretend to love him. He does not thinkof me like the rest. So much the more when his trouble comes I help him. I help him to the death if he needs me. To make him my friend--that isgood. Eh? Perhaps. You see, Galbraith?"

The old man nodded thoughtfully, and after a little pause said: "Ihave killed Injins myself;" and he made a motion of his head backward, suggestive of the past. 

With a shrug of his shoulders the other replied "Yes, so haveI--sometimes. But the government was different then, and there wereno Riders of the Plains. " His white teeth showed menacingly under hisslight moustache. Then there was another pause. Pierre was watching theother. 

"What's that you're doing, Galbraith?"

"Rubbin' laudanum on my gums for this toothache. Have to use it fornuralgy, too. "

Galbraith put the little vial back in his waistcoat pocket, andpresently said: "What will you have to drink, Pretty Pierre?" That washis way of showing gratitude. 

"I am reform. I will take coffee, if Jen Galbraith will make some. Toomuch broke glass inside is not good. Yes. "

Galbraith went into the sitting-room to ask Jen to make the coffee. Pierre, still sitting on the bar-counter, sang to himself a verse of arough-and-ready, satirical prairie ballad:

 "The Riders of the Plains, my boys, are twenty thousand strong Oh, Lordy, don't they make the prairies howl! 'Tis their lot to smile on virtue and to collar what is wrong, And to intercept the happy flowin' bowl. 

 They've a notion, that in glory, when we wicked ones have chains They will all be major-generals--and that! They're a lovely band of pilgrims are the Riders of the Plains Will some sinner please to pass around the hat?"

As he reached the last two lines of the verse the door opened andSergeant Tom entered. Pretty Pierre did not stop singing. His eyessimply grew a little brighter, his cheek flushed ever so slightly, andthere was an increase of vigour in the closing notes. 

Sergeant Tom smiled a little grimly, then he nodded and said: "Been atit ever since, Pretty Pierre? You were singing the same song on the samespot when I passed here six months ago. "

"Eh, Sergeant Tom, it is you? What brings you so far from your straw-bedat Fort Desire?" From underneath his hat-brim Pierre scanned the face ofthe trooper closely. 

"Business. Not to smile on virtue, but to collar what is wrong. I guessyou ought to be ready by this time to go into quarters, Pierre. You'vehad a long innings. "

"Not yet, Sergeant Tom, though I love the Irish, and your company wouldmake me happy. But I am so innocent, and the world--it cannot spare meyet. But I think you come to smile on virtue, all the same, SergeantTom. She is beautiful is Jen Galbraith. Ah, that makes your eyebright--so! You Riders of the Plains, you do two things at one time. Youmake this hour someone happy, and that hour someone unhappy. In onehand the soft glove of kindness, in the other, voila! the cold glove ofsteel. We cannot all be great like that, Sergeant Tom. "

"Not great, but clever. Voila, the Pretty Pierre! In one hand he holdsthe soft paper, the pictures that deceive--kings, queens, and knaves;in the other, pictures in gold and silver--money won from the pockets offools. And so, as you say, 'bien, ' and we each have our way, bedad!"

Sergeant Tom noticed that the half-breed's eyes nearly closed, as if tohide the malevolence that was in them. He would not have been surprisedto see a pistol drawn. But he was quite fearless, and if it was not hisduty to provoke a difficulty, his fighting nature would not shrink fromgiving as good as he got. Besides, so far as that nature permitted, hehated Pretty Pierre. He knew the ruin that this gambler had caused hereand there in the West, and he was glad that Fort Desire, at any rate, knew him less than it did formerly. 

Just then Peter Galbraith entered with the coffee, followed by Jen. When the old man saw his visitor he stood still with sudden fear; butcatching a warning look from the eye of the half-breed, he made aneffort to be steady, and said: "Well, Jen, if it isn't Sergeant Tom!And what brings you down here, Sergeant Tom? After some scalawag that'sbroke the law?"

Sergeant Tom had not noticed the blanched anxiety in the father'sface; for his eyes were seeking those of the daughter. He answered thequestion as he advanced towards Jen: "Yes and no, Galbraith; I'm onlytakin' orders to those who will be after some scalawag by daylight inthe mornin', or before. The hand of a traveller to you, Miss Jen. "

Her eyes replied to his in one language; her lips spoke another. "Andwho is the law-breaker, Sergeant Tom"? she said, as she took his hand. 

Galbraith's eyes strained towards the soldier till the reply came: "AndI don't know that; not wan o' me. I'd ridden in to Fort Desire fromanother duty, a matter of a hundred miles, whin the major says to me, 'There's murder been done at Moose Horn. Take these orders down toArchangel's Rise, and deliver them and be back here within forty-eighthours. ' And here I am on the way, and, if I wasn't ready to drop forwant of a bite and sup, I'd be movin' away from here to the south atthis moment. "

Galbraith was trembling with excitement. Pierre warned him by a look, and almost immediately afterward gave him a reassuring nod, as if animportant and favourable idea had occurred to him. 

Jen, looking at the Sergeant's handsome face, said: "It's six months toa day since you were here, Sergeant Tom. "

"What an almanac you are, Miss!"

Pretty Pierre sipping his coffee here interrupted musingly: "But heralmanac is not always so reliable. So I think. When was I here last, Ma'm'selle?"

With something like menace in her eyes Jen replied: "You were here sixmonths ago to-day, when you won thirty dollars from our Val; and thenagain, just thirty days after that. "

"Ah, so! You remember with a difference. "

A moment after, Sergeant Tom being occupied in talking to Jen, Pierrewhispered to Peter Galbraith: "His horse--then the laudanum!"

Galbraith was puzzled for a moment, but soon nodded significantly, andthe sinister droop to his eyes became more marked. He turned to theSergeant and said, "Your horse must be fed as well as yourself, SergeantTom. I'll look after the beast, and Jen will take care of you. There'ssome fresh coffee, isn't there, Jen?"

Jen nodded an affirmative. Galbraith knew that the Sergeant would trustno one to feed his horse but himself, and the offer therefore was madewith design. 

Sergeant Tom replied instantly: "No, I'll do it if someone will show methe grass pile. "

Pierre slipped quietly from the counter, and said, "I know the way, Galbraith. I will show. "

Jen turned to the sitting-room, and Sergeant Tom moved to the taverndoor, followed by Pierre, who, as he passed Galbraith, touched the oldman's waistcoat pocket, and said: "Thirty drops in the coffee. "

Then he passed out, singing softly:

 "And he sleepeth so well, and he sleepeth so long The fight it was hard, my dear; And his foes were many and swift and strong Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!"

There was danger ahead for Sergeant Thomas Gellatly. Galbraith followedhis daughter to the sitting-room. She went to the kitchen and broughtbread, and cold venison, and prairie fowl, and stewed dried apples--thestay and luxury of all rural Canadian homes. The coffee-pot was thenplaced on the table. Then the old man said: "Better give him some ofthat old cheese, Jen, hadn't you? It's in the cellar. " He wanted to berid of her for a few moments. "S'pose I had, " and Jen vanished. 

Now was Galbraith's chance. He took the vial of laudanum from hispocket, and opened the coffee-pot. It was half full. This would notsuit. Someone else--Jen--might drink the coffee also! Yet it had to bedone. Sergeant Tom should not go on. Inspector Jules and his Riders ofthe Plains must not be put upon the track of Val. Twelve hours wouldmake all the difference. Pour out a cup of coffee?--Yes, of course, thatwould do. It was poured out quickly, and then thirty drops of laudanumwere carefully counted into it. Hark, they are coming back!--Just intime. Sergeant Tom and Pierre enter from outside, and then Jen from thekitchen. Galbraith is pouring another cup of coffee as they enter, andhe says: "Just to be sociable I'm goin' to have a cup of coffee withyou, Sergeant Tom. How you Riders of the Plains get waited on hand andfoot!" Did some warning flash through Sergeant Tom's mind or body, somemental shock or some physical chill? For he distinctly shivered, thoughhe was not cold. He seemed suddenly oppressed with a sense of danger. But his eyes fell on Jen, and the hesitation, for which he did not thentry to account, passed. Jen, clear-faced and true, invited him to sitand eat, and he, starting half-abstractedly, responded to her "Drawnigh, Sergeant Tom, " and sat down. Commonplace as the words were, theythrilled him, for he thought of a table of his own in a home of his own, and the same words spoken everyday, but without the "Sergeant, "--simply"Tom. "

He ate heartily and sipped his coffee slowly, talking meanwhile to Jenand Galbraith. Pretty Pierre watched them all. Presently the gamblersaid: "Let us go and have our game of euchre, Galbraith. Ma'm'selle canwell take care of Sergeant Tom. "

Galbraith drank the rest of his coffee, rose, and passed withPierre into the bar-room. Then the halfbreed said to him, "You werecareful--thirty drops?"

"Yes, thirty drops. " The latent cruelty of the old man's nature wasawake. 

"That is right. It is sleep; not death. He will sleep so sound for halfa day, perhaps eighteen hours, and then!--Val will have a long start. "

In the sitting-room Sergeant Tom was saying: "Where is your brother, Miss Galbraith?" He had no idea that the order in his pocket was for thearrest of that brother. He merely asked the question to start the talk. 

He and Jen had met but five or six times; but the impression left onthe minds of both was pleasant--ineradicable. Yet, as Sergeant Tom oftenasked himself during the past six months, why should he think ofher? The life he led was one of severe endurance, and harshness, andausterity. Into it there could not possibly enter anything of home. Hewas but a noncommissioned officer of the Mounted Police, and beyondthat he had nothing. Ireland had not been kind to him. He had left herinhospitable shores, and after years of absence he had but a couple ofhundred dollars laid up--enough to purchase his discharge and somethingover, but nothing with which to start a home. Ranching required capital. No, it couldn't be thought of; and yet he had thought of it, try as hewould not to do so. And she? There was that about this man who hadlived life on two continents, in whose blood ran the warm and chivalrousCeltic fire, which appealed to her. His physical manhood was noble, ifrugged; his disposition genial and free, if schooled, but not entirely, to that reserve which his occupation made necessary--a reserve he wouldhave been more careful to maintain, in speaking of his mission a shorttime back in the bar-room, if Jen had not been there. She called out thefrankest part of him; she opened the doors of his nature; she attractedconfidence as the sun does the sunflower. 

To his question she replied: "I do not know where our Val is. He went ona hunting expedition up north. We never can tell about him, when he willturn up or where he will be to-morrow. He may walk in any minute. Wenever feel uneasy. He always has such luck, and comes out safe and soundwherever he is. Father says Val's a hustler, and that nothing can keepin the road with him. But he's a little wild--a little. Still, we don'thector him, Sergeant Tom; hectoring never does any good, does it?"

"No, hectoring never does any good. And as for the wildness, if theheart of him's right, why that's easy out of him whin he's older. It's afine lad I thought him, the time I saw him here. It's his freedom I wishI had--me that has to travel all day and part of the night, and thinpart of the day and all night back again, and thin a day of sleep andthe same thing over again. And that's the life of me, sayin' nothin' ofthe frost and the blizzards, and no home to go to, and no one to have ameal for me like this whin I turn up. " And the sergeant wound up with, "Whooroo! there's a speech for you, Miss!" and laughed good-humouredly. For all that, there was in his eyes an appeal that went straight toJen's heart. 

But, woman-like, she would not open the way for him to say anything moredefinite just yet. She turned the subject. And yet again, woman-like, she knew it would lead to the same conclusion:

"You must go to-night?"

"Yes, I must. "

"Nothing--nothing would keep you?"

"Nothing. Duty is duty, much as I'd like to stay, and you givin' me thebid. But my orders were strict. You don't know what discipline means, perhaps. It means obeyin' commands if you die for it; and my commandswere to take a letter to Inspector Jules at Archangel's Rise to-night. It's a matter of murder or the like, and duty must be done, and me thatsleepy, not forgettin' your presence, as ever a man was and looked theworld in the face. "

He drank the rest of the coffee and mechanically set the cup down, his eyes closing heavily as he did so. He made an effort, however, andpulled himself together. His eyes opened, and he looked at Jen steadilyfor a moment. Then he leaned over and touched her hand gently with hisfingers, --Pierre's glove of kindness, --and said: "It's in my heart towant to stay; but a sight of you I'll have on my way back. But I mustgo on now, though I'm that drowsy I could lie down here and never stiragain. "

Jen said to herself: "Poor fellow, poor fellow, how tired he is! Iwish"--but she withdrew her hand. He put his hand to his head, and said, absently: "It's my duty and it's orders, and. .. What was I sayin'? Thedisgrace of me if, if. .. Bedad! the sleep's on me; I'm awake, but Ican't open my eyes. .. . If the orders of me--and a good meal. .. And thedisgrace. .. To do me duty-looked the world in the face--"

During this speech he staggered to his feet, Jen watching him anxiouslythe while. No suspicion of the cause of his trouble crossed her mind. She set it down to extreme natural exhaustion. Presently feeling thesofa behind him, he dropped upon it, and, falling back, began to breatheheavily. But even in this physical stupefaction he made an effort toreassert himself, to draw himself back from the coming unconsciousness. His eyes opened, but they were blind with sleep; and as if in a dream, he said: "My duty. .. Disgrace. .. A long sleep. .. Jen, dearest"--how shestarted then!--"it must be done. .. My Jen!" and he said no more. 

But these few words had opened up a world for her--a new-created worldon the instant. Her life was illuminated. She felt the fulness of agreat thought suffusing her face. A beautiful dream was upon her. It hadcome to her out of his sleep. But with its splendid advent therecame the other thing that always is born with woman's love--an almostpathetic care of the being loved. In the deep love of women the maternaland protective sense works in the parallels of mutual regard. In herlife now it sprang full-statured in action; love of him, care of him;his honour her honour; his life her life. He must not sleep like this ifit was his duty to go on. Yet how utterly worn he must be! She had seenmen brought in from fighting prairie fires for three days without sleep;had watched them drop on their beds, and lie like logs for thirty-sixhours. This sleep of her lover was, therefore, not so strange to her butit was perilous to the performance of his duty. 

"Poor Sergeant Tom, " she said. "Poor Tom, " she added; and then, with agreat flutter at the heart at last, "My Tom!" Yes, she said that;but she said it to the beacon, to the Prairie Star, burning outsidebrighter, it seemed to her, than it had ever done be fore. Then she satdown and watched him for many minutes, thinking at the end of each thatshe would wake him. But the minutes passed, his breathing grew heavier, and he did not stir. The Prairie Star made quivering and luminouscurtains of red for the windows, and Jen's mind was quivering in vividwaves of feeling just the same. It seemed to her as if she was lookingat life now through an atmosphere charged with some rare, refiningessence, and that in it she stood exultingly. Perhaps she did not defineit so; but that which we define she felt. And happy are they who feelit, and, feeling it, do not lose it in this world, and have the hope ofcarrying it into the next. 

After a time she rose, went over to him and touched his shoulder. Itseemed strange to her to do this thing. She drew back timidly from thepleasant shock of a new experience. Then she remembered that he oughtto be on his way, and she shook him gently, then, with all her strength, and called to him quietly all the time, as if her low tones oughtto wake him, if nothing else could. But he lay in a deep and stolidslumber. It was no use. She went to her seat and sat down to think. Asshe did so, her father entered the room. 

"Did you call, Jen"? he said; and turned to the sofa. "I was calling toSergeant Tom. He's asleep there; dead-gone, father. I can't wake him. "

"Why should you wake him? He is tired. "

The sinister lines in Galbraith's face had deepened greatly in thelast hour. He went over and looked closely at the Sergeant, followedlanguidly by Pierre, who casually touched the pulse of the sleeping man, and said as casually:

"Eh, he sleep well; his pulse is like a baby; he was tired, much. He hashad no sleep for one, two, three nights, perhaps; and a good meal, itmakes him comfortable, and so you see!"

Then he touched lightly the triple chevron on Sergeant Tom's arm, andsaid:

"Eh, a man does much work for that. And then, to be moral and the friendof the law all the time!" Pierre here shrugged his shoulders. "It iseasier to be wicked and free, and spend when one is rich, and starvewhen one is poor, than to be a sergeant and wear the triple chevron. Butthe sleep will do him good just the same, Jen Galbraith. "

"He said that he must go to Archangel's Rise tonight, and be back atFort Desire to-morrow night. "

"Well, that's nothing to us, Jen, " replied Galbraith, roughly. "He's gothis own business to look after. He and his tribe are none too good tous and our tribe. He'd have your old father up to-morrow for sellinga tired traveller a glass of brandy; and worse than that, ay, a greatsight worse than that, mind you, Jen. "

Jen did not notice, or, at least, did not heed, the excited emphasis onthe last words. She thought that perhaps her father had been set againstthe Sergeant by Pierre. 

"There, that'll do, father, " she said. "It's easy to bark at a deadlion. Sergeant Tom's asleep, and you say things that you wouldn't sayif he was awake. He never did us any harm, and you know that's true, father. "

Galbraith was about to reply with anger; but he changed his mind andwalked into the bar-room, followed by Pierre. 

In Jen's mind a scheme had been hurriedly and clearly formed; and withher, to form it was to put it into execution. She went to Sergeant Tom, opened his coat, felt in the inside pocket, and drew forth an officialenvelope. It was addressed to Inspector Jules at Archangel's Rise. Sheput it back and buttoned up the coat again. Then she said, with herhands firmly clenching at her side, --"I'll do it. "

She went into the adjoining room and got a quilt, which she threw overhim, and a pillow, which she put under his head. Then she took his capand the cloak which he had thrown over a chair, as if to carry themaway. But another thought occurred to her, for she looked towards thebar-room and put them down again. She glanced out of the window and sawthat her father and Pierre had gone to lessen the volume of gas whichwas feeding the flame. This, she knew, meant that her father would goto bed when he came back to the house; and this suited her purpose. Shewaited till they had entered the bar-room again, and then she went tothem, and said: "I guess he's asleep for all night. Best leave him wherehe is. I'm going. Good-night. "

When she got back to the sitting-room she said to herself: "How oldfather's looking! He seems broken up to-day. He isn't what he used tobe. " She turned once more to look at Sergeant Tom, then she went to herroom. 

A little later Peter Galbraith and Pretty Pierre went to thesitting-room, and the old man drew from the Sergeant's pocket theenvelope which Jen had seen. Pierre took it from him. "No, PeteGalbraith. Do not be a fool. Suppose you steal that paper. Sergeant Tomwill miss it. He will understand. He will guess about the drug, then youwill be in trouble. Val will be safe now. This Rider of the Plains willsleep long enough for that. There, I put the paper back. He sleeps likea log. No one can suspect the drug, and it is all as we like. No, wewill not steal; that is wrong--quite wrong"--here Pretty Pierre showedhis teeth. "We will go to bed. Come!"

Jen heard them ascend the stairs. She waited a half-hour, then shestole into Val's bedroom, and when she emerged again she had a bundleof clothes across her arm. A few minutes more and she walked into thesitting-room dressed in Val's clothes, and with her hair closely woundon the top of her head. 

The house was still. The Prairie Star made the room light enough for herpurpose. She took Sergeant Tom's cap and cloak and put them on. She drewthe envelope from his pocket and put it in her bosom--she showed thewoman there, though for the rest of this night she was to be a Rider ofthe Plains, She of the Triple Chevron. 

She went towards the door, hesitated, drew back, then paused, stoopeddown quickly, tenderly touched the soldier's brow with her lips, andsaid: "I'll do it for you. You shall not be disgraced--Tom. "

III

This was at half-past ten o'clock. At two o'clock a jaded and blownhorse stood before the door of the barracks at Archangel's Rise. Itsrider, muffled to the chin, was knocking, and at the same time pullinghis cap down closely over his head. "Thank God the night is dusky, " hesaid. We have heard that voice before. The hat and cloak are those ofSergeant Tom, but the voice is that of Jen Galbraith. There is somedanger in this act; danger for her lover, contempt for herself if sheis discovered. Presently the door opens and a corporal appears. "Who'sthere? Oh, " he added, as he caught sight of the familiar uniform; "wherefrom?"

"From Fort Desire. Important orders to Inspector Jules. Require freshhorse to return with; must leave mine here. Have to go back at once. "

"I say, " said the corporal, taking the papers--"what's your name?"

"Gellatly--Sergeant Gellatly. "

"Say, Sergeant Gellatly, this isn't accordin' to Hoyle--come in thenight and go in the night and not stay long enough to have a swear atthe Gover'ment. Why, you're comin' in, aren't you? You're comin' acrossthe door-mat for a cup of coffee and a warm while the horse is gettin'ready, aren't you, Sergeant--Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly? I'veheard of you, but--yes; I will hurry. Here, Waugh, this to InspectorJules! If you won't step in and won't drink and will be unsociable, sergeant, why, come on and you shall have a horse as good as the oneyou've brought. I'm Corporal Galna. "

Jen led the exhausted horse to the stables. Fortunately there was nolantern used, and therefore little chance for the garrulous corporal tostudy the face of his companion, even if he wished to do so. Therisk was considerable; but Jen Galbraith was fired by that spiritof self-sacrifice which has held a world rocking to destruction on abalancing point of safety. 

The horse was quickly saddled, Jen meanwhile remaining silent. While shewas mounting, Corporal Galna drew and struck a match to light hispipe. He held it up for a moment as though to see the face of SergeantGellatly. Jen had just given a good-night, and the horse the word and atouch of the spur at the instant. Her face, that is, such of it as couldbe seen above the cloak and under the cap, was full in the light. Enough was seen, however, to call forth, in addition to Corporal Galna'sgood-night, the exclamation, "Well, I'm blowed!"

As Jen vanished into the night a moment after, she heard a voicecalling--not Corporal Galna's--"Sergeant Gellatly, Sergeant Gellatly!"She supposed it was Inspector Jules, but she would not turn back now. Her work was done. 

A half-hour later Corporal Galna confided to Private Waugh that SergeantGellatly was too damned pretty for the force--wondered if they calledhim Beauty at Fort Desire--couldn't call him Pretty Gellatly, for therewas Pretty Pierre who had right of possession to that title--would liketo ask him what soap he used for his complexion--'twasn't this yellowbar-soap of the barracks, which wouldn't lather, he'd bet his ultimatedollar. 

Waugh, who had sometime seen Sergeant Gellatly, entered into adisputation on the point. He said that "Sergeant Tom was good-looking, a regular Irish thoroughbred; but he wasn't pretty, not much!--guessedCorporal Galna had nightmare, and finally, as the interest in the themeincreased in fervour, announced that Sergeant Tom could loosen the teethof, and knock the spots off, any man among the Riders, from Archangel'sRise to the Cypress Hills. Pretty--not much--thoroughbred all over!"

And Corporal Galna replied, sarcastically, --"That he might be able forspot dispersion of such a kind, but he had two as pretty spots on hischeek, and as white and touch-no-tobacco teeth as any female ever had. "Private Waugh declared then that Corporal Galna would be saying SergeantGellatly wasn't a man at all, and wore earrings, and put his hairinto papers; and when he could find no further enlargement of sarcasm, consigned the Corporal to a fiery place of future torment reserved forlunatics. 

At this critical juncture Waugh was ordered to proceed to InspectorJules. A few minutes after, he was riding away toward Soldier's Knee, with the Inspector and another private, to capture Val Galbraith, theslayer of Snow Devil, while four other troopers also started off indifferent directions. 

IV

It was six o'clock when Jen drew rein in the yard at Galbraith's Place. Through the dank humours of the darkest time of the night she hadwatched the first grey streaks of dawn appear. She had caught her breathwith fear at the thought that, by some accident, she might not get backbefore seven o'clock, the hour when her father rose. She trembled alsoat the supposition of Sergeant Tom awaking and finding his papers gone. But her fearfulness and excitement was not that of weakness, rather thatof a finely nervous nature, having strong elements of imagination, and, therefore, great capacities for suffering as for joy; but yet elastic, vigorous, and possessing unusual powers of endurance. Such naturesrebuild as fast as they are exhausted. In the devitalising timepreceding the dawn she had felt a sudden faintness come over her for amoment; but her will surmounted it, and, when she saw the ruddy streaksof pink and red glorify the horizon, she felt a sudden exaltation ofphysical strength. She was a child of the light, she loved the warmflame of the sun, the white gleam of the moon. Holding in her horse togive him a five minutes' rest, she rose in her saddle and looked round. She was alone in her circle of vision, she and her horse. The longhillocks of prairie rolled away like the sea to the flushed morning, and the far-off Cypress Hills broke the monotonous skyline of the south. Already the air was dissipated of its choking weight, and the vastsolitude was filling with that sense of freedom which night seems toshut in as with four walls, and day to widen gloriously. Tears sprang toher eyes from a sudden rush of feeling; but her lips were smiling. The world was so different from what it was yesterday. Something hadquickened her into a glowing life. 

Then she urged the horse on, and never halted till she reached home. Sheunsaddled the animal that had shared with her the hardship of thelong, hard ride, hobbled it, and entered the house quickly. No one wasstirring. Sergeant Tom was still asleep. This she saw, as she hurriedlypassed in and laid the cap and cloak where she had found them. Then, once again, she touched the brow of the sleeper with her lips, and wentto her room to divest herself of Val's clothes. The thing had been donewithout anyone knowing of her absence. But she was frightened as shelooked into the mirror. She was haggard, and her eyes were bloodshot. Eight hours or nearly in the saddle, at ten miles an hour, had toldon her severely; as well it might. Even a prairie-born woman, however, understands the art and use of grooming better than a man. Warm waterquickly heated at the gas, with a little acetic acid in it, usedgenerally for her scouring, --and then cold water with oatmeal flour, took away in part the dulness and the lines in the flesh. But the eyes!Jen remembered the vial of tincture of myrrh left by a young Englishmana year ago, and used by him for refreshing his eyes after a drinkingbout. She got it, tried the tincture, and saw and felt an immediatebenefit. Then she made a cup of strong green tea, and in ten minutes waslike herself again. Now for the horse. She went quickly out where shecould not be seen from the windows of the house, and gave him a rubbingdown till he was quite dry. Then she gave him a little water and somefeed. The horse was really the touchstone of discovery. But Jen trustedin her star. If the worst came she would tell the tale. It must be toldanyway to Sergeant Tom--but that was different now. Even if the thingbecame known it would only be a thing to be teased about by her fatherand others, and she could stop that. Poor girl, as though that was theworst that was to come from her act!

Sergeant Tom slept deeply and soundly. He had not stirred. His breathingwas unnaturally heavy, Jen thought, but, no suspicion of foul playcame to her mind yet. Why should it? She gave herself up to a sweet andsimple sense of pride in the deed she had done for him, disturbed butslightly by the chances of discovery, and the remembrance of the matchthat showed her face at Archangel's Rise. Her hands touched the flaxenhair of the soldier, and her eyes grew luminous. One night had stirredall her soul to its depths. A new woman had been born in her. Val wasdear to her--her brother Val; but she realised now that another had comewho would occupy a place that neither father, nor brother, nor any othercould fill. Yet it was a most weird set of tragic circumstances. Thisman before her had been set to do a task which might deprive her brotherof his life, certainly of his freedom; that would disgrace him; herfather had done a great wrong too, had put in danger the life of the manshe loved, to save his son; she herself in doing this deed for her loverhad placed her brother in jeopardy, had crossed swords with her father'spurposes, had done the one thing that stood between that father's sonand safety; Pretty Pierre, whom she hated and despised, and thoughtto be the enemy of her brother and of her home, had proved himself afriend; and behind it all was the brother's crime committed to avenge aninsult to her name. 

But such is life. Men and women are unwittingly their own executioners, and the executioners of those they love. 

V

An hour passed, and then Galbraith and Pierre appeared. Jen noticedthat her father went over to Sergeant Tom and rather anxiously felt hispulse. Once in the night the old man had come down and done the samething. Pierre said something in an undertone. Did they think he was ill?That was Jon's thought. She watched them closely; but the half-breedknew that she was watching, and the two said nothing more to each other. But Pierre said, in a careless way: "It is good he have that sleep. Hewas played out, quite. "

Jon replied, a secret triumph at her heart: "But what about his orders, the papers he was to carry to Archangel's Rise? What about his beingback at Fort Desire in the time given him?"

"It is not much matter about the papers. The poor devil that InspectorJules would arrest--well, he will get off, perhaps, but that does noone harm. Eh, Galbraith? The law is sometimes unkind. And as for obeyingorders, why, the prairie is wide, it is a hard ride, horses go wrong;--alittle tale of trouble to Inspector Jules, another at Fort Desire, andwho is to know except Pete Galbraith, Jen Galbraith, and Pierre? PoorSergeant Tom. It was good he sleep so. "

Jen felt there was irony behind the smooth words of the gambler. He hada habit of saying things, as they express it in that country, betweenhis teeth. That signifies what is animal-like and cruel. Galbraith stoodsilent during Pierre's remarks, but, when he had finished, said:

"Yes, it's all right if he doesn't sleep too long; but there's thetrouble--too long!"

Pierre frowned a warning, and then added, with unconcern: "I rememberwhen you sleep thirty hours, Galbraith--after the prairie fire, threeyears ago, eh!"

"Well, that's so; that's so as you say it. We'll let him sleep tillnoon, or longer--or longer, won't we, Pierre?"

"Yes, till noon is good, or longer. "

"But he shall not sleep longer if I can wake him, " said Jen. "You do notthink of the trouble all this sleeping may make for him. "

"But then--but then, there is the trouble he will make for others, if hewakes. Think. A poor devil trying to escape the law!"

"But we have nothing to do with that, and justice is justice, Pierre. "

"Eh, well, perhaps, perhaps!" Galbraith was silent. 

Jen felt that so far as Sergeant Tom's papers were concerned he wassafe; but she felt also that by noon he ought to be on his way back toFort Desire--after she had told him what she had done. She was anxiousfor his honour. That her lover shall appear well before the world, is athing deep in the heart of every woman. It is a pride for which she willdeny herself, even of the presence of that lover. 

"Till noon, " Jen said, "and then he must go. "

VI

Jen watched to see if her father or Pierre would notice that the horsewas changed, had been travelled during the night, or that it was adifferent one altogether. As the morning wore away she saw that theydid not notice the fact. This ignorance was perhaps owing largely to theappearance of several ranchmen from near the American border. They spenttheir time in the bar-room, and when they left it was nearly noon. Still Sergeant Tom slept. Jen now went to him and tried to wake him. She lifted him to a sitting position, but his head fell on her shoulder. Disheartened, she laid him down again. But now at last an undefinedsuspicion began to take possession of her. It made her uneasy; it filledher with a vague sense of alarm. Was this sleep natural? She rememberedthat, when her father and others had slept so long after the prairiefire, she had waked them once to give them drink and a little food, andthey did not breathe so heavily as he was doing. Yet what could be done?What was the matter? There was not a doctor nearer than a hundred miles. She thought of bleeding, --the old-fashioned remedy still used on theprairies--but she decided to wait a little. Somehow she felt that shewould receive no help from her father or Pierre. Had they anything todo with this sleep? Was it connected with the papers? No, not that, for they had not sought to take them, and had not made any remark abouttheir being gone. This showed their unconcern on that point. Shecould not fathom the mystery, but the suspicion of something irregulardeepened. Her father could have no reason for injuring Sergeant Tom; butPretty Pierre--that was another matter. Yet she remembered too that herfather had appeared the more anxious of the two about the Sergeant'ssleep. She recalled that he said: "Yes, it's all right, if he doesn'tsleep too long. "

But Pierre could play a part, she knew, and could involve othersin trouble, and escape himself. He was a man with a reputation foroccasional wickednesses of a naked, decided type. She knew that hewas possessed of a devil, of a very reserved devil, but liable to boldaction on occasions. She knew that he valued the chances of life ordeath no more than he valued the thousand and one other chances of smallimportance, which occur in daily experience. It was his creed that onedoesn't go till the game is done and all the cards are played. He had astoic indifference to events. 

He might be capable of poisoning--poisoning! ah, that thought! ofpoisoning Sergeant Tom for some cause. But her father? The two seemed toact alike in the matter. Could her father approve of any harm happeningto Tom? She thought of the meal he had eaten, of the coffee he haddrunk. The coffee-was that the key? But she said to herself that she wasfoolish, that her love had made her so. No, it could not be. 

But a fear grew upon her, strive as she would against it. She waitedsilently and watched, and twice or thrice made ineffectual effortsto rouse him. Her father came in once. He showed anxiety; that wasunmistakable, but was it the anxiety of guilt of any kind? She saidnothing. At five o'clock matters abruptly came to a climax. Jen was inthe kitchen, but, hearing footsteps in the sitting-room, she opened thedoor quietly. Her father was bending over Sergeant Tom, and Pierre wasspeaking: "No, no, Galbraith, it is all right. You are a fool. It couldnot kill him. "

"Kill him--kill him, " she repeated gaspingly to herself. 

"You see he was exhausted; he may sleep for hours yet. Yes, he is safe, I think. "

"But Jen, she suspects something, she--"

"Hush!" said Pretty Pierre. He saw her standing near. She had glidedforward and stood with flashing eyes turned, now upon the one, and nowupon the other. Finally they rested on Galbraith. 

"Tell me what you have done to him; what you and Pretty Pierre havedone to him. You have some secret. I will know. " She leaned forward, something of the tigress in the poise of her body. "I tell you, Iwill know. " Her voice was low, and vibrated with fierceness anddetermination. Her eyes glowed, and her nostrils trembled with disdainand indignation. As they drew back, --the old man sullenly, the gamblerwith a slight gesture of impatience, --she came a step nearer to themand waited, the cords of her shapely throat swelling with excitement. A moment so, and then she said in a tone that suggested menace, determination:

"You have poisoned him. Tell me the truth. Do you hear, father--thetruth, or I will hate you. I will make you repent it till you die. "

"But--" Pierre began. 

She interrupted him. "Do not speak, Pretty Pierre. You are a devil. Youwill lie. Father--!" She waited. "What difference does it make to you, Jen?" "What difference--what difference to me? That you should be amurderer?"

"But that is not so, that is a dream of yours, Ma'm'selle, " said Pierre. 

She turned to her father again. "Father, will you tell the truth to me?I warn you it will be better for you both. "

The old man's brow was sullen, and his lips were twitching nervously. "You care more for him than you do for your own flesh and blood, Jen. There's nothing to get mad about like that. I'll tell you when he'sgone. . .. Let's--let's wake him, " he added, nervously. 

He stooped down and lifted the sleeping man to a sitting posture. Pierreassisted him. 

Jen saw that the half-breed believed Sergeant Tom could be wakened, andher fear diminished slightly, if her indignation did not. They liftedthe soldier to his feet. Pierre pressed the point of a pin deep intohis arm. Jen started forward, woman-like, to check the action, but drewback, for she saw heroic measures might be necessary to bring him toconsciousness. But, nevertheless, her anger broke bounds, and she said:"Cowards--cowards! What spite made you do this?"

"Damnation, Jen, " said the father, "you'll hector me till I make yousorry. What's this Irish policeman to you? What's he beside your ownflesh and blood, I say again. "

"Why does my own flesh and blood do such wicked tricks to an Irishsoldier? Why does it give poison to an Irish soldier?"

"Poison, Jen? You needn't speak so ghost-like. It was only a dose oflaudanum; not enough to kill him. Ask Pierre. "

Inwardly she believed him, and said a Thank-God to herself, but to thehalf-breed she remarked: "Yes, ask Pierre--you are behind all this!It is some evil scheme of yours. Why did you do it? Tell the truth foronce. " Her eyes swam angrily with Pierre's. 

Pierre was complacent; he admired her wild attacks. He smiled, andreplied: "My dear, it was a whim of mine; but you need not tell him, allthe same, when he wakes. You see this is your father's house, though thewhim is mine. But look: he is waking-the pin is good. Some cold water, quick!"

The cold water was brought and dashed into the face of the soldier. Heshowed signs of returning consciousness. The effect of the laudanum hadbeen intensified by the thoroughly exhausted condition of the body. 

But the man was perfectly healthy, and this helped to resist the dangerof a fatal result. 

Pierre kept up an intermittent speech. "Yes, it was a mere whim of mine. Eh, he will think he has been an ass to sleep so long, and on duty, andorders to carry to Archangel's Rise!" Here he showed his teeth again, white and regular like a dog's. That was the impression they gave, hislips were so red, and the contrast was so great. One almost expectedto find that the roof of his mouth was black, like that of a well-bredhound; but there is no evidence available on the point. 

"There, that is good, " he said. "Now set him down, Pete Galbraith. Yes--so, so! Sergeant Tom, ah, you will wake well, soon. Now the eyesa little wider. Good. Eh, Sergeant Tom, what is the matter? It isbreakfast time--quite. "

Sergeant Tom's eyes opened slowly and looked dazedly before him for aminute. Then they fell on Pierre. At first there was no recognition, then they became consciously clearer. "Pretty Pierre, you here in thebarracks!" he said. He put his hand to his head, then rubbed his eyesroughly and looked up again. This time he saw Jen and her father. Hisbewilderment increased. Then he added: "What is the matter? Have I beenasleep? What--!" He remembered. He staggered to his feet and felt hispockets quickly and anxiously for his letter. It was gone. 

"The letter!" he said. "My orders! Who has robbed me? Faith, I remember. I could not keep awake after I drank the coffee. My papers are gone, Itell you, Galbraith, " he said, fiercely. 

Then he turned to Jen: "You are not in this, Jen. Tell me. "

She was silent for a moment, then was about to answer, when he turnedto the gambler and said: "You are at the bottom of this. Give me mypapers. " But Pierre and Galbraith were as dumbfounded as the Sergeanthimself to know that the letter was gone. They were stunned beyondspeech when Jen said, flushing: "No, Sergeant Tom, I am the thief. WhenI could not wake you, I took the letter from your pocket and carried itto Inspector Jules last night, --or, rather, Sergeant Gellatly carriedthem. I wore his cap and cloak and passed for him. "

"You carried that letter to Inspector Jules last night, Jen"? said thesoldier, all his heart in his voice. 

Jen saw her father blanch, his mouth open blankly, and his lips refuseto utter the words on them. For the first time she comprehended somedanger to him, to herself--to Val!

"Father, father, " she said, --"what is it?"

