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Updated: June 28, 2025
Pierre's eyes glowed in the shadow, but he idly replied: "I do not remember quite who said it. Well, 'mon ami, perhaps I lie; perhaps. Sometimes we dream things, and these dreams are true. You call it a lie 'bien! Sergeant Fones, he dreams perhaps Old Aleck sells whisky against the law to men you call whisky runners, sometimes to Indians and half-breeds halfbreeds like Pretty Pierre.
All started to their feet, most with curses on their lips; but Sergeant Fones never seemed to hear anything that could make a feature of his face alter. Pierre's hand was on his hip, as if feeling for something. Sergeant Fones saw that; but he walked to where Aleck stood, with his unplayed cards still in his hand, and, laying a hand on his shoulder, said, "Come with me."
Perhaps some of them longed to touch, oftener than they did, the hands of children, and to consider more the faces of women, for hearts are hearts even under a belted coat of red on the Fiftieth Parallel, but men of nerve do not blazon their feelings. No one would have accused Sergeant Fones of having a heart.
"Will you not come to us on Christmas Day?" His eyelids closed swiftly and opened again. "I shall be on duty." "And promoted?" "Perhaps." "And merry and happy?" she smiled to herself to think of Sergeant Fones being merry and happy. "Exactly." The word suited him.
Once, Sergeant Fones, on leaving the house, said grimly after his fashion: "Not Mab but Ariadne excuse a soldier's bluntness..... Good-bye!" and with a brusque salute he had ridden away. What he meant she did not know and could not ask. The thought instantly came to her mind: Not Sergeant Fones; but who? She wondered if Ariadne was born on the prairie.
"He's too ha'sh," said old Alexander Windsor, as he shut the creaking door of the store after a vanishing figure, and turned to the big iron stove with outstretched hands; hands that were cold both summer and winter. He was of lean and frigid make. "Sergeant Fones is too ha'sh," he repeated, as he pulled out the damper and cleared away the ashes with the iron poker.
In the barracks that morning a gazetted notice was posted, announcing, with such technical language as is the custom, that Sergeant Fones was promoted to be a lieutenant in the Mounted Police Force of the North West Territory. When the officer in command sent for him he could not be found.
This reads pleasantly: "The VIIIth of May my soonne & his wife came to Groton from London, & ye IXth I made a marriage feaste, when Sr. Thomas Mildmay & his lady my sister were present. The same day my sister Veysye came to me, & departed on ye 24th of Maye. My dawter Fones came the VIIIth & departed home ye XXIIId of Maye."
She ran her fingers loosely through her short brown hair, waving softly about her Greek-shaped head, and reasoned that Ariadne must have been presentable, or Sergeant Fones would not have made the comparison. She hoped Ariadne could ride well, for she could. But how white the world looked this morning, and how proud and brilliant the sky!
The Sergeant had caught him wild and independent, had brought him in, broken him, and taught him obedience. They understood each other; perhaps they loved each other. But about that even Private Gellatly had views in common with the general sentiment as to the character of Sergeant Fones.
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