summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/old/2070-h.htm
blob: e14c23a6cc5ea7a77b23a8dac6341c3bae6f8f82 (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777
8778
8779
8780
8781
8782
8783
8784
8785
8786
8787
8788
8789
8790
8791
8792
8793
8794
8795
8796
8797
8798
8799
8800
8801
8802
8803
8804
8805
8806
8807
8808
8809
8810
8811
8812
8813
8814
8815
8816
8817
8818
8819
8820
8821
8822
8823
8824
8825
8826
8827
8828
8829
8830
8831
8832
8833
8834
8835
8836
8837
8838
8839
8840
8841
8842
8843
8844
8845
8846
8847
8848
8849
8850
8851
8852
8853
8854
8855
8856
8857
8858
8859
8860
8861
8862
8863
8864
8865
8866
8867
8868
8869
8870
8871
8872
8873
8874
8875
8876
8877
8878
8879
8880
8881
8882
8883
8884
8885
8886
8887
8888
8889
8890
8891
8892
8893
8894
8895
8896
8897
8898
8899
8900
8901
8902
8903
8904
8905
8906
8907
8908
8909
8910
8911
8912
8913
8914
8915
8916
8917
8918
8919
8920
8921
8922
8923
8924
8925
8926
8927
8928
8929
8930
8931
8932
8933
8934
8935
8936
8937
8938
8939
8940
8941
8942
8943
8944
8945
8946
8947
8948
8949
8950
8951
8952
8953
8954
8955
8956
8957
8958
8959
8960
8961
8962
8963
8964
8965
8966
8967
8968
8969
8970
8971
8972
8973
8974
8975
8976
8977
8978
8979
8980
8981
8982
8983
8984
8985
8986
8987
8988
8989
8990
8991
8992
8993
8994
8995
8996
8997
8998
8999
9000
9001
9002
9003
9004
9005
9006
9007
9008
9009
9010
9011
9012
9013
9014
9015
9016
9017
9018
9019
9020
9021
9022
9023
9024
9025
9026
9027
9028
9029
9030
9031
9032
9033
9034
9035
9036
9037
9038
9039
9040
9041
9042
9043
9044
9045
9046
9047
9048
9049
9050
9051
9052
9053
9054
9055
9056
9057
9058
9059
9060
9061
9062
9063
9064
9065
9066
9067
9068
9069
9070
9071
9072
9073
9074
9075
9076
9077
9078
9079
9080
9081
9082
9083
9084
9085
9086
9087
9088
9089
9090
9091
9092
9093
9094
9095
9096
9097
9098
9099
9100
9101
9102
9103
9104
9105
9106
9107
9108
9109
9110
9111
9112
9113
9114
9115
9116
9117
9118
9119
9120
9121
9122
9123
9124
9125
9126
9127
9128
9129
9130
9131
9132
9133
9134
9135
9136
9137
9138
9139
9140
9141
9142
9143
9144
9145
9146
9147
9148
9149
9150
9151
9152
9153
9154
9155
9156
9157
9158
9159
9160
9161
9162
9163
9164
9165
9166
9167
9168
9169
9170
9171
9172
9173
9174
9175
9176
9177
9178
9179
9180
9181
9182
9183
9184
9185
9186
9187
9188
9189
9190
9191
9192
9193
9194
9195
9196
9197
9198
9199
9200
9201
9202
9203
9204
9205
9206
9207
9208
9209
9210
9211
9212
9213
9214
9215
9216
9217
9218
9219
9220
9221
9222
9223
9224
9225
9226
9227
9228
9229
9230
9231
9232
9233
9234
9235
9236
9237
9238
9239
9240
9241
9242
9243
9244
9245
9246
9247
9248
9249
9250
9251
9252
9253
9254
9255
9256
9257
9258
9259
9260
9261
9262
9263
9264
9265
9266
9267
9268
9269
9270
9271
9272
9273
9274
9275
9276
9277
9278
9279
9280
9281
9282
9283
9284
9285
9286
9287
9288
9289
9290
9291
9292
9293
9294
9295
9296
9297
9298
9299
9300
9301
9302
9303
9304
9305
9306
9307
9308
9309
9310
9311
9312
9313
9314
9315
9316
9317
9318
9319
9320
9321
9322
9323
9324
9325
9326
9327
9328
9329
9330
9331
9332
9333
9334
9335
9336
9337
9338
9339
9340
9341
9342
9343
9344
9345
9346
9347
9348
9349
9350
9351
9352
9353
9354
9355
9356
9357
9358
9359
9360
9361
9362
9363
9364
9365
9366
9367
9368
9369
9370
9371
9372
9373
9374
9375
9376
9377
9378
9379
9380
9381
9382
9383
9384
9385
9386
9387
9388
9389
9390
9391
9392
9393
9394
9395
9396
9397
9398
9399
9400
9401
9402
9403
9404
9405
9406
9407
9408
9409
9410
9411
9412
9413
9414
9415
9416
9417
9418
9419
9420
9421
9422
9423
9424
9425
9426
9427
9428
9429
9430
9431
9432
9433
9434
9435
9436
9437
9438
9439
9440
9441
9442
9443
9444
9445
9446
9447
9448
9449
9450
9451
9452
9453
9454
9455
9456
9457
9458
9459
9460
9461
9462
9463
9464
9465
9466
9467
9468
9469
9470
9471
9472
9473
9474
9475
9476
9477
9478
9479
9480
9481
9482
9483
9484
9485
9486
9487
9488
9489
9490
9491
9492
9493
9494
9495
9496
9497
9498
9499
9500
9501
9502
9503
9504
9505
9506
9507
9508
9509
9510
9511
9512
9513
9514
9515
9516
9517
9518
9519
9520
9521
9522
9523
9524
9525
9526
9527
9528
9529
9530
9531
9532
9533
9534
9535
9536
9537
9538
9539
9540
9541
9542
9543
9544
9545
9546
9547
9548
9549
9550
9551
9552
9553
9554
9555
9556
9557
9558
9559
9560
9561
9562
9563
9564
9565
9566
9567
9568
9569
9570
9571
9572
9573
9574
9575
9576
9577
9578
9579
9580
9581
9582
9583
9584
9585
9586
9587
9588
9589
9590
9591
9592
9593
9594
9595
9596
9597
9598
9599
9600
9601
9602
9603
9604
9605
9606
9607
9608
9609
9610
9611
9612
9613
9614
9615
9616
9617
9618
9619
9620
9621
9622
9623
9624
9625
9626
9627
9628
9629
9630
9631
9632
9633
9634
9635
9636
9637
9638
9639
9640
9641
9642
9643
9644
9645
9646
9647
9648
9649
9650
9651
9652
9653
9654
9655
9656
9657
9658
9659
9660
9661
9662
9663
9664
9665
9666
9667
9668
9669
9670
9671
9672
9673
9674
9675
9676
9677
9678
9679
9680
9681
9682
9683
9684
9685
9686
9687
9688
9689
9690
9691
9692
9693
9694
9695
9696
9697
9698
9699
9700
9701
9702
9703
9704
9705
9706
9707
9708
9709
9710
9711
9712
9713
9714
9715
9716
9717
9718
9719
9720
9721
9722
9723
9724
9725
9726
9727
9728
9729
9730
9731
9732
9733
9734
9735
9736
9737
9738
9739
9740
9741
9742
9743
9744
9745
9746
9747
9748
9749
9750
9751
9752
9753
9754
9755
9756
9757
9758
9759
9760
9761
9762
9763
9764
9765
9766
9767
9768
9769
9770
9771
9772
9773
9774
9775
9776
9777
9778
9779
9780
9781
9782
9783
9784
9785
9786
9787
9788
9789
9790
9791
9792
9793
9794
9795
9796
9797
9798
9799
9800
9801
9802
9803
9804
9805
9806
9807
9808
9809
9810
9811
9812
9813
9814
9815
9816
9817
9818
9819
9820
9821
9822
9823
9824
9825
9826
9827
9828
9829
9830
9831
9832
9833
9834
9835
9836
9837
9838
9839
9840
9841
9842
9843
9844
9845
9846
9847
9848
9849
9850
9851
9852
9853
9854
9855
9856
9857
9858
9859
9860
9861
9862
9863
9864
9865
9866
9867
9868
9869
9870
9871
9872
9873
9874
9875
9876
9877
9878
9879
9880
9881
9882
9883
9884
9885
9886
9887
9888
9889
9890
9891
9892
9893
9894
9895
9896
9897
9898
9899
9900
9901
9902
9903
9904
9905
9906
9907
9908
9909
9910
9911
9912
9913
9914
9915
9916
9917
9918
9919
9920
9921
9922
9923
9924
9925
9926
9927
9928
9929
9930
9931
9932
9933
9934
9935
9936
9937
9938
9939
9940
9941
9942
9943
9944
9945
9946
9947
9948
9949
9950
9951
9952
9953
9954
9955
9956
9957
9958
9959
9960
9961
9962
9963
9964
9965
9966
9967
9968
9969
9970
9971
9972
9973
9974
9975
9976
9977
9978
9979
9980
9981
9982
9983
9984
9985
9986
9987
9988
9989
9990
9991
9992
9993
9994
9995
9996
9997
9998
9999
10000
10001
10002
10003
10004
10005
10006
10007
10008
10009
10010
10011
10012
10013
10014
10015
10016
10017
10018
10019
10020
10021
10022
10023
10024
10025
10026
10027
10028
10029
10030
10031
10032
10033
10034
10035
10036
10037
10038
10039
10040
10041
10042
10043
10044
10045
10046
10047
10048
10049
10050
10051
10052
10053
10054
10055
10056
10057
10058
10059
10060
10061
10062
10063
10064
10065
10066
10067
10068
10069
10070
10071
10072
10073
10074
10075
10076
10077
10078
10079
10080
10081
10082
10083
10084
10085
10086
10087
10088
10089
10090
10091
10092
10093
10094
10095
10096
10097
10098
10099
10100
10101
10102
10103
10104
10105
10106
10107
10108
10109
10110
10111
10112
10113
10114
10115
10116
10117
10118
10119
10120
10121
10122
10123
10124
10125
10126
10127
10128
10129
10130
10131
10132
10133
10134
10135
10136
10137
10138
10139
10140
10141
10142
10143
10144
10145
10146
10147
10148
10149
10150
10151
10152
10153
10154
10155
10156
10157
10158
10159
10160
10161
10162
10163
10164
10165
10166
10167
10168
10169
10170
10171
10172
10173
10174
10175
10176
10177
10178
10179
10180
10181
10182
10183
10184
10185
10186
10187
10188
10189
10190
10191
10192
10193
10194
10195
10196
10197
10198
10199
10200
10201
10202
10203
10204
10205
10206
10207
10208
10209
10210
10211
10212
10213
10214
10215
10216
10217
10218
10219
10220
10221
10222
10223
10224
10225
10226
10227
10228
10229
10230
10231
10232
10233
10234
10235
10236
10237
10238
10239
10240
10241
10242
10243
10244
10245
10246
10247
10248
10249
10250
10251
10252
10253
10254
10255
10256
10257
10258
10259
10260
10261
10262
10263
10264
10265
10266
10267
10268
10269
10270
10271
10272
10273
10274
10275
10276
10277
10278
10279
10280
10281
10282
10283
10284
10285
10286
10287
10288
10289
10290
10291
10292
10293
10294
10295
10296
10297
10298
10299
10300
10301
10302
10303
10304
10305
10306
10307
10308
10309
10310
10311
10312
10313
10314
10315
10316
10317
10318
10319
10320
10321
10322
10323
10324
10325
10326
10327
10328
10329
10330
10331
10332
10333
10334
10335
10336
10337
10338
10339
10340
10341
10342
10343
10344
10345
10346
10347
10348
10349
10350
10351
10352
10353
10354
10355
10356
10357
10358
10359
10360
10361
10362
10363
10364
10365
10366
10367
10368
10369
10370
10371
10372
10373
10374
10375
10376
10377
10378
10379
10380
10381
10382
10383
10384
10385
10386
10387
10388
10389
10390
10391
10392
10393
10394
10395
10396
10397
10398
10399
10400
10401
10402
10403
10404
10405
10406
10407
10408
10409
10410
10411
10412
10413
10414
10415
10416
10417
10418
10419
10420
10421
10422
10423
10424
10425
10426
10427
10428
10429
10430
10431
10432
10433
10434
10435
10436
10437
10438
10439
10440
10441
10442
10443
10444
10445
10446
10447
10448
10449
10450
10451
10452
10453
10454
10455
10456
10457
10458
10459
10460
10461
10462
10463
10464
10465
10466
10467
10468
10469
10470
10471
10472
10473
10474
10475
10476
10477
10478
10479
10480
10481
10482
10483
10484
10485
10486
10487
10488
10489
10490
10491
10492
10493
10494
10495
10496
10497
10498
10499
10500
10501
10502
10503
10504
10505
10506
10507
10508
10509
10510
10511
10512
10513
10514
10515
10516
10517
10518
10519
10520
10521
10522
10523
10524
10525
10526
10527
10528
10529
10530
10531
10532
10533
10534
10535
10536
10537
10538
10539
10540
10541
10542
10543
10544
10545
10546
10547
10548
10549
10550
10551
10552
10553
10554
10555
10556
10557
10558
10559
10560
10561
10562
10563
10564
10565
10566
10567
10568
10569
10570
10571
10572
10573
10574
10575
10576
10577
10578
10579
10580
10581
10582
10583
10584
10585
10586
10587
10588
10589
10590
10591
10592
10593
10594
10595
10596
10597
10598
10599
10600
10601
10602
10603
10604
10605
10606
10607
10608
10609
10610
10611
10612
10613
10614
10615
10616
10617
10618
10619
10620
10621
10622
10623
10624
10625
10626
10627
10628
10629
10630
10631
10632
10633
10634
10635
10636
10637
10638
10639
10640
10641
10642
10643
10644
10645
10646
10647
10648
10649
10650
10651
10652
10653
10654
10655
10656
10657
10658
10659
10660
10661
10662
10663
10664
10665
10666
10667
10668
10669
10670
10671
10672
10673
10674
10675
10676
10677
10678
10679
10680
10681
10682
10683
10684
10685
10686
10687
10688
10689
10690
10691
10692
10693
10694
10695
10696
10697
10698
10699
10700
10701
10702
10703
10704
10705
10706
10707
10708
10709
10710
10711
10712
10713
10714
10715
10716
10717
10718
10719
10720
10721
10722
10723
10724
10725
10726
10727
10728
10729
10730
10731
10732
10733
10734
10735
10736
10737
10738
10739
10740
10741
10742
10743
10744
10745
10746
10747
10748
10749
10750
10751
10752
10753
10754
10755
10756
10757
10758
10759
10760
10761
10762
10763
10764
10765
10766
10767
10768
10769
10770
10771
10772
10773
10774
10775
10776
10777
10778
10779
10780
10781
10782
10783
10784
10785
10786
10787
10788
10789
10790
10791
10792
10793
10794
10795
10796
10797
10798
10799
10800
10801
10802
10803
10804
10805
10806
10807
10808
10809
10810
10811
10812
10813
10814
10815
10816
10817
10818
10819
10820
10821
10822
10823
10824
10825
10826
10827
10828
10829
10830
10831
10832
10833
10834
10835
10836
10837
10838
10839
10840
10841
10842
10843
10844
10845
10846
10847
10848
10849
10850
10851
10852
10853
10854
10855
10856
10857
10858
10859
10860
10861
10862
10863
10864
10865
10866
10867
10868
10869
10870
10871
10872
10873
10874
10875
10876
10877
10878
10879
10880
10881
10882
10883
10884
10885
10886
10887
10888
10889
10890
10891
10892
10893
10894
10895
10896
10897
10898
10899
10900
10901
10902
10903
10904
10905
10906
10907
10908
10909
10910
10911
10912
10913
10914
10915
10916
10917
10918
10919
10920
10921
10922
10923
10924
10925
10926
10927
10928
10929
10930
10931
10932
10933
10934
10935
10936
10937
10938
10939
10940
10941
10942
10943
10944
10945
10946
10947
10948
10949
10950
10951
10952
10953
10954
10955
10956
10957
10958
10959
10960
10961
10962
10963
10964
10965
10966
10967
10968
10969
10970
10971
10972
10973
10974
10975
10976
10977
10978
10979
10980
10981
10982
10983
10984
10985
10986
10987
10988
10989
10990
10991
10992
10993
10994
10995
10996
10997
10998
10999
11000
11001
11002
11003
11004
11005
11006
11007
11008
11009
11010
11011
11012
11013
11014
11015
11016
11017
11018
11019
11020
11021
11022
11023
11024
11025
11026
11027
11028
11029
11030
11031
11032
11033
11034
11035
11036
11037
11038
11039
11040
11041
11042
11043
11044
11045
11046
11047
11048
11049
11050
11051
11052
11053
11054
11055
11056
11057
11058
11059
11060
11061
11062
11063
11064
11065
11066
11067
11068
11069
11070
11071
11072
11073
11074
11075
11076
11077
11078
11079
11080
11081
11082
11083
11084
11085
11086
11087
11088
11089
11090
11091
11092
11093
11094
11095
11096
11097
11098
11099
11100
11101
11102
11103
11104
11105
11106
11107
11108
11109
11110
11111
11112
11113
11114
11115
11116
11117
11118
11119
11120
11121
11122
11123
11124
11125
11126
11127
11128
11129
11130
11131
11132
11133
11134
11135
11136
11137
11138
11139
11140
11141
11142
11143
11144
11145
11146
11147
11148
11149
11150
11151
11152
11153
11154
11155
11156
11157
11158
11159
11160
11161
11162
11163
11164
11165
11166
11167
11168
11169
11170
11171
11172
11173
11174
11175
11176
11177
11178
11179
11180
11181
11182
11183
11184
11185
11186
11187
11188
11189
11190
11191
11192
11193
11194
11195
11196
11197
11198
11199
11200
11201
11202
11203
11204
11205
11206
11207
11208
11209
11210
11211
11212
11213
11214
11215
11216
11217
11218
11219
11220
11221
11222
11223
11224
11225
11226
11227
11228
11229
11230
11231
11232
11233
11234
11235
11236
11237
11238
11239
11240
11241
11242
11243
11244
11245
11246
11247
11248
11249
11250
11251
11252
11253
11254
11255
11256
11257
11258
11259
11260
11261
11262
11263
11264
11265
11266
11267
11268
11269
11270
11271
11272
11273
11274
11275
11276
11277
11278
11279
11280
11281
11282
11283
11284
11285
11286
11287
11288
11289
11290
11291
11292
11293
11294
11295
11296
11297
11298
11299
11300
11301
11302
11303
11304
11305
11306
11307
11308
11309
11310
11311
11312
11313
11314
11315
11316
11317
11318
11319
11320
11321
11322
11323
11324
11325
11326
11327
11328
11329
11330
11331
11332
11333
11334
11335
11336
11337
11338
11339
11340
11341
11342
11343
11344
11345
11346
11347
11348
11349
11350
11351
11352
11353
11354
11355
11356
11357
11358
11359
11360
11361
11362
11363
11364
11365
11366
11367
11368
11369
11370
11371
11372
11373
11374
11375
11376
11377
11378
11379
11380
11381
11382
11383
11384
11385
11386
11387
11388
11389
11390
11391
11392
11393
11394
11395
11396
11397
11398
11399
11400
11401
11402
11403
11404
11405
11406
11407
11408
11409
11410
11411
11412
11413
11414
11415
11416
11417
11418
11419
11420
11421
11422
11423
11424
11425
11426
11427
11428
11429
11430
11431
11432
11433
11434
11435
11436
11437
11438
11439
11440
11441
11442
11443
11444
11445
11446
11447
11448
11449
11450
11451
11452
11453
11454
11455
11456
11457
11458
11459
11460
11461
11462
11463
11464
11465
11466
11467
11468
11469
11470
11471
11472
11473
11474
11475
11476
11477
11478
11479
11480
11481
11482
11483
11484
11485
11486
11487
11488
11489
11490
11491
11492
11493
11494
11495
11496
11497
11498
11499
11500
11501
11502
11503
11504
11505
11506
11507
11508
11509
11510
11511
11512
11513
11514
11515
11516
11517
11518
11519
11520
11521
11522
11523
11524
11525
11526
11527
11528
11529
11530
11531
11532
11533
11534
11535
11536
11537
11538
11539
11540
11541
11542
11543
11544
11545
11546
11547
11548
11549
11550
11551
11552
11553
11554
11555
11556
11557
11558
11559
11560
11561
11562
11563
11564
11565
11566
11567
11568
11569
11570
11571
11572
11573
11574
11575
11576
11577
11578
11579
11580
11581
11582
11583
11584
11585
11586
11587
11588
11589
11590
11591
11592
11593
11594
11595
11596
11597
11598
11599
11600
11601
11602
11603
11604
11605
11606
11607
11608
11609
11610
11611
11612
11613
11614
11615
11616
11617
11618
11619
11620
11621
11622
11623
11624
11625
11626
11627
11628
11629
11630
11631
11632
11633
11634
11635
11636
11637
11638
11639
11640
11641
11642
11643
11644
11645
11646
11647
11648
11649
11650
11651
11652
11653
11654
11655
11656
11657
11658
11659
11660
11661
11662
11663
11664
11665
11666
11667
11668
11669
11670
11671
11672
11673
11674
11675
11676
11677
11678
11679
11680
11681
11682
11683
11684
11685
11686
11687
11688
11689
11690
11691
11692
11693
11694
11695
11696
11697
11698
11699
11700
11701
11702
11703
11704
11705
11706
11707
11708
11709
11710
11711
11712
11713
11714
11715
11716
11717
11718
11719
11720
11721
11722
11723
11724
11725
11726
11727
11728
11729
11730
11731
11732
11733
11734
11735
11736
11737
11738
11739
11740
11741
11742
11743
11744
11745
11746
11747
11748
11749
11750
11751
11752
11753
11754
11755
11756
11757
11758
11759
11760
11761
11762
11763
11764
11765
11766
11767
11768
11769
11770
11771
11772
11773
11774
11775
11776
11777
11778
11779
11780
11781
11782
11783
11784
11785
11786
11787
11788
11789
11790
11791
11792
11793
11794
11795
11796
11797
11798
11799
11800
11801
11802
11803
11804
11805
11806
11807
11808
11809
11810
11811
11812
11813
11814
11815
11816
11817
11818
11819
11820
11821
11822
11823
11824
11825
11826
11827
11828
11829
11830
11831
11832
11833
11834
11835
11836
11837
11838
11839
11840
11841
11842
11843
11844
11845
11846
11847
11848
11849
11850
11851
11852
11853
11854
11855
11856
11857
11858
11859
11860
11861
11862
11863
11864
11865
11866
11867
11868
11869
11870
11871
11872
11873
11874
11875
11876
11877
11878
11879
11880
11881
11882
11883
11884
11885
11886
11887
11888
11889
11890
11891
11892
11893
11894
11895
11896
11897
11898
11899
11900
11901
11902
11903
11904
11905
11906
11907
11908
11909
11910
11911
11912
11913
11914
11915
11916
11917
11918
11919
11920
11921
11922
11923
11924
11925
11926
11927
11928
11929
11930
11931
11932
11933
11934
11935
11936
11937
11938
11939
11940
11941
11942
11943
11944
11945
11946
11947
11948
11949
11950
11951
11952
11953
11954
11955
11956
11957
11958
11959
11960
11961
11962
11963
11964
11965
11966
11967
11968
11969
11970
11971
11972
11973
11974
11975
11976
11977
11978
11979
11980
11981
11982
11983
11984
11985
11986
11987
11988
11989
11990
11991
11992
11993
11994
11995
11996
11997
11998
11999
12000
12001
12002
12003
12004
12005
12006
12007
12008
12009
12010
12011
12012
12013
12014
12015
12016
12017
12018
12019
12020
12021
12022
12023
12024
12025
12026
12027
12028
12029
12030
12031
12032
12033
12034
12035
12036
12037
12038
12039
12040
12041
12042
12043
12044
12045
12046
12047
12048
12049
12050
12051
12052
12053
12054
12055
12056
12057
12058
12059
12060
12061
12062
12063
12064
12065
12066
12067
12068
12069
12070
12071
12072
12073
12074
12075
12076
12077
12078
12079
12080
12081
12082
12083
12084
12085
12086
12087
12088
12089
12090
12091
12092
12093
12094
12095
12096
12097
12098
12099
12100
12101
12102
12103
12104
12105
12106
12107
12108
12109
12110
12111
12112
12113
12114
12115
12116
12117
12118
12119
12120
12121
12122
12123
12124
12125
12126
12127
12128
12129
12130
12131
12132
12133
12134
12135
12136
12137
12138
12139
12140
12141
12142
12143
12144
12145
12146
12147
12148
12149
12150
12151
12152
12153
12154
12155
12156
12157
12158
12159
12160
12161
12162
12163
12164
12165
12166
12167
12168
12169
12170
12171
12172
12173
12174
12175
12176
12177
12178
12179
12180
12181
12182
12183
12184
12185
12186
12187
12188
12189
12190
12191
12192
12193
12194
12195
12196
12197
12198
12199
12200
12201
12202
12203
12204
12205
12206
12207
12208
12209
12210
12211
12212
12213
12214
12215
12216
12217
12218
12219
12220
12221
12222
12223
12224
12225
12226
12227
12228
12229
12230
12231
12232
12233
12234
12235
12236
12237
12238
12239
12240
12241
12242
12243
12244
12245
12246
12247
12248
12249
12250
12251
12252
12253
12254
12255
12256
12257
12258
12259
12260
12261
12262
12263
12264
12265
12266
12267
12268
12269
12270
12271
12272
12273
12274
12275
12276
12277
12278
12279
12280
12281
12282
12283
12284
12285
12286
12287
12288
12289
12290
12291
12292
12293
12294
12295
12296
12297
12298
12299
12300
12301
12302
12303
12304
12305
12306
12307
12308
12309
12310
12311
12312
12313
12314
12315
12316
12317
12318
12319
12320
12321
12322
12323
12324
12325
12326
12327
12328
12329
12330
12331
12332
12333
12334
12335
12336
12337
12338
12339
12340
12341
12342
12343
12344
12345
12346
12347
12348
12349
12350
12351
12352
12353
12354
12355
12356
12357
12358
12359
12360
12361
12362
12363
12364
12365
12366
12367
12368
12369
12370
12371
12372
12373
12374
12375
12376
12377
12378
12379
12380
12381
12382
12383
12384
12385
12386
12387
12388
12389
12390
12391
12392
12393
12394
12395
12396
12397
12398
12399
12400
12401
12402
12403
12404
12405
12406
12407
12408
12409
12410
12411
12412
12413
12414
12415
12416
12417
12418
12419
12420
12421
12422
12423
12424
12425
12426
12427
12428
12429
12430
12431
12432
12433
12434
12435
12436
12437
12438
12439
12440
12441
12442
12443
12444
12445
12446
12447
12448
12449
12450
12451
12452
12453
12454
12455
12456
12457
12458
12459
12460
12461
12462
12463
12464
12465
12466
12467
12468
12469
12470
12471
12472
12473
12474
12475
12476
12477
12478
12479
12480
12481
12482
12483
12484
12485
12486
12487
12488
12489
12490
12491
12492
12493
12494
12495
12496
12497
12498
12499
12500
12501
12502
12503
12504
12505
12506
12507
12508
12509
12510
12511
12512
12513
12514
12515
12516
12517
12518
12519
12520
12521
12522
12523
12524
12525
12526
12527
12528
12529
12530
12531
12532
12533
12534
12535
12536
12537
12538
12539
12540
12541
12542
12543
12544
12545
12546
12547
12548
12549
12550
12551
12552
12553
12554
12555
12556
12557
12558
12559
12560
12561
12562
12563
12564
12565
12566
12567
12568
12569
12570
12571
12572
12573
12574
12575
12576
12577
12578
12579
12580
12581
12582
12583
12584
12585
12586
12587
12588
12589
12590
12591
12592
12593
12594
12595
12596
12597
12598
12599
12600
12601
12602
12603
12604
12605
12606
12607
12608
12609
12610
12611
12612
12613
12614
12615
12616
12617
12618
12619
12620
12621
12622
12623
12624
12625
12626
12627
12628
12629
12630
12631
12632
12633
12634
12635
12636
12637
12638
12639
12640
12641
12642
12643
12644
12645
12646
12647
12648
12649
12650
12651
12652
12653
12654
12655
12656
12657
12658
12659
12660
12661
12662
12663
12664
12665
12666
12667
12668
12669
12670
12671
12672
12673
12674
12675
12676
12677
12678
12679
12680
12681
12682
12683
12684
12685
12686
12687
12688
12689
12690
12691
12692
12693
12694
12695
12696
12697
12698
12699
12700
12701
12702
12703
12704
12705
12706
12707
12708
12709
12710
12711
12712
12713
12714
12715
12716
12717
12718
12719
12720
12721
12722
12723
12724
12725
12726
12727
12728
12729
12730
12731
12732
12733
12734
12735
12736
12737
12738
12739
12740
12741
12742
12743
12744
12745
12746
12747
12748
12749
12750
12751
12752
12753
12754
12755
12756
12757
12758
12759
12760
12761
12762
12763
12764
12765
12766
12767
12768
12769
12770
12771
12772
12773
12774
12775
12776
12777
12778
12779
12780
12781
12782
12783
12784
12785
12786
12787
12788
12789
12790
12791
12792
12793
12794
12795
12796
12797
12798
12799
12800
12801
12802
12803
12804
12805
12806
12807
12808
12809
12810
12811
12812
12813
12814
12815
12816
12817
12818
12819
12820
12821
12822
12823
12824
12825
12826
12827
12828
12829
12830
12831
12832
12833
12834
12835
12836
12837
12838
12839
12840
12841
12842
12843
12844
12845
12846
12847
12848
12849
12850
12851
12852
12853
12854
12855
12856
12857
12858
12859
12860
12861
12862
12863
12864
12865
12866
12867
12868
12869
12870
12871
12872
12873
12874
12875
12876
12877
12878
12879
12880
12881
12882
12883
12884
12885
12886
12887
12888
12889
12890
12891
12892
12893
12894
12895
12896
12897
12898
12899
12900
12901
12902
12903
12904
12905
12906
12907
12908
12909
12910
12911
12912
12913
12914
12915
12916
12917
12918
12919
12920
12921
12922
12923
12924
12925
12926
12927
12928
12929
12930
12931
12932
12933
12934
12935
12936
12937
12938
12939
12940
12941
12942
12943
12944
12945
12946
12947
12948
12949
12950
12951
12952
12953
12954
12955
12956
12957
12958
12959
12960
12961
12962
12963
12964
12965
12966
12967
12968
12969
12970
12971
12972
12973
12974
12975
12976
12977
12978
12979
12980
12981
12982
12983
12984
12985
12986
12987
12988
12989
12990
12991
12992
12993
12994
12995
12996
12997
12998
12999
13000
13001
13002
13003
13004
13005
13006
13007
13008
13009
13010
13011
13012
13013
13014
13015
13016
13017
13018
13019
13020
13021
13022
13023
13024
13025
13026
13027
13028
13029
13030
13031
13032
13033
13034
13035
13036
13037
13038
13039
13040
13041
13042
13043
13044
13045
13046
13047
13048
13049
13050
13051
13052
13053
13054
13055
13056
13057
13058
13059
13060
13061
13062
13063
13064
13065
13066
13067
13068
13069
13070
13071
13072
13073
13074
13075
13076
13077
13078
13079
13080
13081
13082
13083
13084
13085
13086
13087
13088
13089
13090
13091
13092
13093
13094
13095
13096
13097
13098
13099
13100
13101
13102
13103
13104
13105
13106
13107
13108
13109
13110
13111
13112
13113
13114
13115
13116
13117
13118
13119
13120
13121
13122
13123
13124
13125
13126
13127
13128
13129
13130
13131
13132
13133
13134
13135
13136
13137
13138
13139
13140
13141
13142
13143
13144
13145
13146
13147
13148
13149
13150
13151
13152
13153
13154
13155
13156
13157
13158
13159
13160
13161
13162
13163
13164
13165
13166
13167
13168
13169
13170
13171
13172
13173
13174
13175
13176
13177
13178
13179
13180
13181
13182
13183
13184
13185
13186
13187
13188
13189
13190
13191
13192
13193
13194
13195
13196
13197
13198
13199
13200
13201
13202
13203
13204
13205
13206
13207
13208
13209
13210
13211
13212
13213
13214
13215
13216
13217
13218
13219
13220
13221
13222
13223
13224
13225
13226
13227
13228
13229
13230
13231
13232
13233
13234
13235
13236
13237
13238
13239
13240
13241
13242
13243
13244
13245
13246
13247
13248
13249
13250
13251
13252
13253
13254
13255
13256
13257
13258
13259
13260
13261
13262
13263
13264
13265
13266
13267
13268
13269
13270
13271
13272
13273
13274
13275
13276
13277
13278
13279
13280
13281
13282
13283
13284
13285
13286
13287
13288
13289
13290
13291
13292
13293
13294
13295
13296
13297
13298
13299
13300
13301
13302
13303
13304
13305
13306
13307
13308
13309
13310
13311
13312
13313
13314
13315
13316
13317
13318
13319
13320
13321
13322
13323
13324
13325
13326
13327
13328
13329
13330
13331
13332
13333
13334
13335
13336
13337
13338
13339
13340
13341
13342
13343
13344
13345
13346
13347
13348
13349
13350
13351
13352
13353
13354
13355
13356
13357
13358
13359
13360
13361
13362
13363
13364
13365
13366
13367
13368
13369
13370
13371
13372
13373
13374
13375
13376
13377
13378
13379
13380
13381
13382
13383
13384
13385
13386
13387
13388
13389
13390
13391
13392
13393
13394
13395
13396
13397
13398
13399
13400
13401
13402
13403
13404
13405
13406
13407
13408
13409
13410
13411
13412
13413
13414
13415
13416
13417
13418
13419
13420
13421
13422
13423
13424
13425
13426
13427
13428
13429
13430
13431
13432
13433
13434
13435
13436
13437
13438
13439
13440
13441
13442
13443
13444
13445
13446
13447
13448
13449
13450
13451
13452
13453
13454
13455
13456
13457
13458
13459
13460
13461
13462
13463
13464
13465
13466
13467
13468
13469
13470
13471
13472
13473
13474
13475
13476
13477
13478
13479
13480
13481
13482
13483
13484
13485
13486
13487
13488
13489
13490
13491
13492
13493
13494
13495
13496
13497
13498
13499
13500
13501
13502
13503
13504
13505
13506
13507
13508
13509
13510
13511
13512
13513
13514
13515
13516
13517
13518
13519
13520
13521
13522
13523
13524
13525
13526
13527
13528
13529
13530
13531
13532
13533
13534
13535
13536
13537
13538
13539
13540
13541
13542
13543
13544
13545
13546
13547
13548
13549
13550
13551
13552
13553
13554
13555
13556
13557
13558
13559
13560
13561
13562
13563
13564
13565
13566
13567
13568
13569
13570
13571
13572
13573
13574
13575
13576
13577
13578
13579
13580
13581
13582
13583
13584
13585
13586
13587
13588
13589
13590
13591
13592
13593
13594
13595
13596
13597
13598
13599
13600
13601
13602
13603
13604
13605
13606
13607
13608
13609
13610
13611
13612
13613
13614
13615
13616
13617
13618
13619
13620
13621
13622
13623
13624
13625
13626
13627
13628
13629
13630
13631
13632
13633
13634
13635
13636
13637
13638
13639
13640
13641
13642
13643
13644
13645
13646
13647
13648
13649
13650
13651
13652
13653
13654
13655
13656
13657
13658
13659
13660
13661
13662
13663
13664
13665
13666
13667
13668
13669
13670
13671
13672
13673
13674
13675
13676
13677
13678
13679
13680
13681
13682
13683
13684
13685
13686
13687
13688
13689
13690
13691
13692
13693
13694
13695
13696
13697
13698
13699
13700
13701
13702
13703
13704
13705
13706
13707
13708
13709
13710
13711
13712
13713
13714
13715
13716
13717
13718
13719
13720
13721
13722
13723
13724
13725
13726
13727
13728
13729
13730
13731
13732
13733
13734
13735
13736
13737
13738
13739
13740
13741
13742
13743
13744
13745
13746
13747
13748
13749
13750
13751
13752
13753
13754
13755
13756
13757
13758
13759
13760
13761
13762
13763
13764
13765
13766
13767
13768
13769
13770
13771
13772
13773
13774
13775
13776
13777
13778
13779
13780
13781
13782
13783
13784
13785
13786
13787
13788
13789
13790
13791
13792
13793
13794
13795
13796
13797
13798
13799
13800
13801
13802
13803
13804
13805
13806
13807
13808
13809
13810
13811
13812
13813
13814
13815
13816
13817
13818
13819
13820
13821
13822
13823
13824
13825
13826
13827
13828
13829
13830
13831
13832
13833
13834
13835
13836
13837
13838
13839
13840
13841
13842
13843
13844
13845
13846
13847
13848
13849
13850
13851
13852
13853
13854
13855
13856
13857
13858
13859
13860
13861
13862
13863
13864
13865
13866
13867
13868
13869
13870
13871
13872
13873
13874
13875
13876
13877
13878
13879
13880
13881
13882
13883
13884
13885
13886
13887
13888
13889
13890
13891
13892
13893
13894
13895
13896
13897
13898
13899
13900
13901
13902
13903
13904
13905
13906
13907
13908
13909
13910
13911
13912
13913
13914
13915
13916
13917
13918
13919
13920
13921
13922
13923
13924
13925
13926
13927
13928
13929
13930
13931
13932
13933
13934
13935
13936
13937
13938
13939
13940
13941
13942
13943
13944
13945
13946
13947
13948
13949
13950
13951
13952
13953
13954
13955
13956
13957
13958
13959
13960
13961
13962
13963
13964
13965
13966
13967
13968
13969
13970
13971
13972
13973
13974
13975
13976
13977
13978
13979
13980
13981
13982
13983
13984
13985
13986
13987
13988
13989
13990
13991
13992
13993
13994
13995
13996
13997
13998
13999
14000
14001
14002
14003
14004
14005
14006
14007
14008
14009
14010
14011
14012
14013
14014
14015
14016
14017
14018
14019
14020
14021
14022
14023
14024
14025
14026
14027
14028
14029
14030
14031
14032
14033
14034
14035
14036
14037
14038
14039
14040
14041
14042
14043
14044
14045
14046
14047
14048
14049
14050
14051
14052
14053
14054
14055
14056
14057
14058
14059
14060
14061
14062
14063
14064
14065
14066
14067
14068
14069
14070
14071
14072
14073
14074
14075
14076
14077
14078
14079
14080
14081
14082
14083
14084
14085
14086
14087
14088
14089
14090
14091
14092
14093
14094
14095
14096
14097
14098
14099
14100
14101
14102
14103
14104
14105
14106
14107
14108
14109
14110
14111
14112
14113
14114
14115
14116
14117
14118
14119
14120
14121
14122
14123
14124
14125
14126
14127
14128
14129
14130
14131
14132
14133
14134
14135
14136
14137
14138
14139
14140
14141
14142
14143
14144
14145
14146
14147
14148
14149
14150
14151
14152
14153
14154
14155
14156
14157
14158
14159
14160
14161
14162
14163
14164
14165
14166
14167
14168
14169
14170
14171
14172
14173
14174
14175
14176
14177
14178
14179
14180
14181
14182
14183
14184
14185
14186
14187
14188
14189
14190
14191
14192
14193
14194
14195
14196
14197
14198
14199
14200
14201
14202
14203
14204
14205
14206
14207
14208
14209
14210
14211
14212
14213
14214
14215
14216
14217
14218
14219
14220
14221
14222
14223
14224
14225
14226
14227
14228
14229
14230
14231
14232
14233
14234
14235
14236
14237
14238
14239
14240
14241
14242
14243
14244
14245
14246
14247
14248
14249
14250
14251
14252
14253
14254
14255
14256
14257
14258
14259
14260
14261
14262
14263
14264
14265
14266
14267
14268
14269
14270
14271
14272
14273
14274
14275
14276
14277
14278
14279
14280
14281
14282
14283
14284
14285
14286
14287
14288
14289
14290
14291
14292
14293
14294
14295
14296
14297
14298
14299
14300
14301
14302
14303
14304
14305
14306
14307
14308
14309
14310
14311
14312
14313
14314
14315
14316
14317
14318
14319
14320
14321
14322
14323
14324
14325
14326
14327
14328
14329
14330
14331
14332
14333
14334
14335
14336
14337
14338
14339
14340
14341
14342
14343
14344
14345
14346
14347
14348
14349
14350
14351
14352
14353
14354
14355
14356
14357
14358
14359
14360
14361
14362
14363
14364
14365
14366
14367
14368
14369
14370
14371
14372
14373
14374
14375
14376
14377
14378
14379
14380
14381
14382
14383
14384
14385
14386
14387
14388
14389
14390
14391
14392
14393
14394
14395
14396
14397
14398
14399
14400
14401
14402
14403
14404
14405
14406
14407
14408
14409
14410
14411
14412
14413
14414
14415
14416
14417
14418
14419
14420
14421
14422
14423
14424
14425
14426
14427
14428
14429
14430
14431
14432
14433
14434
14435
14436
14437
14438
14439
14440
14441
14442
14443
14444
14445
14446
14447
14448
14449
14450
14451
14452
14453
14454
14455
14456
14457
14458
14459
14460
14461
14462
14463
14464
14465
14466
14467
14468
14469
14470
14471
14472
14473
14474
14475
14476
14477
14478
14479
14480
14481
14482
14483
14484
14485
14486
14487
14488
14489
14490
14491
14492
14493
14494
14495
14496
14497
14498
14499
14500
14501
14502
14503
14504
14505
14506
14507
14508
14509
14510
14511
14512
14513
14514
14515
14516
14517
14518
14519
14520
14521
14522
14523
14524
14525
14526
14527
14528
14529
14530
14531
14532
14533
14534
14535
14536
14537
14538
14539
14540
14541
14542
14543
14544
14545
14546
14547
14548
14549
14550
14551
14552
14553
14554
14555
14556
14557
14558
14559
14560
14561
14562
14563
14564
14565
14566
14567
14568
14569
14570
14571
14572
14573
14574
14575
14576
14577
14578
14579
14580
14581
14582
14583
14584
14585
14586
14587
14588
14589
14590
14591
14592
14593
14594
14595
14596
14597
14598
14599
14600
14601
14602
14603
14604
14605
14606
14607
14608
14609
14610
14611
14612
14613
14614
14615
14616
14617
14618
14619
14620
14621
14622
14623
14624
14625
14626
14627
14628
14629
14630
14631
14632
14633
14634
14635
14636
14637
14638
14639
14640
14641
14642
14643
14644
14645
14646
14647
14648
14649
14650
14651
14652
14653
14654
14655
14656
14657
14658
14659
14660
14661
14662
14663
14664
14665
14666
14667
14668
14669
14670
14671
14672
14673
14674
14675
14676
14677
14678
14679
14680
14681
14682
14683
14684
14685
14686
14687
14688
14689
14690
14691
14692
14693
14694
14695
14696
14697
14698
14699
14700
14701
14702
14703
14704
14705
14706
14707
14708
14709
14710
14711
14712
14713
14714
14715
14716
14717
14718
14719
14720
14721
14722
14723
14724
14725
14726
14727
14728
14729
14730
14731
14732
14733
14734
14735
14736
14737
14738
14739
14740
14741
14742
14743
14744
14745
14746
14747
14748
14749
14750
14751
14752
14753
14754
14755
14756
14757
14758
14759
14760
14761
14762
14763
14764
14765
14766
14767
14768
14769
14770
14771
14772
14773
14774
14775
14776
14777
14778
14779
14780
14781
14782
14783
14784
14785
14786
14787
14788
14789
14790
14791
14792
14793
14794
14795
14796
14797
14798
14799
14800
14801
14802
14803
14804
14805
14806
14807
14808
14809
14810
14811
14812
14813
14814
14815
14816
14817
14818
14819
14820
14821
14822
14823
14824
14825
14826
14827
14828
14829
14830
14831
14832
14833
14834
14835
14836
14837
14838
14839
14840
14841
14842
14843
14844
14845
14846
14847
14848
14849
14850
14851
14852
14853
14854
14855
14856
14857
14858
14859
14860
14861
14862
14863
14864
14865
14866
14867
14868
14869
14870
14871
14872
14873
14874
14875
14876
14877
14878
14879
14880
14881
14882
14883
14884
14885
14886
14887
14888
14889
14890
14891
14892
14893
14894
14895
14896
14897
14898
14899
14900
14901
14902
14903
14904
14905
14906
14907
14908
14909
14910
14911
14912
14913
14914
14915
14916
14917
14918
14919
14920
14921
14922
14923
14924
14925
14926
14927
14928
14929
14930
14931
14932
14933
14934
14935
14936
14937
14938
14939
14940
14941
14942
14943
14944
14945
14946
14947
14948
14949
14950
14951
14952
14953
14954
14955
14956
14957
14958
14959
14960
14961
14962
14963
14964
14965
14966
14967
14968
14969
14970
14971
14972
14973
14974
14975
14976
14977
14978
14979
14980
14981
14982
14983
14984
14985
14986
14987
14988
14989
14990
14991
14992
14993
14994
14995
14996
14997
14998

<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN">
<HTML>
<HEAD>

<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1">

<TITLE>
The Project Gutenberg E-text of To the Last Man, by Zane Grey
</TITLE>

<STYLE TYPE="text/css">
BODY { color: Black;
       background: White;
       margin-right: 10%;
       margin-left: 10%;
       font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;
       text-align: justify }

P {text-indent: 4% }

P.noindent {text-indent: 0% }

P.poem {text-indent: 0%;
        margin-left: 10%;
        font-size: small }

P.letter {text-indent: 0%;
          font-size: small ;
          margin-left: 10% ;
          margin-right: 10% }

P.finis { text-align: center ;
          text-indent: 0% ;
          margin-left: 0% ;
          margin-right: 0% }

</STYLE>

</HEAD>

<BODY>


<pre>

The Project Gutenberg EBook of To the Last Man, by Zane Grey

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: To the Last Man

Author: Zane Grey

Posting Date: November 19, 2008 [EBook #2070]
Release Date: February, 2000
[Last updated: August 4, 2013]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TO THE LAST MAN ***










</pre>


<BR><BR>

<H1 ALIGN="center">
To The Last Man
</H1>

<BR>

<H3 ALIGN="center">
by
</H3>

<H2 ALIGN="center">
Zane Grey
</H2>

<BR><BR><BR>

<H2 ALIGN="center">
CONTENTS
</H2>

<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="80%">
<TR>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">
<A HREF="#chap01">&nbsp;I&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">
<A HREF="#chap02">&nbsp;II&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">
<A HREF="#chap03">&nbsp;III&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">
<A HREF="#chap04">&nbsp;IV&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">
<A HREF="#chap05">&nbsp;V&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">
<A HREF="#chap06">&nbsp;VI&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">
<A HREF="#chap07">&nbsp;VII&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">
<A HREF="#chap08">&nbsp;VIII&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">
<A HREF="#chap09">&nbsp;IX&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">
<A HREF="#chap10">&nbsp;X&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
</TR>

<TR>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
<A HREF="#chap11">&nbsp;XI&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
<A HREF="#chap12">&nbsp;XII&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
<A HREF="#chap13">&nbsp;XIII&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">
<A HREF="#chap14">&nbsp;XIV&nbsp;</A>
</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">&nbsp;</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">&nbsp;</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">&nbsp;</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">&nbsp;</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">&nbsp;</TD>
<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top">&nbsp;</TD>
</TR>
</TABLE>

<BR><BR><BR>

<H3 ALIGN="center">
FOREWORD
</H3>

<P>
It was inevitable that in my efforts to write romantic history of the
great West I should at length come to the story of a feud.  For long I
have steered clear of this rock.  But at last I have reached it and
must go over it, driven by my desire to chronicle the stirring events
of pioneer days.
</P>

<P>
Even to-day it is not possible to travel into the remote corners of the
West without seeing the lives of people still affected by a fighting
past.  How can the truth be told about the pioneering of the West if
the struggle, the fight, the blood be left out?  It cannot be done.
How can a novel be stirring and thrilling, as were those times, unless
it be full of sensation?  My long labors have been devoted to making
stories resemble the times they depict.  I have loved the West for its
vastness, its contrast, its beauty and color and life, for its wildness
and violence, and for the fact that I have seen how it developed great
men and women who died unknown and unsung.
</P>

<P>
In this materialistic age, this hard, practical, swift, greedy age of
realism, it seems there is no place for writers of romance, no place
for romance itself.  For many years all the events leading up to the
great war were realistic, and the war itself was horribly realistic,
and the aftermath is likewise.  Romance is only another name for
idealism; and I contend that life without ideals is not worth living.
Never in the history of the world were ideals needed so terribly as
now.  Walter Scott wrote romance; so did Victor Hugo; and likewise
Kipling, Hawthorne, Stevenson.  It was Stevenson, particularly, who
wielded a bludgeon against the realists.  People live for the dream in
their hearts.  And I have yet to know anyone who has not some secret
dream, some hope, however dim, some storied wall to look at in the
dusk, some painted window leading to the soul. How strange indeed to
find that the realists have ideals and dreams! To read them one would
think their lives held nothing significant. But they love, they hope,
they dream, they sacrifice, they struggle on with that dream in their
hearts just the same as others.  We all are dreamers, if not in the
heavy-lidded wasting of time, then in the meaning of life that makes us
work on.
</P>

<P>
It was Wordsworth who wrote, "The world is too much with us"; and if I
could give the secret of my ambition as a novelist in a few words it
would be contained in that quotation.  My inspiration to write has
always come from nature.  Character and action are subordinated to
setting.  In all that I have done I have tried to make people see how
the world is too much with them.  Getting and spending they lay waste
their powers, with never a breath of the free and wonderful life of the
open!
</P>

<P>
So I come back to the main point of this foreword, in which I am trying
to tell why and how I came to write the story of a feud notorious in
Arizona as the Pleasant Valley War.
</P>

<P>
Some years ago Mr. Harry Adams, a cattleman of Vermajo Park, New
Mexico, told me he had been in the Tonto Basin of Arizona and thought I
might find interesting material there concerning this Pleasant Valley
War. His version of the war between cattlemen and sheepmen certainly
determined me to look over the ground.  My old guide, Al Doyle of
Flagstaff, had led me over half of Arizona, but never down into that
wonderful wild and rugged basin between the Mogollon Mesa and the
Mazatzal Mountains.  Doyle had long lived on the frontier and his
version of the Pleasant Valley War differed markedly from that of Mr.
Adams.  I asked other old timers about it, and their remarks further
excited my curiosity.
</P>

<P>
Once down there, Doyle and I found the wildest, most rugged, roughest,
and most remarkable country either of us had visited; and the few
inhabitants were like the country.  I went in ostensibly to hunt bear
and lion and turkey, but what I really was hunting for was the story of
that Pleasant Valley War.  I engaged the services of a bear hunter who
had three strapping sons as reserved and strange and aloof as he was.
No wheel tracks of any kind had ever come within miles of their cabin.
I spent two wonderful months hunting game and reveling in the beauty
and grandeur of that Rim Rock country, but I came out knowing no more
about the Pleasant Valley War.  These Texans and their few neighbors,
likewise from Texas, did not talk.  But all I saw and felt only
inspired me the more.  This trip was in the fall of 1918.
</P>

<P>
The next year I went again with the best horses, outfit, and men the
Doyles could provide.  And this time I did not ask any questions. But I
rode horses&mdash;some of them too wild for me&mdash;and packed a rifle many a
hundred miles, riding sometimes thirty and forty miles a day, and I
climbed in and out of the deep canyons, desperately staying at the
heels of one of those long-legged Texans.  I learned the life of those
backwoodsmen, but I did not get the story of the Pleasant Valley War.
I had, however, won the friendship of that hardy people.
</P>

<P>
In 1920 I went back with a still larger outfit, equipped to stay as
long as I liked.  And this time, without my asking it, different
natives of the Tonto came to tell me about the Pleasant Valley War. No
two of them agreed on anything concerning it, except that only one of
the active participants survived the fighting.  Whence comes my title,
TO THE LAST MAN.  Thus I was swamped in a mass of material out of which
I could only flounder to my own conclusion.  Some of the stories told
me are singularly tempting to a novelist.  But, though I believe them
myself, I cannot risk their improbability to those who have no idea of
the wildness of wild men at a wild time.  There really was a terrible
and bloody feud, perhaps the most deadly and least known in all the
annals of the West.  I saw the ground, the cabins, the graves, all so
darkly suggestive of what must have happened.
</P>

<P>
I never learned the truth of the cause of the Pleasant Valley War, or
if I did hear it I had no means of recognizing it.  All the given
causes were plausible and convincing.  Strange to state, there is still
secrecy and reticence all over the Tonto Basin as to the facts of this
feud.  Many descendents of those killed are living there now. But no
one likes to talk about it.  Assuredly many of the incidents told me
really occurred, as, for example, the terrible one of the two women, in
the face of relentless enemies, saving the bodies of their dead
husbands from being devoured by wild hogs.  Suffice it to say that this
romance is true to my conception of the war, and I base it upon the
setting I learned to know and love so well, upon the strange passions
of primitive people, and upon my instinctive reaction to the facts and
rumors that I gathered.
</P>

<P CLASS="noindent">
ZANE GREY.
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;  AVALON, CALIFORNIA,<BR>
&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;    April, 1921<BR>
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap01"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER I
</H3>

<P>
At the end of a dry, uphill ride over barren country Jean Isbel
unpacked to camp at the edge of the cedars where a little rocky canyon
green with willow and cottonwood, promised water and grass.
</P>

<P>
His animals were tired, especially the pack mule that had carried a
heavy load; and with slow heave of relief they knelt and rolled in the
dust.  Jean experienced something of relief himself as he threw off his
chaps.  He had not been used to hot, dusty, glaring days on the barren
lands.  Stretching his long length beside a tiny rill of clear water
that tinkled over the red stones, he drank thirstily. The water was
cool, but it had an acrid taste&mdash;an alkali bite that he did not like.
Not since he had left Oregon had he tasted clear, sweet, cold water;
and he missed it just as he longed for the stately shady forests he had
loved.  This wild, endless Arizona land bade fair to earn his hatred.
</P>

<P>
By the time he had leisurely completed his tasks twilight had fallen
and coyotes had begun their barking.  Jean listened to the yelps and to
the moan of the cool wind in the cedars with a sense of satisfaction
that these lonely sounds were familiar.  This cedar wood burned into a
pretty fire and the smell of its smoke was newly pleasant.
</P>

<P>
"Reckon maybe I'll learn to like Arizona," he mused, half aloud. "But
I've a hankerin' for waterfalls an' dark-green forests. Must be the
Indian in me.... Anyway, dad needs me bad, an' I reckon I'm here for
keeps."
</P>

<P>
Jean threw some cedar branches on the fire, in the light of which he
opened his father's letter, hoping by repeated reading to grasp more of
its strange portent.  It had been two months in reaching him, coming by
traveler, by stage and train, and then by boat, and finally by stage
again.  Written in lead pencil on a leaf torn from an old ledger, it
would have been hard to read even if the writing had been more legible.
</P>

<P>
"Dad's writin' was always bad, but I never saw it so shaky," said Jean,
thinking aloud.
</P>

<BR>

<P CLASS="letter">
   GRASS VALLY, ARIZONA.
<BR><BR>
   Son Jean,&mdash;Come home.  Here is your home and here your needed.
   When we left Oregon we all reckoned you would not be long behind.
   But its years now.  I am growing old, son, and you was always my
   steadiest boy.  Not that you ever was so dam steady.  Only your
   wildness seemed more for the woods.  You take after mother, and
   your brothers Bill and Guy take after me.  That is the red and
   white of it.  Your part Indian, Jean, and that Indian I reckon
   I am going to need bad.  I am rich in cattle and horses.  And my
   range here is the best I ever seen.  Lately we have been losing
   stock.  But that is not all nor so bad.  Sheepmen have moved into
   the Tonto and are grazing down on Grass Vally.  Cattlemen and
   sheepmen can never bide in this country.  We have bad times ahead.
   Reckon I have more reasons to worry and need you, but you must wait
   to hear that by word of mouth.  Whatever your doing, chuck it and
   rustle for Grass Vally so to make here by spring.  I am asking you
   to take pains to pack in some guns and a lot of shells.  And hide
   them in your outfit.  If you meet anyone when your coming down into
   the Tonto, listen more than you talk.  And last, son, dont let
   anything keep you in Oregon.  Reckon you have a sweetheart, and
   if so fetch her along.  With love from your dad,
<BR><BR>
   GASTON ISBEL.<BR>
</P>

<BR>

<P>
Jean pondered over this letter.  Judged by memory of his father, who
had always been self-sufficient, it had been a surprise and somewhat of
a shock.  Weeks of travel and reflection had not helped him to grasp
the meaning between the lines.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, dad's growin' old," mused Jean, feeling a warmth and a sadness
stir in him.  "He must be 'way over sixty.  But he never looked old....
So he's rich now an' losin' stock, an' goin' to be sheeped off his
range.  Dad could stand a lot of rustlin', but not much from sheepmen."
</P>

<P>
The softness that stirred in Jean merged into a cold, thoughtful
earnestness which had followed every perusal of his father's letter. A
dark, full current seemed flowing in his veins, and at times he felt it
swell and heat.  It troubled him, making him conscious of a deeper,
stronger self, opposed to his careless, free, and dreamy nature.  No
ties had bound him in Oregon, except love for the great, still forests
and the thundering rivers; and this love came from his softer side.  It
had cost him a wrench to leave.  And all the way by ship down the coast
to San Diego and across the Sierra Madres by stage, and so on to this
last overland travel by horseback, he had felt a retreating of the self
that was tranquil and happy and a dominating of this unknown somber
self, with its menacing possibilities.  Yet despite a nameless regret
and a loyalty to Oregon, when he lay in his blankets he had to confess
a keen interest in his adventurous future, a keen enjoyment of this
stark, wild Arizona.  It appeared to be a different sky stretching in
dark, star-spangled dome over him&mdash;closer, vaster, bluer.  The strong
fragrance of sage and cedar floated over him with the camp-fire smoke,
and all seemed drowsily to subdue his thoughts.
</P>

<P>
At dawn he rolled out of his blankets and, pulling on his boots, began
the day with a zest for the work that must bring closer his calling
future.  White, crackling frost and cold, nipping air were the same
keen spurs to action that he had known in the uplands of Oregon, yet
they were not wholly the same.  He sensed an exhilaration similar to
the effect of a strong, sweet wine.  His horse and mule had fared well
during the night, having been much refreshed by the grass and water of
the little canyon.  Jean mounted and rode into the cedars with gladness
that at last he had put the endless leagues of barren land behind him.
</P>

<P>
The trail he followed appeared to be seldom traveled.  It led,
according to the meager information obtainable at the last settlement,
directly to what was called the Rim, and from there Grass Valley could
be seen down in the Basin.  The ascent of the ground was so gradual
that only in long, open stretches could it be seen.  But the nature of
the vegetation showed Jean how he was climbing.  Scant, low, scraggy
cedars gave place to more numerous, darker, greener, bushier ones, and
these to high, full-foliaged, green-berried trees.  Sage and grass in
the open flats grew more luxuriously.  Then came the pinyons, and
presently among them the checker-barked junipers.  Jean hailed the
first pine tree with a hearty slap on the brown, rugged bark.  It was a
small dwarf pine struggling to live.  The next one was larger, and
after that came several, and beyond them pines stood up everywhere
above the lower trees.  Odor of pine needles mingled with the other dry
smells that made the wind pleasant to Jean.  In an hour from the first
line of pines he had ridden beyond the cedars and pinyons into a slowly
thickening and deepening forest.  Underbrush appeared scarce except in
ravines, and the ground in open patches held a bleached grass. Jean's
eye roved for sight of squirrels, birds, deer, or any moving creature.
It appeared to be a dry, uninhabited forest.  About midday Jean halted
at a pond of surface water, evidently melted snow, and gave his animals
a drink.  He saw a few old deer tracks in the mud and several huge bird
tracks new to him which he concluded must have been made by wild
turkeys.
</P>

<P>
The trail divided at this pond.  Jean had no idea which branch he ought
to take.  "Reckon it doesn't matter," he muttered, as he was about to
remount.  His horse was standing with ears up, looking back along the
trail.  Then Jean heard a clip-clop of trotting hoofs, and presently
espied a horseman.
</P>

<P>
Jean made a pretense of tightening his saddle girths while he peered
over his horse at the approaching rider.  All men in this country were
going to be of exceeding interest to Jean Isbel.  This man at a
distance rode and looked like all the Arizonians Jean had seen, he had
a superb seat in the saddle, and he was long and lean.  He wore a huge
black sombrero and a soiled red scarf.  His vest was open and he was
without a coat.
</P>

<P>
The rider came trotting up and halted several paces from Jean
</P>

<P>
"Hullo, stranger!" he said, gruffly.
</P>

<P>
"Howdy yourself!" replied Jean.  He felt an instinctive importance in
the meeting with the man.  Never had sharper eyes flashed over Jean and
his outfit.  He had a dust-colored, sun-burned face, long, lean, and
hard, a huge sandy mustache that hid his mouth, and eyes of piercing
light intensity.  Not very much hard Western experience had passed by
this man, yet he was not old, measured by years. When he dismounted
Jean saw he was tall, even for an Arizonian.
</P>

<P>
"Seen your tracks back a ways," he said, as he slipped the bit to let
his horse drink.  "Where bound?"
</P>

<P>
"Reckon I'm lost, all right," replied Jean.  "New country for me."
</P>

<P>
"Shore.  I seen thet from your tracks an' your last camp.  Wal, where
was you headin' for before you got lost?"
</P>

<P>
The query was deliberately cool, with a dry, crisp ring.  Jean felt the
lack of friendliness or kindliness in it.
</P>

<P>
"Grass Valley.  My name's Isbel," he replied, shortly.
</P>

<P>
The rider attended to his drinking horse and presently rebridled him;
then with long swing of leg he appeared to step into the saddle.
</P>

<P>
"Shore I knowed you was Jean Isbel," he said.  "Everybody in the Tonto
has heerd old Gass Isbel sent fer his boy."
</P>

<P>
"Well then, why did you ask?" inquired Jean, bluntly.
</P>

<P>
"Reckon I wanted to see what you'd say."
</P>

<P>
"So?  All right.  But I'm not carin' very much for what YOU say."
</P>

<P>
Their glances locked steadily then and each measured the other by the
intangible conflict of spirit.
</P>

<P>
"Shore thet's natural," replied the rider.  His speech was slow, and
the motions of his long, brown hands, as he took a cigarette from his
vest, kept time with his words.  "But seein' you're one of the Isbels,
I'll hev my say whether you want it or not.  My name's Colter an' I'm
one of the sheepmen Gass Isbel's riled with."
</P>

<P>
"Colter.  Glad to meet you," replied Jean.  "An' I reckon who riled my
father is goin' to rile me."
</P>

<P>
"Shore.  If thet wasn't so you'd not be an Isbel," returned Colter,
with a grim little laugh.  "It's easy to see you ain't run into any
Tonto Basin fellers yet.  Wal, I'm goin' to tell you thet your old man
gabbed like a woman down at Greaves's store.  Bragged aboot you an' how
you could fight an' how you could shoot an' how you could track a hoss
or a man!  Bragged how you'd chase every sheep herder back up on the
Rim.... I'm tellin' you because we want you to git our stand right.
We're goin' to run sheep down in Grass Valley."
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  Well, who's we?" queried Jean, curtly.
</P>

<P>
"What-at? ... We&mdash;I mean the sheepmen rangin' this Rim from Black Butte
to the Apache country."
</P>

<P>
"Colter, I'm a stranger in Arizona," said Jean, slowly.  "I know little
about ranchers or sheepmen.  It's true my father sent for me.  It's
true, I dare say, that he bragged, for he was given to bluster an'
blow. An' he's old now.  I can't help it if he bragged about me.  But
if he has, an' if he's justified in his stand against you sheepmen, I'm
goin' to do my best to live up to his brag."
</P>

<P>
"I get your hunch.  Shore we understand each other, an' thet's a
powerful help.  You take my hunch to your old man," replied Colter, as
he turned his horse away toward the left.  "Thet trail leadin' south is
yours.  When you come to the Rim you'll see a bare spot down in the
Basin.  Thet 'll be Grass Valley."
</P>

<P>
He rode away out of sight into the woods.  Jean leaned against his
horse and pondered.  It seemed difficult to be just to this Colter, not
because of his claims, but because of a subtle hostility that emanated
from him.  Colter had the hard face, the masked intent, the turn of
speech that Jean had come to associate with dishonest men. Even if Jean
had not been prejudiced, if he had known nothing of his father's
trouble with these sheepmen, and if Colter had met him only to exchange
glances and greetings, still Jean would never have had a favorable
impression.  Colter grated upon him, roused an antagonism seldom felt.
</P>

<P>
"Heigho!" sighed the young man, "Good-by to huntin' an' fishing'! Dad's
given me a man's job."
</P>

<P>
With that he mounted his horse and started the pack mule into the
right-hand trail.  Walking and trotting, he traveled all afternoon,
toward sunset getting into heavy forest of pine.  More than one snow
bank showed white through the green, sheltered on the north slopes of
shady ravines.  And it was upon entering this zone of richer, deeper
forestland that Jean sloughed off his gloomy forebodings.  These
stately pines were not the giant firs of Oregon, but any lover of the
woods could be happy under them.  Higher still he climbed until the
forest spread before and around him like a level park, with thicketed
ravines here and there on each side.  And presently that deceitful
level led to a higher bench upon which the pines towered, and were
matched by beautiful trees he took for spruce.  Heavily barked, with
regular spreading branches, these conifers rose in symmetrical shape to
spear the sky with silver plumes.  A graceful gray-green moss, waved
like veils from the branches.  The air was not so dry and it was
colder, with a scent and touch of snow.  Jean made camp at the first
likely site, taking the precaution to unroll his bed some little
distance from his fire.  Under the softly moaning pines he felt
comfortable, having lost the sense of an immeasurable open space
falling away from all around him.
</P>

<P>
The gobbling of wild turkeys awakened Jean, "Chuga-lug, chug-a-lug,
chug-a-lug-chug."  There was not a great difference between the gobble
of a wild turkey and that of a tame one.  Jean got up, and taking his
rifle went out into the gray obscurity of dawn to try to locate the
turkeys.  But it was too dark, and finally when daylight came they
appeared to be gone.  The mule had strayed, and, what with finding it
and cooking breakfast and packing, Jean did not make a very early
start.  On this last lap of his long journey he had slowed down. He was
weary of hurrying; the change from weeks in the glaring sun and
dust-laden wind to this sweet coot darkly green and brown forest was
very welcome; he wanted to linger along the shaded trail.  This day he
made sure would see him reach the Rim.  By and by he lost the trail.
It had just worn out from lack of use.  Every now and then Jean would
cross an old trail, and as he penetrated deeper into the forest every
damp or dusty spot showed tracks of turkey, deer, and bear.  The amount
of bear sign surprised him.  Presently his keen nostrils were assailed
by a smell of sheep, and soon he rode into a broad sheep, trail.  From
the tracks Jean calculated that the sheep had passed there the day
before.
</P>

<P>
An unreasonable antipathy seemed born in him.  To be sure he had been
prepared to dislike sheep, and that was why he was unreasonable.  But
on the other hand this band of sheep had left a broad bare swath,
weedless, grassless, flowerless, in their wake.  Where sheep grazed
they destroyed.  That was what Jean had against them.
</P>

<P>
An hour later he rode to the crest of a long parklike slope, where new
green grass was sprouting and flowers peeped everywhere.  The pines
appeared far apart; gnarled oak trees showed rugged and gray against
the green wall of woods.  A white strip of snow gleamed like a moving
stream away down in the woods.
</P>

<P>
Jean heard the musical tinkle of bells and the baa-baa of sheep and the
faint, sweet bleating of lambs.  As he road toward these sounds a dog
ran out from an oak thicket and barked at him.  Next Jean smelled a
camp fire and soon he caught sight of a curling blue column of smoke,
and then a small peaked tent.  Beyond the clump of oaks Jean
encountered a Mexican lad carrying a carbine.  The boy had a swarthy,
pleasant face, and to Jean's greeting he replied, "BUENAS DIAS."  Jean
understood little Spanish, and about all he gathered by his simple
queries was that the lad was not alone&mdash;and that it was "lambing time."
</P>

<P>
This latter circumstance grew noisily manifest.  The forest seemed
shrilly full of incessant baas and plaintive bleats.  All about the
camp, on the slope, in the glades, and everywhere, were sheep.  A few
were grazing; many were lying down; most of them were ewes suckling
white fleecy little lambs that staggered on their feet.  Everywhere
Jean saw tiny lambs just born.  Their pin-pointed bleats pierced the
heavier baa-baa of their mothers.
</P>

<P>
Jean dismounted and led his horse down toward the camp, where he rather
expected to see another and older Mexican, from whom he might get
information.  The lad walked with him.  Down this way the plaintive
uproar made by the sheep was not so loud.
</P>

<P>
"Hello there!" called Jean, cheerfully, as he approached the tent. No
answer was forthcoming.  Dropping his bridle, he went on, rather
slowly, looking for some one to appear.  Then a voice from one side
startled him.
</P>

<P>
"Mawnin', stranger."
</P>

<P>
A girl stepped out from beside a pine.  She carried a rifle.  Her face
flashed richly brown, but she was not Mexican.  This fact, and the
sudden conviction that she had been watching him, somewhat disconcerted
Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Beg pardon&mdash;miss," he floundered.  "Didn't expect, to see a&mdash;girl....
I'm sort of lost&mdash;lookin' for the Rim&mdash;an' thought I'd find a sheep
herder who'd show me.  I can't savvy this boy's lingo."
</P>

<P>
While he spoke it seemed to him an intentness of expression, a strain
relaxed from her face.  A faint suggestion of hostility likewise
disappeared.  Jean was not even sure that he had caught it, but there
had been something that now was gone.
</P>

<P>
"Shore I'll be glad to show y'u," she said.
</P>

<P>
"Thanks, miss.  Reckon I can breathe easy now," he replied,
</P>

<P>
"It's a long ride from San Diego.  Hot an' dusty!  I'm pretty tired.
An' maybe this woods isn't good medicine to achin' eyes!"
</P>

<P>
"San Diego!  Y'u're from the coast?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes."
</P>

<P>
Jean had doffed his sombrero at sight of her and he still held it,
rather deferentially, perhaps.  It seemed to attract her attention.
</P>

<P>
"Put on y'ur hat, stranger.... Shore I can't recollect when any man
bared his haid to me."  She uttered a little laugh in which surprise
and frankness mingled with a tint of bitterness.
</P>

