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faithless to his father？ He had no hope of ever winning Ellen Jorth。
He did not want the love of a girl of her character。 But he loved her。
And his struggle must be against the insidious and mysterious growth
of that passion。 It swayed him already。 It made him a coward。
Through his mind and heart swept the memory of Ellen Jorth； her beauty
and charm； her boldness and pathos； her shame and her degradation。
And the sweetness of her outweighed the boldness。 And the mystery of
her arrayed itself in unquenchable protest against her acknowledged
shame。 Jean lifted his face to the heavens； to the pitiless white
stars； to the infinite depths of the dark…blue sky。 He could sense
the fact of his being an atom in the universe of nature。 What was he；
what was his revengeful father； what were hate and passion and strife
in comparison to the nameless something； immense and everlasting； that
he sensed in this dark moment？
But the rustlersDaggsthe Jorthsthey had killed his brother Guy
murdered him brutally and ruthlessly。 Guy had been a playmate of Jean's
a favorite brother。 Bill had been secretive and selfish。 Jean had
never loved him as he did Guy。 Guy lay dead down there on the meadow。
This feud had begun to run its bloody course。 Jean steeled his nerve。
The hot blood crept back along his veins。 The dark and masterful tide
of revenge waved over him。 The keen edge of his mind then cut out sharp
and trenchant thoughts。 He must kill when and where he could。 This man
could hardly be Ellen Jorth's father。 Jorth would be with the main
crowd； directing hostilities。 Jean could shoot this rustler guard
and his shot would be taken by the gang as the regular one from their
comrade。 Then swiftly Jean leveled his rifle； covered the dark form；
grew cold and set； and pressed the trigger。 After the report he rose
and wheeled away。 He did not look nor listen for the result of his
shot。 A clammy sweat wet his face； the hollow of his hands； his breast。
A horrible； leaden； thick sensation oppressed his heart。 Nature had
endowed him with Indian gifts； but the exercise of them to this end
caused a revolt in his soul。
Nevertheless； it was the Isbel blood that dominated him。 The wind blew
cool on his face。 The burden upon his shoulders seemed to lift。 The
clamoring whispers grew fainter in his ears。 And by the time he had
retraced his cautious steps back to the orchard all his physical being
was strung to the task at hand。 Something had come between his
reflective self and this man of action。
Crossing the lane； he took to the west line of sheds； and passed beyond
them into the meadow。 In the grass he crawled silently away to the
right； using the same precaution that had actuated him on the slope；
only here he did not pause so often； nor move so slowly。 Jean aimed
to go far enough to the right to pass the end of the embankment behind
which the rustlers had found such efficient cover。 This ditch had
been made to keep water； during spring thaws and summer storms； from
pouring off the slope to flood the corrals。
Jean miscalculated and found he had come upon the embankment somewhat
to the left of the end； which fact； however； caused him no uneasiness。
He lay there awhile to listen。 Again he heard voices。 After a time
a shot pealed out。 He did not see the flash； but he calculated that
it had come from the north side of the cabins。
The next quarter of an hour discovered to Jean that the nearest guard
was firing from the top of the embankment； perhaps a hundred yards
distant； and a second one was performing the same office from a point
apparently only a few yards farther on。 Two rustlers close together！
Jean had not calculated upon that。 For a little while he pondered on
what was best to do； and at length decided to crawl round behind them；
and as close as the situation made advisable。
He found the ditch behind the embankment a favorable path by which to
stalk these enemies。 It was dry and sandy； with borders of high weeds。
The only drawback was that it was almost impossible for him to keep
from brushing against the dry； invisible branches of the weeds。 To
offset this he wormed his way like a snail； inch by inch； taking a
long time before he caught sight of the sitting figure of a man； black
against the dark…blue sky。 This rustler had fired his rifle three
times during Jean's slow approach。 Jean watched and listened a few
moments； then wormed himself closer and closer； until the man was
within twenty steps of him。
Jean smelled tobacco smoke； but could see no light of pipe or cigarette；
because the fellow's back was turned。
〃Say； Ben；〃 said this man to his companion sitting hunched up a few
yards distant； 〃shore it strikes me queer thet Somers ain't shootin'
any over thar。〃
Jean recognized the dry； drawling voice of Greaves； and the shock of
it seemed to contract the muscles of his whole thrilling body； like
that of a panther about to spring。
CHAPTER VIII
Was shore thinkin' thet same；〃 said the other man。 〃An'； say； didn't
thet 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 close
enough 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
was still。 He lay flat； with his cheek on the sand； and he had to
look ahead 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 power to resist the strongest gust of passion that had ever
stormed his breast。 If he arose and shot the rustler； that act would
defeat his plan of slipping on around upon the other outposts who were
firing at the cabins。 Jean wanted to call softly to Greaves； 〃You're
right about the half…breed！〃 and then； as he wheeled aghast； to kill him
as he moved。 But it suited Jean to risk leaping upon the man。 Jean did
not waste time in trying to understand the strange； deadly instinct that
gripped him at the moment。 But he realized then he had chosen the most
perilous plan to get rid of Greaves。
Jean drew a long； deep breath and held it。 He let go of his rifle。
He rose； silently as a lifting shadow。 He drew the bowie knife。
Then with light； swift bounds he glided up the bank。 Greaves must
have heard a rustlinga soft； quick pad of moccasin； for he turned
with a start。 And that instant Jean's left arm darted like a striking
snake round Greaves's neck and closed tight and hard。 With his right
hand free； holding the knife； Jean might have ended the deadly business
in just one move。 But when his bared arm felt the hot； bulging neck
something terrible burst out of the depths of him。 To kill this enemy
of his father's was not enough！ Physical contact had unleashed the
savage soul of the Indian。 Yet there was more； and as Jean gave the
straining body a tremendous jerk backward； he felt the same strange
thrill； the dark joy that