But that was an amiable weakness in a strong man. "Aw, Pierre," he said
coaxingly, "kape it down; aisy, aisy. Me heart's goin' like a trip-
hammer at thought av it; aw yis, aw yis, Pierre."
"Well, it was like that to me--all sun and a sweet sting in the air.
At night to sit and tell tales and such things; and perhaps a little
brown brandy, a look at the stars, a half-hour with the cattle--the same
old game. Of course, there was the wife of Hilton the factor--fine,
always fine to see, but deaf and dumb. We were good friends, Ida and me.
I had a hand in her wedding. Holy, I knew her when she was a little
girl. We could talk together by signs. She was a good woman; she had
never guessed at evil. She was quick, too, like a flash, to read and
understand without words. A face was a book to her.
"Eh bien. One afternoon we were all standing outside the Post,
when we saw someone ride over the Long Divide. It was good for the eyes.
I cannot tell quite how, but horse and rider were so sharp and clear-cut
against the sky, that they looked very large and peculiar--there was
something in the air to magnify. They stopped for a minute on the top of
the Divide, and it seemed like a messenger out of the strange country at
the farthest north--the place of legends. But, of course, it was only a
traveller like ourselves, for in a half-hour she was with us.
"Yes, it was a girl dressed as a man. She did not try to hide it; she
dressed so for ease.
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