THE DAWN
A girl was leaning against a solitary post, a hundred yards or so from
where the descent into the valley of Leaping Creek began. All about
her stretched the vast plains of grass, which seemed to know no end.
The wide flat trail, so bare and hard, passed her by, and vanished
into the valley behind her. In the opposite direction, at long
intervals, it showed up in sections as it passed over the rises in the
prairie ocean, until the limits of her vision were reached.
Not a single object stood out to relieve the monotony of that desert
of grass. Any dwelling of man within reach of the searching eye must
have been hidden in the troughs between the crests of summer grass. It
was all so wide, so vast, so dreadful in its unspeakable solitude.
Helen's eyes were upon the last section of the trail, away to the
northwest, just as far as her bright eyes could see. She was
searching, searching. Her heart was beating with a great and buoyant
hope, and every little detail she beheld in that far-off distance she
searched, and sought to mould into the figure of the horseman she was
waiting for.
The sun was hot. It's relentless rays, freed from the wealth of shade
in the valley below, beat down upon the parching land with a fiery
intensity which must have been insupportable to unaccustomed human
life. But to Helen it meant nothing, nothing but the fact that its
brilliant light was in keeping with every beat of the warm, thrilling
heart within her bosom.
He was on the road. Bill--her Big Brother Bill. He was on the road,
and must be somewhere near now, for the telegram in her hand warned
her that he hoped to reach the valley by sundown.
Four long weeks since the dreadful day. Four long weeks in which her
aching heart and weary thought had left her in wretched unhappiness.
Four weeks of doubt and trouble, in which her sister seemed to have
shut herself out of her life, leaving her to face all her doubts and
fears alone.
Bill was away on his dead brother's affairs. Loyal Bill, seeking by
every means in his lumbering power to shield the memory of the dead
man from the effects of the manner of his death. Helen honored her
lover for it. He was just the good, loyal soul she had believed. And
now, as she stood with the tinted paper message, announcing his return
in her hand, she smiled, and wondered tenderly what blunders he would
contrive in the process.
Sundown. Sundown would not be for at least two hours. Two hours. Two
hours meant some fourteen or sixteen miles by horse upon the trail.
She told herself she could not see for sixteen miles, nor even for
eight. It was absurd waiting there. She had already been waiting there
over an hour. Then she smiled, laughing at herself for her absurd
yearning for this lover of hers. He was so big, so foolish, so honest
and loyal--and, he was just hers.
She sat down again on the ground, as already she had seated herself
many times. She would restrain her impatience. She would not just get
up at every----
She was on her feet again at the very moment of making her resolve.
This time her eyes were straining and wide open. Every nerve in her
body was at a tension. Some one was on the trail this time. Certain.
It was a horseman, too. There was no mistake, but he was near, quite
near, comparatively. How had she come to miss him in the far distance?
She saw the figure as it came over a rising ground. She watched it
closely. Then she saw it was not on the trail, but was making for
it--across country. Now she knew. Now she was certain, and she laughed
and clapped her hands. It must be Bill, and--of course he had lost
himself, and now, at last, had found his way.
The horseman came on at a great pace.
As he drew nearer a frown of doubt crossed the girl's face. He did not
appear big enough--somehow.
He dropped down into a hollow, and mounted the next crest. In a
moment, as he came into view, Helen felt like bursting into tears of
disappointment.
The next moment, however, all thought of tears passed away and a
steady coldness grew in her eyes. She felt like hiding herself back
there in the valley. She had recognized the man. Without a doubt it
was Stanley Fyles. But he wore no uniform. He was clad in a civilian
costume, which pronouncedly smacked of the prairie.
It was too late to hide. Besides, to hide would be undignified. What
was he coming to the valley for? Helen's eyes hardened. Nor did she
know quite why she felt resentful at the sight of him. Yes, she did.
It was for poor Charlie, Bill's brother. And Kate had sworn that
Charlie was innocent.
She stood thinking, thinking, and then a further change came over her.
She remembered this man's work. She remembered his duty. Ought she to
feel badly toward him?
And Kate? What of Kate? Would she----What on earth brought him to the
valley--now?
It was too late to avoid him now, if she had wanted to. And, somehow,
on reflection, she was not sure she did want to. So she stood her
ground as he came up.
He reined Peter in as he came abreast, and his dark eyes expressed his
surprise at sight of the waiting girl.
"Why--Miss Helen, this----" He broke off abruptly, and, turning in his
saddle, looked back over the long, long trail. When his eyes came back
to the girl's face they were smiling. "It's kind of hot out here,"
he said. "Aren't you afraid of the sun?" Then he became silent
altogether, while he interpreted to himself the somewhat stony regard
in her eyes.
In a moment something of the awkwardness of the encounter occurred to
him. His mind was full of other things, which before he had missed the
possibility of.
"I don't mind the sun, Mr. Fyles," said Helen coldly. "Besides, I
guess I'm not standing around here for--fun. I'm waiting for some
one."
Fyles glanced back over the trail. Then he nodded. "He's coming
along," he said quietly. "Guess he started out from Amberley before
me. Say, he's a bully feller, sure enough, and I like him. I've seen a
good deal of him in Amberley. But I guessed he wouldn't be thanking me
for my company on the trail, so I came another way, and passed on
ahead. You see--I, well, I had to do my duty--here, and--well, he's a
bully feller, Miss Helen, and--you'll surely be happy with him."
While he was talking, just for a moment, a wild impulse stirred Helen
to some frigid and hateful retort. But the man's evident sincerity won
the day and the girl's eyes lit with a radiant smile.
"He's--on the trail?" she cried, banishing her last shadow of
coldness. "He is? Say, tell me where, and when he'll get in. I--I had
this message which said he'd be here by sundown, and--and I thought
I'd just come right along and meet him. Have--have you seen him?
And--and----"
Fyles shook his head. "Not until just now," he said kindly. "He's
about four miles back. Say," he added, with less assurance, "maybe
your sister's home?"
For a moment Helen stared incredulously. "Yes," she answered slowly.
