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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9867-8.txt b/9867-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..363a729 --- /dev/null +++ b/9867-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8868 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Riders of the Silences, by Max Brand + +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: Riders of the Silences + +Author: Max Brand + +Posting Date: February 3, 2011 [EBook #9867] +Release Date: February, 2006 +[This file was first posted on October 25, 2003] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDERS OF THE SILENCES *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Michael Lockey and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + +RIDERS OF THE SILENCES + +Max Brand + + +1919 + + + + + +Prologue + + +The Great West, prior to the century's turn, abounded in legend. +Stories were told of fabled gunmen whose bullets always magically +found their mark, of mighty stallions whose tireless gallop rivaled +the speed of the wind, of glorious women whose beauty stunned mind and +heart. But nowhere in the vast spread of the mountain-desert country +was there a greater legend told than the story of Red Pierre and the +phantom gunfighter, McGurk. + +These two men of the wilderness, so unalike, of widely-differing +backgrounds, had in common a single trait: each was unbeatable. Fate +brought them clashing together, thunder to thunder, lightning to +lightning. They were destined to meet at the crossroads of a long, +long trail ... a trail which began in the northern wastes of Canada +and led, finally, to a deadly confrontation in the mountains of the +Far West. + + + + + +Riders of the Silences + + + + +CHAPTER 1 + +It seemed that Father Anthony gathered all the warmth of the short +northern summer and kept it for winter use, for his good nature was an +actual physical force. From his ruddy face beamed such a kindliness +that people reached out toward him as they might extend their hands +toward a comfortable fire. + +All the labors of his work as an inspector of Jesuit institutions +across the length and breadth of Canada could not lessen the good +father's enthusiasm; his smile was as indefatigable as his critical +eyes. The one looked sharply into every corner of a room and every +nook and hidden cranny of thoughts and deeds; the other veiled the +criticism and soothed the wounds of vanity. + +On this day, however, the sharp eyes grew a little less keen and +somewhat wider, while that smile was fixed rather by habit than +inclination. In fact, his expression might be called a frozen +kindliness as he looked across the table to Father Victor. + +It required a most indomitable geniality, indeed, to outface the rigid +piety of Jean Paul Victor. His missionary work had carried him far +north, where the cold burns men thin. The zeal which drove him north +and north and north over untracked regions, drove him until his body +failed, drove him even now, though his body was crippled. + +A mighty yearning, and a still mightier self-contempt whipped him on, +and the school over which he was master groaned and suffered under his +régime. Father Anthony said gently: "Are there none among all your +lads, dear Father Victor, whom you find something more than imperfect +machines?" + +The man of the north drew from a pocket of his robe a letter. His lean +fingers touched it almost with a caress. + +"One. Pierre Ryder. He shall carry on my mission in the north. I, who +am silent, have done much; but Pierre will do more. I had to fight my +first battle to conquer my own stubborn soul, and the battle left me +weak for the great work in the snows, but Pierre will not fight that +battle, for I have trained him. + +"This letter is for him. Shall we not carry it to him? For two days I +have not seen Pierre." + +Father Anthony winced. + +He said: "Do you deny yourself even the pleasure of the lad's company? +Alas, Father Victor, you forge your own spurs and goad yourself with +your own hands. What harm is there in being often with the lad?" + +The sneer returned to the lips of Jean Paul Victor. + +"The purpose would be lost--lost to my eyes and lost to his--the +purpose for which I have lived and for which he shall live. When I +first saw him he was a child, a baby, but he came to me and took one +finger of my hand in his small fist and looked up to me. Ah, +Gabrielle, the smile of an infant goes to the heart swifter than the +thrust of a knife! I looked down upon him and I knew that I was chosen +to teach the child. There was a voice that spoke in me. You will +smile, but even now I think I can hear it." + +"I swear to you that I believe," said Father Anthony. + +"Another man would have given Pierre a Bible and a Latin grammar and a +cell. I gave him the testament and the grammar; I gave him also the +wild north country to say his prayers in and patter his Latin. I +taught his mind, but I did not forget his body. + +"He is to go out among wild men. He must have strength of the spirit. +He must also have a strength of the body that they will understand and +respect. He can ride a horse standing; he can run a hundred miles in a +day behind a dog-team. He can wrestle and fight with his hands, for +skilled men have taught him. I have made him a thunderbolt to hurl +among the ignorant and the unenlightened; and this is the hand which +shall wield it. Ha! + +"It is now hardly a six month since he saved a trapper from a bobcat +and killed the animal with a knife. It must have been my prayers which +saved him from the teeth and the claws." + +Good Father Anthony rose. + +"You have described a young David. I am eager to see him. Let us go." + +Father Victor nodded, and the two went out together. The chill of the +open was hardly more than the bitter cold inside the building, but +there was a wind that drove the cold through the blood and bones of +a man. + +They staggered along against it until they came to a small house, long +and low. On the sheltered side they paused to take breath, and Father +Victor explained: "This is his hour in the gymnasium. To make the body +strong required thought and care. Mere riding and running and swinging +of the ax will not develop every muscle. Here Pierre works every day. +His teachers of boxing and wrestling have abandoned him." + +There was almost a smile on the lean face. + +"The last man left with a swollen jaw and limping on one leg." + +Here he opened the door, and they slipped inside. The air was warmed +by a big stove, and the room--for the afternoon was dark--lighted by +two swinging lanterns suspended from the low roof. By that +illumination Father Anthony saw two men stripped naked, save for a +loincloth, and circling each other slowly in the center of a ring +which was fenced in with ropes and floored with a padded mat. + +Of the two wrestlers, one was a veritable giant, swarthy of skin, +hairy-chested. His great hands were extended to grasp or to parry--his +head lowered with a ferocious scowl--and across his forehead swayed a +tuft of black, shaggy hair. He might have stood for one of those +northern barbarians whom the Romans loved to pit against their native +champions in the arena. He was the greater because of the opponent he +faced, and it was upon this opponent that the eyes of Father +Anthony centered. + +Like Father Victor, he was caught first by the bright hair. It was a +dark red, and where the light struck it strongly there were places +like fire. Down from this hair the light slipped like running water +over a lithe body, slender at the hips, strong-chested, round and +smooth of limb, with long muscles leaping and trembling at every move. + +He, like the big fighter, circled cautiously about, but the impression +he gave was as different from the other as day is from night. His head +was carried high; in place of a scowl, he smiled with a sort of +eagerness, a light which was partly exultation and partly mischief +sparkled in his eyes. Once or twice the giant caught at the other, but +David slipped from under the grip of Goliath easily. It seemed as if +his skin were oiled. The big man snarled with anger, and lunged more +eagerly at Pierre. + +The two, abandoning their feints, suddenly rushed together, and the +swarthy arms of the monster slipped around the white body of Pierre. +For a moment they whirled, twisting and struggling. + +"Now!" murmured Father Victor; and as if in answer to a command, +Pierre slipped down, whipped his hands to a new grip, and the two +crashed to the mat, with Pierre above. + +"Open your eyes, Father Anthony. The lad is safe. How Goliath grunts!" + The boy had not cared to follow his advantage, but rose and danced +away, laughing softly. The Canuck floundered up and rushed like a +furious bull. His downfall was only the swifter. The impact of the two +bodies sounded like hands clapped together, and then Goliath rose into +the air, struggling mightily, and pitched with a thud to the mat. + +He writhed there, for the wind was knocked from his body by the fall. +At length he struggled to a sitting posture and glared up at the +conqueror. The boy reached out a hand to his fallen foe. + +"You would have thrown me that way the first time," he said, "but you +let me change grips on you. In another week you will be too much for +me, _bon ami_." + +The other accepted the hand after an instant of hesitation and was +dragged to his feet. He stood looking down into the boy's face with a +singular grin. But there was no triumph in the eye of Pierre--only a +good-natured interest. + +"In another week," answered the giant, "there would not be a sound +bone in my body." + + + + +CHAPTER 2 + + +"You have seen him," murmured the tall priest. "Now let us go back and +wait for him. I will leave word." + +He touched one of the two or three men who were watching the athletes, +and whispered his message in the other's ear. Then he went back with +Father Anthony. "You have seen him," he repeated, when they sat once +more in the cheerless room. "Now pronounce on him." + +The other answered: "I have seen a wonderful body--but the mind, +Father Victor?" + +"It is as simple as that of a child--his thoughts run as clear as +spring water." + +"But suppose a strange thought came in the mind of your Pierre. It +would be like the pebbles in swift-running spring water. He would +carry it on, rushing. It would tear away the old boundaries of his +mind--it might wipe out the banks you have set down for him--it might +tear away the choicest teachings." + +Father Victor sat straight and stiff with stern, set lips. He said +dryly: "Father Anthony has been much in the world." + +"I speak from the best intention, good father. Look you, now, I have +seen that same red hair and those same lighted blue eyes before, and +wherever I have seen them has been war and trouble and unrest. I have +seen that same smile which stirs the heart of a woman and makes a man +reach for his revolver. This boy whose mind is so clear--arm him with +a single wrong thought, with a single doubt of the eternal goodness of +God's plans, and he will be a thunderbolt indeed, dear Father, but one +which even your strong hand could not control." + +"I have heard you," said the priest; "but you will see. He is coming +now." + +There was a knock at the door; then it opened and showed a modest +novice in a simple gown of black serge girt at the waist with the flat +encircling band. His head was downward; it was not till the blue eyes +flashed inquisitively up that Father Anthony recognized Pierre. + +The hard voice of Jean Paul Victor pronounced: "This is that Father +Anthony of whom I have spoken." + +The novice slipped to his knees and folded his hands, while the plump +fingers of Father Anthony poised over that dark red hair, pressed +smooth on top where the skullcap rested. The blessing which he spoke +was Latin, and Father Victor looked somewhat anxiously toward his +protege till the latter answered in a diction so pure that Cicero +himself would have smiled to hear it. + +"Stand up!" cried Father Anthony. "By heavens, Jean Paul, it is the +purest Latin I have heard this twelvemonth." + +And the lad answered: "It must be pure Latin; Father Victor has taught +me." + +Gabrielle Anthony stared, and to save him from too obvious confusion +the other priest interrupted: "I have a letter for you, my son." + +And he passed the envelope to Pierre. The latter examined it with +interest. "This comes from the south. It is marked from the +United States." + +"So far!" exclaimed the tall priest. "Give me the letter, lad." + +But here he caught the whimsical eyes of Father Anthony, and he +allowed his outstretched hand to fall. Yet he scowled as he said: "No; +keep it and read it, Pierre." + +"I have no great wish to keep it," answered Pierre, studying anxiously +the dark brow of the priest. + +"It is yours. Open it and read." + +The lad obeyed instantly. He shook out the folded paper and moved a +little nearer the light. Then he read aloud, as if it had never +entered his mind that what was addressed to him might be meant for his +eyes alone. + +"Morgantown, + +"R.F.D. No. 4. + +"SON PIERRE: + +"Here I lie with a chunk of lead from the gun of Bob McGurk resting +somewheres in the insides of me, and there ain't no way of doubting +that I'm about to go out. Now, I ain't complaining none. I've had my +fling. I've eat my meat to order, well done and rare--mostly rare. +Maybe some folks will be saying that I've got what I've been asking +for, and I know that Bob McGurk got me fair and square, shooting from +the hip. That don't help me none, lying here with a through ticket to +some place that's farther south than Texas. + +"Hell ain't none too bad for me, I know. I ain't whining none. I just +lie here and watch the world getting dimmer until I begin to be seeing +things out of my past. That shows the devil ain't losing no time with +me. But the thing that comes back oftenest and hits me the hardest is +the sight of your mother, lying with you in the hollow of her arm and +looking up at me and whispering, 'Dad,' just before she went out." + +The hand of the boy fell, and his eyes sought the face of Father +Victor. The latter was standing. + +"You told me I had no father--" + +An imperious arm stretched toward him. + +"Give me the letter." + +He moved to obey, and then checked himself. + +"This is my father's writing, is it not?" + +"No, no! It's a lie, Pierre!" + +But Pierre stood with the letter held behind his back, and the first +doubt in his life stood up darkly in his eyes. Father Victor sank +slowly back into his chair, his gaunt frame trembling. + +"Read on," he commanded. + +And Pierre, white of face, read on: + +"So I got a idea that I had to write to you, Pierre. There ain't +nothing I can make up to you, but knowing the truth may help some. +Poor kid, you ain't got no father in the eyes of the law, and neither +did you have no mother, and there ain't no name that belongs to you +by rights. + +"I was a man in them days, and your mother was a woman that brought +your heart into your throat and set it singing. She and me, we were +too busy being just plain happy to care much about what was right or +wrong; so you just sort of happened along, Pierre. Me being so close +to hell, I remember her eyes that was bluer than heaven looking up +to me, and her hair, that was copper with gold lights in it. + +"I buried Irene on the side of the mountain under a big, rough rock, +and I didn't carve nothing on the rock. Then I took you, Pierre, and I +knew I wasn't no sort of a man to raise up the son of Irene; so I +brought you to Father Victor on a winter night and left you in his +arms. That was after I'd done my best to raise you and you was just +about old enough to chatter a bit. There wasn't nothing else to do. My +wife, she went pretty near crazy when I brought you home. And she'd of +killed you, Pierre, if I hadn't took you away. + +"You see, I was married before I met Irene. So there ain't no alibi +for me. But me being so close to hell now, I look back to that time, +and somehow I see no wrong in it still. + +"And if I done wrong then, I've got my share of hell-fire for it. Here +I lie, with my boys, Bill and Bert, sitting around in the corner of +the room waiting for me to go out. They ain't men, Pierre. They're +wolves in the skins of men. They're the right sons of their mother. +When I go out they'll grab the coin I've saved up, and leave me to lie +here and rot, maybe. + +"Lad, it's a fearful thing to die without having no one around that +cares, and to know that even after I've gone out I'm going to lie here +and have my dead eyes looking up at the ceiling. So I'm writing to +you, Pierre, part to tell you what you ought to know; part because I +got a sort of crazy idea that maybe you could get down here to me +before I go out. + +"You don't owe me nothing but hard words, Pierre; but if you don't try +to come to me, the ghost of your mother will follow you all your life, +lad, and you'll be seeing her blue eyes and the red-gold of her hair +in the dark of the night as I see it now. Me, I'm a hard man, but it +breaks my heart, that ghost of Irene. So here I'll lie, waiting for +you, Pierre, and lingering out the days with whisky, and fighting the +wolf eyes of them there sons of mine. If I weaken--If they find they +can look me square in the eye--they'll finish me quick and make off +with the coin. Pierre, come quick. + +"MARTIN RYDER." + +The hand of Pierre dropped slowly to his side, and the letter +fluttered with a crisp rustling to the floor. + + + + +CHAPTER 3 + + +Then came a voice that startled the two priests, for it seemed that a +fourth man had entered the room, so changed was it from the musical +voice of Pierre. + +"Father Victor, the roan is a strong horse. May I take him?" + +"Pierre!" and the priest reached out his bony hands. + +But the boy did not seem to notice or to understand. + +"It is a long journey, and I will need a strong horse. It must be +eight hundred miles to that town." + +"Pierre, what claim has he upon you? What debt have you to repay?" + +And Pierre le Rouge answered: "He loved my mother." + +"You are going?" + +The boy asked in astonishment: "Would you not have me go, Father?" + +And Jean Paul Victor could not meet the sorrowful blue eyes. + +He bowed his head and answered: "My child, I would have you go. But +promise with your hand in mine that you will come back to me when your +father is buried." + +The lean fingers caught the extended hand of Pierre and froze about +it. + +"But first I have a second duty in the southland." + +"A second?" + +"You taught me to shoot and to use a knife. Once you said: 'An eye for +an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.' Father Victor, my father was killed +by another man." + +"Pierre, dear lad, swear to me here on this cross that you will not +raise your hands against the murderer. 'Vengeance is mine, saith +the Lord.'" + +"He must have an instrument for his wrath. He shall work through me in +this." + +"Pierre, you blaspheme." + +"'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.'" + +"It was a demon in me that quoted that in your hearing, and not +myself." + +"The horse, Father Victor--may I have the roan?" + +"Pierre, I command you--" + +The light in the blue eyes was as cold and steady as that in the +starved eyes of Jean Paul Victor. + +"Hush!" he said calmly. "For the sake of the love that I bear for you, +do not command me." + +The stern priest dropped his head. He said at last: "I have nothing +saving one great and terrible treasure which I see was predestined to +you. It is the cross of Father Meilan. You have worn it before. You +shall wear it hereafter as your own." + +He took from his own neck a silver cross suspended by a slender silver +chain, and the boy, with startled eyes, dropped to his knees and +received the gift. + +"It has brought good to all who possessed it, but for every good thing +that it works for you it will work evil on some other. Great is its +blessing and great is its burden. I, alas, know; but you also have +heard of its history. Do you accept it, Pierre?" + +"Dear Father, with all my heart." + +The colorless hands touched the dark-red hair. + +"God pardon the sins you shall commit." + +Pierre crushed the hand of Jean Paul Victor against his lips and +rushed from the room, while the tall priest, staring down at the +fingers which had been kissed, pronounced: "I have forged a +thunderbolt, Father Gabrielle. It is too great for my hand. Listen!" +And they heard clearly the sharp clang of a horse's hoofs on the +hard-packed snow, loud at first, but fading rapidly away. The wind, +increasing suddenly, shook the house furiously about them. + +It was a north wind, and traveled south before the rider of the strong +roan. Over a thousand miles of plain and hills it passed, and down +into the cattle country of the mountain-desert which the Rockies hem +on one side and the tall Sierras on the other. + +It was a trail to try even the endurance of Pierre and the strong +roan, but the boy clung to it doggedly. On a trail that led down from +the edges of the northern mountain the roan crashed to the ground in a +plunging fall, hitting heavily on his knees. He was dead before the +boy had freed his feet from the stirrups. + +Pierre threw the saddle over his shoulder and walked eight miles to +the nearest ranch house, where he spent practically the last cent of +his money on another horse, and drove on south once more. + +There was little hope in him as day after day slipped past. Only the +ghost of a chance remained that Martin Ryder could fight away death +for another fortnight; yet Pierre had seen many a man from the +mountain-desert stave off the end through weeks and weeks of the +bitterest suffering. His father must be a man of the same hard durable +metal, and upon that Pierre staked all his hopes. + +And always he carried the picture of the dying man alone with his two +wolf-eyed sons who waited for his eyes to weaken. Whenever he thought +of that he touched his horse with the spurs and rode fiercely for a +time. They were his flesh and blood, the man, and even the two +wolf-eyed sons. + +So he came at last to a gap in the hills and looked down on Morgantown +in the hollow, twoscore unpainted houses sprawling along a single +street. The snow was everywhere white and pure, and the town was +like a stain on the landscape with wisps of smoke rising and trailing +across the hilltops. + +Down to the edge of the town he rode, left his cow-pony standing with +hanging head outside a saloon, strode through the swinging doors, and +asked of the bartender the way to the house of Martin Ryder. + +The bartender stopped in his labor of rubbing down the surface of his +bar and stared at the black-serge robe of the stranger, with curiosity +rather than criticism, for women, madmen, and clergymen have the +right-of-way in the mountain-desert. + +He said: "Well, I'll be damned!--askin' your pardon. So old Mart Ryder +has come down to this, eh? Partner, you're sure going to have a rough +ride getting Mart to heaven. Better send a posse along with him, +because some first-class angels are going to get considerable riled +when they sight him coming. Ha, ha, ha! Sure I'll show you the way. +Take the northwest road out of town and go five miles till you see a +broken-backed shack lyin' over to the right. That's Mart +Ryder's place." + +Out to the broken-backed shack rode Pierre le Rouge, Pierre the Red, +as everyone in the north country knew him. His second horse, staunch +cow-pony that it was, stumbled on with sagging knees and hanging head, +but Pierre rode upright, at ease, for his mind was untired. + +Broken-backed indeed was the house before which he dismounted. The +roof sagged from end to end, and the stove pipe chimney leaned at a +drunken angle. Nature itself was withered beside that house; before +the door stood a great cottonwood, gashed and scarred by lightning, +with the limbs almost entirely stripped away from one side. Under this +broken monster Pierre stepped and through the door. Two growls like +the snarls of watch-dogs greeted him, and two tall, unshaven men +barred his way. Behind them, from the bed in the corner, a feeble +voice called: "Who's there?" + +"In the name of God," said the boy gravely, for he saw a hollow-eyed +specter staring toward him from the bed in the corner, "let me pass! I +am his son!" + +It was not that which made them give back, but a shrill, faint cry of +triumph from the sick man toward which they turned. Pierre slipped +past them and stood above Martin Ryder. He was wasted beyond +belief--only the monster hand showed what he had been. + +"Son?" he queried with yearning and uncertainty. + +"Pierre, your son." + +And he slipped to his knees beside the bed. The heavy hand fell upon +his hair and stroked it. + +"There ain't no ways of doubting it. It's red silk, like the hair of +Irene. Seein' you, boy, it ain't so hard to die. Look up! So! Pierre, +my son! Are you scared of me, boy?" + +"I'm not afraid." + +"Not with them eyes you ain't. Now that you're here, pay the coyotes +and let 'em go off to gnaw the bones." + +He dragged out a small canvas bag from beneath the blankets and +gestured toward the two lurkers in the corner. + +"Take it, and be damned to you!" + +A dirty, yellow hand seized the bag; there was a chortle of +exultation, and the two scurried out of the room. + +"Three weeks they've watched an' waited for me to go out, Pierre. +Three weeks they've waited an' sneaked up to my bed an' sneaked away +agin, seein' my eyes open." + +Looking into their fierce fever brightness, Pierre understood why they +had quailed. For the man, though wrecked beyond hope of living, was +terrible still. The thick, gray stubble on his face could not hide +altogether the hard lines of mouth and jaw, and on the wasted arm the +hand was grotesquely huge. It was horror that widened the eyes of +Pierre as he looked at Martin Ryder; it was a grim happiness that made +his lips almost smile. + +"You've taken holy orders, lad?" + +"No." + +"But the black dress?" + +"I'm only a novice. I've sworn no vows." + +"And you don't hate me--you hold no grudge against me for the sake of +your mother?" + +Pierre took the heavy hand. + +"Are you not my father? And my mother was happy with you. For her sake +I love you." + +"The good Father Victor. He sent you to me." + +"I came of my own will. He would not have let me go." + +"He--he would have kept my flesh and blood away from me?" + +"Do not reproach him. He would have kept me from a sin." + +"Sin? By God, boy, no matter what I've done, is it sin for my son to +come to me? What sin?" + +"The sin of murder!" + +"Ha!" + +"I have come to find McGurk." + + + + +CHAPTER 4 + + +Like some old father-bear watching his cub flash teeth against a +stalking lynx, half proud and half fearful of such courage, so the +dying cattleman looked at his son. Excitement set a high and dangerous +color in his cheek. "Pierre--brave boy! Look at me. I ain't no +imitation man, even now, but I ain't a ghost of what I was. There +wasn't no man I wouldn't of met fair and square with bare hands or +with a gun. Maybe my hands was big, but they were fast on the draw. +I've lived all my life with iron on the hip, and my six-gun has +seven notches. + +"But McGurk downed me fair and square. There wasn't no murder. I was +out for his hide, and he knew it. I done the provokin', an' he jest +done the finishin', that was all. It hurts me a lot to say it, but +he's a better man than I was. A kid like you, why, he'd jest eat +you, Pierre." + +Pierre le Rouge smiled again. He felt a stern pride to be the son of +this man. + +"So that's settled," went on Martin Ryder, "an' a damned good thing it +is. Son, you didn't come none too soon. I'm goin' out fast. There +ain't enough light left in me so's I can see my own way. Here's all I +ask: When I die touch my eyelids soft an' draw 'em shut--I've seen the +look in a dead man's eyes. Close 'em, and I know I'll go to sleep an' +have good dreams. And down in the middle of Morgantown is the +buryin'-ground. I've ridden past it a thousand times an' watched a +corner plot, where the grass grows quicker than it does anywheres else +in the cemetery. Pierre, I'd die plumb easy if I knew I was goin' to +sleep the rest of time in that place." + +"It shall be done." + +"But that corner plot, it would cost a pile, son. And I've no money. I +gave what I had to them wolf-eyed boys, Bill an' Bert. Money was what +they wanted, an' after I had Irene's son with me, money was the +cheapest way of gettin' rid of 'em." + +"I'll buy the plot." + +"Have you got that much money, lad?" + +"Yes," lied Pierre calmly. + +The bright eyes grew dimmer and then fluttered close. Pierre started +to his feet, thinking that the end had come. But the voice began +again, fainter, slowly. + +"No light left inside of me, but dyin' this way is easy. There ain't +no wind will blow on me after I'm dead, but I'll be blanketed safe +from head to foot in cool, sweet-smellin' sod--the kind that has +tangles of the roots of grass. There ain't no snow will reach to me +where I lie. There ain't no sun will burn down to me. Dyin' like that +is jest--goin' to sleep." + +After that he said nothing for a time, and the late afternoon darkened +slowly through the room. + +As for Pierre, he did not move, and his mind went back. He did not see +the bearded wreck who lay dying before him, but a picture of Irene, +with the sun lighting her copper hair with places of burning gold, and +a handsome young giant beside her. They rode together on some upland +trail at sunset time, sharply framed against the bright sky. + +There was a whisper below him: "Irene!" + +And Pierre looked down to blankly staring eyes. He groaned, and +dropped to his knees. + +"I have come for you," said the whisper, "because the time has come, +Irene. We have to ride out together. We have a long ways to go. Are +you ready?" + +"Yes," said Pierre. + +"Thank God! It's a wonderful night. The stars are asking us out. +Quick! Into your saddle. Now the spurs. So! We are alone and free, +with the winds around us, and all that we have been forgotten +behind us." + +The eyes opened wide and stared up; without a stir in the great, gaunt +body, he was dead. Pierre reverently drew the eyes shut. There were no +tears in his eyes, but a feeling of hollowness about his heart. He +straightened and looked about him and found that the room was +quite dark. + +So in the dimness Pierre fumbled, by force of habit, at his throat, +and found the cross which he wore by a silver chain about his throat. +He held it in a great grip and closed his eyes and prayed. When he +opened his eyes again it was almost deep night in the room, and Pierre +had passed from youth to manhood. Through the gloom nothing stood out +distinctly save the white face of the dead man, and from that Pierre +looked quickly away. + +One by one he numbered his obligations to Martin Ryder, and first and +last he remembered the lie which had soothed his father. The money for +that corner plot where the grass grew first in the spring of the +year--where was he to find it? He fumbled in his pocket and found only +a single coin. + +He leaned back against the wall and strove to concentrate on the +problem, but his thoughts wandered in spite of himself. Looking +backward, he remembered all things much more clearly than when he had +actually seen them. For instance, he recalled now that as he walked +through the door the two figures which had started up to block his way +had left behind them some playing-cards at the corner table. One of +these cards had slipped from the edge of the board and flickered +slowly to the floor. + +With that memory the thoughts of Pierre le Rouge stopped. The picture +of the falling card remained; all else went out in his mind like the +snuffing of the candle. Then, as if he heard a voice directing him +through the utter blackness of the room, he knew what he must do. + +All his wealth was the single half-dollar piece in his pocket, and +there was only one way in which that coin could be increased to the +sum he would need to buy that corner plot, where the soul of old +Martin Ryder could sleep long and deep. + +From his brothers he would get no help. The least memory of those +sallow, hungry faces convinced him of that. + +There remained the gaming table. In the north country he had watched +men sit in a silent circle, smoking, drinking, with the flare of an +oil-lamp against deep, seamed faces, and only the slip and whisper of +card against card. + +Cold conscience tapped the shoulder of Pierre, remembering the lessons +of Father Victor, but a moment later his head went up and his eyes +were shining through the dark. After all, the end justified the means. + +A moment later he was laughing softly as a boy in the midst of a +prank, and busily throwing off the robe of serge. Fumbling through the +night he located the shirt and trousers he had seen hanging from a +nail on the wall. Into these he slipped, and then went out under +the open sky. + +The rest had revived the strength of the tough little cow-pony, and he +drove on at a gallop toward the twinkling lights of Morgantown. There +was a new consciousness about Pierre as if he had changed his whole +nature with his clothes. The sober sense of duty which had kept him in +awe all his life like a lifted finger, was almost gone, and in its +place was a joyous freedom. + +For the first time he faintly realized what an existence other than +that of a priest might be. Now for a brief moment he could forget the +part of the subdued novice and become merely a man with nothing about +him to distinguish him from other men, nothing to make heads turn at +his approach and raise whispers as he passed. + +It was a game, but he rejoiced in it as a girl does in her first +masquerade. Tomorrow he must be grave and sober-footed and an example +to other men; tonight he could frolic as he pleased. + +So Pierre le Rouge tossed back his head and laughed up to the frosty +stars. The loose sleeves and the skirts of the robe no longer +entangled his limbs. He threw up his arms and shouted. A hillside +caught the sound and echoed it back to him with a wonderful clearness, +and up and down the long ravine beat the clatter of the flying hoofs. +The whole world shouted and laughed and rode with him on Morgantown. + +If the people in the houses that he passed had known they would have +started up from their chairs and taken rifle and horse and chased +after him on the trail. But how could they tell from the passing of +those ringing hoofs that Pierre, the novice, was dead, and Red +Pierre was born? + +So they drowsed on about their comfortable fires, and Pierre drew rein +with a jerk before the largest of Morgantown's saloons. He had to set +his teeth before he could summon the resolution to throw open the +door. It was done; he stepped inside, and stood blinking in the sudden +rush of light against his face. + +It was all bewildering at first; the radiance, the blue tangle of +smoke, the storm of voices. For Muldoon's was packed from door to +door. Coins rang in a steady chorus along the bar, and the crowd +waited three and four deep. + +Someone was singing a rollicking song of the range at one end of the +bar, and a chorus of four bellowed a profane parody at the other end. + +The ears of Pierre le Rouge tingled hotly, and partly to escape the +uproar he worked his way to the quieter room at the back of +the saloon. + +It was almost as crowded as the bar, but here no one spoke except for +an occasional growl. Sudden speaking, and a loud voice, indeed, was +hardly safe. Someone cursed at his ill-luck as Pierre entered, and a +dozen hands reached for six-guns. In such a place one had to +be prepared. + +Pierre remembered with quick dismay that he was not armed. All his +life the straight black gown had been weapon enough to make all men +give way before him. Now he carried no borrowed strength upon his +shoulders. + +Automatically he slipped his fingers under the breast of his shirt +until their tips touched the cold metal of the cross. That gave him +stronger courage. The joy of the adventure made his blood warm again +as he drew out his one coin and looked for a place to start +his venture. + +So he approached the nearest table. On the surface of it were marked +six squares with chalk, and each with its appropriate number. The man +who ran the game stood behind the table and shook three dice. The +numbers which turned up paid the gambler. The numbers which failed to +show paid the owner of the game. + +His luck had been too strong that night, and now only two men faced +him, and both of them lost persistently. They were "bucking" the dice +with savage stubbornness. + +Pierre edged closer, shut his eyes, and deposited his coin. When he +looked again he saw that he had wagered on the five. + + + + +CHAPTER 5 + + +The dice clattered across the table and were swept up by the hand of +the man behind the table before Pierre could note them. Sick at heart, +he began to turn away, as he saw that hand reach out and gather in the +coins of the other two bettors. It went out a third time and laid +another fifty-cent piece upon his. The heart of Pierre bounded up to +his throat. + +Again the dice rolled, and this time he saw distinctly two fives turn +up. Two dollars in silver were dropped upon his, and still he let the +money lie. Again, again, and again the dice rolled. And now there were +pieces of gold among the silver that covered the square of the five. +The other two looked askance at him, and the owner of the game +growled: "Gimme room for the coins, stranger, will you?" + +Pierre picked up his winnings. In his left hand he held them, and the +coins brimmed his cupped palm. With the free hand he placed his new +wagers. But he lost now. + +"I cannot win forever," thought Pierre, and redoubled his bets in an +effort to regain the lost ground. + +Still his little fortune dwindled, till the sweat came out on his +forehead and the blood that had flushed his face ran back and left him +pale with dread. And at last there remained only one gold piece. He +hesitated, holding it poised for the wager, while the owner of the +game rattled the dice loudly and looked up at the coin with +hungry eyes. + +Once more Pierre closed his eyes and laid his wager, while his empty +left hand slipped again inside his shirt and touched the metal of the +cross, and once more when he opened his eyes the hand of the gambler +was going out to lay a second coin over his. + +"It is the cross!" thought Pierre. "It is the cross which brings me +luck." + +The dice rattled out. He won. Again, and still he won. The gambler +wiped his forehead and looked up anxiously. For these were wagers in +gold, and the doubling stakes were running high. About Pierre a crowd +had grown--a dozen cattlemen who watched the growing heap of gold with +silent fascination. Then they began to make wagers of their own, and +there were faint whispers of wrath and astonishment as the dice +clicked out and each time the winnings of Pierre doubled. + +Suddenly the dealer stopped and held up his left hand as a warning. +With his right, very slowly, inch by inch lest anyone should suspect +him of a gunplay, he drew out a heavy forty-five and laid it on the +table with the belt of cartridges. "Three years she's been on my hip +through thick and thin, stranger. Three years she's shot close an' +true. There ain't a butt in the world that hugs your hand tighter. +There ain't a cylinder that spins easier. Shoot? Lad, even a kid like +you could be a killer with that six-gun. What will you lay ag'in' it?" + +And his red-stained eyes glanced covetously at the yellow heap of +Pierre's money. + +"How much?" said Pierre eagerly. "Is there enough on the table to buy +the gun?" + +"Buy?" said the other fiercely. "There ain't enough coin west of the +Rockies to buy that gun. D'you think I'm yaller enough to sell my six? +No, but I'll risk it in a fair bet. There ain't no disgrace in that; +eh, pals?" + +There was a chorus of low grunts of assent. + +"All right," said Pierre. "That pile against the gun." + +"All of it?" + +"All." + +"Look here, kid, if you're tryin' to play a charity game with me--" + +"Charity?" + +The frank surprise of that look disarmed the other. He swept up the +dice-box, and shook it furiously, while his lips stirred. It was as if +he murmured an incantation for success. The dice rolled out, winking +in the light, spun over, and the owner of the gun stood with both +hands braced against the edge of the table, and stared hopelessly down. + +A moment before his pockets had sagged with a precious weight, and +there had been a significant drag of the belt over his right hip. Now +both burdens were gone. + +He looked up with a short laugh. + +"I'm dry. Who'll stake me to a drink?" + +Pierre scooped up a dozen pieces of the gold. + +"Here." + +The other drew back. "You're very welcome to it. Here's more, if +you'll have it." + +"The coin I've lost to you? Take back a gamblin' debt?" + +"Easy there," said one of the men. "Don't you see the kid's green? +Here's a five-spot." + +The loser accepted the coin as carelessly as if he were conferring a +favor by taking it, cast another scowl in the direction of Pierre, and +went out toward the bar. Pierre, very hot in the face, pocketed his +winnings and belted on the gun. It hung low on his thigh, just in easy +gripping distance of his hand, and he fingered the butt with a smile. + +"The kid's feelin' most a man," remarked a sarcastic voice. "Say, kid, +why don't you try your luck with Mac Hurley? He's almost through with +poor old Cochrane." + +Following the direction of the pointing finger, Pierre saw one of +those mute tragedies of the gambling hall. Cochrane, an old cattleman +whose carefully trimmed, pointed white beard and slender, tapering +fingers set him apart from the others in the room, was rather far gone +with liquor. He was still stiffly erect in his chair, and would be +till the very moment consciousness left him, but his eyes were misty, +and when he spoke his lips moved slowly, as though numbed by cold. + +Beside him stood a tall, black bottle with a little whisky glass to +flank it. He made his bets with apparent carelessness, but with a real +and deepening gloom. Once or twice he glanced up sharply as though +reckoning his losses, though it seemed to Pierre le Rouge almost like +an appeal. + +And what appeal could affect Mac Hurley? There was no color in the +man, either body or soul. No emotion could show in those pale, small +eyes or change the color of the flabby cheeks. If his hands had been +cut off, he might have seemed some sodden victim of a drug habit, but +the hands saved him. + +They seemed to belong to another body--beautiful, swift, and strong, +and grafted by some foul mischance onto this rotten hulk. Very white +they were, and long, with a nervous uneasiness in every motion, +continually hovering around the cards with little touches which were +almost caresses. + +"It ain't a game," said the man who had first pointed out the group to +Pierre, "it's just a slaughter. Cochrane's too far gone to see +straight. Look at that deal now! A kid could see that he's crooking +the cards!" + +It was blackjack, and Hurley, as usual, was dealing. He dealt with one +hand, flipping the cards out with a snap of the wrist, the fingers +working rapidly over the pack. Now and then he glanced over to the +crowd, as if to enjoy their admiration of his skill. He was showing it +now, not so much by the deftness of his cheating as by the openness +with which he exposed his tricks. + +As the stranger remarked to Pierre, a child could have discovered that +the cards were being dealt at will from the top and the bottom of the +pack, but the gambler was enjoying himself by keeping his game just +open enough to be apparent to every other man in the room--just covert +enough to deceive the drink-misted brain of Cochrane. And the pale, +swinish eyes twinkled as they stared across the dull sorrow of the old +man. There was an ominous sound from Pierre: "Do you let a thing like +that happen in this country?" he asked fiercely. + +The other turned to him with a sneer. + +"_Let_ it happen? Who'll stop him? Say, partner, you ain't meanin' to +say that you don't know who Hurley is?" + +"I don't need telling. I can see." + +"What you can't see means a lot more than what you can. I've been in +the same room when Hurley worked his gun once. It wasn't any killin', +but it was the prettiest bit of cheatin' I ever seen. But even if +Hurley wasn't enough, what about Carl Diaz?" + +He glared his triumph at Pierre, but the latter was too puzzled to +quail, and too stirred by the pale, gloomy face of Cochrane to turn +toward the other. + +"What of Diaz?" + +"Look here, boy. You're a kid, all right, but you ain't that young. +D'you mean to say that you ain't heard of Carlos Diaz?" + +It came back to Pierre then, for even into the snowbound seclusion of +the north country the shadow of the name of Diaz had gone. He could +not remember just what they were, but he seemed to recollect grim +tales through which that name figured. + +The other went on: "But if you ain't ever seen him before, look him +over now. They's some says he's faster on the draw than Bob McGurk, +but, of course, that's stretchin' him out a size too much. What's the +matter, kid; you've met McGurk?" + +"No, but I'm going to." + +"Might even be carried to him, eh--feet first?" + +Pierre turned and laid a hand on the shoulder of the other. + +"Don't talk like that," he said gently. "I don't like it." + +The other reached up to snatch the hand from his shoulder, but he +stayed his arm. + +He said after an uncomfortable moment of that silent staring: "Well, +partner, there ain't a hell of a lot to get sore over, is there? You +don't figure you're a mate for McGurk, do you?" + +He seemed oddly relieved when the eyes of Pierre moved away from him +and returned to the figure of Carlos Diaz. The Mexican was a perfect +model for a painting of a melodramatic villain. He had waxed and +twirled the end of his black mustache so that it thrust out a little +spur on either side of his long face. His habitual expression was a +scowl; his habitual position was with a cigarette in the fingers of +his left hand, and his right hand resting on his hip. He sat in a +chair directly behind that of Hurley, and Pierre's new-found +acquaintance explained: "He's the bodyguard for Hurley. Maybe there's +some who could down Hurley in a straight gunfight; maybe there's one +or two like McGurk that could down Diaz--damn his yellow hide--but +there ain't no one can buck the two of 'em. It ain't in reason. So +they play the game together. Hurley works the cards and Diaz covers up +the retreat. Can't beat that, can you?" + +Pierre le Rouge slipped his left hand once more inside his shirt until +the fingers touched the cross. + +"Nevertheless, that game has to stop." + +"Who'll--say, kid, are you stringin' me, or are you drunk? Look me in +the eye!" + + + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +Pierre turned and looked calmly upon the other. + +And the man whispered in a sort of awe: "Well, I'll be damned!" + +"Stand aside!" + +The other fell back a pace, and Pierre went straight to the table and +said to Cochrane: "Sir, I have come to take you home." + +The old man looked up and rubbed his eyes as though waking from a +sleep. + +"Stand back from the table!" warned Hurley. + +"By the Lord, have they been missing me?" queried old Cochrane. "You +are waited for," answered Pierre le Rouge, "and I've been sent to take +you home." + +"If that's the case--" + +"It ain't the case. The kid's lying." + +"Lying?" repeated Cochrane, as if he had never heard the word before, +and he peered with clearing eyes toward Pierre. "No, I think this boy +has never lied." + +Silence had spread through the place like a vapor. Even the slight +sounds in the gaming-room were done now, and one pair after another of +eyes swung toward the table of Cochrane and Hurley. The wave of the +silence reached to the barroom. No one could have carried the tidings +so soon, but the air was surcharged with the consciousness of an +impending crisis. + +Half a dozen men started to make their way on tiptoe toward the back +room. One stood with his whisky glass suspended in midair, and tilted +back his head to listen. In the gaming-room Hurley pushed back his +chair and leaned to the left, giving him a free sweep for his right +hand. The Mexican smiled with a slow and deep content. + +"Thank you," answered Pierre, "but I am waiting still, sir." + +The left hand of Hurley played impatiently on the table. + +He said: "Of course, if you have enough--" + +"I--enough?" flared the old aristocrat. + +Pierre le Rouge turned fairly upon Hurley. + +"In the name of God," he said calmly, "make an end of your game. +You're playing for money, but I think this man is playing for his +eternal soul." + +The solemn, bookish phraseology came smoothly from his tongue. He knew +no other. It drew a murmur of amusement from the room and a snarl +from Hurley. + +"Put on skirts, kid, and join the Salvation Army, but don't get +yourself messed all up in here. This is my party, and I'm damned +particular who I invite! Now, run along!" The head of Pierre tilted +back, and he burst into laughter which troubled even Hurley. + +The gambler blurted: "What's happening to you, kid?" + +"I've been making a lot of good resolutions, Mr. Hurley, about keeping +out of trouble; but here I am in it up to the neck." + +"No trouble as long as you keep your hand out of another man's game, +kid." + +"That's it. I can't see you rob Mr. Cochrane like this. You aren't +gambling--you're digging gold. The game stops now." + +It was a moment before the crowd realized what was about to happen; +they saw it reflected first in the face of Hurley, which suddenly went +taut and pale, and then, even as they looked with a smile of curiosity +and derision toward Pierre le Rouge, they saw and understood. + +For the moment Pierre said, "The game stops now," the calm which had +been with him was gone. It was like the scent of blood to the starved +wolf. The last word was scarcely off his tongue when he was crouched +with a devil of green fury in his eyes--the light struck his hair into +a wave of flame--his face altered by a dozen ugly years. + +"D'you mean?" whispered Hurley, as if he feared to break the silence +with his full voice. + +"Get out of the room." + +And the impulse of Hurley, plainly enough, was to obey the order, and +go anywhere to escape from that relentless stare. His glance wavered +and flashed around the circle and then back to Red Pierre, for the +expectancy of the crowd forced him back. + +When the leader of the pack springs and fails to kill, the rest of the +pack tear him to pieces. Remembering this, Mac Hurley forced his +glance back to Pierre. Moreover, there was a soft voice from behind, +and he remembered Diaz. + +All this had taken place in the length of time that it takes a heavy +body to totter on the brink of a precipice or a cat to regain its feet +after a fall. After the voice of Diaz there was a sway through the +room, a pulse of silence, and then three hands shot for their +hips--Pierre, Diaz, and Hurley. + +No stop-watch could have caught the differing lengths of time which +each required for the draw. The muzzle of Hurley's revolver was not +clear of the holster--the gun of Diaz was nearly at the level when +Pierre's weapon exploded at his hip. The bullet cut through the wrist +of Hurley. Never again would that slender, supple hand fly over the +cards, doing things other than they seemed. He made no effort to +escape from the next bullet, but stood looking down at his broken +wrist; horror for the moment gave him a dignity oddly out of place +with his usual appearance. He alone in all the room was moveless. + +The crowd, undecided for an instant, broke for the doors at the first +shot; Pierre le Rouge pitched to the floor as Diaz leaped forward, the +revolver in either hand spitting lead and fire. + +It was no bullet that downed Pierre but his own cunning. He broke his +fall with an outstretched left hand, while the bullets of Diaz pumped +into the void space which his body had filled a moment before. + +Lying there at ease, he leveled the revolver, grinning with the +mirthless lust of battle, and fired over the top of the table. The +guns dropped from the hands of huge Diaz. He caught at his throat and +staggered back the full length of the room, crashing against the wall. +When he pitched forward on his face he was dead before he struck +the floor. + +Pierre, now Red Pierre, indeed, rose and ran to the fallen man, and, +looking at the bulk of the giant, he wondered with a cold heart. He +knew before he slipped his hand over the breast of Diaz that this was +death. Then he rose again and watched the still fingers which seemed +to be gripping at the boards. These he saw, and nothing else, and +all he heard was the rattling of the wind of winter, wrenching at some +loose shingle on the roof, and he knew that he was alone in the world, +for he had put out a life. + +He found a strange weight pulling down his right hand, and started +when he saw the revolver. He replaced it in the holster automatically, +and in so doing touched the barrel and found it warm. + +Then fear came to Pierre, the first real fear of his life. He jerked +his head high and looked about him. The room was utterly empty. He +tiptoed to the door and found even the long bar deserted, littered +with tall bottles and overturned glasses. The cold in his heart +increased. A moment before he had been hand in hand with all the mirth +in that place. + +Now the men whose laughter he had repeated with smiles, the men +against whose sleeves his elbow had touched, were further away from +him than they had been when all the snow-covered miles from Morgantown +to the school of Father Victor had laid between them. They were men +who might lose themselves in any crowd, but he was set apart with a +brand, even as Hurley and Diaz had been set apart that eventful evening. + +He had killed a man. That fact blotted out the world. He drew his gun +again and stole down the length of the bar. Once he stopped and poised +the weapon before he realized that the white, fierce face that +squinted at him was his own reflection in a mirror. + +Outside the door the free wind caught at his face, and he blessed it +in his heart, as if it had been the touch of the hand of a friend. +Beyond the long, dark, silent street the moor rose and passed up +through the safe, dark spaces of the sky. + +He must move quickly now. The pursuit was not yet organized, but it +would begin in a space of minutes. From the group of half a dozen +horses which stood before the saloon he selected the best--a tall, +raw-boned nag with an ugly head. Into the saddle he swung, wondering +faintly that the theft of a horse mattered so little to him. His was +the greatest sin. All other things mattered nothing. + +Down the long street he galloped. The sharp echoes flew out at him +from every unlighted house, but not a human being was in sight. So he +swung out onto the long road which wound up through the hills, and +beside him rode a grim brotherhood, the invisible fellowship of Cain. + +The moon rose higher, brighter, and a grotesque black shadow galloped +over the snow beside him. He turned his head sharply to the other side +and watched the sweep of white hills which reached back in range after +range until they blended with the shadows of night. + +The road faded to a bridle path, and this in turn he lost among the +windings of the valley. He was lost from even the traces of men, and +yet the fear of men pursued him. Fear, and yet with it there was a +thrill of happiness, for every swinging stride of the tall, wild roan +carried him deeper into freedom, the unutterable fierce freedom of +the hunted. + + + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +All life was tame compared with this sudden awakening of Pierre. He +had killed a man. For fear of it he raced the tall roan furiously +through the night. + +He had killed a man. For the joy of it he shouted a song that went +ringing across the blank, white hills. What place was there in Red +Pierre for solemn qualms of conscience? Had he not met the first and +last test triumphantly? The oldest instinct in creation was satisfied +in him. Now he stood ready to say to all the world: Behold, a man! + +Let it be remembered that his early years had been passed in a dull, +dun silence, and time had slipped by him with softly padding, +uneventful hours. Now, with the rope of restraint snapped, he rode at +the world with hands, palm upward, asking for life, and that life +which lies under the hills of the mountain-desert heard his question +and sent a cold, sharp echo back to answer his lusty singing. + +The first answer, as he plunged on, not knowing where, and not caring, +was when the roan reeled suddenly and flung forward to the ground. +Even that violent stop did not unseat Red Pierre. He jerked up on the +reins with a curse and drove in the spurs. Valiantly the horse reared +his shoulders up, but when he strove to rise the right foreleg dangled +helplessly. He had stepped in some hole and the bone was broken +cleanly across. + +The rider slipped from the saddle and stood facing the roan, which +pricked its ears forward and struggled once more to regain its feet. +The effort was hopeless, and Pierre took the broken leg and felt the +rough edges of the splintered bone through the skin. The animal, as if +it sensed that the man was trying to do it some good, nosed his +shoulder and whinnied softly. + +Pierre stepped back and drew his revolver. The bullet would do quickly +what the cold would accomplish after lingering hours of torture, yet, +facing those pricking ears and the trust of the eyes, he was blinded +by a mist and could not aim. He had to place the muzzle of the gun +against the roan's temple and pull the trigger. When he turned his +back he was the only living thing within the white arms of the hills. + +Yet, when the next hill was behind him, he had already forgotten the +second life which he put out that night, for regret is the one sorrow +which never dodges the footsteps of the hunted. Like all his +brotherhood of Cain, Pierre le Rouge pressed forward across the +mountain-desert with his face turned toward the brave tomorrow. In the +evening of his life, if he should live to that time, he would walk and +talk with God. + +Now he had no mind save for the bright day coming. + +He had been riding with the wind and had scarcely noticed its violence +in his headlong course. Now he felt it whipping sharply at his back +and increasing with each step. Overhead the sky was clear. It seemed +to give vision for the wind and cold to seek him out, and the moon +made his following shadow long and black across the snow. + +The wind quickened rapidly to a gale that cut off the surface of the +snow and whipped volleys of the small particles level with the +surface. It cut the neck of Red Pierre, and the gusts struck his +shoulders with staggering force like separate blows, twisting him a +little from side to side. + +Coming from the direction of Morgantown, it seemed as if the vengeance +for Diaz was following the slayer. Once he turned and laughed in the +teeth of the wind, and shook his fist back at Morgantown and all the +avenging powers of the law. + +Yet he was glad to turn away from the face of the storm and stride on +down-wind. Even traveling with the gale grew more and more impossible. +The snowdrifts which the wind picked up and hurried across the hills +pressed against Pierre's back like a great, invisible hand, bowing him +as if beneath a burden. In the hollows the labor was not so great, but +when he approached a summit the gale screamed in his ear and struck +him savagely. + +For all his optimism, for all his young, undrained strength, a doubt +began to grow in the mind of Pierre le Rouge. At length, remembering +how that weight of gold came in his pockets, he slipped his left hand +into the bosom of his shirt and touched the icy metal of the cross. +Almost at once he heard, or thought he heard, a faint, sweet sound +of singing. + +The heart of Red Pierre stopped. For he knew the visions which came to +men perishing with cold; but he grew calmer again in a moment. This +touch of cold was nothing compared with whole months of hard exposure +which he had endured in the northland. It had not the edge. If it were +not for the wind it was scarcely a threat to life. Moreover, the +singing sounded no more. It had been hardly more than a phrase of +music, and it must have been a deceptive murmur of the wind. + +After all, a gale brought wilder deceptions than that. Some men had +actually heard voices declaiming words in such a wind. He himself had +heard them tell their stories. So he leaned forward again and gave his +stanch heart to the task. Yet once more he stopped, for this time the +singing came clearly, sweetly to him. + +There was no doubt of it now. Of course it was wildly impossible, +absurd; but beyond all question he heard the voice of a girl come +whistling down the wind. He could almost catch the words. For a little +moment he lingered still. Then he turned and fought his way into the +strong arms of the storm. + +Every now and then he paused and crouched to the snow. Usually there +was only the shriek of the wind in his ears, but a few times the +singing came to him and urged him on. If he had allowed the idea of +failure to enter his mind, he must have given up the struggle, but +failure was a stranger to his thoughts. + +He lowered his head against the storm. Sometimes it caught under him +and nearly lifted him from his feet. But he clung against the slope of +the hill, sometimes gripping hard with his hands. So he worked his way +to the right, the sound of the singing coming more and more +frequently and louder and louder. When he was almost upon the source +of the music it ceased abruptly. + +He waited a moment, but no sound came. He struggled forward a few more +yards and pitched down exhausted, panting. Still he heard the singing +no longer. With a falling heart he rose and resigned himself to wander +on his original course with the wind, but as he started he placed his +hand once more against the cross, and it was then that he saw her. + +For he had simply gone past her, and the yelling of the storm had cut +off the sound of her voice. Now he saw her lying, a spot of bright +color on the snow. He read the story at a glance. As she passed this +steep-sided hill the loosely piled snow had slid down and carried with +it the dead trunk of a fallen tree. + +Pierre came from behind and stood over her unnoticed. He saw that the +oncoming tree, by a strange chance, had knocked down the girl and +pinned her legs to the ground. His strength and the strength of a +dozen men would not be sufficient to release her. This he saw at the +first glance, and saw the bright gold of her hair against the snow. +Then he dropped on his knees beside her. + + + + +CHAPTER 8 + + +The girl tossed up her arms in a silent greeting, and Pierre caught +the small cold hands and saw that she was only a child of twelve or +fourteen trapped by the wild storm sweeping over them. He crouched +lower still, and when he did so the strength of the wind against his +face decreased wonderfully, for the sharp angle of the hill's +declivity protected them. Seeing him kneel there, she cried out with a +little wail: "Help me--the tree--help me!" And, bursting into a +passion of sobbing, she tugged her hands from his and covered +her face. + +Pierre placed his shoulder under the trunk and lifted till the muscles +of his back snapped and cracked. He could not budge the weight; he +could not even send a tremor through the mass of wood. He dropped back +beside her with a groan. He felt her eyes upon him; she had ceased her +sobs, and looked steadily into his face. + +It would have been easy for him to meet that look on the morning of +this day, but after that night's work in Morgantown he had to brace +his nerve to withstand it. + +She said: "You can't budge the tree?" + +"Yes--in a minute; I will try again." + +"You'll only hurt yourself for nothing. I saw how you strained at it." + +The greatest miracle he had ever seen was her calm. Her eyes were wide +and sorrowful indeed, but she was almost smiling up to him. + +After a while he was able to say, in a faint voice: "Are you very +cold?" + +She answered: "I'm not afraid. But if you stay longer with me, you may +freeze. The snow and even the tree help to keep me almost warm; but +you will freeze. Go for help; hurry, and if you can, send it back +to me." + +He thought of the long miles back to Morgantown; no human being could +walk that distance against this wind; not even a strong horse could +make its way through the storm. If he went on with the wind, how long +would it be before he reached a house? Before him, over range after +range of hills, he saw no single sign of a building. If he reached +some such place it would be the same story as the trip to Morgantown; +men simply could not beat a way against that wind. + +Then a cold hand touched him, and he looked up to find her eyes grave +and wide once more, and her lips half smiling, as if she strove to +deceive him. + +"There's no chance of bringing help?" + +He merely stared hungrily at her, and the loveliest thing he had ever +seen was the play of golden hair beside her cheek. Her smile went out. +She withdrew her hand, but she repeated: "I'm not afraid. I'll simply +grow numb and then fall asleep. But you go on and save yourself." + +Seeing him shake his head, she caught his hands again. + +"I'll be unhappy. You'll make me so unhappy if you stay. Please go." + +He raised the small hand and pressed it to his lips. + +She said: "You are crying!" + +"No, no!" + +"There! I see the tears shining on my hand. What is your name?" + +"Pierre." + +"Pierre? I like that name. Pierre, to make me happy, will you go? Your +face is all white and touched with a shadow of blue. It is the cold. +Oh, won't you go?" Then she pleaded, finding him obdurate: "If you +won't go for me, then go for your father." + +He raised his head with a sudden laughter, and, raising it, the wind +beat into his face fiercely and the particles of snow whipped +his skin. + +"Dear Pierre, then for your mother?" + +He bowed his head. + +"Not for all the people who love you and wait for you now by some warm +fire--some cozy fire, all yellow and bright?" + +He took her hands and with them covered his eyes. "Listen: I have no +father; I have no mother." + +"Pierre! Oh, Pierre, I'm sorry!" + +"And for the rest of 'em, I've killed a man. The whole world hates me; +the whole world's hunting me." + +The small hands tugged away. He dared not raise his bowed head for +fear of her eyes. And then the hands came back to him and touched +his face. + +She was saying tremulously: "Then he deserved to be killed. There must +be men like that--almost. And I--like you still, Pierre." + +"Really?" + +"I almost think I like you more--because you could kill a man--and +then stay here for me." + +"If you were a grown-up girl, do you know what I'd say?" + +"Please tell me." + +"That I could love you." + +"Pierre--" + +"Yes." + +"My name is Mary Brown." + +He repeated several times: "Mary." + +"And if I were a grown-up girl, do you know what I would answer?" + +"I don't dare guess it." + +"That I could love you, Pierre, if you were a grown-up man." + +"But I am." + +"Not a really one." + +And they both broke into laughter--laughter that died out before a +sound of rushing and of thunder, as a mass slid swiftly past them, +snow and mud and sand and rubble. The wind fell away from them, and +when Pierre looked up he saw that a great mass of tumbled rock and +soil loomed above them. + +The landslide had not touched them, by some miracle, but in a moment +more it might shake loose again, and all that mass of ton upon ton of +stone and loam would overwhelm them. The whole mass quaked and +trembled, and the very hillside shuddered beneath them. + +She looked up and saw the coming ruin; but her cry was for him, not +herself. + +"Run, Pierre--you can save yourself." + +With that terror threatening him from above, he rose and started to +run down the hill. A moan of woe followed him, and he stopped and +turned back, and fought his way through the wind until he was beside +her once more. + +She was weeping. + +"Pierre--I couldn't help calling out for you; but now I'm strong +again, and I won't have you stay. The whole mountain is shaking and +falling toward us. Go now, Pierre, and I'll never make a sound to +bring you back." + +He said: "Hush! I've something here which will keep us both safe. +Look!" + +He tore from the chain the little metal cross, and held it high +overhead, glimmering in the pallid light. She forgot her fear +in wonder. + +"I gambled with only one coin to lose, and I came out tonight with +hundreds and hundreds of dollars because I had the cross. It is a +charm against all danger and against all bad fortune. It has never +failed me." + +Over them the piled mass slid closer. The forehead of Pierre gleamed +with sweat, but a strong purpose made him talk on. At least he could +take all the foreboding of death from the child, and when the end came +it would be swift and wipe them both out at one stroke. She clung to +him, eager to believe. + +"I've closed my eyes so that I can believe." + +"It has never failed me. It saved me when I fought two men. One of +them I crippled and the other died. You see, the power of the cross is +as great as that. Do you doubt it now, Mary?" + +"Do you believe in it so much--really--Pierre?" + +Each time there was a little lowering of her voice, a little pause and +caress in the tone as she uttered his name, and nothing in all his +life had stirred Red Pierre so deeply with happiness and sorrow. + +"Do you believe, Pierre?" she repeated. + +He looked up and saw the shuddering mass of the landslide creeping +upon them inch by inch. In another moment it would loose itself with a +rush and cover them. + +"I believe," he said. + +"If you should live, and I should die--" + +"I would throw the cross away." + +"No, you would keep it; and every time you touched it you would think +of me, Pierre, would you not?" + +"When you reach out to me like that, you take my heart between your +hands." + +"And I feel grown up and sad and happy both together. After we've been +together on such a night, how can we ever be apart again?" + +The mass of the landslide toppled right above them. She did not seem +to see. + +"I'm so happy, Pierre. I was never so happy." + +And he said, with his eyes on the approaching ruin: "It was your +singing that brought me to you. Will you sing again?" + +"I sang because I knew that when I sang the sound would carry farther +through the wind than if I called for help. What shall I sing for you +now, Pierre?" + +"What you sang when I came to you." + +And the light, sweet voice rose easily through the sweep of the wind. +She smiled as she sang, and the smile and music were all for Pierre, +he knew. Through the last stanza of the song the rumble of the +approaching death grew louder, and as she ended he threw himself +beside her and gathered her into protecting arms. + +She cried: "Pierre! What is it?" + +"I must keep you warm; the snow will eat away your strength." + +"No; it's more than that. Tell me, Pierre! You don't trust the power +of the cross?" + +"Are you afraid?" + +"Oh, no; I'm not afraid, Pierre." + +"If one life would be enough, I'd give mine a thousand times. Mary, we +are to die." + +An arm slipped around his neck--a cold hand pressed against his cheek. + +"Pierre." + +"Yes." + +The thunder broke above them with a mighty roaring. + +"_You_ have no fear." + +"Mary, if I had died alone I would have dropped down to hell under my +sins; but, with your arm around me, you'll take me with you. Hold +me close." + +"With all my heart, Pierre. See--I'm not afraid. It is like going to +sleep. What wonderful dreams we'll have!" + +And then the black mass of the landslide swept upon them. + + + + +CHAPTER 9 + + +Down all the length of the mountain-desert and across its width of +rocks and mountains and valleys and stern plateaus there is a saying: +"You can tell a man by the horse he rides." For most other important +things are apt to go by opposites, which is the usual way in which a +man selects his wife. With dogs, for instance--a quiet man is apt to +want an active dog, and a tractable fellow may keep the most vicious +of wolf-dogs. + +But when it comes to a horse, a man's heart speaks for itself, and if +he has sufficient knowledge he will choose a sympathetic mount. A +woman loves a neat-stepping saddle-horse; a philosopher likes a +nodding, stumble-footed nag which will jog all day long and care not a +whit whether it goes up dale or down. + +To know the six wild riders who galloped over the white reaches of the +mountain-desert this night, certainly their horses should be studied +first and the men secondly, for the one explained the other. + +They came in a racing triangle. Even the storm at its height could not +daunt such furious riders. At the point of the triangle thundered a +mighty black stallion, his muzzle and his broad chest flecked with +white foam, for he stretched his head out and champed at the bit with +ears laid flat back, as though even that furious pace gave him no +opportunity to use fully his strength. + +He was an ugly headed monster with a savagely hooked Roman nose and +small, keen eyes, always red at the corners. A medieval baron in full +panoply of plate armor would have chosen such a charger among ten +thousand steeds, yet the black stallion needed all his strength to +uphold the unarmored giant who bestrode him, a savage figure. + +When the broad brim of his hat flapped up against the wind the +moonshine caught at shaggy brows, a cruelly arched nose, thin, +straight lips, and a forward-thrusting jaw. It seemed as if nature had +hewn him roughly and designed him for a primitive age where he could +fight his way with hands and teeth. + +This was Jim Boone. To his right and a little behind him galloped a +riderless horse, a beautiful young animal continually tossing its +head and looking as if for guidance at the big stallion. + +To the left strode a handsome bay with pricking ears. A mound +interfered with his course, and he cleared it in magnificent style +that would have brought a cheer from the lips of any English lover of +the chase. + +Straight in the saddle sat Dick Wilbur, and he raised his face a +little to the wind, smiling faintly as if he rejoiced in its fine +strength, as handsome as the horse he rode, as cleanly cut, as finely +bred. The moon shone a little brighter on him than on any other of the +six riders. + +Bud Mansie behind, for instance, kept his head slightly to one side +and cursed beneath his breath at the storm and set his teeth at the +wind. His horse, delicately formed, with long, slender legs, could not +have endured that charge against the storm save that it constantly +edged behind the leaders and let them break the wind. It carried less +weight than any other mount of the six, and its strength was cunningly +nursed by the rider so that it kept its place, and at the finish it +would be as strong as any and swifter, perhaps, for a sudden, short +effort, just as Bud Mansie might be numbed through all his nervous, +slender body, but never too numb for swift and deadly action. + +On the opposite wing of the flying wedge galloped a dust-colored gray, +ragged of mane and tail, and vindictive of eye, like its down-headed +rider, who shifted his glance rapidly from side to side and watched +the ground closely before his horse as if he were perpetually prepared +for danger. + +He distrusted the very ground over which his mount strode. For all +this he seemed the least formidable of all the riders. To see him pass +none could have suspected that this was Black Morgan Gandil. + +Last of the crew came two men almost as large as Jim Boone himself, on +strong steady-striding horses. They came last in this crew, but among +a thousand other long-riders they would have ridden first, either +red-faced, good-humored, loud-voiced Garry Patterson, or Phil Branch, +stout-handed, blunt of jaw, who handled men as he had once hammered +red iron at the forge. + +Each of them should have ridden alone in order to be properly +appreciated. To see them together was like watching a flock of eagles +every one of which should have been a solitary lord of the air. But +after scanning that lordly train which followed, the more terrible +seemed the rider of the great black horse. + +Yet the king was sad, and the reason for his sadness was the riderless +horse which galloped so freely beside him. His son had ridden that +horse when they set out, and all the way down to the railroad Handsome +Hal Boone had kept his mount prancing and curveting and had ridden +around and around tall Dick Wilbur, playing pranks, and had teased his +father's black until the big stallion lashed out wildly with +furious heels. + +It was the memory of this that kept the grave shadow of a smile on the +father's lips for all the sternness of his eyes. He never turned his +head, for, looking straight forward, he could conjure up the laughing +vision; but when he glanced to the empty saddle he heard once more the +last unlucky shot fired from the train as they raced off with their +booty, and saw Hal reel in his saddle and pitch forward; and how he +had tried to check his horse and turn back; and how Dick Wilbur, and +Patterson, and big Phil Branch had forced him to go on and leave that +form lying motionless on the snow. + +At that he groaned, and spurred the black, and so the cavalcade rushed +faster and faster through the night. + +They came over a sharp ridge and veered to the side just in time, for +all the further slope was a mass of treacherous sand and rubble and +raw rocks and mud, where a landslide had stripped the hill to +the stone. + +As they veered about the ruin and thundered on down to the foot of +the hill, Jim Boone threw up his hand for a signal and brought his +stallion to a halt on back-braced, sliding legs. + +For a metallic glitter had caught his eye, and then he saw, half +covered by the pebbles and dirt, the figure of a man. He must have +been struck by the landslide and not overwhelmed by it, but rather +carried before it like a stick in a rush of water. At the outermost +edge of the wave he lay with the rocks and dirt washed over him. Boone +swung from the saddle and lifted Pierre le Rouge. + +The gleam of metal was the cross which his fingers still gripped. +Boone examined it with a somewhat superstitious caution, took it from +the nerveless fingers, and slipped it into a pocket of Pierre's shirt. +A small cut on the boy's forehead showed where the stone struck which +knocked him senseless, but the cut still bled--a small trickle--Pierre +lived. He even stirred and groaned and opened his eyes, large and +deeply blue. + +It was only an instant before they closed, but Boone had seen. He +turned with the figure lifted easily in his arms as if Pierre had been +a child fallen asleep by the hearth and now about to be carried off +to bed. + +And the outlaw said: "I've lost my boy tonight. This here one was +given me by the will of--God." + +Black Morgan Gandil reined his horse close by, leaned to peer down, +and the shadow of his hat fell across the face of Pierre. + +"There's no good comes of savin' shipwrecked men. Leave him where you +found him, Jim. That's my advice. Sidestep a redheaded man. That's +what I say." + +The quick-stepping horse of Bud Mansie came near, and the rider wiped +his stiff lips, and spoke from the side of his mouth, a prison habit +of the line that moves in the lockstep: "Take it from me, Jim, there +ain't any place in our crew for a man you've picked up without knowing +him beforehand. Let him lay, I say." But big Dick Wilbur was already +leading up the horse of Hal Boone, and into the saddle Jim Boone swung +the inert body of Pierre. The argument was settled, for every man of +them knew that nothing could turn Boone back from a thing once begun. +Yet there were muttered comments that drew Black Morgan Gandil and Bud +Mansie together. + +And Gandil, from the South Seas, growled with averted eyes: "This is +the most fool stunt the chief has ever pulled." + +"Right, pal," answered Mansie. "You take a snake in out of the cold, +and it bites you when it comes to in the warmth; but the chief has +started, and there ain't nothing that'll make him stop, except maybe +God or McGurk." + +And Black Gandil answered with his evil, sudden grin: "Maybe McGurk, +but not God." + +They started on again with Garry Patterson and Dick Wilbur riding +close on either side of Pierre, supporting his limp body. It delayed +the whole gang, for they could not go on faster than a jog-trot. The +wind, however, was falling off in violence. Its shrill whistling +ceased, at length, and they went on, accompanied only by the harsh +crunching of the snow underfoot. + + + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +Consciousness returned to Pierre slowly. Many a time his eyes opened, +and he saw nothing, but when he did see and hear it was by +vague glimpses. + +He heard the crunch of the snow underfoot; he heard the panting and +snorting of the horses; he felt the swing and jolt of the saddle +beneath him; he saw the grim faces of the long-riders, and he said: +"The law has taken me." + +Thereafter he let his will lapse, and surrendered to the sleepy +numbness which assailed his brain in waves. He was riding without +support by this time, but it was an automatic effort. There was no +more real life in him than in a dummy figure. It was not the effect of +the blow. It was rather the long exposure and the overexertion of mind +and body during the evening and night. He had simply collapsed beneath +the strain. + +But an old army man has said: "Give me a soldier of eighteen or +twenty. In a single day he may not march quite so far as a more mature +man or carry quite so much weight. He will go to sleep each night dead +to the world. But in the morning he awakens a new man. He is like a +slate from which all the writing has been erased. He is ready for a +new day and a new world. Thirty days of campaigning leaves him as +strong and fresh as ever. + +"Thirty days of campaigning leaves the old soldier a wreck. Why? +Because as a man grows older he loses the ability to sleep soundly. He +carries the nervous strain of one day over to the next. Life is a +serious problem to a man over thirty. To a man under thirty it is +simply a game. For my part, give me men who can play at war." + +So it was with Pierre le Rouge. He woke with a faint heaviness of +head, and stretched himself. There were many sore places, but nothing +more. He looked up, and the slant winter sun cut across his face and +made a patch of bright yellow on the wall beside him. + +Next he heard a faint humming, and, turning his head, saw a boy of +fourteen or perhaps a little more, busily cleaning a rifle in a way +that betokened the most expert knowledge of the weapon. Pierre himself +knew rifles as a preacher knows his Bible, and as he lay half awake +and half asleep he smiled with enjoyment to see the deft fingers move +here and there, wiping away the oil. A green hand will spend half a +day cleaning a gun, and then do the work imperfectly; an expert does +the job efficiently in ten minutes. This was an expert. + +Undoubtedly this was a true son of the mountain-desert. He wore his +old slouch hat even in the house, and his skin was that olive brown +which comes from many years of exposure to the wind and sun. At the +same time there was a peculiar fineness about the boy. His feet were +astonishingly small and the hands thin and slender for all their +supple strength. And his neck was not bony, as it is in most youths at +this gawky age, but smoothly rounded. + +Men grow big of bone and sparse of flesh in the mountain-desert. It +was the more surprising to Pierre to see this young fellow with the +marvelously delicate-cut features. By some freak of nature here was a +place where the breed ran to high blood. + +The cleaning completed, the boy tossed the butt of the gun to his +shoulder and squinted down the barrel. Then he loaded the magazine, +weighted the gun deftly at the balance, and dropped the rifle across +his knees. + +"Morning," said Pierre le Rouge cheerily, and swung off the bunk to +the floor. "How old's the gun?" + +The boy, without the slightest show of excitement, snapped the butt to +his shoulder and drew a bead on Pierre's breast. + +"Sit down before you get all heated up," said a musical voice. +"There's nobody waiting for you on horseback." + +And Pierre sat down, partly because Western men never argue a point +when that little black hole is staring them in the face, partly +because he remembered with a rush that the last time he had fully +possessed his consciousness he had been lying in the snow with the +cross gripped hard and the toppling mass of the landslide above him. +All that had happened between was blotted from his memory. He fumbled +at his throat. The cross was not there. He touched his pockets. +"Ease your hands away from your hip," said the cold voice of the boy, +who had dropped his gun to the ready with a significant finger curled +around the trigger, "or I'll drill you clean." + +Pierre obediently raised his hands to the level of his shoulders. The +boy sneered. + +"This isn't a hold-up," he explained. "Put 'em down again, but watch +yourself." + +The sneer varied to a contemptuous smile. + +"I guess you're tame, all right." + +"Point that gun another way, will you, son?" + +The boy flushed. + +"Don't call me son." + +"Is this a lockup--a jail?" + +"This?" + +"What is it, then? The last I remember I was lying in the snow with--" + +"I wish to God you'd been let there," said the boy bitterly. + +But Pierre, overwhelmed with the endeavor to recollect, rushed on with +his questions and paid no heed to the tone. + +"I had a cross in my hand--" + +The scorn of the boy grew to mighty proportions. + +"It's there in the breast-pocket of your shirt." + +Pierre drew out the little cross, and the touch of it against his palm +restored whatever of his strength was lacking. Very carefully he +attached it to the chain about his throat. Then he looked up to the +contempt of the boy, and as he did so another memory burst on him and +brought him to his feet. The gun went to the boy's shoulders at the +same time. + +"When I was found--was anyone else with me?" + +"Nope." + +"What happened?" + +"Must have been buried in the landslide. Half a hill caved in, and +the dirt rolled you down to the bottom. Plain luck, that's all, that +kept you from going out." + +"Luck?" said Pierre and he