To the Last Man

by Zane Grey

  CHAPTER VIII

  "Was shore thinkin' thet same," said the other man. "An', say, didn'tthet last shot sound too sharp fer Somers's forty-five?"

  "Come to think of it, I reckon it did," replied Greaves.

  "Wal, I'll go around over thar an' see."

  The dark form of the rustler slipped out of sight over the embankment.

  "Better go slow an' careful," warned Greaves. "An' only go closeenough to call Somers.... Mebbe thet damn half-breed Isbel is comin'some Injun on us."

  Jean heard the soft swish of footsteps through wet grass. Then all wasstill. He lay flat, with his cheek on the sand, and he had to lookahead and upward to make out the dark figure of Greaves on the bank.One way or another he meant to kill Greaves, and he had the will powerto resist the strongest gust of passion that had ever stormed hisbreast. If he arose and shot the rustler, that act would defeat hisplan of slipping on around upon the other outposts who were firing atthe cabins. Jean wanted to call softly to Greaves, "You're right aboutthe half-breed!" and then, as he wheeled aghast, to kill him as hemoved. But it suited Jean to risk leaping upon the man. Jean did notwaste time in trying to understand the strange, deadly instinct thatgripped him at the moment. But he realized then he had chosen the mostperilous plan to get rid of Greaves.

  Jean drew a long, deep breath and held it. He let go of his rifle. Herose, silently as a lifting shadow. He drew the bowie knife. Then withlight, swift bounds he glided up the bank. Greaves must have heard arustling--a soft, quick pad of moccasin, for he turned with a start.And that instant Jean's left arm darted like a striking snake roundGreaves's neck and closed tight and hard. With his right hand free,holding the knife, Jean might have ended the deadly business in justone move. But when his bared arm felt the hot, bulging neck somethingterrible burst out of the depths of him. To kill this enemy of hisfather's was not enough! Physical contact had unleashed the savagesoul of the Indian. Yet there was more, and as Jean gave the strainingbody a tremendous jerk backward, he felt the same strange thrill, thedark joy that he had known when his fist had smashed the face of SimmBruce. Greaves had leered--he had corroborated Bruce's vileinsinuation about Ellen Jorth. So it was more than hate that actuatedJean Isbel.

  Greaves was heavy and powerful. He whirled himself, feet first, overbackward, in a lunge like that of a lassoed steer. But Jean's holdheld. They rolled down the bank into the sandy ditch, and Jean landeduppermost, with his body at right angles with that of his adversary.

  "Greaves, your hunch was right," hissed Jean. "It's the half-breed....An' I'm goin' to cut you--first for Ellen Jorth--an' then for GastonIsbel!"

  Jean gazed down into the gleaming eyes. Then his right arm whipped thebig blade. It flashed. It fell. Low down, as far as Jean couldreach, it entered Greaves's body.

  All the heavy, muscular frame of Greaves seemed to contract and burst.His spring was that of an animal in terror and agony. It was sotremendous that it broke Jean's hold. Greaves let out a strangled yellthat cleared, swelling wildly, with a hideous mortal note. He wrestledfree. The big knife came out. Supple and swift, he got to his, knees.He had his gun out when Jean reached him again. Like a bear Jeanenveloped him. Greaves shot, but he could not raise the gun, nor twistit far enough. Then Jean, letting go with his right arm, swung thebowie. Greaves's strength went out in an awful, hoarse cry. His gunboomed again, then dropped from his hand. He swayed. Jean let go.And that enemy of the Isbels sank limply in the ditch. Jean's eyesroved for his rifle and caught the starlit gleam of it. Snatching itup, he leaped over the embankment and ran straight for the cabins.From all around yells of the Jorth faction attested to their excitementand fury.

