“Excellent; I shall surprise her.”

Pierce spoke dryly.  “I’m afraid it won’t be so much of a surprise as you think.  She rather expects you.”  With a short nod and with what pretense of carelessness he could assume he moved on toward the rear of the building, whence came the sounds of music and the voice of a dance-hall caller.

For some time he looked on blindly at the whirling figures.  Joe McCaskey here!  And Count Courteau!  What an astonishing coincidence!  And yet there was really nothing so remarkable about it; doubtless the same ship had brought them north, in which event they could not well have avoided a meeting.  Pierce remembered Hilda’s prophecy that her indigent husband would turn up, like a bad penny.  His presence was agitating—­for that matter, so was the presence of Joe McCaskey’s brother Frank, as yet an unknown quantity.  That he was an enemy was certain; together, he and Joe made an evil team, and Pierce was at a loss just how to meet them.

Later, when he strolled out of the saloon, he saw the three men still at the bar; their heads were together; they were talking earnestly.

CHAPTER XVIII

Rouletta Kirby was awakened by the sound of chopping; in the still, frosty morning the blows of the ax rang out loudly.  For a moment she lay staring upward at the sloping tent-roof over her bed, studying with sleepy interest the frost-fringe formed by her breath during the night.  This fringe was of intricate design; it resembled tatters of filmy lace and certain fragments of it hung down at least a foot, a warning that the day was to be extremely cold.  But Rouletta needed no proof of that fact beyond the evidence of her nose, the tip of which was like ice and so stiff that she could barely wrinkle it.  She covered it now with a warm palm and manipulated it gently, solicitously.

There was a damp, unpleasant rime of hoar-frost standing on the edge of her fur robe, and this she gingerly turned back.  Cautiously she freed one arm, then raised herself upon her elbow.  Reaching up, she struck the taut canvas roof a sharp blow; then with a squeak, like the cry of a frightened marmot, she dodged under cover just in time to avoid the frosty shower.

The chopping abruptly ceased.  ’Poleon’s voice greeted her gaily:  “Bon jour, ma soeur!  By golly!  You gettin’ be de mos’ lazy gal!  I’spect you sleep all day only I mak’ beeg noise.”

“Good morning!” Rouletta’s voice was muffled.  As if repeating a lesson, she ran on:  “Yes, I feel fine.  I had a dandy sleep; didn’t cough and my lungs don’t hurt.  And no bad dreams.  So I want to get up.  There!  I’m well.”

“You hongry, too, I bet, eh?”

“Oh, I’m dying.  And my nose—­it won’t work.”

Doret shouted his laughter.  “You wait.  I mak’ fire queeck an’ cook de breakfas’, den—­you’ nose goin’ work all right.  I got beeg s’prise for dat li’l nose to-day.”