laid his hand against his breast where he +could feel the outline of the cross. "Yes, I suppose it was luck. +And she--" + +He sat down slowly and buried his face in his hands. A new tone came +in the voice of the boy as he asked: "Was a woman with you?" But +Pierre heard only the tone and not the words. His face was gray when +he looked up again, and his voice hard. + +"Tell me as briefly as you can how I come here, and who picked me up." + +"My father and his men. They passed you lying on the snow. They +brought you home." + +"Who is your father?" + +The boy stiffened and his color rose. + +"My father is Jim Boone." + +Instinctively, while he stared, the right hand of Pierre le Rouge +crept toward his hip. + +"Keep your hand steady," said the boy. "I got a nervous +trigger-finger. Yeh, dad is pretty well known." + +"You're his son?" + +"I'm Jack Boone." + +"But I've heard--tell me, why am I under guard?" + +Jack was instantly aflame with the old anger. + +"Not because I want you here." + +"Who does?" + +"Dad." + +"Put away your pop-gun and talk sense. I won't try to get away until +Jim Boone comes. I only fight men." + +Even the anger and grief of the boy could not keep him from smiling. + +"Just the same I'll keep the shooting-iron handy. Sit still. A gun +don't keep me from talking sense, does it? You're here to take Hal's +place. Hal!" The little wail told a thousand things, and Pierre, +shocked out of the thought of his own troubles, waited. + +"My brother, Hal; he's dead; he died last night, and on the way back +dad found you and brought you to take Hal's place. _Hal's_ place!" + +The accent showed how impossible it was that Hal's place could be +taken by any mortal man. + +"I got orders to keep you here, but if I was to do what I'd like to +do, I'd give you the best horse on the place and tell you to clear +out. That's me!" + +"Then do it." + +"And face dad afterward?" + +"Tell him I overpowered you. That would be easy; you a slip of a boy, +and me a man." + +"Stranger, it goes to show you may have heard of Jim Boone, but you +don't anyways know him. When he orders a thing done he wants it done, +and he don't care how, and he don't ask questions why. He just +raises hell." + +"He really expects to keep me here?" + +"Expects? He will." + +"Going to tie me up?" asked Pierre ironically. + +"Maybe," answered Jack, overlooking the irony. "Maybe he'll just put +you on my shoulders to guard." + +He moved the gun significantly. + +"And I can do it." + +"Of course. But he would have to let me go sometime." + +"Not till you'd promised to stick by him. I told him that myself, but +he said that you're young and that he'd teach you to like this life +whether you wanted to or not. Me speaking personally, I agree with +Black Gandil: This is the worst fool thing that dad has ever done. +What do we want with you--in Hal's place!" + +"But I've got a thing to do right away--today; it can't wait." + +"Give dad your word to come back and he'll let you go. He says you're +the kind that will keep your word. You see, he found you with a +cross in your hand." + +And Jack's lips curled again. + +It was all absurd, too impossible to be real. The only real things +were the body of yellow-haired Mary Brown, under the tumbled rocks and +dirt of the landslide, and the body of Martin Ryder waiting to be +placed in that corner plot where the grass grew quicker than all other +grass in the spring of the year. + +However, having fallen among madmen, he must use cunning to get away +before the outlaw and his men came back from wherever they had gone. +Otherwise there would be more bloodshed, more play of guns and hum +of lead. + +"Tell me of Hal," he said, and dropped his elbows on his knees as if +he accepted his fate. + +"Don't know you well enough to talk of Hal." + +"I'm sorry." + +The boy made a little gesture of apology. + +"I guess that was a mean thing to say. Sure I'll tell you about +Hal--if I can." + +"Tell me anything you can," said Pierre gently, "because I've got to +try to be like him, haven't I?" + +"You could try till rattlers got tame, but it'd take ten like you to +make one like Hal. He was dad's own son--he was my brother." + +The sob came openly now, and the tears were a mist in the boy's eyes. + +"What's your name?" + +"Pierre." + +"Pierre? I suppose I got to learn it." + +"I suppose so." And he edged farther forward so that he was sitting +only on the edge of the bunk. + +"Please do." And he gathered his feet under him, ready for a spring +forward and a grip at the boy's threatening rifle. + +Jack had canted his head a little to one side. "Did you ever see a +horse that was gentle and yet had never been ridden, or his spirit +broke, Pierre--" + +Here Pierre made his leap swift as some bobcat of the northern woods; +his hand whipped out as lightning fast as the striking paw of the +lynx, and the gun was jerked from the hands of Jack. Not before the +boy clutched at it with a cry of horror, but the force of the pull +sent him lurching to the floor and broke his grip. + +He was up in an instant, however, and a knife of ugly length glittered +in his hand as he sprang at Pierre. + +Pierre tossed aside the rifle and met the attack barehanded. He caught +the knife-bearing hand at the wrist and under his grip the hand +loosened its hold and the steel tinkled on the floor. His other arm +caught the body of Jack in a mighty vise. + +There was a brief and futile struggle, and a hissing of breath in the +silence till the hat tumbled from the head of Jack and down over the +shoulders streamed a torrent of silken black hair. + +Pierre stepped back. This was the meaning, then, of the strangely +small feet and hands and the low music of the voice. It was the body +of a girl that he had held. + + + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +It was not fear nor shame that made the eyes of Jacqueline so wide as +she stared past Pierre toward the door. He glanced across his +shoulder, and blocking the entrance to the room, literally filling +the doorway, was the bulk of Jim Boone. + +"Seems as if I was sort of steppin' in on a little family party," he +said. "I'm sure glad you two got acquainted so quick. Jack, how did +you and--What the hell's your name, lad?" + +"He tricked me, dad, or he would never have got the gun away from me. +This--this Pierre--this beast--he got me to talk of Hal. Then +he stole--" + +"The point," said Jim Boone coldly, "is that he _got_ the gun. Run +along, Jack. You ain't so growed up as I was thinkin'. Or hold +on--maybe you're _more_ grown up. Which is it? Are you turnin' into a +woman, Jack?" + +She whirled on Pierre in a white fury. + +"You see? You see what you've done? He'll never trust me again--never! +Pierre, I hate you. I'll always hate you. And if Hal were here--" + +A storm of sobs and tears cut her short, and she disappeared through +the door. Boone and Pierre stood regarding each other critically. + +Pierre spoke first: "You're not as big as I expected." + +"I'm plenty big; but you're older than I thought." + +"Too old for what you want of me. The girl told me what that was." + +"Not too old to be made what I want." + +And his hands passed through a significant gesture of molding the +empty air. The boy met his eye dauntlessly. + +"I suppose," he said, "that I've a pretty small chance of getting +away." + +"Just about none, Pierre. Come here." + +Pierre stepped closer and looked down the hall into another room. +There, about a table, sat the five grimmest riders of the +mountain-desert that he had ever seen. They were such men as one could +judge at a glance, and Pierre made that instinctive motion for his +six-gun. "The girl," Jim Boone was saying, "kept you pretty busy +tryin' to make a break, and if she could do anything maybe you'd have +a pile of trouble with one of them guardin' you. But if I'd had a good +look at you, lad, I'd never have let Jack take the job of +guardin' you." + +"Thanks," answered Pierre dryly. + +"You got reason; I can see that. Here's the point, Pierre. I know +young men because I can remember pretty close what I was at your age. +I wasn't any ladies' lap dog, at that, but time and older men molded +me the way I'm going to mold you. Understand?" + +Pierre was nerved for many things, but the last word made him stir. It +roused in him a red-tinged desire to get through the forest of black +beard at the throat of Boone and dim the glitter of those keen eyes. +It brought him also another thought. + +Two great tasks lay before him: the burial of his father and the +avenging of him on McGurk. As to the one, he knew it would be childish +madness for him to attempt to bury his father in Morgantown with only +his single hand to hold back the powers of the law or the friends of +the notorious Diaz and crippled Hurley. + +And for the other, it was even more vain to imagine that through his +own unaided power he could strike down a figure of such almost +legendary terror as McGurk. The bondage of the gang might be a +terrible thing through the future, but the present need blinded him to +what might come. + +He said: "Suppose I stop raising questions or making a fight, but give +you my hand and call myself a member--" + +"Of the family? Exactly. If you did that I'd know it was because you +were wantin' something, Pierre, eh?" + +"Two things." + +"Lad, I like this way of talk. One--two--you hit quick like a two-gun +man. Well, I'm used to paying high for what I get. What's up?" +"The first--" + +"Wait. Can I help you out by myself, or do you need the gang?" + +"The gang." + +"Then come, and I'll put it up to them. You first." + +It was equally courtesy and caution, and Pierre smiled faintly as he +went first through the door. He stood in a moment under the eyes of +five silent men. + +The booming voice of Jim Boone pronounced: "This is Pierre. He'll be +one of us if he can get the gang to do two things. I ask you, will you +hear him for me, and then pass on whether or not you try his game?" + +They nodded. There were no greetings to acknowledge the introduction. +They waited, eyeing the youth with distrust. + +Pierre eyed them in turn, and then he spoke directly to big Dick +Wilbur. + +"Here's the first: I want to bury a man in Morgantown and I need help +to do it." + +Black Gandil snarled: "You heard me, boys; blood to start with. Who's +the man you want us to put out?" + +"He's dead--my father." + +They came up straight in their chairs like trained actors rising to a +stage crisis. The snarl straightened on the lips of Black +Morgan Gandil. + +"He's lying in his house a few miles out of Morgantown. As he died he +told me that he wanted to be buried in a corner plot in the Morgantown +graveyard. He'd seen the place and counted it for his a good many +years because he said the grass grew quicker there than any other +place, after the snow went." + +"A damned good reason," said Garry Patterson. As the idea stuck more +deeply into his imagination he smashed his fist down on the table so +that the crockery on it danced. "A damned good reason, say I!" + +"Who's your father?" asked Dick Wilbur, who eyed Pierre more +critically but with less enmity than the rest. + +"Martin Ryder." + +"A ringer!" cried Bud Mansie, and he leaned forward alertly. "You +remember what I said, Jim?" + +"Shut up. Pierre, talk soft and talk quick. We all know Mart Ryder had +only two sons and you're not either of them." + +The Northerner grew stiff and as his face grew pale the red mark where +the stone had struck his forehead stood out like a danger signal. + +He said slowly: "I'm his son, but not by the mother of those two." + +"Was he married twice?" + +Pierre was paler still, and there was an uneasy twitching of his right +hand which every man understood. + +He barely whispered. "No; damn you!" + +But Black Gandil loved evil. + +He said, with a marvelously unpleasant smile: "Then she was--" + +The voice of Dick Wilbur cut in like the snapping of a whip: "Shut up, +Gandil, you devil!" + +There were times when not even Boone would cross Wilbur, and this was +one of them. + +Pierre went on: "The reason I can't go to Morgantown is that I'm not +very well liked by some of the men there." + +"Why not?" + +"When my father died there was no money to pay for his burial. I had +only a half-dollar piece. I went to the town and gambled and won a +great deal. But before I came out I got mixed up with a man called +Hurley, a professional gambler." + +"And Diaz?" queried a chorus. + +"Yes. Hurley was hurt in the wrist and Diaz died. I think I'm wanted +in Morgantown." + +Out of a little silence came the voice of Black Gandil: "Dick, I'm +thankin' you now for cuttin' me so short a minute ago." + +Phil Branch had not spoken, as usual, but now he repeated, with rapt, +far-off eyes: "'Hurley was hurt in the wrist and Diaz died?' Hurley +and Diaz! I played with Hurley, a couple of times." + +"Speakin' personal," said Garry Patterson, his red verging toward +purple in excitement, "which I'm ready to go with you down to +Morgantown and bury your father." + +"And do it shipshape," added Black Gandil. + +"With all the trimmings," said Bud Mansie, "with all Morgantown +joinin' the mournin' voluntarily under cover of our six-guns." + +"Wait," said Boone. "What's the second request?" + +"That can wait." + +"It's a bigger job than this one?" + +"Lots bigger." + +"And in the meantime?" + +"I'm your man." + +They shook hands. Even Black Gandil rose to take his share in the +ceremony--all save Bud Mansie, who had glanced out the window a moment +before and then silently left the room. A bottle of whisky was +produced and glasses filled all round. Jim Boone brought in the +seventh chair and placed it at the table. They raised their glasses. + +"To the empty chair," said Boone. + +They drank, and for the first time in his life, the liquid fire went +down the throat of Pierre. He set down his glass, coughing, and the +others laughed good-naturedly. + +"Started down the wrong way?" asked Wilbur. + +"It's beastly stuff; first I ever drank." + +A roar of laughter answered him. + +"Still I got an idea," broke in Jim Boone, "that he's worthy of takin' +the seventh chair. Draw it up lad." + +Vaguely it reminded Pierre of a scene in some old play with himself +in the role of the hero signing away his soul to the devil, but an +interruption kept him from taking the chair. There was a racket at the +door--a half-sobbing, half-scolding voice, and the laughter of a man; +then Bud Mansie appeared carrying Jack in spite of her struggles. He +placed her on the floor and held her hands to protect himself from +her fury. + +"I glimpsed her through the window," he explained. "She was lining out +for the stable and then a minute later I saw her swing a saddle +onto--what horse d'you think?" + +"Out with it." + +"Jim's big Thunder. Yep, she stuck the saddle on big black Thunder and +had a rifle in the holster. I saw there was hell brewing somewhere, so +I went out and nabbed her." + +"Jack!" called Jim Boone. "What were you started for?" + +Bud Mansie released her arms and she stood with them stiffening at her +sides and her fists clenched. + +"Hal--he died, and there was nothing but talk about him--nothing done. +You got a live man in Hal's place." + +She pointed an accusing finger at Pierre. + +"Maybe he takes his place for you, but he's not my brother--I hate +him. I went out to get another man to make up for Pierre." + +"Well?" + +"A dead man. I shoot straight enough for that." + +A very solemn silence spread through the room; for every man was +watching in the eyes of the father and daughter the same shining black +devil of wrath. + +"Jack, get into your room and don't move out of it till I tell you to. +D'you hear?" + +She turned on her heel like a soldier and marched from the room. + +"Jack." + +She stopped in the door but would not turn back. "Jack, don't you +love your old dad anymore?" She whirled and ran to him with +outstretched arms and clung to him, sobbing. "Oh, dad," she groaned. +"You've broken my heart." + + + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +The annals of the mountain-desert have never been written and can +never be written. They are merely a vast mass of fact and tradition +and imagining which floats from tongue to tongue from the Rockies to +the Sierra Nevadas. A man may be a fact all his life and die only a +local celebrity. Then again, he may strike sparks from that +imagination which runs riot by camp-fires and at the bars of the +crossroads saloons. + +In that case he becomes immortal. It is not that lies are told about +him or impossible feats ascribed to him, but every detail about him is +seized upon and passed on with a most scrupulous and loving care. + +In due time he will become a tradition. That is, he will be known +familiarly at widely separated parts of the range, places which he has +never visited. It has happened to a few of the famous characters of +the mountain-desert that they became traditions before their deaths. +It happened to McGurk, of course. It also happened to Red Pierre. + +Oddly enough, the tradition of Red Pierre did not begin with his ride +from the school of Father Victor to Morgantown, distant many days of +difficult and dangerous travel. Neither did tradition seize on the +gunfight that crippled Hurley and "put out" wizard Diaz. These things +were unquestionably known to many, but they did not strike the popular +imagination. What set men first on fire was the way Pierre le Rouge +buried his father "at the point of the gun" in Morgantown. + +That day Boone's men galloped out of the higher mountains down the +trail toward Morgantown. They stole a wagon out of a ranch stable on +the way and tied two lariats to the tongue. So they towed it, bounding +and rattling, over the rough trail to the house where Martin Ryder +lay dead. + +His body was placed in state in the body of the wagon, pillowed with +everything in the line of cloth which the house could furnish. Thus +equipped they went on at a more moderate pace toward Morgantown. + +What followed it is useless to repeat here. Tradition rehearsed every +detail of that day's work, and the purpose of this narrative is only +to give the details of some of the events which tradition does not +know, at least in their entirety. + +They started at one end of Morgantown's street. Pierre guarded the +wagon in the center of the street and kept the people under cover of +his rifle. The rest of Boone's men cleaned out the houses as they went +and sent the occupants piling out to swell the crowd. + +And so they rolled the crowd out of town and to the cemetery, where +"volunteers" dug the grave of Martin Ryder wide and deep, and Pierre +paid for the corner plot three times over in gold. + +Then a coffin--improvised hastily for the occasion out of a +packing-box--was lowered reverently, also by "volunteer" mourners, and +before the first sod fell on the dead. Pierre raised over his head the +crucifix of Father Victor that brought good luck, and intoned a +service in the purest Ciceronian Latin, surely, that ever regaled +the ears of Morgantown's elect. + +The moment he raised that cross the bull throat of Jim Boone bellowed +a command, the poised guns of the gang enforced it, and all the crowd +dropped to their knees, leaving the six outlaws scattered about the +edges of the mob like sheep dogs around a folding flock, while in the +center stood Pierre with white, upturned face and the raised cross. + +So Martin Ryder was buried with "trimmings," and the gang rode back, +laughing and shouting, through the town and up into the safety of the +mountains. Election day was fast approaching and therefore the rival +candidates for sheriff hastily organized posses and made the usual +futile pursuit. + +In fact, before the pursuit was well under way, Boone and his men sat +at their supper table in the cabin. The seventh chair was filled; all +were present except Jack, who sulked in her room. Pierre went to her +door and knocked. He carried under his arm a package which he had +secured in the General Merchandise Store of Morgantown. + +"We're all waiting for you at the table," he explained. + +"Just keep on waiting," said the husky voice of Jacqueline. + +"I've brought you a present." + +"I hate your presents!" + +"It's a thing you've wanted for a long time, Jacqueline." + +Only a stubborn silence. + +"I'm putting your door a little ajar." + +"If you dare to come in I'll--" + +"And I'm leaving the package right here at the entrance. I'm so sorry, +Jacqueline, that you hate me." + +And then he walked off down the hall--cunning Pierre--before she could +send her answer like an arrow after him. At the table he arranged an +eighth plate and drew up a chair before it. "If that's for Jack," +remarked Dick Wilbur, "you're wasting your time. I know her and I know +her type. She'll never come out to the table tonight--nor tomorrow, +either. I know!" + +In fact, he knew a good deal too much about girls and women also, did +Wilbur, and that was why he rode the long trails of the +mountain-desert with Boone and his men. Far south and east in the +Bahamas a great mansion stood vacant because he was gone, and the dust +lay thick on the carpets and powdered the curtains and tapestries with +a common gray. + +He had built it and furnished it for a woman he loved, and afterward +for her sake he had killed a man and fled from a posse and escaped in +the steerage of a west-bound ship. Still the law followed him, and he +kept on west and west until he reached the mountain-desert, which +thinks nothing of swallowing men and their reputations. + +There he was safe, but someday he would see some woman smile, catch +the glimmer of some eye, and throw safety away to ride after her. + +It was a weakness, but what made a tragic figure of handsome Dick +Wilbur was that he knew his weakness and sat still and let fate walk +up and overtake him. + +Yet Pierre le Rouge answered this man of sorrowful wisdom: "In my part +of the country men say: 'If you would speak of women let money talk +for you.'" + +And he placed a gold piece on the table. + +"She will come out to the supper table." + +"She will not," smiled Wilbur, and covered the coin. "Will you take +odds?" + +"No charity. Who else will bet?" + +"I," said Jim Boone instantly. "You figure her for an ordinary sulky +kid." + +Pierre smiled upon him. + +"There's a cut in my shirt where her knife passed through; and that's +the reason that I'll bet on her now." The whole table covered his +coin, with laughter. + +"We've kept one part of your bargain, Pierre. We've seen your father +buried in the corner plot. Now, what's the second part?" + +"I don't know you well enough to ask you that," said Pierre. + +They plied him with suggestions. + +"To rob the Berwin Bank?" + +"Stick up a train?" + +"No. That's nothing." + +"Round up the sheriffs from here to the end of the mountains?" + +"Too easy." + +"Roll all those together," said Pierre, "and you'll begin to get an +idea of what I'll ask." + +Then a low voice called from the black throat of the hall: "Pierre!" + +The others were silent, but Pierre winked at them, and made great +flourish with knife and fork against his plate as if to cover the +sound of Jacqueline's voice. + +"Pierre!" she called again. "I've come to thank you." + +He jumped up and turned toward the hall. + +"Do you like it?" + +"It's a wonder!" + +"Then we're friends?" + +"If you want to be." + +"There's nothing I want more. Then you'll come out and have supper +with us, Jack?" + +There was a little pause, and then Jim Boone struck his fist on the +table and cursed, for she stepped from the darkness into the flaring +light of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER 13 + + +She wore a cartridge-belt slung jauntily across her hips and from it +hung a holster of stiff new leather with the top flap open to show the +butt of a man-sized forty-five caliber six-shooter--her first gun. Not +a man of the gang but had loaned her his guns time and again, but they +had never dreamed of giving her a weapon of her own. + +So they stared at her agape, where she stood with her head back, one +hand resting on her hip, one hovering about the butt of the gun, as if +she challenged them to question her right to be called "man." + +It was as if she abandoned all claims to femininity with that single +step; the gun at her side made her seem inches taller and years older. +She was no longer a child, but a long-rider who could shoot with +the best. + +One glance she cast about the room to drink in the amazement of the +gang, and then her father broke in rather hoarsely: "Sit down, girl. +Sit down and be one of us. One of us you are by your own choice from +this day on. You're neither man nor woman, but a long-rider with every +man's hand against you. You've done with any hope of a home or of +friends. You're one of us. Poor Jack--my girl!" + +"Poor?" she returned. "Not while I can make a quick draw and shoot +straight." + +And then she swept the circle of eyes, daring them to take her boast +lightly, but they knew her too well, and were all solemnly silent. At +this she relented somewhat, and went directly to Pierre, flushing +from throat to hair. She held out her hand. + +"Will you shake and call it square?" + +"I sure will," nodded Pierre. + +"And we're pals--you and me, like the rest of 'em?" + +"We are." + +She took the place beside him. + +As the whisky went round after round the two seemed shut away from the +others; they were younger, less marked by life; they listened while +the others talked, and now and then exchanged glances of interest +or aversion. + +"Listen," she said after a time, "I've heard this story before." + +It was Phil Branch, square-built and square of jaw, who was talking. + +"There's only one thing I can handle better than a gun, and that's a +sledgehammer. A gun is all right in its way, but for work in a crowd, +well, give me a hammer and I'll show you a way out." + +Bud Mansie grinned: "Leave me my pair of sixes and you can have all +the hammers between here and Central Park in a crowd. There's nothing +makes a crowd remember its heels like a pair of barking sixes." + +"Ah, ah!" growled Branch. "But when they've heard bone crunch under +the hammer there's nothing will hold them." + +"I'd have to see that." + +"Maybe you will, Bud, maybe you will. It was the hammer that started +me for the trail west. I had a big Scotchman in the factory who +couldn't learn how to weld. I'd taught him day after day and cursed +him and damn near prayed for him. But he somehow wouldn't learn--the +swine--ah, ah!" + +He grew vindictively black at the memory. + +"Every night he wiped out what I'd taught him during the day and the +eraser he used was booze. So one fine day I dropped the hammer after +watchin' him make a botch on a big bar, and cussed him up one leg and +down the other. The Scotchman had a hangover from the night before and +he made a pass at me. It was too much for me just then, for the day +was hot and the forge fire had been spitting cinders in my face all +morning. So I took him by the throat." + +He reached out and closed his taut fingers slowly. + +"I didn't mean nothin' by it, but after a man has been moldin' iron, +flesh is pretty weak stuff. When I let go of Scotchy he dropped on the +floor, and while I stood starin' down at him somebody seen what had +happened and spread the word. + +"I wasn't none too popular, bein' not much on talk, so the boys got +together and pretty soon they come pilin' through the door at me, +packin' everything from hatchets to crowbars. + +"Lads, I was sorry about Scotchy, but after I glimpsed that gang +comin' I wasn't sorry for nothing. I felt like singin', though there +wasn't no song that could say just what I meant. But I grabbed up the +big fourteen-pound hammer and met 'em halfway. + +"The first swing of the hammer it met something hard, but not as hard +as iron. The thing crunched with a sound like an egg under a man's +heel. And when that crowd heard it they looked sick. God, how sick +they looked! They didn't wait for no second swing, but they beat it +hard and fast through the door with me after 'em. They scattered, but +I kept right on and didn't never really stop till I reached the +mountain-desert and you, Jim." + +"Which is a good yarn," said Bud Mansie, "but I can tell you one +that'll cap it. It was--" + +He stopped short, staring up at the door. Outside, the wind had kept +up a perpetual roaring, and no one noticed the noise of the opening +door. Bud Mansie, facing that door, however, turned a queer yellow +and sat with his lips parted on the last word. He was not pretty to +see. The others turned their heads, and there followed the strangest +panic which Pierre had ever seen. + +Jim Boone jerked his hand back to his hip, but stayed the motion, half +completed, and swung his hands stiffly above his head. Garry Patterson +sat with his eyes blinked shut, pale, waiting for death to come. Dick +Wilbur rose, tall and stiff, and stood with his hands gripped at his +sides, and Black Morgan Gandil clutched at the table before him and +his eyes wandered swiftly about the room, seeking a place for escape. + +There was only one sound, and that was a whispering moan of terror +from Jacqueline. Only Pierre made no move, yet he felt as he had when +the black mass of the landslide loomed above him. + +What he saw in the door was a man of medium size and almost slender +build. In spite of the patch of gray hair at either temple he was only +somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. But to see him was to forget +all details except the strangest face which Pierre had ever seen or +would ever look upon in all his career. + +It was pale, with a pallor strange to the ranges; even the lips seemed +bloodless, and they curved with a suggestion of a smile that was a +nervous habit rather than any sign of mirth. The nerves of the left +eye were also affected, and the lid dropped and fluttered almost shut, +so that he had to carry his head far back in order to see plainly. +There was such pride and scorn in the man that his name came up to the +lips of Pierre: "McGurk." + +A surprisingly gentle voice said: "Jim, I'm sorry to drop in on you +this way, but I've had some unpleasant news." + +His words dispelled part of the charm. The hands of big Boone lowered; +the others assumed more natural positions, but each, it seemed to +Pierre, took particular and almost ostentatious care that their +right hands should be always far from the holsters of their guns. + +The stranger went on: "Martin Ryder is finished, as I suppose you +know. He left a spawn of two mongrels behind him. I haven't bothered +with them, but I'm a little more interested in another son that has +cropped up. He's sitting over there in your family party and his name +is Pierre. In his own country they call him Pierre le Rouge, which +means Red Pierre, in our talk. + +"You know I've never crossed you in anything before, Jim. Have I?" + +Boone moistened his white lips and answered: "Never," huskily, as if +it were a great muscular effort for him to speak. + +"This time I have to break the custom. Boone, this fellow Pierre has +to leave the country. Will you see that he goes?" + +The lips of Boone moved and made no sound. + +He said at length: "McGurk, I'd rather cross the devil than cross you. +There's no shame in admitting that. But I've lost my boy, Hal." + +"Too bad, Jim. I knew Hal; at a distance, of course." + +"And Pierre is filling Hal's place in the family." + +"Is that your answer?" + +"McGurk, are you going to pin me down in this?" + +And here Jack whirled and cried: "Dad, you won't let Pierre go!" + +"You see?" pleaded Boone. + +It was uncanny and horrible to see the giant so unnerved before this +stranger, but that part of it did not come to Pierre until later. Now +he felt a peculiar emptiness of stomach and a certain jumping chill +that traveled up and down his spine. Moreover, he could not move his +eyes from the face of McGurk, and he knew at length that this was +fear--the first real fear that he had ever known. + +Shame made him hot, but fear made him cold again. He knew that if he +rose his knees would buckle under him; that if he drew out his +revolver it would slip from his palsied fingers. For the fear of death +is a mighty fear, but it is nothing compared with the fear of man. + +"I've asked you a question," said McGurk. "What's your answer?" + +There was a quiver in the black forest of Boone's beard, and if Pierre +was cold before, he was sick at heart to see the big man cringe +before McGurk. + +He stammered: "Give me time." + +"Good," said McGurk. "I'm afraid I know what your answer would be now, +but if you take a couple of days you will think things over and come +to a reasonable conclusion. I will be at Gaffney's place about fifteen +miles from here. You know it? Send your answer there. In the +meantime"--he stepped forward to the table and poured a small drink +of whisky into a glass and raised it high--"here's to the long health +and happiness of us all. Drink!" + +There was a hasty pouring of liquor. + +"And you also!" + +Pierre jumped as if he had been struck, and obeyed the order hastily. + +"So," said the master, pleasant again, and Pierre wiped his forehead +furtively and stared up with fascinated eyes. "An unwilling pledge is +better than none at all. To you, gentlemen, much happiness; to you, +Pierre le Rouge, bon voyage." + +They drank; the master placed his glass on the table again, smiled +upon them, and was gone through the door. He turned his back in +leaving. There was no fitter way in which he could have expressed his +contempt. + + + + +CHAPTER 14 + + +The mirth died and in its place came a long silence. Jim Boone stared +upon Pierre with miserable eyes, and then rose and left the room. The +others one by one followed his example. Dick Wilbur in passing dropped +his hand on Pierre's shoulder. Jacqueline was silent. + +As he sat there minute after minute and then hour after hour of the +long night Pierre saw the meaning of it. If they sent word that they +would not give up Pierre it was war, and war with McGurk had only one +ending. If they sent word that Pierre was surrendered the shame would +never leave Boone and his men. + +Whatever they did there was ruin for them in the end. All this Pierre +conned slowly in his mind, until he was cold. Then he looked up and +saw that the lamp had burned out and that the wood in the fireplace +was consumed to a few red embers. + +He replenished the fire, and when the yellow flames began to mount he +made his resolution and walked slowly up and down the floor with it. +For he knew that he must go to meet McGurk. + +The very thought of the man sent the old chill through his blood, yet +he must go and face him and end the thing. + +It came over him with a pang that he was very young; that life was +barely a taste in his mouth, whether bitter or sweet he could not +tell. He picked a flaming stick from the fire and went before a little +round mirror on the wall. + +Back at him stared the face of a boy. He had seen so much of the +grim six in the last day that the contrast startled him. They were +men, hardened to life and filled with knowledge of it. They were books +written full. But he? He was a blank page with a scribbled word here +and there. Nevertheless, he was chosen and he must go. + +Having reached that decision he closed his mind on what would happen. +There was a vague fear that when he faced McGurk he would be frozen +with fear; that his spirit would be broken and he would become a thing +too despicable for a man to kill. + +One thing was certain: if he was to act a man's part and die a man's +death he must not stand long before McGurk. It seemed to him then that +he would die happy if he had the strength to fire one shot before +the end. + +Then he tiptoed from the house and went over the snow to the barn and +saddled the horse of Hal Boone. It was already morning, and as he led +the horse to the door of the barn a shadow, a faint shadow in that +early light, fell across the snow before him. + +He looked up and saw Jacqueline. She stepped close, and the horse +nosed her shoulder affectionately. + +She said: "Isn't there anything that will keep you from going?" + +"It's just a little ride before breakfast. I'll be back in an hour." + +It was foolish to try to blind her, as he saw by her wan, unchildish +smile. + +"Is there no other way, Pierre?" + +"I don't know of any, do you?" + +"You have to leave us, and never come back?" + +"Is he as sure as that, Jack?" + +"Sure? Who?" + +She had not known, after all; she thought that he was merely riding +away from the region where McGurk was king. Now she caught his wrists +and shook them. "Pierre, you are not going to face McGurk? Pierre!" + +"If you were a man, you would understand." + +"I know; because of your father. I do understand, but oh, Pierre, +listen! I can shoot as straight as almost any man. We will ride down +together. We will go through the doors together--me first to take his +fire, and you behind to shoot him down." + +"I guess no man can be as brave as a woman, Jack. No; I have to see +McGurk alone. He faced my father alone and shot him down. I'll face +McGurk alone and live long enough to put my mark on him." + +"But you don't know him. He can't be hurt. Do you think my father +and--and Dick Wilbur would fear any man who could be hurt? No, but +McGurk has been in a hundred fights and never been touched. There's a +charm over him, don't you see?" + +"I'll break the charm, that's all." + +He was up in the saddle. + +"Then I'll call dad--I'll call them all--if you die they shall all +follow you. I swear they shall. Pierre!" + +He merely leaned forward and touched the horse with his spurs, but +after he had raced the first hundred yards he glanced back. She was +running hard for the house, and calling as she went. Pierre cursed and +spurred the horse again. + +Yet even if Jim Boone and his men started out after him they could +never overtake him. Before they were in their saddles and up with him, +he'd be a full three miles out in the hills. Not even black Thunder +could make up as much ground as that. + +So all the fifteen miles to Gaffney's place he urged his horse. The +excitement of the race kept the thought of McGurk back in his mind. +Only once he lost time when he had to pull up beside a buckboard and +inquire the way. After that he flew on again. Yet as he clattered up +to the door of Gaffney's crossroads saloon and swung to the ground +he looked back and saw a cluster of horsemen swing around the shoulder +of a hill and come tearing after him. Surely his time was short. + +He thrust open the door of the place and called for a drink. The +bartender spun the glass down the bar to him. + +"Where's McGurk?" + +The other stopped in the very act of taking out the bottle from the +shelf, and his curious glance went over the face of Pierre le Rouge. +He decided, apparently, that it was foolish to hold suspicions against +so young a man. + +"In that room," and he jerked his hand toward a door. "What do you +want with him?" + +"Got a message for him." + +"Tell it to me, and I'll pass it along." + +Pierre met the eye of the other and smiled faintly. + +"Not _this_ message." + +"Oh," said the other, and then shouted: "McGurk!" + +Far away came the rush of hoofs over a hard trail. Only a minute more +and they would be here; only a minute more and the room would be full +of fighting men ready to die with him and for him. Yet Pierre was +glad; glad that he could meet the danger alone; ten minutes from now, +if he lived, he could answer certainly one way or the other the +greatest of all questions: "Am I a man?" + +Out of the inner room the pleasant voice which he dreaded answered: +"What's up?" + +The barkeeper glanced Pierre le Rouge over again and then answered: "A +friend with a message." + +The door opened and framed McGurk. He did not start, seeing Pierre. + +He said: "None of the rest of them had the guts even to bring me the +message, eh?" + +Pierre shrugged his shoulders. It was a mighty effort, but he was able +to look his man fairly in the eyes. "All right, lad. How long is it +going to take you to clear out of the country?" + +"That's not the message," answered a voice which Pierre did not +recognize as his own. + +"Out with it, then." + +"It's in the leather on my hip." + +And he went for his gun. Even as he started his hand he knew that he +was too slow for McGurk, yet the finest splitsecond watch in the world +could not have caught the differing time they needed to get their guns +out of the holsters. + +Just a breath before Pierre fired there was a stunning blow on his +right shoulder and another on his hip. He lurched to the floor, his +revolver clattering against the wood as he fell, but falling, he +scooped up the gun with his left and twisted. + +That movement made the third shot of McGurk fly wide and Pierre fired +from the floor and saw a spasm of pain contract the face of +the outlaw. + +Instantly the door behind him flew open and Boone's men stormed into +the room. Once more McGurk fired, but his wound made his aim wide and +the bullet merely tore up a splinter beside Pierre's head. A fusillade +from Boone and his men answered, but the outlaw had leaped back +through the door. + +"He's hurt," thundered Boone. "By God, the charm of McGurk is broken. +Dick, Bud, Gandil, take the outside of the place. I'll force +the door." + +Wilbur and the other two raced through the door and raised a shout at +once, and then there was a rattle of shots. Big Patterson leaned +over Pierre. + +He said in an awe-stricken voice: "Lad, it's a great work that you've +done for all of us, if you've drawn the blood from McGurk." + +"His left shoulder," said Pierre, and smiled in spite of his pain. +"And you, lad?" + +"I'm going to live; I've got to finish the job. Who's that beside you? +There's a mist over my eyes." + +"It's Jack. She outrode us all." + +Then the mist closed over the eyes of Pierre and his senses went out +in the dark. + + + + +CHAPTER 15 + + +Those who are curious about the period which followed during which the +title "Le Rouge" was forgotten and he became known only as "Red" +Pierre through all the mountain-desert, can hear the tales of his +doing from the analysts of the ranges. This story has to do only with +his struggle with McGurk. + +The gap of six years which occurs here is due to the fact that during +that period McGurk vanished from the mountain-desert. He died away +from the eyes of men and in their minds he became that tradition which +lives still so vividly, the tradition of the pale face, the sneering, +bloodless lips, and the hand which never failed. + +During this lapse of time there were many who claimed that he had +ridden off into some lonely haunt and died of the wound which he +received from Pierre's bullet. A great majority, however, would never +accept such a story, and even when the six years had rolled by they +still shook their heads. They awaited his return just as certain +stanch old Britons await the second coming of Arthur from the island +of Avalon. In the meantime the terror of his name passed on to him who +had broken the "charm" of McGurk. + +Not all that grim significance passed on to Red Pierre, indeed, +because he never impressed the public imagination as did the terrible +ruthlessness of McGurk. At that he did enough to keep tongues wagging. + +Cattlemen loved to tell those familiar exploits of the "two sheriffs," +or that "thousand-mile pursuit of Canby," with its half-tragic, +half-humorous conclusion, or the "Sacking of Two Rivers," or the +"three-cornered battle" against Rodriguez and Blond. + +But men could not forget that in all his work there rode behind Red +Pierre six dauntless warriors of the mountain-desert, while McGurk had +been always a single hand against the world, a veritable lone wolf. + +Whatever kept him away through those six years, the memory of the +wound he received at Gaffney's place never left McGurk, and now he was +coming back with a single great purpose in his mind, and in his heart +a consuming hatred for Pierre and all the other of Boone's men. + +Certainly if he had sensed the second coming of McGurk, Pierre would +not have ridden so jauntily through the hills this day, or whistled so +carelessly, or swept the hills with such a complacent, lordly eye. A +man of mark cannot bear himself too modestly, and Pierre, from boots +to high-peaked, broad-brimmed sombrero, was the last word in elegance +for a rider of the mountain-desert. + +Even his mount seemed to sense the pride of his master. It was a +cream-colored mustang, not one of the lump-headed, bony-hipped species +common to the ranges, but one of those rare reversions to the Spanish +thoroughbreds from which the Western cow-pony is descended. The mare +was not over-large, but the broad hips and generous expanse of chest +were hints, and only hints, of her strength and endurance. There was +the speed of the blooded racer in her and the tirelessness of +the mustang. + +Now, down the rocky, half-broken trail she picked her way as daintily +as any debutante tiptoeing down a great stairway to the ballroom. Life +had been easy for Mary since that thousand-mile struggle to overtake +Canby, and now her sides were sleek from good feeding and some casual +twenty miles a day, which was no more to her than a canter through the +park is to the city horse. + +The eye which had been so red-stained and fierce during the long ride +after Canby was now bright and gentle. At every turn she pricked her +small sharp ears as if she expected home and friends on the other side +of the curve. And now and again she tossed her head and glanced back +at the master for a moment and then whinnied across some +echoing ravine. + +It was Mary's way of showing happiness, and her master's +acknowledgment was to run his gloved left hand up through her mane and +with his ungloved right, that tanned and agile hand, pat her +shoulder lightly. + +Passing to the end of the down-grade, they reached a slight upward +incline, and the mare, as if she had come to familiar ground, broke +into a gallop, a matchless, swinging stride. Swerving to right and to +left among the great boulders, like a football player running a broken +field, she increased the gallop to a racing pace. + +That twisting course would have shaken an ordinary horseman to the +toes, but Pierre, swaying easily in the saddle, dropped the reins into +the crook of his left arm and rolled a cigarette in spite of the +motion and the wind. It was a little feat, but it would have drawn +applause from a circus crowd. + +He spoke to the mare while he lighted a match and she dropped to an +easy canter, the pace which she could maintain from dawn to dark, +eating up the gray miles of the mountain and the desert, and it was +then that Red Pierre heard a gay voice singing in the distance. + +His attitude changed at once. He caught a shorter grip on the reins +and swung forward a little in the saddle, while his right hand touched +the butt of the revolver in its holster and made sure that it was +loose; for to those who hunt and are hunted every human voice in the +mountain-desert is an ominous token. + +The mare, sensing the change of her master through that weird +telegraphy which passed down the taut bridle reins, held her head high +and flattened her short ears against her neck. + +The song and the singer drew closer, and the vigilance of Pierre +ceased as he heard a mellow baritone ring out. + + "They call me poor, yet I am rich + In the touch of her golden hair, + My heart is filled like a miser's hands + With the red-gold of her hair. + The sky I ride beneath all day + Is the blue of her dear eyes; + The only heaven I desire + Is the blue of her dear eyes." + +And here Dick Wilbur rode about the shoulder of a hill, broke off his +song at the sight of Pierre le Rouge, and shouted a welcome. They came +together and continued their journey side by side. The half-dozen +years had hardly altered the blond, handsome face of Wilbur, and now, +with the gladness of his singing still flushing his face, he seemed +hardly more than a boy--younger, in fact, than Red Pierre, into whose +eyes there came now and then a grave sternness. + +"After hearing that song," said Pierre smiling, "I feel as if I'd +listened to a portrait." "Right!" said Wilbur, with unabated +enthusiasm. "It's the bare and unadorned truth, Prince Pierre. My fine +Galahad, if you came within eye-shot of her there'd be a small-sized +hell raised." + +"No. I'm immune there, you know." + +"Nonsense. The beauty of a really lovely woman is like a fine perfume. +It strikes right to a man's heart; there's no possibility of +resistance. I know. You, Pierre, act like a man already in love or a +boy who has never known a woman. Which is it, Pierre?" + +The other made a familiar gesture with those who knew him, a touching +of his left hand against his throat where the cross lay. + +He said: "I suppose it seems like that to you." + +"Like what? Dodging me, eh? Well, I never press the point, but I'd +give the worth of your horse, Pierre, to see you and Mary together." + +Red Pierre started, and then frowned. + +"Irritates you a little, eh? Well, a woman is like a spur to most +men." + +He added, with a momentary gloom: "God knows, I bear the marks of +'em." + +He raised his head, as if he looked up in response to his thought. + +"But there's a difference with this girl. I've named the quality of +her before--it disarms a man." + +Pierre looked to his friend with some alarm, for there was a saying +among the followers of Boone that a woman would be the downfall of big +Dick Wilbur again, as a woman had been his downfall before. The +difference would be that this fall must be his last. + +And Wilbur went on: "She's Eastern, Pierre, and out here visiting the +daughter of old Barnes who owns about a thousand miles of range, you +know. How long will she be here? That's the question I'm trying to +answer for her. I met her riding over the hills--she was galloping +along a ridge, and she rode her way right into my heart. Well, I'm a +fool, of course, but about this girl I can't be wrong. Tonight I'm +taking her to a masquerade." + +He pulled his horse to a full stop. + +"Pierre, you have to come with me." + + + + +CHAPTER 16 + + +Pierre stared at his companion with almost open-mouthed astonishment. + +"I? A dance?" + +And then his head tilted back and he laughed. + +"My good times, Dick, come out of the hills and the skyline, and the +gallop of Mary. But as for women, they bore me, Dick." + +"Even Jack?" + +"She's more man than woman." + +It was the turn of Wilbur to laugh, and he responded uproariously +until Pierre frowned and flushed a little. + +"When I see you out here on your horse with your rifle in the boot and +your six-gun swinging low in the scabbard, and riding the fastest bit +of horseflesh on the ranges," explained Wilbur, "I get to thinking +that you're pretty much king of the mountains; but in certain +respects, Pierre, you're a child." + +Pierre stirred uneasily in his saddle. A man must be well over thirty +before he can withstand ridicule. + +He said dryly: "I've an idea that I know Jack's about as well as the +next man." "Let it drop," said Wilbur, sober again, for he shared +with all of Boone's crew a deep-rooted unwillingness to press Red +Pierre beyond a certain point. "The one subject I won't quarrel about +is Jack, God bless her." + +"She's the best pal," said Pierre soberly, "and the nearest to a man +I've ever met." + +"Nearest to a man?" queried Wilbur, and smiled, but so furtively that +even the sharp eye of Red Pierre did not perceive the mockery. He went +on: "But the dance, what of that? It's a masquerade. There'd be no +fear of being recognized." + +Pierre was silent a moment more. Then he said: "This girl--what did +you call her?" + +"Mary." + +"And about her hair--I think you said it was black?" + +"Golden, Pierre." + +"Mary, and golden hair," mused Red Pierre. "I think I'll go to that +dance." + +"With Jack? She dances wonderfully, you know." + +"Well--with Jack." + +So they reached a tumbled ranch house squeezed between two hills so +that it was sheltered from the storms of the winter but held all the +heat of the summer. + +Once it had been a goodly building, the home of some cattle king. But +bad times had come. A bullet in a saloon brawl put an end to the +cattle king, and now his home was a wreck of its former glory. The +northern wing shelved down to the ground as if the building were +kneeling to the power of the wind, and the southern portion of the +house, though still erect, seemed tottering and rotten throughout and +holding together until at a final blow the whole structure would +crumple at once. + +To the stables, hardly less ruinous than the big house, Pierre and +Wilbur took their horses, and a series of whinnies greeted them from +the stalls. To look down that line of magnificent heads raised above +the partitions of the stalls was like glancing into the stud of some +crowned head who made hunting and racing his chief end in life, for +these were animals worthy of the sport of kings. + +They were chosen each from among literal hundreds, and they were cared +for far more tenderly than the masters cared for themselves. There was +a reason in it, for upon their speed and endurance depended the life +of the outlaw. Moreover, the policy of Jim Boone was one of actual +"long riding." + +Here he had come to a pause for a few days to recuperate his horses +and his men. Tomorrow, perhaps, he would be on the spur again and +sweeping off to a distant point in the mountain-desert to strike and +be gone again before the rangers knew well that he had been there. +Very rarely did one settler have another neighbor at a distance of +less than two hundred miles. It meant arduous and continual riding, +and a horse with any defect was worse than useless because the speed +of the gang had to be the speed of the slowest horse in the lot. + +It was some time before the two long riders had completed the grooming +of their horses and had gone down the hill and into the house. In the +largest habitable room they found a fire fed with rotten timbers from +the wrecked portion of the building, and scattered through the room a +sullen and dejected group: Mansie, Branch, Jim Boone, and Black +Morgan Gandil. + +At a glance it was easy to detect their malady; it was the horrible +ennui which comes to men who are always surrounded by one set of +faces. If a man is happily married he may bear with his wife and his +children constantly through long stretches of time, but the glamour of +life lies in the varying personalities which a man glimpses in +passing, but never knows. + +This was a rare crew. Every man of them was marked for courage and +stamina and wild daring. Yet even so in their passive moments they +hated each other with a hate that passed the understanding of +common men. + +Through seven years they had held together, through fair weather and +foul, and now each knew from the other's expression the words that +were about to be spoken, and each knew that the other was reading him, +and loathing what he read. + +So they were apt to relapse into long silences unless Jack was with +them, for being a woman her variety was infinite, or Pierre le Rouge, +whom all except Black Gandil loved and petted, and feared. + +They were a battered crowd. Wind and hard weather and a thousand suns +had marked them, and the hand of man had branded them. Here and there +was a touch of gray in their hair, and about the mouth of each were +lines which in such silent moments as this one gave an expression +of yearning. + +"What's up? What's wrong?" asked Wilbur from the door, but since no +answer was deigned he said no more. + +But Pierre, like a charmed man who dares to walk among lions, strolled +easily through the room, and looked into the face of big Boone, who +smiled faintly up to him, and Black Gandil, who scowled doubly dark, +and Bud Mansie, who shifted uneasily in his chair and then nodded, and +finally to Branch. He dropped a hand on the massive shoulder of the +blacksmith. + +"Well?" he asked. + +Branch let himself droop back into his chair. His big, dull, colorless +eyes stared up to his friend. + +"I dunno, lad. I'm just weary with the sort of tired that you can't +help by sleepin'. Understand?" + +Pierre nodded, slowly, because he sympathized. "And the trouble?" + +Branch stared about as if searching for a reason. "Jack's upstairs +sulking; Patterson hasn't come home yet." + +And Black Gandil, who heard all things, said without looking up: "A +man that saves a shipwrecked fellow, he gets bad luck for thanks." + +Pierre turned a considerable eye on him, and Gandil scowled back. + +"You've been croaking for six years, Morgan, about the bad luck that +would come to Jim from saving me out of the snow. It's never +happened, has it?" + +Gandil, snarling from one side of his mouth, answered: "Where's +Patterson?" + +"Am I responsible if the blockhead has got drunk someplace?" + +"Patterson doesn't get drunk--not that way. And he knows that we were +to start again today." + +"There ain't no doubt of that," commented Branch. + +"It's the straight dope. Patterson keeps his dates," said Bud Mansie. + +The booming bass of Jim Boone broke in: "Shut up, the whole gang of +you. We've had luck for the six years Pierre has been with us. Who +calls him a Jonah?" + +And Black Gandil answered: "I do. I've sailed the seas. I know bad +luck when I see it." + +"You've been seeing it for six years." + +"The worst storms come on a voyage that starts with fair weather. +Patterson? He's gone; he ain't just delayed; he's gone." + +It was not the first of these gloomy prophecies which Gandil had made, +but each time a heavy gloom broke over Red Pierre. For when he summed +up the good fortune which the cross of Father Victor had brought him, +he found that he had gained a father, and lost him at their first +meeting; and he had won money on that night of the gambling, but it +had cost the life of another man almost at once. The horse which +carried him away from the vengeance in Morgantown had died on the way +and he had been saved from the landslide, but the girl had perished. + +He had driven McGurk from the ranges, and where would the penalty fall +on those who were near and dear to him? In a superstitious horror he +had asked himself the question a thousand times, and finally he could +hardly bear to look into the ominous, brooding eyes of Black Gandil. +It was as if the man had a certain and evil knowledge of the future. + + + + +CHAPTER 17 + + +The knowledge of the torment he was inflicting made the eye of Black +Gandil bright with triumph. + +He continued, and now every man in the room was sitting up, alert, +with gloomy eyes fixed upon Pierre: "Patterson is the first, but he +ain't the last. He's just the start. Who's next?" He looked +slowly around. + +"Is it you, Bud, or you, Phil, or you, Jim, or maybe me?" + +And Pierre said: "What makes you think you know that trouble's coming, +Morgan?" + +"Because my blood runs cold in me when I look at you." + +Red Pierre grew rigid and straightened in a way they knew. + +"Damn you, Gandil, I've borne with you and your croaking too long, +d'ye hear? Too long, and I'll hear no more of it, understand?" + +"Why not? You'll hear from me every time I sight you in the offing. +You c'n lay to that!" + +The others were tense, ready to spring for cover, but Boone reared up +his great figure. + +"Don't answer him, Pierre. You, Gandil, shut your face or I'll break +ye in two." + +The fierce eyes of Pierre le Rouge never wavered from his victim, but +he answered: "Keep out of this. This is _my_ party. I'll tell you why +you'll stop gibbering, Gandil." + +He made a pace forward and every man shrank a little away from him. + +"Because the cold in your blood is part hate and more fear, Black +Gandil." + +The eyes of Gandil glared back for an instant. With all his soul he +yearned for the courage to pull his gun, but his arm was numb; he +could not move it, and his eyes wavered and fell. + +The shaggy gray head of Jim Boone fell likewise, and he was murmuring +to his savage old heart: "The good days are over. They'll never rest +till one of 'em is dead, and then the rest will take sides and we'll +have gun-plays at night. Seven years, and then to break up!" + +Dick Wilbur, as usual, was the pacifier. He strode across the room, +and the sharp sound of his heels on the creaking floor broke the +tension. He said softly to Pierre: "You've raised hell enough. Now +let's go and get Jack down here to undo what you've just finished. +Besides, you've got to ask her for that dance, eh?" + +The glance of Pierre still lingered on Gandil as he turned and +followed Wilbur up the complaining stairs to the one habitable room in +the second story of the house. It was set aside for the use of +Jacqueline. + +At the door Wilbur said: "Shrug your shoulders back; you look as if +you were going to jump at something. And wipe the wolf look off your +face. After all, Jack's a girl, not a gunfighter." + +Then he knocked and opened the door. + +She lay face down on her bunk, her head turned from them toward the +wall. Slender and supple and strong, it was still only the size of her +boots and her hands that would make one look at her twice and then +guess that this was a woman, for she was dressed, from trousers even +to the bright bandanna knotted around her throat, like any prosperous +range rider. + +Now, to be sure, the thick coils of black hair told her sex, but when +the broad-brimmed sombrero was pulled well down on her head, when the +cartridge-belt and the six-gun were slung about her waist, and most of +all when she spurred her mount recklessly across the hills no one +could have suspected that this was not some graceful boy born and bred +in the mountain-desert, willful as a young mountain lion, and as +dangerous. + +"Sleepy?" called Wilbur. + +She waited a moment and then queried with exaggerated impudence: +"Well?" + +Ennui unspeakable was in that drawling monotone. + +"Brace up; I've got news for you. And I've brought Pierre along to +tell you about it." + +"Oh!" + +And she sat bolt upright with shining eyes. Instantly she remembered +to yawn again, but her glance smiled on them above her hand. + +She apologized. "Awfully sleepy, Dick." + +But he was not deceived. He said: "There's a dance down near the +Barnes place, and Pierre wants you to go with him." + +"Pierre! A dance?" + +He explained: "Dick's lost his head over a girl with yellow hair, and +he wants me to go down and see her. He thought you might want to go +along." Her face changed like the moon when a cloud blows across it. +She answered with another slow, insolent yawn: "Thanks! I'm staying +home tonight." + +Wilbur glared his rage covertly at Pierre, but the latter was blandly +unconscious that he had made any _faux pas_. + +He said carelessly: "Too bad. It might be interesting. Jack?" + +At his voice she looked up--a sharp and graceful toss of her head. + +"What?" + +"The girl with the yellow hair." + +"Then go ahead and see her. I won't keep you. You don't mind if I go +on sleeping? Sit down and be at home." + +With this she calmly turned her back again and seemed thoroughly +disposed to carry out her word. + +Red Pierre flushed a little, watching her, and he spoke his anger +outright: "You're acting like a sulky kid, Jack, not like a man." + +It was a habit of his to forget that she was a woman. Without turning +her head she answered: "Do you want to know why?" + +"You're like a cat showing your claws. Go on! Tell me what the reason +is." + +"Because I get tired of you." + +In all his life he had never been so scorned. He did not see the +covert grin of Wilbur in the background. He blurted: "Tired?" + +"Awfully. You don't mind me being frank, do you, Pierre?" + +He could only stammer: "Sometimes I wish to God you _were_ a man, +Jack!" + +"You don't often remember that I'm a woman." + +"Do you mean that I'm rude or rough with you, Jacqueline?" Still the +silence, but Wilbur was grinning broader than ever. "Answer me!" + +She started up and faced him, her face convulsed with rage. + +"What do you want me to say? Yes, you are rude--I hate you and your +lot. Go away from me; I don't want you; I hate you all." + +And she would have said more, but furious sobs swelled her throat and +she could not speak, but dropped, face down, on the bunk and gripped +the blankets in each hardset hand. Over her Pierre leaned, utterly +bewildered, found nothing that he could say, and then turned and +strode, frowning, from the room. Wilbur hastened after him and caught +him just as the door was closing. + +"Come back," he pleaded. "This is the best game I've ever seen. Come +back, Pierre! You've made a wonderful start." + +Pierre le Rouge shook off the detaining hand and glared up at Wilbur. + +"Don't try irony, Dick. I feel like murder. Think of it! All this time +she's been hating me; and now it's making her weep; think of +it--Jack--weeping!" + +"Why, you're a child, Pierre. She's in love with you." + +"With me?" + +"With Red Pierre." + +"You can't make a joke out of Jack with me. You ought to know that." + +"Pierre, I'd as soon make a joke out of a wildcat." + +"Grinning still? Wilbur, I'm taking more from you than I would from +any man on the ranges." + +"I know you are, and that's why I'm stringing this out because I'm +going to have a laugh--ha, ha, ha!--the rest of my life--ha, ha, ha, +ha!--whenever I think of this!" + +The burst of merriment left him speechless, and Pierre, glowering, +his right hand twitching dangerously close to that holster at his hip. +He sobered, and said: "Go in and talk to her and prove that +I'm right." + +"Ask Jack if she loves me? Why, I'd as soon ask any man the same +question." + +The big long-rider was instantly curious. + +"Has she never appealed to you as a woman, Pierre?" + +"How could she? I've watched her ride; I've watched her use her gun; +I've slept rolled in the same blankets with her, back to back; I've +walked and talked and traveled with her as if she were my +kid brother." + +Wilbur nodded, as if the miracle were being slowly unfolded before his +eyes. + +"And you've never noticed anything different about her? Never watched +a little lift and grace in her walk that no man could ever have; never +seen her color change just because you, Pierre, came near or went far +away from her?" + +"Because of me?" asked the bewildered Pierre. + +"You fool, you! Why, lad, I've been kept amused by you two for a whole +evening, watching her play for your attention, saving her best smiles +for you, keeping her best attitudes for you, and letting all the +richness of her voice go out for--a block--a stone. Gad, the thing +still doesn't seem possible! Pierre, one instant of that girl would +give romance to a man's whole life." + +"This girl? This Jack of ours?" + +"He hasn't seen it! Why, if I hadn't seen years ago that she had tied +her hands and turned her heart over to you, I'd have been begging her +for a smile, a shadow of a hope." + +"If I didn't know you, Dick, I'd say that you were partly drunk and +partly a fool." + +"Here's a hundred--a cold hundred that I'm right. I'll make it a +thousand, if you dare." + +"Dare what?" + +"Ask her to marry you." "Marry--me?" + +"Damn it all--well, then--whatever you like. But I say that if you go +back into that room and sit still and merely look at her, she'll be in +your arms within five minutes." + +"I hate to take charity, but a bet is a bet. That hundred is in my +pocket already. It's a go!" + +They shook hands. + +"But what will be your proof, Dick, whether I win or lose?" + +"Your face, blockhead, when you come out of the room." + +Upon this Pierre pondered a moment, and then turned toward the door. +He set his hand on the knob, faltered, and finally set his teeth and +entered the room. + + + + +CHAPTER 18 + + +She lay as he had left her, except that her face was now pillowed in +her arms, and the long sobs kept her body quivering. Curiosity swept +over Pierre, looking down at her, but chiefly a puzzled grief such as +a man feels when a friend is in trouble. He came closer and laid a +hand on her shoulder. + +"Jack!" + +She turned far enough to strike his hand away and instantly resumed +her former position, though the sobs were softer. This childish anger +irritated him. He was about to storm out of the room when the thought +of the hundred dollars stopped him. The bet had been made, and it +seemed unsportsmanlike to leave without some effort. + +The effort which he finally made was that suggested by Wilbur. He +folded his arms and stood silent, waiting, and ready to judge the time +as nearly as he could until the five minutes should have elapsed. He +was so busy computing the minutes that it was with a start that he +noticed some time later that the weeping had ceased. She lay quiet. +Her hand was dabbing furtively at her face for a purpose which Pierre +could not surmise. + +At last a broken voice murmured: "Pierre!" + +He would not speak, but something in the voice made his anger go. +After a little it came, and louder this time: "Pierre?" + +He did not stir. + +She whirled and sat on the edge of the bunk, crying: "Pierre!" with a +note of fright. + +Still he persisted in that silence, his arms folded, the keen blue +eyes considering her as if from a great distance. + +She explained: "I was afraid--Pierre! Why don't you speak? Tell me, +are you angry?" + +And she sprang up and made a pace toward him. She had never seemed so +little manlike, so wholly womanly. And the hand which stretched toward +him, palm up, was a symbol of everything new and strange that he +found in her. + +He had seen it balled to a small, angry fist, brown and dangerous; he +had seen it gripping the butt of a revolver, ready for the draw; he +had seen it tugging at the reins and holding a racing horse in check +with an ease which a man would envy; but never before had he seen it +turned palm up, to his knowledge; and now, because he could not speak +to her, according to his plan, he studied her thoroughly for the +first time. + +Slender and marvelously made was that hand. The whole woman was in +it, made for beauty, not for use. It was all he could do to keep from +exclaiming. + +She made a quick step toward him, eager, uncertain: "Pierre, I thought +you had left me--that you were gone, and angry." + +Something caught on fire in Pierre, but still he would say nothing. He +was beginning to feel a cruel pleasure in his victory, but it was not +without a deep sense of danger. + +She had laid aside her six-gun, but she had not abandoned it. She had +laid aside her anger, but she could resume it again as swiftly as she +could take up her revolver. + +She cried with a little burst of rage: "Pierre, you are making a game +of me!" + +But seeing that he did not change she altered swiftly and caught his +hand in both of hers. She spoke the name which she always used when +she was greatly moved. + +"Ah, Pierre le Rouge, what have I done?" + +His silence tempted her on like the smile of the sphinx. + +And suddenly she was inside his arms, though how she separated them he +could not tell, and crying: "Pierre, I am unhappy. Help me, Pierre!" + +It was true, then, and Wilbur had won his bet. But how could it have +happened? He took the arms that encircled his neck and brought them +slowly down, and watched her curiously. Something was expected of him, +but what it was he could not tell, for women were as strange to him as +the wild sea is strange to the Arab. + +He hunted his mind, and then: "One of the boys has angered you, Jack?" + +And she said, because she could think of no way to cover the confusion +which came to her after the outbreak: "Yes." + +He dropped her arms and strode a pace or two up and down the room. + +"Gandil?" + +"N-no!" "You're lying. It was Gandil." + +And he made straight for the door. + +She ran after him and flung herself between him and the door. Clearly, +as if it were a painted picture, she saw him facing Gandil--saw their +hands leap for the guns--saw Gandil pitch face forward on the floor. +"Pierre--for God's sake!" + +Her terror convinced him partially, and the furor went back from his +eyes as a light goes back in a long, dark hall. + +"On your honor, Jack, it's not Gandil?" + +"On my honor." + +"But someone has broken you up. And he's here--he's one of us, this +man who's bothered you." + +She could not help but answer: "Yes." + +He scowled down at the floor. + +"You would never be able to guess who it is. Give it up. After all--I +can live through it--I guess." + +He took her face between his hands and frowned down into her eyes. +"Tell me his name, Jack, and the dog--" + +She said: "Let me go. Take your hands away, Pierre." + +He obeyed her, deeply worried, and she stood up for a moment with a +hand pressed over her eyes, swaying. He had never seen her like this; +he was like a pilot striving to steer his ship through an unfathomable +fog. Following what had become an instinct with him, he raised his +left hand and touched the cross beneath his throat. And inspiration +came to him. + + + + +CHAPTER 19 + + +"Whether you want to or not, Jack, we'll go to this dance tonight." + +Jacqueline's hand fell away from her eyes. She seemed suddenly glad +again. + +"Do you want to take me, Pierre?" + +He explained: "Of course. Besides, we have to keep an eye on Wilbur. +This girl with the yellow hair--" + +She had altered swiftly again. There was no understanding her or +following her moods this day. He decided to disregard them, as he had +often done before. + +"Black Gandil swears that I'm bringing bad luck to the boys at last. +Patterson has disappeared; Wilbur has lost his head about a girl. +We've got to save Dick." + +He knew that she was fond of Wilbur, but she showed no enthusiasm now. + +"Let him go his own way. He's big enough to take care of himself." + +"But it's common talk, Jack, that the end of Wilbur will come through +a woman. It was that that sent him on the long trail, you know. And +this girl with the yellow hair--" + +"Why do you harp on her?" + +"Harp on her?" + +"Every other word--nothing but yellow hair. I'm sick of it. I know the +kind--faded corn color--dyed, probably. Pierre, you are all blind, and +you most of all." + +This being obviously childish, Pierre brushed the consideration of it +from his mind. "And for clothes, Jack?" + +They were both dumb. It had been years since she had worn the clothes +of a woman. She had danced with the men of her father's gang many a +time while someone whistled or played on a mouth-organ, and there was +the time they rode into Beulah Ferry and held up the dance hall, and +Jim Boone and Mansie lined up the crowd with their hands held high +above their heads while the sweating musicians played fast and furious +and Jack and Pierre danced down the center of the hall. + +She had danced many a time, but never in the clothes of a woman; so +they stared, mutely puzzled. + +A thought came first to Jacqueline. She stepped close and murmured her +suggestion in the ear of Pierre. Whatever it was, it made his jaw set +hard and brought grave lines into his face. + +She stepped back, asking: "Well?" + +"We'll do it. What a little demon you are, Jack!" + +"Then we'll have to start now. There's barely time." + +They ran from the room together, and as they passed through the room +below Wilbur called after them: "The dance?" + +"Yes." + +"Wait and go with me." + +"We ride in a roundabout way." + +They were through the door as Pierre called back, and a moment later +the hoofs of their horses scattered the gravel down the hillside. +Jacqueline rode a black stallion sired by her father's mighty Thunder, +who had grown old but still could do the work of three ordinary horses +in carrying the great bulk of his master. The son of Thunder was +little like his sire, but a slender-limbed racer, graceful, nervous, +eager. A clumsy rider would have ruined the horse in a single day's +hard work among the trails of the mountain-desert, but Jacqueline, +fairly reading the mind of the black, nursed his strength when it was +needed and let him run free and swift when the ground before him +was level. + +Now she picked her course dexterously down the hillside with the +cream-colored mare of Pierre following half a length behind. + +After the first down-pitch of ground was covered they passed into +difficult terrain, and for half an hour went at a jog trot, winging in +and out among the rocks, climbing steadily up and up through +the hills. + +Here the ground opened up again, and they roved on at a free gallop, +the black always half a length in front. Along the ridge of a crest, +an almost level stretch of a mile or more, Jack eased the grip on the +reins, and the black responded with a sudden lengthening of stride and +lowered his head with ears pressed back flat while he fairly flew over +the ground. + +Nothing could match that speed. The strong mare fell to the rear, +fighting gamely, but beaten by that effort of the stallion. + +Jack swerved in the saddle and looked back, laughing her triumph. +Pierre smiled grimly in response and leaned forward, shifting his +weight more over the withers of Mary. He spoke to her, and one of her +pricking ears fell back as if to listen to his voice. He spoke again +and the other ear fell back, her neck straightened, she gave her whole +heart to her work. + +First she held the stallion even, then she began to gain. That was the +meaning of those round, strong hips, and the breadth of the chest. She +needed a half-mile of running to warm her to her work, and now the +black came back to her with every leap. + +The thunder of the approaching hoofs warned the girl. One more glance +she cast in apprehension over her shoulder, and then brought her spurs +into play again and again. Still the rush of hoofs behind her grew +louder and louder, and now there was a panting at her side and the +head of cream-colored Mary drew up and past. + +She gave up the battle with a little shout of anger and slowed up her +mount with a sharp pull on the reins. It needed only a word from +Pierre and his mare drew down to a hand-gallop, twisting her head a +little toward the black as if she called for some recognition of her +superiority. + +"It's always this way," cried Jack, and jerked at the reins with a +childish impotence of anger. "I beat you for the first quarter of a +mile and then this fool of a horse--I'm going to give him away." + +"The black," said Pierre, assuming an air of quiet and superior +knowing which always aggravated her most, "is a good second-rate +cayuse when someone who knows horses is in the saddle. I'd give you +fifty for him on the strength of his looks and keep him for a +decoration." + +She could only glare her speechless rage for a moment. Then she +changed swiftly and threw out her hands in a little gesture of +surrender. + +"After all, what difference does it make? Your Mary can beat him in a +long run or a short one, but it's your horse, Pierre, and that takes +the sting away. If it were anyone else's I'd--well, I'd shoot either +the horse or the rider. But my partner's horse is my horse, you know." + +He swerved his mare sharply to the left and took her hand with a +strong grip. + +"Jack, of all the men I've ever known, I'd rather ride with you, I'd +rather fight for you." + +"Of all the _men_ you ever knew," she said, "I suppose that I am." + +He did not hear the low voice, for he was looking out over the canyon. +A few moments later they swung out onto the very crest of the range. + +On all sides the hills dropped away through the gloom of the evening, +brown nearby, but falling off through a faint blue haze and growing +blue-black with the distance. A sharp wind, chill with the coming of +night, cut at them. Not a hundred feet overhead shot a low-winging +hawk back from his day's hunting and rising only high enough to clear +the range and then plunge down toward his nest. + +Like the hawks they peered down from their point of vantage into the +profound gloom of the valley below. They shaded their eyes and studied +it with a singular interest for long moments, patient, as the hawk. + +So these two marauders stared until she raised a hand slowly and then +pointed down. He followed the direction she indicated, and there, +through the haze of the evening, he made out a glimmer of lights. + +He said sharply: "I know the place, but we'll have a devil of a ride +to get there." + +And like the swooping hawk they started down the slope. It was +precipitous in many places, but Pierre kept almost at a gallop, making +the mare take the slopes often crouched back on her haunches with +forefeet braced forward, and sliding many yards at a time. + +In between the boulders he darted, twisting here and there, and always +erect and jaunty in the saddle, swaying easily with every movement of +the mare. Not far behind him came the girl. Fine rider that she was, +she could not hope to compete with such matchless horsemanship where +man and horse were only one piece of strong brawn and muscle, one +daring spirit. Many a time the chances seemed too desperate to her, +but she followed blindly where he led, setting her teeth at each +succeeding venture, and coming out safe every time, until they swung +out at last through a screen of brush and onto the level floor of +the valley. + + + + +CHAPTER 20 + + +In the heart of that valley two roads crossed. Many a year before a +man with some imagination and illimitable faith was moved by the +crossing of those roads to build a general merchandise store. + +Time justified his faith, in a small way, and now McGuire's store was +famed for leagues and leagues about, for he dared to take chances with +all manner of novelties, and the curious, when their pocketbooks were +full, went to McGuire's to find inspiration. + +Business was dull this night, however; there was not a single patron +at the bar, and the store itself was empty, so he went to put out the +big gasoline lamp which hung from the ceiling in the center of the +room, and was on the ladder, reaching high above his head, when a +singular chill caught him in the center of his plump back and radiated +from that spot in all directions, freezing his blood. He swallowed the +lump in his throat and with his arms still stretched toward the lamp +he turned his head and glanced behind. + +Two men stood watching him from a position just inside the door. How +they had come there he could never guess, for the floor creaked at the +lightest step. Nevertheless, these phantoms had appeared silently, and +now they must be dealt with. He turned on the ladder to face them, and +still he kept the arms automatically above his head while he descended +to the floor. However, on a closer examination, these two did not +seem particularly formidable. They were both quite young, one with +dark-red hair and a somewhat overbright eye; the other was hardly more +than a boy, very slender, delicately made, the sort of handsome young +scoundrel whom women cannot resist. + +Having made these observations, McGuire ventured to lower his arms by +jerks; nothing happened; he was safe. So he vented his feelings by +scowling on the strangers. + +"Well," he snapped, "what's up? Too late for business. I'm closin' +up." + +The two quite disregarded him. Their eyes were wandering calmly about +the place, and now they rested on the pride of McGuire's store. The +figure of a man in evening clothes, complete from shoes to gloves and +silk hat, stood beside a girl of wax loveliness. She wore a low-cut +gown of dark green, and over her shoulders was draped a scarf of dull +gold. Above, a sign said: "You only get married once; why don't you do +it up right?" + +"That," said the taller stranger, "ought to do very nicely for us, +eh?" + +And the younger replied in a curiously light, pleasant voice: "Just +what we want. But how'll I get away with all that fluffy stuff, eh?" + +The elder explained: "We're going to a bit of a dance and we'll take +those evening clothes." + +The heart of McGuire beat faster and his little eyes took in the +strangers again from head to foot. + +"They ain't for sale," he said. "They's just samples. But right over +here--" + +"This isn't a question of selling," said the red-headed man. "We've +come to accept a little donation, McGuire." + +The storekeeper grew purple and white in patches. Still there was no +show of violence, no display of guns; he moved his hand toward his own +weapon, and still the strangers merely smiled quietly on him. He +decided that he had misunderstood, and went on: "Over here I got a +line of goods that you'll like. Just step up and--" + +The younger man, frowning now, replied: "We don't want to see any more +of your junk. The clothes on the models suit us all right. Slip 'em +off, McGuire." + +"But--" began McGuire and then stopped. + +His first suspicion returned with redoubled force; above all, that +head of dark red hair made him thoughtful. He finished hoarsely: "What +the hell's this?" + +"Why," smiled the taller man, "you've never done much in the interests +of charity, and now's a good time for you to start. Hurry up, McGuire; +we're late already!" + +There was a snarl from the storekeeper, and he went for his gun, but +something in the peculiarly steady eyes of the two made him stop with +his fingers frozen hard around the butt. + +He whispered: "You're Red Pierre?" + +"The clothes," repeated Pierre sternly, "on the jump, McGuire." + +And with a jump McGuire obeyed. His hands trembled so that he could +hardly remove the scarf from the shoulders of the model, but afterward +fear made his fingers supple, as he did up the clothes in two bundles. + +Jacqueline took one of them and Pierre the other under his left arm; +with his right hand he drew out some yellow coins. + +"I didn't buy these clothes because I didn't have the time to dicker +with you, McGuire. I've heard you talk prices before, you know. But +here's what the clothes are worth to us." + +And into the quaking hands of McGuire he poured a chinking stream of +gold pieces. + +Relief, amazement, and a very wholesome fear struggled in the face of +McGuire as he saw himself threefold overpaid. At that little +yellow heap he remained staring, unheeding the sound of the +retreating outlaws. + +"It ain't possible," he said at last, "thieves have begun to pay." + +His eyes sought the ceiling. + +"So that's Red Pierre?" said McGuire. + +As for Pierre and Jacqueline, they were instantly safe in the black +heart of the mountains. Many a mile of hard riding lay before them, +however, and there was no road, not even a trail that they could +follow. They had never even seen the Crittenden schoolhouse; they knew +its location only by vague descriptions. + +But they had ridden a thousand times in places far more bewildering +and less known to them. Like all true denizens of the mountain-desert, +they had a sense of direction as uncanny as that of an Eskimo. Now +they struck off confidently through the dark and trailed up and down +through the mountains