Pierre shrugged his shoulders and rejoined: "Eh, the devil! Suchmistakes of women. They are fools--all. " The old man put out a shakinghand and caught his daughter's arm. His look was of mingled wonder anddespair, as he said, in a gasping whisper, "You carried that letter toArchangel's Rise?"

"Yes, " she answered, faltering now; "Sergeant Tom had said how importantit was, you remember. That it was his duty to take it to InspectorJules, and be back within forty-eight hours. He fell asleep. I could notwake him. I thought, what if he were my brother--our Val. So, when youand Pretty Pierre went to bed, I put on Val's clothes, took SergeantTom's cloak and hat, carried the orders to Jules, and was back here bysix o'clock this morning. "

Sergeant Tom's eyes told his tale of gratitude. He made a step towardsher; but the old man, with a strange ferocity, motioned him back, saying, "Go away from this house. Go quick. Go now, I tell you, or byGod, --I'll--"

Here Pretty Pierre touched his arm. 

Sergeant Tom drew back, not because he feared but as if to get amental perspective of the situation. Galbraith again said to hisdaughter, --"Jen, you carried them papers? You! for him--for the Law!"Then he turned from her, and with hand clenched and teeth set spoke tothe soldier: "Haven't you heard enough? Curse you, why don't you go?"

Sergeant Tom replied coolly: "Not so fast, Galbraith. There's somemystery in all this. There's my sleep to be accounted for yet. You hadsome reason, some"--he caught the eyes of Pierre. He paused. A lightbegan to dawn on his mind, and he looked at Jen, who stood rigidly pale, her eyes fixed fearfully, anxiously, upon him. She too was beginning toframe in her mind a possible horror; the thing that had so changed herfather, the cause for drugging the soldier. There was a silence in whichPierre first, and then all, detected the sound of horses' hoofs. Pierrewent to the door and looked out. He turned round again, and shruggedhis shoulders with an expression of helplessness. But as he saw Jen wasabout to speak, and Sergeant Tom to move towards the door, he put up hishand to stay them both, and said: "A little--wait!"

Then all were silent. Jen's fingers nervously clasped and unclasped, andher eyes were strained towards the door. Sergeant Tom stood watchingher pityingly; the old man's head was bowed. The sound of galloping grewplainer. It stopped. An instant and then three horsemen appeared beforethe door. One was Inspector Jules, one was Private Waugh, and the otherbetween them was--let Jen tell who he was. With an agonised cry sherushed from the house and threw herself against the saddle, and with herarms about the prisoner, cried: "Oh, Val, Val, it was you! It was youthey were after. It was you that--oh no, no, no! My poor Val, and Ican't tell you--I can't tell you!"

Great as was her grief and self-reproach, she felt it would be cruelto tell him the part she had taken in placing him in this position. Shehated herself, but why deepen his misery? His face was pale, but it hadits old, open, fearless look, which dissipation had not greatlymarred. His eyelids quivered, but he smiled, and touching her with hissteel-bound hands, gently said:

"Never mind, Jen. It isn't so bad. You see it was this way: Snow Devilsaid something about someone that belonged to me, that cares more aboutme than I deserve. Well, he died sudden, and I was there at the time. That's all. I was trying with the help of Pretty Pierre to get out ofthe country"--and he waved his hand towards the half-breed. 

"With Pretty Pierre--Pierre"? she said. 

"Yes, he isn't all gambler. But they were too quick for me, and here Iam. Jules is a hustler on the march. But he said he'd stop here and letme see you and dad as we go up to Fort Desire, and--there, don't mind, Sis--don't mind it so!"

Her sobs had ceased, but she clung to him as if she could never let himgo. Her father stood near her, all the lines in his face deepened intobitterness. To him Val said: "Why, dad, what's the matter? Your hand isshaky. Don't you get this thing eatin' at your heart. 

"It isn't worth it. That Injin would have died if you'd been in myplace, I guess. Between you and me, I expect to give Jules the slipbefore we get there. " And he laughed at the Inspector, who laughed alittle austerely too, and in his heart wished that it was anyone elsehe had as a prisoner than Val Galbraith, who was a favourite with theRiders of the Plains. 

Sergeant Tom had been standing in the doorway regarding this scene, andworking out in his mind the complications that had led to it. At thispoint he came forward, and Inspector Jules said to him, after a curtsalutation:

"You were in a hurry last night, Sergeant Gellatly. You don't seem sopushed for time now. Usual thing. When a man seems over-zealous--drink, cards, or women behind it. But your taste is good, even if, underpresent circumstances"--He stopped, for he saw a threatening look in theeyes of the other, and that other said: "We won't discuss that matter, Inspector, if you please. I'm going on to Fort Desire now. I couldn'thave seen you if I'd wanted to last night. "

"That's nonsense. If you had waited one minute longer at the barracksyou could have done so. I called to you as you were leaving, but youdidn't turn back. "

"No. I didn't hear you. "

All were listening to this conversation, and none more curiously thanPrivate Waugh. Many a time in days to come he pictured the scene forthe benefit of his comrades. Pretty Pierre, leaning against thehitching-post near the bar-room, said languidly:

"But, Inspector, he speaks the truth--quite: that is a virtue of theRiders of the Plains. " Val had his eyes on the half-breed, and a look ofunderstanding passed between them. While Val and his father andsister were saying their farewells in few words, but with homelydemonstrations, Sergeant Tom brought his horse round and mounted it. Inspector Jules gave the word to move on. As they started, Gellatly, whofell behind the others slightly, leaned down and whispered: "Forgive me, Jen. You did a noble act for me, and the life of me would prove to youthat I'm grateful. It's sorry, sorry I am. But I'll do what I can forVal, as sure as the heart's in me. Good-bye, Jen. "

She looked up with a faint hope in her eyes. "Goodbye!" she said. "Ibelieve you. .. Good-bye!"

In a few minutes there was only a cloud of dust on the prairie to tellwhere the Law and its quarry were. And of those left behind, one was abroken-spirited old man with sorrow melting away the sinister look inhis face; one, a girl hovering between the tempest of bitterness and astorm of self-reproach; and one a half-breed gambler, who again saton the bar-counter smoking a cigarette and singing to himself, asindolently as if he were not in the presence of a painful drama of life, perhaps a tragedy. But was the song so pointless to the occasion, afterall, and was the man so abstracted and indifferent as he seemed? Forthus the song ran:

 "Oh, the bird in a cage and the bird on a tree Voila! 'tis a different fear! The maiden weeps and she bends the knee Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! But the bird in a cage has a friend in the tree, And the maiden she dries her tear: And the night is dark and no moon you see Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear! When the doors are open the bird is free Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!"

VII

These words kept ringing in Jen's ears as she stood again in the doorwaythat night with her face turned to the beacon. How different it seemednow! When she saw it last night it was a cheerful spirit of light--asomething suggesting comfort, companionship, aspiration, a friend to thetraveller, and a mysterious, but delightful, association. In the morningwhen she returned from that fortunate, yet most unfortunate, ride, itwas still burning, but its warm flame was exhausted in the glow ofthe life-giving sun; the dream and delight of the night robbed of itsglamour by the garish morning; like her own body, its task done, sinkingbefore the unrelieved scrutiny of the day. To-night it burned with adifferent radiance. It came in fiery palpitations from the earth. Itmade a sound that was now like the moan of pine trees, now like therumble of far-off artillery. The slight wind that blew spread thetopmost crest of flame into strands of ruddy hair, and, looking at it, Jen saw herself rocked to and fro by tumultuous emotions, yet fuller ofstrength and larger of life than ever she had been. Her hot veinsbeat with determination, with a love which she drove back by another, cherished now more than it had ever been, because danger threatened theboy to whom she had been as a mother. In twenty-four hours she had grownto the full stature of love and suffering. 

There were shadows that betrayed less roundness to her face; there werelines that told of weariness; but in her eyes there was a glowing lightof hope. She raised her face to the stars and unconsciously paraphrasingPierre's song said: "Oh, the God that dost save us, hear!"

A hand touched her arm, and a voice said, huskily, "Jen, I wanted tosave him and--and not let you know of it; that's all. You're not keepin'a grudge agin me, my girl?"

She did not move nor turn her head. "I've no grudge, father; but--if--ifyou had told me, 'twouldn't be on my mind that I had made it worse forVal. "

The kindness in the voice reassured him, and he ventured to say: "Ididn't think you'd be carin' for one of the Riders of the Plains, Jen. "

Then the old man trembled lest she should resent his words. She seemedabout to do so, but the flush faded from her brow, and she said, simply:"I care for Val most, father. But he didn't know he was getting Val intotrouble. "

She suddenly quivered as a wave of emotion passed through her; and shesaid, with a sob in her voice: "Oh, it's all scrub country, father, andno paths, and--and I wish I had a mother!"

The old man sat down in the doorway and bowed his grey head in his arms. Then, after a moment, he whispered:

"She's been dead twenty-two years, Jen. The day Val was born she wentaway. I'd a-been a better man if she'd a-lived, Jen; and a betterfather. "

This was an unusual demonstration between these two. She watched himsadly for a moment, and then, leaning over and touching him gently onthe shoulder, said: "It's worse for you than it is for me, father. Don'tfeel so bad. Perhaps we shall save him yet. "

He caught a gleam of hope in her words: "Mebbe, Jen, mebbe!" and heraised his face to the light. 

This ritual of affection was crude and unadorned; but it was real. Theysat there for half-an-hour, silent. 

Then a figure came out of the shadows behind the house and stood beforethem. It was Pierre. 

"I go to-morrow morning, Galbraith, " he said. The old man nodded, butdid not reply. 

"I go to Fort Desire, " the gambler added. 

Jen faced him. "What do you go there for, Pretty Pierre?"

"It is my whim. Besides, there is Val. He might want a horse some darknight. "

"Pierre, do you mean that?"

"As much as Sergeant Tom means what he says. Every man has his friends. Pretty Pierre has a fancy for Val Galbraith--a little. It suits him togo to Fort Desire. Jen Galbraith, you make a grand ride last night. Youdo a bold thing--all for a man. We shall see what he will do for you. And if he does nothing--ah! you can trust the tongue of Pretty Pierre. He will wish he could die, instead of--Eh, bien, good-night!" He movedaway. Jen followed him. She held out her hand. It was the first time shehad ever done so to this man. 

"I believe you, " she said. "I believe that you mean well to our Val. I am sorry that I called you a devil. " He smiled. "Ma'm'selle, that isnothing. You spoke true. But devils have their friends--and their whims. So you see, good-night. "

"Mebbe it will come out all right, Jen--mebbe!" said the old man. 

But Jen did not reply. She was thinking hard, her eyes upon the PrairieStar. Living life to the hilt greatly illumines the outlook of the mind. She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute, and that goodis often an occasion more than a condition. 

There was a long silence again. At last the old man rose to go andreduce the volume of flame for the night; but Jen stopped him. "No, father, let it burn all it can to-night. It's comforting. "

"Mebbe so--mebbe!" he said. 

A faint refrain came to them from within the house:

 "When doors are open the bird is free Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!"

VIII

It was a lovely morning. The prairie billowed away endlessly to thesouth, and heaved away in vastness to the north; and the fresh, sharpair sent the blood beating through the veins. In the bar-room some earlytraveller was talking to Peter Galbraith. A wandering band of Indianswas camped about a mile away, the only sign of humanity in the waste. Jen sat in the doorway culling dried apples. Though tragedies occur inlives of the humble, they must still do the dull and ordinary task. Theycannot stop to cherish morbidness, to feed upon their sorrow; they mustcare for themselves and labour for others. And well is it for them thatit is so. 

The Indian camp brings unpleasant memories to Jen's mind. She knows itbelongs to old Sun-in-the-North, and that he will not come to see hernow, nor could she, or would she, go to him. Between her and that racethere can never again be kindly communion. And now she sees, for thefirst time, two horsemen riding slowly in the track from Fort Desiretowards Galbraith's Place. She notices that one sits upright, and oneseems leaning forward on his horse's neck. She shades her eyes with herhand, but she cannot distinguish who they are. But she has seen men tiedto their horses ride as that man is riding, when stricken with fever, bruised by falling timber, lacerated by a grizzly, wounded by a bullet, or crushed by a herd of buffaloes. She remembered at that moment thetime that a horse had struck Val with its forefeet, and torn the fleshfrom his chest, and how he had been brought home tied to a broncho'sback. 

The thought of this drove her into the house, to have Val's bed preparedfor the sufferer, whoever he was. Almost unconsciously she put on thelittle table beside the bed a bunch of everlasting prairie flowers, andshaded the light to the point of quiet and comfort. 

Then she went outside again. The travellers now were not far away. Sherecognised the upright rider. It was Pretty Pierre. The other--she couldnot tell. She called to her father. She had a fear which she didnot care to face alone. "See, see, father, " she said, "Pretty Pierreand--and can it be Val?" For the moment she seemed unable to stir. Butthe old man shook his head, and said: "No, Jen, it can't be. It ain'tVal. "

Then another thought possessed her. Her lips trembled, and, throwingher head back as does a deer when it starts to shake off its pursuersby flight, she ran swiftly towards the riders. The traveller standingbeside Galbraith said: "That man is hurt, wounded probably. I didn'texpect to have a patient in the middle of the plains. I'm a doctor. Perhaps I can be of use here?" When a hundred yards away Jen recognisedthe recumbent rider. A thousand thoughts flashed through her brain. Whathad happened? Why was he dressed in civilian's clothes? A moment, andshe was at his horse's head. Another, and her warm hand clasped thepale, moist, and wrinkled one which hung by the horse's neck. His coatat the shoulder was stained with blood, and there was a handkerchiefabout his head. This--this was Sergeant Tom Gellatly!

She looked up at Pierre, an agony of inquiry in her eyes, and pointingmutely to the wounded man. Pierre spoke with a tone of seriousness notcommon to his voice: "You see, Jen Galbraith, it was brave. Sergeant Tomone day resigns the Mounted Police. He leaves the Riders of the Plains. That is not easy to understand, for he is in much favour with theofficers. But he buys himself out, and there is the end of the Sergeantand his triple chevron. That is one day. That night, two men on a ferryare crossing the Saskatchewan at Fort Desire. They are fired at from theshore behind. One man is hit twice. But they get across, cut the ferryloose, mount horses, and ride away together. The man that was hit--yes, Sergeant Tom. The other that was not hit was Val Galbraith. "

Jen gave a cry of mingled joy and pain, and said, with Tom Gellatly'scold hand clasped to her bosom: "Val, our Val, is free, is safe. "

"Yes, Val is free and safe-quite. The Riders of the Plains could notcross the river. It was too high. And so Tom Gellatly and Val got away. Val rides straight for the American border, and the other rides here. "They were now near the house, but Jen said, eagerly: "Go on. Tell meall. "

"I knew what had happened soon, and I rode away, too, and last night Ifound Tom Gellatly lying beside his horse on the prairie. I have broughthim here to you. You two are even now, Jen Galbraith. "

They were at the tavern door. The traveller and Pierre lifted, downthe wounded and unconscious man, and brought him and laid him on ValGalbraith's bed. 

The traveller examined the wounds in the shoulder and the head, andsaid: "The head is all right. If I can get the bullet out of theshoulder he'll be safe enough--in time. "

The surgery was skilful but rude, for proper instruments were not athand; and in a few hours he, whom we shall still call Sergeant Tom, layquietly sleeping, the pallor gone from his face and the feeling of deathfrom his hand. 

It was near midnight when he waked. Jen was sitting beside him. Helooked round and saw her. Her face was touched with the light that shonefrom the Prairie Star. "Jen, " he said, and held out his hand. 

She turned from the window and stood beside his bed. She took hisoutstretched hand. "You are better, Sergeant Tom"? she said, gently. 

"Yes, I'm better; but it's not Sergeant Tom I am any longer, Jen. "

"I forgot that. "

"I owed you a great debt, Jen. I couldn't remain one of the Riders ofthe Plains and try to pay it. I left them. Then I tried to save Val, andI did. I knew how to do it without getting anyone else into trouble. Itis well to know the trick of a lock and the hour that guard is changed. I had left, but I relieved guard that night just the same. It was a newman on watch. It's only a minute I had; for the regular relief watch wasalmost at my heels. I got Val out just in time. They discovered us, andwe had a run for it. Pretty Pierre has told you. That's right. Val issafe now--"

In a low strained voice, interrupting him, she said, "Did Val leave youwounded so on the prairie?"

"Don't let that ate at your heart. No, he didn't. I hurried him off, andhe didn't know how bad I was hit. But I--I've paid my debt, haven't I, Jen?" With eyes that could not see for tears, she touched pityingly, lovingly, the wounds on his head and shoulder, and said: "These pay agreater debt than you ever owed me. You risked your life for me--yes, for me. You have given up everything to do it. I can't pay you the greatdifference. No, never!"

"Yes--yes, you can, if you will, Jen. It's as aisy! If you'll say what Isay, I'll give you quit of that difference, as you call it, forever andever. "

"First, tell me. Is Val quite, quite safe?"

"Yes, he's safe over the border by this time; and to tell you the truth, the Riders of the Plains wouldn't be dyin' to arrest him again if hewas in Canada, which he isn't. It's little they wanted to fire at us, Iknow, when we were crossin' the river, but it had to be done, you see, and us within sight. Will you say what I ask you, Jen?"

She did not speak, but pressed his hand ever so slightly. 

"Tom Gellatly, I promise, " he said. 

"Tom Gellatly, I promise--"

"To give you as much--"

"To give you as much--"

"Love--"

There was a pause, and then she falteringly said, "Love--"

"As you give to me-"

"As you give to me--"

"And I'll take you poor as you are--"

"And I'll take you poor as you are--"

"To be my husband as long as you live--"

"To be my husband as long as you live--"

"So help me, God. "

"So help me, God. "

She stooped with dropping tears, and he kissed her once. Then whatwas girl in her timidly drew back, while what was woman in her, andtherefore maternal, yearned over the sufferer. 

They had not seen the figure of an old man at the door. They did nothear him enter. They only knew of Peter Galbraith's presence when hesaid: "Mebbe--mebbe I might say Amen!"

THREE OUTLAWS

The missionary at Fort Anne of the H. B. C. Was violently in earnest. Before he piously followed the latest and most amply endowed batch ofsettlers, who had in turn preceded the new railway to the Fort, the wordscandal had no place in the vocabulary of the citizens. The H. B. C. Hadnever imported it into the Chinook language, the common meeting-groundof all the tribes of the North; and the British men and native-born, whomade the Fort their home, or place of sojourn, had never found need forits use. Justice was so quickly distributed, men were so open in theirconduct, good and bad, that none looked askance, nor put their actionsin ambush, nor studied innuendo. But this was not according to the newdispensation--that is, the dispensation which shrewdly followed thesettlers, who as shrewdly preceded the railway. And, the dispensationand the missionary were known also as the Reverend Ezra Badgley, who, on his own declaration, in times past had "a call" to preach, and in thefar East had served as local preacher, then probationer, then went oncircuit, and now was missionary in a district of which the choice didcredit to his astuteness, and gave room for his piety and for his holyrage against the Philistines. He loved a word for righteous mouthing, and in a moment of inspiration pagan and scandal came to him. Upon thesetwo words he stamped, through them he perspired mightily, and withthem he clenched his stubby fingers--such fingers as dug trenches, orsnatched lewdly at soft flesh, in days of barbarian battle. To him allmen were Pagans who loved not the sound of his voice, nor wrestled withhim in prayer before the Lord, nor fed him with rich food, nor gave himmuch strong green tea to drink. But these men were of opaque stuff, andwere not dismayed, and they called him St. Anthony, and with a propheticand deadly patience waited. The time came when the missionary shookhis denouncing finger mostly at Pretty Pierre, who carefully nursed hissilent wrath until the occasion should arrive for a delicate revengewhich hath its hour with every man, if, hating, he knows how to bide thewill of Fate. 

The hour came. A girl had been found dying on the roadside beyond theFort by the drunken doctor of the place and Pierre. Pierre was with herwhen she died. 

"An' who's to bury her, the poor colleen"? said Shon McGann afterwards. 

Pierre musingly replied: "She is a Protestant. There is but one man. "

After many pertinent and vigorous remarks, Shon added, "A Pagan is it, he calls you, Pierre, you that's had the holy water on y'r forehead, and the cross on the water, and that knows the book o' the Mass like thecards in a pack? Sinner y' are, and so are we all, God save us! say I;and weavin' the stripes for our backs He may be, and little I'd think ofHim failin' in that: but Pagan--faith, it's black should be the whiteof the eyes of that preachin' sneak, and a rattle of teeth in histhroat--divils go round me!"

The half-breed, still musing, replied: "An eye for an eye, and a toothfor a tooth--is that it, Shon?" "Nivir a word truer by song or by book, and stand by the text, say I. For Papist I am, and Papist are you; andthe imps from below in y'r fingers whip poker is the game; and outlawsas they call us both--you for what it doesn't concern me, and I for awild night in ould Donegal--but Pagan, wurra! whin shall it be, Pierre?"

"When shall it to be?"

"True for you. The teeth in his throat and a lump to his eye, and whatmore be the will o' God. Fightin' there'll be, av coorse; but by youI'll stand, and sorra inch will I give, if they'll do it with sticks orwith guns, and not with the blisterin' tongue that's lied of me and mefrinds--for frind I call you, Pierre, that loved me little in daysgone by. And proud I am not of you, nor you of me; but we've tasted thebitter of avil days together, and divils surround me, if I don't go downwith you or come up with you, whichever it be! For there's dirt, as Isay on their tongues, and over their shoulder they look at you, and notwith an eye full front. "

Pierre was cool, even pensive. His lips parted slightly once or twice, and showed a row of white, malicious teeth. For the rest, he looked asif he were politely interested but not moved by the excitement ofthe other. He slowly rolled a cigarette and replied: "He says it is ascandal that I live at Fort Anne. Well, I was here before he came, and Ishall be here after he goes--yes. A scandal--tsh! what is that? Youknow the word 'Raca' of the Book? Well, there shall be more 'Raca;soon--perhaps. No, there shall not be fighting as you think, Shon;but--" here Pierre rose, came over, and spread his fingers lightly onShon's breast "but this thing is between this man and me, Shon McGann, and you shall see a great matter. Perhaps there will be blood, perhapsnot--perhaps only an end. " And the half-breed looked up at the Irishmanfrom under his dark brows so covertly and meaningly that Shon sawvisions of a trouble as silent as a plague, as resistless as a greatflood. This noiseless vengeance was not after his own heart. He almostshivered as the delicate fingers drummed on his breast. 

"Angels begird me, Pretty Pierre, but it's little I'd like you for enemyo' mine; for I know that you'd wait for y'r foe with death in y'r hand, and pity far from y'r heart; and y'd smile as you pulled the black-capon y'r head, and laugh as you drew the life out of him, God knows how!Arrah, give me, sez I, the crack of a stick, the bite of a gun, or theclip of a sabre's edge, with a shout in y'r mouth the while!"

Though Pierre still listened lazily, there was a wicked fire in hiseyes. His words now came from his teeth with cutting precision. "Ihave a great thought tonight, Shon McGann. I will tell you when we meetagain. But, my friend, one must not be too rash--no, not too brutal. Even the sabre should fall at the right time, and then swift and still. Noise is not battle. Well, 'au revoir!' To-morrow I shall tell you manythings. " He caught Shon's hand quickly, as quickly dropped it, and wentout indolently singing a favourite song, --"Voici le sabre de mon Pere!"

It was dark. Pretty Pierre stood still, and thought for a while. At lasthe spoke aloud: "Well, I shall do it, now I have him--so!" And he openedand shut his hand swiftly and firmly. He moved on, avoiding the morehabited parts of the place, and by a roundabout came to a house standingvery close to the bank of the river. He went softly to the door andlistened. Light shone through the curtain of a window. He went to thewindow and looked beneath the curtain. Then he came back to the door, opened it very gently, stepped inside, and closed it behind him. 

A man seated at a table, eating, rose; a man on whom greed had set itsmark--greed of the flesh, greed of men's praise, greed of money. Hisframe was thick-set, his body was heavily nourished, his eye was shiftybut intelligent; and a close observer would have seen something elusive, something furtive and sinister, in his face. His lips were greasy withmeat as he stood up, and a fear sprang to his face, so that its fatlooked sickly. But he said hoarsely, and with an attempt at beingbrave--"How dare you enter my house with out knocking? What do youwant?"

The half-breed waved a hand protestingly towards him. "Pardon!" he said. "Be seated, and finish your meal. Do you know me?"

"Yes, I know you. "

"Well, as I said, do not stop your meal. I have come to speak with youvery quietly about a scandal--a scandal, you understand. This is Sundaynight, a good time to talk of such things. " Pierre seated himself at thetable, opposite the man. 

But the man replied: "I have nothing to say to you. You are--"

The half-breed interrupted: "Yes, I know, a Pagan fattening--" here hesmiled, and looked at his thin hands--"fattening for the shambles of thedamned, as you have said from the pulpit, Reverend Ezra Badgley. But youwill permit me--a sinner as you say--to speak to you like this while yousit down and eat. I regret to disturb you, but you will sit, eh?"

Pierre's tone was smooth and low, almost deferential, and his eyes, wideopen now, and hot with some hidden purpose, were fixed compellingly onthe man. The missionary sat, and, having recovered slightly, fumbledwith a knife and fork. A napkin was still beneath his greasy chin. Hedid not take it away. 

Pierre then spoke slowly: "Yes, it is a scandal concerning a sinner--anda Pagan. .. . Will you permit me to light a cigarette? Thank you. .. . Youhave said many harsh things about me: well, as you see, I am amiable. Ilived at Fort Anne before you came. They call me Pretty Pierre. Why ismy cheek so? Because I drink no wine; I eat not much. Pardon, pork likethat on your plate--no! no! I do not take green tea as there in yourcup; I do not love women, one or many. Again, pardon, I say. "

The other drew his brows together with an attempt at pious frowning andindignation; but there was a cold, sneering smile now turned upon him, and it changed the frown to anxiety, and made his lips twitch, and thefood he had eaten grow heavy within him. 

"I come to the scandal slowly. The woman? She was a young girltravelling from the far East, to search for a man who had--spoiledher. She was found by me and another. Ah, you start so!. .. Will you notlisten?. .. Well, she died to-night. "

Here the missionary gasped, and caught with both hands at the table. 

"But before she died she gave two things into my hands: a packet ofletters--a man is a fool to write such letters--and a small bottle ofpoison--laudanum, old-fashioned but sure. The letters were from theman at Fort Anne--the man, you hear! The other was for her death, if hewould not take her to his arms again. Women are mad when they love. Andso she came to Fort Anne, but not in time. The scandal is great, becausethe man is holy--sit down!"

The half-breed said the last two words sharply, but not loudly. Theyboth sat down slowly again, looking each other in the eyes. Then Pierredrew from his pocket a small bottle and a packet of letters, and heldthem before him. "I have this to say: there are citizens of Fort Annewho stand for justice more than law; who have no love for the ways ofSt. Anthony. There is a Pagan, too, an outlaw, who knows when it is timeto give blow for blow with the holy man. Well, we understand each other, 'hein?'"

The elusive, sinister look in the missionary's face was etched in stronglines now. A dogged sullenness hung about his lips. He noticed thatone hand only of Pretty Pierre was occupied with the relics of the deadgirl; the other was free to act suddenly on a hip pocket. "What do youwant me to do"? he said, not whiningly, for beneath the selfish fleshand shallow outworks there were the elements of a warrior--all pulpynow, but they were there. 

"This, " was the reply: "for you to make one more outlaw at Fort Anne bydrinking what is in this bottle--sit down, quick, by God!" He placed thebottle within reach of the other. "Then you shall have these letters;and there is the fire. After? Well, you will have a great sleep, thegood people will find you, they will bury you, weeping much, and no oneknows here but me. Refuse that, and there is the other, the Law--ah, thepoor girl was so very young!--and the wild Justice which is sometimesquicker than Law. Well? well?"

The missionary sat as if paralysed, his face all grey, his eyes fixed onthe half-breed. "Are you man or devil"? he groaned at length. 

With a slight, fantastic gesture Pierre replied: "It was said that adevil entered into me at birth, but that was mere scandal--'peut-etre. 'You shall think as you will. "

There was silence. The sullenness about the missionary's lips becamecharged with a contempt more animal than human. The Reverend EzraBadgley knew that the man before him was absolute in his determination, and that the Pagans of Fort Anne would show him little mercy, while hisflock would leave him to his fate. He looked at the bottle. The silencegrew, so that the ticking of the watch in the missionary's pocket couldbe heard plainly, having for its background of sound the continuousswish of the river. Pretty Pierre's eyes were never taken off theother, whose gaze, again, was fixed upon the bottle with a terriblefascination. An hour, two hours, passed. The fire burned lower. It wasmidnight; and now the watch no longer ticked; it had fulfilled its day'swork. The missionary shuddered slightly at this. He looked up to see theresolute gloom of the half-breed's eyes, and that sneering smile, fixedupon him still. Then he turned once more to the bottle. .. . His heavyhand moved slowly towards it. His stubby fingers perspired and showedsickly in the light. .. . They closed about the bottle. Then suddenly heraised it, and drained it at a draught. He sighed once heavily and as ifa great inward pain was over. Rising he took the letters silently pushedtowards him, and dropped them into the fire. He went to the window, raised it, and threw the bottle into the river. The cork was left:Pierre pointed to it. He took it up with a strange smile and thrust itinto the coals. Then he sat down by the table, leaning his arms upon it, his eyes staring painfully before him, and the forgotten napkin stillabout his neck. Soon the eyes closed, and, with a moan on his lips, hishead dropped forward on his arms. .. . Pierre rose, and, looking at thefigure soon to be breathless as the baked meats about it, said: "'Bien, 'he was not all coward. No. "

Then he turned and went out into the night. 

SHON McGANN'S TOBOGAN RIDE

 "Oh, it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, With the knees pressing hard to the saddle, my men; With the sparks from the hoofs giving light to the eyes, And our hearts beating hard as we rode to the glen!

 "And it's back with the ring of the chain and the spur, And it's back with the sun on the hill and the moor, And it's back is the thought sets my pulses astir! But I'll never go back to Farcalladen more. "

Shon McGann was lying on a pile of buffalo robes in a mountain hut, --anAustralian would call it a humpey, --singing thus to himself with hispipe between his teeth. In the room, besides Shon, were Pretty Pierre, Jo Gordineer, the Hon. Just Trafford, called by his companions simply"The Honourable, " and Prince Levis, the owner of the establishment. Notthat Monsieur Levis, the French Canadian, was really a Prince. The namewas given to him with a humorous cynicism peculiar to the Rockies. We have little to do with Prince Levis here; but since he may appearelsewhere, this explanation is made. 

Jo Gordineer had been telling The Honourable about the ghost of GuidonMountain, and Pretty Pierre was collaborating with their host inthe preparation of what, in the presence of the Law--that is of theNorth-West Mounted Police--was called ginger-tea, in consideration ofthe prohibition statute. 

Shon McGann had been left to himself--an unusual thing; for everyone hada shot at Shon when opportunity occurred; and never a bull's-eye couldthey make on him. His wit was like the shield of a certain personage ofmythology. 

He had wandered on from verse to verse of the song with one eye on thecollaborators and an ear open to The Honourable's polite exclamations ofwonder. Jo had, however, come to the end of his weird tale--for weirdit certainly was, told at the foot of Guidon Mountain itself, and ina region of vast solitudes--the pair of chemists were approaching "thesupreme union of unctuous elements, " as The Honourable put it, and inthe silence that fell for a moment there crept the words of the singer:

 "And it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise, And it's swift as an arrow and straight as a spear--"

Jo Gordineer interrupted. "Say, Shon, when'll you be through thattobogan ride of yours? Aint there any end to it?"

But Shon was looking with both eyes now at the collaborators, and hesang softly on:

 "And it's keen as the frost when the summer-time dies, That we rode to the glen and with never a fear. "

Then he added: "The end's cut off, Joey, me boy; but what's a toboganride, annyway?"

"Listen to that, Pierre. I'll be eternally shivered if he knows what atobogan ride is!"

"Hot shivers it'll be for you, Joey, me boy, and no quinine over the baraither, " said Shon. 

"Tell him what a tobogan ride is, Pierre. "

And Pretty Pierre said: "Eh, well, I will tell you. It is like-no, youhave the word precise, Joseph. Eh? What?"

Pierre then added something in French. Shon did not understand it, buthe saw The Honourable smile, so with a gentle kind of contempt he wenton singing:

 "And it's hey for the hedge, and it's hey for the wall! And it's over the stream with an echoing cry; And there's three fled for ever from old Donegal, And there's two that have shown how bold Irishmen die. "

The Honourable then said, "What is that all about, Shon? I never heardthe song before. "

"No more you did. And I wish I could see the lad that wrote that song, livin' or dead. If one of ye's will tell me about your tobogan rides, I'll unfold about Farcalladen Rise. "

Prince Levis passed the liquor. Pretty Pierre, seated on a candle-box, with a glass in his delicate fingers, said: "Eh, well, the Honourablehas much language. He can speak, precise--this would be better with alittle lemon, just a little, --the Honourable, he, perhaps, will tell. Eh?"

Pretty Pierre was showing his white teeth. At this stage in his career, he did not love the Honourable. The Honourable understood that, but hemade clear to Shon's mind what toboganing is. 

And Shon, on his part, with fresh and hearty voice, touched here andthere by a plaintive modulation, told about that ride on FarcalladenRise; a tale of broken laws, and fight and fighting, and death andexile; and never a word of hatred in it all. 

"And the writer of the song, who was he"? asked the Honourable. 

"A gentleman after God's own heart. Heaven rest his soul, if he's dead, which I'm thinkin' is so, and give him the luck of the world if he'slivin', say I. But it's little I know what's come to him. In the heartof Australia I saw him last; and mates we were together after gold. Andlittle gold did we get but what was in the heart of him. And we partedone day, I carryin' the song that he wrote for me of Farcalladen Rise, and the memory of him; and him givin' me the word, 'I'll not forget you, Shon, me boy, whatever comes; remember that. And a short pull of theThree-Star together for the partin' salute, ' says he. And the Three-Starin one sup each we took, as solemn as the Mass, and he went away towardsCloncurry and I to the coast; and that's the last that I saw of him, nowthree years gone. And here I am, and I wish I was with him wherever heis. "

"What was his name"? said the Honourable. 

"Lawless. "

The fingers of the Honourable trembled on his cigar. "Very interesting, Shon, " he said, as he rose, puffing hard till his face was in a cloud ofsmoke. "You had many adventures together, I suppose, " he continued. 

"Adventures we had and sufferin' bewhiles, and fun, too, to the neck andflowin' over. "

"You'll spin us a long yarn about them another night, Shon"? said theHonourable. 

"I'll do it now--a yarn as long as the lies of the Government; and proudof the chance. "

"Not to-night, Shon" (there was a kind of huskiness in the voice of theHonourable); "it's time to turn in. We've a long tramp over the glacierto-morrow, and we must start at sunrise. "

The Honourable was in command of the party, though Jo Gordineer wasthe guide, and all were, for the moment, miners, making for the littleGoshen Field over in Pipi Valley. --At least Pretty Pierre said he was aminer. 

No one thought of disputing the authority of the Honourable, and theyall rose. 

In a few minutes there was silence in the hut, save for the oracularbreathing of Prince Levis and the sparks from the fire. But theHonourable did not sleep well; he lay and watched the fire through mostof the night. 

The day was clear, glowing, decisive. Not a cloud in the curve of azure, not a shiver of wind down the canon, not a frown in Nature, if we exceptthe lowering shadows from the shoulders of the giants of the range. Crowning the shadows was a splendid helmet of light, rich with thedyes of the morning; the pines were touched with a brilliant if austerewarmth. The pride of lofty lineage and severe isolation was regnant overall. And up through the splendour, and the shadows, and the loneliness, and the austere warmth, must our travellers go. Must go? Scarcely that, but the Honourable had made up his mind to cross the glacier and nonesought to dissuade him from his choice; the more so, because there wassomething of danger in the business. Pretty Pierre had merely shruggedhis shoulders at the suggestion, and had said:

"'Nom de Dieu, ' the higher we go the faster we live, that is something. "

"Sometimes we live ourselves to death too quickly. In my schooldays Iwatched a mouse in a jar of oxygen do that;" said the Honourable. 

"That is the best way to die, " remarked the halfbreed--"much. "

Jo Gordineer had been over the path before. He was confident of the way, and proud of his office of guide. 

"Climb Mont Blanc, if you will, " said the Honourable, "but leave methese white bastions of the Selkirks. "

Even so. They have not seen the snowy hills of God who have yet to lookupon the Rocky Mountains, absolute, stupendous, sublimely grave. 

Jo Gordineer and Pretty Pierre strode on together. They being well awayfrom the other two, the Honourable turned and said to Shon: "What wasthe name of the man who wrote that song of yours, again, Shon?"

"Lawless. "

"Yes, but his first name?"

"Duke--Duke Lawless. "

There was a pause, in which the other seemed to be intently studying theglacier above them. Then he said: "What was he like?--in appearance, Imean. "

"A trifle more than your six feet, about your colour of hair and eyes, and with a trick of smilin' that would melt the heart of an exciseman, and O'Connell's own at a joke, barrin' a time or two that he got hold ofa pile of papers from the ould country. By the grave of St. Shon! thinhe was as dry of fun as a piece of blotting paper. And he said at last, before he was aisy and free again, 'Shon, ' says he, 'it's better to burnyour ships behind ye, isn't it?'

"And I, havin' thought of a glen in ould Ireland that I'll never seeagain, nor any that's in it, said: 'Not, only burn them to the water'sedge, Duke Lawless, but swear to your own soul that they never lived butin the dreams of the night. '

"'You're right there, Shon, ' says he, and after that no luck was badenough to cloud the gay heart of him, and bad enough it was sometimes. "

"And why do you fear that he is not alive?"

"Because I met an old mate of mine one day on the Frazer, and he saidthat Lawless had never come to Cloncurry; and a hard, hard road it wasto travel. "

Jo Gordineer was calling to them, and there the conversation ended. Ina few minutes the four stood on the edge of the glacier. Each man had along hickory stick which served as alpenstock, a bag hung at his side, and tied to his back was his gold-pan, the hollow side in, of course. Shon's was tied a little lower down than the others. 

