feel the outline of the cross. "Yes, I suppose it was luck.
And she—"
He sat down slowly and buried his face in his hands. A new tone came
in the voice of the boy as he asked: "Was a woman with you?" But
Pierre heard only the tone and not the words. His face was gray when
he looked up again, and his voice hard.
"Tell me as briefly as you can how I come here, and who picked me up."
"My father and his men. They passed you lying on the snow. They
brought you home."
"Who is your father?"
The boy stiffened and his color rose.
"My father is Jim Boone."
Instinctively, while he stared, the right hand of Pierre le Rouge
crept toward his hip.
"Keep your hand steady," said the boy. "I got a nervous
trigger-finger. Yeh, dad is pretty well known."
"You're his son?"
"I'm Jack Boone."
"But I've heard—tell me, why am I under guard?"
Jack was instantly aflame with the old anger.
"Not because I want you here."
"Who does?"
"Dad."
"Put away your pop-gun and talk sense. I won't try to get away until
Jim Boone comes. I only fight men."
Even the anger and grief of the boy could not keep him from smiling.
"Just the same I'll keep the shooting-iron handy. Sit still. A gun
don't keep me from talking sense, does it? You're here to take Hal's
place. Hal!" The little wail told a thousand things, and Pierre,
shocked out of the thought of his own troubles, waited.
"My brother, Hal; he's dead; he died last night, and on the way back
dad found you and brought you to take Hal's place.
Hal's
place!"
The accent showed how impossible it was that Hal's place could be
taken by any mortal man.
"I got orders to keep you here, but if I was to do what I'd like to
do, I'd give you the best horse on the place and tell you to clear
out. That's me!"
"Then do it."
"And face dad afterward?"
"Tell him I overpowered you. That would be easy; you a slip of a boy,
and me a man."
"Stranger, it goes to show you may have heard of Jim Boone, but you
don't anyways know him. When he orders a thing done he wants it done,
and he don't care how, and he don't ask questions why. He just
raises hell."
"He really expects to keep me here?"
"Expects? He will."
"Going to tie me up?" asked Pierre ironically.
"Maybe," answered Jack, overlooking the irony. "Maybe he'll just put
you on my shoulders to guard."
He moved the gun significantly.
"And I can do it."
"Of course. But he would have to let me go sometime."
"Not till you'd promised to stick by him. I told him that myself, but
he said that you're young and that he'd teach you to like this life
whether you wanted to or not. Me speaking personally, I agree with
Black Gandil: This is the worst fool thing that dad has ever done.
What do we want with you—in Hal's place!"
"But I've got a thing to do right away—today; it can't wait."
"Give dad your word to come back and he'll let you go. He says you're
the kind that will keep your word. You see, he found you with a
cross in your hand."
And Jack's lips curled again.
It was all absurd, too impossible to be real. The only real things
were the body of yellow-haired Mary Brown, under the tumbled rocks and
dirt of the landslide, and the body of Martin Ryder waiting to be
placed in that corner plot where the grass grew quicker than all other
grass in the spring of the year.
However, having fallen among madmen, he must use cunning to get away
before the outlaw and his men came back from wherever they had gone.
Otherwise there would be more bloodshed, more play of guns and hum
of lead.
"Tell me of Hal," he said, and dropped his elbows on his knees as if
he accepted his fate.
"Don't know you well enough to talk of Hal."
"I'm sorry."
The boy made a little gesture of apology.
"I guess that was a mean thing to say. Sure I'll tell you about
Hal—if I can."
"Tell me anything you can," said Pierre gently, "because I've got to
try to be like him, haven't I?"
"You could try till rattlers got tame, but it'd take ten like you to
make one like Hal. He was dad's own
And she—"
He sat down slowly and buried his face in his hands. A new tone came
in the voice of the boy as he asked: "Was a woman with you?" But
Pierre heard only the tone and not the words. His face was gray when
he looked up again, and his voice hard.
"Tell me as briefly as you can how I come here, and who picked me up."
"My father and his men. They passed you lying on the snow. They
brought you home."
"Who is your father?"
The boy stiffened and his color rose.
"My father is Jim Boone."
Instinctively, while he stared, the right hand of Pierre le Rouge
crept toward his hip.
"Keep your hand steady," said the boy. "I got a nervous
trigger-finger. Yeh, dad is pretty well known."
"You're his son?"
"I'm Jack Boone."
"But I've heard—tell me, why am I under guard?"
Jack was instantly aflame with the old anger.
"Not because I want you here."
"Who does?"
"Dad."
"Put away your pop-gun and talk sense. I won't try to get away until
Jim Boone comes. I only fight men."
Even the anger and grief of the boy could not keep him from smiling.
"Just the same I'll keep the shooting-iron handy. Sit still. A gun
don't keep me from talking sense, does it? You're here to take Hal's
place. Hal!" The little wail told a thousand things, and Pierre,
shocked out of the thought of his own troubles, waited.
"My brother, Hal; he's dead; he died last night, and on the way back
dad found you and brought you to take Hal's place.
Hal's
place!"
The accent showed how impossible it was that Hal's place could be
taken by any mortal man.
"I got orders to keep you here, but if I was to do what I'd like to
do, I'd give you the best horse on the place and tell you to clear
out. That's me!"
"Then do it."
"And face dad afterward?"
"Tell him I overpowered you. That would be easy; you a slip of a boy,
and me a man."
"Stranger, it goes to show you may have heard of Jim Boone, but you
don't anyways know him. When he orders a thing done he wants it done,
and he don't care how, and he don't ask questions why. He just
raises hell."
"He really expects to keep me here?"
"Expects? He will."
"Going to tie me up?" asked Pierre ironically.
"Maybe," answered Jack, overlooking the irony. "Maybe he'll just put
you on my shoulders to guard."
He moved the gun significantly.
"And I can do it."
"Of course. But he would have to let me go sometime."
"Not till you'd promised to stick by him. I told him that myself, but
he said that you're young and that he'd teach you to like this life
whether you wanted to or not. Me speaking personally, I agree with
Black Gandil: This is the worst fool thing that dad has ever done.
What do we want with you—in Hal's place!"
"But I've got a thing to do right away—today; it can't wait."
"Give dad your word to come back and he'll let you go. He says you're
the kind that will keep your word. You see, he found you with a
cross in your hand."
And Jack's lips curled again.
It was all absurd, too impossible to be real. The only real things
were the body of yellow-haired Mary Brown, under the tumbled rocks and
dirt of the landslide, and the body of Martin Ryder waiting to be
placed in that corner plot where the grass grew quicker than all other
grass in the spring of the year.
However, having fallen among madmen, he must use cunning to get away
before the outlaw and his men came back from wherever they had gone.
Otherwise there would be more bloodshed, more play of guns and hum
of lead.
"Tell me of Hal," he said, and dropped his elbows on his knees as if
he accepted his fate.
"Don't know you well enough to talk of Hal."
"I'm sorry."
The boy made a little gesture of apology.
"I guess that was a mean thing to say. Sure I'll tell you about
Hal—if I can."
"Tell me anything you can," said Pierre gently, "because I've got to
try to be like him, haven't I?"
"You could try till rattlers got tame, but it'd take ten like you to
make one like Hal. He was dad's own
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