's all. You're not keepin'
a grudge agin me, my girl?"

She did not move nor turn her head. "I've no grudge, father; but--if--if
you had told me, 'twouldn't be on my mind that I had made it worse for
Val."

The kindness in the voice reassured him, and he ventured to say: "I
didn't think you'd be carin' for one of the Riders of the Plains, Jen."

Then the old man trembled lest she should resent his words. She seemed
about to do so, but the flush faded from her brow, and she said, simply:
"I care for Val most, father. But he didn't know he was getting Val into
trouble."

She suddenly quivered as a wave of emotion passed through her; and she
said, with a sob in her voice: "Oh, it's all scrub country, father, and
no paths, and--and I wish I had a mother!"

The old man sat down in the doorway and bowed his grey head in his arms.
Then, after a moment, he whispered:

"She's been dead twenty-two years, Jen. The day Val was born she went
away. I'd a-been a better man if she'd a-lived, Jen; and a better
father."

This was an unusual demonstration between these two. She watched him
sadly for a moment, and then, leaning over and touching him gently on
the shoulder, said: "It's worse for you than it is for me, father. Don't
feel so bad. Perhaps we shall save him yet."

He caught a gleam of hope in her words: "Mebbe, Jen, mebbe!" and he
raised his face to the light.

This ritual of affection was crude and unadorned; but it was real. They
sat there for half-an-hour, silent.

Then a figure came out of the shadows behind the house and stood before
them. It was Pierre.

"I go to-morrow morning, Galbraith," he said. The old man nodded, but
did not reply.

"I go to Fort Desire," the gambler added.

Jen faced him. "What do you go there for, Pretty Pierre?"

"It is my whim. Besides, there is Val. He might want a horse some dark
night."

"Pierre, do you mean that?"

"As much as Sergeant Tom means what he says. Every man has his friends.
Pretty Pierre has a fancy for Val Galbraith--a little. It suits him to
go to Fort Desire. Jen Galbraith, you make a grand ride last night. You
do a bold thing--all for a man. We shall see what he will do for you.
And if he does nothing--ah! you can trust the tongue of Pretty Pierre.
He will wish he could die, instead of--Eh, bien, good-night!" He moved
away. Jen followed him. She held out her hand. It was the first time she
had ever done so to this man.

"I believe you," she said. "I be