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diff --git a/29668-h/29668-h.htm b/29668-h/29668-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dd673f2 --- /dev/null +++ b/29668-h/29668-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10298 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Flockmaster of Poison Creek, by G. W. Ogden.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + a {text-decoration: none;} + p.cg {margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0; text-align: left !important; width: 101%;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + hr.p20 {width: 20%; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both; margin: 1em auto;} + td.chalgn {text-align:right; margin-top:0; padding-right:1em;} + .figcenter {margin: 2em auto 2em auto; text-align: center; width: auto;} + .figtag {height: 1px;} + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + hr.toprule {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + .caption {font-size: 90%; text-align:center;} + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; clear: both;} + p.center {text-align: center !important;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps} + h3 {font-size:1.0em;} + h1,h2,h3 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + h1 {font-size:2.0em;} + h2 {font-size:1.2em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's The Flockmaster of Poison Creek, by George W. Ogden + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Flockmaster of Poison Creek + +Author: George W. Ogden + +Illustrator: P. V. E. Ivory + +Release Date: August 11, 2009 [EBook #29668] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FLOCKMASTER OF POISON CREEK *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class='figtag'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +</div> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/f0001-img.jpg' alt='' title='' width='369' height='535' /><br /> +<p class='caption'> +Neither spoke, a daze over them, the dull shock of death’s<br /> +close passing bewildering and deep. <i>Page</i> 120<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<table style="background-image:url('images/img-title.png'); width:410px; height:610px; margin:auto;" summary="title page"> +<tr><td> +<p class='tp' style='margin-top:20px;font-size:2.2em;margin-bottom:40px;'>The Flockmaster of<br />Poison Creek</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;margin-bottom:20px;'>G. W. OGDEN</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;'>AUTHOR OF</p> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:40px;'>THE DUKE OF CHIMNEY BUTTE,<br />THE LAND OF LAST CHANCE, <span class='smcap'>Etc</span>.</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;'>FRONTISPIECE BY P. V. E. IVORY</p> +</td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'> +<img alt='emblem' style='margin:60px auto;' src='images/f0002-img.jpg' /> +</td></tr> + +<tr><td> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:larger;'>GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> +<p class='tp' >PUBLISHERS NEW YORK</p> +</td></tr> +</table> + +<p class='tp' style='font-size:smaller;margin-top:10px;'>Made in the United States of America</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='center'>Copyright<br />A. C. McClurg & Co.<br />1921</p> +<hr class='p20' /> +<p class='center'>Published March, 1921</p> +<hr class='p20' /> +<p class='center'><i>Copyrighted in Great Britain</i></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>I</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Sheep Country</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_THE_SHEEP_COUNTRY'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>II</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Swan Carlson</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_SWAN_CARLSON'>15</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>III</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Fight</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_THE_FIGHT'>27</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Keeper of the Flock</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_KEEPER_OF_THE_FLOCK'>34</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>V</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Tim Sullivan</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_TIM_SULLIVAN'>49</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Eyes in the Firelight</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VI_EYES_IN_THE_FIRELIGHT'>57</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Easiest Lesson</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VII_THE_EASIEST_LESSON'>67</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>VIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Sheep-Killer</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VIII_THE_SHEEPKILLER'>76</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>IX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A Two-Gun Man</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IX_A_TWOGUN_MAN'>87</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>X</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Wild Riders of the Range</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_X_WILD_RIDERS_OF_THE_RANGE'>97</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Hector Hall Sets a Beacon</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XI_HECTOR_HALL_SETS_A_BEACON'>111</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>One Comes to Serve</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XII_ONE_COMES_TO_SERVE'>127</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A Fight Almost Lost</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIII_A_FIGHT_ALMOST_LOST'>136</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>The Lonesomeness</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIV_THE_LONESOMENESS'>149</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Only One Jacob</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XV_ONLY_ONE_JACOB'>160</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Reid Begins His Play</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVI_REID_BEGINS_HIS_PLAY'>173</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Hertha Carlson</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVII_HERTHA_CARLSON'>181</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XVIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Swan Carlson’s Day</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XVIII_SWAN_CARLSONS_DAY'>195</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XIX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Not Cut out for a Sheepman</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XIX_NOT_CUT_OUT_FOR_A_SHEEPMAN'>207</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A Million Gallops Off</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XX_A_MILLION_GALLOPS_OFF'>212</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Tim Sullivan Breaks a Contract</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXI_TIM_SULLIVAN_BREAKS_A_CONTRACT'>222</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Phantoms of Fever</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXII_PHANTOMS_OF_FEVER'>233</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Concerning Mary</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIII_CONCERNING_MARY'>239</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>More About Mary</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIV_MORE_ABOUT_MARY'>252</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXV</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>One Man’s Joke</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXV_ONE_MANS_JOKE'>262</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXVI</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Payment on Account</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVI_PAYMENT_ON_ACCOUNT'>270</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXVII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>A Summons in the Night</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVII_A_SUMMONS_IN_THE_NIGHT'>287</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXVIII</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Swan Carlson Laughs</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXVIII_SWAN_CARLSON_LAUGHS'>296</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' class='chalgn'>XXIX</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'>Sheepman––And More</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XXIX_SHEEPMANAND_MORE'>308</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span></div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h1>The Flockmaster of Poison Creek</h1> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_THE_SHEEP_COUNTRY' id='CHAPTER_I_THE_SHEEP_COUNTRY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>THE SHEEP COUNTRY</h3> +</div> +<p>So John Mackenzie had put his foot upon the road. +This after he had reasoned it out as a mathematical +problem, considering it as a matter of quantities +alone. There was nothing in school-teaching at sixty +dollars a month when men who had to carry a rubber +stamp to sign their names to their checks were making +fortunes all around him in sheep.</p> +<p>That was the way it looked to John Mackenzie the +morning he set out for Poison Creek to hunt up Tim +Sullivan and strike him for a job. Against the conventions +of the country, he had struck out on foot. That +also had been reasoned out in a cool and calculative way. +A sheepherder had no use for a horse, in the first place. +Secondly and finally, the money a horse would represent +would buy at least twelve head of ewes. With questioning +eyes upon him when he left Jasper, and contemptuous +eyes upon him when he met riders in his dusty +journey, John Mackenzie had pushed on, his pack on +his back.</p> +<p>There was not a book in that pack. John Mackenzie, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +schoolmaster, had been a bondslave of books in that +country for four obscure, well-nigh profitless years, +and he was done with them for a while. The less a +sheepman knew about books, the more he was bound to +know about sheep, for sheep would be the object and +aim of his existence. Mackenzie knew plenty of sheepmen +who never had looked into any kind of a book but +a bank-deposit book in their lives. That seemed to be +education enough to carry them very nicely along, even +to boost them to the state legislature, and lift one of +them to the United States senate. So, what was the use +of worrying along on a mission of enlightenment at +sixty dollars a month?</p> +<p>Mackenzie had not come into the West in a missionary +spirit at the beginning. He had not believed +the youth of that section to be in any greater depths +of ignorance than elsewhere in this more or less favored +land. But from his earliest years he had entertained +romantic notions, adventurous desires. With his normal-school +certificate in his breast pocket, tight trousers +on his rather long legs, a short vest scarcely meeting +them at the waistband, he had traveled into the West, +seeking romance, alert for adventure.</p> +<p>When he arrived at Jasper, which was only the inter-mountain +West, and far from the golden coast of his +most fervid dreams, he found that adventure and +romance apparently had packed up and gone elsewhere +years ahead of him. There was nothing nearer either +of them in Jasper than a tame gambling-joint in the +back end of a saloon, where greasy, morose sheepherders +came to stake quarters on roulette and faro, where railroaders +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +squandered away their wages, leaving the +grocerymen unpaid. And there was no romance for +John Mackenzie in any such proceeding as that.</p> +<p>Simple, you will see he was; open-faced and guileless +as the day. Farm-bred, raw-boned, slow of speech, +clear of eye, no vices, no habits that pulled a man down, +unless a fondness for his briar-root pipe might be so +classed. But in the way Mackenzie smoked the pipe it +was more in the nature of a sacrifice to his gods of +romance than even a mild dissipation.</p> +<p>In the four years of his school-teaching at Jasper +Mackenzie slowly grew out of his extreme rawness of +appearance. His legs hardened from long rambles over +the hills, his face browned like an outdoor man’s, his +rustic appearance, his clabber-days shyness, all slowly +dissolved away. But the school board was not cognizant +of any physical or mental strengthening in him. He +was worth sixty dollars a month to that slow-thinking +body when he came to Jasper; he was worth no more +than sixty dollars when he threw up the job and left.</p> +<p>Romance and adventure had called him away to the +road at last, but the romance of sheep-riches, the adventure +of following a flock over the sage-gray hills. Maybe +he would find it too late even to glimpse them when he +arrived in the heart of the sheeplands; perhaps times +had shifted since the heavy-jowled illiterates whom he +had met in Jasper began their careers with a few pounds +of dried apples and uncommon endurance for hardships +in the open fields.</p> +<p>Simple, they thought him down in Jasper, in the mild +simplicity of a preacher or any man who would not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +fight. In their classification he was a neutral force, an +emasculated, mild, harmless creature who held the child’s +view of life from much association with children. He +often had heard it said.</p> +<p>A man never could advance to notability in a community +that rated him as mildly simple; he would have +a hard time of it even to become notorious. Only one +man there had taken an interest in him as man to man, +a flockmaster who had come into that country twenty +years before, a schoolteacher like himself.</p> +<p>This man had kicked up the golden dust before Mackenzie’s +eyes with his tales of the romance of the range, +the romance of sheep-riches, the quick multiplication of +a band run on the increase-sharing plan. This man +urged Mackenzie to join him, taking a band of sheep on +shares. But his range was in sight of Jasper; there was +no romance on his hills. So Mackenzie struck out for +the headwaters of Poison Creek, to find Tim Sullivan, +notable man among the sheep-rich of his day.</p> +<p>It was a five-days’ journey on foot, as he calculated +it––nobody in that country ever had walked it, as far +as he could learn––to Tim Sullivan’s ranch on Poison +Creek. Now, in the decline of the fifth day he had come +to Poison Creek, a loud, a rapid, and boisterous stream +which a man could cross in two jumps. It made a great +amount of noise in its going over the boulders in its +bed, as a little water in a vast arid land probably was +justified by its importance in doing. It was the first +running water Mackenzie had met since leaving the Big +Wind, clear as if it came unpolluted by a hoof or a +hand from its mountain source.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span></div> +<p>But somewhere along its course Tim Sullivan grazed +and watered forty thousand sheep; and beyond him +were others who grazed and watered many times that +number. Poison Creek might well enough merit its +name from the slaver of many flocks, the schoolmaster +thought, although he knew it came from pioneer days, +and was as obscure as pioneer names usually are obscure.</p> +<p>And some day he would be watering his thousands of +sheep along its rushing vein. That was John Mackenzie’s +intent and purpose as he trudged the dusty miles +of gray hills, with their furze of gray sage, and their +gray twilights which fell with a melancholy silence as +chilling as the breath of death. For John Mackenzie +was going into the sheeplands to become a master. He +had determined it all by mathematical rule.</p> +<p>There was the experience to be gained first, and it +was cheaper to do that at another man’s expense than +his own. He knew how the right kind of a man could +form a partnership with a flockmaster sometimes; he +had heard stories of such small beginnings leading to +large ownership and oily prosperity. Jasper had +examples of its own; he was familiar with them all.</p> +<p>Some of them began as herders on the basis of half +the increase from a stated number of sheep not more +than ten years past. Now they looked upon a sixty-dollars-a-month +schoolteacher with the eyes of superiority, +as money always despises brains which it is +obliged to hire, probably because brains cannot devise +any better method of finding the necessary calories than +that of letting themselves out by the month.</p> +<p>Tim Sullivan needed herders; he had advertised for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +them in the Jasper paper. Besides, Tim had the name +of a man who could see the possibilities in another. He +had put more than one young fellow on the way of success +in the twenty years he had been running sheep on +the Poison Creek range. But failing to land a partnership +deal with Sullivan, Mackenzie was prepared to take +a job running sheep by the month. Or, should he find +all avenues to experience at another man’s expense closed +to him, he was ready to take the six hundred dollars +saved out of his years of book bondage and buy a little +flock of his own. Somewhere in that wide expanse of +government-owned land he would find water and grazing, +and there his prosperity would increase.</p> +<p>Sheep had visited the creek lately at the point where +Mackenzie first encountered it, but there were no dusty +flocks in sight billowing over the hills. Tim Sullivan’s +house was not to be seen any more than sheep, from the +highest hill in the vicinity. It must be several miles +ahead of him still, Mackenzie concluded, remembering +that Poison Creek was long. Yet he hoped he might +reach it by nightfall, for his feet were growing weary of +the untrodden way they had borne him for a hundred +and fifty miles, more or less.</p> +<p>He pushed on, now and again crossing the broad trail +left by bands of sheep counting two or three thousand, +feeling the lonesomeness of the unpeopled land softened +by these domestic signs. Sunset, and no sight of a +house; nightfall, and not the gleam of a light to show +him either herder’s camp or permanent domicile of man.</p> +<p>Mackenzie lingered beside the clamoring water in a +little valley where the uncropped grass was lush about +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +his feet, considering making camp there for the night. +It was a pleasant place for a land so bleak, even in summer, +as that country of high table-lands and rolling +gray hills. As he started to unsling his pack he caught +the dim note of somebody’s voice raised in song, and +stood so, hand on the strap, listening.</p> +<p>The voice was faint, broken by the distance, yet cheering +because it was a voice. Mackenzie pressed up the +hill, hoping to be able to thread the voice back to its +source from that eminence. As he neared the top the +voice came clearer; as he paused to listen, it seemed +quite close at hand. It was a woman singing, and this +was the manner of her song:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><i>Na-a-fer a-lo-o-one, na-a-fer a-lone,<br /> +He promise na-fer to leafe me,<br /> +Na-fer to leafe me a-lone!</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>The valley whence came the song was quite dark +below him, and darker for the indefinite blotch of something +that appeared to be trees. In that grove the +house that sheltered the melancholy singer must be hidden, +so completely shrouded that not even a gleam of +light escaped to lead him to the door. Mackenzie stood +listening. There was no other sound rising from that +sequestered homestead than the woman’s song, and this +was as doleful as any sound that ever issued from human +lips.</p> +<p>Over and over again the woman sang the three lines, +a silence after the last long, tremulous note which +reached to the traveler’s heart, more eloquent in its +expression of poignant loneliness than the hopeless repetition +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +of the song. He grinned dustily as he found himself +wishing, in all seriousness, that somebody would take +a day off and teach her the rest of the hymn.</p> +<p>Mackenzie’s bones were weary of the road, hard as he +tried to make himself believe they were not, and that +he was a tough man, ready to take and give as it might +come to him in the life of the sheeplands. In his heart +he longed for a bed that night, and a cup of hot coffee +to gladden his gizzard. Coffee he had not carried with +him, much less a coffeepot; his load would be heavy +enough without them, he rightly anticipated, before he +reached Tim Sullivan’s. Nothing more cheering than +water out of the holes by the way had passed his lips +these five days.</p> +<p>He could forgive the woman her song if she would +supply some of the comforts of those who luxuriated in +houses for just this one night. He went on, coming +soon to barbed wire along the way, and presently to a +gap in it that let him in among the trees which concealed +the house.</p> +<p>It was a small, low cabin, quite buried among the +trees, no light showing as Mackenzie drew near, although +the voice of the woman still rose in the plaintive monotony +of her song.</p> +<p>Mackenzie put as much noise into his arrival as was +possible by walking heavily, knowing very well that a +surprise by night is not a good beginning for a claim +of hospitality. The woman must have heard, for her +song ceased in the middle of a word. At the corner of +the house Mackenzie saw a dim light falling through an +open door, into which the shadow of the woman came.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span></div> +<p>A little way from the door Mackenzie halted, hat in +hand, giving the woman good evening. She stood within +the threshold a few feet, the light of the lantern hanging +in an angle of the wall over her, bending forward +in the pose of one who listened. She was wiping a plate, +which she held before her breast in the manner of a +shield, stiffly in both hands. Her eyes were large and +full of a frightened surprise, her pale yellow hair was +hanging in slovenly abandon down her cheeks and over +her ears.</p> +<p>She was a tall woman, thin of frame, worn and sad, +but with a faded comeliness of face, more intelligence +apparent in it than is commonly shown by Scandinavian +women of the peasant class who share the labors and the +loads of their men on the isolated homesteads of the +Northwest. She stood so, leaning and staring, her mouth +standing open as if the song had been frightened out so +quickly that it had no time to shut the door.</p> +<p>“Good evening, madam,” said Mackenzie again.</p> +<p>She came out of her paralysis of fright and surprise +at the assuring sound of his voice. He drew nearer, +smiling to show his friendly intention, the lantern light +on the close, flat curls of his fair hair, which lay damp +on temples and forehead.</p> +<p>Tall after his kind was this traveler at her door, spare +of flesh, hollow of cheeks, great of nose, a seriousness in +his eyes which balanced well the marvelous tenderness of +his smile. Not a handsome man, but a man whose simple +goodness shone in his features like a friendly lamp. The +woman in the door advanced a timid step; the color +deepened in her pale and melancholy face.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span></div> +<p>“I thought it was my man,” she said, her voice soft +and slow, a labored effort in it to speak without the +harsh dialect so apparent in her song.</p> +<p>“I am a traveler, Mackenzie is my name, on my way +to Tim Sullivan’s sheep ranch. My grub has run low; +I’d like to get some supper if you can let me have a +bite.”</p> +<p>“There is not much for a gentleman to eat,” said she.</p> +<p>“Anything at all,” Mackenzie returned, unslinging +his pack, letting it down wearily at his feet.</p> +<p>“My man would not like it. You have heard of Swan +Carlson?”</p> +<p>“No; but I’ll pay for it; he’ll have no right to kick.”</p> +<p>“You have come far if you have not heard of Swan +Carlson. His name is on the wind like a curse. Better +you would go on, sir; my man would kill you if he found +you in this house.”</p> +<p>She moved a step to reach and lay the plate on a +table close at hand. As she lifted her foot there was the +sharp clink of metal, as of a dragging chain. Mackenzie +had heard it before when she stepped nearer the +door, and now he bent to look into the shadow that fell +over the floor from the flaring bottom of the lantern.</p> +<p>“Madam,” said he, indignantly amazed by the barbarous +thing he beheld, “does that man keep you a +prisoner here?”</p> +<p>“Like a dog,” she said, nodding her untidy head, +lifting her foot to show him the chain.</p> +<p>It was a common trace-chain from plow harness; two +of them, in fact, welded together to give her length to +go about her household work. She had a freedom of not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +more than sixteen feet, one end of the chain welded +about her ankle, the other set in a staple driven into a +log of the wall. She had wrapped the links with cloths +to save her flesh, but for all of that protection she +walked haltingly, as if the limb were sore.</p> +<p>“I never heard of such inhuman treatment!” Mackenzie +declared, hot to the bone in his burning resentment +of this barbarity. “How long has he kept you tied +up this way?”</p> +<p>“Three years now,” said she, with a weary sigh.</p> +<p>“It’s going to stop, right here. What did you let +him treat you this way for? Why didn’t some of your +neighbors take a hand in it?”</p> +<p>“Nobody comes,” she sighed, shaking her head sadly. +“The name of Swan Carlson is a curse on the wind. +Nobody passes; we are far from any road that men +travel; your face is the first I have seen since Swan put +the chain on me like a wolf.”</p> +<p>“Where does he keep his tools?”</p> +<p>“Maybe in the barn––I do not know. Only there +never is anything left in my reach. Will you set me +free, kind stranger?”</p> +<p>“If I can find anything to cut that chain. Let me +have the lantern.”</p> +<p>The woman hesitated, her eyes grown great with +fright.</p> +<p>“My man, he is the one who choked two sheepherders +with his hands. You must have read in the paper–––”</p> +<p>“Maybe it was before my time. Give me down the +lantern.”</p> +<p>Swan Carlson appeared to be a man who got along +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +with very few tools. Mackenzie could not find a cold-chisel +among the few broken and rusted odds and ends +in the barn, although there was an anvil, such as every +rancher in that country had, fastened to a stump in the +yard, a hammer rusting beside it on the block. As +Mackenzie stood considering what could be done with +the material at hand, the woman called to him from the +door, her voice vibrant with anxious excitement:</p> +<p>“My man will come soon,” she said.</p> +<p>Mackenzie started back to the house, hammer in hand, +thinking that he might break the chain near her foot +and give her liberty, at least. A pile of logs lay in the +dooryard, an ax hacked into the end of one. With this +tool added to the hammer, he hurried to the prisoner.</p> +<p>“I think we can make it now,” he said.</p> +<p>The poor creature was panting as if the hand of her +man hung over her in threat of throttling out her life +as he had smothered the sheepherders in the tragedy +that gave him his evil fame. Mackenzie urged her to a +chair, giving her the lantern to hold and, with the edge +of the ax set against a link of her chain, the poll on the +floor, he began hammering the soft metal against the bit.</p> +<p>Once she put her hand on his shoulder, her breath +caught in a sharp exclamation of alarm.</p> +<p>“I thought it was Swan’s step!” she whispered. +“Listen––do you hear?”</p> +<p>“There’s nobody,” he assured her, turning his head +to listen, the sweat on his lean cheek glistening in the +light.</p> +<p>“It is my fear that he will come too soon. Strike +fast, good young man, strike fast!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span></div> +<p>If Swan Carlson had been within half a mile he would +have split the wind to find out the cause of such a clanging +in his shunned and proscribed house, and that he +did not appear before the chain was severed was evidence +that he was nowhere near at hand. When the cut +links fell to the floor Mrs. Carlson stood the lantern +down with gentle deliberation, as if preparing to enter +the chamber of someone in a desperate sickness to whom +had come a blessed respite of sleep. Then she stood, her +lips apart, her breath suspended, lifting her freed foot +with a joyous relief in its lightness.</p> +<p>Mackenzie remained on his knees at her feet, looking +up strangely into her face. Suddenly she bent over +him, clasped his forehead between her hands, kissed his +brow as if he were her son. A great hot tear splashed +down upon his cheek as she rose again, a sob in her +throat that ended in a little, moaning cry. She tossed +her long arms like an eagle set free from a cramping +cage, her head thrown back, her streaming hair far +down her shoulders. There was an appealing grace in +her tall, spare body, a strange, awakening beauty in +her haggard face.</p> +<p>“God sent you,” she said. “May He keep His hand +over you wherever you go.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie got to his feet; she picked up the ax and +leaned it against the table close to her hand.</p> +<p>“I will give you eggs, you can cook them at a fire,” +she said, “and bread I will give you, but butter I cannot +give. That I have not tasted since I came to this land, +four years ago, a bride.”</p> +<p>She moved about to get the food, walking with awkwardness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +on the foot that had dragged the chain so +long, laughing a little at her efforts to regain a normal +balance.</p> +<p>“Soon it will pass away, and I will walk like a lady, +as I once knew how.”</p> +<p>“But I don’t want to cook at a fire,” Mackenzie protested; +“I want you to make me some coffee and fry me +some eggs, and then we’ll see about things.”</p> +<p>She came close to him, her great gray eyes seeming to +draw him until he gazed into her soul.</p> +<p>“No; you must go,” she said. “It will be better when +Swan comes that nobody shall be here but me.”</p> +<p>“But you! Why, you poor thing, he’ll put that chain +on you again, knock you down, for all I know, and +fasten you up like a beast. I’m not going; I’ll stay +right here till he comes.”</p> +<p>“No,” shaking her head in sad earnestness, “better it +will be for all that I shall be here alone when he comes.”</p> +<p>“Alone!” said he, impatiently; “what can you do +alone?”</p> +<p>“When he comes,” said she, drawing a great breath, +shaking her hair back from her face, her deep grave eyes +holding him again in their earnest appeal, “then I will +stand by the door and kill him with the ax!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_SWAN_CARLSON' id='CHAPTER_II_SWAN_CARLSON'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>SWAN CARLSON</h3> +</div> +<p>Mackenzie found it hard to bend the woman +from this plan of summary vengeance. She had +suffered and brooded in her loneliness so long, the cruel +hand of Swan Carlson over her, that her thoughts had +beaten a path to this desire. This self-administration of +justice seemed now her life’s sole aim. She approached +it with glowing eyes and flushed cheeks; she had lived +for that hour.</p> +<p>Harshly she met Mackenzie’s efforts at first to dissuade +her from this long-planned deed, yielding a little +at length, not quite promising to withhold her hand +when the step of her savage husband should sound outside +the door.</p> +<p>“If you are here when he comes, then it will do for +another night; if you are gone, then I will not say.”</p> +<p>That was the compromise she made with him at last, +turning with no more argument to prepare his supper, +carrying the ax with her as she went about the work. +Often she stood in rigid concentration, listening for the +sound of Swan’s coming, such animation in her eyes as +a bride’s might show in a happier hour than hers. She +sat opposite her visitor as he made his supper on the +simple food she gave him, and told him the story of her +adventure into that heartless land, the ax-handle against +her knee.</p> +<p>A minister’s daughter, educated to fit herself for a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +minister’s wife. She had learned English in the schools +of her native land, as the custom is, and could speak it +fairly when family reverses carried her like a far-blown +seed to America. She had no business training, for what +should a minister’s wife know of business beyond the +affairs of the parish and the economy of her own home? +She found, therefore, nothing open to her hands in +America save menial work in the households of others.</p> +<p>Not being bred to it, nor the intention or thought of +it as a future contingency, she suffered in humbling herself +to the services of people who were at once her intellectual +and social inferiors. The one advantage in it +was the improvement of her English speech, through +which she hoped for better things in time.</p> +<p>It was while she was still new to America, its customs +and social adjustments, and the shame of her menial +situation burned in her soul like a corrosive acid, that +she saw the advertisement of Swan Carlson in a Swedish +newspaper. Swan Carlson was advertising for a wife. +Beneath a handsome picture of himself he stated his desires, +frankly, with evident honesty in all his representations. +He told of his holdings in sheep and land, of his +money in the bank.</p> +<p>A dream of new consequence in this strange land came +to Hertha Jacobsen as she read the advertisement, as +she studied the features of Swan Carlson, his bold face +looking at her from the page. She had seen men, and +the women of such men sharing their honors, who had +risen from peasants to governors and senators, to positions +of wealth and consequence in this strange land +with all the romance of a tale out of a book. Perhaps +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +fate had urged her on to this unfriendly shore only to +feed her on the bitter herbs for her purification for a +better life.</p> +<p>The minister of her church investigated Swan Carlson +and his claims, finding him all that he professed to be. +Hertha wrote to him; in time Swan came to visit her, +a tall, long-striding man, handsomer than his picture in +the paper, handsome as a Viking lord with his proud +foot on the neck of a fallen foe.</p> +<p>So she married him, and came away with him to the +sheeplands, and Swan’s hand was as tender of her as a +summer wind. It was shearing time when they reached +home; Swan was with her every day for a little while, +gathering his flocks from the range into the shearing +sheds. He was master of more than fifteen thousand +sheep.</p> +<p>When the shearing was done, and Swan had gone with +his wagons to ship the clip, returning with his bankbook +showing thousands in added wealth, a change came into +her life, so radiant with the blossoms of a new happiness. +Swan’s big laugh was not so ready in his throat +any more; his great hand seemed forgetful of its caress. +He told her that the time of idling now was over; she +must go with him in a sheep-wagon to the range and +care for her band of sheep, sharing the labors of his life +as she shared its rewards.</p> +<p>No; that was not to her liking. The wife of a rich +man should not live as a peasant woman, dew in her +draggled skirts to her knees, the sun browning her skin +and bleaching her hair. It was not for his woman to +give him <i>no</i>, said Swan. Be ready at a certain hour in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +the morning; they must make an early start, for the +way was long.</p> +<p>But no; she refused to take the burden of a peasant +woman on her back. That was the first time Swan +knocked her senseless. When she recovered, the sheep-wagon +was rocking her in its uneasy journey to the distant +range. Swan’s cruelties multiplied with his impatience +at her slowness to master the shepherd’s art. +The dogs were sullen creatures, unused to a woman’s +voice, unfriendly to a woman’s presence. Swan insisted +that she lay aside her woman’s attire and dress as a man +to gain the good-will of the dogs.</p> +<p>Again she defied his authority, all her refinement rising +against the degradation of her sex; again Swan laid +her senseless with a blow. When she woke her limbs were +clad in overalls, a greasy jumper was buttoned over her +breast. But the dogs were wiser than their master; no +disguise of man’s could cover her from the contempt of +their shrewd senses. They would not obey her shrilled +commands.</p> +<p>Very well, said Swan; if she did not have it in her to +win even the respect of a dog, let her do a dog’s work. +So he took the collies away, leaving her to range her +band of sheep in terrible labor, mind-wrenching loneliness, +over the sage-gray hills. Wolves grew bold; the +lambs suffered. When Swan came again to number her +flock, he cursed her for her carelessness, giving her blows +which were kinder than his words.</p> +<p>With the first snow she abandoned her flock and fled. +Disgraceful as it was for a woman to leave her man, the +frenzy of loneliness drove her on. With his companionship +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +she could have endured Swan’s cruelty, but alone +her heart was dead. Three days she wandered. Swan +found her after she had fallen in the snow.</p> +<p>His great laugh woke her, and she was home in this +house, the light of day in her eyes. Swan was sitting +beside her, merry in the thought of how he had cheated +her out of her intention to die like an old ewe among +the mountain drifts.</p> +<p>She was good for nothing, he said, but to sit at home +like a cat. But he would make sure that she sat at home, +to be there at his coming, and not running away from +the bounty of a man who had taken a beggar to his +bosom. Then he brought the chain and the anvil, and +welded the red-hot iron upon her limb. He laughed +when the smoke of her burning flesh rose hissing; +laughed when he mounted his horse and rode away, +leaving her in agony too great to let her die.</p> +<p>This summer now beginning was the fourth since that +melancholy day. In the time that had passed, Swan had +come into the ways of trouble, suffering a great drain +upon his hoarded money, growing as a consequence sullen +and somber in his moods. No more he laughed; even +the distress of his chained wife, the sight of her wasting +face and body, the pleading of her tortured eyes, could +not move his loud gales of merriment again.</p> +<p>Swan had killed two of his sheepherders, as she had +mentioned before. It grew out of a dispute over wages, +in which the men were right. That was the winter following +her attempt to run away, Swan being alone with +them upon the stormy range. He declared both of them +set upon him at once like wolves, and that he fought +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +only to defend his life. He strangled them, the throat +of each grasped in his broad, thick hand, and held them +from him so, stiff arms against their desperate struggles, +until they sank down in the snow and died.</p> +<p>Only a little while ago the lawyers had got him off +from the charge of murder, after long delays. The case +had been tried in another county, for Swan Carlson’s +neighbors all believed him guilty of a horrible crime; no +man among them could have listened to his story under +oath with unprejudiced ear. The lawyers had brought +Swan off, for at the end it had been his living word +against the mute accusations of two dead men. There +was nobody to speak for the herders; so the lawyers had +set him free. But it had cost him thousands of dollars, +and Swan’s evil humor had deepened with the drain.</p> +<p>Crazy, he said of his wife; a poor mad thing bent on +self-destruction in wild and mournful ways. In that +Swan was believed, at least. Nobody came to inquire of +her, none ever stopped to speak a word. The nearest +neighbor was twelve or fifteen miles distant, a morose +man with sour face, master of a sea of sheep.</p> +<p>All of this Swan himself had told her in the days +when he laughed. He told her also of the lawyers’ drain +upon his wealth, starving her days together to make a +pebble of saving to fill the ruthless breach.</p> +<p>“Tonight Swan will come,” she said. “After what I +have told you, are you not afraid?”</p> +<p>“I suppose I ought to be,” Mackenzie returned, leaving +her to form her own conclusion.</p> +<p>She searched his face with steady eyes, her hand on +the ax-helve, in earnest effort to read his heart.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span></div> +<p>“No, you are not afraid,” she said. “But wait; when +you hear him speak, then you will be afraid.”</p> +<p>“How do you know he is coming home tonight?”</p> +<p>She did not speak at once. Her eyes were fixed on +the open door at Mackenzie’s side, her face was set in +the tensity of her mental concentration as she listened. +Mackenzie bent all his faculties to hear if any foot +approached. There was no sound.</p> +<p>“The fishermen of my country can feel the chill of an +iceberg through the fog and the night,” she said at last. +“Swan Carlson is an iceberg to my heart.”</p> +<p>She listened again, bending forward, her lips open. +Mackenzie fancied he heard the swing of a galloping +hoof-beat, and turned toward the door.</p> +<p>“Have you a pistol?” she inquired.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“He is coming; in a little while he will be at the door. +There is time yet for you to leave.”</p> +<p>“I want to have a word with your man; I’ll wait.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Carlson got up, keeping the ax in hand, moved +her chair to the other side of the door, where she stationed +herself in such position as Swan must see her first +when he looked within. She disposed the ax to conceal +it entirely beneath her long apron, her hand under the +garment grasping the helve.</p> +<p>“For your own sake, not his, I ask you not to strike +him,” Mackenzie pleaded, in all the earnestness he could +command.</p> +<p>“I have given you the hour of my vengeance,” she +replied. “But if he curses me, if he lifts his hand!”</p> +<p>Mackenzie was more than a little uneasy on the probable +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +outcome of his meeting with the tempestuous Swan. +He got out his pipe and lit it, considering the situation +with fast-running thoughts. Still, a man could not go +on and leave that beaten, enslaved woman to the mercies +of her tyrant; Swan Carlson must be given to understand +that he would be held to answer to the law for his +future behavior toward her.</p> +<p>“If I were you I’d put the ax behind the door and +get his supper ready,” said he.</p> +<p>Mrs. Carlson got up at the suggestion, with such +readiness that surprised Mackenzie, put the ax back of +the open door, stood a moment winding up her fallen +hair.</p> +<p>“Yes, he is my man,” she said.</p> +<p>Swan was turning his horse into the barn; Mackenzie +could hear him talking to the animal, not unkindly. +Mrs. Carlson put fresh fuel in the stove, making a rattling +of the lids which must have sounded cheerful to the +ears of a hungry man. As she began breaking eggs into +a bowl she took up her song again, with an unconscious +air of detachment from it, as one unwittingly follows +the habit that has been for years the accompaniment to +a task.</p> +<p>As before, the refinement of accent was wanting in +her words, but the sweet melancholy of her voice thrilled +her listener like the rich notes of an ancient violin.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><i>Na-a-fer a-lo-o-one, na-a-fer a-lone,<br /> +He promise na-fer to leafe me,<br /> +Na-fer to leafe me a-lone!</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Mackenzie sat with his elbow on the table, his chair +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +partly turned toward the door, just within the threshold +and a little to one side, where the flockmaster would see +him the moment he stepped into the light. The traveler’s +pack lay on the floor at the door jamb; the smoke +from his pipe drifted out to tell of his presence in the +honest announcement of a man who had nothing to hide.</p> +<p>So Swan Carlson found him as he came home to his +door.</p> +<p>Swan stopped, one foot in the door, the light on his +face. Mrs. Carlson did not turn from the stove to greet +him by word or look, but stood bending a little over the +pan of sputtering eggs, which she shook gently from +side to side with a rhythmic, slow movement in cadence +with her song. Swan turned his eyes from one to the +other, his face clouding for a moment as for a burst of +storm, clearing again at once as Mackenzie rose and +gave him good evening in cheerful and unshaken voice.</p> +<p>Mrs. Carlson had spoken a true word when she described +Swan as a handsome man. Almost seven feet +tall, Mackenzie took him to be, so tall that he must +stoop to enter the door; lithe and sinewy of limbs, a +lightness in them as of an athlete bred; broad in the +shoulders, long of arms. His face was stern, his red +hair long about the ears, his Viking mustache long-drooping +at the corners of his mouth.</p> +<p>“I thought a man was here, or my woman had begun +to smoke,” said Swan, coming in, flinging his hat down +on the floor. “What do you want, loafin’ around here?”</p> +<p>Mackenzie explained his business in that country in +direct words, and his presence in the house in the same +breath. Mollified, Swan grunted that he understood +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +and accepted the explanation, turning up his sleeves, +unfastening the collar of his flannel shirt, to wash. His +woman stood at the stove, her song dead on her lips, +sliding the eggs from the pan onto a platter in one +piece. Swan gave her no heed, not even a curious or +questioning look, but as he crossed the room to the wash +bench he saw the broken chain lying free upon the floor.</p> +<p>A breath he paused over it, his eyes fastened on it in +a glowering stare. Mackenzie braced himself for the +storm of wrath which seemed bursting the doors of Swan +Carlson’s gloomy heart. But Swan did not speak. He +picked up the chain, examined the cut link, threw it +down with a clatter. At the sound of its fall Mackenzie +saw Mrs. Carlson start. She turned her head, terror in +her eyes, her face blanched. Swan bent over the basin, +snorting water like a strangling horse.</p> +<p>There were eight eggs on the platter that Swan Carlson’s +woman put before him when he sat down to his +supper. One end of the great trencher was heaped with +brown bacon; a stack of bread stood at Swan’s left +hand, a cup of coffee at his right. Before this provender +the flockmaster squared himself, the unwelcome +guest across the table from him, the smoke of his pipe +drifting languidly out into the tranquil summer night.</p> +<p>Swan had said no word since his first inquiry. Mackenzie +had ventured nothing more. Mrs. Carlson sat +down in the chair that she had placed near the door +before Swan’s arrival, only that she moved it a little to +bring her hand within reach of the hidden ax.</p> +<p>Swan had brushed his long, dark-red hair back from +his broad, deep forehead, bringing it down across the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +tips of his ears in a savage fashion admirably suited to +his grave, harsh, handsome face. He devoured his food +noisily, bending low over his plate.</p> +<p>“You want to learn the sheep business, huh?” said he, +throwing up his eyes in quick challenge, pausing a +moment in his champing and clatter. Mackenzie nodded, +pipe raised toward his lips. “Well, you come to the +right country. You ever had any work around a ranch?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“No, I didn’t think you had; you look too soft. How +much can you lift?”</p> +<p>“What’s that got to do with sheep?” Mackenzie inquired, +frowning in his habitual manner of showing displeasure +with frivolous and trifling things.</p> +<p>“I can shoulder a steel rail off of the railroad that +weighs seven hundred and fifty pounds,” said Swan. +“You couldn’t lift one end.”</p> +<p>“Maybe I couldn’t,” Mackenzie allowed, pretending +to gaze out after his drifting smoke, but watching the +sheepman, as he mopped the last of the eggs up with a +piece of bread, with a furtive turning of his eye. He +was considering how to approach the matter which he +had remained there to take up with this great, boasting, +savage man, and how he could make him understand +that it was any of society’s business whether he chained +his wife or let her go free, fed her or starved her, caressed +her, or knocked her down.</p> +<p>Swan pushed back from the table, wringing the coffee +from his mustache.</p> +<p>“Did you cut that chain?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, I cut it. You’ve got no right to keep your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +wife, or anybody else, chained up. You could be put in +jail for it; it’s against the law.”</p> +<p>“A man’s got a right to do what he pleases with his +own woman; she’s his property, the same as a horse.”</p> +<p>“Not exactly the same as a horse, either. But you +could be put in jail for beating your horse. I’ve waited +here to tell you about this, in a friendly way, and warn +you to treat this woman right. Maybe you didn’t know +you were breaking the law, but I’m telling you it’s so.”</p> +<p>Swan stood, his head within six inches of the ceiling. +His wife must have read an intention of violence in his +face, although Mackenzie could mark no change in his +features, always as immobile as bronze. She sprang to +her feet, her bosom agitated, arms lifted, shoulders +raised, as if to shrink from the force of a blow. She +made no effort to reach the ax behind the door; the +thought of it had gone, apparently, out of her mind.</p> +<p>Swan stood within four feet of her, but he gave her +no attention.</p> +<p>“When a man comes to my house and monkeys with +my woman, him and me we’ve got to have a fight,” he +said.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_THE_FIGHT' id='CHAPTER_III_THE_FIGHT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>THE FIGHT</h3> +</div> +<p>Mackenzie got up, keeping the table between +them. He looked at the door, calculating +whether he could make a spring for the ax before Carlson +could grapple him. Carlson read in the glance an +intention to retreat, made a quick stride to the door, +closed it sharply, locked it, put the key in his pocket. +He stood a moment looking Mackenzie over, as if surprised +by the length he unfolded when on his feet, but +with no change of anger or resentment in his stony face.</p> +<p>“You didn’t need to lock the door, Carlson; I wasn’t +going to run away––I didn’t wait here to see you for +that.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie stood in careless, lounging pose, hand on +the back of his chair, pipe between his fingers, a rather +humorous look in his eyes as he measured Carlson up +and down.</p> +<p>“Come out here in the middle and fight me if you +ain’t afraid!” Swan challenged, derision in his voice.</p> +<p>“I’ll fight you, all right, after I tell you what I waited +here to say. You’re a coward, Swan Carlson, you’re a +sheepman with a sheep’s heart. I turned your woman +loose, and you’re going to let her stay loose. Let that +sink into your head.”</p> +<p>Carlson was standing a few feet in front of Mackenzie, +leaning forward, his shoulders swelling and falling +as if he flexed his muscles for a spring. His arms he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +held swinging in front of him full length, like a runner +waiting for the start, in a posture at once unpromising +and uncouth. Behind him his wife shuddered against +the wall.</p> +<p>“Swan, Swan! O-o-oh, Swan, Swan!” she said, crying +it softly as if she chided him for a great hurt.</p> +<p>Swan turned partly toward her, striking backward +with his open hand. His great knuckles struck her +across the eyes, a cruel, heavy blow that would have +felled a man. She staggered back a pace, then sank +limply forward on her knees, her hands outreaching on +the floor, her hair falling wildly, her posture that of a +suppliant at a barbarian conqueror’s feet.</p> +<p>Mackenzie snatched the heavy platter from the table +and brought Carlson a smashing blow across the head. +Carlson stood weaving on his legs a moment as the fragments +of the dish clattered around him, swaying like a +tree that waits the last blow of the ax to determine +which way it will fall. Mackenzie threw the fragment +that remained in his hand into Carlson’s face, laying +open a long gash in his cheek. As the hot blood gushed +down over his jaw Carlson steadied himself on his swaying +legs and laughed.</p> +<p>Mrs. Carlson lifted her face out of the shadows of +the floor at the sound. Mackenzie glanced at her, the +red mark of Swan’s harsh blow across her brows, as he +flew at Swan like a desert whirlwind, landing heavily on +his great neck before he could lift a guard. The blow +staggered Carlson over upon his wife, and together they +collapsed against the wall, where Carlson stood a breath, +his hand thrown out to save him from a fall. Then he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +shook his haughty, handsome, barbarian head, and +laughed again, a loud laugh, deep and strong.</p> +<p>There was no note of merriment in that sound, no inflection +of satisfaction or joy. It came out of his wide-extended +jaws with a roar, no facial softening with it, +no blending of the features in the transformation of a +smile. Mrs. Carlson struggled to her knees at the sound +of it, lifting her moaning cry again at the sight of his +gushing blood. Swan charged his adversary with bent +head, the floor trembling under his heavy feet, his great +hands lifted to seize and crush.</p> +<p>Mackenzie backed away, upsetting the table between +them, barring for a moment Swan’s mad onrush. In the +anger-blind movements of the man he could read his intention, +which was not to strike foot to foot, knee to +knee, but to grapple and smother, as he had smothered +the sheepherders in the snow. Across the overturned +table Mackenzie landed another blow, sprang around the +barrier out of the pocket of corner into which Carlson +was bent on forcing him, hoping by nimble foot work to +play on the flockmaster for a knockout.</p> +<p>Swan threw a chair as Mackenzie circled out of his +reach with nimble feet, knocking down the stovepipe, +dislodging a shower of tinware from the shelves behind. +Carlson had him by the shoulder now, but a deft turn, a +sharp blow, and Mackenzie was free, racing over the +cluttered floor in wild uproar, bending, side-stepping, in +a strained and terrific race. Carlson picked up the +table, swung it overhead until it struck the ceiling, threw +it with all his mighty strength to crush the man who had +evaded him with such clever speed. A leg caught Mackenzie +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +a glancing blow on the head, dazing him momentarily, +giving Carlson the opening he desired.</p> +<p>In the next breath Mackenzie was down, Carlson’s +hand at his throat. Mackenzie could see Swan’s face as +he bent over him, the lantern light on it fairly. There +was no light of exultation in it as his great hand closed +slowly upon Mackenzie’s throat, no change from its +stony harshness save for the dark gash and the flood of +blood that ran down his jaw and neck.</p> +<p>Mackenzie writhed and struggled, groping on the +floor for something to strike Carlson with and break his +garroting grip. The blood was singing in his ears, the +breath was cut from his lungs; his eyes flashed a +thousand scintillating sparks and grew dark. His hand +struck something in the debris on the floor, the handle +of a table knife it seemed, and with the contact a +desperate accession of life heaved in him like a final wave. +He struck, and struck at Swan Carlson’s arm, and +struck again at his wrist as he felt the tightening band +of his fingers relax, heard him curse and growl. A quick +turn and he was free, with a glimpse as he rolled over +at Swan Carlson pulling a table fork out of his hairy +wrist.</p> +<p>Mackenzie felt blood in his mouth; his ears were +muffled as if he were under water, but he came to his +feet with a leg of the broken table in his hand. Swan +threw the fork at him as he rose from his knees; it +struck the lantern, breaking the globe, cutting off more +than half the dim light in which the undetermined battle +had begun.</p> +<p>Over against the door Mrs. Carlson stood with the ax +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +in her hands, holding it uplifted, partly drawn back, as +if she had checked it in an intended blow. Swan tore a +broad plank from the table top, split it over his knee to +make it better fit his hand, and came on to the attack, +bending in his slouching, bearish attitude of defiant +strength. Mackenzie gave way before him, watching his +moment to strike the decisive blow.</p> +<p>This maneuver brought Mackenzie near the door, +where the wild-eyed woman stood, an ally and a reserve, +ready to help him in the moment of his extremity. He +believed she had been on the point of striking Swan the +moment his fingers closed in their convulsive pang of +death over the handle of the fork.</p> +<p>Swan followed, warily now, conscious of this man’s +unexpected strength and agility, and of his resources in +a moment of desperation, making feints with his board +as a batter does before the ball is thrown. Mackenzie +passed Mrs. Carlson, backing away from Swan, sparring +for time to recover his wind and faculties after his swift +excursion to the borderland of death. He parried a +swift blow, giving one in return that caught Swan on +the elbow and knocked the plank out of his hand. Mackenzie +sprang forward to follow up his advantage with +a decisive stroke, when, to his amazement, Mrs. Carlson +threw herself between them, the ax uplifted in her husband’s +defense.</p> +<p>“No, no!” she screamed; “he is my man!”</p> +<p>Swan Carlson laughed again, and patted her shoulder, +stooping to recover his board. But he flung it +down again, taking the ax in its place, pushing his +woman, not without some tenderness in his hand, back +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +into the corner, throwing himself in front of her, his +wild laugh ringing in the murky room, stifling from the +smoke of lantern and stove.</p> +<p>Mackenzie felt his hope break like a rope of straw at +this unexpected turn of the woman. With those two +mad creatures––for mad he believed the isolation and +cruelty suffered by the one, the trouble and terror of +the law by the other, had driven them––leagued against +him it seemed that he must put down all hope of ever +looking again upon the day.</p> +<p>If there was any chance for him at all, it lay in darkness. +With this thought Mackenzie made a quick dash +past Carlson, smashing the lantern with a blow.</p> +<p>There was one window in the room, a small, single-sash +opening near the stove. Even this was not apparent +for a little while following the plunge into the +dark; Mackenzie stood still, waiting for his eyes to adjust +themselves to the gloom. No sound but Carlson’s +breathing came from the other side of the kitchen. The +square of window appeared dimly now, a little to Mackenzie’s +left. He moved cautiously away from it, yet not +without noise for all his care. Swan let drive with his +board at the sound of movement. His aim was good; +it struck Mackenzie’s shoulder, but fortunately with its +flat surface, doing no hurt.</p> +<p>Mackenzie threw himself down heavily, getting cautiously +to his feet again instantly, hoping to draw Carlson +over in the belief that he had put him out of the +fight. But Carlson was not so rash. He struck a match, +holding it up, peering under it, blinking in the sudden +light.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span></div> +<p>Mackenzie was not more than eight feet away. He +closed the distance in a bound, swung the heavy oak +table leg, and stretched Carlson on the floor. Mrs. +Carlson began wailing and moaning, bending over her +fallen tyrant, as Mackenzie could gather from her voice.</p> +<p>“You’ve killed him,” she said; “you’ve killed my +man!”</p> +<p>“No, but I will kill him if you don’t open the door!”</p> +<p>Mackenzie stood by Carlson as he spoke, feeling his +body with his foot. He bent over Carlson, exploring for +his heart, fearing that he had killed him, indeed. His +first efforts to locate a pulse were not assuring, but a +feeble throbbing at last announced that the great ruffian’s +admirable machinery was stunned, not broken.</p> +<p>“Open the door; he’ll be all right in a little while,” +Mackenzie said.</p> +<p>Mrs. Carlson was moaning in a sorrow as genuine as +if the fallen man had been the kindest husband that fate +could have sent her, and not the heartless beast that he +was. She found the key and threw the door open, letting +in a cool, sweet breath of the night. Under it Carlson +would soon revive, Mackenzie believed. He had no +desire to linger and witness the restoration.</p> +<p>Mackenzie had a bruised and heavy feeling about him +as he shouldered his pack and hurried from that inhospitable +door. He knew that Swan Carlson was not dead, +and would not die from that blow. Why the feeling persisted +as he struck off up the creek through the dew-wet +grass he could not tell, but it was strong upon him +that Swan Carlson would come into his way again, to +make trouble for him on a future day.