“I will go to Fort O’Battle,” he said. “Give me another pistol.”
“You cannot do it alone,” said Halby, hope, however, in his voice.
“I will do it, or it will do me, voila!” Pierre replied. Halby passed over a pistol.
“I’ll never forget it, on my honour, if you do it,” he said.
Pierre mounted his horse and said, as if a thought had struck him: “If I stand for the law in this, will you stand against it some time for me?”
Halby hesitated, then said, holding out his hand, “Yes, if it’s nothing dirty.”
Pierre smiled. “Clean tit for clean tat,” he said, touching Halby’s fingers, and then, with a gesture and an au revoir, put his horse to the canter, and soon a surf of snow was rising at two points on the prairie, as the Law trailed south and east.
That night Pierre camped in the Jim-a-long-Jo, finding there firewood in plenty, and Tophet was made comfortable in the lean-to. Within another thirty hours he was hid in the woods behind Fort O’Battle, having travelled nearly all night. He saw the dawn break and the beginning of sunrise as he watched the Fort, growing every moment colder, while his horse trembled and whinnied softly, suffering also. At last he gave a little grunt of satisfaction, for he saw two men come out of the Fort and go to the corral. He hesitated a minute longer, then said: “I’ll not wait,” patted his horse’s neck, pulled the blanket closer round him, and started for the Fort. He entered the yard—it was empty. He went to the door of the Fort, opened it, entered, shut it, locked it softly, and put the key in his pocket. Then he passed through into a room at the end of the small hallway. Three men rose from seats by the fire as he did so, and one said: “Hullo, who’re you?” Another added: “It’s Pretty Pierre.”
Pierre looked at the table laid for breakfast, and said: “Where’s Lydia Throng?”
The elder of the three brothers replied: “There’s no Lydia Throng here. There’s Lydia Bontoff, though, and in another week she’ll be Lydia something else.”