  A fence loomed up gray in the obscurity. Jean vaulted it, dartedacross the lane into the shadow of the corral, and soon gained thefirst cabin. Here he leaned to regain his breath. His heart poundedhigh and seemed too large for his breast. The hot blood beat andsurged all over his body. Sweat poured off him. His teeth wereclenched tight as a vise, and it took effort on his part to open hismouth so he could breathe more freely and deeply. But these physicalsensations were as nothing compared to the tumult of his mind. Then theinstinct, the spell, let go its grip and he could think. He had avengedGuy, he had depleted the ranks of the Jorths, he had made good the bragof his father, all of which afforded him satisfaction. But thesethoughts were not accountable for all that he felt, especially for thebittersweet sting of the fact that death to the defiler of Ellen Jorthcould not efface the doubt, the regret which seemed to grow with thehours.

  Groping his way into the woodshed, he entered the kitchen and, callinglow, he went on into the main cabin.

  "Jean! Jean!" came his father's shaking voice.

  "Yes, I'm back," replied Jean.

  "Are--you--all right?"

  "Yes. I think I've got a bullet crease on my leg. I didn't know I hadit till now.... It's bleedin' a little. But it's nothin'."

  Jean heard soft steps and some one reached shaking hands for him. Theybelonged to his sister Ann. She embraced him. Jean felt the heave andthrob of her breast.

  "Why, Ann, I'm not hurt," he said, and held her close. "Now you liedown an' try to sleep."

  In the black darkness of the cabin Jean led her back to the corner andhis heart was full. Speech was difficult, because the very touch ofAnn's hands had made him divine that the success of his venture in nowise changed the plight of the women.

  "Wal, what happened out there?" demanded Blaisdell.

  "I got two of them," replied Jean. "That fellow who was shootin' fromthe ridge west. An' the other was Greaves."

  "Hah!" exclaimed his father.

  "Shore then it was Greaves yellin'," declared Blaisdell. "By God, Inever heard such yells! Whad 'd you do, Jean?"

  "I knifed him. You see, I'd planned to slip up on one after another.An' I didn't want to make noise. But I didn't get any farther thanGreaves."

  "Wal, I reckon that 'll end their shootin' in the dark," mutteredGaston Isbel. "We've got to be on the lookout for somethin'else--fire, most likely."

  The old rancher's surmise proved to be partially correct. Jorth'sfaction ceased the shooting. Nothing further was seen or heard fromthem. But this silence and apparent break in the siege were harder tobear than deliberate hostility. The long, dark hours dragged by. Themen took turns watching and resting, but none of them slept. At lastthe blackness paled and gray dawn stole out of the east. The sky turnedrose over the distant range and daylight came.

  The children awoke hungry and noisy, having slept away their fears. Thewomen took advantage of the quiet morning hour to get a hot breakfast.

  "Maybe they've gone away," suggested Guy Isbel's wife, peering out ofthe window. She had done that several times since daybreak. Jean sawher somber gaze search the pasture until it rested upon the dark, proneshape of her dead husband, lying face down in the grass. Her lookworried Jean.

  "No, Esther, they've not gone yet," replied Jean. "I've seen some ofthem out there at the edge of the brush."

  Blaisdell was optimistic. He said Jean's night work would have itseffect and that the Jorth contingent would not renew the siege verydeterminedly. It turned out, however, that Blaisdell was wrong.Directly after sunrise they began to pour volleys from four sides andfrom closer range. During the night Jorth's gang had thrown earthbanks and constructed log breastworks, from behind which they were nowfiring. Jean and his comrades could see the flashes of fire andstreaks of smoke to such good advantage that they began to return thevolleys.

  In half an hour the cabin was so full of smoke that Jean could not seethe womenfolk in their corner. The fierce attack then abated somewhat,and the firing became more intermittent, and therefore more carefullyaimed. A glancing bullet cut a furrow in Blaisdell's hoary head,making a painful, though not serious wound. It was Esther Isbel whostopped the flow of blood and bound Blaisdell's head, a task which sheperformed skillfully and without a tremor. The old Texan could not sitstill during this o
peration. Sight of the blood on his hands, which hetried to rub off, appeared to inflame him to a great degree.

