chain about his throat. Then he looked up to the contempt of the boy, and as he did so another memory burst on him and brought him to his feet. The gun went to the boy's shoulders at the same time.
"When I was found—was any one else with me?"
"Nope."
"What happened?"
"Must have been buried in the landslide. Half a hill caved in, and the dirt rolled you down to the bottom. Plain luck, that's all, that kept you from going out."
"Luck?" said Pierre and he laid his hand against his breast where he could feel the outline of the cross. "Yes, I suppose it was luck. And she—"
He sat down slowly and buried his face in his hands. A new tone came in the voice of the boy. His tone was thrillingly gentle as he asked: "Was a woman with you?" But Pierre heard only the tone and not the words. His face was gray when he looked up again, and his voice hard.
"Tell me as briefly as you can how I come here, and who picked me up."
"My father and his men. They passed you lying on the snow. They brought you home."
"Who is your father?"
The boy stiffened and his color rose in pride and defiance.
"My father is Jim Boone."
Instinctively, while he stared, the right hand of Pierre le Rouge crept toward his hip.
"Keep your hand steady,' said the boy. 'I got a
