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Roe + +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: Tharon of Lost Valley + +Author: Vingie E. Roe + +Illustrator: Frank Tenney Johnson + +Release Date: May 24, 2009 [EBook #28956] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THARON OF LOST VALLEY *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<hr class='pb' /> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_1' id='linki_1'></a> +<img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 387px; height: 591px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 387px;'> +AS EL REY ROSE ON HIS HIND FEET WHIRLING, THAT UNWAVERING MUZZLE WHIRLED ALSO TO KEEP IN LINE<br /> +</p> +</div> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:2em;margin-bottom:1em;'>THARON OF LOST<br />VALLEY</p> +<p class='tp' >BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;'>VINGIE E. ROE</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:0.8em;margin-bottom:3em;'>Author of “The Maid of the Whispering Hills,” +“The Heart<br />of Night Wind,” etc.</p> +<p class='tp' >ILLUSTRATIONS BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.2em;'>FRANK TENNEY JOHNSON</p> + +<div style='margin:40px auto; text-align:center;'> +<img alt='emblem' src='images/illus-emb.jpg' /> +</div> + +<p class='tp' >NEW YORK<br />DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY<br />1919</p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p style='margin-left:0.0em; margin-right:0.0em; text-align:center'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Copyright, 1919</span><br /> +<br /> +By DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY, <span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Inc.</span><br /></p> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>CONTENTS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Contents' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<tr> + <td align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'><span style='font-size:small;'>CHAPTER</span></td> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small;'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>I.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Gun Man’s Heritage</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_I_THE_GUN_MANS_HERITAGE'>1</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>II.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Horses of the Finger Marks</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_II_THE_HORSES_OF_THE_FINGER_MARKS'>29</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>III.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Man in Uniform</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_III_THE_MAN_IN_UNIFORM'>52</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IV.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Unbroken Bread</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IV_UNBROKEN_BREAD'>76</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>V.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Working of the Law</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_V_THE_WORKING_OF_THE_LAW'>102</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>El Rey and Bolt</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VI_EL_REY_AND_BOLT'>128</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Shot in the Caņons</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VII_THE_SHOT_IN_THE_CAONS'>157</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>VIII.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>White Ellen</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_VIII_WHITE_ELLEN'>187</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>IX.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Signal Fires in the Valley</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_IX_SIGNAL_FIRES_IN_THE_VALLEY'>214</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>X.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>The Untrue Firing Pin</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_X_THE_UNTRUE_FIRING_PIN'>247</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='right' style='padding-right:1em;'>XI.</td> + <td valign='top' align='left' style='padding-right:4em;'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Finger Mark and Ironwood at Last</span> </td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#CHAPTER_XI_FINGER_MARK_AND_IRONWOOD_AT_LAST'>277</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h3>ILLUSTRATIONS</h3> +<table border='0' cellpadding='2' cellspacing='0' summary='Illustrations' style='margin:1em auto;'> +<col style='width:80%;' /> +<col style='width:20%;' /> +<tr> + <td></td> + <td align='right'><span style='font-size:small'>PAGE</span></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>As El Rey rose on his hind feet whirling, that unwavering muzzle whirled also to keep in line</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_1'><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>Near them sat a rider on a buckskin horse</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_2'>38</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>She talked with Conford who rode beside her and now and then she smiled</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_3'>104</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> + <td valign='top' align='left'>In fact Courtrey, burning with the new desire that was beginning to obsess him, was working out a new design</td> + <td valign='bottom' align='right'><a href='#linki_4'>131</a></td> +</tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<h1>THARON OF LOST VALLEY</h1> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 0; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_I_THE_GUN_MANS_HERITAGE' id='CHAPTER_I_THE_GUN_MANS_HERITAGE'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +<h3>THE GUN MAN’S HERITAGE</h3> +</div> +<p>Lost Valley lay like a sparkling jewel, +fashioned in perfection, cast in the breast +of the illimitable mountain country––and +forever after forgotten of God.</p> +<p>A tiny world, arrogantly unconscious of any +other, it lived its own life, went its own ways, had +its own conceptions of law––and they were based +upon primeval instincts.</p> +<p>Cattle by the thousand head ran on its level +ranges, riders jogged along its trail-less expanses, +their broad hats pulled over their eyes, their six-guns +at their hips. Corvan, its one town, ran its +nightly games, lined its familiar streets with +swinging-doored saloons.</p> +<p>Toward the west the Cañon Country loomed +behind its sharp-faced cliffs, on the east the rolling +ranges, dotted with oak and digger-pine, went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +gradually up to the feet of the stupendous peaks +that cut the sapphire skies.</p> +<p>Lost indeed, it was a paradise, a perfect place +of peace but for its humans. Through it ran the +Broken Bend, coming in from the high and jumbled +rocklands at the north, going out along the +sheer cliffs at the south.</p> +<p>Out of its ideal loneliness there were but two +known ways, and both were worth a man’s best +effort. Down the river one might drive a band +of cattle, bring in a loaded pack train, single file +against the wall. That was a twelve days’ trip. +Up through the defiles at the west a man on foot +might make it out, provided he knew each inch of +the Secret Way that scaled False Ridge.</p> +<p>It was spring, the time of greening ranges and +the coming of new calves. Soft winds dipped and +wantoned with Lost Valley, in the Cañon Country +shy flowers, waxen, heavy-headed on thin +stems, clung to the rugged walls.</p> +<p>All day the sun had shone, mild as a lover, +coaxing, promising. The very wine of life was +a-pulse in the air.</p> +<p>All day Tharon Last had sung about her work +scouring the boards of the kitchen floor until they +were soft and white as flax, helping old Anita with +the dinner for the men, seeing about the number +of new palings for the garden. She had swept +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +every inch of the deep adobe house, had fixed over +the arrangement of Indian baskets on the mantel, +had filled all the lamps with coal-oil. She was +very careful with the lamps, trimming the wicks to +smokeless perfection, for oil was scarce and precious +in Lost Valley, as were all outside products, +since they must come in at long intervals and in +small quantities. And as she worked she sang, +wild, wordless melodies in a natural voice as rich +as a harp. That voice of Tharon’s was one of the +wonders of Lost Valley. Many a rider went by +that way on the chance that he might catch its +golden music adrift on the breeze, her father’s +men came up at night to hear its martial stir, its +tenderness, for the voice was the girl, and Tharon +was an unknown quantity, sometimes all melting +sweetness, sometimes fire that flashed and was +still.</p> +<p>So on this day she sang, since she was happy. +Why, she did not know. Perhaps it was because +of the six new puppies in the milk-house, rolling +in awkward fatness against their shepherd +mother, whose soft eyes beamed up at the girl +in beautiful pride. Perhaps it was because of the +springtime in the air.</p> +<p>At any rate she worked with all the will and +pleasure of youth in a congenial task, and the +roses of health bloomed in her cheeks. The sun +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +itself shone in her tawny hair where the curls +made waves and ripples, the blue skies of Lost +Valley were faithfully reflected in her eyes.</p> +<p>Her skin was soft-golden, the enchanting skin +of some half-blonds which can never be duplicated +by all the arts of earth, and her full mouth was +scarlet as pomegranates.</p> +<p>Sometimes old Anita who had raised her, would +stop and look at her in wonder, so beautiful was +she to old and faithful eyes.</p> +<p>And not alone to Anita was she entirely lovely.</p> +<p>There was not a full grown man in Lost Valley +who would not go many a mile to look upon her––with +varying desires. Few voiced their longings, +however, for Jim Last was notorious with his guns +and could protect his daughter. He had protected +her for twenty years, come full summer, and he +asked no odds of any. His eyes were like +Tharon’s––blue and changing, with odd little lines +that crinkled about them at the corners, elongating +them in appearance. He was a big man, vital +and quiet. The girl took her stature from him. +Her flashes of fire came from her mother, of +whom she knew little and of whom Jim Last said +nothing. Once as a child she had asked him, after +the manner of children, about this mother of dim +memories, and his eyes had hazed with a look of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +suffering that scared her, he had struck his palm +upon a table, and said only:</p> +<p>“She was an angel straight out of Heaven. +Don’t ask me again.”</p> +<p>So Tharon had not asked again, though she had +wondered much.</p> +<p>Sometimes old Anita, become garrulous with +age, mumbled in the twilight when the rose and +the lavendar lights swept down the eastern ramparts +and across the rolling range lands, and the +girl gleaned scattered pictures of a gentle and +lovely creature who had come with her father out +of a mystic country somewhere “below.”</p> +<p>“Below” meant down the river and beyond, an +unnamable region.</p> +<p>In the big living room there was one relic of +this mysterious mother, a tiny melodeon, its rosewood +case a trifle marred by unknown hardships, +its ivory keys yellow with age. It had two small +pedals and two slender sticks which fitted therein +and pushed the bellows up and down when one +trampled upon them. And to Tharon this little +old instrument was wealth of the Indies. The low +piping of its reedy notes made an accompaniment +of surpassing sweetness when she sat before it and +sang her wordless melodies. And just as she found +music in her throat without conscious effort, so she +found it in her fingers, deep, resonant chords for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span> +her running minors, thin, trickling streams of lightness +for her own slow notes.</p> +<p>The sun had turned to the west in its majestic +course and Tharon, the noon work over, drew up +the spindle-legged stool and sat down to play to +herself and Anita. The old woman, half Mexic, +half Indian, drowsed in a low chair by the eastern +window, her toil-hard hands clasped in her lap, a +black <i>reboso</i> over her head, though the day was +warm as summer. A kitten frisked in the sunlight +at the open door, wild ducks, long domesticated, +squalled raucously down the yards, some +cattle slept in the huge corrals and the little world +of Last’s Holding was at peace. It seemed that +only the girl idling over the yellowed keys, was +awake.</p> +<p>For a long and happy hour Tharon sat so, sometimes +opening her pretty throat in ambitious +flights of sound, again humming lowly––and that +was enchanting, as if one sang lullabies to flaxen +heads on shoulders.</p> +<p>And it did enchant one––a man who stood for +the better part of that hour at the edge of the +deep window in the adobe wall and watched the +singer.</p> +<p>He was a splendid figure of a man, tall, broad, +muscular, built for strength and endurance. His +face was unduly lined, even for his age, which was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +near fifty, but the eyes under the arched black +brows were vital as a hawk’s. He wore the customary +garments of the Lost Valley men, broad +sombrero, flannel shirt, corduroys and cowboy +boots, stitched and decorated above their high +heels. At his hips hung two guns, spurs clinked +when he stepped unguardedly. He rarely stepped +that way, however.</p> +<p>When presently the girl at the melodeon ceased +and drew the lid over the keys with reverent +fingers, he moved silently back a pace or two along +the wall. Then he waited. As he had anticipated, +she came to the door to look upon the budding +world, and for another moment he watched her +with a strange expression. Then he swung forward +and let the spurs rattle. Tharon flashed to +face him like a startled animal.</p> +<p>“Hello, Tharon,” he said and smiled. The +girl stared at him with quick insolence.</p> +<p>“Howdy,” she said coldly.</p> +<p>He came close to the doorway, put one hand +on the facing, the other on his hip and leaned +near. She drew back. He reached out suddenly +and gripped her wrist in fingers that bit +like steel.</p> +<p>“Pretty,” he said, while his dark eyes narrowed.</p> +<p>Tharon flung her whole young strength +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span> +against his grip with a twisting wrench and came +free. The quick, tremendous effort left her calm. +And she did not retreat a step.</p> +<p>“Hell,” said the man admiringly, “little wildcat!”</p> +<p>“What you want?” she asked sharply.</p> +<p>“You,” he answered swiftly.</p> +<p>“Buck Courtrey,” she said, “you might own +an’ run Lost Valley––all but one outfit. You ain’t +never run Last nor put your dirty hand on th’ +Holdin’. An’ that ain’t all. You never will. If +you ever touch me again, I’ll tell Dad Jim an’ he’ll +kill you. I’d a-told him before when you met me +that day on the range, only I didn’t want his honest +hands smutted up with such as you. He’s had +his killin’s before––but they was always in fair-an’-open. +You he’d give no quarter––if he knew +what you ben askin’ me.”</p> +<p>The man’s eyes narrowed evilly. They became +calculating.</p> +<p>“Tell him,” he said.</p> +<p>“Eh?”</p> +<p>“Tell him.”</p> +<p>“You want to feed th’ buzzards?” the girl +asked with an insulting peal of laughter.</p> +<p>“Not yet––but I’ll remember that speech some +day.”</p> +<p>“Remember an’ be damned,” said Tharon. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span> +“Now kindly take your dirty carcass off Last’s +Holding––back to your wife.”</p> +<p>The fire was flashing a little in her blue eyes +as she spoke, and she half turned to enter the +house.</p> +<p>As she did so, Courtrey flung out an arm and +caught her about the shoulders. He drew her +against him with the motion and kissed her square +on the lips. For a second his narrowed eyes were +drunken.</p> +<p>As he loosed her Tharon gasped like a swimmer +sinking.</p> +<p>She put up a hand and drew it across her mouth, +which was pale as ashes with sudden rage.</p> +<p>“Now,” she said, “I’ll tell him.”</p> +<p>“Do,” said Courtrey, and swung away around +the wall of the house.</p> +<p>There were no more artless songs that day at +Last’s Holding. Anita was awake and peering +with dim eyes when Tharon came in from the +door sill.</p> +<p>“<i>Mi querida</i>,” she asked, “what happened?”</p> +<p>“Nothing,” said the girl, “it’s time to begin +supper. Th’ boys’ll soon be comin’ in.”</p> +<p>“<i>Si, si</i>,” said Anita, “I’ll ask José to cut the +fresh beef––it has hung long enough in the cooling +house.”</p> +<p>Supper at Last’s was a lively affair. At the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +long tables in the eating room the riders gathered, +lean, tanned men, young mostly, all alert, quick-eyed, +swift in judgment. Their days were full and +earnest enough, running Last’s cattle on the Lost +Valley ranges. The evenings were their own, and +they made the most of them. The big house was +free to them, and they made it home, smoking, +playing cards on the living room table under the +hanging lamp, mulling over the work of the day, +and begging Tharon to sing to them, sometimes +with the instrument, sometimes sitting in the deep +east window, when the moon shone, and then they +turned out the light and listened in adoring +rapture.</p> +<p>For Last’s girl was the rose of the Valley, the +one absolutely unattainable woman, and they worshipped +her accordingly.</p> +<p>Not that she was aloof. Far from it. In her +deep heart the whole bunch of boys had a place; +singly and collectively. They were her private +property, and she would have been inordinately +jealous of any one of them had he slipped +allegiance.</p> +<p>As the purple and crimson veils began to drape +the eastern ramparts where the forests thickened +and swept up the slopes, these riders began to +come in across the range, driving the herds before +them. Running cattle in Lost Valley was no child’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +play. Any small bunch of cows left out at night +was not there by dawn. Eternal vigilance was the +price of safety, and then they were not always safe. +Witness poor Harkness, a year ago shot in the +back and left to die alone––his band run off in +daylight.</p> +<p>They had found him too late, pitifully propped +against a stone, the cigarette, he had tried to light +to comfort him, dead in his nerveless hand. +Tharon had wept and wept for Harkness, for he +had been a good comrade, open-hearted and +merry. And deep in her soul she harboured dim +longings for justice on his murderer––revenge, if +you will.</p> +<p>Tonight she thought of him, somehow, as she +went about the supper work along with Anita and +José and pretty dark Paula. She stood a moment +on the broad stone at the kitchen door, a dish +of butter from the springhouse under the poplars +in her hand, and watched Billy Brent and Curly +bring in a bunch from up Long Meadow way. She +thought how bright the spotted cattle looked, how +lithe and graceful the men, and then her eyes +lighted as they always did when she beheld the +horses of Last’s Holding––the horses of the +Finger Marks.</p> +<p>Billy rode Redbuck, Curly Drumfire, and they +were princes of a royal blood, albeit Nature’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +strain alone. Slim, spirited, wiry, eager heads up, +manes flying, bright hoofs flashing in the late +sunlight, they came home to Last’s after a long +day’s work, fresh as when they went out at +dawn.</p> +<p>“Nothin’ ever floors them,” Tharon said aloud +to herself. “Wonderful creatures.”</p> +<p>She set the butter down on the rock at her feet, +cupped her hands about her lips and sent out a +keen, clear call, two notes, one rising, one falling. +It had a livening, compelling quality.</p> +<p>Instantly Drumfire flung up his head and +answered it with a ringing whistle, though he did +not lose a stride in the flying curve he was performing +to head a stubborn yearling that refused in +stiff-tailed arrogance to go into the corrals.</p> +<p>The girl smiled and, stooping, picked up her +dish and entered.</p> +<p>It was late before the last straggler was in from +the range. The boys washed at the big sink on the +porch, and were ready for the hearty fare that +steamed in the lamp-lighted room. For the last +hour Tharon had been watching the eastern slopes +for her father.</p> +<p>“He’s ridin’ late, Anita,” she said anxiously as +the men trooped in with the usual jest and +laughter.</p> +<p>“He went far, no doubt, <i>Corazon,”</i> said old +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +Anita comfortably. “He goes so fast on El Rey +that time as well as distance flies beneath the +shining hoofs.”</p> +<p>Anita was like her people, mystic and soft-spoken.</p> +<p>“True,” said the girl gently, “I forget, El +Rey is mighty. He went very far I make no +doubt. We’ll hear him comin’ soon.”</p> +<p>Then she poured steaming coffee in the cups +about the table, smiling down in the eyes upturned +to hers. Billy, Curly, Bent Smith, Jack Masters +and Conford, the foreman, they all had a love-look +for her, and the girl felt it like a circling +guerdon. She was grateful for the sense of security +that seemed to emanate from her father’s +riders, a bit wistful withal, as if, for the first time +in her life, she needed something more than she +had always had.</p> +<p>“Which way did Dad go, Billy?” she asked, +“north or south?”</p> +<p>“North,” said Billy, “he rode th’ Cup Rim +range today.”</p> +<p>When the meal, a trifle silent in deference to +Tharon’s silence, was done, the men rose awkwardly. +They stood a moment, looking about, +undecided.</p> +<p>Conford picked them up with his eyes and +nodded out. He felt that just maybe the girl +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +would rather be alone. But Tharon stopped the +reluctant egress.</p> +<p>“Don’t go, boys,” she said, “come on in th’ +room. There’s no moon tonight.” But she did +not play on the melodeon. Instead she sat in the +deep window that looked over the rolling uplands +and was quiet, listening.</p> +<p>“Turn out th’ light, Bent,” she said, “somehow +I feel like shadows tonight.”</p> +<p>So they sat about in the great room, black with +the darkness of the soft spring night, and like the +true worshippers they were, they did not speak. +Only the red butts of their cigarettes glowed and +faded, to glow again and again fade out. Tharon +sat curled in the window, her graceful limbs +drawn up to her chin, her eyes half closed, her +keen ears open like a forest creature’s. She was +listening for the marked rhythm of the great El +Rey, the clap-clap, clap-clap of the king of Last’s +Holding as he singlefooted down the hollow slopes +of the lifting eastern range.</p> +<p>And as she waited she thought of many things. +Odd little happenings of her childhood came back +to her––the time she had caught her father killing +the winter’s beef, had wept in hysterical pity +and forbidden him to finish.</p> +<p>They had had no meat those long months following––and +she had so tired of beans, that she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +had never been able to eat them since. She smiled +in the dusk as she recalled Jim Last’s life-long +indulgence of her.</p> +<p>And the time she had wanted to make her own +knee-short dresses as long as Anita’s, to sweep the +floors, with fringe upon them and stripes of bright +print.</p> +<p>She had worn them so––at twelve––until she +found that they hindered the free use of her +young limbs in mounting a horse, free-foot and +bareback. Then, once again the memory of her +father’s face when she questioned him concerning +her mother.</p> +<p>“Boys,” she said suddenly, smiling to herself, +“did you ever know a man like my +dad?”</p> +<p>There was a movement among the lounging +riders, a shifting of position, a striking of cigarette +ash.</p> +<p>“No, sir,” said Billy promptly, “there hain’t +another man’s good with a gun as him, not anywhere’s +in Lost Valley. Not even Buck Courtrey +himself. I’d back Jim Last against him, even, in +fair-draw. Why?”</p> +<p>“Oh, nothin’,” said the girl, “only––listen––Glory!” +she added slipping down from the window +to stand quietly in the gloom, “that’s him +now! I was wishin’ hard he’d come. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +Say––listen–––Why,––there’s somethin’ gone wrong with El +Rey’s feet! 1––2–––3, 4, 5, 6–––1––2––Boys––he’s +breakin’! Th’ king ain’t singlefootin’ +right, for th’ first time since Jim Last put a halter +on him! Come––come quick!”</p> +<p>Ordinarily Tharon was a bit slow in her movements, +as the very graceful often are. Now she +was across the room to the western door before a +man had moved. They joined her there and she +stood at attention, one hand at her breast, the +breath held still in her throat. The light, shining +through from the eating room beyond, made a +halo of her tawny hair. Silently the riders +grouped about her and listened.</p> +<p>Sure enough. Down along the range that rang +as some open stretches do, there came the clip-clap +of a hurrying horse, only now the hoof beats +were regular for a little space, to break, halt, +start on, and again ring true in the beautiful syncopation +of the born singlefooter. The king was +coming home, but, alas! not as he had ever come +before, in full flight, proud and powerful. He +held his speed and sacrificed his certainty to the +man who clung desperately to the saddle horn and +swayed in wide arcs, so that he must shift continually +to keep under him.</p> +<p>Into the dim glow of light at the open door +came El Rey at last, great blue-silver stallion, his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +big eyes shining like phosphorus, his nostrils wide +with horror of the pungent crimson wash that +painted his right shoulder.</p> +<p>He stopped at the door-stone, his duty done.</p> +<p>“Dad!” screamed Tharon, shrill as a bugle, +for Jim Last, white and dull as a moon in fog, let +go his desperate hold on the pommel and slid, +deadweight, into the reaching arms that circled +him.</p> +<p>They carried him into the living room. Before +they had him safely on the wide couch where the +Indian blankets glowed, Tharon, trembling but +efficient, had lighted the hanging lamp above the +table.</p> +<p>Then she pushed the men aside and knelt beside +him.</p> +<p>“Dad,” she said clearly, “Jim! Jim Last!”</p> +<p>But the gaining of his goal had been too much. +For a moment the flickering light in him died down +to ashes. Tharon, her face as white as his own, +waited in a man-like quiet. She held his stiffened +hands and her eyes burned upon his features. With +a deadly knowledge she was printing them indelibly +upon her heart.</p> +<p>Presently Jim Last sighed and opened his eyes. +They sought hers and he smiled, a tender lighting +from within. He fumbled for the buckle of +his gun-belt. The girl unclasped it and pulled it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +free. She noticed that both guns were in their +holsters.</p> +<p>“Put it on,” whispered the master of Last’s +Holding.</p> +<p>Without a question Tharon stood up and +buckled the belt about her slender waist.</p> +<p>Her father raising himself with difficulty on an +elbow, wet his lips.</p> +<p>“Tharon, my girl,” he said, “show your dad +th’ backhand flip.”</p> +<p>Strange play, this, when every second counted, +but Last’s daughter obeyed him to the letter.</p> +<p>She stepped clear by the table, stood at attention +a second, and, with a peculiar outward whirl, +lightning-quick, of her two wrists, had him covered +with the big blue guns.</p> +<p>He nodded.</p> +<p>“Good as I learned ye,” he whispered, “make +it better.”</p> +<p>“I will,” promised Tharon swiftly.</p> +<p>The man closed his eyes, swayed, recovered as +Conford caught him, and brightened again.</p> +<p>“Now th’ under-sling.”</p> +<p>Again she obeyed, replacing the weapons, +standing that second at attention, and flipping +them from the holsters so quickly that the eye +could scarcely catch the motion. Both draws were +peculiar––and peculiarly Last’s own. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +“Good girl,” he said with a husk grown suddenly +in his voice, “take––three hours––a day. I +want t’ leave you th’ best gun-handler in Lost Valley––because, +my girl––you’ll––have––to––to––pro–––”</p> +<p>He ceased, wilting forward in Conford’s arms.</p> +<p>Then he opened his eyes again for one last smile +at the daughter he had loved above all things on +earth, save and except the memory of the woman +who had given her to him.</p> +<p>For once in her life Tharon did not wait his +finished speech. She saw the Hand reach out of +the shadows and flung herself upon his breast +where the blood still seeped and fairly forced the +last flutter of life to brighten in him. She kissed +his rugged cheek.</p> +<p>“Who, Dad,” she called into his dulling +senses, “tell me who? I’ll get him, so help me +God!” and she loosed one hand to cross herself, +as old Anita had taught her.</p> +<p>But the promise was late. None knew whether +or not Jim Last heard it, for before the last +word was done the breath had ceased in his +throat.</p> +<p>Another twilight came down upon Lost Valley. +The wide ranges lay dim and mysterious, grey and +pink and lavendar, as if the hand of a Master +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +Painter had coloured them, as indeed it had. +The Rockface at the west was black with shadow +for all its rugged miles, the eastern uplands +were bathed and aglow with purplish crimson +light.</p> +<p>In Corvan lights twinkled all up and down the +one main street. Horses were tied at the hitch-racks +and among them were the Ironwoods from +Courtrey’s Stronghold, beautiful big creatures, +blood-bay, black-pointed, noticeable in any bunch. +There were no Finger Marks, however, the blue +roans, red roans and buckskins with the four black +stripes on the outside of the knee, as if one had +slapped them with a tarred hand, which hailed +from Last’s. There were horses from all up and +down the Valley. Cow ponies and half-breeds of +the Ironwood stock which Courtrey would not +keep at the Stronghold but was too close to kill, +shouldered pintos from the Indian settlements, +big, half-wild horses from over the mountains at +the North. Inside the brightly lighted saloons +men passed back and forth, drank neat liquor at +the worn bars, played at the green felt and canvas +covered tables. At one, The Golden Cloud, more +pretentious than the rest, there foregathered the +leading spirits of the Valley. Here Courtrey came +and played and drank, his henchmen with him. +He was in high mettle this night. Always a contained +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +man, slow to laughter and to speech, he +seemed to have unbent more than usual, to respond +to the human nature about him. He was not playing +steadily as was his wont. He took a turn at +poker with three men from the south of the Valley +where the river ran out of the Bottle Neck, +won a hand or two, threw down the cards and +swung away to talk a moment with this one, listen +a moment where those two spoke of hushed matters. +Always when he came near he was accorded +deference. There was nothing sacred +from Courtrey of the Stronghold, seated like a +feudal place at the north head of Lost Valley, no +conversation so private that he could not come in +on it if he chose.</p> +<p>For Courtrey was the king of the country, undisputed +sovereign, the best gun man north of the +Rio Grand and south of the Line, if one excepted +Jim Last. With him tonight were Black Bart, tall, +swarthy, gimlet-eyed, a helf-breed Mexican, and +Wylackie Bob his right-hand man. Without these +two he seldom moved. They were both able lieutenants, +experts with firearms. A formidable trio, +the three went where and when they listed, and +few disputed their right-of-way.</p> +<p>Courtrey, a smile in his dark eyes, the wide +black hat at an angle on his iron-grey hair, leaned +against the high bar and scanned the crowded +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +room where the riders played and laughed and +swore with abandon.</p> +<p>“Heard anything more about Cañon Jim?” +he asked Bullard, the proprietor of The Golden +Cloud, “ain’t come in yet?”</p> +<p>Bullard shook his head.</p> +<p>“No––nor he won’t, according to my notion. +Think he mistook th’ False Ridge drop. Ain’t no +man could make it up again without th’ hammer +spike an’ rope.”</p> +<p>“H’m––don’t know. Don’t know,” mused +Courtrey. “I’ve always thought it could be done. +There ought to be a way on th’ other side, seems +like.”</p> +<p>“Well, <i>ought</i> an’ <i>is</i> is two diff’rent things, +Buck,” grinned Bullard.</p> +<p>“Sure,” nodded the king, “sure. An’ yet––”</p> +<p>“Hello, Buck.”</p> +<p>A soft hand touched Courtrey’s shoulder with +a subtle caress. He wheeled on the instant, ready, +alert. Then he smiled and reaching up, took the +hand and held it openly.</p> +<p>“Hello, Lola,” he said, “how goes it?”</p> +<p>The newcomer was a woman, full, rounded, +dark, and she was past-master of men––as witness +the slow glance that she turned interestedly out +over the teeming room, even while the pulse in the +wrist in Courtrey’s clasp leaped like a racer. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +was a perfect specimen of a certain type, beautiful +after a resplendent fashion, full of eye and lip, +confident, calm. She was brilliantly clad in crimson +and black, and rings of value shone on her +ivory-like hands.</p> +<p>Lola of the Golden Cloud was known all over +Lost Valley. Men who had no women worshipped +her––and some who had, also. At the +Stronghold at the Valley’s head there was a +woman who hated her, though she had never set +eyes on her––Courtrey’s wife.</p> +<p>If Lola knew this she had never mentioned it, +wise creature that she was. Proud of her beauty +and her power she had reigned at The Golden +Cloud in supreme indifference, even to her men +themselves, it seemed, though hidden undercurrents +ran strong in her. Which way they tended +many a reckless buck of Lost Valley would have +given much to know, among them Courtrey +himself.</p> +<p>Now she pulled her hand away from him and +sauntered over to a table where five men sat +playing, laid it upon the shoulder of one of +them, leaned down and looked at the cards in +his hand.</p> +<p>The man, a tall stripling in a silver-studded +belt, looked up, flattered.</p> +<p>Courtrey by the bar watched her, still smiling. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +Then he turned back to Bullard and went on with +his conversation.</p> +<p>Over by the wall a man on a raised dais began +to tune an ancient fiddle.</p> +<p>Two more women came in from somewhere at +the back, a big blooming girl by the name of +Sadie, and a small red-head, tragically faded, with +soft brown eyes that should never have looked +upon Bullard’s. Two men rose and took them as +the tune, an old-fashioned waltz, began to ripple +under the fingers of the fiddler, who was a born +musician, and the four swung down between the +tables and the bar. The Golden Cloud was in +full swing, running free for the night, though the +soft twilight was scarcely faded from the beautiful +country without.</p> +<p>Slip––step, slip––step––went the dancing feet +to the accompaniment of rattling spurs. These +men were lithe and active, able to dance with +amazing grace in chaps and the full accoutrement +of the rider. They even wore their broad +brimmed hats.</p> +<p>Why should they not, since none objected?</p> +<p>Bullard, solid, stocky, red-faced, leaned on his +bar and watched the busy room with pleased eyes.</p> +<p>He did not hear a voice which called his name, +once or twice, among the jumble of sounds. Presently +an odd figure came round the end of the bar +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +from a door that opened there into the mysterious +back regions of the place and elbowed in to face +him.</p> +<p>This was a little old man, weazened and bent, +his unkempt head thrust forward from hunched +shoulders. He dragged two grain sacks behind +him, and he was so grotesquely bow-legged that +the first sight of him always provoked laughter. +This was old Pete the snow-packer, bound on his +nightly trip to the hills. Outside his burros +waited, their pack-saddles empty.</p> +<p>By dawn they would come down from the +world’s rim, the grain sacks bulging with hard-packed +snow for the cooling of Bullard’s liquor.</p> +<p>“Dick,” he said when he faced his employer, +“here ’tis time t’ start an’ there ain’t a damned +bit o’ grub put up fer me! Ef ye don’t make that +pig-tailed Chink pay ’tention t’ my wants, I quit! +I quit, I tell ye!”</p> +<p>And he emphasized his vehement protest by +whirling the bags over his head and flailing them +upon the floor.</p> +<p>A roar of laughter greeted him, which brought +dim tears of indignation to his old eyes.</p> +<p>“Ye don’t care a damn!” he whimpered in +impotent rage. “Jes’ ’cause it’s me. Ef ’twas +yer ol’ Chink, now––if ’twas him, th’ ol’ he-pigtail, +ye’d–––” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span></p> +<p>“Hold on, Pete,” said Bullard, slapping an +indulgent hand on the grotesque shoulder, “You +go tell Wan Lee that if he don’t put up th’ best +lunch in camp for you, an’ <i>muy pronto</i> at that, +I’ll come in an’ skin him alive. Tell him–––”</p> +<p>But Bullard was never to finish that sentence.</p> +<p>There was a sound of running horses stopping +square at the rack without, the rattle of chains, +the creak of saddles.</p> +<p>Booted feet struck the boards of the porch, and +almost upon the instant the great iron door of +The Golden Cloud swung inward.</p> +<p>The dancers stopped in their stride, the players +laid down their cards, the noise of the room +ceased with the suddenness that characterized +the time and place, for Lost Valley was quick +upon the trigger, tragedy often swept in upon +hilarity.</p> +<p>In the opening stood Tharon Last, her blue +eyes black and sparkling, her tawny skin cream +white, her lips tight-set and pale. She wore a +plain dark dress that buttoned up the front, and +at her hips there hung her father’s famous guns. +Her two hands rested on their butts.</p> +<p>Behind her head against the starlight there was +the dim suggestion of massed sombreros.</p> +<p>For a moment she stood so in breathless silence, +scanning the room. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span></p> +<p>Then her glance came to rest on the face of +Buck Courtrey.</p> +<p>“Men,” she said clearly, “we buried Jim Last +today. El Rey brought him home last night––finished. +You all know he was a gun man––th’ +best in these parts. It was no gun man that killed +him, in fair-an’-open, for he was shot in th’ back. +It was a skunk, a coyote, a son-of-th’-devil, an’ +I’m goin’ to kill him.”</p> +<p>At the last word there was a lightning movement +at the bar as Courtrey’s hand flashed at his +hip, a flash of fire, a shot that went high and +lodged in the deep beam above the door, for the +weazened form of the snow-packer had leaped up +against him in the same instant.</p> +<p>The girl had not moved. Her hands still +rested on the guns in their holsters. Now a grim +smile curled her mouth, but her eyes did not laugh.</p> +<p>“I’m a-goin’ t’ kill him,” she said quietly, still +in that clear voice, “but I’ll do it accordin’ to th’ +law Jim Last laid down to me all my life––in certainty. +I know––but I’ll prove. We hain’t no +assassins, Jim Last an’ me. Some day I’ll draw––an’ +my father’s killer must beat me to it.”</p> +<p>Without another word Tharon backed out on +the porch, the door swung to at the pull of an +unseen hand on the iron strap by the hinge.</p> +<p>There was again the rattle and creak, the whirl +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +of hoofs, and in the breathless stillness that lasted +for a few seconds, there came to the strained ears +in the Golden Cloud the clip-clap of a singlefooter +as the great El Rey led out of town.</p> +<p>Then Buck Courtrey, flushed and unsmiling, +sent his coldly narrowed eyes over the crowded +room, man by man. Laughter came, a trifle +cracked and forced, cards slapped on the tables, +chairs creaked as the players drew up again, the +dancers swung into step as the fiddle took up its +interrupted strain.</p> +<p>Only Lola, over by the door, looked for a pregnant +moment at Courtrey’s face, and shut her lips +in a hard, straight line.</p> +<p>Then, lastly, the cold eyes of the king came +down to rest upon the weazened figure of the +snow-packer busily engaged in rolling up his sacks +for departure. If the strange old creature knew +and felt their promise, he gave no sign as he +trundled himself outdoors on his bandy legs.</p> +<p>“Skunks,” said Old Pete, as he fumbled with +his straps about the patient burros, “are plumb +pizen t’ pure flesh.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II_THE_HORSES_OF_THE_FINGER_MARKS' id='CHAPTER_II_THE_HORSES_OF_THE_FINGER_MARKS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +<h3>THE HORSES OF THE FINGER MARKS</h3> +</div> +<p>At Last’s Holding a change had taken place. +The sun of spring still shone as brightly, +the work of the place went on as usual. +The riders went at dawn and came at dusk, their +herds lowing across the rolling green spaces, the +days were as busy as they had ever been, but it +seemed as if Last’s waited for something that +would never happen, for some one who would +never come. Conford, quiet, forceful, businesslike, +carried on the work without a ripple. To a +casual eye all things were as they had been. But +to the keen eyes in the tanned faces of Last’s +riders the change was appallingly apparent. They +saw it creep day by day into their lives, felt it +in the very atmosphere, and it was grim and +promising.</p> +<p>Old Anita felt it and watched with dim and +wistful eyes. Pretty young Paula from the Pomo +Indian settlement far to the north of the Valley +under the Rockface felt it and was more silent, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +cat-like of step than ever. José, always full of +laughter at his outside work, was sobered.</p> +<p>For this change was not material, but spiritual, +and it had to do with Tharon, who was now the +mistress of Last’s.</p> +<p>She no longer sang her wordless songs, no +longer played for hours on the little old melodeon +by the western door. Something had gone from +the brightness of her face, a shadow had come instead. +She was just as swift and gentle in her +care for all the things of every day, as efficient and +painstaking, but she did not laugh, and the tiny +lines that had characterized her father’s blue eyes, +began to show distinctly about her own.</p> +<p>They began to take on the look of great distances, +as if she gazed far.</p> +<p>And for exactly three hours each day there +could be heard the monotonous bark-bark-bark +of the big guns Jim Last had given her in his final +hour. To Billy Brent there was something terrible +in this. Bred to violence and the quick disasters +of the country as he was, he could not reconcile +this grim practice with Tharon Last, the sane and +loving girl who could not bear the sight of +suffering.</p> +<p>“I tell you, Curly,” he complained to his +friend of nights when they came in and lounged in +the soft dusk by the bunk-house, “it’s unnatural. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +Not that I don’t pay full respect to Jim Last’s +memory, an’ him th’ best man in all this hell-bent +Valley, but it ain’t right an’ natural fer no woman +t’ do what she’s doin’. Ain’t she Jim Last’s own +daughter already with th’ guns? Sure. Can drive +a nail nigh as far as he could. Quick as Wylackie +Bob on th’ draw an’ as certain, now. Then why +must she keep it up?”</p> +<p>Curly, more silent in his ways but given to +thought, studied the stars that rode the darkening +heavens and shook his head.</p> +<p>“Let her alone,” he said once, “it was Last’s +command, an’ he knew what he was about even +if he was toppin’ th’ rise of the Big Divide.</p> +<p>“He said ‘you’ll have to pro––’––you rec’lect? +He meant <i>protect</i> an’ unless I miss my guess, Billy, +he’d have added ‘<i>yourself</i>’ if th’ hand of Ol’ +Man Death hadn’t stopped his words. Somethin’ +happened out there in th’ Cup Rim that day when +Last got his that had to do with Tharon, an’ he +knew she’d be in danger. Let her alone.”</p> +<p>So Billy let her alone, as did the rest. She +went her ways, saw to the garden and made the +butter in the cool springhouse, and sat in the +window seat in the twilights. She liked to have +the men come in as usual, but the talk these times +was desultory, failing and brightening with forced +topics, to fail again and drop into silence while +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span> +the dim red lights of the smokers glowed in the +shadows.</p> +<p>Time and again she stirred and sighed, and they +knew that once again she waited for Jim Last, +listened for the clip-clap of El Rey coming home +along the sounding ranges.</p> +<p>Once, on a night when there was no moon and +the tree-toads sang in the cottonwoods by the +spring, the girl, sitting so in the familiar window, +suddenly dropped her head on her knees and +sobbed sharply in the silence.</p> +<p>“Never again!” she said thickly from the +folds of her denim skirt, “I’ll never see him +comin’ home again!”</p> +<p>The riders stirred. Sympathy ached in their +hearts, but not a man had speech to comfort her. +It was Billy, the impulsive, who reached a hand +to her shoulder and gripped it hard. Tharon +reached up and touched the hand in gratitude.</p> +<p>It was about this time, when the master of +Last’s Holding had lain a month beneath the +staring mound under the pine tree out to the east +where they had buried Harkness, that José finished +a work of art. For many days he had +laboured secretly in a calf-shed out behind the +small corrals, and in his slim dark fingers there was +beauty unleashed. Finest carving he knew, since +his forbears, peons across the Border, had spent +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +their lives upon the beams of the Missions. None +had taught José. It was in his blood. Therefore, +from a block of the hard grey stone of the region, +which was almost like granite, he fashioned a +cross, as tall as Tharon herself, struck it out freehand +and true, and set upon its austere face fine +tracery of vines and Jim Last’s name. He took +into the secret Billy and Curly, since these two he +was sure of, and together they hauled the huge +thing out and set it up.</p> +<p>When Tharon, looking to the east with dawn, +as was her habit, beheld this silent tribute to the +man she had so loved, she leaned her forehead +against the deep window-case and wept from the +depths.</p> +<p>Then she went out to see it and with a knife +she set her own mark thereon––a tiny cross +scratched in the headpiece, another in the arm that +stretched toward all that was mortal of poor +Harkness.</p> +<p>“Two,” she said, dry-eyed, while the glorious +dawn shot up to bathe the world in glory, “full +pay for you both.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>El Rey, stamping in his own corral, lifted his +beautiful head, scanned the wide reaches that +spread away in living green, and tossing up his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +muzzle, sent out on the silence a ringing call. He +cocked his silver ears and listened. No clear-cut +human whistle answered him. Once more he +called and listened.</p> +<p>Then he lowered his head and stepped along the +fence. His great body, shining like blue satin with +a silver frost upon it, gave and lifted with every +step. The pastern joints above his striped hoofs +were resilient as pliant springs. The muscles +rippled in his shoulders, the blue-white cascade +of his silver tail flowed to his heels, his mane was +like a cloud upon the arch of his neck. He was +strength and beauty incarnate, a monster machine +of living might.