der Blake, had
met a quick finish at the hands of Sachigo and his ambushed braves. His
men left for their cabins, with the exception of Cassidy, whom he asked
to spend the remainder of the night in one of the office bunks. Alone
he went in to prepare Pierre for his last journey to Fort o' God.

A lamp was burning low beside the bunk in which Pierre lay. Philip
approached and turned the wick higher, and then he gazed in wonder upon
the transfiguration in the half-breed's face. Pierre had died with a
smile on his lips; and with a curious thickening in his throat Philip
thought that those lips, even in death, were craved in the act of
whispering Jeanne's name. It seemed to him, as he stood in silence for
many moments, that Pierre was not dead, but that he was sleeping a
quiet, unbreathing sleep, in which there came to him visions of the
great love for which he had offered up his life and his soul. Jeanne's
hands, in his last moments, had stilled all pain. Peace slumbered in
the pale shadows of his closed eyes. The Great God of his faith had
come to him in his hour of greatest need on earth, and he had passed
away into the Valley of Silent Men on the sweet breath of Jeanne's
prayers. The girl had crossed his hands upon his breast. She had
brushed back his long hair. Philip knew that she had imprinted a kiss
upon the silent lips before the soul had fled, and in the warmth and
knowledge of that kiss Pierre had died happy.

And Philip, brokenly, said aloud:

"God bless you, Pierre, old man!"

He lifted the cold hands back, and gently drew the covers which had
hidden the telltale stains of death from Jeanne's eyes. He turned down
Pierre's shirt, and in the lamp-glow there glistened the golden locket.
For the first time he noticed it closely. It was half as large as the
palm of his hand, and very thin, and he saw that it was bent and
twisted. A shudder ran through him when he understood what had
happened. The bullet that had killed Pierre had first struck the
locket, and had burst it partly open. He took it in his hand. And then
he saw that through the broken side there protruded the end of a bit of
paper. For a brief space the discovery made him almost forget the
presence of death. Pierre had never opened the locket, because it was
of the old-fashioned kind that locked with a key, and the key was gone.
And the locket had been about Jeanne's neck when he found her out in
the snows! Was it possible that this bit of paper had