CHAPTER XV
GOLD HAIR
Those who are curious about the period which followed during which thetitle "Le Rouge" was forgotten and he became known only as "Red" Pierrethrough all the mountain-desert, can hear the tales of his doing fromthe analists of the ranges. This story has to do only with hisstruggle with McGurk, and must end where that struggle ended.
The gap of six years which occurs here is due to the fact that duringthat period McGurk vanished from the mountain-desert. He died awayfrom the eyes of men and in their minds he became that tradition whichlives still so vividly, the tradition of the pale face, the sneering,bloodless lips, and the hand which never failed.
During this lapse of time there were many who claimed that he hadridden off into some lonely haunt and died of the wound which hereceived from Pierre's bullet. A great majority, however, would neveraccept such a story, and even when the six years had rolled by theystill shook their heads and "had their doubt on the matter" like_Wouter Van Twiller_ of immortal memory.
They awaited his return just as certain stanch old Britons await thesecond coming of Arthur from the island of Avalon. In the mean timethe terror of his name passed on to him who had broken the "charm" ofMcGurk.
Not all that grim significance passed on to "Red" Pierre, indeed,because he never impressed the public imagination as did the terribleruthlessness of McGurk. At that he did enough to keep tongues wagging.
Cattlemen loved to tell those familiar exploits of the "two sheriffs,"or that "thousand-mile pursuit of Canby," with its half-tragic,half-humorous conclusion, or the "Sacking of Two Rivers," or the"three-cornered battle" against Rodriguez and Blond.
But men could not forget that in all his work there rode behind RedPierre six dauntless warriors of the mountain-desert, while McGurk hadbeen always a single hand against the world, a veritable lone wolf.
Whatever kept him away through those six years, the memory of the woundhe received at Gaffney's place never left McGurk, and now he was comingback with a single great purpose in his mind, and in his heart aconsuming hatred for Pierre and all the other of Boone's men.
Certainly if he had sensed the second coming of McGurk, Pierre wouldnot have ridden so jauntily through the hills this day, or whistled socarelessly, or swept the hills with such a complacent, lordly eye. Aman of mark cannot bear himself too modestly, and Pierre, from boots tohigh-peaked, broad-brimmed sombrero, was the last word in elegance fora rider of the mountain-desert.
Even his mount seemed to sense the pride of his master. It was acream-colored mustang, not one of the lump-headed, bony-hipped speciescommon to the ranges, but one of those rare reversions to the Spanishthoroughbreds from which the Western cow-pony is descended. The marewas not over-large, but the broad hips and generous expanse of chestwere hints, and only hints, of her strength and endurance. There wasthe speed of the blooded racer in her and the tirelessness of themustang.
Now, down the rocky, half broken trail she picked her way as daintilyas any debutante tiptoeing down a great stairway to the ballroom. Lifehad been easy for Mary since that thousand-mile struggle to overtakeCanby, and now her sides were sleek from good feeding and some casualtwenty miles a day, which was no more to her than a canter through thepark is to the city horse.
The eye which had been so red-stained and fierce during the long rideafter Canby was now bright and gentle. At every turn she pricked hersmall sharp ears as if she expected home and friends on the other sideof the curve. And now and again she tossed her head and glanced backat the master for a moment and then whinnied across some echoing ravine.
It was Mary's way of showing happiness, and her master's acknowledgmentwas to run his gloved left hand up through her mane and with hisungloved right, that tanned and agile hand, pat her shoulder lightly.
Passing to the end of the down-grade, they reached a slight upwardincline, and the mare, as if she had come to familiar ground, brokeinto a gallop, a matchless, swinging stride. Swerving to right and toleft among the great boulders, like a football player running a brokenfield, she increased the gallop to a racing pace.
That twisting course would have shaken an ordinary horseman to thetoes, but Pierre, swaying easily in the saddle, dropped the reins intothe crook of his left arm and rolled a cigarette in spite of the motionand the wind. It was a little feat, but it would have drawn applausefrom a circus crowd.
He spoke to the mare while he lighted a match and she dropped to aneasy canter, the pace which she could maintain from dawn to dark,eating up the gray miles of the mountain and the desert, and it wasthen that Red Pierre heard a gay voice singing in the distance.
His attitude changed at once. He caught a shorter grip on the reinsand swung forward a little in the saddle, while his right hand touchedthe butt of the revolver in its holster and made sure that it wasloose; for to those who hunt and are hunted every human voice in themountain-desert is an ominous token.
The mare, sensing the change of her master through that weirdtelegraphy which passed down the taut bridle reins, held her head highand flattened her short ears against her neck.
The song and the singer drew closer, and the vigilence of Pierre ceasedas he heard a mellow barytone ring out:
"They call me poor, yet I am rich In the touch of her golden hair, My heart is filled like a miser's hands With the red-gold of her hair. The sky I ride beneath all day Is the blue of her dear eyes; The only heaven I desire Is the blue of her dear eyes."
And here Dick Wilbur rode about the shoulder of a hill, broke off hissong at the sight of Pierre le Rouge, and shouted a welcome. They cametogether and continued their journey side by side. The half-dozenyears had hardly altered the blond, handsome face of Wilbur, and now,with the gladness of his singing still flushing his face, he seemedhardly more than a boy--younger, in fact, than Red Pierre, into whoseeyes there came now and then a grave sternness.
"After hearing that song," said Pierre smiling, "I feel as if I'dlistened to a portrait."
"Right!" said Wilbur, with unabated enthusiasm. "It's the bare andunadorned truth, Prince Pierre. My fine _Galahad_, if you came withineye-shot of her there'd be a small-sized hell raised."
"No. I'm immune there, you know."
"Nonsense. The beauty of a really lovely woman is like a fine perfume.It strikes right to a man's heart; there's no possibility ofresistance. I know. You, Pierre, act like a man already in love or aboy who has never known a woman. Which is it, Pierre?"
The other made a familiar gesture with those who knew him, a touchingof his left hand against his throat where the cross lay.
He said: "I suppose it seems like that to you."
"Like what? Dodging me, eh? Well, I never press the point, but I'dgive the worth of your horse, Pierre, to see you and Mary together."
Red Pierre started, and then frowned.
"Irritates you a little, eh? Well, a woman is like a spur to most men."
He added, with a momentary gloom: "God knows, I bear the marks of 'em."
He raised his head, as if he looked up in response to his thought.
"But there's a difference with this girl. I've named the quality ofher before--a fragrance, you know, that disarms a man, and like afragrance there's just a touch of melancholy about her and an appealthat follows after you when she's gone."
Pierre looked to his friend with some alarm, for there was a sayingamong the followers of Boone that a woman would be the downfall of bigDick Wilbur again, as a woman had been his downfall before. Thedifference would be that this fall must be his last.
And Wilbur went on: "She's Eastern, Pierre, and out here visiting thedaughter of old Barnes who owns about a thousand miles of range, youknow. How long will she be here? That's the question I'm trying toanswer for her. I met her riding over the hills--she was gallopingalong a ridge, and she rode her way right into my heart. Well, I'm afool, of course, but about this girl I can't be wrong. To-night I'mtaking her to a masquerade."
He pulled h
is horse to a full stop.
"Pierre, you have to come with me."