  "Isbel, we got to go out thar," he kept repeating, "an' kill them all."

  "No, we're goin' to stay heah," replied Gaston Isbel. "Shore I'mlookin' for Blue an' Fredericks an' Gordon to open up out there. Theyought to be heah, an' if they are y'u shore can bet they've got thefight sized up."

  Isbel's hopes did not materialize. The shooting continued without anylull until about midday. Then the Jorth faction stopped.

  "Wal, now what's up?" queried Isbel. "Boys, hold your fire an' let'swait."

  Gradually the smoke wafted out of the windows and doors, until the roomwas once more clear. And at this juncture Esther Isbel came over totake another gaze out upon the meadows. Jean saw her suddenly startviolently, then stiffen, with a trembling hand outstretched.

  "Look!" she cried.

  "Esther, get back," ordered the old rancher. "Keep away from thatwindow."

  "What the hell!" muttered Blaisdell. "She sees somethin', or she'sgone dotty."

  Esther seemed turned to stone. "Look! The hogs have broken into thepasture! ... They'll eat Guy's body!"

  Everyone was frozen with horror at Esther's statement. Jean took aswift survey of the pasture. A bunch of big black hogs had indeedappeared on the scene and were rooting around in the grass not far fromwhere lay the bodies of Guy Isbel and Jacobs. This herd of hogsbelonged to the rancher and was allowed to run wild.

  "Jane, those hogs--" stammered Esther Isbel, to the wife of Jacobs."Come! Look! ... Do y'u know anythin' about hogs?"

  The woman ran to the window and looked out. She stiffened as hadEsther.

  "Dad, will those hogs--eat human flesh?" queried Jean, breathlessly.

  The old man stared out of the window. Surprise seemed to hold him. Acompletely unexpected situation had staggered him.

  "Jean--can you--can you shoot that far?" he asked, huskily.

  "To those hogs? No, it's out of range."

  "Then, by God, we've got to stay trapped in heah an' watch an awfulsight," ejaculated the old man, completely unnerved. "See that breakin the fence! ... Jorth's done that.... To let in the hogs!"

  "Aw, Isbel, it's not so bad as all that," remonstrated Blaisdell,wagging his bloody head. "Jorth wouldn't do such a hell-bent trick."

  "It's shore done."

  "Wal, mebbe the hogs won't find Guy an' Jacobs," returned Blaisdell,weakly. Plain it was that he only hoped for such a contingency andcertainly doubted it.

  "Look!" cried Esther Isbel, piercingly. "They're workin' straight upthe pasture!"

  Indeed, to Jean it appeared to be the fatal truth. He looked blankly,feeling a little sick. Ann Isbel came to peer out of the window andshe uttered a cry. Jacobs's wife stood mute, as if dazed.

  Blaisdell swore a mighty oath. "-- -- --! Isbel, we cain't stand heahan' watch them hogs eat our people!"

  "Wal, we'll have to. What else on earth can we do?"

  Esther turned to the men. She was white and cold, except her eyes,which resembled gray flames.

  "Somebody can run out there an' bury our dead men," she said.

  "Why, child, it'd be shore death. Y'u saw what happened to Guy an'Jacobs.... We've jest got to bear it. Shore nobody needn't lookout--an' see."

  Jean wondered if it would be possible to keep from watching. The thinghad a horrible fascination. The big hogs were rooting and tearing inthe grass, some of them lazy, others nimble, and all were graduallyworking closer and closer to the bodies. The leader, a huge, gauntboar, that had fared ill all his life in this barren country, wasscarcely fifty feet away from where Guy Isbel lay.

  "Ann, get me some of your clothes, an' a sunbonnet--quick," said Jean,forced out of his lethargy. "I'll run out there disguised. Maybe Ican go through with it."

  "No!" ordered his father, positively, and with dark face flaming. "Guyan' Jacobs are dead. We cain't help them now."