They passed up this solid river of ice, this giant power at endlessstrife with the high hills, up towards its head. The Honourable was thefirst to reach the point of vantage, and to look down upon the vast andwandering fissures, the frigid bulwarks, the great fortresses of ice, the ceaseless snows, the aisles of this mountain sanctuary through whichNature's splendid anthems rolled. Shon was a short distance below, withhis hand over his eyes, sweeping the semi-circle of glory. 

Suddenly there was a sharp cry from Pierre: "Mon Dieu! Look!"

Shon McGann had fallen on a smooth pavement of ice. The gold-pan wasbeneath him, and down the glacier he was whirled-whirled, for Shonhad thrust his heels in the snow and ice, and the gold-pan performed aseries of circles as it sped down the incline. His fingers clutched theice and snow, but they only left a red mark of blood behind. Must he gothe whole course of that frozen slide, plump into the wild depths below?

"'Mon Dieu!--mon Dieu!'" said Pretty Pierre, piteously. The face of theHonourable was set and tense. 

Jo Gordineer's hand clutched his throat as if he choked. Still Shonsped. It was a matter of seconds only. The tragedy crowded to the awfulend. 

But, no. 

There was a tilt in the glacier, and the gold-pan, suddenly swirling, again swung to the outer edge, and shot over. 

As if hurled from a catapult, the Irishman was ejected from the whitemonster's back. He fell on a wide shelf of ice, covered with light snow, through which he was tunnelled, and dropped on another ledge below, nearthe path by which he and his companions had ascended. "Shied from thefinish, by God!" said Jo Gordineer. "'Le pauvre Shon!'" added PrettyPierre. 

The Honourable was making his way down, his brain haunted by the words, "He'll never go back to Farcalladen more. "

But Jo was right. 

For Shon McGann was alive. He lay breathless, helpless, for a moment;then he sat up and scanned his lacerated fingers: he looked up the pathby which he had come; he looked down the path he seemed destined to go;he started to scratch his head, but paused in the act, by reason of hisfingers. 

Then he said: "It's my mother wouldn't know me from a can of cold meatif I hadn't stopped at this station; but wurrawurra, what a car it wasto come in!" He examined his tattered clothes and bare elbows; then heunbuckled the gold-pan, and no easy task was it with his ragged fingers. "'Twas not for deep minin' I brought ye, " he said to the pan, "nor forscrapin' the clothes from me back. "

Just then the Honourable came up. "Shon, my man. .. Alive, thank God! Howis it with you?"

"I'm hardly worth the lookin' at. I wouldn't turn my back to ye for aransom. "

"It's enough that you're here at all. "

"Ah, 'voila!' this Irishman!" said Pretty Pierre, as his light fingerstouched Shon's bruised arm gently. This from Pretty Pierre!

There was that in the voice which went to Shon's heart. Who could haveguessed that this outlaw of the North would ever show a sign of sympathyor friendship for anybody? But it goes to prove that you can never beexact in your estimate of character. Jo Gordineer only said jestingly:"Say, now, what are you doing, Shon, bringing us down here, when wemight be well into the Valley by this time?"

"That in your face and the hair aff your head, " said Shon; "it's littleyou know a tobogan ride when you see one. I'll take my share of thegrog, by the same token. "

The Honourable uncorked his flask. Shon threw back his head with alaugh. 

 "For it's rest when the gallop is over, me men! And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last; And it's here's--"

But Shon had fainted with the flask in his hand and this snatch of asong on his lips. 

They reached shelter that night. Had it not been for the accident, theywould have got to their destination in the Valley; but here they weretwelve miles from it. Whether this was fortunate or unfortunate may beseen later. Comfortably bestowed in this mountain tavern, after they hadtoasted and eaten their venison and lit their pipes, they drew about thefire. 

Besides the four, there was a figure that lay sleeping in a corner on apile of pine branches, wrapped in a bearskin robe. Whoever it was sleptsoundly. 

"And what was it like--the gold-pan flyer--the tobogan ride, Shon?"remarked Jo Gordineer. 

"What was it like?--what was it like"? replied Shon. "Sure, I couldn'tsee what it was like for the stars that were hittin' me in the eyes. There wasn't any world at all. I was ridin' on a streak of lightnin', and nivir a rubber for the wheels; and my fingers makin' stripes ofblood on the snow; and now the stars that were hittin' me were white, and thin they were red, and sometimes blue--"

"The Stars and Stripes, " inconsiderately remarked Jo Gordineer. 

"And there wasn't any beginning to things, nor any end of them; andwhin I struck the snow and cut down the core of it like a cat through aglass, I was willin' to say with the Prophet of Ireland--"

"Are you going to pass the liniment, Pretty Pierre?" It was Jo Gordineersaid that. 

What the Prophet of Israel did say--Israel and Ireland were identical toShon--was never told. 

Shon's bubbling sarcasm was full-stopped by the beneficent savour that, rising now from the hands of the four, silenced all irrelevant speech. It was a function of importance. It was not simply necessary to sayHow! or Here's reformation! or I look towards you! As if by a commoninstinct, the Honourable, Jo Gordineer, and Pretty Pierre, turnedtowards Shon and lifted their glasses. Jo Gordineer was going to say:"Here's a safe foot in the stirrups to you, " but he changed his mind anddrank in silence. 

Shon's eye had been blazing with fun, but it took on, all at once, amisty twinkle. None of them had quite bargained for this. The feelinghad come like a wave of soft lightning, and had passed through them. Didit come from the Irishman himself? Was it his own nature acting throughthose who called him "partner"?

Pretty Pierre got up and kicked savagely at the wood in the bigfireplace. He ostentatiously and needlessly put another log ofNorfolk-pine upon the fire. 

The Honourable gaily suggested a song. 

"Sing us 'Avec les Braves Sauvages, ' Pierre, " said Jo Gordineer. 

But Pierre waved his fingers towards Shon: "Shon, his song--he did notfinish--on the glacier. It is good we hear all. 'Hein?'"

And so Shon sang:

 "Oh it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise. "

The sleeper on the pine branches stirred nervously, as if the song werecoming through a dream to him. At the third verse he started up, and aneager, sun-burned face peered from the half-darkness at the singer. TheHonourable was sitting in the shadow, with his back to the new actor inthe scene. 

 "For it's rest when the gallop is over, my men I And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last! And it's here's--"

Shon paused. One of those strange lapses of memory came to him whichcome at times to most of us concerning familiar things. He could get nofurther than he did on the mountain side. He passed his hand over hisforehead, stupidly:--"Saints forgive me; but it's gone from me, andsorra the one can I get it; me that had it by heart, and the lad thatwrote it far away. Death in the world, but I'll try it again!

 "For it's rest when the gallop is over, my men! And it's here's to the lads that have ridden their last! And it's here's--"

Again he paused. 

But from the half-darkness there came a voice, a clear baritone:

 "And here's to the lasses we leave in the glen, With a smile for the future, a sigh for the past. "

At the last words the figure strode down into the firelight. 

"Shon, old friend, don't you know me?"

Shon had started to his feet at the first note of the voice, and stoodas if spellbound. 

There was no shaking of hands. Both men held each other hard by theshoulders, and stood so for a moment looking steadily eye to eye. 

Then Shon said: "Duke Lawless, there's parallels of latitude andparallels of longitude, but who knows the tomb of ould Brian Borhoime?"

Which was his way of saying, "How come you here"? Duke Lawless turnedto the others before he replied. His eyes fell on the Honourable. Witha start and a step backward, and with a peculiar angry dryness in hisvoice, he said:

"Just Trafford!"

"Yes, " replied the Honourable, smiling, "I have found you. "

"Found me! And why have you sought me? Me, Duke Lawless? I should havethought--"

The Honourable interrupted: "To tell you that you are Sir Duke Lawless. "

"That? You sought me to tell me that?"

"I did. "

"You are sure? And for naught else?"

"As I live, Duke. "

The eyes fixed on the Honourable were searching. Sir Duke hesitated, then held out his hand. In a swift but cordial silence it was taken. Nothing more could be said then. It is only in plays where gentlemenfreely discuss family affairs before a curious public. Pretty Pierre wasbusy with a decoction. Jo Gordineer was his associate. Shon had drawnback, and was apparently examining the indentations on his gold-pan. 

"Shon, old fellow, come here, " said Sir Duke Lawless. 

But Shon had received a shock. "It's little I knew Sir Duke Lawless--"he said. 

"It's little you needed to know then, or need to know now, Shon, myfriend. I'm Duke Lawless to you here and henceforth, as ever I was then, on the wallaby track. "

And Shon believed him. The glasses were ready. 

"I'll give the toast, " said the Honourable with a gentle gravity. "ToShon McGann and his Tobogan Ride!"

"I'll drink to the first half of it with all my heart, " said Sir Duke. "It's all I know about. "

"Amen to that divorce, " rejoined Shon. 

"But were it not for the Tobogan Ride we shouldn't have stopped here, "said the Honourable; "and where would this meeting have been?"

"That alters the case, " Sir Duke remarked. "I take back the 'Amen, '"said Shon. 

II

Whatever claims Shon had upon the companionship of Sir Duke Lawless, heknew there were other claims that were more pressing. After the toastwas finished, with an emphasised assumption of weariness, and a hint ofa long yarn on the morrow, he picked up his blanket and started for theroom where all were to sleep. The real reason of this early departurewas clear to Pretty Pierre at once, and in due time it dawned upon JoGordineer. 

The two Englishmen, left alone, sat for a few moments silent and smokinghard. Then the Honourable rose, got his knapsack, and took out a smallnumber of papers, which he handed to Sir Duke, saying, "By slow postalservice to Sir Duke Lawless. Residence, somewhere on one of fivecontinents. "

An envelope bearing a woman's writing was the first thing that met SirDuke's eye. He stared, took it out, turned it over, looked curiously atthe Honourable for a moment, and then began to break the seal. 

"Wait, Duke. Do not read that. We have something to say to each otherfirst. "

Sir Duke laid the letter down. "You have some explanation to make, " hesaid. 

"It was so long ago; mightn't it be better to go over the story again?"

"Perhaps. "

"Then it is best you should tell it. I am on my defence, you know. "

Sir Duke leaned back, and a frown gathered on his forehead. Strikinglyout of place on his fresh face it seemed. Looking quickly from the fireto the face of the Honourable and back again earnestly, as if the fullforce of what was required came to him, he said: "We shall get theperspective better if we put the tale in the third person. Duke Lawlesswas the heir to the title and estates of Trafford Court. Next insuccession to him was Just Trafford, his cousin. Lawless had an incomesufficient for a man of moderate tastes. Trafford had not quite that, but he had his profession of the law. At college they had been fastfriends, but afterwards had drifted apart, through no cause savedifference of pursuits and circumstances. Friends they still wereand likely to be so always. One summer, when on a visit to his uncle, Admiral Sir Clavel Lawless, at Trafford Court, where a party of peoplehad been invited for a month, Duke Lawless fell in love with Miss EmilyDorset. She did him the honour to prefer him to any other man--atleast, he thought so. Her income, however, was limited like his own. Theengagement was not announced, for Lawless wished to make a home beforehe took a wife. He inclined to ranching in Canada, or a planter's lifein Queensland. The eight or ten thousand pounds necessary was not, however, easy to get for the start, and he hadn't the least notion ofdiscounting the future, by asking the admiral's help. Besides, he knewhis uncle did not wish him to marry unless he married a woman plusa fortune. While things were in this uncertain state, Just Traffordarrived on a visit to Trafford Court. The meeting of the old friendswas cordial. Immediately on Trafford's arrival, however, the currentof events changed. Things occurred which brought disaster. It wasnoticeable that Miss Emily Dorset began to see a deal more of AdmiralLawless and Just Trafford, and a deal less of the younger Lawless. Oneday Duke Lawless came back to the house unexpectedly, his horse havingknocked up on the road. On entering the library he saw what turned thecourse of his life. " Sir Duke here paused, sighed, shook the ashes outof his pipe with a grave and expressive anxiety which did not properlybelong to the action, and remained for a moment, both arms on his knees, silent, and looking at the fire. Then he continued:

"Just Trafford sat beside Emily Dorset in an attitude of--say, affectionate consideration. She had been weeping, and her whole mannersuggested very touching confidences. They both rose on the entrance ofLawless; but neither tried to say a word. What could they say? Lawlessapologised, took a book from the table which he had not come for, andleft. "

Again Sir Duke paused. 

"The book was an illustrated Much Ado About Nothing, " said theHonourable. 

"A few hours after, Lawless had an interview with Emily Dorset. Hedemanded, with a good deal of feeling, perhaps, --for he was romanticenough to love the girl, --an explanation. He would have asked it ofTrafford first if he had seen him. She said Lawless should trust her;that she had no explanation at that moment to give. If he waited--butLawless asked her if she cared for him at all, if she wished or intendedto marry him? She replied lightly, 'Perhaps, when you become Sir DukeLawless. ' Then Lawless accused her of heartlessness, and of encouragingboth his uncle and Just Trafford. She amusingly said, 'Perhaps shehad, but it really didn't matter, did it?' For reply, Lawless said herinterest in the whole family seemed active and impartial. He bade hernot vex herself at all about him, and not to wait until he became SirDuke Lawless, but to give preference to seniority and begin with thetitle at once; which he has reason since to believe that she did. Whathe said to her he has been sorry for, not because he thinks it wasundeserved, but because he has never been able since to rouse himselfto anger on the subject, nor to hate the girl and Just Trafford ashe ought. Of the dead he is silent altogether. He never sought anexplanation from Just Trafford, for he left that night for London, andin two days was on his way to Australia. The day he left, however, hereceived a note from his banker saying that L8000 had been placed to hiscredit by Admiral Lawless. Feeling the indignity of what he believed wasthe cause of the gift, Lawless neither acknowledged it nor used it, not any penny of it. Five years have gone since then, and Lawless haswandered over two continents, a self-created exile. He has learned muchthat he didn't learn at Oxford; and not the least of all, that the worldis not so bad as is claimed for it, that it isn't worth while hating andcherishing hate, that evil is half-accidental, half-natural, and thathard work in the face of nature is the thing to pull a man together andstrengthen him for his place in the universe. Having burned his shipsbehind him, that is the way Lawless feels. And the story is told. "

Just Trafford sat looking musingly but imperturbably at Sir Duke for aminute; then he said:

"That is your interpretation of the story, but not the story. Let usturn the medal over now. And, first, let Trafford say that he has thepermission of Emily Dorset--"

Sir Duke interrupted: "Of her who was Emily Dorset. "

"Of Miss Emily Dorset, to tell what she did not tell that day five yearsago. After this other reading of the tale has been rendered, her letterand those documents are there for fuller testimony. Just Trafford's partin the drama begins, of course, with the library scene. Now Duke Lawlesshad never known Trafford's half-brother, Hall Vincent. Hall was bornin India, and had lived there most of his life. He was in the IndianPolice, and had married a clever, beautiful, but impossible kind ofgirl, against the wishes of her parents. The marriage was not a veryhappy one. This was partly owing to the quick Lawless and Traffordblood, partly to the wife's wilfulness. Hall thought that things mightgo better if he came to England to live. On their way from Madrasto Colombo he had some words with his wife one day about the way shearranged her hair, but nothing serious. This was shortly after tiffin. That evening they entered the harbour at Colombo; and Hall going to hiscabin to seek his wife, could not find her; but in her stead was herhair, arranged carefully in flowing waves on the pillow, where throughthe voyage her head had lain. That she had cut it off and laid it therewas plain; but she could not be found, nor was she ever found. The largeporthole was open; this was the only clue. But we need not go furtherinto that. Hall Vincent came home to England. He told his brother thestory as it has been told to you, and then left for South America, abroken-spirited man. The wife's family came on to England also. They didnot meet Hall Vincent; but one day Just Trafford met at a country seatin Devon, for the first time, the wife's sister. She had not knownof the relationship between Hall Vincent and the Traffords; and on amemorable afternoon he told her the full story of the married life andthe final disaster, as Hall had told it to him. "

Sir Duke sprang to his feet. "You mean, Just, that--"

"I mean that Emily Dorset was the sister of Hall Vincent's wife. "

Sir Duke's brown fingers clasped and unclasped nervously. He was aboutto speak, but the Honourable said: "That is only half the story--wait. 

"Emily Dorset would have told Lawless all in due time, but women don'tlike to be bullied ever so little, and that, and the unhappiness of thething, kept her silent in her short interview with Lawless. She couldnot have guessed that Lawless would go as he did. Now, the secret of herdiplomacy with the uncle--diplomacy is the best word to use--was DukeLawless's advancement. She knew how he had set his heart on the ranchingor planting life. She would have married him without a penny, but shefelt his pride in that particular, and respected it. So, like a clevergirl, she determined to make the old chap give Lawless a cheque on hispossible future. Perhaps, as things progressed, the same old chap got anabsurd notion in his head about marrying her to Just Trafford, but thatwas meanwhile all the better for Lawless. The very day that Emily Dorsetand Just Trafford succeeded in melting Admiral Lawless's heart to thetune of eight thousand, was the day that Duke Lawless doubted his friendand challenged the loyalty of the girl he loved. "

Sir Duke's eyes filled. "Great Heaven! Just--" he said. 

"Be quiet for a little. You see she had taken Trafford into her schemeagainst his will, for he was never good at mysteries and theatricals, and he saw the danger. But the cause was a good one, and he joinedthe sweet conspiracy, with what result these five years bear witness. Admiral Lawless has been dead a year and a half, his wife a year. Forhe married out of anger with Duke Lawless; but he did not marry EmilyDorset, nor did he beget a child. "

"In Australia I saw a paragraph speaking of a visit made by him and LadyLawless to a hospital, and I thought--"

"You thought he had married Emily Dorset and--well, you had better readthat letter now. "

Sir Duke's face was flushing with remorse and pain. He drew his handquickly across his eyes. "And you've given up London, your profession, everything, just to hunt for me, to tell me this--you who would haveprofited by my eternal absence! What a beast and ass I've been!"

"Not at all; only a bit poetical and hasty, which is not unnatural inthe Lawless blood. I should have been wild myself, maybe, if I had beenin your position; only I shouldn't have left England, and I should havetaken the papers regularly and have asked the other fellow to explain. The other fellow didn't like the little conspiracy. Women, however, seemto find that kind of thing a moral necessity. By the way, I wish whenyou go back you'd send me out my hunting traps. I've made up my mindto--oh, quite so--read the letter--I forgot!"

Sir Duke opened the letter and read it, putting it away from him now andthen as if it hurt him, and taking it up a moment after to continue thereading. The Honourable watched him. 

At last Sir Duke rose. "Just--"

"Yes? Go on. "

"Do you think she would have me now?"

"Don't know. Your outfit is not so beautiful as it used to be. "

"Don't chaff me. "

"Don't be so funereal, then. "

Under the Honourable's matter of fact air Sir Duke's face began toclear. "Tell me, do you think she still cares for me?"

"Well, I don't know. She's rich now--got the grandmother's stocking. Then there's Pedley, of the Scots Guards; he has been doing loyalservice for a couple of years. What does the letter say?"

"It only tells the truth, as you have told it to me, but from herstandpoint; not a word that says anything but beautiful reproach andgeneral kindness. That is all. "

"Quite so. You see it was all four years ago, and Pedley--"

But the Honourable paused. He had punished his friend enough. He steppedforward and laid his hand on Sir Duke's shoulder. "Duke, you want topick up the threads where they were dropped. You dropped them. Ask menothing about the ends that Emily Dorset held. I conspire no more. But go you and learn your fate. If one remembers, why should the otherforget?"

Sir Duke's light heart and eager faith came back with a rush. "I'llstart for England at once. I'll know the worst or the best of it beforethree months are out. " The Honourable's slow placidity turned. 

"Three months. --Yes, you may do it in that time. Better go from Victoriato San Francisco and then overland. You'll not forget about my huntingtraps, and--oh, certainly, Gordineer; come in. "

"Say, " said Gordineer. "I don't want to disturb the meeting, but Shon'sin chancery somehow; breathing like a white pine, and thrashing about!He's red-hot with fever. "

Before he had time to say more, Sir Duke seized the candle and enteredthe room. Shon was moving uneasily and suppressing the groans that shookhim. "Shon, old friend, what is it?"

"It's the pain here, Lawless, " laying his hand on his chest. 

After a moment Sir Duke said, "Pneumonia!"

From that instant thoughts of himself were sunk in the care and thoughtof the man who in the heart of Queensland had been mate and friend andbrother to him. He did not start for England the next day, nor for manya day. 

Pretty Pierre and Jo Gordineer and his party carried Sir Duke's lettersover into the Pipi Valley, from where they could be sent on to thecoast. Pierre came back in a few days to see how Shon was, and expressedhis determination of staying to help Sir Duke, if need be. 

Shon hovered between life and death. It was not alone the pneumonia thatracked his system so; there was also the shock he had received in hisflight down the glacier. In his delirium he seemed to be always withLawless:

"'For it's down the long side of Farcalladen Rise'--It's share and shareeven, Lawless, and ye'll ate the rest of it, or I'll lave ye--Did yesay ye'd found water--Lawless--water!--Sure you're drinkin' noneyourself--I'll sing it again for you then--'And it's back with the ringof the chain and the spur'--'But burn all your ships behind you'--'I'llnever go back to Farcalladen more!'"

Sir Duke's fingers had a trick of kindness, a suggestion of comfort, a sense of healing, that made his simple remedies do more than naturalduty. He was doctor, nurse, --sleepless nurse, --and careful apothecary. And when at last the danger was past and he could relax watching, hewould not go, and he did not go, till they could all travel to the PipiValley. 

In the blue shadows of the firs they stand as we take our leave of oneof them. The Honourable and Sir Duke have had their last words, and SirDuke has said he will remember about the hunting traps. They understandeach other. There is sunshine in the face of all--a kind of Indiansummer sunshine, infused with the sadness of a coming winter; and theirsis the winter of parting. Yet it is all done quietly. 

"We'll meet again, Shon, " said Sir Duke, "and you'll remember yourpromise to write to me. "

"I'll keep my promise, and I hope the news that'll please you best iswhat you'll send us first from England. And if you should go to ouldDonegal--I've no words for me thoughts at all!"

"I know them. Don't try to say them. We've not had the luck together, all kinds and all weathers, for nothing. "

Sir Duke's eyes smiled a good-bye into the smiling eyes of Shon. Theywere much alike, these two, whose stations were so far apart. Yetsomewhere, in generations gone, their ancestors may have toiled, feasted, or governed, in the same social hemisphere; and here in themountains life was levelled to one degree again. 

Sir Duke looked round. The pines were crowding up elate and warm towardsthe peaks of the white silence. The river was brawling over a brokenpathway of boulders at their feet; round the edge of a mighty mountaincrept a mule train; a far-off glacier glistened harshly in the lucidmorning, yet not harshly either, but with the rugged form of a vastantiquity, from which these scarred and grimly austere hills had grown. Here Nature was filled with a sense of triumphant mastery--the masteryof ageless experience. And down the great piles there blew a wind ofstirring life, of the composure of great strength, and touched the four, and the man that mounted now was turned to go. A quick good-bye from himto all; a God-speed-you from the Honourable; a wave of the hand betweenthe rider and Shon, and Sir Duke Lawless was gone. 

"You had better cook the last of that bear this morning, Pierre, " saidthe Honourable. And their life went on. 

 . .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. .. . 

It was eight months after that, sitting in their hut after a day'ssuccessful mining, the Honourable handed Shon a newspaper to read. Aparagraph was marked. It concerned the marriage of Miss Emily Dorset andSir Duke Lawless. 

And while Shon read, the Honourable called into the tent: "Have you anylemons for the whisky, Pierre?"

A satisfactory reply being returned, the Honourable proceeded: "We'llbegin with the bottle of Pommery, which I've been saving months forthis. "

The royal-flush toast of the evening belonged to Shon. 

"God bless him! To the day when we see him again!"

And all of them saw that day. 

PERE CHAMPAGNE

"Is it that we stand at the top of the hill and the end of the travelhas come, Pierre? Why don't you spake?"

"We stand at the top of the hill, and it is the end. "

"And Lonely Valley is at our feet and Whiteface Mountain beyond?"

"One at our feet, and the other beyond, Shon McGann. "

"It's the sight of my eyes I wish I had in the light of the sun thismornin'. Tell me, what is't you see?"

"I see the trees on the foot-hills, and all the branches shine withfrost. There is a path--so wide!--between two groves of pines. OnWhiteface Mountain lies a glacier-field. .. And all is still. ". .. 

"The voice of you is far-away-like, Pierre--it shivers as a hawk cries. It's the wind, the wind, maybe. "

"There's not a breath of life from hill or valley. "

"But I feel it in my face. "

"It is not the breath of life you feel. "

"Did you not hear voices coming athwart the wind?. .. Can you see thepeople at the mines?"

"I have told you what I see. "

"You told me of the pine-trees, and the glacier, and the snow--"

"And that is all. "

"But in the Valley, in the Valley, where all the miners are?"

"I cannot see them. "

"For love of heaven, don't tell me that the dark is fallin' on your eyestoo. "

"No, Shon, I am not growing blind. "

"Will you not tell me what gives the ache to your words?"

"I see in the Valley--snow. .. Snow. "

"It's a laugh you have at me in your cheek, whin I'd give years of myill-spent life to watch the chimney smoke come curlin' up slow throughthe sharp air in the Valley there below. "

"There is no chimney and there is no smoke in all the Valley. "

"Before God, if you're a man, you'll put your hand on my arm and tell mewhat trouble quakes your speech. "

"Shon McGann, it is for you to make the sign of the Cross. .. There, while I put my hand on your shoulder--so!"

"Your hand is heavy, Pierre. "

"This is the sight of the eyes that see. In the Valley there is snow; inthe snow of all that was, there is one poppet-head of the mine thatwas called St. Gabriel. .. Upon the poppet-head there is the figure of awoman. "

"Ah!"

"She does not move--"

"She will never move?"

"She will never move. "

"The breath o' my body hurts me. .. . There is death in the Valley, Pierre?"

"There is death. "

"It was an avalanche--that path between the pines?"

"And a great storm after. "

"Blessed be God that I cannot behold that thing this day!. .. And thewoman, Pierre, the woman aloft?"

"She went to watch for someone coming, and as she watched, the avalanchecame--and she moves not. "

"Do we know that woman?"

"Who can tell?"

"What was it you whispered soft to yourself, then, Pierre?"

"I whispered no word. "

"There, don't you hear it, soft and sighin'?. .. Nathalie!"

"'Mon Dieu!' It is not of the world. "

"It's facin' the poppet-head where she stands I'd be. "

"Your face is turned towards her. "

"Where is the sun?"

"The sun stands still above her head. "

"With the bitter over, and the avil past, come rest for her and all thatlie there. "

"Eh, 'bien, ' the game is done!"

"If we stay here we shall die also. "

"If we go we die, perhaps. ". .. 

"Don't spake it. We will go, and we will return when the breath ofsummer comes from the South. "

"It shall be so. "

"Hush! Did you not hear--?"

"I did not hear. I only see an eagle, and it flies towards WhitefaceMountain. "

And Shon McGann and Pretty Pierre turned back from the end of theirquest--from a mighty grave behind to a lonely waste before; and thoughone was snow-blind, and the other knew that on him fell the chieferweight of a great misfortune, for he must provide food and fire and beas a mother to his comrade--they had courage; without which, men areas the standing straw in an unreaped field in winter; but having becomelike the hooded pine, that keepeth green in frost, and hath the boundingblood in all its icy branches. 

And whence they came and wherefore was as thus:

A French Canadian once lived in Lonely Valley. One day great fortunecame to him, because it was given him to discover the mine St. Gabriel. And he said to the woman who loved him, "I will go with mules and muchgold, that I have hewn and washed and gathered, to a village in the Eastwhere my father and my mother are. They are poor, but I will make themrich; and then I will return to Lonely Valley, and a priest shall comewith me, and we will dwell here at Whiteface Mountain, where men are menand not children. " And the woman blessed him, and prayed for him, andlet him go. 

He travelled far through passes of the mountains, and came at last wherenew cities lay upon the plains, and where men were full of evil and oflust of gold. And he was free of hand and light of heart; and at a placecalled Diamond City false friends came about him, and gave him champagnewine to drink, and struck him down and robbed him, leaving him for dead. 

And he was found, and his wounds were all healed: all save one, and thatwas in the brain. Men called him mad. 

He wandered through the land, preaching to men to drink no wine, andto shun the sight of gold. And they laughed at him, and called him PereChampagne. 

But one day much gold was found at a place called Reef o' Angel; andjointly with the gold came a plague which scars the face and rots thebody; and Indians died by hundreds and white men by scores; and PereChampagne, of all who were not stricken down, feared nothing, and didnot flee, but went among the sick and dying, and did those deeds whichgold cannot buy, and prayed those prayers which were never sold. And whocan count how high the prayers of the feckless go!

When none was found to bury the dead, he gave them place himself beneaththe prairie earth, --consecrated only by the tears of a fool, --and forextreme unction he had but this: "God be merciful to me, a sinner!"

Now it happily chanced that Pierre and Shon McGann, who travelledwestward, came upon this desperate battle-field, and saw how PereChampagne dared the elements of scourge and death; and they paused andlaboured with him--to save where saving was granted of Heaven, and tobury when the Reaper reaped and would not stay his hand. At last theplague ceased, because winter stretched its wings out swiftly o'er theplains from frigid ranges in the West. And then Pere Champagne fell illagain. 

And this last great sickness cured his madness: and he remembered whencehe had come, and what befell him at Diamond City so many moons ago. Andhe prayed them, when he knew his time was come, that they would go toLonely Valley and tell his story to the woman whom he loved; and saythat he was going to a strange but pleasant Land, and that there hewould await her coming. He begged them that they would go at once, thatshe might know, and not strain her eyes to blindness, and be sick atheart because he came not. And he told them her name, and drew thecoverlet up about his head and seemed to sleep; but he waked between theday and dark, and gently cried: "The snow is heavy on the mountain. .. And the Valley is below. .. . 'Gardez, mon Pere!'. .. Ah, Nathalie!" Andthey buried him between the dark and dawn. 

Though winds were fierce, and travel full of peril, they kept theirword, and passed along wide steppes of snow, until they entered passesof the mountains, and again into the plains; and at last one 'poudre'day, when frost was shaking like shreds of faintest silver through theair, Shon McGann's sight fled. But he would not turn back--a promise toa dying man was sacred, and he could follow if he could not lead; andthere was still some pemmican, and there were martens in the woods, andwandering deer that good spirits hunted into the way of the needy; andPierre's finger along the gun was sure. 

Pierre did not tell Shon that for many days they travelled woods whereno sunshine entered; where no trail had ever been, nor foot of man hadtrod: that they had lost their way. Nor did he make his comrade knowthat one night he sat and played a game of solitaire to see if theywould ever reach the place called Lonely Valley. Before the cards weredealt, he made a sign upon his breast and forehead. Three times heplayed, and three times he counted victory; and before three suns hadcome and gone, they climbed a hill that perched over Lonely Valley. Andof what they saw and their hearts felt we know. 

And when they turned their faces eastward they were as men who go tomeet a final and a conquering enemy; but they had kept their honour withthe man upon whose grave-tree Shon McGann had carved beneath his namethese words:

 "A Brother of Aaron. "

Upon a lonely trail they wandered, the spirits of lost travellershungering in their wake--spirits that mumbled in cedar thickets, andwhimpered down the flumes of snow. And Pierre, who knew that evil thingsare exorcised by mighty conjuring, sang loudly, from a throat made thinby forced fasting, a song with which his mother sought to drive away thedevils of dreams that flaunted on his pillow when a child: it was thesong of the Scarlet Hunter. And the charm sufficed; for suddenly ofa cheerless morning they came upon a trapper's hut in the wilderness, where their sufferings ceased, and the sight of Shon's eyes came back. When strength returned also, they journeyed to an Indian village, wherea priest laboured. Him they besought; and when spring came they setforth to Lonely Valley again that the woman and the smothered dead--ifit might chance so--should be put away into peaceful graves. But thithercoming they only saw a grey and churlish river; and the poppet-head ofthe mine of St. Gabriel, and she who had knelt thereon, were vanishedinto solitudes, where only God's cohorts have the rights of burial. .. . 

But the priest prayed humbly for their so swiftly summoned souls. 

THE SCARLET HUNTER

"News out of Egypt!" said the Honourable Just Trafford. "If this istrue, it gives a pretty finish to the season. You think it possible, Pierre? It is every man's talk that there isn't a herd of buffaloes inthe whole country; but this-eh?"

Pierre did not seem disposed to answer. He had been watching a man'sface for some time; but his eyes were now idly following the smoke ofhis cigarette as it floated away to the ceiling in fading circles. Heseemed to take no interest in Trafford's remarks, nor in the tale thatShangi the Indian had told them; though Shangi and his tale were bothsufficiently uncommon to justify attention. 

Shon McGann was more impressionable. His eyes swam; his feet shiftednervously with enjoyment; he glanced frequently at his gun in thecorner of the hut; he had watched Trafford's face with some anxiety, andaccepted the result of the tale with delight. Now his look was occupiedwith Pierre. 

Pierre was a pretty good authority in all matters concerning theprairies and the North. He also had an instinct for detecting veracity, having practised on both sides of the equation. Trafford becameimpatient, and at last the half-breed, conscious that he had tried thetemper of his chief so far as was safe, lifted his eyes, and, restingthem casually on the Indian, replied: "Yes, I know the place. .. . No, I have not been there, but I was told-ah, it was long ago! There is agreat valley between hills, the Kimash Hills, the hills of the MightyMen. The woods are deep and dark; there is but one trail through them, and it is old. On the highest hill is a vast mound. In that mound arethe forefathers of a nation that is gone. Yes, as you say, they aredead, and there is none of them alive in the valley--which is called theWhite Valley--where the buffalo are. The valley is green in summer, andthe snow is not deep in winter; the noses of the buffalo can find thetender grass. The Injin speaks the truth, perhaps. But of the number ofbuffaloes, one must see. The eye of the red man multiplies. "

Trafford looked at Pierre closely. "You seem to know the place verywell. It is a long way north where--ah yes, you said you had never beenthere; you were told. Who told you?"

The half-breed raised his eyebrows slightly as he replied: "I canremember a long time, and my mother, she spoke much and sang manysongs at the campfires. " Then he puffed his cigarette so that the smokeclouded his face for a moment, and went on, --"I think there may bebuffaloes. "

"It's along the barrel of me gun I wish I was lookin' at thim now, " saidMcGann. 

"'Tiens, ' you will go"? inquired Pierre of Trafford. "To have a shot atthe only herd of wild buffaloes on the continent! Of course I'll go. I'd go to the North Pole for that. Sport and novelty I came here to see;buffalo-hunting I did not expect. I'm in luck, that's all. We'll startto-morrow morning, if we can get ready, and Shangi here will lead us;eh, Pierre?"

The half-breed again was not polite. Instead of replying he sang almostbelow his breath the words of a song unfamiliar to his companions, though the Indian's eyes showed a flash of understanding. These were thewords:

 "They ride away with a waking wind, away, away! With laughing lip and with jocund mind at break of day. A rattle of hoofs and a snatch of song, they ride, they ride! The plains are wide and the path is long, --so long, so wide!"

Just Trafford appeared ready to deal with this insolence, for thehalf-breed was after all a servant of his, a paid retainer. He waited, however. Shon saw the difficulty, and at once volunteered a reply. "It'saisy enough to get away in the mornin', but it's a question how farwe'll be able to go with the horses. The year is late; but there's dogsbeyand, I suppose, and bedad, there y' are!"

The Indian spoke slowly: "It is far off. There is no colour yet in theleaf of the larch. The river-hen still swims northward. It is good thatwe go. There is much buffalo in the White Valley. "

Again Trafford looked towards his follower, and again the half-breed, asif he were making an effort to remember, sang abstractedly:

 "They follow, they follow a lonely trail, by day, by night, By distant sun, and by fire-fly pale, and northern light. The ride to the Hills of the Mighty Men, so swift they go! Where buffalo feed in the wilding glen in sun and snow. "

"Pierre, " said Trafford, sharply, "I want an answer to my question. "

"'Mais, pardon, ' I was thinking. .. Well, we can ride until the deepsnows come, then we can walk; and Shangi, he can get the dogs, maybe, one team of dogs. "

"But, " was the reply, "one team of dogs will not be enough. We'llbring meat and hides, you know, as well as pemmican. We won't cache anycarcases up there. What would be the use? We shall have to be back inthe Pipi Valley by the spring-time. "

"Well, " said the half-breed with a cold decision, "one team of dogswill be enough; and we will not cache, and we shall be back in the PipiValley before the spring, perhaps. " But this last word was spoken underhis breath. 

And now the Indian spoke, with his deep voice and dignified manner:"Brothers, it is as I have said, the trail is lonely and the woods aredeep and dark. Since the time when the world was young, no white manhath been there save one, and behold sickness fell on him; the graveis his end. It is a pleasant land, for the gods have blessed it to theIndian forever. No heathen shall possess it. But you shall see the WhiteValley and the buffalo. Shangi will lead, because you have been mercifulto him, and have given him to sleep in your wigwam, and to eat of yourwild meat. There are dogs in the forest. I have spoken. "

Trafford was impressed, and annoyed too. He thought too much sentimentwas being squandered on a very practical and sportive thing. He dislikedfunctions; speech-making was to him a matter for prayer and fasting. TheIndian's address was therefore more or less gratuitous, and he hastenedto remark: "Thank you, Shangi; that's very good, and you've put itpoetically. You've turned a shooting-excursion into a mediaeval romance. But we'll get down to business now, if you please, and make the romancea fact, beautiful enough to send to the 'Times' or the New York'Call'. Let's see, how would they put it in the Call?--'ExtraordinaryDiscovery--Herd of buffaloes found in the far North by an Englishman andhis Franco-Irish Party--Sport for the gods--Exodus of 'brules' to WhiteValley!'--and so on, screeching to the end. "

Shon laughed heartily. "The fun of the world is in the thing, " he said;"and a day it would be for a notch on a stick and a rasp of gin in thethroat. And if I get the sight of me eye on a buffalo-ruck, it's down onme knees I'll go, and not for prayin' aither. Here's both hands up for astart in the mornin'!"