until they reached a hollow in the center of +which shone a group of dim lights. It was the schoolhouse near the +Barnes place, the scene of the dance. + +So they turned back behind the hills and in the covert of a group of +cottonwoods they kindled two more little fires, shading them on three +sides with rocks and leaving them open for the sake of light on +the fourth. + +They worked busily for a time, without a word spoken by either of +them. The only sound was the rustling of Jacqueline's stolen silks and +the purling of a small stream of water near them, some meager spring. + +But presently: "P-P-Pierre, I'm f-freezing." + +He himself was numbed by the chill air and paused in the task of +thrusting a leg into the trousers, which persisted in tangling and +twisting under his foot. + +"So'm I. It's c-c-cold as the d-d-d-devil." + +"And these--th-things--aren't any thicker than spider webs." "Wait. +I'll build you a great big fire." + +And he scooped up a number of dead twigs. + +There was an interlude of more silk rustling, then: "P-P-Pierre." + +"Well?" + +"I wish I had a m-m-m-mirror." + +"Jack, are you vain?" + +A cry of delight answered him. He threw caution to the winds and +advanced on her. He found her kneeling above a pool of water fed by +the soft sliding little stream from the spring. With one hand she held +a burning branch by way of a torch, and with the other she patted her +hair into shape and finally thrust the comb into the glittering, +heavy coils. + +She started, as if she felt his presence. + +"P-P-Pierre!" + +"Yes?" + +"Look!" + +She stood with the torch high overhead, and he saw a beauty so +glorious that he closed his eyes involuntarily and still he saw the +vision in the dull-green gown, with the scarf of old gold about her +dazzling white shoulders. And there were two lights, the barbaric red +of the jewels in her hair, and the black shimmer of her eyes. He drew +back a step more. It was a picture to be looked at from a distance. + +She ran to him with a cry of dismay: "Pierre, what's wrong with me?" + +His arms went round her of their own accord. It was the only place +they could go. And all this beauty was held in the circle of his will. + +"It isn't that, but you're so wonderful, Jack, so glorious, that I +hardly know you. You're like a different person." + +He felt the warm body trembling, and the thought that it was not +entirely from the cold set his heart beating like a trip-hammer. What +he felt was so strange to him that he stepped back in a vague alarm, +and then laughed. She stood with an expectant smile. + +"Jack, how am I to risk you in the arms of all the strangers in that +dance? + +"It's late. Listen!" + +She cupped a hand at her ear and leaned to listen. Up from the hollow +below them came a faint strain of music, a very light sound that was +drowned a moment later by the solemn rushing of the wind through the +great trees above them. + +They looked up of one accord. + +"Pierre, what was that?" + +"Nothing; the wind in the branches, that's all." + +"It was a hushing sound. It was like--it was like a warning, almost." + +But he was already turning away, and she followed him hastily. + + + + +CHAPTER 21 + + +Jacqueline could never ride a horse in that gown, or even sit sidewise +in the saddle without hopelessly crumpling it, so they walked to the +schoolhouse. It was a slow progress, for she had to step lightly and +carefully for fear of the slippers. He took her bare arm and helped +her; he would never have thought of it under ordinary conditions, but +since she had put on this gown she was greatly changed to him, no +longer the wild, free rider of the mountain-desert, but a +defenseless, strangely weak being. Her strength was now something +other than the skill to ride hard and shoot straight and quick. + +So they came to the schoolhouse and reached the long line of buggies, +buckboards, and, most of all, saddled horses. They crowded the +horse-shed where the school children stabled their mounts in the +winter weather. They were tethered to the posts of the fence; they +were grouped about the trees. + +It was a prodigious gathering, and a great affair for the +mountain-desert. They knew this even before they had set foot within +the building. + +They stopped here and adjusted their masks carefully. They were made +from a strip of black lining which Jack had torn from one of the coats +in the trunk which lay far back in the hills. + +Those masks had to be tied firmly and well, for some jester might try +to pull away that of Pierre, and if his face were seen, it would be +death--a slaughter without defense, for he had not been able to +conceal his big Colt in these tight-fitting clothes. Even as it was, +there was peril from the moment that the lights within should shine on +that head of dark-red hair. + +As for Jack, there was little fear that she would be recognized. She +was strange even to Pierre every time he looked down at her, for she +had ceased to be Jack and had become very definitely "Jacqueline." But +the masks were on; the scarf adjusted about the throat and bare, +shivering shoulders of Jack, and they stood arm in arm before the door +out of which streamed the voices and the music. + +"Are you ready?" + +"Yes." + +But she was trembling so, either from fear, or excitement, or both, +that he had to take a firm hold on her arm and almost carry her up the +steps, shove the door open, and force her in. A hundred eyes were +instantly upon them, practiced, suspicious eyes, accustomed to search +into all things and take nothing for granted; eyes of men who, when a +rap came at the door, looked to see whether or not the shadow of the +stranger fell full in the center of the crack beneath the door. If it +fell to one side the man might be an enemy, and therefore they would +stand at one side of the room, their hands upon the butt of a six-gun, +and shout: "Come in." Such was the battery of glances from the men, +and the color of Pierre altered, paled. + +He knew some of those faces, for those who hunt and are hunted never +forget the least gestures of their enemies. There was a mighty +temptation to turn back even then, but he set his teeth and forced +himself to stand calmly. + +The chuckle which replied to this maneuver freed him for the moment. +Suspicion was lulled. Moreover, the red-jeweled hair of Jacqueline and +her lighted eyes called all attention almost immediately upon her. She +shifted the golden scarf--the white arms and breast flashed in the +light--a gasp responded. There would be talk tomorrow; there were +whispers even now. + +It was not the main hall that they stood in, for this school, having +been built by an aspiring community, contained two rooms; this smaller +room, used by the little ones of the school, was now converted into a +hat-and-cloak room. + +Pierre hung up his hat, removed his gloves slowly, nerving himself to +endure the sharp glances, and opened the door for Jacqueline. + +If she had held back tremulously before, something she had seen in the +eyes of those in the first room, something in the whisper and murmur +which rose the moment she started to leave, gave her courage. She +stepped into the dance-hall like a queen going forth to address +devoted subjects. The second ordeal was easier than the first. There +were many times more people in that crowded room, but each was intent +upon his own pleasure. A wave of warmth and light swept upon them, and +a blare of music, and a stir and hum of voices, and here and there the +sweet sound of a happy girl's laughter. They raised their heads, these +two wild rangers of the mountain-desert, and breathed deep of the +fantastic scene. + +There was no attempt at beauty in the costumes of the masqueraders. +Here and there some girl achieved a novel and pleasing effect; but on +the whole they strove for cheaper and more stirring things in the line +of the grotesque. + +Here passed a youth wearing a beard made from the stiff, red bristles +of the tail of a sorrel horse. Another wore a bear's head cunningly +stuffed, the grinning teeth flashing over his head and the skin draped +over his shoulders. A third disfigured himself by painting after the +fashion of an Indian on the warpath, with crimson streaks down his +forehead and red and black across his cheeks. + +But not more than a third of all the assembly made any effort to +masquerade, beyond the use of the simple black mask across the upper +part of the face. The rest of the men and women contented themselves +with wearing the very finest clothes they could afford to buy, and +there was through the air a scent of the general merchandise store +which not even a liberal use of cheap perfume and all the drifts of +pale-blue cigarette smoke could quite overcome. + +As for the music, it was furnished by two very old men, relics of the +days when there were contests in fiddling; a stout fellow of middle +age, with cheeks swelled almost to bursting as he thundered out +terrific blasts on a slide trombone; a youth who rattled two sticks on +an overturned dish-pan in lieu of a drum, and a cornetist of +real skill. + +There were hard faces in the crowd, most of them, of men who had set +their teeth against hard weather and hard men, and fought their way +through, not to happiness, but to existence, so that fighting had +become their pleasure. + +Now they relaxed their eternal vigilance, their eternal suspicion. +Another phase of their nature weakened. Some of them were smiling and +laughing for the first time in months, perhaps, of labor and +loneliness on the range. With the gates of good-nature opened, a +veritable flood of gaiety burst out. It glittered in their eyes, it +rose to their lips in a wild laughter. They seemed to be dancing more +furiously fast in order to forget the life which they had left, and to +which they must return. + +These were the conquerors of the bitter nature of the mountain-desert. +There was beauty here, the beauty of strength in the men and a brown +loveliness in the girls; just as in the music, the blatancy of the +rattling dish-pan and the blaring trombone were more than balanced by +the real skill of the violinists, who kept a high, sweet, singing tone +through all the clamor. + +And Pierre le Rouge and Jacqueline? They stood aghast for a moment +when that crash of noise broke around them; but they came from a life +where there was nothing of beauty except the lonely strength of the +mountains and the appalling silences of the stars that roll above the +desert. Almost at once they caught the overtone of human joyousness, +and they turned with smiles to each other, and it was "Pierre?" +"Jack?" Then a nod, and she was in his arms, and they glided into +the dance. + + + + +CHAPTER 22 + + +When a crowd gathers in the street, there rises a babel of voices, a +confused and pointless clamor, no matter what the purpose of the +gathering, until some man who can think as well as shout begins to +speak. Then the crowd murmurs a moment, and after a few seconds +composes itself to listen. + +So it was with the noise in the hall when Pierre and Jacqueline began +to dance. First there were smiles of derision and envy around them, +but after a moment a little hush came where they moved. + +They could not help but dance well, for they had youth and grace and +strength, and the glances of applause and envy were like wine to +quicken their blood, while above all they caught the overtone of the +singing violins, and danced by that alone. The music ended with a long +flourish just as they whirled to a stop in a corner of the room. At +once an eddy of men started toward them. + +"Who shall it be?" smiled Pierre. "With whom do you want to dance? +It's your triumph, Jack." + +She was alight and alive with the victory, and her eyes roved over the +crowd. + +"The big man with the tawny hair." + +"But he's making right past us." + +"No; he'll turn and come back." + +"How do you know?" + +For answer she glanced up and laughed, and he realized with a singular +sense of loneliness that she knew many things which were beyond his +ken. Someone touched his arm, and a voice, many voices, beset him. + +"How's the chances for a dance with the girl, partner?" + +"This dance is already booked," Pierre answered, and kept his eyes on +the tall man with the scarred face and the resolute jaw. He wondered +why Jacqueline had chosen such a partner. + +At least she had prophesied correctly, for the big man turned toward +them just as he seemed about to head for another part of the hall. The +crowd gave way before him, not that he shouldered them aside, but they +seemed to feel the coming of his shadow before him, and separated as +they would have done before the shadow of a falling tree. + +In another moment Pierre found himself looking up to the giant. No +mask could cover that long, twisting mark of white down his cheek, nor +hide the square set of the jaw, nor dim the steady eyes. + +And there came to Pierre an exceedingly great uneasiness in his right +hand, and a twitching of the fingers low down on his thigh where the +familiar holster should have hung. His left hand rose, following the +old instinct, and touched beneath his throat where the cold cross lay. + +He was saying easily: "This is your dance, isn't it?" + +"Right, Bud," answered the big man in a mellow voice as great as his +size. "Sorry I can't swap partners with you, but I hunt alone." + +An overwhelming desire to get a distance between himself and this huge +unknown came to Pierre. + +He said: "There goes the music. You're off." + +And the other, moving toward Jack, leaned down a little and murmured +at the ear of the outlaw: "Thanks, Pierre." + +Then he was gone, and Jacqueline was laughing over his shoulder back +to Pierre. + +Through his daze and through the rising clamor of the music, a voice +said beside him: "You look sort of sick, dude. Who's your friend?" + +"Don't you know him?" asked Pierre. + +"No more than I do you; but I've ridden the range for ten years around +here, and I know that he's new to these parts. If I'd ever glimpsed +him before, I'd remember him. He'd be a bad man in a mix, eh?" + +And Pierre answered with devout earnestness: "He would." + +"But where'd you buy those duds, pal? Hey, look! Here's what I've been +waiting for--the Barneses and the girl that's visitin' 'em from +the East." + +"What girl?" + +"Look!" + +The Barnes group was passing through the door, and last came the +unmistakable form of Dick Wilbur, masked, but not masked enough to +hide his familiar smile or cover the well-known sound of his laughter +as it drifted to Pierre across the hall, and on his arm was a girl in +an evening dress of blue, with a small, black mask across her eyes, +and deep-golden hair. + +Pausing before she swung into the dance with Wilbur, she made a +gesture with the white arm, and looked up laughing to big, handsome +Dick. Pierre trembled with a red rage when he saw the hands of Wilbur +about her. + +Dick, in passing, marked Pierre's stare above the heads of the crowd, +and frowned with trouble. The hungry eyes of Pierre followed them as +they circled the hall again; and this time Wilbur, perhaps fearing +that something had gone wrong with Pierre, steered close to the edge +of the dancing crowd and looked inquisitively across. + +He leaned and spoke to the girl, and she turned her head, smiling, to +Pierre. Then the smile went out, and even despite the mask, he saw her +eyes widen. She stopped and slipped from the arm of Wilbur, and came +step by step slowly toward him like one walking in her sleep. There, +by the edge of the dancers, with the noise of the music and the +shuffling feet to cover them, they met. The hands she held to him were +cold and trembling. + +"Is it you?" + +"It is I." + +That was all; and then the shadow of Wilbur loomed above them. + +"What's this? Do you know each other? It isn't possible! Pierre, are +you playing a game with me?" + +But under the glance of Pierre he fell back a step, and reached for +the gun which was not there. They were alone once more. + +"Mary--Mary Brown!" + +"Pierre!" + +"But you are dead!" + +"No, no! But you--Pierre, where can we go?" + +"Outside." + +"Let us go quickly!" + +"Do you need a wrap?" + +"No." + +"But it is cold outside, and your shoulders are bare." + +"Then take that cloak. But quickly, Pierre, before we're followed." + +He drew it about her; he led her through the door; it clicked shut; +they were alone with the sweet, frosty air before them. She tore +away the mask. + +"And yours, Pierre?" + +"Not here." + +"Why?" + +"Because there are people. Hurry. Now here, with just the trees around +us--" + +And he tore off his mask. + +The white, cold moon shone over them, slipping down between the dark +tops of the trees, and the wind stirred slowly through the branches +with a faint, hushing sound, as if once more a warning were coming to +Pierre this night. He looked up, his left hand at the cross. + +"Look down. You are afraid of something, Pierre. What is it?" + +"With your arms around my neck, there's nothing in the world I fear. I +never dreamed I could love anything more than the little girl who lay +in the snow, and died there that night." + +"And I never dreamed I could smile at any man except the boy who lay +by me that night. And he died." + +"What miracle saved you?" + +She said: "It was wonderful, and yet very simple. You remember how the +tree crushed me down into the snow? Well, when the landslide moved, it +carried the tree before it; the weight of the trunk was lifted from +me. Perhaps it was a rock that struck me over the head then, for I +lost consciousness. The slide didn't bury me, but the rush carried me +before it like a stick before a wave, you see. + +"When I woke I was almost completely covered with a blanket of debris, +but I could move my arms, and managed to prop myself up in a sitting +posture. It was there that my father and his searching party found me; +he had been combing that district all night. They carried me back, +terribly bruised, but without even a bone broken. It was a miracle +that I escaped, and the miracle must have been worked by your cross; +do you remember?" + +He shuddered. "The cross--for every good fortune it has brought me, it +has brought bad luck to others. I'll throw it away, now--and then--no, +it makes no difference. We are done for." + +"Pierre!" + +"Don't you see, Mary, or are you still blind as I was ever since I saw +you tonight? It's all in that name--Pierre." + +"There's nothing in it, Pierre, that I don't love." + +His head was bowed as if with the weight of the words which he +foresaw. "You have heard of the wild men of the mountains, and the +long-riders?" + +He knew that she nodded, though she could not speak. + +"I am Red Pierre." + +"_You_!" + +"Yes." + +Yet he had the courage to raise his head and watch her shrink with +horror. It was only an instant. Then she was beside him again, and one +arm around him, while she turned her head and glanced fearfully back +at the lighted schoolhouse. The faint music mocked them. + +"And you dared to come to the dance? We must go. Look, there are +horses! We'll ride off into the mountains, and they'll never find +us--we'll--" + +"Hush! One day's riding would kill you--riding as I ride." + +"I'm strong--very strong, and the love of you, Pierre, will give me +more strength. But quickly, for if they knew you, every man in that +place would come armed and ready to kill. I know, for I've heard them +talk. Tell me, are one-half of all the terrible things they say--" + +"They are true, I guess." + +"I won't think of them. Whatever you've done, it was not you, but some +devil that forced you on. Pierre, I love you more than ever. Will you +go East with me, and home? We will lose ourselves in New York. The +millions of the crowd will hide us." + +"Mary, there are some men from whom even the night can't hide me. If +they were blind their hate would give them eyes to find me." + +"Pierre, you are not turning away from me--Pierre--There's some ghost +of a chance for us. Will you take that chance and come with me?" + +He thought of many things, but what he answered was: "I will." "Then +let's go at once. The railroad--" + +"Not that way. No one in that house suspects me now. We'll go back and +put on our masks again, and--hush. What's there?" + +"Nothing." + +"There is--a man's step." + +And she, seeing the look on his face, covered her eyes in horror. When +she looked up a great form was looming through the dark, and then the +voice of Wilbur came, hard and cold. + +"I've looked everywhere for you. Miss Brown, they are anxious about +you in the schoolhouse. Will you go back?" + +"No--I--" + +But Pierre commanded: "Go back." + +So she turned, and he ordered again: "I think our friend has something +to say to me. You can find your way easily. Tomorrow--" + +"Tomorrow, Pierre?" + +"Yes." + +"I shall be waiting." + +With what a voice she said it! And then she was gone. + +He turned quietly to big Dick Wilbur, on whose contorted face the +moonlight fell. + +"Say it, Dick, and have it out in cursing me, if that'll help." + +The big man stood with his hands gripped behind, fighting for +self-control. + +"Pierre, I've cared for you more than I've cared for any other man. +I've thought of you like a kid brother. Now tell me that you haven't +done this thing, and I'll believe you rather than my senses. Tell me +you haven't stolen the girl I love away from me; tell me--" + +"I love her, Dick." + +"Damn you! And she?" + +"She'll forget me; God knows I hope she'll forget me." "I brought +two guns with me. Here they are." + +He held out the weapons. + +"Take your choice." + +"Does it have to be this way?" + +"If you'd rather have me shoot you down in cold blood?" + +"I suppose this is as good a way as any." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Nothing. Give me a gun." + +"Here. This is ten paces. Are you ready?" + +"Yes." + +"Pierre. God forgive you for what you've done. She liked me, I know. +If it weren't for you, I would have won her and a chance for real life +again--but now--damn you!" + +"I'll count to ten, slowly and evenly. When I reach ten we fire?" + +"Yes." + +"I'll trust you not to beat the count, Dick." + +"And I you. Start." + +He counted quietly, evenly: "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, +eight, nine--ten!" + +The gun jerked up in the hand of Wilbur, but he stayed the movement +with his finger pressing still upon the trigger. The hand of Pierre +had not moved. + +He cried: "By God, Pierre, what do you mean?" + +There was no answer. He strode across the intervening space, dropped +his gun and caught the other by the shoulders. Out of Pierre's +nerveless fingers the revolver slipped to the ground. + +"In the name of God, Pierre, what has happened to you?" + +"Dick, why didn't you fire?" + +"Fire? Murder you?" + +"You shoot straight--I know--it would have been over quickly." + +"What is it, boy? You look dead--there's no color in your face, no +light in your eyes, even your voice is dead. I know it isn't fear. +What is it?" + +"You're wrong. It's fear." + +"Fear and Red Pierre. The two don't mate." + +"Fear of living, Dick." + +"So that's it? God help you. Pierre, forgive me. I should have known +that you had met her before, but I was mad, and didn't know what I was +doing, couldn't think." + +"It's over and forgotten. I have to go back and get Jack. Will you +ride home with us?" + +"Jack? She's not in the hall. She left shortly after you went, and she +means some deviltry. There's a jealous fiend in that girl. I watched +her eyes when they followed you and Mary from the hall." + +"Then we'll ride back alone." + +"Not I. Carry the word to Jim that I'm through with the game. I'm +going to wash some of the grime off my conscience and try to make +myself fit to speak to this girl again." + +"It's the cross," said Pierre. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Nothing. The bad luck has come to poor old Jim at last, because he +saved me out of the snow. Patterson has gone, and now you, and perhaps +Jack--well, this is good-bye, Dick?" + +"Yes." + +Their hands met. + +"You forgive me, Dick?" + +"With all my heart, old fellow." + +"I'll try to wish you luck. Stay close to her. Perhaps you'll win +her." + +"I'll do what one man can." + +"But if you succeed, ride out of the mountain-desert with her--never +let me hear of it." + +"I don't understand. Will you tell me what's between you, Pierre? +You've some sort of claim on her. What is it?" "I've said good-bye. +Only one thing more. Never mention my name to her." + +So he turned and walked out into the moonlight and Wilbur stared after +him until he disappeared beyond the shoulder of a hill. + + + + +CHAPTER 23 + + +It was early morning before Pierre reached the refuge of Boone's gang, +but there was still a light through the window of the large room, and +he entered to find Boone, Mansie, and Gandil grouped about the fire, +all ominously silent, all ominously wakeful. They looked up to him and +big Jim nodded his gray head. Otherwise there was no greeting. + +From a shadowy corner Jacqueline rose and went toward the door. He +crossed quickly and barred the way. + +"What is it, Jack?" + +"Get out of the way." + +"Not till you tell me what's wrong." + +A veritable devil of fury came blazing in her eyes, and her hand +twitched nervously back to her hip where the dark holster hung. She +said in a voice that shook with anger: "Don't try your bluff on me. I +ain't no shorthorn, Pierre le Rouge." + +He stepped aside, frowning. + +"Tomorrow I'll argue the point with you, Jack." She turned at the +door and snapped back: "You? You ain't fast enough on the draw to +argue with me!" + +And she was gone. He turned to face the mocking smile of Black Gandil +and a rapid volley of questions. + +"Where's Patterson?" + +"No more idea than you have." + +"And Branch?" + +"What's become of Branch? Hasn't he returned?" + +"No. And Dick Wilbur?" + +"Boys, he's done with this life and I'm glad of it. He's starting on a +new track." + +"After a woman?" sneered Bud Mansie. + +"Shut up, Bud," broke in Boone, and then slowly to Pierre: + +"Patterson is gone for two days now. You ought to know what that +means. Branch ought to have returned from looking for him, and Branch +is still out. Wilbur is gone. Out of seven we're only four left. +Who's next?" + +He stared gloomily from face to face, and Gandil snarled: "A fellow +who saves a shipwrecked man--" + +"Damn you, keep still, Gandil." + +"Don't damn me, Pierre le Rouge, but damn the luck you've brought to +Jim Boone." + +"Jim, do you chalk all this up against me?" + +"I, lad? No, no! But it's queer. Patterson's done for; there's no +doubt of that. Good-natured Garry Patterson. God, boy, how we'll miss +him! And Branch seems to have gone the same way. If neither of them +show up before morning we can cross 'em off the list. Now Wilbur has +gone and Jack has ridden home looking like a small-sized thunderstorm, +and now you come with a white face and a blank eye. What hell is +trailin' us, Pierre, what hell is in store for us. You've seen +something, and we want to know what it is." + +"A ghost, Jim, that's all." + +Bud Mansie said softly: "There's only one ghost that could make you +look like this. Was it McGurk, Pierre?" + +Boone commanded: "No more of that, Bud. Boys, we're going to turn in, +and tomorrow we'll climb the hills looking for the two we've lost. But +there's something or someone after us. Lads, I'm thinking our good +days are over. The seven of us have been too many for a small posse +and too fast for a big one, but the seven are down to four. The good +days are over." + +And the three answered in a solemn chorus: "The good days are over." + +All eyes fixed on Pierre, and his glance was settled on the floor. + +The morning brought them no better cheer, for Jack, whose singing +generally wakened them, was not to be coaxed into speech, and when +Pierre entered the room she rose and left the breakfast table. The sad +eyes of Jim Boone followed her and then turned to Pierre. No +explanation was forthcoming, and he asked for none. The old fatalist +had accepted the worst, and now he waited for doom to descend. + +They took their horses after breakfast and rode out to search the +hills, for it was quite possible that an accident had crippled at +least one of the two lost men, either Patterson or Branch. Not a gully +within miles was left unsearched, but toward evening they rode back, +one by one, with no tidings. + +One by one they rode up, and whistled to announce their coming, and +then rode on to the stable to unsaddle their horses. About the supper +table all gathered with the exception of Bud Mansie. So they waited +the meal and each from time to time stole a glance at the fifth plate +where Bud should sit. + +It was Jack who finally stirred herself from her dumb gloom to take up +that fifth and carry it out of the room. It was as if she had +announced the death of Mansie. + +After that, they ate what they could and then went back around the +fire. The evening waned, but it brought no sign of any of the missing +three. The wood burned low in the fire. The first to break the long +silence was Jim Boone, with "Who brings in the wood?" + +And Black Gandil answered: "We'll match, eh?" + +In an outburst of energy the day before he disappeared Garry Patterson +had chopped up some wood and left a pile of it at the corner of the +house. It was a very little thing to bring in an armful of that wood, +but long-riders do not love work, and now they started the matching +seriously. The odd man was out, and Pierre went out on the first toss +of the coins. + +"You see," said Gandil. "Bad luck to everyone but himself." + +At the next throw Jacqueline was the lucky one, and her father +afterward. Gandil rose and stretched himself leisurely, yet as he +sauntered toward the door his backward glance at Pierre was black +indeed. He glanced curiously toward Jack--who looked away sharply--and +then turned his eyes to her father. + +The latter was considering him with a gloomy, foreboding stare and +considering over and over again, as Pierre le Rouge well knew, the +prophecy of Black Morgan Gandil. + +He fell in turn into a solemn brooding, and many a picture out of the +past came up beside him and stood near till he could almost feel its +presence. He was roused by the creaking of the floor beneath the +ponderous step of Jim Boone, who flung the door open and shouted: +"Oh, Morgan." + +In the silence he turned and stared back at Pierre. + +"What's up with Gandil?" + +"God knows, not I." + +Pierre rose and ran from the room and around the side of the building. +There by the woodpile lay the prostrate body. It was a mere limp +weight when he turned and raised it in his arms. So he walked back +into the house carrying all that was left of Black Morgan Gandil, and +placed his burden on a bunk at the side of the room. + +There had been no outcry from either Jim Boone or his daughter, but +they came quickly to him, and Jacqueline pressed her ear over the +heart of the hurt man. + +She said: "He's still alive, but nearly gone. Where's the wound?" + +They found it when they drew off his coat--a small cut high on the +right breast, and another lower and more to the left. Either of them +would have been fatal, and about each the flesh was discolored where +the hilt of the knife or the fist of the striker had driven home +the blade. + +They stood back and made no hopeless effort to save him. It was +uncanny that Black Morgan Gandil, after all of his battles, should die +without a struggle in this way. And it had been no cowardly attack +from the rear. Both wounds were in the front. A hope came to them when +his color increased at one time, but it was for only a moment; it went +out again as if someone were erasing paint from his cheeks. + +But just as they were about to turn away his body stirred with a +slight convulsion, the eyes opened wide, and he strove to speak. A red +froth came on his lips. He made another desperate effort, and twisting +himself onto one elbow pointed a rigid arm at Pierre. He gasped: +"McGurk--God!" and dropped. He was dead before his head touched +the blanket. + +It was Jacqueline who closed the staring eyes, for the two men were +frozen where they stood. They had heard the story of Patterson and +Branch and Mansie in one word from the lips of the dying man. + +McGurk was back. McGurk was prowling about the last of the gang of +Boone, and the lone wolf had pulled down four of the band one by one +on successive days. Only two remained, and these two looked at one +another with a common thought. + +"The lights!" cried Jacqueline, turning from the body of Gandil. "He +can shoot us down through the windows at his leisure." + +"But he won't," said her father. "I've lived too long with the name of +McGurk in my ears not to know the man. He'll never kill by stealth, +but openly and man to man. I know him, damn him. He'll wait till he +meets us alone, and then we'll finish as poor Gandil, there, or +Patterson and Branch and Bud Mansie, all of them fallen somewhere in +the mountains with the buzzards left to bury 'em. That's how we'll +finish with McGurk on our trail. And you--Gandil was right--it's you +that's brought him on us. A shipwrecked man--by God, Gandil +was right!" + +His right hand froze on the butt of his gun and his face convulsed +with impotent rage, for he knew, as both the others knew, that long +before that gun was clear of the holster the bullet from Pierre's gun +would be on its way. But Pierre threw his arms wide, and standing so, +his shadow made a black cross on the wall behind him. He even smiled +to tempt the big man further. + + + + +CHAPTER 24 + + +Jacqueline ran between and caught the hand of her father, crying: + +"Are you going to finish the work of McGurk before he has a chance to +start it? He hunted the rest down one by one. Dad, if you put out +Pierre what is left? Can you face that devil alone?" + +And the old man groaned: "But it's his luck that's ruined me. It's his +damned luck which has broken up the finest fellowship that ever mocked +at law on the ranges. Oh, Jack, the heart in me's broken. I wish to +God that I lay where Gandil lies. What's the use of fighting any +longer? No man can stand up against McGurk!" + +And the cold which had come in the blood of Pierre agreed with him. He +was a slayer of men, but McGurk was a devil incarnate. His father had +died at the hand of this lone rider; it was fitting, it was fate that +he himself should die in the same way. The girl looked from face to +face, and sensed their despondency. It seemed that their fear gave her +the greater courage. Her face flushed as she stood glaring her scorn. + +"The yellow streak took a long time in showin', but it's in you, all +right, Pierre le Rouge." + +"You've hated me ever since the dance, Jack. Why?" + +"Because I knew you were yellow--like this!" + +He shrugged his shoulders like one who gives up the fight against a +woman, and seeing it, she changed suddenly and made a gesture with +both hands toward him, a sudden gesture filled with grace and a queer +tenderness. + +She said: "Pierre, have you forgotten that when you were only a boy +you stood up to McGurk and drew blood from him? Are you afraid of +him now?" + +"I'll take my chance with any man--but McGurk--" + +"He has no cross to bring him luck." + +"Aye, and he has no friends for that luck to ruin. Look at Gandil, +Jack, and then speak to me of the cross." + +"Pierre, that first time you met you almost beat him to the draw. Oh, +if I were a man, I'd--Pierre, it was to get McGurk that you rode out +to the range. You've been here six years, and McGurk is still alive, +and now you're ready to run from his shadow." + +"Run?" he said hotly. "I swear to God that as I stand here I've no +fear of death and no hope for the life ahead." + +She sneered: "You're white while you say it. Your will may be brave, +but your blood's a coward, Pierre. It deserts you." + +"Jack, you devil--" + +"Aye, you can threaten me safely. But if McGurk were here--" + +"Let him come." + +"Then give me one promise." + +"A thousand of 'em." + +"Let me hunt him with you." + +He stared at her with wonder. + +"Jack, what a heart you have! If you were a man we could rule the +mountains, you and I." + +"Even as I am, what prevents us, Pierre?" + +And looking at her he forgot the sorrow which had been his ever since +he looked up to the face framed with red-gold hair and the dark tree +behind and the cold stars steady above it. It would come to him again, +but now it was gone, and he murmured, smiling: "I wonder?" + +They made their plans that night, sitting all three together. It was +better to go out and hunt the hunter than to wait there and be tracked +down. Jack, for she insisted on it, would ride out with Pierre the +next morning and hunt through the hills for the hiding-place +of McGurk. + +Some covert he must have, so as to be near his victims. Nothing else +could explain the ease with which he kept on their track. They would +take the trail, and Jim Boone, no longer agile enough to be effective +on the trail, would guard the house and the body of Gandil in it. + +There was little danger that even McGurk would try to rush a hostile +house, but they took no chances. The guns of Jim Boone were given a +thorough overhauling, and he wore as usual at his belt the +heavy-handled hunting knife, a deadly weapon in a hand-to-hand fight. +Thus equipped, they left him and took the trail. + +They had not ridden a hundred yards when a whistle followed them, the +familiar whistle of the gang. They reined short and saw big Dick +Wilbur riding his bay after them, but at some distance he halted and +shouted: "Pierre!" + +"He's come back to us!" cried Jack. + +"No. It's only some message." + +"Do you know?" + +"Yes. Stay here. This is for me alone." + +And he rode back to Wilbur, who swung his horse close alongside. +However hard he had followed in the pursuit of happiness, his face was +drawn with lines of age and his eyes circled with shadows. + +He said: "I've kept close on her trail, Pierre, and the nearest she +has come to kindness has been to send me back with a message to you." + +He laughed without mirth, and the sound stopped abruptly. + +"This is the message in her own words: 'I love him, Dick, and there's +nothing in the world for me without him. Bring him back to me. I don't +care how; but bring him back.' So tell Jack to ride the trail alone +today and go back with me. I give her up, not freely, but because I +know there's no hope for me." + +But Pierre answered: "Wherever I've gone there's been luck for me and +hell for everyone around me. I lived with a priest, Dick, and left him +when I was nearly old enough to begin repaying his care. I came South +and found a father and lost him the same day. I gambled for money with +which to bury him, and a man died that night and another was hurt. I +escaped from the town by riding a horse to death. I was nearly killed +in a landslide, and now the men who saved me from that are done for. + +"It's all one story, the same over and over. Can I carry a fortune +like that back to her? Dick, it would haunt me by day and by night. +She would be the next. I know it as I know that I'm sitting in the +saddle here. That's my answer. Carry it back to her." + +"I won't lie and tell you I'm sorry, because I'm a fool and still have +a ghost of a hope, but this will be hard news to tell her, and I'd +rather give five years of life than face the look that will come in +her eyes." + +"I know it, Dick." + +"But this is final?" + +"It is." + +"Then good-bye again, and--God bless you, Pierre." + +"And you, old fellow." + +They swerved their horses in opposite directions and galloped apart. + +"It was nothing," said Pierre to Jack, when he came up with her and +drew his horse down to a trot. But he knew that she had read his mind. + +But all day through the mazes of canyon and hill and rolling ground +they searched patiently. There was no cranny in the rocks too small +for them to reconnoiter with caution. There was no group of trees they +did not examine. + +Yet it was not strange that they failed. In the space of every square +mile there were a hundred hiding-places which might have served +McGurk. It would have taken a month to comb the country. They had only +a day, and left the result to chance, but chance failed them. When the +shadows commenced to swing across the gullies they turned back and +rode with downward heads, silent. + +One hill lay between them and the old ranch house which had been the +headquarters for their gang so many days, when they saw a faint drift +of smoke across the sky--not a thin column of smoke such as rises from +a chimney, but a broad stream of pale mist, as if a dozen chimneys +were spouting wood smoke at once. + +They exchanged glances and spurred their horses up the last slope. As +always in a short spurt, the long-legged black of Jacqueline +out-distanced the cream-colored mare, and it was she who first topped +the rise of land. The girl whirled in her saddle with raised arm, +screamed back at Pierre, and rode on at a still more furious pace. + +What he saw when he reached a corresponding position was the ranch +house wreathed in smoke, and through all the lower windows was the red +dance of flames. Before him fled Jacqueline with all the speed of the +black. He loosened the reins, spoke to the mare, and she responded +with a mighty rush. Even that tearing pace could not quite take him up +to the girl, but he flung himself from the saddle and was at her side +when she ran across the smoking veranda and wrenched at the +front door. + +The whole frame gave back at her, and as Pierre snatched her to one +side the doorway fell crashing on the porch, while a mighty volume of +smoke burst out at them like a puff from the pit. + +They stood sputtering, coughing, and choking, and when they could look +again they saw a solid wall of red flame, thick, impenetrable, +shuddering with the breath of the wind. + +While they stared a stronger breath of that wind tore the wall of +flames apart, driving it back in a raging tide to either side. The +fire had circled the walls of the entire room, but it had scarcely +encroached on the center, and there, seated at the table, was Boone. + +He had scarcely changed from the position in which they last saw him, +save that he was fallen somewhat deeper in the chair, his head resting +against the top of the back. He greeted them, through that infernal +furnace, with laughter, and wide, steady eyes. At least it seemed +laughter, for the mouth was agape and the lips grinned back, but there +was no sound from the lips and no light in the fixed eyes. Laughter +indeed it was, but it was the laughter of death, as if the soul of the +man, in dying, recognized its natural wild element and had burst into +convulsive mirth. So he sat there, untouched as yet by the wide river +of fire, chuckling at his destiny. The wall of fire closed across the +doorway again and the work of red ruin went on with a crashing of +timbers from the upper part of the building. + +As that living wall shut solidly, Jacqueline leaped forward, shouting, +like a man, words of hope and rescue; Pierre caught her barely in +time--a precarious grasp on the wrist from which she nearly wrenched +herself free and gained the entrance to the fire. But the jerk threw +her off balance for the least fraction of an instant, and the next +moment she was safe in his arms. + +Safe? He might as well have held a wildcat, or captured with his bare +hands a wild eagle, strong of talon and beak. She tore and raged in a +wild fury. + +"Pierre, coward, devil!" + +"Steady, Jack!" + +"Are you going to let him die?" + +"Don't you see? He's already dead." + +"You lie. You only fear the fire!" + +"I tell you, McGurk has been here before us." + +Her arm was freed by a twisting effort and she beat him furiously +across the face. One blow cut his lip and a steady trickle of hot +blood left a taste of salt in his mouth. + +"You young fiend!" he cried, and grasped both her wrists with a +crushing force. + +She leaned and gnashed at his hands, but he whirled her about and held +her from behind, impotent, raging still. + +"A hundred McGurks could never have killed him!" + +There was a sharp explosion from the midst of the fire. + +"See! He's fighting against his death!" + +"No! No! It's only the falling of a timber!" + +Yet with a panic at his heart he knew that it was the sharp crack of a +firearm. "Liar again! Pierre, for God's sake, do something for him. +Father! He's fighting for his life!" + +Another and another explosion from the midst of the fire. He +understood then. + +"The flames have reached his guns. That's all, Jack. Don't you see? +We'd be throwing ourselves away to run into those flames." + +Realization came to her at last. A heavy weight slumped down suddenly +over his arms. He held her easily, lightly. Her head had tilted back, +and the red flare of the fire beat across her face and throat. The +roar of the flames shut out all other thought of the world and cast a +wide inferno of light around them. + +Higher and higher rose the fires, and the wind cut off great fragments +and hurried them off into the night, blowing them, it seemed, straight +up against the piled thunder of the clouds. Then the roof sagged, +swayed, and fell crashing, while a vast cloud of sparks and livid +fires shot up a hundred feet into the air. It was as if the soul of +old Boone had departed in that final flare. + +It started the girl into sudden life, surprising Pierre, so that she +managed to wrench herself free and ran from him. He sprang after her +with a shout, fearing that in her hysteria she might fling herself +into the fire, but that was not her purpose. Straight to the black +horse she ran, swung into the saddle with the ease of a man, and rode +furiously off through the falling of the night. + +He watched her with a curious closing of loneliness like a hand about +his heart. He had failed, and because of that failure even Jacqueline +was leaving him. It was strange, for since the loss of the girl of the +yellow hair and those deep blue eyes, he had never dreamed that +another thing in life could pain him. + +So at length he mounted the mare again and rode slowly down the hill +and out toward the distant ranges, trotting mile after mile with +downward head, not caring even if McGurk should cross him, for +surely this was the final end of the world to Pierre le Rouge. + +About midnight he halted at last, for the uneasy sway of the mare +showed that she was nearly dead on her feet with weariness. He found a +convenient place for a camp, built his fire, and wrapped his blanket +about him without thinking of food. + +He never knew how long he sat there, for his thoughts circled the +world and back again and found all a prospect of desert before him and +behind, until a sound, a vague sound out of the night, startled him +into alertness. He slipped from beside the fire and into the shadow of +a steep rock, watching with eyes that almost pierced the dark on +all sides. + +And there he saw her creeping up on the outskirts of the firelight, +prone on her hands and knees, dragging herself up like a young wildcat +hunting prey; it was the glimmer of her eyes that he caught first +through the gloom. A cold thought came to him that she had returned +with her gun ready. + +Inch by inch she came closer, and now he was aware of her restless +glances probing on all sides of the camp-fire. Silence--only the +crackling of a pitchy stick. And then he heard a muffled sound, soft, +soft as the beating of a heart in the night, and regularly pulsing. It +hurt him infinitely, and he called gently: "Jack, why are +you weeping?" + +She started up with her fingers twisted at the butt of her gun. + +"It's a lie," called a tremulous voice. "Why should I weep?" + +And then she ran to him. + +"Oh, Pierre, I thought you were gone!" + +That silence which came between them was thick with understanding +greater than speech. He said at last: "I've made my plan. I am going +straight for the higher mountains and try to shake McGurk off my +trail. There's one chance in ten I may succeed, and if I do then I'll +wait for my chance and come down on him, for sooner or later we have +to fight this out to the end." + +"I know a place he could never find," said Jacqueline. "The old cabin +in the gulley between the Twin Bears. We'll start for it tonight." + +"Not we," he answered. "Jack, here's the end of our riding together." + +She frowned with puzzled wonder. + +He explained: "One man is stronger than a dozen. That's the strength +of McGurk--that he rides alone. He's finished your father's men. +There's only Wilbur left, and Wilbur will go next--then me!" + +She stretched her hands to him. She seemed to be pleading for her very +life. + +"But if he finds us and has to fight us both--I shoot as straight as a +man, Pierre!" + +"Straighter than most. And you're a better pal than any I've ever +ridden with. But I must go alone. It's only a lone wolf that will ever +bring down McGurk. Think how he's rounded us up like a herd of cattle +and brought us down one by one." + +"By getting each man alone and killing him from behind." + +"From the front, Jack. No, he's fought square with each one. The +wounds of Black Gandil were all in front, and when McGurk and I meet +it's going to be face to face." + +Her tone changed, softened: "But what of me, Pierre?" + +"You have to leave this life. Go down to the city, Jack. Live like a +woman; marry some lucky fellow; be happy." + +"Can you leave me so easily?" + +"No, it's hard, devilish hard to part with a pal like you, Jack; but +all the rest of my life I've got hard things to face, partner." + +"Partner!" she repeated with an indescribable emphasis. "Pierre, I +can't leave you." + +"Why?" + +"I'm afraid to go: Let me stay!" + +He said gloomily: "No good will come of it." + +"I'll never trouble you--never!" + +"No, the bad luck comes on the people who are with me, but never on +me. It's struck them all down, one by one; your turn is next, Jack. If +I could leave the cross behind--" + +He covered his face and groaned: "But I don't dare; I don't dare! I +have to face McGurk. Jack, I hate myself for it, but I can't help it. +I'm afraid of McGurk, afraid of that damned white face, that lowered, +fluttering eyelid, that sneering mouth. Without the cross to bring me +luck, how could I meet him? But while I keep the cross there's ruin +and hell without end for everyone with me." + +She was white and shaking. She said: "I'm not afraid. I've one friend +left; there's nothing else to care for." + +"So it's to be this way, Jack?" + +"This way, and no other." + +"Partner, I'm glad. My God, Jack, what a man you would have made!" + +Their hands met and clung together, and her head had drooped, perhaps +in acquiescence. + + + + +CHAPTER 25 + + +Dick Wilbur, telling Mary how Pierre had cut himself adrift, did not +even pretend to sorrow, and she listened to him with her eyes fixed +steadily on his own. As a matter of fact, she had shown neither hope +nor excitement from the moment he came back to her and started to tell +his message. But if she showed neither hope nor excitement for +herself, surely she gave Dick still fewer grounds for any optimistic +foresights. + +So he finished gloomily: "And as far as I can make out, Pierre is +right. There's some rotten bad luck that follows him. It may not be +the cross--I don't suppose you believe in superstition like that, +Miss Brown?" + +She said: "It saved my life." + +"The cross?" + +"Yes." + +"Then Pierre--you mean--you met before the dance--you mean--" + +He was stammering so that he couldn't finish his thoughts, and she +broke in: "If he will not come to me, then I must go to him." + +"Follow Pierre le Rouge?" queried Wilbur. "You're an optimist. But +that's because you've never seen him ride. I consider it a good day's +work to start out with him and keep within sight till night, but as +for following and over-taking him--" + +He laughed heartily at the thought. + +And she smiled a little sadly, answering: "But I have the most +boundless patience in the world. He may gallop all the way, but I will +walk, and keep on walking, and reach him in the end." + +Her hands moved out as though testing their power, gripping at the +air. + +"Where will you go to hunt for him?" + +"I don't know. But every evening, when I look out at the sunset hills, +with the purple along the valleys, I think that he must be out there +somewhere, going toward the highest ranges. If I were up in that +country I know that I could find him." "Never in a thousand years." + +"Why?" + +"Because he's on the trail--" + +"On the trail?" + +"Of McGurk." + +She started. + +"What is this man McGurk? I hear of him on all sides. If one of the +men rides a bucking horse successfully, someone is sure to say: 'Who +taught you what you know, Bud--McGurk?' And then the rest laugh. The +other day a man was pointed out to me as an expert shot. 'Not as fast +as McGurk,' it was said, 'but he shoots just as straight.' Finally I +asked someone about McGurk. The only answer I received was: 'I hope +you never find out what he is.' Tell me, what is McGurk?" + +Wilbur considered the question gravely. + +He said at last: "McGurk is--hell!" + +He expanded his statement: "Think of a man who can ride anything that +walks on four feet, who never misses with either a rifle or a +revolver, who doesn't know the meaning of fear, and then imagine that +man living by himself and fighting the rest of the world like a lone +wolf. That's McGurk. He's never had a companion; he's never trusted +any man. Perhaps that's why they say about him the same thing that +they say about me." + +"What's that?" + +"You will smile when you hear. They say that McGurk will lose out in +the end on account of some woman." + +"And they say that of you?" + +"They say right of me. I know it myself. Look at me now. What right +have I here? If I'm found I'm the meat of the first man who sights me, +but here I stay, and wait and watch for your smiles--like a love-sick +boy. By God, you must despise me, Mary!" + +"I don't try to understand you Westerners," she answered, "and that's +why I have never questioned you before. Tell me, why is it that +you come so stealthily to see me and run away as soon as anyone +else appears?" + +He said with wonder: "Haven't you guessed?" + +"I don't dare guess." + +"But you have, and your guess was right. There's a price on my head. +By right, I should be out there on the ranges with Pierre le Rouge and +McGurk. There's the only safe place; but I saw you and I came down out +of the wilds and can't go back. I'll stay, I suppose, till I run my +head into a halter." + +She was too much moved to speak for a moment, and then: "You come to +me in spite of that? Dick, whatever you have done, I know that it's +only chance which made you go wrong, just as it made Pierre. I wish--" + +The dimness of her eyes encouraged him with a hope. He moved closer to +her. + +He repeated: "You wish--" + +"That you could be satisfied with a mere friendship. I could give you +that, Dick, with all my heart." + +He stepped back and smiled somewhat grimly on her. + +She went on: "And this McGurk--what do you mean when you say that +Pierre is on his trail?" + +"Hunting him with a gun." + +She grew paler, but her voice remained steady. + +"But in all those miles of mountains they may never meet?" + +"They can't stay apart any more than iron can stay away from a magnet. +Listen: half a dozen years ago McGurk had the reputation of bearing a +charmed life. He had been in a hundred fights and he was never touched +with either a knife or a bullet. Then he crossed Pierre le Rouge when +Pierre was only a youngster just come onto the range. He put two +bullets through Pierre, but the boy shot him from the floor and +wounded him for the first time. The charm of McGurk was broken. + +"For half a dozen years McGurk was gone; there was never a whisper +about him. Then he came back and went on the trail of Pierre. He has +killed the friends of Pierre one by one; Pierre himself is the next in +order--Pierre or myself. And when those two meet there will be the +greatest fight that was ever staged in the mountain-desert." + +She stood straight, staring past Wilbur with hungry eyes. + +"I knew he needed me. I have to save him, Dick. You see that? I have +to bring him down from the mountains and keep him safe from McGurk. +McGurk! Somehow the sound means what 'devil' used to mean to me." + +"You've never traveled alone, and yet you'd go up there and brave +everything that comes for the sake of Pierre? What has he done to +deserve it, Mary?". + +"What have I done, Dick, to deserve the care you have for me?" + +He stared gloomily on her. + +"When do you start?" + +"Tonight." + +"Your friends won't let you go." + +"I'll steal away and leave a note behind me." + +"And you'll go alone?" + +She caught at a hope. + +"Unless you'll go with me, Dick?" + +"I? Take you--to Pierre?" + +She did not speak to urge him, but in the silence her beauty pleaded +for her. + +He said: "Mary, how lovely you are. If I go I will have you for a few +days--for a week at most, all to myself." + +She shook her head. From the window behind her the sunset light flared +in her hair, flooding it with red-gold. + +"All the time that we are gone, you will never say things like this, +Dick?" + +"I suppose not. I should be near you, but terribly far away from your +thoughts all the while. Still, you will be near. You will be very +beautiful, Mary, riding up the trail through the pines, with all the +scents of the evergreens blowing about you, and I--well, I must go +back to a second childhood and play a game of suppose--" + +"A game of what?" + +"Of supposing that you are really mine, Mary, and riding out into the +wilderness for my sake." + +She stepped a little closer, peering into his face. + +"No matter what you suppose, I'm sure you'll leave that part of it +merely a game, Dick!" + +He laughed suddenly, though the sound broke off as short and sharp as +it began. + +"Haven't I played a game all my life with the fair ladies? And have I +anything to show for it except laughter? I'll go with you, Mary, if +you'll let me." + +"Dick, you've a heart of gold! What shall I take?" + +"I'll make the pack up, and I'll be back here an hour after dark and +whistle. Like this--" + +And he gave the call of Boone's gang. + +"I understand. I'll be ready. Hurry, Dick, for we've very little +time." + +He hesitated, then: "All the time we're on the trail you must be far +from me, and at the end of it will be Pierre le Rouge--and happiness +for you. Before we start, Mary, I'd like to--" + +It seemed that she read his mind, for she slipped suddenly inside +his arms, kissed him, and was gone from the room. He stood a moment +with a hand raised to his face. + +"After all," he muttered, "that's enough to die for, and--" He threw +up his long arms in a gesture of resignation. + +"The will of God be done!" said Wilbur, and laughed again. + + + + +CHAPTER 26 + + +She was ready, crouched close to the window of her room, when the +signal came, but first she was not sure, because the sound was as +faint as a memory. Moreover, it might have been a freakish whistling +in the wind, which rose stronger and stronger. It had piled the +thunder-clouds higher and higher, and now and again a heavy drop of +rain tapped at her window like a thrown pebble. + +So she waited, and at last heard the whistle a second time, +unmistakably clear. In a moment she was hurrying down to the stable, +climbed into the saddle, and rode at a cautious trot out among the +sand-hills. + +For a time she saw no one, and commenced to fear that the whole thing +had been a gruesomely real, practical jest. So she stopped her horse +and imitated the signal whistle as well as she could. It was repeated +immediately behind her--almost in her ear, and she turned to make out +the dark form of a tall horseman. + +"A bad night for the start," called Wilbur. "Do you want to wait till +tomorrow?" + +She could not answer for a moment, the wind whipping against her face, +while a big drop stung her lips. + +She said at length: "Would a night like this stop Pierre--or McGurk?" + +For answer she heard his laughter. + +"Then I'll start. I must never stop for weather." + +He rode up beside her. + +"This is the start of the finish." + +"What do you mean?" "Nothing. But somewhere on this ride, I've an +idea a question will be answered for me." + +"What question?" + +Instead of replying he said: "You've got a slicker on?" + +"Yes." + +"Then follow me. We'll gallop into the wind a while and get the horses +warmed up. Afterward we'll take the valley of the Old Crow and follow +it up to the crest of the range." + +His horse lunged out ahead of hers, and she followed, leaning far +forward against a wind that kept her almost breathless. For several +minutes they cantered steadily, and before the end of the gallop she +was sitting straight up, her heart beating fast, a faint smile on her +lips, and the blood running hot in her veins. For the battle was +begun, she knew, by that first sharp gallop, and here at the start she +felt confident of her strength. When she met Pierre she could force +him to turn back with her. + +Wilbur checked his horse to a trot; they climbed a hill, and just as +the rain broke on them with a rattling gust they swung into the valley +of the Old Crow. Above them in the sky the thunder rode; the rain +whipped against the rocks like the rattle of a thousand flying hoofs; +and now and again the lightning flashed across the sky. + +Through that vast accompaniment they moved on in the night straight +toward the heart of the mountains which sprang into sight with every +flash of the lightning and seemed toppling almost above them, yet they +were weary miles away, as she knew. + +By those same flashes she caught glimpses of the face of Wilbur. She +hardly knew him. She had seen him always big, gentle, handsome, +good-natured; now he was grown harder, with a stern set of the jaw, +and a certain square outline of face. It had seemed impossible. Now +she began to guess how the law could have placed a price upon his +head. For he belonged out here with the night and the crash of the +storm, with strong, lawless things about him. An awe grew in her, +and she was filled half with dread and half with curiosity at the +thought of facing him, as she must many a time, across the camp-fire. +In a way, he was the ladder by which she climbed to an understanding +of Pierre le Rouge, Red Pierre. For that Pierre, she knew, was to big +Wilbur what Dick himself was to the great mass of law-abiding men. +Accident had cut Wilbur adrift, but it was more than accident which +started Pierre on the road to outlawry; it was the sheer love of +dangerous chance, the glory in fighting other men. This was Pierre. + +What was the man for whom Pierre hunted? What was McGurk? Not even the +description of Wilbur had proved very enlightening. Her thought of him +was vague, nebulous, and taking many forms. Sometimes he was tall and +dark and stern. Again he was short and heavy and somewhat deformed of +body. But always he was everywhere in the night about her. + +All this she pondered as they began the ride up the valley, but as the +long journey continued, and the hours and the miles rolled past them, +a racking weariness possessed her and numbed her mind. She began to +wish desperately for morning, but even morning might not bring an end +to the ride. That would be at the will of the outlaw beside her. +Finally, only one picture remained to her. It stabbed across the +darkness of her mind--the red hair and the keen eyes of Pierre. + +The storm decreased as they went up the valley. Finally the wind fell +off to a pleasant breeze, and the clouds of the rain broke in the +center of the heavens and toppled west in great tumbling masses. In +half an hour's time the sky was clear, and a cold moon looked down on +the blue-black evergreens, shining faintly with the wet, and on the +dead black of the mountains. + +For the first time in all that ride her companion spoke: "In an hour +the gray will begin in the east. Suppose we camp here, eat, get a +bit of sleep, and then start again?" + +As if she had waited for permission, fighting against her weariness, +she now let down the bars of her will, and a tingling stupor swept +over her body and broke in hot, numbing waves on her brain. + +"Whatever you say. I'm afraid I couldn't ride much further tonight." + +"Look up at me." + +She raised her head. + +"No; you're all in. But you've made a game ride. I never dreamed there +was so much iron in you. We'll make our fire just inside the trees and +carry water up from the river, eh?" + +A scanty growth of the evergreens walked over the hills and skirted +along the valley, leaving a broad, sandy waste in the center where the +river at times swelled with melted snow or sudden rains and rushed +over the lower valley in a broad, muddy flood. + +At the edge of the forest he picketed the horses in a little open +space carpeted with wet, dead grass. It took him some time to find dry +wood. So he wrapped her in blankets and left her sitting on a saddle. +As the chill left her body she began to grow delightfully drowsy, and +vaguely she heard the crack of his hatchet. He had found a rotten +stump and was tearing off the wet outer bark to get at the dry +wood within. + +After that it was only a moment before a fire sputtered feebly and +smoked at her feet. She watched it, only half conscious, in her utter +weariness, and seeing dimly the hollow-eyed face of the man who +stooped above the blaze. Now it grew quickly, and increased to a +sharp-pointed pyramid of red flame. The bright sparks showered up, +crackling and snapping, and when she followed their flight she saw the +darkly nodding tops of the evergreens above her. With the fire well +under way, he took the coffeepot to get water from the river, and left +her to fry the bacon. The fumes of the frying meat wakened her at +once, and brushed even the thought of her exhaustion from her mind. +She was hungry--ravenously hungry. + +So she tended the bacon slices with care until they grew brown and +crisped and curled at the edges. After that she removed the pan from +the fire, and it was not until then that she began to wonder why +Wilbur was so long in returning with the water. The bacon grew cold; +she heated it again and was mightily tempted to taste one piece of it, +but restrained herself to wait for Dick. + +Still he did not come. She stood up and called, her high voice rising +sharp and small through the trees. It seemed that some sound answered, +so she smiled and sat down. Ten minutes passed and he was still gone. +A cold alarm swept over her at that. She dropped the pan and ran out +from the trees. + +Everywhere was the bright moonlight--over the wet rocks, and sand, and +glimmering on the slow tide of the river, but nowhere could she see +Wilbur, or a form that looked like a man. Then the moonlight glinted +on something at the edge of the river. She ran to it and found the +coffee-can half in the water and partially filled with sand. + +A wild temptation to scream came over her, but the tight muscles of +her throat let out no sound. But if Wilbur were not here, where had he +gone? He could not have vanished into thin air. The ripple of the +water washing on the sand replied. Yes, that current might have rolled +his body away. + +To shut out the grim sight of the river she turned. Stretched across +the ground at her feet she saw clearly the impression of a body in the +moist sand. + + + + +CHAPTER 27 + + +The heels had left two deeply defined gouges in the ground; there was +a sharp hollow where the head had lain, and a broad depression for the +shoulders. It was the impression of the body of a man--a large man +like Wilbur. Any hope, any doubt she might have had, slipped from her +mind, and despair rolled into it with an even, sullen current, like +the motion of the river. + +It is strange what we do with our big moments of fear and sorrow and +even of joy. Now Mary stooped and carefully washed out the coffeepot, +and filled it again with water higher up the bank; and turned back +toward the edge of the trees. + +It was all subconscious, this completing of the task which Wilbur had +begun, and subconscious still was her careful rebuilding of the fire +till it flamed high, as though she were setting a signal to recall the +wanderer. But the flame, throwing warmth and red light across her +eyes, recalled her sharply to reality, and she looked up and saw the +dull dawn brightening beyond the dark evergreens. + +Guilt, too, swept over her, for she remembered what big, handsome Dick +Wilbur had said: He would meet his end through a woman. Now it had +come to him, and through her. + +She cringed at the thought, for what was she that a man should die in +her service? She raised her hands with a moan to the nodding tops of +the trees, to the vast, black sky above them, and the full knowledge +of Wilbur's strength came to her, for had he not ridden calmly, +defiantly, into the heart of this wilderness, confident in his power +to care both for himself and for her? But she! What could she do +wandering by herself? The image of Pierre le Rouge grew dim indeed and +sad and distant. + +She looked about her at the pack, which had been distributed expertly, +and disposed on the ground by Wilbur. She could not even lash it in +place behind the saddle. So she drew the blanket once more around her +shoulders and sat down to think. + +She might return to the house--doubtless she could find her way back. +And leave Pierre in the heart of the mountains, surely lost to her +forever. She made a determination, sullen, like a child, to ride on +and on into the wilderness, and let fate take care of her. The pack +she could bundle together as best she might; she would live as she +might; and for a guide there would be the hunger for Pierre. + +So she ended her thoughts with a hope; her head nodded lower, and she +slept the deep sleep of the exhausted mind and body. She woke hours +later with a start, instantly alert, quivering with fear and life and +energy, for she felt like one who has gone to sleep with voices in +his ear. + +While she slept someone had been near her; she could have sworn it +before her startled eyes glanced around. + +And though she kept whispering, with white lips, "No, no; it is +impossible!" yet there was evidence which proved it. The fire should +have burned out, but instead it flamed more brightly than ever, and +there was a little heap of fuel laid conveniently close. Moreover, +both horses were saddled, and the pack lashed on the saddle of her +own mount. + +Whatever man or demon had done this work evidently intended that she +should ride Wilbur's beautiful bay. Yes, for when she went closer, +drawn by her wonder, she found that the stirrups had been much +shortened. + +Nothing was forgotten by this invisible caretaker; he had even left +out the cooking-tins, and she found a little batter of flapjack +flour mixed. + +The riddle was too great for solving. Perhaps Wilbur had disappeared +merely to play a practical jest on her; but that supposition was too +childish to be retained an instant. Perhaps--perhaps Pierre himself +had discovered her, but having vowed never to see her again, he cared +for her like the invisible hands in the old Greek fable. + +This, again, an instinctive knowledge made her dismiss. If he were so +close, loving her, he could not stay away; she read in her own heart, +and knew. Then it must be something else; evil, because it feared to +be seen; not wholly evil, because it surrounded her with care. + +At least this new emotion obscured somewhat the terror and the sorrow +of Wilbur's disappearance. She cooked her breakfast as if obeying the +order of the unseen, climbed into the saddle of Wilbur's horse, and +started off up the valley, leading her own mount. + +Every moment or so she turned in the saddle suddenly in the hope of +getting a glimpse of the follower, but even when she surveyed the +entire stretch of country from the crest of a low hill, she saw +nothing--not the least sign of life. + +She rode slowly, this day, for she was stiff and sore from the violent +journey of the night before, but though she went slowly, she kept +steadily at the trail. It was a broad and pleasant one, being the +beaten sand of the river-bottom; and the horse she rode was the +finest that ever pranced beneath her. + +His trot was as smooth and springy as the gallop of most horses, and +when she let him run over a few level stretches, it was as if she had +suddenly been taken up from the earth on wings. There was something +about the animal, too, which reminded her of its vanished owner; for +it had strength and pride and gentleness at once. Unquestionably +it took kindly to its new rider; for once when she dismounted the big +horse walked up behind and nuzzled her shoulder. + +The mountains were much plainer before the end of the day. They rose +sheer up in wave upon frozen wave like water piled ragged by some +terrific gale, with the tops of the waters torn and tossed and then +frozen forever in that position, like a fantastic and gargantuan mask +of dreaming terror. It overawed the heart of Mary Brown to look up to +them, but there was growing in her a new impulse of friendly +understanding with all this scalped, bald region of rocks, as if in +entering the valley she had passed through the gate which closes out +the gentler world, and now she was admitted as a denizen of the +mountain-desert, that scarred and ugly asylum for crime and fear +and grandeur. + +Feeling this new emotion, the old horizons of her mind gave way and +widened; her gentle nature, which had known nothing but smiles, +admitted the meaning of a frown. Did she not ride under the very +shadow of that frown with her two horses? Was she not armed? She +touched the holster at her hip, and smiled. To be sure, she could +never hit a mark with that ponderous weapon, but at least the pistol +gave the feeling of a dangerous lone rider, familiar with the wilds. + +It was about dark, and she was on the verge of looking about for a +suitable camping-place, when the bay halted sharply, tossed up his +head, and whinnied. From the far distance she thought she heard the +beginning of a whinny in reply. She could not be sure, but the +possibility made her pulse quicken. In this region, she knew, no +stranger could be a friend. + +So she started the bay at a gallop and put a couple of swift miles +between her and the point at which she had heard the sound; no living +creature, she was sure, could have followed the pace the bay held +during that distance. So, secure in her loneliness, she trotted the +horse around a bend of the rocks and came on the sudden light of +a campfire. + +It was too late to wheel and gallop away; so she remained with her +hand fumbling at the butt of the revolver, and her eyes fixed on the +flicker of the fire. Not a voice accosted her. As far as she could +peer among the lithe trunks of the saplings, not a sign of a living +thing was near. + +Yet whoever built that fire must be near, for it was obviously newly +laid. Perhaps some fleeing outlaw had pitched his camp here and had +been startled by her coming. In that case he lurked somewhere in the +woods at that moment, his keen eyes fixed on her, and his gun gripped +hard in his hand. Perhaps--and the thought thrilled her--this little +camp had been prepared by the same power, human or unearthly, which +had watched over her early that morning. + +All reason and sane caution warned her to ride on and leave that camp +unmolested, but an overwhelming, tingling curiosity besieged her. The +thin column of smoke rose past the dark trees like a ghost, and +reaching the unsheltered space above the trees, was smitten by a light +wind and jerked away at a sharp angle. + +She looked closer and saw a bed made of a great heap of the tips of +limbs of spruce, a bed softer than down and more fragrant than any +manufactured perfume, however costly. + +Possibly it was the sight of this bed which tempted her down from the +saddle, at last. With the reins over her arm, she stood close to the +fire and warmed her hands, peering all the while on every side, like +some wild and beautiful creature tempted by the bait of the trap, but +shrinking from the scent of man. + +As she stood there a broad, yellow moon edged its way above the hills +and rolled up through the black trees and then floated through the +sky. Beneath such a moon no harm could come to her. It was while she +stared at it, letting her tensed alertness relax little by little, +that she saw, or thought she saw, a hint of moving white pass over the +top of the rise of ground and disappear among the trees. + +She could not be sure, but her first impulse was to gather the reins +with a jerk and place her foot in the stirrup; but then she looked +back and saw the fire, burning low now and asking like a human voice +to be replenished from the heap of small, broken fuel nearby; and she +saw also the softly piled bed of evergreens. + +She removed her foot from the stirrup. What mattered that imaginary +figure of moving white? She felt a strong power of protection lying +all about her, breathing out to her with the keen scent of the pines, +fanning her face with the chill of the night breeze. She was alone, +but she was secure in the wilderness. + + + + +CHAPTER 28 + + +For many a minute she waited by that camp-fire, but there was never a +sign of the builder of it, though she centered all her will in making +her eyes and ears sharper to pierce through the darkness and to gather +from the thousand obscure whispers of the forest any sounds of human +origin. So she grew bold at length to take off the pack and the +saddles; the camp was hers, built for her coming by the invisible +power which surrounded her, which read her mind, it seemed, and +chose beforehand the certain route which she must follow. + +She resigned herself to that force without question, and the worry of +her search disappeared. It seemed certain that this omnipotence, +whatever it might be, was reading her wishes and acting with all its +power to fulfill them, so that in the end it was merely a question of +time before she should accomplish her mission--before she should meet +Pierre le Rouge face to face. + +That night her sleep was deep, indeed, and she only wakened when the +slant light of the sun struck across her eyes. It was a bright day, +crisp and chill, and through the clear air the mountains seemed +leaning directly above her, and chief of all two peaks, almost exactly +similar, black monsters which ruled the range. Toward the gorge +between them the valley of the Old Crow aimed its course, and straight +up that diminishing canyon she rode all day. + +The broad, sandy bottom changed and contracted until the channel was +scarcely wide enough for the meager stream of water, and beside it she +picked her way along a narrow path with banks on either side, which +became with every mile more like cliffs, walling her in and dooming +her to a single destination. + +It was evening before she came to the headwaters of the Old Crow, and +rode out into the gorge between the two mountains. The trail failed +her here. There was no semblance of a ravine to follow, except the +mighty gorge between the two peaks, and she ventured into the dark +throat of this pass, riding through a gate with the guarding towers +tall and black on either side. + +The moment she was well started in it and the steep shadow of the +evening fell across her almost like night from the west, her heart +grew cold as the air. A sense of coming danger filled her. Yet she +kept on, holding a tight rein, throwing many a fearful glance at the +vast rocks which might have concealed an entire army in every mile +of their extent. + +When she found the cabin she mistook it at first for merely another +rock of singular shape. It was at this shape that she stared, and +checked her horse, and not till then did she note the faint flicker of +a light no brighter than the phosphorescent glow of the eyes of a +hunted beast. + +Her impulse was to drive her spurs home and pass that place at a +racing gallop, but she checked the impulse sharply and began to +reason. In the first place, it was doubtless only the cabin of some +prospector, such as she had often heard of. In the second place, night +was almost upon her, and she saw no desirable camping-place, or at +least any with the necessary water at hand. + +What harm could come to her? Among Western men, she well knew a woman +is safer than all the law and the police of the settled East can make +her, so she nerved her courage and advanced toward the faint, +changing light. + +The cabin was hidden very cunningly. Crouched among the mighty +boulders which earthquakes and storms of some wilder, earlier epoch +had torn away from the side of the crags above, the house was like +another stone, leaning its back to the mountain for support. + +When she drew very close she knew that the light which glimmered at +the window must come from an open fire, and the thought of a fire +warmed her. She hallooed, and receiving no answer, fastened the horses +and entered the house. The door swung to behind her, as if of its own +volition it wished to make her a prisoner. + +The place consisted of one room, and not a spacious one at that, but +arranged as a shelter, not a home. The cooking, apparently, was done +over the open hearth, for there was no sign of any stove, and, +moreover, on the wall near the fireplace hung several soot-blackened +pans and the inevitable coffeepot. There were two bunks built on +opposite sides of the room, and in the middle a table was made of a +long section split from the heart of a log by wedges, apparently, and +still rude and undressed, except for the preliminary smoothing off +which had been done with a broad-ax. + +The great plank was supported at either end by a roughly constructed +sawbuck. It was very low, and for this reason two fairly square +boulders of comfortable proportions were sufficiently high to serve +as chairs. + +For the rest, the furniture was almost too meager to suggest human +habitation, but from nails on the wall there hung a few shirts and a +pair of chaps, as well as a much-battered quirt. But a bucket of +water in a corner suggested cleanliness, and a small, round, highly +polished steel plate, hanging on the wall in lieu of a mirror, further +fortified her decision that the owner of this place must be a man +somewhat particular as to his appearance. + +Here she interrupted her observations to build up the fire, which was +flickering down and apparently on the verge of going out. She worked +busily for a few minutes, and a roaring blaze rewarded her; she took +off her slicker to enjoy the warmth, and in doing so, turned, and saw +the owner of the place standing with folded arms just inside the door. + +"Making yourself to home?" asked the host, in a low, strangely +pleasant voice. + +"Do you mind?" asked Mary Brown. "I couldn't find a place that would +do for camping." + +And she summoned her most winning smile. It was wasted, she knew at +once, for the stranger hardened perceptibly, and his lip curled +slightly in scorn or anger. In all her life Mary had never met a man +so obdurate, and, moreover, she felt that he could not be wooed into a +good humor. + +"If you'd gone farther up the gorge," said the other, "you'd of found +the best sort of a camping place--water and everything." + +"Then I'll go," said Mary, shrinking at the thought of the strange, +cold outdoors compared with this cheery fire. But she put on the +slicker and started for the door. + +At the last moment the host was touched with compunction. He called: +"Wait a minute. There ain't no call to hurry. If you can get along +here just stick around." + +For a moment Mary hesitated, knowing that only the unwritten law of +Western hospitality compelled that speech; it was the crackle and +flare of the bright fire which overcame her pride. + +She laid off the slicker again, saying, with another smile: "For just +a few minutes, if you don't mind." + +"Sure," said the other gracelessly, and tossed his own slicker onto a +bunk. + +Covertly, but very earnestly, Mary was studying him. He was hardly +more than a boy--handsome, slender. + +Now that handsome face was under a cloud of gloom, a frown on the +forehead and a sneer on the lips, but it was something more than the +expression which repelled Mary. For she felt that no matter how she +wooed him, she could never win the sympathy of this darkly handsome, +cruel youth; he was aloof from her, and the distance between them +could never be crossed. She knew at once that the mysterious bridges +which link men with women broke down in this case, and she was +strongly tempted to leave the cabin to the sole possession of her +surly host. + +It was the warmth of the fire which once more decided against her +reason, so she laid hands on one of the blocks of stone to roll it +nearer to the hearth. She could not budge it. Then she caught the +sneering laughter of the man, and strove again in a fury. It was no +use; for the stone merely rocked a little and settled back in its +place with a bump. + +"Here," said the boy, "I'll move it for you." It was a hard lift for +him, but he set his teeth, raised the stone in his slender hands, and +set it down again at a comfortable distance from the fire. + +"Thank you," smiled Mary, but the boy stood panting against the wall, +and for answer merely bestowed on her a rather malicious glance of +triumph, as though he gloried in his superior strength and despised +her weakness. + +Some conversation was absolutely necessary, for the silence began to +weigh on her. She said: "My name is Mary Brown." + +"Is it?" said the boy, quite without interest. "You can call me Jack." + +He sat down on the other stone, his dark face swept by the shadows of +the flames, and rolled a cigarette, not deftly, but like one who is +learning the mastery of the art. It surprised Mary, watching his +fumbling fingers. She decided that Jack must be even younger than +he looked. + +She noticed also that the boy cast, from time to time, a sharp, rather +worried glance of expectation toward the door, as if he feared it +would open and disclose some important arrival. Furthermore, those old +worn shirts hanging on the wall were much too large for the throat and +shoulders of Jack. + +Apparently, he lived there with some companion, and a companion of +such a nature that he did not wish him to be seen by visitors. This +explained the lad's coldness in receiving a guest; it also stimulated +Mary to linger about a few more minutes. + + + + +CHAPTER 29 + + +Not that she stayed there without a growing fear, but she still felt +about her, like the protection of some invisible cloak, the presence +of the strange guide who had followed her up the valley of the +Old Crow. + +It seemed