Tharon of Lost Valley Read online

  CHAPTER X

  THE UNTRUE FIRING PIN

  Tharon turned back and looked long at El Rey. She wondered if shewould ever see the great silver-blue stallion again, ever feel thewind singing by her cheeks, ever hear the thunder of his running onthe hollow ranges. She saw the stain of Jim Last's blood on the bigstudded saddle and a pain like death stabbed her.

  "I'll get him," she had promised on that tragic day, "so help me God!"and had made the sign of the Cross.

  What did she now?

  Cast away all certainty of that fulfilment because a man--a man almosta stranger--lay somewhere in the Canon Country, crawled somewherealong False Ridge, perhaps, wounded and sick with fever.

  "Oh, hurry!" she whispered as Billy made secure his last light knot inthe rope gateway across the cut and came to join her.

  She scrambled up the bench in the canyon floor, gained her feet andwent forward at a rush.

  "Steady, Tharon," warned the rider, "you ain't used to climbin'. Saveyour wind."

  It was true advice. Long before the sun was high overhead and day wasbroad in the painted cracks she had begun to heed it. As she swung upthe ever lifting floors, threaded this way and that between the thinintercepting walls that towered hundreds of feet straight up, she casther wide eyes up in wonder. Always she had watched the Canon Countryfrom her western door, always it had held her with a binding lure.

  There was that about its mystery, its austere majesty, that hadthrilled her heart from babyhood. She had pictured it a thousand timesand always it had looked just so--pink and grey and saffron, pale andmisty with light when the sun was high, blue and wonderful and blackas the luminary lowered, leaving the quick shadows.

  Hour after hour they climbed, mostly in silence, speaking now and thensome necessary word of caution, of assent. This way and that Tharonturned, but always moving upward in the same direction. From time totime Billy dropped a shred of the red kerchief about his neck, touchedthe soft walls with the handle of the knife he carried. This left amark plain as a trail to his trained eyes.

  At noon they halted for a little rest. From Tharon's saddle Billy hadtaken the flask of water, the tightly rolled bundle of bread and meatin its meal-sack. They ate sparingly of this, drank more sparingly ofthe water. Billy wondered miserably how soon this last might becomemore precious than fine gold to him, as he thought of the waterlesspockets of the blind and sliding country.

  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 theleft of the steady line she set herself through and above the windingpasses. From time to time Billy looked back. There was not a sign bywhich one might tell which way he had come if the last mark he madewas around the first corner. Hundreds and thousands of spires andfaces towered about them. It was a mystic maze of dead stone, cut andweathered by the elements.

  "No wonder!" he told himself, "that the Indians call it the EnchantedLand!"

  "We'll reach False Ridge tomorrow, Billy," Tharon told him confidently,"an' over it lies God's Cup. There's water there--an' Kenset."

  "What makes you think so?"

  "I don't know. Just feel. He's there--alive or--" a half sob clutchedat her voice--"or dead. But he's there."

  "There'll be some one with him if he's alive, most likely."

  "Sure," said Tharon briefly.

  All the afternoon they traveled, sometimes touching with outstretchedhands the faces on either side of them, again walking upward throughmajestic halls, solemn and beautiful. Everything about them wasbeautiful, the height, the sheer, straight walls, the myriad littleblue shadows of tiny projections on their faces. Night came so earlyin 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, theystopped, and Billy spread down the blanket he had taken fromDrumfire's back. This was their only preparation. They had nothing todo, no fire to build, no water to bring.

  Tharon, scarcely conscious of the many miles she had traveled sincethe previous night, sat down upon the blanket, gathered her knees inher arms and stared at the vague blue phantoms of cliffs through thetall straight mouth that led into this sheltered pocket.

  Outside the winds were drawing up the canyons. All day they had walkedin this wind. It drew constantly up and down the cuts, this way andthat, like contrary currents that met and fought each other, swung intogether, went a little way in peace, to again split and surge awaythrough other channels. The echoes were alive with every sound, bothof their own making and that of the wind's. A constant sighing dronedthrough the depths, a mournful, whispering sound that sent the shiversdown Tharon's spine, made her think sadly of all the tragedies she hadever known.

  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 hisown thoughts, and they were not wholly sad.

