"It is my whim. Besides, there is Val. He might want a horse some dark
night."
"Pierre, do you mean that?"
"As much as Sergeant Tom means what he says. Every man has his friends.
Pretty Pierre has a fancy for Val Galbraith--a little. It suits him to
go to Fort Desire. Jen Galbraith, you make a grand ride last night. You
do a bold thing--all for a man. We shall see what he will do for you.
And if he does nothing--ah! you can trust the tongue of Pretty Pierre.
He will wish he could die, instead of--Eh, bien, good-night!" He moved
away. Jen followed him. She held out her hand. It was the first time
she had ever done so to this man.
"I believe you," she said. "I believe that you mean well to our Val. I
am sorry that I called you a devil." He smiled. "Ma'm'selle, that is
nothing. You spoke true. But devils have their friends--and their
whims. So you see, good-night."
"Mebbe it will come out all right, Jen--mebbe!" said the old man.
But Jen did not reply. She was thinking hard, her eyes upon the Prairie
Star. Living life to the hilt greatly illumines the outlook of the mind.
She was beginning to understand that evil is not absolute, and that good
is often an occasion more than a condition.
There was a long silence again. At last the old man rose to go and
reduce the volume of flame for the night; but Jen stopped him. "No,
father, let it burn all it can to-night. It's comforting."
"Mebbe so--mebbe!" he said.
A faint refrain came to them from within the house:
"When doors are open the bird is free
Oh, the sweet Saint Gabrielle hear!"