IX

As the fire burned down to coals and the stars wheeled through the sky,

Linda told her story. The two of them were seated in the soft grass in

front of the cabin, and the moonlight was on Linda's face as she talked.

She talked very low at first. Indeed there was no need for loud tones.

The whole wilderness world was heavy with silence, and a whisper carried

far. Besides, Bruce was just beside her, watching her with narrowed

eyes, forgetful of everything except her story.

It was a perfect background for the savage tale that she had to tell.

The long shadow of the giant pine tree fell over them. The fire made a

little circle of red light, but the darkness ever encroached upon it.

Just beyond the moonlight showed them silver-white patches between the

trees, across which shadows sometimes wavered from the passing of the

wild creatures.

"I've waited a long time to tell you this," she told him. "Of course,

when we were babies together in the orphanage, I didn't even know it. It

has taken me a long time since to learn all the details; most of them I

got from my aunt, old Elmira, whom you talked to on the way out. Part of

it I knew by intuition, and a little of it is still doubtful.

"You ought to know first how hard I have tried to reach you. Of course,

I didn't try openly except at first--the first years after I came here,

and before I was old enough to understand." She spoke the last word with

a curious depth of feeling and a perceptible hardness about her lips and

eyes. "I remembered just two things. That the man who had adopted you

was Newton Duncan; one of the nurses at the asylum told me that. And I

remembered the name of the city where he had taken you.

"You must understand the difficulties I worked under. There is no rural

free delivery up here, you know, Bruce. Our mail is sent from and

delivered to the little post-office at Martin's store--over fifteen

miles from here. And some one member of a certain family that lives near

here goes down every week to get the mail for the entire district.

"At first--and that was before I really understood--I wrote you many

letters and gave them to one of this family to mail for me. I was just a

child then, you must know, and I lived in the same house with these

people. And queer letters they must have been."

For an instant a smile lingered at her lips, but it seemed to come hard.

It was all too plain that she hadn't smiled many times in the past days.

But for some unaccountable reason Bruce's heart leaped when he saw it.

It had potentialities, that smile. It seemed to light her whole face. He

was suddenly exultant at the thought that once he understood everything,

he might bring about such changes that he could see it often.

"They were just baby letters from--from Linda-Tinda to Bwovaboo--letters

about the deer and the berries and the squirrels--and all the wild

things that lived up here."

"Berries!" Bruce cried. "I had some on the way up." His tone wavered,

and he seemed to be speaking far away. "I had some once--long ago."

"Yes. You will understand, soon. I didn't understand why you didn't

answer my letters. I understand now, though. You never got them."

"No. I never got them. But there are several Duncans in my city. They

might have gone astray."

"They went astray--but it was before they ever reached the post-office.

They were never mailed, Bruce. I was to know why, later. Even then it

was part of the plan that I should never get in communication with you

again--that you would be lost to me forever.

"When I got older, I tried other tacks. I wrote to the asylum, enclosing

a letter to you. But those letters were not mailed, either.

"Now we can skip a long time. I grew up. I knew everything at last and

no longer lived with the family I mentioned before. I came here, to this

old house--and made it decent to live in. I cut my own wood for my fuel

except when one of the men tried to please me by cutting it for me. I

wouldn't use it at first. Oh, Bruce--I wouldn't touch it!"

Her face was no longer lovely. It was drawn with terrible passions. But

she quieted at once.

"At last I saw plainly that I was a little fool--that all they would do

for me, the better off I was. At first, I almost starved to death

because I wouldn't use the food that they sent me. I tried to grub it

out of the hills. But I came to it at last. But, Bruce, there were many

things I didn't come to. Since I learned the truth, I have never given

one of them a smile except in scorn, not a word that wasn't a word of

hate.

"You are a city man, Bruce. You are what I read about as a gentleman.

You don't know what hate means. It doesn't live in the cities. But it

lives up here. Believe me if you ever believed anything--that it lives

up here. The most bitter and the blackest hate--from birth until death!

It burns out the heart, Bruce. But I don't know that I can make you

understand."

She paused, and Bruce looked away into the pine forest. He believed the

girl. He knew that this grim land was the home of direct and primitive

emotions. Such things as mercy and remorse were out of place in the game

trails where the wolf pack hunted the deer.

