And if you could, M'sieur--if you only
could--place something of Jeanne's in my hand--I would rest
easier."
Philip bowed his head in silence, while his eyes grew blinding
hot. Pierre pressed his hand.
"She loves you--as I love her," he whispered, so low that Philip
could scarcely hear. "You will love her--always. If you do not--
the Great God will let the curse of Pierre Couchee fall upon you!"
Choking back the great sobs that rose in his breast, Philip sank
upon his knees beside Pierre, and buried his face in his arms like
a heartbroken boy. For several moments there was a silence,
punctuated by the rasping breath of the wounded man. Suddenly this
sound ceased, and Philip felt a cold fear leap through him. He
listened, neither breathing nor lifting his head. In that interval
of pulseless quiet a terrible cry came from Pierre's lips, and
when Philip looked up the dying half-breed had struggled to a
sitting posture, blood staining his lips again, his eyes blazing,
his white face damp with the clammy touch of death, and was
staring through the cabin window. It was the window that looked
out over the lake, toward the rock mountain half a mile away.
Philip turned, horrified and wondering.
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