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_KEEPER_OF_THE_FLOCK' id='CHAPTER_IV_KEEPER_OF_THE_FLOCK'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>KEEPER OF THE FLOCK</h3> +</div> +<p>John Mackenzie, late schoolmaster of Jasper, +marched on through the cool of the night, regretting +that he had meddled in the domestic arrangements +of Swan Carlson, the Swede. The outcome of his attempted +kindness to the oppressed woman had not been +felicitous. Indeed, he was troubled greatly by the fear +that he had killed Swan Carlson, and that grave consequences +might rise out of this first adventure that ever +fell in his way.</p> +<p>Perhaps adventure was not such a thing to be sought +as he had imagined, he reflected; hand to his swollen +throat. There was an ache in his crushed windpipe, a +dryness in his mouth, a taste of blood on his tongue. +That had been a close go for him, there on the floor under +Swan Carlson’s great knee; a few seconds longer, +and his first adventure would have been his last.</p> +<p>Yet there was a vast satisfaction in knowing what was +in him. Here he had stood foot to foot with the strong +man of the sheeplands, the strangler, the fierce, half-insane +terror of peaceful men, and had come off the +victor. He had fought this man in his own house, where +a man will fight valiantly, even though a coward on the +road, and had left him senseless on the floor. It was +something for a schoolteacher, counted a mild and +childlike man.</p> +<p>It had been many a year since Mackenzie had mixed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +in a fight, and the best that had gone before was nothing +more than a harmless spat compared to this. The marvel +of it was how he had developed this quality of defense +in inactivity. There must have been some psychological +undercurrent carrying strength and skill to +him through all the years of his romantic imaginings; +the spirits of old heroes of that land must have lent him +their counsel and might in that desperate battle with +the Norse flockmaster.</p> +<p>Adventure was not dead out of the land, it seemed, +although this was a rather sordid and ignoble brand. It +had descended to base levels among base men who lived +with sheep and thought only of sheep-riches. Violence +among such men as Swan Carlson was merely violence, +with none of the picturesque embellishments of the olden +days when men slung pistols with a challenge and a hail, +in those swift battles where skill was all, bestial strength +nothing.</p> +<p>Mackenzie hoped to find Tim Sullivan different from +the general run of sheep-rich men. There must be some +of the spice of romance in a man who had the wide reputation +of Tim Sullivan, and who was the hero of so +many tales of success.</p> +<p>It was Mackenzie’s hope that this encounter with the +wild sheepman might turn out to his profit with Tim +Sullivan. He always had believed that he should win +fortune fighting if it ever fell to his portion at all. +This brush with Swan Carlson confirmed his old belief. +If there was any good luck for him in the sheep country, +it would come to him through a fight,</p> +<p>Mackenzie considered these things as he marched on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +away from Swan Carlson’s homestead, thinking the safe +plan would be to put several miles between himself and +that place before lying down to rest. At dawn Swan +would be out after him with a gun, more than likely. +Mackenzie had nothing of the sort in his slender equipment. +Imagine a man going into the sheep country +carrying a gun! The gun days of the West were done; +he had seen only one cowboy wearing one in his four +years at Jasper.</p> +<p>Past midnight Mackenzie came to a little valley where +somebody had been cutting hay. The late-risen moon +discovered the little mounds of hay thick around him, +the aroma of the curing herbage was blowing to him an +invitation to stop and sleep. Let Swan Carlson come +when he might, that was the place prepared for the +traveler’s repose.</p> +<p>Romance or no romance, riches or poverty, he was +through with a woman’s work, he told himself. Once +there had been ideals ahead of him in educational work, +but the contempt of men had dispelled them. If he +could not find his beginning in the sheep country, he +would turn elsewhere. A man who had it in him to fight +giants wasn’t cut out for teaching school.</p> +<p>Mackenzie sat with his back to a haycock thinking in +this vein. The sound of running water was near; he +went to the creek and bathed his throat, easing its burning +with a deep swig. Back again to the hay, still building +new victories, and nobler ones, on the foundation of +this triumph over Swan Carlson, the red giant who +choked men to death in the snow.</p> +<p>Morning discovered no habitation in reach of the eye. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +That little field of mown hay stood alone among the +gray hills, unfenced, unfended, secure in its isolation, a +little patch of something in the wilderness that looked +like home. Mackenzie must have put many miles behind +him since leaving Carlson’s door. Looking back, he +could follow the course of the creek where it snaked +through the hills, dark green of willow and cottonwood +fresh among the hemming slopes of sage, but no trace of +Carlson’s trees could he see.</p> +<p>Mackenzie had no flour to mix a wad of dough, and +but a heel of a bacon side to furnish a breakfast. It +was so unpromising in his present hungry state that he +determined to tramp on a few miles in the hope of lifting +Tim Sullivan’s ranch-house on the prominent hilltop +where, he had been told, it stood.</p> +<p>Two or three miles beyond the hay-field Mackenzie +came suddenly upon a sheep-camp. The wagon stood +on a green hillside, a pleasant valley below it where the +grass was abundant and sweet. The camp evidently had +been stationed in that place but a little while, for a +large band of sheep grazed just below it, no bedding-ground +being worn bare in the unusual verdure. Altogether, +it was the greenest and most promising place +Mackenzie had met in his journey, gladdening at once to +the imagination and the eye.</p> +<p>The shepherd sat on the hillside, his dogs beside him, +a little smoke ascending straight in the calm, early +sunshine from his dying fire. The collies scented the +stranger while he stood on the hilltop, several hundred +yards above the camp, rising to question his presence +bristling backs. The shepherd rose to inquire into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +the alarm, springing up with amazing agility, such sudden +and wild concern in his manner as provoked the +traveler’s smile.</p> +<p>Mackenzie saw that he was a boy of fifteen or thereabout, +dressed in overalls much too large for him, the +bottoms turned up almost to his knees. Hot as the +morning was beginning, the lad had on a duck coat with +sheepskin collar, but in the excitement of beholding a +visitor approaching his camp so early in the day, he +took off his hat, standing so a moment. Then he cut +out a streak for the wagon, a few rods distant, throwing +back a half-frightened look as he disappeared around +its side.</p> +<p>This was a very commodious wagon, familiar to Mackenzie +from having seen many like it drawn up for +repairs at the blacksmith shops in Jasper. Its heavy canvas +top was stretched tightly over bows, made to withstand +wind and rough weather, a stovepipe projecting +through it, fended about with a broad tin, and a canvas +door, with a little window in it, a commodious step letting +down to the ground. Its tongue was cut short, to +admit coupling it close behind the camp-mover’s wagon, +and it was a snug and comfortable home on wheels.</p> +<p>The dogs came slowly to meet Mackenzie as he approached, +backs still bristling, countenances unpromising. +The boy had disappeared into the wagon; Mackenzie +wondered if he had gone to fetch his gun.</p> +<p>But no. Instead of a gun, came a girl, neither timidity +nor fear in her bearing, and close behind her came +the boy, hat still in his hand, his long, straight hair +down about his ears. Mackenzie had stopped a hundred +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +yards or so distant, not confident of a friendly reception +from the dogs. The girl waved her hand in invitation +for him to come on, and stood waiting at the wagon end.</p> +<p>She was as neatly dressed as the lad beside her was +uncouth in his man-size overalls, her short corduroy +skirt belted about with a broad leather clasped with a +gleaming silver buckle, the tops of her tall laced boots +lost beneath its hem. Her gray flannel waist was laced +at the bosom like a cowboy’s shirt, adorned at the collar +with a flaming scarlet necktie done in a bow as broad as +a band. Her brown sombrero was tilted, perhaps unintentionally, +a little to one side of her rather pert and +independently carried head.</p> +<p>At a word from her the dogs left the way unopposed, +and as greetings passed between the sheepgirl and the +stranger the wise creatures stood beside her, eyeing the +visitor over with suspicious mien. Mackenzie told his +name and his business, making inquiry in the same +breath for Tim Sullivan’s ranch.</p> +<p>“Do you know Mr. Sullivan?” she asked. And as she +lifted her eyes Mackenzie saw that they were as blue as +asters on an October morning, and that her hair was a +warm reddish-brown, and that her face was refreshingly +pure in its outline, strong and haughty and brown, and +subtly sweet as the elusive perfume of a wild rose of the +hills.</p> +<p>“No, I don’t know Mr. Sullivan; I’ve never even seen +him. I’ve heard a lot about him down at Jasper––I was +the schoolteacher there.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you’re up here on your vacation?” said she, a +light of quick interest in her eyes, an unmistakable +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +friendliness in her voice. It was as if he had presented +a letter from somebody well and favorably known.</p> +<p>“No, I’ve come up here to see about learning the +sheep business.”</p> +<p>“Sheep business?” said she, looking at him with surprised +eyes. “Sheep business?” this time with a shading +of disgust. “Well, if I had sense enough to teach school +I’d never want to see another sheep!”</p> +<p>Mackenzie smiled at her impetuous outburst in which +she revealed in a word the discontent of her heart.</p> +<p>“Of course you know Mr. Sullivan?”</p> +<p>“He’s my father,” she returned. “This is my brother +Charley; there are eight more of us at home.”</p> +<p>Charley grinned, his shyness still over him, but his +alarm quieted, and gave Mackenzie his hand.</p> +<p>“The ranch is about thirteen or fifteen miles on up +the creek from here,” she said, “You haven’t had your +breakfast, have you?”</p> +<p>“No; I just about finished my grub yesterday.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t see any grease around your gills,” said the +girl, in quite a matter-of-fact way, no flippancy in her +manner. “Charley, stir up the fire, will you? I can’t +offer you much, Mr. Mackenzie, but you’re welcome to +what there is. How about a can of beans?”</p> +<p>“You’ve hit me right where I live, Miss Sullivan.”</p> +<p>The collies came warily up, stiff-legged, with backs +still ruffled, and sniffed Mackenzie over. They seemed +to find him harmless, turning from him presently to go +and lie beside Charley, their faces toward the flock, alert +ears lifted, white breasts gleaming in the sun like the +linen of fastidious gentlemen.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span></div> +<p>“Do you want me to get any water, Joan?” Charley +inquired.</p> +<p>Joan answered from inside the wagon that no water +was needed, there was coffee enough in the pot. She +handed the smoke-blackened vessel out to Mackenzie as +she spoke, telling him to go and put it on the fire.</p> +<p>Joan turned the beans into the pan after cooking the +bacon, and sent Charley to the wagon for a loaf of +bread.</p> +<p>“We don’t have to bake bread in this camp, that’s one +blessing,” she said. “Mother keeps us supplied. Some +of these sheepherders never taste anything but their +cold-water biscuits for years at a time.”</p> +<p>“It must get kind of tiresome,” Mackenzie reflected, +thinking of his own efforts at bread-making on the road.</p> +<p>“It’s too heavy to carry around in the craw,” said +Joan.</p> +<p>Charley watched Mackenzie curiously as he ate, whispering +once to his sister, who flushed, turned her eyes a +moment on her visitor, and then seemed to rebuke the +lad for passing confidences in such impolite way. Mackenzie +guessed that his discolored neck and bruised face +had been the subject of the boy’s conjectures, but he did +not feel pride enough in his late encounter to speak of +it even in explanation. Charley opened the way to it at +last when Joan took the breakfast things back to the +wagon.</p> +<p>“Have you been in a fight?” the boy inquired.</p> +<p>“Not much of a one,” Mackenzie told him, rather +wishing that the particulars might be reserved.</p> +<p>“Your neck’s black like somebody’d been chokin’ you, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +and your face is bunged up some, too. Who done it?”</p> +<p>“Do you know Swan Carlson?” Mackenzie inquired, +turning slowly to the boy.</p> +<p>“Swan Carlson?” Charley’s face grew pale at the +name; his eyes started in round amazement. “You +couldn’t never ’a’ got away from Swan; he choked two +fellers to death, one in each hand. No man in this +country could whip one side of Swan.”</p> +<p>“Well, I got away from him, anyhow,” said Mackenzie, +in a manner that even the boy understood to be +the end of the discussion.</p> +<p>But Charley was not going to have it so. He jumped +up and ran to meet Joan as she came from the wagon.</p> +<p>“Mr. Mackenzie had a fight with Swan Carlson––that’s +what’s the matter with his neck!” he said. There +was unbounded admiration in the boy’s voice, and exultation +as if the distinction were his own. Here before +his eyes was a man who had come to grips with Swan +Carlson, and had escaped from his strangling hands to +eat his breakfast with as much unconcern as if he had +no more than been kicked by a mule.</p> +<p>Joan came on a little quicker, excitement reflected in +her lively eyes. Mackenzie was filling his pipe, which +had gone through the fight in his pocket in miraculous +safety––for which he was duly grateful––ashamed of +his bruises, now that the talk of them had brought them +to Joan’s notice again.</p> +<p>“I hope you killed him,” she said, coming near, looking +down on Mackenzie with full commendation; “he +keeps his crazy wife chained up like a dog!”</p> +<p>“I don’t think he’s dead, but I’d like to know for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +sure,” Mackenzie returned, his eyes bent thoughtfully on +the ground.</p> +<p>“Nobody will ever say a word to you if you did kill +him,” Joan assured. “They’d all know he started it––he +fusses with everybody.”</p> +<p>She sat on the ground near him, Charley posting himself +a little in front, where he could admire and wonder +over the might of a man who could break Swan Carlson’s +hold upon his throat and leave his house alive. Before +them the long valley widened as it reached away, the +sheep a dusty brown splotch in it, spread at their grazing, +the sound of the lambs’ wailing rising clear in the +pastoral silence.</p> +<p>“I stopped at Carlson’s house after dark last night,” +Mackenzie explained, seeing that such explanation must +be made, “and turned his wife loose. Carlson resented +it when he came home. He said I’d have to fight him. +But you’re wrong when you believe what Carlson says +about that woman; she isn’t crazy, and never was.”</p> +<p>That seemed to be all the story, from the way he +hastened it, and turned away from the vital point of +interest. Joan touched his arm as he sat smoking, his +speculative gaze on the sheep, his brows drawn as if in +troubled thought.</p> +<p>“What did you do when he said you had to fight +him?” she inquired, her breath coming fast, her cheeks +glowing.</p> +<p>Mackenzie laughed shortly. “Why, I tried to get +away,” he said.</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you, before he got his hands on you?” +Charley wanted to know.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></div> +<p>“Charley!” said Joan.</p> +<p>“Carlson locked the door before I could get out.” +Mackenzie nodded to the boy, very gravely, as one man +to another. Charley laughed.</p> +<p>“You didn’t tear up no boards off the floor tryin’ to +git away!” said he.</p> +<p>Joan smiled; that seemed to express her opinion of +it, also. She admired the schoolmaster’s modest reluctance +when he gave them a bare outline of what followed, +shuddering when he laughed over Mrs. Carlson’s defense +of her husband with the ax.</p> +<p>“Gee!” said Charley, “I hope dad’ll give you a job.”</p> +<p>“But how did you get out of there?” Joan asked.</p> +<p>“I took an unfair advantage of Swan and hit him +with a table leg.”</p> +<p>“Gee! dad’s <i>got</i> to give you a job,” said Charley; +“I’ll make him.”</p> +<p>“I’ll hold you to that, Charley,” Mackenzie laughed.</p> +<p>In the boy’s eyes Mackenzie was already a hero, +greater than any man that had come into the sheeplands +in his day. Sheep people are not fighting folks. +They never have been since the world’s beginning; they +never will be to the world’s end. There is something in +the peaceful business of attending sheep, some appeal +in their meekness and passivity, that seems to tincture +and curb the savage spirit that dwells in the breast of +man. Swan Carlson was one of the notorious exceptions +in that country. Even the cattlemen were afraid of +him.</p> +<p>Joan advised against Mackenzie’s expressed intention +of returning to Carlson’s house to find out how badly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +he was hurt. It would be a blessing to the country, she +said, if it should turn out that Carlson was killed. But +Mackenzie had an uneasy feeling that it would be a +blessing he could not share. He was troubled over the +thing, now that the excitement of the fight had cooled +out of him, thinking of the blow he had given Carlson +with that heavy piece of oak.</p> +<p>Perhaps the fellow was not dead, but hurt so badly +that he would die without surgical aid. It was the part +of duty and humanity to go back and see. He resolved +to do this, keeping the resolution to himself.</p> +<p>Joan told him much of the sheep business, and much +about the art of running a big band over that sparse +range, in which this green valley lay like an oasis, a +gladdening sight seldom to be met with among those +sulky hills. She said she hoped her father would find +a place for him, for the summer, at least.</p> +<p>“But I wouldn’t like to see you shut yourself up in +this country like the rest of us are,” she said, gazing off +over the hills with wistful eyes. “A man that knows +enough to teach school oughtn’t fool away his time on +sheep.”</p> +<p>She was working toward her own emancipation, she +told him, running that band of two thousand sheep on +shares for her father, just the same as an ordinary +herdsman. In three years she hoped her increase, and +share of the clip, would be worth ten thousand dollars, +and then she would sell out and go away.</p> +<p>“What would you want to leave a good business like +this for?” he asked, rather astonished at her cool calculation +upon what she believed to be freedom. “There’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +nothing out in what people call the world that you could +turn your hand to that would make you a third of the +money.”</p> +<p>“I want to go away and get some education,” she +said.</p> +<p>“But you are educated, Miss Sullivan.”</p> +<p>She turned a slow, reproachful look upon him, a +shadow of sadness over her wholesome young face.</p> +<p>“I’m nearly nineteen; I don’t know as much as a girl +of twelve,” she said.</p> +<p>“I’ve never met any of those precocious twelve-year-olds,” +he told her, shaking his head gravely. “You +know a great deal more than you’re conscious of, I +think, Miss Sullivan. We don’t get the best of it out of +books.”</p> +<p>“I’m a prisoner here,” she said, stretching her arms +as if she displayed her bonds, “as much of a prisoner in +my way as Swan Carlson’s wife was in hers. You cut +her chain; nobody ever has come to cut mine.”</p> +<p>“Your knight will come riding over the hill some +evening. One comes into every woman’s life, sooner or +later, I think.”</p> +<p>“Mostly in imagination,” said Joan. And her way +of saying it, so wise and superior, as if she spoke of +some toy which she had outgrown, brought a smile again +to her visitor’s grave face.</p> +<p>Charley was not interested in his sister’s bondage, or +in the coming of a champion to set her free. He went +off to send the dogs after an adventurous bunch of +sheep that was straying from the main flock. Joan +sighed as she looked after him, putting a strand of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +hair away behind her ear. Presently she brightened, +turning to Mackenzie with quickening eyes.</p> +<p>“I’ll make a bargain with you, Mr. Mackenzie, if +you’re in earnest about learning the sheep business,” +she said.</p> +<p>“All right; let’s hear it.”</p> +<p>“Dad’s coming over here today to finish cutting hay. +I’ll make a deal with him for you to get a band of sheep +to run on shares if you’ll agree to teach me enough to +get into college––if I’ve got brains enough to learn.”</p> +<p>“The doubt would be on the side of the teacher, not +the pupil, Miss Sullivan. Maybe your father wouldn’t +like the arrangement, anyway.”</p> +<p>“He’ll like it, all right. What do you say?”</p> +<p>“I don’t think it would be very much to my advantage +to take charge of a band of sheep under conditions that +might look as if I needed somebody to plug for me. +Your father might think of me as an incompetent and +good-for-nothing person.”</p> +<p>“You’re afraid I haven’t got it in me to learn––you +don’t want to waste time on me!” Joan spoke with a +sad bitterness, as one who saw another illusion fading +before her eyes.</p> +<p>“Not that,” he hastened to assure her, putting out +his hand as if to add the comfort of his touch to the +salve of his words. “I’m only afraid your father +wouldn’t have anything to do with me if you were to +approach him with any such proposal. From what I’ve +heard of him he’s a man who likes a fellow to do his own +talking.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think he’d refuse me.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span></div> +<p>“It’s hard for a stranger to do that. Your father–––”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“You’ll not do it, you mean?”</p> +<p>“I think I’d rather get a job from your father on my +own face than on any kind of an arrangement or condition, +Miss Sullivan. But I pass you my word that you’ll +be welcome to anything and all I’m able to teach you if +I become a pupil in the sheep business on this range. +Provided, of course, that I’m in reaching distance.”</p> +<p>“Will you?” Joan asked, hope clearing the shadows +from her face again.</p> +<p>“But we might be too far apart for lessons very +often,” he suggested.</p> +<p>“Not more than ten or twelve miles. I could ride that +every day.”</p> +<p>“It’s a bargain then, if I get on,” said he.</p> +<p>“It’s a bargain,” nodded Joan, giving him her hand +to bind it, with great earnestness in her eyes.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V_TIM_SULLIVAN' id='CHAPTER_V_TIM_SULLIVAN'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>TIM SULLIVAN</h3> +</div> +<p>“Yes, they call us flockmasters in the reports of +the Wool Growers’ Association, and in the +papers and magazines, but we’re nothing but sheepmen, +and that’s all you can make out of us.”</p> +<p>Tim Sullivan spoke without humor when he made this +correction in the name of his calling, sitting with his +back to a haycock, eating his dinner in the sun. Mackenzie +accepted the correction with a nod of understanding, +sparing his words.</p> +<p>“So you want to be a flockmaster?” said Tim. “Well, +there’s worse callin’s a man, especially a young man, +could take up. What put it in your head to tramp off +up here to see me? Couldn’t some of them sheepmen +down at Jasper use you?”</p> +<p>“I wanted to get into the heart of the sheep country +for one thing, and several of my friends recommended +you as the best sheepman on the range, for another. I +want to learn under a master, if I learn at all.”</p> +<p>“Right,” Tim nodded, “right and sound. Do you +think you’ve got the stuff in you to make a sheepman +out of?”</p> +<p>“It will have to be a pretty hard school if I can’t +stick it through.”</p> +<p>“Summers are all right,” said Tim, reflectively, nodding +away at the distant hills, “and falls are all right, +but you take it winter and early spring, and it tries the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +mettle in a man. Blizzards and starvation, and losses +through pile-ups and stampedes, wolves and what not, +make a man think sometimes he’ll never go through it +any more. Then spring comes, with the cold wind, and +slush up to your ankles, and you out day and night +lookin’ after the ewes and lambs. Lambin’ time is the +hard time, and it’s the time when a man makes it or +loses, accordin’ to what’s in him to face hardship and +work.”</p> +<p>“I’ve heard about it; I know what I’m asking to go +up against, Mr. Sullivan.”</p> +<p>“You want to buy in, or take a band on shares?”</p> +<p>“I’d rather take a band on shares. If I put what +little money I’ve got into it I’ll go it alone.”</p> +<p>“That’s right; it’s safer to let the other man take +the risk. It ain’t fair to us sheepmen, but we have to +do it to get men. Well, when we hit on a good man, +it pays better than hirin’ poor ones at fifty dollars a +month and found. I’ve had old snoozers workin’ for +me that the coyotes eat the boots off of while they was +asleep. You look kind of slim and light to tackle a +job on the range.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie made no defense of his weight, advancing +no further argument in behalf of his petition for a job. +Sullivan measured him over with his appraising eyes, +saying nothing about the bruises he bore, although +Mackenzie knew he was burning with curiosity to go +into the matter of how and when he received them.</p> +<p>Sullivan was a man of calm benignity of face, a placid +certainty of his power and place in the world; a rugged +man, broad-handed, slow. His pleasure was in the distinction +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +of his wealth, and not in any use that he made +of it for his own comfort or the advancement of those +under his hand. Even so, he was of a type superior +to the general run of flockmasters such as Mackenzie +had met.</p> +<p>“I’ll give you a job helpin’ me on this hay for a few +days, and kind of try you out,” Tim agreed at last. +“I don’t want to discourage you at the start, but I don’t +believe you got the mettle in you to make a flockmaster, +if you want to call it that, out of.”</p> +<p>“All right; I’ll help you on the hay. Before I start +in though, I’d like to borrow a saddle-horse from you +to take a ride down the creek to Swan Carlson’s place. +I wouldn’t be long.”</p> +<p>“Carlson’s place? Do you know Swan Carlson?”</p> +<p>Mackenzie told in few words how much he knew of +Carlson, and his reason for desiring to visit him. Tim’s +wonder was too large to contain at hearing this news. +He got up, his eyes staring in plain incredulity, his +mouth open a bit between surprise and censure, it +seemed. But he said nothing for a little while; only +stood and looked Mackenzie over again, with more careful +scrutiny than before.</p> +<p>“I’ll go down with you,” he announced, turning +abruptly away to get the horses.</p> +<p>It was evident to Mackenzie that Sullivan was bewildered +between doubt and suspicion as they rode toward +Carlson’s ranch, which the sheepman said was about +seven miles away. But he betrayed nothing of his +thoughts in words, riding in silence mainly, looking at +the ground like a man who had troubles on his mind.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span></div> +<p>The silence of abandonment was over Carlson’s house +as they rode up. A few chickens retreated from the +yard to the cover of the barn in the haste of panic, their +going being the only sound of life about the place. The +door through which Mackenzie had left was shut; he +approached it without hesitation––Tim Sullivan lingering +back as if in doubt of their reception––and knocked. +No answer. Mackenzie tried the door, finding it unlocked; +pushed it open, entered.</p> +<p>Sullivan stood outside, one mighty hand on the jamb, +his body to one side under protection of the house, his +head put cautiously and curiously round to see, leaving +a fairway for Swan Carlson should he rise from a dark +corner, shake himself like an old grizzly, and charge.</p> +<p>“Is he there?” Tim asked, his voice a strained whisper.</p> +<p>Mackenzie did not reply. He stood in the middle +of the room where his combat with Swan had taken +place, among the debris of broken dishes, wrecked table, +fallen stovepipe and tinware, looking about him with +grim interest. There was nobody in the other room, +but the blood from Swan’s hurt trailed across the floor +as if he had been helped to the bed. Tim took his +courage in both hands and came just inside the door.</p> +<p>“Man! Look at the blood!” he said.</p> +<p>“There’s nobody here,” Mackenzie told him, turning +to go.</p> +<p>“She’s took him to the doctor,” said Tim.</p> +<p>“Where is that?”</p> +<p>“There’s a kind of a one over on the Sweetwater, +sixty miles from here, but there’s no good one this side +of Jasper.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span></div> +<p>“He’ll die on the way,” Mackenzie said conclusively.</p> +<p>“No such luck,” said Tim. “Look! There’s the +chain he tied that woman of his up with.”</p> +<p>“We’d better go back and get at that hay,” Mackenzie +said. “There’s nothing I can do for Carlson.”</p> +<p>“There’s the table leg you hit him with!” Tim picked +it up, plucking off the red hairs which clung to it, looking +at Mackenzie with startled eyes. Mackenzie mounted +his horse.</p> +<p>“You’d better shut the door,” he called back as he +rode away.</p> +<p>Tim caught up with him half a mile on the way back +to the hay-field. The sheepman seemed to have outrun +his words. A long time he rode beside Mackenzie in +silence, turning a furtive eye upon him across his long +nose now and then. At last it burst from him:</p> +<p>“You done it!” he said, with the astonished pleasure +of a man assured against his doubts.</p> +<p>Mackenzie checked his horse, looking at Tim in perplexed +inquiry.</p> +<p>“What are you talking about?” he asked.</p> +<p>“You laid him out––Swan Carlson––you done it! +Man!”</p> +<p>“Oh, you’re still talking about that,” Mackenzie said, +a bit vexed.</p> +<p>“It would be worth thousands to the rest of us sheepmen +on this range if he never comes back.”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t some of you handle him long ago? A +man of your build ought to be able to put a dent in +Carlson.”</p> +<p>“I’ll fight any man that stands on two feet,” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +Tim, with such sincerity that it could not have been +taken for a boast, “you can ask about me far and near, +but I draw the line at the devil. I’ve stood up with +four men against me, with meat cleavers and butcher +knives in their hands, when I used to work as a sheep +butcher back in the packin’ house in Chicago, and I’ve +come through with my life. But them was friends of +mine,” he sighed; “a man knew how they lived. Swan +Carlson’s got a wolf’s blood in his veins. He ain’t a +human man.”</p> +<p>“And this man is worth three hundred thousand dollars!” +thought Mackenzie. And he knew, also, that the +greatest treasure that the flockmaster could count was +one not so greatly appreciated as a thousand sheep––that +brave, ambitious little rebel, Joan.</p> +<p>“Maybe you’ve got the makin’ of a sheepman in you,” +Tim said, thoughtfully, as they came in sight of the +hay. “I’ve got an old man I could put you under till +the dogs got used to you and you learnt their ways and +found out something among the thousand things a man’s +got to know if he intends to make a success of runnin’ +sheep. Old Dad Frazer could put you onto the tricks +of the trade quicker than any man I know. Maybe +you <i>have</i> got the makin’ of a sheepman in you. I’ll +have to think it over.”</p> +<p>Tim took the four days they were at the hay to think +about it. At the end of that time, with the hay in +stack and the mowing-machine loaded into the wagon +for the rough journey to the ranch, Tim unburdened +his mind.</p> +<p>“I’ve decided to try you out, John,” he announced, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span> +but shaking his head as he spoke, as if he doubted the +wisdom of the venture. “I’ll leave you here with Dad +Frazer––he’s over on Horsethief, about six miles across +from Joan’s range––and let him break you in. You +understand, you don’t go in on shares till you’re able +to handle at least two thousand head.”</p> +<p>“I agree on that.”</p> +<p>“And then there’s another little point.” Tim shifted +his feet, jerked up his trousers, rubbed his chin in a truly +Irish way. “That girl of mine, Joan, she’s got it in her +head she wants to be a lady, and go to college and put +on agonies. No use in it, as I tell her. No girl that’s +got money needs any of the education stuff. I got on +without it, and I made my money without it. Joan she +wants you to give her some lessons. She made me +promise I wouldn’t take you on unless you’d agree to +that as part of our conditions and contract.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie had no need to put on a face of thinking +it over seriously; he was entirely sincere in the silence +he held while he revolved it in his mind. He doubted +whether more learning would bring to Joan the contentment +which she lacked in her present state. It +might only open the door to a greater longing, or it +might disillusion her when her feet had left these wild, +free hills, and set a pang in her heart like a flame for +the things which knowledge closes the door against the +return for evermore.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you how to handle her to be rid of her soon,” +said Tim, winking craftily, seeing how the wind stood. +“Discourage her, tell her she ain’t got the mind for +books and Latin and mathematics. All the mathematics +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +she needs is enough to count her sheep and figure her +clip. Tell her to put books out of her head and stick +to the range, marry some good sheepman if one turns +up to her taste, or pass them all up if she likes. But +tell her to stick to sheep, whatever she does. She can +be the sheep queen of this country in fifteen years; she’s +as handy with ’em now as I am, and I tell you, John, +that’s something that’s hard for me to say, even of my +own girl. But she is; she’s as good a sheepman right +now as I am or ever will be. But you don’t need to +tell her that.”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe she’ll take it, but it’s the soundest +advice I could give her,” Mackenzie said.</p> +<p>“Work up to it gradual, lad; it can’t be done in a +day. Make the lessons hard, pile the Latin on heavy. +Lord, I remember it, back in the old country, old Father +MacGuire layin’ it on the lads under his thumb. Devil +a word of it sticks to me now, not even the word for +sheep. I tried to remember some of it when they sent +me up to the legislature in Cheyenne; I wanted to knock +’em over. But it had all leaked out. Discourage her, +man; discourage her.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that might be the greatest kindness I could do +her in the end,” Mackenzie said.</p> +<p>“I’ll drop you off over there; you can stay in camp +tonight with Charley and Joan. Tomorrow I’ll come +back and take you out to Dad Frazer’s camp, and you +can begin your schoolin’ for the makin’ of a master. +But begin early to discourage her, John; begin at her +early, lad.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI_EYES_IN_THE_FIRELIGHT' id='CHAPTER_VI_EYES_IN_THE_FIRELIGHT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>EYES IN THE FIRELIGHT</h3> +</div> +<p>“They call it the lonesomeness here,” said Joan, +her voice weary as with the weight of the day. +“People shoot themselves when they get it bad––green +sheepherders and farmers that come in here to try to +plow up the range.”</p> +<p>“Crazy guys,” said Charley, contemptuously, chin +in his hands where he stretched full length on his belly +beside the embers of the supper fire.</p> +<p>“Homesick,” said Mackenzie, understandingly. “I’ve +heard it’s one of the worst of all diseases. It defeats +armies sometimes, so you can’t blame a lone sheepherder +if he loses his mind on account of it.”</p> +<p>“Huh!” said Charley, no sympathy in him for such +weakness at all.</p> +<p>“I guess not,” Joan admitted, thoughtfully. “I was +brought up here, it’s home to me. Maybe I’d get the +lonesomeness if I was to go away.”</p> +<p>“You sure would, kid,” said Charley, with comfortable +finality.</p> +<p>“But I want to go, just the same,” Joan declared, a +certain defiance in her tone, as if in defense of a question +often disputed between herself and Charley.</p> +<p>“You think you do,” said Charley, “but you’d hit the +high places comin’ back home. Ain’t that right, Mr. +Mackenzie?”</p> +<p>“I think there’s something to it,” Mackenzie allowed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span></div> +<p>“Maybe I would,” Joan yielded, “but as soon as my +share in the sheep figures up enough you’ll see me hittin’ +the breeze for Chicago. I want to see the picture +galleries and libraries.”</p> +<p>“I’d like to go through the mail-order house we get +our things from up there,” Charley said. “The catalogue +says it covers seventeen acres!”</p> +<p>Mackenzie was camping with them for the night on +his way to Dad Frazer’s range, according to Tim Sullivan’s +plan. Long since they had finished supper; the +sheep were quiet below them on the hillside. The silence +of the sheeplands, almost oppressive in its weight, lay +around them so complete and unbroken that Mackenzie +fancied he could hear the stars snap as they sparkled. +He smiled to himself at the fancy, face turned up to the +deep serenity of the heavens. Charley blew the embers, +stirring them with a brush of sage.</p> +<p>“The lonesomeness,” said Mackenzie, with a curious +dwelling on the word; “I never heard it used in that +specific sense before.”</p> +<p>“Well, it sure gets a greenhorn,” said Joan.</p> +<p>Charley held the sage-branch to the embers, blowing +them until a little blaze jumped up into the startled +dark. The sudden light revealed Joan’s face where she +sat across from Mackenzie, and it was so pensively sad +that it smote his heart like a pain to see.</p> +<p>Her eyes stood wide open as she had stretched them +to roam into the night after her dreams of freedom +beyond the land she knew, and so she held them a +moment, undazzled by the light of the leaping blaze. +They gleamed like glad waters in a morning sun, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +the schoolmaster’s heart was quickened by them, and +the pain for her longing soothed out of it. The well +of her youth was revealed before him, the fountain of +her soul.</p> +<p>“I’m goin’ to roll in,” Charley announced, his branch +consumed in the eager breath of the little blaze. “Don’t +slam your shoes down like you was drivin’ nails when +you come in, Joan.”</p> +<p>“It wouldn’t bother you much,” Joan told him, calmly +indifferent to his great desire for unbroken repose.</p> +<p>Charley rolled on his back, where he lay a little while +in luxurious inaction, sleep coming over him heavily. +Joan shook him, sending him stumbling off to the wagon +and his bunk.</p> +<p>“You could drive a wagon over him and never wake +him once he hits the hay,” she said.</p> +<p>“What kind of a man is Dad Frazer?” Mackenzie +asked, his mind running on his business adventure that +was to begin on the morrow.</p> +<p>“Oh, he’s a regular old flat-foot,” said Joan. “He’ll +talk your leg off before you’ve been around him a week, +blowin’ about what he used to do down in Oklahoma.”</p> +<p>“Well, a man couldn’t get the lonesomeness around +him, anyhow.”</p> +<p>“You’ll get it, all right, just like I told you; no +green hand with all his senses ever escaped it. Maybe +you’ll have it light, though,” she added, hopefully, as if +to hold him up for the ordeal.</p> +<p>“I hope so. But with you coming over to take lessons, +and Dad Frazer talking morning, noon, and night, +I’ll forget Egypt and its fleshpots, maybe.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span></div> +<p>“Egypt? I thought you came from Jasper?”</p> +<p>“It’s only a saying, used in relation to the place you +look back to with regret when you’re hungry.”</p> +<p>“I’m so ignorant I ought to be shot!” said Joan.</p> +<p>And Mackenzie sat silently fronting her, the dead +fire between, a long time, thinking of the sparkle of +her yearning eyes, smiling in his grim way to himself +when there was no chance of being seen as he felt again +the flash of them strike deep into his heart. Wise eyes, +eyes which held a store of wholesome knowledge gleaned +from the years in those silent places where her soul had +grown without a shadow to smirch its purity.</p> +<p>“There’s a difference between wisdom and learning,” +he said at last, in low and thoughtful voice. “What’s +it like over where Dad Frazer grazes his sheep?”</p> +<p>“Close to the range Swan Carlson and the Hall boys +use, and you want to keep away from there.”</p> +<p>“Of course; I wouldn’t want to trespass on anybody’s +territory. Are they all disagreeable people over that +way?”</p> +<p>“There’s nobody there but the Halls and Carlson. +You know Swan.”</p> +<p>“He might improve on close acquaintance,” Mackenzie +speculated.</p> +<p>“I don’t think he’s as bad as the Halls, wild and +crazy as he is. Hector Hall, especially. But you may +get on with them, all right––I don’t want to throw any +scare into you before you meet them.”</p> +<p>“Are they out looking for trouble?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know as they are, but they’re there to make +it if anybody lets a sheep get an inch over the line they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +claim as theirs. Oh, well, pass ’em up till you have to +meet them––maybe they’ll treat you white, anyway.”</p> +<p>Again a silence stood between them, Mackenzie considering +many things, not the least of them being this +remarkable girl’s life among the sheep and the rough +characters of the range, no wonder in him over her +impatience to be away from it. It seemed to him that +Tim Sullivan might well spare her the money for schooling, +as well as fend her against the dangers and hardships +of the range by keeping her at home these summer +days.</p> +<p>“It looks to me like a hard life for a girl,” he said; +“no diversions, none of the things that youth generally +values and craves. Don’t you ever have any dances or +anything––camp meetings or picnics?”</p> +<p>“They have dances over at Four Corners sometimes––Hector +Hall wanted me to go to one with him about a +year ago. He had his nerve to ask me, the little old +sheep-thief!”</p> +<p>“Well, I should think so.”</p> +<p>“He’s been doubly sore at us ever since I turned him +down. I looked for him to come over and shoot up my +camp some night for a long time, but I guess he isn’t +that bad.”</p> +<p>“So much to his credit.”</p> +<p>“But I wish sometimes I’d gone with him. Maybe it +would have straightened things out. You know, when +you stay here on the range, Mr. Mackenzie, you’re on +a level with everybody else, no matter what you think +of yourself. You can’t get out of the place they make +for you in their estimation of you. Hector Hall never +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +will believe I’m too good to go to a dance with him. +He’ll be sore about it all his life.”</p> +<p>“A man naturally would have regrets, Miss Sullivan. +Maybe that’s as far as it goes with Hector Hall, maybe +he’s only sore at heart for the honor denied.”</p> +<p>“That don’t sound like real talk,” said Joan.</p> +<p>Mackenzie grinned at the rebuke, and the candor and +frankness in which it was administered, thinking that +Joan would have a frigid time of it out in the world if +she applied such outspoken rules to its flatteries and +mild humbugs.</p> +<p>“Let’s be natural then,” he suggested, considering as +he spoke that candor was Joan’s best defense in her +position on the range. Here she sat out under the +stars with him, miles from the nearest habitation, miles +from her father’s house, her small protector asleep in +the wagon, and thought no more of it than a chaperoned +daughter of the city in an illuminated drawing-room. +A girl had to put men in their places and keep them +there under such circumstances, and nobody knew better +how to do it than Joan.</p> +<p>“I’ll try your patience and good humor when you +start out to teach me,” she told him, “for I’ll want to +run before I learn to walk.”</p> +<p>“We’ll see how it goes in a few days; I’ve sent for +the books.”</p> +<p>“I’ll make a good many wild breaks,” she said, “and +tumble around a lot, I know, but there won’t be anybody +to laugh at me––but you.” She paused as if considering +the figure she would make at the tasks she awaited +with such impatience, then added under her breath, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +almost in a whisper, as if it was not meant for him to +hear: “But you’ll never laugh at me for being hungry +to learn.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie attempted neither comment nor reply to +this, feeling that it was Joan’s heart speaking to herself +alone. He looked away over the sleeping sheeplands, +vast as the sea, and as mysterious under the starlight, +thinking that it would require more than hard +lessons and unusual tasks to discourage this girl. She +stood at the fountain-edge, leaning with dry lips to +drink, her wistful eyes strong to probe the mysteries +which lay locked in books yet strange to her, but wiser +in her years than many a man who had skimmed a college +course. There was a vast difference between knowledge +and learning, indeed; it never had been so apparent +to him as in the presence of that outspoken girl of the +sheep range that summer night.</p> +<p>What would the world do with Joan Sullivan if she +ever broke her fetters and went to it? How would it +accept her faith and frankness, her high scorn for the +deceits upon which it fed? Not kindly, he knew. There +would be disillusionment ahead for her, and bitter awakening +from long-wrapping dreams. If he could teach +her to be content in the wide freedom of that place he +would accomplish the greatest service that he could +bring her in the days of her untroubled youth. Discourage +her, said Tim Sullivan. Mackenzie felt that +this was not his job.</p> +<p>“Maybe Charley’s right about it,” she said, her voice +low, and soft with that inherited gentleness which must +have come from Tim Sullivan’s mother, Mackenzie +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +thought. “He’s a wise kid, maybe I would want to +come back faster than I went away. But I get so +tired of it sometimes I walk up and down out here by +the wagon half the night, and wear myself out making +plans that I may never be able to put through.”</p> +<p>“It’s just as well,” he told her, nodding again in his +solemn, weighty fashion; “everybody that amounts to +anything has this fever of unrest. Back home we used +to stack the wheat to let it sweat and harden. You’re +going through that. It takes the grossness out of us.”</p> +<p>“Have you gone through it?”</p> +<p>“Years of it; over the worst of it now, I hope.”</p> +<p>“And you came here. Was that the kind of an +ambition you had? Was that all your dreams brought +you?”</p> +<p>“But I’ve seen more here than I ever projected in +my schemes, Miss Joan. I’ve seen the serenity of the +stars in this vastness; I’ve felt the wind of freedom on +my face.” And to himself: “And I have seen the firelight +leap in a maiden’s eyes, and I have looked deep +into the inspiring fountain of her soul.” But there +was not the boldness in him, nor the desire to risk her +rebuke again, to bring it to his lips.</p> +<p>“Do you think you’ll like it after you get over the +lonesomeness?”</p> +<p>“Yes, if I take the lonesomeness.”</p> +<p>“You’ll take it, all right. But if you ever do work +up to be a sheepman, and of course you will if you +stick to the range long enough, you’ll never be able to +leave again. Sheep tie a person down like a houseful +of children.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span></div> +<p>“Maybe I’d never want to go. I’ve had my turn at +it out there; I’ve been snubbed and discounted, all but +despised, because I had a little learning and no money +to go with it. I can hide my little learning here, and +nobody seems to care about the money. Yes, I think +I’ll stay on the range.”</p> +<p>Joan turned her face away, and he knew the yearning +was in her eyes as they strained into the starlit +horizon after the things she had never known.</p> +<p>“I don’t see what could ever happen that would make +me want to stay here,” she said at last. She got up with +the sudden nimbleness of a deer, so quickly that Mackenzie +though she must be either startled or offended, +but saw in a moment it was only her natural way of +moving in the untrammeled freedom of her lithe, strong +limbs.</p> +<p>“You’ll find a soft place on the side of the hill somewhere +to sleep,” she said, turning toward the wagon. +“I’m going to pile in. Good night.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie sat again by the ashes of the little fire +after giving her good night. He felt that he had +suffered in her estimation because of his lowly ambition +to follow her father, and the hundred other obscure +heroes of the sheep country, and become a flockmaster, +sequestered and safe among the sage-gray hills.</p> +<p>Joan expected more of a man who was able to teach +school; expected lofty aims, far-reaching ambitions. +But that was because Joan did not know the world that +lifted the lure of its flare beyond the rim of her horizon. +She must taste it to understand, and come back with +a bruised heart to the shelter of her native hills.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span></div> +<p>And this lonesomeness of which she had been telling +him, this dread sickness that fell upon a man in those +solitudes, and drained away his courage and hope––must +he experience it, like a disease of adolescence from which +few escape? He did not believe it. Joan had said she +was immune to it, having been born in its atmosphere, +knowing nothing but solitude and silence, in which there +was no strange nor fearful thing.</p> +<p>But she fretted under a discontent that made her +miserable, even though it did not strain her reason like +the lonesomeness. Something was wanting to fill her +life. He cast about him, wondering what it could be, +wishing that he might supply it and take away the +shadow out of her eyes.</p> +<p>It was his last thought as he fell asleep in a little +swale below the wagon where the grass was tall and +soft––that he might find what was lacking to make Joan +content with the peace and plenty of the sheeplands, +and supply that want.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII_THE_EASIEST_LESSON' id='CHAPTER_VII_THE_EASIEST_LESSON'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>THE EASIEST LESSON</h3> +</div> +<p>“Why do they always begin the conjugations on +<i>love</i>?”</p> +<p>There was no perplexity in Joan’s eyes as she asked +the question; rather, a dreamy and far-away look, the +open book face-downward on the ground beside her.</p> +<p>“Because it’s a good example of the first termination, +I suppose,” Mackenzie replied, his eyes measuring off +the leagues with her own, as if they together sought the +door that opened out of that gray land into romance +that quiet summer afternoon.</p> +<p>“It was that way in the Spanish grammar,” said +Joan, shaking her head, unconvinced by the reason he +advanced. “There are plenty of words in the first termination +that are just as short. Why? You’re the +teacher; you ought to know.”</p> +<p>She said it banteringly, as if she dared him to give +the reason. His eyes came back from their distant +groping, meeting hers with gentle boldness. So for a +little while he looked silently into her appealing eyes, +then turned away.</p> +<p>“Maybe, Joan, because it is the easiest lesson to learn +and the hardest to forget,” he said.</p> +<p>Joan bent her gaze upon the ground, a flush tinting +her brown face, plucking at the grass with aimless +fingers.</p> +<p>“Anyway, we’ve passed it,” said she.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span></div> +<p>“No, it recurs all through the book; it’s something +that can’t be left out of it, any more than it can be +left out of life. Well, it doesn’t need to trouble you +and me.”</p> +<p>“No; we could use some other word,” said Joan, turning +her face away.</p> +<p>“But mean the same, Joan. I had an old maid English +teacher when I was a boy who made us conjugate <i>to +like</i> instead of the more intimate and tender word. Poor +old soul! I hope it saved her feelings and eased her +regrets.”</p> +<p>“Maybe she’d had a romance,” said Joan.</p> +<p>“I hope so; there’s at least one romance coming to +every woman in this world. If she misses it she’s being +cheated.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie took up the Latin grammar, marking off +her next lesson, and piling it on with unsparing hand, +too. Yet not in accord with Tim Sullivan’s advice; +solely because his pupil was one of extraordinary capacity. +There was no such thing as discouraging Joan; +she absorbed learning and retained it, as the sandstone +absorbs oil under the pressure of the earth, holding it +without wasting a drop until the day it gladdens man in +his exploration.</p> +<p>So with Joan. She was storing learning in the undefiled +reservoir of her mind, to be found like unexpected +jewels by some hand in after time. As she followed the +sheep she carried her books; at night, long after Charley +had gone to sleep, she sat with them by the lantern +light in the sheep-wagon. Unspoiled by the diversions +and distractions which divide the mind of the city student, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +she acquired and held a month’s tasks in a week. +The thirsty traveler in the desert places had come to +the oasis of her dreams.</p> +<p>Daily Joan rode to the sheep-camp where Mackenzie +was learning the business of running sheep under Dad +Frazer. There were no holidays in the term Joan had +set for herself, no unbending, no relaxation from her +books. Perhaps she did not expect her teacher to +remain there in the sheeplands, shut away from the life +that he had breathed so long and put aside for what +seemed to her an unaccountable whim.</p> +<p>“You’ll be reading Caesar by winter,” Mackenzie told +her as she prepared to ride back to her camp. “You’ll +have to take it slower then; we can’t have lessons every +day.”</p> +<p>“Why not?” She was standing beside her horse, hat +in hand, her rich hair lifting in the wind from her wise, +placid brow. Her books she had strapped to the saddle-horn; +there was a yellow slicker at the cantle.</p> +<p>“You’ll be at home, I’ll be out here with the sheep. +I expect about once a week will be as often as we can +make it then.”</p> +<p>“I’ll be out here on the range,” she said, shaking her +determined head, “a sheepman’s got to stick with his +flock through all kinds of weather. If I run home for +the winter I’ll have to hire a herder, and that would eat +my profits up; I’d never get away from here.”</p> +<p>“Maybe by the time you’ve got enough money to +carry out your plans, Joan, you’ll not want to leave.”</p> +<p>“You’ve got to have education to be able to enjoy +money. Some of the sheepmen in this country––yes, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +most of them––would be better men if they were poor. +Wealth is nothing to them but a dim consciousness of +a new power. It makes them arrogant and unbearable. +Did you ever see Matt Hall?”</p> +<p>“I still have that pleasure in reserve. But I think +you’ll find it’s refinement, rather than learning, that +a person needs to enjoy wealth. That comes more +from within than without.”</p> +<p>“The curtain’s down between me and everything I +want,” Joan said, a wistful note of loneliness in her +low, soft voice. “I’m going to ride away some day and +push it aside, and see what it’s been keeping from me +all the years of my longing. Then, maybe, when I’m +satisfied I’ll come back and make money. I’ve got sense +enough to see it’s here to be made if a person’s got the +sheep to start with and the range to run them on.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you’ll have to go,” said he, in what seemed sad +thoughtfulness, “to learn it all; I can’t teach you the +things your heart desires most to know. Well, there are +bitter waters and sweet waters, Joan; we’ve got to +drink them both.”</p> +<p>“It’s the same way here,” she said, “only we’ve got +sense enough to know the alkali holes before we drink +out of them.”</p> +<p>“But people are not that wise the world over, Joan.”</p> +<p>Joan stood in silent thought, her far-reaching gaze +on the dim curtain of haze which hung between her and +the world of men’s activities, strivings, and lamentations.</p> +<p>“If I had the money I’d go as soon––as soon as I +knew a little more,” she said. “But I’ve got to stick; +I made that bargain with dad––he’d never give me the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +money, but he’ll buy me out when I’ve got enough to +stake me.”</p> +<p>“Your father was over this morning.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know.”</p> +<p>“He thinks <i>my</i> education’s advanced far enough to +trust me with a band of sheep. I’m going to have charge +of the flock I’ve been running here with Dad Frazer.”</p> +<p>“I heard about it.”</p> +<p>“And you don’t congratulate me on becoming a paid +sheepherder, my first step on the way to flockmaster!”</p> +<p>“I don’t know that you’re to be congratulated,” she +returned, facing him seriously. “All there is to success +here is brute strength and endurance against storms +and winter weather––it don’t take any brains. Out +there where you’ve been and I’m going, there must be +something bigger and better for a man, it seems to me. +But maybe men get tired of it––I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“You’ll understand it better when you go there, Joan.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’ll understand a lot of things that are locked +up to me now. Well, I don’t want to go as much all +the time now as I did––only in spells sometimes. If you +stay here and teach me, maybe I’ll get over it for good.”</p> +<p>Joan laughed nervously, half of it forced, her face +averted.</p> +<p>“If I could teach you enough to keep you here, Joan, +I’d think it was the biggest thing I’d ever done.”</p> +<p>“I don’t want to know any more if it means giving +up,” she said.</p> +<p>“It looks like giving up to you, Joan, but I’ve only +started,” he corrected her, in gentle spirit.</p> +<p>“I oughtn’t talk that way to you,” she said, turning +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +to him contritely, her earnest eyes lifted to his, “it’s +none of my business what you do. If you hadn’t come +here I’d never have heard of––of <i>amare</i>, maybe.”</p> +<p>Joan bent her head, a flush over her brown cheeks, a +smile of mischief at the corners of her mouth. Mackenzie +laughed, but strained and unnaturally, his own tough +face burning with a hot tide of mounting blood.</p> +<p>“Somebody else would have taught you––you’d have +conjugated it in another language, maybe,” he said.</p> +<p>“Yes, you say it’s the easiest lesson to learn,” she +nodded, soberly now. “Have you taught it to many––many––girls?”</p> +<p>“According to the book, Joan,” he returned; “only +that way.”</p> +<p>Joan drew a deep breath, and looked away over the +hills, and smiled. But she said no more, after the way +of one who has relieved the mind on a doubted point.</p> +<p>“I expect I’ll be getting a taste of the lonesomeness +here of nights pretty soon,” Mackenzie said, feeling himself +in an awkward, yet not unpleasant situation with +this frank girl’s rather impertinent question still burning +in his heart. “Dad’s going to leave me to take +charge of another flock.”</p> +<p>“I’ll try to keep you so busy you’ll not have it very +bad,” she said.</p> +<p>“Yes, and you’ll pump your fount of knowledge dry +in a hurry if you don’t slow down a little,” he returned. +“At the pace you’ve set you’ll have to import a professor +to take you along, unless one strays in from somewhere.”</p> +<p>“I don’t take up with strays,” said Joan, rather +loftily.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span></div> +<p>“I think Dad’s getting restless,” Mackenzie said, +hastening to cover his mistake.</p> +<p>“He goes away every so often,” Joan explained, “to +see his Mexican wife down around El Paso somewhere.”</p> +<p>“Oh, that explains it. He didn’t mention her to me.”</p> +<p>“He will, all right. He’ll cut out to see her in a +little while, more than likely, but he’ll come drifting +back with the shearers in the spring like he always does. +It seems to me like everybody comes back to the sheep +country that’s ever lived in it a while. I wonder if I’d +want to come back, too?”