“Then—you keep the mine—all of it, I do not want it. But you will let us have the dogs that we may take Monsieur de Launay to the hospital? We must have the dogs. The mine—that is yours if you agree!”
Snake Murphy broke into a grin. “Why, ma’am, shore you’re welcome to the dogs. This here Louisiana shot me up once—but damned if I stands fer no one shootin’ him from behind a woman that a way. Come on, and we’ll fix the sled!” 308
A few minutes later Solange had resumed her watch beside De Launay while, outside, Sucatash and Murphy were busy unloading the sled and getting it ready for the wounded man.
De Launay slept, apparently. Solange sat patiently as the long hours passed. At intervals he muttered in his sleep and she listened. Fragments of his life formed the subject of the words, incoherent and disconnected. She caught references to the terrible years of existence as a légionnaire and later snatches of as terrible scenes of warfare.
Once he spoke more clearly and his words referred to her.
“Morgan la fée!—promised to be something interesting—more than that—worth living, perhaps, after all.”
She dropped her hand over his and he clutched it, holding fast. After that he was quiet, sleeping as easily as could be expected.
In the morning the doctor examined him again and said that the trip might be taken. De Launay awoke, somewhat dazed and uncertain but contented, evidently, at finding Solange at his side. He had fever but was doing very well.
Solange gave him broth, and as he sipped it he looked now and then at her. Something seemed to be on his mind. Finally he unburdened himself.
“I was planning to save you the divorce,” he said. “But I probably will get well. It is too bad!” 309