Latour came aboard coughing and spitting, a most ludicrous object. But to my surprise, he immediately commanded that Recontre should be released. I wondered much at this at the time; but ten years later I had a talk with Recontre, which threw some light on the subject. He was leaving the country, and, as we had become close friends, he did not hesitate to tell me what he had kept a close secret for years. We were taking a friendly glass together at a St. Louis bar, when I purposely brought up the name of Jules Latour, who had starved to death some years before in a mackinaw boat that got caught in the ice far up the river. I had heard stories of how Recontre, who was with Latour on the trip, had shown a faithfulness to his master equalled only by the faithfulness of a dog to a man. This had always seemed strange to me, and so I brought up Jules Latour. At the sound of the name I saw the black fire grow up in my companion’s eyes, just as I had seen it ten years before on the forward deck of the _Yellowstone_. “You got that story, too, did you?” he said dreamily, staring straight ahead of him as into a great distance. “Well, it’s all over now, and for the first time, I am going to tell the truth about the death of Latour and my great faithfulness. When I first saw that man, I felt as though he had struck me between the eyes with his white fist. I hated him as I had never hated before, and as I hope never to hate again. It hurts to hate; it eats into a man like some incurable blood disease. “You saw me throw him into the water. I can hardly explain why I did that; only, the man spoke to me in a way that insulted me more than if he had blackguarded my mother. It wasn’t in the words, for I have forgotten what he said. “We hated each other. I knew how much I hated, but I did not know how great was his hate until he smilingly ordered my release. I knew then that his hate was a great hate—stronger than love can be. And also I knew that this hate would grow until one of us was killed. And it did.” “What!” said I; “did _you_ kill Latour?” Recontre smiled one of his enigmatic smiles and said quietly: “_Nature_ killed Latour; _I_ merely helped Nature!” And then he laughed softly, while the black fire grew again in his eyes. Recontre led the way to a table in the back of the room and we sat down, when he began talking rapidly, never hesitating in his story, and seeming, at times, wholly unconscious of my presence. “When we arrived at Fort Union,” said he, “no one could have guessed the hate that we nursed for each other. Being a new man in the country, Latour consulted me upon many phases of the business, and we were much together. The whole post considered me a most favoured person; little knowing, as I did, that hate can bind two persons as closely as love. “My hatred for the man made his a most fascinating personality to me; and I often found him studying my face with a diabolical fondness.