the fall I am gay, I am for the big things to do. This matter was in the
fall. I felt that I must move. Yet, what to do? There was the thing.
Cards, of course. But that's only for times, not for all seasons. So I
was like a wild dog on a chain. I had a good horse--Tophet, black as a
coal, all raw bones and joint, and a reach like a moose. His legs worked
like piston-rods. But, as I said, I did not know where to go or what to
do. So we used to sit at the Post loafing: in the daytime watching the
empty plains all panting for travellers, like a young bride waiting her
husband for the first time."

Macavoy regarded Pierre with delight. He had an unctuous spirit, and his
heart was soft for women--so soft that he never had had one on his
conscience, though he had brushed gay smiles off the lips of many. But
that was an amiable weakness in a strong man. "Aw, Pierre," he said
coaxingly, "kape it down; aisy, aisy. Me heart's goin' like a trip-hammer
at thought av it; aw yis, aw yis, Pierre."

"Well, it was like that to me--all sun and a sweet sting in the air. At
night to sit and tell tales and such things; and perhaps a little brown
brandy, a look at the stars, a half-hour with the cattle--the same old
game. Of course, there was the wife of Hilton the factor--fine, always
fine to see, but deaf and dumb. We were good friends, Ida and me. I had a
hand in her wedding. Holy, I knew her when she was a little girl. We
could talk together by signs. She was a good woman; she had never guessed
at evil. She was quick, too, like a flash, to read and understand without
words. A face was a book to her.

"Eh bien. One afternoon we were all standing outside the Post, when we
saw someone ride over the Long Divide. It was good for the eyes. I cannot
tell quite how, but horse and rider were so sharp and clear-cut against