"Is he your friend, Aleck?"

What was there in the eyes of Sergeant Fones that forced the reply,--
"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 Sergeant
saw, and his fingers were at his belt. He opened the door. Aleck passed
out. He followed. Two horses were tied to a post. With difficulty
Aleck was mounted. Once on the way his brain began slowly to clear, but
he grew painfully cold. It was a bitter night. How bitter it might have
been for the ne'er-do-weel let the words of Idaho Jack, spoken in a long
hour's talk next day with Old Brown Windsor, show. "Pretty Pierre, after
the two were gone, said, with a shiver of curses,--'Another hour and it
would have been done, and no one to blame. He was ready for trouble.
His money was nearly finished. A little quarrel easily made, the door
would open, and he would pass out. His horse would be gone, he could not
come back; he would walk. The air is cold, quite, quite cold; and the
snow is a soft bed. He would sleep well and sound, having seen Pretty
Pierre for the 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 were
not going towards the barracks. He said: "Why do you arrest me?"

The Sergeant replied: "You will know that soon enough. You are now going