| OCR Text |
Show of bouse or clearing, but she followed bis gesture and nodded "Under the mountains?" she said. "At the foot of Thunder canyoa Tou can see a gap In the pines. There's a waterfall Just above that white streRk. Now you've got It Where you come from's to the south, away yonder." ' Joan would not turn her head. "Yes," said she, "I know." Suddenly tears rushed to her eyes. She had a moment of unbearable longing long-ing and regret. Pierre said nothing; he wag not watching her. "Come on," said he, "or your father will be takln1 after us." They rode at a gallop down the hill CHAPTER III Two Pictures In the Fire. I COPYRIGHT BY KATHABtNB NKWUH BUST. The period which followed had a quality of breathless, almost unearthly happiness. They were young, savage, simple, and their love, unanalysed, was as Joyous as the loves of animals : Joyous with that clear gravity characteristic charac-teristic of the boy and girl. Pierre had been terribly alone before Jon came, and the bnilding-up of his ranch trad occupied his mind day and night except now and again, for dreams. Yet he was of a passionate nature. Joan felt tn him sometimes a savage possibility possi-bility of violence. Two Incidents of this time biased themselves especially on her memory : the one. her fnther's SYNOPSIS Joan landls, eighteen year old, wife of Plerrs, la the daughter daugh-ter of John Carver, who murdered mur-dered hr mother for adultery. Her lonely life, with her father, In a Wyoming oabln, unbearable, Joan leavei him to work In a hotel Jn a nearby town. CHAPTER II Continued. . 2 If Joan had stayed long at Mrs. Upper's, she would have beeun best, a white silk handkerchief knot- ted under his chin, leather "chaps," bright spurs, a sombrero on his head. His face was grave, excited, wistful. At sight of Joan he moved forward, the pony trailing after him at the full length of its reins ; and, stopping before be-fore her, Pierre took off the sombrero, slowly stripped the gauntlet from jils right hand, and, pressing both hat and glove against his hip with the left hand, held out the free, clean palm to Joan. "Good-by," said he. "unless yonH be comin' with me after all?" rlslt, the other, an Irrelevant enough picture until after events threw bnck glare upon It. They had been at Pierre's ranch for 9 fortnight before John Carver found them. Then, one morning, as Pierre opened the door to go out to work, JoRn saw a thin, red pony tied to the fence and a small figure walking toward the cabin. "Pierre, it's father !" 6he said. And Pierre stopped In his tracks, drew himself up and waited, hands on his cartridge belt. How mean and old and furtive her father looked In contrast to this beautiful beau-tiful young husband I Joan was entirely en-tirely unafraid. She leaned against the side of the door and watched, as silent and nnconsulted as any squaw, while the two men settled their property prop-erty rights In her. "So you've took my gel," said John Carver, stopping a foot or two In ltably to model herself on Maud, who was, in her eyes, a marvelous thing of beauty. But, Just a week after her arrival, there came to the Inn Pierre Landls and for Joan began the strange and terrible history of love. In the lives of most women, of the vast majority, the clatter and clash Bl housewifery prelude and postlude the spring song of their years. And the rattle of dishes, of busy knives and forks, the quick tapping of Maud's attendant feet, the sound of young and ravenous Jaws at work: these ounds were In Joan's bewildered ears, and the sights which they accompanied accompa-nied in her bewildered eyes, Just before be-fore she heard Pierre's voice, Just before be-fore she saw his face. It was dinner hour at the hotel, an hour most dreadful to Joan because of the hurry, the strangeness and the trowd, because of the responsibility of her work, but chiefly because at that hour she expected the appearance of her father. Her eyes were often on the door. It opened to admit the young men, the riders and ranchers who hung up their hats, swaggered with a little Jingle of spurs to their chairs; clean-faced, clean-handed, wet-haired, wet-haired, and lifting to the faces of the waiting girls now and again their strange, young, brooding eyes, bold, laughing and afraid, hungry, pathetic, arrogant, as the eyes of young mpn Joan felt again that rush of fire to ' her brows. She took his hand and her : fingers closed around it like the frightened, fright-ened, lonely fingers of a little girl. She came near to him and looked up. "I'll be comin' with you, Pierre," she said, Just above her breath. He shot up a full inch, stiffened, searched her with smoldering eyes, then held her hard against him. "You'll not be sorry, Joan Carver," said he gently and put her away from him. Then, unsmiling, he bade her go in and get her belongings while he got her a horse and told his news to Mr. Upper. That ride was dreamlike to Joan. Pierre put her in her saddle and she rode after him across the Square and along a road flanked by the ugly houses of the town. ' "Where are we a-goln'T" she asked him timidly. He stopped at that, turned, and, resting his hand on the cantle of his saddle, smiled at her for the first time. "Don't you savvy the answer to that question, JoanT She shook her head. The smile faded. "We're goin' to be married," said he sternly, and they rode on. They were married by the Justice, a pleasant, silent fellow, who with western courtesy, asked no more ques front of Pierre, his eyes shifting up and down, one long hand fingering his lips. Pierre answered courteously. "Some man was bound to hev her. Mr. Carver, Car-ver, soon or late. You can't set your face ag'ln' the laws of nafur'. Will you be steppln' In? Joan will give you some breakfast." Carver paid no heed to the Invitation. Invita-tion. "Hev you married her?" said he. The blood rose to Pierre's brown face. "Sure I hev." are, tameless and untamable, but full j of the pathos of the untamed. ' Joan's i ' heart shook a little under their looks, but when Pierre lifted his eyes to her, her heart stood still. She had not seen them following her progress prog-ress around the room. He had come In Inte, and finding no place at the long, central table sat apart at a smaller one under a high, uncurtained window. By the time she met his eyes they were chnrged with light; smoky-blue smoky-blue eyes they were, the Iris heavily ringed with black, the pupils dilated a little. For the first time It occurred to Joan, looking down with a still heart Into his eyes, that a man might be beautiful. The blood came up from her heart to her face. Her eyes struggled away from his. "What's yer name, gel?" murmured Tlerre. "Joan Cnrvpr." 