Zane Grey by To the Last Man Page A

meaning of his father's tragic words. Far past was the
morning that had been so keen, the breaking of camp in the sunlit
forest, the riding down the brown aisles under the pines, the music of
bleating lambs that had called him not to pass by. Thought of Ellen
Jorth recurred. Had he met her only that morning? She was up there in
the forest, asleep under the starlit pines. Who was she? What was her
story? That savage fling of her skirt, her bitter speech and
passionate flaming face—they haunted Jean. They were crystallizing
into simpler memories, growing away from his bewilderment, and
therefore at once sweeter and more doubtful. "Maybe she meant
differently from what I thought," Jean soliloquized. "Anyway, she was
honest." Both shame and thrill possessed him at the recall of an
insidious idea—dare he go back and find her and give her the last
package of gifts he had brought from the city? What might they mean to
poor, ragged, untidy, beautiful Ellen Jorth? The idea grew on Jean.
It could not be dispelled. He resisted stubbornly. It was bound to go
to its fruition. Deep into his mind had sunk an impression of her
need—a material need that brought spirit and pride to abasement. From
one picture to another his memory wandered, from one speech and act of
hers to another, choosing, selecting, casting aside, until clear and
sharp as the stars shone the words, "Oh, I've been kissed before!"
That stung him now. By whom? Not by one man, but by several, by many,
she had meant. Pshaw! he had only been sympathetic and drawn by a
strange girl in the woods. To-morrow he would forget. Work there was
for him in Grass Valley. And he reverted uneasily to the remarks of
his father until at last sleep claimed him.
    A cold nose against his cheek, a low whine, awakened Jean. The big dog
Shepp was beside him, keen, wary, intense. The night appeared far
advanced toward dawn. Far away a cock crowed; the near-at-hand one
answered in clarion voice. "What is it, Shepp?" whispered Jean, and he
sat up. The dog smelled or heard something suspicious to his nature,
but whether man or animal Jean could not tell.

Chapter III
*
    The morning star, large, intensely blue-white, magnificent in its
dominance of the clear night sky, hung over the dim, dark valley
ramparts. The moon had gone down and all the other stars were wan, pale
ghosts.
    Presently the strained vacuum of Jean's ears vibrated to a low roar of
many hoofs. It came from the open valley, along the slope to the
south. Shepp acted as if he wanted the word to run. Jean laid a hand
on the dog. "Hold on, Shepp," he whispered. Then hauling on his boots
and slipping into his coat Jean took his rifle and stole out into the
open. Shepp appeared to be well trained, for it was evident that he
had a strong natural tendency to run off and hunt for whatever had
roused him. Jean thought it more than likely that the dog scented an
animal of some kind. If there were men prowling around the ranch
Shepp, might have been just as vigilant, but it seemed to Jean that the
dog would have shown less eagerness to leave him, or none at all.
    In the stillness of the morning it took Jean a moment to locate the
direction of the wind, which was very light and coming from the south.
In fact that little breeze had borne the low roar of trampling hoofs.
Jean circled the ranch house to the right and kept along the slope at
the edge of the cedars. It struck him suddenly how well fitted he was
for work of this sort. All the work he had ever done, except for his
few years in school, had been in the open. All the leisure he had ever
been able to obtain had been given to his ruling passion for hunting
and fishing. Love of the wild had been born in Jean. At this moment
he experienced a grim assurance of what his instinct and his training
might accomplish if directed to a stern and daring end. Perhaps his
father understood this; perhaps the old Texan had some little reason
for his confidence.
    Every few paces Jean halted to listen. All