  "But, dad--" pleaded Jean. He had been wrought to a pitch by Esther'sblaze of passion, by the agony in the face of the other woman.

  "I tell y'u no!" thundered Gaston Isbel, flinging his arms wide.

  "I WILL GO!" cried Esther, her voice ringing.

  "You won't go alone!" instantly answered the wife of Jacobs, repeatingunconsciously the words her husband had spoken.

  "You stay right heah," shouted Gaston Isbel, hoarsely.

  "I'm goin'," replied Esther. "You've no hold over me. My husband isdead. No one can stop me. I'm goin' out there to drive those hogsaway an' bury him."

  "Esther, for Heaven's sake, listen," replied Isbel. "If y'u showyourself outside, Jorth an' his gang will kin y'u."

  "They may be mean, but no white men could be so low as that."

  Then they pleaded with her to give up her purpose. But in vain! Shepushed them back and ran out through the kitchen with Jacobs's wifefollowing her. Jean turned to the window in time to see both women runout into the lane. Jean looked fearfully, and listened for shots. Butonly a loud, "Haw! Haw!" came from the watchers outside. That coarselaugh relieved the tension in Jean's breast. Possibly the Jorths werenot as black as his father painted them. The two women entered an openshed and came forth with a shovel and spade.

  "Shore they've got to hurry," burst out Gaston Isbel.

  Shifting his gaze, Jean understood the import of his father's speech.The leader of the hogs had no doubt scented the bodies. Suddenly heespied them and broke into a trot.

  "Run, Esther, run!" yelled Jean, with all his might.

  That urged the women to flight. Jean began to shoot. The hog reachedthe body of Guy. Jean's shots did not reach nor frighten the beast.All the hogs now had caught a scent and went ambling toward theirleader. Esther and her companion passed swiftly out of sight behind acorral. Loud and piercingly, with some awful note, rang out theirscreams. The hogs appeared frightened. The leader lifted his longsnout, looked, and turned away. The others had halted. Then they,too, wheeled and ran off.

  All was silent then in the cabin and also outside wherever the Jorthfaction lay concealed. All eyes manifestly were fixed upon the bravewives. They spaded up the sod and dug a grave for Guy Isbel. For ashroud Esther wrapped him in her shawl. Then they buried him. Nextthey hurried to the side of Jacobs, who lay some yards away. They duga grave for him. Mrs. Jacobs took off her outer skirt to wrap roundhim. Then the two women labored hard to lift him and lower him. Jacobswas a heavy man. When he had been covered his widow knelt beside hisgrave. Esther went back to the other. But she remained standing anddid not look as if she prayed. Her aspect was tragic--that of a womanwho had lost father, mother, sisters, brother, and now her husband, inthis bloody Arizona land.

  The deed and the demeanor of these wives of the murdered men surelymust have shamed Jorth and his followers. They did not fire a shotduring the ordeal nor give any sign of their presence.

  Inside the cabin all were silent, too. Jean's eyes blurred so that hecontinually had to wipe them. Old Isbel made no effort to hide histears. Blaisdell nodded his shaggy head and swallowed hard. The womensat staring into space. The children, in round-eyed dismay, gazed fromone to the other of their elders.

  "Wal, they're comin' back," declared Isbel, in immense relief. "An' sohelp me--Jorth let them bury their daid!"

  The fact seemed to have been monstrously strange to Gaston Isbel. Whenthe women entered the old man said, brokenly: "I'm shore glad.... An' Ireckon I was wrong to oppose you ... an' wrong to say what I did abootJorth."

  No one had any chance to reply to Isbel, for the Jorth gang, as if tomake up for lost time and surcharged feelings of shame, renewed theattack with such a persistent and furious volleying that the defendersdid not risk a return shot. They all had to lie flat next to thelowest log in order to keep from being hit. Bullets rained in throughthe window. And all the clay between the logs low down was shot away.This fusillade lasted for more than an hour, then gradually the firediminished on one side and t
hen on the other until it became desultoryand finally ceased.

