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."

"God 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 God. 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 ga