</p> +<p>It was a speculation upon which Mackenzie did not +feel called to make comment. Time alone would prove +to Joan where her heart lay anchored, as it proves to +all who go wandering in its own bitter way at last.</p> +<p>“I don’t seem to want to go away as long as I’m +learning something,” Joan confessed, a little ashamed +of the admission, it appeared, from her manner of refusing +to lift her head.</p> +<p>Mackenzie felt a great uplifting in his heart, as a +song cheers it when it comes gladly at the close of a +day of perplexity and doubt and toil. He reached out +his hand as if to touch her and tell her how this dawning +of his hope made him glad, but withdrew it, dropping +it at his side as she looked up, a lively color in her +cheeks.</p> +<p>“As long as you’ll stay and teach me, there isn’t any +particular use for me to leave, is there?” she inquired.</p> +<p>“If staying here would keep you, Joan, I’d never +leave,” he told her, his voice so grave and earnest that +it trembled a little on the low notes.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></div> +<p>Joan drew her breath again with that long inspiration +which was like a satisfied sigh.</p> +<p>“Well, I must go,” she said.</p> +<p>But she did not move, and Mackenzie, drawing nearer, +put out his hand in his way of silent appeal again.</p> +<p>“Not that I don’t want you to know what there is out +there,” he said, “but because I’d save you the disappointment, +the disillusionment, and the heartache that +too often go with the knowledge of the world. You’d +be better for it if you never knew, living here undefiled +like a spring that comes out of the rocks into the sun.”</p> +<p>“Well, I must go,” said Joan, sighing with repletion +again, but taking no step toward her waiting horse.</p> +<p>Although it was a moment which seemed full of things +to be said, neither had words for it, but stood silently +while the day went out in glory around them. Dad +Frazer was bringing his murmuring flock home to the +bedding-ground on the hillside below the wagon; the +wind was low as a lover’s breath, lifting Joan’s russet +hair from her pure, placid brow.</p> +<p>And she must go at last, with a word of parting from +the saddle, and her hand held out to him in a new tenderness +as if going home were a thing to be remembered. +And as Mackenzie took it there rose in his memory the +lines:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><i>Touch hands and part with laughter,<br /> +Touch lips and part with tears.</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>Joan rode away against the sun, which was red upon +the hill, and stood for a little moment sharply against +the fiery sky to wave him a farewell.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></div> +<p>“So easily learned, Joan; so hard to forget,” said +Mackenzie, speaking as if he sent his voice after her, a +whisper on the wind, although she was half a mile away. +A moment more, and the hill stood empty between them. +Mackenzie turned to prepare supper for the coming +of Dad Frazer, who would complain against books and +the nonsense contained in them if the food was not on +the board when he came up the hill.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII_THE_SHEEPKILLER' id='CHAPTER_VIII_THE_SHEEPKILLER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>THE SHEEP-KILLER</h3> +</div> +<p>It was dusk when Dad Frazer drove the slow-drifting +flock home to its sleeping place, which tomorrow +night very likely would be on some hillside no softer, +many miles away. Only a few days together the camp +remained in one place, no longer than it took the sheep +to crop the herbage within easy reach. Then came the +camp-mover and hauled the wagon to fresh pastures in +that illimitable, gray-green land.</p> +<p>Dad Frazer was a man of sixty or sixty-five, who had +been an army teamster in the days of frontier posts. +He was slender and sinewy, with beautiful, glimmering, +silvery hair which he wore in long curls and kept as +carefully combed as any dandy that ever pranced at +the court of a king. It was his one vanity, his dusty, +greasy raiment being his last thought.</p> +<p>Dad’s somber face was brown and weathered, marked +with deep lines, covered over with an ashy, short growth +of beard which he clipped once in two weeks with sheep-shears +when he didn’t lose count of the days.</p> +<p>Frazer always wore an ancient military hat with a +leather thong at the back of his head drawn tight across +his flowing hair. The brim of this hat turned up in the +back as if he had slept in it many years, which was +indeed the case, and down in the front so low over his +brows that it gave him a sullen and clouded cast, which +the redundancy of his spirits and words at once denied.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span></div> +<p>For Dad Frazer was a loquacious sheepherder, an +exception among the morose and silent men who follow +that isolated calling upon the lonely range. He talked +to the dogs when there was nobody by, to the sheep as +he scattered them for an even chance between weak and +strong over the grazing lands, and to himself when no +other object presented. He swore with force and +piquancy, and original embellishments for old-time oaths +which was like a sharp sauce to an unsavory dish.</p> +<p>Frazer was peculiar in another way. He liked a +soft bed to pound the ground on after his long days +after the sheep, and to that end kept a roll of sheepskins +under the wagon. More than that, he always +washed before eating, even if he had to divide the last +water in the keg.</p> +<p>Now as he was employed with his ablutions, after +a running fire of talk from the time he came within +hearing to the moment the water smothered his voice +over the basin, Mackenzie saw him turn an eye in his +direction every little while between the soaping and the +washing of his bearded face. The old fellow seemed +bursting with restraint of something that he had not +told or asked about. Mackenzie could read him like a +thermometer.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, Dad––rattlesnakes?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Rattlesnakes nothin’!” returned the old man.</p> +<p>“I thought another one had been crawling up your +leg.”</p> +<p>“Nearer boey constructors! Anybody been here but +Joan?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span></div> +<p>Dad came over to the tail of the wagon, where Mackenzie +had supper spread on a board, a box at each +end, for that was a sheep-camp <i>de luxe</i>. He stood a +little while looking about in the gloom, his head tipped +as if he listened, presently taking his place, unaccountably +silent, and uncomfortably so, as Mackenzie could +very well see.</p> +<p>“You didn’t lose a dog, did you, Dad?”</p> +<p>“Dog nothin’! Do I look like a man that’d lose a +dog?”</p> +<p>“Well, Dad,” Mackenzie said, in his slow, thoughtful +way, “I don’t exactly know how a man that would lose +a dog looks, but I don’t believe you do.”</p> +<p>“Swan Carlson’s back on the range!” said Dad, delivering +it before he was ready, perhaps, and before he +had fully prepared the way, but unable to hold it a +second longer.</p> +<p>“Swan Carlson?”</p> +<p>“Back on the range.”</p> +<p>“So they fixed him up in the hospital at Cheyenne?”</p> +<p>“I reckon they must ’a’. He’s back runnin’ his sheep, +and that woman of his’n she’s with him. Swan run one +of his herders off the first rattle out of the box, said +he’d been stealin’ sheep while he was gone. That’s one +of his old tricks to keep from payin’ a man.”</p> +<p>“It sounds like him, all right. Have you seen him?”</p> +<p>“No. Matt Hall come by this evenin’, and told me.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad Swan got all right again, anyhow, even +if he’s no better to his wife than he was before. I was +kind of worried about him.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and I’ll bet he’s meaner than he ever was, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +knockin’ that woman around like a sack of sawdust the +way he always did. I reckon he gets more fun out of +her that way than he does keepin’ her tied.”</p> +<p>“He can hang her for all I’ll ever interfere between +them again, Dad.”</p> +<p>“That’s right. It don’t pay to shove in between a +man and his wife in their fusses and disturbances. I +know a colonel in the army that’s got seventeen stitches +in his bay winder right now from buttin’ in between a +captain and his woman. The lady she slid a razor over +his vest. They’ll do it every time; it’s woman nature.”</p> +<p>“You talk like a man of experience, Dad. Well, I +don’t know much about ’em.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I’ve been marryin’ ’em off and on for forty +years.”</p> +<p>“Who is Matt Hall, and where’s his ranch, Dad? I’ve +been hearing about him and his brother, Hector, ever +since I came up here.”</p> +<p>“Them Hall boys used to be cattlemen up on the +Sweetwater, but they was run out of there on account +of suspicion of rustlin’, I hear. They come down to +this country about four years ago and started up sheep, +usin’ on Cottonwood about nine or twelve miles southeast +from here. Them fellers don’t hitch up with nobody +on this range but Swan Carlson, and I reckon +Swan only respects ’em because they’re the only men +in this country that packs guns regular any more.”</p> +<p>“Swan don’t pack a gun as a regular thing?”</p> +<p>“I ain’t never seen him with one on. Hector Hall +he’s always got a couple of ’em on him, and Matt +mostly has one in sight. You can gamble on it he’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +got an automatic in his pocket when he don’t strap it +on him in the open.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see what use a man’s got for a gun up here +among sheep and sheepmen. They must be expecting +somebody to call on them from the old neighborhood.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I figger that’s about the size of it. I don’t +know what Matt was doin’ over around here this evenin’; +I know I didn’t send for him.”</p> +<p>“Joan spoke of him this afternoon. From what she +said, I thought he must be something of a specimen. +What kind of a looking duck is he?”</p> +<p>“Matt’s a mixture of a goriller and a goose egg. +He’s a long-armed, short-legged, gimlet-eyed feller with +a head like a egg upside down. You could split a board +on that feller’s head and never muss a hair. I never +saw a man that had a chin like Matt Hall. They say +a big chin’s the sign of strength, and if that works out +Matt must have a mind like a brigadier general. His +face is all chin; chin’s an affliction on Matt Hall; it’s a +disease. Wait till you see him; that’s all I can say.”</p> +<p>“I’ll know him when I do.”</p> +<p>“Hector ain’t so bad, but he’s got a look in his eyes +like a man that’d grab you by the nose and cut your +throat, and grin while he was doin’ it.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie made no comment on these new and picturesque +characters introduced by Dad into the drama that +was forming for enactment in that place. He filled his +pipe and smoked a little while. Then:</p> +<p>“How many sheep do they run?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Nine or ten thousand, I guess.”</p> +<p>Silence again. Dad was smoking a little Mexican +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +cigarette with corn-husk wrapper, a peppery tobacco +filling that smarted the eyes when it burned, of which he +must have carried thousands when he left the border in +the spring.</p> +<p>“Tim was over today,” said Mackenzie.</p> +<p>“What did he want?”</p> +<p>“About this business between him and me. Is it usual, +Dad, for a man to work a year at forty dollars a month +and found before he goes in as a partner on the increase +of the flock he runs?”</p> +<p>“What makes you ask me that, John?”</p> +<p>“Only because there wasn’t anything said about it +when I agreed with Tim to go to work here with you +and learn the rudiments of handling a band of sheep. +He sprung that on me today, when I thought I was +about to begin my career as a capitalist. Instead of +that, I’ve got a year ahead of me at ten dollars a month +less than the ordinary herder gets. I just wanted to +know.”</p> +<p>“Sheepmen are like sand under the feet when it comes +to dealin’ with ’em; I never knew one that was in the +same place twice. You’ve got a lot of tricks to learn in +this trade, and I guess this is one of them. I don’t +believe Tim ever intends to let you in on shares; that +ain’t his style. Never did take anybody in on shares but +Joan, that I know of. It looks to me like Tim’s workin’ +you for all he can git out of you. You’ll herd for Tim +a year at forty dollars, and teach Joan a thousand +dollars’ worth while you’re doin’ it. You’re a mighty +obligin’ feller, it looks like to me.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie sat thinking it over. He rolled it in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +mind quite a while, considering its most unlikely side, +considering it as a question of comparative values, trying +to convince himself that, if nothing more came of it +than a year’s employment, he would be even better off +than teaching school. If Tim was indeed planning to +profit doubly by him during that year, Joan could have +no knowledge of his scheme, he was sure.</p> +<p>On Joan’s account he would remain, he told himself, +at last, feeling easier and less simple for the decision. +Joan needed him, she counted on him. Going would be +a sad disappointment, a bitter discouragement, to her. +All on Joan’s account, of course, he would remain; Joan, +with her russet hair, the purity of October skies in her +eyes. Why, of course. Duty made it plain to him; +solely on account of Joan.</p> +<p>“I’d rather be a foot-loose shearer, herdin’ in between +like I do, than the richest sheepman on the range,” said +Dad. “They’re tied down to one little spot; they work +out a hole in their piece of the earth like a worm. It +ain’t no life. I can have more fun on forty dollars than +Tim Sullivan can out of forty thousand.”</p> +<p>Dad got out his greasy duck coat with sheepskin collar, +such as cattlemen and sheepmen, and all kinds of +outdoor men in that country wore, for the night was +cool and damp with dew. Together they sat smoking, +no more discussion between them, the dogs out of sight +down the hill near the sheep.</p> +<p>Not a sound came out of the sheep, bedded on the +hillside in contentment, secure in their trust of men +and dogs. All day as they grazed there rose a murmur +out of them, as of discontent, complaint, or pain. Now +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +their quavering, pathetic voices were as still as the wind. +There was not a shuffle of hoof, not a sigh.</p> +<p>Mackenzie thought of Joan, and the influence this +solitary life, these night silences, had borne in shading +her character with the melancholy which was so plainly +apparent in her longing to be away. She yearned for +the sound of life, for the warmth of youth’s eager fire +beyond the dusty gray loneliness of this sequestered +place. Still, this was what men and women in the +crowded places thought of and longed toward as freedom. +Loose-footed here upon the hills, one might pass +as free as the wind, indeed, but there was something like +the pain of prison isolation in these night silences which +bore down upon a man and made him old.</p> +<p>A sudden commotion among the sheep, terrified bleating, +quick scurrying of feet, shook Mackenzie out of his +reflections. The dogs charged down the hill and stood +baying the disturber of the flock with savage alarm, in +which there was a note of fear. Dad stood a moment +listening, then reached into the wagon for the rifle.</p> +<p>“Don’t go down there!” he warned Mackenzie, who +was running toward the center of disturbance. “That’s +a grizzly––don’t you hear them dogs?”</p> +<p>Mackenzie stopped. The advance stampede of the +terrified flock rushed past him, dim in the deeper darkness +near the ground. Below on the hillside where the +sheep bedded he could see nothing. Dad came up with +the gun.</p> +<p>The sheep were making no outcry now, and scarcely +any sound of movement. After their first startled break +they had bunched, and were standing in their way of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +pathetic, paralyzing fear, waiting what might befall. +Dad fired several quick shots toward the spot where the +dogs were charging and retreating, voices thick in their +throats from their bristling terror of the thing that had +come to lay tribute upon the flock.</p> +<p>“Don’t go down there!” Dad cautioned again. “Git +the lantern and light it––maybe when he sees it he’ll +run. It’s a grizzly. I didn’t think there was one in +forty miles.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie took hold of the gun.</p> +<p>“Give it to me––hand me another clip.”</p> +<p>Dad yielded it, warning Mackenzie again against any +rash movement. But his words were unheeded if not +unheard. Mackenzie was running down the hillside +toward the dogs. Encouraged by his coming, they +dashed forward, Mackenzie halting to peer into the +darkness ahead. There was a sound of trampling, a +crunching as of the rending of bones. He fired; ran a +little nearer, fired again.</p> +<p>The dogs were pushing ahead now in pursuit of whatever +it was that fled. A moment, and Mackenzie heard +the quick break of a galloping horse; fired his remaining +shots after it, and called Dad to fetch the light.</p> +<p>When the horse started, the dogs returned to the +flock, too wise to waste energy in a vain pursuit. At a +word from Mackenzie they began collecting the shuddering +sheep. Dad Frazer came bobbing down the hill +with the lantern, breathing loud in his excitement.</p> +<p>“Lord!” said he, when he saw the havoc his light +revealed; “a regular old murderin’ stock-killer. And +I didn’t think there was any grizzly in forty miles.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span></div> +<p>Mackenzie took the lantern, sweeping its light over +the mangled bodies of several sheep, torn limb from +limb, scattered about as if they had been the center of +an explosion.</p> +<p>“A murderin’ old stock-killer!” said Dad, panting, +out of breath.</p> +<p>Mackenzie held up the light, looking the old man in +the face.</p> +<p>“A grizzly don’t hop a horse and lope off, and I +never met one yet that wore boots,” said he. He swung +the light near the ground again, pointing to the trampled +footprints among the mangled carcasses.</p> +<p>“It was a man!” said Dad, in terrified amazement. +“Tore ’em apart like they was rabbits!” He looked up, +his weathered face white, his eyes staring. “It takes––it +takes––Lord! Do you know how much muscle it takes +to tear a sheep up that a-way?”</p> +<p>Mackenzie did not reply. He stood, turning a bloody +heap of wool and torn flesh with his foot, stunned by +this unexampled excess of human ferocity.</p> +<p>Dad recovered from his amazement presently, bent +and studied the trampled ground.</p> +<p>“I ain’t so sure,” he said. “Them looks like man’s +tracks, but a grizzly’s got a foot like a nigger, and one +of them big fellers makes a noise like a lopin’ horse +when he tears off through the bresh. I tell you, John, +no human man that ever lived could take a live sheep +and tear it up that a-way!”</p> +<p>“All right, then; it was a bear,” Mackenzie said, not +disposed to argue the matter, for argument would not +change what he knew to be a fact, nor yet convince Dad +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +Frazer against his reason and experience. But Mackenzie +knew that they were the footprints of a man, and +that the noise of the creature running away from camp +was the noise of a galloping horse.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX_A_TWOGUN_MAN' id='CHAPTER_IX_A_TWOGUN_MAN'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>A TWO-GUN MAN</h3> +</div> +<p>“You know, John, if a man’s goin’ to be a sheepman, +John, he’s got to keep awake day and +night. He ain’t goin’ to set gabbin’ and let a grizzly +come right up under his nose and kill his sheep. It’s +the difference between the man that wouldn’t do it and +the man that would that makes the difference between +a master and a man. That’s the difference that stands +against Dad Frazer. He’d never work up to partnership +in a band of sheep if he lived seven hundred years.”</p> +<p>So Tim Sullivan, a few days after the raid on John +Mackenzie’s flock. He had come over on hearing of it +from Dad Frazer, who had gone to take charge of +another band. Tim was out of humor over the loss, +small as it was out of the thousands he numbered in +his flocks. He concealed his feelings as well as he could +under a friendly face, but his words were hard, the +accusation and rebuke in them sharp.</p> +<p>Mackenzie flared up at the raking-over Tim gave +him, and turned his face away to hold down a hot reply. +Only after a struggle he composed himself to speak.</p> +<p>“I suppose it was because you saw the same difference +in me that you welched on your agreement to put me in +a partner on the increase of this flock as soon as Dad +taught me how to work the sheep and handle the dogs,” +he said. “That’s an easy way for a man to slide out +from under his obligations; it would apply anywhere in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +life as well as in the sheep business. I tell you now I +don’t think it was square.”</p> +<p>“Now, lad, I don’t want you to look at it that way, +not at all, not at all, lad.” Tim was as gentle as oil +in his front now, afraid that he was in the way of losing +a good herder whom he had tricked into working at a +bargain price. “I don’t think you understand the lay +of it, if you’ve got the impression I intended to take +you in at the jump-off, John. It’s never done; it’s +never heard of. A man’s got to prove himself, like +David of old. There’s a lot of Goliaths here on the +range he’s got to meet and show he’s able to handle +before any man would trust him full shares on the +increase of two thousand sheep.”</p> +<p>“You didn’t talk that way at first,” Mackenzie +charged, rather sulkily.</p> +<p>“I took to you when I heard how you laid Swan out +in that fight you had with him, John. That was a +recommendation. But it wasn’t enough, for it was +nothing but a chance lucky blow you got in on him that +give you the decision. If you’d ’a’ missed him, where +would you ’a’ been at?”</p> +<p>“That’s got nothing to do with your making a compact +and breaking it. You’ve got no right to come here +beefing around about the loss of a few sheep with a +breach of contract on your side of the fence. You’ve +put it up to me now like you should have done in the +beginning. All right; I’ll prove myself, like David. +But remember there was another fellow by the name of +Jacob that went in on a livestock deal with a slippery +man, and stick to your agreement this time.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span></div> +<p>“I don’t want you to feel that I’m takin’ advantage +of you, John; I don’t want you to feel that way.”</p> +<p>“I don’t just feel it; I know it. I’ll pay you for the +seven sheep the grizzly killed, and take it out of his +hide when I catch him.”</p> +<p>This offer mollified Tim, melting him down to smiles. +He shook hands with Mackenzie, all the heartiness on +his side, refusing the offer with voluble protestations +that he neither expected nor required it.</p> +<p>“You’ve got the makin’ of a sheepman in you, John; +I always thought you had. But–––”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“You want to be shown. All right; I’m game, even +at forty dollars and found.”</p> +<p>Tim beamed at this declaration, but the fires of his +satisfaction he was crafty enough to hide from even +Mackenzie’s penetrating eyes. Perhaps the glow was +due to a thought that this schoolmaster, who owed his +notoriety in the sheeplands to a lucky blow, would fail, +leaving him far ahead on the deal. He tightened his +girths and set his foot in the stirrup, ready to mount +and ride home; paused so, hand on the saddle-horn, +with a queer, half-puzzled, half-suspicious look in his +sheep-wise eyes.</p> +<p>“Wasn’t there something else that feller Jacob was +workin’ for besides the interest in the stock?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Seems to me like there was,” Mackenzie returned, +carelessly. “The main thing I remember in the transaction +was the stone he set up between the old man and +himself on the range. ‘The Lord watch between thee +and me,’ you know, it had on it. That’s a mighty good +motto yet for a sheepherder to front around where his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +boss can read it. A man’s got to have somebody to +keep an eye on a sheepman when his back’s turned, even +today.”</p> +<p>Tim laughed, swung into the saddle, where he sat +roving his eyes over the range, and back to the little +band of sheep that seemed only a handful of dust in the +unbounded pastures where they fed. The hillsides were +green in that favored section, greener than anywhere +Mackenzie had been in the sheeplands, the grass already +long for the lack of mouths to feed. Tim’s face glowed +at the sight.</p> +<p>“This is the best grazin’ this range has ever produced +in my day,” he said, “too much of it here for +that little band you’re runnin’. I’ll send Dad over with +three thousand more this week. You can camp together––it’ll +save me a wagon, and he’ll be company. How’s +Joan gettin on with the learnin’?”</p> +<p>“She’s eating it up.”</p> +<p>“I was afraid it’d be that way,” said Tim, gloomily; +“you can’t discourage that girl.”</p> +<p>“She’s too sincere and capable to be discouraged. I +laid down my hand long ago.”</p> +<p>“And it’s a pity to ruin a good sheepwoman with +learnin’,” Tim said, shaking his head with the sadness +of it.</p> +<p>Tim rode away, leaving Mackenzie to his reflections +as he watched his boss’ broad back grow smaller from +hill to hill. The sheepherder smiled as he recalled Tim’s +puzzled inquiry on the other consideration of Jacob’s +contract with the slippery Laban.</p> +<p><i>What is this thou hast done unto me? Did not I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +serve with thee for Rachel? Wherefore then hast thou +beguiled me?</i></p> +<p>“Tim would do it, too,” Mackenzie said, nodding his +grave head; “he’d work off the wrong girl on a man as +sure as he had two.”</p> +<p>It was queer, the way Tim had thought, at the last +minute, of the “something else” Jacob had worked for; +queer, the way he had turned, his foot up in the stirrup, +that puzzled, suspicious expression in his mild, shrewd +face. Even if he should remember on the way home, +or get out his Bible on his arrival and look the story +up, there would be nothing of a parallel between the +case of Jacob and that of John Mackenzie to worry his +sheepman’s head. For though Jacob served his seven +years for Rachel, which “seemed to him but a few days, +for the love he had to her,” he, John Mackenzie, was not +serving Tim Sullivan for Joan.</p> +<p>“Nothing to that!” said he, but smiling, a dream in +his eyes, over the thought of what might have been a +parallel case with Jacob’s, here in the sheeplands of the +western world.</p> +<p>Tim was scarcely out of sight when a man came riding +over the hills from the opposite direction. Mackenzie +sighted him afar off, watching him as each hill lifted +him to a plainer view. He was a stranger, and a man +unsparing of his horse, pushing it uphill and down with +unaltered speed. He rode as if the object of his journey +lay a long distance ahead, and his time for reaching it +was short.</p> +<p>Mackenzie wondered if the fellow had stolen the horse, +having it more than half in mind to challenge his passage +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +until he could give an account of his haste, when +he saw that the rider had no intention of going by +without speech. As he mounted the crest of the hill +above the flock, he swung straight for the spot where +Mackenzie stood.</p> +<p>The stranger drew up with a short grunt of greeting, +turning his gaze over the range as if in search of strayed +stock. He was a short, spare man, a frowning cast in +his eyes, a face darkly handsome, but unsympathetic as +a cougar’s. He looked down at Mackenzie presently, +as if he had put aside the recognition of his presence +as a secondary matter, a cold insolence in his challenging, +sneering eyes.</p> +<p>“What are you doing over here east of Horsethief?” +he inquired, bending his black brows in a frown, his +small mustache twitching in catlike threat of a snarl.</p> +<p>“I’m grazing that little band of sheep you see down +yonder,” Mackenzie returned, evenly, running his eyes +over the fellow’s gear.</p> +<p>This was rather remarkable for a land out of which +strife and contention, murder and sudden death were +believed to have passed long ago. The man wore two +revolvers, slung about his slender frame on a broad +belt looped around for cartridges. These loops were +empty, but the weight of the weapons themselves sagged +the belt far down on the wearer’s hips. His leather +cuffs were garnitured with silver stars in the Mexican +style; he wore a red stone in his black necktie, which +was tied with care, the flowing ends of it tucked into +the bosom of his dark-gray flannel shirt.</p> +<p>“If you’re tryin’ to be funny, cut it out; I’m not a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +funny man,” he said. “I asked you what you’re doing +over here east of Horsethief Cañon?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know that it’s any of your business where I +run my sheep,” Mackenzie told him, resentful of the +man’s insolence.</p> +<p>“Tim Sullivan knows this is our winter grazing land, +and this grass is in reserve. If he didn’t tell you it +was because he wanted to run you into trouble, I guess. +You’ll have to get them sheep out of here, and do it +right now.”</p> +<p>The stranger left it to Mackenzie’s imagination to +fix his identity, not bending to reveal his name. Hector +Hall, Mackenzie knew him to be, on account of his +pistols, on account of the cold meanness of his eyes which +Dad Frazer had described as holding such a throat-cutting +look. But armed as he was, severe and flash-tempered +as he seemed, Mackenzie was not in any sort +of a flurry to give ground before him. He looked up +at him coolly, felt in his pocket for his pipe, filled it +with deliberation, and smoked.</p> +<p>“Have you got a lease on this land?” he asked.</p> +<p>“I carry my papers right here,” Hall replied, touching +his belt.</p> +<p>Mackenzie looked about the range as if considering +which way to go. Then, turning again to Hall:</p> +<p>“I don’t know any bounds but the horizon when I’m +grazing on government land that’s as much mine as the +next man’s. I don’t like to refuse a neighbor a request, +but my sheep are going to stay right here.”</p> +<p>Hall leaned over a little, putting out his hand in a +warning gesture, drawing his dark brows in a scowl.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span></div> +<p>“Your head’s swelled, young feller,” he said, “on +account of that lucky thump you landed on Swan Carlson. +You’ve got about as much chance with that man +as you have with a grizzly bear, and you’ve got less +chance with me. You’ve got till this time tomorrow to +be six miles west of here with that band of sheep.”</p> +<p>Hall rode off with that word, leaving a pretty good +impression that he meant it, and that it was final. +Mackenzie hadn’t a doubt that he would come back to +see how well the mandate had been obeyed next day.</p> +<p>If there was anything to Hall’s claim on that territory, +by agreement or right of priority which sheepmen +were supposed to respect between themselves, Tim Sullivan +knew it, Mackenzie reflected. For a month past +Tim had been sending him eastward every time the +wagon was moved, a scheme to widen the distance between +him and Joan and make it an obstacle in her road, +he believed at the time. Now it began to show another +purpose. Perhaps this was the winter pasture claimed +by the Hall brothers, and Tim had sent him in where he +was afraid to come himself.</p> +<p>It seemed a foolish thing to squabble over a piece of +grazing land where all the world lay out of doors, but +Hector Hall’s way of coming up to it was unpleasant. +It was decidedly offensive, bullying, oppressive. If he +should give way before it he’d just as well leave the +range, Mackenzie knew; his force would be spent there, +his day closed before it had fairly begun. If he designed +seriously to remain there and become a flockmaster, and +that he intended to do, with all the sincerity in him, he’d +have to meet Hall’s bluff with a stronger one, and stand +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span> +his ground, whether right or wrong. If wrong, a gentleman’s +adjustment could be made, his honor saved.</p> +<p>So deciding, he settled that matter, and put it out +of his head until its hour. There was something more +pleasant to cogitate––the parallel of Jacob and Laban, +Tim Sullivan and himself. It was strange how the craft +of Laban had come down to Tim Sullivan across that +mighty flight of time. It would serve Tim the right +turn, in truth, if something should come of it between +him and Joan. He smiled in anticipatory pleasure at +Tim’s discomfiture and surprise.</p> +<p>But that was not in store for him, he sighed. Joan +would shake her wings out in a little while, and fly away, +leaving him there, a dusty sheepman, among the husks +of his dream. Still, a man might dream on a sunny +afternoon. There was no interdiction against it; Hector +Hall, with his big guns, could not ride in and order +a man off that domain. A shepherd had the ancient +privilege of dreams; he might drink himself drunk on +them, insane on them in the end, as so many of them +were said to do in that land of lonesomeness, where there +was scarcely an echo to give a man back his own faint +voice in mockery of his solitude.</p> +<p>Evening, with the sheep homing to the bedding-ground, +brought reflections of a different hue. Since +the raid on his flock Mackenzie had given up his bunk +in the wagon for a bed under a bush on the hillside +nearer the sheep. Night after night he lay with the +rifle at his hand, waiting the return of the grisly monster +who had spent his fury on the innocent simpletons +in his care.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></div> +<p>Whether it was Swan Carlson, with the strength of +his great arms, driven to madness by the blow he had +received, or whether it was another whom the vast +solitudes of that country had unhinged, Mackenzie did +not know. But that it was man, he had no doubt.</p> +<p>Dad Frazer had gone away unconvinced, unshaken +in his belief that it was a grizzly. Tim Sullivan had +come over with the same opinion, no word of doubt in +his mouth. But Mackenzie knew that when he should +meet that wild night-prowler he would face a thing +more savage than a bear, a thing as terrible to grapple +with as the saber-tooth whose bones lay deep under the +hills of that vast pasture-land.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_X_WILD_RIDERS_OF_THE_RANGE' id='CHAPTER_X_WILD_RIDERS_OF_THE_RANGE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>WILD RIDERS OF THE RANGE</h3> +</div> +<p>Joan missed her lessons for three days running, a +lapse so unusual as to cause Mackenzie the liveliest +concern. He feared that the mad creature who spent +his fury tearing sheep limb from limb might have visited +her camp, and that she had fallen into his bloody +hands.</p> +<p>A matter of eight or nine miles lay between their +camps; Mackenzie had no horse to cover it. More than +once he was on the point of leaving the sheep to shift +for themselves and striking out on foot; many times he +walked a mile or more in that direction, to mount the +highest hill he could discover, and stand long, sweeping +the blue distance with troubled eyes. Yet in the end +he could not go. Whatever was wrong, he could not set +right at that late hour, he reasoned; to leave the sheep +would be to throw open the gates of their defense to +dangers always ready to descend upon them. The sheep +were in his care; Joan was not. That was what Tim +Sullivan would say, in his hard way of holding a man +to his bargain and his task.</p> +<p>Joan came late in the afternoon, rising the nearest +hilltop with a suddenness quite startling, waving a cheerful +greeting as if to assure him from a distance that +all was well. She stood looking at him in amazement +when she flipped to the ground like a bird, her face +growing white, her eyes big.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span></div> +<p>“Well, what in the world! Where did you get those +guns?” she said.</p> +<p>“A fellow left them here the other day.”</p> +<p>“A fellow?” coming nearer, looking sharply at the +belt. “That’s Hector Hall’s belt––I’ve seen him wearing +it! There his initials are, worked out in silver tacks! +Where did you get it?”</p> +<p>“Mr. Hall left it here. What kept you, Joan? I’ve +been worried about you.”</p> +<p>“Hector Hall <i>left</i> it here? With both of his guns?”</p> +<p>“Yes, he left the guns with it. What was the matter, +Joan?”</p> +<p>Joan looked him up and down, her face a study between +admiration and fear.</p> +<p>“Left his guns! Well, what did you do with <i>him</i>?”</p> +<p>“I suppose he went home, Joan. Did anything happen +over your way to keep you?”</p> +<p>“Charley was sick,” she said, shortly, abstractedly, +drowned in her wonder of the thing he told with his +native reluctance when questioned on his own exploits. +“Did you have a fight with Hector?”</p> +<p>“Is he all right now?”</p> +<p>“Charley’s all right; he ate too many wild gooseberries. +Did you have a fight with Hector Hall, Mr. +Mackenzie?”</p> +<p>She came near him as she questioned him, her great, +soft eyes pleading in fear, and laid her hand on his +shoulder as if to hold him against any further evasion. +He smiled a little, in his stingy way of doing it, taking +her hand to allay her tumult of distress.</p> +<p>“Not much of a fight, Joan. Mr. Hall came over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +here to drive me off of this range, and I had to take his +guns away from him to keep him from hurting me. +That’s all there was to it.”</p> +<p>“All there was to it!” said Joan. “Why, he’s one +of the meanest men that ever lived! He’ll never rest till +he kills you. I wish you’d let him have the range.”</p> +<p>“Is it his?”</p> +<p>“No, it belongs to us; we’ve got a lease on it from +the government, and pay rent for it every year. Swan +Carlson and the Hall boys have bluffed us out of it +for the past three summers and run their sheep over +here in the winter-time. I always wanted to fight for +it, but dad let them have it for the sake of peace. I +guess it was the best way, after all.”</p> +<p>“As long as I was right, my last worry is gone, Joan. +You’re not on the contested territory, are you?”</p> +<p>“No; they lay claim as far as Horsethief Cañon, but +they’d just as well claim all our lease––they’ve got just +as much right to it.”</p> +<p>“That ends the matter, then––as far as I’m concerned.”</p> +<p>“I wonder what kind of an excuse Hector made when +he went home without his guns!” she speculated, looking +off over the hills in the direction of the Hall brothers’ +ranch.</p> +<p>“Maybe he’s not accountable to anybody, and doesn’t +have to explain.”</p> +<p>“I guess that’s right,” Joan said, still wandering in +her gaze.</p> +<p>Below them the flock was spread, the dogs on its +flanks. Mackenzie pointed to the sun.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span></div> +<p>“We’ll have to get to work; you’ll be starting back +in an hour.”</p> +<p>But there was no work in Joan that day, nothing but +troubled speculation on what form Hector Hall’s revenge +would take, and when the stealthy blow of his +resentment would fall. Try as he would, Mackenzie +could not fasten her mind upon the books. She would +begin with a brave resolution, only to wander away, +the book closed presently upon her thumb, her eyes +searching the hazy hills where trouble lay out of sight. +At last she gave it up, with a little catching sob, tears +in her honest eyes.</p> +<p>“They’ll kill you––I know they will!” she said.</p> +<p>“I don’t think they will,” he returned, abstractedly, +“but even if they do, Rachel, there’s nobody to grieve.”</p> +<p>“Rachel? My name isn’t Rachel,” said Joan, a little +hurt. For it was not in flippancy or banter that he +had called her out of her name; his eyes were not within +a hundred leagues of that place, his heart away with +them, it seemed, when he spoke.</p> +<p>He turned to her, a color of embarrassment in his +brown face.</p> +<p>“I was thinking of another story, Joan.”</p> +<p>“Of another girl,” she said, perhaps a trifle resentfully. +At least Mackenzie thought he read a resentful +note in the quick rejoinder, a resentful flash of color in +her cheek.</p> +<p>“Yes, but a mighty old girl, Joan,” he confessed, +smiling with a feeling of lightness around his heart.</p> +<p>“Somebody you used to know?” face turned away, +voice light in a careless, artificial note.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span></div> +<p>“She was a sheepman’s daughter,” he said.</p> +<p>“Did you know her down at Jasper?”</p> +<p>“No, I never knew her at all, Rach––Joan. That +was a long, long time ago.”</p> +<p>Joan brightened at this news. She ceased denying +him her face, even smiled a little, seeming to forget +Hector Hall and his pending vengeance.</p> +<p>“Well, what about her?” she asked.</p> +<p>He told her which Rachel he had in mind, but Joan +only shook her head and looked troubled.</p> +<p>“I never read the Bible; we haven’t even got one.”</p> +<p>He told her the story, beginning with Jacob’s setting +out, and his coming to the well with the great stone at +its mouth which the maidens could not roll away.</p> +<p>“So Jacob rolled the stone away and watered Rachel’s +sheep,” he said, pausing with that much of it, looking +off down the draw between the hills in a mind-wandering +way. Joan touched his arm, impatient with such disjointed +narrative.</p> +<p>“What did he do then?”</p> +<p>“Why, he kissed her.”</p> +<p>“I think he was kind of fresh,” said Joan. But she +laughed a little, blushing rosily, a bright light in her +eyes. “Tell me the rest of it, John.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie went on with the ancient pastoral tale of +love. Joan was indignant when she heard how Laban +gave Jacob the weak-eyed girl for a wife in place of his +beloved Rachel, for whom he had worked the seven +years.</p> +<p>“Jake must have been a bright one!” said she. “How +could the old man put one over on him like that?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span></div> +<p>“You’ll have to read the story,” said Mackenzie. “It’s +sundown; don’t you think you’d better be going back +to camp, Joan?”</p> +<p>But Joan was in no haste to leave. She walked with +him as he worked the sheep to their bedding-ground, her +bridle-rein over her arm. She could get back to camp +before dark, she said; Charley would not be worried.</p> +<p>Joan could not have said as much for herself. Her +eyes were pools of trouble, her face was anxious and +strained. She went silently beside Mackenzie while the +dogs worked the sheep along with more than human +patience, almost human intelligence. Frequently she +looked into his face with a plea dumbly eloquent, but did +not again put her fear for him into words. Only when +she stood beside her horse near the sheep-wagon, ready +to mount and leave him to his solitary supper, she spoke +of Hector Hall’s revolvers, which Mackenzie had unstrapped +and put aside.</p> +<p>“What are you going to do with them, John?”</p> +<p>She had fallen into the use of that familiar address +only that day, moved by the tenderness of the old tale +he had told her, perhaps; drawn nearer to him by the +discovery of a gentle sentiment in him which she had not +known before. He heard it with a warm uplifting of the +heart, all without reason, he knew, for it was the range +way to be familiar on a shorter acquaintance than theirs.</p> +<p>“I’m going to give them back to him,” he said. “I’ve +been carrying them around ever since he left them in +the hope he’d get ashamed of himself and come for +them.”</p> +<p>Joan started at the sound of galloping hoofs, which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +rose suddenly out of complete silence as the riders +mounted the crest behind them.</p> +<p>“I guess he’s coming for them now,” she said.</p> +<p>There were two riders coming down the slope toward +them at a pace altogether reckless. Mackenzie saw at +a glance that neither of them was Hector Hall, but one +a woman, her loose garments flapping as she rode.</p> +<p>“It’s Swan Carlson and his wife!” he said, unable to +cover his amazement at the sight.</p> +<p>“What do you suppose they’re doing over here?” +Joan drew a little nearer as she spoke, her horse shifting +to keep by her side.</p> +<p>“No telling. Look how that woman rides!”</p> +<p>There was enough in her wild bearing to excite admiration +and wonder, even in one who had not seen her +under conditions which promised little of such development. +She came on at Swan’s side, leaning forward a +little, as light and sure in the saddle as any cowboy on +the range. They bore down toward the sheep-wagon +as if they had no intention of halting, jerking their +horses up in Indian fashion a few feet from where Mackenzie +and Joan stood. The animals slid on stiff legs, +hoofs plowing the soft ground, raising a cloud of dust +which dimmed the riders momentarily.</p> +<p>Neither of the abrupt visitors spoke. They sat +silently staring, not a rod between them and the two on +foot, the woman as unfriendly of face as the man. And +Swan Carlson had not improved in this feature since +Mackenzie parted from him in violence a few weeks +before. His red hair was shorter now, his drooping +mustache longer, the points of it reaching two inches +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +below his chin. He was gaunt of cheek, hollow of eyes, +like a man who had gone hungry or suffered a sorrow +that ate away his heart.</p> +<p>His wife had improved somewhat in outward appearance. +Her face had filled, the pathetic uncertainty had +gone from her eyes. She was not uncomely as she sat +astride her good bay horse, her divided skirt of corduroy +wide on its flanks, a man’s gray shirt laced over her +bosom, the collar open, showing the fairness of her neck. +Her abundant hair was braided, and wound closely about +her head like a cap. Freedom had made a strange alteration +in her. It seemed, indeed, as if Swan Carlson had +breathed into her the breath of his own wild soul, making +her over according to the desire of his heart.</p> +<p>Mackenzie stepped out in invitation for Swan to state +the occasion of his boisterous visit, and stood waiting +in silence while the two strange creatures continued to +stare. Swan lifted his hand in a manner of salutation, +no change either of friendship or animosity in his lean, +strong face.</p> +<p>“You got a woman, huh? Well, how’ll you trade?”</p> +<p>Swan glanced from his wife to Joan as he spoke. If +there was any recollection in him of the hard usage he +had received at Mackenzie’s hands, it did not seem to +be bitter.</p> +<p>“Ride on,” said Mackenzie.</p> +<p>Mrs. Carlson urged her horse with sudden start close +to where Joan stood, leaned far over her saddle and +peered into the girl’s face. Joan, affronted by the savage +impertinence, met her eyes defiantly, not giving an +inch before the unexpected charge.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span></div> +<p>In that pose of defiant challenge Swan Carlson’s +woman peered into the face of the girl whose freshness +and beauty had drawn the wild banter from her man’s +bold lips. Then, a sudden sweep of passion in her face, +she lifted her rawhide quirt and struck Joan a bitter +blow across the shoulder and neck. Mackenzie sprang +between them, but Mrs. Carlson, her defiance passed in +that one blow, did not follow it up. Swan opened wide +his great mouth and pealed out his roaring laughter, not +a line of mirth softening in his face, not a gleam of it in +his eyes. It was a sound without a note to express +human warmth, or human satisfaction.</p> +<p>Joan flamed up like a match in oil. She dropped her +bridle-reins, springing back a quick step, turning her +eyes about for some weapon by which she might retaliate. +Hector Hall’s pistols hung on the end-gate of the +sheep-wagon not more than twenty feet away. It seemed +that Joan covered the distance in a bound, snatched one +of the guns and fired. Her own horse stood between her +and the wild range woman, which perhaps accounted for +her miss. Mackenzie was holding her wrist before she +could shoot again.</p> +<p>Swan let out another roar of heartless laughter, and +together with his woman galloped down the hill. Ahead +of them the sheep were assembled, packed close in their +huddling way of seeking comfort and courage in numbers, +just beginning to compose themselves for the night. +Straight into the flock Swan Carlson and his woman +rode, trampling such as could not rise and leap aside, +crushing such lambs as were not nimble enough or wise +enough to run.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span></div> +<p>“I’ll kill her, I’ll kill her!” said Joan.</p> +<p>She panted, half crying, struggling to free her arm +that she might fire again.</p> +<p>“All right, let ’em have it!” Mackenzie said, seeing the +havoc among the sheep.</p> +<p>Swan and his woman rode like a whirlwind through +the flock, the dogs after them with sharp cries, the +frightened bleating of the lambs, the beating of two +thousand hoofs, adding to the confusion of what had +been a peaceful pastoral scene but a few minutes before. +Joan cut loose at the disturbers of this peace, emptying +the revolver quickly, but without effect.</p> +<p>Half way through the herd Swan leaned down and +caught a lamb by the leg, swung it around his head as +lightly as a man would wave his hat, and rode on with +it in savage triumph. Mackenzie snatched the rifle from +the wagon. His shot came so close to Swan that he +dropped the lamb. The woman fell behind Swan, interposing +herself as a shield, and in this formation they +rode on, sweeping down the narrow thread of green +valley, galloping wildly away into the sanctuary of +the hills.</p> +<p>Mackenzie stood, gun half lifted, and watched them +go without another shot, afraid to risk it lest he hit the +woman. He turned to Joan, who stood by, white with +anger, the empty revolver in her hand.</p> +<p>“Are you hurt, Joan?” he asked, in foolish weakness, +knowing very well that she was.</p> +<p>“No, she didn’t hurt me––but I’ll kill her for it!” +said Joan.</p> +<p>She was trembling; her face was bloodless in the cold +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +anger that shook her. There was a red welt on her neck, +purple-marked on its ridge where the rawhide had almost +cut her tender skin.</p> +<p>“Swan Carlson has pulled his woman down to his +savage level at last,” Mackenzie said.</p> +<p>“She’s worse than he is; she’s a range wolf!”</p> +<p>“I believe she is. But it always happens that way +when a person gets to going.”</p> +<p>“With those two and the Hall boys you’ll not have a +ghost of a chance to hold this range, John. You’d better +let me help you begin working the sheep over toward +my camp tonight.”</p> +<p>“No, I’m going to stay here.”</p> +<p>“Swan and that woman just rode through here to get +the lay of your camp. More than likely they’ll come +over and burn you out tonight––pour coal oil on the +wagon and set it afire.”</p> +<p>“Let ’em; I’ll not be in it.”</p> +<p>“They’ll worry you night and day, kill your sheep, +maybe kill you, if you don’t come away. It isn’t worth +it; dad was right about it. For the sake of peace, let +them have it, John.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie stood in silence, looking the way Swan and +his woman had gone, the gun held as if ready to lift and +fire at the showing of a hat-crown over the next hill. +He seemed to be considering the situation. Joan studied +his face with eager hopefulness, bending forward a bit +to see better in the failing light.</p> +<p>“They’ve got to be shown that a master has come to +the sheep country,” he said, in low voice, as if to himself. +“I’ll stay and prove it to all of them at once.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></div> +<p>Joan knew there was no use to argue or appeal. She +dropped the matter there, and Mackenzie put the gun +away.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry I haven’t anything to put on it,” he said, +looking at the red welt on her neck.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry I missed her,” said Joan.</p> +<p>“It isn’t so much the sting of a blow, I know,” he +comforted, “as the hurt of the insult. Never mind it, +Joan; she’s a vicious, wild woman, jealous because Swam +took notice of you.”</p> +<p>“It was a great compliment!”</p> +<p>“I wish I had some balm for it that would cure it in a +second, and take away the memory of the way it was +done,” said he, very softly.</p> +<p>“I’ll kill her,” flared Joan.</p> +<p>“I don’t like to hear you say that, Joan,” he chided, +and reached and laid his hand consolingly upon the +burning mark.</p> +<p>Joan caught her breath as if he had touched her skin +with ice. He withdrew his hand quickly, blaming himself +for the rudeness of his rough hand.</p> +<p>“You didn’t hurt me, John,” she said, her eyes downcast, +the color of warm blood playing over her face.</p> +<p>“I might have,” he blamed himself, in such seriousness +as if it were the gravest matter he had risked, and +not the mere touching of a blood-red welt upon a simple +maiden’s neck.</p> +<p>“I’ll be over early in the morning to see if you’re all +right,” she told him as she turned again to her horse.</p> +<p>“If you can come, even to show yourself on the hill,” +said he.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span></div> +<p>“Show myself? Why, a person would think you were +worrying about me.”</p> +<p>“I am, Joan. I wish you would give up herding +sheep, let the share and the prospect and all of it go, +and have your father put a herder in to run that band +for you.”</p> +<p>“They’ll not hurt me; as mean as they are they’ll not +fight a woman. Anyway, I’m not over the deadline.”</p> +<p>“There’s something prowling this range that doesn’t +respect lines, Joan.”</p> +<p>“You mean the grizzly?”</p> +<p>“Yes, the grizzly that rides a horse.”</p> +<p>“Dad Frazer thinks you were mistaken on that, +John.”</p> +<p>“I know. Dad Frazer thinks I’m a better schoolteacher +than I’ll ever be a sheepman, I guess. But I’ve +met bears enough that I don’t have to imagine them. +Keep your gun close by you tonight, and every night.”</p> +<p>“I will,” she promised, moved by the earnestness of +his appeal.</p> +<p>Dusk was thickening into darkness over the sheeplands; +the dogs were driving the straggling sheep back +to the bedding-ground, where many of them already lay +in contentment, quickly over the flurry of Swan Carlson’s +passing. Joan stood at her stirrup, her face lifted +to the heavens, and it was white as an evening primrose +under the shadow of her hat. She lingered as if there +remained something to say or be said, something to give +or to take, before leaving her friend and teacher alone +to face the dangers of the night. Perhaps she thought +of Rachel, and the kiss her kinsman gave her when he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +rolled the stone from the well’s mouth, and lifted up his +voice and wept.</p> +<p>Mackenzie stood a little apart, thinking his own swift-running +thoughts, quickening under the leap of his own +eager blood. But no matter for Jacob’s precedent, +Mackenzie had no excuse of even distant relationship to +offer for such familiarity. The desire was urging, but +the justification was not at hand. So Joan rode away +unkissed, and perhaps wondering why.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI_HECTOR_HALL_SETS_A_BEACON' id='CHAPTER_XI_HECTOR_HALL_SETS_A_BEACON'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>HECTOR HALL SETS A BEACON</h3> +</div> +<p>Mackenzie sat a long time on his hill that +night, his ear turned to the wind, smoking his +pipe and thinking the situation over while listening for +the first sound of commotion among the sheep. He had +pledged himself to Tim and Joan that he would not quit +the sheep country without proving that he had in him +the mettle of a flockmaster. Hector Hall had been +given to understand the same thing. In fact, Mackenzie +thought, it looked as if he had been running with his +eyes shut, making boastful pledges.</p> +<p>He might have to hedge on some of them, or put them +through at a cost far beyond the profit. It came that +way to a boaster of his intentions sometimes, especially +so when a man spoke too quickly and assumed too much. +Here he was standing face to a fight that did not appear +to promise much more glory in the winning than in the +running away.</p> +<p>There had been peace in that part of the sheep +country a long time; Mackenzie had come to Jasper, +even, long after the feuds between the flockmasters and +cattlemen had worn themselves out save for an outbreak +of little consequence in the far places now and then. +But the peace of this place had been a coward’s peace, +paid for in money and humiliation. A thing like that +was not to be expected of Tim Sullivan, although from a +business reasoning he doubtless was right about it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span></div> +<p>It was Mackenzie’s work now to clean up the camp of +the Hall brothers, along with Swan Carlson, and put an +end to their bullying and edging over on Tim Sullivan’s +range, or take up his pack and trudge out of the sheep +country as he had come. By staying there and fighting +for Tim Sullivan’s interests he might arrive in time at a +dusty consequence, his fame, measured in thousands of +sheep, reaching even to Jasper and Cheyenne, and perhaps +to the stock-yards commission offices in Omaha and +Chicago.</p> +<p>“John Mackenzie, worth twenty thousand, or fifty +thousand sheep.”</p> +<p>That would be the way they would know him; that +would be the measure of his fame. By what sacrifice, +through what adventure, how much striving and hard +living he might come to the fame of twenty thousand +sheep, no man would know or care. There in the dusty +silences of that gray-green land he would bury the man +and the soul that reached upward in him with pleasant +ambitions, to become a creature over sheep. Just a step +higher than the sheep themselves, wind-buffeted, cold-cursed, +seared and blistered and hardened like a callous +through which the urging call of a man’s duty among +men could pierce no more.</p> +<p>But it had its compensations, on the other hand. +There must be a vast satisfaction in looking back over +the small triumphs won against tremendous forces, the +successful contest with wild winter storm, ravaging +disease, night-prowling beasts. Nature was the big +force arrayed against a flockmaster, and it was unkind +and menacing seven months out of the year. That must +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +be the secret of a flockmaster’s satisfaction with himself +and his lot, Mackenzie thought; he could count himself +a fit companion for the old gods, if he knew anything +about them, after his victory over every wild force +that could be bent against him among those unsheltered +hills.</p> +<p>The Hall brothers were a small pest to be stamped +out and forgotten in the prosperity of multiplying +flocks. As for Swan Carlson, poor savage, there might +be some way of reaching him without further violence +between them. Wild and unfeeling as he seemed, there +must be a sense of justice in him, reading him by his +stern, immobile face.</p> +<p>As he sat and weighed the argument for and against +the sheep business, the calling of flockmaster began to +take on the color of romantic attraction which had not +been apparent to him before. In his way, every flockmaster +was a hero, inflexible against the unreckoned +forces which rose continually to discourage him. This +was true, as he long had realized, of a man who plants in +the soil, risking the large part of his capital of labor +year by year. But the sheepman’s risks were greater, +his courage immensely superior, to that of the tiller of +the soil. One storm might take his flock down to the +last head, leaving him nothing to start on again but his +courage and his hope.</p> +<p>It appeared to Mackenzie to be the calling of a +proper man. A flockmaster need not be a slave to the +range, as most of them were. He might sit in his office, +as a few of them did, and do the thing like a gentleman. +There were possibilities of dignity in it heretofore overlooked; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +Joan would think better of it if she could see it +done that way. Surely, it was a business that called for +a fight to build and a fight to hold, but it was the calling +of a proper man.</p> +<p>Mackenzie was immensely cheered by his reasoning +the sheep business into the romantic and heroic class. +Here were allurements of which he had not dreamed, to +be equaled only by the calling of the sea, and not by +any other pursuit on land at all. A man who appreciated +the subtle shadings of life could draw a great deal +of enjoyment and self-pride out of the business of flockmaster. +It was one of the most ancient pursuits of man. +Abraham was a flockmaster; maybe Adam.