</p> +<p>Unrest was upon him. Life had become stagnant, +a tasteless thing. He was keen for the open +stretches, honing to be gone down the wind. He +fretted and ate out his heart for the freedom of +the range. Old Anita, passing at some work or +other, stopped and gazed at him for a compassionate +moment.</p> +<p>“You, too, <i>grande caballo</i>,” she said, “there is +naught but grief at Last’s Holding. <i>Tharone +querida</i>” she called into the house, “come here.”</p> +<p>Tharon came and stood in the kitchen door.</p> +<p>“What, Anita?” she asked gently.</p> +<p>“El Rey,” answered the old woman, “he calls +and calls and none come to him. He, too, needs +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +help, <i>Corazon</i>. Why not take him for a run +along the plain? It will help you both.”</p> +<p>For a long time the girl stood, considering.</p> +<p>“I have not cared to ride lately, Anita,” she +said, “but you are right. El Rey should not be +left to fret.”</p> +<p>She stepped back in the house, then came out, +and she had added nothing to her attire save her +daddy’s belt and guns. Without these she never +left the Holding now.</p> +<p>Bareheaded, slender, she was a thing of beauty, +and there was a quiet command about her which +subdued the great El Rey himself, the proudest +horse in all the Valley, outside of Courtrey’s Ironwoods, +Bolt and Arrow.</p> +<p>Between these three horses there was much +comment and discussion, though they had never +been tested out together.</p> +<p>She found a bridle on a corral post, a strong +affair of rawhide, heavily ornamented with silver, +its bit a Spanish spade. Without this she could not +hold the stallion, and he was no pet to come at her +caressing call of the double notes.</p> +<p>Only Jim Last himself had ever tamed El Rey +to do his bidding by word of mouth. The horse +had had one master. He would never have +another.</p> +<p>Even now, when Tharon bridled him and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +opened the big gate, promising him his long-desired +flight, he seemed not to see her, his beautiful +big eyes looked through, beyond her, as if he +sought another. There was some one for whom +he waited, listened.</p> +<p>From a block of wood set in the yard the girl +gathered the rein tight in her hand, balanced a +moment, and leaped up astride the shining back.</p> +<p>With a snort like a pistol shot El Rey flung up +his great head, leaped into the air and was gone. +Around the corner of the adobe house he went, +out across the trampled yard, and away along the +open to the south, running level and free. With +the first sink-and-lift Tharon had slipped back a +full span. Now she wound her fingers in the white +cloud of mane that flailed her face and edged up, +inch by inch. When her knees were well up on +the huge shoulders that worked beneath them +powerfully, she gathered the reins, one in each +hand, leaned down along the outstretched neck +and let the great king run. The wind sang by her +ears in a rising whine, the green prairie was a +flowing sea beneath her, the thunder of the pounding +hoofs was stupendous music. Tharon shut +her eyes and rode, and for the first time since +Jim Last’s death a sense of joy rose in her like +a tide.</p> +<p>She had ridden El Rey before, many times. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +had felt him sail beneath her down the open prairies +and always it was so, as if the earth slid by, +as if the note of the wind lifted minute by minute. +She had wondered often about this––how long it +would continue to rise with El Rey’s rising speed, +how long before he would reach a maximum above +which he could not go, a place where the singing +note would remain fixed.</p> +<p>She had never known him reach that point. +Always he could go faster. Always he had +reserves.</p> +<p>Far out ahead she saw a bunch of cattle feeding. +They were lazily circling in a wide arc, content +under the beaming sun. Near them sat a rider on +a buckskin horse, Bent Smith on Golden. This +Golden was one of the prides of Last’s Holding. +Bigger than Drumfire or Redbuck, he ranked next +to El Rey himself in speed, for his slim legs, +slapped smartly with the distinguishing finger +marks on the outside of the knee, were long and +shapely, his back short-coupled and strong, his +withers low, his narrow hips high. Tharon bore +hard on El Rey’s bit, leaned her body to the left, +and they swung in toward Bent and Golden in a +beautiful sweeping curve that brought the cowboy +up in his stirrups with his hat a-wave above +him.</p> +<p>“Good girl!” he yelled with leaping gladness +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +as the superb pair shot by. “Good girl! Go to +it!”</p> +<p>Tharon loosed a hand long enough to wave +back and was gone, on down the sloping land toward +the country of the Black Coulee, her dark +skirts fluttering at her knees, the two heavy guns +pounding her thighs at every jump.</p> +<p>It was a long time before El Rey came down +from his sweeping flight.</p> +<p>He had been too long holden in cramping bars. +The free winds and the rolling earth filled him +with a sort of madness. He ran with joy and the +surety of unbounded power.</p> +<p>The rider, left far behind, watched them anxiously +for a time, thought of following, glanced at +his cattle, remembered the gun man’s heritage and +turned to his business.</p> +<p>The sun was well down over the western Rockface +when Tharon and El Rey came back to Last’s +Holding. The riders were bringing in the cattle, +dust was rising in clouds above the moving masses. +From the ranch house came the savory smells of +cooking.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_2' id='linki_2'></a> +<img src='images/illus-038.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 383px; height: 537px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 383px;'> +NEAR THEM SAT A RIDER ON A BUCKSKIN HORSE<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>The stallion was limber as a willow. He tossed +his handsome head and his eyes were bright as +stars set in his silver face. Life was at high tide +in him, flowing magnificently. Tharon, her cheeks +whipped into pulsing colour by the wind and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +bounding speed, her tawny mane loosed from its +bands and flying in a cloud behind her, smoothed +back from her face, looked wild as an Indian. As +she drew up and sat watching the work of the +evening, she smiled for the first time in many days, +and Jack Masters, passing, felt his heart leap with +gladness.</p> +<p>When the mistress of Last’s was sad, so were +her people.</p> +<p>When the last big corral gate had swung to and +the boys turned in to unsaddle, she touched El Rey +with a toe and went over among them.</p> +<p>“Line up the horses, boys,” she said, “I want +to see them all together once more. Somethin’ +came back in me today––somethin’ I been missing +for a long time. I’ll be myself again.”</p> +<p>Billy turned Redbuck to face her, dropped his +rein. Curly rode up on Drumfire. These two +were red roans, dead matches. Bent brought +Golden and stood him alongside. From far at +the back of the corral they called Conford and +Jack, who came wondering, the former on Sweetheart, +true sister of El Rey, almost as big, almost +as fast, almost as beautiful.</p> +<p>Silver-blue roan, silver-pointed, slim, graceful, +springy, she had not a single dark spot on her +except the sharp black bars of the finger marks +outside her knees. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span></p> +<p>“You darlin’!” said Tharon as she wheeled in +line.</p> +<p>Then came Jack on Westwind, and he was another +buckskin, paler than Golden, most marvelously +pointed in pure chestnut brown. His finger +marks were brown instead of black––the only +horse at the Holding so distinguished, for no matter +of what shade or colour, in all the others these +peculiar marks were jet black. Five splendid +creatures they stood and pounded the ringing +earth, tossed their heads and waited, though +they had all been far that day and it was feeding +time.</p> +<p>Out in the horse corrals there were many more +of their breed, slim, wiry horses, toughened and +hardened by long hours and daily work, but these +were the flower of Last’s, the prized favourites.</p> +<p>For a long time Tharon sat and watched them, +noting their perfect condition, their glistening +skins, their shining hoofs, many of which were +striped, another characteristic.</p> +<p>“I don’t believe,” she said at last, “that there’s +a bunch of horses in Lost Valley to come nigh ’em. +Ironwoods or anything else––I’d back th’ Finger +Marks.”</p> +<p>“So would we,” said Conford quietly, “though +we’ve seen th’ Ironwoods run––a little.”</p> +<p>“That’s th’ word, Burt,” said Curly, “a little. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +Who of us has ever seen Courtrey let Bolt run +like he wanted to? Not a darned one. I’ve seen +that big bay devil pull till th’ blood dripped from +his mouth.”</p> +<p>“Sure,” put in Masters, “I’ve seen that, too––but +I was lyin’ up on th’ Cup Rim oncet, watchin’ +a couple mavericks fer funny work, an’ Courtrey +an’ Wylackie Bob come along down that way on +Bolt an’ Arrow––an’ they wasn’t a-holdin’ them +then. Lord, Lord, how they was goin’! Two +long red streaks as level as your hand, an’ I swear +my heart came up in my throat to see ’em, an’ I +almost hollered. It was pretty work––pretty +work, an’ no mistake.”</p> +<p>Tharon looked over at him.</p> +<p>“Fast as El Rey, Jack?”</p> +<p>“Who could tell?” said the man. “I know it +was some speed, an’ that is all.”</p> +<p>The girl struck a hand on the king’s shoulder +so passionately that he jumped and snorted.</p> +<p>“Some day,” she said tensely, “El Rey will run +th’ Ironwoods off their feet––an’ I’ll run th’ heart +out of their master, damn him! Put th’ horses out. +It’s supper time.”</p> +<p>She threw her right limb over the stallion’s +neck swiftly and with lithe grace, and slid abruptly +to the ground.</p> +<p>As she did so there came the sound of hoofs on +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +the hard earth at the corner of the house, and a +stranger came sharply into sight.</p> +<p>He drew up and nodded. Conford, just turning +away, turned quickly back and came forward.</p> +<p>“Howdy,” he said.</p> +<p>The man, tall, lean, dark, returned the salute +with another nod.</p> +<p>He was covered with dust, as if he had ridden +far and been a long time coming. His clothes +were much the worse for wear, but they were +mostly leather, which takes wear standing, as it +were. The wide hat pulled low over his piercing +dark eyes, was ornamented with a vanity of silver.</p> +<p>The riding cuffs at his wrists were studded profusely +with the same metal, as was the wide belt +that spanned his narrow waist.</p> +<p>He wore a three days’ beard, and a black moustache +dropped its long points to the edge of his +jaw. Black hair showed beneath the hat. He +was a remarkable figure, even in Lost Valley, and +he commanded attention.</p> +<p>He carried the customary two guns of the +country, and he bestrode a horse that was as +noticeable as himself.</p> +<p>This horse was no denizen of Lost Valley. It +was an utter alien. Its colour was a dingy black, +as if it had recently been through fire, its coat +rough and unkempt. Its long head was heavy and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +slug-like, its nose of the type known among horsemen +as Roman. It was roughly built, raw-boned +and angular, and of so stupendous a size that the +man atop, who was six foot tall himself, seemed +small by comparison.</p> +<p>However, for all its ugliness, it possessed a +seeming of vast power, a suggestion of great +strength.</p> +<p>The stranger looked the group over with his +keen, hard eyes, and spoke in a slow drawl.</p> +<p>“I reckon,” he said, “I’m a-ridin’ th’ wrong +trail. I hain’t expected hyar.”</p> +<p>And turning abruptly, without another word, he +jogged away around the house and started down +the long slope already greying with the coming +night.</p> +<p>The foreman and the five punchers clamped +over to the corner of the kitchen and watched +him in speculative silence. Tharon came along +and stood by Billy, her hand on the boy’s arm. +To Billy that sober touch confused the distances, +set the strange rider dancing on the slope.</p> +<p>“H’m,” said Conford, his grey eyes narrow, +“come from far an’s goin’ somewheres. I’ll +watch that duck. He looks like he’s a record man +to me.”</p> +<p>At supper there was much speculation about the +stranger. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span></p> +<p>“I’ll lay a month’s pay he come from Texas,” +said Billy, casting a side glance at his pal Curly, +“them long lankys usually do. An’ somehow it +shows in their eyes, sort o’ fierce an’––”</p> +<p>“Billy,” said Tharon severely, “if I was Curly +I’d take a fall out of you. He can do it, <i>you</i> know +that an’ <i>I</i> know it.”</p> +<p>“Thanks, Miss Tharon,” said Curly in his soft +Southern drawl, “if you feel that-a-way about it, +w’y, I don’t care what <i>no</i> little yellow-headed +whipper-snapper from up Wyomin’ way says to th’ +contrary.”</p> +<p>Billy was a bit abashed, but he stubbornly supported +his contention that the stranger was a +bad-man from Texas.</p> +<p>“Plenty bad-men right here in Lost Valley,” +said the girl quietly, “an’ th’ breed ain’t dyin’ +out as I can see. Th’ settlers need a new +leader––now that Jim Last’s gone.” And she +fell to playing absently with her fork upon the +cloth.</p> +<p>The boys changed the subject hurriedly.</p> +<p>“I found a dead brandin’ fire in th’ Cup Rim +yesterday, Burt,” said Masters, “quite a scrabbled +space around it. Looked like some one’d +branded several calves.”</p> +<p>“Don’t doubt it,” said the foreman. “Careful +as we are there’s always likely to be stragglers. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +An’ to be a straggler’s to be a goner in this man’s +land.”</p> +<p>“Unless he belongs t’ Last’s,” said the irrepressible +Billy. “I’ll lay that fer every calf branded +by Courtrey’s gang we’ll get back two.”</p> +<p>“Billy,” said Tharon again, “Jim Last wasn’t +a thief. Neither will his people be thieves. For +every calf branded by Courtrey, <i>one calf</i> wearin’ +th’ J. L.––an’ one calf only. We don’t steal, but +we won’t lose.”</p> +<p>“You bet your boots an’ spurs throwed in, we +won’t,” said the boy fervently.</p> +<p>As they rose from the table with all the racket +of out-door men there came once more the sound +of a horse’s hoofs on the hard earth outside.</p> +<p>Last’s Holding was a vast sounding-board. No +one on horseback could come near without advertising +his arrival far ahead.</p> +<p>This time it was no stranger. Tharon went to +the western door to bid him ’light.</p> +<p>It was John Dement from down at the Rolling +Cove. He was a thin, worn man, who looked +ten years beyond his forty, his face wrinkled +by the constant fret and worry of the constant +loser.</p> +<p>Tonight he was strung up like a wire. His +voice shook when he returned the hearty greetings +that met him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span></p> +<p>“Boys,” he said abruptly, “an’ Tharon––I +come t’ tell ye all good-bye.”</p> +<p>“Good-bye! John, what you mean?”</p> +<p>Tharon went forward and put a hand on his +arm. Her blue eyes searched his face.</p> +<p>The man stood by his horse and struck a tragic +fist in a hard palm.</p> +<p>“That’s it. I give up. I’m done. I’m goin’ +down the wall come day––me an’ my woman an’ +th’ two boys. Got our duffle ready packed, an’ +Lord knows, it ain’t enough t’ heft th’ horses. +After five year!”</p> +<p>There was the sound of the hopeless tears of +masculine failure in the man’s tragic voice. His +fingers twisted his flabby hat.</p> +<p>“Hold up,” said Conford, pushing nearer, +“straighten out a bit, Dement. Now, tell us +what’s up.”</p> +<p>“Th’ last head––th’ last hoof––run off last +night as we was comin’ in with ’em a leetle mite +late. Had ben up Black Coulee way, an’ it got +dark on us. Just as we got abreast o’ th’ mouth +of th’ Coulee, where th’ poplars grow, three men +come a-boilin’ out. They was on fast horses––o’ +course––an’ right into th’ bunch they went, hell-bent. +Stampeded the hull lot. You know my +bunch’d got down t’ about a hundred head––don’t +know what I ben a-hangin’ on fer, only a man hates +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +t’ give up an’ own hisself beat out. An’ my +woman––she’s a fighter.</p> +<p>“She kep’ standin’ at my back like, oh, like––well, +she kep’ a-sayin’ ‘We’ll win out yet, John, +you see. Right’ll win ev’ry time.’ You see we +are just ready to get th’ patent on our land. She +couldn’t give that up, seems like. All this time +gone an’ nothin’ gained. So we ben a-hangin’ on +when things went from bad to worse. Th’ herd’s +been a-goin’ down an’ down. Calves with their +tongues slit so’s they’d lose their mothers––fed +up in some coulee by hand an’ branded. Knowed +’em by my own colour cattle, w’ich I drove in here +five year ago––th’ yellers.</p> +<p>“Mothers killed outright an’ th’ calves +branded. Oh, I know it all––but what could I +do? Kep’ gettin’ poorer an’ poorer. Couldn’t +afford enough riders t’ protect ’em. Then +couldn’t afford any an’ tried t’ make it go as th’ +boys got older. Courtrey, damn him, wants me +offen that piece o’ land a-fore th’ patent’s granted. +Him with his twenty thousan’ acres of Lost Valley +now! An’ how’d he get it? False entry, that’s +what! How many men’s come in here, took up +land, ‘sold out’ to Courtrey an’ went? Or didn’t +go. A lot of ’em <i>didn’t go</i>. We all know that. +An’ who dares to speak in a whisper about it? Th’ +men that did wouldn’t go––never––nowheres.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span></p> +<p>There was the bitterness of utter defeat and +hatred in the shaking voice. The tree-toads, beginning +their nightly chorus from the wet places +below the cottonwoods, emphasized the dreariness +of the recital, the ancient hopelessness of the +weak beneath the heel of the oppressor.</p> +<p>Dement ceased speaking and stood in silhouette +against the last yellow-and-black of the dead +sunset. The protruding apple in his hawk-like +throat worked up and down grotesquely.</p> +<p>For a long moment there was utter silence.</p> +<p>Then he began again.</p> +<p>“I knowed I wasn’t welcome in th’ Valley +when I hadn’t ben here more’n six months. Th’ +first leetle string o’ fence I put up fer corrals +went down, mysterious, as fast as I could fix it. +Th’ woman’s garden was broke open an’ trampled +to dust by cattle, drove in. Winter ketched us +with mighty leetle t’ eat in th’ way o’ truck. Next +year she guarded it herself some nights, sleepin’ +by day, an’ oncet she took a shot at some one that +come prowlin’ around. They let her fence alone +after that, but what’d they do outside? Killed all +th’ hogs we had one night an’ piled ’em in a heap +in th’ front door yard! That was hint enough, +but I kep’ a-thinkin’ that ef we behaved decent +like, an’ minded our own business we sartainly +must win out. We did,” he added grimly after a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +little pause, “like hell. An’ how many others of +th’ settlers has gone through th’ like? We ain’t +no tin gods ourselves, I own, but we got t’ fight +fire with fire. Only I ain’t got no more light-wood,” +he finished quaintly, “I got to quit.”</p> +<p>There was another silence while the tree-toads +sang. Then the man held out his hand, hardened +and warped with the unceasing toil of those tragic +years.</p> +<p>“Good-bye, Tharon,” he said, “I wisht Jim +Last was here. With him gone Lost Valley’s in +Courtrey’s hand an’ no mistake. He was th’ only +man dared face him an’ hold his own. Last’s +was th’ only head th’ weaker faction had, its +master their only leader. While he lived we had +some show, us leetle fellers. Now there ain’t no +leader. Th’ ranchers’ll go out fast now. It’ll +be a one-man valley.”</p> +<p>In the soft darkness Tharon took the extended +hand, held it a moment and laid her other one +upon it.</p> +<p>“John Dement,” she quietly said, “I want +you to go home an’ bar your house for fight. Fix +up your fences, unpack your duffle. In the morning +my riders will drive down to your place a +hundred head o’ cattle. You put your brand on +em. There’s goin’ to be no one-man doin’s in +Lost Valley yet awhile––not while Jim Last’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span> +daughter lives. See,” she dropped his hand and +pointed to the east where the tall pine lifted to the +stars, “out yonder there’s a cross at Jim Last’s +grave––an’ there’s my mark on it. Th’ settlers +have a leader still––an’ I name myself that leader. +I’m set against Courtrey, now an’ forever. I +mean to fight him t’ th’ last inch o’ ground in Lost +Valley, th’ last word o’ law, th’ last drop o’ blood, +both his an’ mine. You go down among ’em––th’ +settlers––an’ take ’em that word from me. Tell +’em Jim Last’s daughter stands facin’ Courtrey, +an’ she’ll need at her back t’ fight him every man +in Lost Valley that ain’t a coward.”</p> +<p>When the settler had gone, incoherent and half-incredulous, +Conford drew a long breath and +looked at his mistress in the dusk.</p> +<p>“Tharon, dear,” he said so gently that his +words were like a caress “you’re jest a-breakin’ +your riders’ hearts. You’re heapin’ anxiety on +us mountain-high. Now what on earth’ll we +do?”</p> +<p>Young Billy Brent pushed near and slapped a +hand against a doubled fist. His eyes were sparkling +like harbour lights, his voice was like the +sound of running fire.</p> +<p>“Do?” he cried. “Do? We’ll stand behind +her so tight they can’t see daylight through, an’ +we’ll fight with an’ for her every inch o’ that way, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +every word o’ that law, every drop o’ that blood! +Who says Last’s ain’t on th’ map in Lost Valley?” +Tharon smiled and touched him again.</p> +<p>“Billy,” she said softly, “you’re after my own +heart. Now get to bed. I want t’ think.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III_THE_MAN_IN_UNIFORM' id='CHAPTER_III_THE_MAN_IN_UNIFORM'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +<h3>THE MAN IN UNIFORM</h3> +</div> +<p>Spring was warming swiftly into summer. +Where the gently sloping ranges went up in +waves and swells toward the uplands at the +east, the bright new green had turned to a darker +shade. The tiny purple and white flowers had +disappeared to give place to sturdier ones of crimson +and gold. The veil of water that fell sharply +down the face of the Wall for a thousand feet at +the Valley’s southern end had thinned to sheerest +gauze. In the Cañon Country the snow had disappeared +from most of the high points. Red, +black, yellow, the great face of the encircling Wall +stood in everlasting majesty, looking down +upon the level cup of Lost Valley. The unspeakable +upheaval of peaks and crags, of cañons and +splits and unfathomable depths, was almost a +sealed book to the denizens of the Valley. There +were those who knew False Ridge.</p> +<p>There were those who said they knew more. +Many a man had adventured therein, and few +had returned to tell of their adventures. Cañon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +Jim had not returned. Not that he was a loss +to the community, or that they mourned him, but +his absence pointed again to the formidable secretive +power of the Cañon Country.</p> +<p>Tharon Last, standing in her western door, +could look across the Valley’s deceptive miles and +see the huge black seams and fissures that rent the +grim face. These splits and cañons were peculiar +in that none came down to the Valley’s floor, their +yawning doorways being, in every instance, set +from two hundred to five hundred feet up the +Wall.</p> +<p>Often the girl watched them in the changing +lights and her active mind formed many a conjecture +concerning them.</p> +<p>“Some day,” she told young Paula, “I’ll go +into the Cañon Country and see it for myself.”</p> +<p>“Saints forbid, Señorita!” said Paula, who had +no love for the mysterious, and who was more +Mexic than Porno, “there are demons and devils +there!”</p> +<p>“Yes, I doubt not, Paula,” said Tharon +grimly. “They say Courtrey knows th’ Cañons, +an’ when he’s there, it’s peopled, an’ no mistake!</p> +<p>“But it must be beautiful––beautiful! Why––there’s +a thousand feet of crevasse on every hand, +I know, steps an’ benches an’ weathered faces that +no man can climb. They say there’s bright waters +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +that tumble down like th’ Vestal’s Veil and sink +into holes without an outlet. Just go away in the +rock. There’s strange flowers an’ stunted trees. +An’ they tell of th’ Cup of God, a hidden glade +so beautiful that th’ eye of man has never seen +its like. All my life it’s called me, th’ Cañon +Country.</p> +<p>“Don’t you believe, Paula, that there’s somethin’ +there for me? Some reason why I know I +must some day go into its heart an’ give myself up +to it for a time? If I was free,” she finished with +a sigh, “if I was my own woman, wholly, I’d go +soon. There’s rest an’ peace up there, I know––and +a place to think of Jim Last without such bitterness +that my heart turns t’ gall.”</p> +<p>She shook her bright head against the doorpost +and shut her soft lips into a straight line.</p> +<p>“Nope,” she finished sadly, “I ain’t my own +woman yet.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“Tharon,” said Billy Brent this day, clanking +around the corner of the adobe house, his leather +chaps flapping with every step, his yellow hair +curling boyishly under his hat-brim. “Tharon, I +got bad news for you.”</p> +<p>There was genuine distress in his grey eyes.</p> +<p>“Yes?” asked the mistress of Last’s, straightening +up. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span></p> +<p>“Yes, sir, an’ I hate like hell t’ tell it.”</p> +<p>“Out with it, Billy. What’s wrong?”</p> +<p>“Somebody’s dynamited th’ Crystal Spring in +th’ Cup Rim.”</p> +<p>“<i>What?</i>”</p> +<p>The word was in italics. Its one syllable told +all one might care to know of the importance of +Billy’s news.</p> +<p>“Yes. Opened her up fer two square yards. +Spread th’ lovely old Crystal all over th’ range. +An’ she’s gone, as sure’s shootin’. Nothin’ but a +lot o’ wet an’ dryin’ mud to show for her.”</p> +<p>Tharon drew a long breath.</p> +<p>“Courtrey’s beginnin’,” she said. “He’s heard +th’ word I sent th’ settlers. He’s goin’ t’ use th’ +tactics now with Last’s that he’s used with every +poor devil he wanted to run out of th’ Valley, th’ +tactics he darsent use while Jim Last lived. Well––go +send Conford to me, Billy.”</p> +<p>The girl sat down in the doorway and gazed +sombrely out over the summer land.</p> +<p>When her foreman came and stood before her, +a slim, efficient figure, dark-faced and quiet, she +had already made up her mind.</p> +<p>“Burt,” she said swiftly, “drive th’ cattle +down from th’ Cup Rim right away. We’ll run +those two bunches under Blue Pine an’ Nick Bob +out toward th’ Black Coulee. Tell ’em t’ keep +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span> +close t’ th’ others. I trust th’ Indians, but there +ain’t no Indian livin’ can meet Courtrey’s white +renegades in courage an’ wits. Then we’ll start +right in an’ dig a well th’ first well ever dug +on th’ open range in this man’s land.”</p> +<p>“Good Lord, Tharon!” said Conford, “A +well!”</p> +<p>“Yes. Th’ livin’ water holes have been th’ +pride of th’ Valley, I know, but we’ll fix this well +of ours so’s even Courtrey will respect it.”</p> +<p>There was a grim note in the golden voice.</p> +<p>“How?” asked Conford uneasily.</p> +<p>“Dig it first,” said Tharon, “then I’ll tell you.”</p> +<p>What the mistress said, went. Therefore, the +next morning saw a disgusted bunch of cowboys +and Indian <i>vaqueros</i> setting to with a will at a +spot much nearer the Holding than the Crystal +had been, and it took a much shorter time to reach +water in a good gravel bed than any one had +dreamed.</p> +<p>In three days the thing was done and Conford +presented himself, smiling.</p> +<p>“Now, Miss Secrecy,” he said, “come on with +th’ mystery.”</p> +<p>Tharon went in to the big desk which Jim Last +had used and which was now her own, and returned +with a square white slab of pine, elaborately +smoothed and finished by José. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span></p> +<p>“Read that,” she said, and held it up, face +out.</p> +<p>Printed neatly upon its shining surface, in the +jet-black ink that old Anita made from the berries +of a certain bush which grew at the foot of the +cliffs across the Valley, were these words:</p> +<p>“This well is planted. I hope it blows up the +first thief who tries to destroy it. Tharon Last.”</p> +<p>Conford took the slab, scratched his head, holding +his hat between thumb and finger, read it over, +read it again, smiled, and then looked up.</p> +<p>“Might work,” he said, “an’ you’re givin’ out +your stand an’ knowledge broadcast, ain’t you?”</p> +<p>“Certainly am,” said Tharon briefly. “I said +I’d fight, an’ I want th’ whole Valley t’ know it.”</p> +<p>“It does,” said Conford with conviction. “I +heard in Corvan yesterday that John Dement has +rode th’ range continuous since he finished brandin’ +his new herd to tell th’ settlers about it.”</p> +<p>“Good,” said Tharon, “couldn’t be better. +There’s got to be a change in Lost Valley sooner +or later. Might as well be sooner.”</p> +<p>And with that thought the girl let her quick +mind sweep out to take in the future. She sent +Conford off to post her placard and herself went +rummaging among the possibilities which her defy +had placed before her. She knew that Courtrey +would be coldly furious. He had lived his life +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +as suited him, had taken what and where he listed, +by fair means or foul, and though every soul in +the Valley knew him and his methods, none had +spoken the convicting word. It was the pen-stroke +at the end of the death-warrant to do so.</p> +<p>She knew that the faction of the settlers hated +him and his with a vitriolic passion, that they +were in the minority, that they were no tin gods +themselves, and that they were being beaten out, +one by one.</p> +<p>Year by year Courtrey had added to his vast +acreage, and it was a matter of common knowledge +how he had done it. He was rich, powerful, +bullying, a man whose self-aggrandizement knew +no limit, whose merest whim was his law, whose +will must not be thwarted. Year by year his +<i>vaqueros</i> drove down the Wall herds of fat cattle, +their brands blurred, insolently raw and careless. +Many a hapless man had stood and seen his +own stock go by in Courtrey’s band and dared +not open his mouth. In fact Courtrey had been +known to stop and chat with such a one, smiling +his evil smile and enjoying the helpless chagrin +of his victim.</p> +<p>“Insolent ruffian!” muttered Tharon this day, +frowning above her daddy’s pipes on the desk +top. “He’s goin’ t’ get one run for his money +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +from now till one of us is whipped. It may be +me, but I’ll leave my mark on him, so help me!</p> +<p>“Straight killin’s too good for him. I want +to smash him first.”</p> +<p>“Tharon, mi <i>Corazon</i>,” said Anita, stopping +soft-foot beside her, “it is bad for one to talk +so, to himself. The Evil One works on the mind +that way.”</p> +<p>Tharon laughed.</p> +<p>“Perhaps, Anita,” she said shortly, “it is with +the Evil One I have t’ do, an’ no mistake.”</p> +<p>The old woman crossed herself and went away, +her wrinkled face dim with care. And Tharon +dressed herself neatly, put a ribbon on her hair, +set her wide hat carefully on her head, buckled +on her heavy gun-belt, and went to the corral for +El Rey. Her daddy’s saddle was her own now, a +huge affair carved and ornamented, profusely +studded with silver.</p> +<p>Along the right side below the pommel ran a +darker stain, Jim Last’s blood, set before his +daughter like a star.</p> +<p>She mounted the silver stallion and went away +down along the summer land, a shaft of light +shooting through the green of the ranges.</p> +<p>Far over to her left she could see her cattle, +beautiful bunches spread like figures in a tapestry. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span> +The figures of her riders were small dots on the +outskirts.</p> +<p>El Rey, always hard on the bit, always strong-headed, +wanted to run and she swung loose her +rein and let him go. But run as he might, there +was always in his speed that rising note, that +seeming of reserve power.</p> +<p>She passed the head of Black Coulee, swung +out across the edge of Rolling Cove, thundered +down to the ford of the Broken Bend. Here she +let the stallion drink, deep draughts that would +have slowed a lesser horse. El Rey went up the +bank beyond the ford like a charging engine, +squared away and stretched out to finish his run. +He was within three miles of Corvan, set like a +stone in a smooth green surface, before he came +down and lifted his shoulders into his gait. With +the first rock and swing of the singlefoot, Tharon +smiled and settled herself more comfortably in +the saddle. This was joy to her, this beautiful +syncopation, this poetic marked time that reeled +off the miles beneath her and would scarcely have +shaken a pebble from her hat-brim.</p> +<p>As she struck the outskirts of the little town +the unmistakable sound of El Rey’s iron-shod +hoofs brought heads into doors, children at the +house corners to look upon her. She came down +the main street at a smart clip, to bring up with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +a slide at the hitch-rail before Baston’s store +where the monthly mail was handled. There were +horses tied there, and among them she saw what +caused her to look twice with a narrowing of her +keen eyes––a huge, raw-boned, black, rusty and +slug-headed, among the Ironwood bays from +Courtrey’s Stronghold.</p> +<p>“H’m,” she told herself quietly, “so there’s +where he was expected.”</p> +<p>She tied El Rey to himself, far from the rest, +for she knew his imperious temper and that trouble +would ensue if he was near strange horses.</p> +<p>Then she went into Baston’s with her meal-sack +on her arm. This meal-sack was a part of her +accoutrement, a regular carry-all for such small +purchases as she must take home––a roll of print +for Paula, some tobacco for the men, a dozen +spools of the linen thread which was so much +prized among the women of Lost Valley.</p> +<p>As she stepped in the open door her quick glance +went over the big room with a comprehensiveness +which catalogued its inmates accurately and instinctively. +Courtrey was not there, though his +great bay, Bolt, stood outside. However, Wylackie +Bob was there. This man, sitting at a canvas +covered table in a corner, idly fingering a pack +of cards, was not one to be passed over easily. +He was notorious. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span></p> +<p>Tall, slow of action, sleepy-eyed, he was treacherous +as a snake, as swift to move when necessary. +He had been known to sit as he was now, idly +playing, to leap up, crouch, draw and kill a man, +and be down again at his place, idly playing, before +the breath was done in his victim.</p> +<p>He was a past-master of his gun, and unlike +most men of the time and place, he carried only +one.</p> +<p>He was a quarter-blood Wylackie Indian. Near +him sat the stranger who had ridden the slug-head +black into Lost Valley. They both looked up as +the girl entered and regarded her with smiles.</p> +<p>Tharon did not look at them again. She saw, +however, that they were together, of one interest. +There were two or three of the settlers +in the store, Jameson from over under the Rockface +at the south, Hill from farther up, Thomas +from Rolling Cove. She spoke to these men +quietly and noticed with an inward thrill the eagerness +with which they responded.</p> +<p>There was an electric something between them +which told her that her promise had, indeed, gone +up and down the country, that in a subtle, unheralded +manner she stood in Jim Last’s place, a +head, a leader.</p> +<p>She made her purchases without undue speech, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +got two letters in her father’s name––and these +brought a smarting under her eyelids––tied up +her sack and went out without so much as a +glance at the two men in the corner. Laughter +followed her, however, which set the red blood of +anger pulsing in her cheeks.</p> +<p>At the end of the store porch she came face +to face with Courtrey and Steptoe Service, the +sheriff of Menlo county. She swung to one side to +descend the rough steps, vouchsafing them no +word or look, but Service blocked her way. She +raised her eyes and looked him full in the face, +scanning his coarse red features coolly.</p> +<p>“Well?” she said sharply.</p> +<p>“What’s this I hear, Tharon?” asked Service, +“about you a-makin’ threats?”</p> +<p>“What have you heard?” she wanted to know.</p> +<p>“W’y, that you’re a-makin’ threats.”</p> +<p>“Yes?”</p> +<p>“Yes, sir.”</p> +<p>“Well?”</p> +<p>The sheriff flushed darker.</p> +<p>“Look here, young woman,”––he raised his +voice suddenly and on the instant there was a +sound of boots on the store floor and the settlers, +the two men in the corner, Baston and two clerks +came crowding out to hear, “you look a-here––don’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +you know it’s a-gin th’ law for any one t’ +make a threat like you done, open an’ above +board, in th’ Golden Cloud th’ other night?”</p> +<p>Tharon shifted the meal-sack higher on her +left arm. Courtrey’s eyes went down to her right +hand and stayed there.</p> +<p>The girl’s upper lip lifted from her teeth in a +sneer that was the acme of insult. The fire was +beginning to play in her blue eyes.</p> +<p>“Law?” she said. “My God! Law!”</p> +<p>“Yes, <i>law</i>! you young hussy, an’ don’t you fergit +that I represent it.”</p> +<p>The girl threw down the sack and flashed both +hands on the gun-butts. Courtrey, watching, was +half-a-second behind her and stopped with his +hands hovering.</p> +<p>“Not much, Courtrey,” she said, “you fast +gun man! You’re too slow. An’ this ain’t your +game, anyway, not face t’ face. You’re all right +on a dark night––<i>an’ from behind</i>. Fine! But +you’re a coward. You’re what I called you before––an +assassin.”</p> +<p>She was pale as ashes, her eyes narrowed to +blazing slits. Jim Last, gun man, was in her like +those composite pictures which show the shadow +in the substance. There was a gasp from the +store porch where Thomas stood with a shaking +hand covering his lips. Baston was stuck against +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +his wall like a leech, rigid. These men knew that +she tempted death.</p> +<p>Not a man in Lost Valley could have done it +and gotten away with it.</p> +<p>Tharon knew it, too, but she did not care.</p> +<p>“An’ now you know what you are, Courtrey. +I’ll tell th’ same to you, Step Service. Law! In +Lost Valley? Yes, Courtrey’s law! Th’ law of +th’ gun alone––th’ law of thieves––th’ law of +murderers. An’ you stand for that, you bet! +What were you before you took th’ oath of office? +Tell me that! Th’ man who killed old Mike +McCrea an’ took his cattle down th’ Wall! Th’ +whole Valley knows it––but we’ve never dared to +say it before!”</p> +<p>The porch was lined with people now. Soft-footed +Indians and Mexican <i>vaqueros</i>, sprung +from nowhere, cowboys, ranchers, women, they +came silently up and listened.</p> +<p>The sheriff’s red face was the colour of liver, +purple and mottled with bursting rage. His fingers +worked at his sides. He set his lips, and his +small eyes never left the girl’s face.</p> +<p>Tharon, crouched a bit, her feet apart, her +elbows crooked above her hips, her fingers curled +on her gun-butts with nice precision, wet her own +pale lips and continued:</p> +<p>“An’ who put you in office? That laugh of an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +office! Who? Why, Courtrey––th’ biggest thief, +th’ coldest murderer in th’ country! <i>He</i> put you +there! An’ what are you good for? My daddy +was shot––<i>in th’ back</i>––an’ did you make one inquiry +into the murder? Come out to Last’s, even +to find a clew? Not you! There’s only one sheriff +in this Valley––one bit o’ law that will avenge his +death––an’ that’s <i>me</i>! Now, you two fine gentlemen––I’m +goin’. There’s my hand! I throw th’ +cards on th’ table! Shoot me in the back if you’ve +got th’ nerve. Come out in th’ open an’ fight! +<i>But you better be quick about it!</i>”</p> +<p>With that she backed slowly along the porch, +keeping them in view.</p> +<p>“Get away behind me,” she called. There was a +path opened instantly, the sound of shuffling feet. +Along the porch she went, step by step, stopping +every moment or so to keep close hold on her +advantage, every nerve strained, every one of her +faculties at the top of its power.</p> +<p>She felt for the step with her foot, went down, +backed through the crowd, brought them all in +the range of the guns which she flashed out now +and held upon them.</p> +<p>She was ashy pale, a flaming, vibrant thing. +Not a man there but knew she was more dangerous +at the moment than cool Jim Last had ever +been, for she radiated hatred of her father’s killer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span> +in every bitter glance. She had none for whom to +be cautious. She was the last of her blood. She +was efficient, and she knew it.</p> +<p>Courtrey knew it, and felt the sweat start on +his skin.</p> +<p>Service knew it, and hated her for it.</p> +<p>As the girl backed clear there came into her +vision a strange figure––the straight, trim figure +of a man who stood stiffly at attention, where her +imperious words had caught him.</p> +<p>He wore a uniform of semi-military style, +leather leggings, a flannel shirt of butternut and a +smart, tan, broad-brimmed hat.</p> +<p>He, too, came in the range of the travelling guns +and waited their pleasure.</p> +<p>Tharon reached El Rey. She stuck her right-hand +weapon in its holster, loosed the rein, flung +it over the stallion’s head, stepped around his +shoulder and mounted deftly and swiftly from the +wrong side. It was a pretty trick of horsemanship +and showed up her adroitness. As El Rey +rose on his hind feet, whirling, that unwavering +muzzle whirled also, to keep in line. The king +struck into his gait and his rider, facing backward, +swung away down the narrow street. +Until she was well out of range the tension +held.</p> +<p>Then Steptoe Service struck a fist into a palm +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +and began to swear in a fury, but Courtrey +laughed, one of his rare, short bursts of mirth that +were more bodeful than oaths.</p> +<p>He turned on his heel and strode back the way +he had come.</p> +<p>The stranger in the uniform walked forward, +went up the steps, crossed the porch, and, stooping, +picked up the meal-sack which Tharon had +dropped.</p> +<p>“Will some one kindly tell me who the young +lady is and where she lives?” he asked gravely.</p> +<p>Baston, unglued from the wall, spoke up with +his usual pompous eagerness.</p> +<p>“Tharon, from Last’s Holdin’,” he said.</p> +<p>“Thanks,” and the man wrapped the sack into +a small bundle and tied it with its own string.</p> +<p>He stuck it under one arm and taking out a +short brown pipe, proceeded to fill and light it.</p> +<p>Courtrey, halted a few rods away, eyed him +sharply.</p> +<p>As he turned, rolling his match to death in his +fingers, the sun struck mellowly upon something +on his breast, a small, dark copper shield which +bore strange heraldry.</p> +<p>At the sight Courtrey’s eyes sought Service’s +and held them for a swift, questioning moment.</p> +<p>Strangers in Lost Valley were contraband.</p> +<p>The three settlers looked covertly at each other, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +drifted apart, got their horses and presently left +town by different ways.</p> +<p>Three hours later these men met by common +consent at the head of Rolling Cove and talked +long and earnestly of the happening. They knew +that Courtrey would never take silently that bitter +arraignment, that something would transpire +swiftly to show his resentment, to prove his absolute +power over Lost Valley.</p> +<p>“’Tain’t Tharon that’ll suffer, even ef he did +try t’ shoot her that night in th’ Golden Cloud, +because Courtrey wants her himself,” said Jameson +quietly, “th’ whole country knows that. There +was only one man who didn’t know it, an’ that +was Jim Last himself. No, he won’t monkey with +th’ Holdin’ yet, not to any great extent. It’ll be +us little fellers, us others who he knows would +stan’ behind her. Some of us’ll lose somethin’ +soon, an’ don’t you forget it.”</p> +<p>“If we do,” said Hill passionately, “it’s time t’ +show our hand. We’ve been hounded long +enough. Th’ men from Last’s will be with us, we +can gamble on that.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Thomas, “but it’ll be war. Open +war. There’ll be killin’s then.”</p> +<p>Jameson, a quiet man with deep eyes, made a +wide gesture.</p> +<p>“What if there is?” he asked, “might’s well be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +done in th’ open as in th’ dark an’ unseen. Might +better be! I move we ride th’ Valley an’ ask th’ +settlers to band together, under Last’s, an’ give +our ultimatum t’ Courtrey on th’ heels of this. +What say you?”</p> +<p>“I say yes,” said Hill swiftly. Thomas, of less +stern stuff, wavered.</p> +<p>“Well, let’s wait awhile. Let’s don’t be too +quick. Courtrey now, he’s mighty quick an’ hot. +They ain’t no tellin’–––”</p> +<p>“All right,” said Jameson promptly, “suit +yourself––we ain’t a-pressin’ no man into this.”</p> +<p>“Why, now, I’m fer it, boys––that is, I’m believin’ +it’s got t’ be done, only I counsels time.”</p> +<p>“No time,” cried Hill, “we ben counselin’ +time an’ quiet an’ not doin’ anything to stir ’em +up, an’ what d’ we get? Cattle stole every spring, +waterholes taken an’ fenced fer Courtrey’s stock +right on th’ open range, hogs drove off, fences tore +down, like pore old John Dement’s an’ some of +us left t’ rot every year in some coulee. We +done waited a sight too long. Courtrey thinks he +owns Lost Valley, an’ he comes near doin’ it, +what with his hired killers, Wylackie an’ Black +Bart an’ this new gun man that’s just come in. I +heered today he’s from Arizona, an’ imported +article.”</p> +<p>Jameson turned to him and held out his hand. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span></p> +<p>“I’m goin’ to ride tomorrow,” he said.</p> +<p>Hill grasped the extended hand and looked hard +in the other’s eyes.</p> +<p>“Me, too,” he said.</p> +<p>Thomas, still of the timid, doubting heart, +watched them with a hand over his mouth to hide +its shaking.</p> +<p>Without a word the others turned their horses +and rode away in different directions. As they +went farther from him in the wash of the late light +the uncertain hand came down with a jerk. Fear +was in his eyes, the deep, quaking fear of the man +poor in courage, but he beat it down.</p> +<p>“Boys!” he cried in a panic, “don’t leave me +out! For God’s sake, don’t think I ain’t willin’! +I’ll be out come day tomorrow!”</p> +<p>The others both stopped and turned in their +saddles.</p> +<p>“Glad to hear ye come through, Thomas,” +called Jameson, “you ride south along th’ Rockface. +You’ll go over Black Coulee way, won’t +ye, Dan?”</p> +<p>“I will,” said Hill.</p> +<p>“Good. I’ll go north.”</p> +<p>There was a quiet grimness in the few words, +for he who rode north on such an errand tempted +fate.</p> +<p>Then the three separated, and there was only +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +the silence and the red light of the dying day at +the head of Rolling Cove.