<P>
Jean sat down with his back to a pine, and, laying the sombrero by his
side, he looked full at her, conscious of a singular eagerness, as if
he wanted to verify by close scrutiny a first hasty impression. If
there had been an instinct in his meeting with Colter, there was more
in this.  The girl half sat, half leaned against a log, with the shiny
little carbine across her knees.  She had a level, curious gaze upon
him, and Jean had never met one just like it.  Her eyes were rather a
wide oval in shape, clear and steady, with shadows of thought in their
amber-brown depths.  They seemed to look through Jean, and his gaze
dropped first.  Then it was he saw her ragged homespun skirt and a few
inches of brown, bare ankles, strong and round, and crude worn-out
moccasins that failed to hide the shapeliness, of her feet. Suddenly
she drew back her stockingless ankles and ill-shod little feet. When
Jean lifted his gaze again he found her face half averted and a stain
of red in the gold tan of her cheek.  That touch of embarrassment
somehow removed her from this strong, raw, wild woodland setting.  It
changed her poise.  It detracted from the curious, unabashed, almost
bold, look that he had encountered in her eyes.
</P>

<P>
"Reckon you're from Texas," said Jean, presently.
</P>

<P>
"Shore am," she drawled.  She had a lazy Southern voice, pleasant to
hear.  "How'd y'u-all guess that?"
</P>

<P>
"Anybody can tell a Texan.  Where I came from there were a good many
pioneers an' ranchers from the old Lone Star state.  I've worked for
several.  An', come to think of it, I'd rather hear a Texas girl talk
than anybody."
</P>

<P>
"Did y'u know many Texas girls?" she inquired, turning again to face
him.
</P>

<P>
"Reckon I did&mdash;quite a good many."
</P>

<P>
"Did y'u go with them?"
</P>

<P>
"Go with them?  Reckon you mean keep company.  Why, yes, I guess I
did&mdash;a little," laughed Jean.  "Sometimes on a Sunday or a dance once
in a blue moon, an' occasionally a ride."
</P>

<P>
"Shore that accounts," said the girl, wistfully.
</P>

<P>
"For what?" asked Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Y'ur bein' a gentleman," she replied, with force.  "Oh, I've not
forgotten.  I had friends when we lived in Texas.... Three years ago.
Shore it seems longer.  Three miserable years in this damned country!"
</P>

<P>
Then she bit her lip, evidently to keep back further unwitting
utterance to a total stranger.  And it was that biting of her lip that
drew Jean's attention to her mouth.  It held beauty of curve and
fullness and color that could not hide a certain sadness and
bitterness.  Then the whole flashing brown face changed for Jean. He
saw that it was young, full of passion and restraint, possessing a
power which grew on him.  This, with her shame and pathos and the fact
that she craved respect, gave a leap to Jean's interest.
</P>

<P>
"Well, I reckon you flatter me," he said, hoping to put her at her ease
again.  "I'm only a rough hunter an' fisherman-woodchopper an' horse
tracker.  Never had all the school I needed&mdash;nor near enough company of
nice girls like you."
</P>

<P>
"Am I nice?" she asked, quickly.
</P>

<P>
"You sure are," he replied, smiling.
</P>

<P>
"In these rags," she demanded, with a sudden flash of passion that
thrilled him.  "Look at the holes."  She showed rips and worn-out
places in the sleeves of her buckskin blouse, through which gleamed a
round, brown arm.  "I sew when I have anythin' to sew with.... Look at
my skirt&mdash;a dirty rag.  An' I have only one other to my name.... Look!"
Again a color tinged her cheeks, most becoming, and giving the lie to
her action.  But shame could not check her violence now.  A dammed-up
resentment seemed to have broken out in flood.  She lifted the ragged
skirt almost to her knees.  "No stockings!  No Shoes! ... How can a
girl be nice when she has no clean, decent woman's clothes to wear?"
</P>

<P>
"How&mdash;how can a girl..." began Jean.  "See here, miss, I'm beggin' your
pardon for&mdash;sort of stirrin' you to forget yourself a little. Reckon I
understand.  You don't meet many strangers an' I sort of hit you
wrong&mdash;makin' you feel too much&mdash;an' talk too much.  Who an' what you
are is none of my business.  But we met.... An' I reckon somethin' has
happened&mdash;perhaps more to me than to you.... Now let me put you
straight about clothes an' women.  Reckon I know most women love nice
things to wear an' think because clothes make them look pretty that
they're nicer or better.  But they're wrong.  You're wrong. Maybe it 'd
be too much for a girl like you to be happy without clothes.  But you
can be&mdash;you axe just as nice, an'&mdash;an' fine&mdash;an', for all you know, a
good deal more appealin' to some men."
</P>

<P>
"Stranger, y'u shore must excuse my temper an' the show I made of
myself," replied the girl, with composure.  "That, to say the least,
was not nice.  An' I don't want anyone thinkin' better of me than I
deserve.  My mother died in Texas, an' I've lived out heah in this wild
country&mdash;a girl alone among rough men.  Meetin' y'u to-day makes me see
what a hard lot they are&mdash;an' what it's done to me."
</P>

<P>
Jean smothered his curiosity and tried to put out of his mind a growing
sense that he pitied her, liked her.
</P>

<P>
"Are you a sheep herder?" he asked.
</P>

<P>
"Shore I am now an' then.  My father lives back heah in a canyon. He's
a sheepman.  Lately there's been herders shot at.  Just now we're short
an' I have to fill in.  But I like shepherdin' an' I love the woods,
and the Rim Rock an' all the Tonto.  If they were all, I'd shore be
happy."
</P>

<P>
"Herders shot at!" exclaimed Jean, thoughtfully.  "By whom? An' what
for?"
</P>

<P>
"Trouble brewin' between the cattlemen down in the Basin an' the
sheepmen up on the Rim.  Dad says there'll shore be hell to pay. I tell
him I hope the cattlemen chase him back to Texas."
</P>

<P>
"Then&mdash;  Are you on the ranchers' side?" queried Jean, trying to
pretend casual interest.
</P>

<P>
"No.  I'll always be on my father's side," she replied, with spirit.
"But I'm bound to admit I think the cattlemen have the fair side of the
argument."
</P>

<P>
"How so?"
</P>

<P>
"Because there's grass everywhere.  I see no sense in a sheepman goin'
out of his way to surround a cattleman an' sheep off his range.  That
started the row.  Lord knows how it'll end.  For most all of them heah
are from Texas."
</P>

<P>
"So I was told," replied Jean.  "An' I heard' most all these Texans got
run out of Texas.  Any truth in that?"
</P>

<P>
"Shore I reckon there is," she replied, seriously.  "But, stranger, it
might not be healthy for y'u to, say that anywhere.  My dad, for one,
was not run out of Texas.  Shore I never can see why he came heah. He's
accumulated stock, but he's not rich nor so well off as he was back
home."
</P>

<P>
"Are you goin' to stay here always?" queried Jean, suddenly.
</P>

<P>
"If I do so it 'll be in my grave," she answered, darkly.  "But what's
the use of thinkin'?  People stay places until they drift away.  Y'u
can never tell.... Well, stranger, this talk is keepin' y'u."
</P>

<P>
She seemed moody now, and a note of detachment crept into her voice.
Jean rose at once and went for his horse.  If this girl did not desire
to talk further he certainly had no wish to annoy her.  His mule had
strayed off among the bleating sheep.  Jean drove it back and then led
his horse up to where the girl stood.  She appeared taller and, though
not of robust build, she was vigorous and lithe, with something about
her that fitted the place.  Jean was loath to bid her good-by.
</P>

<P>
"Which way is the Rim?" he asked, turning to his saddle girths.
</P>

<P>
"South," she replied, pointing.  "It's only a mile or so.  I'll walk
down with y'u.... Suppose y'u're on the way to Grass Valley?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes; I've relatives there," he returned.  He dreaded her next
question, which he suspected would concern his name.  But she did not
ask.  Taking up her rifle she turned away.  Jean strode ahead to her
side.  "Reckon if you walk I won't ride."
</P>

<P>
So he found himself beside a girl with the free step of a Mountaineer.
Her bare, brown head came up nearly to his shoulder.  It was a small,
pretty head, graceful, well held, and the thick hair on it was a shiny,
soft brown.  She wore it in a braid, rather untidily and tangled, he
thought, and it was tied with a string of buckskin.  Altogether her
apparel proclaimed poverty.
</P>

<P>
Jean let the conversation languish for a little.  He wanted to think
what to say presently, and then he felt a rather vague pleasure in
stalking beside her.  Her profile was straight cut and exquisite in
line.  From this side view the soft curve of lips could not be seen.
</P>

<P>
She made several attempts to start conversation, all of which Jean
ignored, manifestly to her growing constraint.  Presently Jean, having
decided what he wanted to say, suddenly began: "I like this adventure.
Do you?"
</P>

<P>
"Adventure! Meetin' me in the woods?"  And she laughed the laugh of
youth.  "Shore you must be hard up for adventure, stranger."
</P>

<P>
"Do you like it?" he persisted, and his eyes searched the half-averted
face.
</P>

<P>
"I might like it," she answered, frankly, "if&mdash;if my temper had not
made a fool of me.  I never meet anyone I care to talk to.  Why should
it not be pleasant to run across some one new&mdash;some one strange in this
heah wild country?"
</P>

<P>
"We are as we are," said Jean, simply.  "I didn't think you made a fool
of yourself.  If I thought so, would I want to see you again?"
</P>

<P>
"Do y'u?"  The brown face flashed on him with surprise, with a light he
took for gladness.  And because he wanted to appear calm and friendly,
not too eager, he had to deny himself the thrill of meeting those
changing eyes.
</P>

<P>
"Sure I do.  Reckon I'm overbold on such short acquaintance.  But I
might not have another chance to tell you, so please don't hold it
against me."
</P>

<P>
This declaration over, Jean felt relief and something of exultation. He
had been afraid he might not have the courage to make it.  She walked
on as before, only with her head bowed a little and her eyes downcast.
No color but the gold-brown tan and the blue tracery of veins showed in
her cheeks.  He noticed then a slight swelling quiver of her throat;
and he became alive to its graceful contour, and to how full and
pulsating it was, how nobly it set into the curve of her shoulder.
Here in her quivering throat was the weakness of her, the evidence of
her sex, the womanliness that belied the mountaineer stride and the
grasp of strong brown hands on a rifle.  It had an effect on Jean
totally inexplicable to him, both in the strange warmth that stole over
him and in the utterance he could not hold back.
</P>

<P>
"Girl, we're strangers, but what of that?  We've met, an' I tell you it
means somethin' to me.  I've known girls for months an' never felt this
way.  I don't know who you are an' I don't care.  You betrayed a good
deal to me.  You're not happy.  You're lonely.  An' if I didn't want to
see you again for my own sake I would for yours.  Some things you said
I'll not forget soon.  I've got a sister, an' I know you have no
brother.  An' I reckon ..."
</P>

<P>
At this juncture Jean in his earnestness and quite without thought
grasped her hand.  The contact checked the flow of his speech and
suddenly made him aghast at his temerity.  But the girl did not make
any effort to withdraw it.  So Jean, inhaling a deep breath and trying
to see through his bewilderment, held on bravely.  He imagined he felt
a faint, warm, returning pressure.  She was young, she was friendless,
she was human.  By this hand in his Jean felt more than ever the
loneliness of her.  Then, just as he was about to speak again, she
pulled her hand free.
</P>

<P>
"Heah's the Rim," she said, in her quaint Southern drawl. "An' there's
Y'ur Tonto Basin."
</P>

<P>
Jean had been intent only upon the girl.  He had kept step beside her
without taking note of what was ahead of him.  At her words he looked
up expectantly, to be struck mute.
</P>

<P>
He felt a sheer force, a downward drawing of an immense abyss beneath
him. As he looked afar he saw a black basin of timbered country, the
darkest and wildest he had ever gazed upon, a hundred miles of blue
distance across to an unflung mountain range, hazy purple against the
sky. It seemed to be a stupendous gulf surrounded on three sides by
bold, undulating lines of peaks, and on his side by a wall so high that
he felt lifted aloft on the run of the sky.
</P>

<P>
"Southeast y'u see the Sierra Anchas," said the girl pointing. "That
notch in the range is the pass where sheep are driven to Phoenix an'
Maricopa.  Those big rough mountains to the south are the Mazatzals.
Round to the west is the Four Peaks Range.  An' y'u're standin' on the
Rim."
</P>

<P>
Jean could not see at first just what the Rim was, but by shifting his
gaze westward he grasped this remarkable phenomenon of nature. For
leagues and leagues a colossal red and yellow wall, a rampart, a
mountain-faced cliff, seemed to zigzag westward.  Grand and bold were
the promontories reaching out over the void.  They ran toward the
westering sun.  Sweeping and impressive were the long lines slanting
away from them, sloping darkly spotted down to merge into the black
timber.  Jean had never seen such a wild and rugged manifestation of
nature's depths and upheavals.  He was held mute.
</P>

<P>
"Stranger, look down," said the girl.
</P>

<P>
Jean's sight was educated to judge heights and depths and distances.
This wall upon which he stood sheered precipitously down, so far that
it made him dizzy to look, and then the craggy broken cliffs merged
into red-slided, cedar-greened slopes running down and down into gorges
choked with forests, and from which soared up a roar of rushing waters.
Slope after slope, ridge beyond ridge, canyon merging into canyon&mdash;so
the tremendous bowl sunk away to its black, deceiving depths, a
wilderness across which travel seemed impossible.
</P>

<P>
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Indeed it is!" murmured the girl.  "Shore that is Arizona.  I reckon I
love THIS.  The heights an' depths&mdash;the awfulness of its wilderness!"
</P>

<P>
"An' you want to leave it?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes an' no.  I don't deny the peace that comes to me heah.  But not
often do I see the Basin, an' for that matter, one doesn't live on
grand scenery."
</P>

<P>
"Child, even once in a while&mdash;this sight would cure any misery, if you
only see.  I'm glad I came.  I'm glad you showed it to me first."
</P>

<P>
She too seemed under the spell of a vastness and loneliness and beauty
and grandeur that could not but strike the heart.
</P>

<P>
Jean took her hand again.  "Girl, say you will meet me here," he said,
his voice ringing deep in his ears.
</P>

<P>
"Shore I will," she replied, softly, and turned to him.  It seemed then
that Jean saw her face for the first time.  She was beautiful as he had
never known beauty.  Limned against that scene, she gave it life&mdash;wild,
sweet, young life&mdash;the poignant meaning of which haunted yet eluded
him.  But she belonged there.  Her eyes were again searching his, as if
for some lost part of herself, unrealized, never known before.
Wondering, wistful, hopeful, glad&mdash;they were eyes that seemed surprised,
to reveal part of her soul.
</P>

<P>
Then her red lips parted.  Their tremulous movement was a magnet to
Jean. An invisible and mighty force pulled him down to kiss them.
Whatever the spell had been, that rude, unconscious action broke it.
</P>

<P>
He jerked away, as if he expected to be struck. "Girl&mdash;I&mdash;I"&mdash;he gasped
in amaze and sudden-dawning contrition&mdash;"I kissed you&mdash;but I swear it
wasn't intentional&mdash;I never thought...."
</P>

<P>
The anger that Jean anticipated failed to materialize.  He stood,
breathing hard, with a hand held out in unconscious appeal.  By the
same magic, perhaps, that had transfigured her a moment past, she was
now invested again by the older character.
</P>

<P>
"Shore I reckon my callin' y'u a gentleman was a little previous," she
said, with a rather dry bitterness.  "But, stranger, yu're sudden."
</P>

<P>
"You're not insulted?" asked Jean, hurriedly.
</P>

<P>
"Oh, I've been kissed before.  Shore men are all alike."
</P>

<P>
"They're not," he replied, hotly, with a subtle rush of disillusion, a
dulling of enchantment.  "Don't you class me with other men who've
kissed you.  I wasn't myself when I did it an' I'd have gone on my
knees to ask your forgiveness.... But now I wouldn't&mdash;an' I wouldn't
kiss you again, either&mdash;even if you&mdash;you wanted it."
</P>

<P>
Jean read in her strange gaze what seemed to him a vague doubt, as if
she was questioning him.
</P>

<P>
"Miss, I take that back," added Jean, shortly.  "I'm sorry.  I didn't
mean to be rude.  It was a mean trick for me to kiss you.  A girl alone
in the woods who's gone out of her way to be kind to me!  I don't know
why I forgot my manners.  An' I ask your pardon."
</P>

<P>
She looked away then, and presently pointed far out and down into the
Basin.
</P>

<P>
"There's Grass Valley.  That long gray spot in the black.  It's about
fifteen miles.  Ride along the Rim that way till y'u cross a trail.
Shore y'u can't miss it.  Then go down."
</P>

<P>
"I'm much obliged to you," replied Jean, reluctantly accepting what he
regarded as his dismissal.  Turning his horse, he put his foot in the
stirrup, then, hesitating, he looked across the saddle at the girl. Her
abstraction, as she gazed away over the purple depths suggested
loneliness and wistfulness.  She was not thinking of that scene spread
so wondrously before her.  It struck Jean she might be pondering a
subtle change in his feeling and attitude, something he was conscious
of, yet could not define.
</P>

<P>
"Reckon this is good-by," he said, with hesitation.
</P>

<P>
"ADIOS, SENOR," she replied, facing him again.  She lifted the little
carbine to the hollow of her elbow and, half turning, appeared ready to
depart.
</P>

<P>
"Adios means good-by?" he queried.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, good-by till to-morrow or good-by forever.  Take it as y'u like."
</P>

<P>
"Then you'll meet me here day after to-morrow?"  How eagerly he spoke,
on impulse, without a consideration of the intangible thing that had
changed him!
</P>

<P>
"Did I say I wouldn't?"
</P>

<P>
"No.  But I reckoned you'd not care to after&mdash;" he replied, breaking
off in some confusion.
</P>

<P>
"Shore I'll be glad to meet y'u.  Day after to-morrow about
mid-afternoon.  Right heah.  Fetch all the news from Grass Valley."
</P>

<P>
"All right.  Thanks.  That'll be&mdash;fine," replied Jean, and as he spoke
he experienced a buoyant thrill, a pleasant lightness of enthusiasm,
such as always stirred boyishly in him at a prospect of adventure.
Before it passed he wondered at it and felt unsure of himself. He
needed to think.
</P>

<P>
"Stranger shore I'm not recollectin' that y'u told me who y'u are," she
said.
</P>

<P>
"No, reckon I didn't tell," he returned.  "What difference does that
make?  I said I didn't care who or what you are.  Can't you feel the
same about me?"
</P>

<P>
"Shore&mdash;I felt that way," she replied, somewhat non-plussed, with the
level brown gaze steadily on his face.  "But now y'u make me think."
</P>

<P>
"Let's meet without knowin' any more about each other than we do now."
</P>

<P>
"Shore.  I'd like that.  In this big wild Arizona a girl&mdash;an' I reckon
a man&mdash;feels so insignificant.  What's a name, anyhow?  Still, people
an' things have to be distinguished.  I'll call y'u 'Stranger' an' be
satisfied&mdash;if y'u say it's fair for y'u not to tell who y'u are."
</P>

<P>
"Fair!  No, it's not," declared Jean, forced to confession.  "My name's
Jean&mdash;Jean Isbel."
</P>

<P>
"ISBEL!" she exclaimed, with a violent start.  "Shore y'u can't be son
of old Gass Isbel.... I've seen both his sons."
</P>

<P>
"He has three," replied Jean, with relief, now the secret was out. "I'm
the youngest.  I'm twenty-four.  Never been out of Oregon till now.  On
my way&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
The brown color slowly faded out of her face, leaving her quite pale,
with eyes that began to blaze.  The suppleness of her seemed to stiffen.
</P>

<P>
"My name's Ellen Jorth," she burst out, passionately.  "Does it mean
anythin' to y'u?"
</P>

<P>
"Never heard it in my life," protested Jean.  "Sure I reckoned you
belonged to the sheep raisers who 're on the outs with my father.
That's why I had to tell you I'm Jean Isbel.... Ellen Jorth. It's
strange an' pretty.... Reckon I can be just as good a&mdash;a friend to
you&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"No Isbel, can ever be a friend to me," she said, with bitter coldness.
Stripped of her ease and her soft wistfulness, she stood before him one
instant, entirely another girl, a hostile enemy.  Then she wheeled and
strode off into the woods.
</P>

<P>
Jean, in amaze, in consternation, watched her swiftly draw away with
her lithe, free step, wanting to follow her, wanting to call to her;
but the resentment roused by her suddenly avowed hostility held him
mute in his tracks.  He watched her disappear, and when the
brown-and-green wall of forest swallowed the slender gray form he
fought against the insistent desire to follow her, and fought in vain.
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap02"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER II
</H3>

<P>
But Ellen Jorth's moccasined feet did not leave a distinguishable trail
on the springy pine needle covering of the ground, and Jean could not
find any trace of her.
</P>

<P>
A little futile searching to and fro cooled his impulse and called
pride to his rescue.  Returning to his horse, he mounted, rode out
behind the pack mule to start it along, and soon felt the relief of
decision and action.  Clumps of small pines grew thickly in spots on
the Rim, making it necessary for him to skirt them; at which times he
lost sight of the purple basin.  Every time he came back to an opening
through which he could see the wild ruggedness and colors and
distances, his appreciation of their nature grew on him. Arizona from
Yuma to the Little Colorado had been to him an endless waste of
wind-scoured, sun-blasted barrenness.  This black-forested rock-rimmed
land of untrodden ways was a world that in itself would satisfy him.
Some instinct in Jean called for a lonely, wild land, into the
fastnesses of which he could roam at will and be the other strange self
that he had always yearned to be but had never been.
</P>

<P>
Every few moments there intruded into his flowing consciousness the
flashing face of Ellen Jorth, the way she had looked at him, the things
she had said.  "Reckon I was a fool," he soliloquized, with an acute
sense of humiliation.  "She never saw how much in earnest I was."  And
Jean began to remember the circumstances with a vividness that
disturbed and perplexed him.
</P>

<P>
The accident of running across such a girl in that lonely place might
be out of the ordinary&mdash;but it had happened.  Surprise had made him
dull. The charm of her appearance, the appeal of her manner, must have
drawn him at the very first, but he had not recognized that.  Only at
her words, "Oh, I've been kissed before," had his feelings been checked
in their heedless progress.  And the utterance of them had made a
difference he now sought to analyze.  Some personality in him, some
voice, some idea had begun to defend her even before he was conscious
that he had arraigned her before the bar of his judgment.  Such defense
seemed clamoring in him now and he forced himself to listen.  He
wanted, in his hurt pride, to justify his amazing surrender to a sweet
and sentimental impulse.
</P>

<P>
He realized now that at first glance he should have recognized in her
look, her poise, her voice the quality he called thoroughbred.  Ragged
and stained apparel did not prove her of a common sort.  Jean had known
a number of fine and wholesome girls of good family; and he remembered
his sister.  This Ellen Jorth was that kind of a girl irrespective of
her present environment.  Jean championed her loyally, even after he
had gratified his selfish pride.
</P>

<P>
It was then&mdash;contending with an intangible and stealing glamour, unreal
and fanciful, like the dream of a forbidden enchantment&mdash;that Jean
arrived at the part in the little woodland drama where he had kissed
Ellen Jorth and had been unrebuked.  Why had she not resented his
action?  Dispelled was the illusion he had been dreamily and nobly
constructing.  "Oh, I've been kissed before!"  The shock to him now
exceeded his first dismay.  Half bitterly she had spoken, and wholly
scornful of herself, or of him, or of all men.  For she had said all
men were alike.  Jean chafed under the smart of that, a taunt every
decent man hated.  Naturally every happy and healthy young man would
want to kiss such red, sweet lips.  But if those lips had been for
others&mdash;never for him!  Jean reflected that not since childish games
had he kissed a girl&mdash;until this brown-faced Ellen Jorth came his way.
He wondered at it.  Moreover, he wondered at the significance he placed
upon it.  After all, was it not merely an accident?  Why should he
remember?  Why should he ponder?  What was the faint, deep, growing
thrill that accompanied some of his thoughts?
</P>

<P>
Riding along with busy mind, Jean almost crossed a well-beaten trail,
leading through a pine thicket and down over the Rim.  Jean's pack mule
led the way without being driven.  And when Jean reached the edge of
the bluff one look down was enough to fetch him off his horse. That
trail was steep, narrow, clogged with stones, and as full of sharp
corners as a crosscut saw.  Once on the descent with a packed mule and
a spirited horse, Jean had no time for mind wanderings and very little
for occasional glimpses out over the cedar tops to the vast blue hollow
asleep under a westering sun.
</P>

<P>
The stones rattled, the dust rose, the cedar twigs snapped, the little
avalanches of red earth slid down, the iron-shod hoofs rang on the
rocks. This slope had been narrow at the apex in the Rim where the
trail led down a crack, and it widened in fan shape as Jean descended.
He zigzagged down a thousand feet before the slope benched into
dividing ridges.  Here the cedars and junipers failed and pines once
more hid the sun.  Deep ravines were black with brush.  From somewhere
rose a roar of running water, most pleasant to Jean's ears.  Fresh deer
and bear tracks covered old ones made in the trail.
</P>

<P>
Those timbered ridges were but billows of that tremendous slope that
now sheered above Jean, ending in a magnificent yellow wall of rock,
greened in niches, stained by weather rust, carved and cracked and
caverned.  As Jean descended farther the hum of bees made melody, the
roar of rapid water and the murmur of a rising breeze filled him with
the content of the wild.  Sheepmen like Colter and wild girls like
Ellen Jorth and all that seemed promising or menacing in his father's
letter could never change the Indian in Jean.  So he thought.  Hard
upon that conclusion rushed another&mdash;one which troubled with its
stinging revelation.  Surely these influences he had defied were just
the ones to bring out in him the Indian he had sensed but had never
known.  The eventful day had brought new and bitter food for Jean to
reflect upon.
</P>

<P>
The trail landed him in the bowlder-strewn bed of a wide canyon, where
the huge trees stretched a canopy of foliage which denied the sunlight,
and where a beautiful brook rushed and foamed.  Here at last Jean
tasted water that rivaled his Oregon springs.  "Ah," he cried, "that
sure is good!"  Dark and shaded and ferny and mossy was this streamway;
and everywhere were tracks of game, from the giant spread of a grizzly
bear to the tiny, birdlike imprints of a squirrel.  Jean heard familiar
sounds of deer crackling the dead twigs; and the chatter of squirrels
was incessant.  This fragrant, cool retreat under the Rim brought back
to him the dim recesses of Oregon forests.  After all, Jean felt that
he would not miss anything that he had loved in the Cascades.  But what
was the vague sense of all not being well with him&mdash;the essence of a
faint regret&mdash;the insistence of a hovering shadow?  And then flashed
again, etched more vividly by the repetition in memory, a picture of
eyes, of lips&mdash;of something he had to forget.
</P>

<P>
Wild and broken as this rolling Basin floor had appeared from the Rim,
the reality of traveling over it made that first impression a deceit of
distance.  Down here all was on a big, rough, broken scale.  Jean did
not find even a few rods of level ground.  Bowlders as huge as houses
obstructed the stream bed; spruce trees eight feet thick tried to lord
it over the brawny pines; the ravine was a veritable canyon from which
occasional glimpses through the foliage showed the Rim as a lofty
red-tipped mountain peak.
</P>

<P>
Jean's pack mule became frightened at scent of a bear or lion and ran
off down the rough trail, imperiling Jean's outfit.  It was not an easy
task to head him off nor, when that was accomplished, to keep him to a
trot.  But his fright and succeeding skittishness at least made for
fast traveling.  Jean calculated that he covered ten miles under the
Rim before the character of ground and forest began to change.
</P>

<P>
The trail had turned southeast.  Instead of gorge after gorge,
red-walled and choked with forest, there began to be rolling ridges,
some high; others were knolls; and a thick cedar growth made up for a
falling off of pine.  The spruce had long disappeared.  Juniper
thickets gave way more and more to the beautiful manzanita; and soon on
the south slopes appeared cactus and a scrubby live oak.  But for the
well-broken trail, Jean would have fared ill through this tough brush.
</P>

<P>
Jean espied several deer, and again a coyote, and what he took to be a
small herd of wild horses.  No more turkey tracks showed in the dusty
patches.  He crossed a number of tiny brooklets, and at length came to
a place where the trail ended or merged in a rough road that showed
evidence of considerable travel.  Horses, sheep, and cattle had passed
along there that day.  This road turned southward, and Jean began to
have pleasurable expectations.
</P>

<P>
The road, like the trail, led down grade, but no longer at such steep
angles, and was bordered by cedar and pinyon, jack-pine and juniper,
mescal and manzanita.  Quite sharply, going around a ridge, the road
led Jean's eye down to a small open flat of marshy, or at least grassy,
ground.  This green oasis in the wilderness of red and timbered ridges
marked another change in the character of the Basin.  Beyond that the
country began to spread out and roll gracefully, its dark-green forest
interspersed with grassy parks, until Jean headed into a long, wide
gray-green valley surrounded by black-fringed hills.  His pulses
quickened here.  He saw cattle dotting the expanse, and here and there
along the edge log cabins and corrals.
</P>

<P>
As a village, Grass Valley could not boast of much, apparently, in the
way of population.  Cabins and houses were widely scattered, as if the
inhabitants did not care to encroach upon one another.  But the one
store, built of stone, and stamped also with the characteristic
isolation, seemed to Jean to be a rather remarkable edifice.  Not
exactly like a fort did it strike him, but if it had not been designed
for defense it certainly gave that impression, especially from the
long, low side with its dark eye-like windows about the height of a
man's shoulder.  Some rather fine horses were tied to a hitching rail.
Otherwise dust and dirt and age and long use stamped this Grass Valley
store and its immediate environment.
</P>

<P>
Jean threw his bridle, and, getting down, mounted the low porch and
stepped into the wide open door.  A face, gray against the background
of gloom inside, passed out of sight just as Jean entered.  He knew he
had been seen.  In front of the long, rather low-ceiled store were four
men, all absorbed, apparently, in a game of checkers.  Two were playing
and two were looking on.  One of these, a gaunt-faced man past middle
age, casually looked up as Jean entered.  But the moment of that casual
glance afforded Jean time enough to meet eyes he instinctively
distrusted. They masked their penetration.  They seemed neither curious
nor friendly. They saw him as if he had been merely thin air.
</P>

<P>
"Good evenin'," said Jean.
</P>

<P>
After what appeared to Jean a lapse of time sufficient to impress him
with a possible deafness of these men, the gaunt-faced one said,
"Howdy, Isbel!"
</P>

<P>
The tone was impersonal, dry, easy, cool, laconic, and yet it could not
have been more pregnant with meaning.  Jean's sharp sensibilities
absorbed much.  None of the slouch-sombreroed, long-mustached
Texans&mdash;for so Jean at once classed them&mdash;had ever seen Jean, but they
knew him and knew that he was expected in Grass Valley.  All but the
one who had spoken happened to have their faces in shadow under the
wide-brimmed black hats.  Motley-garbed, gun-belted, dusty-booted, they
gave Jean the same impression of latent force that he had encountered
in Colter.
</P>

<P>
"Will somebody please tell me where to find my father, Gaston Isbel?"
inquired Jean, with as civil a tongue as he could command.
</P>

<P>
Nobody paid the slightest attention.  It was the same as if Jean had
not spoken.  Waiting, half amused, half irritated, Jean shot a rapid
glance around the store.  The place had felt bare; and Jean, peering
back through gloomy space, saw that it did not contain much.  Dry goods
and sacks littered a long rude counter; long rough shelves divided
their length into stacks of canned foods and empty sections; a low
shelf back of the counter held a generous burden of cartridge boxes,
and next to it stood a rack of rifles.  On the counter lay open cases
of plug tobacco, the odor of which was second in strength only to that
of rum.
</P>

<P>
Jean's swift-roving eye reverted to the men, three of whom were
absorbed in the greasy checkerboard.  The fourth man was the one who
had spoken and he now deigned to look at Jean.  Not much flesh was
there stretched over his bony, powerful physiognomy.  He stroked a lean
chin with a big mobile hand that suggested more of bridle holding than
familiarity with a bucksaw and plow handle.  It was a lazy hand.  The
man looked lazy.  If he spoke at all it would be with lazy speech, yet
Jean had not encountered many men to whom he would have accorded more
potency to stir in him the instinct of self-preservation.
</P>

<P>
"Shore," drawled this gaunt-faced Texan, "old Gass lives aboot a mile
down heah."  With slow sweep of the big hand he indicated a general
direction to the south; then, appearing to forget his questioner, he
turned his attention to the game.
</P>

<P>
Jean muttered his thanks and, striding out, he mounted again, and drove
the pack mule down the road.  "Reckon I've ran into the wrong folds
to-day," he said.  "If I remember dad right he was a man to make an'
keep friends.  Somehow I'll bet there's goin' to be hell."  Beyond the
store were some rather pretty and comfortable homes, little ranch
houses back in the coves of the hills.  The road turned west and Jean
saw his first sunset in the Tonto Basin.  It was a pageant of purple
clouds with silver edges, and background of deep rich gold.  Presently
Jean met a lad driving a cow.  "Hello, Johnny!" he said, genially, and
with a double purpose.  "My name's Jean Isbel.  By Golly! I'm lost in
Grass Valley.  Will you tell me where my dad lives?"
</P>

<P>
"Yep.  Keep right on, an' y'u cain't miss him," replied the lad, with a
bright smile.  "He's lookin' fer y'u."
</P>

<P>
"How do you know, boy?" queried Jean, warmed by that smile.
</P>

<P>
"Aw, I know.  It's all over the valley thet y'u'd ride in ter-day.
Shore I wus the one thet tole yer dad an' he give me a dollar."
</P>

<P>
"Was he glad to hear it?" asked Jean, with a queer sensation in his
throat.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, he plumb was."
</P>

<P>
"An' who told you I was goin' to ride in to-day?"
</P>

<P>
"I heerd it at the store," replied the lad, with an air of confidence.
"Some sheepmen was talkin' to Greaves.  He's the storekeeper.  I was
settin' outside, but I heerd.  A Mexican come down off the Rim ter-day
an' he fetched the news."  Here the lad looked furtively around, then
whispered.  "An' thet greaser was sent by somebody.  I never heerd no
more, but them sheepmen looked pretty plumb sour.  An' one of them,
comin' out, give me a kick, darn him.  It shore is the luckedest day
fer us cowmen."
</P>

<P>
"How's that, Johnny?"
</P>

<P>
"Wal, that's shore a big fight comin' to Grass Valley.  My dad says so
an' he rides fer yer dad.  An' if it comes now y'u'll be heah."
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!" laughed Jean.  "An' what then, boy?"
</P>

<P>
The lad turned bright eyes upward.  "Aw, now, yu'all cain't come thet
on me.  Ain't y'u an Injun, Jean Isbel?  Ain't y'u a hoss tracker thet
rustlers cain't fool?  Ain't y'u a plumb dead shot?  Ain't y'u wuss'ern
a grizzly bear in a rough-an'-tumble? ... Now ain't y'u, shore?"
</P>

<P>
Jean bade the flattering lad a rather sober good day and rode on his
way.  Manifestly a reputation somewhat difficult to live up to had
preceded his entry into Grass Valley.
</P>

<P>
Jean's first sight of his future home thrilled him through.  It was a
big, low, rambling log structure standing well out from a wooded knoll
at the edge of the valley.  Corrals and barns and sheds lay off at the
back.  To the fore stretched broad pastures where numberless cattle and
horses grazed.  At sunset the scene was one of rich color. Prosperity
and abundance and peace seemed attendant upon that ranch; lusty voices
of burros braying and cows bawling seemed welcoming Jean. A hound
bayed.  The first cool touch of wind fanned Jean's cheek and brought a
fragrance of wood smoke and frying ham.
</P>

<P>
Horses in the Pasture romped to the fence and whistled at these
newcomers.  Jean espied a white-faced black horse that gladdened his
sight.  "Hello, Whiteface!  I'll sure straddle you," called Jean. Then
up the gentle slope he saw the tall figure of his father&mdash;the same as
he had seen him thousands of times, bareheaded, shirt sleeved, striding
with long step.  Jean waved and called to him.
</P>

<P>
"Hi, You Prodigal!" came the answer.  Yes, the voice of his father&mdash;and
Jean's boyhood memories flashed.  He hurried his horse those last few
rods.  No&mdash;dad was not the same.  His hair shone gray.
</P>

<P>
"Here I am, dad," called Jean, and then he was dismounting.  A deep,
quiet emotion settled over him, stilling the hurry, the eagerness, the
pang in his breast.
</P>

<P>
"Son, I shore am glad to see you," said his father, and wrung his hand.
"Wal, wal, the size of you!  Shore you've grown, any how you favor your
mother."
</P>

<P>
Jean felt in the iron clasp of hand, in the uplifting of the handsome
head, in the strong, fine light of piercing eyes that there was no
difference in the spirit of his father.  But the old smile could not
hide lines and shades strange to Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, I'm as glad as you," replied Jean, heartily.  "It seems long
we've been parted, now I see you.  Are You well, dad, an' all right?"
</P>

<P>
"Not complainin', son. I can ride all day same as ever," he said.
"Come.  Never mind your hosses.  They'll be looked after. Come meet the
folks.... Wal, wal, you got heah at last."
</P>

<P>
On the porch of the house a group awaited Jean's coming, rather
silently, he thought.  Wide-eyed children were there, very shy and
watchful.  The dark face of his sister corresponded with the image of
her in his memory.  She appeared taller, more womanly, as she embraced
him.  "Oh, Jean, Jean, I'm glad you've come!" she cried, and pressed
him close.  Jean felt in her a woman's anxiety for the present as well
as affection for the past.  He remembered his aunt Mary, though he had
not seen her for years.  His half brothers, Bill and Guy, had changed
but little except perhaps to grow lean and rangy.  Bill resembled his
father, though his aspect was jocular rather than serious.  Guy was
smaller, wiry, and hard as rock, with snapping eyes in a brown, still
face, and he had the bow-legs of a cattleman.  Both had married in
Arizona.  Bill's wife, Kate, was a stout, comely little woman, mother
of three of the children.  The other wife was young, a strapping girl,
red headed and freckled, with wonderful lines of pain and strength in
her face.  Jean remembered, as he looked at her, that some one had
written him about the tragedy in her life.  When she was only a child
the Apaches had murdered all her family.  Then next to greet Jean were
the little children, all shy, yet all manifestly impressed by the
occasion.  A warmth and intimacy of forgotten home emotions flooded
over Jean.  Sweet it was to get home to these relatives who loved him
and welcomed him with quiet gladness.  But there seemed more.  Jean was
quick to see the shadow in the eyes of the women in that household and
to sense a strange reliance which his presence brought.
</P>

<P>
"Son, this heah Tonto is a land of milk an' honey," said his father, as
Jean gazed spellbound at the bounteous supper.
</P>

<P>
Jean certainly performed gastronomic feats on this occasion, to the
delight of Aunt Mary and the wonder of the children.  "Oh, he's
starv-ved to death," whispered one of the little boys to his sister.
They had begun to warm to this stranger uncle.  Jean had no chance to
talk, even had he been able to, for the meal-time showed a relaxation
of restraint and they all tried to tell him things at once.  In the
bright lamplight his father looked easier and happier as he beamed upon
Jean.
</P>

<P>
After supper the men went into an adjoining room that appeared most
comfortable and attractive.  It was long, and the width of the house,
with a huge stone fireplace, low ceiling of hewn timbers and walls of
the same, small windows with inside shutters of wood, and home-made
table and chairs and rugs.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Jean, do you recollect them shootin'-irons?" inquired the
rancher, pointing above the fireplace.  Two guns hung on the spreading
deer antlers there.  One was a musket Jean's father had used in the war
of the rebellion and the other was a long, heavy, muzzle-loading
flintlock Kentucky, rifle with which Jean had learned to shoot.
</P>

<P>
"Reckon I do, dad," replied Jean, and with reverent hands and a rush of
memory he took the old gun down.
</P>

<P>
"Jean, you shore handle thet old arm some clumsy," said Guy Isbel,
dryly.  And Bill added a remark to the effect that perhaps Jean had
been leading a luxurious and tame life back there in Oregon, and then
added,  "But I reckon he's packin' that six-shooter like a Texan."
</P>

<P>
"Say, I fetched a gun or two along with me," replied Jean, jocularly.
"Reckon I near broke my poor mule's back with the load of shells an'
guns.  Dad, what was the idea askin' me to pack out an arsenal?"
</P>

<P>
"Son, shore all shootin' arms an' such are at a premium in the Tonto,"
replied his father.  "An' I was givin' you a hunch to come loaded."
</P>

<P>
His cool, drawling voice seemed to put a damper upon the pleasantries.
Right there Jean sensed the charged atmosphere.  His brothers were
bursting with utterance about to break forth, and his father suddenly
wore a look that recalled to Jean critical times of days long past. But
the entrance of the children and the women folk put an end to
confidences.  Evidently the youngsters were laboring under subdued
excitement.  They preceded their mother, the smallest boy in the lead.
For him this must have been both a dreadful and a wonderful experience,
for he seemed to be pushed forward by his sister and brother and
mother, and driven by yearnings of his own.  "There now, Lee.  Say,
'Uncle Jean, what did you fetch us?'  The lad hesitated for a shy,
frightened look at Jean, and then, gaining something from his scrutiny
of his uncle, he toddled forward and bravely delivered the question of
tremendous importance.
</P>

<P>
"What did I fetch you, hey?" cried Jean, in delight, as he took the lad
up on his knee.  "Wouldn't you like to know?  I didn't forget, Lee. I
remembered you all.  Oh! the job I had packin' your bundle of
presents.... Now, Lee, make a guess."
</P>

<P>
"I dess you fetched a dun," replied Lee.
</P>

<P>
"A dun!&mdash;I'll bet you mean a gun," laughed Jean.  "Well, you
four-year-old Texas gunman!  Make another guess."
</P>

<P>
That appeared too momentous and entrancing for the other two
youngsters, and, adding their shrill and joyous voices to Lee's, they
besieged Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, where's my pack?" cried Jean.  "These young Apaches are after my
scalp."
</P>

<P>
"Reckon the boys fetched it onto the porch," replied the rancher.
</P>

<P>
Guy Isbel opened the door and went out.  "By golly! heah's three
packs," he called.  "Which one do you want, Jean?"
</P>

<P>
"It's a long, heavy bundle, all tied up," replied Jean.
</P>

<P>
Guy came staggering in under a burden that brought a whoop from the
youngsters and bright gleams to the eyes of the women.  Jean lost
nothing of this.  How glad he was that he had tarried in San Francisco
because of a mental picture of this very reception in far-off wild
Arizona.
</P>

<P>
When Guy deposited the bundle on the floor it jarred the room. It gave
forth metallic and rattling and crackling sounds.
</P>

<P>
"Everybody stand back an' give me elbow room," ordered Jean,
majestically.  "My good folks, I want you all to know this is somethin'
that doesn't happen often.  The bundle you see here weighed about a
hundred pounds when I packed it on my shoulder down Market Street in
Frisco.  It was stolen from me on shipboard. I got it back in San Diego
an' licked the thief.  It rode on a burro from San Diego to Yuma an'
once I thought the burro was lost for keeps. It came up the Colorado
River from Yuma to Ehrenberg an' there went on top of a stage.  We got
chased by bandits an' once when the horses were gallopin' hard it near
rolled off.  Then it went on the back of a pack horse an' helped wear
him out.  An' I reckon it would be somewhere else now if I hadn't
fallen in with a freighter goin' north from Phoenix to the Santa Fe
Trail.  The last lap when it sagged the back of a mule was the riskiest
an' full of the narrowest escapes. Twice my mule bucked off his pack
an' left my outfit scattered. Worst of all, my precious bundle made the
mule top heavy comin' down that place back here where the trail seems
to drop off the earth. There I was hard put to keep sight of my pack.
Sometimes it was on top an' other times the mule.  But it got here at
last.... An' now I'll open it."
</P>

<P>
After this long and impressive harangue, which at least augmented the
suspense of the women and worked the children into a frenzy, Jean
leisurely untied the many knots round the bundle and unrolled it. He
had packed that bundle for just such travel as it had sustained. Three
cloth-bound rifles he laid aside, and with them a long, very heavy
package tied between two thin wide boards.  From this came the metallic
clink.  "Oo, I know what dem is!" cried Lee, breaking the silence of
suspense.  Then Jean, tearing open a long flat parcel, spread before
the mute, rapt-eyed youngsters such magnificent things, as they had
never dreamed of&mdash;picture books, mouth-harps, dolls, a toy gun and a
toy pistol, a wonderful whistle and a fox horn, and last of all a box
of candy.  Before these treasures on the floor, too magical to be
touched at first, the two little boys and their sister simply knelt.
That was a sweet, full moment for Jean; yet even that was clouded by
the something which shadowed these innocent children fatefully born in
a wild place at a wild time.  Next Jean gave to his sister the presents
he had brought her&mdash;beautiful cloth for a dress, ribbons and a bit of
lace, handkerchiefs and buttons and yards of linen, a sewing case and a
whole box of spools of thread, a comb and brush and mirror, and lastly
a Spanish brooch inlaid with garnets.  "There, Ann," said Jean, "I
confess I asked a girl friend in Oregon to tell me some things my
sister might like."  Manifestly there was not much difference in girls.
Ann seemed stunned by this munificence, and then awakening, she hugged
Jean in a way that took his breath.  She was not a child any more, that
was certain.  Aunt Mary turned knowing eyes upon Jean.  "Reckon you
couldn't have pleased Ann more.  She's engaged, Jean, an' where girls
are in that state these things mean a heap.... Ann, you'll be married
in that!"  And she pointed to the beautiful folds of material that Ann
had spread out.
</P>

<P>
"What's this?" demanded Jean.  His sister's blushes were enough to
convict her, and they were mightily becoming, too.
</P>

<P>
"Here, Aunt Mary," went on Jean, "here's yours, an' here's somethin'
for each of my new sisters."  This distribution left the women as happy
and occupied, almost, as the children.  It left also another package,
the last one in the bundle.  Jean laid hold of it and, lifting it, he
was about to speak when he sustained a little shock of memory. Quite
distinctly he saw two little feet, with bare toes peeping out of
worn-out moccasins, and then round, bare, symmetrical ankles that had
been scratched by brush.  Next he saw Ellen Jorth's passionate face as
she looked when she had made the violent action so disconcerting to
him.  In this happy moment the memory seemed farther off than a few
hours.  It had crystallized.  It annoyed while it drew him.  As a
result he slowly laid this package aside and did not speak as he had
intended to.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, I reckon I didn't fetch a lot for you an' the boys," continued
Jean.  "Some knives, some pipes an' tobacco.  An' sure the guns."
</P>

<P>
"Shore, you're a regular Santa Claus, Jean," replied his father. "Wal,
wal, look at the kids.  An' look at Mary.  An' for the land's sake look
at Ann!  Wal, wal, I'm gettin' old.  I'd forgotten the pretty stuff an'
gimcracks that mean so much to women.  We're out of the world heah.
It's just as well you've lived apart from us, Jean, for comin' back
this way, with all that stuff, does us a lot of good.  I cain't say,
son, how obliged I am.  My mind has been set on the hard side of life.
An' it's shore good to forget&mdash;to see the smiles of the women an' the
joy of the kids."
</P>

<P>
At this juncture a tall young man entered the open door.  He looked a
rider.  All about him, even his face, except his eyes, seemed old, but
his eyes were young, fine, soft, and dark.
</P>

<P>
"How do, y'u-all!" he said, evenly.
</P>

<P>
Ann rose from her knees.  Then Jean did not need to be told who this
newcomer was.
</P>

<P>
"Jean, this is my friend, Andrew Colmor."
</P>

<P>
Jean knew when he met Colmor's grip and the keen flash of his eyes that
he was glad Ann had set her heart upon one of their kind.  And his
second impression was something akin to the one given him in the road
by the admiring lad.  Colmor's estimate of him must have been a
monument built of Ann's eulogies.  Jean's heart suffered misgivings.
Could he live up to the character that somehow had forestalled his
advent in Grass Valley?  Surely life was measured differently here in
the Tonto Basin.
</P>

<P>
The children, bundling their treasures to their bosoms, were dragged
off to bed in some remote part of the house, from which their laughter
and voices came back with happy significance.  Jean forthwith had an
interested audience.  How eagerly these lonely pioneer people listened
to news of the outside world!  Jean talked until he was hoarse. In
their turn his hearers told him much that had never found place in the
few and short letters he had received since he had been left in Oregon.
Not a word about sheepmen or any hint of rustlers! Jean marked the
omission and thought all the more seriously of probabilities because
nothing was said.  Altogether the evening was a happy reunion of a
family of which all living members were there present.  Jean grasped
that this fact was one of significant satisfaction to his father.
</P>

<P>
"Shore we're all goin' to live together heah," he declared.  "I started
this range.  I call most of this valley mine.  We'll run up a cabin for
Ann soon as she says the word.  An' you, Jean, where's your girl? I
shore told you to fetch her."
</P>

<P>
"Dad, I didn't have one," replied Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I wish you had," returned the rancher.  "You'll go courtin' one
of these Tonto hussies that I might object to."
</P>

<P>
"Why, father, there's not a girl in the valley Jean would look twice
at," interposed Ann Isbel, with spirit.
</P>

<P>
Jean laughed the matter aside, but he had an uneasy memory.  Aunt Mary
averred, after the manner of relatives, that Jean would play havoc
among the women of the settlement.  And Jean retorted that at least one
member of the Isbels; should hold out against folly and fight and love
and marriage, the agents which had reduced the family to these few
present.  "I'll be the last Isbel to go under," he concluded.
</P>

<P>
"Son, you're talkin' wisdom," said his father.  "An' shore that reminds
me of the uncle you're named after.  Jean Isbel! ... Wal, he was my
youngest brother an' shore a fire-eater.  Our mother was a French
creole from Louisiana, an' Jean must have inherited some of his
fightin' nature from her.  When the war of the rebellion started Jean
an' I enlisted. I was crippled before we ever got to the front.  But
Jean went through three Years before he was killed.  His company had
orders to fight to the last man.  An' Jean fought an' lived long enough
just to be that last man."
</P>

<P>
At length Jean was left alone with his father.
</P>

<P>
"Reckon you're used to bunkin' outdoors?" queried the rancher, rather
abruptly.
</P>

<P>
"Most of the time," replied Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, there's room in the house, but I want you to sleep out. Come get
your beddin' an' gun. I'll show you."
</P>

<P>
They went outside on the porch, where Jean shouldered his roll of
tarpaulin and blankets.  His rifle, in its saddle sheath, leaned
against the door.  His father took it up and, half pulling it out,
looked at it by the starlight.  "Forty-four, eh?  Wal, wal, there's
shore no better, if a man can hold straight."  At the moment a big gray
dog trotted up to sniff at Jean.  "An' heah's your bunkmate, Shepp.
He's part lofer, Jean.  His mother was a favorite shepherd dog of mine.
His father was a big timber wolf that took us two years to kill.  Some
bad wolf packs runnin' this Basin."
</P>

<P>
The night was cold and still, darkly bright under moon and stars; the
smell of hay seemed to mingle with that of cedar.  Jean followed his
father round the house and up a gentle slope of grass to the edge of
the cedar line.  Here several trees with low-sweeping thick branches
formed a dense, impenetrable shade.
</P>

<P>
"Son, your uncle Jean was scout for Liggett, one of the greatest rebels
the South had," said the rancher.  "An' you're goin' to be scout for
the Isbels of Tonto.  Reckon you'll find it 'most as hot as your uncle
did.... Spread your bed inside.  You can see out, but no one can see
you.  Reckon there's been some queer happenin's 'round heah lately.  If
Shepp could talk he'd shore have lots to tell us.  Bill an' Guy have
been sleepin' out, trailin' strange hoss tracks, an' all that.  But
shore whoever's been prowlin' around heah was too sharp for them.  Some
bad, crafty, light-steppin' woodsmen 'round heah, Jean.... Three
mawnin's ago, just after daylight, I stepped out the back door an' some
one of these sneaks I'm talkin' aboot took a shot at me.  Missed my
head a quarter of an inch! To-morrow I'll show you the bullet hole in
the doorpost.  An' some of my gray hairs that 're stickin' in it!"
</P>

<P>
"Dad!" ejaculated Jean, with a hand outstretched.  "That's awful! You
frighten me."
</P>

<P>
"No time to be scared," replied his father, calmly.  "They're shore
goin' to kill me.  That's why I wanted you home.... In there with you,
now!  Go to sleep.  You shore can trust Shepp to wake you if he gets
scent or sound.... An' good night, my son.  I'm sayin' that I'll rest
easy to-night."
</P>

<P>
Jean mumbled a good night and stood watching his father's shining white
head move away under the starlight.  Then the tall, dark form vanished,
a door closed, and all was still.  The dog Shepp licked Jean's hand.
Jean felt grateful for that warm touch.  For a moment he sat on his
roll of bedding, his thought still locked on the shuddering revelation
of his father's words, "They're shore goin' to kill me."  The shock of
inaction passed.  Jean pushed his pack in the dark opening and,
crawling inside, he unrolled it and made his bed.
</P>

<P>
When at length he was comfortably settled for the night he breathed a
long sigh of relief.  What bliss to relax!  A throbbing and burning of
his muscles seemed to begin with his rest.  The cool starlit night, the
smell of cedar, the moan of wind, the silence&mdash;an were real to his
senses.  After long weeks of long, arduous travel he was home.  The
warmth of the welcome still lingered, but it seemed to have been
pierced by an icy thrust.  What lay before him?  The shadow in the eyes
of his aunt, in the younger, fresher eyes of his sister&mdash;Jean connected
that with the meaning of his father's tragic words.  Far past was the
morning that had been so keen, the breaking of camp in the sunlit
forest, the riding down the brown aisles under the pines, the music of
bleating lambs that had called him not to pass by. Thought of Ellen
Jorth recurred.  Had he met her only that morning? She was up there in
the forest, asleep under the starlit pines. Who was she?  What was her
story?  That savage fling of her skirt, her bitter speech and
passionate flaming face&mdash;they haunted Jean. They were crystallizing
into simpler memories, growing away from his bewilderment, and
therefore at once sweeter and more doubtful. "Maybe she meant
differently from what I thought," Jean soliloquized. "Anyway, she was
honest."  Both shame and thrill possessed him at the recall of an
insidious idea&mdash;dare he go back and find her and give her the last
package of gifts he had brought from the city?  What might they mean to
poor, ragged, untidy, beautiful Ellen Jorth?  The idea grew on Jean.
It could not be dispelled.  He resisted stubbornly. It was bound to go
to its fruition.  Deep into his mind had sunk an impression of her
need&mdash;a material need that brought spirit and pride to abasement.  From
one picture to another his memory wandered, from one speech and act of
hers to another, choosing, selecting, casting aside, until clear and
sharp as the stars shone the words, "Oh, I've been kissed before!"
That stung him now.  By whom?  Not by one man, but by several, by many,
she had meant.  Pshaw! he had only been sympathetic and drawn by a
strange girl in the woods.  To-morrow he would forget.  Work there was
for him in Grass Valley.  And he reverted uneasily to the remarks of
his father until at last sleep claimed him.
</P>

<P>
A cold nose against his cheek, a low whine, awakened Jean.  The big dog
Shepp was beside him, keen, wary, intense.  The night appeared far
advanced toward dawn.  Far away a cock crowed; the near-at-hand one
answered in clarion voice.  "What is it, Shepp?" whispered Jean, and he
sat up.  The dog smelled or heard something suspicious to his nature,
but whether man or animal Jean could not tell.
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap03"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER III
</H3>

<P>
The morning star, large, intensely blue-white, magnificent in its
dominance of the clear night sky, hung over the dim, dark valley
ramparts. The moon had gone down and all the other stars were wan, pale
ghosts.
</P>

<P>
Presently the strained vacuum of Jean's ears vibrated to a low roar of
many hoofs.  It came from the open valley, along the slope to the
south.  Shepp acted as if he wanted the word to run.  Jean laid a hand
on the dog.  "Hold on, Shepp," he whispered.  Then hauling on his boots
and slipping into his coat Jean took his rifle and stole out into the
open.  Shepp appeared to be well trained, for it was evident that he
had a strong natural tendency to run off and hunt for whatever had
roused him.  Jean thought it more than likely that the dog scented an
animal of some kind.  If there were men prowling around the ranch
Shepp, might have been just as vigilant, but it seemed to Jean that the
dog would have shown less eagerness to leave him, or none at all.
</P>

<P>
In the stillness of the morning it took Jean a moment to locate the
direction of the wind, which was very light and coming from the south.
In fact that little breeze had borne the low roar of trampling hoofs.
Jean circled the ranch house to the right and kept along the slope at
the edge of the cedars.  It struck him suddenly how well fitted he was
for work of this sort.  All the work he had ever done, except for his
few years in school, had been in the open.  All the leisure he had ever
been able to obtain had been given to his ruling passion for hunting
and fishing.  Love of the wild had been born in Jean.  At this moment
he experienced a grim assurance of what his instinct and his training
might accomplish if directed to a stern and daring end.  Perhaps his
father understood this; perhaps the old Texan had some little reason
for his confidence.
</P>

<P>
Every few paces Jean halted to listen.  All objects, of course, were
indistinguishable in the dark-gray obscurity, except when he came close
upon them.  Shepp showed an increasing eagerness to bolt out into the
void.  When Jean had traveled half a mile from the house he heard a
scattered trampling of cattle on the run, and farther out a low
strangled bawl of a calf.  "Ahuh!" muttered Jean.  "Cougar or some
varmint pulled down that calf."  Then he discharged his rifle in the
air and yelled with all his might.  It was necessary then to yell again
to hold Shepp back.
</P>

<P>
Thereupon Jean set forth down the valley, and tramped out and across
and around, as much to scare away whatever had been after the stock as
to look for the wounded calf.  More than once he heard cattle moving
away ahead of him, but he could not see them.  Jean let Shepp go,
hoping the dog would strike a trail.  But Shepp neither gave tongue nor
came back.  Dawn began to break, and in the growing light Jean searched
around until at last he stumbled over a dead calf, lying in a little
bare wash where water ran in wet seasons.  Big wolf tracks showed in
the soft earth.  "Lofers," said Jean, as he knelt and just covered one
track with his spread hand.  "We had wolves in Oregon, but not as big
as these.... Wonder where that half-wolf dog, Shepp, went.  Wonder if
he can be trusted where wolves are concerned. I'll bet not, if there's
a she-wolf runnin' around."
</P>

<P>
Jean found tracks of two wolves, and he trailed them out of the wash,
then lost them in the grass.  But, guided by their direction, he went
on and climbed a slope to the cedar line, where in the dusty patches he
found the tracks again.  "Not scared much," he muttered, as he noted
the slow trotting tracks.  "Well, you old gray lofers, we're goin' to
clash."  Jean knew from many a futile hunt that wolves were the wariest
and most intelligent of wild animals in the quest.  From the top of a
low foothill he watched the sun rise; and then no longer wondered why
his father waxed eloquent over the beauty and location and luxuriance
of this grassy valley.  But it was large enough to make rich a good
many ranchers.  Jean tried to restrain any curiosity as to his father's
dealings in Grass Valley until the situation had been made clear.
</P>

<P>
Moreover, Jean wanted to love this wonderful country.  He wanted to be
free to ride and hunt and roam to his heart's content; and therefore he
dreaded hearing his father's claims.  But Jean threw off forebodings.
Nothing ever turned out so badly as it presaged.  He would think the
best until certain of the worst.  The morning was gloriously bright,
and already the frost was glistening wet on the stones.  Grass Valley
shone like burnished silver dotted with innumerable black spots. Burros
were braying their discordant messages to one another; the colts were
romping in the fields; stallions were whistling; cows were bawling.  A
cloud of blue smoke hung low over the ranch house, slowly wafting away
on the wind.  Far out in the valley a dark group of horsemen were
riding toward the village.  Jean glanced thoughtfully at them and
reflected that he seemed destined to harbor suspicion of all men new
and strange to him.  Above the distant village stood the darkly green
foothills leading up to the craggy slopes, and these ending in the Rim,
a red, black-fringed mountain front, beautiful in the morning sunlight,
lonely, serene, and mysterious against the level skyline.  Mountains,
ranges, distances unknown to Jean, always called to him&mdash;to come, to
seek, to explore, to find, but no wild horizon ever before beckoned to
him as this one.  And the subtle vague emotion that had gone to sleep
with him last night awoke now hauntingly. It took effort to dispel the
desire to think, to wonder.
</P>

<P>
Upon his return to the house, he went around on the valley side, so as
to see the place by light of day.  His father had built for permanence;
and evidently there had been three constructive periods in the history
of that long, substantial, picturesque log house. But few nails and
little sawed lumber and no glass had been used. Strong and skillful
hands, axes and a crosscut saw, had been the prime factors in erecting
this habitation of the Isbels.
</P>

<P>
"Good mawnin', son," called a cheery voice from the porch.  "Shore
we-all heard you shoot; an' the crack of that forty-four was as welcome
as May flowers."
</P>

<P>
Bill Isbel looked up from a task over a saddle girth and inquired
pleasantly if Jean ever slept of nights.  Guy Isbel laughed and there
was warm regard in the gaze he bent on Jean.
</P>

<P>
"You old Indian!" he drawled, slowly.  "Did you get a bead on anythin'?"
</P>

<P>
"No.  I shot to scare away what I found to be some of your lofers,"
replied Jean.  "I heard them pullin' down a calf.  An' I found tracks
of two whoppin' big wolves.  I found the dead calf, too.  Reckon the
meat can be saved.  Dad, you must lose a lot of stock here."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, son, you shore hit the nail on the haid," replied the rancher.
"What with lions an' bears an' lofers&mdash;an' two-footed lofers of another
breed&mdash;I've lost five thousand dollars in stock this last year."
</P>

<P>
"Dad!  You don't mean it!" exclaimed Jean, in astonishment. To him that
sum represented a small fortune.
</P>

<P>
"I shore do," answered his father.
</P>

<P>
Jean shook his head as if he could not understand such an enormous loss
where there were keen able-bodied men about.  "But that's awful, dad.
How could it happen?  Where were your herders an' cowboys? An' Bill an'
Guy?"
</P>

<P>
Bill Isbel shook a vehement fist at Jean and retorted in earnest,
having manifestly been hit in a sore spot.  "Where was me an' Guy, huh?
Wal, my Oregon brother, we was heah, all year, sleepin' more or less
aboot three hours out of every twenty-four&mdash;ridin' our boots off&mdash;an'
we couldn't keep down that loss."
</P>

<P>
"Jean, you-all have a mighty tumble comin' to you out heah," said Guy,
complacently.
</P>

<P>
"Listen, son," spoke up the rancher.  "You want to have some hunches
before you figure on our troubles.  There's two or three packs of
lofers, an' in winter time they are hell to deal with.  Lions thick as
bees, an' shore bad when the snow's on.  Bears will kill a cow now an'
then.  An' whenever an' old silvertip comes mozyin' across from the
Mazatzals he kills stock.  I'm in with half a dozen cattlemen. We all
work together, an' the whole outfit cain't keep these vermints down.
Then two years ago the Hash Knife Gang come into the Tonto."
</P>

<P>
"Hash Knife Gang?  What a pretty name!" replied Jean.  "Who're they?"
</P>

<P>
"Rustlers, son.  An' shore the real old Texas brand.  The old Lone Star
State got too hot for them, an' they followed the trail of a lot of
other Texans who needed a healthier climate.  Some two hundred Texans
around heah, Jean, an' maybe a matter of three hundred inhabitants in
the Tonto all told, good an' bad.  Reckon it's aboot half an' half."
</P>

<P>
A cheery call from the kitchen interrupted the conversation of the men.
</P>

<P>
"You come to breakfast."
</P>

<P>
During the meal the old rancher talked to Bill and Guy about the day's
order of work; and from this Jean gathered an idea of what a big cattle
business his father conducted.  After breakfast Jean's brothers
manifested keen interest in the new rifles.  These were unwrapped and
cleaned and taken out for testing.  The three rifles were forty-four
calibre Winchesters, the kind of gun Jean had found most effective. He
tried them out first, and the shots he made were satisfactory to him
and amazing to the others.  Bill had used an old Henry rifle. Guy did
not favor any particular rifle.  The rancher pinned his faith to the
famous old single-shot buffalo gun, mostly called needle gun. "Wal,
reckon I'd better stick to mine.  Shore you cain't teach an old dog new
tricks.  But you boys may do well with the forty-fours. Pack 'em on
your saddles an' practice when you see a coyote."
</P>

<P>
Jean found it difficult to convince himself that this interest in guns
and marksmanship had any sinister propulsion back of it.  His father
and brothers had always been this way.  Rifles were as important to
pioneers as plows, and their skillful use was an achievement every
frontiersman tried to attain.  Friendly rivalry had always existed
among the members of the Isbel family: even Ann Isbel was a good shot.
But such proficiency in the use of firearms&mdash;and life in the open that
was correlative with it&mdash;had not dominated them as it had Jean. Bill
and Guy Isbel were born cattlemen&mdash;chips of the old block. Jean began
to hope that his father's letter was an exaggeration, and particularly
that the fatalistic speech of last night, "they are goin' to kill me,"
was just a moody inclination to see the worst side. Still, even as Jean
tried to persuade himself of this more hopeful view, he recalled many
references to the peculiar reputation of Texans for gun-throwing, for
feuds, for never-ending hatreds.  In Oregon the Isbels had lived among
industrious and peaceful pioneers from all over the States; to be sure,
the life had been rough and primitive, and there had been fights on
occasions, though no Isbel had ever killed a man.  But now they had
become fixed in a wilder and sparsely settled country among men of
their own breed.  Jean was afraid his hopes had only sentiment to
foster them.  Nevertheless, be forced back a strange, brooding, mental
state and resolutely held up the brighter side.  Whatever the evil
conditions existing in Grass Valley, they could be met with
intelligence and courage, with an absolute certainty that it was
inevitable they must pass away.  Jean refused to consider the old,
fatal law that at certain wild times and wild places in the West
certain men had to pass away to change evil conditions.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Jean, ride around the range with the boys," said the rancher.
"Meet some of my neighbors, Jim Blaisdell, in particular.  Take a look
at the cattle.  An' pick out some hosses for yourself."
</P>

<P>
"I've seen one already," declared Jean, quickly.  "A black with white
face.  I'll take him."
</P>

<P>
"Shore you know a hoss.  To my eye he's my pick.  But the boys don't
agree.  Bill 'specially has degenerated into a fancier of pitchin'
hosses.  Ann can ride that black.  You try him this mawnin'.... An',
son, enjoy yourself."
</P>

<P>
True to his first impression, Jean named the black horse Whiteface and
fell in love with him before ever he swung a leg over him. Whiteface
appeared spirited, yet gentle.  He had been trained instead of being
broken.  Of hard hits and quirts and spurs he had no experience.  He
liked to do what his rider wanted him to do.
</P>

<P>
A hundred or more horses grazed in the grassy meadow, and as Jean rode
on among them it was a pleasure to see stallions throw heads and ears
up and whistle or snort.  Whole troops of colts and two-year-olds raced
with flying tails and manes.
</P>

<P>
Beyond these pastures stretched the range, and Jean saw the gray-green
expanse speckled by thousands of cattle.  The scene was inspiring.
Jean's brothers led him all around, meeting some of the herders and
riders employed on the ranch, one of whom was a burly, grizzled man
with eyes reddened and narrowed by much riding in wind and sun and
dust. His name was Evans and he was father of the lad whom Jean had met
near the village.  Everts was busily skinning the calf that had been
killed by the wolves.  "See heah, y'u Jean Isbel," said Everts, "it
shore was aboot time y'u come home.  We-all heahs y'u hev an eye fer
tracks. Wal, mebbe y'u can kill Old Gray, the lofer thet did this job.
He's pulled down nine calves as' yearlin's this last two months thet I
know of.  An' we've not hed the spring round-up."
</P>

<P>
Grass Valley widened to the southeast.  Jean would have been backward
about estimating the square miles in it.  Yet it was not vast acreage
so much as rich pasture that made it such a wonderful range.  Several
ranches lay along the western slope of this section.  Jean was informed
that open parks and swales, and little valleys nestling among the
foothills, wherever there was water and grass, had been settled by
ranchers.  Every summer a few new families ventured in.
</P>

<P>
Blaisdell struck Jean as being a lionlike type of Texan, both in his
broad, bold face, his huge head with its upstanding tawny hair like a
mane, and in the speech and force that betokened the nature of his
heart.  He was not as old as Jean's father.  He had a rolling voice,
with the same drawling intonation characteristic of all Texans, and
blue eyes that still held the fire of youth.  Quite a marked contrast
he presented to the lean, rangy, hard-jawed, intent-eyed men Jean had
begun to accept as Texans.
</P>

<P>
Blaisdell took time for a curious scrutiny and study of Jean, that,
frank and kindly as it was, and evidently the adjustment of impressions
gotten from hearsay, yet bespoke the attention of one used to judging
men for himself, and in this particular case having reasons of his own
for so doing.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, you're like your sister Ann," said Blaisdell.  "Which you may
take as a compliment, young man.  Both of you favor your mother. But
you're an Isbel.  Back in Texas there are men who never wear a glove on
their right hands, an' shore I reckon if one of them met up with you
sudden he'd think some graves had opened an' he'd go for his gun."
</P>

<P>
Blaisdell's laugh pealed out with deep, pleasant roll.  Thus he planted
in Jean's sensitive mind a significant thought-provoking idea about the
past-and-gone Isbels.
</P>

<P>
His further remarks, likewise, were exceedingly interesting to Jean.
The settling of the Tonto Basin by Texans was a subject often in
dispute.  His own father had been in the first party of adventurous
pioneers who had traveled up from the south to cross over the Reno Pass
of the Mazatzals into the Basin.  "Newcomers from outside get
impressions of the Tonto accordin' to the first settlers they meet,"
declared Blaisdell.  "An' shore it's my belief these first impressions
never change, just so strong they are!  Wal, I've heard my father say
there were men in his wagon train that got run out of Texas, but he
swore he wasn't one of them.  So I reckon that sort of talk held good
for twenty years, an' for all the Texans who emigrated, except, of
course, such notorious rustlers as Daggs an' men of his ilk.  Shore
we've got some bad men heah.  There's no law.  Possession used to mean
more than it does now.  Daggs an' his Hash Knife Gang have begun to
hold forth with a high hand.  No small rancher can keep enough stock to
pay for his labor."
</P>

<P>
At the time of which Blaisdell spoke there were not many sheepmen and
cattlemen in the Tonto, considering its vast area.  But these, on
account of the extreme wildness of the broken country, were limited to
the comparatively open Grass Valley and its adjacent environs.
Naturally, as the inhabitants increased and stock raising grew in
proportion the grazing and water rights became matters of extreme
importance.  Sheepmen ran their flocks up on the Rim in summer time and
down into the Basin in winter time.  A sheepman could throw a few
thousand sheep round a cattleman's ranch and ruin him.  The range was
free.  It was as fair for sheepmen to graze their herds anywhere as it
was for cattlemen.  This of course did not apply to the few acres of
cultivated ground that a rancher could call his own; but very few
cattle could have been raised on such limited area.  Blaisdell said
that the sheepmen were unfair because they could have done just as
well, though perhaps at more labor, by keeping to the ridges and
leaving the open valley and little flats to the ranchers.  Formerly
there had been room enough for all; now the grazing ranges were being
encroached upon by sheepmen newly come to the Tonto.  To Blaisdell's
way of thinking the rustler menace was more serious than the
sheeping-off of the range, for the simple reason that no cattleman knew
exactly who the rustlers were and for the more complex and significant
reason that the rustlers did not steal sheep.
</P>