Then in agitation: "You're not going to----?"
The man nodded, but his smile had died out. "Yes. That's why I've come
along," he said seriously. "Is--is she well? Is she----?"
But Helen left him no time to finish his apprehensive inquiries. At
that moment she caught sight of a distant figure on the trail. It was
the figure of a big man--so big, and her woman's heart cried out in
love and thankfulness.
"Oh, look! It's Bill--my Bill! Here he comes. Oh, thank God."
Stanley Fyles flung a glance over his shoulder. Then without a word he
lifted Peter's reins. Then he seemed to glide off in the direction of
the setting sun.
As he went he drew a long sigh. He was wondering--wondering if all the
happiness in the world lay there, behind him, in the warm heart of the
girl who was waiting to embrace her lover.
* * * * *
Kate Seton was standing at the window of her parlor. Her back was
turned upon the room, upon the powerful, loose-limbed figure of
Stanley Fyles.
Her face was hidden, she wanted it to remain hidden--from him. She
felt that he must not see all that his sudden visit, without warning,
meant to her.
The man was near the center table. One knee was resting upon the hard,
tilted seat of a Windsor chair, and his folded arms leaned upon the
back of it. His eyes were full of a deep fire as he gazed upon the
woman's erect, graceful figure. A great longing was in him to seize
her, and crush her in arms that were ready to claim and hold her
against all the world.
All the atmosphere of his calling seemed to have fallen from him. He
stood there just a plain, strong man of no great eloquence, facing a
position in which he might well expect certain defeat, but from which
there was no thought of shrinking.
Silence had fallen since their first greeting. That painful silence
when realization of that which lies between them drives each to search
for a way to cross the barrier.
It was Kate who finally spoke. She moved slightly. It was a movement
which might have suggested many things, among them uncertainty of
mind, perhaps of decision. Her voice came low and gentle. But it was
full of a great weariness and regret, even of pain.
"Why--why did you come--now?" she asked plaintively. "It seems as
though I've lived through years in the last few weeks. I've tried to
forget so much. And now--you come here to remind me--to stir once more
the shadows which have nearly driven me crazy. Is it merciful--to do
that?"
The woman's tone was baffling. Fyles searched for its meaning.
Resentment he had anticipated. He had been prepared for it, and to
resist it, and break it down by the ardor of his appeal. That dreary
regret was more than he could bear, and he hastened to protest.
"Say, Kate," he cried, his sun-tanned features flushing with a quick
shame. "Don't think I've come here to remind you. Don't think I've
come along to taunt you with the loss of our--our mad wager. I want to
forget it. It became a gamble on a man's life, and--and I hate the
thought. You're free of it, and I wish to God it had never been made."
The bitter sincerity of his final words was not without its effect.
Kate stirred. Then she turned. Her beautiful eyes, so full of pathos,
so full of remorse, looked straight into his.
"Then--why did you come here?" she asked.
The man started up. The chair dropped back on to its four legs with a
clatter. His arms were outstretched, and the passionate fire of his
eyes blazed up as the quick, hot words escaped his lips.
"Why? Why?" he demanded, his eyes widening, his whole body vibrant
with a consuming passion. "Don't you know? Kate, Kate, I came because
I couldn't stay away. I came because there's just nothing in the world
worth living for but you. I came because I just love you to death,
and--there's nothing else. Say, listen. I went right back from here
with one fixed purpose. Maybe it won't tell you a thing. Maybe you
won't understand. I went back to get quit of the force--honorably. I'd
made my peace with them. Oh, yes, I'd done that. Then I demanded leave
of absence pending my resignation. They had to grant it. I am never
going back. Oh, yes, I knew what I was up against. I wanted you. I
wanted you so that I couldn't see a thing else in any other direction.
There is no other direction. So I came straight here to--to ask you to
forget. I came here to tell you all I feel about--the work I had to do
here. I came here with a wild sort of forlorn hope you could forgive.
You see, I even believed that but for--for that--there was just a
shadow of hope for me. Kate----!"
The woman suddenly held up her hand. And when she spoke there was
nothing of the Kate he had always known in the humility of her tone.
"It is not I who must forgive," she said quickly. "If there is any
forgiveness on this earth it is I who need it."
"You? Forgiveness?"
The man's face wore blank incredulity.
Kate sighed. It was the sigh of a broken-hearted woman.
"Yes. If there is any forgiveness I pray that it may come my way. I
need it all--all. I can never forgive myself. It was I who caused
Charlie's death."
Quite suddenly her whole manner changed. The humility, the sadness of
her tone rose quickly to a passionate self-denunciation.
"Yes, yes. I will tell you now. Oh, man, man. Your words--every one
of them, have only stabbed me more and more surely to the heart. You
don't understand. You can't, because you do not know what I mean. Oh,
yes," she went on desperately, "why shouldn't I admit it? I love you.
I always have loved you. Let me admit everything fully and freely."
"Kate!" The man stepped forward, his eyes alight with a world of
happiness, of overwhelming joy. But she waved him back.
"No, no," she cried, almost harshly. "I have told you that just to
show you how your words have well nigh crazed me. I can be nothing to
you. I can be nothing to anybody. It was I who brought about Charlie's
death. He, the bravest, the loyalest man I ever knew, gave his life to
save me from the police, who were hunting me down. Oh," she went on,
at sight of Fyles's incredulous expression, "you don't need to take my
word alone. Ask Charlie's brother. Ask Bill. He was there. He, too,
shared in the sacrifice, although he did not understand that which lay
in the depths of his brother's brave heart. And now--now I must live
on with the knowledge of what my wild folly has brought about. For
weeks the burden of thought and remorse has been almost insupportable,
and now you come to torture me further. Oh, God, I have paid for my
wanton folly and wickedness. Oh, God!"
Kate buried her face in her hands, and abruptly flung herself into the
rocker close behind her.
