almly, even as he felt her shiver in pain
against him. "To-night there was a little trouble down in the camp,
dear. Pierre is wounded, and wants you to come to him.
Thorpe--is--dead."

For an instant Philip was frightened at what happened. Jeanne's breath
ceased. There seemed to be not a quiver of life in her body, and she
lay in his arms as if dead. And then, suddenly, there came from her a
terrible cry, and she wrenched herself free, and stood a step from him,
her face as white as death.

"He--is--dead--"

"Yes, he is dead."

"And Pierre--Pierre killed him?"

Philip held out his arms, but Jeanne did not seem to see them. She saw
the answer in his face.

"And--Pierre--is--hurt--" she went on, never taking her wide, luminous
eyes from his face.

Before he answered Philip took her trembling hands in his own, as
though he would lighten the blow by the warmth and touch of his great
love.

"Yes, he is hurt, Jeanne," he said. "We must hurry, for I am afraid
there is no time to lose."

"He is--dying?"

"I fear so, Jeanne."

He turned before the look that came into her face, and led her about
the circle of fire to the side of the mountain that sloped down into
the plain. Suddenly Jeanne stopped for an instant. Her fingers
tightened about his. Her face was turned back into the endless
desolation of night and forest that lay to the south and west. Far
out--a mile--two miles--an answering fire was breaking the black
curtain that hid all things beyond them. Jeanne lifted her face to him.
Grief and love, pain and joy, shone in her eyes.

"They are there!" she said, chokingly. "It is Sachigo, and they are
coming--coming--coming--"

Once again before they began the descent of the mountain Philip drew
her close in his arms, and kissed her. And this time there was the
sweet surrender to him of all things in the tenderness of Jeanne's
lips. Silent in their grief, and yet communing in sympathy and love in
the firm clasp of their hands, they came down the mountain, through the
thin spruce forest, and to the lighted cabin where Pierre lay dying.
MacDougall was in the room when they entered, and rose softly,
tiptoeing into the little office. Philip led Jeanne to Pierre's side,
and as he bent over him, and spoke softly, the half-breed opened his
eyes. He saw Jeanne. Into his fading eyes there came a wonderful light.
His lips moved, and his hands strove to lift themselves above the
crumpled blanket. Jeanne dropped upon her