Carron saw a shadow coming down the walk
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 LUCIA CHAMBERLAIN 
 
 Author of 
 
 THE COAST OF CHANCE 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR 
 
 WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY 
 
 HERMAN PFEIFER 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP 
 
 PUBLISHERS
 
 COPYRIGHT 1910 
 THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE MAN ON THE ROAD 
 
 I DON'T know anything about it," the man stub- 
 bornly insisted. His glance ran over the whole 
 white- and black-spotted canon, over the ardent blue 
 horizon, over the buttes in front, swinging back like 
 gates to show where the mountains began, and re- 
 turned defiantly to Carron's face. "Don't even know 
 there is such a thing," he concluded. 
 
 Carron couldn't help smiling. "You were very 
 sure there was only a little while ago." He paused 
 interrogatively, peering from the hood of the run- 
 about. "Well, say you did overstate the facts, sup- 
 pose you haven't seen it yourself sure you don't 
 know some one else who has seen it ?" 
 
 "No, I don't!" he said loudly and sullenly. He 
 gave the speaker a rapid, furtive glance. "I don't, 
 and what's more, I tell you if I did I wouldn't let 
 you know it not if you gave me a thousand dol- 
 lars !" He was working himself into a passion. Car- 
 
 i 
 
 21346S9
 
 SON OF. THE .WIND 
 
 ron stretched his neck a little more eagerly, and his 
 incredulous smile quickened with excitement. He 
 looked straight through the resistance, the denials. 
 For a moment he absorbed the aspect of that figure 
 planted there in the white road ; then risked the reins 
 and got out of the runabout. 
 
 The fellow seemed ready either to strike him or 
 to dart away, but Carron stood quite still. "Look 
 here," he said persuasively, "we both talked a good 
 deal last night, but you seem to think you said too 
 much, and you think I want to take advantage of it. 
 Well, I do. What you told me has taken my fancy, 
 but I want to be on the square about it. Of course, 
 I know you are not going to give information you 
 are not supposed to give; but where's the harm in 
 telling me who your friends are? Then, if they don't 
 want to talk, let them say so, and that will be the 
 end of it." 
 
 While he was speaking he had been walking leis- 
 urely forward, until, as he ended, he stopped just in 
 front of his antagonist. He reached, took, and 
 grasped the limp left hand, drawing it forward in 
 front of him, by the warmth and energy of his own, 
 forcing a nervous involuntary pressure from it. He 
 released it, and it stayed as if hypnotized out- 
 stretched, palm up, with a gold piece of twenty dol- 
 lars in it. 
 
 2
 
 THE MAN ON THE ROAD 
 
 The recipient of this equivocal coin looked at it 
 nervelessly. His face had the overwhelmed expres- 
 sion of one who finds he has been led far when he 
 thought himself standing firm. Then, as if in in- 
 voluntary repudiation, his palm stiffened, his fingers 
 spread, the money glimmered at the point of sliding 
 through them but Carron, with a clutch of his 
 own, doubled the fingers to a fist. 
 
 "Hang on to it," he said reassuringly. "It's what 
 we agreed on, isn't it ? It hardly pays you for your 
 trouble." Seeing his argument still hung fire he 
 ended, "I'm afraid it's going to be a dry winter." 
 
 The man looked up at the sky, the light of which 
 seemed to whiten the whole landscape, then down- 
 ward at his worn shoes, then at his hand closed like 
 a fist. Some reaction, physical as well as mental, 
 had begun. His legs, planted in the posture of firm- 
 ness, trembled, his eyelids twitched ; when he spoke 
 his voice sounded uncertain. "Try Rader's," he mut- 
 tered without raising his eyes, "first turn to the left 
 as you go ahead." 
 
 "Rader's, first turn to the left as you go ahead," 
 Carron repeated, and felt amused. It was like a vil- 
 lage direction. Here, where long distances led be- 
 tween mountains and immense sky, it sounded 
 too scant. He hesitated, foot on the buggy step, but 
 the aspect of the man on the road warned that fur- 
 
 3
 
 SON OE THE .WIND 
 
 ther asking here would be useless. "Much obliged," 
 he said, and got in. The sight of the forlorn figure 
 in the uninhabited landscape gave him pause. "Can't 
 I give you a lift a little farther along the road?" 
 
 Without raising his eyes the man violently shook 
 his head. 
 
 "Well," Carron said cheerfully, "I suppose you 
 know which way you're going." The reins tightened, 
 the mare stepped out. 
 
 The man spoke behind him. "Remember, I 
 haven't heard anything; I didn't say they'd seen it. 
 I don't even know how much they know about it." 
 
 "I understand," Carron called back. "No one 
 there is going to hear your name mentioned." 
 
 If he had felt the whiplash the fellow couldn't 
 have flashed into keener anger. His face, already 
 heavily flushed, took on a purplish, unhealthy color. 
 As if it were a thing that could be hurt, with a vio- 
 lent gesture he threw the money from him. It shone 
 and sank in deep dust. 
 
 Carron, with the reins taut in his hands, while 
 the mare sped, stared back in astonishment. He 
 wanted to laugh, yet he felt concerned. "Damn it 
 all," he thought, "what sent him off at half-cock 
 again? What did I say? What a fool! Hey, 
 Hey I" he muttered encouragingly to the mare that, 
 hot and fretted with delay, was dancing delicately 
 
 4
 
 THE MAN ON THE ROAD 
 
 sidewise ; "why the devil do I always have creatures 
 on my hands that are flying to pieces?" 
 
 He was irritated that money he had given should 
 be thrown away, yet he felt pity, and a sort of re- 
 sponsibility for the man on the road, as he was in- 
 clined to feel for all beings weaker than himself. 
 He drew the mare in to a slow undulating pace and 
 looked behind him. 
 
 Dust, many times dry, stood up in a cloud, and in 
 that haze he could make out something which a few 
 minutes before might have been an upright human 
 figure, but now had become more like an animal nos- 
 ing for a scent, crouching close to the ground, mak- 
 ing quick darts uncertainly here and there in the 
 road. Carron watched with dubious amusement. 
 "He'll not find it again that's sure ; as well hunt in 
 a pit of ashes. Might go back and give him another." 
 He consulted his watch, and his pockets. "No," he 
 determined, "I'm too close nipped as it is and be- 
 sides, if he has misdirected me, as for all I know he 
 probably has, he's only got what's coming to him." 
 
 But this last conclusion was put forth for com- 
 fort. He didn't believe it. He felt as certain that 
 the fellow had spoken the truth then, as he had been 
 sure, before, that he had lied. Those violent denials, 
 the brazen way he had stood ready to eat his words 
 they had been but so many reassurances that the 
 
 5
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 thing was real. And then, that last, scant direction 
 three words fairly squeezed out of his throat! 
 Carron had the unusual sensation of seeing his 
 chimera, his gauzy fable, which all day had led him 
 like a mirage threatening each moment to melt into 
 air, now suddenly grown possible to the imagina- 
 tion, palpable, almost solid. 
 
 A light and irresponsible pleasure quickened in his 
 veins. The world had one more adventure left, 
 dangerous enough, but not too serious. The figure 
 of the man on the road, unpaid by his own act 
 and vainly searching, receded from his mind. He 
 was leaving it behind with the dusty high valley, the 
 thin trees and the traveled roads. He was entering 
 upon the unexpected and the unwanted. White grass 
 was giving place to growth of pine, filling the sharp- 
 ening canon. Now he was plunged into trees; 
 again, he emerged among strewn boulders with a 
 sudden little lake like a burning-glass on the one 
 hand. In the bright eye of this he saw himself and 
 his fretful beast reflected, little creatures in a great 
 landscape, creeping on a road which clung to the 
 foot of the cliffs. Tremendous heat of mid-after- 
 noon hung in the canon, a white and sparkling light 
 growing ghostly with distance. Straight before him, 
 as if at the end of his journey, he saw the two rocks 
 like gates flung open into some garden of mountains 
 
 6
 
 THE MAN ON THE ROAD 
 
 beyond, and from there, as from afar off, he heard 
 the voice of an exhausted river. There was no other 
 sound except the intermittent rattle of his guns 
 in the wagon body, and the knocking of his 
 horse's hoofs on the road. Not a cloud, not a 
 bird's wing, nothing moved excepfhis own shadow, 
 black and little, at his feet. He welcomed the mag- 
 nificent absence of his kind. It was solitude, but it 
 was not desolation. The air was stimulating and 
 vital. The canon was peopled with curious forms 
 of rock and tree round towers, banners, and fig- 
 ures which, when confronted, were not figures. Yet 
 at the first glimpse, to his fancy, they took always 
 one shape. Twisted pine, sandstone, shard, the im- 
 age in his mind flashed into the senseless stuff, 
 animated it and melted. The procession of cliffs 
 separated into high, round hills. Without his real- 
 izing, without his seeing how, before his eyes the 
 trick was done. Above these nearer smaller emin- 
 ences, higher, rockier crests multiplied. Faces of 
 the half -gods in sandstone looked on him humor- 
 ously from the sky; and far in front between the 
 open gates appeared pale summits and divides, and 
 highest of all, a peak like a little cloud. 
 
 It glimmered before him, scarcely seen before it 
 was being shut away. The gates seemed closing upon 
 it. The flank of a hill was gliding across his vision. 
 
 7
 
 SON OE THE WIND 
 
 The road had been endlessly turning around a great 
 base of rock, and now he was aware that the canon 
 which had led straight before him, was dropping 
 away to the right. This road of man, as if it dared 
 not follow the highway of the gods, was perversely 
 turning aside between the close, round slopes of two 
 "sugar-loafs." Carron should have been ready for 
 this. But he had been rather in the clouds. Now, he 
 had to remember that unless Rader was the "old 
 man of the mountains" himself he could not be 
 found in that citadel of high peaks. It was in reason 
 that the road would change, yet, in spite of reason, 
 he felt put off from the main object of his quest, and 
 he looked at the fresh prospect with suspicion. 
 
 It was a narrow glimpse, a mere passageway 
 through into a different country, of lower sky-line 
 and thicker, greater companies of trees ; and square 
 at the end of it, so close it seemed to close the gap, 
 making a cul-de-sac, was a low, round eminence 
 hill rather than mountain clothed complete in 
 dusky green. He had scarcely time to see it, to note 
 the distinctive air it had among the rougher outlines 
 around it, like a personage in a crowd, before it was 
 shut from sight in thickening branches, and the land- 
 scape became a soft, mysterious thing of forest. 
 Olive-green and gray were on either side of him, 
 brown underfoot. There was a diminishing of angles 
 
 8
 
 THE MAN ON THE ROAD 
 
 to curves, of cliffs to gradual rises. The road was 
 ascending, not abruptly, but with the long, scarcely 
 discernible slope which indicates the general trend 
 of the country. At intervals there was a look of 
 openness among the trees, giving him fugitive ex- 
 pectations that the truthfulness of the man on the 
 road was about to be vindicated. But the way led 
 gradually up for an eternity without so much as a 
 rabbit trail to interrupt the monotony of it ; it looked 
 more lonely and far less suggestive of life than the 
 canon, and the idea intruded more and more upon 
 his mind that, after all, the fellow had misdirected 
 him. The thought of a night under the open 
 sky did not trouble him; but the thought that 
 he had been mistaken in his man made him chafe. 
 He had felt so sure, yet now he had to admit that 
 his informer must have had every practical reason 
 in the world for wanting to lead him astray. He 
 remarked that the occasional shafts of sun which 
 found him were changing from white to yellow; 
 then that there was no longer any sun at all. A 
 great shadow lay over everything, and the heat was 
 changing to freshness. He took off his hat the bet- 
 ter to feel the fine breath of the air. 
 
 Presently the monotonous climb was interrupted 
 by an unexpected descent into a gully, or little canon. 
 He could see pools of water standing in an expanse 
 
 9
 
 SON OF. THE f WIND 
 
 of boulders, and connected by a glow, creeping 
 thread of water. 
 
 If he must camp, he thought, this was the best 
 place, water, and safe ground for a fire. But camp, 
 or go back, or go on? He put his hand into his 
 pocket, regretting that there were not three sides to 
 a penny, and peered forward between the tree trunks 
 at the other side of the bank to see in which direction 
 his road led. At first it seemed to him that it cut 
 away to the right, then that it led straight on before 
 him. Then that it led two ways. He was rather 
 afraid of being disappointed, but actually there was 
 no doubt about it. 
 
 The other side of the creek gave him a clearer 
 prospect. The road he had followed skirted around 
 the base of a hill, the same hill, no doubt, that he had 
 seen from afar, set castle-like across his path, but 
 the first turn to the left, which he now turned into 
 out of the wider track, addressed itself direct to 
 the ascent, winding, narrow, steep and dim in the 
 tunneled trees. Carron kept glancing from side to 
 side of it, as if what he was searching for might at 
 any moment start out on him through the flow of 
 leaves. He was poised, ready for the next thing to 
 happen, alert against surprise, though the trail of 
 events he was following should double upon him as 
 unexpectedly as the road, which, after plunging him 
 
 10
 
 THE MAN ON THE ROAD 
 
 around mountains and into canons, was finally lead- 
 ing him up into the high, glimmering twilight of a 
 pine forest. Successive chambers of yellow light and 
 bluish shadow opened before him. The dimensions 
 of his surroundings were decreasing. Trees became 
 smaller; distances briefer down forest aisles; the 
 sky, with its diminished blue, seemed closer to his 
 head, and the silence was the only thing that opened 
 more profoundly around him. 
 
 His mind, like a ready general, scouted over the 
 probabilities of who and what in the shape of "Ra- 
 der's" might be awaiting him, perhaps around the 
 next turn of the track a woodcutter's shack, or 
 possibly a hunter's encampment. In spite of his 
 readiness for anything, Carron experienced a lively 
 sense of astonishment when, after a half mile of 
 unbroken tree and shadow, he saw in front of him 
 two gaunt, white gate-posts. To say there was a 
 gate there would have been inexact. Whatever had 
 swung between them once, only the rusty hinges of 
 it remained, and, at one side on the ground, half 
 buried in pine-needles, lay an arch-shaped piece of 
 wood. Traces of whitewash showed upon it, and 
 traces of what once might have been black lettering. 
 The thing had an air of decaying sophistication, 
 grotesque, melancholy, absurd, cast away here in 
 the flourishing forest. The idea occurred to him
 
 SON OK THE WIND 
 
 that, instead of a woodman's shanty, he might be ap- 
 proaching some old, neglected country seat. 
 
 A flattening of the ascent into the almost level 
 and a slight widening of the road ahead warned his 
 eyes. At the far end of it he saw what seemed 
 to be the loop of a drive. The pines thinned, and 
 between their boughs he had glimpses of a house. 
 The trees stopped at an abrupt clearing and im- 
 mediately it was all before him long, pale fagade, 
 long, naked piazza, and long, straight rows of win- 
 dows, an austere, sharp-angled mass in the dark 
 circle of the forest. Before he realized what it was, 
 he knew it was nothing that he had expected. It 
 was large, but not imposing, spacious but spare, like 
 a place flung together for the merest utility of hous- 
 ing room. If that wing of the building extending 
 to the left suggested in its proportions and weather- 
 worn whitewash some kinship to the gate-posts, the 
 main body of the house declared itself unhesitat- 
 ingly new. After a moment's looking he recognized 
 what it must be : one of those lesser hotels so fre- 
 quent in the redwoods of the coast mountains, but 
 here in this high isolation, as improbable as a pony 
 cart or a tennis racket. He was astonished to find 
 it existing here in the middle of this lopped-off 
 clearing, with its drive made broad for the whirl of 
 many wheels, unused, its long verandas empty, the 
 
 12
 
 .THE MAN ON THE ROAD 
 
 shades of all the upper windows drawn. What sort 
 of life went on in such places out of season he had 
 never before reflected ; but that there was living of 
 some sort was now before him, for the house was 
 far from shut up, and wide-flung doors and win- 
 dows of the lower story vigorously breathed of 
 agitated dust. 
 
 While he looked a tall woman with a white cloth 
 over her head and a broom in her hand came out on 
 the piazza.. Seeing Carron, she put her hand to the 
 cloth with involuntary deprecation. There was sur- 
 prise in the gesture, but no confusion at the sight of 
 a stranger. Something in her way of looking at him 
 suggested that strangers were more usual with her 
 than friends. He took the half turn of the drive 
 and drew up at the steps. 
 
 "Did you want to see " she began, but her faded 
 voice left the question hanging in the air, as if there 
 was more than one person he might have wanted. 
 
 "Mr. Rader," he finished for her; and, at that, a 
 fresh surprise was added to her query. He saw her 
 look him over from his bare head to his boots ; from 
 the horse between the shafts to the rifles in the body 
 of the runabout ; knew she was classing him ; knew, 
 too, that this was something he couldn't do with 
 her. He guessed she was the proprietor of this 
 establishment, but this failed to class her among 
 
 13
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 hotel keepers. She eluded him, even while he saw 
 her adding up his sum. 
 
 "Do you mind telling me what you want to see 
 Mr. Rader about?" she said at last. 
 
 He had been expecting this, and was ready for it. 
 "I am after deer," he explained. "I missed my 
 guide at Beckwith left word for him to join me 
 at Mohawk, and came along. But I got on the wrong 
 road somehow, and a chap I met a few miles below 
 here told me that Raders might take me in over- 
 night, and put me on the right road back in the 
 morning." 
 
 She came forward to the edge of the porch and 
 stood, leaning on her broom like a wand of office. 
 She looked weary and scarcely interested. "We've 
 closed for the season," she said. "Why don't you 
 go down to Ferriers' ? It's only half a mile along on 
 the main road." 
 
 "But my mare is almost done, I shouldn't like to 
 take her any farther to-night. Would Mr. Rader 
 object to an informal boarder, even if it is a little 
 out of season?" 
 
 "Oh, he!" she exclaimed, as if Mr. Rader were 
 not at all the question. "But the house is so upset, 
 and I don't keep any dining-room girl in the win- 
 ter," she hesitated. 
 
 "I'm not a fellow who is much trouble," Carron
 
 THE MAN ON THE ROAD 
 
 urged. He looked up like a begging boy who feels 
 that his plea is already half won. 
 
 She hesitated, but her quick eyes continued 
 shrewdly to consider him. 
 
 His black hair was powdered gray as a wig with 
 dust. Dust clung to his thick eyebrows, and dust 
 and sweat of many miles was on his face, but the 
 fact that it was an attractive face was not obscured. 
 The eyes were frank and persuasive ; the mouth was 
 cautious; the neck sat squarely on the shoulders, 
 firm as if riveted there. Body and head alike bore 
 a suggestion of the Greek not of the splendid 
 statued heroes, but of the light lads of the Parthenon 
 frieze, astride of horses, and inviting fate with 
 brave, objective eyes. 
 
 That disarming youthfulness, that outward gaze 
 which seemed so sure of triumphs, were making in- 
 roads upon the resolution of the woman with the 
 broom. She hovered at the cross-road of decision, 
 while a sort of unready sweetness struggled through 
 her formal expression. "I am going to like her," 
 Carron thought, and thinking, involuntarily smiled 
 at her. 
 
 "Well, I suppose you can stay," she said reluc- 
 tantly, as though the smile had somehow clenched 
 the matter to her mind. 
 
 He was out of the buggy before she could have 
 15
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 time to regret her decision. "You are very kind to 
 take me in," he said gratefully, "and my mare, too. 
 She would be worse off at night in the open than I. 
 If you will tell me where the stable is, I will get her 
 under cover immediately. She's too hot to stand." 
 
 The woman looked apologetic. "I hate to have 
 you go yourself, but there is no one here now that 
 knows much about horses." 
 
 Carron permitted himself a moment's wonder. 
 What about Rader? 
 
 She lifted her voice to a penetrative note, calling 
 "Ge o o rge." 
 
 A half-grown boy looked out at the door. He had 
 a singularly vacant face. A quantity of dirty 
 clothes were in his hand, an apron was tied around 
 his waist. His occupation had perhaps been that 
 of cleaning windows. 
 
 Mrs. Rader went close to him, put her hand on 
 his shoulder and spoke into his eyes as if he had 
 been a deaf person. "George, I want you to show 
 this gentleman over to the barn, wait there, and get 
 him anything he wants. If you go quite close, and 
 take hold of him, and look at him when you talk," 
 she explained to Carron aside, "he always under- 
 stands. He knows where everything is." 
 
 Preceded by this guide, who, unlike the natural 
 boy, seemed unembarrassed by his feminine gar- 
 
 16
 
 THE MAN ON THE ROAD 
 
 ment, and walked boldly with apron strings flutter- 
 ing, Carron led the chestnut around the drive past 
 the greater entrance and, swinging into the angle 
 of the left wing, past its worn, white front, with 
 painted decorations of wood above the windows and 
 steps going up to a little door retired under the roof 
 of the porch; past these and, just beyond, turned 
 aside down a wagon track which branched and de- 
 scended at the left of the house. The barn stood in 
 a clearing close-clipped by trees with brown sift of 
 pine-needles upon its roof. It was large, but 
 of an appearance as dilapidated as the gate-posts, 
 and Carron thought anxiously of the chestnut's wel- 
 fare. The boy led straight through the door, the 
 lintel of which sagged alarmingly, through a very 
 cavern of ancient odors, cobwebs and echoes, slid 
 another door and emerged upon quite a different 
 place, smaller, well-kept, altogether more modern 
 evidently an addition built upon the greater stable. 
 There was no vehicle in the carriage house, no car- 
 riage harness ; a few bridles hung on pegs. The only 
 saddle was a side-saddle. There were three stalls, 
 one occupied by a mustang, with an ugly head and 
 prettily built legs, two empty. In the first of these 
 the boy strewed straw and shook down hay. The 
 last, evidently habitually occupied, just now was 
 empty. 
 
 17
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 Carron wondered as he made ready the irritable 
 chestnut for her night's lodging, whether that last 
 stall belonged to Rader's horse. The thought made 
 him anxious. "Is the horse that belongs in that 
 stall coming back to-night?" he asked the boy who 
 had come out of the harness room with a blanket 
 over his arm. 
 
 The strange creature only stared. 
 
 Mindful of Mrs. Rader's advice, Carron went 
 close to him, but some lack in the face made it re- 
 pugnant. He could not bring himself to touch the 
 fellow. He raised his voice and pointed behind 
 him. "Is the horse that belongs there, in that stall, 
 coming back to-night ?" 
 
 The boy's gaze intensified, seemed to concentrate, 
 and, if the face had not been so blank, Carron would 
 have fancied a pale glare of hostility in the eyes; 
 but the lips, showing a faint gleam of teeth behind 
 their relaxed line, remained unmoved. 
 
 Carron took the blanket and went into the stall. 
 He felt uncomfortable out of reason. While he 
 settled the covering over the chestnut's pettish shoul- 
 ders and fastened her, he had an uneasy conscious- 
 ness of the boy's eyes, like an observing animal's, 
 following every movement. He took off his duster, 
 flicked off his boots, shook the worst dust from his 
 hair, gathered up the gun cases in the back of the 
 
 18
 
 THE MAN ON THE ROAD 
 
 runabout and turned to go. The boy was standing 
 motionless with his arm slightly crooked just as the 
 blanket had been taken from it; but when Car- 
 ron turned, he slipped rapidly ahead of him and 
 disappeared in the darkness of the old stable. A 
 flight of ghostly little echoes announced his passing 
 through. Carron waited several moments before 
 he could overcome his instinct to go out by another 
 way. 
 
 "Queer business," he thought, as he walked back 
 along the wagon track. "More deaf in his mind 
 than in his ears, I should say. I wonder if he un- 
 derstood me! Ugh!" Moral obliquity he could 
 meet with untroubled nerves, but deformity in body 
 or brains disturbed his very flesh. He glimpsed the 
 white, turbaned head of the proprietress peering for 
 him from the porch, and that brought back his more 
 important perplexity. "How in the deuce am I to get 
 at this Rader?" he pondered. "I shall have to per- 
 suade that good soul to keep me another night.'* 
 Lacking a hat, he raised his hand in salute as she 
 caught sight of him. 
 
 "Your room is ready," she said. "I have had to 
 put you in the old wing where we live in the winters. 
 I hope you don't mind." 
 
 "I shall like it above all things better, I am sure, 
 than the new part," Carron declared, and was di- 
 
 19
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 verted to see her glance at him as if she suspected 
 he must be joking. 
 
 He followed her across the piazza and down a 
 wide, dust-disturbed hall, from which gaping doors 
 gave on wide, dust-disturbed, dismantled drawing- 
 rooms ; across a high and glaring dining-room, with 
 turrets of chairs tottering on the glassy tables, and 
 out into a hall, dark after the long spaces of white, 
 pine walls and glistening floors, narrow, used and 
 old, with windows looking direct into the trees, and 
 an unruffled air smelling faintly of the forest. Sev- 
 eral doors opened from here, some white, worn 
 almost to the wood, others freshly painted, but all 
 of the same design, rather low, narrow-paneled and 
 with eyebrows of cut woodwork. A staircase clam- 
 bered between two walls, and up this the propri- 
 etress led him, across another hall, and with the 
 flinging open of a door, he found himself presented 
 to a large room, with windows thinly veiled in 
 muslin, and looking abruptly into the pines. The 
 light which sifted through their branches came pale 
 and greenish like light through water. The yellow 
 reflection of a wood fire darted along the floor. 
 
 "There's a bath-room through that door, the one 
 on the right," his conductress said, indicating with 
 a wave of her hand; "and if you will leave your 
 boots and things outside I'll see they are cleaned 
 
 20
 
 THE MAN ON THE ROAD 
 
 and brushed. It's a very dusty trip up here. I will 
 tell you when dinner is ready." She gave him a 
 long, doubtful look in which she somehow expressed 
 a wish that he had not persuaded her to entertain 
 him, then turned away, softly shutting the door. 
 
 Left alone, Carron let his gun cases slip to the 
 floor. "Of all extraordinary places!" he thought, 
 but then he looked around the room and smiled. It 
 was of a piece with a little hall below. He suspected 
 its kinship to the gaunt, white gate-posts. It was 
 nai've, ornate, somewhat worn, yet with an amusing 
 air of being grand. He felt a charm in it in spite of 
 the jig-saw carvings or possibly because of them. 
 His eyes lingered at the mantelpiece, of most as- 
 tonishing flourishes, appreciated the landscape 
 painted on the foot of the bed, moved with quick- 
 ness across the light, blank walls, and inadvertently 
 caught sight of himself in a mirror. 
 
 He thought he could understand his landlady's 
 hesitation now. "Takes me for a burglar rather 
 poorly disguised," he reflected. In the excite- 
 ment of his arrival he had forgotten his appear- 
 ance as well as his fatigue. Now he abandoned his 
 outer garments to the banisters of the hall, and in 
 a few minutes rolled into cold water as a fish to its 
 native element. The weariness of twenty- four 
 hours' activity, the exhaustion of body, of brain and 
 
 21
 
 SON OF THE L WIND 
 
 of a will which, all day, had exerted pressure on 
 a will in revolt slipped from him, absorbed by the 
 icy stimulant. Even while he wallowed there, his 
 fancy, refreshed, took time to speculate on what 
 sort of mind the fellow must have had who had 
 conceived the remarkable decoration of the bath- 
 room ceiling. Hard-rubbed, reclothed, with an 
 agreeable consciousness of quicker blood in his 
 veins and a brain fully ready again not only to make 
 light, but to make capital of his difficulties, he re- 
 entered the bedroom. 
 
 He saw first his gun cases on the floor. He 
 gathered them up, and carefully drew out one of 
 the rifles. The bright firelight showed an un- 
 scratched barrel and lighted a stock that had never 
 lain on the ground, never perhaps even felt the 
 pressure of a shoulder. He turned it. His eye 
 caught sight of a tiny green oval of paper pasted 
 on the under side of the stock. He raised 
 his eyebrows, and scratched the green paper deli- 
 cately off. "I ought to have fired those things a few 
 times on the way up," he thought. "Still it won't 
 do any harm to let them suppose I am a green 
 hunter." He laid both rifles on the bed, put his 
 hands in his pockets and strolled across to a win- 
 dow. It faced on the clearing. At his left he 
 could see, projecting, the fagade of the newer house, 
 
 22
 
 THE MAN ON THE ROAD 
 
 and directly beneath him the steps leading up to the 
 side entrance. He glanced at the other windows 
 of the room, which looked into the trees, and was 
 caught by the fact that one of them was a door. It 
 was the upper half of glass that had been misleading. 
 He opened it. The sweet breath of the pines rushed 
 upon him. He was looking from a narrow balcony 
 down a flight of outside stairs to the floor of the 
 forest. Above him the pale color of sunset was in 
 the sky. 
 
 "Very pleasant," he murmured, and stood softly 
 whistling, surveying it. His eyes were half closed, 
 and he appeared to be dreamily speculating on the 
 charming twilight around him. In fact he did not 
 see it. His thoughts were turned inward. He was 
 speculating, with intensest concentration, upon Ra- 
 der.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 RADER 
 
 TO speculate on Rader's character would have 
 been a vain thing, worthy of a philosopher. 
 If Rader's personality was reflected in this hotel on 
 the fringe of civilization, with its patchwork of new 
 upon old, then Rader most probably was a broken- 
 down speculator, clinging to the pretensions of his 
 past. But Carron knew that people are never what 
 they are deduced, and seldom what they are expected 
 to be. It would be time enough to think of Rader's 
 character once he had appeared. The important 
 question now was, where was he ? 
 
 Doubtless he was away hunting. If that were so, 
 would he be back to dinner? or would he be away 
 several days, and was it a question of hanging on 
 here until he returned? That, Carron thought, 
 would not be so difficult in itself. He felt rather 
 confident of overcoming Mrs. Rader's doubts. But 
 to wait, when time never waits, when everything 
 was so pressing, when this strange latter summer, 
 lingering in the first of September, might at any time 
 chill, and the sky send torrents of rain ! And, even 
 
 24
 
 RADER 
 
 if the heat held, what guarantee had he of the stabil- 
 ity of his dearly fancied object? If only it had been 
 insensate a gold mine, anything that could be de- 
 pended on to remain in one place ! 
 
 He turned restlessly and shut the outer door. 
 Standing still and awaiting events was a thing he 
 hated. He crossed the room, opened the door into 
 the hall, and stood idly listening. Not a sound of 
 voices, no arrival of wheels, not even the rustle of 
 a woman's skirt ! He wandered down the stair, and 
 found the hall below like a dark pocket. While he 
 stood, hesitating, wondering in which direction to 
 grope, and into what sort of place he might pre- 
 cipitate himself supposing he would find a door, one 
 almost in front of him opened, the light of a candle 
 spotted the dark, and beside it Mrs. Rader's face. 
 
 At sight of him so close before her she started. 
 The candle flame quivered. "How you frightened 
 me!" she panted. 
 
 "I'm sorry," said Carron mildly, "but I'm so 
 hungry !" 
 
 "Dinner is ready. I was just coming to call you. 
 You know," she looked at him accusingly, "I told 
 you that I would." 
 
 He held open the door for her, and, after a funny 
 flutter, as if she were not sure that her guest ought 
 not to go first, she let him follow her through. 
 
 25
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 A lamp was on the table and three places were 
 set. Carron's pulse of anticipation rose; but no 
 third person came to occupy that place, no mention 
 of such a one was made, and the meal was not kept 
 waiting. Carron and Mrs. Rader were opposite 
 each other. She had discarded her white head cov- 
 ering, and showed plentiful brown hair, streaked 
 with gray, drawn back smoothly from her small, 
 irregular-featured face. In spite of fine multiplying 
 lines and weathered skin, it still kept a vague hint 
 of the charm of her youth, though just wherein 
 that charm had consisted was difficult to say. 
 Carron had never seen a face so limited to one 
 expression an impersonal, alert, attentive, practical 
 expression and he had never seen such uncommu- 
 nicative eyes. For the sake of enlivening them a 
 little he began a story of some adventures of his 
 two days before on the Sacramento boat. She lis- 
 tened attentively with a faint propitiatory smile; 
 but he thought she was more struck by the fact 
 that he talked to her than by what he said. Her 
 struggle to do her part in the conversation was 
 touching. Her capacity, as he had seen, was prompt 
 enough in practical matters. No doubt she could 
 deal successfully with the more important problems 
 of a hotel, from people trying to leave without pay- 
 ing to people dropping in without baggage. But to 
 
 26
 
 RADER 
 
 keep alive a conversation with a man, and a stran- 
 ger, was a burden to her. He watched her, bolt 
 upright, wrestling with the problem of his intel- 
 lectual entertainment as if they were at a dinner of 
 state. He wondered whether her extreme formal- 
 ity was due to shyness on her part, or some idiosyn- 
 crasy of his that made her uneasy. 
 
 She let her end of the conversation flag and, for 
 lack of his response, fall; and made that scarcely 
 perceptible stir that women do before rising. He 
 had heard it rustle in satin skirts, around far-off 
 dinner tables, as he heard it now in the calico gown 
 of this woman of the broom. 
 
 He leaned forward and stopped her with a ques- 
 tion that seemed in no way designed to stop her. "Is 
 there much hunting around here, Mrs. Rader ?" 
 
 "There's lots of game, if that's what you mean," 
 she said, "but almost no one ever comes up so far. 
 If you're going higher up still I'm afraid you'll find 
 it very lonely." 
 
 The idea of going hunting for company's sake 
 tickled Carron. "Then perhaps you'll let me stay on 
 here a few days," he suggested. 
 
 "Oh, I'm afraid" she began. 
 
 "Perhaps Mr. Rader can take a day off, and 
 give me more points about this part of the country 
 than my guide can." 
 
 27
 
 SON OF. THE ,WIND 
 
 "But he" 
 
 "I mean," Carron explained, "as soon as he gets 
 back. He's not to be gone long, is he ?" 
 
 "Why, he isn't away," she exclaimed. "He's 
 here!" 
 
 "Oh!" Carron murmured. He looked keenly at 
 her. Involuntarily he glanced at the empty place. 
 
 "He often doesn't come in to supper," Mrs. Rader 
 explained. 
 
 "Well, then " he hesitated. Finding himself so 
 suddenly all but upon Rader was embarrassing as 
 well as exciting. "Do you think he's busy this even- 
 ing?" 
 
 In her turn Mrs. Rader was surprised. "He isn't 
 busy, exactly, but I'm afraid," she smiled faintly, 
 "he doesn't know much more about hunting than 
 I do." 
 
 "No doubt you both know much more than I do. 
 Do you think perhaps he could spare me a few min- 
 utes?" 
 
 "Oh, yes." She looked at him more curiously 
 than she had since his first arrival. He thought she 
 was about to offer another objection, but she only 
 said, "Would you like to see him now ?" 
 
 "If it is convenient." He tried to make the an- 
 swer sound casual enough, but he was beginning to 
 have the most uneasy expectations of Rader. 
 
 28
 
 RADER 
 
 She opened the door, and toolc up one of the 
 lighted candles. "Then you will step this way. He's 
 in the study." 
 
 Again Carron recognized the unexpected that 
 Rader was to be found in a study instead of in an 
 office. It seemed, not only that hotels had lives out 
 of season, but that their owners had lives outside 
 of hotel-keeping. Mrs. Rader's candle led down a 
 long, black passage. The flame threw no smaller 
 light on the darkness than her chance phrases and 
 expressions had thrown on the possibilities of her 
 husband's personality. But there had been glimpses 
 out of the obscurity in passing such gleams as the 
 candle caught from window-panes, or pine branches 
 beyond them chance illuminations of words upon 
 individualities, that put edge to Carron's anxiety. 
 
 The light, which had led him like a will-o'-the- 
 wisp, stopped now at a door, closing the end of the 
 passage. This, Mrs. Rader knocked upon, and, 
 after a moment, opened. "Some one to see you/* 
 she said to one inside, and Carron stepped over the 
 worn threshold, down a worn step into a little round 
 room; and found himself facing Rader, who had 
 risen from his chair, and, with his glasses gleaming 
 above the high arch of his brow, with his shadow 
 towering on the wall behind him, was looking out 
 at Carron from twilight walls of books. 
 
 29
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 He seemed bewildered with this sudden introduc- 
 tion into his solitude of a strange presence. His 
 large blue eyes blinked slowly, like eyes just awaken- 
 ing; and though his long face presently collected a 
 sort of courteous attention, his gaze still seemed to 
 focus on some point remote from the present 
 moment and place. If there was any one in the 
 world less likely than the woman to have the cer- 
 tain peculiar information Carron wanted, he thought 
 it was this individual, this long figure of a scholar, 
 roused from meditation. All Carron's unsubstantial 
 hopes were tottering. The man on the road ap- 
 peared the merest liar, the whole thing the wildest 
 of chases. Yet, in spite of that, he felt he was going 
 to see it through. There was nothing that had ever 
 happened to him that he had failed to see through. 
 The quality in him that never released what it had 
 once taken hold of until all was out of it, that took 
 the last chance and found it more alluring than the 
 first, urged him forward. 
 
 "My name is Francis Carron," he said. "There 
 is my card. Mr. Rader, I believe?" 
 
 Rader looked a little startled with the rapidity 
 with which the sentences were shot at him. "You 
 came to see about the Bronson folio?" he asked 
 doubtfully. 
 
 Carron had it in his heart to laugh when he 
 30
 
 RADER 
 
 thought of what a business he had brought to the 
 dry leaves of a library. The idea of introducing 
 himself as a buyer of old editions danced a moment 
 in his brain ; but he had spent his life being himself 
 with an intensity which defied the hope of dissimu- 
 lation now. "I came to see you on business, Mr. 
 Rader," he explained, "but not about a folio in 
 fact, not about books at all." 
 
 The scholar glanced wistfully toward the door 
 which the woman had closed after her. "Then, per- 
 haps you had better see Mrs. Rader," he began. 
 
 (CT >J 
 
 But Carron's wits were hard on Rader's second 
 conclusion. "No, it isn't about the hotel either. I 
 am afraid it is you yourself I want to see; but, if I 
 disturb you now " 
 
 The scholar made a deprecatory gesture. "I beg 
 your pardon. Sit down. I am absent-minded, only 
 that Mr. " he fumbled helplessly in his memory. 
 
 "Carron," the other prompted. 
 
 "Carron," Rader repeated, and moved his glasses 
 down his forehead, clamping them upon the high 
 bridge of his nose, and through these, considered the 
 card. The owner of it watched him keenly, but un- 
 doubtedly that assemblage of letters on white paper 
 held no idea for Rader beyond the fact that it was a 
 name. With a faint sigh, he let himself stiffly down
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 into his chair again, withdrew his fingers from the 
 leaves of a book, and by that motion seemed to re- 
 linquish all hope of waving his visitor aside. The 
 lamp on the desk between them lighted the two men 
 to each other, the scholar leaning a little forward, 
 looking puzzled, but scarcely curious. 
 
 Carron knew he was in for it now, on the instant. 
 All his plans for approaching his question gradually, 
 through the common ground of similar interests, 
 hunting and the activities of mountaineers, vanished. 
 It was across a gulf of widely differing thought that 
 he must pitch his question at the scholar, the more 
 flatly the better to hold the attention that seemed 
 each moment to be at the point of deserting him. 
 
 "It's not quite a piece of business I want to talk 
 to you about," he said. "It is a favor I want to ask 
 of you. There has been a rumor through the Sac- 
 ramento Valley, and through the mining towns be- 
 low here of a stallion at large among these moun- 
 tains." 
 
 Rader's high eyebrows flickered, and his head 
 moved a little forward on his long neck. It was 
 only an intensifying of his look of polite attentive- 
 ness. "A horse you have lost ?" 
 
 It forced a reluctant smile out of Carron. . "No, 
 Mr. Rader, not a horse that any one has lost ; a horse 
 that has never been found ; a horse that I very much 
 
 32
 
 RADER 
 
 wish to find for myself; not a mustang, not a range 
 pony, but a blooded stallion, fifteen hands, black 
 and perfect ; not a horse that's been left too long on 
 the range and become wild, but the original wild 
 horse that no one has ever ridden, or ever caught, 
 or rarely, if ever, seen." 
 
 He got out the last words with an effort, fully 
 conscious, now that they were spoken and ringing 
 in the air, of how improbable, fantastic and laugh- 
 able they sounded. He braced himself to meet Ra- 
 der's ridicule, or, at the best, his amusement. But 
 the scholar, with his long body bent a little farther 
 forward over the table, was only gazing at him 
 with a face of increasing perplexity, with a slow- 
 dawning, troubled look of being aware of something 
 he was going to recognize if only he had a little 
 more time. 
 
 Carron watched him, and pushed one sentence 
 further. 
 
 "No one seemed to be sure how much truth there 
 was in the story, or whether there was any at all, 
 but they seemed to think, if any one could tell me, 
 you could." 
 
 The effect of this was more than he had bargained 
 for. Rader let his relaxed hands fall on the table, 
 and stared in amazement. "I can they think !" he 
 murmured, seeming to catch at these words as the 
 
 33
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 chief points of his confoundment. "Who told you 
 that? Who do you mean by they ?" 
 
 "Then you do know about it?" Carron said qui- 
 etly. 
 
 The scholar seemed not to have heard. 
 
 "People in different parts of the valley have di- 
 rected you to me, on this errand?" he persisted. 
 "Why, that's a strange thing !" 
 
 Looking into his candid and bewildered eyes, Car- 
 ron knew he was going to be frank with Rader at 
 the expense of the man on the road. "For a fact, 
 Mr. Rader," he confessed, "it was one person who 
 directed me here, only one; and he didn't want to. 
 I had to work to get it out of him." 
 
 Rader's expression came around slowly from flat 
 incredulity to a fresh query. "Well, why shouldn't 
 he direct you?" 
 
 "That was what I thought," said Carron, as puz- 
 zled now by Rader as Rader was by the man on the 
 road, "but I supposed it was because you had asked 
 him not to." 
 
 "I?" Rader repeated. He seemed to have the 
 greatest difficulty in connecting himself with the 
 matter at all. "Why the deuce should I ask him 
 not to?" 
 
 Carron stared. "If you haven't, some one has." 
 
 The scholar silently confronted this cryptic re- 
 34
 
 RADER 
 
 sponse, and presently it appeared that his perplexity 
 had lessened, had been transformed into a slow, 
 ruminating consideration. "What makes you think 
 that?" he asked. 
 
 "Because he had it badly on his conscience that 
 he ought not to have told it." 
 
 Rader gave a slight upward motion of his head, 
 and a lift of his eyebrows as if at a wbrd more he 
 might accept that explanation. "Where did you 
 meet this fellow?" 
 
 "I was on my way to the city from Nevada with 
 some horses," Carron said, "when I ran across him 
 in Truckee last night. I got in early in the evening 
 and found the train wouldn't leave until after mid- 
 night. This chap was hanging around the livery 
 when I put my horses up." 
 
 "What did he look like?" Rader hastily inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 Carron was aware that he had the scholar inter- 
 ested at last, and the power to speak rose in him to 
 meet the flattery. "Oh, middle height, small joint- 
 ed, a little knock-kneed, if I remember; black hair, 
 Napoleonic profile minus the strength young 
 ranchman in his Sunday clothes." Rader ticked 
 off the characteristics on his fingers while he 
 listened. "He had some whisky in him," Carron 
 continued, "and was rather free about disparag- 
 
 35
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 ing my stock. He handled them all over, not; 
 very cleverly, nearly got himself kicked, and then 
 trailed me up to the hotel to tell me he could 
 throw a stone across the road and kill a horse any- 
 where in the Sacramento Valley that could beat 
 mine at every point. He was rather glib with his 
 tongue, and I had four hours to wait, so I invited 
 him to come in and give me his ideas on horseflesh. 
 There's a little back room in the top story, looking 
 up a stone dump that they call a mountain. I gave 
 him one pony of rye to start him. We sat there for 
 six hours. 
 
 "He began by giving his experiences in horse- 
 breaking, though from a sort of callous on his 
 hands, and the way he handled his feet I thought 
 he had been more accustomed to horses in front of a 
 plow than under saddle. Then he got off on famous 
 horses he had seen, most of which had died before 
 he was born; and, finally, of course, he began to 
 wind himself up on a horse he owned that could 
 beat everything in the state of California. Just 
 there it struck me he'd graduated from the lying 
 stage. Something in the way he described that 
 horse those particulars that a man can't invent 
 made me think it wasn't a piece of imagina- 
 tion. He built up a stock farm around it in a few 
 minutes, but it was easy to see that the real 
 
 36
 
 RADER 
 
 thing in it was the horse. So I pinned him down, 
 and kept him pinned and not too much rye until 
 we'd got rid of the stock farm, canceled the fact 
 that the horse was his, and got down to what looked 
 like bedrock which is just the story I have told 
 you, that the creature was a wild horse running 
 free in these mountains. The only difference he 
 made then was that he swore on his sacred honor 
 that he was the only man in the state of California 
 who had ever seen it." 
 
 Rader took his long chin in his hand and medi- 
 tated for a moment. "Xenophon," he said, "states 
 that wild horses inhabit countries of plains, travel 
 in bands, and that the stallions are not found sepa- 
 rately from the mares." 
 
 "Quite right he is," Carron assented, as if Xeno- 
 phon were easily his contemporary; "a lone stallion 
 is as rare as a singing bird at sea ; but still there are 
 exceptions. Once in a while a dry summer brings 
 it about. A horse drifts into the mountains in search 
 of water. And then, there was another thing that 
 made me think perhaps there was something in the 
 fellow's story. If you want to know, it's the thing 
 that brought me here. When he described that 
 horse to me I thought he described a horse that I 
 had seen once myself." 
 
 "Ah!" but the word did not express Rader's en- 
 37
 
 lightenment only a fresh perplexity. "But, I 
 thought you said " 
 
 "One moment. I'm coming to that presently. I 
 only wanted you to see that I wasn't so drunk or 
 so visionary as that poor devil who brought me 
 along, though I own that I was pretty much ex- 
 cited. He wanted a hundred dollars for taking me 
 up country to the place where the creature was sup- 
 posed to be. I told him I'd give him twenty dollars 
 for that, and a hundred if I found the horse. The 
 end of the business was that I didn't take the mid- 
 night for the city. Instead, I put him, and myself, 
 on the overland at one o'clock, and one of my 
 animals into the box-car, because she'd carry us up 
 country faster than these mountain rats; changed 
 at Reno for Beckwith, and, at seven-thirty this 
 morning, I started from Beckwith with him still 
 pretty well under the influence. 
 
 "It didn't occur to me that he would turn tail at 
 the last moment. People, once they are with me in 
 a thing, usually stick." He said this without con- 
 sciousness, merely as a fact which he had seen dem- 
 onstrated, and the scholar accepted it with the 
 naivete equal to his own. "At first I thought it was 
 the drink dying out of him, but there was some- 
 thing more in his behavior than that. It was queer ! 
 The further we went, the more we got up into the 
 
 38
 
 RADER 
 
 mountains, the sulkier he grew, until finally he de- 
 nied up and down everything he had told me, ate 
 his words like a sword swallower, and when we 
 got away up the canon, he insisted on getting out 
 of the buggy and leaving me. Fortunately I hadn't 
 paid him his money yet, and it was on that account 
 I got the two words I did get out of him. 'Try 
 Rader's,' he said and as soon as he had said it you 
 should have seen his face ! Scared scared to death ! 
 He looked as if he wanted to kill me." 
 
 Rader slowly rubbed one dry hand over the other. 
 He looked troubled, even vaguely distressed. "I'm 
 sorry," he murmured. "I thought certainly he would 
 never have spoken of it." 
 
 Carron wrinkled his forehead. "I'm sorry, too, 
 Mr. Rader, if he has abused your confidence. But 
 you see the horse is public property. It never 
 occurred to me that there could be any sworn oaths 
 of secrecy about it." 
 
 "Oh, he hasn't abused my confidence," Rader 
 said. 
 
 "I see!" Carron saw at once a great deal that 
 had been obscure to him. The thing seemed an end- 
 less chain. "I suppose you know whose confidence 
 he is abusing, then ?" 
 
 Rader leaned back in his chair, his head still bent 
 forward, looking up inquiringly from under his 
 
 39
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 brows. "Before I go any further, do you mind if 
 I ask you a question or two ?" 
 
 "As many as you like. Go ahead." 
 
 "I don't know much about horses, very little more 
 about men ; I don't know that either have ever mat- 
 tered much to me, but I wish that I could under- 
 stand, I wonder if you could make me, why you 
 have come so far, and taken as much trouble to find 
 a single horse as most men take to find a gold mine?" 
 
 This time it was Carron who was surprised. 
 "I've gone almost as far, and given almost as much 
 trouble for a good many horses. Why, good Lord, 
 a man has to if he wants to get them!" 
 
 "But why want to? There are enough horses in 
 the world !" 
 
 "Well suppose it is the finest horse in the 
 world?" 
 
 Rader's high eyebrows went higher in incredulity. 
 "What, with Arabia, and our own thoroughbred 
 stock?" 
 
 "Of course, I mean the finest wild horse. That 
 makes all the difference !" 
 
 "H'm yes," Rader agreed. "I can see, there is 
 something in that; but you said you had taken as 
 much trouble in getting other horses !" 
 
 Carron knitted his forehead. "I don't know how 
 to explain it I've always done it. I suppose any- 
 
 40
 
 " Oh, he hasn't abused my confidence," Rader said
 
 RADER 
 
 thing you're doing all the time gets hold of you * 
 that is, if you like it well enough. You get to think 
 of it as the center of the world." 
 
 The scholar's eyes brightened. "Yes, yes ! That's 
 true the very thing." He looked at the books be- 
 hind him, reached out and touched a volume as 
 though he would have liked to speak of it ; then his 
 eyes returned with a bright and almost boy-like in- 
 terest to his companion. "Do I understand you to 
 mean you are by profession a catcher and breaker of 
 horses?" 
 
 "Ever since I was thirteen, though I haven't 
 called it a profession until the last five years. But 
 I know more about it, and care more about it, and 
 can do it better than anything else in the world. 
 Over in Nevada they know my name pretty well. 
 I hold a hundred square miles that are mine for 
 five years, and I save this union of forsaken states 
 about twenty thousand dollars annually in the crea- 
 tures that aren't killed getting them under saddle." 
 
 "You mean you are sort of an official?" The 
 spark of Rader's interest dimmed. 
 
 "Lord, no! I only mean I do save horseflesh, 
 and more or less the country profits. So do I, a 
 little, but not much. It's more the fun of the thing. 
 You've no idea, from what you see of bridle-wise 
 horses, what the wild ones are like. You know, a
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 broken horse is like a woman nervous, brain in a 
 tea-cup, shying at a shadow. But these fellows, 
 the herd leaders, are tough as whip-cord, smarter 
 than a wolf and quicker than a snake. They'll get 
 away from you through a crack in a fence. 
 
 "Last spring I got on the trail of a stallion that, 
 I'll take my oath, was a good deal stronger, cleverer 
 and faster than any other horse in the world. The 
 Indians said he was sired by the North Wind. A 
 couple of them claimed to have seen him, and their 
 description made me very curious. I chased him 
 over southern Nevada, saw the tail of the herd once 
 or twice, but never the leader. But we kept them 
 edging over westward until about the last week of 
 last month, a hundred miles short of the state line, I 
 thought I had him. I even got the herd into the 
 runway and stampeded for the corral; but there 
 must have been a weak place in the fence I don't 
 know now how it happened! I should have said 
 it was impossible; but, just before the first of the 
 corral canvas, the leader swerved and went through 
 the stockade as if it had been paper. His mares 
 were going too fast to stop. We took the whole of 
 them, and he got off alone." Carron moistened his 
 lips. "I saw him. He went close by me : black, not 
 a blemish, star on his forehead, a white fleck on his 
 breast, left foot white and mane like a flag. To 
 
 42
 
 RADER 
 
 watch him take the rise of the rolling ground, and 
 clip into the hollow, 1 and rise again was like watch- 
 ing a flying bird. I saw him, and I named him on 
 the spot, 'Son of the Wind,' because he is the great- 
 est, fastest, loneliest thing that travels over earth 
 and he's mine !" 
 
 Leaning back, his fingers propping his chin, Rader 
 had followed the recital with the same bright, in- 
 tense gaze with which he might have followed 
 an epic. Now, when the pause came, he smiled 
 and brought down his hand lightly on the arm of 
 his chair. "Diomedes!" he said. His eyes rested 
 on the young man's throat left bare by a soft collar, 
 the lithe line of his back, his hands thrust forward 
 on the table, the sleeves pushed up above the wrists, 
 showing the breadth and sharp lift of the muscle, 
 as if these things were what the story had explained 
 to him. 
 
 It was extraordinary to Carron that the real sig- 
 nificance of his tale had gone so completely over 
 Rader's head or perhaps under his feet "Don't 
 you see," he explained, "I think that horse and this 
 may be the same." 
 
 The scholar looked suddenly brought down to 
 < earth, and, as always when there, rather at a loss. 
 
 "Which one?" he asked blindly. 
 
 "The one I lost in Nevada is the one here in these 
 43
 
 SON OE THE ; WIND 
 
 mountains. I lost him only a couple of hundred 
 miles from here. My horse was separated from his 
 herd, so is this one. Then, word for word, the 
 description tallies. At least, I hope" he looked 
 anxiously at Rader "that you are going to tell me 
 it does." 
 
 "I? But," Rader objected, "I have never seen 
 such a thing!" The idea of it seemed almost to 
 frighten him. 
 
 Carron looked at him hard. It was not possible 
 to construe those deep-set, clear, blue eyes as any- 
 thing but candid. "But you know some one who 
 has?" 
 
 Rader was silent. 
 
 "One thing," Carron persisted. "You do know 
 for a fact that there is such a creature ?" 
 
 The scholar looked down. "Do we, any of us, 
 know for a fact a thing we have never seen ?" 
 
 The blood flew to Carron's face. He felt held 
 back, baffled, played with! For Rader's manner, 
 with all its frank simplicity, was not the manner of 
 ignorance. "I think you do know quite well," Car- 
 ron said, "but for some reason you prefer not to 
 say." 
 
 "For a good reason," Rader answered. He 
 leaned his head back against his chair, and plunged 
 his hands in his capacious pockets. His long, gray 
 
 44
 
 RADER 
 
 face, and the whole figure of the man, shrunken by 
 reading, seemed slowly expanding, thawing them- 
 selves at some genial glow. "In the first place, it is 
 not my business. In the second place, I have no in- 
 terest in it, except, I confess, what you've given me." 
 Again his eye went over Carron's physical mag- 
 nificence. "I own I wouldn't mind to see you 
 astride of the finest horse in America, or pardon 
 me did you say the world? Unfortunately I 
 can't." 
 
 The half interrogatory, half propitiatory look 
 with which he punctuated his negatives took away 
 all the sting. But the negative, nevertheless, was 
 there. 
 
 "Couldn't you," Carron urged, "tell me the name 
 of this person who seems to hold a property right 
 on a wild animal ?" 
 
 "As the fellow on the road told you?" Rader in- 
 quired. 
 
 Carron, with a reluctant smile, had to admit the 
 scholar's acuteness. 
 
 "But don't you think," he argued, "that you ought 
 to give your friend the chance of refusing my offer 
 himself, or accepting it if he wants to?" 
 
 Rader shook, and his eyes flashed a thousand 
 twinkles. "That is a pretty keen argument, my boy, 
 but it seems to me you're taking a deal for granted !" 
 
 45
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 He- undoubted his length from his old chair. "Sup- 
 pose we drop my hypothetical friend, and talk about 
 yourself." He stood, with his long legs straddled, 
 looking down upon Carron, who sat at sharp strug- 
 gle with his temper, exasperation and disappoint- 
 ment descending on him at once. "Suppose you 
 stay over a few days, get a rest and look around. 
 Perhaps you can get a little shooting," Rader sug- 
 gested. 
 
 Carron grinned in spite of himself to hear his 
 own fabrication come back upon him like a boomer- 
 ang. "Thanks," he said dryly, "I only bargained 
 with Mrs. Rader to stop overnight." 
 
 "Well, bargain with me then." 
 
 "I have," said Carron. "No use!" 
 
 They looked at each other appreciatively. Rader 
 reached a hand and patted Carron's shoulder. "Stay 
 over a few days stay over!" he said almost gaily. 
 "It may interest you to look around the place! No 
 knowing what may turn up !" 
 
