The Branding Iron

  CHAPTER III

  TWO PICTURES IN THE FIRE

  The period which followed had a quality of breathless, almostunearthly happiness. They were young, savage, simple, and their love,unanalyzed, was as joyous as the loves of animals: joyous with thatclear gravity characteristic of the boy and girl. Pierre had beenterribly alone before Joan came, and the building-up of his ranch hadoccupied his mind day and night except, now and again, for dreams. Yethe was of a passionate nature. Joan felt in him sometimes a savagepossibility of violence. Two incidents of this time blazed themselvesespecially on her memory: the one, her father's visit, the other, anirrelevant enough picture until after events threw back a glare uponit.

  They had been at Pierre's ranch for a fortnight before John Carverfound them. Then, one morning, as Pierre opened the door to go out towork, Joan saw a thin, red pony tied to the fence and a small figurewalking toward the cabin.

  "Pierre, it's Father!" she 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 thisbeautiful young husband! Joan was entirely unafraid. She leanedagainst the side of the door and watched, as silent and unconsulted asany squaw, while the two men settled their property rights in her.

  "So you've took my gel," said John Carver, stopping a foot or two infront of Pierre, his eyes shifting up and down, one long handfingering his lips.

  Pierre answered courteously. "Some man was bound to hev her, Mr.Carver, soon or late. You can't set your face ag'in' the laws ofnatur'. Will you be steppin' in? Joan will give you some breakfast."

  Carver paid no heed to the invitation. "Hev you married her?" said he.

  The blood rose to Pierre's brown face. "Sure I hev."

  "Well, sir, you hev married the darter of a ----" Carver used abrutal word. "Look out fer her. If you see her eyes lookin' an'lookin' at another man, you kin know what's to come." Pierre waswhite. "I've done with her. She kin never come to me fer bite or bed.Shoot her if you hev to, Pierre Landis, but when she's kotched at hermother's game, don't send her back to me. That's all I come to say."

  He turned with limber agility and went back to his horse. He was on itand off, galloping madly across the sagebrush flat. Pierre turned andwalked into the house past Joan without a word.

  She still leaned against the door, but her head was bent.

  Presently she went about her housework. Every now and then she shot awistful look at Pierre. All morning long, he sat there, his handshanging between his knees, his eyes full of a brooding trouble. Atnoon he shook his head, got up, and, still without word or caress, hestrode out and did not come back till dark. Joan suffered heartacheand terror. When he came, she ran into his arms. He kissed her, seemedquite himself again, and the strange interview was never mentioned byeither of them. They were silent people, given to feelings and toaction rather than to thoughts and words.

  The other memory was of a certain sunset hour when she came atPierre's call out to the shed he had built at one side of their cabin.Its open side faced the west, and, as Joan came, her shadow wentbefore her and fell across Pierre at work. The flame of the west gavea weird pallor to the flames over which he bent. He was whistling, andhammering at a long piece of iron. Joan came and stood beside him.

  Suddenly he straightened up and held in the air a bar of metal, theshaped end white hot. Joan blinked.

  "That's our brand, gel," said Pierre. "Don't you fergit it. When I'vemade my fortune there'll be stock all over the country marked withthem two bars. That'll be famous--the Two-Bar Brand. Don't you fergitit, Joan."

  And he brought the white iron close so that she felt its heat on herface and drew back, flinching. He laughed, let it fall, and kissedher. Joan was very glad and proud.