"When they knew how I hated them," she went on, "they began to watch me.

And once they knew that I fully understood the situation, I was no

longer allowed to leave this little valley. There are only two trails,

Bruce. One goes to Elmira's cabin on the way to the store. The other

encircles the mountain. With all their numbers, it was easy to keep

watch of those trails. And they told me what they would do if they found

me trying to go past."

"You don't mean--they threatened you?"

She threw back her head and laughed, but the sound had no joy in it.

"Threatened! If you think threats are common up here, you are a greener

tenderfoot than I ever took you for. Bruce, the law up here is the law

of force. The strongest wins. The weakest dies. Wait till you see Simon.

You'll understand then--and you'll shake in your shoes."

The words grated upon him, yet he didn't resent them. "I've seen Simon,"

he told her.

She glanced toward him quickly, and it was entirely plain that the quiet

tone in his voice had surprised her. Perhaps the faintest flicker of

admiration came into her eyes.

"He tried to stop you, did he? Of course he would. And you came anyway.

May Heaven bless you for it, Bruce!" She leaned toward him, appealing.

"And forgive me what I said."

Bruce stared at her in amazement. He could hardly realize that this was

the same voice that had been so torn with passion a moment before. In an

instant all her hardness was gone, and the tenderness of a sweet and

wholesome nature had taken its place. He felt a curious warmth stealing

over him.

"They meant what they said, Bruce. Believe me, if those men can do no

other thing, they can keep their word. They didn't just threaten death

to me. I could have run the risk of that. Badly as I wanted to make them

pay before I died, I would have gladly run that risk.

"You are amazed at the free way I speak of death. The girls you know, in

the city, don't even know the word. They don't know what it means. They

don't understand the sudden end of the light--the darkness--the

cold--the awful fear that it is! It is no companion of theirs, down in

the city. Perhaps they see it once in a while--but it isn't in their

homes and in the air and on the trails, like it is here. It's a reality

here, something to fight against every hour of every day. There are just

three things to do in the mountains--to live and love and hate. There's

no softness. There's no middle ground." She smiled grimly. "Let them

live up here with me--those girls you know--and they'd understand what a

reality Death is. They'd know it was something to think about and fight

against. Self-preservation is an instinct that can be forgotten when you

have a policeman at every corner. But it is ever present here.

"I've lived with death, and I've heard of it, and I've seen it all my

life. If there hadn't been any other way, I would have seen it in the

dramas of the wild creatures that go on around me all the time. You'll

get down to cases here, Bruce--or else you'll run away. These men said

they'd do worse things to me than kill me--and I didn't dare take the

risk.

"But once or twice I was able to get word to old Elmira--the only ally I

had left. She was of the true breed, Bruce. You'll call her a hag, but

she's a woman to be reckoned with. She could hate too--worse than a

she-rattlesnake hates the man that killed her mate--and hating is all

that's kept her alive. You shrink when I say the word. Maybe you won't

shrink when I'm done. Hating is a thing that gentlefolk don't do--but

gentlefolk don't live up here. It isn't a land of gentleness. Up here

there are just men and women, just male and female.

"This old woman tried to get in communication with every stranger that

visited the hills. You see, Bruce, she couldn't write herself. And the

one time I managed to get a written message down to her, telling her to

give it to the first stranger to mail--one of my enemies got it away

from her. I expected to die that night. I wasn't going to be alive when

the clan came. The only reason I didn't was because Simon--the greatest

of them all and the one I hate the most--kept his clan from coming. He

had his own reasons.

"From then on she had to depend on word of mouth. Some of the men

promised to send letters to Newton Duncan--but there was more than one

Newton Duncan--as you say--and possibly if the letters were sent they

went astray. But at last--just a few weeks ago--she found a man that

knew you. And it is your story from now on."

They were still a little while. Bruce arose and threw more wood on the

fire.

"It's only the beginning," he said.

"And you want me to tell you all?" she asked hesitantly.

"Of course. Why did I come here?"

"You won't believe me when I say that I'm almost sorry I sent for you."

She spoke almost breathlessly. "I didn't know that it would be like

this. That you would come with a smile on your face and a light in your

eyes, looking for happiness. And instead of happiness--to find _all

this_!"