Fyles looked down upon her in amazed helplessness. He watched the
woman's heaving shoulders as great, dry, hard sobs broke from her in
tearless agony. He waited, feeling for the moment that nothing he
could say or do but must add to her despair, to her pain. Her
self-accusation had so far left him untouched. He could not realize
all she meant. All that was plain to him was her suffering, and he
longed to comfort her, and help her, and defend her against herself.
The moments slipped away, heavy moments of intense feeling and bitter
grief.
Presently the grief-stricken woman's sobs grew less, and with
something like a gesture of impatience she snatched her hands from her
face, and raised a pair of agonized eyes to his.
"Leave me," she cried. "Go, please go. I--I can't bear it."
Her appeal was so helpless. Again the impulse to take her in his arms
was almost too strong for the man, but with an effort he overcame it.
"Won't you--go on?" he said, in the gentlest possible tone. "It will
help you. And--you would rather tell me."
The firmness of his manner, the gentleness, had a heartbreaking
effect. In a moment the woman's eyes were flooded with tears, which
coursed down her cheeks. It was the relief that her poor troubled
brain and nerves demanded, and so Fyles understood.
He waited patiently until the passion of weeping was over. Then again
he urged his demand.
"Now tell me, Kate. Tell me all. And remember I'm not here as your
judge. I am here to help--because--I love you."
The look from the woman's eyes thanked him. Then she bowed her head
lest the sight of him should leave her afraid.
* * * * *
"Must I tell it all?"
Kate's tone was firmer. There was a ring in it that reminded the other
of the woman he used to know.
"Tell me just what you wish. No more--no less. You are telling it for
your own sake, remember. To me--it makes no difference."
"There's no use in telling it you from the start. The things that led
up to it," she began. "I have been smuggling whisky for nearly five
years. It's a pretty admission, isn't it? Yes, you may well be
horrified," she went on, as Fyles started.
But the man denied.
"I am not horrified," he said. "It is--the wonder of it."
"The wonder? It isn't wonderful. It was so simple. A little ingenuity,
a little nerve and recklessness. The law itself makes it easy. You
cannot arrest on suspicion." Kate sighed, and her eyes had become
reflective, so that their calmness satisfied the waiting man. "I must
tell you this," she went on quickly. "My reasons were twofold. Helen
and I came here to farm. We came here because I was crazy for
adventure. We had money, but I soon found that we, two women, could
never make our farm pay. We were here surrounded by outlaws, who were
already smuggling liquor, and their trade appealed to me. I was just
crazy to take a hand in it for the excitement of it, and--to replenish
our diminishing capital."
"Helen knows nothing about it," she went on, her voice hardening as
though the shameful story she was about to tell were forcing the iron
deeper and deeper into her soul. "She has never guessed, or suspected,
and I could almost hope she never will. It didn't take me long to make
up my mind. This was about the time Charlie came to the valley," she
sighed. "Well, I quickly contrived to get at the men I wanted. I
talked to them carefully, and finally unfolded to them a plan I had
worked out to smuggle whisky on a large and profitable scale. It
doesn't matter about the details. They all came in at once. It pleased
their sense of humor to be run by a woman. I was to disguise myself as
a man, which nature made easy for me, and my real personality was to
be our chief safeguard. No one would suspect unless we were caught
red-handed. And that--well, that was not a great chance, anyway, in
those days. I was responsible. I was to purchase cargoes across the
border. The others were only my helpers, under my absolute orders. And
I ruled them sharply."
The man nodded without other comment.
"But Charlie had arrived, and very soon his coming began to complicate
matters," Kate went on, after the briefest of pauses. "He came out
here to ranch. He was turned out of his home. And I--I just pitied
him, and strove to turn him from his drunken habits. This is where the
mischief was done. I liked him. I sort of felt like a mother to him.
He was so gentle and kind-hearted. He was clever, too--very clever.
Yes, I looked upon him as a son, or brother--but he didn't look on me
in the same way. I don't know. I suppose I didn't think. I was
foolish. Anyway, Charlie asked me to marry him. I refused him, and he
drank himself into delirium tremens."
Again came a long-drawn sigh at the memory of that poor, wasted life.
"Well, I nursed him, and finally he got better, and again I went on
with my work. Then, one day, I received a shock. Charlie came to me
and told me he'd found a mysterious old corral, away up, hidden in
the higher reaches of the valley. He begged me to let him show it me.
Feeling that I owed him something, I consented to go with him. So we
rode out. You know the place. But maybe you don't know its secret."
Fyles nodded.
"Yes--you mean the--cupboard in the lining of the wall."
"You know it?" Kate's surprise was marked. However, she went on
rapidly. "Well, while we were there he showed it to me, and then,
looking me straight in the eyes, he said, 'Wouldn't it be a dandy
hiding place for things? Suppose I was a big whisky smuggler. Suppose
I wanted to disguise myself. I could keep my disguise here. No chance
of its being found by police or any one. It would be a great place.'
Then he went on, enlarging enthusiastically upon his idea. He said, 'A
feller wants to do things right if he's going to beat the law. If I
were running liquor I'd take no chances. I'd run it on a big scale,
and I'd cache my stuff in the cellars under the Meeting House. No one
knows of 'em. I only lit on 'em by chance.
"'Not a soul even suspects they're there. Guess they were used for
caches in the old days. Now, I'd take on the job of looking after the
place, keeping it clean, and all that. That would let me be seen there
without anybody getting suspicious.' All this time his eyes were
watching me shrewdly, speculatively. Then, still pretending, he went
off in another direction. He told me he'd bought a good wagon. He
said, 'I'd keep it here in the corral. It would be better than a
buckboard.' Then I knew for certain that he was aware of my doings.
For I used a buckboard. It was a desperate moment. I waited. All of a
sudden he dropped his mask of lightness, and became serious. I can
never forget his poor, dear face as he gave me his final warning.
'Kate,' he said, 'if there was anybody I--liked, and was anxious
about, running whisky in this place, I'd show them the corral and tell
them what I've told you. You see,' he added ingenuously, 'I'd give my
life for those I like, then how readily would I help them like this.
This is the safest scheme I can think of. And I'm rather proud of it.
