by Max Brand
CHAPTER VIII
BELIEF
The girl tossed up her arms in a silent ecstasy, and Pierre caught thesmall cold hands and saw that she was only a child of twelve orfourteen, lovely as only a child can be, and still more beautiful withthe wild storm sweeping over her and the waste of snow around them.
He crouched lower still, and when he did so the strength of the windagainst his face decreased wonderfully, for the sharp angle of thehill's declivity protected them. Seeing him kneel there, helpless withwonder, she cried out with a little wail: "Help me--the tree--help me!"And, bursting into a passion of sobbing, she tugged her hands from hisand covered her face.
Pierre placed his shoulder under the trunk and lifted till the musclesof his back snapped and cracked. He could not budge the weight; hecould not even send a tremor through the mass of wood; He dropped backbeside her with a groan. He felt her eyes upon him; she had ceased hersobs, and looked steadily, gravely, into his face.
It would have been easy for him to meet that look on the morning ofthis day, but after that night's work in Morgantown he had to brace hisnerve mightily to withstand it.
She said: "You can't budge the tree?"
"Yes--in a minute; I will try again."
"You'll only hurt yourself for nothing. I saw how you strained at it."
The greatest miracle he had ever seen was her calm. Her eyes were wideand sorrowful indeed, but she was almost smiling up to him.
After a while he was able to say, in a faint, small voice: "Are youvery cold?"
She answered: "I'm not afraid. But if you stay longer with me, you mayfreeze. The snow and even the tree help to keep me almost warm; butyou will freeze. Go for help; hurry, and if you can, send it back tome."
He thought of the long miles back to Morgantown; no human being couldwalk that distance against this wind; not even a strong horse couldmake its way through the storm. If he went on with the wind, how longwould it be before he reached a house? Before him, over range afterrange of hills, he saw no single sign of a building. If he reachedsome such place it would be the same story as the trip to Morgantown;men simply could not beat a way against that wind.
Then a cold hand touched his, and he looked up to find her eyes graveand wide once more, and her lips half smiling, as if she strove todeceive him.
"There's no chance of bringing help?"
He merely stared hungrily at her, and the loveliest thing he had everseen was the play of golden hair beside her cheek. Her smile went out.She withdrew her hand, but she repeated:
"I'm not afraid. I'll simply grow numb and then fall asleep. But yougo on and save yourself."
Seeing him shake his head, she caught his hands again, and so stronglythat the chill of her touch filled his veins with an icy fire.
"I'll be unhappy. You'll make me so unhappy if you stay. Please go."
He raised the small, white hand and pressed it to his lips.
She said: "You are crying!"
"No, no!"
"There! I see the tears shining on my hand. What is your name?"
"Pierre."
"Pierre? I like that name. Pierre, to make me happy, will you go?Your face is all white and touched with a shadow of blue. It is thecold. Oh, won't you go?" Then she pleaded, finding him obdurate: "Ifyou won't go for me, then go for your father."
He raised his head with a sudden laughter, and, raising it, the windbeat into his face fiercely and the particles of snow whipped his skin.
"Dear Pierre, then for your mother?"
He bowed his head.
"Not for all the people who love you and wait for you now by some warmfire--some cozy fire, all yellow and bright?"
He took her hands and with them covered his eyes.
"Listen: I have no father; I have no mother."
"Pierre! Oh, Pierre, I'm sorry!"
"And for the rest of 'em, I've killed a man. The whole world hates me;the whole world's hunting me."
The small hands tugged away. He dared not raise his bowed andmiserable head for fear of her eyes. And then the hands came back tohim and touched his face.
She was saying tremulously: "Then he deserved to be killed. There mustbe men like that--almost. And I--like you still, Pierre."
"Really?"
"I almost think I like you more--because you could kill a man--and thenstay here for me."
"If you were a grown-up girl, do you know what I'd say?"
"Please tell me."
"That I could love you."
"Pierre--"
"Yes."
"My name is Mary Brown."
He repeated several times: "Mary."
"And if I were a grown-up girl, do you know what I would answer?"
"I don't dare guess it."
"That I could love you, Pierre, if you were a grown-up man."
"But I am."
"Not a really one."
And they both broke into laughter--happy laughter that died out beforea sound of rushing and of thunder, as a mass slid swiftly past them,snow and mud and sand and rubble. The wind fell away from them, andwhen Pierre looked up he saw that a great mass of tumbled rock and soilloomed above them.