  They fell to talking, softly, in low tones, as if in all themysterious solitude there might be one to hear, and it was mostlyspeech of long ago--when Billy had first come into Lost Valley.

  After a long and quiet hour the man insisted that she shouldsleep--that after the hard day and in view of the coming hard morrow,she needed rest.

  "But I'm not tired, Billy," Tharon protested, "no more'n as if I'dbeen ridin' all day after th' cattle."

  But Billy shook his head and hollowed a little place in the soft slidestuff at the Wall's foot. In this he spread the blanket, folding ithalf back.

  "Lie down," he commanded, "an' you'll be asleep so quick you won'tknow when it happens."

  Tharon slipped off her daddy's belt and stretched her slim young formin the hollow, which fitted it like a cradle. Not for nothing hadBilly slept out many a night with nothing save the earth and stars forbed and blanket. The hollow was craftily deepened at hip and shoulder,making a restful couch. As she settled herself therein he lapped theloose half of the blanket over her and tucked it in. Then he took hishat, folded it sharply and placed it under the tawny head.

  In its place he would fain have laid his heart.

  His fingers, settling the improvised pillow, tangled themselveswistfully in the sun-bright hair, and the boy groaned aloud.

  "What's the matter, Billy, dear?" asked Tharon anxiously, but Billylaughed lightly, a thin sound in the mighty caverns.

  "Nothing in God's world, Tharon," he lied. "Now go to sleep."

  And he walked away to the tall mouth and sat down with his backagainst one of the walls. From his pocket he took papers and tobaccoand proceeded to roll himself a cigarette.... Dawn showed the narrowdoorway strewn with their butts, as leaves strew mountain trails inautumn.

  * * * * *

  Things were ready to happen in Lost Valley--several things.

  At the Golden Cloud, Lola looked across the level stretches toward theStronghold with tragic dark eyes, and smiled at a dozen men whom shescarcely saw. Settlers from all up and down the Wall drifted intoCorvan and out again, intent, silent, watchful. _Vaqueros_ and ridersfrom the Stronghold also came and went, as intent, as silent. Theypassed each other with hostile eyes and trigger fingers were unusuallylimber. The air was pregnant with change.

  Buck Courtrey was conspicuous by his absence.

  He was not seen in the town, neither was he at the Stronghold.

  There were soft whispers afloat that he was with the Pomos up underthe Rockface at the north.

  And at the Stronghold, poor Ellen, whiter than ever, more like abroken lily drooping on its stem, trembled and waited for a day thatwas set soon--too terribly soon!--the day, farcically appointed, forthe suit for divorce against her.

  Word of this was abroad through all the Valley. Undergroundspeculation was rife as to which of the two women whom Courtreyfavoured, Lola or Tharon, was responsible. Some said one, some theother. But Lola knew.

  Then came the day itself--a golden summer day as sweet and bright asthat one years ago when Courtrey had married Ellen--at this same pinebui
lding where the laughable legal farces were enacted now.

  Pale as a new moon Ellen rode in across the rolling stretches on oneof the Ironwoods, with Cleve beside her. She was spiritless, silent.Cleve was silent, too, though for a far different reason. There was afrown between his brows, a glitter in his narrowed eyes. He wasthinking of the only man in Corvan whom he had been able to persuadeto present Ellen's protest--Dick Burtree, one-time lawyer and man ofparts in the outside, now a puffed and threadbare vagabond, whoseparamount idea was whiskey and more whiskey. But Burtree could talk.Over his mottled and shapeless lips could, on occasion, pour a streamof pure oratory silver as the Vestal's Veil.

  When he was drunk he feared neither man nor devil, and he could speakbest so. Therefore Cleve had given him enough money in advance to puthim in trim.

  "What you think Buck'll say about me, Cleve?" Ellen asked anxiously."What's he mean to accuse me of?"

  "Any dirty thing he can trump up, Sis," said Cleve gravely, "he'sa-goin' to make it a nasty mess--an' I wish to God you'd jest ride ondown th' Wall with me an' never even look back."

  He leaned from his saddle and took the blue-veined hand in his. Therewas 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----"

  But Ellen shook her head with its maize-gold crown.

  "Nary other man, Cleve," she said gently. "I'm all Buck's woman."