 Carron raised his eyes quickly. Rader's manner 
 was significant. His face did not hold a double 
 (meaning; 'twas rather as if the inspiration behind 
 had been unconscious. 
 
 "If I do," Carron said, "will you go hunting with 
 me?" 
 
 Rader looked down at himself. "I haven't been 
 46
 
 RADER 
 
 hunting since I left college. But we'll find some one 
 to go with you, certainly we'll find some one." 
 
 It may have been a banality, but to Carron's con- 
 scious ears it rang like a promise. "Thank you," he 
 said. "I shall be delighted." He rose. "It's been 
 mighty good of you to listen to me. I've taken a lot 
 of your time." 
 
 "Have you?" said Rader. "I never know what 
 time it is." 
 
 Carron looked at his watch. "Just ten after 
 eleven. See here, if I'm going to stay over for a 
 week I'll have to send a wire. Is there any way of 
 getting one out to-morrow?" 
 
 Rader thought. "There's the stage, gets down to 
 Beckwith about noon, passes here at six-thirty. If 
 you'll write out your message to-night, I'll have 
 some one meet them with it in the morning." 
 
 "Some one that you can depend on?" 
 
 "Oh, no doubt !" Rader said. 
 
 The pen was already in Carron's hand. He made 
 a clear space among the papers on the table and 
 wrote. The words presented to the casual eye would 
 have been unintelligible, but the inner meaning of 
 the code was clear, and to the point enough : 
 
 "Ship stakes, canvas and small stuff to-day for 
 Beckwith. No delay. F. C" 
 
 47
 
 ' SON OF THE WIND 
 
 As He signed these initials a gentle knock came on 
 the door and a low voice spoke "Alex, here's your 
 candle. I suppose you will sit up. I'm going to bed." 
 
 The scholar glanced at Carron. "I'd better tell 
 her," he murmured. He opened the door. "Her- 
 mione !" he called. The flowery sound name of an 
 ideal woman in a tale struck quaintly on Car- 
 ron's ears. 
 
 Mrs. Rader was already half-way down the pass- 
 age. She paused, looking back, lamp in hand, while 
 Rader walked toward her. From the threshold of 
 the study Carron could see them conferring there in 
 the flickering light and shadow. There was some- 
 thing charming, winning in the scholar, in the very 
 slouch of his figure, with its loose-hanging clothes; 
 something pathetic and appealing in the woman's 
 face, tired now at the end of her day's work, and in 
 her brown dubious-glancing eyes. They had been 
 looking up toward her husband; but suddenly she 
 turned them toward Carron with a furtive, half- 
 frightened look not one she had meant him to see ; 
 an involuntary look that had got away from her. 
 
 It disturbed him, that any woman should regard 
 him in that way. He had a hasty impulse to reas- 
 sure her that there was nothing in his presence that 
 need alarm her. The look was withdrawn almost 
 before he could take it in, but the impression of it 
 
 48
 
 RADER 
 
 remained with him. "She doesn't want me to stay, 
 does she?" he inquired after the woman had re- 
 treated, and the study door was shut. "Bless my 
 soul," the scholar had declared, "why not? Of 
 course, she's delighted !" 
 
 Carron accepted the courteous rebuke, but kept 
 his first opinion on the subject. He liked Mrs. Ra- 
 der ; he liked being liked for its own sake, and that 
 air she had of suspecting him touched his vanity. 
 
 She, whom he had thought no problem at all in 
 the beginning, was evidently not confiding. It was 
 the man, the shy, self-absorbed scholar, who had so 
 readily given his allegiance. 
 
 Unconscious partisan Rader was! He warmed 
 himself at Carron's vitality as at a fire. Stretching 
 out his long legs beneath the table, lounging on his 
 background of books, "How about some sherry?" he 
 proposed. "I expect to be up for a couple of hours 
 more." 
 
 Carron had not realized how strongly his story, 
 or himself, or both together, had touched the schol- 
 ar's fancy until, after the interruption at an ad- 
 vanced hour, he showed an inclination to resume 
 their companionship. He had pushed aside his 
 solitary self-evolved thoughts for the talk of the 
 horse-breaker just as he had put aside his Greek 
 book to make room for the glasses. Still from a 
 
 49
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 distance, still with detachment, he questioned his 
 companion. He asked first what university, as if 
 for a sign of freemasonry. Carron confessed to 
 not graduating from Harvard. The idea of not 
 graduating, of voluntarily leaving such institution, 
 was difficult for Rader to understand. What col- 
 lege had been his own, and what honors there, he 
 did not volunteer one of the obscure, austere 
 New England institutions no doubt but it made no 
 difference about the college. The universal stamp 
 was on him of the man of the world of books. 
 Not scientist, not psychist, not a student of any 
 practical knowledge, but reader of histories in dead 
 languages, dreamer over poetry in archaic forms, 
 pursuer of the derivations of words through vol- 
 umes ; to whom Herodotus was as recent as Guizot, 
 and both contemporary with himself; to whom the 
 Bucolics were more real than the boys driving cattle 
 down the canon valley. 
 
 In such company as this, book company, he sat, 
 lived; and, from such a world he looked distantly 
 at the young man as at a symbol of the other outside 
 active world. It was of this other world only that 
 he inquired; and Carron put aside the questions 
 that were foremost in his own mind, and sur- 
 rendered himself to satisfying the awakened cur- 
 iosity. 
 
 50
 
 RADER 
 
 His adventures, drifting in the north and south 
 of the large west, his present profession the ex- 
 citements and the dangers of it the look of the 
 country there as if hell had blasted it, and the 
 rough life in it, he told them all. The rougher the 
 more it semed to strike Rader's imagination. He 
 had a curious faculty of seeing resemblances in 
 real things, men, horses and mountains, to frescoes, 
 bas-reliefs and palaces ; he had, too, a disconcerting 
 way of breaking into a narrative with: "Tell me, 
 what is it in a man that makes him do a thing 
 like that?" 
 
 The horse-breaker had never interrogated himself 
 in such fashion, though he had seen, far and wide, 
 the curious, unaccountable things that men will do. 
 He could not answer Rader, though the scholar 
 made a dozen suppositions for himself upon each 
 point, some glancing at what might have been the 
 truth, some wide the possibility. He could only tell 
 still more things to be wondered at, and he perceived 
 the more he told, the more he gave of himself, the 
 more response he had from his companion. He was 
 beginning to understand that he was in Rader's 
 hands like a new book. His interest for the scholar 
 was not on what common ground they could meet, 
 but into what fresh fields Carron could lead him. 
 He had led him a long way to-night.
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 It was late, one o'clock, when they parted. Car- 
 ron's brain boiled with the excitements of thirty- 
 six hours. Its fatigues rested on him not a feather. 
 He found his room dark and warm. The fire had 
 fallen to a red spark. Soft branches moved against 
 the window screens. He set his candle down on 
 the table, and wondered how much there was in 
 Rader's promisings. "Wonderful old boy!" he 
 thought. "A man might believe he was deep in the 
 business, but I've half a notion he is only what he 
 claims, an honorary member of the secret, with a 
 practical sense of honor only practical thing about 
 him!" It was practical indeed, for it hadn't pre- 
 vented Rader's inviting him to stay, to stay longer 
 and see what would turn up. It hadn't even pre- 
 vented Rader's throwing in his way a hunting com- 
 panion, a person nameless, but somehow it had 
 entered Carron's head that it was a person of im- 
 portance in his affairs. The thing had only been 
 suggested. It had all been done in a tone unaware 
 of its own significance, and it was that which had 
 made the significance so great. 
 
 Faint sounds outside caught his ear, neither the 
 shrill crickets nor the broad, soft sound of the 
 awakening wind, but more regular, muffled and 
 mechanical. He puffed out his light and went, 
 cautious- footed, to the window. It was the window 
 
 52
 
 RADER 
 
 looking from the front of the wing, commanding 
 the loop of the drive and the steps. Some one 
 was standing just within the hood of the porch, for 
 from the entrance streamed a narrow shaft of 
 light, shining with the peculiar floating, wavering 
 gleam which is only given by a light held in the 
 hands. From the beat of hoofs and the scarcely 
 perceptible sound of wheels it was a single rig that 
 was approaching. The light shone presently on the 
 horse's head, flashed in his eyes, slipped along his 
 flank as he swung around, and finally stopped as the 
 buggy stopped, resting upon the back part of the 
 wagon body, leaving the hollow between the dash- 
 board and the hood in black shadow. 
 
 "You are earlier than I used to be, Bert," Rader's 
 voice spoke from the veranda. Beside his clear, 
 singing tone the replying voice was slovenly in 
 enunciation, and muffled, but Carron heard enough 
 to get its timber and quality, and his heart quickened 
 as the idea shot through his mind. Was this the 
 person, that mysterious third person who had tied 
 Rader's tongue and put the man on the road so 
 much in awe? A young man! Not Rader's con- 
 temporary, but his own. Carron saw the difficulty 
 doubled. It would make the stallion harder to come 
 at than buried treasure. He pressed his face to the 
 glass and peered down. A vague form, dark on 
 
 53
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 darkness, was mounting up the steps, slowly, as if 
 encumbered with a cloak. Rader had moved for- 
 ward. Carron could see his. bent head and his ex- 
 tended hand. A hand was reached out of the 
 shadow, and, for a moment, in the narrow beam of 
 light appeared an arm, long, bare almost to the 
 shoulder, and so shapely, so suggestive of dimples, 
 and, against the black shadows around it, so white 
 that for an instant thought deserted him. An arm, 
 without a clear seen body, suddenly thrust upon him 
 from darkness a woman's arm where he had ex- 
 pected a man's face! "What in the world!" Carron 
 muttered softly, holding his breath with doubt of 
 what was to follow. "What the devil!" he ended. 
 For Rader suddenly raised the lamp, the arm dis- 
 appeared in a fold of darkness, the whole form, still 
 unseen, passed and disappeared under the piazza 
 roof, and Carron's eyes, following down the beam 
 of light, discovered at the end of it the figure of a 
 man standing upon the lowest step looking up at 
 Rader, the unexpected and rather amazing sight of 
 "the man on the road." 
 
 54
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 BLANCHE 
 
 HE WAS awakened in the morning by the 
 sound of young things scuttering. A race 
 was forward in the hall first the panting and pat- 
 ter-patter and scratch of some small animal in full 
 career ; a shower of light quick footsteps following, 
 the sound of a body in soft collision with his door, 
 and then, the voice. 
 
 "No, no, Beetles, give it to me give it to me 
 this instant!" A young school-mistress controlling 
 her youngest scholar could not have been more 
 severe. "There's no use hiding under my petticoat ; 
 hold your head up. Now " dropping to an en- 
 couraging tone "open your mouth, and give it to 
 Missus;" falling to a dulcet note that would have 
 wiled an image "no, little dog mustn't eat it. It's 
 hard and cold and bad for his inside;" suddenly 
 rising to the pitch of Napoleon commanding his 
 army "Do you hear ! Beetles!" 
 
 Evidently there was a tussle. He guessed the child 
 was on her knees. The door vibrated slightly with 
 
 55
 
 the struggling bodies. Carron heard squeaks and 
 whimpers of a puppy in high excitement, and then 
 a whimper of quite a different origin. 
 
 "Ugh ! you little beast ! You would, would you !" 
 Between set teeth, "Just the same, I'm going to 
 there !" The last word was pitched to virtue trium- 
 phant; but the puppy's indignant yelp was higher 
 yet, the resentment of frustrated will. 
 
 The jar of a door opening farther down the hall 
 was audible, and a second voice, raised to cover the 
 distance, suppressed with the fear of being over- 
 heard and thus giving a double carrying quality, 
 reached him as distinctly as if it had been spoken 
 through the keyhole. "Blanche, what in the world 
 are you doing there?" 
 
 The reply came clear and cheerful. "Taking 
 something away from Beetles. I was afraid he 
 would eat it." 
 
 "Well, get up this moment, and come away." 
 Carron felt himself pierced by the stage whisper. 
 "Don't you know that man is in that room !" 
 
 There was a rustle and a hasty scrambling up, as 
 if the door had suddenly become contaminated. At 
 the same time a hurrying step approached down the 
 hall. The two petticoated sounds merged almost in 
 front of his door, and he found himself a not un- 
 willing listener to the duet that followed. 
 
 56
 
 BLANCHE 
 
 "I thought he was in the regular spare room. 
 Why didn't you tell me?" 
 
 "I haven't had a chance to. I didn't know you 
 were back. There, I hope you haven't waked him 
 up!" 
 
 "I hope I have. What is he like ?" 
 
 Mrs. Rader's reply was inaudible. 
 
 "Oh, mother, I don't believe it ! Is he good look- 
 ing?" 
 
 "Sh-h-h!" 
 
 Carron sat up and smiled. It was like being 
 awakened by a bird singing it was better, for a 
 bird would have cared not a feather about a man's 
 looks. The bright mettlesome voice touched pleas- 
 antly on his nerves. "The precocious thing," he 
 thought. "How old is she?" 
 
 Tussling with the dog on the floor he had put 
 her age at thirteen, but her last sentences made him 
 clap on three years more. "I wonder why I didn't 
 see her last night at supper," he thought, as the 
 voices and footsteps moved away along the hall. 
 "I wonder " he mused longer, and seemed less 
 pleased with his next reflection. "I wonder how 
 many of them there are around the place." 
 
 This thought had been summoned by the memory 
 of last night, and the apparition of an arm thrust 
 upon him out of darkness. That had not been the 
 
 57
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 arm of a child, youthful though it was. It Had been 
 a thing of long curves and of a well covered turn of 
 elbow; an arm that had found its power, conceal- 
 ing it cunningly in dimples; no doubt, Carron 
 thought, an arm to strangle reason. It had risen as 
 magically before him as ever the arm of the Lady 
 of the Lake had risen to the king in the legend. The 
 same feeling of irritation stirred in him that had 
 crept in his veins the night before when it had ap- 
 peared before him as the thing he had not expected, 
 and certainly the last thing he had wanted. He was 
 not in the least averse to the idea of a child about 
 the place. Children, even half-grown girls, are 
 pleasant companions and content with little atten- 
 tion ; but a young woman might be very much in the 
 way. Women could always be depended on to turn 
 up at the wrong moment when a man was interested 
 in something else, had to get through in a hurry, and 
 wanted a clear gangway. 
 
 A clear gangway in this business was what he 
 had not, thus far, been able to find. Not an opening 
 but had ended in a cul-de-sac; not a person he 
 wanted but, just as he thought his finger was upon 
 them, turned out to be some other person. He 
 hardly thought he could blame Rader for this. In 
 the disappointment of last night his own over-eager 
 imagination had led him astray; and certainly he 
 
 58
 
 BLANCHE 
 
 couldn't blame the girl she of the arm but he 
 must make sure she did not happen again as a sub- 
 stitute for something else that he wanted. Yet in 
 spite of false appearances, in spite of a too-lively 
 fancy, he saw he was a long stride nearer what he 
 was after than he had been twenty-four hours ago. 
 If only he could keep a cool head, and keep the 
 ground he had gained with the scholar last night he 
 thought that Rader's hypothetical friend would pres- 
 ently be his own. Of course there was the chance al- 
 ways that the man on the road might play turncoat, 
 and put the scholar's friend on his guard. To find 
 this fellow, this first informer, apparently such a fa- 
 miliar here among the Raders, was disconcerting. 
 He was called by his first name. It might be that he 
 was engaged to the young woman whom he had 
 brought back last night. Carron discarded his last 
 idea promptly, since as much as he had seen of her 
 was far too fine to belong to such a clod. 
 
 He decided to abandon vain suppositions about 
 people who were of small importance to him, and 
 hurried his dressing. The thought of how the 
 mare had spent the night after her hard yesterday's 
 trip was an anxiety in his mind, and presently sent 
 him swinging, two steps at a time, down the out- 
 side stair and toward the barn. 
 
 Voices of birds were in the air, and a pale em- 
 
 59
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 broidery of light and shadow was drawn across the 
 ground. The chestnut greeted him coquettishly. Car- 
 ron looked at her stall and manger, glanced over her 
 own admirable appearance, whistled with sur- 
 prise, told her she was a handsome girl with four 
 good feet and asked her who had been looking out 
 for her so early in the morning. "It couldn't have 
 been that child," he thought. Still, with the help of 
 a bucket upside down, a well-grown girl, of say 
 fifteen, might manage the grooming, though hardly 
 the stalls. "If she did," he reflected, "she knows 
 how. She's earned some candy." He rather 
 thought he was going to like the younger Miss 
 Rader. As for the elder, who went to country 
 dances, and was squired by the man on the road, 
 probably she would share her mother's opinion, and 
 hold a doubtful distance. Nevertheless, as he ap- 
 proached the house again he looked along the 
 piazza to see if anywhere there was the flutter of a 
 gown; and he opened the dining-room door with a 
 slight disturbance of the nerves. 
 
 It was a small, rather long and narrow room, 
 with worn walls and a terrible fireplace of cast 
 iron, but it was filled with the same pleasant, green- 
 ish, watery sunlight that had lighted his room up- 
 stairs, a tone which seemed common to the whole 
 house. The only people at table were Mrs. Rader. 
 
 60
 
 BLANCHE 
 
 and the scholar, but, again, there was a place set 
 which was as yet unoccupied. Evidently in this 
 castle of surprises the expected presence was always 
 lacking. Rader had an open book beside him and 
 read more than he ate. When he turned his head 
 for a sip or for a bite, he kept his fingers between 
 the leaves. He did not seem to be aware of 
 the young man's entrance. It was Mrs. Rader's 
 hand that touched him to a consciousness of it. Then 
 he raised his eyes, smiled dimly, as with a notion 
 of having seen Carron somewhere at some time, 
 perhaps some years ago, and promptly returned to 
 the pages of his book. 
 
 But Mrs. Rader accompanied her good morning 
 with a look sufficiently aware of him, and sufficiently 
 propitiatory for two. She had gone to call him 
 to breakfast, she said, but as he had not answered 
 she had supposed him still asleep. There was a 
 faint embarrassment in her manner as she added, 
 "I hope you rested well, that nothing disturbed you 
 this morning?" 
 
 Carron guessed what was disturbing the good 
 lady's sense of the decorous that informal little 
 scene outside his door a half hour earlier and 
 hastened to reassure her. "Never slept better in my 
 life. I would have been asleep yet if it hadn't been 
 for a brutal bluejay in a tree outside my window." 
 
 61
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 Mrs. Rader looked relieved. "It must have been 
 a hawk," she observed. "Bluejays don't come up 
 this far." 
 
 A door somewhere outside shut vigorously. Rader 
 did not change his attitude, but it was evident he 
 had suspended reading. "There she is," he said. 
 
 "I wonder if she caught it," Mrs. Rader threw 
 out. But to the scholar the interesting point evi- 
 dently was not what the one approaching had caught, 
 but that she would presently appear. 
 
 Carron wondered would it be "Blanche" or would 
 it be "The Lady of the Lake?" Apparently it was 
 a third person, neither child nor enchantress. 
 
 A longish oval face she had, long thick throat 
 and sloping shoulders. She gave an impression of 
 length of line without being tall, of brownness with- 
 out being brown, of being but a slim reed and yet 
 being fully a woman, of smiling and not smiling. 
 A khaki skirt swung from her slender hips. Low 
 shoes spurs stuck on the heels gave glimpses of 
 slender ankles. Hat she had not; and her brown 
 hair, Housed out in small wavy locks around the 
 ears, was put up recklessly with indications of the 
 ends of curls. A mongrel terrier with bright eyes 
 slouched at her heels. In the first look she gave 
 Carron an elf seemed to peep out of her eyes. 
 Amusement, curiosity, some small elation too in- 
 
 62
 
 BLANCHE 
 
 definite to name, was darted at him and withdrawn. 
 She did not offer her hand, but bent her head quite 
 in the manner of the city girl to acknowledge her 
 mother's introduction. This consisted only of two 
 words: "My daughter," and left Carron as unin- 
 formed as before. 
 
 "Father, I got the stage," she said, sitting down in 
 the place beside Carron. 
 
 The scholar, who had continued his book without 
 having looked at his daughter, now paused again, 
 his eyes still glued to the page. "U-m-m ?" he said. 
 
 "I was early for it," she went on. "I rode down 
 as far as 'the notch' before I met it." 
 
 Carron looked at her with anxiety. "Miss Rader, 
 I hope it wasn't my letter that you have been taking 
 trouble about?" 
 
 She stretched a long throat with a quick inquiring 
 turn of the head at him. "Yes why not ?" 
 
 "Of course I would have taken it myself. From 
 what Mr. Rader said, I supposed he had a boy he 
 could send." 
 
 "Oh, George ! But with errands you can't be sure 
 of him. It was nothing of a ride. I liked it." 
 
 "I'm very much in your debt," Carron gratefully 
 declared himself. "It was an important letter. I 
 promise to run all your errands for you as long as 
 I am here." 
 
 63
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 She smiled, her lips not unclosing, only deepening 
 their curve. Evidently this sort of speech she under- 
 stood in the spirit in which it was offered, a courtesy 
 and not a compliment. "I hope the rain will hold 
 off while you are here," she said. "The sport is 
 better before it. .There's more game in the moun- 
 tains." 
 
 Carron thought that as far as he was concerned 
 there would be indeed. "Do you hunt?" he inquired. 
 
 A faint line gathered between her brows. "Oh, 
 no, I don't, and I don't really know much about 
 what weathers are good for it ; only all the men say 
 it's better before wet weather. This morning 
 Beetles started six covey of quail in a mile." She 
 broke a crust of toast and held it up before the 
 anxious eyes of the terrier. "Beetles, little dog, sit 
 up ! Sit up for Missus ! Beg nicely !" 
 
 The sudden change of voice from courtesy to 
 coaxing made Carron open his eyes. Was this 
 she who had awakened him she of the flying heels ? 
 Was this the one who had nestled against his door, 
 who had demanded to know whether he was good- 
 looking? Since she had entered the room she had 
 not given his looks a conscious glance, and yet there 
 was no mistaking the intonation of the voice. "Good 
 Lord !" he thought, with a sort of awe, "are women 
 such children when they are alone?" Nothing child- 
 
 64
 
 BLANCHE 
 
 ish about her now if a man could believe his sight. 
 Her large blue eyes and the curl of her mouth were 
 enough like a child's, but it is not in such things that 
 a woman's maturity speaks, Carron knew, but in the 
 proud carriage of shoulders, the level turn of head, 
 the steady way of meeting a man's eye, and their 
 way of meeting what he says, not as if he were an 
 antagonist, but as if he were a human being. 
 
 Thus Blanche Rader began setting herself very 
 prettily to find out what sort of talk he preferred; 
 and he allowed himself the luxury of being drawn 
 out, and being "difficult" merely for the pleasure of 
 watching her graceful faculty at work. She had 
 undertaken the task not impersonally he doubted 
 that she was capable of being quite impersonal with 
 any one yet rather with the air of its being the 
 thing expected of her, the thing she always did, 
 pleasant enough in this case, in any case her part of 
 the business. 
 
 But Mrs. Rader, who should have found herself 
 relieved by her daughter's aptitude, showed restless- 
 ness. Her hands moved without intention among 
 the coffee cups. Once or twice her lips parted. She 
 made false starts to get into the conversation. 
 Finally, a pause giving opportunity, she leaned for- 
 ward and got her daughter's eye. 
 
 65
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "Did you have a good time last night ?" she asked. 
 She almost faltered it. 
 
 "Yes, very good indeed. There were some new 
 people there. I danced with them mostly." 
 
 "I thought you would dance mostly with Bert," 
 said her mother. 
 
 The girl looked as if she suspected intention in 
 this remark, and resented it. "He didn't dance at all. 
 He wasn't there a good part of the time. He only 
 came back to drive me home." 
 
 Her right arm rested on the table. The hand was 
 tanned to a soft brown, very smooth and fine in tex- 
 ture, with five dimples, where most women show 
 knuckles, and round finger-tips. Carron could see 
 the wrist white and punctuated with a dimple. The 
 rest was hidden in a starched sleeve. Still, he knew 
 it must be the arm enchanted. 
 
 The owner of it, unaware of what had been his 
 last night's vision, ate for a few moments before 
 offering her next remark. "I think Bert was feel- 
 ing ill. He wasn't like himself." She fixed a chal- 
 lenging gaze on her mother's face. "Sometimes I 
 am afraid that Bert isn't quite steady." 
 
 Mrs. Rader's lips opened for reply, but she 
 checked herself, no doubt because of the stranger. 
 A current of hostility was in the air. The scholar 
 raised his eyes. His look had no connection with 
 
 66
 
 BLANCHE 
 
 what had been said. No voice outside had pene- 
 trated to that seclusion where his mind dreamed. 
 He had simply come to the end of a phrase of 
 thought, and now was preparing to make a transi- 
 tion to another. He gave his chair a gentle scrape 
 backward and closed his book. What arrested him 
 was the sharpness of Carron's involuntary move- 
 ment forward. Rader mildly surveyed the young 
 man's aspect of protest against thus being cavalierly 
 deserted without apology and without a word. Per- 
 ception struggled around to the fact that something 
 was expected of him, something that he had prom- 
 ised. He looked at his daughter. His eyes rested 
 upon her with something as human as affection. 
 "Are you going to do anything in particular this 
 morning, Blanche?" he asked. 
 
 "I'm going to help mother with the up-stairs 
 cleaning." 
 
 "Oh !" He seemed to suffer a drop of inspira- 
 tion. 
 
 She looked inquiringly. "What is it ?" 
 
 "Mr. Carron," Rader explained slowly, "would 
 like to see the country a little. I was thinking per- 
 haps you might show him around." 
 
 "I'm so sorry " she turned apologetic to the 
 young man. "But, perhaps I can this afternoon if 
 you would care to?" 
 
 67
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 'Carron was angry. Was this Radar's idea of 
 [fulfilling his hints? Was this his idea of a com- 
 panion for hunting? Charming young women with 
 arms reaching out of oblivion like the fabled Lady 
 of the Lake were all very well, but time was slipping 
 by and he must be about a man's business. Yet, 
 what to do, when apparently he had all time on his 
 hands, and the girl was offering him her time so 
 graciously? It was Mrs. Rader who rescued him. 
 
 "Oh, Alex, I want Blanche to help me with the 
 quilts this afternoon." She addressed her husband, 
 and then apologized to Carron. "It happens that 
 at this time of year we are most busy, getting 
 the house in order before the rains set in. I hope 
 you won't mind being left to yourself to-day?" 
 
 Carron assured her that his wish was not at all 
 to disturb the routine of the place, and that perhaps 
 some other day when Miss Rader had a little time 
 to waste she would On the whole he was re- 
 lieved, though he could have wished that the girl 
 had shown some feeling one way or another. But 
 she did not even drop her alert mood to indifference. 
 It was Rader who was disconcerted. He rose, 
 gathering up his book, gave Carron a hasty glance, 
 embarrassed, apologetic, as if he would say, "I have 
 done my best," and murmuring something about not 
 
 68
 
 BLANCHE 
 
 T)eing disturbed that morning, went hastily out. His 
 very back was eloquent of a sense of defeat. 
 
 "Confound the man," Carron thought; "what ails 
 Jhim? AVhat does he think I want ?"
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE WOOD WALK 
 
 ABANDONED by Rader, left by the women to 
 the melancholy sight of a spent breakfast table, 
 Carron put on his hat at an exasperated backward 
 angle and opened the outer door. 
 
 Little doors opening without the formality of 
 a hall, with delightful directness on the forest, 
 seemed to be a characteristic of this old part of the 
 house. He stepped from one soft greenish light into 
 another deeper and more sharply marked with shad- 
 ows. A warmer and fresher air met him, and the 
 ground sprung under his feet. The stir of peace was 
 in the underwoods; but peace was not at all what 
 Carron wanted. This veil of branches was monot- 
 onous and irritating. He wanted again a glimpse 
 of mountains, of the sudden craggy heads against 
 the sky, of the scattered stone heaps at their feet, of 
 the dramatic lone tree, and the thin river the 
 country where such a creature as Son of the Wind 
 might inhabit. He walked slowly along the side of 
 the house, looking upon the ground, seeing, in every 
 
 70
 
 THE WOOD WALK 
 
 fantastic silhouetted mass of branches, a shadow as 
 of a horse in the sky. 
 
 He came to the corner of the house and paused, 
 aimless. He had a sense of losing his hold on the 
 situation. He understood that Rader was a man 
 guarded, both by his isolation at the end of that long 
 passage, and by the vigilance of his straightly-in- 
 quiring wife. Furthermore, in this flat mood of the 
 morning, it might be that seeing Rader would do no 
 good at all. No doubt Rader regretted urging him 
 to stay ; and was at a loss to know how to make good 
 his random promise of a companion. Practical ap- 
 plication of ideas was evidently not the scholar's 
 strong point. 
 
 He heard his name called. The voice came from 
 over his head. He raised his eyes. The windows 
 of his room were above him, all opened wide, with 
 curtains drawn back. The flight of outside steps 
 was near to where he stood, and, leaning on the 
 wooden rail of the little balcony, Blanche Rader 
 was looking down upon him. She had a cloth in 
 her hand as if shehad been dusting, and a cloth 
 tied over her head. With her hair covered by this 
 trying bandage, all in her face that had passed un- 
 noticed or not been noticed enough started out at 
 him. Her eyes showed bluer, larger, and her eye- 
 brows became a beauty. He saw that her nose
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 was inclined to the large, slightly aquiline, but 
 without any look of pinching at the bridge, and 
 with adorable pliant nostrils. Whatever that fea- 
 ture may have given to her face of overmuch 
 will or obstinacy the mouth made up for now 
 as it smiled at him. 
 
 "Are you going for a walk ?" she asked. 
 
 He whipped off his hat. "To tell the truth, I 
 don't know where I'm going." He hung on his 
 heel, enjoying the sight, and grudging the inroad 
 it made on his concentration. "Everything looks 
 the same to me. Perhaps you will graciously point 
 out a pleasant direction." 
 
 She rested her chin consideringly in her hand. 
 "If you like, I can go with you and show you. I 
 shall have the time. Mother has changed her mind 
 about the up-stairs cleaning. She is going to help 
 father with his books instead." 
 
 Fate, it seemed, had decreed that the morning 
 should be given to this young woman. Or, did 
 he see the hand of Rader obscurely working in 
 the dark? If that were so, he reflected, the bias on 
 Rader's part was probably due to the fact that there 
 was no one else to commit him to. Yet, for all he 
 knew, the girl herself might be responsible for the 
 alteration of Mrs. Rader's plan. 
 
 Carron resigned himself. "I'd like it," he de- 
 72
 
 THE WOOD WALK 
 
 clared with emphasis, and to his surprise realized 
 that he had spoken the truth, "I'd like it above all 
 things." 
 
 She gave a slight sidewise inclination of the 
 head, accepting this. "Then, if you'll just wait a 
 moment " She turned to the door behind her 
 which stood open and entered the room. 
 
 He saw her catch up his pillow, give it a pat, and 
 deposit it plump and smooth upon his smoothed up 
 bed, flick her dusting cloth over the top of the 
 bureau, then stoop and gather up his soiled linen 
 from the floor where he had thoughtlessly flung 
 it. This was worse than having her mail his letters 
 for him. He must see that she didn't have to do 
 that again. She matter-of-factly rolled the garments 
 up under her arm, and, coming to one of the open 
 windows, called to him, "I'll send your things to 
 the Chinaman, shan't I; he'll have, them done in 
 a few days." 
 
 Carron replied that she was very thoughtful. 
 This mixture of domesticity and idyl was con- 
 fusing. 
 
 He watched her close all his windows but one, 
 draw all curtains, and then close the door, shutting 
 herself from sight. There was a moment of silence, 
 and he wondered if, in the interval, she had con- 
 descended to take off her sweeping cap in front 
 
 73
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 of his mirror. Then he heard the shutting of the 
 inner door. He awaited her in the hall at the 
 foot of the clambering stair. His expectation had 
 not time to sharpen to impatience before she ap- 
 peared, still in her brown skirt and working blouse, 
 but with the dull cloud of her hair admirably con- 
 trolled. 
 
 "We might go out through the new house," 
 she suggested, and led the way. 
 
 The dust of yesterday was gone from the dining- 
 room, but the chairs, covered with cloths, still tow- 
 ered terrifically on the tables. The hard, yellowish 
 light was reflected on them from four directions. 
 She looked up at the ceiling and around at the 
 staring uncurtained windows. "It's a beautiful 
 dining-room," she said; then her unexpected quick 
 turn of the head caught Carron's expression. She 
 smiled, appreciative, but not disturbed by his amuse- 
 ment. "It is a beautiful dining-room," she ex- 
 plained, "it's so convenient. Convenient things look 
 just as beautiful to mother as pretty ones do to us," 
 she added, as their feet made a clatter down the 
 glistening uncarpeted hall. "Of course, the old 
 house is nicer to look at, and to live in; but these 
 rooms are quite nice to dance in, and when I was 
 a child, I used to like to play here. I used to 
 love to make a run, and then slide from there " 
 
 74
 
 THE WOOD WALK 
 
 she indicated with her finger "down to the front 
 door." 
 
 Carron saw that the aesthetic sense of this young 
 woman had been neglected he doubted if she knew 
 she had one and he observed that her body rejoiced 
 in activity. He was altogether entertained and de- 
 lighted. "You would love to slide now, wouldn't 
 you?" he inquired. 
 
 She glanced sidelong at the floor, but walked de- 
 murely. She resisted his invitation, but the invita- 
 tion of the sky and trees, seen through the open 
 door, she evidently found more potent. Whether 
 she ran or not he wasn't sure, but her getting over 
 the threshold and half-way down the steps was like 
 nothing so much as the flash of a bird. She looked 
 around her, and back at him, and her animation 
 seemed to have taken a leap. "Which way shall we 
 go?" she inquired. 
 
 "Oh, any way! You take me!" Her spirits had 
 caught him. His irritation, his chafings were with- 
 drawn. 
 
 "Then I will take you to the spring. It is about 
 the only thing there is to see that we will have 
 time for." 
 
 If he had expected her to race him through" the 
 shadows he was to be disappointed. For after that 
 one instant of wildness that had touched her as she 
 
 75
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 stood on the threshold, she schooled herself to a 
 leisurely saunter. She had not quite the air of a 
 girl curbed and repressed to her good behavior, but 
 more the air of a girl unconsciously holding 
 much in reserve. What the intenser expression 
 might be one could guess at but it would be un- 
 certain w6rk. It was her simpler, more exterior 
 self she was giving him now as they walked along 
 the drive. She went in silence a few paces, her 
 lips touched with some amusing thought; then 
 turning to him with the mischievous elation that 
 had first met his eyes when she had entered the din- 
 ing-room. "I think I have something of yours," 
 she volunteered. 
 
 He looked puzzled. 
 
 "Didn't you lose something yesterday when you 
 were driving up ?" 
 
 His hand clapped his watch poclcet. "Why I 
 don't know of anything." He felt quite at sea, 
 though her smiling eyes were accusing him that cer- 
 tainly he must know very well. 
 
 She slid her hand into the fold of her skirt where 
 women conceal the mysterious thing they call a 
 pocket. "I felt sure it was yours as soon as I saw 
 you," she said as if there admitted of no doubt on 
 this point. "You came near losing it a second time, 
 too. My pup got it and triel to swallow it." She 
 
 76
 
 THE WOOD WALK 
 
 drew her hand slowly out again, enjoying his sus- 
 pense, showing herself again the child. The sound 
 of a horse's hoofs on the drive in front of them 
 made her pause and look down the brown track. 
 Around a near turn the rider came in view ; and she 
 closed her hand tightly, and let it fall at her side. 
 The man on the road, the man the Raders called 
 "Bert," pulled his pony to a walk and got unhandily 
 out of the saddle. 
 
 He had seen the girl first. His look at sight of 
 Carron made that unsusceptible person sorry for 
 him. He seemed to consider the possibilities of re- 
 treat, then came on unwillingly as if impelled by 
 a combination of appearances which he half hated 
 and half feared. 
 
 Coming quite close to them he dragged off his 
 hat. "Good morning, Blanche," his voice was soft 
 and suppressed. 
 
 She gave him a clear and rather merciless eye. 
 "Good morning." She seemed to be waiting for 
 him to go by, but he came a little nearer and stopped, 
 his hat clenched nervously in his hand. Evidently the 
 poor devil was in disgrace for his last night's be- 
 havior. 
 
 ' "How are you this morning?" Carron said cheer- 
 fully. 
 
 The man replied sullenly, inaudibly. 
 77
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 Blanche Rader gave this greeting between the two 
 her pointed surprise. 
 
 Carron smiled at her. "Well, aren't you going to 
 show me what you promised ?" 
 
 She sent a flying look at Ferrier, gave a slight 
 shrug as if to say that after all his being there didn't 
 matter. She held up and opened her hand. "There 
 it is." 
 
 Carron looked curiously at the twenty-dollar gold 
 piece. In spite of him the color was coming into his 
 face. He recognized the coin as being new, as being 
 of the date that he remembered. 
 
 "Here it is," the girl insisted, holding it out. 
 
 To appear surprised was not difficult. "Where 
 did you find it ?" . 
 
 "A little way below where I caught the stage. A 
 stirrup was getting loose and I got off to fix it, and 
 dropped the hair-pin I was fixing it with; just put 
 my hand into the dust to get it again and found this 
 in my fingers !" 
 
 Carron raised his eyes, most conscious of the 
 other man's face. It was a study. The fellow had 
 stretched his neck ; he was crimson, his mouth a lit- 
 tle open, and he looked at Carron in a suspense that 
 was equal to suffering, expecting his next word. 
 
 "Of course, I'd like very much to accept it," Car- 
 78
 
 THE WOOD WALK 
 
 ron said, very much amused by the play, "but un- 
 fortuately I have lost nothingof the kind." 
 
 She seemed incredulous. "But you " she began, 
 and Carron was sure she was about to say, "You 
 recognized it" which was true indeed. 
 
 He shook his head. "It isn't mine ! Couldn't some 
 one on the stage have lost it or some one else in 
 this part of the country? You don't happen to 
 know," he said, turning to the man on the road, "of 
 any one around here who has lost such a thing ?" 
 
 There was a click in the fellow's throat. He 
 seemed to draw breath with a great effort. "It's 
 mine!" 
 
 Blanche Rader gave him the full benefit of her 
 amazement. "Why, you " She started again, 
 "Why, Bert" 
 
 "It's mine ; I lost it yesterday !" He drew a trem- 
 bling hand across his forehead, suddenly damp. 
 
 She took him all in, his worn flannel shirt; patched 
 trousers stuck into old boots that needed patching, 
 his whole appearance of a rather reckless poverty; 
 she glanced at Carron. His eye refuted her implica- 
 tion. Its steady insistence expected a certain action 
 from her as it had from the man on the road. She 
 was perplexed, and he thought a little chagrined that 
 her amusing supposition had taken this unexpected 
 
 79
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 turn on her, but she held out the gold piece slowly 
 and let it fall into the other man's hand. 
 
 The man on the road seemed submerged from 
 thought by some crushing emotion. Expression was 
 washed out of his face ; he was nerveless ; his throat 
 made a convulsive movement an attempt for 
 speech; his hand closed on the money, and with a 
 jerk plunged it into his pocket. "I " lie began, but 
 there his tongue stopped; his head drooped, and he 
 turned away. He moved on up the drive, leading his 
 horse as if he had not ambition enough to mount it, 
 and left a quality of silence behind him that was as- 
 tonishment. "What in the world?" Blanche Rader 
 seemed not to ask of Carron so much as herself. 
 "What in the world is the matter with him?" 
 
 Carron's eyes were twinkling. "Probably thought 
 you were going to withhold his proper due." 
 
 "But it doesn't seem as if it could be his!" 
 
 "Oh, why not?" 
 
 She looked at him with smiling scorn, very pretty 
 upon such a tender mouth. "Where would he get it 
 twenty dollars !" 
 
 "He sold a horse," Carron said. He said it to 
 amuse himself. It fitted so nicely into an outward 
 lie and an inward truth ; but the expression it sum- 
 moned in her was amazing the sudden proud sus- 
 picious look her eyes darted, the rush of a red spot 
 
 80
 
 THE WOOD WALK 
 
 to each cheelc, the quick lift of the bosom. It was 
 gone in a flash, leaving her paler, gone with the long 
 sigh which expelled her fears. "Why, his horse isn't 
 worth ten dollars," she said lightly. 
 
 Carron couldn't immediately speak. As quickly 
 as her expression had come and gone so quickly a 
 supposition had touched his mind. He entertained it 
 not a minute. It wasn't possible ! This being who 
 fastened on stirrups with a hair-pin! "What's got 
 me?" he thought. "I'm so possessed with an idea 
 that I accuse every one I see of knowing about it." 
 
 Blanche Rader's momentary suspicion, whatever 
 it had been, evidently had blown away. Mere cur- 
 iosity was left. "Did he tell you he had sold a 
 horse?" she asked. 
 
 "I gathered it from what he said." 
 
 "Then you've met him before?" 
 
 "Yesterday. He very kindly directed me here. 
 He said Raders might take me in and keep me 
 overnight, and so, you see, I am grateful to him." 
 
 "Yes, he's obliging." She spoke like one anxious 
 to be fair, but there was a trace of irritation in her 
 voice. "I'm glad if he has made some money, for 
 I'm afraid he needs it terribly. This has been a 
 cruel summer." 
 
 "He lives in this part of the country, I suppose?" 
 
 "A mile down the main road. The Ferriers have 
 81
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 been here longer than we have. I've known Bert 
 ever since I was a child." They were walking again, 
 still on the main road, with unending trees around 
 them, and with motion her good humor was return- 
 ing. 
 
 The drama just enacted on the drive had inter- 
 ested Carron, and pricked his curiosity far more 
 than he had shown. What was the girl's mind 
 toward the man on the road, and why, taking the 
 gold piece from her, should the fellow turn upon her 
 such a face. He looked at her himself, and looking 
 thought, "She certainly isn't pretty. She's less 
 or more." Aloud he said, "And have you lived here 
 long?" 
 
 "Eight years. The new house has been built since 
 then," she mused. "Of course, the old drawing- 
 rooms were impossible. Their woodwork was rotted, 
 but I was sorry when they tore down the old ball- 
 room." 
 
 "The ball-room?" Carron repeated, with an in- 
 voluntary survey of the solemn prospect of trees. 
 
 "Yes, I liked it." Her white teeth flashed at the 
 memory. "It was so funny, and so grand. Leslie de 
 Shallener, the dancer did you ever hear of her? 
 she was up here the first summer we had the place ; 
 and one night she took me into the ball-room where 
 we were all alone, and no light but moonlight, and 
 
 82
 
 THE WOOD WALK 
 
 danced for me. I've never forgotten it. I don't often 
 see things like that." 
 
 "I'm sure / don't," said Carron. What he was 
 thinking of, however, was the great room, and the 
 large-eyed child, spellbound in the moonlight, with 
 the gyrations of a toe-dancer. 
 
 "I think you must have seen a great deal," she 
 answered. "Look, there are the old gate-posts. 
 They ought to have been pulled down long ago, but 
 I am afraid I should miss them. The spring path 
 turns off just here." 
 
 He would hardly have known it was a path. To 
 one driving by it would look like a natural opening 
 in the forest. She had to lead him now, the way was 
 so narrow. It showed indications of having been 
 wider once in the short green growth of pine on 
 either side. Some little distance on he saw the frag- 
 ment of a board hanging gray and rain-worn from a 
 post ; farther yet the thin iron legs of a chair such 
 a chair as one sees around cafe tables thrust out 
 of the drift of pine-needles. Between these relics 
 the lithe body of the girl swung at a quick- footing 
 pace, here stooping her head, there lifting a branch 
 aside, now glancing over her shoulder at him. Then, 
 a little in front of him, he saw two hand-rails, totter- 
 ing, all but collapsing, yet somehow clinging to- 
 gether, and opening out, embracing a sort of in- 
 
 83
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 closure. Within was a level space, clear of pines 
 and perhaps thirty feet across. In the center of this 
 Blanche Rader was standing when he came up to 
 her, standing by a circular railing closely boarded 
 below, and with a broad ledge around the top of it 
 inclosing what looked to be a well. An iron bench, 
 scarlet with rust, was toppled upon the ground. The 
 helplessness of its aspect, four legs in the air, and 
 the staggering white rail, gave an air of forlornness 
 to the spectacle which in no way seemed to touch 
 the girl's consciousness. Custom, no doubt, had 
 taken away her vision of the place. 
 
 "This is where they used to come in the morning 
 to drink the water," she explained. 
 
 Carron was astonished and enlightened. "Do you 
 mean to tell me that this was a health resort, off 
 here at the end of creation?" 
 
 She nodded. " 'The Giant Mineral Springs Ho- 
 tel.' Remember the tumble-down sign as you came 
 in the gate? I supposed you knew but of course 
 mother never speaks of it. She feels so badly about 
 it." 
 
 Carron raised interrogative eyebrows at her. 
 "What is wrong with having a health resort?" 
 
 She gave him all her smile. "Nothing, if it is a 
 real one. But you see well, we didn't know when 
 we bought it." 
 
 84
 
 THE WOOD WALK 
 
 "You bought it " The words were not quite 
 a question, but allowed themselves to be taken as 
 such. 
 
 "Not exactly. I don't think any one would ever 
 have done that, do you? Father took it for a debt. 
 A friend of his, a Mr. Janfer, built the place. I 
 think they called it 'Janfer's Folly.' I know he lost 
 money on it. It was a very fine house at the time 
 it was built, but it had been closed so long when we 
 got it, it was dreadfully run down. You see we 
 thought we could sell it. Father thought the min- 
 eral springs would be worth something, but when 
 we had them analyzed we found out they were just 
 ordinary water that had been charged with sulphur 
 and iron." She laughed. "Think what Mr. Janfer 
 said when father told him what we had found out ! 
 He said, 'Why, of course, I expected that you would 
 do as I did." 
 
 "And Mr. Rader didn't?" 
 
 She shook her head. "Mother wanted to, but he 
 wouldn't let her. She says he doesn't have the prob- 
 lem of running a hotel on not enough; and be- 
 sides it would be good for the people to drink a lot 
 of water even if it is just plain. But father said he 
 couldn't live a pretense." 
 
 "And how about you?" Carron inquired, resting 
 his arm on the well curb. The warm personal look he 
 
 85
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 turned on her the look that had got him so much 
 of what he wanted took away from the imperti- 
 nence of curiosity. Indeed, he was more than curi- 
 ous ; he was interested, attracted by the unusualness 
 of the three people, struck by their singular sur- 
 rounding. To himself, if he had thought of himself 
 at that moment, he would have appeared the idlest 
 of idlers, the most disinterested of acquaintances; 
 but, for a fact, he was never disinterested. He had 
 the imagination that works only toward an object. 
 With a faculty he was not aware of he utilized 
 everything. He was utilizing now, unintentionally 
 utilizing this girl, to draw out of her details of char- 
 acter, of opinion, of history, among the people in 
 the small scenario around him the actors among 
 whom he expected to play a part. 
 
 She was a clear well to draw from, but over his 
 last question she took time. 
 
 "I mean," he explained himself, "what would you 
 decide about it?" 
 
 "I ? Oh, I don't know. I suppose it would be hard 
 to know all the time that you were cheating people ; 
 but the way the thing is now is rather hard on 
 mother." 
 
 "Doesn't she isn't it " He was afraid he was 
 going too far, but the idea of any one in financial 
 straits, above all these two women, disturbed him 
 
 86
 
 THE WOOD WALK 
 
 mightily. Financial assistance was something he un- 
 derstood how to offer very well. 
 
 "Oh, yes; we have a number of people in the 
 summer. We do quite well enough in a business 
 way, only if it were a health resort we should do 
 much better; so much better that by and by we 
 could stop, and go somewhere else, and see a differ- 
 ent sort of people." 
 
 "Doesn't she like the sort of people here?" 
 "Oh, for herself she doesn't care at all! It's on 
 my account, you see." She made a little grimace. 
 "The people who come here are not 'advantageous' 
 at least that is what she says." 
 
 Carron could easily imagine it. The people who 
 turn up in such out-of-the-way places are those 
 strange people out of nowhere. He could very easily 
 fancy how they would look, sitting around the yel- 
 low pine drawing-room in the evenings. "And do 
 you like them?" 
 
 "They are more fun than the advantageous peo- 
 ple ; yes, on the whole, I do." 
 "And do you like the place ?" 
 "In the summer ? Yes, it is rather fun." 
 "No, at all times, summer and winter. How do 
 you like living here all the year around?" 
 
 Evidently she had never considered this before. 
 "I don't know. It's my home." 
 
 87
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "What of that? I never liked my home, and I 
 haven't seen it for ten years." 
 
 She had a way of seeming never to have formed 
 an opinion on a subject, but just to meet it for the 
 first time as it was presented to her. At this one she 
 looked surprised and a little dubious. "I like it here 
 well enough." She glanced vaguely around her. "I 
 like it much better than the Sacramento Valley. It's 
 beautiful here when you get off in the mountains." 
 The expression in her eyes grew further away. 
 "Yes, I think I'm happy here. At least," she mur- 
 mured it as if she had forgotten he was there, "I 
 have been happy this September." 
 
 "I hope you're not going to be less happy for the 
 next week." It was horribly crude, the primary per- 
 sonality. Carron blushed for himself, but the result 
 was what he wanted. 
 
 Her gaze came back promptly upon him. She 
 did not reply, did not try to turn his sentiment. 
 Actually, with her large arrested gaze, she seemed to 
 consider it. In the pause, in the silence, he felt his 
 foolish platitude was gathering significance. "What 
 can you be to my happiness or unhappiness ?" the 
 look of hers seemed to say. Seriousness was the last 
 note he wanted to strike; but in spite of him, it was 
 struck between them. The question in her eyes had 
 provoked the question from his. For a breath, the 
 
 88
 
 THE WOOD WALK 
 
 tentative thought was sent out from one to the other, 
 and withdrawn. 
 
 "There is one favor I must ask of you," Carron 
 said lightly. "I shall have to let you make my pillows 
 sit up properly, for that I can't do; but I do draw 
 the line at your rubbing down my mare." 
 
 It was a chance shot, but it drew fire. "Oh, I en- 
 joy that. I like it better than the housework. George 
 cleans the stalls for me, and usually does the horses. 
 I only oversee, but I curried yours for the fun of it. 
 She is such a beauty, and she was quite glad to see 
 me." 
 
 "Naturally ! She'll be delighted to carry you, too. 
 Perhaps some day when you have time you will be 
 good enough to try her." 
 
 "Oh, I should love to!" 
 
 Her fervor quickened him with a feeling of com- 
 panionship for her. "You like them, don't you ?" 
 
 "Horses?" Her hesitation surprised him. "Oh, 
 yes, I like them well enough. They are lovely!" 
 She meditated, then added, "But they're so silly." 
 
 "Silly?" 
 
 "Yes; letting us put steel in their mouths, and 
 stick steel into their sides, and pull their heads about 
 with reins giving in to us and obeying us, when 
 they could trample us into nothing!" 
 
 He drew down the corners of his mouth and shot 
 89 
 
 \
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 up his eyebrows at her. "But sometimes they do 
 trample us into nothing." 
 
 "Not often." She spoke as if it were to be re- 
 gretted. 
 
 "My bloodthirsty young friend !" He threw back 
 his head and laughed until the desolate old spring 
 walk and well echoed. "Don't you believe in the 
 Christian virtues of meekness and obedience?" 
 
 "No they're stupid. They're all right for chil- 
 dren, and dogs ; but for splendid crashing things like 
 horses " 
 
 He looked at her curiously. The faint color was 
 coming up under her dusky white skin, not rose, but 
 a duller, more passionate hue. Her head had turned 
 slowly to the profile, and again he felt her thought 
 was traveling away from him. She did not see, as 
 Carron saw, a long slow-dancing shadow coming 
 down the walk between the gray hand-rails. The ap- 
 proach of feet was soundless on the forest's strewn 
 carpet. She did not see her father as he dawned be- 
 tween the close pine branches. 
 
 He stopped just at the threshold of the inclosure, 
 a queer figure astray in the trees, an indoor figure, 
 one that would have been at home at a desk, or that 
 would have known its way about among book- 
 shelves. His glasses were pushed up, his foggy hair 
 was distracted on his head, his hands plunged 
 deep in his pockets. In the warm, out-of-door light 
 
 90
 
 THE WOOD WALK 
 
 he looked more dry, more lined, more than ever 
 built of thoughts, without actions. His survey was 
 straight before him at his dreaming daughter. Car- 
 ron had never seen him look at any one so deliber- 
 ately, so concentratedly or so long. This time there 
 was a deal more than affection in his face ; there was 
 introspection, there was a philosophic smile. 
 
 When his eyes moved, they moved rapidly. They 
 met the young man's with an interrogation, pointed, 
 peculiar, unaware of itself, and the more unguarded 
 because of that. "How is it? Well, what did you 
 find out?" he seemed to demand. Carron felt sud- 
 denly limp. The significance of the question seized 
 him before he could challenge it. For once he was 
 captured and carried off his feet by another man's 
 conviction. He received it as a fact, reflected upon 
 him from the scholar's candid, inquisitive face. The 
 duel of looks "Can you mean it?" answering "Did 
 she tell you?"i passed between them, across the dis- 
 tance, shifted, and with a common instinct merged 
 into a direct regard of the girl. She sat above them, 
 forgetful of the one, unaware of the other, looking 
 over their heads at the invisible something she saw, 
 far away from this time and place. She appeared an 
 unfamiliar creature, suddenly of importance, of tre- 
 mendous significance. "A woman !" he thought ; and, 
 with a mixed sense of amazement and incredulous 
 delight repeated, "A woman, good Lord, a woman !"
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 IMPROBABILITIES 
 
 AS long as his mind remained astonished into re- 
 jLjL ceptiveness, passive to the sharp point of the 
 scholar's thought, so long Carron believed the con- 
 viction that had been thrust upon him. For that time 
 he saw his adventure simplified. It spread before 
 him definite and clear to get through as open land 
 come upon abrupt from forest. But, no sooner had 
 the recoiled reason time to gather itself than the re- 
 action of feeling began ; the rallying of logic, when 
 the positive combative brain seized the question, pull- 
 ing it apart ; the rushing in of doubts from all sides ; 
 the swift review by skepticism of what was probable 
 or improbable; and, last, the laughter! It was in- 
 audible. It shook him inwardly. A woman? What 
 had the sound of that word to do with the idea of a 
 wild horse ? Women, those creatures without initia- 
 tive, compelled in their excursions into the wilder- 
 ness to certain spaces and to limited hours, whose 
 adventures, when they had them, were always un- 
 original the mere repetition of some man's greater 
 
 92
 
 IMPROBABILITIES 
 
 adventure how should one of these chance upon a 
 discovery unusual and heroic? 
 
 The scholar had come a step forward, and now 
 tentatively lifted his voice. "Blanche?" he said. 
 
 She turned, startled from her dream, wavered in 
 uncertain balance, and snatched at something to sup- 
 port herself. Carron grasped her outflung hand. It 
 was warm and smooth, with a remarkable live feel- 
 ing as of some captured little animal. It rested un- 
 conscious of what held it, preoccupied, intense. 
 Whatever feeling possessed this girl seemed to pos- 
 sess her completely, head to heel. Her surprise at 
 sight of her father had run into her finger-tips. 
 "What is it?" she asked, leaning forward. 
 
 "Your mother says she is waiting for you to 
 stitch the quilts," he explained, advancing. "I've 
 been looking for you all over the hill." 
 
 "But why didn't she blow the horn? Why should 
 she send you? I don't believe she did," Blanche 
 Rader objected mischievously to the scholar's diffi- 
 dent glance. "It is Mr. Carron who has waked you 
 up and got you out." She lowered her eyes to the 
 young man with a smile, realized her hand was still 
 in his, smiled a little more with a faint nervous 
 quiver at the corners of her mouth, and her fingers 
 slipped from his. She slid from the well-curb be- 
 fore he could help her. "I'm sorry," she said, "I 
 
 93
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 shall have to go back." She seemed to interrogate 
 as to whether the two men would accompany her. 
 
 The print of her ringers was still warm in Car- 
 ron's palm, the brief part she had played of prin- 
 cipal in his drama keen in his fancy, the impulse was, 
 follow ! But Rader was the person his logic wanted, 
 and Rader showed no disposition to move from the 
 spot where he stood. He put thumb and finger into 
 his pocket, drew out a little yellow-bowled pipe, lit it 
 and leaned back against the edge of the well. "You 
 will have to hurry, won't you?" he asked his daugh- 
 ter. 
 
