Part 8 (2/2)

Freddy Tarlton's hands were cold with excitement, and his fingers trembled so he could hardly light a cigar.

”Go on, go on, Pierre,” he said huskily.

”Trevoor said to her--he told me this himself--'Why did you not whistle for me, Norice? A word would have brought me from Europe.' 'No one could help me, no one at all,' she answered. Then Trevoor said, 'I know who did it, for he has robbed me too.' She sank in a heap on the floor. 'I could have borne it and anything for him, if he hadn't divorced me,'

she said. Then they cleared her name before the world. But where was the man? No one knew. At last Malachi, in the Rocky Mountains, heard of her trouble, for Norice wrote to him, but told him not to do the man any harm, if he ever found him--ah, a woman, a woman!... But Malachi met the man one day at Guidon Hill, and shot him in the street.”

”Fargo the sheriff!” roared half-a-dozen voices. ”Yes; he had changed his name, had come up here, and because he was clever and spent money, and had a pull on someone,--got it at cards perhaps,--he was made sheriff.”

”In G.o.d's name, why didn't Malachi speak?” said Tarlton; ”why didn't he tell me this?”

”Because he and I had our own plans. The one evidence he wanted was Norice. If she would come to him in his danger, and in spite of his killing the man, good. If not, then he would die. Well, I went to find her and fetch her. I found her. There was no way to send word, so we had to come on as fast as we could. We have come just in time.”

”Do you mean to say, Pierre, that she's here?” said Gohawk.

Pierre waved his hand emphatically. ”And so we came on with a pardon.”

Every man was on his feet, every man's tongue was loosed, and each ordered liquor for Pierre, and asked him where the girl was. Freddy Tarlton wrung his hand, and called a boy to go to his rooms and bring three bottles of wine, which he had kept for two years, to drink when he had won his first big case.

Gohawk was importunate. ”Where is the girl, Pierre?” he urged.

”Such a fool as you are, Gohawk! She is with her father.”

A half-hour later, in a large sitting-room, Freddy Tarlton was making eloquent toasts over the wine. As they all stood drinking to Pierre, the door opened from the hall-way, and Malachi stood before them. At his shoulder was a face, wistful, worn, yet with a kind of happiness too; and the eyes had depths which any man might be glad to drown his heart in.

Malachi stood still, not speaking, and an awe or awkwardness fell on the group at the table.

But Norice stepped forward a little, and said: ”May we come in?”

In an instant Freddy Tarlton was by her side, and had her by the hand, her and her father, drawing them over.

His ardent, admiring look gave Norice thought for many a day.

And that night Pierre made an accurate prophecy.

THE LAKE OF THE GREAT SLAVE

When Tybalt the tale-gatherer asked why it was so called, Pierre said: ”Because of the Great Slave;” and then paused.

Tybalt did not hurry Pierre, knowing his whims. If he wished to tell, he would in his own time; if not, nothing could draw it from him. It was nearly an hour before Pierre, eased off from the puzzle he was solving with bits of paper and obliged Tybalt. He began as if they had been speaking the moment before:

”They have said it is legend, but I know better. I have seen the records of the Company, and it is all there. I was at Fort O'Glory once, and in a box two hundred years old the factor and I found it. There were other papers, and some of them had large red seals, and a name scrawled along the end of the page.”

Pierre shook his head, as if in contented musing. He was a born story-teller. Tybalt was aching with interest, for he scented a thing of note.

”How did any of those papers, signed with a scrawl, begin?” he asked.

”'To our dearly-beloved,' or something like that,” answered Pierre.

”There were letters also. Two of them were full of harsh words, and these were signed with the scrawl.”

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