look at me!"

He rose to his feet again and walked to and fro; he went once more to the
doors; he looked here and there through the growing dusk, but to no
purpose. She had said that she would not go to her shop this night; but
if not, then where could she have gone and Ikni, too? He felt there was
more awry in his life than he cared to put into thought or speech. He
picked up the sewing she had dropped and looked at it as one would regard
a relic of the dead; he lifted her handkerchief, kissed it, and put it in
his breast. He took a revolver from his pocket and examined it closely,
looked round the room as though to fasten it in his memory, and then
passed out, closing the door behind him. He walked down the hillside and
went to her shop in the one street of the town, but she was not there,
nor had the lad in charge seen her.

Meanwhile, Pretty Pierre had made his way to the Saints' Repose, and was
sitting among the miners indolently smoking. In vain he was asked to
play cards. His one reply was, "No, pardon, no! I play one game only
to-night, the biggest game ever played in Pipi Valley." In vain, also,
was he asked to drink. He refused the hospitality, defying the danger
that such lack of good-fellowship might bring forth. He hummed in
patches to himself the words of a song that the 'brules' were wont to
sing when they hunted the buffalo:

"'Voila!' it is the sport to ride--
Ah, ah the brave hunter!

To thrust the arrow in his hide,
To send the bullet through his side
'Ici,' the buffalo, 'joli!'