as if the boy were reading her mind. + +"See you got two horses. Come up alone?" + +"Most of the way," said Mary, and tingled with a rather feline +pleasure to see that her curtness merely sharpened the interest +of Jack. + +The boy puffed on his cigarette, not with long, slow breaths of +inhalation like a practiced smoker, but with a puckered face as though +he feared that the fumes might drift into his eyes. + +"Why," thought Mary, "he's only a child!" + +Her heart warmed a little as she adopted this view of her surly host. +Being warmed, and having much to say, words came of themselves. Surely +it would do no harm to tell the story to this queer urchin, who might +be able to throw some light on the nature of the invisible protector. + +"I started with a man for guide." She fixed a searching gaze on the +boy. "His name was Dick Wilbur." + +She could not tell whether it was a tremble of the boy's hand or a +short motion to knock off the cigarette ash. + +"Did you say 'was' Dick Wilbur?" + +"Yes. Did you know him?" + +"Heard of him, I think. Kind of a hard one, wasn't he?" + +"No, no! A fine, brave, gentle fellow--poor Dick!" She stopped, +her eyes filling with tears at many a memory. + +"Hm!" coughed the boy. "I thought he was one of old Boone's gang? If +he's dead, that made the last of 'em--except Red Pierre." + +It was like the sound of a trumpet call at her ear. Mary sat up with a +start. + +"What do you know of Red Pierre?" + +The boy flushed a little, and could not quite meet her eye. + +"Nothin'." + +"At least you know that he's still alive?" + +"Sure. Anyone does. When he dies the whole range will know about it--damn +quick. I know _that_ much about Red Pierre; but who doesn't?" + +"I, for one." + +"You!" + +Strangely enough, there was more of accusation than of surprise in the +word. + +"Certainly," repeated Mary. "I've only been in this part of the +country for a short time. I really know almost nothing about +the--legends." + +"Legends?" said the boy, and laughed. "Legend? Say, lady, if Red +Pierre is just a legend the Civil War ain't no more'n a fable. Legend? +You go anywhere on the range an' get 'em talking about that legend, +and they'll make you think it's an honest-to-goodness fact, and +no mistake." + +Mary queried earnestly: "Tell me about Red Pierre. It's almost as hard +to learn anything of him as it is to find out anything about McGurk." + +"What you doing?" asked the boy, keen with suspicion. "Making a study +of them two for a book?" + +He wiped a damp forehead. + +"Take it from me, lady, it ain't healthy to join up them two even in +talk!" "Is there any harm in words?" + +The boy was so upset for some unknown reason that he rose and paced up +and down the room. + +"Lots of harm in fool words." + +He sat down again, and seemed a little anxious to explain his unusual +conduct. + +"Ma'am, suppose you had a well plumb full of nitroglycerin in your +back yard; suppose there was a forest fire comin' your way from all +sides; would you like to have people talk about nitroglycerin and that +forest fire meeting? Even the talk would give you chills. That's the +way it is with Pierre and McGurk. When they meet there's going to be a +fight that'll stop the hearts of the people that have to look on." + +Mary smiled to cover her excitement. + +"But are they coming your way?" + +The question seemed to infuriate young Jack, who cried: "Ain't that a +fool way of talkin'? Lady, they're coming everyone's way. You never +know where they'll start from or where they'll land. If there's a +thunder-cloud all over the sky, do you know where the lightning's +going to strike?" + +"Excuse me," said Mary, but she was still eager with curiosity, "but I +should think that a youngster like you wouldn't have anything to fear +from even those desperadoes." + +"Youngster, eh?" snarled the boy, whose wrath seemed implacable. "I +can make my draw and start my gun as fast as any man--except them two, +maybe"--he lowered his voice somewhat even to name them--"Pierre--McGurk!" + +"It seems hopeless to find out anything about McGurk," said Mary, "but +at least you can tell me safely about Red Pierre." + +"Interested in him, eh?" said the boy dryly. + +"Well, he's a rather romantic figure, don't you think?" "Romantic? +Lady, about a month ago I was talking with a lady that was a widow +because of Red Pierre. She didn't think him none too romantic." + +"Red Pierre had killed the woman's husband?" repeated Mary, with pale +lips. + +"Yep. He was one of the gang that took a chance with Pierre and got +bumped off. Had three bullets in him and dropped without getting his +gun out of the leather. Pierre sure does a nice, artistic job. He +serves you a murder with all the trimmings. If I wanted to die nice +and polite without making a mess, I don't know who I'd rather go to +than Red Pierre." + +"A murderer!" whispered Mary, with bowed head. + +The boy opened his lips to speak, but changed his mind and sat +regarding the girl with a somewhat sinister smile. + +"But might it not be," said Mary, "that he killed one man in +self-defense and then his destiny drove him, and bad luck forced him +into one bad position after another? There have been histories as +strange as that, you know." + +Jack laughed again, but most of the music was gone from the sound, and +it was simply a low, ominous purr. + +"Sure," he said. "You can take a bear-cub and keep him tame till he +gets the taste of blood, but after that you got to keep him muzzled, +you know. Pierre needs a muzzle, but there ain't enough gunfighters on +the range to put one on him." + +Something like pride crept into the boy's voice while he spoke, and he +ended with a ringing tone. Then, feeling the curious, judicial eyes of +Mary upon him, he abruptly changed the subject. + +"You say Dick Wilbur is dead?" + +"I don't know. I think he is." + +"But he started out with you. You ought to know." + +"It was like this: We had camped on the edge of the trees coming up +the Old Crow Valley, and Dick went off with the can to get water at +the river. He was gone a long time, and when I went out to look for +him I found the can at the margin of the river half filled with sand, +and beside it there was the impression of the body of a big man. That +was all I found, and Dick never came back." + +They were both silent for a moment. + +"Could he have fallen into the river?" + +"Sure. He was probably helped in. Did you look for the footprints?" + +"I didn't think of that." + +Jack was speechless with scorn. + +"Sat down and cried, eh?" + +"I was dazed; I couldn't think. But he couldn't have been killed by +some other man. There was no shot fired; I should have heard it." + +Jack moistened his lips. + +"Lady, a knife don't make much sound either going or coming out--not +much more sound than a whisper, but that whisper means a lot. I got an +idea that Dick heard it. Then the river covered him up." + +He stopped short and stared at Mary with squinted eyes. + +"D'you mean to tell me that you had the nerve to come all the way up +the Old Crow by yourself?" + +"Every inch of the way." + +Jack leaned forward, sneering, savage. + +"Then I suppose you put the hitch that's on that pack outside?" + +"No." + +Jack was dumbfounded. + +"Then you admit--" + +"That first night when I went to sleep I felt as if there were +something near me. When I woke up there was a bright fire burning in +front of me and the pack had been lashed and placed on one of the +horses. At first I thought that it was Dick, who had come back. But +Dick didn't appear all day. The next night--" "Wait!" said Jack. +"This is gettin' sort of creepy. If you was the drinking kind I'd say +you'd been hitting up the red-eye." + +"The next evening," continued Mary steadily, "I came about dark on a +camp-fire with a bed of twigs near it. I stayed by the fire, but no +one appeared. Once I thought I heard a horse whinny far away, and once +I thought that I saw a streak of white disappear over the top of +a hill." + +The boy sprang up, shuddering with panic. + +"You saw what?" + +"Nothing. I thought for a minute that it was a bit of something white, +but it was gone all at once." + +"White--vanished at once--went into the dark as fast as a horse can +gallop?" + +"Something like that. Do you think it was someone?" + +For answer the boy whipped out his revolver, examined it, and spun the +cylinder with shaking hands. Then he said through set teeth: "So you +come up here trailin' him after you, eh?" + +"Who?" + +"McGurk!" + +The name came like a rifle shot and Mary rose in turn and shrank back +toward the wall, for there was murder in the lighted black eyes which +stared after her and crumbling fear in her own heart at the thought of +McGurk hovering near--of the peril that impended for Pierre. Of the +nights in the valley of the Crow she refused to let herself think. +Cold beads of perspiration stood out on her forehead. + +"You fool--you fool! Damn your pretty pink-and-white face--you've done +for us all! Get out!" + +Mary moved readily enough toward the door, her teeth chattering with +terror in the face of this fury. + +Jack continued wildly: "Done for us all; got us all as good as under +the sod. I wish you was in--Get out quick, or I'll forget--you're a +woman!" He broke into hysterical laughter, which stopped short and +finished in a heartbroken whisper: "Pierre!" + + + + +CHAPTER 30 + + +At that Mary, who stood with her hand on the latch, whirled and stood +wide-eyed, her astonishment greater than her fear, for that whisper +told her a thousand things. + +Through her mind all the time that she stayed in the cabin there had +passed a curious surmise that this very place might be the covert of +Pierre le Rouge. There was a fatality about it, for the invisible +Power which had led her up the valley of the Old Crow surely would not +make mistakes. + +In her search for Pierre, Providence brought her to this place, and +Providence could not be wrong. This, a vague emotion stirring in her +somewhere between reason and the heart, grew to an almost certain +knowledge as she heard the whisper, the faint, heartbroken +whisper: "Pierre!" + +And when she turned to the boy again, noting the shirts and the chaps +hanging at the wall, she knew they belonged to Pierre as surely as if +she had seen him hang them there. + +The fingers of Jack were twisted around the butt of his revolver, +white with the intensity of the pressure. + +Now he cried: "Get out! You've done your work; get out!" + +But Mary stepped straight toward the murderous, pale face. "I'll +stay," she said, "and wait for Pierre." + +The boy blanched. + +"Stay?" he echoed. + +The heart of Mary went out to this trusted companion who feared for +his friend. + +She said gently: "Listen; I've come all this way looking for Pierre, +but not to harm him or to betray him, I'm his friend. Can't you +trust me Jack?" + +"Trust you? No more than I'll trust what came with you!" + +And the fierce black eyes lingered on Mary and then fled past her +toward the door, as if the boy debated hotly and silently whether or +not it would be better to put an end to this intruder, but stayed his +hand, fearing that Power which had followed her up the valley of +the Old Crow. + +It was that same invisible guardian who made Mary strong now; it was +like the hand of a friend on her shoulder, like the voice of a friend +whispering reassuring words at her ear. She faced those blazing, black +eyes steadily. It would be better to be frank, wholly frank. + +"This is the house of Pierre. I know it as surely as if I saw him +sitting here now. You can't deceive me. And I'll stay. I'll even tell +you why. Once he said that he loved me, Jack, but he left me because +of a strange superstition; and so I've followed to tell him that I +want to be near no matter what fate hangs over him." + +And the boy, whiter still, and whiter, looked at her with clearing, +narrowing eyes. + +"So you're one of them," said the boy softly; "you're one of the fools +who listen to Red Pierre. Well, I know you; I've known you from the +minute I seen you crouched there at the fire. You're the one Pierre +met at the dance at the Crittenden schoolhouse. Tell me!" + +"Yes," said Mary, marveling greatly. + +"And he told you he loved you?" + +"Yes." It was a fainter voice now, and the color was going up her +cheeks. + +The lad fixed her with his cold scorn and then turned on his heel and +slipped into an easy position on the bunk. + +"Then wait for him to come. He'll be here before morning." + +But Mary followed across the room and touched the shoulder of Jack. It +was as if she touched a wild wolf, for the lad whirled and struck her +hand away in an outburst of silent fury. + +"Why shouldn't I stay? He hasn't--he hasn't changed--Jack?" + +The insolent black eyes looked up and scanned her slowly from head to +foot. Then he laughed in the same deliberate manner. + +"No, I guess he thinks as much of you now as he ever did." + +"You are lying to me," said the girl faintly, but the terror in her +eyes said another thing. + +"He thinks as much of you as he ever did. He thinks as much of you as +he does of the rest of the soft-handed, pretty-faced fools who listen +to him and believe him. I suppose--" + +He broke off to laugh heartily again, with a jarring, forced note +which escaped Mary. + +"I suppose that he made love to you one minute and the next told you +that bad luck--something about the cross--kept him away from you?" + +Each slow word was like a blow of a fist. Mary closed her eyes to shut +out the scorn of that handsome, boyish face; closed her eyes to summon +out from the dark of her mind the picture of Pierre le Rouge as he had +told her of his love; and then she heard the voice of Pierre +renouncing her. + +She opened her eyes again. She cried: "It is all a lie! If he is not +true, there's no truth in the world." + +"If you come down to that," said the boy coldly, "there ain't much +wasted this side of the Rockies. It's about as scarce as rain." + +He continued in an almost kindly tone: "What would you do with a wild +man like Red Pierre? Run along; git out of here; grab your horse, and +beat it back to civilization; there ain't no place for you up here in +the wilderness." + +"What would I do with him?" cried the girl. "Love him!" + +It seemed as though her words, like whips, lashed the boy back to his +murderous anger. He lay with blazing eyes, watching her for a moment, +too moved to speak. At last he propped himself on one elbow, shook a +small, white-knuckled fist under the nose of Mary, and cried: "Then +what would he do with you?" + +He went on: "Would he wear you around his neck like a watch charm?" + +"I'd bring him back with me--back into the East, and he would be lost +among the crowds and never suspected of his past." + +"_You'd_ bring Pierre anywhere? Say, lady, that's like hearing the +sheep talk about leading the wolf around by the nose. If all the men +in the ranges can't catch him, or make him budge an inch out of the +way he's picked, do you think you could stir him?" + +Jeering laughter shook him; it seemed that he would never be done with +his laughter, yet there was a hint of the hysterically mirthless in +it. It came to a jarring stop. + +He said: "D'you think he's just bein' driven around by chance? Lady, +d'you think he even _wants_ to get out of this life of his? No, he +loves it! He loves the danger. D'you think a man that's used to +breathing in a whirlwind can get used to living in calm air? It +can't be done!" + +And the girl answered steadily: "For every man there is one woman, +and for that woman the man will do strange things." + +"You poor, white-faced, whimpering fool," snarled the boy, gripping at +his gun again, "d'you dream that you're the one that's picked out for +Pierre? No, there's another!" + +"Another? A woman who--" + +"Who loves Pierre--a woman that's fit for him. She can ride like a +man; she can shoot almost as straight and as fast as Pierre; she can +handle a knife; and she's been through hell for Pierre, and she'll go +through it again. She can ride the trail all day with him and finish +it less fagged than he is. She can chop down a tree as well as he can, +and build a fire better. She can hold up a train with him or rob a +bank and slip through a town in the middle of the night and laugh with +him about it afterward around a campfire. I ask you, is that the sort +of a woman that's meant for Pierre?" + +And Mary answered, with bowed head: "She is." + +She cried instantly afterward, cutting short the look of wild triumph +on the face of the boy: "But there's no such woman; there's no one who +could do these things! I know it!" + +The boy sprang to his feet, flushing as red as the girl was white. + +"You fool, if you're blind and got to have your eyes open to see, look +at the woman!" + +And she tore the wide-brimmed sombrero from her head. Down past the +shoulders flooded a mass of blue-black hair. The firelight flickered +and danced across the silken shimmer of it. It swept wildly past the +waist, a glorious, night-dark tide in which the heart of a strong man +could be tangled and lost. With quivering lips Jacqueline cried: "Look +at me! Am I worthy of him?" + +Short step by step Mary went back, staring with fascinated eyes as one +who sees some devilish, midnight revelry, and shrinks away from it +lest the sight should blast her. She covered her eyes with her hands +but instantly strong grips fell on her wrists and her hands were +jerked down from her face. She looked up into the eyes of a +beautiful tigress. + +"Answer me--your yellow hair against mine--your child fingers against +my grip--are you equal with me?" + +But the strength of Jacqueline faded and grew small; her arms fell to +her side; she stepped back, with a rising pallor taking the place of +the red. For Mary, brushing her hands, one gloved and one bare, before +her eyes, returned the stare of the mountain girl with equal scorn. A +mighty loathing filled up her veins in place of strength. + +"Tell me," she said, "was--was this man living with you when he came +to me and--and made speeches--about love?" + +"Bah! He was living with me. I tell you, he came back and laughed with +me about it, and told me about your baby-blue eyes when they filled +with tears; laughed and laughed and laughed, I tell you, as I could +laugh now." + +The other twisted her hands together, moaning: "And I have followed +him, even to the place where he keeps his--woman? Ah, how I hate +myself: how I despise myself. I'm unclean--unclean in my own eyes!" + +"Wait!" called Jacqueline. "You are leaving too soon. The night is +cold." + +"I am going. There is no need to gibe at me." + +"But wait--he will want to see you! I will tell him that you have been +here--that you came clear up the valley of the Old Crow to see him and +beg him on your knees to love you--he'll be angry to have missed +the scene!" + +But the door closed on Mary as she fled with her hands pressed against +her ears. + + + + +CHAPTER 31 + + +Jacqueline ran to the door and threw it open. + +"Ride down the valley!" she cried. "That's right. He's coming up, and +he'll meet you on the way. He'll be glad--to see you!" + +She saw the rider swing sharply about, and the clatter of the +galloping hoofs died out up the valley; then she closed the door, +dropped the latch, and, running to the middle of the room, threw up +her arms and cried out, a wild, shrill yell of triumph like the call +of the old Indian brave when he rises with the scalp of his murdered +enemy dripping in his hand. + +The extended arms she caught back to her breast, and stood there with +head tilted back, crushing her delight closer to her heart. + +And she whispered: "Pierre! Mine, mine! Pierre!" + +Next she went to the steel mirror on the wall and looked long at the +flushed, triumphant image. At length she started, like one awakening +from a happy dream, and hurriedly coiled the thick, soft tresses about +her head. Never before had she lingered so over a toilet, patting each +lock into place, twisting her head from side to side like a peacock +admiring its image. + +Now she looked about hungrily for a touch of color and uttered a +little moan of vexation when she saw nothing, till her eyes, piercing +through the gloom of a dim corner, saw a spray of autumn leaves, long +left there and still stained with beauty. She fastened them at the +breast of her shirt, and so arrayed began to cook. Never was there a +merrier cook, not even some jolly French chef with a heart made warm +with good red wine, for she sang as she worked, and whenever she had +to cross the room it was with a dancing step. Spring was in her blood, +warm spring that sets men smiling for no cause except that they are +living, and rejoicing with the whole awakening world. + +So it was with Jacqueline. Ever and anon as she leaned over the pans +and stirred the fire she raised her head and remained a moment +motionless, waiting for a sound, yearning to hear, and each time she +had to look down again with a sigh. + +As it was, he took her by surprise, for he entered with the soft foot +of the hunted and remained an instant searching the room with a +careful glance. Not that he suspected, not that he had not relaxed his +guard and his vigilance the moment he caught sight of the flicker of +light through the mass of great boulders, but the lifelong habit of +watchfulness remained with him. + +Even when he spoke face to face with a man, he never seemed to be +giving more than half his attention, for might not someone else +approach if he lost himself in order to listen to any one voice? He +had covered half the length of the room with that soundless step +before she heard, and rose with a glad cry: "Pierre!" + +Meeting that calm blue eye, she checked herself mightily. + +"A hard ride?" she asked. + +"Nothing much." + +He took the rock nearest the fire and then raised a glance of inquiry. + +"I got cold," she said, "and rolled it over." + +He considered her and then the rock, not with suspicion, but as if he +held the matter in abeyance for further consideration; a hunted man +and a hunter must keep an eye for little things, must carry an armed +hand and an armed heart even among friends. As for Jacqueline, her +color had risen, and she leaned hurriedly over a pan in which meat +was frying. + +"Any results?" she asked. + +"Some." + +She waited, knowing that the story would come at length. + +He added after a moment: "Strange how careless some people get to be." + +"Yes?" she queried. + +"Yes." + +Another pause, during which he casually drummed his fingers on his +knee. She saw that he must receive more encouragement before he would +tell, and she gave it, smiling to herself. Women are old in certain +ways of understanding in which men remain children forever. + +"I suppose we're still broke, Pierre?" + +"Broke? Well, not entirely. I got some results." + +"Good." + +"As a matter of fact, it was a pretty fair haul. Watch that meat, +Jack; I think it's burning." + +It was hardly beginning to cook, but she turned it obediently and hid +another slow smile. Rising, she passed behind his chair, and pretended +to busy herself with something near the wall. This was the environment +and attitude which would make him talk most freely, she knew. + +"Speaking of careless men," said Pierre, "I could tell you a yarn, +Jack." + +She stood close behind him and made about his unconscious head a +gesture of caress, the overflow of an infinite tenderness. + +"I'd sure like to hear it, Pierre." + +"Well, it was like this: I knew a fellow who started on the range with +a small stock of cattle. He wasn't a very good worker, and he didn't +understand cattle any too well, so he didn't prosper for quite a +while. Then his affairs took a sudden turn for the better; his herd +began to increase. Nobody understood the reason, though a good many +suspected, but one man fell onto the reason: our friend was simply +running in a few doggies on the side, and he'd arranged a very +ingenious way of changing the brands." + +"Pierre--" + +"Well?" + +"What does 'ingenious' mean?" + +"Why, I should say it means 'skillful, clever,' and it carries with it +the connotation of 'novel.'" + +"It carries the con-conno--what's that word, Pierre?" + +"I'm going to get some books for you, Jack, and we'll do a bit of +reading on the side, shall we?" + +"I'd love that!" + +He turned and looked up to her sharply. + +He said: "Sometimes, Jack, you talk just like a girl." + +"Do I? That's queer, isn't it? But go on with the story." + +"He changed the brands very skillfully, and no one got the dope on him +except this one man I mentioned; and that man kept his face shut. +He waited. + +"So it went on for a good many years. The herd of our friend grew very +rapidly. He sold just enough cattle to keep himself and his wife +alive; he was bent on making one big haul, you see. So when his +doggies got to the right age and condition for the market, he'd trade +them off, one fat doggie for two or three skinny yearlings. But +finally he had a really big herd together, and shipped it off to the +market on a year when the price was sky-high." + +"Like this year?" + +"Don't interrupt me, Jack!" + +From the shadow behind him she smiled again. + +"They went at a corking price, and our friend cleared up a good many +thousand--I won't say just how much. He sank part of it in a ruby +brooch for his wife, and shoved the rest into a satchel. + +"You see how careful he'd been all those years while he was piling up +his fortune? Well, he began to get careless the moment he cashed in, +which was rather odd. He depended on his fighting power to keep that +money safe, but he forgot that while he'd been making a business of +rustling doggies and watching cattle markets, other men had been +making a business of shooting fast and straight. + +"Among others there was the silent man who'd watched and waited for so +long. But this silent man hove alongside while our rich friend was +bound home in a buckboard. + +"'Good evening!' he called. + +"The rich chap turned and heard; it all seemed all right, but he'd +done a good deal of shady business in his day, and that made him +suspicious of the silent man now. So he reached for his gun and got it +out just in time to be shot cleanly through the hand. + +"The silent man tied up that hand and sympathized with the rich chap; +then he took that satchel and divided the paper money into two +bundles. One was twice the size of the other, and the silent man took +the smaller one. There was only twelve thousand dollars in it. Also, +he took the ruby brooch for a friend--and as a sort of keepsake, you +know. And he delivered a short lecture to the rich man on the subject +of carelessness and rode away. The rich man picked up his gun with his +left hand and opened fire, but he'd never learned to shoot very well +with that hand, so the silent man came through safe." + +"That's a bully story," said Jack. "Who was the silent man?" + +"I think you've seen him a few times, at that." + +She concealed another smile, and said in the most businesslike manner: +"Chow-time, Pierre," and set out the pans on the table. "By the +way," he said easily, "I've got a little present for you, Jack." + +And he took out a gold pin flaming with three great rubies. + + + + +CHAPTER 32 + + +She merely stared, like a child which may either burst into tears or +laughter, no one can prophesy which. + +He explained, rather worried: "You see, you _are_ a girl, Jack, and I +remembered that you were pleased about those clothes that you wore to +the dance in the Crittenden schoolhouse, and so when I saw that pin +I--well--" + +"Oh, Pierre!" said a stifled voice. "Oh, Pierre!" + +"Jack, you aren't angry, are you? See, when you put it at the throat +it doesn't look half bad!" + +And to try it, he pinned it on her shirt. She caught both his hands, +kissed them again and again, and then buried her face against them as +she sobbed. If the heavens had opened and a cloudburst crashed on the +roof of the house, he would have been less astounded. + +"What is it?" he cried. "Damn it all--Jack--you see--I meant--" + +But she tore herself away and flung herself face down on the bunk, +sobbing more bitterly than ever. He followed, awe-stricken--terrified. + +He touched her shoulder, but she shrank away and seemed more +distressed than ever. It was not the crying of a weak woman: these +were heartrending sounds, like the sobbing of a man who has never +before known tears. + +"Jack--perhaps I've done something wrong--" + +He stammered again: "I didn't dream I was hurting you--" + +Then light broke upon him. + +He said: "It's because you don't want to be treated like a silly girl; +eh, Jack?" + +But to complete his astonishment she moaned: "N-n-no! It's b-b-because +you--you n-n-never _do_ t-treat me like a g-g-girl, P-P-Pierre!" + +He groaned heartily: "Well, I'll be damned!" + +And because he was thoughtful he strode away, staring at the floor. It +was then that he saw it, small and crumpled on the floor. He picked it +up--a glove of the softest leather. He carried it back to Jacqueline. + +"What's this?" + +"Wh-wh-what?" + +"This glove I found on the floor?" + +The sobs decreased at once--broke out more violently--and then she +sprang up from the bunk. + +"Pierre, I've acted a regular chump. Are you out with me?" + +"Not a bit, old-timer. But about this glove?" + +"Oh, that's one of mine." + +She took it and slipped it into the bosom of her shirt--the calm blue +eye of Pierre noted. + +He said: "We'll eat and forget the rest of this, if you want, Jack." + +"And you ain't mad at me, Pierre?" + +"Not a bit." + +There was just a trace of coldness in his tone, and she knew perfectly +why it was there, but she chose to ascribe it to another cause. + +She explained: "You see, a woman is just about nine tenths fool, +Pierre, and has to bust out like that once in a while." + +"Oh!" said Pierre, and his eyes wandered past her as though he found +food for thought on the wall. + +She ventured cautiously, after seeing that he was eating with +appetite: "How does the pin look?" + +"Why, fine." + +And the silence began again. + +She dared not question him in that mood, so she ventured again: "The +old boy shooting left-handed--didn't he even fan the wind near you?" + +"That was another bit of carelessness," said Pierre, but his smile +held little of life. "He might have known that if he _had_ shot +close--by accident--I might have turned around and shot him dead--on +purpose. But when a man stops thinking for a minute, he's apt to go on +for a long time making a fool of himself." + +"Right," she said, brightening as she felt the crisis pass away, "and +that reminds me of a story about--" + +"By the way, Jack, I'll wager there's a more interesting story than +that you could tell me." + +"What?" + +"About how that glove happened to be on the floor." + +"Why, partner, it's just a glove of my own." + +"Didn't know you wore gloves with a leather as soft as that." + +"No? Well, that story I was speaking about runs something like this--" + +And she told him a gay narrative, throwing all her spirit into it, for +she was an admirable mimic. He met her spirit more than half-way, +laughing gaily; and so they reached the end of the story and the end +of the meal at the same time. She cleared away the pans with a few +motions and tossed them clattering into a corner. Neat housekeeping +was not numbered among the many virtues of Jacqueline. "Now," said +Pierre, leaning back against the wall, "we'll hear about that glove." + +"Damn the glove!" broke from her. + +"Steady, pal!" + +"Pierre, are you going to nag me about a little thing like that?" + +"Why, Jack, you're red and white in patches. I'm interested." + +He sat up. + +"I'm more than interested. The story, Jack." + +"Well, I suppose I have to tell you. I did a fool thing today. Took a +little gallop down the trail, and on my way back I met a girl sitting +in her saddle with her face in her hands, crying her heart out. Poor +kid! She'd come up in a hunting party and got separated from the rest. + +"So I got sympathetic--" + +"About the first time on record that you've been sympathetic with +another girl, eh?" + +"Shut up, Pierre! And I brought her in here--right into your cabin, +without thinking what I was doing, and gave her a cup of coffee. Of +course it was a pretty greenhorn trick, but I guess no harm will come +of it. The girl thinks it's a prospector's cabin--which it was once. +She went on her way, happy, because I told her of the right trail to +get back with her gang. That's all there is to it. Are you mad at me +for letting anyone come into this place?" + +"Mad?" He smiled. "No, I think that's one of the best lies you ever +told me, Jack." + +Their eyes met, hers very wide, and his keen and steady. Then she +gripped at the butt of her gun, an habitual trick when she was very +angry, and cried: "Do I have to sit here and let you call me--that? +Pierre, pull a few more tricks like that and I'll call for a new +deal. Get me?" + +She rose, whirled, and threw herself sullenly on her bunk. "Come +back," said Pierre. "You're more scared than angry. Why are you +afraid, Jack?" + +"It's a lie--I'm not afraid!" + +"Let me see that glove again." + +"You've seen it once--that's enough." + +He whistled carelessly, rolling a cigarette. After he lighted it he +said: "Ready to talk yet, partner?" + +She maintained an obstinate silence, but that sharp eye saw that she +was trembling. He set his teeth and then drew several long puffs on +his cigarette. + +"I'm going to count to ten, pal, and when I finish you're going to +tell me everything straight. In the meantime don't stay there thinking +up a new lie. I know you too well, and if you try the same thing on +me again--" + +"Well?" she snarled, all the tiger coming back in her voice. + +"You'll talk, all right. Here goes the count: One--two--three--four--" + +As he counted, leaving a long drag of two or three seconds between +numbers, there was not a change in the figure of the girl. She still +lay with her back turned on him, and the only expressive part that +showed was her hand. First it lay limp against her hip, but as the +monotonous count proceeded it gathered to a fist. + +"Five--six--seven--" + +It seemed that he had been counting for hours, his will against her +will, the man in him against the woman in her, and during the pauses +between the sound of his voice the very air grew charged with waiting. +To the girl the wait for every count was like the wait of the doomed +traitor when he stands facing the firing-squad, watching the glimmer +of light go down the aimed rifles. + +For she knew the face of the man who sat there counting; she knew how +the firelight flared in the dark red of his hair and made it seem like +another fire beneath which the blue of the eyes was strangely cold. +Her hand had gathered to a hard-balled fist. + +"Eight--nine--" + +She sprang up, screaming: "No, no, Pierre!" And threw out her arms to +him. + +"Ten." + +She whispered: "It was the girl with yellow hair--Mary Brown." + + + + +CHAPTER 33 + + +It was as if she had said: "Good morning!" in the calmest of voices. +There was no answer in him, neither word nor expression, and out of +ten sharp-eyed men, nine would have passed him by without noting the +difference; but the girl knew him as the monk knows his prayers or the +Arab his horse, and a solemn, deep despair came over her. She felt +like the drowning, when the water closes over their heads for the +last time. + +He puffed twice again at the cigarette and then flicked the butt into +the fire. When he spoke it was only to say: "Did she stay long?" + +But his eyes avoided her. She moved a little so as to read his face, +but when he turned again and answered her stare she winced. "Not very +long, Pierre." + +"Ah," he said. "I see! It was because she didn't dream that this was +the place I lived in." + +It was the sort of heartless, torturing questioning which was once the +crudest weapon of the inquisition. With all her heart she fought to +raise her voice above the whisper whose very sound accused her, but +could not. She was condemned to that voice as the man bound in +nightmare is condemned to walk slowly, slowly, though the terrible +danger is racing toward him, and the safety which he must reach lies +only a dozen steps, a dozen mortal steps away. + +She said in that voice: "No; of course she didn't dream it." + +"And you, Jack, had her interests at heart--her best interests, poor +girl, and didn't tell her?" + +Her hands went out to him in mute appeal. + +"Please, Pierre--don't!" + +"Is something troubling you, Jack?" + +"You are breaking my heart." + +"Why, by no means! Let's sit here calmly and chat about the girl with +the yellow hair. To begin with--she's rather pleasant to look at, +don't you think?" + +"I suppose she is." + +"Hm! Rather poor taste not to be sure of it. Well, let it go. You've +always had rather queer taste in women, Jack; but, of course, being a +long-rider, you haven't seen much of them. At least her name is +delightful--Mary Brown! You've no idea how often I've repeated it +aloud to myself--Mary Brown!" + +"I hate her!" + +"You two didn't have a very agreeable time of it? By the way, she must +have left in rather a hurry to forget her glove, eh?" + +"Yes, she ran--like a coward." + +"Ah?" "Like a trembling coward. How can you care for a white-faced +little fool like that? Is she your match? Is she your mate?" + +He considered a moment, as though to make sure that he did not +exaggerate. + +"I love her, Jack, as men love water when they've ridden all day over +hot sand without a drop on their lips--you know when the tongue gets +thick and the mouth fills with cotton--and then you see clear, bright +water, and taste it? + +"She is like that to me. She feeds every sense; and when I look in her +eyes, Jack, I feel like the starved man on the desert, as I was +saying, drinking that priceless water. You knew something of the way I +feel, Jack. Isn't it a little odd that you didn't keep her here?" + +She had stood literally shuddering during this speech, and now she +burst out, far beyond all control: "Because she loathes you; because +she hates herself for ever having loved you; because she despises +herself for having ridden up here after you. Does that fill your cup +of water, Pierre, eh?" + +His forehead was shining with sweat, but he set his teeth, and, after +a moment, he was able to say in the same hard, calm voice: "I suppose +there was no real reason for her change. She can be persuaded back to +me in a moment. In that case just tell me where she has gone and I'll +ride after her." + +He made as if to rise, but she cried in a panic, and yet with a wild +exultation: "No, she's done with you forever, and the more you make +love to her now the more she'll hate you. Because she knows that when +you kissed her before--when you kissed her--you were living with +a woman." + +"I--living with a woman?" + +Her voice had risen out of the whisper for the outbreak. Now it sank +back into it. + +"Yes--with me!" "With you? I see. Naturally it must have gone hard +with her--Mary! And she wouldn't see reason even when you explained +that you and I are like brothers?" + +He leaned a little toward her and just a shade of emotion came in his +voice. + +"When you carefully explained, Jack, with all the eloquence you could +command, that you and I have ridden and fought and camped together +like brothers for six years? And how I gave you your first gun? And +how I've stayed between you and danger a thousand times? And how I've +never treated you otherwise than as a man? And how I've given you the +love of a blood-brother to take the place of the brother who died? And +how I've kept you in a clean and pure respect such as a man can only +give once in his life--and then only to his dearest friend? She +wouldn't listen--even when you talked to her like this?" + +"For God's sake--Pierre!" + +"Ah, but you talked well enough to pave the way for me. You talked so +eloquently that with a little more persuasion from me she will know +and understand. Come, I must be gone after her. Which way did she +ride--up or down the valley?" + +"You could talk to her forever and she'd never listen. Pierre, I told +her that I was--your woman--that you'd told me of your scenes with +her--and that we'd laughed at them together." + +She covered her eyes and crouched, waiting for the wrath that would +fall on her, but he only smiled bitterly on the bowed head, saying: +"Why have I waited so long to hear you say what I knew already? I +suppose because I wouldn't believe until I heard the whole abominable +truth from your own lips. Jack, why did you do it?" + +"Won't you see? Because I've loved you always, Pierre!" + +"Love--you--your tiger-heart? No, but you were like a cruel, selfish +child. You were jealous because you didn't want the toy taken away. I +knew it. I knew that even if I rode after her it would be hopeless. +Oh, God, how terribly you've hurt me, partner!" + +It wrung a little moan from her. He said after a moment: "It's only +the ghost of a chance, but I'll have to take it. Tell me which way she +rode? No? Then I'll try to find her." + +She leaped between him and the door, flinging her shoulders against it +with a crash and standing with outspread arms to bar the way. + +"You must not go!" + +He turned his head somewhat. + +"Don't stand in front of me, Jack. You know I'll do what I say, and +just now it's a bit hard for me to face you." + +"Pierre, I feel as if there were a hand squeezing my heart small, and +small, and small. Pierre, I'd die for you!" + +"I know you would. I know you would, partner. It was only a mistake, +and you acted the way any coldhearted boy would act if--if someone +were to try to steal his horse, for instance. But just now it's hard +for me to look at you and be calm." + +"Don't try to be! Swear at me--curse--rave--beat me; I'd be glad of +the blows, Pierre. I'd hold out my arms to 'em. But don't go out +that door!" + +"Why?" + +"Because--if you found her--she's not alone." + +"Say that slowly. I don't understand. She's not alone?" + +"I'll try to tell you from the first. She started out for you with +Dick Wilbur for a guide." + +"Good old Dick, God bless him! I'll fill all his pockets with gold for +that; and he loves her, you know." + +"You'll never see Dick Wilbur again. On the first night they camped +she missed him when he went for water. She went down after a while and +saw the mark of his body on the sand. He never appeared again." + +"Who was it?" + +"Listen. The next morning she woke up and found that someone had +taken care of the fire while she slept, and her pack was lashed on one +of the saddles. She rode on that day and came at night to a camp-fire +with a bed of boughs near it and no one in sight. She took that camp +for herself and no one showed up. + +"Don't you see? Someone was following her up the valley and taking +care of the poor baby on the way. Someone who was afraid to let +himself be seen. Perhaps it was the man who killed Dick Wilbur without +a sound there beside the river; perhaps as Dick died he told the man +who killed him about the lonely girl and this other man was white +enough to help Mary. + +"But all Mary ever saw of him was that second night when she thought +she saw a streak of white, traveling like a galloping horse, that +disappeared over a hill and into the trees--" + +"A streak of white--" + +"Yes, yes! The white horse--McGurk!" + +"McGurk!" repeated Pierre stupidly; then: "And you knew she would be +going out to him when she left this house?" + +"I knew--Pierre--don't look at me like that--I knew that it would be +murder to let you cross with McGurk. You're the last of seven--he's a +devil--no man--" + +"And you let her go out into the night--to him." + +She clung to a last thread of hope: "If you met him and killed him +with the luck of the cross it would bring equal bad luck on someone +you love--on the girl, Pierre!" + +He was merely repeating stupidly: "You let her go out--to him--in the +night! She's in his arms now--you devil--you tiger--" + +She threw herself down and clung about his knees with hysterical +strength. + +He tore the little cross from his neck and flung it into her upturned +face. + +"Don't make me put my hands on you, Jack. Let me go!" There was no +need to tear her grasp away. She crumpled and slipped sidewise to the +floor. He leaned over and shook her violently by the shoulder. + +"Which way did she ride? Which way did they ride?" + +She whispered: "Down the valley, Pierre; down the valley; I swear they +rode that way." + +And as she lay in a half swoon she heard the faint clatter of +galloping hoofs over the rocks and a wild voice yelling, fainter and +fainter with distance: "McGurk!" + + + + +CHAPTER 34 + + +It came back to her like a threat; it beat at her ears and roused her, +that continually diminishing cry: "McGurk!" It went down the valley, +and Mary Brown, and McGurk with her, perhaps, had gone up the gorge, +but it would be a matter of a short time before Pierre le Rouge +discovered that there was no camp-fire to be sighted in the lower +valley and whirled to storm back up the canyon with that battle-cry: +"McGurk!" still on his lips. + +And if the two met she knew the result. Seven strong men had ridden +together, fought together, and one by one they had fallen, disappeared +like the white smoke of the camp-fire, jerked off into thin air by the +wind, until only one remained. + +How clearly she could see them all! Bud Mansie, meager, lean, with a +shifting eye; Garry Patterson, of the red, good-natured face; Phil +Branch, stolid and short and muscled like a giant; Handsome Dick +Wilbur on his racing bay; Black Gandil, with his villainies from the +South Seas like an invisible mantle of awe about him; and her father, +the stalwart, gray Boone. + +All these had gone, and there remained only Pierre le Rouge to follow +in the steps of the six who had gone before. + +She crawled to the door, feeble in mind and shuddering of body like a +runner who has spent his last energy in a long race, and drew it open. +The wind blew up the valley from the Old Crow, but no sound came back +to her, no calling from Pierre; and over her rose the black pyramid of +the western peak of the Twin Bears like a monstrous nose pointing +stiffly toward the stars. + +She closed the door, dragged herself back to her feet, and stood with +her shoulders leaning against the wall. Her weakness was not +weariness--it was as if something had been taken from her. She +wondered at herself somewhat vaguely. Surely she had never been like +this before, with the singular coldness about her heart and the +feeling of loss, of infinite loss. + +What had she lost? She began to search her mind for an answer. Then +she smiled uncertainly, a wan, small smile. It was very clear; what +she had lost was all interest in life and all hope for the brave +tomorrow. Nothing remained of all those lovely dreams which she had +built up by day and night about the figure of Pierre le Rouge. He was +gone, and the bright-colored bubble she had blown vanished at once. + +She felt a slight pain at her forehead and then remembered the cross +which Pierre had thrown into her face. Casting that away he had thrown +his faintest chance of victory with it; it would be a slaughter, not a +battle, and red-handed McGurk would leave one more foe behind him. + +But looking down she found the cross and picked up the shining bit +of metal; it seemed as if she held the greater part of Pierre le Rouge +in her hands. She raised the cross to her lips. + +When she fastened the cross about her throat it was with no +exultation, but like one who places over his heart a last memorial of +the dead; a consecration, like the red sign or the white which the +crusaders wore on the covers of their shields. + +Then she took from her breast the spray of autumn leaves. He had not +noticed them, yet perhaps they had helped to make him happy when he +came into the cabin that night, so she placed the spray on the table. +Next she unpinned the great rubies from her throat and let her eye +linger over them for a moment. They were chosen stones, a lure and a +challenge at once. + +The first thought of what she must do came to Jacqueline then, but not +in an overwhelming tide--it was rather a small voice that whispered in +her heart. + +Last, she took from her bosom the glove of the yellow-haired girl. +Compared with her stanch riding gloves, how small was this! Yet, when +she tried it, it slipped easily on her hand. This she laid in that +little pile, for these were the things which Pierre would wish to find +if by some miracle he came back from the battle. The spray, perhaps, +he would not understand; and yet he might. She pressed both hands to +her breast and drew a long breath, for her heart was breaking. Through +her misted eyes she could barely see the shimmer of the cross. + +She dropped to her knees, and twisted her hands together in agony. It +was prayer. There were no words to it, but it was prayer, a wild +appeal for aid. + +That aid came in the form of a calm that swept on her like the flood +of a clear moonlight over a storm-beaten landscape. The whisper which +had come to her before was now a solemn-speaking voice, and she knew +what she must do. She could not keep the two men apart, but she +might reach McGurk before and strike him down by stealth, by craft, +any way to kill that man as terrible as a devil, as invulnerable as +a ghost. + +This she might do in the heart of the night, and afterward she might +have the courage left to tell the girl the truth and then creep off +somewhere and let this steady pain burn its way out of her heart. + +Once she had reached a decision, it was characteristic that she moved +swiftly. Also, there was cause for haste, for by this time Pierre must +have discovered that there was no one in the lower reaches of the +gorge and would be galloping back with all the speed of the +cream-colored mare which even McGurk's white horse could not match. + +She ran from the cabin and into the little lean-to behind it where the +horses were tethered. There she swung her saddle with expert hands, +whipped up the cinch, and pulled it with the strength of a man, +mounted, and was off up the gorge. + +For the first few minutes she let the long-limbed black race on at +full speed, a breathless course, because the beat of the wind in her +face raised her courage, gave her a certain impulse which was almost +happiness, just as the martyrs rejoiced and held out their hands to +the fire that was to consume them; but after the first burst of +headlong galloping, she drew down the speed to a hand-canter, and this +in turn to a fast trot, for she dared not risk the far-echoed sound of +the clattering hoofs over the rock. + +And as she rode she saw at last the winking eye of red which she +longed for and dreaded. She pulled her black to an instant halt and +swung from the saddle, tossing the reins over the head of the horse to +keep him standing there. + +Yet, after she had made half a dozen hurried paces something forced +her to turn and look again at the handsome head of the horse. He +stood quite motionless, with his ears pricking after her, and now as +she stopped he whinnied softly, hardly louder than the whisper of a +man. So she ran back again and threw the reins over the horn of the +saddle; he should be free to wander where he chose through the free +mountains, but as for her, she knew very certainly now that she would +never mount that saddle again, or control that triumphant steed with +the touch of her hands on the reins. She put her arms around his neck +and drew his head down close. + +There was a dignity in that parting, for it was the burning of her +bridges behind her. She drew back, the horse followed her a pace, but +she raised a silent hand in the night and halted him; a moment later +she was lost among the boulders. + +It was rather slow work to stalk that camp-fire, for the big boulders +cut off the sight of the red eye time and again, and she had to make +little, cautious detours before she found it again, but she kept +steadily at her work. Once she stopped, her blood running cold, for +she thought that she heard a faint voice blown up the canyon on the +wind: "McGurk!" + +For half a minute she stood frozen, listening, but the sound was not +repeated, and she went on again with greater haste. So she came at +last in view of a hollow in the side of the gorge. Here there were a +few trees, growing in the cove, and here, she knew, there was a small +spring of clear water. Many a time she had made a cup of her hands and +drunk here. + +Now she made out the fire clearly, the trees throwing out great spokes +of shadow on all sides, spokes of shadows that wavered and shook with +the flare of the small fire beyond them. She dropped to her hands and +knees and, parting the dense underbrush, began the last stealthy +approach. + + + + +CHAPTER 35 + + +Up the same course which Jacqueline followed, Mary Brown had fled +earlier that night with the triumphant laughter of Jack still ringing +in her ears and following her like a remorseless, pointed hand +of shame. + +There is no power like shame to disarm the spirit. A dog will fight if +a man laughs at him; a coward will challenge the devil himself if he +is whipped on by scorn; and this proud girl shrank and moaned on the +saddle. She had not progressed far enough to hate Pierre. That would +come later, but now all her heart had room for was a consuming +loathing of herself. + +Some of that torture went into the spurs with which she punished the +side of the bay, and the tall horse responded with a high-tossed head +and a burst of whirlwind speed. The result was finally a stumble over +a loose rock that almost flung Mary over the pommel of the saddle and +forced her to draw rein. + +Having slowed the pace she became aware that she was very tired from +the trip of the day, and utterly exhausted by the wild scene with +Jacqueline, so that she began to look about for a place where she +could stop for even an hour or so and rest her aching body. + +Thought of McGurk sent her hand trembling to her holster. Still she +knew she must have little to fear from him. He had been kind to her. +Why had this scourge of the mountain-desert spared her? Was it to +track down Pierre? + +It was at this time that she heard the purl and whisper of running +water, a sound dear to the hearts of all travelers. She veered to the +left and found the little grove of trees with a thick shrubbery +growing between, fed by the water of that diminutive brook. She +dismounted and tethered the horses. + +By this time she had seen enough of camping out to know how to make +herself fairly comfortable, and she set about it methodically, +eagerly. It was something to occupy her mind and keep out a little of +that burning sense of shame. One picture it could not obliterate, and +that was the scene of Jacqueline and Pierre le Rouge laughing together +over the love affair with the silly girl of the yellow hair. + +That was the meaning, then, of those silences that had come between +them? He had been thinking, remembering, careful lest he should forget +a single scruple of the whole ludicrous affair. She shuddered, +remembering how she had fairly flung herself into his arms. + +On that she brooded, after starting the little fire. It was not that +she was cold, but the fire, at least, in the heart of the black night, +was a friend incapable of human treachery. She had not been there long +when the tall bay, Wilbur's horse, stiffened, raised his head, arched +his tail, and then whinnied. + +She started to her feet, stirred by a thousand fears, and heard, far +away, an answering neigh. At once all thought of shame and of Pierre +le Rouge vanished from her mind, for she remembered the man who had +followed her up the valley of the Old Crow. Perhaps he was coming now +out of the night; perhaps she would even see him. + +And the excitement grew in her pulse by pulse, as the excitement grows +in a man waiting for a friend at a station; he sees first the faint +smoke like a cloud on the skyline, and then a black speck beneath the +smoke, and next the engine draws up on him with a humming of the rails +which grows at length to a thunder. + +The heart of Mary Brown beat faster, though she could not see, but +only felt the coming of the stranger. + +The only sign she saw was in the horses, which showed an increasing +uneasiness. Her own mare now shared the restlessness of the tall bay, +and the two were footing it nervously here and there, tugging at the +tethers, and tossing up their heads, with many a start, as if they +feared and sought to flee from some approaching catastrophe--some vast +and preternatural change--some forest fire which came galloping faster +than even their fleet limbs could carry them. + +Yet all beyond the pale of her camp-fire's light was silence, utter +and complete silence. It seemed as if a muscular energy went into the +intensity of her listening, but not a sound reached her except a faint +whispering of the wind in the dark trees above her. + +But at last she knew that the thing was upon her. The horses ceased +their prancing and stared in a fixed direction through the thicket of +shrubbery; the very wind grew hushed above her; she could feel the new +presence as one feels the silence when a door closes and shuts away +the sound of the street below. + +It came on her with a shock, thrilling, terrible, yet not altogether +unpleasant. She rose, her hands clenched at her sides and her eyes +abnormally wide as they stared in the same direction as the eyes of +the two horses held. Yet for all her preparation she nearly fainted +when a voice sounded directly behind her, a pleasantly modulated +voice: "Look this way. I am here, in front of the fire." + +She turned about and the two horses, quivering, whirled toward that +sound. + +She stepped back, back until the embers of the fire lay between her +and that side of the little clearing. In spite of herself the +exclamation escaped her--"McGurk!" + +The voice spoke again: "Do not be afraid. You are safe, absolutely." + +"What are you?" "Your friend." + +"Is it you who followed me up the valley?" + +"Yes." + +"Come into the light. I must see you." A faint laughter reached her +from the dark. + +"I cannot let you do that. If that had been possible I should have +come to you before." + +"But I feel--I feel almost as if you are a ghost and no man of flesh +and blood." + +"It is better for you to feel that way about it," said the voice +solemnly, "than to know me." + +"At least, tell me why you have followed me, why you have cared for +me." + +"You will hate me if I tell you, and fear me." + +"No, whatever you are, trust me. Tell me at least what came to Dick +Wilbur?" + +"That's easy enough. I met him at the river, a little by surprise, and +caught him before he could even shout. Then I took his guns and +let him go." + +"But he didn't come back to me?" + +"No. He knew that I would be there. I might have finished him without +giving him a chance to speak, girl, but I'd seen him with you and I +was curious. So I found out where you were going and why, and let +Wilbur go. I came back and looked at you and found you asleep." + +She grew cold at the thought of him leaning over her. + +"I watched you a long time, and I suppose I'll remember you always as +I saw you then. You were very beautiful with the shadow of your lashes +against your cheek--almost as beautiful as you are now as you stand +over there, fearing and loathing me. I dared not let you see me, but I +decided to take care of you--for a while." + +"And now?" + +"I have come to say farewell to you." + +"Let me see you once before you go." + +"No! You see, I fear you even more than you fear me." "Then I'll +follow you." + +"It would be useless--utterly useless. There are ways of becoming +invisible in the mountains. But before I go, tell me one thing: Have +you left the cabin to search for Pierre le Rouge in another place?" + +"No. I do not search for him." + +There was an instant of pause. Then the voice said sharply: "Did +Wilbur lie to me?" + +"No. I started up the valley to find him." + +"But you've given him up?" + +"I hate him--I hate him as much as I loathe myself for ever +condescending to follow him." + +She heard a quick breath drawn in the dark, and then a murmur: "I am +free, then, to hunt him down!" + +"Why?" + +"Listen: I had given him up for your sake; I gave him up when I stood +beside you that first night and watched you trembling with the cold in +your sleep. It was a weak thing for me to do, but since I saw you, +Mary, I am not as strong as I once was." + +"Now you go back on his trail? It is death for Pierre?" + +"You say you hate him?" + +"Ah, but as deeply as that?" she questioned herself. + +"It may not be death for Pierre. I have ridden the ranges many years +and met them all in time, but never one like him. Listen: six years +ago I met him first and then he wounded me--the first time any man has +touched me. And afterward I was afraid, Mary, for the first time in my +life, for the charm was broken. For six years I could not return, but +now I am at his heels. Six are gone; he will be the last to go." + +"What are you?" she cried. "Some bloodhound reincarnated?" + +He said: "That is the mildest name I have ever been called." + + + + +CHAPTER 36 + + +"Give up the trail of Pierre." + +And there, brought face to face with the mortal question, even her +fear burned low in her, and once more she remembered the youth who +would not leave her in the snow, but held her in his arms with the +strange cross above them. + +She said simply: "I still love him." + +A faint glimmer came to her through the dark and she could see deeper +into the shrubbery, for now the moon stood up on the top of the great +peak above them and flung a faint light into the hollow. That glimmer +she saw, but no face of a man. + +And then the silence held; every second of it was more than a hundred +spoken words. + +Then the calm voice said: "I cannot give him up." + +"For the sake of God!" + +"God and I have been strangers for a good many years." + +"For my sake." + +"But you see, I have been lying to myself. I told myself that I was +coming merely to see you once--for the last time. But after I saw you +I had to speak, and now that I have spoken it is hard to leave you, +and now that I am with you I cannot give you up to Pierre le Rouge." + +She cried: "What will you have of me?" + +He answered with a ring of melancholy: "Friendship? No, I can't take +those white hands--mine are so red. All I can do is to lurk about you +like a shadow--a shadow with a sting that strikes down all other men +who come near you." + +She said: "For all men have told me about you, I know you could not do +that." + +"Mary, I tell you there are things about me, and possibilities, about +which I don't dare to question myself." + +"You have guarded me like a brother. Be one to me still; I have never +needed one so deeply!" + +"A brother? Mary, if your eyes were less blue or your hair less golden +I might be; but you are too beautiful to be only that to me." + +"Listen to me--" + +But she stopped in the midst of her speech, because a white head +loomed beside the dim form. It was the head of a horse, with pricking +ears, which now nosed the shoulder of its master, and she saw the +firelight glimmering in the great eyes. + +"Your horse," she said in a trembling voice, "loves you and trusts +you." + +"It is the only thing which has not feared me. When it was a colt it +came out of the herd and nosed my hand. It is the only thing which has +not fought me, as all men have done--as you are doing now, Mary." + +The wind that blew up the gorge came in gusts, not any steady current, +but fitful rushes of air, and on one of these brief blasts it seemed +to Mary that she caught the sound of a voice blown to whistling +murmur. It was a vague thing of which she could not be sure, as faint +as a thought. Yet the head of the white horse disappeared, and the +glimmer of the man's face went out. + +She called: "Whatever you are, wait! Let me speak!" + +But no answer came, and she knew that the form was gone forever. + +She cried again: "Who's there?" + +"It is I," said a voice at her elbow, and she turned to look into the +dark eyes of Jacqueline. "So he's gone?" asked Jack bitterly. + +She fingered the butt of her gun. + +"I thought--well, my chance at him is gone." + +"But what--" + +"Bah, if you knew you'd die of fear. Listen to what I have to say. All +the things I told you in the cabin were lies." + +"Lies?" said Mary evenly. "No, they proved themselves." + +"Be still till I've finished, because if you talk you may make me +forget--" + +The gesture which finished the sentence was so eloquent of hate that +Mary shrank away and put the embers of the fire between them. + +"I tell you, it was all a lie, and Pierre le Rouge has never loved +anything but you, you milk-faced--" + +She stopped again, fighting against her passion. The pride of Mary +held her stiff and straight, though her voice shook. + +"Has he sent you after me with mockery?" + +"No, he's given up the hope of you." + +"The hope?" + +"Don't you see? Are you going to make me crawl to explain? It always +seemed to me that God meant Pierre for me. It always seemed to me that +a girl like me was what he needed. But Pierre had never seen it. +Maybe, if my hair was yellow an' my eyes blue, he might have felt +different; but the way it is, he's always treated me like a kid +brother--" + +"And lived with you?" said the other sternly. + +"Like two men! D'you understand how a woman could be the bunky of a +man an' yet be no more to him than--than a man would be. You don't? +Neither do I, but that's what I've been to Pierre le Rouge. +What's that?" + +She lifted her head and stood poised as if for flight. Once more the +vague sound blew up to them upon the wind. Mary ran to her and grasped +both of her hands in her own. "If it's true--" + +But Jack snatched her hands away and looked on the other with a mighty +hatred and a mightier contempt. + +"True? Why, it damn near finished Pierre with me to think he'd take up +with--a thing like you. But it's true. If somebody else had told me +I'd of laughed at 'em. But it's true. Tell me: what'll you do +with him?" + +"Take him back--if I can reach him--take him back to the East." + +"Yes--maybe he'd be happy there. But when the spring comes to the +city, Mary, wait till the wind blows in the night and the rain comes +tappin' on the roof. Then hold him if you can. D'ye hear? Hold him +if you can!" + +"If he cares it will not be hard. Tell me again, if--" + +"Shut up. What's that again?" + +The sound was closer now and unmistakably something other than the +moan of the wind. + +Jacqueline turned in great excitement to Mary: + +"Did McGurk hear that sound down the gorge?" + +"Yes. I think so. And then he--" + +"My God!" + +"What is it?" + +"Pierre, and he's calling for--d'you hear?" + +Clear and loud, though from a great distance, the wind carried up the +sound and the echo preserved it: "McGurk!" + +"McGurk!" repeated Mary. + +"Yes! And you brought him up here with you, and brought his death to +Pierre. What'll you do to save him now? Pierre!" + +She turned and fled out among the trees, and after her ran Mary, +calling, like the other: "Pierre!" + + + + +CHAPTER 37 + + +After that call first reached him, clear to his ears though vague as a +murmur at the ear of Mary, McGurk swung to the saddle of his white +horse, and galloped down the gorge like a veritable angel of death. + +The end was very near, he felt, yet the chances were at least ten to +one that he would miss Pierre in the throat of the gorge, for among +the great boulders, tall as houses, which littered it, a thousand men +might have passed and repassed and never seen each other. Only the +calling of Pierre could guide him surely. + +The calling had ceased for some moments, and he began to fear that he +had overrun his mark and missed Pierre in the heart of the pass, when, +as he rounded a mighty boulder, the shout ran ringing in his very +ears: "McGurk!" and a horseman swung into view. + +"Here!" he called in answer, and stood with his right hand lifted, +bringing his horse to a sharp halt, like some ancient cavalier +stopping in the middle of the battle to exchange greetings with a +friendly foe. + +The other rider whirled alongside, his sombrero's brim flaring back +from his forehead, so that McGurk caught the glare of the eyes beneath +the shadow. + +"So for the third time, my friend--" said McGurk. + +"Which is the fatal one," answered Pierre. "How will you die, McGurk? +On foot or on horseback?" + +"On the ground, Pierre, for my horse might stir and make my work +messy. I love a neat job, you know." "Good." + +They swung from the saddles and stood facing each other. + +"Begin!" commanded McGurk. "I've no time to waste." + +"I've very little time to look at the living McGurk. Let me look my +fill before the end." + +"Then look, and be done. I've a lady coming to meet me." + +The other grew marvelously calm. + +"She is with you, McGurk?" + +"My dear Pierre, I've been with her ever since she started up the Old +Crow." + +"It will be easier to forget her. Are you ready?" + +"So soon? Come, man, there's much for us to say. Many old times to +chat over." + +"I only wonder," said Pierre, "how one death can pay back what you've +done. Think of it! I've actually run away from you and hidden myself +among the hills. I've feared you, McGurk!" + +He said it with a deep astonishment, as a grown man will speak of the +way he feared darkness when he was a child. McGurk moistened his white +lips. The white horse pawed the rocks as though impatient to be gone. + +"Listen," said Pierre, "your horse grows restive. Suppose we stand +here--it's a convenient distance apart--and wait with our arms folded +for the next time the white horse paws the rocks, because when I kill +you, McGurk, I want you to die knowing that another man was faster on +the draw and straighter with his bullets than you are. D'you see?" + +He could not have spoken with a more formal politeness if he had been +asking the other to pass first through the door of a dining-room. The +wonder of McGurk grew and the sweat on his forehead seemed to be +spreading a chill through his entire body. He said: "I see. You +trust all to the cross, eh, Pierre? The little cross under your neck?" + +"It's gone," said Pierre le Rouge. "Why should I use it against a +night rider, McGurk? Are you ready?" + +And McGurk, not trusting his voice for some strange reason, nodded. +The two folded their arms. + +But the white horse which had been pawing the stones only a moment +before was now unusually quiet. The very postures of the men seemed to +turn him to stone, a beautiful, marble statue with the moonlight +glistening on the muscles of his perfect shoulders. + +At length he stirred. At once a quiver jerked through the tense bodies +of the waiting men, but the white horse had merely stiffened and +raised his head high. Now, with arched neck and flaunting tail he +neighed loudly, as if he asked a question. How could he know, dumb +brute, that what he asked only death could answer? + +And as they waited an itching came at the palm of McGurk's hand. It +was not much, just a tingle of the blood. To ease it, he closed his +fingers and found that his hand was moist with cold perspiration. + +He began to wonder if his fingers would be slippery on the butt of the +gun. Then he tried covertly to dry them against his shirt. But he +ceased this again, knowing that he must be of hair-trigger alertness +to watch for the stamp of the white horse. + +It occurred to him, also, that he was standing on a loose stone which +might wobble when he pulled his gun, and he cursed himself silently +for his hasty folly. Pierre, doubtless, had noticed that stone, and +therefore he had made the suggestion that they stand where they were. +Otherwise, how could there be that singular calm in the steady eyes +which looked across at him? + +Also, how explain the hunger of that stare? Was not he McGurk, and was +not this man whom he had already once shot down? God, what a fool he +had been not to linger an instant longer in that saloon in the old +days and place the final shot in the prostrate body! In all his life +he had made only one such mistake, and now that folly was pursuing +him. And now-- + +The foot of the white horse lifted--struck the rock. The sound of its +fall was lost in the explosion of two guns, and a ring of metal on +metal. The revolver snapped from the hand of McGurk, whirled in a +flashing circle, and clanged on the rocks at his feet. The bullet of +Pierre had struck the barrel and knocked it cleanly from his hand. + +It was luck, only luck, that placed that shot, and his own bullet, +which had started first, had traveled wild, for there stood Pierre le +Rouge, smiling faintly, alert, calm. For the first time in his life +McGurk had missed. He set his teeth and waited for death. + +But that steady voice of Pierre said: "To shoot you would be a +pleasure, but there wouldn't be any lasting satisfaction in it. So +there lies your gun at your feet. Well, here lies mine." + +He dropped his own weapon to a position corresponding with that of +McGurk's. + +"We were both very wild that time. We must do better now. We'll stoop +for our guns, McGurk. The signal? No, we won't wait for the horse to +stamp. The signal will be when you stoop for your gun. You shall have +every advantage, you see? Start for that gun, McGurk, when you're +ready for the end." + +The hand of McGurk stretched out and his arm stiffened but it seemed +as though all the muscles of his back had grown stiff. He could not +bend. It was strange. It was both ludicrous and incomprehensible. +Perhaps he had grown stiff with cold in that position. + +But he heard the voice of Pierre explaining gently: "You can't move, +my friend. I understand. It's fear that stiffened your back. +It's fear that sends the chill up and down your blood. It's fear that +makes you think back to your murders, one by one. McGurk, you're done +for. You're through. You're ready for the discard. I'm not going to +kill you. I've thought of a finer hell than death, and that is to live +as you shall live. I've beaten you, McGurk, beaten you fairly on the +draw, and I've broken your heart by doing it. The next time you face a +man you'll begin to think--you'll begin to remember how one other man +beat you at the draw. And that wonder, McGurk, will make your hand +freeze to your side, as you've made the hands of other men before me +freeze. D'you understand?" + +The lips of McGurk parted. The whisper of his dry panting reached +Pierre, and the devil in him smiled. + +"In six weeks, McGurk, you'll be finished. Now get out!" + +And pace by pace McGurk drew back, with his face still toward Pierre. + +The latter cried: "Wait. Are you going to leave your gun?" + +Only the steady retreat continued. + +"And go unarmed through the mountains? What will men say when they see +McGurk with an empty holster?" + +But the outlaw had passed out of view beyond the corner of one of the +monster boulders. After him went the white horse, slowly, picking his +steps, as if he were treading on dangerous and unknown ground and +would not trust his leader. Pierre was left to the loneliness of +the gorge. + +The moonlight only served to make more visible its rocky nakedness, +and like that nakedness was the life of Pierre under his hopeless +inward eye. Over him loomed from either side the gleaming pinnacles of +the Twin Bears, and he remembered many a time when he had looked up +toward them from the crests of lesser mountains--looked up toward them +as a man looks to a great and unattainable ideal. Here he was come +to the crest of all the ranges; here he was come to the height and +limit of his life, and what had he attained? Only a cruel, cold +isolation. It had been a steep ascent; the declivity of the farther +side led him down to a steep and certain ruin and the dark night +below. But he stiffened suddenly and threw his head high as if he +faced his fate; and behind him the cream-colored mare raised her head +with a toss and whinnied softly. + +It seemed to him that he had heard something calling, for the sound +was lost against the sweep of wind coming up the gorge. Something +calling there in the night of the mountains as he himself had called +when he rode so wildly in the quest for McGurk. How long ago had +that been? + +But it came once more, clear beyond all doubt. He recognized the voice +in spite of the panting which shook it; a wild wail like that of a +heartbroken child, coming closer to him like someone running: "Pierre! +Oh, Pierre!" + +And all at once he knew that the moon was broad and bright and fair, +and the heavens clear and shining with gold points of light. Once more +the cry. He raised his arms and waited. + + + + +CHAPTER 38 + + +So Mary, running through the wilderness of boulders, was guided +straight and found Pierre, and before the morning came, they were +journeying east side by side, east and down to the cities and a new +life; but Jacqueline, a thousand times quicker of foot and surer +of eye and ear, missed her goal, went past it, and still on and on, +running finally at a steady trot. + +Until at last she knew that she had far overstepped her mark and sank +down against one of the rocks to rest and think out what next she must +do. There seemed nothing left. Even the sound of a gun fired she might +not hear, for that sharp call would not travel far against the wind. + +It was while she sat there, burying Pierre in her thoughts, a white +shape came glimmering down to her through the moonlight. She was on +her feet at once, alert and gun in hand. It could only be one horse, +only one rider, McGurk coming down from his last killing with the +sneer on his pale lips. Well, he would complete his work this night +and kill her fighting face to face. + +A man's death; that was all she craved. She rose; she stepped boldly +out into the center of the trail between the rocks. + +There she saw the greatest wonder she had ever looked on. It was +McGurk walking with bare, bowed head, and after him, like a dog after +the master, followed the white horse. She shoved the revolver back +into the holster. This should be a fair fight. + +"McGurk!" + +Very slowly the head went up and back, and there he stood, not ten +paces from her, with the white moon full on his face. The sneer was +still there; the eyelid fluttered in scornful derision. And the heart +of Jacqueline came thundering in her throat. + +But she cried in a strong voice: "McGurk, d'you know me?" + +He did not answer. + +"You murderer, you night rider! Look again: it's the last of the +Boones!" + +The sneer, it seemed to her, grew bitterer, but still the man did +not speak. Then the thought of Pierre, lying dead somewhere among the +rocks, burned across her mind. Her hand leaped for the revolver, and +whipped it out in a blinding flash to cover him, but with her finger +curling on the trigger she checked herself in the nick of time. McGurk +had made no move to protect himself. + +A strange feeling came to her that perhaps the man would not war +against women; the case of Mary was almost proof enough of that. But +as she stepped forward, wondering, she looked at the holster at his +side and saw that it was empty. Then she understood. + +Understood in a daze that Pierre had met the man and conquered him and +sent him out through the mountains disarmed. The white horse raised +his head and whinnied, and the sound gave a thought to her. She could +not kill this man, unarmed as he was; she could do a more +shameful thing. + +"The bluff you ran was a strong one, McGurk," she said bitterly, "and +you had these parts pretty well at a standstill; but Pierre was a bit +too much for you, eh?" + +The white face had not altered, and still it did not change, but the +sneer was turned steadily on her. + +She cried: "Go on! Go on down the gorge!" + +Like an automaton the man stepped forward, and after him paced the +white horse. She stepped between, caught the reins, and swung up to +the saddle, and sat there, controlling between her stirrups the +best-known mount in all the mountain-desert. A thrill of wild +exultation came to her. She cried: "Look back, McGurk! Your gun is +gone, your horse is gone; you're weaker than a woman in the +mountains!" + +Yet he went on without turning, not with the hurried step of a coward, +but still as one stunned. Then, sitting quietly in the saddle, she +forgot McGurk and remembered Pierre. He was happy by this time with +the girl of the yellow hair; there was nothing remaining to her from +him except the ominous cross which touched cold against her breast. +That he had abandoned as he had abandoned her. + +What, then, was left for her? The horse of an outlaw for her to ride; +the heart of an outlaw in her breast. + +She touched the white horse with the spurs and went at a reckless +gallop, weaving back and forth among the boulders down the gorge. For +she was riding away from the past. + +The dawn came as she trotted out into a widening valley of the Old +Crow. To maintain even that pace she had to use the spurs continually, +for the white horse was deadly weary, and his head fell more and more. +She decided to make a brief halt, at last, and in order to make a fire +that would take the chill of the cold morning from her, she swung up +to the edge of the woods. There, before she could dismount, she saw a +man turn the shoulder of the slope. She drew the horse back deeper +among the trees and waited. + +He came with a halting step, reeling now and again, a big man, +hatless, coatless, apparently at the last verge of exhaustion. Now his +foot apparently struck a small rock, and he pitched to his face. It +required a long struggle before he could regain his feet; and now he +continued his journey at the same gait, only more uncertainly than +ever, close and closer. There was something familiar now about the +fellow's size, and something in the turn of his head. Suddenly she +rode out, crying: "Wilbur!" + +He swerved, saw the white horse, threw up his hands high above his +head, and went backward, reeling, with a hoarse scream which +Jacqueline would never forget. She galloped to him and swung to +the ground. + +"It's me--Jack. D'you hear?" + +He would not lower those arms, and his eyes stared wildly at her. On +his forehead the blood had caked over a cut; his shirt was torn to +rags, and the hair matted over his eyes. She caught his hands and +pulled them down. + +"It's not McGurk! Don't you hear me? It's Jack!" + +He reached out, like a blind man who has to see by the sense of touch, +and stroked her face. + +"Jack!" he whispered at last. "Thank God!" + +"What's happened?" + +"McGurk--" + +A violent palsy shook him, and he could not go on. + +"I know--I understand. He took your guns and left you to wander in +this hell! Damn him! I wish--" + +She stopped. + +"How long since you've eaten?" + +"Years!" + +"We'll eat--McGurk's food!" + +But she had to assist him up the slope to the trees, and there she +left him propped against a trunk, his arms fallen weakly at his sides, +while she built the fire and cooked the food. Afterward she could +hardly eat, watching him devour what she placed before him; and it +thrilled all the woman in her to a strange warmth to take care of the +long-rider. Then, except for the disfigured face and the bloodshot +eyes, he was himself. + +"Up there? What happened?" + +He pointed up the valley. + +"The girl and Pierre. They're together." + +"She found him?" + +"Yes." + +He bowed his head and sighed. + +"And the horse, Jack?" He said it with awe. + +"I took the horse from McGurk." + +"You!" + +She nodded. After all, it was not a lie. "You killed McGurk?" + +She said coolly: "I let him go the way he let you, Dick. He's on foot +in the mountains without a horse or a gun." + +"It isn't possible!" + +"There's the horse for proof." + +He looked at her as if she were something more than human. + +"Our Jack--did this?" + +"We've got to start on. Can you walk, Dick?" + +"A thousand miles now." + +Yet he staggered when he tried to rise, and she made him climb up to +the saddle. The white horse walked on, and she kept her place close at +the stirrup of the rider. He would have stopped and dismounted for her +a hundred times, but she made him keep his place. + +"What's ahead of us, Jack? We're the last of the gang?" + +"The last of Boone's gang. We are." + +"The old life over again?" + +"What else?" + +"Yes; what else?" + +"Are you afraid, Dick?" + +"Not with you for a pal. Seven was too many; with two we can rule the +range." + +"Partners, Dick?" + +How could he tell that her voice was gone so gentle because she was +seeing in her mind's eye another face than his? He leaned toward her. + +"Why not something more than partners, after a while, Jack?" + +She smiled strangely up to him. + +"Because of this, Dick." + +And fumbling at her throat, she showed him the glittering metal of the +cross. + +"The cross goes on, but what of you, Jack?" A long silence fell +between them. Words died in the making. + +The great weight pressing down on that slender throat was like the +iron hand of a giant, but slowly, one by one, the sounds marshalled +themselves: + +"...God knows..." It was the passing of Judgment. "God knows...not I." + + + + +Epilogue + +But what of the legendary gunfighter, McGurk? How could the spirit of +any man survive that terrible defeat at the hands of Red Pierre? + +After that night, when he had walked from the dark heart of the +mountain without horse or gun, head bowed, eyes glazed, it seemed that +the life of Bob McGurk had burned down to black ash. + +Indeed, no one heard of him for five long years. Then, phoenix-like, +he was reborn in fire, emerging in the raw border country of Texas. +His rebirth was spectacular. No longer the lone phantom fighter of +past days, he led a gang of coldhearted thieves and killers that +became the scourge of the Rio Grande. + +But McGurk never returned to the mountain-desert country of his shame +and defeat. And only he knew that the face of Red Pierre never left +him; it blazed in his mind by day and haunted his nights. + +Then, as suddenly as he had reappeared, after proving his skill and +courage afresh in a score of wild, bullet-filled encounters, the great +gunfighter vanished from the world of civilized men. His gang +dispersed and the border country saw no more of him. + +McGurk was finally gone. + +Only the legend remained. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Riders of the Silences, by Max Brand + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDERS OF THE SILENCES *** + +***** This file should be named 9867-8.txt or 9867-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/8/6/9867/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Michael Lockey and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/9867-8.zip b/9867-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ce44dcd --- /dev/null +++ b/9867-8.zip diff --git a/9867.txt b/9867.