“You’ve been a pretty foolish lad.”  Pierce remained silent at this accusation, and the colonel went on:  “However, I didn’t bring you here to lecture you.  The Royal Mounted have other things to think about than young wasters who throw themselves away.  After all, it’s a free-and-easy country and if you want to play ducks and drakes it’s your own business.  I merely want you to realize that you’ve put yourself in a bad light and that you don’t come into court with clean hands.”

“I understand.  I put in a wakeful night thinking about it.  It’s the first time in a long while that I’ve done any serious thinking.”

“Well, don’t be discouraged.  A little thinking will benefit you.  Now then, I’m going to put Rock at work on your case, and meanwhile you may have the liberty of the Barracks.  You’re a gentleman, and I trust you to act as one.”

Pierce was only too grateful for this courtesy, and to realize that he retained the respect of this middle-aged, soldierly officer, whom he had long admired, filled him with deep relief.  He gave his promise readily enough.

Later in the day Broad and Bridges came in to see him, and their indignation at the outrage, their positive assertion that it was nothing less than a deliberate conspiracy, and so considered among the Front Street resorts, immensely cheered him.

“You remember the holler I let up when them Sheep-Campers wanted to hang McCaskey?” Broad inquired.  “It was my mistake.  His ear and a hemp knot would go together like rheumatism and liniment.”

Bridges agreed.  “Funny, us three bein’ tillicums, ain’t it?” he mused.  “Especially after the way we dredged you.  We didn’t need your loose change, but—­there it was, so we took it.”

“You’d of done better if you’d turned on the hollow of your foot that day and romped right back to the old farm,” Broad asserted.  “You’d never of doubled up with the McCaskeys and you’d still be the blushing yokel you was.”

“Yes, you’re a different kid, now.”  Both gamblers, it seemed, were in the melancholy mood for moralizing.  “Why, we was talkin’ to Rouletta about you this morning.  She’s all bereaved up over this thing; she sent us here to cheer you.  You was clean as an apple, then—­and easier to pick—­now you’re just a common bar-fly, the same as us.  Laure done it.  She’s the baby vampire that made a bum of you.”

“You’re not very flattering.”  Phillips smiled faintly.

“Oh, I’m sort of repeatin’ what Letty said.  She put me to thinkin’.  She’s quite a noisy little missionary when she gets started.”

“Missionary!” Broad exclaimed, in disdain.  “I don’t like the word.  Them birds is about useful as a hip pocket in an undershirt.  Why, missionaries don’t do no real, lasting good outside of Indian villages!  Us sure-thing guys are the best missionaries that ever struck this country.  Look at the good we done around Dyea and Skagway.  Them gospel-bringers never touched it.  We met the suckers on the edge of the Frozen North and we turned ’em back by the score.  Them three walnut husks done more good than the Ten Commandments.  Yes, sir, a set of cheatin’ tools will save more strayed lambs than a ship-load of Testaments.”