eyes of the dying man, he smiled once more, and smilingly faced toward the Great Beyond. And the morning air, fresh from the sun-tipped mountains and sweet with the scent of the June roses, came blowing soft and cool through the open window upon the dead, smiling face. And it seemed fitting so. It came from the land of the Morning.
Again The Duke did a beautiful thing; for, reaching across his dead friend, he offered his hand to The Pilot. "Mr. Moore," he said, with fine courtesy, "you are a brave man and a good man; I ask your forgiveness for much rudeness."
But Moore only shook his head while he took the outstretched hand, and said, brokenly:
"Don't! I can't stand it."
"The Company of the Noble Seven will meet no more," said The Duke, with a faint smile.
They did meet, however; but when they did, The Pilot was in the chair, and it was not for poker.
The Pilot had "got his grip," as Bill said.