</p> +<p>But for all of the new comfort he had found in the +calling he had adopted, Mackenzie was plagued by a +restless, broken sleep when he composed himself among +the hillside shrubs above the sheep. A vague sense +of something impending held him from rest. It was +present over his senses like a veil of drifting smoke +through his shallow sleep. Twice he moved his bed, with +the caution of some haunted beast; many times he +started in his sleep, clutching like a falling man, to sit +up alert and instantly awake.</p> +<p>There was something in the very tension of the night-silence +that warned him to be on the watch. It was not +until long after midnight that he relaxed his straining, +uneasy vigil, and stretched himself to unvexed sleep. +He could steal an hour or two from the sheep in the +early morning, he told himself, as he felt the sweet restfulness +of slumber sweeping over him; the helpless creatures +would remain on the bedding-ground long after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +sunrise if he did not wake, waiting for him to come and +set them about the great business of their lives. They +hadn’t sense enough to range out and feed themselves +without the direction of man’s guiding hand.</p> +<p>Mackenzie had dipped but a little way into his refreshing +rest when the alarmed barking of his dogs +woke him with such sudden wrench that it ached. He +sat up, senses drenched in sleep for a struggling moment, +groping for his rifle. The dogs went charging up the +slope toward the wagon, the canvas top of which he +could see indistinctly on the hillside through the dark.</p> +<p>As Mackenzie came to his feet, fully awake and on +edge, the dogs mouthed their cries as if they closed in +on the disturber of the night at close quarters. Mackenzie +heard blows, a yelp from a disabled dog, and retreat +toward him of those that remained unhurt. He +fired a shot, aiming high, running toward the wagon.</p> +<p>Again the dogs charged, two of them, only, out of the +three, and again there was the sound of thick, rapid +blows. One dog came back to its master, pressing +against his legs for courage. Mackenzie shouted, hoping +to draw the intruder into revealing himself, not +wanting the blood of even a rascal such as the night-prowler +on his hands through a chance shot into the +dark. There was no answer, no sound from the deep +blackness that pressed like troubled waters close to the +ground.</p> +<p>The dog clung near to Mackenzie’s side, his growling +deep in his throat. Mackenzie could feel the beast +tremble as it pressed against him, and bent to caress it +and give it confidence. At his reassuring touch the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +beast bounded forward to the charge again, only to +come yelping back, and continue on down the hill toward +the flock.</p> +<p>Mackenzie fired again, dodging quickly behind a +clump of bushes after the flash of his gun. As he +crouched there, peering and straining ahead into the +dark, strong hands laid hold of him, and tore his rifle +away from him and flung him to the ground. One came +running from the wagon, low words passed between the +man who held Mackenzie pinned to the ground, knees +astride him, his hands doubled back against his chin in +a grip that was like fetters. This one who arrived in +haste groped around until he found Mackenzie’s rifle.</p> +<p>“Let him up,” he said.</p> +<p>Mackenzie stood, his captor twisting his arms behind +him with such silent ease that it was ominous of what +might be expected should the sheepherder set up a +struggle to break free.</p> +<p>“Bud, I’ve come over after my guns,” said Hector +Hall, speaking close to Mackenzie’s ear.</p> +<p>“They’re up at the wagon,” Mackenzie told him, with +rather an injured air. “You didn’t need to make all +this trouble about it; I was keeping them for you.”</p> +<p>“Go on up and get ’em,” Hall commanded, prodding +Mackenzie in the ribs with the barrel of his own gun.</p> +<p>The one who held Mackenzie said nothing, but walked +behind him, rather shoved him ahead, hands twisted in +painful rigidity behind his back, pushing him along as if +his weight amounted to no more than a child’s. At the +wagon Hall fell in beside Mackenzie, the barrel of a gun +again at his side.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span></div> +<p>“Let him go,” he said. And to Mackenzie: “Don’t +try to throw any tricks on me, bud, but waltz around +and get me them guns.”</p> +<p>“They’re hanging on the end of the coupling-pole; +get them yourself,” Mackenzie returned, resentful of +this treatment, humiliated to such depths by this disgrace +that had overtaken him that he cared little for +the moment whether he should live or die.</p> +<p>Hall spoke a low, mumbled, unintelligible word to +the one who stood behind Mackenzie, and another gun +pressed coldly against the back of the apprentice sheepman’s +neck. Hall went to the end of the wagon, found +his pistols, struck a match to inspect them. In the +light of the expiring match at his feet Mackenzie could +see the ex-cattleman buckling on the guns.</p> +<p>“Bud, you’ve been actin’ kind of rash around here,” +Hall said, in insolent satisfaction with the turn of +events. “You had your lucky day with me, like you had +with Swan Carlson, but I gave you a sneak’s chance to +leave the country while the goin’ was good. If you ever +leave it now the wind’ll blow you out. Back him up to +that wagon wheel!”</p> +<p>Mackenzie was at the end of his tractable yielding to +commands, seeing dimly what lay before him. He lashed +out in fury at the man who pressed the weapon to his +neck, twisting round in a sweep of passion that made +the night seem to burst in a rain of fire, careless of what +immediate danger he ran. The fellow fired as Mackenzie +swung round, the flash of the flame hot on his neck.</p> +<p>“Don’t shoot him, you fool!” Hector Hall interposed, +his voice a growl between his teeth.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span></div> +<p>Mackenzie’s quick blows seemed to fall impotently on +the body of the man who now grappled with him, face +to face, Hector Hall throwing himself into the tangle +from the rear. Mackenzie, seeing his assault shaping +for a speedy end in his own defeat, now attempted to +break away and seek shelter in the dark among the +bushes. He wrenched free for a moment, ducked, ran, +only to come down in a few yards with Hector Hall on +his back like a catamount.</p> +<p>Fighting every inch of the way, Mackenzie was +dragged back to the wagon, where his captors backed +him against one of the hind wheels and bound him, his +arms outstretched across the spokes in the manner of a +man crucified.</p> +<p>They had used Mackenzie illy in that fight to get him +back to the wagon; his face was bleeding, a blow in the +mouth had puffed his lips. His hat was gone, his shirt +torn open on his bosom, but a wild rage throbbed in +him which lifted him above the thought of consequences +as he strained at the ropes which held his arms.</p> +<p>They left his feet free, as if to mock him with half +liberty in the ordeal they had set for him to face. One +mounted the front wagon wheel near Mackenzie, and +the light of slow-coming dawn on the sky beyond him +showed his hand uplifted as if he sprinkled something +over the wagon sheet. The smell of kerosene spread +through the still air; a match crackled on the wagon +tire. A flash, a sudden springing of flame, a roar, and +the canvas was enveloped in fire.</p> +<p>Mackenzie leaned against his bonds, straining away +from the sudden heat, the fast-running fire eating the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +canvas from the bows, the bunk within, and all the furnishings +and supplies, on fire. There seemed to be no +wind, a merciful circumstance, for a whip of the high-striving +flames would have wrapped him, stifling out his +life in a moment.</p> +<p>Hall and the other man, who had striven with Mackenzie +in such powerful silence, had drawn away from +the fire beyond his sight to enjoy the thing they had +done. Mackenzie, turning his fearful gaze over his +shoulder, calculated his life in seconds. The fire was at +his back, his hair was crinkling in the heat of it, a little +moving breath of wind to fill the sudden vacuum drew a +tongue of blaze with sharp threat against his cheek.</p> +<p>In a moment the oil-drenched canvas would be gone, +the flaming contents of the wagon, the woodwork of box +and running gears left to burn more slowly, and his flesh +and bones must mingle ashes with the ashes, to be blown +on the wind, as Hector Hall had so grimly prophesied. +What a pitiful, poor, useless ending of all his calculations +and plans!</p> +<p>A shot at the top of the hill behind the wagon, a rush +of galloping hoofs; another shot, and another. Below +him Hall and his comrade rode away, floundering in +haste through the sleeping flock, the one poor dog left +out of Mackenzie’s three tearing after them, venting his +impotent defiance in sharp yelps of the chase.</p> +<p>Joan. Mackenzie knew it was Joan before she came +riding into the firelight, throwing herself from the +horse before it stopped. Through the pain of his +despair––above the rebellious resentment of the thing +that fate had played upon him this bitter gray morning; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +above the anguish of his hopeless moment, the poignant +striving of his tortured soul to meet the end with +resolution and calm defiance worthy a man––he had expected +Joan.</p> +<p>Why, based on what reason, he could not have told, +then nor in the years that came afterward. But always +the thought of Joan coming to him like the wings of +light out of the east.</p> +<p>And so Joan had come, as he strained on his bound +arms to draw his face a few inches farther from the fire, +as he stifled in the smoke and heavy gases of the burning +oil; Joan had come, and her hand was cool on his forehead, +her voice was tender in his ear, and she was leading +him into the blessed free air, the east widening in a bar +of light like a waking eye.</p> +<p>Joan was panting, the knife that had cut his bonds +still open in her hand. They stood face to face, a little +space between them, her great eyes pouring their terrified +sympathy into his soul. Neither spoke, a daze over +them, a numbness on their tongues, the dull shock of +death’s close passing bewildering and deep.</p> +<p>Mackenzie breathed deeply, his brain clearing out of +its racing whirl, and became conscious of Joan’s hand +grasping his. Behind them the ammunition in the burning +wagon began to explode, and Joan, shuddering as +with cold, covered her white face with her hands and +sobbed aloud.</p> +<p>Mackenzie touched her shoulder.</p> +<p>“Joan! O Joan, Joan!” he said.</p> +<p>Joan, shivering, her shoulders lifted as if to fend +against a winter blast, only cried the harder into her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +hands. He stood with hand touching her shoulder +lightly, the quiver of her body shaking him to the heart. +But no matter how inviting the opening, a man could +not speak what rose in his heart to say, standing as he +stood, a debtor in such measure. To say what he would +have said to Joan, he must stand clear and towering in +manliness, no taint of humiliation on his soul.</p> +<p>Mackenzie groaned in spirit, and his words were a +groan, as he said again:</p> +<p>“Joan! O Joan, Joan!”</p> +<p>“I knew they’d come tonight––I couldn’t sleep.”</p> +<p>“Thank God for your wakefulness!” said he.</p> +<p>She was passing out of the reefs of terror, calming as +a wind falls at sunset. Mackenzie pressed her arm, +drawing her away a little.</p> +<p>“That ammunition––we’d better–––”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Joan, and went with him a little farther +down the slope.</p> +<p>Mackenzie put his hand to his face where the flames +had licked it, and to the back of his head where his +scorched hair broke crisply under his palm. Joan looked +at him, the aging stamp of waking and worry in her +face, exclaiming pityingly when she saw his hurts.</p> +<p>“It served me right; I stumbled into their hands like +a blind kitten!” he said, not sparing himself of scorn.</p> +<p>“It’s a cattleman’s trick; many an older hand than +you has gone that way,” she said.</p> +<p>“But if I’d have waked and watched like you, Joan, +they wouldn’t have got me. I started to watch, but I +didn’t keep it up like you. When I should have been +awake, I was sleeping like a sluggard.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span></div> +<p>“The cowards!” said Joan.</p> +<p>“I let one of them sneak up behind me, after they’d +clubbed two of the dogs to death, and grab me and get +my gun! Great God! I deserve to be burned!”</p> +<p>“Hush!” she chided, fearfully. “Hush!”</p> +<p>“One of them was Hector Hall––he came after his +guns. If I’d been a man, the shadow of a man, I’d made +him swallow them the day I took––the time he left them +here.”</p> +<p>“Matt was with him,” said Joan. “You couldn’t do +anything; no man could do anything, against Matt +Hall.”</p> +<p>“They handled me like a baby,” said he, bitterly, +“and I, and I, wanting to be a sheepman! No wonder +they think I’m a soft and simple fool up here, that goes +on the reputation of a lucky blow!”</p> +<p>“There’s a man on a horse,” said Joan. “He’s coming +this way.”</p> +<p>The rider broke down the hillside as she spoke, riding +near the wreckage of the burning wagon, where he +halted a moment, the strong light of the fire on his face: +Swan Carlson, hatless, his hair streaming, his great +mustache pendant beside his stony mouth. He came +on toward them at once. Joan laid her hand on her +revolver.</p> +<p>“You got a fire here,” said Swan, stopping near them, +leaning curiously toward them as if he peered at them +through smoke.</p> +<p>“Yes,” Mackenzie returned.</p> +<p>“I seen it from over there,” said Swan. “I come over +to see if you needed any help.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></div> +<p>“Thank you, not now. It’s gone; nothing can be +done.”</p> +<p>“I smelt coal oil,” said Swan, throwing back his head, +sniffing the air like a buck. “Who done it?”</p> +<p>“Some of your neighbors,” said Mackenzie.</p> +<p>“I knowed they would,” Swan nodded. “Them fellers +don’t fight like me and you, they don’t stand up like a +man. When I seen you take that feller by the leg that +day and upset him off of his horse and grab his guns off +of him, I knowed he’d burn you out.”</p> +<p>Joan, forgetting her fear and dislike of Swan Carlson +in her interest of what he revealed, drew a little +nearer to him.</p> +<p>“Were you around here that day, Swan?” she asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, I saw him upset that feller, little bird,” Swan +said, leaning again from his saddle, his long neck +stretched to peer into her face. “He’s a good man, but +he ain’t as good a man as me.”</p> +<p>Swan was barefooted, just as he had leaped from his +bunk in the sheep-wagon to ride to the fire. There was a +wild, high pride in his cold, handsome face as he sat up +in the saddle as if to show Joan his mighty bulk, and he +stretched out his long arms like an eagle on its crag +flexing its pinions in the morning sun.</p> +<p>“Did he––did Hector Hall sling a gun on Mr. Mackenzie +that time?” she asked, pressing forward eagerly.</p> +<p>“Never mind, Joan––let that go,” said Mackenzie, +putting his arm before her to stay her, speaking hastily, +as if to warn her back from a danger.</p> +<p>“He didn’t have time to sling a gun on him,” said +Swan, great satisfaction in his voice as he recalled the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span> +scene. “Your man he’s like a cat when he jumps for a +feller, but he ain’t got the muscle in his back like me.”</p> +<p>“There’s nobody in this country like you, Swan,” +said Joan, pleased with him, friendly toward him, for +his praise of the one he boldly called her man.</p> +<p>“No, I can roll ’em all,” Swan said, as gravely as if +he would be hung on the testimony. “You ought to +have me for your man; then you’d have somebody no +feller on this range would burn out.”</p> +<p>“You’ve got a wife, Swan,” Joan said, with gentle +reproof, but putting the proposal from her as if she +considered it a jest.</p> +<p>“I’m tired of that one,” Swan confessed, frankly. +Then to Mackenzie: “I’ll fight you for her.” He +swung half way out of the saddle, as if to come to the +ground and start the contest on the moment, hung +there, looking Mackenzie in the face, the light of morning +revealing the marks of his recent battle. “Not now, +you’ve had a fight already,” said Swan, settling back +into the saddle. “But when you brace up, then I’ll fight +you for her. What?”</p> +<p>“Any time,” Mackenzie told him, speaking easily, as +if humoring the whim of some irresponsible person.</p> +<p>With a sudden start of his horse Swan rode close to +Joan, Mackenzie throwing himself between them, catching +the bridle, hurling the animal back. Swan did not +take notice of the interference, only leaned far over, +stretching his long neck, his great mustaches like the +tusks of an old walrus, and strained a long look into +Joan’s face. Then he whirled his horse and galloped +away, not turning a glance behind.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></div> +<p>Joan watched him go, saying nothing for a little +while. Then:</p> +<p>“I think he’s joking,” she said.</p> +<p>“I suppose he is,” Mackenzie agreed, although he had +many doubts.</p> +<p>They turned to look at the wagon again, the popping +of ammunition having ceased. The woodwork was all on +fire; soon it would be reduced to bolts and tires. Joan’s +spirits seemed to have risen with the broadening of day, +in spite of Swan Carlson’s visit and his bold jest, if jest +he meant it to be. She laughed as she looked at the +sheep, huddled below them in attitude of helpless fright.</p> +<p>“Poor little fools!” she said. “Well, I must go back +to Charley. Don’t tell dad I was over here, please, +John. He wouldn’t like it if he knew I’d butted in this +way––he’s scared to death of the Halls.”</p> +<p>“I don’t see how I’m to keep him from knowing it,” +Mackenzie said, “and I don’t see why he shouldn’t know. +He’d have been out a cheap herder if it hadn’t been for +you.”</p> +<p>“No, you mustn’t tell him, you mustn’t let anybody +know I was here, John,” she said, lifting her eyes to his +in an appeal far stronger than words. “It wouldn’t do +for dad––for anybody––to know I was here. You +don’t need to say anything about them tying––doing––<i>that</i>.”</p> +<p>Joan shuddered again in that chilling, horrified way, +turning from him to hide what he believed he had read +in her words and face before.</p> +<p>It was not because she feared to have her father know +she had come riding to his rescue in the last hours of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +her troubled night; not because she feared his censure or +his anger, or wanted to conceal her deed for reasons of +modesty from anyone. Only to spare him the humiliation +of having his failure known, Mackenzie understood. +That was her purpose, and her sole purpose, in seeking +his pledge to secrecy.</p> +<p>It would hurt him to have it go abroad that he had +allowed them to sneak into his camp, seize him, disarm +him, bind him, and set the fire that was to make ashes of +him for the winds to blow away. It would do for him +with Tim Sullivan entirely if that should become known, +with the additional humiliation of being saved from this +shameful death by a woman. No matter how immeasurable +his own gratitude, no matter how wide his own +pride in her for what she had done, the sheep country +never would be able to see it with his eyes. It would be +another smirch for him, and such a deep one as to obscure +him and his chances there forever.</p> +<p>Joan knew it. In her generosity, her interest for his +future, she wanted her part in it to remain unknown.</p> +<p>“You must promise me, John,” she said. “I’ll never +come to take another lesson unless you promise me.”</p> +<p>“I promise you, God bless you, Joan!” said he.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII_ONE_COMES_TO_SERVE' id='CHAPTER_XII_ONE_COMES_TO_SERVE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +<h3>ONE COMES TO SERVE</h3> +</div> +<p>An hour after midday there came riding over the +hills Tim Sullivan and a stranger. They stopped +at the ruins of the sheep-wagon, where Tim dismounted +and nosed around, then came on down the draw, where +Mackenzie was ranging the sheep.</p> +<p>Tim was greatly exercised over the loss of the wagon. +He pitched into Mackenzie about it as soon as he came +within speaking distance.</p> +<p>“How did you do it––kick over the lantern?” he inquired, +his face cloudy with ill-held wrath.</p> +<p>Mackenzie explained, gruffly and in few words, how +the wagon was fired, sparing his own perilous adventure +and the part that Joan had borne in it. This slowed +Tim down, and set him craning his neck over the country +to see if any further threat of violence impended on the +horizon.</p> +<p>“Them Hall boys ought to be men enough not to do +me a trick like that after the way I’ve give in to them on +this side of the range,” he said. Then to Mackenzie, +sharply: “It wouldn’t ’a’ happened if you hadn’t took +Hector’s guns away from him that time. A sheepman’s +got no right to be fightin’ around on the range. If he +wants to brawl and scrap, let him do it when he goes to +town, the way the cowboys used to.”</p> +<p>“Maybe you’re right; I’m beginning to think you +are,” Mackenzie returned.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span></div> +<p>“Right? Of course I’m right. A sheepman’s got to +set his head to business, and watchin’ the corners to prevent +losses like this that eats up the profit, and not go +around with his sleeves rolled up and his jaw slewed, +lookin’ for a fight. And if he starts one he’s got to have +the backbone and the gizzard to hold up his end of it, +and not let ’em put a thing like this over on him. Why +wasn’t you in the wagon last night watchin’ it?”</p> +<p>“Because I’ve been expecting them to burn it.”</p> +<p>“Sure you’ve been expectin’ ’em to burn you out, and +you hid in the brush with your tail between your legs +like a kicked pup and let ’em set my new wagon afire. +How did you git your face bunged up that way?”</p> +<p>“I fell down,” Mackenzie said, with a sarcasm meant +only for himself, feeling that he had described his +handling of the past situation in a word.</p> +<p>“Runnin’ off, I reckon. Well, I tell you, John, it +won’t do, that kind of business won’t do. Them Hall +boys are mighty rough fellers, too rough for a boy like +you that’s been runnin’ with school children all his life. +You got some kind of a lucky hitch on Hector when you +stripped that belt and guns off of him––I don’t know +how you done it; it’s a miracle he didn’t nail you down +with lead––but that kind of luck won’t play into a man’s +hands one time in a thousand. You never ought ’a’ +started anything with them fellers unless you had the +weight in your hind-quarters to keep it goin’.”</p> +<p>“You’re right,” said Mackenzie, swallowing the rebuke +like a bitter pill.</p> +<p>“Right? You make me tired standin’ there and takin’ +it like a sick cat! If you was half the man I took you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +to be when you struck this range you’d resent a callin’ +down like I’m givin’ you. But you don’t resent it, you +take it, like you sneaked and let them fellers burn that +wagon and them supplies of mine. If you was expectin’ +’em to turn that kind of a trick you ought ’a’ been right +there in that wagon, watchin’ it––there’s where you had +a right to be.”</p> +<p>“I suppose there’s where I’d been if I had your nerve, +Sullivan,” Mackenzie said, his slow anger taking place +of the humiliation that had bent him down all morning +like a shameful load. “Everybody on this range knows +you’re a fighting man––you’ve fought the wind gettin’ +away from this side of the range every time you saw +smoke, you’ve got a reputation for standing out for +your rights like a man with a gizzard in him as big as a +sack of bran! Sure, I know all about the way you’ve +backed out of here and let Carlson and the Halls bluff +you out of the land you pay rent on, right along. If +I had your nerve–––”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Tim’s face flamed as if he had risen from turning +batter-cakes over a fire. He made a smoothing, adjusting, +pacificating gesture with his hands, looking with +something between deep concern and shame over his +shoulder at the man who accompanied him, and who +sat off a few feet in his saddle, a grin over his face.</p> +<p>“Now, John, I don’t mean for you to take it that I’m +throwin’ any slur over your courage for the way things +has turned out––I don’t want you to take it that way +at all, lad,” said Tim.</p> +<p>“I’m not a fighting man”––Mackenzie was getting +hotter as he went on––“everybody in here knows that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +by now, I guess. You guessed wrong, Sullivan, when +you took me for one and put me over here to hold this +range for you that this crowd’s been backing you off of +a little farther each spring. You’re the brave spirit +that’s needed here––if somebody could tie you and hold +you to face the men that have robbed you of the best +range you’ve got. I put down my hand; I get out of +the way for you when it comes to the grit to put up a +fight.”</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t take it to heart what I’ve been sayin’, lad. +A man’s hot under the collar when he sees a dirty trick +like that turned on him, but it passes off like sweat, +John. Let it go, boy, let it pass.”</p> +<p>“You sent me in here expecting me to fight, and +when I don’t always come out on top you rib me like +the devil’s own for it. You expected me to fight to hold +this grass, but you didn’t expect me to lose anything +at all. Well, I’ll hold the range for you, Sullivan; you +don’t need to lose any sleep over that. But if I’m willing +to risk my skin to do it, by thunder, you ought to +be game enough to stand the loss of a wagon without +a holler that can be heard to Four Corners!”</p> +<p>“You’re doin’ fine holdin’ my range that I pay solid +money to Uncle Sam for, you’re doin’ elegant fine, lad. +I was hasty, my tongue got out from under the bit, +boy. Let it pass; don’t you go holdin’ it against an old +feller like me that’s got the worry of forty-odd thousand +sheep on his mind day and night.”</p> +<p>“It’s easy enough to say, but it don’t let you out. +You’ve got no call to come here and wade into me without +knowing anything about the circumstances.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span></div> +<p>“Right you are, John, sound and right. I was hasty, +I was too hot. You’ve done fine here, you’re the first +man that’s ever stood up to them fellers and held ’em off +my grass. You’ve done things up like a man, John. I +give it to you––like a man.”</p> +<p>“Thanks,” said Mackenzie, in dry scorn.</p> +<p>“I ain’t got no kick to make over the loss of my +wagon––it’s been many a day since I had one burnt up +on me that way. Pass it up, pass up anything I’ve said +about it, John. That’s the lad.”</p> +<p>So John passed it up, and unbent to meet the young +man who rode with Tim, whom the sheepman presented +as Earl Reid, from Omaha, son of Malcolm Reid, an old +range partner and friend. The young man had come +out to learn the sheep business; Tim had brought him +over for Mackenzie to break in. Dad Frazer was coming +along with three thousand sheep, due to arrive in +about a week. When he got there, the apprentice would +split his time between them.</p> +<p>Mackenzie received the apprentice as cordially as he +could, but it was not as ardent a welcome as the young +man may have expected, owing to the gloom of resentment +into which Sullivan’s outbreak had thrown this +unlucky herder on the frontier of the range.</p> +<p>Reid was rather a sophisticated looking youth of +twenty-two or twenty-three, city broke, city marked. +There was a poolroom pallor about this thin face, a poolroom +stoop to his thin shoulders, that Mackenzie did +not like. But he was frank and ingenuous in his manner, +with a ready smile that redeemed his homely face, +and a pair of blue eyes that seemed young in their innocence +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +compared to the world-knowledge that his face betrayed.</p> +<p>“Take the horses down there to the crick and water +’em,” Tim directed his new herder, “and then you’ll ride +back with me as far as Joan’s camp and fetch over some +grub to hold you two fellers till the wagon comes. Joan, +she’ll know what to give you, and I guess you can find +your way back here?”</p> +<p>“Surest thing you know,” said Earl, with easy confidence, +riding off to water the horses.</p> +<p>“That kid’s no stranger to the range,” Mackenzie +said, more to himself than to Tim, as he watched him +ride off.</p> +<p>“No, he used to be around with the cowboys on Malcolm’s +ranch when he was in the cattle business. He can +handle a horse as good as you or me. Malcolm was the +man that set me up in the sheep business; I started in +with him like you’re startin’ with me, more than thirty +years ago. He was the first sheepman on this range, +and he had to fight to hold his own, I’m here to say!”</p> +<p>“You’d better send the kid over into peaceful territory,” +Mackenzie suggested, crabbedly.</p> +<p>“No, the old man wants him to get a taste of what he +went through to make his start––he was tickled to the +toes when he heard the way them Hall boys are rarin’ +up and you standin’ ’em off of this range of mine. ‘Send +him over there with that man,’ he says; ‘that’s the kind +of a man I want him to break in under.’ The old feller +was tickled clean to his toes.”</p> +<p>“Is he over at the ranch?”</p> +<p>“No, he went back home last night. Come down to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +start the kid right, and talk it over with me. It was all +a surprise to me, I didn’t know a thing about it, but I +couldn’t turn Malcolm down.” Tim winked, looked +cunning, nodded in a knowing way. “Kid’s been cuttin’ +up throwin’ away too much money; gettin’ into scrapes +like a boy in town will, you know. Wild oats and a big +crop of ’em. The old man’s staked him out with me +for three years, and he ain’t to draw one cent of pay, +or have one cent to spend, in that time. If he breaks +over, it’s all off between them two. And the kid’s sole +heir to nearly half a million.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie turned to look again at the boy, who was +coming back with the horses.</p> +<p>“Do you think he’ll stick?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes, he promised the old man he would, and if he’s +anything like Malcolm, he’ll eat fire before he’ll break +his word. Malcolm and me we come to terms in ten +words. The kid’s to work three years for me without +pay; then I’ll marry him to my Joan.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie felt his blood come up hot, and sink down +again, cold; felt his heart kick in one resentful surge, +then fall away to weakness as if its cords had been cut. +Tim laughed, looking down the draw toward the sheep.</p> +<p>“It’s something like that Jacob and Laban deal you +spoke about the other day,” said he. “Curious how +things come around that way, ain’t it? There I went +ridin’ off, rakin’ up my brains to remember that story, +and laughed when it come to me all of a sudden. Jacob +skinned them willow sticks, and skinned the old man, +too. But I don’t guess Earl would turn a trick like +that on me, even if he could.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span></div> +<p>“How about Joan? Does she agree to the terms?” +Mackenzie could not forbear the question, even though +his throat was dry, his lips cold, his voice husky at the +first word.</p> +<p>“She’ll jump at it,” Tim declared, warmly. “She +wants to go away from here and see the world, and this +will be her chance. I don’t object to her leavin’, either, +as long as it don’t cost me anything. You go ahead +and stuff her, John; stuff her as full of learnin’ as +she’ll hold. It’ll be cheaper for me than sendin’ her off +to school and fittin’ her up to be a rich man’s wife, and +you can do her just as much good––more, from what she +tells me. You go right ahead and stuff her, John.”</p> +<p>“Huh!” said John.</p> +<p>“Earl, he’ll look after your sheep while you’re teachin’ +Joan her books. Stuff her, but don’t founder her, +John. If any man can fit her up to prance in high +society, I’d bet my last dollar you can. You’re a kind +of a gentleman yourself, John.”</p> +<p>“Thanks,” said John, grinning a dry grin.</p> +<p>“Yes,” reminiscently, with great satisfaction, “Malcolm +made the proposition to me, hit me with it so sudden +it nearly took my breath. ‘Marry him to your +Joan when you make a man of him,’ he says. I said +maybe he wouldn’t want to hitch up with a sheepman’s +daughter that was brought up on the range. ‘If he +don’t he can go to work and make his own way––I’ll not +leave him a dam’ cent!’ says Malcolm. We shook hands +on it; he said he’d put it in his will. And that’s cinched +so it can’t slip.”</p> +<p>When Tim mounted to leave he looked round the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +range again with a drawing of trouble in his face, as if +he searched the peaceful landscape for the shadow of +wings.</p> +<p>“I ain’t got another sheep-wagon to give you right +now, John; I guess you’ll have to make out with a +tent till winter,” he said.</p> +<p>“I’d rather have it,” Mackenzie replied.</p> +<p>Tim leaned over, hand to one side of his mouth, +speaking in low voice, yet not whispering:</p> +<p>“And remember what I said about that matter, John. +Stuff, but don’t founder.”</p> +<p>“Stuff,” said John, but with an inflection that gave +the word a different meaning, quite.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII_A_FIGHT_ALMOST_LOST' id='CHAPTER_XIII_A_FIGHT_ALMOST_LOST'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +<h3>A FIGHT ALMOST LOST</h3> +</div> +<p>Dad Frazer was not overly friendly toward the +young man from Omaha who had come out to +learn the sheep business under the threat of penalties +and the promise of high rewards. He growled around +about him continually when he and Mackenzie met, +which was not very often, owing to their being several +miles apart. Tim had stationed Dad and his big band +of sheep between Mackenzie and Joan, leaving the +schoolmaster to hold the frontier. No matter for old +man Reid’s keenness to have his son suffer some of the +dangers which he had faced in his day, Tim seemed to +be holding the youth back out of harm’s way, taking no +risks on losing a good thing for the family.</p> +<p>Reid had been on the range about two weeks, but Mackenzie +had not seen a great deal of him, owing to Tim’s +plan of keeping him out of the disputed territory, especially +at night. That the young man did not care +much for the company or instruction of Dad Frazer was +plain. Twice he had asked Mackenzie to use his influence +with Tim to bring about a change from the old +man’s camp to his. In Mackenzie’s silence and severity +the young man found something that he could not penetrate, +a story that he could not read. Perhaps it was +with a view to finding out what school Mackenzie had +been seasoned in that Reid bent himself to win his friendship.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span></div> +<p>Dad Frazer came over the hills to Mackenzie’s range +that afternoon, to stretch his legs, he said, although +Mackenzie knew it was to stretch his tongue, caring +nothing for the miles that lay between. He had left +Reid in charge of his flock, the young man being favored +by Tim to the extent of allowing him a horse, the same +as he did Joan.</p> +<p>“I’m glad he takes to you,” said Dad. “I don’t like +him; he’s got a graveyard in his eyes.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think he ever pulled a gun on anybody in his +life, Dad,” Mackenzie returned, in mild amazement.</p> +<p>“I don’t mean that kind of a graveyard; I mean a +graveyard where he buried the boy in him long before +his time. He’s too sharp for his years; he’s seen too +much of the kind of life a young feller’s better off for to +hear about from a distance and never touch. I tell you, +John, he ain’t no good.”</p> +<p>“He’s an agreeable kind of a chap, anyhow; he’s got a +line of talk like a saddle salesman.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and I never did have no use for a talkin’ man. +Nothin’ to ’em; they don’t stand the gaff.”</p> +<p>In spite of his friendly defense of young Reid, Mackenzie +felt that Dad had read him aright. There was +something of subtle knowledge, an edge of guile showing +through his easy nature and desire to please, that +was like acid on the teeth. Reid had the faculty of +making himself agreeable, and he was an apt and willing +hand, but back of this ingenuous appearance there +seemed to be something elusive and shadowy, a thing +which he tried to keep hidden by nimble maneuvers, but +which would show at times for all his care.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span></div> +<p>Mackenzie did not dislike the youth, but he found it +impossible to warm up to him as one man might to +another in a place where human companionship is a +luxury. When Reid sat with a cigarette in his thin +lips––it was a wide mouth, worldly hard––hazy in abstraction +and smoke, there came a glaze over the clearness +of his eyes, a look of dead harshness, a cast of +cunning. In such moments his true nature seemed to +express itself unconsciously, and Dad Frazer, simple as +he was in many ways, was worldly man enough to penetrate +the smoke, and sound the apprentice sheepman to +his soul.</p> +<p>Reid seemed to draw a good deal of amusement out of +his situation under Tim Sullivan. He was dependent +on the flockmaster for his clothing and keep, even tobacco +and papers for his cigarettes. If he knew anything +about the arrangement between his father and +Sullivan in regard to Joan, he did not mention it. That +he knew it, Mackenzie fully believed, for Tim Sullivan +was not the man to keep the reward sequestered.</p> +<p>Whether Reid looked toward Joan as adequate compensation +for three years’ exile in the sheeplands, there +was no telling. Perhaps he did not think much of her in +comparison with the exotic plants of the atmosphere he +had left; more than likely there was a girl in the background +somewhere, around whom some of the old man’s +anxiety to save the lad revolved. Mackenzie hoped to +the deepest cranny of his heart that it was so.</p> +<p>“He seems to get a good deal of humor out of working +here for his board and tobacco,” Mackenzie said.</p> +<p>“Yes, he blatters a good deal about it,” said Dad. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +“‘I’ll take another biscuit on Tim Sullivan,’ he says, +and ‘here goes another smoke on Tim.’ I don’t see +where he’s got any call to make a joke out of eatin’ another +man’s bread.”</p> +<p>“Maybe he’s never eaten any man’s bread outside of +the family before, Dad.”</p> +<p>“I reckon he wouldn’t have to be doin’ it now if he’d +’a’ been decent. Oh well, maybe he ain’t so bad.”</p> +<p>This day Dad was maneuvering around to unload the +apprentice on Mackenzie for good. He worked up to it +gradually, as if feeling his way with his good foot ahead, +careful not to be too sudden and plunge into a hole.</p> +<p>“I don’t like a feller around that talks so much,” Dad +complained. “When he’s around a man ain’t got no +time to think and plan and lay his projec’s for what he’s +a goin’ to do. All I can do to put a word in edgeways +once in a while.”</p> +<p>It appeared plain enough that Dad’s sore spot was +this very inability to land as many words as he thought +he had a right to. That is the complaint of any talkative +person. If you are a good listener, with a <i>yes</i> and +a <i>no</i> now and then, a talkative man will tell your friends +you are the most interesting conversationalist he ever +met.</p> +<p>“I don’t mind him,” Mackenzie said, knowing very +well that Dad would soon be so hungry for somebody +to unload his words upon that he would be talking to the +sheep. “Ship him over to me when you’re tired of him; +I’ll work some of the wind out of him inside of a week.”</p> +<p>“I’ll send him this evenin’,” said Dad, eager in his relief, +brightening like an uncovered coal. “Them dogs +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +Joan give you’s breakin’ in to the sound of your voice +wonderful, ain’t they?”</p> +<p>“They’re getting used to me slowly.”</p> +<p>“Funny about dogs a woman’s been runnin’ sheep +with. Mighty unusual they’ll take up with a man after +that. I used to be married to a Indian woman up on +the Big Wind that was some hummer trainin’ sheep-dogs. +That woman could sell ’em for a hundred dollars +apiece as fast as she could raise ’em and train ’em up, +and them dad-splashed collies they’d purt’ near all come +back home after she’d sold ’em. Say, I’ve knowed them +dogs to come back a hundred and eighty mile!”</p> +<p>“That must have been a valuable woman to have +around a man’s camp. Where is she now, if I’m not too +curious?”</p> +<p>“She was a good woman, one of the best women I +ever had.” Dad rubbed his chin, eyes reflectively on the +ground, stood silent a spell that was pretty long for +him. “I hated like snakes to lose that woman––her +name was Little Handful Of Rabbit Hair On A Rock. +Ye-es. She was a hummer on sheep-dogs, all right. She +took a swig too many out of my jug one day and +tripped over a stick and tumbled into the hog-scaldin’ +tank.”</p> +<p>“What a miserable end!” said Mackenzie, shocked by +the old man’s indifferent way of telling it.</p> +<p>“Oh, it didn’t hurt her much,” said Dad. “Scalded +one side of her till she peeled off and turned white. I +couldn’t stand her after that. You know a man don’t +want to be goin’ around with no pinto woman, John.” +Dad looked up with a gesture of depreciation, a queer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +look of apology in his weather-beaten face. “She was a +Crow,” he added, as if that explained much that he had +not told.</p> +<p>“Dark, huh?”</p> +<p>“Black; nearly as black as a nigger.”</p> +<p>“Little Handful, and so forth, must have thought you +gave her a pretty hard deal, anyhow, Dad.”</p> +<p>“I never called her by her full name,” Dad reflected, +passing over the moral question that Mackenzie raised. +“I shortened her down to Rabbit. I sure wish I had a +couple of them sheep-dogs of her’n to give you in place +of them you lost. Joan’s a good little girl, but she can’t +train a dog like Rabbit.”</p> +<p>“Rabbit’s still up there on the Big Wind waiting for +you, is she?”</p> +<p>“She’ll wait a long time! I’m done with Indians. Joan +comin’ over today?”</p> +<p>“Tomorrow.”</p> +<p>“I don’t guess you’ll have her to bother with much +longer––her and that Reid boy they’ll be hitchin’ up one +of these days from all the signs. He skirmishes off over +that way nearly every day. Looks to me like Tim laid +it out that way, givin’ him a horse to ride and leavin’ +me and you to hoof it. It’d suit Tim, all right; I’ve +heard old Reid’s a millionaire.”</p> +<p>“I guess it would,” Mackenzie said, trying to keep his +voice from sounding as cold as his heart felt that +moment.</p> +<p>“Yes, I think they’ll hitch. Well, I’d like to see Joan +land a better man than him. I don’t like a man that +can draw a blinder over his eyes like a frog.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span></div> +<p>Mackenzie smiled at the aptness of Dad’s comparison. +It was, indeed, as if Reid interposed a film like a frog +when he plunged from one element into another, so to +speak; when he left the sheeplands in his thoughts and +went back to the haunts and the companions lately +known.</p> +<p>“If Joan had a little more meat on her she wouldn’t +be a bad looker,” said Dad. “Well, when a man’s young +he likes ’em slim, and when he’s old he wants ’em fat. +It’d be a calamity if a man was to marry a skinny girl +like Joan and she was to stay skinny all his life.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think she’s exactly skinny, Dad.”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t reckon you could count her ribs. But +you put fifty pounds more on that girl and see how she’d +look!”</p> +<p>“I can’t imagine it,” said Mackenzie, not friendly to +the notion at all.</p> +<p>As Dad went back to unburden himself of his unwelcome +companion, Mackenzie could not suppress the +thought that a good many unworthy notions hatched +beneath that dignified white hair. But surely Dad +might be excused by a more stringent moralist than the +schoolmaster for abandoning poor Rabbit after her +complexion had suffered in the hog-scalding vat.</p> +<p>Toward sundown Earl Reid came riding over, his +winning smile as easy on his face as he was in the saddle. +The days were doing him good, all around, toughening +his face, taking the poolroom pastiness out of it, putting +a bracer in his back. Mackenzie noted the improvement +as readily as it could be seen in some quick-growing +plant.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span></div> +<p>Mackenzie was living a very primitive and satisfactory +life under a few yards of tent canvas since the loss +of his wagon. He stretched it over such bushes as came +handy, storing his food beneath it when he slept, save on +such nights as threatened showers. Reid applauded this +arrangement. He was tired of Dad Frazer’s wagon, +and the greasy bunk in it.</p> +<p>“I’ve been wild to stretch out in a blanket with my +feet to a little fire,” he said, with a flash of the eagerness +belonging to the boyhood buried away too soon, as Dad +had remarked. “Dad wouldn’t let me do it––fussed at +me three days because I sneaked out on him one night +and laid under the wagon.”</p> +<p>“Dad didn’t want a skunk to bite you, I guess. He +felt a heavy responsibility on your account.”</p> +<p>“Old snoozer!” said Reid.</p> +<p>Reid was uncommonly handy as a camp-cook, far +better in that respect than Mackenzie, who gladly +turned the kitchen duties over to him and let him have +his way. After supper they sat talking, the lusty moon +lifting a wondering face over the hills in genial placidity +as if sure, after all its ages, of giving the world a surprise +at last.</p> +<p>“Joan told me to bring you word she’d be over in the +morning instead of tomorrow afternoon,” said Reid.</p> +<p>“Thanks.”</p> +<p>Reid smoked in reflective silence, his thin face clear +in the moonlight.</p> +<p>“Some girl,” said he. “I don’t see why she wants to +go to all this trouble to get a little education. That +stuff’s all bunk. I wish I had the coin in my jeans right +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +now the old man spent on me, pourin’ stuff into me that +went right on through like smoke through a handkerchief.”</p> +<p>“I don’t think it would be that way with Joan,” Mackenzie +said, hoping Reid would drop the discussion +there, and not go into the arrangement for the future, +which was a matter altogether detestable in the schoolmaster’s +thoughts.</p> +<p>Reid did not pursue his speculations on Joan, whether +through delicacy or indifference Mackenzie could not +tell. He branched off into talk of other things, through +which the craving for the life he had left came out in +strong expressions of dissatisfaction with the range. +He complained against the penance his father had set, +looking ahead with consternation to the three years he +must spend in those solitudes.</p> +<p>“But I’m goin’ to stick,” he said, an unmistakable determination +in his tone. “I’ll show him they’re making +as good men now as they did when he was a kid.” He +laughed, a raucous, short laugh, an old man’s laugh, +which choked in a cigarette cough and made a mockery +of mirth. “I’ll toughen up out here and have better +wind for the big finish when I sit in on the old man’s +money.”</p> +<p>No, Joan was not cast for any important part in +young Reid’s future drama, Mackenzie understood. As +if his thoughts had penetrated to the young man’s heart, +making fatuous any further attempt at concealment of +his true sentiments, Reid spoke.</p> +<p>“They’ve sewed me up in a sack with Joan––I guess +you know about it?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span></div> +<p>“Tim was telling me.”</p> +<p>“A guy could do worse.”</p> +<p>With this comforting reflection Reid stretched himself +on his blanket and went to sleep. Mackenzie was +not slow in following his example, for it had been a hard +day with the sheep, with much leg work on account of +the new dogs showing a wolfish shyness of their new +master most exasperating at times. Mackenzie’s last +thought was that Reid would take a great deal of labor +off his legs by using the horse in attending the sheep.</p> +<p>A scream woke Mackenzie. He heaved up out of his +sleep with confusion clouding his senses for the moment, +the thought that he was on water, and the cry was that +of one who drowned, persistent above his struggling reason. +It was a choking cry, the utterance of a desperate +soul who sees life fleeing while he lifts his voice in the last +appeal. And between him and his companion Mackenzie +saw the bulk of a giant-shouldered man, who bent with +arm outstretched toward him, whose hand came in contact +with his throat as he rose upright with the stare of +confusion in his eyes.</p> +<p>Mackenzie broke through this film of his numbing +sleep, reaching for the rifle that he had laid near his +hand. It was gone, and across the two yards intervening +he saw young Reid writhing in the grip of the monster +who was strangling out his life.</p> +<p>Mackenzie wrenched free from the great hand that +closed about his throat, tearing the mighty arm away +with the strength of both his own. A moment, and he +was involved in the most desperate struggle that he had +ever faced in his life.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span></div> +<p>This interference gave Reid a new gulp of life. The +three combatants were on their feet now, not a word +spoken, not a sound but the dull impact of blows and +the hard breathings of the two who fought this monster +of the sheeplands for their lives. Swan Carlson, +Mackenzie believed him to be, indulging his insane desire +for strangling out the lives of men. He had approached +so stealthily, with such wild cunning, that the dogs had +given no alarm, and had taken the gun to insure against +miscarriage or interruption in his horrible menu of +death.</p> +<p>A brief tangle of locked arms, swaying bodies, ribs all +but crushed in the embrace of those bestial arms, and +Mackenzie was conscious that he was fighting the battle +alone. In the wild swirl of it he could not see whether +Reid had fallen or torn free. A little while, now in the +pressure of those hairy, bare arms, now free for one +gasping breath, fighting as man never fought in the +sheeplands before that hour, and Mackenzie felt himself +snatched up bodily and thrown down from uplifted arms +with a force that must have ended all for him then but +for the interposition of a sage-clump that broke the fall.</p> +<p>Instantly the silent monster was upon him. Mackenzie +met him hand to hand, fighting the best fight that +was in him, chilled with the belief that it was his last. +But he could not come up from his knees, and in this +position his assailant bent over him, one hand on his +forehead, the other at the back of his neck, a knee +against his breast.</p> +<p>Mackenzie tore at the great, stiff arms with his last +desperate might, perhaps staying a little the pressure +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +that in a moment more must snap his spine. As the +assassin tightened this terrible grip Mackenzie’s face was +lifted toward the sky. Overhead was the moon, clear-edged, +bright, in the dusk of the immensities beyond; +behind the monster, who paused that breath as in design +to fill his victim’s last moment with a hope that he soon +would mock, Mackenzie saw young Reid.</p> +<p>The youth was close upon the midnight strangler, +stooping low. As the terrible pressure on forehead +and neck cracked his spine like a breaking icicle, Mackenzie +believed he shouted, putting into his voice all that +he felt of desperate need of help. And he saw young +Reid strike, and felt the breaking wrench of the cruel +hands relax, and fell down upon the ground like a dead +man and knew no more.</p> +<p>Reid was there with the lantern, putting water on +Mackenzie’s head when he again broke through the mists +and followed the thread of his soul back to his body. +Reid was encouraging him to be steady, and to take it +easy, assuring him that he never saw a man put up such +a fight as the schoolmaster had all but lost.</p> +<p>Mackenzie sat up presently, with throbbing head, a +feeling of bulging in his eyeballs, his neck stiff from the +wrenching it had received. The great body of the man +whom he had fought lay stretched in the moonlight, face +to the ground. The camp butcher knife was sticking in +his back. Mackenzie got to his feet, a dizziness over +him, but a sense of his obligation as clear as it ever was +in any man.</p> +<p>“I owe you one for that; I’ll not forget it in a hurry,” +he said, giving Reid his hand.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span></div> +<p>“No, we’re even on it,” Reid returned. “He’d ’a’ +broke my neck in another second if you hadn’t made +that tackle. Who is he, do you know?”</p> +<p>“Turn him over,” Mackenzie said.</p> +<p>Reid withdrew the knife, sticking it into the ground +with as little concern as if he had taken it from a +butcher’s block, and heaved the fellow over on his back. +The moonlight revealed his dusty features clearly, but +Mackenzie brought the lantern to make it doubly sure.</p> +<p>“He’s not the man I thought he was,” said he. “I +think this fellow’s name is Matt Hall. He’s the sheep-killer +you’ve heard about. Look––he’s all over blood––there’s +wool on his shirt.”</p> +<p>“Matt Hall, huh?” said Reid. He wiped the butcher +knife on the dead sheep-killer’s shirt, making a little +whistling, reflective sound through his teeth. “I’ll have +to scour that knife before we cut bacon with it in the +morning,” he said.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV_THE_LONESOMENESS' id='CHAPTER_XIV_THE_LONESOMENESS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +<h3>THE LONESOMENESS</h3> +</div> +<p>“He’s got the lonesomeness,” said Dad, “and I tell +you, John, when that gits a hold of a man he +ain’t responsible. It’s the same as shuttin’ a man up in +jail to break him off of booze––say, he’ll claw the rocks +out of the wall with his finger nails to git out where he +can take a snort.”</p> +<p>“I never had the lonesomeness, so I don’t know, but +there’s something the matter with the kid.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I see him tearin’ around the country ridin’ the +head off of that horse, never lookin’ where he’s goin’ +any more than a bat. He’s been clean over to Four Corners +after the mail twice this week. A feller must want +a letter purty bad when he’ll go to all that fuss for it.”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid it’s going to be hard for him; he hasn’t +any more than bitten into his three years yet; he don’t +really know how they taste.”</p> +<p>“It’ll break him; he’ll go all to pieces, I tell you John. +When the lonesomeness takes a hold of a feller that way +something pops in his head after a while; then he either +puts a bullet through his heart or settles down and gits +fat. That feller ain’t got it in him to put on loco fat.”</p> +<p>Dad had slicked himself up pretty well that day before +cutting across the range for a chat with Mackenzie. +His operations with the sheep-shears on his fuzzy +whiskers had not been uniform, probably due to the lack +of a mirror. Dad trusted to the feel of it when he had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +no water by to look into and guide his hand, and this +time he had cut close to the skin in several places, displaying +his native color beneath the beard. But whatever +he lacked in his chin-hedge he made up for in careful +arrangement of his truly beautiful hair.</p> +<p>There was a sniff of perfume about him, a nosegay of +wild flowers pinned in the pocket of his shirt. Mackenzie +marveled over these refinements in the old man’s +everyday appearance, but left it to his own time and +way to tell what plans or expectations prompted them.</p> +<p>“Hector Hall showed up?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Reid wouldn’t make any more than a snap and a +swaller out of that feller, I guess. But it ain’t good for +a man like him to start out killin’; it goes to his liver +too quick and drives him mooney.”</p> +<p>“I don’t suppose it’s very healthy for any man, Dad.”</p> +<p>“You said it! I’ve went fifty miles around a range to +skip a feller that was lookin’ for my skelp, and I’d go a +thousand before I’d crowd a fight. I never was much on +the fight, and runnin’ sheep took what little was in me +out a long time ago.”</p> +<p>Dad got out his red box of corn-husk cigarettes, offering +it silently to Mackenzie, who shook his head, +knowing very well that Dad did it to observe conventions +rather than out of a desire to have him help himself. +The stock of Mexican smokes was running low; +Dad had spoken of it only the day before, and his feet +were itching for the road to the border, he said.</p> +<p>“Well, he’s got a name and a fame in this country he +can travel on,” said Dad.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span></div> +<p>Which was true enough. Mackenzie’s fight with Swan +Carlson had taken second place, his reputation as a +fighting man in the sheeplands had paled almost to +nothing, after Reid’s swift-handed dealing with Matt +Hall. The fame of his exploit ran through the country, +fixing his place in it at once, for Matt Hall was known +as a man who had the strength of seven in his long, +gorilla arms.</p> +<p>Hector Hall, brother of the slain man, seemed to accept +the tragedy with a sorrowful resignation in which +no shadow of revenge appeared. He let it be known +that Matt had been irresponsible at times, given to +night-prowlings and outbreaks of violence of strange +and fantastic forms. How much truth there was in this +excuse for the dead man, Hector alone knew. But no +matter for his passivity, Mackenzie did not trust him. +He made a requisition on Tim Sullivan at once for revolvers +for himself and Reid, which Tim delegated the +young man to go to Four Corners and buy.</p> +<p>“Well, I come over to see if you’ll lend Reid to me +three or four days while I make a trip to town,” said +Dad. “I’ve got a little business over there to tend to +I’ve been puttin’ off for more than a month.”</p> +<p>“Yes, if it’s all right with Tim you can have him. +What’s up, getting married?”</p> +<p>“Kind of arrangin’, John, kind of arrangin’. There’s +a widow-lady over at Four Corners I used to rush that +needs a man to help her with her sheep. A man might as +well marry a sheep ranch as work on one, I reckon.”</p> +<p>“It’s a shorter cut, anyhow. When do you want +Reid?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></div> +<p>“I was aimin’ to rack out this evenin’, John.”</p> +<p>“I’ll send him over this afternoon. I don’t know +where he is, but he’ll be back for dinner.”</p> +<p>Dad went away well satisfied and full of cheer, Mackenzie +marveling over his marital complexities as he +watched him go. Together with Rabbit, and the Mexican +woman down El Paso way whom John had mentioned, +but of whom Dad never had spoken, and no telling +how many more scattered around the country, Dad +seemed to be laying the groundwork for a lively roundup +one of his days. He said he’d been marrying women +off and on for forty years. His easy plan seemed to be +just to take one that pleased his capricious temper +wherever he found her, without regard to former obligations.</p> +<p>Mackenzie grinned. He did not believe any man was +so obscure as to be able to escape many wives. Dad +seemed to be a dry-land sailor, with a wife in every town +he ever had made in his life. Mackenzie understood about +Mexican marriages. If they were priest marriages, they +were counted good; if they were merely justice of the +peace ones they were subject to wide and elastic infringement +on both sides. Probably Indian marriages +were similar. Surely Dad was old enough to know what +he was about.</p> +<p>Reid came to camp at noontime, and prepared dinner +in his quick and handy way. Mackenzie did not take up +the question of his acting as relief for Dad while the old +scout went off to push his arrangements for marrying +a sheep ranch, seeing that Reid was depressed and down-spirited +and in no pleasant mood.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></div> +<p>They were almost independent of the camp-mover, +owing to their light equipment, which they could carry +with them from day to day as the sheep ranged. Supplies +were all they needed from the wagon, which came +around to them twice a week. After dinner Reid began +packing up for the daily move, moody and silent, cigarette +dangling on his lip.</p> +<p>“It’s a one-hell of a life!” said he, looking up from +the last knot in the rope about the bundle of tent.</p> +<p>“Have you soured on it already, Earl?”</p> +<p>Reid sat on the bundle of tent, a cloud on his face, +hat drawn almost to the bridge of his nose, scowling out +over the sheep range as if he would curse it to a greater +barrenness.</p> +<p>“Three years of this, and what’ll I be? Hell! I +can’t even find that other Hall.”</p> +<p>“Have you been out looking for him?”</p> +<p>“That big Swede over there was tellin’ me he’s put me +down in his book for a killin’. I thought I’d give him a +chance to get it over with if he meant it.”</p> +<p>“Has Carlson been over?”</p> +<p>“No, I rode over there the other evening. Say, is +that the woman you found chained up when you struck +this country?”