mbling visibly now, her face white and sick, watched Drennen
wordlessly. She had seen everything; she had marked how Sefton lay
where Max's and Drennen's bullets had found him; she had seen Kootanie
George drop; she had seen Ernestine crouching over him; she had seen
and had read the writing in the old man's face. Now her eyes were upon
Drennen. And he did not see her.

"Dad," he said, a queer catch in his voice. "Dad. . . ."

The old man's stern eyes softened; a smile fought hard for its place
upon his lips and in the end drove away for a little the pain there.
There was just a flutter of his fingers as they sought to tighten about
his son's.

"Davie," he whispered faintly.

Then he lay still, an iron will holding what little strength lay in
him. David sought the wound and found . . . three. A harsh sob broke
from him when he read the meaning that the three bleeding wounds
spelled. He had seen men with their mortal wounds before. He knew
that he might stop the outward flow of blood a little; that perhaps his
father might live to see the sun come up. But he knew, and his father
knew, that at last John Harper Drennen, good man or bad, was at last
going to his reckoning.

Ygerne Bellaire, while she and Marshall Sothern had nursed David
Drennen, had seen hourly all of the courtly, knightly gentleness and
tenderness which was one side of the old man. Now she came swiftly to
the edge of the bearskin. She, too, went down upon her knees at
Sothern's side, just opposite Drennen. Her hands did not tremble as
they grew red with the spurting blood. She said nothing, but she
helped Drennen, who, having looked at her once with terrible eyes, made
no protest. Together they made bandages and sought to do what they
could, Ygerne fastening the knots while Drennen lifted the prone body.
When they had done the old man thanked them both silently, equally,
with his eyes.

So Lieutenant Max found them when, driving Lemarc before him, he came
into the room. The officer's face, as hard as rock, softened
wonderfully as he cried out and came quickly to Marshall Sothern's side.

"Mr. Sothern!" he said harshly. "He got you . . . my God!"

"It saves you a nasty job, my boy," Sothern said gently. "And me much
unhappiness. I'm old, Max, and I'm tired and my work's done. I'm
glad, glad to go. . . ."

For a little he was silent, exhausted, his eyes closed. Then, the
smile seeming to come more easily to the white lips, his