ight on his face. The others turned to
see what sight had drawn his eyes. In the opening, all splendid with
the golden sunlight, stood Necia and Poleon Doret, who had her by the
hand--and she was smiling!

Gale uttered a great cry and went to meet them, but the soldier could
move nothing save his lips, and stood dazed and disbelieving. He saw
them dimly coming towards him, and heard Poleon's voice as if at a
great distance, saw that the Frenchman's eyes were upon him, and that
his words were directed to him.

"I bring her back to you, M'sieu'!"

Doret laid Necia's hand in that of her lover, and Burrell saw her
smiling shyly up at him. Something gripped him chokingly, and he could
utter no sound. There was nothing to say-she was here, safe, smiling,
that was all. And the girl, beholding the glory in his eyes, understood.

Gale caught her away from him then, and buried her in his arms.

A woman came running into the store, and, seeing the group, paused at
the door--a shapeless, silent, shawled figure in silhouette against the
day. The trader brought the girl to her foster-mother, who began to
talk in her own tongue with a rapidity none of them had ever heard
before, her voice as tender as some wild bird's song; then the two
women went away together around the store into the house. Poleon had
told Necia all the amazing story that had come to him that direful
night, all that he had overheard, all that he knew, and much that he
guessed.

The priest came into the store shortly, and the men fell upon him for
information, for nothing was to be gained from Poleon, who seemed
strangely fagged and weary, and who had said but little.

"Yes, yes, yes!" laughed Father Barnum. "I'll tell you all I know, of
course, but first I must meet Lieutenant Burrell and take him by the
hand."

The story did not lose in his telling, particularly when he came to
describe the fight on the gravel bar which no man had seen, and of
which Poleon had told him little; but the good priest was of a militant
turn, and his blue eyes glittered and flashed like an old crusader's.

"It was a wondrous combat," he declared, with all the spirit of a
spectator, "for Poleon advanced bare-handed and beat him down even as
the man fired into his face. It is due to the goodness and mercy of God
that he was spared a single wound from this desperado--a miracle
vouchsafed because of his clean heart and his righteous cause."

"But where is Runnion?" broke in Burr