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Show THE BRANDING IRON p . tired, angry, he bad been drinking her Ignorance, her Inexperience led her to put little emphasis on the affects af-fects of the poison sold at the town saloon. When he was warm and fed and rested he would be quite himself agRln. She went about preparing a meal In spite of his words. He did not seem to notice this. lie had taken his eyes from her at last und was busy with the Are. She, too, busy and reassured by the familiar occupation, ceased to watch him. Her pulses were quiet now. She was even beginning to be glad of his return. Why had she been so frightened? Of course, after such a terrible journey alone In the bitter cold, he would look strange. Her father, when he came back smelling of liquor, had always been more than usually morose and unlike his every-day self. He would sit over the stove and tell her the story of his crime. They were nor- Set after thera fellers too soon. It's a country where you can easy come hy what you want, but where it ain't so easy to hold onto It. If it ain't yer land It's yer hosses; If it ain't rer hosses it's yer wife." He looked at Joan and laughed. Pierre went white and dumb; the chance shot had Inflamed his wound. He strapped on his snowshoes and bade a grlra good-by to Joan, after the man had left. "Don't you be wastln' oil while I'm away," he told her sharply, standing In the doorway, his head level with the steep wall of snow behind him, and he gave her a threatening look so that the tenderness tender-ness In her heart was froren. Aftor ha . Iini ... - rible home-comings, horrible evenings, but the next morning they would seem like dreams. Tomorrow this strangeness strange-ness of Pierre's would be mistake and unreal. "I seen your sin-buster In town," said Pierre. He was squatting on his heels over the fire which he had built up to a great blaze and glow and he spoke In a queer sing-song tone through his teeth. "He asked after you renl kind. He wanted to know By Katharine Ncwlin Burt' Copyright bjrKtharIn N.Burt . SYNOPSIS Jon Landls, eighteen years old, wife of Pierre. Is the daugh-tr daugh-tr of John Carver, who murdered mur-dered her mother for adultery Her lonely life, with her father' In a Wyoming cabin, unbearable Joan leaves him to work In a hotel In a nearby town. Joan meets Pierre, and the two, mutually mutu-ally attracted, are married. Carver Carv-er telle Pierre story of Joan's mother. Pierre forges a cattle brand. Frank Holllwell, young minister, present books to Joan. Pierre forbids her to read them. CHAPTER V-lContlnued. ,, "There's poetry this time," he said. Get Pierre to read It aloud to you." The suggestion was met by a rude laugh from Pierre. MI wouldn't be wastln' my time," he Jeered. It was the first rift In his courtesy. cour-tesy. Holllwell looked up In Bharp surprise. He saw a flash of the truth, a little wriggle of the green serpent In Pierre's eyes before they fell. He flushed and glanced at Joan. She wore an almost timorous air, accepted Ms remarks in silence, shot doubtful looks at Pierre before she answered questions, was an entirely different Joan. Now Holllwell was angry and he stiffened toward his host and hostess, host-ess, dropped all his talk about the books and smoked haughtily. He was young and over-sensitive, no more master of himself in this Instance than Pierre and Joan. But before he left after supper, refusing a bed, though Pierre conquered his dislike sufficiently sufficient-ly to urge It Holllwell had a moment with Joan. It was very touching. He would tell about It afterward, but for a long time he could not bear to remember It - She tried to return his books, coming com-ing with her arms full of them and lifting up eyes that were almost traslc with renunciation ucr utHii was irozen. After he had gone, "Pierre, gay a real good-by, say good-by," she whispered. whis-pered. Her face cramped and tears came. She heard his steps lightly crunching crunch-ing across the hard, bright surface of the snow; they entered Into the terrible ter-rible frozen silence. Then she turned from the door, dried her eyes with her sleeve like a little village girl, and ran across the room to a certain shelf. Pierre would be gone a week. She would not waste oil, but she would read. It was with the appetite of a starved creature that she fell upon her books. CHAPTER VI Pierre Takes 6teps to Preserve His Property. A log fell forward and Joan lifted her head. She had not come to an end of Isabella's tragedy nor of her own memories, but something other than the falling log had startled her; a light crunching step upon the snow. She looked toward the window. For an Instant the room was almost dark and the white night peered In at Her, its gigantic snow-peaks pressing against the long, horizontal window