“I’m going to make a big talk with you before we eat,” he said.  “You see, I’ve wanted to right along, Nancy, but—­Well, I want to tell you you’re no more responsible for Laval’s life, and the lives of those dogs, than I am.  We’re each playing our little parts in the things of life like the puppets we are.  Our hands are clean enough, but it’s not that way with the skunks that could send you, a girl, almost a child, to do the work, and live the life that boys like Gouter hardly know how to get through.  That man, Peterman, is going to get it one day from me if I have luck.  And I won’t call it murder when I get my hands on his dirty alien throat.  But never mind that.  I want to ease that poor aching head of yours.  I want to try and get you some peace of mind.  That’s why I tell you you’ve nothing to chide yourself for, nothing at all.  It’s true.  You’ve played the game like the loyal adversary you are.  And, for the moment, I’m top dog.  You’ve handed me a bad nightmare by the wonderful courage and grit you’ve well-nigh shamed me, as a man, with.  True, true you haven’t a thing to blame yourself with.  You’ve fought a mighty big fight I’d have been pleased to fight.  It’s just circumstances pitched you into the muss up, and let you see the thing your folks have brought about.  It’s that that’s worrying.  Think, Nancy, think hard.  This is their fight.  Not yours.  The blood of Laval is on Elas Peterman’s head.  His, and those other creatures who are ready to commit any crime to steal our country from us.  Oh, I’m not preaching just my side.  It’s true, true.  We at Sachigo were content to compete openly, honestly.  Peterman and those others saw disaster in our competition.  And so they got ready to murder—­if necessary.  It’s the soulless crime of a gang of unscrupulous foreigners, and those hounds of hell have left you to suffer for it just as sure as if they’d seared your poor gentle heart with a red hot iron.  Say, Nancy,” he went on, with persuasive earnestness, “put it all out of your mind.  Forget it all.  You’re out of the fight now.  And it just hurts me to see your eyes troubled, and that poor tender heart of yours all broken up.  Won’t you?”

The girl had turned away to the gaping valley again.  But she answered him.  And her tone was less dull, and it was without the dreadful passion of moments ago.

“I—­I’ve tried to tell myself something of that,” she said, with the pathetic helplessness of a child.

“Then try some more.”

Bull had drawn nearer.  He laid one hand gently on her shoulder.  It moved down and took possession of the soft arm under her furs.  Nancy shook her head.  But there was no decision in the movement.

“Oh, I wish—­” she began.

But she could get no further.  Suddenly she buried her face in her hands, and broke into a passion of weeping.

Bull stood helplessly by.  He gazed upon the shaking woman while great sobs racked her whole body.  There was nothing he could do, nothing he dared do.  He knew that.  His impulse was to take her in his arms and protect her with his body against the things which gave her pain.  But—­somehow he felt that perhaps it was good for her to weep.  Perhaps it would help her.  So he waited.