  So they rode on toward the town, and Cleve knew that his last fainthope was dead.

  In the town itself there was a stir. Courtrey was there, and WylackieBob, and Black Bart and Arizona, a bunch of dark, evil men in allsurety.

  The Ironwoods were in evidence everywhere, but strange to say, therewere no Finger Marks. Not a man from the Holding was in town.

  When Cleve and Ellen, alone together, rode in, it lacked yet a halfhour 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 Courtreysome distance away she put a hand to her heart as simply as a hurtchild. She was a pitiful creature in her long white dress, for shehad ridden in on an old sidesaddle, and she shook out the crumpledfolds in a wistful attempt to look proper. On her head was theinevitable sunbonnet of slats and calico.

  As she went up the steps of the store with Cleve, Lola of the GoldenCloud, blazing like a comet in her red-and-black came face to facewith her purposely. What was in Lola's head none would ever know, butshe wanted to see Courtrey's wife.

  As they met they stopped dead still, these two women who loved oneman, and the look that passed between them was electric, deep,revealing. They stood so long staring into each other's eyes thatCleve, frowning, plucked Ellen by the sleeve and made to pushforward.

  But as suddenly as a flash of light Lola reached out her two hands andcaught Ellen's in a tight clasp that only women know, the swift,clinging clasp of the secret fellowship of those who suffer.

  For one tense moment she held them, while Ellen swayed forward for allthe world as if she would sink in upon the deep full breast of thiswanton whom she had hated! Then the spell broke, they fell apart witha rush, Lola swung out and went down the steps, while Ellen obedientlyfollowed Cleve into Baston's store, where she sat on a nail keg andwaited in a dull lethargy. Outside Courtrey, who had witnessed thething from across the street, slapped his thigh and laugheduproariously.

  It was a funny sight to him. But Lola's beautiful black eyes blazedacross at him with a light that none had ever seen before in theirinscrutable depths.

  Then the hour struck, and all Corvan, it seemed to Cleve, strung outtoward the Court House. This was to be in open court--a spectacle.From somewhere in the adobe outskirts of the town came Ellen's servingwomen, most of them, whom Cleve had sent in early in the day. Theyfell in with her and so, with only the brother who had never failedher and these dusky women of the silent tongues to back her, EllenCourtrey went to her crucifixion as truly as though she had been oneof the two thieves on Golgotha.

  At the sight of Courtrey across the big bare room she went whiter thanshe was, if such a thing were possible, and slid weakly into the chairplaced for her.

  Then the thing proceeded--swiftly, lightly, with smiles on the facesof the crowd.

  Old Ben Garland on the judge's bench, was furtive, scared, nervous,fiddling with his papers and clearing his throat from time to time.

  The county clerk at his table made a great deal out of the ceremonyof swearing in the witnesses--Wylackie Bob, Black Bart, Arizona andone young Wylackie Indian woman who worked at the Stronghold. Cleveput 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 adog. These women knew Ellen Courtrey as not even the master of theStronghold himself knew her. They knew her in her idle hours, at hersmall tasks, at her bedside, in the loving solicitude she displayedfor all of them--and they knew her on her knees in prayer, for Ellenhad a strange and simple religion, half Catholic and half Pomopaganism.

  In the straight-backed chair they gave her Ellen sat like a statue,sweet and still, a thing so obviously good that it seemed evenCourtrey himself must weaken to behold her. But not Courtrey. He wason fire with the vision of Tharon Last on the Cup Rim's floor, shakingher fist toward him in challenge--at Baston's steps calling him amurderer and worse--at her western door, striking him from her withthe strength of a man. He saw the signal fire flaring across thedarkened Valley--and nothing on earth or in Heaven could have softenedhim to the woman who bound him away from this fighting girl, this gunwoman whom he was breaking to him slowly but surely. He visioned herin Ellen's room at the Stronghold--and the breath came fast in histhroat.

  And Ellen?

  Ah, Ellen was thinking of the long past day when this man had foundher in the barren rocklands and taken her with the high hand of alover. She, too, drifted away from the chilling courtroom with itsjudge and its petty officials.... And then all suddenly she knew thatmen were talking--and about her. She heard the drone of question andanswer--the rambling statements of the stranger, Arizona, accusing herof strange things--of asking him to take her on rides in Courtrey'sabsence--of swinging with him nights in the hammock by the wateringtrough!

