by Max Brand
CHAPTER XXXIX
THE CROSS GOES ON
So Mary, running through the wilderness of boulders, was guidedstraight and found Pierre, and before the morning came, they werejourneying east side by side, east and down to the cities of cultureand a new life; but Jacqueline, a thousand times quicker of foot andsurer of eye and ear, missed her goal, went past it, and still on andon, running finally at a steady trot.
Until at last she knew that she had far overstepped her mark and sankdown against one of the rocks to rest and think out what next she mustdo. There seemed nothing left. Even the sound of a gun fired shemight not hear, for that sharp call would not travel far against thewind.
It was while she sat there, burying Pierre in her thoughts, a whiteshape came glimmering down to her through the moonlight. She was onher feet at once, alert and gun in hand. It could only be one horse,only one rider, McGurk coming down from his last killing with the sneeron his pale lips. Well, he would complete his work this night and killher fighting face to face.
A man's death; that was all she craved. She rose; she stepped boldlyout into the center of the trail between the rocks.
There she saw the greatest wonder she had ever looked on. It wasMcGurk walking with bare, bowed head, and after him, like a dog afterthe master, followed the white horse. She shoved the revolver backinto the holster. This should be a fair fight.
"McGurk!"
Very slowly the head went up and back, and there he stood, not tenpaces from her, with the white moon full on his face. The sneer wasstill there; the eyelid fluttered in scornful derision. And the heartof Jacqueline came thundering in her throat.
But she cried in a strong voice: "McGurk, d'you know me?"
He did not answer.
"You murderer, you night-rider! Look again: it's the last of theBoones!"
The sneer, it seemed to her, grew bitterer, but still the man did notspeak. Then the thought of Pierre, lying dead somewhere among therocks, burned across her mind. Her hand leaped for the revolver, andwhipped it out in a blinding flash to cover him, but with her fingercurling on the trigger she checked herself in the nick of time. McGurkhad made no move to protect himself.
A strange feeling came to her that perhaps the man would not waragainst women; the case of Mary was almost proof enough of that. Butas she stepped forward, wondering, she looked at the holster at hisside and saw that it was empty. Then she understood.
Understood in a daze that Pierre had met the man and conquered him andsent him out through the mountains disarmed. The white horse raisedhis head and whinnied, and the sound gave a thought to her. She couldnot kill this man, unarmed as he was; she could do a more shamefulthing.
"The bluff you ran was a strong one, McGurk," she said bitterly, "andyou had these parts pretty well at a standstill; but Pierre was a bittoo much for you, eh?"
The white face had not altered, and still it did not change, but thesneer was turned steadily on her.
She cried: "Go on! Go on down the gorge!"
Like an automaton the man stepped forward, and after him paced thewhite horse. She stepped between, caught the reins, and swung up tothe saddle, and sat there, controlling between her stirrups thebest-known mount in all the mountain-desert. A thrill of wildexultation came to her. She cried: "Look back, McGurk! Your gun isgone, your horse is gone; you're weaker than a woman in the mountains!"
Yet he went on without turning, not with the hurried step of a coward,but still as one stunned. Then, sitting quietly in the saddle, sheforgot McGurk and remembered Pierre. He was happy by this time withthe girl of the yellow hair; there was nothing remaining to her fromhim except the ominous cross which touched cold against her breast.That he had abandoned as he had abandoned her.
What, then, was left for her? The horse of an outlaw for her to ride;the heart of an outlaw in her breast.
She touched the white horse with the spurs and went at a recklessgallop, weaving back and forth among the boulders down the gorge. Forshe was riding away from the past.
The dawn came as she trotted out into a widening valley of the OldCrow. To maintain even that pace she had to use the spurs continually,for the white horse was deadly weary, and his head fell more and more.She decided to make a brief halt, at last, and in order to make a firethat would take the chill of the cold morning from her, she swung up tothe edge of the woods. There, before she could dismount, she saw a manturn the shoulder of the slope. She drew the horse back deeper amongthe trees and waited.
He came with a halting step, reeling now and again, a big man, hatless,coatless, apparently at the last verge of exhaustion. Now his footapparently struck a small rock, and he pitched to his face. Itrequired a long struggle before he could regain his feet; and now hecontinued his journey at the same gait, only more uncertainly thanever, close and closer. There was something familiar now about thefellow's size, and something in the turn of his head. Suddenly sherode out, crying: "Wilbur!"
He swerved, saw the white horse, threw up his hands high above hishead, and went backward, reeling, with a hoarse scream which Jacquelinewould never forget. She galloped to him and swung to the ground.
"It's me--Jack. D'you hear?"
He would not lower those arms, and his eyes stared wildly at her. Onhis forehead the blood had caked over a cut; his shirt was torn torags, and the hair matted wildly over his eyes. She caught his handsand pulled them down.
"It's not McGurk! Don't you hear me? It's Jack!"
He reached out, like a blind man who has to see by the sense of touch,and stroked her face.
"Jack!" he whispered at last. "Thank God!"
"What's happened?"
"McGurk--"
A violent palsy shook him, and he could not go on.
"I know--I understand. He took your guns and left you to wander inthis hell! Damn him! I wish--"
She stopped.
"How long since you've eaten?"
"Years!"
"We'll eat--McGurk's food!"
But she had to assist him up the slope to the trees, and there she lefthim propped against a trunk, his arms fallen weakly at his sides, whileshe built the fire and cooked the food. Afterward she could hardlyeat, watching him devour what she placed before him; and it thrilledall the woman in her to a strange warmth to take care of thelong-rider. Then, except for the disfigured face and the bloodshoteyes, he was himself.
"Up there? What happened?"
He pointed up the valley.
"The girl and Pierre. They're together."
"She found him?"
"Yes."
He bowed his head and sighed.
"And the horse, Jack?" He said it with awe.
"I took the horse from McGurk."
"You!"
She nodded. After all, it was not a lie.
"You killed McGurk?"
She said coolly: "I let him go the way he let you, Dick. He's on footin the mountains without a horse or a gun."
"It isn't possible!"
"There the horse for proof."
He looked at her as if she were something more than human.
"Our Jack--did this?"
"We've got to start on. Can you walk, Dick?"
"A thousand miles now."
Yet he staggered when he tried to rise, and she made him climb up tothe saddle. The white horse walked on, and she kept her place close atthe stirrup of the rider. He would have stopped and dismounted for hera hundred times, but she made him keep his place.
"What's ahead of us, Jack? We're the last of the gang?"
"The last of Boone's gang. We are."
"The old life over again?"
"What else?"
"Yes; what else?"
"Are you afraid, Dick?"
"Not with you for a pal. Seven was too many; with two we can rule therange."
"Partners, Dick?"
How could he tell that her voice was gone so gentle because she wasseeing in her mind's eye another face than his? He le
aned toward her,thrilling.
"Why not something more than partners, after a while, Jack?"
She smiled strangely up to him.
"Because of this, Dick."
And fumbling at her throat, she showed him the glittering metal of thecross; an instinct made him swerve the horse away from her.
"The cross goes on, but what of you Jack?"
A long silence fell between them. Words died in the making.
The great weight pressing down on that slender throat was like the ironhand of a giant, but slowly one by one the sounds marshalled themselves:
". . . God knows . . ." It was the passing of Judgment. "Godknows . . . not I."