Long before noon next day they were well on their way. Trafford couldnot understand why Pierre was so reserved, and, when speaking, soironical. It was noticeable that the half-breed watched the Indianclosely, that he always rode behind him, that he never drank out ofthe same cup. The leader set this down to the natural uncertainty ofPierre's disposition. He had grown to like Pierre, as the latter hadcome in course to respect him. Each was a man of value after his kind. Each also had recognised in the other qualities of force and knowledgehaving their generation in experiences which had become individuality, subterranean and acute, under a cold surface. It was the mutualrecognition of these equivalents that led the two men to mutual trust, only occasionally disturbed, as has been shown; though one was regardedas the most fastidious man of his set in London, the fairest-mindedof friends, the most comfortable of companions; while the other wasan outlaw, a half-heathen, a lover of but one thing in this world, thejoyous god of Chance. Pierre was essentially a gamester. He would haveextracted satisfaction out of a death-sentence which was contingent onthe trumping of an ace. His only honour was the honour of the game. 

Now, with all the swelling prairie sloping to the clear horizon, and thebreath of a large life in their nostrils, these two men were caught upsuddenly, as it were, by the throbbing soul of the North, so that thesubterranean life in them awoke and startled them. Trafford conceivedthat tobacco was the charm with which to exorcise the spirits of thepast. Pierre let the game of sensations go on, knowing that they paythemselves out in time. His scheme was the wiser. The other found thatfast riding and smoking were not sufficient. He became surrounded by theghosts of yesterdays; and at length he gave up striving with them, andlet them storm upon him, until a line of pain cut deeply across hisforehead, and bitterly and unconsciously he cried aloud, --"Hester, ah, Hester!"

But having spoken, the spell was broken, and he was aware of the beatof hoofs beside him, and Shangi the Indian looking at him with a halfsmile. Something in the look thrilled him; it was fantastic, masterful. He wondered that he had not noticed this singular influence before. After all, he was only a savage with cleaner buckskin than his raceusually wore. Yet that glow, that power in the face--was he Piegan, Blackfoot, Cree, Blood? Whatever he was, this man had heard the wordswhich broke so painfully from him. 

He saw the Indian frame her name upon his lips, and then came the words, "Hester--Hester Orval!"

He turned sternly, and said, "Who are you? What do you know of HesterOrval?"

The Indian shook his head gravely, and replied, "You spoke her name, mybrother. "

"I spoke one word of her name. You have spoken two. "

"One does not know what one speaks. There are words which are as sounds, and words which are as feelings. Those come to the brain through theear; these to the soul through sign, which is more than sound. TheIndian hath knowledge, even as the white man; and because his heart isopen, the trees whisper to him; he reads the language of the grass andthe wind, and is taught by the song of the bird, the screech of thehawk, the bark of the fox. And so he comes to know the heart of theman who hath sickness, and calls upon someone, even though it be a weakwoman, to cure his sickness; who is bowed low as beside a grave, andwould stand upright. Are not my words wise? As the thoughts of a childthat dreams, as the face of the blind, the eye of the beast, or theanxious hand of the poor, are they not simple, and to be understood?"

Just Trafford made no reply. But behind, Pierre was singing in theplaintive measure of a chant:

 "A hunter rideth the herd abreast, The Scarlet Hunter from out of the West, Whose arrows with points of flame are drest, Who loveth the beast of the field the best, The child and the young bird out of the nest, They ride to the hunt no more, no more!"

They travelled beyond all bounds of civilisation; beyond thenorthernmost Indian villages, until the features of the landscape becamemore rugged and solemn, and at last they paused at a place which theIndian called Misty Mountain, and where, disappearing for an hour, hereturned with a team of Eskimo dogs, keen, quick-tempered, and enduring. They had all now recovered from the disturbing sentiments of the firstportion of the journey; life was at full tide; the spirit of the hunterwas on them. 

At length one night they camped in a vast pine grove wrapped incoverlets of snow and silent as death. Here again Pierre became moodyand alert and took no part in the careless chat at the camp-fire ledby Shon McGann. The man brooded and looked mysterious. Mystery wasnot pleasing to Trafford. He had his own secrets, but in the ordinaryaffairs of life he preferred simplicity. In one of the silences thatfell between Shon's attempts to give hilarity to the occasion, therecame a rumbling far-off sound, a sound that increased in volume till theearth beneath them responded gently to the vibration. Trafford looked upinquiringly at Pierre, and then at the Indian, who, after a moment, saidslowly: "Above us are the hills of the Mighty Men, beneath us is theWhite Valley. It is the tramp of buffalo that we hear. A storm iscoming, and they go to shelter in the mountains. "

The information had come somewhat suddenly, and McGann was the first torecover from the pleasant shock: "It's divil a wink of sleep I'll getthis night, with the thought of them below there ripe for slaughter, andthe tumble of fight in their beards. "

Pierre, with a meaning glance from his half-closed eyes, added: "But itis the old saying of the prairies that you do not shout dinner till youhave your knife in the loaf. Your knife is not yet in the loaf, ShonMcGann. "

The boom of the trampling ceased, and now there was a stirring in thesnow-clad tree tops, and a sound as if all the birds of the North wereflying overhead. The weather began to moan and the boles of the pines toquake. And then there came war, --a trouble out of the north, a wave ofthe breath of God to show inconsequent man that he who seeks to live byslaughter hath slaughter for his master. 

They hung over the fire while the forest cracked round them, andthe flame smarted with the flying snow. And now the trees, as if theelements were closing in on them, began to break close by, and onelurched forward towards them. Trafford, to avoid its stroke, steppedquickly aside right into the line of another which he did not see. Pierre sprang forward and swung him clear, but was himself strucksenseless by an outreaching branch. 

As if satisfied with this achievement, the storm began to subside. When Pierre recovered consciousness Trafford clasped his hand andsaid, --"You've a sharp eye, a quick thought, and a deft arm, comrade. "

"Ah, it was in the game. It is good play to assist your partner, " thehalf-breed replied sententiously. Through all, the Indian had remainedstoical. But McGann, who swore by Trafford--as he had once sworn byanother of the Trafford race--had his heart on his lips, and said:

 "There's a swate little cherub that sits up aloft, Who cares for the soul of poor Jack!"

It was long after midnight ere they settled down again, with the wreckof the forest round them. Only the Indian slept; the others were alertand restless. They were up at daybreak, and on their way before sunrise, filled with desire for prey. They had not travelled far before theyemerged upon a plateau. Around them were the hills of the MightyMen--austere, majestic; at their feet was a vast valley on which thelight newly-fallen snow had not hidden all the grass. Lonely and lofty, it was a world waiting chastely to be peopled! And now it was peopled, for there came from a cleft of the hills an army of buffaloes loungingslowly down the waste, with tossing manes and hoofs stirring the snowinto a feathery scud. 

The eyes of Trafford and McGann swam; Pierre's face was troubled, andstrangely enough he made the sign of the cross. 

At that instant Trafford saw smoke issuing from a spot on the mountainopposite. He turned to the Indian: "Someone lives there"? he said. 

"It is the home of the dead, but life is also there. "

"White man, or Indian?"

But no reply came. The Indian pointed instead to the buffalo rumblingdown the valley. Trafford forgot the smoke, forgot everything exceptthat splendid quarry. Shon was excited. "Sarpints alive, " he said, "lookat the troops of thim! Is it standin' here we are with our tongues inour cheeks, whin there's bastes to be killed, and mate to be got, andthe call to war on the ground below! Clap spurs with your heels, sezI, and down the side of the turf together and give 'em the teeth of ourguns!" The Irishman dashed down the slope. In an instant, all followed, or at least Trafford thought all followed, swinging their guns acrosstheir saddles to be ready for this excellent foray. But while Pierrerode hard, it was at first without the fret of battle in him, and hesmiled strangely, for he knew that the Indian had disappeared as theyrode down the slope, though how and why he could not tell. There ranthrough his head tales chanted at camp-fires when he was not yet instature so high as the loins that bore him. They rode hard, and yet theycame no nearer to that flying herd straining on with white streamingbreath and the surf of snow rising to their quarters. Mile upon mile, and yet they could not ride these monsters down!

Now Pierre was leading. There was a kind of fury in his face, and heseemed at last to gain on them. But as the herd veered close to a wallof stalwart pines, a horseman issued from the trees and joined thecattle. The horseman was in scarlet from head to foot; and with hiscoming the herd went faster, and ever faster, until they vanished intothe mountain-side; and they who pursued drew in their trembling horsesand stared at each other with wonder in their faces. 

"In God's name what does it mean"? Trafford cried. 

"Is it a trick of the eye or the hand of the devil"? added Shon. 

"In the name of God we shall know perhaps. If it is the hand of thedevil it is not good for us, " remarked Pierre. 

"Who was the man in scarlet who came from the woods"? asked Trafford ofthe half-breed. 

"'Voila, ' it is strange! There is an old story among the Indians! Mymother told many tales of the place and sang of it, as I sang to you. The legend was this:--In the hills of the North which no white man, norno Injin of this time hath seen, the forefathers of the red men sleep;but some day they will wake again and go forth and possess all the land;and the buffalo are for them when that time shall come, that they mayhave the fruits of the chase, and that it be as it was of old, when thecattle were as clouds on the horizon. And it was ordained that one ofthese mighty men who had never been vanquished in fight, nor done anevil thing, and was the greatest of all the chiefs, should live and notdie, but be as a sentinel, as a lion watching, and preserve the WhiteValley in peace until his brethren waked and came into their own again. And him they called the Scarlet Hunter; and to this hour the red menpray to him when they lose their way upon the plains, or Death drawsaside the curtains of the wigwam to call them forth. "

"Repeat the verses you sang, Pierre, " said Trafford. The half-breed didso. When he came to the words, "Who loveth the beast of the field thebest, " the Englishman looked round. "Where is Shangi"? he asked. McGannshook his head in astonishment and negation. Pierre explained: "Onthe mountain-side where we ride down he is not seen--he vanish. .. 'monDieu, ' look!"

On the slope of the mountain stood the Scarlet Hunter with drawn bow. From it an arrow flew over their heads with a sorrowful twang, andfell where the smoke rose among the pines; then the mystic figuredisappeared. 

McGann shuddered, and drew himself together. "It is the place ofspirits, " he said; "and it's little I like it, God knows; but I'llfollow that Scarlet Hunter, or red devil, or whatever he is, till Idrop, if the Honourable gives the word. For flesh and blood I'm notafraid of; and the other we come to, whether we will or not, one day. "

But Trafford said: "No, we'll let it stand where it is for the present. Something has played our eyes false, or we're brought here to do workdifferent from buffalo-hunting. Where that arrow fell among the smokewe must go first. Then, as I read the riddle, we travel back the way wecame. There are points in connection with the Pipi Valley superior tothe hills of the Mighty Men. "

They rode away across the glade, and through a grove of pines upon ahill, till they stood before a log but with parchment windows. 

Trafford knocked, but there was no response. He opened the door andentered. He saw a figure rise painfully from a couch in a corner, --thefigure of a woman young and beautiful, but wan and worn. She seemeddazed and inert with suffering, and spoke mournfully: "It is too late. Not you, nor any of your race, nor anything on earth can save him. He isdead--dead now. "

At the first sound of her voice Trafford started. He drew near to her, as pale as she was, and wonder and pity were in his face. "Hester, " hesaid, "Hester Orval!"

She stared at him like one that had been awakened from an evil dream, then tottered towards him with the cry, --"Just, Just, have you come tosave me? O Just!" His distress was sad to see, for it was held in deeprepression, but he said calmly and with protecting gentleness: "Yes, Ihave come to save you. Hester, how is it you are here in this strangeplace--you?"

She sobbed so that at first she could not answer; but at last she cried:"O Just, he is dead. .. In there, in there!. .. Last night, it was lastnight; and he prayed that I might go with him. But I could not dieunforgiven, and I was right, for you have come out of the world to helpme, and to save me. "

"Yes, to help you and to save you, --if I can, " he added in a whisper tohimself, for he was full of foreboding. He was of the earth, earthy, and things that had chanced to him this day were beyond the natural andhealthy movements of his mind. He had gone forth to slay, and had beenfoiled by shadows; he had come with a tragic, if beautiful, memoryhaunting him, and that memory had clothed itself in flesh and stoodbefore him, pitiful, solitary, --a woman. He had scorned all legend andsuperstition, and here both were made manifest to him. He had thoughtof this woman as one who was of this world no more, and here she mournedbefore him and bade him go and look upon her dead, upon the man whohad wronged him, into whom, as he once declared, the soul of a cur hadentered, --and now what could he say? He had carried in his heart theinfinite something that is to men the utmost fulness of life, which, losing, they must carry lead upon their shoulders where they thought thegods had given pinions. 

McGann and Pierre were nervous. This conjunction of unusual things waseasier to the intelligences of the dead than the quick. The outer airwas perhaps less charged with the unnatural, and with a glance towardsthe room where death was quartered, they left the hut. 

Trafford was alone with the woman through whom his life had been turnedawry. He looked at her searchingly; and as he looked the mere man inhim asserted itself for a moment. She was dressed in coarse garments; itstruck him that her grief had a touch of commonness about it; there wassomething imperfect in the dramatic setting. His recent experienceshad had a kind of grandeur about them; it was not thus that he hadremembered her in the hour when he had called upon her in the plains, and the Indian had heard his cry. He felt, and was ashamed in feeling, that there was a grim humour in the situation. The fantastic, themelodramatic, the emotional, were huddled here in too marked aprominence; it all seemed, for an instant, like the tale of a woman'sfirst novel. But immediately again there was roused in him the latentforce of loyalty to himself and therefore to her; the story of her past, so far as he knew it, flashed before him, and his eyes grew hot. 

He remembered the time he had last seen her in an English country-houseamong a gay party in which royalty smiled, and the subject was contentbeneath the smile. But there was one rebellious subject, and her namewas Hester Orval. She was a wilful girl who had lived life selfishlywithin the lines of that decorous yet pleasant convention to which shewas born. She was beautiful, --she knew that, and royalty had graciouslyadmitted it. She was warm-thoughted, and possessed the fatal strain ofthe artistic temperament. She was not sure that she had a heart; andmany others, not of her sex, after varying and enthusiastic study of thematter, were not more confident than she. But it had come at last thatshe had listened with pensive pleasure to Trafford's tale of love;and because to be worshipped by a man high in all men's, and in mostwomen's, esteem, ministered delicately to her sweet egotism, and becauseshe was proud of him, she gave him her hand in promise, and her cheekin privilege, but denied him--though he knew this not--her heart andthe service of her life. But he was content to wait patiently for thatservice, and he wholly trusted her, for there was in him some finespirit of the antique world. 

There had come to Falkenstowe, this country-house and her father's home, a man who bore a knightly name, but who had no knightly heart; and hetold Ulysses' tales, and covered a hazardous and cloudy past with thatfascinating colour which makes evil appear to be good, so that he rousedin her the pulse of art, which she believed was soul and life, and herallegiance swerved. And when her mother pleaded with her, and when herfather said stern things, and even royalty, with uncommon use, rebuked her gently, her heart grew hard; and almost on the eve of herwedding-day she fled with her lover, and married him, and together theysailed away over the seas. 

The world was shocked and clamorous for a matter of nine days, and thenit forgot this foolish and awkward circumstance; but Just Trafford neverforgot it. He remembered all vividly until the hour, a year later, whenLondon journals announced that Hester Orval and her husband had gonedown with a vessel wrecked upon the Alaskan and Canadian coast. Andthere new regret began, and his knowledge of her ended. 

But she and her husband had not been drowned; with a sailor they hadreached the shore in safety. They had travelled inland from the coastthrough the great mountains by unknown paths, and as they travelled, thesailor died; and they came at last through innumerable hardships to theKimash Hills, the hills of the Mighty Men, and there they stayed. It wasnot an evil land; it had neither deadly cold in winter nor wanton heatin summer. But they never saw a human face, and everything was lonelyand spectral. For a time they strove to go eastwards or southwards butthe mountains were impassable, and in the north and west there was nohope. Though the buffalo swept by them in the valley they could not slaythem, and they lived on forest fruits until in time the man sickened. The woman nursed him faithfully, but still he failed; and when she couldgo forth no more for food, some unseen dweller of the woods broughtbuffalo meat, and prairie fowl, and water from the spring, and laid thembeside her door. 

She had seen the mounds upon the hill, the wide couches of the sleepers, and she remembered the things done in the days when God seemed nearerto the sons of men than now; and she said that a spirit had done thisthing, and trembled and was thankful. But the man weakened and knew thathe should die, and one night when the pain was sharp upon him he prayedbitterly that he might pass, or that help might come to snatch him fromthe grave. And as they sobbed together, a form entered at the door, --aform clothed in scarlet, --and he bade them tell the tale of their livesas they would some time tell it unto heaven. And when the tale was toldhe said that succour should come to them from the south by the hand ofthe Scarlet Hunter, that the nation sleeping there should no more bedisturbed by their moaning. And then he had gone forth, and with hisgoing there was a storm such as that in which the man had died, thestorm that had assailed the hunters in the forest yesterday. 

This was the second part of Hester Orval's life as she told it to JustTrafford. And he, looking into her eyes, knew that she had suffered, andthat she had sounded her husband's unworthiness. Then he turned from herand went into the room where the dead man lay. And there all hardnesspassed from him, and he understood that in the great going forth manreckons to the full with the deeds done in that brief pilgrimage calledlife; and that in the bitter journey which this one took across thedread spaces between Here and There, he had repented of his sins, because they, and they only, went with him in mocking company; the goodhaving gone first to plead where evil is a debtor and hath a prison. Andthe woman came and stood beside Trafford, and whispered, "At first--andat the last--he was kind. "

But he urged her gently from the room: "Go away, " he said; "go away. Wecannot judge him. Leave me alone with him. "

They buried him upon the hill-side, far from the mounds where the MightyMen waited for their summons to go forth and be the lords of the Northagain. At night they buried him when the moon was at its full; and hehad the fragrant pines for his bed, and the warm darkness to cover him;and though he is to those others resting there a heathen and an alien, it may be that he sleeps peacefully. 

When Trafford questioned Hester Orval more deeply of her life there, the unearthly look quickened in her eyes, and she said: "Oh, nothing, nothing is real here, but suffering; perhaps it is all a dream, but ithas changed me, changed me. To hear the tread of the flying herds, tosee no being save him, the Scarlet Hunter, to hear the voices callingin the night!. .. Hush! There, do you not hear them? It ismidnight--listen!"

He listened, and Pierre and Shon McGann looked at each otherapprehensively, while Shon's fingers felt hurriedly along the beads of arosary which he did not hold. Yes, they heard it, a deep sonorous sound:"Is the daybreak come?" "It is still the night, " came the reply as ofone clear voice. And then there floated through the hills moresoftly: "We sleep--we sleep!" And the sounds echoed through thevalley--"Sleep--sleep!"

Yet though these things were full of awe, the spirit of the place heldthem there, and the fever of the hunter descended on them hotly. Inthe morning they went forth, and rode into the White Valley where thebuffalo were feeding, and sought to steal upon them; but the shots fromtheir guns only awoke the hills, and none were slain. And though theyrode swiftly, the wide surf of snow was ever between them and the chase, and their striving availed nothing. Day after day they followed thatflying column, and night after night they heard the sleepers call fromthe hills. The desire of the thing wasted them, and they forgot to eatand ceased to talk among themselves. But one day Shon McGann, mutteringaves as he rode, gained on the cattle, until once again the ScarletHunter came forth from a cleft of the mountains, and drove the herdforward with swifter feet. But the Irishman had learned the powerin this thing, and had taught Trafford, who knew not those availingprayers, and with these sacred conjurations on their lips they gained onthe cattle length by length, though the Scarlet Hunter rode abreastof the thundering horde. Within easy range, Trafford swung his gunshoulder-wards to fire, but at that instant a cloud of snow rose upbetween him and his quarry so that they all were blinded. And when theycame into the clear sun again the buffalo were gone; but flaming arrowsfrom some unseen hunter's bow came singing over their heads towards thesouth; and they obeyed the sign, and went back to where Hester wore herlife out with anxiety for them, because she knew the hopelessness oftheir quest. Women are nearer to the heart of things. And now she beggedTrafford to go southwards before winter froze the plains impassably, andthe snow made tombs of the valleys. Thereupon he gave the word to go, and said that he had done wrong--for now the spell was falling from him. 

But she, seeing his regret, said: "Ah, Just, it could not have beendifferent. The passion of it was on you as it was on us, as if to teachus that hunger for happiness is robbery, and that the covetous desire ofman is not the will of the gods. The herds are for the Mighty Men whenthey awake, not for the stranger and the Philistine. "

"You have grown wise, Hester, " he replied. 

"No, I am sick in brain and body; but it may be that in such sicknessthere is wisdom. "

"Ah, " he said, "it has turned my head, I think. Once I laughed at allsuch fanciful things as these. This Scarlet Hunter, how many times haveyou seen him?"

"But once. "

"What were his looks?"

"A face pale and strong, with noble eyes; and in his voice there wassomething strange. "

Trafford thought of Shangi, the Indian, --where had he gone? He haddisappeared as suddenly as he had come to their camp in the South. 

As they sat silent in the growing night, the door opened and theScarlet Hunter stood before them. "There is food, " he said, "on thethreshold--food for those who go upon a far journey to the South in themorning. Unhappy are they who seek for gold at the rainbow's foot, who chase the fire-fly in the night, who follow the herds in the WhiteValley. Wise are they who anger not the gods, and who fly before therising storm. There is a path from the valley for the strangers, thepath by which they came; and when the sun stares forth again upon theworld, the way shall be open, and there shall be safety for you untilyour travel ends in the quick world whither you go. You were foolish;now you are wise. It is time to depart; seek not to return, that we mayhave peace and you safety. When the world cometh to her spring again weshall meet. " Then he turned and was gone, with Trafford's voice ringingafter him, --"Shangi! Shangi!"

They ran out swiftly, but he had vanished. In the valley where themoonlight fell in icy coldness a herd of cattle was moving, and theirbreath rose like the spray from sea-beaten rocks, and the sound of theirbreathing was borne upwards to the watchers. 

At daybreak they rode down into the valley. All was still. Not a traceof life remained; not a hoofmark in the snow, nor a bruised blade ofgrass. And when they climbed to the plateau and looked back, it seemedto Trafford and his companions, as it seemed in after years, that thisthing had been all a fantasy. But Hester's face was beside them, andit told of strange and unsubstantial things. The shadows of the middleworld were upon her. And yet again when they turned at the last therewas no token. It was a northern valley, with sun and snow, and cold blueshadows, and the high hills, --that was all. 

Then Hester said: "O Just, I do not know if this is life or death--andyet it must be death, for after death there is forgiveness to those whorepent, and your face is forgiving and kind. "

And he--for he saw that she needed much human help and comfort--gentlylaid his hand on hers and replied: "Hester, this is life, a new lifefor both of us. Whatever has been was a dream; whatever is now"--andhe folded her hand in his--"is real; and there is no such thing asforgiveness to be spoken of between us. There shall be happiness for usyet, please God!"

"I want to go to Falkenstowe. Will--will my mother forgive me?"

"Mothers always forgive, Hester, else half the world had slain itself inshame. "

And then she smiled for the first time since he had seen her. This wasin the shadows of the scented pines; and a new life breathed upon her, as it breathed upon them all, and they knew that the fever of the WhiteValley had passed away from them forever. 

After many hardships they came in safety to the regions of the southcountry again; and the tale they told, though doubted by the race ofpale-faces, was believed by the heathen; because there was none amongthem but, as he cradled at his mother's breasts, and from his youth up, had heard the legend of the Scarlet Hunter. 

For the romance of that journey, it concerned only the man and womanto whom it was as wine and meat to the starving. Is not love more thanlegend, and a human heart than all the beasts of the field or any joy ofslaughter?

THE STONE

The Stone hung on a jutting crag of Purple Hill. On one side of it, farbeneath, lay the village, huddled together as if, through being closecompacted, its handful of humanity should not be a mere dust in thebalance beside Nature's portentousness. Yet if one stood beside TheStone, and looked down, the flimsy wooden huts looked like a barrier atthe end of a great flume. For the hill hollowed and narrowed fromThe Stone to the village, as if giants had made this concave path bytrundling boulders to that point like a funnel where the miners' housesnow formed a cul-de-sac. On the other side of the crag was a valleyalso; but it was lonely and untenanted; and at one flank of The Stonewere serried legions of trees. 

The Stone was a mighty and wonderful thing. Looked at from the villagedirect, it had nothing but the sky for a background. At times, also, itappeared to rest on nothing; and many declared that they could see cleanbetween it and the oval floor of the crag on which it rested. That wasgenerally in the evening, when the sun was setting behind it. Then thelight coiled round its base, between it and its pedestal, thus makingit appear to hover above the hill-point, or, planet-like, to be justsettling on it. At other times, when the light was perfectly clear andnot too strong, and the village side of the crag was brighter than theother, more accurate relations of The Stone to its pedestal could bediscovered. Then one would say that it balanced on a tiny base, a toe ofgranite. But if one looked long, especially in the summer, when the airthrobbed, it evidently rocked upon that toe; if steadily, and very long, he grew tremulous, perhaps afraid. Once, a woman who was about to becomea mother went mad, because she thought The Stone would hurtle down thehill at her great moment and destroy her and her child. Indians wouldnot live either on the village side of The Stone or in the valleybeyond. They had a legend that, some day, one, whom they called TheMan Who Sleeps, would rise from his hidden couch in the mountains, and, being angry that any dared to cumber his playground, would hurl TheStone upon them that dwelt at Purple Hill. But white men pay little heedto Indian legends. At one time or another every person who had cometo the village visited The Stone. Colossal as it was, the real baseon which its weight rested was actually very small: the view from thevillage had not been all deceitful. It is possible, indeed, that atone time it had really rocked, and that the rocking had worn for it ashallow cup, or socket, in which it poised. The first man who came toPurple Valley prospecting had often stopped his work and looked at TheStone in a half-fear that it would spring upon him unawares. And yet hehad as often laughed at himself for doing so, since, as he said, it musthave been there hundreds of thousands of years. Strangers, when theycame to the village, went to sleep somewhat timidly the first night oftheir stay, and not infrequently left their beds to go and look at TheStone, as it hung there ominously in the light of the moon; or listenedtowards it if it was dark. When the moon rose late, and The Stonechanced to be directly in front of it, a black sphere seemed to berolling into the light to blot it out. 

But none who lived in the village looked upon The Stone in quite thesame fashion as did that first man who had come to the valley. He hadseen it through three changing seasons, with no human being near him, and only occasionally a shy, wandering elk, or a cloud of wild duckswhirring down the pass, to share his companionship with it. Once he hadwaked in the early morning, and, possessed of a strange feeling, hadgone out to look a The Stone. There, perched upon it, was an eagle; andthough he said to himself that an eagle's weight was to The Stone as afeather upon the world, he kept his face turned towards it all day;for all day the eagle stayed. He was a man of great stature and immensestrength. The thews of his limbs stood out like soft unbreakable steel. Yet, as if to cast derision on his strength and great proportions, Godor Fate turned his bread to ashes, gave failure into his hands where hehugely grasped at fortune, and hung him about with misery. He discoveredgold, but others gathered it. It was his daughter that went mad, andgave birth to a dead child in fearsome thought of The Stone. Once, when he had gone over the hills to another mining field, and had beenprevented from coming back by unexpected and heavy snows, his wife wastaken ill, and died alone of starvation, because none in the villageremembered of her and her needs. Again, one wild night, long after, hisonly son was taken from his bed and lynched for a crime that was noneof his, as was discovered by his murderers next day. Then they killedhorribly the real criminal, and offered the father such satisfaction asthey could. They said that any one of them was ready there to be killedby him; and they threw a weapon at his feet. At this he stood lookingupon them for a moment, his great breast heaving, and his eyesglowering; but presently he reached out his arms, and taking two ofthem by the throat, brought their heads together heavily, breaking theirskulls; and, with a cry in his throat like a wounded animal, left them, and entered the village no more. But it became known that he had builta rude but on Purple Hill, and that he had been seen standing beside TheStone or sitting among the boulders below it, with his face bent uponthe village. Those who had come near to him said that he had greatlychanged; that his hair and beard had grown long and strong, and, ineffect, that he looked like some rugged fragment of an antique world. 

The time came when they associated The Man with The Stone: they grew tospeak of him simply as The Man. There was something natural and apt inthe association. Then they avoided these two singular dwellers on theheight. What had happened to The Man when he lived in the village becamealmost as great a legend as the Indian fable concerning The Stone. Inthe minds of the people one seemed as old as the other. Women who knewthe awful disasters which had befallen The Man brooded at times mosttimidly, regarding him as they did at first--and even still--The Stone. Women who carried life unborn about with them had a strange dread ofboth The Stone and The Man. Time passed on, and the feeling grew thatThe Man's grief must be a terrible thing, since he lived alone withThe Stone and God. But this did not prevent the men of the village fromdigging gold, drinking liquor, and doing many kinds of evil. Oneday, again, they did an unjust and cruel thing. They took Pierre, thegambler, whom they had at first sought to vanquish at his own art, and, possessed suddenly of the high duty of citizenship, carried him to theedge of a hill and dropped him over, thinking thereby to give him aquick death, while the vultures would provide him a tomb. But Pierre wasnot killed, though to his grave--unprepared as yet--he would bear anarm which should never be lifted higher than his shoulder. When he wakedfrom the crashing gloom which succeeded the fall, he was in the presenceof a being whose appearance was awesome and massive--an outlawed god:whose hair and beard were white, whose eye was piercing, absorbing, painful, in the long perspective of its woe. This being sat with hisgreat hand clasped to the side of his head. The beginning of his lookwas the village, and--though the vision seemed infinite--the village wasthe end of it too. Pierre, looking through the doorway beside which helay, drew in his breath sharply, for it seemed at first as if The Manwas an unnatural fancy, and not a thing. Behind The Man was The Stone, which was not more motionless nor more full of age than this itscomrade. Indeed, The Stone seemed more a thing of life as it poisedabove the hill: The Man was sculptured rock. His white hair waschiselled on his broad brow, his face was a solemn pathos petrified, hislips were curled with an iron contempt, an incalculable anger. 

The sun went down, and darkness gathered about The Man. Pierre reachedout his hand, and drank the water and ate the coarse bread that had beenput near him. He guessed that trees or protruding ledges had broken hisfall, and that he had been rescued and brought here. As he lay thinking, The Man entered the doorway, stooping much to do so. With flintshe lighted a wick which hung from a wooden bowl of bear's oil; thenkneeling, held it above his head, and looked at Pierre. And Pierre, whohad never feared anyone, shrank from the look in The Man's eyes. Butwhen the other saw that Pierre was awake, a distant kindness came uponhis face, and he nodded gravely; but he did not speak. Presently a greattremor as of pain shook all his limbs, and he set the candle on theground, and with his stalwart hands arranged afresh the bandages aboutPierre's injured arm and leg. Pierre spoke at last. 

"You are The Man"? he said. The other bowed his head. 

"You saved me from those devils in the valley?" A look of impregnablehardness came into The Man's face, but he pressed Pierre's hand foranswer; and though the pressure was meant to be gentle, Pierre wincedpainfully. The candle spluttered, and the hut filled with a sicklysmoke. The Man brought some bear skins and covered the sufferer, for, the season being autumn, the night was cold. Pierre, who had thus spenthis first sane and conscious hour in many days, fell asleep. What timeit was when he waked he was not sure, but it was to hear a metallicclick-click come to him through the clear air of night. It wasa pleasant noise as of steel and rock: the work of some lonelystone-cutter of the hills. The sound reached him with strange, increasing distinctness. Was this Titan that had saved him sculpturingsome figure from the metal hill? Click-click! it vibrated as regularlyas the keen pulse of a watch. He lay and wondered for a long time, butfell asleep again; and the steely iteration went on in his dreams. 

In the morning The Man came to him, and cared for his hurts, and gavehim food; but still would speak no word. He was gone nearly all day inthe hills; yet when evening came he sought the place where Pierre hadseen him the night before, and the same weird scene was re-enacted. Andagain in the night the clicking sound went on; and every night it wasrenewed. Pierre grew stronger, and could, with difficulty, stand uponhis feet. One night he crept out, and made his way softly, slowlytowards the sound. He saw The Man kneeling beside The Stone, he saw ahammer rise and fall upon a chisel; and the chisel was at the base ofThe Stone. The hammer rose and fell with perfect but dreadful precision. Pierre turned and looked towards the village below, whose lights wereburning like a bunch of fire-flies in the gloom. Again he looked at TheStone and The Man. 

Then the thing came to him sharply. The Man was chiselling away thesocket of The Stone, bringing it to that point of balance where thetouch of a finger, the wing of a bird, or the whistle of a north-westwind, would send it down upon the offending and unsuspecting village. 

The thought held him paralysed. The Man had nursed his revenge long pastthe thought of its probability by the people beneath. He had at firstsat and watched the village, hated, and mused dreadfully upon the thinghe had determined to do. Then he had worked a little, afterwards more, and now, lastly, since he had seen what they had done to Pierre, withthe hot but firm eagerness of an avenging giant. Pierre had done somesad deeds in his time, and had tasted some sweet revenges, but nothinglike to this had ever entered his brain. In that village were menwho--as they thought--had cast him to a death fit only for a coward ora cur. Well, here was the most exquisite retaliation. Though his handshould not be in the thing, he could still be the cynical and approvingspectator. 

But yet: had all those people hovering about those lights below doneharm to him? He thought there were a few--and they were women--who wouldnot have followed his tumbril to his death with cries of execration. The rest would have done so, --most of them did so, not because he was acriminal, but because he was a victim, and because human nature as it isthirsts inordinately at times for blood and sacrifice--a living strainof the old barbaric instinct. He remembered that most of these peoplewere concerned in having injured The Man. The few good women there hadvile husbands; the few pardonable men had hateful wives: the village ofPurple Hill was an ill affair. 

He thought: now doubtfully, now savagely, now with irony. 

The hammer and steel clicked on. 

He looked at the lights of the village again. Suddenly there came tohis mind the words of a great man who sought to save a city manifoldcenturies ago. He was not sure that he wished to save this village; butthere was a grim, almost grotesque, fitness in the thing that he nowintended. He spoke out clearly through the night:

"'Oh, let not the Lord be angry, and I will speak yet but this once:Peradventure ten righteous shall be found there. '"

The hammer stopped. There was a silence, in which the pines sighedlightly. Then, as if speaking was a labour, The Man replied in a deep, harsh voice:

"I will not spare it for ten's sake. "

Again there was a silence, in which Pierre felt his maimed body bendbeneath him; but presently the voice said, --"Now!"

At this the moon swung from behind a cloud. The Man stood behind TheStone. His arm was raised to it. There was a moment's pause--it seemedlike years to Pierre; a wind came softly crying out of the west, themoon hurried into the dark, and then a monster sprang from its pedestalupon Purple Hill, and, with a sound of thunder and an awful speed, racedupon the village below. The boulders of the hillside crumbled after it. 

And Pierre saw the lights go out. 

The moon shone out again for an instant, and Pierre saw that The Manstood where The Stone had been; but when he reached the place The Manwas gone. Forever!

THE TALL MASTER

The story has been so much tossed about in the mouths of Indians, andhalf-breeds, and men of the Hudson's Bay Company, that you are prettysure to hear only an apocryphal version of the thing as you now travelin the North. But Pretty Pierre was at Fort Luke when the battleoccurred, and, before and after, he sifted the business thoroughly. Forhe had a philosophical turn, and this may be said of him, that he neverlied except to save another from danger. In this matter he was cool andimpartial from first to last, and evil as his reputation was in manyways there were those who believed and trusted him. Himself, as hetravelled here and there through the North, had heard of the TallMaster. Yet he had never met anyone who had seen him; for the Masterhad dwelt, it was said, chiefly among the strange tribes of the Far-OffMetal River whose faces were almost white, and who held themselves alooffrom the southern races. The tales lost nothing by being retold, evenwhen the historians were the men of the H. B. C. ;---Pierre knew whataccomplished liars may be found among that Company of Adventurerstrading in Hudson's Bay, and how their art had been none too delicatelyengrafted by his own people. But he was, as became him, open toconviction, especially when, journeying to Fort Luke, he heard what JohnHybar, the Chief Factor--a man of uncommon quality--had to say. Hybarhad once lived long among those Indians of the Bright Stone, and hadseen many rare things among them. He knew their legends of the WhiteValley and the Hills of the Mighty Men, and how their distinctivecharacter had imposed itself on the whole Indian race of the North, sothat there was none but believed, even though vaguely, in a pleasantland not south but Arcticwards; and Pierre himself, with Shon McGann andJust Trafford, had once had a strange experience in the Kimash Hills. Hedid not share the opinion of Lazenby, the Company's clerk at Fort Luke, who said, when the matter was talked of before him, that it was allhanky-panky, --which was evidence that he had lived in London town, before his anxious relatives, sending him forth under the delusive flagof adventure and wild life, imprisoned him in the Arctic regions withthe H. B. C. 

