Solange turned to him, her grief-ridden face stony in its hopelessness. "Monsieur, you are my friend?" "For mayhem, manslaughter or murder," he answered at once. "What's wanted?" "Then--will you take this pistol, and kill that man for me?" Sucatash's eyes narrowed and his mottled hair seemed to bristle. He turned on De Launay. "What's he done?" he asked, with cold fury. De Launay did not move. Solange answered dully. "He is the man who--married me--when he was the man who had murdered my father!" But Sucatash made no move toward the pistol. He merely gaped at her and at De Launay. His expression had changed from anger to stupidity and dazed incomprehension. "What's that? He murdered your father?" "He is Louisiana!" "He? Louisiana! I allowed he was an old-timer. Well, all I can say is--heaven's delights!" Solange put out her hand to the edge of the bunk as though she could not support herself longer unaided. Her eyes were half closed now. "Will you kill him, monsieur? If you do, you may have--of me--anything--that you ask!" The words were faltered out in utter weariness. For one instant De Launay's eyes flickered toward her, but Sucatash had already sprung to her side and was easing her to a seat on the edge of the bunk. Her head drooped forward. "Ma'am," said Sucatash, earnestly, "you got me wrong. I can't kill him--not for that." "Not for that?" she repeated, wonderingly. "Never in the world! I thought he'd insulted you, and if he had I'd a taken a fall out of him if he was twenty Louisianas. But this here notion you got that he beefed your father--that's all wrong! You can't go to downin' a man on no such notions as that!" "Why not?" asked Solange, in a stifled voice. "Because he never done it--that's whatever. You'd never get over it, mad'mo'selle, if you done that and then found you was wrong! And you are wrong." Slowly, Solange dragged herself upright. She was listless, the lightness had gone out of her step. Without a word, she reached out and lifted her leather coat from the nail on which it hung. Then she dragged her leaden feet to the door. Sucatash silently followed her. In the other room she spoke once. "Will you saddle my horse for me, monsieur?" "There ain't no place for you to go, ma'am." "Nevertheless, I shall go. If you please----" "Then I'll go with you." She followed him to the door, putting on her coat. Outside, she sat down on a log and remained stonily oblivious as Sucatash hastily caught up several horses and dragged saddles and _alforjas_ into position. The westering sun was getting low along the rim of the crater and he worked fast with the knowledge that night would soon be upon them. Inside the cabin he heard De Launay moving about. A moment later as he entered to gather Solange's equipment, he saw the soldier seated at the rough table busy with paper and fountain pen. As Sucatash went past him, carrying an armload of blankets and a tarpaulin, De Launay held out a yellow paper.