She stretched her arms to the forests. Bruce understood her perfectly.

She did not mean the woods in the literal sense. She meant the primal

emotions that were their spirit.

She went on with lowered tones. "May Heaven forgive me if I have done

wrong to bring you here," she told him. "To show you--all that I have to

show--you who are a city man and a gentleman. But, Bruce, I couldn't

fight alone any more. I had to have help.

"To know the rest, you've got to go back a whole generation. Bruce, have

you heard of the terrible blood-feuds that the mountain families

sometimes have?"

"Of course. Many times."

"These mountains of Trail's End have been the scene of as deadly a

blood-feud as was ever known in the West. And for once, the wrong was

all on one side.

"A few miles from here there is a wonderful valley, where a stream

flows. There is not much tillable land in these mountains, Bruce, but

there, along that little stream, there are almost five sections--three

thousand acres--of as rich land as was ever plowed. And Bruce--the home

means something in the mountains. It isn't just a place to live in, a

place to leave with relief. I've tried to tell you that emotions are

simple and direct up here, and love of home is one of them. That tract

of land was acquired long ago by a family named Ross, and they got it

through some kind of grant. I can't be definite as to the legal aspects

of all this story. They don't matter anyway--only the results remain.

"These Ross men were frontiersmen of the first order. They were virtuous

men too--trusting every one, and oh! what strength they had! With their

own hands they cleared away the forest and put the land into rich

pasture and hay and grain. They built a great house for the owner of the

land, and lesser houses for his kinsfolk that helped him work it on

shares. Then they raised cattle, letting them range on the hills and

feeding them in winter. You see, the snow is heavy in winter, and unless

the stock are fed many of them die. The Rosses raised great herds of

cattle and had flocks of sheep too.

"It was then that dark days began to come. Another family--headed by the

father of the man I call Simon--migrated here from the mountain

districts of Oklahoma. But they were not so ignorant as many mountain

people, and they were _killers_. Perhaps that's a word you don't know.

Perhaps you didn't know it existed. A killer is a man that has killed

other men. It isn't a hard thing to do at all, Bruce, after you are used

to it. These people were used to it. And because they wanted these great

lands--my own father's home--they began to kill the Rosses.

"At first they made no war on the Folgers. The Folgers, you must know,

were good people too, honest to the last penny. They were connected, by

marriage only, to the Ross family. They were on our side clear through.

At the beginning of the feud the head of the Folger family was just a

young man, newly married. And he had a son after a while.

"The newcomers called it a feud. But it wasn't a feud--it was simply

murder. Oh, yes, we killed some of them. Folger and my father and all

his kin united against them, making a great clan--but they were nothing

in strength compared to the usurpers. Simon himself was just a boy when

it began. But he grew to be the greatest power, the leader of the enemy

clan before he was twenty-one.

"You must know, Bruce, that my own father held the land. But he was so

generous that his brothers who helped him farm it hardly realized that

possession was in his name. And father was a dead shot. It took a long

time before they could kill him."

The coldness that had come over her words did not in the least hide her

depth of feeling. She gazed moodily into the darkness and spoke almost

in a monotone.

"But Simon--just a boy then--and Dave, his brother, and the others of

them kept after us like so many wolves. There was no escape. The only

thing we could do was to fight back--and that was the way we learned to

hate. A man can hate, Bruce, when he is fighting for his home. He can

learn it very well when he sees his brother fall dead, or his father--or

a stray bullet hit his wife. A woman can learn it too, as old Elmira

did, when she finds her son's body in the dead leaves. There was no law

here to stop it. The little semblance of law that was in the valleys

below regarded it as a blood-feud, and didn't bother itself about it.

Besides--at first we were too proud to call for help. And after our

numbers were few, the trails were watched--and those who tried to go

down into the valleys--never got there.

"One after another the Rosses were killed, and I needn't make it any

worse for you than I can help--by telling of each killing. Enough to say

that at last no one was left except a few old men whose eyes were too

dim to shoot straight, and my own father. And I was a baby then--just

born.

"Then one night my father--seeing the fate that was coming down upon

him--took the last course to defeat them. Matthew Folger--a connection

by marriage--was still alive. Simon's clan hadn't attacked him yet. He

had no share in the land, but instead lived in this house I live in now.

