breaks my
heart to think how I have quarreled with him and gone against his
wishes. If waiting on him day and night will ever make it up to him,
I'll do it!"

Ambrose's breast stirred a little with resentment, but he kept his
mouth shut. He understood that it was good for Colina to unburden her
breast.

"Ah, thank God I have you!" she murmured.

They heard the doctor coming, and Colina drew away. She introduced the
two men.

"Mr. Doane is my friend," she said. "He is one of us."

The doctor favored Ambrose with a glance of astonishment before making
his professional announcement. Ambrose saw the typical hanger-on of a
trading-post, a white man of Gaviller's age, careless in dress, with a
humorous, intelligent face, showing the ravages of a weak will. At
present, with the sole responsibility of an important case on his
shoulders, he looked something like the man he was meant to be.

It was no time for commonplaces.

"John is conscious," he said directly. "He is showing remarkable
resistance. There is no need for any immediate alarm. He wants to
make a statement. I made the excuse of getting pencil and paper to
come down. In a matter of such importance I think there should be
another witness."

"I will go," said Colina.

Giddings shook his head. "Your father expressly forbade it," he said.
"He wishes to spare you."

Colina made an impatient gesture, but seemed to acquiesce.

"You go," she said to Ambrose.

Giddings looked doubtful, but said nothing.

"I'm afraid the sight of me--" Ambrose began.

"I don't mean that you should go in," said Colina. "If you stand in
the doorway he cannot see you the way he lies."

Ambrose nodded and followed Giddings out.

"What is the wound?" he asked.

"Through the left lung. He will not die of the shot. I can't tell yet
what may develop."

Ambrose halted at the open door of Gaviller's room. The windows looked
out over the river, and the cooling northwest wind was wafted through.
The hospital-like bareness of the room evinced a simple taste in the
owner. The gimcracks he loved to make were all for the public rooms
below.

The head of the bed was toward the door. On the pillow Ambrose could
see the gray head, a little bald on the crown.

Giddings, after feeling his patient's pulse, sat down beside the bed
with pad and pencil.

"I'm ready to take down what you say," he said.

The wounded man said in a weak but surprisingly clear voice:

"You