Ranchers -- Fiction; Revenge -- Fiction; Western stories
A new note had crept into his demand. There was a hush in his voice
which gave his words a curious tenderness, reverence even for the woman
they were speaking of.
"Guess it must have been over in a minute. Oh, say, it was just the
biggest, blindest, most tremendous thing. It was too awful. She was
so beautiful, too. And then the love in it. I kind of shiver when I
think of it. We heard your shout, Jeff. Evie came right along with
us. She insisted. You see, I'd made her mad. I'd blamed her to her
face. I--I'm sorry now. But, my, she was brave, and how she loved
you! Well, when Bud heard your shout I guess it didn't take him more
than a minute to beat in the door they'd fastened. Him an' the boys.
The rest took seconds. We stood clear, as you said, guessing you meant
a run for it. The place was ablaze. When the door fell we saw it all.
You were near it. Beyond you were two men. Sikkem was one. They were
against the far wall, sideways from the door. They had guns in their
hands. They meant finishing you anyway, whatever happened after. But
there was a bundle of blazing stuff in front of them, an' it seemed to
worry them quite a deal. You started for the door. They got busy to
use their guns right away. Then something happened. We'd forgot Evie.
Guess we were plumb staggered. Something rushed past us, into that
blazing hut. It was Evie, an' she managed to get between you and them
just as you dropped. She fell where she stood. It was the shots
they'd meant for you. Then Bud opened on 'em, the boys did too, and
after that we dragged you and Evie out. Oh, Jeff, she just didn't want
to live without you."
A great sob broke from the girl, and it found an echo deep down in the
man's heart. Nan buried her face in her hands, and the sound of her
sobs alone broke the stillness.
The man offered no comment. He made no movement. He lay there with
his clear eyes gazing at the silhouette of that still dark figure
against the mysterious sheen of night. His look gave no key to his
thoughts or emotions. His own physical sufferings even found no
expression in them. But thoughts were stirring, deep thoughts and
emotions which were his alone, and would remain his alone until the end.
CHAPTER XXVII
THE ROUND-UP
Bud's great bulk blocked the window opening on to the veranda. It was
his favorite vantage point in leisure. The after breakfast pipe
usually found him there. His evening pipe, when the sun was dipping
toward the glistening, fretted peaks of the hills, rarely found him
elsewhere. It was the point from which, in a way, he was able to view
the whole setting of the life that was his.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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