by Max Brand
CHAPTER XXII
THE OVERTONE
When a crowd gathers in the street, there rises a babel of voices, aconfused and pointless clamor, no matter what the purpose of thegathering, until some man who can think as well as shout begins tospeak. Then the crowd murmurs a moment, and after a few secondscomposes itself to listen.
So it was with the noise in the hall when Pierre and Jacqueline beganto dance. First there were smiles of derision and envy around them,but after a moment a little hush came where they moved, and then menbegan to note the smile of the girl and the whiteness of that roundthroat, and the grace of the bare, tapering arms.
So a whisper went around the room, and there began a craning of necksand an exchange of nods. All that crowd became in a moment no morethan the chorus which fills the background of the stage when theprincipals step out from the wings.
They could not help but dance well, for they had youth and grace andstrength, and the glances of applause and envy were like wine toquicken their blood, while above all they caught the overtone of thesinging violins, and danced by that alone. The music ended with a longflourish just as they whirled to a stop in a corner of the room. Atonce an eddy of men started toward them.
"Who shall it be?" smiled Pierre. "With whom do you want to dance?It's your triumph, Jack."
She was alight and alive with the victory, and her eyes roved over thecrowd.
"The big man with the tawny hair."
"But he's making right past us."
"No; he'll turn and come back."
"How do you know?"
For answer she glanced up and laughed, and he realized with a singularsense of loneliness that she knew many things which were beyond hisken. Some one touched his arm, and a voice, many voices, beset him:
"How's the chances for a dance with the girl, partner?"
"My name's McCormack. Riley? Glad to know you. I've got a flask onthe hip, Riley; what's the chance of making a trade on this next dance?"
"How do we swap partners? Mine is the rangy girl with the red topknot.Not much on looks, Bill, but a cayuse don't cover ground on his looks.Dance? Say, Bill, she'll rock you to sleep!"
"This dance is already booked," Pierre answered, and kept his eyes onthe tall man with the scarred face and the resolute jaw. He wonderedprofoundly why Jacqueline had chosen such a partner.
At least she had prophesied correctly, for the big man turned towardthem just as he seemed about to head for another part of the hall. Thecrowd gave way before him, not that he shouldered them aside, but theyseemed to feel the coming of his shadow before him, and separated asthey would have done before the shadow of a falling tree.
In another moment Pierre found himself looking up to the giant. Nomask could disguise him, neither cover that long, twisting mark ofwhite down his cheek, nor hide the square set of the jaw, nor dim thekeen steady eyes. Upon him there was written at large: "This is a man."
And there came to Pierre an exceedingly great uneasiness in his righthand, and a twitching of the fingers low down on his thigh where thefamiliar holster should have hung. His left hand rose, following theold instinct, and touched beneath his throat where the cold cross lay.
He was saying easily: "This is your dance, isn't it?"
"Right, Bud," answered the big man in a mellow voice as great as hissize. "Sorry I can't swap partners with you, but I hunt alone."
An overwhelming desire to get a distance between himself and this hugeunknown came to Pierre.
He said: "There goes the music. You're off."
And the other, moving toward Jack, leaned down a little and murmured atthe ear of the outlaw: "Thanks, Pierre."
Then he was gone, and Jacqueline was laughing over his shoulder back toPierre.
Through his daze and through the rising clamor of the music, a voicesaid beside him: "You look sort of sick, dude. Who's your friend?"
"Don't you know him?" asked Pierre.
"No more than I do you; but I've ridden the range for ten years aroundhere, and I know that he's new to these parts. If I'd ever glimpsedhim before, I'd remember him. He'd be a bad man in a mix, eh?"
And Pierre answered with devout earnestness: "He would."
"But where 'd you buy those duds, pal? Hey, look! Here's what I'vebeen waiting for--the Barneses and the girl that's visitin' 'em fromthe East."
"What girl?"
"Look!"
The Barnes group was passing through the door, and last came theunmistakable form of Dick Wilbur, masked, but not masked enough to hidehis familiar smile or cover the well-known sound of his laughter as itdrifted to Pierre across the hall, and on his arm was a girl in anevening dress of blue, with a small, black mask across her eyes, anddeep-golden hair.
Pausing before she swung into the dance with Wilbur, she made a gesturewith the white arm, and looked up laughing to big, handsome Dick.Pierre trembled, and his heart beat once and stopped.
As he watched, the song which Dick had sung came like a monotonous,religious chant within him:
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 only sky I ride beneath Is the dear blue of her eyes, The only heaven I desire Is the blue of her dear eyes.
But even the memory of the song died in him while he watched her dance,and saw the lights and shadows flit across the smooth shoulders; andwhen he saw the hands of Wilbur about her, a red rage came up in him.
Dick in passing, marked that stare above the heads of the crowd, andfrowned with trouble. The hungry eyes of Pierre followed them as theycircled the hall again; and this time Wilbur, perhaps fearing thatsomething had gone wrong with Pierre, steered close to the edge of thedancing crowd and looked inquisitively across.
He leaned and spoke to the girl, and she turned her head, smiling, toPierre. Then the smile went out, and even despite the mask, he sawthat her eyes had widened. The heart of Pierre grew thunderous withmusic. She had stopped and slipped from the arm of Wilbur, and camestep by step slowly toward him like one walking in her sleep.
There, by the edge of the dancers, with the noise of the music and thelaughter and the shuffling feet to cover them, they met. The hands sheheld to him were cold and trembling. He only knew that they weremarvelously soft, and that they faltered and closed strongly about hisown.
"Is it you?"
"It is I."
That was all; and then the shadow of Wilbur loomed above them.
