"I know something is wrong," went on Trudeau; "for I tell her it ben _très dangéreuse_ to wear deerskin zhaquette in zese wood' in shoo_ting_ sea_sone_. I turn zhaquette red out. She go toward your camp. I watch. I see her turn heem hair out. I tell you, messieurs, zat man want to go home in wooden ove'coat. She have hungaire to die." "Here's a letter we found in his pocket," said the young man. "Look at it, Colonel." The colonel looked, saw his daughter's name, remembered the familiar look in the white, agonized, pitiful face; and saw the whole situation as by some baleful flash-light. "Good God! Good God!" he cried. "It's Van Dorn! Get things ready to carry him in his bed to the car--quick, Johnson! And get to the wire as soon as you can. Have Tibbals bring Gwennie--Mrs. Van Dorn--to Duluth. Wire the hospital there! You know what's needed--look after things right, Johnson, for I think--I think--I'm going mad, old man!" * * * * * Mrs. Van Dorn ran into her father's arms in the hospital anteroom. Through mazes of frenzied anxiety she felt an epoch open in her life with that embrace from the father who had put her out of his life for ever, as they thought. "Dear, dear papa!" she whispered, "let me go to Foster, quick!" "Not just now, Gwennie, little girl," said he, patting her shoulder. "He's asleep. Did you bring the--the baby?" "No, no! I thought--but Foster?" cried Gwendolyn. "Will he--will he--" "He'll live, by Heaven!" cried the colonel. "I fired one fool for hinting that he wouldn't; and now they're all sure he'll pull through. Why, he's got to live, Gwennie!" The colonel reached for his handkerchief, much hampered by Gwendolyn's arms. "And when he's well," said he, "I want your help--in a business way. I'm too old to fight a man like Foster. He's got me down, Gwennie--beaten me to earth. If he won't come in with me, it's all up with the Solar. He's a fine fellow, Gwen--I--like him, you know--but he don't know how hard he hits. You'll help your old dad, won't you, Gwennie?" To this point had the appeal of concrete, piteous need brought Colonel Loree, the ferocious, whose heart had never once softened while he did so much more cruel things than the mere shooting of Van Dorn. It broke Gwendolyn's heart afresh. "Oh, don't papa!" she cried. "I can't sta-stand it! He sha'n't use his strength against you! I'll be on your side. He's generous, papa--he wanted to name baby Loree--and, oh, I must go to him, papa! I can't wait!" * * * * * The cigars had burned out, and the coffee cups and their saucers were messy with ashes. The Hired Man nodded in his chair. Aconite was slowly formulating some comment on the Poet's story--when the Bride rose.