I rode until my horse could stumble no farther, and then I took the
saddle for a pillow and slept on the bare ground. And in the morning I
got up and rode on, seein' no house nor human being for manny and manny a
mile. When everything seemed hopeless I came suddenly upon a camp. But
I saw that there was only one man there, and I should have turned back,
but that I was worn and ill, and, moreover, I had ridden almost upon him.
But he was kind. He shared his food with me, and asked me where I was
goin'. I told him, and also that I had quarrelled with those of my party
and had left them nothing more. He seemed to wonder that I was goin' to
Pipi Valley; and when I had finished my tale he said: 'Well, I must tell
you that I am not good company for you. I have a name that doesn't pass
at par up here. To speak plain truth, troopers are looking for me, and
--strange as it may be--for a crime which I didn't commit. That is the
foolishness of the law. But for this I'm making for the American border,
beyond which, treaty or no treaty, a man gets refuge.'

"He was silent after that, lookin' at me thoughtfully the while, but in a
way that told me I might trust him, evil though he called himself. At
length he said: 'I know a good priest, Father Corraine, who has a cabin
sixty miles or more from here, and I'll guide you to him, if so be you
can trust a half-breed and a gambler, and one men call an outlaw. If
not, I'm feared it'll go hard with you; for the Cypress Hills are not
easy travel, as I've known this many a year. And should you want a name
to call me, Pretty Pierre will do, though my godfathers and godmothers
did different for me before they went to Heaven.' And nothing said he
irreverently, father."

Here the priest looked up and answered: "Yes, yes, I know him well--an
evil man, and yet he has suffered too . . . Well, well, my daughter?"