To the Last Man

by Zane Grey

  CHAPTER IV

  Ellen Jorth hurried back into the forest, hotly resentful of theaccident that had thrown her in contact with an Isbel.

  Disgust filled her--disgust that she had been amiable to a member ofthe hated family that had ruined her father. The surprise of thismeeting did not come to her while she was under the spell of strongerfeeling. She walked under the trees, swiftly, with head erect, lookingstraight before her, and every step seemed a relief.

  Upon reaching camp, her attention was distracted from herself. Pepe,the Mexican boy, with the two shepherd dogs, was trying to drive sheepinto a closer bunch to save the lambs from coyotes. Ellen loved thefleecy, tottering little lambs, and at this season she hated all theprowling beast of the forest. From this time on for weeks the flockwould be besieged by wolves, lions, bears, the last of which were oftenbold and dangerous. The old grizzlies that killed the ewes to eat onlythe milk-bags were particularly dreaded by Ellen. She was a good shotwith a rifle, but had orders from her father to let the bears alone.Fortunately, such sheep-killing bears were but few, and were left to behunted by men from the ranch. Mexican sheep herders could not bedepended upon to protect their flocks from bears. Ellen helped Pepedrive in the stragglers, and she took several shots at coyotes skulkingalong the edge of the brush. The open glade in the forest wasfavorable for herding the sheep at night, and the dogs could bedepended upon to guard the flock, and in most cases to drive predatorybeasts away.

  After this task, which brought the time to sunset, Ellen had supper tocook and eat. Darkness came, and a cool night wind set in. Here andthere a lamb bleated plaintively. With her work done for the day,Ellen sat before a ruddy camp fire, and found her thoughts againcentering around the singular adventure that had befallen her.Disdainfully she strove to think of something else. But there wasnothing that could dispel the interest of her meeting with Jean Isbel.Thereupon she impatiently surrendered to it, and recalled every wordand action which she could remember. And in the process of thismeditation she came to an action of hers, recollection of which broughtthe blood tingling to her neck and cheeks, so unusually and burninglythat she covered them with her hands. "What did he think of me?" shemused, doubtfully. It did not matter what he thought, but she couldnot help wondering. And when she came to the memory of his kiss shesuffered more than the sensation of throbbing scarlet cheeks.Scornfully and bitterly she burst out, "Shore he couldn't have thoughtmuch good of me."

  The half hour following this reminiscence was far from being pleasant.Proud, passionate, strong-willed Ellen Jorth found herself a victim ofconflicting emotions. The event of the day was too close. She couldnot understand it. Disgust and disdain and scorn could not make thismeeting with Jean Isbel as if it had never been. Pride could notefface it from her mind. The more she reflected, the harder she triedto forget, the stronger grew a significance of interest. And when ahint of this dawned upon her consciousness she resented it so forciblythat she lost her temper, scattered the camp fire, and went into thelittle teepee tent to roll in her blankets.

  Thus settled snug and warm for the night, with a shepherd dog curled atthe opening of her tent, she shut her eyes and confidently bade sleepend her perplexities. But sleep did not come at her invitation. Shefound herself wide awake, keenly sensitive to the sputtering of thecamp fire, the tinkling of bells on the rams, the bleating of lambs,the sough of wind in the pines, and the hungry sharp bark of coyotesoff in the distance. Darkness was no respecter of her pride. Thelonesome night with its emphasis of solitude seemed to induce clamoringand strange thoughts, a confusing ensemble of all those that hadannoyed her during the daytime. Not for long hours did sheer wearinessbring her to slumber.

  Ellen awakened late and failed of her usual alacrity. Both Pepe andthe shepherd dog appeared to regard her with surprise and solicitude.Ellen's spirit was low this morning; her blood ran sluggishly; she hadto fight a mournful tendency to feel sorry for herself. And at firstshe was not very successful. There seemed to be some kind of pleasurein reveling in melancholy which her common sense told her had no reasonfor existence. But states of mind persisted in spite of common sense.

  "Pepe, when is Antonio comin' back?" she asked.

  The boy could not give her a satisfactory answer. Ellen had willinglytaken the sheep herder's place for a few days, but now she wasimpatient to go home. She looked down the green-and-brown aisles ofthe forest until she was tired. Antonio did not return. Ellen spentthe day with the sheep; and in the manifold task of caring for athousand new-born lambs she forgot herself. This day saw the end oflambing-time for that season. The forest resounded to a babel of baasand bleats. When night came she was glad to go to bed, for what withloss of sleep, and weariness she could scarcely keep her eyes open.

  The following morning she awakened early, bright, eager, expectant,full of bounding life, strangely aware of the beauty and sweetness ofthe scented forest, strangely conscious of some nameless stimulus toher feelings.

