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What did it mean?

Private Gellatly was cousin to Idaho Jack, and Idaho Jack disliked Pretty Pierre, though he had been one of the gang. The cousins had seen each other lately, and Private Gellatly had had a talk with the man who was ha’sh. It may be that others besides Pierre had an idea of what it meant.

In the house at Pardon’s Drive the next night sat eight men, of whom three were Pretty Pierre, Young Aleck, and Idaho Jack. Young Aleck’s face was flushed with bad liquor and the worse excitement of play. This was one of the unreckoned forces. Was this the man that sang the tender song under the stars last night? Pretty Pierre’s face was less pretty than usual; the cheeks were pallid, the eyes were hard and cold. Once he looked at his partner as if to say, “Not yet.” Idaho Jack saw the look; he glanced at his watch; it was eleven o’clock. At that moment the door opened, and Sergeant Fones entered. All started to their feet, most with curses on their lips; but Sergeant Fones never seemed to hear anything that could make a feature of his face alter. Pierre’s hand was on his hip, as if feeling for something. Sergeant Fones saw that; but he walked to where Aleck stood, with his unplayed cards still in his hand, and, laying a hand on his shoulder, said, “Come with me.”

“Why should I go with you?”–this with a drunken man’s bravado.

“You are my prisoner.”

Pierre stepped forward. “What is his crime?” he exclaimed.

“How does that concern you, Pretty Pierre?”

“He is my friend.”

“Is he your friend, Aleck?”

What was there in the eyes of Sergeant Fones that forced the reply,–“To-night, yes; to-morrow, no.”

“Exactly. It is near to-morrow; come.”

Aleck was led towards the door. Once more Pierre’s hand went to his hip; but he was looking at the prisoner, not at the Sergeant. The Sergeant saw, and his fingers were at his belt. He opened the door. Aleck passed out. He followed. Two horses were tied to a post. With difficulty Aleck was mounted. Once on the way his brain began slowly to clear, but he grew painfully cold. It was a bitter night. How bitter it might have been for the ne’er-do-weel let the words of Idaho Jack, spoken in a long hour’s talk next day with Old Brown Windsor, show. “Pretty Pierre, after the two were gone, said, with a shiver of curses,–‘Another hour and it would have been done, and no one to blame. He was ready for trouble. His money was nearly finished. A little quarrel easily made, the door would open, and he would pass out. His horse would be gone, he could not come back; he would walk. The air is cold, quite, quite cold; and the snow is a soft bed. He would sleep well and sound, having seen Pretty Pierre for the last time. And now–‘ The rest was French and furtive.”

From that hour Idaho Jack and Pretty Pierre parted company.

Riding from Pardon’s Drive, Young Aleck noticed at last that they were not going towards the barracks. He said: “Why do you arrest me?”

The Sergeant replied: “You will know that soon enough. You are now going to your own home. Tomorrow you will keep your word and go to David Humphrey’s place; the next day I will come for you. Which do you choose: to ride with me to-night to the barracks and know why you are arrested, or go, unknowing, as I bid you, and keep your word with the girl?”

Through Aleck’s fevered brain, there ran the words of the song he sang before–

“Out from your vineland come
Into the prairies wild;
Here will we make our home,
Father, mother, and child.”

He could have but one answer.

At the door of his home the Sergeant left him with the words, “Remember you are on parole.”