 "Don't let us detain you," Carron said. 
 
 She gave an amused, puzzled glance, as if she 
 thought her father's behavior a little odd. "Very 
 well," she said, "then, since you're so good, I will 
 run." 
 
 She did not turn back along the way they had 
 come, but dipped into the wood where the hill rose 
 steepest, running like a lapwing, enjoying the quick 
 motion, smiling as she darted among the trees. 
 Golden-brown and white in the sun, and dusky 
 white and dark-brown in shadow, she retreated up 
 the irregular aisle of branches, and Carron, watch- 
 ing her flight, wondered. A woman like that, long- 
 throated, light moving, pliant and elusive! When 
 she had frowned on him, asking if she were a 
 
 94
 
 IMPROBABILITIES 
 
 hunter; when she had leaned on the balcony as 
 the high priestess of housework, even when she had 
 spoken of currying his horse, there had been no hint 
 of the Amazon. She had worn a graceful air, social 
 and schooled, suggesting the walled inclosure where 
 women are supposed to play. There was no hint of 
 the Amazon now not that; only a suggestion of 
 wildness afield, of moods that might not be held to 
 the beat of regulated hours. And there had been 
 other moments that morning, curious moments, 
 when she had shown inexplicable looks. He re- 
 called how she had sat dreaming on the old spring 
 curb with eyes of imagination fixed on some place 
 far off. "Splendid trampling things like horses," she 
 had said, and he remembered how the color had 
 come up in her face. Well, a girl's fancies ! but what 
 of that time he had called the spot of alarm to her 
 cheeks? What of the glance she had darted at him 
 and his joke about the selling of a horse, suspicious, 
 quick as a sword? His mind fluctuated between 
 credulity and a smile. 
 
 The scholar was pulling thoughtfully on his pipe, 
 his eyes, at intervals, making excursions to the young 
 man's face. "He believes it," Carron reflected, "yes, 
 by Jove, he does !" The singular old chap, always in 
 the clouds, knowing nothing real until it was trans- 
 lated into the unreal, his belief was not much reassur- 
 
 95
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 ance ! How could a man tell in what foggy ways he 
 came by his ideas ? Evolved them out of his own im- 
 agination, perhaps. That was the devilish part of 
 people with imaginations. But there was the man 
 on the road. Certainly that fellow had seemed to 
 have his feet firmly planted on earth, and his eyes 
 sharp for the things of it. Certainly he had betrayed 
 the qualities of the materialist, who will make sure 
 of his fact before he takes it seriously. And had not 
 he looked toward the girl as the keeper of the se- 
 cret ? "Try Raders," he had said. Hadn't he meant, 
 "Try Blanche Rader?" The memory of how those 
 two had looked when they had stood together on 
 the drive, and the fellow had taken the gold piece 
 from her, came back a clear little picture. In the 
 light of his new knowledge the thing had an ugly 
 look. He could see how the man might sell her confi- 
 dence ; but to take the money from her hand ! To be 
 sure it had been only a way by which the thing had 
 reached a destination for which it was first intended. 
 But there were ways, Carron thought, which were 
 worse than the object they gained. 
 
 He caught himself drifting just on the edge of 
 credulity. So many appearances thrust him there; 
 yet, when he thought, after all, they were but ap- 
 pearance looks surprised out of faces, at the mo- 
 ment more convincing than a vocabulary, but, as 
 
 96
 
 IMPROBABILITIES 
 
 soon as they disappeared, leaving the reason doubt- 
 ful they had ever existed. He had not had the reas- 
 surance of the audible word, which leaves an echo in 
 the ear as well as in the mind, and gives a basis to 
 think from. Not even that, yet the scholar who had 
 come out to find him was evidently confidently ex- 
 pecting he had something to tell. 
 
 He drew a deep breath for his dive into unknown 
 waters. He thrust his hands in his pockets, walked 
 a little meditative half circle on the soft piny floor 
 of the forest, and came to a stop square in front of 
 Rader. "Well !" he said with a falling inflection. 
 
 "Well?" Rader replied interrogatively and smil- 
 ing. 
 
 "You might have told me in the first place. You 
 would have saved me some trouble." 
 
 Rader breathed a cloud of smoke, and waited. 
 
 "What does she want of the horse?" Carron said 
 quietly. He said it so quietly one could hardly think 
 any risk attached to it or any suspense for him. 
 
 Rader took his little yellow-bowled pipe out of his 
 mouth, "Didn't she tell you?" 
 
 The question fell pat and natural as if this were 
 some old, often discussed matter which both under- 
 stood well enough. Carron felt that he was smiling 
 rather foolishly. He shook his head. 
 
 Rader's pipe, still suspended in his hand, sent up 
 97
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 a little cloud before his face as he leaned forward. 
 "What did she tell you?" he asked. 
 
 "The truth is, I don't believe she knows she's told 
 me anything," Carron confessed. "In a manner of 
 speaking, I got it out of her." 
 
 Rader knitted his forehead. This way of ap- 
 proaching the matter seemed scarcely to his fancy. 
 "Better ask her straight," he said laconically. 
 
 "What she wants of it?" 
 
 "Yes, and whether she's seen it, too. Better have 
 it all square from the first ; let her know what you're 
 after." 
 
 "Do you think she would tell me ?" 
 
 "Lord knows," said the scholar, with a humorous 
 eye ; "I never do !" 
 
 "She told you." He was making assumptions as 
 fast as he could find them, and every time Rader 
 transformed them into facts. 
 
 "That is different. She tells me everything be- 
 cause I don't care. What would an old fellow like 
 me care ? She might just as well go whisper it to one 
 of those stone heads on the mountain up yonder." 
 
 Carron restrained a smile at the scholar's idea of 
 what a tight vessel he was for a secret. "She told 
 Ferrier," he urged. 
 
 "Did she say that?" 
 
 "No; you did." 
 
 98
 
 IMPROBABILITIES 
 
 "I did?" Rader looked distressed. "I haven't said 
 anything!" 
 
 Carron realized his slip, but there was nothing 
 now for it but to brazen the thing out. "Not in so 
 many words. But you did say last night, don't you 
 remember? that Ferrier hadn't given away your 
 confidence. From which I inferred that he had given 
 away some one else's ; from which I now infer that 
 he had given away Miss Rader's, and therefore that 
 she must have told him something in the first place 
 you see?" 
 
 "Lord," said Rader, "you infer a good deal, don't 
 you?" Both of them were at broad grin, but the 
 scholar's was a little sheepish. "I did let go of it 
 there, didn't I?" he admitted. He mused. "All 
 the same, I don't think she told Bert Ferrier about 
 it." He turned, and looked thoughtfully down into 
 the dark mouth of the well as if he hoped to see 
 truth lurking in it. Then, putting his pipe back in 
 his mouth and getting gradually into his long slip- 
 shod stride, he began to saunter away across the 
 clearing toward the trees, following the direction his 
 daughter had taken a little while before. 
 
 Carron caught step with him. He was afraid by 
 that unlucky remark of his that he had startled his 
 man to caution ; and indeed, striding on through sun 
 and shadow, Rader kept silence for some minutes. 
 
 99
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 Yet he had not so much the air of a person mum 
 as of one musing, and turning over a question. 
 Carron could see it ruminating in his eyes, and ex- 
 pressed in the fluctuating cloud of his pipe as they 
 climbed the ascent among the pines, startling the 
 blue wings of birds into flight among the branches. 
 Noon was in the air, the languor of it. They dipped 
 into a little depression, began another more gradual 
 rise, and presently sighted the line of the hotel roof ; 
 a little higher, glimpses of windows came into view 
 between the trunks of trees ; and, last, a long white- 
 washed covered passage, with a little round room 
 at the end of it, extending from the back of the 
 house. It projected into the pines like a promontory 
 into the sea, and they, the incoming craft, voyaging 
 toward it. Carron recognized this must be the schol- 
 ar's study. A piazza was in front of it, evidently but 
 the continuation of the broadei* one that clung all 
 around the house. Three wooden steps led up to it. 
 At the foot of these Rader paused. He leaned back 
 against the rail and spoke as if no silence had inter- 
 vened. 
 
 "It wouldn't have been like her to tell him," he 
 said argumentatively. "She's too close-mouthed, 
 and, besides " he mused and puffed "not that his 
 knowing would matter any more than mine," he 
 took up another sentence. "He's nothing of a rider. 
 
 100
 
 IMPROBABILITIES 
 
 He wouldn't want the horse himself. She's been 
 sure enough that he would never take it away from 
 her." 
 
 The way he put it struck coldly on Carron's ex- 
 pectant nerves. He heard in it the explanation of the 
 whole mysterious business the explanation, and 
 that always meant the descent from the high idea to 
 the reasonable and the ordinary. There was a horse, 
 oh, no doubt ! He could believe that now ; but it was 
 not the thing it had been represented. It was not his 
 leader of herds, Son of the Wind, but a creature less 
 than marvelous, already touched by the hand of man. 
 He looked the possibility in the face. Over the ruin 
 of his crazy expectations he could smile at it. "Then 
 the horse isn't afraid of her?" 
 
 Rader looked at him in astonishment. "Isn't 
 afraid? Why, bless my soul, it's as wild as the 
 wind." 
 
 "As wild as the wind !" The mere sound of the 
 words in his ears was delight. "And she can't even 
 come near it?" 
 
 , "Bless my soul," said Rader again, "it's never 
 even seen her. She has been very careful about 
 that." 
 
 "But how does she see it? Where?" He was all 
 a-wonder. 
 
 "Ask her ask her!" Rader insisted. 
 101
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "And suppose she won't answer?" 
 
 Rader shrugged, as who would say, "Then, that 
 will be the end of it." 
 
 The young man laughed. The thing would not 
 end as simply as all that. If Blanche Rader would 
 not speak His conjecture didn't get further, for 
 he believed that she would. Rader was looking at 
 him expectantly, as if he thought to see the question 
 put to test on the instant. And why not ? Now was 
 a better time than any; and the scholar's eye, quiz- 
 zical, hinting that perhaps the undertaking was a 
 daunting one, put him on his mettle. He pulled his 
 hat over his nose, ran up the steps, and turning to the 
 right, walked quickly down the side piazza. 
 
 For an interval there was wall, without opening ; 
 and then began a series of low-set square win- 
 dows, which "Janfer," in his celebrated "Folly," 
 had ornamented with wooden cornices of acanthus. 
 He passed the first, since it was covered with a cur- 
 tain, the curtains to the second were drawn back, 
 and from within he heard a sound like a large and 
 much occupied bee. Broad noon made it hard to look 
 into the house, but by stepping back to the railing, 
 holding his hand over his eyes and tipping his head, 
 he was able to see the room. The greater part of it 
 was in shadow. Mrs. Rader's figure was barely dis- 
 tinguishable, back toward him, stooping above a ta- 
 
 102
 
 IMPROBABILITIES 
 
 ble, and, like the clipping "Fate," with shears in her 
 hand, but drawn near to the window and the light 
 was a sewing-machine over which flowed a cascade 
 of stuff, heavy and white ; and moving this through 
 the machine, manipulating it delicately, Blanche Ra- 
 der sat. Her head was bent. He saw the greater 
 mass of her hair like a shadow, the light on her fore- 
 head, and the long, dim line of her throat as she 
 leaned sidewise. She was very intent, seeing no one, 
 all her wits apparently stitching into that sewing. 
 He smiled. Anything more gentle, and accessible, 
 one could not imagine. But the figure in the back- 
 ground made him wary. He had had an impression 
 of it as an interfering element. He reached in his 
 pocket and found a scrap of paper and a pencil. Rest- 
 ing this on his address-book he wrote, "Eight-thirty 
 A. M. to-morrow, horseback. Will you ?" 
 
 He went up to the window, pressed the card 
 against the glass and drummed his fingers softly on 
 the pane. 
 
 The machine stopped, ran back a little way. She 
 looked up quickly, and though he must have been but 
 a black figure against daylight to her, he saw she rec- 
 ognized him immediately ; then her eyes fixed on the 
 white paper. She was a while about it. He could not 
 tell whether she was re-reading his message to get 
 a better understanding of it, or whether she was 
 
 103
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 merely considering it as a proposition. At last she 
 looked at him. Eyes and lips smiled with pleasure. 
 She nodded. Then, bending forward again and 
 reaching into the intricacies around the needle, she 
 disentangled the long thread, and resumed her seam, 
 as if nothing had shadowed in the window to snap 
 it, or to put a fresh thought in her mind. 
 
 104
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 A SIGNAL and a smile through the window. They 
 ./""Xhad taken few words to understand each other, 
 he thought. The promise of a morning among the 
 hills with this responsive girl whetted anticipation 
 sharp. The way his adventure led was going to be 
 pleasant and very easy, the merest short-cut. If only 
 he did not feel so deadly uncertain that there was 
 anything at the end of it ! He tried to make himself 
 believe that what she had seen was indeed the thing 
 he wanted ; but he doubted that women saw things as 
 they were. He knew he himself desired the perfect 
 material object ; that he was sensitive to every failure 
 of what he saw to fulfil this, recognizing defect and 
 perfection and calling them by name. But he sus- 
 pected that around any sort of object a woman could 
 fold her imagination and transform it to herself. He 
 had seen miserable figures of men thus translated, 
 and how would it be in the lesser matter of a horse? 
 Those large imaginative eyes of hers looked very 
 ready to believe wonders. No doubt they were 
 
 105
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 starved for things wonderful, the thrill given to the 
 nerves by the sight of unwonted beauty or strength 
 all the quicker to be credulous because of that. 
 Had she seen a plow pony by moonlight ? He smiled 
 to think of her as she would be with her bright in- 
 tensity leading him to the place where she had seen 
 her vision, some place of water, no doubt, where the 
 creature, whatever it was, came to drink, where 
 sooner or later perhaps to-morrow, perhaps the 
 day after he would see it. 
 
 The nearness of discovery made him restless. It 
 would be hard to close his eyes before they had held 
 that revelation. His sleep that night was thin, a veil 
 across his consciousness. It dissolved with dawn, 
 and he wondered whether they might not make an 
 earlier start than half -past eight. 
 
 Getting away for a morning's ride seemed a sim- 
 ple business. As far as himself was concerned, the 
 preliminaries were something to eat and saddling. 
 But, for the girl, it appeared they were far more 
 complicated, involving a multitude of employments 
 and errands around and in and out of the house. 
 As early as half-past six, when he first got up, 
 looking through his curtain he saw her in the pale 
 ruddy light, already intent with haste, a long 
 lock of hair falling across her cheek, laying out 
 mattresses and pillows to air on the ground. 
 
 1 06
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 Later, hurrying down the outside stair with the 
 thought of helping her at this task for which her 
 back looked too slender, he found himself alone in 
 a dead sea of ticking. The windows of the scholar's 
 study were open, and through them he heard the 
 sound of a hummed song, and saw her figure moving 
 to and fro. Later yet, on his way through the hall, 
 he glimpsed her in a room, sweeping vigorously, 
 the center of a haze of dust which the new sun 
 transformed to a golden vapor. 
 
 "You haven't forgotten, have you?" he asked 
 looking in the door. 
 
 She formed "No," with her mouth through the 
 thick, bright, floating atmosphere. She had this to 
 do first, she explained, and advised him that break- 
 fast was on table. She came into the dining-room 
 herself presently, stayed long enough to drink some 
 coffee and find the scholar's pipe for him, then was 
 away. Carron heard the rattling of tins in the 
 kitchen as if the preliminaries of dish-washing were 
 hers. With verve and incredible despatch she seemed 
 to be crowding her responsibilities for the day into 
 an hour and a half, and only for the sake of a morn- 
 ing at liberty among the hills. 
 
 He saddled the two horses, putting the side-saddle 
 on the chestnut, and brought them around to the 
 steps of the old wing. He hoped to find Blanche 
 
 107
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 Rader waiting there for him, but, as he rode up, he 
 saw her standing on the side piazza talking to the 
 boy George. 
 
 This individual started up to sight and memory 
 like a gnome. He was standing close to the girl. She 
 had hold of a button of his coat, establishing that 
 communication of touch which seemed necessary to 
 get his understanding, and the creature was looking 
 up at her with eyes like a dog's. It set Carron's 
 teeth on edge to see them thus. She was talking with 
 him, not as Mrs. 'Rader had, but conversationally, 
 with a sweet familiar vivacity. She gesticulated, 
 seeming to employ the sign language as well as the 
 language of words, finally waved her hands toward 
 the drive and the trees, like Ariel dismissing some 
 undersized, unassuming Caliban. He moved off 
 down the steps, dragging his feet. She turned, saw 
 Carron, nodded promisingly and ran in at the door. 
 
 He waited, fretting hotter than the chestnut. The 
 whole front of the house seemed to have fallen 
 asleep. But, from the back, presently he thought he 
 heard voices. He thought they came from the other 
 side of the door which closed the inner end of the 
 front hall. He was not listening. The talking reached 
 him as impersonally as the running of water or the 
 flowing of wind; but, as it continued, wearing in 
 on his consciousness, the sound of it grew on 
 
 1 08
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 his ears as an argument. He sensed discordances in 
 it. He fancied long questions and short answers. 
 He got out of saddle and stood restively, every mo- 
 ment glancing behind him. It was monstrous to 
 take time for discussion of domestic problems now 
 with the golden point of the morning already turn- 
 ing pale. 
 
 At last the door at the end of the hall opened and 
 let through immediate and near the sound of Mrs. 
 Rader's voice. Blanche Rader was coming out, her 
 hat pulled hard on her head and drawing on her 
 gauntlets. But her mother had followed her, was 
 still speaking to her, and had made her pause to 
 listen by the natural expedient of clasping a hand 
 around her daughter's arm. Held, arrested, the girl 
 stood, still fronted for the door, but with head flung 
 back, to give her mother an ear. Mrs. Rader was 
 arguing. The girl listened perforce. Her expres- 
 sion was icy obstinacy, disclaiming everything said 
 before it was heard. She made an inaudible, rapid 
 answer, freed herself with the impetuous motion of a 
 colt breaking through a fence, and came on toward 
 him. A little of the fretted, haughty look which the 
 interruption had brought stayed like a blush upon 
 her face and darkened in her eyes, giving her a mo- 
 mentary beauty. 
 
 "Headstrong, touchy little devil," he thought, 
 109
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 fancying her for the qualities he deplored. She 
 stood in the doorway, this time with leggings cov- 
 ering her slender ankles, her old brown skirt aswing 
 to her light motion, youth on tiptoe, inquisitive and 
 filled with the conviction that life is joy. She had 
 ruthlessly turned her back on her mother and had 
 approached the stranger confidently, as if from him 
 she expected all pleasant happy things. 
 
 "Am I to ride the pretty one ?" she asked. 
 
 "She's yours, but look out for her. She hates the 
 side-saddle. Why do you use such an antiquated 
 piece of furniture?" 
 
 "I always have ; I've had it since I was a little girl. 
 Besides, I like it better." She slipped nimbly into 
 her place. "All right," she said. 
 
 He released the bridle, and immediately the chest- 
 nut was half-way across the loop of the drive. He 
 watched a moment to make sure that she was equal 
 to the mare's dancings and side-glidings; then 
 turned, and looked over his shoulder at the woman 
 standing in the dark end of the hall. "It's all right," 
 he said ; "the mare is perfectly safe. I broke her my- 
 self." 
 
 Mrs. Rader looked at him with a dumb anxiety. 
 Her smile, assumed as if by main force, from the 
 conviction that she must, intensified the unconscious 
 appeal she fixed on him. 
 
 no
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 "I'll bring her back safe and sound!" he declared 
 cheerfully, putting toe in the stirrup. "Queer thing," 
 he thought as the mustang, with quick little feet, 
 carried him abreast the mare's limber stride. He 
 looked critically at his companion. She had coerced 
 the chestnut from curves and gambits into a for- 
 ward and sufficiently rhythmical motion, and was so 
 occupied with the continuance of this that she did 
 not feel the scrutiny. She had the body of the rider, 
 supple back, thinking hands and wiry thighs. He 
 thought he recognized in her the rider's mind, in- 
 tuition before thought, and a sublime confidence. 
 "Your mother ought to have faith in your horse- 
 manship," he remarked. 
 
 "Why, but she does! what makes you think she 
 doesn't?" The question was shot at him with sur- 
 prise. 
 
 "She seemed so mighty anxious when you came 
 out, and afterward when we went off together I got 
 the idea she was afraid of something." 
 
 "Oh," said Blanche Rader, "oh, I see !" and began 
 laughing. "Perhaps it was on account of having a 
 strange horse," she suggested, and looked at him 
 with bright eyes of amusement. 
 
 He felt sulky. He could stand being laughed at, 
 but to be surveyed as if his appearance somehow had 
 a part in the joke was irritating. 
 
 in
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 "I feel very frivolous this morning," she ex- 
 plained. "There is nothing really to laugh at. It is 
 only that mother thought I ought not to run off for 
 a whole half day, and leave everything on her shoul- 
 ders." 
 
 Carron understood that this did not fully account 
 for Mrs. Rader's expression, but if the girl wanted 
 to offer it as an explanation he could take it as such. 
 "She expects you to have some time off, doesn't 
 she ?" he asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes, and of course I do." She was silent 
 for a moment, manceuvering the chestnut between 
 the white gate-posts "but now, when we are so 
 busy with the house, it is hard. We have to do 
 everything ourselves. There is only George to help, 
 and when I am away he doesn't help so very well." 
 
 "Doesn't understand much of anything that is said 
 to him, does he?" Carron asked. 
 
 "Oh, yes, he understands a great deal, a great deal 
 more than any one supposes. But if he doesn't want 
 to do a thing he seems not to know anything ; or else 
 he hides. He has a little burrow down below the 
 barn, and he goes into it like a rabbit. Lots of times 
 I've pulled him out of it. He's very sharp." She 
 bent her head broodingly, and light and shadow flut- 
 tered in an unending procession of curious little 
 shapes across her face. "It's hard to tell sometimes 
 
 112
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 just where his understanding begins and ends," she 
 said. "Mother tries to reason with him, but you can't 
 reason with George. He hasn't any. You have to 
 persuade him to do things." 
 
 "I suppose he'll do anything for you?" 
 
 "He'll do more for me than for any one else ; but 
 that is only because he feels that we are friends, and 
 then I take more time with him. I spent twenty min- 
 utes this morning persuading him to scrub down the 
 stairs. I couldn't have come if he hadn't, but I felt 
 wicked to do it. Poor George hates housework as 
 much as I do!" 
 
 "I wish you wouldn't compare yourself to that 
 half-witted lump." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "He's hideous." 
 
 "Is he ?" She seemed to meditate the matter. "I 
 know, of course, that he is different from us, but I 
 know him so well, and when you do you don't notice 
 people's faces that is, you don't notice them if they 
 are not pretty." 
 
 "No doubt," Carron said grudgingly. "Beauty 
 being only skin deep, and all that, I suppose is all 
 very beautiful, but I feel uncomfortable every time 
 that boy comes near me or you." 
 
 "How queer that is ! I don't mind a bit. I suppose 
 it's because I'm not reasonable."
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 Carron looked at her. The horses were moving 
 slowly side by side, and the flicker above their heads 
 had become a warm and constant shadow of 
 branches which let through the influence of the sun 
 without its positive light. It was thus her face should 
 be seen, he thought, under translucent shades of 
 leaves, where her skin looked paler and more per- 
 fect, and her eyes darker. "Of course, you are not 
 reasonable," he affirmed. "I hope you are not even 
 sensible. I've enough sense and reason myself to 
 keep me bored for the rest of my life." 
 
 This thrust at her weaknesses, far from antago- 
 nizing her, seemed to please her to the edge of laugh- 
 ter. "What do you expect me to supply ?" she asked, 
 "the madness ?" 
 
 "Yes, and the zest. Which way are you going to 
 take me to-day?" 
 
 "Which way do you want to go ?" 
 
 There was no hesitation in Carron's mind. He 
 felt himself invited to his fate. "How about getting 
 into the mountains?" 
 
 "Half a day," she mused. "It isn't enough time 
 for them, but we can go toward them. We can get 
 into the hills." 
 
 The horses quickened pace as the road drew down- 
 ward, carrying them into the chilly shadow, with no 
 sun behind it, that still covered the gulch. The smell 
 
 114
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 of earth before sunrise was here, making them 
 shiver and hurry. They turned into the main road, 
 not retracing the way Carron had ridden two days 
 before, but to the left, continuing along a grade that 
 followed the course of the creek bed for a little, 
 and then climbed higher, left the empty stream be- 
 hind, and lifted them into the joy of open spaces 
 and full sun. With the horses at hard trot, now 
 drawn apart, now side by side, each wild with a de- 
 sire to outstrip the other, the communication of the 
 riders was no longer by words, but by com- 
 munity of looks, and in mutual sensation, feeling 
 the same rhythm of motion, seeing the same shad- 
 ows running toward them and flitting backward, 
 with expanded nostrils taking in the same dry, pure 
 air, and facing together the bright north. The sky 
 was the color of pale turquoise and promised heat, 
 but the sun still struck yellowly from the east, and 
 where for a little way trees closed in about the road 
 a chill lay in the shadow. They descended into shal- 
 low hollows ; they breasted the baldish tops of long 
 waves of land, each seeming to lift them a little 
 higher than the last. On the left they saw flitting 
 glimpses, now of a bit of blue sky-line, now the pale 
 brown glimmer of a valley; on the right a rougher 
 country, of forest ; and beyond, the sharp, high heads 
 of the chain of sugar-loafs, which marked the course
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 of the canon, were constant against the sky. Some- 
 times, with a wave of the arm toward them, she 
 pointed out a peak, a tree, or a contortion of stone 
 giving them their names. "There is Mount Wendel ! 
 That is Barney's Sword over there! That is the 
 Witches' Well !" But she did not cry out upon their 
 beauty or strangeness, nor call upon him to admire, 
 any more than she would have remarked upon the 
 appearance of friends she was introducing to him. 
 She only looked at these things, and seemed to be- 
 come more informed with their beauty, and more 
 happy. She put back her hat, and the wind loosened 
 the short locks of her hair. Her riding-skirt fluttered 
 like a little flag. 
 
 Upon the curtain of the male landscape, sculptural, 
 angular, definite, whose subtleties were of mass, and 
 the relation of mass, so large they escaped the eye, 
 she, with her flowing lines, and the curl of her body 
 in the side-saddle, looked like a small runaway wisp. 
 To see her now he could not believe that she had 
 ever rattled dishes in a pan, or bound a dusting- 
 cap around her head. She had changed like the 
 dryad escaped from her tree, and the farther they 
 entered into the wilderness of hills, the more wildly 
 she seemed to enter into the mood of motion. They 
 raced on the level, and around the sharp lips of 
 declivities, the chestnut the swifter forging 
 
 116
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 steadily to the front, until what Carron saw of his 
 companion, was a view of back-thrown shoulders, 
 the back of a head, and flying horse's hoofs. So she 
 drew ahead of him, dropping down into the shallow 
 valley, and took the rise at an increasing speed. 
 
 He had had the feeling she was getting beyond 
 him and away from him, and now he began to fear 
 the mare was getting away from her. He noted this 
 anxiously. It was useless to hope to catch up with 
 her now. He rose in his stirrups and shouted her 
 name, at the same time thinking that he might as 
 well call to a bird. The brow of the hill was bare 
 and sharp where the road curved over, and he saw 
 the little figures of horse and woman poised there 
 as if about to launch forth and take flight into the 
 pale blue sky. 
 
 Flight was the illusion. They were stopping. He 
 could see the rocking motion in the mare's head and 
 shoulders as she came down in her pace. He saw 
 they were turning and finally had stopped just upon 
 the summit. There they stood, waiting for him. The 
 girl was shading her eyes w;th her hand. "What do 
 you want ?" she called. 
 
 "To keep you from breaking your neck!" Her 
 docility in halting at a word from him astonished 
 him, but he was rather indignant at her coolness. "If 
 
 117
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 you had let her keep that gait she would have been 
 past handling," he said as he rode up. 
 
 "Oh, I don't think so." 
 
 "I do," saicl the horse-breaker with the air of 
 concluding an argument. 
 
 She seemed quite unimpressed. "Anyway, we 
 got up the hill quickly. See over there, that's where 
 we're going." 
 
 Their way, which had carried them upward over 
 long undulations of land, had finally led them out on 
 the backbone of a watershed. He looked around 
 the circle of the landscape, over hills and tops of 
 trees. His glance followed where her finger pointed 
 down the road, indefinitely descending in front of 
 them, bending a little toward the left through a blind 
 and lumpish-looking country. It had an appear- 
 ance of having been sandpapered off with no edges 
 left, nor characteristic excrescences in sight, nothing 
 to catch the eye. He looked to the right. There lay 
 the thing worth seeing, the line of eminences, the 
 outriders of the canon, visible now from heel to 
 head. They were so near that he could count the 
 trees on their sides and note the varying yellows 
 of the earth. They made a wall, their feet in cairns 
 of stone, their shoulders interlocked, only their 
 crests turret-like, steeple-like, cap-like appearing 
 separate on the sky. Each succeeding group seemed 
 
 118
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 a little higher, a little more pronounced and dramatic 
 in form, until the two just opposite the watershed 
 appeared the commanders of the column. 
 
 One showed an almost perpendicular cliff, a water- 
 fall of rock; the other was but half its height, a 
 slide of earth, topped by a collar of sandstone, which 
 in turn was crowned by a shape of rock like a great 
 head. Helmet-like pieces clung on either side, and 
 though there was nothing so grotesque as a projec- 
 tion upon its front to suggest any feature, neverthe- 
 less the smooth great face wore an expression 
 implacable and mysterious as that of the sphinx. 
 .Wherein it lurked a scarcely discernible beetling 
 hinting at a forehead, a modeling that might have 
 been a cheek, a floating shadow like a faint evan- 
 escent smile was impossible to say. He discerned, 
 but could not detect it. 
 
 Yet it was neither this head nor its neighbor which 
 most struck his attention, but the thing which, to- 
 gether, they made. For one point of the helmet, 
 thrusting out, overlapped the waterfall of stone. 
 From there the side of the face cut under and away 
 from it into the sharp hollow of the neck, and swell- 
 ing again into the projecting collar, made thus a 
 little window through which shone the strange blue 
 jewel of the distance. He looked upon white 
 lights and shadows, and lines of summits half seen 
 
 119
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 and half imagined by the eye. In the setting of 
 the solid wall it appeared a hundred times more 
 bright and marvelous than with the graduated lines 
 of distance between, nearer, yet more improbable. 
 
 "What is the name of that?" he said. 
 
 "What? where?" She looked in all directions 
 but the right one. 
 
 It seemed odd that she, who had pointed out so 
 many objects less remarkable, should not be on fa- 
 miliar terms with this one, and look instinctively in 
 the right direction. "There," he said. 
 
 Her head came around very slowly toward the 
 thing he indicated. "Oh!" her glance rested upon 
 it for a moment. "You mean that gap? It hasn't 
 any name." 
 
 "It looks as if it had," Carron insisted. 
 
 "Oh, there are lots of gaps," she said vaguely. 
 
 "But this one seems to lead direct into the heart of 
 the mountains." 
 
 "No, it is much farther than you think." 
 
 "Couldn't we get through?" 
 
 "I am afraid it is impossible." 
 
 "Have you ever tried?" 
 
 She turned around upon him with a smile. "Do 
 you want me to take your good mare and jump 
 through ?" 
 
 It was a pretty little vision that brought up, a 
 1 20
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 piece out of a fairy tale. "No, you've done all the 
 equestrienne feats you are going to do this morn- 
 ing," he declared, and let her lead him away. 
 
 He let her lead him from the subject as well as 
 'from the sight. It was not the time to press ques- 
 tions now, while they were borne along in the bright 
 tide of action, their attention scattered, their minds 
 lulled, their eyes satisfied with the sight of each 
 other, as pictures the sense of each other as per- 
 sons, as magnets, cut off by the stream of the 
 wind. It needed inaction, a sitting side by side look- 
 ing over one constant piece of landscape, idle hands, 
 broken talk, drifting into personal questions to set 
 them venturing into the dangerous debatable land, 
 the exchange of ideas which sometimes brings such 
 amazing confidences. He began to spy about for 
 some temporary stopping-place. The watershed 
 was already grown tall behind them, and they 
 were winding endlessly in and out among a brown 
 tumble of hills. These looked like the young chil- 
 dren of the mountains, crowned with unformed out- 
 croppings of stone. Their growth of pine was scant 
 and immature. The sun beat dazzlingly through it. 
 He looked up wishfully at their little rocky crowns. 
 
 "Aren't you tired?" he asked the girl. 
 
 "I could keep on all day," she said. 
 
 "So could I, but I would so much rather sit on 
 121
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 not so easy. But some are almost impossible to 
 watch without their knowing the larger animals, 
 the ones that sniff you. Yet, if ever you can, when 
 you can, though it's only for a moment, seeing them 
 is the most wonderful thing in the world. It makes 
 your heart beat. It's like seeing a spirit." 
 
 Carron lay for a moment without speaking, study- 
 ing her face. "Did it never occur to you, when you 
 are looking at such animals, that it would be even 
 more wonderful to catch them?" 
 
 "No. I would rather see them killed than caught." 
 
 She blushed for the vehemence with which she 
 had spoken. 
 
 Carron bit his lip. "My dear young friend, do 
 you think that is quite sensible?" 
 
 "No," she said, "I don't. But I don't think it is 
 sensible either to want always to catch things and 
 break them." A word had slipped out that showed 
 too plainly of what she was thinking, what vision 
 was continually before her eyes. 
 
 He curbed his tongue. For the world he would 
 not have startled her out of her unconsciousness. 
 
 "Men are always shooting things, or taming them, 
 or controlling them," she went on, vivid with argu- 
 ment, "and they always say they do it because it's 
 reasonable. But I don't believe it is reasonableness 
 that makes them do it. It is just a very strong, 
 
 132
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 blind sort of feeling. They want to and so they 
 will!" 
 
 He kept on smiling for quite a long minute, be- 
 cause he was too irritated to venture speech. 
 
 "So, you think I am unreasonable?" he said at 
 last. That had been the thorn which had pricked 
 him so deep. 
 
 "Oh, not you !" Her eyes shone upon him all their 
 surprise that he could have made such a stupid 
 blunder. "I only meant men in general. You 
 are " she hung on the pronouncement of his sen- 
 tence, then let it fall with intense gravity "you are 
 different." 
 
 Every woman who had known him had probably 
 passed the same sentence on him, but now for the 
 first time he really heard it, and at the touching 
 confidence felt his ears grow hot. His pulse too 
 was perhaps a little warmer. "I broke in my mare 
 myself," he told her warningly. 
 
 "You must think me a fanatic. I have never seen 
 a, horse broken, and I never will if I can help it; 
 but, of course, horses bred on ranches have to be 
 broken, I suppose. That is rather different." 
 
 Carron had a passing vision of the particular 
 shoulder of white desert sand in the lee of which, 
 three years ago, he had roped the frantic, kicking 
 thing which was now the chestnut mare. There 
 
 133
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 horses, she turned into a lightly worn path, and 
 walked forward through the trees. Following her 
 presently, he found her sitting on the other side of 
 the grove, leaning against an ancient cedar bole. 
 Her head was dropped back until it rested upon the 
 rough bark, and she was gazing up into the solid 
 shade above her head. He stretched himself full- 
 length on the ground beside her. It was not the 
 most comfortable position in the world, lying on 
 one's side, supporting one's head with one's hand, 
 but it was thus he had the fullest view of her face, 
 and also he had noticed a tendency in women to 
 look more readily at a man if they could look down 
 upon him. Her body had passed from vivid activity 
 into complete repose. Even the fingers that lay 
 near his were relaxed. Her breast rose and fell 
 gently with lengthening breath. "How do you like 
 my trees ?" she asked. 
 
 Carron looked critically upward. "They are a 
 rather unusually hard-featured lot. I seem to see a 
 good many fists shaken up there in those branches, 
 and that old fellow you seem to have confidence in 
 looks ready to murder me." 
 
 "Oh, that's why they are beautiful. They are 
 like a lot of brigands. I love them!" Her large 
 white lids drooping showed but a narrow gleam 
 between black lashes as she looked down at him. 
 
 124
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 "You should see them at sunrise. The light comes 
 through them then, and they look as if they were 
 on fire." 
 
 He raised himself on his elbow the better to con- 
 sider this surprising girl. "You know the place 
 rather well, don't you ?" 
 
 "Yes. I've been here often. The third week in 
 May the moon rises over there when the sun sets 
 over there. It's cold, but very pretty, pink on one 
 side and silver on the other, and the trees always 
 black." 
 
 He was amused. "You seem to like odd hours." 
 
 She turned this over, another of the things she 
 had never reflected upon. "I think I do don't 
 you?" 
 
 He reflected in his turn. "I believe I've never 
 had the chance to find out. My mother, a most ex- 
 cellent lady, brought me up on schedule time so 
 many hours walk before breakfast, so many spoon- 
 fuls of porridge, and so forth. I believe she had 
 my father well in hand before I appeared on the 
 scene, and I seem to remember that we both went 
 to bed when she told us to." 
 
 She looked ready to believe he was joking. "How 
 odd that is! Father and I have always done ex- 
 actly as we wanted." 
 
 "So I have noticed. Mrs. Rader is very gentle. I 
 125
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 like women to be gentle. My mother was what is 
 called capable. I used to wonder how she ran the 
 church society, and the improvement society, and 
 the other society, and the house, and still had so 
 much energy left for me." His lip twitched with 
 amusing memories. "She had the strongest con- 
 victions she called them principles and the 
 strongest will of any human being I have ever 
 known, and she had a way of imposing them. She 
 kept me under that thumb of hers until after I was 
 in college. In my junior year I suddenly woke up 
 to the fact that I didn't have to mind her. Funny 
 the way it came, like a bolt out of the sky. I kicked 
 over the traces, took what little was mine of the 
 estate and came out here, out west." 
 
 "But then you were free? You could do what 
 you wanted to then?" He smiled. Evidently that 
 was what she had never done. 
 
 "Oh, as to being free, I didn't know what it was. 
 I thought it was what you think it like traveling 
 through space above the earth; I thought it was 
 going to be like one prolonged spree. Lord, how 
 things narrowed down around me! I bought some 
 ranching interests. I've got more now, and a lot 
 of men to work it, and all the incidental stuff to 
 keep the two, the men and the land, going. And I 
 get up at sunrise, and go to bed at ten o'clock in a 
 
 126
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 way my mother would applaud ; and everything on 
 the ranch gets up and gets down when I tell it to, 
 and I run that thing on schedule time ! Free ? No, 
 I've lost that somewhere." 
 
 She laughed. "You're like your mother, aren't 
 you?" 
 
 "Oh, Lord!" he said dismayed, as if that had 
 been a calamity. 
 
 She rested her chin on her hand, bringing her 
 amused, inquiring gaze nearer to his. "Then you're 
 not here for fun. You are here for business." This 
 young woman seemed to be growing uncomfortably 
 logical. 
 
 "Well, no. What little there is of my father in 
 me got stirring around this latter part of the sum- 
 mer. I couldn't stand it any longer. I think I was 
 spoiling with work." 
 
 "So you came for the hunting." 
 
 "Hunting will do. But what I have really come 
 for is for a taste of the irresponsible life." 
 
 "Oh, me!" she sighed, "we never have anything 
 else!" 
 
 "Then I shall expect you to do great things for 
 me." 
 
 "Great things?" 
 
 "Yes shake me up out of my stiffness. Wake 
 me up. Show me " he hesitated "all of it !" 
 
 127
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 "The odd hours sunset, moonrise, whatever 
 time out of the twenty-four you like the best." 
 
 A smile curled the corners of her mouth. 
 
 "Well, which is it?" he asked, and felt an im- 
 pulse to reach out and stroke her, she looked so 
 sweet. 
 
 "The middle of the night!" she said it very 
 softly, as though she feared the day might overhear 
 her. Her eyes looked dreamy, but did not look away 
 from him. They included him in the dream. He 
 felt himself led far, to the edge of his unasked 
 question to the edge of the wildest of possibilities. 
 
 "You're not afraid?" he asked. 
 
 "Of what? The moon?" 
 
 "No, of being alone." 
 
 "I would rather be alone than with most people." 
 
 "And me ?" he asked. 
 
 She did not answer. 
 
 "Take me out into the middle of the night, and 
 drown me in it some time. Bring me out here." 
 
 "Why here?" she asked. 
 
 "Well, hereabouts-^over to the great stone face, 
 perhaps." 
 
 Her eyes moved away from him. "Why come 
 so far? Three steps out of the house or seven 
 miles, the feeling is just the same, isn't it ?" 
 
 128
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 In the cool shade the dusky ivory of her skin 
 looked white and luminous, her eyes blue-black. 
 She was herself a creature of night, of bright lights 
 and velvety shadows, of qualities and textures 
 rather than color and line. It was not the color of 
 her mouth, at best but a pale red, nor even the form, 
 but the expression of it when she smiled which so 
 profoundly disturbed the senses. "I think the feel- 
 ing would be very different out here," he said posi- 
 tively. 
 
 She glanced at him, no longer confidentially, side- 
 long and rather mockingly. "What would the peo- 
 ple say to me, running out here in the middle of the 
 night?" 
 
 "I thought you had been out here at that hour 
 before?" 
 
 "Out here? Never!" She seemed to toss that 
 idea lightly away with the cedar leaves she was toss- 
 ing down the hill. "Sunset, moonrise, sunrise 
 those are different. I've come, though mother hated 
 it, since I was quite a little girl. I come out here 
 still once in a while at sunrise, you can't guess what 
 for." 
 
 In spite of himself he was aware of a feeling of 
 suspense. 
 
 "To watch squirrels play." The mischievous 
 bright face of a child peered through the woman's. 
 
 129
 
 "You think that is silly, don't you?" she asked, 
 noting his relaxation of interest. 
 
 "Very! You can see squirrels play anywhere at 
 any time of day." 
 
 "Ah, that shows how little you know about squir- 
 rels. They are too busy through the day they 
 have to work. Sunrise is their party. Over there 
 on the hill opposite, and at the foot of this one there 
 are lots of holes. I sit and see their heads pop out. 
 I see their eyes first, and the next thing they are 
 all up. They are as much fun to watch as rabbits, 
 though they don't skip so high. If I keep perfectly 
 quiet sometimes they come to the edge of the grove." 
 
 "And you tame them, I suppose?" 
 
 "No !" she scorned him. "I hate tame things. I 
 love them to be wild !" 
 
 "Indeed ? I thought women liked to coax things 
 to eat from the hand." 
 
 She shrugged. "I don't know what most women 
 like, but I know what I like. I tuck myself away 
 behind these trees so they won't know I am here. 
 That is why they come so close. They've never 
 even seen me. I am very careful about that !" 
 
 The words struck a chord of memory. He had 
 heard those sentences before, though then they had 
 been spoken by Rader's lips. "It has never even 
 seen her. She has been very careful about that." 
 
 130
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 He looked around at the stunted trees, at the hills 
 like tiny mountains with tiny cliffs of stone. His 
 fancy placed the little playing animals. He felt 
 like a man who is looking at the> small working 
 model of a great machine. It was all there, Lilli- 
 putian size. He waited, for he saw she was going 
 to speak again without his prompting. 
 
 "Most people don't know what wild animals are 
 like at all," she said. "They think of them always 
 as hiding or running. When they think of the word 
 'wild' they think it means afraid. But really it is 
 just the opposite of that. When the creatures are 
 playing with one another, when they are alone and 
 don't suspect any human being, when they are them- 
 selves, then you can see what a wild creature really 
 means." 
 
 "It means ?" Carron prompted, very cautious, 
 for fear of startling her. 
 
 "It means oh, I don't see how I can put it into 
 words. It means something quick and beautiful and 
 heavenly fearless! There is a strange feeling you 
 have about a creature that has never been touched 
 by a man, and that has forgotten men." 
 
 "But there's a difference in degree. You have 
 found that so?" 
 
 "Oh, yes. The squirrels, of course, as long as 
 they don't see you, feel perfectly safe. Foxes are
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 not so easy. But some are almost impossible to 
 watch without their knowing the larger animals, 
 the ones that sniff you. Yet, if ever you can, when 
 you can, though it's only for a moment, seeing them 
 is the most wonderful thing in the world. It makes 
 your heart beat. It's like seeing a spirit." 
 
 Carron lay for a moment without speaking, study- 
 ing her face. "Did it never occur to you, when you 
 are looking at such animals, that it would be even 
 more wonderful to catch them?" 
 
 "No. I would rather see them killed than caught." 
 
 She blushed for the vehemence with which she 
 had spoken. 
 
 Carron bit his lip. "My dear young friend, do 
 you think that is quite sensible?" 
 
 "No," she said, "I don't. But I don't think it is 
 sensible either to want always to catch things and 
 break them." A word had slipped out that showed 
 too plainly of what she was thinking, what vision 
 was continually before her eyes. 
 
 He curbed his tongue. For the world he would 
 not have startled her out of her unconsciousness. 
 
 "Men are always shooting things, or taming them, 
 or controlling them," she went on, vivid with argu- 
 ment, "and they always say they do it because it's 
 reasonable. But I don't believe it is reasonableness 
 that makes them do it. It is just a very strong, 
 
 132
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 blind sort of feeling. They want to and so they 
 will!" 
 
 He kept on smiling for quite a long minute, be- 
 cause he was too irritated to venture speech. 
 
 "So, you think I am unreasonable?" he said at 
 last. That had been the thorn which had pricked 
 him so deep. 
 
 "Oh, not you !" Her eyes shone upon him all their 
 surprise that he could have made such a stupid 
 blunder. "I only meant men in general. You 
 are " she hung on the pronouncement of his sen- 
 tence, then let it fall with intense gravity "you are 
 different." 
 
 Every woman who had known him had probably 
 passed the same sentence on him, but now for the 
 first time he really heard it, and at the touching 
 confidence felt his ears grow hot. His pulse too 
 was perhaps a little warmer. "I broke in my mare 
 myself," he told her warningly. 
 
 "You must think me a fanatic. I have never seen 
 a horse broken, and I never will if I can help it; 
 but, of course, horses bred on ranches have to be 
 broken, I suppose. That is rather different." 
 
 Carron had a passing vision of the particular 
 shoulder of white desert sand in the lee of which, 
 three years ago, he had roped the frantic, kicking 
 thing which was now the chestnut mare. There 
 
 133
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 had been blood in the foam of her nostrils, and 
 he recalled she had nearly succeeded in killing them 
 both; but it had been a great moment and now 
 she was a perfect saddle creature. 
 
 "And the wild ones? What would you do with 
 them?" 
 
 "Why, let them alone, of course." 
 
 His lips opened remained open, silent, speech- 
 less. 
 
 "Why not?" she insisted. "Wild horses are the 
 wildest things in the world; they are the only 
 trampling, wild creatures left, and there are such a 
 few of them! If you catch them, tame them, why, 
 then they're gone: but if you leave them and let 
 them go, then you have them for ever !" She flung 
 her hands apart, the palms open with a gesture as 
 free as if they had released liberty itself. 
 
 His eyes were on her; but out of the tail of 
 one he had sighted a thing she was unaware of, 
 since it was behind her. A shadow had slid -for- 
 ward from the shelter of the abutting end of a hill 
 and paused, quivering with arrested motion. The 
 horses in the grove fussed. He heard them tugging 
 at their halters, then the shrill whinny of the chest- 
 nut mare startled both man and woman. 
 
 "Look there!" Carron said. He indicated the 
 shadow. He had startled the girl, but, strangely 
 
 134
 
 WILD THINGS AND TAME 
 
 enough, she did not look. Shrinking, drawing in 
 her arms close to her body, she stared straight at 
 him, for a moment; then made a rapid start as if 
 she would have flung herself forward upon him. He 
 had a feeling that she meant to cover his eyes. He 
 caught her by one wrist and, with his hand against 
 her cheek, gently forced her head around in the 
 direction of his pointing. 
 
 The body that had cast the shadow stood there, 
 plain in view, a small, blackish horse, with head 
 flung up, staring upon them. As her eyes took it 
 in she gave a quick little sigh, catching in her throat, 
 and he felt her tense muscles relax. 
 
 "Oh," she said, and again, "Oh! I thought I 
 thought it was " 
 
 "Well, what did you think it was ?" he demanded. 
 
 "Oh, a lion, a tiger, an elephant!" She began 
 to shake with helpless laughter. Hysteria was the 
 note in it. "You looked so frightened !" she gasped. 
 
 Carron's pulses indeed were going fifty to the 
 minute. "You frightened me," he declared. 
 
 The black horse was surveying them, nostrils 
 quivering with suspicion. All at once he wheeled 
 and galloped across the open space, and with a 
 graceful, sailing motion vanished through another 
 overlapping fold of hills. 
 
 It was a spirited sight. The animal was more 
 135
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 than usually well made ; but Blanche Rader's glance 
 followed it almost with indifference. "I have never 
 seen him before," she observed. "I wonder who 
 owns him." 
 
 "Perhaps he is one of those fellows we've been 
 talking about?" Carron tested her. 
 
 "Never!" Her full glance scorned his ignorance. 
 "Didn't you see he stood and looked at us. And 
 then, when he ran, he wasn't terrified and he is too 
 small! Oh, he's nothing like, he isn't the same 
 thing!" She looked at Carron doubtfully. "I begin 
 to believe you have never seen a wild horse !" 
 
 136
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 UPON A CARPET 
 
 GARRON came bursting in on the peaceful 
 scholar, who, upon his knees, was searching 
 in one of his lowest book-shelves. The young man 
 was hot from his ride, and excited. He had left 
 the door aswing behind him and the sweet odor of 
 pines had followed him. "She wants it let alone!" 
 he almost shouted the words. 
 
 Rader looked up, his large blue handkerchief that 
 he had been using as a duster grasped in one hand. 
 "Who? What?" he murmured. He seemed taken 
 aback at seeing Carron so exasperated, looming so 
 directly above him. 
 
 "Your daughter! the horse! that's what she 
 wants of it and that's all." 
 
 The quickness with which Rader took his mean- 
 ing suggested that his mind had been dwelling on 
 the same subject. Perhaps, between readings and 
 writings that morning, he had recalled the yester- 
 day's talk and had speculated upon Carron's luck. 
 He was as alert as if the subject had scarcely been 
 dropped between them. 
 
 137
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 "Did she tell you that?" he asked. 
 
 "Didn't she, though! That, and a lot more!" 
 The long-pent irritation broke forth. "Oh, she gave 
 me her ideas, she didn't leave me a doubt on the 
 matter! Said she would rather see it killed than 
 caught; that breaking horses was not a sensible 
 occupation; that if you tamed a wild horse, you lost 
 it, but that if you never went near it you had it for 
 ever." 
 
 The scholar, drawn straight up on his knees, with 
 his handkerchief in one hand and a tobacco jar in 
 the other, had the air of an astonished suppliant. 
 "I don't understand that," he said slowly. 
 
 "Of course you don't! It's the most infernal 
 nonsense! A horse is no use until it's broken. 
 That's sense, isn't it? Says that it's not just an 
 instinct that makes you feel that way, a great blind 
 feeling, she calls it. A feeling pshaw !" 
 
 It was evident Carron had one now. He rushed 
 about the little study at the risk of upsetting chairs, 
 and the scholar himself. "Doesn't want to have 
 anything hurt, of course, can't bear to see any- 
 thing suffer! To hear her you'd think the worst 
 thing in the world was to scare a wild animal; 
 and as for hurting it a little ! If she had seen men 
 agonize as I have she wouldn't worry so much 
 about a wild horse!" 
 
 138
 
 UPON A CARPET 
 
 Rader got up, set the tobacco jar on the table. 
 "And won't she tell you where she saw it?" 
 
 "Tell! What do you think? She's got a will, 
 that girl of yours !" He was teaching Rader about 
 his daughter. "She would no more tell " He 
 tipped his head back, half closing his eyes, recalling 
 her face under the shadow of the black cedars 
 "than if it were the sacred ibis and she its priest. 
 Oh, I don't doubt she has seen something remark- 
 able. I can believe that now. I can understand 
 how she'd be jealous to keep it, if she wanted it 
 for anything. To use it but, man, that's the devil 
 of it, she doesn't." 
 
 "The Ideal," Rader said gently. He looked down. 
 "Something that has never suffered and does not 
 need to something apart, unlike humanity." He 
 addressed himself more directly to Carron, "I sup- 
 pose there are no women in the world like the Venus 
 of Melos, but we don't want to mar her because of 
 that, do we?" 
 
 Carron brooded sulkily. "Yes, I can see the 
 Ideal, fast enough; but your comparison is not 
 true. The Venus of Melos is not a real woman." 
 
 "Isn't she?" The scholar thoughtfully rubbed 
 the back of his hand against his long chin. "Do 
 you know, to me, she has always been the most real 
 one in the world." 
 
 139
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "You do beat Well," suddenly breaking off, 
 "make it a hypothetical case. Suppose we call 
 her a real woman, the living Ideal, is that an argu- 
 ment for leaving her alone or for wanting her eh ?" 
 
 The scholar smiled. "Oh, no doubt, no doubt,"" 
 he said, as if to his notion the alternative were clear 
 enough. "Did you tell Blanche that ?" 
 
 Carron was shocked. "You can't talk like that 
 to a woman !" 
 
 "Why not ? The desire to capture it's natural > 
 it's in the blood. Why didn't you show her your 
 side of the business? It would have been only fair 
 to her, considering all she has told you. Besides, 
 you might have persuaded her." 
 
 Carron was silent. Rader's idea of what had 
 taken place between the girl and himself in their 
 morning's interview was na'ive certainly straight 
 question and reply, having the whole thing plainly 
 out, as flat as you please. It was the idea he had 
 started with himself that morning; but, somehow, 
 circumstances had altered the original conception. 
 He could not tell whether he was wholly respon- 
 sible, or whether Blanche had had a hand in it. 
 He knew he had questioned, listened to her replies, 
 not contradicted, perhaps; though he could not re- 
 member he had agreed with her. His diplomacy 
 had been aimed at not startling her out of her self- 
 
 140
 
 UPON A CARPET 
 
 revelation; and then she had turned on him and 
 transfixed him with her judgment. "You are dif- 
 ferent." Where had she got that idea? 
 
 "I don't like the way you seemed not to tell her 
 anything," Rader said, a little wistfully. "You are 
 very clever at it, my boy." 
 
 "If you like, you can tell her everything." 
 
 The color flamed under the scholar's thin skin. 
 "You need have no fear of that. All I want is to 
 keep completely out of this business. I have had 
 nothing to do with it and I don't want to have." 
 
 It was on the tip of Carron's angry tongue to 
 say that the scholar had had everything to do 
 with it, whether he had intended to or not; but he 
 shut his teeth in front of the unruly member. "I 
 beg your pardon, I have been boring you with my 
 affairs." 
 
 "Not a bit," the other protested hastily. "In fact, 
 I've been very much interested " He broke off, 
 conscious, evidently, of an inconsistency between 
 this remark and the one before it. "What I mean," 
 he stated carefully and explicitly, "is that I can't 
 help you with what you're trying to do. Your story 
 I enjoyed very much. Your Son of the Wind was 
 delightful very like yes, very like one of the 
 eclogues. Anything else you may have to tell ?...'* 
 He paused inquiringly. 
 
 141
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "As soon as there is anything more, I will let you 
 know," Carron said. He was relieved that Rader's 
 interest had not waned far from that! The old 
 fellow, in his eagerness to keep hold of their subject 
 of discussion, had actually given it a shove forward. 
 He had put it on an abstract basis. In the future, 
 Carron saw, it was going to be easier for them to 
 talk about; and talk was all that he expected or 
 wanted of Rader. Talk the talk both of the father 
 and the daughter was what had revealed to him all 
 the facts he had learned since he had been in this 
 house; talk, sounding like the merest delicate the- 
 orizing, fancies floating in the air ! Yet now he be- 
 gan to see that this had its origin in a fact, and that 
 every visionary phrase harked back to as fine an 
 actuality as Carron cared to put a bridle on. 
 
