“Good-by?” Jack’s mouth fell open. “What do you mean?”
Alagwa’s pale lips curved into a smile. “Has the white chief forgotten?” she asked. “The hour is almost done and I must go from the fort. And you must stay.”
“Stay? I stay and you—Good Lord! My dear young woman, understand once for all that when you go out of this fort I go too. Either you marry me and stay, or we both go. That’s flat.”
Alagwa paled. “But you can not go with me,” she cried. “I—I will not marry you, and if you travel with me now it—it would compromise me.”
“Piffle!” Jack shrugged his shoulders, utterly heedless of his change of attitude. “If you go, I go too.”
“But—but it is death. Indeed, indeed, it is death.”
“All right!” Jack saw his advantage and pressed it hard. “All right, death it is, then.”
Alagwa’s eyes filled with tears. Desperately she wrung her hands. “Oh! You are a coward! A coward to treat me so,” she sobbed.
“All right. I’m a coward.” Jack made the admission cheerfully. “But I’m going with you—unless you marry me and stay here.”
The door swung open, letting in the night. The parade ground was aglow. Men with lanterns came and went. Wagons were being hurriedly piled with luggage. Double lines of sentries guarded the walls. Evidently Lieutenant Hibbs had obtained confirmation enough to alarm him and was preparing for the worst.