ould come to me and wonder what the end would be.

One day, when the strain had been more terrible than usual, The Duke
rode down to me and said:

"Look here, this thing can't go on. Where is The Pilot gone? Why doesn't
he stay where he belongs? I wish to Heaven he would get through with his
absurd rambling."

"He's gone where he was sent," I replied shortly. "You don't set much
store by him when he does come round. He is gone on an exploring trip
through the Dog Lake country. He'll be back by the end of next week."

"I say, bring him up, for Heaven's sake," said The Duke, "he may be of
some use, and anyway it will be a new face for her, poor child." Then he
added, rather penitently: "I fear this thing is getting on to my nerves.
She almost drove me out to-day. Don't lay it up against me, old chap."

It was a new thing to hear The Duke confess his need of any man, much
less penitence for a fault. I felt my eyes growing dim, but I said,
roughly:

"You be hanged! I'll bring The Pilot up when he comes."

It was wonderful how we had all come to confide in The Pilot during
his year of missionary work among us. Somehow the cowboy's name of "Sky
Pilot" seemed to express better than anything else the place he held
with us. Certain it is, that when, in their dark hours, any of the
fellows felt in need of help to strike the "upward trail," they went to
The Pilot; and so the name first given in chaff came to be the name
that expressed most truly the deep and tender feeling these rough,
big-hearted men cherished for him. When The Pilot came home I carefully
prepared him for his trial, telling all that Gwen had suffered and
striving to make him feel how desperate was her case when even The Duke
had to confess himself beaten. He did not seem sufficiently impressed.
Then I pictured for him all her fierce wilfulness and her fretful
humors, her impatience with those who loved her and were wearing out
their souls and bodies for her. "In short," I concluded, "she doesn't
care a rush for anything in heaven or earth, and will yield to neither
man nor God."

The Pilot's eyes had been kindling as I talked, but he only answered,
quietly:

"What could you expect?"

"Well, I do think she might show some signs of gratitude and some
gentleness towards those ready to die for her."

"Oh, you do!" said he, with high scorn. "You all combine to ruin her
temper and disposition with foolish flattery and weak yielding to her
whims, right or