<P>
"Texas was overstocked with bad men an' fine steers," concluded
Blaisdell.  "Most of the first an' some of the last have struck the
Tonto.  The sheepmen have now got distributin' points for wool an'
sheep at Maricopa an' Phoenix.  They're shore waxin' strong an' bold."
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh! ... An' what's likely to come of this mess?" queried Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Ask your dad," replied Blaisdell.
</P>

<P>
"I will.  But I reckon I'd be obliged for your opinion."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, short an' sweet it's this: Texas cattlemen will never allow the
range they stocked to be overrun by sheepmen."
</P>

<P>
"Who's this man Greaves?" went on Jean.  "Never run into anyone like
him."
</P>

<P>
"Greaves is hard to figure.  He's a snaky customer in deals.  But he
seems to be good to the poor people 'round heah.  Says he's from
Missouri.  Ha-ha!  He's as much Texan as I am.  He rode into the Tonto
without even a pack to his name.  An' presently he builds his stone
house an' freights supplies in from Phoenix.  Appears to buy an' sell a
good deal of stock.  For a while it looked like he was steerin' a
middle course between cattlemen an' sheepmen.  Both sides made a
rendezvous of his store, where he heard the grievances of each. Laterly
he's leanin' to the sheepmen.  Nobody has accused him of that yet.  But
it's time some cattleman called his bluff."
</P>

<P>
"Of course there are honest an' square sheepmen in the Basin?" queried
Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, an' some of them are not unreasonable.  But the new fellows that
dropped in on us the last few year&mdash;they're the ones we're goin' to
clash with."
</P>

<P>
"This&mdash;sheepman, Jorth?" went on Jean, in slow hesitation, as if
compelled to ask what he would rather not learn.
</P>

<P>
"Jorth must be the leader of this sheep faction that's harryin' us
ranchers.  He doesn't make threats or roar around like some of them.
But he goes on raisin' an' buyin' more an' more sheep.  An' his herders
have been grazin' down all around us this winter.  Jorth's got to be
reckoned with."
</P>

<P>
"Who is he?"
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I don't know enough to talk aboot.  Your dad never said so, but I
think he an' Jorth knew each other in Texas years ago.  I never saw
Jorth but once.  That was in Greaves's barroom.  Your dad an' Jorth met
that day for the first time in this country.  Wal, I've not known men
for nothin'.  They just stood stiff an' looked at each other. Your dad
was aboot to draw.  But Jorth made no sign to throw a gun."
</P>

<P>
Jean saw the growing and weaving and thickening threads of a tangle
that had already involved him.  And the sudden pang of regret he
sustained was not wholly because of sympathies with his own people.
</P>

<P>
"The other day back up in the woods on the Rim I ran into a sheepman
who said his name was Colter.  Who is he?
</P>

<P>
"Colter?  Shore he's a new one.  What'd he look like?"
</P>

<P>
Jean described Colter with a readiness that spoke volumes for the
vividness of his impressions.
</P>

<P>
"I don't know him," replied Blaisdell.  "But that only goes to prove my
contention&mdash;any fellow runnin' wild in the woods can say he's a
sheepman."
</P>

<P>
"Colter surprised me by callin' me by my name," continued Jean. "Our
little talk wasn't exactly friendly.  He said a lot about my bein' sent
for to run sheep herders out of the country."
</P>

<P>
"Shore that's all over," replied Blaisdell, seriously.  "You're a
marked man already."
</P>

<P>
"What started such rumor?"
</P>

<P>
"Shore you cain't prove it by me.  But it's not taken as rumor. It's
got to the sheepmen as hard as bullets."
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  That accunts for Colter's seemin' a little sore under the
collar.  Well, he said they were goin' to run sheep over Grass Valley,
an' for me to take that hunch to my dad."
</P>

<P>
Blaisdell had his chair tilted back and his heavy boots against a post
of the porch.  Down he thumped.  His neck corded with a sudden rush of
blood and his eyes changed to blue fire.
</P>

<P>
"The hell he did!" he ejaculated, in furious amaze.
</P>

<P>
Jean gauged the brooding, rankling hurt of this old cattleman by his
sudden break from the cool, easy Texan manner.  Blaisdell cursed under
his breath, swung his arms violently, as if to throw a last doubt or
hope aside, and then relapsed to his former state.  He laid a brown
hand on Jean's knee.
</P>

<P>
"Two years ago I called the cards," he said, quietly.  "It means a
Grass Valley war."
</P>

<P>
Not until late that afternoon did Jean's father broach the subject
uppermost in his mind.  Then at an opportune moment he drew Jean away
into the cedars out of sight.
</P>

<P>
"Son, I shore hate to make your home-comin' unhappy," he said, with
evidence of agitation, "but so help me God I have to do it!"
</P>

<P>
"Dad, you called me Prodigal, an' I reckon you were right.  I've
shirked my duty to you.  I'm ready now to make up for it," replied
Jean, feelingly.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, wal, shore thats fine-spoken, my boy.... Let's set down heah an'
have a long talk.  First off, what did Jim Blaisdell tell you?"
</P>

<P>
Briefly Jean outlined the neighbor rancher's conversation.  Then Jean
recounted his experience with Colter and concluded with Blaisdell's
reception of the sheepman's threat.  If Jean expected to see his father
rise up like a lion in his wrath he made a huge mistake.  This news of
Colter and his talk never struck even a spark from Gaston Isbel.
</P>

<P>
"Wal," he began, thoughtfully, "reckon there are only two points in
Jim's talk I need touch on.  There's shore goin' to be a Grass Valley
war.  An' Jim's idea of the cause of it seems to be pretty much the
same as that of all the other cattlemen.  It 'll go down a black blot
on the history page of the Tonto Basin as a war between rival sheepmen
an' cattlemen.  Same old fight over water an' grass! ... Jean, my son,
that is wrong.  It 'll not be a war between sheepmen an' cattlemen. But
a war of honest ranchers against rustlers maskin' as sheep-raisers! ...
Mind you, I don't belittle the trouble between sheepmen an' cattlemen
in Arizona.  It's real an' it's vital an' it's serious. It 'll take law
an' order to straighten out the grazin' question. Some day the
government will keep sheep off of cattle ranges.... So get things right
in your mind, my son.  You can trust your dad to tell the absolute
truth.  In this fight that 'll wipe out some of the Isbels&mdash;maybe all
of them&mdash;you're on the side of justice an' right. Knowin' that, a man
can fight a hundred times harder than he who knows he is a liar an' a
thief."
</P>

<P>
The old rancher wiped his perspiring face and breathed slowly and
deeply.  Jean sensed in him the rise of a tremendous emotional strain.
Wonderingly he watched the keen lined face.  More than material worries
were at the root of brooding, mounting thoughts in his father's eyes.
</P>

<P>
"Now next take what Jim said aboot your comin' to chase these
sheep-herders out of the valley.... Jean, I started that talk. I had my
tricky reasons.  I know these greaser sheep-herders an' I know the
respect Texans have for a gunman.  Some say I bragged. Some say I'm an
old fool in his dotage, ravin' aboot a favorite son. But they are
people who hate me an' are afraid.  True, son, I talked with a purpose,
but shore I was mighty cold an' steady when I did it. My feelin' was
that you'd do what I'd do if I were thirty years younger. No, I
reckoned you'd do more.  For I figured on your blood.  Jean, you're
Indian, an' Texas an' French, an' you've trained yourself in the Oregon
woods.  When you were only a boy, few marksmen I ever knew could beat
you, an' I never saw your equal for eye an' ear, for trackin' a hoss,
for all the gifts that make a woodsman.... Wal, rememberin' this an'
seein' the trouble ahaid for the Isbels, I just broke out whenever I
had a chance.  I bragged before men I'd reason to believe would take my
words deep.  For instance, not long ago I missed some stock, an',
happenin' into Greaves's place one Saturday night, I shore talked loud.
His barroom was full of men an' some of them were in my black book.
Greaves took my talk a little testy.  He said. 'Wal, Gass, mebbe you're
right aboot some of these cattle thieves livin' among us, but ain't
they jest as liable to be some of your friends or relatives as Ted
Meeker's or mine or any one around heah?'  That was where Greaves an'
me fell out.  I yelled at him: 'No, by God, they're not! My record heah
an' that of my people is open.  The least I can say for you, Greaves,
an' your crowd, is that your records fade away on dim trails.'  Then he
said, nasty-like, 'Wal, if you could work out all the dim trails in the
Tonto you'd shore be surprised.'  An' then I roared.  Shore that was
the chance I was lookin' for.  I swore the trails he hinted of would be
tracked to the holes of the rustlers who made them.  I told him I had
sent for you an' when you got heah these slippery, mysterious thieves,
whoever they were, would shore have hell to pay.  Greaves said he hoped
so, but he was afraid I was partial to my Indian son.  Then we had hot
words.  Blaisdell got between us. When I was leavin' I took a partin'
fling at him.  'Greaves, you ought to know the Isbels, considerin'
you're from Texas.  Maybe you've got reasons for throwin' taunts at my
claims for my son Jean.  Yes, he's got Indian in him an' that 'll be
the worse for the men who will have to meet him.  I'm tellin' you,
Greaves, Jean Isbel is the black sheep of the family.  If you ride down
his record you'll find he's shore in line to be another Poggin, or
Reddy Kingfisher, or Hardin', or any of the Texas gunmen you ought to
remember.... Greaves, there are men rubbin' elbows with you right heah
that my Indian son is goin' to track down!'"
</P>

<P>
Jean bent his head in stunned cognizance of the notoriety with which
his father had chosen to affront any and all Tonto Basin men who were
under the ban of his suspicion.  What a terrible reputation and trust
to have saddled upon him!  Thrills and strange, heated sensations
seemed to rush together inside Jean, forming a hot ball of fire that
threatened to explode.  A retreating self made feeble protests. He saw
his own pale face going away from this older, grimmer man.
</P>

<P>
"Son, if I could have looked forward to anythin' but blood spillin' I'd
never have given you such a name to uphold," continued the rancher.
"What I'm goin' to tell you now is my secret.  My other sons an' Ann
have never heard it.  Jim Blaisdell suspects there's somethin' strange,
but he doesn't know.  I'll shore never tell anyone else but you. An'
you must promise to keep my secret now an' after I am gone."
</P>

<P>
"I promise," said Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, an' now to get it out," began his father, breathing hard. His
face twitched and his hands clenched.  "The sheepman heah I have to
reckon with is Lee Jorth, a lifelong enemy of mine.  We were born in
the same town, played together as children, an' fought with each other
as boys.  We never got along together.  An' we both fell in love with
the same girl.  It was nip an' tuck for a while. Ellen Sutton belonged
to one of the old families of the South. She was a beauty, an' much
courted, an' I reckon it was hard for her to choose.  But I won her an'
we became engaged.  Then the war broke out.  I enlisted with my brother
Jean.  He advised me to marry Ellen before I left.  But I would not.
That was the blunder of my life. Soon after our partin' her letters
ceased to come.  But I didn't distrust her.  That was a terrible time
an' all was confusion. Then I got crippled an' put in a hospital.  An'
in aboot a year I was sent back home."
</P>

<P>
At this juncture Jean refrained from further gaze at his father's face.
</P>

<P>
"Lee Jorth had gotten out of goin' to war," went on the rancher, in
lower, thicker voice.  "He'd married my sweetheart, Ellen.... I knew
the story long before I got well.  He had run after her like a hound
after a hare.... An' Ellen married him.  Wal, when I was able to get
aboot I went to see Jorth an' Ellen.  I confronted them. I had to know
why she had gone back on me.  Lee Jorth hadn't changed any with all his
good fortune.  He'd made Ellen believe in my dishonor. But, I reckon,
lies or no lies, Ellen Sutton was faithless.  In my absence he had won
her away from me.  An' I saw that she loved him as she never had me.  I
reckon that killed all my generosity.  If she'd been imposed upon an'
weaned away by his lies an' had regretted me a little I'd have
forgiven, perhaps.  But she worshiped him.  She was his slave.  An' I,
wal, I learned what hate was.
</P>

<P>
"The war ruined the Suttons, same as so many Southerners.  Lee Jorth
went in for raisin' cattle.  He'd gotten the Sutton range an' after a
few years he began to accumulate stock.  In those days every cattleman
was a little bit of a thief.  Every cattleman drove in an' branded
calves he couldn't swear was his.  Wal, the Isbels were the strongest
cattle raisers in that country.  An' I laid a trap for Lee Jorth,
caught him in the act of brandin' calves of mine I'd marked, an' I
proved him a thief.  I made him a rustler.  I ruined him.  We met once.
But Jorth was one Texan not strong on the draw, at least against an
Isbel.  He left the country.  He had friends an' relatives an' they
started him at stock raisin' again.  But he began to gamble an' he got
in with a shady crowd.  He went from bad to worse an' then he came back
home.  When I saw the change in proud, beautiful Ellen Sutton, an' how
she still worshiped Jorth, it shore drove me near mad between pity an'
hate.... Wal, I reckon in a Texan hate outlives any other feelin'.
There came a strange turn of the wheel an' my fortunes changed. Like
most young bloods of the day, I drank an' gambled.  An' one night I run
across Jorth an' a card-sharp friend.  He fleeced me.  We quarreled.
Guns were thrown.  I killed my man.... Aboot that period the Texas
Rangers had come into existence.... An', son, when I said I never was
run out of Texas I wasn't holdin' to strict truth.  I rode out on a
hoss.
</P>

<P>
"I went to Oregon.  There I married soon, an' there Bill an' Guy were
born.  Their mother did not live long.  An' next I married your mother,
Jean.  She had some Indian blood, which, for all I could see, made her
only the finer.  She was a wonderful woman an' gave me the only
happiness I ever knew.  You remember her, of course, an' those home
days in Oregon.  I reckon I made another great blunder when I moved to
Arizona.  But the cattle country had always called me.  I had heard of
this wild Tonto Basin an' how Texans were settlin' there.  An' Jim
Blaisdell sent me word to come&mdash;that this shore was a garden spot of
the West.  Wal, it is.  An' your mother was gone&mdash;
</P>

<P>
"Three years ago Lee Jorth drifted into the Tonto.  An', strange to me,
along aboot a year or so after his comin' the Hash Knife Gang rode up
from Texas.  Jorth went in for raisin' sheep.  Along with some other
sheepmen he lives up in the Rim canyons.  Somewhere back in the wild
brakes is the hidin' place of the Hash Knife Gang.  Nobody but me, I
reckon, associates Colonel Jorth, as he's called, with Daggs an' his
gang.  Maybe Blaisdell an' a few others have a hunch.  But that's no
matter.  As a sheepman Jorth has a legitimate grievance with the
cattlemen.  But what could be settled by a square consideration for the
good of all an' the future Jorth will never settle.  He'll never settle
because he is now no longer an honest man.  He's in with Daggs. I
cain't prove this, son, but I know it.  I saw it in Jorth's face when I
met him that day with Greaves.  I saw more.  I shore saw what he is up
to.  He'd never meet me at an even break.  He's dead set on usin' this
sheep an' cattle feud to ruin my family an' me, even as I ruined him.
But he means more, Jean.  This will be a war between Texans, an' a
bloody war.  There are bad men in this Tonto&mdash;some of the worst that
didn't get shot in Texas.  Jorth will have some of these fellows....
Now, are we goin' to wait to be sheeped off our range an' to be
murdered from ambush?"
</P>

<P>
"No, we are not," replied Jean, quietly.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, come down to the house," said the rancher, and led the way
without speaking until he halted by the door.  There he placed his
finger on a small hole in the wood at about the height of a man's head.
Jean saw it was a bullet hole and that a few gray hairs stuck to its
edges.  The rancher stepped closer to the door-post, so that his head
was within an inch of the wood.  Then he looked at Jean with eyes in
which there glinted dancing specks of fire, like wild sparks.
</P>

<P>
"Son, this sneakin' shot at me was made three mawnin's ago.  I
recollect movin' my haid just when I heard the crack of a rifle.  Shore
was surprised.  But I got inside quick."
</P>

<P>
Jean scarcely heard the latter part of this speech.  He seemed doubled
up inwardly, in hot and cold convulsions of changing emotion.  A
terrible hold upon his consciousness was about to break and let go. The
first shot had been fired and he was an Isbel.  Indeed, his father had
made him ten times an Isbel.  Blood was thick.  His father did not
speak to dull ears.  This strife of rising tumult in him seemed the
effect of years of calm, of peace in the woods, of dreamy waiting for
he knew not what.  It was the passionate primitive life in him that had
awakened to the call of blood ties.
</P>

<P>
"That's aboot all, son," concluded the rancher.  "You understand now
why I feel they're goin' to kill me.  I feel it heah."  With solemn
gesture he placed his broad hand over his heart.  "An', Jean, strange
whispers come to me at night.  It seems like your mother was callin' or
tryin' to warn me.  I cain't explain these queer whispers.  But I know
what I know."
</P>

<P>
"Jorth has his followers.  You must have yours," replied Jean, tensely.
</P>

<P>
"Shore, son, an' I can take my choice of the best men heah," replied
the rancher, with pride.  "But I'll not do that.  I'll lay the deal
before them an' let them choose.  I reckon it 'll not be a long-winded
fight.  It 'll be short an bloody, after the way of Texans.  I'm
lookin' to you, Jean, to see that an Isbel is the last man!"
</P>

<P>
"My God&mdash;dad! is there no other way?  Think of my sister Ann&mdash;of my
brothers' wives&mdash;of&mdash;of other women!  Dad, these damned Texas feuds are
cruel, horrible!" burst out Jean, in passionate protest.
</P>

<P>
"Jean, would it be any easier for our women if we let these men shoot
us down in cold blood?"
</P>

<P>
"Oh no&mdash;no, I see, there's no hope of&mdash;of.... But, dad, I wasn't
thinkin' about myself.  I don't care.  Once started I'll&mdash;I'll be what
you bragged I was.  Only it's so hard to-to give in."
</P>

<P>
Jean leaned an arm against the side of the cabin and, bowing his face
over it, he surrendered to the irresistible contention within his
breast.  And as if with a wrench that strange inward hold broke. He let
down.  He went back.  Something that was boyish and hopeful&mdash;and in its
place slowly rose the dark tide of his inheritance, the savage instinct
of self-preservation bequeathed by his Indian mother, and the fierce,
feudal blood lust of his Texan father.
</P>

<P>
Then as he raised himself, gripped by a sickening coldness in his
breast, he remembered Ellen Jorth's face as she had gazed dreamily down
off the Rim&mdash;so soft, so different, with tremulous lips, sad, musing,
with far-seeing stare of dark eyes, peering into the unknown, the
instinct of life still unlived.  With confused vision and nameless pain
Jean thought of her.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, it's hard on&mdash;the&mdash;the young folks," he said, bitterly.  "The
sins of the father, you know.  An' the other side.  How about Jorth?
Has he any children?"
</P>

<P>
What a curious gleam of surprise and conjecture Jean encountered in his
father's gaze!
</P>

<P>
"He has a daughter.  Ellen Jorth.  Named after her mother.  The first
time I saw Ellen Jorth I thought she was a ghost of the girl I had
loved an' lost.  Sight of her was like a blade in my side.  But the
looks of her an' what she is&mdash;they don't gibe.  Old as I am, my
heart&mdash;Bah! Ellen Jorth is a damned hussy!"
</P>

<P>
Jean Isbel went off alone into the cedars.  Surrender and resignation
to his father's creed should have ended his perplexity and worry. His
instant and burning resolve to be as his father had represented him
should have opened his mind to slow cunning, to the craft of the
Indian, to the development of hate.  But there seemed to be an
obstacle. A cloud in the way of vision.  A face limned on his memory.
</P>

<P>
Those damning words of his father's had been a shock&mdash;how little or
great he could not tell.  Was it only a day since he had met Ellen
Jorth?  What had made all the difference?  Suddenly like a breath the
fragrance of her hair came back to him.  Then the sweet coolness of her
lips!  Jean trembled.  He looked around him as if he were pursued or
surrounded by eyes, by instincts, by fears, by incomprehensible things.
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  That must be what ails me," he muttered.  "The look of her&mdash;an'
that kiss&mdash;they've gone hard me.  I should never have stopped to talk.
An' I'm to kill her father an' leave her to God knows what."
</P>

<P>
Something was wrong somewhere.  Jean absolutely forgot that within the
hour he had pledged his manhood, his life to a feud which could be
blotted out only in blood.  If he had understood himself he would have
realized that the pledge was no more thrilling and unintelligible in
its possibilities than this instinct which drew him irresistibly.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen Jorth!  So&mdash;my dad calls her a damned hussy!  So&mdash;that explains
the&mdash;the way she acted&mdash;why she never hit me when I kissed her.  An'
her words, so easy an' cool-like.  Hussy?  That means she's bad&mdash;bad!
Scornful of me&mdash;maybe disappointed because my kiss was innocent! It
was, I swear.  An' all she said: 'Oh, I've been kissed before.'"
</P>

<P>
Jean grew furious with himself for the spreading of a new sensation in
his breast that seemed now to ache.  Had he become infatuated, all in a
day, with this Ellen Jorth?  Was he jealous of the men who had the
privilege of her kisses?  No!  But his reply was hot with shame, with
uncertainty.  The thing that seemed wrong was outside of himself. A
blunder was no crime.  To be attracted by a pretty girl in the
woods&mdash;to yield to an impulse was no disgrace, nor wrong.  He had been
foolish over a girl before, though not to such a rash extent.  Ellen
Jorth had stuck in his consciousness, and with her a sense of regret.
</P>

<P>
Then swiftly rang his father's bitter words, the revealing: "But the
looks of her an' what she is&mdash;they don't gibe!"  In the import of these
words hid the meaning of the wrong that troubled him. Broodingly he
pondered over them.
</P>

<P>
"The looks of her.  Yes, she was pretty.  But it didn't dawn on me at
first.  I&mdash;I was sort of excited.  I liked to look at her, but didn't
think."  And now consciously her face was called up, infinitely sweet
and more impelling for the deliberate memory.  Flash of brown skin,
smooth and clear; level gaze of dark, wide eyes, steady, bold,
unseeing; red curved lips, sad and sweet; her strong, clean, fine face
rose before Jean, eager and wistful one moment, softened by dreamy
musing thought, and the next stormily passionate, full of hate, full of
longing, but the more mysterious and beautiful.
</P>

<P>
"She looks like that, but she's bad," concluded Jean, with bitter
finality.  "I might have fallen in love with Ellen Jorth if&mdash;if she'd
been different."
</P>

<P>
But the conviction forced upon Jean did not dispel the haunting memory
of her face nor did it wholly silence the deep and stubborn voice of
his consciousness.  Later that afternoon he sought a moment with his
sister.
</P>

<P>
"Ann, did you ever meet Ellen Jorth?" he asked.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, but not lately," replied Ann.
</P>

<P>
"Well, I met her as I was ridin' along yesterday.  She was herdin'
sheep," went on Jean, rapidly.  "I asked her to show me the way to the
Rim.  An' she walked with me a mile or so.  I can't say the meetin' was
not interestin', at least to me.... Will you tell me what you know
about her?"
</P>

<P>
"Sure, Jean," replied his sister, with her dark eyes fixed wonderingly
and kindly on his troubled face.  "I've heard a great deal, but in this
Tonto Basin I don't believe all I hear.  What I know I'll tell you. I
first met Ellen Jorth two years ago.  We didn't know each other's names
then.  She was the prettiest girl I ever saw.  I liked her. She liked
me.  She seemed unhappy.  The next time we met was at a round-up.
There were other girls with me and they snubbed her. But I left them
and went around with her.  That snub cut her to the heart.  She was
lonely.  She had no friends.  She talked about herself&mdash;how she hated
the people, but loved Arizona.  She had nothin' fit to wear.  I didn't
need to be told that she'd been used to better things.  Just when it
looked as if we were goin' to be friends she told me who she was and
asked me my name.  I told her.  Jean, I couldn't have hurt her more if
I'd slapped her face.  She turned white.  She gasped.  And then she ran
off.  The last time I saw her was about a year ago.  I was ridin' a
short-cut trail to the ranch where a friend lived.  And I met Ellen
Jorth ridin' with a man I'd never seen.  The trail was overgrown and
shady.  They were ridin' close and didn't see me right off.  The man
had his arm round her. She pushed him away.  I saw her laugh.  Then he
got hold of her again and was kissin' her when his horse shied at sight
of mine.  They rode by me then.  Ellen Jorth held her head high and
never looked at me."
</P>

<P>
"Ann, do you think she's a bad girl?" demanded Jean, bluntly.
</P>

<P>
"Bad?  Oh, Jean!" exclaimed Ann, in surprise and embarrassment.
</P>

<P>
"Dad said she was a damned hussy."
</P>

<P>
"Jean, dad hates the Jorths."
</P>

<P>
"Sister, I'm askin' you what you think of Ellen Jorth.  Would you be
friends with her if you could?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes."
</P>

<P>
"Then you don't believe she's bad."
</P>

<P>
"No.  Ellen Jorth is lonely, unhappy.  She has no mother.  She lives
alone among rough men.  Such a girl can't keep men from handlin' her
and kissin' her.  Maybe she's too free.  Maybe she's wild.  But she's
honest, Jean.  You can trust a woman to tell.  When she rode past me
that day her face was white and proud.  She was a Jorth and I was an
Isbel.  She hated herself&mdash;she hated me.  But no bad girl could look
like that.  She knows what's said of her all around the valley. But she
doesn't care.  She'd encourage gossip."
</P>

<P>
"Thank you, Ann," replied Jean, huskily.  "Please keep this&mdash;this
meetin' of mine with her all to yourself, won't you?"
</P>

<P>
"Why, Jean, of course I will."
</P>

<P>
Jean wandered away again, peculiarly grateful to Ann for reviving and
upholding something in him that seemed a wavering part of the best of
him&mdash;a chivalry that had demanded to be killed by judgment of a
righteous woman.  He was conscious of an uplift, a gladdening of his
spirit.  Yet the ache remained.  More than that, he found himself
plunged deeper into conjecture, doubt.  Had not the Ellen Jorth
incident ended?  He denied his father's indictment of her and accepted
the faith of his sister.  "Reckon that's aboot all, as dad says," he
soliloquized.  Yet was that all?  He paced under the cedars. He watched
the sun set.  He listened to the coyotes.  He lingered there after the
call for supper; until out of the tumult of his conflicting emotions
and ponderings there evolved the staggering consciousness that he must
see Ellen Jorth again.
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap04"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER IV
</H3>

<P>
Ellen Jorth hurried back into the forest, hotly resentful of the
accident that had thrown her in contact with an Isbel.
</P>

<P>
Disgust filled her&mdash;disgust that she had been amiable to a member of
the hated family that had ruined her father.  The surprise of this
meeting did not come to her while she was under the spell of stronger
feeling.  She walked under the trees, swiftly, with head erect, looking
straight before her, and every step seemed a relief.
</P>

<P>
Upon reaching camp, her attention was distracted from herself.  Pepe,
the Mexican boy, with the two shepherd dogs, was trying to drive sheep
into a closer bunch to save the lambs from coyotes.  Ellen loved the
fleecy, tottering little lambs, and at this season she hated all the
prowling beast of the forest.  From this time on for weeks the flock
would be besieged by wolves, lions, bears, the last of which were often
bold and dangerous.  The old grizzlies that killed the ewes to eat only
the milk-bags were particularly dreaded by Ellen.  She was a good shot
with a rifle, but had orders from her father to let the bears alone.
Fortunately, such sheep-killing bears were but few, and were left to be
hunted by men from the ranch.  Mexican sheep herders could not be
depended upon to protect their flocks from bears. Ellen helped Pepe
drive in the stragglers, and she took several shots at coyotes skulking
along the edge of the brush.  The open glade in the forest was
favorable for herding the sheep at night, and the dogs could be
depended upon to guard the flock, and in most cases to drive predatory
beasts away.
</P>

<P>
After this task, which brought the time to sunset, Ellen had supper to
cook and eat.  Darkness came, and a cool night wind set in. Here and
there a lamb bleated plaintively.  With her work done for the day,
Ellen sat before a ruddy camp fire, and found her thoughts again
centering around the singular adventure that had befallen her.
Disdainfully she strove to think of something else.  But there was
nothing that could dispel the interest of her meeting with Jean Isbel.
Thereupon she impatiently surrendered to it, and recalled every word
and action which she could remember.  And in the process of this
meditation she came to an action of hers, recollection of which brought
the blood tingling to her neck and cheeks, so unusually and burningly
that she covered them with her hands.  "What did he think of me?" she
mused, doubtfully.  It did not matter what he thought, but she could
not help wondering.  And when she came to the memory of his kiss she
suffered more than the sensation of throbbing scarlet cheeks.
Scornfully and bitterly she burst out, "Shore he couldn't have thought
much good of me."
</P>

<P>
The half hour following this reminiscence was far from being pleasant.
Proud, passionate, strong-willed Ellen Jorth found herself a victim of
conflicting emotions.  The event of the day was too close.  She could
not understand it.  Disgust and disdain and scorn could not make this
meeting with Jean Isbel as if it had never been.  Pride could not
efface it from her mind.  The more she reflected, the harder she tried
to forget, the stronger grew a significance of interest.  And when a
hint of this dawned upon her consciousness she resented it so forcibly
that she lost her temper, scattered the camp fire, and went into the
little teepee tent to roll in her blankets.
</P>

<P>
Thus settled snug and warm for the night, with a shepherd dog curled at
the opening of her tent, she shut her eyes and confidently bade sleep
end her perplexities.  But sleep did not come at her invitation. She
found herself wide awake, keenly sensitive to the sputtering of the
camp fire, the tinkling of bells on the rams, the bleating of lambs,
the sough of wind in the pines, and the hungry sharp bark of coyotes
off in the distance.  Darkness was no respecter of her pride.  The
lonesome night with its emphasis of solitude seemed to induce clamoring
and strange thoughts, a confusing ensemble of all those that had
annoyed her during the daytime.  Not for long hours did sheer weariness
bring her to slumber.
</P>

<P>
Ellen awakened late and failed of her usual alacrity.  Both Pepe and
the shepherd dog appeared to regard her with surprise and solicitude.
Ellen's spirit was low this morning; her blood ran sluggishly; she had
to fight a mournful tendency to feel sorry for herself.  And at first
she was not very successful.  There seemed to be some kind of pleasure
in reveling in melancholy which her common sense told her had no reason
for existence.  But states of mind persisted in spite of common sense.
</P>

<P>
"Pepe, when is Antonio comin' back?" she asked.
</P>

<P>
The boy could not give her a satisfactory answer.  Ellen had willingly
taken the sheep herder's place for a few days, but now she was
impatient to go home.  She looked down the green-and-brown aisles of
the forest until she was tired.  Antonio did not return.  Ellen spent
the day with the sheep; and in the manifold task of caring for a
thousand new-born lambs she forgot herself.  This day saw the end of
lambing-time for that season.  The forest resounded to a babel of baas
and bleats.  When night came she was glad to go to bed, for what with
loss of sleep, and weariness she could scarcely keep her eyes open.
</P>

<P>
The following morning she awakened early, bright, eager, expectant,
full of bounding life, strangely aware of the beauty and sweetness of
the scented forest, strangely conscious of some nameless stimulus to
her feelings.
</P>

<P>
Not long was Ellen in associating this new and delightful variety of
sensations with the fact that Jean Isbel had set to-day for his ride up
to the Rim to see her.  Ellen's joyousness fled; her smiles faded. The
spring morning lost its magic radiance.
</P>

<P>
"Shore there's no sense in my lyin' to myself," she soliloquized,
thoughtfully.  "It's queer of me&mdash;feelin' glad aboot him&mdash;without
knowin'.  Lord!  I must be lonesome!  To be glad of seein' an Isbel,
even if he is different!"
</P>

<P>
Soberly she accepted the astounding reality.  Her confidence died with
her gayety; her vanity began to suffer.  And she caught at her
admission that Jean Isbel was different; she resented it in amaze; she
ridiculed it; she laughed at her naive confession.  She could arrive at
no conclusion other than that she was a weak-minded, fluctuating,
inexplicable little fool.
</P>

<P>
But for all that she found her mind had been made up for her, without
consent or desire, before her will had been consulted; and that
inevitably and unalterably she meant to see Jean Isbel again. Long she
battled with this strange decree.  One moment she won a victory over,
this new curious self, only to lose it the next. And at last out of her
conflict there emerged a few convictions that left her with some shreds
of pride.  She hated all Isbels, she hated any Isbel, and particularly
she hated Jean Isbel.  She was only curious&mdash;intensely curious to see
if he would come back, and if he did come what he would do.  She wanted
only to watch him from some covert.  She would not go near him, not let
him see her or guess of her presence.
</P>

<P>
Thus she assuaged her hurt vanity&mdash;thus she stifled her miserable
doubts.
</P>

<P>
Long before the sun had begun to slant westward toward the
mid-afternoon Jean Isbel had set as a meeting time Ellen directed her
steps through the forest to the Rim.  She felt ashamed of her
eagerness.  She had a guilty conscience that no strange thrills could
silence.  It would be fun to see him, to watch him, to let him wait for
her, to fool him.
</P>

<P>
Like an Indian, she chose the soft pine-needle mats to tread upon, and
her light-moccasined feet left no trace.  Like an Indian also she made
a wide detour, and reached the Rim a quarter of a mile west of the spot
where she had talked with Jean Isbel; and here, turning east, she took
care to step on the bare stones.  This was an adventure, seemingly the
first she had ever had in her life.  Assuredly she had never before
come directly to the Rim without halting to look, to wonder, to
worship. This time she scarcely glanced into the blue abyss.  All
absorbed was she in hiding her tracks.  Not one chance in a thousand
would she risk. The Jorth pride burned even while the feminine side of
her dominated her actions.  She had some difficult rocky points to
cross, then windfalls to round, and at length reached the covert she
desired. A rugged yellow point of the Rim stood somewhat higher than
the spot Ellen wanted to watch.  A dense thicket of jack pines grew to
the very edge.  It afforded an ambush that even the Indian eyes Jean
Isbel was credited with could never penetrate.  Moreover, if by
accident she made a noise and excited suspicion, she could retreat
unobserved and hide in the huge rocks below the Rim, where a ferret
could not locate her.
</P>

<P>
With her plan decided upon, Ellen had nothing to do but wait, so she
repaired to the other side  of the pine thicket and to the edge of the
Rim where she could watch and listen.  She knew that long before she
saw Isbel she would hear his horse.  It was altogether unlikely that he
would come on foot.
</P>

<P>
"Shore, Ellen Jorth, y'u're a queer girl," she mused.  "I reckon I
wasn't well acquainted with y'u."
</P>

<P>
Beneath her yawned a wonderful deep canyon, rugged and rocky with but
few pines on the north slope, thick with dark green timber on the south
slope.  Yellow and gray crags, like turreted castles, stood up out of
the sloping forest on the side opposite her.  The trees were all sharp,
spear pointed.  Patches of light green aspens showed strikingly against
the dense black.  The great slope beneath Ellen was serrated with
narrow, deep gorges, almost canyons in themselves. Shadows alternated
with clear bright spaces.  The mile-wide mouth of the canyon opened
upon the Basin, down into a world of wild timbered ranges and ravines,
valleys and hills, that rolled and tumbled in dark-green waves to the
Sierra Anchas.
</P>

<P>
But for once Ellen seemed singularly unresponsive to this panorama of
wildness and grandeur.  Her ears were like those of a listening deer,
and her eyes continually reverted to the open places along the Rim. At
first, in her excitement, time flew by.  Gradually, however, as the sun
moved westward, she began to be restless.  The soft thud of dropping
pine cones, the rustling of squirrels up and down the shaggy-barked
spruces, the cracking of weathered bits of rock, these caught her keen
ears many times and brought her up erect and thrilling.  Finally she
heard a sound which resembled that of an unshod hoof on stone.
Stealthily then she took her rifle and slipped back through the pine
thicket to the spot she had chosen.  The little pines were so close
together that she had to crawl between their trunks. The ground was
covered with a soft bed of pine needles, brown and fragrant.  In her
hurry she pricked her ungloved hand on a sharp pine cone and drew the
blood.  She sucked the tiny wound.  "Shore I'm wonderin' if that's a
bad omen," she muttered, darkly thoughtful. Then she resumed her
sinuous approach to the edge of the thicket, and presently reached it.
</P>

<P>
Ellen lay flat a moment to recover her breath, then raised herself on
her elbows.  Through an opening in the fringe of buck brush she could
plainly see the promontory where she had stood with Jean Isbel, and
also the approaches by which he might come.  Rather nervously she
realized that her covert was hardly more than a hundred feet from the
promontory.  It was imperative that she be absolutely silent. Her eyes
searched the openings along the Rim.  The gray form of a deer crossed
one of these, and she concluded it had made the sound she had heard.
Then she lay down more comfortably and waited. Resolutely she held, as
much as possible, to her sensorial perceptions. The meaning of Ellen
Jorth lying in ambush just to see an Isbel was a conundrum she refused
to ponder in the present.  She was doing it, and the physical act had
its fascination.  Her ears, attuned to all the sounds of the lonely
forest, caught them and arranged them according to her knowledge of
woodcraft.
</P>

<P>
A long hour passed by.  The sun had slanted to a point halfway between
the zenith and the horizon.  Suddenly a thought confronted Ellen Jorth:
"He's not comin'," she whispered.  The instant that idea presented
itself she felt a blank sense of loss, a vague regret&mdash;something that
must have been disappointment.  Unprepared for this, she was held by
surprise for a moment, and then she was stunned.  Her spirit, swift and
rebellious, had no time to rise in her defense.  She was a lonely,
guilty, miserable girl, too weak for pride to uphold, too fluctuating
to know her real self.  She stretched there, burying her face in the
pine needles, digging her fingers into them, wanting nothing so much as
that they might hide her.  The moment was incomprehensible to Ellen,
and utterly intolerable.  The sharp pine needles, piercing her wrists
and cheeks, and her hot heaving breast, seemed to give her exquisite
relief.
</P>

<P>
The shrill snort of a horse sounded near at hand.  With a shock Ellen's
body stiffened.  Then she  quivered a little and her feelings underwent
swift change.  Cautiously and noiselessly she raised herself upon her
elbows and peeped through the opening in the brush.  She saw a man
tying a horse to a bush somewhat back from the Rim.  Drawing a rifle
from its saddle sheath he threw it in the hollow of his arm and walked
to the edge of the precipice.  He gazed away across the Basin and
appeared lost in contemplation or thought.  Then he turned to look back
into the forest, as if he expected some one.
</P>

<P>
Ellen recognized the lithe figure, the dark face so like an Indian's.
It was Isbel.  He had come.  Somehow his coming seemed wonderful and
terrible.  Ellen shook as she leaned on her elbows.  Jean Isbel, true
to his word, in spite of her scorn, had come back to see her.  The fact
seemed monstrous.  He was an enemy of her father.  Long had range rumor
been bandied from lip to lip&mdash;old Gass Isbel had sent for his Indian
son to fight the Jorths.  Jean Isbel&mdash;son of a Texan&mdash;unerring
shot&mdash;peerless tracker&mdash;a bad and dangerous man!  Then there flashed
over Ellen a burning thought&mdash;if it were true, if he was an enemy of
her father's, if a fight between Jorth and Isbel was inevitable, she
ought to kill this Jean Isbel right there in his tracks as he boldly
and confidently waited for her.  Fool he was to think she would come.
Ellen sank down and dropped her head until the strange tremor of her
arms ceased.  That dark and grim flash of thought retreated.  She had
not come to murder a man from ambush, but only to watch him, to try to
see what he meant, what he thought, to allay a strange curiosity.
</P>

<P>
After a while she looked again.  Isbel was sitting on an upheaved
section of the Rim, in a comfortable position from which he could watch
the openings in the forest and gaze as well across the west curve of
the Basin to the Mazatzals.  He had composed himself to wait. He was
clad in a buckskin suit, rather new, and it certainly showed off to
advantage, compared with the ragged and soiled apparel Ellen
remembered.  He did not look so large.  Ellen was used to the long,
lean, rangy Arizonians and Texans.  This man was built differently. He
had the widest shoulders of any man she had ever seen, and they made
him appear rather short.  But his lithe, powerful limbs proved he was
not short.  Whenever he moved the muscles rippled.  His hands were
clasped round a knee&mdash;brown, sinewy hands, very broad, and fitting the
thick muscular wrists.  His collar was open, and he did not wear a
scarf, as did the men Ellen knew.  Then her intense curiosity at last
brought her steady gaze to Jean Isbel's head and face.  He wore a cap,
evidently of some thin fur.  His hair was straight and short, and in
color a dead raven black.  His complexion was dark, clear tan, with no
trace of red.  He did not have the prominent cheek bones nor the
high-bridged nose usual with white men who were part Indian.  Still he
had the Indian look.  Ellen caught that in the dark, intent, piercing
eyes, in the wide, level, thoughtful brows, in the stern impassiveness
of his smooth face.  He had a straight, sharp-cut profile.
</P>

<P>
Ellen whispered to herself: "I saw him right the other day.  Only, I'd
not admit it.... The finest-lookin' man I ever saw in my life is a
damned Isbel!  Was that what I come out heah for?"
</P>

<P>
She lowered herself once more and, folding her arms under her breast,
she reclined comfortably on them, and searched out a smaller peephole
from which she could spy upon Isbel.  And as she watched him the new
and perplexing side of her mind waxed busier.  Why had he come back?
What did he want of her?  Acquaintance, friendship, was impossible for
them.  He had been respectful, deferential toward her, in a way that
had strangely pleased, until the surprising moment when he had kissed
her.  That had only disrupted her rather dreamy pleasure in a situation
she had not experienced before.  All the men she had met in this wild
country were rough and bold; most of them had wanted to marry her, and,
failing that, they had persisted in amorous attentions not particularly
flattering or honorable.  They were a bad lot.  And contact with them
had dulled some of her sensibilities.  But this Jean Isbel had seemed a
gentleman.  She struggled to be fair, trying to forget her antipathy,
as much to understand herself as to give him due credit.  True, he had
kissed her, crudely and forcibly.  But that kiss had not been an
insult.  Ellen's finer feeling forced her to believe this.  She
remembered the honest amaze and shame and contrition with which he had
faced her, trying awkwardly to explain his bold act. Likewise she
recalled the subtle swift change in him at her words,  "Oh, I've been
kissed before!"  She was glad she had said that.   Still&mdash;was she glad,
after all?
</P>

<P>
She watched him.  Every little while he shifted his gaze from the blue
gulf beneath him to the forest.  When he turned thus the sun shone on
his face and she caught the piercing gleam of his dark eyes. She saw,
too, that he was listening.  Watching and listening for her! Ellen had
to still a tumult within her.  It made her feel very young, very shy,
very strange.  All the while she hated him because he manifestly
expected her to come.  Several times he rose and walked a little way
into the woods.  The last time he looked at the westering sun and shook
his head.  His confidence had gone.  Then he sat and gazed down into
the void.  But Ellen knew he did not see anything there.  He seemed an
image carved in the stone of the Rim, and he gave Ellen a singular
impression of loneliness and sadness.  Was he thinking of the miserable
battle his father had summoned him to lead&mdash;of what it would cost&mdash;of
its useless pain and hatred?  Ellen seemed to divine his thoughts.  In
that moment she softened toward him, and in her soul quivered and
stirred an intangible something that was like pain, that was too deep
for her understanding.  But she felt sorry for an Isbel until the old
pride resurged.  What if he admired her?  She remembered his interest,
the wonder and admiration, the growing light in his eyes.  And it had
not been repugnant to her until he disclosed his name.  "What's in a
name?" she mused, recalling poetry learned in her girlhood.  "'A rose
by any other name would smell as sweet'.... He's an Isbel&mdash;yet he might
be splendid&mdash;noble.... Bah! he's not&mdash;and I'd hate him anyhow."
</P>

<P>
All at once Ellen felt cold shivers steal over her.  Isbel's piercing
gaze was directed straight at her hiding place.  Her heart stopped
beating.  If he discovered her there she felt that she would die of
shame.  Then she became aware that a blue jay was screeching in a pine
above her, and a red squirrel somewhere near was chattering his shrill
annoyance.  These two denizens of the woods could be depended upon to
espy the wariest hunter and make known his presence to their kind.
Ellen had a moment of more than dread.  This keen-eyed, keen-eared
Indian might see right through her brushy covert, might hear the
throbbing of her heart.  It relieved her immeasurably to see him turn
away and take to pacing the promontory, with his head bowed and his
hands behind his back.  He had stopped looking off into the forest.
Presently he wheeled to the west, and by the light upon his face Ellen
saw that the time was near sunset.  Turkeys were beginning to gobble
back on the ridge.
</P>

<P>
Isbel walked to his horse and appeared to be untying something from the
back of his saddle.  When he came back Ellen saw that he carried a
small package apparently wrapped in paper.  With this under his arm he
strode off in the direction of Ellen's camp and soon disappeared in the
forest.
</P>

<P>
For a little while Ellen lay there in bewilderment.  If she had made
conjectures before, they were now multiplied.  Where was Jean Isbel
going?  Ellen sat up suddenly.  "Well, shore this heah beats me," she
said.  "What did he have in that package?  What was he goin' to do with
it?"
</P>

<P>
It took no little will power to hold her there when she wanted to steal
after him through the woods and find out what he meant.  But his
reputation influenced even her and she refused to pit her cunning in
the forest against his.  It would be better to wait until he returned
to his horse.  Thus decided, she lay back again in her covert and gave
her mind over to pondering curiosity.  Sooner than she expected she
espied Isbel approaching through the forest, empty handed.  He had not
taken his rifle.  Ellen averted her glance a moment and thrilled to see
the rifle leaning against a rock.  Verily Jean Isbel had been far
removed from hostile intent that day.  She watched him stride swiftly
up to his horse, untie the halter, and mount.  Ellen had an impression
of his arrowlike straight figure, and sinuous grace and ease.  Then he
looked back at the promontory, as if to fix a picture of it in his
mind, and rode away along the Rim.  She watched him out of sight.  What
ailed her? Something was wrong with her, but she recognized only relief.
</P>

<P>
When Isbel had been gone long enough to assure Ellen that she might
safely venture forth she crawled through the pine thicket to the Rim on
the other side of the point.  The sun was setting behind the Black
Range, shedding a golden glory over the Basin.  Westward the zigzag Rim
reached like a streamer of fire into the sun.  The vast promontories
jutted out with blazing beacon lights upon their stone-walled faces.
Deep down, the Basin was turning shadowy dark blue, going to sleep for
the night.
</P>

<P>
Ellen bent swift steps toward her camp.  Long shafts of gold preceded
her through the forest.  Then they paled and vanished.  The tips of
pines and spruces turned gold.  A hoarse-voiced old turkey gobbler was
booming his chug-a-lug from the highest ground, and the softer chick of
hen turkeys answered him.  Ellen was almost breathless when she
arrived. Two packs and a couple of lop-eared burros attested to the
fact of Antonio's return.  This was good news for Ellen.  She heard the
bleat of lambs and tinkle of bells coming nearer and nearer.  And she
was glad to feel that if Isbel had visited her camp, most probably it
was during the absence of the herders.
</P>

<P>
The instant she glanced into her tent she saw the package Isbel had
carried.  It lay on her bed.  Ellen stared blankly.  "The&mdash;the
impudence of him!" she ejaculated.  Then she kicked the package out of
the tent. Words and action seemed to liberate a dammed-up hot fury.
She kicked the package again, and thought she would kick it into the
smoldering camp-fire.  But somehow she stopped short of that.  She left
the thing there on the ground.
</P>

<P>
Pepe and Antonio hove in sight, driving in the tumbling woolly flock.
Ellen did not want them to see the package, so with contempt for
herself, and somewhat lessening anger, she kicked it back into the
tent.  What was in it?  She peeped inside the tent, devoured by
curiosity.  Neat, well wrapped and tied packages like that were not
often seen in the Tonto Basin.  Ellen decided she would wait until
after supper, and at a favorable moment lay it unopened on the fire.
What did she care what it contained?  Manifestly it was a gift.  She
argued that she was highly incensed with this insolent Isbel who had
the effrontery to approach her with some sort of present.
</P>

<P>
It developed that the usually cheerful Antonio had returned taciturn
and gloomy.  All Ellen could get out of him was that the job of sheep
herder had taken on hazards inimical to peace-loving Mexicans.  He had
heard something he would not tell.  Ellen helped prepare the supper and
she ate in silence.  She had her own brooding troubles.  Antonio
presently told her that her father had said she was not to start back
home after dark.  After supper the herders repaired to their own tents,
leaving Ellen the freedom of her camp-fire.  Wherewith she secured the
package and brought it forth to burn.  Feminine curiosity rankled
strong in her breast.  Yielding so far as to shake the parcel and press
it, and finally tear a corner off the paper, she saw some words written
in lead pencil.  Bending nearer the blaze, she read,  "For my sister
Ann." Ellen gazed at the big, bold hand-writing, quite legible and
fairly well done.  Suddenly she tore the outside wrapper completely
off.  From printed words on the inside she gathered that the package
had come from a store in San Francisco.  "Reckon he fetched home a lot
of presents for his folks&mdash;the kids&mdash;and his sister," muttered Ellen.
"That was nice of him.  Whatever this is he shore meant it for sister
Ann.... Ann Isbel.  Why, she must be that black-eyed girl I met and
liked so well before I knew she was an Isbel.... His sister!"
</P>

<P>
Whereupon for the second time Ellen deposited the fascinating package
in her tent.  She could not burn it up just then.  She had other
emotions besides scorn and hate.  And memory of that soft-voiced,
kind-hearted, beautiful Isbel girl checked her resentment.  "I wonder
if he is like his sister," she said, thoughtfully.  It appeared to be
an unfortunate thought.  Jean Isbel certainly resembled his sister.
"Too bad they belong to the family that ruined dad."
</P>

<P>
Ellen went to bed without opening the package or without burning it.
And to her annoyance, whatever way she lay she appeared to touch this
strange package.  There was not much room in the little tent.  First
she put it at her head beside her rifle, but when she turned over her
cheek came in contact with it.  Then she felt as if she had been stung.
She moved it again, only to touch it presently with her hand.  Next she
flung it to the bottom of her bed, where it fell upon her feet, and
whatever way she moved them she could not escape the pressure of this
undesirable and mysterious gift.
</P>

<P>
By and by she fell asleep, only to dream that the package was a
caressing hand stealing about her, feeling for hers, and holding it
with soft, strong clasp.  When she awoke she had the strangest
sensation in her right palm.  It was moist, throbbing, hot, and the
feel of it on her cheek was strangely thrilling and comforting. She lay
awake then.  The night was dark and still.  Only a low moan of wind in
the pines and the faint tinkle of a sheep bell broke the serenity.  She
felt very small and lonely lying there in the deep forest, and, try how
she would, it was impossible to think the same then as she did in the
clear light of day.  Resentment, pride, anger&mdash;these seemed abated now.
If the events of the day had not changed her, they had at least brought
up softer and kinder memories and emotions than she had known for long.
Nothing hurt and saddened her so much as to remember the gay, happy
days of her childhood, her sweet mother, her, old home.  Then her
thought returned to Isbel and his gift.  It had been years since anyone
had made her a gift. What could this one be?  It did not matter.  The
wonder was that Jean Isbel should bring it to her and that she could be
perturbed by its presence.  "He meant it for his sister and so he
thought well of me," she said, in finality.
</P>

<P>
Morning brought Ellen further vacillation.  At length she rolled the
obnoxious package inside her blankets, saying that she would wait until
she got home and then consign it cheerfully to the flames. Antonio tied
her pack on a burro.  She did not have a horse, and therefore had to
walk the several miles, to her father's ranch.
</P>

<P>
She set off at a brisk pace, leading the burro and carrying her rifle.
And soon she was deep in the fragrant forest.  The morning was clear
and cool, with just enough frost to make the sunlit grass sparkle as if
with diamonds.  Ellen felt fresh, buoyant, singularly full of, life.
Her youth would not be denied.  It was pulsing, yearning.  She hummed
an old Southern tune and every step seemed one of pleasure in action,
of advance toward some intangible future happiness.  All the unknown of
life before her called.  Her heart beat high in her breast and she
walked as one in a dream.  Her thoughts were swift-changing, intimate,
deep, and vague, not of yesterday or to-day, nor of reality.
</P>

<P>
The big, gray, white-tailed squirrels crossed ahead of her on the
trail, scampered over the piny ground to hop on tree trunks, and there
they paused to watch her pass.  The vociferous little red squirrels
barked and chattered at her.  From every thicket sounded the gobble of
turkeys. The blue jays squalled in the tree tops.  A deer lifted its
head from browsing and stood motionless, with long ears erect, watching
her go by.
</P>

<P>
Thus happily and dreamily absorbed, Ellen covered the forest miles and
soon reached the trail that led down into the wild brakes of Chevelon
Canyon.  It was rough going and less conducive to sweet wanderings of
mind.  Ellen slowly lost them.  And then a familiar feeling assailed
her, one she never failed to have upon returning to her father's
ranch&mdash;a reluctance, a bitter dissatisfaction with her home, a loyal
struggle against the vague sense that all was not as it should be.
</P>

<P>
At the head of this canyon in a little, level, grassy meadow stood a
rude one-room log shack, with a leaning red-stone chimney on the
outside. This was the abode of a strange old man who had long lived
there.  His name was John Sprague and his occupation was raising
burros.  No sheep or cattle or horses did he own, not even a dog.
Rumor had said Sprague was a prospector, one of the many who had
searched that country for the Lost Dutchman gold mine.  Sprague knew
more about the Basin and Rim than any of the sheepmen or ranchers.
From Black Butte to the Cibique and from Chevelon Butte to Reno Pass he
knew every trail, canyon, ridge, and spring, and could find his way to
them on the darkest night.  His fame, however, depended mostly upon the
fact that he did nothing but raise burros, and would raise none but
black burros with white faces. These burros were the finest bred in all
the Basin and were in great demand.  Sprague sold a few every year.  He
had made a present of one to Ellen, although he hated to part with
them.  This old man was Ellen's one and only friend.
</P>

<P>
Upon her trip out to the Rim with the sheep, Uncle John, as Ellen
called him, had been away on one of his infrequent visits to Grass
Valley.  It pleased her now to see a blue column of smoke lazily
lifting from the old chimney and to hear the discordant bray of burros.
As she entered the clearing Sprague saw her from the door of his shack.
</P>

<P>
"Hello, Uncle John!" she called.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, if it ain't Ellen!" he replied, heartily.  "When I seen thet
white-faced jinny I knowed who was leadin' her.  Where you been, girl?"
</P>

<P>
Sprague was a little, stoop-shouldered old man, with grizzled head and
face, and shrewd gray eyes that beamed kindly on her over his ruddy
cheeks.  Ellen did not like the tobacco stain on his grizzled beard nor
the dirty, motley, ragged, ill-smelling garb he wore, but she had
ceased her useless attempts to make him more cleanly.
</P>

<P>
"I've been herdin' sheep," replied Ellen.  "And where have y'u been,
uncle?  I missed y'u on the way over."
</P>

<P>
"Been packin' in some grub.  An' I reckon I stayed longer in Grass
Valley than I recollect.  But thet was only natural, considerin'&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"What?" asked Ellen, bluntly, as the old man paused.
</P>

<P>
Sprague took a black pipe out of his vest pocket and began rimming the
bowl with his fingers.  The glance he bent on Ellen was thoughtful and
earnest, and so kind that she feared it was pity.  Ellen suddenly
burned for news from the village.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, come in an' set down, won't you?" he asked.
</P>

<P>
"No, thanks," replied Ellen, and she took a seat on the chopping block.
"Tell me, uncle, what's goin' on down in the Valley?"
</P>

<P>
"Nothin' much yet&mdash;except talk.  An' there's a heap of thet."
</P>

<P>
"Humph!  There always was talk," declared Ellen, contemptuously. "A
nasty, gossipy, catty hole, that Grass Valley!"
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, thar's goin' to be war&mdash;a bloody war in the ole Tonto Basin,"
went on Sprague, seriously.
</P>

<P>
"War! ... Between whom?"
</P>

<P>
"The Isbels an' their enemies.  I reckon most people down thar, an'
sure all the cattlemen, air on old Gass's side.  Blaisdell, Gordon,
Fredericks, Blue&mdash;they'll all be in it."
</P>

<P>
"Who are they goin' to fight?" queried Ellen, sharply.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, the open talk is thet the sheepmen are forcin' this war.  But
thar's talk not so open, an' I reckon not very healthy for any man to
whisper hyarbouts."
</P>

<P>
"Uncle John, y'u needn't be afraid to tell me anythin'," said Ellen.
"I'd never give y'u away.  Y'u've been a good friend to me."
</P>

<P>
"Reckon I want to be, Ellen," he returned, nodding his shaggy head. "It
ain't easy to be fond of you as I am an' keep my mouth shet.... I'd
like to know somethin'.  Hev you any relatives away from hyar thet you
could go to till this fight's over?"
</P>

<P>
"No.  All I have, so far as I know, are right heah."
</P>

<P>
"How aboot friends?"
</P>

<P>
"Uncle John, I have none," she said, sadly, with bowed head.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, wal, I'm sorry.  I was hopin' you might git away."
</P>

<P>
She lifted her face.  "Shore y'u don't think I'd run off if my dad got
in a fight?" she flashed.
</P>

<P>
"I hope you will."
</P>

<P>
"I'm a Jorth," she said, darkly, and dropped her head again.
</P>

<P>
Sprague nodded gloomily.  Evidently he was perplexed and worried, and
strongly swayed by affection for her.
</P>

<P>
"Would you go away with me?" he asked.  "We could pack over to the
Mazatzals an' live thar till this blows over."
</P>

<P>
"Thank y'u, Uncle John.  Y'u're kind and good.  But I'll stay with my
father.  His troubles are mine."
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh! ... Wal, I might hev reckoned so.... Ellen, how do you stand on
this hyar sheep an' cattle question?"
</P>

<P>
"I think what's fair for one is fair for another.  I don't like sheep
as much as I like cattle.  But that's not the point.  The range is
free. Suppose y'u had cattle and I had sheep.  I'd feel as free to run
my sheep anywhere as y'u were to ran your cattle."
</P>

<P>
"Right.  But what if you throwed your sheep round my range an' sheeped
off the grass so my cattle would hev to move or starve?"
</P>

<P>
"Shore I wouldn't throw my sheep round y'ur range," she declared,
stoutly.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, you've answered half of the question.  An' now supposin' a lot of
my cattle was stolen by rustlers, but not a single one of your sheep.
What 'd you think then?"
</P>

<P>
"I'd shore think rustlers chose to steal cattle because there was no
profit in stealin' sheep."
</P>

<P>
"Egzactly.  But wouldn't you hev a queer idee aboot it?"
</P>

<P>
"I don't know.  Why queer?  What 're y'u drivin' at, Uncle John?"
</P>

<P>
"Wal, wouldn't you git kind of a hunch thet the rustlers was&mdash;say a
leetle friendly toward the sheepmen?"
</P>

<P>
Ellen felt a sudden vibrating shock.  The blood rushed to her temples.
Trembling all over, she rose.
</P>

<P>
"Uncle John!" she cried.
</P>

<P>
"Now, girl, you needn't fire up thet way.  Set down an' don't&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"Dare y'u insinuate my father has&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, I ain't insinuatin' nothin'," interrupted the old man.  "I'm
jest askin' you to think.  Thet's all.  You're 'most grown into a young
woman now.  An' you've got sense.  Thar's bad times ahead, Ellen. An' I
hate to see you mix in them."
</P>

<P>
"Oh, y'u do make me think," replied Ellen, with smarting tears in her
eyes.  "Y'u make me unhappy.  Oh, I know my dad is not liked in this
cattle country.  But it's unjust.  He happened to go in for sheep
raising.  I wish he hadn't.  It was a mistake.  Dad always was a
cattleman till we came heah.  He made enemies&mdash;who&mdash;who ruined him. And
everywhere misfortune crossed his trail.... But, oh, Uncle John, my dad
is an honest man."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, child, I&mdash;I didn't mean to&mdash;to make you cry," said the old man,
feelingly, and he averted his troubled gaze.  "Never mind what I said.
I'm an old meddler.  I reckon nothin' I could do or say would ever
change what's goin' to happen.  If only you wasn't a girl! ... Thar I
go ag'in.  Ellen, face your future an' fight your way.  All youngsters
hev to do thet.  An' it's the right kind of fight thet makes the right
kind of man or woman.  Only you must be sure to find yourself.  An' by
thet I mean to find the real, true, honest-to-God best in you an' stick
to it an' die fightin' for it.  You're a young woman, almost, an' a
blamed handsome one.  Which means you'll hev more trouble an' a harder
fight.  This country ain't easy on a woman when once slander has marked
her.
</P>

<P>
"What do I care for the talk down in that Basin?" returned Ellen. "I
know they think I'm a hussy.  I've let them think it. I've helped them
to."
</P>

<P>
"You're wrong, child," said Sprague, earnestly.  "Pride an' temper! You
must never let anyone think bad of you, much less help them to."
</P>

<P>
"I hate everybody down there," cried Ellen, passionately.  "I hate them
so I'd glory in their thinkin' me bad.... My mother belonged to the
best blood in Texas.  I am her daughter.  I know WHO AND WHAT I AM.
That uplifts me whenever I meet the sneaky, sly suspicions of these
Basin people.  It shows me the difference between them and me. That's
what I glory in."
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, you're a wild, headstrong child," rejoined the old man, in
severe tones.  "Word has been passed ag'in' your good name&mdash;your
honor.... An' hevn't you given cause fer thet?"
</P>

<P>
Ellen felt her face blanch and all her blood rush back to her heart in
sickening force.  The shock of his words was like a stab from a cold
blade.  If their meaning and the stem, just light of the old man's
glance did not kill her pride and vanity they surely killed her
girlishness.  She stood mute, staring at him, with her brown, trembling
hands stealing up toward her bosom, as if to ward off another and a
mortal blow.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen!" burst out Sprague, hoarsely.  "You mistook me.  Aw, I didn't
mean&mdash;what you think, I swear.... Ellen, I'm old an' blunt.  I ain't
used to wimmen.  But I've love for you, child, an' respect, jest the
same as if you was my own.... An' I KNOW you're good.... Forgive me....
I meant only hevn't you been, say, sort of&mdash;careless?"
</P>

<P>
"Care-less?" queried Ellen, bitterly and low.
</P>

<P>
"An' powerful thoughtless an'&mdash;an' blind&mdash;lettin' men kiss you an'
fondle you&mdash;when you're really a growed-up woman now?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes&mdash;I have," whispered Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, then, why did you let them?
</P>

<P>
"I&mdash;I don't know.... I didn't think.  The men never let me
alone&mdash;never&mdash;never!  I got tired everlastingly pushin' them away.  And
sometimes&mdash;when they were kind&mdash;and I was lonely for something I&mdash;I
didn't mind if one or another fooled round me.  I never thought. It
never looked as y'u have made it look.... Then&mdash;those few times ridin'
the trail to Grass Valley&mdash;when people saw me&mdash;then I guess I
encouraged such attentions.... Oh, I must be&mdash;I am a shameless little
hussy!"
</P>

<P>
"Hush thet kind of talk," said the old man, as he took her hand.
"Ellen, you're only young an' lonely an' bitter.  No mother&mdash;no
friends&mdash;no one but a lot of rough men!  It's a wonder you hev kept
yourself good.  But now your eyes are open, Ellen.  They're brave an'
beautiful eyes, girl, an' if you stand by the light in them you will
come through any trouble.  An' you'll be happy.  Don't ever forgit
that.  Life is hard enough, God knows, but it's unfailin' true in the
end to the man or woman who finds the best in them an' stands by it."
</P>

<P>
"Uncle John, y'u talk so&mdash;so kindly.  Yu make me have hope.  There
seemed really so little for me to live for&mdash;hope for.... But I'll never
be a coward again&mdash;nor a thoughtless fool.  I'll find some good in
me&mdash;or make some&mdash;and never fail it, come what will.  I'll remember
your words.  I'll believe the future holds wonderful things for me....
I'm only eighteen.  Shore all my life won't be lived heah.  Perhaps
this threatened fight over sheep and cattle will blow over....
Somewhere there must be some nice girl to be a friend&mdash;a sister to
me.... And maybe some man who'd believe, in spite of all they say&mdash;that
I'm not a hussy."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Ellen, you remind me of what I was wantin' to tell you when you
just got here.... Yestiddy I heerd you called thet name in a barroom.
An' thar was a fellar thar who raised hell.  He near killed one man an'
made another plumb eat his words.  An' he scared thet crowd stiff."
</P>

<P>
Old John Sprague shook his grizzled head and laughed, beaming upon
Ellen as if the memory of what he had seen had warmed his heart.
</P>

<P>
"Was it&mdash;y'u?" asked Ellen, tremulously.
</P>

<P>
"Me?  Aw, I wasn't nowhere.  Ellen, this fellar was quick as a cat in
his actions an' his words was like lightnin'.'
</P>

<P>
"Who? she whispered.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, no one else but a stranger jest come to these parts&mdash;an Isbel,
too.  Jean Isbel."
</P>

<P>
"Oh!" exclaimed Ellen, faintly.
</P>

<P>
"In a barroom full of men&mdash;almost all of them in sympathy with the
sheep crowd&mdash;most of them on the Jorth side&mdash;this Jean Isbel resented
an insult to Ellen Jorth."
</P>

<P>
"No!" cried Ellen.  Something terrible was happening to her mind or her
heart.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, he sure did," replied the old man, "an' it's goin' to be good fer
you to hear all about it."
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap05"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER V
</H3>

<P>
Old John Sprague launched into his narrative with evident zest.
</P>

<P>
"I hung round Greaves' store most of two days.  An' I heerd a heap.
Some of it was jest plain ole men's gab, but I reckon I got the drift
of things concernin' Grass Valley.  Yestiddy mornin' I was packin' my
burros in Greaves' back yard, takin' my time carryin' out supplies from
the store.  An' as last when I went in I seen a strange fellar was
thar. Strappin' young man&mdash;not so young, either&mdash;an' he had on
buckskin.  Hair black as my burros, dark face, sharp eyes&mdash;you'd took
him fer an Injun. He carried a rifle&mdash;one of them new forty-fours&mdash;an'
also somethin' wrapped in paper thet he seemed partickler careful
about.  He wore a belt round his middle an' thar was a bowie-knife in
it, carried like I've seen scouts an' Injun fighters hev on the
frontier in the 'seventies.  That looked queer to me, an' I reckon to
the rest of the crowd thar.  No one overlooked the big six-shooter he
packed Texas fashion.  Wal, I didn't hev no idee this fellar was an
Isbel until I heard Greaves call him thet.
</P>

<P>
"'Isbel,' said Greaves, 'reckon your money's counterfeit hyar. I cain't
sell you anythin'.'
</P>

<P>
"'Counterfeit?  Not much,' spoke up the young fellar, an' he flipped
some gold twenties on the bar, where they rung like bells.  'Why not?
Ain't this a store?  I want a cinch strap.'
</P>

<P>
"Greaves looked particular sour thet mornin'.  I'd been watchin' him
fer two days.  He hedn't hed much sleep, fer I hed my bed back of the
store, an' I heerd men come in the night an' hev long confabs with him.
Whatever was in the wind hedn't pleased him none.  An' I calkilated
thet young Isbel wasn't a sight good fer Greaves' sore eyes, anyway.
But he paid no more attention to Isbel.  Acted jest as if he hedn't
heerd Isbel say he wanted a cinch strap.
</P>

<P>
"I stayed inside the store then.  Thar was a lot of fellars I'd seen,
an' some I knowed.  Couple of card games goin', an' drinkin', of
course. I soon gathered thet the general atmosphere wasn't friendly to
Jean Isbel.  He seen thet quick enough, but he didn't leave.  Between
you an' me I sort of took a likin' to him.  An' I sure watched him as
close as I could, not seemin' to, you know.  Reckon they all did the
same, only you couldn't see it.  It got jest about the same as if Isbel
hedn't been in thar, only you knowed it wasn't really the same.  Thet
was how I got the hunch the crowd was all sheepmen or their friends.
The day before I'd heerd a lot of talk about this young Isbel, an' what
he'd come to Grass Valley fer, an' what a bad hombre he was.  An' when
I seen him I was bound to admit he looked his reputation.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, pretty soon in come two more fellars, an' I knowed both of them.
You know them, too, I'm sorry to say.  Fer I'm comin' to facts now thet
will shake you.  The first fellar was your father's Mexican foreman,
Lorenzo, and the other was Simm Bruce.  I reckon Bruce wasn't drunk,
but he'd sure been lookin' on red licker.  When he seen Isbel darn me
if he didn't swell an' bustle all up like a mad ole turkey gobbler.
</P>

<P>
"'Greaves,' he said, 'if thet fellar's Jean Isbel I ain't hankerin' fer
the company y'u keep.'  An' he made no bones of pointin' right at
Isbel.  Greaves looked up dry an' sour an' he bit out spiteful-like:
'Wal, Simm, we ain't hed a hell of a lot of choice in this heah matter.
Thet's Jean Isbel shore enough.  Mebbe you can persuade him thet his
company an' his custom ain't wanted round heah!'
</P>

<P>
"Jean Isbel set on the counter an took it all in, but he didn't say
nothin'.  The way he looked at Bruce was sure enough fer me to see thet
thar might be a surprise any minnit.  I've looked at a lot of men in my
day, an' can sure feel events comin'.  Bruce got himself a stiff drink
an' then he straddles over the floor in front of Isbel.
</P>

<P>
"'Air you Jean Isbel, son of ole Gass Isbel?' asked Bruce, sort of
lolling back an' givin' a hitch to his belt.
</P>

<P>
"'Yes sir, you've identified me,' said Isbel, nice an' polite.
</P>

<P>
"'My name's Bruce.  I'm rangin' sheep heahaboots, an' I hev interest in
Kurnel Lee Jorth's bizness.'
</P>

<P>
"'Hod do, Mister Bruce,' replied Isbel, very civil ant cool as you
please.  Bruce hed an eye fer the crowd thet was now listenin' an'
watchin'.  He swaggered closer to Isbel.
</P>

<P>
"'We heerd y'u come into the Tonto Basin to run us sheepmen off the
range.  How aboot thet?'
</P>

<P>
"'Wal, you heerd wrong,' said Isbel, quietly.  'I came to work fer my
father.  Thet work depends on what happens.'
</P>

