Argosy, Vol. 111, No. 1 — page 27: what you’re looking at

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

LUCK. hills, and beside him rode a grim brother- heed, the invisible fellowship of Cain. The moon rose higher, brighter, and a grotesque black shadow galloped over the snow beside him. He turned his head sharply to the other side and watched the sweep of white hills which reached back in range after range until they blended with the shadows of night. The road faded to a bridle path, and this in turn he lost among the windings of the valley. He was lost from even the traces of men, and yet the fear of men pursued him. Fear, and yet with it there was a thrill of happiness, for every swinging stride of the tall, wild roan carried him deeper inte freedem, the unutterable fierce free- dom of the hunted. CHAPTER VII. THE VOICE IN THE STORM. Att life was tame compared with this sudden awakening of Pierre, for his whole being burst into flower, his whole nature opened. He had killed a man. For fear of it he raced the tall roan furiously through the night. He had killed a man. For the joy of it his head was high, he sheuted a song that went-ringing across the blank, white hills. What place was there in Red Pierre for solemn qualms of conscience? Had he not met the first and last test triumphantly? The oldest instinct in creation was satisfied in him. Now he stood ready to say to all the world: Behold, a man! Let it be remembered that his early years had been passed in a dull, dun silence, and time had slipped by him with softly pad- ding, uneventful hours. Now, with the rope of restraint snapped, he rode at the world with hands, palm upward, asking for life, and that life which lies under the hills of the mountain-desert heard his ques- tion and sent a cold, sharp echo back to answer his lusty singing. The first answer, as he plunged on, not knowing where, and not carimg, was when the roan reeled suddenly and flung forward to the ground. Even that violent stop did not unseat Red Pierre. He jerked up on 2 ARGOSY 17 the reins with a curse-and drove in the spurs. Valiantly the horse reared his shoul- ders up, but when he strove to rise the right foreleg dangled helplessly. He had stepped in some hole and the bone was broken cleanly across. The rider slipped from the saddle and stoed facing the roan, which pricked its ears forward and struggled once more to regain its feet. The effort was hopeless, and Pierre took the broken leg and felt the rough edges of the splintered bone through the skin. The animal, as if it sensed that the man was trying to do it some good, nosed his shoulder and whinnied softly. Pierre stepped back and drew his revol- ver. The bullet would do quickly what the cold would accomplish after ingering hours of torture, yet, facing those pricking ears and the brave trust of the eyes, he was blinded by a mist and could not aim. He had to place the muzzle of the gun against the roan’s temple and pull the trigger. When he turned his back he was the only living thing within the white arms of the hills. Yet, when the next hill was behind him, he had already forgotten the second life which he put out that night, for regret is the one sorrow which never dodges the foot- steps of the hunted. Like ail his brother- hood of Cain, Pierre le Rouge pressed for- ward across the mountain-desert with his face turned toward the brave to-morrow. In the evening of his life, if he should live to that time, he would walk and talk with God. Now he had no mind save for the bright day coming. He had been riding with the wind and had scarcely noticed its violence in his head- long course. Now he felt it whipping sharp- ly at his back and increasing with each step. Overhead the sky was clear, piti- lessky clear. It seemed to give vision for the wind and cold to seek him out, and the moon made his following shadow long and black across the snow. The wind quickened rapidly to a gale that cut off the surface of the snow and whipped volleys of the small particles level with the surface. It cut the neck of Red Pierre, and the gusts struck his shoulders GOMIIGIOO S (©)