  "Ahuh! Shore they've shot their bolt," declared Gaston Isbel.

  "Wal, I doon't know aboot that," returned Blaisdell, "but they've shota hell of a lot of shells."

  "Listen," suddenly called Jean. "Somebody's yellin'."

  "Hey, Isbel!" came in loud, hoarse voice. "Let your women fight foryou."

  Gaston Isbel sat up with a start and his face turned livid. Jeanneeded no more to prove that the derisive voice from outside hadbelonged to Jorth. The old rancher lunged up to his full height andwith reckless disregard of life he rushed to the window. "Jorth," heroared, "I dare you to meet me--man to man!"

  This elicited no answer. Jean dragged his father away from the window.After that a waiting silence ensued, gradually less fraught withsuspense. Blaisdell started conversation by saying he believed thefight was over for that particular time. No one disputed him.Evidently Gaston Isbel was loath to believe it. Jean, however,watching at the back of the kitchen, eventually discovered that theJorth gang had lifted the siege. Jean saw them congregate at the edgeof the brush, somewhat lower down than they had been the day before. Ateam of mules, drawing a wagon, appeared on the road, and turned towardthe slope. Saddled horses were led down out of the junipers. Jean sawbodies, evidently of dead men, lifted into the wagon, to be hauled awaytoward the village. Seven mounted men, leading four riderless horses,rode out into the valley and followed the wagon.

  "Dad, they've gone," declared Jean. "We had the best of this fight....If only Guy an' Jacobs had listened!"

  The old man nodded moodily. He had aged considerably during these twotrying days. His hair was grayer. Now that the blaze and glow of thefight had passed he showed a subtle change, a fixed and morbid sadness,a resignation to a fate he had accepted.

  The ordinary routine of ranch life did not return for the Isbels.Blaisdell returned home to settle matters there, so that he coulddevote all his time to this feud. Gaston Isbel sat down to wait forthe members of his clan.

  The male members of the family kept guard in turn over the ranch thatnight. And another day dawned. It brought word from Blaisdell thatBlue, Fredericks, Gordon, and Colmor were all at his house, on the wayto join the Isbels. This news appeared greatly to rejuvenate GastonIsbel. But his enthusiasm did not last long. Impatient and moody byturns, he paced or moped around the cabin, always looking out,sometimes toward Blaisdell's ranch, but mostly toward Grass Valley.

  It struck Jean as singular that neither Esther Isbel nor Mrs. Jacobssuggested a reburial of their husbands. The two bereaved women did notask for assistance, but repaired to the pasture, and there spentseveral hours working over the graves. They raised mounds, which theysodded, and then placed stones at the heads and feet. Lastly, theyfenced in the graves.

  "I reckon I'll hitch up an' drive back home," said Mrs. Jacobs, whenshe returned to the cabin. "I've much to do an' plan. Probably I'llgo to my mother's home. She's old an' will be glad to have me."

  "If I had any place to go to I'd sure go," declared Esther Isbel,bitterly.

  Gaston Isbel heard this remark. He raised his face from his hands,evidently both nettled and hurt.

  "Esther, shore that's not kind," he said.

  The red-haired woman--for she did not appear to be a girl anymore--halted before his chair and gazed down at him, with a terribleflare of scorn in her gray eyes.

  "Gaston Isbel, all I've got to say to you is this," she retorted, withthe voice of a man. "Seein' that you an' Lee Jorth hate each other,why couldn't you act like men? ... You damned Texans, with your bloodyfeuds, draggin' in every relation, every friend to murder each other!That's not the way of Arizona men.... We've all got to suffer--an' wewomen be ruined for life--because YOU had differences with Jorth. Ifyou were half a man you'd go out an' kill him yourself, an' not leave alot of widows an' orphaned children!"