<P>
"Bruce began to git redder of face, an' he shook a husky hand in front
of Isbel.  'I'll tell y'u this heah, my Nez Perce Isbel&mdash;' an' when he
sort of choked fer more wind Greaves spoke up, 'Simm, I shore reckon
thet Nez Perce handle will stick.'  An' the crowd haw-hawed. Then Bruce
got goin' ag'in.  'I'll tell y'u this heah, Nez Perce. Thar's been
enough happen already to run y'u out of Arizona.'
</P>

<P>
"'Wal, you don't say!  What, fer instance?, asked Isbel, quick an'
sarcastic.
</P>

<P>
"Thet made Bruce bust out puffin' an' spittin': 'Wha-tt, fer instance?
Huh!  Why, y'u darn half-breed, y'u'll git run out fer makin' up to
Ellen Jorth.  Thet won't go in this heah country.  Not fer any Isbel.'
</P>

<P>
"'You're a liar,' called Isbel, an' like a big cat he dropped off the
counter.  I heerd his moccasins pat soft on the floor.  An' I bet to
myself thet he was as dangerous as he was quick.  But his voice an' his
looks didn't change even a leetle.
</P>

<P>
"'I'm not a liar,' yelled Bruce.  'I'll make y'u eat thet.  I can prove
what I say.... Y'u was seen with Ellen Jorth&mdash;up on the Rim&mdash;day before
yestiddy.  Y'u was watched.  Y'u was with her.  Y'u made up to her.
Y'u grabbed her an' kissed her! ... An' I'm heah to say, Nez Perce,
thet y'u're a marked man on this range.'
</P>

<P>
"'Who saw me?' asked Isbel, quiet an' cold.  I seen then thet he'd
turned white in the face.
</P>

<P>
"'Yu cain't lie out of it,' hollered Bruce, wavin' his hands. 'We got
y'u daid to rights.  Lorenzo saw y'u&mdash;follered y'u&mdash;watched y'u.'
Bruce pointed at the grinnin' greaser.  'Lorenzo is Kurnel Jorth's
foreman.  He seen y'u maulin' of Ellen Jorth.  An' when he tells the
Kurnel an' Tad Jorth an' Jackson Jorth! ... Haw!  Haw! Haw!  Why, hell
'd be a cooler place fer yu then this heah Tonto.'
</P>

<P>
"Greaves an' his gang hed come round, sure tickled clean to thar
gizzards at this mess.  I noticed, howsomever, thet they was Texans
enough to keep back to one side in case this Isbel started any
action.... Wal, Isbel took a look at Lorenzo.  Then with one swift grab
he jerked the little greaser off his feet an' pulled him close.
Lorenzo stopped grinnin'.  He began to look a leetle sick.  But it was
plain he hed right on his side.
</P>

<P>
"'You say you saw me?' demanded Isbel.
</P>

<P>
"'Si, senor,' replied Lorenzo.
</P>

<P>
"What did you see?'
</P>

<P>
"'I see senor an' senorita.  I hide by manzanita.  I see senorita like
grande senor ver mooch.  She like senor keese.  She&mdash;'
</P>

<P>
"Then Isbel hit the little greaser a back-handed crack in the mouth.
Sure it was a crack!  Lorenzo went over the counter backward an' landed
like a pack load of wood.  An' he didn't git up.
</P>

<P>
"'Mister Bruce,' said Isbel, 'an' you fellars who heerd thet lyin'
greaser, I did meet Ellen Jorth.  An' I lost my head.  I 'I kissed
her.... But it was an accident.  I meant no insult.  I apologized&mdash;I
tried to explain my crazy action.... Thet was all.  The greaser lied.
Ellen Jorth was kind enough to show me the trail.  We talked a little.
Then&mdash;I suppose&mdash;because she was young an' pretty an' sweet&mdash;I lost my
head.  She was absolutely innocent.  Thet damned greaser told a
bare-faced lie when he said she liked me.  The fact was she despised
me.  She said so.  An' when she learned I was Jean Isbel she turned her
back on me an' walked away."'
</P>

<P>
At this point of his narrative the old man halted as if to impress
Ellen not only with what just had been told, but particularly with what
was to follow.  The reciting of this tale had evidently given Sprague
an unconscious pleasure.  He glowed.  He seemed to carry the burden of
a secret that he yearned to divulge.  As for Ellen, she was deadlocked
in breathless suspense.  All her emotions waited for the end. She
begged Sprague to hurry.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I wish I could skip the next chapter an' hev only the last to
tell," rejoined the old man, and he put a heavy, but solicitous, hand
upon hers.... Simm Bruce haw-hawed loud an' loud.... 'Say, Nez Perce,'
he calls out, most insolent-like, 'we air too good sheepmen heah to hev
the wool pulled over our eyes.  We shore know what y'u meant by Ellen
Jorth.  But y'u wasn't smart when y'u told her y'u was Jean Isbel! ...
Haw-haw!'
</P>

<P>
"Isbel flashed a strange, surprised look from the red-faced Bruce to
Greaves and to the other men.  I take it he was wonderin' if he'd heerd
right or if they'd got the same hunch thet 'd come to him. An' I reckon
he determined to make sure.
</P>

<P>
"'Why wasn't I smart?' he asked.
</P>

<P>
"'Shore y'u wasn't smart if y'u was aimin' to be one of Ellen Jorth's
lovers,' said Bruce, with a leer.  'Fer if y'u hedn't give y'urself
away y'u could hev been easy enough.'
</P>

<P>
"Thar was no mistakin' Bruce's meanin' an' when he got it out some of
the men thar laughed.  Isbel kept lookin' from one to another of them.
Then facin' Greaves, he said, deliberately: 'Greaves, this drunken
Bruce is excuse enough fer a show-down.  I take it that you are
sheepmen, an' you're goin' on Jorth's side of the fence in the matter
of this sheep rangin'.'
</P>

<P>
"'Wal, Nez Perce, I reckon you hit plumb center,' said Greaves, dryly.
He spread wide his big hands to the other men, as if to say they'd
might as well own the jig was up.
</P>

<P>
"'All right.  You're Jorth's backers.  Have any of you a word to say in
Ellen Jorth's defense?  I tell you the Mexican lied.  Believin' me or
not doesn't matter.  But this vile-mouthed Bruce hinted against thet
girl's honor.'
</P>

<P>
"Ag'in some of the men laughed, but not so noisy, an' there was a
nervous shufflin' of feet.  Isbel looked sort of queer.  His neck had a
bulge round his collar.  An' his eyes was like black coals of fire.
Greaves spread his big hands again, as if to wash them of this part of
the dirty argument.
</P>

<P>
"'When it comes to any wimmen I pass&mdash;much less play a hand fer a
wildcat like Jorth's gurl,' said Greaves, sort of cold an' thick.
'Bruce shore ought to know her.  Accordin' to talk heahaboots an' what
HE says, Ellen Jorth has been his gurl fer two years.'
</P>

<P>
"Then Isbel turned his attention to Bruce an' I fer one begun to shake
in my boots.
</P>

<P>
"'Say thet to me!' he called.
</P>

<P>
"'Shore she's my gurl, an' thet's why Im a-goin' to hev y'u run off
this range.'
</P>

<P>
"Isbel jumped at Bruce.  'You damned drunken cur!  You vile-mouthed
liar! ... I may be an Isbel, but by God you cain't slander thet girl to
my face! ... Then he moved so quick I couldn't see what he did. But I
heerd his fist hit Bruce.  It sounded like an ax ag'in' a beef. Bruce
fell clear across the room.  An' by Jinny when he landed Isbel was
thar.  As Bruce staggered up, all bloody-faced, bellowin' an' spittin'
out teeth Isbel eyed Greaves's crowd an' said: 'If any of y'u make a
move it 'll mean gun-play.'  Nobody moved, thet's sure. In fact, none
of Greaves's outfit was packin' guns, at least in sight. When Bruce got
all the way up&mdash;he's a tall fellar&mdash;why Isbel took a full swing at him
an' knocked him back across the room ag'in' the counter.  Y'u know when
a fellar's hurt by the way he yells.  Bruce got thet second smash right
on his big red nose.... I never seen any one so quick as Isbel.  He
vaulted over thet counter jest the second Bruce fell back on it, an'
then, with Greaves's gang in front so he could catch any moves of
theirs, he jest slugged Bruce right an' left, an' banged his head on
the counter.  Then as Bruce sunk limp an' slipped down, lookin' like a
bloody sack, Isbel let him fall to the floor.  Then he vaulted back
over the counter.  Wipin' the blood off his hands, he throwed his
kerchief down in Bruce's face.  Bruce wasn't dead or bad hurt.  He'd
jest been beaten bad. He was moanin' an' slobberin'.  Isbel kicked him,
not hard, but jest sort of disgustful.  Then he faced thet crowd.
'Greaves, thet's what I think of your Simm Bruce.  Tell him next time
he sees me to run or pull a gun.'  An' then Isbel grabbed his rifle an'
package off the counter an' went out.  He didn't even look back.  I
seen him nount his horse an' ride away.... Now, girl, what hev you to
say?"
</P>

<P>
Ellen could only say good-by and the word was so low as to be almost
inaudible.  She ran to her burro.  She could not see very clearly
through tear-blurred eyes, and her shaking fingers were all thumbs. It
seemed she had to rush away&mdash;somewhere, anywhere&mdash;not to get away from
old John Sprague, but from herself&mdash;this palpitating, bursting self
whose feet stumbled down the trail.  All&mdash;all seemed ended for her.
That interminable story!  It had taken so long.  And every minute of it
she had been helplessly torn asunder by feelings she had never known
she possessed.  This Ellen Jorth was an unknown creature.  She sobbed
now as she dragged the burro down the canyon trail.  She sat down only
to rise.  She hurried only to stop.  Driven, pursued, barred, she had
no way to escape the flaying thoughts, no time or will to repudiate
them.  The death of her girlhood, the rending aside of a veil of maiden
mystery only vaguely instinctively guessed, the barren, sordid truth of
her life as seen by her enlightened eyes, the bitter realization of the
vileness of men of her clan in contrast to the manliness and chivalry
of an enemy, the hard facts of unalterable repute as created by slander
and fostered by low minds, all these were forces in a cataclysm that
had suddenly caught her heart and whirled her through changes immense
and agonizing, to bring her face to face with reality, to force upon
her suspicion and doubt of all she had trusted, to warn her of the
dark, impending horror of a tragic bloody feud, and lastly to teach her
the supreme truth at once so glorious and so terrible&mdash;that she could
not escape the doom of womanhood.
</P>

<P>
About noon that day Ellen Jorth arrived at the Knoll, which was the
location of her father's ranch.  Three canyons met there to form a
larger one.  The knoll was a symmetrical hill situated at the mouth of
the three canyons.  It was covered with brush and cedars, with here and
there lichened rocks showing above the bleached grass.  Below the Knoll
was a wide, grassy flat or meadow through which a willow-bordered
stream cut its rugged boulder-strewn bed.  Water flowed abundantly at
this season, and the deep washes leading down from the slopes attested
to the fact of cloudbursts and heavy storms.  This meadow valley was
dotted with horses and cattle, and meandered away between the timbered
slopes to lose itself in a green curve.  A singular feature of this
canyon was that a heavy growth of spruce trees covered the slope facing
northwest; and the opposite slope, exposed to the sun and therefore
less snowbound in winter, held a sparse growth of yellow pines.  The
ranch house of Colonel Jorth stood round the rough corner of the largest
of the three canyons, and rather well hidden, it did not obtrude its
rude and broken-down log cabins, its squalid surroundings, its black
mud-holes of corrals upon the beautiful and serene meadow valley.
</P>

<P>
Ellen Jorth approached her home slowly, with dragging, reluctant steps;
and never before in the three unhappy years of her existence there had
the ranch seemed so bare, so uncared for, so repugnant to her.  As she
had seen herself with clarified eyes, so now she saw her home.  The
cabin that Ellen lived in with her father was a single-room structure
with one door and no windows.  It was about twenty feet square.  The
huge, ragged, stone chimney had been built on the outside, with the
wide open fireplace set inside the logs.  Smoke was rising from the
chimney.  As Ellen halted at the door and began unpacking her burro she
heard the loud, lazy laughter of men.  An adjoining log cabin had been
built in two sections, with a wide roofed hall or space between them.
The door in each cabin faced the other, and there was a tall man
standing in one.  Ellen recognized Daggs, a neighbor sheepman, who
evidently spent more time with her father than at his own home,
wherever that was.  Ellen had never seen it.  She heard this man drawl,
"Jorth, heah's your kid come home."
</P>

<P>
Ellen carried her bed inside the cabin, and unrolled it upon a couch
built of boughs in the far corner.  She had forgotten Jean Isbel's
package, and now it fell out under her sight.  Quickly she covered it.
A Mexican woman, relative of Antonio, and the only servant about the
place, was squatting Indian fashion before the fireplace, stirring a
pot of beans.  She and Ellen did not get along well together, and few
words ever passed between them.  Ellen had a canvas curtain stretched
upon a wire across a small triangular corner, and this afforded her a
little privacy.  Her possessions were limited in number.  The crude
square table she had constructed herself.  Upon it was a little
old-fashioned walnut-framed mirror, a brush and comb, and a dilapidated
ebony cabinet which contained odds and ends the sight of which always
brought a smile of derisive self-pity to her lips.  Under the table
stood an old leather trunk.  It had come with her from Texas, and
contained clothing and belongings of her mother's.  Above the couch on
pegs hung her scant wardrobe.  A tiny shelf held several worn-out books.
</P>

<P>
When her father slept indoors, which was seldom except in winter, he
occupied a couch in the opposite corner.  A rude cupboard had been
built against the logs next to the fireplace.  It contained supplies
and utensils.  Toward the center, somewhat closer to the door, stood a
crude table and two benches.  The cabin was dark and smelled of smoke,
of the stale odors of past cooked meals, of the mustiness of dry,
rotting timber.  Streaks of light showed through the roof where the
rough-hewn shingles had split or weathered.  A strip of bacon hung upon
one side of the cupboard, and upon the other a haunch of venison.
Ellen detested the Mexican woman because she was dirty. The inside of
the cabin presented the same unkempt appearance usual to it after Ellen
had been away for a few days.  Whatever Ellen had lost during the
retrogression of the Jorths, she had kept her habits of cleanliness,
and straightway upon her return she set to work.
</P>

<P>
The Mexican woman sullenly slouched away to her own quarters outside
and Ellen was left to the satisfaction of labor.  Her mind was as busy
as her hands.  As she cleaned and swept and dusted she heard from time
to time the voices of men, the clip-clop of shod horses, the bellow of
cattle.  And a considerable time elapsed before she was disturbed.
</P>

<P>
A tall shadow darkened the doorway.
</P>

<P>
"Howdy, little one!" said a lazy, drawling voice.  "So y'u-all got
home?"
</P>

<P>
Ellen looked up.  A superbly built man leaned against the doorpost.
Like most Texans, he was light haired and light eyed.  His face was
lined and hard.  His long, sandy mustache hid his mouth and drooped
with a curl.  Spurred, booted, belted, packing a heavy gun low down on
his hip, he gave Ellen an entirely new impression.  Indeed, she was
seeing everything strangely.
</P>

<P>
"Hello, Daggs!" replied Ellen. "Where's my dad?"
</P>

<P>
"He's playin' cairds with Jackson an' Colter.  Shore's playin' bad,
too, an' it's gone to his haid."
</P>

<P>
"Gamblin'?" queried Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"Mah child, when'd Kurnel Jorth ever play for fun?" said Daggs, with a
lazy laugh.  "There's a stack of gold on the table.  Reckon yo' uncle
Jackson will win it.  Colter's shore out of luck."
</P>

<P>
Daggs stepped inside.  He was graceful and slow.  His long' spurs
clinked.  He laid a rather compelling hand on Ellen's shoulder.
</P>

<P>
"Heah, mah gal, give us a kiss," he said.
</P>

<P>
"Daggs, I'm not your girl," replied Ellen as she slipped out from under
his hand.
</P>

<P>
Then Daggs put his arm round her, not with violence or rudeness, but
with an indolent, affectionate assurance, at once bold and
self-contained.  Ellen, however, had to exert herself to get free of
him, and when she had placed the table between them she looked him
square in the eyes.
</P>

<P>
"Daggs, y'u keep your paws off me," she said.
</P>

<P>
"Aw, now, Ellen, I ain't no bear," he remonstrated.  "What's the
matter, kid?"
</P>

<P>
"I'm not a kid.  And there's nothin' the matter.  Y'u're to keep your
hands to yourself, that's all."
</P>

<P>
He tried to reach her across the table, and his movements were lazy and
slow, like his smile.  His tone was coaxing.
</P>

<P>
"Mah dear, shore you set on my knee just the other day, now, didn't
you?"
</P>

<P>
Ellen felt the blood sting her cheeks.
</P>

<P>
"I was a child," she returned.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, listen to this heah grown-up young woman.  All in a few days! ...
Doon't be in a temper, Ellen.... Come, give us a kiss."
</P>

<P>
She deliberately gazed into his eyes.  Like the eyes of an eagle, they
were clear and hard, just now warmed by the dalliance of the moment,
but there was no light, no intelligence in them to prove he understood
her.  The instant separated Ellen immeasurably from him and from all of
his ilk.
</P>

<P>
"Daggs, I was a child," she said.  "I was lonely&mdash;hungry for
affection&mdash;I was innocent.  Then I was careless, too, and thoughtless
when I should have known better.  But I hardly understood y'u men.  I
put such thoughts out of my mind.  I know now&mdash;know what y'u mean&mdash;what
y'u have made people believe I am."
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  Shore I get your hunch," he returned, with a change of tone.
"But I asked you to marry me?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes y'u did.  The first day y'u got heah to my dad's house.  And y'u
asked me to marry y'u after y'u found y'u couldn't have your way with
me. To y'u the one didn't mean any more than the other."
</P>

<P>
"Shore I did more than Simm Bruce an' Colter," he retorted. "They never
asked you to marry."
</P>

<P>
"No, they didn't.  And if I could respect them at all I'd do it because
they didn't ask me."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I'll be dog-goned!" ejaculated Daggs, thoughtfully, as he stroked
his long mustache.
</P>

<P>
"I'll say to them what I've said to y'u," went on Ellen.  "I'll tell
dad to make y'u let me alone.  I wouldn't marry one of y'u&mdash;y'u loafers
to save my life.  I've my suspicions about y'u.  Y'u're a bad lot."
</P>

<P>
Daggs changed subtly.  The whole indolent nonchalance of the man
vanished in an instant.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Miss Jorth, I reckon you mean we're a bad lot of sheepmen?" he
queried, in the cool, easy speech of a Texan.
</P>

<P>
"No," flashed Ellen.  "Shore I don't say sheepmen.  I say y'u're a BAD
LOT."
</P>

<P>
"Oh, the hell you say!"  Daggs spoke as he might have spoken to a man;
then turning swiftly on his heel he left her.  Outside he encountered
Ellen's father.  She heard Daggs speak: "Lee, your little wildcat is
shore heah.  An' take mah hunch.  Somebody has been talkin' to her."
</P>

<P>
"Who has?" asked her father, in his husky voice.  Ellen knew at once
that he had been drinking.
</P>

<P>
"Lord only knows," replied Daggs.  "But shore it wasn't any friends of
ours."
</P>

<P>
"We cain't stop people's tongues," said Jorth, resignedly
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I ain't so shore," continued Daggs, with his slow, cool laugh.
"Reckon I never yet heard any daid men's tongues wag."
</P>

<P>
Then the musical tinkle of his spurs sounded fainter.  A moment later
Ellen's father entered the cabin.  His dark, moody face brightened at
sight of her.  Ellen knew she was the only person in the world left for
him to love.  And she was sure of his love.  Her very presence always
made him different.  And through the years, the darker their
misfortunes, the farther he slipped away from better days, the more she
loved him.
</P>

<P>
"Hello, my Ellen!" he said, and he embraced her.  When he had been
drinking he never kissed her.  "Shore I'm glad you're home.  This heah
hole is bad enough any time, but when you're gone it's black.... I'm
hungry."
</P>

<P>
Ellen laid food and drink on the table; and for a little while she did
not look directly at him.  She was concerned about this new searching
power of her eyes.  In relation to him she vaguely dreaded it.
</P>

<P>
Lee Jorth had once been a singularly handsome man.  He was tall, but
did not have the figure of a horseman.  His dark hair was streaked with
gray, and was white over his ears.  His face was sallow and thin, with
deep lines.  Under his round, prominent, brown eyes, like deadened
furnaces, were blue swollen welts.  He had a bitter mouth and weak
chin, not wholly concealed by gray mustache and pointed beard.  He wore
a long frock coat and a wide-brimmed sombrero, both black in color, and
so old and stained and frayed that along with the fashion of them they
betrayed that they had come from Texas with him.  Jorth always
persisted in wearing a white linen shirt, likewise a relic of his
Southern prosperity, and to-day it was ragged and soiled as usual.
</P>

<P>
Ellen watched her father eat and waited for him to speak.  It occured
to her strangely that he never asked about the sheep or the new-born
lambs.  She divined with a subtle new woman's intuition that he cared
nothing for his sheep.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, what riled Daggs?" inquired her father, presently.  "He shore
had fire in his eye."
</P>

<P>
Long ago Ellen had betrayed an indignity she had suffered at the hands
of a man.  Her father had nearly killed him.  Since then she had taken
care to keep her troubles to herself.  If her father had not been blind
and absorbed in his own brooding he would have seen a thousand things
sufficient to inflame his Southern pride and temper.
</P>

<P>
"Daggs asked me to marry him again and I said he belonged to a bad
lot," she replied.
</P>

<P>
Jorth laughed in scorn.  "Fool!  My God! Ellen, I must have dragged you
low&mdash;that every damned ru&mdash;er&mdash;sheepman&mdash;who comes along thinks he can
marry you."
</P>

<P>
At the break in his words, the incompleted meaning, Ellen dropped her
eyes.  Little things once never noted by her were now come to have a
fascinating significance.
</P>

<P>
"Never mind, dad," she replied.  "They cain't marry me."
</P>

<P>
"Daggs said somebody had been talkin' to you.  How aboot that?"
</P>

<P>
"Old John Sprague has just gotten back from Grass Valley," said Ellen.
"I stopped in to see him.  Shore he told me all the village gossip."
</P>

<P>
"Anythin' to interest me?" he queried, darkly.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, dad, I'm afraid a good deal," she said, hesitatingly.  Then in
accordance with a decision Ellen had made she told him of the rumored
war between sheepmen and cattlemen; that old Isbel had Blaisdell,
Gordon, Fredericks, Blue and other well-known ranchers on his side;
that his son Jean Isbel had come from Oregon with a wonderful
reputation as fighter and scout and tracker; that it was no secret how
Colonel Lee Jorth was at the head of the sheepmen; that a bloody war
was sure to come.
</P>

<P>
"Hah!" exclaimed Jorth, with a stain of red in his sallow cheek.
"Reckon none of that is news to me.  I knew all that."
</P>

<P>
Ellen wondered if he had heard of her meeting with Jean Isbel.  If not
he would hear as soon as Simm Bruce and Lorenzo came back.  She decided
to forestall them.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, I met Jean Isbel.  He came into my camp.  Asked the way to the
Rim. I showed him.  We&mdash;we talked a little.  And shore were gettin'
acquainted when&mdash;when he told me who he was.  Then I left him&mdash;hurried
back to camp."
</P>

<P>
"Colter met Isbel down in the woods," replied Jorth, ponderingly. "Said
he looked like an Indian&mdash;a hard an' slippery customer to reckon with."
</P>

<P>
"Shore I guess I can indorse what Colter said," returned Ellen, dryly.
She could have laughed aloud at her deceit.  Still she had not lied.
</P>

<P>
"How'd this heah young Isbel strike you?" queried her father, suddenly
glancing up at her.
</P>

<P>
Ellen felt the slow, sickening, guilty rise of blood in her face. She
was helpless to stop it.  But her father evidently never saw it. He was
looking at her without seeing her.
</P>

<P>
"He&mdash;he struck me as different from men heah," she stammered.
</P>

<P>
"Did Sprague tell you aboot this half-Indian Isbel&mdash;aboot his
reputation?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes."
</P>

<P>
"Did he look to you like a real woodsman?"
</P>

<P>
"Indeed he did.  He wore buckskin.  He stepped quick and soft.  He
acted at home in the woods.  He had eyes black as night and sharp as
lightnin'. They shore saw about all there was to see."
</P>

<P>
Jorth chewed at his mustache and lost himself in brooding thought.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, tell me, is there goin' to be a war?" asked Ellen, presently.
</P>

<P>
What a red, strange, rolling flash blazed in his eyes!  His body jerked.
</P>

<P>
"Shore.  You might as well know."
</P>

<P>
"Between sheepmen and cattlemen?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes."
</P>

<P>
"With y'u, dad, at the haid of one faction and Gaston Isbel the other?"
</P>

<P>
"Daughter, you have it correct, so far as you go."
</P>

<P>
"Oh! ... Dad, can't this fight be avoided?"
</P>

<P>
"You forget you're from Texas," he replied.
</P>

<P>
"Cain't it be helped?" she repeated, stubbornly.
</P>

<P>
"No!" he declared, with deep, hoarse passion.
</P>

<P>
"Why not?"
</P>

<P>
"Wal, we sheepmen are goin' to run sheep anywhere we like on the range.
An' cattlemen won't stand for that."
</P>

<P>
"But, dad, it's so foolish," declared Ellen, earnestly.  "Y'u sheepmen
do not have to run sheep over the cattle range."
</P>

<P>
"I reckon we do."
</P>

<P>
"Dad, that argument doesn't go with me.  I know the country.  For years
to come there will be room for both sheep and cattle without
overrunnin'. If some of the range is better in water and grass, then
whoever got there first should have it.  That shore is only fair.  It's
common sense, too."
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, I reckon some cattle people have been prejudicin' you," said
Jorth, bitterly.
</P>

<P>
"Dad!" she cried, hotly.
</P>

<P>
This had grown to be an ordeal for Jorth.  He seemed a victim of
contending tides of feeling.  Some will or struggle broke within him
and the change was manifest.  Haggard, shifty-eyed, with wabbling chin,
he burst into speech.
</P>

<P>
"See heah, girl.  You listen.  There's a clique of ranchers down in the
Basin, all those you named, with Isbel at their haid.  They have
resented sheepmen comin' down into the valley.  They want it all to
themselves.  That's the reason.  Shore there's another.  All the Isbels
are crooked.  They're cattle an' horse thieves&mdash;have been for years.
Gaston Isbel always was a maverick rustler.  He's gettin' old now an'
rich, so he wants to cover his tracks.  He aims to blame this cattle
rustlin' an' horse stealin' on to us sheepmen, an' run us out of the
country."
</P>

<P>
Gravely Ellen Jorth studied her father's face, and the newly found
truth-seeing power of her eyes did not fail her.  In part, perhaps in
all, he was telling lies.  She shuddered a little, loyally battling
against the insidious convictions being brought to fruition.  Perhaps
in his brooding over his failures and troubles he leaned toward false
judgments.  Ellen could not attach dishonor to her father's motives or
speeches.  For long, however, something about him had troubled her,
perplexed her.  Fearfully she believed she was coming to some
revelation, and, despite her keen determination to know, she found
herself shrinking.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, mother told me before she died that the Isbels had ruined you,"
said Ellen, very low.  It hurt her so to see her father cover his face
that she could hardly go on.  "If they ruined you they ruined all of
us.  I know what we had once&mdash;what we lost again and again&mdash;and I see
what we are come to now.  Mother hated the Isbels.  She taught me to
hate the very name.  But I never knew how they ruined you&mdash;or why&mdash;or
when.  And I want to know now."
</P>

<P>
Then it was not the face of a liar that Jorth disclosed.  The present
was forgotten.  He lived in the past.  He even seemed younger 'in the
revivifying flash of hate that made his face radiant.  The lines burned
out.  Hate gave him back the spirit of his youth.
</P>

<P>
"Gaston Isbel an' I were boys together in Weston, Texas," began Jorth,
in swift, passionate voice.  "We went to school together.  We loved the
same girl&mdash;your mother.  When the war broke out she was engaged to
Isbel.  His family was rich.  They influenced her people.  But she
loved me.  When Isbel went to war she married me.  He came back an'
faced us.  God!  I'll never forget that.  Your mother confessed her
unfaithfulness&mdash;by Heaven!  She taunted him with it.  Isbel accused me
of winnin' her by lies.  But she took the sting out of that.
</P>

<P>
"Isbel never forgave her an' he hounded me to ruin.  He made me out a
card-sharp, cheatin' my best friends.  I was disgraced.  Later he
tangled me in the courts&mdash;he beat me out of property&mdash;an' last by
convictin' me of rustlin' cattle he run me out of Texas."
</P>

<P>
Black and distorted now, Jorth's face was a spectacle to make Ellen
sick with a terrible passion of despair and hate.  The truth of her
father's ruin and her own were enough.  What mattered all else? Jorth
beat the table with fluttering, nerveless hands that seemed all the
more significant for their lack of physical force.
</P>

<P>
"An' so help me God, it's got to be wiped out in blood!" he hissed.
</P>

<P>
That was his answer to the wavering and nobility of Ellen.  And she in
her turn had no answer to make.  She crept away into the corner behind
the curtain, and there on her couch in the semidarkness she lay with
strained heart, and a resurging, unconquerable tumult in her mind.  And
she lay there from the middle of that afternoon until the next morning.
</P>

<P>
When she awakened she expected to be unable to rise&mdash;she hoped she
could not&mdash;but life seemed multiplied in her, and inaction was
impossible.  Something young and sweet and hopeful that had been in her
did not greet the sun this morning.  In their place was a woman's
passion to learn for herself, to watch events, to meet what must come,
to survive.
</P>

<P>
After breakfast, at which she sat alone, she decided to put Isbel's
package out of the way, so that it would not be subjecting her to
continual annoyance.  The moment she picked it up the old curiosity
assailed her.
</P>

<P>
"Shore I'll see what it is, anyway," she muttered, and with swift hands
she opened the package.  The action disclosed two pairs of fine, soft
shoes, of a style she had never seen, and four pairs of stockings, two
of strong, serviceable wool, and the others of a finer texture. Ellen
looked at them in amaze.  Of all things in the world, these would have
been the last she expected to see.  And, strangely, they were what she
wanted and needed most.  Naturally, then, Ellen made the mistake of
taking them in her hands to feel their softness and warmth.
</P>

<P>
"Shore!  He saw my bare legs!  And he brought me these presents he'd
intended for his sister.... He was ashamed for me&mdash;sorry for me.... And
I thought he looked at me bold-like, as I'm used to be looked at heah!
Isbel or not, he's shore..."
</P>

<P>
But Ellen Jorth could not utter aloud the conviction her intelligence
tried to force upon her.
</P>

<P>
"It'd be a pity to burn them," she mused.  "I cain't do it. Sometime I
might send them to Ann Isbel."
</P>

<P>
Whereupon she wrapped them up again and hid them in the bottom of the
old trunk, and slowly, as she lowered the lid, looking darkly, blankly
at the wall, she whispered: "Jean Isbel! ... I hate him!"
</P>

<P>
Later when Ellen went outdoors she carried her rifle, which was unusual
for her, unless she intended to go into the woods.
</P>

<P>
The morning was sunny and warm.  A group of shirt-sleeved men lounged
in the hall and before the porch of the double cabin.  Her father was
pacing up and down, talking forcibly.  Ellen heard his hoarse voice. As
she approached he ceased talking and his listeners relaxed their
attention.  Ellen's glance ran over them swiftly&mdash;Daggs, with his
superb head, like that of a hawk, uncovered to the sun; Colter with his
lowered, secretive looks, his sand-gray lean face; Jackson Jorth, her
uncle, huge, gaunt, hulking, with white in his black beard and hair,
and the fire of a ghoul in his hollow eyes; Tad Jorth, another brother
of her father's, younger, red of eye and nose, a weak-chinned drinker
of rum.  Three other limber-legged Texans lounged there, partners of
Daggs, and they were sun-browned, light-haired, blue-eyed men
singularly alike in appearance, from their dusty high-heeled boots to
their broad black sombreros.  They claimed to be sheepmen.  All Ellen
could be sure of was that Rock Wells spent most of his time there,
doing nothing but look for a chance to waylay her; Springer was a
gambler; and the third, who answered to the strange name of Queen, was
a silent, lazy, watchful-eyed man who never wore a glove on his right
hand and who never was seen without a gun within easy reach of that
hand.
</P>

<P>
"Howdy, Ellen.  Shore you ain't goin' to say good mawnin' to this heah
bad lot?" drawled Daggs, with good-natured sarcasm.
</P>

<P>
"Why, shore!  Good morning, y'u hard-working industrious MANANA sheep
raisers," replied Ellen, coolly.
</P>

<P>
Daggs stared.  The others appeared taken back by a greeting so foreign
from any to which they were accustomed from her.  Jackson Jorth let out
a gruff haw-haw.  Some of them doffed their sombreros, and Rock Wells
managed a lazy, polite good morning.  Ellen's father seemed most
significantly struck by her greeting, and the least amused.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, I'm not likin' your talk," he said, with a frown.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, when y'u play cards don't y'u call a spade a spade?"
</P>

<P>
"Why, shore I do."
</P>

<P>
"Well, I'm calling spades spades."
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!" grunted Jorth, furtively dropping his eyes.  "Where you goin'
with your gun?  I'd rather you hung round heah now."
</P>

<P>
"Reckon I might as well get used to packing my gun all the time,"
replied Ellen.  "Reckon I'll be treated more like a man."
</P>

<P>
Then the event Ellen had been expecting all morning took place. Simm
Bruce and Lorenzo rode around the slope of the Knoll and trotted toward
the cabin.  Interest in Ellen was relegated to the background.
</P>

<P>
"Shore they're bustin' with news," declared Daggs.
</P>

<P>
"They been ridin' some, you bet," remarked another.
</P>

<P>
"Huh!" exclaimed Jorth.  "Bruce shore looks queer to me."
</P>

<P>
"Red liquor," said Tad Jorth, sententiously.  "You-all know the brand
Greaves hands out."
</P>

<P>
"Naw, Simm ain't drunk," said Jackson Jorth.  "Look at his bloody
shirt."
</P>

<P>
The cool, indolent interest of the crowd vanished at the red color
pointed out by Jackson Jorth.  Daggs rose in a single springy motion to
his lofty height.  The face Bruce turned to Jorth was swollen and
bruised, with unhealed cuts.  Where his right eye should have been
showed a puffed dark purple bulge.  His other eye, however, gleamed
with hard and sullen light.  He stretched a big shaking hand toward
Jorth.
</P>

<P>
"Thet Nez Perce Isbel beat me half to death," he bellowed.
</P>

<P>
Jorth stared hard at the tragic, almost grotesque figure, at the
battered face.  But speech failed him.  It was Daggs who answered Bruce.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Simm, I'll be damned if you don't look it."
</P>

<P>
"Beat you!  What with?" burst out Jorth, explosively.
</P>

<P>
"I thought he was swingin' an ax, but Greaves swore it was his fists,"
bawled Bruce, in misery and fury.
</P>

<P>
"Where was your gun?" queried Jorth, sharply.
</P>

<P>
"Gun? Hell!" exclaimed Bruce, flinging wide his arms.  "Ask Lorenzo. He
had a gun.  An' he got a biff in the jaw before my turn come. Ask him?"
</P>

<P>
Attention thus directed to the Mexican showed a heavy discolored
swelling upon the side of his olive-skinned face.  Lorenzo looked only
serious.
</P>

<P>
"Hah!  Speak up," shouted Jorth, impatiently.
</P>

<P>
"Senor Isbel heet me ver quick," replied Lorenzo, with expressive
gesture.  "I see thousand stars&mdash;then moocho black&mdash;all like night."
</P>

<P>
At that some of Daggs's men lolled back with dry crisp laughter.
Daggs's hard face rippled with a smile.  But there was no humor in
anything for Colonel Jorth.
</P>

<P>
"Tell us what come off.  Quick!" he ordered.  "Where did it happen?
Why?  Who saw it?  What did you do?"
</P>

<P>
Bruce lapsed into a sullen impressiveness.  "Wal, I happened in
Greaves's store an' run into Jean Isbel.  Shore was lookin' fer him. I
had my mind made up what to do, but I got to shootin' off my gab
instead of my gun.  I called him Nez Perce&mdash;an' I throwed all thet talk
in his face about old Gass Isbel sendin' fer him&mdash;-an' I told him he'd
git run out of the Tonto.  Reckon I was jest warmin' up.... But then it
all happened.  He slugged Lorenzo jest one.  An' Lorenzo slid
peaceful-like to bed behind the counter.  I hadn't time to think of
throwin' a gun before he whaled into me.  He knocked out two of my
teeth.  An' I swallered one of them."
</P>

<P>
Ellen stood in the background behind three of the men and in the
shadow.  She did not join in the laugh that followed Bruce's remarks.
She had known that he would lie.  Uncertain yet of her reaction to
this, but more bitter and furious as he revealed his utter baseness,
she waited for more to be said.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I'll be doggoned," drawled Daggs.
</P>

<P>
"What do you make of this kind of fightin'?" queried Jorth,
</P>

<P>
"Darn if I know," replied Daggs in perplexity.  "Shore an' sartin it's
not the way of a Texan.  Mebbe this young Isbel really is what old Gass
swears he is.  Shore Bruce ain't nothin' to give an edge to a real gun
fighter.  Looks to me like Isbel bluffed Greaves an' his gang an'
licked your men without throwin' a gun."
</P>

<P>
"Maybe Isbel doesn't want the name of drawin' first blood," suggested
Jorth.
</P>

<P>
"That 'd be like Gass," spoke up Rock Wells, quietly.  "I onct rode fer
Gass in Texas."
</P>

<P>
"Say, Bruce," said Daggs, "was this heah palaverin' of yours an' Jean
Isbel's aboot the old stock dispute?  Aboot his father's range an'
water?  An' partickler aboot, sheep?"
</P>

<P>
"Wal&mdash;I&mdash;I yelled a heap," declared Bruce, haltingly, "but I don't
recollect all I said&mdash;I was riled.... Shore, though it was the same old
argyment thet's been fetchin' us closer an' closer to trouble."
</P>

<P>
Daggs removed his keen hawklike gaze from Bruce.  "Wal, Jorth, all I'll
say is this.  If Bruce is tellin' the truth we ain't got a hell of a
lot to fear from this young Isbel.  I've known a heap of gun fighters
in my day.  An' Jean Isbel don't ran true to class.  Shore there never
was a gunman who'd risk cripplin' his right hand by sluggin' anybody."
</P>

<P>
"Wal," broke in Bruce, sullenly.  "You-all can take it daid straight or
not.  I don't give a damn.  But you've shore got my hunch thet Nez
Perce Isbel is liable to handle any of you fellars jest as he did me,
an' jest as easy.  What's more, he's got Greaves figgered.  An' you-all
know thet Greaves is as deep in&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"Shut up that kind of gab," demanded Jorth, stridently.  "An' answer
me. Was the row in Greaves's barroom aboot sheep?"
</P>

<P>
"Aw, hell!  I said so, didn't I?" shouted Bruce, with a fierce uplift
of his distorted face.
</P>

<P>
Ellen strode out from the shadow of the tall men who had obscured her.
</P>

<P>
"Bruce, y'u're a liar," she said, bitingly.
</P>

<P>
The surprise of her sudden appearance seemed to root Bruce to the spot.
All but the discolored places on his face turned white.  He held his
breath a moment, then expelled it hard.  His effort to recover from the
shock was painfully obvious.  He stammered incoherently.
</P>

<P>
"Shore y'u're more than a liar, too," cried Ellen, facing him with
blazing eyes.  And the rifle, gripped in both hands, seemed to declare
her intent of menace.  "That row was not about sheep.... Jean Isbel
didn't beat y'u for anythin' about sheep.... Old John Sprague was in
Greaves's store.  He heard y'u.  He saw Jean Isbel beat y'u as y'u
deserved.... An' he told ME!"
</P>

<P>
Ellen saw Bruce shrink in fear of his life; and despite her fury she
was filled with disgust that he could imagine she would have his blood
on her hands.  Then she divined that Bruce saw more in the gathering
storm in her father's eyes than he had to fear from her.
</P>

<P>
"Girl, what the hell are y'u sayin'?" hoarsely called Jorth, in dark
amaze.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, y'u leave this to me," she retorted.
</P>

<P>
Daggs stepped beside Jorth, significantly on his right side.  "Let her
alone Lee," he advised, coolly.  "She's shore got a hunch on Bruce."
</P>

<P>
"Simm Bruce, y'u cast a dirty slur on my name," cried Ellen,
passionately.
</P>

<P>
It was then that Daggs grasped Jorth's right arm and held it tight,
"Jest what I thought," he said.  "Stand still, Lee.  Let's see the kid
make him showdown."
</P>

<P>
"That's what jean Isbel beat y'u for," went on Ellen.  "For slandering
a girl who wasn't there.... Me!  Y'u rotten liar!"
</P>

<P>
"But, Ellen, it wasn't all lies," said Bruce, huskily.  "I was half
drunk&mdash;an' horrible jealous.... You know Lorenzo seen Isbel kissin'
you.  I can prove thet."
</P>

<P>
Ellen threw up her head and a scarlet wave of shame and wrath flooded
her face.
</P>

<P>
"Yes," she cried, ringingly.  "He saw Jean Isbel kiss me. Once! ... An'
it was the only decent kiss I've had in years.  He meant no insult. I
didn't know who he was.  An' through his kiss I learned a difference
between men.... Y'u made Lorenzo lie.  An' if I had a shred of good
name left in Grass Valley you dishonored it.... Y'u made him think I
was your girl!  Damn y'u!  I ought to kill y'u.... Eat your words
now&mdash;take them back&mdash;or I'll cripple y'u for life!"
</P>

<P>
Ellen lowered the cocked rifle toward his feet.
</P>

<P>
"Shore, Ellen, I take back&mdash;all I said," gulped Bruce.  He gazed at the
quivering rifle barrel and then into the face of Ellen's father.
Instinct told him where his real peril lay.
</P>

<P>
Here the cool and tactful Daggs showed himself master of the situation.
</P>

<P>
"Heah, listen!" he called.  "Ellen, I reckon Bruce was drunk an' out of
his haid.  He's shore ate his words.  Now, we don't want any cripples
in this camp.  Let him alone.  Your dad got me heah to lead the Jorths,
an' that's my say to you.... Simm, you're shore a low-down lyin'
rascal.  Keep away from Ellen after this or I'll bore you myself....
Jorth, it won't be a bad idee for you to forget you're a Texan till you
cool off.  Let Bruce stop some Isbel lead.  Shore the Jorth-Isbel war
is aboot on, an' I reckon we'd be smart to believe old Gass's talk
aboot his Nez Perce son."
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap06"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER VI
</H3>

<P>
From this hour Ellen Jorth bent all of her lately awakened intelligence
and will to the only end that seemed to hold possible salvation for
her. In the crisis sure to come she did not want to be blind or weak.
Dreaming and indolence, habits born in her which were often a comfort
to one as lonely as she, would ill fit her for the hard test she
divined and dreaded.  In the matter of her father's fight she must
stand by him whatever the issue or the outcome; in what pertained to
her own principles, her womanhood, and her soul she stood absolutely
alone.
</P>

<P>
Therefore, Ellen put dreams aside, and indolence of mind and body
behind her.  Many tasks she found, and when these were done for a day
she kept active in other ways, thus earning the poise and peace of
labor.
</P>

<P>
Jorth rode off every day, sometimes with one or two of the men, often
with a larger number.  If he spoke of such trips to Ellen it was to
give an impression of visiting the ranches of his neighbors or the
various sheep camps.  Often he did not return the day he left.  When he
did get back he smelled of rum and appeared heavy from need of sleep.
His horses were always dust and sweat covered.  During his absences
Ellen fell victim to anxious dread until he returned.  Daily he grew
darker and more haggard of face, more obsessed by some impending fate.
Often he stayed up late, haranguing with the men in the dim-lit cabin,
where they drank and smoked, but seldom gambled any more.  When the men
did not gamble something immediate and perturbing was on their minds.
Ellen had not yet lowered herself to the deceit and suspicion of
eavesdropping, but she realized that there was a climax approaching in
which she would deliberately do so.
</P>

<P>
In those closing May days Ellen learned the significance of many things
that previously she had taken as a matter of course.  Her father did
not run a ranch.  There was absolutely no ranching done, and little
work. Often Ellen had to chop wood herself.  Jorth did not possess a
plow. Ellen was bound to confess that the evidence of this lack
dumfounded her. Even old John Sprague raised some hay, beets, turnips.
Jorth's cattle and horses fared ill during the winter.  Ellen
remembered how they used to clean up four-inch oak saplings and aspens.
Many of them died in the snow.  The flocks of sheep, however, were
driven down into the Basin in the fall, and across the Reno Pass to
Phoenix and Maricopa.
</P>

<P>
Ellen could not discover a fence post on the ranch, nor a piece of salt
for the horses and cattle, nor a wagon, nor any sign of a
sheep-shearing outfit.  She had never seen any sheep sheared. Ellen
could never keep track of the many and different horses running loose
and hobbled round the ranch.  There were droves of horses in the woods,
and some of them wild as deer.  According to her long-established
understanding, her father and her uncles were keen on horse trading and
buying.
</P>

<P>
Then the many trails leading away from the Jorth ranch&mdash;these grew to
have a fascination for Ellen; and the time came when she rode out on
them to see for herself where they led.  The sheep ranch of Daggs,
supposed to be only a few miles across the ridges, down in Bear Canyon,
never materialized at all for Ellen.  This circumstance so interested
her that she went up to see her friend Sprague and got him to direct
her to Bear Canyon, so that she would be sure not to miss it.  And she
rode from the narrow, maple-thicketed head of it near the Rim down all
its length.  She found no ranch, no cabin, not even a corral in Bear
Canyon.  Sprague said there was only one canyon by that name.  Daggs
had assured her of the exact location on his place, and so had her
father.  Had they lied?  Were they mistaken in the canyon?  There were
many canyons, all heading up near the Rim, all running and widening
down for miles through the wooded mountain, and vastly different from
the deep, short, yellow-walled gorges that cut into the Rim from the
Basin side. Ellen investigated the canyons within six or eight miles of
her home, both to east and to west.  All she discovered was a couple of
old log cabins, long deserted.  Still, she did not follow out all the
trails to their ends.  Several of them led far into the deepest,
roughest, wildest brakes of gorge and thicket that she had seen.  No
cattle or sheep had ever been driven over these trails.
</P>

<P>
This riding around of Ellen's at length got to her father's ears. Ellen
expected that a bitter quarrel would ensue, for she certainly would
refuse to be confined to the camp; but her father only asked her to
limit her riding to the meadow valley, and straightway forgot all about
it.  In fact, his abstraction one moment, his intense nervousness the
next, his harder drinking and fiercer harangues with the men, grew to
be distressing for Ellen.  They presaged his further deterioration and
the ever-present evil of the growing feud.
</P>

<P>
One day Jorth rode home in the early morning, after an absence of two
nights.  Ellen heard the clip-clop of, horses long before she saw them.
</P>

<P>
"Hey, Ellen!  Come out heah," called her father.
</P>

<P>
Ellen left her work and went outside.  A stranger had ridden in with
her father, a young giant whose sharp-featured face appeared marked by
ferret-like eyes and a fine, light, fuzzy beard.  He was long, loose
jointed, not heavy of build, and he had the largest hands and feet
Ellen bad ever seen.  Next Ellen espied a black horse they had
evidently brought with them.  Her father was holding a rope halter.  At
once the black horse struck Ellen as being a beauty and a thoroughbred.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, heah's a horse for you," said Jorth, with something of pride.
"I made a trade.  Reckon I wanted him myself, but he's too gentle for
me an' maybe a little small for my weight."
</P>

<P>
Delight visited Ellen for the first time in many days.  Seldom had she
owned a good horse, and never one like this.
</P>

<P>
"Oh, dad!" she exclaimed, in her gratitude.
</P>

<P>
"Shore he's yours on one condition," said her father.
</P>

<P>
"What's that?" asked Ellen, as she laid caressing hands on the restless
horse.
</P>

<P>
"You're not to ride him out of the canyon."
</P>

<P>
"Agreed.... All daid black, isn't he, except that white face? What's
his name, dad?
</P>

<P>
"I forgot to ask," replied Jorth, as he began unsaddling his own horse.
"Slater, what's this heah black's name?"
</P>

<P>
The lanky giant grinned.  "I reckon it was Spades."
</P>

<P>
"Spades?" ejaculated Ellen, blankly.  "What a name! ... Well, I guess
it's as good as any.  He's shore black."
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, keep him hobbled when you're not ridin' him," was her father's
parting advice as he walked off with the stranger.
</P>

<P>
Spades was wet and dusty and his satiny skin quivered.  He had fine,
dark, intelligent eyes that watched Ellen's every move.  She knew how
her father and his friends dragged and jammed horses through the woods
and over the rough trails.  It did not take her long to discover that
this horse had been a pet.  Ellen cleaned his coat and brushed him and
fed him.  Then she fitted her bridle to suit his head and saddled him.
His evident response to her kindness assured her that he was gentle, so
she mounted and rode him, to discover he had the easiest gait she had
ever experienced.  He walked and trotted to suit her will, but when
left to choose his own gait he fell into a graceful little pace that
was very easy for her.  He appeared quite ready to break into a run at
her slightest bidding, but Ellen satisfied herself on this first ride
with his slower gaits.
</P>

<P>
"Spades, y'u've shore cut out my burro Jinny," said Ellen, regretfully.
"Well, I reckon women are fickle."
</P>

<P>
Next day she rode up the canyon to show Spades to her friend John
Sprague.  The old burro breeder was not at home.  As his door was open,
however, and a fire smoldering, Ellen concluded he would soon return.
So she waited.  Dismounting, she left Spades free to graze on the new
green grass that carpeted the ground.  The cabin and little level
clearing accentuated the loneliness and wildness of the forest. Ellen
always liked it here and had once been in the habit of visiting the old
man often.  But of late she had stayed away, for the reason that
Sprague's talk and his news and his poorly hidden pity depressed her.
</P>

<P>
Presently she heard hoof beats on the hard, packed trail leading down
the canyon in the direction from which she had come.  Scarcely likely
was it that Sprague should return from this direction.  Ellen thought
her father had sent one of the herders for her.  But when she caught a
glimpse of the approaching horseman, down in the aspens, she failed to
recognize him.  After he had passed one of the openings she heard his
horse stop.  Probably the man had seen her; at least she could not
otherwise account for his stopping.  The glimpse she had of him had
given her the impression that he was bending over, peering ahead in the
trail, looking for tracks.  Then she heard the rider come on again,
more slowly this time.  At length the horse trotted out into the
opening, to be hauled up short.  Ellen recognized the buckskin-clad
figure, the broad shoulders, the dark face of Jean Isbel.
</P>

<P>
Ellen felt prey to the strangest quaking sensation she had ever
suffered. It took violence of her new-born spirit to subdue that
feeling.
</P>

<P>
Isbel rode slowly across the clearing toward her.  For Ellen his
approach seemed singularly swift&mdash;so swift that her surprise, dismay,
conjecture, and anger obstructed her will.  The outwardly calm and cold
Ellen Jorth was a travesty that mocked her&mdash;that she felt he would
discern.
</P>

<P>
The moment Isbel drew close enough for Ellen to see his face she
experienced a strong, shuddering repetition of her first shock of
recognition.  He was not the same.  The light, the youth was gone.
This, however, did not cause her emotion.  Was it not a sudden
transition of her nature to the dominance of hate?  Ellen seemed to
feel the shadow of her unknown self standing with her.
</P>

<P>
Isbel halted his horse.  Ellen had been standing near the trunk of a
fallen pine and she instinctively backed against it.  How her legs
trembled!  Isbel took off his cap and crushed it nervously in his bare,
brown hand.
</P>

<P>
"Good mornin', Miss Ellen!" he said.
</P>

<P>
Ellen did not return his greeting, but queried, almost breathlessly,
"Did y'u come by our ranch?"
</P>

<P>
"No. I circled," he replied.
</P>

<P>
"Jean Isbel!  What do y'u want heah?" she demanded.
</P>

<P>
"Don't you know?" he returned.  His eyes were intensely black and
piercing.  They seemed to search Ellen's very soul.  To meet their gaze
was an ordeal that only her rousing fury sustained.
</P>

<P>
Ellen felt on her lips a scornful allusion to his half-breed Indian
traits and the reputation that had preceded him.  But she could not
utter it.
</P>

<P>
"No," she replied.
</P>

<P>
"It's hard to call a woman a liar," he returned, bitterly.  But you
must be&mdash;seein' you're a Jorth.
</P>

<P>
"Liar!  Not to y'u, Jean Isbel," she retorted.  "I'd not lie to y'u to
save my life."
</P>

<P>
He studied her with keen, sober, moody intent.  The dark fire of his
eyes thrilled her.
</P>

<P>
"If that's true, I'm glad," he said.
</P>

<P>
"Shore it's true.  I've no idea why y'u came heah."
</P>

<P>
Ellen did have a dawning idea that she could not force into oblivion.
But if she ever admitted it to her consciousness, she must fail in the
contempt and scorn and fearlessness she chose to throw in this man's
face.
</P>

<P>
"Does old Sprague live here?" asked Isbel.
</P>

<P>
"Yes.  I expect him back soon.... Did y'u come to see him?"
</P>

<P>
"No.... Did Sprague tell you anythin' about the row he saw me in?"
</P>

<P>
"He&mdash;did not," replied Ellen, lying with stiff lips.  She who had sworn
she could not lie!  She felt the hot blood leaving her heart, mounting
in a wave.  All her conscious will seemed impelled to deceive.  What
had she to hide from Jean Isbel?  And a still, small voice replied that
she had to hide the Ellen Jorth who had waited for him that day, who
had spied upon him, who had treasured a gift she could not destroy, who
had hugged to her miserable heart the fact that he had fought for her
name.
</P>

<P>
"I'm glad of that," Isbel was saying, thoughtfully.
</P>

<P>
"Did you come heah to see me?" interrupted Ellen.  She felt that she
could not endure this reiterated suggestion of fineness, of
consideration in him.  She would betray herself&mdash;betray what she did
not even realize herself.  She must force other footing&mdash;and that
should be the one of strife between the Jorths and Isbels.
</P>

<P>
"No&mdash;honest, I didn't, Miss Ellen," he rejoined, humbly.  "I'll tell
you, presently, why I came.  But it wasn't to see you.... I don't deny
I wanted ... but that's no matter.  You didn't meet me that day on the
Rim."
</P>

<P>
"Meet y'u!" she echoed, coldly.   "Shore y'u never expected me?"
</P>

<P>
"Somehow I did," he replied, with those penetrating eyes on her. "I put
somethin' in your tent that day.  Did you find it?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes," she replied, with the same casual coldness.
</P>

<P>
"What did you do with it?"
</P>

<P>
"I kicked it out, of course," she replied.
</P>

<P>
She saw him flinch.
</P>

<P>
"And you never opened it?"
</P>

<P>
"Certainly not," she retorted, as if forced.  "Doon't y'u know anythin'
about&mdash;about people? ... Shore even if y'u are an Isbel y'u never were
born in Texas."
</P>

<P>
"Thank God I wasn't!" he replied.  "I was born in a beautiful country
of green meadows and deep forests and white rivers, not in a barren
desert where men live dry and hard as the cactus.  Where I come from
men don't live on hate.  They can forgive."
</P>

<P>
"Forgive! ... Could y'u forgive a Jorth?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes, I could."
</P>

<P>
"Shore that's easy to say&mdash;with the wrongs all on your side," she
declared, bitterly.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen Jorth, the first wrong was on your side," retorted Jean, his
voice fall.  "Your father stole my father's sweetheart&mdash;by lies, by
slander, by dishonor, by makin' terrible love to her in his absence."
</P>

<P>
"It's a lie," cried Ellen, passionately.
</P>

<P>
"It is not," he declared, solemnly.
</P>

<P>
"Jean Isbel, I say y'u lie!"
</P>

<P>
"No!  I say you've been lied to," he thundered.
</P>

<P>
The tremendous force of his spirit seemed to fling truth at Ellen. It
weakened her.
</P>

<P>
"But&mdash;mother loved dad&mdash;best."
</P>

<P>
"Yes, afterward.  No wonder, poor woman! ... But it was the action of
your father and your mother that ruined all these lives.  You've got to
know the truth, Ellen Jorth.... All the years of hate have borne their
fruit.  God Almighty can never save us now.  Blood must be spilled.
The Jorths and the Isbels can't live on the same earth.... And you've
got to know the truth because the worst of this hell falls on you and
me."
</P>

<P>
The hate that he spoke of alone upheld her.
</P>

<P>
"Never, Jean Isbel!" she cried.  "I'll never know truth from y'u....
I'll never share anythin' with y'u&mdash;not even hell."
</P>

<P>
Isbel dismounted and stood before her, still holding his bridle reins.
The bay horse champed his bit and tossed his head.
</P>

<P>
"Why do you hate me so?" he asked.  "I just happen to be my father's
son. I never harmed you or any of your people.  I met you ... fell in
love with you in a flash&mdash;though I never knew it till after.... Why do
you hate me so terribly?"
</P>

<P>
Ellen felt a heavy, stifling pressure within her breast.  "Y'u're an
Isbel.... Doon't speak of love to me."
</P>

<P>
"I didn't intend to.  But your&mdash;your hate seems unnatural.  And we'll
probably never meet again.... I can't help it.  I love you.  Love at
first sight!  Jean Isbel and Ellen Jorth!  Strange, isn't it? ... It
was all so strange.  My meetin' you so lonely and unhappy, my seein'
you so sweet and beautiful, my thinkin' you so good in spite of&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"Shore it was strange," interrupted Ellen, with scornful laugh. She had
found her defense.  In hurting him she could hide her own hurt.
"Thinking me so good in spite of&mdash;  Ha-ha!  And I said I'd been kissed
before!"
</P>

<P>
"Yes, in spite of everything," he said.
</P>

<P>
Ellen could not look at him as he loomed over her.  She felt a wild
tumult in her heart.  All that crowded to her lips for utterance was
false.
</P>

<P>
"Yes&mdash;kissed before I met you&mdash;and since," she said, mockingly. "And I
laugh at what y'u call love, Jean Isbel."
</P>

<P>
"Laugh if you want&mdash;but believe it was sweet, honorable&mdash;the best in
me," he replied, in deep earnestness.
</P>

<P>
"Bah!" cried Ellen, with all the force of her pain and shame and hate.
</P>

<P>
"By Heaven, you must be different from what I thought!" exclaimed
Isbel, huskily.
</P>

<P>
"Shore if I wasn't, I'd make myself.... Now, Mister Jean Isbel, get on
your horse an' go!"
</P>

<P>
Something of composure came to Ellen with these words of dismissal, and
she glanced up at him with half-veiled eyes.  His changed aspect
prepared her for some blow.
</P>

<P>
"That's a pretty black horse."
</P>

<P>
"Yes," replied Ellen, blankly.
</P>

<P>
"Do you like him?"
</P>

<P>
"I&mdash;I love him."
</P>

<P>
"All right, I'll give him to you then.  He'll have less work and kinder
treatment than if I used him.  I've got some pretty hard rides ahead of
me."
</P>

<P>
"Y'u&mdash;y'u give&mdash;" whispered Ellen, slowly stiffening.  "Yes.  He's
mine," replied Isbel.  With that he turned to whistle.  Spades threw up
his head, snorted, and started forward at a trot.  He came faster the
closer he got, and if ever Ellen saw the joy of a horse at sight of a
beloved master she saw it then.  Isbel laid a hand on the animal's neck
and caressed him, then, turning back to Ellen, he went on speaking: "I
picked him from a lot of fine horses of my father's.  We got along
well.  My sister Ann rode him a good deal.... He was stolen from our
pasture day before yesterday.  I took his trail and tracked him up
here.  Never lost his trail till I got to your ranch, where I had to
circle till I picked it up again."
</P>

<P>
"Stolen&mdash;pasture&mdash;tracked him up heah?" echoed Ellen, without any
evidence of emotion whatever.  Indeed, she seemed to have been turned
to stone.
</P>

<P>
"Trackin' him was easy.  I wish for your sake it 'd been impossible,"
he said, bluntly.
</P>

<P>
"For my sake?" she echoed, in precisely the same tone,
</P>

<P>
Manifestly that tone irritated Isbel beyond control.  He misunderstood
it.  With a hand far from gentle he pushed her bent head back so he
could look into her face.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, for your sake!" he declared, harshly.  "Haven't you sense enough
to see that? ... What kind of a game do you think you can play with me?"
</P>

<P>
"Game I ... Game of what?" she asked.
</P>

<P>
"Why, a&mdash;a game of ignorance&mdash;innocence&mdash;any old game to fool a man
who's tryin' to be decent."
</P>

<P>
This time Ellen mutely looked her dull, blank questioning.  And it
inflamed Isbel.
</P>

<P>
"You know your father's a horse thief!" he thundered.
</P>

<P>
Outwardly Ellen remained the same.  She had been prepared for an
unknown and a terrible blow.  It had fallen.  And her face, her body,
her hands, locked with the supreme fortitude of pride and sustained by
hate, gave no betrayal of the crashing, thundering ruin within her mind
and soul.  Motionless she leaned there, meeting the piercing fire of
Isbel's eyes, seeing in them a righteous and terrible scorn.  In one
flash the naked truth seemed blazed at her.  The faith she had fostered
died a sudden death.  A thousand perplexing problems were solved in a
second of whirling, revealing thought.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen Jorth, you know your father's in with this Hash Knife Gang of
rustlers," thundered Isbel.
</P>

<P>
"Shore," she replied, with the cool, easy, careless defiance of a Texan.
</P>

<P>
"You know he's got this Daggs to lead his faction against the Isbels?"
</P>

<P>
"Shore."
</P>

<P>
"You know this talk of sheepmen buckin' the cattlemen is all a blind?"
</P>

<P>
"Shore," reiterated Ellen.
</P>

<P>
Isbel gazed darkly down upon her.  With his anger spent for the moment,
he appeared ready to end the interview.  But he seemed fascinated by
the strange look of her, by the incomprehensible something she
emanated. Havoc gleamed in his pale, set face.  He shook his dark head
and his broad hand went to his breast.
</P>

<P>
"To think I fell in love with such as you!" he exclaimed, and his other
hand swept out in a tragic gesture of helpless pathos and impotence.
</P>

<P>
The hell Isbel had hinted at now possessed Ellen&mdash;body, mind, and soul.
Disgraced, scorned by an Isbel!  Yet loved by him!  In that divination
there flamed up a wild, fierce passion to hurt, to rend, to flay, to
fling back upon him a stinging agony.  Her thought flew upon her like
whips.  Pride of the Jorths!  Pride of the old Texan blue blood!  It
lay dead at her feet, killed by the scornful words of the last of that
family to whom she owed her degradation.  Daughter of a horse thief and
rustler!  Dark and evil and grim set the forces within her, accepting
her fate, damning her enemies, true to the blood of the Jorths.  The
sins of the father must be visited upon the daughter.
</P>

<P>
"Shore y'u might have had me&mdash;that day on the Rim&mdash;if y'u hadn't told
your name," she said, mockingly, and she gazed into his eyes with all
the mystery of a woman's nature.
</P>

<P>
Isbel's powerful frame shook as with an ague.  "Girl, what do you mean?"
</P>

<P>
"Shore, I'd have been plumb fond of havin' y'u make up to me," she
drawled.  It possessed her now with irresistible power, this fact of
the love he could not help.  Some fiendish woman's satisfaction dwelt
in her consciousness of her power to kill the noble, the faithful, the
good in him.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen Jorth, you lie!" he burst out, hoarsely.
</P>

<P>
"Jean, shore I'd been a toy and a rag for these rustlers long enough. I
was tired of them.... I wanted a new lover.... And if y'u hadn't give
yourself away&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
Isbel moved so swiftly that she did not realize his intention until his
hard hand smote her mouth.  Instantly she tasted the hot, salty blood
from a cut lip.
</P>

<P>
"Shut up, you hussy!" he ordered, roughly.  "Have you no shame? ... My
sister Ann spoke well of you.  She made excuses&mdash;she pitied you."
</P>

<P>
That for Ellen seemed the culminating blow under which she almost sank.
But one moment longer could she maintain this unnatural and terrible
poise.
</P>

<P>
"Jean Isbel&mdash;go along with y'u," she said, impatiently.  "I'm waiting
heah for Simm Bruce!"
</P>

<P>
At last it was as if she struck his heart.  Because of doubt of himself
and a stubborn faith in her, his passion and jealousy were not proof
against this last stab.  Instinctive subtlety inherent in Ellen had
prompted the speech that tortured Isbel.  How the shock to him
rebounded on her!  She gasped as he lunged for her, too swift for her
to move a hand.  One arm crushed round her like a steel band; the
other, hard across her breast and neck, forced her head back.  Then she
tried to wrestle away.  But she was utterly powerless.  His dark face
bent down closer and closer.  Suddenly Ellen ceased trying to struggle.
She was like a stricken creature paralyzed by the piercing, hypnotic
eyes of a snake.  Yet in spite of her terror, if he meant death by her,
she welcomed it.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen Jorth, I'm thinkin' yet&mdash;you lie!" he said, low and tense
between his teeth.
</P>

<P>
"No!  No!" she screamed, wildly.  Her nerve broke there.  She could no
longer meet those terrible black eyes.  Her passionate denial was not
only the last of her shameful deceit; it was the woman of her,
repudiating herself and him, and all this sickening, miserable
situation.
</P>

<P>
Isbel took her literally.  She had convinced him.  And the instant held
blank horror for Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"By God&mdash;then I'll have somethin'&mdash;of you anyway!" muttered Isbel,
thickly.
</P>

<P>
Ellen saw the blood bulge in his powerful neck.  She saw his dark, hard
face, strange now, fearful to behold, come lower and lower, till it
blurred and obstructed her gaze.  She felt the swell and ripple and
stretch&mdash;then the bind of his muscles, like huge coils of elastic rope.
Then with savage rude force his mouth closed on hers.  All Ellen's
senses reeled, as if she were swooning.  She was suffocating.  The
spasm passed, and a bursting spurt of blood revived her to acute and
terrible consciousness.  For the endless period of one moment he held
her so that her breast seemed crushed.  His kisses burned and braised
her lips.  And then, shifting violently to her neck, they pressed so
hard that she choked under them.  It was as if a huge bat had fastened
upon her throat.
</P>

<P>
Suddenly the remorseless binding embraces&mdash;the hot and savage
kisses&mdash;fell away from her.  Isbel had let go.  She saw him throw up
his hands, and stagger back a little, all the while with his piercing
gaze on her. His face had been dark purple: now it was white.
</P>

<P>
"No&mdash;Ellen Jorth," he panted, "I don't&mdash;want any of you&mdash;that way." And
suddenly he sank on the log and covered his face with his hands. "What
I loved in you&mdash;was what I thought&mdash;you were."
</P>

<P>
Like a wildcat Ellen sprang upon him, beating him with her fists,
tearing at his hair, scratching his face, in a blind fury.  Isbel made
no move to stop her, and her violence spent itself with her strength.
She swayed back from him, shaking so that she could scarcely stand.
</P>

<P>
"Y'u&mdash;damned&mdash;Isbel!" she gasped, with hoarse passion.  "Y'u insulted
me!"
</P>

<P>
"Insulted you?..." laughed Isbel, in bitter scorn.  "It couldn't be
done."
</P>

<P>
"Oh! ... I'll KILL y'u!" she hissed.
</P>

<P>
Isbel stood up and wiped the red scratches on his face.  "Go ahead.
There's my gun," he said, pointing to his saddle sheath.  "Somebody's
got to begin this Jorth-Isbel feud.  It'll be a dirty business.  I'm
sick of it already.... Kill me! ... First blood for Ellen Jorth!"
</P>

<P>
Suddenly the dark grim tide that had seemed to engulf Ellen's very soul
cooled and receded, leaving her without its false  strength.  She began
to sag.  She stared at Isbel's gun.  "Kill him," whispered the
retreating voices of her hate.  But she was as powerless as if she were
still held in Jean Isbel's giant embrace.
</P>

<P>
"I&mdash;I want to&mdash;kill y'u," she whispered, "but I cain't.... Leave me."
</P>

<P>
"You're no Jorth&mdash;the same as I'm no Isbel.  We oughtn't be mixed in
this deal," he said, somberly.  "I'm sorrier for you than I am for
myself.... You're a girl.... You once had a good mother&mdash;a decent home.
And this life you've led here&mdash;mean as it's been&mdash;is nothin' to what
you'll face now.  Damn the men that brought you to this!  I'm goin' to
kill some of them."
</P>

<P>
With that he mounted and turned away.  Ellen called out for him to take
his horse.  He did not stop nor look back.  She called again, but her
voice was fainter, and Isbel was now leaving at a trot.  Slowly she
sagged against the tree, lower and lower.  He headed into the trail
leading up the canyon.  How strange a relief Ellen felt!  She watched
him ride into the aspens and start up the slope, at last to disappear
in the pines.  It seemed at the moment that he took with him something
which had been hers.  A pain in her head dulled the thoughts that
wavered to and fro.  After he had gone she could not see so well. Her
eyes were tired.  What had happened to her?  There was blood on her
hands.  Isbel's blood!  She shuddered.  Was it an omen?  Lower she sank
against the tree and closed her eyes.
</P>

<P>
Old John Sprague did not return.  Hours dragged by&mdash;dark hours for
Ellen Jorth lying prostrate beside the tree, hiding the blue sky and
golden sunlight from her eyes.  At length the lethargy of despair, the
black dull misery wore away; and she gradually returned to a condition
of coherent thought.
</P>

<P>
What had she learned?  Sight of the black horse grazing near seemed to
prompt the trenchant replies.  Spades belonged to Jean Isbel.  He had
been stolen by her father or by one of her father's accomplices.
Isbel's vaunted cunning as a tracker had been no idle boast.  Her
father was a horse thief, a rustler, a sheepman only as a blind, a
consort of Daggs, leader of the Hash Knife Gang.  Ellen well remembered
the ill repute of that gang, way back in Texas, years ago. Her father
had gotten in with this famous band of rustlers to serve his own
ends&mdash;the extermination of the Isbels.  It was all very plain now to
Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"Daughter of a horse thief an' rustler!" she muttered.
</P>

<P>
And her thoughts sped back to the days of her girlhood.  Only the very
early stage of that time had been happy.  In the light of Isbel's
revelation the many changes of residence, the sudden moves to unsettled
parts of Texas, the periods of poverty and sudden prosperity, all
leading to the final journey to this God-forsaken Arizona&mdash;these were
now seen in their true significance.  As far back as she could remember
her father had been a crooked man.  And her mother had known it.  He
had dragged her to her ruin.  That degradation had killed her. Ellen
realized that with poignant sorrow, with a sudden revolt against her
father.  Had Gaston Isbel truly and dishonestly started her father on
his downhill road?  Ellen wondered.  She hated the Isbels with
unutterable and growing hate, yet she had it in her to think, to
ponder, to weigh judgments in their behalf.  She owed it to something
in herself to be fair.  But what did it matter who was to blame for the
Jorth-Isbel feud?  Somehow Ellen was forced to confess that deep in her
soul it mattered terribly.  To be true to herself&mdash;the self that she
alone knew&mdash;she must have right on her side.  If the Jorths were
guilty, and she clung to them and their creed, then she would be one of
them.
</P>