  She sat and listened with parted lips and large innocent eyes fixed onthe man in wonder. Cleve Whitmore clenched his hands until the nailscut deep, but he held his tongue and controlled his face. Only theblazing blue eyes spoke. She knew that Black Bart tried to tellsomething, that he made some mistake or other and had to begin allover again. There was a long and tedious time in here when she lookedaway out the window to where the prairie grass was blowing in thelittle winds and the shadows of clouds drifted across the greenexpanse.... She was numb and far away with misery. She did not carefor anything in all this world. It seemed as if she was detached,aloof, dead already in body as she was in soul.... And then she heardthe drawling voice of Wylackie Bob--and he was saying somethingunspeakable--about her! She listened like one in a trance--then shestruggled up from her chair with tragic long arms extended, and thecry that rang from her lips was piteous.

  "Buck!" it pealed across the stillness of the crowded room, "Buck!--itain't so! Never in this world, Buck! I ben true to you as your shadow!Before God, it ain't true!"

  There was a stir throughout the crowd, a breath that was audible.There were many of the Vigilantes there--a goodly number, allwondering where Tharon Last was, where Kenset was, where werethe riders from Last's. They had expected, what they did notknow--something, at any rate, for this seemed somehow a test, aturning point. But there was nothing. They stirred and waited,like a great force heaving in its bed, blind, sluggish, butwakening.

  And Ellen, chilled by Courtrey's sneering face, the cold disapprovalof Ben Garland's striking mallet, sank back in her chair and coveredher face with her shaking hands.... She heard some more awfulthings--then the voice of Dick Burtree beginning soft, low, silverlike running
waters. She heard it tell of that far away day of hermarriage--of the years that followed--of Courtrey's love for her--ofher own gentleness, her beauty, "like the tender sunlight of spring onthe snow and the golden sands"--of her service, her loyalty, her lovethat had "never faltered nor intruded" that "patient obedience to hermaster had but strengthened and made perfect." Of the pitiful thingthat her life had been this man made a wondrous thing, all sweet withtwilights and haloed with service.

  He talked until the courtroom was still as death and the Indian womenbehind her were rocking in unison of grief. Then she heard questionsagain and the gutteral soft voices of her women answering--with loveand devotion in every halting word. Once again the crowd in the roomstirred--and Courtrey's narrow eyes went over it in that cold,promising glance.

  For once in his life Courtrey, the bully, felt a premonitory chilldown his spine--because for the first time that promising glance ofhis failed of its effect! Only here and there along the rows of facesdid one cower. There were faces, many faces, that looked back at himwith steady eyes and tight lips.... Verily it was time he conqueredthe riding, shooting, beautiful she-devil who had made this thingpossible! The sooner he got Tharon Last away from this bunch of spawnthe better. Then he would sweep in with all his old swift methods,only sharper ones this time, and "clean" them all. When he got throughit would be a different man's Valley, make no mistake about that!

  Here Ellen looked straight into his eyes and both were conscious ofthe shock. Ellen wilted and Courtrey frowned and struck a fist againstthe railing near him.... He looked up and met the hesitating eyes ofBen Garland on the bench and his own hardened down to pin points.

  The farce was finished save for the Judge's decision--Dick Burtree wasslumped in his chair, dead drunk and asleep. Wylackie Bob was lightinga 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 sweetas a flower in her open-lipped beauty, her panting despair. Wylackiedid not notice the slim man beside her whose lips were so tight thatthey were a mere line across his face. No one at the Strongholdnoticed Cleve much.

  Then Ben Garland was speaking, and Ellen gathered her dim wits enoughto make out that he was saying strange things--awful things--that hadto do with Courtrey's freedom.

  Then she knew--swaying and groping with her blue-veined hands--thatthe thing was done--that she was no longer a wife. That she wouldnever again sleep in the bend of Courtrey's arm as she had slept inthose golden days of long ago--that she was an outcast, blackenedbeyond all hope by the damning and unchoice words of Wylackie Bob....Then the world faded out for Ellen in merciful blackness.