  Jean himself writhed under the lash of her scorn. Gaston Isbel turneda dead white. He could not answer her. He seemed stricken withmerciless truth. Slowly dropping his head, he remained motionless, apathetic and tragic figure; and he did not stir until the rapid beat ofhoofs denoted the approach of horsemen. Blaisdell appeared on hiswhite charger, leading a pack animal. And behind rode a group of men,all heavily armed, and likewise with packs.

  "Get down an' come in," was Isbel's greeting. "Bill--you look aftertheir packs. Better leave the hosses saddled."

  The booted and spurred riders trooped in, and their demeanor fittedtheir errand. Jean was acquainted with all of them. Fredericks was alanky Texan, the color of dust, and he had yellow, clear eyes, likethose of a hawk. His mother had been an Isbel. Gordon, too, wasrelated to Jean's family, though distantly. He resembled anindustrious miner more than a prosperous cattleman. Blue was the moststriking of the visitors, as he was the most noted. A little, shrunkengray-eyed man, with years of cowboy written all over him, he looked thequiet, easy, cool, and deadly Texan he was reputed to be. Blue's Texasrecord was shady, and was seldom alluded to, as unfavorable comment hadturned out to be hazardous. He was the only one of the group who didnot carry a rifle. But he packed two guns, a habit not often noted inTexans, and almost never in Arizonians.

  Colmor, Ann Isbel's fiance, was the youngest member of the clan, andthe one closest to Jean. His meeting with Ann affected Jeanpowerfully, and brought to a climax an idea that had been developing inJean's mind. His sister devotedly loved this lean-faced, keen-eyedArizonian; and it took no great insight to discover that Colmorreciprocated her affection. They were young. They had long life beforethem. It seemed to Jean a pity that Colmor should be drawn into thiswar. Jean watched them, as they conversed apart; and he saw Ann'shands creep up to Colmor's breast, and he saw her dark eyes, eloquent,hungry, fearful, lifted with queries her lips did not speak. Jeanstepped beside them, and laid an arm over both their shoulders.

  "Colmor, for Ann's sake you'd better back out of this Jorth-Isbelfight," he whispered.

  Colmor looked insulted. "But, Jean, it's Ann's father," he said. "I'malmost one of the family."

  "You're Ann's sweetheart, an', by Heaven, I say you oughtn't to go withus!" whispered Jean.

  "Go--with--you," faltered Ann.

  "Yes. Dad is goin' straight after Jorth. Can't you tell that? An'there 'll be one hell of a fight."

  Ann looked up into Colmor's face with all her soul in her eyes, but shedid not speak. Her look was noble. She yearned to guide him right,yet her lips were sealed. And Colmor betrayed the trouble of his soul.The code of men held him bound, and he could not break from it, thoughhe divined in that moment how truly it was wrong.

  "Jean, your dad started me in the cattle business," said Colmor,earnestly. "An' I'm doin' well now. An' when I asked him for Ann hesaid he'd be glad to have me in the family.... Well, when this talk offight come up, I asked your dad to let me go in on his side. Hewouldn't hear of it. But after a while, as the time passed an' he mademore enemies, he finally consented. I reckon he needs me now. An' Ican't back out, not even for Ann."

  "I would if I were you," replied jean, and knew that he lied.

  "Jean, I'm gamblin' to come out of the fight," said Colmor, with asmile. He had no morbid fears nor presentiments, such as troubled jean.

  "Why, sure--you stand as good a chance as anyone," rejoined Jean. "Itwasn't that I was worryin' about so much."

  "What was it, then?" asked Ann, steadily.

  "If Andrew DOES come through alive he'll have blood on his hands,"returned Jean, with passion. "He can't come through without it....I've begun to feel what it means to have killed my fellow men.... An'I'd rather your husband an' the father of your children never feltthat."

  Colmor did not take Jean as subtly as Ann did. She shrunk a little.Her dark eyes dilated. But Colmor showed nothing of her spiritualreaction. He was young. He had wild blood. He was loyal to theIsbels.

  "Jean, never worry about my conscience," he said, with a keen look."Nothin' would tickle me any more th
an to get a shot at every damn oneof the Jorths."