 How the girl, unaware, had revealed to him the 
 reality and splendor of the creature! No waif of 
 the range, but Son of the Wind himself or kin 
 to him! Her words, her looks, her gestures had 
 translated how well she knew the difference. Then, 
 just at the point when Carron's expectation stood 
 tiptoe, she had slipped away from him; recoiled 
 when he thought she was coming forward, dodged 
 the subject, eluded it, fled from it ! Not startled by 
 any word of his, but by her own ; suddenly realizing 
 how this veiled talk of hers had been on the edge 
 
 142
 
 UPON A CARPET 
 
 of her darling secret. No amount of circumnavi- 
 gation through disarming topics could lead her back 
 to talk of her squirrels, her foxes, her wanderings 
 at odd hours among the hills. All the way home 
 she had not spoken a serious word. She had left 
 him at the veranda steps, and gone into the house 
 laughing. 
 
 He was far from supposing Blanche Rader to be 
 an absolute obstacle, as, in the heat of vexation, he 
 had represented her to Rader. But to come at her 
 by indirection would occupy time. As for coming at 
 her plainly as to a man, stating his object and his 
 convictions, trying to "persuade" her as Rader put 
 it Carron smiled. He was not going into an argu- 
 ment with a woman while there was any other means- 
 of pursuing his object. In his crowded life he had 
 had little time for experience of women, but what 
 had been his had been acute. Certain discoveries 
 had stuck in his mind, one, what that thing called 
 argument amounted to, when it was between a man 
 and a woman; the pitting of logic against will, of 
 expostulation against infinite iteration, of a dogged 
 clinging to one's own level-headedness against every 
 attraction and aggravation the unfair half of man 
 can summon. He gave this girl the credit of being 
 unaware of her provocativeness. She could not help 
 it, but there she was ! Talking with her, he had to 
 
 143
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 look at her, listen to her. A blue eye might blunt 
 the edge of logic, and resolution be seduced by the 
 bend of a waist. Even now, as he walked down the 
 long passageway connecting the study with the 
 house, hearing her voice calling to her mother, he 
 loitered to listen. The timber of it was like singing. 
 No, he wanted to keep out of that blind path where 
 mind and sense where mixed together. Stick to 
 business and deal with men ! Thus he spoke to him- 
 self, and with this resolution in his head found him- 
 self involved with a household of women. 
 
 He had returned to find all the heavy batteries of 
 house-cleaning unmasked. It seemed natural that 
 the scholar should shut himself in with the peace of 
 his books, while the upheaval in the hotel went for- 
 ward. He would have been helpless in such an 
 emergency ; and when he did venture out, summoned 
 to lunch, he moved a dismayed spirit, and became 
 involved in the furniture, armies of which occupied 
 the halls. But Carron was born for the handling 
 of objects, animate or inanimate. In the first days 
 of his arrival, while operations had been limited to 
 the polite business of sweeping, he had kept his 
 distance, but it was impossible to remain aloof 
 when two women were struggling with ladders and 
 hammers. He passed from a morning under open 
 skies in the pursuance of his own business to an at- 
 
 144
 
 UPON A CARPET 
 
 mosphere of turmoil beside which the occupation 
 of a city appeared a trivial matter. Mrs. Rader was 
 most unanxious to accept his service. She had re- 
 ceived his first offers of assistance almost with hor- 
 ror. 
 
 In her faded gown and her large dingy apron, 
 her face grayed with dust, she looked at him as if 
 he were exclusively an ornament, and at best a sus- 
 picious ornament. Even after he had vindicated 
 himself with the putting up of the closet shelves, 
 even while he was renewing the fastenings of the 
 hall windows, and doing it well, she still surveyed 
 him with the eyes of a skeptic watching a miracle. 
 
 It came to him that she was less skeptical of his 
 skill than his kindness. The idea that she could doubt 
 that astonished him. Here he was laboring like 
 Hercules at the distaff! Did the woman suppose 
 he had a dark, double motive in handling her tools 
 for her and driving in nails ? Perhaps she was only 
 unaccustomed to being helped. He noticed she of- 
 fered her directions timidly; different indeed from 
 that other one who appeared to have no doubts of 
 herself. He was amused to watch how the two 
 women worked together. Evidently they under- 
 stood each other to the flicker of an eyelash. Mrs. 
 Rader knew whether the windows were clean and 
 the woodwork needed washing, but Blanche saw 
 
 H5
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 that the blue rugs went into the room with the blue 
 furniture, that the mirrors were in the right light, 
 that the curtains were even. She was as ready to 
 blacken her hands and dive into dusty closets as 
 Mrs. Rader, but the faculty for arrangement of ef- 
 fect was stronger in her. She did it better. She 
 accepted Carron's help with a promptitude and or- 
 dered him about with a grace that commended itself. 
 Yet she waited upon him too, at moments; she 
 brought him his implements. She watched him. 
 
 He became to both women a person to be appealed 
 to, called to from a distance, and by one of them 
 commanded on the instant. He grew used to seeing 
 the girl's face with perhaps a smut on the lovely 
 arch of her forehead, peering over the banister to 
 him appealing a fresh difficulty. It might have been 
 his house and his opinion the most valued one in it. 
 He was carpenter and maid in one. Standing aloft, 
 invoking the devils of dizziness, he swept cobwebs 
 from high ceilings. He moved monumental masses 
 of walnut ; he drew endless tacks ; and in his arms 
 the carpet of fabulous flowers made its exit from the 
 drawing-room and was hung in the sun. A pillar 
 of dust stood out around it and in the core of this, 
 like a genius of blows, Carron wrought, tireless. 
 
 "What in the world do you do, when I am not 
 here?" he demanded egotistically, as Blanche, com- 
 
 146
 
 UPON A CARPET 
 
 ing out with a lesser piece of carpet, paused within 
 the smoke of his labor. She had changed her rid- 
 ing things to a blouse of white cotton stuff, and a 
 skirt, striped red and white, like a market girl's. 
 
 "We hang them out overnight," she said, "and 
 in the morning Bert Ferrier gives them a beating, 
 but nothing like this !" 
 
 Carron lifted one eyebrow. That accomplishment 
 was all that remained to him of a scar which had 
 brought him near death. "So, I am standing in 
 his shoes?" 
 
 "O, no, indeed ; they would be much too small for 
 you." 
 
 He looked hard at her. Had she intended that 
 double meaning? "I would much rather have my 
 own in any case," he declared. "They are better 
 made. What do you want done with this?" And 
 he took what she was carrying from her. 
 
 Together they spread it on the ground, at a little 
 distance from the house, just upon the edge of the 
 pines. They had handled a great many things to- 
 gether that afternoon, from the shellac for the din- 
 ing-room floor to those marble statuettes, probably 
 another relic of "Janfer's Folly," which startled out 
 from niches in the wall, like miniature ghosts. They 
 had seen each other repeatedly taken instructions 
 and given them. They had almost quarreled over the 
 
 147
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 right tone for the floor stain. Evidences of charac- 
 ter had expressed themselves in actions as well as 
 in words. Now, with the cessation of the turmoil, 
 near the end of the day they paused. It seemed to 
 him that he had come to know her with astonishing 
 rapidity. She had grown from a strange to a fa- 
 miliar mystery but mysterious still. Standing upon 
 the carpet she extended her arms above her head, 
 stretching her body in a luxury of weariness. The 
 naturalness and unconsciousness of the gesture, the 
 way she abandoned herself to it, relaxed to the 
 finger-tips, was alarmingly beautiful. "Well, Ba- 
 doura, where does the magic carpet take us now?" 
 he asked. "The city of Bagdad, or the enchanted 
 gardens ?" 
 
 She looked inquiringly. "I wish I knew what you 
 were talking about." 
 
 "It is all written in a book of Mr. Rader's called 
 the Arabian Nights. Prince What-You-Call-Him 
 had a magic carpet that took him to various extraor- 
 dinary enchantments, as this one at present is threat- 
 ening to transport me." He spoke, a little ironical, 
 of his own feeling. 
 
 She looked sidelong at the trees. This time he 
 thought she understood. "I wish it would float me 
 over to the kitchen, and, after dinner, up into my 
 own room," she remarked. "I would like to sit 
 
 148
 
 Where does the magic carpet take you now?"

 
 UPON A CARPET 
 
 here a few minutes longer and see if the magic will 
 work." 
 
 "Why not? It is early, only five o'clock." 
 
 "Yes, but to-night we have dinner early. It is 
 whist night, and Bert Ferrier comes up in the even- 
 ing to play." 
 
 That name helped to bring him back to his senses. 
 
 "Oh," he said. He stood stiffly, wondering 
 whether these two were engaged. 
 
 She made a step by which she worked herself a 
 few inches nearer to where he stood. "Promise me 
 something," she asked, tipping her head over to look 
 directly into his face, "you won't go off up-stairs 
 and leave me to get through with it alone ? I am so 
 tired, it seems to me if I have to play whist all the 
 evening with Bert, I shall die ! You will stay down 
 and play too, and help me out?" 
 
 Carron had no wish to avoid Ferrier. He had, on 
 the contrary, the greatest interest to see him. The 
 girl had mistaken the change in his expression at 
 mention of the fellow's name, and he was not un- 
 willing to make capital of her mistake. 
 
 "I'll tell you," he bargained, "I will if we can be 
 partners." 
 
 "Oh, why not? Of course we can." The idea 
 was far from seeming impossible to her. She 
 swung around with a little pirouette. Under serious 
 
 149
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 pines the carpet displayed large and extraordinarily 
 pink roses at least two feet apart. "The joy of 
 mother's heart," Blanche explained, and began to 
 make little dancing steps from one to another. These 
 assumed rhythm then measure, the figure of a 
 dance; and Carron joined it. One-two-three to the 
 left, one-two-three to the right, forward, back, cross 
 over then ignoring the precedent of always step- 
 ping on flowers, he whirled her. She was light, but 
 not diaphanous. They trod a wild measure, quick- 
 silver in her heels, the elixir of youth or some- 
 thing keener in his spirits. Her breath was quick 
 and warm upon his cheek and beneath their feet 
 their shadows, mixed in one, darted like imps. 
 Quicker, wilder, until the fabric they danced on 
 glimmered beneath their eyes a ground of veritable 
 flowers. They sensed the approaching end. They 
 spun like dervishes. The moment had come, when, 
 with any girl the play would have ended naturally, 
 with a kiss on a flushed cheek; but here was not 
 "any girl," and his impulse was of no middle qual- 
 ity. With a turn of the wrist he whirled them 
 apart. Circling still to keep balance, they swung to 
 opposite ends of the carpet. His action, so far 
 from anything foreshadowed, must have taken the 
 girl by surprise by more than surprise, perhaps, 
 but she did not show it. She caught step, curtsied 
 
 150
 
 UPON A CARPET 
 
 deeply, making of this last impromptu, a figure in 
 the dance, and panting, pressing her hand to her 
 side, poised, looking at him. It seemed to him that 
 everything he felt was written staring plain upon 
 his face. A glance was all she gave. It seemed to 
 decide her. "I have to go; I hear mother starting 
 dinner." 
 
 "What shall I do with the carpet ?" he called after 
 her, and in his ears his voice sounded hoarse. 
 
 He had no desire to stop her, now while his veins 
 were on fire and his flesh felt heavy, like lead. 
 
 "Leave it till to-morrow, leave it in the sun," she 
 chanted back at him as she flitted. She went off 
 in the direction of the house buoyantly, as though 
 the prospect of an evening of whist, far from tiring 
 her, had abated her weariness. 
 
 But Carron felt by no means happy. He stood 
 there in the sun while the wild riot of the senses 
 passed from him, leaving him with the uneasy feel- 
 ing of having wasted his time. Not that his after- 
 noon's work had interfered with anything definite 
 he could have done in his own affair, but that the 
 impetus he had had for following his discovery of 
 the morning seemed to have been halted. He had 
 not had his own thoughts to himself. He feared he 
 could scarcely have them to himself this evening. 
 She had a way of absorbing a man no, of making
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 him be absorbed. He should have had his wits 
 about him. He should have protested that he 
 would appear only if he could be the idle member 
 of the company. Then he could have watched Fer- 
 rier without being himself watched. He could have 
 got a perspective on him. But the girl's plea had 
 been so pretty ! He had been flattered into making 
 that stipulation, about their being partners. Now 
 the suspicion pulled him that she had managed this 
 deliberately. Probably she wanted some one to 
 play off against Ferrier. She had seemed to care 
 not a pin for the fellow. The one time he had seen 
 them together she had seemed to hate him, and this 
 afternoon she had expressed the greatest indiffer- 
 ence in her mention of the fellow's name. Yet who 
 could be sure, with women? 
 
 Later, at dinner, his suspicion grew. She ap- 
 peared illuminated. Talked animatedly, ate little, 
 and evidently had her mind fixed on certain arrange- 
 ments of which she spoke to her mother in lowered 
 voice. Immediately afterward began her flittings 
 in and out of the living-room, skirmishes with the 
 furniture there, arranging of curtains, or smoothing 
 out of rugs the behavior of any woman with a 
 "party" on her hands, serious and intense as if a 
 few people coming to sit on chairs was an event of 
 the universe. 
 
 152
 
 UPON A CARPET 
 
 In this bustle, which did not include him, Carron 
 wandered rather forlorn, catching now and then a 
 glimpse of Blanche or Mrs. Rader, more often get- 
 ting fragments of murmured discussions. "Why 
 don't you have the lamp, as you always do?" Or 
 "You always used the center-table before!" Then 
 in a note of exasperation, "My dear Blanche, on a 
 night like this, what do you want of a fire !" 
 
 "It looks so pretty, and we can have the windows 
 open if it is too hot." 
 
 Her voice had answered, from aloft, on the lit- 
 tle stair which she was ascending, probably on her 
 way to dress, and Mrs. Rader's had called from 
 within the living-room. Entering he found her there 
 alone. It was the room Blanche had been sweeping 
 that morning, in the golden vapor of dust, but now 
 it had become a place of low-set lights and long, 
 pointed, radiating shadows. Thus the ceiling, which 
 he recalled as hideously papered and the settees and 
 what-nots around the wall were lost in a fringe of 
 darkness. .What one saw most clearly was the 
 polished top of the card table, illuminated by its 
 cluster of candles; the chairs drawn around it, the 
 fireplace with its glow and in all the windows re- 
 flections of little pointed flames. 
 
 Mrs. Rader stood looking at these things, wistful 
 and astonished. She seemed to doubt them, to ad- 
 
 153
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 mire them, to think that they would scarcely do, and 
 Carron's suggestion that the arrangement would 
 promote conversation only turned her eyes upon 
 him with the same expression, as if he had been 
 the most important effect in the room, therefore a 
 little more alien than the rest. What in the world 
 did Mrs. Rader think of him? Wasn't she making 
 some mistake about him? Wasn't he an innocent, 
 harmless sort of person though at the moment a 
 most uncomfortable one? He was in fact an inter- 
 loping boarder who should not have appeared in 
 this gathering of a family and its friend ; but he was 
 presently more amused than uncomfortable at Mrs. 
 Rader's manner of waiting and listening. He won- 
 dered whether it was Ferrier or her daughter she 
 was so nervously expecting; but when they entered 
 he could not tell. They entered simultaneously, 
 Ferrier with Rader from the veranda, Blanche 
 through the inner door. 
 
 She came in with the air of conscious triumph of 
 women when they feel they have succeeded, either 
 with themselves or with those mysterious manipula- 
 tions of things which they carry on beneath the sur- 
 face of events. She wore a dress, charming for 
 what it showed her to be. The soft flow of the old, 
 washed stuff conformed graciously to the lines of 
 
 154
 
 UPON 'A CARPET 
 
 her body, and the beauties he had glimpsed and 
 guessed at before, the sloping line of the neck and 
 shoulder, and the long, lovely forms of the arms 
 were uncovered. These and the way she carried 
 her head, the brightness of her eyes, the look she 
 had of rejoicing at being alive, made her shine in 
 her candle-lighted, fire-lighted room. 
 
 "Well, what's happened ?" Rader wanted to know, 
 blinking at the dance of shadows around him. "Her- 
 mione, what have you done to us ?" 
 
 "I haven't. It is Blanche's doing." Mrs. Rader 
 looked down. Carron perceived that she understood 
 the reason of her daughter's transformation scene 
 and was trying to hide it in her eyes, but the two 
 men who had just come in evidently found it an 
 astonishment. 
 
 "Very pretty," the scholar determined, looking at 
 his daughter. 
 
 "Rather dark, isn't it?" Ferrier inquired. His 
 eyes, black and quick-moving as the little points of 
 shadow, had been darting here and there, trying to 
 discover the unessential that was meant to be hidden. 
 "I suppose we will have the lamp when we begin to 
 play?" He addressed Blanche directly, as if there 
 was no one to be considered besides the two of them. 
 
 She sent a smiling look at Carron. "There's 
 
 155
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 plenty of light to see the cards and one another's 
 faces, and that is all we need to see," she said, giving 
 Ferrier her hand. 4 
 
 He took it with an eagerness that was not hidden 
 by his air of the would-be critic. He appeared a 
 sallow, dark, slim young man, rather pretty, trimly 
 built and buttoned into black, his look of lightness 
 and alertness marred by the slight inward bend of 
 the knees. Altogether a facile figure, smooth and 
 easy and but for the small, hawk-like nose, mild 
 enough in appearance a very different figure from 
 the man on the road, a different figure, even, from 
 the man on the drive. Could he have forgotten it all 
 so quickly? His manner was that of an old friend 
 of the family. Even his uneasiness at the change 
 about him seemed a part of that familiarity. 
 
 "Mr. Rader," he asked, "would you like a chair 
 by the fire?" 
 
 "For some reason," the scholar explained, "my 
 daughter has asked me to take a hand." 
 
 "Oh," said Ferrier blankly, and for the first time 
 he looked at Carron. 
 
 "Mr. Carron Mr. Ferrier," Blanche said. The 
 fact that they had met before had evidently slipped 
 her mind in some greater absorption, and neither 
 one or the other found words to remind her of it. 
 They shook hands. Ferrier's was limp. Carron felt 
 
 156
 
 UPON A CARPET 
 
 rather dazed when he thought of how naturally they 
 had encountered first, how plainly they had dis- 
 cussed the facts of their greatest interest. They had 
 seen each other angry, drunk; they had parted 
 familiar antagonists ; and here the woman had raised 
 up the social barrier between them, making them 
 strangers. 
 
 "You are to sit here, father, and, Bert, you oppo- 
 site," she said. So calmly she disposed of men, like 
 fate! Ferrier gave her another mute glance. He 
 looked as if he were about to assert some right that 
 had been his, but then he yielded and took the place 
 appointed him. 
 
 The four sat down together, four fronting one 
 another in a hollow square, for two hours to look 
 only from the faces of the cards to one another's 
 face. Only people on very good terms, or the mer- 
 est strangers, can face one another in such fashion 
 and be at ease. Even Rader, though he lifted his 
 gaze in his usual slow, direct fashion, did so with 
 an effort and with a shy consciousness. Ferrier's 
 manner was lively, and between games, in the pause, 
 his talk flowed in a thin stream. His eyes moved 
 constantly, darting at every person, every object 
 in the room, resting nowhere an instant; flitting 
 over Carron's face, skimming him with glances that 
 feared to stop; that seemed to refute, to deny, with 
 
 157
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 every fresh excursion to repeat, "I don't know you ; 
 I don't see you ; you are not there !" 
 
 He had not forgotten. It was not likely that 
 he could have forgotten. That ugly little moment 
 on the drive was too hard to down. It kept rising 
 in Carron's own mind, like an unexorcised ghost. 
 He could fancy of what Ferrier was thinking; the 
 same thing he was thinking of, Rader too, in his 
 greater detachment, of the curious secret which was 
 common among them, which made it hard for them 
 to look at one another. 
 
 To tell of what the women were thinking was a 
 far different matter. There was no telling. Yet, 
 they, too, seemed to have a secret. Without looking 
 at each other, rather ignoring each other, some un- 
 derstanding was between them. Mrs. Rader, silent 
 in her corner, watched Blanche Rader at the card 
 table, bright with the mysterious elation that cards 
 could never account for, nor candles, nor wood-fire. 
 They were a background, and a background for 
 mere enjoyment. In arranging the things and draw- 
 ing people around the table she seemed to have ac- 
 complished her ambition. She looked at Ferrier and 
 she smiled at him, but rather less than she looked 
 and smiled at her father. Carron could not feel 
 sure in what way she looked and smiled at himself. 
 He had too keen a sense of her appearance, and his 
 
 158
 
 UPON A CARPET. 
 
 mind was distracted trying to discover why she was 
 beautiful. He watched the movement of her arms 
 and hands against the dark surface of the table, 
 while her fingers let through the red and white and 
 black stream of the cards; questioned her eyes, which 
 laughed ; the intonation of her voice when she spoke. 
 The matter was past finding out. The explanation 
 might lurk beyond visible things, in the heart of her 
 mood. And there was a veil between her mood and 
 theirs. At moments she seemed to draw him near it, 
 but then the faces of the others would divide his 
 thought. They were sitting among other people, 
 looking at clubs and spades, handling hearts, hearing 
 behind them the beating of insects against the win- 
 dow screens. If only they had been dancing upon 
 a carpet! 
 
 159
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 AT half-past eleven the evening was over and 
 Ferrier getting into his overcoat. The pocket 
 hung heavy with something. He drew it out with 
 an embarrassed smile. "I forgot to give you the 
 letters," he said, and handed them to Blanche. 
 
 "Thank you. I never thought to ask for them." 
 She took them carelessly, standing in the open door 
 a moment after Ferrier had gone, looking out with 
 Carron into the gray glimmer of the half-moon. 
 He wanted to ask her to come out three steps 
 from the house and show him what that flood- 
 tide of night that she had spoken of might be like; 
 but then Mr. Rader interrupted him on the verge of 
 it, asking if there were any letters for him. 
 
 "Oh, I forgot!" She hastily skimmed the pack- 
 age. "Congressional Library at Washington, that's 
 yours and this is mine. There you are, 'Pratt's 
 Second-Hand Book Store' and this is mine and 
 mine and here's one for Mr. Carron !" Her voice 
 showed a little surprise. She held it out to him. 
 
 He saw his foreman's writing on the envelope. 
 1 60
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 There was no mistaking that wild, irregular succes- 
 sion of angles and loops. "Pardon me, Mrs. Rader. 
 I am blocking the door and I see you want to 
 lock it." 
 
 He moved back, and Blanche moved back per- 
 force. Her mother gave him a grateful look, but it 
 was not Mrs. Rader's gratitude he was seeking, but 
 the quickest way out of the room. He made his ex- 
 cuses, aware that they must seem abrupt ; but a pre- 
 monition was upon him, sharper than ever, that he 
 had been wasting time, and that from this moment 
 on it would be scant for him. He stopped in the 
 hall, where a lamp had been set high in a bracket, 
 and held the sheet of paper up. 
 
 It was dated two days back. The stuff had been 
 sent that day, Morgan wrote, and "Esmeralda Char- 
 ley" was going down by the morning train to Beck- 
 with to await orders. He hoped the horse was the 
 one Carron thought it was or it wouldn't be worth 
 the trouble. Just as Morgan had said all along the 
 brown stallion of the new bunch had a blind eye, 
 and was dead financial loss; and that half-breed 
 "buster" whom Carron had thought so fine, had 
 killed the two best mares entirely unnecessary 
 and would Carron discharge him by wire, as he 
 wouldn't take another discharge and hung around, 
 drunk, every night. And how about the consign- 
 
 161
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 ment for the Cincinnati Horse Market? The Cin- 
 cinnati people swore that it was not up to standard, 
 and they were the ugliest crowd to deal with Mor- 
 gan had ever seen ! 
 
 Carron ground his teeth, and consigned Morgan 
 to wretched places. "Damned, pig-headed Welsh- 
 man ! One week more and he'll think he owns the 
 business! He needs me sitting on his neck every 
 minute!" The jar of the business, the tangle and 
 the clatter of it were back upon him with that letter. 
 He realized again dust and plains, and hard work, 
 the eternal drive against time and the importance of 
 it. Morgan and the boys had been "driving," and 
 getting inevitably tangled, while he had rushed off 
 on this wild-goose chase. For what? For nothing 
 but to indulge himself, his fancy for one horse. One 
 horse! True, still if it were the greatest in the 
 world? But that he did not know. He did not 
 know one actual fact. He had not pressed the busi- 
 ness, nor pushed it through. He had been mooning 
 among leaves with a girl, filling his head with fan- 
 cies like a girl, dawdling, blowing hot and cold 
 and Esmeralda Charley sitting in Beckwith awaiting 
 orders ! 
 
 He put the letter into his pocket and ran up-stairs. 
 Entering his room, he groped his way across it, lit 
 the lamp and looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes. 
 
 162
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 His ideas seemed born with the procedure of his ac- 
 tions. 
 
 His light was a blind to make the Raders be- 
 lieve him still in his room ; his room itself was but a 
 route by which he passed to the door of the outside 
 stair. He went softly down. As he reached the foot 
 of it, he saw the light in the living-room was out. 
 He kept as close as he could to the wall, making a de- 
 tour by the back of the house, and was startled, hur- 
 rying up into the pines, to feel the flowered carpet 
 beneath his feet. The edge of it all but tripped him. 
 He shuffled over it, hardly realizing what it was, 
 passed the scholar's study and then, beyond sight of 
 windows, began to run downward. The moon gave 
 him a half shut eye that helped him through the 
 trees, but running at night through a wood, and run- 
 ning of necessity without sound, was no easy busi- 
 ness. With his arms now flung up to protect his face, 
 now out to feel where the trees came, expecting each 
 moment a branch to knock the breath out of him, 
 or a sharp edge of rock to catch his foot, his instinct 
 for direction stood him in good stead, carrying him 
 straight in a long, slanting cross-cut for the edge of 
 the road. 
 
 He came out upon it, at least halfway down the 
 hill. His chest still labored with rapid breathing, 
 but he struggled to make it slower, shaking pine 
 
 163
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 needles out of his hair, gathering himself together 
 for nonchalance. He had measured time to a nicety. 
 On the dirt road above, he heard the dead, muffled 
 sound of steps. A few moments and the figure of 
 Ferrier came into sight. He was walking quickly, 
 his hands driven into his pockets and his head down. 
 As he came on his face became clear in the half 
 light, eyes lowered, lips moving rapidly, as if he 
 rehearsed words. 
 
 Carron very leisurely sauntered up toward him. 
 "Good evening again," he said and was sorry to 
 have frightened him. Ferrier halted as if he thought 
 he was seeing an apparition, the man he had but 
 lately left in the house, now walking up to meet 
 him. 
 
 "I happened to remember something I wanted to 
 ask you," Carron explained. The words sounded 
 unhappily impertinently flippant ; but the man he ad- 
 dressed showed no inclination either to laugh or to 
 knock him down. His look glided sidewise. He 
 seemed to meditate a bolt through the trees; then, 
 drawing his elbows closer to his body, he slipped past 
 Carron and walked on without speaking. 
 
 "I beg your pardon," Carron said mildly, catch- 
 ing step with him, "I would like to explain that it 
 is a civil question." To talk while he could see only 
 
 164
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 a profile, and both hurrying so that their breath 
 came short, was impossible. "There will be no harm 
 in waiting a moment," he said and took his com- 
 panion by the arm. He half expected resistance, 
 but Ferrier stopped. He stood holding himself 
 stiffly, as if expecting a blow. Carron waited. Fer- 
 rier looked upon the ground, then at the woods, then 
 upward at the bright face of the sky, finally, sul- 
 lenly, to his adversary's face. "I wanted to ask 
 you," the horse-breaker said, "if you ever went 
 hunting?" 
 
 "I don't think I have the time." Ferrier was try- 
 ing to resume his air of a young gentleman in soci- 
 ety, but it was a failure. 
 
 "Because I am going to-morrow," Carron went 
 on, as though the other had not spoken, "and I 
 should like to have you go along." 
 
 "No, I can't." 
 
 "You'd better," Carron urged. "I am a stranger 
 here. I don't know the country, and you would be 
 doing me a service." 
 
 "I am not going to do any more services for 
 you!" Ferrier squared himself obstinately. "You've 
 got all you're going to get out of me." 
 
 Defiance was declared between ; Carron was glad 
 the battle was to be in the open. It would be sooner 
 
 165
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 ended. "You promised me a good deal more than 
 that, you know," he said. 
 
 "I know, but I didn't mean to tell you anything. 
 I didn't know what I was saying or doing. I I 
 was hard up !" he gulped. 
 
 "Yes," Carron said, and kept his hand on the 
 man's arm soothingly, as he would upon the halter 
 of a nervous horse. "But you did, you see, and you 
 might as well go along now and tell me the rest 
 of it." 
 
 "I won't have anything more to do with you, I tell 
 you!" Ferrier answered excitedly. "Look here, 
 didn't I set you on the trail all right? Didn't I tell 
 you where to go and who knew about " 
 
 Carron interrupted. "I know, you told me the 
 story. You described the horse; you said you had 
 seen it; you made a bargain with me and fulfilled 
 only a part of it ; and I am here waiting for you to 
 complete it." 
 
 Ferrier stared. "Why, but I sent you here be- 
 cause she " 
 
 "Understand me," Carron said distinctly, "this 
 is a matter of business between you and me. I 
 know of no one who has this information except 
 yourself. Beside us there is no one else concerned 
 in.it." 
 
 "Yes, there is," Ferrier burst out, "and we both 
 1 66
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 know it ! She is ! You come to me and you pretend 
 it's because you don't want to deal with her Oh, 
 no ! you've got too fine a sense of honor ! You want 
 to leave her out of it? Why, my God," his voice 
 soared, "she won't tell you! Don't I know? Do 
 you think I'd ever have given her away if I had 
 thought you could fool her into it ? But you can't ! 
 And now, do you think I'm going to risk telling you 
 myself, and risk her turning me down? Yes, 
 wouldn't she, though! She'd throw me over, like 
 a sack of old meal, if I told about that infernal horse ! 
 But I'm not going to give her the chance ! I'll play 
 second fiddle until it's gone. Won't be much longer 
 till the rains and then you'll see !" 
 
 Carron had involuntarily loosed hold of him and 
 Ferrier was backing away, down the road, step by 
 step, his voice rising as he retreated. "And you 
 needn't think because she was so pleasant and made 
 so much of you this evening, that it means a thing. 
 She's that way with every one. She doesn't care 
 a flip of her finger about you! Hang around, and 
 ask as much as you like. You'll see!" He turned 
 and began to run. 
 
 For a moment Carron entertained the idea of fol- 
 lowing him and shaking the breath out of him. He 
 wasn't worth while knocking down ! Dragging for- 
 ward the woman into the business, shouting out 
 
 167
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 her name ! Who had supposed she had given Car- 
 ron a thought? Who had supposed she cared a 
 flip of her finger? His face was hot in the chilly 
 moonlight. But then the cooler reflection followed, 
 the poor devil was in love with her himself and 
 jealous. That tirade he had poured out had been 
 the ecstasy of jealousy; proprietorship, trying to 
 assert itself. But there was more than that in it. 
 There was something strange and contradictory. 
 "If he didn't want me to get the horse," Carron re- 
 flected, "why the devil did he give me the right 
 direction in the first place! Why, if he loves her 
 and is afraid of her, why didn't he lie, up and down, 
 to me ; lead me astray ? He'd have had the twenty 
 dollars just as surely." He slapped his thigh. "But 
 he did want me to get the horse! He did, in the 
 first place. It's his stumbling block. He hoped I 
 would get it out of his way, so she would remember 
 him long enough to look at him." Carron apostro- 
 phized the moon. "Now he's got remorse ; scared ! 
 Afraid she'll hear about his part in it; afraid, if I 
 get the horse, the whole thing will come out !" He 
 shook his head. He relinquished the idea of fol- 
 lowing the fugitive, and at the same time relin- 
 quished the idea of Ferrier altogether. "He won't 
 !do," he meditated, "he's too weak." 
 
 The weaknesses of strong men who know what 
 1 68
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 they want and will pursue any means to get it, were 
 always sharp, certain instruments in the hands of 
 whoever cared to use them, but the weakness of this 
 man, who reflected the will of the last person he had 
 talked with might cut in none knew what direction. 
 He had sold the girl's confidence for twenty dollars. 
 He had fallen into an ecstasy of dread of the conse- 
 quences. Yet even thus, and under her very eye, he 
 had not had the moral courage to resist that gold 
 piece. Carron reflected, walking back through moon 
 and shade, that a man did not need to have a very 
 delicate honor to want not to deal with Ferrier. He 
 did not plead a delicate honor for himself ; Carron 
 only pleaded the courage of his desires. He was 
 ready for anything that would find him the much de- 
 sired, fleet and elusive Son of the Wind. Had he 
 met, there and then, the traveler with the cloven 
 foot who stops men in forest ways and offers them 
 the world for their name written in red, he would 
 have been inclined to sign the document. But the 
 devil within was the only one who had ever ap- 
 peared to Carron, to offer him assistance, and this 
 one was his demon of persistence. 
 
 He was up the next day at dawn to be sure of be- 
 ing out of the house before the Rader family were 
 stirring; but it was necessary to intrude in Mrs. 
 Rader's kitchen, previous to trying twenty miles on 
 
 169
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 horseback, and he was still looking helplessly at an 
 array of jars, all different in label and contents, 
 none of which seemed to be either tea or bread, when 
 the door opened and Blanche Rader entered. 
 
 He was exasperated. Had he not known how it 
 would be ! A woman was always cutting across your 
 trail, not for any interest in you, just for perversity, 
 or to know what was going on. She gave herself 
 away with her first words. 
 
 "I was awake early this morning and heard you 
 stirring. I thought perhaps you meant to get an early 
 start." At least she did not ask him where he was 
 going. She began to move deliberately about, lit 
 the little oil stove, took a can from the shelf, a coffee 
 pot, and set some bread to toast. The kitchen was 
 filled with the searing and steaming of things cook- 
 ing. She looked pale and languid, and had less the 
 appearance of a person who is hardly awake than of 
 one who has not slept enough. Her hair drawn up 
 and held closely with a large bow of red ribbon 
 showed the full white sweep of the neck at the back. 
 Her head was carried a little on one side as if wear- 
 ily. She set out his breakfast on the kitchen table, 
 but set it very prettily, and while the toast was fin- 
 ishing,arrangeda bouquet of dwarf chrysanthemums 
 in a vase. Ferrier's words returned hatefully to 
 his mind. Was Blanche Rader "that way with 
 
 170
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 even'- one?" He preferred to think that only for 
 him had she ever arranged a little bunch of flowers. 
 She sat down with him at the table, and made him 
 uneasy, not eating, but leaning her chin on her 
 hands, keeping her large eyelids persistently down, 
 drawing patterns on the cloth with her forefinger. 
 He ate hastily, for he sensed a question in the wind. 
 He did not escape it. "Are you going to be 
 gone ?" she came to a stop, seemed unable to get 
 another word out of her throat. 
 
 "All day." 
 
 "Oh!'' Her eyes came up with a flash. "Are you 
 coming back?" 
 
 "Why, of course. Did you think " 
 
 Her lips parted, growing a little more rosy. "I 
 thought you had had bad news last night, that had 
 called you away." Bad news, indeed, he thought, 
 but of a sort to make him stick the tighter. She was 
 blushing faintly. "I wouldn't have come down I 
 mean I wouldn't have asked you " She laughed 
 at her own embarrassment. "I didn't mean to be 
 so inquisitive." 
 
 "All women are," Carron declared rising. 
 
 She bit her lip. "All women are different." 
 
 "Some are exceptional. It was very kind of you 
 to get up at such an hour, and that was a very good 
 breakfast." He gathered up his guns and his hat 
 
 171
 
 and stepped out upon the side veranda. He thought 
 she had taken her dismissal. He had a notion there 
 was a flutter of red and white petticoat behind him 
 as he went down the wagon track, and thought it 
 was because that red and white was somehow get- 
 ting fixed in his stubborn fancy; but when he 
 reached the stable, he saw she was indeed still with 
 him. 
 
 "I only wanted to say," she explained, evidently 
 because his rather grim expression suggested that 
 she needed an explanation, "that you would better 
 take my pony. He is used to the rocks. Nothing 
 can hurt him or lose him in the mountains. He 
 knows all the trails." 
 
 She was more thoughtful of him certainly than 
 other women he had known, and not at all insistent 
 upon her own presence. She stood in silence during 
 the more exacting preliminaries of saddling. Then, 
 as he began shortening stirrups, she spoke. "When 
 you get back to-night, if you care to and are not too 
 tired, I will take you over to the largest pine, 'The 
 Witch's Spindle' and show you what I mean by the 
 high tide of night." 
 
 The same thought had been in his mind the even- 
 ing before, had been upon his lips when the letters 
 interrupted him. Now he had forgotten about it. 
 In his mind he was writing a telegram. "I shall be 
 
 172
 
 delighted," he said, while his eye measured the 
 leathers. 
 
 She did not speak again, and before he looked up 
 he heard her walking out through the old barn in a 
 cloud of little echoes ; but when he rode up the drive 
 a few minutes later he saw her just at the edge of 
 the pines, standing on the carpet which still lay 
 spread out on the ground. She looked toward 
 him and waved her hand. The cool sunrise wind 
 fluttered the red ribbon in her hair. Carron re- 
 membered her quite too long after he had lost sight 
 of her. The road he followed had memories of a 
 flying figure letting herself be run away with for the 
 joy of wildness. It led him up and down the swells 
 of land rising to the crest of the watershed. He 
 did not leave that thought quite behind until he had 
 passed through the village of hills and was fairly 
 out in the long dull level valley with Beckwith in 
 sight. 
 
 The day was early still when he got in, but his 
 business in this place was trying and various, first 
 to discover Esmeralda Charley, whom he found in a 
 desperate little half-breed hotel. Here he spent the 
 best of an hour, carefully fishing out of the fellow's 
 mind such ideas as he had on certain matters at the 
 ranch. What he found out was more cheering than 
 he had expected. Sanguine himself, he always forgot 
 
 173
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 that Morgan was a blue devil. He decided to wire 
 the foreman to keep the new "buster," and modi- 
 fied some of the expressions in his letter before he 
 took it to the post-office. There remained his stuff 
 to look after. Safer not to appear himself in 
 connection with that heap of stakes, ropes and 
 canvas, for he knew the curiosity of a village, how 
 fast it can travel and how far. He sent Esmeralda 
 Charley on the errand, and waited in the wretched 
 bar, fretted with the false position of secrecy in 
 which he found himself. His actions were those of 
 a thief, though he was not taking property which 
 belonged to another, or to any one in fact. But the 
 girl held the whip-hand over them all, her father, 
 through his loyalty, a little weak in point of prac- 
 tice, but theoretically sincere enough ; the man on the 
 road, through his fear of losing her, and Carron 
 through his fear of losing the horse. Woman she 
 might be, and fanciful, but he had had some ex- 
 perience in the strength of woman's will. If she 
 found out what he was doing before his plans ma- 
 terialized, she would not hesitate to frighten the 
 stallion away for ever. 
 
 Returning, the half-breed reported the stuff too 
 bulky to be stored in the baggage-room, but he had 
 found a good place where it could be under cover 
 and under lock ; only the people wanted to know how 
 
 174
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 long it was to be kept there. Carron looked at the 
 ceiling, saw all his adventure still in the air above 
 him. "A week," he said, and wished that he could 
 put a lock upon the hours. 
 
 He presented himself to Beckwith's advice as a 
 hunter inquiring of the best direction to take for 
 game. They named him roads and trails, but none 
 went in the direction he wanted. The Big Canon? 
 Lord! They scorned his suggestion. Nothing in 
 there but eagles. None the less he was stubborn. 
 Well then, the only way to get in was by going 
 twenty-five miles back, someway below Raders'. 
 There might be a trail turned off there they 
 couldn't say. 
 
 Carron had no intention of retracing his steps so 
 far. Besides, he felt quite sure a trail did not turn 
 off there. He had looked for one too well, four 
 days ago. His thought was fixed on the little win- 
 dow by the Sphinx which had shown him the dis- 
 tance beyond. Esmeralda Charley, listening to the 
 description of this, was not sanguine about it as a 
 point of passage through the hills. In the end they 
 made an expedition straight out from Beckwith to 
 the canon wall ten miles across very vile country, 
 and spent the afternoon investigating the chance for 
 an inlet there. Nothing was possible, the hills be- 
 coming a high rampart of shard, their bases steep 
 
 175
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 slides of stone. Furthermore, Carron was not pre- 
 pared to risk the utmost here. It was too distant 
 altogether from Raders to seem a likely place, and 
 to his knowledgeable eye, it was subtlely unlike the 
 creature he was seeking. They returned to the town 
 at dusk. He had no thought of starting for Raders' 
 that night. He wished that he might have found 
 some one bound in that direction who could have 
 carried a note ; but he was too full of calculations of 
 rnoonrise, of trails, and possibilities of rock forma- 
 tions to reflect long on what the Raders might think. 
 Through all the night he was wakeful and his 
 mind at work. To go back to the place, twenty-five 
 miles below, where the road turned aside from the 
 canon, to make his way without a trail, up the 
 difficult Highway of the Gods, through the gates, 
 into the circle of mountains which was the Big 
 Canon, would be in itself a full day's work. And, 
 once entering it, what then? In it he could not see 
 it. He might waste days, lost among peak and de- 
 clivity. It would be like entering a maze. But, 
 from this side of the canon wall, to ascend to the 
 Sphinx's window and look through it, would be 
 looking upon the maze from a balloon. From this 
 place, set high above, he might observe the trend of 
 mountain and valley, the direction of the river, 
 whose voice had reached him from a distance; he 
 
 176
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 might choose, from here, the route best for his com- 
 pass to follow; perhaps sight certain places more 
 likely than others for the habitat of a horse, some 
 place in the course of the river where a wild creature 
 might go to drink. The window had a look of hav- 
 ing been purposely set there by fate. 
 
 From the top of the watershed, on the following- 
 morning, he pointed it out to Esmeralda Charley, 
 just as the sun was getting up over the great head r 
 crowning it with a circlet of terrible gold. The lit- 
 tle half-breed, blinking at the sight, let drop unex- 
 pectedly the thought of a philosopher. Rocks like 
 that, he observed, that were meant to be looked at,, 
 never meant anything more. 
 
 Carron bit his Hp. He knew he was taking a 
 chance as wide as the canon, but wide chances were 
 all the hope he had in sight. They would have a 
 little closer look at it anyway, he determined. 
 Here they were at the point nearest to the hills. At 
 the worst they would not have more than three 
 miles. The long back of the watershed stretched 
 with a gentle downward slant out toward the wall 
 of the Sugar Loafs, and together the two began to 
 work their way forward along it, among the rocks 
 and bushes. 
 
 It was not a difficult way, although no trail was 
 .visible, but Carron could see from the action of the 
 
 177
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 pony that the animal had never taken this route 
 before. The cautious planting of his feet, the doubt- 
 ful side to side motion of his head, as if he denied 
 the possibility of getting anywhere, a general air 
 of unwillingness, of having to be pushed along, 
 spoke un familiarity with the place. As they went 
 on, the outcropping of rock became more frequent. 
 Great faces of it rose to the surface of the thin soil, 
 and down them the horses footed it daintily or 
 cautiously slid. The sides of the long, extended 
 height dropped away more sharply. On either hand 
 they looked down upon thick tree-tops. His com- 
 panion murmured that they were running into a 
 sack. 
 
 Carron tried to peer over the low pines which 
 were thickening in front, to see into what sort of 
 country the nose of the watershed ran; but the 
 descent was too steep for this to be visible, though 
 by the drop of the land from the buttes opposite he 
 gathered that a hollow valley was between. Purple 
 shadows still lay like water at the foot of the hills, 
 but their tops shone yellow, and the new day, beat- 
 ing full upon the Sphinx's face, gave it a bland, 
 almost blank, appearance. The shape of the head 
 and the winged helmet were there, but the haunting 
 expression was confounded in the bright light. He 
 frowned, staring aloft for a hint of it. 
 
 178
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 The half-breed's voice sang out, shrill and sudden. 
 Carron pulled rein before he looked. These warn- 
 ings came sometimes on the verge. He was far 
 enough from the edge on this occasion, but edge 
 there was nevertheless, here where it had been' 
 least expected. The end of the watershed was cut 
 down, sliced off. Years past some mass of water 
 might have run flood full here, and worn it away. 
 But now, at the bottom, wound only a belt of dark 
 sand, with a narrow stream flowing in the heart of 
 it. It had made no murmur to warn them, being 
 summer water. This river bottom was all that lay 
 between them and the canon wall; but the descent 
 into it was most uninviting, neither a precipice, over 
 which a man might be lowered, nor a possible hill- 
 side offering a trail, but a face of rock slanted at 
 forty-five degrees, where a man must use his feet, 
 yet could not keep his footing without a rope. Get- 
 ting out of the saddle, Carron walked forward and 
 looked up and down the course of the stream. 
 
 The power that had cut the watershed had sliced 
 the hills with the same knife. Cliff it was as far as 
 the eye could see. The face presented was irregular, 
 however, now low, now high, as the land ran. The 
 place where he stood must have a height of fifteen 
 feet. Upon the right it scarcely reached six above 
 the river basin ; but he saw that to descend the side 
 
 179
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 of the watershed would be more difficult now than 
 to descend its face. He felt as, when a child, he had 
 scrambled to the end of a tree limb and had to 
 take a choice of scrambling all the way back or 
 dropping to the ground. He had always preferred 
 to drop. He was preparing to do that now. It 
 meant leaving the half-breed and the horses on 
 the head of the cliff and voyaging across the stream 
 and up to the window of the Sphinx on foot, and 
 alone. He was rather glad of that. The long rope 
 was fastened about his body; Esmeralda Charley 
 made a half -hitch around a stout little pine tree and 
 Carron, beginning the descent, with the first step, 
 loosed a shower of little stones. 
 
 They were not such pebbles as lodge in granite 
 crevices, but particles of the rock itself. It was 
 shale, treacherous stuff. Firm looking projections 
 crumbled away under his feet like cheese. There 
 was not a bush for a hold, not a solid thing any- 
 where, to grasp. Now he slid, and the rope sprang 
 taut on his body ; now on hands and knees he crept, 
 slowly working his way down, backward. Half 
 way down his foot found what seemed not a pro- 
 jection but a crevice, large enough to get his toes 
 into. He tested it, rested weight upon it, felt in- 
 clined to trust it, and, without lifting his head, 
 shouted for more rope. Nothing responded. He 
 
 1 80
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 looked up, thinking perhaps that with his head 
 down his voice had failed to carry, and for the in- 
 stant rested full weight on the rope. At that instant 
 Esmeralda Charley threw the slack. Carron felt 
 himself topple back. His foot tore out of the 
 crevice. Then the spring of the lariat around his 
 body pulled the breath out of him. He was 
 jerked up again so violently that he was flung flat 
 against the cliff. His last instinct was to protect 
 his face. He felt a blow on the side of the head, 
 and began to drop away into a cold, ringing dark- 
 ness. At intervals he heard Esmeralda Charley's 
 voice, calling faintly from a distance. He be- 
 came aware of intense pain in his head, increasing 
 with the increasing return of light, and the half- 
 breed's voice seemed to be getting louder again. He 
 must be drawing nearer. Carron languidly opened 
 his eyes. 
 
 He was looking down into the sand and water, 
 still some feet below. The side of his head that 
 ached still rested upon the face of the rock. Vaguely 
 astonished he rolled his head around and saw be- 
 fore him the mountain as a great silhouette, a wall 
 upon the blinding sky ; and opening through it, look- 
 ing softly upon him, was that blue eye of distance. 
 Within it he saw mountains like a dream, far away, 
 ineffable, another world. 
 
 181
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "Are you all right? Are you all right?" the re- 
 peated cry grew clearer to his returning conscious- 
 ness. He looked up and saw the dark face of 
 Esmeralda Charley peering over the edge of the 
 declivity. Half stunned yet, Carron found his 
 voice. 
 
 "Yes, I'm all right. I want to lie still a moment." 
 He was getting his bearings, and realizing what 
 had happened nothing serious, nothing but his 
 own infernal clumsiness and Esmeralda Charley's 
 attempt to jerk him back to his feet, instead of 
 letting him roll down a little way with the slack of 
 the lariat. He sat up in a fine temper, conscious of 
 a throbbing head, but feeling steady enough. "Don't 
 pull me up," he called, feeling the lariat strain 
 around him, "I'm going on. Pay out now when I 
 tell you." 
 
 He heard the half-breed warning him to be care- 
 ful of what, he couldn't make out. He was too 
 much occupied with not making another slip, and 
 with determining in what sort of place he was going 
 to land. The rock shelved out, perhaps a couple of 
 feet into the sand. Stretching his legs he slid in a 
 shower of fragments, and stood upright upon the 
 level at last. His feet were still upon rock, but a foot 
 in front was wet sand. He looked up and down. 
 As far as could be seen the dark gray streak 
 
 182
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 in which the shrunken river made its bed was con- 
 stant. From above, the place where he now stood 
 had seemed narrow enough ; but confronted, it was 
 wide indeed. He could hardly throw a stone across 
 it, and as far as the dampness of the water spread, 
 the sand had a tremulous, liquid quiver. Carron did 
 not like the look of it. "Nasty going," he thought 
 it. These little half-dry creek beds were sometimes 
 hard to pull your legs through. The best way to 
 take them was with a rush. He loosened the rope 
 from his body, let it swing back behind him, kicked 
 off his shoes, fastened them around his neck, and 
 leaned back against the cliff to get what start was 
 possible. 
 
 The impetus of his rush carried him a little way 
 out; then he was in over the knees, still going for- 
 ward. He was in to the thighs before he knew it. 
 The sensation was not of sinking, but of being 
 drawn down. He heaved against the weight that 
 thrust upon him from every side, and advanced not 
 an inch. A crazy conviction took him that some- 
 how he could put forth inhuman strength to combat 
 this resistance; that, to get across, some super- 
 natural power would be given him. But the only 
 thing supernatural he was conscious of was the 
 power beneath his feet. He heard the sing of the 
 lariat passing close to his cheek as the half-breed 
 
 183
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 threw it. It was thrown twice before he could 
 grasp it. .With some sharp tugging on the half- 
 breed's part, using himself and the tree as a wind- 
 lass, and some hard treading on Carron's, he was 
 dragged by degrees, and with a sucking sound, out 
 of the mouth of the quicksand. 
 
 Wet to the arm-pits, trembling with the exertion 
 he had made, perspiration upon his forehead, he 
 reached the little projecting ledge of rock. He had 
 had worse moments of danger. There had been no 
 danger worth thinking about, with the half-breed 
 there to throw a rope. The fear of a man, newly 
 escaped death, was not his, but the disgust and the 
 anger of a man who has not succeeded. To have 
 failed by so narrow a margin! To have been kept 
 back by so puny a stream thumped on the head 
 by a rock and then half swallowed by a wretched 
 patch of sand ! He put up his handkerchief, mopped 
 the blood that was running down his neck, and 
 looked up at his enemy, the Sphinx. The mass of 
 the head gazed over him, and past him. No shadow 
 upon it pointed an eyelash toward him; no quiver 
 on the large front, nothing that recognized him, 
 lying on the ledge, like a hooked fish. He waited a 
 little longer, recovering strength; then with throb- 
 bing head, throbbing wrists, and a beating deter- 
 mination, he painfully reascended the nose of the 
 
 184
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 watershed and at the top lay down to dry himself 
 in the sun. 
 
 His flask and the bread that he had, helped to re- 
 store him. He rested while Esmeralda Charley 
 roped himself down one side of the rocky prom- 
 ontory upon which they lay, and set off northward, 
 prospecting the bank of the stream. Returning in 
 the course of two hours, the man reported that per- 
 haps six miles up from the watershed the quicksand 
 made a wide swing across the valley to the hills. 
 But at that point, he said, it would be impossible to 
 get down with the horses, as there was still consid- 
 erable cliff. He thought that to get around they 
 would have to go back to Beckwith. 
 
 Carron looked up at the sun, and then at his 
 watch. Twenty miles from where they were merely 
 to reach the Sugar Loafs ? And then to make their 
 way down, ten miles or more over a country of 
 broken stone, and probably involve themselves again 
 in the sand ? He suspected a sink somewhere about 
 the base of the hills, where the stream dropped. 
 Such waters flow now above ground, now sunk. 
 That implacable lady, the Sphinx, had surrounded 
 herself with a wall and a moat. He had scaled the 
 one, but he was left on the brink of the other, a 
 thwarted besieger. 
 
 The afternoon had drawn toward a close, when
 
 SON OF. THE WIND 
 
 the horse-breaker and the half-breed parted com- 
 pany, the half-breed to Beckwith to wait for fresh 
 instructions, Carron toward Raders'. As he rode, 
 he looked over the country. He had surveyed it 
 before, seen it heavily wooded, deeply gullied, and 
 put it down as improbable. Now he knew it im- 
 possible, at least as far as the quicksand went. 
 This must disappear as the country passed from 
 plain to forest, from shallow hollow to precipice ; but 
 to travel here without a trail, to chance crossing the 
 transverse ravines, and spend Heaven knows what 
 time at it, for the sake of a mere look into the 
 canon that chance was too wide, even for him! 
 Yet his eyes kept busy prying at the edges of the 
 forest. The jealous trees must be hiding a path 
 somewhere Jbehind their skirts. As he came to the 
 crest of the long descent, the last hill before Ra- 
 der's, he saw an opening among the bushes on the 
 left. He reconnoitered and found a wagon track 
 leading downward; rode a little way along it, with 
 rising hope, and saw its destination was a house. 
 The roof was so gray and mottled by weather that 
 from the road it would have looked like part of the 
 trees surrounding it. For a moment hope lingered. 
 The place might be a deserted cabin, and the wagon 
 track lead on past it. Then he heard voices, and in 
 the clearing before the house he saw the flutter of 
 
 1 86
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 a woman's skirt. Evidently this was not the way to 
 the Sphinx! He retraced his steps. His stubborn 
 mind pursued the one thought there must be an- 
 other way to come at it then. There was always 
 another way. His body, innured to hours in the 
 saddle and to great exertions, felt the discomforts 
 of the adventure but little. It was in his mind 
 that he suffered. So easy the thing had looked 
 and proved so difficult ! In every direction he had 
 tried he had found an obstacle, whether the dead 
 wall of a rock or of a coward's fear of conse- 
 quences; the quicksand of a river, or of a girl's 
 mind. To say he was defeated, that he had given 
 up, did not occur to him. The higher the difficulty, 
 the higher he looked to meet it. He had gone too 
 far into the thing to dream of failure now. 
 
 Approaching Raders', he grew conscious of his 
 dilapidated appearance. He was obliged to keep 
 his handkerchief bound around the cut that still 
 bled a little, and he was a spectacle of mud to the 
 waist. He looked forward to meeting those people 
 and their questions with an unconscious bracing of 
 capacity. There was nothing extraordinary in a 
 hunter having had hair-breadth escapes; but in a 
 dry "and burning season, and in a country of rock, 
 there were few places where a man might drop into, 
 a mud-hole. There might be only one quicksand 
 
 187
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 in the county. And what would a hunter have been 
 doing upon a plain on the second day of his hunt- 
 ing? 
 
 His mind saw the suspicion grow in Blanche 
 Rader's confident eyes. As for Mrs. Rader, she 
 already suspected him of something, and, woman 
 fashion, she would, therefore, be prepared to sus- 
 pect him of anything. The scholar, of course, 
 would know what he had been about, and the old 
 fellow had dropped him a hint that in his austere 
 conception of the affair, the girl's refusal ought to 
 put an end to the quest. Now, when he saw it had 
 not, perhaps, in spite of his fine reassurances, he 
 would consider it his duty to reveal what was go- 
 ing forward. Carron felt he was going forth 
 against antagonists; for, gentle as they were, they 
 seemed all to be against him. Nevertheless, he 
 turned into the loop of the drive with that mixed 
 sense of familiarity and strangeness that one feels, 
 after an absence, upon returning home. The pale, 
 austere front of the house was more welcome to 
 him than ever the classic aspect of his mother's 
 house in Connecticut. This impression of homelike- 
 ness was added to presently by the sight of an ex- 
 pectant figure. It was revealed as that of the 
 scholar. He was moving rather restlessly along 
 the porch of the old wing, now and then stretching 
 
 188
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 his head on his long neck to look out between the 
 vines. Seeing Carron, his face relaxed into a smile. 
 He raised his hand above his head, in joyful salute, 
 and hurried to the steps, as the young man rode up. 
 "My dear boy, we have been wondering why, I'm 
 very glad to see you ! The women have been quite 
 frightened." 
 
