Mrs. O’Dell appeared and ran into her son’s arms. She backed out presently, and they both moved over to where Uncle Jim and the little Sherwood girl sat side by side, hand in hand. Noel Sabattis and the dogs followed them.
“The doctor says it is slow fever, but that the worst is over with,” said Mrs. O’Dell. “He must have had it for weeks and weeks. And the arm can be saved. The crisis of the fever came to-night—and a drive into town to-night would have killed him.” She slid an arm around the little girl. “But for Marion, they would have taken him,” she continued. “Noel was tied to the table and I couldn’t have kept them off much longer—and she loaded the dueling pistols in the dark and brought them to me—just in the nick of time.”
“She saved his life, sure enough,” said Jim McAllister.
“Flora done mighty good too,” spoke up old Noel Sabattis. “She fit ’em off two-t’ree time an’ bung Hood on de eye.”
Mrs. O’Dell laughed and blushed.
“I did my best—but you and the old pistols saved him, dear,” she whispered in Marion’s ear. “And by to-morrow, perhaps, or next day, he will be well enough to thank you.”
The child looked intently into the woman’s eyes and the lights in her own eyes changed gradually. Her thin shoulders trembled.
“Who—is—he?” she whispered in a shaken thread of voice.
“Your very own dad,” replied Mrs. O’Dell, kissing her.
Jim McAllister made coffee. The doctor joined the men in the kitchen, for his patient was sleeping. Ben told of his and Mr. Brown’s successful search for the man who had shot Louis Balenger on French River. He admitted that the actual capture of Balenger’s old enemy had been made by the police of Quebec—but he and Dave had been very busy. While he talked he toyed with the pistols which Marion had left on the table. He removed the caps. He looked into one barrel and saw that it was loaded to within a fraction of an inch of the muzzle. He produced a tool box in the shape of a knife from his pocket and opened a blade that looked like a small ice pick. With this he picked a few paper wads out of the barrel. With the last wad came a stream of black powder.