rong too, had put in danger the life of the man
she loved, to save his son; she herself in doing this deed for her lover
had placed her brother in jeopardy, had crossed swords with her father's
purposes, had done the one thing that stood between that father's son
and safety; Pretty Pierre, whom she hated and despised, and thought
to be the enemy of her brother and of her home, had proved himself a
friend; and behind it all was the brother's crime committed to avenge an
insult to her name.

But such is life. Men and women are unwittingly their own executioners,
and the executioners of those they love.

V

An hour passed, and then Galbraith and Pierre appeared. Jen noticed
that her father went over to Sergeant Tom and rather anxiously felt his
pulse. Once in the night the old man had come down and done the same
thing. Pierre said something in an undertone. Did they think he was ill?
That was Jon's thought. She watched them closely; but the half-breed
knew that she was watching, and the two said nothing more to each other.
But Pierre said, in a careless way: "It is good he have that sleep. He
was played out, quite."

Jon replied, a secret triumph at her heart: "But what about his orders,
the papers he was to carry to Archangel's Rise? What about his being
back at Fort Desire in the time given him?"

"It is not much matter about the papers. The poor devil that Inspector
Jules would arrest--well, he will get off, perhaps, but that does no
one harm. Eh, Galbraith? The law is sometimes unkind. And as for obeying
orders, why, the prairie is wide, it is a hard ride, horses go wrong;--a
little tale of trouble to Inspector Jules, another at Fort Desire, and
who is to know except Pete Galbraith, Jen Galbraith, and Pierre? Poor
Sergeant Tom. It was good he sleep so."

Jen felt there was irony behind the smooth words of the gambler. He had
a habit of saying things, as they express it in that country, between
his teeth. That signifies what is animal-like and cruel. Galbraith stood
silent during Pierre's remarks, but, when he had finished, said:

"Yes, it's all right if he doesn't sleep too long; but there's the
trouble--too long!"

Pierre frowned a warning, and then added, with unconcern: "I remember
when you sleep thirty hours, Galbraith--after the prairie fire, three
years ago, eh!"

"Well, that's so; that's so as you say it. We'll let him sleep till
noon, or longer--or longer, won't we, Pierre?"

"Yes, till noon is g