"No, I guess he thinks as much of you now as he ever did."
"You are lying to me," said the girl faintly, but the terror in her eyes said another thing.
"He thinks as much of you as he ever did. He thinks as much of you as he does of the rest of the soft-handed, pretty-faced fools who listen to him and believe him. I suppose"
He broke off to laugh heartily again, with a jarring, forced note which escaped Mary.
"I suppose that he made love to you one minute and the next told you that bad luck—something about the cross—kept him away from you?"
Each slow word, like a blow of a fist, drove the girl quivering back. She closed her eyes to shut out the scorn of that handsome, boyish face; closed her eyes to summon out from the dark of her mind the picture of Pierre le Rouge as he had knelt before her and told her of his love; of Pierre le Rouge as he had lain beside her with the small, shining cross held high above his head, and waited for death to come over them both. She saw all this, and then she heard the voice of Pierre renouncing her.
She opened her eyes again. She cried:
"It is all a lie! If he is not true, there's no truth in the world."
"If you come down to that," said the boy coldly, "there ain't much wasted this side of the Rockies. It's about as scarce as rain."
He continued in an almost kindly tone: "What would you do with a wild man like Red Pierre? Run along; git out of here; grab your horse, and