 "Frightened?" Carron echoed, feeling somewhat 
 mystified. 
 
 "Yes, your not coming back last night. Of 
 course, I told them you were all right. Two days, 
 more or less, is nothing and a man can't send a 
 note out of the wilderness. Still women, you 
 know!" He expressively waved his hand. "Mrs. 
 Rader has gone down to the Ferriers now, to see 
 if perhaps they had heard anything of you." 
 
 "Mrs. Rader has?" Carron had become an echo 
 of astonishment. 
 
 "Yes," the scholar sighed, and added, "she kept 
 me awake quite a little last night, fussing about it.'* 
 
 Taken aback, ashamed of his recent suspicions, 
 touched, Carron hadn't yet heard the name he most 
 wanted. 
 
 "You are all right, aren't you ?" Rader continued. 
 His manner slowed a little from the unwonted 
 vivacity of excitement "What is that around your 
 head?" 
 
 189
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "I cut myself up in the rocks and then got into 
 the mud. It's nothing." 
 
 "Ah ! well," the scholar surveyed him with an al- 
 most affectionate glance, "the women will fix you 
 up. They'll love to." He hesitated, lowered his 
 voice, leaning forward, "You didn't ?" The rest 
 of the query was in his eyes. It spoke of the secret 
 that was between them. 
 
 Carron smiled rather grimly. "No, I " 
 
 He stopped. A door had opened suddenly. Not 
 the one fronting the steps, but one farther down 
 the porch, opening out of the living-room. Blanche 
 Rader stood there. She held a long piece of white 
 stuff in one hand. It trailed to the floor and she 
 had trodden upon it. He knew she was looking at 
 him, but did not see her expression; saw her there 
 only as the symbol of his difficulties, fragile, yet 
 triumphant where he had failed. She was like the 
 Sphinx. She was the Sphinx perhaps the very 
 core of it, unreasoning, not to be moved, set there 
 in his path, the perverse deity who had led him and 
 then held him back. Oh, to get hold of her ; to put 
 her completely out of the way, upon some high 
 shelf of the universe where she could not do any 
 harm! Where she could no longer interrupt his 
 thoughts and disturb his affairs, and make of life 
 a thing of furies and elations. 
 
 190
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 She had disappeared, she had vanished through 
 the door again, without a word, without a motion 
 of recognition, leaving him only the memory of her 
 gaze, which, now she was gone, he knew had not 
 been like the Sphinx. It had not been implacable. 
 It had been appealing. In heaven's name what 
 could he do for such a creature as she? It was she 
 who could do much for him. 
 
 He did not very well know what else Rader said 
 to him. His thoughts beat this way and that, boiled 
 up with his exasperations, retreated before the mem- 
 ory of the girl's face, bore forward toward success, 
 with all the nature of the man to press on. He put 
 up the pony in the stable, took off the bandage from 
 his head, and walked back to the house with some 
 vague, surface idea of going up-stairs, cleaning up, 
 getting a bath. The house was still. This time 
 there was no one on the veranda. He walked slowly 
 along to the living-room door, opened it, went in, 
 with a quickening pulse. No one there. A pair 
 of scissors and a pin-cushion were upon the table. 
 She had fled. From what? He wondered what she 
 was afraid of. He had not wanted to frighten her. 
 He only wanted to find her. He went out into the 
 hall, that hall of many doors. The late day made it 
 dark, and only by the pale, shining, neutral illumina- 
 tion could he see that one of these doors was half 
 
 191
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 open. He moved it back noiselessly upon its hinge 
 and looked. 
 
 He was in the little sewing-room where he had 
 seen her the morning he had proposed their ride. 
 Here, too, twilight was gathered. The walls were 
 dusky, the furniture dim ; only at the window a light 
 came; and here, close to it, Blanche Rader was sit- 
 ting, sewing. Her gown was white, and flowed off 
 into shadow. She did not move when he came in, 
 she did not quiver an eyelash, her hands did not 
 cease their regular motion. Softly, so as not to 
 startle her into consciousness of his presence, he 
 entered and sat down in a chair farthest from her, 
 deepest in shadow. 
 
 From here he saw her face in profile. Her head 
 was bent and held a little to one side. The last of 
 the day shone on the curve of her chin, the curve 
 of her lips, lay upon her forehead, found bronze in 
 her hair, and touched the edge of her red ribbon to 
 fire. Her shoulders drawn a little forward by their 
 task and the turn of her long throat lent something 
 pathetic to her aspect. Her hands rapidly drew the 
 thread in and out. He watched her. He was weary 
 with exertion, aching with the cut on his head. He 
 was an expert plainsman, had lost two days and 
 was no nearer the object of his search, nor the 
 way of reaching it, than he had been at first. This 
 
 192
 
 THE WINDOW OF THE SPHINX 
 
 girl, curled over her sewing, had it all in her head. 
 Deep hidden she kept it and hugged the secret. To 
 her it had been given to see a wonder, rarely seen, 
 even by night-walking foresters or leafy dwellers 
 outside the law. Had she been abroad at moonset, 
 that such a chance had befallen her, or at that bright 
 Greek interval before the sunrise? What way had 
 she followed? What way could a woman follow 
 where he had found none? From what place had 
 she looked the cap of a mountain, an eyrie of 
 trees, or up, from a hollow in the earth? Her eyes, 
 fixed now on the flashing needle, had looked upon 
 Son of the Wind; had seen him, not in the ter- 
 rors of flight, but in the splendor of his trampling, 
 unafraid approach. Yes, and they would see him 
 again. That was the thought that spurred. Could 
 a man but take her, and break her knowledge out of 
 her, as wine out of a glass. 
 
 He saw her hands were moving faster, with a 
 nervous intensity ; her breast was rising and falling 
 with quick, short breaths. There was a quiver of 
 her underlip and she took it between her teeth. The 
 idea came to him that she was aware of his pres- 
 ence. She knew that he was there, sitting and star- 
 ing at her. She must have known from the very 
 first. The failing light added to the mystery be- 
 tween them. Why hadn't she spoken ? Why didn't 
 
 193
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 she speak now ? Her fingers shook, but they flew for 
 a wager. What could he say, since something must 
 be said? She was trembling, relaxed as if expectant 
 of something what, he did not know. That con- 
 sciousness she had of him, the curious dread that 
 tied her tongue, gave him the knowledge that now 
 was his time now he had power over her. 
 
 He got to his feet. With the movement, the 
 motion of her hands stopped. They held the work 
 up nervously. Her head lifted, dropped back a 
 little. She did not look at him. He started toward 
 her with still the great question on his tongue. 
 Where that question went he did not know. He 
 reached her and she was on her feet. Had she 
 risen to meet him, or had he drawn her up by the 
 hands? He did not know. Her hands were in 
 his, both hands in his one. At the touch other 
 thought slipped away from him. He knew himself 
 trembling, and was not surprised. With the first 
 breath of her hair that faint, sweet personal per- 
 fume he understood the peril. He felt the noose 
 of the charm descending upon him. He felt, before 
 he touched her lips, the approach of an unknown 
 emotion. 
 
 194
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY 
 
 THEY drew back a little and looked at each 
 other with startled eyes people who have been 
 awake, now in a dream. Like a dream he saw blue 
 iris just beneath his gaze, a dull wave of hair, white 
 hands in the dusk, and felt a hurrying heart. The 
 heavenly interval of wonder was upon him, when 
 desire halts, abashed at the miracle. Why should 
 she suddenly twist herself from him as if he had 
 become an enemy? She had turned to him will- 
 ingly, not caught, not yielding, but giving herself. 
 Why shatter the divine, unconscious moment? It 
 was his surprise that released her ; his instinct caught 
 at her to keep her, but caught only her dress. The 
 weak stuff tore in his hand. The work-box on the 
 edge of the table overturned. A shower of little ob- 
 jects fell, ringing and scattering on the floor. She 
 slid through his fingers. Her skirt whipped around 
 the door. He trod on needles in the dark, and, curs- 
 ing, felt some dreadful, soft little thing, which was a 
 pin-cushion, beneath his feet. 
 
 The sound of the door behind him closing made 
 195
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 him face about. That door had been shut when he 
 came into the room. Now Mrs. Rader was stand- 
 ing just within it, her hand resting on the knob. It 
 had scarcely ceased to vibrate with concussion; her 
 gown still fluttered back with her motion just ar- 
 rested, but arrested by something that had startled 
 lier. In the gloom her face was a mere white 
 shadow, with dark shadows for eyes; no expression 
 to read, but the intense, fixed poise of the head had 
 significance. Carron suffered pure panic. He kept 
 himself standing where he was only by an effort of 
 will. He was ready on the spot for all the con- 
 demnation woman, can call down on man's head, 
 ready to commit himself to anything to rescue the 
 unhappy situation. He looked at her and smiled. 
 
 "I have upset your daughter's work-basket," he 
 said, and, going down on his knees, began to grope 
 on the dark floor, gathering spools. Mrs. Rader did 
 not speak; and in that horrid interval while he 
 pricked his fingers, and felt the coursing of the 
 blood in his ears, what reason he had left reasserted 
 itself. She had not seen the kiss that unpremedi- 
 tated moment. She had come in too late. She had 
 seen, perhaps, her daughter's flight through the door, 
 heard the crash of the basket, sensed all through the 
 room the disturbance, the crisis just past. But at 
 least she had not seen it I His courage rose. His 
 
 196
 
 MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY ' 
 
 anxiety was to shield the girl in her moment of 
 what might appear her weakness in the eye of her 
 own sex. He looked up. Mrs. Rader was standing 
 close to him, leaning on the table, looking down at 
 him with irresolute face. 
 
 "I am sorry I couldn't get word to you about last 
 night," he said, rising, speaking as cheerfully as if 
 this was the only question that could be between 
 them. "I am afraid from what Mr. Rader said that 
 not knowing when to expect me has inconvenienced 
 you." 
 
 "Oh, no not inconvenienced! Only we were 
 afraid " she raised her hand to the hat she wore, 
 a man's hat, which perhaps she had hastily pulled 
 on when she ran to her neighbors to ask news of 
 him. "Mr. Carron " she began. 
 
 "Never worry over a hunter, even if he doesn't 
 show up for a week," he reassured her, setting the 
 work-box back on the table. "The only thing to con- 
 sider is what they bring back, and I offer my humble 
 apologies for coming empty-handed." He swung 
 around on his heel. 
 
 "Mr. Carron," she was just behind him. Her look 
 was anything but the virago. It was timid, as if she 
 were afraid of him, or else afraid of herself. 
 
 "I present a figure," he explained, "that would 
 never do to show at your dinner table. I have just 
 
 197
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 startled Miss Rader by showing myself in my de- 
 plorable state of mud. I've got to hurry, if I'm go- 
 ing to change." 
 
 "I must speak to you!" The voice went through 
 his ears. There was no escape after all. He shut 
 his teeth together and turned about to face the situ- 
 ation. 
 
 Evidently she had driven herself to a point outside 
 her ordinary capacity. Her eyes were the only brave 
 thing in her, but they commanded her face. "Would 
 it make much difference to you to cut your week 
 here a little short ? Would you mind finishing some- 
 where else?" 
 
 This was more definite than he had expected, but 
 it was a delicate way of putting the thing, almost 
 like a man's. He appreciated her reserve, but there 
 were two reasons which presented to him the awk- 
 ward necessity of remaining where he was. "Of 
 course," he answered, "if you ask it, I shall go at 
 once. I understood it was a special exception to a 
 rule that took me in, and that was very good of you. 
 But there is no use saying it won't make a difference 
 to me if I have to leave. I'm afraid you've rather 
 spoiled me here. I've grown very fond of this place, 
 and I like you and Mr. Rader." He waited. Her 
 eyes fixed him with distress, but without any relent- 
 ing. It was a deadlock. "I don't doubt that a man 
 
 198
 
 MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY 
 
 is in the way while women are going over a house," 
 he added. 
 
 She murmured, "O no ! You helped us more than 
 I can say ! That is one reason why I didn't want you 
 to on account of what I'm having to ask you. I 
 don't know what you will think of me !" 
 
 "I shan't think anything startling," he assured her 
 lightly; but indeed he did not know what to think. 
 He knew her attitude of mind had not been born 
 suddenly of this moment's suspicions. It was the 
 culmination of a feeling which had been hers in the 
 past, which had been constant toward him from the 
 first, before he saw Blanche Rader, before he even 
 knew Blanche Rader existed. Though his mind 
 might dart and turn, the significance of it was bewil- 
 dering to fathom. "I am sorry if I have done any- 
 thing to offend you," he said. 
 
 "You haven't. You have been most kind. We 
 all like you very much. You must have noticed how 
 Mr. Rader is. He is quite changed since you came 
 waked up. You have such a way!" Her voice 
 dropped as she added below her breath, "That is 
 just the trouble." 
 
 Carron stared at this cryptic sentence. 
 
 "You are a stranger to me, and you are a man 
 who has come from out in the world," she contin- 
 ued, looking at him squarely. "Not many such come 
 
 199
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 up here ; and as soon as I saw you I felt sure you had 
 not come for the hunting. But how could I come to 
 you then a stranger and speak of it? I don't see 
 how I can do it now ! But you were so kind about 
 helping us day before yesterday, and doing every- 
 thing that was hard, I saw at least I thought that, 
 if I asked you, you might not take advantage of it, 
 at least for her sake! That, if I asked you, you 
 might go." 
 
 Carron stood amazed, puzzled, floored by these 
 halting, breathless sentences, and the confused sug- 
 gestions they conveyed. He had to search, to put 
 the thing together to make anything at all ; and then 
 he w r as amused at the sublime egoism of women that 
 supposes each move a man makes to be drawn by 
 the magnet woman. But he was also a little in- 
 dignant. 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Rader, I have not come here on 
 your daughter's account. I had never seen her 
 before, and I have no wish to thrust my atten- 
 tions upon her!" Absurd inconsistency while his 
 lips were still hot with memories of the girl's ! Yet 
 it was true enough, he had had no "intentions" as 
 far as Blanche Rader was concerned. The only in- 
 tention he was aware of now was a wish to keep her 
 name out of the talk at any cost. He cemented 
 safety. "I have had no thought except that she was 
 
 200
 
 MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY 
 
 very kind and gracious to me as to a guest, I give 
 you my word !" 
 
 Mrs. Rader's face was strange. "I know you have 
 not," she said. 
 
 That singular intonation rang ominously to his 
 ear. He had a dread lest the woman was on the 
 verge of some reckless revelation, lest she should 
 sweep him, on the tide of it, farther than he wanted 
 to be carried. "Very well, I will make my arrange- 
 ments to go to Beckwith to-morrow morning," he 
 said coldly. 
 
 At that he heard the sharp intake of her breath. 
 "Won't you go farther away than that? Won't you 
 go quite away, quite out of the county?" 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Rader," he burst forth, irritated 
 beyond control by the woman's insistence, and the 
 quandary it placed him in, "don't you expect rather 
 too much?" 
 
 "What difference will it make to you," she de- 
 manded despairingly, "where you hunt, when all 
 through these counties the game is much the same ? 
 But it makes all the difference in the world to me 
 and to her. I have been to her. I have tried to show 
 her, to make her think ! Do you suppose I haven't 
 done everything, wouldn't do anything rather than 
 come to you ? But nothing moves her when she gets 
 an idea in her head, when she wants something ; and 
 
 20 1
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 she has only seen the boys hereabouts, and one or 
 two men who come here in the summer. She has al- 
 ways been able to do what she likes with them. You 
 have seen how she twists poor Bert Ferrier. But you 
 are different ; you are her match ! I'm afraid you're 
 more than that. That is why I have come to you." 
 
 Dismayed and scarlet, Carron had an instinct to 
 beat off the woman's words like enemies. "It's ab- 
 surd, ridiculous! You misjudge her, Mrs. Rader. 
 She's never had a thought. Why, she doesn't care 
 a flip of her ringer for me !" Ferrier's words ! Out 
 of Carron's mouth ! 
 
 "If you haven't noticed it," Mrs. Rader said slow- 
 ly, "you are the only one." The small square of the 
 window was growing grayer behind her. The two of 
 them had become to each other mere voices in the 
 dark ; only in her intensity, the woman showed now 
 and then a gesture against the pale glimmer of glass. 
 "She hasn't been herself quite, since that first morn- 
 ing. Do you suppose she takes as much time for most 
 men ? Do you suppose she. goes out riding all the 
 morning whenever some one asks her ? Do you sup- 
 pose she makes the rooms so pretty for Bert Ferrier 
 to play whist? She is very cold and very difficult 
 with most. O, she's clever much cleverer than I 
 with people; and she can keep them at a distance. 
 As long as she isn't interested I know she's safe 
 
 202
 
 MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY 
 
 and she has never been interested in any one before ! 
 But as soon as I saw you, I knew you were " She 
 was rushing upon it with the appalling passion of 
 women for revealing truths which are intended to 
 remain hidden, which can not bear the light, before 
 which men recoil and quail. 
 
 "Mrs. Rader," he broke in, "I can not let you 
 think it. I assure you you're entirely mistaken. 
 Your daughter is " He paused before the thought 
 of what Blanche Rader was. He was amazed that 
 the mother could be so oblivious of it. "She is abso- 
 lutely disinterested where I'm concerned," he said 
 flatly, and for the moment bitterly believed it. 
 "Don't suppose anything else," he added, looking 
 squarely into the woman's face, still skeptical and 
 unconvinced. "I am sure neither she nor I have had 
 any intention that could alarm you." 
 
 "I don't think people always know what they in- 
 tend, or even what they are doing," Mrs. Rader said. 
 
 Carron waved exasperated arms. "I promise you 
 I will be off to-morrow morning, if that reassures 
 you at all; but I can not promise to go out of the 
 county. That's nonsense!" Would she never dismiss 
 him ? Didn't she know how ? Was he to stand there 
 without hearing an answer, enduring her look for 
 ever, feeling sorry for her, and angry with himself 
 for feeling sorry, because that keen instinct that 
 
 203
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 speaks the truth told him that as far as he was con- 
 cerned she was all wrong? 
 
 She turned without a word, crossed the room and 
 closed the door after her. If she had stayed longer 
 he would have lost his temper perhaps even his 
 nerve. 
 
 He felt more shaken than if he had been through 
 a fight. 
 
 He was turned out emphatically by a timid, reso- 
 lute woman. For what reason? In the dark the 
 thought made him hot. 
 
 Why should she take it for granted that the girl 
 was in danger from him? What sort of creature 
 did she think him invulnerable, iron, deadly ? Did 
 she think he was in no danger himself? He knew 
 now he was worse than in danger, hopelessly, finally 
 carried beyond rescue. He had defended the girl as 
 he had been bound to do by the intolerable circum- 
 stance; but now it seemed to him that it had been 
 ill done. Suppose she told her mother of what had 
 happened ! It was not probable ; but think if Mrs. 
 Rader rehearsed his words to Blanche what a cad 
 the girl would think him then ! And he was to leave 
 to-morrow, without a chance to explain to her. 
 Explain ! Good Lord ! Something that he could not 
 explain to himself! 
 
 He stared into the dark with fiery thoughts. There 
 204
 
 MRS. RADER HAS 'A WORD TO SAY 
 
 had been a question he had started to ask about a 
 horse. That would have to wait now until this thing 
 of immediate importance was settled the wretched 
 uncertainty of what she thought of him. Mrs. Ra- 
 der's words had sounded impossible when they had 
 been naked and uttered ; but they flowed back to his 
 memory now with a sweet resurgence. He was 
 buoyed up and carried off his logical footing, spun 
 around in eddies of emotion, set down suddenly on 
 the hard sand of doubt, cold with the subsidence of 
 his hopes. What difference did it make what Blanche 
 had thought of him before that wonderful moment, 
 when, after it, she had torn herself away from him; 
 when, by the last glance of her eyes, she had hated 
 him? 
 
 He went out upon the side veranda. Light was 
 not yet kindled in the kitchen windows. The dinner 
 would be late. He went up the outside stair and 
 passed through his room without stopping. He 
 walked a little way down the upper hall, turning his 
 back upon the ascending inner stair. A window 
 at the end showed him the influence of the moon, 
 now beginning to shine and make herself felt above 
 the twilight. The light, diffused and gray, was still 
 enough for him to see the door he wanted. His foot 
 touched a small, dark object crouched in front of it. 
 The dog, Beetles, was pressed against it with his 
 
 205
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 nose flung up to the crack and his tail beating the 
 floor. This little creature was accustomed to run in 
 and out of Blanche's room at all hours, taking liber- 
 ties with her time and her good nature. Now he 
 snuggled and scratched the obstinate wood and 
 complained. He paid no attention to the man's 
 whistling to him, under breath. He knew no divided 
 mind had one object. 
 
 Carron knocked very softly. Not a stir from with- 
 in. He knocked again, as softly, but repeatedly. This 
 time a smothered voice spoke. 
 
 "Who is there?" 
 
 The dog went into ecstasies of expectation. Car- 
 ron did not reply ; that would have been the end. He 
 only knocked. This time he heard a step. It came 
 slowly and stopped just on the other side of the pan- 
 els. She must have put her mouth to the crack, so 
 plainly the words came. 
 
 "What do you want ?" 
 
 The soft, insistent sound of his knuckles upon the 
 wood, so close to her, evidently became more than 
 her nerves could bear. Suddenly she flung open 
 the door. The dog sprang, leaping upon her; up, 
 and, falling back, up again with the tireless resur- 
 gence of a fountain. Carron stood still. "What do 
 you want?" she repeated, still in that smothered 
 voice, as if some muffling thing was invisibly across 
 
 206
 
 MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY 
 
 her mouth. She looked at him and she did not look at 
 him. 
 
 "Come down-stairs," he said. 
 
 She made a negative motion of the head. 
 
 "Come along," he insisted, "I have something to 
 say to you." 
 
 His voice, so calmly taking it for granted that she 
 would; his face, which revealed something of his. 
 crisis, seemed to make her obstinacy hesitate. "No. 
 I should have to see people." 
 
 "No ; you will see only me. We'll go outside." He 
 took her by the hand, drew her through the door and 
 closed it after her. But, alone with him in the hall, 
 she seemed to be taken with a keener, more incoher- 
 ent alarm. 
 
 "I can't go down ! I can't go out ! I'm afraid that 
 some one will see us !" He looked at her in amaze- 
 ment she, so sure of herself, to fall into a panic. 
 
 "No one will. We can go through my room and 
 down the outside stair." 
 
 "No! no!" 
 
 "Come, don't be foolish." 
 
 "But they can see us from the kitchen windows." 
 
 "Very well ! Is there any place in the house, then, 
 where they can't, where we can be undisturbed for a 
 few minutes?" 
 
 She looked about, hesitated, gave him a glance,, 
 207
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 half frightened and half reckless. "Yes, over here." 
 She started down the hall, toward the window, 
 through which the moonlight came. 
 
 He followed, perplexed. Here in the hall there was 
 not a chair to sit in, and all was m plain view from 
 one end to the other. She went on toward the little 
 pane of glass as if she fancied she could float 
 through it like a ghost; but fairly upon it she 
 stopped, took hold of a knob, and what had appeared 
 as a window opened into a door, like the door in his 
 room, with an upper transparent half. They passed 
 out of it into a balcony. It was like coming out upon 
 the edge of the world. 
 
 No steps led down from here, no roof was over 
 them. The place hung in air, a poor, neglected 
 loggia, before the eye of night. In front of them 
 were wooden pailings, imitating Italian balustrade. 
 At one end stood a rattan couch, bleached by f ront> 
 ing many winters. 
 
 "Sit down here," Carron said. 
 
 She took a place near one end, a conscious distance 
 from him, sitting at the other. The dog lay down, 
 pressed against her feet. Above their heads a thin 
 and gauzy fan of clouds was spread in the sky, and 
 the moon looked through it. The balcony faced from 
 the back of the house, and at this point the ground 
 fell away sharply, so that instead of looking into 
 
 208
 
 MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY 
 
 pines, they looked over them and saw a glimpse of 
 distance. There was a wonderful play of silver upon 
 these tree-tops, in hollow and hill of the moving, 
 leafy surface aisles of floating brightness, spark- 
 ling plains which were clearer for lying on the edge 
 of shadow, lovelier because nowhere was the liquid 
 brilliance of bare moonlight. All before them shone 
 as in an enchanted veil. 
 
 The mystery was upon the girl's face, too. 
 It was not beautiful now, yet this made no dif- 
 ference to him. He saw the traces of fatigue and 
 of watching, perhaps of tears. What if, as her 
 mother had said, she had watched and waited for 
 him ? He leaned forward, elbows on knees. The im- 
 portant thing he had had to say to her was just this 
 to be with her. To be with her for hours with 
 nothing to explain or ask. To be with her in per- 
 fection of unconsciousness, of confidence, as they 
 had been; not in this discord, so cruelly out of key 
 with the beautiful country, the veil of wonder over 
 it, and the wonder in his heart. If only he could 
 unknit those gathered brows, make bend the guarded 
 line of the lips, open the eyes upon him with the un- 
 defensive sweetness they had shown him under the 
 cedars, in the candle-light, even in the shadow of the 
 stable that morning when he had been so careless of 
 her that he had scarcely glanced at her ! The mem- 
 
 209
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 ory that went yet further back, of how she had pulled 
 herself from her mother's hand on the day of their 
 ride and come toward him, remained the sweetest, 
 most unhappy thought. Now she was like a door 
 locked against him; like a house, dark. All the 
 strength in her seemed gathered together to exclude 
 him. Each time he stirred he could feel her start, as 
 if, of all things, his touch was what she most 
 dreaded. 
 
 "You are making a bad mistake about us, aren't 
 you?" he said. "You seem to think that what hap- 
 pened down-stairs a little while ago was very ter- 
 rible." 
 
 She was silent. 
 
 "I thought it was beautiful." 
 
 "I don't want to talk about it," she said, under 
 her breath. 
 
 "Neither do I but I must. I can't stand the way 
 you look at me as if I were a beast ; and I'm not 
 to you!" He floundered, helpless to explain himself. 
 "I didn't mean to frighten you. I only meant " 
 
 "I don't in the least care what you meant," she in- 
 terrupted, with a hard, dry voice, she seemed to 
 gather from her chest. 
 
 "Yes, you do!" Carron said fiercely. She was 
 trying to build up a wall between them, and he 
 would have it down. "You don't tell me you were 
 
 2IO
 
 MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY 
 
 playing then, when we a woman like you 
 wouldn't !" 
 
 "I didn't know what I was doing." 
 
 "You did." He would not let her off so easily. 
 "We both knew a good deal better then than we do 
 now, when we are talking so much about it. I hadn't 
 seen you for two days how could I tell how I 
 was going to be? It came and now it's done. 
 And everything looks different. Can't you under- 
 stand? I have never felt like this before. I didn't 
 know there was such a feeling ! This isn't the usual' 
 thing, and you know it." 
 
 Her eyes, half lifted, took this in with a long, si- 
 lent regard, without expressing a spark of what she 
 hid, without visible change glide of iris, or flutter 
 of lashes gradually a new expression appeared in 
 them. "You weren't like this then !" she said. 
 
 "Down-stairs? I was." 
 
 She shook her head. "You were strange! All 
 last night, all to-day, I had been afraid that some- 
 thing had happened to you." She jerked out the 
 words in rapid, breathless sentences. "Because, last 
 night, we were to go out to the Witch's Spindle; 
 and I knew something must have happened, or you 
 wouldn't have stayed away. Then, when I saw you 
 and your head hurt I knew, of course! And I 
 would have come to you, but you frightened me, you 
 
 211
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 looked so angry. I couldn't understand it ; and when 
 you came into the sewing-room, as though you 
 thought I did not hear you, and sat there looking at 
 me so hard, I didn't know I couldn't think what I 
 had done, but it seemed to me I had done you some 
 injury, some cruel injury! And when you " 
 
 "Never mind that," Carron said. For a mo- 
 ment, instead of the girl's face before him, he saw 
 the head of the Sphinx. It rose to his mind like a 
 sign of his failure and his delay. It spoke to him of 
 necessities of times and ways and haste. He let it 
 sink back, beneath memory. 
 
 "Is your head badly hurt?" she asked in a half 
 voice, and he felt five soft, round finger-tips explor- 
 ing in his hair. 
 
 He took the hand and drew it down. "Look here 
 I have never been angry with you. How could I 
 be? I wouldn't do anything to hurt you or distress 
 you for the world. You know that, don't you ?" 
 
 This time her head nodded. 
 
 He tipped his back to look up into her face, a little 
 humorously. "Then am I forgiven ?" 
 
 "There is nothing to forgive." 
 
 "Ah, you're right about that," he said quickly. 
 "Didn't you know that in the first place?" She be- 
 came dumb. "Did you think I was an easy sort, was 
 that way with most women ?" 
 
 212
 
 MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY 
 
 "No, no, I didn't ! I don't know what I thought ! 
 I can't tell you." 
 
 "I will tell you anything you want to know," Car- 
 ron said. "I'll tell you what I'm thinking now." 
 But indeed he was not thinking. He was no more 
 thinking than a swimmer is walking, when, just over 
 his depth in water, he feels his chin buoyed up and 
 his toes scarcely touching the sand. In all his logical, 
 hard-worked life he had never felt any sensation so 
 heavenly as this one of being set afloat in the warm 
 tide of emotion. His hands glided around hers. He 
 would have set his cheek against the broad, white 
 arch of her forehead. 
 
 "Oh, no, no, no," she kept murmuring, a shower 
 of protesting little words, and straining away. "I 
 can't, to-night!" The last word came out with such 
 force that it had to be answered. 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 "I don't know. I can't think !" 
 
 He was ready to laugh at such an excuse ; but the 
 next moment he was made to listen. 
 
 "I will not !" with a sudden passion of resolution. 
 
 "Oh !" He clasped his hands together behind him, 
 held them tight, and looked straight before him into 
 an extraordinarily blank future. He knew she was 
 watching him. "To-morrow " she dropped the 
 little word tentatively, timidly. 
 
 213
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 The sound of it was a whip to him. "To-morrow 
 I won't be here !" He saw how that struck her. The 
 thought that what became of him could hurt her, 
 gave him pleasure. "I am going away indefinitely," 
 he said. Still she kept looking at him with the same 
 blank face as if she hardly understood. She didn't 
 speak. He could see no change of expression, but 
 he realized a chill in her mood, cold, where a moment 
 before she had been hot. 
 
 "You don't suppose I'm going because I want to ?" 
 he asked indignantly. 
 
 "I hope you are not going for any other reason." 
 
 The tone was like snow, blank and pallid ; but the 
 film in her bright eyes might be suffering. His res- 
 olution to keep Mrs. Rader's plea to him a secret, 
 melted at the sight. "I am going because I've been 
 asked to," he said, and could not resist a grimace. 
 
 She gave him a stare, haughty and astonished. A 
 flag of color flew in her cheeks. "What do you 
 mean?" 
 
 "Your mother," Carron said. It was wonderful 
 to see how the color failed, and returned again. 
 
 "Did she?" 
 
 "No, she didn't see anything at least anything 
 that matters. But, as perhaps you know, she came 
 in just as you rushed out ; and, well, she saw there 
 had been some little disturbance. She's never had 
 
 214
 
 MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY 
 
 any great fancy for me, thinks I'm a poor sort of 
 person to have around, and I believe she found it a 
 good opportunity to make her suggestion." 
 
 "What excuse did she give?" 
 
 Carron felt the matter was assuming an alarming 
 aspect. "Well, house-cleaning, you know. Men are 
 rather in the way." 
 
 "After you'd helped her!" 
 
 "You mustn't fly off and say anything about this," 
 he protested, "and make it worse." 
 
 "But how could she ? What right has she to inter- 
 fere with us? I'm of age!" 
 
 "Very true, and all that, but don't you see I can't 
 argue the point with her? When a woman asks you 
 to get out, you can't ask for reasons." 
 
 "But I can," Blanche rose. The bold spirit, which 
 a few moments ago had seemed to be shaken out of 
 her, was in full possession. She looked ready to 
 storm a city. 
 
 This time Carron took her hand too firmly for any 
 denial. "You will not do anything of the sort. I've 
 promised and there's no getting out of it. Go to 
 her about it, and you'll only make her think me a 
 cad, who has gone to you to get you to beg him off." 
 
 "I won't make a scene. It will be all right." 
 
 "But I've said everything any human being could, 
 in decency. Do you suppose I haven't?" 
 
 215
 
 SON OK THE WIND 
 
 She smiled ; her hand was on the door. "Yes, but 
 I haven't. Come hurry!" 
 
 "Don't go in !" he begged. "Let's stay out here !" 
 
 "No, no!" She gave a quick look around at the 
 little balcony. "Come !" She opened the door hur- 
 riedly and fairly pulled him through. He saw she 
 was panting as if in a new fright. 
 
 "Were you afraid they would find us?" he asked 
 curiously. 
 
 "No," she scorned him. "Why should I mind 
 that?" 
 
 "You strange girl, you did. Just a little while ago, 
 I had to coax you to get you to come out with me 
 at all." 
 
 "O, that was different," she said. They were 
 walking together down the moon-misted hall. 
 
 "Different?" 
 
 "Yes. I was afraid of them, I was afraid of every- 
 thing, because " 
 
 "Out with it!" 
 
 The fire of mischief, and of something larger 
 looked through her eyes. "I didn't know then what 
 you thought of me." She ran ahead of him down 
 the stair. 
 
 He did not feel certain what trouble she was about 
 to plunge him into, with her headlong determination 
 
 216
 
 MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY 
 
 to bend her mother's resolute mind. He could think 
 of no argument subtle, and appealing to Mrs. Ra- 
 der's hospitality or vanity which he had not em- 
 ployed himself, and quite in vain. But Blanche 
 seemed to entertain no doubts of herself, though she 
 entered the dining-room late, just after the laggard 
 scholar was seated; could not, therefore, have al- 
 ready interviewed her mother, who had been at 
 table when Carron first came in. No word had passed 
 between these two, while they waited for the others. 
 They had gone beyond the banalities, and what they 
 had had to say of importance to one another was 
 finished. Their silence was austere. The girl re- 
 flected nothing of this, but kept her excited eyes 
 veiled, and combated the tendency to an upward 
 curl of the corners of her mouth. Except for such 
 Puck-like manifestations she was demure, almost si- 
 lent, and seemed interested in her dinner. Rader was 
 the one of that curiously mooded quartet who 
 seemed in a fund of talk. 
 
 "So you're back !" he said as if this was the great- 
 est personal satisfaction to him, and reaching lean, 
 long fingers to Carron, shook hands on the event. 
 Mrs. Rader's eyes were caught by the sight of this, 
 fascinated. Blanche looked down. 
 
 "I suppose these women have fussed over you to 
 their hearts' content," the scholar continued. "They 
 
 217
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 are very free with the plaster even if you've cut 
 nothing but your finger." 
 
 "You didn't tell me you were hurt," Mrs. Rader 
 faltered. 
 
 "I'm not nothing but a bit of broken skin." He 
 was immensely annoyed the matter should have come 
 up at all. "I'd forgotten all about it." 
 
 "Don't you want some arnica?" She seemed on 
 the point, then and there, of doing her conscience- 
 smitten best. 
 
 "A bottle of Burgundy will do more good," Rader 
 determined. "I brought some up to celebrate." He 
 looked a little puzzled by Carron's cynical regard. 
 "It's really very good, '84," he murmured. He hes- 
 itated, sent an inquiring glance at his daughter, just 
 darted and withdrawn. She paid no attention to it ; 
 didn't seem to see it. "And by the way," he said, 
 still more pointedly to Carron, "if you have any time 
 to-morrow afternoon, won't you come in and see my 
 Spectators? First edition, they are as worth while 
 looking at as anything you can see." 
 
 This was awkward. "I should be delighted, but 
 I'm afraid I shall be away." 
 
 "O, take a day off between whiles. You're played 
 out. A couple of days ago, the day before you went, 
 you promised me you would." 
 
 Carron couldn't recall this, but didn't want to 
 218
 
 MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY 
 
 deny. He felt himself cornered. To blurt out facts 
 here in the face of every one might be the ruin of 
 Blanche's schemes. But to the devil with a woman's 
 schemes ! He was sick of them ! They never ac- 
 complished anything ! The fact would be out in the 
 morning anyway. "I mean I expect to leave to- 
 morrow, permanently," he said. "I was only to be 
 here for a week, you know." 
 
 Rader exclaimed in astonishment. "But it's not a 
 week; you haven't been here five days! What are 
 you thinking of? Hermione, do you hear that?" 
 
 She looked certainly taken aback, much dismayed. 
 She murmured, "Perhaps Mr. Carron would be more 
 comfortable in a house that wasn't so upset." 
 
 "He'd be a great deal less comfortable in any of 
 the other places around here. That's no reason at 
 all," Rader declared emphatically. "Why not stay 
 at least till the end of the week?" 
 
 For the first time since the subject had been 
 opened Blanche looked up. "Why shouldn't Mr. 
 Carron stay until the end of his vacation?" she re- 
 marked casually. "It is only two weeks." 
 
 The poor woman looked at her daughter with a 
 defeated eye. She seemed to be conscious of the 
 spirit in the house, the trampling spirit of youth that 
 was conspiring against her, beating her determina- 
 tion down. 
 
 219
 
 SON OE THE [WIND 
 
 "First rate !" Rader acclaimed. "And perhaps if 
 these women are through making you move sofas 
 about, you wouldn't mind looking at my windows 
 and tell me why they stick so. I can't open them." 
 
 Mrs. Rader made a horrified, protesting sound, 
 while her daughter shook with laughter. 
 
 "I could regulate the weights of those before I go 
 in the morning," Carron suggested. He felt that so 
 much was only decent. 
 
 "Why we won't have such talk," Rader declared. 
 "Hermione, make him stay." 
 
 Mrs. Rader flushed. The color was bright in her 
 sensitive face, as she opened her mouth to pronounce 
 the required words. Carron was sorry for her so 
 sorry that it seemed almost easier to refuse the re- 
 quest which went no deeper than the lips. But it 
 would have taken a prig or a saint to perform that 
 part. No man could have done it, with the girl upon 
 the other side of the table, her mouth of such a 
 haughty unconcern, her eyes sending such shining, 
 triumphant, inexplicable glances. It seemed to him 
 they had both been, for the moment, favorites of 
 fate. 
 
 The scholar, with the Burgundy, kept him sitting 
 after Mrs. Rader had gone into the kitchen. Her 
 daughter rose to follow her out. Carron tried to 
 catch her eye. She ignored him and he heard the 
 
 220
 
 MRS. RADER HAS A WORD TO SAY 
 
 rustle of her passing at his back. Then it paused. 
 That incarnation of Puck was behind his chair. 
 
 "Didn't father speak his part beautifully? Didn't 
 I do that nicely ?" she whispered. Then went off on 
 tiptoe, unattainable for the rest of the evening. 
 
 221
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 WISDOM SET AT NAUGHT 
 
 L)VE, who engages herself to be the impossible, 
 and performs all manner of valors to prove 
 herself, makes her appointments at unwonted sea- 
 sons. She got these two up at a gray hour, when 
 looking at the sky is like looking up into a pearl. 
 With nothing so gross as words for understanding 
 they foresaw each other's impulse. They were led 
 out and found each other. Voices of birds were 
 faintly awakened among the trees. Large shapes of 
 forests and mountains had not yet fallen asleep in the 
 sun. The world around them had the still face of 
 awe. They saw it as a background for each other's 
 face, smiling and full of color, full of the rapture of 
 living. The moon had woven no illusions. They 
 were not to be disappointed. They suffered no 
 diminution of spirits in the high, even light and wide 
 spaces. They saw each other real. They called to 
 each other from a distance, and ran together with a 
 thousand questions. 
 
 They walked down the sloping floor of the woods 
 222
 
 WISDOM SET AT NAUGHT. 
 
 while the light greatened and the shadows grew darlc 
 beneath their feet; together, near, yet not near 
 enough for touching, released from everything but 
 each other, bound to each other and not knowing 
 it. Their voices flowed together. 
 
 "And what did you think when you first saw me ?" 
 
 "I thought you had a great opinion of yourself 
 and had come up here for some important reason 
 perhaps to buy the place." 
 
 "And I thought you were two people, a child and 
 a woman. I think so still, only you are many more 
 persons yet. You were so funny, such a cool hand, 
 and so sophisticated." 
 
 "O, me ! I didn't feel so. I was quite in awe of 
 you, even before I saw you, to hear mother talk." 
 
 "She didn't want me to stay?" 
 
 "Yes, she did, rather, really ; but she felt as T did, 
 you see, that wherever you were something was 
 bound to happen." 
 
 "And now it has?" 
 
 She smiled, was silent. 
 
 "She didn't want it to?" 
 
 "She doesn't know you." 
 
 Carron had a thought that up to this time he had 
 not known himself. 
 
 "She thinks, you know," Blanche explained, "that 
 you and I are still only strangers." 
 
 223
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "Then she doesn't know," Carron said, quite 
 gravely. They disposed thus of caution and experi- 
 ence. 
 
 "But I don't think she'll mind so much now, when 
 she gets used to the idea," Blanche told him. "What 
 did she say to you afterward ?" 
 
 "Nothing. You wicked girl ! to make her, when 
 she hates me !" 
 
 "She doesn't hate you, she only has a silly idea 
 about you; that you are a terrible, dangerous per- 
 son." 
 
 "O, ho, and didn't you have some such idea your- 
 self?" 
 
 "No." They could laugh together about it now, 
 so much had grown between them, through the 
 night, while they had not seen each other. "That 
 was quite different." 
 
 "Then what made you run away ?" 
 
 "O, that was because " 
 
 "Yes because ?" 
 
 She drooped, looking down. "It wasn't you, it 
 was myself I thought was terrible. I felt as if I 
 had given myself away, just made a gift of myself, 
 to some one who didn't want me." 
 
 "Yes! Think of my taking you in that way! 
 Think of my taking you tolerantly, forbearingly ! 
 Why I " He would have shown her again how he 
 
 224
 
 WISDOM SET AT NAUGHT 
 
 would take her, but it was "hands off" with her yet. 
 She would permit not so much as a finger-tip. This 
 arbitrary distance she imposed between them kept an 
 uneasy fog of distrusts in his heart. A thought 
 came, like a black shadow. "How about Ferrier?'* 
 he said. 
 
 She opened large eyes, as if to take in a presence 
 so small to her mind that she could hardly see it. 
 "Well, what of him?" 
 
 "Has he anything to say about this ?" 
 
 Humor was mixed with the disdain that lifted the 
 corners of her mouth. "I should like to hear him ! 
 Why?" The resentment of outside interference, a 
 tendency overquick in her, looked out at him. "Has 
 mother said anything to you about him ?" 
 
 "Not a word," he declared hastily. "I only 
 thought from the way he behaved the night we 
 played whist " 
 
 "How did he behave? I didn't notice him." 
 
 Carron had a very clear memory of exactly the 
 way Ferrier had looked, backing down the road in 
 the half moon's light, sending back his warning. 
 "Like a man who has a claim." 
 
 "Well, he has not !" she said indignantly, but still 
 with an impulse to smile, as if she could scarcely take 
 the matter seriously. "Poor Bert! I'm afraid 
 mother is a little responsible for the way he feels; 
 
 225
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 she likes him. He's so harmless." She smiled under- 
 standingly upon Carron. "He's a good boy to her, 
 fetches and carries, when he isn't sitting around 
 some store, reading the socialistic weeklies. And 
 then, he's good-looking." 
 
 "Good-looking !" Was that her translation of the 
 appearance of the knock-kneed male! Carron ex- 
 claimed in his mind over the ideas of women. "And 
 you don't like him?" 
 
 "Well, of course, I can't admire Bert. He's weak. 
 There are things about him that are deplorable. He 
 won't lift his finger to help his brother, would not 
 even acknowledge him if I didn't make him." 
 
 "His brother?" 
 
 "Yes, you know, George." 
 
 "Good Lord!" 
 
 "I forgot you feel that way too. But still, if he 
 was your brother, you know you would look out for 
 him. It seems cruel. It is because Bert is ashamed 
 of it, and so terribly afraid of what people will think. 
 As if that mattered! But, in a way, I'm fond of 
 Bert. I've known him so long and so well ; and he is 
 very loyal." 
 
 Carron looked at her with compunction, with si- 
 lent pity. She had known the fellow so long, eight 
 years ! And this was her idea of him. Did she sup- 
 pose that weakness and loyalty ever went together? 
 
 226
 
 WISDOM SET AT NAUGHT 
 
 "He will do anything for me," she said. 
 
 Carron could believe her there. What the fellow 
 would do for her which was to say for the sake of 
 possessing her had been made evident. He had 
 been ready even to chance the risk of losing her for 
 that. What he would do disinterestedly for her, was 
 nothing. It had taken the horse-breaker just four 
 days to add up Ferrier's mental sum; and the im- 
 pulse was on his tongue to speak it. Speak not only 
 that, but his own as well. The story of his coming 
 and the reason of it. Why not show her, as Ra- 
 der had urged, his side of the business risk his 
 plea ? But she was not his as yet, was she ? He was 
 not certain. She seemed to be hovering on the edge 
 of giving herself up; suppose this question of his be 
 all that was needed to startle her away ? 
 
 "He hasn't and never has had a ghost of a reason 
 to expect anything of me," she said decidedly after 
 a minute when she had seemed to be weighing a 
 question in her mind. "Then, a few weeks ago, we 
 had a misunderstanding about something, something 
 he did that was not like a gentleman. We haven't 
 been very good friends since." 
 
 Carron clapped that information to the hint that 
 the scholar had let fall, which was, that Ferrier 
 had come by his knowledge of the horse in some way 
 not quite open. Blanche had put it, not like a 
 
 227
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 gentleman. Well, that description fitted the fellow 
 like a cap. Evidently that finished his question. He 
 threw the matter of Ferrier to the winds. "Then, if 
 he is nothing to you, why won't you " His arms 
 tried to clasp her, and closed on empty air. 
 
 She laughed at him. "What a funny thing you 
 are, always looking for a reason, or a fact !" 
 
 It dawned on him that she had no reason in the 
 world to keep away from him, except that myste- 
 rious, buried reason of women, that she wanted to. 
 She seemed to find this interval while they were 
 near, yet not so near as even to clasp hands, the most 
 to be cherished ; like the hour in which they walked, 
 beautiful only because the sun is coming, yet most 
 beautiful before it rises. 
 
 He could not understand her here. What he 
 wanted, he wanted to have in fact, not to dream of 
 how he might have it; he lacked the poison of the 
 idealist, who suspects the thing he can touch. He 
 loved the more for possessing. Her holding him off 
 appeared to him a sentimental scruple ; but the awe 
 love brings to its object made him almost patient 
 with her whim. Love the word had not been used 
 between them ; it might not yet have been formed in 
 her mind; and he was as shy of the spoken sound 
 as a half -grown boy is of a kiss. But he was living 
 in it too far gone in it to question his own feelings, 
 
 228
 
 WISDOM SET AT NAUGHT 
 
 or too much afraid of the depths he might discover. 
 He followed her wayward course, thinking no 
 woman had ever set her feet so lightly in the grass, 
 or turned her head to look back with such a supple 
 motion. Tamer of horses, orderer of men, captious 
 dictator, he was caught in the crook of a little finger, 
 the curl of an eyelash, the wave of a lock of hair. 
 He saw her passing on soundless feet, from shadow 
 to shadow, through light and light. She went like a 
 wild thing, with movements so poised and beauti- 
 fully balanced, they gave no sense of bodily weight. 
 To capture her on the edge of day, at the moment 
 when the fiery path would stretch out to them ! 
 
 It was not to happen then ; nor at mid-day, ghostly 
 with accumulated mist of heat, when all the business 
 of the house separated them, and the steady, undi- 
 verted eye of Mrs. Rader glanced between them. 
 Not until the afternoon was tiring, with the languors 
 of the whole hot day in its lap, did he lure her out 
 again and down to the old spring well where she 
 had led him first. Here her parole came to an end, 
 and they were no longer laughing as at sunrise, but 
 afraid of themselves and desperately in earnest. 
 
 "I thought we were to be friends only friends, 
 aren't we ?" her cry sounded. 
 
 "Yes, friends if you like, but not only friends. 
 We'd be enemies." 
 
 229
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "O, but I don't want" 
 
 The tide of her fears flowed to and fro, swung in, 
 flung back again. The strength of the feeling made 
 for fluctuation. Soul and body, which had kept 
 such separate lives, each in its own fountain head, 
 must toss together and struggle with each other 
 before they could flow out in the one channel. Not 
 at once would the current sweep smooth, even when, 
 clasped and kissed, acknowledged lovers, though by 
 no spoken word, they stood together, he looking 
 down on her dark head. 
 
 Five days and she was here in the middle of his 
 life. She was in every direction in which he looked. 
 The future he could not look into ; the present filled 
 all his horizon. The past was a dark alley. The 
 harmless, natural life of the man who had lived 
 there looked black. "What a brute I am!" he 
 thought fearfully. "What does she see in me ?" 
 
 She lifted her head, flung it back against his 
 shoulder, and fixed her eyes on him a moment before 
 she spoke. "Tell me something?" she asked. 
 
 "Anything." 
 
 "What was it you wanted to ask me in the sewing- 
 room, just as you came toward me?" 
 
 This startled him. "What made you think I 
 wanted to ask anything?" 
 
 "Because you said, 'Tell me' !" 
 230
 
 WISDOM SET AT NAUGHT 
 
 He had been unaware that he had spoken any 
 of his thought, and he faced this idea with dismay. 
 He had the opportunity he had wanted, yet now 
 he looked upon it with disenchantment. He pushed 
 it away. He did not want it now the trouble of it, 
 while her eyes were on his, and his hand beneath her 
 knocking heart. 
 
 "I think I had the inspired presumption to begin 
 to ask you if .you loved me." He said it, and in that 
 moment it had become true to him. It seemed to 
 him as if that had been the only thing he had ever 
 wanted. He lost his sense of perspective left the 
 past behind. 
 
 Straight into the house they went from their tryst, 
 and Carron was to recall for a long while the 
 scene without a word which followed. Mrs. Rader 
 was sitting in the dining-room in the half light, her 
 body relaxed in one of the stiff uncompromising 
 chairs, her hands lying palms up, half open, 
 apart, the weariness of the work of all day in her 
 lap. Her head drooped a little aside ; her eyes gazed 
 at destiny, resigned, immune to disappointment. To 
 her her daughter went, coming behind her chair, 
 put arms around her neck, laid a cheek against her 
 mother's, and pressed it there in a dumb little caress. 
 The poor woman, startled, half loosened the girl's 
 
 231
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 arms, and looked up. It seemed she understood. The 
 overplus of love had touched her cheek. She looked 
 searchingly, imploringly into her daughter's eyes; 
 but evidently this was all there was to be told. Youth 
 knew no more, perhaps, of its own tumultuous heart ; 
 knew, perhaps, but selfishly hugged the secret; 
 hugged it, perhaps, not selfishly but with a deeper 
 understanding than experience has of the one brief 
 season in a whole life when man and woman are 
 loosed from all expediency and advisability from 
 reason altogether and snatch their moment alone 
 in their small field of flowers among the bristling 
 thorns of the world. Youth, overriding, sure of 
 himself, and proud, disdained to ask itself what it 
 meant. The future to the two was as negligible as 
 the past, or as the other souls living near them. 
 They wanted to dream ; to read each other's faces as 
 open books, thousands of words on the pages, the 
 same words a thousand times over; to float undis- 
 turbed on their tide of feeling; to gaze unaroused at 
 their miracle; to ask, "How did we come together?" 
 not, "Where are we going?" 
 
 232
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 ET BEAM VIDIMUS 
 
 TO spring full-grown into the water to learn to 
 swim, to mount full-grown into saddle to learn 
 to ride, to leap for the first time into love, with the 
 fixed convictions of experience and the brain of a 
 skeptic that is an experience which gives a man 
 some moments of terror, lest he drown himself or be 
 trampled before his heart begins to beat with the un- 
 imaginable joy. Carron, in the days of his moth- 
 er's authority, had known none of the adolescent 
 fancies. Without sentiment, late in developing, he 
 had had small experience of women until his youth 
 flung him into the plains. There he had known them 
 a few* owners of small properties, of hotels; of 
 larger properties, of mines; or girls from he knew 
 not where whom he had danced with in the heated 
 balls. Their eyes had been keen and a little hard 
 from continual defensive looking on the world. 
 Their shrewd brains continually were pitted against 
 man's in his arena ; or did he venture toward theirs, 
 it was a battle, and the thing was to get the best 
 of him. Materialist, romanticist that he was, ex- 
 
 233
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 pecting of woman all things he was not, Carron 
 had found these as unsympathetic as certain 
 New England exotics he remembered returning 
 from Paris to Connecticut with their lovely eyes 
 filled with the wonder of Parisian shops, the lan- 
 guage of the city soft on their tongues, their hearts 
 lodging houses for the latest foreign fancy. 
 
 It was this woman of the cultivated soul who had 
 taken him. She knew how to make herself his ally, 
 pet him out of his shynesses, laugh him out of his 
 vanities, sit at his feet, draw out of the recesses of his 
 mood shrewd music that he himself had not sus- 
 pected. Five days they had had ; and Love, who is 
 fond of putting five days into five minutes, had 
 showed them, if not herself from head to foot, at 
 least the full splendor of her face. That instantane- 
 ous knowledge was of the heart. It had come first, 
 which commonly is the final revelation. The hun- 
 dred lesser knowledges of the mind remained to be 
 discovered; and the charm of the days which fol- 
 lowed was partly this becoming acquainted with 
 each other backward. 
 
 The season of arranging the hotel was done, fur- 
 niture shrouded and doors closed. The greater house 
 assumed an intense repose; and Blanche, released 
 from its tyrannies, became a creature of the out-of- 
 doors. The later summer stood at the full above 
 
 234
 
 ET DEAM VIDIMUS 
 
 their heads. By night came the wider spreading 
 gauzy fan of cloud, reaching from horizon to hori- 
 zon; but the morning dispersed it, and at noon the 
 sky showed a broad sheet of blue. The white grass 
 was beginning to turn to gray, the trees black and 
 laden with dust, the faint pools in the creek bed were 
 shrunken dry, and every twig snapped under the 
 foot like a spark. They saw, from the shelter of 
 wooded hilltops, the hawk drop slowly, cutting the 
 air, and come to his perch on the dying pine, and 
 stand, his wings held out from his body for heat, his 
 sharp tongue like a splinter in his mouth. They 
 walked in the thick scent of endless pines and 
 smelled, mixed with the resin, the sharper pungence 
 of far-off forest fires. She led him by little unex- 
 pected paths to look on new corners of the world. 
 They sat on heights and saw the ragged horizon of 
 trees beyond, and beneath, the shelf of rock where 
 perhaps a snake stirred, glistening. 
 
 She told him everything, from the shyest places of 
 her thoughts, even the long kept fancies of the 
 child divine foolishnesses, unbelievable unworldli- 
 nesses. She pointed out to him again, at sunset, the 
 little, playing, wild animals, rabbits and whisking 
 chipmunks. She seemed to think, perhaps, they had 
 souls. She brought back to his memory a certain 
 morning beneath cedars ; but this place they did not 
 
 2 35
 
 SON OE THE WIND 
 
 revisit. He recalled it, as he recalled the Sphinx's 
 window, something belonging in past time; and 
 he had no wish to lead her back to the discussion 
 that had been theirs. No doubt she was in his hand 
 now, an instrument easy to use ; but she had ceased 
 altogether to appear to him as an instrument. If 
 he drew her on to talk now, his purpose was 
 to watch the play of expression around her mouth, 
 and the change in her eyes from alertness into 
 dreams. His nature continued to fulfil itself. He 
 continued to bend every faculty of mind and will 
 to the pursuit of one thing, making everything else 
 tributary to it. The only difference was that imper- 
 ceptibly, in ways so gradual he was unaware of 
 them, his object had changed. She had become the 
 object. 
 
