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“They’re different, though, from this trouble of Val’s.” There was something like a fog in the old man’s throat.

“Yes, Val was quite foolish, you see. If he had killed a white man–Pretty Pierre, for instance–well, there would have been a show of arrest, but he could escape. It was an Injin. The Government cherish the Injin much in these days. The redskin must be protected. It must be shown that at Ottawa there is justice. That is droll–quite. Eh, bien! Val will not try to escape. He waits too long-near twenty-four hours. Then, it is as you see…. You have not told her?” He nodded towards the door of the sittingroom.

“Nothing. It’ll come on Jen soon enough if he doesn’t get away, and bad enough if he does, and can’t come back to us. She’s fond of him–as fond of him as a mother. Always was wiser than our Val or me, Jen was. More sense than a judge, and proud but not too proud, Pierre–not too proud. She knows the right thing to do, like the Scriptures; and she does it too…. Where did you say he was hid?”

“In the Hollow at Soldier’s Knee. He stayed too long at Moose Horn. Injins carried the news on to Fort Desire. When Val started south for the Border other Injins followed, and when a halt was made at Soldier’s Knee they pushed across country over to Fort Desire. You see, Val’s horse give out. I rode with him so far. My horse too was broke up. What was to be done? Well, I knew a ranchman not far from Soldier’s Knee. I told Val to sleep, and I would go on and get the ranchman to send him a horse, while I come on to you. Then he could push on to the Border. I saw the ranchman, and he swore to send a horse to Val to-night. He will keep his word. He knows Val. That was at noon to-day, and I am here, you see, and you know all. The danger? Ah, my friend,–the Police Barracks at Archangel’s Rise! If word is sent down there from Fort Desire before Val passes, they will have out a big patrol, and his chances,–well, you know them, the Riders of the Plains. But Val, I think will have luck, and get into Montana before they can stop him. I hope; yes.”

“If I could do anything, Pierre! Can’t we–“

The half-breed interrupted: “No, we can’t do anything, Galbraith. I have done all. The ranchman knows me. He will keep his word, by the Great Heaven!” It would seem as if Pierre had reasons for relying on the ranchman other than ordinary prairie courtesy to law-breakers.

“Pierre, tell me the whole story over, slow and plain. It don’t seem nateral to think of it; but if you go over it again, perhaps I can get the thing more reas’nable in my mind. No, it ain’t nateral to me, Pierre–our Val running away.” The old man leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands.

“Eh, well, it was an Injin. So much. It was in self-defence–a little, but of course to prove that. There is the difficulty. You see, they were all drinking, and the Injin–he was a chief—proposed–he proposed that Val should sell him his sister, Jen Galbraith, to be the chief’s squaw. He would give him a cayuse. Val’s blood came up quick–quite quick. You know Val. He said between his teeth: ‘Look out, Snow Devil, you Injin dog, or I’ll have your heart. Do you think a white girl is like a redskin woman, to be sold as you sell your wives and daughters to the squaw-men and white loafers, you reptile?’ Then the Injin said an ugly word about Val’s sister, and Val shot him dead like lightning…. Yes, that is good to swear, Galbraith. You are not the only one that curses the law in this world. It is not Justice that fills the gaols, but Law.”