to the last man-第18章
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out of the sloping forest on the side opposite her。 The trees were
all sharp； spear pointed。 Patches of light green aspens showed
strikingly against the dense black。 The great slope beneath Ellen
was serrated with narrow； deep gorges； almost canyons in themselves。
Shadows alternated with clear bright spaces。 The mile…wide mouth of
the canyon opened upon the Basin； down into a world of wild timbered
ranges and ravines； valleys and hills； that rolled and tumbled in
dark…green waves to the Sierra Anchas。
But for once Ellen seemed singularly unresponsive to this panorama
of wildness and grandeur。 Her ears were like those of a listening deer；
and her eyes continually reverted to the open places along the Rim。
At first； in her excitement； time flew by。 Gradually； however； as
the sun moved westward； she began to be restless。 The soft thud of
dropping pine cones； the rustling of squirrels up and down the
shaggy…barked spruces； the cracking of weathered bits of rock；
these caught her keen ears many times and brought her up erect and
thrilling。 Finally she heard a sound which resembled that of an
unshod hoof on stone。 Stealthily then she took her rifle and slipped
back through the pine thicket to the spot she had chosen。 The little
pines were so close together that she had to crawl between their trunks。
The ground was covered with a soft bed of pine needles； brown and
fragrant。 In her hurry she pricked her ungloved hand on a sharp pine
cone and drew the blood。 She sucked the tiny wound。 〃Shore I'm
wonderin' if that's a bad omen；〃 she muttered； darkly thoughtful。
Then she resumed her sinuous approach to the edge of the thicket；
and presently reached it。
Ellen lay flat a moment to recover her breath； then raised herself on
her elbows。 Through an opening in the fringe of buck brush she could
plainly see the promontory where she had stood with Jean Isbel； and
also the approaches by which he might come。 Rather nervously she
realized that her covert was hardly more than a hundred feet from
the promontory。 It was imperative that she be absolutely silent。
Her eyes searched the openings along the Rim。 The gray form of a
deer crossed one of these； and she concluded it had made the sound
she had heard。 Then she lay down more comfortably and waited。
Resolutely she held； as much as possible； to her sensorial perceptions。
The meaning of Ellen Jorth lying in ambush just to see an Isbel was a
conundrum she refused to ponder in the present。 She was doing it； and
the physical act had its fascination。 Her ears； attuned to all the
sounds of the lonely forest； caught them and arranged them according
to her knowledge of woodcraft。
A long hour passed by。 The sun had slanted to a point halfway between
the zenith and the horizon。 Suddenly a thought confronted Ellen Jorth：
〃He's not comin'；〃 she whispered。 The instant that idea presented
itself she felt a blank sense of loss； a vague regretsomething that
must have been disappointment。 Unprepared for this； she was held by
surprise for a moment； and then she was stunned。 Her spirit； swift
and rebellious； had no time to rise in her defense。 She was a lonely；
guilty； miserable girl； too weak for pride to uphold； too fluctuating
to know her real self。 She stretched there； burying her face in the
pine needles； digging her fingers into them； wanting nothing so much
as that they might hide her。 The moment was incomprehensible to Ellen；
and utterly intolerable。 The sharp pine needles； piercing her wrists
and cheeks； and her hot heaving breast； seemed to give her exquisite
relief。
The shrill snort of a horse sounded near at hand。 With a shock Ellen's
body stiffened。 Then she quivered a little and her feelings underwent
swift change。 Cautiously and noiselessly she raised herself upon her
elbows and peeped through the opening in the brush。 She saw a man
tying a horse to a bush somewhat back from the Rim。 Drawing a rifle
from its saddle sheath he threw it in the hollow of his arm and walked
to the edge of the precipice。 He gazed away across the Basin and
appeared lost in contemplation or thought。 Then he turned to look
back into the forest； as if he expected some one。
Ellen recognized the lithe figure； the dark face so like an Indian's。
It was Isbel。 He had come。 Somehow his coming seemed wonderful and
terrible。 Ellen shook as she leaned on her elbows。 Jean Isbel； true
to his word； in spite of her scorn； had come back to see her。 The fact
seemed monstrous。 He was an enemy of her father。 Long had range rumor
been bandied from lip to lipold Gass Isbel had sent for his Indian
son to fight the Jorths。 Jean Isbelson of a Texanunerring shot
peerless trackera bad and dangerous man！ Then there flashed over
Ellen a burning thoughtif it were true； if he was an enemy of her
father's； if a fight between Jorth and Isbel was inevitable； she ought
to kill this Jean Isbel right there in his tracks as he boldly and
confidently waited for her。 Fool he was to think she would come。
Ellen sank down and dropped her head until the strange tremor of her
arms ceased。 That dark and grim flash of thought retreated。 She had
not come to murder a man from ambush； but only to watch him； to try to
see what he meant； what he thought； to allay a strange curiosity。
After a while she looked again。 Isbel was sitting on an upheaved
section of the Rim； in a comfortable position from which he could
watch the openings in the forest and gaze as well across the west
curve of the Basin to the Mazatzals。 He had composed himself to wait。
He was clad in a buckskin suit； rather new； and it certainly showed
off to advantage； compared with the ragged and soiled apparel Ellen
remembered。 He did not look so large。 Ellen was used to the long；
lean； rangy Arizonians and Texans。 This man was built differently。
He had the widest shoulders of any man she had ever seen； and they
made him appear rather short。 But his lithe； powerful limbs proved
he was not short。 Whenever he moved the muscles rippled。 His hands
were clasped round a kneebrown； sinewy hands； very broad； and fitting
the thick muscular wrists。 His collar was open； and he did not wear a
scarf； as did the men Ellen knew。 Then her intense curiosity at last
brought her steady gaze to Jean Isbel's head and face。 He wore a cap；
evidently of some thin fur。 His hair was straight and short； and in
color a dead raven black。 His complexion was dark； clear tan； with no
trace of red。 He did not have the prominent cheek bones nor the
high…bridged nose usual with white men who were part Indian。 Still
he had the Indian look。 Ellen caught that in the dark； intent；
piercing eyes； in the wide； level； thoughtful brows； in the stern
impassiveness of his smooth face。 He had a straight； sharp…cut profile。
Ellen whispered to herself： 〃I saw him right the other day。 Only；
I'd not admit it。 。 。 。 The finest…lookin' man I ever saw in my life
is a damned Isbel！ Was that what I come out heah for？〃
She lowered herself once more and； folding her arms under her breast；
she reclined comfortably on them； and searched out a smaller peephole
from which she could spy upon Isbel。 And as she watched him the new
and perplexing side of her mind waxed busier。 Why had he come back？
What did he want of her？ Acquaintance； friendship； was impossible for
them。 He had been respectful； deferential toward her； in a way that
had strangely pleased； until the surprising moment when he had kissed
her。 That had only disrupted her rather dreamy pleasure in a situation
she had not experienced before。 All the men she had met in this wild
country were rough and bold； most of them had wanted to marry her；
and； failing that； they had persisted in amorous attentions not
particularly flattering or honorable。 They were a bad lot。 And
contact with them had dulled some of her sensibilities。 But this
Jean Isbel had seemed a gentleman。 She struggled to be fair； trying
to forget her antipathy； as much to understand herself as to give him
due credit。 True； he had kissed her； crudely and forcibly。 But that
kiss had not been an insult。 Ellen's finer feeling forced her to
belie
