ood, or longer."

"But he shall not sleep longer if I can wake him," said Jen. "You do not
think of the trouble all this sleeping may make for him."

"But then--but then, there is the trouble he will make for others, if he
wakes. Think. A poor devil trying to escape the law!"

"But we have nothing to do with that, and justice is justice, Pierre."

"Eh, well, perhaps, perhaps!" Galbraith was silent.

Jen felt that so far as Sergeant Tom's papers were concerned he was
safe; but she felt also that by noon he ought to be on his way back to
Fort Desire--after she had told him what she had done. She was anxious
for his honour. That her lover shall appear well before the world, is a
thing deep in the heart of every woman. It is a pride for which she will
deny herself, even of the presence of that lover.

"Till noon," Jen said, "and then he must go."

VI

Jen watched to see if her father or Pierre would notice that the horse
was changed, had been travelled during the night, or that it was a
different one altogether. As the morning wore away she saw that they
did not notice the fact. This ignorance was perhaps owing largely to the
appearance of several ranchmen from near the American border. They spent
their time in the bar-room, and when they left it was nearly noon.
Still Sergeant Tom slept. Jen now went to him and tried to wake him.
She lifted him to a sitting position, but his head fell on her shoulder.
Disheartened, she laid him down again. But now at last an undefined
suspicion began to take possession of her. It made her uneasy; it filled
her with a vague sense of alarm. Was this sleep natural? She remembered
that, when her father and others had slept so long after the prairie
fire, she had waked them once to give them drink and a little food, and
they did not breathe so heavily as he was doing. Yet what could be done?
What was the matter? There was not a doctor nearer than a hundred miles.
She thought of bleeding,--the old-fashioned remedy still used on the
prairies--but she decided to wait a little. Somehow she felt that she
would receive no help from her father or Pierre. Had they anything to
do with this sleep? Was it connected with the papers? No, not that,
for they had not sought to take them, and had not made any remark about
their being gone. This showed their unconcern on that point. She
could not fathom the mystery, but the suspicion of something irregular
deepened. Her father could have no reason for