Adventure, November 1915 — page 92: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

gO him through ze storm—hold a gun at my head an’ make me. Do not t’ink I do so of my own accord,”’ ‘He turned his back and went to the fire. Small forced Rancour to lie flat again, and held the glass of brandy to his lips. For a time Rancour did not speak, but his eyes were always upon Pierre’s back. “PIERRE,” he said finally, “I want to talk to you.” “You haf’ not’ing, Rancour, to say to me.” “T have, Pierre. Come over here.” Pierre turned around with a sneer on his lips. And he saw Sylvester Small standing back where Rancour could not see him, holding that revolver in his hand—and his eyes were glittering again. “Bring a chair and sit beside the bunk,” Small commanded. Pierre obeyed, his eyes flashing fire at the little man who ordered him about. “Well?” he asked, sitting near the bunk, but looking across the room instead of at Rancour. “We have been enemies for twenty years, Pierre, and before that we were firm friends.” “iV-aq'? . “Pm not going to say what caused our quarrel, not going to open old wounds——”’ Pierre flashed him one look, then turned his face away again. . “It’s—it’s Mary, Pierre. She has no- body but me. She gets lonesome at times. And I have to live here, to make my living by ’tending to my traps. If you’d only be friends with Mary—and with me——” “Friends!”’ Pierre cried, looking toward him. “After what haf happen?” | “We've been fools for twenty years, Pierre. It would be nice to be friends again. And it would be nice for Mary, too. We could sit by the fire at night and talk over old times, and forget our quarrel. We're getting old. And we could both be fathers to Mary. Think, Pierre—/er name was Mary, too——” Pierre groaned and looked away again, then got up and walked to the fire and stood before it, his back to Rancour. Small fingered the revolver and waited. Presently he spoke. ‘“‘That’s a sensible conclusion,” he said. ‘“‘Now you two old-timers and fire-eaters, listen to me. You're even as far as I can Adventure see. You both loved the same girl twenty years ago, I understand.” “You—!” cried Pierre, whirling around. But he saw the'revolver again and that glitter in Small’s eyes. “Just keep your shirt on, Pierre, until I’m done. You both loved the same girl and fought for her, and one of you won. Instead of letting that settle it, you went on fighting.” “T fought fair!’’ Pierre said. “All right then—we’ll say Rancour didn’t. And you went on fighting every chance you got until the sheriff stepped in and made you stop it. You’ve been trying to hate each other since, but you’ve been friends all the time and don’t know it. Men who have passed through what you have couldn’t help but want to be friends. The fact that you both loved the same girl is enough. She’s dead—don’t soil her memory by keeping up this feud. And she’s left a daughter you both can love. Pierre, come over here!” The guide obeyed, because the revolver and the glitter in Small’s eyes commanded it. He sat down beside the bunk again. “Rancour,” Small went on, “I. think Pierre is as willing to be friends as you, only he hates to admit it. When your girl came to the cabin tonight he wouldn’t come over and help you. I had to force him to guide me. It was all right after we gat started. He could have done for me a dozen times, left me in the forest, told some plausible story, and nobody would have been the wiser. He brought me to you so I could give you medical attention. He was glad to do it, although he wouldn’t admit it. Weren’t you, Pierre?”’ His eyes held Pierre’s—those glittering eyes that seemed to say this man would tolerate no mutiny, that seemed to promise a bullet. “Well?” Small asked. ‘““Y—yas,’’ Pierre whispered. “Give Rancour your hand!” “No!?? “Give me your hand!” The words were spoken in a low tone, but they carried a volume of meaning. Slowly Pierre’s hand went out, slowly Ran- cour’s went to meet it. But Pierre still was stubborn. “Et es hees—lef’ han’,”’ he said. not—mean anyt’ing.”’ “Of course it is his left hand, you fool. “Zat CORICLOOOKS (C@ Ie - hal ee See SETH gt eo oa =