Anyways, it's better than keeping disguises kicking around for any one
to find, and caching liquor under bushes.' He had discovered all my
secret. All--how? The thought set me nearly crazy."
"Did you--question him?" The man's voice cut sharply into the
momentary silence.
Kate shook her head.
"No. I couldn't. I don't know why, but I couldn't." She drew a deep
breath. "The next thing I knew was that I was shadowed in all my work,
and I knew that shadow was--Charlie. Here came a memorable day. I
think the devil was in me that day. I remember Charlie came to me. He
smiled in his gentle, boyish fashion. He said, 'No one's adopted my
scheme yet--and I've left the wagon down at the old corral, too.' It
was too much. I laughed. I told him that now no one could ever use his
scheme for I had secured the work--voluntarily--of seeing to the
Meeting House. His response was deadly serious. 'I'm glad,' he said.
'That will end temptation for--others.'"
"He thought of using it--on your behalf--himself!"
"I fancy so." Kate paused. Then, with an effort, she seemed to spur
herself to her task. "There seems so much of it. Such a long, dreary
story. I must skip to the time you came on the scene. It was then that
serious trouble began. Danger really increased. But I was used to it
by then. I loved it. I didn't care. I was pleased to think I was
pitted against the police. You remember White Point? Like all the
rest, I planned that. I was there. We beat your men on the trail, too.
We contrived to temporarily cache the cargo, and afterward remove it
to the Meeting House. Then later. You remember the night that you
found Bill by the pine tree, which, by the way, served me as a mail
office for orders from my local customers? They placed money and
orders in one of the old crevices under the bark. You see, I never
came into personal contact with them. It was I you saw there. I had
just been there to get an order from O'Brien. Bill saw me--and mistook
me for Charlie. Charlie was probably there, but it was I you saw drop
down into hiding. That night was a great shock to me. I discovered
that, disguised as a man, by some evil chance I became the double of
Charlie. You can imagine my distress. In a flash I was made aware of
the reason that he was bearing the blame for all my doings. This
brought me another realization, too. My personality had been
discovered. People must have seen me before. I was known by, perhaps
distant, sight, and Charlie was blamed for all my doings. It left me
with a resolve to defend him to my utmost, all the more so that I was
convinced in my mind that he was doing his utmost to divert suspicion
from me to himself. Even his own brother believed in his guilt.
"When you opened your campaign against him, my cup of bitterness was
full. Then it was I resolved to run cargo after cargo in the wild hope
that some chance would reveal to you that Charlie was not your man. I
resolved this, knowing you--and--and liking you, and being aware that
every time I succeeded I was further helping to ruin you with your
superiors, and in your career. It had to be. I had to sacrifice all my
own feelings to--save Charlie."
The shining eyes of the man gazed admiringly on the sad face of the
loyal woman.
"I think I see," he said.
Kate raised her shoulders.
"I hardly expected any one would see, or understand, what I felt, and
the way I reasoned. You remember the cargo from Fort Allerton? It was
my two boys, acting under my command, who bound and gagged your
patrol, and fired the alarm. Pete brought me word of your plans. He
had spied on you in your camp. But there was very nearly disaster in
that affair. I dropped my pocketbook on the trail. It was full of
incriminating papers. I did not discover my loss till I returned my
disguise to the secret hut. You can imagine my horror at such a
discovery. It meant everything. I waited desperately, expecting it
to have been found by your men. Two days later, in a fever of
apprehension, I went to search my clothes again at the corral. I felt
it was useless. It could not be there. But my guardian angel had been
at work. It was in its place in my coat pocket. Then I knew that
Charlie was still watching over me. He had found it, and--returned
it."
Fyles nodded.
"He was on the trail that night--I saw him."
"Do you want to know the rest?" Kate went on. "Is it necessary? The
heartless game I played on you. Do you understand it now? Oh, it was a
cruel thing to do. But you drove me crazy with your suspicions, your
obstinate suspicions, of Charlie. I was determined to pursue my
ruthless course in his defense to the end. It was my only hope of
relieving Charlie of suspicion--without betraying myself. But there
were things I had not calculated on. Two things happened after I had
offered you my challenge. I made my plans, and ordered my cargo, after
telling you when and where it was to arrive. Then the two things
happened. First? Bill ran foul of Pete. Pete was drunk and insulted
Helen. Bill was there, and thrashed him soundly, and I was glad. But I
feared for mischief. He knew my plans. I talked to him, and quickly
realized my fears were well-founded. There was no help for it. I
promptly changed my plans. The cargo was to come in by water. The
escorted empty wagon by trail. I left that disposition, except that I
decided the boat should be empty, too, and, unknown to any one but
Holy Dick, I should bring in the cargo on a buckboard myself. You see,
it left me free of any chance of treachery. When you told me of Pete's
treachery I knew I had done well. Then the second thing happened,
which served me with an excuse for leaving the village, which had
become imperative to complete my change of plans. You remember. It was
the tree. You remember I feared the old superstition, and I went
to--Myrtle.
"The rest. Yes, let me tell it quickly, while I still have the
courage. You must fill in the gaps which I leave for yourself. Before
I left, Charlie came here. He tried to stop me. I know why. He had
some premonition of disaster. I, too, had the same premonition, but--I
was quite reckless. He refused me his wagon, but I took it in spite of
him. I had to have it. We quarreled for the first time. He left me in
anger, and--I went. Everything was carried through successfully. I was
in the road on Monday night with the cargo. I was keeping abreast of
the wagon, in my buckboard, away to the south of it. I intended to
make a quiet dash while you were busy with the boat and wagon. But my
star was not in the ascendant.