Lazenby admired Pierre; said he was good stuff, and voted him amusing, with an ingenious emphasis of heathen oaths; but advised him, as onlyan insolent young scoundrel can, to forswear securing, by the seductivegame of poker or euchre, larger interest on his capital than the H. B. C. ; whose record, he insisted, should never be rivalled by any singleman in any single lifetime. Then he incidentally remarked that he wouldlike to empty the Company's cash-box once--only once;--thus reconcilingthe preacher and the sinner, as many another has done. Lazenby'smorals were not bad, however. He was simply fond of making them appearterrible; even when in London he was more idle than wicked. He gravelysuggested at last, as a kind of climax, that he and Pierre should go outon the pad together. This was a mere stroke of pleasantry on his part, because, the most he could loot in that far North were furs and cachesof buffalo meat; and a man's capacity and use for them were limited. Even Pierre's especial faculty and art seemed valueless so farPolewards; but he had his beat throughout the land, and he kept it likea perfect patrolman. He had not been at Fort Luke for years, and hewould not be there again for more years; but it was certain that hewould go on reappearing till he vanished utterly. At the end of thefirst week of this visit at Fort Luke, so completely had he conqueredthe place, that he had won from the Chief Factor the year's purchasesof skins, the stores, and the Fort itself; and every stitch of clothingowned by Lazenby: so that, if he had insisted on the redemption ofthe debts, the H. B. C. And Lazenby had been naked and hungry inthe wilderness. But Pierre was not a hard creditor. He instantly andnonchalantly said that the Fort would be useless to him, and handedit back again with all therein, on a most humorously constructedninety-nine years' lease; while Lazenby was left in pawn. Yet Lazenby'smind was not at certain ease; he had a wholesome respect for Pierre'ssingularities, and dreaded being suddenly called upon to pay his debtbefore he could get his new clothes made, maybe, in the presence of WindDriver, chief of the Golden Dogs, and his demure and charming daughter, Wine Face, who looked upon him with the eye of affection--a matterfully, but not ostentatiously, appreciated by Lazenby. If he couldhave entirely forgotten a pretty girl in South Kensington, who, at herparents' bidding, turned her shoulder on him, he would have marriedWine Face; and so he told Pierre. But the half-breed had only a sardonicsympathy for such weakness. Things changed at once when Shon McGannarrived. He should have come before, according to a promise givenPierre, but there were reasons for the delay; and these Shon elaboratedin his finely picturesque style. 

He said that he had lost his way after he left the Wapiti Woods, andshould never have found it again, had it not been for a strange beingwho came upon him and took him to the camp of the White Hand Indians, and cared for him there, and sent him safely on his way again to FortLuke. 

"Sorra wan did I ever see like him, " said Shon, "with a face that wasdivil this minute and saint the next; pale in the cheek, and blackin the eye, and grizzled hair flowin' long at his neck and lyin' likesnakes on his shoulders; and whin his fingers closed on yours, bedad!they didn't seem human at all, for they clamped you so cold and strong. "

"'For they clamped you so cold and strong, '" replied Pierre, mockingly, yet greatly interested, as one could see by the upward range of his eyetowards Shon. "Well, what more?"

"Well, squeeze the acid from y'r voice, Pierre; for there's things thatbetter become you: and listen to me, for I've news for all here at theFort, before I've done, which'll open y'r eyes with a jerk. "

"With a wonderful jerk, hold! let us prepare, messieurs, to be wakedwith an Irish jerk!" and Pierre pensively trifled with the fringeon Shon's buckskin jacket, which was whisked from his fingers withsmothered anger. For a few moments he was silent; but the eager looks ofthe Chief Factor and Lazenby encouraged him to continue. Besides, it wasonly Pierre's way--provoking Shon was the piquant sauce of his life. 

"Lyin' awake I was, " continued Shon, "in the middle of the night, notbein' able to sleep for a pain in a shoulder I'd strained, whin I hearda thing that drew me up standin'. It was the sound of a child laughin';so wonderful and bright, and at the very door of me tent it seemed. Thenit faded away till it was only a breath, lovely, and idle, and swingin'. I wint to the door and looked out. There was nothin' there, av coorse. ""And why 'av coorse'"? rejoined Pierre. The Chief Factor was intent onwhat Shon was saying, while Lazenby drummed his fingers on the table, his nose in the air. 

"Divils me darlin', but ye know as well as I, that there's things in theworld neither for havin' nor handlin'. And that's wan of thim, says I tomeself. .. . I wint back and lay down, and I heard the voice singin' nowand comin' nearer and nearer, and growin' louder and louder, and thenthere came with it a patter of feet, till it was as a thousand childrenwere dancin' by me door. I was shy enough, I'll own; but I pulled asidethe curtain of the tent to see again: and there was nothin' beyand forthe eye. But the singin' was goin' past and recedin' as before, till itdied away along the waves of prairie grass. I wint back and give GreyNose, my Injin bed-fellow, a lift wid me fut. 'Come out of that, ' saysI, 'and tell me if dead or alive I am. ' He got up, and there was thenoise soft and grand again, but with it now the voices of men, the flipof birds' wings and the sighin' of tree tops, and behind all that thelong wash of a sea like none I ever heard. .. . 'Well, ' says I to theInjin grinnin' before me, 'what's that, in the name o' Moses?' 'That, 'says he, laughin' slow in me face, 'is the Tall Master--him that broughtyou to the camp. ' Thin I remimbered all the things that's been said ofhim, and I knew it was music I'd been hearin' and not children's voicesnor anythin' else at all. 

"'Come with me, ' says Grey Nose; and he took me to the door of a bigtent standin' alone from the rest. 

"'Wait a minute, ' says he, and he put his hand on the tent curtain; andat that there was a crash, as a million gold hammers were fallin' onsilver drums. And we both stood still; for it seemed an army, withswords wranglin' and bridle-chains rattlin', was marchin' down on us. There was the divil's own uproar, as a battle was comin' on; and a longline of spears clashed. But just then there whistled through the larrupof sound a clear voice callin', gentle and coaxin', yet commandin' too;and the spears dropped, and the pounding of horsehoofs ceased, and thenthe army marched away; far away; iver so far away, into--"

"Into Heaven!" flippantly interjected Lazenby. "Into Heaven, say I, andbe choked to you! for there's no other place for it; and I'll stand bythat, till I go there myself, and know the truth o' the thing. " Pierrehere spoke. "Heaven gave you a fine trick with words, Shon McGann. I sometimes think Irishmen have gifts for only two things--words andwomen. . .. 'Bien, ' what then?"

Shon was determined not to be angered. The occasion was too big. "Well, Grey Nose lifted the curtain and wint in. In a minute he comes out. 'Youcan go in, ' says he. So in I wint, the Injin not comin', and there inthe middle of the tint stood the Tall Master, alone. He had his fiddleto his chin, and the bow hoverin' above it. He looked at me for a longtime along the thing; then, all at once, from one string I heard thechild laughin' that pleasant and distant, though the bow seemed not tobe touchin'. Soon it thinned till it was the shadow of a laugh, and Ididn't know whin it stopped, he smilin' down at the fiddle bewhiles. Then he said without lookin' at me, --'It is the spirit of the WhiteValley and the Hills of the Mighty Men; of which all men shall know, forthe North will come to her spring again one day soon, at the remaking ofthe world. They thought the song would never be found again, but I havegiven it a home here. ' And he bent and kissed the strings. After, heturned sharply as if he'd been spoken to, and looked at someone besidehim; someone that I couldn't see. A cloud dropped upon his face, hecaught the fiddle hungrily to his breast, and came limpin' over tome--for there was somethin' wrong with his fut--and lookin' down hishook-nose at me, says he, --'I've a word for them at Fort Luke, whereyou're goin', and you'd better be gone at once; and I'll put you on yourway. There's to be a great battle. The White Hands have an ancient feudwith the Golden Dogs, and they have come from where the soft Chinookwind ranges the Peace River, to fight until no man of all the GoldenDogs be left, or till they themselves be destroyed. It is the same northand south, ' he wint on; 'I have seen it all in Italy, in Greece, in--'but here he stopped and smiled strangely. After a minute he wint on:'The White Hands have no quarrel with the Englishmen of the Fort, and Iwould warn them, for Englishmen were once kind to me--and warn also theGolden Dogs. So come with me at once, ' says he. And I did. And he walkedwith me till mornin', carryin' the fiddle under his arm, but wrapped ina beautiful velvet cloth, havin' on it grand figures like the arms ofa king or queen. And just at the first whisk of sun he turned me into atrail and give me good-bye, sayin' that maybe he'd follow me soon, and, at any rate, he'd be there at the battle. Well, divils betide me! I gotoff the track again; and lost a day; but here I am; and there's me storyto take or lave as you will. "

Shon paused and began to fumble with the cards on the table before him, looking the while at the others. 

The Chief Factor was the first to speak. "I don't doubt but he told youtrue about the White Hands and the Golden Dogs, " he said; "for there'sbeen war and bad blood between them beyond the memory of man--at leastsince the time that the Mighty Men lived, from which these date theirhistory. But there's nothing to be done to-night; for if we tell oldWind Driver, there'll be no sleeping at the Fort. So we'll let the thingstand. "

"You believe all this poppy-cock, Chief"? said Lazenby to the Factor, but laughing in Shon's face the while. The Factor gravely replied: "Iknew of the Tall Master years ago on the Far-Off Metal River; and thoughI never saw him I can believe these things--and more. You do not knowthis world through and through, Lazenby; you have much to learn. "

Pierre said nothing. He took the cards from Shon and passed them to andfro in his hand. Mechanically he dealt them out, and as mechanicallythey took them up and in silence began to play. 

The next day there was commotion and excitement at Fort Luke. The GoldenDogs were making preparations for the battle. Pow-wow followed pow-wow, and paint and feathers followed all. The H. B. C. People had little todo but look to their guns and house everything within the walls of theFort. 

At night, Shon, Pierre, and Lazenby were seated about the table in thecommon-room, the cards lying dealt before them, waiting for the Factorto come. Presently the door opened and the Factor entered, followed byanother. Shon and Pierre sprang to their feet. 

"The Tall Master, " said Shon with a kind of awe; and then stood still. 

Their towering visitor slowly unloosed something he carried verycarefully and closely beneath his arm, and laid it on the table, dropping his compass-like fingers softly on it. He bowed gravely toeach, yet the bow seemed grotesque, his body was so ungainly. With theeyes of all drawn to him absolutely, he spoke in a low sonorous tone:"I have followed the traveller fast"--his hand lifted gently towardsShon--"for there are weighty concerns abroad, and I have things to sayand do before I go again to my people--and beyond. .. . I have hungeredfor the face of a white man these many years, and his was the firstI saw;"--again he tossed a long finger towards the Irishman--"and itbrought back many things. I remember. .. " He paused, then sat down;and they all did the same. He looked at them one by one with distantkindness. "I remember, " he continued, and his strangely articulatedfingers folded about the thing on the table beside him, "when"--here thecards caught his eye. His face underwent a change. An eager fantasticlook shot from his eye, "when I gambled this away at Lucca, "--his handdrew the bundle closer to him--"but I won it back again--at a price!" hegloomily added, glancing sideways as to someone at his elbow. 

He remained, eyes hanging upon space for a moment, then he recollectedhimself and continued: "I became wiser; I never risked it again; but Iloved the game always. I was a gamester from the start--the artist isalways so when he is greatest, --like nature herself. And once, yearsafter, I played with a mother for her child--and mine. And yet onceagain at Parma with"--here he paused, throwing that sharp sidelongglance--"with the greatest gamester, for the infinite secret of Art: andI won it; but I paid the price!. .. I should like to play now. "

He reached his hand, drew up five cards, and ran his eye through them. "Play!" he said. "The hand is good--very good. .. . Once when I playedwith the Princess--but it is no matter; and Tuscany is far away!. .. Play!" he repeated. 

Pierre instantly picked up the cards, with an air of cool satisfaction. He had either found the perfect gamester or the perfect liar. He knewthe remedy for either. 

The Chief Factor did not move. Shon and Lazenby followed Pierre'saction. By their positions Lazenby became his partner. They playedin silence for a minute, the Tall Master taking all. "Napoleon was awonderful player, but he lost with me, " he said slowly as he played acard upon three others and took them. 

Lazenby was so taken back by this remark that, presently, he trumpedhis partner's ace, and was rewarded by a talon-like look from theTall Master's eye; but it was immediately followed by one of saturnineamusement. 

They played on silently. 

"Ah, you are a wonderful player!" he presently said to Pierre, witha look of keen scrutiny. "Come, I will play with you--for values--thefirst time in seventy-five years; then, no more!"

Lazenby and Shon drew away beside the Chief Factor. The two played. Meanwhile Lazenby said to Shon: "The man's mad. He talks about Napoleonas if he'd known him--as if it wasn't three-fourths of a century ago. Does he think we're all born idiots? Why, he's not over sixty years oldnow. But where the deuce did he come from with that Italian face? Andthe funniest part of it is, he reminds me of someone. Did you notice howhe limped--the awkward beggar!"

Lazenby had unconsciously lifted his voice, and presently the TallMaster turned and said to him: "I ran a nail into my foot at Leydenseventy-odd years ago. "

"He's the devil himself, " rejoined Lazenby, and he did not lower hisvoice. 

"Many with angelic gifts are children of His Dark Majesty, " said theTall Master, slowly; and though he appeared closely occupied with thegame, a look of vague sadness came into his face. 

For a half-hour they played in silence, the slight, delicate-featuredhalf-breed, and the mysterious man who had for so long been a thing ofwonder in the North, a weird influence among the Indians. 

There was a strange, cold fierceness in the Tall Master's face. He nowstaked his precious bundle against the one thing Pierre prized--the goldwatch received years ago for a deed of heroism on the Chaudiere. Thehalf-breed had always spoken of it as amusing, but Shon at least knewthat to Pierre it was worth his right hand. 

Both men drew breath slowly, and their eyes were hard. The stillnessbecame painful; all were possessed by the grim spirit of Chance. .. . TheTall Master won. He came to his feet, his shambling body drawn togetherto a height. Pierre rose also. Their looks clinched. Pierre stretchedout his hand. "You are my master at this, " he said. 

The other smiled sadly. "I have played for the last time. I have notforgotten how to win. If I had lost, uncommon things had happened. This, "--he laid his hand on the bundle and gently undid it, --"is myoldest friend, since the warm days at Parma. .. All dead. .. All dead. "Out of the velvet wrapping, broidered with royal and ducal arms, and rounded by a wreath of violets--which the Chief Factor looked atclosely--he drew his violin. He lifted it reverently to his lips. 

"My good Garnerius!" he said. "Three masters played you, but I am chiefof them all. They had the classic soul, but I the romantic heart--'lesgrandes caprices. '" His head lifted higher. "I am the master artist ofthe world. I have found the core of Nature. Here in the North is thewonderful soul of things. Beyond this, far beyond, where the foolishthink is only inviolate ice, is the first song of the Ages in a verypleasant land. I am the lost Master, and I shall return, I shall return. .. But not yet. .. Not yet. "

He fetched the instrument to his chin with a noble pride. The uglinessof his face was almost beautiful now. 

The Chief Factor's look was fastened on him with bewilderment; he wastrying to remember something: his mind went feeling, he knew not why, for a certain day, a quarter of a century before, when he unpacked a boxof books and papers from England. Most of them were still in the Fort. The association of this man with these things fretted him. 

The Tall Master swung his bow upward, but at that instant there came aknock, and, in response to a call, Wind Driver and Wine Face entered. Wine Face was certainly a beautiful girl; and Lazenby might well havebeen pardoned for throwing in his fate with such a heathen, if hedespaired of ever seeing England again. The Tall Master did not turntowards these. The Indians sat gracefully on a bearskin before the fire. The eyes of the girl were cast shyly upon the Man as he stood thereunlike an ordinary man; in his face a fine hardness and the cold lightof the North. He suddenly tipped his bow upward and brought it down witha most delicate crash upon the strings. Then softly, slowly, he passedinto a weird fantasy. The Indians sat breathless. Upon them it actedmore impressively than the others: besides, the player's eye wassearching them now; he was playing into their very bodies. And theyresponded with some swift shocks of recognition crossing their faces. Suddenly the old Indian sprang up. He thrust his arms out, and made, asif unconsciously, some fantastic yet solemn motions. The player smiledin a far-off fashion, and presently ran the bow upon the strings inan exquisite cry; and then a beautiful avalanche of sound slid from adistance, growing nearer and nearer, till it swept through the room, andimbedded all in its sweetness. 

At this the old Indian threw himself forward at the player's feet. "Itis the song of the White Weaver, the maker of the world--the music fromthe Hills of the Mighty Men. .. . I knew it--I knew it--but never likethat. . .. It was lost to the world; the wild cry of the lofty stars. .. . "His face was wet. 

The girl too had risen. She came forward as if in a dream and reverentlytouched the arm of the musician, who paused now, and was looking at themfrom under his long eyelashes. She said whisperingly: "Are you a spirit?Do you come from the Hills of the Mighty Men?"

He answered gravely: "I am no spirit. But I have journeyed in the Hillsof the Mighty Men and along their ancient hunting-grounds. This that Ihave played is the ancient music of the world--the music of Jubal andhis comrades. It comes humming from the Poles; it rides laughing downthe planets; it trembles through the snow; it gives joy to the bonesof the wind. .. . And I am the voice of it, " he added; and he drew up hisloose unmanageable body till it looked enormous, firm, and dominant. 

The girl's fingers ran softly over to his breast. "I will follow you, "she said, "when you go again to the Happy Valleys. "

Down from his brow there swept a faint hue of colour, and, for a breath, his eyes closed tenderly with hers. But he straightway gathered backhis look again, his body shrank, not rudely, from her fingers, and heabsently said: "I am old-in years the father of the world. It is a man'slife gone since, at Genoa, she laid her fingers on my breast like that. . .. These things can be no more. .. Until the North hath its summeragain; and I stand young--the Master--upon the summits of my renown. "

The girl drew slowly back. Lazenby was muttering under his breath now;he was overwhelmed by this change in Wine Face. He had been impressed toawe by the Tall Master's music, but he was piqued, and determined not togive in easily. He said sneeringly that Maskelyne and Cooke in music hadcome to life, and suggested a snake-dance. 

The Tall Master heard these things, and immediately he turned to Lazenbywith an angry look on his face. His brows hung heavily over the dullfire of his eyes; his hair itself seemed like Medusa's, just quiveringinto savage life; the fingers spread out white and claw-like upon thestrings as he curved his violin to his chin, whereof it became, as itwere, a piece. The bow shot out and down upon the instrument with agreat clangour. There eddied into a vast arena of sound the prodigiouselements of war. Torture rose from those four immeasurable chords;destruction was afoot upon them; a dreadful dance of death supervened. 

Through the Chief Factor's mind there flashed--though mechanically, and only to be remembered afterwards--the words of a schoolday poem. Itshuttled in and out of the music:

 "Wheel the wild dance, While lightnings glance, And thunders rattle loud; And call the brave to bloody grave, To sleep without a shroud. "

The face of the player grew old and drawn. The skin was wrinkled, butshone, the hair spread white, the nose almost met the chin, the mouthwas all malice. It was old age with vast power: conquest volleyed fromthe fingers. 

Shon McGann whispered aves, aching with the sound; the Chief Factorshuddered to his feet; Lazenby winced and drew back to the wall, puttinghis hand before his face as though the sounds were striking him; the oldIndian covered his head with his arms upon the floor. Wine Face knelt, her face all grey, her fingers lacing and interlacing with pain. OnlyPierre sat with masterful stillness, his eyes never moving from the faceof the player; his arms folded; his feet firmly wedded to the floor. Thesound became strangely distressing. It shocked the flesh and angeredthe nerves. Upon Lazenby it acted singularly. He cowered from it, butpresently, with a look of madness in his eyes, rushed forward, armsoutstretched, as though to seize this intolerable minstrel. There was asudden pause in the playing; then the room quaked with noise, buffetingLazenby into stillness. The sounds changed instantly again, and music ofan engaging sweetness and delight fell about them as in silver drops--anenchanting lyric of love. Its exquisite tenderness subdued Lazenby, who, but now, had a heart for slaughter. He dropped on his knees, threw hishead into his arms, and sobbed hard. The Tall Master's fingers creptcaressingly along one of those heavenly veins of sound, his bow poisingsoftly over it. The farthest star seemed singing. 

At dawn the next day the Golden Dogs were gathered for war before theFort. Immediately after the sun rose, the foe were seen gliding darklyout of the horizon. From another direction came two travellers. Thesealso saw the White Hands bearing upon the Fort, and hurried forward. They reached the gates of the Fort in good time, and were welcomed. Onewas a chief trader from a fort in the west. He was an old man, and hadbeen many years in the service of the H. B. C. ; and, like Lazenby, hadspent his early days in London, a connoisseur in all its pleasures; theother was a voyageur. They had posted on quickly to bring news of thiscrusade of the White Hands. 

The hostile Indians came steadily to within a few hundred yards of theGolden Dogs. Then they sent a brave to say that they had no quarrel withthe people of the Fort; and that if the Golden Dogs came on they wouldbattle with them alone; since the time had come for "one to be as both, "as their Medicine Men had declared since the days of the Great Race. Andthis signified that one should destroy the other. 

At this all the Golden Dogs ranged into line. The sun shone brightly, the long hedge of pine woods in the distance caught the colour of thesky, the flowers of the plains showed handsomely as a carpet of war. The bodies of the fighters glistened. You could see the rise and fall oftheir bare, strenuous chests. They stood as their forefathers in battle, almost naked, with crested head, gleaming axe, scalp-knife, and bows andarrows. At first there was the threatening rustle of preparation; then agreat stillness came and stayed for a moment; after which, all at once, there sped through the air a big shout of battle, and the innumerabletwang of flying arrows; and the opposing hosts ran upon each other. 

Pierre and Shon McGann, watching from the Fort, cried out withexcitement. 

"Divils me darlin'!" called Shon, "are we gluin' our eyes to a chinkin the wall, whin the tangle of battle goes on beyand? Bedad, I'll notstand it! Look at them twistin' the neck o' war! Open the gates, openthe gates say I, and let us have play with our guns. "

"Hush! 'Mon Dieu!'" interrupted Pierre. "Look! The Tall Master!"

None at the Fort had seen the Tall Master since the night before. Nowhe was covering the space between the walls and the battle, his hairstreaming behind him. 

When he came near to the vortex of fight he raised his violin to hischin, and instantly a piercingly sweet call penetrated the wild uproar. The Call filled it, drained through it, wrapped it, overcame it; so thatit sank away at last like the outwash of an exhausted tide: the weft ofbattle stayed unfinished in the loom. 

Then from the Indian lodges came the women and children. They drew nearto the unearthly luxury of that Call, now lifting with an unboundedjoy. Battleaxes fell to the ground; the warriors quieted even where theystood locked with their foes. The Tall Master now drew away from them, facing the north and west. That ineffable Call drew them after him withgrave joy; and they brought their dead and wounded along. The women andchildren glided in among the men and followed also. Presently one girlran away from the rest and came close into the great leader's footsteps. 

At that instant, Lazenby, from the wall of the Fort, cried out madly, sprang down, opened the gates, and rushed towards the girl, crying:"Wine Face! Wine Face!"

She did not look behind. But he came close to her and caught her by thewaist. "Come back! Come back! O my love, come back!" he urged; but shepushed him gently from her. 

"Hush! Hush!" she said. "We are going to the Happy Valleys. Don't youhear him calling"?. .. And Lazenby fell back. 

The Tall Master was now playing a wonderful thing, half dance, halfcarnival; but with that Call still beating through it. They were passingthe Fort at an angle. All within issued forth to see. Suddenly the oldtrader who had come that morning started forward with a cry; then stoodstill. He caught the Factor's arm; but he seemed unable to speak yet;his face was troubled, his eyes were hard upon the player. 

The procession passed the empty lodges, leaving the ground strewn withtheir weapons, and not one of their number stayed behind. They passedaway towards the high hills of the north-west-beautiful austerebarriers. 

Still the trader gazed, and was pale, and trembled. They watchedlong. The throng of pilgrims grew a vague mass; no longer an army ofindividuals; and the music came floating back with distant charm. Atlast the old man found voice. "My God, it is--"

The Factor touched his arm, interrupting him, and drew a picture fromhis pocket--one but just now taken from that musty pile of books, received so many years before. He showed it to the old man. 

"Yes, yes, " said the other, "that is he. .. . And the world buried himforty years ago!"

Pierre, standing near, added with soft irony: "There are strange thingsin the world. He is the gamester of the world. 'Mais' a grand comradealso. "

The music came waving back upon them delicately but the pilgrims werefading from view. 

Soon the watchers were alone with the glowing day. 

THE CRIMSON FLAG

Talk and think as one would, The Woman was striking to see; withmarvellous flaxen hair and a joyous violet eye. She was all pulse anddash; but she was as much less beautiful than the manager's wife as TomLiffey was as nothing beside the manager himself; and one would carelittle to name the two women in the same breath if the end had beendifferent. When The Woman came to Little Goshen there were others of herclass there, but they were of a commoner sort and degree. She was thequeen of a lawless court, though she never, from first to last, spoke toone of those others who were her people; neither did she hold commercewith any of the ordinary miners, save Pretty Pierre, but he was moregambler than miner, --and he went, when the matter was all over, and toldher some things that stripped her soul naked before her eyes. Pierre hada wonderful tongue. It was only the gentlemen-diggers--and there weremany of them at Little Goshen--who called upon her when the lights werelow; and then there was a good deal of muffled mirth in the white houseamong the pines. The rougher miners made no quarrel with this, for thegentlemen-diggers were popular enough, they were merely sarcastic andhumorous, and said things which, coming to The Woman's ears, made hervery merry; for she herself had an abundant wit, and had spent wildhours with clever men. She did not resent the playful insolence thatsent a dozen miners to her house in the dead of night with a crimsonflag, which they quietly screwed to her roof; and paint, with which theydeftly put a wide stripe of scarlet round the cornice, and another roundthe basement. In the morning, when she saw what had been done, she wouldnot have the paint removed nor the flag taken down; for, she said, thestripes looked very well, and the other would show that she was alwaysat home. 

Now, the notable thing was that Heldon, the manager, was in The Woman'shouse on the night this was done. Tom Liffey, the lumpish guide andtrapper, saw him go in; and, days afterwards, he said to Pierre: "Divilsme own, but this is a bad hour for Heldon's wife--she with a face like aprincess and eyes like the fear o' God. Nivir a wan did I see like her, since I came out of Erin with a clatter of hoofs behoind me and asquall on the sea before. There's wimmin there wid cheeks like rosesand buthermilk, and a touch that'd make y'r heart pound on y'r ribs;but none that's grander than Heldon's wife. To lave her for that other, standin' hip-high in her shame, is temptin' the fires of Heaven, thatbasted the sinners o' Sodom. "

Pierre, pausing between the whiffs of a cigarette, said: "So? But youknow more of catching foxes in winter, and climbing mountains in summer, and the grip of the arm of an Injin girl, than of these things. You areyoung, quite young in the world, Tom Liffey. "

"Young I may be with a glint o' grey at me temples from a night o'trouble beyand in the hills; but I'm the man, an' the only man, that'sclimbed to the glacier-top--God's Playground, as they call it: and nivira dirty trick have I done to Injin girl or any other; and be damned toyou there!"

"Sometimes I think you are as foolish as Shon McGann, " compassionatelyreplied the half-breed. 

"You have almighty virtue, and you did that brave trick of the glacier;but great men have fallen. You are not dead yet. Still, as you say, Heldon's wife is noble to see. She is grave and cold, and speaks little;but there is something in her which is not of the meek of the earth. Some women say nothing, and suffer and forgive, and take such as Heldonback to their bosoms; but there are others--I remember a woman--bien, it is no matter, it was long ago; but they two are as if born of onemother; and what comes of this will be mad play--mad play. "

"Av coorse his wife may not get to know of it, and--"

"Not get to know it! 'Tsh, you are a child--"

"Faith, I'll say what I think, and that in y'r face! Maybe he'll tire ofthe handsome rip--for handsome she is, like a yellow lily growin' outo' mud--and go back to his lawful wife, that believes he's at the mines, when he's drinkin' and colloguin' wid a fly-away. "

Pierre slowly wheeled till he had the Irishman straight in his eye. Then he said in a low, cutting tone: "I suppose your heart aches for thebeautiful lady, eh?" Here he screwed his slight forefinger into Tom'sbreast; then he added sharply: "'Nom de Dieu, ' but you make me angry!You talk too much. Such men get into trouble. And keep down the riot ofthat heart of yours, Tom Liffey, or you'll walk on the edge of knivesone day. And now take an inch of whisky and ease the anxious soul. 'Voila!'" After a moment he added: "Women work these things out forthemselves. " Then the two left the hut, and amiably strolled together tothe centre of the village, where they parted. It was as Pierre hadsaid: the woman would work the thing out for herself. Later that eveningHeldon's wife stood cloaked and veiled in the shadows of the pines, facing the house with The Crimson Flag. Her eyes shifted ever from thedoor to the flag, which was stirred by the light breeze. Once or twiceshe shivered as with cold, but she instantly stilled again, and watched. It was midnight. Here and there beyond in the village a light showed, and straggling voices floated faintly towards her. For a long time nosound came from the house. But at last she heard a laugh. At that shedrew something from her pocket, and held it firmly in her hand. Once sheturned and looked at another house far up on the hill, where lights wereburning. It was Heldon's house--her home. A sharp sound as of anguishand anger escaped her; then she fastened her eyes on the door in frontof her. 

At that moment Tom Liffey was standing with his hands on his hipslooking at Heldon's home on the hill; and he said some rumbling words, then strode on down the road, and suddenly paused near the wife. He didnot see her. He faced the door at which she was looking, and shook hisfist at it. 

"A murrain on y'r sowl!" said he, "as there's plague in y'r body, andhell in the slide of y'r feet, like the trail of the red spider. And outo' that come ye, Heldon, for I know y're there. Out of that, ye beast!. .. But how can ye go back--you that's rolled in that sewer--to theloveliest woman that ever trod the neck o' the world! Damned y' are inevery joint o' y'r frame, and damned is y'r sowl, I say, for bringingsorrow to her; and I hate you as much for that, as I could worship herwas she not your wife and a lady o' blood, God save her!"

Then shaking his fist once more, he swung away slowly down the road. During this the wife's teeth held together as though they were of apiece. She looked after Tom Liffey and smiled; but it was a dreadfulsmile. 

"He worships me, that common man--worships me, " she said. "This man whowas my husband has shamed me, left me. Well--"

The door of the house opened; a man came out. His wife leaned a littleforward, and something clicked ominously in her hand. But a voice cameup the road towards them through the clear air--the voice of Tom Liffey. The husband paused to listen; the wife mechanically did the same. Thehusband remembered this afterwards: it was the key to, and the beginningof, a tragedy. These are the words the Irishman sang:

 "She was a queen, she stood up there before me, My blood went roarin' when she touched my hand; She kissed me on the lips, and then she swore me To die for her--and happy was the land. "

A new and singular look came into her face. It trans formed her. "That, "she said in a whisper to herself--"that! He knows the way. "

As her husband turned towards his home, she turned also. He heard therustle of garments, and he could just discern the cloaked figure inthe shadows. He hurried on; the figure flitted ahead of him. A fearpossessed him in spite of his will. He turned back. The figure stoodstill for a moment, then followed him. He braced himself, faced about, and walked towards it: it stopped and waited. He had not the courage. Hewent back again swiftly towards the house he had left. Again he lookedbehind him. The figure was standing, not far, in the pines. He wheeledsuddenly towards the house, turned a key in the door, and entered. 

Then the wife went to that which had been her home: Heldon did not gothither until the first flush of morning. Pierre, returning from anall-night sitting at cards, met him, and saw the careworn look on hisface. The half-breed smiled. He knew that the event was doubling on theman. When Heldon reached his house, he went to his wife's room. It waslocked. Then he walked down to his mines with a miserable shame andanger at his heart. He did not pass The Crimson Flag. He went by anotherway. 

That evening, in the dusk, a woman knocked at Tom Liffey's door. Heopened it. 

"Are you alone"? she said. "I am alone, lady. "

"I will come in, " she added. "You will--come in"? he faltered. 

She drew near him, and reached out and gently caught his hand. 

"Ah!" he said, with a sound almost like a sob in its intensity, and theblood flushed to his hair. 

He stepped aside, and she entered. In the light of the candle hereye burned into his, but her face wore a shining coldness. She leanedtowards him. 

"You said you could worship me, " she whispered, "and you cursed him. Well--worship me--altogether--and that will curse him, as he has killedme. "

"Dear lady!" he said, in an awed, overwhelmed murmur; and he fell backto the wall. 

She came towards him. "Am I not beautiful"? she urged. She took hishand. His eye swam with hers. But his look was different from hers, though he could not know that. His was the madness of a man in a dream;hers was a painful thing. The Furies dwelt in her. She softly liftedhis hand above his head, and whispered: "Swear. " And she kissed him. Her lips were icy, though he did not think so. The blood tossed in hisveins. He swore: but, doing so, he could not conceive all that would berequired of him. He was hers, body and soul, and she had resolved on agrim thing. .. . In the darkness, they left the hut and passed into thewoods, and slowly up through the hills. 

Heldon returned to his home that night to find it empty. There wereno servants. There was no wife. Her cat and dog lay dead upon thehearthrug. Her clothing was cut into strips. Her wedding-dress was acharred heap on the fireplace. Her jewellery lay molten with it. Herportrait had been torn from its frame. 

An intolerable fear possessed him. Drops of sweat hung on his foreheadand his hands. He fled towards the town. He bit his finger-nails tillthey bled as he passed the house in the pines. He lifted his arm as ifthe flappings of The Crimson Flag were blows in his face. 

At last he passed Tom Liffey's hut. He saw Pierre, coming from it. The look on the gambler's face was one, of gloomy wonder. His fingerstrembled as he lighted a cigarette, and that was an unusual thing. Theform of Heldon edged within the light. Pierre dropped the match and saidto him, --"You are looking for your wife?"

Heldon bowed his head. The other threw open the door of the hut. "Comein here, " he said. They entered. Pierre pointed to a woman's hat onthe table. "Do you know that"? he asked, huskily, for he was moved. ButHeldon only nodded dazedly. Pierre continued: "I was to have met TomLiffey here--to-night. He is not here. You hoped--I suppose--to see yourwife in your--home. She is not there. He left a word on paper for me. I have torn it up. Writing is the enemy of man. But I know where he isgone. I know also where your wife has gone. "

Heldon's face was of a hateful paleness. .. . They passed out into thenight. 

"Where are you going"? Heldon said. 

"To God's Playground, if we can get there. "

"To God's Playground? To the glacier-top? You are mad. "

"No, but he and she were mad. Come on. " Then he whispered something, andHeldon gave a great cry, and they plunged into the woods. 

In the morning the people of Little Goshen, looking towards the glacier, saw a flag (they knew afterwards that it was crimson) flying on it. Nearit were two human figures. A miner, looking through a field-glass, said that one figure was crouching by the flag-staff, and that it was awoman. The other figure near was a man. As the morning wore on, theysaw upon a crag of ice below the sloping glacier two men looking upwardstowards the flag. One of them seemed to shriek out, and threw up hishands, and made as if to rush forward; but the other drew him back. 

Heldon knew what revenge and disgrace may be at their worst. In vain hetried to reach God's Playground. Only one man knew the way, and he wasdead upon it--with Heldon's wife: two shameless suicides. .. . When hecame down from the mountain the hair upon his face was white, thoughthat upon his head remained black as it had always been. And thosefrozen figures stayed there like statues with that other crimson flag:until, one day, a great-bodied wind swept out of the north, and, inpity, carried them down a bottomless fissure. 

But long before this happened, The Woman had fled from Little Goshen inthe night, and her house was burned to the ground. 

THE FLOOD

Wendling came to Fort Anne on the day that the Reverend Ezra Badgley andan unknown girl were buried. And that was a notable thing. The man hadbeen found dead at his evening meal; the girl had died on the same day;and they were buried side by side. This caused much scandal, for theman was holy, and the girl, as many women said, was probably evilaltogether. At the graves, when the minister's people saw what wasbeing done, they piously protested; but the Factor, to whom Pierre hadwhispered a word, answered them gravely that the matter should goon: since none knew but the woman was as worthy of heaven as the man. Wendling chanced to stand beside Pretty Pierre. 

"Who knows!" he said aloud, looking hard at the graves, "who knows!. .. She died before him, but the dead can strike. "

Pierre did not answer immediately, for the Factor was calling the earthdown on both coffins; but after a moment he added: "Yes, the dead canstrike. " And then the eyes of the two men caught and stayed, and theyknew that they had things to say to each other in the world. 

They became friends. And that, perhaps, was not greatly to Wendling'scredit; for in the eyes of many Pierre was an outcast as an outlaw. Maybe some of the women disliked this friendship most; since Wendlingwas a handsome man, and Pierre was never known to seek them, good orbad; and they blamed him for the other's coldness, for his unconcernedyet respectful eye. 

"There's Nelly Nolan would dance after him to the world's end, " saidShon McGann to Pierre one day; "and the Widdy Jerome herself, wid herflamin' cheeks and the wild fun in her eye, croons like a babe at thebreast as he slides out his cash on the bar; and over on Gansonby's Flatthere's--"

"There's many a fool, 'voila, '" sharply interjected Pierre, as he pushedthe needle through a button he was sewing on his coat. 

"Bedad, there's a pair of fools here, anyway, I say; for the women mightdie without lift at waist or brush of lip, and neither of ye'd say, 'Here's to the joy of us, goddess, me own!'"

Pierre seemed to be intently watching the needlepoint as it pierced upthe button-eye, and his reply was given with a slowness correspondingto the sedate passage of the needle. "Wendling, you think, cares nothingfor women? Well, men who are like that cared once for one woman, andwhen that was over--But, pshaw! I will not talk. You are no thinker, Shon McGann. You blunder through the world. And you'll tremble as muchto a woman's thumb in fifty years as now. "

"By the holy smoke, " said Shon, "though I tremble at that, maybe, I'llnot tremble, as Wendling, at nothing at all. " Here Pierre looked upsharply, then dropped his eyes on his work again. Shon lapsed suddenlyinto a moodiness. 

"Yes, " said Pierre, "as Wendling, at nothing at all? Well?"