The landslide had not touched them, by some miracle, but in a momentmore it might shake loose again, and all that mass of ton upon ton ofstone and loam would overwhelm them. The whole mass quaked andtrembled and trembled, and the very hillside shuddered beneath them.
She looked up and saw the coming ruin; but her cry was for him, notherself.
"Run, Pierre--you can save yourself."
With that terror threatening him from above, he rose and started to rundown the hill. A moan of woe followed him, and he stopped and turnedback, and fought his way through the wind until he was beside her oncemore.
She was wringing the white, cold hands and weeping:
"Pierre--I couldn't help it--but when you left me the whole world wentout, and my heart broke. I couldn't help calling out for you; but nowI'm strong again, and I won't have you stay. The whole mountain isshaking and falling toward us. Go now, Pierre, and I'll never make asound to bring you back."
He said: "Hush! I've something here which will keep us both safe.Look!"
He tore from the chain which held it at his throat the little metalcross, and held it high overhead, glimmering in the pallid light. Sheforgot her fear in wonder.
"I gambled with only one coin to lose, and I came out to-night withhundreds and hundreds of dollars because I had the cross. It is acharm against all danger and against all bad fortune. It has neverfailed me."
Over them the piled mass slid closer. The forehead of Pierre gleamedwith sweat, but a strong purpose made him talk on. At least he couldtake all the foreboding of death from the child, and when the end cameit would be swift and wipe them both out at one stroke. She clung tohim, eager to believe.
"I've closed my eyes so that I can believe."
"It has never failed me. It saved me once when I fought a big bobcatwith only a knife. It saved me again when I fought two men. Both ofthem were famous fighters, but neither of them had the cross. One ofthem I crippled and the other died. You see, the power of the cross isas great as that. Do you doubt it now, Mary?"
"Do you believe in it so much--really--Pierre?"
Each time there was a little lowering of her voice, a little pause andcaress in the tone as she uttered his name, and nothing in all his lifehad stirred Red Pierre so deeply with happiness and sorrow.
"Do you believe, Pierre?" she repeated.
He looked up and saw the shuddering mass of the landslide creeping uponthem inch by inch. In another moment it would loose itself with a rushand cover them.
"I believe," he said.
"If you should live, and I should die--"
"I would throw the cross away."
"No, you would keep it; and every time it touched cold against yourbreast you would think of me, Pierre, would you not?"
"When you reach out to me like that, you so
rt of take my heart betweenyour hands."
"And when you look at me like that I feel grown-up and sad and happyboth together. But, listen, Pierre, I know why I cannot die now. Godmeans us to be so happy together, doesn't He? Because after we've beentogether on such a night, how can we ever be apart again?"
The mass of the landslide toppled right above them. She did not seemto see.
"Of course we never can be."
"But we'll be like a brother and sister and something more."
"And something more, Mary."
She clapped her hands and laughed. The laughter hurt him more than hersobbing, for as she lay wrapped in her thick furs, even the pale, coldlight could not make her pallid.
The blowing hair was as warm as yellow sunshine to the heart of Pierrele Rouge, and the color of her cheeks was as dear to him as the earlyflowers of spring in the northland.
"I'm so happy, Pierre. I was never so happy."
And he said, with his eyes on the approaching ruin:
"It was your singing that brought me to you. Will you sing again?"
"I sang because I knew that when I sang the sound would carry fartherthrough the wind than if I called for help. What shall I sing for younow, Pierre?"
"What you sang when I came to you."
And the light, sweet voice rose easily through the sweep of the wind.She smiled as she sang, and the smile and music were all for Pierre, heknew, and all the pathos of the climax was for him; but through thelast stanza of the song the rumble of the approaching death grewlouder, and as she ended he threw himself beside her and gathered herinto protecting arms.
She cried: "Pierre! What is it?"
"I must keep you warm; the snow will eat away your strength."
"No; it's more than that. Tell me, Pierre! You don't trust the powerof the cross?"
"Are you afraid?"
"Oh, no; I'm not afraid, Pierre."
"If one life would be enough, I'd give mine a thousand times. Mary, weare to die."
A small arm slipped around his neck--a cold hand pressed against hischeek.
"Pierre."
"Yes."
The thunder broke above them with a mighty roaring.
"You have no fear."
"Mary, if I had died alone I would have dropped down to hell under mysins; but, with your arm around me, you'll take me with you. Hold meclose."
"With all my heart, Pierre. See--I'm not afraid. It is like going tosleep. What wonderful dreams we'll have!"
And then the black mass of the landslide swept upon them.
