"We've got to do it--for her.
We'll--tell her we caught Jed Hawkins in the trail and killed him." Caution, cleverness, his old mental skill returned to him.

He dragged the boot-legger's body to a new spot, turned it face down, threw the club away, and kicked up the earth with his boots to give signs of a struggle.
The note in his voice was triumph--triumph in spite of its heartbreak--as he turned back over the trail after he had finished, and spoke to Peter.
"We may have done some things we oughtn't to, Pied-Bot," he said, "but tonight I sort o' think we've tried to make--restitution.

And if they hang us, which they probably will some time, I sort o' think it'll make us happy to know we've done it--for her.

Eh, Pied-Bot ?" And the moon sailed out for a space, and shone on the dead whiteness of Jolly Roger's face.

And on the lips of that face was a strange, cold smile, a smile of mastery, of exaltation, and the eyes were looking straight ahead--the eyes of a man who had made his sacrifice for a thing more precious to him than his God.
Only now and then did the moon gleam through the slow-moving masses of black cloud when he came to the edge of the Indian settlement clearing three miles away, where stood the cabin of the Missioner.