  Not long was Ellen in associating this new and delightful variety ofsensations with the fact that Jean Isbel had set to-day for his ride upto the Rim to see her. Ellen's joyousness fled; her smiles faded. Thespring morning lost its magic radiance.

  "Shore there's no sense in my lyin' to myself," she soliloquized,thoughtfully. "It's queer of me--feelin' glad aboot him--withoutknowin'. Lord! I must be lonesome! To be glad of seein' an Isbel,even if he is different!"

  Soberly she accepted the astounding reality. Her confidence died withher gayety; her vanity began to suffer. And she caught at heradmission that Jean Isbel was different; she resented it in amaze; sheridiculed it; she laughed at her naive confession. She could arrive atno conclusion other than that she was a weak-minded, fluctuating,inexplicable little fool.

  But for all that she found her mind had been made up for her, withoutconsent or desire, before her will had been consulted; and thatinevitably and unalterably she meant to see Jean Isbel again. Long shebattled with this strange decree. One moment she won a victory over,this new curious self, only to lose it the next. And at last out of herconflict there emerged a few convictions that left her with some shredsof pride. She hated all Isbels, she hated any Isbel, and particularlyshe hated Jean Isbel. She was only curious--intensely curious to seeif he would come back, and if he did come what he would do. She wantedonly to watch him from some covert. She would not go near him, not lethim see her or guess of her presence.

  Thus she assuaged her hurt vanity--thus she stifled her miserabledoubts.

  Long before the sun had begun to slant westward toward themid-afternoon Jean Isbel had set as a meeting time Ellen directed hersteps through the forest to the Rim. She felt ashamed of hereagerness. She had a guilty conscience that no strange thrills couldsilence. It would be fun to see him, to watch him, to let him wait forher, to fool him.

  Like an Indian, she chose the soft pine-needle mats to tread upon, andher light-moccasined feet left no trace. Like an Indian also she madea wide detour, and reached the Rim a quarter of a mile west of the spotwhere she had talked with Jean Isbel; and here, turning east, she tookcare to step on the bare stones. This was an adventure, seemingly thefirst she had ever had in her life. Assuredly she had never beforecome directly to the Rim without halting to look, to wonder, toworship. This time she scarcely glanced into the blue abyss. Allabsorbed was she in hiding her tracks. Not one chance in a thousandwould she risk. The Jorth pride burned even while the feminine side ofher dominated her actions. She had some difficult rocky points tocross, then windfalls to round, and at length reached the covert shedesired. A rugged yellow point of the Rim stood somewhat higher thanthe spot Ellen wanted to watch. A dense thicket of jack pines grew tothe very edge. It afforded an ambush that even the Indian eyes JeanIsbel was credited with could never penetrate. Moreover, if byaccident she made a noise and excited suspicion, she could retreatunobserved and hide in the huge rocks below the Rim, where a ferretcould not locate her.

  With her plan decided up
on, Ellen had nothing to do but wait, so sherepaired to the other side of the pine thicket and to the edge of theRim where she could watch and listen. She knew that long before shesaw Isbel she would hear his horse. It was altogether unlikely that hewould come on foot.

  "Shore, Ellen Jorth, y'u're a queer girl," she mused. "I reckon Iwasn't well acquainted with y'u."

  Beneath her yawned a wonderful deep canyon, rugged and rocky with butfew pines on the north slope, thick with dark green timber on the southslope. Yellow and gray crags, like turreted castles, stood up out ofthe sloping forest on the side opposite her. The trees were all sharp,spear pointed. Patches of light green aspens showed strikingly againstthe dense black. The great slope beneath Ellen was serrated withnarrow, deep gorges, almost canyons in themselves. Shadows alternatedwith clear bright spaces. The mile-wide mouth of the canyon openedupon the Basin, down into a world of wild timbered ranges and ravines,valleys and hills, that rolled and tumbled in dark-green waves to theSierra Anchas.

  But for once Ellen seemed singularly unresponsive to this panorama ofwildness and grandeur. Her ears were like those of a listening deer,and her eyes continually reverted to the open places along the Rim. Atfirst, in her excitement, time flew by. Gradually, however, as the sunmoved westward, she began to be restless. The soft thud of droppingpine cones, the rustling of squirrels up and down the shaggy-barkedspruces, the cracking of weathered bits of rock, these caught her keenears many times and brought her up erect and thrilling. Finally sheheard a sound which resembled that of an unshod hoof on stone.Stealthily then she took her rifle and slipped back through the pinethicket to the spot she had chosen. The little pines were so closetogether that she had to crawl between their trunks. The ground wascovered with a soft bed of pine needles, brown and fragrant. In herhurry she pricked her ungloved hand on a sharp pine cone and drew theblood. She sucked the tiny wound. "Shore I'm wonderin' if that's abad omen," she muttered, darkly thoughtful. Then she resumed hersinuous approach to the edge of the thicket, and presently reached it.