</p> +<p>“She’s the one.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie looked at Reid curiously as he answered. +There was something of quick eagerness in the young +man’s inquiry, a sudden light of a new interest in his +face, in sharp contrast with the black mood of a moment +before.</p> +<p>“She looks like an Ibsen heroine,” said Reid. “Take +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +that woman out of this country and dress her right, +and she’d be a queen.”</p> +<p>“You’d better keep away from there,” said Mackenzie, +dryly.</p> +<p>“Oh, I guess I can take care of Swan if you could,” +Reid returned, with a certain easy insolence, jerking his +hip to hitch his gun around in suggestive movement.</p> +<p>Mackenzie dropped the matter without more words, +seeing too plainly the humor of the youth. Maybe Dad +had diagnosed his ailment aright, but to Mackenzie it +appeared something more than plain lonesomeness. The +notoriety attending the killing of Matt Hall had not +been good for Reid. He wanted more of it, and a bigger +audience, a wider field.</p> +<p>If this was a taste of the adventure of the West’s +past romantic times, Mackenzie felt that he was lucky +he had come too late to share it. His own affair with +Swan Carlson had been sordid enough, but this unlucky +embroilment in which Reid had killed a man was a plain +misfortune to the hero of the fight. He told Reid of +Dad’s request.</p> +<p>“You go and run his sheep for him,” Reid suggested. +“It’ll take you a little nearer Joan.”</p> +<p>This he added as with studied sneer, his face flushing +darkly, his thin mouth twisted in an ugly grin.</p> +<p>Mackenzie passed it, but not without the hurt of the +unkind stab showing in his face. It was so entirely +unjustified as to be cruel, for Mackenzie was not in +Reid’s way even to the extent of one lurking, selfish +thought. Since Reid had saved his life from Matt +Hall’s murderous hands, Mackenzie had withdrawn even +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +his most remote hope in regard to Joan. Before that +he had spun his thread of dreams, quite honestly, and +with intent that he would not have denied, but since, +not at all.</p> +<p>He owed Reid too much to cross him with Joan; he +stepped aside, denying himself a thought of her save +only in relation of teacher and pupil, trying to convince +himself that it was better in the end for Joan. +Reid had all the advantage of him in prospects; he +could lift up the curtain on his day and show Joan the +splendors of a world that a schoolmaster could point +out only from afar. Mackenzie seemed to ignore the +youth’s suggestion that he go and tend Dad’s flock.</p> +<p>“If I had a thousand dollars I’d dust it for Mexico +tomorrow,” said Reid. He turned to Mackenzie, pushing +his hat back from his forehead, letting the sun on +his savagely knotted face. “I haven’t got money to +send a telegram, not even a special delivery letter! +Look at me! A millionaire’s son and sole heir, up +against a proposition like this for three years!”</p> +<p>Mackenzie let him sweat it out, offering neither water +for his thirst nor wood for his fire. Reid sat in surly +silence, running his thumb along his cartridge belt.</p> +<p>“A man’s friends forget him out here,” he complained; +“he’s the same to them as dead.”</p> +<p>“It’s the way everywhere when a man wants to borrow +money,” Mackenzie told him, not without the shade +of a sneer.</p> +<p>“I’ve let them have enough in my time that they +could afford to come across with what I asked for!”</p> +<p>“I think you’d better stick to the sheep business with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +Tim,” Mackenzie advised, not unkindly, ashamed of his +momentary weakness and scorn. “A man’s prospects +don’t look very good back home when a bunch of parasites +and grafters won’t come over with a little loan.”</p> +<p>“They can go to the devil! I can live without them.”</p> +<p>“And get fat on it, kid. Three years here will be +little more to you than as many days, if you get––interested.”</p> +<p>Reid exclaimed impatiently, dismissing such assurance +with a testy gesture.</p> +<p>“How much will you give me for my chances?” he +asked.</p> +<p>“Nobody else can play your hand, kid.”</p> +<p>“On the square, Mackenzie. Will you give me a +thousand dollars?”</p> +<p>“I’m not sole heir to any millionaire,” Mackenzie +reminded him, taking the proposal in the jesting spirit +that he supposed it was given.</p> +<p>“On the dead, Mackenzie––I mean it. Will you give +me a thousand dollars for my place in the sheep game, +girl and all? If you will, I’ll hit the breeze tonight for +Mexico and kick it all over to you, win or lose.”</p> +<p>“If I could buy you out for a dime we couldn’t trade,” +Mackenzie told him, a coldness in tone and manner that +was more than a reproof.</p> +<p>“Joan ought to be worth that much to you!” Reid +sneered.</p> +<p>Mackenzie got up, walked a few steps away, turned +back presently, his temper in hand.</p> +<p>“It’s not a question open to discussion between gentlemen,” +he said.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span></div> +<p>Reid blinked up at him, an odd leer on his sophisticated +face, saying no more. He made a pack on his +saddle of the camp outfit, and started off along the +ridge, leaving Mackenzie to follow as he pleased. A +mile or more along Reid pitched upon a suitable +camping place. He had himself established long before +Mackenzie came to where he sat smoking amid his +gloomy, impatient thoughts.</p> +<p>“I’m not going over to relieve that old skunk,” Reid +announced, “not without orders from Sullivan. If he +gets off you’ll have to relieve him yourself. I don’t want +that Hall guy to get it into his nut that I’m runnin’ +away from him.”</p> +<p>“All right, Earl,” said Mackenzie, good-naturedly, +“I’ll go.”</p> +<p>“You’ll be half an hour nearer Joan’s camp––she’ll +have that much longer to stay,” said Reid, his mean leer +creeping into his wide, thin lips again.</p> +<p>Mackenzie turned slowly to look him squarely in the +eyes. He stood so a few seconds, Reid coloring in hot +resentment of the silent rebuke.</p> +<p>“I’ve heard enough of that to last me the rest of +your three years,” Mackenzie said, something as hard +as stones in a cushion under his calm voice.</p> +<p>Reid jerked his hip in his peculiar twisting movement +to shift his pistol belt, turned, and walked away.</p> +<p>If it was the lonesomeness, Mackenzie thought, it was +taking a mighty peculiar turn in that fellow. He was +more like a cub that was beginning to find itself, and +bristle and snarl and turn to bite the hand that had +fended it through its helpless stage. Perhaps it would +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +pass in a little while, or perhaps it would get worse on +him. In the latter case there would be no living on the +range with Reid, for on the range Mackenzie believed +Reid was destined to remain. He had been trying to +borrow money to get away, with what view in his dissatisfied +head Mackenzie could not guess. He hadn’t +got it; he wouldn’t get it. Those who had fattened +on him in his prosperity were strangers to him in his +time of penance and disgrace.</p> +<p>Mackenzie put off his start to Dad’s camp until dusk, +knowing the old man would prefer to take the road at +night, after his mysterious way. He probably would +hoof it over to Sullivan’s and borrow a buckboard to +make a figure in before the widow-lady upon whom he +had anchored his variable heart.</p> +<p>Reid was bringing in the sheep when Mackenzie left, +too far away for a word. Mackenzie thought of going +down to him, for he disliked to part with anything like +a shadow between them, feeling that he owed Reid a +great debt indeed. More than that, he liked the kid, for +there seemed to be a streak of good in him that all his +ugly moods could not cover. But he went his way over +the hills toward Dad’s camp, the thought persisting in +him that he would, indeed, be thirty minutes nearer +Joan. And it was a thought that made his heart jump +and a gladness burn in his eyes, and his feet move onward +with a swift eagerness.</p> +<p>But only as a teacher with a lively interest in his +pupil, he said; only that, and nothing more. On a +hilltop a little way beyond his camp he stopped suddenly, +his breath held to listen. Over the calm, far-carrying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +silence of the early night there came the sound +of a woman singing, and this was the manner of her +song:</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><i>Na-a-fer a-lo-o-one, na-a-fer a-lone.<br /> +He promise na-fer to leafe me,<br /> +Na-fer to leafe me a-lone!</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV_ONLY_ONE_JACOB' id='CHAPTER_XV_ONLY_ONE_JACOB'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +<h3>ONLY ONE JACOB</h3> +</div> +<p>Joan came riding over the next morning from Reid’s +camp, not having heard of Mackenzie’s shift to +oblige Dad Frazer. She was bareheaded, the sun in her +warm hair, hat hanging on her saddle-horn.</p> +<p>“Dad might have come by and told me,” she said, +flinging to the ground as lightly as a swallow. “It +would have saved us half an hour.”</p> +<p>“We’ll have to work harder to make it up,” Mackenzie +told her, thinking how much more a woman she was +growing every day.</p> +<p>Joan was distrait again that day, her eyes fixed often +in dreamy speculation as her teacher explained something +that she found hard, against her wonted aptness, +to understand. When the rather disjointed lesson came +to an end Joan sighed, strapping her books in a way +that seemed to tell that she was weary of them.</p> +<p>“Do you still think you’ll stick to the sheep business, +John?” she asked, not lifting her eyes to his face, all +out of her frank and earnest way of questioning.</p> +<p>“I’m only on probation, you know, Joan; something +might happen between now and this time next year to +change things all around. There’s a chance, anyhow, +that I may not make good.”</p> +<p>“No, nothing will ever happen to change it,” said +Joan, shaking her head sadly. “Nothing that ought to +happen ever happens here. I don’t know whether I can +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +stand it to carry out my contract with dad or not. +Three years between me and what I’m longing for!”</p> +<p>“It’s not very long when one’s young, Joan. Well, +I don’t know of any short cuts to either fame or fortune, +or I’d have taken them myself.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but you’re free to pick up and go whenever you +want to. A man don’t have to have money to strike out +and see the world––I don’t see why a woman should. I +could work my way as well as anybody.”</p> +<p>“They’re harder masters out there than the range is +to you here, Joan. And there’s the insolence of mastery, +and the obloquy of poverty and situation that I +hope you’ll never feel. Wait a little while longer with +the probationers among the sheep.”</p> +<p>“Earl never will stay it out,” she said, lifting her eyes +for a moment to his. “He’s sick of it now––he’d throw +everything over if he had the money to get away.”</p> +<p>“He’d be a very foolish young man, then. But it’s +like breaking off smoking, I guess, to quit the things +you’ve grown up with on short notice like he had.”</p> +<p>“Maybe in about a year more my interest will amount +to enough to let me out,” said Joan, pursuing her +thought of winning to freedom in the way she had +elected. She seemed innocent of any knowledge of the +arrangement whereby Earl Reid was working for his +reward. Mackenzie wondered if it could be so.</p> +<p>“If dad’ll buy me out then,” she said, speculatively, +doubtfully, carrying on her thought in a disjointed way. +“It would be like him to turn me down, though, if I want +to quit before my time’s up. And he wouldn’t let me +divide the sheep and sell my share to anybody else.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span></div> +<p>No, Joan could not yet know of Tim’s arrangement +with Earl Reid’s father. It would be like Tim, indeed, +to bargain her off without considering her in the matter +at all. To a man like Tim his sons and daughters were +as much his chattels as his sheep, kind as he was in his +way. The apprenticeship of Joan to the range was +proof of that. Somewhere out in that gray loneliness +two younger daughters were running sheep, with little +brothers as protectors and companions, beginning their +adventures and lessons in the only school they were +ever likely to know.</p> +<p>Tim made a great virtue of the fact that he had +taught all of them to read and write. That much +would serve most of them satisfactorily for a few years, +but Mackenzie grinned his dry grin to himself when +he thought of the noise there would be one day in Tim +Sullivan’s cote when the young pigeons shook out their +wings to fly away. It was in the breed to do that; it +looked out of the eyes of every one.</p> +<p>“I sent and got a Bible from the mail-order house,” +said Joan, looking up with lively eyes.</p> +<p>“Has it come already?”</p> +<p>“Charley got it yesterday. I found that story about +Jacob and Rachel and the weak-eyed girl. It’s awful +short.”</p> +<p>“But it tells a good deal, Joan.”</p> +<p>Joan seemed thinking over how much the short story +really told, her eyes far away on the elusive, ever-receding +blue curtain that was down between her and the +world.</p> +<p>“Yes, it tells a lot,” she sighed. “But Jake must not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +have been very bright. Well, he was a cowman, anyhow; +he wasn’t running sheep.”</p> +<p>“I think he went into the sheep business afterwards,” +Mackenzie said, diverted by her original comment on +the old tale.</p> +<p>“Yes, when his girls got big enough to do the work!” +The resentment of her hard years was in Joan’s voice, +the hardness of unforgiving regret for all that had been +taken from her life.</p> +<p>Mackenzie felt a sweep of depression engulf him like +a leaping wave. Joan was in the humor to profit by +any arrangement that would break her bondage to +sheep; Tim Sullivan had been bringing her up, unconsciously, +but none the less effectively, to fit into this +scheme for marrying her to his old friend’s rakish son. +When the day came for Joan to know of the arrangement, +she would leap toward it as toward an open door.</p> +<p>Still, it should not concern him. Once he had believed +there was a budding blossom on his hitherto dry branch +of romance; if he had been so ungenerous as to take +advantage of Joan’s loneliness and urge the promise to +florescence, they might have been riding down out of +the sheeplands together that day.</p> +<p>It would have been a venture, too, he admitted. For +contact with the world of men must prove a woman, +even as the hardships of the range must prove a man. +Perhaps the unlimited variety displayed before her eyes +would have made Joan dissatisfied with her plain choice.</p> +<p>At that moment it came to him that perhaps Joan +was to be tested and proved here, even as he was being +tested in Tim Sullivan’s balance for his fitness to become +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +a master over sheep. Here were two fair samples of +men out of the world’s assorted stock––himself and +Reid. One of them, deliberate, calm, assured of his +way, but with little in his hand; the other a grig that +could reel and spin in the night-lights, and flutter to +a merry tune.</p> +<p>With Mackenzie the rewards of life would come to her +slowly, but with a sweet savor of full understanding and +appreciation as they were won. Many of them most +desired might never be attained; many more might be +touched and withdrawn in the mockery that fate practices +so heartlessly upon men. Reid could convey her +at once over the rough summits which men and women +wear their hearts threadbare to attain. With Reid the +journey would begin where, with the best hoping, it +must in his own company almost end.</p> +<p>“It was unlucky for Earl that he killed Matt Hall,” +said Joan, taking up another thread of thought in her +discursive, unfixed humor of that day.</p> +<p>“It’s unfortunate for any man to have to kill another, +I guess. But it has to be done sometimes.”</p> +<p>“Matt deserved it, all right––he ought have been +killed for his mean face long ago––but it’s turned Earl’s +head, haven’t you noticed? He thinks he’s got one foot +on each side of this range, herdin’ everybody between +his legs.”</p> +<p>“He’ll get over it in a little while.”</p> +<p>“He’s not got brains enough to hold him down when +the high winds begin to blow. If he’s a fair sample of +what they’ve got in Omaha, I’ll cross it off my map +when I begin to travel.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span></div> +<p>“Dad says he’s got the lonesomeness.”</p> +<p>“More of the cussedness.”</p> +<p>Her words warmed Mackenzie like a precious cordial. +At every one of them in derogation of Reid his heart +jumped, seeming to move him by its tremendous vibration +a little nearer to her. He felt that it was traitorous +exultation at the expense of one who had befriended +him to a limit beyond which it is hard for a man to +go, but he could not drown the exhilaration of a reborn +hope in even the deepest waters of his gratitude.</p> +<p>Somebody ought to tell Joan what they had designed +for her in company with Earl Reid; somebody ought to +tell her, but it was not his place. It was strange that +she had read the young man’s weakness so readily. +Mackenzie had noted more than once before in his life +that those who live nearest to nature are the most apt +in reading all her works.</p> +<p>“He’ll never stay here through a winter,” Joan predicted, +with certainty that admitted no argument. “Give +him a touch of twenty-two below, and a snow on a high +wind, and send him out to bed down the sheep where it’ll +blow over them! I can see him right now. You’ll do it, +all right, and I’ll have to, like I have done many a time. +But we’re not like Earl. Earl’s got summer blood.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie took her hand, feeling it tremble a little, +seeing her face grow pale. The sun was red on the hill, +the sheep were throwing long shadows down the slope +as they grazed lazily, some of them standing on knees +to crop the lush bunch grass.</p> +<p>“Yes, Joan, you and I are of different blood,” he +said. “We are of the blood of the lonesome places, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +we’ll turn back to them always from our wandering and +seeking contentment among the press of men. He can’t +have you––Earl Reid can’t have you––ever in this +world!”</p> +<p>So it was out, and from his own mouth, and all his +reserve was nothing, and his silent pledging but as an +idle word. Joan was looking at him with wide and +serious eyes.</p> +<p>“Earl Reid?”</p> +<p>“Earl Reid,” he nodded. “I’d be a coward to give +you up to him.”</p> +<p>Joan was not trembling now. She put her free hand +over Mackenzie’s where it gripped her fingers so hard +that Earl Reid might have been on the opposite side +of her, trying to rive her away from him by force; she +looked up into his eyes and smiled. And there were +flecks of golden brown in Joan’s eyes, like flakes of +metal from her rich hair. They seemed to increase, and +to sparkle like jewels struck through placid water by +strong sunbeams as she looked up into his face.</p> +<p>“I thought dad had made some kind of a deal with +him,” she said, nodding in her wise way, a truant strand +of hair on her calm forehead. “They didn’t tell me +anything, but I knew from the way dad looked at me +out of the corners of his eyes that he had a trade of +some kind on. Tell me about it, John.”</p> +<p>There was no explanation left to Mackenzie but the +degrading truth, and he gave it to her as Tim Sullivan +had given it to him.</p> +<p>“They had their nerve!” said Joan, flushed with resentment.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></div> +<p>“It’s all off, as far as it affects you and me,” Mackenzie +said, fetching his brows together in a frown of +denial. “Reid can’t have you, not even if he comes into +two million when the old man dies.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Joan softly, her hand stroking his, her +eyes downcast, the glow of the new-old dawn upon her +cheek; “there’s only room for one Jacob on this range.”</p> +<p>“I thought I owed it to Reid, as a matter of honor +between men, to step aside and let him have you, according +to the plan. But that was a mistake. A man can’t +pay his debts by robbing his heart that way.”</p> +<p>“I saw something was holding you back, John,” said +the wise Joan.</p> +<p>Mackenzie started as if she had thrust him with a +needle, felt his telltale blood flare red in his face, but +grinned a little as he turned to her, meeting her eye +to eye.</p> +<p>“So, you saw through me, did you, Joan?”</p> +<p>“When you called me Rachel that day.”</p> +<p>“I nearly told you that time,” he sighed.</p> +<p>“You might have, John,” said she, a bit accusingly; +“you didn’t owe him anything then––that was before +he came.”</p> +<p>“I respected you too much to take advantage of your +coming to me that way for your lessons day by day, +Joan. I had to fight to keep it back.”</p> +<p>“I tried to pull it out of you,” Joan said, as serious +as a penitent, although there was a smile breaking on +her lips as she turned her face away.</p> +<p>“I’d never want to do anything, or say anything, that +would lower your respect for me one little degree, Joan,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +he said, still clinging to her hand as though he feared +he had not quite won her, and must hold her fast by his +side for the final word.</p> +<p>“I know you wouldn’t, John,” said she, her voice +shaking a little, and low beneath her breath.</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t want to––to––go as far as Jacob went +that first time he saw Rachel,” said he in desperation, +his grip tightening on her fingers, sweat bursting on +his brow. “I wouldn’t want to––I’d <i>want</i> to, all right, +but I wouldn’t even––even–––”</p> +<p>Joan looked up at him with calm, placid eyes, with +pale cheeks, with yearning lips, a flutter in her heart +that made her weak. She nodded, anxious to help him +to his climax, but not bold, not bolder than himself, +indeed, and he was shaking like a sick man in the sun.</p> +<p>“Unless I could make it holy, unless you could understand +it so, I wouldn’t even––I wouldn’t so much as–––” +He took her face between his hands, and bent over her, +and a glad little sob trembled between Joan’s lips as +she rested her hands on his shoulders for the benediction +of his kiss.</p> +<p>Joan did not stay to help him bring in the sheep that +day, for there was nothing left for her to wonder over, +or stand wistfully by her saddle waiting to receive. +Neither was there any sound of weeping as she rode up +the hill, for the male custom of expressing joy in that +way had gone out of fashion on the sheep ranges of this +world long before John Mackenzie’s day.</p> +<p>Nothing that he could owe a man could equal what +he had gained that hour, Mackenzie thought, standing +there with heart as light as the down of cottonwood. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +With his great debt paid to Earl Reid, even to the +measure of his own life, he would still leave the world +a rich man. He had come into the fresh pastures of +romance at last.</p> +<p>Joan waved him good-bye from the hilltop and went +on, the understanding of his fortune growing on him as +he recalled her eyes in that moment when she closed +them to his salute upon her lips. She gave up that first +kiss that she ever had yielded to any man as though he +had reached down and plucked it out of her heart.</p> +<p>Let them go on planning for years of labor, let them +go on scheming for inheritances, and piece their broken +arrangements together as they might when they found +he had swept Joan out of their squalid calculations as +a rider stoops and lifts a kerchief from the ground. +There would be bitterness and protestations, and rifts +in his own bright hopes, as well.</p> +<p>But if Tim Sullivan would not give her up to him +with the good grace of a man, Mackenzie said, smiling +and smiling like a daft musician, he would take her from +both of them and ride away with her into the valleys +of the world which she was so hungry in her young heart +to behold.</p> +<p>He rounded his sheep to their hillside, and made his +fire, a song in his heart, but his lips sealed, for he was +a silent man. And at dusk there came riding into his +camp a man, whose coat was at his cantle, who was +belted with pistols, who roved his eye with cautious look +as he halted and gave the shepherd good evening. Mackenzie +invited him down to the hospitality of the camp, +which the stranger accepted with hearty grace.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span></div> +<p>“I was lookin’ for a young feller by the name of +Reid; you’re not the man,” the stranger said with finality, +after one more shrewd look into Mackenzie’s face.</p> +<p>“My name’s Mackenzie––Reid’s running a band of +sheep for the same outfit about five miles east of here.”</p> +<p>The stranger said nothing more, being busy at that +moment unsaddling his horse, which he hobbled and +turned to graze. He came over to the fire where Mackenzie +was baking biscuits in a tilted pan, and sat down, +dusty from his day’s ride.</p> +<p>“I’m the sheriff of this county,” he announced, not +going into the detail of his name. Mackenzie nodded +his acknowledgment, the sheriff keeping his hungry eye +on the pan. “I took a cut across here from servin’ some +subpoenas in a murder case on some fellers up on Farewell +Creek,” he explained, “to see how that feller Reid’s +behavin’.”</p> +<p>“I haven’t heard any complaint,” Mackenzie told him, +wondering why this official interest. The sheriff seemed +satisfied with what he heard, and made no further inquiry +or explanation until after he had eaten his supper. +As he smoked a cracked cigar which he took from the +pocket of his ornate vest, he talked.</p> +<p>“I didn’t know anything about that boy when Sullivan +put him in here on the range,” he said, “but the +other day I got a letter from the sheriff in Omaha +askin’ me to keep my eye on him. The news of Reid’s +killin’ Matt Hall got over to Omaha. You know Reid, +he’s under sentence of three years in the pen.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t know.”</p> +<p>“Yeah. Daddy got him paroled to Sullivan’s sheep +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +ranch to serve it. If he breaks over here he goes to the +pen. That’s the way <i>he</i> stands.”</p> +<p>“In that case, he’ll more than likely stay it out.”</p> +<p>“He will if he’s wise. He’s been a kind of a streak +of wildness, the sheriff in Omaha said. Sent me his full +history, three pages. Married somebody a year or so +ago, but the old man got him out of that by buyin’ off +the girl. Then he started out forgin’, and pushed it so +hard the old man refused to make good any more. But +he didn’t want to see the kid go to the pen, and he’s +here. I got to keep my eye on him to see he don’t break +over.”</p> +<p>The sheriff stretched out when he had finished his +cigar and went to sleep in a blanket provided by his +host. He was up with dawn, ready to resume his journey. +Mackenzie pressed him to stay for breakfast, but +he said he wanted to make a start before the sun and +reach Sullivan’s ranch-house.</p> +<p>“Does Sullivan know how things stand with Reid?” +Mackenzie inquired.</p> +<p>“I reckon he must. If he don’t he soon will. Kind +of watch that feller, will you, and slip me word if he +shows any signs of streakin’ out of the country.”</p> +<p>“No, I’ve got my eye full looking after two thousand +sheep. That’s up to Sullivan, he’s responsible for Reid.”</p> +<p>The sheriff turned a sharp look of suspicion on Mackenzie, +but said nothing. He led his horse down to the +little stream for water, and came leading it back, a cast +of disfavor in his face.</p> +<p>“You’re a bad bunch up in here,” he said, “you and +Carlson and Hall. If there’s any more killin’ and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +fightin’ up this way I’ll come in and clean you all out. +Where did you say that feller was at?”</p> +<p>Mackenzie told him again, and he rode off to take +a look at Reid, and put what caution into his ear he +had a mind to give. Mackenzie saw him blend into the +gloom of early morning with a feeling of self-felicitation +on his act of yesterday. He was inspired yesterday when +he took Joan under his protection and laid claim to +her in his own right.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI_REID_BEGINS_HIS_PLAY' id='CHAPTER_XVI_REID_BEGINS_HIS_PLAY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +<h3>REID BEGINS HIS PLAY</h3> +</div> +<p>Dad Frazer came back after five days, diminished +in facial outline on account of having submitted +his stubble beard to the barber at Four Corners. +In reverse of all speculation on Mackenzie’s part, this +operation did not improve the old man’s appearance. +Dad’s face was one of the kind that are built to carry +a beard; without it his weaknesses were too apparent to +the appraising eye.</p> +<p>Dad made glowing report of his success with the +widow at Four Corners. Preliminaries were smoothed; +he had left the widow wearing his ring.</p> +<p>“We’ll jump the broomstick in about a month from +now,” Dad said, full of satisfaction for his business +stroke. “I aim to settle down and quit my roamin’, +John.”</p> +<p>“And your marrying, too, I hope, you old rascal!”</p> +<p>“Yes, this one will be my last, I reckon. I don’t +mind, though; I’ve had doin’s enough with women in +my day.”</p> +<p>“Is she a good looker, Dad?”</p> +<p>“Well, I’ve seen purtier ones and I’ve seen uglier ones, +John. No, she ain’t what you might call stylish, I +guess, but she’s all right for me. She’s a little off in +one leg, but not enough to hurt.”</p> +<p>“That’s a slight blemish in a lady with money in the +bank, Dad.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span></div> +<p>“I look at it that way, on the sensible side. Good +looks is all right in a woman, but that ain’t all a man +needs to make him easy in his mind. Well, she did lose +the sight of her left eye when she was a girl, but she +can see a dollar with the other one further than I can +see a wagon wheel.”</p> +<p>“No gentleman would stop at the small trifle of an +eye. What else, Dad?”</p> +<p>“Nothing else, only she’s carryin’ a little more meat +right now than a woman likes to pack around in hot +weather. I don’t mind that; you know, I like mine fat; +you can’t get ’em too fat for me.”</p> +<p>“I’ve heard you say so. How much does she weigh?”</p> +<p>“Well, I guess close to three hundred, John. If she +was taller, it wouldn’t show so much on her––she can +walk under my arm. But it’s surprisin’ how that woman +can git around after them sheep!”</p> +<p>Dad added this hopefully, as if bound to append some +redeeming trait to all her physical defects.</p> +<p>“How many does she own?”</p> +<p>“About four thousand. Not much of a band, but a +lot more than I ever could lay claim to. She’s got a +twelve-thousand acre ranch, owns every foot of it, more +than half of it under fence. What do you think of +that? Under fence! Runs them sheep right inside of +that bull-wire fence, John, where no wolf can’t git at +’em. There ain’t no bears down in that part of the +country. Safe? Safer’n money in the bank, and no +expense of hirin’ a man to run ’em.”</p> +<p>“It looks like you’ve landed on a feather bed, Dad.”</p> +<p>“Ain’t I? What does a man care about a little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +hobble, or one eye, or a little chunk of fat, when he can +step into a layout like that?”</p> +<p>“Why didn’t you lead her up to the hitching-rack +while you were there? Somebody else is likely to pick +your plum while your back’s turned.”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t reckon. She’s been on the tree quite a +spell; she ain’t the kind you young fellers want, and the +old ones is most generally married off or in the soldiers’ +home. Well, she’s got a little cross of Indian and Mexican +in her, anyway; that kind of keeps ’em away, you +know.”</p> +<p>It was no trouble to frame a mental picture of Dad’s +inamorata. Black, squat, squint; a forehead a finger +deep, a voice that would carry a mile. Mackenzie had +seen that cross of Mexican and Indian blood, with a +dash of debased white. They were not the kind that +attracted men outside their own mixed breed, but he +hadn’t a doubt that this one was plenty good enough, +and handsome enough, for Dad.</p> +<p>Mackenzie left the old man with this new happiness +in his heart, through which a procession of various-hued +women had worn a path during the forty years of his +taking in marriage one month and taking leave the next. +Dad wasn’t nervous over his prospects, but calm and +calculative, as became his age. Mackenzie went smiling +now and then as he thought of the team the black nondescript +and the old fellow would make.</p> +<p>He found Reid sitting on a hilltop with his face in +his hands, surly and out of sorts, his revolver and belt +on the ground beside him as if he had grown weary of +their weight. He gave a short return to Mackenzie’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +unaffected greeting and interested inquiry into the conduct +of the sheep and the dogs during his absence.</p> +<p>Reid’s eyes were shot with inflamed veins, as if he had +been sitting all night beside a smoky fire. When Mackenzie +sat near him the wind bore the pollution of +whisky from his breath. Reid made a show of being +at his ease, although the veins in his temples were swollen +in the stress of what must have been a splitting +headache. He rolled a cigarette with nonchalance +almost challenging, and smoked in silence, the corners +of his wide, salamander mouth drawn down in a peculiar +scoffing.</p> +<p>“I suppose that guy told you the whole story,” he +said at last, lifting his eyes briefly to Mackenzie’s face.</p> +<p>“The sheriff, you mean?”</p> +<p>“Who else?” impatiently.</p> +<p>“I don’t know whether he told me all or not, but he +told me plenty.”</p> +<p>“And you’ve passed it on to Joan by now!”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>Reid faced around, a flush over his thin cheeks, a +scowl in his eyes. He took up his belt; Mackenzie +marked how his hands trembled as he buckled it on.</p> +<p>“Well, you keep out of it, you damned pedagogue!” +Reid said, the words bursting from him in vehement +passion. “This is my game; I’ll play it without any +more of your interference. You’ve gone far enough +with her––you’ve gone too far! Drop it; let her alone.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie got up. Reid stood facing him, his color +gone now, his face gray. Mackenzie held him a moment +with stern, accusing eyes. Then:</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span></div> +<p>“Have you been over there spying on me?”</p> +<p>Reid passed over the question, leaving Mackenzie to +form his own conclusions. His face flushed a little at +the sting of contempt that Mackenzie put into his +words. He fumbled for a match to light his stub of +cigarette before he spoke:</p> +<p>“I played into your hands when I let you go over +there, and you knew I’d play into them when you proposed +it. But that won’t happen twice.”</p> +<p>“I’ll not allow any man to put a deliberately false +construction on my motives, Reid,” Mackenzie told him, +hotly. “I didn’t propose going over to let Dad off, and +you know it. I wanted you to go.”</p> +<p>“You knew I wouldn’t,” Reid returned, with surly +word.</p> +<p>“If you’ve been leaving the sheep to go over there +and lie on your belly like a snake behind a bush to spy +on Joan and me, and I guess you’ve been doing it, all +right––you’re welcome to all you’ve found out. There +aren’t any secrets between Joan and me to keep from +anybody’s eyes or ears.”</p> +<p>Reid jerked his thin mouth in expression of derision.</p> +<p>“She’s green, she’s as soft as cheese. Any man could +kiss her––I could have done it fifteen minutes after I +saw her the first time.”</p> +<p>If Reid hoped to provoke a quarrel leading up to an +excuse for making use of the gun for which his hand +seemed to itch, he fell short of his calculations. Mackenzie +only laughed, lightly, happily, in the way of a +man who knew the world was his.</p> +<p>“You’re a poor loser, Earl,” he said.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span></div> +<p>“I’m not the loser yet––I’m only takin’ up my hand +to play. There won’t be room on this range for you +and me, Mackenzie, unless you step back in your schoolteacher’s +place, and lie down like a little lamb.”</p> +<p>“It’s a pretty big range,” Mackenzie said, as if he +considered it seriously; “I guess you can shift whenever +the notion takes you. You might take a little vacation +of about three years back in a certain state concern in +Nebraska.”</p> +<p>“Let that drop––keep your hands off of that! You +don’t know anything about that little matter; that +damned sheriff don’t know anything about it. If Sullivan’s +satisfied to have me here and give me his girl, +that’s enough for you.”</p> +<p>“You don’t want Joan,” said Mackenzie, speaking +slowly, “you only want what’s conditioned on taking +her. So you’d just as well make a revision in your plans +right now, Reid. You and Sullivan can get together on +it and do what you please, but Joan must be left out +of your calculations. I realize that I owe you a good +deal, but I’m not going to turn Joan over to you to +square the debt. You can have my money any day you +want it––you can have my life if you ever have to draw +on me that far––but you can’t have Joan.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie walked away from Reid at the conclusion +of this speech, which was of unprecedented length for +him, and of such earnestness that Reid was not likely to +forget it soon, no matter for its length. The dogs left +Reid to follow him.</p> +<p>That Reid had been fraternizing with Swan Carlson, +Mackenzie felt certain, drinking the night out with him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +in his camp. Carlson had a notoriety for his addiction +to drink, along with his other unsavory traits. With +Reid going off in two different directions from him, +Mackenzie saw trouble ahead between them growing fast. +More than likely one of them would have to leave the +range to avoid a clash at no distant day, for Reid was +in an ugly mood. Loneliness, liquor, discontent, native +meanness, and a desire to add to the fame in the sheep +country that the killing of Matt Hall had brought him, +would whirl the weak fellow to his destruction at no +distant day.</p> +<p>Yet Reid had stood by him like a man in that fight +with Matt Hall, when he could have sought safety in +withdrawal and left him to his unhappy end. There +was something coming to him on that account which a +man could not repudiate or ignore. Whatever might +rise between them, Mackenzie would owe his life to +Reid. Given the opportunity, he stood ready and +anxious to square the debt by a like service, and between +men a thing like that could not be paid in any +other way.</p> +<p>Reid remained a while sitting on the hilltop where +Mackenzie had found him, face in his hands, as before. +After a time he stretched out and went to sleep, the +ardent sun of noonday frying the lees of Swan Carlson’s +whisky out of him. Toward three o’clock he roused, got +his horse, saddled it, and rode away.</p> +<p>Mackenzie believed he was going to hunt more whisky, +and went to the rise of a ridge to see what course he +took. But instead of striking for Carlson’s, Reid laid +a course for Sullivan’s ranch-house. Going to Tim with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +a complaint against him, Mackenzie judged, contempt +for his smallness rising in him. Let him go.</p> +<p>Tim Sullivan might give him half his sheep if he +liked him well enough, but he could not give him Joan.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVII_HERTHA_CARLSON' id='CHAPTER_XVII_HERTHA_CARLSON'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +<h3>HERTHA CARLSON</h3> +</div> +<p>Swan Carlson or his woman was running a band +of sheep very close to the border of Tim Sullivan’s +lease. All afternoon Mackenzie had heard the plaint of +lambs; they had lifted their wavering chorus all during +Joan’s lesson, giving her great concern that Carlson +designed attempting a trespass on her father’s land.</p> +<p>Joan had come shortly after Reid’s unexplained departure, +and had gone back to her flock again uninformed +of Reid’s criminal career. Mackenzie felt that +he did not need the record of his rival to hold Joan out +of his hands. The world had changed around for him +amazingly in the past few days. Where the sheeplands +had promised little for him but a hard apprenticeship +and doubtful rewards a little while ago, they now +showered him with unexpected blessings.</p> +<p>He ruminated pleasantly on this sudden coming round +the corner into the fields of romance as he went to the +top of the hill at sunset to see what Swan Carlson was +about. Over in the next valley there spread a handful +of sheep, which the shepherd was ranging back to camp. +Mackenzie could not make sure at that distance whether +the keeper was woman or man.</p> +<p>Reid had not returned when Mackenzie plodded into +camp at dusk. His absence was more welcome, in truth, +than his company; Mackenzie hoped he would sulk a +long time and stay away until he got his course in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +sheep country plainly before his eyes. If he stayed his +three years there it would be on account of sheep, and +whatever he might win in his father’s good graces by his +fidelity. Joan was not to figure thenceforward in any +of his schemes.</p> +<p>Three years on the sheep range with no prospect of +Joan! That was what Reid had ahead of him now.</p> +<p>“I think I’d take mine in the pen,” Mackenzie said, +leaning back to comfort with his pipe. Night came +down; the dogs lay at his feet, noses on forepaws. Below +him the sheep were still. So, for a long time, submerged +in dreams.</p> +<p>One of the dogs lifted its head, its bristles rising, a +low growl in its throat. The other rose cautiously, +walking away crouching, with high-lifted feet. Mackenzie +listened, catching no noise to account for their +alarm. A little while, and the sound of Hertha Carlson’s +singing rose from the hill behind him, her song +the same, the doleful quality of its air unmodified.</p> +<table summary=''><tr><td> +<p class='cg'><i>Na-a-fer a-lo-o-one, na-a-fer a-lone,<br /> +He promise na-fer to leafe me,<br /> +Na-fer to leafe me a-lone!</i></p> +</td></tr></table> +<p>“Strange how she runs on that,” Mackenzie muttered, +listening for her to repeat, as he had heard her +the night her singing guided him to her melancholy +door. A little nearer now the song sounded, the notes +broken as if the singer walked, stumbling at times, so +much sadness in it, so much longing, such unutterable +hopelessness as to wring the listener’s heart.</p> +<p>Swan was beating her again, neglecting her, subjecting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +her to the cruelties of his savage mind; there was +no need for the woman to come nearer to tell him that. +Only grief for which there was no comfort, despair in +which there was no hope, could tune a human note to +that eloquent expression of pain. Perhaps she was +wandering in the night now for the solace of weariness, +pouring out the three lines of her song in what seemed +the bitterness of accusation for a promise unfulfilled.</p> +<p>The dogs came back to Mackenzie’s side, where they +sat with ears lifted, but with no expression of hostility +or alarm in their bearing now. They were only curious, +as their master was curious, waiting to see if the wandering +singer would come on into camp.</p> +<p>There was no glow of lantern to guide her, and no +moon, but she came straight for where Mackenzie sat. +A little way off she stopped.</p> +<p>“Hello!” she hailed, as if uncertain of her welcome.</p> +<p>Mackenzie requested her to come on, lighting the lantern +which he had ready to hand. Mrs. Carlson hesitated, +drawing back a little when she saw his face.</p> +<p>“I thought it was Earl,” she said.</p> +<p>“Earl’s not here tonight. Sit down and rest yourself, +Mrs. Carlson. You don’t remember me?”</p> +<p>“I remember. You are the man who cut my chain.”</p> +<p>“I thought you’d forgotten me.”</p> +<p>“No, I do not forget so soon. A long time I wanted +to kill you for the blow you gave Swan that night.”</p> +<p>“As long as Swan was good to you,” said he, “of +course you would. How do you feel about it now?”</p> +<p>“I only cry now because he did not die. He was +different a little while after he got well, but again he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +forgets. He beats me; he leaves me alone with the +sheep.”</p> +<p>“I knew he was beating you again,” Mackenzie nodded, +confirming his speculation of a little while before.</p> +<p>“Sheep!” said she. “Swan thinks only of sheep; he +is worse since he bought Hall’s flock. It is more than +I can endure!”</p> +<p>Mrs. Carlson was worried and worn, fast losing all +she had gained in flesh and color during Swan’s period +of kindness when she had thrown herself into his wild +ways and ridden the range like a fighting woman at his +side. Much of her comeliness remained in her sad face +and great, luminous, appealing eyes, for it was the +comeliness of melancholy which sorrow and hard usage +refined. She would carry her grace with her, and the +pale shred of her youthful beauty, down to the last hard +day. But it was something that Swan was insensible +to; it could not soften his hand toward her, nor bend +his wild thoughts to gentleness. Now he had denied +her again the little share he had granted her in his wild +life, and must break the thing he had made, going his +morose way alone.</p> +<p>“I hadn’t heard he’d bought Hall’s sheep,” Mackenzie +said. “Is he going to run them on this range?”</p> +<p>“No, he says I shall go there, where the wolves are +many and bold, even by daylight, to watch over them. +There I would be more alone than here. I cannot go, +I cannot go! Let him kill me, but I will not go!”</p> +<p>“He’s got a right to hire a man to run them; he can +afford it.”</p> +<p>“His money grows like thistles. Where Swan touches +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +the earth with the seed of it, money springs. Money is +a disease that he spreads when he walks, like the scales +that fall from a leper. Money! I pray God night and +day that a plague will sweep away his flocks, that a +thief will find his hiding place, that a fire will burn the +bank that locks in his gold, and make him poor. Poor, +he would be kind. A man’s proud heart bends down +when he is poor.”</p> +<p>“God help you!” said Mackenzie, pitying her from +the well of his tender heart.</p> +<p>“God is deaf; he cannot hear!” she said, bitter, hopeless, +yet rebellious against the silence of heaven and +earth that she could not penetrate with her lamentations +and bring relief.</p> +<p>“No, you shouldn’t let yourself believe any such +thing,” he chided, yet with a gentleness that was almost +an encouragement.</p> +<p>“This land is a vacuum, out of which sound cannot +reach him, then,” she sighed, bending her sad head upon +her hands. “I have cried out to him in a sorrow that +would move a stone on the mountain-side, but God has +not heard. Yes, it must be that this land is a vacuum, +such as I read of when I was a girl in school. Maybe––” +looking up with eager hopefulness––“if I go out of it +a little way, just on the edge of it and pray, God will +be able to hear my voice?”</p> +<p>“Here, as well as anywhere,” he said, moved by her +strange fancy, by the hunger of her voice and face.</p> +<p>“Then it is because there is a curse on me––the curse +of Swan’s money, of his evil ways!” She sprang up, +stretching her long arms wildly. “I will pray no more, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +no more!” she cried. “I will curse God, I will curse +him as Job cursed him, and fling myself from the rocks +and die!”</p> +<p>Mackenzie was on his feet beside her, his hand on her +shoulder as if he would stay her mad intention.</p> +<p>“No, no!” he said, shocked by the boldness of her +declaration. “Your troubles are hard enough to bear––don’t +thicken them with talk like this.”</p> +<p>She looked at him blankly, as if she did not comprehend, +as though her reason had spent itself in this rebellious +outbreak against the unseen forces of her sad +destiny.</p> +<p>“Where is your woman?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I haven’t any woman.”</p> +<p>“I thought she was your woman, but if she is not, +Swan can have her. Swan can have her, then; I do not +care now any more. Swan wants her, he speaks of her +in the night. Maybe when he takes her he will set me +free.”</p> +<p>Mrs. Carlson sat again near the lantern, curling her +legs beneath her with the facility of a dog, due to long +usage of them in that manner, Mackenzie believed, when +chained to the wall in her lonely house among the trees. +Mackenzie stood a little while watching her as she sat, +chin in her hands, pensive and sad. Presently he sat +near her.</p> +<p>“Where is Swan tonight?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Drinking whisky beside the wagon with Hector Hall. +They will not fight. No.”</p> +<p>“No,” he echoed, abstractedly, making a mental picture +of Carlson and Hall beside the sheep-wagon, the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +light of a lantern on their faces, cards in their fists, a +jug of whisky in the middle ground within reach from +either hand. It was such diversion as Swan Carlson +would enjoy, the night around him as black as the +shadows of his own dead soul.</p> +<p>“Earl did not come to me this night,” she said, complaining +in sad note. “He promised he would come.”</p> +<p>“Has he been going over there to see you?” Mackenzie +asked, resentful of any advantage Reid might be +seeking over this half-mad creature.</p> +<p>“He makes love to me when Swan is away,” she +said, nodding slowly, looking up with serious eyes. “But +it is only false love; there is a lie in his eyes.”</p> +<p>“You’re right about that,” Mackenzie said, letting +go a sigh of relief.</p> +<p>“He tries to flatter me to tell him where Swan hides +the money he brought from the bank,” she said, slowly, +wearily, “but him I do not trust. When I ask him to +do what must first be done to make me free, he will not +speak, but goes away, pale, pale, like a frightened girl.”</p> +<p>“You’d better tell him to stay away,” Mackenzie +counseled, his voice stern and hard.</p> +<p>“But you would not do that,” she continued, heedless +of his admonition. She leaned toward him, her +great eyes shining in the light, her face eager in its +sorrowful comeliness; she put out her hand and touched +his arm.</p> +<p>“You are a brave man, you would not turn white and +go away into the night like a wolf to hear me speak +of that. Hush! hush! No, no––there is no one to +hear.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span></div> +<p>She looked round with fearful eyes, crouching closer +to the ground, her breath drawn in long labor, her +hand tightening on his arm. Mackenzie felt a shudder +sweep coldly over him, moved by the tragedy her attitude +suggested.</p> +<p>“Hush!” she whispered, hand to her mouth. And +again, leaning and peering: “Hush!” She raised her +face to him, a great eagerness in her burning eyes. “Kill +him, kill Swan Carlson, kind young man, and set me +free again! You have no woman? I will be your +woman. Kill him, and take me away!”</p> +<p>“You don’t have to kill Swan to get away from him,” +he told her, the tragedy dying out of the moment, leaving +only pity in its place. “You can go on tonight––you +never need to go back.”</p> +<p>Hertha came nearer, scrambling to him with sudden +movement on her knees, put her arm about his neck +before he could read her intention or repel her, and +whispered in his ear:</p> +<p>“I know where Swan hides the money––I can lead +you to the place. Kill him, good man, and we will take +it and go far away from this unhappy land. I will be +your woman, faithful and true.”</p> +<p>“I couldn’t do that,” he said gently, as if to humor +her; “I couldn’t leave my sheep.”</p> +<p>“Sheep, sheep!” said she, bitterly. “It is all in the +world men think of in this land––sheep! A woman is +nothing to them when there are sheep! Swan forgets, +sheep make him forget. If he had no sheep, he would +be a kind man to me again. Swan forgets, he forgets!”</p> +<p>She bent forward, looking at the lantern as if drawn +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +by the blaze, her great eyes bright as a deer’s when it +stands fascinated by a torchlight a moment before +bounding away.</p> +<p>“Swan forgets, Swan forgets!” she murmured, her +staring eyes on the light. She rocked herself from side +to side, and “Swan forgets, Swan forgets!” she murmured, +like the burden of a lullaby.</p> +<p>“Where is your camp?” Mackenzie asked her, thinking +he must take her home.</p> +<p>Hertha did not reply. For a long time she sat leaning, +staring at the lantern. One of the dogs approached +her, bristles raised in fear, creeping with stealthy movement, +feet lifted high, stretched its neck to sniff her, +fearfully, backed away, and composed itself to rest. But +now and again it lifted its head to sniff the scent that +came from this strange being, and which it could not +analyze for good or ill. Mackenzie marked its troubled +perplexity, almost as much at sea in his own reckoning +of her as the dog.</p> +<p>“No, I could not show you the money and go away +with you leaving Swan living behind,” she said at last, +as if she had decided it finally in her mind. “That I +have told Earl Reid. Swan would follow me to the edge +of the world; he would strangle my neck between his +hands and throw me down dead at his feet.”</p> +<p>“He’d have a right to if you did him that kind of a +trick,” Mackenzie said.</p> +<p>“Earl Reid comes with promises,” she said, unmindful +of Mackenzie; “he sits close by me in the dark, he holds +me by the hand. But kiss me I will not permit; that yet +belongs to Swan.” She looked up, sweeping Mackenzie +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +with her appealing eyes. “But if you would kill him, +then my lips would be hot for your kiss, brave man––I +would bend down and draw your soul into mine through +a long, long kiss!”</p> +<p>“Hush!” Mackenzie commanded, sternly. “Such +thoughts belong to Swan, as much as the other. Don’t +talk that way to me––I don’t want to hear any more +of it.”</p> +<p>Hertha sat looking at him, that cast of dull hopelessness +in her face again, the light dead in her eyes.</p> +<p>“There are strange noises that I hear in the night,” +she said, woefully; “there is a dead child that never drew +breath pressed against my heart.”</p> +<p>“You’d better go back to your wagon,” he suggested, +getting to his feet.</p> +<p>“There is no wagon, only a canvas spread over the +brushes, where I lie like a wolf in a hollow. A beast I +am become, among the beasts of the field!”</p> +<p>“Come––I’ll go with you,” he offered, holding out +his hand to lift her.</p> +<p>She did not seem to notice him, but sat stroking her +face as if to ease a pain out of it, or open the fount of +her tears which much weeping must have drained long, +long ago.</p> +<p>Mackenzie believed she was going insane, in the slow-preying, +brooding way of those who are not strong +enough to withstand the cruelties of silence and loneliness +on the range.</p> +<p>“Where is your woman?” she asked again, lifting her +face suddenly.</p> +<p>“I have no woman,” he told her, gently, in great pity +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +for her cruel burden under which she was so unmistakably +breaking.</p> +<p>“I remember, you told me you had no woman. A man +should have a woman; he goes crazy of the lonesomeness +on the sheep range without a woman.”</p> +<p>“Will Swan be over tomorrow?” Mackenzie asked, +thinking to take her case up with the harsh and savage +man and see if he could not be moved to sending her +away.</p> +<p>“I do not know,” she returned coldly, her manner +changing like a capricious wind. She rose as she spoke, +and walked away, disappearing almost at once in the +darkness.</p> +<p>Mackenzie stood looking the way she went, listening +for the sound of her going, but she passed so surely +among the shrubs and over the uneven ground that no +noise attended her. It was as though her failing mind +had sharpened her with animal caution, or that instinct +had come forward in her to take the place of wit, and +serve as her protection against dangers which her faculties +might no longer safeguard.</p> +<p>Even the dogs seemed to know of her affliction, as +wild beasts are believed by some to know and accept +on a common plane the demented among men. They +knew at once that she was not going to harm the sheep. +When she left camp they stretched themselves with contented +sighs to their repose.</p> +<p>And that was “the lonesomeness” as they spoke of it +there. A dreadful affliction, a corrosive poison that +gnawed the heart hollow, for which there was no cure +but comradeship or flight. Poor Hertha Carlson was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +denied both remedies; she would break in a little while +now, and run mad over the hills, her beautiful hair +streaming in the wind.</p> +<p>And Reid had it; already it had struck deep into his +soul, turning him morose, wickedly vindictive, making +him hungry with an unholy ambition to slay. Joan +must have suffered from the same disorder. It was not +so much a desire in her to see what lay beyond the blue +curtain of the hills as a longing for companionship +among them.</p> +<p>But Joan would put away her unrest; she had found +a cure for the lonesomeness. Her last word to him that +day was that she did not want to leave the sheep range +now; that she would stay while he remained, and fare +as he fared.</p> +<p>Rachel must have suffered from the lonesomeness, +ranging her sheep over the Mesopotamian plain; Jacob +had it when he felt his heart dissolve in tears at the +sight of his kinswoman beside the well of Haran. But +Joan was safe from it now; its insidious poison would +corrode in her heart no more.</p> +<p>Poor Hertha Carlson, deserving better than fate had +given her with sheep-mad Swan! She could not reason +without violence any longer, so often she had been subjected +to its pain.</p> +<p>“It will be a thousand wonders if she doesn’t kill him +herself,” Mackenzie said, sitting down with new +thoughts.</p> +<p>The news of Swan’s buying Hall out was important +and unexpected. Free to leave the country now, Hall +very likely would be coming over to balance accounts. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +There was his old score against Mackenzie for his humiliation +at the hands of the apprentice sheepherder, +which doubtless had grown more bitter day by day; and +there was his double account against Reid and Mackenzie +for the loss of his sheep-killing brother. Mackenzie +hoped that he would go away and let matters stand as +they were.</p> +<p>And Swan. It had not been all a jest, then, when he +proposed trading his woman for Mackenzie’s. What a +wild, irresponsible, sheep-mad man he was! But he +hardly would attempt any violence toward Joan, even +though he “spoke of her in the night.”</p> +<p>From Carlson, Mackenzie’s thoughts ran out after +Reid. Contempt rose in him, and deepened as he +thought of the mink-faced youth carrying his deceptive +poison into the wild Norseman’s camp. But insane as +she was, racked by the lonesomeness to be away from +that unkindly land, Hertha Carlson remained woman +enough to set a barrier up that Reid, sneak that he was, +could not cross.</p> +<p>What a condition she had made, indeed! Nothing +would beguile her from it; only its fulfilment would bend +her to yield to his importunities. It was a shocking +mess that Reid had set for himself to drink some day, +for Swan Carlson would come upon them in their hand-holding +in his hour, as certainly as doom.</p> +<p>And there was the picture of the red-haired giant of +the sheeplands and that flat-chested, sharp-faced youth +drinking beside the sheep-wagon in the night. There +was Swan, lofty, cold, unbending; there was Reid, the +craft, the knowledge of the world’s under places written +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +on his brow, the deceit that he practiced against his +host hidden away in his breast.</p> +<p>Mackenzie sighed, putting it from him like a nightmare +that calls a man from his sleep by its false peril, +wringing sweat from him in its agony. Let them bind +in drink and sever in blood, for all that he cared. It +was nothing to him, any way they might combine or +clash. Joan was his; that was enough to fill his world.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVIII_SWAN_CARLSONS_DAY' id='CHAPTER_XVIII_SWAN_CARLSONS_DAY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> +<h3>SWAN CARLSON’S DAY</h3> +</div> +<p>Dad Frazer came over the hills next morning +after the dew was gone. Mackenzie saw him +from afar, and was interested to note that he was not +alone. That is to say, not immediately accompanied +by anybody, yet not alone for a country where a quarter +of a mile between men is rather close company.</p> +<p>Somebody was coming on after the old shepherd, +holding about the same distance behind him in spite of +little dashes down slopes that Dad made when for a +moment out of sight. Mackenzie’s wonder over this +peculiar behavior grew as the old man came near, and +it was discovered to the eye that his persistent shadow +was a woman.