panes, and In that Instant she saw u face. Joan came to ber feet with pounding pulses. It had been Pierre's face, but at the same time the face of a stranger. He had come back how you was gettln on with the edlca-tlon edlca-tlon he's ben handln out to you. I tell him that you was right satisfied with me an' my ways an' hed quit his books. I didn't know as you was hevln' such a good time durln' my absence." Joan was cruelly hurt, nis words seemed to fall heavily upon her heart. "I wasn't hevln' a good time. I was mlssln you, Pierre," said she In a low tremolo of grieving music. "Thera books, they seemed like they was all the company I hed." "You looked like you was mlssln' me," he sneered. "The sin-buster an' I had words about you, Joan. Yes'm, he give me quite a line of preachtn' about you, Joan, as how you hed oughter develop yer own life In yer own way along the lines laid out by him. I told him as how I knewed best what was right an' flttln' fer my own wife; as how, with a mother like your'n you needed watchln more'n my own wife; as how, wltn a motner like your'n you needed watchln more'n learnln'; as how you belonged to me an' not to him. An', says he, Sht don't belong to any man, Pierre Lan-dls,' Lan-dls,' he said, 'neither to you nor to me. She belongs to her own self.' I'll see that she belongs to me,' I said. 'I'll fix her so she'U know It aa' every other feller will.' " At that he turned from the Are and straightened to his feet. Joan moved backward slowly to tha door. He had made no threatening sign or movement but her fear had 1 come overwhelmingly upon her and every Instinct urged her to flight But aha tnnchait that hanrila of the "I can't be taking time to read them, Mr. Holllwell," she said, that extraordinary, over-expressive voice of hers running an octave of regret; "an someway Pierre don't like that. I should spend my evenln's on them. 8eems like he thinks I was settln' myself my-self up to be knowln' more than him." She laughed ruefully. "Me knowln' more'n Pierre 1 It's laughable. But tfnyways I don't want him to be think-In' think-In' that So take the books, please. I like them." She paused. "I love them," she said hungrily, and blinking, blink-ing, thrust them Into his hands. He nnt them down on the table. five days too soon and something terrible ter-rible had happened. Surely his chancing chanc-ing to see her with her book would not make him look like that. Besides, she was not wasting oil. She had stood up, but at first she was Incapable of moving forward. For the first time In ber life she knew the paralysis of unreasoning fear. Then the door opened and Pierre came In out of the crystal night "What broughf you back so soonT" asked Joan. "Too soon for you, ehT" He strode over to the hearth where she had lain, took up the book, struck It with his UCl V V Dw ' door, he flung himself with deadly, swift force and silence across the room and took her In his arms. With ail her wonderful strength, Joan conld not break away from him. He dragged her back to the hearth, tied her elbows el-bows behind her with the scarf from his neck, that very scarf he had worn when the dawn had shed a wistful beuuty upon him, waiting for her on a morning not so very long ago. Joan went weak. "Pierre," she cried pitifully, "what are you a-goln to do to mef He roped her to the heavy post of a set of shelves built against the walL Then he stood away, breathing fast. "Now whose gel are you, Joan Carver?" he asked her. "Tou know I'm yours, Pierre," she sobbed. "You got no need to tie me to make me say that." "I got to tie you to make you do more'n say It. I got to make sure you are It. II 1-flre won't take the sure-ness sure-ness out of me after this." She turned her head, all that she could turn. He was bending over the Are, od when he straightened she saw thst he held something In his hand . . . a long bar of metal, white at the shaped en!. At once her memory showed her a broad glow of sunset falling over Pierre at work. "There'll "You're wrong, Joan," he said quickly. "You mustn't give In to such a foolish Idea. You have rights of your own, a life of your own. Pierre mustn't stand In the way of your learning. You mustn't let him. Til speak to him." "Oh, no I" Some Intuition warned her of the danger In his doing this. "Well, then, keep your books and talk to Pierre about them. Try to persuade per-suade him to read aloud to you. I shan't be back now till spring, but I want you to rend this winter, read all the stuff thnt's there. Come, Joan, to please me," and he smiled coai-lngly. coai-lngly. "I ain't afraid of Pierre," said Joan slowly. Her pride was stung by the suggestion. "I'll keep the books." She sighed. "Good by. When I see you In the Rprlng. I'll be a right learned schoolmnrm." She held out her hand and he took end held It pressing It In his