to the last man-第38章
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endowed him with Indian gifts； but the exercise of them to this end
caused a revolt in his soul。
Nevertheless； it was the Isbel blood that dominated him。 The wind blew
cool on his face。 The burden upon his shoulders seemed to lift。 The
clamoring whispers grew fainter in his ears。 And by the time he had
retraced his cautious steps back to the orchard all his physical being
was strung to the task at hand。 Something had come between his
reflective self and this man of action。
Crossing the lane； he took to the west line of sheds； and passed beyond
them into the meadow。 In the grass he crawled silently away to the
right； using the same precaution that had actuated him on the slope；
only here he did not pause so often； nor move so slowly。 Jean aimed
to go far enough to the right to pass the end of the embankment behind
which the rustlers had found such efficient cover。 This ditch had
been made to keep water； during spring thaws and summer storms； from
pouring off the slope to flood the corrals。
Jean miscalculated and found he had come upon the embankment somewhat
to the left of the end； which fact； however； caused him no uneasiness。
He lay there awhile to listen。 Again he heard voices。 After a time
a shot pealed out。 He did not see the flash； but he calculated that
it had come from the north side of the cabins。
The next quarter of an hour discovered to Jean that the nearest guard
was firing from the top of the embankment； perhaps a hundred yards
distant； and a second one was performing the same office from a point
apparently only a few yards farther on。 Two rustlers close together！
Jean had not calculated upon that。 For a little while he pondered on
what was best to do； and at length decided to crawl round behind them；
and as close as the situation made advisable。
He found the ditch behind the embankment a favorable path by which to
stalk these enemies。 It was dry and sandy； with borders of high weeds。
The only drawback was that it was almost impossible for him to keep
from brushing against the dry； invisible branches of the weeds。 To
offset this he wormed his way like a snail； inch by inch； taking a
long time before he caught sight of the sitting figure of a man； black
against the dark…blue sky。 This rustler had fired his rifle three
times during Jean's slow approach。 Jean watched and listened a few
moments； then wormed himself closer and closer； until the man was
within twenty steps of him。
Jean smelled tobacco smoke； but could see no light of pipe or cigarette；
because the fellow's back was turned。
〃Say； Ben；〃 said this man to his companion sitting hunched up a few
yards distant； 〃shore it strikes me queer thet Somers ain't shootin'
any over thar。〃
Jean recognized the dry； drawling voice of Greaves； and the shock of
it seemed to contract the muscles of his whole thrilling body； like
that of a panther about to spring。
CHAPTER VIII
Was shore thinkin' thet same；〃 said the other man。 〃An'； say； didn't
thet last shot sound too sharp fer Somers's forty…five？〃
〃Come to think of it； I reckon it did；〃 replied Greaves。
〃Wal； I'll go around over thar an' see。〃
The dark form of the rustler slipped out of sight over the embankment。
〃Better go slow an' careful；〃 warned Greaves。 〃An' only go close
enough to call Somers。 。 。 。 Mebbe thet damn half…breed Isbel is
comin' some Injun on us。〃
Jean heard the soft swish of footsteps through wet grass。 Then all
was still。 He lay flat； with his cheek on the sand； and he had to
look ahead and upward to make out the dark figure of Greaves on the
bank。 One way or another he meant to kill Greaves； and he had the
will power to resist the strongest gust of passion that had ever
stormed his breast。 If he arose and shot the rustler； that act would
defeat his plan of slipping on around upon the other outposts who were
firing at the cabins。 Jean wanted to call softly to Greaves； 〃You're
right about the half…breed！〃 and then； as he wheeled aghast； to kill him
as he moved。 But it suited Jean to risk leaping upon the man。 Jean did
not waste time in trying to understand the strange； deadly instinct that
gripped him at the moment。 But he realized then he had chosen the most
perilous plan to get rid of Greaves。
Jean drew a long； deep breath and held it。 He let go of his rifle。
He rose； silently as a lifting shadow。 He drew the bowie knife。
Then with light； swift bounds he glided up the bank。 Greaves must
have heard a rustlinga soft； quick pad of moccasin； for he turned
with a start。 And that instant Jean's left arm darted like a striking
snake round Greaves's neck and closed tight and hard。 With his right
hand free； holding the knife； Jean might have ended the deadly business
in just one move。 But when his bared arm felt the hot； bulging neck
something terrible burst out of the depths of him。 To kill this enemy
of his father's was not enough！ Physical contact had unleashed the
savage soul of the Indian。 Yet there was more； and as Jean gave the
straining body a tremendous jerk backward； he felt the same strange
thrill； the dark joy that he had known when his fist had smashed the
face of Simm Bruce。 Greaves had leeredhe had corroborated Bruce's
vile insinuation about Ellen Jorth。 So it was more than hate that
actuated Jean Isbel。
Greaves was heavy and powerful。 He whirled himself； feet first；
over backward； in a lunge like that of a lassoed steer。 But Jean's
hold held。 They rolled down the bank into the sandy ditch； and Jean
landed uppermost； with his body at right angles with that of his adversary。
〃Greaves； your hunch was right；〃 hissed Jean。 〃It's the half…breed。
。 。 。 An' I'm goin' to cut youfirst for Ellen Jorthan' then for
Gaston Isbel！ 〃
Jean gazed down into the gleaming eyes。 Then his right arm whipped
the big blade。 It flashed。 It fell。 Low down； as far as Jean could
reach； it entered Greaves's body。
All the heavy； muscular frame of Greaves seemed to contract and burst。
His spring was that of an animal in terror and agony。 It was so
tremendous that it broke Jean's hold。 Greaves let out a strangled
yell that cleared； swelling wildly； with a hideous mortal note。 He
wrestled free。 The big knife came out。 Supple and swift； he got to
his； knees。 He had his gun out when Jean reached him again。 Like a
bear Jean enveloped him。 Greaves shot； but he could not raise the gun；
nor twist it far enough。 Then Jean； letting go with his right arm；
swung the bowie。 Greaves's strength went out in an awful； hoarse cry。
His gun boomed again； then dropped from his hand。 He swayed。 Jean
let go。 And that enemy of the Isbels sank limply in the ditch。
Jean's eyes roved for his rifle and caught the starlit gleam of it。
Snatching it up； he leaped over the embankment and ran straight for
the cabins。 From all around yells of the Jorth faction attested to
their excitement and fury。
A fence loomed up gray in the obscurity。 Jean vaulted it； darted
across the lane into the shadow of the corral； and soon gained the
first cabin。 Here he leaned to regain his breath。 His heart pounded
high and seemed too large for his breast。 The hot blood beat and
surged all over his body。 Sweat poured off him。 His teeth were
clenched tight as a vise； and it took effort on his part to open
his mouth so he could breathe more freely and deeply。 But these
physical sensations were as nothing compared to the tumult of his mind。
Then the instinct； the spell； let go its grip and he could think。
He had avenged Guy； he bad depleted the ranks of the Jorths； he had
made good the brag of his father； all of which afforded him satisfaction。
But these thoughts were not accountable for all that be felt； especially
for the bittersweet sting of the fact that death to the defiler of Ellen
Jorth could not efface the doubt； the regret which seemed to grow with
the hours。
Groping his way into the woodshed； he entered the kitchen and；
calling low； he went on into the main cabin。
〃Jean！ Jean！〃 came his father's shaking voice。
〃Yes； I'm back；〃 replied Jean。
〃Areyouall right？〃
〃Yes。 I think I've got a bullet crease on my leg。 I didn't know I
had it
