Part 40 (2/2)

Then she remounted Tuesday, and forced him over the edge of the cliff.

Haig lay on his back, his head against the stone by which he had recovered the coveted revolver. A handkerchief dyed red and blackened with powder stains lay against one cheek. His right hand still clutched the revolver.

He did not move, and she thought him dead. Then, through the blackness that enveloped her, she dully and slowly comprehended that his eyes were closed, not staring up at her. She knelt swiftly, and pressed her head to his breast; and then leaped to her feet with a wild outcry.

Tuesday stood a few yards away, with tail outstretched and nostrils distended, gazing affrightedly at the body of Trixy lying in her wretched heap. Marion ran to the saddle, and tore at the thongs that held her bundle; jerked it loose, and bore it quickly to Haig's side; and in a few seconds had placed the mouth of her whisky flask between Haig's lips, and let a little of the liquid trickle down his throat.

But there was no response, and she stood up again, looking for water.

The brook that had seemed so far away from Haig was at no distance for her flying feet; and she was back on the run with her sombrero filled.

Das.h.i.+ng the water into Philip's face, she was off again for more. With this she bathed his face and neck and wrists; and then set herself to slapping the palms of his hands with her own.

Still there was no response. But when she pressed her head to his breast once more she was a.s.sured that she had not been mistaken; his heart was beating feebly--but beating. A second time she put the whisky flask to his lips; and returned to the limp hands, rubbing them, slapping them until her own burned and ached.

Hours it seemed, and ages flowing away into eternity. The sky was darkening, and from the top of Thunder Mountain came a m.u.f.fled roar that was echoed back and forth across the valley. She looked up at the towering cliff, and trembled. And then, with the last fading reverberation, there came another sound that brought her leaning down close to Philip's face. Was it a sigh, or only--

”Philip! Philip! Philip!” she called, softly at first, then in a cry that rang across the meadow.

At last a quiver went through the limp figure; the eyes were opened, only to be quickly closed again, as if the light had hurt them. She called to him again, in pleading accents. The eyelids fluttered, and he looked up into the face of the girl bending over him. It was a puzzled, uncomprehending look. And thereupon his lips moved.

”Yes, Philip! What is it?”

”I don't understand,” he whispered.

”It's Marion!” she cried. ”Don't you know me?”

”But--where?”

”I don't know. Thunder Mountain.”

”Yes, I know that!” he said, with a note of impatience. ”Sunnysides and--all that. But--you?”

”I followed, and found you.”

A weak smile flickered on his lips. She saw that he did not believe her.

”Look! Look!” she cried. ”It's Marion. And yonder--is Tuesday.”

He moved his head a little, and stared at the pony still standing fascinated and terrified by the stillness of poor Trixy.

”It's--impossible!” he muttered. ”You couldn't--”

He made an effort to look up at the cliff down, which he had come.

”But it's quite true, Philip. I'm here.”

But she saw that he was still groping in the dark. He lifted his right hand, and touched his head, while the expression of perplexity grew rather than lessened on his face. She saw that there was not only a gash in the left temple, but a furrow on the right side of his head, a swollen red streak where the hair had been burned away. And the black stains on the handkerchief, and the revolver clutched in his hand.

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