w on his way to it again,
after many wanderings. The house had stood here in the old days, and he
remembered it very well, for against it John Marcey, the Company's man,
was shot by Stroke Laforce, of the Riders of the Plains. Looking now, he
saw that the shutter, which had been pulled off to bear the body away,
was hanging there just as he had placed it, with seven of its slats
broken and a dark stain in one corner. Something more of John Marcey
than memory attached to that shutter. His eyes dwelt on it long he
recalled the scene: a night with stars and no moon, a huge bonfire to
light the Indians, at their dance, and Marcey, Laforce, and many others
there, among whom was Lucille, the little daughter of Gyng the Factor.
Marcey and Laforce were only boys then, neither yet twenty-three, and
they were friendly rivals with the sweet little coquette, who gave her
favors with a singular impartiality and justice. Once Marcey had given
her a gold spoon. Laforce responded with a tiny, fretted silver basket.
Laforce was delighted to see her carrying her basket, till she opened
it and showed the spoon inside. There were many mock quarrels, in one
of which Marcey sent her a letter by the Company's courier, covered with
great seals, saying, "I return you the hairpin, the egg-shell, and the
white wolf's tooth. Go to your Laforce, or whatever his ridiculous name
may be."

In this way the pretty game ran on, the little goldenhaired,
golden-faced, golden-voiced child dancing so gayly in their hearts, but
nestling in them too, after her wilful fashion, until the serious thing
came--the tragedy.

On the mad night when all ended, she was in the gayest, the most
elf-like spirits. All went well until Marcey dug a hole in the ground,
put a stone in it, and, burying it, said it was Laforce's heart. Then
Laforce pretended to ventriloquise, and mocked Marcey's slight stutter.
That was the beginning of the trouble, and Lucille, like any lady of
the world, troubled at Laforce's unkindness, tried to smooth things
over--tried very gravely. But the playful rivalry of many months changed
its composition suddenly as through some delicate yet powerful chemical
action, and the savage in both men broke out suddenly. Where motives
and emotions are few they are the more vital, their action is the more
violent. No one knew quite what the two young men said to each other,
but presently, while the Indian dance was on, they drew to the side of
the house, and