"While I was waiting for the moment to arrive I suddenly heard the
firing, and I knew at once that the game was up. It was no longer
simply smuggling. To me such shooting meant killing--and that----" she
shuddered. "Perhaps I lost my head. I don't know. I raced for it. You
came after me. One of my horses stumbled, and when it recovered I
found it was dead lame. I had a saddle horse with me. You were hard
on my heels by then. I abandoned the buckboard and cargo, and took to
the saddle. I was keeping well ahead of you, and was only a short
distance from the village. I raced down the hill to the culvert over
the hay slough. As I did so I saw two horsemen coming in the opposite
direction. I believed them to be police. I swung out to the south,
intending to take the slough at a jump, and get away toward the
border. Too late I realized the slough's miry state. I tried to get
back to the culvert, but my horse failed me. The troubled beast
floundered, then he fell, and my head struck the culvert."
Kate was breathing quickly. The horror of it all was getting hold of
her. But she went on in broken jerky sentences.
"When I opened my eyes, Charlie was bending over me. I told him what
had happened. Then he passed me over to Bill, and I fainted again.
When I awoke I was here--at home. Bill had brought me here, and I know
now what Charlie must have done."
Fyles nodded.
"He took your place, and drew us after him," he said. Then, after a
pause. "Say, he did a big thing, Kate, and--he did it with his eyes
wide open."
But Kate was not listening. Tears were coursing down her cheeks, and
she sat a poor, suffering, bowed creature whose spirit could no longer
support the strain of her remorse. Her confession was complete, and
again the horrors of her earlier sufferings were assailing her
weakened spirit.
Fyles waited for the storm to lessen. He no longer had doubts. His
pity was for the reckless heart so hopelessly crushed. He had no
blame, only pity, and--love. He knew now that all he had hoped and
longed for was to be his. Kate cared for him. She had loved him from
the start. His were the arms that would shelter her. His were the
caresses that must woo that warm, palpitating spirit back to its
confidence and strength.
What was her past recklessness to him? He passed it by, and thanked
God that, for all its wrong against the laws, she assessed a courage
so fearless, and a brain so keen. There was no evil in her. She was a
woman to love and live for. To work, and--to die for. And his
feelings he knew had been shared by another.
He rose from his chair and passed behind Kate's rocker. He leaned down
and kissed her masses of beautiful dark hair.
"Look up, Kate. Look up, dear. The old pine has fallen at last, and
now--now there is to be peace in the valley for all time. Peace for
you. Peace for me. We will go away together now, dear. And presently,
please God, we'll come back to our--home."
* * * * *
Two days later Stanley Fyles and Big Brother Bill were standing at the
doorway of Kate's house. It was evening, and four saddle horses were
tied together in a bunch, ready saddled for the road.
Bill stood chewing his thumb in silence. His thoughtful, blue eyes
were gazing out across the valley at the little ranch house on the
hill.
Fyles was equally thoughtfully filling his pipe.
"We haven't talked much about things before," he said, pressing the
tobacco firmly into the bowl of his pipe with his little finger.
"Guess there wasn't much room for talk between--you and me. But we had
to say things sooner or later, on--account of--the girls. It's bad
med'cine starting out brothers with any trouble sticking out between
us. That's why I've started talking now--with the horses waiting
saddled."
Bill nodded.
"I was desperate sore," he said, his blue eyes coming back to the
other's face. "You see, I couldn't think right at first, back there in
Amberley, and I blamed you to death. Still, I've done a big think
since then. Yes, a huge big think. And--do you know I'm kind of sure
now Charlie was just glad to do what he did." Then his voice dropped
to an awed undertone. "It's queer how thinking makes you see things
right. I kind of feel now, if Charlie was here, he'd tell us right
away he's gladder he is where he is than ever he was--here. I'm just
certain of it. That's the best of thinking hard. You sort of
understand things better. I'm going to shake hands with you. Guess
Charlie 'ud like me to--now. And it'll be a mighty hard shake, so
you'll know I've thought hard, and--and just understood."
Fyles winced under the giant's grip. But he smiled and nodded. Bill
smiled and nodded, too, and then released the injured limb. It was the
way of two men who understand.
A sound came from within the house. It was the jingle of a spur and a
swish of skirts.
Fyles indicated the direction with his pipe.
"Best quit talking now," he said. "It's--it's the girls."
Bill wagged a sapient head, and moved over to the horses.
"Right ho, Stanley."
"Right ho, Bill."
The big blue eyes met the steady brown eyes in a final, smiling glance
of mutual understanding as Kate and Helen appeared in the doorway.
Popular Copyright Novels
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=Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The.= By Frank L. Packard.
=Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.= By A. Conan Doyle.
=After House, The.= By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
=Ailsa Paige.= By Robert W. Chambers.
=Alton of Somasco.= By Harold Bindloss.
=Amateur Gentleman, The.= By Jeffery Farnol.
=Anna, the Adventuress.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Anne's House of Dreams.= By L. M. Montgomery.
=Around Old Chester.= By Margaret Deland.
=Athalie.= By Robert W. Chambers.
=At the Mercy of Tiberius.= By Augusta Evans Wilson.
=Auction Block, The.= By Rex Beach.
=Aunt Jane of Kentucky.= By Eliza C. Hall.
=Awakening of Helena Richie.= By Margaret Deland.
=Bab: a Sub-Deb.= By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
=Barrier, The.= By Rex Beach.
=Barbarians.= By Robert W. Chambers.
=Bargain True, The.= By Nalbro Bartley.
=Bar 20.= By Clarence E. Mulford.
=Bar 20 Days.= By Clarence E. Mulford.
=Bars of Iron, The.= By Ethel M. Dell.
=Beasts of Tarzan, The.= By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
=Beloved Traitor, The.= By Frank L. Packard.
=Beltane the Smith.= By Jeffery Farnol.
=Betrayal, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Beyond the Frontier.= By Randall Parrish.
=Big Timber.= By Bertrand W. Sinclair.
=Black Is White.= By George Barr McCutcheon.
=Blind Man's Eyes, The.= By Wm. MacHarg and Edwin Balmer.
=Bob, Son of Battle.= By Alfred Ollivant.
=Boston Blackie.= By Jack Boyle.
=Boy with Wings, The.= By Berta Ruck.
=Brandon of the Engineers.= By Harold Bindloss.
=Broad Highway, The.= By Jeffery Farnol.