"What's this? Do you know each other? It isn't possible! Pierre, areyou playing a game with me?"
But under the glance of Pierre he fell back a step, and reached for thegun which was not there. They were alone once more.
"Mary--Mary Brown!"
"Pierre!"
"But you are dead!"
"No, no! But you--Pierre----"
"It was a miracle--the cross--that saved me."
"Where can we go?"
"Outside."
"Pierre."
"Yes."
"Hold my arm close--so I'll know it isn't just dreaming. And goquickly!"
"They are staring at us--the fools--as if they were trying tounderstand."
"We'll be followed?"
"Never."
"Do you need a wrap?"
"No."
"But it is cold outside, and your shoulders are bare."
"Then take that cloak. But quickly, Pierre, before we're followed."
He drew it about her; he led her through the door; it clicked shut;they were alone with the sweet, frosty air about them. She tore awaythe mask, and her beauty struck him like the moon when it dropssuddenly through a mist of clouds.
"And yours, Pierre?"
"Not here."
"Why?"
"Because there are people. Hurry. Now here, with just the treesaround us----"
And he tore off the mask.
The white, cold moon shone over them, slipping down between the darktops
of the trees, and the wind stirred slowly through the brancheswith a faint, hushing sound, as if once more a warning were coming toPierre this night. He looked up, his left hand at the cross.
"Look down. You are afraid of something, Pierre. What is it?"
"With your arms around my neck, there's nothing in the world I fear.Mary, I loved you all this time."
"Pierre--and I----"
"But you have grown so tall--so strange--I can hardly feel----"
"And you--so stern and old."
"I never dreamed I could love anything more than the little girl wholay in the snow, and died there that night."
"And I never dreamed I could smile at any man except the boy who lay byme that night. And he died."
"What miracle saved you?"
She said: "It was wonderful, and yet very simple. You remember how thetree crushed me down into the snow? Well, when the landslide moved, itcarried the tree before it; the weight of the trunk was lifted from me.Perhaps it was a rock that struck me over the head then, for I lostconsciousness. The slide didn't bury me, but the rush carried mebefore it like a stick before a wave, you see.
"When I woke I was almost completely covered with a blanket of debris,but I could move my arms, and managed to prop myself up in a sittingposture. It was there that my father and his searching party found me;he had been combing that district all night. They carried me back,terribly bruised, but without even a bone broken. It was a miraclethat I escaped, and the miracle must have been worked by your cross; doyou remember?"
He shuddered and threw a hand up before his eyes.
"Dearest----"
"It's nothing--but the cross--for every good fortune it has brought me,it has brought bad luck to others."
"Hush, Pierre. Put your arms around me. I am all yours--all. Youmust not think of the trouble or the cross."
He obeyed and drew her close to him, and the warm slender body gave tohim and lay close against his; and her head went back, and the curve ofher soft lips was close to his. He kissed her, reverently, and then,with passion, the lips, the eyes, the throat, that quivered as if shewere singing.
"Pierre, I have said good night to you every time before I went tosleep all these years."
"And I've looked for you in the face of every woman."
"And I used to think that a still, small voice answered me out of thenight."
"Oh, my dear, there was a voice; for I've loved you so hard that itmust have been like a hand at your shoulder tapping, and asking you toremember me. Mary, you are crying."
"I'm so happy; I can't help it. It's as if--as if--Pierre----"
"Dear, my dear."
"Hold me closer. I want to feel your strength around me, so that Iknow I can never lose you again."
"Never."
"Tell me again that you love me."
"I love you."
"I love you, Pierre."
Then the wind spoke for them, using the trees for a harp above them.She looked up to him, and saw the nodding branches above his head, andhigher still, the cold and changeless radiance of the stars. He bentback her head and stared so grimly down into her eyes that her smileceased tremulously.
"Mary, what is the perfume?"
"None, except the scent of the pines and the sweet, cold air of thenight, Pierre."
"There is something more. It's as if the wind had taken all thefragrance from a thousand miles of wild flowers, and brought themblended and faint and sweeter than anything else in the world. It isyou, Mary, you are so beautiful. How many men have told you that youare beautiful?"
"None have told me; at least I've listened to them with only half myheart."
"What have they told you?"
"Nothing, except words about eyes and lips, and things like that."
"And your hair?"
"Oh, yes, they never forget that."
"Then there is nothing left for me to say, except that God made you sothat I could love you with all my heart. And while I hold you here andhunt for things to say, my mind goes rushing out to great things--thesea, the mountains, the wind, the cold, quiet, beautiful stars. Butyou are unhappy to hear me. Look! The big tears come one by one inyour eyes, and roll down your face."
"I'm so happy, Pierre, that I cannot help but be sad a little."
"But never after this. We will always be happy."
"Always and always."
"Mary, I have ridden all day over a burning hot desert and come underthe mountains at night and looked up, and I've seen the white, puresnow with the blue of the sky behind it. You are like that to me. Butyou will be cold out here; I musn't go on saying nothings like this."
"I love it, Pierre. I won't have you stop."
"Sit here on this stump--now, I'll sit at your feet."
"No, beside me, please, Pierre."
"I will not move. Give me your hands. Now, when I look up your faceis framed by a tree-top that goes nodding from one side to the other,and I look up at your eyes and past them at the stars until I know thatour love is like them, and free as the wind. Mary, my dearest, yourcold hand that I kiss is more to me than oceans of silver, or mountainsof gold."
"Now, if we could both die, this would never end. But it will neverend in spite of to-morrow, will it? You will go back home with me."
"Go home with you?"
"Take my hand again. Pierre, what has happened? What have I done?What have I said?"