own. He felt troubled about her, unwilling to leave her In the snowbound wilderness wilder-ness with that young savage of the smoldprlng eyes. "Good-by," said Pierre behind hlra. His soft voice had a click. Holllwell turned to him. "Good by, Landls. I shan't see either of you till the spring. I wish you a good winter and I hope" He broke off and held out his hand. "Well," snld he, "you're pretty far out of everybody's way here. Be good to each other." "D n your Interference I" said Pierre's yes, but he took the hand and even escorted Holllwell to his horse. Snow came early and deep that winter. win-ter. Pierre had cut and stacked his winter wood ; he had sent his cows to a richer man's ranch for winter feeding. feed-ing. There was very little for him to do. After he had brought In two buckets of water from the well and had cut for the day's consumption a piece of meat from his elk hanging outside against the wall, he had only to sit and smoke, to read old maga-tines maga-tines and papers and to watch Joan. Then the poisonous roots of his Jealousy Jeal-ousy struck deep. Always his brain, fai.oW Interoretlng her wistful silence She Turned Her Head, All That She Could Turn. hand as though It had been a hated face, and flung It Into the fire. "I seen you through the window," he said. "So you been happy readin' while I been away?" "PlI (ret you supper. I'll light the lamp," Joan stammered. Pierre's face was pa'e. hli D,ack nn,r lay In wet streaks on his temples. He must have traveled at furious speed through the bitter cold to be In such a sweat. There was a mysterious, controlled disorder In his look ami there arose from him the odor of strong drink. But he was steady and sure In all his movements and his eves were deadly cool and reason- be stock all over the country marked with thera two bars." he had said. "The Two-Par brand, don't you fer-git fer-git It !" She was not likely to forget It now. She shut her eyes. He stepped close to her and Jerked her blouse down from her shoulder. She writhed away from him, silent In her rage and fear and fighting dumbly. She made no appeal. At that moment her heart was so full of hatred that It was hardened hard-ened to pride. He lifted his brand and set It against the bare flesh of her shoulder. Then terribly she screamed. Again, when he took the metal away, ahe screamed. Afterward there was a dreadful silence. Joan had not lost consciousness. Joan naa not i"i ner healthy nerves stanchly received the angnlsh and the shock, nor did she make any further outcry. She pressed her forehead against the sharp edge of the shelf, she drove her nails Into her hands, and at Intervals she writhed from head to foot. Circles of pain spread from the deep burn i on her shoulder, spread and shrank. The bones of her shoulder and arm ached terrlblv; fire still seemed to be eating eat-ing into her flesh. The sir was full or the sm-ll of scorched skin so that she tasted It herself. And hotter than her hurt her heart horned, r..n-..i..lnK , own tender and l"-e and tru-t. (TO f'K CONTlNVn-' ) Bl,e only It was the reasonableness of Insanity, reasonableness based on the wldlest premises of unreason. "I don't want no supper, nor no light," he said. "Firelight's enough fer you to read parsons' books by ; It's enough fer me to do what I oughter done long afore tonight." She stood In the middle of the small, log-walled room, arrested In the act of llKhtlng a match, and stared at him with troubled eyes. She wns no longer afraid. After all, strnnK ns he looked, more strnnpely as he talked, he wns hr Pierre, her man. The confidence con-fidence of her heart had not been seriously seri-ously shaken by his coldness and his moods during this winter. There had boon I'mes of fierce, possessive tender-nous. tender-nous. She wns his own woman, his property; at this low counting did she rate herself. A sane man does no Injury In-jury to his own possessions. And Pierre, course, was suns. He was she was thinking of the parson, hungry hun-gry to read his books, longing for the open season and his coming again to the ranch. In December a man came In on snowshoes bringing "the mall" one letter for Pierre, a communication which brought heat to his face. The Forest service threatened him with a loss of land: It pointed to some flaw in his title; part of bis property, the most valuable part, had not yet been surveyed. . . . Pierre looked up with set Jaws, every fighting Instinct sharpened to hold whut was his own. "I hev put In two years' hard work or. them acres," he told his visitor, "an' I'm not plnnnln' to give them over to the first fool favored by the Service. Serv-ice. My title Is as clean as my hand. It'll take more'n thievery an' more'.i spite to take It sway from me." "You better go to Robinson," advised ad-vised the bearer of the letter; "can't |