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

After quitting Old Brown Windsor's store, Sergeant Fones urged his stout
broncho to a quicker pace than usual. The broncho was, like himself,
wasteful of neither action nor affection. The Sergeant had caught him
wild and independent, had brought him in, broken him, and taught him
obedience. They understood each other; perhaps they loved each other.
But about that even Private Gellatly had views in common with the general
sentiment as to the character of Sergeant Fones. The private remarked
once on this point "Sarpints alive! the heels of the one and the law of
the other is the love of them. They'll weather together like the 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 the
Big Divide and to go back to Windsor's store; but he changed his mind
again, and rode on toward David Humphrey's ranch. He sat as if he had
been born in the saddle. His was a face for the artist, strong and
clear, and having a dominant expression of force. The eyes were deepset
and watchful. A kind of disdain might be traced in the curve of the
short upper lip, to which the moustache was clipped close--a good fit,
like his coat. The disdain was more marked this morning.