</p> +<p>Dad wasted neither words nor breath on his explanation +when he came panting up the slope that brought +him to the place where Mackenzie stood above his sheep.</p> +<p>“It’s that dad-burned Rabbit!” he said.</p> +<p>There was something between vexation and respect +in Dad’s voice. He turned to look back as he spoke. +Rabbit had mounted the hilltop just across the dip, +where she stood looking over at her shifty-footed lord, +two sheep-dogs at her side.</p> +<p>“How did she locate you?” Mackenzie inquired, not +in the least displeased over this outreaching of justice +after the fickle old man.</p> +<p>“She’s been trailin’ me four years!” Dad whispered, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +his respect for Rabbit’s powers on the scent unmistakable.</p> +<p>“That’s a long time to hold a cold trail. Rabbit must +be some on the track!”</p> +<p>“You can’t beat them Indians follerin’ a man if they +set their heads to it. Well, it’s all off with the widow-lady +at Four Corners now––Rabbit’s got me nailed. +You see them sheep-dogs? Them dogs they’d jump me +the minute Rabbit winked at ’em––they’d chaw me up +like a couple of lions. She’s raised ’em up to do it, +dad-burn her! Had my old vest to learn ’em the scent.”</p> +<p>“A man never ought to leave his old vest behind him +when he runs away from his wife,” said Mackenzie, +soberly. “But it looks to me like a woman with the +sticking qualities Rabbit’s got isn’t a bad one to stay +married to. How in the world could a reservation squaw +find her way around to follow you all this time?”</p> +<p>“She’s educated, dang her; she went to the sisters’ +mission. She can read and write a sight better than +me. She’s too smart for a squaw, bust her greasy eyes! +Yes, and I’ll never dast to lay a hand on her with them +dogs around. They’d chaw me up quicker’n a man +could hang up his hat.”</p> +<p>Rabbit composed herself after her patient but persistent +way, sitting among the bushes with only her +head showing, waiting for Dad’s next move.</p> +<p>“You’re married to her regularly, are you, Dad?”</p> +<p>“Priest marriage, dang it all!” said Dad, hopelessly.</p> +<p>“Then it <i>is</i> all off with the one-eyed widow.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and them four thousand sheep, and that range +all under fence, dang my melts!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span></div> +<p>“What are you going to do about Rabbit?”</p> +<p>“It ain’t what am I goin’ to do about her, John, but +what she’s goin’ to do about me. She’ll never leave me +out of her sight a minute as long as I live. I reckon +I’ll have to stay right here and run sheep for Tim, and +that widow-lady wonderin’ why I don’t show up!”</p> +<p>“You might do worse, Dad.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I reckon I might. Rabbit she’s as good as any +man on the range handlin’ sheep, she can draw a man’s +pay wherever she goes. I guess I could put her to work, +and that’d help some.”</p> +<p>Dad brightened a bit at that prospect, and drew his +breath with a new hope. Even with the widow gone +from his calculations, the future didn’t promise all loss.</p> +<p>“But I bet you I’ll shoot them two dogs the first time +I can draw a bead on ’em!” Dad declared.</p> +<p>“Maybe if you’ll treat Rabbit the right way she’ll +sell them. Call her over, Dad; I’d like to get acquainted +with her.”</p> +<p>Dad beckoned with his hand, but Rabbit did not stir; +waved his hat to emphasize his command; Rabbit remained +quiet among the bushes, the top of her black +head in plain view.</p> +<p>“She’s afraid we’ve hatched up some kind of a trick +between us to work off on her,” said Dad.</p> +<p>“You can’t blame her for being a little distrustful, +Dad. But let her go; I’ll meet her at your camp one +of these days.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you’ll meet her over there, all right, for she’s +goin’ to stick to me till I’m under ground. That’s one +time too many I married––just one time too many!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span></div> +<p>“I suppose a man can overdo it; I’ve heard it said.”</p> +<p>“If I hadn’t ’a’ left that blame vest!”</p> +<p>“Yes, that seems to be where you blundered. You’ll +know better next time, Dad.”</p> +<p>“Yes, but there never will be no next time,” Dad +sighed.</p> +<p>“Have you seen Reid over your way this morning?”</p> +<p>“No, I ain’t seen him. Is he still roamin’ and restless?”</p> +<p>“He left yesterday; I thought he was going to the +ranch.”</p> +<p>“Didn’t pass my way. That feller’s off, I tell you, +John; he’s one of the kind that can’t stand the lonesomeness. +Leave him out here alone two months, and +he’d put a bullet in his eye.”</p> +<p>“It seems to me like it’s a land of daftness,” Mackenzie +said.</p> +<p>“You’ll find a good many cracked people all over the +sheep country––I’m kind o’ cracked myself. I must be, +or I never would ’a’ left that vest.”</p> +<p>Dad took off his hat to smooth his sweeping curled +locks, as white as shredded asbestos, and full of the +same little gleams that mineral shows when a block of +it from the mine is held in the sun. His beard was +whitening over his face again, like a frost that defied +the heat of day, easing its hollows and protuberances, +easing some of the weakness that the barber’s razor had +laid so pitilessly bare. In a few days more he would +appear himself again, and be ready for the sheep-shears +in due time.</p> +<p>“I reckon I’ll have to make the best of the place I’m +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +in, but for a man of puncture, as the feller said, like I +used to think I was, I sure did miscombobble it when I +married that educated squaw. No woman I ever was +married to in my life ever had sense enough to track a +man like that woman’s follered me. She sure is a wonder +on the scent.”</p> +<p>Patiently Rabbit was sitting among the bushes, waiting +the turn of events, not to be fooled again, not to +be abandoned, if vigilance could insure her against such +distress. Mackenzie’s admiration for the woman grew +with Dad’s discomfiture over his plight. There was an +added flavor of satisfaction for him in the old man’s +blighted career. Wise Rabbit, to have a priest marriage, +and wiser still to follow this old dodger of the +sheeplands and bring him up with a short halter in the +evening of his days.</p> +<p>“I’ll go on back and look after them sheep,” said +Dad, with a certain sad inflection of resignation; +“there’s nothing else to <i>be</i> done. I was aimin’ to serve +notice on Tim to find another man in my place, but I +might as well keep on. Well, I can set in the shade, +anyhow, and let Rabbit do the work––her and them +blame dogs.”</p> +<p>Dad sighed. It helped a great deal to know that +Rabbit could do the work. He looked long toward the +spot where his unshaken wife kept her watch on him, +but seemed to be looking over her head, perhaps trying +to measure all he had lost by this coming between him +and the one-eyed widow-lady of Four Corners.</p> +<p>“I wonder if I could git you to write a letter over to +that widow and tell her I’m dead?” he asked.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span></div> +<p>“I’ll do it if you want me to. But you’re not dead +yet, Dad––you may outlive Rabbit and marry the widow +at last.”</p> +<p>“I never was no lucky man,” said Dad, smoothing his +gleaming hair. “A man that’s married and nailed down +to one place is the same as dead; he might as well be in +his grave. If I’d ’a’ got that widow-lady I’d ’a’ had the +means and the money to go ridin’ around and seein’ the +sights from the end of one of them cars with a brass +fence around it. But I’m nailed down now, John; I’m +cinched.”</p> +<p>Dad was so melancholy over his situation that he +went off without more words, a thing unheard of for +him. He gave Rabbit a wide fairway as he passed. +When he was a respectable distance ahead the squaw +rose from her bush and followed, such determination in +her silent movements as to make Dad’s hope for future +freedom hollow indeed. The old man was cinched at +last; Mackenzie was glad that it was so.</p> +<p>The sound of Carlson’s sheep was still near that +morning, and coming nearer, as whoever attended them +ranged them slowly along. Mackenzie went a little way +across the hill in that direction, but could not see the +shepherd, although the sheep were spread on the slope +just before him. It was a small flock, numbering not +above seven hundred. Mackenzie was puzzled why +Swan wanted to employ his own or his wife’s time in +grazing so small a number, when four times as many +could be handled as easily.</p> +<p>This question was to be answered for him very soon, +and in a way which he never had imagined. Yet there +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +was no foreboding of it in the calm noonday as he prepared +his dinner in the shade of some welcome willows, +the heat glimmering over the peaceful hills.</p> +<p>It was while Mackenzie sat dozing in the fringe of +shade such as a hedge would cast at noonday that the +snarl of fighting dogs brought him up to a realization +of what was going forward among the sheep. His own +flock had drifted like a slow cloud to the point of the +long ridge, and there Swan Carlson’s band had joined +it. The two flocks were mingling now, and on the edge +of the confused mass his own dogs and Carlson’s were +fighting.</p> +<p>Swan was not in sight; nobody seemed to be looking +after the sheep; it appeared as if they had been +left to drift as they might to this conjunction with +Mackenzie’s flock. Mackenzie believed Mrs. Carlson +had abandoned her charge and fled Swan’s cruelty, +but he did not excuse himself for his own stupidity in +allowing the flocks to come together as he ran to the +place where his dogs and Carlson’s fought.</p> +<p>The sheep were becoming more hopelessly mingled +through this commotion on their flank. Mackenzie was +beating the enraged dogs apart when Swan Carlson +came running around the point of the hill.</p> +<p>Swan immediately took part in the mêlée of gnashing, +rolling, rearing dogs, laying about among them with +impartial hand, quickly subduing them to obedience. He +stood looking stonily at Mackenzie, unmoved by anger, +unflushed by exertion. In that way he stood silent a +little while, his face untroubled by any passion that +rolled in his breast.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span></div> +<p>“You’re runnin’ your sheep over on my grass––what?” +said Swan.</p> +<p>“You’re a mile over my range,” Mackenzie accused.</p> +<p>“You’ve been crowdin’ over on me for a month,” +Swan said, “and I didn’t say nothing. But when a man +tries to run his sheep over amongst mine and drive ’em +off, I take a hand.”</p> +<p>“If anybody’s tryin’ such a game as that, it’s you,” +Mackenzie told him. “Get ’em out of here, and keep +’em out.”</p> +<p>“I got fifteen hundred in that band––you’ll have to +help me cut ’em out,” said Swan.</p> +<p>“You had about seven hundred,” Mackenzie returned, +dispassionately, although it broke on him suddenly what +the big flockmaster was trying to put through.</p> +<p>Counting on Mackenzie’s greenness, and perhaps on +the simplicity of his nature as they had read it in the +sheep country, Swan had prepared this trap days ahead. +He had run a small band of the same breed as Sullivan’s +sheep––for that matter but one breed was extensively +grown on the range––over to the border of Tim’s lease +with the intention of mingling them and driving home +more than he had brought. Mackenzie never had heard +of the trick being worked on a green herder, but he +realized now how simply it could be done, opportunity +such as this presenting.</p> +<p>But it was one thing to bring the sheep over and +another thing to take them away. One thing Mackenzie +was sure of, and that was the judgment of his eyes +in numbering sheep. That had been Dad Frazer’s first +lesson, and the old man had kept him at it until he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +could come within a few head among hundreds at a +glance.</p> +<p>“I’ll help you cut out as many as you had,” Mackenzie +said, running his eyes over the mingled flocks, +“they’re all alike, one as good as another, I guess. It +looks like you got your stock from this ranch, anyhow, +but you’ll not take more than seven hundred this trip.”</p> +<p>“My dogs can cut mine out, they know ’em by the +smell,” Swan said. “I had fifteen hundred, and I bet +you I’ll take fifteen hundred back.”</p> +<p>The dogs had drawn off, each set behind their respective +masters, panting, eyeing each other with hostility, +one rising now and then with growls, threatening to +open the battle again. The sheep drifted about in confusion, +so thoroughly mingled now that it would be past +human power to separate them again and apportion +each respective head to its rightful owner.</p> +<p>“Seven hundred, at the outside,” Mackenzie said +again. “And keep them off of my grass when you get +’em.”</p> +<p>Carlson stood where he had stopped, ten feet or more +distant, his arms bare, shirt open on his breast in his +way of picturesque freedom. Mackenzie waited for him +to proceed in whatever way he had planned, knowing +there could be no compromise, no settlement in peace. +He would either have to yield entirely and allow Carlson +to drive off seven or eight hundred of Sullivan’s +sheep, or fight. There didn’t seem to be much question +on how it would come out in the latter event, for Carlson +was not armed, and Mackenzie’s pistol was that +moment under his hand.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span></div> +<p>“You got a gun on you,” said Swan, in casual, disinterested +tone. “I ain’t got no gun on me, but I’m a +better man without no gun than you are with one. I’m +goin’ to take my fifteen hundred sheep home with me, +and you ain’t man enough to stop me.”</p> +<p>Carlson’s two dogs were sitting close behind him, one +of them a gaunt gray beast that seemed almost a purebred +wolf. Its jaws were bloody from its late encounter; +flecks of blood were on its gray coat. It sat panting +and alert, indifferent to Mackenzie’s presence, watching +the sheep as if following its own with its savage eyes. +Suddenly Carlson spoke an explosive word, clapping his +great hands, stamping his foot toward Mackenzie.</p> +<p>Mackenzie fired as the wolf-dog sprang, staggering +back from the weight of its lank body hurled against his +breast, and fired again as he felt the beast’s vile breath +in his face as it snapped close to his throat.</p> +<p>Mackenzie emptied his pistol in quick, but what +seemed ineffectual, shots at the other dog as it came +leaping at Carlson’s command. In an instant he was +involved in a confusion of man and dog, the body of the +wolfish collie impeding his feet as he fought.</p> +<p>Carlson and the other dog pressed the attack so +quickly that Mackenzie had no time to slip even another +cartridge into his weapon. Carlson laughed as he +clasped him in his great arms, the dog clinging to Mackenzie’s +pistol hand, and in a desperate moment it was +done. Mackenzie was lying on his back, the giant sheepman’s +knee in his chest.</p> +<p>Carlson did not speak after ordering the dog away. +He held Mackenzie a little while, hand on his throat, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +knee on his chest, looking with unmoved features down +into his eyes, as if he considered whether to make an +end of him there or let him go his way in added humiliation +and disgrace. Mackenzie lay still under Carlson’s +hand, trying to read his intention in his clear, ice-cold, +expressionless eyes, watching for his moment to renew +the fight which he must push under such hopeless disadvantage.</p> +<p>Swan’s eyes betrayed nothing of his thoughts. They +were as calm and untroubled as the sky, which Mackenzie +thought, with a poignant sweep of transcendant fear +for his life, he never had beheld so placid and beautiful +as in that dreadful moment.</p> +<p>Carlson’s huge fingers began to tighten in the grip +of death; relax, tighten, each successive clutch growing +longer, harder. The joy of his strength, the pleasure +in the agony that spoke from his victim’s face, gleamed +for a moment in Carlson’s eyes as he bent, gazing; then +flickered like a light in the wind, and died.</p> +<p>Mackenzie’s revolver lay not more than four feet +from his hand. He gathered his strength for a struggle +to writhe from under Carlson’s pressing knee. Carlson, +anticipating his intention, reached for the weapon and +snatched it, laying hold of it by the barrel.</p> +<p>Mackenzie’s unexpected renewal of the fight surprised +Carlson into releasing his strangling hold. He rose to +sitting posture, breast to breast with the fighting sheepman, +whose great bulk towered above him, free breath +in his nostrils, fresh hope in his heart. He fought desperately +to come to his feet, Carlson sprawling over +him, the pistol lifted high for a blow.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span></div> +<p>Mackenzie’s hands were clutching Carlson’s throat, +he was on one knee, swaying the Norseman’s body back +in the strength of despair, when the heavens seemed +to crash above him, the fragments of universal destruction +burying him under their weight.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIX_NOT_CUT_OUT_FOR_A_SHEEPMAN' id='CHAPTER_XIX_NOT_CUT_OUT_FOR_A_SHEEPMAN'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIX</h2> +<h3>NOT CUT OUT FOR A SHEEPMAN</h3> +</div> +<p>Mackenzie returned to conscious state in nausea +and pain. Not on a surge, but slow-breaking, +like the dawn, his senses came to him, assembling +as dispersed birds assemble, with erratic excursions as +if distrustful of the place where they desire to alight. +Wherever the soul may go in such times of suspended +animation, it comes back to its dwelling in trepidation +and distrust, and with lingering at the door.</p> +<p>The first connected thought that Mackenzie enjoyed +after coming out of his shock was that somebody was +smoking near at hand; the next that the sun was in his +eyes. But these were indifferent things, drowned in +a flood of pain. He put them aside, not to grope after +the cause of his discomfort, for that was apart from +him entirely, but to lie, throbbing in every nerve, indifferent +either to life or death.</p> +<p>Presently his timid life came back entirely, settling +down in the old abode with a sigh. Then Mackenzie +remembered the poised revolver in Swan Carlson’s hand. +He moved, struggling to rise, felt a sweep of sickness, +a flood of pain, but came to a sitting posture in the way +of a man fighting to life from beneath an avalanche. +The sun was directly in his eyes, standing low above the +hill. He shifted weakly to relieve its discomfort. Earl +Reid was sitting near at hand, a few feet above him on +the side of the hill.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></div> +<p>Reid was smoking a cigarette, his hat pushed back, +the shadows of his late discontent cleared out of his +face. Below them the sheep were grazing. They were +all there; Mackenzie had wit enough in him to see that +they were all there.</p> +<p>Reid looked at him with a grin that seemed divided +between amusement and scorn.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe you’re cut out for a sheepman, Mackenzie,” +he said.</p> +<p>“It begins to look like it,” Mackenzie admitted. He +was too sick to inquire into the matter of Reid’s recovery +of the sheep; the world tipped at the horizon, as +it tips when one is sick at sea.</p> +<p>“Your hand’s chewed up some, Mackenzie,” Reid told +him. “I think you’d better go to the ranch and have +it looked after; you can take my horse.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie was almost indifferent both to the information +of his hurt and the offer for its relief. He lifted +his right hand to look at it, and in glancing down saw +his revolver in the holster at his side. This was of more +importance to him for the moment than his injury. +Swan Carlson was swinging that revolver to strike him +when he saw it last. How did it get back there in his +holster? Where was Carlson; what had happened to +him? Mackenzie looked at Reid as for an explanation.</p> +<p>“He batted you over the head with your gun––I guess +he used your gun, I found it out there by you,” said +Reid, still grinning as if he could see the point of humor +in it that Mackenzie could not be expected to enjoy.</p> +<p>Mackenzie did not attempt a reply. He looked with +a sort of impersonal curiosity at his hand and forearm, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +where the dog had bitten him in several places. That +had happened a good while ago, he reasoned; the blood +had dried, the marks of the dog’s teeth were bruised-looking +around the edges.</p> +<p>And the sheep were all there, and Reid was laughing +at him in satisfaction of his disgrace. There was no +sound of Swan Carlson’s flock, no sight of the sheepman. +Reid had come and untangled what Mackenzie +had failed to prevent, and was sitting there, unruffled +and undisturbed, enjoying already the satisfaction of +his added distinction.</p> +<p>Perhaps Reid had saved his life from Carlson’s hands, +as he had saved it from Matt Hall’s. His debt to Reid +was mounting with mocking swiftness. As if in scorn of +his unfitness, Reid had picked up his gun and put it +back in its sheath.</p> +<p>What would Joan say about this affair? What would +Tim Sullivan’s verdict be? He had not come off even +second best, as in the encounter with Matt Hall, but defeated, +disgraced. And he would have been robbed in +open day, like a baby, if it hadn’t been for Reid’s interference. +Mackenzie began to think with Dad Frazer +that he was not a lucky man.</p> +<p>Too simple and too easy, too trusting and too slow, +as they thought of him in the sheep country. A sort of +kindly indictment it was, but more humiliating because +it seemed true. No, he was not cut out for a sheepman, +indeed, nor for anything but that calm and placid +woman’s work in the schoolroom, it seemed.</p> +<p>Mackenzie looked again at his hand. There was no +pain in it, but its appearance was sufficient to alarm a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span> +man in a normal state of reasonableness. He had the +passing thought that it ought to be attended to, and got +up on weaving legs. He might wash it in the creek, he +considered, and so take out the rough of whatever infection +the dog’s teeth had driven into his flesh, but dismissed +the notion at once as altogether foolish. It +needed bichloride of mercury, and it was unlikely there +was such a thing within a hundred and fifty miles.</p> +<p>As he argued this matter of antiseptics with himself +Mackenzie walked away from the spot where Reid remained +seated, going aimlessly, quite unconscious of his +act. Only when he found himself some distance away he +stopped, considering what to do. His thoughts ran in +fragments and flashes, broken by the throbbing of his +shocked brain, yet he knew that Reid had offered to do +something for him which he could not accept.</p> +<p>No, he could not place himself under additional obligation +to Reid. Live or die, fail or succeed, Reid +should not be called upon again to offer a supporting +hand. He could sit there on the hillside and grin about +this encounter with Carlson, and grin about the hurt in +Mackenzie’s hand and arm, and the blinding pain in his +head. Let him grin in his high satisfaction of having +turned another favor to Mackenzie’s account; let him +grin until his face froze in a grin––he should not have +Joan.</p> +<p>Mackenzie went stumbling on again to the tune of +that declaration. Reid should not have Joan, he +shouldn’t have Joan, shouldn’t have Joan! Blind from +pain, sick, dizzy, the earth rising up before him as he +walked, Mackenzie went on. He did not look back to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +see if Reid came to help him; he would have resented it +if he had come, and cursed him and driven him away. +For he should not have Joan; not have Joan; Joan, +Joan, Joan!</p> +<p>How he found his way to Dad Frazer’s camp Mackenzie +never could tell. It was long past dark when he +stumbled to the sheep-wagon wherein the old herder and +his squaw lay asleep, arriving without alarm of dogs, +his own collies at his heels. It was the sharp-eared Indian +woman who heard him, and knew by his faltering +step that it was somebody in distress. She ran out and +caught him as he fell.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XX_A_MILLION_GALLOPS_OFF' id='CHAPTER_XX_A_MILLION_GALLOPS_OFF'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XX</h2> +<h3>A MILLION GALLOPS OFF</h3> +</div> +<p>Joan was returning to camp, weighed down by a +somber cloud. Dad Frazer had carried word to her +early that morning of Mackenzie’s condition, the old +man divided in his opinion as to whether man or beast +had mauled the shepherd and left him in such melancholy +plight.</p> +<p>“Both man and beast,” Rabbit had told Joan, having +no division of mind in the case at all. And so Joan believed +it to be, also, after sitting for hours in the hot +sheep-wagon beside the mangled, unconscious schoolmaster, +who did not move in pain, nor murmur in delirium, +nor drop one word from his clenched, still lips to +tell whose hand had inflicted this terrible punishment.</p> +<p>And the range seemed bent on making a secret of it, +also. Dad had gone hot-foot on Joan’s horse to seek +Earl Reid and learn the truth of it, only to ride in vain +over the range where Mackenzie’s flock grazed. Reid +was not in camp; the sheep were running unshepherded +upon the hills. Now, Joan, heading back to her camp at +dusk of the longest, heaviest, darkest day she ever had +known, met Reid as she rode away from Dad Frazer’s +wagon, and started out of her brooding to hasten forward +and question him.</p> +<p>“How did it happen––who did it?” she inquired, riding +up breathlessly where Reid lounged on his horse at +the top of the hill waiting for her to come to him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span></div> +<p>“Happen? What happen?” said Reid, affecting surprise.</p> +<p>“Mr. Mackenzie––surely you must know something +about it––he’s nearly killed!”</p> +<p>“Oh, Mackenzie.” Reid spoke indifferently, tossing +away his cigarette, laughing a little as he shaped the +shepherd’s name. “Mackenzie had a little trouble with +Swan Carlson, but this time he didn’t land his lucky +blow.”</p> +<p>“I thought you knew all about it,” Joan said, sweeping +him a scornful, accusing look. “I had you sized up +about that way!”</p> +<p>“Sure, I know all about it, Joan,” Reid said, but with +a gentle sadness in his soft voice that seemed to express +his pity for the unlucky man. “I happened to be away +when it started, but I got there––well, I got there, anyhow.”</p> +<p>Joan’s eyes were still severe, but a question grew in +them as she faced him, looking at him searchingly, as if +to read what it was he hid.</p> +<p>“Where have you been all day? Dad’s been looking +high and low for you.”</p> +<p>“I guess I was over at Carlson’s when the old snoozer +came,” Reid told her, easy and careless, confident and +open, in his manner.</p> +<p>“Carlson’s? What business could you–––”</p> +<p>“Didn’t he tell you about it, Joan?”</p> +<p>“Who, Dad?”</p> +<p>“Mackenzie.”</p> +<p>“He hasn’t spoken since he stumbled into Dad’s camp +last night. He’s going to die!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span></div> +<p>“Oh, not that bad, Joan?” Reid jerked his horse +about with quick hand as he spoke, making as if to start +down at once to the camp where the wounded schoolmaster +lay. “Why, he walked off yesterday afternoon +like he wasn’t hurt much. Unconscious?”</p> +<p>Joan nodded, a feeling in her throat as if she choked +on cold tears.</p> +<p>“I didn’t think he got much of a jolt when Swan took +his gun away from him and soaked him over the head +with it,” said Reid, regretfully.</p> +<p>“You were there, and you let him do it!” Joan felt +that she disparaged Mackenzie with the accusation as +soon as the hasty words fell from her tongue, but biting +the lips would not bring them back.</p> +<p>“He needs <i>somebody</i> around with him, but I can’t be +right beside him all the time, Joan.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t mean––I didn’t––I guess he’s able to +take care of himself if they give him a show. If you +saw it, you can tell me how it happened.”</p> +<p>“I’ll ride along with you,” Reid offered; “I can’t do +him any good by going down to see him. Anybody gone +for a doctor?”</p> +<p>“Rabbit’s the only doctor. I suppose she can do him +as much good as anybody––he’ll die, anyhow.”</p> +<p>“He’s not cut out for a sheepman,” said Reid, ruminatively, +shaking his head in depreciation.</p> +<p>“I should <i>hope</i> not!” said Joan, expressing in the +emphasis, as well as in the look of superior scorn that +she gave him, the difference that she felt lay between +Mackenzie and a clod who might qualify for a sheepman +and no questions asked.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span></div> +<p>“I’ll ride on over to camp with you,” Reid proposed +again, facing his horse to accompany her.</p> +<p>“No, you mustn’t leave the sheep alone at night––it’s +bad enough to do it in the day. What was the +trouble between him and Swan––who started it?”</p> +<p>“Some of Swan’s sheep got over with ours––I don’t +know how it happened, or whose fault it was. I’d been +skirmishin’ around a little, gettin’ the lay of the country +mapped out in my mind. Swan and Mackenzie were +mixin’ it up when I got there.”</p> +<p>“Carlson set his dogs on him!” Joan’s voice trembled +with her high scorn of such unmanly dealing, such unworthy +help.</p> +<p>“He must have; one of the dogs was shot, and I +noticed Mackenzie’s hand was chewed up a little. They +were scuffling to get hold of Mackenzie’s gun when I got +there––he’d dropped it, why, you can search me! Swan +got it. He hit him once with it before I could––oh well, +I guess it don’t make any difference, Mackenzie wouldn’t +thank me for it. He’s a surly devil!”</p> +<p>Joan touched his arm, as if to call him from his abstraction, +leaning to reach him, her face eager.</p> +<p>“You stopped Swan, you took the gun away from +him, didn’t you, Earl?”</p> +<p>“He’s welcome to it––I owed him something.”</p> +<p>Joan drew a deep breath, which seemed to reach her +stifling soul and revive it; a softness came into her face, +a light of appreciative thankfulness into her eyes. She +reined closer to Reid, eager now to hear the rest of the +melancholy story.</p> +<p>“You took the gun away from Swan; I saw it in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +scabbard down there. Did you have to––did you have +to––do anything to Carlson, Earl?”</p> +<p>Reid laughed, shortly, harshly, a sound so old to +come from young lips. He did not meet Joan’s eager +eyes, but sat straight, head up, looking off over the +darkening hills.</p> +<p>“No, I didn’t do anything to him––more than jam +my gun in his neck. He got away with thirty sheep +more than belonged to him, though––I found it out +when I counted ours. I guess I was over there after +them when Dad was lookin’ for me today.”</p> +<p>“You brought them back?” Joan leaned again, her +hand on his arm, where it remained a little spell, as she +looked her admiration into his face.</p> +<p>“Nothing to it,” said Reid, modestly, laughing again +in his grating harsh way of vast experience, and scorn +for the things which move the heart.</p> +<p>“It’s a good deal, I think,” said she. “But,” thoughtfully, +“I don’t see what made him drop his gun.”</p> +<p>“You can search me,” said Reid, in his careless, unsympathetic +way.</p> +<p>“It might have happened to anybody, though, a dog +and a man against him.”</p> +<p>“Yes, even a better man.”</p> +<p>“A better man don’t live,” said Joan, with calm decision.</p> +<p>Reid bent his eyes to the pommel of his saddle, and +sat so a few moments, in the way of a man who turns +something in his thoughts. Then:</p> +<p>“I guess I’ll go on back to the sheep.”</p> +<p>“He may never get well to thank you for what you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +did, Earl,” and Joan’s voice threatened tears in its low, +earnest tremolo, “but I–––”</p> +<p>“Oh, that’s all right, Joan.” Reid waved gratitude, +especially vicarious gratitude, aside, smiling lightly. +“He’s not booked to go yet; wait till he’s well and let +him do his own talking. Somebody ought to sneak that +gun away from him, though, and slip a twenty-two in +his scabbard. They can’t hurt him so bad with that +when they take it away from him.”</p> +<p>“It might have happened to you!” she reproached.</p> +<p>“Well, it might,” Reid allowed, after some reflection. +“Sure, it might,” brightening, looking at her frankly, +his ingenuous smile softening the crafty lines of his thin +face. “Well, leave him to Rabbit and Dad; they’ll fix +him up.”</p> +<p>“If he isn’t better tomorrow I’m going for a doctor, +if nobody else will.”</p> +<p>“You’re not goin’ to hang around there all the time, +are you, Joan?”</p> +<p>Reid’s face flushed as he spoke, his eyes made small, as +if he looked in at a furnace door.</p> +<p>Joan did not answer this, only lifted her face with a +quick start, looking at him with brows lifted, widening +her great, luminous, tender eyes. Reid stroked her +horse’s mane, his stirrup close to her foot, his look +downcast, as if ashamed of the jealousy he had betrayed.</p> +<p>“I don’t mind the lessons, and that kind of stuff,” +said he, looking up suddenly, “but I don’t want the girl––oh +well, you know as well as I do what kind of a deal +the old folks have fixed up for you and me, Joan.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span></div> +<p>“Of course. I’m going to marry you to save you +from work.”</p> +<p>“I thought it was a raw deal when they sprung it on +me, but that was before I saw you, Joan. But it’s all +right; I’m for it now.”</p> +<p>“You’re easy, Earl; dad’s workin’ you for three good +years without pay. As far as I’m concerned, you’d just +as well hit the breeze out of this country right now. +Dad can’t deliver the goods.”</p> +<p>“I’m soft, but I’m not that soft, Joan. I could leave +here tomorrow; what’s to hold me? And as far as the +old man’s cutting me out of his will goes, I could beat it +in law, and then have a pile big enough left to break my +neck if I was to jump off the top of it. They’re not +putting anything over on me, Joan. I’m sticking to this +little old range because it suits me to stick. I would +go tomorrow if it wasn’t for you.”</p> +<p>Reid added this in a low voice, his words a sigh, doing +it well, even convincingly well.</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” Joan said, moved by his apparent sincerity, +“but there’s not a bit of use in your throwing +away three years, or even three more months, of your +life here, Earl.”</p> +<p>“You’ll like me better when you begin to know me, +Joan. I’ve stood off because I didn’t want to interfere +with your studies, but maybe now, since you’ve got a +vacation, I can come over once in a while and get acquainted.”</p> +<p>“Earl, it wouldn’t be a bit of use.” Joan spoke earnestly, +pitying him a little, now that she began to believe +him.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span></div> +<p>“Why, we’re already engaged,” he said; “they’ve disposed +of us like they do princes and princesses.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know how they marry them off, but if that’s +the way, it won’t work on the sheep range,” said Joan.</p> +<p>“We’ve been engaged, officially, ever since I struck +the range, and I’ve never once, never even––” He hesitated, +constrained by bashfulness, it seemed, from his +manner of bending his head and plucking at her horse’s +mane.</p> +<p>“We’re not even officially engaged,” she denied, coldly, +not pitying his bashfulness at all, nor bent to assist him +in delivering what lay on the end of his tongue. “You +can’t pick up a sheepwoman and marry her off––like +some old fool king’s daughter.”</p> +<p>Reid placed his hand over hers where it lay idly on +the saddle-horn, the reins loosely held. He leaned closer, +his eyes burning, his face near her own, so near that she +shrank back, and drew on her hand to come free.</p> +<p>“I don’t see why we need to wait three years to get +married, Joan,” he argued, his persuasive voice very +soft and tender. “If the old man saw I meant business–––”</p> +<p>“Business!” scorned Joan.</p> +<p>“Sheep business, I mean, Joan,” chidingly, a tincture +of injury in his tone.</p> +<p>“Oh, sheep business,” said Joan, leaning far over to +look at the knotting of her cinch.</p> +<p>“Sure, to settle down to it here and take it as it +comes, the way he got his start, he’d come across with +all the money we’d want to take a run out of here once +in a while and light things up. We ought to be gettin’ +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +the good out of it while we’ve got an edge on us, Joan.”</p> +<p>Joan swung to the ground, threw a stirrup across the +saddle, and began to tighten her cinch. Reid alighted +with a word of protest, offering his hand for the work. +Joan ignored his proffer, with a little independent, altogether +scornful, toss of the head.</p> +<p>“You can find plenty of them ready to take you up,” +she said. “What’s the reason you have to stay right +here for three years, and then marry me, to make a +million dollars? Can’t you go anywhere else?”</p> +<p>“The old man’s picked on this country because he +knows your dad, and he settled on you for the girl because +you got into his eye, just the way you’ve got into +mine, Joan. I was sore enough about it at first to throw +the money and all that went with it to the pigs, and +blow out of here. But that was before I saw you.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” said Joan, in her pettish, discounting way.</p> +<p>“I mean every word of it, Joan. I can’t talk like––like––some +men––my heart gets in the way, I guess, and +chokes me off. But I never saw a girl that I ever lost +sleep over till I saw you.”</p> +<p>Joan did not look at him as he drew nearer with his +words. She pulled the stirrup down, lifted her foot to +it, and stood so a second, hand on the pommel to mount. +And so she glanced round at him, standing near her +shoulder, his face flushed, a brightness in his eyes.</p> +<p>Quicker than thought Reid threw his arm about her +shoulders, drawing her to him, his hot cheek against her +own, his hot breath on her lips. Surging with indignation +of the mean advantage he had taken of her, Joan +freed her foot from the stirrup, twisting away from the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +impending salute, her hand to Reid’s shoulder in a shove +that sent him back staggering.</p> +<p>“I thought you were more of a man than that!” she +said.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon, Joan; it rushed over me––I +couldn’t help it.” Reid’s voice shook as he spoke; he +stood with downcast eyes, the expression of contrition.</p> +<p>“You’re too fresh to keep!” Joan said, brushing her +face savagely with her hand where his cheek had pressed +it for a breath.</p> +<p>“I’ll ask you next time,” he promised, looking up between +what seemed hope and contrition. But there was +a mocking light in his sophisticated face, a greedy sneer +in his lustful eyes, which Joan could feel and see, although +she could not read to the last shameful depths.</p> +<p>“Don’t try it any more,” she warned, in the cool, even +voice of one sure of herself.</p> +<p>“I ought to have a right to kiss my future wife,” he +defended, a shadow of a smile on his thin lips.</p> +<p>“There’s not a bit of use to go on harping on that, +Earl,” she said, in a way of friendly counsel, the incident +already past and trampled under foot, it seemed. +“If you want to stay here and work for dad, three +years or thirty years, I don’t care, but don’t count on +me. I guess if you go straight and prove you deserve +it, you’ll not need any girl to help you get the money.”</p> +<p>“It’s got to be you––nobody else, Joan.”</p> +<p>“Then kiss your old million––or whatever it is––good-bye!”</p> +<p>Joan lifted to the saddle as if swept into it by a wave, +and drew her reins tight, and galloped away.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXI_TIM_SULLIVAN_BREAKS_A_CONTRACT' id='CHAPTER_XXI_TIM_SULLIVAN_BREAKS_A_CONTRACT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXI</h2> +<h3>TIM SULLIVAN BREAKS A CONTRACT</h3> +</div> +<p>“And that will be the end of it,” said Tim Sullivan, +finality in his tone, his face stern, his manner +severe. “I’ve passed my word to old Malcolm that +you’ll have his boy, and have him you will.”</p> +<p>“Boy!” said Joan.</p> +<p>“In experience he’s no lad, and I’m glad you’ve discovered +it,” said Tim, warming a little, speaking with +more softness, not without admiration for her penetration. +“He’ll be the better able to look after you, and +see they don’t get his money away from him like some +simpleton.”</p> +<p>“Oh, they’ll get it, all right.”</p> +<p>Tim had arrived that morning from a near-by camp +as Joan was about to set out for Dad Frazer’s. From +his way of plunging abruptly into this matter, which he +never had discussed with her before, and his sharpness +and apparent displeasure with her, Joan knew that he +had seen Reid overnight. They were beside the sheep-wagon, +to a wheel of which Joan’s horse was tied, all +saddled and ready to mount. The sun was already high, +for Joan had helped Charley range the flock out for its +day’s grazing, and had put all things to rights in the +camp, anxious as her mind was over Mackenzie’s state.</p> +<p>“I’ll not have you treat the lad like a beggar come +to ask of you, Joan; I’ll not have it at all. Be civil with +him; use him kindly when he speaks.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span></div> +<p>“He’s a thousand years older than I am; he knows +things that you never heard of.”</p> +<p>“Somebody’s been whisperin’ slanders of him in your +ear. He’s a fine lad, able to hold his own among men, +take ’em where they’re found. Don’t you heed what the +jealous say about the boy, Joan; don’t you let it move +you at all.”</p> +<p>“I wouldn’t have him if he brought his million in a +wheelbarrow and dumped it at my feet.”</p> +<p>“It’s not a million, as I hear it,” Tim corrected, +mildly, even a bit thoughtfully, “not more nor a half.”</p> +<p>“Then he’s only half as desirable,” smiled Joan, the +little gleam of humor striking into her gloomy hour +like a sudden ray of sun.</p> +<p>“You’d run sheep till you was bent and gray, and +the rheumatiz’ got set in your j’ints, me gerrel, before +you’d win to the half of half a million. Here it comes +to you while you’re young, with the keenness to relish it +and the free hand to spend the interest off of it, and sail +over the seas and see the world you’re longin’ to know +and understand.”</p> +<p>Joan’s hat hung on the saddle-horn, the morning wind +was trifling with light breath in her soft, wave-rippled +hair. Her brilliant necktie had been put aside for one +of narrower span and more sober hue, a blue with white +dots. The free ends of it blew round to her shoulder, +where they lay a moment before fluttering off to brush +her cheek, as if to draw by this slight friction some of +the color back into it that this troubled interview had +drained away.</p> +<p>She stood with her head high, her chin lifted, determination +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +in her eyes. Thorned shrubs and stones had +left their marks on her strong boots, the little teeth of +the range had frayed the hem of her short cloth skirt, +but she was as fresh to see as a morning-glory in the +sun. Defiance outweighed the old cast of melancholy +that clouded her eyes; her lips were fixed in an expression +which was denial in itself as she stood looking into +the wind, her little brown hands clenched at her sides.</p> +<p>“I want that you should marry him, as I have arranged +it with old Malcolm,” said Tim, speaking slowly +to give it greater weight. “I have passed my word; let +that be the end.”</p> +<p>“I’ve got a right to have a word, too. Nobody else +is as much concerned in it as me, Dad. You can’t put a +girl up and sell her like a sheep.”</p> +<p>“It’s no sale; it’s yourself that comes into the handlin’ +of the money.”</p> +<p>Tim took her up quickly on it, a gleam in his calculative +eye, as if he saw a convincing way opening ahead of +him.</p> +<p>“I couldn’t do it, Dad, as far as I’d go to please you; +I couldn’t––never in this world! There’s something +about him––something–––”</p> +<p>“It’ll wear off; ’tis the strangeness of him, but three +years will bring him closer; it will wear away.”</p> +<p>“It’ll never wear away, because he isn’t––he isn’t +<i>clean</i>!”</p> +<p>“Clean?” Tim repeated, turning in amazement as if +to seek a witness to such a preposterous charge. And +again: “Clean? He’s as fresh as a daisy, as clean as a +lamb.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span></div> +<p>“It’s the way he seems to me,” she insisted, with conviction +that no argument would shake. “I don’t know +any other name for it––you can see it in his eyes.”</p> +<p>“Three year here will brace him up, Joan; he’ll come +to you as fresh as lumber out of the mill.”</p> +<p>“No, all the wind in the world can’t blow it out of +him. I can’t do it, I’ll never do it!”</p> +<p>“And me with my word passed to old Malcolm!” Tim +seemed to grieve over it, and the strong possibility of +its repudiation; his face fell so long, his voice so accusing, +so low and sad.</p> +<p>“You’ll not lose any money; you can square it up +with him some way, Dad.”</p> +<p>“You’ve been the example of a dutiful child to me,” +Tim said, turning to her, spreading his hands, the oil +of blarney in his voice. “You’ve took the work of a man +off of my hands since you were twelve year old, Joan.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I have,” Joan nodded, a shading of sadness for +the lost years of her girlhood in her tone. She did not +turn to face him, her head high that way, her chin up, +her nose in the wind as if her assurance lay in its warm +scents, and her courage came on its caress.</p> +<p>“You’ve been the gerrel that’s gone out in the storm +and the bitter blast to save the sheep, and stood by them +when their poor souls shook with the fright, and soothed +down their panic and saved their lives. You’ve been +the gerrel that’s worked the sheep over this range in +rain and shine, askin’ me nothing, not a whimper or a +complaint out of ye––that’s what you’ve been to me, +Joan. It’s been a hard life for a lass, it’s been a hard +and a lonesome life.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span></div> +<p>Joan nodded, her head drooping just a little from its +proud lift. Tears were on her face; she turned it a bit +to hide them from his eyes.</p> +<p>“You mind the time, Joan, four years ago it was the +winter past, when you stood a full head shorter than +you stand today, when the range was snowed in, and +the sheep was unable to break the crust that froze over +it, and was huddlin’ in the cañons starving wi’ the hunger +that we couldn’t ease? Heh––ye mind that winter, +Joan, gerrel?”</p> +<p>Joan nodded again, her chin trembling as it dropped +nearer to the fluttering necktie at her warm, round +throat. And the tears were coursing hotter, the well +of them open, the stone at the mouth of it rolled away, +the recollection of those harsh days almost too hard to +bear.</p> +<p>“And you mind how you read in the book from the +farmer college how a handful of corn a day would save +the life of a sheep, and tide it over the time of stress +and storm till it could find the grass in under the snow? +Ah-h, ye mind how you read it, Joan, and come ridin’ to +tell me? And how you took the wagons and the teams +and drove that bitter length in wind and snow to old +Wellfleet’s place down on the river, and brought corn +that saved to me the lives of no less than twenty thousand +sheep? It’s not you and me, that’s gone through +these things side by side, that forgets them in the fair +days, Joan, my little darlin’ gerrel. Them was hard +days, and you didn’t desert me and leave me to go +alone.”</p> +<p>Joan shook her head, the sob that she had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +smothering breaking from her in a sharp, riving cry. +Tim, feeling that he had softened her, perhaps, laid his +hand on her shoulder, and felt her body trembling under +the emotion that his slow recital of past hardships +had stirred.</p> +<p>“It’ll not be that you’ll leave me in a hole now, Joan,” +he coaxed, stroking her hair back from her forehead, his +touch gentle as his heart could be when interest bent +it so.</p> +<p>“I gave you that––all those years that other girls +have to themselves, I mean, and all that work that made +me coarse and rough and kept me down in ignorance––I +gave you out of my youth till the well of my giving has +gone dry. I can’t give what you ask today, Dad; I +can’t give you that.”</p> +<p>“Now, Joan, take it easy a bit, draw your breath +on it, take it easy, gerrel.”</p> +<p>Joan’s chin was up again, the tremor gone out of it, +the shudder of sorrow for the lost years stilled in her +beautiful, strong body. Her voice was steady when she +spoke:</p> +<p>“I’ll go on working, share and share alike with you, +like I’m doing now, or no share, no nothing, if you want +me to, if you need me to, but I can’t––I can’t!”</p> +<p>“I was a hard master over you, my little Joan,” said +Tim, gently, as if torn by the thorn of regret for his +past blindness.</p> +<p>“You were, but you didn’t mean to be. I don’t mind +it now, I’m still young enough to catch up on what I +missed––I <i>am</i> catching up on it, every day.”</p> +<p>“But now when it comes in my way to right it, to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +make all your life easy to you, Joan, you put your back +up like a catamount and tear at the eyes of me like you’d +put them out.”</p> +<p>“It wouldn’t be that way, Dad––can’t you see I don’t +care for him? If I cared, he wouldn’t have to have any +money, and you wouldn’t have to argue with me, to make +me marry him.”</p> +<p>“It’s that stubborn you are!” said Tim, his softness +freezing over in a breath.</p> +<p>“Let’s not talk about it, Dad,” she pleaded, turning +to him, the tears undried on her cheeks, the sorrow of +the years he had made slow and heavy for her in her +eyes.</p> +<p>“It must be talked about, it must be settled, now and +for good, Joan. I have plans for you, I have great +plans, Joan.”</p> +<p>“I don’t want to change it now, I’m satisfied with the +arrangement we’ve made on the sheep, Dad. Let me go +on like I have been, studying my lessons and looking +after the sheep with Charley. I’m satisfied the way it +is.”</p> +<p>“I’ve planned better things for you, Joan, better from +this day forward, and more to your heart. Mackenzie +is all well enough for teachin’ a little school of childer, +but he’s not deep enough to be over the likes of you, +Joan. I’m thinkin’ I’ll send you to Cheyenne to the +sisters’ college at the openin’ of the term; very soon +now, you’ll be makin’ ready for leavin’ at once.”</p> +<p>“I don’t want to go,” said Joan, coldly.</p> +<p>“There you’d be taught the true speech of a lady, and +the twist of the tongue on French, and the nice little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +things you’ve missed here among the sheep, Joan darlin’, +and that neither me nor your mother nor John Mackenzie––good +lad that he is, though mistaken at times, +woeful mistaken in his judgment of men––can’t give +you, gerrel.”</p> +<p>“No, I’ll stay here and work my way out with the +sheep,” said she.</p> +<p>Tim was standing at her side, a bit behind her, and +she turned a little more as she denied him, her head so +high she might have been listening to the stars. He +looked at her with a deep flush coming into his brown +face, a frown narrowing his shrewd eyes.</p> +<p>“Ain’t you that stubborn, now!” he said.</p> +<p>“Yes, I am,” said Joan.</p> +<p>“Then,” said Tim, firing up, the ashes of deceit blowing +from the fire of his purpose at once, “you’ll take +what I offer or leave what you’ve got! I’ll have no more +shyin’ and shillyin’ out of you, and me with my word +passed to old Malcolm Reid.”</p> +<p>Joan wheeled round, her face white, fright in her eyes.</p> +<p>“You mean the sheep?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I mean the sheep––just that an’ no less. Do as I’ll +have you do, and go on to school to be put in polish for +the wife of a gentleman, or give up the flock and the interest +I allowed you in the increase, and go home and +scrape the pots and pans!”</p> +<p>“You’d never do that, Dad––you’d never break your +word with me, after all I’ve gone through for you, and +take my lambs away from me!”</p> +<p>“I would, just so,” said Tim. But he did not have +the courage to look her in the face as he said it, turning +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +away like a stubborn man who had no cause beneath his +feet, but who meant to be stubborn and unjust against +it all.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe it!” she said.</p> +<p>“I will so, Joan.”</p> +<p>“Your word to Malcolm Reid means a whole lot to +you, but your word to me means nothing!” Joan spoke +in bitterness, her voice vibrating with passion.</p> +<p>“It isn’t the same,” he defended weakly.</p> +<p>“No, you can rob your daughter–––”</p> +<p>“Silence! I’ll not have it!” Tim could look at her +now, having a reason, as he saw it. There was a solid +footing to his pretense at last.</p> +<p>“It’s a cheap way to get a thousand lambs,” said she.</p> +<p>“Then I’ve got ’em cheap!” said Tim, red in his fury. +“You’ll flout me and mock me and throw my offers for +your good in my face, and speak disrespectful–––”</p> +<p>“I spoke the truth, no word but the–––”</p> +<p>“I’ll have no more out o’ ye! It’s home you go, and +it’s there you’ll stay till you can trim your tongue and +bend your mind to obey my word!”</p> +<p>“You’ve got no right to take my sheep; you went into +a contract with me, you ought to respect it as much as +your word to anybody!”</p> +<p>“You have no sheep, you had none. Home you’ll go, +this minute, and leave the sheep.”</p> +<p>“I hope they’ll die, every one of them!”</p> +<p>“Silence, ye! Get on that horse and go home, and +I’ll be there after you to tend to your case, my lady! I’ll +have none of this chargin’ me to thievery out of the +mouth of one of my childer––I’ll have none of it!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></div> +<p>“Maybe you’ve got a better name for it––you and old +man Reid!” Joan scorned, her face still white with the +cold, deep anger of her wrong.</p> +<p>“I’ll tame you, or I’ll break your heart!” said Tim, +doubly angry because the charge she made struck deep. +He glowered at her, mumbling and growling as if considering +immediate chastisement.</p> +<p>Joan said no more, but her hand trembled, her limbs +were weak under her weight with the collapse of all her +hopes, as she untied and mounted her horse. The ruin +of her foundations left her in a daze, to which the surging, +throbbing of a sense of deep, humiliating, shameful +wrong, added the obscuration of senses, the confusion of +understanding. She rode to the top of the hill, and +there the recollection of Mackenzie came to her like the +sharp concern for a treasure left behind.</p> +<p>She reined in after crossing the hilltop, and debated +a little while on what course to pursue. But only for a +little while. Always she had obeyed her father, under +injunctions feeling and unfeeling, just and unjust. He +was not watching to see that she obeyed him now, knowing +well that she would do as he had commanded.</p> +<p>With bent head, this first trouble and sorrow of her +life upon her, and with the full understanding in her +heart that all which had passed before this day was +nothing but the skimming of light shadows across her +way, Joan rode homeward. A mile, and the drooping +shoulders stiffened; the bent head lifted; Joan looked +about her at the sun making the sheeplands glad. A +mile, and the short breath of anger died out of her +panting lungs, the long, deep inspiration of restored +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +balance in its place; the pale shade left her cold cheeks, +where the warm blood came again.</p> +<p>Joan, drawing new hope from the thoughts which +came winging to her, looked abroad over the sunlit +sheeplands, and smiled.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXII_PHANTOMS_OF_FEVER' id='CHAPTER_XXII_PHANTOMS_OF_FEVER'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXII</h2> +<h3>PHANTOMS OF FEVER</h3> +</div> +<p>“That was ten or twelve days ago,” Dad explained, +when Mackenzie found himself blinking understandingly +at the sunlight through the open end of the +sheep-wagon one morning. “You was chawed and beat +up till you was hangin’ together by threads.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie was as weak as a young mouse. He closed +his eyes and lay thinking back over those days of delirium +through which a gleam of understanding fell only +once in a while. Dad evidently believed that he was well +now, from his manner and speech, although Mackenzie +knew that if his life depended on rising and walking +from the wagon he would not be able to redeem it at the +price.</p> +<p>“I seem to remember a woman around me a good +deal,” he said, not trusting himself to look at Dad. “It +wasn’t––was it–––?”</p> +<p>Mackenzie felt his face flush, and cursed his weakness, +but he could not pronounce the name that filled his +heart.</p> +<p>“Yes, it was Rabbit,” said Dad, catching him up without +the slightest understanding of his stammering. +“She’s been stickin’ to you night and day. I tell you, +John, them Indians can’t be beat doctorin’ a man up +when he’s been chawed up by a animal.”</p> +<p>“I want to thank her,” Mackenzie said, feeling his +heart swing very low indeed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span></div> +<p>“You won’t see much of her now since you’ve come to +your head, I reckon she’ll be passin’ you over to me to +look after. She’s shy that way. Yes, sir, any time I +git bit up by man or beast, or shot up or knifed, I’ll take +Rabbit ahead of any doctor you can find. Them Indians +they know the secrets of it. I wouldn’t be afraid +to stand and let a rattlesnake bite me till it fainted if +Rabbit was around. She can cure it.”</p> +<p>But Mackenzie knew from the odor of his bandages +that Rabbit was not depending on her Indian knowledge +in his case, or not entirely so. There was the odor of +carbolic acid, and he was conscious all along that his +head had been shaved around the wound in approved +surgical fashion. He reasoned that Rabbit went about +prepared with the emergency remedies of civilization, +and put it down to her schooling at the Catholic sisters’ +hands.</p> +<p>“Was there anybody––did anybody else come around?” +Mackenzie inquired.</p> +<p>“Tim’s been by a couple of times. Oh, well––Joan.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Joan,” said Mackenzie, trying to make it sound +as if he had no concern in Joan at all. But his voice +trembled, and life came bounding up in him again with +glad, wild spring.</p> +<p>“She was over the day after you got hurt, but she +ain’t been back,” said Dad, with such indifference that +he must have taken it for granted that Mackenzie held +no tenderness for her, indeed. “I met Charley yesterday; +he told me Joan was over home. Mary’s out here +with him––she’s the next one to Joan, you know.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span></div> +<p>Mackenzie’s day clouded; his sickness fell over him +again, taking the faint new savor out of life. Joan was +indifferent; she did not care. Then hope came on its +white wings to excuse her.</p> +<p>“Is she sick?” he inquired.</p> +<p>“Who––Mary?”</p> +<p>“Joan. Is she all right?”</p> +<p>“Well, if I was married to her I’d give up hopes of +ever bein’ left a widower. That girl’s as healthy as a +burro––yes, and she’ll outlive one, I’ll bet money, and +I’ve heard of ’em livin’ eighty years down in Mexico.”</p> +<p>Dad did not appear to be cognizant of Mackenzie’s +weakness. According to the old man’s pathology a man +was safe when he regained his head out of the delirium +of fever. All he needed then was cheering up, and Dad +did not know of any better way of doing that than by +talking. So he let himself go, and Mackenzie shut his +eyes to the hum of the old fellow’s voice, the sound beating +on his ears like wind against closed doors.</p> +<p>Suddenly Dad’s chatter ceased. The silence was as +welcome as the falling of a gale to a man at sea in an +open boat. Mackenzie heard Dad leaving the wagon in +cautious haste, and opened his eyes to see. Rabbit +was beside him with a bowl of savory-smelling broth, +which she administered to him with such gentle deftness +that Mackenzie could not help believing Dad had libeled +her in his story of the accident that had left its mark +upon her face.</p> +<p>Rabbit would not permit her patient to talk, denying +him with uplifted finger and shake of head when he attempted +it. She did not say a word during her visit, although +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +her manner was only gentle, neither timid nor +shy.</p> +<p>Rabbit was a short woman, turning somewhat to +weight, a little gray in her black hair, but rather due +to trouble than age, Mackenzie believed. Her skin was +dark, her face bright and intelligent, but stamped with +the meekness which is the heritage of women of her race. +The burn had left her marked as Dad had said, the scar +much lighter than the original skin, but it was not such +a serious disfigurement that a man would be justified in +leaving her for it as Dad had done.