</p> +<p>That same evening Tharon Last sat in her +western doorway and watched the sun go down +in majesty over the weathered peaks and ridges of +the Cañon Country.</p> +<p>Billy Brent lounged on the hard earth beside the +step, his fair head shining in the afterglow, his +grey eyes upon the girl’s face in a sort of idol-worship.</p> +<p>The curve of her cheek, golden with tan and +red with the hue of youth, was more to him than +all the sunsets the world had ever seen.</p> +<p>A deep light shone in his young eyes which, had +the girl been wise, she might have seen. But +Tharon was as elemental as the kitten chasing a +moth out by the pansy bed, and could look in a +man’s face with the unconscious eyes of a child.</p> +<p>Now she watched the pageant of the dying day +in a rapt delight.</p> +<p>“Billy,” she said presently, “I’ve often wondered +if there’s another place in all the world as +lovely as our Valley. Jim Last told me once that +there were places so much bigger out below, that +we wouldn’t be a patchin’ to them. Don’t seem +like there could be.”</p> +<p>She lifted her slim body up along the doorpost +and looked long and earnestly all up and down the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +wonderful stretch of country that lay along the +Wall from north to south. She could see the tiny +dots that went for the different homesteads, scattered +here and there. Up at the head there lay, +hard against the frowning hills, the squat, wide +blur that was Courtrey’s Stronghold. Her lips +compressed at sight of it.</p> +<p>“Nope,” she said, shaking her head, “I don’t +believe he meant it. He used to tease me a lot, +you know. It’s an awful big valley, an’ no +mistake.”</p> +<p>The rider, who had drifted up along the Wall +five years before, looked down at the playing +kitten and smiled with a lean crinkling of his +cheeks.</p> +<p>“It’s a sure-enough big place, Tharon,” he +said gravely, “an’ it’s lovely as Eden.”</p> +<p>“Huh?” said Tharon, “where’s that, Billy?”</p> +<p>The boy sobered and looked up into her blue +eyes.</p> +<p>“Why, Tharon,” he whispered, “that’s where +th’ heart is.”</p> +<p>For a moment she regarded him. Then she +smiled.</p> +<p>“Billy,” she said severely, “you’re stringin’ +your boss. I’m sure goin’ to fire you, some day, +like I ben a-threatenin’.”</p> +<p>“Do––an’ hire me over!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span></p> +<p>“Nope.”</p> +<p>The girl shut her pretty lips and the man’s +hand crept softly up and touched her wrist where +it lay against her knee.</p> +<p>“All right,” he said airily, “gimme my time. +I quit.”</p> +<p>There was an odd note in his voice, as if under +the play there was a purpose. For a second +Tharon held her breath.</p> +<p>“What you mean, Billy?” she asked so sharply +that the boy jumped.</p> +<p>Then he laughed, still in that light fashion.</p> +<p>“What I said,” he affirmed doggedly.</p> +<p>But the mistress of Last’s took a clutch on his +hand that was authority in force and leaned down +to look anxiously in his face.</p> +<p>“Why, Billy,” she said with a quiver in her +voice, “Last’s couldn’t run without you, boy. +An’ what’s more, I thought all th’ riders of th’ +Holdin’ would stand by th’ place.”</p> +<p>Billy, fully sobered, straightened up and held +hard to that clutching hand. The red light of the +sunset flushed his cheeks, but it never set the glow +that was in his eyes.</p> +<p>“Don’t you know yet, Tharon,” he said quietly, +“when I’m a-jokin’ with you? I’d stand by Last’s +an’ you to my last breath. Don’t you know +that?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span></p> +<p>For a long moment Tharon regarded him +gravely.</p> +<p>“Yes, I do,” she said, “but somehow I don’t +like to have you talk that-a-way, Billy. Don’t +do it no more.”</p> +<p>“All right,” promised the rider, “if you say +so, Boss. Only don’t talk about firin’ me, then. +I’m very sensitive.”</p> +<p>And he looked away with smiling eyes to where +the deep black shadows fell prone into the Valley +from the forbidding face of the great Wall.</p> +<p>Only the towering peaks were alight with crimson +and gold, which haloed their bulk in majestic +mystery.</p> +<p>Night was coming fast across Lost Valley, while +the tree-toads out by the springhouse set up their +nightly chorus.</p> +<p>“It’s Eden,” thought the man, “as sure’s th’ +world, made an’ forgot with all its trimmin’s––innocence +an’ sweetness an’ plenty, an’ th’ silence +of perfect peace, not to overlook th’ last unnecessary +evil, th’ livin’ presence of his majesty, th’ +devil.”</p> +<p>Then the light died wholly and there came the +disturbing sound of boots on the ringing stones. +The rest of the riders were coming in to claim +their share of Billy’s Eden.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV_UNBROKEN_BREAD' id='CHAPTER_IV_UNBROKEN_BREAD'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +<h3>UNBROKEN BREAD</h3> +</div> +<p>Jameson, Hill and Thomas were as good as +their word. During the week that followed +the spectacular denouncement of Courtrey +and Service at Baston’s store, they went quietly to +every settler in the Valley and declared themselves. +In almost every instance they met with eager +pledges of approval. They knew, every man of +them, that this slow banding together for resistance +against Courtrey and his power meant open +war. For years they had suffered indignities and +hardship without protest. While Jim Last lived +they had had a sort of leader, an example, though +they had feared to follow in his lead too strongly.</p> +<p>They had copied his methods of guarding possessions, +of corraling every cattle-brute at night, +of keeping every horse under bars. Last had +looked Courtrey in the face. The rest dared not.</p> +<p>Now with Last gone, they felt the lack, as if a +bastion had been razed, leaving them in the open. +Secrecy in Lost Valley had been brought to a +work of art. They could hold their tongues. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span></p> +<p>But with the new knowledge Tharon Last took +on a light, a halo.</p> +<p>Men spoke in whispers about her daring. They +felt it themselves.</p> +<p>Word of her lightning quickness with her daddy’s +guns, of her accuracy, went softly all about +and about, garbled and accentuated. They said +she could shoot the studs from the sides of a +man’s belt and never touch him. They said she +could drive a nail farther than the ordinary man +could see. They said she could draw so swiftly +that the motion of the hands was lost.</p> +<p>A slow excitement took the faction of the settlers.</p> +<p>But out at Last’s Holding a grave anxiety sat +upon Tharon’s riders. Conford knew––and Billy +knew––and Curly knew more about Courtrey’s intent +than some of the others. Young Paula, half +asleep in the deep recesses of the house, had witnessed +that furious encounter by the western door +on the soft spring day when Jim Last had come +home to die at dusk. She knew that the look in +Courtrey’s eyes had been covetousness––and she +had told José. José, loyal and sensible, had told +the boys. So now there was always one or more +of them on duty near the mistress of Last’s on +one pretext or another. To Tharon, who knew +more than all of them put together, this was funny. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span></p> +<p>It stirred the small mirth there was in her these +days, and often she sent them away, to have them +turn up at the most unexpected times and places.</p> +<p>“You boys!” she would say whimsically, “you +think Courtrey’s goin’ to cart me off livin’?”</p> +<p>“That’s just what we are afraid of, Tharon,” +answered Conford gravely once, “we know it’d +not be <i>livin’</i>.”</p> +<p>And Tharon had looked away toward José’s +cross, and frowned.</p> +<p>“No,” she said, “an’ it won’t be any way, <i>livin’</i> +or dead.”</p> +<p>One night toward the end of that week a strange +cavalcade wound up along the levels, past the head +of Black Coulee, forded the Broken Bend in silence +save for the stroke of hoof and iron shoe on +stone, and went toward Last’s. There were thirty +men, riding close, and they had nothing to say in +the darkness.</p> +<p>At the Holding Tharon Last waited them on +her western doorstep.</p> +<p>As they rode in along the sounding-board the +muffled ringing of the hoofs seemed to the girl as +the call of clarions. The heart in her breast +leaped with a strange thrill, a gladness. She felt +as if her father’s spirit stood behind her waiting +the first step toward the fulfillment of her promise.</p> +<p>The riders stopped in the soft darkness. There +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span> +was no moon and the very winds seemed to have +hushed their whispers in the cottonwoods.</p> +<p>“Tharon,” said the man who rode in the lead, +and she recognized the voice of Jameson from the +southern end of the Valley, “we’ve come.”</p> +<p>That was all. A simple declaration, awaiting +her disposal.</p> +<p>Conford, not half approving, his heart heavy +with foreboding, stood at his mistress’ shoulder +and waited, too.</p> +<p>For a long moment there was no sound save the +eternal tree-toads at their concert. Then the girl +spoke, and it seemed to those shadowy listeners +that they heard again the voice of Jim Last, sane, +commanding, full of courage and conviction.</p> +<p>“I’m glad,” said Tharon simply, “th’ time has +come when Lost Valley has got t’ stand or fall +forever. Courtrey’s gettin’ stronger every day, +more careless an’ open. He’s been content to steal +a bunch of cattle here, another there, a little at a +time. Now he’s takin’ them by th’ herds, like +John Dement’s last month. He’s got a wife, an’ +from what I’ve always heard, she’s a sight too +good fer him. But he wants more––he wants <i>me</i>. +He’s offered me th’ last insult, an’ as Jim Last’s +daughter I’m a-goin’ to even up my score with +him, an’ it’s got three counts. You’ve all got +scores against him.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span></p> +<p>Here there were murmurs through the silent +group.</p> +<p>“Th’ next outrage from Courtrey, on any one +of us, gets all of us together. For every cattle-brute +run off by Courtrey’s band, we’ll take back +one in open day, all of us ridin’. We’ll have to +shoot, but I’m ready. Are you?”</p> +<p>Every man answered on the instant.</p> +<p>“Then,” said the girl tensely, “get down an’ +sign.”</p> +<p>There was a rattle of stirrups and bits, a creak +of leather as thirty men swung off their horses.</p> +<p>Tharon stepped back in the lighted room. Her +men stood there against the walls. The settlers +came diffidently in across the sill, lean, poor men +for the most part, their strained eyes and furrowed +faces showing the effect of hardships. Not +a man there but had seen himself despoiled, had +swallowed the bitter dose in helplessness.</p> +<p>Most of them were married and had families. +Some of them had killings to their record. Many +of them were none too upright.</p> +<p>Jameson was a good man, and so was Dan Hill. +Thomas was merely weak. Buford was a gun +man who had protected his own much better than +the rest. McIntyre was like him. One by one +they came forward as Tharon called them by +name, and leaning down, put their names or their +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +marks to a sheet of paper which bore these few +simple lines:</p> +<p>“We, the signers named below, do solemnly +promise and pledge ourselves to stand together, +through all consequences of this act, for the protection +of our lives and property. For every piece +of property taken from any one of us, we shall go +together and take back it, or its worth, from whoever +took it. For every person killed in any way, +but fair-and-open, we promise to hang the murderer.”</p> +<p>Billy had drafted the document. Tharon, whom +Jim Last had taught her letters, read it aloud. +The names of Last’s Holding headed it. The +thirty names and marks––and of the latter there +were many––stretched to the bottom of the sheet.</p> +<p>When it was done the girl folded it solemnly +and put it away in the depths of the big desk. Old +Anita, watching from the shadows of the eating +room beyond, put her <i>reboso</i> over her head and +rocked in silent grief. She had seen tragic things +before.</p> +<p>Then these lean and quiet men filed out, +mounted the waiting horses and went away in the +darkness, mysterious figures against the stars.</p> +<p>That night Tharon Last sat late by the deep +window in her own room at the south of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +ranch house. It was a huge old room, high walled +and sombre. There were bright blankets hung +like pictures on the walls, baskets marvelously +woven of grass and rushes, thick mats on the floor +made in like manner and of a tough, long-fibred +grass that grew down in a swale beyond the +Black Coulee, while in one corner there shone pale +in the darkness the one great treasure of that unknown +mother, an almost life-size statue of the +Holy Virgin.</p> +<p>Of this beautiful thing Tharon had stood in +awe from babyhood.</p> +<p>A half fearful reverence bowed her before it +on those rare times when Anita, throwing back to +her Mexic ancestors, worshipped with vague rites +at its feet.</p> +<p>Always its waxen hands bore offerings, silent +tribute from the girl’s still nature. Sometimes +these were the prairie flowers, little wild things, +sweet and fragile. Sometimes they were sprays +of the water vines that grew by the wonderful +spring of the Holding.</p> +<p>Again they were strings of bright beads, looped +and falling in glistening cascades over the tarnished +gilt robes of the Virgin.</p> +<p>Under the deep window there was a wide couch, +piled high with a narrow mattress of wild goose +feathers and covered with a crimson blanket. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +Here the girl sat with her arms on the sill and +looked out into the darkness that covered the +Valley. She thought of the thirty men who had +signed her paper, riding far and by in the sounding +basin, returning to their uncertain homes. She +thought of her father asleep under his peaceful +cross, of young Harkness beside him.</p> +<p>She thought of Courtrey and Service and +Wylackie Bob, of Black Bart and the stranger +from Arizona. They were a hard bunch to +tackle.</p> +<p>They had the Valley under their thumbs to do +with as they pleased, like the veriest Roman potentate +of old. Her daddy had told her once, when +she was small and lonely of winter nights, strange +old tales of rulers and their helpless subjects. Jim +Last could talk when he needed, though he was +a man of conserved speech.</p> +<p>Yes, Courtrey was like a king in Lost Valley, +absolute. She thought of the many crimes done +and laid to his door since she could remember, of +countless cattle run off, of horses stolen and shamelessly +ridden in grinning defiance of any who +might dare to identify them, of Cap Hart killed +on the Stronghold’s range and left to rot under the +open skies, a warning like those birds of prey that +are shot and hung to scare their kind. Her soft +lips drew themselves into a hard line, very like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +Jim Last’s, and the heart in her ratified its treaty +with the thirty men.</p> +<p>She had none to mourn her, she thought a trifle +sadly––well Anita and Paula, of course, and there +were her riders. Billy would grieve––he’d kill +some one if she were killed––and Conford and +Jack.</p> +<p>A warm glow pervaded her being. Yes, she had +folks, even if she was the last of her blood.</p> +<p>But she didn’t intend to be killed. She was +right, and she had listened enough to Anita to +believe with a superstitious certainty, that right +was invulnerable. For instance, if she and Courtrey +should draw at the same second, she believed +absolutely, that because she was in the right, her +bullet would travel a bit the swifter, her aim be +truer. She felt in her heart with a profound conviction +that some day she would kill Courtrey. +She thought of his wife, Ellen, a pale flower of a +woman, white as milk, with hair the colour of +unripe maize, and wondered if she loved the man +who made her life hell, so the Valley whispered. +Tharon wondered how it would seem to love a +man, as women who were wives must love their +men––if the agony of loss to Ellen could be as +acute and terrifying as hers had been ever since +that soft night in spring when her best friend, Jim +Last, had come home on El Rey. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span></p> +<p>She thought of the grey look on his face, of +the pinched line at his nostrils’ base, and the tears +came miserably under her lids, she laid her head on +the cloth mat that covered the wide window ledge +and wept like any child for a time. Then she +wiped her face with her hands, sighed, and fell +again to thinking.</p> +<p>An hour later as she rose to make ready for +bed, she thought she caught a faint sound out +where the little rock-bordered paths ran in what +she was pleased to call her garden, since a few +hardy flowers grew by the spring’s trickle, and +she held her breath to listen. It was nothing, +however, she thought, and turned into the deep +room.</p> +<p>Only the tree-toads, long since silent, knew that +a cigarette, carefully shielded in a palm, glowed +in the darkness.</p> +<p>Two days after this a visitor came to Last’s. +From far down they saw him coming, in the mid-morning +while the work of the house went forward. +Paula, bringing a pan of milk from the +springhouse spied him first and stopped to satisfy +her young eyes with the unwonted appearance of +him. She looked long, and hurried in to tell her +mistress.</p> +<p>“Señorita,” she said excitedly, “see who comes! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +A stranger who has different clothes from +any other. He rides not like Lost Valley men, +either, being too stiff and straight. Come, see.”</p> +<p>And Tharon, busy about the kitchen in her +starched print dress, dropped everything at once +to run with Paula to the western door of the living +room that they might look south.</p> +<p>“<i>Muchachas</i> both,” complained old Anita, +“the milk is spilled and the <i>pan dulce</i> burns in the +oven! Tch, tch!”</p> +<p>But the young creatures in the west door cared +naught for her grumbling.</p> +<p>“Who can it be, to come so, Señorita?” wondered +Paula, her brown cheek beside her mistress, +“is he not handsome!”</p> +<p>“For mercy sake, Paula,” chided Tharon +laughing, “I believe you’d look for beauty in th’ +ol’ Nick himself if he rode up. But I’ve seen +this man before.”</p> +<p>“Where? When?”</p> +<p>“In town that day I met Courtrey an’ Service. +I remember seen’ him come into line as I backed +out––he was standin’ between th’ racks an’ th’ +porch, somewhere.” And she narrowed her eyes +and studied the rider as he came jogging up across +the range.</p> +<p>“H’m,” she said presently, “he does ride +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +funny. I bet he ain’t rode range much in <i>his</i> life. +Stiff as a ramrod, an’ no mistake.”</p> +<p>Then with an unconscious grace and poise that +set well upon her as the mistress of Last’s, Tharon +moved into the open door and waited.</p> +<p>As the stranger came closer both girls subjected +him to a frank and careful scrutiny that in any +other place than Lost Valley would have been +rudeness itself.</p> +<p>Here it catalogued the stranger, set the style +of his welcome.</p> +<p>It left him stripped of surprise, outwardly, +before he was within speaking distance.</p> +<p>It told the observers that he was young, of some +twenty-six or seven, that his face, the first point +taken in with lightning swiftness––was different +from most faces they had ever seen, that it was +open, smiling, easy, that he was straight as a +ramrod, indeed, that he rode as if he feared +nothing in the earth or the heavens, that he carried +no gun, that he wore the peculiar uniform that +Tharon had noticed before, and that there was +something on his breast, a dark shield of some +sort which made them think of Steptoe Service and +his disgraced sheriff’s star. This thought brought +a frown to Tharon’s brows, and it was there to +greet the stranger when he rode up to the step and +halted, his smart tan hat in his hand. The morning +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +sun burned warmly down on his dark hair, +which was brushed straight back from his forehead +in a way unknown in those parts. His dark +eyes, slow and deep but somehow merry, took in +the pretty picture in the door.</p> +<p>“Miss Last?” he asked in a low voice.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Tharon promptly and waited.</p> +<p>Every one waited in Lost Valley for a stranger +to make known his business. Paula drew back +behind her mistress.</p> +<p>The man sat still on his horse and waited, too. +The silence became profound. The hens cackling +about the barns intruded sharply.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said presently, “I am a stranger, +and I came to see you.”</p> +<p>The girl in the doorway felt a hot surge of +discomfort flare over her for the first time in her +life for such a reason.</p> +<p>There was something in the low voice that implied +a lack, accused her of something. She +resented it instantly.</p> +<p>“If that is so,” she said slowly, “light.”</p> +<p>The man laughed delightedly, and swung +quickly down, dropping his rein. Tharon noticed +that. That much was natural. He held his hat +against his breast with one hand and came forward +with the same quickness, holding out the +other. Tharon was not used to shaking hands +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +with strange men. She gave her hand diffidently, +because he so evidently expected it, and took it +away swiftly.</p> +<p>“My name,” he said, “is Kenset––David +Kenset, and I am from Washington, D. C.”</p> +<p>He might as well have said Timbuctoo. Tharon +Last knew little outside her own environment. +Words and names that had to do with unknown +places were vague things to her.</p> +<p>“Yes?” she answered politely, “I make no +doubt you’ve come far. Come in. Dinner’ll soon +be ready,” and she moved back from the door +with a smile that covered her pitiful ignorance as +with a garment of gold. When Tharon smiled +like that she was wholly adorable, and the man +knew it at once.</p> +<p>Why she had so quickly invited him in before +he had fully declared himself, she did not know, +unless it was because of that lack in her which his +first words had implied.</p> +<p>Old Anita, whose manners were the simple and +perfect ones of the Mexican coupled to a kindly +heart, had taught her how to comport.</p> +<p>Her easy and constant association with the +riders and <i>vaqueros</i> had dulled her somewhat, but +she could be royal on occasion.</p> +<p>Now she simply stepped back in the deep cool +room where the <i>ollas</i> swung in the windows, smiled––and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +she was changed entirely from the girl of a +few moments before.</p> +<p>The man came in, laid his hat on the flat top +of the melodeon, walked over to a chair and sat +down. There was an ease about him, a taking-for-granted, +that amazed Tharon beyond words.</p> +<p>Then he looked frankly at her and began to +talk as if he had known her always.</p> +<p>“I’ve come to live in Lost Valley, Miss Last,” +he said, “for a long while, I think. Wish me +luck.”</p> +<p>“Come here to live?” said Tharon, “a settler? +Goin’ to homestead?”</p> +<p>He shook his head.</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>A quick suspicion seized her. Perhaps Washington +was like Arizona, a place from which they +imported gun men. Only this man wore no gun, +and he had not a look of prowess. No. This +man was different.</p> +<p>“Then what you goin’ to do?” she asked as +frankly as a child.</p> +<p>“First,” he said, “I’m going up where the pines +grow yonder and build myself a house,” and he +waved a hand toward the east where the ranges +rolled up to the thickening fringes of the forest +that marched back into the ramparts of the trail-less +hills. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span></p> +<p>“I want to find an ideal spot, a glade where +the pines stand round the edges, with a spring of +living water running down, and where I can look +down and over the magnificent reaches of Lost +Valley. I shall make me a home, and then I shall +work.”</p> +<p>“Ride?” asked the girl succinctly.</p> +<p>“Ride? Of course, that will be a great part of +that work.”</p> +<p>“Who for?”</p> +<p>He looked at her sharply.</p> +<p>“Who for?”</p> +<p>“Yes. What outfit?”</p> +<p>There was a hard quality in her voice. If he +had come in to ride for Courtrey, why he must +know at once that Last’s was no friend of his, +now or ever.</p> +<p>He caught the drift of her thought in part.</p> +<p>“For no outfit, Miss Last,” he said with a +gentle dignity. “I am in the employ of the +United States Government.”</p> +<p>A swift change came over Tharon’s face.</p> +<p>Government!</p> +<p>That was no word to conjure by in Lost Valley. +Steptoe Service prated of Gov’ment. It was a +farce, a synonym for juggled duty, a word to suggest +the one-man law of the place, for even Courtrey, +who made the sheriffs––and unmade them––did +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +it under the grandiloquent name of Government. +She looked at him keenly, and there was a +sudden hardening in her young eyes.</p> +<p>“Then I reckon, Mister,” she said coolly, +“that you an’ me can’t be friends.”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“No, sir.”</p> +<p>“Are you in earnest?”</p> +<p>“Certainly am,” said Tharon. “I ain’t on +good terms at present with anything that has t’ do +with law.”</p> +<p>David Kenset leaned forward and looked into +her face with his deep, compelling eyes.</p> +<p>“I guessed as much from my first knowledge +of you the other day,” he answered, “but we are +on unfamiliar ground. You have a wrong conception +of Government, a perverted idea of law +and what it stands for.”</p> +<p>“All right, Mister,” said the girl rising. “We +won’t argy. I asked you t’ dinner, but I take it +back. I ask ye t’ forgive me my manners, but th’ +sooner we part th’ better. Then we won’t be a-hurtin’ +each other’s feelin’s. I’m fer law, too, +but it ain’t your kind, an’ we ain’t likely to agree.”</p> +<p>She picked up his hat from where it lay on the +melodeon and fingered it a bit, smiling at him in +the ingenuous manner that was utterly disarming. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span></p> +<p>A slow dark flush spread over the man’s face. +He laughed, however, and in reaching for the hat, +caught two of her fingers, whether purposely or +not, Tharon could not tell.</p> +<p>“Admirable hospitality in the last frontier,” +he said. “But perhaps I should not have expected +anything different.”</p> +<p>“You make me ashamed,” said Tharon +straightly, “but Last’s ain’t takin’ chances these +days. You may belong to Government, an’ you +may belong to Courtrey, an’ I’m against ’em +both.”</p> +<p>She walked with him to the door, stepped out, +as if with some thought to soften her unprecedented +treatment of the stranger under her roof. +She noted the trim figure of him in its peculiar +garb, the proud carriage, the even and easy comportment +under insult.</p> +<p>From his saddle he untied a package wrapped +in paper.</p> +<p>“Will you please take this?” he asked lightly, +holding it out. “Just on general principles.”</p> +<p>But she shook her head.</p> +<p>“I can’t take no favours from you when I’ve +just took stand against you, can I?” she asked +in turn.</p> +<p>“Well, of all the ridiculous–––”</p> +<p>The man laughed again shortly, tossed the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +package on the step, mounted, whirled and rode +away without a backward glance.</p> +<p>Tharon stood frowning where he left her until +the brown horse and its rider were well down +along the levels toward Black Coulee.</p> +<p>Then a sigh at her shoulder recalled her and +she turned to see the wistful dark face of Paula +gazing raptly in the same direction.</p> +<p>“He was so handsome, Señorita,” said the +girl, “to be so hardly dealt with.”</p> +<p>“Paula,” said the mistress bitingly, “will you +remember who you’re talkin’ to? Do you want +to go back to th’ Pomos under th’ Rockface?”</p> +<p>“Saints forbid!” cried Paula instantly.</p> +<p>“Then keep your sighs for José an’ mind your +manners. Pick up that bundle.”</p> +<p>Swiftly and obediently the girl did as she was +told, unrolling the wrapper from the package.</p> +<p>She brought to light the meal-sack which +Tharon had dropped that day on Baston’s porch.</p> +<p>A slow flush stained Tharon’s cheeks at the +sight, and she went abruptly into the house.</p> +<p>When the riders came in at night she told them +in detail about the whole affair, for Last’s and its +men were one, their interests the same.</p> +<p>They held counsel around the long table in the +dining room under the hanging lamp, and Conford +at her right was spokesman for the rest. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span></p> +<p>“He’s somethin’ official, all right, I make no +doubt, Tharon,” he said when he had listened +attentively, “but what or who I don’t know. I +heard from Dixon about him comin’ into Corvan +that day, an’ that he had rode far. No one knows +his business, or what he’s in Lost Valley for. He’s +some mysterious.”</p> +<p>“He’s goin’ to stay, so he told me,” went on +the girl, “goin’ to build a house up where the +pines begin an’ means to ride. But how’ll he live? +What an’ who will he ride for? He said for +Government.”</p> +<p>“What’s he mean by that?”</p> +<p>“Search me.”</p> +<p>“Wasn’t there nothin’ about him different? +Nothin’ you could judge him by?” asked +Billy.</p> +<p>“Yes, there was. He wore somethin’ on his +breast, a sign, a dull-like thing with words an’ +letters on it.”</p> +<p>“So?” said Conford quickly, “what was it +like, Tharon? Can’t you describe it?”</p> +<p>“Can with a pencil,” said Tharon, rising. +“Come on in.”</p> +<p>She went swiftly to the big desk in the other +room and rummaged among its drawers for paper +and pencil. These things were precious in Lost +Valley. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span></p> +<p>Jim Last had had great stacks of paper, neat, +glazed sheets with faint lines upon them, made +somewhere in that mysterious “below” and +brought in by pack train. It was on one of these, +with the distinctive words “Last’s Holding” +printed at the top, that the thirty men had signed +themselves into the new law of the Valley.</p> +<p>To Tharon these sheets had always been magic, +invested with grave dignity.</p> +<p>Anything done upon them was of import, +irrevocable.</p> +<p>Thus had Jim Last inscribed the semi-yearly +letters that went down the Wall with the cattle, +or for supplies.</p> +<p>Now she spread a shining pad under the light, +sat down in her father’s chair and began, carefully +and minutely to reproduce the badge that +meant authority of a sort, yet was not a sheriff’s +star.</p> +<p>The riders, clustered at her shoulder, watched +the thing take shape and form. At the end of +twenty painstaking minutes Tharon straightened +and looked up in the interested faces.</p> +<p>“There,” she said, “an’ its dull copper +colour!”</p> +<p>And this was the shield with its unknown +heraldry which Conford took up and studied carefully +for a long time. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span></p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_3' id='linki_3'></a> +<img src='images/illus-097.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 106px; height: 121px;' /><br /> +</div> +<p>“‘Forest Service,’” he read aloud, “‘Department +of Agriculture.’ Well, so far as I can see, +it ain’t so terrifyin’. That last means raisin’ +things, like beets an’ turnips an’ so on, an’ as for +th’ forest part, why, if he stays up in his ‘fringe o’ +pines’ I guess we ain’t got no call to kick. Don’t +you worry, Tharon, about this new bird.”</p> +<p>“I’m a darned sight more worried about that +other one, th’ Arizona beauty which Courtrey’s +got in.”</p> +<p>“Forget th’ gun man, Burt,” said Billy, “this +feller’s a heap more interestin’ to me, for I’ve got +a hunch he’s a poet. Now who on this footstool +but a poet would come ridin’ into Lost Valley with +his badge o’ beets an’ his line o’ talk about ‘fringes +o’ pines’ an’ ‘runnin’ streams,’ to quote Tharon?”</p> +<p>“Even poets are human, you young limb,” +drawled Curly in his soft voice, “an’ I’m sorry +for him if he starts your ‘interest,’ so to speak. +He’ll need all his poetic vision t’ survive.”</p> +<p>“I hope, Billy,” said Tharon severely, and with +lofty inconsistency, “that you’ll remember your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +manners an’ not start anything. Last’s is in for +trouble enough without any side issues.”</p> +<p>“True,” said the boy instantly, “I’ll promise +to leave th’ poet alone.”</p> +<p>Then the talk fell about the new well that had +taken the place of the old Crystal and which was +proving a huge success.</p> +<p>“Can’t draw her dry,” said Bent Smith, “pulled +all of three hours with Nick Bob an’ Blue Pine +yesterday an’ never even riled her.</p> +<p>“She’s good as th’ Gold Pool or th’ Silver +Hollow now.”</p> +<p>“You’re some range man t’ make any such a +comparison,” said Curly with conviction, “there +ain’t no artificial water-well extent that can hold a +candle t’ th’ real livin’ springs of a cattle country, +when they’re such bubblin’, shinin’ beauties as th’ +Springs of Last’s.”</p> +<p>“You’re right, Curly,” said Tharon quietly +from under the light, “there’s nothin’ like them. +They must be th’ blessin’s of God, an’ no mistake. +They’re th’ stars at night, an’ th’ winds an’ th’ +sunshine. They’re th’ lovers of th’ horses, th’ +treasure of th’ masters. I love my springs.”</p> +<p>“So do th’ herds,” put in Jack Masters. +“They’ll come fast at night now because they can +smell th’ water far off, an’ it’s gettin’ pretty dry +on th’ range.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span></p> +<p>“Yes,” sighed Tharon, “it’s summer now, an’ +Jim Last died in spring. A whole season +gone.”</p> +<p>A whole season had gone, indeed, since that +tragic night.</p> +<p>Last’s Holding had missed its master at each +turn and point. A thousand times did Conford, +the foreman, catch himself in the act of going +to the big room to find him at his desk, a big, vital +force, intent on the accounts of the ranch, a thousand +times did he long for his keen insight. The +<i>vaqueros</i> missed him and his open hand.</p> +<p>The very dogs at the steps missed him, and so +did El Rey, waiting in his corral for the step that +did not come, the strong hand on his bit.</p> +<p>And how much his daughter missed him only +the stars and the pale Virgin knew.</p> +<p>For the next few days following the short, +awkward visit of the stranger Tharon felt a +prickle of uneasiness under her skin at every +thought of it. There was something in the memory +that confused and distressed her, a feeling of +failure, of a lack in her that put her in a bad light +to herself.</p> +<p>She knew that, instinctively, she had been protecting +her own, that since Last’s had stepped out +in the light against Courtrey she must take no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +chance. But should she have taken back the common +courtesy of the offered meal? Would it not +have been better to let him stay and meet Conford +who would have been in at noon?</p> +<p>She vexed herself a while with these questions, +and then dismissed them with her cool good +sense.</p> +<p>“It’s done,” she told herself, “an’ can’t be +helped. An’ yet, there was somethin’ about him, +somethin’ that made me think of Jim Last himself––somethin’ +in his quiet eyes––as if they had +both come from somewhere outside Lost Valley +where they grow different men. It was a––bigness, +a softness. I don’t know.”</p> +<p>And with that last wistful thought she forgot +all about the incident and the man, for the prediction +of Jameson that dusk at the head of Rolling +Cove became reality.</p> +<p>Dixon, who lived north along the Wall near +the Pomo settlement, lost ten head of steers, all +white and deeply earmarked, unmistakable cattle +that could not be disguised.</p> +<p>Courtrey was resenting the vague something +in the air that was crystallizing into resistance +about him.</p> +<p>Word of the stealing ran about the Valley +like a grass fire, more boldly than usual.</p> +<p>It came to Last’s in eighteen hours, brought by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +a horseman who had carried it to many a lonely +homestead.</p> +<p>Tharon received it with a thrill of joy.</p> +<p>“Good enough,” she said, “no use wasting +time.”</p> +<p>And she sent out a call for the thirty men.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V_THE_WORKING_OF_THE_LAW' id='CHAPTER_V_THE_WORKING_OF_THE_LAW'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +<h3>THE WORKING OF THE LAW</h3> +</div> +<p>It was a clear, bright morning in early summer. +All up and down Lost Valley the little +winds wimpled the grass where the cattle +grazed, and brought the scent of flowers. In the +thin, clear atmosphere points and landmarks stood +out with wonderful boldness.</p> +<p>The homesteads set in the endless green like +tiny gems, the stupendous face of the Wall, +stretching from north to south and sheer as a +plumb line for a thousand feet, was fretted with +a myriad of tiny seams and crevasses not ordinarily +visible.</p> +<p>Far up at the Valley’s head against the huge +uplift of the jumbled and barren rocklands the +scattered squat buildings of the Stronghold +brooded like a monster.</p> +<p>Spread out on the velvet slopes below lay the +herds that belonged to it, sleek fat cattle, guarded +carelessly by a few lazy and desultory riders. +Courtrey was too secure in his insolent might to +take those rigid and untiring precautions which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +were the only price of safety to the lesser men of +the community. Toward the south where the Valley +narrowed to the Bottle Neck and the Broken +Bend went out, there shimmered and shone like +a silver ribbon hung down the cliff the thin, long +shower of Vestal’s Veil fall.</p> +<p>The roar of it could be heard for miles like the +constant and incessant wail of winds in time-worn +cañons.</p> +<p>Along the floor of the Cup Rim range, sunken +and hidden from the upper levels, there rode a +compact group of horsemen. They went abreast, +in column of fours, and they were armed to the +teeth, a bristling presentation. All in all there +were forty-two of them and at their head rode +Tharon on El Rey, a slim and gallant young +figure.</p> +<p>Her bright hair, tied with a scarlet ribbon, +shone under her wide hat like an aureole. She +talked with Conford who rode beside her, and now +and then she smiled, for all the world as if she +went to some young folks’ gathering, instead of to +the first uncertain issue of blind mob law against +outlaws.</p> +<p>But if she felt a lightness of excitement in her +heart it was more than actuated by the grim and +quiet band that followed.</p> +<p>They knew––and she knew, also––that what +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +they did this day, in the open sunlight, meant +savage strife and bloodshed for some as sure as +death.</p> +<p>For two hours they rode across the sunken +range where the cottonwoods and aspens made a +lovely and mottled shade, to reach at last the +sharp ascent to the uplands above. When they +topped the rim and started forward, the huge +herds of Courtrey lay spread before them, bright +as paint on the living green. Two thousand cattle +grazed there in peace and plenty. Here and +there a rider sat his horse in idleness. At the +first sight of the solidly formed mass coming out +of the Cup Rim on to the levels, these riders +straightened in their saddles and rode in closer +to their charges.</p> +<p>The eyes of the newcomers went over the bright +pattern of the grazing cattle. A motley bunch +they were, red, black and white, with here and +there descendants of the yellows which none but +John Dement had ever owned in Lost Valley. +Dement, riding near the head of the line saw this +and muttered in his beard.</p> +<p>“Thar’s some o’ mine,” he said pointing, “th’ +very ones that was stampeded. I’d know ’em in +hell.”</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_4' id='linki_4'></a> +<img src='images/illus-104.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 384px; height: 471px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 384px;'> +SHE TALKED WITH CONFORD WHO RODE BESIDE HER AND NOW AND THEN SHE SMILED<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>With the nearing of the line of horsemen a +rider detached himself from the right of the herd +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +and went sailing away across the levels toward the +distant Stronghold.</p> +<p>Quick as a flash Tharon Last lifted the rifle that +lay ready on her pommel and sent a shot whining +toward him.</p> +<p>“Just to show we mean business,” she muttered +to herself.</p> +<p>The cowboy caught the warning and drew his +running horse up to slide ten feet on its haunches.</p> +<p>He had meant to warn his boss, but a chance +was one thing, certainty another.</p> +<p>“Dixon––Dement,” called Tharon rising in her +stirrups, “when we get to work you pick out as +near as you can, cattle that look like yours, an’ th’ +same amount––not a head more.”</p> +<p>Then they swung forward at a run and swept +down along the left flank of the herd. Here a +rider raised his arm and fired point blank at the +leaders. One-two-three his six-gun counted. He +was a lean youngster, scarce more than a boy, a +wild admirer of Courtrey, and he stood his defence +with a sturdy gallantry that was worthy of +a better cause.</p> +<p>“Damn you!” he yelled, standing in his stirrups, +“what’s this?”</p> +<p>“Law!” pealed the high voice of Tharon as +El Rey thundered down toward him. Then +Buford, riding midway of the sweeping line, fired +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +and the boy dropped his gun, swayed and clung +to his saddle horn as his horse bolted and tore off +at a tangent to the right, away from the herd.</p> +<p>“God!” cried the girl hoarsely, “I wish we +didn’t have to! Did you kill him?”</p> +<p>“No,” called Buford sharply, “broke his arm.”</p> +<p>Tharon, to whom the high blue vault had +seemed suddenly to swing in strange circles, shut +her teeth with a click.</p> +<p>Abreast of the cattle she swerved El Rey aside, +drew her guns and waited.</p> +<p>In among the grazing cattle, many of which +had raised startled heads to eye the intruders, +went the men. They worked swiftly and deftly. +They knew that they were in plain sight of the +Stronghold and expected every moment to see +Courtrey and a dozen riders come boiling out. +Those cowboys who had been in charge of the +herd, sat where they were, without a move. Out +of the bright mass the settlers cut first the ten +head of steers, as nearly as possible all white, to +take the place of Dixon’s band. Thomas and +Black stood guard over them. Then they went +back and took out yellows and yellow-spotted to +the number of one hundred. It was fast work, +the fastest ever done on the Lost Valley ranges, +and every nerve was strained like a singing wire.</p> +<p>Under the dust cloud raised by the plunging +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +hoofs, the whirling horses, the workers kept as +close together as possible.</p> +<p>They rounded up the cut-outs, bunched them +together compactly and swinging into a half circle, +drove them rapidly back toward the oak-fringed +edge of the Cup Rim. They passed close to where +the slim boy stood by his horse, trying to wind +the big red kerchief from his neck about his right +arm from which the blood ran in a bright stream. +Tharon swung out of her course and shot toward +him.</p> +<p>“Here,” she cried swiftly, “let me tie it.”</p> +<p>“To hell with you,” said the lad bitterly, raising +blazing eyes to her face. “You’ve made me +false t’ Courtrey. I’d die first.”</p> +<p>“Die, then!” she flung back, “an’ tell your +master that th’ law is workin’ in this Valley at +last!”</p> +<p>As the last rider of the cavalcade went down +over the slanting edge of the Cup Rim there came +the sound of quick shots snapping in the distance +and the belated sight of riders streaming down +from the Stronghold hurried the descent.</p> +<p>They had reached the level floor of the sunken +range and spread out upon it for better travelling +before Courtrey and his men, some ten or fifteen +riders, appeared on the upper crest.</p> +<p>The settlers stopped instantly at a call from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span> +Conford, drew together behind the cattle, turned +and faced them. They were too far away for +speech, out of rifle range, but the still, grim +defiance of that compact front halted the outlaw +cattle king and his followers.</p> +<p>For the first time in all his years of rising power +in Lost Valley Courtrey felt a challenge. For the +first time he knew that a tide was banking in full +force against him. A red rage flushed up under +his dark skin, and he raised a silent fist and shook +it at the blue heavens.</p> +<p>The grim watchers below knew that gesture, +significant, majestic, boded ill to them.</p> +<p>But Tharon Last, muttering to herself in the +hatred that possessed her of late at sight of +Courtrey, raised her own doubled fist and shook +it high toward him, an answer, an acceptance of +that challenge.</p> +<p>Then they calmly turned and drove the recovered +cattle down along the sloping levels at a +fast trot.</p> +<p>The die was struck. Lost Valley was no longer +a stamping-ground for wrong and oppression. It +had gone to war.</p> +<p>That night the white and yellow herd bedded +at the Holding, <i>vaqueros</i> rode about it all night +long, quietly, softly under the stars. The settlers +walked about, smoking, or sat silently in the darkened +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +living room. At midnight Tharon and young +Paula made huge pots of coffee which they dispensed +along with crullers.</p> +<p>By dawn the cattle were well on their way, +still safeguarded by the band of men, down toward +the homesteads where they belonged.</p> +<p>During that night of unlighted silence plans had +been perfected in low voices, a name chosen for +the band itself. They would call themselves the +Vigilantes, as many another organization had +called itself in the desperate straits that made its +existence imperative.</p> +<p>By sundown the hundred head had been driven, +hot and tired, into John Dement’s corrals, the ten +white steers were bedded by Black’s Spring over +toward the Wall. They had farther to go and +would not reach Dixon’s until the morning.</p> +<p>And with each band there was a group of determined +men.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Word of this exploit ran all over the Valley in +a matter of hours. To each faction it had a deep +significance.</p> +<p>But speech concerning it was sparse as it had +ever been anent the doings of Courtrey. A man’s +tongue was a prisoner to his common sense those +days.</p> +<p>To Tharon Last, busy at her tasks about the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +Holding, it was a vital matter. She felt a strong +surge, an uplift within her. She had begun the +task she had set herself and solemn joy pervaded +her being.</p> +<p>But of all those whom it affected there was +none to whom it meant what it did to Courtrey +himself. In him it set loose something which +burned in him like a consuming fire. Where he +had thought of Tharon Last before with a certain +intent, now he thought of her in a sort of madness. +He was a king himself, in a manner, an eagle, a +prowler of great spaces, a rule-or-ruin force. +Down there on the sloping floor of the Cup Rim +had been a fit mate for him in the slim girl who +had shaken her fist back at him in strong defiance.