 Sometimes they raced the early moon early, be- 
 fore the red had disappeared from the west and 
 stood beneath the Witch's Spindle silent, saw the 
 bent form, like a human being, and felt themselves 
 beneath the arms of fate. But never the later moon. 
 She would not be out in the dark hours. Reminded 
 of the floodtide of night ; she found the excuse of the 
 increasing veil of cloud; when that was gone then 
 they might, perhaps. But each night it gathered a lit- 
 tle deeper, and a chill came with it that whispered of 
 winter, something to be thought of with a shiver in 
 
 236
 
 ET DEAM VIDIMUS 
 
 the small hours, and forgotten in the bright eye of 
 day. 
 
 Sometimes they sat within the fringe of trees 
 near where the carpet had laid, near enough to see 
 the house and it was a wonder if eyes from there 
 did not see them and laughed and talked nonsense ; 
 shamefully flattered each other, made fun of each 
 other. He had been treated as a child and as a ruler 
 at different times in his life, and he was treated as 
 both at once now, bu> with a difference a privi- 
 leged child, humored, and when refused, refused 
 with coaxing and a smile; an adored despot 
 deferred to, looked upon with eyes like a dove's 
 for gentleness. Her gentleness was his continual 
 amusement, and her incuriousness. She asked him 
 at all seasons what he thought of her, sometimes 
 what he thought of himself, sometimes of this or 
 that person. But never of what he had done, of 
 what life had been to him before he met her, or of 
 any person who might have been in it, never troub- 
 led him with those questions of the past and the 
 future with which human beings are wont to disturb 
 the present. She had love, she held it and increased 
 it. Sometimes, whether alone or with the other peo- 
 ple around them, their eyes met, and he felt the knife 
 of extreme happiness which is close to suffering. He 
 thought it was because she was beautiful; not beau- 
 
 237
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 tiful because of beauty, but because she was herself. 
 Beauty now all depended on being Blanche. If it 
 were she, then it was safe. 
 
 He learned a deal of her while they were among 
 the other people and this was often enough. He 
 saw she was more ignorant of books than he; for 
 sometimes, when they came in in the late afternoon, 
 they took the way of the scholar's study, and enter- 
 ing flushed from the air, no doubt to him a living 
 bucolic, they took at least half of his mind off of 
 his volumes by pulling them about and skimming 
 over them. She had never heard of Atalanta in Caly- 
 don before, but she thought Meleager was like Car- 
 ron. She listened to the story of the Golden Fleece 
 and found Carron in it. She pointed him out to 
 himself in the pictures of the beautiful bas-reliefs 
 of the Parthenon one of the mounted figures and 
 embarrassed him by calling attention to its perfec- 
 tions. The two men spent some quiet twilights with 
 her, her head closer to her father's than to Carron's, 
 but close to both. 
 
 Once, across her hair, as she bent above Carlyle's 
 thunders, the scholar sent a glance inquiring 
 and anxious. Carron had almost nodded to re- 
 assure him, "Yes, I love her," when he remembered 
 it was not of this Rader wanted to ask. The re- 
 peated appearance of the man and the woman to- 
 
 238
 
 ET BEAM VIDIMUS 
 
 gather, their harmonies and elations, the scholar 
 might have perceived, as the ear takes in the rhythm 
 of words, pleased, without reflection or deduction. 
 It was of the other thing he questioned, which had 
 brought the two men together, and which, strangely 
 enough, still seemed a living issue in Rader's mind. 
 The younger man looked it down. He would not 
 acknowledge that such a thing existed, or ever had 
 existed. He had even forgotten the promise he had 
 made. He thought the scholar looked both relieved 
 and disappointed. No doubt his imagination had 
 been strongly touched; he had thought to see some 
 incident, like an old, heroic tale, played out before 
 his eyes. 
 
 But there, also, was his loyalty to the girl. She 
 seemed to stand for a great deal to him, perhaps 
 for an embodiment of that theoretic beauty he had 
 named once as being the most real thing in all the 
 world; perhaps for the embodiment of a simpler, 
 more human thing, his own youth. There was a 
 likeness between them. Even the outward resem- 
 blance was traceable, the same quick, inquiring turn 
 of the head, and the same dreamy eye, though it 
 dreamed upon a different ideal, the scholar's was 
 upon the abstract; the girl's upon the concrete a 
 terrible thing to desire and to expect to find. She 
 watched her father's face more than she did the 
 
 239
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 beautiful pages of his "Spectators." She spoke of 
 him to Carron, one afternoon, as they walked on 
 Into the house, through the long passage. 
 
 "He gets lost in them," she said, meaning the 
 books, "just as we do in the hills. He forgets every- 
 thing, even to go to bed. He has had beautiful books 
 from the time when he could buy such things, and 
 mother would never let him part with one of them." 
 
 "Why, did he want to?" 
 
 "O, of course not. I meant when we were so 
 terribly poor; and he could have sold even a few 
 for a good deal of money, mother would never even 
 ask him. She did everything, rather than that. She 
 used to patch our shoes herself. She loves him 
 terribly. She would do anything for him." 
 
 "And he?" Carron prompted. 
 
 Blanche shrugged, and shook her head. "He is 
 fond of us, of course, but, well we are not books, 
 that is our shortcoming. They're more to him than 
 any person is. It is hard to understand." She 
 gathered her forehead. "Mother doesn't, but she 
 accepts it." 
 
 Such facts fell quaintly from her mouth, bare 
 facts, observed of people. She showed the same 
 direct comprehension in regard to certain other per- 
 sons whom he became indirectly acquainted with, 
 her many correspondents. These were people who 
 
 240 
 
 '
 
 ET BEAM VIDIMUS 
 
 had stayed at the hotel for a space, and been caught 
 in the woven net of sweetness and careless disdain. 
 The letters, which were brought up now by the boy 
 George by the elder Ferrier never included usu- 
 ally one or two for her letters, most of which bore 
 the postmarks of cities in the state; but sometimes 
 one showed an Italian stamp or a Cuban, or that its 
 journey was from the far north. She would smile 
 faintly over the open page ; then look up with a laugh 
 to read him a line, or give him a sketch of the writer. 
 This lady was living at Nice. She was trying to 
 decide whether it would be safe to divorce her hus- 
 band, because there was a chance that, after all, her 
 friend might not marry her. 
 
 This man was a retired seaman, who had made his 
 money in smuggling opium. His letter began : "Miss 
 Rader: Miss," which delighted her, and was a pros- 
 pectus of the writer's perfections and virtues with a 
 guarded query as to the possibility of marriage. At 
 the idea of becoming a smuggleress as she put it 
 Blanche fell into such laughter that she found it diffi- 
 cult to make Carron understand that the writer of a 
 certain third letter was a quite eminent geologist, 
 who wanted very much another specimen of a stone. 
 He felt sure she must remember it. It was in the 
 middle of a rocky ledge, down a declivity, just over 
 the hill from the hotel. She could, he said, procure it 
 
 241
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 easily by being lowered a little distance ten feet. 
 There would not be much danger. 
 
 "Father wouldn't see anything wrong with that 
 point of view," she declared. For herself, she 
 seemed to find it exceedingly amusing. She seemed 
 to like these people, even the lady at Nice of whom 
 Carron had serious doubts, but she did not look upon 
 them as friends. There was a line drawn there. It 
 was the rare thing about her that she could live in 
 the mixed crowd of humanity, like it, have so few 
 illusions about it, and in the midst of it keep herself 
 so far off, and cherish so intensely ideals and illu- 
 .sions all her own. He noted sensitiveness, almost 
 morbid, with which she assumed her own nature to 
 everything that grew and lived, without sound, or 
 without a human voice. Deeply and ineradicably 
 secretive she was, and afraid lest any unsympathetic 
 touch or thought come near what she loved ! She had 
 turned cold eyes on Ferrier. Her tolerant friend- 
 ship had disappeared, and she drove him away from 
 her presence with icy words and looks. Carron, to 
 whom this man had never been more than a vague 
 figure on the horizon, worth nothing but a little pity, 
 ventured to inquire. 
 
 She shrugged, shook her head, and waived the 
 question. 
 
 242
 
 ET BEAM VIDIMUS 
 
 He sounded her. "You don't dislike George." 
 
 "George is different." She was very clear on this 
 point. "He hasn't a brain, you see. He feels you 
 don't like him, and like an animal, he's afraid of 
 you. But Bert doesn't like you, because he wants 
 something." She flushed a little with anger, and 
 Carron dropped this delicate question for another. 
 But upon the question that involved her mother, 
 Blanche was not cold. Hostility mixed with affec- 
 tion is hot. "She doesn't trust you," the girl 
 declared with darkening eyes. "I don't expect any- 
 thing of Bert, but she ought to feel as I do about 
 you yet she doesn't. She says things about you. 
 It makes me feel hot, as if she had struck me, and 
 for the moment I hate her." 
 
 But her temper could run further than that, he 
 was to find out, when he tried to urge her one even- 
 ing into the little balcony where their first tryst had 
 been kept. She resisted, refused, pressed for a rea- 
 son, shivered. "It is rotten, condemned. It may 
 tear away from the house at any minute, even with 
 nothing on it." 
 
 He was struck with admiration and horror of this 
 frantic child. 
 
 "I thought you didn't like me and I knew I liked 
 you too much! and, just then, I didn't care what 
 
 243
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 became of us!" she explained. "You don't know 
 how I have lain awake over the thought of what 
 might have happened to you ! I am dreadful once I 
 am started." 
 
 "You may risk my neck," he told her plainly, 
 "but not your own. And you are to be decent to 
 your mother. She's not having a bit of a good time 
 of it, and she may be right about me for all you 
 know." 
 
 "She isn't," Blanche said positively. "But I will 
 be nice if you want me to," she added with sudden 
 docility; "I'd rather do anything than make you 
 angry." 
 
 He thought this was a pretty speech, but he 
 discovered on the same day the full truth of it. 
 They had been walking over the turn of the hill, 
 toward the barn, going for the horses, when the 
 figure of the boy, George, came into sight below 
 them, among the trees. It was some days since 
 Carron had seen him. He had kept away from the 
 house, was not even to be found when the diligent 
 Mrs. Rader wanted him, and Blanche searched. 
 There had been anxiety in the girl's look then and 
 now there was a brightening as she waved her hand. 
 The creature threw high both of his, streaked with 
 earth; then began to come with bounds upward, 
 through the trees. Like a dog, foolish with the 
 
 244
 
 joy of seeing his master, he came straight toward 
 her as though he would have flung her over, but, 
 instead, flung himself upon her and falling on his 
 knees, clasped his arms around her waist, and hung 
 there, dropping back his head to look up worship- 
 fully. 
 
 Laughing she put her hands on his arms. Thus 
 she might have laid them on the dog's head. But 
 Carron was quick. He seized the boy's wrists. The 
 creature clung fast giving Carron an upward look, 
 the dull, glazed eye of fear; but the man unlocked 
 his fingers with a hard twist and plucking him off 
 as if he had been a slug, tossed him backward, until 
 he rolled a little down the hill. 
 
 "What are you doing?" she cried. "What is the 
 matter?" 
 
 "Don't let him touch you again!" Carron could 
 hardly speak. The sight of the half-witted thing 
 hanging upon her thickened his tongue and sent the 
 red sparks before his eyes. 
 
 The boy was picking himself up, dazed and terri- 
 fied, from the ground. "You have hurt him!" she 
 lamented, and made a dart forward. "He didn't 
 mean any harm ! He does that like a child !" 
 
 Carron had her by the shoulder, and pulled her 
 back. "Don't go near him, do you hear ! Let him 
 go!" 
 
 245
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 The figure of the boy, half running, half creeping 
 was growing smaller among the trees. "How could 
 you do that! I am the only thing in the world he 
 isn't afraid of." 
 
 "He is a beast! I can't endure to see him near 
 you!" 
 
 "He's not." She had an anger of her own. "He 
 is a great deal less of one than some men with 
 brains." 
 
 Carron shut his teeth. 
 
 "Do you mean me?" 
 
 She stared, indignant and astonished. "How can 
 you think such a thing?" 
 
 "Very easily. You give him privileges I've never 
 taken!" 
 
 "Oh," she wailed. She turned with the air of 
 leaving him for the end of the world, took a few 
 precipitate steps, and leaned against a tree trunk, 
 hiding her face, shaking with nervous sobs, without 
 a tear. 
 
 Sullenly he approached her. The storm had 
 poured on him suddenly out of clear heavens. "If 
 I had known that creature mattered so much to you, 
 I wouldn't have interfered," he said. "Stop crying! 
 Do you hear?" The sound of those sobs was terri- 
 ble to him. 
 
 At his touch she released the tree and clasped him 
 246
 
 ET BEAM VIDIMUS 
 
 instead, clinging with hands which were a revelation 
 of nervous strength. "It isn't on account of him!" 
 she murmured, "it's you ! You didn't mean it. He 
 has not a brain. You can't understand that, I know ; 
 and you, so kind always, always so gentle, so good 
 O better than I am, much better how could you 
 say such a thing? How could you think I would 
 mean such a thing? It hurts, it hurts like fire ! You 
 didn't mean it ?" 
 
 He swore that he had not, that she might have 
 anything she wanted; that he loved her, that he 
 would be anything she pleased to think him; only 
 stop sobbing like that and everything would be all 
 right. He did not know what he was saying. Mis- 
 ery and happiness filled him at thus being clung to, 
 trusted, believed in as an unshakable, invulnerable 
 god. Outwardly he reassured her. Inwardly he 
 was crying, "Lord knows where we are going ! Lord 
 knows how this will end !" 
 
 She seemed to have furnished him with her own 
 virtues, with all virtues which have been known since 
 man was born. When he was with her they seemed 
 almost possible to him. But when he thought 
 of it in the times they were apart, he felt afraid. 
 What if she should discover that he was only a com- 
 mon man, not as she had told him, under the cedars, 
 "not different?" A strange girl! Notions a man 
 
 247
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 had never heard of in other women. Never could 
 tell in what direction he might hurt her next, or de- 
 light her. She had none of the exactions, common 
 to woman, made no bargains with him, was ready to 
 run to meet him from any distance; yet, suddenly, 
 with nothing to warn him, he would find himself 
 floundering in fresh mysteries, in inexhaustible re- 
 serves. He had supposed the distance between them 
 was but a hand's breadth, and behold, a dark conti- 
 nent. 
 
 Still, through barrens of egoism, around pitfalls of 
 their natures, dangers of which they were unaware, 
 they drifted nearer together. To become as one per- 
 son, to be done for ever with the possibility of differ- 
 ing! Thus love, with her mirage of the perfect 
 solvent. 
 
 Restless, wanting more than he had in the present, 
 not wanting to look into the future, Carron lived in 
 chaos, without a thought of to-morrow. Half their 
 joy had been in their freedom, their wildness, their 
 detachment from the world. That institution by 
 which the world is populated he had never even 
 considered it enough to scorn it. He was the last 
 of human creatures to think of himself as mated, 
 but he felt the approach of an end to summer, an 
 end to an idyl, a sharpening of its sweetness; and, 
 like a wounding edge, separation. 
 
 248
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE SOD ON THE PANE 
 
 ON the eighth day of Carron's idyl, Beetles the 
 dog became ill. Whether his propensity for 
 swallowing foreign substances some venomous 
 member of the tribe of insects to which he was de- 
 voted, from which he had received his name had 
 brought the sickness and the fever, was impossible 
 to tell. He lay on a little piece of sacking on the 
 side porch, and Blanche hung over him as though he 
 had been an ailing infant. But her hands shook 
 when she tried to get water between his teeth. She 
 drenched his poor head in wet cloths that would 
 not stay cold. In her anxiety she made the wretched 
 animal more wretched. Carron, gravely squatted 
 on his heels, prescribed for the case and took it into 
 his own hands. Sick dogs he had handled occasion- 
 ally, as well as horses and men. He hung up a piece 
 of wet sacking where the draft would blow through 
 it coolly upon the forlorn creature, and he sat 
 through intervals of a blazing afternoon, patiently 
 putting cracked ice on Beetles' head, or, with hands 
 
 249
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 deft enough to overcome any difficulty, prying open 
 his mouth and pouring in medicine. He was inde- 
 fatigable, when even Blanche had relinquished hope. 
 He hated to see things die. He had a deep and rever- 
 ential worship of life, of flesh and blood vivid un- 
 der the sun. Death was the pitiful calamity. It was 
 more than that; to Carron it was the evil of life. 
 He persuaded Blanche to go to bed early, with the 
 fiction that he noticed an improvement in Beetles' 
 case, when in fact he noticed nothing of the sort. 
 He had the gloomiest expectations. He rose pre- 
 ternaturally early the next morning with the inten- 
 tion of being on the ground first if the catastrophe 
 had occurred. To the first glance Beetles looked in- 
 animate enough; but at the sound of the step, the 
 ears lifted a little, and the tail moved with inquiring 
 interest in life. Carron examined his patient and 
 found him convalescent. He covered the little crea- 
 ture with a piece of blanket, since the morning was 
 cool then lit a pipe and walked about in the open 
 space through which the drive made its loop. He 
 felt absurdly happy. With the empty feeling of be- 
 fore-breakfast, the smoke of the pipe, the fine, light, 
 out-of-door air he grew a little poetic, looked up at 
 the facade of the new hotel and perceived a likeness 
 in it to Mrs. Rader. It was spare, a little disapprov- 
 ing, but not in the least forbidding, v with an exact 
 
 250
 
 sense of its position in society and its duty toward 
 the world at large, and for these things a deep re- 
 spect. Also the little vertical apertures for light, in 
 the garret, gave a faint expression of anxiety. The 
 old wing was Mr. Rader not classic enough, but 
 elderly, individual, unexpected, and having the cour- 
 age of its convictions. There was nothing like 
 Blanche, unless it were the pale, cool light and hot 
 pools of sun in the pine forest, but she was not only 
 the near light and shade, in which a man could rest 
 and be stimulated by the sharp, uncloying sweetness. 
 She was also the inexhaustible blue arch of the sky. 
 Whistling between his teeth, the cold pipe held 
 fast in them, the cloud of pretty thoughts blowing 
 through the upper chambers of his mind, it occurred 
 to his baser perception that the pine-needles had 
 drifted a good deal in the last week. He hunted out 
 a rake from the tool house and set himself to work, 
 drawing back the brown drift to the edges of the 
 clearing, and then into separate little cocks with a 
 good collar of bare earth around each. He remem- 
 bered how, with the autumn, little pyres like these 
 had been set blazing down New England streets; 
 how the boys had leaped them, and the girls, in 
 greater danger because of skirts. He thought of 
 how Blanche would have leaped; with no fear of 
 the fire, with only the fear of not leaping highest 
 
 251
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 and best. He could see how she would look, a child 
 with rough, streaming curls, and the light of com- 
 petition in her eye. She would have permitted no 
 boy but himself to be her better! 
 
 Gradually he had worked his way around the 
 clearing, and around that point where the drive 
 turned from it to descend the hill. The road was 
 visible for several rods below him. He was more 
 upon it now than the drive. Linnets crossed it, and 
 rabbits ; and presently a man came into sight around 
 the bend and approached. This person appeared as 
 a midget of the landscape, a little dab of humanity 
 among trees, like those figures painters introduce, 
 for the sake of showing the superiority of the 
 trees; thus he seemed, until he had come far 
 enough to stand opposite and fix his attention on 
 Carron. Then, perforce, the figure was resolved 
 into its separate identity, one that had been met and 
 known thrice, each time under circumstances rather 
 odd and which had scarcely recommended them- 
 selves. 
 
 Carron nodded to him, wishing him good morn- 
 ing. He had no renewal of antagonism. The dis- 
 parity in strength was too great. This fellow, 
 Ferrier, appeared not to thrive in the early morning 
 hours. He looked pinched and hugged his arms as 
 if he were chilly, and Carron revolved the problem 
 
 252
 
 Carron prescribed for the case
 
 THE SOD ON THE PANE 
 
 as to whether there was any way of putting him in 
 possession of a decent coat for the winter, at the 
 same time not letting the fellow suffer in his pride. 
 That was as threadbare as his clothes no doubt as 
 sensitive to strain. The man was watching him 
 rather longer than an interest in the occupation of 
 sweeping leaves seemed to warrant. 
 
 "I think the people are down-stairs by this time," 
 Carron observed, offering the only piece of informa- 
 tion he could imagine Ferrier's wanting of him. 
 
 "Are they?" the voice coming suddenly, sounded 
 harsh. Carron looked up, observed him for the first 
 time clearly, saw the man planted there irresolutely. 
 He wore bravado like a cloak of gossamer. Agita- 
 tion was apparent beneath it. "I didn't think they'd 
 be up just yet. Old man Rader said you always 
 were up first. I thought " He seemed to decide 
 that this was not the way to begin it. "I've some- 
 thing to say to you," he started again with a louder 
 and more determined voice. "Would you mind walk- 
 ing down the road a little way?" 
 
 Carron let his rake rest in a surprised hand. The 
 voice, the face, the request were out of tune with 
 the hour. "Why not talk here ?" 
 
 "I'd rather not. Besides," he gave it with quite 
 an air, "this business is to your advantage." 
 
 "Indeed? Then we will stay here." 
 253
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 Ferrier narrowed his lips. He glanced at the 
 hotel. All that was visible was the blank side of 
 the greater house, with every shade drawn. "Doesn't 
 make any difference to me" he remarked, throwing 
 an accent on the last word, but he seemed a little 
 taken aback. He made a meditative half -circle in the 
 pine-needles with his heel, then looked up at Carron 
 from under his brows. "I was only going to say, 
 you seem to be wasting a lot of time." 
 
 "Yes?" Carron had the gift of not talking. He 
 saw occasion for exercising it now. 
 
 "I told you you would," Ferrier volunteered. His 
 adversary merely looked at him, only too ready to 
 let the conversation fall. Ferrier gathered himself 
 together. "I know how you are ! You'll never help 
 a fellow an inch with what he's got to say!" He 
 wavered, summoning his last resolution. "The fact 
 is, I've thought over what you asked me the other 
 night about a certain matter and I've decided to ac- 
 cept your proposition." 
 
 Carron opened cold wide eyes of astonishment. 
 The past, so little past, flung up to him in this man's 
 voice roused in him intense distaste. He had no 
 wish to recall it. He did not want to remember that 
 he had ever made a proposition to Ferrier and such 
 a proposition ! He indulged a vague speculation as 
 to what the man wanted. More money? If so, he 
 
 ?54
 
 THE SOD ON THE PANE 
 
 was asking for it in a bad way. Carron put his hand 
 meditatively into his pocket. "I don't know what 
 you are talking about," he said. 
 
 "You know mighty well," the other replied in the 
 unpleasant tones of the confidant. "I mean I know 
 where the horse is ; I'll show you, and I'll show you 
 straight whenever you like " he paused and then 
 shot the full splendor of the proposition "for no 
 further consideration !" 
 
 This was an unexpected turn of the affair. Car- 
 ron could not restrain a smile, but he felt a little 
 puzzled. 
 
 "You don't mean she has shown you?" The 
 keen pointed glint of panic looked out of Ferrier's 
 eyes. "No, no! I know she hasn't," he added 
 quickly. "She wouldn't. She never will! You'd 
 better take my proposition. It's the only chance 
 you'll get." 
 
 Carron reached for the rake. "Ferrier," he said 
 patiently, "I don't want it." 
 
 "But I do know," the man passionately insisted. 
 "I know what I've seen. It isn't a fake. If a horse 
 is what you want, there's no horse like him in the 
 world!" He took hold of Carron's arm. "I'm tell- 
 ing you the truth, and I won't go back on you this 
 time, I swear! I give you my word of honor!" 
 
 "Yes, yes, of course," Carron said rather sooth- 
 
 255
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 ingly, "I believe you, certainly I do. But you see I 
 don't want the horse ; and wouldn't take it as a gift. 
 There's no use talking, that's the end of it." 
 
 Ferrier let go of Carron's sleeve. It appeared he 
 had been sure of his cast. His trembling had not 
 been at thought of failure, but at the peril involved 
 in success. Now he looked white. There was a 
 slight sucking in of the nostrils. This fellow with 
 the small, hawk look about his nose, perhaps had 
 the hawk wish in his heart to peck, but lacked blood 
 courage. "Then what are you staying for?" 
 
 Evidently they had reached the real issue of the 
 case. Carron suffered illumination. "That," he 
 said, stooping to pick up his rake, "is none of your 
 business." 
 
 "If you think you're going to get her by staying," 
 Ferrier breathlessly began, "you're fooled! You 
 can't!" But his anguish told how little certain he 
 was. "You can't, I tell you! No one can take her 
 away from me! O, God!" The weight of his fear 
 seemed to fall on him all at once. He sat down on 
 the bank and took his head in his hands. 
 
 Carron looked at him with an embarrassed and 
 compassionate eye. "Look here, Ferrier," he mur- 
 mured, "there's no use in our talking better drop 
 it." 
 
 Ferrier was on his feet again. "Yes, we'll drop 
 256
 
 THE SOD ON THE PANE 
 
 it ! When you go !" That sound of pity in Carron's 
 voice seemed to be more than he could bear. "I'll 
 drop it, if you'll get out this day and this minute." 
 
 The man who had been struggling to leave this 
 harassing conversation and resume his mild occupa- 
 tion with dead leaves let the rake fall with a clatter. 
 "Who directed me here?" he demanded. "Now 
 what are you whimpering about?" 
 
 "Never mind that !" Ferrier declared shrilly. "I 
 didn't direct you here for this reason. I thought 
 you were a decent kind. I didn't expect you to 
 come here, and take a girl and try to " 
 
 Carron made the quick step of the boxer toward 
 him. The fellow choked the word and dodged. 
 "You've got your chance to go peaceably and take 
 the horse," he stammered "or stay and you'll be 
 kicked out in twenty- four hours. I'll tell them!" 
 His voice began to rise as if it tried to reach the 
 height of some appalling warning. "I'll tell Mrs. 
 Rader." 
 
 Carron began to laugh. There was no sneer in 
 the long sound of mirth. That threat had struck 
 him as particularly funny. "All right," he said 
 cheerfully. "Go ahead. You've my entire permis- 
 sion. Suppose we go up together now and you tell 
 her about it." He looked at Ferrier with a banter- 
 ing eye. 
 
 257
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 Ferrier's face was a peculiarly unpleasant dull 
 red. "Do you think I don't mean it?" 
 
 "I think you mean every word and I mean every 
 word. Whenever you like; it's the same to me." He 
 shouldered his rake and walked away up the drive. 
 
 He knew well enough that Ferrier would not fol- 
 low him then and there. If he had supposed that he 
 would have been nervous enough. The man could 
 not tell Mrs. Rader more about himself and Blanche 
 than she already knew or suspected; but he might 
 put the business in an ugly light; considering his 
 caliber and his state of mind he might say any- 
 thing, and who could tell if Mrs. Rader might not 
 believe him? He walked rapidly, amusement still 
 overflowing his eyes at the idea of Mrs. Rader as an 
 avenging deity, one of whom Blanche would be in 
 terror. Ferrier had been impertinent to the last de- 
 gree ; yet it was strange the way he could rouse no 
 feeling but a sort of pity; and upon this occasion 
 Carron was aware of a warmer and more positive 
 emotion toward him gratitude! Instead of hin- 
 dering, the man had given him a push in the right 
 direction. That morning Carron had been fancying 
 the past and finding Blanche there. Now he had 
 had a sharp impetus forward to the edge of the 
 future. He looked into it and saw an actual world. 
 
 Reaching the house he found a check to the im- 
 258
 
 THE SOD ON THE PANE" 
 
 mediateness of his resolution. Mrs. Racier and 
 Blanche were already busy in the sewing-room, so 
 Racier, solitary at the breakfast table, informed him. 
 He inquired of the scholar what time the stage went 
 down to Beckwith. It was at about six-thirty, Ra- 
 der said; and from Beckwith again it passed at 
 about noon. Carron took a pencil from his pocket 
 and wrote on the blank back of an envelope : 
 
 "Pay storage on the stuff, pack it, and freight it, 
 and go home on the afternoon train." He signed 
 this, and sat considering it. That was the wind-up 
 that was the end of the quest. That would go 
 down to Esmeralda Charley to-morrow morning. He 
 looked up and saw the scholar, with his attentions 
 lifted from his book, regarding him with a ponder- 
 ing eye. The young man was apprehensive. He 
 didn't want to be questioned now. He didn't want 
 to be questioned at all. That was not the way he 
 intended the thing should go. He left the dining- 
 room, and walked around the veranda to the sewing- 
 room window. Here he maneuvered a little to 
 avoid Mrs. Rader's, and at the same time to attract 
 Blanche's attention. His beckonings made her 
 shake her head. 
 
 "By and by when I have a chance," she formed 
 the words to him with her lips, and with that he 
 had to be content. He spent some long hours, and 
 
 259
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 filled them only with his own impatience and the 
 setting alight of his heaps of pine needles in the 
 clearing. At last, at noon, she came, saying she had 
 only a minute. 
 
 "You'll have to give me a minute," he said, "and 
 a little more. I have something to say to you," and 
 hailed her out. 
 
 On the side of the clearing, opposite the house, 
 and in plain sight of it, they sat down beneath the 
 fringe of trees. Below them flicked pointed flames, 
 or pale blue threads rose straight in the still air, 
 making it more misty. The smoke of the little fires 
 was in their nostrils, the odor of the sacrifice to 
 winter. "I want you to do me a very great favor," 
 Carron said. 
 
 "Yes." She was prompt. Had no hesitations. 
 
 "Tell your mother all about how the matter stands 
 with us," he said. Then, as she fixed him with 
 doubtful eyes, "You know tell her that I've got to 
 go back to the ranch at the end of this week, and you 
 are going too. Aren't you?" he added, with a sud- 
 den edge of anxiety at finding her silent. Her 
 breast rose in long breaths. Her head, inclined 
 slightly forward, looked down upon the fires. "You 
 knew that you were, didn't you?" he insisted, trying 
 to get her averted eye. 
 
 "O, yes !" She turned to him and looked at him, 
 260
 
 THE SOD ON THE PANE 
 
 as though once more She realized, with astonish- 
 ment, how well she knew him. "But now that it has 
 come, I " She seemed to strain at a leash, aware 
 perhaps for the first time how he had entrapped her 
 fleet youth. 
 
 "It has come so soon. Can't we be like this a 
 little longer?" 
 
 "But we can't. The end of the week, perhaps 
 before, I've got to be off." He mused. "I suppose 
 it will be rather a job, telling your mother. This is 
 just what she has been afraid of." 
 
 Blanche laughed, and laughed again. "No, you 
 goose! Don't you see?" Apparently he did not. 
 "We have understood it so well from the very first 
 that this was to be for ever and ever! We forgot 
 that she might not know it." 
 
 He was blank. 
 
 "How stupid you are!" she said affectionately. 
 "Mother has thought all along that you were a sad 
 deceiver." 
 
 He took a rapid glance at the past. "Do you 
 mean to tell me she couldn't see that I was the dust 
 under your feet?" 
 
 "You didn't act like it." 
 
 "i felt like it so hard, I never thought of any- 
 thing else. The poor lady!" He was contrite 
 enough, even a little shocked, but couldn't help feel- 
 
 261
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 ing amused. Mrs. Rader's idea of the situation 
 struck him as a little theatric. "Then you must tell 
 her now, immediately." 
 
 Presented with the practical proposition, Blanche 
 began to show signs of wishing to evade it. "But 
 she is so busy and she hates to be told things when 
 she's busy." 
 
 "Well, then, as soon as she finishes." 
 
 "Oh, dear, I hate to. She will say we ought to 
 wait that we haven't known each other long 
 enough." 
 
 "But we won't and we have. The short time is 
 a distinct advantage. You can tell her that." 
 
 "No, you do it." 
 
 Carron would not have made that flippant remark 
 to Mrs. Rader for any consideration, and he sus- 
 pected the wicked girl knew it. "I have to see your 
 father," he said with dignity. 
 
 She looked at him quaintly. "O, that will just be 
 fun! I can't imagine father under such circum- 
 stances. What do you suppose he will say ?" 
 
 "He will say that like all sinners, I have great 
 hopes of Heaven." 
 
 They used frivolous, mirthful words, but their 
 eyes said serious things to each other, and half 
 spoken sentences were forgotten on their lips. She 
 was the first to remember the time. "Oh, how long 
 
 262
 
 THE SOD ON THE PANE 
 
 have we been here? And mother may be wanting 
 me !" She fled ; but at the veranda steps, she stopped, 
 conscience smitten. "We forgot all about him !" she 
 said. 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Beetles!" At the sound of his name the dog 
 turned his head with lifted ears, and weakly moved 
 his tail. 
 
 "He's all right. He's coming along nicely." Car- 
 ron examined his patient with gratification. "To- 
 morrow he'll be on his feet." 
 
 She fell on her knees beside the terrier, took his 
 head between her hands, murmured reproaches of 
 herself, and endearing words, promises of joy for 
 the future she would even let him chase rabbits. 
 Then, springing up, she flung her arms around Car- 
 ron and whirled him. "What shall I do for you, 
 who have done so much ? It must be something very 
 wonderful." 
 
 "You are going to do something more than won- 
 derful," he answered. 
 
 "O, but over and above that," she insisted. 
 
 "There is nothing." 
 
 She let him have his way with his conviction. It 
 was hers too. She went, her feet rushing on the 
 stair. Never before, perhaps never afterward, did 
 they sound quite that wild, light music of joy. 
 
 263
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 He thought of it in his room that night, after the 
 whole house was still. Like a refrain of delight it 
 recurred between the soberer sentences of his dis- 
 cussion with Rader. 
 
 Blanche's prophecy had been fulfilled. It had 
 been fun telling the scholar. "What do you want 
 to do that for?" he had demanded of the young 
 man who had announced himself as wanting to 
 marry his daughter. Carron, who two weeks ago, 
 would have put the same question to any acquaint- 
 ance, had been able immediately to give reasons 
 as to why he was wiser than all men. The scholar 
 had shaken his head. "But what is she going to 
 say to your profession?" 
 
 Here he had struck a point truly ; but Carron had 
 ridden it down. He had snapped his fingers. "O, 
 what difference will that make now? She won't 
 have to see anything of it, and well, if she really 
 can't endure it, of course I can give it up." 
 
 "Give it up!" the scholar had echoed in stupe- 
 faction. 
 
 "Why not?" Carron had argued, feeling a little 
 on the defensive. "There are plenty of other things 
 I can do." 
 
 Rader had looked at him silently for some sec- 
 onds. "And you really have given up your first 
 idea?" 
 
 264
 
 "You mean what I came here for? It doesn't 
 seem worth worrying her about." 
 
 "Why need she be worried about it ?" Rader had 
 answered with such a peculiar significance that Car- 
 ron looked at him in astonishment. "The horse," 
 the scholar proceeded, unfolding his meaning, 
 "is only an idea to her, isn't it? She has no desire 
 to possess it. She only wants to see it while it's 
 here. She knows that presently it will disappear, 
 go back, perhaps, to the plains." He looked dream- 
 ily at the horse-breaker's hands. "Now, suppose 
 you wanted the horse ; and suppose you knew where 
 it was, and just how to get it ; you could easily take 
 it, couldn't you, and she would never be any the 
 wiser?" 
 
 Carron was rather struck now, when he re- 
 membered it. The old theorizer had accurately 
 worked the matter out ; and certainly he had hit the 
 nail on the head! It seemed the scholar and he 
 had rather changed places since the first time they 
 had talked in the study. He could laugh about it 
 now in his room. But he had felt a little tormented 
 while Rader had probed the old passion. He realized 
 it was there yet; but it was there as a background 
 for the new, young, more fiery passion, which he had 
 not grown up with and become accustomed to, but 
 which had seized him in his full strength, melted him 
 
 265
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 and translated him with its wonder and with its 
 promises. This held other thought at a distance. He 
 heard clearer than anything else the joyous running 
 of Blanche's feet. He blew out his candle, since al- 
 ready a brightness, which sifted into his room from 
 without, made the pointed flames pale. Upon his floor 
 and all across the wall lay marvelous tracery of 
 black and silver, a perfect mimic lacking only color 
 of the trees outside. He was standing in the 
 enchanted semblance of a wood. He remembered 
 that for the eight past days this brocading had been 
 gray. He drew a curtain aside. The fan of cloud, 
 that coquetry of the moon, was furled and gone; 
 the sky stood deep and clear above the pines. The 
 moon's self was not high enough yet to be visible, 
 since to be visible from where he stood she must 
 reach nearly mid-heaven, but her radiance was upon 
 everything. 
 
 The circle of tall trees solemnly surrounding 
 the clearing made a wreath of shadows like vel- 
 vet, and all that was not shadow was drenched in 
 clear white fire. Between the clouded and the clear 
 moonlight there was such difference as between 
 beauty clothed and beauty unveiled. The sight 
 brought him thoughts, strange and beautiful past the 
 telling. 
 
 He let the curtain fall, and turned back. The 
 266
 
 THE SOD ON THE PANE 
 
 hour was scant eleven o'clock, but the house was 
 still. He was not tired, not sleepy. He was pre- 
 ternaturally wide-awake. There seemed to be an 
 owl on the edge of the clearing, complaining in 
 its deep chest voice. The body of a bat struck his 
 window-screen. The creatures all came out with 
 full moon. There it was again, that sound, a swish 
 and a soft thud. This time it flew higher and hit 
 the glass. His coat half off, he turned and looked 
 attentively. In a moment, up-shooting from below, 
 plop, the small, dark object came a third time. He 
 realized now what was happening. Some one had 
 thrown a sod of earth lightly against his window- 
 pane. 
 
 267
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 HE went quickly forward and pushed the cur- 
 tain wide. Down in the angle of black cast 
 by the outside stair, the figure of Blanche Rader was 
 standing. Her body emerged from shadow into 
 moonlight like a flower to the surface of water. 
 Knees and the sweep of skirts were hidden. Shoul- 
 ders and arms shone clear. The uncovered throat, 
 and the face in its dark wreath of hair were like sil- 
 ver. She was leaning a little back, with limber waist, 
 hands clasped behind her head, looking up. The 
 mischief of middle night was in her face, subtle and 
 scarcely smiling. 
 
 Grasping the window-frame in both hands, as if 
 by such means he could keep the sight before him, 
 the skeptic gazed. His heart, which had been full 
 of her, might have prompted his eyes to summon 
 the vision. It was but the flower of the time, the 
 proper center of this pale flood of beauty, far too 
 perfectly in tune with his thoughts to be real. His 
 doubts must have been thick in his face, for sud- 
 
 268
 
 THE MIDDLE OE THE NIGHT 
 
 denly she laughed. He saw the gleam of white 
 teeth and light dancing in shadowed eyes, but heard 
 not a sound. She skipped backward a few paces, 
 stretched her hands toward the window, drew them 
 back toward herself, fingers pointing to her bosom; 
 flung them wide, fingers pointing around the clear- 
 ing. This language of gesture, spirited and way- 
 ward, declared the actual woman. If anything were 
 needed to reassure him beyond doubt it was the 
 stamped foot and the violently shaken head by which 
 she still commanded his presence at the window, 
 when he would have left it for the outer door. Once 
 more pointing at herself, she showed him with 
 stroking gestures how she wore a coat, a queer little 
 brown thing, a dryad garment, pale as the old bark 
 of a tree. The air was mild, warm, mocking such a 
 precaution; but a coat, or a thousand coats! if that 
 was all she imposed to reach her ! 
 
 He put on outer garments with a mind in abey- 
 ance. His senses thought, and were inspired. Open- 
 ing the door the breath of night rushed upon his face 
 to welcome him, sweet and unexpected as the 
 woman's seeking him. From behind the wire 
 screens it had looked as a picture. Now it was inti- 
 mate, and whispered of actual possibilities. The 
 voice of the pines flowed all round him, murmuring 
 like a stream underground. He looked over the 
 
 269
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 edge of the little balcony. No form, no face, either 
 of woman or spirit. Nothing stirred in the clearing, 
 nor in the angle made by the outside stair. The 
 black likeness of it which the moon flung upon the 
 ground, was as deep and opaque as any well; but 
 even water shows faintly the forms beneath it. He 
 leaned down over the rail and spoke her name under 
 his breath. Not a sound replied. Feeling bewitched 
 he descended the stair. Reaching the foot of it, 
 immediately his fingers were grasped by a cool palm 
 and he was drawn into the shadow. 
 
 Plunged into darkness with her he could see her. 
 Her eyes looked black as the sky and radiant with 
 excitement. The moon had taken the color from her 
 lips. They were pale as an elf's. She took him by 
 both arms and held him off from her, looking at 
 him up and down with a bright enigmatic gaze ; but 
 whether it demanded to know of him if he was in- 
 deed the greatest of men in the world, or whether 
 it only spoke to him of the mystery of night, or some 
 mystery beyond the night, it was impossible to tell. 
 She laid a forbidding finger on his mouth when he 
 would have kissed her. He tried to clasp her, but 
 slippery as quicksilver she retreated before him. 
 
 "Come this way," she murmured, and pulled 
 him after her. 
 
 Half running he followed, keeping close under 
 270
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 the piazza rail where the only shadow extended was 
 a narrow band like a ribbon, past the steps where 
 the first night she appeared to him as an arm ex- 
 tended out of darkness, and round the comer of the 
 old wing, coming out before the front of the greater 
 house. 
 
 "Where are we going?" he whispered. 
 
 "Sh-h-h!" She clung to the wall, holding them 
 both still, listening. It was only the owl that had 
 spoken. She put her lips close to Carron's ear. 
 "Follow me around the edge of the clearing. Do 
 exactly as I do. Don't speak." 
 
 The hotel with all its windows looked blank and 
 dead as the face of a rock. It buttressed them from 
 the live part of the house. In its shelter she ran 
 fearlessly, but with remarkably light noiseless steps, 
 and slipped into the trees on the left side of the 
 drive. Here he had ado to keep her in sight. Now 
 the white back of a neck gleamed, now a hand shone, 
 laid an instant against a tree trunk; but chiefly he 
 tracked her as an animated shadow gliding rapidly 
 among shadows that were still, and leaving a waving 
 of branches in its wake. She slid down the bank 
 with a cascading of earth into the road just at the 
 point where it turned from the clearing to descend 
 the hill; and they stood together in the same place 
 where Carron and Ferrier had stood that morning. 
 
 271
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 "What an awful lot of noise you make!" she 
 whispered. "Sound carries in this air." 
 
 "I can't help it, I'm not a feather. If you would 
 only keep still a minute " 
 
 She flitted just beyond his reach seemed to be 
 there already without having run away. 
 
 "Look over there," she said, pointing downward 
 through the trees. "That way you will see the 
 moon." 
 
 The moon! What was the moon to him, unless 
 the reflection of her? What had the whole earth 
 been to her only yesterday but a place in which to 
 stand and be embraced? Now she could look at a 
 bright spot above a scallop of trees with eyes that 
 had forgotten him. Yet, after they had swept the 
 trees, the ground, the sky, they returned again, as 
 to the center of a circle, to his face. 
 
 "Are you coming ?" 
 
 "You mad woman, where are you taking us?" 
 She answered with a pressure of the hand, and be- 
 gan to take dancing steps, as if what her eyes saw 
 around here was music to her. She moved in front 
 of him with darting motions, now to this side of the 
 road, now to the other. House and clearing disap- 
 peared behind them. A fretwork of white and black 
 streamed upon their faces. They passed the gate- 
 posts that rose upon their progress like phantoms. 
 
 272
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 The thought of the old spring well came to him. She 
 was leading him there, perhaps; but past the place 
 where the path turned off she went without a look 
 toward it. As the descent grew sharper her dancing 
 steps became a run. Not, it seemed, in apprehension 
 of anything that might pursue, but wild with pleas- 
 ure, like a child dashing out of an open door. They 
 raced each other, swinging around turns, losing cau- 
 tion on the firm road, ceasing to think of feet, seem- 
 ing to fly. Little creatures darted across their way. 
 A fox dashing in front of them showed them round 
 eyes of gold and left them laughing. 
 
 The fork of the road brought a momentary halt. 
 There was more black here than light. The fancy 
 he had had when he looked at the walls of his room 
 had become real. They were together among a 
 tracery of forest branches. Yet these things were 
 never as they were imagined. She was not. He 
 could not touch her. Her hand slipped from him 
 like light or water. 
 
 "Won't they know we have gone?" he asked. 
 
 "Well, we will have gone," she answered, and 
 laughed. The inconsequent, reckless note made him 
 uneasy, yet it excited him. She made him feel as 
 though there were no house anywhere, no brains 
 to be flushed, nor hearts to be cold, whatever might 
 become of the two in the hollow of the hills, in the 
 
 273
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 night. She began to walk rapidly up the road, 
 which stretched like a thin white wand between high 
 walls of trees. 
 
 The frolic of the woodland deity seemed to have 
 settled into an intense purpose. It was carrying her 
 forward at a pace that did not slacken to the crest 
 of the slope. Here they dipped over into a dimple 
 of land. Upon the right, below the road, he saw 
 the mossy roof he had noticed when he rode back 
 from his adventure of the Sphinx. The wagon 
 track which led downward looked clearer than it had 
 by day. Without hesitation Blanche turned into it. 
 
 Carron halted, astonished. "Where are you go- 
 ing?" 
 
 She hung on her heel, and pointed on. 
 
 "Whose house is that?" 
 
 "Ferriers'." She had scarcely pronounced the 
 word before she had turned and disappeared under 
 the low hanging branches of the pines. 
 
 Mystified, angry, wondering what madness she 
 had in her head, he ran after. She was in the door- 
 yard before he could reach her. There was only a 
 narrow space of earth some four feet broad between 
 house and canon, and the trees stood at its edge, 
 reaching arms across it like a roof. The sagged, 
 unpainted house front looked dark and disinhabited. 
 Blanche made a warning gesture for silence, and 
 
 274
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 began moving cautiously down the clearing, keeping 
 close under the windows as she had when they had 
 passed the hotel. Past the door, and past the corner 
 of the house, and to the farther edge of the clearing. 
 Here she turned, smiled, and touched Carron with 
 propitiatory fingers. "He isn't there," she whis- 
 pered. "He is in town for the night. I arranged 
 it," and, without waiting for further explanation, 
 stepped over a low ledge of rock as sharp as the 
 edge of a table. 
 
 From here an empty, almost barren, stretch of hill- 
 side, scattered stones and wider scattered pines, ex- 
 tended downward to a solid mass of trees. Beyond 
 these the dark heads of the Sugar Loafs stood 
 against a bright sky. There was no time for amaze- 
 ment, scarcely time to think how to find footing, if 
 he were to keep up with her. She kept a good three 
 yards in front, stopping now and then to scan what 
 lay below, but seeming never at a loss. She was 
 aiming, it appeared, for the formidable black en- 
 campment in the canon, and aiming for one spot in 
 its impregnable front. It was austere and large 
 enough to awe even a woodsman's eye, seeing it for 
 the first time, but the girl approached it with the 
 assurance of one treading known ground. She did 
 not hesitate even when she stood on the verge of it. 
 No break in the trees was visible, from beneath their 
 
 275
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 feet, but a trail unwound like a clue, a white plum- 
 met dropped into the canon. 
 
 "It's rather rough," she said and reached him her 
 hand. She said it as she would have said "The back 
 stairs are steep." They plunged, and were swal- 
 lowed from each other's eyes. 
 
 He had started boldly as the leader, but presently 
 imperceptibly it was she who drew him. He had 
 the enchanting and perilous sensation of being led 
 by an unseen presence. The well of darkness was 
 without a gleam. Two senses bound her to him in 
 oblivion : the sense of touch five fingers told him 
 she was there and the ear which caught sound 
 a sound both of life and of mortality the sound of 
 feet stumbling and catching hold upon earth. Some- 
 times a sweep of branches, inhuman fingers, brushed 
 his face. Presently she began to murmur to him, 
 "Better slide here. Reach up and catch hold of the 
 branches. Look out for the rocks there. Keep to 
 the left side here." 
 
 The smell of the canon rose to them, night dew 
 upon leaf mold. Then came the rift in the trees, the 
 ripple of silver, the stream of the moon where the 
 stream of water flowed in spring. They had reached 
 the bottom of the canon. "Step on the stones," 
 she advised, "the sand is boggy." He had plunged 
 a leg in almost to the knee before he could stop him- 
 
 276
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 self; and, as he recovered footing, the cluck of the 
 sand, the sensation of being pulled, brought up an- 
 other moment under the beating sun at the foot of 
 a cliff. 
 
 Across the ford they were upon a more level way. 
 On this side the rise of the land from the creek 
 was gradual, and the trail, made by cattle to the 
 water, was easy to follow. It drifted along at the 
 foot of the hills, growing fainter as the trees grew 
 thin. Fifteen minutes, and he heard a sound his 
 ear recognized, often heard at such an hour of night 
 the trampling to and fro of feet, and tossing of 
 branches as if restless bodies moved among them. 
 "There are horses !" he said. 
 
 "Yes." The sentence fell unsurprised. She 
 looked down significantly, and by the glance drew 
 his attention to the fact that she wore her riding 
 skirt. A few steps farther and swinging stirrups, 
 bright eyes under forelocks, and glossy flanks ap- 
 peared. He recognized Blanche's mustang, droop- 
 ing like a stoic but this other creature that was 
 threshing among the pine leaves could that be the 
 chestnut his mare? Early in the evening he had 
 left her safe in stable. Here she stood in the wil- 
 derness, blanketed and tied to a dead pine. She 
 flung up a startled head and, seeing Carron, whin- 
 nied. He ran to her, felt her, and found her right 
 
 277
 
 SON OE THE .WIND 
 
 enough, though very impatient, and turned his 
 amazement on his companion. "How did she get 
 here?" 
 
 "Down the trail. It was quite easy," Blanche an- 
 swered. "I brought them before dark." 
 
 "Before dark! Good Lord six hours ago!" He 
 was horrified. "You shouldn't have left her here 
 like that ! Six hours ! Suppose something had hap- 
 pened!" 
 
 "What could? She is covered, and there are no 
 animals around that would attack a horse." 
 
 "I say you had no business to do it. It's risky, 
 and we don't need them." 
 
 "But we do!" 
 
 His anger grew faint in astonishment. "Then 
 why couldn't we have gone some other way?" 
 
 "We couldn't." 
 
 He stared. She, sensitive to the lightest disap- 
 proving word, was undisturbed by his heat, imper- 
 turbable, smiling. There was no being angry with 
 this girl, whose bright enigmatic glance promised 
 enchantment, if only he would risk a horse, and a 
 wild way, and follow her. Many horses might be 
 ridden to death for her, and more dangerous ways 
 than this followed with her. His anger had sprung 
 from the fixed passions of his life, the distinctive 
 predeliction that was part of his character, but there 
 
 278
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 was the other passion working in him to-night, the 
 older more universal feeling which he shared in 
 common with the trees and the moon. And this was 
 the middle of the night, the hour she had called her 
 own. They stood on the edge of it. Memories and 
 half memories whispered in his mind Blanche in 
 the ancient shade of cedars speaking to him of the 
 odd hours, moonrise at sunset, and yellow of dawn. 
 He lifted her bodily into saddle and stood holding 
 her with both hands. 
 
 She leaned down, resting hers on his shoulders. 
 "What time is it ?" she whispered. 
 
 The white silly little face of the timekeeper with 
 busy hands measuring moments was to be their last 
 glimpse of the common world that night. They had 
 left the common world behind on the other side of 
 the forest, and were riding out through the raveling 
 fringe of trees into a naked and radiant plain. A 
 ripple of light was beginning to flow among the 
 pines. The moon, that had been so slow in reveal- 
 ing herself, was growing golden and bold above the 
 heads of the "Sugar Loafs," until, as the riders 
 left the last of the trees, she released her hold of the 
 mountain tops and dared to float out into heaven. 
 She stood high, and poured her radiance down 
 straight. Far on the left it showed him a freckled 
 rolling country, a cliff looking the height of a child's 
 
 279
 
 SON OE THE WIND 
 
 leap, and at its foot a streak no wider than a black 
 ribbon. On the right the hills were near and sharp 
 like an embattlement Between these higher lands 
 the level lay, filled with the moon. Moving in the 
 thick atmosphere of light Carron felt it like a de- 
 licious element more volatile than water, more pal- 
 pable than air, traveling in gradual ways that floated 
 toward him. It was the floodtide of night, of which 
 she had spoken, when the sky and earth have ex- 
 changed hues, the bright for the dark, and both are 
 at the full pulse of life. Within Carron, too, tide 
 stood at flood, the tide of spirit and blood that 
 sweeps the will, and with it, makes a triple strength. 
 The elation of being abroad at this hour, of seeing 
 the bright edges of the earth on every side, feeling 
 no limits to distance that might be traveled or won- 
 ders that might be born of such loveliness, were all 
 an outer circle of emotion moving around the 
 woman. 
 
 Close beside him, swaying a little in the saddle, 
 poised on wiry waist, she appeared less like herself 
 than some sketch of her caught by the lightning of a 
 master's hand all blacks and whites, her eyes two 
 velvet splendors, her body outlined with a silver rim. 
 Her lips were a little open as if to taste the sweet- 
 ness of the wind, and she leaned into it away from 
 him, giving herself to the bodiless caress. Her 
 
 280
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 glance turned now upon the hills, now upward at 
 the net of stars, as if she found these things 
 as real as himself, as near to her and as awake to 
 delight. 
 
 When she looked again at Carron it was with 
 the expectation that he saw what was around them 
 as she saw it ; but the fine senses in her that made 
 her feel kinship to inanimate things was dilated be- 
 yond his following. He felt the influence of the 
 moon as a bath, but it seemed to have entered into 
 her veins, making her more than woman. The crea- 
 ture whom he had thought petted and tamed be- 
 neath his hand, had sprung away from him. Her 
 eyes, which had seen farther than his, reflected 
 more, showed living thoughts undiscovered of 
 him, alluring in their half concealment, seeming to 
 peer at him from just beneath the surface. He 
 wanted to conquer this untamed alien and make it 
 his own. No thought prompted that this is a thing 
 no one makes his own; since, conquered, it dies or 
 changes into something else. But of change who 
 would think, with the moon and the woman in his 
 eyes? He was losing his exact sense of direction. 
 He was unaware of how far the objects in the land- 
 scape had retreated from his conscious vision, until 
 her hand upon his arm startled him. The fingers of 
 fate could not have fallen more prompt and soft nor 
 
 281
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 with more exigent pressure, telling him, "Wait; 
 here's the time and the place." 
 
 He had halted before he looked. They had come 
 up almost to the foot of the wall of hills. They must 
 have approached it over the level in a gradually 
 slanted course, for at no time had he seen it in front 
 of him. He had been aware of it all the while upon 
 his right as a darkish background to Blanche's head ; 
 but now the horses had stopped just beyond the long 
 slides of scattered stone, and what had appeared as 
 a continuous rampart separated itself into overlap- 
 ping pyramids and columns ; what at a little distance 
 had worn a dark luster now looked lighter than the 
 plain. 
 
 Immediately in front of him a great pale mass 
 of rock rose, upcropping from a base of earth. 
 The Sugar Loaf upon its right lapped behind it. The 
 one on the left leaned upon it, overtopping it with 
 tall cliff-like pinnacles, curved at the crest as if the 
 winds of centuries had bent it. Between these two 
 lay a thin edge of shadow, like a black knife. It 
 encroached not at all upon the lighted front. From 
 the stones at its feet to the crown the greater rock 
 was all one high clear tone, higher and clearer than 
 white. The moon above it lit it like a lantern held 
 to a face. Gray, yellow, silver, who could say what 
 color or if there were color at all? It had a luster at 
 
 282
 
 THE MIDDLE OK THE NIGHT 
 
 least, an extraordinary radiance. Just so, though it 
 had no form suggesting human shape, yet it had a 
 presence. A character was in it beyond that of its 
 fellows, and as Carron gazed he became aware grad- 
 ually of an untraceable expression, which was not 
 the expression of a human face, nor of any human 
 thought, but the ineffable look there is on insensate 
 things, the look perhaps of Eternity. 
 
 To this power overshadowing them, which, 
 should it topple, would crush them and be unaware, 
 Blanche raised her eyes with a glance that hailed it. 
 Following her gaze his remained fixed at the point 
 where the crest of the rock jutted on the black sky. 
 It was shaped like a helmet with wing-like pieces on 
 either side. His glance rushed down the front of 
 the thing. Looked at from beneath it was fore- 
 shortened, the hollowed neck was hidden and the 
 window which had led him with its eye of distance 
 was lost. The whole form was flung out of propor- 
 tion by nearness and too great reality. The strange 
 transformation from the imagined to the actual had 
 taken place, and the actual appeared less real than 
 fancy. 
 