  Ellen lay flat a moment to recover her breath, then raised herself onher elbows. Through an opening in the fringe of buck brush she couldplainly see the promontory where she had stood with Jean Isbel, andalso the approaches by which he might come. Rather nervously sherealized that her covert was hardly more than a hundred feet from thepromontory. It was imperative that she be absolutely silent. Her eyessearched the openings along the Rim. The gray form of a deer crossedone of these, and she concluded it had made the sound she had heard.Then she lay down more comfortably and waited. Resolutely she held, asmuch as possible, to her sensorial perceptions. The meaning of EllenJorth lying in ambush just to see an Isbel was a conundrum she refusedto ponder in the present. She was doing it, and the physical act hadits fascination. Her ears, attuned to all the sounds of the lonelyforest, caught them and arranged them according to her knowledge ofwoodcraft.

  A long hour passed by. The sun had slanted to a point halfway betweenthe zenith and the horizon. Suddenly a thought confronted Ellen Jorth:"He's not comin'," she whispered. The instant that idea presenteditself she felt a blank sense of loss, a vague regret--something thatmust have been disappointment. Unprepared for this, she was held bysurprise for a moment, and then she was stunned. Her spirit, swift andrebellious, had no time to rise in her defense. She was a lonely,guilty, miserable girl, too weak for pride to uphold, too fluctuatingto know her real self. She stretched there, burying her face in thepine needles, digging her fingers into them, wanting nothing so much asthat they might hide her. The moment was incomprehensible to Ellen,and utterly intolerable. The sharp pine needles, piercing her wristsand cheeks, and her hot heaving breast, seemed to give her exquisiterelief.

  The shrill snort of a horse sounded near at hand. With a shock Ellen'sbody stiffened. Then she quivered a little and her feelings underwentswift change. Cautiously and noiselessly she raised herself upon herelbows and peeped through the opening in the brush. She saw a mantying a horse to a bush somewhat back from the Rim. Drawing a riflefrom its saddle sheath he threw it in the hollow of his arm and walkedto the edge of the precipice. He gazed away across the Basin andappeared lost in contemplation or thought. Then he turned to look backinto the forest, as if he expected some one.

  Ellen recognized the lithe figure, the dark face so like an Indian's.It was Isbel. He had come. Somehow his coming seemed wonderful andterrible. Ellen shook as she leaned on her elbows. Jean Isbel, trueto his word, in spite of her scorn, had come back to see her. The factseemed monstrous. He was an enemy of her father. Long had range rumorbeen bandied from lip to lip--old Gass Isbel had sent for his Indianson to fight the Jorths. Jean Isbel--son of a Texan--unerringshot--peerless tracker--a bad and dangerous man! Then there flashedover Ellen a burning thought--if it were true, if he was an enemy ofher father's, if a fight between Jorth and Isbel was inevitable, sheought to kill this Jean Isbel right there in his tracks as he boldlyand confidently waited for her. Fool he was to think she would come.Ellen sank down and dropped her head until the strange tremor of herarms ceased. That dark and grim flash of thought retreated. She hadnot come to murder a man from ambush, but only to watch him, to try tosee what he meant, what he thought, to allay a strange curiosity.

  After a while she looked again. Isbel was sitting on an upheavedsection of the Rim, in a comfortable position from which he could watchthe openings in the forest and gaze as well across the west curve ofthe Basin to the Mazatzals. He had composed himself to wait. He wasclad in a buckskin suit, rather new, and it certainly showed off toadvantage, compared with the ragged and soiled apparel Ellenremembered. He did not look so large. Ellen was used to the long,lean, rangy Arizonians and Texans. This man was built differently. Hehad the widest shoulders of any man she had ever seen, and they madehim appear rather short. But his lithe, powerful limbs proved he wasnot short. Whenever he moved the muscles rippled. His hands wereclasped round a knee--brown, sinewy hands, very broad, and fitting thethick muscular wrists. His collar was open, and he did not wear ascarf, as did the men Ellen knew. Then her intense curiosity at lastbrought her steady gaze to Jean Isbel's head and face. He wore a cap,evidently of some thin fur. His hair was straight and short, and incolor a dead raven black. His complexion was dark, clear tan, with notrace of red. He did not have the prominent cheek bones nor thehigh-bridged nose usual with white men who were part Indian. Still hehad the Indian look. Ellen caught that in the dark, intent, piercingeyes, in the wide, level, thoughtful brows, in the stern impassivenessof his smooth face. He had a straight, sharp-cut profile.

