chuckled. "Since you remind me of it,
Father, it is quite in form to make my will. I've bought a few little
pieces of land here. Now that the railroad has almost reached us from
Edmonton, they've jumped up from the seven or eight hundred dollars I
gave for them to about ten thousand. I want you to sell the lots and
use the money in your work. Put as much of it on the Indians as you
can. They've always been good brothers to me. And I wouldn't waste much
time in getting my signature on some sort of paper to that effect."

Father Layonne's eyes shone softly. "God will bless you for that,
Jimmy," he said, using the intimate name by which he had known him.
"And I think He is going to pardon you for something else, if you have
the courage to ask Him."

"I am pardoned," replied Kent, looking out through the window. "I feel
it. I know it, Father."

In his soul the little missioner was praying. He knew that Kent's
religion was not his religion, and he did not press the service which
he would otherwise have rendered. After a moment he rose to his feet,
and it was the old Kent who looked up into his face, the clean-faced,
gray-eyed, unafraid Kent, smiling in the old way.

"I have one big favor to ask of you, Father," he said. "If I've got a
day to live, I don't want every one forcing the fact on me that I'm
dying. If I've any friends left, I want them to come in and see me, and
talk, and crack jokes. I want to smoke my pipe. I'll appreciate a box
of cigars if you'll send 'em up. Cardigan can't object now. Will you
arrange these things for me? They'll listen to you--and please shove my
cot a little nearer the window before you go."

Father Layonne performed the service in silence. Then at last the
yearning overcame him to have the soul speak out, that his God might be
more merciful, and he said: "My boy, you are sorry? You repent that you
killed John Barkley?"

"No, I'm not sorry. It had to be done. And please don't forget the
cigars, will you, Father?"

"No, I won't forget," said the little missioner, and turned away.

As the door opened and closed behind him, the flash of humor leaped
into Kent's eyes again, and he chuckled even as he wiped another of the
telltale stains of blood from his lips. He had played the game. And the
funny part about it was that no one in all the world would ever know,
except himself--and perhaps one other.

CHAPTER II

Outside Kent's window was Spring, the glorious Spring of the Nort