<P>
"But I'm not," she mused, aloud.  "My name's Jorth, an' I reckon I have
bad blood.... But it never came out in me till to-day.  I've been
honest.  I've been good&mdash;yes, GOOD, as my mother taught me to be&mdash;in
spite of all.... Shore my pride made me a fool.... An' now have I any
choice to make?  I'm a Jorth.  I must stick to my father."
</P>

<P>
All this summing up, however, did not wholly account for the pang in
her breast.
</P>

<P>
What had she done that day?  And the answer beat in her ears like a
great throbbing hammer-stroke.  In an agony of shame, in the throes of
hate, she had perjured herself.  She had sworn away her honor.  She had
basely made herself vile.  She had struck ruthlessly at the great heart
of a man who loved her.  Ah!  That thrust had rebounded to leave this
dreadful pang in her breast.  Loved her?  Yes, the strange truth, the
insupportable truth!  She had to contend now, not with her father and
her disgrace, not with the baffling presence of Jean Isbel, but with
the mysteries of her own soul.  Wonder of all wonders was it that such
love had been born for her. Shame worse than all other shame was it
that she should kill it by a poisoned lie.  By what monstrous motive
had she done that?  To sting Isbel as he had stung her!  But that had
been base.  Never could she have stopped so low except in a moment of
tremendous tumult.  If she had done sore injury to Isbel what bad she
done to herself?  How strange, how tenacious had been his faith in her
honor!  Could she ever forget?  She must forget it.  But she could
never forget the way he had scorned those vile men in Greaves's
store&mdash;the way he had beaten Bruce for defiling her name&mdash;the way he
had stubbornly denied her own insinuations.  She was a woman now.  She
had learned something of the complexity of a woman's heart.  She could
not change nature.  And all her passionate being thrilled to the
manhood of her defender.  But even while she thrilled she acknowledged
her hate. It was the contention between the two that caused the pang in
her breast.  "An' now what's left for me?" murmured Ellen.  She did not
analyze the significance of what had prompted that query.  The most
incalculable of the day's disclosures was the wrong she had done
herself.  "Shore I'm done for, one way or another.... I must stick to
Dad.... or kill myself?"
</P>

<P>
Ellen rode Spades back to the ranch.  She rode like the wind.  When she
swung out of the trail into the open meadow in plain sight of the ranch
her appearance created a commotion among the loungers before the cabin.
She rode Spades at a full run.
</P>

<P>
"Who's after you?" yelled her father, as she pulled the black to a
halt. Jorth held a rifle.  Daggs, Colter, the other Jorths were there,
likewise armed, and all watchful, strung with expectancy.
</P>

<P>
"Shore nobody's after me," replied Ellen.  "Cain't I run a horse round
heah without being chased?"
</P>

<P>
Jorth appeared both incensed and relieved.
</P>

<P>
"Hah! ... What you mean, girl, runnin' like a streak right down on us?
You're actin' queer these days, an' you look queer. I'm not likin' it."
</P>

<P>
"Reckon these are queer times&mdash;for the Jorths," replied Ellen,
sarcastically.
</P>

<P>
"Daggs found strange horse tracks crossin' the meadow," said her
father. "An' that worried us.  Some one's been snoopin' round the
ranch.  An' when we seen you runnin' so wild we shore thought you was
bein' chased."
</P>

<P>
"No.  I was only trying out Spades to see how fast he could run,"
returned Ellen.  "Reckon when we do get chased it'll take some running
to catch me."
</P>

<P>
"Haw! Haw!" roared Daggs.  "It shore will, Ellen."
</P>

<P>
"Girl, it's not only your runnin' an' your looks that's queer,"
declared Jorth, in dark perplexity.  "You talk queer."
</P>

<P>
"Shore, dad, y'u're not used to hearing spades called spades," said
Ellen, as she dismounted.
</P>

<P>
"Humph!" ejaculated her father, as if convinced of the uselessness of
trying to understand a woman.  "Say, did you see any strange horse
tracks?"
</P>

<P>
"I reckon I did.  And I know who made them."
</P>

<P>
Jorth stiffened.  All the men behind him showed a sudden intensity of
suspense.
</P>

<P>
"Who?" demanded Jorth.
</P>

<P>
"Shore it was Jean Isbel," replied Ellen, coolly.  "He came up heah
tracking his black horse."
</P>

<P>
"Jean&mdash;Isbel&mdash;trackin'&mdash;his&mdash;black horse," repeated her father.
</P>

<P>
"Yes.  He's not overrated as a tracker, that's shore."
</P>

<P>
Blank silence ensued.  Ellen cast a slow glance over her father and the
others, then she began to loosen the cinches of her saddle. Presently
Jorth burst the silence with a curse, and Daggs followed with one of
his sardonic laughs.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, boss, what did I tell you?" he drawled.
</P>

<P>
Jorth strode to Ellen, and, whirling her around with a strong hand, he
held her facing him.
</P>

<P>
"Did y'u see Isbel?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes," replied Ellen, just as sharply as her father had asked.
</P>

<P>
"Did y'u talk to him?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes."
</P>

<P>
"What did he want up heah?"
</P>

<P>
"I told y'u.  He was tracking the black horse y'u stole."
</P>

<P>
Jorth's hand and arm dropped limply.  His sallow face turned a livid
hue. Amaze merged into discomfiture and that gave place to rage.  He
raised a hand as if to strike Ellen.  And suddenly Daggs's long arm
shot out to clutch Jorth's wrist.  Wrestling to free himself, Jorth
cursed under his breath.  "Let go, Daggs," he shouted, stridently.  "Am
I drunk that you grab me?"
</P>

<P>
"Wal, y'u ain't drunk, I reckon," replied the rustler, with sarcasm.
"But y'u're shore some things I'll reserve for your private ear."
</P>

<P>
Jorth gained a semblance of composure.  But it was evident that he
labored under a shock.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, did Jean Isbel see this black horse?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes.  He asked me how I got Spades an' I told him."
</P>

<P>
"Did he say Spades belonged to him?"
</P>

<P>
"Shore I reckon he, proved it.  Y'u can always tell a horse that loves
its master."
</P>

<P>
"Did y'u offer to give Spades back?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes.  But Isbel wouldn't take him."
</P>

<P>
"Hah! ... An' why not?"
</P>

<P>
"He said he'd rather I kept him.  He was about to engage in a dirty,
blood-spilling deal, an' he reckoned he'd not be able to care for a
fine horse.... I didn't want Spades.  I tried to make Isbel take him.
But he rode off.... And that's all there is to that."
</P>

<P>
"Maybe it's not," replied Jorth, chewing his mustache and eying Ellen
with dark, intent gaze.  "Y'u've met this Isbel twice."
</P>

<P>
"It wasn't any fault of mine," retorted Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"I heah he's sweet on y'u.  How aboot that?"
</P>

<P>
Ellen smarted under the blaze of blood that swept to neck and cheek and
temple.  But it was only memory which fired this shame.  What her
father and his crowd might think were matters of supreme indifference.
Yet she met his suspicious gaze with truthful blazing eyes.
</P>

<P>
"I heah talk from Bruce an' Lorenzo," went on her father.  "An' Daggs
heah&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"Daggs nothin'!" interrupted that worthy.  "Don't fetch me in.  I said
nothin' an' I think nothin'."
</P>

<P>
"Yes, Jean Isbel was sweet on me, dad ... but he will never be again,"
returned Ellen, in low tones.  With that she pulled her saddle off
Spades and, throwing it over her shoulder, she walked off to her cabin.
</P>

<P>
Hardly had she gotten indoors when her father entered.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, I didn't know that horse belonged to Isbel," he began, in the
swift, hoarse, persuasive voice so familiar to Ellen.  "I swear I
didn't. I bought him&mdash;traded with Slater for him.... Honest to God, I
never had any idea he was stolen! ... Why, when y'u said 'that horse
y'u stole,'  I felt as if y'u'd knifed me...."
</P>

<P>
Ellen sat at the table and listened while her father paced to and fro
and, by his restless action and passionate speech, worked himself into
a frenzy.  He talked incessantly, as if her silence was condemnatory
and as if eloquence alone could convince her of his honesty.  It seemed
that Ellen saw and heard with keener faculties than ever before. He had
a terrible thirst for her respect.  Not so much for her love, she
divined, but that she would not see how he had fallen!
</P>

<P>
She pitied him with all her heart.  She was all he had, as he was all
the world to her.  And so, as she gave ear to his long, illogical
rigmarole of argument and defense, she slowly found that her pity and
her love were making vital decisions for her.  As of old, in poignant
moments, her father lapsed at last into a denunciation of the Isbels
and what they had brought him to.  His sufferings were real, at least,
in Ellen's presence.  She was the only link that bound him to long-past
happier times.  She was her mother over again&mdash;the woman who had
betrayed another man for him and gone with him to her ruin and death.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, don't go on so," said Ellen, breaking in upon her father's rant.
"I will be true to y'u&mdash;as my mother was.... I am a Jorth.  Your place
is my place&mdash;your fight is my fight.... Never speak of the past to me
again.  If God spares us through this feud we will go away and begin
all over again, far off where no one ever heard of a Jorth.... If we're
not spared we'll at least have had our whack at these damned Isbels."
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap07"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER VII
</H3>

<P>
During June Jean Isbel did not ride far away from Grass Valley.
</P>

<P>
Another attempt had been made upon Gaston Isbel's life.  Another
cowardly shot had been fired from ambush, this time from a pine thicket
bordering the trail that led to Blaisdell's ranch.  Blaisdell heard
this shot, so near his home was it fired.  No trace of the hidden foe
could be found.  The 'ground all around that vicinity bore a carpet of
pine needles which showed no trace of footprints.  The supposition was
that this cowardly attempt had been perpetrated, or certainly
instigated, by the Jorths.  But there was no proof.  And Gaston Isbel
had other enemies in the Tonto Basin besides the sheep clan.  The old
man raged like a lion about this sneaking attack on him.  And his
friend Blaisdell urged an immediate gathering of their kin and friends.
"Let's quit ranchin' till this trouble's settled," he declared.  "Let's
arm an' ride the trails an' meet these men half-way.... It won't help
our side any to wait till you're shot in the back."  More than one of
Isbel's supporters offered the same advice.
</P>

<P>
"No; we'll wait till we know for shore," was the stubborn cattleman's
reply to all these promptings.
</P>

<P>
"Know!  Wal, hell!  Didn't Jean find the black hoss up at Jorth's
ranch?" demanded Blaisdell.  "What more do we want?"
</P>

<P>
"Jean couldn't swear Jorth stole the black."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, by thunder, I can swear to it!" growled Blaisdell.  "An' we're
losin' cattle all the time.  Who's stealin' 'em?"
</P>

<P>
"We've always lost cattle ever since we started ranchin' heah."
</P>

<P>
"Gas, I reckon yu want Jorth to start this fight in the open."
</P>

<P>
"It'll start soon enough," was Isbel's gloomy reply.
</P>

<P>
Jean had not failed altogether in his tracking of lost or stolen
cattle. Circumstances had been against him, and there was something
baffling about this rustling.  The summer storms set in early, and it
had been his luck to have heavy rains wash out fresh tracks that he
might have followed.  The range was large and cattle were everywhere.
Sometimes a loss was not discovered for weeks.  Gaston Isbel's sons
were now the only men left to ride the range.  Two of his riders had
quit because of the threatened war, and Isbel had let another go.  So
that Jean did not often learn that cattle had been stolen until their
tracks were old. Added to that was the fact that this Grass Valley
country was covered with horse tracks and cattle tracks.  The rustlers,
whoever they were, had long been at the game, and now that there was
reason for them to show their cunning they did it.
</P>

<P>
Early in July the hot weather came.  Down on the red ridges of the
Tonto it was hot desert.  The nights were cool, the early mornings were
pleasant, but the day was something to endure.  When the white cumulus
clouds rolled up out of the southwest, growing larger and thicker and
darker, here and there coalescing into a black thundercloud, Jean
welcomed them.  He liked to see the gray streamers of rain hanging down
from a canopy of black, and the roar of rain on the trees as it
approached like a trampling army was always welcome.  The grassy flats,
the red ridges, the rocky slopes, the thickets of manzanita and scrub
oak and cactus were dusty, glaring, throat-parching places under the
hot summer sun.  Jean longed for the cool heights of the Rim, the shady
pines, the dark sweet verdure under the silver spruces, the tinkle and
murmur of the clear rills.  He often had another longing, too, which he
bitterly stifled.
</P>

<P>
Jean's ally, the keen-nosed shepherd clog, had disappeared one day, and
had never returned.  Among men at the ranch there was a difference of
opinion as to what had happened to Shepp.  The old rancher thought he
had been poisoned or shot; Bill and Guy Isbel believed he had been
stolen by sheep herders, who were always stealing dogs; and Jean
inclined to the conviction that Shepp had gone off with the timber
wolves.  The fact was that Shepp did not return, and Jean missed him.
</P>

<P>
One morning at dawn Jean heard the cattle bellowing and trampling out
in the valley; and upon hurrying to a vantage point he was amazed to
see upward of five hundred steers chasing a lone wolf.  Jean's father
had seen such a spectacle as this, but it was a new one for Jean.  The
wolf was a big gray and black fellow, rangy and powerful, and until he
got the steers all behind him he was rather hard put to it to keep out
of their way.  Probably he had dogged the herd, trying to sneak in and
pull down a yearling, and finally the steers had charged him. Jean kept
along the edge of the valley in the hope they would chase him within
range of a rifle.  But the wary wolf saw Jean and sheered off,
gradually drawing away from his pursuers.
</P>

<P>
Jean returned to the house for his breakfast, and then set off across
the valley.  His father owned one small flock of sheep that had not yet
been driven up on the Rim, where all the sheep in the country were run
during the hot, dry summer down on the Tonto.  Young Evarts and a
Mexican boy named Bernardino had charge of this flock.  The regular
Mexican herder, a man of experience, had given up his job; and these
boys were not equal to the task of risking the sheep up in the enemies'
stronghold.
</P>

<P>
This flock was known to be grazing in a side draw, well up from Grass
Valley, where the brush afforded some protection from the sun, and
there was good water and a little feed.  Before Jean reached his
destination he heard a shot.  It was not a rifle shot, which fact
caused Jean a little concern.  Evarts and Bernardino had rifles, but,
to his knowledge, no small arms.  Jean rode up on one of the
black-brushed conical hills that rose on the south side of Grass
Valley, and from there he took a sharp survey of the country.  At first
he made out only cattle, and bare meadowland, and the low encircling
ridges and hills.  But presently up toward the head of the valley he
descried a bunch of horsemen riding toward the village.  He could not
tell their number.  That dark moving mass seemed to Jean to be instinct
with life, mystery, menace.  Who were they?  It was too far for him to
recognize horses, let alone riders.  They were moving fast, too.
</P>

<P>
Jean watched them out of sight, then turned his horse downhill again,
and rode on his quest.  A number of horsemen like that was a very
unusual sight around Grass Valley at any time.  What then did it
portend now?  Jean experienced a little shock of uneasy dread that was
a new sensation for him.  Brooding over this he proceeded on his way,
at length to turn into the draw where the camp of the sheep-herders was
located.  Upon coming in sight of it he heard a hoarse shout.  Young
Evarts appeared running frantically out of the brush.  Jean urged his
horse into a run and soon covered the distance between them.  Evarts
appeared beside himself with terror.
</P>

<P>
"Boy! what's the matter?" queried Jean, as he dismounted, rifle in
hand, peering quickly from Evarts's white face to the camp, and all
around.
</P>

<P>
"Ber-nardino!  Ber-nardino!" gasped the boy, wringing his hands and
pointing.
</P>

<P>
Jean ran the few remaining rods to the sheep camp.  He saw the little
teepee, a burned-out fire, a half-finished meal&mdash;and then the Mexican
lad lying prone on the ground, dead, with a bullet hole in his ghastly
face.  Near him lay an old six-shooter.
</P>

<P>
"Whose gun is that?" demanded Jean, as he picked it up.
</P>

<P>
"Ber-nardino's," replied Evarts, huskily. "He&mdash;he jest got it&mdash;the
other day."
</P>

<P>
"Did he shoot himself accidentally?"
</P>

<P>
"Oh no!  No!  He didn't do it&mdash;atall."
</P>

<P>
"Who did, then?"
</P>

<P>
"The men&mdash;they rode up&mdash;a gang-they did it," panted Evarts.
</P>

<P>
"Did you know who they were?"
</P>

<P>
"No. I couldn't tell.  I saw them comin' an' I was skeered. Bernardino
had gone fer water.  I run an' hid in the brush.  I wanted to yell, but
they come too close.... Then I heerd them talkin'.  Bernardino come
back.  They 'peared friendly-like.  Thet made me raise up, to look. An'
I couldn't see good.  I heerd one of them ask Bernardino to let him see
his gun.  An' Bernardino handed it over.  He looked at the gun an'
haw-hawed, an' flipped it up in the air, an' when it fell back in his
hand it&mdash;it went off bang! ... An' Bernardino dropped.... I hid down
close.  I was skeered stiff.  I heerd them talk more, but not what they
said.  Then they rode away.... An' I hid there till I seen y'u comin'."
</P>

<P>
"Have you got a horse?" queried Jean, sharply.
</P>

<P>
"No. But I can ride one of Bernardino's burros."
</P>

<P>
"Get one.  Hurry over to Blaisdell.  Tell him to send word to Blue and
Gordon and Fredericks to ride like the devil to my father's ranch.
Hurry now!"
</P>

<P>
Young Evarts ran off without reply.  Jean stood looking down at the
limp and pathetic figure of the Mexican boy.  "By Heaven!" he
exclaimed, grimly "the Jorth-Isbel war is on! ... Deliberate,
cold-blooded murder! I'll gamble Daggs did this job.  He's been given
the leadership.  He's started it.... Bernardino, greaser or not, you
were a faithful lad, and you won't go long unavenged."
</P>

<P>
Jean had no time to spare.  Tearing a tarpaulin out of the teepee he
covered the lad with it and then ran for, his horse.  Mounting, he
galloped down the draw, over the little red ridges, out into the
valley, where he put his horse to a run.
</P>

<P>
Action changed the sickening horror that sight of Bernardino had
engendered.  Jean even felt a strange, grim relief.  The long, dragging
days of waiting were over.  Jorth's gang had taken the initiative.
Blood had begun to flow.  And it would continue to flow now till the
last man of one faction stood over the dead body of the last man of the
other.  Would it be a Jorth or an Isbel?  "My instinct was right," he
muttered, aloud.  "That bunch of horses gave me a queer feelin'." Jean
gazed all around the grassy, cattle-dotted valley he was crossing so
swiftly, and toward the village, but he did not see any sign of the
dark group of riders.  They had gone on to Greaves's store, there, no
doubt, to drink and to add more enemies of the Isbels to their gang.
Suddenly across Jean's mind flashed a thought of Ellen Jorth.  "What
'll become of her? ... What 'll become of all the women?  My sister?
... The little ones?"
</P>

<P>
No one was in sight around the ranch.  Never had it appeared more
peaceful and pastoral to Jean.  The grazing cattle and horses in the
foreground, the haystack half eaten away, the cows in the fenced
pasture, the column of blue smoke lazily ascending, the cackle of hens,
the solid, well-built cabins&mdash;all these seemed to repudiate Jean's
haste and his darkness of mind.  This place was, his father's farm.
There was not a cloud in the blue, summer sky.
</P>

<P>
As Jean galloped up the lane some one saw him from the door, and then
Bill and Guy and their gray-headed father came out upon the porch. Jean
saw how he' waved the womenfolk back, and then strode out into the
lane.  Bill and Guy reached his side as Jean pulled his heaving horse
to a halt.  They all looked at Jean, swiftly and intently, with a
little, hard, fiery gleam strangely identical in the eyes of each.
Probably before a word was spoken they knew what to expect.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, you shore was in a hurry," remarked the father.
</P>

<P>
"What the hell's up?" queried Bill, grimly.
</P>

<P>
Guy Isbel remained silent and it was he who turned slightly pale. Jean
leaped off his horse.
</P>

<P>
"Bernardino has just been killed&mdash;murdered with his own gun."
</P>

<P>
Gaston Isbel seemed to exhale a long-dammed, bursting breath that let
his chest sag.  A terrible deadly glint, pale and cold as sunlight on
ice, grew slowly to dominate his clear eyes.
</P>

<P>
"A-huh!" ejaculated Bill Isbel, hoarsely.
</P>

<P>
Not one of the three men asked who had done the killing.  They were
silent a moment, motionless, locked in the secret seclusion of their
own minds.  Then they listened with absorption to Jean's brief story.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, that lets us in," said his father.  "I wish we had more time.
Reckon I'd done better to listen to you boys an' have my men close at
hand.  Jacobs happened to ride over.  That makes five of us besides the
women."
</P>

<P>
"Aw, dad, you don't reckon they'll round us up heah?" asked Guy Isbel.
</P>

<P>
"Boys, I always feared they might," replied the old man.  "But I never
really believed they'd have the nerve.  Shore I ought to have figgered
Daggs better.  This heah secret bizness an' shootin' at us from ambush
looked aboot Jorth's size to me.  But I reckon now we'll have to fight
without our friends."
</P>

<P>
"Let them come," said Jean.  "I sent for Blaisdell, Blue, Gordon, and
Fredericks.  Maybe they'll get here in time.  But if they don't it
needn't worry us much.  We can hold out here longer than Jorth's gang
can hang around.  We'll want plenty of water, wood, and meat in the
house."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I'll see to that," rejoined his father.  "Jean, you go out close
by, where you can see all around, an' keep watch."
</P>

<P>
"Who's goin' to tell the women?" asked Guy Isbel.
</P>

<P>
The silence that momentarily ensued was an eloquent testimony to the
hardest and saddest aspect of this strife between men.  The
inevitableness of it in no wise detracted from its sheer uselessness.
Men from time immemorial had hated, and killed one another, always to
the misery and degradation of their women.  Old Gaston Isbel showed
this tragic realization in his lined face.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, boys, I'll tell the women," he said.  "Shore you needn't worry
none aboot them.  They'll be game."
</P>

<P>
Jean rode away to an open knoll a short distance from the house, and
here he stationed himself to watch all points.  The cedared ridge back
of the ranch was the one approach by which Jorth's gang might come
close without being detected, but even so, Jean could see them and ride
to the house in time to prevent a surprise.  The moments dragged by,
and at the end of an hour Jean was in hopes that Blaisdell would soon
come.  These hopes were well founded.  Presently he heard a clatter of
hoofs on hard ground to the south, and upon wheeling to look he saw the
friendly neighbor coming fast along the road, riding a big white horse.
Blaisdell carried a rifle in his hand, and the sight of him gave Jean a
glow of warmth.  He was one of the Texans who would stand by the Isbels
to the last man.  Jean watched him ride to the house&mdash;watched the
meeting between him and his lifelong friend. There floated out to Jean
old Blaisdell's roar of rage.
</P>

<P>
Then out on the green of Grass Valley, where a long, swelling plain
swept away toward the village, there appeared a moving dark patch. A
bunch of horses!  Jean's body gave a slight start&mdash;the shock of sudden
propulsion of blood through all his veins.  Those horses bore riders.
They were coming straight down the open valley, on the wagon road to
Isbel's ranch.  No subterfuge nor secrecy nor sneaking in that advance!
A hot thrill ran over Jean.
</P>

<P>
"By Heaven!  They mean business!" he muttered.  Up to the last moment
he had unconsciously hoped Jorth's gang would not come boldly like
that. The verifications of all a Texan's inherited instincts left no
doubts, no hopes, no illusions&mdash;only a grim certainty that this was not
conjecture nor probability, but fact.  For a moment longer Jean watched
the slowly moving dark patch of horsemen against the green background,
then he hurried back to the ranch.  His father saw him coming&mdash;strode
out as before.
</P>

<P>
"Dad&mdash;Jorth is comin'," said Jean, huskily.  How he hated to be forced
to tell his father that!  The boyish love of old had flashed up.
</P>

<P>
"Whar?" demanded the old man, his eagle gaze sweeping the horizon.
</P>

<P>
"Down the road from Grass Valley.  You can't see from here."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, come in an' let's get ready."
</P>

<P>
Isbel's house had not been constructed with the idea of repelling an
attack from a band of Apaches.  The long living room of the main cabin
was the one selected for defense and protection.  This room had two
windows and a door facing the lane, and a door at each end, one of
which opened into the kitchen and the other into an adjoining and
later-built cabin.  The logs of this main cabin were of large size, and
the doors and window coverings were heavy, affording safer protection
from bullets than the other cabins.
</P>

<P>
When Jean went in he seemed to see a host of white faces lifted to him.
His sister Ann, his two sisters-in-law, the children, all mutely
watched him with eyes that would haunt him.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Blaisdell, Jean says Jorth an' his precious gang of rustlers are
on the way heah," announced the rancher.
</P>

<P>
"Damn me if it's not a bad day fer Lee Jorth!" declared Blaisdell.
</P>

<P>
"Clear off that table," ordered Isbel, "an' fetch out all the guns an'
shells we got."
</P>

<P>
Once laid upon the table these presented a formidable arsenal, which
consisted of the three new .44 Winchesters that Jean had brought with
him from the coast; the enormous buffalo, or so-called "needle" gun,
that Gaston Isbel had used for years; a Henry rifle which Blaisdell had
brought, and half a dozen six-shooters.  Piles and packages of
ammunition littered the table.
</P>

<P>
"Sort out these heah shells," said Isbel.  "Everybody wants to get hold
of his own."
</P>

<P>
Jacobs, the neighbor who was present, was a thick-set, bearded man,
rather jovial among those lean-jawed Texans.  He carried a .44 rifle of
an old pattern.  "Wal, boys, if I'd knowed we was in fer some fun I'd
hev fetched more shells.  Only got one magazine full.  Mebbe them new
.44's will fit my gun."
</P>

<P>
It was discovered that the ammunition Jean had brought in quantity
fitted Jacob's rifle, a fact which afforded peculiar satisfaction to
all the men present.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, shore we're lucky," declared Gaston Isbel.
</P>

<P>
The women sat apart, in the corner toward the kitchen, and there seemed
to be a strange fascination for them in the talk and action of the men.
The wife of Jacobs was a little woman, with homely face and very bright
eyes.  Jean thought she would be a help in that household during the
next doubtful hours.
</P>

<P>
Every moment Jean would go to the window and peer out down the road.
His companions evidently relied upon him, for no one else looked out.
Now that the suspense of days and weeks was over, these Texans faced
the issue with talk and act not noticeably different from those of
ordinary moments.
</P>

<P>
At last Jean espied the dark mass of horsemen out in the valley road.
They were close together, walking their mounts, and evidently in
earnest conversation.  After several ineffectual attempts Jean counted
eleven horses, every one of which he was sure bore a rider.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, look out!" called Jean.
</P>

<P>
Gaston Isbel strode to the door and stood looking, without a word.
</P>

<P>
The other men crowded to the windows.  Blaisdell cursed under his
breath.  Jacobs said: "By Golly!  Come to pay us a call!"  The women
sat motionless, with dark, strained eyes.  The children ceased their
play and looked fearfully to their mother.
</P>

<P>
When just out of rifle shot of the cabins the band of horsemen halted
and lined up in a half circle, all facing the ranch.  They were close
enough for Jean to see their gestures, but he could not recognize any
of their faces.  It struck him singularly that not one of them wore a
mask.
</P>

<P>
"Jean, do you know any of them?" asked his father
</P>

<P>
"No, not yet.  They're too far off."
</P>

<P>
"Dad, I'll get your old telescope," said Guy Isbel, and he ran out
toward the adjoining cabin.
</P>

<P>
Blaisdell shook his big, hoary head and rumbled out of his bull-like
neck, "Wal, now you're heah, you sheep fellars, what are you goin' to
do aboot it?"
</P>

<P>
Guy Isbel returned with a yard-long telescope, which he passed to his
father.  The old man took it with shaking hands and leveled it.
Suddenly it was as if he had been transfixed; then he lowered the
glass, shaking violently, and his face grew gray with an exceeding
bitter wrath.
</P>

<P>
"Jorth!" he swore, harshly.
</P>

<P>
Jean had only to look at his father to know that recognition had been
like a mortal shock.  It passed.  Again the rancher leveled the glass.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Blaisdell, there's our old Texas friend, Daggs," he drawled,
dryly. "An' Greaves, our honest storekeeper of Grass Valley.  An'
there's Stonewall Jackson Jorth.  An' Tad Jorth, with the same old red
nose! ... An', say, damn if one of that gang isn't Queen, as bad a gun
fighter as Texas ever bred.  Shore I thought he'd been killed in the
Big Bend country.  So I heard.... An' there's Craig, another
respectable sheepman of Grass Valley.  Haw-haw!  An', wal, I don't
recognize any more of them."
</P>

<P>
Jean forthwith took the glass and moved it slowly across the faces of
that group of horsemen.  "Simm Bruce," he said, instantly.  "I see
Colter.  And, yes, Greaves is there.  I've seen the man next to
him&mdash;face like a ham...."
</P>

<P>
"Shore that is Craig," interrupted his father.
</P>

<P>
Jean knew the dark face of Lee Jorth by the resemblance it bore to
Ellen's, and the recognition brought a twinge.  He thought, too, that
he could tell the other Jorths.  He asked his father to describe Daggs
and then Queen.  It was not likely that Jean would fail to know these
several men in the future.  Then Blaisdell asked for the telescope and,
when he got through looking and cursing, he passed it on to others,
who, one by one, took a long look, until finally it came back to the
old rancher.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Daggs is wavin' his hand heah an' there, like a general aboot to
send out scouts.  Haw-haw! ... An' 'pears to me he's not overlookin'
our hosses.  Wal, that's natural for a rustler.  He'd have to steal a
hoss or a steer before goin' into a fight or to dinner or to a funeral."
</P>

<P>
"It 'll be his funeral if he goes to foolin' 'round them hosses,"
declared Guy Isbel, peering anxiously out of the door.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, son, shore it 'll be somebody's funeral," replied his father.
</P>

<P>
Jean paid but little heed to the conversation.  With sharp eyes fixed
upon the horsemen, he tried to grasp at their intention.  Daggs pointed
to the horses in the pasture lot that lay between him and the house.
These animals were the best on the range and belonged mostly to Guy
Isbel, who was the horse fancier and trader of the family.  His horses
were his passion.
</P>

<P>
"Looks like they'd do some horse stealin'," said Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Lend me that glass," demanded Guy, forcefully.  He surveyed the band
of men for a long moment, then he handed the glass back to Jean.
</P>

<P>
"I'm goin' out there after my hosses," he declared.
</P>

<P>
"No!" exclaimed his father.
</P>

<P>
"That gang come to steal an' not to fight.  Can't you see that? If they
meant to fight they'd do it.  They're out there arguin' about my
hosses."
</P>

<P>
Guy picked up his rifle.  He looked sullenly determined and the gleam
in his eye was one of fearlessness.
</P>

<P>
"Son, I know Daggs," said his father.  "An' I know Jorth.  They've come
to kill us.  It 'll be shore death for y'u to go out there."
</P>

<P>
"I'm goin', anyhow.  They can't steal my hosses out from under my eyes.
An' they ain't in range."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Guy, you ain't goin' alone," spoke up Jacobs, cheerily, as he
came forward.
</P>

<P>
The red-haired young wife of Guy Isbel showed no change of her grave
face.  She had been reared in a stern school.  She knew men in times
like these.  But Jacobs's wife appealed to him,  "Bill, don't risk your
life for a horse or two."
</P>

<P>
Jacobs laughed and answered,  "Not much risk," and went out with Guy.
To Jean their action seemed foolhardy.  He kept a keen eye on them and
saw instantly when the band became aware of Guy's and Jacobs's entrance
into the pasture.  It took only another second then to realize that
Daggs and Jorth had deadly intent.  Jean saw Daggs slip out of his
saddle, rifle in hand.  Others of the gang did likewise, until half of
them were dismounted.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, they're goin' to shoot," called out Jean, sharply.  "Yell for Guy
and Jacobs.  Make them come back."
</P>

<P>
The old man shouted; Bill Isbel yelled; Blaisdell lifted his stentorian
voice.
</P>

<P>
Jean screamed piercingly: "Guy!  Run!  Run!"
</P>

<P>
But Guy Isbel and his companion strode on into the pasture, as if they
had not heard, as if no menacing horse thieves were within miles.  They
had covered about a quarter of the distance across the pasture, and
were nearing the horses, when Jean saw red flashes and white puffs of
smoke burst out from the front of that dark band of rustlers.  Then
followed the sharp, rattling crack of rifles.
</P>

<P>
Guy Isbel stopped short, and, dropping his gun, he threw up his arms
and fell headlong.  Jacobs acted as if he had suddenly encountered an
invisible blow.  He had been hit.  Turning, he began to run and ran
fast for a few paces.  There were more quick, sharp shots.  He let go
of his rifle.  His running broke.  Walking, reeling, staggering, he
kept on. A hoarse cry came from him.  Then a single rifle shot pealed
out.  Jean heard the bullet strike.  Jacobs fell to his knees, then
forward on his face.
</P>

<P>
Jean Isbel felt himself turned to marble.  The suddenness of this
tragedy paralyzed him.  His gaze remained riveted on those prostrate
forms.
</P>

<P>
A hand clutched his arm&mdash;a shaking woman's hand, slim and hard and
tense.
</P>

<P>
"Bill's&mdash;killed!" whispered a broken voice.  "I was watchin'....
They're both dead!"
</P>

<P>
The wives of Jacobs and Guy Isbel had slipped up behind Jean and from
behind him they had seen the tragedy.
</P>

<P>
"I asked Bill&mdash;not to&mdash;go," faltered the Jacobs woman, and, covering
her face with her hands, she groped back to the corner of the cabin,
where the other women, shaking and white, received her in their arms.
Guy Isbel's wife stood at the window, peering over Jean's shoulder. She
had the nerve of a man.  She had looked out upon death before.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, they're dead," she said, bitterly.  "An' how are we goin' to get
their bodies?"
</P>

<P>
At this Gaston Isbel seemed to rouse from the cold spell that had
transfixed him.
</P>

<P>
"God, this is hell for our women," he cried out, hoarsely.  "My son&mdash;my
son! ... Murdered by the Jorths!"  Then he swore a terrible oath.
</P>

<P>
Jean saw the remainder of the mounted rustlers get off, and then, all
of them leading their horses, they began to move around to the left.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, they're movin' round," said Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Up to some trick," declared Bill Isbel.
</P>

<P>
"Bill, you make a hole through the back wall, say aboot the fifth log
up," ordered the father.  "Shore we've got to look out."
</P>

<P>
The elder son grasped a tool and, scattering the children, who had been
playing near the back corner, he began to work at the point designated.
The little children backed away with fixed, wondering, grave eyes.  The
women moved their chairs, and huddled together as if waiting and
listening.
</P>

<P>
Jean watched the rustlers until they passed out of his sight.  They had
moved toward the sloping, brushy ground to the north and west of the
cabins.
</P>

<P>
"Let me know when you get a hole in the back wall," said Jean, and he
went through the kitchen and cautiously out another door to slip into a
low-roofed, shed-like end of the rambling cabin.  This small space was
used to store winter firewood.  The chinks between the walls had not
been filled with adobe clay, and he could see out on three sides. The
rustlers were going into the juniper brush.  They moved out of sight,
and presently reappeared without their horses.  It looked to Jean as if
they intended to attack the cabins.  Then they halted at the edge of
the brush and held a long consultation.  Jean could see them
distinctly, though they were too far distant for him to recognize any
particular man.  One of them, however, stood and moved apart from the
closely massed group.  Evidently, from his strides and gestures, he was
exhorting his listeners.  Jean concluded this was either Daggs or
Jorth.  Whoever it was had a loud, coarse voice, and this and his
actions impressed Jean with a suspicion that the man was under the
influence of the bottle.
</P>

<P>
Presently Bill Isbel called Jean in a low voice.  "Jean, I got the hole
made, but we can't see anyone."
</P>

<P>
"I see them," Jean replied.  "They're havin' a powwow.   Looks to me
like either Jorth or Daggs is drunk.  He's arguin' to charge us, an'
the rest of the gang are holdin' back.... Tell dad, an' all of you keep
watchin'.  I'll let you know when they make a move."
</P>

<P>
Jorth's gang appeared to be in no hurry to expose their plan of battle.
Gradually the group disintegrated a little; some of them sat down;
others walked to and fro.  Presently two of them went into the brush,
probably back to the horses.  In a few moments they reappeared,
carrying a pack.  And when this was deposited on the ground all the
rustlers sat down around it.  They had brought food and drink.  Jean
had to utter a grim laugh at their coolness; and he was reminded of
many dare-devil deeds known to have been perpetrated by the Hash Knife
Gang.  Jean was glad of a reprieve.  The longer the rustlers put off an
attack the more time the allies of the Isbels would have to get here.
Rather hazardous, however, would it be now for anyone to attempt to get
to the Isbel cabins in the daytime.  Night would be more favorable.
</P>

<P>
Twice Bill Isbel came through the kitchen to whisper to Jean.  The
strain in the large room, from which the rustlers could not be seen,
must have been great.  Jean told him all he had seen and what he
thought about it. "Eatin' an' drinkin'!" ejaculated Bill.  "Well, I'll
be&mdash;!  That 'll jar the old man.  He wants to get the fight over.
</P>

<P>
"Tell him I said it'll be over too quick&mdash;for us&mdash;unless are mighty
careful," replied Jean, sharply.
</P>

<P>
Bill went back muttering to himself.  Then followed a long wait,
fraught with suspense, during which Jean watched the rustlers regale
themselves. The day was hot and still.  And the unnatural silence of
the cabin was broken now and then by the gay laughter of the children.
The sound shocked and haunted Jean.  Playing children!  Then another
sound, so faint he had to strain to hear it, disturbed and saddened
him&mdash;his father's slow tread up and down the cabin floor, to and fro,
to and fro. What must be in his father's heart this day!
</P>

<P>
At length the rustlers rose and, with rifles in hand, they moved as one
man down the slope.  They came several hundred yards closer, until
Jean, grimly cocking his rifle, muttered to himself that a few more
rods closer would mean the end of several of that gang.  They knew the
range of a rifle well enough, and once more sheered off at right angles
with the cabin.  When they got even with the line of corrals they
stooped down and were lost to Jean's sight.  This fact caused him
alarm. They were, of course, crawling up on the cabins.  At the end of
that line of corrals ran a ditch, the bank of which was high enough to
afford cover.  Moreover, it ran along in front of the cabins, scarcely
a hundred yards, and it was covered with grass and little clumps of
brush, from behind which the rustlers could fire into the windows and
through the clay chinks without any considerable risk to themselves. As
they did not come into sight again, Jean concluded he had discovered
their plan.  Still, he waited awhile longer, until he saw faint, little
clouds of dust rising from behind the far end of the embankment.  That
discovery made him rush out, and through the kitchen to the large
cabin, where his sudden appearance startled the men.
</P>

<P>
"Get back out of sight!" he ordered, sharply, and with swift steps he
reached the door and closed it.  "They're behind the bank out there by
the corrals.  An' they're goin' to crawl down the ditch closer to
us.... It looks bad.  They'll have grass an' brush to shoot from. We've
got to be mighty careful how we peep out."
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  All right," replied his father.  "You women keep the kids with
you in that corner.  An' you all better lay down flat."
</P>

<P>
Blaisdell, Bill Isbel, and the old man crouched at the large window,
peeping through cracks in the rough edges of the logs.  Jean took his
post beside the small window, with his keen eyes vibrating like a
compass needle.  The movement of a blade of grass, the flight of a
grasshopper could not escape his trained sight.
</P>

<P>
"Look sharp now!" he called to the other men.  "I see dust.... They're
workin' along almost to that bare spot on the bank.... I saw the tip of
a rifle ... a black hat ... more dust.  They're spreadin' along behind
the bank."
</P>

<P>
Loud voices, and then thick clouds of yellow dust, coming from behind
the highest and brushiest line of the embankment, attested to the truth
of Jean's observation, and also to a reckless disregard of danger.
</P>

<P>
Suddenly Jean caught a glint of moving color through the fringe of
brush.  Instantly he was strung like a whipcord.
</P>

<P>
Then a tall, hatless and coatless man stepped up in plain sight. The
sun shone on his fair, ruffled hair.  Daggs!
</P>

<P>
"Hey, you &mdash; &mdash; Isbels!" he bawled, in magnificent derisive boldness.
"Come out an' fight!"
</P>

<P>
Quick as lightning Jean threw up his rifle and fired.  He saw tufts of
fair hair fly from Daggs's head.  He saw the squirt of red blood. Then
quick shots from his comrades rang out.  They all hit the swaying body
of the rustler.  But Jean knew with a terrible thrill that his bullet
had killed Daggs before the other three struck.  Daggs fell forward,
his arms and half his body resting over, the embankment. Then the
rustlers dragged him back out of sight.  Hoarse shouts rose. A cloud of
yellow dust drifted away from the spot.
</P>

<P>
"Daggs!" burst out Gaston Isbel.  "Jean, you knocked off the top of his
haid.  I seen that when I was pullin' trigger.  Shore we over heah
wasted our shots."
</P>

<P>
"God! he must have been crazy or drunk&mdash;to pop up there&mdash;an' brace us
that way," said Blaisdell, breathing hard.
</P>

<P>
"Arizona is bad for Texans," replied Isbel, sardonically.  "Shore it's
been too peaceful heah.  Rustlers have no practice at fightin'.  An' I
reckon Daggs forgot."
</P>

<P>
"Daggs made as crazy a move as that of Guy an' Jacobs," spoke up Jean.
"They were overbold, an' he was drunk.  Let them be a lesson to us."
</P>

<P>
Jean had smelled whisky upon his entrance to this cabin.  Bill was a
hard drinker, and his father was not immune.  Blaisdell, too, drank
heavily upon occasions.  Jean made a mental note that he would not
permit their chances to become impaired by liquor.
</P>

<P>
Rifles began to crack, and puffs of smoke rose all along the embankment
for the space of a hundred feet.  Bullets whistled through the rude
window casing and spattered on the heavy door, and one split the clay
between the logs before Jean, narrowly missing him.  Another volley
followed, then another.  The rustlers had repeating rifles and they
were emptying their magazines.  Jean changed his position.  The other
men profited by his wise move.  The volleys had merged into one
continuous rattling roar of rifle shots.  Then came a sudden cessation
of reports, with silence of relief.  The cabin was full of dust,
mingled with the smoke from the shots of Jean and his companions.  Jean
heard the stifled breaths of the children.  Evidently they were
terror-stricken, but they did not cry out.  The women uttered no sound.
</P>

<P>
A loud voice pealed from behind the embankment.
</P>

<P>
"Come out an' fight!  Do you Isbels want to be killed like sheep?"
</P>

<P>
This sally gained no reply. Jean returned to his post by the window and
his comrades followed his example. And they exercised extreme caution
when they peeped out.
</P>

<P>
"Boys, don't shoot till you see one," said Gaston Isbel.  "Maybe after
a while they'll get careless.  But Jorth will never show himself."
</P>

<P>
The rustlers did not again resort to volleys.  One by one, from
different angles, they began to shoot, and they were not firing at
random.  A few bullets came straight in at the windows to pat into the
walls; a few others ticked and splintered the edges of the windows; and
most of them broke through the clay chinks between the logs.  It dawned
upon Jean that these dangerous shots were not accident.  They were well
aimed, and most of them hit low down.  The cunning rustlers had some
unerring riflemen and they were picking out the vulnerable places all
along the front of the cabin.  If Jean had not been lying flat he would
have been hit twice.  Presently he conceived the idea of driving pegs
between the logs, high up, and, kneeling on these, he managed to peep
out from the upper edge of the window.  But this position was awkward
and difficult to hold for long.
</P>

<P>
He heard a bullet hit one of his comrades.  Whoever had been struck
never uttered a sound.  Jean turned to look.  Bill Isbel was holding
his shoulder, where red splotches appeared on his shirt.  He shook his
head at Jean, evidently to make light of the wound.  The women and
children were lying face down and could not see what was happening.
Plain is was that Bill did not want them to know.  Blaisdell bound up
the bloody shoulder with a scarf.
</P>

<P>
Steady firing from the rustlers went on, at the rate of one shot every
few minutes.  The Isbels did not return these.  Jean did not fire again
that afternoon.  Toward sunset, when the besiegers appeared to grow
restless or careless, Blaisdell fired at something moving behind the
brush; and Gaston Isbel's huge buffalo gun boomed out.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, what 're they goin' to do after dark, an' what 're WE goin' to
do?" grumbled Blaisdell.
</P>

<P>
"Reckon they'll never charge us," said Gaston.
</P>

<P>
"They might set fire to the cabins," added Bill Isbel.  He appeared to
be the gloomiest of the Isbel faction.  There was something on his mind.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, the Jorths are bad, but I reckon they'd not burn us alive,"
replied Blaisdell.
</P>

<P>
"Hah!" ejaculated Gaston Isbel.  "Much you know aboot Lee Jorth. He
would skin me alive an' throw red-hot coals on my raw flesh."
</P>

<P>
So they talked during the hour from sunset to dark.  Jean Isbel had
little to say.  He was revolving possibilities in his mind.  Darkness
brought a change in the attack of the rustlers.  They stationed men at
four points around the cabins; and every few minutes one of these
outposts would fire.  These bullets embedded themselves in the logs,
causing but little anxiety to the Isbels.
</P>

<P>
"Jean, what you make of it?" asked the old rancher.
</P>

<P>
"Looks to me this way," replied Jean.  "They're set for a long fight.
They're shootin' just to let us know they're on the watch."
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  Wal, what 're you goin' to do aboot it?"
</P>

<P>
"I'm goin' out there presently."
</P>

<P>
Gaston Isbel grunted his satisfaction at this intention of Jean's.
</P>

<P>
All was pitch dark inside the cabin.  The women had water and food at
hand.  Jean kept a sharp lookout from his window while he ate his
supper of meat, bread, and milk.  At last the children, worn out by the
long day, fell asleep.  The women whispered a little in their corner.
</P>

<P>
About nine o'clock Jean signified his intention of going out to
reconnoitre.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, they've got the best of us in the daytime," he said, "but not
after dark."
</P>

<P>
Jean buckled on a belt that carried shells, a bowie knife, and
revolver, and with rifle in hand he went out through the kitchen to the
yard. The night was darker than usual, as some of the stars were hidden
by clouds.  He leaned against the log cabin, waiting for his eyes to
become perfectly adjusted to the darkness.  Like an Indian, Jean could
see well at night.  He knew every point around cabins and sheds and
corrals, every post, log, tree, rock, adjacent to the ranch.  After
perhaps a quarter of an hour watching, during which time several shots
were fired from behind the embankment and one each from the rustlers at
the other locations, Jean slipped out on his quest.
</P>

<P>
He kept in the shadow of the cabin walls, then the line of orchard
trees, then a row of currant bushes.  Here, crouching low, he halted to
look and listen.  He was now at the edge of the open ground, with the
gently rising slope before him.  He could see the dark patches of cedar
and juniper trees.  On the north side of the cabin a streak of fire
flashed in the blackness, and a shot rang out.  Jean heard the bullet
bit the cabin.  Then silence enfolded the lonely ranch and the darkness
lay like a black blanket.  A low hum of insects pervaded the air.  Dull
sheets of lightning illumined the dark horizon to the south. Once Jean
heard voices, but could not tell from which direction they came.  To
the west of him then flared out another rifle shot.  The bullet
whistled down over Jean to thud into the cabin.
</P>

<P>
Jean made a careful study of the obscure, gray-black open before him
and then the background to his rear.  So long as he kept the dense
shadows behind him he could not be seen.  He slipped from behind his
covert and, gliding with absolutely noiseless footsteps, he gained the
first clump of junipers.  Here he waited patiently and motionlessly for
another round of shots from the rustlers.  After the second shot from
the west side Jean sheered off to the right.  Patches of brush, clumps
of juniper, and isolated cedars covered this slope, affording Jean a
perfect means for his purpose, which was to make a detour and come up
behind the rustler who was firing from that side.  Jean climbed to the
top of the ridge, descended the opposite slope, made his turn to the
left, and slowly worked up behind the point near where he expected to
locate the rustler.  Long habit in the open, by day and night, rendered
his sense of direction almost as perfect as sight itself.  The first
flash of fire he saw from this side proved that he had come straight up
toward his man.  Jean's intention was to crawl up on this one of the
Jorth gang and silently kill him with a knife.  If the plan worked
successfully, Jean meant to work round to the next rustler.  Laying
aside his rifle, he crawled forward on hands and knees, making no more
sound than a cat.  His approach was slow.  He had to pick his way, be
careful not to break twigs nor rattle stones.  His buckskin garments
made no sound against the brush.  Jean located the rustler sitting on
the top of the ridge in the center of an open space. He was alone.
Jean saw the dull-red end of the cigarette he was smoking.  The ground
on the ridge top was rocky and not well adapted for Jean's purpose.  He
had to abandon the idea of crawling up on the rustler.  Whereupon, Jean
turned back, patiently and slowly, to get his rifle.
</P>

<P>
Upon securing it he began to retrace his course, this time more slowly
than before, as he was hampered by the rifle.  But he did not make the
slightest sound, and at length he reached the edge of the open ridge
top, once more to espy the dark form of the rustler silhouetted against
the sky.  The distance was not more than fifty yards.
</P>

<P>
As Jean rose to his knee and carefully lifted his rifle round to avoid
the twigs of a juniper he suddenly experienced another emotion besides
the one of grim, hard wrath at the Jorths.  It was an emotion that
sickened him, made him weak internally, a cold, shaking, ungovernable
sensation.  Suppose this man was Ellen Jorth's father!  Jean lowered
the rifle.  He felt it shake over his knee.  He was trembling all over.
The astounding discovery that he did not want to kill Ellen's
father&mdash;that he could not do it&mdash;awakened Jean to the despairing nature
of his love for her.  In this grim moment of indecision, when he knew
his Indian subtlety and ability gave him a great advantage over the
Jorths, he fully realized his strange, hopeless, and irresistible love
for the girl.  He made no attempt to deny it any longer.  Like the
night and the lonely wilderness around him, like the inevitableness of
this Jorth-Isbel feud, this love of his was a thing, a fact, a reality.
He breathed to his own inward ear, to his soul&mdash;he could not kill Ellen
Jorth's father.  Feud or no feud, Isbel or not, he could not
deliberately do it.  And why not?  There was no answer.  Was he not
faithless to his father?  He had no hope of ever winning Ellen Jorth.
He did not want the love of a girl of her character.  But he loved her.
And his struggle must be against the insidious and mysterious growth of
that passion.  It swayed him already.  It made him a coward. Through
his mind and heart swept the memory of Ellen Jorth, her beauty and
charm, her boldness and pathos, her shame and her degradation. And the
sweetness of her outweighed the boldness.  And the mystery of her
arrayed itself in unquenchable protest against her acknowledged shame.
Jean lifted his face to the heavens, to the pitiless white stars, to
the infinite depths of the dark-blue sky.  He could sense the fact of
his being an atom in the universe of nature.  What was he, what was his
revengeful father, what were hate and passion and strife in comparison
to the nameless something, immense and everlasting, that he sensed in
this dark moment?
</P>

<P>
But the rustlers&mdash;Daggs&mdash;the Jorths&mdash;they had killed his brother
Guy&mdash;murdered him brutally and ruthlessly.  Guy had been a playmate of
Jean's&mdash;a favorite brother.  Bill had been secretive and selfish.  Jean
had never loved him as he did Guy.  Guy lay dead down there on the
meadow. This feud had begun to run its bloody course.  Jean steeled his
nerve. The hot blood crept back along his veins.  The dark and
masterful tide of revenge waved over him.  The keen edge of his mind
then cut out sharp and trenchant thoughts.  He must kill when and where
he could.  This man could hardly be Ellen Jorth's father.  Jorth would
be with the main crowd, directing hostilities.  Jean could shoot this
rustler guard and his shot would be taken by the gang as the regular
one from their comrade.  Then swiftly Jean leveled his rifle, covered
the dark form, grew cold and set, and pressed the trigger.  After the
report he rose and wheeled away.  He did not look nor listen for the
result of his shot.  A clammy sweat wet his face, the hollow of his
hands, his breast. A horrible, leaden, thick sensation oppressed his
heart.  Nature had endowed him with Indian gifts, but the exercise of
them to this end caused a revolt in his soul.
</P>

<P>
Nevertheless, it was the Isbel blood that dominated him.  The wind blew
cool on his face.  The burden upon his shoulders seemed to lift.  The
clamoring whispers grew fainter in his ears.  And by the time he had
retraced his cautious steps back to the orchard all his physical being
was strung to the task at hand.  Something had come between his
reflective self and this man of action.
</P>

<P>
Crossing the lane, he took to the west line of sheds, and passed beyond
them into the meadow.  In the grass he crawled silently away to the
right, using the same precaution that had actuated him on the slope,
only here he did not pause so often, nor move so slowly.  Jean aimed to
go far enough to the right to pass the end of the embankment behind
which the rustlers had found such efficient cover.  This ditch had been
made to keep water, during spring thaws and summer storms, from pouring
off the slope to flood the corrals.
</P>

<P>
Jean miscalculated and found he had come upon the embankment somewhat
to the left of the end, which fact, however, caused him no uneasiness.
He lay there awhile to listen.  Again he heard voices.  After a time a
shot pealed out.  He did not see the flash, but he calculated that it
had come from the north side of the cabins.
</P>

<P>
The next quarter of an hour discovered to Jean that the nearest guard
was firing from the top of the embankment, perhaps a hundred yards
distant, and a second one was performing the same office from a point
apparently only a few yards farther on.  Two rustlers close together!
Jean had not calculated upon that.  For a little while he pondered on
what was best to do, and at length decided to crawl round behind them,
and as close as the situation made advisable.
</P>

<P>
He found the ditch behind the embankment a favorable path by which to
stalk these enemies.  It was dry and sandy, with borders of high weeds.
The only drawback was that it was almost impossible for him to keep
from brushing against the dry, invisible branches of the weeds.  To
offset this he wormed his way like a snail, inch by inch, taking a long
time before he caught sight of the sitting figure of a man, black
against the dark-blue sky.  This rustler had fired his rifle three
times during Jean's slow approach.  Jean watched and listened a few
moments, then wormed himself closer and closer, until the man was
within twenty steps of him.
</P>

<P>
Jean smelled tobacco smoke, but could see no light of pipe or
cigarette, because the fellow's back was turned.
</P>

<P>
"Say, Ben," said this man to his companion sitting hunched up a few
yards distant, "shore it strikes me queer thet Somers ain't shootin'
any over thar."
</P>

<P>
Jean recognized the dry, drawling voice of Greaves, and the shock of it
seemed to contract the muscles of his whole thrilling body, like that
of a panther about to spring.
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap08"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER VIII
</H3>

<P>
"Was shore thinkin' thet same," said the other man.  "An', say, didn't
thet last shot sound too sharp fer Somers's forty-five?"
</P>

<P>
"Come to think of it, I reckon it did," replied Greaves.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I'll go around over thar an' see."
</P>

<P>
The dark form of the rustler slipped out of sight over the embankment.
</P>

<P>
"Better go slow an' careful," warned Greaves.  "An' only go close
enough to call Somers.... Mebbe thet damn half-breed Isbel is comin'
some Injun on us."
</P>

<P>
Jean heard the soft swish of footsteps through wet grass.  Then all was
still.  He lay flat, with his cheek on the sand, and he had to look
ahead and upward to make out the dark figure of Greaves on the bank.
One way or another he meant to kill Greaves, and he had the will power
to resist the strongest gust of passion that had ever stormed his
breast.  If he arose and shot the rustler, that act would defeat his
plan of slipping on around upon the other outposts who were firing at
the cabins.  Jean wanted to call softly to Greaves, "You're right about
the half-breed!" and then, as he wheeled aghast, to kill him as he
moved.  But it suited Jean to risk leaping upon the man.  Jean did not
waste time in trying to understand the strange, deadly instinct that
gripped him at the moment.  But he realized then he had chosen the most
perilous plan to get rid of Greaves.
</P>

<P>
Jean drew a long, deep breath and held it.  He let go of his rifle. He
rose, silently as a lifting shadow.  He drew the bowie knife. Then with
light, swift bounds he glided up the bank.  Greaves must have heard a
rustling&mdash;a soft, quick pad of moccasin, for he turned with a start.
And that instant Jean's left arm darted like a striking snake round
Greaves's neck and closed tight and hard.  With his right hand free,
holding the knife, Jean might have ended the deadly business in just
one move.  But when his bared arm felt the hot, bulging neck something
terrible burst out of the depths of him.  To kill this enemy of his
father's was not enough!  Physical contact had unleashed the savage
soul of the Indian.  Yet there was more, and as Jean gave the straining
body a tremendous jerk backward, he felt the same strange thrill, the
dark joy that he had known when his fist had smashed the face of Simm
Bruce.  Greaves had leered&mdash;he had corroborated Bruce's vile
insinuation about Ellen Jorth.  So it was more than hate that actuated
Jean Isbel.
</P>

<P>
Greaves was heavy and powerful.  He whirled himself, feet first, over
backward, in a lunge like that of a lassoed steer.  But Jean's hold
held.  They rolled down the bank into the sandy ditch, and Jean landed
uppermost, with his body at right angles with that of his adversary.
</P>

<P>
"Greaves, your hunch was right," hissed Jean.  "It's the half-breed....
An' I'm goin' to cut you&mdash;first for Ellen Jorth&mdash;an' then for Gaston
Isbel!"
</P>

<P>
Jean gazed down into the gleaming eyes.  Then his right arm whipped the
big blade.  It flashed.  It fell.  Low down, as far as Jean could
reach, it entered Greaves's body.
</P>

<P>
All the heavy, muscular frame of Greaves seemed to contract and burst.
His spring was that of an animal in terror and agony.  It was so
tremendous that it broke Jean's hold.  Greaves let out a strangled yell
that cleared, swelling wildly, with a hideous mortal note.  He wrestled
free.  The big knife came out.  Supple and swift, he got to his, knees.
He had his gun out when Jean reached him again.  Like a bear Jean
enveloped him.  Greaves shot, but he could not raise the gun, nor twist
it far enough.  Then Jean, letting go with his right arm, swung the
bowie.  Greaves's strength went out in an awful, hoarse cry. His gun
boomed again, then dropped from his hand.  He swayed.  Jean let go.
And that enemy of the Isbels sank limply in the ditch. Jean's eyes
roved for his rifle and caught the starlit gleam of it. Snatching it
up, he leaped over the embankment and ran straight for the cabins.
From all around yells of the Jorth faction attested to their excitement
and fury.
</P>

<P>
A fence loomed up gray in the obscurity.  Jean vaulted it, darted
across the lane into the shadow of the corral, and soon gained the
first cabin.  Here he leaned to regain his breath.  His heart pounded
high and seemed too large for his breast.  The hot blood beat and
surged all over his body.  Sweat poured off him.  His teeth were
clenched tight as a vise, and it took effort on his part to open his
mouth so he could breathe more freely and deeply.  But these physical
sensations were as nothing compared to the tumult of his mind. Then the
instinct, the spell, let go its grip and he could think. He had avenged
Guy, he had depleted the ranks of the Jorths, he had made good the brag
of his father, all of which afforded him satisfaction. But these
thoughts were not accountable for all that he felt, especially for the
bittersweet sting of the fact that death to the defiler of Ellen Jorth
could not efface the doubt, the regret which seemed to grow with the
hours.
</P>

<P>
Groping his way into the woodshed, he entered the kitchen and, calling
low, he went on into the main cabin.
</P>

<P>
"Jean!  Jean!" came his father's shaking voice.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, I'm back," replied Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Are&mdash;you&mdash;all right?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes.  I think I've got a bullet crease on my leg.  I didn't know I had
it till now.... It's bleedin' a little.  But it's nothin'."
</P>

<P>
Jean heard soft steps and some one reached shaking hands for him. They
belonged to his sister Ann.  She embraced him.  Jean felt the heave and
throb of her breast.
</P>

<P>
"Why, Ann, I'm not hurt," he said, and held her close.  "Now you lie
down an' try to sleep."
</P>

<P>
In the black darkness of the cabin Jean led her back to the corner and
his heart was full.  Speech was difficult, because the very touch of
Ann's hands had made him divine that the success of his venture in no
wise changed the plight of the women.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, what happened out there?" demanded Blaisdell.
</P>

<P>
"I got two of them," replied Jean.  "That fellow who was shootin' from
the ridge west.  An' the other was Greaves."
</P>

<P>
"Hah!" exclaimed his father.
</P>

<P>
"Shore then it was Greaves yellin'," declared Blaisdell.  "By God, I
never heard such yells!  Whad 'd you do, Jean?"
</P>

<P>
"I knifed him.  You see, I'd planned to slip up on one after another.
An' I didn't want to make noise.  But I didn't get any farther than
Greaves."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I reckon that 'll end their shootin' in the dark," muttered
Gaston Isbel.  "We've got to be on the lookout for somethin'
else&mdash;fire, most likely."
</P>

<P>
The old rancher's surmise proved to be partially correct.  Jorth's
faction ceased the shooting.  Nothing further was seen or heard from
them.  But this silence and apparent break in the siege were harder to
bear than deliberate hostility.  The long, dark hours dragged by. The
men took turns watching and resting, but none of them slept. At last
the blackness paled and gray dawn stole out of the east. The sky turned
rose over the distant range and daylight came.
</P>

<P>
The children awoke hungry and noisy, having slept away their fears. The
women took advantage of the quiet morning hour to get a hot breakfast.
</P>

<P>
"Maybe they've gone away," suggested Guy Isbel's wife, peering out of
the window.  She had done that several times since daybreak.  Jean saw
her somber gaze search the pasture until it rested upon the dark, prone
shape of her dead husband, lying face down in the grass.  Her look
worried Jean.
</P>

<P>
"No, Esther, they've not gone yet," replied Jean.  "I've seen some of
them out there at the edge of the brush."
</P>

<P>
Blaisdell was optimistic.  He said Jean's night work would have its
effect and that the Jorth contingent would not renew the siege very
determinedly.  It turned out, however, that Blaisdell was wrong.
Directly after sunrise they began to pour volleys from four sides and
from closer range.  During the night Jorth's gang had thrown earth
banks and constructed log breastworks, from behind which they were now
firing.  Jean and his comrades could see the flashes of fire and
streaks of smoke to such good advantage that they began to return the
volleys.
</P>

<P>
In half an hour the cabin was so full of smoke that Jean could not see
the womenfolk in their corner.  The fierce attack then abated somewhat,
and the firing became more intermittent, and therefore more carefully
aimed.  A glancing bullet cut a furrow in Blaisdell's hoary head,
making a painful, though not serious wound.  It was Esther Isbel who
stopped the flow of blood and bound Blaisdell's head, a task which she
performed skillfully and without a tremor.  The old Texan could not sit
still during this operation.  Sight of the blood on his hands, which he
tried to rub off, appeared to inflame him to a great degree.
</P>

<P>
"Isbel, we got to go out thar," he kept repeating, "an' kill them all."
</P>

<P>
"No, we're goin' to stay heah," replied Gaston Isbel.  "Shore I'm
lookin' for Blue an' Fredericks an' Gordon to open up out there. They
ought to be heah, an' if they are y'u shore can bet they've got the
fight sized up."
</P>

<P>
Isbel's hopes did not materialize.  The shooting continued without any
lull until about midday.  Then the Jorth faction stopped.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, now what's up?" queried Isbel.  "Boys, hold your fire an' let's
wait."
</P>

<P>
Gradually the smoke wafted out of the windows and doors, until the room
was once more clear.  And at this juncture Esther Isbel came over to
take another gaze out upon the meadows.  Jean saw her suddenly start
violently, then stiffen, with a trembling hand outstretched.
</P>

<P>
"Look!" she cried.
</P>

<P>
"Esther, get back," ordered the old rancher.  "Keep away from that
window."
</P>

<P>
"What the hell!" muttered Blaisdell.  "She sees somethin', or she's
gone dotty."
</P>

<P>
Esther seemed turned to stone.  "Look!  The hogs have broken into the
pasture! ... They'll eat Guy's body!"
</P>

<P>
Everyone was frozen with horror at Esther's statement.  Jean took a
swift survey of the pasture.  A bunch of big black hogs had indeed
appeared on the scene and were rooting around in the grass not far from
where lay the bodies of Guy Isbel and Jacobs.  This herd of hogs
belonged to the rancher and was allowed to run wild.
</P>

<P>
"Jane, those hogs&mdash;" stammered Esther Isbel, to the wife of Jacobs.
"Come!  Look! ... Do y'u know anythin' about hogs?"
</P>

<P>
The woman ran to the window and looked out.  She stiffened as had
Esther.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, will those hogs&mdash;eat human flesh?" queried Jean, breathlessly.
</P>

<P>
The old man stared out of the window.  Surprise seemed to hold him. A
completely unexpected situation had staggered him.
</P>

<P>
"Jean&mdash;can you&mdash;can you shoot that far?" he asked, huskily.
</P>

<P>
"To those hogs?  No, it's out of range."
</P>

<P>
"Then, by God, we've got to stay trapped in heah an' watch an awful
sight," ejaculated the old man, completely unnerved.  "See that break
in the fence! ... Jorth's done that.... To let in the hogs!"
</P>

<P>
"Aw, Isbel, it's not so bad as all that," remonstrated Blaisdell,
wagging his bloody head.  "Jorth wouldn't do such a hell-bent trick."
</P>

<P>
"It's shore done."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, mebbe the hogs won't find Guy an' Jacobs," returned Blaisdell,
weakly.  Plain it was that he only hoped for such a contingency and
certainly doubted it.
</P>

<P>
"Look!" cried Esther Isbel, piercingly.  "They're workin' straight up
the pasture!"
</P>

<P>
Indeed, to Jean it appeared to be the fatal truth.  He looked blankly,
feeling a little sick.  Ann Isbel came to peer out of the window and
she uttered a cry.  Jacobs's wife stood mute, as if dazed.
</P>

<P>
Blaisdell swore a mighty oath.  "&mdash; &mdash; &mdash;!  Isbel, we cain't stand heah
an' watch them hogs eat our people!"
</P>

<P>
"Wal, we'll have to.  What else on earth can we do?"
</P>

<P>
Esther turned to the men.  She was white and cold, except her eyes,
which resembled gray flames.
</P>

<P>
"Somebody can run out there an' bury our dead men," she said.
</P>

<P>
"Why, child, it'd be shore death.  Y'u saw what happened to Guy an'
Jacobs.... We've jest got to bear it.  Shore nobody needn't look
out&mdash;an' see."
</P>

<P>
Jean wondered if it would be possible to keep from watching.  The thing
had a horrible fascination.  The big hogs were rooting and tearing in
the grass, some of them lazy, others nimble, and all were gradually
working closer and closer to the bodies.  The leader, a huge, gaunt
boar, that had fared ill all his life in this barren country, was
scarcely fifty feet away from where Guy Isbel lay.
</P>

<P>
"Ann, get me some of your clothes, an' a sunbonnet&mdash;quick," said Jean,
forced out of his lethargy.  "I'll run out there disguised.  Maybe I
can go through with it."
</P>

<P>
"No!" ordered his father, positively, and with dark face flaming. "Guy
an' Jacobs are dead.  We cain't help them now."
</P>

<P>
"But, dad&mdash;" pleaded Jean.  He had been wrought to a pitch by Esther's
blaze of passion, by the agony in the face of the other woman.
</P>

<P>
"I tell y'u no!" thundered Gaston Isbel, flinging his arms wide.
</P>

<P>
"I WILL GO!" cried Esther, her voice ringing.
</P>

<P>
"You won't go alone!" instantly answered the wife of Jacobs, repeating
unconsciously the words her husband had spoken.
</P>

<P>
"You stay right heah," shouted Gaston Isbel, hoarsely.
</P>

<P>
"I'm goin'," replied Esther.  "You've no hold over me.  My husband is
dead.  No one can stop me.  I'm goin' out there to drive those hogs
away an' bury him."
</P>

<P>
"Esther, for Heaven's sake, listen," replied Isbel.  "If y'u show
yourself outside, Jorth an' his gang will kin y'u."
</P>

<P>
"They may be mean, but no white men could be so low as that."
</P>

<P>
Then they pleaded with her to give up her purpose.  But in vain! She
pushed them back and ran out through the kitchen with Jacobs's wife
following her.  Jean turned to the window in time to see both women run
out into the lane.  Jean looked fearfully, and listened for shots.  But
only a loud, "Haw!  Haw!" came from the watchers outside.  That coarse
laugh relieved the tension in Jean's breast. Possibly the Jorths were
not as black as his father painted them. The two women entered an open
shed and came forth with a shovel and spade.
</P>

<P>
"Shore they've got to hurry," burst out Gaston Isbel.
</P>

<P>
Shifting his gaze, Jean understood the import of his father's speech.
The leader of the hogs had no doubt scented the bodies.  Suddenly he
espied them and broke into a trot.
</P>

<P>
"Run, Esther, run!" yelled Jean, with all his might.
</P>

<P>
That urged the women to flight.  Jean began to shoot.  The hog reached
the body of Guy.  Jean's shots did not reach nor frighten the beast.
All the hogs now had caught a scent and went ambling toward their
leader.  Esther and her companion passed swiftly out of sight behind a
corral.  Loud and piercingly, with some awful note, rang out their
screams.  The hogs appeared frightened.  The leader lifted his long
snout, looked, and turned away.  The others had halted.  Then they,
too, wheeled and ran off.
</P>

<P>
All was silent then in the cabin and also outside wherever the Jorth
faction lay concealed.  All eyes manifestly were fixed upon the brave
wives.  They spaded up the sod and dug a grave for Guy Isbel.  For a
shroud Esther wrapped him in her shawl.  Then they buried him.  Next
they hurried to the side of Jacobs, who lay some yards away.  They dug
a grave for him.  Mrs. Jacobs took off her outer skirt to wrap round
him.  Then the two women labored hard to lift him and lower him. Jacobs
was a heavy man.  When he had been covered his widow knelt beside his
grave.  Esther went back to the other.  But she remained standing and
did not look as if she prayed.  Her aspect was tragic&mdash;that of a woman
who had lost father, mother, sisters, brother, and now her husband, in
this bloody Arizona land.
</P>

<P>
The deed and the demeanor of these wives of the murdered men surely
must have shamed Jorth and his followers.  They did not fire a shot
during the ordeal nor give any sign of their presence.
</P>

