Jacky was in the best of spirits, and even “Poker” John was enjoying one of his rare lucid intervals.  “Lord” Bill sat between Jacky and Mrs. Abbot, and a more charming companion the old lady thought she had never met.  It was Jacky who led the talk, Jacky who saw to every one’s wants, Jacky whose spirits cheered everybody, by her light badinage, into, even against their better judgment, a feeling of optimism.  Even Horrocks felt the influence of her bright, winsome cheeriness.

“Capture this colored scoundrel, Sergeant Horrocks,” the girl exclaimed, with a laughing glance, as she helped him to a goodly portion of baked Jack-rabbit, “and we’ll present you with the freedom of the settlement, in an illuminated address inclosed in a golden casket.  That’s the mode, I take it, in civilized countries, and I guess we are civilized hereabout, some.  Say, Bill, I opine you’re the latest thing from England here to-night.  What does ‘freedom’ mean?”

Bill looked dubious.  Everybody waited for his answer.

“Freedom—­um.  Yes, of course—­freedom.  Why, freedom means banquets.  You know—­turtle soup—­bile—­indigestion.  Best champagne in the mayor’s cellar.  Police can’t run you in if you get drunk.  All that sort of thing, don’tcherknow.”

“An excellent definition,” laughed the doctor.

“I wish somebody would present me with ‘freedom,’” said Nabob, plaintively.

“It’s a good thing we don’t go in for that sort of thing extensively in Canada,” put in Horrocks, as the representative of the law.  “The peaceful pastime of the police would soon be taken from them.  Why, the handling of ‘drunks’ is our only recreation.”

“That, and for some of them the process of lowering four per cent. beer,” added the doctor, quietly.

Another laugh followed the doctor’s sally.

When the mirth had subsided Aunt Margaret shook her head.  This levity rather got on her nerves.  This Retief business, as she understood it, was a very serious affair, especially for Sergeant Horrocks.  She was keenly anxious to hear the details of his preparations.  She knew most of them, but she liked her information first hand.  With this object in view she suggested, rather than asked, what she wanted to know.

“But I don’t quite understand.  I take it you are going single-handed into the half-breed camp, where you expect to find this Retief, Sergeant Horrocks?”

Horrocks’s face was serious as he looked over at the old lady.  There was no laughter in his black, flashing eyes.  He was not a man given to suavity.  His business effectually crushed any approach to that sort of thing.  He was naturally a stern man, too.

“I am not quite mad, madam,” he said curtly.  “I set some value upon my life.”

This crushing rejoinder had no effect upon Aunt Margaret.  She still persisted.

“Then, of course, you take your men with you.  Four, you have, and smart they look, too.  I like to see well-set-up men.  I trust you will succeed.  They—­I mean the Breeds—­are a dangerous people.”