=Brown Study, The.= By Grace S. Richmond.
=Bruce of the Circle A.= By Harold Titus.
=Buck Peters, Ranchman.= By Clarence E. Mulford.
=Business of Life, The.= By Robert W. Chambers.
=Cabbages and Kings.= By O. Henry.
=Cabin Fever.= By B. M. Bower.
=Calling of Dan Matthews, The.= By Harold Bell Wright.
=Cape Cod Stories.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Cap'n Abe, Storekeeper.= By James A. Cooper.
=Cap'n Dan's Daughter.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Cap'n Eri.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Cap'n Jonah's Fortune.= By James A. Cooper.
=Cap'n Warren's Wards.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Chain of Evidence, A.= By Carolyn Wells.
=Chief Legatee, The.= By Anna Katharine Green.
=Cinderella Jane.= By Marjorie B. Cooke.
=Cinema Murder, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=City of Masks, The.= By George Barr McCutcheon.
=Cleek of Scotland Yard.= By T. W. Hanshew.
=Cleek, The Man of Forty Faces.= By Thomas W. Hanshew.
=Cleek's Government Cases.= By Thomas W. Hanshew.
=Clipped Wings.= By Rupert Hughes.
=Clue, The.= By Carolyn Wells.
=Clutch of Circumstance, The.= By Marjorie Benton Cooke.
=Coast of Adventure, The.= By Harold Bindloss.
=Coming of Cassidy, The.= By Clarence E. Mulford.
=Coming of the Law, The.= By Chas. A. Seltzer.
=Conquest of Canaan, The.= By Booth Tarkington.
=Conspirators, The.= By Robert W. Chambers.
=Court of Inquiry, A.= By Grace S. Richmond.
=Cow Puncher, The.= By Robert J. C. Stead.
=Crimson Gardenia, The, and Other Tales of Adventure.= By Rex Beach.
=Cross Currents.= By Author of "Pollyanna."
=Cry in the Wilderness, A.= By Mary E. Waller.
=Danger, And Other Stories.= By A. Conan Doyle.
=Dark Hollow, The.= By Anna Katharine Green.
=Dark Star, The.= By Robert W. Chambers.
=Daughter Pays, The.= By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
=Day of Days, The.= By Louis Joseph Vance.
=Depot Master, The.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Desired Woman, The.= By Will N. Harben.
=Destroying Angel, The.= By Louis Jos. Vance.
=Devil's Own, The.= By Randall Parrish.
=Double Traitor=, The. By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Empty Pockets.= By Rupert Hughes.
=Eyes of the Blind=, The. By Arthur Somers Roche.
=Eye of Dread, The.= By Payne Erskine.
=Eyes of the World, The.= By Harold Bell Wright.
=Extricating Obadiah.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Felix O'Day.= By F. Hopkinson Smith.
=54-40 or Fight.= By Emerson Hough.
=Fighting Chance, The.= By Robert W. Chambers.
=Fighting Shepherdess, The.= By Caroline Lockhart.
=Financier, The.= By Theodore Dreiser.
=Flame, The.= By Olive Wadsley.
=Flamsted Quarries.= By Mary E. Wallar.
=Forfeit, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Four Million, The.= By O. Henry.
=Fruitful Vine, The.= By Robert Hichens.
=Further Adventures of Jimmie Dale, The.= By Frank L. Packard.
=Girl of the Blue Ridge, A.= By Payne Erskine.
=Girl from Keller's, The.= By Harold Bindloss.
=Girl Philippa, The.= By Robert W. Chambers.
=Girls at His Billet, The.= By Berta Ruck.
=God's Country and the Woman.= By James Oliver Curwood.
=Going Some.= By Rex Beach.
=Golden Slipper, The.= By Anna Katharine Green.
=Golden Woman, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Greater Love Hath No Man.= By Frank L. Packard.
=Greyfriars Bobby.= By Eleanor Atkinson.
=Gun Brand, The.= By James B. Hendryx.
=Halcyone.= By Elinor Glyn.
=Hand of Fu-Manchu=, The. By Sax Rohmer.
=Havoc.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Heart of the Desert=, The. By Honore Willsie.
=Heart of the Hills, The.= By John Fox, Jr.
=Heart of the Sunset.= By Rex Beach.
=Heart of Thunder Mountain, The.= By Edfrid A. Bingham.
=Her Weight in Gold.= By Geo. B. McCutcheon.
=Hidden Children, The.= By Robert W. Chambers.
=Hidden Spring, The.= By Clarence B. Kelland.
=Hillman, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Hills of Refuge, The.= By Will N. Harben.
=His Official Fiancee.= By Berta Ruck.
=Honor of the Big Snows.= By James Oliver Curwood.
=Hopalong Cassidy.= By Clarence E. Mulford.
=Hound from the North, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=House of the Whispering Pines, The.= By Anna Katharine Green.
=Hugh Wynne, Free Quaker.= By S. Weir Mitchell, M.D.
=I Conquered.= By Harold Titus.
=Illustrious Prince, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=In Another Girl's Shoes.= By Berta Ruck.
=Indifference of Juliet, The.= By Grace S. Richmond.
=Infelice.= By Augusta Evans Wilson.
=Initials Only.= By Anna Katharine Green.
=Inner Law, The.= By Will N. Harben.
=Innocent.= By Marie Corelli.
=Insidious Dr. Fu-Manchu, The.= By Sax Rohmer.
=In the Brooding Wild.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Intriguers, The.= By Harold Bindloss.
=Iron Trail, The.= By Rex Beach.
=Iron Woman, The.= By Margaret Deland.
=I Spy.= By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
=Japonette.= By Robert W. Chambers.
=Jean of the Lazy A.= By B. M. Bower.
=Jeanne of the Marshes.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Jennie Gerhardt.= By Theodore Dreiser.
=Judgment House, The.= By Gilbert Parker.
=Keeper of the Door, The.= By Ethel M. Dell.
=Keith of the Border.= By Randall Parrish.