</p> +<p>He felt his blood leap hot at the thought of her. +She was built of fighting stuff. No pale willy-nilly, +like some he knew who wept whole fountains +daily. No––neither was she like Lola of the +Golden Cloud, past-master of men because she had +belonged to many.</p> +<p>Courtrey, who had run life’s gamut himself, +thought of Tharon Last’s straight young purity +with growing desire.</p> +<p>It began to obsess him with a mania. His +temper, bad at all times, became worse. Ellen, +the veriest slave through her devotion to him, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +found her life at the Stronghold almost unbearable.</p> +<p>She was a white woman, like a lily, with transparent +flesh where the blue veins showed. Her +pale blue eyes, like the painted eyes of a china +doll, were red with constant tears under their corn-silk +lashes. The pale gold hair on her temples +was often damp with the sweat that comes with +agony of soul.</p> +<p>“It jes’ seems I can’t live another minute, +Cleve,” she would tell her brother who lived at +the Stronghold, “seems like I don’t want to. Th’ +very sunlight looks sad t’ me, an’ I hate th’ tree-toads +that are singin’ eternal down in th’ runnel.”</p> +<p>This brother, her only relative, would stir uneasily +at such times and the fire that shot from his +eyes, light, too, under the same corn-silk lashes, +was a rare thing. Nothing but this had ever set +it burning. He was a slight man, narrow-chested +and thin. They had been from run-down stock, +these two, a strain that seemed indigenous to the +Valley, without other memories. Their name was +Whitmore, and they had lived all their lives in a +poor cove up beyond the Valley’s head where the +barren rocklands came down out of the skies. +There had been, besides themselves, only the +father and mother, worn-out workers, who had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +died at last, leaving the brother and sister to live +as best they might in the solitudes.</p> +<p>Here Courtrey had found them, both in their +teens, and he had promptly taken them both along +with their scant affairs. It was about the only +thing to his credit that he had married Ellen, hard +and fast enough, with the offices of a bona fide +justice, a matter which he had regretted often +enough in the years that followed.</p> +<p>It was this knowledge which set the light burning +in Cleve’s eyes.</p> +<p>He knew how Ellen loved Courtrey.</p> +<p>He knew also that Lola of the Golden Cloud +had made the cattle king step lively for over a +year. He saw the daily growing impatience with +which Courtrey regarded his marriage.</p> +<p>He resented with every ounce of the repressed +spirit there was in him the girl’s poor standing +at the Stronghold.</p> +<p>Black Bart and Wylackie Bob treated her with +no more consideration than any of the Indian +serving women. They swore and drank before +her with an abandon that made the young man’s +nails cut deep in his palms at times, the blood +mount high in his white cheeks.</p> +<p>And Ellen drooped like a lily on a broken stem, +brooded over her husband’s absences, and hated +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +the name of Lola, used openly to her as a cruel +joke.</p> +<p>The Stronghold was a huge place. The house +was like the majority of the habitations of the +region, built of adobe and able to stand siege +against a regiment. It was shaded by cottonwoods +and spruces, flanked by corrals and barns +and sheds until the place resembled a small town.</p> +<p>Cleve Whitmore rode for Courtrey but his +heart was not in Courtrey’s game. He was slim +and sullen, dissatisfied, slow of speech, repressed.</p> +<p>He worked early and late and thought a lot.</p> +<p>Courtrey, who kept close count of the favours +he did for others, considered Cleve deep in his debt +and paid him a niggardly wage. So it was, that +when the newly organized Vigilantes under +Tharon Last came out in broad day and took back +their own from Courtrey’s herds, there was one +at the Stronghold who laughed quietly to himself +in sympathy with the defy.</p> +<p>“Good enough,” he told the wide sky and the +silence as he rode herd under the beetling rocklands, +“hope t’ God some one gits him good an’ +plenty.”</p> +<p>But Courtrey was hard to get. His aides and +lieutenants were picked men. He was like a king +in his domain. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span></p> +<p>But if strife and ferment seethed under the +calm surface in Lost Valley, its surges died before +they reached the rolling slopes where the forests +came down to the eastern plains. Up among the +pines and oaks, the ridges and the age-worn, +tumbled rocks David Kenset had found his ideal +spot, his glade where the pines stood guard and a +talking stream ran down. High on the wooded +slopes he had set his mark, begun that home of +which he had told Tharon. From Corvan he +had hired three men, a teamster by the name of +Drake and his two sons, and together they had +felled and dressed trees enough for a cabin, laid +them up with clay brought five miles on mule-back, +roofed the structure with shakes made on the +spot with a froe, and the result was pleasing, indeed, +to this man straight from the far eastern +cities.</p> +<p>The cabin faced southwest, set at an angle to +command the circled glade, the dropping slopes, +the distant range lands, the wooded line of the +Broken Bend, and farther off the levels and slants +of the gently undulating Valley, with the mighty +Rockface of the Wall rising like a mystery beyond. +Kenset cut all trees at the west and south of the +glade, thus forming a splendid doorway into his +retreat, through which all this shone in, like +those wonderful etched landscapes one sometimes +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +sees in tiny toys that fit the narrowed eye.</p> +<p>Before the cabin was finished, Starret, who ran +the regular pack-train, brought in a string of +trunks and boxes which caused much curious comment +in Corvan. These came up, after much +delay, to be dumped in the door yard of the house +in the glade, and Kenset felt as if the gateway to +the outside world might close and he care very +little.</p> +<p>Here was the wilderness, in all verity, here was +work, that greatest of boons, here were health and +plenty and the hazard of outlawry, that he was +beginning to dimly sense under the calmly flowing +currents of Lost Valley.</p> +<p>And here was Romance, as witness the slim girl +who had backed out from a group of men that +first day of his coming––backed out with her guns +upon them, himself included, and mounted a silver +stallion, whose like he had not known existed. In +fact, Kenset had thought he knew horses, but he +stood in open-mouthed wonder before the horses +of Lost Valley––the magnificent Ironwood bays +of Courtrey’s, with their wonderful long manes +and tails that shone like a lady’s hair, the Finger +Marks which he had seen once or twice, and +marvelled at.</p> +<p>With the opening of the boxes the cabin in the +glade took on a look of home, of individuality. A +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span> +big dark rug, woven of strong cord in green and +brown, came out and went down on the rough +floor, leather runners were flung on the two tables, +a student lamp of nickel, a pair of old candlesticks +in hammered brass, added their touch of gleam +and shine to table and shelf-above-the-hearth, college +pennants, in all the colours of the rainbow, +were hung about the walls between four fine prints +in sepia, gay cushions, much the worse for wear, +landed in the handsome chairs, and lastly, but far +from being least, three long shelves beneath the +northern windows were filled to the last inch with +books.</p> +<p>When all these things had been put in place +Kenset stood back and surveyed the room with a +smile in his dark eyes.</p> +<p>“Some spot,” he said aloud, “some spot!”</p> +<p>On the small table that was to do duty as a desk +in the corner between the southwest window and +the fireplace he stacked neatly a mass of literature, +all marked with the same peculiar shield of +the pine trees and the big U. S. that shone always +on his breast.</p> +<p>To the Drakes these things were of quick interest, +but they asked no questions.</p> +<p>When the last thing had been done to the cabin +they set to work and built a smaller cabin for the +good brown horse which Kenset had bought far +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +down to the south and west in the Coast Country, +for Sam Drake told him that Lost Valley +locked its doors to all the world in winter. He +would house his only friend as he housed himself.</p> +<p>When the Drakes, father and sons, were gone +back down to Corvan for good, Kenset stretched +himself, physically and mentally, and began his +life in the last frontier.</p> +<p>He began to be out from dawn to dark riding +the ridges, exploring the wooded slopes, the +boldly upsweeping breasts of the nameless mountains, +making friends with the rugged land. It +was a beautiful country, hushed and silent, save for +the soft song of the pines, the laughter of streams +that ran to the Valley, cold as snow and clear as +wind. Strange flowers nodded on tall stems in +glade and opening, peeped from the flat earth by +stone and moss-bed. Few birds were here, +though squirrels were plentiful.</p> +<p>Sometimes he saw a horseman sitting on some +slant watching him intently. These invariably +rode rapidly away on being discovered, not troubling +to return his salute of a hand waved high +above him.</p> +<p>“Funny tribe,” he told himself, half puzzled, +half irritated, “their manners seem to be peculiarly +their own. As witness the offered meal so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +calmly ‘taken back’ by the young highway-woman +of Last’s Holding.”</p> +<p>That had rankled. Sane as Kenset was, as cool +and self-contained, he could not repress a cold +prickle of resentment at that memory.</p> +<p>He had gone to the Holding in such good faith, +actuated by a lively desire to see Tharon again +after that one amazing meeting at Baston’s steps, +and he had been so readily received at first, so +coolly turned out at last. But he had not forgotten +the look in the girl’s blue eyes, nor the disarming +smile which had seemed to make it reasonable.</p> +<p>She merely did not hold with law, and wanted +him to have no false impressions. This incident +furnished him with more food for thought than +he was aware of in those first long days when he +rode the silent forest.</p> +<p>What was Tharon Last, anyway? What did +she mean by those words of hers about his law +and hers? That they were not the same sort of +law––that he and she would not agree?</p> +<p>They could not be friends, she had said.</p> +<p>Well, Kenset was not so sure of that. There +was something about this girl of the guns that +sent a thrill tingling in his blood already, made +him recall each expression of her speaking face, +each line of her lean young figure. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span></p> +<p>He did not go near Last’s again, though his +business took him far and by in the Valley, for the +big maps, hung on a rack beyond his fireplace, +covered full half the ranges thereof and stretched +away into the mysterious and illimitable forests +that went up and away into the eastern mountains.</p> +<p>It was as if some fateful Power at Washington +had set down a careless finger on a map of the +U.\S.\A., and said to Kenset, “Here is your +country,” without knowledge or interest. Sometimes +he wondered if there was another forest +in the land as utterly lost as this, as little known.</p> +<p>But with this wonder came a thrill. He had read +romances of the great West in his youth and felt +a vague regret that he had not lived in the rollicking +days of ’49. Now as he rode his new domain +he smiled to himself and thought that out of a +modern college he had been set back half a century. +Here was the rule of might, if he was not +mistaken. Here was romance in its most vital +and appealing form. Yes, he felt himself lucky.</p> +<p>So he took up his life and his duties with a vim. +He rode early and late, took notes and gathered +data for his first reports, and set up for himself +in Lost Valley a spreading antagonism.</p> +<p>If he rode herd on the range lands, the timber +sections, there were those who rode herd on him. +Not a movement of his that was not reported faithfully +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +to Courtrey, not a coming or going that was +not watched from start to finish.</p> +<p>And the cattle king narrowed his eyes and listened +to his lieutenants with growing disapproval.</p> +<p>“Took up land, think?” he asked Wylackie +Bob. “Homesteadin’?”</p> +<p>Wylackie shook his head.</p> +<p>“Ain’t goin’ accordin’ to entry,” he said, “no +more’n th’ cabin. Don’t see no signs of tillin’. +He ain’t fencin’, nor goin’ to fence, as near as I +can find out.”</p> +<p>“Cattle?”</p> +<p>“No. Nor horses.”</p> +<p>“Hogs, then?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Damn it! maybe it’s sheep!” and the red +flush rose in the bully’s dark cheeks.</p> +<p>“Don’t think so. Seems like he’s after somethin’, +but what it is I can’t make out.”</p> +<p>But it was not long before the Stronghold +solved the mystery, for Kenset rode boldly in one +day and introduced himself.</p> +<p>It was mid-afternoon, for the cabin in the glade +lay a long way from the Valley’s head, and the +whole big place lay silent as death in the summer +sun.</p> +<p>The Indian serving women were off in the +depths somewhere, the few <i>vaqueros</i> left at home +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +were out about the spreading corrals, and all the +men that counted at the ranch had ridden into +Corvan early in the day.</p> +<p>Only Ellen, pale as a flower, her sweet mouth +drooping, sat listlessly on the hard beaten earth at +the eastern side of the squat house where the +spruce trees grew, her hands folded in her lap, a +sunbonnet covering the golden mass of her hair.</p> +<p>At the sound of his horse’s hoofs on the stone-flagged +yard Kenset saw her start, half rise, fling +a startled look at him and then sink back, as if even +the advent of a stranger was of slight import in +the heavy current of her dull life.</p> +<p>He came in close, drew up, and, with his hat +in his hand, sat smiling down at her. To Kenset +it was more natural to smile than not to.</p> +<p>The girl, for she was scarce more, looked up at +him and he saw at once, even under the disfiguring +headgear, that here was a breaking heart laid open +for all eyes. The very droop and tremble of the +lips were proof.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Courtrey?” he asked gently.</p> +<p>At the words, the smile, the unusual courtesy of +the removed hat, Ellen rose from her chair, a tall, +slim wisp of a woman, whose blue-veined hands +were almost transparent.</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, and waited.</p> +<p>That little waiting, calm, unruffled, made him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +think sharply of Tharon Last who had waited +also for his accounting for himself.</p> +<p>“I am Kenset,” he said, “of over in the foothills. +Is your husband at home?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Ellen, “he’s gone in t’ Corvan.”</p> +<p>There was a world of meaning in the inflection.</p> +<p>“Yes? Now that’s too bad. It’s taken me a +long time to come and I particularly wished to see +him. Do you mind if I wait?”</p> +<p>“Why, no,” said Ellen a bit reluctantly, “no, +sir, I guess not.”</p> +<p>Kenset swung off the brown horse and dropped +the rein.</p> +<p>“Tired, Captain?” he asked whimsically, rubbing +the sweaty mane, while the animal drew a +long whistling breath and in turn rubbed the sticky +brow band on its forehead on Kenset’s arm.</p> +<p>“Looks like he’s thirsty,” said Ellen presently. +“There’s a trough round yonder at th’ back,” +and she waved a long hand.</p> +<p>Kenset led Captain around back where a living +spring sang and gurgled into a section of tree, +deeply hollowed and covered with moss.</p> +<p>When he came back to the shade the woman +had brought from some near place a second chair, +and he dropped gratefully into it, weary from his +long ride.</p> +<p>He laid his hat on the earth beside him and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span> +smoothed the sleek, dark hair back from his +forehead.</p> +<p>Ellen sat still and watched him with a steady +gaze.</p> +<p>She was finding him strange. She looked at his +olive drab garments, at the trim leather leggings +that encased his lower limbs, at his smooth hands, +at his face, and lastly at the dark shield on his +breast.</p> +<p>“Law?” she asked succinctly.</p> +<p>“Well,” smiled Kenset, “after a fashion.”</p> +<p>She moved uneasily in her chair, and the man +had a sudden feeling of pity for her.</p> +<p>“Not as you mean, Mrs. Courtrey,” he hastened. +“I am in the United States Forest Service, +if you know what that is.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Ellen, “I don’t know.”</p> +<p>“It is simply a service for the conservation +of the timber of this country,” he explained gently, +but he saw that he was not making it clear.</p> +<p>“The saving of the trees,” he went on, “the +care of the forests.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” she said, relieved.</p> +<p>“We look after the ranges, protect the woods +from fire, and so on.”</p> +<p>“Look after th’ ranges? How?”</p> +<p>“Regulate grazing, grant permits.”</p> +<p>“Permits?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span></p> +<p>“Yes.” And seeing that at last he had caught +her interest, Kenset talked quietly for an hour +and told her more than he had vouchsafed any +other in Lost Valley about his work.</p> +<p>Gradually, however, he fell to talking to amuse +her, for he saw the emptiness behind the big blue +eyes, the aching void which there was nothing to +fill, neither love nor hope.</p> +<p>As the sun sank lower toward the west Ellen +took off the atrocity of calico and starch, and he +saw with wonder the amazing beauty of her ropes +of hair.</p> +<p>When he ceased talking the silence became profound, +for she had nothing to say and speech did +not come easy to her anyway. He did not know +that at the windows and behind the door-jambs of +the deep old house were clustered almost a +dozen dusky women and children, drawn from +all over the place and listening in utter +silence.</p> +<p>Unconsciously he had drifted back to his life in +the outside world, encouraged by the absorbing +interest of the pale eyes that never left his face. +He told Ellen of boat races on the Hudson, of +theatres on Broadway, of college pranks and frolics, +ranged over half the continent in little story +and snatch of description.</p> +<p>Neither one noticed how the shadows were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span> +lengthening, nor that the sun had dropped in +majesty behind the mighty Wall.</p> +<p>It took the sound of running horses, many of +them coming up along the slopes, to bring Kenset +back to the present with a snap, to make the +woman reach swiftly for the bonnet and clap it +on her head.</p> +<p>“Mrs. Courtrey,” said Kenset hurriedly, “this +has been the first real talk I have had with any +of my neighbours, and I want to thank you for it.”</p> +<p>“Oh,” quavered the woman, “I don’t know +as I’d ought to a-let you stayed! Mebby I’d +oughtn’t. But––but seems like you bein’ so different, +an’ I not seein’ no one, come day in day out, +w’y I––I––”</p> +<p>“Sure,” he returned quickly, understanding. +“You did just right. I wanted to stay.”</p> +<p>Then he rose to his feet and there came the +thunder of the horses, the noise of men stopping +from a run, dismounting.</p> +<p>Ellen rose and he followed her around the +corner of the house to the door yard.</p> +<p>As they waited, Courtrey, clad in dark leather +chaps, his guns swinging, came toward them. At +sight of Kenset he stopped short and an oath rolled +from his lips. The kerchief at his neck was turned +knot-back and hung like a glob of crimson blood +upon his breast. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span></p> +<p>Under his hat, set at an angle, his dark hair +fluffed strangely.</p> +<p>He was a splendid figure of a man, broad +shouldered, slim hipped.</p> +<p>Now he looked hard at the stranger and a slow +grin lifted his upper lip.</p> +<p>“What’s this?” he said, and there was a light +suspicion of thickness in his voice, “my wife got +com-ny?”</p> +<p>Kenset heard the woman catch her breath, and +the feeling of pity that had taken him at first for +her intensified.</p> +<p>“No, Mr. Courtrey,” he said advancing, “but +you have,” and he held out his hand. “I’m +Kenset, from the foothills.”</p> +<p>Courtrey, not four feet from him, did not look +at the hand. Instead the glittering eyes under the +hat-brim looked steadily into his with an expression +that only one man in a hundred could have interpreted.</p> +<p>That one man, however, stood by the watering +trough, his hand on the neck of a drinking horse––Cleve +Whitmore who watched Courtrey without +blinking.</p> +<p>For a moment Kenset stood so, his hand extended, +waiting. Then the colour rose in his face +and he drew back the hand, raised it, scrutinized +it smilingly, and put it quietly on his hip. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span></p> +<p>Still smiling he raised his eyes again to Courtrey’s +face.</p> +<p>“Courtrey,” he said, this time without the Mr., +“I’ve come to Lost Valley to <i>stay</i>. I had hoped +to be friends with all my neighbours. It would +have made my work easier. However, with or +without, I stay.”</p> +<p>And he picked up his hat, set it on his head, +walked over to the brown horse, flung up the +rein, mounted and rode out of the Stronghold in +utter silence.</p> +<p>His face was flaming, the blood of outraged +dignity and deep anger beat in his temples like a +drum. As he rode farther away he heard the +embarrassing silence broken by the hoarse shouts +of laughter of half drunken men.</p> +<p>“Go to it,” he said aloud, clinching his fists on +his saddle horn, “this is part of my duty. The +Big Chief was right when he said, ‘If you help +the Service to tame Lost Valley you’ve got your +work cut out.’ It’s a man-size job. I mustn’t +doubt my ability.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI_EL_REY_AND_BOLT' id='CHAPTER_VI_EL_REY_AND_BOLT'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +<h3>EL REY AND BOLT</h3> +</div> +<p>Tharon Last and all her followers held +themselves in readiness for anything in the +days that followed the taking of the herds +from Courtrey’s range.</p> +<p>They locked their doors at night, stood double +guard at corral and stable. Mothers scattered +throughout Lost Valley gathered in their little +ones and watched the slopes and levels when their +men were out.</p> +<p>But a strange quietness seemed to settle down +upon them. That for which they waited did not +materialize. Courtrey and his gun men rode into +Corvan and up and down the Valley on mysterious +missions which were as unsettling as open depredations, +but nothing happened. In fact, Courtrey, +burning with the new desire that was beginning to +obsess him, was working out a new design.</p> +<p>He began to draw away from Lola. His triweekly +visits to the Golden Cloud dropped off a +bit. He took to drifting about from saloon to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +saloon, to being less pronounced in his frequenting +of one or two places.</p> +<p>His cold eyes, however, set in their narrow slits +beneath the heavy brows, picked out every settler +that he met and promised vague things for the +future. He knew to a man who had ridden up +from Last’s that day, and he meant that not one +should escape full payment––some time. Now +he thought of the girl who had defied him and +he waited with leaping pulse. The memory of +that kiss, taken by violence at her western door, +was with him night and day. She stood for right +and the dignity of order. He meant, for a time, +to play her hand.</p> +<p>Therefore the settlers waited, and held their +breath while they did so.</p> +<p>And Courtrey took to riding much more alone, +to watching the slopes and stretches with a hand +at his hat-brim, shading his keen eyes. He looked +far and wide in the golden summer land for the +sight of a silver horse cutting down the wind +with a slim girl in saddle.</p> +<p>But Tharon was busy at the Holding and El +Rey stamped and whistled in his paddock. The +mistress knew that she had set stern tides flowing +in the Valley, that sooner or later they were due +to sweep away the peace and quiet that pervaded +the cottonwoods and the singing springs. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +knew that Courtrey waited, but she made the +most of that waiting.</p> +<p>Conford and Billy and the rest of the riders +made strong bolts for all the doors of the house, +reinforced the fences that held the herds at night, +put trick locks on all the gates.</p> +<p>But the time came when the close retreat became +irksome to the girl, and she went from room to +room in an uneasiness that was foreign to her +calm and happy nature. She read over and over +the two or three old books that had been at the +Holding since she could remember, made new +covers for the tables in the living room, kept the +hands of the Virgin full of fresh offerings. But +these things staled.</p> +<p>She began to long for the distances, the open +spaces, the feel of the swooping stallion under +her sailing down the wind. Courtrey or no Courtrey, +she could not fight it down. So, on a golden +day when all the boys were out with the herds and +only the Indian <i>vaqueros</i> left in charge by Conford +were at the stables, she flung the big saddle +with its silver studs and its sombre stain on El +Rey, mounted and went out and away like the +wind itself. Not since the day of the raid on +Courtrey’s stolen herds had she been on El Rey’s +back and the first long leap and drop of the great +horse beneath her set the lights to sparkling in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +her eyes, the blood to burning in her golden +cheeks. She lay low on his neck and let him run, +and her heart leaped up with lightness as it ever +did when she rode in these thundering bursts.</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_5' id='linki_5'></a> +<img src='images/illus-130.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 378px; height: 600px;' /><br /> +<p class='caption' style='margin: 0 auto; text-align:center; width: 378px;'> +IN FACT COURTREY, BURNING WITH THE NEW DESIRE THAT WAS BEGINNING TO OBSESS HIM, WAS WORKING OUT A NEW DESIGN<br /> +</p> +</div> +<p>There was no other horse in Lost Valley like +the great king! Neither Redbuck nor Golden nor +Drumfire! Neither Sweetheart nor Westwind! +No, nor any Ironwood Bay that came down from +Courtrey’s Stronghold, Bolt and Arrow not +excepted.</p> +<p>Tharon laughed and stroked the king’s neck, +thewed like steel beneath her hands. She had no +fear of Courtrey and his hired killers. Sooner or +later the issue would come, of course. Then she +would kill the man as she had promised Jim Last, +without a thought.</p> +<p>Nay, she thought of Ellen, fragile white flower, +of whom she had heard.</p> +<p>A softening came about her young mouth at +thought of her, a shadow flickered in her blue +eyes for a moment. Then it was gone and she +laughed, a whooping gale of joy, there alone in +the green stretches between the earth and sky, +with the note of El Rey’s speed steadily rising in +her ears.</p> +<p>It beat in her very heart, that singing note. She +loved the king as she loved nothing else on earth, +save only the memory of her father. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span></p> +<p>She went south toward the Black Coulee and +she thanked her stars that her riders were grazing +the herds north toward the Cup Rim. Here there +was none to say her nay, to urge her with loving +solicitude to go back.</p> +<p>The miles sped backward and she scarce noted +their travel. She drew the king down a bit, slowed +him from the swooping run, set him into the wonderful +rock-and-away of the singlefoot and retied +the ribbon on her hair. She wore no hat this day +and the tawny cloud of her hair fluffed back from +her forehead, straining at its bands, its loose ends +standing up like fairy stuff all over her head. So, +with her two arms held high above her and the +reins in her teeth, she rode down by the mouth of +Black Coulee––and up from the depths of the +rugged wash that split the plain for seven miles +there came across her path a man on a great bay +horse.</p> +<p>Courtrey on Bolt! She knew the beautiful animal +even so far away. It did not need the challenging +toss of El Rey’s head, the piercing scream +that rang from his open mouth across the silence, +nor the sudden lunge and strain against the bit.</p> +<p>That was Bolt, the mighty, and no mistake. +None but Arrow carried his splendid head so +regally, <i>none</i> other bore so huge a cloud of mane +on his arching neck, so long a tail that spread like +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +a fan between his knees and almost swept the +ground.</p> +<p>So, Courtrey came out of the Coulee to meet +her! He would, maybe, force the issue. But +Tharon was not ready for that. What was plain +killing? No, she wanted more than that. +She wanted to see him scourged and beaten, +humiliated and robbed as he had robbed Lost +Valley.</p> +<p>So she turned El Rey, though it took the whole +strength of her young arms, and headed him +back the way they had come. With the first turn +and straightening leap her heart thumped hard +against her ribs.</p> +<p>There, between her and the Holding, far distant, +there were two riders––and they rode bay +horses, both!</p> +<p>She made no doubt that they were Wylackie +Bob and Black Bart, on Arrow and Slingshot.</p> +<p>A sudden mist of fear came across her eyes. A +tightening caught her throat. She looked around +the illimitable spaces that stretched away on all +sides. There was nothing in all the spreading +plains but the three riders, sprung from nowhere, +it seemed, and herself.</p> +<p>Courtrey came rapidly up toward her, swinging +a bit to the west. The others, set somewhat apart +to right and left, bore down upon her. It looked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +very much as if they meant to ride her down to the +Black Coulee.</p> +<p>Once in its sheltering deep wash she would be +helpless, cut off from escape. The Black Coulee +went back into the eastern hills, lost itself up in +the rugged and torturous clefts and chasms that +cut the unknown ramparts, dark with forest and +mysterious.</p> +<p>No! Not the Black Coulee and Courtrey to take +her prisoner!</p> +<p>She looked this way and that. Then she saw +that toward her right she had some margin. There +was space there to swing away from the man in +front who came like the wind itself toward her. +She caught the seeming of great speed and her +heart leaped again.</p> +<p>She recalled the day she had asked Jack Masters +if Bolt could run like El Rey.</p> +<p>“How do I know?” he had answered. “I +know it was speed, an’ that is all.” True enough. +It was Bolt, coming like his namesake, down along +the sloping stretches.</p> +<p>But a great wave of exultation swept over her. +She rose in her stirrups, shook an insulting hand +above her, dropped on El Rey’s neck, swerved +him east and swept away toward the lifting skirts +of the wooded hills. She heard a yell behind her, +glanced back and saw that the three Ironwoods +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +were sweeping behind her, closing in together. It +was to be a race at last!</p> +<p>At last the whispered comparisons that had +stirred under the speech of the Valley concerning +the Ironwoods and the Finger Marks was to have +justification. For the first and only time, in her +knowledge, they were to run.</p> +<p>“All right!” cried Tharon aloud. “Come +on, you bastards! It’s the king you come against +an’ Jim Last’s blood! You’ll never put a hand +on either.”</p> +<p>She struck her heels into El Rey’s flanks, leaned +over her pommel, wished she was on the king’s +bare back, reached her hands far out along the +reins and began to call in his ear.</p> +<p>“Yeeoo! Yeeoo! Yeeoo!” she cried, a high, +exciting note that keened in the singing wind. And +El Rey, ever keen to run for no reason, finding +himself called upon, stretched out his great body, +dropped low to earth and began to run. The wind +cut by Tharon’s face like a knife in the first few +leaps.</p> +<p>It shut her eyes in a dozen. She rode and +laughed with a half sob in her throat. The +thunder of the king’s iron-shod hoofs was in her +ears like the roar of the spring freshets when the +empty cañons poured their temporary torrents +down the Rockface into the Valley. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span></p> +<p>She knew he was running as she had never +ridden before. She had never called upon him +before. It was like being adrift upon the wind. +She heard the note of his speed rising in her +ears. It was as it had ever been, save that it was +a higher note, thinner, sharper. There was scarce +a sense of touch beneath her, a lack of jar, of +vibration, so evenly and smoothly did the shining +hoofs take the grassy plain.</p> +<p>Tears were in her eyes. Laughter was on her +lips. This was speed indeed! She had a sick +longing that Jim Last might see his two loved +ones go!</p> +<p>Then she gathered herself to turn her head +across her leaning shoulder and look back.</p> +<p>As her eyes swept into focus behind, the laughter +slipped off her lips as if wiped by an invisible +hand.</p> +<p>There, the same distance away as when they +started, rode Courtrey!</p> +<p>No farther away!</p> +<p>Bolt, shining in the sun, was keeping pace with +El Rey!</p> +<p>Farther back––a little farther back––was +Arrow, running magnificently, too.</p> +<p>A greater distance behind the two came +Slingshot.</p> +<p>Tharon was frightened. Not for herself. Not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +for the intent of the men who came after her. +Not for gun-fire, nor for capture.</p> +<p>She was afraid for the king! Afraid that Bolt +could hold that wonderful pace! Then a surging +rage rose and sickened her.</p> +<p>She leaned down again and called once more +into the stallion’s ear and once more the note +rose a notch. She felt that great pulsing seeming +of reserve. Always when she called there was +the answer. The plain swam beneath her like a +blur. The thunder of the king’s hoofs was a single +note also.</p> +<p>Then Tharon raised her eyes and saw that she +had left the open land behind. The mountains +were rising swiftly before, she was sweeping up +their skirts. Trees flew by. She heard the singing +of waters. The forests seemed to come +down out of the skies to meet her, dark, forbidding.</p> +<p>She felt a sense of disaster, of helplessness. +Where was she going, she and El Rey, with her +enemies behind and coming fast? What was to +be the end of the race? And then, all suddenly, +the woods seemed to fall away on either side, a +gateway to open up before her. A lovely open +glade spread into the heart of the forest and the +great king thundered in between the guarding +pines. Like a silver flame he shot up the sloping +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +floor, slowed, changed and came to stop before a +cabin that sat securely at the glade’s head.</p> +<p>With the crashing pound of El Rey’s ploughing +hoofs upon the very stones at the step, a man +came quickly from the interior of the cabin and +stepped out, his hand lifted.</p> +<p>Tharon Last, her hair beating on her shoulders, +her face pale as ashes, her breast heaving, looked +back toward the opening in the trees, and saw +Courtrey swing in a wide arc and circle past to +disappear toward the north.</p> +<p>After him swept his two lieutenants, to fade +swiftly from sight behind the shielding forest.</p> +<p>A grim expression spread over the face of the +man at the step as he, too, beheld the end of the +vital play.</p> +<p>Then he looked up at the girl on the silver +stallion and his dark eyes were alight.</p> +<p>“What’s this?” he asked abruptly.</p> +<p>Then Tharon seemed to become conscious of +him for the first time.</p> +<p>She looked down at him and the black pupils +were spread across the azure of her eyes, making +them strangely exciting in their straight glance.</p> +<p>“This,” she said, panting, “is some of the law +of Lost Valley. Courtrey’s law. That is the +man I’m goin’ to kill some day.”</p> +<p>Kenset felt the blood flow back upon his heart, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +an icy flood. The words were simple, sincere, +unconscious of dramatic effect. They were as final +as death itself, and he dropped his eyes unconsciously +to the two guns at her hips. He wondered +why she had ridden without a shot this time.</p> +<p>He found his lips suddenly dry and moistened +them before he spoke.</p> +<p>“Why?” he asked, and his voice sounded +strange to him.</p> +<p>“Because,” said Tharon simply, “because he +kissed me––once––an’ shot my daddy––in th’ back, +th’ hound!”</p> +<p>“God!” said Kenset</p> +<p>For a moment there was silence while a bird +called sharply from a pine top and the voice of +the little stream became subtly audible.</p> +<p>It seemed to the man that all his values of life +had suddenly become shifted, changed. The commonplace +had become the unreal, the unlikely the +familiar.</p> +<p>Guns and threats and racing horses with a +woman for prize became on the moment natural +events in this hidden setting.</p> +<p>And what a woman she was! He looked up in +her face again and saw there sweetness and +strength, and grim purpose beyond his conception. +He knew that her words were downright, and that +they meant no more to her than duty to be done, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span> +a conscience cleared of debt. He glanced at the +hand lying so quietly on the pommel and thought +of it as stained with blood. At the fancy he +frowned and mentally shook himself.</p> +<p>Then, with an impulse wholly beyond his command, +he reached up and laid his own hand over +that one on the pommel.</p> +<p>“Miss Last,” he said gravely, “I have no +words to express what I feel this moment about +Lost Valley and its people. Will you get down +and let me show you my house, here in my glade?”</p> +<p>Tharon sat quietly for a moment and looked +down at him. She did not remove her hand from +under his, neither did she seem to be conscious +of it.</p> +<p>“Why should I?” she asked presently, “you +don’t owe me anything. I sent you away from my +house. I wouldn’t have come here if I’d known +where I was goin’. It was a chance.”</p> +<p>“Granted. And yet I want you to come across +my threshold, to sit in my big chair. Will you +come?”</p> +<p>Never in her life had the girl heard so low a +voice. It was soft and gentle, yet full of a vibrant +quality that belied its softness. The man himself +was unlike Lost Valley men. He wore the olive +drab trousers of the semi-military uniform, the +leather leggings, a tan leather belt and a soft +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +woolen shirt of the same drab color. It lay open +at the throat, and the base of his strong neck +was white as a woman’s. The dark eyes upturned +to hers were deep and winning. The +dark beard showed through his sharply shaven +cheeks where the red blood pulsed, like dusky +shadows.</p> +<p>A strange man, surely.</p> +<p>Tharon wondered what made him so different +from other men she had known. There was Billy +who had come into Lost Valley from somewhere +“below,” and Conford, and Curly. Jack Masters +had been born in the Valley. So had Bent Smith. +These men were her men, like herself and Jim +Last. This man was from “below,” too, yet he +was unlike.</p> +<p>While she studied him he met her glance with +the same grave look.</p> +<p>Presently, without a word, she swung herself +from the saddle, dropped El Rey’s rein, and +stepped around his shoulder.</p> +<p>“All right,” she said briefly, “but I won’t +stay any longer than I let you stay.”</p> +<p>For the first time Kenset laughed.</p> +<p>“Twenty minutes, then,” he said, “I don’t +think you let me exceed that limit.”</p> +<p>He led the way to the door, stepped back and +let her enter. As she did so she passed close to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +him and caught the scent of him, the clean soft +smell of shaving soap, blended with the aroma of +good tobacco.</p> +<p>That, too, was different.</p> +<p>Inside the cabin there was a sense of comfort, +of brightness. The long pennants, like captured +rainbows, tacked to the rough walls, the soft +toned prints, the gay cushions, all these lent an +air of permanence, of home, that she had never +before seen in a man’s cabin. She stood and looked +all around with that same half-insolent stare which +had greeted Kenset at the Holding that memorable +day.</p> +<p>Then she went slowly forward and sat down in +the big chair by the table.</p> +<p>The man stood in her presence for a moment, +thereby giving a subtle effect of deference which +was not wholly lost upon Tharon, though she +would have been at a loss to define it.</p> +<p>Then, he, too, sat down on the edge of the +table desk in the corner, and with folded arms +waited while she finished her scrutiny of the +interior.</p> +<p>“I am proud of my home, Miss Last,” he said +presently. “What do you think of it?”</p> +<p>“I think,” said Tharon slowly, “that it looks +like there’s a woman somewhere.”</p> +<p>This time Kenset laughed in earnest, a ringing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +peal that startled El Rey at the doorstep, and +made him clink his bit-chains.</p> +<p>“There is,” said the man, “assuredly.”</p> +<p>Tharon turned her head and looked quickly +over her shoulder.</p> +<p>“Where?” she asked in surprise.</p> +<p>“There in my big chair.”</p> +<p>“Oh––I meant a woman livin’ here, th’ woman +who owns the pretties.”</p> +<p>And she waved a hand at the gay furnishings.</p> +<p>“No,” said Kenset, “these are all my own +pretties. I have books, as you see, and my maps +and several more pictures to put up, not to mention +some Mexican pottery that I brought from +Ciudad Juarez, and my chiefest treasure, a tapestry +from France. That last I can’t decide upon. +I have two splendid spaces––over there between +the northern windows, facing the door, and yonder +at the end. Perhaps you will be good enough to +help me choose.”</p> +<p>There was a boyish eagerness in his voice.</p> +<p>“Will you? After a while, I mean, when you +have rested from your ride.”</p> +<p>“Rested?”</p> +<p>Tharon looked at him in wonder. That ride +had been like wine to her, a stimulant, a thing +that sent the blood pounding in her veins.</p> +<p>Over the excitement had fallen a subtle shade, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +however, a hush, with the sight of Bolt so close +behind El Rey. If it had not been for that grave +thing she would have felt like a wound-up spring, +intent with energy, filled with action. She was +always so when El Rey ran beneath her. And this +stranger spoke of rest! Tharon Last could ride +all day without a thought of rest.</p> +<p>“Sure,” she said, “I’ll help you if I can. But +what’s this thing?”</p> +<p>“A sort of picture,” replied Kenset quickly, “a +picture woven in cloth. But first, if you’ll be so +kind, I want you to break bread with me. You +said we would not be friends. I’m not so sure of +that. There is nothing like a man’s bread and salt +for the refutation of logic.”</p> +<p>He slipped off the desk with a lithe rippling of +his body, but Tharon was first on her feet.</p> +<p>“You mean stay to supper?” she asked decisively. +“No, I can’t do that. I took back a meal +from you. That stan’s between.”</p> +<p>“Why, you funny girl,” said Kenset, “nothing +stands between. And I don’t mean supper, exactly, +either. Please sit down.”</p> +<p>Tharon stood, considering. She turned the +matter over in her mind.</p> +<p>She had taken this man’s house by storm. It +had, indeed, given her refuge. If it had not been +for the glade in the pines, she wondered where +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +she would be now––driven deep into Black Coulee, +she made no doubt, a prisoner to Courtrey.</p> +<p>“All right,” she said abruptly, “I’ll stay. But +you must be quick. Th’ time is goin’ fast.”</p> +<p>Kenset went swiftly across the cabin to that +part which served as kitchen, and took from a +curtain-covered set of shelves, a shiny nickel object +on spindly legs, which he brought and placed near +Tharon on the table.</p> +<p>He struck a match and presently a clean blue +flame grew up beneath it.</p> +<p>He lifted the lid and filled the small pot, thereby +exposed, with water from the bucket on a bench. +Then he delved in one of the big trunks against +the farther wall and brought out a little tin of +cakes, such as one could buy in any city of the +world.</p> +<p>All this was absorbing to the girl in the big +chair, who watched with grave eyes. And Kenset +kept up a running stream of gay talk all the time. +He wanted to make her at ease, to cover the +thought of the strain between them, and how much +he wanted to drive from his own mind the knowledge +that this sweet and wholesome creature was a +potential murderer, he did not know. From a can +he measured chocolate. From a pan somewhere +outdoors he brought milk. Sugar he added carefully +as a woman, and presently he spread between +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +them on the table a small repast that was strange +to this girl of the wilderness.</p> +<p>He watched her with appraising eyes and saw +that there was in her no consciousness of the +unusual. She might have sat at meat in the big +room of the Holding for all the flutter there was +in her.</p> +<p>He told her somewhat of himself, of his life +in the East, but he was careful not to ask about +Lost Valley, to make mention of the circumstances +that had brought her to his door. And so an +hour passed as if it had been a bagatelle. The +afternoon was waning when Tharon rose swiftly +and abruptly terminated this first visit inside his +home of any Lost Valley denizen.</p> +<p>“Bring out your picture,” she said decisively, +“I’ll help you hang it, an’ then I must go home.”</p> +<p>So Kenset dived once more into the mysterious +recesses of the trunk and this time brought out a +thing of rare beauty and value, a large tapestry, +some four by six feet in size, a wonderful thing +of soft and deathless hues, of cunning distances, of +Greek figures and leaning trees, of sea-line so faint +as to be almost lost in the misty skies.</p> +<p>“Oh!” said Tharon Last with an intake of +her breath, “Oh, where do they make such +things?”</p> +<p>“Far on the other side of the world,” said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +Kenset gently, pleased with the wonder in her wide +eyes, the evident and quick realization of beauty.</p> +<p>She whirled from it and glanced quickly at the +two spaces on the rugged walls.</p> +<p>“There,” she said, pointing to the broad expanse +between the northern windows, “hang it +there.”</p> +<p>“Done,” said Kenset, and went promptly for +a hammer.</p> +<p>When the huge thick mat was securely stretched +in place, Tharon helping to hold it while he +pounded in the broad-topped tacks, Kenset stepped +back and wondered how he had ever for a moment +considered hanging it in any other spot. The +tempered light from the door came in upon it, +bringing out each enchanted charm, each tender +vista.</p> +<p>“Wonderful!” he said to himself, “I never +knew how lovely it was amid conventional surroundings!”</p> +<p>“Huh?” asked Tharon.</p> +<p>The man laughed in spite of himself and turned +his eyes to hers, to lose his quick amusement in +the earnest blue depths that seemed to question +him at every angle.