But now, as he saw the girl, he gave a shout of joy which pierced the hearts of all.
“Ah, you haf it! Say you haf it, or it is no use—he mus’ hang. Spik-spik! Ah, my brudder—it is to do him right! Ah, Loisette—bon Dieu, merci!”
For answer she placed the reprieve in the hands of the Sheriff. Then she swayed and fell fainting at the feet of Ba’tiste.
She had come at the stroke of the hour.
When she left for her home again the Sheriff kissed her.
And that was not the only time he kissed her. He did it again six months later, at the beginning of the harvest, when she and Ba’tiste Caron started off on the long trail of life together. None but Ba’tiste knew the truth about the loss of the reprieve, and to him she was “beautibul” just the same, and greatly to be desired.
BUCKMASTER’S BOY
“I bin waitin’ for him, an’ I’ll git him of it takes all winter. I’ll git him—plumb.”
The speaker smoothed the barrel of his rifle with mittened hand, which had, however, a trigger-finger free. With black eyebrows twitching over sunken grey eyes, he looked doggedly down the frosty valley from the ledge of high rock where he sat. The face was rough and weather-beaten, with the deep tan got in the open life of a land of much sun and little cloud, and he had a beard which, untrimmed and growing wild, made him look ten years older than he was.