his questions and paid no heed to the tone.

"I had a cross in my hand--"

The scorn of the boy grew to mighty proportions.

"It's there in the breast-pocket of your shirt."

Pierre drew out the little cross, and the touch of it against his palm
restored whatever of his strength was lacking. Very carefully he
attached it to the 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 anyone 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