  Ellen whispered to herself: "I saw him right the other day. Only, I'dnot admit it.... The finest-lookin' man I ever saw in my life is adamned Isbel! Was that what I come out heah for?"

  She lowered herself once more and, folding her arms under her breast,she reclined comfortably on them, and searched out a smaller peepholefrom which she could spy upon Isbel. And as she watched him the newand perplexing side of her mind waxed busier. Why had he come back?What did he want of her? Acquaintance, friendship, was impossible forthem. He had been respectful, deferential toward her, in a way thathad strangely pleased, until the surprising moment when he had kissedher. That had only disrupted her rather dreamy pleasure in a situationshe had not experienced before. All the men she had met in this wildcountry were rough and bold; most of them had wanted to marry her, and,failing that, they had persisted in amorous attentions not particularlyflattering or honorable. They were a bad lot. And contact with themhad dulled some of her sensibilities. But this Jean Isbel had seemed agentleman. She struggled to be fair, trying to forget her antipathy,as much to understand herself as to give him due credit. True, he hadkissed her, crudely and forcibly. But that kiss had not been aninsult. Ellen's finer feeling forced her to believe this. Sheremembered the honest amaze and shame and contrition with which he hadfaced her, trying awkwardly to explain his bold act. Likewise sherecalled the subtle swift change in him at
her words, "Oh, I've beenkissed before!" She was glad she had said that. Still--was she glad,after all?

  She watched him. Every little while he shifted his gaze from the bluegulf beneath him to the forest. When he turned thus the sun shone onhis face and she caught the piercing gleam of his dark eyes. She saw,too, that he was listening. Watching and listening for her! Ellen hadto still a tumult within her. It made her feel very young, very shy,very strange. All the while she hated him because he manifestlyexpected her to come. Several times he rose and walked a little wayinto the woods. The last time he looked at the westering sun and shookhis head. His confidence had gone. Then he sat and gazed down intothe void. But Ellen knew he did not see anything there. He seemed animage carved in the stone of the Rim, and he gave Ellen a singularimpression of loneliness and sadness. Was he thinking of the miserablebattle his father had summoned him to lead--of what it would cost--ofits useless pain and hatred? Ellen seemed to divine his thoughts. Inthat moment she softened toward him, and in her soul quivered andstirred an intangible something that was like pain, that was too deepfor her understanding. But she felt sorry for an Isbel until the oldpride resurged. What if he admired her? She remembered his interest,the wonder and admiration, the growing light in his eyes. And it hadnot been repugnant to her until he disclosed his name. "What's in aname?" she mused, recalling poetry learned in her girlhood. "'A roseby any other name would smell as sweet'.... He's an Isbel--yet he mightbe splendid--noble.... Bah! he's not--and I'd hate him anyhow."

  All at once Ellen felt cold shivers steal over her. Isbel's piercinggaze was directed straight at her hiding place. Her heart stoppedbeating. If he discovered her there she felt that she would die ofshame. Then she became aware that a blue jay was screeching in a pineabove her, and a red squirrel somewhere near was chattering his shrillannoyance. These two denizens of the woods could be depended upon toespy the wariest hunter and make known his presence to their kind.Ellen had a moment of more than dread. This keen-eyed, keen-earedIndian might see right through her brushy covert, might hear thethrobbing of her heart. It relieved her immeasurably to see him turnaway and take to pacing the promontory, with his head bowed and hishands behind his back. He had stopped looking off into the forest.Presently he wheeled to the west, and by the light upon his face Ellensaw that the time was near sunset. Turkeys were beginning to gobbleback on the ridge.

  Isbel walked to his horse and appeared to be untying something from theback of his saddle. When he came back Ellen saw that he carried asmall package apparently wrapped in paper. With this under his arm hestrode off in the direction of Ellen's camp and soon disappeared in theforest.

  For a little while Ellen lay there in bewilderment. If she had madeconjectures before, they were now multiplied. Where was Jean Isbelgoing? Ellen sat up suddenly. "Well, shore this heah beats me," shesaid. "What did he have in that package? What was he goin' to do withit?"

  It took no little will power to hold her there when she wanted to stealafter him through the woods and find out what he meant. But hisreputation influenced even her and she refused to pit her cunning inthe forest against his. It would be better to wait until he returnedto his horse. Thus decided, she lay back again in her covert and gaveher mind over to pondering curiosity. Sooner than she expected sheespied Isbel approaching through the forest, empty handed. He had nottaken his rifle. Ellen averted her glance a moment and thrilled to seethe rifle leaning against a rock. Verily Jean Isbel had been farremoved from hostile intent that day. She watched him stride swiftlyup to his horse, untie the halter, and mount. Ellen had an impressionof his arrowlike straight figure, and sinuous grace and ease. Then helooked back at the promontory, as if to fix a picture of it in hismind, and rode away along the Rim. She watched him out of sight. Whatailed her? Something was wrong with her, but she recognized only relief.

