As Philip approached the cabin he saw a figure stealing away through the gloom. His first thought was that he had returned a minute too late to wreak his vengeance upon the gang-foreman in his own home, and he quickened his steps in pursuit. The man ahead of him was cutting direct for the camp supply-house, which was the nightly rendezvous of those who wished to play cards or exchange camp gossip. The supply-house, aglow with light, was not more than two hundred yards from Thorpe's, and Philip saw that if he dealt out the justice he contemplated he had not a moment to lose. He began to run, so quickly that he approached within a dozen paces of the man he was pursuing without being heard. It was not until then that he made a discovery which stopped him. The man ahead was not Thorpe. Suddenly, looking beyond him, he saw a second figure pa.s.s slowly through the lighted door of the supply-house. Even at that distance he recognized the gang-foreman. He thrust his revolver under his coat and fell a little farther behind the man he had mistaken for Thorpe so that when the latter pa.s.sed within the small circle of light that came from the supply-house windows he was fifty instead of a dozen paces away. Something in the other's manner, something strangely and potently familiar in his slim, lithe form, in the quick, half-running movement of his body, drew a sharp breath from Philip. He was on the point of calling a name, but it died on his lips. A moment more and the man pa.s.sed through the door. Philip was certain that it was Pierre Couchee who had followed Thorpe.

He was filled with a sudden fear as he ran toward the store. He had scarcely crossed the threshold when a glance showed him Thorpe leaning upon a narrow counter, and Pierre close beside him. He saw that the half-breed was speaking, and Thorpe drew himself erect. Then, as quick as a flash, two things happened. Thorpe's hand went to his belt, Pierre's sent a lightning gleam of steel back over his shoulder. The terrible drive of the knife and the explosion of Thorpe's revolver came in the same instant. Thorpe crumpled back over the counter, clutching at his breast. Pierre turned about, staggering, and saw Philip. His eyes lighted up, and with a moaning cry he stretched out his arms as Philip sprang to him. Above the sudden tumult of men's feet and excited voices he gasped out Jeanne's name. Half a dozen men had crowded about them. Through the ring burst MacDougall, a revolver in his hand. Pierce had become a dead weight in Philip's arms.

"Help me over to the cabin with him, Mac," he said. He looked around among the men. It struck him as curious, even then, that he saw none of Thorpe's gang. "Is Thorpe done for?" he asked.

"He's dead," replied some one.

With an effort Pierre opened his eyes.

"Dead!" he breathed, and in that one word there was a tremble of joy and triumph.

"Take Thorpe over to his cabin," commanded Philip, as he and MacDougall lifted Pierre between them. "I will answer for this man."

They could hear Pierre's sobbing breath as they hurried across the open. They laid him on Philip's bunk and Pierre opened his eyes again.

He looked at Philip.

"M'sieur," he whispered, "tell me--quick--if I must die!"

MacDougall had studied medicine and surgery before engineering, and took the place of camp physician. Philip drew back while he ripped open the half-breed's garments and bared his breast. Then he darted to his bunk for the satchel in which he kept his bandages and medicines, throwing off his coat as he went. Philip bent over Pierre. Blood was oozing slowly from the wounded man's right breast. Over his heart Philip noticed a blood-stained locket, fastened by a babiche string about his neck.

Pierre's hands groped eagerly for Philip's.

"M'sieur--you will tell me--if I must die?" he pleaded. "There are things you must know--about Jeanne--if I go. It will not hurt. I am not afraid. You will tell me--"

"Yes," said Philip.

He could scarcely speak, and while MacDougall was at work stood so that Pierre could not see his face. There was a sobbing note in Pierre's breath, and he knew what it meant. He had heard that same sound more than once when he had shot moose and caribou through the lungs. Five minutes later MacDougall straightened himself. He had done all that he could. Philip followed him to the back part of the room. Almost without sound his lips framed the words, "Will he die?"

"Yes," said MacDougall. "There is no hope. He may last until morning."

Philip took a stool and sat down beside Pierre. There was no fear in the wounded man's face. His eyes were clear. His voice was a little stronger.

"I will die, M'sieur," he said, calmly.

"I am afraid so, Pierre."

Pierre's damp fingers closed about his own. His eyes shone softly, and he smiled.

"It is best," he said, "and I am glad. I feel quite well. I will live for some time?"

"Perhaps for a few hours, Pierre."

"G.o.d is good to me," breathed Pierre, devoutly. "I thank Him. Are we alone?"

"Do you wish to be alone?"

"Yes."

Philip motioned to MacDougall, who went into the little office room.

"I will die," whispered Pierre, softly, as though he were achieving a triumph. "And everything would die with me, M'sieur, if I did not know that you love Jeanne, and that you will care for her when I am gone.

