“What kind of self?” enquired Brown.  “Beast or man?”

“That is not the question,” said French hotly.  “I will be no hypocrite, as you would have me be.”

“Jack French,” said Brown, “you know you are speaking a lie before God and man.”

French stepped quickly towards him.

“Brown, you will have to apologize,” he said in a low, tense voice, “and quick.”

“French, I will apologize if what I have said is not true.”

“I cannot discuss it with you, Brown,” said French, his voice thick with rage.  “I allow no man to call me a liar; put up your hands.”

“If you are a man, French,” said Brown with equal calm, “give me a minute.  Read your letter again.  Does she ask you to be a hypocrite?  Does she not, do I not, only ask you to be a man, and to act like a man?”

“It won’t do, Brown.  It is past argument.  You gave me the lie.”

“French, I wish to apologize for what I said just now,” said Brown.  “I said you knew you were speaking a lie.  I take that back, and apologize.  I cannot believe you knew.  All the same, what you said was not the truth.  No one asks you, nor does that letter ask you, to be a hypocrite.  You said I did.  That was not true.  Now, if you wish to slap my face, go on.”

French stood motionless.  His rage well-nigh overpowered him, but he knew this man was speaking the truth.  For some moments they stood face to face.  Then, impulsively offering his hand, and with a quick change of voice, Brown said, “I am awfully sorry, French; let’s forget it.”

But ignoring the outstretched hand, French turned from him without a word, mounted his horse, and rode away.

Brown stood watching him until he was out of sight.  “My God, forgive me,” he cried, “what a mess I made of that!  I have lost him and the boy too;” and with that he passed into the woods, coming home to his wife and baby late at night, weary, spent, and too sad for speech or sleep.

CHAPTER XV

THE MAIDEN OF THE BROWN HAIR

Rumours of the westward march of civilization had floated from time to time up the country from the main line as far as the Crossing, and had penetrated even to the Night Hawk ranch, only to be allayed by succeeding rumours of postponement of the advance for another year.

It was Mackenzie who brought word of the appearance of the first bona fide scout of the advancing host.

“There was a man with a big flag over the Creek yonder,” he announced one spring evening, while the snow was still lying in the hollows, “and another man with a stick or something, and two or three behind him.”

“Ah, ha!” exclaimed French, “surveyors, no doubt; they have come at last.”

“And what will that be?” said Mackenzie anxiously.

“The men who lay out the route for the railroad,” replied French.

Mackenzie looked glum.  “And will they be putting a railroad across our ranch?” he asked indignantly.