</p> +<p>“I mean that it looks better here in my cabin +than it ever did on city walls.”</p> +<p>“Why?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span></p> +<p>“Well––I don’t know. Contrast, perhaps.”</p> +<p>Tharon stood a moment thinking.</p> +<p>“Perhaps,” she answered slowly, “yes, perhaps. +I guess that’s why you seem so diff’rent to +me. Jim Last used to say that was why th’ Valley +was so soft-like an’ lovely, contrasted by th’ +Rockface.”</p> +<p>“Do I seem different to you?” asked Kenset +quickly. “How?”</p> +<p>“Yes. I don’t know how. You seem soft, like +a woman––some women––an’ I’m afraid–––”</p> +<p>She stopped suddenly, abruptly halted in her +naïve speech, as if she had come face to face with +something she had not meant to meet.</p> +<p>“Afraid?” probed the man gravely, “go on. +You are afraid––of what?”</p> +<p>“No,” said Tharon, “I won’t say it”</p> +<p>“Please do. I want to know.”</p> +<p>“Then,” answered the girl straightly, after the +honest and downright fashion of all her dealings, +“I’m afraid you are––are too soft. You don’t +pack a gun. I’m afraid you wouldn’t use it if you +did.”</p> +<p>There was a certain finality about the short +speech, as if she had put the last word of condemnation +to his estate.</p> +<p>Kenset looked down at his hands, spread them +out a bit. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span></p> +<p>“You’re right,” he said shortly, though his +voice was still gentle. “I don’t. And I wouldn’t. +Not until the last extremity.”</p> +<p>“An’ what would that be?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I don’t just know, Miss Last,” he answered +smiling and raising his eyes once more to hers, “it +would have to be––the <i>last</i> extremity, I know.</p> +<p>“The hands of all my forbears have been +clean, so far as I know. I have a deep horror of +that imaginary stain which human blood seems +to leave on the hands of the killer. Blood +guilt.”</p> +<p>“You call it that? My daddy had his killin’s, +but they were all in fair-an’-open. <i>I</i> called him a +<i>man</i>.”</p> +<p>There was a ringing quality in her voice, a +depth and resonance that spoke of war and heroes. +The fire that all the Holding knew was suddenly +in her eyes, flashing and flaming. Kenset caught +it, and a thrill shot through him.</p> +<p>“Granted,” he said quickly. “But is there +only <i>one</i> type of man?”</p> +<p>“For me,” said Tharon, “yes.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry,” said he, and for the life of him +he did not know why.</p> +<p>“So’m I,” said Tharon honestly.</p> +<p>They looked at each other for a pregnant moment, +while a silence fell on the cabin and they +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +could hear the singing water running down the +slopes.</p> +<p>Then the girl stooped and rearranged the +cushion in the big chair, laid a book more neatly +on top of another at the table’s edge.</p> +<p>“Th’ time is up,” she said, “I must be goin’.”</p> +<p>She straightened her shoulders and looked at +him again.</p> +<p>“I thank you for th’ meal,” she said, “an’ +some day I’ll return it––in some manner. I don’t +know yet just what you’re here for, nor if you’re +Courtrey’s man or not––––––”</p> +<p>“Good Lord!” ejaculated Kenset, but she went +on.</p> +<p>“I won’t shake hands with you, for whilst I +ain’t done no killin’ yet, I’m sworn––an’ Jim Last’s +hands was red––they would be to such as you––an’ +down to th’ last drop o’ blood, th’ last beat o’ +my heart, I’m Jim Last’s girl––th’ best gun man +in Lost Valley, if I do say so.”</p> +<p>And she swung quickly to the door.</p> +<p>Kenset followed her. He longed for words, but +found none.</p> +<p>There was a sudden tragic seeming in the very +air, a change from the pleasant commonplace to +the tense and unexpected. It was always so in +these strange meetings with the people of Lost +Valley, it seemed, as if he was never to find his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +way among them, the sane and quiet course that +he must travel.</p> +<p>As they reached the step at the door sill El Rey +stamped and whinnied a shrill blast. In through +the gateway between the pines there came a +rider on a running horse, Billy on Golden who +ploughed to a stop before them, his grey eyes +troubled.</p> +<p>“Hello, Billy,” said Tharon. “How’s this?”</p> +<p>“Been lookin’ for you,” said the boy. “We +saw Courtrey an’ his ruffians ridin’ up east––watched +’em with th’ glass, an’ Anita said you +rode south. Thought you might have met ’em.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t meet ’em, so to speak,” she said, +smiling, “though if I’d been on anythin’ but El +Rey I would. They tried to drive me into Black +Coulee.”</p> +<p>“Hell!” said Billy softly.</p> +<p>Then the Mistress of Last’s remembered her +manners.</p> +<p>“Billy,” she said, “I make you acquainted with +Kenset of th’ foothills. I rode in here just in +time to shake th’ Stronghold bunch.”</p> +<p>The two men spoke, reached to shake each +other’s hands, and took a long survey that was +mutual. As the two pairs of eyes met, a wall +seemed to rear itself between them, a mist, a +curtain, something intangible, but there. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></p> +<p>They looked across the woman’s shoulder, and +from that moment she was to stand between, +though what there could be in common between +the man in the U. S. service and the common rider +from Last’s was not apparent. El Rey was eager +for flight and by the time Tharon’s foot was in +the stirrup he was up on his hind feet, fore feet +beating the air, silver mane like a flying cloud. +The girl rose with him gracefully, threw her leg +across the saddle, waved a hand to Kenset in the +door, and in another moment they were gone +away down the grassy slope, out through the +opening, had stretched away along the oak-dotted +plain, swung toward the north, and were out of +sight.</p> +<p>The forest man turned away from the doorway, +stood a moment looking over the cabin +where the late light was making golden patterns +on the green and brown rug, sighed and reached +for his pipe.</p> +<p>Somehow all the spirit seem to have gone from +the summer day. The long twilight was setting +in.</p> +<p>“She wouldn’t shake hands,” he muttered to +himself, “and what she said was true as death. +She’s <i>sworn</i>––and it is a solemn oath to her. God +help the man who killed her daddy!”</p> +<p>Then once more he sighed, unconsciously. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span></p> +<p>“And Lord God help her!” he finished very +gravely, “she is so sweet––so wild and spirited +and sweet.”</p> +<p>Tharon and Billy let the horses run. Golden +was a racer himself, though he could not hold a +candle to the silver king, and the two young +creatures atop were free as the summer winds, +as buoyant and filled with joy of being. So they +shot down along the levels, Tharon holding El +Rey up a bit, though it was a man-size job to do +so, and Billy’s rein swinging loose on Golden’s +neck. They passed the last of the scattered oaks, +came out to the green stretches. The sun was +swinging like a copper ball above the Wall at the +west. Down through the cañons the light came in +long red shafts that cut through the cobalt +shadows like sharp lances of fire and reached half +across Lost Valley. All the western part of the +Valley lay in that blue-black shadow. They could +see Corvan set like a dull gem in the wide green +country, the scattered ranches, miles apart.</p> +<p>They swung down to the west a bit, for Tharon +said she wanted to go by the Gold Pool and see +how it was holding out.</p> +<p>“Fine,” said Billy, “she’s deep as she ever +was at this time of year, an’ cold as snow.”</p> +<p>Where one tall cottonwood stood like a sentinel +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +in the widespread landscape they drew rein +and dismounted. Here a huge boulder cropped +from the plain and under its protecting bulk there +lay as lovely a spring as one would care to see, +deep and golden as its name implied, above its +swirling sands, for the waters were in constant +turmoil as they pressed up from below.</p> +<p>The girl lay flat at its edge and with her face +to the crystal surface, drank long and deeply.</p> +<p>As she looked up with a smile, Billy Brent felt +the heart in him contract with a sudden ache.</p> +<p>Her fresh face, its cheeks whipped pink under +their tan by the winds, its blue eyes sparkling, its +wet red lips parted over the white teeth, hurt him +with a downright pain.</p> +<p>“Oh, Tharon,” he said with an accent that was +all-revealing, “Oh, Tharon, dear!”</p> +<p>The girl scrambled to her feet and looked at him +in surprise.</p> +<p>“Billy,” she said sharply, “what’s th’ matter +with you? Are you sick?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said the boy with conviction, “I am. +Let’s go home.”</p> +<p>“Sick, how?” she pressed, with the born tyranny +of the loving woman, “have you got that +pain in your stomach again?”</p> +<p>Billy laughed in spite of himself, and the +romantic ache was shattered. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span></p> +<p>“For the love of Pete!” he complained, “don’t +you ever forget that? You know I’ve never et +an ounce of Anita’s puddin’s since. No, I think,” +he finished judiciously as he mounted Golden, +“that I’ve caught somethin’, Tharon––caught +somethin’ from that feller of th’ red-beet badge. +Leastways I’ve felt it ever sence I left th’ clearin’.”</p> +<p>And as they swung away from the spring toward +the Holding, far ahead under its cottonwoods, +he let out the young horse for another +stretch.</p> +<p>“Bet Golden can beat El Rey up home,” he +said over his shoulder.</p> +<p>“Beat th’ king?” cried Tharon aghast, “you’re +foolin’, Billy, an’ I don’t want to run nohow. I’ve +run enough this day.”</p> +<p>So the rider held up again and together they +paced slowly up through the gathering twilight +where long blue shadows were reaching out to +touch them from the western Wall and the golden +shafts were turning to crimson, were lifting as the +sun sank, were travelling up and up along the +eastern mountains toward the pale skies. Soon +they rode in purple dusk while the whole upper +world was bathed in crimson and lavender light +and Lost Valley lay deep in the earth’s heart, a +sinister spot, secret and dark.</p> +<p>“Sometimes, Billy,” said Tharon softly, “I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span> +like to ride like this, in th’ big shadows––an’ +then I like to have some one with me that I know, +some one like you, some one who will understand +when I don’t talk, an’ who is always there beside +me. It’s a wonderful feelin’––but somehow, it’s +soft, too––mebby too soft––like––like––like a +woman who’s just a woman.”</p> +<p>The boy swallowed once, miserably.</p> +<p>“Always, Tharon,” he said huskily, “always––when +you want me––or need me––I’ll be there, +beside you. An’ you don’t need to even speak a +word to me. I’m like th’ dogs––there whether +you call or not.”</p> +<p>“I know,” said the girl, and reaching over she +caught the rider’s hand, brown beneath its vanity +of studded leather cuff, and gave it a little tender +pressure.</p> +<p>Billy set his teeth to keep from crushing her +fingers, and together they rode slowly up along +the sounding slopes to the beautiful security and +comfort of Last’s Holding.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII_THE_SHOT_IN_THE_CAONS' id='CHAPTER_VII_THE_SHOT_IN_THE_CAONS'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +<h3>THE SHOT IN THE CAÑONS</h3> +</div> +<p>Kenset of the foothills was very busy. +Between study of his maps and the endless +riding of their claimed areas he was out +from dawn till dark.</p> +<p>He found, indeed, that none but he, of late +years, had ridden those sloping forest covered +skirts. Some one, sometime, must have done so, +else the maps themselves would not have been, but +what marks they must have left were either gone +through the erosion of the elements or been wantonly +destroyed.</p> +<p>He fancied the former had been the case, for +he saw no signs of destruction, and the very curiosity +of the denizens of the Valley precluded +familiarity with forest work.</p> +<p>So he laid out for himself the labour of a +dozen men and went at it with a vim that kept +him at high tension. Therefore he had little +time to think of Tharon Last and the strange life +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span> +in Lost Valley. Only when he rode between given +points, unintent on the land around, did he give +up to his speculations. At such times his mind +invariably went back to that first day at Baston’s +steps and he saw her again as he had seen her +then, tense, stooping, her elbows bent above the +guns at her hips, coming backward along the +porch, feeling for the steps with her foot.</p> +<p>Always he saw the ashen whiteness of her +cheeks beneath her blowing hair.</p> +<p>Always he frowned at the memory and always +he felt a thrill go down his nerves. What was +she, anyway, this wild, sweet creature of the +wilderness who held herself aloof from his friendship, +and said that she was “sworn?”</p> +<p>Kenset, sane, quiet, peace loving, shook himself +mentally and tried not to think of her. But day +after day he came down along the edges of the +scattered woods where the cattle grazed––on the +forest lands––and looked over to where the Holding +lay like a greener spot on the green stretches.</p> +<p>He thought of her, living in this feudal hold, +mistress of her riders, her cattle, and her wonderful +racing horses of the Finger Marks, sweet, fair, +wholesome––with the six-guns at her slender hips!</p> +<p>If only he, Kenset, could take those weapons +from her clinging hands, could wipe out of her +young heart the calm intent to kill! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span></p> +<p>It was preposterous! It was awful!</p> +<p>Bred to another life, another law, another type +of woman, he could not reconcile this girl of +Lost Valley with anything he knew.</p> +<p>He went over in his mind again and again the +serene calmness of her in his cabin that day of the +race with Courtrey, and shook his head in puzzlement.</p> +<p>But why should he trouble himself about her at +all?</p> +<p>He had come here in his Government’s service +to reclaim its forest, to look after its interest.</p> +<p>Why should he bother with the moral code of +Lost Valley?</p> +<p>But reason as he might, the face of Tharon Last +came back to haunt him, waking or asleep.</p> +<p>He knew that it troubled him and was, in a way, +ashamed. So he worked hard at his tasks, relocated +boundaries, marked them with a peculiar +blaze in convenient trees which looked something +like this:</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<a name='linki_6' id='linki_6'></a> +<img src='images/illus-159.jpg' alt='' title='' style='width: 71px; height: 108px;' /><br /> +</div> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span></div> +<p>and set up monuments with odd and undecipherable +hieroglyphics upon them.</p> +<p>And with each blaze, each mark and monument +and sign, he drew closer in about him the net of +suspicion and disapproval which was weaving in +Lost Valley, for there was not one but ran the +gamut of close inspection and speculation by +Courtrey’s men, by the settlers who came many +miles over from the western side of the Valley +for the purpose, and by Tharon’s riders.</p> +<p>Low mutters of disapproval growled in the +Valley.</p> +<p>Who was this upstart, anyway, to come setting +signs and marks in the land that had been theirs +from time immemorial? What mattered the little +copper-coloured badge on his breast? What mattered +it that he was beginning to send out word +of his desire to work with and for the cattlemen of +Lost Valley, the settlers, the homesteaders?</p> +<p>What was this matter of “grazing permits” of +which he had spoken at the Stronghold?</p> +<p>Permits?</p> +<p>They had grazed their cattle where and when +they chose––and could––from their earliest +memory.</p> +<p>They asked no leave from Government.</p> +<p>When Kenset rode into Corvan he was treated +with exaggerated politeness by those with whom +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +he had to deal, with utter unconsciousness by all +the rest. To cattleman and settler alike he was +as if he had not been.</p> +<p>None spoke to him in the few broad streets, +none asked him to a bar to drink.</p> +<p>Serene, quiet, soft spoken, he came and went +about his business, and sneers followed him +covertly.</p> +<p>It was not long after Tharon’s visit to the cabin +in the glade, that Kenset, riding alone along the +twilight land, passed close to the mouth of Black +Coulee one day at dusk. He rode loosely, slouching +sidewise in his saddle, for he had been to +Corvan for his monthly mail and a few supplies +tied in a bag behind his saddle, and he carried his +broad hat in his hand.</p> +<p>The little cool wind that blew in from the narrow +gorge of the Bottle Neck and spread out like +an invisible fan, breathed on his face with a grateful +touch. The day had been hot, for the summer +was opening beautifully, and he had ridden +Captain far. Therefore he jogged and rested, his +arms hanging listlessly at his sides, his thoughts +two thousand miles away.</p> +<p>At the mouth of Black Coulee where the sinister +split of the deep wash came up to the level, there +grew a fringe of wild poplar trees. They were +beautiful things, tall and straight and thickly covered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +with a million shiny leaves that whirled and +rustled softly in the wind, showing all their soft +white silver sides when the breeze came up from +the south as it did this day. There was water in +Black Coulee, many small springs, not deep enough +nor steady enough to count for water in a range +country, but sufficient to keep the poplars growing +on the rim of the great wash, to stand them thick +on the caving sides. Whole benches of earth with +their trees upon them slipped down these sides +from time to time, making of the Coulee a mysterious +labyrinth of thickets and shelves, of winding +ways and secret places.</p> +<p>Kenset had heard a few wild stories about +Black Coulee. Sam Drake had talked a bit more +than most men of Lost Valley would have talked, +and he had listened idly.</p> +<p>Now as he rode up along the levels and neared +the dark mouth of the cut he studied it with +appraising eyes. It was sinister enough, in all +truth, a deep, dark place behind its veil of poplars, +secretive, hushed.</p> +<p>The red light that dyed Lost Valley so wondrously +at the hour of the sun’s sharp decline +above the peaks and ridges of the Cañon Country +was awash in all the great sunken cup, save at +the west under the Rockface where the shadows +were already dark. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span></p> +<p>Kenset drank in the beauty of the scene with +smiling eyes. Already a love for this hidden +paradise had grown wonderfully in his heart. He +felt as if he had never lived before, as if he had +never known beauty.</p> +<p>And so, dreaming a little of other scenes, smiling +to himself, he jogged along on Captain and +was nearly past the frowning mouth of the Coulee, +when there came the sharp snap of a rifle in the +stillness, and Captain changed his feet, sagged and +quivered, then caught himself and leaped ahead. +For one amazed moment Kenset thought the horse +was hit. Then, as he straightened in his saddle +and dropped his hand to catch up his hanging rein, +he looked quickly down. Where he was accustomed +to the smooth feel of the pommel beneath +his palm there was a sharp raw edge. A splinter +of wood stood up and a small flare of leather hung +to one side.</p> +<p>A bullet, singing out of Black Coulee, had carried +away part of the pommel.</p> +<p>Kenset shut his lips in a new line, gathered up +his rein and drew the horse down to a walk with +an iron hand.</p> +<p>Slowly, without a backward glance, he rode +on across the darkening levels. He was no +fool.</p> +<p>He knew he had had his warning. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span></p> +<p>Very well. He would give back his acceptance +of that warning.</p> +<p>He had said to Courtrey that night at the +Stronghold that he had come to stay.</p> +<p>No bunch of lawless bullies were going to scare +him out.</p> +<p>No other shot followed. He had not expected +one.</p> +<p>For a time after that he went about his work +as usual. Nothing happened; he had no outward +sign of the distaste with which he was regarded by +all factions alike, it seemed.</p> +<p>He met Courtrey face to face in Corvan one +day and spoke to him civilly, but Courtrey +did not speak. Wylackie Bob did, however––a +sneering salutation that was a covert insult. +Kenset touched his hat with dignity and passed +on.</p> +<p>“Of all th’ tenderfeet!” said Baston, watching +the small by-play. “I b’lieve you could spit +on him, boys.”</p> +<p>“I don’t,” spoke up Old Pete, shuffling by on +his bandy legs, “sometimes that quiet, soft-spoken +kind rises––an’ then hell’s to pay in their veecinity.”</p> +<p>But Wylackie looked at the weazened snow-packer +with his snake-like eyes and snapped out +a warning. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span></p> +<p>“Some folks takes sides too quick, sometimes.”</p> +<p>But Old Pete went on about his business. He +knew, as did all the Valley, that a price was on his +head with Courtrey’s band for the daring leap +which had saved the life of Tharon Last that day +in spring.</p> +<p>Sooner or later that price would be paid, but +Old Pete was true western stuff. He had lived +his life, had had his day, and he was full of pride +at the turn of fate which had made him a hero in +a way at the end.</p> +<p>All the Valley stood off and admired Jim Last’s +daughter.</p> +<p>Pete basked in the reflected light. And Tharon +herself had taken his gnarled old hand one day +in Baston’s store and called him a thoroughbred.</p> +<p>Folks in Lost Valley were chary of words, conservative +to the last degree. That simple word, +the handclasp, the look in the clear blue eyes, +had been his eulogy.</p> +<p>It was whispered about, as was every smallest +happening, and came to the ears of Courtrey himself, +who had promised those vague things for the +future on the fateful night. But Courtrey was +playing a waiting game. He was obsessed with +the image of Tharon. Sooner or later he meant +to have her, to install her at the Valley’s head. +He had always had what he wanted. Therefore, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +he expected to have this girl with the challenging +eyes, the maddening mouth, like crimson sumac.</p> +<p>Ellen?</p> +<p>Already he was setting in motion a thing that +was to take care of Ellen.</p> +<p>The thing in hand now was to placate Tharon, +the mistress of Last’s, to play the overwhelming +lover.</p> +<p>Courtrey knew better than to go near the Holding. +Bully that he was he yet had sense enough +to know that no fear of him dwelt in the huge old +house under the cottonwoods. If Tharon herself +did not shoot him, one––or all––of her riders +would. The day of the armed band riding down +to take her was, if not past, passing fast. He +recalled the look of the settlers––poor spawn +that he hated––whirling their solid column behind +her to face him that day from the Cup Rim’s +floor.</p> +<p>No. Courtrey meant to have the girl some day––to +hold in his arms that ached for her loveliness, +the strong, resistant young body of her––to +sate his thief’s mouth with kisses. But he would +call her to him of her own will, would taste the +savage triumph of seeing her come suing for his +mercy.</p> +<p>If Tharon meant to break Courtrey, he meant +no less to break her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></p> +<p>Outlawry––mob law––they were pitted against +each other.</p> +<p>And, lifting its head dimly through the smother +of hatred, of wrong, of repression and reprisal, +another law was struggling toward the light in +Lost Valley––the sane, quiet law of right and +equality, typified by the smiling, dark-eyed man of +the cabin in the forest glade.</p> +<p>Courtrey sent word to Tharon––an illy spelled +letter, mailed at Baston’s––that he had meant +nothing by that race above the Black Coulee, except +another kiss. There was Courtrey’s daring +in the affronting words.</p> +<p>She sent the letter back to him––riding in on +El Key alone––with the outline of a gun traced +across it.</p> +<p>“Th’ little wildcat!” grinned the man, “she’s +sure spunky!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Once again Tharon met Kenset in the days that +followed. Riding by the Silver Hollow she +stopped one breathless afternoon, drank of the +snow-cold waters, shared them with El Rey, +dropped the rein over the stallion’s head and flung +herself full length on the earth beside the spring. +A clump of willow trees grew here, for every +spring in Lost Valley had its lone sentinels to call +its presence across the stretching miles. As the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +girl lay flat on her back with her hands beneath +her head, she looked up into the blue heart of the +arching skies where the fleecy white clouds sailed, +and a sense of sweetness and peace came down +upon her like a garment.</p> +<p>“You’re sure some lovely spot, Lost Valley,” +she said aloud, “an’ no mistake. I know, more’n +ever as th’ days go by that Jim Last was only +jokin’ when he told me of those other places out +below, big as you, lovely as you. It just ain’t +possible. Is it, El Rey, old boy?”</p> +<p>And she moved a booted foot to the king’s +striped hoof and tapped it smartly.</p> +<p>El Rey, always aloof, always touchy, never +sure of temper, jumped and snorted. The girl +laughed and crossed her feet and fell to speculating +idly about the world that lay beyond Lost +Valley. Little she knew of it. Only the brief +words of her father from time to time, the +reluctant speech of Last’s riders, for the master +of the Holding had laid down the law concerning +this.</p> +<p>His daughter was of the Valley, content. +He meant her to be so always. The man who +had instilled into her young mind a discontent +with her environment, a longing for the “flesh-pots” +of the world as he had styled it once, +would have had short shrift at Last’s. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +would have received his time and “gone packing” +swiftly.</p> +<p>And Tharon was content.</p> +<p>Barring the loneliness that had come with Jim +Last’s death, she was well content.</p> +<p>So she lay by the willows and hummed a sliding +tune, a soft, sweet thing of minors and high notes +falling, like rippling waters, and lazily watched +the high white clouds sail by.</p> +<p>And as she lay she became conscious of something +else in the drowsing land beside herself and +her horse. She felt it first, this presence––a thin, +dim vibration that sang in the earth beneath her. +It stopped the wordless song on her lips, stilled +the breath in her throat, set every nerve in her to +listening, as it were.</p> +<p>Presently she sat up and felt quickly for the +gun-butts in their scabbards. Then she parted the +willows and looked out over the rolling slopes and +levels. True enough. A horseman was coming +in from the west, making for the Silver Hollow, +but Tharon smiled and her fingers relaxed on the +gun. This man rode straight––like a lance, she +thought––and his mount was brown, a good-enough +common horse, but no steed of Lost Valley.</p> +<p>Captain lacked the fire, the ramping keenness +of the Ironwoods, the spirit and dash of the +Finger Marks. For a long time the girl in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +willows watched them. Then as they came near +she rose and caught El Rey’s bridle.</p> +<p>He was no gentleman, this big blue-silver king. +He was savage and wild and imperious. He hated +other horses with a quick hatred sometimes and +had been known to wreak this sudden rage upon +them in sickening fury.</p> +<p>So Tharon held him with a strong brown hand +wrapped in the chain below the Spanish spade bit +in his mouth. She stood beside him, waiting, a +slim, golden creature, tawny of hair and blue of +eye, and the great horse towered above her mightily, +his silver mane blowing up above his arching +neck in the little wind that came from the +south.</p> +<p>They made a picture that Kenset never forgot, +as he swung round the willows and faced them.</p> +<p>El Rey screamed and pounded with his striped +hoofs, but Tharon jerked him down with no gentle +hand.</p> +<p>“Be still, you bully!” she said sharply.</p> +<p>“Why, Miss Last!” cried the forest man, +“I’m so glad to meet you!”</p> +<p>There was the genuine delight of a boy in his +voice, and Tharon caught the note. The sweet, +disarming smile parted her lips and she was all +girl at the moment, artless, innocent, unstained +by the shadow of lawlessness and crime that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +seemed to ever hang above her in Kenset’s +thoughts.</p> +<p>“Are you?”</p> +<p>“I certainly am.”</p> +<p>He swung down, gave Captain a drink at the +edge of the spring farthest from El Rey, dropped +the rein when he had finished, and swung around +to face the girl. He took off his wide hat and +wiped his forehead with a square of linen finer +than anything of its kind she had ever seen.</p> +<p>Then he stood for a moment looking straight +into her eyes with his smiling dark ones. It +seemed to Tharon that this man was always +smiling.</p> +<p>“This is your spring, isn’t it?” he asked.</p> +<p>“Yes. The Silver Hollow. Th’ Gold Pool is +farther south toward th’ Black Coulee. There +was another one, fine as this, perhaps a better one, +up on th’ Cup Rim Range, but Courtrey blew her +up, damn him! She was called th’ Crystal.” +Kenset caught his breath, mentally, all but physically, +and put up a hand to cover his lips.</p> +<p>This <i>was</i> another type of woman from any he +had ever met, in truth.</p> +<p>The oath, rolling roundly over her full red lips, +was as unconscious as the long breath that lifted +her breast at the memory of that outrage.</p> +<p>“We replaced her with a well––an’ it’s a corker. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +Mebby better than th’ old Crystal, though she was +a lovely thing. As clear as––as ice that’s frozen +hard without a ripple of white. You know that +kind?”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Kenset gravely.</p> +<p>“Well,” sighed Tharon, “she’s gone, an’ there +ain’t no use cryin’ over spilt milk. What you ben +a-doin’ sence I helped you hang th’ picture?”</p> +<p>“Won’t you sit down?” Kenset stepped aside. +“It is uncomfortable to stand through a visit––and +I mean to have a long talk-fest with you, if +you will be so kind.”</p> +<p>Tharon flung herself down at the spring’s edge, +eased the right gun from under her hip, leaned +on her elbow and prepared to listen.</p> +<p>“Fire away,” she said.</p> +<p>Kenset laughed.</p> +<p>“For goodness’ sake!” he ejaculated, “I said +visit. That takes two. What have you been +doing?”</p> +<p>“Well, everythin’, mostly. Made a new shirt +for Billy, for one thing. An’ I showed Courtrey +th’ picture o’ this.”</p> +<p>She patted the blue gun that lay half in her lap, +its worn scabbard black against her brown skirt.</p> +<p>Kenset sobered at once. As ever when he let +his mind dwell on that dark shadow which sat so +lightly on this girl, he had no feeling for mirth. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span></p> +<p>A very real chill went down his spine and he +looked intently into her eyes.</p> +<p>“How?” he asked, “what did you do?”</p> +<p>But Tharon shook her head.</p> +<p>“Nothin’ you’d understand,” she said quietly.</p> +<p>“I can show you something you will understand,” +he said, and reached for Captain’s bridle. +He pulled the horse around and pointed to the +saddle horn.</p> +<p>“See that?”</p> +<p>She looked up quickly. With the sure instinct +of a dweller in a gun man’s land she knew the +meaning of the splintered wood of the pommel, +the torn and ragged leather that had covered it.</p> +<p>“Hell!” she said softly, “where did you get +that?”</p> +<p>“At the mouth of Black Coulee, at dusk a +week ago.”</p> +<p>For a long moment Tharon studied the saddle. +Then her gaze dimmed, lengthened, went beyond +into infinitude. The pupils of her eyes drew down +to tiny points of black against the brilliant blue.</p> +<p>At last she turned and held out a hand, rising +from her elbow.</p> +<p>“I beg your pardon, Mister,” she said quaintly, +“fer that day at the Holdin’ an’ th’ meal I offered +an’ took, an’ fer my words. I know now +that you are––that you were––straight. I don’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +yet know what you may mean in Lost Valley with +your talk of Government, but I do know you ain’t +a Courtrey man.”</p> +<p>Kenset took the hand. It was firm and shapely +and vibrant with the young life there was in her. +He laid his other one over it and held it in a +close clasp for a moment.</p> +<p>“I mean only right,” he said, “sanity and law +and decency. I think I have a big problem to +handle here––aside from my work on the forest––a +problem I must solve before I can be effective +in that work––and I am more sincerely glad than +I can say that my friend, the outlaw, took that +warning shot at me. It ruined a perfectly good +saddle, but it has made one point clear to you. I +am no Courtrey man, and that’s a solemn fact.”</p> +<p>“An’ I ain’t ashamed to say I’m glad, too,” +said Tharon.</p> +<p>So, with the sun shining in the cloud-flecked +heavens and the little winds blowing up from the +south to ruffle the hair at the girl’s temples, these +two sat by the Silver Hollow and talked of a +thousand things, after the manner of the young, +for Kenset found himself reverting to the things +of youth in the light of Tharon’s grave simplicity.</p> +<p>They looked into each other’s eyes and found +there strange depths and lights. They were aliens, +strangers, groping dimly for a common ground, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +and finding little, though presently they fell once +more upon the law in Lost Valley and earnestness +deepened into gravity.</p> +<p>“Miss Last,” said Kenset, thrilling at his daring, +“why must this law dwell in these?” and +he reached a hand to tap the gun on her lap.</p> +<p>“Why? That very question’d show your ignorance +to any Lost Valley man. Because it’s all +there is. You’ve seen Courtrey. You’ve seen +Steptoe Service. Can’t you judge from them?”</p> +<p>“Surely, so far as they two go. A bad man +and a bad sheriff. But they are not all the officers +of this County. Where and who is your +Superior Judge?”</p> +<p>“Poor ol’ Ben Garland. Weaker’n skim milk. +Scared to say his soul’s his own.”</p> +<p>There was infinite scorn in her voice.</p> +<p>“No, it’s Steptoe Service, or nothin’.”</p> +<p>Kenset thought a moment.</p> +<p>“Who’s the Coroner?” he asked presently.</p> +<p>“Jim Banner,” she answered quickly, “as +straight a man as ever lived. Brave, too. He’s +been shot at more’n once fer takin’ exception to +some raw piece o’ work in this Valley, fer pokin’ +his nose in, so to speak. Jim Last used to say +he was th’ only <i>man</i> at the Seat, which is Corvan, +you know, of course.”</p> +<p>“District Attorney?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span></p> +<p>“Tom Nord. Keen as a razor an’ married to +Courtrey’s sister. Now do you see why this is +th’ law?” She, too, tapped the gun.</p> +<p>Kenset frowned and looked down along the +green range. He thought of the unpainted pine +building in Corvan which was the Court House. +A strange personnel, truly, to invest it with +authortity!</p> +<p>“I see,” he said briefly, “but there must be +some way out. This is not the right way, the way +that must come and last.”</p> +<p>Tharon’s lips drew into the thin line that made +them like her father’s. “It’s th’ law that’s here,” +she said and there was an instant coldness in her +voice, “an’ it’s th’ law that’ll last until Courtrey +or I go down.”</p> +<p>The man, watching, saw that thinning of the +lips, the hardening of all the young lines of her +face. He knew he had blundered. Talk was +cheap. It was action that counted in Lost Valley.</p> +<p>With a quick motion he reached over and caught +the girl’s hand and drew it to him, covering it +with both of his.</p> +<p>Her eyes followed, came to rest on his face, +cool, appraising, waiting.</p> +<p>She was, in all that had counted in his life, +crude, untutored, basic.</p> +<p>Yet that calm look made his impulsive action +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +seem unpardonable in the next second. However +a warm surge of feeling shot through him with +the quiet resting of that firm brown hand between +his own, and he held it tighter. Kenset had +thought he was sophisticated, that little or nothing +could stir him deeply––not since Ethel Van Riper +had gone to Europe as the bride of the old Count +of Easthaven. That had been four years back. +He had been pretty young then, but the young feel +deeply.</p> +<p>Now he held a gun woman’s hand in the thin +shade of a willow clump in the heart of Lost +Valley––and the blood surged in his ears, the levels +and slopes danced before his vision.</p> +<p>“Miss Tharon,” he said, for the first time +using her given name, “I beg your pardon. You +are strong, simple, serene. You know your land +and its ways. I am an alien, an interloper––but +I can’t bear to think of you as waiting for the +time to kill a man––or to be killed in the killing. +It sickens me.”</p> +<p>Tharon snatched her hand from his and leaped +to her feet.</p> +<p>“Don’t talk like that!” she cried passionately, +“I don’t like to hear it! I thought you were a +real man, maybe, but you’re not! You––you’re a +woman! A soft woman––I hate th’ breed!”</p> +<p>Her face was flushed, for what reason Kenset, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +stunned by her vehement words, could not tell. +She flung the rein up and followed it, leaping to +saddle like a man.</p> +<p>“I tol’ you we couldn’t be friends!” she cried, +her eyes blazing with sudden fire, “there ain’t no +manner of use a-tryin’.”</p> +<p>Kenset, springing forward, caught El Rey’s +bit. The stallion reared and struck, but he held +him down.</p> +<p>“There is use, Tharon,” he panted. “It’s vital! +Since that day on Baston’s steps, when you backed +out past me I have had you in my mind––my +thoughts by day and night––there is use, and I’ll +keep your hands from blood––Courtrey’s or any +other––if it takes my life––so help me God!”</p> +<p>The girl leaned down and her blue eyes blazed +in his face.</p> +<p>“An’ make me false to th’ crosses on Jim +Last’s stone?” she cried. “No––not you or anybody +else––could do that trick! Let go!”</p> +<p>The next moment she had whirled out from the +flickering shade of the willows and was gone +around toward the north––there was only the +sound of hoofs ringing on the earth. Kenset, left +alone where the Silver Hollow bubbled softly +above its snowy sands, passed a trembling hand +across his eyes and stood as in a trance. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span></p> +<p>What did it mean? What had he promised? +What vital emotion had gripped him that his +usually quiet tongue had rushed into that torrential +speech that dealt with life and death? What was +Tharon Last to him?</p> +<p>A figure of the old West! A romantic gun +woman with her weapons on her hips! A rider +of wild horses!</p> +<p>Slowly, as if he had gained an added weight of +years, he reined Captain and swung himself up. +He rode east from the spring toward the lacy +and far-reaching skirts of the forest, and for the +first time he saw the rolling country with tragic +eyes.</p> +<p>It held deep issues––life and death and the +passing or continuing of régimes and and dynasties––but +it was a wondrous country, and, come good +or bad, it had become his own. He swung around +in his saddle and looked far back across the Valley. +He saw the golden light on its uncounted +acres, the shadow falling at the foot of the great +Rockface, the mighty Wall itself with the silver +ribbon of the Vestal’s Veil falling straight down +from the upper rim, the distant town, looking +always like a dull gem in a dark setting, and a +thrill shot to his heart.</p> +<p>Yes, if he lived to do his work in the hidden +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +Valley––if he was shot this night on his own +doorstep, it was his country.</p> +<p>He who was alien in every way, was yet native.</p> +<p>Something in the depths of him came down as +from far distant racial haunts and was at home.</p> +<p>So he rode slowly up among the scattered oaks +with his hands folded on the mutilated pommel, +and he knew that his lines were definitely cast.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Tharon Last rode into the Holding and dismounted +in unwonted silence.</p> +<p>There was a frown between her brows, an +unusual thing. She turned the stallion into his +corral, dragged off the big saddle to hang it on +its peg, flung the studded bridle on a post.</p> +<p>The men were not in yet. Far toward the north +beyond the big corrals she could see the cattle +grazing toward home. A surge of savage joy +in her possessions flooded over her. These things +were her own. They were what Jim Last had +worked for all his life.</p> +<p>Not one hoof or hide should Courtrey take +without swift reprisal.</p> +<p>Not one inch should he push her from her +avowed purpose––not though all the strangers in +the world came to Lost Valley and prated of +blood-guilt.</p> +<p>But for some vague reason which she could not +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +have analyzed had she wished, she went to the +paled-in garden where the silver waters trickled +and searched among the few flowers growing there +for some blossom, sweeter, tenderer, more mild +and timid than usual for the pale hands of the +Virgin in the deep south room.</p> +<p>With the posy in her fingers she slipped quietly +to her sanctuary and knelt before the statue, pensive, +frowning, vaguely stirred. She whispered +the prayers that Anita had taught her, but she +found with a start that the words were meaningless, +that she was saying them mechanically.</p> +<p>Her mind had been at the Silver Hollow, seeing +again the forest man’s dark eyes, so grave, so +quiet, so deep––her right hand was conscious as it +had never been in all her life before. She heard +a strange man’s condemning voice, felt the warmth +of his hands pressed upon hers.</p> +<p>The mistress of Last’s shook herself, both +mentally and physically, and set herself to resay +her prayers.</p> +<p>When she came out to the life and bustle of +the ranch house the cattle were streaming into the +far corrals under their dust, the riders were shouting, +young Paula sang in the kitchen, and Anita +passed back and forth about the evening meal.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>There was a slim moon in the west above the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +Cañon Country. The skies were softly alight, +high and vaulted, deep and mysterious and sweet.</p> +<p>World-silence, profound as eternity, hung +tangibly above Lost Valley and the Wall, the +eastern ramparts of the shelving mountains, the +rocklands at the north. There was little sound +in all this sleeping wilderness.</p> +<p>Bird life was rare. The waters that fell at +seasons from the open mouths of the cañons half +way up the Rockface were dried. Down in the +Valley itself there could be seen the lights of +Corvan which never went out from dusk to dawn. +Far to the north a black blot might have been visible +with a fuller moon––Courtrey’s herds bedded +on the range, the only stock in the Valley so +privileged.</p> +<p>Along the foot of the Rockface in the early +evening a tiny procession had crawled, three +burros, their pack-saddles empty save for a couple +of sacks tied across each, and a weazened form +that followed them––Old Pete, the snow-packer, +bound on his nightly journey to the Cañon Country +for the bags of snow for the cooling of the +Golden Cloud’s refreshments.</p> +<p>He was a little old man, grotesque and misshapen, +yet he followed briskly after the burros, +which were the fastest travelers of their kind in +the land. He rolled on his bandy legs and kept +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +the little animals on a constant trot with the wisp +of stick he carried and the deep, harsh cries that +heralded his coming for a mile ahead and sent the +echoes reverberating between the cañon walls. A +little north of Corvan he had followed the Rockface +close for a distance, then suddenly turned +back on his tracks and disappeared, burros and all. +This was the invisible entrance to the Cañon +Country, a narrow mouth that opened sidewise +into the very breast of the thousand-foot Wall +and led back along a thin sheet of rock that stood +between the gorge and the Valley. The floor +of this cut or cañon, which was so narrow that +the laden burros had a “narrow squeak” to pass, +as Pete said, lifted sharply. It rose smoothly +underfoot in the pitch darkness, for the cut was +roofed in the living rock five hundred feet above, +and climbed for a mile. It was a dead, flat place, +without sound, for the footsteps of the burros +and the man fell dully on the soft and sliding +floor, and it seemed to have no acoustic properties.</p> +<p>At the end of the mile this snake-like split in the +solid rock came suddenly out into a broader, more +steeply pitched cañon whose walls went straight +up to the open skies above. Here there were +heaps and piles and long slides of dead stone, +weathered and powdered, that had fallen from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +time to time from the parent walls. This in turn +led up and on to other breaks and splits and cuts, +all open, all lifting to the upper world, and all +as blind and dangerous to follow as any deathtrap +that old Dame Nature ever devised. Here, +at any crosscut, any debouching cañon, a man +might turn to his undoing, might travel on and +up and never reach those beckoning heights, seen +clearly from some blind pocket he had wandered +into, might never find his way back to the original +cañon among the continuous cuts that met and +crossed and passed each other among the towering +points and sheets.</p> +<p>But Old Pete knew where he was going. Not +for nothing had he threaded these passages for +fifteen years. He knew the Cañon Country for +the lower part better than any man in the Valley, +if Courtrey be excepted.</p> +<p>So this night he climbed and shouted to his +burros and thought no more of the sounding +splits, for here the echoes raved, than he would +have thought of the open plains below.</p> +<p>He passed on and up to where a certain cut +lay full, year after year, of packed and hardened +snow. For fifteen years Old Pete had visited this +cut, a deeper drop into the nether world of rock, +and cut his supplies from its surface. Every +season he took what he needed, leaving a widening +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +circle at the edge from which he worked, where +the cut he traveled passed the mouth of the pent +cañon, and every year the snows, sifting from +high above, leveled it again. There was no known +outlet for this glacier-like pack, no sliding chance, +yet it was always on a certain level––each summer +seeming to lose just what it gained in winter. It +lay level at the mouth of the passing cut, was +never filled higher.</p> +<p>Starting at dusk from Corvan, Pete reached his +destination around two o’clock, filled his sacks, tied +them on his mules and started down, coming out +of the Rockface in time to meet the dawn that +quivered on the eastern ramparts.</p> +<p>But this night Old Pete, sturdy, fearless, unarmed, +was not to see the accustomed pageant of +the rising sun, the fleeing veils of shadows shifting +on the Valley floor that he had watched with silent +joy for all these years.