=Kent Knowles: Ouahaug.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Kingdom of the Blind. The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=King Spruce.= By Holman Day.
=King's Widow, The.= By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
=Knave of Diamonds, The.= By Ethel M. Dell.
=Ladder of Swords.= By Gilbert Parker.
=Lady Betty Across the Water.= By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.
=Land-Girl's Love Story, A.= By Berta Ruck.
=Landloper, The.= By Holman Day.
=Land of Long Ago, The.= By Eliza Calvert Hall.
=Land of Strong Men, The.= By A. M. Chisholm.
=Last Trail, The.= By Zane Grey.
=Laugh and Live.= By Douglas Fairbanks.
=Laughing Bill Hyde.= By Rex Beach.
=Laughing Girl, The.= By Robert W. Chambers.
=Law Breakers, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Lifted Veil, The.= By Basil King.
=Lighted Way, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Lin McLean.= By Owen Wister.
=Lonesome Land.= By B. M. Bower.
=Lone Wolf, The.= By Louis Joseph Vance.
=Long Ever Ago.= By Rupert Hughes.
=Lonely Stronghold, The.= By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
=Long Live the King.= By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
=Long Roll, The.= By Mary Johnston.
=Lord Tony's Wife.= By Baroness Orczy.
=Lost Ambassador.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Lost Prince, The.= By Frances Hodgson Burnett.
=Lydia of the Pines.= By Honore Willsie.
=Maid of the Forest, The.= By Randall Parrish.
=Maid of the Whispering Hills, The.= By Vingie E. Roe.
=Maids of Paradise, The.= By Robert W. Chambers.
=Major, The.= By Ralph Connor.
=Maker of History, A.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Malefactor, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Man from Bar 20, The.= By Clarence E. Mulford.
=Man in Grey, The.= By Baroness Orczy.
=Man Trail, The.= By Henry Oyen.
=Man Who Couldn't Sleep, The.= By Arthur Stringer.
=Man with the Club Foot, The.= By Valentine Williams.
=Mary-'Gusta.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Mary Moreland.= By Marie Van Vorst.
=Mary Regan.= By Leroy Scott.
=Master Mummer, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.= By A. Conan Doyle.
=Men Who Wrought, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Mischief Maker, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Missioner, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Miss Million's Maid.= By Berta Ruck.
=Molly McDonald.= By Randall Parrish.
=Money Master, The.= By Gilbert Parker.
=Money Moon, The.= By Jeffery Farnol.
=Mountain Girl, The.= By Payne Erskine.
=Moving Finger, The.= By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
=Mr. Bingle.= By George Barr McCutcheon.
=Mr. Grex of Monte Carlo.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Mr. Pratt.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Mr. Pratt's Patients.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Mrs. Belfame.= By Gertrude Atherton.
=Mrs. Red Pepper.= By Grace S. Richmond.
=My Lady Caprice.= By Jeffrey Farnol.
=My Lady of the North.= By Randall Parrish.
=My Lady of the South.= By Randall Parrish.
=Mystery of the Hasty Arrow, The.= By Anna K. Green.
=Nameless Man, The.= By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
=Ne'er-Do-Well, The.= By Rex Beach.
=Nest Builders, The.= By Beatrice Forbes-Robertson Hale.
=Net, The.= By Rex Beach.
=New Clarion.= By Will N. Harben.
=Night Operator, The.= By Frank L. Packard.
=Night Riders, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Nobody.= By Louis Joseph Vance.
=Okewood of the Secret Service.= By the Author of "The Man with the
Club Foot."
=One Way Trail, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Open, Sesame.= By Mrs. Baillie Reynolds.
=Otherwise Phyllis.= By Meredith Nicholson.
=Outlaw, The.= By Jackson Gregory.
=Paradise Auction.= By Nalbro Bartley.
=Pardners.= By Rex Beach.
=Parrot & Co.= By Harold MacGrath.
=Partners of the Night.= By Leroy Scott.
=Partners of the Tide.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Passionate Friends, The.= By H. G. Wells.
=Patrol of the Sun Dance Trail, The.= By Ralph Connor.
=Paul Anthony, Christian.= By Hiram W. Hays.
=Pawns Count, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=People's Man, A.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Perch of the Devil.= By Gertrude Atherton.
=Peter Ruff and the Double Four.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Pidgin Island.= By Harold MacGrath.
=Place of Honeymoon, The.= By Harold MacGrath.
=Pool of Flame, The.= By Louis Joseph Vance.
=Postmaster, The.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Prairie Wife, The.= By Arthur Stringer.
=Price of the Prairie, The.= By Margaret Hill McCarter.
=Prince of Sinners, A.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Promise, The.= By J. B. Hendryx.
=Proof of the Pudding, The.= By Meredith Nicholson.
=Rainbow's End, The.= By Rex Beach.
=Ranch at the Wolverine, The.= By B. M. Bower.
=Ranching for Sylvia.= By Harold Bindloss.
=Ransom.= By Arthur Somers Roche.
=Reason Why, The.= By Elinor Glyn.
=Reclaimers, The.= By Margaret Hill McCarter.
=Red Mist, The.= By Randall Parrish.
=Red Pepper Burns.= By Grace S. Richmond.
=Red Pepper's Patients.= By Grace S. Richmond.
=Rejuvenation of Aunt Mary, The.= By Anne Warner.
=Restless Sex, The.= By Robert W. Chambers.
=Return of Dr. Fu-Manchu, The.= By Sax Rohmer.
=Return of Tarzan, The.= By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
=Riddle of Night, The.= By Thomas W. Hanshew.
=Rim of the Desert, The.= By Ada Woodruff Anderson.
=Rise of Roscoe Paine, The.= By J. C. Lincoln.
=Rising Tide, The.= By Margaret Deland.
=Rocks of Valpre, The.= By Ethel M. Dell.
=Rogue by Compulsion, A.= By Victor Bridges.
=Room Number 3.= By Anna Katharine Green.
=Rose in the Ring, The.= By George Barr McCutcheon.