  The petty officials rose with laughter and clanking of boots on theboard floors--the crowd filed out in a striking silence. Never beforehad a crowd in Lost Valley gone out from a courtroom in that strangeand bodeful silence.

  The sight of Ellen lying white and limp across Cleve Whitmore'sshoulder 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 thetime was ripe.

  Courtrey and his gang were toward the fore--first out. They spread offto one side with jest and quip, with flash of bottle and slap onshoulder. The populace thinned a bit from the steps.... And thensuddenly as a pistol shot Cleve Whitmore's voice rang out like aclarion.

  "Wylackie!" it pealed across the subdued noises, "You ---- ---- ----hell hound. _Turn round!_"

  There was death in it.

  The gun man whirled, drawing like lightning. In the Court House door,Cleve Whitmore with his sister's limp form on his shoulder, beat himto it.

  He had drawn as he called. Before the words were off his lips hepulled the trigger and shot Wylackie through the heart.

  As his henchman fell Courtrey's good hand flashed to his hip, butDixon of the Vigilantes, shot out an arm and knocked him forward frombehind.

  For the second time Courtrey had missed a life because a brave heartdared him. Old Pete had paid the price for that trick. Dixon had nothought of it.

  And in one moment the chance was past, for a sound began to roar fromthat silent crowd which had poured from the courtroom--the deep,bloodcurdling sound of the mob forming, inarticulate, uncertain.

  For the first time in his life Courtrey felt real fear grip him.

  He had killed and stolen and wronged among these people and gottenaway with it. He had never feared them. They had been silent. Now withthe first deep rumble from the concrete throat of Lost Valley he gothis first instinctive thrill of disaster.

  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 nearrack where stood Bolt and the rest of the Ironwoods. Like a set ofpuppets on strings his men drew after him--and they left Wylackie Bobwhere he fell.

  In a matter of seconds the whole Stronghold gang was mounted andclattering down the street--out of the town toward the open range.

  * * * * *

  And the killer on the Court House steps?

  He stood where he was and looked with blazing eyes over the motleycrowd beneath him. Steptoe Service made a step toward him, lookedround, wet his lips and thought better of it.

  * * * * *

  And then, in another second, the crowd was a mob and the mob was theVigilantes. Some one took Ellen from Cleve's shoulder with carefulhands and carried her away. Then some one reached down and picked himup bodily. Another joined, and they set him on their shoulders,lifting him high. The inarticulate mob cry swelled and deepened androse to a different sound--a shout that gathered volume and roared outacross the spaces where Courtrey rode with a menace, a portent.

  With one accord the mob started on a journey around Corvan.

  White as Ellen, Cleve Whitmore rode that triumphant journey, his eyesstill blazing, his lips tight. The town went wild. Public feeling cameout on every hand. Daring took the weak, hope took the oppressed, andthey called Courtrey's reign right there. For three uproarious hoursthe bar-tenders could not wipe off their bars.

  A new regime was ushered in--and she who had been its sponsor was notthere to see it.

  * * * * *

  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 theCanon Country. Grim, ash-pale with effort, her blue eyes shining, sheclimbed the Secret Way that few had ever found.

  How she had come to it through the tortuous cuts and passes was amarvel of homing instinct--the heart that homed to its object. It hadseemed to her all along this strange, tense journey, that she had hadno will of her own, that she had held her breath and shut her eyes, asit were, and gone forward in obedience to some strange thing withinthat said, "turn here," "go thus." Billy following behind, watched herwith tight lips and a secret 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 heartached to see this thing.

  Verily there was something supernatural about it all, somethinguncanny.

  If it had been he, Billy, whom Tharon loved, and had he lain, woundedin the Cup o' God, would the girl have been given this blind instinctfor direction? Would she have gone as unerringly to the Secret Way?

  Nay--there must be something in the old saying that, for every heartin the world there was its true mate.

  Tharon had found hers in Kenset.

  But where would he ever find his? The boy shook his fair headhopelessly at the sliding floors. For all perfection there must besacrifice. He was the sacrifice for Tharon's perfection--a willingone, so help him!

