away. I'd a-been a better man if she'd a-lived, Jen; and a better
father."

This was an unusual demonstration between these two. She watched him
sadly for a moment, and then, leaning over and touching him gently on the
shoulder, said: "It's worse for you than it is for me, father. Don't
feel so bad. Perhaps we shall save him yet."

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

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

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

"I go to-morrow morning, Galbraith," he said. The old man nodded, but
did 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 dark
night."

"Pierre, do you mean that?"

"As much as Sergeant Tom means what he says. Every man has his friends.