bent over Aldous, and
whispered hoarsely:

"Johnny, I had a most cur'ous word with Rann--or FitzHugh--afore he died!
He wasn't dead when I went to him. But he knew he was dyin'; an' Johnny, he
was smilin' an' cool to the end. I wanted to ask 'im a question, Johnny. I
was dead cur'ous to know _why the grave were empty!_ But he asked for
Joanne, an' I couldn't break in on his last breath. I brought her. The
first thing he asked her was how people had took it when they found out
he'd poisoned his father! When Joanne told him no one had ever thought he'd
killed his father, FitzHugh sat leanin' against the saddles for a minit so
white an' still I thought he 'ad died with his eyes open. Then it came out,
Johnny. He was smilin' as he told it. He killed his father with poison to
get his money. Later he came to America. He didn't have time to tell us how
he come to think they'd discovered his crime. He was dyin' as he talked. It
came out sort o' slobberingly, Johnny. He thought they'd found 'im out. He
changed his name, an' sent out the report that Mortimer FitzHugh had died
in the mount'ins. But Johnny, he died afore I could ask him about the
grave!"

There was a final note of disappointment in old Donald's voice that was
almost pathetic.

"It was such a cur'ous grave," he said. "An' the clothes were laid out so
prim an' nice."

Aldous laid his hand on MacDonald's.

"It's easy, Mac," he said, and he wanted to laugh at the disappointment
that was still in the other's face. "Don't you see? He never expected any
one to dig _into_ the grave. And he put the clothes and the watch and the
ring in there to get rid of them. They might have revealed his identity.
Why, Donald----"

Joanne was coming to them again. She laid a cool hand on his forehead and
held up a warning finger to MacDonald.

"Hush!" she said gently, "Your head is very hot, dear, and there must be
no more talking. You must lie down and sleep. Tell John good-night,
Donald!"

Like a boy MacDonald did as she told him, and disappeared through the cabin
door. Joanne levelled the pillows and lowered John's head.

"I can't sleep, Joanne," he protested.

"I will sit here close at your side and stroke your face and hair," she
said gently.

"And you will talk to me?"

"No, I must not talk. But, John----"

"Yes, dear."

"If you will promise to be very, very quiet, and let me be very quiet----"

"Yes."

"I will make you a pillow of my hair."

"I--will be quie