Desire to-morrow night."

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

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

"There, that'll do, father," she said. "It's easy to bark at a dead
lion. Sergeant Tom's asleep, and you say things that you wouldn't say if
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 and
walked into the bar-room, followed by Pierre.

In Jen's mind a scheme had been hurriedly and clearly formed; and with
her, 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 official
envelope. It was addressed to Inspector Jules at Archangel's Rise. She
put it back and buttoned up the coat again. Then she said, with her
hands firmly clenching at her side,--"I'll do it."

She went into the adjoining room and got a quilt, which she threw over
him, and a pillow, which she put under his head. Then she took his cap
and the cloak which he had thrown over a chair, as if to carry them away.