</p> +<p>When Rabbit went out she drew a mosquito netting +over the opening in the back of the wagon. Mackenzie +was certain that Dad had libeled her after that. There +was not a fly in the wagon to pester him, and he knew +that the opening in the front end had been similarly +screened, although he could not turn to see. Grateful +to Rabbit, with the almost tearful tenderness that a sick +man feels for those who have ministered kindly to his +pain, Mackenzie lay with his thoughts that first day of +consciousness after his tempestuous season of delirium.</p> +<p>They were not pleasant thoughts for a man whose +blood was not yet cool. As they surged and hammered +in his brain his fever flashed again, burning in his eyes +like a desert wind. Something had happened to alienate +Joan.</p> +<p>That was the burden of it as the sun mounted with +his fever, heating the enclosed wagon until it was an +oven. Something had happened to alienate Joan. He +did not believe her weak enough, fickle enough, to yield +to the allurements of Reid’s prospects. They must have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +slandered him and driven her away with lies. Reid +must have slandered him; there was the stamp of slander +in his wide, thin mouth.</p> +<p>It would be many days, it might be weeks, before he +could go abroad on the range again to set right whatever +wrong had been done him. Then it would be too +late. Surely Joan could not take his blunder into Carlson’s +trap in the light of an unpardonable weakness; +she was not so sheep-blind as that. Something had been +done outside any act of his own to turn her face and +her sympathies away.</p> +<p>Consumed in impatience to be up, anxiety for the delay, +Mackenzie lay the throbbing day through like a disabled +engine spending its vain power upon a broken +shaft. Kind Rabbit came frequently to give him drink, +to bathe his forehead, to place a cool cloth over his +burning eyes. But Dad did not come again. How +much better for his peace if the garrulous old rascal had +not come at all!</p> +<p>And then with the thought of Joan there came mingling +the vexing wonder of the train of violence that +had attended him into the sheeplands. He had come +there to be a master over flocks, not expecting to encounter +any unfriendly force save the stern face of nature. +He had begun to muddle and meddle at the outset; +he had continued to muddle, if not meddle, to the +very end.</p> +<p>For this would be the end. No sheepman would countenance +a herder who could not take care of his flock in +summer weather on a bountiful range. His day was +done in that part of the country so far as his plans of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span> +becoming a sharing herdsman went. Earl Reid, a thin, +anemic lad fresh from city life, had come in and made +much more a figure of a man.</p> +<p>So his fever boiled under the fuel of his humiliating +thoughts. The wagon was a bake-oven, but there was +no sweat in him to cool his parching skin. He begged +Rabbit to let him go and lie under the wagon, where the +wind could blow over him, but she shook her head in +denial and pressed him down on the bunk. Then she +gave him a drink that had the bitterness of opium in it, +and he threw down his worrying snarl of thoughts, and +slept.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIII_CONCERNING_MARY' id='CHAPTER_XXIII_CONCERNING_MARY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> +<h3>CONCERNING MARY</h3> +</div> +<p>“Yes, I’ve heard tell of sheepmen workin’ Swan’s +dodge on one another, but I never took no +stock in it, because I never believed even a sheepman was +fool enough to let anybody put a thing like that over on +him.”</p> +<p>“A sheepman oughtn’t to be,” Mackenzie said, in the +bitterness of defeat.</p> +<p>“Swan knew you was an easy feller, and green to the +ways of them tricky sheepmen,” said Dad. “You let +him off in that first fight with a little crack on the head +when you’d ought to ’a’ laid him out for good, and you +let Hector Hall go that time you took his guns away +from him. Folks in here never could understand that; +they say it was like a child playin’ with a rattlesnake.”</p> +<p>“It was,” Mackenzie agreed.</p> +<p>“Swan thought he could run them sheep of his over +on you and take away five or six hundred more than he +brought, and I guess he’d ’a’ done it if it hadn’t been +for Reid.”</p> +<p>“It looks that way, Dad. I sure was easy, to fall +into his trap the way I did.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie was able to get about again, and was gaining +strength rapidly. He and Dad were in the shade of +some willows along the creek, where Mackenzie stretched +in the indolent relaxation of convalescence, Dad smoking +his miserable old pipe close at hand.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></div> +<p>And miserable is the true word for Dad’s pipe, for it +was miserable indeed, and miserable the smell that came +out of it, going there full steam on a hot afternoon of +early autumn. Dad always carefully reamed out the +first speck of carbon that formed in his pipe, and kept +it reamed out with boring blade of his pocket knife. He +wanted no insulation against nicotine, and the strength +thereof; he was not satisfied unless the fire burned into +the wood, and drew the infiltrations of strong juice +therefrom. When his charge of tobacco burned out, +and the fire came down to this frying, sizzling abomination +of smells at last, Dad beamed, enjoying it as a sort +of dessert to a delightful repast of strong smoke.</p> +<p>Dad was enjoying his domestic felicity to the full +these days of Mackenzie’s convalescence. Rabbit was +out with the sheep, being needed no longer to attend the +patient, leaving Dad to idle as he pleased. His regret +for the one-eyed widow seemed to have passed, leaving +no scar behind.</p> +<p>“Tim don’t take no stock in it that Swan planned before +to do you out of a lot of your sheep. He was by +here this morning while you was wanderin’ around somewhere.”</p> +<p>“He was by, was he?”</p> +<p>“Yeah; he was over to see Reid––he’s sent him a new +wagon over there. Tim says you and Swan must both +’a’ been asleep and let the two bands stray together, and +of course it was human for Swan to want to take away +more than he brought. Well, it was sheepman, anyhow, +if it wasn’t human.”</p> +<p>“Did Sullivan say that?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span></div> +<p>“No, that’s what I say. I know ’em; I know ’em to +the bone. Reid knew how many sheep him and you had, +and he stuck out for ’em like a little man. More to that +feller than I ever thought he had in him.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” Mackenzie agreed. He lay stretched on his +back, squinting at the calm-weather clouds.</p> +<p>“Yeah; Tim says both of you fellers must ’a’ been +asleep.”</p> +<p>“I suppose he’ll fire me when he sees me.”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t reckon he will. Tim takes it as a kind of +a joke, and he’s as proud as all git-out of the way Reid +stacked up. If that boy hadn’t happened up when he +did, Swan he’d ’a’ soaked you another one with that gun +of yourn and put you out for good. They say that kid +waltzed Swan around there and made him step like he +was standin’ on a red-hot stove.”</p> +<p>“Did anybody see him doing it?”</p> +<p>“No, I don’t reckon anybody did. But he must ’a’ +done it, all right, Swan didn’t git a head of sheep that +didn’t belong to him.”</p> +<p>“It’s funny how Reid arrived on the second,” Mackenzie +said, reflecting over it as a thing he had pondered +before.</p> +<p>“Well, it’s natural you’d feel a little jealous of him, +John––most any feller would. But I don’t think he +had any hand in it with Swan to run him in on you, if +that’s what you’re drivin’ at.”</p> +<p>“It never crossed my mind,” said Mackenzie, but not +with his usual regard for the truth.</p> +<p>“I don’t like him, and I never did like him, but you’ve +got to hand it to him for grit and nerve.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span></div> +<p>“Has he got over the lonesomeness?”</p> +<p>“Well, he’s got a right to if he ain’t.”</p> +<p>“Got a right to? What do you mean?”</p> +<p>Dad chuckled, put both hands to the back of his head, +smoothed his long, bright hair.</p> +<p>“I don’t reckon you knew when you was teachin’ Joan +you was goin’ to all that trouble for that feller,” he +said.</p> +<p>“Sullivan told me him and old man Reid had made an +agreement concerning the young folks,” Mackenzie returned, +a sickness of dread over him for what he believed +he was about to hear.</p> +<p>“Oh, Tim told you, did he? Never said nothin’ to me +about it till this mornin’. He’s goin’ to send Joan off +to the sisters’ school down at Cheyenne.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie sat up, saying nothing for a good while. +He sat looking at the ground, buried in his thoughts as +deep as a grave. Dad turned curious eyes upon him, +but yet not eyes which probed to the secret of his heart +or weighed his loss.</p> +<p>“I guess I didn’t––couldn’t teach her enough to keep +her here,” Mackenzie said.</p> +<p>“You could teach her a danged sight more than she +could remember. I think Tim and her had a spat, but +I’m only guessin’ from what Charley said. Reid was at +the bottom of it, I’ll bet a purty. That feller was afraid +you and Joan might git to holdin’ hands out here on the +range so much together, heads a touchin’ over them +books.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie heard the old man as the wind. No, he had +not taught Joan enough to keep her in the sheeplands; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +she had not read deeply enough into that lesson which +he once spoke of as the easiest to learn and the hardest +to forget. Joan’s desire for life in the busy places had +overbalanced her affection for him. Spat or no spat, +she would have come to see him more than once in his +desperate struggle against death if she had cared.</p> +<p>He could not blame her. There was not much in a +man who had made a failure of even sheepherding to +bind a maid to him against the allurements of the world +that had been beckoning her so long.</p> +<p>“Tim said he’d be around to see you late this evening +or tomorrow. He’s went over to see how Mary and +Charley’re makin’ out, keepin’ his eye on ’em like he +suspicioned they might kill a lamb once in a while to go +with their canned beans.”</p> +<p>“All right,” said Mackenzie, abstractedly.</p> +<p>Dad looked at him with something like scorn for his +inattention to such an engrossing subject. Mackenzie +was not looking his way; his thoughts seemed to be a +thousand leagues from Tim Sullivan’s range and the +lambs on it, let them be alive or slaughtered to go with +canned beans.</p> +<p>But Joan would come back to the sheeplands, as she +said everybody came back to them who once had lived +in their silences and breathed their wide freedom. She +would come back, not lost to him, but regained, her lesson +learned, not to go away with that youth who wore +the brand of old sins on his face. So hope came to lift +him and assure him, just when he felt the somber cloud +of the lonesomeness beginning to engulf his soul.</p> +<p>“I know Tim don’t like it, but me and Rabbit butcher +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +lambs right along, and we’ll keep on doin’ it as long as +we run sheep. A man’s got to have something besides +the grub he gits out of tin cans. That ain’t no life.”</p> +<p>“You’re right, Dad. I’d been in a hole on the side +of some hill before now if it hadn’t been for the broth +and lamb stew Rabbit fed me. There’s nothing like it.”</p> +<p>“You right they ain’t!” said Dad, forgetting Mackenzie’s +lapse of a little while before. “I save the hides +and turn ’em over to him, and he ain’t got no kick. If I +was them children I’d butcher me a lamb once a week, +anyhow. But maybe they don’t like it––I don’t know. +I’ve known sheepmen that couldn’t go mutton, never +tasted it from one year to another. May be the smell +of sheep when you git a lot of ’em in a shearin’ pen and +let ’em stand around for a day or two.”</p> +<p>But what had they told Joan that she would go away +without a word, leaving him in a sickness from which +he might never have turned again? Something had been +done to alienate her, some crafty libel had been poured +into her ears. Let that be as it might, Joan would come +back, and he would wait in the sheeplands for her, and +take her by the hand and clear away her troubled +doubts. The comfort of this thought would drive the +lonesomeness away.</p> +<p>He would wait. If not in Tim Sullivan’s hire, then +with a little flock of his own, independent of the lords +of sheep. He would rather remain with Sullivan, having +more to prove now of his fitness to become a flockmaster +than at the beginning. Sullivan’s doubt of him would +have increased; the scorn which he could not quite cover +before would be open now and expressed. They had no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span> +use in the sheeplands for a man who fought and lost. +They would respect him more if he refused to fight at +all.</p> +<p>Dad was still talking, rubbing his fuzzy chin with reflective +hand, looking along the hillside to where Rabbit +stood watch over the sheep.</p> +<p>“Tim wanted to buy that big yellow collie from Rabbit,” +he said. “Offered her eighty dollars. Might as +well try to buy me from that woman!”</p> +<p>“I expect she’d sell you quicker than she would the +collie, Dad.”</p> +<p>“Wish she would sell that dang animal, he never has +made friends with me. The other one and me we git +along all right, but that feller he’s been educated on the +scent of that old vest, and he’ll be my enemy to my last +day.”</p> +<p>“You’re a lucky man to have a wife like Rabbit, anyhow, +dog or no dog. It’s hard for me to believe she +ever took a long swig out of a whisky jug, Dad.”</p> +<p>“Well, sir, me and Rabbit was disputin’ about that a +day or so ago. Funny how I seem to ’a’ got mixed up +on that, but I guess it wasn’t Rabbit that used to pull +my jug too hard. That must ’a’ been a Mexican woman +I was married to one time down by El Paso.”</p> +<p>“I’ll bet money it was the Mexican woman. How did +Rabbit get her face scalded?”</p> +<p>“She tripped and fell in the hog-scaldin’ vat like I +told you, John.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie looked at him severely, almost ready to +take the convalescent’s prerogative and quarrel with his +best friend.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span></div> +<p>“What’s the straight of it, you old hide-bound sinner?”</p> +<p>Dad changed hands on his chin, fingering his beard +with scraping noise, eyes downcast as if a little ashamed.</p> +<p>“I guess it was me that took a snort too many out +of the jug that day, John,” he confessed.</p> +<p>“Of course it was. And Rabbit tripped and fell into +the tub trying to save you from it, did she?”</p> +<p>“Well, John, them fellers said that was about the +straight of it.”</p> +<p>“You ought to be hung for running away from her, +you old hard-shelled scoundrel!”</p> +<p>Dad took it in silence, and sat rubbing it into his +beard like a liniment. After a while he rose, squinted +his eye up at the sun with a quick turn of his head like +a chicken.</p> +<p>“I reckon every man’s done something he ought to be +hung for,” he said.</p> +<p>That ended it. Dad went off to begin supper, there +being potatoes to cook. Sullivan had sent a sack of +that unusual provender out to camp to help Mackenzie +get his strength back in a hurry, he said.</p> +<p>Tim himself put in his appearance at camp a little +later in the day, when the scent of lamb stew that Dad +had in the kettle was streaming over the hills. Tim +could not resist it, for it was seasoned with wild onions +and herbs, and between the four of them they left the +pot as clean as Jack Spratt’s platter, the dogs making +a dessert on the bones.</p> +<p>Dad and Rabbit went away presently to assemble the +sheep for the night, and Tim let his Irish tongue wag as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +it would. He was in lively and generous mood, making +a joke of the mingling of the flocks which had come so +dearly to Mackenzie’s account. He bore himself like a +man who had gained something, indeed, and that was the +interpretation put on it by Mackenzie.</p> +<p>Tim led up to what he had come to discuss presently, +beaming with stew and satisfaction when he spoke of +Joan.</p> +<p>“Of course you understand, John, I don’t want you +to think it was any slam on you that I took Joan off +the range and made her stop takin’ her book lessons +from you. That girl got too fresh with me, denyin’ my +authority to marry her to the man I’ve picked.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie nodded, a great warmth of understanding +glowing in his breast.</p> +<p>“But I don’t want you to feel that it was any reflection +on your ability as a teacher, you understand, John; +I don’t want you to look at it that way at all.”</p> +<p>“Not at all,” Mackenzie echoed, quite sincerely.</p> +<p>“You could ’a’ had her, for all the difference it was +to me, if I hadn’t made that deal with Reid. A man’s +got to stick to his word, you know, lad, and not have it +thwarted by any little bobbin of a girl. I’d as soon +you’d have one of my girls as any man I know, John.”</p> +<p>“Thanks.”</p> +<p>“Of course I could see how it might turn out between +you and Joan if she kept on ridin’ over to have lessons +from you every day. You can’t blame Earl if he saw it +the same way, lad.”</p> +<p>“She isn’t his yet,” said Mackenzie confidently.</p> +<p>“Now look here, John”––Sullivan spoke with a certain +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +sharpness, a certain hardness of dictation in his +tone, “you’d just as well stand out of it and let Earl +have her.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie’s heart swung so high it seemed to brush +the early stars. It was certain now that Joan had not +gone home without a fight, and that she had not remained +there throughout his recovery from his wounds +without telling protest. More confidently than before +he repeated:</p> +<p>“She isn’t his yet!”</p> +<p>“She’ll never get a sheep from me if she marries any +other man––not one lone ewe!”</p> +<p>“How much do you value her in sheep?” Mackenzie +inquired.</p> +<p>“She’ll get half a million dollars or more with Earl. +It would take a lot of sheep to amount to half a million, +John.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Mackenzie, with the indifference of a man +who did not have any further interest in the case, seeing +himself outbid. “That’s higher than I’ll ever be able +to go. All right; let him have her.” But beneath his +breath he added the condition: “If he can get her.”</p> +<p>“That’s the spirit I like to see a man show!” Tim +commended. “I don’t blame a man for marryin’ into +a sheep ranch if he can––I call him smart––and I’d just +as soon you as any man’d marry one of my girls, as I +said, John. But you know, lad, a man can’t have them +that’s sealed, as the Mormons say.”</p> +<p>“You’re right,” Mackenzie agreed, and the more +heartily because it was sincere. If he grinned a little to +himself, Tim did not note it in the dusk.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span></div> +<p>“Now, there’s my Mary; she’s seventeen; she’ll be a +woman in three years more, and she’ll make two of Joan +when she fills out. My Mary would make the fine wife +for a lad like you, John, and I’ll give you five thousand +sheep the day you marry her.”</p> +<p>“All right; the day I marry Mary I’ll claim five thousand +sheep.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie said it so quickly, so positively, that Tim +glowed and beamed as never before. He slapped the +simpleton of a schoolmaster who had come into the +sheeplands to be a great sheepman on the back with +hearty hand, believing he had swallowed hook and all.</p> +<p>“Done! The day you marry Mary you’ll have your +five thousand sheep along wi’ her! I pass you my word, +and it goes.”</p> +<p>They shook hands on it, Mackenzie as solemn as +though making a covenant in truth.</p> +<p>“The day I marry Mary,” said he.</p> +<p>“It’ll be three years before she’s old enough to take +up the weight of carryin’ babies, and of course you understand +you’ll have to wait on her, lad. A man can’t +jump into these things the way he buys a horse.”</p> +<p>“Oh, sure.”</p> +<p>“You go right on workin’ for me like you are,” pursued +Tim, drunk on his bargain as he thought it to be, +“drawin’ your pay like any hand, without favors asked +or given, takin’ the knocks as they come to you, in +weather good and bad. That’ll be a better way than +goin’ in shares on a band next spring like we talked; +it’ll be better for you, lad; better for you and Mary.”</p> +<p>“All right,” Mackenzie assented.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></div> +<p>“I’m thinkin’ only of your own interests, you see, lad, +the same as if you was my son.”</p> +<p>Tim patted Mackenzie’s shoulder again, doubtless +warm to the bottom of his sheep-blind heart over the +prospect of a hand to serve him three years who would +go break-neck and hell-for-leather, not counting consequences +in his blind and simple way, or weather or hardships +of any kind. For there was Mary, and there were +five thousand sheep. As for Joan, she was out of Tim’s +reckoning any longer. He had a new Jacob on the line, +and he was going to play him for all he was worth.</p> +<p>“All right; I’ve got a lot to learn yet,” Mackenzie +agreed.</p> +<p>“You have, you have that,” said Tim with fatherly +tenderness, “and you’ll learn it like a book. I always +said from the day you come you had in you the makin’ +of a sheepman. Some are quick and some are slow, but +the longer it takes to learn the harder it sticks. It’s +been that way wi’ me.”</p> +<p>“That’s the rule of the world, they say.”</p> +<p>“It is; it is so. And you can put up a good fight, +even though you may not always hold your own; you’ll +be the lad to wade through it wi’ your head up and the +mornin’ light on your face. Sure you will, boy. I’ll be +tellin’ Mary.”</p> +<p>“I’d wait a while,” Mackenzie said, gently, as a man +who was very soft in his heart, indeed. “I’d rather we’d +grow into it, you know, easy, by gentle stages.”</p> +<p>“Right you are, lad, right you are. Leave young +hearts to find their own way––they can’t miss it if +there’s nobody between them. I’ll say no word to Mary +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +at all, but you have leave to go and see her as often as +you like, lad, and the sooner you begin the better, to +catch her while she’s young. How’s your hand?”</p> +<p>“Well enough.”</p> +<p>“When you think you’re able, I’ll put you back with +the sheep you had. I’ll be takin’ Reid over to the ranch +to put him in charge of the hospital band.”</p> +<p>“I’m able to handle them now, I think.”</p> +<p>“But take your time, take it easy. Reid gets on with +Swan, bein’ more experienced with men than you, I +guess. Well, a schoolteacher don’t meet men the way +other people do; he’s shut up with the childer all the +day, and he gets so he measures men by them. That +won’t do on the sheep range, lad. But I guess you’re +findin’ it out.”</p> +<p>“I’m learning a little, right along.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you’ve got the makin’ of a sheepman in you; +I said you had it in you the first time I put my eyes on +your face. Well, I’ll be leavin’ you now, lad. And remember +the bargain about my Mary. You’ll be a sheepman +in your own way the day you marry her. When a +man’s marryin’ a sheep ranch what difference is it to +him whether it’s a Mary or a Joan?”</p> +<p>“No difference––when he’s marrying a sheep ranch,” +Mackenzie returned.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIV_MORE_ABOUT_MARY' id='CHAPTER_XXIV_MORE_ABOUT_MARY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> +<h3>MORE ABOUT MARY</h3> +</div> +<p>Mackenzie took Tim at his word two days after +their interview, and went visiting Mary. He +made the journey across to her range more to try his +legs than to satisfy his curiosity concerning the substitute +for Joan so cunningly offered by Tim in his +Laban-like way. He was pleased to find that his legs +bore him with almost their accustomed vigor, and surprised +to see the hills beginning to show the yellow +blooms of autumn. His hurts in that last encounter +with Swan Carlson and his dogs had bound him in camp +for three weeks.</p> +<p>Mary was a smiling, talkative, fair-haired girl, bearing +the foundation of a generous woman. She had none +of the shyness about her that might be expected in a +lass whose world had been the sheep range, and this +Mackenzie put down to the fact of her superior social +position, as fixed by the size of Tim Sullivan’s house.</p> +<p>Conscious of this eminence above those who dwelt in +sheep-wagons or log houses by the creek-sides, Tim’s +girls walked out into their world with assurance. Tim +had done that much for them in rearing his mansion on +the hilltop, no matter what he had denied them of educational +refinements. Joan had gone hungry on this +distinction; she had developed the bitterness that comes +from the seeds of loneliness. This was lacking in Mary, +who was all smiles, pink and white in spite of sheeplands +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +winds and suns. Mary was ready to laugh with +anybody or at anybody, and hop a horse for a twenty-mile +ride to a dance any night you might name.</p> +<p>Mackenzie made friends with her in fifteen minutes, +and had learned at the end of half an hour that friend +was all he might ever hope to be even if he had come +with any warmer notions in his breast. Mary was engaged +to be married. She told him so, as one friend to +another, pledging him to secrecy, showing a little ring +on a white ribbon about her neck. Her Corydon was a +sheepman’s son who lived beyond the Sullivan ranch, +and could dance like a butterfly and sing songs to the +banjo in a way to melt the heart of any maid. So +Mary said, but in her own way, with blushes, and wide, +serious eyes.</p> +<p>Mackenzie liked Mary from the first ingenuous word, +and promised to hold her secret and help her to happiness +in any way that a man might lift an honorable +hand. And he smiled when he recalled Tim Sullivan’s +word about catching them young. Surely a man had +to be stirring early in the day to catch them in the +sheeplands. Youth would look out for its own there, +as elsewhere. Tim Sullivan was right about it there. +He was wiser than he knew.</p> +<p>Mary was dressed as neatly as Joan always dressed +for her work with the sheep. And she wore a little black +crucifix about her neck on another ribbon which she had +no need to conceal. When she touched it she smiled and +smiled, and not for the comfort of the little cross, +Mackenzie understood, but in tenderness for what lay +beneath it, and for the shepherd lad who gave it. There +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +was a beauty in it for him that made the glad day +brighter.</p> +<p>This fresh, sprightly generation would redeem the +sheeplands, and change the business of growing sheep, +he said. The isolation would go out of that life; running +sheep would be more like a business than a penance +spent in heartache and loneliness. The world could not +come there, of course. It had no business there; it +should not come. But they would go to it, those young +hearts, behold its wonders, read its weaknesses, and +return. And there would be no more straining of the +heart in lonesomeness such as Joan had borne, and no +more discontent to be away.</p> +<p>“I hoped you’d marry Joan,” said Mary, with a +sympathetic little sigh. “I don’t like Earl Reid.”</p> +<p>“Mary?” said Mackenzie. Mary looked up inquiringly. +“Can you keep a secret for me, Mary?”</p> +<p>“Try me, John.”</p> +<p>“I <i>am</i> going to marry Joan.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you’ve got it all settled? Did Joan wear your +ring when she went home?”</p> +<p>“No, she didn’t wear my ring, Mary, but she would +have worn it if I’d seen her before she was sent away.”</p> +<p>“I thought you were at the bottom of it, John,” the +wise Mary said. “You know, dad’s taken her sheep +away from her, and she had a half-interest in at least a +thousand head.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t know that, but it will not make any difference +to Joan and me. But why hasn’t she been over to +see me, Mary?”</p> +<p>“Oh, dad’s sore at her because she put her foot down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +flat when she heard it was fixed for her to marry Earl. +She told dad to take his sheep and go to the devil––she +was going to go away and work somewhere else. He +made her go home and stay there like a rabbit in a box––wouldn’t +let her have a horse.”</p> +<p>“Of course; I might have known it. I wonder if she +knows I’m up?”</p> +<p>“She knows, all right. Charley slips word to her.”</p> +<p>“Charley’s a good fellow, and so are you,” Mackenzie +said, giving Mary his hand.</p> +<p>“You’ll get her, and it’s all right,” Mary declared, +in great confidence. “It’ll take more than bread and +water to tame Joan.”</p> +<p>“Is that all they’re giving her?”</p> +<p>“That’s dad’s idea of punishment––he’s put most of +us on bread and water one time or another. But +mother has ideas of her own what a kid ought to have +to eat.”</p> +<p>Mary smiled over the recollection, and Mackenzie +joined her. Joan would not grow thin with that mother +on the job.</p> +<p>They talked over the prospects ahead of Joan and +himself in the most comfortable way, leaving nothing +unsaid that hope could devise or courage suggest. A +long time Mackenzie remained with his little sister, who +would have been dear to him for her own sweet sake if +she had not been dearer because of her blood-tie to +Joan. When he was leaving, he said:</p> +<p>“If anybody gets curious about my coming over to see +you, Mary, you might let them think I’m making love to +you. It would help both of us.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span></div> +<p>Mary turned her eyes without moving her head, looking +at him across her nose in the arch way she had, and +smiled with a deep knowingness.</p> +<p>“Not so bad!” said she.</p> +<p>They let it go at that, understanding each other very +well indeed.</p> +<p>Mackenzie returned to Dad’s camp thinking that the +way to becoming a flockmaster was a checkered one, and +filled with more adventures, harsh and gentle, than he +ever had believed belonged to his apportionment in life. +But he could not blame Tim Sullivan for placing Reid +above him in rating on account of the encounters they +had shared, or for bending down a bit in his manner, or +taking him for a soft one who could be led into long +labors on the promise of an uncertain reward.</p> +<p>Truly, he had been only second best all the way +through, save for that “lucky blow,” as Tim called it, +that had laid Swan out in the first battle. Now Swan +and he were quits, a blow on each side, nobody debtor +any more, and Reid was away ahead of anybody who +had figured in the violence that Mackenzie had brought +into the sheeplands with him as an unwelcome stranger +lets in a gust of wind on a winter night.</p> +<p>In spite of all this, the vocation of sheepman never +appeared so full of attractive possibilities to Mackenzie +as it looked that hour. All his old calculations were revived, +his first determination proved to him how deeply +it had taken root. He had come into the sheep country +to be a flockmaster, and a flockmaster he would be. Because +he was fighting his way up to it only confirmed +him in the belief that he was following a destined course, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +and that he should cut a better figure in the end, somehow, +than he had made at the beginning.</p> +<p>Tim Sullivan thought him simple; he looked at him +with undisguised humor in his eyes, not taking the +trouble to turn his back when he laughed. And they +had taken Joan away out of his hands, like a gold-piece +snatched from a child. But that was more to his credit +than his disgrace, for it proved that they feared him +more than they scorned him, let them laugh as they +might.</p> +<p>But it was time for him to begin putting the credits +over on the other side of the book. Mackenzie took it +up with Dad Frazer that evening, Rabbit sitting by in +her quiet way with a nod and a smile now and then when +directly addressed.</p> +<p>“I don’t think you’re able to go over there and let +that feller off,” Dad objected. “You can’t tell about +Swan; he may come round lookin’ for more trouble, and +you not half the man you was before him and that dog +chawed you up that way.”</p> +<p>“I think I’ll make out, Dad. I’ll keep my eyes open +this time, anyhow.”</p> +<p>“He may not be able to slip up on you any more, +but if he crowds a fuss where’ll you be at, with that hand +hardly able to hold a gun?”</p> +<p>“It will be different this time if he does. I’m going +back to the sheep in the morning, Dad. I’ve got to get +busy, and keep busy if I ever make good at this game.”</p> +<p>Dad grunted around his pipestem, his charge being +burned down to the wood, and the savor too sweet on +his tongue to lose even a whiff by giving room for a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +word in the door of his mouth. Presently the fire fried +and blubbered down in the pipe to the last atrocious +smell, and there followed the noise of more strong twist-tobacco +being milled between the old shepherd’s rasping +palms. Rabbit toddled off to bed without a word; Dad +put a match to his new charge, the light making him +blink, discovering his curiously sheared face with its +picturesque features strong, its weakness under the +shadows.</p> +<p>“What did you think of Mary?” he inquired, free to +discuss the ladies, now Rabbit was gone.</p> +<p>“Mary’s a little bit of all right, Dad.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and not such a little bit, either. Mary’s some +chunk of a girl; she’ll grow up to a woman that suits +my eye. You could do worse than set your cap for that +little lady, it seems to me, John.”</p> +<p>“Any man could. She’s got a lively eye, and wise +head, too, if I’m not away off.”</p> +<p>“She looks soft when you first glance her, but she’s +as deep as a well. Mary ain’t the build of a girl that +fools a man and throws him down. Now, you take Joan, +a kind of a high-headed touch-me-not, with that gingerbread +hair and them eyes that don’t ever seem to be in +fifty-five mile of you when you’re talkin’ to her. I tell +you, the man that marries her’s got trouble up his +sleeve. He’ll wake up some morning and find her gone +off with some other man.”</p> +<p>“What makes you think that, Dad?”</p> +<p>“Not satisfied with what she’s got, always lookin’ off +over the hill like a breachy cow calculatin’ on how much +better the grazin’d be if she could hop the fence and go +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +tearin’ off over there. Joan ain’t the kind that settles +down to nuss babies and make a man a home. Mary is. +That’s the difference between them two girls.”</p> +<p>“Maybe you’re right about it, Dad––I expect you +are. You ought to know women if any man does.”</p> +<p>“Well, neither one of ’em ain’t a woman in the full +meanin’ of the word,” Dad reflected, “but they’ve got +the marks on ’em of what they’ll turn out to be. The +man that marries Mary he’ll play safe; the feller that +gits Joan takes on a gamble. If she ever does marry +Reid he’ll not keep her seven months. Shucks! I married +a red-headed woman one time back in Oklahomey, +and that blame woman run off with a horse-doctor inside +of three months. I never did hear tell of that fool +woman any more.”</p> +<p>“I don’t agree with you on the way you’ve got Joan +sized up, no difference if your wife did run off with a +horse-doctor. Her hair ain’t red, anyway.”</p> +<p>“Might as well be. You ain’t so much of a hand at +readin’ people, anyhow, John; before you marry you +ought to see a fortune-teller and have your hand read. +You got away off on Reid, holdin’ up for him agin’ my +judgment when he first come here on the range––don’t +you remember?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t want to pass judgment on him in advance; +that was all, Dad.”</p> +<p>“Course, you couldn’t be expected to know men and +women like us fellers that’s batted around among ’em all +our lives, and you shut up with a houseful of kids +teachin’ ’em cipherin’ and spellin’. I never did see a +schoolteacher in my life, man or woman, that you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +couldn’t take on the blind side and beat out of their +teeth, not meanin’ any disrespect to you or any of ’em, +John.”</p> +<p>“Oh, sure not. I understand what you mean.”</p> +<p>“I mean you’re too trustful, too easy to take folks at +their word. You’re kids in your head-works, and you +always will be. I advise you strong, John, to have +somebody read your hand.”</p> +<p>“Even before marrying Mary?”</p> +<p>“We-el-l, you <i>might</i> be safe in marryin’ Mary. If +I’d ’a’ had my hand read last spring before I come up +here to this range I bet I’d ’a’ missed the trap I stumbled +into. I’d ’a’ been warned to look out for a dark +woman, like I was warned once before, and I bet you a +dime I’d ’a’ <i>looked</i> out, too! Oh, well, it’s too late now. +I guess I was fated.”</p> +<p>“Everybody’s fated; we’re all branded.”</p> +<p>“I’ve heard it said, and I’m beginnin’ to believe it. +Well, I don’t know as I’d ’a’ been any better off if I’d +’a’ got that widow-lady. Rabbit ain’t so bad. She can +take care of me when I git old, and maybe she’ll treat +me better’n a stranger would.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you have any doubt about it in the world. It +was a lucky day for you when Rabbit found you and +saved you from the Four Corners widow.”</p> +<p>“Yes, I expect that woman she’d ’a’ worked me purty +hard––she had a drivin’ eye. But a feller’s got one +consolation in a case where his woman ribs him a little +too hard; the road’s always open for him to leave, and +a woman’s nearly always as glad to see a man go as he +is to git away.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span></div> +<p>“There’s no reason why it shouldn’t work both ways. +But fashions are changing, Dad; they go to the divorce +courts now.”</p> +<p>“That costs too much, and it’s too slow. Walk out +and leave the door standin’ open after you; that’s always +been my way. They keep a lookin’ for you to +come back for a month or two; then they marry some +other man. Well, all of ’em but Rabbit, I reckon.”</p> +<p>“She was the one that remembered.”</p> +<p>“That woman sure is some on the remember, John. +Well, I ought ’a’ had my hand read. A man’s a fool +to start anything without havin’ it done.”</p> +<p>Dad nursed his regret in silence, his face dim in the +starlight. Mackenzie was off with his own thoughts; +they might have been miles apart instead of two yards, +the quiet of the sheeplands around them. Then Dad:</p> +<p>“So you’re thinkin’ of Mary, are you, John?”</p> +<p>Mackenzie laughed a little, like an embarrassed lover.</p> +<p>“Well, I’ve got my eye on her,” he said.</p> +<p>“No gamble about Mary,” Dad said, in deep earnestness. +“Give her a couple of years to fill out and widen +in and you’ll have a girl that’ll do any man’s eyes good +to see. I thought for a while you had some notions +about Joan, and I’m glad to see you’ve changed your +mind. Joan’s too sharp for a trustin’ feller like you. +She’d run off with some wool-buyer before you’d been +married a year.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXV_ONE_MANS_JOKE' id='CHAPTER_XXV_ONE_MANS_JOKE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXV</h2> +<h3>ONE MAN’S JOKE</h3> +</div> +<p>Mackenzie went across the hills next morning +to relieve Reid of his watch over the sheep, feeling +almost as simple as Dad and the rest of them believed +him to be. He was too easy, he had been too +easy all along. If he had beaten Hector Hall into a +blue lump that day he sent him home without his guns; +if he had pulled his weapon at Swan Carlson’s first appearance +when the giant Swede drove his flock around +the hill that day, and put a bullet between his eyes, Tim +Sullivan and the rest of them would have held him in +higher esteem.</p> +<p>Reid would have held him in greater respect for it, +also, and it might not have turned out so badly for +Joan. He wondered how Reid would receive him, and +whether they would part in no greater unfriendliness +than at present.</p> +<p>Reid was not with the sheep when Mackenzie arrived +where they fed. The flock was widely scattered, as if +the shepherd had been gone a long time, the dogs seemingly +indifferent to what befell, showing a spirit of insubordination +and laziness when Mackenzie set them +about their work. Mackenzie spent the morning getting +the flock together, noting its diminished numbers +with quickly calculating eye.</p> +<p>Reid must have been leaving the sheep pretty much +to themselves for the wolves to take that heavy toll. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +Strange that Sullivan had not noticed it and put a +trustworthy herder in charge. But Sullivan was more +than a little afraid to show himself for long on that part +of his lease, and perhaps had not taken the time to run +his eye over the sheep. It was a matter to be laid before +his attention at once. Mackenzie did not want +this loss charged against him as another example of his +unfitness to become a master over sheep on the profit-sharing +plan.</p> +<p>It was past noon when Reid returned, coming riding +from Swan Carlson’s range. He came only near enough +to Mackenzie to see who it was, galloping on to the +wagon. There he unsaddled his horse and turned it to +graze, setting about immediately to get his dinner. +Mackenzie waited for a summons when the meal was +ready, but received none. Presently he saw that Reid +had no intention of calling him in, for he was sitting +down selfishly alone.</p> +<p>Mackenzie determined there was not going to be any +avoidance on his part. If unpleasantness must rise +between them Reid would be the one to set it stewing, +and it looked from a distance as if this were his intention. +Mackenzie went to camp, his coat on his arm.</p> +<p>Reid had finished his dinner when Mackenzie arrived. +He was sitting in the shade of some low bushes, his hat +on the ground, smoking a cigarette. He looked up at +the sound of Mackenzie’s approach, smiling a little, waving +his cigarette in greeting.</p> +<p>“Hello, Jacob,” he said.</p> +<p>Mackenzie felt the hot blood rush to his face, but +choked down whatever hot words rose with it. But he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +could not suppress the indignation, the surprise, that +came with the derisive hail. It seemed that the range, +vast, silent, selfish, melancholy as it was, could not keep +a secret. What did Reid know about any Jacob and +Rachel romance? How had he learned of that?</p> +<p>“How’re you makin’ it, Earl?” Mackenzie returned, +pleasantly enough. And to himself: “He listened, the +scoundrel––sneaked up on us and heard it all!”</p> +<p>“Oh, well enough,” said Reid, coughing huskily.</p> +<p>If well enough, a little more of it would do for him, +Mackenzie thought, noting with surprise the change +that had come over Reid since they last met. The improvement +that had begun in him during his first weeks +on the range had not continued. Opposed to it, a decline +appeared to have fastened upon him, making his +flaccid cheeks thinner, his weary eyes more tired, his +slight frame lighter by many pounds. Only his voice +was unchanged. That was hearty and quick, resonant +of enjoyment in life and a keenness in the pursuits of its +pleasures. Reid’s voice was his most valuable possession, +Mackenzie knew; it was the vehicle that had carried +him into the graces of many transitory friends.</p> +<p>“I thought Tim had sent some old taller-heel over to +let me off––I didn’t know it was you,” said Reid, lying +with perfect ease.</p> +<p>“Taller-heel enough, I guess,” Mackenzie returned, +detached and inattentive as it seemed, his mind fixed on +dinner.</p> +<p>“I didn’t think you’d be able to get out so soon from +what Dad told me. Been havin’ some trouble with your +hand?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span></div> +<p>“It’s all right now.” Mackenzie was making use of +it to shake the coffeepot, only to find that Reid had +drained it to the grounds.</p> +<p>“If I’d recognized you, Jacob, I’d made a double allowance,” +Reid said, lifting the corner of his big, unfeeling +mouth in a twitching grin.</p> +<p>“You might cut out that Jacob stuff, wherever you +got it,” Mackenzie told him, not much interested in it, +apparently.</p> +<p>“Can’t you take a joke, Mackenzie?” Reid made the +inquiry in surprised voice, with a well-simulated inflection +of injury.</p> +<p>“But I don’t want it rubbed in, Reid.”</p> +<p>Reid grunted, expressive of derision and contempt, +smoking on in silence while Mackenzie threw himself together +a hasty meal. Frequently Reid coughed, always +cupping his hand before his mouth as if to conceal from +himself as well as others the portentous harshness of the +sound.</p> +<p>“Did Sullivan send you over?” Reid inquired at last.</p> +<p>“He said for me to come when I was able, but he +didn’t set any time. I concluded I was all right, and +came.”</p> +<p>“Well, you can go back; I don’t need you.”</p> +<p>“That’s for Sullivan to say.”</p> +<p>“On the dead, Mackenzie, I don’t see how it’s going +to be comfortable with me and you in camp together.”</p> +<p>“The road’s open, Earl.”</p> +<p>“I wish it was open out of this damned country!” +Reid complained. In his voice Mackenzie read the rankling +discontent of his soul, wearing itself out there in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span> +the freedom that to him was not free, chafing and +longing and fretting his heart away as though the distant +hills were the walls of a prison, the far horizon its +bars.</p> +<p>“Sullivan wants you over at the ranch,” Mackenzie +told him, moved to pitying kindness for him, although +he knew that it was wasted and undeserved.</p> +<p>“I’d rather stay over here, I’d rather hear the coyotes +howl than that pack of Sullivan kids. That’s one-hell +of a family for a man to have to marry into, Mackenzie.”</p> +<p>“I’ve seen men marry into worse,” Mackenzie said.</p> +<p>Reid got up in morose impatience, flinging away his +cigarette, went to the wagon, looked in, slammed the +little canvas door with its mica window shut with a bang, +and turned back.</p> +<p>There seemed little of the carelessness, the easy spirit +that had made him so adaptable at first to his surroundings, +which Reid had brought with him into the +sheeplands left in him now. He was sullen and downcast, +consumed by the gnawing desire to be away out of +his prison. Mackenzie studied him furtively as he compounded +his coffee and set it to boil on the little fire, +thinking that it required more fortitude, indeed, to live +out a sentence such as Reid faced in the open than +behind a lock. Here, the call to be away was always +before a man; the leagues of freedom stretched out +before his eyes. It required some holding in on a man’s +part to restrain his feet from taking the untrammeled +way to liberty under such conditions, more than he +would have believed Reid capable of, more than he expected +him to be equal to much longer.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span></div> +<p>Reid came slowly over to where he had left his hat, +took it up, and stood looking at it as if he had found +some strange plant or unusual flower, turning it and +regarding it from all sides. It was such strange behavior +that Mackenzie kept his eye on him, believing +that the solitude and discontent had strained his mind.</p> +<p>Presently Reid put the hat on his head, came over to +Mackenzie’s fire, and squatted near it on his heels, +although the sun was broiling hot and the flare of the +ardent little blaze was scorching to his face. So he +sat, silent as an Indian, looking with fixed eyes at the +fire, while Mackenzie fried his bacon and warmed a can +of succotash in the pan. When Mackenzie began to +eat, Reid drew back from the fire to make another +cigarette.</p> +<p>“But will it pay a man,” he said ruminatively, as if +turning again a subject long discussed with himself, +“to put in three years at this just to get out of work all +the rest of his life? That’s all it comes to, even if I +can keep the old man’s money from sifting through my +hands like dry sand on a windy day. The question is, +will it pay a man to take the chance?”</p> +<p>Reid did not turn his eyes toward Mackenzie as he +argued thus with himself, nor bring his face about to +give his companion a full look into it. He sat staring +across the mighty temptation that lay spread, league +on league before him, his sharp countenance sharper +for the wasting it had borne since Mackenzie saw him +last, his chin up, his neck stretched as if he leaped the +barriers of his discontent and rode away.</p> +<p>“It’s a long shot, Mackenzie,” he said, turning as he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +spoke, his face set in a cast of suffering that brought +again to Mackenzie a sweep of pity which he knew to +be a tribute undeserved. “I made a joke about selling +out to you once, Mackenzie; but it isn’t a thing a man +can joke about right along.”</p> +<p>“I’m glad it was only a joke, Earl.”</p> +<p>“Sure it was a joke.”</p> +<p>Reid spoke with much of his old lightness, coming out +of his brooding like a man stepping into the sun. He +laughed, pulling his hat down on the bridge of his nose +in the peculiar way he had of wearing it. A little while +he sat; then stretched himself back at ease on his elbow, +drooling smoke through his nose in saturnine enjoyment.</p> +<p>“Sullivan will double-cross you in the end, Jack; he’ll +not even give you Mary,” Reid said, speaking lazily, +neither derision nor banter in his way.</p> +<p>“Maybe,” Mackenzie returned indifferently.</p> +<p>“He’d double-cross me after I’d put in three years +runnin’ his damned sheep if it wasn’t for the old man’s +money. Tim Sullivan would pick dimes off a red-hot +griddle in hell as long as the devil would stand by and +heat them. He’s usin’ his girls for bait to draw greenhorns +and work their fool heads off on promises. A +man that would do that would sell his wife.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie made no comment. He was through his +dinner and was filling his pipe, mixing some of Dad +Frazer’s highly recommended twist with his own mild +leaf to give it a kick.</p> +<p>“He played you into the game with Joan for a bait, +and then I got shipped out here and spoiled that,” said +Reid. “Now he’s stringin’ you on for Mary. If you’re +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +as wise a guy as I take you to be, Jack, you’ll cut this +dump and strike out in business for yourself. There’s +a feller over east of Carlson wants to sell out––you can +get him on the run.”</p> +<p>“I couldn’t buy one side of a sheep,” Mackenzie replied, +wondering why this sudden streak of friendly +chatter.</p> +<p>Mackenzie ground Dad’s twist in his palm, poured a +charge of his pale mixture into it, ground them again +together under the heel of his fist, Reid looking on with +languid eyes, hat down on his nose.</p> +<p>“What did you do with that roll you used to carry +around out here?” Reid inquired, watching the compounding +of the tobacco.</p> +<p>“It was a mighty little one, Earl,” Mackenzie returned, +laughing pleasantly.</p> +<p><i>“It’s big enough for me––hand it over!”</i></p> +<p>Reid flipped his gun from the scabbard, his elbow +pressed close to his side as he reclined in the lazy, inoffensive +pose, holding the weapon down on Mackenzie +with a jerk which he must have practiced long to give +it the admirable finish and speed.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVI_PAYMENT_ON_ACCOUNT' id='CHAPTER_XXVI_PAYMENT_ON_ACCOUNT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> +<h3>PAYMENT ON ACCOUNT</h3> +</div> +<p>Mackenzie raised his eyes slowly from his task +of blending tobacco, looked for a moment into +Reid’s determined face, remembering with a falling heart +that he had taken his own revolver off and hung it in +the wagon when he came in, to relieve himself of the +weight.</p> +<p>“Hurry––hand it out!”</p> +<p>Reid lifted himself slightly, elbow still pressed close +to his side, raising his face a foot nearer Mackenzie’s, +his eyes drawn small, the corners of his mouth twitching.</p> +<p>Mackenzie’s hands were poised one above the other, +as he had suspended his milling operations. As quickly +as the hand of a prestidigitator flashes, Mackenzie swept +the one that held the tobacco, dashing the powdered +mixture into Reid’s eyes.</p> +<p>Reid fired as he sprang to his feet, gasping and choking, +momentarily blinded by the fiery tobacco. Mackenzie +felt the bullet lift his hair as it passed his temple, +and before it was many rods on its way through the +canvas top of the wagon he had grappled with Reid and +wrenched his gun away.</p> +<p>Reid had no hands for a fight, even if it had been in +him to attempt it, being busy with his streaming eyes. +He cursed Mackenzie as he sputtered and swabbed.</p> +<p>“Damn it all, Mackenzie, can’t you take a joke?” +he said.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span></div> +<p>“No, I don’t get you––you’re too funny for me,” +Mackenzie returned. “Here––wash your eyes.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie offered the water pail, Reid groping for +it like a blind man, more tears streaming down his face +than he had spent before in all his life together. He +got the rough of it out, cursing the while, protesting +it was only a joke. But Mackenzie had read human +eyes and human faces long enough to know a joke when +he saw it in them, and he had not seen even the shadow +of a jest in the twitching mask of Reid’s unfeeling countenance +as he leaned on his elbow holding his gun.</p> +<p>“You were right about it a little while ago,” Mackenzie +told Reid when he looked up with red, reproachful +eyes presently; “this range isn’t big enough for you +and me.” Mackenzie jerked his hand toward the saddle +and bridle which Reid had lately taken from his horse. +“Get to hell out of here!”</p> +<p>Reid went without protest, or word of any kind, +wearing his belt and empty scabbard. Mackenzie +watched him saddle and ride over the ridge, wondering +if he would make a streak of it to Sullivan and tell him +what a poor hand his school-teaching herder was at +taking a joke. Curious to see whether this was Reid’s +intention, Mackenzie followed him to the top of the hill. +Reid’s dust was all he could trace him by when he got +there, and that rose over toward Swan Carlson’s ranch, +whence he had come not more than an hour ago.</p> +<p>Pretty thick business between that precious pair, +Mackenzie thought, and of a sort not likely to turn out +of much profit to either them or anybody else. Carlson +was a plain human brute without any sense of honor, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +or any obligation to the amenities of civilized society; +Reid was simply an unmoral sharper.</p> +<p>It didn’t make any difference where Reid went, or +what he planned; he would have to stay away from that +camp. That Mackenzie vowed, meaning it to the last +letter. Tim Sullivan would be informed of this latest +pleasantry at their first meeting, also, and hear a chapter +from Mackenzie’s heart on the matter of Joan.</p> +<p>Joan! If that leper Reid ever came near Joan, or +ever blew the pollution of a word to her, he would nail +him to the ground with a bullet, no matter that he was +in debt to him for his life.</p> +<p>Mackenzie found the rifle that Sullivan had provided +Reid for his defense under the bunk in the wagon, with +ammunition enough to withstand a siege. Reid evidently +had not been using the gun in practice very much, +confining his rehearsals to the quick slinging of his +pistol, rather, as the cunning of his hand in the attempted +robbery that afternoon seemed to prove. Not +wanting Reid to have any weapon to his hand in case +he came back, Mackenzie buckled on the revolvers, hid +the rifle near the wagon, and went back to guard the +sheep.</p> +<p>Mackenzie felt himself softening in his judgment of +Reid as the day drew toward evening. He feared he had +been a little severe with him, taking his gun away and +sending him off, surly and vindictive. Perhaps it was +only a joke, as Reid had protested, although there had +been no glimmer of jest in his eyes when he had slung +out his gun.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span></div> +<p>Still, the boy was hardly responsible, oppressed by his +load of dissatisfaction, harrassed and disturbed by that +unbalancing ailment they called the lonesomeness. If +he had come at it right, Mackenzie reflected, he could +have had a hundred dollars or so, even though in staking +him to it he would have been helping a criminal to +escape.</p> +<p>He began to hope Reid would come back and try to +square it. If he wanted the money to leave the country +on then he could have it. Holding him there in the +sheep country would not work his reformation, but +would breed and store the virus of resentment, making +him a truly dangerous man to set free to prey upon +society when his term was done.</p> +<p>But Reid never would remain to finish his three years +of penance there. Joan had seen it, even before his +malady had fastened upon him so deeply. It might be +a merciful deed to finance his going, and speed him +toward the land of his desire. But how he would live +in Mexico would be another matter. Perhaps he would +work. At any event, he would be free.</p> +<p>Mackenzie had ranged his flock a considerable distance +from the wagon, keeping to the hilltops above +the sheep, according to the custom of herders. He was +sitting in a gully, his back against the bank, feeling a +weariness over him that he blamed mainly to the weight +of the revolvers and cartridge belt in his weakened state, +when he saw Reid coming back.</p> +<p>Reid broke over the hill beyond the sheep-wagon at +a gallop, hatless, riding low, and the sound of shots +behind him beat the tune to which he traveled. Mackenzie +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +got to his feet, his weariness gone on the surge of +concern that thrilled him. Hector Hall had come to +collect his outstanding account at last.</p> +<p>And Reid was unarmed. Because of this he had been +forced to flee before his enemy like a coward, against his +nature, to his humiliation, Mackenzie knew. He should +not have allowed Reid to leave camp without his gun, +he would not have done it if he had reflected a moment +on the risk of going unarmed when there was one abroad +on the range who sought his life. If Reid should fall, +Mackenzie felt he would be an accessory to the crime.</p> +<p>Two men were pursuing Reid. They drew up a +moment on the hilltop, then came down the long slope +at reckless speed, not wasting any more ammunition at +that distance, which was not above two hundred yards, +but dividing to cut off Reid’s retreat, draw in on him +then, and make an end of it at close range.</p> +<p>Reid halted at the wagon, where he made a hasty +search for the rifle without dismounting, hidden for a +moment from his pursuers. He was too far away to +hear Mackenzie’s shouted directions for finding the gun. +On again toward Mackenzie he came, halting a little +way along to look back at the men who were maneuvering +to cut off any swerving or retreat that he might +attempt. Mackenzie beckoned him on, shouting, waving +his hat, running forward to his relief.</p> +<p>Mackenzie’s thought was to give Reid his revolver, +split the ammunition with him, each of them take a +man, and fight it out. But Reid sat straight in the +saddle, looking back at the two who came pressing on, +seeming to fear them less than he hated the humiliation +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +of seeking shelter under Mackenzie’s protection. Mackenzie +understood his feeling in the matter, and respected +Reid for it more than for anything he ever had +done.</p> +<p>While Mackenzie was yet a hundred yards from Reid +he saw him swing from the saddle and shelter himself +behind his horse. Hall and his companion were standing +off warily, a good pistol shot from Reid, distrustful +of this sudden change in his tactics, apparently believing +he had come to the place he had selected to make +his defensive stand. A little while they stood waiting +for him to fire, then separated, the stranger circling to +come behind Mackenzie, Hall moving a little nearer to +Reid, who kept his horse before him with the craft of +an Indian.</p> +<p>Hall stood a little while, as if waiting for Reid to +fire, then rode forward, throwing a stream of lead as he +came. Reid’s horse reared, ran a few rods with head +thrown wildly high, its master clinging to the bit, dragging +over shrub and stone. Suddenly it collapsed forward +on its knees, and stretched dead.</p> +<p>Reid flung himself to the ground behind the protection +of its carcass, Hall pausing in his assault to reload. +The man who had ridden a wide and cautious circuit to +get behind Mackenzie now dismounted and began firing +across his saddle. Mackenzie turned, a pistol in each +hand, indecisive a moment whether to return the fellow’s +fire or rush forward and join Reid behind the +breastworks of his beast.