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cdd0851 --- /dev/null +++ b/9867.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8868 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Riders of the Silences, by Max Brand + +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: Riders of the Silences + +Author: Max Brand + +Posting Date: February 3, 2011 [EBook #9867] +Release Date: February, 2006 +[This file was first posted on October 25, 2003] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDERS OF THE SILENCES *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Michael Lockey and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + +RIDERS OF THE SILENCES + +Max Brand + + +1919 + + + + + +Prologue + + +The Great West, prior to the century's turn, abounded in legend. +Stories were told of fabled gunmen whose bullets always magically +found their mark, of mighty stallions whose tireless gallop rivaled +the speed of the wind, of glorious women whose beauty stunned mind and +heart. But nowhere in the vast spread of the mountain-desert country +was there a greater legend told than the story of Red Pierre and the +phantom gunfighter, McGurk. + +These two men of the wilderness, so unalike, of widely-differing +backgrounds, had in common a single trait: each was unbeatable. Fate +brought them clashing together, thunder to thunder, lightning to +lightning. They were destined to meet at the crossroads of a long, +long trail ... a trail which began in the northern wastes of Canada +and led, finally, to a deadly confrontation in the mountains of the +Far West. + + + + + +Riders of the Silences + + + + +CHAPTER 1 + +It seemed that Father Anthony gathered all the warmth of the short +northern summer and kept it for winter use, for his good nature was an +actual physical force. From his ruddy face beamed such a kindliness +that people reached out toward him as they might extend their hands +toward a comfortable fire. + +All the labors of his work as an inspector of Jesuit institutions +across the length and breadth of Canada could not lessen the good +father's enthusiasm; his smile was as indefatigable as his critical +eyes. The one looked sharply into every corner of a room and every +nook and hidden cranny of thoughts and deeds; the other veiled the +criticism and soothed the wounds of vanity. + +On this day, however, the sharp eyes grew a little less keen and +somewhat wider, while that smile was fixed rather by habit than +inclination. In fact, his expression might be called a frozen +kindliness as he looked across the table to Father Victor. + +It required a most indomitable geniality, indeed, to outface the rigid +piety of Jean Paul Victor. His missionary work had carried him far +north, where the cold burns men thin. The zeal which drove him north +and north and north over untracked regions, drove him until his body +failed, drove him even now, though his body was crippled. + +A mighty yearning, and a still mightier self-contempt whipped him on, +and the school over which he was master groaned and suffered under his +regime. Father Anthony said gently: "Are there none among all your +lads, dear Father Victor, whom you find something more than imperfect +machines?" + +The man of the north drew from a pocket of his robe a letter. His lean +fingers touched it almost with a caress. + +"One. Pierre Ryder. He shall carry on my mission in the north. I, who +am silent, have done much; but Pierre will do more. I had to fight my +first battle to conquer my own stubborn soul, and the battle left me +weak for the great work in the snows, but Pierre will not fight that +battle, for I have trained him. + +"This letter is for him. Shall we not carry it to him? For two days I +have not seen Pierre." + +Father Anthony winced. + +He said: "Do you deny yourself even the pleasure of the lad's company? +Alas, Father Victor, you forge your own spurs and goad yourself with +your own hands. What harm is there in being often with the lad?" + +The sneer returned to the lips of Jean Paul Victor. + +"The purpose would be lost--lost to my eyes and lost to his--the +purpose for which I have lived and for which he shall live. When I +first saw him he was a child, a baby, but he came to me and took one +finger of my hand in his small fist and looked up to me. Ah, +Gabrielle, the smile of an infant goes to the heart swifter than the +thrust of a knife! I looked down upon him and I knew that I was chosen +to teach the child. There was a voice that spoke in me. You will +smile, but even now I think I can hear it." + +"I swear to you that I believe," said Father Anthony. + +"Another man would have given Pierre a Bible and a Latin grammar and a +cell. I gave him the testament and the grammar; I gave him also the +wild north country to say his prayers in and patter his Latin. I +taught his mind, but I did not forget his body. + +"He is to go out among wild men. He must have strength of the spirit. +He must also have a strength of the body that they will understand and +respect. He can ride a horse standing; he can run a hundred miles in a +day behind a dog-team. He can wrestle and fight with his hands, for +skilled men have taught him. I have made him a thunderbolt to hurl +among the ignorant and the unenlightened; and this is the hand which +shall wield it. Ha! + +"It is now hardly a six month since he saved a trapper from a bobcat +and killed the animal with a knife. It must have been my prayers which +saved him from the teeth and the claws." + +Good Father Anthony rose. + +"You have described a young David. I am eager to see him. Let us go." + +Father Victor nodded, and the two went out together. The chill of the +open was hardly more than the bitter cold inside the building, but +there was a wind that drove the cold through the blood and bones of +a man. + +They staggered along against it until they came to a small house, long +and low. On the sheltered side they paused to take breath, and Father +Victor explained: "This is his hour in the gymnasium. To make the body +strong required thought and care. Mere riding and running and swinging +of the ax will not develop every muscle. Here Pierre works every day. +His teachers of boxing and wrestling have abandoned him." + +There was almost a smile on the lean face. + +"The last man left with a swollen jaw and limping on one leg." + +Here he opened the door, and they slipped inside. The air was warmed +by a big stove, and the room--for the afternoon was dark--lighted by +two swinging lanterns suspended from the low roof. By that +illumination Father Anthony saw two men stripped naked, save for a +loincloth, and circling each other slowly in the center of a ring +which was fenced in with ropes and floored with a padded mat. + +Of the two wrestlers, one was a veritable giant, swarthy of skin, +hairy-chested. His great hands were extended to grasp or to parry--his +head lowered with a ferocious scowl--and across his forehead swayed a +tuft of black, shaggy hair. He might have stood for one of those +northern barbarians whom the Romans loved to pit against their native +champions in the arena. He was the greater because of the opponent he +faced, and it was upon this opponent that the eyes of Father +Anthony centered. + +Like Father Victor, he was caught first by the bright hair. It was a +dark red, and where the light struck it strongly there were places +like fire. Down from this hair the light slipped like running water +over a lithe body, slender at the hips, strong-chested, round and +smooth of limb, with long muscles leaping and trembling at every move. + +He, like the big fighter, circled cautiously about, but the impression +he gave was as different from the other as day is from night. His head +was carried high; in place of a scowl, he smiled with a sort of +eagerness, a light which was partly exultation and partly mischief +sparkled in his eyes. Once or twice the giant caught at the other, but +David slipped from under the grip of Goliath easily. It seemed as if +his skin were oiled. The big man snarled with anger, and lunged more +eagerly at Pierre. + +The two, abandoning their feints, suddenly rushed together, and the +swarthy arms of the monster slipped around the white body of Pierre. +For a moment they whirled, twisting and struggling. + +"Now!" murmured Father Victor; and as if in answer to a command, +Pierre slipped down, whipped his hands to a new grip, and the two +crashed to the mat, with Pierre above. + +"Open your eyes, Father Anthony. The lad is safe. How Goliath grunts!" + The boy had not cared to follow his advantage, but rose and danced +away, laughing softly. The Canuck floundered up and rushed like a +furious bull. His downfall was only the swifter. The impact of the two +bodies sounded like hands clapped together, and then Goliath rose into +the air, struggling mightily, and pitched with a thud to the mat. + +He writhed there, for the wind was knocked from his body by the fall. +At length he struggled to a sitting posture and glared up at the +conqueror. The boy reached out a hand to his fallen foe. + +"You would have thrown me that way the first time," he said, "but you +let me change grips on you. In another week you will be too much for +me, _bon ami_." + +The other accepted the hand after an instant of hesitation and was +dragged to his feet. He stood looking down into the boy's face with a +singular grin. But there was no triumph in the eye of Pierre--only a +good-natured interest. + +"In another week," answered the giant, "there would not be a sound +bone in my body." + + + + +CHAPTER 2 + + +"You have seen him," murmured the tall priest. "Now let us go back and +wait for him. I will leave word." + +He touched one of the two or three men who were watching the athletes, +and whispered his message in the other's ear. Then he went back with +Father Anthony. "You have seen him," he repeated, when they sat once +more in the cheerless room. "Now pronounce on him." + +The other answered: "I have seen a wonderful body--but the mind, +Father Victor?" + +"It is as simple as that of a child--his thoughts run as clear as +spring water." + +"But suppose a strange thought came in the mind of your Pierre. It +would be like the pebbles in swift-running spring water. He would +carry it on, rushing. It would tear away the old boundaries of his +mind--it might wipe out the banks you have set down for him--it might +tear away the choicest teachings." + +Father Victor sat straight and stiff with stern, set lips. He said +dryly: "Father Anthony has been much in the world." + +"I speak from the best intention, good father. Look you, now, I have +seen that same red hair and those same lighted blue eyes before, and +wherever I have seen them has been war and trouble and unrest. I have +seen that same smile which stirs the heart of a woman and makes a man +reach for his revolver. This boy whose mind is so clear--arm him with +a single wrong thought, with a single doubt of the eternal goodness of +God's plans, and he will be a thunderbolt indeed, dear Father, but one +which even your strong hand could not control." + +"I have heard you," said the priest; "but you will see. He is coming +now." + +There was a knock at the door; then it opened and showed a modest +novice in a simple gown of black serge girt at the waist with the flat +encircling band. His head was downward; it was not till the blue eyes +flashed inquisitively up that Father Anthony recognized Pierre. + +The hard voice of Jean Paul Victor pronounced: "This is that Father +Anthony of whom I have spoken." + +The novice slipped to his knees and folded his hands, while the plump +fingers of Father Anthony poised over that dark red hair, pressed +smooth on top where the skullcap rested. The blessing which he spoke +was Latin, and Father Victor looked somewhat anxiously toward his +protege till the latter answered in a diction so pure that Cicero +himself would have smiled to hear it. + +"Stand up!" cried Father Anthony. "By heavens, Jean Paul, it is the +purest Latin I have heard this twelvemonth." + +And the lad answered: "It must be pure Latin; Father Victor has taught +me." + +Gabrielle Anthony stared, and to save him from too obvious confusion +the other priest interrupted: "I have a letter for you, my son." + +And he passed the envelope to Pierre. The latter examined it with +interest. "This comes from the south. It is marked from the +United States." + +"So far!" exclaimed the tall priest. "Give me the letter, lad." + +But here he caught the whimsical eyes of Father Anthony, and he +allowed his outstretched hand to fall. Yet he scowled as he said: "No; +keep it and read it, Pierre." + +"I have no great wish to keep it," answered Pierre, studying anxiously +the dark brow of the priest. + +"It is yours. Open it and read." + +The lad obeyed instantly. He shook out the folded paper and moved a +little nearer the light. Then he read aloud, as if it had never +entered his mind that what was addressed to him might be meant for his +eyes alone. + +"Morgantown, + +"R.F.D. No. 4. + +"SON PIERRE: + +"Here I lie with a chunk of lead from the gun of Bob McGurk resting +somewheres in the insides of me, and there ain't no way of doubting +that I'm about to go out. Now, I ain't complaining none. I've had my +fling. I've eat my meat to order, well done and rare--mostly rare. +Maybe some folks will be saying that I've got what I've been asking +for, and I know that Bob McGurk got me fair and square, shooting from +the hip. That don't help me none, lying here with a through ticket to +some place that's farther south than Texas. + +"Hell ain't none too bad for me, I know. I ain't whining none. I just +lie here and watch the world getting dimmer until I begin to be seeing +things out of my past. That shows the devil ain't losing no time with +me. But the thing that comes back oftenest and hits me the hardest is +the sight of your mother, lying with you in the hollow of her arm and +looking up at me and whispering, 'Dad,' just before she went out." + +The hand of the boy fell, and his eyes sought the face of Father +Victor. The latter was standing. + +"You told me I had no father--" + +An imperious arm stretched toward him. + +"Give me the letter." + +He moved to obey, and then checked himself. + +"This is my father's writing, is it not?" + +"No, no! It's a lie, Pierre!" + +But Pierre stood with the letter held behind his back, and the first +doubt in his life stood up darkly in his eyes. Father Victor sank +slowly back into his chair, his gaunt frame trembling. + +"Read on," he commanded. + +And Pierre, white of face, read on: + +"So I got a idea that I had to write to you, Pierre. There ain't +nothing I can make up to you, but knowing the truth may help some. +Poor kid, you ain't got no father in the eyes of the law, and neither +did you have no mother, and there ain't no name that belongs to you +by rights. + +"I was a man in them days, and your mother was a woman that brought +your heart into your throat and set it singing. She and me, we were +too busy being just plain happy to care much about what was right or +wrong; so you just sort of happened along, Pierre. Me being so close +to hell, I remember her eyes that was bluer than heaven looking up +to me, and her hair, that was copper with gold lights in it. + +"I buried Irene on the side of the mountain under a big, rough rock, +and I didn't carve nothing on the rock. Then I took you, Pierre, and I +knew I wasn't no sort of a man to raise up the son of Irene; so I +brought you to Father Victor on a winter night and left you in his +arms. That was after I'd done my best to raise you and you was just +about old enough to chatter a bit. There wasn't nothing else to do. My +wife, she went pretty near crazy when I brought you home. And she'd of +killed you, Pierre, if I hadn't took you away. + +"You see, I was married before I met Irene. So there ain't no alibi +for me. But me being so close to hell now, I look back to that time, +and somehow I see no wrong in it still. + +"And if I done wrong then, I've got my share of hell-fire for it. Here +I lie, with my boys, Bill and Bert, sitting around in the corner of +the room waiting for me to go out. They ain't men, Pierre. They're +wolves in the skins of men. They're the right sons of their mother. +When I go out they'll grab the coin I've saved up, and leave me to lie +here and rot, maybe. + +"Lad, it's a fearful thing to die without having no one around that +cares, and to know that even after I've gone out I'm going to lie here +and have my dead eyes looking up at the ceiling. So I'm writing to +you, Pierre, part to tell you what you ought to know; part because I +got a sort of crazy idea that maybe you could get down here to me +before I go out. + +"You don't owe me nothing but hard words, Pierre; but if you don't try +to come to me, the ghost of your mother will follow you all your life, +lad, and you'll be seeing her blue eyes and the red-gold of her hair +in the dark of the night as I see it now. Me, I'm a hard man, but it +breaks my heart, that ghost of Irene. So here I'll lie, waiting for +you, Pierre, and lingering out the days with whisky, and fighting the +wolf eyes of them there sons of mine. If I weaken--If they find they +can look me square in the eye--they'll finish me quick and make off +with the coin. Pierre, come quick. + +"MARTIN RYDER." + +The hand of Pierre dropped slowly to his side, and the letter +fluttered with a crisp rustling to the floor. + + + + +CHAPTER 3 + + +Then came a voice that startled the two priests, for it seemed that a +fourth man had entered the room, so changed was it from the musical +voice of Pierre. + +"Father Victor, the roan is a strong horse. May I take him?" + +"Pierre!" and the priest reached out his bony hands. + +But the boy did not seem to notice or to understand. + +"It is a long journey, and I will need a strong horse. It must be +eight hundred miles to that town." + +"Pierre, what claim has he upon you? What debt have you to repay?" + +And Pierre le Rouge answered: "He loved my mother." + +"You are going?" + +The boy asked in astonishment: "Would you not have me go, Father?" + +And Jean Paul Victor could not meet the sorrowful blue eyes. + +He bowed his head and answered: "My child, I would have you go. But +promise with your hand in mine that you will come back to me when your +father is buried." + +The lean fingers caught the extended hand of Pierre and froze about +it. + +"But first I have a second duty in the southland." + +"A second?" + +"You taught me to shoot and to use a knife. Once you said: 'An eye for +an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.' Father Victor, my father was killed +by another man." + +"Pierre, dear lad, swear to me here on this cross that you will not +raise your hands against the murderer. 'Vengeance is mine, saith +the Lord.'" + +"He must have an instrument for his wrath. He shall work through me in +this." + +"Pierre, you blaspheme." + +"'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth.'" + +"It was a demon in me that quoted that in your hearing, and not +myself." + +"The horse, Father Victor--may I have the roan?" + +"Pierre, I command you--" + +The light in the blue eyes was as cold and steady as that in the +starved eyes of Jean Paul Victor. + +"Hush!" he said calmly. "For the sake of the love that I bear for you, +do not command me." + +The stern priest dropped his head. He said at last: "I have nothing +saving one great and terrible treasure which I see was predestined to +you. It is the cross of Father Meilan. You have worn it before. You +shall wear it hereafter as your own." + +He took from his own neck a silver cross suspended by a slender silver +chain, and the boy, with startled eyes, dropped to his knees and +received the gift. + +"It has brought good to all who possessed it, but for every good thing +that it works for you it will work evil on some other. Great is its +blessing and great is its burden. I, alas, know; but you also have +heard of its history. Do you accept it, Pierre?" + +"Dear Father, with all my heart." + +The colorless hands touched the dark-red hair. + +"God pardon the sins you shall commit." + +Pierre crushed the hand of Jean Paul Victor against his lips and +rushed from the room, while the tall priest, staring down at the +fingers which had been kissed, pronounced: "I have forged a +thunderbolt, Father Gabrielle. It is too great for my hand. Listen!" +And they heard clearly the sharp clang of a horse's hoofs on the +hard-packed snow, loud at first, but fading rapidly away. The wind, +increasing suddenly, shook the house furiously about them. + +It was a north wind, and traveled south before the rider of the strong +roan. Over a thousand miles of plain and hills it passed, and down +into the cattle country of the mountain-desert which the Rockies hem +on one side and the tall Sierras on the other. + +It was a trail to try even the endurance of Pierre and the strong +roan, but the boy clung to it doggedly. On a trail that led down from +the edges of the northern mountain the roan crashed to the ground in a +plunging fall, hitting heavily on his knees. He was dead before the +boy had freed his feet from the stirrups. + +Pierre threw the saddle over his shoulder and walked eight miles to +the nearest ranch house, where he spent practically the last cent of +his money on another horse, and drove on south once more. + +There was little hope in him as day after day slipped past. Only the +ghost of a chance remained that Martin Ryder could fight away death +for another fortnight; yet Pierre had seen many a man from the +mountain-desert stave off the end through weeks and weeks of the +bitterest suffering. His father must be a man of the same hard durable +metal, and upon that Pierre staked all his hopes. + +And always he carried the picture of the dying man alone with his two +wolf-eyed sons who waited for his eyes to weaken. Whenever he thought +of that he touched his horse with the spurs and rode fiercely for a +time. They were his flesh and blood, the man, and even the two +wolf-eyed sons. + +So he came at last to a gap in the hills and looked down on Morgantown +in the hollow, twoscore unpainted houses sprawling along a single +street. The snow was everywhere white and pure, and the town was +like a stain on the landscape with wisps of smoke rising and trailing +across the hilltops. + +Down to the edge of the town he rode, left his cow-pony standing with +hanging head outside a saloon, strode through the swinging doors, and +asked of the bartender the way to the house of Martin Ryder. + +The bartender stopped in his labor of rubbing down the surface of his +bar and stared at the black-serge robe of the stranger, with curiosity +rather than criticism, for women, madmen, and clergymen have the +right-of-way in the mountain-desert. + +He said: "Well, I'll be damned!--askin' your pardon. So old Mart Ryder +has come down to this, eh? Partner, you're sure going to have a rough +ride getting Mart to heaven. Better send a posse along with him, +because some first-class angels are going to get considerable riled +when they sight him coming. Ha, ha, ha! Sure I'll show you the way. +Take the northwest road out of town and go five miles till you see a +broken-backed shack lyin' over to the right. That's Mart +Ryder's place." + +Out to the broken-backed shack rode Pierre le Rouge, Pierre the Red, +as everyone in the north country knew him. His second horse, staunch +cow-pony that it was, stumbled on with sagging knees and hanging head, +but Pierre rode upright, at ease, for his mind was untired. + +Broken-backed indeed was the house before which he dismounted. The +roof sagged from end to end, and the stove pipe chimney leaned at a +drunken angle. Nature itself was withered beside that house; before +the door stood a great cottonwood, gashed and scarred by lightning, +with the limbs almost entirely stripped away from one side. Under this +broken monster Pierre stepped and through the door. Two growls like +the snarls of watch-dogs greeted him, and two tall, unshaven men +barred his way. Behind them, from the bed in the corner, a feeble +voice called: "Who's there?" + +"In the name of God," said the boy gravely, for he saw a hollow-eyed +specter staring toward him from the bed in the corner, "let me pass! I +am his son!" + +It was not that which made them give back, but a shrill, faint cry of +triumph from the sick man toward which they turned. Pierre slipped +past them and stood above Martin Ryder. He was wasted beyond +belief--only the monster hand showed what he had been. + +"Son?" he queried with yearning and uncertainty. + +"Pierre, your son." + +And he slipped to his knees beside the bed. The heavy hand fell upon +his hair and stroked it. + +"There ain't no ways of doubting it. It's red silk, like the hair of +Irene. Seein' you, boy, it ain't so hard to die. Look up! So! Pierre, +my son! Are you scared of me, boy?" + +"I'm not afraid." + +"Not with them eyes you ain't. Now that you're here, pay the coyotes +and let 'em go off to gnaw the bones." + +He dragged out a small canvas bag from beneath the blankets and +gestured toward the two lurkers in the corner. + +"Take it, and be damned to you!" + +A dirty, yellow hand seized the bag; there was a chortle of +exultation, and the two scurried out of the room. + +"Three weeks they've watched an' waited for me to go out, Pierre. +Three weeks they've waited an' sneaked up to my bed an' sneaked away +agin, seein' my eyes open." + +Looking into their fierce fever brightness, Pierre understood why they +had quailed. For the man, though wrecked beyond hope of living, was +terrible still. The thick, gray stubble on his face could not hide +altogether the hard lines of mouth and jaw, and on the wasted arm the +hand was grotesquely huge. It was horror that widened the eyes of +Pierre as he looked at Martin Ryder; it was a grim happiness that made +his lips almost smile. + +"You've taken holy orders, lad?" + +"No." + +"But the black dress?" + +"I'm only a novice. I've sworn no vows." + +"And you don't hate me--you hold no grudge against me for the sake of +your mother?" + +Pierre took the heavy hand. + +"Are you not my father? And my mother was happy with you. For her sake +I love you." + +"The good Father Victor. He sent you to me." + +"I came of my own will. He would not have let me go." + +"He--he would have kept my flesh and blood away from me?" + +"Do not reproach him. He would have kept me from a sin." + +"Sin? By God, boy, no matter what I've done, is it sin for my son to +come to me? What sin?" + +"The sin of murder!" + +"Ha!" + +"I have come to find McGurk." + + + + +CHAPTER 4 + + +Like some old father-bear watching his cub flash teeth against a +stalking lynx, half proud and half fearful of such courage, so the +dying cattleman looked at his son. Excitement set a high and dangerous +color in his cheek. "Pierre--brave boy! Look at me. I ain't no +imitation man, even now, but I ain't a ghost of what I was. There +wasn't no man I wouldn't of met fair and square with bare hands or +with a gun. Maybe my hands was big, but they were fast on the draw. +I've lived all my life with iron on the hip, and my six-gun has +seven notches. + +"But McGurk downed me fair and square. There wasn't no murder. I was +out for his hide, and he knew it. I done the provokin', an' he jest +done the finishin', that was all. It hurts me a lot to say it, but +he's a better man than I was. A kid like you, why, he'd jest eat +you, Pierre." + +Pierre le Rouge smiled again. He felt a stern pride to be the son of +this man. + +"So that's settled," went on Martin Ryder, "an' a damned good thing it +is. Son, you didn't come none too soon. I'm goin' out fast. There +ain't enough light left in me so's I can see my own way. Here's all I +ask: When I die touch my eyelids soft an' draw 'em shut--I've seen the +look in a dead man's eyes. Close 'em, and I know I'll go to sleep an' +have good dreams. And down in the middle of Morgantown is the +buryin'-ground. I've ridden past it a thousand times an' watched a +corner plot, where the grass grows quicker than it does anywheres else +in the cemetery. Pierre, I'd die plumb easy if I knew I was goin' to +sleep the rest of time in that place." + +"It shall be done." + +"But that corner plot, it would cost a pile, son. And I've no money. I +gave what I had to them wolf-eyed boys, Bill an' Bert. Money was what +they wanted, an' after I had Irene's son with me, money was the +cheapest way of gettin' rid of 'em." + +"I'll buy the plot." + +"Have you got that much money, lad?" + +"Yes," lied Pierre calmly. + +The bright eyes grew dimmer and then fluttered close. Pierre started +to his feet, thinking that the end had come. But the voice began +again, fainter, slowly. + +"No light left inside of me, but dyin' this way is easy. There ain't +no wind will blow on me after I'm dead, but I'll be blanketed safe +from head to foot in cool, sweet-smellin' sod--the kind that has +tangles of the roots of grass. There ain't no snow will reach to me +where I lie. There ain't no sun will burn down to me. Dyin' like that +is jest--goin' to sleep." + +After that he said nothing for a time, and the late afternoon darkened +slowly through the room. + +As for Pierre, he did not move, and his mind went back. He did not see +the bearded wreck who lay dying before him, but a picture of Irene, +with the sun lighting her copper hair with places of burning gold, and +a handsome young giant beside her. They rode together on some upland +trail at sunset time, sharply framed against the bright sky. + +There was a whisper below him: "Irene!" + +And Pierre looked down to blankly staring eyes. He groaned, and +dropped to his knees. + +"I have come for you," said the whisper, "because the time has come, +Irene. We have to ride out together. We have a long ways to go. Are +you ready?" + +"Yes," said Pierre. + +"Thank God! It's a wonderful night. The stars are asking us out. +Quick! Into your saddle. Now the spurs. So! We are alone and free, +with the winds around us, and all that we have been forgotten +behind us." + +The eyes opened wide and stared up; without a stir in the great, gaunt +body, he was dead. Pierre reverently drew the eyes shut. There were no +tears in his eyes, but a feeling of hollowness about his heart. He +straightened and looked about him and found that the room was +quite dark. + +So in the dimness Pierre fumbled, by force of habit, at his throat, +and found the cross which he wore by a silver chain about his throat. +He held it in a great grip and closed his eyes and prayed. When he +opened his eyes again it was almost deep night in the room, and Pierre +had passed from youth to manhood. Through the gloom nothing stood out +distinctly save the white face of the dead man, and from that Pierre +looked quickly away. + +One by one he numbered his obligations to Martin Ryder, and first and +last he remembered the lie which had soothed his father. The money for +that corner plot where the grass grew first in the spring of the +year--where was he to find it? He fumbled in his pocket and found only +a single coin. + +He leaned back against the wall and strove to concentrate on the +problem, but his thoughts wandered in spite of himself. Looking +backward, he remembered all things much more clearly than when he had +actually seen them. For instance, he recalled now that as he walked +through the door the two figures which had started up to block his way +had left behind them some playing-cards at the corner table. One of +these cards had slipped from the edge of the board and flickered +slowly to the floor. + +With that memory the thoughts of Pierre le Rouge stopped. The picture +of the falling card remained; all else went out in his mind like the +snuffing of the candle. Then, as if he heard a voice directing him +through the utter blackness of the room, he knew what he must do. + +All his wealth was the single half-dollar piece in his pocket, and +there was only one way in which that coin could be increased to the +sum he would need to buy that corner plot, where the soul of old +Martin Ryder could sleep long and deep. + +From his brothers he would get no help. The least memory of those +sallow, hungry faces convinced him of that. + +There remained the gaming table. In the north country he had watched +men sit in a silent circle, smoking, drinking, with the flare of an +oil-lamp against deep, seamed faces, and only the slip and whisper of +card against card. + +Cold conscience tapped the shoulder of Pierre, remembering the lessons +of Father Victor, but a moment later his head went up and his eyes +were shining through the dark. After all, the end justified the means. + +A moment later he was laughing softly as a boy in the midst of a +prank, and busily throwing off the robe of serge. Fumbling through the +night he located the shirt and trousers he had seen hanging from a +nail on the wall. Into these he slipped, and then went out under +the open sky. + +The rest had revived the strength of the tough little cow-pony, and he +drove on at a gallop toward the twinkling lights of Morgantown. There +was a new consciousness about Pierre as if he had changed his whole +nature with his clothes. The sober sense of duty which had kept him in +awe all his life like a lifted finger, was almost gone, and in its +place was a joyous freedom. + +For the first time he faintly realized what an existence other than +that of a priest might be. Now for a brief moment he could forget the +part of the subdued novice and become merely a man with nothing about +him to distinguish him from other men, nothing to make heads turn at +his approach and raise whispers as he passed. + +It was a game, but he rejoiced in it as a girl does in her first +masquerade. Tomorrow he must be grave and sober-footed and an example +to other men; tonight he could frolic as he pleased. + +So Pierre le Rouge tossed back his head and laughed up to the frosty +stars. The loose sleeves and the skirts of the robe no longer +entangled his limbs. He threw up his arms and shouted. A hillside +caught the sound and echoed it back to him with a wonderful clearness, +and up and down the long ravine beat the clatter of the flying hoofs. +The whole world shouted and laughed and rode with him on Morgantown. + +If the people in the houses that he passed had known they would have +started up from their chairs and taken rifle and horse and chased +after him on the trail. But how could they tell from the passing of +those ringing hoofs that Pierre, the novice, was dead, and Red +Pierre was born? + +So they drowsed on about their comfortable fires, and Pierre drew rein +with a jerk before the largest of Morgantown's saloons. He had to set +his teeth before he could summon the resolution to throw open the +door. It was done; he stepped inside, and stood blinking in the sudden +rush of light against his face. + +It was all bewildering at first; the radiance, the blue tangle of +smoke, the storm of voices. For Muldoon's was packed from door to +door. Coins rang in a steady chorus along the bar, and the crowd +waited three and four deep. + +Someone was singing a rollicking song of the range at one end of the +bar, and a chorus of four bellowed a profane parody at the other end. + +The ears of Pierre le Rouge tingled hotly, and partly to escape the +uproar he worked his way to the quieter room at the back of +the saloon. + +It was almost as crowded as the bar, but here no one spoke except for +an occasional growl. Sudden speaking, and a loud voice, indeed, was +hardly safe. Someone cursed at his ill-luck as Pierre entered, and a +dozen hands reached for six-guns. In such a place one had to +be prepared. + +Pierre remembered with quick dismay that he was not armed. All his +life the straight black gown had been weapon enough to make all men +give way before him. Now he carried no borrowed strength upon his +shoulders. + +Automatically he slipped his fingers under the breast of his shirt +until their tips touched the cold metal of the cross. That gave him +stronger courage. The joy of the adventure made his blood warm again +as he drew out his one coin and looked for a place to start +his venture. + +So he approached the nearest table. On the surface of it were marked +six squares with chalk, and each with its appropriate number. The man +who ran the game stood behind the table and shook three dice. The +numbers which turned up paid the gambler. The numbers which failed to +show paid the owner of the game. + +His luck had been too strong that night, and now only two men faced +him, and both of them lost persistently. They were "bucking" the dice +with savage stubbornness. + +Pierre edged closer, shut his eyes, and deposited his coin. When he +looked again he saw that he had wagered on the five. + + + + +CHAPTER 5 + + +The dice clattered across the table and were swept up by the hand of +the man behind the table before Pierre could note them. Sick at heart, +he began to turn away, as he saw that hand reach out and gather in the +coins of the other two bettors. It went out a third time and laid +another fifty-cent piece upon his. The heart of Pierre bounded up to +his throat. + +Again the dice rolled, and this time he saw distinctly two fives turn +up. Two dollars in silver were dropped upon his, and still he let the +money lie. Again, again, and again the dice rolled. And now there were +pieces of gold among the silver that covered the square of the five. +The other two looked askance at him, and the owner of the game +growled: "Gimme room for the coins, stranger, will you?" + +Pierre picked up his winnings. In his left hand he held them, and the +coins brimmed his cupped palm. With the free hand he placed his new +wagers. But he lost now. + +"I cannot win forever," thought Pierre, and redoubled his bets in an +effort to regain the lost ground. + +Still his little fortune dwindled, till the sweat came out on his +forehead and the blood that had flushed his face ran back and left him +pale with dread. And at last there remained only one gold piece. He +hesitated, holding it poised for the wager, while the owner of the +game rattled the dice loudly and looked up at the coin with +hungry eyes. + +Once more Pierre closed his eyes and laid his wager, while his empty +left hand slipped again inside his shirt and touched the metal of the +cross, and once more when he opened his eyes the hand of the gambler +was going out to lay a second coin over his. + +"It is the cross!" thought Pierre. "It is the cross which brings me +luck." + +The dice rattled out. He won. Again, and still he won. The gambler +wiped his forehead and looked up anxiously. For these were wagers in +gold, and the doubling stakes were running high. About Pierre a crowd +had grown--a dozen cattlemen who watched the growing heap of gold with +silent fascination. Then they began to make wagers of their own, and +there were faint whispers of wrath and astonishment as the dice +clicked out and each time the winnings of Pierre doubled. + +Suddenly the dealer stopped and held up his left hand as a warning. +With his right, very slowly, inch by inch lest anyone should suspect +him of a gunplay, he drew out a heavy forty-five and laid it on the +table with the belt of cartridges. "Three years she's been on my hip +through thick and thin, stranger. Three years she's shot close an' +true. There ain't a butt in the world that hugs your hand tighter. +There ain't a cylinder that spins easier. Shoot? Lad, even a kid like +you could be a killer with that six-gun. What will you lay ag'in' it?" + +And his red-stained eyes glanced covetously at the yellow heap of +Pierre's money. + +"How much?" said Pierre eagerly. "Is there enough on the table to buy +the gun?" + +"Buy?" said the other fiercely. "There ain't enough coin west of the +Rockies to buy that gun. D'you think I'm yaller enough to sell my six? +No, but I'll risk it in a fair bet. There ain't no disgrace in that; +eh, pals?" + +There was a chorus of low grunts of assent. + +"All right," said Pierre. "That pile against the gun." + +"All of it?" + +"All." + +"Look here, kid, if you're tryin' to play a charity game with me--" + +"Charity?" + +The frank surprise of that look disarmed the other. He swept up the +dice-box, and shook it furiously, while his lips stirred. It was as if +he murmured an incantation for success. The dice rolled out, winking +in the light, spun over, and the owner of the gun stood with both +hands braced against the edge of the table, and stared hopelessly down. + +A moment before his pockets had sagged with a precious weight, and +there had been a significant drag of the belt over his right hip. Now +both burdens were gone. + +He looked up with a short laugh. + +"I'm dry. Who'll stake me to a drink?" + +Pierre scooped up a dozen pieces of the gold. + +"Here." + +The other drew back. "You're very welcome to it. Here's more, if +you'll have it." + +"The coin I've lost to you? Take back a gamblin' debt?" + +"Easy there," said one of the men. "Don't you see the kid's green? +Here's a five-spot." + +The loser accepted the coin as carelessly as if he were conferring a +favor by taking it, cast another scowl in the direction of Pierre, and +went out toward the bar. Pierre, very hot in the face, pocketed his +winnings and belted on the gun. It hung low on his thigh, just in easy +gripping distance of his hand, and he fingered the butt with a smile. + +"The kid's feelin' most a man," remarked a sarcastic voice. "Say, kid, +why don't you try your luck with Mac Hurley? He's almost through with +poor old Cochrane." + +Following the direction of the pointing finger, Pierre saw one of +those mute tragedies of the gambling hall. Cochrane, an old cattleman +whose carefully trimmed, pointed white beard and slender, tapering +fingers set him apart from the others in the room, was rather far gone +with liquor. He was still stiffly erect in his chair, and would be +till the very moment consciousness left him, but his eyes were misty, +and when he spoke his lips moved slowly, as though numbed by cold. + +Beside him stood a tall, black bottle with a little whisky glass to +flank it. He made his bets with apparent carelessness, but with a real +and deepening gloom. Once or twice he glanced up sharply as though +reckoning his losses, though it seemed to Pierre le Rouge almost like +an appeal. + +And what appeal could affect Mac Hurley? There was no color in the +man, either body or soul. No emotion could show in those pale, small +eyes or change the color of the flabby cheeks. If his hands had been +cut off, he might have seemed some sodden victim of a drug habit, but +the hands saved him. + +They seemed to belong to another body--beautiful, swift, and strong, +and grafted by some foul mischance onto this rotten hulk. Very white +they were, and long, with a nervous uneasiness in every motion, +continually hovering around the cards with little touches which were +almost caresses. + +"It ain't a game," said the man who had first pointed out the group to +Pierre, "it's just a slaughter. Cochrane's too far gone to see +straight. Look at that deal now! A kid could see that he's crooking +the cards!" + +It was blackjack, and Hurley, as usual, was dealing. He dealt with one +hand, flipping the cards out with a snap of the wrist, the fingers +working rapidly over the pack. Now and then he glanced over to the +crowd, as if to enjoy their admiration of his skill. He was showing it +now, not so much by the deftness of his cheating as by the openness +with which he exposed his tricks. + +As the stranger remarked to Pierre, a child could have discovered that +the cards were being dealt at will from the top and the bottom of the +pack, but the gambler was enjoying himself by keeping his game just +open enough to be apparent to every other man in the room--just covert +enough to deceive the drink-misted brain of Cochrane. And the pale, +swinish eyes twinkled as they stared across the dull sorrow of the old +man. There was an ominous sound from Pierre: "Do you let a thing like +that happen in this country?" he asked fiercely. + +The other turned to him with a sneer. + +"_Let_ it happen? Who'll stop him? Say, partner, you ain't meanin' to +say that you don't know who Hurley is?" + +"I don't need telling. I can see." + +"What you can't see means a lot more than what you can. I've been in +the same room when Hurley worked his gun once. It wasn't any killin', +but it was the prettiest bit of cheatin' I ever seen. But even if +Hurley wasn't enough, what about Carl Diaz?" + +He glared his triumph at Pierre, but the latter was too puzzled to +quail, and too stirred by the pale, gloomy face of Cochrane to turn +toward the other. + +"What of Diaz?" + +"Look here, boy. You're a kid, all right, but you ain't that young. +D'you mean to say that you ain't heard of Carlos Diaz?" + +It came back to Pierre then, for even into the snowbound seclusion of +the north country the shadow of the name of Diaz had gone. He could +not remember just what they were, but he seemed to recollect grim +tales through which that name figured. + +The other went on: "But if you ain't ever seen him before, look him +over now. They's some says he's faster on the draw than Bob McGurk, +but, of course, that's stretchin' him out a size too much. What's the +matter, kid; you've met McGurk?" + +"No, but I'm going to." + +"Might even be carried to him, eh--feet first?" + +Pierre turned and laid a hand on the shoulder of the other. + +"Don't talk like that," he said gently. "I don't like it." + +The other reached up to snatch the hand from his shoulder, but he +stayed his arm. + +He said after an uncomfortable moment of that silent staring: "Well, +partner, there ain't a hell of a lot to get sore over, is there? You +don't figure you're a mate for McGurk, do you?" + +He seemed oddly relieved when the eyes of Pierre moved away from him +and returned to the figure of Carlos Diaz. The Mexican was a perfect +model for a painting of a melodramatic villain. He had waxed and +twirled the end of his black mustache so that it thrust out a little +spur on either side of his long face. His habitual expression was a +scowl; his habitual position was with a cigarette in the fingers of +his left hand, and his right hand resting on his hip. He sat in a +chair directly behind that of Hurley, and Pierre's new-found +acquaintance explained: "He's the bodyguard for Hurley. Maybe there's +some who could down Hurley in a straight gunfight; maybe there's one +or two like McGurk that could down Diaz--damn his yellow hide--but +there ain't no one can buck the two of 'em. It ain't in reason. So +they play the game together. Hurley works the cards and Diaz covers up +the retreat. Can't beat that, can you?" + +Pierre le Rouge slipped his left hand once more inside his shirt until +the fingers touched the cross. + +"Nevertheless, that game has to stop." + +"Who'll--say, kid, are you stringin' me, or are you drunk? Look me in +the eye!" + + + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +Pierre turned and looked calmly upon the other. + +And the man whispered in a sort of awe: "Well, I'll be damned!" + +"Stand aside!" + +The other fell back a pace, and Pierre went straight to the table and +said to Cochrane: "Sir, I have come to take you home." + +The old man looked up and rubbed his eyes as though waking from a +sleep. + +"Stand back from the table!" warned Hurley. + +"By the Lord, have they been missing me?" queried old Cochrane. "You +are waited for," answered Pierre le Rouge, "and I've been sent to take +you home." + +"If that's the case--" + +"It ain't the case. The kid's lying." + +"Lying?" repeated Cochrane, as if he had never heard the word before, +and he peered with clearing eyes toward Pierre. "No, I think this boy +has never lied." + +Silence had spread through the place like a vapor. Even the slight +sounds in the gaming-room were done now, and one pair after another of +eyes swung toward the table of Cochrane and Hurley. The wave of the +silence reached to the barroom. No one could have carried the tidings +so soon, but the air was surcharged with the consciousness of an +impending crisis. + +Half a dozen men started to make their way on tiptoe toward the back +room. One stood with his whisky glass suspended in midair, and tilted +back his head to listen. In the gaming-room Hurley pushed back his +chair and leaned to the left, giving him a free sweep for his right +hand. The Mexican smiled with a slow and deep content. + +"Thank you," answered Pierre, "but I am waiting still, sir." + +The left hand of Hurley played impatiently on the table. + +He said: "Of course, if you have enough--" + +"I--enough?" flared the old aristocrat. + +Pierre le Rouge turned fairly upon Hurley. + +"In the name of God," he said calmly, "make an end of your game. +You're playing for money, but I think this man is playing for his +eternal soul." + +The solemn, bookish phraseology came smoothly from his tongue. He knew +no other. It drew a murmur of amusement from the room and a snarl +from Hurley. + +"Put on skirts, kid, and join the Salvation Army, but don't get +yourself messed all up in here. This is my party, and I'm damned +particular who I invite! Now, run along!" The head of Pierre tilted +back, and he burst into laughter which troubled even Hurley. + +The gambler blurted: "What's happening to you, kid?" + +"I've been making a lot of good resolutions, Mr. Hurley, about keeping +out of trouble; but here I am in it up to the neck." + +"No trouble as long as you keep your hand out of another man's game, +kid." + +"That's it. I can't see you rob Mr. Cochrane like this. You aren't +gambling--you're digging gold. The game stops now." + +It was a moment before the crowd realized what was about to happen; +they saw it reflected first in the face of Hurley, which suddenly went +taut and pale, and then, even as they looked with a smile of curiosity +and derision toward Pierre le Rouge, they saw and understood. + +For the moment Pierre said, "The game stops now," the calm which had +been with him was gone. It was like the scent of blood to the starved +wolf. The last word was scarcely off his tongue when he was crouched +with a devil of green fury in his eyes--the light struck his hair into +a wave of flame--his face altered by a dozen ugly years. + +"D'you mean?" whispered Hurley, as if he feared to break the silence +with his full voice. + +"Get out of the room." + +And the impulse of Hurley, plainly enough, was to obey the order, and +go anywhere to escape from that relentless stare. His glance wavered +and flashed around the circle and then back to Red Pierre, for the +expectancy of the crowd forced him back. + +When the leader of the pack springs and fails to kill, the rest of the +pack tear him to pieces. Remembering this, Mac Hurley forced his +glance back to Pierre. Moreover, there was a soft voice from behind, +and he remembered Diaz. + +All this had taken place in the length of time that it takes a heavy +body to totter on the brink of a precipice or a cat to regain its feet +after a fall. After the voice of Diaz there was a sway through the +room, a pulse of silence, and then three hands shot for their +hips--Pierre, Diaz, and Hurley. + +No stop-watch could have caught the differing lengths of time which +each required for the draw. The muzzle of Hurley's revolver was not +clear of the holster--the gun of Diaz was nearly at the level when +Pierre's weapon exploded at his hip. The bullet cut through the wrist +of Hurley. Never again would that slender, supple hand fly over the +cards, doing things other than they seemed. He made no effort to +escape from the next bullet, but stood looking down at his broken +wrist; horror for the moment gave him a dignity oddly out of place +with his usual appearance. He alone in all the room was moveless. + +The crowd, undecided for an instant, broke for the doors at the first +shot; Pierre le Rouge pitched to the floor as Diaz leaped forward, the +revolver in either hand spitting lead and fire. + +It was no bullet that downed Pierre but his own cunning. He broke his +fall with an outstretched left hand, while the bullets of Diaz pumped +into the void space which his body had filled a moment before. + +Lying there at ease, he leveled the revolver, grinning with the +mirthless lust of battle, and fired over the top of the table. The +guns dropped from the hands of huge Diaz. He caught at his throat and +staggered back the full length of the room, crashing against the wall. +When he pitched forward on his face he was dead before he struck +the floor. + +Pierre, now Red Pierre, indeed, rose and ran to the fallen man, and, +looking at the bulk of the giant, he wondered with a cold heart. He +knew before he slipped his hand over the breast of Diaz that this was +death. Then he rose again and watched the still fingers which seemed +to be gripping at the boards. These he saw, and nothing else, and +all he heard was the rattling of the wind of winter, wrenching at some +loose shingle on the roof, and he knew that he was alone in the world, +for he had put out a life. + +He found a strange weight pulling down his right hand, and started +when he saw the revolver. He replaced it in the holster automatically, +and in so doing touched the barrel and found it warm. + +Then fear came to Pierre, the first real fear of his life. He jerked +his head high and looked about him. The room was utterly empty. He +tiptoed to the door and found even the long bar deserted, littered +with tall bottles and overturned glasses. The cold in his heart +increased. A moment before he had been hand in hand with all the mirth +in that place. + +Now the men whose laughter he had repeated with smiles, the men +against whose sleeves his elbow had touched, were further away from +him than they had been when all the snow-covered miles from Morgantown +to the school of Father Victor had laid between them. They were men +who might lose themselves in any crowd, but he was set apart with a +brand, even as Hurley and Diaz had been set apart that eventful evening. + +He had killed a man. That fact blotted out the world. He drew his gun +again and stole down the length of the bar. Once he stopped and poised +the weapon before he realized that the white, fierce face that +squinted at him was his own reflection in a mirror. + +Outside the door the free wind caught at his face, and he blessed it +in his heart, as if it had been the touch of the hand of a friend. +Beyond the long, dark, silent street the moor rose and passed up +through the safe, dark spaces of the sky. + +He must move quickly now. The pursuit was not yet organized, but it +would begin in a space of minutes. From the group of half a dozen +horses which stood before the saloon he selected the best--a tall, +raw-boned nag with an ugly head. Into the saddle he swung, wondering +faintly that the theft of a horse mattered so little to him. His was +the greatest sin. All other things mattered nothing. + +Down the long street he galloped. The sharp echoes flew out at him +from every unlighted house, but not a human being was in sight. So he +swung out onto the long road which wound up through the hills, and +beside him rode a grim brotherhood, the invisible fellowship of Cain. + +The moon rose higher, brighter, and a grotesque black shadow galloped +over the snow beside him. He turned his head sharply to the other side +and watched the sweep of white hills which reached back in range after +range until they blended with the shadows of night. + +The road faded to a bridle path, and this in turn he lost among the +windings of the valley. He was lost from even the traces of men, and +yet the fear of men pursued him. Fear, and yet with it there was a +thrill of happiness, for every swinging stride of the tall, wild roan +carried him deeper into freedom, the unutterable fierce freedom of +the hunted. + + + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +All life was tame compared with this sudden awakening of Pierre. He +had killed a man. For fear of it he raced the tall roan furiously +through the night. + +He had killed a man. For the joy of it he shouted a song that went +ringing across the blank, white hills. What place was there in Red +Pierre for solemn qualms of conscience? Had he not met the first and +last test triumphantly? The oldest instinct in creation was satisfied +in him. Now he stood ready to say to all the world: Behold, a man! + +Let it be remembered that his early years had been passed in a dull, +dun silence, and time had slipped by him with softly padding, +uneventful hours. Now, with the rope of restraint snapped, he rode at +the world with hands, palm upward, asking for life, and that life +which lies under the hills of the mountain-desert heard his question +and sent a cold, sharp echo back to answer his lusty singing. + +The first answer, as he plunged on, not knowing where, and not caring, +was when the roan reeled suddenly and flung forward to the ground. +Even that violent stop did not unseat Red Pierre. He jerked up on the +reins with a curse and drove in the spurs. Valiantly the horse reared +his shoulders up, but when he strove to rise the right foreleg dangled +helplessly. He had stepped in some hole and the bone was broken +cleanly across. + +The rider slipped from the saddle and stood facing the roan, which +pricked its ears forward and struggled once more to regain its feet. +The effort was hopeless, and Pierre took the broken leg and felt the +rough edges of the splintered bone through the skin. The animal, as if +it sensed that the man was trying to do it some good, nosed his +shoulder and whinnied softly. + +Pierre stepped back and drew his revolver. The bullet would do quickly +what the cold would accomplish after lingering hours of torture, yet, +facing those pricking ears and the trust of the eyes, he was blinded +by a mist and could not aim. He had to place the muzzle of the gun +against the roan's temple and pull the trigger. When he turned his +back he was the only living thing within the white arms of the hills. + +Yet, when the next hill was behind him, he had already forgotten the +second life which he put out that night, for regret is the one sorrow +which never dodges the footsteps of the hunted. Like all his +brotherhood of Cain, Pierre le Rouge pressed forward across the +mountain-desert with his face turned toward the brave tomorrow. In the +evening of his life, if he should live to that time, he would walk and +talk with God. + +Now he had no mind save for the bright day coming. + +He had been riding with the wind and had scarcely noticed its violence +in his headlong course. Now he felt it whipping sharply at his back +and increasing with each step. Overhead the sky was clear. It seemed +to give vision for the wind and cold to seek him out, and the moon +made his following shadow long and black across the snow. + +The wind quickened rapidly to a gale that cut off the surface of the +snow and whipped volleys of the small particles level with the +surface. It cut the neck of Red Pierre, and the gusts struck his +shoulders with staggering force like separate blows, twisting him a +little from side to side. + +Coming from the direction of Morgantown, it seemed as if the vengeance +for Diaz was following the slayer. Once he turned and laughed in the +teeth of the wind, and shook his fist back at Morgantown and all the +avenging powers of the law. + +Yet he was glad to turn away from the face of the storm and stride on +down-wind. Even traveling with the gale grew more and more impossible. +The snowdrifts which the wind picked up and hurried across the hills +pressed against Pierre's back like a great, invisible hand, bowing him +as if beneath a burden. In the hollows the labor was not so great, but +when he approached a summit the gale screamed in his ear and struck +him savagely. + +For all his optimism, for all his young, undrained strength, a doubt +began to grow in the mind of Pierre le Rouge. At length, remembering +how that weight of gold came in his pockets, he slipped his left hand +into the bosom of his shirt and touched the icy metal of the cross. +Almost at once he heard, or thought he heard, a faint, sweet sound +of singing. + +The heart of Red Pierre stopped. For he knew the visions which came to +men perishing with cold; but he grew calmer again in a moment. This +touch of cold was nothing compared with whole months of hard exposure +which he had endured in the northland. It had not the edge. If it were +not for the wind it was scarcely a threat to life. Moreover, the +singing sounded no more. It had been hardly more than a phrase of +music, and it must have been a deceptive murmur of the wind. + +After all, a gale brought wilder deceptions than that. Some men had +actually heard voices declaiming words in such a wind. He himself had +heard them tell their stories. So he leaned forward again and gave his +stanch heart to the task. Yet once more he stopped, for this time the +singing came clearly, sweetly to him. + +There was no doubt of it now. Of course it was wildly impossible, +absurd; but beyond all question he heard the voice of a girl come +whistling down the wind. He could almost catch the words. For a little +moment he lingered still. Then he turned and fought his way into the +strong arms of the storm. + +Every now and then he paused and crouched to the snow. Usually there +was only the shriek of the wind in his ears, but a few times the +singing came to him and urged him on. If he had allowed the idea of +failure to enter his mind, he must have given up the struggle, but +failure was a stranger to his thoughts. + +He lowered his head against the storm. Sometimes it caught under him +and nearly lifted him from his feet. But he clung against the slope of +the hill, sometimes gripping hard with his hands. So he worked his way +to the right, the sound of the singing coming more and more +frequently and louder and louder. When he was almost upon the source +of the music it ceased abruptly. + +He waited a moment, but no sound came. He struggled forward a few more +yards and pitched down exhausted, panting. Still he heard the singing +no longer. With a falling heart he rose and resigned himself to wander +on his original course with the wind, but as he started he placed his +hand once more against the cross, and it was then that he saw her. + +For he had simply gone past her, and the yelling of the storm had cut +off the sound of her voice. Now he saw her lying, a spot of bright +color on the snow. He read the story at a glance. As she passed this +steep-sided hill the loosely piled snow had slid down and carried with +it the dead trunk of a fallen tree. + +Pierre came from behind and stood over her unnoticed. He saw that the +oncoming tree, by a strange chance, had knocked down the girl and +pinned her legs to the ground. His strength and the strength of a +dozen men would not be sufficient to release her. This he saw at the +first glance, and saw the bright gold of her hair against the snow. +Then he dropped on his knees beside her. + + + + +CHAPTER 8 + + +The girl tossed up her arms in a silent greeting, and Pierre caught +the small cold hands and saw that she was only a child of twelve or +fourteen trapped by the wild storm sweeping over them. He crouched +lower still, and when he did so the strength of the wind against his +face decreased wonderfully, for the sharp angle of the hill's +declivity protected them. Seeing him kneel there, she cried out with a +little wail: "Help me--the tree--help me!" And, bursting into a +passion of sobbing, she tugged her hands from his and covered +her face. + +Pierre placed his shoulder under the trunk and lifted till the muscles +of his back snapped and cracked. He could not budge the weight; he +could not even send a tremor through the mass of wood. He dropped back +beside her with a groan. He felt her eyes upon him; she had ceased her +sobs, and looked steadily into his face. + +It would have been easy for him to meet that look on the morning of +this day, but after that night's work in Morgantown he had to brace +his nerve to withstand it. + +She said: "You can't budge the tree?" + +"Yes--in a minute; I will try again." + +"You'll only hurt yourself for nothing. I saw how you strained at it." + +The greatest miracle he had ever seen was her calm. Her eyes were wide +and sorrowful indeed, but she was almost smiling up to him. + +After a while he was able to say, in a faint voice: "Are you very +cold?" + +She answered: "I'm not afraid. But if you stay longer with me, you may +freeze. The snow and even the tree help to keep me almost warm; but +you will freeze. Go for help; hurry, and if you can, send it back +to me." + +He thought of the long miles back to Morgantown; no human being could +walk that distance against this wind; not even a strong horse could +make its way through the storm. If he went on with the wind, how long +would it be before he reached a house? Before him, over range after +range of hills, he saw no single sign of a building. If he reached +some such place it would be the same story as the trip to Morgantown; +men simply could not beat a way against that wind. + +Then a cold hand touched him, and he looked up to find her eyes grave +and wide once more, and her lips half smiling, as if she strove to +deceive him. + +"There's no chance of bringing help?" + +He merely stared hungrily at her, and the loveliest thing he had ever +seen was the play of golden hair beside her cheek. Her smile went out. +She withdrew her hand, but she repeated: "I'm not afraid. I'll simply +grow numb and then fall asleep. But you go on and save yourself." + +Seeing him shake his head, she caught his hands again. + +"I'll be unhappy. You'll make me so unhappy if you stay. Please go." + +He raised the small hand and pressed it to his lips. + +She said: "You are crying!" + +"No, no!" + +"There! I see the tears shining on my hand. What is your name?" + +"Pierre." + +"Pierre? I like that name. Pierre, to make me happy, will you go? Your +face is all white and touched with a shadow of blue. It is the cold. +Oh, won't you go?" Then she pleaded, finding him obdurate: "If you +won't go for me, then go for your father." + +He raised his head with a sudden laughter, and, raising it, the wind +beat into his face fiercely and the particles of snow whipped +his skin. + +"Dear Pierre, then for your mother?" + +He bowed his head. + +"Not for all the people who love you and wait for you now by some warm +fire--some cozy fire, all yellow and bright?" + +He took her hands and with them covered his eyes. "Listen: I have no +father; I have no mother." + +"Pierre! Oh, Pierre, I'm sorry!" + +"And for the rest of 'em, I've killed a man. The whole world hates me; +the whole world's hunting me." + +The small hands tugged away. He dared not raise his bowed head for +fear of her eyes. And then the hands came back to him and touched +his face. + +She was saying tremulously: "Then he deserved to be killed. There must +be men like that--almost. And I--like you still, Pierre." + +"Really?" + +"I almost think I like you more--because you could kill a man--and +then stay here for me." + +"If you were a grown-up girl, do you know what I'd say?" + +"Please tell me." + +"That I could love you." + +"Pierre--" + +"Yes." + +"My name is Mary Brown." + +He repeated several times: "Mary." + +"And if I were a grown-up girl, do you know what I would answer?" + +"I don't dare guess it." + +"That I could love you, Pierre, if you were a grown-up man." + +"But I am." + +"Not a really one." + +And they both broke into laughter--laughter that died out before a +sound of rushing and of thunder, as a mass slid swiftly past them, +snow and mud and sand and rubble. The wind fell away from them, and +when Pierre looked up he saw that a great mass of tumbled rock and +soil loomed above them. + +The landslide had not touched them, by some miracle, but in a moment +more it might shake loose again, and all that mass of ton upon ton of +stone and loam would overwhelm them. The whole mass quaked and +trembled, and the very hillside shuddered beneath them. + +She looked up and saw the coming ruin; but her cry was for him, not +herself. + +"Run, Pierre--you can save yourself." + +With that terror threatening him from above, he rose and started to +run down the hill. A moan of woe followed him, and he stopped and +turned back, and fought his way through the wind until he was beside +her once more. + +She was weeping. + +"Pierre--I couldn't help calling out for you; but now I'm strong +again, and I won't have you stay. The whole mountain is shaking and +falling toward us. Go now, Pierre, and I'll never make a sound to +bring you back." + +He said: "Hush! I've something here which will keep us both safe. +Look!" + +He tore from the chain the little metal cross, and held it high +overhead, glimmering in the pallid light. She forgot her fear +in wonder. + +"I gambled with only one coin to lose, and I came out tonight with +hundreds and hundreds of dollars because I had the cross. It is a +charm against all danger and against all bad fortune. It has never +failed me." + +Over them the piled mass slid closer. The forehead of Pierre gleamed +with sweat, but a strong purpose made him talk on. At least he could +take all the foreboding of death from the child, and when the end came +it would be swift and wipe them both out at one stroke. She clung to +him, eager to believe. + +"I've closed my eyes so that I can believe." + +"It has never failed me. It saved me when I fought two men. One of +them I crippled and the other died. You see, the power of the cross is +as great as that. Do you doubt it now, Mary?" + +"Do you believe in it so much--really--Pierre?" + +Each time there was a little lowering of her voice, a little pause and +caress in the tone as she uttered his name, and nothing in all his +life had stirred Red Pierre so deeply with happiness and sorrow. + +"Do you believe, Pierre?" she repeated. + +He looked up and saw the shuddering mass of the landslide creeping +upon them inch by inch. In another moment it would loose itself with a +rush and cover them. + +"I believe," he said. + +"If you should live, and I should die--" + +"I would throw the cross away." + +"No, you would keep it; and every time you touched it you would think +of me, Pierre, would you not?" + +"When you reach out to me like that, you take my heart between your +hands." + +"And I feel grown up and sad and happy both together. After we've been +together on such a night, how can we ever be apart again?" + +The mass of the landslide toppled right above them. She did not seem +to see. + +"I'm so happy, Pierre. I was never so happy." + +And he said, with his eyes on the approaching ruin: "It was your +singing that brought me to you. Will you sing again?" + +"I sang because I knew that when I sang the sound would carry farther +through the wind than if I called for help. What shall I sing for you +now, Pierre?" + +"What you sang when I came to you." + +And the light, sweet voice rose easily through the sweep of the wind. +She smiled as she sang, and the smile and music were all for Pierre, +he knew. Through the last stanza of the song the rumble of the +approaching death grew louder, and as she ended he threw himself +beside her and gathered her into protecting arms. + +She cried: "Pierre! What is it?" + +"I must keep you warm; the snow will eat away your strength." + +"No; it's more than that. Tell me, Pierre! You don't trust the power +of the cross?" + +"Are you afraid?" + +"Oh, no; I'm not afraid, Pierre." + +"If one life would be enough, I'd give mine a thousand times. Mary, we +are to die." + +An arm slipped around his neck--a cold hand pressed against his cheek. + +"Pierre." + +"Yes." + +The thunder broke above them with a mighty roaring. + +"_You_ have no fear." + +"Mary, if I had died alone I would have dropped down to hell under my +sins; but, with your arm around me, you'll take me with you. Hold +me close." + +"With all my heart, Pierre. See--I'm not afraid. It is like going to +sleep. What wonderful dreams we'll have!" + +And then the black mass of the landslide swept upon them. + + + + +CHAPTER 9 + + +Down all the length of the mountain-desert and across its width of +rocks and mountains and valleys and stern plateaus there is a saying: +"You can tell a man by the horse he rides." For most other important +things are apt to go by opposites, which is the usual way in which a +man selects his wife. With dogs, for instance--a quiet man is apt to +want an active dog, and a tractable fellow may keep the most vicious +of wolf-dogs. + +But when it comes to a horse, a man's heart speaks for itself, and if +he has sufficient knowledge he will choose a sympathetic mount. A +woman loves a neat-stepping saddle-horse; a philosopher likes a +nodding, stumble-footed nag which will jog all day long and care not a +whit whether it goes up dale or down. + +To know the six wild riders who galloped over the white reaches of the +mountain-desert this night, certainly their horses should be studied +first and the men secondly, for the one explained the other. + +They came in a racing triangle. Even the storm at its height could not +daunt such furious riders. At the point of the triangle thundered a +mighty black stallion, his muzzle and his broad chest flecked with +white foam, for he stretched his head out and champed at the bit with +ears laid flat back, as though even that furious pace gave him no +opportunity to use fully his strength. + +He was an ugly headed monster with a savagely hooked Roman nose and +small, keen eyes, always red at the corners. A medieval baron in full +panoply of plate armor would have chosen such a charger among ten +thousand steeds, yet the black stallion needed all his strength to +uphold the unarmored giant who bestrode him, a savage figure. + +When the broad brim of his hat flapped up against the wind the +moonshine caught at shaggy brows, a cruelly arched nose, thin, +straight lips, and a forward-thrusting jaw. It seemed as if nature had +hewn him roughly and designed him for a primitive age where he could +fight his way with hands and teeth. + +This was Jim Boone. To his right and a little behind him galloped a +riderless horse, a beautiful young animal continually tossing its +head and looking as if for guidance at the big stallion. + +To the left strode a handsome bay with pricking ears. A mound +interfered with his course, and he cleared it in magnificent style +that would have brought a cheer from the lips of any English lover of +the chase. + +Straight in the saddle sat Dick Wilbur, and he raised his face a +little to the wind, smiling faintly as if he rejoiced in its fine +strength, as handsome as the horse he rode, as cleanly cut, as finely +bred. The moon shone a little brighter on him than on any other of the +six riders. + +Bud Mansie behind, for instance, kept his head slightly to one side +and cursed beneath his breath at the storm and set his teeth at the +wind. His horse, delicately formed, with long, slender legs, could not +have endured that charge against the storm save that it constantly +edged behind the leaders and let them break the wind. It carried less +weight than any other mount of the six, and its strength was cunningly +nursed by the rider so that it kept its place, and at the finish it +would be as strong as any and swifter, perhaps, for a sudden, short +effort, just as Bud Mansie might be numbed through all his nervous, +slender body, but never too numb for swift and deadly action. + +On the opposite wing of the flying wedge galloped a dust-colored gray, +ragged of mane and tail, and vindictive of eye, like its down-headed +rider, who shifted his glance rapidly from side to side and watched +the ground closely before his horse as if he were perpetually prepared +for danger. + +He distrusted the very ground over which his mount strode. For all +this he seemed the least formidable of all the riders. To see him pass +none could have suspected that this was Black Morgan Gandil. + +Last of the crew came two men almost as large as Jim Boone himself, on +strong steady-striding horses. They came last in this crew, but among +a thousand other long-riders they would have ridden first, either +red-faced, good-humored, loud-voiced Garry Patterson, or Phil Branch, +stout-handed, blunt of jaw, who handled men as he had once hammered +red iron at the forge. + +Each of them should have ridden alone in order to be properly +appreciated. To see them together was like watching a flock of eagles +every one of which should have been a solitary lord of the air. But +after scanning that lordly train which followed, the more terrible +seemed the rider of the great black horse. + +Yet the king was sad, and the reason for his sadness was the riderless +horse which galloped so freely beside him. His son had ridden that +horse when they set out, and all the way down to the railroad Handsome +Hal Boone had kept his mount prancing and curveting and had ridden +around and around tall Dick Wilbur, playing pranks, and had teased his +father's black until the big stallion lashed out wildly with +furious heels. + +It was the memory of this that kept the grave shadow of a smile on the +father's lips for all the sternness of his eyes. He never turned his +head, for, looking straight forward, he could conjure up the laughing +vision; but when he glanced to the empty saddle he heard once more the +last unlucky shot fired from the train as they raced off with their +booty, and saw Hal reel in his saddle and pitch forward; and how he +had tried to check his horse and turn back; and how Dick Wilbur, and +Patterson, and big Phil Branch had forced him to go on and leave that +form lying motionless on the snow. + +At that he groaned, and spurred the black, and so the cavalcade rushed +faster and faster through the night. + +They came over a sharp ridge and veered to the side just in time, for +all the further slope was a mass of treacherous sand and rubble and +raw rocks and mud, where a landslide had stripped the hill to +the stone. + +As they veered about the ruin and thundered on down to the foot of +the hill, Jim Boone threw up his hand for a signal and brought his +stallion to a halt on back-braced, sliding legs. + +For a metallic glitter had caught his eye, and then he saw, half +covered by the pebbles and dirt, the figure of a man. He must have +been struck by the landslide and not overwhelmed by it, but rather +carried before it like a stick in a rush of water. At the outermost +edge of the wave he lay with the rocks and dirt washed over him. Boone +swung from the saddle and lifted Pierre le Rouge. + +The gleam of metal was the cross which his fingers still gripped. +Boone examined it with a somewhat superstitious caution, took it from +the nerveless fingers, and slipped it into a pocket of Pierre's shirt. +A small cut on the boy's forehead showed where the stone struck which +knocked him senseless, but the cut still bled--a small trickle--Pierre +lived. He even stirred and groaned and opened his eyes, large and +deeply blue. + +It was only an instant before they closed, but Boone had seen. He +turned with the figure lifted easily in his arms as if Pierre had been +a child fallen asleep by the hearth and now about to be carried off +to bed. + +And the outlaw said: "I've lost my boy tonight. This here one was +given me by the will of--God." + +Black Morgan Gandil reined his horse close by, leaned to peer down, +and the shadow of his hat fell across the face of Pierre. + +"There's no good comes of savin' shipwrecked men. Leave him where you +found him, Jim. That's my advice. Sidestep a redheaded man. That's +what I say." + +The quick-stepping horse of Bud Mansie came near, and the rider wiped +his stiff lips, and spoke from the side of his mouth, a prison habit +of the line that moves in the lockstep: "Take it from me, Jim, there +ain't any place in our crew for a man you've picked up without knowing +him beforehand. Let him lay, I say." But big Dick Wilbur was already +leading up the horse of Hal Boone, and into the saddle Jim Boone swung +the inert body of Pierre. The argument was settled, for every man of +them knew that nothing could turn Boone back from a thing once begun. +Yet there were muttered comments that drew Black Morgan Gandil and Bud +Mansie together. + +And Gandil, from the South Seas, growled with averted eyes: "This is +the most fool stunt the chief has ever pulled." + +"Right, pal," answered Mansie. "You take a snake in out of the cold, +and it bites you when it comes to in the warmth; but the chief has +started, and there ain't nothing that'll make him stop, except maybe +God or McGurk." + +And Black Gandil answered with his evil, sudden grin: "Maybe McGurk, +but not God." + +They started on again with Garry Patterson and Dick Wilbur riding +close on either side of Pierre, supporting his limp body. It delayed +the whole gang, for they could not go on faster than a jog-trot. The +wind, however, was falling off in violence. Its shrill whistling +ceased, at length, and they went on, accompanied only by the harsh +crunching of the snow underfoot. + + + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +Consciousness returned to Pierre slowly. Many a time his eyes opened, +and he saw nothing, but when he did see and hear it was by +vague glimpses. + +He heard the crunch of the snow underfoot; he heard the panting and +snorting of the horses; he felt the swing and jolt of the saddle +beneath him; he saw the grim faces of the long-riders, and he said: +"The law has taken me." + +Thereafter he let his will lapse, and surrendered to the sleepy +numbness which assailed his brain in waves. He was riding without +support by this time, but it was an automatic effort. There was no +more real life in him than in a dummy figure. It was not the effect of +the blow. It was rather the long exposure and the overexertion of mind +and body during the evening and night. He had simply collapsed beneath +the strain. + +But an old army man has said: "Give me a soldier of eighteen or +twenty. In a single day he may not march quite so far as a more mature +man or carry quite so much weight. He will go to sleep each night dead +to the world. But in the morning he awakens a new man. He is like a +slate from which all the writing has been erased. He is ready for a +new day and a new world. Thirty days of campaigning leaves him as +strong and fresh as ever. + +"Thirty days of campaigning leaves the old soldier a wreck. Why? +Because as a man grows older he loses the ability to sleep soundly. He +carries the nervous strain of one day over to the next. Life is a +serious problem to a man over thirty. To a man under thirty it is +simply a game. For my part, give me men who can play at war." + +So it was with Pierre le Rouge. He woke with a faint heaviness of +head, and stretched himself. There were many sore places, but nothing +more. He looked up, and the slant winter sun cut across his face and +made a patch of bright yellow on the wall beside him. + +Next he heard a faint humming, and, turning his head, saw a boy of +fourteen or perhaps a little more, busily cleaning a rifle in a way +that betokened the most expert knowledge of the weapon. Pierre himself +knew rifles as a preacher knows his Bible, and as he lay half awake +and half asleep he smiled with enjoyment to see the deft fingers move +here and there, wiping away the oil. A green hand will spend half a +day cleaning a gun, and then do the work imperfectly; an expert does +the job efficiently in ten minutes. This was an expert. + +Undoubtedly this was a true son of the mountain-desert. He wore his +old slouch hat even in the house, and his skin was that olive brown +which comes from many years of exposure to the wind and sun. At the +same time there was a peculiar fineness about the boy. His feet were +astonishingly small and the hands thin and slender for all their +supple strength. And his neck was not bony, as it is in most youths at +this gawky age, but smoothly rounded. + +Men grow big of bone and sparse of flesh in the mountain-desert. It +was the more surprising to Pierre to see this young fellow with the +marvelously delicate-cut features. By some freak of nature here was a +place where the breed ran to high blood. + +The cleaning completed, the boy tossed the butt of the gun to his +shoulder and squinted down the barrel. Then he loaded the magazine, +weighted the gun deftly at the balance, and dropped the rifle across +his knees. + +"Morning," said Pierre le Rouge cheerily, and swung off the bunk to +the floor. "How old's the gun?" + +The boy, without the slightest show of excitement, snapped the butt to +his shoulder and drew a bead on Pierre's breast. + +"Sit down before you get all heated up," said a musical voice. +"There's nobody waiting for you on horseback." + +And Pierre sat down, partly because Western men never argue a point +when that little black hole is staring them in the face, partly +because he remembered with a rush that the last time he had fully +possessed his consciousness he had been lying in the snow with the +cross gripped hard and the toppling mass of the landslide above him. +All that had happened between was blotted from his memory. He fumbled +at his throat. The cross was not there. He touched his pockets. +"Ease your hands away from your hip," said the cold voice of the boy, +who had dropped his gun to the ready with a significant finger curled +around the trigger, "or I'll drill you clean." + +Pierre obediently raised his hands to the level of his shoulders. The +boy sneered. + +"This isn't a hold-up," he explained. "Put 'em down again, but watch +yourself." + +The sneer varied to a contemptuous smile. + +"I guess you're tame, all right." + +"Point that gun another way, will you, son?" + +The boy flushed. + +"Don't call me son." + +"Is this a lockup--a jail?" + +"This?" + +"What is it, then? The last I remember I was lying in the snow with--" + +"I wish to God you'd been let there," said the boy bitterly. + +But Pierre, overwhelmed with the endeavor to recollect, rushed on with +his questions and paid no heed to the tone. + +"I had a cross in my hand--" + +The scorn of the boy grew to mighty proportions. + +"It's there in the breast-pocket of your shirt." + +Pierre drew out the little cross, and the touch of it against his palm +restored whatever of his strength was lacking. Very carefully he +attached it to the chain about his throat. Then he looked up to the +contempt of the boy, and as he did so another memory burst on him and +brought him to his feet. The gun went to the boy's shoulders at the +same time. + +"When I was found--was anyone else with me?" + +"Nope." + +"What happened?" + +"Must have been buried in the landslide. Half a hill caved in, and +the dirt rolled you down to the bottom. Plain luck, that's all, that +kept you from going out." + +"Luck?" said Pierre and he laid his