<P>
Inside the cabin all were silent, too. Jean's eyes blurred so that he
continually had to wipe them.  Old Isbel made no effort to hide his
tears.  Blaisdell nodded his shaggy head and swallowed hard.  The women
sat staring into space.  The children, in round-eyed dismay, gazed from
one to the other of their elders.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, they're comin' back," declared Isbel, in immense relief. "An' so
help me&mdash;Jorth let them bury their daid!"
</P>

<P>
The fact seemed to have been monstrously strange to Gaston Isbel. When
the women entered the old man said, brokenly: "I'm shore glad.... An' I
reckon I was wrong to oppose you ... an' wrong to say what I did aboot
Jorth."
</P>

<P>
No one had any chance to reply to Isbel, for the Jorth gang, as if to
make up for lost time and surcharged feelings of shame, renewed the
attack with such a persistent and furious volleying that the defenders
did not risk a return shot.  They all had to lie flat next to the
lowest log in order to keep from being hit.  Bullets rained in through
the window.  And all the clay between the logs low down was shot away.
This fusillade lasted for more than an hour, then gradually the fire
diminished on one side and then on the other until it became desultory
and finally ceased.
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  Shore they've shot their bolt," declared Gaston Isbel.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I doon't know aboot that," returned Blaisdell, "but they've shot
a hell of a lot of shells."
</P>

<P>
"Listen," suddenly called Jean. "Somebody's yellin'."
</P>

<P>
"Hey, Isbel!" came in loud, hoarse voice.  "Let your women fight for
you."
</P>

<P>
Gaston Isbel sat up with a start and his face turned livid.  Jean
needed no more to prove that the derisive voice from outside had
belonged to Jorth.  The old rancher lunged up to his full height and
with reckless disregard of life he rushed to the window. "Jorth," he
roared, "I dare you to meet me&mdash;man to man!"
</P>

<P>
This elicited no answer.  Jean dragged his father away from the window.
After that a waiting silence ensued, gradually less fraught with
suspense.  Blaisdell started conversation by saying he believed the
fight was over for that particular time.  No one disputed him.
Evidently Gaston Isbel was loath to believe it.  Jean, however,
watching at the back of the kitchen, eventually discovered that the
Jorth gang had lifted the siege.  Jean saw them congregate at the edge
of the brush, somewhat lower down than they had been the day before. A
team of mules, drawing a wagon, appeared on the road, and turned toward
the slope.  Saddled horses were led down out of the junipers. Jean saw
bodies, evidently of dead men, lifted into the wagon, to be hauled away
toward the village.  Seven mounted men, leading four riderless horses,
rode out into the valley and followed the wagon.
</P>

<P>
"Dad, they've gone," declared Jean.  "We had the best of this fight....
If only Guy an' Jacobs had listened!"
</P>

<P>
The old man nodded moodily.  He had aged considerably during these two
trying days.  His hair was grayer.  Now that the blaze and glow of the
fight had passed he showed a subtle change, a fixed and morbid sadness,
a resignation to a fate he had accepted.
</P>

<P>
The ordinary routine of ranch life did not return for the Isbels.
Blaisdell returned home to settle matters there, so that he could
devote all his time to this feud.  Gaston Isbel sat down to wait for
the members of his clan.
</P>

<P>
The male members of the family kept guard in turn over the ranch that
night.  And another day dawned.  It brought word from Blaisdell that
Blue, Fredericks, Gordon, and Colmor were all at his house, on the way
to join the Isbels.  This news appeared greatly to rejuvenate Gaston
Isbel.  But his enthusiasm did not last long.  Impatient and moody by
turns, he paced or moped around the cabin, always looking out,
sometimes toward Blaisdell's ranch, but mostly toward Grass Valley.
</P>

<P>
It struck Jean as singular that neither Esther Isbel nor Mrs. Jacobs
suggested a reburial of their husbands.  The two bereaved women did not
ask for assistance, but repaired to the pasture, and there spent
several hours working over the graves.  They raised mounds, which they
sodded, and then placed stones at the heads and feet.  Lastly, they
fenced in the graves.
</P>

<P>
"I reckon I'll hitch up an' drive back home," said Mrs. Jacobs, when
she returned to the cabin.  "I've much to do an' plan.  Probably I'll
go to my mother's home.  She's old an' will be glad to have me."
</P>

<P>
"If I had any place to go to I'd sure go," declared Esther Isbel,
bitterly.
</P>

<P>
Gaston Isbel heard this remark.  He raised his face from his hands,
evidently both nettled and hurt.
</P>

<P>
"Esther, shore that's not kind," he said.
</P>

<P>
The red-haired woman&mdash;for she did not appear to be a girl any
more&mdash;halted before his chair and gazed down at him, with a terrible
flare of scorn in her gray eyes.
</P>

<P>
"Gaston Isbel, all I've got to say to you is this," she retorted, with
the voice of a man.  "Seein' that you an' Lee Jorth hate each other,
why couldn't you act like men? ... You damned Texans, with your bloody
feuds, draggin' in every relation, every friend to murder each other!
That's not the way of Arizona men.... We've all got to suffer&mdash;an' we
women be ruined for life&mdash;because YOU had differences with Jorth. If
you were half a man you'd go out an' kill him yourself, an' not leave a
lot of widows an' orphaned children!"
</P>

<P>
Jean himself writhed under the lash of her scorn.  Gaston Isbel turned
a dead white.  He could not answer her.  He seemed stricken with
merciless truth.  Slowly dropping his head, he remained motionless, a
pathetic and tragic figure; and he did not stir until the rapid beat of
hoofs denoted the approach of horsemen.  Blaisdell appeared on his
white charger, leading a pack animal.  And behind rode a group of men,
all heavily armed, and likewise with packs.
</P>

<P>
"Get down an' come in," was Isbel's greeting.  "Bill&mdash;you look after
their packs.  Better leave the hosses saddled."
</P>

<P>
The booted and spurred riders trooped in, and their demeanor fitted
their errand.  Jean was acquainted with all of them.  Fredericks was a
lanky Texan, the color of dust, and he had yellow, clear eyes, like
those of a hawk.  His mother had been an Isbel.  Gordon, too, was
related to Jean's family, though distantly.  He resembled an
industrious miner more than a prosperous cattleman.  Blue was the most
striking of the visitors, as he was the most noted.  A little, shrunken
gray-eyed man, with years of cowboy written all over him, he looked the
quiet, easy, cool, and deadly Texan he was reputed to be.  Blue's Texas
record was shady, and was seldom alluded to, as unfavorable comment had
turned out to be hazardous.  He was the only one of the group who did
not carry a rifle.  But he packed two guns, a habit not often noted in
Texans, and almost never in Arizonians.
</P>

<P>
Colmor, Ann Isbel's fiance, was the youngest member of the clan, and
the one closest to Jean.  His meeting with Ann affected Jean
powerfully, and brought to a climax an idea that had been developing in
Jean's mind. His sister devotedly loved this lean-faced, keen-eyed
Arizonian; and it took no great insight to discover that Colmor
reciprocated her affection. They were young.  They had long life before
them.  It seemed to Jean a pity that Colmor should be drawn into this
war.  Jean watched them, as they conversed apart; and he saw Ann's
hands creep up to Colmor's breast, and he saw her dark eyes, eloquent,
hungry, fearful, lifted with queries her lips did not speak.  Jean
stepped beside them, and laid an arm over both their shoulders.
</P>

<P>
"Colmor, for Ann's sake you'd better back out of this Jorth-Isbel
fight," he whispered.
</P>

<P>
Colmor looked insulted.  "But, Jean, it's Ann's father," he said. "I'm
almost one of the family."
</P>

<P>
"You're Ann's sweetheart, an', by Heaven, I say you oughtn't to go with
us!" whispered Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Go&mdash;with&mdash;you," faltered Ann.
</P>

<P>
"Yes.  Dad is goin' straight after Jorth.  Can't you tell that?  An'
there 'll be one hell of a fight."
</P>

<P>
Ann looked up into Colmor's face with all her soul in her eyes, but she
did not speak.  Her look was noble.  She yearned to guide him right,
yet her lips were sealed.  And Colmor betrayed the trouble of his soul.
The code of men held him bound, and he could not break from it, though
he divined in that moment how truly it was wrong.
</P>

<P>
"Jean, your dad started me in the cattle business," said Colmor,
earnestly.  "An' I'm doin' well now.  An' when I asked him for Ann he
said he'd be glad to have me in the family.... Well, when this talk of
fight come up, I asked your dad to let me go in on his side. He
wouldn't hear of it.  But after a while, as the time passed an' he made
more enemies, he finally consented.  I reckon he needs me now. An' I
can't back out, not even for Ann."
</P>

<P>
"I would if I were you," replied jean, and knew that he lied.
</P>

<P>
"Jean, I'm gamblin' to come out of the fight," said Colmor, with a
smile. He had no morbid fears nor presentiments, such as troubled jean.
</P>

<P>
"Why, sure&mdash;you stand as good a chance as anyone," rejoined Jean. "It
wasn't that I was worryin' about so much."
</P>

<P>
"What was it, then?" asked Ann, steadily.
</P>

<P>
"If Andrew DOES come through alive he'll have blood on his hands,"
returned Jean, with passion.  "He can't come through without it....
I've begun to feel what it means to have killed my fellow men.... An'
I'd rather your husband an' the father of your children never felt
that."
</P>

<P>
Colmor did not take Jean as subtly as Ann did.  She shrunk a little.
Her dark eyes dilated.  But Colmor showed nothing of her spiritual
reaction.  He was young.  He had wild blood.  He was loyal to the
Isbels.
</P>

<P>
"Jean, never worry about my conscience," he said, with a keen look.
"Nothin' would tickle me any more than to get a shot at every damn one
of the Jorths."
</P>

<P>
That established Colmor's status in regard to the Jorth-Isbel feud.
Jean had no more to say.  He respected Ann's friend and felt poignant
sorrow for Ann.
</P>

<P>
Gaston Isbel called for meat and drink to be set on the table for his
guests.  When his wishes had been complied with the women took the
children into the adjoining cabin and shut the door.
</P>

<P>
"Hah!  Wal, we can eat an' talk now."
</P>

<P>
First the newcomers wanted to hear particulars of what had happened.
Blaisdell had told all he knew and had seen, but that was not
sufficient.  They plied Gaston Isbel with questions.  Laboriously and
ponderously he rehearsed the experiences of the fight at the ranch,
according to his impressions.  Bill Isbel was exhorted to talk, but he
had of late manifested a sullen and taciturn disposition. In spite of
Jean's vigilance Bill had continued to imbibe red liquor. Then Jean was
called upon to relate all he had seen and done.  It had been Jean's
intention to keep his mouth shut, first for his own sake and, secondly,
because he did not like to talk of his deeds.  But when thus appealed
to by these somber-faced, intent-eyed men he divined that the more
carefully he described the cruelty and baseness of their enemies, and
the more vividly he presented his participation in the first fight of
the feud the more strongly he would bind these friends to the Isbel
cause.  So he talked for an hour, beginning with his meeting with
Colter up on the Rim and ending with an account of his killing Greaves.
His listeners sat through this long narrative with unabated interest
and at the close they were leaning forward, breathless and tense.
</P>

<P>
"Ah!  So Greaves got his desserts at last," exclaimed Gordon.
</P>

<P>
All the men around the table made comments, and the last, from Blue,
was the one that struck Jean forcibly.
</P>

<P>
"Shore thet was a strange an' a hell of a way to kill Greaves. Why'd
you do thet, Jean?"
</P>

<P>
"I told you.  I wanted to avoid noise an' I hoped to get more of them."
</P>

<P>
Blue nodded his lean, eagle-like head and sat thoughtfully, as if not
convinced of anything save Jean's prowess.  After a moment Blue spoke
again.
</P>

<P>
"Then, goin' back to Jean's tellin' aboot trackin' rustled Cattle, I've
got this to say.  I've long suspected thet somebody livin' right heah
in the valley has been drivin' off cattle an' dealin' with rustlers.
An' now I'm shore of it."
</P>

<P>
This speech did not elicit the amaze from Gaston Isbel that Jean
expected it would.
</P>

<P>
"You mean Greaves or some of his friends?"
</P>

<P>
"No.  They wasn't none of them in the cattle business, like we are.
Shore we all knowed Greaves was crooked.  But what I'm figgerin' is
thet some so-called honest man in our settlement has been makin'
crooked deals."
</P>

<P>
Blue was a man of deeds rather than words, and so much strong speech
from him, whom everybody knew to be remarkably reliable and keen, made
a profound impression upon most of the Isbel faction.  But, to Jean's
surprise, his father did not rave.  It was Blaisdell who supplied the
rage and invective.  Bill Isbel, also, was strangely indifferent to
this new element in the condition of cattle dealing. Suddenly Jean
caught a vague flash of thought, as if he had intercepted the thought
of another's mind, and he wondered&mdash;could his brother Bill know
anything about this crooked work alluded to by Blue?  Dismissing the
conjecture, Jean listened earnestly.
</P>

<P>
"An' if it's true it shore makes this difference&mdash;we cain't blame all
the rustlin' on to Jorth," concluded Blue.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, it's not true," declared Gaston Isbel, roughly.  "Jorth an' his
Hash Knife Gang are at the bottom of all the rustlin' in the valley for
years back.  An' they've got to be wiped out!"
</P>

<P>
"Isbel, I reckon we'd all feel better if we talk straight," replied
Blue, coolly.  "I'm heah to stand by the Isbels.  An' y'u know what
thet means. But I'm not heah to fight Jorth because he may be a
rustler.  The others may have their own reasons, but mine is this&mdash;you
once stood by me in Texas when I was needin' friends.  Wal, I'm
standin' by y'u now. Jorth is your enemy, an' so he is mine."
</P>

<P>
Gaston Isbel bowed to this ultimatum, scarcely less agitated than when
Esther Isbel had denounced him.  His rabid and morbid hate of Jorth had
eaten into his heart to take possession there, like the parasite that
battened upon the life of its victim.  Blue's steely voice, his cold,
gray eyes, showed the unbiased truth of the man, as well as his
fidelity to his creed.  Here again, but in a different manner,  Gaston
Isbel had the fact flung at him that other men must suffer, perhaps
die, for his hate.  And the very soul of the old rancher apparently
rose in Passionate revolt against the blind, headlong, elemental
strength of his nature.  So it seemed to Jean, who, in love and pity
that hourly grew, saw through his father.  Was it too late? Alas!
Gaston Isbel could never be turned back!  Yet something was altering
his brooding, fixed mind.
</P>

<P>
"Wal," said Blaisdell, gruffly, "let's get down to business.... I'm for
havin' Blue be foreman of this heah outfit, an' all of us to do as he
says."
</P>

<P>
Gaston Isbel opposed this selection and indeed resented it. He intended
to lead the Isbel faction.
</P>

<P>
"All right, then.  Give us a hunch what we're goin' to do," replied
Blaisdell.
</P>

<P>
"We're goin' to ride off on Jorth's trail&mdash;an' one way or another&mdash;kill
him&mdash;KILL HIM! ... I reckon that'll end the fight."
</P>

<P>
What did old Isbel have in his mind?  His listeners shook their heads.
</P>

<P>
"No," asserted Blaisdell.  "Killin' Jorth might be the end of your
desires, Isbel, but it 'd never end our fight.  We'll have gone too
far.... If we take Jorth's trail from heah it means we've got to wipe
out that rustier gang, or stay to the last man."
</P>

<P>
"Yes, by God!" exclaimed Fredericks.
</P>

<P>
"Let's drink to thet!" said Blue.  Strangely they turned to this Texas
gunman, instinctively recognizing in him the brain and heart, and the
past deeds, that fitted him for the leadership of such a clan.  Blue
had all in life to lose, and nothing to gain.  Yet his spirit was such
that he could not lean to all the possible gain of the future, and
leave a debt unpaid.  Then his voice, his look, his influence were
those of a fighter.  They all drank with him, even Jean, who hated
liquor.  And this act of drinking seemed the climax of the council.
Preparations were at once begun for their departure on Jorth's trail.
</P>

<P>
Jean took but little time for his own needs.  A horse, a blanket, a
knapsack of meat and bread, a canteen, and his weapons, with all the
ammunition he could pack, made up his outfit.  He wore his buckskin
suit, leggings, and moccasins.  Very soon the cavalcade was ready to
depart.  Jean tried not to watch Bill Isbel say good-by to his
children, but it was impossible not to.  Whatever Bill was, as a man,
he was father of those children, and he loved them.  How strange that
the little ones seemed to realize the meaning of this good-by?  They
were grave, somber-eyed, pale up to the last moment, then they broke
down and wept.  Did they sense that their father would never come back?
Jean caught that dark, fatalistic presentiment.  Bill Isbel's convulsed
face showed that he also caught it.  Jean did not see Bill say good-by
to his wife.  But he heard her.  Old Gaston Isbel forgot to speak to
the children, or else could not.  He never looked at them.  And his
good-by to Ann was as if he were only riding to the village for a day.
Jean saw woman's love, woman's intuition, woman's grief in her eyes. He
could not escape her.  "Oh, Jean! oh, brother!" she whispered as she
enfolded him.  "It's awful!  It's wrong!  Wrong!  Wrong! ... Good-by!
... If killing MUST be&mdash;see that y'u kill the Jorths! ... Good-by!"
</P>

<P>
Even in Ann, gentle and mild, the Isbel blood spoke at the last. Jean
gave Ann over to the pale-faced Colmor, who took her in his arms. Then
Jean fled out to his horse.  This cold-blooded devastation of a home
was almost more than he could bear.  There was love here. What would be
left?
</P>

<P>
Colmor was the last one to come out to the horses.  He did not walk
erect, nor as one whose sight was clear.  Then, as the silent, tense,
grim men mounted their horses,  Bill Isbel's eldest child, the boy,
appeared in the door.  His little form seemed instinct with a force
vastly different from grief.  His face was the face of an Isbel.
</P>

<P>
"Daddy&mdash;kill 'em all!" he shouted, with a passion all the fiercer for
its incongruity to the treble voice.
</P>

<P>
So the poison had spread from father to son.
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap09"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER IX
</H3>

<P>
Half a mile from the Isbel ranch the cavalcade passed the log cabin of
Evarts, father of the boy who had tended sheep with Bernardino.
</P>

<P>
It suited Gaston Isbel to halt here.  No need to call!  Evarts and his
son appeared so quickly as to convince observers that they had been
watching.
</P>

<P>
"Howdy, Jake!" said Isbel.  "I'm wantin' a word with y'u alone."
</P>

<P>
"Shore, boss, git down an' come in," replied Evarts.
</P>

<P>
Isbel led him aside, and said something forcible that Jean divined from
the very gesture which accompanied it.  His father was telling Evarts
that he was not to join in the Isbel-Jorth war.  Evarts had worked for
the Isbels a long time, and his faithfulness, along with something
stronger and darker, showed in his rugged face as he stubbornly opposed
Isbel.  The old man raised his voice: "No, I tell you.  An' that
settles it."
</P>

<P>
They returned to the horses, and, before mounting, Isbel, as if he
remembered something, directed his somber gaze on young Evarts.
</P>

<P>
"Son, did you bury Bernardino?"
</P>

<P>
"Dad an' me went over yestiddy," replied the lad.  "I shore was glad
the coyotes hadn't been round."
</P>

<P>
"How aboot the sheep?"
</P>

<P>
"I left them there.  I was goin' to stay, but bein' all alone&mdash;I got
skeered.... The sheep was doin' fine.  Good water an' some grass. An'
this ain't time fer varmints to hang round."
</P>

<P>
"Jake, keep your eye on that flock," returned Isbel.  "An' if I
shouldn't happen to come back y'u can call them sheep yours.... I'd
like your boy to ride up to the village.  Not with us, so anybody would
see him.  But afterward.  We'll be at Abel Meeker's."
</P>

<P>
Again Jean was confronted with an uneasy premonition as to some idea or
plan his father had not shared with his followers.  When the cavalcade
started on again Jean rode to his father's side and asked him why he
had wanted the Evarts boy to come to Grass Valley.  And the old man
replied that, as the boy could run to and fro in the village without
danger, he might be useful in reporting what was going on at Greaves's
store, where undoubtedly the Jorth gang would hold forth. This appeared
reasonable enough, therefore Jean smothered the objection he had meant
to make.
</P>

<P>
The valley road was deserted.  When, a mile farther on, the riders
passed a group of cabins, just on the outskirts of the village, Jean's
quick eye caught sight of curious and evidently frightened people
trying to see while they avoided being seen.  No doubt the whole
settlement was in a state of suspense and terror.  Not unlikely this
dark, closely grouped band of horsemen appeared to them as Jorth's gang
had looked to Jean.  It was an orderly, trotting march that manifested
neither hurry nor excitement.  But any Western eye could have caught
the singular aspect of such a group, as if the intent of the riders was
a visible thing.
</P>

<P>
Soon they reached the outskirts of the village.  Here their approach
bad been watched for or had been already reported.  Jean saw men,
women, children peeping from behind cabins and from half-opened doors.
Farther on Jean espied the dark figures of men, slipping out the back
way through orchards and gardens and running north, toward the center
of the village.  Could these be friends of the Jorth crowd, on the way
with warnings of the approach of the Isbels?  Jean felt convinced of
it. He was learning that his father had not been absolutely correct in
his estimation of the way Jorth and his followers were regarded by
their neighbors.  Not improbably there were really many villagers who,
being more interested in sheep raising than in cattle, had an honest
leaning toward the Jorths.  Some, too, no doubt, had leanings that were
dishonest in deed if not in sincerity.
</P>

<P>
Gaston Isbel led his clan straight down the middle of the wide road of
Grass Valley until he reached a point opposite Abel Meeker's cabin.
Jean espied the same curiosity from behind Meeker's door and windows as
had been shown all along the road.  But presently, at Isbel's call, the
door opened and a short, swarthy man appeared.  He carried a rifle.
</P>

<P>
"Howdy, Gass!" he said.  "What's the good word?"
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Abel, it's not good, but bad.  An' it's shore started," replied
Isbel.  "I'm askin' y'u to let me have your cabin."
</P>

<P>
"You're welcome.  I'll send the folks 'round to Jim's," returned
Meeker. "An' if y'u want me, I'm with y'u, Isbel."
</P>

<P>
"Thanks, Abel, but I'm not leadin' any more kin an' friends into this
heah deal."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, jest as y'u say.  But I'd like damn bad to jine with y'u.... My
brother Ted was shot last night."
</P>

<P>
"Ted!  Is he daid?" ejaculated Isbel, blankly.
</P>

<P>
"We can't find out," replied Meeker.  "Jim says thet Jeff Campbell said
thet Ted went into Greaves's place last night.  Greaves allus was
friendly to Ted, but Greaves wasn't thar&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"No, he shore wasn't," interrupted Isbel, with a dark smile, "an' he
never will be there again."
</P>

<P>
Meeker nodded with slow comprehension and a shade crossed his face.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Campbell claimed he'd heerd from some one who was thar.  Anyway,
the Jorths were drinkin' hard, an' they raised a row with Ted&mdash;same old
sheep talk an' somebody shot him.  Campbell said Ted was thrown out
back, an' he was shore he wasn't killed."
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  Wal, I'm sorry, Abel, your family had to lose in this.  Maybe
Ted's not bad hurt.  I shore hope so.... An' y'u an' Jim keep out of
the fight, anyway."
</P>

<P>
"All right, Isbel.  But I reckon I'll give y'u a hunch.  If this heah
fight lasts long the whole damn Basin will be in it, on one side or
t'other."
</P>

<P>
"Abe, you're talkin' sense," broke in Blaisdell.  "An' that's why we're
up heah for quick action."
</P>

<P>
"I heerd y'u got Daggs," whispered Meeker, as he peered all around.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, y'u heerd correct," drawled Blaisdell.
</P>

<P>
Meeker muttered strong words into his beard.  "Say, was Daggs in thet
Jorth outfit?"
</P>

<P>
"He WAS.  But he walked right into Jean's forty-four.... An' I reckon
his carcass would show some more."
</P>

<P>
"An' whar's Guy Isbel?" demanded Meeker.
</P>

<P>
"Daid an' buried, Abel," replied Gaston Isbel.  "An' now I'd be obliged
if y'u 'll hurry your folks away, an' let us have your cabin an'
corral. Have yu got any hay for the hosses?"
</P>

<P>
"Shore.  The barn's half full," replied Meeker, as he turned away.
"Come on in."
</P>

<P>
"No.  We'll wait till you've gone."
</P>

<P>
When Meeker had gone, Isbel and his men sat their horses and looked
about them and spoke low.  Their advent had been expected, and the
little town awoke to the imminence of the impending battle.  Inside
Meeker's house there was the sound of indistinct voices of women and
the bustle incident to a hurried vacating.
</P>

<P>
Across the wide road people were peering out on all sides, some hiding,
others walking to and fro, from fence to fence, whispering in little
groups.  Down the wide road, at the point where it turned, stood
Greaves's fort-like stone house.  Low, flat, isolated, with its dark,
eye-like windows, it presented a forbidding and sinister aspect. Jean
distinctly saw the forms of men, some dark, others in shirt sleeves,
come to the wide door and look down the road.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I reckon only aboot five hundred good hoss steps are separatin'
us from that outfit," drawled Blaisdell.
</P>

<P>
No one replied to his jocularity.  Gaston Isbel's eyes narrowed to a
slit in his furrowed face and he kept them fastened upon Greaves's
store. Blue, likewise, had a somber cast of countenance, not, perhaps,
any darker nor grimmer than those of his comrades, but more
representative of intense preoccupation of mind.  The look of him
thrilled Jean, who could sense its deadliness, yet could not grasp any
more.  Altogether, the manner of the villagers and the watchful pacing
to and fro of the Jorth followers and the silent, boding front of Isbel
and his men summed up for Jean the menace of the moment that must very
soon change to a terrible reality.
</P>

<P>
At a call from Meeker, who stood at the back of the cabin, Gaston Isbel
rode into the yard, followed by the others of his party.  "Somebody
look after the hosses," ordered Isbel, as he dismounted and took his
rifle and pack.  "Better leave the saddles on, leastways till we see
what's comin' off."
</P>

<P>
Jean and Bill Isbel led the horses back to the corral.  While watering
and feeding them, Jean somehow received the impression that Bill was
trying to speak, to confide in him, to unburden himself of some load.
This peculiarity of Bill's had become marked when he was perfectly
sober. Yet he had never spoken or even begun anything unusual.  Upon
the present occasion, however, Jean believed that his brother might
have gotten rid of his emotion, or whatever it was, had they not been
interrupted by Colmor.
</P>

<P>
"Boys, the old man's orders are for us to sneak round on three sides of
Greaves's store, keepin' out of gunshot till we find good cover, an'
then crawl closer an' to pick off any of Jorth's gang who shows
himself."
</P>

<P>
Bill Isbel strode off without a reply to Colmor.
</P>

<P>
"Well, I don't think so much of that," said Jean, ponderingly. "Jorth
has lots of friends here.  Somebody might pick us off."
</P>

<P>
"I kicked, but the old man shut me up.  He's not to be bucked ag'in'
now.  Struck me as powerful queer.  But no wonder."
</P>

<P>
"Maybe he knows best.  Did he say anythin' about what he an' the rest
of them are goin' to do?"
</P>

<P>
"Nope.  Blue taxed him with that an' got the same as me.  I reckon we'd
better try it out, for a while, anyway."
</P>

<P>
"Looks like he wants us to keep out of the fight," replied Jean,
thoughtfully.  "Maybe, though ... Dad's no fool.  Colmor, you wait here
till I get out of sight.  I'll go round an' come up as close as
advisable behind Greaves's store.  You take the right side. An' keep
hid."
</P>

<P>
With that Jean strode off, going around the barn, straight out the
orchard lane to the open flat, and then climbing a fence to the north
of the village.  Presently he reached a line of sheds and corrals, to
which he held until he arrived at the road.  This point was about a
quarter of a mile from Greaves's store, and around the bend.  Jean
sighted no one.  The road, the fields, the yards, the backs of the
cabins all looked deserted.  A blight had settled down upon the
peaceful activities of Grass Valley.  Crossing the road, Jean began to
circle until he came close to several cabins, around which he made a
wide detour.  This took him to the edge of the slope, where brush and
thickets afforded him a safe passage to a line directly back of
Greaves's store.  Then he turned toward it.  Soon he was again
approaching a cabin of that side, and some of its inmates descried him,
Their actions attested to their alarm.  Jean half expected a shot from
this quarter, such were his growing doubts, but he was mistaken.  A
man, unknown to Jean, closely watched his guarded movements and then
waved a hand, as if to signify to Jean that he had nothing to fear.
After this act he disappeared.  Jean believed that he had been
recognized by some one not antagonistic to the Isbels.  Therefore he
passed the cabin and, coming to a thick scrub-oak tree that offered
shelter, he hid there to watch.  From this spot he could see the back
of Greaves's store, at a distance probably too far for a rifle bullet
to reach.  Before him, as far as the store, and on each side, extended
the village common. In front of the store ran the road.  Jean's
position was such that he could not command sight of this road down
toward Meeker's house, a fact that disturbed him.  Not satisfied with
this stand, he studied his surroundings in the hope of espying a
better.  And he discovered what he thought would be a more favorable
position, although he could not see much farther down the road.  Jean
went back around the cabin and, coming out into the open to the right,
he got the corner of Greaves's barn between him and the window of the
store.  Then he boldly hurried into the open, and soon reached an old
wagon, from behind which he proposed to watch.  He could not see either
window or door of the store, but if any of the Jorth contingent came
out the back way they would be within reach of his rifle.  Jean took
the risk of being shot at from either side.
</P>

<P>
So sharp and roving was his sight that he soon espied Colmor slipping
along behind the trees some hundred yards to the left.  All his efforts
to catch a glimpse of Bill, however, were fruitless.  And this appeared
strange to Jean, for there were several good places on the right from
which Bill could have commanded the front of Greaves's store and the
whole west side.
</P>

<P>
Colmor disappeared among some shrubbery, and Jean seemed left alone to
watch a deserted, silent village.  Watching and listening, he felt that
the time dragged.  Yet the shadows cast by the sun showed him that, no
matter how tense he felt and how the moments seemed hours, they were
really flying.
</P>

<P>
Suddenly Jean's ears rang with the vibrant shock of a rifle report. He
jerked up, strung and thrilling.  It came from in front of the store.
It was followed by revolver shots, heavy, booming.  Three he counted,
and the rest were too close together to enumerate.  A single hoarse
yell pealed out, somehow trenchant and triumphant.  Other yells, not so
wild and strange, muffled the first one.  Then silence clapped down on
the store and the open square.
</P>

<P>
Jean was deadly certain that some of the Jorth clan would show
themselves.  He strained to still the trembling those sudden shots and
that significant yell had caused him.  No man appeared.  No more sounds
caught Jean's ears.  The suspense, then, grew unbearable. It was not
that he could not wait for an enemy to appear, but that he could not
wait to learn what had happened.  Every moment that he stayed there,
with hands like steel on his rifle, with eyes of a falcon, but added to
a dreadful, dark certainty of disaster.  A rifle shot swiftly followed
by revolver shots!  What could, they mean?  Revolver shots of different
caliber, surely fired by different men!  What could they mean? It was
not these shots that accounted for Jean's dread, but the yell which had
followed.  All his intelligence and all his nerve were not sufficient
to fight down the feeling of calamity.  And at last, yielding to it, he
left his post, and ran like a deer across the open, through the cabin
yard, and around the edge of the slope to the road.  Here his caution
brought him to a halt.  Not a living thing crossed his vision. Breaking
into a run, he soon reached the back of Meeker's place and entered, to
hurry forward to the cabin.
</P>

<P>
Colmor was there in the yard, breathing hard, his face working, and in
front of him crouched several of the men with rifles ready.  The road,
to Jean's flashing glance, was apparently deserted.  Blue sat on the
doorstep, lighting a cigarette.  Then on the moment Blaisdell strode to
the door of the cabin.  Jean had never seen him look like that.
</P>

<P>
"Jean&mdash;look&mdash;down the road," he said, brokenly, and with big hand
shaking he pointed down toward Greaves's store.
</P>

<P>
Like lightning Jean's glance shot down&mdash;down&mdash;down&mdash;until it stopped to
fix upon the prostrate form of a man, lying in the middle of the road.
A man of lengthy build, shirt-sleeved arms flung wide, white head in
the dust&mdash;dead!  Jean's recognition was as swift as his sight.  His
father! They had killed him!  The Jorths!  It was done.  His father's
premonition of death had not been false.  And then, after these
flashing thoughts, came a sense of blankness, momentarily almost
oblivion, that gave place to a rending of the heart.  That pain Jean
had known only at the death of his mother.  It passed, this agonizing
pang, and its icy pressure yielded to a rushing gust of blood, fiery as
hell.
</P>

<P>
"Who&mdash;did it?" whispered Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Jorth!" replied Blaisdell, huskily.  "Son, we couldn't hold your dad
back.... We couldn't.  He was like a lion.... An' he throwed his life
away! Oh, if it hadn't been for that it 'd not be so awful.  Shore, we
come heah to shoot an' be shot.  But not like that.... By God, it was
murder&mdash;murder!"
</P>

<P>
Jean's mute lips framed a query easily read.
</P>

<P>
"Tell him, Blue.  I cain't,"  continued Blaisdell, and he tramped back
into the cabin.
</P>

<P>
"Set down, Jean, an' take things easy," said Blue, calmly.  "You know
we all reckoned we'd git plugged one way or another in this deal. An'
shore it doesn't matter much how a fellar gits it.  All thet ought to
bother us is to make shore the other outfit bites the dust&mdash;same as
your dad had to."
</P>

<P>
Under this man's tranquil presence, all the more quieting because it
seemed to be so deadly sure and cool, Jean felt the uplift of his dark
spirit, the acceptance of fatality, the mounting control of faculties
that must wait.  The little gunman seemed to have about his inert
presence something that suggested a rattlesnake's inherent knowledge of
its destructiveness.  Jean sat down and wiped his clammy face.
</P>

<P>
"Jean, your dad reckoned to square accounts with Jorth, an' save us
all," began Blue, puffing out a cloud of smoke.  "But he reckoned too
late. Mebbe years; ago&mdash;or even not long ago&mdash;if he'd called Jorth out
man to man there'd never been any Jorth-Isbel war.  Gaston Isbel's
conscience woke too late.  That's how I figger it."
</P>

<P>
"Hurry!  Tell me&mdash;how it&mdash;happen," panted Jean.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, a little while after y'u left I seen your dad writin' on a leaf
he tore out of a book&mdash;Meeker's Bible, as yu can see.  I thought thet
was funny.  An' Blaisdell gave me a hunch.  Pretty soon along comes
young Evarts.  The old man calls him out of our hearin' an' talks to
him. Then I seen him give the boy somethin', which I afterward figgered
was what he wrote on the leaf out of the Bible.  Me an' Blaisdell both
tried to git out of him what thet meant.  But not a word.  I kept
watchin' an' after a while I seen young Evarts slip out the back way.
Mebbe half an hour I seen a bare-legged kid cross, the road an' go into
Greaves's store.... Then shore I tumbled to your dad.  He'd sent a note
to Jorth to come out an' meet him face to face, man to man! ... Shore
it was like readin' what your dad had wrote.  But I didn't say nothin'
to Blaisdell.  I jest watched."
</P>

<P>
Blue drawled these last words, as if he enjoyed remembrance of his keen
reasoning.  A smile wreathed his thin lips.  He drew twice on the
cigarette and emitted another cloud of smoke.   Quite suddenly then he
changed.  He made a rapid gesture&mdash;the whip of a hand, significant and
passionate.  And swift words followed:
</P>

<P>
"Colonel Lee Jorth stalked out of the store&mdash;out into the road&mdash;mebbe a
hundred steps.  Then he halted.  He wore his long black coat an' his
wide black hat, an' he stood like a stone.
</P>

<P>
"'What the hell!' burst out Blaisdell, comin' out of his trance.
</P>

<P>
"The rest of us jest looked.  I'd forgot your dad, for the minnit. So
had all of us.  But we remembered soon enough when we seen him stalk
out.  Everybody had a hunch then.  I called him.  Blaisdell begged him
to come back.  All the fellars; had a say.  No use! Then I shore cussed
him an' told him it was plain as day thet Jorth didn't hit me like an
honest man.  I can sense such things.  I knew Jorth had trick up his
sleeve.  I've not been a gun fighter fer nothin'.
</P>

<P>
"Your dad had no rifle.  He packed his gun at his hip.  He jest stalked
down thet road like a giant, goin' faster an' faster, holdin' his head
high.  It shore was fine to see him.  But I was sick.  I heerd
Blaisdell groan, an' Fredericks thar cussed somethin' fierce.... When
your dad halted&mdash;I reckon aboot fifty steps from Jorth&mdash;then we all
went numb. I heerd your dad's voice&mdash;then Jorth's.  They cut like
knives. Y'u could shore heah the hate they hed fer each other."
</P>

<P>
Blue had become a little husky.  His speech had grown gradually to
denote his feeling.  Underneath his serenity there was a different
order of man.
</P>

<P>
"I reckon both your dad an' Jorth went fer their guns at the same
time&mdash;an even break.  But jest as they drew, some one shot a rifle from
the store.  Must hev been a forty-five seventy.  A big gun!  The bullet
must have hit your dad low down, aboot the middle.  He acted thet way,
sinkin' to his knees.  An' he was wild in shootin'&mdash;so wild thet he
must hev missed.  Then he wabbled&mdash;an' Jorth run in a dozen steps,
shootin' fast, till your dad fell over.... Jorth run closer, bent over
him, an' then straightened up with an Apache yell, if I ever heerd
one.... An' then Jorth backed slow&mdash;lookin' all the time&mdash;backed to the
store, an' went in."
</P>

<P>
Blue's voice ceased.  Jean seemed suddenly released from an impelling
magnet that now dropped him to some numb, dizzy depth.  Blue's lean
face grew hazy.  Then Jean bowed his head in his hands, and sat there,
while a slight tremor shook all his muscles at once.  He grew deathly
cold and deathly sick.  This paroxysm slowly wore away, and Jean grew
conscious of a dull amaze at the apparent deadness of his spirit.
Blaisdell placed a huge, kindly hand on his shoulder.
</P>

<P>
"Brace up, son!" he said, with voice now clear and resonant.  "Shore
it's what your dad expected&mdash;an' what we all must look for.... If yu
was goin' to kill Jorth before&mdash;think how &mdash; &mdash; shore y'u're goin' to
kill him now."
</P>

<P>
"Blaisdell's talkin'," put in Blue, and his voice had a cold ring. "Lee
Jorth will never see the sun rise ag'in!"
</P>

<P>
These calls to the primitive in Jean, to the Indian, were not in vain.
But even so, when the dark tide rose in him, there was still a haunting
consciousness of the cruelty of this singular doom imposed upon him.
Strangely Ellen Jorth's face floated back in the depths of his vision,
pale, fading, like the face of a spirit floating by.
</P>

<P>
"Blue," said Blaisdell, "let's get Isbel's body soon as we dare, an'
bury it.  Reckon we can, right after dark."
</P>

<P>
"Shore," replied Blue.  "But y'u fellars figger thet out.  I'm thinkin'
hard.  I've got somethin' on my mind."
</P>

<P>
Jean grew fascinated by the looks and speech and action of the little
gunman.  Blue, indeed, had something on his mind.  And it boded ill to
the men in that dark square stone house down the road.  He paced to and
fro in the yard, back and forth on the path to the gate, and then he
entered the cabin to stalk up and down, faster and faster, until all at
once he halted as if struck, to upfling his right arm in a singular
fierce gesture.
</P>

<P>
"Jean, call the men in," he said, tersely.
</P>

<P>
They all filed in, sinister and silent, with eager faces turned to the
little Texan.  His dominance showed markedly.
</P>

<P>
"Gordon, y'u stand in the door an' keep your eye peeled," went on Blue.
"... Now, boys, listen!  I've thought it all out.  This game of man
huntin' is the same to me as cattle raisin' is to y'u.  An' my life in
Texas all comes back to me, I reckon, in good stead fer us now.  I'm
goin' to kill Lee Jorth!  Him first, an' mebbe his brothers.  I had to
think of a good many ways before I hit on one I reckon will be shore.
It's got to be SHORE.  Jorth has got to die!  Wal, heah's my plan....
Thet Jorth outfit is drinkin' some, we can gamble on it.  They're not
goin' to leave thet store.  An' of course they'll be expectin' us to
start a fight.  I reckon they'll look fer some such siege as they held
round Isbel's ranch.  But we shore ain't goin' to do thet.  I'm goin'
to surprise thet outfit.  There's only one man among them who is
dangerous, an' thet's Queen.  I know Queen.  But he doesn't know me.
An' I'm goin' to finish my job before he gets acquainted with me. After
thet, all right!"
</P>

<P>
Blue paused a moment, his eyes narrowing down, his whole face setting
in hard cast of intense preoccupation, as if he visualized a scene of
extraordinary nature.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, what's your trick?" demanded Blaisdell.
</P>

<P>
"Y'u all know Greaves's store," continued Blue.  "How them winders have
wooden shutters thet keep a light from showin' outside?  Wal, I'm
gamblin' thet as soon as it's dark Jorth's gang will be celebratin'.
They'll be drinkin' an' they'll have a light, an' the winders will be
shut.  They're not goin' to worry none aboot us.  Thet store is like a
fort.  It won't burn.  An' shore they'd never think of us chargin' them
in there.  Wal, as soon as it's dark, we'll go round behind the lots
an' come up jest acrost the road from Greaves's.  I reckon we'd better
leave Isbel where he lays till this fight's over.  Mebbe y'u 'll have
more 'n him to bury. We'll crawl behind them bushes in front of
Coleman's yard.  An' heah's where Jean comes in.  He'll take an ax, an'
his guns, of course, an' do some of his Injun sneakin' round to the
back of Greaves's store.... An', Jean, y'u must do a slick job of this.
But I reckon it 'll be easy fer you.  Back there it 'll be dark as
pitch, fer anyone lookin' out of the store.  An' I'm figgerin' y'u can
take your time an' crawl right up. Now if y'u don't remember how
Greaves's back yard looks I'll tell y'u."
</P>

<P>
Here Blue dropped on one knee to the floor and with a finger he traced
a map of Greaves's barn and fence, the back door and window, and
especially a break in the stone foundation which led into a kind of
cellar where Greaves stored wood and other things that could be left
outdoors.
</P>

<P>
"Jean, I take particular pains to show y'u where this hole is," said
Blue, "because if the gang runs out y'u could duck in there an' hide.
An' if they run out into the yard&mdash;wal, y'u'd make it a sorry run fer
them.... Wal, when y'u've crawled up close to Greaves's back door, an'
waited long enough to see an' listen&mdash;then you're to run fast an' swing
your ax smash ag'in' the winder.  Take a quick peep in if y'u want to.
It might help.  Then jump quick an' take a swing at the door. Y'u 'll
be standin' to one side, so if the gang shoots through the door they
won't hit y'u.  Bang thet door good an' hard.... Wal, now's where I
come in.  When y'u swing thet ax I'll shore run fer the front of the
store.  Jorth an' his outfit will be some attentive to thet poundin' of
yours on the back door.  So I reckon.  An' they'll be lookin' thet way.
I'll run in&mdash;yell&mdash;an' throw my guns on Jorth."
</P>

<P>
"Humph!  Is that all?" ejaculated Blaisdell.
</P>

<P>
"I reckon thet's all an' I'm figgerin' it's a hell of a lot," responded
Blue, dryly.  "Thet's what Jorth will think."
</P>

<P>
"Where do we come in?"
</P>

<P>
"Wal, y'u all can back me up," replied Blue, dubiously.  "Y'u see, my
plan goes as far as killin' Jorth&mdash;an' mebbe his brothers.  Mebbe I'll
get a crack at Queen.  But I'll be shore of Jorth.  After thet all
depends.  Mebbe it 'll be easy fer me to get out.  An' if I do y'u
fellars will know it an' can fill thet storeroom full of bullets."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Blue, with all due respect to y'u, I shore don't like your plan,"
declared Blaisdell.  "Success depends upon too many little things any
one of which might go wrong."
</P>

<P>
"Blaisdell, I reckon I know this heah game better than y'u," replied
Blue.  "A gun fighter goes by instinct.  This trick will work."
</P>

<P>
"But suppose that front door of Greaves's store is barred," protested
Blaisdell.
</P>

<P>
"It hasn't got any bar," said Blue.
</P>

<P>
"Y'u're shore?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes, I reckon," replied Blue.
</P>

<P>
"Hell, man! Aren't y'u takin' a terrible chance?" queried Blaisdell.
</P>

<P>
Blue's answer to that was a look that brought the blood to Blaisdell's
face.  Only then did the rancher really comprehend how the little
gunman had taken such desperate chances before, and meant to take them
now, not with any hope or assurance of escaping with his life, but to
live up to his peculiar code of honor.
</P>

<P>
"Blaisdell, did y'u ever heah of me in Texas?" he queried, dryly.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, no, Blue, I cain't swear I did," replied the rancher,
apologetically.  "An' Isbel was always sort of' mysterious aboot his
acquaintance with you."
</P>

<P>
"My name's not Blue."
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  Wal, what is it, then&mdash;if I'm safe to ask?" returned Blaisdell,
gruffly.
</P>

<P>
"It's King Fisher," replied Blue.
</P>

<P>
The shock that stiffened Blaisdell must have been communicated to the
others.  Jean certainly felt amaze, and some other emotion not fully
realized, when he found himself face to face with one of the most
notorious characters ever known in Texas&mdash;an outlaw long supposed to be
dead.
</P>

<P>
"Men, I reckon I'd kept my secret if I'd any idee of comin' out of this
Isbel-Jorth war alive," said Blue.  "But I'm goin' to cash.  I feel it
heah.... Isbel was my friend.  He saved me from bein' lynched in Texas.
An' so I'm goin' to kill Jorth.  Now I'll take it kind of y'u&mdash;if any
of y'u come out of this alive&mdash;to tell who I was an' why I was on the
Isbel side.  Because this sheep an' cattle war&mdash;this talk of Jorth an'
the Hash Knife Gang&mdash;it makes me, sick.  I KNOW there's been crooked
work on Isbel's side, too.  An' I never want it on record thet I killed
Jorth because he was a rustler."
</P>

<P>
"By God, Blue! it's late in the day for such talk," burst out
Blaisdell, in rage and amaze.  "But I reckon y'u know what y'u're
talkin' aboot.... Wal, I shore don't want to heah it."
</P>

<P>
At this juncture Bill Isbel quietly entered the cabin, too late to hear
any of Blue's statement.  Jean was positive of that, for as Blue was
speaking those last revealing words Bill's heavy boots had resounded on
the gravel path outside.  Yet something in Bill's look or in the way
Blue averted his lean face or in the entrance of Bill at that
particular moment, or all these together, seemed to Jean to add further
mystery to the long secret causes leading up to the Jorth-Isbel war.
Did Bill know what Blue knew?  Jean had an inkling that he did.  And on
the moment, so perplexing and bitter, Jean gazed out the door, down the
deserted road to where his dead father lay, white-haired and ghastly in
the sunlight.
</P>

<P>
"Blue, you could have kept that to yourself, as well as your real
name," interposed Jean, with bitterness.  "It's too late now for either
to do any good.... But I appreciate your friendship for dad, an' I'm
ready to help carry out your plan."
</P>

<P>
That decision of Jean's appeared to put an end to protest or argument
from Blaisdell or any of the others.  Blue's fleeting dark smile was
one of satisfaction.  Then upon most of this group of men seemed to
settle a grim restraint.  They went out and walked and watched; they
came in again, restless and somber.  Jean thought that he must have
bent his gaze a thousand times down the road to the tragic figure of
his father.  That sight roused all emotions in his breast, and the one
that stirred there most was pity.  The pity of it!  Gaston Isbel lying
face down in the dust of the village street!  Patches of blood showed
on the back of his vest and one white-sleeved shoulder.  He had been
shot through.  Every time Jean saw this blood he had to stifle a
gathering of wild, savage impulses.
</P>

<P>
Meanwhile the afternoon hours dragged by and the village remained as if
its inhabitants had abandoned it.  Not even a dog showed on the side
road.  Jorth and some of his men came out in front of the store and sat
on the steps, in close convening groups.  Every move they, made seemed
significant of their confidence and importance.  About sunset they went
back into the store, closing  door and window shutters.  Then Blaisdell
called the Isbel faction to have food and drink.  Jean felt no hunger.
And Blue, who had kept apart from the others, showed no desire to eat.
Neither did he smoke, though early in the day he had never been without
a cigarette between his lips.
</P>

<P>
Twilight fell and darkness came.  Not a light showed anywhere in the
blackness.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I reckon it's aboot time," said Blue, and he led the way out of
the cabin to the back of the lot.  Jean strode behind him, carrying his
rifle and an ax.  Silently the other men followed.  Blue turned to the
left and led through the field until he came within sight of a dark
line of trees.
</P>

<P>
"Thet's where the road turns off," he said to Jean.  "An' heah's the
back of Coleman's place.... Wal, Jean, good luck!"
</P>

<P>
Jean felt the grip of a steel-like hand, and in the darkness he caught
the gleam of Blue's eyes.  Jean had no response in words for the
laconic Blue, but he wrung the hard, thin hand and hurried away in the
darkness.
</P>

<P>
Once alone, his part of the business at hand rushed him into eager
thrilling action.  This was the sort of work he was fitted to do. In
this instance it was important, but it seemed to him that Blue had
coolly taken the perilous part.  And this cowboy with gray in his thin
hair was in reality the great King Fisher!  Jean marveled at the fact.
And he shivered all over for Jorth.  In ten minutes&mdash;fifteen, more or
less, Jorth would lie gasping bloody froth and sinking down. Something
in the dark, lonely, silent, oppressive summer night told Jean this.
He strode on swiftly.  Crossing the road at a run, he kept on over the
ground he had traversed during the afternoon, and in a few moments he
stood breathing hard at the edge of the common behind Greaves's store.
</P>

<P>
A pin point of light penetrated the blackness.  It made Jean's heart
leap.  The Jorth contingent were burning the big lamp that hung in the
center of Greaves's store.  Jean listened.  Loud voices and coarse
laughter sounded discord on the melancholy silence of the night.  What
Blue had called his instinct had surely guided him aright.  Death of
Gaston Isbel was being celebrated by revel.
</P>

<P>
In a few moments Jean had regained his breath.  Then all his faculties
set intensely to the action at hand.  He seemed to magnify his hearing
and his sight.  His movements made no sound.  He gained the wagon,
where he crouched a moment.
</P>

<P>
The ground seemed a pale, obscure medium, hardly more real than the
gloom above it.  Through this gloom of night, which looked thick like a
cloud, but was really clear, shone the thin, bright point of light,
accentuating the black square that was Greaves's store.  Above this
stood a gray line of tree foliage, and then the intensely dark-blue sky
studded with white, cold stars.
</P>

<P>
A hound bayed lonesomely somewhere in the distance.  Voices of men
sounded more distinctly, some deep and low, others loud, unguarded,
with the vacant note of thoughtlessness.
</P>

<P>
Jean gathered all his forces, until sense of sight and hearing were in
exquisite accord with the suppleness and lightness of his movements. He
glided on about ten short, swift steps before he halted.  That was as
far as his piercing eyes could penetrate.  If there had been a guard
stationed outside the store Jean would have seen him before being seen.
He saw the fence, reached it, entered the yard, glided in the dense
shadow of the barn until the black square began to loom gray&mdash;the color
of stone at night.  Jean peered through the obscurity.  No dark figure
of a man showed against that gray wall&mdash;only a black patch, which must
be the hole in the foundation mentioned.  A ray of light now streaked
out from the little black window.  To the right showed the wide, black
door.
</P>

<P>
Farther on Jean glided silently.  Then he halted.  There was no guard
outside.  Jean heard the clink of a cap, the lazy drawl of a Texan, and
then a strong, harsh voice&mdash;Jorth's.  It strung Jean's whole being
tight and vibrating.  Inside he was on fire while cold thrills rippled
over his skin.  It took tremendous effort of will to hold himself back
another instant to listen, to look, to feel, to make sure.  And that
instant charged him with a mighty current of hot blood, straining,
throbbing, damming.
</P>

<P>
When Jean leaped this current burst.  In a few swift bounds he gained
his point halfway between door and window.  He leaned his rifle against
the stone wall.  Then he swung the ax.  Crash!  The window shutter
split and rattled to the floor inside.  The silence then broke with a
hoarse, "What's thet?"
</P>

<P>
With all his might Jean swung the heavy ax on the door.  Smash!  The
lower half caved in and banged to the floor.  Bright light flared out
the hole.
</P>

<P>
"Look out!" yelled a man, in loud alarm.  "They're batterin' the back
door!"
</P>

<P>
Jean swung again, high on the splintered door.  Crash!  Pieces flew
inside.
</P>

<P>
"They've got axes," hoarsely shouted another voice.  "Shove the counter
ag'in' the door."
</P>

<P>
"No!" thundered a voice of authority that denoted terror as well. "Let
them come in.  Pull your guns an' take to cover!"
</P>

<P>
"They ain't comin' in," was the hoarse reply.  "They'll shoot in on us
from the dark."
</P>

<P>
"Put out the lamp!" yelled another.
</P>

<P>
Jean's third heavy swing caved in part of the upper half of the door.
Shouts and curses intermingled with the sliding of benches across the
floor and the hard shuffle of boots.  This confusion seemed to be split
and silenced by a piercing yell, of different caliber, of terrible
meaning.  It stayed Jean's swing&mdash;caused him to drop the ax and snatch
up his rifle.
</P>

<P>
"DON'T ANYBODY MOVE!"
</P>

<P>
Like a steel whip this voice cut the silence.  It belonged to Blue.
Jean swiftly bent to put his eye to a crack in the door.  Most of those
visible seemed to have been frozen into unnatural positions.  Jorth
stood rather in front of his men, hatless and coatless, one arm
outstretched, and his dark profile set toward a little man just inside
the door.  This man was Blue.  Jean needed only one flashing look at
Blue's face, at his leveled, quivering guns, to understand why he had
chosen this trick.
</P>

<P>
"Who're&mdash;-you?" demanded Jorth, in husky pants.
</P>

<P>
"Reckon I'm Isbel's right-hand man," came the biting reply. "Once
tolerable well known in Texas.... KING FISHER!"
</P>

<P>
The name must have been a guarantee of death.  Jorth recognized this
outlaw and realized his own fate.  In the lamplight his face turned a
pale greenish white.  His outstretched hand began to quiver down.
</P>

<P>
Blue's left gun seemed to leap up and flash red and explode.  Several
heavy reports merged almost as one.  Jorth's arm jerked limply,
flinging his gun.  And his body sagged in the middle.  His hands
fluttered like crippled wings and found their way to his abdomen.  His
death-pale face never changed its set look nor position toward Blue.
But his gasping utterance was one of horrible mortal fury and terror.
Then he began to sway, still with that strange, rigid set of his face
toward his slayer, until he fell.
</P>

<P>
His fall broke the spell.  Even Blue, like the gunman he was, had
paused to watch Jorth in his last mortal action.  Jorth's followers
began to draw and shoot.  Jean saw Blue's return fire bring down a huge
man, who fell across Jorth's body.  Then Jean, quick as the thought
that actuated him, raised his rifle and shot at the big lamp.  It burst
in a flare.  It crashed to the floor.  Darkness followed&mdash;a blank,
thick, enveloping mantle.  Then red flashes of guns emphasized the
blackness. Inside the store there broke loose a pandemonium of shots,
yells, curses, and thudding boots.  Jean shoved his rifle barrel inside
the door and, holding it low down, he moved it to and fro while he
worked lever and trigger until the magazine was empty.  Then, drawing
his six-shooter, he emptied that.  A roar of rifles from the front of
the store told Jean that his comrades had entered the fray.  Bullets
zipped through the door he had broken.  Jean ran swiftly round the
corner, taking care to sheer off a little to the left, and when he got
clear of the building he saw a line of flashes in the middle of the
road.  Blaisdell and the others were firing into the door of the store.
With nimble fingers Jean reloaded his rifle.  Then swiftly he ran
across the road and down to get behind his comrades.  Their shooting
had slackened.  Jean saw dark forms coming his way.
</P>

<P>
"Hello, Blaisdell!" he called, warningly.
</P>

<P>
"That y'u, Jean?" returned the rancher, looming up.  "Wal, we wasn't
worried aboot y'u."
</P>

<P>
"Blue?" queried Jean, sharply.
</P>

<P>
A little, dark figure shuffled past Jean.  "Howdy, Jean!" said Blue,
dryly.  "Y'u shore did your part.  Reckon I'll need to be tied up, but
I ain't hurt much."
</P>

<P>
"Colmor's hit," called the voice of Gordon, a few yards distant. "Help
me, somebody!"
</P>

<P>
Jean ran to help Gordon uphold the swaying Colmor.  "Are you hurt&mdash;bad?"
asked Jean, anxiously.  The young man's head rolled and hung.  He was
breathing hard and did not reply.  They had almost to carry him.
</P>

<P>
"Come on, men!" called Blaisdell, turning back toward the others who
were still firing.  "We'll let well enough alone.... Fredericks, y'u
an' Bill help me find the body of the old man.  It's heah somewhere."
</P>

<P>
Farther on down the road the searchers stumbled over Gaston Isbel. They
picked him up and followed Jean and Gordon, who were supporting the
wounded Colmor.  Jean looked back to see Blue dragging himself along in
the rear.  It was too dark to see distinctly; nevertheless, Jean got
the impression that Blue was more severely wounded than he had claimed
to be.  The distance to Meeker's cabin was not far, but it took what
Jean felt to be a long and anxious time to get there. Colmor apparently
rallied somewhat.  When this procession entered Meeker's yard, Blue was
lagging behind.
</P>

<P>
"Blue, how air y'u?" called Blaisdell, with concern.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I got&mdash;my boots&mdash;on&mdash;anyhow," replied Blue, huskily.
</P>

<P>
He lurched into the yard and slid down on the grass and stretched out.
</P>

<P>
"Man!  Y'u're hurt bad!" exclaimed Blaisdell.  The others halted in
their slow march and, as if by tacit, unspoken word, lowered the body
of Isbel to the ground.  Then Blaisdell knelt beside Blue.  Jean left
Colmor to Gordon and hurried to peer down into Blue's dim face.
</P>

<P>
"No, I ain't&mdash;hurt," said Blue, in a much weaker voice.  "I'm&mdash;jest
killed! ... It was Queen! ... Y'u all heerd me&mdash;Queen was&mdash;only bad man
in that lot.  I knowed it.... I could&mdash;hev killed him.... But I
was&mdash;after Lee Jorth an' his brothers...."
</P>

<P>
Blue's voice failed there.
</P>

<P>
"Wal!" ejaculated Blaisdell.
</P>

<P>
"Shore was funny&mdash;Jorth's face&mdash;when I said&mdash;King Fisher," whispered
Blue.  "Funnier&mdash;when I bored&mdash;him through.... But it&mdash;was&mdash;Queen&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
His whisper died away.
</P>

<P>
"Blue!" called Blaisdell, sharply.  Receiving no answer, he bent lower
in the starlight and placed a hand upon the man's breast.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, he's gone.... I wonder if he really was the old Texas King
Fisher.  No one would ever believe it.... But if he killed the Jorths,
I'll shore believe him."
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap10"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER X
</H3>

<P>
Two weeks of lonely solitude in the forest had worked incalculable
change in Ellen Jorth.
</P>

<P>
Late in June her father and her two uncles had packed and ridden off
with Daggs, Colter, and six other men, all heavily armed, some somber
with drink, others hard and grim with a foretaste of fight.  Ellen had
not been given any orders.  Her father had forgotten to bid her good-by
or had avoided it.  Their dark mission was stamped on their faces.
</P>

<P>
They had gone and, keen as had been Ellen's pang, nevertheless, their
departure was a relief.  She had heard them bluster and brag so often
that she had her doubts of any great Jorth-Isbel war.  Barking dogs did
not bite.  Somebody, perhaps on each side, would be badly wounded,
possibly killed, and then the feud would go on as before, mostly talk.
Many of her former impressions had faded.  Development had been so
rapid and continuous in her that she could look back to a day-by-day
transformation.  At night she had hated the sight of herself and when
the dawn came she would rise, singing.
</P>

<P>
Jorth had left Ellen at home with the Mexican woman and Antonio. Ellen
saw them only at meal times, and often not then, for she frequently
visited old John Sprague or came home late to do her own cooking.
</P>

<P>
It was but a short distance up to Sprague's cabin, and since she had
stopped riding the black horse, Spades, she walked.  Spades was
accustomed to having grain, and in the mornings he would come down to
the ranch and whistle.  Ellen had vowed she would never feed the horse
and bade Antonio do it.  But one morning Antonio was absent. She fed
Spades herself.  When she laid a hand on him and when he rubbed his
nose against her shoulder she was not quite so sure she hated him. "Why
should I?" she queried.  "A horse cain't help it if he belongs
to&mdash;to&mdash;"  Ellen was not sure of anything except that more and more it
grew good to be alone.
</P>

<P>
A whole day in the lonely forest passed swiftly, yet it left a feeling
of long time.  She lived by her thoughts.  Always the morning was
bright, sunny, sweet and fragrant and colorful, and her mood was
pensive, wistful, dreamy.  And always, just as surely as the hours
passed, thought intruded upon her happiness, and thought brought
memory, and memory brought shame, and shame brought fight.  Sunset
after sunset she had dragged herself back to the ranch, sullen and sick
and beaten.  Yet she never ceased to struggle.
</P>

<P>
The July storms came, and the forest floor that had been so sear and
brown and dry and dusty changed as if by magic.  The green grass shot
up, the flowers bloomed, and along the canyon beds of lacy ferns swayed
in the wind and bent their graceful tips over the amber-colored water.
Ellen haunted these cool dells, these pine-shaded, mossy-rocked ravines
where the brooks tinkled and the deer came down to drink.  She wandered
alone.  But there grew to be company in the aspens and the music of the
little waterfalls.  If she could have lived in that solitude always,
never returning to the ranch home that reminded her of her name, she
could have forgotten and have been happy.
</P>

<P>
She loved the storms.  It was a dry country and she had learned through
years to welcome the creamy clouds that rolled from the southwest.
They came sailing and clustering and darkening at last to form a great,
purple, angry mass that appeared to lodge against the mountain rim and
burst into dazzling streaks of lightning and gray palls of rain.
Lightning seldom struck near the ranch, but up on the Rim there was
never a storm that did not splinter and crash some of the noble pines.
During the storm season sheep herders and woodsmen generally did not
camp under the pines. Fear of lightning was inborn in the natives, but
for Ellen the dazzling white streaks or the tremendous splitting,
crackling shock, or the thunderous boom and rumble along the
battlements of the Rim had no terrors.  A storm eased her breast.  Deep
in her heart was a hidden gathering storm.  And somehow, to be out when
the elements were warring, when the earth trembled and the heavens
seemed to burst asunder, afforded her strange relief.
</P>

<P>
The summer days became weeks, and farther and farther they carried
Ellen on the wings of solitude and loneliness until she seemed to look
back years at the self she had hated.  And always, when the dark memory
impinged upon peace, she fought and fought until she seemed to be
fighting hatred itself.  Scorn of scorn and hate of hate!  Yet even her
battles grew to be dreams.  For when the inevitable retrospect brought
back Jean Isbel and his love and her cowardly falsehood she would
shudder a little and put an unconscious hand to her breast and utterly
fail in her fight and drift off down to vague and wistful dreams. The
clean and healing forest, with its whispering wind and imperious
solitude, had come between Ellen and the meaning of the squalid sheep
ranch, with its travesty of home, its tragic owner.  And it was coming
between her two selves, the one that she had been forced to be and the
other that she did not know&mdash;the thinker, the dreamer, the romancer,
the one who lived in fancy the life she loved.
</P>

<P>
The summer morning dawned that brought Ellen strange tidings.  They
must have been created in her sleep, and now were realized in the
glorious burst of golden sun, in the sweep of creamy clouds across the
blue, in the solemn music of the wind in the pines, in the wild screech
of the blue jays and the noble bugle of a stag.  These heralded the day
as no ordinary day.  Something was going to happen to her. She divined
it.  She felt it.  And she trembled.  Nothing beautiful, hopeful,
wonderful could ever happen to Ellen Jorth.  She had been born to
disaster, to suffer, to be forgotten, and die alone.  Yet all nature
about her seemed a magnificent rebuke to her morbidness.  The same
spirit that came out there with the thick, amber light was in her.  She
lived, and something in her was stronger than mind.
</P>

<P>
Ellen went to the door of her cabin, where she flung out her arms,
driven to embrace this nameless purport of the morning.  And a
well-known voice broke in upon her rapture.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, lass, I like to see you happy an' I hate myself fer comin'.
Because I've been to Grass Valley fer two days an' I've got news."
</P>

<P>
Old John Sprague stood there, with a smile that did not hide a troubled
look.
</P>

<P>
"Oh!  Uncle John!  You startled me," exclaimed Ellen, shocked back to
reality.  And slowly she added: "Grass Valley!  News?"
</P>

<P>
She put out an appealing hand, which Sprague quickly took in his own,
as if to reassure her.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, an' not bad so far as you Jorths are concerned," he replied. "The
first Jorth-Isbel fight has come off.... Reckon you remember makin' me
promise to tell you if I heerd anythin'.  Wal, I didn't wait fer you to
come up."
</P>

<P>
"So Ellen heard her voice calmly saying.  What was this lying calm when
there seemed to be a stone hammer at her heart?  The first fight&mdash;not
so bad for the Jorths!  Then it had been bad for the Isbels. A sudden,
cold stillness fell upon her senses.
</P>

<P>
"Let's sit down&mdash;outdoors," Sprague was saying.  "Nice an' sunny
this&mdash;mornin'.  I declare&mdash;I'm out of breath.  Not used to walkin'.
An' besides, I left Grass Valley, in the night&mdash;an' I'm tired.  But
excoose me from hangin' round thet village last night!  There was
shore&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"Who&mdash;who was killed?" interrupted Ellen, her voice breaking low and
deep.
</P>

<P>
"Guy Isbel an' Bill Jacobs on the Isbel side, an' Daggs, Craig, an'
Greaves on your father's side," stated Sprague, with something of awed
haste.
</P>

<P>
"Ah!" breathed Ellen, and she relaxed to sink back against the cabin
wall.
</P>

<P>
Sprague seated himself on the log beside her, turning to face her, and
he seemed burdened with grave and important matters.
</P>

<P>
"I heerd a good many conflictin' stories," he said, earnestly.  "The
village folks is all skeered an' there's no believin' their gossip. But
I got what happened straight from Jake Evarts.  The fight come off day
before yestiddy.  Your father's gang rode down to Isbel's ranch. Daggs
was seen to be wantin' some of the Isbel hosses, so Evarts says. An'
Guy Isbel an' Jacobs ran out in the pasture.  Daggs an' some others
shot them down."
</P>

<P>
"Killed them&mdash;that way?" put in Ellen, sharply.
</P>

<P>
"So Evarts says.  He was on the ridge an' swears he seen it all.  They
killed Guy an' Jacobs in cold blood.  No chance fer their lives&mdash;not
even to fight! ... Wall, hen they surrounded the Isbel cabin.  The
fight last all thet day an' all night an' the next day.  Evarts says
Guy an' Jacobs laid out thar all this time.  An' a herd of hogs broke
in the pasture an' was eatin' the dead bodies ..."
</P>

<P>
"My God!" burst out Ellen.  "Uncle John, y'u shore cain't mean my
father wouldn't stop fightin' long enough to drive the hogs off an'
bury those daid men?"
</P>

<P>
"Evarts says they stopped fightin', all right, but it was to watch the
hogs," declared Sprague.  "An' then, what d' ye think?  The wimminfolks
come out&mdash;the  red-headed one, Guy's wife, an' Jacobs's wife&mdash;they
drove the hogs away an' buried their husbands right there in the
pasture.  Evarts says he seen the graves."
</P>

<P>
"It is the women who can teach these bloody Texans a lesson," declared
Ellen, forcibly.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Daggs was drunk, an' he got up from behind where the gang was
hidin', an' dared the Isbels to come out.  They shot him to pieces. An'
thet night some one of the Isbels shot Craig, who was alone on
guard.... An' last&mdash;this here's what I come to tell you&mdash;Jean Isbel
slipped up in the dark on Greaves an' knifed him."
</P>

<P>
"Why did y'u want to tell me that particularly?" asked Ellen, slowly.
</P>

<P>
"Because I reckon the facts in the case are queer&mdash;an' because, Ellen,
your name was mentioned," announced Sprague, positively.
</P>

<P>
"My name&mdash;mentioned?" echoed Ellen.  Her horror and disgust gave way to
a quickening process of thought, a mounting astonishment.  "By whom?"
</P>

<P>
"Jean Isbel," replied Sprague, as if the name and the fact were
momentous.
</P>

<P>
Ellen sat still as a stone, her hands between her knees.  Slowly she
felt the blood recede from her face, prickling her kin down below her
neck.  That name locked her thought.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, it's a mighty queer story&mdash;too queer to be a lie," went on
Sprague.  "Now you listen!  Evarts got this from Ted Meeker.  An' Ted
Meeker heerd it from Greaves, who didn't die till the next day after
Jean Isbel knifed him.  An' your dad shot Ted fer tellin' what he
heerd.... No, Greaves wasn't killed outright.  He was cut somethin'
turrible&mdash;in two places.  They wrapped him all up an' next day packed
him in a wagon back to Grass Valley.  Evarts says Ted Meeker was
friendly with Greaves an' went to see him as he was layin' in his room
next to the store.  Wal, accordin' to Meeker's story, Greaves came to
an' talked. He said he was sittin' there in the dark, shootin'
occasionally at Isbel's cabin, when he heerd a rustle behind him in the
grass.  He knowed some one was crawlin' on him.  But before he could
get his gun around he was jumped by what he thought was a grizzly bear.
But it was a man.  He shut off Greaves's wind an' dragged him back in
the ditch. An' he said: 'Greaves, it's the half-breed.  An' he's goin'
to cut you&mdash;FIRST FOR ELLEN JORTH! an' then for Gaston Isbel!' ...
Greaves said Jean ripped him with a bowie knife.... An' thet was all
Greaves remembered.  He died soon after tellin' this story.  He must
hev fought awful hard.  Thet second cut Isbel gave him went clear
through him.... Some of the gang was thar when Greaves talked, an'
naturally they wondered why Jean Isbel had said 'first for Ellen
Jorth.' ... Somebody remembered thet Greaves had cast a slur on your
good name, Ellen.  An' then they had Jean Isbel's reason fer sayin'
thet to Greaves.  It caused a lot of talk.  An' when Simm Bruce busted
in some of the gang haw-hawed him an' said as how he'd get the third
cut from Jean Isbel's bowie. Bruce was half drunk an' he began to cuss
an' rave about Jean Isbel bein' in love with his girl.... As bad luck
would have it, a couple of more fellars come in an' asked Meeker
questions.  He jest got to thet part, 'Greaves, it's the half-breed,
an' he's goin' to cut you&mdash;FIRST FOR ELLEN JORTH,' when in walked your
father! ... Then it all had to come out&mdash;what Jean Isbel had said an'
done&mdash;an' why. How Greaves had backed Simm Bruce in slurrin' you!"
</P>

