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Sergeant Tom slept deeply and soundly. He had not stirred. His breathing was unnaturally heavy, Jen thought, but, no suspicion of foul play came to her mind yet. Why should it? She gave herself up to a sweet and simple sense of pride in the deed she had done for him, disturbed but slightly by the chances of discovery, and the remembrance of the match that showed her face at Archangel’s Rise. Her hands touched the flaxen hair of the soldier, and her eyes grew luminous. One night had stirred all her soul to its depths. A new woman had been born in her. Val was dear to her–her brother Val; but she realised now that another had come who would occupy a place that neither father, nor brother, nor any other could fill. Yet it was a most weird set of tragic circumstances. This man before her had been set to do a task which might deprive her brother of his life, certainly of his freedom; that would disgrace him; her father had done a great wrong 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 good, or longer.”

“But he shall not sleep longer if I can wake him,” said Jen. “You do not think of the trouble all this sleeping may make for him.”

“But then–but then, there is the trouble he will make for others, if he wakes. Think. A poor devil trying to escape the law!”