hand against his breast where he +could feel the outline of the cross. "Yes, I suppose it was luck. +And she--" + +He sat down slowly and buried his face in his hands. A new tone came +in the voice of the boy as he asked: "Was a woman with you?" But +Pierre heard only the tone and not the words. His face was gray when +he looked up again, and his voice hard. + +"Tell me as briefly as you can how I come here, and who picked me up." + +"My father and his men. They passed you lying on the snow. They +brought you home." + +"Who is your father?" + +The boy stiffened and his color rose. + +"My father is Jim Boone." + +Instinctively, while he stared, the right hand of Pierre le Rouge +crept toward his hip. + +"Keep your hand steady," said the boy. "I got a nervous +trigger-finger. Yeh, dad is pretty well known." + +"You're his son?" + +"I'm Jack Boone." + +"But I've heard--tell me, why am I under guard?" + +Jack was instantly aflame with the old anger. + +"Not because I want you here." + +"Who does?" + +"Dad." + +"Put away your pop-gun and talk sense. I won't try to get away until +Jim Boone comes. I only fight men." + +Even the anger and grief of the boy could not keep him from smiling. + +"Just the same I'll keep the shooting-iron handy. Sit still. A gun +don't keep me from talking sense, does it? You're here to take Hal's +place. Hal!" The little wail told a thousand things, and Pierre, +shocked out of the thought of his own troubles, waited. + +"My brother, Hal; he's dead; he died last night, and on the way back +dad found you and brought you to take Hal's place. _Hal's_ place!" + +The accent showed how impossible it was that Hal's place could be +taken by any mortal man. + +"I got orders to keep you here, but if I was to do what I'd like to +do, I'd give you the best horse on the place and tell you to clear +out. That's me!" + +"Then do it." + +"And face dad afterward?" + +"Tell him I overpowered you. That would be easy; you a slip of a boy, +and me a man." + +"Stranger, it goes to show you may have heard of Jim Boone, but you +don't anyways know him. When he orders a thing done he wants it done, +and he don't care how, and he don't ask questions why. He just +raises hell." + +"He really expects to keep me here?" + +"Expects? He will." + +"Going to tie me up?" asked Pierre ironically. + +"Maybe," answered Jack, overlooking the irony. "Maybe he'll just put +you on my shoulders to guard." + +He moved the gun significantly. + +"And I can do it." + +"Of course. But he would have to let me go sometime." + +"Not till you'd promised to stick by him. I told him that myself, but +he said that you're young and that he'd teach you to like this life +whether you wanted to or not. Me speaking personally, I agree with +Black Gandil: This is the worst fool thing that dad has ever done. +What do we want with you--in Hal's place!" + +"But I've got a thing to do right away--today; it can't wait." + +"Give dad your word to come back and he'll let you go. He says you're +the kind that will keep your word. You see, he found you with a +cross in your hand." + +And Jack's lips curled again. + +It was all absurd, too impossible to be real. The only real things +were the body of yellow-haired Mary Brown, under the tumbled rocks and +dirt of the landslide, and the body of Martin Ryder waiting to be +placed in that corner plot where the grass grew quicker than all other +grass in the spring of the year. + +However, having fallen among madmen, he must use cunning to get away +before the outlaw and his men came back from wherever they had gone. +Otherwise there would be more bloodshed, more play of guns and hum +of lead. + +"Tell me of Hal," he said, and dropped his elbows on his knees as if +he accepted his fate. + +"Don't know you well enough to talk of Hal." + +"I'm sorry." + +The boy made a little gesture of apology. + +"I guess that was a mean thing to say. Sure I'll tell you about +Hal--if I can." + +"Tell me anything you can," said Pierre gently, "because I've got to +try to be like him, haven't I?" + +"You could try till rattlers got tame, but it'd take ten like you to +make one like Hal. He was dad's own son--he was my brother." + +The sob came openly now, and the tears were a mist in the boy's eyes. + +"What's your name?" + +"Pierre." + +"Pierre? I suppose I got to learn it." + +"I suppose so." And he edged farther forward so that he was sitting +only on the edge of the bunk. + +"Please do." And he gathered his feet under him, ready for a spring +forward and a grip at the boy's threatening rifle. + +Jack had canted his head a little to one side. "Did you ever see a +horse that was gentle and yet had never been ridden, or his spirit +broke, Pierre--" + +Here Pierre made his leap swift as some bobcat of the northern woods; +his hand whipped out as lightning fast as the striking paw of the +lynx, and the gun was jerked from the hands of Jack. Not before the +boy clutched at it with a cry of horror, but the force of the pull +sent him lurching to the floor and broke his grip. + +He was up in an instant, however, and a knife of ugly length glittered +in his hand as he sprang at Pierre. + +Pierre tossed aside the rifle and met the attack barehanded. He caught +the knife-bearing hand at the wrist and under his grip the hand +loosened its hold and the steel tinkled on the floor. His other arm +caught the body of Jack in a mighty vise. + +There was a brief and futile struggle, and a hissing of breath in the +silence till the hat tumbled from the head of Jack and down over the +shoulders streamed a torrent of silken black hair. + +Pierre stepped back. This was the meaning, then, of the strangely +small feet and hands and the low music of the voice. It was the body +of a girl that he had held. + + + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +It was not fear nor shame that made the eyes of Jacqueline so wide as +she stared past Pierre toward the door. He glanced across his +shoulder, and blocking the entrance to the room, literally filling +the doorway, was the bulk of Jim Boone. + +"Seems as if I was sort of steppin' in on a little family party," he +said. "I'm sure glad you two got acquainted so quick. Jack, how did +you and--What the hell's your name, lad?" + +"He tricked me, dad, or he would never have got the gun away from me. +This--this Pierre--this beast--he got me to talk of Hal. Then +he stole--" + +"The point," said Jim Boone coldly, "is that he _got_ the gun. Run +along, Jack. You ain't so growed up as I was thinkin'. Or hold +on--maybe you're _more_ grown up. Which is it? Are you turnin' into a +woman, Jack?" + +She whirled on Pierre in a white fury. + +"You see? You see what you've done? He'll never trust me again--never! +Pierre, I hate you. I'll always hate you. And if Hal were here--" + +A storm of sobs and tears cut her short, and she disappeared through +the door. Boone and Pierre stood regarding each other critically. + +Pierre spoke first: "You're not as big as I expected." + +"I'm plenty big; but you're older than I thought." + +"Too old for what you want of me. The girl told me what that was." + +"Not too old to be made what I want." + +And his hands passed through a significant gesture of molding the +empty air. The boy met his eye dauntlessly. + +"I suppose," he said, "that I've a pretty small chance of getting +away." + +"Just about none, Pierre. Come here." + +Pierre stepped closer and looked down the hall into another room. +There, about a table, sat the five grimmest riders of the +mountain-desert that he had ever seen. They were such men as one could +judge at a glance, and Pierre made that instinctive motion for his +six-gun. "The girl," Jim Boone was saying, "kept you pretty busy +tryin' to make a break, and if she could do anything maybe you'd have +a pile of trouble with one of them guardin' you. But if I'd had a good +look at you, lad, I'd never have let Jack take the job of +guardin' you." + +"Thanks," answered Pierre dryly. + +"You got reason; I can see that. Here's the point, Pierre. I know +young men because I can remember pretty close what I was at your age. +I wasn't any ladies' lap dog, at that, but time and older men molded +me the way I'm going to mold you. Understand?" + +Pierre was nerved for many things, but the last word made him stir. It +roused in him a red-tinged desire to get through the forest of black +beard at the throat of Boone and dim the glitter of those keen eyes. +It brought him also another thought. + +Two great tasks lay before him: the burial of his father and the +avenging of him on McGurk. As to the one, he knew it would be childish +madness for him to attempt to bury his father in Morgantown with only +his single hand to hold back the powers of the law or the friends of +the notorious Diaz and crippled Hurley. + +And for the other, it was even more vain to imagine that through his +own unaided power he could strike down a figure of such almost +legendary terror as McGurk. The bondage of the gang might be a +terrible thing through the future, but the present need blinded him to +what might come. + +He said: "Suppose I stop raising questions or making a fight, but give +you my hand and call myself a member--" + +"Of the family? Exactly. If you did that I'd know it was because you +were wantin' something, Pierre, eh?" + +"Two things." + +"Lad, I like this way of talk. One--two--you hit quick like a two-gun +man. Well, I'm used to paying high for what I get. What's up?" +"The first--" + +"Wait. Can I help you out by myself, or do you need the gang?" + +"The gang." + +"Then come, and I'll put it up to them. You first." + +It was equally courtesy and caution, and Pierre smiled faintly as he +went first through the door. He stood in a moment under the eyes of +five silent men. + +The booming voice of Jim Boone pronounced: "This is Pierre. He'll be +one of us if he can get the gang to do two things. I ask you, will you +hear him for me, and then pass on whether or not you try his game?" + +They nodded. There were no greetings to acknowledge the introduction. +They waited, eyeing the youth with distrust. + +Pierre eyed them in turn, and then he spoke directly to big Dick +Wilbur. + +"Here's the first: I want to bury a man in Morgantown and I need help +to do it." + +Black Gandil snarled: "You heard me, boys; blood to start with. Who's +the man you want us to put out?" + +"He's dead--my father." + +They came up straight in their chairs like trained actors rising to a +stage crisis. The snarl straightened on the lips of Black +Morgan Gandil. + +"He's lying in his house a few miles out of Morgantown. As he died he +told me that he wanted to be buried in a corner plot in the Morgantown +graveyard. He'd seen the place and counted it for his a good many +years because he said the grass grew quicker there than any other +place, after the snow went." + +"A damned good reason," said Garry Patterson. As the idea stuck more +deeply into his imagination he smashed his fist down on the table so +that the crockery on it danced. "A damned good reason, say I!" + +"Who's your father?" asked Dick Wilbur, who eyed Pierre more +critically but with less enmity than the rest. + +"Martin Ryder." + +"A ringer!" cried Bud Mansie, and he leaned forward alertly. "You +remember what I said, Jim?" + +"Shut up. Pierre, talk soft and talk quick. We all know Mart Ryder had +only two sons and you're not either of them." + +The Northerner grew stiff and as his face grew pale the red mark where +the stone had struck his forehead stood out like a danger signal. + +He said slowly: "I'm his son, but not by the mother of those two." + +"Was he married twice?" + +Pierre was paler still, and there was an uneasy twitching of his right +hand which every man understood. + +He barely whispered. "No; damn you!" + +But Black Gandil loved evil. + +He said, with a marvelously unpleasant smile: "Then she was--" + +The voice of Dick Wilbur cut in like the snapping of a whip: "Shut up, +Gandil, you devil!" + +There were times when not even Boone would cross Wilbur, and this was +one of them. + +Pierre went on: "The reason I can't go to Morgantown is that I'm not +very well liked by some of the men there." + +"Why not?" + +"When my father died there was no money to pay for his burial. I had +only a half-dollar piece. I went to the town and gambled and won a +great deal. But before I came out I got mixed up with a man called +Hurley, a professional gambler." + +"And Diaz?" queried a chorus. + +"Yes. Hurley was hurt in the wrist and Diaz died. I think I'm wanted +in Morgantown." + +Out of a little silence came the voice of Black Gandil: "Dick, I'm +thankin' you now for cuttin' me so short a minute ago." + +Phil Branch had not spoken, as usual, but now he repeated, with rapt, +far-off eyes: "'Hurley was hurt in the wrist and Diaz died?' Hurley +and Diaz! I played with Hurley, a couple of times." + +"Speakin' personal," said Garry Patterson, his red verging toward +purple in excitement, "which I'm ready to go with you down to +Morgantown and bury your father." + +"And do it shipshape," added Black Gandil. + +"With all the trimmings," said Bud Mansie, "with all Morgantown +joinin' the mournin' voluntarily under cover of our six-guns." + +"Wait," said Boone. "What's the second request?" + +"That can wait." + +"It's a bigger job than this one?" + +"Lots bigger." + +"And in the meantime?" + +"I'm your man." + +They shook hands. Even Black Gandil rose to take his share in the +ceremony--all save Bud Mansie, who had glanced out the window a moment +before and then silently left the room. A bottle of whisky was +produced and glasses filled all round. Jim Boone brought in the +seventh chair and placed it at the table. They raised their glasses. + +"To the empty chair," said Boone. + +They drank, and for the first time in his life, the liquid fire went +down the throat of Pierre. He set down his glass, coughing, and the +others laughed good-naturedly. + +"Started down the wrong way?" asked Wilbur. + +"It's beastly stuff; first I ever drank." + +A roar of laughter answered him. + +"Still I got an idea," broke in Jim Boone, "that he's worthy of takin' +the seventh chair. Draw it up lad." + +Vaguely it reminded Pierre of a scene in some old play with himself +in the role of the hero signing away his soul to the devil, but an +interruption kept him from taking the chair. There was a racket at the +door--a half-sobbing, half-scolding voice, and the laughter of a man; +then Bud Mansie appeared carrying Jack in spite of her struggles. He +placed her on the floor and held her hands to protect himself from +her fury. + +"I glimpsed her through the window," he explained. "She was lining out +for the stable and then a minute later I saw her swing a saddle +onto--what horse d'you think?" + +"Out with it." + +"Jim's big Thunder. Yep, she stuck the saddle on big black Thunder and +had a rifle in the holster. I saw there was hell brewing somewhere, so +I went out and nabbed her." + +"Jack!" called Jim Boone. "What were you started for?" + +Bud Mansie released her arms and she stood with them stiffening at her +sides and her fists clenched. + +"Hal--he died, and there was nothing but talk about him--nothing done. +You got a live man in Hal's place." + +She pointed an accusing finger at Pierre. + +"Maybe he takes his place for you, but he's not my brother--I hate +him. I went out to get another man to make up for Pierre." + +"Well?" + +"A dead man. I shoot straight enough for that." + +A very solemn silence spread through the room; for every man was +watching in the eyes of the father and daughter the same shining black +devil of wrath. + +"Jack, get into your room and don't move out of it till I tell you to. +D'you hear?" + +She turned on her heel like a soldier and marched from the room. + +"Jack." + +She stopped in the door but would not turn back. "Jack, don't you +love your old dad anymore?" She whirled and ran to him with +outstretched arms and clung to him, sobbing. "Oh, dad," she groaned. +"You've broken my heart." + + + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +The annals of the mountain-desert have never been written and can +never be written. They are merely a vast mass of fact and tradition +and imagining which floats from tongue to tongue from the Rockies to +the Sierra Nevadas. A man may be a fact all his life and die only a +local celebrity. Then again, he may strike sparks from that +imagination which runs riot by camp-fires and at the bars of the +crossroads saloons. + +In that case he becomes immortal. It is not that lies are told about +him or impossible feats ascribed to him, but every detail about him is +seized upon and passed on with a most scrupulous and loving care. + +In due time he will become a tradition. That is, he will be known +familiarly at widely separated parts of the range, places which he has +never visited. It has happened to a few of the famous characters of +the mountain-desert that they became traditions before their deaths. +It happened to McGurk, of course. It also happened to Red Pierre. + +Oddly enough, the tradition of Red Pierre did not begin with his ride +from the school of Father Victor to Morgantown, distant many days of +difficult and dangerous travel. Neither did tradition seize on the +gunfight that crippled Hurley and "put out" wizard Diaz. These things +were unquestionably known to many, but they did not strike the popular +imagination. What set men first on fire was the way Pierre le Rouge +buried his father "at the point of the gun" in Morgantown. + +That day Boone's men galloped out of the higher mountains down the +trail toward Morgantown. They stole a wagon out of a ranch stable on +the way and tied two lariats to the tongue. So they towed it, bounding +and rattling, over the rough trail to the house where Martin Ryder +lay dead. + +His body was placed in state in the body of the wagon, pillowed with +everything in the line of cloth which the house could furnish. Thus +equipped they went on at a more moderate pace toward Morgantown. + +What followed it is useless to repeat here. Tradition rehearsed every +detail of that day's work, and the purpose of this narrative is only +to give the details of some of the events which tradition does not +know, at least in their entirety. + +They started at one end of Morgantown's street. Pierre guarded the +wagon in the center of the street and kept the people under cover of +his rifle. The rest of Boone's men cleaned out the houses as they went +and sent the occupants piling out to swell the crowd. + +And so they rolled the crowd out of town and to the cemetery, where +"volunteers" dug the grave of Martin Ryder wide and deep, and Pierre +paid for the corner plot three times over in gold. + +Then a coffin--improvised hastily for the occasion out of a +packing-box--was lowered reverently, also by "volunteer" mourners, and +before the first sod fell on the dead. Pierre raised over his head the +crucifix of Father Victor that brought good luck, and intoned a +service in the purest Ciceronian Latin, surely, that ever regaled +the ears of Morgantown's elect. + +The moment he raised that cross the bull throat of Jim Boone bellowed +a command, the poised guns of the gang enforced it, and all the crowd +dropped to their knees, leaving the six outlaws scattered about the +edges of the mob like sheep dogs around a folding flock, while in the +center stood Pierre with white, upturned face and the raised cross. + +So Martin Ryder was buried with "trimmings," and the gang rode back, +laughing and shouting, through the town and up into the safety of the +mountains. Election day was fast approaching and therefore the rival +candidates for sheriff hastily organized posses and made the usual +futile pursuit. + +In fact, before the pursuit was well under way, Boone and his men sat +at their supper table in the cabin. The seventh chair was filled; all +were present except Jack, who sulked in her room. Pierre went to her +door and knocked. He carried under his arm a package which he had +secured in the General Merchandise Store of Morgantown. + +"We're all waiting for you at the table," he explained. + +"Just keep on waiting," said the husky voice of Jacqueline. + +"I've brought you a present." + +"I hate your presents!" + +"It's a thing you've wanted for a long time, Jacqueline." + +Only a stubborn silence. + +"I'm putting your door a little ajar." + +"If you dare to come in I'll--" + +"And I'm leaving the package right here at the entrance. I'm so sorry, +Jacqueline, that you hate me." + +And then he walked off down the hall--cunning Pierre--before she could +send her answer like an arrow after him. At the table he arranged an +eighth plate and drew up a chair before it. "If that's for Jack," +remarked Dick Wilbur, "you're wasting your time. I know her and I know +her type. She'll never come out to the table tonight--nor tomorrow, +either. I know!" + +In fact, he knew a good deal too much about girls and women also, did +Wilbur, and that was why he rode the long trails of the +mountain-desert with Boone and his men. Far south and east in the +Bahamas a great mansion stood vacant because he was gone, and the dust +lay thick on the carpets and powdered the curtains and tapestries with +a common gray. + +He had built it and furnished it for a woman he loved, and afterward +for her sake he had killed a man and fled from a posse and escaped in +the steerage of a west-bound ship. Still the law followed him, and he +kept on west and west until he reached the mountain-desert, which +thinks nothing of swallowing men and their reputations. + +There he was safe, but someday he would see some woman smile, catch +the glimmer of some eye, and throw safety away to ride after her. + +It was a weakness, but what made a tragic figure of handsome Dick +Wilbur was that he knew his weakness and sat still and let fate walk +up and overtake him. + +Yet Pierre le Rouge answered this man of sorrowful wisdom: "In my part +of the country men say: 'If you would speak of women let money talk +for you.'" + +And he placed a gold piece on the table. + +"She will come out to the supper table." + +"She will not," smiled Wilbur, and covered the coin. "Will you take +odds?" + +"No charity. Who else will bet?" + +"I," said Jim Boone instantly. "You figure her for an ordinary sulky +kid." + +Pierre smiled upon him. + +"There's a cut in my shirt where her knife passed through; and that's +the reason that I'll bet on her now." The whole table covered his +coin, with laughter. + +"We've kept one part of your bargain, Pierre. We've seen your father +buried in the corner plot. Now, what's the second part?" + +"I don't know you well enough to ask you that," said Pierre. + +They plied him with suggestions. + +"To rob the Berwin Bank?" + +"Stick up a train?" + +"No. That's nothing." + +"Round up the sheriffs from here to the end of the mountains?" + +"Too easy." + +"Roll all those together," said Pierre, "and you'll begin to get an +idea of what I'll ask." + +Then a low voice called from the black throat of the hall: "Pierre!" + +The others were silent, but Pierre winked at them, and made great +flourish with knife and fork against his plate as if to cover the +sound of Jacqueline's voice. + +"Pierre!" she called again. "I've come to thank you." + +He jumped up and turned toward the hall. + +"Do you like it?" + +"It's a wonder!" + +"Then we're friends?" + +"If you want to be." + +"There's nothing I want more. Then you'll come out and have supper +with us, Jack?" + +There was a little pause, and then Jim Boone struck his fist on the +table and cursed, for she stepped from the darkness into the flaring +light of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER 13 + + +She wore a cartridge-belt slung jauntily across her hips and from it +hung a holster of stiff new leather with the top flap open to show the +butt of a man-sized forty-five caliber six-shooter--her first gun. Not +a man of the gang but had loaned her his guns time and again, but they +had never dreamed of giving her a weapon of her own. + +So they stared at her agape, where she stood with her head back, one +hand resting on her hip, one hovering about the butt of the gun, as if +she challenged them to question her right to be called "man." + +It was as if she abandoned all claims to femininity with that single +step; the gun at her side made her seem inches taller and years older. +She was no longer a child, but a long-rider who could shoot with +the best. + +One glance she cast about the room to drink in the amazement of the +gang, and then her father broke in rather hoarsely: "Sit down, girl. +Sit down and be one of us. One of us you are by your own choice from +this day on. You're neither man nor woman, but a long-rider with every +man's hand against you. You've done with any hope of a home or of +friends. You're one of us. Poor Jack--my girl!" + +"Poor?" she returned. "Not while I can make a quick draw and shoot +straight." + +And then she swept the circle of eyes, daring them to take her boast +lightly, but they knew her too well, and were all solemnly silent. At +this she relented somewhat, and went directly to Pierre, flushing +from throat to hair. She held out her hand. + +"Will you shake and call it square?" + +"I sure will," nodded Pierre. + +"And we're pals--you and me, like the rest of 'em?" + +"We are." + +She took the place beside him. + +As the whisky went round after round the two seemed shut away from the +others; they were younger, less marked by life; they listened while +the others talked, and now and then exchanged glances of interest +or aversion. + +"Listen," she said after a time, "I've heard this story before." + +It was Phil Branch, square-built and square of jaw, who was talking. + +"There's only one thing I can handle better than a gun, and that's a +sledgehammer. A gun is all right in its way, but for work in a crowd, +well, give me a hammer and I'll show you a way out." + +Bud Mansie grinned: "Leave me my pair of sixes and you can have all +the hammers between here and Central Park in a crowd. There's nothing +makes a crowd remember its heels like a pair of barking sixes." + +"Ah, ah!" growled Branch. "But when they've heard bone crunch under +the hammer there's nothing will hold them." + +"I'd have to see that." + +"Maybe you will, Bud, maybe you will. It was the hammer that started +me for the trail west. I had a big Scotchman in the factory who +couldn't learn how to weld. I'd taught him day after day and cursed +him and damn near prayed for him. But he somehow wouldn't learn--the +swine--ah, ah!" + +He grew vindictively black at the memory. + +"Every night he wiped out what I'd taught him during the day and the +eraser he used was booze. So one fine day I dropped the hammer after +watchin' him make a botch on a big bar, and cussed him up one leg and +down the other. The Scotchman had a hangover from the night before and +he made a pass at me. It was too much for me just then, for the day +was hot and the forge fire had been spitting cinders in my face all +morning. So I took him by the throat." + +He reached out and closed his taut fingers slowly. + +"I didn't mean nothin' by it, but after a man has been moldin' iron, +flesh is pretty weak stuff. When I let go of Scotchy he dropped on the +floor, and while I stood starin' down at him somebody seen what had +happened and spread the word. + +"I wasn't none too popular, bein' not much on talk, so the boys got +together and pretty soon they come pilin' through the door at me, +packin' everything from hatchets to crowbars. + +"Lads, I was sorry about Scotchy, but after I glimpsed that gang +comin' I wasn't sorry for nothing. I felt like singin', though there +wasn't no song that could say just what I meant. But I grabbed up the +big fourteen-pound hammer and met 'em halfway. + +"The first swing of the hammer it met something hard, but not as hard +as iron. The thing crunched with a sound like an egg under a man's +heel. And when that crowd heard it they looked sick. God, how sick +they looked! They didn't wait for no second swing, but they beat it +hard and fast through the door with me after 'em. They scattered, but +I kept right on and didn't never really stop till I reached the +mountain-desert and you, Jim." + +"Which is a good yarn," said Bud Mansie, "but I can tell you one +that'll cap it. It was--" + +He stopped short, staring up at the door. Outside, the wind had kept +up a perpetual roaring, and no one noticed the noise of the opening +door. Bud Mansie, facing that door, however, turned a queer yellow +and sat with his lips parted on the last word. He was not pretty to +see. The others turned their heads, and there followed the strangest +panic which Pierre had ever seen. + +Jim Boone jerked his hand back to his hip, but stayed the motion, half +completed, and swung his hands stiffly above his head. Garry Patterson +sat with his eyes blinked shut, pale, waiting for death to come. Dick +Wilbur rose, tall and stiff, and stood with his hands gripped at his +sides, and Black Morgan Gandil clutched at the table before him and +his eyes wandered swiftly about the room, seeking a place for escape. + +There was only one sound, and that was a whispering moan of terror +from Jacqueline. Only Pierre made no move, yet he felt as he had when +the black mass of the landslide loomed above him. + +What he saw in the door was a man of medium size and almost slender +build. In spite of the patch of gray hair at either temple he was only +somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. But to see him was to forget +all details except the strangest face which Pierre had ever seen or +would ever look upon in all his career. + +It was pale, with a pallor strange to the ranges; even the lips seemed +bloodless, and they curved with a suggestion of a smile that was a +nervous habit rather than any sign of mirth. The nerves of the left +eye were also affected, and the lid dropped and fluttered almost shut, +so that he had to carry his head far back in order to see plainly. +There was such pride and scorn in the man that his name came up to the +lips of Pierre: "McGurk." + +A surprisingly gentle voice said: "Jim, I'm sorry to drop in on you +this way, but I've had some unpleasant news." + +His words dispelled part of the charm. The hands of big Boone lowered; +the others assumed more natural positions, but each, it seemed to +Pierre, took particular and almost ostentatious care that their +right hands should be always far from the holsters of their guns. + +The stranger went on: "Martin Ryder is finished, as I suppose you +know. He left a spawn of two mongrels behind him. I haven't bothered +with them, but I'm a little more interested in another son that has +cropped up. He's sitting over there in your family party and his name +is Pierre. In his own country they call him Pierre le Rouge, which +means Red Pierre, in our talk. + +"You know I've never crossed you in anything before, Jim. Have I?" + +Boone moistened his white lips and answered: "Never," huskily, as if +it were a great muscular effort for him to speak. + +"This time I have to break the custom. Boone, this fellow Pierre has +to leave the country. Will you see that he goes?" + +The lips of Boone moved and made no sound. + +He said at length: "McGurk, I'd rather cross the devil than cross you. +There's no shame in admitting that. But I've lost my boy, Hal." + +"Too bad, Jim. I knew Hal; at a distance, of course." + +"And Pierre is filling Hal's place in the family." + +"Is that your answer?" + +"McGurk, are you going to pin me down in this?" + +And here Jack whirled and cried: "Dad, you won't let Pierre go!" + +"You see?" pleaded Boone. + +It was uncanny and horrible to see the giant so unnerved before this +stranger, but that part of it did not come to Pierre until later. Now +he felt a peculiar emptiness of stomach and a certain jumping chill +that traveled up and down his spine. Moreover, he could not move his +eyes from the face of McGurk, and he knew at length that this was +fear--the first real fear that he had ever known. + +Shame made him hot, but fear made him cold again. He knew that if he +rose his knees would buckle under him; that if he drew out his +revolver it would slip from his palsied fingers. For the fear of death +is a mighty fear, but it is nothing compared with the fear of man. + +"I've asked you a question," said McGurk. "What's your answer?" + +There was a quiver in the black forest of Boone's beard, and if Pierre +was cold before, he was sick at heart to see the big man cringe +before McGurk. + +He stammered: "Give me time." + +"Good," said McGurk. "I'm afraid I know what your answer would be now, +but if you take a couple of days you will think things over and come +to a reasonable conclusion. I will be at Gaffney's place about fifteen +miles from here. You know it? Send your answer there. In the +meantime"--he stepped forward to the table and poured a small drink +of whisky into a glass and raised it high--"here's to the long health +and happiness of us all. Drink!" + +There was a hasty pouring of liquor. + +"And you also!" + +Pierre jumped as if he had been struck, and obeyed the order hastily. + +"So," said the master, pleasant again, and Pierre wiped his forehead +furtively and stared up with fascinated eyes. "An unwilling pledge is +better than none at all. To you, gentlemen, much happiness; to you, +Pierre le Rouge, bon voyage." + +They drank; the master placed his glass on the table again, smiled +upon them, and was gone through the door. He turned his back in +leaving. There was no fitter way in which he could have expressed his +contempt. + + + + +CHAPTER 14 + + +The mirth died and in its place came a long silence. Jim Boone stared +upon Pierre with miserable eyes, and then rose and left the room. The +others one by one followed his example. Dick Wilbur in passing dropped +his hand on Pierre's shoulder. Jacqueline was silent. + +As he sat there minute after minute and then hour after hour of the +long night Pierre saw the meaning of it. If they sent word that they +would not give up Pierre it was war, and war with McGurk had only one +ending. If they sent word that Pierre was surrendered the shame would +never leave Boone and his men. + +Whatever they did there was ruin for them in the end. All this Pierre +conned slowly in his mind, until he was cold. Then he looked up and +saw that the lamp had burned out and that the wood in the fireplace +was consumed to a few red embers. + +He replenished the fire, and when the yellow flames began to mount he +made his resolution and walked slowly up and down the floor with it. +For he knew that he must go to meet McGurk. + +The very thought of the man sent the old chill through his blood, yet +he must go and face him and end the thing. + +It came over him with a pang that he was very young; that life was +barely a taste in his mouth, whether bitter or sweet he could not +tell. He picked a flaming stick from the fire and went before a little +round mirror on the wall. + +Back at him stared the face of a boy. He had seen so much of the +grim six in the last day that the contrast startled him. They were +men, hardened to life and filled with knowledge of it. They were books +written full. But he? He was a blank page with a scribbled word here +and there. Nevertheless, he was chosen and he must go. + +Having reached that decision he closed his mind on what would happen. +There was a vague fear that when he faced McGurk he would be frozen +with fear; that his spirit would be broken and he would become a thing +too despicable for a man to kill. + +One thing was certain: if he was to act a man's part and die a man's +death he must not stand long before McGurk. It seemed to him then that +he would die happy if he had the strength to fire one shot before +the end. + +Then he tiptoed from the house and went over the snow to the barn and +saddled the horse of Hal Boone. It was already morning, and as he led +the horse to the door of the barn a shadow, a faint shadow in that +early light, fell across the snow before him. + +He looked up and saw Jacqueline. She stepped close, and the horse +nosed her shoulder affectionately. + +She said: "Isn't there anything that will keep you from going?" + +"It's just a little ride before breakfast. I'll be back in an hour." + +It was foolish to try to blind her, as he saw by her wan, unchildish +smile. + +"Is there no other way, Pierre?" + +"I don't know of any, do you?" + +"You have to leave us, and never come back?" + +"Is he as sure as that, Jack?" + +"Sure? Who?" + +She had not known, after all; she thought that he was merely riding +away from the region where McGurk was king. Now she caught his wrists +and shook them. "Pierre, you are not going to face McGurk? Pierre!" + +"If you were a man, you would understand." + +"I know; because of your father. I do understand, but oh, Pierre, +listen! I can shoot as straight as almost any man. We will ride down +together. We will go through the doors together--me first to take his +fire, and you behind to shoot him down." + +"I guess no man can be as brave as a woman, Jack. No; I have to see +McGurk alone. He faced my father alone and shot him down. I'll face +McGurk alone and live long enough to put my mark on him." + +"But you don't know him. He can't be hurt. Do you think my father +and--and Dick Wilbur would fear any man who could be hurt? No, but +McGurk has been in a hundred fights and never been touched. There's a +charm over him, don't you see?" + +"I'll break the charm, that's all." + +He was up in the saddle. + +"Then I'll call dad--I'll call them all--if you die they shall all +follow you. I swear they shall. Pierre!" + +He merely leaned forward and touched the horse with his spurs, but +after he had raced the first hundred yards he glanced back. She was +running hard for the house, and calling as she went. Pierre cursed and +spurred the horse again. + +Yet even if Jim Boone and his men started out after him they could +never overtake him. Before they were in their saddles and up with him, +he'd be a full three miles out in the hills. Not even black Thunder +could make up as much ground as that. + +So all the fifteen miles to Gaffney's place he urged his horse. The +excitement of the race kept the thought of McGurk back in his mind. +Only once he lost time when he had to pull up beside a buckboard and +inquire the way. After that he flew on again. Yet as he clattered up +to the door of Gaffney's crossroads saloon and swung to the ground +he looked back and saw a cluster of horsemen swing around the shoulder +of a hill and come tearing after him. Surely his time was short. + +He thrust open the door of the place and called for a drink. The +bartender spun the glass down the bar to him. + +"Where's McGurk?" + +The other stopped in the very act of taking out the bottle from the +shelf, and his curious glance went over the face of Pierre le Rouge. +He decided, apparently, that it was foolish to hold suspicions against +so young a man. + +"In that room," and he jerked his hand toward a door. "What do you +want with him?" + +"Got a message for him." + +"Tell it to me, and I'll pass it along." + +Pierre met the eye of the other and smiled faintly. + +"Not _this_ message." + +"Oh," said the other, and then shouted: "McGurk!" + +Far away came the rush of hoofs over a hard trail. Only a minute more +and they would be here; only a minute more and the room would be full +of fighting men ready to die with him and for him. Yet Pierre was +glad; glad that he could meet the danger alone; ten minutes from now, +if he lived, he could answer certainly one way or the other the +greatest of all questions: "Am I a man?" + +Out of the inner room the pleasant voice which he dreaded answered: +"What's up?" + +The barkeeper glanced Pierre le Rouge over again and then answered: "A +friend with a message." + +The door opened and framed McGurk. He did not start, seeing Pierre. + +He said: "None of the rest of them had the guts even to bring me the +message, eh?" + +Pierre shrugged his shoulders. It was a mighty effort, but he was able +to look his man fairly in the eyes. "All right, lad. How long is it +going to take you to clear out of the country?" + +"That's not the message," answered a voice which Pierre did not +recognize as his own. + +"Out with it, then." + +"It's in the leather on my hip." + +And he went for his gun. Even as he started his hand he knew that he +was too slow for McGurk, yet the finest splitsecond watch in the world +could not have caught the differing time they needed to get their guns +out of the holsters. + +Just a breath before Pierre fired there was a stunning blow on his +right shoulder and another on his hip. He lurched to the floor, his +revolver clattering against the wood as he fell, but falling, he +scooped up the gun with his left and twisted. + +That movement made the third shot of McGurk fly wide and Pierre fired +from the floor and saw a spasm of pain contract the face of +the outlaw. + +Instantly the door behind him flew open and Boone's men stormed into +the room. Once more McGurk fired, but his wound made his aim wide and +the bullet merely tore up a splinter beside Pierre's head. A fusillade +from Boone and his men answered, but the outlaw had leaped back +through the door. + +"He's hurt," thundered Boone. "By God, the charm of McGurk is broken. +Dick, Bud, Gandil, take the outside of the place. I'll force +the door." + +Wilbur and the other two raced through the door and raised a shout at +once, and then there was a rattle of shots. Big Patterson leaned +over Pierre. + +He said in an awe-stricken voice: "Lad, it's a great work that you've +done for all of us, if you've drawn the blood from McGurk." + +"His left shoulder," said Pierre, and smiled in spite of his pain. +"And you, lad?" + +"I'm going to live; I've got to finish the job. Who's that beside you? +There's a mist over my eyes." + +"It's Jack. She outrode us all." + +Then the mist closed over the eyes of Pierre and his senses went out +in the dark. + + + + +CHAPTER 15 + + +Those who are curious about the period which followed during which the +title "Le Rouge" was forgotten and he became known only as "Red" +Pierre through all the mountain-desert, can hear the tales of his +doing from the analysts of the ranges. This story has to do only with +his struggle with McGurk. + +The gap of six years which occurs here is due to the fact that during +that period McGurk vanished from the mountain-desert. He died away +from the eyes of men and in their minds he became that tradition which +lives still so vividly, the tradition of the pale face, the sneering, +bloodless lips, and the hand which never failed. + +During this lapse of time there were many who claimed that he had +ridden off into some lonely haunt and died of the wound which he +received from Pierre's bullet. A great majority, however, would never +accept such a story, and even when the six years had rolled by they +still shook their heads. They awaited his return just as certain +stanch old Britons await the second coming of Arthur from the island +of Avalon. In the meantime the terror of his name passed on to him who +had broken the "charm" of McGurk. + +Not all that grim significance passed on to Red Pierre, indeed, +because he never impressed the public imagination as did the terrible +ruthlessness of McGurk. At that he did enough to keep tongues wagging. + +Cattlemen loved to tell those familiar exploits of the "two sheriffs," +or that "thousand-mile pursuit of Canby," with its half-tragic, +half-humorous conclusion, or the "Sacking of Two Rivers," or the +"three-cornered battle" against Rodriguez and Blond. + +But men could not forget that in all his work there rode behind Red +Pierre six dauntless warriors of the mountain-desert, while McGurk had +been always a single hand against the world, a veritable lone wolf. + +Whatever kept him away through those six years, the memory of the +wound he received at Gaffney's place never left McGurk, and now he was +coming back with a single great purpose in his mind, and in his heart +a consuming hatred for Pierre and all the other of Boone's men. + +Certainly if he had sensed the second coming of McGurk, Pierre would +not have ridden so jauntily through the hills this day, or whistled so +carelessly, or swept the hills with such a complacent, lordly eye. A +man of mark cannot bear himself too modestly, and Pierre, from boots +to high-peaked, broad-brimmed sombrero, was the last word in elegance +for a rider of the mountain-desert. + +Even his mount seemed to sense the pride of his master. It was a +cream-colored mustang, not one of the lump-headed, bony-hipped species +common to the ranges, but one of those rare reversions to the Spanish +thoroughbreds from which the Western cow-pony is descended. The mare +was not over-large, but the broad hips and generous expanse of chest +were hints, and only hints, of her strength and endurance. There was +the speed of the blooded racer in her and the tirelessness of +the mustang. + +Now, down the rocky, half-broken trail she picked her way as daintily +as any debutante tiptoeing down a great stairway to the ballroom. Life +had been easy for Mary since that thousand-mile struggle to overtake +Canby, and now her sides were sleek from good feeding and some casual +twenty miles a day, which was no more to her than a canter through the +park is to the city horse. + +The eye which had been so red-stained and fierce during the long ride +after Canby was now bright and gentle. At every turn she pricked her +small sharp ears as if she expected home and friends on the other side +of the curve. And now and again she tossed her head and glanced back +at the master for a moment and then whinnied across some +echoing ravine. + +It was Mary's way of showing happiness, and her master's +acknowledgment was to run his gloved left hand up through her mane and +with his ungloved right, that tanned and agile hand, pat her +shoulder lightly. + +Passing to the end of the down-grade, they reached a slight upward +incline, and the mare, as if she had come to familiar ground, broke +into a gallop, a matchless, swinging stride. Swerving to right and to +left among the great boulders, like a football player running a broken +field, she increased the gallop to a racing pace. + +That twisting course would have shaken an ordinary horseman to the +toes, but Pierre, swaying easily in the saddle, dropped the reins into +the crook of his left arm and rolled a cigarette in spite of the +motion and the wind. It was a little feat, but it would have drawn +applause from a circus crowd. + +He spoke to the mare while he lighted a match and she dropped to an +easy canter, the pace which she could maintain from dawn to dark, +eating up the gray miles of the mountain and the desert, and it was +then that Red Pierre heard a gay voice singing in the distance. + +His attitude changed at once. He caught a shorter grip on the reins +and swung forward a little in the saddle, while his right hand touched +the butt of the revolver in its holster and made sure that it was +loose; for to those who hunt and are hunted every human voice in the +mountain-desert is an ominous token. + +The mare, sensing the change of her master through that weird +telegraphy which passed down the taut bridle reins, held her head high +and flattened her short ears against her neck. + +The song and the singer drew closer, and the vigilance of Pierre +ceased as he heard a mellow baritone ring out. + + "They call me poor, yet I am rich + In the touch of her golden hair, + My heart is filled like a miser's hands + With the red-gold of her hair. + The sky I ride beneath all day + Is the blue of her dear eyes; + The only heaven I desire + Is the blue of her dear eyes." + +And here Dick Wilbur rode about the shoulder of a hill, broke off his +song at the sight of Pierre le Rouge, and shouted a welcome. They came +together and continued their journey side by side. The half-dozen +years had hardly altered the blond, handsome face of Wilbur, and now, +with the gladness of his singing still flushing his face, he seemed +hardly more than a boy--younger, in fact, than Red Pierre, into whose +eyes there came now and then a grave sternness. + +"After hearing that song," said Pierre smiling, "I feel as if I'd +listened to a portrait." "Right!" said Wilbur, with unabated +enthusiasm. "It's the bare and unadorned truth, Prince Pierre. My fine +Galahad, if you came within eye-shot of her there'd be a small-sized +hell raised." + +"No. I'm immune there, you know." + +"Nonsense. The beauty of a really lovely woman is like a fine perfume. +It strikes right to a man's heart; there's no possibility of +resistance. I know. You, Pierre, act like a man already in love or a +boy who has never known a woman. Which is it, Pierre?" + +The other made a familiar gesture with those who knew him, a touching +of his left hand against his throat where the cross lay. + +He said: "I suppose it seems like that to you." + +"Like what? Dodging me, eh? Well, I never press the point, but I'd +give the worth of your horse, Pierre, to see you and Mary together." + +Red Pierre started, and then frowned. + +"Irritates you a little, eh? Well, a woman is like a spur to most +men." + +He added, with a momentary gloom: "God knows, I bear the marks of +'em." + +He raised his head, as if he looked up in response to his thought. + +"But there's a difference with this girl. I've named the quality of +her before--it disarms a man." + +Pierre looked to his friend with some alarm, for there was a saying +among the followers of Boone that a woman would be the downfall of big +Dick Wilbur again, as a woman had been his downfall before. The +difference would be that this fall must be his last. + +And Wilbur went on: "She's Eastern, Pierre, and out here visiting the +daughter of old Barnes who owns about a thousand miles of range, you +know. How long will she be here? That's the question I'm trying to +answer for her. I met her riding over the hills--she was galloping +along a ridge, and she rode her way right into my heart. Well, I'm a +fool, of course, but about this girl I can't be wrong. Tonight I'm +taking her to a masquerade." + +He pulled his horse to a full stop. + +"Pierre, you have to come with me." + + + + +CHAPTER 16 + + +Pierre stared at his companion with almost open-mouthed astonishment. + +"I? A dance?" + +And then his head tilted back and he laughed. + +"My good times, Dick, come out of the hills and the skyline, and the +gallop of Mary. But as for women, they bore me, Dick." + +"Even Jack?" + +"She's more man than woman." + +It was the turn of Wilbur to laugh, and he responded uproariously +until Pierre frowned and flushed a little. + +"When I see you out here on your horse with your rifle in the boot and +your six-gun swinging low in the scabbard, and riding the fastest bit +of horseflesh on the ranges," explained Wilbur, "I get to thinking +that you're pretty much king of the mountains; but in certain +respects, Pierre, you're a child." + +Pierre stirred uneasily in his saddle. A man must be well over thirty +before he can withstand ridicule. + +He said dryly: "I've an idea that I know Jack's about as well as the +next man." "Let it drop," said Wilbur, sober again, for he shared +with all of Boone's crew a deep-rooted unwillingness to press Red +Pierre beyond a certain point. "The one subject I won't quarrel about +is Jack, God bless her." + +"She's the best pal," said Pierre soberly, "and the nearest to a man +I've ever met." + +"Nearest to a man?" queried Wilbur, and smiled, but so furtively that +even the sharp eye of Red Pierre did not perceive the mockery. He went +on: "But the dance, what of that? It's a masquerade. There'd be no +fear of being recognized." + +Pierre was silent a moment more. Then he said: "This girl--what did +you call her?" + +"Mary." + +"And about her hair--I think you said it was black?" + +"Golden, Pierre." + +"Mary, and golden hair," mused Red Pierre. "I think I'll go to that +dance." + +"With Jack? She dances wonderfully, you know." + +"Well--with Jack." + +So they reached a tumbled ranch house squeezed between two hills so +that it was sheltered from the storms of the winter but held all the +heat of the summer. + +Once it had been a goodly building, the home of some cattle king. But +bad times had come. A bullet in a saloon brawl put an end to the +cattle king, and now his home was a wreck of its former glory. The +northern wing shelved down to the ground as if the building were +kneeling to the power of the wind, and the southern portion of the +house, though still erect, seemed tottering and rotten throughout and +holding together until at a final blow the whole structure would +crumple at once. + +To the stables, hardly less ruinous than the big house, Pierre and +Wilbur took their horses, and a series of whinnies greeted them from +the stalls. To look down that line of magnificent heads raised above +the partitions of the stalls was like glancing into the stud of some +crowned head who made hunting and racing his chief end in life, for +these were animals worthy of the sport of kings. + +They were chosen each from among literal hundreds, and they were cared +for far more tenderly than the masters cared for themselves. There was +a reason in it, for upon their speed and endurance depended the life +of the outlaw. Moreover, the policy of Jim Boone was one of actual +"long riding." + +Here he had come to a pause for a few days to recuperate his horses +and his men. Tomorrow, perhaps, he would be on the spur again and +sweeping off to a distant point in the mountain-desert to strike and +be gone again before the rangers knew well that he had been there. +Very rarely did one settler have another neighbor at a distance of +less than two hundred miles. It meant arduous and continual riding, +and a horse with any defect was worse than useless because the speed +of the gang had to be the speed of the slowest horse in the lot. + +It was some time before the two long riders had completed the grooming +of their horses and had gone down the hill and into the house. In the +largest habitable room they found a fire fed with rotten timbers from +the wrecked portion of the building, and scattered through the room a +sullen and dejected group: Mansie, Branch, Jim Boone, and Black +Morgan Gandil. + +At a glance it was easy to detect their malady; it was the horrible +ennui which comes to men who are always surrounded by one set of +faces. If a man is happily married he may bear with his wife and his +children constantly through long stretches of time, but the glamour of +life lies in the varying personalities which a man glimpses in +passing, but never knows. + +This was a rare crew. Every man of them was marked for courage and +stamina and wild daring. Yet even so in their passive moments they +hated each other with a hate that passed the understanding of +common men. + +Through seven years they had held together, through fair weather and +foul, and now each knew from the other's expression the words that +were about to be spoken, and each knew that the other was reading him, +and loathing what he read. + +So they were apt to relapse into long silences unless Jack was with +them, for being a woman her variety was infinite, or Pierre le Rouge, +whom all except Black Gandil loved and petted, and feared. + +They were a battered crowd. Wind and hard weather and a thousand suns +had marked them, and the hand of man had branded them. Here and there +was a touch of gray in their hair, and about the mouth of each were +lines which in such silent moments as this one gave an expression +of yearning. + +"What's up? What's wrong?" asked Wilbur from the door, but since no +answer was deigned he said no more. + +But Pierre, like a charmed man who dares to walk among lions, strolled +easily through the room, and looked into the face of big Boone, who +smiled faintly up to him, and Black Gandil, who scowled doubly dark, +and Bud Mansie, who shifted uneasily in his chair and then nodded, and +finally to Branch. He dropped a hand on the massive shoulder of the +blacksmith. + +"Well?" he asked. + +Branch let himself droop back into his chair. His big, dull, colorless +eyes stared up to his friend. + +"I dunno, lad. I'm just weary with the sort of tired that you can't +help by sleepin'. Understand?" + +Pierre nodded, slowly, because he sympathized. "And the trouble?" + +Branch stared about as if searching for a reason. "Jack's upstairs +sulking; Patterson hasn't come home yet." + +And Black Gandil, who heard all things, said without looking up: "A +man that saves a shipwrecked fellow, he gets bad luck for thanks." + +Pierre turned a considerable eye on him, and Gandil scowled back. + +"You've been croaking for six years, Morgan, about the bad luck that +would come to Jim from saving me out of the snow. It's never +happened, has it?" + +Gandil, snarling from one side of his mouth, answered: "Where's +Patterson?" + +"Am I responsible if the blockhead has got drunk someplace?" + +"Patterson doesn't get drunk--not that way. And he knows that we were +to start again today." + +"There ain't no doubt of that," commented Branch. + +"It's the straight dope. Patterson keeps his dates," said Bud Mansie. + +The booming bass of Jim Boone broke in: "Shut up, the whole gang of +you. We've had luck for the six years Pierre has been with us. Who +calls him a Jonah?" + +And Black Gandil answered: "I do. I've sailed the seas. I know bad +luck when I see it." + +"You've been seeing it for six years." + +"The worst storms come on a voyage that starts with fair weather. +Patterson? He's gone; he ain't just delayed; he's gone." + +It was not the first of these gloomy prophecies which Gandil had made, +but each time a heavy gloom broke over Red Pierre. For when he summed +up the good fortune which the cross of Father Victor had brought him, +he found that he had gained a father, and lost him at their first +meeting; and he had won money on that night of the gambling, but it +had cost the life of another man almost at once. The horse which +carried him away from the vengeance in Morgantown had died on the way +and he had been saved from the landslide, but the girl had perished. + +He had driven McGurk from the ranges, and where would the penalty fall +on those who were near and dear to him? In a superstitious horror he +had asked himself the question a thousand times, and finally he could +hardly bear to look into the ominous, brooding eyes of Black Gandil. +It was as if the man had a certain and evil knowledge of the future. + + + + +CHAPTER 17 + + +The knowledge of the torment he was inflicting made the eye of Black +Gandil bright with triumph. + +He continued, and now every man in the room was sitting up, alert, +with gloomy eyes fixed upon Pierre: "Patterson is the first, but he +ain't the last. He's just the start. Who's next?" He looked +slowly around. + +"Is it you, Bud, or you, Phil, or you, Jim, or maybe me?" + +And Pierre said: "What makes you think you know that trouble's coming, +Morgan?" + +"Because my blood runs cold in me when I look at you." + +Red Pierre grew rigid and straightened in a way they knew. + +"Damn you, Gandil, I've borne with you and your croaking too long, +d'ye hear? Too long, and I'll hear no more of it, understand?" + +"Why not? You'll hear from me every time I sight you in the offing. +You c'n lay to that!" + +The others were tense, ready to spring for cover, but Boone reared up +his great figure. + +"Don't answer him, Pierre. You, Gandil, shut your face or I'll break +ye in two." + +The fierce eyes of Pierre le Rouge never wavered from his victim, but +he answered: "Keep out of this. This is _my_ party. I'll tell you why +you'll stop gibbering, Gandil." + +He made a pace forward and every man shrank a little away from him. + +"Because the cold in your blood is part hate and more fear, Black +Gandil." + +The eyes of Gandil glared back for an instant. With all his soul he +yearned for the courage to pull his gun, but his arm was numb; he +could not move it, and his eyes wavered and fell. + +The shaggy gray head of Jim Boone fell likewise, and he was murmuring +to his savage old heart: "The good days are over. They'll never rest +till one of 'em is dead, and then the rest will take sides and we'll +have gun-plays at night. Seven years, and then to break up!" + +Dick Wilbur, as usual, was the pacifier. He strode across the room, +and the sharp sound of his heels on the creaking floor broke the +tension. He said softly to Pierre: "You've raised hell enough. Now +let's go and get Jack down here to undo what you've just finished. +Besides, you've got to ask her for that dance, eh?" + +The glance of Pierre still lingered on Gandil as he turned and +followed Wilbur up the complaining stairs to the one habitable room in +the second story of the house. It was set aside for the use of +Jacqueline. + +At the door Wilbur said: "Shrug your shoulders back; you look as if +you were going to jump at something. And wipe the wolf look off your +face. After all, Jack's a girl, not a gunfighter." + +Then he knocked and opened the door. + +She lay face down on her bunk, her head turned from them toward the +wall. Slender and supple and strong, it was still only the size of her +boots and her hands that would make one look at her twice and then +guess that this was a woman, for she was dressed, from trousers even +to the bright bandanna knotted around her throat, like any prosperous +range rider. + +Now, to be sure, the thick coils of black hair told her sex, but when +the broad-brimmed sombrero was pulled well down on her head, when the +cartridge-belt and the six-gun were slung about her waist, and most of +all when she spurred her mount recklessly across the hills no one +could have suspected that this was not some graceful boy born and bred +in the mountain-desert, willful as a young mountain lion, and as +dangerous. + +"Sleepy?" called Wilbur. + +She waited a moment and then queried with exaggerated impudence: +"Well?" + +Ennui unspeakable was in that drawling monotone. + +"Brace up; I've got news for you. And I've brought Pierre along to +tell you about it." + +"Oh!" + +And she sat bolt upright with shining eyes. Instantly she remembered +to yawn again, but her glance smiled on them above her hand. + +She apologized. "Awfully sleepy, Dick." + +But he was not deceived. He said: "There's a dance down near the +Barnes place, and Pierre wants you to go with him." + +"Pierre! A dance?" + +He explained: "Dick's lost his head over a girl with yellow hair, and +he wants me to go down and see her. He thought you might want to go +along." Her face changed like the moon when a cloud blows across it. +She answered with another slow, insolent yawn: "Thanks! I'm staying +home tonight." + +Wilbur glared his rage covertly at Pierre, but the latter was blandly +unconscious that he had made any _faux pas_. + +He said carelessly: "Too bad. It might be interesting. Jack?" + +At his voice she looked up--a sharp and graceful toss of her head. + +"What?" + +"The girl with the yellow hair." + +"Then go ahead and see her. I won't keep you. You don't mind if I go +on sleeping? Sit down and be at home." + +With this she calmly turned her back again and seemed thoroughly +disposed to carry out her word. + +Red Pierre flushed a little, watching her, and he spoke his anger +outright: "You're acting like a sulky kid, Jack, not like a man." + +It was a habit of his to forget that she was a woman. Without turning +her head she answered: "Do you want to know why?" + +"You're like a cat showing your claws. Go on! Tell me what the reason +is." + +"Because I get tired of you." + +In all his life he had never been so scorned. He did not see the +covert grin of Wilbur in the background. He blurted: "Tired?" + +"Awfully. You don't mind me being frank, do you, Pierre?" + +He could only stammer: "Sometimes I wish to God you _were_ a man, +Jack!" + +"You don't often remember that I'm a woman." + +"Do you mean that I'm rude or rough with you, Jacqueline?" Still the +silence, but Wilbur was grinning broader than ever. "Answer me!" + +She started up and faced him, her face convulsed with rage. + +"What do you want me to say? Yes, you are rude--I hate you and your +lot. Go away from me; I don't want you; I hate you all." + +And she would have said more, but furious sobs swelled her throat and +she could not speak, but dropped, face down, on the bunk and gripped +the blankets in each hardset hand. Over her Pierre leaned, utterly +bewildered, found nothing that he could say, and then turned and +strode, frowning, from the room. Wilbur hastened after him and caught +him just as the door was closing. + +"Come back," he pleaded. "This is the best game I've ever seen. Come +back, Pierre! You've made a wonderful start." + +Pierre le Rouge shook off the detaining hand and glared up at Wilbur. + +"Don't try irony, Dick. I feel like murder. Think of it! All this time +she's been hating me; and now it's making her weep; think of +it--Jack--weeping!" + +"Why, you're a child, Pierre. She's in love with you." + +"With me?" + +"With Red Pierre." + +"You can't make a joke out of Jack with me. You ought to know that." + +"Pierre, I'd as soon make a joke out of a wildcat." + +"Grinning still? Wilbur, I'm taking more from you than I would from +any man on the ranges." + +"I know you are, and that's why I'm stringing this out because I'm +going to have a laugh--ha, ha, ha!--the rest of my life--ha, ha, ha, +ha!--whenever I think of this!" + +The burst of merriment left him speechless, and Pierre, glowering, +his right hand twitching dangerously close to that holster at his hip. +He sobered, and said: "Go in and talk to her and prove that +I'm right." + +"Ask Jack if she loves me? Why, I'd as soon ask any man the same +question." + +The big long-rider was instantly curious. + +"Has she never appealed to you as a woman, Pierre?" + +"How could she? I've watched her ride; I've watched her use her gun; +I've slept rolled in the same blankets with her, back to back; I've +walked and talked and traveled with her as if she were my +kid brother." + +Wilbur nodded, as if the miracle were being slowly unfolded before his +eyes. + +"And you've never noticed anything different about her? Never watched +a little lift and grace in her walk that no man could ever have; never +seen her color change just because you, Pierre, came near or went far +away from her?" + +"Because of me?" asked the bewildered Pierre. + +"You fool, you! Why, lad, I've been kept amused by you two for a whole +evening, watching her play for your attention, saving her best smiles +for you, keeping her best attitudes for you, and letting all the +richness of her voice go out for--a block--a stone. Gad, the thing +still doesn't seem possible! Pierre, one instant of that girl would +give romance to a man's whole life." + +"This girl? This Jack of ours?" + +"He hasn't seen it! Why, if I hadn't seen years ago that she had tied +her hands and turned her heart over to you, I'd have been begging her +for a smile, a shadow of a hope." + +"If I didn't know you, Dick, I'd say that you were partly drunk and +partly a fool." + +"Here's a hundred--a cold hundred that I'm right. I'll make it a +thousand, if you dare." + +"Dare what?" + +"Ask her to marry you." "Marry--me?" + +"Damn it all--well, then--whatever you like. But I say that if you go +back into that room and sit still and merely look at her, she'll be in +your arms within five minutes." + +"I hate to take charity, but a bet is a bet. That hundred is in my +pocket already. It's a go!" + +They shook hands. + +"But what will be your proof, Dick, whether I win or lose?" + +"Your face, blockhead, when you come out of the room." + +Upon this Pierre pondered a moment, and then turned toward the door. +He set his hand on the knob, faltered, and finally set his teeth and +entered the room. + + + + +CHAPTER 18 + + +She lay as he had left her, except that her face was now pillowed in +her arms, and the long sobs kept her body quivering. Curiosity swept +over Pierre, looking down at her, but chiefly a puzzled grief such as +a man feels when a friend is in trouble. He came closer and laid a +hand on her shoulder. + +"Jack!" + +She turned far enough to strike his hand away and instantly resumed +her former position, though the sobs were softer. This childish anger +irritated him. He was about to storm out of the room when the thought +of the hundred dollars stopped him. The bet had been made, and it +seemed unsportsmanlike to leave without some effort. + +The effort which he finally made was that suggested by Wilbur. He +folded his arms and stood silent, waiting, and ready to judge the time +as nearly as he could until the five minutes should have elapsed. He +was so busy computing the minutes that it was with a start that he +noticed some time later that the weeping had ceased. She lay quiet. +Her hand was dabbing furtively at her face for a purpose which Pierre +could not surmise. + +At last a broken voice murmured: "Pierre!" + +He would not speak, but something in the voice made his anger go. +After a little it came, and louder this time: "Pierre?" + +He did not stir. + +She whirled and sat on the edge of the bunk, crying: "Pierre!" with a +note of fright. + +Still he persisted in that silence, his arms folded, the keen blue +eyes considering her as if from a great distance. + +She explained: "I was afraid--Pierre! Why don't you speak? Tell me, +are you angry?" + +And she sprang up and made a pace toward him. She had never seemed so +little manlike, so wholly womanly. And the hand which stretched toward +him, palm up, was a symbol of everything new and strange that he +found in her. + +He had seen it balled to a small, angry fist, brown and dangerous; he +had seen it gripping the butt of a revolver, ready for the draw; he +had seen it tugging at the reins and holding a racing horse in check +with an ease which a man would envy; but never before had he seen it +turned palm up, to his knowledge; and now, because he could not speak +to her, according to his plan, he studied her thoroughly for the +first time. + +Slender and marvelously made was that hand. The whole woman was in +it, made for beauty, not for use. It was all he could do to keep from +exclaiming. + +She made a quick step toward him, eager, uncertain: "Pierre, I thought +you had left me--that you were gone, and angry." + +Something caught on fire in Pierre, but still he would say nothing. He +was beginning to feel a cruel pleasure in his victory, but it was not +without a deep sense of danger. + +She had laid aside her six-gun, but she had not abandoned it. She had +laid aside her anger, but she could resume it again as swiftly as she +could take up her revolver. + +She cried with a little burst of rage: "Pierre, you are making a game +of me!" + +But seeing that he did not change she altered swiftly and caught his +hand in both of hers. She spoke the name which she always used when +she was greatly moved. + +"Ah, Pierre le Rouge, what have I done?" + +His silence tempted her on like the smile of the sphinx. + +And suddenly she was inside his arms, though how she separated them he +could not tell, and crying: "Pierre, I am unhappy. Help me, Pierre!" + +It was true, then, and Wilbur had won his bet. But how could it have +happened? He took the arms that encircled his neck and brought them +slowly down, and watched her curiously. Something was expected of him, +but what it was he could not tell, for women were as strange to him as +the wild sea is strange to the Arab. + +He hunted his mind, and then: "One of the boys has angered you, Jack?" + +And she said, because she could think of no way to cover the confusion +which came to her after the outbreak: "Yes." + +He dropped her arms and strode a pace or two up and down the room. + +"Gandil?" + +"N-no!" "You're lying. It was Gandil." + +And he made straight for the door. + +She ran after him and flung herself between him and the door. Clearly, +as if it were a painted picture, she saw him facing Gandil--saw their +hands leap for the guns--saw Gandil pitch face forward on the floor. +"Pierre--for God's sake!" + +Her terror convinced him partially, and the furor went back from his +eyes as a light goes back in a long, dark hall. + +"On your honor, Jack, it's not Gandil?" + +"On my honor." + +"But someone has broken you up. And he's here--he's one of us, this +man who's bothered you." + +She could not help but answer: "Yes." + +He scowled down at the floor. + +"You would never be able to guess who it is. Give it up. After all--I +can live through it--I guess." + +He took her face between his hands and frowned down into her eyes. +"Tell me his name, Jack, and the dog--" + +She said: "Let me go. Take your hands away, Pierre." + +He obeyed her, deeply worried, and she stood up for a moment with a +hand pressed over her eyes, swaying. He had never seen her like this; +he was like a pilot striving to steer his ship through an unfathomable +fog. Following what had become an instinct with him, he raised his +left hand and touched the cross beneath his throat. And inspiration +came to him. + + + + +CHAPTER 19 + + +"Whether you want to or not, Jack, we'll go to this dance tonight." + +Jacqueline's hand fell away from her eyes. She seemed suddenly glad +again. + +"Do you want to take me, Pierre?" + +He explained: "Of course. Besides, we have to keep an eye on Wilbur. +This girl with the yellow hair--" + +She had altered swiftly again. There was no understanding her or +following her moods this day. He decided to disregard them, as he had +often done before. + +"Black Gandil swears that I'm bringing bad luck to the boys at last. +Patterson has disappeared; Wilbur has lost his head about a girl. +We've got to save Dick." + +He knew that she was fond of Wilbur, but she showed no enthusiasm now. + +"Let him go his own way. He's big enough to take care of himself." + +"But it's common talk, Jack, that the end of Wilbur will come through +a woman. It was that that sent him on the long trail, you know. And +this girl with the yellow hair--" + +"Why do you harp on her?" + +"Harp on her?" + +"Every other word--nothing but yellow hair. I'm sick of it. I know the +kind--faded corn color--dyed, probably. Pierre, you are all blind, and +you most of all." + +This being obviously childish, Pierre brushed the consideration of it +from his mind. "And for clothes, Jack?" + +They were both dumb. It had been years since she had worn the clothes +of a woman. She had danced with the men of her father's gang many a +time while someone whistled or played on a mouth-organ, and there was +the time they rode into Beulah Ferry and held up the dance hall, and +Jim Boone and Mansie lined up the crowd with their hands held high +above their heads while the sweating musicians played fast and furious +and Jack and Pierre danced down the center of the hall. + +She had danced many a time, but never in the clothes of a woman; so +they stared, mutely puzzled. + +A thought came first to Jacqueline. She stepped close and murmured her +suggestion in the ear of Pierre. Whatever it was, it made his jaw set +hard and brought grave lines into his face. + +She stepped back, asking: "Well?" + +"We'll do it. What a little demon you are, Jack!" + +"Then we'll have to start now. There's barely time." + +They ran from the room together, and as they passed through the room +below Wilbur called after them: "The dance?" + +"Yes." + +"Wait and go with me." + +"We ride in a roundabout way." + +They were through the door as Pierre called back, and a moment later +the hoofs of their horses scattered the gravel down the hillside. +Jacqueline rode a black stallion sired by her father's mighty Thunder, +who had grown old but still could do the work of three ordinary horses +in carrying the great bulk of his master. The son of Thunder was +little like his sire, but a slender-limbed racer, graceful, nervous, +eager. A clumsy rider would have ruined the horse in a single day's +hard work among the trails of the mountain-desert, but Jacqueline, +fairly reading the mind of the black, nursed his strength when it was +needed and let him run free and swift when the ground before him +was level. + +Now she picked her course dexterously down the hillside with the +cream-colored mare of Pierre following half a length behind. + +After the first down-pitch of ground was covered they passed into +difficult terrain, and for half an hour went at a jog trot, winging in +and out among the rocks, climbing steadily up and up through +the hills. + +Here the ground opened up again, and they roved on at a free gallop, +the black always half a length in front. Along the ridge of a crest, +an almost level stretch of a mile or more, Jack eased the grip on the +reins, and the black responded with a sudden lengthening of stride and +lowered his head with ears pressed back flat while he fairly flew over +the ground. + +Nothing could match that speed. The strong mare fell to the rear, +fighting gamely, but beaten by that effort of the stallion. + +Jack swerved in the saddle and looked back, laughing her triumph. +Pierre smiled grimly in response and leaned forward, shifting his +weight more over the withers of Mary. He spoke to her, and one of her +pricking ears fell back as if to listen to his voice. He spoke again +and the other ear fell back, her neck straightened, she gave her whole +heart to her work. + +First she held the stallion even, then she began to gain. That was the +meaning of those round, strong hips, and the breadth of the chest. She +needed a half-mile of running to warm her to her work, and now the +black came back to her with every leap. + +The thunder of the approaching hoofs warned the girl. One more glance +she cast in apprehension over her shoulder, and then brought her spurs +into play again and again. Still the rush of hoofs behind her grew +louder and louder, and now there was a panting at her side and the +head of cream-colored Mary drew up and past. + +She gave up the battle with a little shout of anger and slowed up her +mount with a sharp pull on the reins. It needed only a word from +Pierre and his mare drew down to a hand-gallop, twisting her head a +little toward the black as if she called for some recognition of her +superiority. + +"It's always this way," cried Jack, and jerked at the reins with a +childish impotence of anger. "I beat you for the first quarter of a +mile and then this fool of a horse--I'm going to give him away." + +"The black," said Pierre, assuming an air of quiet and superior +knowing which always aggravated her most, "is a good second-rate +cayuse when someone who knows horses is in the saddle. I'd give you +fifty for him on the strength of his looks and keep him for a +decoration." + +She could only glare her speechless rage for a moment. Then she +changed swiftly and threw out her hands in a little gesture of +surrender. + +"After all, what difference does it make? Your Mary can beat him in a +long run or a short one, but it's your horse, Pierre, and that takes +the sting away. If it were anyone else's I'd--well, I'd shoot either +the horse or the rider. But my partner's horse is my horse, you know." + +He swerved his mare sharply to the left and took her hand with a +strong grip. + +"Jack, of all the men I've ever known, I'd rather ride with you, I'd +rather fight for you." + +"Of all the _men_ you ever knew," she said, "I suppose that I am." + +He did not hear the low voice, for he was looking out over the canyon. +A few moments later they swung out onto the very crest of the range. + +On all sides the hills dropped away through the gloom of the evening, +brown nearby, but falling off through a faint blue haze and growing +blue-black with the distance. A sharp wind, chill with the coming of +night, cut at them. Not a hundred feet overhead shot a low-winging +hawk back from his day's hunting and rising only high enough to clear +the range and then plunge down toward his nest. + +Like the hawks they peered down from their point of vantage into the +profound gloom of the valley below. They shaded their eyes and studied +it with a singular interest for long moments, patient, as the hawk. + +So these two marauders stared until she raised a hand slowly and then +pointed down. He followed the direction she indicated, and there, +through the haze of the evening, he made out a glimmer of lights. + +He said sharply: "I know the place, but we'll have a devil of a ride +to get there." + +And like the swooping hawk they started down the slope. It was +precipitous in many places, but Pierre kept almost at a gallop, making +the mare take the slopes often crouched back on her haunches with +forefeet braced forward, and sliding many yards at a time. + +In between the boulders he darted, twisting here and there, and always +erect and jaunty in the saddle, swaying easily with every movement of +the mare. Not far behind him came the girl. Fine rider that she was, +she could not hope to compete with such matchless horsemanship where +man and horse were only one piece of strong brawn and muscle, one +daring spirit. Many a time the chances seemed too desperate to her, +but she followed blindly where he led, setting her teeth at each +succeeding venture, and coming out safe every time, until they swung +out at last through a screen of brush and onto the level floor of +the valley. + + + + +CHAPTER 20 + + +In the heart of that valley two roads crossed. Many a year before a +man with some imagination and illimitable faith was moved by the +crossing of those roads to build a general merchandise store. + +Time justified his faith, in a small way, and now McGuire's store was +famed for leagues and leagues about, for he dared to take chances with +all manner of novelties, and the curious, when their pocketbooks were +full, went to McGuire's to find inspiration. + +Business was dull this night, however; there was not a single patron +at the bar, and the store itself was empty, so he went to put out the +big gasoline lamp which hung from the ceiling in the center of the +room, and was on the ladder, reaching high above his head, when a +singular chill caught him in the center of his plump back and radiated +from that spot in all directions, freezing his blood. He swallowed the +lump in his throat and with his arms still stretched toward the lamp +he turned his head and glanced behind. + +Two men stood watching him from a position just inside the door. How +they had come there he could never guess, for the floor creaked at the +lightest step. Nevertheless, these phantoms had appeared silently, and +now they must be dealt with. He turned on the ladder to face them, and +still he kept the arms automatically above his head while he descended +to the floor. However, on a closer examination, these two did not +seem particularly formidable. They were both quite young, one with +dark-red hair and a somewhat overbright eye; the other was hardly more +than a boy, very slender, delicately made, the sort of handsome young +scoundrel whom women cannot resist. + +Having made these observations, McGuire ventured to lower his arms by +jerks; nothing happened; he was safe. So he vented his feelings by +scowling on the strangers. + +"Well," he snapped, "what's up? Too late for business. I'm closin' +up." + +The two quite disregarded him. Their eyes were wandering calmly about +the place, and now they rested on the pride of McGuire's store. The +figure of a man in evening clothes, complete from shoes to gloves and +silk hat, stood beside a girl of wax loveliness. She wore a low-cut +gown of dark green, and over her shoulders was draped a scarf of dull +gold. Above, a sign said: "You only get married once; why don't you do +it up right?" + +"That," said the taller stranger, "ought to do very nicely for us, +eh?" + +And the younger replied in a curiously light, pleasant voice: "Just +what we want. But how'll I get away with all that fluffy stuff, eh?" + +The elder explained: "We're going to a bit of a dance and we'll take +those evening clothes." + +The heart of McGuire beat faster and his little eyes took in the +strangers again from head to foot. + +"They ain't for sale," he said. "They's just samples. But right over +here--" + +"This isn't a question of selling," said the red-headed man. "We've +come to accept a little donation, McGuire." + +The storekeeper grew purple and white in patches. Still there was no +show of violence, no display of guns; he moved his hand toward his own +weapon, and still the strangers merely smiled quietly on him. He +decided that he had misunderstood, and went on: "Over here I got a +line of goods that you'll like. Just step up and--" + +The younger man, frowning now, replied: "We don't want to see any more +of your junk. The clothes on the models suit us all right. Slip 'em +off, McGuire." + +"But--" began McGuire and then stopped. + +His first suspicion returned with redoubled force; above all, that +head of dark red hair made him thoughtful. He finished hoarsely: "What +the hell's this?" + +"Why," smiled the taller man, "you've never done much in the interests +of charity, and now's a good time for you to start. Hurry up, McGuire; +we're late already!" + +There was a snarl from the storekeeper, and he went for his gun, but +something in the peculiarly steady eyes of the two made him stop with +his fingers frozen hard around the butt. + +He whispered: "You're Red Pierre?" + +"The clothes," repeated Pierre sternly, "on the jump, McGuire." + +And with a jump McGuire obeyed. His hands trembled so that he could +hardly remove the scarf from the shoulders of the model, but afterward +fear made his fingers supple, as he did up the clothes in two bundles. + +Jacqueline took one of them and Pierre the other under his left arm; +with his right hand he drew out some yellow coins. + +"I didn't buy these clothes because I didn't have the time to dicker +with you, McGuire. I've heard you talk prices before, you know. But +here's what the clothes are worth to us." + +And into the quaking hands of McGuire he poured a chinking stream of +gold pieces. + +Relief, amazement, and a very wholesome fear struggled in the face of +McGuire as he saw himself threefold overpaid. At that little +yellow heap he remained staring, unheeding the sound of the +retreating outlaws. + +"It ain't possible," he said at last, "thieves have begun to pay." + +His eyes sought the ceiling. + +"So that's Red Pierre?" said McGuire. + +As for Pierre and Jacqueline, they were instantly safe in the black +heart of the mountains. Many a mile of hard riding lay before them, +however, and there was no road, not even a trail that they could +follow. They had never even seen the Crittenden schoolhouse; they knew +its location only by vague descriptions. + +But they had ridden a thousand times in places far more bewildering +and less known to them. Like all true denizens of the mountain-desert, +they had a sense of direction as uncanny as that of an Eskimo. Now +they struck off confidently through the dark and trailed up and down +through the mountains until