  When Isbel had been gone long enough to assure Ellen that she mightsafely venture forth she crawled through the pine thicket to the Rim onthe other side of the point. The sun was setting behind the BlackRange, shedding a golden glory over the Basin. Westward the zigzag Rimreached like a streamer of fire into the sun. The vast promontoriesjutted out with blazing beacon lights upon their stone-walled faces.Deep down, the Basin was turning shadowy dark blue, going to sleep forthe night.

  Ellen bent swift steps toward her camp. Long shafts of gold precededher through the forest. Then they paled and vanished. The tips ofpines and spruces turned gold. A hoarse-voiced old turkey gobbler wasbooming his chug-a-lug from the highest ground, and the softer chick ofhen turkeys answered him. Ellen was almost breathless when shearrived. Two packs and a couple of lop-eared burros attested to thefact of Antonio's return. This was good news for Ellen. She heard thebleat of lambs and tinkle of bells coming nearer and nearer. And shewas glad to feel that if Isbel had visited her camp, most probably itwas during the absence of the herders.

  The instant she glanced into her tent she saw the package Isbel hadcarried. It lay on her bed. Ellen stared blankly. "The--theimpudence of him!" she ejaculated. Then she kicked the package out ofthe tent. Words and action seemed to liberate a dammed-up hot fury.She kicked the package again, and thought she would kick it into thesmoldering camp-fire. But somehow she stopped short of that. She leftthe thing there on the ground.

  Pepe and Antonio hove in sight, driving in the tumbling woolly flock.Ellen did not want them to see the package, so with contempt forherself, and somewhat lessening anger, she kicked it back into thetent. What was in it? She peeped inside the tent, devoured bycuriosity. Neat, well wrapped and tied packages like that were notoften seen in the Tonto Basin. Ellen decided she would wait untilafter supper, and at a favorable moment lay it unopened on the fire.What did she care what it contained? Manifestly it was a gift. Sheargued that she was highly incensed with this insolent Isbel who hadthe effrontery to approach her with some sort of present.

  It developed that the usually cheerful Antonio had returned taciturnand gloomy. All Ellen could get out of him was that the job of sheepherder had taken on hazards inimical to peace-loving Mexicans. He hadheard something he would not tell. Ellen helped prepare the supper andshe ate in silence. She had her own brooding troubles. Antoniopresently told her that her father had said she was not to start backhome after dark. After supper the herders repaired to their own tents,leaving Ellen the freedom of her camp-fire. Wherewith she secured thepackage and brought it forth to burn. Feminine curiosity rankledstrong in her breast. Yielding so far as to shake the parcel and pressit, and finally tear a corner off the paper, she saw some words writtenin lead pencil. Bending nearer the blaze, she read, "For my sisterAnn." Ellen gazed at the big, bold hand-writing, quite legible andfairly well done. Suddenly she tore the outside wrapper completelyoff. From printed words on the inside she gathered that the packagehad come from a store in San Francisco. "Reckon he fetched home a lotof presents for his folks--the kids--and his sister," muttered Ellen."That was nice of him. Whatever this is he shore meant it for sisterAnn.... Ann Isbel. Why, she must be that black-eyed girl I met andliked so well before I knew she was an Isbel.... His sister!"

  Whereupon for the second time Ellen deposited the fascinating packagein her tent. She could not burn it up just then. She had otheremotions besides scorn and hate. And memory of that soft-voiced,kind-hearted, beautiful Isbel girl checked her resentment. "I wonderif he is like his sister," she said, thoughtfully. It appeared to bean unfortunate thought. Jean Isbel certainly resembled his sister."Too bad they belong to the family that ruined dad."

  Ellen went to bed without opening the package or without burning it.And to her annoyance, whatever way she lay she appeared to touch thisstrange package. There was not much room in the little tent. Firstshe put it at her head beside her rifle, but when she turned over hercheek came in contact with it. Then she felt as if she had been stung.She moved it again, only to touch it presently with her hand. Next sheflung it to the bottom of her bed, where
it fell upon her feet, andwhatever way she moved them she could not escape the pressure of thisundesirable and mysterious gift.