'Vim mm ii'ii fnm hfine?" He "Well, sir, you hev married the darter dar-ter of a" Carver used a brutal word. "Look out for her. If you see her eyes lookln' an' lookln' at another mnn, you kin know what's to come." Pierre whs white. "I've done with her. She kin never come to me fer bite or bed. Shoot her If you hev to, Pierre Landls, but when she's kotched at her mother's gnme don't send her hack to me. That's all I come to say." j He turned with limber agility and went hack to his horse. He was on it and off, galloping madly across the sagebrush Ant. Pierre turned and walked into the housp past Joan without with-out a word. She still leanpd acnlnst the door, but her head was bent. Presently she went about hpr housework. house-work. Every now and then she shot t wistful look at Pierre. All morning long he snt there, his hands hanging between his knees, his eyes full of a brooding trouble. At noon he snooK his head, got up, and, still without word or caress, he strode out and did not come back till dark. Joan suffered heartache and terror. When he came she ran Into his arms. He kissed her, seemed quite himself again, and the strange Interview was never mentioned men-tioned by either of them. They were silent people, given to feelings and to action rather than to thoughts and woros. The other memory was of a certain sunset hour when she enme at Pierre's call out to the shed he had built at one Ride of their cabin. Its open side faced the west, and as Jonn cume her shadow went before her and fell across Pierre at work. The flnme of (he west gave a weird pallor to the flumes over which he bent. He was whistling and hammering at a long piece of Iron. Jonn came and stood beside him. Suddenly he straightened up and held in the nlr a bar of metnl, the shaped end white hot. Jonn blinked. "That's our brand, gel," said Pierre. "Don't vnu ferglt It. When I've made my fortune there'll be stock all over the country marked with them two bars. That'll he fnmoua the Two-Bar Two-Bar brand. Don't you ferglt It, Joan." And he brought the while Iron close so that she felt Its heat on her face and drew back, flinching. He laughed, let It fall, nnd kissed her. Joan wns very glad and proud. (TO PK CONT1NTEO) too had heard of her. "Yes." "Will your father be tnkln' you back?" "I won't be goln' with him." She was about to pnss on. Pierre cast a swift look about the table bent heads and busy hands, eyes cast down, ears, he knew, alert. It was a land of few women and of many men. He must leave In the morning early and for months he would not be back. He put out a long, hard hand, caught Joan's wrist and gave It a queer, urgent shake, the gesture of an impatient and beseeching child. "Will you be comin home with me, . gel?" asked Pierre hurriedly. She looked at him, her lips apart, and she shook her bead. Maud's voice screamed at her from the kitchen door. Pierre let her go. She went on, very white. She did not sleep at all that night. Her father's face. Pierre's face, looked at her. In the morning Pierre would be gone. She had heard Maud sny that the "queer Landls feller would be makln' tracks back to that ranch of his acrost tho river." Yes, he would be gone. She might have been going with him. She felt the urgent pressure of his hand on her arm. In her heart. It shook her with such a longing for love, for all the unknown largesse of love, that she cried. The next morning, pale, she came down and went about her work. Pierre was not at breakfast, and she felt a sinking sink-ing of heart, though Bhe had not known that she had built upon seeing him again. Then, as she stepped out nt the back to empty a bucket, there he was! Not even the beauty of dawn could lend mystery to the hideous, littered yard, untidy ns the yards of frontier towns Invariably nro. to the board fence, to the trampled Iiiiif acre of dirt, known ns "The Square," and to the ugly frame buildings strangled about it; but It could nnd did give nn unearthly look of Moseednes to the bare, gi ay-brown butfes that rlncred the town and a glort to the sky. while upon Pierre, waiting at his pony's head, it shed s magical nnd tcndr light He was dressed In his cowboy's , "Will You Be Comin' Home With Me, Gel?" tlons than were absolutely needful, and In fifteen minutes Joan mounted her horse again, a ring on the third finger of her left hand. "Now," said Pierre, standing at her stirrup, his shining, smoke-blue eyes lifted to her, his hand on her boot, "you'll be wontln' some things some clothes?" "No," sold Jonn. "Maud went with me on' helped me buy things with my pay Just yesterday. I won't be needln' anything." "All right," said he. "We're off. then!" And he flung himself with a sudden wild, boyish "Whoopee!" on his pony, gave a clip to Joan's horse and his own, and away they galloped, a pair of young, wild things, out from the town through a straggling street to where the rood boldly stretched Itself toward a great land of sagebrush, sage-brush, of buttes humping their backs ngnlnst the brilliant sky. Down the valley they rode, trotting, walking, galloping, till, turning westward, they mounted n sharp slope and came up above the plain. Below, In the heart of the long, narrow valley, the river colled and wandered, divided and came together again Into a swift stream, nmongst aspen Islands and willow swamps. Beyond tills strung', lonely rivpr-hed the jcottonwoods began, be-gan, nnd, above them, the pine forests massed themselves nnd strode up tho foothills of the gigantic ramie, that ranK of Iron rocks, sharp, thin and brittle where they scraped the sky. At the top of the hill. Pierre put out his hand and pulled Joan's rein, drawing her to a stop beside him. "Over yonder's my ranch" said be. " Joan looked. There was not a sign |
