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Updated: May 19, 2025
Marcey and Laforce were only boys then, neither yet twenty-three, and they were friendly rivals with the sweet little coquette, who gave her favors with a singular impartiality and justice. Once Marcey had given her a gold spoon. Laforce responded with a tiny, fretted silver basket. Laforce was delighted to see her carrying her basket, till she opened it and showed the spoon inside.
There were many mock quarrels, in one of which Marcey sent her a letter by the Company's courier, covered with great seals, saying, "I return you the hairpin, the egg-shell, and the white wolf's tooth. Go to your Laforce, or whatever his ridiculous name may be."
They needed few explanations their minds were moving with the same thought. "I would not have it changed, and of course no one cared to touch it. So it has hung there." "As I placed it ten years ago," he said. They both became silent for a time, and at last he said: "Marcey had no one, Sergeant Laforce a mother." "It killed his mother," she whispered, looking into the white sunlight.
A half-hour after this Pierre left Laforce on the crest of the hill above the Fort, and did not turn to go down till he had seen the other pass within the house with the broken shutter. And later he saw a little bonfire on the hill. The next evening he came to the house again himself. Lucille rose to meet him. "'Why should the door be shut?" he quoted smiling.
Anne, and he had not seen it or Lucille in all that time. But he knew that Gyng was dead, and that his widow and her child had gone south or east somewhere; of Laforce after his sentence he had never heard. He stood looking at the house from the shade of the solitary pine-tree near it, recalling every incident of that fatal night.
All went well until Marcey dug a hole in the ground, put a stone in it, and, burying it, said it was Laforce's heart. Then Laforce pretended to ventriloquise, and mocked Marcey's slight stutter. That was the beginning of the trouble, and Lucille, like any lady of the world, troubled at Laforce's unkindness, tried to smooth things over tried very gravely.
"It was a fair fight," he replied firmly, "and Laforce shot straight." He was trying to think why she lived here, why the broken shutter still hung there, why the matter had settled so deeply on her. He remembered the song she was singing, the legend of the Scarlet Hunter, the fabled Savior of the North. He repeated the words, lingering on them.
There were many mock quarrels, in one of which Marcey sent her a letter by the Company's courier, covered with great seals, saying, "I return you the hairpin, the egg-shell, and the white wolf's tooth. Go to your Laforce, or whatever his ridiculous name may be."
She was noting how it was flashed from the bark of the birch-trees near the Fort. "His mother died," she added again, quietly. "It killed her the gaol for him!" "An eye for an eye," he responded. "Do you think that evens John Marcey's death?" she sighed. "As far as Marcey's concerned," he answered. "Laforce has his own reckoning besides." "It was not a murder," she urged.
All went well until Marcey dug a hole in the ground, put a stone in it, and, burying it, said it was Laforce's heart. Then Laforce pretended to ventriloquise, and mocked Marcey's slight stutter. That was the beginning of the trouble, and Lucille, like any lady of the world, troubled at Laforce's unkindness, tried to smooth things over tried very gravely.
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