r of a position in St. Louis that I can't very
well refuse. Will write you from there.

"Love and kisses.

"AGNES."

Ba'tiste slapped the reins on the horse's back.

"She is like the Judas, eh?" he asked quietly, and Houston cringed with
the realization that he had spoken the truth. Judas! A feminine
Judas, who had come to him when his guard had been lowered, who had
pretended that she believed in him, that she even loved him, that she
might wreck his every plan and hope in life. A Judas, a--

"Let's don't talk about it, Ba'tiste!" Houston's voice was hoarse,
weary. "It's a little too much to take, all in one day."

"_Tres bien_," answered the old French-Canadian, not to speak again
until they had reached his cabin and, red-faced, he had turned from the
stove to place the evening meal on the table. Then, his mouth full of
crisply fried bacon, he waved a hand and spluttered with a sudden
inspiration:

"What you do, now?"

"Queer question, isn't it?" The grim humor of it brought a smile, in
spite of the lead in Houston's heart. "What is there to do?"

"What?" Ba'tiste gulped his food, rose and waved a hand with a sudden
flash of emphasis. "Peuff! And there is ever'thin'. You have a mill."

"Such as it is."

"But eet is a mill. And eet can saw timber--enough to keep the wolf
from the door. You have yourself. Your arm, he is near' well. And
there is alway'--" he gestured profoundly--"the future. He is like a
woman, the future," he added, with a little smile. "He always look
good when he is in the far away."

The enthusiasm of the trapper found a faint echo in Houston's heart.
"I'm not whipped yet, Ba'tiste. But I'm near it. I've had some pretty
hard knocks."

"Ah, _oui_! But so have Ba'teese!" The shadows were falling, and the
old French-Canadian walked to the window. "_Oui, oui, oui_! Look."
And he pointed to the white cross, still faintly visible, like a
luminous thing, beneath the pines. "Ev' day, Ba'teese, he see that.
Ev' day, Ba'teese remember--how he work for others, how he is _L'
M'sieu Doctaire_, how he help and help and help--but how he cannot help
his own. Ev' day, Ba'teese, he live again that night in the cathedral
when he call, so, 'Pierre! Pierre!' But Pierre does not answer. Ev'
day, he remind how he come home, and how his heart, eet is cold, but
how he hope that his Julienne, she will warm eet again--to fin' that.
But does Ba'teese stop? Does Ba'teese fol' h