Jon replied, a secret triumph at her heart: “But what about his orders, the papers he was to carry to Archangel’s Rise? What about his being back at Fort Desire in the time given him?”
“It is not much matter about the papers. The poor devil that Inspector Jules would arrest—well, he will get off, perhaps, but that does no one harm. Eh, Galbraith? The law is sometimes unkind. And as for obeying orders, why, the prairie is wide, it is a hard ride, horses go wrong;—a little tale of trouble to Inspector Jules, another at Fort Desire, and who is to know except Pete Galbraith, Jen Galbraith, and Pierre? Poor Sergeant Tom. It was good he sleep so.”
Jen felt there was irony behind the smooth words of the gambler. He had a habit of saying things, as they express it in that country, between his teeth. That signifies what is animal-like and cruel. Galbraith stood silent during Pierre’s remarks, but, when he had finished, said:
“Yes, it’s all right if he doesn’t sleep too long; but there’s the trouble—too long!”
Pierre frowned a warning, and then added, with unconcern: “I remember when you sleep thirty hours, Galbraith—after the prairie fire, three years ago, eh!”
“Well, that’s so; that’s so as you say it. We’ll let him sleep till noon, or longer—or longer, won’t we, Pierre?”
“Yes, till noon is good, or longer.”
“But he shall not sleep longer if I can wake him,” said Jen. “You do not think of the trouble all this sleeping may make for him.”
“But then—but then, there is the trouble he will make for others, if he wakes. Think. A poor devil trying to escape the law!”
“But we have nothing to do with that, and justice is justice, Pierre.”