they reached a hollow in the center of +which shone a group of dim lights. It was the schoolhouse near the +Barnes place, the scene of the dance. + +So they turned back behind the hills and in the covert of a group of +cottonwoods they kindled two more little fires, shading them on three +sides with rocks and leaving them open for the sake of light on +the fourth. + +They worked busily for a time, without a word spoken by either of +them. The only sound was the rustling of Jacqueline's stolen silks and +the purling of a small stream of water near them, some meager spring. + +But presently: "P-P-Pierre, I'm f-freezing." + +He himself was numbed by the chill air and paused in the task of +thrusting a leg into the trousers, which persisted in tangling and +twisting under his foot. + +"So'm I. It's c-c-cold as the d-d-d-devil." + +"And these--th-things--aren't any thicker than spider webs." "Wait. +I'll build you a great big fire." + +And he scooped up a number of dead twigs. + +There was an interlude of more silk rustling, then: "P-P-Pierre." + +"Well?" + +"I wish I had a m-m-m-mirror." + +"Jack, are you vain?" + +A cry of delight answered him. He threw caution to the winds and +advanced on her. He found her kneeling above a pool of water fed by +the soft sliding little stream from the spring. With one hand she held +a burning branch by way of a torch, and with the other she patted her +hair into shape and finally thrust the comb into the glittering, +heavy coils. + +She started, as if she felt his presence. + +"P-P-Pierre!" + +"Yes?" + +"Look!" + +She stood with the torch high overhead, and he saw a beauty so +glorious that he closed his eyes involuntarily and still he saw the +vision in the dull-green gown, with the scarf of old gold about her +dazzling white shoulders. And there were two lights, the barbaric red +of the jewels in her hair, and the black shimmer of her eyes. He drew +back a step more. It was a picture to be looked at from a distance. + +She ran to him with a cry of dismay: "Pierre, what's wrong with me?" + +His arms went round her of their own accord. It was the only place +they could go. And all this beauty was held in the circle of his will. + +"It isn't that, but you're so wonderful, Jack, so glorious, that I +hardly know you. You're like a different person." + +He felt the warm body trembling, and the thought that it was not +entirely from the cold set his heart beating like a trip-hammer. What +he felt was so strange to him that he stepped back in a vague alarm, +and then laughed. She stood with an expectant smile. + +"Jack, how am I to risk you in the arms of all the strangers in that +dance? + +"It's late. Listen!" + +She cupped a hand at her ear and leaned to listen. Up from the hollow +below them came a faint strain of music, a very light sound that was +drowned a moment later by the solemn rushing of the wind through the +great trees above them. + +They looked up of one accord. + +"Pierre, what was that?" + +"Nothing; the wind in the branches, that's all." + +"It was a hushing sound. It was like--it was like a warning, almost." + +But he was already turning away, and she followed him hastily. + + + + +CHAPTER 21 + + +Jacqueline could never ride a horse in that gown, or even sit sidewise +in the saddle without hopelessly crumpling it, so they walked to the +schoolhouse. It was a slow progress, for she had to step lightly and +carefully for fear of the slippers. He took her bare arm and helped +her; he would never have thought of it under ordinary conditions, but +since she had put on this gown she was greatly changed to him, no +longer the wild, free rider of the mountain-desert, but a +defenseless, strangely weak being. Her strength was now something +other than the skill to ride hard and shoot straight and quick. + +So they came to the schoolhouse and reached the long line of buggies, +buckboards, and, most of all, saddled horses. They crowded the +horse-shed where the school children stabled their mounts in the +winter weather. They were tethered to the posts of the fence; they +were grouped about the trees. + +It was a prodigious gathering, and a great affair for the +mountain-desert. They knew this even before they had set foot within +the building. + +They stopped here and adjusted their masks carefully. They were made +from a strip of black lining which Jack had torn from one of the coats +in the trunk which lay far back in the hills. + +Those masks had to be tied firmly and well, for some jester might try +to pull away that of Pierre, and if his face were seen, it would be +death--a slaughter without defense, for he had not been able to +conceal his big Colt in these tight-fitting clothes. Even as it was, +there was peril from the moment that the lights within should shine on +that head of dark-red hair. + +As for Jack, there was little fear that she would be recognized. She +was strange even to Pierre every time he looked down at her, for she +had ceased to be Jack and had become very definitely "Jacqueline." But +the masks were on; the scarf adjusted about the throat and bare, +shivering shoulders of Jack, and they stood arm in arm before the door +out of which streamed the voices and the music. + +"Are you ready?" + +"Yes." + +But she was trembling so, either from fear, or excitement, or both, +that he had to take a firm hold on her arm and almost carry her up the +steps, shove the door open, and force her in. A hundred eyes were +instantly upon them, practiced, suspicious eyes, accustomed to search +into all things and take nothing for granted; eyes of men who, when a +rap came at the door, looked to see whether or not the shadow of the +stranger fell full in the center of the crack beneath the door. If it +fell to one side the man might be an enemy, and therefore they would +stand at one side of the room, their hands upon the butt of a six-gun, +and shout: "Come in." Such was the battery of glances from the men, +and the color of Pierre altered, paled. + +He knew some of those faces, for those who hunt and are hunted never +forget the least gestures of their enemies. There was a mighty +temptation to turn back even then, but he set his teeth and forced +himself to stand calmly. + +The chuckle which replied to this maneuver freed him for the moment. +Suspicion was lulled. Moreover, the red-jeweled hair of Jacqueline and +her lighted eyes called all attention almost immediately upon her. She +shifted the golden scarf--the white arms and breast flashed in the +light--a gasp responded. There would be talk tomorrow; there were +whispers even now. + +It was not the main hall that they stood in, for this school, having +been built by an aspiring community, contained two rooms; this smaller +room, used by the little ones of the school, was now converted into a +hat-and-cloak room. + +Pierre hung up his hat, removed his gloves slowly, nerving himself to +endure the sharp glances, and opened the door for Jacqueline. + +If she had held back tremulously before, something she had seen in the +eyes of those in the first room, something in the whisper and murmur +which rose the moment she started to leave, gave her courage. She +stepped into the dance-hall like a queen going forth to address +devoted subjects. The second ordeal was easier than the first. There +were many times more people in that crowded room, but each was intent +upon his own pleasure. A wave of warmth and light swept upon them, and +a blare of music, and a stir and hum of voices, and here and there the +sweet sound of a happy girl's laughter. They raised their heads, these +two wild rangers of the mountain-desert, and breathed deep of the +fantastic scene. + +There was no attempt at beauty in the costumes of the masqueraders. +Here and there some girl achieved a novel and pleasing effect; but on +the whole they strove for cheaper and more stirring things in the line +of the grotesque. + +Here passed a youth wearing a beard made from the stiff, red bristles +of the tail of a sorrel horse. Another wore a bear's head cunningly +stuffed, the grinning teeth flashing over his head and the skin draped +over his shoulders. A third disfigured himself by painting after the +fashion of an Indian on the warpath, with crimson streaks down his +forehead and red and black across his cheeks. + +But not more than a third of all the assembly made any effort to +masquerade, beyond the use of the simple black mask across the upper +part of the face. The rest of the men and women contented themselves +with wearing the very finest clothes they could afford to buy, and +there was through the air a scent of the general merchandise store +which not even a liberal use of cheap perfume and all the drifts of +pale-blue cigarette smoke could quite overcome. + +As for the music, it was furnished by two very old men, relics of the +days when there were contests in fiddling; a stout fellow of middle +age, with cheeks swelled almost to bursting as he thundered out +terrific blasts on a slide trombone; a youth who rattled two sticks on +an overturned dish-pan in lieu of a drum, and a cornetist of +real skill. + +There were hard faces in the crowd, most of them, of men who had set +their teeth against hard weather and hard men, and fought their way +through, not to happiness, but to existence, so that fighting had +become their pleasure. + +Now they relaxed their eternal vigilance, their eternal suspicion. +Another phase of their nature weakened. Some of them were smiling and +laughing for the first time in months, perhaps, of labor and +loneliness on the range. With the gates of good-nature opened, a +veritable flood of gaiety burst out. It glittered in their eyes, it +rose to their lips in a wild laughter. They seemed to be dancing more +furiously fast in order to forget the life which they had left, and to +which they must return. + +These were the conquerors of the bitter nature of the mountain-desert. +There was beauty here, the beauty of strength in the men and a brown +loveliness in the girls; just as in the music, the blatancy of the +rattling dish-pan and the blaring trombone were more than balanced by +the real skill of the violinists, who kept a high, sweet, singing tone +through all the clamor. + +And Pierre le Rouge and Jacqueline? They stood aghast for a moment +when that crash of noise broke around them; but they came from a life +where there was nothing of beauty except the lonely strength of the +mountains and the appalling silences of the stars that roll above the +desert. Almost at once they caught the overtone of human joyousness, +and they turned with smiles to each other, and it was "Pierre?" +"Jack?" Then a nod, and she was in his arms, and they glided into +the dance. + + + + +CHAPTER 22 + + +When a crowd gathers in the street, there rises a babel of voices, a +confused and pointless clamor, no matter what the purpose of the +gathering, until some man who can think as well as shout begins to +speak. Then the crowd murmurs a moment, and after a few seconds +composes itself to listen. + +So it was with the noise in the hall when Pierre and Jacqueline began +to dance. First there were smiles of derision and envy around them, +but after a moment a little hush came where they moved. + +They could not help but dance well, for they had youth and grace and +strength, and the glances of applause and envy were like wine to +quicken their blood, while above all they caught the overtone of the +singing violins, and danced by that alone. The music ended with a long +flourish just as they whirled to a stop in a corner of the room. At +once an eddy of men started toward them. + +"Who shall it be?" smiled Pierre. "With whom do you want to dance? +It's your triumph, Jack." + +She was alight and alive with the victory, and her eyes roved over the +crowd. + +"The big man with the tawny hair." + +"But he's making right past us." + +"No; he'll turn and come back." + +"How do you know?" + +For answer she glanced up and laughed, and he realized with a singular +sense of loneliness that she knew many things which were beyond his +ken. Someone touched his arm, and a voice, many voices, beset him. + +"How's the chances for a dance with the girl, partner?" + +"This dance is already booked," Pierre answered, and kept his eyes on +the tall man with the scarred face and the resolute jaw. He wondered +why Jacqueline had chosen such a partner. + +At least she had prophesied correctly, for the big man turned toward +them just as he seemed about to head for another part of the hall. The +crowd gave way before him, not that he shouldered them aside, but they +seemed to feel the coming of his shadow before him, and separated as +they would have done before the shadow of a falling tree. + +In another moment Pierre found himself looking up to the giant. No +mask could cover that long, twisting mark of white down his cheek, nor +hide the square set of the jaw, nor dim the steady eyes. + +And there came to Pierre an exceedingly great uneasiness in his right +hand, and a twitching of the fingers low down on his thigh where the +familiar holster should have hung. His left hand rose, following the +old instinct, and touched beneath his throat where the cold cross lay. + +He was saying easily: "This is your dance, isn't it?" + +"Right, Bud," answered the big man in a mellow voice as great as his +size. "Sorry I can't swap partners with you, but I hunt alone." + +An overwhelming desire to get a distance between himself and this huge +unknown came to Pierre. + +He said: "There goes the music. You're off." + +And the other, moving toward Jack, leaned down a little and murmured +at the ear of the outlaw: "Thanks, Pierre." + +Then he was gone, and Jacqueline was laughing over his shoulder back +to Pierre. + +Through his daze and through the rising clamor of the music, a voice +said beside him: "You look sort of sick, dude. Who's your friend?" + +"Don't you know him?" asked Pierre. + +"No more than I do you; but I've ridden the range for ten years around +here, and I know that he's new to these parts. If I'd ever glimpsed +him before, I'd remember him. He'd be a bad man in a mix, eh?" + +And Pierre answered with devout earnestness: "He would." + +"But where'd you buy those duds, pal? Hey, look! Here's what I've been +waiting for--the Barneses and the girl that's visitin' 'em from +the East." + +"What girl?" + +"Look!" + +The Barnes group was passing through the door, and last came the +unmistakable form of Dick Wilbur, masked, but not masked enough to +hide his familiar smile or cover the well-known sound of his laughter +as it drifted to Pierre across the hall, and on his arm was a girl in +an evening dress of blue, with a small, black mask across her eyes, +and deep-golden hair. + +Pausing before she swung into the dance with Wilbur, she made a +gesture with the white arm, and looked up laughing to big, handsome +Dick. Pierre trembled with a red rage when he saw the hands of Wilbur +about her. + +Dick, in passing, marked Pierre's stare above the heads of the crowd, +and frowned with trouble. The hungry eyes of Pierre followed them as +they circled the hall again; and this time Wilbur, perhaps fearing +that something had gone wrong with Pierre, steered close to the edge +of the dancing crowd and looked inquisitively across. + +He leaned and spoke to the girl, and she turned her head, smiling, to +Pierre. Then the smile went out, and even despite the mask, he saw her +eyes widen. She stopped and slipped from the arm of Wilbur, and came +step by step slowly toward him like one walking in her sleep. There, +by the edge of the dancers, with the noise of the music and the +shuffling feet to cover them, they met. The hands she held to him were +cold and trembling. + +"Is it you?" + +"It is I." + +That was all; and then the shadow of Wilbur loomed above them. + +"What's this? Do you know each other? It isn't possible! Pierre, are +you playing a game with me?" + +But under the glance of Pierre he fell back a step, and reached for +the gun which was not there. They were alone once more. + +"Mary--Mary Brown!" + +"Pierre!" + +"But you are dead!" + +"No, no! But you--Pierre, where can we go?" + +"Outside." + +"Let us go quickly!" + +"Do you need a wrap?" + +"No." + +"But it is cold outside, and your shoulders are bare." + +"Then take that cloak. But quickly, Pierre, before we're followed." + +He drew it about her; he led her through the door; it clicked shut; +they were alone with the sweet, frosty air before them. She tore +away the mask. + +"And yours, Pierre?" + +"Not here." + +"Why?" + +"Because there are people. Hurry. Now here, with just the trees around +us--" + +And he tore off his mask. + +The white, cold moon shone over them, slipping down between the dark +tops of the trees, and the wind stirred slowly through the branches +with a faint, hushing sound, as if once more a warning were coming to +Pierre this night. He looked up, his left hand at the cross. + +"Look down. You are afraid of something, Pierre. What is it?" + +"With your arms around my neck, there's nothing in the world I fear. I +never dreamed I could love anything more than the little girl who lay +in the snow, and died there that night." + +"And I never dreamed I could smile at any man except the boy who lay +by me that night. And he died." + +"What miracle saved you?" + +She said: "It was wonderful, and yet very simple. You remember how the +tree crushed me down into the snow? Well, when the landslide moved, it +carried the tree before it; the weight of the trunk was lifted from +me. Perhaps it was a rock that struck me over the head then, for I +lost consciousness. The slide didn't bury me, but the rush carried me +before it like a stick before a wave, you see. + +"When I woke I was almost completely covered with a blanket of debris, +but I could move my arms, and managed to prop myself up in a sitting +posture. It was there that my father and his searching party found me; +he had been combing that district all night. They carried me back, +terribly bruised, but without even a bone broken. It was a miracle +that I escaped, and the miracle must have been worked by your cross; +do you remember?" + +He shuddered. "The cross--for every good fortune it has brought me, it +has brought bad luck to others. I'll throw it away, now--and then--no, +it makes no difference. We are done for." + +"Pierre!" + +"Don't you see, Mary, or are you still blind as I was ever since I saw +you tonight? It's all in that name--Pierre." + +"There's nothing in it, Pierre, that I don't love." + +His head was bowed as if with the weight of the words which he +foresaw. "You have heard of the wild men of the mountains, and the +long-riders?" + +He knew that she nodded, though she could not speak. + +"I am Red Pierre." + +"_You_!" + +"Yes." + +Yet he had the courage to raise his head and watch her shrink with +horror. It was only an instant. Then she was beside him again, and one +arm around him, while she turned her head and glanced fearfully back +at the lighted schoolhouse. The faint music mocked them. + +"And you dared to come to the dance? We must go. Look, there are +horses! We'll ride off into the mountains, and they'll never find +us--we'll--" + +"Hush! One day's riding would kill you--riding as I ride." + +"I'm strong--very strong, and the love of you, Pierre, will give me +more strength. But quickly, for if they knew you, every man in that +place would come armed and ready to kill. I know, for I've heard them +talk. Tell me, are one-half of all the terrible things they say--" + +"They are true, I guess." + +"I won't think of them. Whatever you've done, it was not you, but some +devil that forced you on. Pierre, I love you more than ever. Will you +go East with me, and home? We will lose ourselves in New York. The +millions of the crowd will hide us." + +"Mary, there are some men from whom even the night can't hide me. If +they were blind their hate would give them eyes to find me." + +"Pierre, you are not turning away from me--Pierre--There's some ghost +of a chance for us. Will you take that chance and come with me?" + +He thought of many things, but what he answered was: "I will." "Then +let's go at once. The railroad--" + +"Not that way. No one in that house suspects me now. We'll go back and +put on our masks again, and--hush. What's there?" + +"Nothing." + +"There is--a man's step." + +And she, seeing the look on his face, covered her eyes in horror. When +she looked up a great form was looming through the dark, and then the +voice of Wilbur came, hard and cold. + +"I've looked everywhere for you. Miss Brown, they are anxious about +you in the schoolhouse. Will you go back?" + +"No--I--" + +But Pierre commanded: "Go back." + +So she turned, and he ordered again: "I think our friend has something +to say to me. You can find your way easily. Tomorrow--" + +"Tomorrow, Pierre?" + +"Yes." + +"I shall be waiting." + +With what a voice she said it! And then she was gone. + +He turned quietly to big Dick Wilbur, on whose contorted face the +moonlight fell. + +"Say it, Dick, and have it out in cursing me, if that'll help." + +The big man stood with his hands gripped behind, fighting for +self-control. + +"Pierre, I've cared for you more than I've cared for any other man. +I've thought of you like a kid brother. Now tell me that you haven't +done this thing, and I'll believe you rather than my senses. Tell me +you haven't stolen the girl I love away from me; tell me--" + +"I love her, Dick." + +"Damn you! And she?" + +"She'll forget me; God knows I hope she'll forget me." "I brought +two guns with me. Here they are." + +He held out the weapons. + +"Take your choice." + +"Does it have to be this way?" + +"If you'd rather have me shoot you down in cold blood?" + +"I suppose this is as good a way as any." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Nothing. Give me a gun." + +"Here. This is ten paces. Are you ready?" + +"Yes." + +"Pierre. God forgive you for what you've done. She liked me, I know. +If it weren't for you, I would have won her and a chance for real life +again--but now--damn you!" + +"I'll count to ten, slowly and evenly. When I reach ten we fire?" + +"Yes." + +"I'll trust you not to beat the count, Dick." + +"And I you. Start." + +He counted quietly, evenly: "One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, +eight, nine--ten!" + +The gun jerked up in the hand of Wilbur, but he stayed the movement +with his finger pressing still upon the trigger. The hand of Pierre +had not moved. + +He cried: "By God, Pierre, what do you mean?" + +There was no answer. He strode across the intervening space, dropped +his gun and caught the other by the shoulders. Out of Pierre's +nerveless fingers the revolver slipped to the ground. + +"In the name of God, Pierre, what has happened to you?" + +"Dick, why didn't you fire?" + +"Fire? Murder you?" + +"You shoot straight--I know--it would have been over quickly." + +"What is it, boy? You look dead--there's no color in your face, no +light in your eyes, even your voice is dead. I know it isn't fear. +What is it?" + +"You're wrong. It's fear." + +"Fear and Red Pierre. The two don't mate." + +"Fear of living, Dick." + +"So that's it? God help you. Pierre, forgive me. I should have known +that you had met her before, but I was mad, and didn't know what I was +doing, couldn't think." + +"It's over and forgotten. I have to go back and get Jack. Will you +ride home with us?" + +"Jack? She's not in the hall. She left shortly after you went, and she +means some deviltry. There's a jealous fiend in that girl. I watched +her eyes when they followed you and Mary from the hall." + +"Then we'll ride back alone." + +"Not I. Carry the word to Jim that I'm through with the game. I'm +going to wash some of the grime off my conscience and try to make +myself fit to speak to this girl again." + +"It's the cross," said Pierre. + +"What do you mean?" + +"Nothing. The bad luck has come to poor old Jim at last, because he +saved me out of the snow. Patterson has gone, and now you, and perhaps +Jack--well, this is good-bye, Dick?" + +"Yes." + +Their hands met. + +"You forgive me, Dick?" + +"With all my heart, old fellow." + +"I'll try to wish you luck. Stay close to her. Perhaps you'll win +her." + +"I'll do what one man can." + +"But if you succeed, ride out of the mountain-desert with her--never +let me hear of it." + +"I don't understand. Will you tell me what's between you, Pierre? +You've some sort of claim on her. What is it?" "I've said good-bye. +Only one thing more. Never mention my name to her." + +So he turned and walked out into the moonlight and Wilbur stared after +him until he disappeared beyond the shoulder of a hill. + + + + +CHAPTER 23 + + +It was early morning before Pierre reached the refuge of Boone's gang, +but there was still a light through the window of the large room, and +he entered to find Boone, Mansie, and Gandil grouped about the fire, +all ominously silent, all ominously wakeful. They looked up to him and +big Jim nodded his gray head. Otherwise there was no greeting. + +From a shadowy corner Jacqueline rose and went toward the door. He +crossed quickly and barred the way. + +"What is it, Jack?" + +"Get out of the way." + +"Not till you tell me what's wrong." + +A veritable devil of fury came blazing in her eyes, and her hand +twitched nervously back to her hip where the dark holster hung. She +said in a voice that shook with anger: "Don't try your bluff on me. I +ain't no shorthorn, Pierre le Rouge." + +He stepped aside, frowning. + +"Tomorrow I'll argue the point with you, Jack." She turned at the +door and snapped back: "You? You ain't fast enough on the draw to +argue with me!" + +And she was gone. He turned to face the mocking smile of Black Gandil +and a rapid volley of questions. + +"Where's Patterson?" + +"No more idea than you have." + +"And Branch?" + +"What's become of Branch? Hasn't he returned?" + +"No. And Dick Wilbur?" + +"Boys, he's done with this life and I'm glad of it. He's starting on a +new track." + +"After a woman?" sneered Bud Mansie. + +"Shut up, Bud," broke in Boone, and then slowly to Pierre: + +"Patterson is gone for two days now. You ought to know what that +means. Branch ought to have returned from looking for him, and Branch +is still out. Wilbur is gone. Out of seven we're only four left. +Who's next?" + +He stared gloomily from face to face, and Gandil snarled: "A fellow +who saves a shipwrecked man--" + +"Damn you, keep still, Gandil." + +"Don't damn me, Pierre le Rouge, but damn the luck you've brought to +Jim Boone." + +"Jim, do you chalk all this up against me?" + +"I, lad? No, no! But it's queer. Patterson's done for; there's no +doubt of that. Good-natured Garry Patterson. God, boy, how we'll miss +him! And Branch seems to have gone the same way. If neither of them +show up before morning we can cross 'em off the list. Now Wilbur has +gone and Jack has ridden home looking like a small-sized thunderstorm, +and now you come with a white face and a blank eye. What hell is +trailin' us, Pierre, what hell is in store for us. You've seen +something, and we want to know what it is." + +"A ghost, Jim, that's all." + +Bud Mansie said softly: "There's only one ghost that could make you +look like this. Was it McGurk, Pierre?" + +Boone commanded: "No more of that, Bud. Boys, we're going to turn in, +and tomorrow we'll climb the hills looking for the two we've lost. But +there's something or someone after us. Lads, I'm thinking our good +days are over. The seven of us have been too many for a small posse +and too fast for a big one, but the seven are down to four. The good +days are over." + +And the three answered in a solemn chorus: "The good days are over." + +All eyes fixed on Pierre, and his glance was settled on the floor. + +The morning brought them no better cheer, for Jack, whose singing +generally wakened them, was not to be coaxed into speech, and when +Pierre entered the room she rose and left the breakfast table. The sad +eyes of Jim Boone followed her and then turned to Pierre. No +explanation was forthcoming, and he asked for none. The old fatalist +had accepted the worst, and now he waited for doom to descend. + +They took their horses after breakfast and rode out to search the +hills, for it was quite possible that an accident had crippled at +least one of the two lost men, either Patterson or Branch. Not a gully +within miles was left unsearched, but toward evening they rode back, +one by one, with no tidings. + +One by one they rode up, and whistled to announce their coming, and +then rode on to the stable to unsaddle their horses. About the supper +table all gathered with the exception of Bud Mansie. So they waited +the meal and each from time to time stole a glance at the fifth plate +where Bud should sit. + +It was Jack who finally stirred herself from her dumb gloom to take up +that fifth and carry it out of the room. It was as if she had +announced the death of Mansie. + +After that, they ate what they could and then went back around the +fire. The evening waned, but it brought no sign of any of the missing +three. The wood burned low in the fire. The first to break the long +silence was Jim Boone, with "Who brings in the wood?" + +And Black Gandil answered: "We'll match, eh?" + +In an outburst of energy the day before he disappeared Garry Patterson +had chopped up some wood and left a pile of it at the corner of the +house. It was a very little thing to bring in an armful of that wood, +but long-riders do not love work, and now they started the matching +seriously. The odd man was out, and Pierre went out on the first toss +of the coins. + +"You see," said Gandil. "Bad luck to everyone but himself." + +At the next throw Jacqueline was the lucky one, and her father +afterward. Gandil rose and stretched himself leisurely, yet as he +sauntered toward the door his backward glance at Pierre was black +indeed. He glanced curiously toward Jack--who looked away sharply--and +then turned his eyes to her father. + +The latter was considering him with a gloomy, foreboding stare and +considering over and over again, as Pierre le Rouge well knew, the +prophecy of Black Morgan Gandil. + +He fell in turn into a solemn brooding, and many a picture out of the +past came up beside him and stood near till he could almost feel its +presence. He was roused by the creaking of the floor beneath the +ponderous step of Jim Boone, who flung the door open and shouted: +"Oh, Morgan." + +In the silence he turned and stared back at Pierre. + +"What's up with Gandil?" + +"God knows, not I." + +Pierre rose and ran from the room and around the side of the building. +There by the woodpile lay the prostrate body. It was a mere limp +weight when he turned and raised it in his arms. So he walked back +into the house carrying all that was left of Black Morgan Gandil, and +placed his burden on a bunk at the side of the room. + +There had been no outcry from either Jim Boone or his daughter, but +they came quickly to him, and Jacqueline pressed her ear over the +heart of the hurt man. + +She said: "He's still alive, but nearly gone. Where's the wound?" + +They found it when they drew off his coat--a small cut high on the +right breast, and another lower and more to the left. Either of them +would have been fatal, and about each the flesh was discolored where +the hilt of the knife or the fist of the striker had driven home +the blade. + +They stood back and made no hopeless effort to save him. It was +uncanny that Black Morgan Gandil, after all of his battles, should die +without a struggle in this way. And it had been no cowardly attack +from the rear. Both wounds were in the front. A hope came to them when +his color increased at one time, but it was for only a moment; it went +out again as if someone were erasing paint from his cheeks. + +But just as they were about to turn away his body stirred with a +slight convulsion, the eyes opened wide, and he strove to speak. A red +froth came on his lips. He made another desperate effort, and twisting +himself onto one elbow pointed a rigid arm at Pierre. He gasped: +"McGurk--God!" and dropped. He was dead before his head touched +the blanket. + +It was Jacqueline who closed the staring eyes, for the two men were +frozen where they stood. They had heard the story of Patterson and +Branch and Mansie in one word from the lips of the dying man. + +McGurk was back. McGurk was prowling about the last of the gang of +Boone, and the lone wolf had pulled down four of the band one by one +on successive days. Only two remained, and these two looked at one +another with a common thought. + +"The lights!" cried Jacqueline, turning from the body of Gandil. "He +can shoot us down through the windows at his leisure." + +"But he won't," said her father. "I've lived too long with the name of +McGurk in my ears not to know the man. He'll never kill by stealth, +but openly and man to man. I know him, damn him. He'll wait till he +meets us alone, and then we'll finish as poor Gandil, there, or +Patterson and Branch and Bud Mansie, all of them fallen somewhere in +the mountains with the buzzards left to bury 'em. That's how we'll +finish with McGurk on our trail. And you--Gandil was right--it's you +that's brought him on us. A shipwrecked man--by God, Gandil +was right!" + +His right hand froze on the butt of his gun and his face convulsed +with impotent rage, for he knew, as both the others knew, that long +before that gun was clear of the holster the bullet from Pierre's gun +would be on its way. But Pierre threw his arms wide, and standing so, +his shadow made a black cross on the wall behind him. He even smiled +to tempt the big man further. + + + + +CHAPTER 24 + + +Jacqueline ran between and caught the hand of her father, crying: + +"Are you going to finish the work of McGurk before he has a chance to +start it? He hunted the rest down one by one. Dad, if you put out +Pierre what is left? Can you face that devil alone?" + +And the old man groaned: "But it's his luck that's ruined me. It's his +damned luck which has broken up the finest fellowship that ever mocked +at law on the ranges. Oh, Jack, the heart in me's broken. I wish to +God that I lay where Gandil lies. What's the use of fighting any +longer? No man can stand up against McGurk!" + +And the cold which had come in the blood of Pierre agreed with him. He +was a slayer of men, but McGurk was a devil incarnate. His father had +died at the hand of this lone rider; it was fitting, it was fate that +he himself should die in the same way. The girl looked from face to +face, and sensed their despondency. It seemed that their fear gave her +the greater courage. Her face flushed as she stood glaring her scorn. + +"The yellow streak took a long time in showin', but it's in you, all +right, Pierre le Rouge." + +"You've hated me ever since the dance, Jack. Why?" + +"Because I knew you were yellow--like this!" + +He shrugged his shoulders like one who gives up the fight against a +woman, and seeing it, she changed suddenly and made a gesture with +both hands toward him, a sudden gesture filled with grace and a queer +tenderness. + +She said: "Pierre, have you forgotten that when you were only a boy +you stood up to McGurk and drew blood from him? Are you afraid of +him now?" + +"I'll take my chance with any man--but McGurk--" + +"He has no cross to bring him luck." + +"Aye, and he has no friends for that luck to ruin. Look at Gandil, +Jack, and then speak to me of the cross." + +"Pierre, that first time you met you almost beat him to the draw. Oh, +if I were a man, I'd--Pierre, it was to get McGurk that you rode out +to the range. You've been here six years, and McGurk is still alive, +and now you're ready to run from his shadow." + +"Run?" he said hotly. "I swear to God that as I stand here I've no +fear of death and no hope for the life ahead." + +She sneered: "You're white while you say it. Your will may be brave, +but your blood's a coward, Pierre. It deserts you." + +"Jack, you devil--" + +"Aye, you can threaten me safely. But if McGurk were here--" + +"Let him come." + +"Then give me one promise." + +"A thousand of 'em." + +"Let me hunt him with you." + +He stared at her with wonder. + +"Jack, what a heart you have! If you were a man we could rule the +mountains, you and I." + +"Even as I am, what prevents us, Pierre?" + +And looking at her he forgot the sorrow which had been his ever since +he looked up to the face framed with red-gold hair and the dark tree +behind and the cold stars steady above it. It would come to him again, +but now it was gone, and he murmured, smiling: "I wonder?" + +They made their plans that night, sitting all three together. It was +better to go out and hunt the hunter than to wait there and be tracked +down. Jack, for she insisted on it, would ride out with Pierre the +next morning and hunt through the hills for the hiding-place +of McGurk. + +Some covert he must have, so as to be near his victims. Nothing else +could explain the ease with which he kept on their track. They would +take the trail, and Jim Boone, no longer agile enough to be effective +on the trail, would guard the house and the body of Gandil in it. + +There was little danger that even McGurk would try to rush a hostile +house, but they took no chances. The guns of Jim Boone were given a +thorough overhauling, and he wore as usual at his belt the +heavy-handled hunting knife, a deadly weapon in a hand-to-hand fight. +Thus equipped, they left him and took the trail. + +They had not ridden a hundred yards when a whistle followed them, the +familiar whistle of the gang. They reined short and saw big Dick +Wilbur riding his bay after them, but at some distance he halted and +shouted: "Pierre!" + +"He's come back to us!" cried Jack. + +"No. It's only some message." + +"Do you know?" + +"Yes. Stay here. This is for me alone." + +And he rode back to Wilbur, who swung his horse close alongside. +However hard he had followed in the pursuit of happiness, his face was +drawn with lines of age and his eyes circled with shadows. + +He said: "I've kept close on her trail, Pierre, and the nearest she +has come to kindness has been to send me back with a message to you." + +He laughed without mirth, and the sound stopped abruptly. + +"This is the message in her own words: 'I love him, Dick, and there's +nothing in the world for me without him. Bring him back to me. I don't +care how; but bring him back.' So tell Jack to ride the trail alone +today and go back with me. I give her up, not freely, but because I +know there's no hope for me." + +But Pierre answered: "Wherever I've gone there's been luck for me and +hell for everyone around me. I lived with a priest, Dick, and left him +when I was nearly old enough to begin repaying his care. I came South +and found a father and lost him the same day. I gambled for money with +which to bury him, and a man died that night and another was hurt. I +escaped from the town by riding a horse to death. I was nearly killed +in a landslide, and now the men who saved me from that are done for. + +"It's all one story, the same over and over. Can I carry a fortune +like that back to her? Dick, it would haunt me by day and by night. +She would be the next. I know it as I know that I'm sitting in the +saddle here. That's my answer. Carry it back to her." + +"I won't lie and tell you I'm sorry, because I'm a fool and still have +a ghost of a hope, but this will be hard news to tell her, and I'd +rather give five years of life than face the look that will come in +her eyes." + +"I know it, Dick." + +"But this is final?" + +"It is." + +"Then good-bye again, and--God bless you, Pierre." + +"And you, old fellow." + +They swerved their horses in opposite directions and galloped apart. + +"It was nothing," said Pierre to Jack, when he came up with her and +drew his horse down to a trot. But he knew that she had read his mind. + +But all day through the mazes of canyon and hill and rolling ground +they searched patiently. There was no cranny in the rocks too small +for them to reconnoiter with caution. There was no group of trees they +did not examine. + +Yet it was not strange that they failed. In the space of every square +mile there were a hundred hiding-places which might have served +McGurk. It would have taken a month to comb the country. They had only +a day, and left the result to chance, but chance failed them. When the +shadows commenced to swing across the gullies they turned back and +rode with downward heads, silent. + +One hill lay between them and the old ranch house which had been the +headquarters for their gang so many days, when they saw a faint drift +of smoke across the sky--not a thin column of smoke such as rises from +a chimney, but a broad stream of pale mist, as if a dozen chimneys +were spouting wood smoke at once. + +They exchanged glances and spurred their horses up the last slope. As +always in a short spurt, the long-legged black of Jacqueline +out-distanced the cream-colored mare, and it was she who first topped +the rise of land. The girl whirled in her saddle with raised arm, +screamed back at Pierre, and rode on at a still more furious pace. + +What he saw when he reached a corresponding position was the ranch +house wreathed in smoke, and through all the lower windows was the red +dance of flames. Before him fled Jacqueline with all the speed of the +black. He loosened the reins, spoke to the mare, and she responded +with a mighty rush. Even that tearing pace could not quite take him up +to the girl, but he flung himself from the saddle and was at her side +when she ran across the smoking veranda and wrenched at the +front door. + +The whole frame gave back at her, and as Pierre snatched her to one +side the doorway fell crashing on the porch, while a mighty volume of +smoke burst out at them like a puff from the pit. + +They stood sputtering, coughing, and choking, and when they could look +again they saw a solid wall of red flame, thick, impenetrable, +shuddering with the breath of the wind. + +While they stared a stronger breath of that wind tore the wall of +flames apart, driving it back in a raging tide to either side. The +fire had circled the walls of the entire room, but it had scarcely +encroached on the center, and there, seated at the table, was Boone. + +He had scarcely changed from the position in which they last saw him, +save that he was fallen somewhat deeper in the chair, his head resting +against the top of the back. He greeted them, through that infernal +furnace, with laughter, and wide, steady eyes. At least it seemed +laughter, for the mouth was agape and the lips grinned back, but there +was no sound from the lips and no light in the fixed eyes. Laughter +indeed it was, but it was the laughter of death, as if the soul of the +man, in dying, recognized its natural wild element and had burst into +convulsive mirth. So he sat there, untouched as yet by the wide river +of fire, chuckling at his destiny. The wall of fire closed across the +doorway again and the work of red ruin went on with a crashing of +timbers from the upper part of the building. + +As that living wall shut solidly, Jacqueline leaped forward, shouting, +like a man, words of hope and rescue; Pierre caught her barely in +time--a precarious grasp on the wrist from which she nearly wrenched +herself free and gained the entrance to the fire. But the jerk threw +her off balance for the least fraction of an instant, and the next +moment she was safe in his arms. + +Safe? He might as well have held a wildcat, or captured with his bare +hands a wild eagle, strong of talon and beak. She tore and raged in a +wild fury. + +"Pierre, coward, devil!" + +"Steady, Jack!" + +"Are you going to let him die?" + +"Don't you see? He's already dead." + +"You lie. You only fear the fire!" + +"I tell you, McGurk has been here before us." + +Her arm was freed by a twisting effort and she beat him furiously +across the face. One blow cut his lip and a steady trickle of hot +blood left a taste of salt in his mouth. + +"You young fiend!" he cried, and grasped both her wrists with a +crushing force. + +She leaned and gnashed at his hands, but he whirled her about and held +her from behind, impotent, raging still. + +"A hundred McGurks could never have killed him!" + +There was a sharp explosion from the midst of the fire. + +"See! He's fighting against his death!" + +"No! No! It's only the falling of a timber!" + +Yet with a panic at his heart he knew that it was the sharp crack of a +firearm. "Liar again! Pierre, for God's sake, do something for him. +Father! He's fighting for his life!" + +Another and another explosion from the midst of the fire. He +understood then. + +"The flames have reached his guns. That's all, Jack. Don't you see? +We'd be throwing ourselves away to run into those flames." + +Realization came to her at last. A heavy weight slumped down suddenly +over his arms. He held her easily, lightly. Her head had tilted back, +and the red flare of the fire beat across her face and throat. The +roar of the flames shut out all other thought of the world and cast a +wide inferno of light around them. + +Higher and higher rose the fires, and the wind cut off great fragments +and hurried them off into the night, blowing them, it seemed, straight +up against the piled thunder of the clouds. Then the roof sagged, +swayed, and fell crashing, while a vast cloud of sparks and livid +fires shot up a hundred feet into the air. It was as if the soul of +old Boone had departed in that final flare. + +It started the girl into sudden life, surprising Pierre, so that she +managed to wrench herself free and ran from him. He sprang after her +with a shout, fearing that in her hysteria she might fling herself +into the fire, but that was not her purpose. Straight to the black +horse she ran, swung into the saddle with the ease of a man, and rode +furiously off through the falling of the night. + +He watched her with a curious closing of loneliness like a hand about +his heart. He had failed, and because of that failure even Jacqueline +was leaving him. It was strange, for since the loss of the girl of the +yellow hair and those deep blue eyes, he had never dreamed that +another thing in life could pain him. + +So at length he mounted the mare again and rode slowly down the hill +and out toward the distant ranges, trotting mile after mile with +downward head, not caring even if McGurk should cross him, for +surely this was the final end of the world to Pierre le Rouge. + +About midnight he halted at last, for the uneasy sway of the mare +showed that she was nearly dead on her feet with weariness. He found a +convenient place for a camp, built his fire, and wrapped his blanket +about him without thinking of food. + +He never knew how long he sat there, for his thoughts circled the +world and back again and found all a prospect of desert before him and +behind, until a sound, a vague sound out of the night, startled him +into alertness. He slipped from beside the fire and into the shadow of +a steep rock, watching with eyes that almost pierced the dark on +all sides. + +And there he saw her creeping up on the outskirts of the firelight, +prone on her hands and knees, dragging herself up like a young wildcat +hunting prey; it was the glimmer of her eyes that he caught first +through the gloom. A cold thought came to him that she had returned +with her gun ready. + +Inch by inch she came closer, and now he was aware of her restless +glances probing on all sides of the camp-fire. Silence--only the +crackling of a pitchy stick. And then he heard a muffled sound, soft, +soft as the beating of a heart in the night, and regularly pulsing. It +hurt him infinitely, and he called gently: "Jack, why are +you weeping?" + +She started up with her fingers twisted at the butt of her gun. + +"It's a lie," called a tremulous voice. "Why should I weep?" + +And then she ran to him. + +"Oh, Pierre, I thought you were gone!" + +That silence which came between them was thick with understanding +greater than speech. He said at last: "I've made my plan. I am going +straight for the higher mountains and try to shake McGurk off my +trail. There's one chance in ten I may succeed, and if I do then I'll +wait for my chance and come down on him, for sooner or later we have +to fight this out to the end." + +"I know a place he could never find," said Jacqueline. "The old cabin +in the gulley between the Twin Bears. We'll start for it tonight." + +"Not we," he answered. "Jack, here's the end of our riding together." + +She frowned with puzzled wonder. + +He explained: "One man is stronger than a dozen. That's the strength +of McGurk--that he rides alone. He's finished your father's men. +There's only Wilbur left, and Wilbur will go next--then me!" + +She stretched her hands to him. She seemed to be pleading for her very +life. + +"But if he finds us and has to fight us both--I shoot as straight as a +man, Pierre!" + +"Straighter than most. And you're a better pal than any I've ever +ridden with. But I must go alone. It's only a lone wolf that will ever +bring down McGurk. Think how he's rounded us up like a herd of cattle +and brought us down one by one." + +"By getting each man alone and killing him from behind." + +"From the front, Jack. No, he's fought square with each one. The +wounds of Black Gandil were all in front, and when McGurk and I meet +it's going to be face to face." + +Her tone changed, softened: "But what of me, Pierre?" + +"You have to leave this life. Go down to the city, Jack. Live like a +woman; marry some lucky fellow; be happy." + +"Can you leave me so easily?" + +"No, it's hard, devilish hard to part with a pal like you, Jack; but +all the rest of my life I've got hard things to face, partner." + +"Partner!" she repeated with an indescribable emphasis. "Pierre, I +can't leave you." + +"Why?" + +"I'm afraid to go: Let me stay!" + +He said gloomily: "No good will come of it." + +"I'll never trouble you--never!" + +"No, the bad luck comes on the people who are with me, but never on +me. It's struck them all down, one by one; your turn is next, Jack. If +I could leave the cross behind--" + +He covered his face and groaned: "But I don't dare; I don't dare! I +have to face McGurk. Jack, I hate myself for it, but I can't help it. +I'm afraid of McGurk, afraid of that damned white face, that lowered, +fluttering eyelid, that sneering mouth. Without the cross to bring me +luck, how could I meet him? But while I keep the cross there's ruin +and hell without end for everyone with me." + +She was white and shaking. She said: "I'm not afraid. I've one friend +left; there's nothing else to care for." + +"So it's to be this way, Jack?" + +"This way, and no other." + +"Partner, I'm glad. My God, Jack, what a man you would have made!" + +Their hands met and clung together, and her head had drooped, perhaps +in acquiescence. + + + + +CHAPTER 25 + + +Dick Wilbur, telling Mary how Pierre had cut himself adrift, did not +even pretend to sorrow, and she listened to him with her eyes fixed +steadily on his own. As a matter of fact, she had shown neither hope +nor excitement from the moment he came back to her and started to tell +his message. But if she showed neither hope nor excitement for +herself, surely she gave Dick still fewer grounds for any optimistic +foresights. + +So he finished gloomily: "And as far as I can make out, Pierre is +right. There's some rotten bad luck that follows him. It may not be +the cross--I don't suppose you believe in superstition like that, +Miss Brown?" + +She said: "It saved my life." + +"The cross?" + +"Yes." + +"Then Pierre--you mean--you met before the dance--you mean--" + +He was stammering so that he couldn't finish his thoughts, and she +broke in: "If he will not come to me, then I must go to him." + +"Follow Pierre le Rouge?" queried Wilbur. "You're an optimist. But +that's because you've never seen him ride. I consider it a good day's +work to start out with him and keep within sight till night, but as +for following and over-taking him--" + +He laughed heartily at the thought. + +And she smiled a little sadly, answering: "But I have the most +boundless patience in the world. He may gallop all the way, but I will +walk, and keep on walking, and reach him in the end." + +Her hands moved out as though testing their power, gripping at the +air. + +"Where will you go to hunt for him?" + +"I don't know. But every evening, when I look out at the sunset hills, +with the purple along the valleys, I think that he must be out there +somewhere, going toward the highest ranges. If I were up in that +country I know that I could find him." "Never in a thousand years." + +"Why?" + +"Because he's on the trail--" + +"On the trail?" + +"Of McGurk." + +She started. + +"What is this man McGurk? I hear of him on all sides. If one of the +men rides a bucking horse successfully, someone is sure to say: 'Who +taught you what you know, Bud--McGurk?' And then the rest laugh. The +other day a man was pointed out to me as an expert shot. 'Not as fast +as McGurk,' it was said, 'but he shoots just as straight.' Finally I +asked someone about McGurk. The only answer I received was: 'I hope +you never find out what he is.' Tell me, what is McGurk?" + +Wilbur considered the question gravely. + +He said at last: "McGurk is--hell!" + +He expanded his statement: "Think of a man who can ride anything that +walks on four feet, who never misses with either a rifle or a +revolver, who doesn't know the meaning of fear, and then imagine that +man living by himself and fighting the rest of the world like a lone +wolf. That's McGurk. He's never had a companion; he's never trusted +any man. Perhaps that's why they say about him the same thing that +they say about me." + +"What's that?" + +"You will smile when you hear. They say that McGurk will lose out in +the end on account of some woman." + +"And they say that of you?" + +"They say right of me. I know it myself. Look at me now. What right +have I here? If I'm found I'm the meat of the first man who sights me, +but here I stay, and wait and watch for your smiles--like a love-sick +boy. By God, you must despise me, Mary!" + +"I don't try to understand you Westerners," she answered, "and that's +why I have never questioned you before. Tell me, why is it that +you come so stealthily to see me and run away as soon as anyone +else appears?" + +He said with wonder: "Haven't you guessed?" + +"I don't dare guess." + +"But you have, and your guess was right. There's a price on my head. +By right, I should be out there on the ranges with Pierre le Rouge and +McGurk. There's the only safe place; but I saw you and I came down out +of the wilds and can't go back. I'll stay, I suppose, till I run my +head into a halter." + +She was too much moved to speak for a moment, and then: "You come to +me in spite of that? Dick, whatever you have done, I know that it's +only chance which made you go wrong, just as it made Pierre. I wish--" + +The dimness of her eyes encouraged him with a hope. He moved closer to +her. + +He repeated: "You wish--" + +"That you could be satisfied with a mere friendship. I could give you +that, Dick, with all my heart." + +He stepped back and smiled somewhat grimly on her. + +She went on: "And this McGurk--what do you mean when you say that +Pierre is on his trail?" + +"Hunting him with a gun." + +She grew paler, but her voice remained steady. + +"But in all those miles of mountains they may never meet?" + +"They can't stay apart any more than iron can stay away from a magnet. +Listen: half a dozen years ago McGurk had the reputation of bearing a +charmed life. He had been in a hundred fights and he was never touched +with either a knife or a bullet. Then he crossed Pierre le Rouge when +Pierre was only a youngster just come onto the range. He put two +bullets through Pierre, but the boy shot him from the floor and +wounded him for the first time. The charm of McGurk was broken. + +"For half a dozen years McGurk was gone; there was never a whisper +about him. Then he came back and went on the trail of Pierre. He has +killed the friends of Pierre one by one; Pierre himself is the next in +order--Pierre or myself. And when those two meet there will be the +greatest fight that was ever staged in the mountain-desert." + +She stood straight, staring past Wilbur with hungry eyes. + +"I knew he needed me. I have to save him, Dick. You see that? I have +to bring him down from the mountains and keep him safe from McGurk. +McGurk! Somehow the sound means what 'devil' used to mean to me." + +"You've never traveled alone, and yet you'd go up there and brave +everything that comes for the sake of Pierre? What has he done to +deserve it, Mary?". + +"What have I done, Dick, to deserve the care you have for me?" + +He stared gloomily on her. + +"When do you start?" + +"Tonight." + +"Your friends won't let you go." + +"I'll steal away and leave a note behind me." + +"And you'll go alone?" + +She caught at a hope. + +"Unless you'll go with me, Dick?" + +"I? Take you--to Pierre?" + +She did not speak to urge him, but in the silence her beauty pleaded +for her. + +He said: "Mary, how lovely you are. If I go I will have you for a few +days--for a week at most, all to myself." + +She shook her head. From the window behind her the sunset light flared +in her hair, flooding it with red-gold. + +"All the time that we are gone, you will never say things like this, +Dick?" + +"I suppose not. I should be near you, but terribly far away from your +thoughts all the while. Still, you will be near. You will be very +beautiful, Mary, riding up the trail through the pines, with all the +scents of the evergreens blowing about you, and I--well, I must go +back to a second childhood and play a game of suppose--" + +"A game of what?" + +"Of supposing that you are really mine, Mary, and riding out into the +wilderness for my sake." + +She stepped a little closer, peering into his face. + +"No matter what you suppose, I'm sure you'll leave that part of it +merely a game, Dick!" + +He laughed suddenly, though the sound broke off as short and sharp as +it began. + +"Haven't I played a game all my life with the fair ladies? And have I +anything to show for it except laughter? I'll go with you, Mary, if +you'll let me." + +"Dick, you've a heart of gold! What shall I take?" + +"I'll make the pack up, and I'll be back here an hour after dark and +whistle. Like this--" + +And he gave the call of Boone's gang. + +"I understand. I'll be ready. Hurry, Dick, for we've very little +time." + +He hesitated, then: "All the time we're on the trail you must be far +from me, and at the end of it will be Pierre le Rouge--and happiness +for you. Before we start, Mary, I'd like to--" + +It seemed that she read his mind, for she slipped suddenly inside +his arms, kissed him, and was gone from the room. He stood a moment +with a hand raised to his face. + +"After all," he muttered, "that's enough to die for, and--" He threw +up his long arms in a gesture of resignation. + +"The will of God be done!" said Wilbur, and laughed again. + + + + +CHAPTER 26 + + +She was ready, crouched close to the window of her room, when the +signal came, but first she was not sure, because the sound was as +faint as a memory. Moreover, it might have been a freakish whistling +in the wind, which rose stronger and stronger. It had piled the +thunder-clouds higher and higher, and now and again a heavy drop of +rain tapped at her window like a thrown pebble. + +So she waited, and at last heard the whistle a second time, +unmistakably clear. In a moment she was hurrying down to the stable, +climbed into the saddle, and rode at a cautious trot out among the +sand-hills. + +For a time she saw no one, and commenced to fear that the whole thing +had been a gruesomely real, practical jest. So she stopped her horse +and imitated the signal whistle as well as she could. It was repeated +immediately behind her--almost in her ear, and she turned to make out +the dark form of a tall horseman. + +"A bad night for the start," called Wilbur. "Do you want to wait till +tomorrow?" + +She could not answer for a moment, the wind whipping against her face, +while a big drop stung her lips. + +She said at length: "Would a night like this stop Pierre--or McGurk?" + +For answer she heard his laughter. + +"Then I'll start. I must never stop for weather." + +He rode up beside her. + +"This is the start of the finish." + +"What do you mean?" "Nothing. But somewhere on this ride, I've an +idea a question will be answered for me." + +"What question?" + +Instead of replying he said: "You've got a slicker on?" + +"Yes." + +"Then follow me. We'll gallop into the wind a while and get the horses +warmed up. Afterward we'll take the valley of the Old Crow and follow +it up to the crest of the range." + +His horse lunged out ahead of hers, and she followed, leaning far +forward against a wind that kept her almost breathless. For several +minutes they cantered steadily, and before the end of the gallop she +was sitting straight up, her heart beating fast, a faint smile on her +lips, and the blood running hot in her veins. For the battle was +begun, she knew, by that first sharp gallop, and here at the start she +felt confident of her strength. When she met Pierre she could force +him to turn back with her. + +Wilbur checked his horse to a trot; they climbed a hill, and just as +the rain broke on them with a rattling gust they swung into the valley +of the Old Crow. Above them in the sky the thunder rode; the rain +whipped against the rocks like the rattle of a thousand flying hoofs; +and now and again the lightning flashed across the sky. + +Through that vast accompaniment they moved on in the night straight +toward the heart of the mountains which sprang into sight with every +flash of the lightning and seemed toppling almost above them, yet they +were weary miles away, as she knew. + +By those same flashes she caught glimpses of the face of Wilbur. She +hardly knew him. She had seen him always big, gentle, handsome, +good-natured; now he was grown harder, with a stern set of the jaw, +and a certain square outline of face. It had seemed impossible. Now +she began to guess how the law could have placed a price upon his +head. For he belonged out here with the night and the crash of the +storm, with strong, lawless things about him. An awe grew in her, +and she was filled half with dread and half with curiosity at the +thought of facing him, as she must many a time, across the camp-fire. +In a way, he was the ladder by which she climbed to an understanding +of Pierre le Rouge, Red Pierre. For that Pierre, she knew, was to big +Wilbur what Dick himself was to the great mass of law-abiding men. +Accident had cut Wilbur adrift, but it was more than accident which +started Pierre on the road to outlawry; it was the sheer love of +dangerous chance, the glory in fighting other men. This was Pierre. + +What was the man for whom Pierre hunted? What was McGurk? Not even the +description of Wilbur had proved very enlightening. Her thought of him +was vague, nebulous, and taking many forms. Sometimes he was tall and +dark and stern. Again he was short and heavy and somewhat deformed of +body. But always he was everywhere in the night about her. + +All this she pondered as they began the ride up the valley, but as the +long journey continued, and the hours and the miles rolled past them, +a racking weariness possessed her and numbed her mind. She began to +wish desperately for morning, but even morning might not bring an end +to the ride. That would be at the will of the outlaw beside her. +Finally, only one picture remained to her. It stabbed across the +darkness of her mind--the red hair and the keen eyes of Pierre. + +The storm decreased as they went up the valley. Finally the wind fell +off to a pleasant breeze, and the clouds of the rain broke in the +center of the heavens and toppled west in great tumbling masses. In +half an hour's time the sky was clear, and a cold moon looked down on +the blue-black evergreens, shining faintly with the wet, and on the +dead black of the mountains. + +For the first time in all that ride her companion spoke: "In an hour +the gray will begin in the east. Suppose we camp here, eat, get a +bit of sleep, and then start again?" + +As if she had waited for permission, fighting against her weariness, +she now let down the bars of her will, and a tingling stupor swept +over her body and broke in hot, numbing waves on her brain. + +"Whatever you say. I'm afraid I couldn't ride much further tonight." + +"Look up at me." + +She raised her head. + +"No; you're all in. But you've made a game ride. I never dreamed there +was so much iron in you. We'll make our fire just inside the trees and +carry water up from the river, eh?" + +A scanty growth of the evergreens walked over the hills and skirted +along the valley, leaving a broad, sandy waste in the center where the +river at times swelled with melted snow or sudden rains and rushed +over the lower valley in a broad, muddy flood. + +At the edge of the forest he picketed the horses in a little open +space carpeted with wet, dead grass. It took him some time to find dry +wood. So he wrapped her in blankets and left her sitting on a saddle. +As the chill left her body she began to grow delightfully drowsy, and +vaguely she heard the crack of his hatchet. He had found a rotten +stump and was tearing off the wet outer bark to get at the dry +wood within. + +After that it was only a moment before a fire sputtered feebly and +smoked at her feet. She watched it, only half conscious, in her utter +weariness, and seeing dimly the hollow-eyed face of the man who +stooped above the blaze. Now it grew quickly, and increased to a +sharp-pointed pyramid of red flame. The bright sparks showered up, +crackling and snapping, and when she followed their flight she saw the +darkly nodding tops of the evergreens above her. With the fire well +under way, he took the coffeepot to get water from the river, and left +her to fry the bacon. The fumes of the frying meat wakened her at +once, and brushed even the thought of her exhaustion from her mind. +She was hungry--ravenously hungry. + +So she tended the bacon slices with care until they grew brown and +crisped and curled at the edges. After that she removed the pan from +the fire, and it was not until then that she began to wonder why +Wilbur was so long in returning with the water. The bacon grew cold; +she heated it again and was mightily tempted to taste one piece of it, +but restrained herself to wait for Dick. + +Still he did not come. She stood up and called, her high voice rising +sharp and small through the trees. It seemed that some sound answered, +so she smiled and sat down. Ten minutes passed and he was still gone. +A cold alarm swept over her at that. She dropped the pan and ran out +from the trees. + +Everywhere was the bright moonlight--over the wet rocks, and sand, and +glimmering on the slow tide of the river, but nowhere could she see +Wilbur, or a form that looked like a man. Then the moonlight glinted +on something at the edge of the river. She ran to it and found the +coffee-can half in the water and partially filled with sand. + +A wild temptation to scream came over her, but the tight muscles of +her throat let out no sound. But if Wilbur were not here, where had he +gone? He could not have vanished into thin air. The ripple of the +water washing on the sand replied. Yes, that current might have rolled +his body away. + +To shut out the grim sight of the river she turned. Stretched across +the ground at her feet she saw clearly the impression of a body in the +moist sand. + + + + +CHAPTER 27 + + +The heels had left two deeply defined gouges in the ground; there was +a sharp hollow where the head had lain, and a broad depression for the +shoulders. It was the impression of the body of a man--a large man +like Wilbur. Any hope, any doubt she might have had, slipped from her +mind, and despair rolled into it with an even, sullen current, like +the motion of the river. + +It is strange what we do with our big moments of fear and sorrow and +even of joy. Now Mary stooped and carefully washed out the coffeepot, +and filled it again with water higher up the bank; and turned back +toward the edge of the trees. + +It was all subconscious, this completing of the task which Wilbur had +begun, and subconscious still was her careful rebuilding of the fire +till it flamed high, as though she were setting a signal to recall the +wanderer. But the flame, throwing warmth and red light across her +eyes, recalled her sharply to reality, and she looked up and saw the +dull dawn brightening beyond the dark evergreens. + +Guilt, too, swept over her, for she remembered what big, handsome Dick +Wilbur had said: He would meet his end through a woman. Now it had +come to him, and through her. + +She cringed at the thought, for what was she that a man should die in +her service? She raised her hands with a moan to the nodding tops of +the trees, to the vast, black sky above them, and the full knowledge +of Wilbur's strength came to her, for had he not ridden calmly, +defiantly, into the heart of this wilderness, confident in his power +to care both for himself and for her? But she! What could she do +wandering by herself? The image of Pierre le Rouge grew dim indeed and +sad and distant. + +She looked about her at the pack, which had been distributed expertly, +and disposed on the ground by Wilbur. She could not even lash it in +place behind the saddle. So she drew the blanket once more around her +shoulders and sat down to think. + +She might return to the house--doubtless she could find her way back. +And leave Pierre in the heart of the mountains, surely lost to her +forever. She made a determination, sullen, like a child, to ride on +and on into the wilderness, and let fate take care of her. The pack +she could bundle together as best she might; she would live as she +might; and for a guide there would be the hunger for Pierre. + +So she ended her thoughts with a hope; her head nodded lower, and she +slept the deep sleep of the exhausted mind and body. She woke hours +later with a start, instantly alert, quivering with fear and life and +energy, for she felt like one who has gone to sleep with voices in +his ear. + +While she slept someone had been near her; she could have sworn it +before her startled eyes glanced around. + +And though she kept whispering, with white lips, "No, no; it is +impossible!" yet there was evidence which proved it. The fire should +have burned out, but instead it flamed more brightly than ever, and +there was a little heap of fuel laid conveniently close. Moreover, +both horses were saddled, and the pack lashed on the saddle of her +own mount. + +Whatever man or demon had done this work evidently intended that she +should ride Wilbur's beautiful bay. Yes, for when she went closer, +drawn by her wonder, she found that the stirrups had been much +shortened. + +Nothing was forgotten by this invisible caretaker; he had even left +out the cooking-tins, and she found a little batter of flapjack +flour mixed. + +The riddle was too great for solving. Perhaps Wilbur had disappeared +merely to play a practical jest on her; but that supposition was too +childish to be retained an instant. Perhaps--perhaps Pierre himself +had discovered her, but having vowed never to see her again, he cared +for her like the invisible hands in the old Greek fable. + +This, again, an instinctive knowledge made her dismiss. If he were so +close, loving her, he could not stay away; she read in her own heart, +and knew. Then it must be something else; evil, because it feared to +be seen; not wholly evil, because it surrounded her with care. + +At least this new emotion obscured somewhat the terror and the sorrow +of Wilbur's disappearance. She cooked her breakfast as if obeying the +order of the unseen, climbed into the saddle of Wilbur's horse, and +started off up the valley, leading her own mount. + +Every moment or so she turned in the saddle suddenly in the hope of +getting a glimpse of the follower, but even when she surveyed the +entire stretch of country from the crest of a low hill, she saw +nothing--not the least sign of life. + +She rode slowly, this day, for she was stiff and sore from the violent +journey of the night before, but though she went slowly, she kept +steadily at the trail. It was a broad and pleasant one, being the +beaten sand of the river-bottom; and the horse she rode was the +finest that ever pranced beneath her. + +His trot was as smooth and springy as the gallop of most horses, and +when she let him run over a few level stretches, it was as if she had +suddenly been taken up from the earth on wings. There was something +about the animal, too, which reminded her of its vanished owner; for +it had strength and pride and gentleness at once. Unquestionably +it took kindly to its new rider; for once when she dismounted the big +horse walked up behind and nuzzled her shoulder. + +The mountains were much plainer before the end of the day. They rose +sheer up in wave upon frozen wave like water piled ragged by some +terrific gale, with the tops of the waters torn and tossed and then +frozen forever in that position, like a fantastic and gargantuan mask +of dreaming terror. It overawed the heart of Mary Brown to look up to +them, but there was growing in her a new impulse of friendly +understanding with all this scalped, bald region of rocks, as if in +entering the valley she had passed through the gate which closes out +the gentler world, and now she was admitted as a denizen of the +mountain-desert, that scarred and ugly asylum for crime and fear +and grandeur. + +Feeling this new emotion, the old horizons of her mind gave way and +widened; her gentle nature, which had known nothing but smiles, +admitted the meaning of a frown. Did she not ride under the very +shadow of that frown with her two horses? Was she not armed? She +touched the holster at her hip, and smiled. To be sure, she could +never hit a mark with that ponderous weapon, but at least the pistol +gave the feeling of a dangerous lone rider, familiar with the wilds. + +It was about dark, and she was on the verge of looking about for a +suitable camping-place, when the bay halted sharply, tossed up his +head, and whinnied. From the far distance she thought she heard the +beginning of a whinny in reply. She could not be sure, but the +possibility made her pulse quicken. In this region, she knew, no +stranger could be a friend. + +So she started the bay at a gallop and put a couple of swift miles +between her and the point at which she had heard the sound; no living +creature, she was sure, could have followed the pace the bay held +during that distance. So, secure in her loneliness, she trotted the +horse around a bend of the rocks and came on the sudden light of +a campfire. + +It was too late to wheel and gallop away; so she remained with her +hand fumbling at the butt of the revolver, and her eyes fixed on the +flicker of the fire. Not a voice accosted her. As far as she could +peer among the lithe trunks of the saplings, not a sign of a living +thing was near. + +Yet whoever built that fire must be near, for it was obviously newly +laid. Perhaps some fleeing outlaw had pitched his camp here and had +been startled by her coming. In that case he lurked somewhere in the +woods at that moment, his keen eyes fixed on her, and his gun gripped +hard in his hand. Perhaps--and the thought thrilled her--this little +camp had been prepared by the same power, human or unearthly, which +had watched over her early that morning. + +All reason and sane caution warned her to ride on and leave that camp +unmolested, but an overwhelming, tingling curiosity besieged her. The +thin column of smoke rose past the dark trees like a ghost, and +reaching the unsheltered space above the trees, was smitten by a light +wind and jerked away at a sharp angle. + +She looked closer and saw a bed made of a great heap of the tips of +limbs of spruce, a bed softer than down and more fragrant than any +manufactured perfume, however costly. + +Possibly it was the sight of this bed which tempted her down from the +saddle, at last. With the reins over her arm, she stood close to the +fire and warmed her hands, peering all the while on every side, like +some wild and beautiful creature tempted by the bait of the trap, but +shrinking from the scent of man. + +As she stood there a broad, yellow moon edged its way above the hills +and rolled up through the black trees and then floated through the +sky. Beneath such a moon no harm could come to her. It was while she +stared at it, letting her tensed alertness relax little by little, +that she saw, or thought she saw, a hint of moving white pass over the +top of the rise of ground and disappear among the trees. + +She could not be sure, but her first impulse was to gather the reins +with a jerk and place her foot in the stirrup; but then she looked +back and saw the fire, burning low now and asking like a human voice +to be replenished from the heap of small, broken fuel nearby; and she +saw also the softly piled bed of evergreens. + +She removed her foot from the stirrup. What mattered that imaginary +figure of moving white? She felt a strong power of protection lying +all about her, breathing out to her with the keen scent of the pines, +fanning her face with the chill of the night breeze. She was alone, +but she was secure in the wilderness. + + + + +CHAPTER 28 + + +For many a minute she waited by that camp-fire, but there was never a +sign of the builder of it, though she centered all her will in making +her eyes and ears sharper to pierce through the darkness and to gather +from the thousand obscure whispers of the forest any sounds of human +origin. So she grew bold at length to take off the pack and the +saddles; the camp was hers, built for her coming by the invisible +power which surrounded her, which read her mind, it seemed, and +chose beforehand the certain route which she must follow. + +She resigned herself to that force without question, and the worry of +her search disappeared. It seemed certain that this omnipotence, +whatever it might be, was reading her wishes and acting with all its +power to fulfill them, so that in the end it was merely a question of +time before she should accomplish her mission--before she should meet +Pierre le Rouge face to face. + +That night her sleep was deep, indeed, and she only wakened when the +slant light of the sun struck across her eyes. It was a bright day, +crisp and chill, and through the clear air the mountains seemed +leaning directly above her, and chief of all two peaks, almost exactly +similar, black monsters which ruled the range. Toward the gorge +between them the valley of the Old Crow aimed its course, and straight +up that diminishing canyon she rode all day. + +The broad, sandy bottom changed and contracted until the channel was +scarcely wide enough for the meager stream of water, and beside it she +picked her way along a narrow path with banks on either side, which +became with every mile more like cliffs, walling her in and dooming +her to a single destination. + +It was evening before she came to the headwaters of the Old Crow, and +rode out into the gorge between the two mountains. The trail failed +her here. There was no semblance of a ravine to follow, except the +mighty gorge between the two peaks, and she ventured into the dark +throat of this pass, riding through a gate with the guarding towers +tall and black on either side. + +The moment she was well started in it and the steep shadow of the +evening fell across her almost like night from the west, her heart +grew cold as the air. A sense of coming danger filled her. Yet she +kept on, holding a tight rein, throwing many a fearful glance at the +vast rocks which might have concealed an entire army in every mile +of their extent. + +When she found the cabin she mistook it at first for merely another +rock of singular shape. It was at this shape that she stared, and +checked her horse, and not till then did she note the faint flicker of +a light no brighter than the phosphorescent glow of the eyes of a +hunted beast. + +Her impulse was to drive her spurs home and pass that place at a +racing gallop, but she checked the impulse sharply and began to +reason. In the first place, it was doubtless only the cabin of some +prospector, such as she had often heard of. In the second place, night +was almost upon her, and she saw no desirable camping-place, or at +least any with the necessary water at hand. + +What harm could come to her? Among Western men, she well knew a woman +is safer than all the law and the police of the settled East can make +her, so she nerved her courage and advanced toward the faint, +changing light. + +The cabin was hidden very cunningly. Crouched among the mighty +boulders which earthquakes and storms of some wilder, earlier epoch +had torn away from the side of the crags above, the house was like +another stone, leaning its back to the mountain for support. + +When she drew very close she knew that the light which glimmered at +the window must come from an open fire, and the thought of a fire +warmed her. She hallooed, and receiving no answer, fastened the horses +and entered the house. The door swung to behind her, as if of its own +volition it wished to make her a prisoner. + +The place consisted of one room, and not a spacious one at that, but +arranged as a shelter, not a home. The cooking, apparently, was done +over the open hearth, for there was no sign of any stove, and, +moreover, on the wall near the fireplace hung several soot-blackened +pans and the inevitable coffeepot. There were two bunks built on +opposite sides of the room, and in the middle a table was made of a +long section split from the heart of a log by wedges, apparently, and +still rude and undressed, except for the preliminary smoothing off +which had been done with a broad-ax. + +The great plank was supported at either end by a roughly constructed +sawbuck. It was very low, and for this reason two fairly square +boulders of comfortable proportions were sufficiently high to serve +as chairs. + +For the rest, the furniture was almost too meager to suggest human +habitation, but from nails on the wall there hung a few shirts and a +pair of chaps, as well as a much-battered quirt. But a bucket of +water in a corner suggested cleanliness, and a small, round, highly +polished steel plate, hanging on the wall in lieu of a mirror, further +fortified her decision that the owner of this place must be a man +somewhat particular as to his appearance. + +Here she interrupted her observations to build up the fire, which was +flickering down and apparently on the verge of going out. She worked +busily for a few minutes, and a roaring blaze rewarded her; she took +off her slicker to enjoy the warmth, and in doing so, turned, and saw +the owner of the place standing with folded arms just inside the door. + +"Making yourself to home?" asked the host, in a low, strangely +pleasant voice. + +"Do you mind?" asked Mary Brown. "I couldn't find a place that would +do for camping." + +And she summoned her most winning smile. It was wasted, she knew at +once, for the stranger hardened perceptibly, and his lip curled +slightly in scorn or anger. In all her life Mary had never met a man +so obdurate, and, moreover, she felt that he could not be wooed into a +good humor. + +"If you'd gone farther up the gorge," said the other, "you'd of found +the best sort of a camping place--water and everything." + +"Then I'll go," said Mary, shrinking at the thought of the strange, +cold outdoors compared with this cheery fire. But she put on the +slicker and started for the door. + +At the last moment the host was touched with compunction. He called: +"Wait a minute. There ain't no call to hurry. If you can get along +here just stick around." + +For a moment Mary hesitated, knowing that only the unwritten law of +Western hospitality compelled that speech; it was the crackle and +flare of the bright fire which overcame her pride. + +She laid off the slicker again, saying, with another smile: "For just +a few minutes, if you don't mind." + +"Sure," said the other gracelessly, and tossed his own slicker onto a +bunk. + +Covertly, but very earnestly, Mary was studying him. He was hardly +more than a boy--handsome, slender. + +Now that handsome face was under a cloud of gloom, a frown on the +forehead and a sneer on the lips, but it was something more than the +expression which repelled Mary. For she felt that no matter how she +wooed him, she could never win the sympathy of this darkly handsome, +cruel youth; he was aloof from her, and the distance between them +could never be crossed. She knew at once that the mysterious bridges +which link men with women broke down in this case, and she was +strongly tempted to leave the cabin to the sole possession of her +surly host. + +It was the warmth of the fire which once more decided against her +reason, so she laid hands on one of the blocks of stone to roll it +nearer to the hearth. She could not budge it. Then she caught the +sneering laughter of the man, and strove again in a fury. It was no +use; for the stone merely rocked a little and settled back in its +place with a bump. + +"Here," said the boy, "I'll move it for you." It was a hard lift for +him, but he set his teeth, raised the stone in his slender hands, and +set it down again at a comfortable distance from the fire. + +"Thank you," smiled Mary, but the boy stood panting against the wall, +and for answer merely bestowed on her a rather malicious glance of +triumph, as though he gloried in his superior strength and despised +her weakness. + +Some conversation was absolutely necessary, for the silence began to +weigh on her. She said: "My name is Mary Brown." + +"Is it?" said the boy, quite without interest. "You can call me Jack." + +He sat down on the other stone, his dark face swept by the shadows of +the flames, and rolled a cigarette, not deftly, but like one who is +learning the mastery of the art. It surprised Mary, watching his +fumbling fingers. She decided that Jack must be even younger than +he looked. + +She noticed also that the boy cast, from time to time, a sharp, rather +worried glance of expectation toward the door, as if he feared it +would open and disclose some important arrival. Furthermore, those old +worn shirts hanging on the wall were much too large for the throat and +shoulders of Jack. + +Apparently, he lived there with some companion, and a companion of +such a nature that he did not wish him to be seen by visitors. This +explained the lad's coldness in receiving a guest; it also stimulated +Mary to linger about a few more minutes. + + + + +CHAPTER 29 + + +Not that she stayed there without a growing fear, but she still felt +about her, like the protection of some invisible cloak, the presence +of the strange guide who had followed her up the valley of the +Old Crow. + +It seemed as if the boy were reading