"Ah, yes. My last offence was shooting off pistols there--aiming at the heads over the entrance, you know. One of them will carry my mark to his last day, I believe." "Yes; I remember noticing that the face of Death has a mark on it--a small hole." He laughed again. "Just so. That's my mark. Poor father! It was the great whim of his life to build that confounded thing, and he didn't enjoy it after all. My brother, I am told, proposes to occupy part of it in good time. They won't put me there, you may be sure." "Your brother is the Duke?" Minola said, a faint memory returning to her about a wild youth of the family who had had to leave the army in some disgrace, and went away somewhere beyond seas. "Yes; I thought I told you, or that Money had mentioned it. Yes; I was the good-for-nothing of the family. You can't imagine, though, what a number of good-for-nothings are doing well out Denver City way, out in Colorado. When I was there, there were three fellows from the Guards, and some fellows I knew at Eton, all growing cattle, and making money, and hunting buffalo, and potting Indians, and making themselves generally as happy as sandboys. I've made money myself, and might have made a lot more, I dare say." Mr. St. Paul evidently delighted to hear himself talk. "It must be a very dangerous place to live in," Minola said, wishing he would talk to somebody else. "Well, there's the chance of getting your hair raised by the Indians. Do you know what that means--having your hair raised?" "I suppose being scalped." "Exactly. Well, that's a danger. But it isn't so much a danger if you don't go about in gangs. That's the mistake fellows make; they think it's the safe thing to do, but it isn't. Go about in parties of two, and the Indians never will see you--never will notice you." Minola's eyes happened at this moment to meet those of Heron. "You know Heron?" "Oh, yes; very well." "A good fellow--very good fellow, though he has such odd philanthropic fads about niggers and man and a brother, and all that sort of thing. Got into a nice mess out there in St. Xavier's, didn't he?" "I heard that his conduct did him great honor," Minola said warmly. "Yes, yes--of course, yes; if you look at it in that sort of way. But these black fellows, you know--it really isn't worth a man's while bothering about them. They're just as well off in slavery as not--deuced deal better, I think; I dare say some of their kings and chiefs think they have a right to sell them if they like. I told Heron at the time I wouldn't bother if I was he. Where's the use, you know?" "Were you there at the time?" Minola asked, with some curiosity.