</p> +<p>This night he was well down along his backward +way, shouting in the darkness, for the slim moon +had dropped down behind the lofty peaks above, +when all the echoes in the world, it seemed, let +loose in the cañons and all the weight of the +universe itself came pressing hard upon his dauntless +heart with the crack of a gun.</p> +<p>“Th’ price!” whispered Old Pete as he fell +sprawling on his face, “fer pure flesh!” With +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +which cryptic word he bade farewell to the sounding +passes, the tenets of manhood as he conceived +them, the valour, and the grumbling at life in +general.</p> +<p>The little burros, placid and faithful, went on +and saw the pageant of the dawn from the hidden +gateway in the Wall, crept down the Rockface, +single file, and at their accustomed hour stood at +their accustomed place before the Golden Cloud.</p> +<p>It was Wan Lee, Old Pete’s <i>bête noir</i>, who +found them there and ran shouting through the +crowd of belated players in the saloon’s big room, +his pig-tail flying, his almond eyes popping, to +upset a table and batter on his master’s door and +scream that the “bullos” were here, “allesame +lone,” and that there was blood all spattered on +the hind one’s rump!</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII_WHITE_ELLEN' id='CHAPTER_VIII_WHITE_ELLEN'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +<h3>WHITE ELLEN</h3> +</div> +<p>So old Pete, the snow-packer, had paid the +price of gallantry. The bullet he had averted +from Tharon Last’s young head that day in +the Golden Cloud but sheathed itself to wait for +him. All the Valley knew it. Not a soul beneath the +Rockface but knew beyond a shadow of a doubt +who, or whose agents, had followed Pete that +night to the Cañon Country. Whispers went +flying about as usual, and as usual nothing +happened.</p> +<p>When the news of this came to Last’s Holding +the mistress sat down at the big desk in the living +room, laid her tawny head on her arms and wept.</p> +<p>There was in her a new softness, a new feeling +of misery––as if one had wantonly killed a rollicking +puppy before her eyes. Those tears were Old +Pete’s requiem. She dried them quickly, however, +and set another notch to her score with Courtrey.</p> +<p>It was then that the waiting game ceased +abruptly.</p> +<p>Tharon, riding on El Rey, went in to Corvan. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span> +She tied the horse at the Court House steps and +went boldly in to the sheriff’s office.</p> +<p>Behind her were Billy, like her shadow, and +the sane and quiet Conford.</p> +<p>Steptoe Service, fat and important, was busy +at his desk. His spurs lay on a table, his wide hat +beside them. The star of his office shone on his +suspender strap.</p> +<p>“Step Service,” said the girl straightly, “when +are you goin’ to look into this here murder?”</p> +<p>Service swung round and shot an ugly look at +her from his small eyes.</p> +<p>“Have already done so,” he said, “ben out an’ +saw to th’ buryin’!”</p> +<p>Tharon gasped.</p> +<p>“Buried him already? How dared you do +it?”</p> +<p>“Say,” said Service, banging a fist on his table, +“I’m th’ sheriff of Menlo County, young woman. +I ordered him buried.”</p> +<p>“Where?”</p> +<p>“What’s it to you?”</p> +<p>“Was Jim Banner there?”</p> +<p>“Jim Banner’s sick in bed––got th’ cholery +morbus.”</p> +<p>Tharon’s eyes began to blaze.</p> +<p>“Bah!” she snapped, “th’ time’s ripe! Come +on, boys,” and she whirled from the Court House. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span></p> +<p>As she ran across the street to where the Finger +Marks were tied, she came face to face with Kenset +on Captain.</p> +<p>Her face was red from brow to throat, her +voice thick with rage.</p> +<p>“You talked o’ law, Mr. Kenset,” she cried at +the brown horse’s shoulder, her eyes upraised to +his, “an’ see what law there is in Lost Valley! +Step Service has buried th’ snow-packer––without +a by-your-leave from nobody! Th’ man––or +woman––that kills Courtrey now ’counts for three +men––Harkness, Last an’ Pete. I’m on my way +to th’ Stronghold.”</p> +<p>She whirled again to run for the stallion, but +the forest man leaned down and caught her +shoulder in a grip of steel.</p> +<p>“Not now,” he said in that compelling low +voice, “not now. I want to talk to you.”</p> +<p>“But I don’t want to talk to you!” she flung +out, “I’m goin’!”</p> +<p>Over her head Conford’s anxious eyes met +Kenset’s.</p> +<p>“Hold her,” they begged plainly, “we can’t.”</p> +<p>And Kenset held her, by physical strength.</p> +<p>The grey eyes of Billy were on him coldly. The +boy was hot with anger at the man. He put a +hand on Kenset’s arm.</p> +<p>“Let go,” he said, but Kenset shook him off. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span></p> +<p>“Come out on the plain a little way with me, all +of you,” he said, “this is no place to talk.”</p> +<p>Tharon, standing where he had stopped her, +her breast heaving, her lips apart, seemed +struggling against an unknown force. She put up +a hand and tried to dislodge his fingers on her +shoulder, but could not.</p> +<p>Presently she wet her lips and looked around +the street, already filled with watching folk, then +up at Kenset.</p> +<p>“What for?” she asked.</p> +<p>“I think I can tell you something,” he answered +quietly.</p> +<p>“All right,” she said briefly, “let go an’ I’ll +come.”</p> +<p>Without a word the man loosed her. She went +to El Rey and mounted.</p> +<p>Her riders mounted with her, Billy’s face +frowning and set. From the steps of Baston’s +store a few cowboys watched. There were no +Stronghold men in town, for it was too early in +the day.</p> +<p>In silence Kenset led out of town at a brisk +canter. His lips were set, his eyes very grave.</p> +<p>In the short gallop that followed while they +cleared the skirts of the town, he did some swift +thinking, settled some heavy questions for himself.</p> +<p>He was about to take a decided step, to put +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +himself on record in something that did not concern +his work in the Valley.</p> +<p>He was going directly opposite to the teaching +of his craft. He was about to take sides in this +thing, when he had laid down for himself rigid +lines of non-partisanship. His mind was working +swiftly.</p> +<p>If he flung himself and his knowledge of the +outside world and the law into this thing he sunk +abruptly the thing for which he had come to Lost +Valley––the middle course, the influence for order +that he had hoped to establish that he might do +his work for the Government.</p> +<p>But he could not help it. At any or all costs +he must stop this blue-eyed girl from riding north +to challenge Courtrey on his doorstep.</p> +<p>The blood congealed about his heart at the +thought.</p> +<p>Where the rolling levels came up to the confines +of the town they rode out far enough to be +safe from eavesdroppers, halted and faced each +other.</p> +<p>“Miss Last,” said Kenset gently, “I’m a +stranger to you. I have little or no influence with +you, but I beg you to listen to me. You say there +is no help for the conditions existing in Lost Valley. +That outrage follows outrage. True. I +grant the thing is appalling. But there is redress. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +There is a law above the sheriff, when it can be +proven that that officer has refused to do his duty. +That law is invested in the coroner. Your coroner +can arrest your sheriff. He can investigate a +murder––he can issue a warrant and serve it anywhere +in the State. He can subpoena witnesses. +Did you know that?”</p> +<p>Tharon shook her head.</p> +<p>“Nor you?” he asked Conford.</p> +<p>“I knew somethin’ like that––but what’s th’ +use? Banner’s a brave man, but he’s got a family. +An’ he’s been only one against th’ whole push. +What could he do when there wasn’t another man +in th’ Valley dared to stand behind him? You +saw what happened to Pete. He struck up Courtrey’s +arm when he shot at Tharon one night last +spring. Th’ same thing’d happen to Banner if he +tried to pull off anythin’ like that.”</p> +<p>A light flamed up in Kenset’s eyes.</p> +<p>“If you, Miss Last,” he said straightly, “will +give me your word to do no shooting, something +like that will be pulled off here, and shortly.”</p> +<p>He looked directly at Tharon, and for the first +time in her life she felt the strength of a gaze +she couldn’t meet––not fully.</p> +<p>But Tharon shook her head.</p> +<p>“I’m sworn,” she said simply.</p> +<p>Kenset’s face lost a bit of colour. Billy, watching, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +turned grey beneath his tan. He saw something +which none other did, a thing that darkened +the heavens all suddenly.</p> +<p>“Then,” said Kenset quietly, “we’ll have to do +without your promise and go ahead anyway. We’ll +ride back to town, demand of Service a proper investigation +by a coroner’s jury, and begin at the +bottom.”</p> +<p>Tharon moved uneasily in her saddle.</p> +<p>“Why are you doin’ this?” she asked. “Why +are you mixin’ up in our troubles? Why don’t +you go back to your cabin an’ your pictures an’ +books an’ things, an’ let us work out our own +affairs?”</p> +<p>Kenset lifted a quick hand, dropped it again.</p> +<p>“God knows!” he said. “Let’s go.”</p> +<p>And he wheeled his horse and started for +Corvan, the others falling into line at his +side.</p> +<p>When Kenset, quietly impervious to the veiled +hostility that met him everywhere, faced Steptoe +Service and made his request, that dignitary felt +a chill go down his spine. Like Old Pete he felt +the man beneath the surface. He met him, however, +with bluster and refused all reopening of a +matter which he declared settled with the burial +of the snow-packer in the sliding cañons where +he was found. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span></p> +<p>“Very well,” said Kenset shortly, “you see I +have witnesses to this,” and he turned on his heel +and went out.</p> +<p>“Now, Miss Last,” he said when they were in +the wholesome summer sunlight once more, “if +you have any friends whom you think would stand +for the right, send for them.”</p> +<p>“Th’ Vigilantes,” said the girl, “we’ll gather +them in twenty-four hours.”</p> +<p>“The Vigilantes?”</p> +<p>“Th’ settlers,” said Conford.</p> +<p>“All right. Until they are here we’ll guard +the mouth of this cañon that leads into the Rockface, +as I understand it. Now take me to this +man Banner.”</p> +<p>At a low, rambling house in the outskirts of +Corvan they found Jim Banner, sitting on the +edge of his bed, undeniably sick from some acute +attack. His eyes were steady, however, and he +listened in silence while Kenset talked.</p> +<p>“Mary,” he said, “bring me my boots an’ +guns. I been layin’ for this day ever sence I been +in office. I wisht Jim Last was here to witness +it.”</p> +<p>In two hours Kenset was on his way to the blind +mouth of the pass that led into the Cañon Country, +Tharon was shooting back to the Holding +on El Rey to put things on a watching basis there, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +while Conford and Billy went south and west to +rouse the Vigilantes.</p> +<p>With Kenset rode Banner, weak and not quite +steady in his saddle, but a fighting man notwithstanding.</p> +<p>All through the golden hours of that noonday +while he jogged steadily on Captain, Kenset was +thinking. He had food for thought, indeed. He +carried a gun at last––he who had ridden the Valley +unarmed, had meant never to carry one. He +felt a stir within him of savagery, of excitement.</p> +<p>He meant to have justice done, to put a hard +hand on the law of Lost Valley. Murders uninvestigated, +cattle stolen at will, settlers’ homes +burned over their heads, their hearths blown up by +planted powder when they returned from any +small trip, their horses run off––these things had +seemed to him preposterous, mere shadows of +facts. Now they were down to straight points +before him, tangible, solid. He got them from +the blue eyes of Tharon Last, the gun woman, and +he had taken sides! He who had meant to keep +so far out of the boiling turmoil.</p> +<p>He camped that night at the base of the Wall +where the blind door entered, made his bed just +inside the dead black passage, and watched while +Banner, weary and still weak, slept in his blankets +beside him. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span></p> +<p>This was new work for Kenset, strange work, +this waiting for men who called themselves the +Vigilantes––for a slim golden girl who rode and +swore and pledged herself to blood!</p> +<p>More than once in the quiet night that followed, +Kenset wiped a hand across his brow and +found it moist with sweat.</p> +<p>What did he mean? Again and again he asked +himself that question.</p> +<p>What did he mean by Tharon Last? What was +this cold fire that burned him when he thought of +her pulling those sinister blue guns on Courtrey? +Did he fear to see her kill Courtrey––to see that +shadowy stain on her hands––or did he fear something +worse, infinitely worse––to see Courtrey, +famous gun man, beat her to it!</p> +<p>He shuddered and sweat in the clear cold of the +starlit night and searched his bewildered heart. +He could find no answer save and except the weary +one that Tharon Last must be holden from her +sworn course.</p> +<p>Tharon Last who looked at him with those deep +blue eyes and spoke so coolly of this promised +killing! He recalled the earnest frown between +her brows, the simple directness of her duty as she +saw it and told it to him.</p> +<p>Either way––either way––she was lost to him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +forever––There he caught himself and started all +over again.</p> +<p>What was she to him?</p> +<p>What could she ever be? She with her strange +soul, <i>her lack of soul</i>!</p> +<p>What did he want her to be? One moment +he ached with her loveliness––the next he shuddered +at her savagery.</p> +<p>He did not want her to be anything! Why not +go out to the dim and half-remembered world that +he had left, the world of lights, padded floors and +marble steps, leave this impossible land with its +blood and wrongs? Nay, he could not leave Lost +Valley. He was as much a part of it as the grim +Rockface itself, the Vestal’s Veil eternally shimmering +in its thousand feet of beauty. Life or +death, for Kenset, it must be here.</p> +<p>So he waited and listened and watched the stars +wheeling in everlasting majesty, and he found his +hands falling now and again upon the gun-butts at +his sides!</p> +<p>Near dawn Banner awoke, refreshed and +stronger, and made him lie down for a few hours’ +sleep.</p> +<p>When he awoke the sun was well up along the +heavens and Banner was offering him a piece of +dry bread and some jerky, spiced and smoked and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +as dry and sweet as anything he had ever eaten +in all his life.</p> +<p>“They’re comin’,” said the man, “thar’s five +comin’ from down along th’ Wall at th’ south––that’ll +be Jameson, Hill and Thomas, an’ some +others––an’ I see about ten or twelve, near’s I +can make out, driftin’ in from up toward th’ Pomo +settlement. Thar’s a dust cloud movin’ up from +th’ Bottle Neck, too. They’ll be here by one +o’clock at th’ furdest.”</p> +<p>And they were, a grim, silent group of men, +determined, watchful, bent on the second step of +the program to which they had pledged themselves +that night at Last’s Holding. Tharon was there, +too, and with her Bent Smith on Golden.</p> +<p>It was a goodly number who left their horses +in charge of Hill and Dixon at the blind mouth +and entered the long black cut. They climbed in +low spoken quiet, their voices sounding back upon +them with an odd dead effect. They went faster +than Old Pete was wont to travel, for they meant +to reach the spot of the tragedy before the early +shadows should begin to sift down from the high +world above. Tharon went eagerly, her eyes +dilated.</p> +<p>Always she had dreamed of the Cañon Country. +Always she had wondered what it was like. +When she left the mouth of the black roofed cut +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span> +and came out into the narrow, rockwalled cañon +with its painted faces reaching up into the very +skies, she gasped with amaze. Above her head +she could see the endless cuts and crosscuts, the +standing spires and narrow wedgelike walls that +made a labyrinthian maze.</p> +<p>Billy, close beside her, as always, watched her +with a pensive sadness.</p> +<p>And so the Vigilantes went in and up along the +lower ways. There were those among them who +had been here before, who from time to time had +accompanied the snow-packer on his nightly trips +just for the curiosity of the thing. These several +men, among whom were Albright from the Pomo +settlement––a squawman––took the lead, and Albright, +keen as a hound on trail, picked up Old +Pete’s marks and signs at a running walk.</p> +<p>And so it was, that, while the sun was still +shining on the high peaks above and the cañons +were filled with a strange pink light reflected from +the red and yellow faces of the rock, the Vigilantes +came suddenly to a halt, for Albright had +stopped.</p> +<p>“Here’s where it happened,” he said, “there’s +a blood-sign.” And he pointed to the Wall at a +spot about breast high. A thin dark line, no wider +than a blade of grass and about as long, spraying +out to nothing at the upper end, leaned along the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +rock like a native marking. No other eye had +seen it. Not one in a thousand would have seen +it.</p> +<p>“Good,” said Kenset, “you’re the man for +more of this.”</p> +<p>They crowded around and examined the telltale +spray.</p> +<p>Not one among them but knew it for the stain +of blood.</p> +<p>From that they spread out and back to search +the sliding heaps of dust-like powdery rock-slide +that lay everywhere along the walls.</p> +<p>It took Albright five minutes by Kenset’s watch +to find the disturbed and clumsily smoothed dump +which held all that was mortal of the snow-packer.</p> +<p>“Miss Last,” said Kenset as the men began to +dig with the spades brought along for the purpose, +“you had best step back a bit.”</p> +<p>But Tharon pushed nearer.</p> +<p>“This is my work,” she said with dignity. “I +started this, I think.”</p> +<p>It was a pitiful job that Service and those with +him had done for Old Pete. Rolled head-first +into a shallow hole––no doubt with jest and laughter––it +was his booted foot which first came to +view, sticking grotesquely up through the loose +slide-stuff.</p> +<p>It was brief work and grim work that followed, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +and soon the weazened form, bent and +stiffened into something hardly human, lay in the +soft pink light on the cañon’s floor.</p> +<p>Jim Banner knelt and examined it carefully and +minutely, then every man in the group did likewise. +They found evidence of one simple, staring fact––Old +Pete had been shot squarely from behind, a +little to the left.</p> +<p>The bullet had undoubtedly pierced the heart––a +great gaping hole in the left centre of the +breast in front attesting its course.</p> +<p>“Here,” said Albright, coming back from a +short distance down, beneath the spray on the +wall, “here’s where something was taken up from +th’ floor––th’ blood he lost, I make no doubt.”</p> +<p>“Gentlemen,––Miss Last,” said Kenset, “I +move we all move back and leave the ground to +Albright. There is fine work here.”</p> +<p>With one accord the mass moved back, clearing +a goodly space.</p> +<p>In the immediate vicinity there was little chance +of doing anything, for Service’s bunch, and themselves, +had trampled over the soft floor until all +original traces of the murder were blotted out.</p> +<p>Albright looked around and seemed to hesitate.</p> +<p>“Me, alone?” he asked. “Gimme Dick +Compos, there.”</p> +<p>“Done,” said Kenset. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span></p> +<p>A tall, silent half-breed stepped forward and +without another word the two began to scan the +walls, the floors, the heaps of rotted rock, the +loose and tumbled boulders, not yet decomposed, +that lined the cut on both sides.</p> +<p>They stood in their tracks and looked, and the +concentration in their eyes was akin to that in the +eyes of a wild animal, hiding, hard-pressed, and +looking for a loophole for life.</p> +<p>The Vigilantes watched them in silence.</p> +<p>Presently Dick Compos stepped forward, +leaned down and searched the wall at the left. +Then he went forward, bent over, scanning each +inch. He looked above and below, the height of +a man’s shoulders, his hips, his knees.</p> +<p>Then he crept back, stopped at a particular +upstanding piece of stone, searched it closely––stepped +in behind.</p> +<p>When he came out he looked over at Tharon +Last standing at the head of her people.</p> +<p>“Some one went along th’ Wall here,” he +waved a slender brown hand at the cañon face. +“Three signs––here––here––here.”</p> +<p>He indicated the heights he had scanned. They +stepped a bit nearer and looked. Several pairs +of Valley eyes saw what Dick Compos had seen, a +sign so fine that few would have called it that––merely +a brushing, a smoothing of the fine-sandstone +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +surface where a man’s shoulders, his hips, his +knees might have pressed had he stood waiting +there.</p> +<p>A bit nearer the standing pinnacle of rock, they +were evident again.</p> +<p>With one accord they turned and looked down +the cañon to where that thin line sprayed the face. +A close shot, such as would be necessary in the +darkness of the cut. Albright and Compos both +stepped to the rock and stood looking with those +narrowed, concentrated eyes.</p> +<p>Suddenly Albright, looking back across his +shoulders, moved like a cat and picked up something +from ten feet away.</p> +<p>He held it on his palm––an empty shell, such +as fitted a .44 Smith and Wesson.</p> +<p>He scanned it minutely, turned it over this way +and that, looked at it fore and aft.</p> +<p>“Firin’ pin’s nicked,” he said, “an’ a leetle off +centre.”</p> +<p>For ten minutes the thing went from hand to +hand.</p> +<p>Then Kenset gave it to the coroner.</p> +<p>“There’s your clew, Mr. Banner,” he said. +“Now we can begin. Let us be going back to +Corvan.”</p> +<p>And so it was that Old Pete, the snow-packer, +went back in state to the Golden Cloud, by relays +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +on men’s shoulders down the sounding passes, +through the dead cut, by pack-horse across the +levels, lashed stiffly to the saddle, a pitiful +burden.</p> +<p>Tharon Last, riding close after the calm fashion +of a strong man in the face of tragedy, thought +pensively of that night in spring when this little +old man had taken his life in his hands to save her +own.</p> +<p>It was a gift he had given her, nothing less, and +she made up her mind that Old Pete should sleep +in peace under the pointing pine at Last’s Holding––and +that his cross should also stand beside +those other two in the carved granite.</p> +<p>Billy, watching, read her mind with the half-tragic +eyes of love.</p> +<p>Kenset, seemingly unconscious, but keenly alive +to everything, was at great loss to do so.</p> +<p>He hoped, with a surging tenseness, that this +fateful thing was sliding over into his hands to +work out, his and Banner’s. He knew full well +that he and Banner both were like to be slated for +an early death, but he did not care. In Corvan, +night had fallen when the cavalcade passed +through.</p> +<p>Bullard of the Golden Cloud had the grace +to come out and look at the little old man who +had worked for him so long and faithfully. But +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span> +that was all. They carried him home to Last’s +and buried him decently at dawn.</p> +<p>Then the Vigilantes again rode out. At their +head was Tharon; though both Kenset and Billy +tried to dissuade her.</p> +<p>At Corvan, Banner went through the town like +a wind, asking for the gun of every man he met. +By noon every .44 had been examined, one shell +exploded. Not one left the nicked, uneven sign +of the mysterious hammer which had snapped its +death into Old Pete’s heart.</p> +<p>When the sun was straight overhead and all +Lost Valley was sweet with the summer haze, the +Vigilantes, close packed and silent, swung out +toward the Stronghold.</p> +<p>It was blue-dusk when they drew up at the +corrals beside the fortress house. Lounging +around in cat-like quiet were some thirty men, +riders, gun men, <i>vaqueros</i>.</p> +<p>When Banner called for Courtrey there was a +sound of boots on the board floors, inside, a +woman’s pleading voice, and the cattle king came +swinging out, his hands at his waist, his two guns +covering the crowd.</p> +<p>Tall, straight as a lance, his iron-grey head uncovered, +he was a striking figure of a man. His +henchmen watched him sharply. At his side clung +the slim woman, Ellen, her milky face thin and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span> +tragic. He shook her loose and faced the newcomers.</p> +<p>“Well?” he snapped, “what’s this?”</p> +<p>“Courtrey,” said Banner, “we’re here in th’ +name o’ th’ law. We demand t’ see them guns o’ +yours.”</p> +<p>If the knowledge that Jim Banner was a brave +man needed confirmation, it had it in that speech. +Few men in the world could have made it, and +gotten away with it. None in a different setting. +Courtrey heard it, but he paid little heed to it at +the moment. His eyes went to the face of Tharon +Last and drank in its beauty hungrily.</p> +<p>Presently he shifted his gaze and regarded Kenset +with a cold light that was evil.</p> +<p>“Who wants ’em?” he asked drawlingly.</p> +<p>“We do.”</p> +<p>“Hell! Want <i>Courtrey’s</i> guns! You’re modest, +Jim.</p> +<p>“An’ what do you want, Tharon?”</p> +<p>In spite of the tenseness of the moment the +voice that had laughed at death and torture in +Round Valley became melting soft as it addressed +the girl.</p> +<p>“Law!” said Tharon, “Law––th’ law I promised +you on Baston’s porch!”</p> +<p>“Yes? An’ how do you think you’ll get that? +If I nod my head we’ll drive this bunch o’ spawn +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +out o’ here so quick it’ll make your head swim! +What do you think you’re doin’?”</p> +<p>“I don’t <i>think</i>. I <i>know</i> now. Know what we +can do––what th’ law means.”</p> +<p>Courtrey glanced again at Kenset.</p> +<p>“Got some imported knowledge, I take it.”</p> +<p>“Take it or leave it! Show us them guns!” +cried Tharon harshly.</p> +<p>“I––don’t––think––so,” said Courtrey, nodding.</p> +<p>Like a pair of snakes gliding forward, Wylackie +Bob and the Arizona stranger were suddenly +in the foreground, hands hanging apparently +loose and careless, in reality tense as strung +wires, ready to snap with fire and lead.</p> +<p>The moment was pregnant. The very air +seemed charged with danger and death.</p> +<p>Then, with a strange cry, Tharon Last swung +sidewise from her saddle, for all the world as if +she were breaking under the strain, leaned far over +El Rey’s shoulder, and the next moment there +came a shot, snapping in the stillness.</p> +<p>With an oath and a lurch Courtrey flung backward, +tossed up his right arm, and fired with his +left. His ball went high in the air, wild. The +blood from that tossed right hand spurted over +Wylackie Bob beside him, the gun it had held +went hurtling away along the earth. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span></p> +<p>There was a movement, a surge, the flash of +guns and one of the settlers tumbled from his +saddle, poor Thomas of the doubting heart. +Courtrey’s men flashed together as one, thundered +backward to the wide doorstep, pressed together, +waited. The voice of Kenset rang like a +clarion.</p> +<p>“Stop!” he cried, “don’t shoot!”</p> +<p>And he swung off his horse to leap for that gun.</p> +<p>But another was before him.</p> +<p>With a scream of anguish that rang heaven-high, +Ellen shot forward and snatched it from the +spot where it had fallen.</p> +<p>Tall, white as a ghost in the rose-pink light that +was tinged with purple, she stood, swaying on her +feet, and faced them.</p> +<p>And she put the gun to her temple!</p> +<p>“I ain’t got nothin’ t’ live for,” she said clearly +and pitifully, “but Courtrey’s life is worth what +I got to me. If you don’t clear out I’ll pull th’ +trigger.”</p> +<p>She was tragic as death itself. The big blue +wells of her eyes were black with the spreading +pupils. Dark circles lay beneath them.</p> +<p>Her blue-veined hands were so thin the light +seemed to shine through them.</p> +<p>Her long white dress clung to her slim form. +From far back by the corral fence Cleve Whitmore +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span> +watched her silently, his hands clenched +hard.</p> +<p>Tharon Last looked at her with wide eyes. She +had forgotten all about this woman in the passionate +hatred of Courtrey and the desire to pin +his crimes upon him. Now she wet her lips and +looked at Ellen long and silently. The pale lips +were quivering, the long arm shook as it held the +gun.</p> +<p>“God!” whispered the girl, watching, “she +loves him! Like I loved Jim Last! Th’ pain’s in +her heart, an’ no mistake!”</p> +<p>Then, as if something strong within her folded +its iron arm upon itself, she began to back El +Rey. “Back out!” she called, “we ain’t no +woman-killers!”</p> +<p>With one accord, carefully, watching, the Vigilantes +began to back, counting the seconds, +expecting each moment to witness the most pitiful +thing Lost Valley with all its crimes, had ever +seen.</p> +<p>Some one lifted the body of Thomas and swung +it across a horse.</p> +<p>Back to the corner of the house, around, they +went, and finally, out in front they turned as one +man and rode away from the Stronghold––and +Jim Banner was swearing like a fury, steadily, in +a high-pitched voice. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span></p> +<p>“Failed!” he cried between his oaths, “failed +in our biggest job! That’s th’ gun, all right, all +right, an’ that damned woman beat us to it! Beat +us to it with her fool’s courage an’ her sickenin’ +love! Oh, t’ hell with Courtrey an’ all this Valley! +I’m a-goin’ t’ move down th’ Wall, s’help +me!”</p> +<p>But Tharon Last forged to his side and gripped +his arm in her strong fingers.</p> +<p>“Shut up, Jim Banner,” she said tensely. +“You’ve only begun. That’s th’ gun, I make no +doubt, an’ Ellen knew it––but if we’re worth killin’ +we’ll dig into this harder’n ever. Here’s poor +Thomas, makes one more notch on my record. +I’m not sayin’ quit! An’ you’re th’ bravest man +in Corvan, too!”</p> +<p>At Last’s Holding the Vigilantes stopped for +rest and food.</p> +<p>They had been in saddle the better part of +forty-eight hours.</p> +<p>Young Paula, José and Anita set up a steaming +meal, and they ate like famished men, by relays +at the big table in the dining room.</p> +<p>Tharon Last sat quietly at the board’s head +throughout the meal, pensive, thinking of Ellen, +but grimly planning for the future.</p> +<p>And Billy and Kenset watched her, each with a +secret pain at his heart. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span></p> +<p>“Lord, Lord,” said Billy to himself, “she’s +listenin’ when he speaks like she never listened +to any one before!”</p> +<p>In Kenset’s mind drilled over and over again +the ceaseless thought “A hand or a heart––she +could hit them both with ease. It’s true, true,––she’s +a gun woman! Oh, Tharon, Tharon!” and +he did not know he spoke her name beneath his +breath.</p> +<p>But other things were crowding forward––he +was leaning forward telling that circle of grim, +lean faces, that if they could not handle this thing +themselves, there were those in the big world of +below who could––that there were men of the +Secret Service who could find that gun no matter +where Courtrey or Ellen hid it, that Lost +Valley, no matter what its isolation or its history, +was yet in the U. S. A., and could be +tamed.</p> +<p>Then the Vigilantes were gone with jangle of +spur and bit-chain, and he was the last to go, standing +by Captain in the dim starlight. Tharon stood +beside him, and for some unaccountable reason +the grim purpose of their acquaintance seemed to +drift away, to leave them together, alone under +the stars, a man and a maid. Kenset stood for +a long moment and looked at the faint outline of +her face. She was still in her riding clothes, her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +head bare with its ribbon half untied in the nape +of her slender neck.</p> +<p>The tree-toads were singing off by the springhouse +and the cattle in the big corrals made the +low, ceaseless night-sounds common to a herd.</p> +<p>The riders were gone, the <i>vaqueros</i> were at +their posts around the resting stock, the low adobe +house was settling into the quiet of the night.</p> +<p>Miserably Kenset looked at this slip of a girl.</p> +<p>She was strange to him, unfathomable. There +were depths beneath the changing blue eyes which +appalled him. How would he feel toward her +when the thing was done––when she had killed +Courtrey?</p> +<p>But she must not be allowed to do it. Not +though it took his life.</p> +<p>If she was pledged to this thing, he was no less +pledged to its prevention.</p> +<p>He felt a sadness within him as he saw the +soft curve of her cheek, the outline of her tawny +head.</p> +<p>With an impulse which he could not govern he +reached out suddenly and took her hands in his +and pressed them against his heart. The pounding +of that heart was noticeable through her hands +into his.</p> +<p>But he did not speak––he could not.</p> +<p>But he had no need. He could have said nothing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +that would have cleared the situation, would +have told himself or her what was in that pounding +heart of his––for to save his life he did not +know.</p> +<p>And Tharon frowned in the darkness and drew +her hands from under those pressing ones.</p> +<p>“Mr. Kenset,” she said steadily, “you’re +always tryin’ to make me weak, to break me down +with words an’ looks an’ touches. These hands +o’ yours,––<i>damn ’em</i>, they <i>do</i> make me weak! +Don’t put ’em on me again!”</p> +<p>And with a sudden, sharp savagery she struck +his hands off his breast, whirled away in the darkness +and was gone.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX_SIGNAL_FIRES_IN_THE_VALLEY' id='CHAPTER_IX_SIGNAL_FIRES_IN_THE_VALLEY'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +<h3>SIGNAL FIRES IN THE VALLEY</h3> +</div> +<p>Kenset, two days later, gave Sam Drake +a check for five hundred dollars and a +letter, unpostmarked but sealed with tape +and wax. Drake, who owned some half-breed +Ironwoods, rode the best one down the Wall.</p> +<p>Kenset had cautioned him not to talk before he +left––he feared Drake’s propensity for speech. +But he was the only man in Lost Valley whom he +felt he could approach.</p> +<p>With the courier’s departure he rode back to +the Holding and told Tharon and Conford what +he had done.</p> +<p>“These men are the best to be had,” he said, +“and they will go anywhere on earth for money.”</p> +<p>But Tharon frowned and struck a fist into a +soft palm.</p> +<p>“What you mean?” she cried, “by takin’ my +work out of my hands like this? I won’t have it! +I won’t wait!”</p> +<p>“What I meant when I caught your bridle that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +day in the glade,” answered the man, “to stop +you from bloodshed.”</p> +<p>Then he went back to his cabin and his interrupted +work and set himself to wait in patience +for the return of Drake.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>But in Lost Valley a leaven was rising. It had +begun insidiously to work with the appearance of +Kenset in Tharon’s band at Courtrey’s doorstep. +It burst up like a mushroom with a chance remark +made by Lola of the Golden Cloud––Lola, who +had seen, since that night in spring when Tharon +Last stood in the door and promised to “get” +her father’s killer, that Courtrey was slipping +from her. A woman like Lola is hard to deceive.</p> +<p>Much experience had taught her to feel the +change of winds in the matter of allegiance.</p> +<p>She knew that surely and swiftly this man had +gone down the path of unreasoning love, that he +would give anything he possessed, do anything +possible, to win for himself this slim mistress of +Last’s Holding.</p> +<p>Therefore she played the one card she held, +hoping to rouse the bully, and did just the thing +she was trying to avert.</p> +<p>“Buck,” she said, her black head on his +shoulder, her dark eyes watching covertly his careless +face, “the Last girl is lost to every Valley +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +man. Sooner or later she’ll leave the country, +mark my word, with this Forest Service fellow, +for she’s in love with him, though she doesn’t +know it yet.”</p> +<p>With a slow movement Courtrey loosed his +arm about Lola and lifted her from him. His +eyes were narrowed as he looked into her face.</p> +<p>“For God’s sake!” he said, “what makes you +think that?”</p> +<p>“Knowledge,” said Lola, “long knowledge of +women and men.”</p> +<p>“If I thought that,” said Courtrey slowly, his +eyes losing sight of her as he seemed to look beyond +her. “If––I––thought that––why, hell! If +that’s th’ truth––why, it––it’s th’ lever!”</p> +<p>And he rose abruptly, though he had just settled +himself in Lola’s apartment for a pleasant +chat, as was his habit whenever he rode in from +the Stronghold.</p> +<p>“Lola,” he said presently, “I might’s well +tell you that I’m plannin’ to have this girl for mine,––<i>mine</i>, +you understand, legally, by law. I can’t +have her like I’ve had you. She’d blow my head +off th’ first time I stopped holdin’ her hands.” He +laughed at the picture he had conjured, then went +on.</p> +<p>“An’ so I feel grateful to you, old girl, for that +remark. It sets me thinkin’.” And he stooped and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +kissed her on the lips. The woman returned the +kiss, a wonderful caress, slow, soft, alluring, but +the man did not notice.</p> +<p>His face was flushed, his eyes studying.</p> +<p>Then he swung quickly out through the Golden, +Cloud, and Lola slipped limply down on a couch +and covered her ashen cheeks with her hands.</p> +<p>“Oh, Buck!” she whispered brokenly, “Oh, +Buck! Buck!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Courtrey went straight home, still, cold, thinking +hard. His henchmen left him in solitude after +the first word or two. They knew him well, and +that something was brewing.</p> +<p>At midnight that night he roused Wylackie +Bob, Black Bart and the man who was known as +Arizona, and the four of them went out on the +levels for a secret talk.</p> +<p>The next day the master of the Stronghold rode +away on Bolt. As he left, Ellen, standing in the +doorway like a pale ghost, lifted her tragic eyes +to his face with the look of a faithful dog.</p> +<p>“Where you goin’, Buck?” she asked timidly.</p> +<p>“Off,” said the man shortly.</p> +<p>“Ain’t you goin’––goin’ to kiss me?”</p> +<p>He laughed cruelly.</p> +<p>“Not after what I ben a-hearin’, I ain’t!”</p> +<p>She sprang forward, catching at his knee. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span></p> +<p>“What––what you ben a-hearin’? There ain’t +nothin’ about me you could a-heard, Buck, dear! +Nothin’ in this world! I ben true to you as your +shadow!”</p> +<p>Every soul within hearing knew the words for +the utter and absolute truth, yet Courtrey looked +at Wylackie Bob, at Arizona, and laughed.</p> +<p>“Like hell, you have!” he said, struck the +Ironwood and was gone around the corner of the +house with the sound of thunder.</p> +<p>Ellen wet her lips and looked around like a +wounded animal.</p> +<p>Her brother Cleve, saddling up a little way +apart, cast a long studying glance at Wylackie +and Arizona. He jerked the cinch so savagely +that the horse leaped and struck.</p> +<p>For four days there was absolute dearth at +the Stronghold.</p> +<p>Courtrey did not return. Ellen timidly tried to +find out from the <i>vaqueros</i> where he had gone, +but they evaded her.</p> +<p>Then, on the morning of that day, Steptoe Service, +grinning and important, came to the Stronghold +and served on Ellen a summons in suit for +divorce.</p> +<p>She met him at the door and invited him in, +timidly and shyly, but he stood on the stone and +made known his business. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span></p> +<p>At first she did not understand, was like a child +told something too deep for its intellect to grasp, +bewildered.</p> +<p>Then, when Service made it brutally plain, she +slipped down along the doorpost like a wilted lily +and lay long and white on the sand-scrubbed floor. +Her women, loving her desperately, gathered her +up and shut the door in the sheriff’s face.</p> +<p>They sent for Cleve, and not even the presence +of Black Bart in the near corral could keep the +brother from running into the darkened room +where Ellen lay, too stunned to rally.</p> +<p>“Damn him!” he gritted, falling on his knees +beside her, “this’s what’s come of it! I ben +lookin’ for something of its like. Let him go. +We’ll leave Lost Valley, Ellen. We’ll go out an’ +start another life, begin all over again. We’re +both too young to be floored by a man like Courtrey. +Let him go.”</p> +<p>But the woman turned her waxen face to the +wall and shook her head.</p> +<p>“There ain’t no life in this world for me without +Buck,” she whispered. “If he don’t want +me, I don’t want myself.”</p> +<p>“You dont’ want to hang to him, do you, Sis?” +begged the man, “don’t want to stay at th’ +Stronghold after this?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span></p> +<p>“Rather stay here under Buck’s feet like th’ +poorest of his dogs than be well-off somewheres +where I couldn’t never see him again, never look +in his face.”</p> +<p>“God!” groaned Cleve, “you love him like +that!”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Ellen, wearily, “like that.”</p> +<p>“Then by th’ Eternal!” swore Cleve softly, +“here you’ll stay if it takes all th’ law in th’ United +States to keep you here. I’ll file your answer tomorrow––protest +to th’ last word!”</p> +<p>And he rode into Corvan, only to find that +Courtrey and Courtrey’s influence had been there +before him, that a cold sense of disaster seemed +to permeate the town and all those whom he met +therein.</p> +<p>He found the “Court House crowd” tight-lipped +and careful.</p> +<p>And Ben Garland set the day for trial at a +ridiculously early date, for all the world as if the +thing had been cut and dried at some secret +conclave.</p> +<p>Courtrey was playing his game with a daring +hand, true to his name and habit.</p> +<p>Dusk was falling in Lost Valley. The long +blue shadows had swept out from the Rockface, +covering first the homesteads under the Wall, then +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +the great grazing stretches, then Corvan, then the +open levels again, then the mouth of Black Coulee +and lastly sweeping eastward to hush the life at +Last’s Holding in that soft, sweet quiet which +comes with the day’s work done.</p> +<p>Out at the corrals Billy and Conford, Jack and +Bent and Curly, put the finishing touches to the +routine of precaution which the Holding never +relaxed, day or night.</p> +<p>Inside the dusky living room where the bright +blankets glowed on the walls and the <i>ollas</i> hung +in the deep window places, Tharon Last sat at +the little old melodeon and played her nameless +tunes. She did not look at the yellowed keys. Instead +her blue eyes, deep and glowing, wandered +down along the southern slopes and she was lost +in unconscious dreams. Once again she saw the +trim figure of the forest man as she had seen him +come stiffly into her range of vision that day in +Corvan. She recalled his quiet eyes, dark and +speaking, the odd way his hair went straight back +from his forehead. She wondered why she should +think of him at all.</p> +<p>He was against her––was a force that played +directly against all her plans of life, her precepts. +Moreover, she had told him she feared +he was soft––like a woman––some women––that +there was in him a lack of the straight man-courage +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span> +which was the only standard in Lost +Valley.</p> +<p>And yet––she waited on his word, somehow––held +her hand from her sworn duty for a while, +waiting––for what?</p> +<p>Ah, she knew! Deep in the soul of her she +knew, vaguely and dimly to be sure, but she +knew that it was for the time when the die should +be cast––that he might prove himself for what he +was.</p> +<p>For some vague reason she knew she would not +kill Courtrey until this man stood by.</p> +<p>She wondered what Courtrey meant by this +strange quiet following the tragic moment at the +Stronghold steps when the Vigilantes had challenged +him and ridden away.</p> +<p>And then, all suddenly, into her dreaming there +came the sound of a horse’s hoofs on the sounding-board +without––slow hoofs, uncertain. For one +swift second that sound, coming out of the dusk +with its uncertainty, sent a chill of memory down +her nerves. So had come El Rey that night in +spring when he brought Jim Last home to die!</p> +<p>She rose swiftly and silently and stepped to the +western door.</p> +<p>There, in the shadows and the softness of coming +night, a horse loomed along the green stretch, +came plodding up to stop and stand before her, a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +brown horse, with the stirrups of his saddle hung +on the pommel, his rein tied short up––Captain, +the good, common friend of Kenset––of the––foothills!</p> +<p>Tharon felt the blood pour back upon her heart +and stay there for an awful moment. She put up +a hand and touched her throat, and to save her +life she did not know why this sudden sickening +fear should come upon her.</p> +<p>She had seen men killed, had known tragedy +and loss and heartache, but never before had she +seen the crest of the distant Wall to dance upon +the pale skyline so. Then she whirled into the +house and her young voice pealed out a call––Billy, +Conford, Bent––she drew them to her running +through the deep house––to point to the silent +messenger and question them with wide blue eyes +where fear rose up like a living thing.</p> +<p>Billy at her shoulder, looked not at Captain, +but at her.</p> +<p>A sigh lifted his breast, but he stifled it at birth +and turned with the others back toward the corrals. +Tharon, running toward the deep room +where the Virgin stood in Her everlasting beauty, +unfastened her soft white dress as she ran. Inside +she flung herself on her knees before the +Holy Mother and poured out a trembling +prayer. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span></p> +<p>“Not that! Oh, Mary, not that! Let it not +be <i>that</i>!” she whispered thickly. Then she was +up, into her riding clothes––was out where the boys +were hurriedly saddling the Finger Marks. Presently +she was on El Rey and shooting like a silver +shaft in the summer dusk down along the green +levels toward the east. They rode in silence, Conford, +Bent, Jack, Curly, Billy and herself, and a +thousand thoughts were boiling miserably in two +hearts.</p> +<p>El Rey, Golden, Redbuck, Drumfire, Westwind +and Sweetheart, they went down along the sounding +dark plain, a magnificent band. The whole +earth seemed to resound to the thunder of their +going, and for once in their lives her beauties +could not run fast enough for the mistress of +Last’s.</p> +<p>They went like the wind itself, and yet they +were slow to Tharon.