  That they had found the Secret Way across False Ridge was perfectlyplain, for here in the living rock before them were marks, the firstmarks they had found in the Canons. Thin, small crosses, cut in thestone of the walls, began to
lead upward from the last liftings cutstraight up the Rockface of False Ridge itself. It seemed, to look atthe dim traces, that no living thing without wings could scale thatsteep and forbidding cliff, but when they tried to climb, they foundthat each step had been set with artful cunning. The set of stepsfollowed the form of a "switchback," working from right to left, andalways rising a little. False Ridge itself, a towering, mighty spine,came down in a swiftly dropping ridge from somewhere in the high uppercountry at the west of all the canyons. It was known to leaddeceptively down among the cuts and passes, as if it went straightdown to the lower levels, and to end abruptly in a precipice that nonecould descend or climb. On all its rugged sides there were treacherousslopes which looked hard enough to support a man, but which, oncestepped on, gave sickeningly away to slide and slither for a hundredfeet straight down to some abrupt edge, where they fell in dustycataracts to blind basins and walled cups below.

  In these blind cups were many skeletons of deer and other animals thathad ventured down from the upper world, never to return. Somewhere uphere must be the bones of Canon Jim.

  But the Secret Way was safe. Under every carefully worked out stepthere was solid stone, for every handhold there was a firm stake set.These stakes were old for the most part, but here and there had beenset in a new one--Courtrey's work, they made no doubt, for Courtreywas said to know the Canons. It took Tharon and Billy two hours tomake the climb, stopping from time to time to rest. At such times theboy stood close and took her hand. It was grim work looking down thesheer face, and one might well be excused for holding a hand forsteadiness. And it would soon be the time for no more touches of thisgirl's fair self for Billy.

  And so, climbing steadily and in comparative silence, these two, whosehearts were strong, came at last to the top of False Ridge--a thinknife-blade of stone--and looked abruptly and suddenly down on theother side.

  With a little gasp Tharon put a hand to her throat, for there, anunbelievably short distance down, lay the Cup o' God, without a doubt.A small, round glade of living green, watered by a whispering streamthat lost itself the Lord knew where, it lay like a tiny gem in thepink stone setting. Trees stood in utter quiet about its edges, forthere was here no slightest breath of air. Lush grass carpeted itslevel floor. And there, almost directly under the marked way leadingdown, 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 wouldpenetrate the distance--a blanket spread on the level earth, on whichthere lay the body of a man!

  It was a trim body, they could see from where they stood, clad in darkgarments of olive drab that hugged the lean limbs close.

  "Kenset!" whispered Tharon with paling lips. "Kenset of th'foothills,--an'--he--looks," she wet those ashy lips, "he--looks likehe is dead."

  Without another word she set her feet in the precarious way and wentdown so fast that Billy's heart rose in his throat and choked him, andfor the first time since he could remember, he called fervently uponhis Maker with honest reverence. He thought at every slip and scramblethat she must fall and go hurtling down the Rockface.

  But that uncanny instinct which had brought her this far was at hercommand still. She went down faster than it seemed possible foranything to go, and before the rider was able to catch up she hadleaped to the grassy floor, and was running forward toward that stillform on the blanket.

  "Kenset!" she cried like a bugle, "Kenset! Kenset! Oh,--David!"

  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 waveredgrotesquely, but were eloquent of love's power and its need.

  And the Mistress of Last's flung herself on her knees, gathered upthis strange man as if he had been a child, pressed him hard againsther breast, and kissed him as we kiss our dead. She pushed his facefrom her and looked into it as if she would see his very soul, thetears running on her white cheeks, her lips working soundlessly.

  This was love! This agony--this ecstasy--this sublime forgetting ofall the world beside--this reward after struggle.

  Billy stood for a second at the foot of the Wall, and the nails cut inhis palms. Then he whirled and went fast as he could walk toward thefirst trees that presented themselves--and he could not see where hewas going for the bleak grey mist that swam in his eyes.

  This was love! This dreary colour of the golden sunlight of noon inthe high country--this dumb ache that locked his throat--this highcourage that brought him serving love's object to the bitter-sweetend. How long he stood there he did not know. His heart was dead, likethe weathered stone country about him. He knew that he heard Tharon'svoice after a while, that golden voice which had been the bells ofLast's, in rapid question and answer--and Kenset's voice, too, weakand slow, but filled with joy unspeakable. It was lilting and soft, alover's voice, a victor's voice, and presently he caught a few of thebroken words that passed between them--"Clean! Clean! Oh, Tharon,darling--there is no blood on these dear hands! Tell me you did notkill Courtrey!"

