er.

"Yes, harsh you mean, Old Brown Windsor,--quite harsh," said Pierre.

Alexander Windsor, storekeeper and general dealer, was sometimes called
"Old Brown Windsor" and sometimes "Old Aleck," to distinguish him from
his son, who was known as "Young Aleck."

As the old man walked back again to the stove to warm his hands, Young
Aleck continued: "He does his duty, that's all. If he doesn't wear kid
gloves while at it, it's his choice. He doesn't go beyond his duty. You
can bank on that. It would be hard to exceed that way out here."

"True, Young Aleck, so true; but then he wears gloves of iron, of ice.
That is not good. Sometime the glove will be too hard and cold on
a man's shoulder, and then!--Well, I should like to be there," said
Pierre, showing his white teeth.

Old Aleck shivered, and held his fingers where the stove was red hot.

The young man did not hear this speech; from the window he was watching
Sergeant Fones as he rode towards the Big Divide. Presently he said:
"He's going towards Humphrey's place. I--" He stopped, bent his brows,
caught one corner of his slight moustache between his teeth, and did not
stir a muscle until the Sergeant had passed over the Divide.

Old Aleck was meanwhile dilating upon his theme before a passive
listener. But Pierre was only passive outwardly. Besides hearkening
to the father's complaints he was closely watching the son. Pierre
was clever, and a good actor. He had learned the power of reserve and
outward immobility. The Indian in him helped him there. He had heard
what Young Aleck had just muttered; but to the man of the cold fingers
he said: "You keep good whisky in spite of the law and the iron glove,
Old Aleck." To the young man: "And you can drink it so free, eh, Young
Aleck?"

The half-breed looked out of the corners of his eyes at the young
man, but he did not raise the peak of his fur cap in doing so, and his
glances askance were not seen.

Young Aleck had been writing something with his finger-nail on the
frost of the pane, over and over again. When Pierre spoke to him thus
he scratched out the word he had written, with what seemed unnecessary
force. But in one corner it remained:

"Mab--"

Pierre added: "That is what they say at Humphrey's ranch."

"Who says that at Humphrey's?--Pierre, you lie!" was the sharp and
threatening reply. The significance of this last statement had
been often attested on the prairies by the piercing emphasis of a
six-chamb