</p> +<p>Out of the open levels there swung up to meet +them and to fade into the night, the standing +willows by the Silver Hollow. The sloping +stretches began to lift, dotted by the oaks and +digger-pines for whose sake Kenset had come to +Lost Valley. They shot through them, up along +the sharply lifting skirts of the hills, in between +the guarding pines that formed the gateway to +the little glade where the singing stream went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +down and the cabin stood at the head. Tharon’s +throat was tight, as if a hand pressed hard upon +it. The high tops of the pines seemed to cut the +sky grotesquely. There was no light at the dim +log house, no sound in the silent glade. Off to +the right they heard the low of the little red cow +which served the forest man with milk.</p> +<p>They pounded to a sliding stop in the cabin’s +yard and Conford called sharply into the silent +darkness.</p> +<p>“Kenset! Hello––Kenset!”</p> +<p>Tharon held her breath and listened. There +was no sound except a night bird calling from the +highest pine-tip.</p> +<p>Carefully the men dismounted.</p> +<p>“You stay up, Tharon, dear,” the foreman +said quietly, “until we look around.”</p> +<p>But to save her life the girl could not. What +was this trembling that seized her limbs? Why +did the stars, come out on the purple sky, shift +so strangely to her eyes? She slipped off El Rey +and stood by his shoulder waiting. Conford struck +a flare and lit a candle, holding it carefully before +him, shielding it with his palm behind it to throw +the gleam away from his face, into the cabin. +The pale light illumined the whole interior, and +it was empty. The keen eyes of the riders went +over every inch of space before they entered––along +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span> +the walls, in the bed, under the tables. Then +they filed in and Tharon followed, gazing around +with eyes that ached behind their lids. There on +the northern wall between the windows, was the +great spread of the beautiful picture she had +helped the forest man to hang. There were his +books on the table’s edge. She looked twice––the +last one on the pile at a certain corner was just +as she had placed it there, a trifle crooked with +the edge, but neatly in line with those beneath it. +There was the big chair in which she had waited +while he made the little meal––there was his desk +in the ingle nook, his maps upon it. It was +all so familiar, so filled with his personality, that +Tharon felt the very power of his dark eyes, +smiling, grave–––</p> +<p>“Hello!” said Jack Masters suddenly. “Burt, +what’s this?”</p> +<p>Conford stepped quickly around the table and +held his candle down.</p> +<p>Tharon pushed forward and looked over the +leaning shoulders.</p> +<p>There on the brown and green grass rug a rich +dark stain was drying––blood, some three days +old.</p> +<p>Then, indeed, did the universe sag and darken +to the Mistress of Last’s.</p> +<p>She put out a hand to steady herself and found +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +it grasped in the strong one of Billy, who stood +at her shoulder like her shadow.</p> +<p>“Steady!” he whispered. “Steady, Tharon.”</p> +<p>She drew her trembling fingers across her eyes, +wet her lips which felt dry as ashes. The same +ache that had come with Jim Last’s final smile +was already in her heart, but intensified a thousand +times. She felt all suddenly, as if there was nothing +in Lost Valley worth while, nothing in all the +world! That drying stain at her feet seemed to +shut out the sun, moon and stars with its sinister +darkness. She felt a nausea at the pit of her +stomach, a need for air in her cramped lungs.</p> +<p>Strange, she had never known that one could be +so detached from all familiar things, could seem +so lost in a sea of stupid agony. Why was it so? +If this dark blot of blood had come from the veins +of Billy now, of Conford, or Jack or Curly, her +own men, would she have lost her grip like this? +And then she became dully conscious that Billy +had put her in the big chair by the table and had +joined the others in their exhaustive search for any +clew to the tragedy. She saw the moon rising +over the tops of the pine trees at the glade’s edge, +heard the little song of the running stream.</p> +<p>That was the little stream that Kenset had +looked for in his ideal spot, this was the home he +had made for himself, these were the things of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +other life he had known, these soft, dark pictures, +the books on the tables, the brass things shining +in the light from the lamp.... She knew that +she was cold in the summer night, that she was +staring miserably out of the open door, scarcely +conscious of the scattered voices of her men, +searching, searching, hunting, in widening circles +outside.... Then they came back talking in low +voices and she roused herself desperately. Her +limbs were stiff when she rose from the big chair, +her hands were icy.</p> +<p>“No use, Tharon,” said Conford quietly, “we +can’t find a damned thing. If Courtrey’s bunch +killed Kenset they made a clean get-away with all +evidence. That much has th’ new law done in th’ +Valley––killed th’ insolence of th’ gun man. Let’s +go home.”</p> +<p>It was Billy, faithful and still, who helped her––for +the first time in her life!––to mount a horse. +She went up on El Rey as if she were old. Then +they were riding down the smooth floor of the +little glade, leaving that darkened cabin at its +head to stand in tragic loneliness.</p> +<p>She saw the tops of the guarding pines at the +gateway, rode out between them. The moon was +up in majesty, and by its light Jack Masters suddenly +leaned down to look at something, pulled up, +swept down from his saddle, cowboy fashion, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +hanging by a foot and a hand, and picked up something +which he examined keenly.</p> +<p>“Look,” he said quickly, “th’ beet-man’s +badge!”</p> +<p>He held out on his palm a small dark object, +the copper-coloured shield which had shone on +Kenset’s breast!</p> +<p>Its double-tongued fastener was twisted far +awry, as if it had been wrenched away by violence.</p> +<p>Conford turned and looked back to the cabin, +as if he measured the distance.</p> +<p>“There’s been funny work here as sure’s hell,” +he said profoundly.</p> +<p>Then they rode on, all silent, thinking. It was +near dawn when they rode up along the sounding-board +and put in at Last’s. Billy reached up +tender arms and took Tharon off El Rey, and +for the first time she gave herself wearily into +them as if she were done.</p> +<p>As she opened the door into her own dusky +room the pale Virgin, touched by a silver shaft +of the sinking moon, stood out in startling, ethereal +beauty, Her meek hands folded on Her breast. +Tharon Last stumbled forward and sank in a heap +at Her feet, her arms about the statue’s knees.</p> +<p>“Hail––Mary––intercede for––him––” she +faltered, and then the shining Virgin, the dim +mystery of the shadowy room, faded out to leave +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +her for the first time in her strong life, a bit of +senseless clay.</p> +<p>When she again opened her eyes the little winds +of day were fanning her cheeks and old Anita +was tugging at her shoulders, voluble with fright.</p> +<p>To the riders of Last’s the tragedy was nothing +more than any other that they had known in Lost +Valley. They went about their work as usual.</p> +<p>Only Billy was filled with a sickening anguish at +the knowledge that he was not able to offer one +smallest saving straw to the girl in the big house––for +Billy knew.</p> +<p>All day Tharon sat like a rock in her own room, +staring with unseeing eyes at the blank whitewashed +walls. She did not yet know what ailed +her, why this killing, more than that of poor +Harkness, should make her sick to her soul’s +foundations. Yet it was so. Even the thought of +her sworn duty was vague before her for a time. +Then it seemed to come forward out of the mass +of fleeting memories––Kenset that day at Baston’s +steps shapely, trim, halted––Kenset laughing +over the little meal beside the table where the +books lay––Kenset grasping her shoulder when +she whirled to mount El Rey and challenge the +Stronghold single-handed––to come forward like +a calming, steadying thing and turn the pain to +purpose. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span></p> +<p>There was no one now to hold her back, no +vital hands to press hers upon a beating heart, to +make her untrue to her given word!</p> +<p>Now she could go out, reckless and grim in her +utter disregard of the outcome, and kill Courtrey +where he stood. The time had come. There +should be another cross in the granite beneath the +pointing pine.</p> +<p>As if the whirling universe settled back to its +ordered place the right proportion came back +to her vision, the breath seemed to lighten her +holden lungs.</p> +<p>Once again the girl arose and steadied herself, +smoothed her tawny hair, looked at her hands to +find them free from the shaking that had weakened +them.</p> +<p>She dressed herself and went out among her +people, quiet and pale.</p> +<p>The twilight had fallen and all the western +part of the Valley was blue with shadow. Only +on Kenset’s foothills was the rosy light glowing, +a tragic, aching light, it seemed to her. She saw +all the little world of Lost Valley with new eyes, +sombre eyes, in which there was no sense of its +beauty. She wondered anxiously how soon she +could meet Courtrey, and where. And then with +the suddenness of an ordered play, the question +was answered for her, for out of the dusk and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +the purple shadows a Pomo rider came on a running +pony and halted out a stone’s throw, calling +for the “Señorita,” his hands held up in token of +friendliness.</p> +<p>Without a thought of treachery Tharon went +out to him and took the letter he handed her––swinging +around for flight as the paper left his +hand, for the riders of Last’s were known all up +and down the land. This dusky messenger took +no chances he could avoid. He was well down +along the slope by the time the boys came clanking +around the house.</p> +<p>And Tharon, standing in the twilight like a slim +white ghost, was staring over their heads, her +lips ashen, the scrawled letter trembling in her +hands. For this is what she read, straining her +young eyes in the fading light.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:1.0em; '>“Tharon. You must know by now that I mean +bisness. All this Vigilant bisness ain’t a-goin’ +to help things eny. If it hadn’t of ben that I love +you, what you think I’d a-done to that bunch? +That’s th’ truth. I ben holdin’ off thinkin’ you’d +come to your senses an’ see that Buck Courtrey +ain’t to be met with vilence. Now I’m playin’ my +trump card––now, tonight.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:1.0em; '>“Lola says you love this dude from below. +That don’t cut no ice with me. I ain’t carin’ for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +no love from you at present. All I want is <i>you</i>. I +can make you love me once I’ve got you safe at +th’ Stronghold. I ain’t never failed with no +woman yet. An’ I mean to have you, fair means +or foul.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:1.0em; '>“Rather have you fair. So here’s my last +word.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:1.0em; '>“This Kenset ain’t dead––yet. I went and +took him. I’ve got him safe as hell in the Cañon +Country. Ain’t no man in th’ Valley can find +God’s Cup but me. He’s guarded an’ there’s a +lookout on th’ peak above th’ Cup that can see +a signal fire at th’ Stronghold. One fire out by +my big corral means ‘Send him out by False Ridge +with ten days’ grub.’ Two fires means ‘Put a true +bullet in his head an’ leave him there.’ Now, +here’s the word. I’ve got a case fixed up to divorce +Ellen, legal. If you’ll marry me soon’s I’m free, +I’ll build one fire out by that corral.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:1.0em; '>“If you say yes, you build one fire out by th’ +cottonwoods to th’ left of the Holdin’. I’m +watchin’ an’ will see it at once. You can see for +yourself I mean bisness, as if you’ll watch too, +you’ll see that one fire here.</p> +<p style='margin-left:1.0em; margin-right:1.0em; text-align:right'><span style='font-variant:small-caps'>Courtrey.</span>”<br /></p> +<p>For a long moment the Mistress of Last’s stood +in profound quiet, as if she could not move. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +was held in a trance like those dreadful night-dreams +when one is locked in deadly inertia, helpless. +The net which had been weaving in Courtrey’s +fertile brain was finished, flung, and closing +in upon her before she knew of its existence. An +awe of his cleverness, his trickery, gripped her in +a clutch of ice. The whole fabric of her own +desires and plans and purposes seemed to crumple +like the white ash in a dead fire, leaving her nothing. +She had been out-witted instead of outfought. +One more evidence of the man’s baseness, +his unscrupulous cunning.</p> +<p>He played his trump card and it was a winner, +sweeping the table––for she knew before she +finished that difficult reading that she would do +anything in all the world to stop that “true +bullet” in the heart that had pounded beneath her +open palms.... Knew she would break her +given word to Jim Last––knew she would forsake +the Holding––that she would crawl to Courtrey’s +feet and kiss his hand, if only he would spare +Kenset of the foothills, would send him out to +that vague world of below, never to return!</p> +<p>She swayed drunkenly on her feet for a time +that seemed ages long. Then life came back in +her with a rush. She broke the nightmare dream +and gasped out a broken command to her faithful +ones. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span></p> +<p>“Billy!” she said thickly, “Oh, Billy! If you +love me, run! Run an’ build a fire––one fire!––only +<i>one</i> fire, Billy, dear––out by th’ cottonwoods +to th’ left––of th’ Holdin’!”</p> +<p>Then she went and sat limply down on the step +at the western door, leaned her head against the +deep adobe wall, and fell to weeping as if the very +heart in her would wash itself away in tears.</p> +<p>And Billy, numb with anguish but true to the +love he bore her, went swiftly out and set that +beacon glowing. Its red light flaring against the +blue darkness of the falling night seemed like a +bodeful omen of sorrow and disaster, of death +and failure and despair.</p> +<p>Tharon on the sill roused herself to watch it +leap and glow, then turned her deep eyes to where +she knew the Stronghold lay.</p> +<p>Presently out upon the distant black curtain of +the night there flared that other fire, signal of life +to Kenset somewhere in the Cañon Country––and +then her lips drew into a thin hard line and she +straightened her young form stiffly up, put a hand +hard upon her breast.</p> +<p>“A little time, Courtrey!” she whispered to +herself, “Jus’ a little time an’ luck, an’ I’ll give +you th’ double-cross or die, damn your soul to +hell!”</p> +<p>Billy, coming softly in along the adobe wall, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +caught the whisper, felt rather than heard its +meaning, and turned back with the step of a cat.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>An hour later, when all the Holding was quiet +for the night, drifting to early rest after the day’s +hard work, the Mistress of Last’s, booted, dressed +in riding clothes, her fair head covered by a sombrero, +her daddy’s guns at her hips, crept softly to +the gate of El Rey’s own corral. She went like a +thief, crouching, watching, without a sound, and +saddled the big stallion in careful softness. She +led him gently out and around toward the cottonwoods, +away from the house. When she was well +away she put foot to stirrup and went up as the +king leaped for his accustomed flight.</p> +<p>But Tharon pulled him down. She wanted no +thunder on the sounding-board tonight. But soft +as she had been, as careful, there was one at the +Holding who followed her every act, who went +for a horse, too, who saddled Drumfire in silence +and who crept down the sounding-board––Billy +the faithful. Far down along the plain toward the +Black Coulee he let the red roan out, so that the +girl, keen of hearing as of sight, caught the following +beat of hoofs, stopped, listened, understood +and reined El Rey up to wait.</p> +<p>And soon out of the shadows cast by the eastern +ramparts, where the moon was rising, she saw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +the rider coming. A quick mist of tears suffused +her eyes, a sick feeling gripped her heart.</p> +<p>Here was another mixed in the sorry tangle! +She had always known vaguely that Billy was +one with her, that his heart was the deep heart +of her friend.</p> +<p>He was the one she always wanted near her +in times of stress, it was with him she liked to +ride in the Big Shadow when the sun went down +behind the Cañon Country.</p> +<p>But now she did not want him. She had a +keen desire to see him safely out of this––this +which was to be the end, one way or the other, +of the blood-feud between the Stronghold and +Last’s.</p> +<p>Now as he loped up and stopped abreast of her +in silence, she reached out a hand and caught his +in a close clasp.</p> +<p>“I don’t want you, Billy, dear,” she said miserably, +“not because I don’t love you, but because I +ain’t a-goin’ to see you shot by Courtrey’s gang. +This is one time, boy, when I want you to leave +me alone, to go back without me.”</p> +<p>The rider shook his head against the stars.</p> +<p>“Couldn’t do it, little girl,” he said wistfully, +“you know I couldn’t do it.”</p> +<p>“Ain’t I your mistress, Billy?” asked Tharon +sternly. “Ain’t I your boss?” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span></p> +<p>“Sure are,” said the boy with conviction.</p> +<p>“Ain’t I always been a good boss to you?”</p> +<p>“Best in th’ world. Good as Jim Last.”</p> +<p>“Then,” said Tharon sharply, “it’s up to you +to take my orders. I order you now––go +back.”</p> +<p>The cowboy leaned down suddenly and kissed +the hand he held.</p> +<p>“I’m at your shoulder, Tharon, dear,” he said +with simple dignity, “like your shadow. At your +foot like the dogs that never forsake th’ herds. I +couldn’t go back an’ leave you––not though I died +for it tonight.</p> +<p>“We’ll say no more about it. I don’t know +where you’re goin’, but wherever it is, there I’m +goin’, too, an’ on my way. You can tell me or +not, just as you please, but let’s go.”</p> +<p>For a long time Tharon Last sat in the starlight +and watched the crests of the distant mountains +fringed with the silver of the moon that was rising +behind them, and her throat ached with tears. +All these things that hurt her, these unknown, +tangled things that she knew dimly meant Life, +had come to her with the advent of Kenset in +Lost Valley. She wished passionately for a fleeting +moment that he had never come, that the old +swinging, rushing life of the ranges had never +known his holding influence. Then she felt again +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +the hammering of his heart beneath her palms, and +nothing mattered in all the world beside.</p> +<p>It was a thing beyond her ken, something +ordered by fate. She must go on, blindly as running +waters, regardless of all that drowned.</p> +<p>But she loosed her hand from Billy’s, leaned to +his shoulder, put her arm about his neck and drew +his face to hers. Softly, tenderly, she kissed him +upon the lips, and she did not know that that was +the cruelest thing she had ever done in all her +kindly life, did not see the deathly pallor that overspread +his face.</p> +<p>“I’m goin’ to th’ Cañon Country, Billy,” she +said simply, “to find th’ Cup o’ God an’ Kenset.”</p> +<p>Then she straightened in her saddle and gave +El Rey the rein.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>It was two of the clock by the starry heavens +when these two riders entered the blind opening in the +Rockface and disappeared. El Rey, the +mighty, tossed his great head and whistled, +stamped his hoofs in the dead sift of the silencing +floor. He had never before lost sight of the sky, +never felt other breath in his nostrils than the +keen plain’s wind.</p> +<p>Now he shook himself and halted, went on +again, and again halted, to be urged forward by +Tharon’s spurred heels in his flanks. Up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span> +through the eerie pass they went without speech, +for each heart was filled to overflowing with +thoughts and fears.</p> +<p>To Billy there was something fateful, bodeful +in the dead darkness, the stillness. It seemed +to him as if he left forever behind him the open +life of the ranges, the gay and careless days of +riding after Tharon’s cattle.</p> +<p>For five years he had lived at Last’s, under +master and mistress, content, happy. The half-remembered +world of below had never called him. +The light on the table under the swinging lamp +with Tharon’s face therein, the murmur of the +stream through her garden, the whisper of the +cottonwoods, these had been sufficient. He had, +subconsciously, thanked his Maker for these +things, had served them with a whole heart. They +had been his all, his life. Now the cottonwoods +seemed far away, remote, the life of the deep +ranch house a thing of long ago. All these things +had given way to something that sapped the sunlight +from the air, the very blueness from the +vaulted skies, something that had come with the +quiet man of the pine-tree badge. So Billy sighed +in the darkness and sat easily on Drumfire, +his slim left hand fidgeting with the swinging +rein.</p> +<p>And Tharon was lost, too, in a maze of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +thoughts. She sat straight as a lance, tense, alive, +keen, staring into the narrow bore of the high +ceiled cut, thinking feverishly. Was Kenset +really alive? Had Courtrey been square with her? +Or was he even now lying stiff and stark somewhere +in the high cuts, his dark eyes dull with +death, that beating heart forever stilled? She +caught her breath with a whistling sigh, felt her +head swim at the picture. If he was––<i>if</i>––<i>he</i>––<i>was</i>––! +She fingered the big guns at her hip and +savagery took hold of her. Courtrey’s left wrist +to match his right. Then some pretty work about +him to make him wait––then a shot through his +stomach––he would spit blood and reel, but he +wouldn’t die––the butcher!––for a little while, +and she would taunt him with Harkness––and Jim. +Last shot in the back––with Old Pete––and with––with +Kenset––the one man––Oh, the one man in +all the world whose quiet smile was unforgettable, +whose vital hands were upon hers now, like ghost-hands, +would always be upon hers if she lived to +be old like Anita or died at dawn today! And +Kenset had counseled her to peace! To keep +the stain of blood from her own hands! She +laughed aloud, suddenly, a ghastly sound that +made cold chills go down her rider’s spine, for +it was the mad laughter of the blood-lust! Billy +knew that Jim Last in his best moments was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +never so coldly a killer as his daughter was tonight.</p> +<p>So they traversed the roofed cut and came out +into the starlight of the first cañon. Up this they +went in single file. They passed the place where +Albright had found the dark spray on the cañon +wall, the standing rock where the gun with the +untrue firing pin had kicked away its shell. A +little farther on was the disturbed and trampled +heap of slide which had held Old Pete’s body. In +silence they rode on, the horses’ hoofs striking a +million echoes from the reverberating crosscuts.</p> +<p>The moon was shining above, but here there +was only a sifted light, a ghostly radiance of +starlight and painted walls. Tharon, riding ahead, +went unerringly forward as if she traveled the +open ways of the Valley floor. She turned from +the main cañon toward the left and passed the +mouth of Old Pete’s snow-bed. Between this and +that standing spire and pinnacle she went, with a +strong certainty that presently stirred Billy to +speech.</p> +<p>“Tharon, dear,” he said gently, “hadn’t we +better leave a mark or two along this-a-way? +Ain’t you got no landmarks?”</p> +<p>“Can if you want,” the girl said briefly, “I +don’t need landmarks.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span></p> +<p>“Then how you know the way? There ain’t +no one knows th’ Cañon Country––but Courtrey.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know it,” she said simply but with +profound conviction. “I’m <i>feelin’</i> it, Billy. I +know I’m goin’ straight to th’ Cup o’ God. I’m +blind as a bat, it seems, yet goin’ straight.”</p> +<p>She lifted a hand and crossed herself.</p> +<p>“Goin’ straight––Mary willin’––an’ I’ll come +back straight. It lies up there an’ to th’ left +again.” She made a wide gesture that swept up +and out, embracing the towering walls, the half-seen +peaks against the stars.</p> +<p>Billy shut his lips and said no more.</p> +<p>Up there lay False Ridge, the sinister, dropping +spine that came down from the uplands outside +where the real great world began, and lured +those who traveled down it to crumbling precipice +and yawning pit, to sliding slope and slant that, +once ridden down, could never be scaled again, +according to the weird stories that were told of +it.</p> +<p>But if Tharon went to the Cañons, there lay +his trail, too. If she went down False Ridge to +death in the pits and waterless cuts, he asked no +better lot than to follow––the faithful dog at her +foot, the shadow at her shoulder.</p> +<p>And so it was that dawn crept up the blue-velvet +of the night sky and sent its steel-blue light +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +deep in the painted splits, and they rode unerringly +forward up the sounding passes.</p> +<p>When the light increased enough to show the +way they came abruptly to the spot where it was +necessary to leave the horses. The floor of the +cañon up which they were traveling lifted sharply +in one huge step, breast-high to a man.</p> +<p>Tharon in the lead halted and looked for a +moment all up and down the wondrous maze of +pale, tall openings that encompassed them all +round.</p> +<p>She turned in her saddle and looked back the +way they had come. There was darker shadow, +going downward, but here and there those pale +mouths gaped, long ribbons of space dropping +from the heights above down to their level.</p> +<p>Up any one a man might turn and lose himself +completely, for they in turn were cut and ribboned +with other mouths, leaving spires and walls and +faces a thousand-fold on every hand.</p> +<p>Tharon, even in the tensity and preoccupation +of the hour, drew in her breath and the pupils of +her blue eyes spread.</p> +<p>“Th’ Cañon Country!” she said softly, “I +always knew it would be like this––too great to tell +about! I knew it would hold somethin’ for me––always +knew it––either life an’ its best––or death.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></p> +<p>There was a simple grandeur about the earnest +words, and Billy, his face grey in the steely light, +felt the heart in his breast thrill with their portent.</p> +<p>No matter what the Cañons held for her––either +that glorious fulfillment of life, or the +simple austerity of death––he would have a part +in it, would have served her to the last, true to the +love he bore her, true to himself.</p> +<p>And nothing––nothing under God’s heaven, +save death itself––could ever wipe out the memory +of that kiss, given from the depths of her loving +heart, the sign-manuel of her undying affection +and friendship, the one and only touch of her inviolate +red lips that he had ever known the +Mistress of Last’s to give to any man, save Jim +Last himself.</p> +<p>He wiped a hand across his forehead, damp +with more than the night cold, and dismounted.</p> +<p>“We’ll leave th’ horses here,” he said. “I’ve +an extra rope to string across an’ make a small +corral.”</p> +<p>He did not add that he would fasten this slim +barrier lightly, so that a horse that really wanted +to break out––in the frantic madness of thirst, +say,––might do so.</p> +<p>Then he set about his task––but Tharon stood +with strained eyes looking up––and up––and ever +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span> +up to the dimly appearing, looming spine of False +Ridge.</p> +<p>Over there, she knew in her heart, lay the +hidden Cup o’ God, with its secret, the secret +that meant all the world to her.</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_X_THE_UNTRUE_FIRING_PIN' id='CHAPTER_X_THE_UNTRUE_FIRING_PIN'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +<h3>THE UNTRUE FIRING PIN</h3> +</div> +<p>Tharon turned back and looked long at El +Rey. She wondered if she would ever see +the great silver-blue stallion again, ever +feel the wind singing by her cheeks, ever hear the +thunder of his running on the hollow ranges. She +saw the stain of Jim Last’s blood on the big +studded saddle and a pain like death stabbed her.</p> +<p>“I’ll get him,” she had promised on that tragic +day, “so help me God!” and had made the sign +of the Cross.</p> +<p>What did she now?</p> +<p>Cast away all certainty of that fulfilment because +a man––a man almost a stranger––lay somewhere +in the Cañon Country, crawled somewhere +along False Ridge, perhaps, wounded and sick +with fever.</p> +<p>“Oh, hurry!” she whispered as Billy made +secure his last light knot in the rope gateway +across the cut and came to join her.</p> +<p>She scrambled up the bench in the cañon floor, +gained her feet and went forward at a rush. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span></p> +<p>“Steady, Tharon,” warned the rider, “you +ain’t used to climbin’. Save your wind.”</p> +<p>It was true advice. Long before the sun was +high overhead and day was broad in the painted +cracks she had begun to heed it. As she swung +up the ever lifting floors, threaded this way and +that between the thin intercepting walls that towered +hundreds of feet straight up, she cast her +wide eyes up in wonder. Always she had watched +the Cañon Country from her western door, always +it had held her with a binding lure.</p> +<p>There was that about its mystery, its austere +majesty, that had thrilled her heart from babyhood. +She had pictured it a thousand times and +always it had looked just so––pink and grey and +saffron, pale and misty with light when the sun +was high, blue and wonderful and black as the +luminary lowered, leaving the quick shadows.</p> +<p>Hour after hour they climbed, mostly in silence, +speaking now and then some necessary word of +caution, of assent. This way and that Tharon +turned, but always moving upward in the same +direction. From time to time Billy dropped a +shred of the red kerchief about his neck, touched +the soft walls with the handle of the knife he carried. +This left a mark plain as a trail to his +trained eyes.</p> +<p>At noon they halted for a little rest. From +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +Tharon’s saddle Billy had taken the flask of water, +the tightly rolled bundle of bread and meat in its +meal-sack. They ate sparingly of this, drank more +sparingly of the water. Billy wondered miserably +how soon this last might become more precious +than fine gold to him, as he thought of the +waterless pockets of the blind and sliding country.</p> +<p>Long before she had rested sufficiently Tharon +was up and ready to go. Ever her eager eyes +were on the heights above. Ever they turned to +the left of the steady line she set herself through +and above the winding passes. From time to +time Billy looked back. There was not a sign by +which one might tell which way he had come if +the last mark he made was around the first corner. +Hundreds and thousands of spires and faces towered +about them. It was a mystic maze of dead +stone, cut and weathered by the elements.</p> +<p>“No wonder!” he told himself, “that the +Indians call it the Enchanted Land!”</p> +<p>“We’ll reach False Ridge tomorrow, Billy,” +Tharon told him confidently, “an’ over it lies +God’s Cup. There’s water there––an’ Kenset.”</p> +<p>“What makes you think so?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know. Just feel. He’s there––alive +or––” a half sob clutched at her voice––“or dead. +But he’s there.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span></p> +<p>“There’ll be some one with him if he’s alive, +most likely.”</p> +<p>“Sure,” said Tharon briefly.</p> +<p>All the afternoon they traveled, sometimes +touching with outstretched hands the faces on +either side of them, again walking upward +through majestic halls, solemn and beautiful. +Everything about them was beautiful, the height, +the sheer, straight walls, the myriad little blue +shadows of tiny projections on their faces. Night +came so early in the pits that long before they +wished they were compelled to camp. In a blind +pocket, walled like a room and round as an apple, +they stopped, and Billy spread down the blanket +he had taken from Drumfire’s back. This was +their only preparation. They had nothing to do, +no fire to build, no water to bring.</p> +<p>Tharon, scarcely conscious of the many miles +she had traveled since the previous night, sat +down upon the blanket, gathered her knees in her +arms and stared at the vague blue phantoms of +cliffs through the tall straight mouth that led into +this sheltered pocket.</p> +<p>Outside the winds were drawing up the cañons. +All day they had walked in this wind. It drew +constantly up and down the cuts, this way and that, +like contrary currents that met and fought each +other, swung in together, went a little way in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +peace, to again split and surge away through other +channels. The echoes were alive with every sound, +both of their own making and that of the wind’s. +A constant sighing droned through the depths, a +mournful, whispering sound that sent the shivers +down Tharon’s spine, made her think sadly of all +the tragedies she had ever known.</p> +<p>Billy, lying full length beside her, his hands +beneath his head, looked up to the narrow blue +spot of sky so far away, and thought his own +thoughts, and they were not wholly sad.</p> +<p>They fell to talking, softly, in low tones, as if +in all the mysterious solitude there might be one +to hear, and it was mostly speech of long ago––when +Billy had first come into Lost Valley.</p> +<p>After a long and quiet hour the man insisted +that she should sleep––that after the hard day and +in view of the coming hard morrow, she needed +rest.</p> +<p>“But I’m not tired, Billy,” Tharon protested, +“no more’n as if I’d been ridin’ all day after th’ +cattle.”</p> +<p>But Billy shook his head and hollowed a little +place in the soft slide stuff at the Wall’s foot. In +this he spread the blanket, folding it half back.</p> +<p>“Lie down,” he commanded, “an’ you’ll be +asleep so quick you won’t know when it happens.”</p> +<p>Tharon slipped off her daddy’s belt and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span> +stretched her slim young form in the hollow, which +fitted it like a cradle. Not for nothing had Billy +slept out many a night with nothing save the earth +and stars for bed and blanket. The hollow was +craftily deepened at hip and shoulder, making a +restful couch. As she settled herself therein he +lapped the loose half of the blanket over her and +tucked it in. Then he took his hat, folded it +sharply and placed it under the tawny head.</p> +<p>In its place he would fain have laid his heart.</p> +<p>His fingers, settling the improvised pillow, +tangled themselves wistfully in the sun-bright hair, +and the boy groaned aloud.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, Billy, dear?” asked +Tharon anxiously, but Billy laughed lightly, a thin +sound in the mighty caverns.</p> +<p>“Nothing in God’s world, Tharon,” he lied. +“Now go to sleep.”</p> +<p>And he walked away to the tall mouth and sat +down with his back against one of the walls. From +his pocket he took papers and tobacco and proceeded +to roll himself a cigarette.... Dawn +showed the narrow doorway strewn with their +butts, as leaves strew mountain trails in +autumn.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Things were ready to happen in Lost Valley––several +things. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span></p> +<p>At the Golden Cloud, Lola looked across the +level stretches toward the Stronghold with tragic +dark eyes, and smiled at a dozen men whom she +scarcely saw. Settlers from all up and down the +Wall drifted into Corvan and out again, intent, +silent, watchful. <i>Vaqueros</i> and riders from the +Stronghold also came and went, as intent, as silent. +They passed each other with hostile eyes and trigger +fingers were unusually limber. The air was +pregnant with change.</p> +<p>Buck Courtrey was conspicuous by his absence.</p> +<p>He was not seen in the town, neither was he at +the Stronghold.</p> +<p>There were soft whispers afloat that he was +with the Pomos up under the Rockface at the +north.</p> +<p>And at the Stronghold, poor Ellen, whiter than +ever, more like a broken lily drooping on its stem, +trembled and waited for a day that was set +soon––too terribly soon!––the day, farcically +appointed, for the suit for divorce against +her.</p> +<p>Word of this was abroad through all the Valley. +Underground speculation was rife as to which +of the two women whom Courtrey favoured, Lola +or Tharon, was responsible. Some said one, some +the other. But Lola knew.</p> +<p>Then came the day itself––a golden summer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span> +day as sweet and bright as that one years ago when +Courtrey had married Ellen––at this same pine +building where the laughable legal farces were +enacted now.</p> +<p>Pale as a new moon Ellen rode in across the +rolling stretches on one of the Ironwoods, with +Cleve beside her. She was spiritless, silent. Cleve +was silent, too, though for a far different reason. +There was a frown between his brows, a glitter +in his narrowed eyes. He was thinking of the +only man in Corvan whom he had been able to +persuade to present Ellen’s protest––Dick Burtree, +one-time lawyer and man of parts in the outside, +now a puffed and threadbare vagabond, +whose paramount idea was whiskey and more +whiskey. But Burtree could talk. Over his +mottled and shapeless lips could, on occasion, pour +a stream of pure oratory silver as the Vestal’s +Veil.</p> +<p>When he was drunk he feared neither man nor +devil, and he could speak best so. Therefore Cleve +had given him enough money in advance to put him +in trim.</p> +<p>“What you think Buck’ll say about me, +Cleve?” Ellen asked anxiously. “What’s he +mean to accuse me of?”</p> +<p>“Any dirty thing he can trump up, Sis,” said +Cleve gravely, “he’s a-goin’ to make it a nasty +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +mess––an’ I wish to God you’d jest ride on down +th’ Wall with me an’ never even look back.”</p> +<p>He leaned from his saddle and took the blue-veined +hand in his. There was an unspeakable +tenderness in his eyes as he regarded his sister. +“What you say, Ellen? There’s life below, an’ +work an’ other men. You’ll marry again, sometime–––”</p> +<p>But Ellen shook her head with its maize-gold +crown.</p> +<p>“Nary other man, Cleve,” she said gently. +“I’m all Buck’s woman.”</p> +<p>So they rode on toward the town, and Cleve +knew that his last faint hope was dead.</p> +<p>In the town itself there was a stir. Courtrey +was there, and Wylackie Bob, and Black Bart and +Arizona, a bunch of dark, evil men in all surety.</p> +<p>The Ironwoods were in evidence everywhere, +but strange to say, there were no Finger Marks. +Not a man from the Holding was in town.</p> +<p>When Cleve and Ellen, alone together, rode in, +it lacked yet a half hour of the time set for trial. +There was no place to go but Baston’s, so they +dismounted at the hitch-rack. Ellen, swaying on +her feet, looked all around with her big pale eyes, +and when she saw Courtrey some distance away +she put a hand to her heart as simply as a hurt +child. She was a pitiful creature in her long +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +white dress, for she had ridden in on an old sidesaddle, +and she shook out the crumpled folds in +a wistful attempt to look proper. On her head +was the inevitable sunbonnet of slats and calico.</p> +<p>As she went up the steps of the store with Cleve, +Lola of the Golden Cloud, blazing like a comet +in her red-and-black came face to face with her +purposely. What was in Lola’s head none would +ever know, but she wanted to see Courtrey’s wife.</p> +<p>As they met they stopped dead still, these two +women who loved one man, and the look that +passed between them was electric, deep, revealing. +They stood so long staring into each other’s eyes +that Cleve, frowning, plucked Ellen by the sleeve +and made to push forward.</p> +<p>But as suddenly as a flash of light Lola reached +out her two hands and caught Ellen’s in a tight +clasp that only women know, the swift, clinging +clasp of the secret fellowship of those who suffer.</p> +<p>For one tense moment she held them, while +Ellen swayed forward for all the world as if she +would sink in upon the deep full breast of this +wanton whom she had hated! Then the spell +broke, they fell apart with a rush, Lola swung out +and went down the steps, while Ellen obediently +followed Cleve into Baston’s store, where she sat +on a nail keg and waited in a dull lethargy. Outside +Courtrey, who had witnessed the thing from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span> +across the street, slapped his thigh and laughed +uproariously.</p> +<p>It was a funny sight to him. But Lola’s beautiful +black eyes blazed across at him with a light +that none had ever seen before in their inscrutable +depths.</p> +<p>Then the hour struck, and all Corvan, it seemed +to Cleve, strung out toward the Court House. +This was to be in open court––a spectacle. From +somewhere in the adobe outskirts of the town came +Ellen’s serving women, most of them, whom Cleve +had sent in early in the day. They fell in with her +and so, with only the brother who had never failed +her and these dusky women of the silent tongues +to back her, Ellen Courtrey went to her crucifixion +as truly as though she had been one of the two +thieves on Golgotha.</p> +<p>At the sight of Courtrey across the big bare +room she went whiter than she was, if such a +thing were possible, and slid weakly into the chair +placed for her.</p> +<p>Then the thing proceeded––swiftly, lightly, with +smiles on the faces of the crowd.</p> +<p>Old Ben Garland on the judge’s bench, +was furtive, scared, nervous, fiddling with his +papers and clearing his throat from time to +time.</p> +<p>The county clerk at his table made a great +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span> +deal out of the ceremony of swearing in the witnesses––Wylackie +Bob, Black Bart, Arizona and +one young Wylackie Indian woman who worked +at the Stronghold. Cleve put up only the serving +women whom he had sent in, some seven of them, +every one of whom loved their mistress with the +faithful fidelity of a dog. These women knew +Ellen Courtrey as not even the master of the +Stronghold himself knew her. They knew her in +her idle hours, at her small tasks, at her bedside, +in the loving solicitude she displayed for all of +them––and they knew her on her knees in prayer, +for Ellen had a strange and simple religion, half +Catholic and half Pomo paganism.</p> +<p>In the straight-backed chair they gave her Ellen +sat like a statue, sweet and still, a thing so obviously +good that it seemed even Courtrey himself +must weaken to behold her. But not Courtrey. +He was on fire with the vision of Tharon Last on +the Cup Rim’s floor, shaking her fist toward him +in challenge––at Baston’s steps calling him a murderer +and worse––at her western door, striking +him from her with the strength of a man. He saw +the signal fire flaring across the darkened Valley––and +nothing on earth or in Heaven could have +softened him to the woman who bound him away +from this fighting girl, this gun woman whom he +was breaking to him slowly but surely. He visioned +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +her in Ellen’s room at the Stronghold––and +the breath came fast in his throat.</p> +<p>And Ellen?</p> +<p>Ah, Ellen was thinking of the long past day +when this man had found her in the barren rocklands +and taken her with the high hand of a lover. +She, too, drifted away from the chilling courtroom +with its judge and its petty officials.... And then +all suddenly she knew that men were talking––and +about her. She heard the drone of question +and answer––the rambling statements of the +stranger, Arizona, accusing her of strange things––of +asking him to take her on rides in Courtrey’s +absence––of swinging with him nights in the hammock +by the watering trough!</p> +<p>She sat and listened with parted lips and large +innocent eyes fixed on the man in wonder. Cleve +Whitmore clenched his hands until the nails cut +deep, but he held his tongue and controlled his +face. Only the blazing blue eyes spoke. She +knew that Black Bart tried to tell something, that +he made some mistake or other and had to begin +all over again. There was a long and tedious time +in here when she looked away out the window to +where the prairie grass was blowing in the little +winds and the shadows of clouds drifted across +the green expanse.... She was numb and far +away with misery. She did not care for anything +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +in all this world. It seemed as if she was detached, +aloof, dead already in body as she was in +soul.... And then she heard the drawling voice +of Wylackie Bob––and he was saying something +unspeakable––about her! She listened like one in +a trance––then she struggled up from her chair +with tragic long arms extended, and the cry that +rang from her lips was piteous.</p> +<p>“Buck!” it pealed across the stillness of the +crowded room, “Buck!––it ain’t so! Never in +this world, Buck! I ben true to you as your +shadow! Before God, it ain’t true!”</p> +<p>There was a stir throughout the crowd, a breath +that was audible. There were many of the Vigilantes +there––a goodly number, all wondering +where Tharon Last was, where Kenset was, where +were the riders from Last’s. They had expected, +what they did not know––something, at any rate, +for this seemed somehow a test, a turning point. +But there was nothing. They stirred and waited, +like a great force heaving in its bed, blind, sluggish, +but wakening.</p> +<p>And Ellen, chilled by Courtrey’s sneering face, +the cold disapproval of Ben Garland’s striking +mallet, sank back in her chair and covered her +face with her shaking hands.... She heard +some more awful things––then the voice of Dick +Burtree beginning soft, low, silver like running +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +waters. She heard it tell of that far away day of +her marriage––of the years that followed––of +Courtrey’s love for her––of her own gentleness, +her beauty, “like the tender sunlight of spring +on the snow and the golden sands”––of her service, +her loyalty, her love that had “never faltered +nor intruded” that “patient obedience to +her master had but strengthened and made perfect.” +Of the pitiful thing that her life had been +this man made a wondrous thing, all sweet with +twilights and haloed with service.</p> +<p>He talked until the courtroom was still as death +and the Indian women behind her were rocking +in unison of grief. Then she heard questions +again and the gutteral soft voices of her women +answering––with love and devotion in every halting +word. Once again the crowd in the room +stirred––and Courtrey’s narrow eyes went over it +in that cold, promising glance.</p> +<p>For once in his life Courtrey, the bully, felt a +premonitory chill down his spine––because for the +first time that promising glance of his failed of its +effect! Only here and there along the rows of +faces did one cower. There were faces, many +faces, that looked back at him with steady eyes +and tight lips.... Verily it was time he conquered +the riding, shooting, beautiful she-devil +who had made this thing possible! The sooner he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span> +got Tharon Last away from this bunch of spawn +the better. Then he would sweep in with all his +old swift methods, only sharper ones this time, +and “clean” them all. When he got through it +would be a different man’s Valley, make no mistake +about that!