  That established Colmor's status in regard to the Jorth-Isbel feud.Jean had no more to say. He respected Ann's friend and felt poignantsorrow for Ann.

  Gaston Isbel called for meat and drink to be set on the table for hisguests. When his wishes had been complied with the women took thechildren into the adjoining cabin and shut the door.

  "Hah! Wal, we can eat an' talk now."

  First the newcomers wanted to hear particulars of what had happened.Blaisdell had told all he knew and had seen, but that was notsufficient. They plied Gaston Isbel with questions. Laboriously andponderously he rehearsed the experiences of the fight at the ranch,according to his impressions. Bill Isbel was exhorted to talk, but hehad of late manifested a sullen and taciturn disposition. In spite ofJean's vigilance Bill had continued to imbibe red liquor. Then Jean wascalled upon to relate all he had seen and done. It had been Jean'sintention to keep his mouth shut, first for his own sake and, secondly,because he did not like to talk of his deeds. But when thus appealedto by these somber-faced, intent-eyed men he divined that the morecarefully he described the cruelty and baseness of their enemies, andthe more vividly he presented his participation in the first fight ofthe feud the more strongly he would bind these friends to the Isbelcause. So he talked for an hour, beginning with his meeting withColter up on the Rim and ending with an account of his killing Greaves.His listeners sat through this long narrative with unabated interestand at the close they were leaning forward, breathless and tense.

  "Ah! So Greaves got his desserts at last," exclaimed Gordon.

  All the men around the table made comments, and the last, from Blue,was the one that struck Jean forcibly.

  "Shore thet was a strange an' a hell of a way to kill Greaves. Why'dyou do thet, Jean?"

  "I told you. I wanted to avoid noise an' I hoped to get more of them."

  Blue nodded his lean, eagle-like head and sat thoughtfully, as if notconvinced of anything save Jean's prowess. After a moment Blue spokeagain.

  "Then, goin' back to Jean's tellin' aboot trackin' rustled Cattle, I'vegot this to say. I've long suspected thet somebody livin' right heahin the valley has been drivin' off cattle an' dealin' with rustlers.An' now I'm shore of it."

  This speech did not elicit the amaze from Gaston Isbel that Jeanexpected it would.

  "You mean Greaves or some of his friends?"

  "No. They wasn't none of them in the cattle business, like we are.Shore we all knowed Greaves was crooked. But what I'm figgerin' isthet some so-called honest man in our settlement has been makin'crooked deals."

  Blue was a man of deeds rather than words, and so much strong speechfrom him, whom everybody knew to be remarkably reliable and keen, madea profound impression upon most of the Isbel faction. But, to Jean'ssurprise, his father did not rave. It was Blaisdell who supplied therage and invective. Bill Isbel, also, was strangely indifferent tothis new element in the condition of cattle dealing. Suddenly Jeancaught a vague flash of thought, as if he had intercepted the thoughtof another's mind, and he wondered--could his brother Bill knowanything about this crooked work alluded to by Blue? Dismissing theconjecture, Jean listened earnestly.

  "An' if it's true it shore makes this difference--we cain't blame allthe rustlin' on to Jorth," concluded Blue.

  "Wal, it's not true," declared Gaston Isbel, roughly. "Jorth an' hisHash Knife Gang are at the bottom of all the rustlin' in the valley foryears back. An' they've got to be wiped out!"

  "Isbel, I reckon we'd all feel better if we talk straight," repliedBlue, coolly. "I'm heah to stand by the Isbels. An' y'u know whatthet means. But I'm not heah to fight Jorth because he may be arustler. The others may have their own reasons, but mine is this--youonce stood by me in Texas when I was needin' friends. Wal, I'mstandin' by y'u now. Jorth is your enemy, an' so he is mine."

