"Yes, I am going to be there," with a decisive nod. "One cannot be sure. You may need me."
"Very well. Good-by, little woman." "Lord" Bill bent and kissed her. Then something very like a sigh escaped him. "I think with you this game is nearly up. To-night will settle things one way or the other."
"Yes. Trouble is not far off. Say, Bill, when it comes, I want to be with you."
Bill looked tenderly down into the upturned face.
"Is that why you insist on coming to-night?"
"Yes."
Another embrace and Bill left the house.
He sauntered leisurely down the avenue of pines. He kept straight on towards the muskeg. Then he turned away from the settlement, and was soon lost behind the rising ground which shored the great mire. Once out of sight of the house he quickened his pace, gradually swinging away from the keg, and heading towards the half-breed camp.
Foss River might have been deserted for all signs of life he encountered. The prairie was calmly silent. Not even the call of the birds broke the stillness around. The heat of the afternoon had lulled all nature to repose.
He strode on swiftly until he came to a small bluff. Here he halted and threw himself full length upon the ground in a welcome shade. He was within sight of the half-breed camp. He shifted his position until his head was in the sun. In this way he could see the scattered dwellings of the prairie outcasts. Then he drew a small piece of looking-glass from his pocket and held it out in the sun. Turning and twisting it in the direction of the camp, as might a child who wishes to dazzle a play-fellow's eyes. For several minutes he thus manipulated his impromptu heliograph. Then, as he suddenly beheld an answering flash in the distance, he desisted, and returned the glass to his pocket. Now he drew back in the shade and composed himself to smoke.