Part 33 (1/2)

He did not answer; nor did he stop. A wild pagan stir whipped her blood, giving the blasphemous counsel that she should throw herself into his arms. It was the proximity of the male calling to his mate; it was more--it was the answering tremor of the woman of a lower, darker race, the mountain wildness dominant in her blood, when chosen by the man of the higher, lighter strain.

The stern Puritanism of her training fought against this. She must save herself whole for a man of her own color; she thought of the negro poet's magnificent lines about the black Mary, who was to bring forth the black Messiah to lead his brethren out of bondage....

”Gimme your lips, honey.”

She pulled back, trembling, from the dominant triumph in his voice. His arm swept tightly around her, she was dragged against him. Her weakness melted to nothing in the presence of this mighty outer and inner strength.

Slowly she felt herself losing. Her prisoned hands struck out feebly against his face; yet even in her fighting she fancied that the man whose face was hidden in the night before her was not the repulsive, leering mine foreman, but the dim white knight of her hid dreamings.

With startling suddenness she yielded to his command. His lips fastened to hers, clung there. She felt that the whole universe became a kiss; melted, eddied together into one point of mad moist contact. Her struggles to free her lips drew her closer to him. She was conscious of his hot hand pressing against her body, burning through the thin calico waist. Then she lost consciousness of bewildering details.

With rude courtesy Jim Hewin steadied her feet as she walked down the last sharp slope to the road.

He turned to leave; an arm detained him. Her tones were low and pleadingly sweet. ”A good night one, now.”

Head bowed, tired blood pounding, she slipped with furtive haste toward the darkened windows of the shack that was her home.

IV

THE CLASH

XVIII

Jim Hewin picked his satisfied way over the ramp's top and along the road below, toward the gap and the gap offices. He eyed the midnight stars with unseeing animal contentment, sluggishly at peace with the world.

A voice from the watchman's hut blurred upon his hearing. ”Hey, where you going?” The man peered closer. ”Where the h.e.l.l have you been? The old man's been looking for hours----”

”I been right over in Hewintown.”

”He wants you, now.”

”What's up?” Reawakened briskness bristled in his tones.

”Bringing in them carloads of miners.”

”Oh!”

”He's in the guard auto by the machine house. Better hump yourself.”

Jim idled off, then changed his gait to a run as he heard the preliminary whirr of the engine. ”Hai!” he shouted, as the lighted nose turned up the hill. ”Hai! Wait! It's Jim!”

Tom Hewin made room for him on the front seat. ”Take this rifle. Got your automatic?”

They joined the three other cars, ran on too far by the viaduct, and doubled back. The thin pop of fire-arms reached them, then the distant crackle of a volley. The men hunched together excitedly, blood tingling at the prospective ambuscade of the man-hunt.

The wash of the headlight on the tall pines beyond the cut located the engine.

”There!” came Tom's stabbing whisper.