=Rose of Old Harpeth, The.= By Maria Thompson Daviess.
=Round the Corner in Gay Street.= By Grace S. Richmond.
=Second Choice.= By Will N. Harben.
=Second Violin, The.= By Grace S. Richmond.
=Secret History.= By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.
=Secret of the Reef, The.= By Harold Bindloss.
=Seven Darlings, The.= By Gouverneur Morris.
=Shavings.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Shepherd of the Hills, The.= By Harold Bell Wright.
=Sheriff of Dyke Hole, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Sherry.= By George Barr McCutcheon.
=Side of the Angels, The.= By Basil King.
=Silver Horde, The.= By Rex Beach.
=Sin That Was His, The.= By Frank L. Packard.
=Sixty-first Second, The.= By Owen Johnson.
=Soldier of the Legion, A.= By C. N. & A. M. Williamson.
=Son of His Father, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Son of Tarzan, The.= By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
=Source, The.= By Clarence Buddington Kelland.
=Speckled Bird, A.= By Augusta Evans Wilson.
=Spirit in Prison, A.= By Robert Hichens.
=Spirit of the Border, The.= (New Edition.) By Zane Grey.
=Spoilers, The.= By Rex Beach.
=Steele of the Royal Mounted.= By James Oliver Curwood.
=Still Jim.= By Honore Willsie.
=Story of Foss River Ranch, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Story of Marco, The.= By Eleanor H. Porter.
=Strange Case of Cavendish, The.= By Randall Parrish.
=Strawberry Acres.= By Grace S. Richmond.
=Sudden Jim.= By Clarence B. Kelland.
=Tales of Sherlock Holmes.= By A. Conan Doyle.
=Tarzan of the Apes.= By Edgar R. Burroughs.
=Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar.= By Edgar Rice Burroughs.
=Tempting of Tavernake, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Tess of the D'Urbervilles.= By Thos. Hardy.
=Thankful's Inheritance.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=That Affair Next Door.= By Anna Katharine Green.
=That Printer of Udell's.= By Harold Bell Wright.
=Their Yesterdays.= By Harold Bell Wright.
=Thirteenth Commandment, The.= By Rupert Hughes.
=Three of Hearts, The.= By Berta Ruck.
=Three Strings, The.= By Natalie Sumner Lincoln.
=Threshold, The.= By Marjorie Benton Cooke.
=Throwback, The.= By Alfred Henry Lewis.
=Tish.= By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
=To M. L. G.; or, He Who Passed.= Anon.
=Trail of the Axe, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Trail to Yesterday, The.= By Chas. A. Seltzer.
=Treasure of Heaven, The.= By Marie Corelli.
=Triumph, The.= By Will N. Harben.
=T. Tembarom.= By Frances Hodgson Burnett.
=Turn of the Tide.= By Author of "Pollyanna."
=Twenty-fourth of June, The.= By Grace S. Richmond.
=Twins of Suffering Creek, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Two-Gun Man, The.= By Chas. A. Seltzer.
=Uncle William.= By Jeannette Lee.
=Under Handicap.= By Jackson Gregory.
=Under the Country Sky.= By Grace S. Richmond.
=Unforgiving Offender, The.= By John Reed Scott.
=Unknown Mr. Kent, The.= By Roy Norton.
=Unpardonable Sin, The.= By Major Rupert Hughes.
=Up From Slavery.= By Booker T. Washington.
=Valiants of Virginia, The.= By Hallie Ermine Rives.
=Valley of Fear, The.= By Sir A. Conan Doyle.
=Vanished Messenger, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=Vanguards of the Plains.= By Margaret Hill McCarter.
=Vashti.= By Augusta Evans Wilson.
=Virtuous Wives.= By Owen Johnson.
=Visioning, The.= By Susan Glaspell.
=Waif-o'-the-Sea.= By Cyrus Townsend Brady.
=Wall of Men, A.= By Margaret H. McCarter.
=Watchers of the Plans, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Way Home, The.= By Basil King.
=Way of an Eagle, The.= By E. M. Dell.
=Way of the Strong, The.= By Ridgwell Cullum.
=Way of These Women, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
=We Can't Have Everything.= By Major Rupert Hughes.
=Weavers, The.= By Gilbert Parker.
=When a Man's a Man.= By Harold Bell Wright.
=When Wilderness Was King.= By Randall Parrish.
=Where the Trail Divides.= By Will Lillibridge.
=Where There's a Will.= By Mary R. Rinehart.
=White Sister, The.= By Marion Crawford.
=Who Goes There?= By Robert W. Chambers.
=Why Not.= By Margaret Widdemer.
=Window at the White Cat, The.= By Mary Roberts Rinehart.
=Winds of Chance, The.= By Rex Beach.
=Wings of Youth, The.= By Elizabeth Jordan.
=Winning of Barbara Worth, The.= By Harold Bell Wright.
=Wire Devils, The.= By Frank L. Packard.
=Winning the Wilderness.= By Margaret Hill McCarter.
=Wishing Ring Man, The.= By Margaret Widdemer.
=With Juliet in England.= By Grace S. Richmond.
=Wolves of the Sea.= By Randall Parrish.
=Woman Gives, The.= By Owen Johnson.
=Woman Haters, The.= By Joseph C. Lincoln.
=Woman in Question, The.= By John Reed Scott.
=Woman Thou Gavest Me, The.= By Hall Caine.
=Woodcarver of 'Lympus, The.= By Mary E. Waller.
=Wooing of Rosamond Fayre, The.= By Berta Ruck.
=World for Sale, The.= By Gilbert-Parker.
=Years for Rachel, The.= By Berta Ruck.
=Yellow Claw, The.= By Sax Rohmer.
=You Never Know Your Luck.= By Gilbert Parker.
=Zeppelin's Passenger, The.= By E. Phillips Oppenheim.
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:
1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetter's errors;
otherwise every effort has been made to remain true to the author's
words and intent.
2. In the advertising listing at the end of the book, the = has been
used to indicate that the book titles were typeset in bold in the
original book.