He had a few cattle and some pasture land farther down the Divide. There

had been no purpose in killing him. He hadn't been worth the extra

bullet.

"One night my father left me asleep and stole through the forests to

talk to him. They made an agreement. I have pieced it out, a little at a

time. My father deeded all his land to Folger.

"I can understand now. The enemy clan pretended it was a blood-feud

only--and that it was fair war to kill the Rosses. Although my father

knew their real aim was to obtain the land, he didn't think they would

dare kill Matthew Folger to get it. He knew that he himself would fall,

sooner or later, but he thought that to kill Folger would show their

cards--and that would be too much, even for Simon's people. But he

didn't know. He hadn't foreseen to what lengths they would go."

Bruce leaned forward. "So they killed--Matthew Folger?" he asked.

He didn't know that his face had gone suddenly stark white, and that a

curious glitter had come to his eyes. He spoke breathlessly. For the

name--Matthew Folger--called up vague memories that seemed to reveal

great truths to him. The girl smiled grimly.

"Let me go on. My father deeded Folger the land. The deed was to go on

record so that all the world would know that Folger owned it, and if the

clan killed him it was plainly for the purposes of greed alone. But

there was also a secret agreement--drawn up in black and white and to be

kept hidden for twenty-one years. In this agreement, Folger promised to

return to me--the only living heir of the Rosses--the lands acquired by

the deed. In reality, he was only holding them in trust for me, and was

to return them when I was twenty-one. In case of my father's death,

Folger was to be my guardian until that time.

"Folger knew the risk he ran, but he was a brave man and he did not

care. Besides, he was my father's friend--and friendship goes far in the

mountains. And my father was shot down before a week was past.

"The clan had acted quick, you see. When Folger heard of it, before the

dawn, he came to my father's house and carried me away. Before another

night was done he was killed too."

The perspiration leaped out on Bruce's forehead. The red glow of the

fire was in his eyes.

"He fell almost where this fire is built, with a thirty-thirty bullet in

his brain. Which one of the clan killed him I do not know--but in all

probability it was Simon himself--at that time only eighteen years of

age. And Folger's little boy--something past four years old--wandered

out in the moonlight to find his father's body."

The girl was speaking slowly now, evidently watching the effect of her

words on her listener. He was bent forward, and his breath came in

queer, whispering gusts. "Go on!" he ordered savagely. "Tell me the

rest. Why do you keep me waiting?"

The girl smiled again,--like a sorceress. "Folger's wife was from the

plains' country," she told him slowly. "If she had been of the mountains

she might have remained to do some killing on her own account. Like old

Elmira herself remained to do--killing on her own account! But she was

from cities, just as you are, but she--unlike you--had no mountain blood

in her. She wasn't used to death, and perhaps she didn't know how to

hate. She only knew how to be afraid.

"They say that she went almost insane at the sight of that strong, brave

man of hers lying still in the pine needles. She hadn't even known he

was out of the house. He had gone out on some secret business--late at

night. She had only one thing left--her baby boy and her little

foster-daughter--little Linda Ross who is before you now. Her only

thought was to get those children out of that dreadful land of bloodshed

and to hide them so that they could never come back. And she didn't even

want them to know their true parentage. She seemed to realize that if

they had known, both of them would return some time--to collect their

debts. Sooner or later, that boy with the Folger blood in him and that

girl with the Ross blood would return, to attempt to regain their

ancient holdings, and to make the clan pay!

"All that was left were a few old women with hate in their hearts and a

strange tradition to take the place of hope. They said that sometime, if

death spared them, they would see Folger's son come back again, and

assert his rights. They said that a new champion would arise and right

their wrongs. But mostly death didn't spare them. Only old Elmira is

left.

"What became of the secret agreement I do not know. I haven't any hope

that you do, either. The deed was carried down to the courts by Sharp,

one of the witnesses who managed to get past the guard, and put on file

soon after it was written. The rest is short. Simon and his clan took up

the land, swearing that Matthew Folger had deeded it to them the day he

had procured it. They had a deed to show for it--a forgery. And the one

thing that they feared, the one weak chain, was that this secret

agreement between Folger and my father would be found.