 It was not in this fashion he had expected to come 
 to the feet of the Sphinx, nor thus he had thought 
 to find her, hiding the loophole by which she had 
 first led him. He began to wonder if the loophole 
 
 283'
 
 SON OF THE WIND: 
 
 had been of his imagining, or was the helmet shape 
 he saw now a piece of his fancy. 
 
 Again Blanche's fingers touched his arm. She 
 spoke to him in a low voice. "Keep well out until 
 we are on the left of her. .We can ride in there quite 
 close. See that rock on the ground, the large one 
 with the neck? We can tie the horses there." 
 
 It was this girl when he had pointed out the 
 Sphinx from afar, who had surveyed it with un- 
 recognizing eyes, and turning her back, passed it by 
 like a clandestine friend in a crowd. Now she 
 named it with the sex its aspect claimed, she moved 
 around its feet as if the ground here were familiar 
 to her. She went with the extraordinary rapidity 
 he had noticed in her when she had an object in her 
 mind, as if the quickest time was too long for get- 
 ting at what she wanted. Before his astonishment 
 could shape itself on his lips she was out of saddle 
 and running across the interval of space, her shadow 
 flying small beneath her feet. Her feet were climb- 
 ing in the slide of stones before he had done fasten- 
 ing the horses. 
 
 Was she trying to get away from him? he won- 
 dered. The questions that had been on his tongue 
 were forgotten. He needed his breath, all of it, if 
 he meant to get abreast of her ; and even with lungs 
 like bellows and the feet of Mercury, reaching her 
 
 284
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 seemed a forlorn hope. For, lighter than he, and 
 possessed of some devil of agility, she made better 
 headway. She had some yards start of him. Ava- 
 lanches of soil slid from her nimble heels upon him, 
 and avalanches sliding beneath his own feet carried 
 him back a part of every advance he made, trying to 
 catch at rooted substance to stop himself, but there 
 was nothing rooted. Everything was swept back 
 together. Whither, in such a fury of haste? The 
 pyramid of earth, slippery though it was, was child's 
 play. But at the top of it was planted the mountain 
 of stone, a solid breadth without discernable place 
 where foot could find passage. Yet she was ap- 
 proaching it without hesitation, as though she ex- 
 pected, when she reached it, a door in the blank 
 front would open at a touch. He was scarcely half- 
 way up the ascent when he saw her reach and catch 
 the first firm outcropping. Edging cautiously up 
 over treacherous-looking terraces, of mixed shale 
 and earth, she rested her knee and both hands on a 
 little projecting edge; with a spring, drew herself 
 up; so paused, kneeling; and, being human, looked 
 dark upon the breast of the Sphinx. 
 
 For a moment she remained balanced perilously 
 against what appeared the sheer face of the rock. 
 Her glance rose like a bird to the forehead of stone, 
 than darted to the left past it. She made a motion. 
 
 285
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 He could not tell whether she had slipped or pur- 
 posely flung herself forward on hands and knees. 
 In another moment she had vanished. She seemed 
 to have melted into the face of the cliff. He shouted 
 aloud in horror. Immediately her head and shoul- 
 ders reappeared. She had neither been swallowed 
 by an unexpected chasm nor perversely fled from 
 him. She was waiting for him, peering at him over 
 some invisible edge like a pale brown elf-woman, 
 beckoning to him, as he drew nearer, offering him 
 a helping hand which she could not compel him to 
 take. 
 
 ; He drew himself up beside her, and found her 
 sitting on a broad ledge of rock perhaps five feet 
 deep. There had been no shadow to point it out to 
 him from below, for the moon stood overhead ; and 
 no difference of color or perspective to trace it, since 
 the moon, obliterating these, showed nothing but the 
 fine line of the edge which his eye had missed. But 
 now, upon it, he saw it was like a bench or a project- 
 ing collar, which seemed to extend all around the 
 greater mass of the stone. 
 
 "Why did you do that?" he panted. 
 
 "Do what?" 
 
 i "Rush up here ahead of me, before I could speak 
 to you." 
 
 "Because I didn't want you to. You might have 
 286
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 asked where we were going, and I didn't want to 
 say not then." 
 
 The words sank into his mind. He received the 
 clear impression that she had some thought beyond 
 the moon and the night ; but it did not occur to him 
 as a discovery, nor as being in any way strange, 
 no more than it seemed strange to be poised here on 
 a ledge between heaven and earth. He had come up 
 to these things too gradually. He was, indeed, far 
 off the ordinary tracks men follow, far, far away 
 from the usual happenings of life. Yet once leap 
 up to the high plane of the unusual and all lesser 
 marvels upon it follow as a matter of course. 
 
 He had hardly time to get breath before she had 
 risen to her feet. The ledge where they stood 
 stopped on the right, cut off like a shelf. On the 
 left it followed the sweep of the stone above, dis- 
 appearing into the thin knife of shadow; but it was 
 not in this direction Blanche looked, but up at the 
 rock itself. Too near to take in the aspect of the 
 face, the outline of the Sphinx nevertheless ap- 
 peared undistorted. The side pieces jutted and over- 
 hung the thick column that was the throat; the 
 shoulders swelled from this, a slippery, wicked-look- 
 ing surface to travel for the bold soul who might 
 aspire to clasp her neck. The overlapping wrinkles 
 of stone had been wrought upon by centuries of 
 
 287
 
 SON OF THE L WIND 
 
 weather. The forehead was worn by wind, the 
 cheeks by rains, and across the breast a gash, as if 
 the sword of the storm had cleft her. From the 
 ledge on the right it extended upward to the left 
 shoulder, and there disappeared in the shadow. Or 
 was it only shadow ? The space between the Sphinx's 
 helmet and shoulder looked profound as the pit. 
 Blanche hesitated, and looked at Carron. "You 
 know there's only a chance we will see anything." 
 
 The meaning of the words were accepted in his 
 mind as soon as they were spoken. "Let's go on," 
 he answered. His voice sounded oddly to him. He 
 felt wide-awake, but it was like being wide-awake in 
 a dream. He saw her moving in front of him and 
 had no fear that she might fall. She appeared to 
 him more spirit of the rocks than woman. Some 
 quality in his emotion had changed. Excitement 
 was mounting from his senses into his brain. It 
 seemed to him he had gone very far, farther even in 
 his thoughts than his feet had climbed above solid 
 earth. The sound of pebbles loosened and falling 
 spoke to him of how far that was. He was leaving 
 the thick golden radiance that dwelt in the plain. 
 He felt it slip from his shoulders like water as he 
 ascended into a thinner, keener, more crystal air. 
 The moon was pinned tight in a purple sky. The 
 atmosphere was motionless upon his cheek, until he 
 
 288
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 came up over the Sphinx's shoulder. Here a great 
 sigh breathed upon them out of that mouth of 
 darkness. A sudden draft, a sharp drawn line 
 where all that was known ended. They stood on the 
 edge of the window of the Sphinx, and the short 
 locks on his forehead were stirred by a wind from 
 nowhere. 
 
 The rock closed in on three sides of them. It was 
 strange to be thus pressed upon by walls after miles 
 of a wide open, but it was not grim as he had antici- 
 pated. It was like dipping into black velvet. The 
 footing was firm and only a little slanted. He went 
 forward easily, keeping one hand on the solid rock. 
 The wind blew steadily in his face, and it was no 
 caverned air, but dry, chilly and smelling of forests. 
 At first he could see nothing. Blanche was present 
 only as an echo and the flutter of a skirt ; but pres- 
 ently he began to distinguish the outline of her body, 
 moving on in front of him, against a faintly bright 
 distance ; suddenly above his right shoulder shone a 
 star. He felt a thrill at his heart. His eyes were 
 ready for the long-fancied unimaginable sight. To 
 peer at the edge of the unknown, the high sensation 
 of the expectant soul! He felt a lightening of the 
 air above him. His companion stopped. She was 
 no longer in front of him, but beside him. In front 
 of him was a sheet of deep blue hazed with white. 
 
 289
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 He saw neither what was above his head nor be- 
 neath his feet, but only what was in front of him, 
 too far to reach yet not too far to be real, not 
 painted with the colors of distance but still over- 
 hung by the glamour of it the poetic and terrific 
 spectacle of the great brood of mountains. 
 
 Their multiplying summits were all in piercing 
 silver light. It ran in outline down their shoulders. 
 On their ledges and divides shadows like wings were 
 folded. The canon's depth was one black shadow 
 from side to side, the trees like black waves driving 
 up the ravines. The arch of the sky above him was 
 immense, the canon was the converse hollow. The 
 woven lines of summits binding the two stood stark 
 in the radiance, frozen with silence. The trees, the 
 cold white fire of the moon, the night-hawk, that di- 
 vided the air with his wings shooting downward 
 like a plummet, were all a part of one thing, one 
 strength, one awful unconsciousness of strength. In 
 the face of it the man's strength was faint. The 
 sense of being human, of being vulnerable and mor- 
 tal came over him. He stretched out his hand, un- 
 aware that he did so, and clasped the woman's. It 
 responded with a tremulous pressure. But he 
 scarcely felt it. He drew her toward him, yet 
 hardly knew that she was there. The awe of what 
 was around them had entered his blood. The beauty 
 
 290
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 of it filled his eyes. The pagan in him trembled and 
 worshiped. 
 
 At the first his ears had taken in only silence. But 
 that dwelt high among peaks where his eyes had 
 been fixed. Now he became aware of a sound rising 
 from beneath so hoarse and faint that it made a 
 greater loneliness. He looked down, and realized 
 he was standing, not only the height of the Sphinx, 
 but of the whole rolling plateau behind him. He 
 had not realized how far above the other land this 
 lay ; but now he could look down upon the running 
 backs of lesser hills, each outline painted by the 
 moon. Over these he had looked into the great 
 canon, among these the river wandered and com- 
 plained; and into these the Sphinx's pedestal de- 
 scended. Carron could see the slide of the earth and 
 the scattering trees beneath him. To a bird the dis- 
 tance had been no great matter, but for a man still 
 in love with life there must be some other way than 
 the smooth thirty feet of stone. No ledges here, 
 once they were over the ledge of the shoulder; but 
 this itself was broad and stretched out to the left 
 where the Sphinx's neighbor crowded upon her. At 
 a point here the two seemed knitted into one, and 
 from the precipitous back of the one to the easy 
 swell of the other's side was a step. The extraor- 
 dinary path he was following, with splendors for the 
 
 291
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 eye and terrors for the imagination was at every 
 turn possible and easy for the feet. 
 
 They went down over long shallow terraces, for 
 the spread of this eminence was slow as it neared 
 the depth. The moon had sunk away until it stood 
 above the Sphinx's head. The great canon sank 
 behind the company of hills. In their black hollow 
 a bright spot rippled like prismed glass. That would 
 be the river the moon had caught leaping a rapid. 
 Elsewhere it flowed unseen, and was heard as a 
 monotone unvarying and incessant. It was strange 
 to come down upon soft ground again, to feel it 
 yield beneath his feet and see leaves above his head. 
 He was traveling again on broad earth down an 
 abrupt slope, his companion soft footing a pace in 
 advance and threading rapidly among the trees. The 
 sound of pouring water was still like a sound of the 
 distance. He had no forewarning of the broken 
 white which glimmered suddenly beyond the trunks 
 of the pines. It was a line of boulders tossed up in 
 a low irregular wall. This might be a branch from 
 the bed of the greater stream that had been sucked 
 dry by months of sun. Blanche pressed between the 
 rocks or over them warily, looking back to point him 
 a secure foothold evidently known to her, tried, and 
 to be depended on. A creature in flight for her life 
 could have made better use of the minutes. Coming 
 
 292
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 over upon the other side above the channel he saw 
 below him the thing he had not expected, the smooth 
 dark surface of water gliding without a whisper, 
 deep shrunken in its bed. At least a foot of the 
 perpendicular wall made glassy smooth by the un- 
 dercurrent was bare. Higher the rock projected, was 
 irregular and hollowed into shallow caves. Above 
 these the crevices of the boulders were swept full of 
 dry twigs, leaves and grass, powdery and gray, and 
 full of silt. Edging along cautiously, moving her 
 feet carefully as a cat, she stopped and stooped, and 
 gathering her skirts, crept into an opening in the 
 rock. 
 
 It was one of those wave-worn caves sometimes 
 to be found in the walls of mountain rivers, in 
 spring covered by the water which now ran some 
 four feet below. As he followed her into the black 
 hole, sliding feet first, he could feel its sides rough 
 and clean as coral; but earth had been loosely 
 sprinkled over its surface, and dry moss, pulled up by 
 the roots, was drawn about the entrance, and once 
 they were both in she pulled it up in a heap, hiding 
 half the opening, leaving room enough for their eyes 
 to look out. The floor of the cave was almost level, 
 so that as they. lay stretched upon it, they could look 
 out to the opposite bank, or down into the river. It 
 ran languidly in long ripples. Where they lifted 
 
 293
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 the moon caught just the edge; but a little way up 
 stream, still in plain sight, the surface ruffled in sil- 
 ver over gravel, for here the boulders stopped for 
 an interval, and a narrow spit of land pointed out 
 into the stream. This went back to an open space 
 a glistening white patch in front of the forest. One 
 dead pine stood up out of it and made a point of 
 shadow on the bright ground. 
 
 The smell of water and wet rock rose to his nos- 
 trils. A sharp air hovered above the stream. 
 
 "Are you cold?" Blanche murmured. Her lips 
 were at his ear so that the words were not audible. 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 "You are trembling." 
 
 Carron was not conscious of this, and did not be- 
 lieve it. His blood was aflame from heroic exercise. 
 The air was scarcely cold enough for his hot face. 
 His heart played like a drum on his ribs, the pulses 
 in his wrists hammered, he felt the quick throb in 
 his temples. His breath came short. He tried to 
 fill his lungs. He stretched his feet to get a less 
 cramped position, and a stone slipped in the bottom 
 of the cave. He held his breath, fearful lest it go 
 reverberating in the depths, frightening silence. 
 Blanche laid her hand warningly on his arm. Si- 
 lence, that large, sensitive, brittle depth inclosing 
 them, they were both of a mind to keep absolute. It 
 
 294
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 was so hollow it seemed that a stir would set it 
 sounding to the far mountain tops; but everything 
 that was abroad in it seemed to conspire to keep it 
 whole. Not a twig cracked under any stealthy tread. 
 All creatures that were abroad must be the 'cushion- 
 footed themselves respecters of noiselessness. 
 Even the eye could discover no motion. The river 
 might have been a snake stretched out asleep, the 
 trees printed on the sky. The only thing that moved 
 was the shadow of the dead pine, and that was like 
 the hand of a clock too slow to be perceived in mo- 
 tion. He listened with distended senses. It seemed 
 to him he could hear the movement of thoughts in 
 his own brain, the flowing of the blood in his finger- 
 tips; but outside of himself not a sound. The air, 
 sick for vibrations, was vibrating by its own empti- 
 ness. Like a gong, it assailed the senses in waves, 
 at first beating in upon them from without. Then, 
 as he stretched his ears to hear above it, the gong 
 seemed to be within his head struck upon by his 
 furious pulses, sending out a prolonged shrill ring- 
 ing, so loud it seemed this sound in the ear of imag- 
 ination would have drowned a thunderclap. 
 
 Not thunder, but a light faint noise at some dis- 
 tance made all the vibration cease. On the instant 
 silence was as still as crystal to the real sound. It 
 rang first as a single dull blow struck like a challenge 
 
 295
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 among the mountains. Now it multiplied. It came 
 intermittently, a rapid beating of the same hard 
 muffled substance on the harder rock; now quiet, 
 now repeated; faint at first, growing louder. Dead 
 branches cracked, trampled over. Spaces of earth 
 sounded like a drum beneath the tread. Again, 
 among stones, the ringing was clear and sharp. To 
 those proud feet silence was a thing to strike echoes 
 from. The sound of the approach set the listeners' 
 heart to its measure rhythmic, wild, irregular, a 
 roulade of liberty beaten out upon the earth. Car- 
 ron was shaking like a man with a chill. His hands 
 were cold. His throat, dry and stiff, seemed closing 
 against breath. He had to clench his teeth to keep 
 them from chattering; but the girl lay as still as 
 moonlight, though she looked as pale, and her eyes 
 were large with expectation of delight, as if she ex- 
 pected a rose to blossom under her sight, or a bird 
 to fly to her out of heaven. 
 
 A rapid trot sounded just within the last fringe of 
 pines, and a shadow ran out from the trees and 
 rested, quivering, on the bright ground. There was 
 a rustle among the pine branches, and the moon 
 shone on a black forelock and pricked ears. The 
 branches waved softly to and fro as the horse came 
 pushing through. He paused at the upper edge of 
 the clearing and lifted his head high. He looked 
 
 296
 
 THE MIDDLE OE THE NIGHT 
 
 large, and doubly large being alone. The state by 
 which kings add to their stature increased his. He 
 gave a slow trepid glance around the clearing, 
 while his wide nostrils drank the wind. Over water 
 and through moss and earth it came purely. There 
 was no scent to startle delicate stretched nerves. He 
 began to advance down the rocky floor at a gait a 
 little faster than a walk. An undulating motion 
 went through the whole body as if the hoofs trod 
 air. The mane waved with it, the tail drifted like 
 a plume. Carron could see the quick ripple of mus- 
 cles under the satin skin. That was the back that 
 had never felt weight, the neck like a bow that had 
 never bent except at its own will. The white left 
 foot which Carron had seen speeding in terror trod 
 delicately as a girl's on the rocky slope. A star on 
 the breast that had shone at the head of herds now 
 shone solitary. The eyes that had been scarlet with 
 fury were dark and bright and bent on the silver 
 ripple of water as toward the face of a friend. He 
 seemed to condescend to earth with those haughty 
 graces with his own shadow, twisting his head side- 
 wise, trifling with its liberty. Miles around him 
 nothing moved that would not run from him, noth- 
 ing but eagles, and these floated free, and kept an 
 equal state. 
 
 At the lip of the water he paused once more, one 
 297
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 more haughty earnest stare now up, now down the 
 stream and his nostrils fluttered like black butter- 
 flies. Then, as meekly as if all the world were his 
 friend, he stooped his head, stretched out his neck, 
 shining while the mane blew in a veil against it, put 
 muzzle in the current and drank. 
 
 298
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 COLOR of night was draining out of the sky 
 when the riders took horses again at the foot 
 of the Sphinx. Black and white were rolled in gray, 
 shadows were melting thin, the moon had drifted 
 far down the west, constellations were sinking. All 
 the luster, all the full pulse of midnight were flow- 
 ing out; and the pulses of the man too were at ebb. 
 His blood ran thin. The sky stood dim and lumin- 
 ous at the hour of neither moon nor sun; and his 
 mind stood between thought and action, dim, 
 dreamy with amazement beyond piercing. If con- 
 scious thought had turned upon itself it would not 
 have known what forms were taking shape in the 
 unconscious depth. Memories shone upon the sur- 
 face, disappeared and appeared again Son of the 
 Wind as he had advanced down the slope toward 
 the water, sides of silk for knees that dared to press 
 them, head bent waywardly sidewise, at play with 
 its own liberty, and the slow undulation of the mane. 
 Where had the creature hidden himself between 
 299
 
 SON OK THE WIND 
 
 the fading hours ? Carron could not remember how 
 he had looked at his departing. But who remembers 
 the retreat of a king? It was the advance, and 
 again the advance, that returned to him the rou- 
 lade of hoofs afar off in the forest, the sharp music 
 on the rocky slope, the body breaking through the 
 trees. Yet, he did not see it quite as it had come in 
 fact ; for to the imagination, the back, that shining 
 hollow that had shivered at a white moth's weight, 
 was not empty. It was bestrode. Once the eye 
 had seen, the brain seized its object. The man was 
 in saddle; and though fancy pictured Son of the 
 Wind in the citadel of the canon, or speeding 
 among mountains beyond possible human ways, the 
 persistent phantom would not be unseated. Where 
 is the use of sides of silk without heel to guide, or 
 of feet that can chant the song of swiftness if no 
 purpose profit by their speed ? 
 
 Across the canon, where night was complete, and 
 upward, under branches, into the high open ascents, 
 mysterious, peaceful, colorless in the beginnings 
 of dawn, he came, his mind filled with images of 
 contentions and conquests. Near the horizon Venus 
 burned white, but the star above his head was Sir- 
 ius, red and troubled. The woman beside him made 
 a faint rustling as she moved through the leaves. 
 She, who had been quick, filled with double energy 
 
 300
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 of life, now trailed. Her face was a ghost's, her 
 eyes dull gray as the sky, and whenever he looked 
 at her they were fixed upon him, expectant, waiting 
 a word. He held her, led her, but his desires were 
 not toward her. They rushed forward like fire. 
 Visions of beauty swept through his mind, but it 
 was not her beauty. There was no room there for 
 anything but one thought. No room for wonder at 
 the curious path he had followed, nor at the thought 
 of a man and a woman abroad at such an hour; no 
 fear lest the clearing before the house, or the house 
 itself that received them, should be aware of their 
 coming. They went in by the outside stair. In his 
 room objects were beginning to show themselves, 
 the bed broad and pale, the walls gray. Last night 
 they had worn brocade of white and black. Look- 
 ing at them he had thought of Blanche. Now he 
 looked at her, and thought of something else. He 
 took her wrists and laid her hands against his shoul- 
 ders. She leaned upon him exhausted, looking up 
 with confident eyes. 
 
 "How did you find it ?" he said. 
 
 "I didn't. It was a chance. I know the place. 
 I've always known it. We camped there one sum- 
 mer when I was a child, and then I found the cave 
 and always wanted to go back to it. It was too far 
 and too hard to get there from here. Up the canon 
 
 301
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 takes eight hours. I had to find a shorter way, and 
 one day I tried the Sphinx's window." 
 
 "One "day?" 
 
 "Well, yes and afterward one night." 
 
 "You told me you never had been out so far in the 
 middle of the night." 
 
 She smiled faintly. "I didn't say quite that ; and 
 if I did give you that impression it was just as well. 
 I didn't know you then. It wouldn't have been good 
 to tell you my ways. This country is my garden. 
 Sometimes, at full moon when I can't sleep, I am all 
 about it. One of those times I went farther than 
 I ever had before and saw what I showed you to- 
 night." 
 
 "Have you never shown it to any one else?" he 
 asked. 
 
 Her eyelids fluttered. "No never. I didn't 
 mean to show it to you; but you are just myself. I 
 had to show you my possession." 
 
 "Your possession ?" The way she used that word 
 was strange. 
 
 "Yes, he is mine. He's mine the way my thoughts 
 are. He is the only thing I have ever known that 
 couldn't be tied and held by the common things in 
 the world. When he moves he doesn't seem to 
 touch earth." 
 
 Carron looked at her dully. 
 302
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 "There will not be another like him," she said. 
 "These wonderful things don't happen twice." 
 
 "No," he answered. This was something he could 
 understand. It seemed to him an oracle had spoken. 
 He took her to the door of her room, kissed her on 
 the forehead and left her. The touch of her stirred 
 him with tenderness, but when he turned his back 
 it was forgotten. He was not thinking of her. 
 
 The sun came like an enemy and surprised him 
 sitting on the edge of his bed, his head sunk in his 
 hands. He heard the barking of a dog, the flight 
 of birds in the trees, the sound of footsteps, the 
 opening of doors. The flare of yellow had wakened 
 the world into action. His vision of last night with 
 its incredibility and tremendous reality, its silver 
 and black, was melting, and with it all the footless 
 hopes and fancies that had followed him home 
 through the gray air. The power for vision of fu- 
 ture or past was gone, and he found himself staring" 
 with concentration at a round floating spot of light 
 upon the wall, while his brain repeated over and 
 over: "Why need she know of it? Why need she 
 know? Why need she know?" 
 
 He stared at the significance of this, too surprised 
 to reflect whence those words had sprung, born in 
 his own mind or planted there by some other's 
 thought. They were words any man might speak of 
 
 303
 
 SON OF THE iWIND 
 
 any woman in any affair. The idea was funda- 
 mental. It streamed upon his mind like the day into 
 his room. He was confounded by the clarity, the 
 brilliance, the wonderful way it banished cruelty 
 and made everything right. All he had to do was 
 to surround himself with silence. He had no doubt 
 of his motive. The thing sprang bold before him, 
 something he believed in and had many times put 
 to proof, the natural hardy motive of his life. To 
 break, to tame, to change the compound of fury and 
 timidity into the docile and controlled, useful to the 
 controller, sent out among civilized things. 
 
 But Carron did not follow his creations thither. 
 He belonged neither among wild nor tame. He stood 
 at the point of transition, where the herds of the 
 primitive passed through his hands into civilization. 
 He stood between the two, to break, always to break. 
 That was his affair in the world. But this instance 
 was raised above his common experience of the 
 world, his work still but it transcended itself, as 
 the horse his eyes were fixed upon now transcended 
 his kind. For the creature was so far above his fel- 
 lows ; as Blanche had said, he seemed to travel upon 
 wings, a little above the earth. So Carron's hopes. 
 They were proud. He would have published them 
 with trumpets had it not been for the one curious 
 reason. That made the silence. It was not on his 
 
 304
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 account, but on hers. It was on her account, be- 
 cause of that strange idea she had, that woman idea, 
 which has nothing to do with the activities of men, 
 that must be set aside very carefully so as not to be 
 hurt, and not to interfere. Therefore silence, abso- 
 lute, impenetrable! No action, no word, no glance 
 to give any hint to her of what was going forward. 
 
 And, since no hint to her on his life, no hint to any 
 other! That would be treachery. But with silence 
 treachery vanished. Silence is darkness. To the 
 eye that sees no color there is none ; and to the mind 
 that does not know of an action, that action does not 
 exist. And the action itself would rob her of noth- 
 ing. For what was it Rader had said ? The horse 
 was only an idea to her. She would not lay fingers 
 on the actual creature. She must know that some 
 day she would cease to find it, and be left with her 
 idea and her dream. 
 
 What a fool he was sitting here in the sodden gar- 
 ments of yesterday while the hours of to-day ran 
 past him. High impossibilities lay between him and 
 his object, but nothing looked too high for him now. 
 Only a mountain to overleap, and then to mount the 
 back of the wind. Reason might cry, "No man has 
 ever ridden the wind," but a man's will would an- 
 swer, "Time then for some one to be about it." He 
 was ready to begin, even though he could not see an 
 
 305
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 inch of his way before him. Yet, as soon as he 
 looked in the prosaic morning light he saw the first 
 step to take. 
 
 He rose and searched among his clothes that were 
 flung pell-mell in the valise, and brought out the 
 message he had written to Esmeralda Charley a day 
 or two before. He looked back at that point in past 
 time as though over a distance of years. What had 
 he meant with such words? An age of passions and 
 events had rolled over him since. He put a match 
 to the paper and threw it in the grate; then made 
 haste to write out another message very plainly. 
 
 Unwashed, unshaven, with last night's dust and 
 clay still upon him, he came out of the house into 
 the cool, yellow light. The dawn looked fresh, un- 
 disturbed by the overcrowded events that were 
 threatening the day. He made the descent of the 
 hill at a good pace, and hailed the stage, as, plunging 
 on its springs, sending up dust above the tree-tops, 
 it came up from the dip of the creek bed. He 
 mounted nimbly on the wheel, and inquired whether 
 the driver would have time at the end of his journey 
 ( to do a kindness for a stranger. 
 
 The autocrat on the high seat, looking the young 
 man over, inquired what it might be. 
 
 It appeared to be this : to take a message to a half- 
 breed, by name Esmeralda Charley. This Indian 
 
 306
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 had enters to meet every stage that came in, and he 
 obeyed orders. But the fellow couldn't read; and 
 if the driver would be so good as not only to deliver 
 the paper, but to read it to the man, Carron would 
 remain his debtor for life. 
 
 The driver, opening the paper then and there, 
 read the message aloud to the tree-tops. 
 
 "Take the stuff out of storage, and bring it with 
 the horses over the watershed, past the first fork of 
 the road, and through the gap into the next canon. 
 I will be waiting on the road. Be there by eleven. 
 
 "CARRON." 
 
 The driver cocked his eye at the name. "F. A. 
 Carron? Rancho Caballo?" 
 
 Carron admitted it. 
 
 The man extended his hand. "Put it there." 
 When the ceremony was over "See that off 
 leader?" he inquired. "Best horse I ever had. 
 Mouth ain't spoiled nor his temper. Busted on the 
 Rancho Caballo." 
 
 Carron expressed himself as gratified, and was in 
 fact. Cigars passed into the driver's hand. The 
 horse-breaker dropped from the wheel, confident of 
 his message being safely taken. What he touched 
 was shaped to his way. He was no poet to imagine 
 fate in this. He saw that it came from his own 
 
 307
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 power. But with this business despatched, and the 
 next problem rising to the front of his mind, he felt 
 a chill upon the warmth of his satisfaction. 
 
 He had not foreseen the moves in his game. This 
 one sprang upon him as the other receded. He 
 stared at it, incredulous to find anything so at odds 
 with all his determinations, yet so immovably insist- 
 ing on being a part of his scheme. There was no 
 going forward without it. It was necessary, if he 
 were to get the thing he wanted; but what was to 
 become of his perfect and justifying theory of si- 
 lence? It would not be destroyed. It would be 
 workable still, and safe enough no doubt, but it 
 would become a makeshift thing to be passed over 
 hastily, and not too closely scrutinized. 
 
 He tossed the question in his mind as he hurried 
 up the road where the dust the wheels of the stage 
 had stirred hovered in a thin fog. Time and neces- 
 sity were at his heels ; he realized he was going to ac- 
 cept the exigencies of his position but he cursed 
 fate, that put such ugly deviations upon the path of 
 clear enterprise; he cursed Ferrier for being such 
 as he was, and for the first time in his life, for the 
 instant, had an ugly glimpse of himself. Reluctantly 
 he turned down the steep and weedy way that led to 
 the clearing, and knocked at Ferrier's door. He 
 
 308
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 waited, and in the pause had a memory of how last 
 night Blanche had told him Ferrier was not there. 
 Suppose he had not returned yet. It was still so early 
 in the morning. Suppose he did not return all day 
 how was a man to find him and where ? Reluc- 
 tance vanished. Ferrier became the person in all the 
 world Carron most desired to see. He knocked 
 again, loud and imperative. A voice within the 
 house called aloud. The sound was formless, but he 
 thought it was a summons. 
 
 He entered on a long darkish room, disorderly and 
 as cluttered with incongruous stuff as Ferrier's mind. 
 Clothes were strewn on the floor ; old saddles rested 
 on chairs ; crockery, cartridges and food on the table, 
 dogs lying under it ; no windows open, a stale air in 
 the place. Close under a window on a bench, the 
 boy George had a gun and a greased rag in his hand. 
 His shoulders were gathered into such a lump that 
 he looked deformed. He had stopped his work of 
 polishing and sat looking at the intruder with pale 
 eyes, the lids of which were fixed. 
 
 ''Where is your brother?" Carron asked. 
 
 Without seeming to hear what had been said, 
 without moving, the boy opened his mouth and 
 emitted the sound that Carron had mistaken for a 
 summons to himself. Evidently it had been meant to 
 
 309
 
 SON OE THE WIND 
 
 call another person, for now an inner door opened 
 quickly and a man half dressed appeared at the 
 aperture. 
 
 Seeing Carron his face flushed. "Just a minute," 
 he muttered, backing quickly from the door, and 
 would have had it shut but Carron's foot was already 
 in the opening. 
 
 "Just a minute," he said, unconsciously repeating 
 Ferrier's words, though with quite another mean- 
 ing. Booted and belted, he felt his advantage, moral 
 and imaginative, over this fellow who was scantily 
 clad and had bare feet. It would be good not to give 
 him time to clothe himself or arm his mind. Carron 
 pressed through into the room beyond as Ferrier re- 
 treated, pitifully embarrassed, and by his glances be- 
 hind him and around him a little apprehensive. 
 
 "Sorry to be so hasty, but I can't wait," the horse- 
 breaker said. "I had to see you immediately. I am 
 going up into the mountains to-day and I shall need 
 your help. Get ready to meet me in a couple of 
 hours." 
 
 Ferrier gulped. "I don't think " he began. 
 
 "I've got the grub," Carron went on, as though he 
 had not heard the protestation. "You won't need 
 anything but a blanket and a sweater. Take am- 
 munition if you want it you won't need it, though. 
 I'll only want you for a couple of days." 
 
 310
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 "But I'm not going, I tell you !" Ferrier burst out 
 as if the idea that he was not, made him furious. 
 
 "What do you mean?" Carron demanded. "I'm 
 only accepting a proposition you made yourself yes- 
 terday ! Have you forgotten it ?" 
 
 "No," Ferrier said doggedly. He stooped so that 
 his face was hidden, and began to fumble nervously 
 for his shoes. "But I can't do it." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 "I'm afraid." 
 
 "Of what?" 
 
 Ferrier gave him a darting upward glance. 
 
 "Of what ?" Carron insisted. "You weren't afraid 
 of anything yesterday. Has there been any change 
 in the situation since?" 
 
 "No no, no!" Ferrier cried vehemently. He 
 looked frightened. 
 
 "Well, I didn't suppose there had been," Carron 
 said coolly, "and in that case you're going to stick to 
 your bargain. Come," he added more kindly, as 
 Ferrier continued to fix him with his panicky eyes, 
 "I'm not asking much of you, only that you show me 
 the trail, and perhaps a few hours' work when we get 
 to the end of it. You needn't see the game we're 
 after." He paused, and considered his hesitating 
 opponent. "And there's one part of your bargain 
 we are not going to stick to. We are going to revert
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 to mine. I mean that one hundred dollars I promised 
 you if you would take me to the place. You will get 
 that, of course." 
 
 Ferrier, kneeling, holding one boot, stared before 
 him and breathed hard through open lips. It was 
 strange to see him there, struggling to face the idea 
 of possible consequences, calculating value, weighing 
 the chance of what he might lose against what he 
 might gain, when, as the horse-breaker knew 
 shrewdly enough, as far as this man was concerned 
 there were no chances left. What Ferrier was afraid 
 to lose he had already lost, days ago, when for 
 twenty dollars he had told Carron the way to Ra- 
 ders'. Yet he was too stupid to realize the truth. 
 He was wavering as if he still held fate in his own 
 hands. 
 
 "If they should find out I went " Ferrier began 
 at last. 
 
 "How could they?" 
 
 "By going out there." 
 
 "They won't." He stuck religiously to that in- 
 definite plural as though it could deceive either of 
 them. 
 
 "But if they should hear?" 
 
 Carron aimed each word slowly and distinctly at 
 the miserable man in front of him. "How are they 
 going to hear if I don't tell them?" 
 
 312
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 Ferrier's face grew perceptibly paler. His mouth 
 opened a little into a round shape, remained speech- 
 less as if the words it was formed for had been 
 iblown away. 
 
 "And I am not going to tell them," the horse- 
 breaker concluded emphatically. There was a ring 
 of magnanimity in these words that he did not quite 
 like ; it sounded as if only Ferrier was to benefit by 
 this silence. Yet after all wasn't that the best thing 
 for the fellow to think? Let him think what he 
 would. He was not to be explained to in this matter 
 any more than he was to be lied to. He was to be 
 commanded. He looked now scarcely so much re- 
 assured by Carron's words as carried off his feet by 
 a stronger will. 
 
 He moistened his lips. "And afterward you will 
 go?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Right afterward?" 
 
 "Yes," Carron repeated impatiently, and with the 
 repetition hated himself more for stooping to de- 
 ceive such a poor creature. It was no lie in the let- 
 ter, and was the worse for that ; for the meaning the 
 promise had, in fact, was very different from the 
 meaning it had for Ferrier. A look of relief spread 
 over his face. 
 
 "All right," he said. "I'll be there."
 
 SON OF THE 
 
 "If you're not n Carron stood a moment and 
 looked the poor soul through. "He's more afraid 
 of me than he is of himself," he thought. "Very 
 good," he said aloud, and turned about "And 
 where is this place that I am to find you?" 
 
 Ferrier pulled on his other boot and got upon his 
 feet. "I can show you from the other room," he 
 said, and led the way. 
 
 In his excitement he seemed to be oblivious of the 
 squalid surroundings he had blushed for, his own 
 half-clad condition, and even the presence of the boy 
 George. He walked to the window and shoved him 
 aside as if he had been inanimate stuff to make room 
 for Carron. The horse-breaker touched his compan- 
 ion's arm. "You had better send him out, hadn't 
 you?" 
 
 Ferrier threw a hasty glance at the child who sat, 
 as he had been pushed, a little farther along on the 
 bench. "Lord, no! he never understands anything, 
 we might talk all day. Look down there," he broke 
 off, pointing through the dirty glass, "down there 
 by the edge of the pines where you see that one that 
 is taller than the others. That is the place where the 
 trail begins. That's where I'll be." 
 
 "But," Carron began quickly, astonished, and for- 
 getting everything but astonishment, "on that trail 
 you can't get a horse through." 
 
 3M
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 ?- 
 
 "Thought you didn't know about it," Ferrier said, 
 
 turning. 
 
 Without a quiver Carron caught up his mistake 
 and made capital of it. "I know what I see from 
 here," he said coldly, "and it looks to me very much 
 as if your trail ran into those hills. It does, doesn't 
 it, eh?" He pointed. "Over there?" 
 
 Ferrier corrected, "No, over there." With out- 
 stretched arm he indicated the place farther along, 
 just out of their sight, where the Sphinx stood. 
 
 "Here or there," the horse-breaker insisted, "I've 
 seen something of such hills and I'll be willing to bet 
 we can't get horses through." 
 
 Ferrier looked sullen. "I'd forgotten you had to 
 have them. I suppose, then, we'll have to go the 
 long way." 
 
 Carron was relieved. He hadn't been certain Fer- 
 rier knew the long way. Blanche had mentioned it 
 so casually. She had not said that he knew. Carron 
 had only inferred and snatched at the inference. 
 Now he was at the end of his doubts. He made 
 short work of the tale. He had it all in a few mo- 
 ments, the place where they were to meet and the 
 hour. He reckoned that, allowing time for packing 
 the canvas, the half-breed would get in with the led 
 horses in three hours. That would make their meet- 
 ing at eleven, say. It was now past eight o'clock.
 
 SON OF. THE WIND 
 
 He left the house, and plunged into fresh air as 
 into a bath. The excursion he had had to make from 
 his high resolves of silence was over. It had been 
 more unpleasant than he had expected. And at the 
 end, in spite of his care, he had not quite succeeded 
 in keeping Ferrier under heel. The man had made 
 conditions with him. But now at last the unfor- 
 tunate incident was behind him. The lie straight out 
 to the Raders would not be hard. It was a part of 
 his robust scheme. It was in the cause of silence 
 that good and decent cause that he intended to 
 speak, giving the women sound invented reasons for 
 not coming back to-night, or even the next night, as 
 a man must sometimes give to his own people. Cer- 
 tainly that was what these people were to him ; and 
 with them also he wanted to square certain other 
 matters, to have them out as clear as he kept the 
 other dark, before he went. 
 
 Had Mrs. Rader wanted to abet his project she 
 could not have done better for him than give him the 
 room with the outside stair. On this occasion it en- 
 abled him to enter the Raders' unseen, bathe, 
 change, and appear down-stairs looking as debonair 
 as if he had passed the night in dreams. After a 
 little searching he found Blanche with her father in 
 the study. Rader, his long chin in his hand, scarcely 
 looked at him. Carron thought that, since their talk 
 
 316
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 of the night before, perhaps the scholar had given 
 him up, a hopeless case ; or it might be only that he 
 was surrounded as he was usually in the morning, 
 with his habitual mist of thoughts. But Blanche 
 raised great, prompt eyes from her business of copy- 
 ing, and gave him a look difficult to interpret love, 
 envy of his gay morning looks, and the intent, insin- 
 uative gaze of one who would recall to another a se- 
 cret, remind him of some wonderful thing both 
 knew, and no one else in the world. How at that 
 look, last night's adventure returned to him like a 
 ghost rising in broad daylight the race with the 
 moon, the ascent of the Sphinx. Footsteps on the 
 edge of death ! He was appalled at the risks he had 
 let her take. He must have been insane last night ! 
 And when she was alone, think of it ! It was good 
 all this was to end. 
 
 Sitting on the table, between father and daughter, 
 Carron explained himself. He was off, he said, for 
 his last two days of hunting. He expected to be back 
 day after to-morrow night. He wondered if the 
 scholar would suspect anything from this but Ra- 
 der's eyes which seemed fixed upon him were prob- 
 ably fixed on some theory a hundred miles beyond 
 him. 
 
 He wondered if Blanche would think his de- 
 parture strange, coming so quickly on the heels of
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 last night's revelation. He wondered if she would 
 expect him to stay, to talk over with her what had 
 happened, to hear more from her about it. This he 
 'did not want, even if the time had been his. He gave 
 her a glance as he got off the table, but her answering 
 look said, "I didn't need that. Fm coming anyway." 
 
 She followed him out into the hall. No sooner 
 was the door shut upon them than she clasped 
 him around the neck. "Don't go, don't go ! I am so 
 afraid something dreadful will happen to you." 
 
 This gave him an unpleasant start. What was she 
 talking about, he wondered. 
 
 "Last time you came back with your head hurt," 
 she said in a trembling voice. "I'm so afraid." 
 
 He laughed, relieved. "Not a bit of danger. That 
 was sheer clumsiness." Yet somehow her caresses, 
 and her fears for him did not flatter him. He felt 
 uneasy in their enfolding. He had not called her out 
 here for any lovers' scene. He had a desire to keep 
 to business. "I'm only going to get a peace offering 
 of venison, for your mother," he said. "Tell me, 
 what did she say when you told her about us, eh ?" 
 
 Blanche leaned coaxingly toward him, tilting her 
 head sidewise until the brown crown of it came 
 caressingly against his ear. It was a way she had of 
 luring him out of seriousness, and beguiling him, but 
 in this case it didn't do.
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 He took her by the shoulders and held her off' 
 from him. "Didn't you tell her?" 
 
 She drooped guiltily. "Don't be angry. I was 
 going to, but then I thought about last night of 
 showing you what I did, and I couldn't seem to think 
 about anything else. I thought I would tell her to- 
 day instead." 
 
 He found himself a little jerked back in the ease 
 of his arrangements. . He had expected to find this 
 matter settled. "Then go and tell her on the spot, 
 and ask if I may see her before I go. Never mind if 
 you don't feel like it," he added, as the girl hesitated. 
 "We ought to get this thing straightened out." 
 
 "It isn't that," Blanche explained, "but I am 
 afraid I can't, not now. She isn't up, you see, at 
 least she isn't out of her room. She has a bad head- 
 ache." 
 
 "Can't you speak to her just the same?" 
 
 "I'm afraid I can't. Her door is locked, and she 
 says she mustn't be disturbed. I knocked a little 
 while ago, but she doesn't answer. I think she is 
 asleep." 
 
 Carron bit his lip. He was afraid to press the 
 point too hard lest the girl suspect something in the 
 wind; and yet to have to leave everything in this 
 doubtful mess ! He had meant to have his relation 
 to Blanche well understood before he went. That
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 in case Ferrier should see fit to talk while he was 
 away. And then suppose anything should happen 
 to himself. He knew of course nothing ever did, but 
 a man had to consider it. 
 
 "What is the matter? Is something wrong?" 
 Blanche's voice was anxious. Evidently she was un- 
 suspicious of anything threatening her mother's 
 peace of mind, and it was as well that she should be. 
 It would be better to keep her quiet, yes, as quiet as 
 possible, where Ferrier was concerned. 
 
 "Nothing is wrong, but suppose your mother had 
 heard of this from some one before she heard it from 
 you. It would have hurt her." He was righteous 
 and austere, and Blanche was impressed. "As soon 
 as you can, tell her about it," he said. He understood 
 from her humility that this time she would, without 
 any doubt. He was beginning to get control of the 
 situation, to gather it together under him, tightening 
 all the reins in his hands. "And there is something 
 else I want you to promise me. You won't like it, 
 but I want you to do it." 
 
 They had come to the end of the passage to the 
 little hall of many doors and the single stair. 
 
 "Yes?" she stood looking up at him questioningly, 
 languidly. Blue shadows were beneath her eyes. 
 The cheek below the temple looked hollow. Poor 
 child ! It showed him eloquently how right he was. 
 
 320
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 This business of a Son of the Wind was no busi- 
 ness for a woman. She ought never to have been in 
 it, or known anything about it. What he was about 
 to do appeared magnanimous to him. 
 
 "About what we saw last night," he said; "don't 
 go any more." 
 
 She fixed him with such forlorn and dreary 
 amazement that he forgot his scrupulous feeling for 
 not touching her, and took her face between his 
 hands. "It was beautiful, but it is too much for you, 
 it is too far away. You are worn out. You look like 
 a ghost." 
 
 "But I am always like this afterward." 
 
 "So much the worse ! Besides, the journey is too 
 dangerous. It is awful for you, and awful to think 
 of you alone in the middle of the night !" 
 
 "But I have always " 
 
 "Promise me !" 
 
 "Then I shall never see him again!" She stood, 
 an intense and tragic little figure. The spectacle of 
 her suffering made him ache, but the feeling in it he 
 knew was absurd. 
 
 "Remember," he prompted, "you are certain to 
 lose him soon. With the first rains he will be gone." 
 He bent her head back until it rested upon his shoul- 
 der and he looked directly down upon her sullen lids. 
 "Why not have the night we saw him together the 
 
 321
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 last night ?" With his instinct for managing unrea- 
 sonable creatures he had hit upon the right argu- 
 ment. He could see it working upon her. Then he 
 added the last touch. "And next week you will be 
 gone." 
 
 That brought up her eyes as if they saw the future 
 in one wide flash, an unknown landscape stretched 
 out before her and beneath her, into which she must 
 descend, through which she must travel. She shiv- 
 ered. He felt her relax. Her weight rested upon 
 him. The color between her lashes was wet blue, 
 and reflected him a little purer in line, and finer 
 than he was in fact, still himself. Her promise was 
 not made in words, but he understood her well 
 enough not to exact that. It was a curious thing, 
 beautiful and rather awesome, to have a creature 
 whose unspoken thought was a sworn oath. It was 
 more than most men could circle with two arms. He 
 thought this as he held her. 
 
 She raised her hands, resting them on his shoul- 
 ders, and smiled at him. "I'm glad we did see him 
 together, though. Remember the white moth how 
 he hated it, even that weight ?" 
 
 Carron did not know why such a simple sentence 
 should make him uncomfortable. He took her hands 
 from his shoulders. "My dear," he said, "you are 
 far too good !" 
 
 322
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 She looked as indignant as if he had accused her 
 of a sin. "I'm not !" she said vehemently. 
 
 "I mean to me," he explained, amused in spite of 
 himself. "It's your one amiable weakness, and it's 
 made me late. I've got to hurry." 
 
 Something he had said seemed to have embar- 
 rassed her. She was a study of indecision; looked 
 down, looked sidelong, opened her lips to speak, 
 swallowed her breath. 
 
 "I will see you in three days," he said. "Back 
 Thursday morning." He had taken the first steps of 
 the stair, when she called his name. 
 
 The sharp and quavering sound made him turn 
 quickly. She ran to the foot of the stair as if she 
 was afraid he might dash away from her. 
 
 "There is something I must tell you," she began 
 hastily. "Last night I said something that was not 
 true. I didn't mean to I didn't think! I thought 
 afterward ! I told you that no one but you had seen 
 the horse, but Bert Ferrier has seen it." 
 
 This was scarcely news to Carron. He had heard 
 this fact so long ago that he had come to take it for 
 granted, but she was tremulous with compunction. 
 Conscience sat in her eyes. She took hold of him as 
 if she was afraid he might break away from her in 
 rage. "I couldn't help it," she protested. "The 
 trail, you see, goes past his house. I was very care- 
 
 323
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 ful, but one night he saw me. I didn't know it. He 
 followed me." 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes," Carron said hastily. His atten- 
 tion was all awake. "And now something has hap- 
 pened that makes it necessary for you to tell me?" 
 
 She nodded. "Yes. When you were talking about 
 my not telling mother, that I shouldn't have put it 
 off, and all that, it came to me that I was putting off 
 telling you this in the same way ; and then, when you 
 said I was too good, I couldn't bear it! But you 
 went away so fast !" She panted. "So I ran after 
 you." 
 
 Carron felt mystified. "Well, what is it ?" 
 
 She looked puzzled. "Why, that is it." 
 
 He laughed. "My dear child, what difference 
 does it make so long as it doesn't affect our " he 
 had almost said "my" "affairs ?" 
 
 "Oh, but," she opened large eyes at him, "you 
 must know everything about me. You ought, be- 
 cause we are so close, you see. Everything should be 
 said between us." 
 
 "For fear sometime I might hear, and be angry, 
 eh?" 
 
 "No. Even if you never should, even though I 
 knew you never could! All the more because of 
 that. It would be dreadful for me to keep things 
 from you because I knew you would never find out." 
 
 324
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 He pushed a distressed hand across his forehead. 
 *'Yes, yes, I see !" but he didn't in the least. He only 
 felt as if a weight were upon him, that could not de- 
 tain him from going in the direction he wanted, but 
 could make the going hard work. What a heavy 
 necklace a woman could be when a man was strain- 
 ing after something else ! 
 
 "And there is another thing," she continued, "that 
 may really make a difference in our affairs. I don't 
 know what you will think about it, but you see when 
 he followed me " 
 
 She had come to a full stop, and again fear rose 
 in him. "Well, when he followed you ?" 
 
 "I didn't see him until \ve were on the other side 
 of the Sphinx, almost at the cave; and I couldn't 
 make him go back. I didn't dare spend time to try 
 even, for fear it might come and be frightened away 
 for ever. So he came into the cave. And afterward 
 he wouldn't promise not to tell. It wasn't that he 
 wanted the horse," she continued hurriedly, "but be- 
 cause he wanted " again she stopped, beginning 
 afresh. "I was so excited and so afraid I told him 
 if he would hold his tongue I would do anything that 
 he wanted. That was what he wanted, you see. He 
 asked me to marry him then." 
 
 Carron's eyebrows rose, his lips fell a little apart. 
 This was an unexpected joker in the pack. He didn't 
 
 325
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 know what it meant. She stood there, nervously 
 clasping and unclasping her hands in front of her. 
 "Did you say you would ?" His voice sounded with 
 such a short note that she looked frightened. 
 
 "No I didn't; but I couldn't say I would not, 
 either, you see. I didn't know what to do. It wasn't 
 fair! He knew I didn't mean I would do such a 
 thing as that. But he believes I will now, after what 
 I promised. He believes he can make me." She held 
 her hands locked, and looked at him beseechingly, 
 "I don't think he can hold me to it do you?" 
 
 Carron began to shake with laughter. "No, my 
 dear never! You can be sure he won't even try." 
 He seized her, and, in an access of wild spirits, 
 whirled her. "Don't be troubled by that for a mo- 
 ment. I'll look after him!" The sight of her per- 
 plexed face struggling with a smile, because she saw, 
 since he laughed, something must be amusing, sent 
 him off again. He would have liked to wring the 
 wretched Ferrier's neck, but the thing was infernally 
 funny. Blanche, confessing the awful wrong she 
 had done him; with her naive compunctions for 
 keeping her word to that little black hound, who had 
 so secretly, shamefully broken his to her! She had 
 never been so dear nor so funny to Carron as now, 
 her hands lost in his, her cheeks like satin exquisite 
 surfaces to touch and all surrounded by that 
 
 326
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 curious limit, the ideal ; looking at him through the 
 clear element of innocence, taking his word for 
 everything, as if it had been the fall of fate. Leav- 
 ing her he looked back at her, down at her, standing 
 between the dark walls of the stair. Strange, inex- 
 plicable being! What trifles looked large to her, 
 what gauzy ideas seemed real, what nonsense she 
 talked, that was the very devil to get out of his ears. 
 If only she had retained that one little elision of 
 truth between them, kept on her side one piece of 
 double dealing, it wouldn't have made his business 
 quite so hard ! 
 
 Hard? He wondered what he meant by that 
 word. The scheme wasn't hard, it was easy; and 
 what she had told him made it easier. It made one 
 more security for Ferrier's silence. He looked 
 around the room where every morning her hands 
 had made disorder smooth, and was aware of a 
 vague irritation beneath the surface of his spirits. 
 He laid hold of materials as if they had been his 
 enemies. His guns were folly play acting! but he 
 had to take them. Everything else could be inclosed 
 in the roll of blankets and that was light. He worked 
 feverishly, knowing himself late, a thing he hated. 
 He had meant to be at the place of meeting before 
 the men. Waiting had a bad effect on a courage like 
 Ferrier's. As well expect a rabbit to wait! He 
 
 327
 
 SON OF, THE WIND 
 
 hoped Blanche would not appear again to say good- 
 by. 
 
 Going out into the hall he thought he heard a stir 
 in Mrs. Rader's room. He stopped. Perhaps she 
 was coming out to speak with him. He would not 
 mind having a word with her before he went. He 
 listened. Presently the noise came again, and this 
 time he recognized it. It was not any one moving. 
 That sharp sound, so quick to transfix a man, held 
 him motionless, and staring at the door. He had not 
 thought of Mrs. Rader as a woman who cried. Still, 
 women with headaches But was it thus women 
 with headaches cried, as though the whole of unhap- 
 piness had been made audible in a single sound? 
 
 There was something unusual here. An unusual 
 impulse sprang in him to meet it. He advanced 
 toward the door with the courage to knock, but, con- 
 fronted by the blank wood that covered silence, his 
 fingers grew limp. Suppose she were only in pain, 
 and wanted to be let alone, what a fool he would be 
 blundering in there ! And even suppose Ferrier had 
 kept his promise of yesterday? How much time 
 would he spend in reassuring her when Blanche 
 could reassure her just as well better ! He hung on 
 his heel, hesitating. Riding as hard as he could he 
 would scarcely make his appointment. He slung his 
 roll on his shoulder and went briskly down the hall. 
 
 328
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 He did not fail to make his steps audible, thinking 
 if Mrs. Rader had anything to say to him she yet 
 might open her door. But there were no more figures 
 to start up at him and stop him, it seemed, and no 
 more voices to call him back. At last, he was away ! 
 
 A wind was blowing down through the pines, 
 making the branches creak. At midday the air was 
 keen. Thin white clouds were streaming and per- 
 petually shifting in the sky. Only at the zenith re- 
 mained a piece of clear blue. He looked up at it 
 and smiled. The thought of Blanche returned to 
 him, not this time as a being made of scruples, but as 
 a pleasure, arms at the end of a journey, a living 
 color fixed for him, for ever in the gray changeable 
 face of life. Now for the sharp adventure! 
 
 The chestnut felt the mood of her rider, shivered 
 and danced with sympathetic spirits. "Ah, my pretty 
 girl," Carron murmured caressingly, "if you knew 
 where you were taking me you wouldn't be in such 
 a hurry to get there." His eye was critical upon her. 
 His pet, the pick of herds, aping the thoroughbred, 
 now appeared to him over-narrow in the chest, too 
 hollow in the back, weak in the withers. "Your 
 rival, my dear," he cruelly assured her, "and a lot 
 more than your rival besides !" 
 
 This was what he had come for, and what he ex- 
 pected of himself, and it was thus he recognized 
 
 329
 
 SON OF. THE WIND 
 
 himself, moving under open skies with men, no mat- 
 ter whom, as long as they obeyed him, at any hour of 
 the day or night, it didn't matter which. But in this 
 case, to the familiar conditions there was added an 
 unfamiliar surrounding. There were mountains 
 where he was accustomed to see plains. He had a 
 few scant days where he was accustomed to use as 
 many weeks, and he saw ahead of him all the diffi- 
 culties, unexperienced and uncalculated, arising 
 from new conditions. The very trail was unknown to 
 him. Every step he took forward was strange. No 
 time now to look back. His only retrospection was 
 when he reached the place of meeting, and saw the 
 half-breed waiting there and Ferrier. At the first 
 glimpse, "You little hound !" he thought. He shook 
 inwardly with amusement. Everything the fellow 
 did was ugly, yet somehow it looked trivial. Carron 
 would have liked to pick him up by the collar and 
 pitch him aside, anywhere, down the canon for in- 
 stance, but unfortunately it was necessary to have 
 him, a guide and a leader for horses. 
 
