Chapter 22

spent on her, and how she could never bring herself to touch that which he sent to her. She had believed then that her reasons were personal. That it was because it came from him, the man who had struck her down, and left her to die at his hands, for all he cared; the man whose brutality had so quickly killed her love; the man whom she had long since admitted to herself that she detested, despised. No, she needed no further evidence. It was her woman's instinct that guided and convinced her.

She shuddered. She was chilled under a blazing sun that had no power to warm her. But her terror was not for Will. It was for herself. For the hideousness of the disgrace to which he had brought her. In fancy she saw him food for carrion at the end of a rope; she saw his body swaying to the night breeze, an ominous, hideous shadow, a warning to all of the fate awaiting those who sinned against the unwritten laws of the cattle world. She heard the pitying tones of the village women, she saw their furtive side glances, heard their whispering comments as they passed her, these women whom she had always lived amongst, whom she had always counted as friends. Oh, the horror of it all, and she was utterly--utterly powerless. Worse, she must strive her utmost to shield Will. And, because he was her husband, she must leave Jim to fight his own battle with her added wits pitted against him.

She remembered Jim's words. "May God have mercy on his soul, for I won't." Jim--Jim was to be Will's Nemesis--her Nemesis. He must be the man who would drive the sword crashing her to the dust beneath the weight of her husband's crime.

A despairing hope swept her. Ah, no, no. It could not be. That would be too cruel. No, no, she must be wrong. Will was not guilty. He could not be. This thing could surely never come upon her. What had she ever done to deserve it? What----? She thought of the man before her. What had he ever done to deserve his fate? And suddenly the momentary hope slid from under her feet.

Now her thought and terror found expression against her will. It would not be denied. It showed in her shrinking attitude. It was displayed in her horrified eyes. And Jim saw these things and read them in his own way. He deemed that he had shocked her by his words, nor could he clearly understand that the force of his determination to defend himself should so shock her. However, he promptly strove to lighten the impression he had made.

"Don't let us speak of these things. Let us think and speak of other matters. You see," he went on whimsically, "you were the first person I met, and I s'pose it was only natural you should get all the burden of--of my nightmare."

But Eve could not rid herself of her terror. She felt she must talk of this thing.

"No," she said with an effort to keep calm, "we must talk of it. We must think--think----"

"There is no need for you to think, Eve. Put it out of your head. I shall run him to earth----"

"But, Jim," she broke out, his words driving her to fresh terror, "it must be some half-breeds. Or--or--some 'toughs' from across the border. It must be. We are very near the Canadian border, remember. They're always being driven across by the Mounted Police."

"No, it's some one in the locality. Some one nobody would suspect. You see, there have been no strangers in the district for months."

"How do you know?" Eve's startled inquiry came almost defiantly.

If the man noticed her tone he gave no sign. He shook his head decidedly.

"We've had the district hunted, scoured thoroughly, sure." Then he shrugged. "But it don't matter. Psha! I'd sooner it was some half-breed or tough. I'd--I'd be less sorry for him." He paused and gazed tenderly into her troubled face. "But you don't need to be so shocked. Why?" he inquired. "This thing can't hurt you."

The girl jumped at the chance of denial.

"No, no, of course not," she exclaimed eagerly. Then, with a pitiful effort at subterfuge, "But you, Jim. To think that you are blamed."

In an instant his love was uppermost again. Her distress, whatever its cause, appealed to all that was best and manliest in him. Just now he took it to himself. And, in consequence, he found it hard to keep himself within the bounds of restraint. She was so sweet, so desirable in the pathetic picture she made.

"Never you worry, Eve," he said, with infinite gentleness. "This is up to me, and--I'm going to see it through. But here, I'm so full of my own troubles I'm forgetting all the good things coming your way. Say, I'm mighty glad of your luck. Will's claim is a bonanza, I'm told. I hear wonderful accounts of it--and of him." Then his voice lowered and his calm eyes darkened. "He has straightened up, hasn't he? It's a great thing. You'll be happier--now. You--you won't need my help--I mean for him. They tell me he's hit the right trail, and is busy traveling it." He sighed. "I'm glad, real glad--for you."

But curiously enough his sympathy met with no response. On the contrary, Eve seemed to freeze up. Every word he uttered lashed her until she felt she must blurt out to him the thing she believed to be the truth. But even in her agony of heart and mind she remembered what she conceived to be her duty, and, in self-defense, assumed a cold unresponsiveness.

"They say he'll be a way up millionaire," Jim went on, so busy with his own thoughts that he did not notice her silence. "Gee, and so easy, too. It's queer how fortune runs. Some folks work like--like Dagos, and get--mud. Others have gold poured over 'em, whether they work or not. But he must have worked to find it. Yes, sure. And having found it you can't blame him for not letting folks into the secret--eh?"

But Eve had not spoken. It was only a look, and an inarticulate sound. But it was a look of such abject terror that it could no longer escape the man's thoughtful eyes. Eve had betrayed herself in her very dread lest he should suspect. His reference to Will's secret had suggested suspicion to her, and the rest was the result of her innate honesty and simplicity.

Jim stared at her. And slowly a curious look crept into his eyes. Her terror was so evident, and--he thought back over the words that had inspired it. He was talking of Will--of Will's secret. For the moment he stood dumbfounded at that which flashed through his mind. Then he turned slowly, and mechanically threw the reins over his horse's neck.

When he looked round again Eve was still staring at him. Her terror was, if possible, intensified. Suddenly a great pity for her rose up in his heart. All his love was stirred to the almost limitless depths of his big heart. How he loved this woman! How he longed to take her to his heart, and shelter her from all the cruel buffeting of a harsh life! How he would fight for her, strive for her, work for her--and now? He thought of the brand that had fallen upon him, and he thought of that something which her sudden terrified glance had stirred in his unsuspicious mind.

"Guess I'll get on to the saloon, as Peter isn't in his hut," he said, in a quiet, unmeaning tone. "I'll see if I can locate Elia for you." He paused, and then swung into the saddle. Glancing down at her, he leaned forward and spoke earnestly. "Eve," he said, "it still stands good: the old order. When you need me--for anything, mind--you've only got to send me word. Wherever I am I'll come." He straightened up. He saw the girl make an effort to swallow, and glanced away to give her a chance to recover her composure. As he did so he saw a number of women and some men scattered about at the doorways of various houses. He promptly turned to the girl.

"Gee!" he cried, with a slightly forced laugh. "The vultures are around. They're looking for scandal, and, by the signs, I'd say they guess they've found it. To a man--or woman--they're staring this way. Say, I'll get going. Good-bye--and don't forget."

He rode off. Eve had not spoken. She knew that he knew, and she was overwhelmed at the knowledge. She slowly turned to the house, and with weary steps passed up the narrow pathway.

And Jim? The moment his face was turned from her his smile died out, leaving it stern and hard.