In her search for Pierre, Providence brought her to this place, and Providence could not be wrong. This, a vague emotion stirring in her somewhere between reason and the heart, grew to an almost certain knowledge as she heard the whisper, the faint, heartbroken whisper: "Pierre!" And when she turned to the boy again, noting the shirts and the chaps hanging at the wall, she knew they belonged to Pierre as surely as if she had seen him hang them there. The fingers of Jack were twisted around the butt of his revolver, white with the intensity of the pressure. Now he cried: "Get out! You've done your work; get out!" But Mary stepped straight toward the murderous, pale face. "I'll stay," she said, "and wait for Pierre." The boy blanched. "Stay?" he echoed. The heart of Mary went out to this trusted companion who feared for his friend. She said gently: "Listen; I've come all this way looking for Pierre, but not to harm him or to betray him, I'm his friend. Can't you trust me Jack?" "Trust you? No more than I'll trust what came with you!" And the fierce black eyes lingered on Mary and then fled past her toward the door, as if the boy debated hotly and silently whether or not it would be better to put an end to this intruder, but stayed his hand, fearing that Power which had followed her up the valley of the Old Crow. It was that same invisible guardian who made Mary strong now; it was like the hand of a friend on her shoulder, like the voice of a friend whispering reassuring words at her ear. She faced those blazing, black eyes steadily. It would be better to be frank, wholly frank. "This is the house of Pierre. I know it as surely as if I saw him sitting here now. You can't deceive me. And I'll stay. I'll even tell you why. Once he said that he loved me, Jack, but he left me because of a strange superstition; and so I've followed to tell him that I want to be near no matter what fate hangs over him." And the boy, whiter still, and whiter, looked at her with clearing, narrowing eyes. "So you're one of them," said the boy softly; "you're one of the fools who listen to Red Pierre. Well, I know you; I've known you from the minute I seen you crouched there at the fire. You're the one Pierre met at the dance at the Crittenden schoolhouse. Tell me!" "Yes," said Mary, marveling greatly. "And he told you he loved you?" "Yes." It was a fainter voice now, and the color was going up her cheeks. The lad fixed her with his cold scorn and then turned on his heel and slipped into an easy position on the bunk. "Then wait for him to come. He'll be here before morning." But Mary followed across the room and touched the shoulder of Jack. It was as if she touched a wild wolf, for the lad whirled and struck her hand away in an outburst of silent fury. "Why shouldn't I stay? He hasn't--he hasn't changed--Jack?" The insolent black eyes looked up and scanned her slowly from head to foot. Then he laughed in the same deliberate manner.