Pierre And His People | Page 5

and cap, was mounting his broncho. The old
man came and stood near the young man,--the owner of the voice,--and
said again: "He's too ha'sh."
"Harsh you mean, father," added the other.
"Yes, harsh you mean, Old Brown Windsor,--quite harsh," said Pierre.
Alexander Windsor, storekeeper and general dealer, was sometimes
called "Old Brown Windsor" and sometimes "Old Aleck," to
distinguish him from his son, who was known as "Young Aleck."
As the old man walked back again to the stove to warm his hands,
Young Aleck continued: "He does his duty, that's all. If he doesn't wear
kid gloves while at it, it's his choice. He doesn't go beyond his duty.
You can bank on that. It would be hard to exceed that way out here."
"True, Young Aleck, so true; but then he wears gloves of iron, of ice.
That is not good. Sometime the glove will be too hard and cold on a
man's shoulder, and then!--Well, I should like to be there," said Pierre,
showing his white teeth.
Old Aleck shivered, and held his fingers where the stove was red hot.
The young man did not hear this speech; from the window he was
watching Sergeant Fones as he rode towards the Big Divide. Presently
he said: "He's going towards Humphrey's place. I--" He stopped, bent
his brows, caught one corner of his slight moustache between his teeth,
and did not stir a muscle until the Sergeant had passed over the Divide.

Old Aleck was meanwhile dilating upon his theme before a passive
listener. But Pierre was only passive outwardly. Besides hearkening to
the father's complaints he was closely watching the son. Pierre was
clever, and a good actor. He had learned the power of reserve and
outward immobility. The Indian in him helped him there. He had heard
what Young Aleck had just muttered; but to the man of the cold fingers
he said: "You keep good whisky in spite of the law and the iron glove,
Old Aleck." To the young man: "And you can drink it so free, eh,
Young Aleck?"
The half-breed looked out of the corners of his eyes at the young man,
but he did not raise the peak of his fur cap in doing so, and his glances
askance were not seen.
Young Aleck had been writing something with his finger-nail on the
frost of the pane, over and over again. When Pierre spoke to him thus
he scratched out the word he had written, with what seemed
unnecessary force. But in one corner it remained:
"Mab--"
Pierre added: "That is what they say at Humphrey's ranch."
"Who says that at Humphrey's?--Pierre, you lie!" was the sharp and
threatening reply. The significance of this last statement had been often
attested on the prairies by the piercing emphasis of a six- chambered
revolver. It was evident that Young Aleck was in earnest. Pierre's eyes
glowed in the shadow, but he idly replied:
"I do not remember quite who said it. Well, 'mon ami,' perhaps I lie;
perhaps. Sometimes we dream things, and these dreams are true. You
call it a lie--'bien!' Sergeant Fones, he dreams perhaps Old Aleck sells
whisky against the law to men you call whisky runners, sometimes to
Indians and half-breeds--halfbreeds like Pretty Pierre. That was a
dream of Sergeant Fones; but you see he believes it true. It is good
sport, eh? Will you not take--what is it?--a silent partner? Yes; a silent
partner, Old Aleck. Pretty Pierre has spare time, a little, to make money
for his friends and for himself, eh?"
When did not Pierre have time to spare? He was a gambler. Unlike the
majority of half-breeds, he had a pronounced French manner,
nonchalant and debonair.
The Indian in him gave him coolness and nerve. His cheeks had a tinge
of delicate red under their whiteness, like those of a woman. That was

why he was called Pretty Pierre. The country had, however, felt a kind
of weird menace in the name. It was used to snakes whose rattle gave
notice of approach or signal of danger. But Pretty Pierre was like the
death- adder, small and beautiful, silent and deadly. At one time he had
made a secret of his trade, or thought he was doing so. In those days he
was often to be seen at David Humphrey's home, and often in talk with
Mab Humphrey; but it was there one night that the man who was ha'sh
gave him his true character, with much candour and no comment.
Afterwards Pierre was not seen at Humphrey's ranch. Men prophesied
that he would have revenge some day on Sergeant Fones; but he did not
show anything on which this opinion could be based. He took no
umbrage at being called Pretty Pierre the gambler. But