Part 22 (1/2)

”Her brother Fenn was in Fingall's gang. One day there was trouble. Fenn called Fingall a liar. The gang stopped piling; the usual thing did not come. Fingall told him to leave the yard, and they would settle some other time. That night a wicked thing happened. We were sitting in the bar-room when we heard two shots and then a fall. We ran into the other room; there was Fenn on the floor, dying. He lifted himself on his elbow, pointed at Fingall--and fell back. The father of the boy stood white and still a few feet away. There was no pistol showing--none at all.

”The men closed in on Fingall. He did not stir--he seemed to be thinking of something else. He had a puzzled, sorrowful look. The men roared round him, but he waved them back for a moment, and looked first at the father, then at the son. I could not understand at first. Someone pulled a pistol out of Fingall's pocket and showed it. At that moment Cynthie came in. She gave a cry. By the holy! I do not want to hear a cry like that often. She fell on her knees beside the boy, and caught his head to her breast. Then with a wild look she asked who did it. They had just taken Fingall out into the bar-room. They did not tell her his name, for they knew that she loved him.

”'Father,' she said all at once, 'have you killed the man that killed Fenn?'

”The old man shook his head. There was a sick colour in his face.

”'Then I will kill him,' she said.

”She laid her brother's head down, and stood up. Someone put in her hand the pistol, and told her it was the same that had killed Fenn. She took it, and came with us. The old man stood still where he was; he was like stone. I looked at him for a minute and thought; then I turned round and went to the bar-room; and he followed. Just as I got inside the door, I saw the girl start back, and her hand drop, for she saw that it was Fingall; he was looking at her very strange. It was the rule to empty the gun into a man who had been sentenced; and already Fingall had heard his, 'G.o.d-have-mercy!' The girl was to do it.

”Fingall said to her in a m.u.f.fled voice, 'Fire--Cynthie!'

”I guessed what she would do. In a kind of a dream she raised the pistol up--up--up, till I could see it was just out of range of his head, and she fired. One! two! three! four! five! Fingall never moved a muscle; but the bullets spotted the wall at the side of his head. She stopped after the five; but the arm was still held out, and her finger was on the trigger; she seemed to be all dazed. Only six chambers were in the gun, and of course one chamber was empty. Fenn had its bullet in his lungs, as we thought. So someone beside Cynthie touched her arm, pus.h.i.+ng it down. But there was another shot, and this time, because of the push, the bullet lodged in Fingall's skull.”

Pierre paused now, and waved with his hand towards the mist which hung high up like a canopy between the hills.

”But,” said Lawless, not heeding the scene, ”what about that sixth bullet?”

”Holy, it is plain! Fingall did not fire the shot. His revolver was full, every chamber, when Cynthie first took it.”

”Who killed the lad?”

”Can you not guess? There had been words between the father and the boy: both had fierce blood. The father, in a mad minute, fired; the boy wanted revenge on Fingall, and, to save his father, laid it on the other. The old man? Well, I do not know whether he was a coward, or stupid, or ashamed--he let Fingall take it.”

”Fingall took it to spare the girl, eh?”

”For the girl. It wasn't good for her to know her father killed his own son.”

”What came after?”

”The worst. That night the girl's father killed himself, and the two were buried in the same grave. Cynthie--”

”Fingall! Fingall!--Oh, Fingall!”

”You hear? Yes, like that all the time as she sat on the floor, her hair about her like a cloud, and the dead bodies in the next room. She thought she had killed Fingall, and she knew now that he was innocent.

The two were buried. Then we told her that Fingall was not dead. She used to come and sit outside the door, and listen to his breathing, and ask if he ever spoke of her. What was the good of lying? If we said he did, she'd have come in to him, and that would do no good, for he wasn't right in his mind. By and by we told her he was getting well, and then she didn't come, but stayed at home, just saying his name over to herself. Alors, things take hold of a woman--it is strange! When Fingall was strong enough to go out, I went with him the first time. He was all thin and handsome as you can think, but he had no memory, and his eyes were like a child's. She saw him, and came out to meet him. What does a woman care for the world when she loves a man? Well, he just looked at her as if he'd never seen her before, and pa.s.sed by without a sign, though afterwards a trouble came in his face. Three days later he was gone, no one knew where. That is two years ago. Ever since she has been looking for him.”

”Is she mad?”

”Mad? Holy Mother! it is not good to have one thing in the head all the time! What do you think? So much all at once! And then--”

”Hush, Pierre! There she is!” said Lawless, pointing to a ledge of rock not far away.

The girl stood looking out across the valley, a weird, rapt look in her face, her hair falling loose, a staff like a shepherd's crook in one hand, the other hand over her eyes as she slowly looked from point to point of the horizon.

The two watched her without speaking. Presently she saw them. She gazed at them for a minute, then descended to them. Lawless and Pierre rose, doffing their hats. She looked at both a moment, and her eyes settled on Pierre. Presently she held out her hand to him. ”I knew you--yesterday,”

she said.