  By and by she fell asleep, only to dream that the package was acaressing hand stealing about her, feeling for hers, and holding itwith soft, strong clasp. When she awoke she had the strangestsensation in her right palm. It was moist, throbbing, hot, and thefeel of it on her cheek was strangely thrilling and comforting. She layawake then. The night was dark and still. Only a low moan of wind inthe pines and the faint tinkle of a sheep bell broke the serenity. Shefelt very small and lonely lying there in the deep forest, and, try howshe would, it was impossible to think the same then as she did in theclear light of day. Resentment, pride, anger--these seemed abated now.If the events of the day had not changed her, they had at least broughtup softer and kinder memories and emotions than she had known for long.Nothing hurt and saddened her so much as to remember the gay, happydays of her childhood, her sweet mother, her, old home. Then herthought returned to Isbel and his gift. It had been years since anyonehad made her a gift. What could this one be? It did not matter. Thewonder was that Jean Isbel should bring it to her and that she could beperturbed by its presence. "He meant it for his sister and so hethought well of me," she said, in finality.

  Morning brought Ellen further vacillation. At length she rolled theobnoxious package inside her blankets, saying that she would wait untilshe got home and then consign it cheerfully to the flames. Antonio tiedher pack on a burro. She did not have a horse, and therefore had towalk the several miles, to her father's ranch.

  She set off at a brisk pace, leading the burro and carrying her rifle.And soon she was deep in the fragrant forest. The morning was clearand cool, with just enough frost to make the sunlit grass sparkle as ifwith diamonds. Ellen felt fresh, buoyant, singularly full of, life.Her youth would not be denied. It was pulsing, yearning. She hummedan old Southern tune and every step seemed one of pleasure in action,of advance toward some intangible future happiness. All the unknown oflife before her called. Her heart beat high in her breast and shewalked as one in a dream. Her thoughts were swift-changing, intimate,deep, and vague, not of yesterday or to-day, nor of reality.

  The big, gray, white-tailed squirrels crossed ahead of her on thetrail, scampered over the piny ground to hop on tree trunks, and therethey paused to watch her pass. The vociferous little red squirrelsbarked and chattered at her. From every thicket sounded the gobble ofturkeys. The blue jays squalled in the tree tops. A deer lifted itshead from browsing and stood motionless, with long ears erect, watchingher go by.

  Thus happily and dreamily absorbed, Ellen covered the forest miles andsoon reached the trail that led down into the wild brakes of ChevelonCanyon. It was rough going and less conducive to sweet wanderings ofmind. Ellen slowly lost them. And then a familiar feeling assailedher, one she never failed to have upon returning to her father'sranch--a reluctance, a bitter dissatisfaction with her home, a loyalstruggle against the vague sense that all was not as it should be.

  At the head of this canyon in a little, level, grassy meadow stood arude one-room log shack, with a leaning red-stone chimney on theoutside. This was the abode of a strange old man who had long livedthere. His name was John Sprague and his occupation was raisingburros. No sheep or cattle or horses did he own, not even a dog.Rumor had said Sprague was a prospector, one of the many who hadsearched that country for the Lost Dutchman gold mine. Sprague knewmore about the Basin and Rim than any of the sheepmen or ranchers.From Black Butte to the Cibique and from Chevelon Butte to Reno Pass heknew every trail, canyon, ridge, and spring, and could find his way tothem on the darkest night. His fame, however, depended mostly upon thefact that he did nothing but raise burros, and would raise none butblack burros with white faces. These burros were the finest bred in allthe Basin and were in great demand. Sprague sold a few every year. Hehad made a present of one to Ellen, although he hated to part withthem. This old man was Ellen's one and only friend.

  Upon her trip out to the Rim with the sheep, Uncle John, as Ellencalled him, had been away on one of his infrequent visits to GrassValley. It pleased her now to see a blue column of smoke lazilylifting from the old chimney and to hear the discordant bray of burros.As she entered the clearing Sprague saw her from the door of his shack.

  "Hello, Uncle John!" she called.

  "Wal, if it ain't Ellen!" he replied, heartily. "When I seen thetwhite-faced jinny I knowed who was leadin' her. Where you been, girl?"

  Sprague was a little, stoop-shouldered old man, with grizzled head andface, and shrewd gray eyes that beamed kindly on her over his ruddycheeks. Ellen did not like the tobacco stain on his grizzled beard northe dirty, motley, ragged, ill-smelling garb he wore, but she hadceased her useless attempts to make him more cleanly.

  "I've been herdin' sheep," replied Ellen. "And where have y'u been,uncle? I missed y'u on the way over."

  "Been packin' in some grub. An' I reckon I stayed longer in GrassValley than I recollect. But thet was only natural, considerin'--"

  "What?" asked Ellen, bluntly, as the old man paused.