"You see what that would mean. It would show that he had no right to

deed away the land, as he was simply holding it in trust for me. Old

Elmira explained the matter to me--if I get mixed up on the legal end

of it, excuse it. If that document could be found, their forged deed

would be obviously invalid. And it angered them that they could not find

it.

"Of course they never filed their forged deed--afraid that the forgery

would be discovered--but they kept it to show to any one that was

interested. But they wanted to make themselves still safer.

"There had been two witnesses to the agreement. One of them, a man named

Sharp, died--or was killed--shortly after. The other, an old trapper

named Hudson, was indifferent to the whole matter--he was just passing

through and was at Folger's house for dinner the night Ross came. He is

still living in these mountains, and he might be of value to us yet.

"Of course the clan did not feel at all secure. They suspected the

secret agreement had been mailed to some one to take care of, and they

were afraid that it would be brought to light when the time was ripe.

They knew perfectly that their forged deed would never stand the test,

so one of the things to do was to prevent their claim ever being

contested. That meant to keep Folger's son in ignorance of the whole

matter.

"I hope I can make that clear. The deed from my father to Folger was on

record, Folger was dead, and Folger's son would have every right and

opportunity to contest the clan's claim to the land. If he could get the

matter into court, he would surely win.

"The second thing to do was to win me over. I was just a child, and it

looked the easiest course of all. That's why I was stolen from the

orphanage by one of Simon's brothers. The idea was simply that when the

time came I would marry one of the clan and establish their claim to the

land forever.

"Up to a few weeks ago it seemed to me that sooner or later I would win

out. Bruce, you can't dream what it meant! I thought that some time I

could drive them out and make them pay, a little, for all they have

done. But they've tricked me, after all. I thought that I would get word

to Folger's son, who by inheritance would have a clear title to the

land, and he, with the aid of the courts, could drive these usurpers

out. But just recently I've found out that even this chance is all but

gone.

"Within a few more weeks, they will have been in possession of the land

for a full twenty years. Through some legal twist I don't understand, if

a man pays taxes and has undisputed possession of land for that length

of time, his title is secure. They failed to win me over, but it looks

as if they had won, anyway. The only way that they can be defeated now

is for that secret agreement--between my father and Folger--to reappear.

And I've long ago given up all hope of that.

"There is no court session between now and October thirtieth--when their

twenty years of undisputed possession is culminated. There seems to be

no chance to contest them--to make them bring that forged deed into the

light before that time. We've lost, after all. And only one thing

remains."

He looked up to find her eyes full upon him. He had never seen such

eyes. They seemed to have sunk so deep into the flesh about them that

only lurid slits remained. It was not that her lids were partly down.

Rather it was because the flesh-sacks beneath them had become charged

with her pounding blood. The fire's glow was in them and cast a strange

glamour upon her face. It only added to the strangeness of the picture

that she sat almost limp, rather than leaning forward in appeal. Bruce

looked at her in growing awe.

But as the second passed he seemed no longer able to see her plainly.

His eyes were misted and blurred, but they were empty of tears as

Linda's own. Rather the focal points of his brain had become seared by a

mounting flame within himself. The glow of the fire had seemingly spread

until it encompassed the whole wilderness world.

"What is the one thing that remains?" he asked her, whispering.

She answered with a strange, terrible coldness of tone. "The blood

atonement," she said between back-drawn lips.

X

When the minute hand of the watch in his pocket had made one more

circuit, both Bruce and Linda found themselves upon their feet. The

tension had broken at last. Her emotion had been curbed too long. It

broke from her in a flood.

She seized his hands, and he started at their touch. "Don't you

understand?" she cried. "You--you--you are Folger's son. You are the boy

that crept out--under this very tree--to find him dead. All my life

Elmira and I have prayed for you to come. And what are you going to do?"

Her face was drawn in the white light of the moon. For an instant he

seemed dazed.

"Do?" he repeated. "I don't know what I'm going to do."

"You don't!" she cried, in infinite scorn. "Are you just clay? Aren't

you a man? Haven't you got arms to strike with and eyes to see along a

rifle barrel? Are you a coward--and a weakling; one of your mother's

blood to run away? Haven't you anything to avenge? I thought you were a

mountain man--that all your years in cities couldn't take that quality

away from you! Haven't you any answer?"