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He would have sworn on his life that Black Roger had never gone at a killing more deliberately than this same Jeanne Marie-Anne Boulain had gone after him behind the rock! Now that it was all over, and he was alive, she was taking him somewhere as coolly and as unexcitedly as though they were returning from a picnic. Carrigan shut his eyes tighter and wondered if he was thinking straight.
He wore the mud-caked lace boots and stained khaki, as did Carrigan, in which he had departed from camp. "Well, we haven't quit breathing yet," Pat remarked, licking the wrapper on the cigar he was about to light. Lee sat silent for several minutes. "Anyway, I'll see you don't lose, Pat," he said.
That was the odd thought that came to Carrigan as he lay half on his face, his fingers slowly and cautiously working a loophole between his shoulder-pack and the rock. They were love days all up and down the big rivers, where men and women sang for joy, and children played, forgetful of the long, hard days of winter.
The snow had resumed its thick, silent fall straight to earth. Carrigan was kicking his boots clean against the door-sill when Lee exclaimed, "Listen to that, Pat!" Carrigan wiped the moisture from his ears and harkened. "That's the Limited coming, and making no stops," he remarked. "Get in!" They entered the little building. The office contained the engineering staff and several others.
Don't, eh? Neither do I. He knows, or ought to know, you're through. And besides, I'll want to discuss construction matters with him when you and I are done." "Perhaps Bryant can yet secure a loan somewhere," the contractor remarked, mildly. "From Menocal, possibly," Gretzinger suggested, cocking his eyebrows at Carrigan with mock enthusiasm.
The sister of Fanchet, the mail robber, was beautiful, but her beauty had failed to save Fanchet. The Law had taken him in spite of the tears in Carmin Fanchet's big black eyes, and in that particular instance he was the Law. And Carmin Fanchet was pretty deucedly pretty. Even the Old Man's heart had been stirred by her loveliness. "A shame!" he had said to Carrigan. "A shame!"
But no land-grabbers, no one except ourselves, ever knew that Rosie Carrigan did not establish residence at ten minutes before midnight. Not long after this, a rough-looking stranger rode up to an old man's shack and took some papers out of his pocket. "There's some mistake here, pardner," he said. "Looks like you're on the wrong quarter.
She drew back, turning to the door. "He is coming to see you alone," she said, a little broken note in her throat. "And I pray God you will see with clear understanding, David Carrigan and forgive me as I have forgiven you for a thing that happened long ago." He waited.
Pierre and the criminal he was after, but not this, and Roger Audemard, with his hands unclenching and a slow humor beginning to play about his mouth, waited coolly for him to recover from his amazement. In those moments, when his heart seemed to have stopped beating, Carrigan was staring at the other, but his mind had shot beyond him to the woman who was his wife.
"You mak' guess, eh?" He began extinguishing the lights, until only the one nearest the door was left burning. He did not turn toward Carrigan or speak to him again. When he Went out, David heard the click of a lock in the door. Bateese had not exaggerated. It was the intention of St. Pierre's wife that he should consider himself a prisoner at least for tonight.
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