"Well, this, Pierre, for you that's a thinker from me that's none. I waswalking with him in Red Glen yesterday. Sudden he took to shiverin', andsnatched me by the arm, and a mad look shot out of his handsome face. 'Hush!' says he. I listened. There was a sound like the hard rattle ofa creek over stones, and then another sound behind that. 'Come quick, 'says he, the sweat standin' thick on him; and he ran me up the bank--forit was at the beginnin' of the Glen where the sides were low--and therewe stood pantin' and starin' flat at each other. 'What's that? andwhat's got its hand on ye? for y' are cold as death, an' pinched in theface, an' you've bruised my arm, ' said I. And he looked round him slowand breathed hard, then drew his fingers through the sweat on his cheek. 'I'm not well, and I thought I heard--you heard it; what was it like?'said he; and he peered close at me. 'Like water, ' said I; 'a littlecreek near, and a flood comin' far off. ' 'Yes, just that, ' said he;'it's some trick of wind in the place, but it makes a man foolish, andan inch of brandy would be the right thing. ' I didn't say no to that. And on we came, and brandy we had with a wish in the eye of Nelly Nolanthat'd warm the heart of a tomb. .. . And there's a cud for your chewin', Pierre. Think that by the neck and the tail, and the divil absolve ye. "

During this, Pierre had finished with the button. He had drawn on hiscoat and lifted his hat, and now lounged, trying the point of the needlewith his forefinger. When Shon ended, he said with a sidelong glance:"But what did you think of all that, Shon?"

"Think! There it was! What's the use of thinkin'? There's many a trickin the world with wind or with spirit, as I've seen often enough in ouldIreland, and it's not to be guessed by me. " Here his voice got a littlelower and a trifle solemn. "For, Pierre, " spoke he, "there's what's morethan life or death, and sorra wan can we tell what it is; but we'll knowsome day whin--"

"When we've taken the leap at the Almighty Ditch, " said Pierre, with agrave kind of lightness. "Yes, it is all strange. But even the AlmightyDitch is worth the doing: nearly everything is worth the doing; beingyoung, growing old, fighting, loving--when youth is on--hating, eating, drinking, working, playing big games. All is worth it except twothings. "

"And what are they, bedad?"

"Thy neighbour's wife and murder. Those are horrible. They double on aman one time or another; always. "

Here, as in curiosity, Pierre pierced his finger with the needle, andwatched the blood form in a little globule. Looking at it meditativelyand sardonically, he said: "There is only one end to these. Bloodfor blood is a great matter; and I used to wonder if it would not beterrible for a man to see his death coming on him drop by drop, likethat. " He let the spot of blood fall to the floor. "But now I know thatthere is a punishment worse than that. .. 'mon Dieu!' worse than that, "he added. 

Into Shon's face a strange look had suddenly come. "Yes, there'ssomething worse than that, Pierre. "

"So, 'bien?'"

Shon made the sacred gesture of his creed. "To be punished by the dead. And not see them--only hear them. " And his eyes steadied firmly to theother's. 

Pierre was about to reply, but there came the sound of footsteps throughthe open door, and presently Wendling entered slowly. He was pale andworn, and his eyes looked out with a searching anxiousness. But that didnot render him less comely. He had always dressed in black and white, and this now added to the easy and yet severe refinement of his person. His birth and breeding had occurred in places unfrequented by such asShon and Pierre; but plains and wild life level all; and men are friendsaccording to their taste and will, and by no other law. Hence thesewith Wendling. He stretched out his hand to each without a word. Thehand-shake was unusual; he had little demonstration ever. Shon looked upsurprised, but responded. Pierre followed with a swift, inquiring look;then, in the succeeding pause, he offered cigarettes. Wendling took one;and all, silent, sat down. The sun streamed intemperately through thedoorway, making a broad ribbon of light straight across the floorto Wendling's feet. After lighting his cigarette, he looked into thesunlight for a moment, still not speaking. Shon meanwhile had startedhis pipe, and now, as if he found the silence awkward, --"It's a day forGod's country, this, " he said: "to make man a Christian for little ormuch, though he play with the Divil betunewhiles. " Without looking atthem, Wendling said, in a low voice: "It was just such a day, down therein Quebec, when It happened. You could hear the swill of the river, thewater licking the piers, and the saws in the Big Mill and the LittleMill as they marched through the timber, flashing their teeth likebayonets. It's a wonderful sound on a hot, clear day--that wild, keen singing of the saws, like the cry of a live thing fighting andconquering. Up from the fresh-cut lumber in the yards there came a smelllike the juice of apples, and the sawdust, as you thrust your hand intoit, was as cool and soft as the leaves of a clove-flower in the dew. Onthese days the town was always still. It looked sleeping, and you sawthe heat quivering up from the wooden walls and the roofs of cedarshingles as though the houses were breathing. "

Here he paused, still intent on the shaking sunshine. Then he turned tothe others as if suddenly aware that he had been talking to them. Shonwas about to speak, but Pierre threw a restraining glance, and, instead, they all looked through the doorway and beyond. In the settlement belowthey saw the effect that Wendling had described. The houses breathed. Agrasshopper went clacking past, a dog at the door snapped up a fly; butthere seemed no other life of day. Wendling nodded his head towards thedistance. "It was quiet, like that. I stood and watched the mills andthe yards, and listened to the saws, and looked at the great slide, and the logs on the river: and I said ever to myself that it was allmine--all. Then I turned to a big house on the hillock beyond thecedars, whose windows were open, with a cool dusk lying behind them. More than all else, I loved to think I owned that house and what was init. .. . She was a beautiful woman. And she used to sit in a room facingthe mill--though the house fronted another way--thinking of me, I didnot doubt, and working at some delicate needle-stuff. There never hadbeen a sharp word between us, save when I quarrelled bitterly withher brother, and he left the mill and went away. But she got over thatmostly, though the lad's name was, never mentioned between us. That dayI was so hungry for the sight of her that I got my field-glass--used towatch my vessels and rafts making across the bay--and trained it on thewindow where I knew she sat. I thought, it would amuse her, too, when Iwent back at night, if I told her what she had been doing. I laughedto myself at the thought of it as I adjusted the glass. .. . I looked. .. . There was no more laughing. .. . I saw her, and in front of her a man, with his back half on me. I could not recognise him, though at theinstant I thought he was something familiar. I failed to get his face atall. Hers I found indistinctly. But I saw him catch her playfully by thechin! After a little they rose. He put his arm about her and kissedher, and he ran his fingers through her hair. She had such fine goldenhair--so light, and it lifted to every breath. Something got into mybrain. I know now it was the maggot which sent Othello mad. The world inthat hour was malicious, awful. .. . 

"After a time--it seemed ages, she and everything had receded so far--Iwent. .. Home. At the door I asked the servant who had been there. Shehesitated, confused, and then said the young curate of the parish. I wasvery cool: for madness is a strange thing; you see everything with anintense aching clearness--that is the trouble. .. . She was more kindthan common. I do not think I was unusual. I was playing a part well, my grandmother had Indian blood like yours, Pierre, and I was waiting. I was even nicely critical of her to myself. I balanced the mole on herneck against her general beauty; the curve of her instep, I decided, wasa little too emphatic. I passed her backwards and forwards, weighing herat every point; but yet these two things were the only imperfections. I pronounced her an exceeding piece of art--and infamy. I was muchinterested to see how she could appear perfect in her soul. I encouragedher to talk. I saw with devilish irony that an angel spoke. And, tocap it all, she assumed the fascinating air of the mediator--for herbrother; seeking a reconciliation between us. Her amazing art ofperson and mind so worked upon me that it became unendurable; it was soexquisite--and so shameless. I was sitting where the priest had sat thatafternoon; and when she leaned towards me I caught her chin lightly andtrailed my fingers through her hair as he had done: and that ended it, for I was cold, and my heart worked with horrible slowness. Just as awave poises at its height before breaking upon the shore, it hung atevery pulse-beat, and then seemed to fall over with a sickening thud. Iarose, and acting still, spoke impatiently of her brother. Tears sprangto her eyes. Such divine dissimulation, I thought--too good for earth. She turned to leave the room, and I did not stay her. Yet we weretogether again that night. .. . I was only waiting. "

The cigarette had dropped from his fingers to the floor, and lay theresmoking. Shon's face was fixed with anxiety; Pierre's eyes playedgravely with the sunshine. Wendling drew a heavy breath, and then wenton. 

"Again, next day, it was like this-the world draining the heat. .. . Iwatched from the Big Mill. I saw them again. He leaned over her chairand buried his face in her hair. The proof was absolute now. .. . Istarted away, going a roundabout, that I might not be seen. It took mesome time. I was passing through a clump of cedar when I saw them makingtowards the trees skirting the river. Their backs were on me. Suddenlythey diverted their steps--towards the great slide, shut off from waterthis last few months, and used as a quarry to deepen it. Some petrifiedthings had been found in the rocks, but I did not think they were goingto these. I saw them climb down the rocky steps; and presently they werelost to view. The gates of the slide could be opened by machinery fromthe Little Mill. A terrible, deliciously malignant thought came to me. Iremember how the sunlight crept away from me and left me in the dark. Istole through that darkness to the Little Mill. I went to the machineryfor opening the gates. Very gently I set it in motion, facing the slideas I did so. I could see it through the open sides of the mill. I smiledto think what the tiny creek, always creeping through a faint leak inthe gates and falling with a granite rattle on the stones, would nowbecome. I pushed the lever harder--harder. I saw the gates suddenlygive, then fly open, and the river sprang roaring massively throughthem. I heard a shriek through the roar. I shuddered; and a horriblesickness came on me. .. . And as I turned from the machinery, I saw theyoung priest coming at me through a doorway!. .. It was not the priestand my wife that I had killed; but my wife and her brother. .. . "

He threw his head back as though something clamped his throat. His voiceroughened with misery. "The young priest buried them both, and peopledid not know the truth. They were even sorry for me. But I gave up themills--all; and I became homeless. .. This. "

Now he looked up at the two men, and said: "I have told you because youknow something, and because there will, I think, be an end soon. " Hegot up and reached out a trembling hand for a cigarette. Pierre gave himone. "Will you walk with me"? he asked. 

Shon shook his head. "God forgive you, " he replied, "I can't do it. "

But Wendling and Pierre left the hut together. They walked for an hour, scarcely speaking, and not considering where they went. At last Pierremechanically turned to go down into Red Glen. Wendling stopped short, then, with a sighing laugh, strode on. "Shoo has told you what happenedhere"? he said. 

Pierre nodded. 

"And you know what came once when you walked with me. .. . The dead canstrike, " he added. Pierre sought his eye. "The minister and the girlburied together that day, " he said, "were--"

He stopped, for behind him he heard the sharp, cold trickle of water. Silent they walked on. It followed them. They could not get out of theGlen now until they had compassed its length--the walls were high. Thesound grew. The men faced each other. 

"Good-bye, " said Wendling; and he reached out his hand swiftly. ButPierre heard a mighty flood groaning on them, and he blinded as hestretched his arm in response. He caught at Wendling's shoulder, butfelt him lifted and carried away, while he himself stood still in ascreeching wind and heard impalpable water rushing over him. In a minuteit was gone; and he stood alone in Red Glen. 

He gathered himself up and ran. Far down, where the Glen opened to theplain, he found Wendling. The hands were wrinkled; the face was cold;the body was wet: the man was drowned and dead. 

IN PIPI VALLEY

"Divils me darlins, it's a memory I have of a time whin luck wasn'tfoldin' her arms round me, and not so far back aither, and I on thewallaby track hot-foot for the City o' Gold. "

Shon McGann said this in the course of a discussion on the prosperity ofPipi Valley. Pretty Pierre remarked nonchalantly in reply, --"The wallabytrack--eh--what is that, Shon?"

"It's a bit of a haythen y' are, Pierre. The wallaby track? That'sthe name in Australia for trampin' west through the plains of theNever-Never Country lookin' for the luck o' the world; as, bedad, it'smeself that knows it, and no other, and not by book or tellin' either, but with the grip of thirst at me throat and a reef in me belt everyhour to quiet the gnawin'. " And Shon proceeded to light his pipe afresh. 

"But the City o' Gold-was there much wealth for you there, Shon?"

Shon laughed, and said between the puffs of smoke, "Wealth for me, isit? Oh, mother o' Moses! wealth of work and the pride of livin' in theheart of us, and the grip of an honest hand betunewhiles; and what moredo y' want, Pierre?"

The Frenchman's drooping eyelids closed a little more, and he replied, meditatively: "Money? No, that is not Shon McGann. The good fellowshipof thirst?--yes, a little. The grip of the honest hand, quite, and theclinch of an honest waist? Well, 'peut-etre. '

"Of the waist which is not honest?--tsh! he is gay--and so!"

The Irishman took his pipe from his mouth, and held it poised beforehim. He looked inquiringly and a little frowningly at the other for amoment, as if doubtful whether to resent the sneer that accompanied thewords just spoken; but at last he good-humouredly said: "Blood o' mebones, but it's much I fear the honest waist hasn't always been meportion--Heaven forgive me!"

"'Nom de pipe, ' this Irishman!" replied Pierre. "He is gay; of goodheart; he smiles, and the women are at his heels; he laughs, and theyare on their knees--Such a fool he is!"

Still Shon McGann laughed. 

"A fool I am, Pierre, or I'd be in ould Ireland at this minute, with aroof o' me own over me and the friends o' me youth round me, and bratson me knee, and the fear o' God in me heart. "

"'Mais, ' Shon, " mockingly rejoined the Frenchman, "this is not Ireland, but there is much like that to be done here. There is a roof, and thereis that woman at Ward's Mistake, and the brats--eh, by and by?"

Shon's face clouded. He hesitated, then replied sharply: "That woman, doy' say, Pierre, she that nursed me when the Honourable and meself weretaken out o' Sandy Drift, more dead than livin'; she that brought meback to life as good as ever, barrin' this scar on me forehead and astiffness at me elbow, and the Honourable as right as the sun, more luckto him! which he doesn't need at all, with the wind of fortune in hisback and shiftin' neither to right nor left. --That woman! faith, y'dbetter not cut the words so sharp betune yer teeth, Pierre. "

"But I will say more--a little--just the same. She nursed you--well, that is good; but it is good also, I think, you pay her for that, andstop the rest. Women are fools, or else they are worse. This one? She isworse. Yes; you will take my advice, Shon McGann. " The Irishman came tohis feet with a spring, and his words were angry. 

"It doesn't come well from Pretty Pierre, the gambler, to be revilin'a woman; and I throw it in y'r face, though I've slept under the sameblanket with ye, an' drunk out of the same cup on manny a tramp, thatyou lie dirty and black when ye spake ill--of my wife. "

This conversation had occurred in a quiet corner of the bar-room of theSaints' Repose. The first few sentences had not been heard by the otherspresent; but Shon's last speech, delivered in a ringing tone, drew theminers to their feet, in expectation of seeing shots exchanged at once. The code required satisfaction, immediate and decisive. Shon was notarmed, and some one thrust a pistol towards him; but he did not takeit. Pierre rose, and coming slowly to him, laid a slender finger on hischest, and said:

"So! I did not know that she was your wife. That is a surprise. "

The miners nodded assent. He continued:

"Lucy Rives your wife! Hola, Shon McGann, that is such a joke. "

"It's no joke, but God's truth, and the lie is with you, Pierre. "

Murmurs of anticipation ran round the room; but the half-breed said:"There will be satisfaction altogether; but it is my whim to prove whatI say first; then"--fondling his revolver--"then we shall settle. But, see: you will meet me here at ten o'clock to-night, and I will make it, I swear to you, so clear, that the woman is vile. "

The Irishman suddenly clutched the gambler, shook him like a dog, andthrew him against the farther wall. Pierre's pistol was levelled fromthe instant Shon moved; but he did not use it. He rose on one knee afterthe violent fall, and pointing it at the other's head, said coolly:"I could kill you, my friend, so easy! But it is not my whim. Till teno'clock is not long to wait, and then, just here, one of us shall die. Is it not so?" The Irishman did not flinch before the pistol. He saidwith low fierceness, "At ten o'clock, or now, or any time, or at anyplace, y'll find me ready to break the back of the lies y've spoken, orbe broken meself. Lucy Rives is my wife, and she's true and straight asthe sun in the sky. I'll be here at ten o'clock, and as ye say, Pierre, one of us makes the long reckoning for this. " And he opened the door andwent out. 

The half-breed moved to the bar, and, throwing down a handful ofsilver, said: "It is good we drink after so much heat. Come on, come on, comrades. "

The miners responded to the invitation. Their sympathy was mostly withShon McGann; their admiration was about equally divided; for PrettyPierre had the quality of courage in as active a degree as the Irishman, and they knew that some extraordinary motive, promising greaterexcitement, was behind the Frenchman's refusal to send a bullet throughShon's head a moment before. 

King Kinkley, the best shot in the Valley next to Pierre, had watchedthe unusual development of the incident with interest; and when hisglass had been filled he said, thoughtfully: "This thing isn't accordingto Hoyle. There's never been any trouble just like it in the Valleybefore. What's that McGann said about the lady being his wife? If it'sthe case, where hev we been in the show? Where was we when the licensewas around? It isn't good citizenship, and I hev my doubts. "

Another miner, known as the Presbyterian, added: "There's someskulduggery in it, I guess. The lady has had as much protection as ifshe was the sister of every citizen of the place, just as much as LadyJane here (Lady Jane, the daughter of the proprietor of the Saints'Repose, administered drinks), and she's played this stacked hand on us, has gone one better on the sly. "

"Pierre, " said King Kinkley, "you're on the track of the secret, andappear to hev the advantage of the lady: blaze it--blaze it out. "

Pierre rejoined, "I know something; but it is good we wait until teno'clock. Then I will show you all the cards in the pack. Yes, so, 'biensur. '"

And though there was some grumbling, Pierre had his way. The spiritof adventure and mutual interest had thrown the French half-breed, theIrishman, and the Hon. Just Trafford together on the cold side of theCanadian Rockies; and they had journeyed to this other side, where thewarm breath from the Pacific passed to its congealing in the ranges. They had come to the Pipi field when it was languishing. From the momentof their coming its luck changed; it became prosperous. They conqueredthe Valley each after his kind. The Honourable--he was always calledthat--mastered its resources by a series of "great lucks, " as Pierretermed it, had achieved a fortune, and made no enemies; and but twomonths before the day whose incidents are here recorded, had gone to thecoast on business. Shon had won the reputation of being a "white man, "to say nothing of his victories in the region of gallantry. He made nowealth; he only got that he might spend. Irishman-like he would barterthe chances of fortune for the lilt of a voice or the clatter of apretty foot. 

Pierre was different. "Women, ah, no!" he would say, "they make menfools or devils. "

His temptation lay not that way. When the three first came to thePipi, Pierre was a miner, simply; but nearly all his life he had beensomething else, as many a devastated pocket on the east of the Rockiescould bear witness; and his new career was alien to his soul. Temptationgrew greatly on him at the Pipi, and in the days before he yielded to ithe might have been seen at midnight in his but playing solitaire. Why heabstained at first from practising his real profession is accounted forin two ways: he had tasted some of the sweets of honest companionshipwith the Honourable and Shon, and then he had a memory of an ugly nightat Pardon's Drive a year before, when he stood over his own brother'sbody, shot to death by accident in a gambling row having its origin withhimself. These things had held him back for a time; but he was weakerthan his ruling passion. 

The Pipi was a young and comparatively virgin field; the quarry was athis hand. He did not love money for its own sake; it was the game thatenthralled him. He would have played his life against the treasury of akingdom, and, winning it with loaded double sixes, have handed back thespoil as an unredeemable national debt. 

He fell at last, and in falling conquered the Pipi Valley; at the sametime he was considered a fearless and liberal citizen, who could shootas straight as he played well. He made an excursion to another field, however, at an opportune time, and it was during this interval that theaccident to Shon and the Honourable had happened. He returned but a fewhours before this quarrel with Shon occurred, and in the Saints' Repose, whither he had at once gone, he was told of the accident. While hisinformant related the incident and the romantic sequence of Shon'sinfatuation, the woman passed the tavern and was pointed out to Pierre. The half-breed had not much excitableness in his nature, but when he sawthis beautiful woman with a touch of the Indian in her contour, his paleface flushed, and he showed his set teeth under his slight moustache. He watched her until she entered a shop, on the signboard of whichwas written--written since he had left a few months ago--Lucy Rives, Tobacconist. 

Shon had then entered the Saints' Repose; and we know the rest. Acouple of hours after this nervous episode, Pierre might have been seenstanding in the shadow of the pines not far from the house at Ward'sMistake, where, he had been told, Lucy Rives lived with an old Indianwoman. He stood, scarcely moving, and smoking cigarettes, until the dooropened. Shon came out and walked down the hillside to the town. ThenPierre went to the door, and without knocking, opened it, and entered. A woman started up from a seat where she was sewing, and turned towardshim. As she did so, the work, Shon's coat, dropped from her hands, herface paled, and her eyes grew big with fear. She leaned against a chairfor support--this man's presence had weakened her so. She stood silent, save for a slight moan that broke from her lips, as Pierre lighted acigarette coolly, and then said to an old Indian woman who sat upon thefloor braiding a basket: "Get up, Ikni, and go away. "

Ikni rose, came over, and peered into the face of the half-breed. Thenshe muttered: "I know you--I know you. The dead has come back again. "She caught his arm with her bony fingers as if to satisfy herself thathe was flesh and blood, and shaking her head dolefully, went from theroom. When the door closed behind her there was silence, broken only byan exclamation from the man. 

The other drew her hand across her eyes, and dropped it with a motion ofdespair. Then Pierre said, sharply: "Bien?"

"Francois, " she replied, "you are alive!"

"Yes, I am alive, Lucy. "

She shuddered, then grew still again and whispered: "Why did you let itbe thought that you were drowned? Why? Oh, why"? she moaned. 

He raised his eyebrows slightly, and between the puffs of smoke, said:

"Ah yes, my Lucy, why? It was so long ago. Let me see: so--so--tenyears. Ten years is a long time to remember, eh?"

He came towards her. She drew back; but her hand remained on the chair. He touched the plain gold ring on her finger, and said:

"You still wear it. To think of that--so loyal for a woman! How sheremembers, holy Mother!. .. But shall I not kiss you, yes, just onceafter eight years--my wife?"

She breathed hard and drew back against the wall, dazed and frightened, and said:

"No, no, do not come near me; do not speak to me--ah, please, standback, for a moment--please!"

He shrugged his shoulders slightly, and continued, with mock tenderness:

"To think that things come round so! And here you have a home. But thatis good. I am tired of much travel and life all alone. The prodigal goesnot to the home, the home comes to the prodigal. " He stretched up hisarms as if with a feeling of content. 

"Do you--do you not know, " she said, "that--that--"

He interrupted her:

"Do I not know, Lucy, that this is your home? Yes. But is it not allthe same? I gave you a home ten years ago--to think, ten years ago! Wequarrelled one night, and I left you. Next morning my boat was foundbelow the White Cascade--yes, but that was so stale a trick! It was notworthy of Francois Rives. He would do it so much better now; but he wasyoung then; just a boy, and foolish. Well, sit down, Lucy, it is a longstory, and you have much to tell, how much--who knows?" She came slowlyforward and said with a painful effort:

"You did a great wrong, Francois. You have killed me. 

"Killed you, Lucy, my wife! Pardon! Never in those days did you look socharming as now--never. But the great surprise of seeing your husband, it has made you shy, quite shy. There will be much time now for you tochange all that. It is quite pleasant to think on, Lucy. .. . You rememberthe song we used to sing on the Chaudiere at St. Antoine? See, I havenot forgotten it--

 "'Nos amants sont en guerre, Vole, mon coeur, vole. '"

He hummed the lines over and over, watching through his half-shut eyesthe torture he was inflicting. 

"Oh, Mother of God, " she whispered, "have mercy! Can you not see, do younot know? I am not as you left me. "

"Yes, my wife, you are just the same; not an hour older. I am glad thatyou have come to me. But how they will envy Pretty Pierre!"

"Envy--Pretty-Pierre, " she repeated, in distress; "are you PrettyPierre? Ah, I might have known, I might have known!"

"Yes, and so! Is not Pretty Pierre as good a name as Francois Rives? Isit not as good as Shon McGann?"

"Oh, I see it all, I see it all now!" she said mournfully. "It was withyou he quarrelled, and about me. He would not tell me what it was. Youknow, then, that I am--that I am married--to him?"

"Quite. I know all that; but it is no marriage. " He rose to his feetslowly, dropping the cigarette from his lips as he did so. "Yes, " hecontinued, "and I know that you prefer Shon McGann to Pretty Pierre. "

She spread out her hands appealingly. 

"But you are my wife, not his. Listen: do you know what I shall do? Iwill tell you in two hours. It is now eight o'clock. At ten o'clock ShonMcGann will meet me at the Saints' Repose. Then you shall know. .. . Ah, it is a pity! Shon was my good friend, but this spoils all that. Wine--it has danger; cards--there is peril in that sport; women--theymake trouble most of all. "

"O God, " she piteously said, "what did I do? There was no sin in me. I was your faithful wife, though you were cruel to me. You leftme, cheated me, brought this upon me. It is you that has done thiswickedness, not I. " She buried her face in her hands, falling on herknees beside the chair. 

He bent above her: "You loved the young avocat better, eight years ago. "

She sprang to her feet. "Ah, now I understand, " she said. "That was whyyou quarrelled with me; why you deserted me. You were not man enough tosay what made you so much the--so wicked and hard, so--"

"Be thankful, Lucy, that I did not kill you then, " he interjected. 

"But it is a lie, " she cried; "a lie!"

She went to the door and called the Indian woman. "Ikni, " she said. "Hedares to say evil of Andre and me. Think--of Andre!"

Ikni came to him, put her wrinkled face close to his, and said: "Shewas yours, only yours; but the spirits gave you a devil. Andre, oh, oh, Andre! The father of Andre was her father--ah, that makes your sulkyeyes to open. Ikni knows how to speak. Ikni nursed them both. If you hadwaited you should have known. But you ran away like a wolf from a coalof fire; you shammed death like a fox; you come back like the snake tocrawl into the house and strike with poison tooth, when you should bewith the worms in the ground. But Ikni knows--you shall be struck withpoison too, the Spirit of the Red Knife waits for you. Andre was herbrother. "

He pushed her aside savagely: "Be still!" he said. "Get out-quick. 'Sacre'--quick!"

When they were alone again he continued with no anger in his tone: "So, Andre the avocat and you--that, eh? Well, you see how much trouble hascome; and now this other--a secret too. When were you married to ShonMcGann?"

"Last night, " she bitterly replied; "a priest came over from the Indianvillage. "

"Last night, " he musingly repeated. "Last night I lost two thousanddollars at the Little Goshen field. I did not play well last night; Iwas nervous. In ten years I had not lost so much at one game as I didlast night. It was a punishment for playing too honest, or something;eh, what do you think, Lucy--or something, 'hein?'"

She said nothing, but rocked her body to and fro. 

"Why did you not make known the marriage with Shon?"

"He was to have told it to-night, " she said. 

There was silence for a moment, then a thought flashed into hiseyes, and he rejoined with a jarring laugh, "Well, I will play a gameto-night, Lucy Rives; such a game that Pretty Pierre will never beforgotten in the Pipi Valley--a beautiful game, just for two. And theother who will play--the wife of Francois Rives shall see if she willwait; but she must be patient, more patient than her husband was tenyears ago. "

"What will you do--tell me, what will you do?"

"I will play a game of cards--just one magnificent game; and the cardsshall settle it. All shall be quite fair, as when you and I playedin the little house by the Chaudiere--at first, Lucy, --before I was adevil. "

Was this peculiar softness to his last tones assumed or real? She lookedat him inquiringly; but he moved away to the window, and stood gazingdown the hillside towards the town below. His eyes smarted. 

"I will die, " she said to herself in whispers--"I will die. " A minutepassed, and then Pierre turned and said to her: "Lucy, he is coming upthe hill. Listen. If you tell him that I have seen you, I will shoot himon sight, dead. You would save him, for a little, for an hour or two--ormore? Well, do as I say; for these things must be according to the rulesof the game, and I myself will tell him all at the Saints' Repose. Hegave me the lie there, and I will tell him the truth before them allthere. Will you do as I say?"

She hesitated an instant, and then replied: "I will not tell him. "

"There is only one way, then, " he continued. "You must go at once fromhere into the woods behind there, and not see him at all. Then at teno'clock you will come to the Saints' Repose, if you choose, to know howthe game has ended. "

She was trembling, moaning, no longer. A set look had come into herface; her eyes were steady and hard. She quietly replied: "Yes, I shallbe there. "

He came to her, took her hand, and drew from her finger the wedding-ringwhich last night Shon McGann had placed there. She submitted passively. Then, with an upward wave of his fingers, he spoke in a mockinglightness, but without any of the malice which had first appeared in histones, words from an old French song:

 "I say no more, my lady Mironton, Mironton, Mirontaine! I say no more, my lady, As nought more can be said. "

He opened the door, motioned to the Indian woman, and, in a few moments, the broken-hearted Lucy Rives and her companion were hidden in thepines; and Pretty Pierre also disappeared into the shadow of the woodsas Shon McGann appeared on the crest of the hill. 

The Irishman walked slowly to the door, and pausing, said to himself:"I couldn't run the big risk, me darlin', without seein' you again, Godhelp me! There's danger ahead which little I'd care for if it wasn't foryou. "

Then he stepped inside the house--the place was silent; he called, butno one answered; he threw open the doors of the rooms, but they wereempty; he went outside and called again, but no reply came, except theflutter of a night-hawk's wings and the cry of a whippoorwill. He wentback into the house and sat down with his head between his hands. So, for a moment, and then he raised his head, and said with a sad smile:"Faith, Shon, me boy, this takes the life out of you! the empty housewhere she ought to be, and the smile of her so swate, and the hand ofher that falls on y'r shoulder like a dove on the blessed altar-gone, and lavin' a chill on y'r heart like a touch of the dead. Sure, nivira wan of me saw any that could stand wid her for goodness, barrin'the angel that kissed me good-bye with one foot in the stirrup an' thetroopers behind me, now twelve years gone, in ould Donegal, and thatI'll niver see again, she lyin' where the hate of the world will vex theheart of her no more, and the masses gone up for her soul. Twice, twicein y'r life, Shon McGann, has the cup of God's joy been at y'r lips, andis it both times that it's to spill?--Pretty Pierre shoots straight andsudden, and maybe it's aisy to see the end of it; but as the just Godis above us, I'll give him the lie in his throat betimes for the word hesaid agin me darlin'. What's the avil thing that he has to say? What'sthe divil's proof he would bring? And where is she now? Where are you, Lucy? I know the proof I've got in me heart that the wreck of the worldcouldn't shake, while that light, born of Heaven, swims up to your eyeswhin you look at me!"

He rose to his feet again and walked to and fro; he went once more tothe doors; he looked here and there through the growing dusk, but to nopurpose. She had said that she would not go to her shop this night; butif not, then where could she have gone and Ikni, too? He felt there wasmore awry in his life than he cared to put into thought or speech. He picked up the sewing she had dropped and looked at it as one wouldregard a relic of the dead; he lifted her handkerchief, kissed it, andput it in his breast. He took a revolver from his pocket and examined itclosely, looked round the room as though to fasten it in his memory, and then passed out, closing the door behind him. He walked down thehillside and went to her shop in the one street of the town, but she wasnot there, nor had the lad in charge seen her. 

Meanwhile, Pretty Pierre had made his way to the Saints' Repose, andwas sitting among the miners indolently smoking. In vain he was askedto play cards. His one reply was, "No, pardon, no! I play one game onlyto-night, the biggest game ever played in Pipi Valley. " In vain, also, was he asked to drink. He refused the hospitality, defying the dangerthat such lack of good-fellowship might bring forth. He hummed inpatches to himself the words of a song that the 'brules' were wont tosing when they hunted the buffalo:

 "'Voila!' it is the sport to ride-- Ah, ah the brave hunter!

 To thrust the arrow in his hide, To send the bullet through his side 'Ici, ' the buffalo, 'joli!' Ah, ah the buffalo!"

He nodded here and there as men entered; but he did not stir from hisseat. He smoked incessantly, and his eyes faced the door of the bar-roomthat entered upon the street. There was no doubt in the minds of anypresent that the promised excitement would occur. Shon McGann was asfearless as he was gay. And Pipi Valley remembered the day in whichhe had twice risked his life to save two women from a burningbuilding--Lady Jane and another. And Lady Jane this evening wasagitated, and once or twice furtively looked at something under thebar-counter; in fact, a close observer would have noticed anger oranxiety in the eyes of the daughter of Dick Waldron, the keeper of theSaints' Repose. Pierre would certainly have seen it had he been lookingthat way. An unusual influence was working upon the frequenters of thebusy tavern. Planned, premeditated excitement was out of their line. Unexpectedness was the salt of their existence. This thing had an airof system not in accord with the suddenness of the Pipi mind. Thehalf-breed was the only one entirely at his ease; he was languid andnonchalant; the long lashes of his half-shut eyelids gave his face apensive look. At last King Kinkley walked over to him and said: "There'san almighty mysteriousness about this event which isn't joyful, PrettyPierre. We want to see the muss cleared up, of course; we want ShonMcGann to act like a high-toned citizen, and there's a general prejudicein favour of things bein' on the flat of your palm, as it were. Nowthis thing hangs fire, and there's a lack of animation about it, isn'tthere?"

To this, Pretty Pierre replied: "What can I do? This is not like otherthings; one had to wait; great things take time. To shoot is easy; butto shoot is not all, as you shall see if you have a little patience. Ah, my friend, where there is a woman, things are different. I throw a glassin your face, we shoot, someone dies, and there it is quite plain ofreason; you play a card which was dealt just now, I call you--something, and the swiftest finger does the trick; but in such as this, one mustwait for the sport. "

It was at this point that Shon McGann entered, looked round, nodded toall, and then came forward to the table where Pretty Pierre sat. As theother took out his watch, Shon said firmly but quietly: "Pierre, I gaveyou the lie to-day concerning me wife, and I'm here, as I said I'd be, to stand by the word I passed then. "

Pierre waved his fingers lightly towards the other, and slowly rose. Then he said in sharp tones: "Yes, Shon McGann, you gave me the lie. There is but one thing for that in Pipi Valley. You choked me; I wouldnot take that from a saint of heaven; but there was another thing to dofirst. Well, I have done it; I said I would bring proofs--I have them. "He paused, and now there might have been seen a shining moisture on hisforehead, and his words came menacingly from between his teeth, whilethe room became breathlessly still, save that in the silence a sleepingdog sighed heavily: "Shon McGann, " he added, "you are living with mywife. "

Twenty men drew in a sharp breath of excitement, and Shoncame a step nearer the other, and said in a strange voice:"I--am--living--with--your--wife?"

"As I say, with my wife, Lucy Rives. Francois Rives was my name tenyears ago. We quarrelled. I left her, and I never saw her again untilto-night. You went to see her two hours ago. You did not find her. Why?She was gone because her husband, Pierre, told her to go. You want aproof? You shall have it. Here is the wedding-ring you gave her lastnight. "

He handed it over, and Shon saw inside it his own name and hers. 

"My God!" he said. "Did she know? Tell me she didn't know, Pierre?"

"No, she did not know. I have truth to speak to night. I was jealous, mad, and foolish, and I left her. My boat was found upset. They believedI was drowned. 'Bien, ' she waited until yesterday, and then she tookyou--but she was my wife; she is my wife--and so you see!"

The Irishman was deadly pale. 

"It's an avil heart y' had in y' then, Pretty Pierre, and it's an avilday that brought this thing to pass, and there's only wan way to the endof it. "

"So, that is true. There is only one way, " was the reply; "but whatshall that way be? Someone must go: there must be no mistake. I haveto propose. Here on this table we lay a revolver. We will give up thesewhich we have in our pockets. Then we will play a game of euchre, andthe winner of the game shall have the revolver. We will play for a life. That is fair, eh--that is fair"? he said to those around. 

King Kinkley, speaking for the rest, replied: "That's about fair. Itgives both a chance, and leaves only two when it's over. While the womanlives, one of you is naturally in the way. Pierre left her in a way thatisn't handsome; but a wife's a wife, and though Shon was all in the glumabout the thing, and though the woman isn't to be blamed either, there'sone too many of you, and there's got to be a vacation for somebody. Isn't that so?"

The rest nodded assent. They had been so engaged that they did not seea woman enter the bar from behind, and crouch down beside Lady Jane, a woman whom the latter touched affectionately on the shoulder andwhispered to once or twice, while she watched the preparations for thegame. 

The two men sat down, Shon facing the bar and Pierre with his back toit. 

The game began, neither man showing a sign of nervousness, though Shonwas very pale. The game was to finish for ten points. Men crowded aboutthe tables silent but keenly excited; cigars were chewed instead ofsmoked, and liquor was left undrunk. At the first deal Pierre made amarch, securing two. At the next Shon made a point, and at the nextalso a march. The half-breed was playing a straight game. He could havestacked the cards, but he did not do so; deft as he was he might havecheated even the vigilant eyes about him, but it was not so; he playedas squarely as a novice. At the third, at the fourth, deal he made amarch; at the fifth, sixth, and seventh deals, Shon made a march, apoint, and a march. Both now had eight points. At the next deal both gota point, and both stood at nine!

Now came the crucial play. 

During the progress of the game nothing had been heard save the sound ofa knuckle on the table, the flip flip of the pasteboard, or the rasp ofa heel on the floor. There was a set smile on Shon's face--a forgottensmile, for the rest of the face was stern and tragic. Pierre smokedcigarettes, pausing, while his opponent was shuffling and dealing, tolight them. 

Behind the bar as the game proceeded the woman who knelt beside LadyJane listened to every sound. Her eyes grew more agonised as thenumbers, whispered to her by her companion, climbed to the fatal ten. 

The last deal was Shon's; there was that much to his advantage. As heslowly dealt, the woman--Lucy Rives--rose to her feet behind Lady Jane. So absorbed were all that none saw her. Her eyes passed from Pierre toShon, and stayed. 

When the cards were dealt, with but one point for either to gain, and sowin and save his life, there was a slight pause before the two took themup. They did not look at one another; but each glanced at the revolver, then at the men nearest them, and lastly, for an instant, at thecards themselves, with their pasteboard faces of life and death turneddownward. As the players picked them up at last and spread them outfan-like, Lady Jane slipped something into the hand of Lucy Rives. 

Those who stood behind Shon McGann stared with anxious astonishment athis hand; it contained only nine and ten spots. It was easy to see thedirection of the sympathy of Pipi Valley. The Irishman's face turned aslight shade paler, but he did not tremble or appear disturbed. 

