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Updated: June 23, 2025
"Miss Jierdon," Medaine Robinette answered him as though with an effort, "went back to camp last night." "May I bring her here, to repeat that before me? There's been some sort of a horrible mistake she didn't know what she was saying. She " "I'm afraid, Mr. Houston, that I would need stronger evidence now. Oh, I want to be fair about this," she burst out suddenly.
Finally, the trapper cocked his head and spoke, rather to the horse and Golemar than to Houston. "Eet is the one, big lie!" "Yes, but there's not much way of proving it, Ba'tiste." "Proof? Bah! And does Ba'teese need proof? Ba'teese no like this woman, Jierdon. She say Ba'teese burn the mill." "I didn't know you heard that." "She have a bad mouth. She have a bad eye. She have a bad tongue.
May I inquire if on that night you saw Fred Thayer?" "I did not." "Thank you." Dully he reached for the knob. The woman who had appeared that night in the clearing, her head upon a man's shoulder, had been Agnes Jierdon! He stepped to the veranda, waiting for Ba'tiste, who was making a last effort in his behalf. Then he called: "I'd rather you'd not say anything more, Ba'tiste.
The next morning he went to Denver, still wondering, as he sought to make himself comfortable on the old red plush seats, wondering whether the girl he had seen in the forest with the man he now felt sure was Fred Thayer had been Agnes Jierdon or Medaine Robinette, whom, in spite of her coldness to him, in spite of her evident distaste and revulsion that was so apparent in their meetings, had awakened within him a thing he had believed, in the drabness of his gray, harassed life, could never exist, the thrill and the yearnings of love.
He went on with the reading: "'By this time, the mill had gotten to be a sort of mania with me, and I almost had myself believing that Houston had promised me more than he had given me. Then, a woman came out here, an Agnes Jierdon, a stenographer, on her vacation. I met her and learned that she was from Boston." A slight pressure exerted itself on Houston's arm.
He himself knew what it meant to be unjustly accused. Time was but of little moment now; his theories could wait until he had seen Agnes Jierdon, until he had talked to her and questioned her regarding the statements made to Medaine Robinette.
"You look like my Pierre. Pierre, he could do no wrong. You look like heem." It was sufficient for the old French-Canadian. But Houston knew it could carry but little weight with the girl by the window. He went on: "Only one shred of evidence was presented in my behalf. It was by a woman who had worked for about six months for my father, Miss Jierdon.
He affixed a notary seal to it. The thing was illegitimate, of course. Shortly after that, young Houston came out here again, and I got her to come too. I wanted to see what he was up to. He fired me, and while he was in Denver, and Renaud away from the mill, I got Miss Jierdon and took her for a walk, while one of the other men kept watch for the cook who was asleep. But she didn't wake up.
We'll stop by the cottage down here and see Miss Jierdon; then I'm gone!" "She no there. She, what-you-say, smash up 'quaintance with Medaine. She ask to go there and stay day or two." "Then she'll straighten things out, Ba'tiste. I'm glad of it. She knows the truth about this whole thing every step of the way. Will you tell her?" "Oui.
Houston went forward. "Sorry? Why? There's nothing " "Miss Jierdon has told me," came in a strained voice, "things that perhaps you did not mean for her to tell." "I? Why, I " "That she did pass as you were struggling. That she saw the blow struck and that it was you who struck it." "Miss Robinette!"
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