"If he saves the Company's man, that will make up the man he lost for them, eh—you think that, eh?" Pierre's eyes had a curious ironical light.
"I do not care for the Company," she said. "John Marcey's life was his own."
"Good!" he added quickly, and his eyes admired her. "That is the thing. Then, do not forget that Marcey took his life in his hands himself, that he would have killed Laforce if Laforce hadn't killed him."
"I know, I know," she said, "but I should have felt the same if John
Marcey had killed Stroke Laforce."
"It is a pity to throw your life away," he ventured. He said this for a purpose. He did not think she was throwing it away.
She was watching a little knot of horsemen coming over a swell of the prairie far off. She withdrew her eyes and fixed them on Pierre. "Do you throw your life away if you do what is the only thing you are told to do?"
She placed her hand on her heart—that had been her one guide.
Pierre got to his feet, came over, and touched her on the shoulder.
"You have the great secret," he said quietly. "The thing may be all wrong to others, but if it's right to yourself—that's it—mais oui! If he comes," he added "if he comes back, think of him as well as Marcey. Marcey is sleeping—what does it matter? If he is awake, he has better times, for he was a man to make another world sociable. Think of Laforce, for he has his life to live, and he is a man to make this world sociable.
'The Scarlet Hunter is sick for home—
(Why should the door be shut?)'"