going would be according to barrack-rule instead
of the freedom allowed a sergeant in charge of an outpost like Pend
d' Oreille--I knew that much of the Mounted Police style of doing
business. And so far as my tackling single-handed a search for Hank
Rowan's _cache_--well, I decided to see Lyn before I took that
contract.

I hated that, too. It always went against my grain to be a bearer of ill
tidings. I hate to make a woman cry, especially one I like. Some one had
to tell her, though, and, much as I disliked the mission, I felt that I
ought not to hang back and let some stranger blurt it out. So I nailed
the first trooper I saw, and had him show me the domicile of Mrs.
Stone--who, I learned, was the wife of Lessard's favorite captain--and
thither I rambled, wishing mightily for a good stiff jolt out of the keg
that Piegan Smith and Mac had clashed over. But if there was any bottled
nerve-restorer around Fort Walsh it was tucked away in the officers'
cellars, and not for the benefit of the common herd; so I had to fall
back on a cigarette.

Lyn was sitting out in front when I reached the place. Another female
person, whom I put down as Madam Stone, arose and disappeared through
an open door at my approach. Lyn motioned me to a camp-stool close by. I
sat down, and immediately my tongue became petrified. My think-machinery
was running at a dizzy speed, but words--if silence is truly golden, I
was the richest man in Fort Walsh that afternoon, for a few minutes, at
least. And when my vocal organs did at last consent to fulfil their
natural office, they refused to deliver anything but empty commonplaces,
the kind one's tongue carries in stock for occasional moments of barren
speech. These oral inanities only served to make Lyn give me the benefit
of a look of amused wonder.

"Dear me," she laughed at last. "I wonder what weighty matter is
crushing you to the earth. If you've got anything on your conscience,
Sarge, for goodness' sake confess. I'll give you absolution, if you
like, and then perhaps you'll be a little more cheerful."

"No, there's nothing particular weighing me down," I lied flatly.
"Anyway, I don't aim to unload my personal troubles on you. I came over
here to acquire a little information. How came you away up here by your
lonesome, and what brought your father and old Hans----"

Her purple-shaded eyes widened, each one a question-mark.

"Who told you that Hans was up North? I know I didn't mention him,