<P>
Sprague paused to look hard at Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"Oh!  Then&mdash;what did dad do?" whispered Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"He said, 'By God! half-breed or not, there's one Isbel who's a man!'
An' he killed Bruce on the spot an' gave Meeker a nasty wound. Somebody
grabbed him before he could shoot Meeker again.  They threw Meeker out
an' he crawled to a neighbor's house, where he was when Evarts seen
him."
</P>

<P>
Ellen felt Sprague's rough but kindly hand shaking her.  "An' now what
do you think of Jean Isbel?" he queried.
</P>

<P>
A great, unsurmountable wall seemed to obstruct Ellen's thought. It
seemed gray in color.  It moved toward her.  It was inside her brain.
</P>

<P>
"I tell you, Ellen Jorth," declared the old man, "thet Jean Isbel loves
you&mdash;loves you turribly&mdash;an' he believes you're good."
</P>

<P>
"Oh no&mdash;he doesn't!" faltered Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, he jest does."
</P>

<P>
"Oh, Uncle John, he cain't believe that!" she cried.
</P>

<P>
"Of course he can.  He does.  You are good&mdash;good as gold, Ellen, an' he
knows it.... What a queer deal it all is!  Poor devil!  To love you
thet turribly an' hev to fight your people!  Ellen, your dad had it
correct.  Isbel or not, he's a man.... An' I say what a shame you two
are divided by hate.  Hate thet you hed nothin' to do with." Sprague
patted her head and rose to go.  "Mebbe thet fight will end the
trouble.  I reckon it will.  Don't cross bridges till you come to them,
Ellen.... I must hurry back now.  I didn't take time to unpack my
burros.  Come up soon.... An', say, Ellen, don't think hard any more of
thet Jean Isbel."
</P>

<P>
Sprague strode away, and Ellen neither heard nor saw him go.  She sat
perfectly motionless, yet had a strange sensation of being lifted by
invisible and mighty power.  It was like movement felt in a dream. She
was being impelled upward when her body seemed immovable as stone. When
her blood beat down this deadlock of an her physical being and rushed
on and on through her veins it gave her an irresistible impulse to fly,
to sail through space, to ran and run and ran.
</P>

<P>
And on the moment the black horse, Spades, coming from the meadow,
whinnied at sight of her.  Ellen leaped up and ran swiftly, but her
feet seemed to be stumbling.  She hugged the horse and buried her hot
face in his mane and clung to him.  Then just as violently she rushed
for her saddle and bridle and carried the heavy weight as easily as if
it had been an empty sack.  Throwing them upon him, she buckled and
strapped with strong, eager hands.  It never occurred to her that she
was not dressed to ride.  Up she flung herself.  And the horse, sensing
her spirit, plunged into strong, free gait down the canyon trail.
</P>

<P>
The ride, the action, the thrill, the sensations of violence were not
all she needed.  Solitude, the empty aisles of the forest, the far
miles of lonely wilderness&mdash;were these the added all?  Spades took a
swinging, rhythmic lope up the winding trail.  The wind fanned her hot
face.  The sting of whipping aspen branches was pleasant.  A deep
rumble of thunder shook the sultry air.  Up beyond the green slope of
the canyon massed the creamy clouds, shading darker and darker.  Spades
loped on the levels, leaped the washes, trotted over the rocky ground,
and took to a walk up the long slope.  Ellen dropped the reins over the
pommel. Her hands could not stay set on anything.  They pressed her
breast and flew out to caress the white aspens and to tear at the maple
leaves, and gather the lavender juniper berries, and came back again to
her heart. Her heart that was going to burst or break!  As it had
swelled, so now it labored. It could not keep pace with her needs.  All
that was physical, all that was living in her had to be unleashed.
</P>

<P>
Spades gained the level forest.  How the great, brown-green pines
seemed to bend their lofty branches over her, protectively,
understandingly. Patches of azure-blue sky flashed between the trees.
The great white clouds sailed along with her, and shafts of golden
sunlight, flecked with gleams of falling pine needles, shone down
through the canopy overhead.  Away in front of her, up the slow heave
of forest land, boomed the heavy thunderbolts along the battlements of
the Rim.
</P>

<P>
Was she riding to escape from herself?  For no gait suited her until
Spades was running hard and fast through the glades.  Then the pressure
of dry wind, the thick odor of pine, the flashes of brown and green and
gold and blue, the soft, rhythmic thuds of hoofs, the feel of the
powerful horse under her, the whip of spruce branches on her muscles
contracting and expanding in hard action&mdash;all these sensations seemed
to quell for the time the mounting cataclysm in her heart.
</P>

<P>
The oak swales, the maple thickets, the aspen groves, the pine-shaded
aisles, and the miles of silver spruce all sped by her, as if she had
ridden the wind; and through the forest ahead shone the vast open of
the Basin, gloomed by purple and silver cloud, shadowed by gray storm,
and in the west brightened by golden sky.
</P>

<P>
Straight to the Rim she had ridden, and to the point where she had
watched Jean Isbel that unforgetable day.  She rode to the promontory
behind the pine thicket and beheld a scene which stayed her restless
hands upon her heaving breast.
</P>

<P>
The world of sky and cloud and earthly abyss seemed one of
storm-sundered grandeur.  The air was sultry and still, and smelled of
the peculiar burnt-wood odor caused by lightning striking trees.  A few
heavy drops of rain were pattering down from the thin, gray edge of
clouds overhead. To the east hung the storm&mdash;a black cloud lodged
against the Rim, from which long, misty veils of rain streamed down
into the gulf.  The roar of rain sounded like the steady roar of the
rapids of a river.  Then a blue-white, piercingly bright, ragged streak
of lightning shot down out of the black cloud.  It struck with a
splitting report that shocked the very wall of rock under Ellen.  Then
the heavens seemed to burst open with thundering crash and close with
mighty thundering boom.  Long roar and longer rumble rolled away to the
eastward.  The rain poured down in roaring cataracts.
</P>

<P>
The south held a panorama of purple-shrouded range and canyon, canyon
and range, on across the rolling leagues to the dim, lofty peaks, all
canopied over with angry, dusky, low-drifting clouds, horizon-wide,
smoky, and sulphurous.  And as Ellen watched, hands pressed to her
breast, feeling incalculable relief in sight of this tempest and gulf
that resembled her soul, the sun burst out from behind the long bank of
purple cloud in the west and flooded the world there with golden
lightning.
</P>

<P>
"It is for me!" cried Ellen. "My mind&mdash;my heart&mdash;my very soul.... Oh, I
know!  I know now! ... I love him&mdash;love him&mdash;love him!"
</P>

<P>
She cried it out to the elements.  "Oh, I love Jean Isbel&mdash;an' my heart
will burst or break!"
</P>

<P>
The might of her passion was like the blaze of the sun.  Before it all
else retreated, diminished.  The suddenness of the truth dimmed her
sight. But she saw clearly enough to crawl into the pine thicket,
through the clutching, dry twigs, over the mats of fragrant needles to
the covert where she had once spied upon Jean Isbel.  And here she lay
face down for a while, hands clutching the needles, breast pressed hard
upon the ground, stricken and spent.  But vitality was exceeding strong
in her. It passed, that weakness of realization, and she awakened to
the consciousness of love.
</P>

<P>
But in the beginning it was not consciousness of the man.  It was new,
sensorial life, elemental, primitive, a liberation of a million
inherited instincts, quivering and physical, over which Ellen had no
more control than she had over the glory of the sun.  If she thought at
all it was of her need to be hidden, like an animal, low down near the
earth, covered by green thicket, lost in the wildness of nature.  She
went to nature, unconsciously seeking a mother.  And love was a birth
from the depths of her, like a rushing spring of pure water, long
underground, and at last propelled to the surface by a convulsion.
</P>

<P>
Ellen gradually lost her tense rigidity and relaxed.  Her body
softened. She rolled over until her face caught the lacy, golden
shadows cast by sun and bough.  Scattered drops of rain pattered around
her.  The air was hot, and its odor was that of dry pine and spruce
fragrance penetrated by brimstone from the lightning.  The nest where
she lay was warm and sweet.  No eye save that of nature saw her in her
abandonment.  An ineffable and exquisite smile wreathed her lips,
dreamy, sad, sensuous, the supremity of unconscious happiness.  Over
her dark and eloquent eyes, as Ellen gazed upward, spread a luminous
film, a veil.  She was looking intensely, yet she did not see.  The
wilderness enveloped her with its secretive, elemental sheaths of rock,
of tree, of cloud, of sunlight. Through her thrilling skin poured the
multiple and nameless sensations of the living organism stirred to
supreme sensitiveness.  She could not lie still, but all her movements
were gentle, involuntary.  The slow reaching out of her hand, to grasp
at nothing visible, was similar to the lazy stretching of her limbs, to
the heave of her breast, to the ripple of muscle.
</P>

<P>
Ellen knew not what she felt.  To live that sublime hour was beyond
thought.  Such happiness was like the first dawn of the world to the
sight of man.  It had to do with bygone ages.  Her heart, her blood,
her flesh, her very bones were filled with instincts and emotions
common to the race before intellect developed, when the savage lived
only with his sensorial perceptions.  Of all happiness, joy, bliss,
rapture to which man was heir, that of intense and exquisite
preoccupation of the senses, unhindered and unburdened by thought, was
the greatest.  Ellen felt that which life meant with its inscrutable
design.  Love was only the realization of her mission on the earth.
</P>

<P>
The dark storm cloud with its white, ragged ropes of lightning and
down-streaming gray veils of rain, the purple gulf rolling like a
colored sea to the dim mountains, the glorious golden light of the
sun&mdash;these had enchanted her eyes with her beauty of the universe. They
had burst the windows of her blindness.  When she crawled into the
green-brown covert it was to escape too great perception.  She needed
to be encompassed by close, tangible things.  And there her body paid
the tribute to the realization of life.  Shock, convulsion, pain,
relaxation, and then unutterable and insupportable sensing of her
environment and the heart!  In one way she was a wild animal alone in
the woods, forced into the mating that meant reproduction of its kind.
In another she was an infinitely higher being shot through and through
with the most resistless and mysterious transport that life could give
to flesh.
</P>

<P>
And when that spell slackened its hold there wedged into her mind a
consciousness of the man she loved&mdash;Jean Isbel.  Then emotion and
thought strove for mastery over her.  It was not herself or love that
she loved, but a living man.  Suddenly he existed so clearly for her
that she could see him, hear him, almost feel him.  Her whole soul, her
very life cried out to him for protection, for salvation, for love, for
fulfillment.  No denial, no doubt marred the white blaze of her
realization.  From the instant that she had looked up into Jean Isbel's
dark face she had loved him.  Only she had not known.  She bowed now,
and bent, and humbly quivered under the mastery of something beyond her
ken.  Thought clung to the beginnings of her romance&mdash;to the three
times she had seen him.  Every look, every word, every act of his
returned to her now in the light of the truth.  Love at first sight! He
had sworn it, bitterly, eloquently, scornful of her doubts.  And now a
blind, sweet, shuddering ecstasy swayed her.  How weak and frail seemed
her body&mdash;too small, too slight for this monstrous and terrible engine
of fire and lightning and fury and glory&mdash;her heart!  It must burst or
break.  Relentlessly memory pursued Ellen, and her thoughts whirled and
emotion conquered her.  At last she quivered up to her knees as if
lashed to action.  It seemed that first kiss of Isbel's, cool and
gentle and timid, was on her lips.  And her eyes closed and hot tears
welled from under her lids.  Her groping hands found only the dead
twigs and the pine boughs of the trees.  Had she reached out to clasp
him?  Then hard and violent on her mouth and cheek and neck burned
those other kisses of Isbel's, and with the flashing, stinging memory
came the truth that now she would have bartered her soul for them.
Utterly she surrendered to the resistlessness of this love.  Her loss
of mother and friends, her wandering from one wild place to another,
her lonely life among bold and rough men, had developed her for violent
love.  It overthrew all pride, it engendered humility, it killed hate.
Ellen wiped the tears from her eyes, and as she knelt there she swept
to her breast a fragrant spreading bough of pine needles.  "I'll go to
him," she whispered.  "I'll tell him of&mdash;of my&mdash;my love.  I'll tell him
to take me away&mdash;away to the end of the world&mdash;away from heah&mdash;before
it's too late!"
</P>

<P>
It was a solemn, beautiful moment.  But the last spoken words lingered
hauntingly.  "Too late?" she whispered.
</P>

<P>
And suddenly it seemed that death itself shuddered in her soul. Too
late!  It was too late.  She had killed his love.  That Jorth blood in
her&mdash;that poisonous hate&mdash;had chosen the only way to strike this noble
Isbel to the heart.  Basely, with an abandonment of womanhood, she had
mockingly perjured her soul with a vile lie.  She writhed, she shook
under the whip of this inconceivable fact.  Lost!  Lost!  She wailed
her misery.  She might as well be what she had made Jean Isbel think
she was.  If she had been shamed before, she was now abased, degraded,
lost in her own sight.  And if she would have given her soul for his
kisses, she now would have killed herself to earn back his respect.
Jean Isbel had given her at sight the deference that she had
unconsciously craved, and the love that would have been her salvation.
What a horrible mistake she had made of her life!  Not her mother's
blood, but her father's&mdash;the Jorth blood&mdash;had been her ruin.
</P>

<P>
Again Ellen fell upon the soft pine-needle mat, face down, and she
groveled and burrowed there, in an agony that could not bear the sense
of light.  All she had suffered was as nothing to this.  To have
awakened to a splendid and uplifting love for a man whom she had
imagined she hated, who had fought for her name and had killed in
revenge for the dishonor she had avowed&mdash;to have lost his love and what
was infinitely more precious to her now in her ignominy&mdash;his faith in
her purity&mdash;this broke her heart.
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap11"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER XI
</H3>

<P>
When Ellen, utterly spent in body and mind, reached home that day a
melancholy, sultry twilight was falling.  Fitful flares of sheet
lightning swept across the dark horizon to the east.  The cabins were
deserted.  Antonio and the Mexican woman were gone.  The circumstances
made Ellen wonder, but she was too tired and too sunken in spirit to
think long about it or to care.  She fed and watered her horse and left
him in the corral.  Then, supperless and without removing her clothes,
she threw herself upon the bed, and at once sank into heavy slumber.
</P>

<P>
Sometime during the night she awoke.  Coyotes were yelping, and from
that sound she concluded it was near dawn.  Her body ached; her mind
seemed dull.  Drowsily she was sinking into slumber again when she
heard the rapid clip-clop of trotting horses.  Startled, she raised her
head to listen.  The men were coming back.  Relief and dread seemed to
clear her stupor.
</P>

<P>
The trotting horses stopped across the lane from her cabin, evidently
at the corral where she had left Spades.  She heard him whistle.
</P>

<P>
From the sound of hoofs she judged the number of horses to be six or
eight.  Low voices of men mingled with thuds and cracking of straps and
flopping of saddles on the ground.  After that the heavy tread of boots
sounded on the porch of the cabin opposite.  A door creaked on its
hinges.  Next a slow footstep, accompanied by clinking of spurs,
approached Ellen's door, and a heavy hand banged upon it.  She knew
this person could not be her father.
</P>

<P>
"Hullo, Ellen!"
</P>

<P>
She recognized the voice as belonging to Colter.  Somehow its tone, or
something about it, sent a little shiver clown her spine.  It acted
like a revivifying current.  Ellen lost her dragging lethargy.
</P>

<P>
"Hey, Ellen, are y'u there?" added Colter, louder voice.
</P>

<P>
"Yes.  Of course I'm heah," she replied.  "What do y'u want?"
</P>

<P>
"Wal&mdash;I'm shore glad y'u're home," he replied.  "Antonio's gone with
his squaw.  An' I was some worried aboot y'u."
</P>

<P>
"Who's with y'u, Colter?" queried Ellen, sitting up.
</P>

<P>
"Rock Wells an' Springer.  Tad Jorth was with us, but we had to leave
him over heah in a cabin."
</P>

<P>
"What's the matter with him?"
</P>

<P>
"Wal, he's hurt tolerable bad," was the slow reply.
</P>

<P>
Ellen heard Colter's spurs jangle, as if he had uneasily shifted his
feet.
</P>

<P>
"Where's dad an' Uncle Jackson?" asked Ellen.
</P>

<P>
A silence pregnant enough to augment Ellen's dread finally broke to
Colter's voice, somehow different.  "Shore they're back on the trail.
An' we're to meet them where we left Tad."
</P>

<P>
"Are yu goin' away again?"
</P>

<P>
"I reckon.... An', Ellen, y'u're goin' with us."
</P>

<P>
"I am not," she retorted.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, y'u are, if I have to pack y'u," he replied, forcibly.  "It's not
safe heah any more.  That damned half-breed Isbel with his gang are on
our trail."
</P>

<P>
That name seemed like a red-hot blade at Ellen's leaden heart. She
wanted to fling a hundred queries on Colter, but she could not utter
one.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, we've got to hit the trail an' hide," continued Colter,
anxiously.  "Y'u mustn't stay heah alone.  Suppose them Isbels would
trap y'u! ... They'd tear your clothes off an' rope y'u to a tree.
Ellen, shore y'u're goin'.... Y'u heah me!"
</P>

<P>
"Yes&mdash;I'll go," she replied, as if forced.
</P>

<P>
"Wal&mdash;that's good," he said, quickly.  "An' rustle tolerable lively.
We've got to pack."
</P>

<P>
The slow jangle of Colter's spurs and his slow steps moved away out of
Ellen's hearing.  Throwing off the blankets, she put her feet to the
floor and sat there a moment staring at the blank nothingness of the
cabin interior in the obscure gray of dawn.  Cold, gray, dreary,
obscure&mdash;like her life, her future!  And she was compelled to do what
was hateful to her.  As a Jorth she must take to the unfrequented
trails and hide like a rabbit in the thickets.  But the interest of the
moment, a premonition of events to be, quickened her into action.
</P>

<P>
Ellen unbarred the door to let in the light.  Day was breaking with an
intense, clear, steely light in the east through which the morning star
still shone white.  A ruddy flare betokened the advent of the sun.
Ellen unbraided her tangled hair and brushed and combed it.  A queer,
still pang came to her at sight of pine needles tangled in her brown
locks.  Then she washed her hands and face.  Breakfast was a matter of
considerable work and she was hungry.
</P>

<P>
The sun rose and changed the gray world of forest.  For the first time
in her life Ellen hated the golden brightness, the wonderful blue of
sky, the scream of the eagle and the screech of the jay; and the
squirrels she had always loved to feed were neglected that morning.
</P>

<P>
Colter came in.  Either Ellen had never before looked attentively at
him or else he had changed.  Her scrutiny of his lean, hard features
accorded him more Texan attributes than formerly.  His gray eyes were
as light, as clear, as fierce as those of an eagle.  And the sand gray
of his face, the long, drooping, fair mustache hid the secrets of his
mind, but not its strength.  The instant Ellen met his gaze she sensed
a power in him that she instinctively opposed.  Colter had not been so
bold nor so rude as Daggs, but he was the same kind of man, perhaps the
more dangerous for his secretiveness, his cool, waiting inscrutableness.
</P>

<P>
"'Mawnin', Ellen!" he drawled.  "Y'u shore look good for sore eyes."
</P>

<P>
"Don't pay me compliments, Colter," replied Ellen.  "An' your eyes are
not sore."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I'm shore sore from fightin' an' ridin' an' layin' out," he said,
bluntly.
</P>

<P>
"Tell me&mdash;what's happened," returned Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"Girl, it's a tolerable long story," replied Colter.  "An' we've no
time now.  Wait till we get to camp."
</P>

<P>
"Am I to pack my belongin's or leave them heah?" asked Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"Reckon y'u'd better leave&mdash;them heah."
</P>

<P>
"But if we did not come back&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I reckon it's not likely we'll come&mdash;soon," he said, rather
evasively.
</P>

<P>
"Colter, I'll not go off into the woods with just the clothes I have on
my back."
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, we shore got to pack all the grab we can.  This shore ain't
goin' to be a visit to neighbors.  We're shy pack hosses.  But y'u make
up a bundle of belongin's y'u care for, an' the things y'u'll need bad.
We'll throw it on somewhere."
</P>

<P>
Colter stalked away across the lane, and Ellen found herself dubiously
staring at his tall figure.  Was it the situation that struck her with
a foreboding perplexity or was her intuition steeling her against this
man?  Ellen could not decide.  But she had to go with him.  Her
prejudice was unreasonable at this portentous moment.  And she could
not yet feel that she was solely responsible to herself.
</P>

<P>
When it came to making a small bundle of her belongings she was in a
quandary.  She discarded this and put in that, and then reversed the
order.  Next in preciousness to her mother's things were the
long-hidden gifts of Jean Isbel.  She could part with neither.
</P>

<P>
While she was selecting and packing this bundle Colter again entered
and, without speaking, began to rummage in the corner where her father
kept his possessions.  This irritated Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"What do y'u want there?" she demanded.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I reckon your dad wants his papers&mdash;an' the gold he left
heah&mdash;an' a change of clothes.  Now doesn't he?" returned Colter,
coolly.
</P>

<P>
"Of course.  But I supposed y'u would have me pack them."
</P>

<P>
Colter vouchsafed no reply to this, but deliberately went on rummaging,
with little regard for how he scattered things.  Ellen turned her back
on him.  At length, when he left, she went to her father's corner and
found that, as far as she was able to see, Colter had taken neither
papers nor clothes, but only the gold.  Perhaps, however, she had been
mistaken, for she had not observed Colter's departure closely enough to
know whether or not he carried a package.  She missed only the gold.
Her father's papers, old and musty, were scattered about, and these she
gathered up to slip in her own bundle.
</P>

<P>
Colter, or one of the men, had saddled Spades, and he was now tied to
the corral fence, champing his bit and pounding the sand.  Ellen
wrapped bread and meat inside her coat, and after tying this behind her
saddle she was ready to go.  But evidently she would have to wait, and,
preferring to remain outdoors, she stayed by her horse.  Presently,
while watching the men pack, she noticed that Springer wore a bandage
round his head under the brim of his sombrero.  His motions were slow
and lacked energy.  Shuddering at the sight, Ellen refused to
conjecture. All too soon she would learn what had happened, and all too
soon, perhaps, she herself would be in the midst of another fight.  She
watched the men.  They were making a hurried slipshod job of packing
food supplies from both cabins.  More than once she caught Colter's
gray gleam of gaze on her, and she did not like it.
</P>

<P>
"I'll ride up an' say good-by to Sprague," she called to Colter.
</P>

<P>
"Shore y'u won't do nothin' of the kind," he called back.
</P>

<P>
There was authority in his tone that angered Ellen, and something else
which inhibited her anger.  What was there about Colter with which she
must reckon?  The other two Texans laughed aloud, to be suddenly
silenced by Colter's harsh and lowered curses.  Ellen walked out of
hearing and sat upon a log, where she remained until Colter hailed her.
</P>

<P>
"Get up an' ride," he called.
</P>

<P>
Ellen complied with this order and, riding up behind the three mounted
men, she soon found herself leaving what for years had been her home.
Not once did she look back.  She hoped she would never see the squalid,
bare pretension of a ranch again.
</P>

<P>
Colter and the other riders drove the pack horses across the meadow,
off of the trails, and up the slope into the forest.  Not very long did
it take Ellen to see that Colter's object was to hide their tracks. He
zigzagged through the forest, avoiding the bare spots of dust, the dry,
sun-baked flats of clay where water lay in spring, and he chose the
grassy, open glades, the long, pine-needle matted aisles.  Ellen rode
at their heels and it pleased her to watch for their tracks.  Colter
manifestly had been long practiced in this game of hiding his trail,
and he showed the skill of a rustler.  But Ellen was not convinced that
he could ever elude a real woodsman.  Not improbably, however, Colter
was only aiming to leave a trail difficult to follow and which would
allow him and his confederates ample time to forge ahead of pursuers.
Ellen could not accept a certainty of pursuit.  Yet Colter must have
expected it, and Springer and Wells also, for they had a dark,
sinister, furtive demeanor that strangely contrasted with the cool,
easy manner habitual to them.
</P>

<P>
They were not seeking the level routes of the forest land, that was
sure. They rode straight across the thick-timbered ridge down into
another canyon, up out of that, and across rough, rocky bluffs, and
down again. These riders headed a little to the northwest and every
mile brought them into wilder, more rugged country, until Ellen, losing
count of canyons and ridges, had no idea where she was.  No stop was
made at noon to rest the laboring, sweating pack animals.
</P>

<P>
Under circumstances where pleasure might have been possible Ellen would
have reveled in this hard ride into a wonderful forest ever thickening
and darkening.  But the wild beauty of glade and the spruce slopes and
the deep, bronze-walled canyons left her cold.  She saw and felt, but
had no thrill, except now and then a thrill of alarm when Spades slid
to his haunches down some steep, damp, piny declivity.
</P>

<P>
All the woodland, up and down, appeared to be richer greener as they
traveled farther west.  Grass grew thick and heavy.  Water ran in all
ravines.  The rocks were bronze and copper and russet, and some had
green patches of lichen.
</P>

<P>
Ellen felt the sun now on her left cheek and knew that the day was
waning and that Colter was swinging farther to the northwest.  She had
never before ridden through such heavy forest and down and up such wild
canyons.  Toward sunset the deepest and ruggedest canyon halted their
advance.  Colter rode to the right, searching for a place to get down
through a spruce thicket that stood on end.  Presently he dismounted
and the others followed suit.  Ellen found she could not lead Spades
because he slid down upon her heels, so she looped the end of her reins
over the pommel and left him free.  She herself managed to descend by
holding to branches and sliding all the way down that slope. She heard
the horses cracking the brush, snorting and heaving.  One pack slipped
and had to be removed from the horse, and rolled down.  At the bottom
of this deep, green-walled notch roared a stream of water. Shadowed,
cool, mossy, damp, this narrow gulch seemed the wildest place Ellen had
ever seen.  She could just see the sunset-flushed, gold-tipped spruces
far above her.  The men repacked the horse that had slipped his burden,
and once more resumed their progress ahead, now turning up this canyon.
There was no horse trail, but deer and bear trails were numerous.  The
sun sank and the sky darkened, but still the men rode on; and the
farther they traveled the wilder grew the aspect of the canyon.
</P>

<P>
At length Colter broke a way through a heavy thicket of willows and
entered a side canyon, the mouth of which Ellen had not even descried.
It turned and widened, and at length opened out into a round pocket,
apparently inclosed, and as lonely and isolated a place as even pursued
rustlers could desire.  Hidden by jutting wall and thicket of spruce
were two old log cabins joined together by roof and attic floor, the
same as the double cabin at the Jorth ranch.
</P>

<P>
Ellen smelled wood smoke, and presently, on going round the cabins, saw
a bright fire.  One man stood beside it gazing at Colter's party, which
evidently he had heard approaching.
</P>

<P>
"Hullo, Queen!" said Colter.  "How's Tad?"
</P>

<P>
"He's holdin' on fine," replied Queen, bending over the fire, where he
turned pieces of meat.
</P>

<P>
"Where's father?" suddenly asked Ellen, addressing Colter.
</P>

<P>
As if he had not heard her, he went on wearily loosening a pack.
</P>

<P>
Queen looked at her.  The light of the fire only partially shone on his
face.  Ellen could not see its expression.  But from the fact that
Queen did not answer her question she got further intimation of an
impending catastrophe.  The long, wild ride had helped prepare her for
the secrecy and taciturnity of men who had resorted to flight.  Perhaps
her father had been delayed or was still off on the deadly mission that
had obsessed him; or there might, and probably was, darker reason for
his absence.  Ellen shut her teeth and turned to the needs of her
horse. And presently, returning to the fire, she thought of her uncle.
</P>

<P>
"Queen, is my uncle Tad heah?" she asked.
</P>

<P>
"Shore.  He's in there," replied Queen, pointing at the nearer cabin.
</P>

<P>
Ellen hurried toward the dark doorway.  She could see how the logs of
the cabin had moved awry and what a big, dilapidated hovel it was. As
she looked in, Colter loomed over her&mdash;placed a familiar and somehow
masterful hand upon her.  Ellen let it rest on her shoulder a moment.
Must she forever be repulsing these rude men among whom her lot was
cast? Did Colter mean what Daggs had always meant?  Ellen felt herself
weary, weak in body, and her spent spirit had not rallied.  Yet,
whatever Colter meant by his familiarity, she could not bear it.  So
she slipped out from under his hand.
</P>

<P>
"Uncle Tad, are y'u heah?" she called into the blackness.  She heard
the mice scamper and rustle and she smelled the musty, old, woody odor
of a long-unused cabin.
</P>

<P>
"Hello, Ellen!" came a voice she recognized as her uncle's, yet it was
strange.  "Yes.  I'm heah&mdash;bad luck to me! ... How 're y'u buckin' up,
girl?"
</P>

<P>
"I'm all right, Uncle Tad&mdash;only tired an' worried.  I&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"Tad, how's your hurt?" interrupted Colter.
</P>

<P>
"Reckon I'm easier," replied Jorth, wearily, "but shore I'm in bad
shape. I'm still spittin' blood.  I keep tellin' Queen that bullet
lodged in my lungs--but he says it went through."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, hang on, Tad!" replied Colter, with a cheerfulness Ellen sensed
was really indifferent.
</P>

<P>
"Oh, what the hell's the use!" exclaimed Jorth. "It's all&mdash;up with
us&mdash;Colter!"
</P>

<P>
"Wal, shut up, then," tersely returned Colter.  "It ain't doin' y'u or
us any good to holler."
</P>

<P>
Tad Jorth did not reply to this.  Ellen heard his breathing and it did
not seem natural.  It rasped a little&mdash;came hurriedly&mdash;then caught in
his throat.  Then he spat.  Ellen shrunk back against the door. He was
breathing through blood.
</P>

<P>
"Uncle, are y'u in pain?" she asked.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, Ellen&mdash;it burns like hell," he said.
</P>

<P>
"Oh! I'm sorry.... Isn't there something I can do?"
</P>

<P>
"I reckon not.  Queen did all anybody could do for me&mdash;now&mdash;unless it's
pray."
</P>

<P>
Colter laughed at this&mdash;the slow, easy, drawling laugh of a Texan. But
Ellen felt pity for this wounded uncle.  She had always hated him. He
had been a drunkard, a gambler, a waster of her father's property; and
now he was a rustler and a fugitive, lying in pain, perhaps mortally
hurt.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, uncle&mdash;I will pray for y'u," she said, softly.
</P>

<P>
The change in his voice held a note of sadness that she had been quick
to catch.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, y'u're the only good Jorth&mdash;in the whole damned lot," he said.
"God!  I see it all now.... We've dragged y'u to hell!"
</P>

<P>
"Yes, Uncle Tad, I've shore been dragged some&mdash;but not yet&mdash;to hell,"
she responded, with a break in her voice.
</P>

<P>
"Y'u will be&mdash;Ellen&mdash;unless&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"Aw, shut up that kind of gab, will y'u?" broke in Colter, harshly.
</P>

<P>
It amazed Ellen that Colter should dominate her uncle, even though he
was wounded.  Tad Jorth had been the last man to take orders from
anyone, much less a rustler of the Hash Knife Gang.  This Colter began
to loom up in Ellen's estimate as he loomed physically over her, a
lofty figure, dark motionless, somehow menacing.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, has Colter told y'u yet&mdash;aboot&mdash;aboot Lee an' Jackson?"
inquired the wounded man.
</P>

<P>
The pitch-black darkness of the cabin seemed to help fortify Ellen to
bear further trouble.
</P>

<P>
"Colter told me dad an' Uncle Jackson would meet us heah," she
rejoined, hurriedly.
</P>

<P>
Jorth could be heard breathing in difficulty, and he coughed and spat
again, and seemed to hiss.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, he lied to y'u.  They'll never meet us&mdash;heah!"
</P>

<P>
"Why not?" whispered Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"Because&mdash;Ellen&mdash;" he replied, in husky pants, "your dad an'&mdash;uncle
Jackson&mdash;are daid&mdash;an' buried!"
</P>

<P>
If Ellen suffered a terrible shock it was a blankness, a deadness, and
a slow, creeping failure of sense in her knees.  They gave way under
her and she sank on the grass against the cabin wall.  She did not
faint nor grow dizzy nor lose her sight, but for a while there was no
process of thought in her mind.  Suddenly then it was there&mdash;the quick,
spiritual rending of her heart&mdash;followed by a profound emotion of
intimate and irretrievable loss&mdash;and after that grief and bitter
realization.
</P>

<P>
An hour later Ellen found strength to go to the fire and partake of the
food and drink her body sorely needed.
</P>

<P>
Colter and the men waited on her solicitously, and in silence, now and
then stealing furtive glances at her from under the shadow of their
black sombreros.  The dark night settled down like a blanket.  There
were no stars.  The wind moaned fitfully among the pines, and all about
that lonely, hidden recess was in harmony with Ellen's thoughts.
</P>

<P>
"Girl, y'u're shore game," said Colter, admiringly.  "An' I reckon y'u
never got it from the Jorths."
</P>

<P>
"Tad in there&mdash;he's game," said Queen, in mild protest.
</P>

<P>
"Not to my notion," replied Colter.  "Any man can be game when he's
croakin', with somebody around.... But Lee Jorth an' Jackson&mdash;they
always was yellow clear to their gizzards.  They was born in
Louisiana&mdash;not Texas.... Shore they're no more Texans than I am.  Ellen
heah, she must have got another strain in her blood."
</P>

<P>
To Ellen their words had no meaning.  She rose and asked, "Where can I
sleep?"
</P>

<P>
"I'll fetch a light presently an' y'u can make your bed in there by
Tad," replied Colter.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, I'd like that."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, if y'u reckon y'u can coax him to talk you're shore wrong,"
declared Colter, with that cold timbre of voice that struck like steel
on Ellen's nerves.  "I cussed him good an' told him he'd keep his mouth
shut.  Talkin' makes him cough an' that fetches up the blood....
Besides, I reckon I'm the one to tell y'u how your dad an' uncle got
killed.  Tad didn't see it done, an' he was bad hurt when it happened.
Shore all the fellars left have their idee aboot it. But I've got it
straight."
</P>

<P>
"Colter&mdash;tell me now," cried Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, all right.  Come over heah," he replied, and drew her away from
the camp fire, out in the shadow of gloom.  "Poor kid!  I shore feel
bad aboot it."  He put a long arm around her waist and drew her against
him.  Ellen felt it, yet did not offer any resistance.  All her
faculties seemed absorbed in a morbid and sad anticipation.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, y'u shore know I always loved y'u&mdash;now don't y 'u?" he asked,
with suppressed breath.
</P>

<P>
"No, Colter.  It's news to me&mdash;an' not what I want to heah."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, y'u may as well heah it right now," he said.  "It's true. An'
what's more&mdash;your dad gave y'u to me before he died."
</P>

<P>
"What! Colter, y'u must be a liar."
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, I swear I'm not lyin'," he returned, in eager passion.  "I was
with your dad last an' heard him last.  He shore knew I'd loved y'u for
years.  An' he said he'd rather y'u be left in my care than anybody's."
</P>

<P>
"My father gave me to y'u in marriage!" ejaculated Ellen, in
bewilderment.
</P>

<P>
Colter's ready assurance did not carry him over this point.  It was
evident that her words somewhat surprised and disconcerted him for the
moment.
</P>

<P>
"To let me marry a rustler&mdash;one of the Hash Knife Gang!" exclaimed
Ellen, with weary incredulity.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, your dad belonged to Daggs's gang, same as I do," replied Colter,
recovering his cool ardor.
</P>

<P>
"No!" cried Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, he shore did, for years," declared Colter, positively. "Back in
Texas.  An' it was your dad that got Daggs to come to Arizona."
</P>

<P>
Ellen tried to fling herself away.  But her strength and her spirit
were ebbing, and Colter increased the pressure of his arm.  All at once
she sank limp.  Could she escape her fate?  Nothing seemed left to
fight with or for.
</P>

<P>
"All right&mdash;don't hold me&mdash;so tight," she panted.  "Now tell me how dad
was killed ... an' who&mdash;who&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
Colter bent over so he could peer into her face.  In the darkness Ellen
just caught the gleam of his eyes.  She felt the virile force of the
man in the strain of his body as he pressed her close.  It all seemed
unreal&mdash;a hideous dream&mdash;the gloom, the moan of the wind, the weird
solitude, and this rustler with hand and will like cold steel.
</P>

<P>
"We'd come back to Greaves's store," Colter began.  "An' as Greaves was
daid we all got free with his liquor.  Shore some of us got drunk.
Bruce was drunk, an' Tad in there&mdash;he was drunk.  Your dad put away
more 'n I ever seen him.  But shore he wasn't exactly drunk.  He got
one of them weak an' shaky spells.  He cried an' he wanted some of us
to get the Isbels to call off the fightin'.... He shore was ready to
call it quits.  I reckon the killin' of Daggs&mdash;an' then the awful way
Greaves was cut up by Jean Isbel&mdash;took all the fight out of your dad.
He said to me, 'Colter, we'll take Ellen an' leave this heah
country&mdash;an' begin life all over again&mdash;where no one knows us.'"
</P>

<P>
"Oh, did he really say that? ... Did he&mdash;really mean it?" murmured
Ellen, with a sob.
</P>

<P>
"I'll swear it by the memory of my daid mother," protested Colter.
"Wal, when night come the Isbels rode down on us in the dark an' began
to shoot.  They smashed in the door&mdash;tried to burn us out&mdash;an' hollered
around for a while.  Then they left an' we reckoned there'd be no more
trouble that night.  All the same we kept watch.  I was the soberest
one an' I bossed the gang.  We had some quarrels aboot the drinkin'.
Your dad said if we kept it up it 'd be the end of the Jorths.  An' he
planned to send word to the Isbels next mawnin' that he was ready for a
truce. An' I was to go fix it up with Gaston Isbel.  Wal, your dad went
to bed in Greaves's room, an' a little while later your uncle Jackson
went in there, too.  Some of the men laid down in the store an' went to
sleep. I kept guard till aboot three in the mawnin'.  An' I got so
sleepy I couldn't hold my eyes open.  So I waked up Wells an' Slater
an' set them on guard, one at each end of the store.  Then I laid down
on the counter to take a nap."
</P>

<P>
Colter's low voice, the strain and breathlessness of him, the agitation
with which he appeared to be laboring, and especially the simple,
matter-of-fact detail of his story, carried absolute conviction to
Ellen Jorth.  Her vague doubt of him had been created by his attitude
toward her.  Emotion dominated her intelligence.  The images, the
scenes called up by Colter's words, were as true as the gloom of the
wild gulch and the loneliness of the night solitude&mdash;as true as the
strange fact that she lay passive in the arm of a rustler.
</P>

<P>
"Wall, after a while I woke up," went on Colter, clearing his throat.
"It was gray dawn.  All was as still as death.... An' somethin' shore
was wrong.  Wells an' Slater had got to drinkin' again an' now laid
daid drunk or asleep.  Anyways, when I kicked them they never moved.
Then I heard a moan.  It came from the room where your dad an' uncle
was.  I went in.  It was just light enough to see.  Your uncle Jackson
was layin' on the floor&mdash;cut half in two&mdash;daid as a door nail.... Your
dad lay on the bed.  He was alive, breathin' his last.... He says,
'That half-breed Isbel&mdash;knifed us&mdash;while we slept!' ... The winder
shutter was open.  I seen where Jean Isbel had come in an' gone out.  I
seen his moccasin tracks in the dirt outside an' I seen where he'd
stepped in Jackson's blood an' tracked it to the winder.  Y'u shore can
see them bloody tracks yourself, if y'u go back to Greaves's store....
Your dad was goin' fast.... He said, 'Colter&mdash;take care of Ellen,' an'
I reckon he meant a lot by that.  He kept sayin', 'My God! if I'd only
seen Gaston Isbel before it was too late!' an' then he raved a little,
whisperin' out of his haid.... An' after that he died.... I woke up the
men, an' aboot sunup we carried your dad an' uncle out of town an'
buried them.... An' them Isbels shot at us while we were buryin' our
daid!  That's where Tad got his hurt.... Then we hit the trail for
Jorth's ranch.... An now, Ellen, that's all my story. Your dad was
ready to bury the hatchet with his old enemy.  An' that Nez Perce Jean
Isbel, like the sneakin' savage he is, murdered your uncle an' your
dad.... Cut him horrible&mdash;made him suffer tortures of hell&mdash;all for
Isbel revenge!"
</P>

<P>
When Colter's husky voice ceased Ellen whispered through lips as cold
and still as ice, "Let me go ... leave me&mdash;heah&mdash;alone!"
</P>

<P>
"Why, shore!  I reckon I understand," replied Colter.  "I hated to tell
y'u.  But y'u had to heah the truth aboot that half-breed.... I'll
carry your pack in the cabin an' unroll your blankets."
</P>

<P>
Releasing her, Colter strode off in the gloom.  Like a dead weight,
Ellen began to slide until she slipped down full length beside the log.
And then she lay in the cool, damp shadow, inert and lifeless so far as
outward physical movement was concerned.  She saw nothing and felt
nothing of the night, the wind, the cold, the falling dew.  For the
moment or hour she was crushed by despair, and seemed to see herself
sinking down and down into a black, bottomless pit, into an abyss where
murky tides of blood and furious gusts of passion contended between her
body and her soul.  Into the stormy blast of hell!  In her despair she
longed, she ached for death.  Born of infidelity, cursed by a taint of
evil blood, further cursed by higher instinct for good and happy life,
dragged from one lonely and wild and sordid spot to another, never
knowing love or peace or joy or home, left to the companionship of
violent and vile men, driven by a strange fate to love with
unquenchable and insupportable love a' half-breed, a savage, an Isbel,
the hereditary enemy of her people, and at last the ruthless murderer
of her father&mdash;what in the name of God had she left to live for?
Revenge!  An eye for an eye!  A life for a life!  But she could not
kill Jean Isbel. Woman's love could turn to hate, but not the love of
Ellen Jorth. He could drag her by the hair in the dust, beat her, and
make her a thing to loathe, and cut her mortally in his savage and
implacable thirst for revenge&mdash;but with her last gasp she would whisper
she loved him and that she had lied to him to kill his faith.  It was
that&mdash;his strange faith in her purity&mdash;which had won her love.  Of all
men, that he should be the one to recognize the truth of her, the
womanhood yet unsullied&mdash;how strange, how terrible, how overpowering!
False, indeed, was she to the Jorths!  False as her mother had been to
an Isbel! This agony and destruction of her soul was the bitter Dead
Sea fruit&mdash;the sins of her parents visited upon her.
</P>

<P>
"I'll end it all," she whispered to the night shadows that hovered over
her.  No coward was she&mdash;no fear of pain or mangled flesh or death or
the mysterious hereafter could ever stay her.  It would be easy, it
would be a last thrill, a transport of self-abasement and supreme
self-proof of her love for Jean Isbel to kiss the Rim rock where his
feet had trod and then fling herself down into the depths.  She was the
last Jorth.  So the wronged Isbels would be avenged.
</P>

<P>
"But he would never know&mdash;never know&mdash;I lied to him!" she wailed to the
night wind.
</P>

<P>
She was lost&mdash;lost on earth and to hope of heaven.  She had right
neither to live nor to die.  She was nothing but a little weed along
the trail of life, trampled upon, buried in the mud.  She was nothing
but a single rotten thread in a tangled web of love and hate and
revenge. And she had broken.
</P>

<P>
Lower and lower she seemed to sink.  Was there no end to this gulf of
despair?  If Colter had returned he would have found her a rag and a
toy&mdash;a creature degraded, fit for his vile embrace.  To be thrust
deeper into the mire&mdash;to be punished fittingly for her betrayal of a
man's noble love and her own womanhood&mdash;to be made an end of, body,
mind, and soul.
</P>

<P>
But Colter did not return.
</P>

<P>
The wind mourned, the owls hooted, the leaves rustled, the insects
whispered their melancholy night song, the camp-fire flickered and
faded. Then the wild forestland seemed to close imponderably over
Ellen.  All that she wailed in her despair, all that she confessed in
her abasement, was true, and hard as life could be&mdash;but she belonged to
nature.  If nature had not failed her, had God failed her?  It was
there&mdash;the lonely land of tree and fern and flower and brook, full of
wild birds and beasts, where the mossy rocks could speak and the
solitude had ears, where she had always felt herself unutterably a part
of creation.  Thus a wavering spark of hope quivered through the
blackness of her soul and gathered light.
</P>

<P>
The gloom of the sky, the shifting clouds of dull shade, split asunder
to show a glimpse of a radiant star, piercingly white, cold, pure, a
steadfast eye of the universe, beyond all understanding and illimitable
with its meaning of the past and the present and the future.  Ellen
watched it until the drifting clouds once more hid it from her strained
sight.
</P>

<P>
What had that star to do with hell?  She might be crushed and destroyed
by life, but was there not something beyond?  Just to be born, just to
suffer, just to die&mdash;could that be all?  Despair did not loose its hold
on Ellen, the strife and pang of her breast did not subside.  But with
the long hours and the strange closing in of the forest around her and
the fleeting glimpse of that wonderful star, with a subtle divination
of the meaning of her beating heart and throbbing mind, and, lastly,
with a voice thundering at her conscience that a man's faith in a woman
must not be greater, nobler, than her faith in God and eternity&mdash;with
these she checked the dark flight of her soul toward destruction.
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap12"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER XII
</H3>

<P>
A chill, gray, somber dawn was breaking when Ellen dragged herself into
the cabin and crept under her blankets, there to sleep the sleep of
exhaustion.
</P>

<P>
When she awoke the hour appeared to be late afternoon.  Sun and sky
shone through the sunken and decayed roof of the old cabin.  Her uncle,
Tad Jorth, lay upon a blanket bed upheld by a crude couch of boughs.
The light fell upon his face, pale, lined, cast in a still mold of
suffering.  He was not dead, for she heard his respiration.
</P>

<P>
The floor underneath Ellen's blankets was bare clay.  She and Jorth
were alone in this cabin.  It contained nothing besides their beds and
a rank growth of weeds along the decayed lower logs.  Half of the cabin
had a rude ceiling of rough-hewn boards which formed a kind of loft.
This attic extended through to the adjoining cabin, forming the ceiling
of the porch-like space between the two structures.  There was no
partition.  A ladder of two aspen saplings, pegged to the logs, and
with braces between for steps, led up to the attic.
</P>

<P>
Ellen smelled wood smoke and the odor of frying meat, and she heard the
voices of men.  She looked out to see that Slater and Somers had joined
their party&mdash;an addition that might have strengthened it for defense,
but did not lend her own situation anything favorable.  Somers had
always appeared the one best to avoid.
</P>

<P>
Colter espied her and called her to "Come an' feed your pale face." His
comrades laughed, not loudly, but guardedly, as if noise was something
to avoid.  Nevertheless, they awoke Tad Jorth, who began to toss and
moan on the bed.
</P>

<P>
Ellen hurried to his side and at once ascertained that he had a high
fever and was in a critical condition.  Every time he tossed he opened
a wound in his right breast, rather high up.  For all she could see,
nothing had been done for him except the binding of a scarf round his
neck and under his arm.  This scant bandage had worked loose.  Going to
the door, she called out:
</P>

<P>
"Fetch me some water."  When Colter brought it, Ellen was rummaging in
her pack for some clothing or towel that she could use for bandages.
</P>

<P>
"Weren't any of y'u decent enough to look after my uncle?" she queried.
</P>

<P>
"Huh!  Wal, what the hell!" rejoined Colter.  "We shore did all we
could. I reckon y'u think it wasn't a tough job to pack him up the Rim.
He was done for then an' I said so."
</P>

<P>
"I'll do all I can for him," said Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"Shore.  Go ahaid.  When I get plugged or knifed by that half-breed I
shore hope y'u'll be round to nurse me."
</P>

<P>
"Y'u seem to be pretty shore of your fate, Colter."
</P>

<P>
"Shore as hell!" he bit out, darkly.  "Somers saw Isbel an' his gang
trailin' us to the Jorth ranch."
</P>

<P>
"Are y'u goin' to stay heah&mdash;an' wait for them?"
</P>

<P>
"Shore I've been quarrelin' with the fellars out there over that very
question.  I'm for leavin' the country.  But Queen, the damn gun
fighter, is daid set to kill that cowman, Blue, who swore he was King
Fisher, the old Texas outlaw.  None but Queen are spoilin' for another
fight. All the same they won't leave Tad Jorth heah alone."
</P>

<P>
Then Colter leaned in at the door and whispered: "Ellen, I cain't boss
this outfit.  So let's y'u an' me shake 'em.  I've got your dad's gold.
Let's ride off to-night an' shake this country."
</P>

<P>
Colter, muttering under his breath, left the door and returned to his
comrades.  Ellen had received her first intimation of his cowardice;
and his mention of her father's gold started a train of thought that
persisted in spite of her efforts to put all her mind to attending her
uncle.  He grew conscious enough to recognize her working over him, and
thanked her with a look that touched Ellen deeply.  It changed the
direction of her mind.  His suffering and imminent death, which she was
able to alleviate and retard somewhat, worked upon her pity and
compassion so that she forgot her own plight.  Half the night she was
tending him, cooling his fever, holding him quiet.  Well she realized
that but for her ministrations he would have died.  At length he went
to sleep.
</P>

<P>
And Ellen, sitting beside him in the lonely, silent darkness of that
late hour, received again the intimation of nature, those vague and
nameless stirrings of her innermost being, those whisperings out of the
night and the forest and the sky.  Something great would not let go of
her soul.  She pondered.
</P>

<P>
Attention to the wounded man occupied Ellen; and soon she redoubled her
activities in this regard, finding in them something of protection
against Colter.
</P>

<P>
He had waylaid her as she went to a spring for water, and with a lunge
like that of a bear he had tried to embrace her.  But Ellen had been
too quick.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, are y'u goin' away with me?" he demanded.
</P>

<P>
"No.  I'll stick by my uncle," she replied.
</P>

<P>
That motive of hers seemed to obstruct his will.  Ellen was keen to see
that Colter and his comrades were at a last stand and disintegrating
under a severe strain.  Nerve and courage of the open and the wild they
possessed, but only in a limited degree.  Colter seemed obsessed by his
passion for her, and though Ellen in her stubborn pride did not yet
fear him, she realized she ought to.  After that incident she watched
closely, never leaving her uncle's bedside except when Colter was
absent.  One or more of the men kept constant lookout somewhere down
the canyon.
</P>

<P>
Day after day passed on the wings of suspense, of watching, of
ministering to her uncle, of waiting for some hour that seemed fixed.
</P>

<P>
Colter was like a hound upon her trail.  At every turn he was there to
importune her to run off with him, to frighten her with the menace of
the Isbels, to beg her to give herself to him.  It came to pass that
the only relief she had was when she ate with the men or barred the
cabin door at night.  Not much relief, however, was there in the shut
and barred door.  With one thrust of his powerful arm Colter could have
caved it in.  He knew this as well as Ellen.  Still she did not have
the fear she should have had.  There was her rifle beside her, and
though she did not allow her mind to run darkly on its possible use,
still the fact of its being there at hand somehow strengthened her.
Colter was a cat playing with a mouse, but not yet sure of his quarry.
</P>

<P>
Ellen came to know hours when she was weak&mdash;weak physically, mentally,
spiritually, morally&mdash;when under the sheer weight of this frightful and
growing burden of suspense she was not capable of fighting her misery,
her abasement, her low ebb of vitality, and at the same time wholly
withstanding Colter's advances.
</P>

<P>
He would come into the cabin and, utterly indifferent to Tad Jorth, he
would try to make bold and unrestrained love to Ellen.  When he caught
her in one of her unresisting moments and was able to hold her in his
arms and kiss her he seemed to be beside himself with the wonder of
her.  At such moments, if he had any softness or gentleness in him,
they expressed themselves in his sooner or later letting her go, when
apparently she was about to faint.  So it must have become
fascinatingly fixed in Colter's mind that at times Ellen repulsed him
with scorn and at others could not resist him.
</P>

<P>
Ellen had escaped two crises in her relation with this man, and as a
morbid doubt, like a poisonous fungus, began to strangle her mind, she
instinctively divined that there was an approaching and final crisis.
No uplift of her spirit came this time&mdash;no intimations&mdash;no whisperings.
How horrible it all was!  To long to be good and noble&mdash;to realize that
she was neither&mdash;to sink lower day by day!  Must she decay there like
one of these rotting logs?  Worst of all, then, was the insinuating and
ever-growing hopelessness.  What was the use? What did it matter?  Who
would ever think of Ellen Jorth?  "O God!" she whispered in her
distraction, "is there nothing left&mdash;nothing at all?"
</P>

<P>
A period of several days of less torment to Ellen followed.  Her uncle
apparently took a turn for the better and Colter let her alone.  This
last circumstance nonplused Ellen.  She was at a loss to understand it
unless the Isbel menace now encroached upon Colter so formidably that
he had forgotten her for the present.
</P>

<P>
Then one bright August morning, when she had just begun to relax her
eternal vigilance and breathe without oppression, Colter encountered
her and, darkly silent and fierce, he grasped her and drew her off her
feet.  Ellen struggled violently, but the total surprise had deprived
her of strength.  And that paralyzing weakness assailed her as never
before.  Without apparent effort Colter carried her, striding rapidly
away from the cabins into the border of spruce trees at the foot of the
canyon wall.
</P>

<P>
"Colter&mdash;where&mdash;oh, where are Y'u takin' me?" she found voice to cry
out.
</P>

<P>
"By God!  I don't know," he replied, with strong, vibrant passion. "I
was a fool not to carry y'u off long ago.  But I waited.  I was hopin'
y'u'd love me! ... An' now that Isbel gang has corralled us. Somers
seen the half-breed up on the rocks.  An' Springer seen the rest of
them sneakin' around.  I run back after my horse an' y'u."
</P>

<P>
"But Uncle Tad! ... We mustn't leave him alone," cried Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"We've got to," replied Colter, grimly.  "Tad shore won't worry y'u no
more&mdash;soon as Jean Isbel gets to him."
</P>

<P>
"Oh, let me stay," implored Ellen.  "I will save him."
</P>

<P>
Colter laughed at the utter absurdity of her appeal and claim. Suddenly
he set her down upon her feet.  "Stand still," he ordered. Ellen saw
his big bay horse, saddled, with pack and blanket, tied there in the
shade of a spruce.  With swift hands Colter untied him and mounted him,
scarcely moving his piercing gaze from Ellen.  He reached to grasp her.
"Up with y'u! ... Put your foot in the stirrup!" His will, like his
powerful arm, was irresistible for Ellen at that moment.  She found
herself swung up behind him.  Then the horse plunged away.  What with
the hard motion and Colter's iron grasp on her Ellen was in a painful
position.  Her knees and feet came into violent contact with branches
and snags.  He galloped the horse, tearing through the dense thicket of
willows that served to hide the entrance to the side canyon, and when
out in the larger and more open canyon he urged him to a run.
Presently when Colter put the horse to a slow rise of ground, thereby
bringing him to a walk, it was just in time to save Ellen a serious
bruising.  Again the sunlight appeared to shade over. They were in the
pines.  Suddenly with backward lunge Colter halted the horse.  Ellen
heard a yell.  She recognized Queen's voice.
</P>

<P>
"Turn back, Colter!  Turn back!"
</P>

<P>
With an oath Colter wheeled his mount.  "If I didn't run plump into
them," he ejaculated, harshly.  And scarcely had the goaded horse
gotten a start when a shot rang out.  Ellen felt a violent shock, as if
her momentum had suddenly met with a check, and then she felt herself
wrenched from Colter, from the saddle, and propelled into the air. She
alighted on soft ground and thick grass, and was unhurt save for the
violent wrench and shaking that had rendered her breathless.  Before
she could rise Colter was pulling at her, lifting her to her feet.  She
saw the horse lying with bloody head.  Tall pines loomed all around.
Another rifle cracked.  "Run!" hissed Colter, and he bounded off,
dragging her by the hand.  Another yell pealed out.  "Here we are,
Colter!".  Again it was Queen's shrill voice.  Ellen ran with all her
might, her heart in her throat, her sight failing to record more than a
blur of passing pines and a blank green wall of spruce.  Then she lost
her balance, was falling, yet could not fall because of that steel grip
on her hand, and was dragged, and finally carried, into a dense shade.
She was blinded.  The trees whirled and faded.  Voices and shots
sounded far away.  Then something black seemed to be wiped across her
feeling.
</P>

<P>
It turned to gray, to moving blankness, to dim, hazy objects, spectral
and tall, like blanketed trees, and when Ellen fully recovered
consciousness she was being carried through the forest.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, little one, that was a close shave for y'u," said Colter's hard
voice, growing clearer.  "Reckon your keelin' over was natural enough."
</P>

<P>
He held her lightly in both arms, her head resting above his left
elbow. Ellen saw his face as a gray blur, then taking sharper outline,
until it stood out distinctly, pale and clammy, with eyes cold and
wonderful in their intense flare.  As she gazed upward Colter turned
his head to look back through the woods, and his motion betrayed a
keen, wild vigilance.  The veins of his lean, brown neck stood out like
whipcords. Two comrades were stalking beside him.  Ellen heard their
stealthy steps, and she felt Colter sheer from one side or the other.
They were proceeding cautiously, fearful of the rear, but not wholly
trusting to the fore.
</P>

<P>
"Reckon we'd better go slow an' look before we leap," said one whose
voice Ellen recognized as Springer's.
</P>

<P>
"Shore.  That open slope ain't to my likin', with our Nez Perce friend
prowlin' round," drawled Colter, as he set Ellen down on her feet.
</P>

<P>
Another of the rustlers laughed.  "Say, can't he twinkle through the
forest?  I had four shots at him.  Harder to hit than a turkey runnin'
crossways."
</P>

<P>
This facetious speaker was the evil-visaged, sardonic Somers. He
carried two rifles and wore two belts of cartridges.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, shore y'u ain't so daid white as y'u was," observed Colter, and
he chucked her under the chin with familiar hand.  "Set down heah. I
don't want y'u stoppin' any bullets.  An' there's no tellin'."
</P>

<P>
Ellen was glad to comply with his wish.  She had begun to recover wits
and strength, yet she still felt shaky.  She observed that their
position then was on the edge of a well-wooded slope from which she
could see the grassy canyon floor below.  They were on a level bench,
projecting out from the main canyon wall that loomed gray and rugged
and pine fringed. Somers and Cotter and Springer gave careful attention
to all points of the compass, especially in the direction from which
they had come. They evidently anticipated being trailed or circled or
headed off, but did not manifest much concern.  Somers lit a cigarette;
Springer wiped his face with a grimy hand and counted the shells in his
belt, which appeared to be half empty.  Colter stretched his long neck
like a vulture and peered down the slope and through the aisles of the
forest up toward the canyon rim.
</P>

<P>
"Listen!" he said, tersely, and bent his head a little to one side, ear
to the slight breeze.
</P>

<P>
They all listened.  Ellen heard the beating of her heart, the rustle of
leaves, the tapping of a woodpecker, and faint, remote sounds that she
could not name.
</P>

<P>
"Deer, I reckon," spoke up Somers.
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  Wal, I reckon they ain't trailin' us yet," replied Colter. "We
gave them a shade better 'n they sent us."
</P>

<P>
"Short an' sweet!" ejaculated Springer, and he removed his black
sombrero to poke a dirty forefinger through a buffet hole in the crown.
"Thet's how close I come to cashin'.  I was lyin' behind a log,
listenin' an' watchin', an' when I stuck my head up a little&mdash;zam!
Somebody made my bonnet leak."
</P>

<P>
"Where's Queen?" asked Colter.
</P>

<P>
"He was with me fust off," replied Somers.  "An' then when the shootin'
slacked&mdash;after I'd plugged thet big, red-faced, white-haired pal of
Isbel's&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"Reckon thet was Blaisdell," interrupted Springer.
</P>

<P>
"Queen&mdash;he got tired layin' low," went on Somers.  "He wanted action. I
heerd him chewin' to himself, an' when I asked him what was eatin' him
he up an' growled he was goin' to quit this Injun fightin'. An' he
slipped off in the woods."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, that's the gun fighter of it," declared Colter, wagging his head,
"Ever since that cowman, Blue, braced us an' said he was King Fisher,
why Queen has been sulkier an' sulkier.  He cain't help it.  He'll do
the same trick as Blue tried.  An' shore he'll get his everlastin'. But
he's the Texas breed all right."
</P>

<P>
"Say, do you reckon Blue really is King Fisher?" queried Somers.
</P>

<P>
"Naw!" ejaculated Colter, with downward sweep of his hand.  "Many a
would-be gun slinger has borrowed Fisher's name.  But Fisher is daid
these many years."
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  Wal, mebbe, but don't you fergit it&mdash;thet Blue was no
would-be," declared Somers.  "He was the genuine article."
</P>

<P>
"I should smile!" affirmed Springer.
</P>

<P>
The subject irritated Colter, and he dismissed it with another forcible
gesture and a counter question.
</P>

<P>
"How many left in that Isbel outfit?"
</P>

<P>
"No tellin'.  There shore was enough of them," replied Somers.
"Anyhow, the woods was full of flyin' bullets.... Springer, did you
account for any of them?"
</P>

<P>
"Nope&mdash;not thet I noticed," responded Springer, dryly.  "I had my
chance at the half-breed.... Reckon I was nervous."
</P>

<P>
"Was Slater near you when he yelled out?"
</P>

<P>
"No.  He was lyin' beside Somers."
</P>

<P>
"Wasn't thet a queer way fer a man to act?" broke in Somers.  "A bullet
hit Slater, cut him down the back as he was lyin' flat.  Reckon it
wasn't bad.  But it hurt him so thet he jumped right up an' staggered
around. He made a target big as a tree.  An' mebbe them Isbels didn't
riddle him!"
</P>

<P>
"That was when I got my crack at Bill Isbel," declared Colter, with
grim satisfaction.  "When they shot my horse out from under me I had
Ellen to think of an' couldn't get my rifle.  Shore had to run, as yu
seen.  Wal, as I only had my six-shooter, there was nothin' for me to
do but lay low an' listen to the sping of lead.  Wells was standin' up
behind a tree about thirty yards off.  He got plugged, an' fallin' over
he began to crawl my way, still holdin' to his rifle.  I crawled along
the log to meet him.  But he dropped aboot half-way.  I went on an'
took his rifle an' belt.  When I peeped out from behind a spruce bush
then I seen Bill Isbel.  He was shootin' fast, an' all of them was
shootin' fast.  That war, when they had the open shot at Slater....
Wal, I bored Bill Isbel right through his middle.  He dropped his rifle
an', all bent double, he fooled around in a circle till he flopped over
the Rim.  I reckon he's layin' right up there somewhere below that daid
spruce.  I'd shore like to see him."
</P>

<P>
"I Wal, you'd be as crazy as Queen if you tried thet," declared Somers.
"We're not out of the woods yet."
</P>

<P>
"I reckon not," replied Colter.  "An' I've lost my horse.  Where'd y'u
leave yours?"
</P>

<P>
"They're down the canyon, below thet willow brake.  An' saddled an'
none of them tied.  Reckon we'll have to look them up before dark."
</P>

<P>
"Colter, what 're we goin' to do?" demanded Springer.
</P>

<P>
"Wait heah a while&mdash;then cross the canyon an' work round up under the
bluff, back to the cabin."
</P>

<P>
"An' then what?" queried Somers, doubtfully eying Colter.
</P>

<P>
"We've got to eat&mdash;we've got to have blankets," rejoined Colter,
testily.  "An' I reckon we can hide there an' stand a better show in a
fight than runnin' for it in the woods."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I'm givin' you a hunch thet it looked like you was runnin' fer
it," retorted Somers.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, an' packin' the girl," added Springer. "Looks funny to me."
</P>

<P>
Both rustlers eyed Colter with dark and distrustful glances.  What he
might have replied never transpired, for the reason that his gaze,
always shifting around, had suddenly fixed on something.
</P>

<P>
"Is that a wolf?" he asked, pointing to the Rim.
</P>

<P>
Both his comrades moved to get in line with his finger.  Ellen could
not see from her position.
</P>

<P>
"Shore thet's a big lofer," declared Somers.  "Reckon he scented us."
</P>

<P>
"There he goes along the Rim," observed Colter.  "He doesn't act leary.
Looks like a good sign to me.  Mebbe the Isbels have gone the other
way."
</P>

<P>
"Looks bad to me," rejoined Springer, gloomily.
</P>

<P>
"An' why?" demanded Colter.
</P>

<P>
"I seen thet animal.  Fust time I reckoned it was a lofer.  Second time
it was right near them Isbels.  An' I'm damned now if I don't believe
it's thet half-lofer sheep dog of Gass Isbel's."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, what if it is?"
</P>

<P>
"Ha! ... Shore we needn't worry about hidin' out," replied Springer,
sententiously.  "With thet dog Jean Isbel could trail a grasshopper."
</P>

<P>
"The hell y'u say!" muttered Colter.  Manifestly such a possibility put
a different light upon the present situation.  The men grew silent and
watchful, occupied by brooding thoughts and vigilant surveillance of
all points.  Somers slipped off into the brush, soon to return, with
intent look of importance.
</P>

<P>
"I heerd somethin'," he whispered, jerking his thumb backward. "Rollin'
gravel&mdash;crackin' of twigs.  No deer! ... Reckon it'd be a good idee for
us to slip round acrost this bench."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, y'u fellars go, an' I'll watch heah," returned Colter.
</P>

<P>
"Not much," said Somers, while Springer leered knowingly.
</P>

<P>
Colter became incensed, but he did not give way to it.  Pondering a
moment, he finally turned to Ellen.  "Y'u wait heah till I come back.
An' if I don't come in reasonable time y'u slip across the canyon an'
through the willows to the cabins.  Wait till aboot dark."  With that
he possessed himself of one of the extra rifles and belts and silently
joined his comrades.  Together they noiselessly stole into the brush.
</P>

<P>
Ellen had no other thought than to comply with Colter's wishes. There
was her wounded uncle who had been left unattended, and she was anxious
to get back to him.  Besides, if she had wanted to run off from Colter,
where could she go?  Alone in the woods, she would get lost and die of
starvation.  Her lot must be cast with the Jorth faction until the end.
That did not seem far away.
</P>

<P>
Her strained attention and suspense made the moments fly.  By and by
several shots pealed out far across the side canyon on her right, and
they were answered by reports sounding closer to her.  The fight was on
again.  But these shots were not repeated.  The flies buzzed, the hot
sun beat down and sloped to the west, the soft, warm breeze stirred the
aspens, the ravens croaked, the red squirrels and blue jays chattered.
</P>

<P>
Suddenly a quick, short, yelp electrified Ellen, brought her upright
with sharp, listening rigidity.  Surely it was not a wolf and hardly
could it be a coyote.  Again she heard it.  The yelp of a sheep dog!
She had heard that' often enough to know.  And she rose to change her
position so she could command a view of the rocky bluff above.
Presently she espied what really appeared to be a big timber wolf.  But
another yelp satisfied her that it really was a dog.  She watched him.
Soon it became evident that he wanted to get down over the bluff.  He
ran to and fro, and then out of sight.  In a few moments his yelp
sounded from lower down, at the base of the bluff, and it was now the
cry of an intelligent dog that was trying to call some one to his aid.
Ellen grew convinced that the dog was near where Colter had said Bill
Isbel had plunged over the declivity.  Would the dog yelp that way if
the man was dead?  Ellen thought not.
</P>

<P>
No one came, and the continuous yelping of the dog got on Ellen's
nerves. It was a call for help.  And finally she surrendered to it.
Since her natural terror when Colter's horse was shot from under her
and she had been dragged away, she had not recovered from fear of the
Isbels.  But calm consideration now convinced her that she could hardly
be in a worse plight in their hands than if she remained in Colter's.
So she started out to find the dog.
</P>

<P>
The wooded bench was level for a few hundred yards, and then it began
to heave in rugged, rocky bulges up toward the Rim.  It did not appear
far to where the dog was barking, but the latter part of the distance
proved to be a hard climb over jumbled rocks and through thick brush.
Panting and hot, she at length reached the base of the bluff, to find
that it was not very high.
</P>

<P>
The dog espied her before she saw him, for he was coming toward her
when she discovered him.  Big, shaggy, grayish white and black, with
wild, keen face and eyes he assuredly looked the reputation Springer
had accorded him.  But sagacious, guarded as was his approach, he
appeared friendly.
</P>

<P>
"Hello&mdash;doggie!" panted Ellen. "What's&mdash;wrong&mdash;up heah?"
</P>

<P>
He yelped, his ears lost their stiffness, his body sank a little, and
his bushy tail wagged to and fro.  What a gray, clear, intelligent look
he gave her!  Then he trotted back.
</P>

<P>
Ellen followed him around a corner of bluff to see the body of a man
lying on his back.  Fresh earth and gravel lay about him, attesting to
his fall from above.  He had on neither coat nor hat, and the position
of his body and limbs suggested broken bones.  As Ellen hurried to his
side she saw that the front of his shirt, low down, was a bloody
blotch. But he could lift his head; his eyes were open; he was
perfectly conscious.  Ellen did not recognize the dusty, skinned face,
yet the mold of features, the look of the eyes, seemed strangely
familiar.
</P>

<P>
"You're&mdash;Jorth's&mdash;girl," he said, in faint voice of surprise.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, I'm Ellen Jorth," she replied.  "An' are y'u Bill Isbel?"
</P>

<P>
"All thet's left of me.  But I'm thankin' God somebody come&mdash;even a
Jorth."
</P>

<P>
Ellen knelt beside him and examined the wound in his abdomen. A heavy
bullet had indeed, as Colter had avowed, torn clear through his middle.
Even if he had not sustained other serious injury from the fall over
the cliff, that terrible bullet wound meant death very shortly.  Ellen
shuddered.  How inexplicable were men!  How cruel, bloody, mindless!
</P>

<P>
"Isbel, I'm sorry&mdash;there's no hope," she said, low voiced.  "Y'u've not
long to live.  I cain't help y'u.  God knows I'd do so if I could."
</P>

<P>
"All over!" he sighed, with his eyes looking beyond her. "I reckon&mdash;I'm
glad.... But y'u can&mdash;do somethin' for or me.  Will y'u?"
</P>

<P>
"Indeed, Yes.  Tell me," she replied, lifting his dusty head on her
knee. Her hands trembled as she brushed his wet hair back from his
clammy brow.
</P>

<P>
"I've somethin'&mdash;on my conscience," he whispered.
</P>

<P>
The woman, the sensitive in Ellen, understood and pitied him then.
</P>

<P>
"Yes," she encouraged him.
</P>

<P>
"I stole cattle&mdash;my dad's an' Blaisdell's&mdash;an' made deals&mdash;with
Daggs.... All the crookedness&mdash;wasn't on&mdash;Jorth's side.... I want&mdash;my
brother Jean&mdash;to know."
</P>

