“This?”
“What is it, then? The last I remember I was lying in the snow with—”
“I wish to God you'd been let there,” said the boy bitterly.
But Pierre, overwhelmed with the endeavor to recollect, rushed on with his questions and paid no heed to the tone.
“I had a cross in my hand—”
The scorn of the boy grew to mighty proportions.
“It's there in the breast-pocket of your shirt.”
Pierre drew out the little cross, and the touch of it against his palm restored whatever of his strength was lacking. Very carefully he attached it to the chain about his throat. Then he looked up to the contempt of the boy, and as he did so another memory burst on him and brought him to his feet. The gun went to the boy's shoulders at the same time.
“When I was found—was anyone else with me?”
“Nope.”
“What happened?”
“Must have been buried in the landslide. Half a hill caved in, and the dirt rolled you down to the bottom. Plain luck, that's all, that kept you from going out.”
“Luck?” said Pierre and he laid his hand against his breast where he could feel the outline of the cross. “Yes, I suppose it was luck. And she—”
He sat down slowly and buried his face in his hands. A new tone came in the voice of the boy as he asked: “Was a woman with you?” But Pierre heard only the tone and not the words. His face was gray when he looked up again, and his voice hard.
“Tell me as briefly as you can how I come here, and who picked me up.”
“My father and his men. They passed you lying on the snow. They brought you home.”
“Who is your father?”
The boy stiffened and his color rose.
“My father is Jim Boone.”
Instinctively, while he stared, the right hand of Pierre le Rouge crept toward his hip.
“Keep your hand steady,” said the boy. “I got a nervous trigger-finger. Yeh, dad is pretty well known.”
“You're his son?”
“I'm Jack Boone.”
“But I've heard—tell me, why am I under guard?”
Jack was instantly aflame with the old anger.
“Not because I want you here.”
“Who does?”
“Dad.”
“Put away your pop-gun and talk sense. I won't try to get away until Jim Boone comes. I only fight men.”
Even the anger and grief of the boy could not keep him from smiling.
“Just the same I'll keep the shooting-iron handy. Sit still. A gun don't keep me from talking sense, does it? You're here to take Hal's place. Hal!” The little wail told a thousand things, and Pierre, shocked out of the thought of his own troubles, waited.
“My brother, Hal; he's dead; he died last night, and on the way back dad found you and brought you to take Hal's place.
The accent showed how impossible it was that Hal's place could be taken by any mortal man.
“I got orders to keep you here, but if I was to do what I'd like to do, I'd give you the best horse on the place and tell you to clear out. That's me!”
“Then do it.”
“And face dad afterward?”
“Tell him I overpowered you. That would be easy; you a slip of a boy, and me a man.”
“Stranger, it goes to show you may have heard of Jim Boone, but you don't anyways know him. When he orders a thing done he wants it done, and he don't care how, and he don't ask questions why. He just raises hell.”
“He really expects to keep me here?”
“Expects? He will.”
“Going to tie me up?” asked Pierre ironically.
“Maybe,” answered Jack, overlooking the irony. “Maybe he'll just put you on my shoulders to guard.”