Pierre played his biggest card and took the point. He coolly countedone, and said, "Game. I win. " The crowd drew back. Both rose to theirfeet. In the painful silence the half-breed's hand was gently laid onthe revolver. He lifted it, and paused slightly, his eyes fixed to thesteady look in those of Shon McGann. He raised the revolver again, tillit was level with Shon's forehead, till it was even with his hair! Thenthere was a shot, and someone fell--not Shon, but Pierre, saying, asthey caught him, "Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! From behind!"

Instantly there was another shot, and someone crashed against thebottles in the bar. The other factor in the game, the wife, had shot atPierre, and then sent a bullet through her own lungs. 

Shon stood for a moment as if he was turned to stone, and then his headdropped in his arms upon the table. He had seen both shots fired, butcould not speak in time. 

Pierre was severely but not dangerously wounded in the neck. 

But the woman--? They brought her out from behind the counter. She stillbreathed; but on her eyes was the film of coming death. She turnedto where Shon sat. Her lips framed his name, but no voice came forth. Someone touched him on the shoulder. He looked up and caught her lastglance. He came and stooped beside her; but she had died with thatone glance from him, bringing a faint smile to her lips. And the smilestayed when the life of her had fled--fled through the cloud over hereyes, from the tide-beat of her pulse. It swept out from the smoke andreeking air into the open world, and beyond, into those untried pathswhere all must walk alone, and in what bitterness, known only to theMaster of the World who sees these piteous things, and orders in whatfashion distorted lives shall be made straight and wholesome in thePlaces of Readjustment. 

Shon stood silent above the dead body. 

One by one the miners went out quietly. Presently Pierre nodded towardsthe door, and King Kinkley and another lifted him and carried himtowards it. Before they passed into the street he made them turn him sothat he could see Shon. He waved his hand towards her that had beenhis wife, and said: "She should have shot but once and straight, ShonMcGann, and then!--Eh, 'bien!'"

The door closed, and Shon McGann was left alone with the dead. 

ANTOINE AND ANGELIQUE

"The birds are going south, Antoine--see--and it is so early!"

"Yes, Angelique, the winter will be long. "

There was a pause, and then: "Antoine, I heard a child cry in the night, and I could not sleep. "

"It was a devil-bird, my wife; it flies slowly, and the summer is dead. "

"Antoine, there was a rushing of wings by my bed before the morn wasbreaking. "

"The wild-geese know their way in the night, Angelique; but they flew bythe house and not near thy bed. "

"The two black squirrels have gone from the hickory tree. "

"They have hidden away with the bears in the earth; for the frost comes, and it is the time of sleep. "

"A cold hand was knocking at my heart when I said my aves last night, myAntoine. "

"The heart of a woman feels many strange things: I cannot answer, mywife. "

"Let us go also southward, Antoine, before the great winds and the wildfrost come. "

"I love thee, Angelique, but I cannot go. "

"Is not love greater than all?"

"To keep a pledge is greater. "

"Yet if evil come?"

"There is the mine. "

"None travels hither; who should find it?"

"He said to me, my wife: 'Antoine, will you stay and watch the mineuntil I come with the birds northward, again?' and I said: 'I will stay, and Angelique will stay; I will watch the mine. '"

"This is for his riches, but for our peril, Antoine. "

"Who can say whither a woman's fancy goes? It is full of guessing. It isclouds and darkness to-day, and sunshine--so much--to-morrow. I cannotanswer. "

"I have a fear; if my husband loved me--"

"There is the mine, " he interrupted firmly. 

"When my heart aches so--"

"Angelique, there is the mine. "

"Ah, my Antoine!"

And so these two stayed on the island of St. Jean, in Lake Superior, through the purple haze of autumn, into the white brilliancy of winter, guarding the Rose Tree Mine, which Falding the Englishman and hiscompanions had prospected and declared to be their Ophir. 

But St. Jean was far from the ways of settlement, and there was littlefood and only one hut, and many things must be done for the Rose TreeMine in the places where men sell their souls for money; and Antoine andAngelique, French peasants from the parish of Ste. Irene in Quebec, wereleft to guard the place of treasure, until, to the sound of the laughingspring, there should come many men and much machinery, and the sinkingof shafts in the earth, and the making, of riches. 

But when Antoine and Angelique were left alone in the waste, and Godbegan to draw the pale coverlet of frost slowly across land and water, and to surround St. Jean with a stubborn moat of ice, the heart of thewoman felt some coming danger, and at last broke forth in words oftimid warning. When she once had spoken she said no more, but stayedand builded the heaps of earth about the house, and filled every creviceagainst the inhospitable Spirit of Winds, and drew her world closerand closer within those two rooms where they should live through manymonths. 

The winter was harsh, but the hearts of the two were strong. They loved;and Love is the parent of endurance, the begetter of courage. And everyday, because it seemed his duty, Antoine inspected the Rose Tree Mine;and every day also, because it seemed her duty, Angelique said manyaves. And one prayer was much with her--for spring to come early thatthe child should not suffer: the child which the good God was to give toher and Antoine. 

In the first hours of each evening Antoine smoked, and Angelique sangthe old songs which their ancestors learned in Normandy. One nightAntoine's face was lighted with a fine fire as he talked of happy daysin the parish of Ste. Irene; and with that romantic fervour of his racewhich the stern winters of Canada could not kill, he sang, 'A la ClaireFontaine, ' the well-beloved song-child of the 'voyageurs'' hearts. 

And the wife smiled far away into the dancing flames--far away, becausethe fire retreated, retreated to the little church where they two werewed; and she did as most good women do--though exactly why, man theinsufficient cannot declare--she wept a little through her smiles. Butwhen the last verse came, both smiles and tears ceased. Antoine sang itwith a fond monotony:

 "Would that each rose were growing Upon the rose-tree gay, And that the fatal rose-tree Deep in the ocean lay. 'I ya longtemps que je t'aime Jamais je ne t'oublierai. "

Angelique's heart grew suddenly heavy. From the rose-tree of the songher mind fled and shivered before the leafless rose-tree by the mine;and her old dread came back. 

Of course this was foolish of Angelique; of course the wise and greatthrow contumely on all such superstition; and knowing women will smileat each other meaningly, and with pity for a dull man-writer, and willwhisper, "Of course, the child. " But many things, your majesties, are hidden from your wisdom and your greatness, and are given to thesimple--to babes, and the mothers of babes. 

It was upon this very night that Falding the Englishman sat with othermen in a London tavern, talking joyously. "There's been the luck ofHeaven, " he said, "in the whole exploit. We'd been prospecting formonths. As a sort of try in a back-water we rowed over one night to anisland and pitched tents. Not a dozen yards from where we camped was arose-tree-think of it, Belgard, a rose-tree on a rag-tag island of LakeSuperior! 'There's luck in odd numbers, says Rory O'More. ' 'There's luckhere, ' said I; and at it we went just beside the rose-tree. What's theresult? Look at that prospectus: a company with a capital of two hundredthousand; the whole island in our hands in a week; and Antoine squattingon it now like Bonaparte on Elbe. "

"And what does Antoine get out of this"? said Belgard. 

"Forty dollars a month and his keep. "

"Why not write him off twenty shares to propitiate the gods--gifts untothe needy, eh!--a thousand-fold--what?"

"Yes; it might be done, Belgard, if--"

But someone just then proposed the toast, "The Rose Tree Mine!" andthe souls of these men waxed proud and merry, for they had seen theinvestor's palm filled with gold, the maker of conquest. While Antoinewas singing with his wife, they were holding revel within the sound ofBow Bells. And far into the night, through silent Cheapside, a rollingvoice swelled through much laughter thus:

 "Gai Ion la, gai le rosier, Du joli mois de Mai. "

The next day there were heavy heads in London; but the next day, also, aman lay ill in the hut on the island of St. Jean. 

Antoine had sung his last song. He had waked in the night with a startof pain, and by the time the sun was halting at noon above the Rose TreeMine, he had begun a journey, the record of which no man has ever trulytold, neither its beginning nor its end; because that which is of thespirit refuseth to be interpreted by the flesh. Some signs there be, butthey are brief and shadowy; the awe of It is hidden in the mind of himthat goeth out lonely unto God. 

When the call goes forth, not wife nor child nor any other can hold thewayfarer back, though he may loiter for an instant on the brink. Thepoor medicaments which Angelique brings avail not; these soothing handsand healing tones, they pass through clouds of the middle place betweenheaven and earth to Antoine. It is only when the second midnight comesthat, with conscious, but pensive and far-off, eyes, he says to her:"Angelique, my wife. "

For reply her lips pressed his cheek, and her fingers hungered for hisneck. Then: "Is there pain now Antoine?"

"There is no pain, Angelique. "

He closed his eyes slowly; her lips framed an ave. "The mine, " he said, "the mine--until the spring. "

"Yes, Antoine, until the spring. "

"Have you candles--many candles, Angelique?"

"There are many, my husband. "

"The ground is as iron; one cannot dig, and the water under the ice iscruel--is it not so, Angelique?"

"No axe could break the ground, and the water is cruel, " she said. 

"You will see my face until the winter is gone, my wife. "

She bowed her head, but smoothed his hand meanwhile, and her throat wasquivering. 

He partly slept--his body slept, though his mind was feeling its wayto wonderful things. But near the morning his eyes opened wide, and hesaid: "Someone calls out of the dark, Angelique. "

And she, with her hand on her heart, replied: "It is the cry of a dog, Antoine. "

"But there are footsteps at the door, my wife. "

"Nay, Antoine; it is the snow beating upon the window. "

"There is the sound of wings close by--dost thou not hear them, Angelique?"

"Wings--wings, " she falteringly said: "it is the hot blast through thechimney; the night is cold, Antoine. "

"The night is very cold, " he said; and he trembled. .. "I hear, O mywife, I hear the voice of a little child. .. The voice is like thine, Angelique. "

And she, not knowing what to reply, said softly:

"There is hope in the voice of a child;" and the mother stirred withinher; and in the moment he knew also that the Spirits would give her thechild in safety, that she should not be alone in the long winter. 

The sounds of the harsh night had ceased--the snapping of the leaflessbranches, the cracking of the earth, and the heaving of the rocks:the Spirits of the Frost had finished their work; and just as the greyforehead of dawn appeared beyond the cold hills, Antoine cried outgently: "Angelique. .. Ah, mon Capitaine. .. Jesu". .. And then, no more. 

Night after night Angelique lighted candles in the place where Antoinesmiled on in his frozen silence; and masses were said for his soul--themasses Love murmurs for its dead. The earth could not receive him; itsbosom was adamant; but no decay could touch him; and she dwelt alonewith this, that was her husband, until one beautiful, bitter day, when, with no eye save God's to see her, and no human comfort by her, she gavebirth to a man-child. And yet that night she lighted the candles at thedead man's head and feet, dragging herself thither in the cold; and inher heart she said that the smile on Antoine's face was deeper than ithad been before. 

In the early spring, when the earth painfully breathed away the frostthat choked it, with her child for mourner, and herself for sexton andpriest, she buried Antoine with maimed rites: but hers were the prayersof the poor, and of the pure in heart; and she did not fret because, in the hour that her comrade was put away into the dark, the world waslaughing at the thought of coming summer. 

Before another sunrise, the owners of the island of St. Jean claimedwhat was theirs; and because that which had happened worked upon theirhearts, they called the child St. Jean, and from that time forth theymade him to enjoy the goodly fruits of the Rose Tree Mine. 

THE CIPHER

Hilton was staying his horse by a spring at Guidon Hill when he firstsaw her. She was gathering may-apples; her apron was full of them. Henoticed that she did not stir until he rode almost upon her. Then shestarted, first without looking round, as does an animal, dropping herhead slightly to one side, though not exactly appearing to listen. Suddenly she wheeled on him, and her big eyes captured him. The lookbewildered him. She was a creature of singular fascination. Her face wasexpressive. Her eyes had wonderful light. She looked happy, yet gravewithal; it was the gravity of an uncommon earnestness. She gazed througheverything, and beyond. She was young--eighteen or so. 

Hilton raised his hat, and courteously called a good-morning at her. Shedid not reply by any word, but nodded quaintly, and blinked seriouslyand yet blithely on him. He was preparing to dismount. As he did so hepaused, astonished that she did not speak at all. Her face did not havea familiar language; its vocabulary was its own. He slid from his horse, and, throwing his arm over its neck as it stooped to the spring, lookedat her more intently, but respectfully too. She did not yet stir, butthere came into her face a slight inflection of confusion or perplexity. Again he raised his hat to her, and, smiling, wished her a good-morning. Even as he did so a thought sprung in him. Understanding gave place towonder; he interpreted the unusual look in her face. 

Instantly he made a sign to her. To that her face responded with awonderful speech--of relief and recognition. The corners of her aprondropped from her fingers, and the yellow may-apples fell about her feet. She did not notice this. She answered his sign with another, rapid, graceful, and meaning. He left his horse and advanced to her, holdingout his hand simply--for he was a simple and honest man. Her responseto this was spontaneous. The warmth of her fingers invaded him. Hereyes were full of questioning. He gave a hearty sign of admiration. Sheflushed with pleasure, but made a naive, protesting gesture. 

She was deaf and dumb. 

Hilton had once a sister who was a mute. He knew that amazing primalgesture-language of the silent race, whom God has sent like one-wingedbirds into the world. He had watched in his sister just such looks ofabsolute nature as flashed from this girl. They were comrades on theinstant; he reverential, gentle, protective; she sanguine, candid, beautifully aboriginal in the freshness of her cipher-thoughts. She sawthe world naked, with a naked eye. She was utterly natural. She was themaker of exquisite, vital gesture-speech. 

She glided out from among the may-apples and the long, silken grass, tocharm his horse with her hand. As she started to do so, he hastenedto prevent her, but, utterly surprised, he saw the horse whinny to hercheek, and arch his neck under her white palm--it was very white. Thenthe animal's chin sought her shoulder and stayed placid. He had neverdone so to anyone before save Hilton. Once, indeed, he had kicked astableman to death. He lifted his head and caught with playful shakinglips at her ear. Hilton smiled; and so, as we said, their comradeshipbegan. 

He was a new officer of the Hudson's Bay Company at Fort Guidon. She wasthe daughter of a ranchman. She had been educated by Father Corraine, the Jesuit missionary, Protestant though she was. He had learned thesign-language while assistant-priest in a Parisian chapel for mutes. Hetaught her this gesture-tongue, which she, taking, rendered divine; and, with this, she learned to read and write. 

Her name was Ida. 

Ida was faultless. Hilton was not; but no man is. To her, however, hewas the best that man can be. He was unselfish and altogether honest, and that is much for a man. 

When Pierre came to know of their friendship he shook his headdoubtfully. One day he was sitting on the hot side of a pine near hismountain hut, soaking in the sun. He saw them passing below him, alongthe edge of the hill across the ravine. He said to someone behind him inthe shade, who was looking also, "What will be the end of that, eh?"

And the someone replied: "Faith, what the Serpent in the Wildernesscouldn't cure. "

"You think he'll play with her?"

"I think he'll do it without wishin' or willin', maybe. It'll be a caseof kiss and ride away. "

There was silence. Soon Pierre pointed down again. She stood upon agreen mound with a cool hedge of rock behind her, her feet on the marginof solid sunlight, her forehead bared. Her hair sprinkled round her asshe gently threw back her head. Her face was full on Hilton. She wastelling him something. Her gestures were rhythmical, and admirablybalanced. Because they were continuous or only regularly broken, it wasclear she was telling him a story. Hilton gravely, delightedly, noddedresponse now and then, or raised his eyebrows in fascinated surprise. Pierre, watching, was only aware of vague impressions--not any distinctoutline of the tale. At last he guessed it as a perfect pastoral-birds, reaping, deer, winds, sundials, cattle, shepherds, hunting. To Hiltonit was a new revelation. She was telling him things she had thought, shewas recalling her life. 

Towards the last, she said in gesture: "You can forget the winter, butnot the spring. You like to remember the spring. It is the beginning. When the daisy first peeps, when the tall young deer first stands uponits feet, when the first egg is seen in the oriole's nest, when the sapfirst sweats from the tree, when you first look into the eye of yourfriend--these you want to remember. .. . "

She paused upon this gesture--a light touch upon the forehead, then thehands stretched out, palms upward, with coaxing fingers. She seemedlost in it. Her eyes rippled, her lips pressed slightly, a delicate winecrept through her cheek, and tenderness wimpled all. Her soft breastrose modestly to the cool texture of her dress. Hilton felt his bloodbound joyfully; he had the wish of instant possession. But yet he couldnot stir, she held him so; for a change immediately passed upon her. Sheglided slowly from that almost statue-like repose into another gesture. Her eyes drew up from his, and looked away to plumbless distance, allglowing and childlike, and the new ciphers slowly said:

"But the spring dies away. We can only see a thing born once. And it maybe ours, yet not ours. I have sighted the perfect Sharon-flower, far upon Guidon, yet it was not mine; it was too distant; I could not reachit. I have seen the silver bullfinch floating along the canon. I calledto it, and it came singing; and it was mine, yet I could not hear itssong, and I let it go; it could not be happy so with me. .. . I stand atthe gate of a great city, and see all, and feel the great shuttles ofsounds, the roar and clack of wheels, the horses' hoofs striking theground, the hammer of bells; all: and yet it is not mine; it is far, far away from me. It is one world, mine is another; and sometimes it islonely, and the best things are not for me. But I have seen them, andit is pleasant to remember, and nothing can take from us the hour whenthings were born, when we saw the spring--nothing--never!"

Her manner of speech, as this went on, became exquisite in fineness, slower, and more dream-like, until, with downward protesting motions ofthe hand, she said that "nothing--never!" Then a great sigh surged upher throat, her lips parted slightly, showing the warm moist whitenessof her teeth, her hands falling lightly, drew together and folded infront of her. She stood still. 

Pierre had watched this scene intently, his chin in his hands, hiselbows on his knees. Presently he drew himself up, ran a fingermeditatively along his lip, and said to himself: "It is perfect. Sheis carved from the core of nature. But this thing has danger for her. .. 'bien!'. .. Ah!"

A change in the scene before him caused this last expression ofsurprise. 

Hilton, rousing from the enchanting pantomime, took a step towards her;but she raised her hand pleadingly, restrainingly, and he paused. Withhis eyes he asked her mutely why. She did not answer, but, all atonce transformed into a thing of abundant sprightliness, ran downthe hillside, tossing up her arms gaily. Yet her face was not allbrilliance. Tears hung at her eyes. But Hilton did not see these. Hedid not run, but walked quickly, following her; and his face had adetermined look. Immediately, a man rose up from behind a rock on thesame side of the ravine, and shook clenched fists after the departingfigures; then stood gesticulating angrily to himself, until, chancing tolook up, he sighted Pierre, and straightway dived into the underbrush. Pierre rose to his feet, and said slowly: "Hilton, here may be troublefor you also. It is a tangled world. "

Towards evening Pierre sauntered to the house of Ida's father. Light offootstep, he came upon the girl suddenly. They had always been friendssince the day when, at uncommon risk, he rescued her dog from a fresheton the Wild Moose River. She was sitting utterly still, her hands foldedin her lap. He struck his foot smartly on the ground. She felt thevibration, and looked up. He doffed his hat, and she held out her hand. He smiled and took it, and, as it lay in his, looked at it for a momentmusingly. She drew it back slowly. He was then thinking that it was themost intelligent hand he had ever seen. .. . He determined to play abold and surprising game. He had learned from her the alphabet of thefingers--that is, how to spell words. He knew little gesture-language. He, therefore, spelled slowly: "Hawley is angry, because you loveHilton. " The statement was so matter-of-fact, so sudden, that the girlhad no chance. She flushed and then paled. She shook her head firmly, however, and her fingers slowly framed the reply: "You guess too much. Foolish things come to the idle. "

"I saw you this afternoon, " he silently urged. 

Her fingers trembled slightly. "There was nothing to see. " She knew hecould not have read her gestures. "I was telling a story. "

"You ran from him--why?" His questioning was cruel that he might in theend be kind. 

"The child runs from its shadow, the bird from its nest, the fish jumpsfrom the water--that is nothing. " She had recovered somewhat. 

But he: "The shadow follows the child, the bird comes back to its nest, the fish cannot live beyond the water. But it is sad when the child, inrunning, rushes into darkness, and loses its shadow; when the nest fallsfrom the tree; and the hawk catches the happy fish. .. . Hawley saw youalso. "

Hawley, like Ida, was deaf and dumb. He lived over the mountains, butcame often. It had been understood that, one day, she should marry him. It seemed fitting. She had said neither yes nor no. And now?

A quick tremor of trouble trailed over her face, then it became verystill. Her eyes were bent upon the ground steadily. Presently a birdhopped near, its head coquetting at her. She ran her hand gently alongthe grass towards it. The bird tripped on it. She lifted it to herchin, at which it pecked tenderly. Pierre watched her keenly-admiring, pitying. He wished to serve her. At last, with a kiss upon its head, shegave it a light toss into the air, and it soared, lark-like, straightup, and hanging over her head, sang the day into the evening. Her eyesfollowed it. She could feel that it was singing. She smiled and lifteda finger lightly towards it. Then she spelled to Pierre this: "It issinging to me. We imperfect things love each other. "

"And what about loving Hawley, then"? Pierre persisted. She did notreply, but a strange look came upon her, and in the pause Hiltoncame from the house and stood beside them. At this, Pierre lighted acigarette, and with a good-natured nod to Hilton, walked away. 

Hilton stooped over her, pale and eager. "Ida, " he gestured, "will youanswer me now? Will you be my wife?"

She drew herself together with a little shiver. "No, " was her steadyreply. She ruled her face into stillness, so that it showed nothing ofwhat she felt. She came to her feet wearily, and drawing down a coolflowering branch of chestnut, pressed it to her cheek. "You do not loveme"? he asked nervously. 

"I am going to marry Luke Hawley, " was her slow answer. She spelled thewords. She used no gesture to that. The fact looked terribly hard andinflexible so. Hilton was not a vain man, and he believed he was notloved. His heart crowded to his throat. 

"Please go away, now, " she begged with an anxious gesture. While thehand was extended, he reached and brought it to his lips, then quicklykissed her on the forehead, and walked away. She stood trembling, andas the fingers of one hand hung at her side, they spelled mechanicallythese words: "It would spoil his life. I am only a mute--a dummy!"

As she stood so, she felt the approach of someone. She did not turninstantly, but with the aboriginal instinct, listened, as it were, withher body; but presently faced about--to Hawley. He was red with anger. He had seen Hilton kiss her. He caught her smartly by the arm, but, awedby the great calmness of her face, dropped it, and fell into a fit ofsullenness. She spoke to him: he did not reply. She touched his arm:he still was gloomy. All at once the full price of her sacrifice rushedupon her; and overpowered her. She had no help at her critical hour, not even from this man she had intended to bless. There came a swiftrevulsion, all passions stormed in her at once. Despair was theresultant of these forces. She swerved from him immediately, and ranhard towards the high-banked river!

Hawley did not follow her at once: he did not guess her purpose. She hadalmost reached the leaping-place, when Pierre shot from the trees, andseized her. The impulse of this was so strong, that they slipped, andquivered on the precipitous edge: but Pierre righted then, and presentlythey were safe. 

Pierre held her hard by both wrists for a moment. Then, drawing heraway, he loosed her, and spelled these words slowly: "I understand. But you are wrong. Hawley is not the man. You must come with me. It isfoolish to die. "

The riot of her feelings, her momentary despair, were gone. It waseven pleasant to be mastered by Pierre's firmness. She was passive. Mechanically she went with him. Hawley approached. She looked at Pierre. Then she turned on the other. "Yours is not the best love, " she signedto him; "it does not trust; it is selfish. " And she moved on. 

But, an hour later, Hilton caught her to his bosom, and kissed her fullon the lips. .. . And his right to do so continues to this day. 

A TRAGEDY OF NOBODIES

At Fort Latrobe sentiment was not of the most refined kind. Localcustoms were pronounced and crude in outline; language was often highlycoloured, and action was occasionally accentuated by a pistol shot. Forthe first few months of its life the place was honoured by the presenceof neither wife, nor sister, nor mother. Yet women lived there. 

When some men did bring wives and children, it was noticed that the girlBlanche was seldom seen in the streets. And, however it was, there grewamong the men a faint respect for her. They did not talk of it to eachother, but it existed. It was known that Blanche resented even themost casual notice from those men who had wives and homes. She gave theimpression that she had a remnant of conscience. 

"Go home, " she said to Harry Delong, who asked her to drink with him onNew Year's Day. "Go home, and thank God that you've got a home--and awife. "

After Jacques, the long-time friend of Pretty Pierre, came to FortLatrobe, with his sulky eye and scrupulously neat attire, Blancheappeared to withdraw still more from public gaze, though no one saw anyconnection between these events. The girl also became fastidious in herdress, and lost all her former dash and smart aggression of manner. Sheshrank from the women of her class, for which, as might be expected, she was duly reviled. But the foxes have holes, and the birds of the airhave nests, nor has it been written that a woman may not close her ears, and bury herself in darkness, and travel alone in the desert with herpeople--those ghosts of herself, whose name is legion, and whose slowwhite fingers mock more than the world dare at its worst. 

Suddenly, she was found behind the bar of Weir's Tavern at Cedar Point, the resort most frequented by Jacques. Word went about among the menthat Blanche was taking a turn at religion, or, otherwise, reformation. Soldier Joe was something sceptical on this point from the fact thatshe had developed a very uncertain temper. This appeared especiallynoticeable in her treatment of Jacques. She made him the target for hersharpest sarcasm. Though a peculiar glow came to his eyes at times, hewas never roused from his exasperating coolness. When her shafts wereunusually direct and biting, and the temptation to resent was keen, he merely shrugged his shoulders, almost gently, and said: "Eh, suchwomen!"

Nevertheless, there were men at Fort Latrobe who prophesied trouble, for they knew there was a deep strain of malice in the French half-breedwhich could be the more deadly because of its rare use. He was noteasily moved, he viewed life from the heights of a philosophy whichcould separate the petty from the prodigious. His reputation was notwholly disquieting; he was of the goats, he had sometimes been foundwith the sheep, he preferred to be numbered with the transgressors. LikePierre, his one passion was gambling. There were legends that once ortwice in his life he had had another passion, but that some Gorgon drewout his heartstrings painfully, one by one, and left him inhabited by apale spirit now called Irony, now Indifference--under either name a fretand an anger to women. 

At last Blanche's attacks on Jacques called out anxious protests frommen like rollicking Soldier Joe, who said to her one night, "Blanche, there's a devil in Jacques. Some day you'll startle him, and then he'llshoot you as cool as he empties the pockets of Freddy Tarlton overthere. "

And Blanche replied: "When he does that, what will you do, Joe?"

"Do? Do?" The man stroked his beard softly. "Why, give him ditto--cold. "

"Well, then, there's nothing to row about, is there?" And Soldier Joewas not on the instant clever enough to answer her sophistry; but whenshe left him and he had thought awhile, he said, convincingly:

"But where would you be then, Blanche?. .. That's the point. "

One thing was known and certain: Blanche was earning her living byhonest, if not high-class, labour. Weir the tavern-keeper said she was"worth hundreds" to him. But she grew pale, her eyes became peculiarlybrilliant, her voice took a lower key, and lost a kind of hoarsenessit had in the past. Men came in at times merely to have a joke at herexpense, having heard of her new life; but they failed to enjoytheir own attempts at humour. Women of her class came also, some withhalf-uncertain jibes, some with a curious wistfulness, and a few withscornful oaths; but the jibes and oaths were only for a time. It becameknown that she had paid the coach fare of Miss Dido (as she was called)to the hospital at Wapiti, and had raised a subscription for hermaintenance there, heading it herself with a liberal sum. Then theatmosphere round her became less trying; yet her temper remainedchangeable, and had it not been that she was good-looking and witty, her position might have been insecure. As it was, she ruled in a neutralterritory where she was the only woman. One night, after an inclementremark to Jacques, in the card-room, Blanche came back to the bar, andnot noticing that, while she was gone, Soldier Joe had entered and laidhimself down on a bench in a corner, she threw her head passionatelyforward on her arms as they rested on the counter, and cried: "O my God!my God!"

Soldier Joe lay still as if sleeping, and when Blanche was called awayagain he rose, stole out, went down to Freddy Tarlton's office, andoffered to bet Freddy two to one that Blanche wouldn't live a year. Joe's experience of women was limited. He had in his mind the case of agirl who had accidentally smothered her child; and so he said:

"Blanche has something on her mind that's killing her, Freddy. Whentrouble fixes on her sort it kills swift and sure. They've nothing tolive for but life, and it isn't good enough, you see, for--for--" Joepaused to find out where his philosophy was taking him. 

Freddy Tarlton finished the sentence for him: "For an inner sorrow is aconsuming fire. "

Fort Latrobe soon had an unexpected opportunity to study Soldier Joe'stheory. One night Jacques did not appear at Weir's Tavern as he hadengaged to do, and Soldier Joe and another went across the frozenriver to his log-hut to seek him. They found him by a handful offire, breathing heavily and nearly unconscious. One of the sudden andfrequently fatal colds of the mountains had fastened on him, and he hadbegun a war for life. Joe started back at once for liquor and a doctor, leaving his comrade to watch by the sick man. 

He could not understand why Blanche should stagger and grow white whenhe told her; nor why she insisted on taking the liquor herself. He didnot yet guess the truth. 

The next day all Fort Latrobe knew that Blanche was nursing Jacques, onwhat was thought to be his no-return journey. The doctor said it wasa dangerous case, and he held out little hope. Nursing might bring himthrough, but the chance was very slight. Blanche only occasionally leftthe sick man's bedside to be relieved by Soldier Joe and Freddy Tarlton. It dawned on Joe at last, it had dawned on Freddy before, what Blanchemeant by the heart-breaking words uttered that night in Weir's Tavern. Down through the crust of this woman's heart had gone something bothjoyful and painful. Whatever it was, it made Blanche a saving nurse, a good apothecary; for, one night the doctor pronounced Jacques outof danger, and said that a few days would bring him round if he wascareful. 

Now, for the first time, Jacques fully comprehended all Blanche had donefor him, though he had ceased to wonder at her changed attitude to him. Through his suffering and his delirium had come the understanding ofit. When, after the crisis, the doctor turned away from the bed, Jacqueslooked steadily into Blanche's eyes, and she flushed, and wiped the wetfrom his brow with her handkerchief. He took the handkerchief from herfingers gently before Soldier Joe came over to the bed. 

The doctor had insisted that Blanche should go to Weir's Tavern and getthe night's rest, needed so much, and Joe now pressed her to keep herpromise. Jacques added an urging word, and after a time she started. Joehad forgotten to tell her that a new road had been made on the ice sinceshe had crossed, and that the old road was dangerous. Wandering with herthoughts she did not notice the spruce bushes set up for signal, until she had stepped on a thin piece of ice. It bent beneath her. Sheslipped: there was a sudden sinking, a sharp cry, then another, piercingand hopeless--and it was the one word--"Jacques!" Then the night wassilent as before. But someone had heard the cry. Freddy Tarlton wascrossing the ice also, and that desolating Jacques! had reached hisears. When he found her he saw that she had been taken and the otherleft. But that other, asleep in his bed at the sacred moment when sheparted, suddenly waked, and said to Soldier Joe: "Did you speak, Joe?Did you call me?"

But Joe, who had been playing cards with himself, replied, "I haven'tsaid a word. "

And Jacques then added: "Perhaps I dream--perhaps. "

On the advice of the doctor and Freddy Tarlton, the bad news was keptfrom Jacques. When she did not come the next day, Joe told him that shecouldn't; that he ought to remember she had had no rest for weeks, andhad earned a long rest. And Jacques said that was so. 

Weir began preparations for the funeral, but Freddy Tarlton took themout of his hands--Freddy Tarlton, who visited at the homes of FortLatrobe. But he had the strength of his convictions such as they were. He began by riding thirty miles and back to ask the young clergyman atPurple Hill to come and bury Blanche. She'd reformed and been baptised, Freddy said with a sad sort of humour. And the clergyman, when heknew all, said that he would come. Freddy was hardly prepared for whatoccurred when he got back. Men were waiting for him, anxious to know ifthe clergyman was coming. They had raised a subscription to cover thecost of the funeral, and among them were men such as Harry Delong. 

"You fellows had better not mix yourselves up in this, " said Freddy. 

But Harry Delong replied quickly: "I am going to see the thing through. "And the others endorsed his words. When the clergyman came, and lookedat the face of this Magdalene, he was struck by its comeliness andquiet. All else seemed to have been washed away. On her breast lay aknot of white roses--white roses in this winter desert. 

One man present, seeing the look of wonder in the clergyman's eyes, saidquietly: "My--my wife sent them. She brought the plant from Quebec. Ithas just bloomed. She knows all about her. "

That man was Harry Delong. The keeper of his home understood the otherhomeless woman. When she knew of Blanche's death she said: "Poor girl, poor girl!" and then she had gently added, "Poor Jacques!"

And Jacques, as he sat in a chair by the fire four days after thetragedy, did not know that the clergyman was reading over a grave onthe hillside, words which are for the hearts of the quick as for theuntenanted dead. 

To Jacques's inquiries after Blanche, Soldier Joe had made changing andvague replies. At last he said that she was ill; then, that she was veryill, and again, that she was better, almighty better--now. The third dayfollowing the funeral, Jacques insisted that he would go and see her. The doctor at length decided he should be taken to Weir's Tavern, where, they declared, they would tell him all. And they took him, and placedhim by the fire in the card-room, a wasted figure, but fastidious inmanner and scrupulously neat in person as of old. Then he asked forBlanche; but even now they had not the courage for it. The doctornervously went out, as if to seek her; and Freddy Tarlton said, "Jacques, let us have a little game, just for quarters, you know. Eh?"

The other replied without eagerness: "Voila, one game, then!"

They drew him to the table, but he played listlessly. His eyes shiftedever to the door. Luck was against him. Finally he pushed over a silverpiece, and said: "The last. My money is all gone. 'Bien!'" He lost thattoo. 

Just then the door opened, and a ranchman from Purple Hill entered. Helooked carelessly round, and then said loudly:

"Say, Joe, so you've buried Blanche, have you? Poor old girl!"

There was a heavy silence. No one replied. Jacques started to his feet, gazed around searchingly, painfully, and presently gave a great gasp. His hands made a chafing motion in the air, and then blood showed on hislips and chin. He drew a handkerchief from his breast. 

"Pardon!. .. Pardon!" he faintly cried in apology, and put it to hismouth. 

Then he fell backwards in the arms of Soldier Joe, who wiped a moisturefrom the lifeless cheek as he laid the body on a bed. 

In a corner of the stained handkerchief they found the word, Blanche. 

A SANCTUARY OF THE PLAINS

Father Corraine stood with his chin in his hand and one arm supportingthe other, thinking deeply. His eyes were fixed on the northern horizon, along which the sun was casting oblique rays; for it was the beginningof the winter season. 

Where the prairie touched the sun it was responsive and radiant; but oneither side of this red and golden tapestry there was a tawny glow andthen a duskiness which, curving round to the north and east, became blueand cold--an impalpable but perceptible barrier rising from the earth, and shutting in Father Corraine like a prison wall. And this shadowcrept stealthily on and invaded the whole circle, until, where theradiance had been, there was one continuous wall of gloom, rising areupon are to invasion of the zenith, and pierced only by some intrusivewandering stars. 

And still the priest stood there looking, until the darkness closed downon him with an almost tangible consistency. Then he appeared to rememberhimself, and turned away with a gentle remonstrance of his head, andentered the hut behind him. He lighted a lamp, looked at it doubtfully, blew it out, set it aside, and lighted a candle. This he set in the onewindow of the room which faced the north and west. 

He went to a door opening into the only other room in the hut, and withhis hand on the latch looked thoughtfully and sorrowfully at somethingin the corner of the room where he stood. He was evidently debatingupon some matter, --probably the removal of what was in the corner to theother room. If so, he finally decided to abandon the intention. He satdown in a chair, faced the candle, again dropped his chin upon his hand, and kept his eyes musingly on the light. He was silent and motionlessa long time, then his lips moved, and he seemed to repeat something tohimself in whispers. 

Presently he took a well-worn book from his pocket, and read aloud fromit softly what seemed to be an office of his Church. His voice grewslightly louder as he continued, until, suddenly, there ran through thewords a deep sigh which did not come from himself. He raised hishead quickly, started to his feet, and turning round, looked at thatsomething in the corner. It took the form of a human figure, whichraised itself on an elbow and said: "Water--water--for the love of God!"

Father Corraine stood painfully staring at the figure for a moment, andthen the words broke from him "Not dead--not dead--wonderful!" Thenhe stepped quickly to a table, took therefrom a pannikin of water, andkneeling, held it to the lips of the gasping figure of a woman, throwinghis arm round the shoulder, and supporting the head on his breast. Againhe spoke "Alive--alive! Blessed be Heaven!"

The hands of the woman seized the hand of the priest, which held thepannikin, and kissed it, saying faintly: "You are good to me. .. . ButI must sleep--I must sleep--I am so tired; and I've--very far--togo--across the world. "

This was said very slowly, then the head thick with brown curls droppedagain on the priest's breast, heavy with sleep. Father Corraine, flushing slightly at first, became now slightly pale, and his brow was aplace of war between thankfulness and perplexity. But he said somethingprayerfully, then closed his lips firmly, and gently laid the figuredown, where it was immediately clothed about with slumber. Then herose, and standing with his eyes bent upon the sleeper and his fingersclasping each other tightly before him, said: "Poor girl! So, she isalive. And now what will come of it?"

