till now."

"What could I have done then?"

"You might have left it to me. I am not so pious that I can't be
merciful to the sinner. But this man--this Brickney--was a vile
scoundrel always, and I wanted him locked up. I would have shot him
myself, but I was tired of doing the duty of the law. Yes, yes," he
added, as he saw her smile a little. "It is so. I have love for justice,
even I, Pretty Pierre. Why not justice on myself? Ha! The law does not
its duty. And maybe some day I shall have to do its work on myself. Some
are coaxed out of life, some are kicked out, and some open the doors
quietly for themselves, and go a-hunting Outside."

"They used to talk as if one ought to fear you," she said, "but"--she
looked him straight in the eyes--"but maybe that's because you've never
hid any badness."

"It is no matter, anyhow," he answered. "I live in the open, I walk in
the open road, and I stand by what I do to the open law and the gospel.
It is my whim--every man to his own saddle."

"It is ten years," she said abruptly.

"Ten years less five days," he answered as sententiously.

"Come inside," she said quietly, and turned to the door.

Without a word he turned also, but instead of going direct to the door
came and touched the broken shutter and the dark stain on one corner
with a delicate forefinger. Out of the corner of his eye he could see
her on the doorstep, looking intently.

He spoke as if to himself: "It has not been touched since then--no.
It was hardly big enough for him, so his legs hung over. Ah, yes, ten
years--Abroad, John Marcey!" Then, as if still musing, he turned to the
girl: "He had no father or mother--no one, of course; so that it wasn't
so bad after all. If you've lived with the tongue in the last hole of
the buckle as you've gone, what matter when you go! C'est egal--it is
all the same."

Her face had become pale as he spoke, but no muscle stirred; only her
eyes filled with a deeper color, and her hand closed tightly on the
door-jamb. "Come in, Pierre," she said, and entered. He followed her.
"My mother is at the Fort," she added, "but she will be back soon."

She placed two chairs not far from the open door. They sat, and Pierre
slowly rolled a cigarette and lighted it.

"How long have you lived here?" he asked presently.

"It is seven years since we came first," she replied. "After that night
they said the place was haunted, and no one would live in it, but when
my father died my m