</p> +<p>Here Ellen looked straight into his eyes and +both were conscious of the shock. Ellen wilted +and Courtrey frowned and struck a fist against +the railing near him.... He looked up and met +the hesitating eyes of Ben Garland on the bench +and his own hardened down to pin points.</p> +<p>The farce was finished save for the Judge’s +decision––Dick Burtree was slumped in his chair, +dead drunk and asleep. Wylackie Bob was lighting +a cigarette in his brown fingers, a smile on his +evil mouth, his slow, black eyes covering the slim +white form of Ellen in a speculative way, as if he +dreamed of making true his blasphemous lies. +Ellen was sweet as a flower in her open-lipped +beauty, her panting despair. Wylackie did not +notice the slim man beside her whose lips were so +tight that they were a mere line across his face. +No one at the Stronghold noticed Cleve much.</p> +<p>Then Ben Garland was speaking, and Ellen +gathered her dim wits enough to make out that +he was saying strange things––awful things––that +had to do with Courtrey’s freedom. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span></p> +<p>Then she knew––swaying and groping with her +blue-veined hands––that the thing was done––that +she was no longer a wife. That she would never +again sleep in the bend of Courtrey’s arm as she +had slept in those golden days of long ago––that +she was an outcast, blackened beyond all hope by +the damning and unchoice words of Wylackie Bob.... +Then the world faded out for Ellen in merciful +blackness.</p> +<p>The petty officials rose with laughter and clanking +of boots on the board floors––the crowd filed +out in a striking silence. Never before had a +crowd in Lost Valley gone out from a courtroom +in that strange and bodeful silence.</p> +<p>The sight of Ellen lying white and limp across +Cleve Whitmore’s shoulder like a sack of grain, +as he passed out with the moving mass, had an +odd effect. It was partly the white dress that did +it––and the time was ripe.</p> +<p>Courtrey and his gang were toward the fore––first +out. They spread off to one side with jest +and quip, with flash of bottle and slap on shoulder. +The populace thinned a bit from the steps.... +And then suddenly as a pistol shot Cleve Whitmore’s +voice rang out like a clarion.</p> +<p>“Wylackie!” it pealed across the subdued +noises, “You ––– ––– ––– hell hound. +<i>Turn round!</i>” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span></p> +<p>There was death in it.</p> +<p>The gun man whirled, drawing like lightning. +In the Court House door, Cleve Whitmore with his +sister’s limp form on his shoulder, beat him to it.</p> +<p>He had drawn as he called. Before the words +were off his lips he pulled the trigger and shot +Wylackie through the heart.</p> +<p>As his henchman fell Courtrey’s good hand +flashed to his hip, but Dixon of the Vigilantes, +shot out an arm and knocked him forward from +behind.</p> +<p>For the second time Courtrey had missed a life +because a brave heart dared him. Old Pete had +paid the price for that trick. Dixon had no +thought of it.</p> +<p>And in one moment the chance was past, for a +sound began to roar from that silent crowd which +had poured from the courtroom––the deep, bloodcurdling +sound of the mob forming, inarticulate, +uncertain.</p> +<p>For the first time in his life Courtrey felt real +fear grip him.</p> +<p>He had killed and stolen and wronged among +these people and gotten away with it. He had +never feared them. They had been silent. Now +with the first deep rumble from the concrete throat +of Lost Valley he got his first instinctive thrill of +disaster. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span></p> +<p>He stood for a moment in utter silence. Then +he flung up his hands, snapped out an order, +whirled on his heel and went swiftly to the near +rack where stood Bolt and the rest of the Ironwoods. +Like a set of puppets on strings his men +drew after him––and they left Wylackie Bob +where he fell.</p> +<p>In a matter of seconds the whole Stronghold +gang was mounted and clattering down the street––out +of the town toward the open range.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And the killer on the Court House steps?</p> +<p>He stood where he was and looked with blazing +eyes over the motley crowd beneath him. +Steptoe Service made a step toward him, looked +round, wet his lips and thought better of it.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And then, in another second, the crowd was a +mob and the mob was the Vigilantes. Some one +took Ellen from Cleve’s shoulder with careful +hands and carried her away. Then some one +reached down and picked him up bodily. Another +joined, and they set him on their shoulders, lifting +him high. The inarticulate mob cry swelled and +deepened and rose to a different sound––a shout +that gathered volume and roared out across the +spaces where Courtrey rode with a menace, a +portent. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></p> +<p>With one accord the mob started on a journey +around Corvan.</p> +<p>White as Ellen, Cleve Whitmore rode that triumphant +journey, his eyes still blazing, his lips +tight. The town went wild. Public feeling came +out on every hand. Daring took the weak, +hope took the oppressed, and they called Courtrey’s +reign right there. For three uproarious +hours the bar-tenders could not wipe off their +bars.</p> +<p>A new regime was ushered in––and she who +had been its sponsor was not there to see it.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When the hour of Change was striking for Corvan +and all Lost Valley, Tharon Last, who had set +it to strike, was scaling False Ridge in the Cañon +Country. Grim, ash-pale with effort, her blue +eyes shining, she climbed the Secret Way that +few had ever found.</p> +<p>How she had come to it through the tortuous +cuts and passes was a marvel of homing instinct––the +heart that homed to its object. It had seemed +to her all along this strange, tense journey, that +she had had no will of her own, that she had held +her breath and shut her eyes, as it were, and gone +forward in obedience to some strange thing within +that said, “turn here,” “go thus.” Billy following +behind, watched her with tight lips and a secret +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +wonder. As she had told him she would “go +straight, Mary willing,” so she had gone straight––and +it seemed, truly, as if it were right that +she should, no matter how his heart ached to see +this thing.</p> +<p>Verily there was something supernatural about +it all, something uncanny.</p> +<p>If it had been he, Billy, whom Tharon loved, +and had he lain, wounded in the Cup o’ God, +would the girl have been given this blind instinct +for direction? Would she have gone as unerringly +to the Secret Way?</p> +<p>Nay––there must be something in the old saying +that, for every heart in the world there was its +true mate.</p> +<p>Tharon had found hers in Kenset.</p> +<p>But where would he ever find his? The boy +shook his fair head hopelessly at the sliding floors. +For all perfection there must be sacrifice. He was +the sacrifice for Tharon’s perfection––a willing +one, so help him!</p> +<p>That they had found the Secret Way across +False Ridge was perfectly plain, for here in the +living rock before them were marks, the first +marks they had found in the Cañons. Thin, small +crosses, cut in the stone of the walls, began to lead +upward from the last liftings cut straight up the +Rockface of False Ridge itself. It seemed, to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +look at the dim traces, that no living thing without +wings could scale that steep and forbidding cliff, +but when they tried to climb, they found that each +step had been set with artful cunning. The set +of steps followed the form of a “switchback,” +working from right to left, and always rising a +little. False Ridge itself, a towering, mighty +spine, came down in a swiftly dropping ridge from +somewhere in the high upper country at the west +of all the cañons. It was known to lead deceptively +down among the cuts and passes, as if it +went straight down to the lower levels, and to end +abruptly in a precipice that none could descend or +climb. On all its rugged sides there were treacherous +slopes which looked hard enough to support +a man, but which, once stepped on, gave sickeningly +away to slide and slither for a hundred feet +straight down to some abrupt edge, where they +fell in dusty cataracts to blind basins and walled +cups below.</p> +<p>In these blind cups were many skeletons of deer +and other animals that had ventured down from +the upper world, never to return. Somewhere up +here must be the bones of Cañon Jim.</p> +<p>But the Secret Way was safe. Under every +carefully worked out step there was solid stone, +for every handhold there was a firm stake set. +These stakes were old for the most part, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +here and there had been set in a new one––Courtrey’s +work, they made no doubt, for Courtrey was +said to know the Cañons. It took Tharon and +Billy two hours to make the climb, stopping from +time to time to rest. At such times the boy +stood close and took her hand. It was grim work +looking down the sheer face, and one might well +be excused for holding a hand for steadiness. And +it would soon be the time for no more touches of +this girl’s fair self for Billy.</p> +<p>And so, climbing steadily and in comparative +silence, these two, whose hearts were strong, came +at last to the top of False Ridge––a thin knife-blade +of stone––and looked abruptly and suddenly +down on the other side.</p> +<p>With a little gasp Tharon put a hand to her +throat, for there, an unbelievably short distance +down, lay the Cup o’ God, without a doubt. A +small, round glade of living green, watered by a +whispering stream that lost itself the Lord knew +where, it lay like a tiny gem in the pink stone setting. +Trees stood in utter quiet about its edges, +for there was here no slightest breath of air. Lush +grass carpeted its level floor. And there, almost +directly under the marked way leading down, +lay a tiny camp––the ashes of a dead fire, a +gun against a tree, and––here Tharon leaned far +out and looked as if her very spirit would penetrate +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +the distance––a blanket spread on the level +earth, on which there lay the body of a man!</p> +<p>It was a trim body, they could see from where +they stood, clad in dark garments of olive drab +that hugged the lean limbs close.</p> +<p>“Kenset!” whispered Tharon with paling lips. +“Kenset of th’ foothills,––an’––he––looks,” she +wet those ashy lips, “he––looks like he is dead.”</p> +<p>Without another word she set her feet in the +precarious way and went down so fast that Billy’s +heart rose in his throat and choked him, and for +the first time since he could remember, he called +fervently upon his Maker with honest reverence. +He thought at every slip and scramble that she +must fall and go hurtling down the Rockface.</p> +<p>But that uncanny instinct which had brought +her this far was at her command still. She went +down faster than it seemed possible for anything +to go, and before the rider was able to catch up +she had leaped to the grassy floor, and was running +forward toward that still form on the +blanket.</p> +<p>“Kenset!” she cried like a bugle, “Kenset! +Kenset! Oh,––David!”</p> +<p>And then it was that the quiet form stirred, +rolled over on its side, lifted itself on an elbow––and +held out two arms that wavered grotesquely, +but were eloquent of love’s power and its need. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span></p> +<p>And the Mistress of Last’s flung herself on her +knees, gathered up this strange man as if he had +been a child, pressed him hard against her breast, +and kissed him as we kiss our dead. She pushed +his face from her and looked into it as if she +would see his very soul, the tears running on her +white cheeks, her lips working soundlessly.</p> +<p>This was love! This agony––this ecstasy––this +sublime forgetting of all the world beside––this +reward after struggle.</p> +<p>Billy stood for a second at the foot of the Wall, +and the nails cut in his palms. Then he whirled +and went fast as he could walk toward the first +trees that presented themselves––and he could not +see where he was going for the bleak grey mist +that swam in his eyes.</p> +<p>This was love! This dreary colour of the +golden sunlight of noon in the high country––this +dumb ache that locked his throat––this high courage +that brought him serving love’s object to the +bitter-sweet end. How long he stood there he did +not know. His heart was dead, like the weathered +stone country about him. He knew that he heard +Tharon’s voice after a while, that golden voice +which had been the bells of Last’s, in rapid question +and answer––and Kenset’s voice, too, weak +and slow, but filled with joy unspeakable. It was +lilting and soft, a lover’s voice, a victor’s voice, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span> +and presently he caught a few of the broken words +that passed between them––“Clean! Clean! Oh, +Tharon, darling––there is no blood on these dear +hands! Tell me you did not kill Courtrey!”</p> +<p>He heard Tharon answer in the negative.</p> +<p>And then all the world fell about him, it seemed, +for a gun cracked from the trees beyond him and +a wasp stung his cheek.</p> +<p>In one instant the sunlight became brilliant +again, the joy came back in the day. Here was +something more to do for Tharon, a new task at +hand when he had thought his tasks were all but +done.</p> +<p>He whirled, looked, drew his six-gun and began +firing at the man who stood in plain sight just +where he had stepped into the Cup from the mouth +of a little blind cut where the stream went out in +noise and lost itself.</p> +<p>This was a big man, sinister and cold and dark, +a half-breed Pomo of Courtrey’s gang, a still-hunter +who did a lot of the dirty work which the +others refused. Billy had seen him before, knew +his record.</p> +<p>Now they two stood face to face and fired at +each other swiftly, coolly. He saw the half-breed +stagger once, knew that he had touched him somewhere. +And then a sound cut into the snapping of +the shots, a sound that was like nothing he had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +ever heard in all his life before, a sound as savage +as the roar of a she-bear whose cub is killed before +her eyes. As he flung away his empty gun and +snatched the other, he moved enough to bring into +his range of vision Tharon Last, standing over +Kenset, her mouth open in that savage cry.</p> +<p>Then before he could draw and fire again he +saw the prettiest piece of work he had ever witnessed. +He saw the gun woman crouch and stoop, +saw her hands flash in Jim Last’s famous backhand +flip, saw the red flame spurt from her hips, +and the Pomo half-breed flung up his hands and +fell in a heap, his face in the grass. He did not +move. Only a long ripple passed over his body. +He was still as the ageless rocks, as much a part +of eternity. For a moment Billy stood, the gun +hanging in his hand. Then he knew that Tharon +was coming toward him––that her hands were on +his shoulders––her deep eyes piercing his with a +look that meant more to him than all the earth +beside. It was the fierce, mother-look of changeless +affection, the companion to that savage cry. +She held him in a pinching grip, and made sure +that he was unhurt, save for that scratch on the +cheek.</p> +<p>“If he had killed you, Billy,” she said tensely, +“I’d a-gone a-muck an’ shot up th’ whole of Lost +Valley.” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span></p> +<p>And the boy knew in his heart she spoke the +solemn truth.</p> +<p>He slipped his hands down her arms and +caught her fingers tightly.</p> +<p>“Stained!” his heart whispered to itself in +stifling exhilaration, “in spite of all––her first +killin’––an’ for me!”</p> +<p>Then he could bear her face no more, and +turned to look at Kenset. Half off the edge of his +blanket the forest man lay with his face buried +in his hands, and beside him lay another gun, the +smoke still curling from its muzzle.</p> +<p>“By God!” said the rider, softly, “what’s +this?” and he ran forward to pick up the weapon.</p> +<p>“Three of us!” he said aloud, “pepperin’ him +at once! Kenset, where did you get this gun?”</p> +<p>But Kenset did not speak. His shoulders +trembled, his dark head was bowed to the earth.</p> +<p>“Answer me,” said Billy, “for as sure’s I live, +this here’s Buck Courtrey’s favourite gun––the +gun with the untrue firin’ pin. Look here.” And +he held it toward Tharon who leaned near to look. +True enough.</p> +<p>In the right side of the plunger there was a +small, shining nick, as if, at some previous time, +a tiny chink had been broken out of it.</p> +<p>“I found it where I saw Courtrey hide it that +night they brought me here,” said Kenset in a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +muffled voice. “I crawled when the Pomo was +out in the Cañons after meat.”</p> +<p>“An’ you used it––at last. I see. Not till th’ +last.”</p> +<p>“No,” said Kenset miserably, “not till the +last.”</p> +<p>Slowly Tharon knelt down beside him and put a +tender arm across his shoulders. Her face was +shining––like Billy’s heart.</p> +<p>“Mr. Kenset,” she said softly, “I told you +once that I was afraid you was soft––like a woman––that +you wouldn’t shoot if you had a gun. An’ +you said, ‘You’re right. I wouldn’t. Not until +th’ last extremity.’</p> +<p>“What was this last extremity? Tell me. Why +did you shoot when you knew right well I’d get +him myself?”</p> +<p>“To beat you to it!” cried the man with sudden +passion, “to take the stain myself!”</p> +<p>For a long moment the girl knelt there beside +him and gazed unseeingly at the inscrutable calm +of the silent country. Something in the depths +of her blue eyes was changing––deepening, growing +in subtle beauty, as if the universe was suddenly +become perfect, as if there was nowhere a +flaw.</p> +<p>“There’s only one kind of man, after all, Mr. +Kenset,” she said at last with a sweet dignity, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +“th’ man who is true an’ honest to th’ best there +is in him, accordin’ to his lights. That’s my kind +of man.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Then she rose, and it was as if a light of activity +burned up in her. She became practical on the +instant.</p> +<p>“I’m glad you brought th’ thin rope, Billy,” she +said, “it’s longer’n mine. An’ th’ little axe, too. +We’ll need ’em all to get him up an’ down False +Ridge. An’ we must get busy right pronto. Th’ +Pomo killer we’ll leave where he is. The Cañon +Country will make him a silent grave.”</p> +<hr class='major' /> +<div style='margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI_FINGER_MARK_AND_IRONWOOD_AT_LAST' id='CHAPTER_XI_FINGER_MARK_AND_IRONWOOD_AT_LAST'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +<h3>FINGER MARK AND IRONWOOD AT LAST</h3> +</div> +<p>It was another noon in Lost Valley. The +summer sun sailed the azure skies in majesty. +Little soft winds from the south wimpled the +grass of the rolling ranges, shook all the leaves +of the poplars. Down the face of the Wall the +Vestal’s Veil shimmered and shone like a million +miles of lace.</p> +<p>At Corvan wild excitement ruled. Swift things +had come upon them, things that staggered the +tight-lipped community, even though it was used to +speed and tragedy. For one thing, Ellen, pale, +sweet flower, had hanged herself in the gaudy +apartment of Lola behind the Golden Cloud +where the dance-hall woman had peremptorily +brought her when they took her off Cleve Whitmore’s +shoulder. She left a little note for Courtrey, +a pathetic short scrawl, which simply reiterated +that she had “ben true to him as his +shadow,” and that if he did no longer want her, +she did not want herself.</p> +<p>At that pitiful end to a guiltless life, Lola, who +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +knew innocence and sin, sat down on the only carpeted +floor in Corvan and wept. When she finished, +she was done with Corvan and Lost Valley, +ready to move on as she had moved through an +eventful life.</p> +<p>For another thing, two strange men had ridden +up the Wall from the Bottle Neck a few days +back, and they had put through some mysterious +doings.</p> +<p>This day at noon these two strangers were riding +down on Corvan from up the Pomo way, +while from the Stronghold, Buck Courtrey’s men +were thundering in with the cattle king at their +head. He was grim and silent, black with gathering +rage. His news-veins tapped the Valley, he +knew a deal that others tried to hide, and he was +coming in to reach a savage hand once more toward +that supremacy which he knew full well to +be slipping from him.</p> +<p>And from the blind mouth in the Rockface at +the west where the roofed cut led to the mystery +and the grandeur of the Cañon Country, a strange +procession came slowly out to crawl across the +green expanse––a woman on a silver horse, a +rider on a red roan who sat behind the saddle +and bore in his arms a man whose heavy head +lolled upon his shoulder in all but mortal weakness. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span></p> +<p>Thus Fate, who had for so long played with +life and death in Lost Valley, tiring of the play, +drew in the strings of the puppets and set the +stage for the last act.</p> +<p>As Tharon and Billy crept up to Baston’s store +and stopped at the steps, a dozen eager men leaped +forward to their help.</p> +<p>“Easy!” warned the girl. “He’s ben hurt +a long time, an’ he’s had an awful trip. There’s +fever in him, an’ th’ wound in his shoulder opened +a bit with th’ haulin’. Lay him down on th’ +porch a while to rest.”</p> +<p>But Kenset opened his dark eyes with the old +quiet smile and looked at her.</p> +<p>“I’m worth a dozen dead men yet, Miss Last,” +he said.</p> +<p>As he lay, a trim, long figure in his semi-military +garments, on the edge of the porch, the populace +of Corvan streamed in from the outskirts and +gathered in the open street. Whispers and comments +were rife among them, a new courage was +noticeable everywhere. The Vigilantes were +present, many of them.</p> +<p>Question and answer passed swiftly and quietly +back and forth between Dixon, Jameson, Hill and +Tharon. In a few pregnant moments she knew +what had happened in Corvan––they knew the +secret of False Ridge and the Cup o’ God. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span></p> +<p>“An’ now these strangers from below––they +ben a-actin’ awful queer, ain’t a-feared o’ nothin’ +an’ they ben goin’ all over like a couple o’ hounds. +One of ’em’s got on a badge of some sort,” said +Jameson, “didn’t mean t’ show it, I allow, but +Hill, here, seen it by chanct–––”</p> +<p>Kenset raised himself quickly on an elbow.</p> +<p>“By all that’s lucky!” he said softly, excitedly. +“Burn-Harris and O’Hallan! My Secret Service +men!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>And it was even so, for by the end of another +hour the two strangers came riding in and were +brought forward to the steps where Kenset lay, +to clasp his hand and greet him with all the +pleasure of previous acquaintance.</p> +<p>Then they requested that a space be cleared to +the end of ear-shot and together with Kenset, +Tharon, Billy, and all the Vigilantes, they held a +long and earnest colloquy.</p> +<p>At its end Kenset’s eyes were deep and troubled, +but Tharon’s were beginning to glow with the old +fire that all the Holding knew, the leaping flame +that rose and died and rose again, exciting to the +beholder, promising, threatening, unfathomable.</p> +<p>“Why, it’s a cinch!” said O’Hallan, “a dead +moral cinch! Don’t see how it’s held on like it has. +Couldn’t have in any other place in the good old +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span> +U. S. A. but this God forsaken hole! Well named, +Lost Valley! Why, we’ve found enough evidence +already to convict a dozen men! Your Courtrey’s +the man that planned a dozen murders, I can see +that, and he’s pulled off a lot of them himself. +The people are talking now, rumbling from one +end of the Valley to the other. We’ve had to hold +up our hands to ward them off lately. Your Vigilantes +here have opened up since we got them +together and showed some of them your letter. +You were wise to tell us to go ahead if you were +not here––what did you look for?”</p> +<p>“Just about what I got,” said Kenset smiling, +“and I wanted things to be pushed through anyway.”</p> +<p>“Well,––they’re pushing,” said Burn-Harris. +“Your little old sheriff has had the fear-of-the-Lord +put into him somewhat. He’s shaking in +his boots about the snow-packer. There’s only +one thing lacking to make our grip close down on +Courtrey, and that’s vital––the gun with the untrue +firing pin you speak about in your instructions.”</p> +<p>“Not lackin’,” said Tharon grimly, “we’ve +got it, Mister.”</p> +<p>The Secret Service man whirled to her.</p> +<p>“You have?” he cried, “then show me your +man!” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></p> +<p>But Tharon stood for a long moment looking +off across the rolling green stretches, toward the +north where a moving dot was drawing down––the +riders from the Stronghold.</p> +<p>“This,” she said at last, tapping the gun which +Billy handed over, “this, then, is proof––is proof +in law?”</p> +<p>“If it’s the true gun that fits the shell which +Mr. Kenset left for us here at Baston’s––yes.”</p> +<p>“Then,” said Burn-Harris, “a little time and +your man’s ours as sure’s the sun shines. Why, +this is a hot-bed of crime––there’s enough work +here to keep a whole force busy for months.”</p> +<p>But Tharon Last did not heed his words. Her +mind had leaped away from the present back to +that day in spring when Jim Last came home to +die. She heard again his last command, “Th’ +best gun woman in Lost Valley,” heard her own +voice promising to his dulling ears, “I’ll get him, +so help me, God!”</p> +<p>And this was the end. Strangers were waiting +to fulfill that promise, to take her work out of her +hands. She absently watched the moving dot take +form and sharply string out into a line of riding +men. These strangers with their hidden signs of +authority would bring to his just desserts Buck +Courtrey, the man who had instigated the killing +of poor Harkness, who had personally shot her +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +daddy in the back! For them, then, she had made +her crosses of promise in the granite under the +pointing pine.</p> +<p>They who had no right in Lost Valley would +settle its blood scores, would pay her debts!</p> +<p>She frowned and the fingers of her right hand +fiddled at the gun-butt at her hip.</p> +<p>For what had she striven all these many +months? For what had she perfected herself in +Jim Last’s art?</p> +<p>A little white line drew in about her lips, the +flame in her blue eyes leaped and flickered. The +tawny brows gathered into a puckered frown.</p> +<p>Billy, watching, moved restlessly on his booted +feet. He it was who saw––who feared. He +touched her wrist with timid fingers and she +flashed him a swift glance that half melted to a +smile. Then she forgot him and all the rest––for +the Ironwoods were thundering in from the +outside levels, were coming into town.</p> +<p>Ahead rode Courtrey, big, black, keen, his wide +hat swept back on his iron-grey hair, an imposing +presence.</p> +<p>“Here’s your man!” said Kenset softly, rising +excitedly on his elbow. “He’s coming! And +God grant that there is no bloodshed!”</p> +<p>All of Corvan, so long meek and quiet under +Courtrey’s foot, moved dramatically back to give +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span> +him room to come thundering down to his accounting.</p> +<p>In a few seconds he would be encompassed by +his enemies.</p> +<p>And then, on the tick of fate, that universally +unknown factor, a woman’s heart, flung its last +pawn in the balance.</p> +<p>Lola, gleaming like a bird of paradise in her gay +habiliments, leaning forward from the further +steps of Baston’s store where she had slipped up +unnoticed, cupped her white hands to her scarlet +mouth, and sent out a cry like a clarion.</p> +<p>“Buck!” she called, bell-like, clear, far-reaching––“Buck! +Turn back! They’ve called your +turn! It’s all up for you! Go! Go––down––the +Wall! And––God bless you––Buck! Good-bye!”</p> +<p>For one awful moment the great red Ironwood, +Bolt, flung up his head and slid forward on his +haunches, ploughing up the earth in a cloud.</p> +<p>Then, while the half-stunned crowd gaped in +silence, he gathered himself, straightened, whirled, +shook his giant frame and leaped clear of the +ground in a spectacular turn. The man on his +back snatched off his hat and shook it defiantly at +the town––the people––the very Valley that he +had ruled so long. It was a dramatic gesture––daring, +scorning, renouncing. Then, without a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span> +word to his henchmen, a single look of farewell, +Buck Courtrey struck the Ironwood, and was gone +back along the little street.</p> +<p>His men whirled after him, but strange turn of +destiny, they swung directly north away from him, +for he was turning south at the town’s edge.</p> +<p>“For the––Wall!” breathed Lola, her face like +milk, one hand on her glittering breast. “He––goes––for +below!”</p> +<p>Then all the watchers knew the same.</p> +<p>The master of the Stronghold, having played +for Lost Valley and for a woman and lost them +both––was done with both.</p> +<p>He leaned on the Ironwood’s mighty neck and +went south toward the Bottle Neck.</p> +<p>All eyes were upon him––all, that is, save the +earnest grey ones of Billy Brent. They were +fixed in anguish on the face of Tharon Last beside +him––Tharon Last, who shoved the gun-butts hard +down in the holsters at her hips, who whirled on +her booted heel, who cleared the space between +her and El Rey in three cat-like leaps.</p> +<p>As she went up the stallion rose with her, came +down with a pounding of iron-shod hoofs, +dropped his huge hips in the first leap––and was +away.</p> +<p>Corvan saw the silver horse shoot out from its +midst and woke from its lethargy. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span></p> +<p>“<i>Th’ race!</i>” some one cried, high and shrill, +“<i>th’ race at last!</i>”</p> +<p>The two strangers saw it, and their lips fell +open with amaze.</p> +<p>Kenset from his low porch saw it––and dropped +his face on his arms.</p> +<p>“Lord God!” he groaned, “it’s come! I +couldn’t hold her! I might have known! I might +have known! She’s Valley bred––she <i>is</i> the Valley! +I––and all I stand for––chaff in the wind! +Nothing could hold her now! Aye––nothing could +hold her.”</p> +<p>True at last to herself––true to Harkness––true +to Jim Last––true to the Vigilantes and to the +Valley she loved, Tharon flung the sombrero from +her bright head, settled her feet in the stirrups, +slid the rein on El Rey’s neck, leaned down above +him and began to call in his ears.</p> +<p>No need of that cry.</p> +<p>El Rey heeded nothing that she might say. She +was not his master––never had been. He had had +but one, the big, stern man whose sharp word had +been his law––the one who had ever had his best, +his love and his speed.</p> +<p>What was it now that rode in his saddle––the +saddle with the long dark stain?</p> +<p>Assuredly it was not the slim girl-thing with the +golden voice! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span></p> +<p>El Rey had ever looked through, beyond her.</p> +<p>Nay, it was something bigger, stronger, +sterner––who shall say? Perhaps the spirit of +that master whom he had served, whom he had +brought faithfully home that night in spring, for +whom he had looked and listened all these weary +months! There was something, indeed––for El +Rey, the great, lay down to earth and ran without +the need of guidance. He set the long red horse +out there on the green plain before him like a +beacon and put the mighty machinery of his massive +body into motion. Bolt was a rival worthy of +his best––Bolt, the king of the Ironwoods, huge, +spirited, fast as the wind and wild as fire. El +Rey’s silver ears lay back along his neck, the mane +above them was like a cloud, his long tail streamed +behind him like a comet––and forgotten was his +singlefooting. He ran, his great limbs gathering +and spreading beneath him––gathering and +spreading––with the regularity, of clock-work.</p> +<p>Tharon’s blue eyes were narrow as her father’s, +the little lines about them stood out. She rode +low, like a limpet clinging, and her mind was on +the two ahead––the man and the great bay horse.</p> +<p>As she felt the wind sing by her cheeks, sting +the tears beneath her lids, she shut her lips tighter +and hugged the pommel closer.</p> +<p>The green carpet went by beneath her like a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +blur. The thunder of El Rey’s beating hoofs +was like the sound of the cataracts when the cañons +shot their freshets from the Rockface.</p> +<p>The note of his speed was rising––rising––rising. +The blood began to pound in her temples +with pride and exultation.</p> +<p>She saw the distance narrowing just the smallest +bit between her and Courtrey. Just the smallest +trifle, indeed, but <i>narrowing</i>.</p> +<p>“He ain’t a-puttin’ Bolt down to his best,” +she told herself tensely, “I know what he can do.” +And she remembered that ride from the mouth +of Black Coulee to the pine-guarded glade––and +Kenset. At that thought she pressed her lips +tighter.</p> +<p>No thought of Kenset must come to her now––to +weaken her with memory of those pressing, vital +hands of his above his pounding heart.</p> +<p>No––she was herself again––Tharon Last, Jim +Last’s girl, the gun woman of Lost Valley––and +yonder went her father’s killer.</p> +<p>She leaned down and called again in El Rey’s +ear.</p> +<p>No slightest spurt of speed rewarded her––nothing +but the rising note. Then she saw that +the distance was widening––just a tiny bit.</p> +<p>Truly it was widening. Courtrey, looking back, +had caught the sun on her golden hair, on her face +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +as white as milk. He saw that her hands were at +her hips––loosely set back at her hips––and what +thought he might have had of mercy at her hands––what +wild vision he might have seen of speech +with her––of parley––of persuasion––was dead.</p> +<p>He leaned down and struck the Ironwood with +his open hand.</p> +<p>Bolt, the beautiful, leaped in answer. A little +more––slowly––the distance between pursuer and +pursued widened. Then––Tharon blinked the +mist from her eyes to make sure––the gain was +lost. Slowly, steadily, El Rey closed up the extra +width. Then for a time there was no change. +The open plain resounded to the roar of hoofs, +the wind sang by like taut strings struck. The +earth was still that racing green blur beneath.</p> +<p>And still the electric note of rising speed +hummed softly higher.</p> +<p>If Jim Last rode his silver stallion to the goal +of vengeance he must surely have been satisfied. +The great shoulders worked like pistons, the whole +massive body was level as the flowing floor beneath, +the steel-thewed limbs reached and doubled––reached +and doubled––with wonderful power +and precision.</p> +<p>And then at last Tharon knew––knew that El +Rey was gaining, slowly, steadily, surely. The +splendid bay horse was running magnificently, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +El Rey ran like a super-horse. His silver head +was straight as a level, his ears laid back, his nostrils +wide and flaring, red as blood, his big eyes +glowed with the wildness of savage flight.</p> +<p>The great king was mad with speed!</p> +<p>Jim Last’s girl was mad also––mad with the +lust of conquest, of revenge.</p> +<p>She rose a little from the stallion’s whipping +mane, and her blue eyes burned on the man ahead.</p> +<p>“I said I’d get you, Buck Courtrey!” she muttered, +“that some day I’d run th’ Ironwoods off +their feet––th’ heart out of their master!</p> +<p>“Run, damn you––for it’s your last ride!”</p> +<p>Then she dropped forward again and watched +the distance closing down.</p> +<p>Nearer––nearer––nearer!</p> +<p>The note rose another notch.</p> +<p>Never in his life had El Rey run as he ran now. +Always he had had reserves. He had them now. +The bottom of his power was not reached.</p> +<p>Bolt was doing his best. Once he threw up his +head and foam flew on the wind––red foam that +shot back and whipped on Tharon’s hand, a wet +pink stain, thinned and faded.</p> +<p>At that sight an exultant cry, savage, inhuman, +ugly, burst from her throat.</p> +<p>She was within long gunshot now––was closing +her fingers lightly on the blue gun-butts–––. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span></p> +<p>Courtrey heard that cry.</p> +<p>He rose in his saddle––turned––flashed up his +hand and fired. Quick as the motion of the gun +man was, Tharon Last was quicker. She dropped +over El Rey’s shoulder like a cat, firing as she +went.</p> +<p>Courtrey’s bullet clipped the cantle of the big +saddle an inch above her flattened leg across it. +Hers did something else––what she had dreamed +of. It struck that other wrist of Courtrey’s, the +left––and sent his six-gun tumbling.</p> +<p>Once again she yelled as she came back in her +saddle.</p> +<p>And El Rey was closing––closing up the gap +between.</p> +<p>Once again Tharon raised her guns to shoot––both, +this time, as her daddy had taught her. +This was the pinnacle of her life, her skill, her +training.</p> +<p>Never again would she live a moment like it. +She laughed and crouched for the final act.</p> +<p>But a sudden coldness went over her from head +to foot, sent the hot blood shaking down her +spine.</p> +<p>What was Courtrey doing?</p> +<p>He rode straight up at last, like an Indian +showing, and his bleeding left hand swung at his +side. With the other he had swept off his wide +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +hat, so that his handsome iron-grey head was bare +to the summer sun. His keen hawk face was +lifted. He made a spectacular figure––like a warrior, +unarmed, waiting his end with courage.</p> +<p><i>Unarmed!</i></p> +<p>That it was which struck Tharon like a hand +across her face. The gun he had used with his +left hand was his only one! He had carried but +one since that night at the Stronghold when she +had first marked him.</p> +<p>She should have known! Word of this had +been about Corvan and the Valley.</p> +<p>And so she had Buck Courtrey at her mercy. +She could close the lessening gap and kill him in +his saddle–––</p> +<p>But the icy blood still seemed to trickle down her +back.</p> +<p>She––and Jim Last––they had always fought in +fair-and-open. They were no murderers.... +They did not strike in the dark––shoot a man from +ambush––nor kill a man unarmed.... And Kenset––Kenset +of the foothills––what had he said +about the stain of blood––blood-guilt––clean +hands–––</p> +<p>The girl caught her breath with a choking sob.</p> +<p>The game was up.</p> +<p>Neither Jim Last––nor Kenset––nor she––would +shoot a man unarmed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span></p> +<p>And Courtrey was riding toward the Bottle +Neck.</p> +<p>He would go down the Wall to freedom.</p> +<p>And the crosses in Jim Last’s granite––they +would be forever unredeemed, a shame, a sadness, +a living accusation!</p> +<p>Nay––not that! Not that!</p> +<p>She had promised––and the Law was waiting––the +big Law of below.</p> +<p>She was Jim Last’s daughter still.</p> +<p>She leaned closer to El Rey’s neck––held +her two guns ready––and rode with the very +wind.</p> +<p>She was near now––she could see Courtrey’s +face, waxen white but fearless, his dark eyes +turned back toward her in a sort of desperate admiration.... +Courtrey loved strength and courage +and all things wild and fierce. She could +see Bolt’s staring eyeballs, his open mouth, gasping +and piteous. One more moment––another––yet +one more––then she rose in her stirrups and +fired straight at the broad bay temple, shining and +black with sweat!</p> +<p>The great gallant Ironwood went down in a +huge arc––first his beautiful head, then the sinking +arch of his neck, then the shoulders that had +worked so wondrously. He rolled on his back +like a hoop, his iron-shod hoofs spinning for one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +spectacular moment in the air. Then he lay at +sudden ease, his still fluttering nose pointing directly +back the way he had come.</p> +<p>With the first catching stumble of the true forefeet, +the man on his back had shot out of the +saddle and far ahead. He landed twenty feet +away and squarely on his head and shoulders. Like +Bolt, Courtrey’s body turned a complete somersault––and +lay still, at sudden peace.</p> +<p>Tharon Last and El Rey went on like an arrow––they +could not stop.</p> +<p>When at last she did draw the great king down +she was far and away from the spot. She turned +her head, panting and dizzy, and looked back.... +She could see the prone red heap that was +Bolt––a little way beyond that other, lesser, darker +heap....</p> +<p>For a long time she sat on El Rey’s heaving +back and stared unseeingly at the green earth +where the short grasses quivered in the little wind.</p> +<p>There was a deathly white line about her lips, +but her eyes blazed with the fire that had characterized +them from birth, the flickering, unfathomable +flame that came and went.</p> +<p>Then, presently, new lines came in her young +face, unstable lines that quivered and worked, and +all the good green earth danced grotesquely before +her vision, for a wall of tears shut out the world. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +... She laid her head down on El Rey’s cloudy +mane––and wept.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>It was early dawn at Last’s Holding. The sun +was not yet up behind the eastern ramparts. The +cottonwoods whispered in the dawn-wind, the +spring beneath the milk-house talked and murmured. +Out in the big corrals the cattle were +beginning to stir and bawl.</p> +<p>In the kitchen old Anita and young Paula had +breakfast waiting for the men.</p> +<p>Deep in that dim south room where the pale +Virgin kept watch and ward, Kenset of the foothills +slept in healing peace.</p> +<p>And at the step of the western door, Billy stood +by Golden––Golden the beautiful, who ranked next +to El Rey himself––and his face was lifted to +Tharon who drooped against the lintel with her +forehead on her arm.</p> +<p>The boy held her hand clasped in both of +his own, and there was a yearning tenderness +in his soft voice when he spoke, a pride and joy +ineffable that glowed above the pain that was +never to leave him.</p> +<p>“It ain’t that I love you less, Tharon, dear,” +he said gently, “that I must go. Not that, little +girl. I’ll love you till I die––that I know in dead +certainty. But I can’t stay here––not where I’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +have to see you givin’ all your sweet self to another +man. A good man, too, Tharon––I think there +ain’t a better one in th’ land––but––well,––I can’t––that’s +all. I can’t thank you for all you’ve done +for me sence you was a little mite of a girl––five +years back,”––his voice broke a bit, but he controlled +it, “nor for th’ joy you’ve given me––th’ +rides together––an’ th’ jokes an’ playin’–––”</p> +<p>He paused a moment, unhappily, and the mistress +of Last’s drooped more heavily against the +old adobe wall.</p> +<p>“Nor for Golden here,” went on the rider, +“we’ll be pals as long as we both live––nor fer-fer––” +he stopped again, hesitated, looked yearningly +at the quivering cheek against the curving +arm, and went on to the finish.</p> +<p>“Nor fer that one kiss, Tharon––it’s my one +treasure for life, so help me, God––that you give +me that night. An’ over all I want to thank you +fer––fer––killin’ th’ Pomo half-breed in th’ Cup +o’ God––<i>fer you done that trick fer me</i>! Th’ one +stain on your dear hands––fer me––the <i>only</i> one, +fer Fate killed Courtrey, not you. His neck was +clean broke when they picked him up.... That +memory will keep me alive, will save th’ beauty +of th’ stars at night fer me, will make th’ rest +worth livin’.... That one kiss.”</p> +<p>He stopped again and stood for a long time +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +looking at her as if he would fix forever in his +memory the beauty of her, the fire, the spirit, the +elusive quality that was Tharon Last herself.</p> +<p>Then he sighed and smiled and gently shook +the hand he held.</p> +<p>“Come––tell me good-bye, Tharon, dear,” he +said softly.</p> +<p>For answer the mistress of Last’s once again +reached out her arms and drew his head to her +heart––once more pressed her lips upon his own.</p> +<p>“Oh, Billy,” she said with a sound of tears in +her voice, “Kenset’s th’ one man––that’s true, an’ +I’m helpless before th’ fact––but there’ll never be +another can take your place in my heart––there’ll +never be no one to ride with me in th’ Big Shadow +in just th’ same way, Billy––to hold my hand as +we come home to Last’s with that same sweet, honest +friendship, that don’t need words! I’ve got +my life-love, but I’ve lost my life-friend––an’ my +heart’s sore––sore with pain!”</p> +<p>The rider lifted his face and it was glorified in +the first rays of the sun that was rising over the +eastern mountains. His gayly studded belt and +riding cuffs, his spurs and the vanity of silver on +his wide hat caught the glow and sparkled brightly. +Joy became paramount over sadness.</p> +<p>“Don’t you fret, Tharon,” he said, still in that +soft voice, “I’m always at your shoulder in spirit––in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +body, too, if you ever want me or need me. +So long.”</p> +<p>And he kissed both the hands he held, dropped +them, turned and mounted Golden, waved a hand +to all the Holding, and putting the horse to a run, +went down the sounding-board as if he dared not +look back.</p> +<p>Until horse and rider were a tiny speck on the +living green––until they passed the Silver Hollow +and the mouth of Black Coulee, Tharon Last stood +in the western door and watched them with dim +blue eyes.</p> +<p>Ail the wide expanse of Lost Valley was still +and sweet with dawn, smiling as if with a new +and wondrous peace, the Vestal’s Veil shimmered +on the Rockface, the distant peaks above the +Cañon Country cut the skies.</p> +<p>She scanned the little world about and felt this +peace press down upon her soul––as if the questions +all were answered, the duty done.</p> +<p>Never in all her life before had Last’s Holding +seemed to her so secure and settled, so sweet and +to be desired....</p> +<p>Within it lay her destiny––the man in the cool +south room.</p> +<p>Without in the great Valley lay a future.</p> +<p>Love was with her––friendship would be with +her always in memory, one glowing with its vital +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +presence, the other softened and doubly sweet with +the sorrow of absence.</p> +<p>She raised her hand and made the sign of the +Cross between herself and that disappearing +speck, then she turned and followed old Anita +carrying gruels to that dim south room.</p> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:2em;'>THE END</p> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: ppg0522 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sat May 23 08:54:30 -0600 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Tharon of Lost Valley, by Vingie E. 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