  Sprague took a black pipe out of his vest pocket and began rimming thebowl with his fingers. The glance he bent on Ellen was thoughtful andearnest, and so kind that she feared it was pity. Ellen suddenlyburned for news from the village.

  "Wal, come in an' set down, won't you?" he asked.

  "No, thanks," replied Ellen, and she took a seat on the chopping block."Tell me, uncle, what's goin' on down in the Valley?"

  "Nothin' much yet--except talk. An' there's a heap of thet."

  "Humph! There always was talk," declared Ellen, contemptuously. "Anasty, gossipy, catty hole, that Grass Valley!"

  "Ellen, thar's goin' to be war--a bloody war in the ole Tonto Basin,"went on Sprague, seriously.

  "War! ... Between whom?"

  "The Isbels an' their enemies. I reckon most people down thar, an'sure all the cattlemen, air on old Gass's side. Blaisdell, Gordon,Fredericks, Blue--they'll all be in it."

  "Who are they goin' to fight?" queried Ellen, sharply.

  "Wal, the open talk is thet the sheepmen are forcin' this war. Butthar's talk not so open, an' I reckon not very healthy for any man towhisper hyarbouts."

  "Uncle John, y'u needn't be afraid to tell me anythin'," said Ellen."I'd never give y'u away. Y'u've been a good friend to me."

  "Reckon I want to be, Ellen," he returned, nodding his shaggy head. "Itain't easy to be fond of you as I am an' keep my mouth shet.... I'dlike to know somethin'. Hev you any relatives away from hyar thet youcould go to till this fight's over?"

  "No. All I have, so far as I know, are right heah."

  "How aboot friends?"

  "Uncle John, I have none," she said, sadly, with bowed head.

  "Wal, wal, I'm sorry. I was hopin' you might git away."

  She lifted her face. "Shore y'u don't think I'd run off if my dad gotin a fight?" she flashed.

  "I hope you will."

  "I'm a Jorth," she said, darkly, and dropped her head again.

  Sprague nodded gloomily. Evidently he was perplexed and worried, andstrongly swayed by affection for her.

  "Would you go away with me?" he asked. "We could pack over to theMazatzals an' live thar till this blows over."

  "Thank y'u, Uncle John. Y'u're kind and good. But I'll stay with myfather. His troubles are mine."

  "Ahuh! ... Wal, I might hev reckoned so.... Ellen, how do you stand onthis hyar sheep an' cattle question?"

  "I think what's fair for one is fair for another. I don't like sheepas much as I like cattle. But that's not the point. The range isfree. Suppose y'u had cattle and I had sheep. I'd feel as free to runmy sheep anywhere as y'u were to ran your cattle."

  "Right. But what if you throwed your sheep round my range an' sheepedoff the grass so my cattle would hev to move or starve?"

  "Shore I wouldn't throw my sheep round y'ur range," she declared,stoutly.

  "Wal, y
ou've answered half of the question. An' now supposin' a lot ofmy cattle was stolen by rustlers, but not a single one of your sheep.What 'd you think then?"

  "I'd shore think rustlers chose to steal cattle because there was noprofit in stealin' sheep."

  "Egzactly. But wouldn't you hev a queer idee aboot it?"

  "I don't know. Why queer? What 're y'u drivin' at, Uncle John?"

  "Wal, wouldn't you git kind of a hunch thet the rustlers was--say aleetle friendly toward the sheepmen?"

  Ellen felt a sudden vibrating shock. The blood rushed to her temples.Trembling all over, she rose.

  "Uncle John!" she cried.

  "Now, girl, you needn't fire up thet way. Set down an' don't--"

  "Dare y'u insinuate my father has--"

  "Ellen, I ain't insinuatin' nothin'," interrupted the old man. "I'mjest askin' you to think. Thet's all. You're 'most grown into a youngwoman now. An' you've got sense. Thar's bad times ahead, Ellen. An' Ihate to see you mix in them."

  "Oh, y'u do make me think," replied Ellen, with smarting tears in hereyes. "Y'u make me unhappy. Oh, I know my dad is not liked in thiscattle country. But it's unjust. He happened to go in for sheepraising. I wish he hadn't. It was a mistake. Dad always was acattleman till we came heah. He made enemies--who--who ruined him. Andeverywhere misfortune crossed his trail.... But, oh, Uncle John, my dadis an honest man."

  "Wal, child, I--I didn't mean to--to make you cry," said the old man,feelingly, and he averted his troubled gaze. "Never mind what I said.I'm an old meddler. I reckon nothin' I could do or say would everchange what's goin' to happen. If only you wasn't a girl! ... Thar Igo ag'in. Ellen, face your future an' fight your way. All youngstershev to do thet. An' it's the right kind of fight thet makes the rightkind of man or woman. Only you must be sure to find yourself. An' bythet I mean to find the real, true, honest-to-God best in you an' stickto it an' die fightin' for it. You're a young woman, almost, an' ablamed handsome one. Which means you'll hev more trouble an' a harderfight. This country ain't easy on a woman when once slander has markedher.

