Part 15 (1/2)
”I'll kill her, I'll kill her!” said Joan.
She panted, half crying, struggling to free her arm that she might fire again.
”All right, let 'em have it!” Mackenzie said, seeing the havoc among the sheep.
Swan and his woman rode like a whirlwind through the flock, the dogs after them with sharp cries, the frightened bleating of the lambs, the beating of two thousand hoofs, adding to the confusion of what had been a peaceful pastoral scene but a few minutes before. Joan cut loose at the disturbers of this peace, emptying the revolver quickly, but without effect.
Half way through the herd Swan leaned down and caught a lamb by the leg, swung it around his head as lightly as a man would wave his hat, and rode on with it in savage triumph. Mackenzie s.n.a.t.c.hed the rifle from the wagon. His shot came so close to Swan that he dropped the lamb. The woman fell behind Swan, interposing herself as a s.h.i.+eld, and in this formation they rode on, sweeping down the narrow thread of green valley, galloping wildly away into the sanctuary of the hills.
Mackenzie stood, gun half lifted, and watched them go without another shot, afraid to risk it lest he hit the woman. He turned to Joan, who stood by, white with anger, the empty revolver in her hand.
”Are you hurt, Joan?” he asked, in foolish weakness, knowing very well that she was.
”No, she didn't hurt me--but I'll kill her for it!” said Joan.
She was trembling; her face was bloodless in the cold anger that shook her. There was a red welt on her neck, purple-marked on its ridge where the rawhide had almost cut her tender skin.
”Swan Carlson has pulled his woman down to his savage level at last,”
Mackenzie said.
”She's worse than he is; she's a range wolf!”
”I believe she is. But it always happens that way when a person gets to going.”
”With those two and the Hall boys you'll not have a ghost of a chance to hold this range, John. You'd better let me help you begin working the sheep over toward my camp tonight.”
”No, I'm going to stay here.”
”Swan and that woman just rode through here to get the lay of your camp. More than likely they'll come over and burn you out tonight--pour coal oil on the wagon and set it afire.”
”Let 'em; I'll not be in it.”
”They'll worry you night and day, kill your sheep, maybe kill you, if you don't come away. It isn't worth it; dad was right about it. For the sake of peace, let them have it, John.”
Mackenzie stood in silence, looking the way Swan and his woman had gone, the gun held as if ready to lift and fire at the showing of a hat-crown over the next hill. He seemed to be considering the situation. Joan studied his face with eager hopefulness, bending forward a bit to see better in the failing light.
”They've got to be shown that a master has come to the sheep country,”
he said, in low voice, as if to himself. ”I'll stay and prove it to all of them at once.”
Joan knew there was no use to argue or appeal. She dropped the matter there, and Mackenzie put the gun away.
”I'm sorry I haven't anything to put on it,” he said, looking at the red welt on her neck.
”I'm sorry I missed her,” said Joan.
”It isn't so much the sting of a blow, I know,” he comforted, ”as the hurt of the insult. Never mind it, Joan; she's a vicious, wild woman, jealous because Swam took notice of you.”
”It was a great compliment!”