Part 48 (1/2)

Pan strode off in the starlight, across the orchard, down along the murmuring stream to the cottonwood tree with the bench.

It was useless for him to try to sleep. To and fro he paced in the starlight. Alone now, with the urgent activities past for the time, he reverted to the grim and hateful introspection that had haunted his mind.

This once, however, the sinister strife in his soul, that strange icy clutch on his senses--the aftermath of instinctive horror following the death of a man by his hand--wore away before the mounting of a pa.s.sion that had only waited.

It did not leap upon him unawares, like an enemy out of ambush. It grew as he walked, as his whirling thoughts straightened in a single line to--Lucy. She had betrayed him. She had broken his heart. What if she had thought him dead--sacrificed herself to save her father?--She had given herself to that dog Hardman. The thought was insupportable. ”I hate her,” he whispered. ”She's made me hate her.”

The hours pa.s.sed, the stars moved across the heavens, the night wind ceased, the crickets grew silent, and the murmuring stream flowed on at Pan's feet. Spent and beaten he sat upon the bench. His love for Lucy had not been killed. It lived, it had grown, it was tremendous--and both pity and reason clamored that he be above jealousy and hate.

After all there was excuse for Lucy. She was young, she had been driven by grief over his supposed death and fear for her father. But oh! The pity of it--of this hard truth against the sweetness and purity of his dream! Life and love were not what he had dreamed them as he had ridden the lonely ranges. He must suffer because he had left Lucy to fight her battles.

”I'll try to forget,” he whispered huskily. ”I've got to. But not yet. I can't do it yet.... We'll leave this country far behind. And some day we can go on with--with all we planned.”

Pan went back to the barn and threw himself upon the hay, where exhausted brain and body sank to sleep and rest. It seemed that a voice and a rude hand tore away the sweet oblivion.

”Pard, are you daid?” came Blinky's voice, keen and full with newer note. ”Sunup an' time to rustle. Your dad's heah an' he says breakfast is waitin'.”

Pan rose and stretched. His muscles ached as though he had been beaten. How bright the sun! Night was gone and with it something dreadful.

”Pan, sh.o.r.e you're a tough lookin' cowboy this mawnin',” said Blinky.

”Wash an' shave yourself like I did. Heah's my razor. There's a basin an' water up under the kitchen porch.”

”Howdy, bridegroom,” returned Pan with appreciative eyes on Blinky's s.h.i.+ny face and slick hair. ”How's your wife?”

”Daid to the world,” whispered Blinky, blus.h.i.+ng red as a rose. ”I took a peep. Gee! Pard, I hope she sleeps all day an' all night. Sh.o.r.e I'm scared fer her to wake.”

”I don't blame you, cowboy. It'll be funny when she finds out she's got a boss.”

”Pard, if we was away from this heah town I'd be happy, I swear.

Wouldn't you?” returned Blinky shyly.

”Why, Blink, I believe I would,” said Pan, and strode off toward the house.

He made himself presentable before anyone saw him. Then he waited for his father and Blinky, whom he heard talking. When they came up he joined them. Wild horses could not have dragged him into the house alone. As they entered the kitchen Bobby let out a yell and made for him. That loosened a strain for Pan and he picked up the lad. When he faced his mother it was with composure that belied the state of his feelings. She appeared to be in a blaze of excitement, and at once he realized that all she had needed was his return, safe and sound. Then he heard Alice's voice and Lucy's in reply. As he set Bobby down, thrilling all over, the girls entered the kitchen. Alice's reply to his greeting was at once bright and shy. Lucy halted in the doorway, with a hand on her breast. Her smile, slow and wistful, seemed to blot out traces of havoc in her face. But her eyes were dark purple, a sign of strong emotion. Pan's slight inclination, unaccompanied by word of greeting, was as black a pretense as he had ever been guilty of. Sight of her had shot him through and through with pangs of bitter mocking joy. But he gave no sign. During the meal he did not look at her again.

”Dad, have you got everything we'll need?” queried Pan presently.

”I guess so,” replied Smith. ”You can start loadin' the wagons. An'

by the time two of them are done we'll have everythin' packed.”

”Blink can drive one wagon, you another, and I'll take the third till we get out to Snyder's. Then we'll need another driver, for it'll take two of us to handle the wild horses.”

”No, we won't,” replied his father. ”Your mother an' Lucy can drive as well as I. Son, I reckon we don't want anybody except our own outfit.”

”I'd like that myself,” admitted Pan thoughtfully. ”If you've got good gentle teams maybe Mother an' Lucy can take turns. We'll try it, anyhow.”

”I'll help you hitch up,” said Smith, following Pan out. ”Son, do you look for any trouble this mornin'?”

”Lord no. I'm not looking for trouble,” replied Pan. ”I've sure had enough.”

”Huh!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Blinky. ”Your dad means any backfire from Marco.