He shook his grey head in doubt, and immediately began to prepare somesimple food and refreshment for the sufferer when she should awake. Inthe midst of doing so he paused and repeated the words, "And what willcome of it?" Then he added: "There was no sign of pulse nor heart-beatwhen I found her. But life hides itself where man cannot reach it. "

Having finished his task, he sat down, drew the book of holy officesagain from his bosom, and read it, whisperingly, for a time; then fellto musing, and, after a considerable time, knelt down as if in prayer. While he knelt, the girl, as if startled from her sleep by some innershock, opened her eyes wide and looked at him, first with bewilderment, then with anxiety, then with wistful thankfulness. "Oh, I thought--Ithought when I awoke before that it was a woman. But it is the goodFather Corraine--Corraine, yes, that was the name. "

The priest's clean-shaven face, long hair, and black cassock had, in herfirst moments of consciousness, deceived her. Now a sharp pain broughta moan to her lips; and this drew the priest's attention. He rose, andbrought her some food and drink. "My daughter, " he said, "you must takethese. " Something in her face touched his sensitive mind, and he said, solemnly: "You are alone with me and God, this hour. Be at peace. Eat. "

Her eyes swam with instant tears. "I know--I am alone--with God, " shesaid. Again he gently urged the food upon her, and she took a little;but now and then she put her hand to her side as if in pain. And once, as she did so, she said: "I've far to go and the pain is bad. Did theytake him away?"

Father Corraine shook his head. "I do not know of whom you speak, " hereplied. "When I went to my door this morning I found you lying there. I brought you in, and, finding no sign of life in you, sent Featherfoot, my Indian, to Fort Cypress for a trooper to come; for I feared thatthere had been ill done to you, somehow. This border-side is but a roughcountry. It is not always safe for a woman to travel alone. "

The girl shuddered. "Father, " she said "Father Corraine, I believe youare?" (Here the priest bowed his head. ) "I wish to tell you all, so thatif ever any evil did come to me, if I should die without doin' what's inmy heart to do, you would know, and would tell him if you ever saw him, how I remembered, and kept rememberin' him always, till my heart gotsick with waitin', and I came to find him far across the seas. "

"Tell me your tale, my child, " he patiently said. Her eyes were on thecandle in the window questioningly. "It is for the trooper--to guidehim, " the other remarked. "'Tis past time that he should be here. Whenyou are able you can go with him to the Fort. You will be better caredfor there, and will be among women. "

"The man--the man who was kind to me--I wish I knew of him, " she said. 

"I am waiting for your story, my child. Speak of your trouble, whetherit be of the mind and body, or of the soul. "

"You shall judge if it be of the soul, " she answered. 

"I come from far away. I lived in old Donegal since the day that I wasborn there, and I had a lover, as brave and true a lad as ever trod theworld. But sorrow came. One night at Farcalladen Rise there was a crackof arms and a clatter of fleeing hoofs, and he that I loved came to meand said a quick word of partin', and with a kiss--it's burnin' on mylips yet--askin' pardon, father, for speech of this to you--and he wasgone, an outlaw, to Australia. For a time word came from him. Then I wastaken ill and couldn't answer his letters, and a cousin of my own, whohad tried to win my love, did a wicked thing. He wrote a letter to himand told him I was dyin', and that there was no use of farther wordsfrom him. And never again did word come to me from him. But I waited, myheart sick with longin' and full of hate for the memory of the man who, when struck with death, told me of the cruel deed he had done between ustwo. "

She paused, as she had to do several times during the recital, throughweariness or pain; but, after a moment, proceeded. "One day, onebeautiful day, when the flowers were like love to the eye, and the larkssingin' overhead, and my thoughts goin' with them as they swam untilthey were lost in the sky, and every one of them a prayer for thelad livin' yet, as I hoped, somewhere in God's universe--there rode agentleman down Farcalladen Rise. He stopped me as I walked, and said akind good-day to me; and I knew when I looked into his face that he hadword for me--the whisperin' of some angel, I suppose, and I said to himas though he had asked me for it, 'My name is Mary Callen, sir. '

"At that he started, and the colour came quick to his face; and he said:'I am Sir Duke Lawless. I come to look for Mary Callen's grave. Is therea Mary Callen dead, and a Mary Callen livin'? and did both of them lovea man that went from Farcalladen Rise one wild night long ago?'

"'There's but one Mary Callen, ' said I, 'but the heart of me is dead, until I hear news that brings it to life again?'

"'And no man calls you wife?' he asked. 

"'No man, Sir Duke Lawless, ' answered I. 'And no man ever could, savehim that used to write me of you from the heart of Australia; only therewas no Sir to your name then. '

"'I've come to that since, ' said he. 

"'Oh, tell me, ' I cried, with a quiverin' at my heart, 'tell me, is helivin'?'

"And he replied: 'I left him in the Pipi Valley of the Rocky Mountains ayear ago. '

"'A year ago!' said I, sadly. 

"'I'm ashamed that I've been so long in comin' here, ' replied he; 'but, of course, he didn't know that you were alive, and I had been partedfrom a lady for years--a lover's quarrel--and I had to choose betweencourtin' her again and marryin' her, or comin' to Farcalladen Rise atonce. Well, I went to the altar first. '

"'Oh, sir, you've come with the speed of the wind, for now that I'venews of him, it is only yesterday that he went away, not years agone. But tell me, does he ever think of me?' I questioned. 

"'He thinks of you, ' he said, 'as one for whom the masses for the deadare spoken; but while I knew him, first and last, the memory of you waswith him. '

"With that he got off his horse, and said: 'I'll walk with you to hisfather's home. '

"'You'll not do that, ' I replied; 'for it's level with the ground. Godpunish them that did it! And they're lyin' in the glen by the streamthat he loved and galloped over many a time. '

"'They are dead--they are dead, then, ' said he, with his bridle swungloose on his arm and his hat off reverently. 

"'Gone home to Heaven together, ' said I, 'one day and one hour, and aprayer on their lips for the lad; and I closin' their eyes at the last. And before they went they made me sit by them and sing a song that'scommon here with us; for manny and manny of the strength and prideof Farcalladen Rise have sailed the wide seas north and south, andotherwhere, and comin' back maybe and maybe not. '

"'Hark, ' he said, very gravely, 'and I'll tell you what it is, for I'veheard him sing it, I know, in the worst days and the best days that everwe had, when luck was wicked and big against us and we starvin' on thewallaby track; or when we found the turn in the lane to brighter days. '

"And then with me lookin' at him full in the eyes, gentleman thoughhe was, --for comrade he had been with the man I loved, --he said to methere, so finely and kindly, it ought to have brought the dead back fromtheir graves to hear, these words:

 "'You'll travel far and wide, dear, but you'll come back again, You'll come back to your father and your mother in the glen, Although we should be lyin' 'neath the heather grasses then You'll be comin' back, my darlin'!'

 "'You'll see the icebergs sailin' along the wintry foam, The white hair of the breakers, and the wild swans as they roam; But you'll not forget the rowan beside your father's home-- You'll be comin' back, my darlin'. '"

Here the girl paused longer than usual, and the priest dropped hisforehead in his hand sadly. 

"I've brought grief to your kind heart, father, " she said. 

"No, no, " he replied, "not sorrow at all; but I was born on the Liffeyside, though it's forty years and more since I left it, and I'm an oldman now. That song I knew well, and the truth and the heart of it too. . .. I am listening. "

"Well, together we went to the grave of the father and mother, and theplace where the home had been, and for a long time he was silent, asthough they who slept beneath the sod were his, and not another's; butat last he said:

"'And what will you do? I don't quite know where he is, though; whenlast I heard from him and his comrades, they were in the Pipi Valley. '

"My heart was full of joy; for though I saw how touched he was becauseof what he saw, it was all common to my sight, and I had grieved much, but had had little delight; and I said:

"'There's only one thing to be done. He cannot come back here, andI must go to him--that is, ' said I, 'if you think he cares for mestill, --for my heart quakes at the thought that he might have changed. '

"'I know his heart, ' said he, 'and you'll find him, I doubt not, thesame, though he buried you long ago in a lonely tomb, --the tomb of asweet remembrance, where the flowers are everlastin'. ' Then after morewords he offered me money with which to go; but I said to him that thelove that couldn't carry itself across the sea by the strength of thehands and the sweat of the brow was no love at all; and that the harderwas the road to him the gladder I'd be, so that it didn't keep me toolong, and brought me to him at last. 

"He looked me up and down very earnestly for a minute, and then hesaid: 'What is there under the roof of heaven like the love of an honestwoman! It makes the world worth livin' in. '

"'Yes, ' said I, 'when love has hope, and a place to lay its head. '

"'Take this, ' said he--and he drew from his pocket his watch--'andcarry it to him with the regard of Duke Lawless, and this foryourself'--fetching from his pocket a revolver and putting it into myhands; 'for the prairies are but rough places after all, and it's betterto be safe than--worried. .. . Never fear though but the prairies willbring back the finest of blooms to your cheek, if fair enough it isnow, and flush his eye with pride of you; and God be with you both, ifa sinner may say that, and breakin' no saint's prerogative. ' And hemounted to ride away, havin' shaken my hand like a brother; but heturned again before he went, and said: 'Tell him and his comrades thatI'll shoulder my gun and join them before the world is a year older, ifI can. For that land is God's land, and its people are my people, and Icare not who knows it, whatever here I be. '

"I worked my way across the sea, and stayed awhile in the East earningmoney to carry me over the land and into the Pipi Valley. I joined aparty of emigrants that were goin' westward, and travelled far withthem. But they quarrelled and separated, I goin' with these that I likedbest. One night though, I took my horse and left; for I knew there wasevil in the heart of a man who sought me continually, and the thingdrove me mad. I rode until my horse could stumble no farther, and thenI took the saddle for a pillow and slept on the bare ground. And in themorning I got up and rode on, seein' no house nor human being for mannyand manny a mile. When everything seemed hopeless I came suddenly upona camp. But I saw that there was only one man there, and I should haveturned back, but that I was worn and ill, and, moreover, I had riddenalmost upon him. But he was kind. He shared his food with me, and askedme where I was goin'. I told him, and also that I had quarrelled withthose of my party and had left them nothing more. He seemed to wonderthat I was goin' to Pipi Valley; and when I had finished my tale hesaid: 'Well, I must tell you that I am not good company for you. I havea name that doesn't pass at par up here. To speak plain truth, troopersare looking for me, and--strange as it may be--for a crime which Ididn't commit. That is the foolishness of the law. But for this I'mmaking for the American border, beyond which, treaty or no treaty, a mangets refuge. '

"He was silent after that, lookin' at me thoughtfully the while, but ina way that told me I might trust him, evil though he called himself. Atlength he said: 'I know a good priest, Father Corraine, who has a cabinsixty miles or more from here, and I'll guide you to him, if so be youcan trust a half-breed and a gambler, and one men call an outlaw. Ifnot, I'm feared it'll go hard with you; for the Cypress Hills are noteasy travel, as I've known this many a year. And should you want a nameto call me, Pretty Pierre will do, though my godfathers and godmothersdid different for me before they went to Heaven. ' And nothing said heirreverently, father. "

Here the priest looked up and answered: "Yes, yes, I know him well--anevil man, and yet he has suffered too. .. Well, well, my daughter?"

"At that he took his pistol from his pocket and handed it. 'Take that, 'he said. 'It will make you safer with me, and I'll ride ahead of you, and we shall reach there by sundown, I hope. '

"And I would not take his pistol, but, shamed a little, showed him theone Sir Duke Lawless gave me. 'That's right, ' he said, 'and, maybe, it's better that I should carry mine, for, as I said, there are anxiousgentlemen lookin' for me, who wish to give me a quiet but dreary home. And see, ' he added, 'if they should come you will be safe, for they sitin the judgment seat, and the statutes hang at their saddles, and I'llsay this for them, that a woman to them is as a saint of God out herewhere women and saints are few. '

"I do not speak as he spoke, for his words had a turn of French; but Iknew that, whatever he was, I should travel peaceably with him. Yet Isaw that he would be runnin' the risk of his own safety for me, and Itold him that I could not have him do it; but he talked me lightly down, and we started. We had gone but a little distance, when there gallopedover a ridge upon us, two men of the party I had left, and one, I saw, was the man I hated; and I cried out and told Pretty Pierre. He wheeledhis horse, and held his pistol by him. They said that I should comewith them, and they told a dreadful lie--that I was a runaway wife; butPierre answered them they lied. At this, one rode forward suddenly, and clutched me at my waist to drag me from my horse. At this, Pierre'spistol was thrust in his face, and Pierre bade him cease, which he did;but the other came down with a pistol showin', and Pierre, seein' theywere determined, fired; and the man that clutched at me fell from hishorse. Then the other drew off; and Pierre got down, and stooped, andfelt the man's heart, and said to the other: 'Take your friend away, forhe is dead; but drop that pistol of yours on the ground first. ' And theman did so; and Pierre, as he looked at the dead man, added: 'Why did hemake me kill him?'

"Then the two tied the body to the horse, and the man rode away with it. We travelled on without speakin' for a long time, and then I heard himsay absently: 'I am sick of that. When once you have played shuttlecockwith human life, you have to play it to the end--that is the penalty. But a woman is a woman, and she must be protected. ' Then afterward heturned and asked me if I had friends in Pipi Valley; and because what hehad done for me had worked upon me, I told him of the man I was goin'to find. And he started in his saddle, and I could see by the way hetwisted the mouth of his horse that I had stirred him. "

Here the priest interposed: "What is the name of the man in Pipi Valleyto whom you are going?"

And the girl replied: "Ah, father, have I not told you? It is ShonMcGann--of Farcalladen Rise. "

At this, Father Corraine seemed suddenly troubled, and he lookedstrangely and sadly at her. But the girl's eyes were fastened on thecandle in the window, as if she saw her story in it; and she continued:"A colour spread upon him, and then left him pale; and he said: 'To ShonMcGann--you are going to him? Think of that--that!' For an instant Ithought a horrible smile played upon his face, and I grew frightened, and said to him: 'You know him. You are not sorry that you are helpingme? You and Shon McGann are not enemies?'

"After a moment the smile that struck me with dread passed, and hesaid, as he drew himself up with a shake: 'Shon McGann and I were goodfriends-as good as ever shared a blanket or split a loaf, though hewas free of any evil, and I failed of any good. .. . Well, there came achange. We parted. We could meet no more; but who could have guessedthis thing? Yet, hear me--I am no enemy of Shon McGann, as let my deedsto you prove. ' And he paused again, but added presently: 'It's betteryou should have come now than two years ago. 

"And I had a fear in my heart, and to this asked him why. 'Because thenhe was a friend of mine, ' he said, 'and ill always comes to those whoare such. ' I was troubled at this, and asked him if Shon was in PipiValley yet. 'I do not know, ' said he, 'for I've travelled long and farfrom there; still, while I do not wish to put doubt into your mind, Ihave a thought he may be gone. .. . He had a gay heart, ' he continued, 'and we saw brave days together. '

"And though I questioned him, he told me little more, but became silent, scannin' the plains as we rode; but once or twice he looked at me ina strange fashion, and passed his hand across his forehead, and a greylook came upon his face. I asked him if he was not well. 'Only a kind offightin' within, ' he said; 'such things soon pass, and it is well theydo, or we should break to pieces. '

"And I said again that I wished not to bring him into danger. And hereplied that these matters were accordin' to Fate; that men like himmust go on when once the die is cast, for they cannot turn back. Itseemed to me a bitter creed, and I was sorry for him. Then for hours wekept an almost steady silence, and comin' at last to the top of a riseof land he pointed to a spot far off on the plains, and said that you, father, lived there; and that he would go with me still a little way, and then leave me. I urged him to go at once, but he would not, and wecame down into the plains. He had not ridden far when he said sharply:

"'The Riders of the Plains, those gentlemen who seek me, are there--see!Ride on or stay, which you please. If you go you will reach the priest, if you stay here where I shall leave you, you will see me taken perhaps, and it may be fightin' or death; but you will be safe with them. On thewhole, it is best, perhaps, that you should ride away to the priest. They might not believe all that you told them, ridin' with me as youare. '

"But I think a sudden madness again came upon me. Rememberin' whatthings were done by women for refugees in old Donegal, and that this manhad risked his life for me, I swung my horse round nose and nose withhis, and drew my revolver, and said that I should see whatever came tohim. He prayed me not to do so wild a thing; but when I refused, andpushed on along with him, makin' at an angle for some wooded hills, Isaw that a smile played upon his face. We had almost reached the edgeof the wood when a bullet whistled by us. At that the smile passed and astrange look came upon him, and he said to me:

"'This must end here. I think you guess I have no coward's blood; butI am sick to the teeth of fightin'. I do not wish to shock you, but Iswear, unless you turn and ride away to the left towards the priest'shouse, I shall save those fellows further trouble by killin' myselfhere; and there, ' said he, 'would be a pleasant place to die--at thefeet of a woman who trusted you. '

"I knew by the look in his eye he would keep his word. "'Oh, is thisso?' I said. 

"'It is so, ' he replied, 'and it shall be done quickly, for the courageto death is on me. '

"'But if I go, you will still try to escape?' I said. And he answeredthat he would. Then I spoke a God-bless-you, at which he smiled andshook his head, and leanin' over, touched my hand, and spoke low: 'Whenyou see Shon McGann, tell him what I did, and say that we are even now. Say also that you called Heaven to bless me. ' Then we swung away fromeach other, and the troopers followed after him, but let me go my way;from which, I guessed, they saw I was a woman. And as I rode I heardshots, and turned to see; but my horse stumbled on a hole and we felltogether, and when I waked, I saw that the poor beast's legs werebroken. So I ended its misery, and made my way as best I could by thestars to your house; but I turned sick and fainted at the door, and knewno more until this hour. . .. You thought me dead, father?"

The priest bowed his head, and said: "These are strange, sad things, mychild; and they shall seem stranger to you when you hear all. "

"When I hear all! Ah, tell me, father, do you know Shon McGann? Can youtake me to him?"

"I know him, but I do not know where he is. He left the Pipi Valleyeighteen months ago, and I never saw him afterwards; still I doubt nothe is somewhere on the plains, and we shall find him--we shall find him, please Heaven. "

"Is he a good lad, father?"

"He is brave, and he was always kind. He came to me before he left thevalley--for he had trouble--and said to me: 'Father, I am going away, and to what place is far from me to know, but wherever it is, I'll livea life that's fit for men, and not like a loafer on God's world;' and hegave me money for masses to be said--for the dead. "

The girl put out her hand. "Hush! hush!" she said. "Let me think. Massesfor the dead. .. . What dead? Not for me; he thought me dead long, longago. "

"No; not for you, " was the slow reply. 

She noticed his hesitation, and said: "Speak. I know that there issorrow on him. Someone--someone--he loved?"

"Someone he loved, " was the reply. 

"And she died?" The priest bowed his head. 

"She was his wife--Shon's wife"? and Mary Callen could not hide from herwords the hurt she felt. 

"I married her to him, but yet she was not his wife. " There was a keendistress in the girl's voice. "Father, tell me, tell me what you mean. "

"Hush, and I will tell you all. He married her, thinking, and shethinking, that she was a widowed woman. But her husband came back. Aterrible thing happened. The woman believing, at a painful time, that hewho came back was about to take Shon's life, fired at him, and woundedhim, and then killed herself. "

Mary Callen raised herself upon her elbow, and looked at the priest inpiteous bewilderment. "It is dreadful, " she said. .. . "Poor woman!. .. Andhe had forgotten--forgotten me. I was dead to him, and am dead to himnow. There's nothing left but to draw the cold sheet of the grave overme. Better for me if I had never come--if I had never come, and insteadwere lyin' by his father and mother beneath the rowan. "

The priest took her wrist firmly in his. "These are not brave norChristian words, from a brave and Christian girl. But I know that griefmakes one's words wild. Shon McGann shall be found. In the days whenI saw him most and best, he talked of you as an angel gone, and he hadnever sought another woman had he known that you lived. The MountedPolice, the Riders of the Plains, travel far and wide. But now, therehas come from the farther West a new detachment to Fort Cypress, andthey may be able to help us. But listen. There is something more. Theman Pretty Pierre, did he not speak puzzling words concerning himselfand Shon McGann? And did he not say to you at the last that they wereeven now? Well, can you not guess?"

Mary Callen's bosom heaved painfully and her eyes stared so at thecandle in the window that they seemed to grow one with the flame. Atlast a new look crept into them; a thought made the lids close quicklyas though it burned them. When they opened again they were full of tearsthat shone in the shadow and dropped slowly on her cheeks and flowed onand on, quivering too in her throat. 

The priest said: "You understand, my child?"

And she answered: "I understand. Pierre, the outlaw, was her husband. "

Father Corraine rose and sat beside the table, his book of offices openbefore him. At length he said: "There is much that might be spoken; forthe Church has words for every hour of man's life, whatever it be; butthere comes to me now a word to say, neither from prayer nor psalm, butfrom the songs of a country where good women are; where however poor thefireside, the loves beside it are born of the love of God, though thetongue be angry now and then, the foot stumble, and the hand quick at ablow. " Then, with a soft, ringing voice, he repeated:

 "'New friends will clasp your hand, dear, new faces on you smile-- You'll bide with them and love them, but you'll long for us the while;

 For the word across the water, and the farewell by the stile-- For the true heart's here, my darlin'. '"

Mary Callen's tears flowed afresh at first; but soon after the voiceceased she closed her eyes and her sobs stopped, and Father Corrainesat down and became lost in thought as he watched the candle. Then therewent a word among the spirits watching that he was not thinking of thecandle, or of them that the candle was to light on the way, nor evenof this girl near him, but of a summer forty years gone when he wasa goodly youth, with the red on his lip and the light in his eye, andbefore him, leaning on a stile, was a lass with--

 ". .. Cheeks like the dawn of day. "

And all the good world swam in circles, eddying ever inward until itstreamed intensely and joyously through her eyes "blue as the fairyflax. " And he had carried the remembrance of this away into the worldwith him, but had never gone back again. He had travelled beyond theseas to live among savages and wear out his life in self-denial; and nowhe had come to the evening of his life, a benignant figure in a lonelyland. And as he sat here murmuring mechanically bits of an office, hisheart and mind were with a sacred and distant past. Yet the spiritsrecorded both these things on their tablets, as though both were worthyof their remembrance. 

He did not know that he kept repeating two sentences over and over tohimself:

"'Quoniam ipse liberavit me de laqueo venantium et a verbo aspero. Quoniam angelis suis mandavit de te: ut custodiant te in omnibus viistuis. '"

These he said at first softly to himself, but unconsciously his voicebecame louder, so that the girl heard, and she said:

"Father Corraine, what are those words? I do not understand them, butthey sound comforting. "

And he, waking from his dream, changed the Latin into English, and said:

 "'For he hath delivered me from the snare of the hunter, and from the sharp sword. For he hath given his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways. '"

"The words are good, " she said. He then told her he was going out, butthat he should be within call, saying, at the same time, that someonewould no doubt arrive from Fort Cypress soon: and he went from thehouse. Then the girl rose slowly, crept lamely to a chair and satdown. Outside, the priest paced up and down, stopping now and then, andlistening as if for horses' hoofs. At last he walked some distance awayfrom the house, deeply lost in thought, and he did not notice that a mancame slowly, heavily, to the door of the hut, and opening it, entered. 

Mary Callen rose from her seat with a cry in which was timidity, pity, and something of horror; for it was Pretty Pierre. She recoiled, butseeing how he swayed with weakness, and that his clothes had blood uponthem, she helped him to a chair. He looked up at her with an enigmaticalsmile, but he did not speak. "Oh, " she whispered, "you are wounded!"

He nodded; but still he did not speak. Then his lips moved dryly. Shebrought him water. He drank deeply, and a sigh of relief escaped him. "You got here safely, " he now said. "I am glad of that--though you, too, are hurt. "

She briefly told him how, and then he said: "Well, I suppose you knowall of me now?"

"I know what happened in Pipi Valley, " she said, timidly and wearily. "Father Corraine told me. "

"Where is he?"

When she had answered him, he said: "And you are willing to speak withme still?"

"You saved me, " was her brief, convincing reply. "How did you escape?Did you fight?"

"No, " he said. "It is strange. I did not fight at all. As I said to you, I was sick of blood. These men were only doing their duty. I might havekilled two or three of them, and have escaped, but to what good? Whenthey shot my horse, my good Sacrament, --and put a bullet into thisshoulder, I crawled away still, and led them a dance, and doubled onthem; and here I am. "

"It is wonderful that they have not been here, " she said. 

"Yes, it is wonderful; but be very sure they will be with that candle inthe window. Why is it there?"

She told him. He lifted his brows in stoic irony, and said: "Well, weshall have an army of them soon. " He rose again to his feet. "I do notwish to die, and I always said that I would never go to prison. Do youunderstand?"

"Yes, " she replied. She went immediately to the window, took the candlefrom it, and put it behind an improvised shade. No sooner was this donethan Father Corraine entered the room, and seeing the outlaw, said "Youhave come here, Pierre?" And his face showed wonder and anxiety. 

"I have come, mon pere, for sanctuary. "

"For sanctuary! But, my son, if I vex not Heaven by calling you so, why"--he saw Pierre stagger slightly. "But you are wounded. " He puthis arm round the other's shoulder, and supported him till he recoveredhimself. Then he set to work to bandage anew the wound, from whichPierre himself had not unskilfully extracted the bullet. While doing so, the outlaw said to him:

"Father Corraine, I am hunted like a coyote for a crime I did notcommit. But if I am arrested they will no doubt charge me with otherthings--ancient things. Well, I have said that I should never be sent togaol, and I never shall; but I do not wish to die at this moment, and Ido not wish to fight. What is there left?"

"How do you come here, Pierre?"

He lifted his eyes heavily to Mary Callen, and she told Father Corrainewhat had been told her. When she had finished, Pierre added:

"I am no coward, as you will witness; but as I said, neither gaol nordeath do I wish. Well, if they should come here, and you said, Pierreis not here, even though I was in the next room, they would believe you, and they would not search. Well, I ask such sanctuary. "

The priest recoiled and raised his hand in protest. Then, after amoment, he said:

"How do you deserve this? Do you know what you ask?"

"Ah, oui, I know it is immense, and I deserve nothing: and in return Ican offer nothing, not even that I will repent. And I have done no goodin the world; but still perhaps I am worth the saving, as may be seenin the end. As for you, well, you will do a little wrong so that the endwill be right. So?"

The priest's eyes looked out long and sadly at the man from under hisvenerable brows, as though he would see through him and beyond him tothat end; and at last he spoke in a low, firm voice:

"Pierre, you have been a bad man; but sometimes you have been generous, and of a few good acts I know--"

"No, not good, " the other interrupted. "I ask this of your charity. "

"There is the law, and my conscience. "

"The law! the law!" and there was sharp satire in the half-breed'svoice. "What has it done in the West? Think, 'mon pere!' Do you not knowa hundred cases where the law has dealt foully? There was more justicebefore we had law. Law--" And he named over swiftly, scornfully, a scoreof names and incidents, to which Father Corraine listened intently. "But, " said Pierre, gently, at last, "but for your conscience, m'sieu', that is greater than law. For you are a good man and a wise man; and youknow that I shall pay my debts of every kind some sure day. That shouldsatisfy your justice, but you are merciful for the moment, and you willspare until the time be come, until the corn is ripe in the ear. Whyshould I plead? It is foolish. Still, it is my whim, of which, perhaps, I shall be sorry tomorrow. .. Hark!" he added, and then shrugged hisshoulders and smiled. There were sounds of hoof beats coming faintly tothem. Father Corraine threw open the door of the other room of the hut, and said "Go in there--Pierre. We shall see. .. We shall see. "

The outlaw looked at the priest, as if hesitating; but, after, noddedmeaningly to himself, and entered the room and shut the door. The prieststood listening. When the hoof-beats stopped, he opened the door, andwent out. In the dark he could see that men were dismounting from theirhorses. He stood still and waited. Presently a trooper stepped forwardand said warmly, yet brusquely, as became his office: "Father Corraine, we meet again!"

The priest's face was overswept by many expressions, in which marvel andtrouble were uppermost, while joy was in less distinctness. 

"Surely, " he said, "it is Shon McGann. "

"Shon McGann, and no other. --I that laughed at the law for many ayear, though never breaking it beyond repair, --took your advice, FatherCorraine, and here I am, holding that law now as my bosom friend at thesaddle's pommel. Corporal Shon McGann, at your service. "

They clasped hands, and the priest said: "You have come at my call fromFort Cypress?"

"Yes. But not these others. They are after a man that's played ducks anddrakes with the statutes--Heaven be merciful to him, I say. For there'snaught I treasure against him; the will of God bein' in it all, withsome doin' of the Devil, too, maybe. "

Pretty Pierre, standing with ear to the window of the dark room, heardall this, and he pressed his upper lip hard with his forefinger, as ifsomething disturbed him. 

Shon continued. "I'm glad I wasn't sent after him as all these hereknow; for it's little I'd like to clap irons on his wrists, or whistlehim to come to me with a Winchester or a Navy. So I'm here on mybusiness, and they're here on theirs. Though we come together it'sbecause we met each other hereaway. They've a thought that, maybe, Pretty Pierre has taken refuge with you. They'll little like to disturbyou, I know. But with dead in your house, and you givin' the word oftruth, which none other could fall from your lips, they'll go on theirway to look elsewhere. "

The priest's face was pinched, and there was a wrench at his heart. Heturned to the others. A trooper stepped forward. 

"Father Corraine, " he said, "it is my duty to search your house; but nota foot will I stretch across your threshold if you say no, and give theword that the man is not with you. "

"Corporal McGann, " said the priest, "the woman whom I thought was deaddid not die, as you shall see. There is no need for inquiry. But shewill go with you to Fort Cypress. As for the other, you say that FatherCorraine's threshold is his own, and at his own command. His home is nowa sanctuary--for the afflicted. " He went towards the door. As he did so, Mary Callen, who had been listening inside the room with shaking frameand bursting heart, dropped on her knees beside the table, her headin her arms. The door opened. "See, " said the priest, "a woman who isinjured and suffering. "

"Ah, " rejoined the trooper, "perhaps it is the woman who was riding withthe half-breed. We found her dead horse. "

The priest nodded. Shon McGann looked at the crouching figure by thetable pityingly. As he looked he was stirred, he knew not why. And she, though she did not look, knew that his gaze was on her; and all her willwas spent in holding her eyes from his face, and from crying out to him. 

"And Pretty Pierre, " said the trooper, "is not here with her?"

There was an unfathomable sadness in the priest's eyes, as, with aslight motion of the hand towards the room, he said: "You see--he is nothere. "

The trooper and his men immediately mounted; but one of them, young TimKearney, slid from his horse, and came and dropped on his knee in frontof the priest. 

"It's many a day, " he said, "since before God or man I bent a knee--moreshame to me for that, and for mad days gone; but I care not who knowsit, I want a word of blessin' from the man that's been out here like asaint in the wilderness, with a heart like the Son o' God. "

The priest looked at the man at first as if scarce comprehending thisact so familiar to him, then he slowly stretched out his hand, said somewords in benediction, and made the sacred gesture. But his face had astrange and absent look, and he held the hand poised, even when the manhad risen and mounted his horse. One by one the troopers rode throughthe faint belt of light that stretched from the door, and were lost inthe darkness, the thud of their horses' hoofs echoing behind them. But achange had come over Corporal Shon McGann. He looked at Father Corrainewith concern and perplexity. He alone of those who were there had caughtthe unreal note in the proceedings. His eyes were bent on the darknessinto which the men had gone, and his fingers toyed for an instant withhis whistle; but he said a hard word of himself under his breath, andturned to meet Father Corraine's hand upon his arm. 

"Shon McGann, " the priest said, "I have words to say to you concerningthis poor girl. "

"You wish to have her taken to the Fort, I suppose? What was she doingwith Pretty Pierre?"

"I wish her taken to her home. "

"Where is her home, father?" And his eyes were cast with trouble on thegirl, though he could assign no cause for that. 

"Her home, Shon, "--the priest's voice was very gentle--"her home waswhere they sing such words as these of a wanderer:

 "'You'll hear the wild birds singin' beneath a brighter sky, ' The roof-tree of your home, dear, it will be grand and high; But you'll hunger for the hearthstone where a child you used to lie, You'll be comin' back, my darlin'. "'

During these words Shon's face ran white, then red; and now he steppedinside the door like one in a dream, and the girl's face was lifted tohis as though he had called her. "Mary--Mary Callen!" he cried. His armsspread out, then dropped to his side, and he fell on his knees by thetable facing her, and looked at her with love and horror warring in hisface; for the remembrance that she had been with Pierre was like thehand of the grave upon him. Moving not at all, she looked at him, a numbdespondency in her face. Suddenly Shon's look grew stern, and he wasabout to rise; but Father Corraine put a hand on his shoulder, and said:"Stay where you are, man--on your knees. There is your place just now. Be not so quick to judge, and remember your own sins before you chargeothers without knowledge. Listen now to me. "

And he spoke Mary Callen's tale as he knew it, and as she had given itto him, not forgetting to mention that she had been told the thing whichhad occurred in Pipi Valley. 

The heroic devotion of this woman, and Pretty Pierre's act of friendshipto her, together with the swift panorama of his past across the seas, awoke the whole man in Shon, as the staunch life that he had lately ledrendered it possible. There was a grave, kind look upon his face when herose at the ending of the tale, and came to her, saying:

"Mary, it is I who need forgiveness. Will you come now to the home youwanted"? and he stretched his arms to her. .. . 

An hour after, as the three sat there, the door of the other roomopened, and Pretty Pierre came out silently, and was about to pass fromthe hut; but the priest put a hand on his arm, and said:

"'Where do you go, Pierre?"

Pierre shrugged his shoulder slightly:

"I do not know. 'Mon Dieu!'--that I have put this upon you!--you thatnever spoke but the truth. "

"You have made my sin of no avail, " the priest replied; and he motionedtowards Shon McGann, who was now risen to his feet, Mary clinging to hisarm. "Father Corraine, " said Shon, "it is my duty to arrest this man;but I cannot do it, would not do it, if he came and offered his arms forthe steel. I'll take the wrong of this now, sir, and such shame as thereis in that falsehood on my shoulders. And she here and I, and this mantoo, I doubt not, will carry your sin--as you call it--to our graves, without shame. "

Father Corraine shook his head sadly, and made no reply, for his soulwas heavy. He motioned them all to sit down. And they sat there by thelight of a flickering candle, with the door bolted and a cassock hungacross the window, lest by any chance this uncommon thing should beseen. But the priest remained in a shadowed corner, with a little bookin his hand, and he was long on his knees. And when morning came theyhad neither slept nor changed the fashion of their watch, save for amoment now and then, when Pierre suffered from the pain of his wound, and silently passed up and down the little room. 

The morning was half gone when Shon McGann and Mary Callen stood besidetheir horses, ready to mount and go; for Mary had persisted that shecould travel--joy makes such marvellous healing. When the momentof parting came, Pierre was not there. Mary whispered to her loverconcerning this. The priest went to the door of the but and called him. He came out slowly. 

"Pierre, " said Shon, "there's a word to be said between us that had bestbe spoken now, though it's not aisy. It's little you or I will care tomeet again in this world. There's been credit given and debts paid byboth of us since the hour when we first met; and it needs thinking totell which is the debtor now, for deeds are hard to reckon; but, beforeGod, I believe it's meself;" and he turned and looked fondly at MaryCallen. 

And Pierre replied: "Shon McGann, I make no reckoning close; but we willsquare all accounts here, as you say, and for the last time; for neveragain shall we meet, if it's within my will or doing. But I say I am thedebtor; and if I pay not here, there will come a time!" and he caughthis shoulder as it shrunk in pain of his wound. He tapped the woundlightly, and said with irony: "This is my note of hand for my debt, ShonMcGann. Eh, bien!"

Then he tossed his fingers indolently towards Shon, and turning his eyesslowly to Mary Callen, raised his hat in good-bye. She put out her handimpulsively to him, but Pierre, shaking his head, looked away. Shon puthis hand gently on her arm. "No, no, " he said in a whisper, "there canbe no touch of hands between us. "

And Pierre, looking up, added: "C'est vrai. That is the truth. Yougo--home. I got to hide. So--so. " And he turned and went into the hut. 

The others set their faces northward, and Father Corraine walked besideMary Callen's horse, talking quietly of their future life, and speaking, as he would never speak again, of days in that green land of theirbirth. At length, upon a dividing swell of the prairie, he paused to sayfarewell. 

Many times the two turned to see, and he was there, looking after them;his forehead bared to the clear inspiring wind, his grey hair blownback, his hands clasped. Before descending the trough of a greatlandwave, they turned for the last time, and saw him standingmotionless, the one solitary being in all their wide horizon. 

But outside the line of vision there sat a man in a prairie hut, whoseeyes travelled over the valley of blue sky stretching away beyond themorning, whose face was pale and cold. For hours he sat unmoving, andwhen, at last, someone gently touched him on the shoulder, he only shookhis head, and went on thinking. He was busy with the grim ledger of hislife. 

 ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

 An inner sorrow is a consuming fire At first--and at the last--he was kind Awkward for your friends and gratifying to your enemies Carrying with him the warm atmosphere of a good woman's love Courage; without which, men are as the standing straw Delicate revenge which hath its hour with every man Evil is half-accidental, half-natural Fascinating colour which makes evil appear to be good Freedom is the first essential of the artistic mind Good is often an occasion more than a condition Had the luck together, all kinds and all weathers He does not love Pierre; but he does not pretend to love him Hunger for happiness is robbery I was born insolent If one remembers, why should the other forget Instinct for detecting veracity, having practised on both sides Irishmen have gifts for only two things--words and women It is not Justice that fills the gaols, but Law It is not much to kill or to die--that is in the game Knowing that his face would never be turned from me Likenesses between the perfectly human and the perfectly animal Longed to touch, oftener than they did, the hands of children Meditation is the enemy of action Men and women are unwittingly their own executioners More idle than wicked Mothers always forgive My excuses were making bad infernally worse Noise is not battle Nothing so good as courage, nothing so base as the shifting eye Philosophy which could separate the petty from the prodigious Reconciling the preacher and the sinner, as many another has Remember your own sins before you charge others She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute She wasn't young, but she seemed so The soul of goodness in things evil The Injin speaks the truth, perhaps--eye of red man multlpies The Government cherish the Injin much in these days The gods made last to humble the pride of men--there was rum The higher we go the faster we live The Barracks of the Free The world is not so bad as is claimed for it Time is the test, and Time will have its way with me Whatever has been was a dream; whatever is now is real Where I should never hear the voice of the social Thou must You do not shout dinner till you have your knife in the loaf