"Here, you, fetch me some wood and coal-oil. Men can never be trusted."

Jacky was no respecter of persons. When she ordered there were few men
on the prairie who would refuse to obey. Lablache heaved his great bulk
from before the table and got on to his feet. His bilious eyes were
struggling to smile. The effect was horrible. Then he moved across the
room to where a stack of kindling stood.

"Hurry up. I guess if we depended much on you we'd freeze."

And Lablache, the hardest, most unscrupulous man for miles around,
endeavored to obey with the alacrity of any sheep-dog.

In spite of himself John Allandale could not refrain from smiling at the
grotesque picture the monumental Lablache made as he lumbered towards
the stack of kindling.

When "Lord" Bill returned Lablache was bending over the stove beside the
girl.

"I've thrown the harness on the horses--watered and fed 'em," he said,
taking in the situation at a glance. "Say, Doc," turning to Abbot,
"better rouse your good lady."

"She'll be down in a tick," said Jacky, over her shoulder. "Here,
doctor, you might get a kettle of water--and Bill, see if you can find
some bacon or stuff. And you, uncle, came and sit by the stove--you're
cold."

Strange is the power and fascination of woman. A look--a glance--a