<P>
"I'll try&mdash;to tell him," whispered Ellen, out of her great amaze.
</P>

<P>
"We were all&mdash;a bad lot&mdash;except Jean," went on Isbel.  "Dad wasn't
fair.... God! how he hated Jorth!  Jorth, yes, who was&mdash;your father....
Wal, they're even now."
</P>

<P>
"How&mdash;so?" faltered Ellen.
</P>

<P>
"Your father killed dad.... At the last&mdash;dad wanted to&mdash;save us. He
sent word&mdash;he'd meet him&mdash;face to face&mdash;an' let thet end the feud. They
met out in the road.... But some one shot dad down&mdash;with a rifle&mdash;an'
then your father finished him."
</P>

<P>
"An' then, Isbel," added Ellen, with unconscious mocking bitterness,
"Your brother murdered my dad!"
</P>

<P>
"What!" whispered Bill Isbel.  "Shore y'u've got&mdash;it wrong.  I reckon
Jean&mdash;could have killed&mdash;your father.... But he didn't.  Queer, we all
thought."
</P>

<P>
"Ah! ... Who did kill my father?" burst out Ellen, and her voice rang
like great hammers at her ears.
</P>

<P>
"It was Blue.  He went in the store&mdash;alone&mdash;faced the whole gang alone.
Bluffed them&mdash;taunted them&mdash;told them he was King Fisher.... Then he
killed&mdash;your dad&mdash;an' Jackson Jorth.... Jean was out&mdash;back of the
store.  We were out&mdash;front.  There was shootin'.  Colmor was hit. Then
Blue ran out&mdash;bad hurt.... Both of them&mdash;died in Meeker's yard."
</P>

<P>
"An' so Jean Isbel has not killed a Jorth!" said Ellen, in strange,
deep voice.
</P>

<P>
"No," replied Isbel, earnestly.  "I reckon this feud&mdash;was hardest on
Jean.  He never lived heah.... An' my sister Ann said&mdash;he got sweet on
y'u.... Now did he?"
</P>

<P>
Slow, stinging tears filled Ellen's eyes, and her head sank low and
lower.
</P>

<P>
"Yes&mdash;he did," she murmured, tremulously.
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  Wal, thet accounts," replied Isbel, wonderingly.  "Too bad! ...
It might have been.... A man always sees&mdash;different when&mdash;he's
dyin'.... If I had&mdash;my life&mdash;to live over again! ... My poor
kids&mdash;deserted in their babyhood&mdash;ruined for life!  All for nothin'....
May God forgive&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
Then he choked and whispered for water.
</P>

<P>
Ellen laid his head back and, rising, she took his sombrero and started
hurriedly down the slope, making dust fly and rocks roll.  Her mind was
a seething ferment.  Leaping, bounding, sliding down the weathered
slope, she gained the bench, to run across that, and so on down into
the open canyon to the willow-bordered brook.  Here she filled the
sombrero with water and started back, forced now to walk slowly and
carefully.  It was then, with the violence and fury of intense muscular
activity denied her, that the tremendous import of Bill Isbel's
revelation burst upon her very flesh and blood and transfiguring the
very world of golden light and azure sky and speaking forestland that
encompassed her.
</P>

<P>
Not a drop of the precious water did she spill.  Not a misstep did she
make.  Yet so great was the spell upon her that she was not aware she
had climbed the steep slope until the dog yelped his welcome.  Then
with all the flood of her emotion surging and resurging she knelt to
allay the parching thirst of this dying enemy whose words had changed
frailty to strength, hate to love, and, the gloomy hell of despair to
something unutterable.  But she had returned too late.  Bill Isbel was
dead.
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap13"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER XIII
</H3>

<P>
Jean Isbel, holding the wolf-dog Shepp in leash, was on the trail of
the most dangerous of Jorth's gang, the gunman Queen.  Dark drops of
blood on the stones and plain tracks of a rider's sharp-heeled boots
behind coverts indicated the trail of a wounded, slow-traveling
fugitive.  Therefore, Jean Isbel held in the dog and proceeded with the
wary eye and watchful caution of an Indian.
</P>

<P>
Queen, true to his class, and emulating Blue with the same magnificent
effrontery and with the same paralyzing suddenness of surprise, had
appeared as if by magic at the last night camp of the Isbel faction.
Jean had seen him first, in time to leap like a panther into the
shadow. But he carried in his shoulder Queen's first bullet of that
terrible encounter.  Upon Gordon and Fredericks fell the brunt of
Queen's fusillade.  And they, shot to pieces, staggering and falling,
held passionate grip on life long enough to draw and still Queen's guns
and send him reeling off into the darkness of the forest.
</P>

<P>
Unarmed, and hindered by a painful wound, Jean had kept a vigil near
camp all that silent and menacing night.  Morning disclosed Gordon and
Fredericks stark and ghastly beside the burned-out camp-fire, their
guns clutched immovably in stiffened hands.  Jean buried them as best
he could, and when they were under ground with flat stones on their
graves he knew himself to be indeed the last of the Isbel clan.  And
all that was wild and savage in his blood and desperate in his spirit
rose to make him more than man and less than human.  Then for the third
time during these tragic last days the wolf-dog Shepp came to him.
</P>

<P>
Jean washed the wound Queen had given him and bound it tightly. The
keen pang and burn of the lead was a constant and all-powerful reminder
of the grim work left for him to do.  The whole world was no longer
large enough for him and whoever was left of the Jorths.  The heritage
of blood his father had bequeathed him, the unshakable love for a
worthless girl who had so dwarfed and obstructed his will and so
bitterly defeated and reviled his poor, romantic, boyish faith, the
killing of hostile men, so strange in its after effects, the pursuits
and fights, and loss of one by one of his confederates&mdash;these had
finally engendered in Jean Isbel a wild, unslakable thirst, these had
been the cause of his retrogression, these had unalterably and
ruthlessly fixed in his darkened mind one fierce passion&mdash;to live and
die the last man of that Jorth-Isbel feud.
</P>

<P>
At sunrise Jean left this camp, taking with him only a small knapsack
of meat and bread, and with the eager, wild Shepp in leash he set out
on Queen's bloody trail.
</P>

<P>
Black drops of blood on the stones and an irregular trail of footprints
proved to Jean that the gunman was hard hit.  Here he had fallen, or
knelt, or sat down, evidently to bind his wounds.  Jean found strips of
scarf, red and discarded.  And the blood drops failed to show on more
rocks.  In a deep forest of spruce, under silver-tipped spreading
branches, Queen had rested, perhaps slept.  Then laboring with dragging
steps, not improbably with a lame leg, he had gone on, up out of the
dark-green ravine to the open, dry, pine-tipped ridge.  Here he had
rested, perhaps waited to see if he were pursued.  From that point his
trail spoke an easy language for Jean's keen eye.  The gunman knew he
was pursued.  He had seen his enemy.  Therefore Jean proceeded with a
slow caution, never getting within revolver range of ambush, using all
his woodcraft to trail this man and yet save himself.  Queen traveled
slowly, either because he was wounded or else because he tried to
ambush his pursuer, and Jean accommodated his pace to that of Queen.
From noon of that day they were never far apart, never out of hearing
of a rifle shot.
</P>

<P>
The contrast of the beauty and peace and loneliness of the surroundings
to the nature of Queen's flight often obtruded its strange truth into
the somber turbulence of Jean's mind, into that fixed columnar idea
around which fleeting thoughts hovered and gathered like shadows.
</P>

<P>
Early frost had touched the heights with its magic wand.  And the
forest seemed a temple in which man might worship nature and life
rather than steal through the dells and under the arched aisles like a
beast of prey. The green-and-gold leaves of aspens quivered in the
glades; maples in the ravines fluttered their red-and-purple leaves.
The needle-matted carpet under the pines vied with the long lanes of
silvery grass, alike enticing to the eye of man and beast.  Sunny rays
of light, flecked with dust and flying insects, slanted down from the
overhanging brown-limbed, green-massed foliage.  Roar of wind in the
distant forest alternated with soft breeze close at hand.  Small
dove-gray squirrels ran all over the woodland, very curious about Jean
and his dog, rustling the twigs, scratching the bark of trees,
chattering and barking, frisky, saucy, and bright-eyed.  A plaintive
twitter of wild canaries came from the region above the treetops&mdash;first
voices of birds in their pilgrimage toward the south.  Pine cones
dropped with soft thuds.  The blue jays followed these intruders in the
forest, screeching their displeasure. Like rain pattered the dropping
seeds from the spruces.  A woody, earthy, leafy fragrance, damp with
the current of life, mingled with a cool, dry, sweet smell of withered
grass and rotting pines.
</P>

<P>
Solitude and lonesomeness, peace and rest, wild life and nature,
reigned there.  It was a golden-green region, enchanting to the gaze of
man.  An Indian would have walked there with his spirits.
</P>

<P>
And even as Jean felt all this elevating beauty and inscrutable spirit
his keen eye once more fastened upon the blood-red drops Queen had
again left on the gray moss and rock.  His wound had reopened. Jean
felt the thrill of the scenting panther.
</P>

<P>
The sun set, twilight gathered, night fell.  Jean crawled under a
dense, low-spreading spruce, ate some bread and meat, fed the dog, and
lay down to rest and sleep.  His thoughts burdened him, heavy and black
as the mantle of night.  A wolf mourned a hungry cry for a mate.  Shepp
quivered under Jean's hand.  That was the call which had lured him from
the ranch. The wolf blood in him yearned for the wild.  Jean tied the
cowhide leash to his wrist.  When this dark business was at an end
Shepp could be free to join the lonely mate mourning out there in the
forest.  Then Jean slept.
</P>

<P>
Dawn broke cold, clear, frosty, with silvered grass sparkling, with a
soft, faint rustling of falling aspen leaves.  When the sun rose red
Jean was again on the trail of Queen.  By a frosty-ferned brook, where
water tinkled and ran clear as air and cold as ice, Jean quenched his
thirst, leaning on a stone that showed drops of blood.  Queen, too, had
to quench his thirst.  What good, what help, Jean wondered, could the
cold, sweet, granite water, so dear to woodsmen and wild creatures, do
this wounded, hunted rustler?  Why did he not wait in the open to fight
and face the death he had meted?  Where was that splendid and terrible
daring of the gunman?  Queen's love of life dragged him on and on, hour
by hour, through the pine groves and spruce woods, through the oak
swales and aspen glades, up and down the rocky gorges, around the
windfalls and over the rotting logs.
</P>

<P>
The time came when Queen tried no more ambush.  He gave up trying to
trap his pursuer by lying in wait.  He gave up trying to conceal his
tracks.  He grew stronger or, in desperation, increased his energy, so
that he redoubled his progress through the wilderness.  That, at best,
would count only a few miles a day.  And he began to circle to the
northwest, back toward the deep canyon where Blaisdell and Bill Isbel
had reached the end of their trails.  Queen had evidently left his
comrades, had lone-handed it in his last fight, but was now trying to
get back to them.  Somewhere in these wild, deep forest brakes the rest
of the Jorth faction had found a hiding place.  Jean let Queen lead him
there.
</P>

<P>
Ellen Jorth would be with them.  Jean had seen her.  It had been his
shot that killed Colter's horse.  And he had withheld further fire
because Colter had dragged the girl behind him, protecting his body
with hers.  Sooner or later Jean would come upon their camp.  She would
be there.  The thought of her dark beauty, wasted in wantonness upon
these rustlers, added a deadly rage to the blood lust and righteous
wrath of his vengeance.  Let her again flaunt her degradation in his
face and, by the God she had forsaken, he would kill her, and so end
the race of Jorths!
</P>

<P>
Another night fell, dark and cold, without starlight.  The wind moaned
in the forest.  Shepp was restless.  He sniffed the air.  There was a
step on his trail.  Again a mournful, eager, wild, and hungry wolf cry
broke the silence.  It was deep and low, like that of a baying hound,
but infinitely wilder.  Shepp strained to get away.  During the night,
while Jean slept, he managed to chew the cowhide leash apart and run
off.
</P>

<P>
Next day no dog was needed to trail Queen.  Fog and low-drifting clouds
in the forest and a misty rain had put the rustler off his bearings. He
was lost, and showed that he realized it.  Strange how a matured man,
fighter of a hundred battles, steeped in bloodshed, and on his last
stand, should grow panic-stricken upon being lost!  So Jean Isbel read
the signs of the trail.
</P>

<P>
Queen circled and wandered through the foggy, dripping forest until he
headed down into a canyon.  It was one that notched the Rim and led
down and down, mile after mile into the Basin.  Not soon had Queen
discovered his mistake.  When he did do so, night overtook him.
</P>

<P>
The weather cleared before morning.  Red and bright the sun burst out
of the east to flood that low basin land with light.  Jean found that
Queen had traveled on and on, hoping, no doubt, to regain what he had
lost.  But in the darkness he had climbed to the manzanita slopes
instead of back up the canyon.  And here he had fought the hold of that
strange brush of Spanish name until he fell exhausted.
</P>

<P>
Surely Queen would make his stand and wait somewhere in this devilish
thicket for Jean to catch up with him.  Many and many a place Jean
would have chosen had he been in Queen's place.  Many a rock and dense
thicket Jean circled or approached with extreme care.  Manzanita grew
in patches that were impenetrable except for a small animal.  The brush
was a few feet high, seldom so high that Jean could not look over it,
and of a beautiful appearance, having glossy, small leaves, a golden
berry, and branches of dark-red color.  These branches were tough and
unbendable. Every bush, almost, had low branches that were dead, hard
as steel, sharp as thorns, as clutching as cactus.  Progress was
possible only by endless detours to find the half-closed aisles between
patches, or else by crashing through with main strength or walking
right over the tops.  Jean preferred this last method, not because it
was the easiest, but for the reason that he could see ahead so much
farther. So he literally walked across the tips of the manzanita brush.
Often he fell through and had to step up again; many a branch broke
with him, letting him down; but for the most part he stepped from fork
to fork, on branch after branch, with balance of an Indian and the
patience of a man whose purpose was sustaining and immutable.
</P>

<P>
On that south slope under the Rim the sun beat down hot.  There was no
breeze to temper the dry air.  And before midday Jean was laboring, wet
with sweat, parching with thirst, dusty and hot and tiring. It amazed
him, the doggedness and tenacity of life shown by this wounded rustler.
The time came when under the burning rays of the sun he was compelled
to abandon the walk across the tips of the manzanita bushes and take to
the winding, open threads that ran between.  It would have been poor
sight indeed that could not have followed Queen's labyrinthine and
broken passage through the brush.  Then the time came when Jean espied
Queen, far ahead and above, crawling like a black bug along the
bright-green slope.  Sight then acted upon Jean as upon a hound in the
chase.  But he governed his actions if he could not govern his
instincts.  Slowly but surely he followed the dusty, hot trail, and
never a patch of blood failed to send a thrill along his veins.
</P>

<P>
Queen, headed up toward the Rim, finally vanished from sight.  Had he
fallen?  Was he hiding?  But the hour disclosed that he was crawling.
Jean's keen eye caught the slow moving of the brush and enabled him to
keep just so close to the rustler, out of range of the six-shooters he
carried.  And so all the interminable hours of the hot afternoon that
snail-pace flight and pursuit kept on.
</P>

<P>
Halfway up the Rim the growth of manzanita gave place to open, yellow,
rocky slope dotted with cedars.  Queen took to a slow-ascending ridge
and left his bloody tracks all the way to the top, where in the
gathering darkness the weary pursuer lost them.
</P>

<P>
Another night passed.  Daylight was relentless to the rustler.  He
could not hide his trail.  But somehow in a desperate last rally of
strength he reached a point on the heavily timbered ridge that Jean
recognized as being near the scene of the fight in the canyon.  Queen
was nearing the rendezvous of the rustlers.  Jean crossed tracks of
horses, and then more tracks that he was certain had been made days
past by his own party. To the left of this ridge must be the deep
canyon that had frustrated his efforts to catch up with the rustlers on
the day Blaisdell lost his life, and probably Bill Isbel, too.
Something warned Jean that he was nearing the end of the trail, and an
unaccountable sense of imminent catastrophe seemed foreshadowed by
vague dreads and doubts in his gloomy mind.  Jean felt the need of
rest, of food, of ease from the strain of the last weeks.  But his
spirit drove him implacably.
</P>

<P>
Queen's rally of strength ended at the edge of an open, bald ridge that
was bare of brush or grass and was surrounded by a line of forest on
three sides, and on the fourth by a low bluff which raised its gray
head above the pines.  Across this dusty open Queen had crawled,
leaving unmistakable signs of his condition.  Jean took long survey of
the circle of trees and of the low, rocky eminence, neither of which he
liked.  It might be wiser to keep to cover, Jean thought, and work
around to where Queen's trail entered the forest again.  But he was
tired, gloomy, and his eternal vigilance was failing.  Nevertheless, he
stilled for the thousandth time that bold prompting of his vengeance
and, taking to the edge of the forest, he went to considerable pains to
circle the open ground.  And suddenly sight of a man sitting back
against a tree halted Jean.
</P>

<P>
He stared to make sure his eyes did not deceive him.  Many times stumps
and snags and rocks had taken on strange resemblance to a standing or
crouching man.  This was only another suggestive blunder of the mind
behind his eyes&mdash;what he wanted to see he imagined he saw.  Jean glided
on from tree to tree until he made sure that this sitting image indeed
was that of a man.  He sat bolt upright, facing back across the open,
hands resting on his knees&mdash;and closer scrutiny showed Jean that he
held a gun in each hand.
</P>

<P>
Queen!  At the last his nerve had revived.  He could not crawl any
farther, he could never escape, so with the courage of fatality he
chose the open, to face his foe and die.  Jean had a thrill of
admiration for the rustler.  Then he stalked out from under the pines
and strode forward with his rifle ready.
</P>

<P>
A watching man could not have failed to espy Jean.  But Queen never
made the slightest move.  Moreover, his stiff, unnatural position
struck Jean so singularly that he halted with a muttered exclamation.
He was now about fifty paces from Queen, within range of those small
guns.  Jean called, sharply, "QUEEN!" Still the figure never relaxed in
the slightest.
</P>

<P>
Jean advanced a few more paces, rifle up, ready to fire the instant
Queen lifted a gun.  The man's immobility brought the cold sweat to
Jean's brow.  He stopped to bend the full intense power of his gaze
upon this inert figure.  Suddenly over Jean flashed its meaning. Queen
was dead.  He had backed up against the pine, ready to face his foe,
and he had died there.  Not a shadow of a doubt entered Jean's mind as
he started forward again.  He knew.  After all, Queen's blood would not
be on his hands.  Gordon and Fredericks in their death throes had given
the rustler mortal wounds.  Jean kept on, marveling the while. How
ghastly thin and hard!  Those four days of flight had been hell for
Queen.
</P>

<P>
Jean reached him&mdash;looked down with staring eyes.  The guns were tied to
his hands.  Jean started violently as the whole direction of his mind
shifted.  A lightning glance showed that Queen had been propped against
the tree&mdash;another showed boot tracks in the dust.
</P>

<P>
"By Heaven, they've fooled me!" hissed Jean, and quickly as he leaped
behind the pine he was not quick enough to escape the cunning rustlers
who had waylaid him thus.  He felt the shock, the bite and burn of lead
before he heard a rifle crack.  A bullet had ripped through his left
forearm.  From behind the tree he saw a puff of white smoke along the
face of the bluff&mdash;the very spot his keen and gloomy vigilance had
descried as one of menace.  Then several puffs of white smoke and
ringing reports betrayed the ambush of the tricksters.  Bullets barked
the pine and whistled by.  Jean saw a man dart from behind a rock and,
leaning over, run for another.  Jean's swift shot stopped him midway.
He fell, got up, and floundered behind a bush scarcely large enough to
conceal him.  Into that bush Jean shot again and again.  He had no pain
in his wounded arm, but the sense of the shock clung in his
consciousness, and this, with the tremendous surprise of the deceit,
and sudden release of long-dammed overmastering passion, caused him to
empty the magazine of his Winchester in a terrible haste to kill the
man he had hit.
</P>

<P>
These were all the loads he had for his rifle.  Blood passion had made
him blunder.  Jean cursed himself, and his hand moved to his belt.  His
six-shooter was gone.  The sheath had been loose.  He had tied the gun
fast.  But the strings had been torn apart.  The rustlers were shooting
again.  Bullets thudded into the pine and whistled by.  Bending
carefully, Jean reached one of Queen's guns and jerked it from his
hand. The weapon was empty.  Both of his guns were empty.  Jean peeped
out again to get the line in which the bullets were coming and, marking
a course from his position to the cover of the forest, he ran with all
his might.  He gained the shelter.  Shrill yells behind warned him that
he had been seen, that his reason for flight had been guessed.  Looking
back, he saw two or three men scrambling down the bluff.  Then the loud
neigh of a frightened horse pealed out.
</P>

<P>
Jean discarded his useless rifle, and headed down the ridge slope,
keeping to the thickest line of pines and sheering around the clumps of
spruce.  As he ran, his mind whirled with grim thoughts of escape, of
his necessity to find the camp where Gordon and Fredericks were buried,
there to procure another rifle and ammunition.  He felt the wet blood
dripping down his arm, yet no pain.  The forest was too open for good
cover.  He dared not run uphill.  His only course was ahead, and that
soon ended in an abrupt declivity too precipitous to descend. As he
halted, panting for breath, he heard the ring of hoofs on stone, then
the thudding beat of running horses on soft ground.  The rustlers had
sighted the direction he had taken.  Jean did not waste time to look.
Indeed, there was no need, for as he bounded along the cliff to the
right a rifle cracked and a bullet whizzed over his head.  It lent
wings to his feet.  Like a deer he sped along, leaping cracks and logs
and rocks, his ears filled by the rush of wind, until his quick eye
caught sight of thick-growing spruce foliage close to the precipice. He
sprang down into the green mass.  His weight precipitated him through
the upper branches.  But lower down his spread arms broke his fall,
then retarded it until he caught.  A long, swaying limb let him down
and down, where he grasped another and a stiffer one that held his
weight. Hand over hand he worked toward the trunk of this spruce and,
gaining it, he found other branches close together down which he
hastened, hold by hold and step by step, until all above him was black,
dense foliage, and beneath him the brown, shady slope.  Sure of being
unseen from above, he glided noiselessly down under the trees, slowly
regaining freedom from that constriction of his breast.
</P>

<P>
Passing on to a gray-lichened cliff, overhanging and gloomy, he paused
there to rest and to listen.  A faint crack of hoof on stone came to
him from above, apparently farther on to the right.  Eventually his
pursuers would discover that he had taken to the canyon.  But for the
moment he felt safe.  The wound in his forearm drew his attention. The
bullet had gone clear through without breaking either bone. His shirt
sleeve was soaked  with blood.  Jean rolled it back and tightly wrapped
his scarf around the wound, yet still the dark-red blood oozed out and
dripped down into his hand.  He became aware of a dull, throbbing pain.
</P>

<P>
Not much time did Jean waste in arriving at what was best to do. For
the time being he had escaped, and whatever had been his peril, it was
past.  In dense, rugged country like this he could not be caught by
rustlers.  But he had only a knife left for a weapon, and there was
very little meat in the pocket of his coat.  Salt and matches he
possessed.  Therefore the imperative need was for him to find the last
camp, where he could get rifle and ammunition, bake bread, and rest up
before taking again the trail of the rustlers.  He had reason to
believe that this canyon was the one where the fight on the Rim, and
later, on a bench of woodland below, had taken place.
</P>

<P>
Thereupon he arose and glided down under the spruces toward the level,
grassy open he could see between the trees.  And as he proceeded, with
the slow step and wary eye of an Indian, his mind was busy.
</P>

<P>
Queen had in his flight unerringly worked in the direction of this
canyon until he became lost in the fog; and upon regaining his bearings
he had made a wonderful and heroic effort to surmount the manzanita
slope and the Rim and find the rendezvous of his comrades.  But he had
failed up there on the ridge.  In thinking it over Jean arrived at a
conclusion that Queen, finding he could go no farther, had waited, guns
in hands, for his pursuer.  And he had died in this position. Then by
strange coincidence his comrades had happened to come across him and,
recognizing the situation, they had taken the shells from his guns and
propped him up with the idea of luring Jean on.  They had arranged a
cunning trick and ambush, which had all but snuffed out the last of the
Isbels.  Colter probably had been at the bottom of this crafty plan.
Since the fight at the Isbel ranch, now seemingly far back in the past,
this man Colter had loomed up more and more as a stronger and more
dangerous antagonist then either Jorth or Daggs. Before that he had
been little known to any of the Isbel faction. And it was Colter now
who controlled the remnant of the gang and who had Ellen Jorth in his
possession.
</P>

<P>
The canyon wall above Jean, on the right, grew more rugged and loftier,
and the one on the left began to show wooded slopes and brakes, and at
last a wide expanse with a winding, willow border on the west and a
long, low, pine-dotted bench on the east.  It took several moments of
study for Jean to recognize the rugged bluff above this bench.  On up
that canyon several miles was the site where Queen had surprised Jean
and his comrades at their campfire.  Somewhere in this vicinity was the
hiding place of the rustlers.
</P>

<P>
Thereupon Jean proceeded with the utmost stealth, absolutely certain
that he would miss no sound, movement, sign, or anything unnatural to
the wild peace of the canyon.  And his first sense to register
something was his keen smell.  Sheep!  He was amazed to smell sheep.
There must be a flock not far away.  Then from where he glided along
under the trees he saw down to open places in the willow brake and
noticed sheep tracks in the dark, muddy bank of the brook.  Next he
heard faint tinkle of bells, and at length, when he could see farther
into the open enlargement of the canyon, his surprised gaze fell upon
an immense gray, woolly patch that blotted out acres and acres of
grass.  Thousands of sheep were grazing there.  Jean knew there were
several flocks of Jorth's sheep on the mountain in the care of herders,
but he had never thought of them being so far west, more than twenty
miles from Chevelon Canyon.  His roving eyes could not descry any
herders or dogs. But he knew there must be dogs close to that immense
flock.  And, whatever his cunning, he could not hope to elude the scent
and sight of shepherd dogs.  It would be best to go back the way he had
come, wait for darkness, then cross the canyon and climb out, and work
around to his objective point.  Turning at once, he started to glide
back. But almost immediately he was brought stock-still and thrilling
by the sound of hoofs.
</P>

<P>
Horses were coming in the direction he wished to take.  They were
close. His swift conclusion was that the men who had pursued him up on
the Rim had worked down into the canyon.  One circling glance showed
him that he had no sure covert near at hand.  It would not do to risk
their passing him there.  The border of woodland was narrow and not
dense enough for close inspection.  He was forced to turn back up the
canyon, in the hope of soon finding a hiding place or a break in the
wall where he could climb up.
</P>

<P>
Hugging the base of the wall, he slipped on, passing the point where he
had espied the sheep, and gliding on until he was stopped by a bend in
the dense line of willows.  It sheered to the west there and ran close
to the high wall.  Jean kept on until he was stooping under a curling
border of willow thicket, with branches slim and yellow and masses of
green foliage that brushed against the wall.  Suddenly he encountered
an abrupt corner of rock.  He rounded it, to discover that it ran at
right angles with the one he had just passed.  Peering up through the
willows, he ascertained that there was a narrow crack in the main wall
of the canyon.  It had been concealed by willows low down and leaning
spruces above.  A wild, hidden retreat!  Along the base of the wall
there were tracks of small animals.  The place was odorous, like all
dense thickets, but it was not dry.  Water ran through there somewhere.
Jean drew easier breath.  All sounds except the rustling of birds or
mice in the willows had ceased.  The brake was pervaded by a dreamy
emptiness.  Jean decided to steal on a little farther, then wait till
he felt he might safely dare go back.
</P>

<P>
The golden-green gloom suddenly brightened.  Light showed ahead, and
parting the willows, he looked out into a narrow, winding canyon, with
an open, grassy, willow-streaked lane in the center and on each side a
thin strip of woodland.
</P>

<P>
His surprise was short lived.  A crashing of horses back of him in the
willows gave him a shock.  He ran out along the base of the wall, back
of the trees.  Like the strip of woodland in the main canyon, this one
was scant and had but little underbrush.  There were young spruces
growing with thick branches clear to the grass, and under these he
could have concealed himself.  But, with a certainty of sheep dogs in
the vicinity, he would not think of hiding except as a last resource.
These horsemen, whoever they were, were as likely to be sheep herders
as not.  Jean slackened his pace to look back.  He could not see any
moving objects, but he still heard horses, though not so close now.
Ahead of him this narrow gorge opened out like the neck of a bottle. He
would run on to the head of it and find a place to climb to the top.
</P>

<P>
Hurried and anxious as Jean was, he yet received an impression of
singular, wild nature of this side gorge.  It was a hidden,
pine-fringed crack in the rock-ribbed and canyon-cut tableland.  Above
him the sky seemed a winding stream of blue.  The walls were red and
bulged out in spruce-greened shelves.  From wall to wall was scarcely a
distance of a hundred feet.  Jumbles of rock obstructed his close
holding to the wall. He had to walk at the edge of the timber.  As he
progressed, the gorge widened into wilder, ruggeder aspect.  Through
the trees ahead he saw where the wall circled to meet the cliff on the
left, forming an oval depression, the nature of which he could not
ascertain.  But it appeared to be a small opening surrounded by dense
thickets and the overhanging walls.  Anxiety augmented to alarm.  He
might not be able to find a place to scale those rough cliffs.
Breathing hard, Jean halted again. The situation was growing critical
again.  His physical condition was worse.  Loss of sleep and rest, lack
of food, the long pursuit of Queen, the wound in his arm, and the
desperate run for his life&mdash;these had weakened him to the extent that
if he undertook any strenuous effort he would fail.  His cunning
weighed all chances.
</P>

<P>
The shade of wall and foliage above, and another jumble of ruined
cliff, hindered his survey of the ground ahead, and he almost stumbled
upon a cabin, hidden on three sides, with a small, bare clearing in
front. It was an old, ramshackle structure like others he had run
across in the canons.  Cautiously he approached and peeped around the
corner. At first swift glance it had all the appearance of long disuse.
But Jean had no time for another look.  A clip-clop of trotting horses
on hard ground brought the same pell-mell rush of sensations that had
driven him to wild flight scarcely an hour past.  His body jerked with
its instinctive impulse, then quivered with his restraint.  To turn
back would be risky, to run ahead would be fatal, to hide was his one
hope.  No covert behind!  And the clip-clop of hoofs sounded closer.
One moment longer Jean held mastery over his instincts of
self-preservation.  To keep from running was almost impossible. It was
the sheer primitive animal sense to escape.  He drove it back and
glided along the front of the cabin.
</P>

<P>
Here he saw that the cabin adjoined another.  Reaching the door, he was
about to peep in when the thud of hoofs and voices close at hand
transfixed him with a grim certainty that he had not an instant to
lose. Through the thin, black-streaked line of trees he saw moving red
objects. Horses!  He must run.  Passing the door, his keen nose caught
a musty, woody odor and the tail of his eye saw bare dirt floor.  This
cabin was unused.  He halted&mdash;gave a quick look back.  And the first
thing his eye fell upon was a ladder, right inside the door, against
the wall. He looked up.  It led to a loft that, dark and gloomy,
stretched halfway across the cabin.  An irresistible impulse drove
Jean.  Slipping inside, he climbed up the ladder to the loft.  It was
like night up there.  But he crawled on the rough-hewn rafters and,
turning with his head toward the opening, he stretched out and lay
still.
</P>

<P>
What seemed an interminable moment ended with a trample of hoofs
outside the cabin.  It ceased.  Jean's vibrating ears caught the jingle
of spurs and a thud of boots striking the ground.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, sweetheart, heah we are home again," drawled a slow, cool,
mocking Texas voice.
</P>

<P>
"Home!  I wonder, Colter&mdash;did y'u ever have a home&mdash;a mother&mdash;a
sister&mdash;much less a sweetheart?" was the reply, bitter and caustic.
</P>

<P>
Jean's palpitating, hot body suddenly stretched still and cold with
intensity of shock.  His very bones seemed to quiver and stiffen into
ice. During the instant of realization his heart stopped.  And a slow,
contracting pressure enveloped his breast and moved up to constrict his
throat.   That woman's voice belonged to Ellen Jorth.  The sound of it
had lingered in his dreams.  He had stumbled upon the rendezvous of the
Jorth faction.  Hard indeed had been the fates meted out to those of
the Isbels and Jorths who had passed to their deaths.  But, no ordeal,
not even Queen's, could compare with this desperate one Jean must
endure. He had loved Ellen Jorth, strangely, wonderfully, and he had
scorned repute to believe her good.  He had spared her father and her
uncle. He had weakened or lost the cause of the Isbels.  He loved her
now, desperately, deathlessly, knowing from her own lips that she was
worthless&mdash;loved her the more because he had felt her terrible shame.
And to him&mdash;the last of the Isbels&mdash;had come the cruelest of dooms&mdash;to
be caught like a crippled rat in a trap; to be compelled to lie
helpless, wounded, without a gun; to listen, and perhaps to see Ellen
Jorth enact the very truth of her mocking insinuation.  His will, his
promise, his creed, his blood must hold him to the stem decree that he
should be the last man of the Jorth-Isbel war.  But could he lie there
to hear&mdash;to see&mdash;when he had a knife and an arm?
</P>

<BR><BR><BR>

<A NAME="chap14"></A>
<H3 ALIGN="center">
CHAPTER XIV
</H3>

<P>
Then followed the leathery flop of saddles to the soft turf and the
stamp, of loosened horses.
</P>

<P>
Jean heard a noise at the cabin door, a rustle, and then a knock of
something hard against wood.  Silently he moved his head to look down
through a crack between the rafters.  He saw the glint of a rifle
leaning against the sill.  Then the doorstep was darkened.  Ellen Jorth
sat down with a long, tired sigh.  She took off her sombrero and the
light shone on the rippling, dark-brown hair, hanging in a tangled
braid. The curved nape of her neck showed a warm tint of golden tan.
She wore a gray blouse, soiled and torn, that clung to her lissome
shoulders.
</P>

<P>
"Colter, what are y'u goin' to do?" she asked, suddenly.  Her voice
carried something Jean did not remember.  It thrilled into the icy
fixity of his senses.
</P>

<P>
"We'll stay heah," was the response, and it was followed by a clinking
step of spurred boot.
</P>

<P>
"Shore I won't stay heah," declared Ellen.  "It makes me sick when I
think of how Uncle Tad died in there alone&mdash;helpless&mdash;sufferin'. The
place seems haunted."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I'll agree that it's tough on y'u.  But what the hell CAN we do?"
</P>

<P>
A long silence ensued which Ellen did not break.
</P>

<P>
"Somethin' has come off round heah since early mawnin'," declared
Colter. "Somers an' Springer haven't got back.  An' Antonio's gone....
Now, honest, Ellen, didn't y'u heah rifle shots off somewhere?"
</P>

<P>
"I reckon I did," she responded, gloomily.
</P>

<P>
"An' which way?"
</P>

<P>
"Sounded to me up on the bluff, back pretty far."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, shore that's my idee.  An' it makes me think hard.  Y'u know
Somers come across the last camp of the Isbels.  An' he dug into a
grave to find the bodies of Jim Gordon an' another man he didn't know.
Queen kept good his brag.  He braced that Isbel gang an' killed those
fellars.  But either him or Jean Isbel went off leavin' bloody tracks.
If it was Queen's y'u can bet Isbel was after him.  An' if it was
Isbel's tracks, why shore Queen would stick to them.  Somers an'
Springer couldn't follow the trail.  They're shore not much good at
trackin'.  But for days they've been ridin' the woods, hopin' to run
across Queen.... Wal now, mebbe they run across Isbel instead.  An' if
they did an' got away from him they'll be heah sooner or later.  If
Isbel was too many for them he'd hunt for my trail.  I'm gamblin' that
either Queen or Jean Isbel is daid.  I'm hopin' it's Isbel.  Because if
he ain't daid he's the last of the Isbels, an' mebbe I'm the last of
Jorth's gang.... Shore I'm not hankerin' to meet the half-breed. That's
why I say we'll stay heah.  This is as good a hidin' place as there is
in the country.  We've grub.  There's water an' grass."
</P>

<P>
"Me&mdash;stay heah with y'u&mdash;alone!"
</P>

<P>
The tone seemed a contradiction to the apparently accepted sense of her
words.  Jean held his breath.  But he could not still the slowly
mounting and accelerating faculties within that were involuntarily
rising to meet some strange, nameless import.  He felt it.  He imagined
it would be the catastrophe of Ellen Jorth's calm acceptance of
Colter's proposition.  But down in Jean's miserable heart lived
something that would not die.  No mere words could kill it.  How
poignant that moment of her silence!  How terribly he realized that if
his intelligence and his emotion had believed her betraying words, his
soul had not!
</P>

<P>
But Ellen Jorth did not speak.  Her brown head hung thoughtfully. Her
supple shoulders sagged a little.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, what's happened to y'u?" went on Colter.
</P>

<P>
"All the misery possible to a woman," she replied, dejectedly.
</P>

<P>
"Shore I don't mean that way," he continued, persuasively.  "I ain't
gainsayin' the hard facts of your life.  It's been bad.  Your dad was
no good.... But I mean I can't figger the change in y'u."
</P>

<P>
"No, I reckon y'u cain't," she said.  "Whoever was responsible for your
make-up left out a mind&mdash;not to say feeling."
</P>

<P>
Colter drawled a low laugh.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, have that your own way.  But how much longer are yu goin' to be
like this heah?"
</P>

<P>
"Like what?" she rejoined, sharply.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, this stand-offishness of yours?"
</P>

<P>
"Colter, I told y'u to let me alone," she said, sullenly.
</P>

<P>
"Shore.  An' y'u did that before.  But this time y'u're different....
An' wal, I'm gettin' tired of it."
</P>

<P>
Here the cool, slow voice of the Texan sounded an inflexibility before
absent, a timber that hinted of illimitable power.
</P>

<P>
Ellen Jorth shrugged her lithe shoulders and, slowly rising, she picked
up the little rifle and turned to step into the cabin.
</P>

<P>
"Colter," she said, "fetch my pack an' my blankets in heah."
</P>

<P>
"Shore," he returned, with good nature.
</P>

<P>
Jean saw Ellen Jorth lay the rifle lengthwise in a chink between two
logs and then slowly turn, back to the wall.  Jean knew her then, yet
did not know her.  The brown flash of her face seemed that of an older,
graver woman.  His strained gaze, like his waiting mind, had expected
something, he knew not what&mdash;a hardened face, a ghost of beauty, a
recklessness, a distorted, bitter, lost expression in keeping with her
fortunes.  But he had reckoned falsely.  She did not look like that.
There was incalculable change, but the beauty remained, somehow
different.  Her red lips were parted.  Her brooding eyes, looking out
straight from under the level, dark brows, seemed sloe black and
wonderful with their steady, passionate light.
</P>

<P>
Jean, in his eager, hungry devouring of the beloved face, did not on
the first instant grasp the significance of its expression.  He was
seeing the features that had haunted him.  But quickly he interpreted
her expression as the somber, hunted look of a woman who would bear no
more.  Under the torn blouse her full breast heaved.  She held her
hands clenched at her sides.  She was' listening, waiting for that
jangling, slow step.  It came, and with the sound she subtly changed.
She was a woman hiding her true feelings.  She relaxed, and that
strong, dark look of fury seemed to fade back into her eyes.
</P>

<P>
Colter appeared at the door, carrying a roll of blankets and a pack.
</P>

<P>
"Throw them heah," she said.  "I reckon y'u needn't bother coming in."
</P>

<P>
That angered the man.  With one long stride he stepped over the
doorsill, down into the cabin, and flung the blankets at her feet and
then the pack after it.  Whereupon he deliberately sat down in the
door, facing her. With one hand he slid off his sombrero, which fell
outside, and with the other he reached in his upper vest pocket for the
little bag of tobacco that showed there.  All the time he looked at
her.  By the light now unobstructed Jean descried Colter's face; and
sight of it then sounded the roll and drum of his passions.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Ellen, I reckon we'll have it out right now an' heah," he said,
and with tobacco in one hand, paper in the other he began the
operations of making a cigarette.  However, he scarcely removed his
glance from her.
</P>

<P>
"Yes?" queried Ellen Jorth.
</P>

<P>
"I'm goin' to have things the way they were before&mdash;an' more," he
declared.  The cigarette paper shook in his fingers.
</P>

<P>
"What do y'u mean?" she demanded.
</P>

<P>
"Y'u know what I mean," he retorted.  Voice and action were subtly
unhinging this man's control over himself.
</P>

<P>
"Maybe I don't.  I reckon y'u'd better talk plain."
</P>

<P>
The rustler had clear gray-yellow eyes, flawless, like, crystal, and
suddenly they danced with little fiery flecks.
</P>

<P>
"The last time I laid my hand on y'u I got hit for my pains. An' shore
that's been ranklin'."
</P>

<P>
"Colter, y'u'll get hit again if y'u put your hands on me," she said,
dark, straight glance on him.  A frown wrinkled the level brows.
</P>

<P>
"Y'u mean that?" he asked, thickly.
</P>

<P>
"I shore, do."
</P>

<P>
Manifestly he accepted her assertion.  Something of incredulity and
bewilderment, that had vied with his resentment, utterly disappeared
from his face.
</P>

<P>
"Heah I've been waitin' for y'u to love me," he declared, with a
gesture not without dignified emotion.  "Your givin' in without that
wasn't so much to me."
</P>

<P>
And at these words of the rustler's Jean Isbel felt an icy, sickening
shudder creep into his soul.  He shut his eyes.  The end of his dream
had been long in coming, but at last it had arrived.  A mocking voice,
like a hollow wind, echoed through that region&mdash;that lonely and
ghost-like hall of his heart which had harbored faith.
</P>

<P>
She burst into speech, louder and sharper, the first words of which
Jean's strangely throbbing ears did not distinguish.
</P>

<P>
"&mdash; &mdash; you! ... I never gave in to y'u an' I never will."
</P>

<P>
"But, girl&mdash;I kissed y'u&mdash;hugged y'u&mdash;handled y'u&mdash;" he expostulated,
and the making of the cigarette ceased.
</P>

<P>
"Yes, y'u did&mdash;y'u brute&mdash;when I was so downhearted and weak I couldn't
lift my hand," she flashed.
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  Y'u mean I couldn't do that now?"
</P>

<P>
"I should smile I do, Jim Colter!" she replied.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, mebbe&mdash;I'll see&mdash;presently," he went on, straining with words.
"But I'm shore curious.... Daggs, then&mdash;he was nothin' to y'u?"
</P>

<P>
"No more than y'u," she said, morbidly.  "He used to run after me&mdash;long
ago, it seems..... I was only a girl then&mdash;innocent&mdash;an' I'd not known
any but rough men.  I couldn't all the time&mdash;every day, every
hour&mdash;keep him at arm's length.  Sometimes before I knew&mdash;I didn't
care. I was a child.  A kiss meant nothing to me.  But after I knew&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
Ellen dropped her head in brooding silence.
</P>

<P>
"Say, do y'u expect me to believe that?" he queried, with a derisive
leer.
</P>

<P>
"Bah!  What do I care what y'u believe?" she cried, with lifting head.
</P>

<P>
"How aboot Simm Brace?"
</P>

<P>
"That coyote! ... He lied aboot me, Jim Colter.  And any man half a man
would have known he lied."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Simm always bragged aboot y'u bein' his girl," asserted Colter.
"An' he wasn't over&mdash;particular aboot details of your love-makin'."
</P>

<P>
Ellen gazed out of the door, over Colter's head, as if the forest out
there was a refuge.  She evidently sensed more about the man than
appeared in his slow talk, in his slouching position.  Her lips shut in
a firm line, as if to hide their trembling and to still her passionate
tongue.  Jean, in his absorption, magnified his perceptions. Not yet
was Ellen Jorth afraid of this man, but she feared the situation.
Jean's heart was at bursting pitch.  All within him seemed chaos&mdash;a
wreck of beliefs and convictions.  Nothing was true.  He would wake
presently out of a nightmare.  Yet, as surely as he quivered there, he
felt the imminence of a great moment&mdash;a lightning flash&mdash;a
thunderbolt&mdash;a balance struck.
</P>

<P>
Colter attended to the forgotten cigarette.  He rolled it, lighted it,
all the time with lowered, pondering head, and when he had puffed a
cloud of smoke he suddenly looked up with face as hard as flint, eyes
as fiery as molten steel.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Ellen&mdash;how aboot Jean Isbel&mdash;our half-breed Nez Perce friend&mdash;who
was shore seen handlin' y'u familiar?" he drawled.
</P>

<P>
Ellen Jorth quivered as under a lash, and her brown face turned a dusty
scarlet, that slowly receding left her pale.
</P>

<P>
"Damn y'u, Jim Colter!" she burst out, furiously.  "I wish Jean Isbel
would jump in that door&mdash;or down out of that loft! ... He killed
Greaves for defiling my name! ... He'd kill Y'U for your dirty
insult.... And I'd like to watch him do it.... Y'u cold-blooded Texan!
Y'u thieving rustler!  Y'u liar! ... Y'u lied aboot my father's death.
And I know why.  Y'u stole my father's gold.... An' now y'u want
me&mdash;y'u expect me to fall into your arms.... My Heaven! cain't y'u tell
a decent woman?  Was your mother decent?  Was your sister decent? ...
Bah! I'm appealing to deafness.  But y'u'll HEAH this, Jim Colter! ...
I'm not what yu think I am!  I'm not the&mdash;the damned hussy y'u liars
have made me out.... I'm a Jorth, alas!  I've no home, no relatives, no
friends!  I've been forced to live my life with rustlers&mdash;vile men like
y'u an' Daggs an' the rest of your like.... But I've been good!  Do y'u
heah that? ... I AM good&mdash;so help me God, y'u an' all your rottenness
cain't make me bad!"
</P>

<P>
Colter lounged to his tall height and the laxity of the man vanished.
</P>

<P>
Vanished also was Jean Isbel's suspended icy dread, the cold clogging
of his fevered mind&mdash;vanished in a white, living, leaping flame.
</P>

<P>
Silently he drew his knife and lay there watching with the eyes of a
wildcat.  The instant Colter stepped far enough over toward the edge of
the loft Jean meant to bound erect and plunge down upon him.  But Jean
could wait now.  Colter had a gun at his hip.  He must never have a
chance to draw it.
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  So y'u wish Jean Isbel would hop in heah, do y'u?" queried
Colter. "Wal, if I had any pity on y'u, that's done for it."
</P>

<P>
A sweep of his long arm, so swift Ellen had no time to move, brought
his hand in clutching contact with her.  And the force of it flung her
half across the cabin room, leaving the sleeve of her blouse in his
grasp. Pantingly she put out that bared arm and her other to ward him
off as he took long, slow strides toward her.
</P>

<P>
Jean rose half to his feet, dragged by almost ungovernable passion to
risk all on one leap.  But the distance was too great.  Colter, blind
as he was to all outward things, would hear, would see in time to make
Jean's effort futile.  Shaking like a leaf, Jean sank back, eye again
to the crack between the rafters.
</P>

<P>
Ellen did not retreat, nor scream, nor move.  Every line of her body
was instinct with fight, and the magnificent blaze of her eyes would
have checked a less callous brute.
</P>

<P>
Colter's big hand darted between Ellen's arms and fastened in the front
of her blouse.  He did not try to hold her or draw her close.  The
unleashed passion of the man required violence.  In one savage pull he
tore off her blouse, exposing her white, rounded shoulders and heaving
bosom, where instantly a wave of red burned upward.
</P>

<P>
Overcome by the tremendous violence and spirit of the rustler, Ellen
sank to her knees, with blanched face and dilating eyes, trying with
folded arms and trembling hand to hide her nudity.
</P>

<P>
At that moment the rapid beat of hoofs on the hard trail outside halted
Colter in his tracks.
</P>

<P>
"Hell!" he exclaimed.  "An' who's that?"  With a fierce action he flung
the remnants of Ellen's blouse in her face and turned to leap out the
door.
</P>

<P>
Jean saw Ellen catch the blouse and try to wrap it around her, while
she sagged against the wall and stared at the door.  The hoof beats
pounded to a solid thumping halt just outside.
</P>

<P>
"Jim&mdash;thar's hell to pay!" rasped out a panting voice.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Springer, I reckon I wished y'u'd paid it without spoilin' my
deals," retorted Colter, cool and sharp.
</P>

<P>
"Deals?  Ha!  Y'u'll be forgettin'&mdash;your lady love in a minnit,"
replied Springer.  "When I catch&mdash;my breath."
</P>

<P>
"Where's Somers?" demanded Colter.
</P>

<P>
"I reckon he's all shot up&mdash;if my eyes didn't fool me."
</P>

<P>
"Where is he?" yelled Colter.
</P>

<P>
"Jim&mdash;he's layin' up in the bushes round thet bluff.  I didn't wait to
see how he was hurt.  But he shore stopped some lead.  An' he flopped
like a chicken with its&mdash;haid cut off."
</P>

<P>
"Where's Antonio?"
</P>

<P>
"He run like the greaser he is," declared Springer, disgustedly.
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  An' where's Queen?" queried Colter, after a significant pause.
</P>

<P>
"Dead!"
</P>

<P>
The silence ensuing was fraught with a suspense that held Jean in cold
bonds.  He saw the girl below rise from her knees, one hand holding the
blouse to her breast, the other extended, and with strange, repressed,
almost frantic look she swayed toward the door.
</P>

<P>
"Wal, talk," ordered Colter, harshly.
</P>

<P>
"Jim, there ain't a hell of a lot," replied Springer; drawing a deep
breath, "but what there is is shore interestin'.... Me an' Somers took
Antonio with us.  He left his woman with the sheep.  An' we rode up the
canyon, clumb out on top, an' made a circle back on the ridge. That's
the way we've been huntin' fer tracks.  Up thar in a bare spot we run
plump into Queen sittin' against a tree, right out in the open.
Queerest sight y'u ever seen!  The damn gunfighter had set down to wait
for Isbel, who was trailin' him, as we suspected&mdash;-an' he died thar. He
wasn't cold when we found him.... Somers was quick to see a trick. So
he propped Queen up an' tied the guns to his hands&mdash;an', Jim, the
queerest thing aboot that deal was this&mdash;Queen's guns was empty!  Not a
shell left!  It beat us holler.... We left him thar, an' hid up high on
the bluff, mebbe a hundred yards off.  The hosses we left back of a
thicket.  An' we waited thar a long time.  But, sure enough, the
half-breed come.  He was too smart.  Too much Injun!  He would not
cross the open, but went around.  An' then he seen Queen.  It was great
to watch him.  After a little he shoved his rifle out an' went right
fer Queen.  This is when I wanted to shoot.  I could have plugged him.
But Somers says wait an' make it sure.  When Isbel got up to Queen he
was sort of half hid by the tree.  An' I couldn't wait no longer, so I
shot.  I hit him, too.  We all begun to shoot.  Somers showed himself,
an' that's when Isbel opened up.  He used up a whole magazine on Somers
an' then, suddenlike, he quit.  It didn't take me long to figger mebbe
he was out of shells.  When I seen him run I was certain of it.  Then
we made for the hosses an' rode after Isbel.  Pretty soon I seen him
runnin' like a deer down the ridge.  I yelled an' spurred after him.
There is where Antonio quit me.  But I kept on.  An' I got a shot at
Isbel.  He ran out of sight.  I follered him by spots of blood on the
stones an' grass until I couldn't trail him no more.  He must have gone
down over the cliffs.  He couldn't have done nothin' else without me
seein' him.  I found his rifle, an' here it is to prove what I say.  I
had to go back to climb down off the Rim, an' I rode fast down the
canyon.  He's somewhere along that west wall, hidin' in the brush, hard
hit if I know anythin' aboot the color of blood."
</P>

<P>
"Wal! ... that beats me holler, too," ejaculated Colter.
</P>

<P>
"Jim, what's to be done?" inquired Springer, eagerly.  "If we're sharp
we can corral that half-breed.  He's the last of the Isbels."
</P>

<P>
"More, pard.  He's the last of the Isbel outfit," declared Colter. "If
y'u can show me blood in his tracks I'll trail him."
</P>

<P>
"Y'u can bet I'll show y'u," rejoined the other rustler.  "But listen!
Wouldn't it be better for us first to see if he crossed the canyon? I
reckon he didn't.  But let's make sure.  An' if he didn't we'll have
him somewhar along that west canyon wall.  He's not got no gun.  He'd
never run thet way if he had.... Jim, he's our meat!"
</P>

<P>
"Shore, he'll have that knife," pondered Colter.
</P>

<P>
"We needn't worry about thet," said the other, positively.  "He's hard
hit, I tell y'u.  All we got to do is find thet bloody trail again an'
stick to it&mdash;goin' careful.  He's layin' low like a crippled wolf."
</P>

<P>
"Springer, I want the job of finishin' that half-breed," hissed Colter.
"I'd give ten years of my life to stick a gun down his throat an' shoot
it off."
</P>

<P>
"All right.  Let's rustle.  Mebbe y'u'll not have to give much more 'n
ten minnits.  Because I tell y'u I can find him.  It'd been easy&mdash;but,
Jim, I reckon I was afraid."
</P>

<P>
"Leave your hoss for me an' go ahaid," the rustler then said,
brusquely. "I've a job in the cabin heah."
</P>

<P>
"Haw-haw! ... Wal, Jim, I'll rustle a bit down the trail an' wait. No
huntin' Jean Isbel alone&mdash;not fer me.  I've had a queer feelin' about
thet knife he used on Greaves.  An' I reckon y'u'd oughter let thet
Jorth hussy alone long enough to&mdash;"
</P>

<P>
"Springer, I reckon I've got to hawg-tie her&mdash;"  His voice became
indistinguishable, and footfalls attested to a slow moving away of the
men.
</P>

<P>
Jean had listened with ears acutely strung to catch every syllable
while his gaze rested upon Ellen who stood beside the door.  Every line
of her body denoted a listening intensity.  Her back was toward Jean,
so that he could not see her face.  And he did not want to see, but
could not help seeing her naked shoulders.  She put her head out of the
door.  Suddenly she drew it in quickly and half turned her face, slowly
raising her white arm.  This was the left one and bore the marks of
Colter's hard fingers.
</P>

<P>
She gave a little gasp.  Her eyes became large and staring.  They were
bent on the hand that she had removed from a step on the ladder.  On
hand and wrist showed a bright-red smear of blood.
</P>

<P>
Jean, with a convulsive leap of his heart, realized that he had left
his bloody tracks on the ladder as he had climbed.  That moment seemed
the supremely terrible one of his life.
</P>

<P>
Ellen Jorth's face blanched and her eyes darkened and dilated with
exceeding amaze and flashing thought to become fixed with horror. That
instant was the one in which her reason connected the blood on the
ladder with the escape of Jean Isbel.
</P>

<P>
One moment she leaned there, still as a stone except for her heaving
breast, and then her fixed gaze changed to a swift, dark blaze,
comprehending, yet inscrutable, as she flashed it up the ladder to the
loft.  She could see nothing, yet she knew and Jean knew that she knew
he was there.  A marvelous transformation passed over her features and
even over her form.  Jean choked with the ache in his throat. Slowly
she put the bloody hand behind her while with the other she still held
the torn blouse to her breast.
</P>

<P>
Colter's slouching, musical step sounded outside.  And it might have
been a strange breath of infinitely vitalizing and passionate life
blown into the well-springs of Ellen Jorth's being.  Isbel had no name
for her then.  The spirit of a woman had been to him a thing unknown.
</P>

<P>
She swayed back from the door against the wall in singular, softened
poise, as if all the steel had melted out of her body.  And as Colter's
tall shadow fell across the threshold Jean Isbel felt himself staring
with eyeballs that ached&mdash;straining incredulous sight at this woman who
in a few seconds had bewildered his senses with her transfiguration. He
saw but could not comprehend.
</P>

<P>
"Jim&mdash;I heard&mdash;all Springer told y'u," she said.  The look of her
dumfounded Colter and her voice seemed to shake him visibly.
</P>

<P>
"Suppose y'u did.  What then?" he demanded, harshly, as he halted with
one booted foot over the threshold.  Malignant and forceful, he eyed
her darkly, doubtfully.
</P>

<P>
"I'm afraid," she whispered.
</P>

<P>
"What of? Me?"
</P>

<P>
"No. Of&mdash;of Jean Isbel.  He might kill y'u and&mdash;then where would I be?"
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I'm damned!" ejaculated the rustler.  "What's got into y'u?" He
moved to enter, but a sort of fascination bound him.
</P>

<P>
"Jim, I hated y'u a moment ago," she burst out.  "But now&mdash;with that
Jean Isbel somewhere near&mdash;hidin'&mdash;watchin' to kill y'u&mdash;an' maybe me,
too&mdash;I&mdash;I don't hate y'u any more.... Take me away."
</P>

<P>
"Girl, have y'u lost your nerve?" he demanded.
</P>

<P>
"My God! Colter&mdash;cain't y'u see?" she implored.  "Won't y'u take me
away?"
</P>

<P>
"I shore will&mdash;presently," he replied, grimly.  "But y'u'll wait till
I've shot the lights out of this Isbel."
</P>

<P>
"No!" she cried.  "Take me away now.... An' I'll give in&mdash;I'll be what
y'u&mdash;want.... Y'u can do with me&mdash;as y'u like."
</P>

<P>
Colter's lofty frame leaped as if at the release of bursting blood.
With a lunge he cleared the threshold to loom over her.
</P>

<P>
"Am I out of my haid, or are y'u?" he asked, in low, hoarse voice. His
darkly corded face expressed extremest amaze.
</P>

<P>
"Jim, I mean it," she whispered, edging an inch nearer him, her white
face uplifted, her dark eyes unreadable in their eloquence and mystery.
"I've no friend but y'u.  I'll be&mdash;yours.... I'm lost.... What does it
matter?  If y'u want me&mdash;take me NOW&mdash;before I kill myself."
</P>

<P>
"Ellen Jorth, there's somethin' wrong aboot y'u," he responded. "Did
y'u tell the truth&mdash;when y'u denied ever bein' a sweetheart of Simm
Bruce?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes, I told y'u the truth."
</P>

<P>
"Ahuh!  An' how do y'u account for layin' me out with every dirty name
y'u could give tongue to?"
</P>

<P>
"Oh, it was temper. I wanted to be let alone."
</P>

<P>
"Temper!  Wal, I reckon y'u've got one," he retorted, grimly.  "An' I'm
not shore y'u're not crazy or lyin'.  An hour ago I couldn't touch y'u."
</P>

<P>
"Y'u may now&mdash;if y'u promise to take me away&mdash;at once.  This place has
got on my nerves.  I couldn't sleep heah with that Isbel hidin' around.
Could y'u?"
</P>

<P>
"Wal, I reckon I'd not sleep very deep."
</P>

<P>
"Then let us go."
</P>

<P>
He shook his lean, eagle-like head in slow, doubtful vehemence, and his
piercing gaze studied her distrustfully.  Yet all the while there was
manifest in his strung frame an almost irrepressible violence, held in
abeyance to his will.
</P>

<P>
"That aboot your bein' so good?" he inquired, with a return of the
mocking drawl.
</P>

<P>
"Never mind what's past," she flashed, with passion dark as his. "I've
made my offer."
</P>

<P>
"Shore there's a lie aboot y'u somewhere," he muttered, thickly.
</P>

<P>
"Man, could I do more?" she demanded, in scorn.
</P>

<P>
"No.  But it's a lie," he returned.  "Y'u'll get me to take y'u away
an' then fool me&mdash;run off&mdash;God knows what.  Women are all liars."
</P>

<P>
Manifestly he could not believe in her strange transformation.  Memory
of her wild and passionate denunciation of him and his kind must have
seared even his calloused soul.  But the ruthless nature of him had not
weakened nor softened in the least as to his intentions.  This
weather-vane veering of hers bewildered him, obsessed him with its
possibilities.  He had the look of a man who was divided between love
of her and hate, whose love demanded a return, but whose hate required
a proof of her abasement.  Not proof of surrender, but proof of her
shame! The ignominy of him thirsted for its like.  He could grind her
beauty under his heel, but he could not soften to this feminine
inscrutableness.
</P>

<P>
And whatever was the truth of Ellen Jorth in this moment, beyond
Colter's gloomy and stunted intelligence, beyond even the love of Jean
Isbel, it was something that held the balance of mastery.  She read
Colter's mind.  She dropped the torn blouse from her hand and stood
there, unashamed, with the wave of her white breast pulsing, eyes black
as night and full of hell, her face white, tragic, terrible, yet
strangely lovely.
</P>

<P>
"Take me away," she whispered, stretching one white arm toward him,
then the other.
</P>

<P>
Colter, even as she moved, had leaped with inarticulate cry and radiant
face to meet her embrace.  But it seemed, just as her left arm flashed
up toward his neck, that he saw her bloody hand and wrist.  Strange how
that checked his ardor&mdash;threw up his lean head like that striking bird
of prey.
</P>

<P>
"Blood!  What the hell!" he ejaculated, and in one sweep he grasped
her. "How'd yu do that?  Are y'u cut? ... Hold still."
</P>

<P>
Ellen could not release her hand.
</P>

<P>
"I scratched myself," she said.
</P>

<P>
"Where?... All that blood!"  And suddenly he flung her hand back with
fierce gesture, and the gleams of his yellow eyes were like the points
of leaping flames.  They pierced her&mdash;read the secret falsity of her.
Slowly he stepped backward, guardedly his hand moved to his gun, and
his glance circled and swept the interior of the cabin.  As if he had
the nose of a hound and sight to follow scent, his eyes bent to the
dust of the ground before the door.  He quivered, grew rigid as stone,
and then moved his head with exceeding slowness as if searching through
a microscope in the dust&mdash;farther to the left&mdash;to the foot of the
ladder&mdash;and up one step&mdash;another&mdash;a third&mdash;all the way up to the loft.
Then he whipped out his gun and wheeled to face the girl.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, y'u've got your half-breed heah!" he said, with a terrible
smile.
</P>

<P>
She neither moved nor spoke.  There was a suggestion of collapse, but
it was only a change where the alluring softness of her hardened into a
strange, rapt glow.  And in it seemed the same mastery that had
characterized her former aspect.  Herein the treachery of her was
revealed.  She had known what she meant to do in any case.
</P>

<P>
Colter, standing at the door, reached a long arm toward the ladder,
where he laid his hand on a rung.  Taking it away he held it palm
outward for her to see the dark splotch of blood.
</P>

<P>
"See?"
</P>

<P>
"Yes, I see," she said, ringingly.
</P>

<P>
Passion wrenched him, transformed him.  "All that&mdash;aboot leavin'
heah&mdash;with me&mdash;aboot givin' in&mdash;was a lie!"
</P>

<P>
"No, Colter. It was the truth. I'll go&mdash;yet&mdash;now&mdash;if y'u'll
spare&mdash;HIM!" She whispered the last word and made a slight movement of
her hand toward the loft.  "Girl!" he exploded, incredulously.  "Y'u
love this half-breed&mdash;this ISBEL! ... Y'u LOVE him!"
</P>

<P>
"With all my heart! ... Thank God!  It has been my glory.... It might
have been my salvation.... But now I'll go to hell with y'u&mdash;if y'u'll
spare him."
</P>

<P>
"Damn my soul!" rasped out the rustler, as if something of respect was
wrung from that sordid deep of him.  "Y'u&mdash;y'u woman! ... Jorth will
turn over in his grave.  He'd rise out of his grave if this Isbel got
y'u."
</P>

<P>
"Hurry!  Hurry!" implored Ellen.  "Springer may come back. I think I
heard a call."
</P>

<P>
"Wal, Ellen Jorth, I'll not spare Isbel&mdash;nor y'u," he returned, with
dark and meaning leer, as he turned to ascend the ladder.
</P>

<P>
Jean Isbel, too, had reached the climax of his suspense.  Gathering all
his muscles in a knot he prepared to leap upon Colter as he mounted the
ladder.  But, Ellen Jorth screamed piercingly and snatched her rifle
from its resting place and, cocking it, she held it forward and low.
</P>

<P>
"COLTER!"
</P>

<P>
Her scream and his uttered name stiffened him.
</P>

<P>
"Y'u will spare Jean Isbel!" she rang out.  "Drop that gun-drop it!"
</P>

<P>
"Shore, Ellen.... Easy now.  Remember your temper.... I'll let Isbel
off," he panted, huskily, and all his body sank quiveringly to a crouch.
</P>

<P>
"Drop your gun!  Don't turn round.... Colter!&mdash;I'LL KILL Y'U!"
</P>

<P>
But even then he failed to divine the meaning and the spirit of her.
</P>

<P>
"Aw, now, Ellen," he entreated, in louder, huskier tones, and as if
dragged by fatal doubt of her still, he began to turn.
</P>

<P>
Crash!  The rifle emptied its contents in Colter's breast.  All his
body sprang up.  He dropped the gun.  Both hands fluttered toward her.
And an awful surprise flashed over his face.
</P>

<P>
"So&mdash;help&mdash;me&mdash;God!" he whispered, with blood thick in his voice. Then
darkly, as one groping, he reached for her with shaking hands.
"Y'u&mdash;y'u white-throated hussy!... I'll ..."
</P>

<P>
He grasped the quivering rifle barrel.  Crash!  She shot him again. As
he swayed over her and fell she had to leap aside, and his clutching
hand tore the rifle from her grasp.  Then in convulsion he writhed, to
heave on his back, and stretch out&mdash;a ghastly spectacle.  Ellen backed
away from it, her white arms wide, a slow horror blotting out the
passion of her face.
</P>

<P>
Then from without came a shrill call and the sound of rapid footsteps.
Ellen leaned against the wall, staring still at Colter.  "Hey,
Jim&mdash;what's the shootin'?" called Springer, breathlessly.
</P>

<P>
As his form darkened the doorway Jean once again gathered all his
muscular force for a tremendous spring.
</P>

<P>
Springer saw the girl first and he appeared thunderstruck.  His jaw
dropped.  He needed not the white gleam of her person to transfix him.
Her eyes did that and they were riveted in unutterable horror upon
something on the ground.  Thus instinctively directed, Springer espied
Colter.
</P>

<P>
"Y'u&mdash;y'u shot him!" he shrieked.  "What for&mdash;y'u hussy? ... Ellen
Jorth, if y'u've killed him, I'll..."
</P>

<P>
He strode toward where Colter lay.
</P>

<P>
Then Jean, rising silently, took a step and like a tiger he launched
himself into the air, down upon the rustler.  Even as he leaped
Springer gave a quick, upward look.  And he cried out.  Jean's
moccasined feet struck him squarely and sent him staggering into the
wall, where his head hit hard.  Jean fell, but bounded up as the
half-stunned Springer drew his gun.  Then Jean lunged forward with a
single sweep of his arm&mdash;and looked no more.
</P>

<P>
Ellen ran swaying out of the door, and, once clear of the threshold,
she tottered out on the grass, to sink to her knees.  The bright,
golden sunlight gleamed upon her white shoulders and arms.  Jean had
one foot out of the door when he saw her and he whirled back to get her
blouse.  But Springer had fallen upon it.  Snatching up a blanket, Jean
ran out.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen!  Ellen!  Ellen!" he cried.  "It's over!"  And reaching her, he
tried to wrap her in the blanket.
</P>

<P>
She wildly clutched his knees.  Jean was conscious only of her white,
agonized face and the dark eyes with their look of terrible strain.
</P>

<P>
"Did y'u&mdash;did y'u..." she whispered.
</P>

<P>
"Yes&mdash;it's over," he said, gravely.  "Ellen, the Isbel-Jorth feud is
ended."
</P>

<P>
"Oh, thank&mdash;God!" she cried, in breaking voice.  "Jean&mdash;y'u are
wounded... the blood on the step!"
</P>

<P>
"My arm.  See.  It's not bad.... Ellen, let me wrap this round you."
Folding the blanket around her shoulders, he held it there and
entreated her to get up.  But she only clung the closer.  She hid her
face on his knees.  Long shudders rippled over her, shaking the
blanket, shaking Jean's hands.  Distraught, he did not know what to do.
And his own heart was bursting.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, you must not kneel&mdash;there&mdash;that way," he implored.
</P>

<P>
"Jean!  Jean!" she moaned, and clung the tighter.
</P>

<P>
He tried to lift her up, but she was a dead weight, and with that hold
on him seemed anchored at his feet.
</P>

<P>
"I killed Colter," she gasped.  "I HAD to&mdash;kill him! ... I offered&mdash;to
fling myself away...."
</P>

<P>
"For me!" he cried, poignantly.  "Oh, Ellen!  Ellen! the world has come
to an end! ... Hush! don't keep sayin' that.  Of course you killed him.
You saved my life.  For I'd never have let you go off with him ....
Yes, you killed him.... You're a Jorth an' I'm an Isbel ... We've blood
on our hands&mdash;both of us&mdash;I for you an' you for me!"
</P>

<P>
His voice of entreaty and sadness strengthened her and she raised her
white face, loosening her clasp to lean back and look up.  Tragic,
sweet, despairing, the loveliness of her&mdash;the significance of her there
on her knees&mdash;thrilled him to his soul.
</P>

<P>
"Blood on my hands!" she whispered.  "Yes.  It was awful&mdash;killing
him.... But&mdash;all I care for in this world is for your forgiveness&mdash;and
your faith that saved my soul!"
</P>

<P>
"Child, there's nothin' to forgive," he responded.  "Nothin'... Please,
Ellen..."
</P>

<P>
"I lied to y'u!" she cried.  "I lied to y'u!"
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, listen&mdash;darlin'."  And the tender epithet brought her head and
arms back close-pressed to him.  "I know&mdash;now," he faltered on.  "I
found out to-day what I believed.  An' I swear to God&mdash;by the memory of
my dead mother&mdash;down in my heart I never, never, never believed what
they&mdash;what y'u tried to make me believe.  NEVER!"
</P>

<P>
"Jean&mdash;I love y'u&mdash;love y'u&mdash;love y'u!" she breathed with exquisite,
passionate sweetness.  Her dark eyes burned up into his.
</P>

<P>
"Ellen, I can't lift you up," he said, in trembling eagerness,
signifying his crippled arm.  "But I can kneel with you! ..."
</P>

<BR><BR><BR><BR>








<pre>





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of To the Last Man, by Zane Grey

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TO THE LAST MAN ***

***** This file should be named 2070-h.htm or 2070-h.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        https://www.gutenberg.org/2/0/7/2070/



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.  Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.



*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
https://gutenberg.org/license).


Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:

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

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
     License.  You must require such a user to return or
     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
     Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
     of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.


Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at https://www.pglaf.org.


Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
https://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at https://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
     Chief Executive and Director
     gbnewby@pglaf.org


Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit https://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
donations.  To donate, please visit: https://pglaf.org/donate


Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.


Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included.  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:

     https://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.


</pre>

</BODY>

</HTML>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-03-29 21:27:55 +0000