The earlier snowfall had diminished when Rouletta stepped out into the night, but a gusty, boisterous wind had risen and this filled the air with blinding clouds of fine, hard particles, whirled up from the streets, and the girl was forced to wade through newly formed drifts that rose over the sidewalks, in places nearly to her knees.  The wind flapped her garments and cut her bare cheeks like a knife; when she pushed her way into the Rialto and stamped the snow from her feet her face was wet with tears; but they were frost tears.  She dried them quickly and with a song in her heart she hurried back to the lunch-counter and climbed upon her favorite stool.  There it was that Doret and his two elderly companions found her.

“Well, we sprung him,” Tom announced.

“All we done was sign on the dotted line,” Jerry explained.  “But, say, if that boy hops out of town he’ll cost us a lot of money.”

“How’s he going to hop out?” Tom demanded.  “That’s the hell of this country—­there’s no getting away.”

Jerry snorted derisively.  “No gettin’ away?  What are you talkin’ about?  Ain’t the Boundary within ninety miles?  ’Ain’t plenty of people made get-aways?  All they need is a dog-team and a few hours’ start of the Police.”

“Everyt’ing’s all fix’,” ‘Poleon told his sister.  “I had talk wit’ Pierce.  He ain’t comin’ back here no more.”

“Not coming back?” the girl exclaimed.

Doret met her startled gaze.  “Not in dis kin’ of place.  He’s cut ‘em out for good.  I mak’ him promise.”

“A touch of jail ain’t a bad thing for a harum-scarum kid,” Tom volunteered, as he finished giving his supper order.  “It’s a cold compress—­takes down the fever—­”

“Nothing of the sort,” Jerry asserted.  “Jails is a total waste of time.  I don’t believe in ’em.  You think this boy’s tamed, do you?  Well, I talked with him, an’ all I got to say is this:  keep Courteau away from him or there’s one Count you’ll lose count of.  The boy’s got pizen in him, an’ I don’t blame him none.  If I was him I’d make that Frog hop.  You hear me.”

’Poleon met Rouletta’s worried glance with a reassuring smile.  “I been t’inkin’ ‘bout dat, too.  W’at you say I go pardners wit’ him, eh?  I got dog-team an’ fine claim on hilltop.  S’pose I geeve him half-interes’ to go wit’ me?”

“Will you?” eagerly queried the girl.

“Already I spoke it to him.  He say mebbe so, but firs’ he’s got li’l biznesse here.”

“Of course!  His case.  But that will be cleared up.  Mark what I say.  Yes”—­Rouletta nodded happily—­“take him with you, ’Poleon—­ out where things are clean and healthy and where he can get a new start.  Oh, you make me very happy!”

The woodsman laid a big hand gently over hers.  In a low voice he murmured:  “Dat’s all I want, ma soeur—­to mak’ you happy.  If dat claim is wort’ million dollar’ it ain’t too much to pay, but—­I’m scare’ she’s ’noder bum.”