  Gaston Isbel bowed to this ultimatum, scarcely less agitated than whenEsther Isbel had denounced him. His rabid and morbid hate of Jorth hadeaten into his heart to take possession there, like the parasite thatbattened upon the life of its victim. Blue's steely voice, his cold,gray eyes, showed the unbiased truth of the man, as well as hisfidelity to his creed. Here again, but in a different manner, GastonIsbel had the fact flung at him that other men must suffer, perhapsdie, for his hate. And the very soul of the old rancher apparentlyrose in Passionate revolt against the blind, headlong, elementalstrength of his nature. So it seemed to Jean, who, in love and pitythat hourly grew, saw through his father. Was it too late? Alas!Gaston Isbel could never be turned back! Yet something was alteringhis brooding, fixed mind.

  "Wal," said Blaisdell, gruffly, "let's get down to business.... I'm forhavin' Blue be foreman of this heah outfit, an' all of us to do as hesays."

  Gaston Isbel opposed this selection and indeed resented it. He intendedto lead the Isbel faction.

  "All right, then. Give us a hunch what we're goin' to do," repliedBlaisdell.

  "We're goin' to ride off on Jorth's trail--an' one way or another--killhim--KILL HIM! ... I reckon that'll end the fight."

  What did old Isbel have in his mind? His listeners shook their heads.

  "No," asserted Blaisdell. "Killin' Jorth might be the end of yourdesires, Isbel, but it 'd never end our fight. We'll have gone toofar.... If we take Jorth's trail from heah it means we've got to wipeout that rustier gang, or stay to the last man."

  "Yes, by God!" exclaimed Fredericks.

  "Let's drink to thet!" said Blue. Strangely they turned to this Texasgunman, instinctively recognizing in him the brain and heart, and thepast deeds, that fitted him for the leadership of such a clan. Bluehad all in life to lose, and nothing to gain. Yet his spirit was suchthat he could not lean to all the possible gain of the future, andleave a debt unpaid. Then his voice, his look, his influence werethose of a fighter. They all drank with him, even Jean, who hatedliquor. And this act of drinking seemed the climax of the council.Preparations were at once begun for their departure on Jorth's trail.

  Jean took but little time for his own needs. A horse, a blanket, aknapsack of meat and bread, a canteen, and his weapons, with all theammunition he could pack, made up his outfit. He wore his buckskinsuit, leggings, and moccasins. Very soon the cavalcade was ready todepart. Jean tried not to watch Bill Isbel say good-by to hischildren, but it was impossible not to. Whatever Bill was, as a man,he was father of those children, and he loved them. How strange thatthe little ones seemed to realize the meaning of this good-by? Theywere grave, somber-eyed, pale up to the last moment, then they brokedown and wept. Did they sense that their father would never come back?Jean caught that dark, fatalistic presentiment. Bill Isbel's convulsedface showed that he also caught it. Jean did not see Bill say good-byto his wife. But he heard her. Old Gaston Isbel forgot to speak tothe children, or else could not. He never looked at them. And hisgood-by to Ann was as if he were only riding to the village for a day.Jean saw woman's love, woman's intuition, woman's grief in her eyes. Hecould not escape her. "Oh, Jean! oh, brother!" she whispered as sheenfolded him. "It's awful! It's wrong! Wrong! Wrong! ... Good-by!... If killing MUST be--see that y'u kill the Jorths! ... Good-by!"

  Even in Ann, gentle and mild, the Isbel blood spoke at the last. Jeangave Ann over to the pale-faced Colmor, who took her in his arms. ThenJean fled out to his horse. This cold-blooded devastation of a homewas almost more than he could bear. There was love here. What would beleft?

  Colmor was the last one to come out to the horses. He did not walkerect, nor as one whose sight was clear. Then, as the silent, tense,grim men mounted their horses, Bill Isbel's eldest child, the boy,appeared in the door. His little form seemed instinct with a forcevastly different from grief. His face was the face of an Isbel.

  "Daddy--kill 'em all!" he shouted, with a passion all the fiercer forits incongruity to the treble voice.

  So the poison had spread from father to son.