  "What do I care for the talk down in that Basin?" returned Ellen. "Iknow they think I'm a hussy. I've let them think it. I've helped themto."

  "You're wrong, child," said Sprague, earnestly. "Pride an' temper! Youmust never let anyone think bad of you, much less help them to."

  "I hate everybody down there," cried Ellen, passionately. "I hate themso I'd glory in their thinkin' me bad.... My mother belonged to thebest blood in Texas. I am her daughter. I know WHO AND WHAT I AM.That uplifts me whenever I meet the sneaky, sly suspicions of theseBasin people. It shows me the difference between them and me. That'swhat I glory in."

  "Ellen, you're a wild, headstrong child," rejoined the old man, insevere tones. "Word has been passed ag'in' your good name--yourhonor.... An' hevn't you given cause fer thet?"

  Ellen felt her face blanch and all her blood rush back to her heart insickening force. The shock of his words was like a stab from a coldblade. If their meaning and the stem, just light of the old man'sglance did not kill her pride and vanity they surely killed hergirlishness. She stood mute, staring at him, with her brown, tremblinghands stealing up toward her bosom, as if to ward off another and amortal blow.

  "Ellen!" burst out Sprague, hoarsely. "You mistook me. Aw, I didn'tmean--what you think, I swear.... Ellen, I'm old an' blunt. I ain'tused to wimmen. But I've love for you, child, an' respect, jest thesame as if you was my own.... An' I KNOW you're good.... Forgive me....I meant only hevn't you been, say, sort of--careless?"

  "Care-less?" queried Ellen, bitterly and low.

  "An' powerful thoughtless an'--an' blind--lettin' men kiss you an'fondle you--when you're really a growed-up woman now?"

  "Yes--I have," whispered Ellen.

  "Wal, then, why did you let them?

  "I--I don't know.... I didn't think. The men never let mealone--never--never! I got tired everlastingly pushin' them away. Andsometimes--when they were kind--and I was lonely for something I--Ididn't mind if one or another fooled round me. I never thought. Itnever looked as y'u have made it look.... Then--those few times ridin'the trail to Grass Valley--when people saw me--then I guess Iencouraged such attentions.... Oh, I must be--I am a shameless littlehussy!"

  "Hush thet kind of talk," said the old man, as he took her hand."Ellen, you're only young an' lonely an' bitter. No mother--nofriends--no one but a lot of rough men! It's a wonder you hev keptyourself good. But now your eyes are open, Ellen. They're brave an'beautiful eyes, girl, an' if you stand by the light in them you willcome through any trouble. An' you'll be happy. Don't ever forgitthat. Life is hard enough, God knows, but it's unfailin' true in theend to the man or woman who finds the best in them an' stands by it."

  "Uncle John, y'u talk so--so kindly. Yu make me have hope. Thereseemed really so little for me to live for--hope for.... But I'll neverbe a coward again--nor a thoughtless fool. I'll find some good inme--or make some--and never fail it, come what will. I'll rememberyour words. I'll believe the future holds wonderful things for me....I'm only eighteen. Shore all my life won't be lived heah. Perhapsthis threatened fight over sheep and cattle will blow over....Somewhere there must be some nice girl to be a friend--a sister tome.... And maybe some man who'd believe, in spite of all they say--thatI'm not a hussy."

  "Wal, Ellen, you remind me of what I was wantin' to tell you when youjust got here.... Yestiddy I heerd you called thet name in a barroom.An' thar was a fellar thar who raised hell. He near killed one man an'made another plumb eat his words. An' he scared thet crowd stiff."

  Old John Sprague shook his grizzled head and laughed, beaming uponEllen as if the memory of what he had seen had warmed his heart.

  "Was it--y'u?" asked Ellen, tremulously.

  "Me? Aw, I wasn't nowhere. Ellen, this fellar was quick as a cat inhis actions an' his words was like lightnin'.'

  "Who? she whispered.

  "Wal, no one else but a stranger jest come to these parts--an Isbel,too. Jean Isbel."

  "Oh!" exclaimed Ellen, faintly.

  "In a barroom full of men--almost all of them in sympathy with thesheep crowd--most of them on the Jorth side--this Jean Isbel resentedan insult to Ellen Jorth."

  "No!" cried Ellen. Something terrible was happening to her mind or herheart.

  "Wal, he sure did," replied the old man, "an' it's goin' to be good feryou to hear all about it."