Part 1 (2/2)

In the big living room there was one relic of this mysterious mother, a tiny melodeon, its rosewood case a trifle marred by unknown hards.h.i.+ps, its ivory keys yellow with age. It had two small pedals and two slender sticks which fitted therein and pushed the bellows up and down when one trampled upon them. And to Tharon this little old instrument was wealth of the Indies. The low piping of its reedy notes made an accompaniment of surpa.s.sing sweetness when she sat before it and sang her wordless melodies. And just as she found music in her throat without conscious effort, so she found it in her fingers, deep, resonant chords for her running minors, thin, trickling streams of lightness for her own slow notes.

The sun had turned to the west in its majestic course and Tharon, the noon work over, drew up the spindle-legged stool and sat down to play to herself and Anita. The old woman, half Mexic, half Indian, drowsed in a low chair by the eastern window, her toil-hard hands clasped in her lap, a black _reboso_ over her head, though the day was warm as summer. A kitten frisked in the sunlight at the open door, wild ducks, long domesticated, squalled raucously down the yards, some cattle slept in the huge corrals and the little world of Last's Holding was at peace. It seemed that only the girl idling over the yellowed keys, was awake.

For a long and happy hour Tharon sat so, sometimes opening her pretty throat in ambitious flights of sound, again humming lowly--and that was enchanting, as if one sang lullabies to flaxen heads on shoulders.

And it did enchant one--a man who stood for the better part of that hour at the edge of the deep window in the adobe wall and watched the singer.

He was a splendid figure of a man, tall, broad, muscular, built for strength and endurance. His face was unduly lined, even for his age, which was near fifty, but the eyes under the arched black brows were vital as a hawk's. He wore the customary garments of the Lost Valley men, broad sombrero, flannel s.h.i.+rt, corduroys and cowboy boots, st.i.tched and decorated above their high heels. At his hips hung two guns, spurs clinked when he stepped unguardedly. He rarely stepped that way, however.

When presently the girl at the melodeon ceased and drew the lid over the keys with reverent fingers, he moved silently back a pace or two along the wall. Then he waited. As he had antic.i.p.ated, she came to the door to look upon the budding world, and for another moment he watched her with a strange expression. Then he swung forward and let the spurs rattle. Tharon flashed to face him like a startled animal.

”h.e.l.lo, Tharon,” he said and smiled. The girl stared at him with quick insolence.

”Howdy,” she said coldly.

He came close to the doorway, put one hand on the facing, the other on his hip and leaned near. She drew back. He reached out suddenly and gripped her wrist in fingers that bit like steel.

”Pretty,” he said, while his dark eyes narrowed.

Tharon flung her whole young strength against his grip with a twisting wrench and came free. The quick, tremendous effort left her calm. And she did not retreat a step.

”h.e.l.l,” said the man admiringly, ”little wildcat!”

”What you want?” she asked sharply.

”You,” he answered swiftly.

”Buck Courtrey,” she said, ”you might own an' run Lost Valley--all but one outfit. You ain't never run Last nor put your dirty hand on th'

Holdin'. An' that ain't all. You never will. If you ever touch me again, I'll tell Dad Jim an' he'll kill you. I'd a-told him before when you met me that day on the range, only I didn't want his honest hands s.m.u.tted up with such as you. He's had his killin's before--but they was always in fair-an'-open. You he'd give no quarter--if he knew what you ben askin' me.”

The man's eyes narrowed evilly. They became calculating.

”Tell him,” he said.

”Eh?”

”Tell him.”

”You want to feed th' buzzards?” the girl asked with an insulting peal of laughter.

”Not yet--but I'll remember that speech some day.”

”Remember an' be d.a.m.ned,” said Tharon. ”Now kindly take your dirty carca.s.s off Last's Holding--back to your wife.”

The fire was flas.h.i.+ng a little in her blue eyes as she spoke, and she half turned to enter the house.

As she did so, Courtrey flung out an arm and caught her about the shoulders. He drew her against him with the motion and kissed her square on the lips. For a second his narrowed eyes were drunken.

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