</p> +<p>The stranger was nearer Mackenzie by many rods +than Hall, but still so far away that his shots went wide, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +whistling high over Mackenzie’s head, or kicking dirt +among the shrubs at either hand. Hall was charging +down on Reid again, but with a wariness that held him +off a distance of comparative safety.</p> +<p>In the moment that he paused there, considering the +best and quickest move to make to lessen Reid’s peril, +the thought shot to Mackenzie like a rending of confusing +clouds that it was not so much Reid’s peril as +his own. These men had come to kill him; their sighting +Reid on the way was only an incident. It was his fight, +and not Reid’s, for Reid was safe behind his horse, lying +along its body close to the ground like a snake.</p> +<p>This understanding of the situation cleared the air +tremendously. Where he had seen in confusion, with a +sense of mingling and turning but a moment before, +Mackenzie now beheld things with the sharpness of +self-interest, calculating his situation with a comprehensive +appraisement of every yard that lay between +him and his enemies. He was steady as a tree, light with +a feeling of relief, of justification for his acts. It was +as if putting off the thought that he was going into +this fight for Earl Reid had taken bonds from his arms, +leaving him free to breathe joyously and strike with the +keenness of a man who has a wild glory in facing tremendous +odds.</p> +<p>All in a moment this clearing of brain and limb came +to him, setting him up as if he had passed under an icy +torrent and come out refreshed and clear-eyed into the +sun. He bent low behind a shrub and rushed down the +hillside toward the man who stood reloading his pistol, +his hat-crown showing above the saddle.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span></div> +<p>Reid was all right back there for a little while, he +knew; Hall would hold off a bit, not knowing what he +might meet by rushing in with precipitation. This one +first, then Hall. It was not Reid’s fight; it was his fight, +Reid but an incident in it, as a sheep might run between +the combatants and throw its simple life in peril.</p> +<p>The fellow behind the horse, too sure of his safety, +too contemptuous of this shepherd schoolmaster whose +notorious simplicity had gone abroad in the sheeplands +exciting the rough risibilities of men, was careless of +whether his target stood still or ran; he did not lift his +eyes from the reloading of his gun to see. And in those +few precious moments Mackenzie rushed down on him +like a wind from the mountain, opening fire with not +more than twenty yards between.</p> +<p>Mackenzie’s first shot knocked leather from the saddle-horn. +The horse squatted, trembling, snorted its +alarm, trampled in panic, lifting a cloud of dust. And +into this rising dust Mackenzie sent his lead, not seeing +where it struck, quickly emptying one revolver, quickly +shifting weapons from hand to hand, no pause in his +hot assault.</p> +<p> The stranger cursed his frightened horse, both hands +busy with the beast to stay it from plunging away and +leaving him exposed to something he had not counted +on meeting. Mackenzie pushed on, firing at every step. +The horse partly turned, head toward him, partly baring +the scoundrel who was that moment flinging his leg over +the saddle to seek a coward’s safety. It was a black +mare that he rode, a white star in its forehead, and now +as it faced about Mackenzie, not thirty feet away, threw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +a bullet for the white spot between the creature’s eyes. +It reared, and fell, coming down while its rider’s leg +still lay across the saddle, his other foot held in the +stirrup.</p> +<p>A moment Mackenzie stood, the smoking pistol in +his hand, leaning forward like a man who listened into +the wind, his broad hat-brim blown back, the smoke of +his firing around him. The horse lay still, its rider +struggling with one leg pinned under it, the other across +the saddle, the spur of that foot tearing the dead creature’s +flesh in desperate effort to stir in it the life that +no cruelty could awaken.</p> +<p>Leaning so, the wind in his face, the smoke blowing +away behind him, Mackenzie loaded his revolvers. Then +he ran to the trapped invader of his peace and took +away his guns, leaving him imploring mercy and assistance, +the dead horse across his leg.</p> +<p>Mackenzie was aware of shooting behind him all this +time, but only as one is conscious of something detached +and immaterial to the thing he has in hand. Whether +Hector Hall was riding down on him in defense of his +friend, or whether he was trying to drive Reid from the +shelter of his fallen horse, Mackenzie did not know, but +from that moment Hall was his business, no matter +where he stood.</p> +<p>Putting out of the fight the man who lay pressed +beneath his horse had been a necessary preliminary, a +colorless detail, a smoothing away of a small annoyance +in the road of that hour’s great work. For the end was +justified beforehand between him and Hall. It was not +a matter of vengeance, but of justice. This man had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +once attempted to take away his life by the most diabolical +cruelty that human depravity could devise.</p> +<p>This passed through Mackenzie’s thoughts like the +heat of a fire that one runs by as he swung round to +face Hall. Apparently unconcerned by what had befallen +his friend, Hall was circling Reid’s dead horse, holding +tenaciously to his intention of clearing the ground +before him as he advanced. Reid snaked himself on his +elbows ahead of his enemy’s encircling movement, keeping +under cover with admirable coolness and craft.</p> +<p>Mackenzie ran forward, throwing up his hand in +command to Hall, challenging him as plainly as words +to turn his efforts from a defenseless man to one who +stood ready to give him battle. Hall drew off a little +from Reid’s concealment, distrustful of him even though +he must have known him to be unarmed, not caring to +put a man behind his back. Still drawing off in that +way, he stopped firing to slip more cartridges into his +automatic pistol, watching Mackenzie’s rapid advance, +throwing a quick eye now and then toward the place +where Reid lay out of his sight.</p> +<p>Hall waited in that sharp pose of watchful indecision +a moment, then spurred his horse with sudden bound +toward Reid. He leaped the carcass of Reid’s animal +at a gallop, firing at the man who huddled close against +its protection as he passed over. Mackenzie could not +see Reid from where he stood, but he felt that his peril +was very great, his chances almost hopeless in the face +of Hall’s determination to have revenge on his brother’s +slayer in defiance of what might come to himself when +the thing was done.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span></div> +<p>Mackenzie ran a little nearer, and opened fire. Heedless +of him, Hall swung his horse back at a gallop, firing +at Reid as he advanced. Reid came rolling round the +carcass of his horse to place himself in the protection of +the other side, so nimble in his movements that Mackenzie +drew a breath of marveling relief. If Reid was +touched at all by Hall’s vicious rain of lead, it could be +only slightly.</p> +<p>Hall’s headlong charge carried him several rods beyond +Reid, the horse springing high over the barrier. +Again Reid escaped, again he came rolling back to shelter, +his body as close to the ground as a worm’s. When +Hall pulled up his sliding, stiff-legged horse and turned +in the cloud of dust to ride once more upon his defenseless +enemy, it was to face Mackenzie, who had run up +and posted himself directly in his way.</p> +<p>Reid’s dead horse lay not more than twenty feet +behind Mackenzie. Hector Hall leaned glowering at him +through the dust perhaps twice that distance ahead. +A moment Hall leaned in that way, then came spurring +on, holding his fire as if his purpose were to ride Mackenzie +down in contempt.</p> +<p>Mackenzie fired, steady against the onrushing charge +as a rock in the desert wind. He was thrilled by a calm +satisfaction in meeting this man who had contemned +and despised him, whose cold eyes spoke insults, whose +sneering lips were polluted with the blasphemies of his +filthy heart.</p> +<p>When Hall returned the fire he was so close that the +flame of his weapon struck hot against Mackenzie’s +face. Mackenzie leaped aside to avoid the horse, untouched +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +save by the spurting flame, emptying his pistol +into Hall’s body as he passed. A little way on Hall +wheeled the horse and came riding back, but the blindness +of death was in his face, his rapid shots fell wild +among the shrubs at Mackenzie’s side.</p> +<p>On past Mackenzie the horse galloped, Hall weaving +in the saddle, the reins hanging free, his hands trailing +at his sides. Mackenzie put his pistol in the scabbard +with slow and deliberate hand, feeling that the battle +was done, watching Hall as he rode blindly on.</p> +<p>A little way, and the horse, whether through some +wild caprice of its own, or some touch of its dying rider, +circled back, galloping down the long slope toward the +man who had come to help Hall adjust his differences +with these contemptible sheepmen. Hall’s hat fell off +as his head sank forward; he bent, grappling his horse’s +mane. So for a little way he rode, then slipped from +the saddle, one foot entangled in the stirrup.</p> +<p>The horse stopped suddenly, as if a weighted rein +had been dropped. Mackenzie ran down the hill to +disengage Hall’s foot. But his merciful haste was useless; +Hall was beyond the torture of dragging at a +stirrup.</p> +<p>Mackenzie released the foot with a sad gentleness, +composed the dusty body, drew the reins over the horse’s +head and left it standing beside its dead master. Hall’s +companion in the raid was still struggling under his +fallen horse, and from the vigor of his attempts to free +himself Mackenzie gathered that he was not much hurt.</p> +<p>A moment’s work set the scoundrel on his feet, where +he limped on a whole bone, whole enough to ride on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span> +many a rascally foray again. Mackenzie said nothing +to him, only indicated by a movement of the hand what +he was to do. Limping painfully, the fellow went to +Hall’s horse, lifted his friend’s body across the empty +saddle, mounted behind it with a struggle, and rode in +humiliation from the field, glad enough to be allowed +to go.</p> +<p>Reid was standing beside his dead horse, watching +the fellow ride away. So for a little he stood, as if he +debated some movement against the man who had sought +his life with such hot cruelty but a few minutes past, +not turning to see whether Mackenzie came or went. +Presently he took his coat from the saddle, slung it +over his shoulder, looked after the retreating man again, +as if debating whether to follow.</p> +<p>Mackenzie came up, Reid’s pistol in his hand. This +he offered, apology in his manner, but no words on his +lips. Reid took it, silent and unmoved, shoved it into +his scabbard, walked away.</p> +<p>From the manner of his going, Mackenzie knew he +was not hurt. It was a comfortable thought for Mackenzie +that his interference had at least saved Reid a +wound. Doubtless he had saved him more. In that +last charge, Hector Hall would have had his life.</p> +<p>A part of his tremendous obligation to Reid was paid, +and Reid understood it so. But the knowledge of it +seemed to gall him, so deeply, indeed, that it appeared +he rather would have died than have Mackenzie succeed +in his defense.</p> +<p>Reid stopped where Hector Hall’s hat had fallen. He +turned it with his foot, looking down at it, and presently +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +picked it up. He made as if he would put it on, but +did not, and passed on carrying it in his hand.</p> +<p>Mackenzie wondered what his plans might be, and +whether he ought to go after him and try to put their +differences out of the way. Reid did not stop at the +wagon. He continued on to the top of the hill, defiant +of the man who rode away with Hall’s body, his pistol +again on his thigh. There he stood looking this way +and that a little while, as a man looks who is undecided +of his road. Then he passed on. When Mackenzie +reached the spot where Reid had stood, he was no longer +in sight.</p> +<p>Mackenzie thought Reid might be going deliberately +to seek the battle from which he had been obliged so +lately to flee unarmed. Mackenzie waited on the eminence, +listening for the sounds of fight, ready to hasten +to Reid’s assistance if he should stand in need of it +again. So the last hour of the afternoon passed. Mackenzie +turned back to his flock at length, believing Reid +had gone on his way to the freedom he had weighed +against his inheritance only a few hours before.</p> +<p>It was just as well then as another day, Mackenzie +reflected, as he turned the sheep from their grazing. +Not that he had meant to drive Reid out of the country +when he told him to go, but it was just as well. Soon +or late it would have to come to a show-down between +them, and one would have been compelled to leave.</p> +<p>But how would Sullivan view this abrupt ending of +the half-million-dollar penance, and the loss of three +years’ unpaid labor? Not kindly, certainly. It probably +would result in the collapse of all Mackenzie’s own +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +calculations as well, and the blighting of his sheep-wealth +dreams.</p> +<p>And that day he had slain a man in defense of Earl +Reid’s life, as Reid had killed in defense of his.</p> +<p>From the first hour he set his feet on the trail to the +sheep country this culmination of his adventures had +been shaping. Little by little it had been building, the +aggression pressed upon him, his attitude all along one +of defense. Perhaps when trouble is heading for a man, +as this was inevitably directed, the best thing to do is +rush to meet it with a club in the hand.</p> +<p>That was the way it looked to John Mackenzie that +evening. Trouble will put things over on a man who +is bent to compromise, every time. Undoubtedly it +looked that way. But he had killed a man. It was a +heavy thing to carry on his soul.</p> +<p>This depressing shadow thickened over him as the +sun drew down to the hills, and he went working his +flock slowly to the night’s bedding-ground. The complaint +of the lambs, weary from following and frisking +the day through, was sadder to him than it ever had +fallen on his ears before. It seemed a lament for the +pollution of his hands in human blood, moving a regret +in his heart that was harder to bear than fear.</p> +<p>Mackenzie sat above the resting sheep as the shadows +drew toward him between the hills, a glow as of a distant +city where the sun went down an hour past. The +rifle was beside him, his pistol in his belt, for regret of +past violence would not make the next hour secure. If +trouble should lift its head in his path again, he vowed +he would kill it before it could dart and strike.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span></div> +<p>No, it was not a joke that Reid had pulled on him +that afternoon. Reid had meant to rob him, urged on +to the deed by his preying discontent and racking desire +to be away. Reid was on his way out of the country +now, and if they caught him and took him before the +judge who had sentenced him to this unique penance, he +would have the plea that Mackenzie drove him out, and +that he fled to save his life.</p> +<p>That might be sufficient for the judge; certainly it +would be enough for Tim Sullivan. Sullivan would bring +him back, and Mackenzie would be sent to pick up the +trail of his fortunes in another place, with years of +waiting between him and Joan, perhaps.</p> +<p>So Mackenzie sat with his moody thoughts, depressed, +downhearted, regretting bitterly the necessity that had +risen for taking away a fellow-creature’s life. It bore +on him heavily now that the heat of his blood had subsided; +it stood before him an awful accusation. He +had killed a man! But a man who had forfeited his +right to live, a man who had attempted to take his life +in the past, who had come again that day to hunt him +like a coyote on the hills. The law would exculpate him; +men would speak loudly of his justification. But it +would stand against him in his own conscience all his +days. Simple for thinking of it that way, he knew; +simple as they held him to be in the sheep country, even +down to old Dad Frazer, simplest among men.</p> +<p>He had no desire in his mouth for supper, although +he set about preparing it, wanting it over before dark. +No need of a blaze or a glow of a coal to guide anybody +that might be prowling around to drop a bullet into +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +him. That surly rascal who bore Hector Hall’s body +away might come back to do it, but the man who stood +first in his thoughts and caution was Earl Reid, out +there somewhere in the closing night with a gun on him +and an itch in his hand to use it.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVII_A_SUMMONS_IN_THE_NIGHT' id='CHAPTER_XXVII_A_SUMMONS_IN_THE_NIGHT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> +<h3>A SUMMONS IN THE NIGHT</h3> +</div> +<p>Somebody was calling on the hill behind the sheep-wagon. +Mackenzie sat up, a chill in his bones, for he +had fallen asleep on watch beside the ashes of his supper +fire. He listened, the rack of sleep clearing from his +brain in a breath.</p> +<p>It was Dad Frazer, and the hour was past the turn of +night. Mackenzie answered, the sound of a horse under +way immediately following. Dad came riding down the +hill with loose shale running ahead of him, in such a +hurry that he took the sharp incline straight.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter?” Mackenzie inquired, hurrying +out to meet him.</p> +<p>“I don’t know,” said Dad, panting from excitement +as if he had run the distance between the camps on foot. +“Mary come over on her horse a little while ago and +rousted me out. She said somebody just passed her +camp, and one of ’em was Joan.”</p> +<p>“Joan? What would she––what does Mary–––?”</p> +<p>“That’s what I said,” Dad told him, sliding to the +ground. “I said Joan wouldn’t be trapsin’ around this +time of night with nobody, but if she did happen to be +she could take care of herself. But Mary said she +sounded like she was fussin’ and she thought something +must be wrong, and for me to hop her horse and come +hell-for-leather and tell you.”</p> +<p>“How many––which way were they going?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span></div> +<p>“Two horses, Mary said, from the sound, but she +didn’t hear nobody’s voice but Joan’s. She got Charley +up, and they run out and hollered, but she didn’t hear +nothing more of Joan. The poor kid’s scared out of +her ’leven senses.”</p> +<p>“Which way did they go––did Mary say?”</p> +<p>“Towards Swan Carlson’s ranch, she said.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie swung into the saddle and galloped off, +leaving Dad listening to the sound of his going.</p> +<p>“Nutty, like the rest of ’em,” said Dad.</p> +<p>Carlson’s house was not more than eight miles from +the range where Mackenzie was running his sheep. He +held his course in that direction as he rode break-neck +up hill and down. He had little belief that it could +have been Joan who passed Mary’s camp, yet he was +disturbed by an anxiety that made his throat dry, and +a fear that clung to him like garments wet in the rain.</p> +<p>Reid could not have anything to do with it in any +event, Joan or somebody else, for Reid was horseless +upon the range. But if Joan, he was at entire loss to +imagine upon what business she could be riding the +country that hour of the night. Joan had no fear of +either night or the range. She had cared for her sheep +through storm and dark, penetrating all the terrors +that night could present, and she knew the range too +well to be led astray. It must have been a voice that +Mary had heard in a dream.</p> +<p>Mackenzie felt easier for these reflections, but did not +check his pace, holding on toward Carlson’s house in as +straight a line as he could draw. He recalled curiously, +with a prickling of renewed anxiety, that he always +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +expected to be called to Carlson’s house for the last act +in the sheeplands tragedy. Why, he did not know. +Perhaps he had not expected it; maybe it was only a +psychological lightning-play of the moment, reflecting +an unformed emotion. That likely was the way of it, he +reasoned. Surely he never could have thought of being +called to Carlson’s ranch.</p> +<p>In that fever of contradiction he pushed on, knees +gripping his horse in the tensity of his desire to hasten, +thinking to hold the animal up from stumbling as an +anxious rider in the night will do. Now he believed it +could not have been Joan, and felt a momentary ease; +now he was convinced that Mary could not have mistaken +her sister’s voice, and the sweat of fear for her +burst on his forehead and streamed down into his eyes.</p> +<p>From the side that he approached Carlson’s house +his way lay through a valley at the end, bringing him up +a slight rise as he drew near the trees that stood thickly +about the place. Here he dismounted and went on, +leading his horse. A little way from the house he hitched +his animal among the trees, and went forward in caution, +wary of a dog that might be keeping watch beside the +door.</p> +<p>There was no moon. The soft glow of a few misty, +somnolent stars gave no light among the trees, no light +shone from the house. Mackenzie recalled the night he +had first approached that door and come suddenly +around the corner into the pale beam of Hertha Carlson’s +lantern. Now the kitchen door might be shut, and +there was no window on that side.</p> +<p>Mackenzie stopped to listen, his senses as keen as a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +savage’s under his strain. One who has not approached +danger and uncertainty, listening and straining in the +night, cannot conceive the exquisite pitch to which +human nerves can be attuned. The body then becomes +a tower set with the filaments of wireless telegraphy, +each of the thousand nerves straining forth to catch the +faintest sound, the most shadowy disturbance. Even +premonitions become verities; indistinct propositions +tangible facts.</p> +<p>In that exalted pitch of nervous sensibility Mackenzie +stood listening, fifty feet or less from the kitchen +door. No sound, but a sharp scent of cigarette smoke +came blowing from the dark house. Mackenzie’s heart +seemed to gorge and stop. Earl Reid was there. Perhaps +Mary had not heard a voice in a dream.</p> +<p>At the closed door Mackenzie listened. For a little, +no sound; then a foot shifted on the floor. Almost +immediately someone began walking up and down the +room, pushing a chair aside as if to clear the way. Mackenzie +remembered the window high in the wall beside +the stove and went hastily around the house to it, +restraining himself from bursting precipitately into +something which might be no concern of his or warrant +his interference at all. It seemed so preposterous even +to suspect that Joan was there.</p> +<p>Reid was pacing up and down the room, a lantern +standing on the floor beside the chair from which he +had risen. The place had been readjusted since the ruin +that fell over it in Mackenzie’s fight with Swan; the +table stood again in the place where he had eaten his +supper on it, the broken leg but crudely mended.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span></div> +<p>Reid seemed to be alone, from what of the interior +of the house Mackenzie could see, shifting to bring the +door of the inner room to view. It was closed; Joan +was not there.</p> +<p>Mackenzie watched Reid as he paced up and down +the kitchen floor. There was a nervousness over him, +as of a man who faced a great uncertainty. He walked +with bent head, now turning it sharply as he stood +listening, now going on again with hands twitching. +He threw down his cigarette and stamped it, went to +the kitchen door, opened it and stood listening.</p> +<p>A little while Reid stood at the door, head turned, +as if he harkened for the approach of somebody expected. +When he turned from the door he left it +open, rolled a cigarette, crossed to the door of the +inner room, where he stood as if he debated the question +of entering. A little while in that uncertain, hesitant +way; then he struck a match on the door and turned +again to his pacing and smoking.</p> +<p>Mackenzie almost decided to go to the open door and +speak to Reid, and learn whether he might be of assistance +to him in his evident stress. He was ready to forgive +much of what had passed between them, blaming it +to Reid’s chafing against the restraint that was whetting +him down to a bone.</p> +<p>Mackenzie felt now that he had not handled Reid in +the right way. Reid was not of the slow, calculative, +lead-balanced type of himself. He was a wolf of civilization, +to whom these wilds were more galling than the +bars of a prison. The judge who had agreed to this +sentence had read deeply in the opaque soul of the youth.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span></div> +<p>Prison would not have been much of a penance for +Reid. There he would have found intrigue, whispering, +plottings; a hundred shadowy diversions to keep his +perverted mind clear and sharp. Here he met only the +silence of nature, the sternest accuser of a guilty soul. +Reid could not bear the accusation of silence. Under +it his mind grew irritable with the inflammation of incipient +insanity. In a little while it would break. Even +now he was breaking; that was plain in his disordered +eyes.</p> +<p>Still Mackenzie hesitated to speak to him, watching +him as he went with increasing frequency to the open +door to listen. It was not his affair; Joan could not +be there. Even if she were there, she must have come +for a purpose good and justifiable, and of her own free +will. But she was not there, and Reid was waiting for +somebody to come. Swan Carlson or his wife, it must +be, and what business they had before them in this +unrighteous hour Mackenzie could not imagine. But +plainly it had nothing to do with Joan.</p> +<p>Mackenzie’s thoughts reverted to the night he came +to that cabin among the trees, guided thither by the +plaintive melody of Hertha Carlson’s song. What a +fool he had been to linger on there that night waiting +to see Swan, in the mistaken kindness to the woman the +wild fellow had made his slave. If he had gone on that +night, leaving the still waters of trouble unstirred, he +would have walked in peace through his apprenticeship. +Surely his crowding of trouble at Swan Carlson’s door +that night was the beginning of it all.</p> +<p>There was that door closed now on the inner room; +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span> +on that night it stood open, the long chain that bound +the Swede’s wife running through it from the staple +driven into the log. Mackenzie had not noticed the +thickness of the door’s planks that night, or the crudity +of its construction. The handiwork of Swan Carlson +was proclaimed from that door; it was rough and +strong, like himself, without finish, loosely joined. Its +planks were oak; great nails in them marked the Z of +its brace.</p> +<p>Then Mackenzie turned his eyes upon Reid again. +Reid went back to the inner door, pushed it, tried it +with his foot. It seemed to be fastened within. Perhaps +there was a reason for its strength; maybe Swan kept +his crude treasures locked there in that small stronghold +of logs while he roamed the range after his sheep. Reid +did not appear greatly interested in the door, or what +lay behind it. He turned from it almost at once, drew +his chair in front of it, sat down, his right hand toward +Mackenzie, the lantern light strong on the lower part +of his body, his face in shadow from the lantern’s top. +Mackenzie quickened with a new interest, a new speculation, +when he saw that Reid’s holster hung empty at +his belt.</p> +<p>At once Mackenzie decided to speak to Reid, certain +that he had been through some misadventure in which +he had suffered loss. He drew away from the window, +going around the front part of the house to come to +the kitchen door, thinking it might be wise to know +the way the land lay around those premises.</p> +<p>This part of the house was little larger than the shack +of boards that had been built to it. There was no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +opening in its solid log walls, neither of window or door +save alone the door opening into the kitchen. The place +was a vault.</p> +<p>Somebody was approaching, riding rapidly up the +valley. There was more than one horse, Mackenzie +could well make out as he stood at the corner of the +house, listening. He saw Reid’s shadow fall in the light +that spread through the open door, and turned back to +keep his watch at the window.</p> +<p>It was not the moment to offer friendship or sympathy +to Reid. Something of Reid’s own brewing was +coming to a boil there, some business of his own was +drawing to a head in that lonely cabin among the whispering +trees.</p> +<p>Reid took up the lantern, stood a moment as if indecisive, +placed it on the stove. Not satisfied with the +way the light of it struck him there, apparently, he +removed it and stood it in a corner. Whoever was +coming, Reid did not want it known at a glance that his +scabbard was empty. Mackenzie pressed a little nearer +the window. When a man prepared for a meeting with +that caution, he would do to watch.</p> +<p>Reid went to the open door, where he stood like a +host to receive his guests. The riders were among the +trees; coming on more slowly. Now they stopped, and +Reid turned to light a fresh cigarette. The flash of the +match showed his face white, hat pulled down on his +brows, his thin, long gamester’s fingers cupped round +the blaze.</p> +<p>There fell a moment of silence, no sound of word, no +movement of horse or foot upon the ground. Insects +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +among the trees were grinding their scythes for tomorrow’s +reaping, it seemed, whirring in loud, harsh chorus +such as one never heard out on the grazing lands.</p> +<p>Now the sound of footsteps approaching the door. +Reid came back into the room, where he stood drawing +a deep breath of smoke like a man drinking to store +against a coming thirst. He dropped the cigarette, +set his foot on it, crushed it to sparks on the floor.</p> +<p>Swan Carlson was in the door, the light dim on his +stern, handsome face. Behind him stood his woman, a +white wimple bound on her forehead like a nun.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXVIII_SWAN_CARLSON_LAUGHS' id='CHAPTER_XXVIII_SWAN_CARLSON_LAUGHS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> +<h3>SWAN CARLSON LAUGHS</h3> +</div> +<p>“So, you are here?” said Swan, standing in the +door, looking about him as if he had entered an +unfamiliar place.</p> +<p>“Didn’t you look for me?” Reid returned. He stood +between Carlson and the closed inner door, foot on a +rung of the chair in which he lately had sat, his attitude +careless, easy.</p> +<p>“A man never knows,” Carlson replied, coming into +the room.</p> +<p>Hertha Carlson lingered just outside the door, as if +repelled by the recollection of old sufferings there. +Swan reached out, grasped her wrist, drew her roughly +inside, pointed to a chair. The woman sat down, her +eyes distended in fright, her feet drawn close to the +chair as if to hide them from the galling chain that she +had dragged so many weary months across the floor of +her lonely prison.</p> +<p>Swan pulled a chair to the table and sat down, elbows +on the board, facing Reid, a question in his attitude, +his face, to which he at once gave words:</p> +<p>“Where’s your woman?”</p> +<p>“Where’s the money?” Reid countered, putting out +his hand. “You threw me down after I delivered you +three hundred sheep––you didn’t come across with a +cent––on the plea that one thief couldn’t collect from +another. All right, Swan; we’ll forget the sheep deal, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +but this is another matter. Put your money in my +hand; then we’ll talk.”</p> +<p>“Is she in there?” Swan pointed to the door behind +Reid, half rising from his chair.</p> +<p>Reid put his hand to his empty holster, his body +turned from Carlson to conceal his want of a weapon. +Carlson jerked his head in high disdain, resumed his +chair, his great hand spread on the table.</p> +<p>Mackenzie stepped back from the window, leveling his +pistol at Reid’s head. Joan was the subject of this +infamous barter.</p> +<p>A moment Mackenzie’s finger stiffened to send a bullet +into Reid’s brain, for he considered only that such +depravity was its own warrant of death. But Reid was +unarmed, and there was something in his attitude that +seemed to disclose that it was a bluff. Joan was not +there.</p> +<p>Joan was not there. She would not remain silent and +unresisting, shut in a room while a cold-blooded scoundrel +bargained to deliver her for a price like a ewe out +of his flock. Reid was playing to even the deceit Carlson +had put over on him in dealing for the stolen sheep. +It was a bluff. Joan was not there.</p> +<p>Mackenzie let down the weapon. It was not the +moment for interference; he would allow the evidence +to accumulate before passing sentence and executing it +with summary hand.</p> +<p>“Come across with the money before we go any further,” +said Reid, firm in his manner, defiantly confident +in his bearing. “I’ve got to get out of this country +before morning.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span></div> +<p>“I wouldn’t give five hundred dollars for her,” Swan +declared. “How do I know she’d stay with me? She +might run off tomorrow if I didn’t have a chain on her.”</p> +<p>Reid said nothing. He backed a little nearer the door +as if he had it in mind to call the negotiations off. Swan +looked at him with chin thrust forward, neck extended.</p> +<p>“She ain’t here––you’re a liar!” he charged.</p> +<p>“All right; there’s a pair of us, then.”</p> +<p>“I’ve brought my woman––” Swan stretched out his +hand to call attention to her where she cowered in her +chair––“fixed up to meet you like a bride. Woman for +woman, I say; that’s enough for any man.”</p> +<p>“I don’t want your woman, Carlson.”</p> +<p>“You tried to steal her from me; you was lovin’ her +over on the range.”</p> +<p>“What do you care? You don’t want her.”</p> +<p>“Sure I don’t,” Swan agreed heartily; “if I did I’d +’a’ choked your neck over there that night. Woman for +woman, or no trade.”</p> +<p>“That’s not our bargain, Carlson.”</p> +<p>Reid spoke sharply, but with a dry quaver in his +voice that betrayed the panic that was coming over him +on account of this threatened miscarriage of his plans. +Mackenzie was convinced by Reid’s manner that Swan +had read him right. Joan was not there.</p> +<p>The thought that Joan would accompany Reid in the +night to Swan Carlson’s house on any pretext he could +devise in his crafty mind was absurd. It was all a bluff, +Reid playing on Swan’s credulity to induce him to hand +over the money, when he would make a dash for the +door and ride away.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span></div> +<p>Mackenzie stood close to the window, pistol lifted, +thinking it all out between Reid’s last word and Carlson’s +next, for the mind can build a castle while the +heart is pausing between throbs.</p> +<p>“My woman for yours, that’s a fair trade,” said +Swan. “I don’t want to put no money in a wild colt +that maybe I couldn’t break. Open the door and bring +her to me, and take my woman and go.”</p> +<p>“Nothing doin’,” said Reid, regaining his nonchalance, +or at any rate control of his shaking voice.</p> +<p>“You’re a liar, you ain’t got no woman here.”</p> +<p>“She’s in there, all right––come across with the +money and take her.”</p> +<p>“How do I know you’ve got any right to make a +trade? Have you got the papers to show she’s yours?”</p> +<p>“I’ve got all the papers you’ll ever need.”</p> +<p>“You ain’t got no papers––she’s as much mine as she +is yours. Open the door!”</p> +<p>Carlson got up, towering above Reid in his great +height. He took off his hat and flung it on the table, +stood a little while bending forward in his peculiar loose +droop with arms swinging full length at his sides. Reid +backed away from him, standing with shoulders against +the door as if to deny him passage, hand thrown to his +empty holster.</p> +<p>“You ain’t got no gun!” Swan said, triumphantly. +“I seen the minute I come in the door you didn’t have +no gun. I wouldn’t fight a feller like you––you couldn’t +stand up to me like that other feller done here in this +house one night.”</p> +<p>Swan looked round the room, the memory of that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +battle like a light upon his stony face. He stood in +silence, turning his head slowly, as if he found a pleasure +in the stages of the past battle as recalled to him +by the different locations in the place.</p> +<p>“You wanted me to kill that feller so he couldn’t take +your woman away from you, didn’t you?” Swan said, +contemptuously. “Over there that day me and you +made that joke on him runnin’ my sheep over into his. +But he didn’t take that joke––what? He stood up to +me and fought me like an old bear, and he’d ’a’ whipped +me another time if it hadn’t been for them dogs helpin’ +me. You bet your hat he would! Yes, and then you +come up, and you said to me: ‘Soak him another one!’ +And I looked at you, with red in my eyes. ‘Soak him, +put him out for good this time!’ you says. And I +looked at you another time, my eye as red as blood.</p> +<p>“‘No,’ I says, ‘damn your skin, I’ll not soak him when +he’s down, and you’ll not do it, and no man ain’t a goin’ +to do it! He’s the only man on this range that can +stand up to me,’ I told you, ‘and I’m goin’ to save him +to fight!’ That’s what I said to you. Well, he’ll come +after me when I take his woman away from him––he’ll +come after me so hard he’ll make the ground shake like +a train––and he’ll fight me for her, a fight that men will +remember! We’ll roar like the wind, him and me, when +we stand up and fight for his woman that I took away +from him this night.”</p> +<p>Reid drew away from him, seeming to contract upon +himself against the door, and whether Swan read it +Mackenzie could not tell, but he could see from the window +the sickness of fear spread over Reid’s pale face.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span></div> +<p>“You ain’t got no gun on you,” Swan mocked, taking +joy from that moment. “Hell! my old woman can lick +you, and I’m goin’ to make her do it. Then I’ll take +that feller’s woman away from you and kick you to hell +out of here!”</p> +<p>Swan turned to Hertha, who had left her chair on +his first threatening move toward Reid. She had advanced +a little way into the room, a wild fury in her +face against the man who had bargained to bring another +woman between her and her fierce, harsh-handed +lord. Swan took her by the arm, his hand at her back +as if to give her courage.</p> +<p>“Go on––lick him––choke him the way I showed you +how to choke a man!”</p> +<p>Swan clapped his hands, stamping his foot sharply, +as he had clapped and stamped to urge on the dog +against Mackenzie that day they fought on the range. +And like a dog that has strained on a leash the woman +leaped, flinging herself upon Reid with a wild, high-shrilling +cry.</p> +<p>Reid tried to guard his face against her fury, attempted +to grapple her arms and hold her. She broke +away, clawing his face, screaming her maniacal cry. In +a moment they were a whirling tangle of arms, wild-flying +hair, swaying bodies bent in fierce attack and desperate +defense. The furious creature had Reid by the +throat in the grip Swan had taught her, strangling out +his life.</p> +<p>Reid clung to her wrists, struggling to tear her hands +from his throat, thrashing wildly about before the closed +door, his head striking it now as the woman flung him, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span> +now his shoulders as she bent him to force him to the +floor.</p> +<p>Swan stood by, leaning forward in a pose of deep +interest, deep satisfaction, savage enjoyment, his loose-hanging +arms at his sides, his long mustaches down +beside his mouth. He said nothing to encourage his +woman in her mad combat, only seemed waiting the +issue, ready to lay his hand to finishing it in the event +that she should fail.</p> +<p>The fighting woman, still screaming above the din +of their trampling feet, struggled to lift her knee to +Reid’s chest. Mackenzie turned from the window to +interfere, not caring to see Reid go that way, no matter +what sins lay upon his young soul. As he came +running to the door, he saw Reid struggle to his feet, +tear the mad woman’s hands away, and strike her a +sharp blow in the face.</p> +<p>There must have been surprising power in that slender +arm, or else its strength was multiplied by the frenzy +of the strangling man, for the woman dropped as if she +had been struck with an ax. Swan Carlson, standing +there like a great oaf, opened his immense mouth and +laughed.</p> +<p>Reid staggered against the wall, hands at his throat, +blood streaming from his nostrils, bubbling from his +lips as he breathed with wide-gasping mouth. He stood +so a little while, then collapsed with sudden failing, no +strength in him to ease the fall.</p> +<p>Carlson turned to face Mackenzie, his icy mirth spent.</p> +<p>“It’s you?” he said. “Well, by God, it’s a man, +anyhow!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span></div> +<p>Carlson offered his hand as if in friendship. Mackenzie +backed away, watchful of him, hand to his pistol.</p> +<p>“Who’s in that room, Carlson?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Maybe nobody,” Swan replied. “We’ll fight to see +who opens the door––what?”</p> +<p>There was an eager gleam in Carlson’s face as he +made this proposal, standing between Mackenzie and +the closed door, his arm stretched out as if to bar the +schoolmaster’s nearer approach. He bent toward Mackenzie, +no hostility in his manner or expression, but +rather more like a man who had made a friendly suggestion, +the answer to which he waited in pleasurable +anticipation.</p> +<p>Mackenzie looked at him coldly, measuring his great +strength, weighing his magnificent body down to the +last unit of its power. Carlson’s shirt was open at his +throat, his laced boots came to his knees over his baggy +corduroy trousers, his long red hair hung over his +temples and ears.</p> +<p>“No, there’s been fighting enough,” Mackenzie said, +thinking that Joan must be bound and gagged if in that +room. Surely she would have spoken otherwise at the +sound of his voice.</p> +<p>Hertha Carlson rose to her hands and knees, where +she remained a spell like a creeping child, almost at +Mackenzie’s feet. Reid lay where he had sunk down, +pitched forward in front of the closed door.</p> +<p>“I’ll open it, then,” said Swan in the same glowing +eagerness. “It’ll be a game––whatever I find I’ll keep!”</p> +<p>“Don’t touch it!” Mackenzie warned, drawing a little +nearer, his weapon half out of the scabbard.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_304' name='page_304'></a>304</span></div> +<p>Mrs. Carlson rose between them, tall, disheveled, dress +torn open at her bosom. She seemed dazed and oblivious +to what was passing, stood a moment, hands pressed to +her face as one racked by an agony of pain, went to +the door, and out. Carlson stood staring after her a +breath, his bold chin lifted high, a look of surprise passing +like a light over his eyes.</p> +<p>“What I find will be mine,” Carlson said, almost happily. +“Come on––we’ll fight like a couple of men!”</p> +<p>Carlson thrust his hand into the bosom of his shirt +as he spoke, and drew out a revolver with a long sweep +of his mighty arm, throwing his body with the movement +as if he rocked with a wild, mad joy. Mackenzie +fired as Carlson lifted the weapon to throw it down for +a shot. Carlson’s pistol fell from his shattered hand.</p> +<p>Swan stood a moment, that flickering light of surprise +flashing in his eyes again. Then he threw back his head +and shouted in the mad joy of his wild heart, his great +mouth stretched wide, his great mustaches moving in +his breath. Shouting still, as his Viking forebears +shouted in the joy of battle, the roar of his great voice +going far into the night, Swan rushed upon Mackenzie +like a wounded bear.</p> +<p>Mackenzie gave back before him, leaping aside, firing. +Checked a moment, more by the flash of the discharge +in his eyes than by the bullet, it seemed, Swan roared +a wilder note and pressed the charge. His immense, +lunging body was dim before Mackenzie through the +smoke, his uninjured hand groping like a man feeling +for a door in a burning house.</p> +<p>Swan fell with the mad challenge on his tongue, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_305' name='page_305'></a>305</span> +cried his defiance still as he writhed a moment on his +back, turning his face to the open door and the peace +of the night at last, to die. To die in greater heroism +than he had lived, and to lie there in his might and +wasted magnificence of body, one hand over the threshold +dabbling in the dark.</p> +<p>Mackenzie took the lantern from the corner where +Reid had set it in his studious play for the advantage +that did not come to his hand, and turned back to the +closed door. Reid lay as he had fallen, Carlson’s revolver +by his side. Mackenzie stepped over him and tried +the door. It was unlocked, fastened only by the iron +thumb-latch.</p> +<p>A moment Mackenzie stood, lifting the lantern to +light the small room to its corners, then went in, peering +and exploring into every shadow.</p> +<p>“Great God! She wasn’t here at all! And I’ve +killed a man for that!” he said.</p> +<p>He turned to the open door, stifled by remorse for +what he had done, although he had done it in a fight +that had been pushed upon him, as all his fights in the +sheeplands had been pushed. He might have taken +Swan at his manly offer to fight hand-to-hand to see +who should open the door; or he might have allowed +him to open it, and saved all violence between them.</p> +<p>And this was the end of Earl Reid’s bluff to Carlson +that he would deliver Joan to him there, bargained for +and sold after the wild and lawless reasoning of the +Norse flockmaster. And Swan had drawn his weapon +with a glad light in his face, and stood up to him like +a man.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_306' name='page_306'></a>306</span></div> +<p>“Throw it down here, Mackenzie––you can’t get by +with it this time!”</p> +<p>Mackenzie looked up from his daze of remorseful +panic, slowly, amazedly, not fully realizing that it was +a human voice he heard, to see Reid where he had scrambled +to his knees, Carlson’s gun in one hand, the other +thrown out to support his unsteady body.</p> +<p>“You can have it, Earl,” Mackenzie said, with the +relief in his voice of a man who has heard good tidings.</p> +<p>“Hurry!” said Reid, in voice strained and dry.</p> +<p>“My gun’s empty; you can have it too. I’m +through,” Mackenzie said.</p> +<p>As he spoke, Mackenzie jerked the lantern sharply, +putting it out. Reid fired. Mackenzie felt the shot +strike his thigh like the flip of a switch when one rides +through a thicket. He threw himself upon Reid, and +held his arm while the desperate youth fired his remaining +shots into the wall.</p> +<p>Mackenzie shook Reid until he dropped the empty +revolver, then took him by the neck and pushed him to +the open door. And there the morning was spreading, +showing the trees outlined against the east.</p> +<p>“Come out here and we’ll talk it over, Reid.” Mackenzie +said.</p> +<p>Reid had nothing to say. He was sullen, uncontrite. +Mackenzie waited a little while for him to speak, holding +him harshly by the collar.</p> +<p>“Well, there’s the road out of this country,” Mackenzie +said, seeing he would not speak. “This is the last +trick you’ll ever try to throw here on me or anybody +else. I suppose you came here on one of Carlson’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_307' name='page_307'></a>307</span> +horses; go and get it, and when you start, head south.”</p> +<p>Mackenzie felt the leg of his trousers wet from the +blood of his wound, and began to have some concern lest +an artery had been cut. But this he put off investigating +until he heard Reid ride out to the dim road in front +of Carlson’s cabin, and go his way out of the sheeplands +to whatever destiny lay ahead.</p> +<p>Then Mackenzie looked himself over, to find that it +was not a serious wound. He bound up the hurt with +his handkerchief, and turned his face away from that +tragic spot among the cottonwoods, their leaves moving +with a murmur as of falling rain in the cool morning +wind.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_308' name='page_308'></a>308</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XXIX_SHEEPMANAND_MORE' id='CHAPTER_XXIX_SHEEPMANAND_MORE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> +<h3>SHEEPMAN––AND MORE</h3> +</div> +<p>“So I just took his gun away from him and slapped +him and sent him on,” said Joan.</p> +<p>“I thought that must have been the way of it,” Mackenzie +said, sighing as if his last trouble had left him.</p> +<p>“When he tried to make me believe I wasn’t within +seven miles of Dad Frazer’s camp I got my suspicions +up. The idea of that little town rat trying to mix me +up on my range! Well, I was a little off on my estimate +of where the wagons were, but that was because they’d +been moved so many times while I was over home.”</p> +<p>“I figured it that way, Joan.”</p> +<p>“But what do you suppose he was tryin’ to pull off +on me, John, bringing me out here on the pretense +you’d been all shot up in the fight with Hector Hall +and wanted me?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know, Joan,” Mackenzie said, lying like the +“kind of a gentleman” he was.</p> +<p>“I thought maybe the little fool wanted to make me +marry him so he could get some money out of dad.”</p> +<p>“Maybe that was it, Joan; I pass it up.”</p> +<p>“Dad Frazer says Earl was crazy from the lonesomeness +and killing Matt Hall.”</p> +<p>“I think he must have been, Joan. It’s over––let’s +forget it if we can.”</p> +<p>“Yes, you haven’t done a thing but fight since you +struck this range,” Joan sighed.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_309' name='page_309'></a>309</span></div> +<p>Mackenzie was lying up in Rabbit’s hospital again, +undergoing treatment for the bullet wound in his thigh. +He had arrived at Dad Frazer’s camp at sunrise, weak +from the drain of his hurt, to find Joan waiting for him +on the rise of the hill. She hurried him into Rabbit’s +hands, leaving explanations until later. They had come +to the end of them now.</p> +<p>But Mackenzie made the reservation of Reid’s atrocious, +insane scheme in bringing Joan from home on the +pretext that the schoolmaster had fallen wounded to +death in the fight with Hector Hall, and lay calling for +her with his wasting breath. Mackenzie knew that it was +better for her faith in mankind for all her future years, +and for the peace of her soul, that she should never +know.</p> +<p>“My dad was here a little while ago––he’s gone over +to put a man in to take care of your sheep, but he’ll +be along back here this evening. He wants to talk some +business with you, he said.”</p> +<p>“Well, we’re ready for him, Joan,” Mackenzie said. +And the look that passed between them, and the smile +that lighted their lips, told that their business had been +talked and disposed of already, let Tim Sullivan propose +what he might.</p> +<p>“I’ll leave it to you, John,” said Joan, blushing a +little, her eyes downcast in modesty, but smiling and +smiling like a growing summer day.</p> +<p>Tim Sullivan arrived toward evening, entering the +sheep-wagon softly, his loud tongue low in awe for this +fighting man.</p> +<p>“How are you, John? How are you, lad?” he whispered, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_310' name='page_310'></a>310</span> +coming on his toes to the cot, his face as expressive +of respect as if he had come into the presence of +the dead.</p> +<p>Mackenzie grinned over this great mark of respect +in the flockmaster of Poison Creek.</p> +<p>“I’m all right,” he said.</p> +<p>Tim sat on an upended box, leaning forward, hat +between his knees, mouth open a bit, looking at Mackenzie +as if he had come face to face with a miracle.</p> +<p>“You’re not hurted much, lad?” he inquired, lifting +his voice a little, the wonder of it gradually passing +away.</p> +<p>“Not much. I’ll be around again in nine or ten days, +Rabbit says.”</p> +<p>“You will,” said Tim, eloquently decisive, as though +his heart emptied itself of a great responsibility, “you +will that, and as good as a new man!”</p> +<p>“She’s better than any doctor I ever saw.”</p> +<p>“She is that!” said Tim, “and cheaper, too.”</p> +<p>His voice grew a little louder, coming thus to familiar +ground in the discussion of values and costs. But the +awe of this man who went fighting his way was still big +in the flockmaster’s eyes. He sat leaning, elbows on +thighs, mouth still open, as respectfully awed as if he +had just come out of a church. Then, after a little +while, looking around for Joan:</p> +<p>“What was he up to, John? What was he tryin’ to +do with my girl?”</p> +<p>Mackenzie told him, in few words and plain, pledging +him to keep the truth of it from Joan all his days. +Tim’s face grew pale through the deep brown of sun +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_311' name='page_311'></a>311</span> +and wind. He put his hand to his throat, unbuttoning +his collar with trembling fingers.</p> +<p>“But she was too smart for him!” he said. “I’ve +brought her up a match for any of them town fellers––they +can’t put anything like that over on my little Joan. +And you didn’t know but she was there, locked in and +bound hand and foot, lad? And you fought old Swan +and laid him cold at last, hand to hand, man to man! +Lord! And you done it for my little Joan!”</p> +<p>“Let’s forget it,” Mackenzie said, uncomfortable +under the praise.</p> +<p>“It’s easy said, lad, but not so easy done. A man +remembers a thing the like of that with gratitude to his +last hour. And we thought you an easy-goin’ man, that +could be put on and wasn’t able to hold your own,” said +Tim, confessing more in his momentary softness than +he would have done on reflection.</p> +<p>“We thought you was only a schoolteacher, wrapped +up in rhymes and birds!”</p> +<p>“Just a plain simpleton that would eat out of anybody’s +hand,” Mackenzie grinned.</p> +<p>“Not a simpleton, lad; not a simpleton. But maybe +soft in your ways of dealin’ with other men, lettin’ ’em +go when you ought to knocked ’em cold, the way you +let Hall go the day you took his guns off of him. But +we couldn’t see deep in you, lad; you’re no simpleton, +lad––no simpleton at all.”</p> +<p>Tim spoke in soothing conciliation, as if he worked +to salve over the old hurts of injustice, or as if he dealt +with the mishap of a child to whom words were more +comforting than balm. He was coming back to his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_312' name='page_312'></a>312</span> +regular sheepman form, crafty, conciliatory; never advancing +one foot without feeling ahead with the other. +But the new respect that had come over him for Mackenzie +could not be put wholly aside, even though Tim +might have the disposition to do it. Tim’s voice was +still small in his mouth, his manner softened by awe.</p> +<p>“You’ve shown the mettle of a sheepman,” Tim said, +“and more. There’ll be peace and quiet on this range +now.”</p> +<p>“I brought nothing but trouble to it. You had peace +and quiet before I came.”</p> +<p>“Trouble was here, lad, but we dodged it. There +wasn’t a man of us had the courage to face it and put +it down like you’ve done it. Carlson and them Halls +robbed me year in and year out, and stole the range I +paid rent on from under my feet. Swan stole sheep from +me all the time that boy was runnin’ them next him +there––I miss about three hundred from the flock +today.”</p> +<p>“Reid sold them to him, but didn’t get his money. He +complained about it to Swan last night.”</p> +<p>“He’d do it,” nodded Tim; “his father before him +done it. It runs in the blood of them Reids to steal. +I’ll have them three hundred sheep back out of Swan’s +widow tomorrow.”</p> +<p>“Is she over there with the sheep?”</p> +<p>“I didn’t see her around.”</p> +<p>“The poor creature’s crazy from her hard usage and +suffering. I think somebody ought to go over there and +help her straighten things out.”</p> +<p>“I’ll see to it,” Tim promised. “Yes, it must be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_313' name='page_313'></a>313</span> +done. Now that wild devil’s dead we must be neighborly +with the widow and give her a chance. I’ll see to it +tomorrow. Where’s my Joan?”</p> +<p>“She’s making some broth for my supper.”</p> +<p>“That’s right, that’s right––she’ll care for you, lad; +I’ll leave her here with Rabbit to care for you. Sure. +She was for you, all along. I couldn’t see it.”</p> +<p>“Well, you’ve got it right this time,” Mackenzie +said.</p> +<p>Tim beamed. He rubbed his hands, great satisfaction +in his face.</p> +<p>“I’ll find somebody else for my Mary––we’ll consider +her no more,” he said. “Let you go on with Joan in +the bargain in place of Mary, and give me three years +for her, and the day you marry her I’ll drive over to +you a thousand sheep.”</p> +<p>“Nothing doing,” said Mackenzie.</p> +<p>“Two years, we’ll say––two instead of three, John. +Joan will be her own man in two years; she’ll be twenty-one. +And the day you marry her I’ll make it fifteen +hundred sheep.”</p> +<p>“She’s her own man now under the laws of this state, +and I’m taking her without a single head of sheep. You +can keep them all––Joan is enough for me.”</p> +<p>Tim was a greatly injured man. His face lengthened +two inches, a look of reproach came into his eyes; he +seemed on the point of dissolving in tears.</p> +<p>“You’re not goin’ to quit me and take away my girl, +the best one of my flock, my ewe lamb, my Joan? I +didn’t think you’d turn on me like that, lad; I didn’t +think you had it in your heart!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_314' name='page_314'></a>314</span></div> +<p>“You took away Joan’s ewe lambs, and her buck +lambs, and all her lambs, more than a thousand of them, +after she’d served you through sun and storm and +earned them like a man. No, I don’t think I could trust +you two years, Mr. Sullivan; I don’t believe your memory +would hold you to a bargain that long, seeing that +it would be in the family, especially.”</p> +<p>“I’ll give Joan back her flock, to run it like she was +runnin’ it, and I’ll put it in writin’ with you both. Two +years, we’ll say, John––two short easy years.”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you throw away your chances now, John, +don’t you do it, lad. If you marry my Joan now I’ll +give you not a sheep, not one blind wether! But if +you’ll stay by me a year for her I’ll give you a weddin’ +at the end of that time they’ll put big in the papers at +Cheyenne, and I’ll hand over to you three thousand +sheep, in your own name.”</p> +<p>“I’m not thinking as much about sheep as I was three +months ago,” said Mackenzie, yawning as though he had +grown tired of the subject. “Joan and I have made +our plans; you can approve them or turn them down. +We’re going away when we’re married.”</p> +<p>“Goin’ away!” said Tim, his voice betraying the hollowness +of his heart.</p> +<p>“But we’re coming back–––”</p> +<p>“Comin’ back?” said Tim, gladness in every note.</p> +<p>“Joan’s heart is in the sheep range––she couldn’t +tear it away if she tried. She thought she wanted to +go, but I’ll have hard work to get her farther than +Jasper. Joan had the lonesomeness; she’s cured now.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_315' name='page_315'></a>315</span></div> +<p>“She had, poor gerrel! I didn’t see it, but I see it +now. But you’ll be comin’ back!”</p> +<p>“Yes. Joan and I belong on the sheep range––we’re +both too simple and confiding to run around loose in +the world.”</p> +<p>Tim was looking at Mackenzie, his head tipped to one +side a little in his great, new interest, his greater, newer +understanding.</p> +<p>“You’ll come back and make it home?” said he.</p> +<p>“Home,” Mackenzie nodded. “There’s no other place +that calls. You can welcome us or turn us away, but +we’ll find a place on the range, and I’ve got money +enough to buy us a little band of sheep.”</p> +<p>“No need, lad, no need for that. What I have I’ll +divide with you the day you come home, for I’ve made +a place in my heart for you that’s the place of a son,” +said Tim.</p> +<p>Mackenzie knew the flockmaster had reached a point +at last where he would stand, writing or no writing, for +there was the earnestness of truth in his voice, the +vibrant softness of affection. He gave the flockmaster +his hand, saying no word. Tim took it between his own +as if he held a woman’s, and held it so while he spoke:</p> +<p>“And the place is here for you when you come back +be it a year from now or five years. You’re a sheepman +now, John.”</p> +<p>“And I’m more,” said Mackenzie, with a contented +sigh. “I’m a sheepwoman’s man.”</p> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: ppg0809 --> +<!-- timestamp: Mon Aug 10 21:11:02 -0600 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's The Flockmaster of Poison Creek, by George W. 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