her mind. + +"See you got two horses. Come up alone?" + +"Most of the way," said Mary, and tingled with a rather feline +pleasure to see that her curtness merely sharpened the interest +of Jack. + +The boy puffed on his cigarette, not with long, slow breaths of +inhalation like a practiced smoker, but with a puckered face as though +he feared that the fumes might drift into his eyes. + +"Why," thought Mary, "he's only a child!" + +Her heart warmed a little as she adopted this view of her surly host. +Being warmed, and having much to say, words came of themselves. Surely +it would do no harm to tell the story to this queer urchin, who might +be able to throw some light on the nature of the invisible protector. + +"I started with a man for guide." She fixed a searching gaze on the +boy. "His name was Dick Wilbur." + +She could not tell whether it was a tremble of the boy's hand or a +short motion to knock off the cigarette ash. + +"Did you say 'was' Dick Wilbur?" + +"Yes. Did you know him?" + +"Heard of him, I think. Kind of a hard one, wasn't he?" + +"No, no! A fine, brave, gentle fellow--poor Dick!" She stopped, +her eyes filling with tears at many a memory. + +"Hm!" coughed the boy. "I thought he was one of old Boone's gang? If +he's dead, that made the last of 'em--except Red Pierre." + +It was like the sound of a trumpet call at her ear. Mary sat up with a +start. + +"What do you know of Red Pierre?" + +The boy flushed a little, and could not quite meet her eye. + +"Nothin'." + +"At least you know that he's still alive?" + +"Sure. Anyone does. When he dies the whole range will know about it--damn +quick. I know _that_ much about Red Pierre; but who doesn't?" + +"I, for one." + +"You!" + +Strangely enough, there was more of accusation than of surprise in the +word. + +"Certainly," repeated Mary. "I've only been in this part of the +country for a short time. I really know almost nothing about +the--legends." + +"Legends?" said the boy, and laughed. "Legend? Say, lady, if Red +Pierre is just a legend the Civil War ain't no more'n a fable. Legend? +You go anywhere on the range an' get 'em talking about that legend, +and they'll make you think it's an honest-to-goodness fact, and +no mistake." + +Mary queried earnestly: "Tell me about Red Pierre. It's almost as hard +to learn anything of him as it is to find out anything about McGurk." + +"What you doing?" asked the boy, keen with suspicion. "Making a study +of them two for a book?" + +He wiped a damp forehead. + +"Take it from me, lady, it ain't healthy to join up them two even in +talk!" "Is there any harm in words?" + +The boy was so upset for some unknown reason that he rose and paced up +and down the room. + +"Lots of harm in fool words." + +He sat down again, and seemed a little anxious to explain his unusual +conduct. + +"Ma'am, suppose you had a well plumb full of nitroglycerin in your +back yard; suppose there was a forest fire comin' your way from all +sides; would you like to have people talk about nitroglycerin and that +forest fire meeting? Even the talk would give you chills. That's the +way it is with Pierre and McGurk. When they meet there's going to be a +fight that'll stop the hearts of the people that have to look on." + +Mary smiled to cover her excitement. + +"But are they coming your way?" + +The question seemed to infuriate young Jack, who cried: "Ain't that a +fool way of talkin'? Lady, they're coming everyone's way. You never +know where they'll start from or where they'll land. If there's a +thunder-cloud all over the sky, do you know where the lightning's +going to strike?" + +"Excuse me," said Mary, but she was still eager with curiosity, "but I +should think that a youngster like you wouldn't have anything to fear +from even those desperadoes." + +"Youngster, eh?" snarled the boy, whose wrath seemed implacable. "I +can make my draw and start my gun as fast as any man--except them two, +maybe"--he lowered his voice somewhat even to name them--"Pierre--McGurk!" + +"It seems hopeless to find out anything about McGurk," said Mary, "but +at least you can tell me safely about Red Pierre." + +"Interested in him, eh?" said the boy dryly. + +"Well, he's a rather romantic figure, don't you think?" "Romantic? +Lady, about a month ago I was talking with a lady that was a widow +because of Red Pierre. She didn't think him none too romantic." + +"Red Pierre had killed the woman's husband?" repeated Mary, with pale +lips. + +"Yep. He was one of the gang that took a chance with Pierre and got +bumped off. Had three bullets in him and dropped without getting his +gun out of the leather. Pierre sure does a nice, artistic job. He +serves you a murder with all the trimmings. If I wanted to die nice +and polite without making a mess, I don't know who I'd rather go to +than Red Pierre." + +"A murderer!" whispered Mary, with bowed head. + +The boy opened his lips to speak, but changed his mind and sat +regarding the girl with a somewhat sinister smile. + +"But might it not be," said Mary, "that he killed one man in +self-defense and then his destiny drove him, and bad luck forced him +into one bad position after another? There have been histories as +strange as that, you know." + +Jack laughed again, but most of the music was gone from the sound, and +it was simply a low, ominous purr. + +"Sure," he said. "You can take a bear-cub and keep him tame till he +gets the taste of blood, but after that you got to keep him muzzled, +you know. Pierre needs a muzzle, but there ain't enough gunfighters on +the range to put one on him." + +Something like pride crept into the boy's voice while he spoke, and he +ended with a ringing tone. Then, feeling the curious, judicial eyes of +Mary upon him, he abruptly changed the subject. + +"You say Dick Wilbur is dead?" + +"I don't know. I think he is." + +"But he started out with you. You ought to know." + +"It was like this: We had camped on the edge of the trees coming up +the Old Crow Valley, and Dick went off with the can to get water at +the river. He was gone a long time, and when I went out to look for +him I found the can at the margin of the river half filled with sand, +and beside it there was the impression of the body of a big man. That +was all I found, and Dick never came back." + +They were both silent for a moment. + +"Could he have fallen into the river?" + +"Sure. He was probably helped in. Did you look for the footprints?" + +"I didn't think of that." + +Jack was speechless with scorn. + +"Sat down and cried, eh?" + +"I was dazed; I couldn't think. But he couldn't have been killed by +some other man. There was no shot fired; I should have heard it." + +Jack moistened his lips. + +"Lady, a knife don't make much sound either going or coming out--not +much more sound than a whisper, but that whisper means a lot. I got an +idea that Dick heard it. Then the river covered him up." + +He stopped short and stared at Mary with squinted eyes. + +"D'you mean to tell me that you had the nerve to come all the way up +the Old Crow by yourself?" + +"Every inch of the way." + +Jack leaned forward, sneering, savage. + +"Then I suppose you put the hitch that's on that pack outside?" + +"No." + +Jack was dumbfounded. + +"Then you admit--" + +"That first night when I went to sleep I felt as if there were +something near me. When I woke up there was a bright fire burning in +front of me and the pack had been lashed and placed on one of the +horses. At first I thought that it was Dick, who had come back. But +Dick didn't appear all day. The next night--" "Wait!" said Jack. +"This is gettin' sort of creepy. If you was the drinking kind I'd say +you'd been hitting up the red-eye." + +"The next evening," continued Mary steadily, "I came about dark on a +camp-fire with a bed of twigs near it. I stayed by the fire, but no +one appeared. Once I thought I heard a horse whinny far away, and once +I thought that I saw a streak of white disappear over the top of +a hill." + +The boy sprang up, shuddering with panic. + +"You saw what?" + +"Nothing. I thought for a minute that it was a bit of something white, +but it was gone all at once." + +"White--vanished at once--went into the dark as fast as a horse can +gallop?" + +"Something like that. Do you think it was someone?" + +For answer the boy whipped out his revolver, examined it, and spun the +cylinder with shaking hands. Then he said through set teeth: "So you +come up here trailin' him after you, eh?" + +"Who?" + +"McGurk!" + +The name came like a rifle shot and Mary rose in turn and shrank back +toward the wall, for there was murder in the lighted black eyes which +stared after her and crumbling fear in her own heart at the thought of +McGurk hovering near--of the peril that impended for Pierre. Of the +nights in the valley of the Crow she refused to let herself think. +Cold beads of perspiration stood out on her forehead. + +"You fool--you fool! Damn your pretty pink-and-white face--you've done +for us all! Get out!" + +Mary moved readily enough toward the door, her teeth chattering with +terror in the face of this fury. + +Jack continued wildly: "Done for us all; got us all as good as under +the sod. I wish you was in--Get out quick, or I'll forget--you're a +woman!" He broke into hysterical laughter, which stopped short and +finished in a heartbroken whisper: "Pierre!" + + + + +CHAPTER 30 + + +At that Mary, who stood with her hand on the latch, whirled and stood +wide-eyed, her astonishment greater than her fear, for that whisper +told her a thousand things. + +Through her mind all the time that she stayed in the cabin there had +passed a curious surmise that this very place might be the covert of +Pierre le Rouge. There was a fatality about it, for the invisible +Power which had led her up the valley of the Old Crow surely would not +make mistakes. + +In her search for Pierre, Providence brought her to this place, and +Providence could not be wrong. This, a vague emotion stirring in her +somewhere between reason and the heart, grew to an almost certain +knowledge as she heard the whisper, the faint, heartbroken +whisper: "Pierre!" + +And when she turned to the boy again, noting the shirts and the chaps +hanging at the wall, she knew they belonged to Pierre as surely as if +she had seen him hang them there. + +The fingers of Jack were twisted around the butt of his revolver, +white with the intensity of the pressure. + +Now he cried: "Get out! You've done your work; get out!" + +But Mary stepped straight toward the murderous, pale face. "I'll +stay," she said, "and wait for Pierre." + +The boy blanched. + +"Stay?" he echoed. + +The heart of Mary went out to this trusted companion who feared for +his friend. + +She said gently: "Listen; I've come all this way looking for Pierre, +but not to harm him or to betray him, I'm his friend. Can't you +trust me Jack?" + +"Trust you? No more than I'll trust what came with you!" + +And the fierce black eyes lingered on Mary and then fled past her +toward the door, as if the boy debated hotly and silently whether or +not it would be better to put an end to this intruder, but stayed his +hand, fearing that Power which had followed her up the valley of +the Old Crow. + +It was that same invisible guardian who made Mary strong now; it was +like the hand of a friend on her shoulder, like the voice of a friend +whispering reassuring words at her ear. She faced those blazing, black +eyes steadily. It would be better to be frank, wholly frank. + +"This is the house of Pierre. I know it as surely as if I saw him +sitting here now. You can't deceive me. And I'll stay. I'll even tell +you why. Once he said that he loved me, Jack, but he left me because +of a strange superstition; and so I've followed to tell him that I +want to be near no matter what fate hangs over him." + +And the boy, whiter still, and whiter, looked at her with clearing, +narrowing eyes. + +"So you're one of them," said the boy softly; "you're one of the fools +who listen to Red Pierre. Well, I know you; I've known you from the +minute I seen you crouched there at the fire. You're the one Pierre +met at the dance at the Crittenden schoolhouse. Tell me!" + +"Yes," said Mary, marveling greatly. + +"And he told you he loved you?" + +"Yes." It was a fainter voice now, and the color was going up her +cheeks. + +The lad fixed her with his cold scorn and then turned on his heel and +slipped into an easy position on the bunk. + +"Then wait for him to come. He'll be here before morning." + +But Mary followed across the room and touched the shoulder of Jack. It +was as if she touched a wild wolf, for the lad whirled and struck her +hand away in an outburst of silent fury. + +"Why shouldn't I stay? He hasn't--he hasn't changed--Jack?" + +The insolent black eyes looked up and scanned her slowly from head to +foot. Then he laughed in the same deliberate manner. + +"No, I guess he thinks as much of you now as he ever did." + +"You are lying to me," said the girl faintly, but the terror in her +eyes said another thing. + +"He thinks as much of you as he ever did. He thinks as much of you as +he does of the rest of the soft-handed, pretty-faced fools who listen +to him and believe him. I suppose--" + +He broke off to laugh heartily again, with a jarring, forced note +which escaped Mary. + +"I suppose that he made love to you one minute and the next told you +that bad luck--something about the cross--kept him away from you?" + +Each slow word was like a blow of a fist. Mary closed her eyes to shut +out the scorn of that handsome, boyish face; closed her eyes to summon +out from the dark of her mind the picture of Pierre le Rouge as he had +told her of his love; and then she heard the voice of Pierre +renouncing her. + +She opened her eyes again. She cried: "It is all a lie! If he is not +true, there's no truth in the world." + +"If you come down to that," said the boy coldly, "there ain't much +wasted this side of the Rockies. It's about as scarce as rain." + +He continued in an almost kindly tone: "What would you do with a wild +man like Red Pierre? Run along; git out of here; grab your horse, and +beat it back to civilization; there ain't no place for you up here in +the wilderness." + +"What would I do with him?" cried the girl. "Love him!" + +It seemed as though her words, like whips, lashed the boy back to his +murderous anger. He lay with blazing eyes, watching her for a moment, +too moved to speak. At last he propped himself on one elbow, shook a +small, white-knuckled fist under the nose of Mary, and cried: "Then +what would he do with you?" + +He went on: "Would he wear you around his neck like a watch charm?" + +"I'd bring him back with me--back into the East, and he would be lost +among the crowds and never suspected of his past." + +"_You'd_ bring Pierre anywhere? Say, lady, that's like hearing the +sheep talk about leading the wolf around by the nose. If all the men +in the ranges can't catch him, or make him budge an inch out of the +way he's picked, do you think you could stir him?" + +Jeering laughter shook him; it seemed that he would never be done with +his laughter, yet there was a hint of the hysterically mirthless in +it. It came to a jarring stop. + +He said: "D'you think he's just bein' driven around by chance? Lady, +d'you think he even _wants_ to get out of this life of his? No, he +loves it! He loves the danger. D'you think a man that's used to +breathing in a whirlwind can get used to living in calm air? It +can't be done!" + +And the girl answered steadily: "For every man there is one woman, +and for that woman the man will do strange things." + +"You poor, white-faced, whimpering fool," snarled the boy, gripping at +his gun again, "d'you dream that you're the one that's picked out for +Pierre? No, there's another!" + +"Another? A woman who--" + +"Who loves Pierre--a woman that's fit for him. She can ride like a +man; she can shoot almost as straight and as fast as Pierre; she can +handle a knife; and she's been through hell for Pierre, and she'll go +through it again. She can ride the trail all day with him and finish +it less fagged than he is. She can chop down a tree as well as he can, +and build a fire better. She can hold up a train with him or rob a +bank and slip through a town in the middle of the night and laugh with +him about it afterward around a campfire. I ask you, is that the sort +of a woman that's meant for Pierre?" + +And Mary answered, with bowed head: "She is." + +She cried instantly afterward, cutting short the look of wild triumph +on the face of the boy: "But there's no such woman; there's no one who +could do these things! I know it!" + +The boy sprang to his feet, flushing as red as the girl was white. + +"You fool, if you're blind and got to have your eyes open to see, look +at the woman!" + +And she tore the wide-brimmed sombrero from her head. Down past the +shoulders flooded a mass of blue-black hair. The firelight flickered +and danced across the silken shimmer of it. It swept wildly past the +waist, a glorious, night-dark tide in which the heart of a strong man +could be tangled and lost. With quivering lips Jacqueline cried: "Look +at me! Am I worthy of him?" + +Short step by step Mary went back, staring with fascinated eyes as one +who sees some devilish, midnight revelry, and shrinks away from it +lest the sight should blast her. She covered her eyes with her hands +but instantly strong grips fell on her wrists and her hands were +jerked down from her face. She looked up into the eyes of a +beautiful tigress. + +"Answer me--your yellow hair against mine--your child fingers against +my grip--are you equal with me?" + +But the strength of Jacqueline faded and grew small; her arms fell to +her side; she stepped back, with a rising pallor taking the place of +the red. For Mary, brushing her hands, one gloved and one bare, before +her eyes, returned the stare of the mountain girl with equal scorn. A +mighty loathing filled up her veins in place of strength. + +"Tell me," she said, "was--was this man living with you when he came +to me and--and made speeches--about love?" + +"Bah! He was living with me. I tell you, he came back and laughed with +me about it, and told me about your baby-blue eyes when they filled +with tears; laughed and laughed and laughed, I tell you, as I could +laugh now." + +The other twisted her hands together, moaning: "And I have followed +him, even to the place where he keeps his--woman? Ah, how I hate +myself: how I despise myself. I'm unclean--unclean in my own eyes!" + +"Wait!" called Jacqueline. "You are leaving too soon. The night is +cold." + +"I am going. There is no need to gibe at me." + +"But wait--he will want to see you! I will tell him that you have been +here--that you came clear up the valley of the Old Crow to see him and +beg him on your knees to love you--he'll be angry to have missed +the scene!" + +But the door closed on Mary as she fled with her hands pressed against +her ears. + + + + +CHAPTER 31 + + +Jacqueline ran to the door and threw it open. + +"Ride down the valley!" she cried. "That's right. He's coming up, and +he'll meet you on the way. He'll be glad--to see you!" + +She saw the rider swing sharply about, and the clatter of the +galloping hoofs died out up the valley; then she closed the door, +dropped the latch, and, running to the middle of the room, threw up +her arms and cried out, a wild, shrill yell of triumph like the call +of the old Indian brave when he rises with the scalp of his murdered +enemy dripping in his hand. + +The extended arms she caught back to her breast, and stood there with +head tilted back, crushing her delight closer to her heart. + +And she whispered: "Pierre! Mine, mine! Pierre!" + +Next she went to the steel mirror on the wall and looked long at the +flushed, triumphant image. At length she started, like one awakening +from a happy dream, and hurriedly coiled the thick, soft tresses about +her head. Never before had she lingered so over a toilet, patting each +lock into place, twisting her head from side to side like a peacock +admiring its image. + +Now she looked about hungrily for a touch of color and uttered a +little moan of vexation when she saw nothing, till her eyes, piercing +through the gloom of a dim corner, saw a spray of autumn leaves, long +left there and still stained with beauty. She fastened them at the +breast of her shirt, and so arrayed began to cook. Never was there a +merrier cook, not even some jolly French chef with a heart made warm +with good red wine, for she sang as she worked, and whenever she had +to cross the room it was with a dancing step. Spring was in her blood, +warm spring that sets men smiling for no cause except that they are +living, and rejoicing with the whole awakening world. + +So it was with Jacqueline. Ever and anon as she leaned over the pans +and stirred the fire she raised her head and remained a moment +motionless, waiting for a sound, yearning to hear, and each time she +had to look down again with a sigh. + +As it was, he took her by surprise, for he entered with the soft foot +of the hunted and remained an instant searching the room with a +careful glance. Not that he suspected, not that he had not relaxed his +guard and his vigilance the moment he caught sight of the flicker of +light through the mass of great boulders, but the lifelong habit of +watchfulness remained with him. + +Even when he spoke face to face with a man, he never seemed to be +giving more than half his attention, for might not someone else +approach if he lost himself in order to listen to any one voice? He +had covered half the length of the room with that soundless step +before she heard, and rose with a glad cry: "Pierre!" + +Meeting that calm blue eye, she checked herself mightily. + +"A hard ride?" she asked. + +"Nothing much." + +He took the rock nearest the fire and then raised a glance of inquiry. + +"I got cold," she said, "and rolled it over." + +He considered her and then the rock, not with suspicion, but as if he +held the matter in abeyance for further consideration; a hunted man +and a hunter must keep an eye for little things, must carry an armed +hand and an armed heart even among friends. As for Jacqueline, her +color had risen, and she leaned hurriedly over a pan in which meat +was frying. + +"Any results?" she asked. + +"Some." + +She waited, knowing that the story would come at length. + +He added after a moment: "Strange how careless some people get to be." + +"Yes?" she queried. + +"Yes." + +Another pause, during which he casually drummed his fingers on his +knee. She saw that he must receive more encouragement before he would +tell, and she gave it, smiling to herself. Women are old in certain +ways of understanding in which men remain children forever. + +"I suppose we're still broke, Pierre?" + +"Broke? Well, not entirely. I got some results." + +"Good." + +"As a matter of fact, it was a pretty fair haul. Watch that meat, +Jack; I think it's burning." + +It was hardly beginning to cook, but she turned it obediently and hid +another slow smile. Rising, she passed behind his chair, and pretended +to busy herself with something near the wall. This was the environment +and attitude which would make him talk most freely, she knew. + +"Speaking of careless men," said Pierre, "I could tell you a yarn, +Jack." + +She stood close behind him and made about his unconscious head a +gesture of caress, the overflow of an infinite tenderness. + +"I'd sure like to hear it, Pierre." + +"Well, it was like this: I knew a fellow who started on the range with +a small stock of cattle. He wasn't a very good worker, and he didn't +understand cattle any too well, so he didn't prosper for quite a +while. Then his affairs took a sudden turn for the better; his herd +began to increase. Nobody understood the reason, though a good many +suspected, but one man fell onto the reason: our friend was simply +running in a few doggies on the side, and he'd arranged a very +ingenious way of changing the brands." + +"Pierre--" + +"Well?" + +"What does 'ingenious' mean?" + +"Why, I should say it means 'skillful, clever,' and it carries with it +the connotation of 'novel.'" + +"It carries the con-conno--what's that word, Pierre?" + +"I'm going to get some books for you, Jack, and we'll do a bit of +reading on the side, shall we?" + +"I'd love that!" + +He turned and looked up to her sharply. + +He said: "Sometimes, Jack, you talk just like a girl." + +"Do I? That's queer, isn't it? But go on with the story." + +"He changed the brands very skillfully, and no one got the dope on him +except this one man I mentioned; and that man kept his face shut. +He waited. + +"So it went on for a good many years. The herd of our friend grew very +rapidly. He sold just enough cattle to keep himself and his wife +alive; he was bent on making one big haul, you see. So when his +doggies got to the right age and condition for the market, he'd trade +them off, one fat doggie for two or three skinny yearlings. But +finally he had a really big herd together, and shipped it off to the +market on a year when the price was sky-high." + +"Like this year?" + +"Don't interrupt me, Jack!" + +From the shadow behind him she smiled again. + +"They went at a corking price, and our friend cleared up a good many +thousand--I won't say just how much. He sank part of it in a ruby +brooch for his wife, and shoved the rest into a satchel. + +"You see how careful he'd been all those years while he was piling up +his fortune? Well, he began to get careless the moment he cashed in, +which was rather odd. He depended on his fighting power to keep that +money safe, but he forgot that while he'd been making a business of +rustling doggies and watching cattle markets, other men had been +making a business of shooting fast and straight. + +"Among others there was the silent man who'd watched and waited for so +long. But this silent man hove alongside while our rich friend was +bound home in a buckboard. + +"'Good evening!' he called. + +"The rich chap turned and heard; it all seemed all right, but he'd +done a good deal of shady business in his day, and that made him +suspicious of the silent man now. So he reached for his gun and got it +out just in time to be shot cleanly through the hand. + +"The silent man tied up that hand and sympathized with the rich chap; +then he took that satchel and divided the paper money into two +bundles. One was twice the size of the other, and the silent man took +the smaller one. There was only twelve thousand dollars in it. Also, +he took the ruby brooch for a friend--and as a sort of keepsake, you +know. And he delivered a short lecture to the rich man on the subject +of carelessness and rode away. The rich man picked up his gun with his +left hand and opened fire, but he'd never learned to shoot very well +with that hand, so the silent man came through safe." + +"That's a bully story," said Jack. "Who was the silent man?" + +"I think you've seen him a few times, at that." + +She concealed another smile, and said in the most businesslike manner: +"Chow-time, Pierre," and set out the pans on the table. "By the +way," he said easily, "I've got a little present for you, Jack." + +And he took out a gold pin flaming with three great rubies. + + + + +CHAPTER 32 + + +She merely stared, like a child which may either burst into tears or +laughter, no one can prophesy which. + +He explained, rather worried: "You see, you _are_ a girl, Jack, and I +remembered that you were pleased about those clothes that you wore to +the dance in the Crittenden schoolhouse, and so when I saw that pin +I--well--" + +"Oh, Pierre!" said a stifled voice. "Oh, Pierre!" + +"Jack, you aren't angry, are you? See, when you put it at the throat +it doesn't look half bad!" + +And to try it, he pinned it on her shirt. She caught both his hands, +kissed them again and again, and then buried her face against them as +she sobbed. If the heavens had opened and a cloudburst crashed on the +roof of the house, he would have been less astounded. + +"What is it?" he cried. "Damn it all--Jack--you see--I meant--" + +But she tore herself away and flung herself face down on the bunk, +sobbing more bitterly than ever. He followed, awe-stricken--terrified. + +He touched her shoulder, but she shrank away and seemed more +distressed than ever. It was not the crying of a weak woman: these +were heartrending sounds, like the sobbing of a man who has never +before known tears. + +"Jack--perhaps I've done something wrong--" + +He stammered again: "I didn't dream I was hurting you--" + +Then light broke upon him. + +He said: "It's because you don't want to be treated like a silly girl; +eh, Jack?" + +But to complete his astonishment she moaned: "N-n-no! It's b-b-because +you--you n-n-never _do_ t-treat me like a g-g-girl, P-P-Pierre!" + +He groaned heartily: "Well, I'll be damned!" + +And because he was thoughtful he strode away, staring at the floor. It +was then that he saw it, small and crumpled on the floor. He picked it +up--a glove of the softest leather. He carried it back to Jacqueline. + +"What's this?" + +"Wh-wh-what?" + +"This glove I found on the floor?" + +The sobs decreased at once--broke out more violently--and then she +sprang up from the bunk. + +"Pierre, I've acted a regular chump. Are you out with me?" + +"Not a bit, old-timer. But about this glove?" + +"Oh, that's one of mine." + +She took it and slipped it into the bosom of her shirt--the calm blue +eye of Pierre noted. + +He said: "We'll eat and forget the rest of this, if you want, Jack." + +"And you ain't mad at me, Pierre?" + +"Not a bit." + +There was just a trace of coldness in his tone, and she knew perfectly +why it was there, but she chose to ascribe it to another cause. + +She explained: "You see, a woman is just about nine tenths fool, +Pierre, and has to bust out like that once in a while." + +"Oh!" said Pierre, and his eyes wandered past her as though he found +food for thought on the wall. + +She ventured cautiously, after seeing that he was eating with +appetite: "How does the pin look?" + +"Why, fine." + +And the silence began again. + +She dared not question him in that mood, so she ventured again: "The +old boy shooting left-handed--didn't he even fan the wind near you?" + +"That was another bit of carelessness," said Pierre, but his smile +held little of life. "He might have known that if he _had_ shot +close--by accident--I might have turned around and shot him dead--on +purpose. But when a man stops thinking for a minute, he's apt to go on +for a long time making a fool of himself." + +"Right," she said, brightening as she felt the crisis pass away, "and +that reminds me of a story about--" + +"By the way, Jack, I'll wager there's a more interesting story than +that you could tell me." + +"What?" + +"About how that glove happened to be on the floor." + +"Why, partner, it's just a glove of my own." + +"Didn't know you wore gloves with a leather as soft as that." + +"No? Well, that story I was speaking about runs something like this--" + +And she told him a gay narrative, throwing all her spirit into it, for +she was an admirable mimic. He met her spirit more than half-way, +laughing gaily; and so they reached the end of the story and the end +of the meal at the same time. She cleared away the pans with a few +motions and tossed them clattering into a corner. Neat housekeeping +was not numbered among the many virtues of Jacqueline. "Now," said +Pierre, leaning back against the wall, "we'll hear about that glove." + +"Damn the glove!" broke from her. + +"Steady, pal!" + +"Pierre, are you going to nag me about a little thing like that?" + +"Why, Jack, you're red and white in patches. I'm interested." + +He sat up. + +"I'm more than interested. The story, Jack." + +"Well, I suppose I have to tell you. I did a fool thing today. Took a +little gallop down the trail, and on my way back I met a girl sitting +in her saddle with her face in her hands, crying her heart out. Poor +kid! She'd come up in a hunting party and got separated from the rest. + +"So I got sympathetic--" + +"About the first time on record that you've been sympathetic with +another girl, eh?" + +"Shut up, Pierre! And I brought her in here--right into your cabin, +without thinking what I was doing, and gave her a cup of coffee. Of +course it was a pretty greenhorn trick, but I guess no harm will come +of it. The girl thinks it's a prospector's cabin--which it was once. +She went on her way, happy, because I told her of the right trail to +get back with her gang. That's all there is to it. Are you mad at me +for letting anyone come into this place?" + +"Mad?" He smiled. "No, I think that's one of the best lies you ever +told me, Jack." + +Their eyes met, hers very wide, and his keen and steady. Then she +gripped at the butt of her gun, an habitual trick when she was very +angry, and cried: "Do I have to sit here and let you call me--that? +Pierre, pull a few more tricks like that and I'll call for a new +deal. Get me?" + +She rose, whirled, and threw herself sullenly on her bunk. "Come +back," said Pierre. "You're more scared than angry. Why are you +afraid, Jack?" + +"It's a lie--I'm not afraid!" + +"Let me see that glove again." + +"You've seen it once--that's enough." + +He whistled carelessly, rolling a cigarette. After he lighted it he +said: "Ready to talk yet, partner?" + +She maintained an obstinate silence, but that sharp eye saw that she +was trembling. He set his teeth and then drew several long puffs on +his cigarette. + +"I'm going to count to ten, pal, and when I finish you're going to +tell me everything straight. In the meantime don't stay there thinking +up a new lie. I know you too well, and if you try the same thing on +me again--" + +"Well?" she snarled, all the tiger coming back in her voice. + +"You'll talk, all right. Here goes the count: One--two--three--four--" + +As he counted, leaving a long drag of two or three seconds between +numbers, there was not a change in the figure of the girl. She still +lay with her back turned on him, and the only expressive part that +showed was her hand. First it lay limp against her hip, but as the +monotonous count proceeded it gathered to a fist. + +"Five--six--seven--" + +It seemed that he had been counting for hours, his will against her +will, the man in him against the woman in her, and during the pauses +between the sound of his voice the very air grew charged with waiting. +To the girl the wait for every count was like the wait of the doomed +traitor when he stands facing the firing-squad, watching the glimmer +of light go down the aimed rifles. + +For she knew the face of the man who sat there counting; she knew how +the firelight flared in the dark red of his hair and made it seem like +another fire beneath which the blue of the eyes was strangely cold. +Her hand had gathered to a hard-balled fist. + +"Eight--nine--" + +She sprang up, screaming: "No, no, Pierre!" And threw out her arms to +him. + +"Ten." + +She whispered: "It was the girl with yellow hair--Mary Brown." + + + + +CHAPTER 33 + + +It was as if she had said: "Good morning!" in the calmest of voices. +There was no answer in him, neither word nor expression, and out of +ten sharp-eyed men, nine would have passed him by without noting the +difference; but the girl knew him as the monk knows his prayers or the +Arab his horse, and a solemn, deep despair came over her. She felt +like the drowning, when the water closes over their heads for the +last time. + +He puffed twice again at the cigarette and then flicked the butt into +the fire. When he spoke it was only to say: "Did she stay long?" + +But his eyes avoided her. She moved a little so as to read his face, +but when he turned again and answered her stare she winced. "Not very +long, Pierre." + +"Ah," he said. "I see! It was because she didn't dream that this was +the place I lived in." + +It was the sort of heartless, torturing questioning which was once the +crudest weapon of the inquisition. With all her heart she fought to +raise her voice above the whisper whose very sound accused her, but +could not. She was condemned to that voice as the man bound in +nightmare is condemned to walk slowly, slowly, though the terrible +danger is racing toward him, and the safety which he must reach lies +only a dozen steps, a dozen mortal steps away. + +She said in that voice: "No; of course she didn't dream it." + +"And you, Jack, had her interests at heart--her best interests, poor +girl, and didn't tell her?" + +Her hands went out to him in mute appeal. + +"Please, Pierre--don't!" + +"Is something troubling you, Jack?" + +"You are breaking my heart." + +"Why, by no means! Let's sit here calmly and chat about the girl with +the yellow hair. To begin with--she's rather pleasant to look at, +don't you think?" + +"I suppose she is." + +"Hm! Rather poor taste not to be sure of it. Well, let it go. You've +always had rather queer taste in women, Jack; but, of course, being a +long-rider, you haven't seen much of them. At least her name is +delightful--Mary Brown! You've no idea how often I've repeated it +aloud to myself--Mary Brown!" + +"I hate her!" + +"You two didn't have a very agreeable time of it? By the way, she must +have left in rather a hurry to forget her glove, eh?" + +"Yes, she ran--like a coward." + +"Ah?" "Like a trembling coward. How can you care for a white-faced +little fool like that? Is she your match? Is she your mate?" + +He considered a moment, as though to make sure that he did not +exaggerate. + +"I love her, Jack, as men love water when they've ridden all day over +hot sand without a drop on their lips--you know when the tongue gets +thick and the mouth fills with cotton--and then you see clear, bright +water, and taste it? + +"She is like that to me. She feeds every sense; and when I look in her +eyes, Jack, I feel like the starved man on the desert, as I was +saying, drinking that priceless water. You knew something of the way I +feel, Jack. Isn't it a little odd that you didn't keep her here?" + +She had stood literally shuddering during this speech, and now she +burst out, far beyond all control: "Because she loathes you; because +she hates herself for ever having loved you; because she despises +herself for having ridden up here after you. Does that fill your cup +of water, Pierre, eh?" + +His forehead was shining with sweat, but he set his teeth, and, after +a moment, he was able to say in the same hard, calm voice: "I suppose +there was no real reason for her change. She can be persuaded back to +me in a moment. In that case just tell me where she has gone and I'll +ride after her." + +He made as if to rise, but she cried in a panic, and yet with a wild +exultation: "No, she's done with you forever, and the more you make +love to her now the more she'll hate you. Because she knows that when +you kissed her before--when you kissed her--you were living with +a woman." + +"I--living with a woman?" + +Her voice had risen out of the whisper for the outbreak. Now it sank +back into it. + +"Yes--with me!" "With you? I see. Naturally it must have gone hard +with her--Mary! And she wouldn't see reason even when you explained +that you and I are like brothers?" + +He leaned a little toward her and just a shade of emotion came in his +voice. + +"When you carefully explained, Jack, with all the eloquence you could +command, that you and I have ridden and fought and camped together +like brothers for six years? And how I gave you your first gun? And +how I've stayed between you and danger a thousand times? And how I've +never treated you otherwise than as a man? And how I've given you the +love of a blood-brother to take the place of the brother who died? And +how I've kept you in a clean and pure respect such as a man can only +give once in his life--and then only to his dearest friend? She +wouldn't listen--even when you talked to her like this?" + +"For God's sake--Pierre!" + +"Ah, but you talked well enough to pave the way for me. You talked so +eloquently that with a little more persuasion from me she will know +and understand. Come, I must be gone after her. Which way did she +ride--up or down the valley?" + +"You could talk to her forever and she'd never listen. Pierre, I told +her that I was--your woman--that you'd told me of your scenes with +her--and that we'd laughed at them together." + +She covered her eyes and crouched, waiting for the wrath that would +fall on her, but he only smiled bitterly on the bowed head, saying: +"Why have I waited so long to hear you say what I knew already? I +suppose because I wouldn't believe until I heard the whole abominable +truth from your own lips. Jack, why did you do it?" + +"Won't you see? Because I've loved you always, Pierre!" + +"Love--you--your tiger-heart? No, but you were like a cruel, selfish +child. You were jealous because you didn't want the toy taken away. I +knew it. I knew that even if I rode after her it would be hopeless. +Oh, God, how terribly you've hurt me, partner!" + +It wrung a little moan from her. He said after a moment: "It's only +the ghost of a chance, but I'll have to take it. Tell me which way she +rode? No? Then I'll try to find her." + +She leaped between him and the door, flinging her shoulders against it +with a crash and standing with outspread arms to bar the way. + +"You must not go!" + +He turned his head somewhat. + +"Don't stand in front of me, Jack. You know I'll do what I say, and +just now it's a bit hard for me to face you." + +"Pierre, I feel as if there were a hand squeezing my heart small, and +small, and small. Pierre, I'd die for you!" + +"I know you would. I know you would, partner. It was only a mistake, +and you acted the way any coldhearted boy would act if--if someone +were to try to steal his horse, for instance. But just now it's hard +for me to look at you and be calm." + +"Don't try to be! Swear at me--curse--rave--beat me; I'd be glad of +the blows, Pierre. I'd hold out my arms to 'em. But don't go out +that door!" + +"Why?" + +"Because--if you found her--she's not alone." + +"Say that slowly. I don't understand. She's not alone?" + +"I'll try to tell you from the first. She started out for you with +Dick Wilbur for a guide." + +"Good old Dick, God bless him! I'll fill all his pockets with gold for +that; and he loves her, you know." + +"You'll never see Dick Wilbur again. On the first night they camped +she missed him when he went for water. She went down after a while and +saw the mark of his body on the sand. He never appeared again." + +"Who was it?" + +"Listen. The next morning she woke up and found that someone had +taken care of the fire while she slept, and her pack was lashed on one +of the saddles. She rode on that day and came at night to a camp-fire +with a bed of boughs near it and no one in sight. She took that camp +for herself and no one showed up. + +"Don't you see? Someone was following her up the valley and taking +care of the poor baby on the way. Someone who was afraid to let +himself be seen. Perhaps it was the man who killed Dick Wilbur without +a sound there beside the river; perhaps as Dick died he told the man +who killed him about the lonely girl and this other man was white +enough to help Mary. + +"But all Mary ever saw of him was that second night when she thought +she saw a streak of white, traveling like a galloping horse, that +disappeared over a hill and into the trees--" + +"A streak of white--" + +"Yes, yes! The white horse--McGurk!" + +"McGurk!" repeated Pierre stupidly; then: "And you knew she would be +going out to him when she left this house?" + +"I knew--Pierre--don't look at me like that--I knew that it would be +murder to let you cross with McGurk. You're the last of seven--he's a +devil--no man--" + +"And you let her go out into the night--to him." + +She clung to a last thread of hope: "If you met him and killed him +with the luck of the cross it would bring equal bad luck on someone +you love--on the girl, Pierre!" + +He was merely repeating stupidly: "You let her go out--to him--in the +night! She's in his arms now--you devil--you tiger--" + +She threw herself down and clung about his knees with hysterical +strength. + +He tore the little cross from his neck and flung it into her upturned +face. + +"Don't make me put my hands on you, Jack. Let me go!" There was no +need to tear her grasp away. She crumpled and slipped sidewise to the +floor. He leaned over and shook her violently by the shoulder. + +"Which way did she ride? Which way did they ride?" + +She whispered: "Down the valley, Pierre; down the valley; I swear they +rode that way." + +And as she lay in a half swoon she heard the faint clatter of +galloping hoofs over the rocks and a wild voice yelling, fainter and +fainter with distance: "McGurk!" + + + + +CHAPTER 34 + + +It came back to her like a threat; it beat at her ears and roused her, +that continually diminishing cry: "McGurk!" It went down the valley, +and Mary Brown, and McGurk with her, perhaps, had gone up the gorge, +but it would be a matter of a short time before Pierre le Rouge +discovered that there was no camp-fire to be sighted in the lower +valley and whirled to storm back up the canyon with that battle-cry: +"McGurk!" still on his lips. + +And if the two met she knew the result. Seven strong men had ridden +together, fought together, and one by one they had fallen, disappeared +like the white smoke of the camp-fire, jerked off into thin air by the +wind, until only one remained. + +How clearly she could see them all! Bud Mansie, meager, lean, with a +shifting eye; Garry Patterson, of the red, good-natured face; Phil +Branch, stolid and short and muscled like a giant; Handsome Dick +Wilbur on his racing bay; Black Gandil, with his villainies from the +South Seas like an invisible mantle of awe about him; and her father, +the stalwart, gray Boone. + +All these had gone, and there remained only Pierre le Rouge to follow +in the steps of the six who had gone before. + +She crawled to the door, feeble in mind and shuddering of body like a +runner who has spent his last energy in a long race, and drew it open. +The wind blew up the valley from the Old Crow, but no sound came back +to her, no calling from Pierre; and over her rose the black pyramid of +the western peak of the Twin Bears like a monstrous nose pointing +stiffly toward the stars. + +She closed the door, dragged herself back to her feet, and stood with +her shoulders leaning against the wall. Her weakness was not +weariness--it was as if something had been taken from her. She +wondered at herself somewhat vaguely. Surely she had never been like +this before, with the singular coldness about her heart and the +feeling of loss, of infinite loss. + +What had she lost? She began to search her mind for an answer. Then +she smiled uncertainly, a wan, small smile. It was very clear; what +she had lost was all interest in life and all hope for the brave +tomorrow. Nothing remained of all those lovely dreams which she had +built up by day and night about the figure of Pierre le Rouge. He was +gone, and the bright-colored bubble she had blown vanished at once. + +She felt a slight pain at her forehead and then remembered the cross +which Pierre had thrown into her face. Casting that away he had thrown +his faintest chance of victory with it; it would be a slaughter, not a +battle, and red-handed McGurk would leave one more foe behind him. + +But looking down she found the cross and picked up the shining bit +of metal; it seemed as if she held the greater part of Pierre le Rouge +in her hands. She raised the cross to her lips. + +When she fastened the cross about her throat it was with no +exultation, but like one who places over his heart a last memorial of +the dead; a consecration, like the red sign or the white which the +crusaders wore on the covers of their shields. + +Then she took from her breast the spray of autumn leaves. He had not +noticed them, yet perhaps they had helped to make him happy when he +came into the cabin that night, so she placed the spray on the table. +Next she unpinned the great rubies from her throat and let her eye +linger over them for a moment. They were chosen stones, a lure and a +challenge at once. + +The first thought of what she must do came to Jacqueline then, but not +in an overwhelming tide--it was rather a small voice that whispered in +her heart. + +Last, she took from her bosom the glove of the yellow-haired girl. +Compared with her stanch riding gloves, how small was this! Yet, when +she tried it, it slipped easily on her hand. This she laid in that +little pile, for these were the things which Pierre would wish to find +if by some miracle he came back from the battle. The spray, perhaps, +he would not understand; and yet he might. She pressed both hands to +her breast and drew a long breath, for her heart was breaking. Through +her misted eyes she could barely see the shimmer of the cross. + +She dropped to her knees, and twisted her hands together in agony. It +was prayer. There were no words to it, but it was prayer, a wild +appeal for aid. + +That aid came in the form of a calm that swept on her like the flood +of a clear moonlight over a storm-beaten landscape. The whisper which +had come to her before was now a solemn-speaking voice, and she knew +what she must do. She could not keep the two men apart, but she +might reach McGurk before and strike him down by stealth, by craft, +any way to kill that man as terrible as a devil, as invulnerable as +a ghost. + +This she might do in the heart of the night, and afterward she might +have the courage left to tell the girl the truth and then creep off +somewhere and let this steady pain burn its way out of her heart. + +Once she had reached a decision, it was characteristic that she moved +swiftly. Also, there was cause for haste, for by this time Pierre must +have discovered that there was no one in the lower reaches of the +gorge and would be galloping back with all the speed of the +cream-colored mare which even McGurk's white horse could not match. + +She ran from the cabin and into the little lean-to behind it where the +horses were tethered. There she swung her saddle with expert hands, +whipped up the cinch, and pulled it with the strength of a man, +mounted, and was off up the gorge. + +For the first few minutes she let the long-limbed black race on at +full speed, a breathless course, because the beat of the wind in her +face raised her courage, gave her a certain impulse which was almost +happiness, just as the martyrs rejoiced and held out their hands to +the fire that was to consume them; but after the first burst of +headlong galloping, she drew down the speed to a hand-canter, and this +in turn to a fast trot, for she dared not risk the far-echoed sound of +the clattering hoofs over the rock. + +And as she rode she saw at last the winking eye of red which she +longed for and dreaded. She pulled her black to an instant halt and +swung from the saddle, tossing the reins over the head of the horse to +keep him standing there. + +Yet, after she had made half a dozen hurried paces something forced +her to turn and look again at the handsome head of the horse. He +stood quite motionless, with his ears pricking after her, and now as +she stopped he whinnied softly, hardly louder than the whisper of a +man. So she ran back again and threw the reins over the horn of the +saddle; he should be free to wander where he chose through the free +mountains, but as for her, she knew very certainly now that she would +never mount that saddle again, or control that triumphant steed with +the touch of her hands on the reins. She put her arms around his neck +and drew his head down close. + +There was a dignity in that parting, for it was the burning of her +bridges behind her. She drew back, the horse followed her a pace, but +she raised a silent hand in the night and halted him; a moment later +she was lost among the boulders. + +It was rather slow work to stalk that camp-fire, for the big boulders +cut off the sight of the red eye time and again, and she had to make +little, cautious detours before she found it again, but she kept +steadily at her work. Once she stopped, her blood running cold, for +she thought that she heard a faint voice blown up the canyon on the +wind: "McGurk!" + +For half a minute she stood frozen, listening, but the sound was not +repeated, and she went on again with greater haste. So she came at +last in view of a hollow in the side of the gorge. Here there were a +few trees, growing in the cove, and here, she knew, there was a small +spring of clear water. Many a time she had made a cup of her hands and +drunk here. + +Now she made out the fire clearly, the trees throwing out great spokes +of shadow on all sides, spokes of shadows that wavered and shook with +the flare of the small fire beyond them. She dropped to her hands and +knees and, parting the dense underbrush, began the last stealthy +approach. + + + + +CHAPTER 35 + + +Up the same course which Jacqueline followed, Mary Brown had fled +earlier that night with the triumphant laughter of Jack still ringing +in her ears and following her like a remorseless, pointed hand +of shame. + +There is no power like shame to disarm the spirit. A dog will fight if +a man laughs at him; a coward will challenge the devil himself if he +is whipped on by scorn; and this proud girl shrank and moaned on the +saddle. She had not progressed far enough to hate Pierre. That would +come later, but now all her heart had room for was a consuming +loathing of herself. + +Some of that torture went into the spurs with which she punished the +side of the bay, and the tall horse responded with a high-tossed head +and a burst of whirlwind speed. The result was finally a stumble over +a loose rock that almost flung Mary over the pommel of the saddle and +forced her to draw rein. + +Having slowed the pace she became aware that she was very tired from +the trip of the day, and utterly exhausted by the wild scene with +Jacqueline, so that she began to look about for a place where she +could stop for even an hour or so and rest her aching body. + +Thought of McGurk sent her hand trembling to her holster. Still she +knew she must have little to fear from him. He had been kind to her. +Why had this scourge of the mountain-desert spared her? Was it to +track down Pierre? + +It was at this time that she heard the purl and whisper of running +water, a sound dear to the hearts of all travelers. She veered to the +left and found the little grove of trees with a thick shrubbery +growing between, fed by the water of that diminutive brook. She +dismounted and tethered the horses. + +By this time she had seen enough of camping out to know how to make +herself fairly comfortable, and she set about it methodically, +eagerly. It was something to occupy her mind and keep out a little of +that burning sense of shame. One picture it could not obliterate, and +that was the scene of Jacqueline and Pierre le Rouge laughing together +over the love affair with the silly girl of the yellow hair. + +That was the meaning, then, of those silences that had come between +them? He had been thinking, remembering, careful lest he should forget +a single scruple of the whole ludicrous affair. She shuddered, +remembering how she had fairly flung herself into his arms. + +On that she brooded, after starting the little fire. It was not that +she was cold, but the fire, at least, in the heart of the black night, +was a friend incapable of human treachery. She had not been there long +when the tall bay, Wilbur's horse, stiffened, raised his head, arched +his tail, and then whinnied. + +She started to her feet, stirred by a thousand fears, and heard, far +away, an answering neigh. At once all thought of shame and of Pierre +le Rouge vanished from her mind, for she remembered the man who had +followed her up the valley of the Old Crow. Perhaps he was coming now +out of the night; perhaps she would even see him. + +And the excitement grew in her pulse by pulse, as the excitement grows +in a man waiting for a friend at a station; he sees first the faint +smoke like a cloud on the skyline, and then a black speck beneath the +smoke, and next the engine draws up on him with a humming of the rails +which grows at length to a thunder. + +The heart of Mary Brown beat faster, though she could not see, but +only felt the coming of the stranger. + +The only sign she saw was in the horses, which showed an increasing +uneasiness. Her own mare now shared the restlessness of the tall bay, +and the two were footing it nervously here and there, tugging at the +tethers, and tossing up their heads, with many a start, as if they +feared and sought to flee from some approaching catastrophe--some vast +and preternatural change--some forest fire which came galloping faster +than even their fleet limbs could carry them. + +Yet all beyond the pale of her camp-fire's light was silence, utter +and complete silence. It seemed as if a muscular energy went into the +intensity of her listening, but not a sound reached her except a faint +whispering of the wind in the dark trees above her. + +But at last she knew that the thing was upon her. The horses ceased +their prancing and stared in a fixed direction through the thicket of +shrubbery; the very wind grew hushed above her; she could feel the new +presence as one feels the silence when a door closes and shuts away +the sound of the street below. + +It came on her with a shock, thrilling, terrible, yet not altogether +unpleasant. She rose, her hands clenched at her sides and her eyes +abnormally wide as they stared in the same direction as the eyes of +the two horses held. Yet for all her preparation she nearly fainted +when a voice sounded directly behind her, a pleasantly modulated +voice: "Look this way. I am here, in front of the fire." + +She turned about and the two horses, quivering, whirled toward that +sound. + +She stepped back, back until the embers of the fire lay between her +and that side of the little clearing. In spite of herself the +exclamation escaped her--"McGurk!" + +The voice spoke again: "Do not be afraid. You are safe, absolutely." + +"What are you?" "Your friend." + +"Is it you who followed me up the valley?" + +"Yes." + +"Come into the light. I must see you." A faint laughter reached her +from the dark. + +"I cannot let you do that. If that had been possible I should have +come to you before." + +"But I feel--I feel almost as if you are a ghost and no man of flesh +and blood." + +"It is better for you to feel that way about it," said the voice +solemnly, "than to know me." + +"At least, tell me why you have followed me, why you have cared for +me." + +"You will hate me if I tell you, and fear me." + +"No, whatever you are, trust me. Tell me at least what came to Dick +Wilbur?" + +"That's easy enough. I met him at the river, a little by surprise, and +caught him before he could even shout. Then I took his guns and +let him go." + +"But he didn't come back to me?" + +"No. He knew that I would be there. I might have finished him without +giving him a chance to speak, girl, but I'd seen him with you and I +was curious. So I found out where you were going and why, and let +Wilbur go. I came back and looked at you and found you asleep." + +She grew cold at the thought of him leaning over her. + +"I watched you a long time, and I suppose I'll remember you always as +I saw you then. You were very beautiful with the shadow of your lashes +against your cheek--almost as beautiful as you are now as you stand +over there, fearing and loathing me. I dared not let you see me, but I +decided to take care of you--for a while." + +"And now?" + +"I have come to say farewell to you." + +"Let me see you once before you go." + +"No! You see, I fear you even more than you fear me." "Then I'll +follow you." + +"It would be useless--utterly useless. There are ways of becoming +invisible in the mountains. But before I go, tell me one thing: Have +you left the cabin to search for Pierre le Rouge in another place?" + +"No. I do not search for him." + +There was an instant of pause. Then the voice said sharply: "Did +Wilbur lie to me?" + +"No. I started up the valley to find him." + +"But you've given him up?" + +"I hate him--I hate him as much as I loathe myself for ever +condescending to follow him." + +She heard a quick breath drawn in the dark, and then a murmur: "I am +free, then, to hunt him down!" + +"Why?" + +"Listen: I had given him up for your sake; I gave him up when I stood +beside you that first night and watched you trembling with the cold in +your sleep. It was a weak thing for me to do, but since I saw you, +Mary, I am not as strong as I once was." + +"Now you go back on his trail? It is death for Pierre?" + +"You say you hate him?" + +"Ah, but as deeply as that?" she questioned herself. + +"It may not be death for Pierre. I have ridden the ranges many years +and met them all in time, but never one like him. Listen: six years +ago I met him first and then he wounded me--the first time any man has +touched me. And afterward I was afraid, Mary, for the first time in my +life, for the charm was broken. For six years I could not return, but +now I am at his heels. Six are gone; he will be the last to go." + +"What are you?" she cried. "Some bloodhound reincarnated?" + +He said: "That is the mildest name I have ever been called." + + + + +CHAPTER 36 + + +"Give up the trail of Pierre." + +And there, brought face to face with the mortal question, even her +fear burned low in her, and once more she remembered the youth who +would not leave her in the snow, but held her in his arms with the +strange cross above them. + +She said simply: "I still love him." + +A faint glimmer came to her through the dark and she could see deeper +into the shrubbery, for now the moon stood up on the top of the great +peak above them and flung a faint light into the hollow. That glimmer +she saw, but no face of a man. + +And then the silence held; every second of it was more than a hundred +spoken words. + +Then the calm voice said: "I cannot give him up." + +"For the sake of God!" + +"God and I have been strangers for a good many years." + +"For my sake." + +"But you see, I have been lying to myself. I told myself that I was +coming merely to see you once--for the last time. But after I saw you +I had to speak, and now that I have spoken it is hard to leave you, +and now that I am with you I cannot give you up to Pierre le Rouge." + +She cried: "What will you have of me?" + +He answered with a ring of melancholy: "Friendship? No, I can't take +those white hands--mine are so red. All I can do is to lurk about you +like a shadow--a shadow with a sting that strikes down all other men +who come near you." + +She said: "For all men have told me about you, I know you could not do +that." + +"Mary, I tell you there are things about me, and possibilities, about +which I don't dare to question myself." + +"You have guarded me like a brother. Be one to me still; I have never +needed one so deeply!" + +"A brother? Mary, if your eyes were less blue or your hair less golden +I might be; but you are too beautiful to be only that to me." + +"Listen to me--" + +But she stopped in the midst of her speech, because a white head +loomed beside the dim form. It was the head of a horse, with pricking +ears, which now nosed the shoulder of its master, and she saw the +firelight glimmering in the great eyes. + +"Your horse," she said in a trembling voice, "loves you and trusts +you." + +"It is the only thing which has not feared me. When it was a colt it +came out of the herd and nosed my hand. It is the only thing which has +not fought me, as all men have done--as you are doing now, Mary." + +The wind that blew up the gorge came in gusts, not any steady current, +but fitful rushes of air, and on one of these brief blasts it seemed +to Mary that she caught the sound of a voice blown to whistling +murmur. It was a vague thing of which she could not be sure, as faint +as a thought. Yet the head of the white horse disappeared, and the +glimmer of the man's face went out. + +She called: "Whatever you are, wait! Let me speak!" + +But no answer came, and she knew that the form was gone forever. + +She cried again: "Who's there?" + +"It is I," said a voice at her elbow, and she turned to look into the +dark eyes of Jacqueline. "So he's gone?" asked Jack bitterly. + +She fingered the butt of her gun. + +"I thought--well, my chance at him is gone." + +"But what--" + +"Bah, if you knew you'd die of fear. Listen to what I have to say. All +the things I told you in the cabin were lies." + +"Lies?" said Mary evenly. "No, they proved themselves." + +"Be still till I've finished, because if you talk you may make me +forget--" + +The gesture which finished the sentence was so eloquent of hate that +Mary shrank away and put the embers of the fire between them. + +"I tell you, it was all a lie, and Pierre le Rouge has never loved +anything but you, you milk-faced--" + +She stopped again, fighting against her passion. The pride of Mary +held her stiff and straight, though her voice shook. + +"Has he sent you after me with mockery?" + +"No, he's given up the hope of you." + +"The hope?" + +"Don't you see? Are you going to make me crawl to explain? It always +seemed to me that God meant Pierre for me. It always seemed to me that +a girl like me was what he needed. But Pierre had never seen it. +Maybe, if my hair was yellow an' my eyes blue, he might have felt +different; but the way it is, he's always treated me like a kid +brother--" + +"And lived with you?" said the other sternly. + +"Like two men! D'you understand how a woman could be the bunky of a +man an' yet be no more to him than--than a man would be. You don't? +Neither do I, but that's what I've been to Pierre le Rouge. +What's that?" + +She lifted her head and stood poised as if for flight. Once more the +vague sound blew up to them upon the wind. Mary ran to her and grasped +both of her hands in her own. "If it's true--" + +But Jack snatched her hands away and looked on the other with a mighty +hatred and a mightier contempt. + +"True? Why, it damn near finished Pierre with me to think he'd take up +with--a thing like you. But it's true. If somebody else had told me +I'd of laughed at 'em. But it's true. Tell me: what'll you do +with him?" + +"Take him back--if I can reach him--take him back to the East." + +"Yes--maybe he'd be happy there. But when the spring comes to the +city, Mary, wait till the wind blows in the night and the rain comes +tappin' on the roof. Then hold him if you can. D'ye hear? Hold him +if you can!" + +"If he cares it will not be hard. Tell me again, if--" + +"Shut up. What's that again?" + +The sound was closer now and unmistakably something other than the +moan of the wind. + +Jacqueline turned in great excitement to Mary: + +"Did McGurk hear that sound down the gorge?" + +"Yes. I think so. And then he--" + +"My God!" + +"What is it?" + +"Pierre, and he's calling for--d'you hear?" + +Clear and loud, though from a great distance, the wind carried up the +sound and the echo preserved it: "McGurk!" + +"McGurk!" repeated Mary. + +"Yes! And you brought him up here with you, and brought his death to +Pierre. What'll you do to save him now? Pierre!" + +She turned and fled out among the trees, and after her ran Mary, +calling, like the other: "Pierre!" + + + + +CHAPTER 37 + + +After that call first reached him, clear to his ears though vague as a +murmur at the ear of Mary, McGurk swung to the saddle of his white +horse, and galloped down the gorge like a veritable angel of death. + +The end was very near, he felt, yet the chances were at least ten to +one that he would miss Pierre in the throat of the gorge, for among +the great boulders, tall as houses, which littered it, a thousand men +might have passed and repassed and never seen each other. Only the +calling of Pierre could guide him surely. + +The calling had ceased for some moments, and he began to fear that he +had overrun his mark and missed Pierre in the heart of the pass, when, +as he rounded a mighty boulder, the shout ran ringing in his very +ears: "McGurk!" and a horseman swung into view. + +"Here!" he called in answer, and stood with his right hand lifted, +bringing his horse to a sharp halt, like some ancient cavalier +stopping in the middle of the battle to exchange greetings with a +friendly foe. + +The other rider whirled alongside, his sombrero's brim flaring back +from his forehead, so that McGurk caught the glare of the eyes beneath +the shadow. + +"So for the third time, my friend--" said McGurk. + +"Which is the fatal one," answered Pierre. "How will you die, McGurk? +On foot or on horseback?" + +"On the ground, Pierre, for my horse might stir and make my work +messy. I love a neat job, you know." "Good." + +They swung from the saddles and stood facing each other. + +"Begin!" commanded McGurk. "I've no time to waste." + +"I've very little time to look at the living McGurk. Let me look my +fill before the end." + +"Then look, and be done. I've a lady coming to meet me." + +The other grew marvelously calm. + +"She is with you, McGurk?" + +"My dear Pierre, I've been with her ever since she started up the Old +Crow." + +"It will be easier to forget her. Are you ready?" + +"So soon? Come, man, there's much for us to say. Many old times to +chat over." + +"I only wonder," said Pierre, "how one death can pay back what you've +done. Think of it! I've actually run away from you and hidden myself +among the hills. I've feared you, McGurk!" + +He said it with a deep astonishment, as a grown man will speak of the +way he feared darkness when he was a child. McGurk moistened his white +lips. The white horse pawed the rocks as though impatient to be gone. + +"Listen," said Pierre, "your horse grows restive. Suppose we stand +here--it's a convenient distance apart--and wait with our arms folded +for the next time the white horse paws the rocks, because when I kill +you, McGurk, I want you to die knowing that another man was faster on +the draw and straighter with his bullets than you are. D'you see?" + +He could not have spoken with a more formal politeness if he had been +asking the other to pass first through the door of a dining-room. The +wonder of McGurk grew and the sweat on his forehead seemed to be +spreading a chill through his entire body. He said: "I see. You +trust all to the cross, eh, Pierre? The little cross under your neck?" + +"It's gone," said Pierre le Rouge. "Why should I use it against a +night rider, McGurk? Are you ready?" + +And McGurk, not trusting his voice for some strange reason, nodded. +The two folded their arms. + +But the white horse which had been pawing the stones only a moment +before was now unusually quiet. The very postures of the men seemed to +turn him to stone, a beautiful, marble statue with the moonlight +glistening on the muscles of his perfect shoulders. + +At length he stirred. At once a quiver jerked through the tense bodies +of the waiting men, but the white horse had merely stiffened and +raised his head high. Now, with arched neck and flaunting tail he +neighed loudly, as if he asked a question. How could he know, dumb +brute, that what he asked only death could answer? + +And as they waited an itching came at the palm of McGurk's hand. It +was not much, just a tingle of the blood. To ease it, he closed his +fingers and found that his hand was moist with cold perspiration. + +He began to wonder if his fingers would be slippery on the butt of the +gun. Then he tried covertly to dry them against his shirt. But he +ceased this again, knowing that he must be of hair-trigger alertness +to watch for the stamp of the white horse. + +It occurred to him, also, that he was standing on a loose stone which +might wobble when he pulled his gun, and he cursed himself silently +for his hasty folly. Pierre, doubtless, had noticed that stone, and +therefore he had made the suggestion that they stand where they were. +Otherwise, how could there be that singular calm in the steady eyes +which looked across at him? + +Also, how explain the hunger of that stare? Was not he McGurk, and was +not this man whom he had already once shot down? God, what a fool he +had been not to linger an instant longer in that saloon in the old +days and place the final shot in the prostrate body! In all his life +he had made only one such mistake, and now that folly was pursuing +him. And now-- + +The foot of the white horse lifted--struck the rock. The sound of its +fall was lost in the explosion of two guns, and a ring of metal on +metal. The revolver snapped from the hand of McGurk, whirled in a +flashing circle, and clanged on the rocks at his feet. The bullet of +Pierre had struck the barrel and knocked it cleanly from his hand. + +It was luck, only luck, that placed that shot, and his own bullet, +which had started first, had traveled wild, for there stood Pierre le +Rouge, smiling faintly, alert, calm. For the first time in his life +McGurk had missed. He set his teeth and waited for death. + +But that steady voice of Pierre said: "To shoot you would be a +pleasure, but there wouldn't be any lasting satisfaction in it. So +there lies your gun at your feet. Well, here lies mine." + +He dropped his own weapon to a position corresponding with that of +McGurk's. + +"We were both very wild that time. We must do better now. We'll stoop +for our guns, McGurk. The signal? No, we won't wait for the horse to +stamp. The signal will be when you stoop for your gun. You shall have +every advantage, you see? Start for that gun, McGurk, when you're +ready for the end." + +The hand of McGurk stretched out and his arm stiffened but it seemed +as though all the muscles of his back had grown stiff. He could not +bend. It was strange. It was both ludicrous and incomprehensible. +Perhaps he had grown stiff with cold in that position. + +But he heard the voice of Pierre explaining gently: "You can't move, +my friend. I understand. It's fear that stiffened your back. +It's fear that sends the chill up and down your blood. It's fear that +makes you think back to your murders, one by one. McGurk, you're done +for. You're through. You're ready for the discard. I'm not going to +kill you. I've thought of a finer hell than death, and that is to live +as you shall live. I've beaten you, McGurk, beaten you fairly on the +draw, and I've broken your heart by doing it. The next time you face a +man you'll begin to think--you'll begin to remember how one other man +beat you at the draw. And that wonder, McGurk, will make your hand +freeze to your side, as you've made the hands of other men before me +freeze. D'you understand?" + +The lips of McGurk parted. The whisper of his dry panting reached +Pierre, and the devil in him smiled. + +"In six weeks, McGurk, you'll be finished. Now get out!" + +And pace by pace McGurk drew back, with his face still toward Pierre. + +The latter cried: "Wait. Are you going to leave your gun?" + +Only the steady retreat continued. + +"And go unarmed through the mountains? What will men say when they see +McGurk with an empty holster?" + +But the outlaw had passed out of view beyond the corner of one of the +monster boulders. After him went the white horse, slowly, picking his +steps, as if he were treading on dangerous and unknown ground and +would not trust his leader. Pierre was left to the loneliness of +the gorge. + +The moonlight only served to make more visible its rocky nakedness, +and like that nakedness was the life of Pierre under his hopeless +inward eye. Over him loomed from either side the gleaming pinnacles of +the Twin Bears, and he remembered many a time when he had looked up +toward them from the crests of lesser mountains--looked up toward them +as a man looks to a great and unattainable ideal. Here he was come +to the crest of all the ranges; here he was come to the height and +limit of his life, and what had he attained? Only a cruel, cold +isolation. It had been a steep ascent; the declivity of the farther +side led him down to a steep and certain ruin and the dark night +below. But he stiffened suddenly and threw his head high as if he +faced his fate; and behind him the cream-colored mare raised her head +with a toss and whinnied softly. + +It seemed to him that he had heard something calling, for the sound +was lost against the sweep of wind coming up the gorge. Something +calling there in the night of the mountains as he himself had called +when he rode so wildly in the quest for McGurk. How long ago had +that been? + +But it came once more, clear beyond all doubt. He recognized the voice +in spite of the panting which shook it; a wild wail like that of a +heartbroken child, coming closer to him like someone running: "Pierre! +Oh, Pierre!" + +And all at once he knew that the moon was broad and bright and fair, +and the heavens clear and shining with gold points of light. Once more +the cry. He raised his arms and waited. + + + + +CHAPTER 38 + + +So Mary, running through the wilderness of boulders, was guided +straight and found Pierre, and before the morning came, they were +journeying east side by side, east and down to the cities and a new +life; but Jacqueline, a thousand times quicker of foot and surer +of eye and ear, missed her goal, went past it, and still on and on, +running finally at a steady trot. + +Until at last she knew that she had far overstepped her mark and sank +down against one of the rocks to rest and think out what next she must +do. There seemed nothing left. Even the sound of a gun fired she might +not hear, for that sharp call would not travel far against the wind. + +It was while she sat there, burying Pierre in her thoughts, a white +shape came glimmering down to her through the moonlight. She was on +her feet at once, alert and gun in hand. It could only be one horse, +only one rider, McGurk coming down from his last killing with the +sneer on his pale lips. Well, he would complete his work this night +and kill her fighting face to face. + +A man's death; that was all she craved. She rose; she stepped boldly +out into the center of the trail between the rocks. + +There she saw the greatest wonder she had ever looked on. It was +McGurk walking with bare, bowed head, and after him, like a dog after +the master, followed the white horse. She shoved the revolver back +into the holster. This should be a fair fight. + +"McGurk!" + +Very slowly the head went up and back, and there he stood, not ten +paces from her, with the white moon full on his face. The sneer was +still there; the eyelid fluttered in scornful derision. And the heart +of Jacqueline came thundering in her throat. + +But she cried in a strong voice: "McGurk, d'you know me?" + +He did not answer. + +"You murderer, you night rider! Look again: it's the last of the +Boones!" + +The sneer, it seemed to her, grew bitterer, but still the man did +not speak. Then the thought of Pierre, lying dead somewhere among the +rocks, burned across her mind. Her hand leaped for the revolver, and +whipped it out in a blinding flash to cover him, but with her finger +curling on the trigger she checked herself in the nick of time. McGurk +had made no move to protect himself. + +A strange feeling came to her that perhaps the man would not war +against women; the case of Mary was almost proof enough of that. But +as she stepped forward, wondering, she looked at the holster at his +side and saw that it was empty. Then she understood. + +Understood in a daze that Pierre had met the man and conquered him and +sent him out through the mountains disarmed. The white horse raised +his head and whinnied, and the sound gave a thought to her. She could +not kill this man, unarmed as he was; she could do a more +shameful thing. + +"The bluff you ran was a strong one, McGurk," she said bitterly, "and +you had these parts pretty well at a standstill; but Pierre was a bit +too much for you, eh?" + +The white face had not altered, and still it did not change, but the +sneer was turned steadily on her. + +She cried: "Go on! Go on down the gorge!" + +Like an automaton the man stepped forward, and after him paced the +white horse. She stepped between, caught the reins, and swung up to +the saddle, and sat there, controlling between her stirrups the +best-known mount in all the mountain-desert. A thrill of wild +exultation came to her. She cried: "Look back, McGurk! Your gun is +gone, your horse is gone; you're weaker than a woman in the +mountains!" + +Yet he went on without turning, not with the hurried step of a coward, +but still as one stunned. Then, sitting quietly in the saddle, she +forgot McGurk and remembered Pierre. He was happy by this time with +the girl of the yellow hair; there was nothing remaining to her from +him except the ominous cross which touched cold against her breast. +That he had abandoned as he had abandoned her. + +What, then, was left for her? The horse of an outlaw for her to ride; +the heart of an outlaw in her breast. + +She touched the white horse with the spurs and went at a reckless +gallop, weaving back and forth among the boulders down the gorge. For +she was riding away from the past. + +The dawn came as she trotted out into a widening valley of the Old +Crow. To maintain even that pace she had to use the spurs continually, +for the white horse was deadly weary, and his head fell more and more. +She decided to make a brief halt, at last, and in order to make a fire +that would take the chill of the cold morning from her, she swung up +to the edge of the woods. There, before she could dismount, she saw a +man turn the shoulder of the slope. She drew the horse back deeper +among the trees and waited. + +He came with a halting step, reeling now and again, a big man, +hatless, coatless, apparently at the last verge of exhaustion. Now his +foot apparently struck a small rock, and he pitched to his face. It +required a long struggle before he could regain his feet; and now he +continued his journey at the same gait, only more uncertainly than +ever, close and closer. There was something familiar now about the +fellow's size, and something in the turn of his head. Suddenly she +rode out, crying: "Wilbur!" + +He swerved, saw the white horse, threw up his hands high above his +head, and went backward, reeling, with a hoarse scream which +Jacqueline would never forget. She galloped to him and swung to +the ground. + +"It's me--Jack. D'you hear?" + +He would not lower those arms, and his eyes stared wildly at her. On +his forehead the blood had caked over a cut; his shirt was torn to +rags, and the hair matted over his eyes. She caught his hands and +pulled them down. + +"It's not McGurk! Don't you hear me? It's Jack!" + +He reached out, like a blind man who has to see by the sense of touch, +and stroked her face. + +"Jack!" he whispered at last. "Thank God!" + +"What's happened?" + +"McGurk--" + +A violent palsy shook him, and he could not go on. + +"I know--I understand. He took your guns and left you to wander in +this hell! Damn him! I wish--" + +She stopped. + +"How long since you've eaten?" + +"Years!" + +"We'll eat--McGurk's food!" + +But she had to assist him up the slope to the trees, and there she +left him propped against a trunk, his arms fallen weakly at his sides, +while she built the fire and cooked the food. Afterward she could +hardly eat, watching him devour what she placed before him; and it +thrilled all the woman in her to a strange warmth to take care of the +long-rider. Then, except for the disfigured face and the bloodshot +eyes, he was himself. + +"Up there? What happened?" + +He pointed up the valley. + +"The girl and Pierre. They're together." + +"She found him?" + +"Yes." + +He bowed his head and sighed. + +"And the horse, Jack?" He said it with awe. + +"I took the horse from McGurk." + +"You!" + +She nodded. After all, it was not a lie. "You killed McGurk?" + +She said coolly: "I let him go the way he let you, Dick. He's on foot +in the mountains without a horse or a gun." + +"It isn't possible!" + +"There's the horse for proof." + +He looked at her as if she were something more than human. + +"Our Jack--did this?" + +"We've got to start on. Can you walk, Dick?" + +"A thousand miles now." + +Yet he staggered when he tried to rise, and she made him climb up to +the saddle. The white horse walked on, and she kept her place close at +the stirrup of the rider. He would have stopped and dismounted for her +a hundred times, but she made him keep his place. + +"What's ahead of us, Jack? We're the last of the gang?" + +"The last of Boone's gang. We are." + +"The old life over again?" + +"What else?" + +"Yes; what else?" + +"Are you afraid, Dick?" + +"Not with you for a pal. Seven was too many; with two we can rule the +range." + +"Partners, Dick?" + +How could he tell that her voice was gone so gentle because she was +seeing in her mind's eye another face than his? He leaned toward her. + +"Why not something more than partners, after a while, Jack?" + +She smiled strangely up to him. + +"Because of this, Dick." + +And fumbling at her throat, she showed him the glittering metal of the +cross. + +"The cross goes on, but what of you, Jack?" A long silence fell +between them. Words died in the making. + +The great weight pressing down on that slender throat was like the +iron hand of a giant, but slowly, one by one, the sounds marshalled +themselves: + +"...God knows..." It was the passing of Judgment. "God knows...not I." + + + + +Epilogue + +But what of the legendary gunfighter, McGurk? How could the spirit of +any man survive that terrible defeat at the hands of Red Pierre? + +After that night, when he had walked from the dark heart of the +mountain without horse or gun, head bowed, eyes glazed, it seemed that +the life of Bob McGurk had burned down to black ash. + +Indeed, no one heard of him for five long years. Then, phoenix-like, +he was reborn in fire, emerging in the raw border country of Texas. +His rebirth was spectacular. No longer the lone phantom fighter of +past days, he led a gang of coldhearted thieves and killers that +became the scourge of the Rio Grande. + +But McGurk never returned to the mountain-desert country of his shame +and defeat. And only he knew that the face of Red Pierre never left +him; it blazed in his mind by day and haunted his nights. + +Then, as suddenly as he had reappeared, after proving his skill and +courage afresh in a score of wild, bullet-filled encounters, the great +gunfighter vanished from the world of civilized men. His gang +dispersed and the border country saw no more of him. + +McGurk was finally gone. + +Only the legend remained. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Riders of the Silences, by Max Brand + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RIDERS OF THE SILENCES *** + +***** This file should be named 9867.txt or 9867.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/9/8/6/9867/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Michael Lockey and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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