M'sieur, I have told you that I love her. I have worshiped her, next to my G.o.d. I die happy, knowing that I am dying for her. If I had lived I would have suffered, for I love alone. She does not dream that my love is different from hers, for I have never told her. It would have given her pain. And you will never let her know. As Our Dear Lady is my witness, M'sieur, she has loved but one man, and that man is you."

Pierre gave a great breath. A warm flood seemed suddenly to engulf Philip. Did he hear right? Could he believe? He fell upon his knees beside Pierre and brushed his dark hair back from his face.

"Yes, I love her," he said, softly. "But I did not know that she loved me."

"It is not strange," said Pierre, looking straight into his eyes. "But you will understand--now--M'sieur. I seem to have strength, and I will tell you all--from the beginning. Perhaps I have done wrong. You will know--soon. You remember Jeanne told you the story of the baby--of the woman frozen in the snow. That was the beginning of the long fight--for me. This--what I am about to tell you--will be sacred to you, M'sieur?"

"As my life," said Philip.

Pierre was silent for a few moments. He seemed to be gathering his thoughts, so that he could tell in few words the tragedy of years. Two brilliant spots burned in his cheeks, and the hand which Philip held was hot.

"Years ago--twenty, almost--there came a man to Fort o' G.o.d," he began.

"He was very young, and from the south. D'Arcambal was then middle-aged, but his wife was young and beautiful. Jeanne says that you saw her picture--against the wall. D'Arcambal worshiped her. She was his life. You understand what happened. The man from the south--the young wife--they went away together."

Pierre coughed. A bit of blood reddened his lips. Philip wiped it away gently with his handkerchief, hiding the stain from Pierre's eyes.

"Yes," he said, "I understand."

"It broke D'Arcambal's heart," resumed Pierre. "He destroyed everything that had belonged to the woman. He turned her picture to the wall. His love turned slowly to hate. It was two years later that I came over the barrens one night and found Jeanne and her dead mother. The woman, M'sieur--Jeanne's mother--was D'Arcambal's wife. She was returning to Fort o' G.o.d, and G.o.d's justice overtook her almost at its doors. I carried little Jeanne to my Indian mother, and then made ready to carry the woman to her husband. It was then that a terrible thought came to me. Jeanne was not D'Arcambal's daughter. She was a part of the man who had stolen his wife. I worshiped the little Jeanne even then, and for her sake my mother and I swore secrecy, and buried the woman. Then we took the babe to Fort o' G.o.d as a stranger. We saved her. We saved D'Arcambal. No one ever knew."

Pierre stopped for breath.

"Was it best?"

"It was glorious," said Philip, trembling.

"It would have come out right--in the end--if the father had not returned," said Pierre. "I must hurry, M'sieur, for it hurts me now to talk. He came first a year ago, and revealed himself to Jeanne. He told her everything. D'Arcambal was rich; Jeanne and I both had money. He threatened--we bought him off. We fought to keep the terrible thing from D'Arcambal. Our money sent him away for a time. Then he returned.

It was news of him I brought up the river to Jeanne--from Churchill. I offered to kill him--but Jeanne would not listen to that. But the Great G.o.d willed that I should. I killed him to-night--over there!"

A great joy surged above the grief in Philip's heart. He could not speak, but pressed Pierre's hand harder, and looked into his glistening eyes.

Pierre's next words broke his silence, and wrung a low cry from his lips.

"M'sieur, this man Thorpe--Jeanne's father--is the man whom you know as Lord Fitzhugh Lee."

He coughed violently, and with sudden fear Philip lifted his head so that it rested against his shoulder. After a moment he lowered it again. His face was as white as Pierre's after that sudden fit of coughing.

"I talked with him--alone--on the afternoon of the fight on the rock,"

continued Pierre, huskily. "He was hiding in the woods near Churchill, and left for Fort o' G.o.d on that same day. I did not tell Jeanne--until after what happened, and I came up with you on the river. Thorpe was waiting for us at Fort o' G.o.d. It was he whom Jeanne saw that night beside the rock, but I could not tell you the truth--then. He came often after that--two, three times a week. He tortured Jeanne. My G.o.d!

he taunted her, M'sieur, and made her let him kiss her, because he was her father. We gave him money--all that we could get; we promised him more, if he would leave--five thousand dollars--in three years. He agreed to go--after he had finished his work here. And that work--M'sieur--was to destroy you. He told Jeanne, because it made her fear him more. He compelled her to come to his cabin. He thought she was his slave, that she would do anything to be free of him. He told her of his plot--how he had fooled you in the sham fight with one of his men--how those men were going to attack you a little later, and how he had intercepted your letter from Churchill and sent in its place the other letter which made your camp defenseless. He was not afraid of her. She was in his power, and he laughed at her horror, and tortured her as a cat will a bird. But Jeanne--"

A spasm of pain shot over Pierre's face. Fresh blood dyed his lips, and a shiver ran through his body.

"My G.o.d!--water--something--M'sieur," he gasped. "I must go on!"

Philip raised him again in his arms. He saw MacDougall's head appear through the door.