  He heard Tharon answer in the negative.

  And then all the world fell about him, it seemed, for a gun crackedfrom the trees beyond him and a wasp stung his cheek.

  In one instant the sunlight became brilliant again, the joy came backin the day. Here was something more to do for Tharon, a new task athand when he had thought his tasks were all but done.

  He whirled, looked, drew his six-gun and began firing at the man whostood in plain sight just where he had stepped into the Cup from themouth of a little blind cut where the stream went out in noise andlost itself.

  This was a big man, sinister and cold and dark, a half-breed Pomo ofCourtrey's gang, a still-hunter who did a lot of the dirty work whichthe others refused. Billy had seen him before, knew his record.

  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 touchedhim somewhere. And then a sound cut into the snapping of the shots, asound that was like nothing he had ever heard in all his life before,a sound as savage as the roar of a she-bear whose cub is killed beforeher eyes. As he flung away his empty gun and snatched the other, hemoved enough to bring into his range of vision Tharon Last, standingover Kenset, her mouth open in that savage cry.

  Then before he could draw and fire again he saw the prettiest piece ofwork he had ever witnessed. He saw the gun woman crouch and stoop, sawher hands flash in Jim Last's famous backhand flip, saw the red flamespurt from her hips, and the Pomo half-breed flung up his hands andfell in a heap, his face in the grass. He did not move. Only a longripple passed over his body. He was still as the ageless rocks, asmuch a part of eternity. For a moment Billy stood, the gun hanging inhis hand. Then he knew that Tharon was coming toward him--that herhands were on his shoulders--her deep eyes piercing his with a lookthat 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.

  "If he had killed you, Billy," she said tensely, "I'd a-gone a-muckan' shot up th' whole of Lost Valley."

  And the boy knew in his heart she spoke the solemn truth.

  He slipped his hands down her arms and caught her fingers tightly.

  "Stained!" his heart whispered to itself in stifling exhilaration, "inspite of all--her first killin'--an' for me!"

  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 faceburied in his hands, and beside him lay another gun, the smoke stillcurling from its muzzle.

  "By God!" said the rider, softly, "what's this?" and he ran forward topick up the weapon.

  "Three of us!" he said aloud, "pepperin' him at once! Kenset, wheredid you get this gun?"

  But Kenset did not speak. His shoulders trembled, his dark head wasbowed to the earth.

  "Answer me," said Billy, "for as sure's I live, this here's BuckCourtrey's favourite
gun--the gun with the untrue firin' pin. Lookhere." And he held it toward Tharon who leaned near to look. Trueenough.

  In the right side of the plunger there was a small, shining nick, asif, at some previous time, a tiny chink had been broken out of it.

  "I found it where I saw Courtrey hide it that night they brought mehere," said Kenset in a muffled voice. "I crawled when the Pomo wasout in the Canons after meat."

  "An' you used it--at last. I see. Not till th' last."

  "No," said Kenset miserably, "not till the last."

  Slowly Tharon knelt down beside him and put a tender arm across hisshoulders. Her face was shining--like Billy's heart.

  "Mr. Kenset," she said softly, "I told you once that I was afraid youwas 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.'

  "What was this last extremity? Tell me. Why did you shoot when youknew right well I'd get him myself?"

  "To beat you to it!" cried the man with sudden passion, "to take thestain myself!"

  For a long moment the girl knelt there beside him and gazed unseeinglyat the inscrutable calm of the silent country. Something in the depthsof her blue eyes was changing--deepening, growing in subtle beauty, asif the universe was suddenly become perfect, as if there was nowhere aflaw.

  "There's only one kind of man, after all, Mr. Kenset," she said atlast with a sweet dignity, "th' man who is true an' honest to th'best there is in him, accordin' to his lights. That's my kind ofman."

  * * * * *

  Then she rose, and it was as if a light of activity burned up in her.She became practical on the instant.

  "I'm glad you brought th' thin rope, Billy," she said, "it's longer'nmine. 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 killerwe'll leave where he is. The Canon Country will make him a silentgrave."