town was afoot, and he had earned a halter for his pains. He was by no
means certain that he could kill this champion and carry off the girl.
Moreover, he did not want Iberville's life, for such devils have their
likes and dislikes, and he had fancied the chivalrous youngster from the
first. But he doubted only for an instant. What was such a lad's life
compared with his revenge? It was madness, as he knew, for a shot would
guide the pursuit: none the less, did he draw a pistol from his belt and
fire. The bullet grazed the lad's temple, carrying away a bit of his
hair. Iberville staggered forwards, so weak was he from loss of blood,
and, with a deep instinct of protection and preservation, fell at
Jessica's feet. There was a sound of footsteps and crackling of brush.
Bucklaw stooped to pick up his prey, but a man burst on him from the
trees. He saw that the game was up and he half raised his knife, but
that was only the mad rage of the instant. His revenge did not comprise
so unheard-of a crime. He thought he had killed Iberville: that was
enough. He sprang away towards the spot where his comrades awaited him.
Escape was his sole ambition now. The new-comer ran forwards, and saw
the boy and girl lying as they were dead. A swift glance at Iberville,
and he slung his musket shoulderwards and fired at the retreating figure.
It was a chance shot, for the light was bad and Bucklaw was already
indistinct.

Now the man dropped on his knee and felt Iberville's heart. "Alive!" he
said. "Alive, thank the mother of God! Mon brave! It is ever the same
--the great father, the great son."

As he withdrew his hand it brushed against the slipper. He took it out,
glanced at it, and turned to the cloaked figure. He undid the cloak and
saw Jessica's pale face. He shook his head. "Always the same," he said,
"always the same: for a king, for a friend, for a woman! That is the Le