 Their point of departure from the road was at the 
 very place from which, more than two weeks ago, 
 he had looked longingly up the "Highway of the 
 Gods," felt he was turning aside from the right way, 
 yet thought that way impassable. Had he stepped 
 just off the road and, stooping a little, looked down 
 
 330
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 toward the right, he would have seen the trail, very 
 faint, discernable only to the mountaineer's eye, glid- 
 ing past, protected on either hand by rock and tim- 
 ber. Had he done this he might then and there have 
 followed it, found alone the dark hills and the river, 
 seen, alone, what he had been led to last night. So 
 chance might have befriended him. Just as well, she 
 might have led him astray. He had spent some 
 strange days on a side track, but it had led him back 
 again in one of those circuitous, long routes com- 
 pounded of character and circumstance which men 
 call fate, to this place where he had fixed his 
 fancy first, with the gates growing nearer in front 
 of him, and the blue garden of mountains beyond. 
 
 It was not an easy trail, and getting away on a 
 trail into the mountains is much like getting away 
 from the coast to sea. There was hard choppy go- 
 ing, tacking and changing before they began to get 
 the hang of it, get into the swing of their pace, see 
 the tops of eminences all around them like tops of 
 breakers, lose sight of the road and all thought of 
 roads, and rejoice to find themselves voyaging in the 
 welter of heights. Carron's activities had begun, 
 and plunging into them, he stripped himself of the 
 vanities and comforts of life as a runner throws 
 aside garments. Necessities appeared luxuries, and 
 as the impetus gathered headway the necessity for
 
 SON OE THE .WIND 
 
 motion left other necessities behind. Food was the 
 first, for he had started at daybreak with most casual 
 foraging. He had forgotten there could be such a 
 thing as set hours when people gathered at table. 
 Eating had become an act that gave a man energy 
 for greater acts. It was something to be snatched 
 at a moment by the way. As for sleeping, the owls 
 had more anticipation of it than he when night 
 brought the sky black above them, and the moon like 
 an apple of silver. He, who had tossed on a bed and 
 thought of a woman, now felt the rocking saddle 
 under him, heard the river, heard the wind in his 
 ears, saw the rising stars. 
 
 Men and horses, they slipped in among the black 
 hills at eight in the evening, too late for work or for 
 anything but turning in. Men and horses camped 
 some half mile below the ford, Carron himself lying 
 close in the cave. He had expected nothing for that 
 night, yet when nothing came, no sound challenging 
 silence, no shadow on the broad moonlighted open, 
 he experienced a sense of defeat. His heart was a 
 house of doubts. Reason asserted that it could not be 
 every night the creature came to drink. He might 
 watch out two nights, three perhaps, before the mo- 
 ment came. The fear remained in his mind that be- 
 fore it came again he might watch for ever. 
 
 He contested this idea, refused to believe it, reck- 
 332
 
 THE MAN IH SADDLE 
 
 i# ^ *#> 
 
 oned the past, and perceived that because lie Had re- 
 fused to fail he had never done so. Then certainly 
 this was to be a success. Problems that rose upon 
 him for the next day restored his courage. They 
 were difficult They required the whole of his brain 
 in cooperation with imagination the imagination 
 of the mathematician calculating toward an un- 
 known quantity, making the brain servant to the in- 
 spiration. In a few years he had worked out his 
 problem, perfecting it, a method of capture all his 
 own. Now in a few hours he had to readapt the 
 formula of the plains to the mountains, to reckon 
 what must be added, what could be left out. It must 
 be a triumph of omissions, both because time was 
 to be husbanded and because of the difficulty of work 
 in the forest without leaving the signs of work. On 
 the plains the trails of men are more easily erased. 
 The footsteps are covered with dust carried by the 
 wind, and the same wind in the wide open carries 
 away the human scent; but here with forest on 
 every side, the spongy soil underfoot, and an air 
 shut in among heights, there were delicate surfaces 
 on every side to take the print of the human, and re- 
 port his elicit presence to delicate, superhuman 
 senses. 
 
 The men moved as guardedly as thieves in a house. 
 A broken branch would have been a warning to 
 
 333
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 the wary master of the solitude, a wisp of smoke 
 an alarm. Therefore no camp-fires were kindled 
 not even a pipe lighted. Therefore no timber was 
 hewn. Carron used the strength of the forest, mak- 
 ing the posts of his barrier growing trees. These 
 were thick on three sides. On the fourth where the 
 river ran they used the poles, sinking them in the 
 sand of the ford, and where that failed, and the 
 water flowed away into rock, the canvas was 
 stretched as tight as three men could draw it along 
 the high bank until the forest could give it support 
 again. It was finished by noon of the second day. 
 All that was left was the harder task of waiting. 
 That night black clouds rose with the moon, and 
 unheated, uncomforted, they shivered and endured. 
 Carron was so far advanced into the intense strain 
 of the approaching crisis that he believed himself 
 calm. He believed it did not matter whether any- 
 thing came or failed to come. Let come what would, 
 nothing could move him again. At one o'clock or a 
 little later, the false calm went into a thousand 
 pieces. With the first sounds in the distance his 
 nerves began to cry out. Uncertainty plucked apart 
 resolution. Will the creature detect the change ? the 
 barrier hidden, the runway in the forest? No 
 still coming, drawing nearer. Now, he is stopping! 
 He has scented it. He must already have entered 
 
 334
 
 THE MAN IN SADDLE 
 
 it. Surely that edged instinct that has never been 
 surrounded will feel the unseen barrier creeping 
 upon him, drawing in from each side ! The shadows 
 of the pines on the moonlighted space were an em- 
 broidery of gray that moved before Carron's dis- 
 ordered sight, the moon was like a white flower in the 
 clouds, a vague blossom of light, when the thing 
 happened. 
 
 The sound of a ridden horse crashing in the 
 forest came behind the rhythmic approaching trot, 
 and instantly a double rushing of hoofs. Hark! 
 which way is the driven one running ? Is he coming, 
 or has he turned to charge his pursuer? The man's 
 excited ears, sounding with their own pulses, could 
 not distinguish. He heard the night broken by 
 alarms and echoes. He scrambled from his hiding, 
 and remained half fallen upon the rocks, gaping like 
 a terrified boy seeing a visible thunderbolt. It 
 seemed to be going clean over the barrier over the 
 stream. Then the recoil too quick for the eye, the 
 turn. The moonlighted space was empty ; but there 
 was a sound of a passing like a storm among the 
 trees. Away for ever away to the other side of 
 the world away from the man who thought to cor- 
 ral the wind. Hola! There it came again, the 
 swing about. What had happened? Carron's be- 
 wildered senses recognized the flight of terror. Now 
 
 335
 
 SON OF THE t WIND 
 
 he heard it on the right, now on the left among the 
 trees ; and at intervals his eyes saw a black, gleaming 
 body shooting like an apparition across the open 
 space. It disappeared and turned on itself, and ap- 
 peared again ! The water was churned white in the 
 ford. 
 
 That was a fine charge of fate, a brave chal- 
 lenge of the inevitable but not over it ! The hoofs 
 that could dash out a man's brains scattered peb- 
 bles. Swiftness that had covered long distances 
 straight now ran in a circle like insanity. Birth of 
 the winds, skimmer over the world, by all miracles 
 he was real! He was caught between walls of 
 earthly stuff; and a little drunken human being, 
 drunk with his moment of power, danced among the 
 boulders, threw up his hat idiotically toward the 
 moon, and raised his voice in a quavering cheer. 
 
 336
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 FOR a time which he had no way of measuring 
 he knew he was beside himself. He was Car- 
 ron, perhaps, but he was Carron translated, caught 
 up in the flesh into paradise. Voices from the earth 
 were shouting anxiously, "Look out, look out, he'll 
 get away! That stuff will never stand it!" He 
 laughed at them. It was only canvas but hadn't 
 Carron set it up there? That was reason enough 
 for its never coming down. He published himself 
 the conqueror of the unconquerable, and, staggering 
 with success, he still remembered to order some of 
 those vague people around him to make sure the gate 
 closing the corral was fast. He had a coil of rope in 
 his hand, ready with the lasso lest there be any dan- 
 ger of escape. Himself with the others made sure 
 of the barrier by light of lanterns and the clouded 
 moon. His heart was going a hundred to the min- 
 ute, but his watch measured off the minutes as it had 
 measured them two weeks ago, or an hour ago. The 
 caps of the mountains stood steady, extraordinarily 
 insensible against the sky. 
 
 337
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 Amazing how still everything was! He heard 
 only the chuckle of the water, the brittle crash of 
 men's footsteps in the brush, and the pacing of the 
 thing inside. That moved as if it never would be 
 still again. Sometimes he saw it, a black bulk 
 among the trees, then black and silver swinging 
 through the moonlight space, to be swallowed again 
 in trees. It was like a disappearing appearing form 
 in a dream. It looked so improbable to him he half 
 expected it must melt before his eyes, and change 
 into something else. Then the moon set, and he no 
 longer saw, only heard. Reality retreated further 
 from him, and at rare intervals when the sound of 
 the hoofs stopped, it seemed as though the horse 
 must have vanished. At last the flood of night and 
 magic ran out and left him with his captive, visible, 
 real and still in his hands. 
 
 In his hands, not figuratively only, but in fact. 
 Carron remembered for a long time the moment 
 when he first touched the body which had appeared 
 to him like a vision. It lost nothing in value, though 
 he had proved it to be flesh, though he fastened it 
 with ropes. Rather the value increased to him. For 
 now he could see every detail of beauty and found 
 them perfect perfect proportion, form without a 
 blemish, youth in the teeth, and lineage in the fierce, 
 full eye. The inheritance from remote, illustrious 
 
 338
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 sires spoke there, and in the small head, and fine thin 
 mane. But there was another inheritance in the 
 creature that manifested itself strangely. Bound, 
 held immovable, strained into humiliating contor- 
 tions, there was still a look of aloofness in him. 
 While the ropes cut into his flesh, they had to be- 
 lieve they handled him; but once the ropes were off 
 all sense of controlling him or ever having controlled 
 him, was gone. With his foreleg doubled back and 
 fastened sharply up beneath his belly, lunging at 
 every step, the illusion of liberty still hung about 
 him. Something that was big in his narrow brain, 
 something that did not understand what bondage 
 was, seemed even in the narrow inclosure to take 
 him away from them. It seemed almost as if the 
 famous heritage the Indians claimed for him was 
 truth. Carron, with a hot heart of triumph, with 
 cool, calculating eyes, surveyed the creature, and de- 
 cided that he would take a deal of letting alone. Let 
 him alone for the first twelve hours ; let him get used 
 to himself in his new conditions. To-morrow they 
 could put the halter on him, and perhaps be able, the 
 next day, to lead him out. Meanwhile the horse- 
 breaker made tentative experiments in driving him, 
 and had plentiful examples of how obstinate, fierce 
 and quick an animal with only three legs to use 
 might be. 
 
 339
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 They had hobbled Son of the Wind while morn- 
 ing was yet small and golden on the tops of the hills. 
 Afternoon, rushing upon them, found their camp es- 
 tablished. No need to cover trail now. The place 
 in the wilderness was like a box broken open, the 
 treasure of its inviolability gone. Trails were 
 trampled, horses picketed. There was the reek of 
 tobacco, the smoke of fires ; and the odor of cooking 
 was blown to noble, unhuman, indignant nostrils. 
 Even on the other side of the Sphinx, ready for the 
 man who wanted to make the shorter journey, a 
 pony browsed among blowing fodder that had been 
 strewn for him there. All was filled with the clutter 
 of human expedients beautiful if a man looks to 
 the expedient and Carron did. Some uneasy 
 change in the atmosphere, sharpening odors of dead 
 leaves, deepening of distance colors, intensifying of 
 cold, warned him that time for what he wanted was 
 growing short. How short he could not tell. Dawn 
 of the next day showed him. The cold rose in the 
 east lighted an ominous prospect. The sky, which 
 yesterday had been violet, was blue like a sword; 
 there was an edge in the air that went to the bone. 
 A cloud stretched in a pathway from the east to the 
 zenith, and its edges of opaque gray continually 
 spread toward the north and south. Nature measures 
 her seasons with no thought of giving a background 
 
 340
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 'for the prodigious performances of men. Oftener 
 their plans are dashed to pieces against her immov- 
 able system. So Carron thought, staring up at the 
 cloud. By that he had two days. He calculated 
 hours and events. 
 
 The first, most important, was a thing quite out- 
 side the business in hand, but it was a precaution, 
 and necessary. He felt a vague distaste for what he 
 was about to do, without knowing why. His mo- 
 mentous affair took all his mind. Every person and 
 thing about him was absorbed into that interest. Fer- 
 rier no longer existed to him as an individual. Fer- 
 rier was simply the factotum of the camp, and had 
 no connection in Carron's thoughts with any other 
 place or moment. He explained to Ferrier what 
 was expected of him : to take the pony waiting at 
 the foot of the Sphinx, get in to Beckwith as fast as 
 possible, meet the vaquero coming up on the morn- 
 ing train, bring him to the place where the trail 
 passed Ferrier's house, and direct him along the 
 way. "That will be all I want of you," he con- 
 cluded; "we will be on the lookout for him on the 
 other side. You need not come back." He added 
 that Ferrier would better stop in at the Raders' and 
 tell them that Carron would not return to-night as 
 he had expected, but probably the day after to-mor- 
 row. He ended with a feeling of triumph that at last 
 
 341
 
 SON OF. THE WIND 
 
 he had done with this unpleasant assistance, and 
 might kick it behind him, and forget that he had 
 had it. Ferrier stood planted in the middle of the 
 trail where Carron had stopped him, looking at the 
 horse-breaker with an astonished air. "Why do you 
 want to send a message to the Raders if you aren't 
 going back there again ?" he demanded. "You've got 
 the horse, haven't you? Then why don't you get out 
 as quietly and as fast as you can ?" 
 
 Was there no leaving this fellow behind ? Was he 
 always to be with a man; more than with him 
 ahead of him ; starting up in front of him with some 
 devilish pertinence of the past ? 
 
 Carron replied evasively with what was a part of 
 the truth, that if no message was sent the Raders 
 might become anxious and despatch some one in 
 search of him, and people coming upon him here in 
 his present situation was certainly the last thing he 
 wanted. It was not probable, but in this case he pre- 
 ferred to be on the safe side. If Ferrier was afraid 
 of questions he could carry a written message, and he 
 could tell Mrs. Rader that a half-breed had brought 
 it to him at his house. 
 
 This reassurance did not seem at all to touch the 
 point of the man's fear. He would not, could not, 
 dared not face the Raders! He was afraid to go 
 back. He was afraid to go home. He was afraid, 
 
 342
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 it appeared, of everything outside of Carron's 
 shadow. He clung to that as if the horse-breaker 
 were his one protector and friend. 
 
 "But you will have to go back some time !" Car- 
 ron insisted. "You will have to go back day after 
 to-morrow when I am gone. Why not now ? What's 
 the difference ?" He was exasperated, but he couldn't 
 help smiling. Ferrier was a figure to made Mel- 
 pomene smile. He was laden with impedimenta 
 from the first camp down the river, blankets on his 
 back, camp kettles on one arm, rifle under the other 
 a tragic stubbornness in his face. "There is a dif- 
 ference," he said. He glanced at Carron, then at 
 the trees, at the steep ascent of the Sphinx in 
 front of him. He seemed to be a man with more 
 than one dread. "When you are gone, you're 
 gone," he began rapidly, "and the horse, too, 
 and then I'll be certain they'll never find out. But 
 while I know you are here, if I should see them, and 
 anything should be said, I'd get rattled; I know I 
 would ! I'd give it away ! They'd get it out of me." 
 
 "Come ! That's no reason at all a girl's reason !" 
 Son of the Wind had renewed his plungings. The 
 hollow stream bed multiplied echoes. Carron looked 
 past Ferrier to the opening in the trees, which gave 
 a glimpse of the ford at a little distance. He had 
 been at broad grin, and the expression continued to 
 
 343
 
 SON OE THE WIND 
 
 draw his lips, but in his mind he ceased to be amused. 
 His forehead wrinkled in anxiety to make out what 
 sort of thing he was seeing. 
 
 Ferrier swung around on his heel. "Oh Lord!" 
 he said. 
 
 The apparition was no dreadful one. It was 
 planted leg-deep in the middle of the stream, the 
 body a little crouched together, the head held low 
 on a stretched neck, elbows bent, hands carried for- 
 ward no, those must be paws. It was an animal 
 that had scented, just risen to its hind legs for ob- 
 servation. Carron watched to see it drop back on all 
 fours, and experienced a vague, uneasy astonishment 
 when it began to move forward still upright on two 
 feet, wading through the ford. With each step 
 forward the animal aspect melted ; by the time it had 
 climbed the bank and emerged upon the level the 
 illusion was gone; yet, what remained, or rather 
 what had evolved itself, though it was not beast, 
 certainly was scarcely human. It was in fact that 
 being which Ferrier had never called his brother, and 
 which as it approached, appeared to have no relation 
 to the man on the road, or indeed to any man. 
 A shaggy deity of the forest might have stared with 
 such foreign, incommunicable eyes, not cruel, not 
 crafty, not even vacant, but containing nothing 
 human intelligence understands. Behind him the 
 
 344
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 sound of horses' feet was audible, tramping, con- 
 tinuously circling, now on the rock, now in the 
 water. 
 
 "How did he get out here?" Carron said, turning 
 upon his companion. 
 
 "I don't know! How should I know? He goes 
 all over the country. He's everywhere. What dif- 
 ference does it make how he got here?" Ferrier re- 
 torted breathlessly. "He is here. Don't you see? 
 He's been over there he's seen it! He's seen me ! 
 I'm afraid " He shrank into Carron's shadow. 
 "Don't let him get by! Don't let him go !" he whis- 
 pered. 
 
 "Why not? He doesn't understand anything?" 
 
 "Not what he hears but when he sees a thing; 
 and he saw me !" 
 
 "And he sees me. Steady," Carron murmured. 
 "He isn't trying to pass us. He's coming toward us." 
 
 The boy had diverged a little from the path, and 
 was advancing toward them through the trees with 
 great deliberation. His movements were smooth 
 no pause, no quickening; slow, yet apparently with- 
 out reluctance. His gaze was on Carron's face. 
 What did he want? Was he bringing a message? 
 He had not the aspect of a messenger whose purpose 
 would be haste, and here there seemed to be a pur- 
 pose in slowness. It chained the attention. Was 
 
 345
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 this insanity? Had the simpleton gone mad? It 
 was the natural explanation; yet, the creature had 
 never looked less mad than he did at this moment. 
 There was something beneath the surface light of the 
 eye something discriminating and personal that 
 does not belong to insanity. Drawing closer it ap- 
 peared as though, centered deep in each pupil, there 
 was a live, concentrated spark. It shone dimly, as 
 if from behind a veil. He was in front of Carron 
 when the veil seemed to lift, and the meaning blazed. 
 Hate, the high human prerogative, for a moment, 
 transformed the nameless little being into a man. 
 
 A wave went through Carron's blood, hotter than 
 dislike or disgust. The senses acknowledged an 
 equal, were ready for an opponent before the mind 
 could think. George Ferrier was furtively advancing 
 his foot, and very slowly extending his hand. The 
 horse-breaker watched it, feeling himself attacked, 
 not knowing in what manner to guard. He reckoned 
 how hard he could strike to stun without killing. 
 The tips of the fingers had almost touched him when 
 the boy leaped, not forward upon his adversary, nor 
 backward from him, but sidewise, like a cat. 
 
 Carron clutched at him, grasped air, and stumbled 
 forward on hands and knees. He heard something 
 dash past him up the slope, the ringing of iron on 
 the ground. He got to his feet in time to see the boy 
 
 346
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 dive into the underbrush like a fox. Bert Ferrier, 
 like a hound off the scent, ran back and forth whim- 
 pering, "Stop him, stop him!" 
 
 Shouting to Ferrier, to Esmeralda Charley to beat 
 up through the bush, Carron ran up the trail. It 
 swung far to the right, then as far to the left, and 
 the first sharp turn commanded the underwood to 
 the river. From here he overlooked the sea of dull 
 green, saw the half-breed floundering in the bristling 
 stuff, saw Ferrier running along the edge of it, his 
 rifle still in his hand. He was frantically waving 
 the other arm, and seemed in terror, a divided ter- 
 ror, lest their prey escape, and lest it spring unex- 
 pectedly upon him out of the scrub. But out of it 
 came only a few birds, rising on wings to their air 
 trails. Carron's glance ranged to the left. The fugi- 
 tive might have edged away in that direction. Noth- 
 ing stirred. 
 
 Ferrier, abandoning even the appearance of help- 
 ing the Indian, came pounding up the trail to where 
 the horse-breaker stood. "It's no use ! You'll never 
 find him!" he panted. 
 
 His face was red, and his voice piped through his 
 laboring breath. He looked furiously at Carron. 
 "Why didn't you hold on to him ? Why in hell did 
 you let him get by you?" 
 
 "How in hell was I to know he was going by? 
 347
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 He was coming toward us, as if he wanted some- 
 thing." 
 
 The elder Ferrier snarled with disdain. "Of 
 course ! That's what he meant you to think ! That's 
 what he was aiming for from the start that's how 
 he fooled you." He triumphed in Carron's dis- 
 comfiture; was proud for once of his brother's at- 
 tainment. "Oh, he fooled you fast enough! He's 
 smart enough sometimes! Look, look!" His voice, 
 breaking off its scorn, quavered. Both men stared 
 aloft. Higher than the place where they stood, 
 higher than the trees, a ripple ran like a snake on the 
 tops of the bushes. A light crashing was audible as 
 though some animal was traveling swiftly, invisibly. 
 
 "That's not he !" Carron shouted it in his amaze- 
 ment. "He couldn't get above me !" 
 
 "Oh, you think no one can get above you ! I tell 
 you he is !" 
 
 "I tell you there hasn't been time !" 
 
 "He runs like a coyote." 
 
 "A man can't run in brush." 
 
 "H^can!" 
 
 The ripple had reached the end of the underwoods. 
 There it transformed itself into a bending and rend- 
 ing of twigs, then into a dark human form, which 
 emerged upon the naked breast of the Sphinx. 
 
 "A-a-ahh !" Ferrier said. The sound came from 
 348
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 the throat, an animal's voice. He threw his gun up 
 to his shoulder. Carron was quick enough. He 
 knocked the muzzle up, and the bullet sang into the 
 sky. The figure on the rock flung up long arms above 
 his head and brandished them. Whether the contor- 
 tions were delight or derision it was impossible to 
 know but certainly they were not fear. 
 
 "I won't kill him !" Ferrier said. "I only want to 
 get him in the arm or leg ; I want to stop him ! He'll 
 get away!" 
 
 "Drop it, or you'll get a slug in your own body !" 
 the horse-breaker said sternly. He took the gun, 
 threw off the cock, and looked again up at the 
 Sphinx. The boy had disappeared. 
 
 Ferrier sat down and howled. Carron felt like 
 laughing. Now that the bewilderment of the unex- 
 pected was past, the appearance of George Ferrier 
 ceased to be alarming. It appeared to Carron one of 
 those accidents, dramatic and arresting in aspect, 
 which are no more portentous in fact than a dream. 
 It had gone like a dream. All that remained to him 
 was irritation at being outwitted, and a shiver of the 
 flesh. But this poor fool on the ground what ailed 
 him, smitten as if by the appearance of his fate? 
 What could the boy report but that he had seen a 
 horse in a corral? How could he report at all? 
 With what gesture, what intelligible sound? One 
 
 349
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 thing that was to the point, was clear. Ferrier's 
 performance had been shocking, but it was only evi- 
 dence of abject nerves. He would never do for a 
 messenger. He would blurt out the secret to the first 
 face. Carron touched him compassionately. "You're 
 used up," he said. "You'd better get some sleep." 
 
 He made ready himself, giving the half-breed 
 final instructions : to drive the stallion into the open 
 part of the corral Ferrier could help him with that 
 and put up the second wall of canvas at the edge 
 of the trees; to leave the mares in the corral, and, at 
 intervals to try whether the stallion would drive 
 with them; to see that Ferrier didn't get at any 
 whisky. 
 
 The brown, little man listened attentively, and of- 
 fered no comment. He was the sort to have a fel- 
 low with a dog's faith, and no ideas in his head but 
 the ones the horse-breaker had put into it. A pity 
 he had to be left alone with the full weight of re- 
 sponsibility, Carron thought, and said so. "What if 
 any part of the corral should be ineffective? The 
 half-breed contemptuously smiled. Fifty horses like 
 this one, he represented, couldn't get out of it. 
 
 "There aren't fifty like this horse, Charley," Car- 
 ron said, "there isn't one." His quirt was in his 
 hand; his sweater pulled to his ears, his cap to his 
 eyes. Whistling he climbed the terraces of stone, 
 
 350
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 and passing through the window of the Sphinx, de- 
 scending, took horse on the other side. The first, 
 maddest elation had subsided. He had come down 
 from the skies, but he was still Carron seated on 
 top of the world. He ached with the prolonged ten- 
 sion of the last three nights. He had wrenched his 
 shoulder in spoiling Ferrier's aim, and an old rheu- 
 matic pain stabbed him with intermittent fury; yet 
 he had never been so happy in his life. 
 
 The sweet consciousness of achievement coursed 
 through brain to finger-tips not the dubious 
 achievement of the mind, not the quality of facts, but 
 the fact itself, the incontrovertible success of the 
 hands. He had succeeded before. As far as he could 
 remember he had always succeeded ; but it had been 
 with lesser things ; and then to get one thing he had 
 invariably had to give up another. He had put that 
 down as a rule of life, had never expected anything 
 better ; but now he had, at once, the two things of all 
 the world he most wanted. He had only to keep 
 them apart very quietly that the one should not know 
 of the other. It was a dizzying discovery. Never, 
 since he had been a boy, had life seemed so filled 
 to the brim with everything for him, so limitless in 
 possibilities. Nothing would ever say no to him 
 again. He breathed deep, drawing the future toward 
 him. 
 
 351
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 If he had done as he pleased he would have re- 
 turned with his man from Beckwith straight to 
 the camp in the shadow of the Sphinx. But there 
 was no avoiding the stop at Raders'. Since he had 
 told them he would be back that night it would be 
 safe to put in an appearance and let them know that 
 everything was all right, especially since that ap- 
 pearance of George Ferrier. It was midday when he 
 left his vaquero to wait for him at the foot of Ra- 
 der's Hill and ascended the road between the bend- 
 ing trees. All this country, which for long had lain 
 asleep in the sun, was beginning to stir uneasily in the 
 shadow of the cloud. A shiver, rather than a wind, 
 was in the wood. The road was without its dia- 
 monds of light; the clearing before the house with- 
 out its noon circle of sun. The house itself looked 
 as small to him and as frail as a paper box. He felt 
 that he could kick it over. There was a continuous, 
 dry rustling of dead stuff. The rushing of the pines 
 sounded like surf. Glorious weather! He jumped 
 out of saddle and ran along the porch. How beauti- 
 ful to rush in on them and tell them about it. Why, 
 in the name of Heaven, were women such strange 
 sweet fools? 
 
 He heard the barking of a dog inside, and opening 
 the door, Beetles met him, hailed him with leaps and 
 crouchings as his deliverer, his master, his adored 
 
 352
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 and worshiped god, returned at last; from where, 
 was of no interest to Beetles. Carron caressed him, 
 assured him that he was an excellent little dog, but 
 not at all the person wanted, and went on in search. 
 At this hour the women would probably be in the 
 kitchen together, but the room was empty. A cloth 
 was flung on a chair as it might have fallen from a 
 careless hand. The sink was full of tins. "They will 
 be back in a moment," Carron thought ; but inspec- 
 tion showed the fire in the stove to be nearly out and 
 the water in the pans cold. In the dining-room dishes 
 stood on the table as they had been left from break- 
 fast, the shades were drawn high, a cold light filled 
 the place, and flies sang in the panes. Impatient at 
 not finding people where he expected them when he 
 wanted them, he ran up-stairs. No answers to his 
 knocks. Down-stairs again, and an inspiration seized 
 him. It was possible that they were employed in 
 some way about the greater house. He opened the 
 door which led from the little hall into the large din- 
 ing-room. Here he experienced the curious sensa- 
 tion of one who enters a room in which he has 
 been on one occasion, with which he has but one 
 association. Carron had not been here since his first 
 morning in the house, when Blanche had led him 
 through, and now the odor of the place, dry and en- 
 closed, revivified the past moment. He had a flying 
 
 353
 
 recollection of how she had looked to him, that clear 
 first impression of personality, just how she had 
 walked across the floor between the tables and the 
 army of chairs. It seemed almost she must be cross- 
 ing it now, one foot advanced with the temptation to 
 slide, glancing at him with serious, sidelong turn of 
 her head. 
 
 No one was crossing it. The tables had been 
 pushed back against the wall. A glassy surface 
 stretched uninterrupted, reflecting like a pool of 
 water, but at the other side of it, the sole figure in the 
 expanse, the scholar was standing. He was fronting 
 Carron, but did not appear to see him or hear him. 
 He had the look of being adrift in the large place, 
 stranded by the table, clinging there, a limp body 
 without volition. His gaze was fixed upon a white 
 sugar-bowl as though it contained the secret of the 
 universe. Carron looked at him affectionately. This 
 was his fellow conspirator who was responsible for 
 to-day's triumph. He was more glad to see the 
 scholar at this moment than any other person in the 
 house. He wanted to shout out the good news from 
 where he stood, to wring his hand with congratula- 
 tions. "Hello," he said, "are you getting lost, Mr. 
 Rader?" 
 
 The scholar raised his head with a nervous toss, 
 peculiar and characteristic, and stood at gaze. Thus, 
 
 354
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 surprised and blank, he might have regarded the ap- 
 pearance of a stranger. 
 
 Carron made a run and a slide across the shining 
 floor. "Didn't you expect me?" he asked. , 
 
 Rader had backed a little as if this onslaught had 
 nearly put him to flight, and now, confronted im- 
 mediately by the man and the question, "No," he 
 said, and looked down. "I've dashed in on him too 
 suddenly and scared him out of his thoughts," Car- 
 ron reflected. 
 
 "I told you I would be back to-night," he said. 
 
 "Yes, but " Rader's air was embarrassed and 
 shy. He seemed unable to get any further. 
 
 Carron smiled encouragingly at him. "I have had 
 good luck," he said. He couldn't resist that much, 
 though he knew he was treading dangerous ground. 
 
 The scholar raised his large blue eyes and fixed 
 them on the young man. There was a spark in the 
 center of each, the flame of a most acute distress. 
 The signal reached Carron even in the citadel of his 
 success. 
 
 "What's happened ?" he said. He was dimly con- 
 cerned that his friend, this good fellow, should be 
 unhappy, suffering. Still he was smiling. Every- 
 thing that happened, or might still be happening, 
 among the people of this house looked far beneath 
 him and small as the things on earth appear to a 
 
 355
 
 SON OE THE WIND 
 
 voyager in a balloon. "Has Mrs. Rader heard yet, I 
 mean the facts about us, eh ?" 
 
 "Yes," Rader answered, "she" 
 
 The outer door closed and a precipitous step came 
 along the hall. 
 
 "Oh Lord !" he said helplessly. 
 
 "Brace up," Carron urged. "It's all right. It's 
 only Blanche." 
 
 "It's Mrs. Rader," the scholar said. "You 
 she" 
 
 He had started again to speak of his wife, but if 
 he wanted to give Carron a hint of any sort he was 
 too late with it. The young man would have 
 wagered it was the girl's step he had heard ; but the 
 door opened upon the older woman. Her hair was 
 blown, and a shawl was held over her shoulders. 
 He scarcely knew her coming in with this headlong 
 manner. She saw him and stopped. The draft 
 carried to the door behind her with a clap that 
 sounded like a gun of defiance. 
 
 Here was no time for smiling, however much a 
 man might feel like it. The woman fates were 
 against him and he must pull a sober face. He went 
 quickly, propitiatorily forward. "Mr. Rader tells 
 me you know about it." 
 
 She did not speak, but holding the shawl around 
 her with nervous fingers, kept looking at him in a 
 
 356
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 way that made him uncomfortable. "I am sorry 
 you don't like it," he said. 
 
 She turned from him abruptly upon her husband. 
 "Are you a man ?" she demanded. "You could stand 
 here and let him come in ?" 
 
 "How could I help it?" Rader inquired queru- 
 lously. "He was in here before I knew." He sat 
 down disconsolately in one of the army of chairs. 
 
 "You wouldn't have kept him out anyway," she 
 retorted. "You care more about what you want to 
 do than about your own blood." 
 
 The subject of this discussion stood hearing it 
 as if he were hearing of some third indefinite person. 
 He felt astonished, and curious to know what that 
 person had done. "Mrs. Rader," he urged, "I know 
 very well that from the first you haven't liked me, 
 but I am not such a bad sort as you think." 
 
 The woman's breast heaved as if her narrow 
 frame were too small to contain her emotion. 
 
 "You know what Blanche thinks about it, I sup- 
 pose?" he added. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Where is she?" 
 
 "You won't see her !" 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Rader," Carron protested, and 
 began to feel irritated, "you have not heard the 
 facts?" 
 
 357
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "I have heard enough." 
 
 "For instance?" 
 
 "I have heard about the horse." 
 
 With the word everything, even Rader's aspect, 
 became serious. "What horse?" he said coldly. 
 
 "The wild horse." 
 
 He looked at her steadily. He knew that, if his 
 eyes wavered an instant, something in his mind 
 would waver too, and lose grasp of the situation. A 
 dozen thoughts were struggling there for first place. 
 "Did that boy George tell you?" 
 
 "It wasn't George. It was Bert." 
 
 He shouted at her. "He couldn't !" 
 
 "Why? Did you think he was loyal to you?" 
 
 Carron didn't hear her sarcasm, her triumph; 
 heard nothing but the preposterous fact. He shot 
 a glance into the past and saw the passionate, futile 
 figure of the man on the road. That fellow, immo- 
 lated in confession, blazing up at the last with cour- 
 age enough to dash down his own hope with his 
 rival's? Admirable desperation, who could have 
 dreamed he had that much in him! Carron could 
 have sworn he knew his man to the hilt, but he 1 
 couldn't imagine how Ferrier would look meeting the 
 pinch of the facts. "Exactly what did he tell you ?" 
 
 Mrs. Rader seemed to find something in his man- 
 ner she did not understand. "He said he met you 
 
 358
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 on the road coming up here, and that you a'sked him 
 where there was a house that would take you in over 
 night ; and he directed you to this one." 
 
 Carron's attentive ear marked the omission. 
 "Well and then?" 
 
 "He said that after you had been here a few days 
 you asked him if he knew the whereabouts of this 
 horse, and he told you he had never heard of such 
 a creature. He said, too, that you had tried to find 
 out from Blanche." 
 
 "When did he tell you all this?" 
 
 "It was three no, it was four days ago that he 
 told me about the horse ; but since you first came he 
 has been saying you were only playing with 
 Blanche." 
 
 "I see !" Carron was feeling hot and white. "And 
 did you ask him, by any chance, how I had heard, in 
 the first place, there was such a thing as this horse?" 
 
 "Yes. but he said he didn't know. He supposed 
 that some one in the house must have told you." 
 
 Carron made a silent commentary on his belief in 
 miracles ; a commentary also on his understanding of 
 the science of cowards and of lies. He had been a 
 mere child in Ferrier's hands, superb in his confi- 
 dence in himself, never reckoning how easy it would 
 be for Ferrier to scamp the story. "Your husband did 
 not tell me," he said, "if that is what Ferrier made 
 
 359
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 you think. I knew before I saw Mr. Rader. What 
 I got from him I got out of him without his know- 
 ing. I got it out of all of them. I got it out of 
 Blanche in the same way ; but I got it out of Ferrier 
 in the first place. He was drunk, and part of that 
 was my responsibility, but he knew what we were 
 about well enough when it came to the bargain. He 
 didn't tell you he was paid for it ? Naturally ! Loyal 
 tome? He hasn't been loyal to any of us ! He " 
 Carron saw wide pictures of memory Ferrier bar- 
 gaining him away from Raders' by promises of the 
 horse ; hailed out of his house trembling, reluctant to 
 fulfil his promise weeping by the trail that he had 
 been seen there seen ! What use of repeating it all. 
 Mrs. Rader was eying him challengingly. "Then 
 you don't deny you came here for the horse ?" 
 "No it's true enough." 
 "And now you have him." 
 "Pardon me, how do you know that ?" 
 She showed a little trepidation, as if she felt her- 
 self advancing into deep water. "Because I didn't 
 believe Bert's story. It sounded like a made-up tale. 
 A wild horse running in the mountains, that he knew 
 about, and Blanche, and even Mr. Rader, and that 
 I had never heard of ! He wouldn't tell me a word ! 
 She flashed an unforgiving glance toward where the 
 scholar sat drooping. "But afterward, when I had 
 
 360
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 thought it over, how strange it was that you should 
 have come here a man like you! And then when 
 you went away again, and said you had gone hunt- 
 ing, and stayed so long, I began to be afraid. Then 
 I sent George out." 
 
 He interrupted. "How did you know where to 
 send him?" 
 
 "Bert had told me the place. He told me every- 
 thing he could think of to make me believe him." 
 
 "How could you make George understand ?" 
 
 "George is strange. Places he seems to remember, 
 and that is a place they all knew when they were 
 children. Besides, are you sure he didn't see you 
 start in that direction? It seems to me he must have 
 seen something or I couldn't have made him know 
 what I meant." 
 
 Carron mused, and nodded. "Yes, he may have 
 seen something in the way of direction, I remember 
 now. But how coujd he make you understand what 
 he had seen?" He looked at her hard. There 
 was something equivocal in her expression. 
 
 "I I don't know how, exactly, but he did." 
 
 "Well, it doesn't matter. I have got the horse. 
 So that's understood, isn't it ? All right ! Now will 
 you tell me what that has to do with my marrying 
 your daughter?" 
 
 "With your marrying?" She seemed confounded 
 361
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 with that simple fact which had been accepted in his 
 mind so completely that he thought it had been his 
 intention for ever. 
 
 "Yes; didn't she tell you?" 
 
 "No yes at least she did say something, but 
 Bert said you had only let her think it because you 
 wanted " 
 
 "Well, of course! He would like to marry her 
 himself!" 
 
 "But you said you wanted " 
 
 "In Heaven's name," he burst out exasperated, 
 "can't a man want two things ? You seem to think 
 it's impossible I should care about her. I'd like to 
 know why. She's beautiful, isn't she? She's a most 
 extraordinary sort of girl, isn't she?" 
 
 He wasn't sure that Mrs. Rader had taken in his 
 revelation of Ferrier's treachery, of his own double 
 dealing. But this fact she heard heard and seized 
 upon the declaration where her daughter was con- 
 cerned. That, it seemed, was the test of his charac- 
 ter for the mother, the pin upon which all virtues 
 hung. Her face was painful to see, in its struggle to 
 smile, while the accusing look still hovered in eyes 
 and forehead. She twisted her hands nervously one 
 in the other. 
 
 "Oh," she said; "why didn't you tell me before?" 
 
 "We told you as soon as we knew ourselves what 
 362
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 we were about!" The exasperated voice of youth 
 spoke from him, angry at age who, with cold blood, 
 sees so clearly. "At least," he added, "she meant to 
 tell you four days ago the same day I told Mr. 
 Rader." 
 
 "Has he known, all this while?" She flashed a 
 glance at that third person, sitting forward in his 
 chair, his elbows on his knees, his large hands hang- 
 ing limp from the wrists. It was plain he was un- 
 aware of the conflict, the whirlwind of words going 
 on before him. His trouble, which was seated so 
 plainly in his eyes, was fixed upon some circum- 
 stance, remote from the present, perhaps not even 
 spoken by these two so bitterly concerned. 
 
 "He probably forgot about it," Carron said cheer- 
 fully. "There's no harm, but we'll have to see that 
 Ferrier holds his tongue." 
 
 She. reflected his returning rush of spirits with a 
 wan, anxious smile. They looked at each other like 
 people who feel themselves emerging from a chasm 
 of dangers safe into the air. With an impetuousness 
 that was her daughter's she took him by the sleeve. 
 
 "You must tell her what you have told me ; make 
 her see it as you have shown me." 
 
 He held back. "Tell her what ?" 
 
 Still anxious, but with a rising confidence, she 
 supported his look. "When George came back he 
 
 363
 
 SON OE THE WIND 
 
 didn't come to me he went to hen. I didn't want 
 to tell you at first, but of course she is the only one 
 who can understand him. I thought you understood 
 that she has heard about it." 
 
 Carron's knees felt loosened. A faint cold breath 
 seemed to run through his veins. He was not aware 
 of speaking, or of even wanting to speak, but he 
 heard a voice sounding too high and complaining to 
 be his own, which he knew was moving his own 
 throat. 
 
 "Now, in the name of Heaven, what made you 
 meddle in my affairs?" 
 
 "It was her affair too ! I had to meddle in it ! But 
 what difference does it make now?" She looked 
 ready to laugh at him. "You will have to make her 
 believe you love her; and she will believe you." 
 
 "But she knows it now !" 
 
 "Ah, no, she doesn't," Mrs. Rader said signifi- 
 cantly. 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 Rader's voice entered the conversation suddenly. 
 "She doesn't speak she doesn't look at me she 
 hasn't moved since she came back an hour ago." 
 From where he sat he could not have overheard 
 them. He must have spoken from the heart of his 
 own thought. 
 
 The words produced the impression of a weight 
 364
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 falling, awakening a silence, "Back from where?" 
 Carron asked. "Where has she been ?" 
 
 "The place where it is, the canon, the cave," Mrs. 
 Rader explained. "She wouldn't believe us. She 
 wouldn't even believe George. She went out there 
 herself to see." 
 
 To see ! He understood what those words meant. 
 All the tongues in the. world could not have con- 
 vinced her; but the sight of the eyes, that power to 
 stir up passions! Here was an end to silence, to 
 dreaming, to everything but facts. It did not ap- 
 pear to Carron then that men had a part in the mak- 
 ing of facts. They looked entirely the work of 
 fate. "Where is she?" he asked. 
 
 "In the stable. She sits there just as she got of? 
 the horse." A slight quiver moved the mother's lips. 
 "I can't make her come away." 
 
 She was looking to him to do that apparently, 
 since he had been the doer of everything. But this 
 stupid, timid woman had undone the whole. All his 
 diplomacy in a wreck, all he had hoped to save for 
 Blanche in agonizing nerves and confidence, all pre- 
 cipitated around his ears. "She will have to suffer 
 while I go through with this business," he thought. 
 The confident smile Mrs. Rader wore made him furi- 
 ous. The woman had no idea what she had done. 
 He pulled his sleeve from her grasp and walked
 
 quickly out of the room. With all his astonishment 
 and rage, he was horribly conscious of the slipping 
 past of the hours. Time, the enemy of triumph, of 
 rapture, of the perfect moment, was streaming past. 
 He began to run. 
 
 Past noon, and rain in the cloud ! He ought to be 
 climbing the Sphinx, and setting foot in her sacred 
 window. The hard floor changed to strewn pine- 
 needles beneath his feet, and a cold wind blew upon 
 him. This instant he ought to be on the ground 
 with the captive in his hands. He saw his pony 
 tethered a rod off. How easy to catch stirrup and 
 away, to the great affair! It wouldn't do! Flight 
 would be the worst thing at this minute. The thought 
 of Blanche's eyes, meek as they had last looked up at 
 him, those eyes drowned in tears made him shiver. 
 Over-confident, over-sensitive she was. One could 
 fancy the storm of her weeping. And ugh! how it 
 could drench a man's spirits ! 
 
 He dived into the barn as into a cavern. It was 
 dark, and echoes followed his heels. The door of 
 the smaller stable stood ajar. There was nothing 
 unusual here that he could see, only the odor of 
 harness and fodder, the empty space of floor, and 
 not a sound except that of a horse eating. Looking 
 into the stall he saw the mustang still saddled, with 
 his bridle trailing neglected underfoot. A few steps 
 
 366
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 farther, and he perceived a being his senses abhorred 
 boy, imp, or evil genius sitting on his heels in the 
 shadow of the wall. His eyes, shining with a dull, 
 diffuse light, were fixed in a certain direction. Car- 
 ron's look followed. 
 
 She was sitting on the lowest stair of the ascent 
 to the loft, and except for her gloves and the whip 
 she held in one hand, she might have merely strolled 
 over from the house and stopped here a moment to 
 dream. Hard to believe that red and white gown 
 looking so woman-like and of the fireside, had flut- 
 tered bold in the face of the mountains. The knot 
 of her hair had slipped, and, still twisted with its 
 pins, lay on her neck. A longish lock escaped and 
 hung at her cheek. Her chin rested on her hand. 
 Her eyes were fixed on one certain spot on the floor. 
 Her forehead was smooth. In the dark light her 
 cheek shone like a pearl, and not the trace of a tear. 
 She was prettier than usual ; prettier than ever ! Had 
 the Raders suffered hallucination ? or had he ? Every- 
 thing that had passed in the house appeared a night- 
 mare. He felt a rush of astonishment and delight. 
 "Why, Blanche my dear girl!" 
 
 She did not look up. His impression was she had 
 not heard him. Yet he knew she was awake, her 
 eyes open, their lashes winked. He put his hand 
 over hers. The muscles did not stiffen, nor show 
 
 367
 
 SON OE XHE iWIND 
 
 any consciousness of his touch. She did not move. 
 Her profile had a look of being fixed in an eternal 
 attitude. The boy, crouching in the shadow, seemed 
 fixed in endless contemplation of her, watching like 
 a dog until she should lift her finger; or, if she never 
 lifted it, patiently abiding. Carron hated him. He 
 turned his back on him, sat down, pushing for room 
 on the step, and put his arm around the girl. Her 
 breathing made her insensibleness the more uncanny. 
 "Blanche, what ails you ? Speak to me !" 
 
 Her lips seemed to have lost the consciousness of 
 everything they were made for, speech or kissing. 
 But when he touched her cheek a shiver passed over 
 her, and, as if she had felt the small wing of an 
 insect, she brushed at him. He turned her face 
 toward him and had the full look of her eyes, wide, 
 dull and gray. He could not tell whether they saw 
 him or not a strange sensation ! 
 
 "Blanche!" Mrs. Rader's voice broke sharply 
 upon his ears. She had come through the- door, and 
 stood now directly in front of them. The smile 
 that had exasperated him so was gone. She looked 
 frightened. "Why don't you answer? Don't you 
 know it's Mr. Carron?" 
 
 "Don't you know me ?" Carron repeated. 
 
 Blanche moved her head with a jerk, shaking off 
 his hand. The concentrated gaze and the voices 
 
 368
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 had reached her, galvanizing her into a conscious- 
 ness of the world. She got up. The effort of 
 muscles was convulsive, a frozen body reawakening. 
 The motion carried her to the middle of the floor. 
 She looked around her. It was the impulse for flight. 
 Her body was drawn together for the dash. Even 
 now she did not appear to see them, only to feel them 
 as a pressure, closing in upon her. When Carron 
 made a movement forward her hands went to her 
 face, pressing her temples as if there she felt the at- 
 tack most. "Don't come, don't come," she said. Her 
 voice sounded mechanical and flat. 
 
 "But I want to talk to you." 
 
 Staring between the narrow pent-house of her 
 ringers, her gaze fixed upon him, intensified with the 
 beginnings of recognition. "Don't speak! I can't 
 bear it!" 
 
 "But you must !" 
 
 "Oh-h-h!" she moaned, turning her head rest- 
 lessly from side to side as if to avoid some unen- 
 durable vision. 
 
 "It is a bad business," Carron said quickly. "But 
 it is not what you were thinking. It doesn't mean 
 that things between us are any different. They're 
 not! I feel about you exactly as I did in the first 
 place." 
 
 Her eyes, unreassured, were fixed upon him as 
 
 369
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 edge of the little balcony. No form, no face, either 
 of woman or spirit. Nothing stirred in the clearing, 
 nor in the angle made by the outside stair. The 
 black likeness of it which the moon flung upon the 
 ground, was as deep and opaque as any well; but 
 even water shows faintly the forms beneath it. He 
 leaned down over the rail and spoke her name under 
 his breath. Not a sound replied. Feeling bewitched 
 he descended the stair. Reaching the foot of it, 
 immediately his fingers were grasped by a cool palm 
 and he was drawn into the shadow. 
 
 Plunged into darkness with her he could see her. 
 Her eyes looked black as the sky and radiant with 
 excitement. The moon had taken the color from her 
 lips. They were pale as an elf's. She took him by 
 both arms and held him off from her, looking at 
 him up and down with a bright enigmatic gaze ; but 
 whether it demanded to know of him if he was in- 
 deed the greatest of men in the world, or whether 
 it only spoke to him of the mystery of night, or some 
 mystery beyond the night, it was impossible to tell. 
 She laid a forbidding finger on his mouth when he 
 would have kissed her. He tried to clasp her, but 
 slippery as quicksilver she retreated before him. 
 
 "Come this way," she murmured, and pulled 
 him after her. 
 
 Half running he followed, keeping close under 
 270
 
 THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT 
 
 the piazza rail where the only shadow extended was 
 a narrow band like a ribbon, past the steps where 
 the first night she appeared to him as an arm ex- 
 tended out of darkness, and round the corner of the 
 old wing, coming out before the front of the greater 
 house. 
 
 "Where are we going?" he whispered. 
 
 "Sh-h-h!" She clung to the wall, holding them 
 both still, listening. It was only the owl that had 
 spoken. She put her lips close to Carron's ear. 
 "Follow me around the edge of the clearing. Do 
 exactly as I do. Don't speak." 
 
 The hotel with all its windows looked blank and 
 dead as the face of a rock. It buttressed them from 
 the live part of the house. In its shelter she ran 
 fearlessly, but with remarkably light noiseless steps, 
 and slipped into the trees on the left side of the 
 drive. Here he had ado to keep her in sight. Now 
 the white back of a neck gleamed, now a hand shone, 
 laid an instant against a tree trunk; but chiefly he 
 tracked her as an animated shadow gliding rapidly 
 among shadows that were still, and leaving a waving 
 of branches in its wake. She slid down the bank 
 with a cascading of earth into the road just at the 
 point where it turned from the clearing to descend 
 the hill; and they stood together in the same place 
 where Carron and Ferrier had stood that morning. 
 
 271
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 that statement. He had to drag the words out of his 
 throat. She stood looking imploringly at him as if 
 what he demanded of her was hard for her. 
 
 "It wasn't done in cold blood ; part was done be- 
 fore I even saw you, and after I saw the horse I 
 give you my word I hardly knew what I was doing ! 
 I forgot how you would feel!" He put his arm 
 around her and pulled her toward him. Her body, 
 tense as a bow, strained away from him ; but just the 
 grasp of her, having her again tangibly his own, 
 faintly responsive in spite of herself, was comfort 
 enough after the ugly moments of separation. 
 "Come," he entreated, "it's for you to be generous! 
 Be good to me ! Forgive !" 
 
 She trembled reluctant, but as if the contact was 
 too much for reason she pressed her cheek against 
 his. "I can't bear to have that word spoken between 
 us ! I don't want to forgive you. I'd much rather 
 have you forgive me. I want to have you right, al- 
 ways, always, beyond anything I could say !" 
 
 The words poured into his ear in a half whisper, 
 her breath sweet and close upon his face, like the 
 touching of lips. He adored the humility, the heav- 
 enly abnegation, the forgiving of transgression the 
 beautiful fit attitude for women. Since his man- 
 hood had stiffened in him he had not known tears; 
 but now he felt them forcing up into his eyes. "Mv 
 
 372
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 dear, you'll have to take me as I am, an ordinary fel- 
 low." 
 
 She sighed, and the sigh seemed to take possession 
 of her whole body, shivering from breast to finger- 
 tips. "But, if you had only told me first!" 
 
 "Yes, but if I had ? You would never have let me 
 come near it !" 
 
 "Ah, no ! and that would have been so much bet- 
 ter! It would have saved us all this suffering. It 
 would have saved him too." 
 
 "Yes but " 
 
 "I know what you are going to say." She leaned 
 her head back to look up earnestly in his face. "But 
 it will not be the same with him again, any more 
 than it will be the same with us. There'll be that 
 difference always with him for being caught once, 
 even if always afterward he is free." 
 
 Carron's hold on her relaxed. "You don't expect 
 me to let him go again, do you ?" 
 
 He could feel her fingers that had grasped his 
 arms with such energy growing limp on his sleeve. 
 Her eyes, growing cold, were fixed on his; all the 
 woman, body and mind, suddenly deprived of mo- 
 tion. "You're not going to keep him," she said, and 
 let the end of the sentence fall as if that fact had 
 been fixed before the world began. 
 
 "But I have him!" Carron objected. He was 
 
 373
 
 SON OF. THE WIND 
 
 astonished that she did not see the argument there, 
 how perfectly achievement gives the right to hold. 
 That had been the fixed sign of his life. He never 
 doubted it. The comprehension of what she ex- 
 pected of him, the full height of it, shot up before 
 him, and he laughed. "Turn him loose again now ? 
 That's too much to ask of any man !" 
 
 "But you said " She looked bewildered, a lost 
 traveler, stumbling in a dark continent. "You said 
 it was a bad business. You said it was all wrong 
 that you hadn't known what you were doing You 
 asked me to forgive you !" 
 
 "Yes, I know," he explained patiently, wondering 
 how she could be so stupid. "But that was for not 
 telling you what I had done, deceiving you, if you 
 like to call it that not for taking the horse. There's 
 nothing wrong with that." 
 
 "There is, there is!" Her voice, without rising, 
 gave a powerful sense of the rising tide of will. A 
 flush covered her face like a cloud, and in the middle 
 of that her eyes looked pale and bright. "He isn't 
 meant to be tame ! He must not be ! He can't be !" 
 
 "Now, my dear girl," he broke in, "we've had all 
 that out before, and it's absurd. I am not going to 
 lose the thing I came here for, and have gone 
 through God knows what to come at, because you 
 have a notion or a dream." 
 
 374
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 In the pause he was aware of the close odor of the 
 stable stuffing his nostrils. He heard the mustang 
 eating steadily, and the stumble as the creature 
 caught its foot in the trailing bridle. He heard 
 above his head, somewhere higher up than the roof 
 of the place, a restless rushing like the audible 
 passing of the hours. Beneath his eyes the girl's 
 face appeared a silvery oval, most curiously quiet 
 except that her hand was pressed against her throat, 
 and queer little convulsive movements disturbed her 
 mouth. 
 
 "You asked me to be good to you," she said sud- 
 denly. "You asked me to be generous ; you said you 
 loved me. Be good to me now. Be generous to me ! 
 Show me that what you said is true. Even if you 
 can't understand why I want it, just because I want 
 it so much, because it means everything to me, let 
 him go." 
 
 "But, there is no reason in it !" he burst out. 
 
 "Reason?" she said in a voice that threw reason 
 into the pit. 
 
 "Yes, reason. You are talking about something 
 you don't understand. You think this is a brutal 
 business, but it is nothing of the sort. It isn't bron- 
 cho-busting. It's the best, most humane way ever 
 invented for handling horses. It's my way!" He 
 offered that as the final argument not to be doubted. 
 
 375
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "You saw him at the wrong time. They all look 
 their worst when they are first caught !" 
 
 She shivered, and hung back from him, but he 
 held her fast by the arms. 
 
 "Wait, wait, give me half a chance. I'll show you 
 how beautiful he'll be when I get through with him." 
 
 With a wrench she got herself free. He had held 
 her so fast he didn't know how she had managed, 
 but suddenly there was a fighting creature in his 
 arms; then all that remained of her to touch was 
 a bit of red and white from her sleeve. There she 
 was, standing at a distance from him distance be- 
 tween them, and she as strange as another world! 
 All his conscious blood was hot with her repulsion 
 of him. She had forgiven him. This brutal dissen- 
 sion of will had sprung upon him unawares, trans- 
 forming her. "Are you going to let him go?" 
 
 The metallic tone calling him up to judgment 
 rasped on his tight nerves. "No !" he almost shouted 
 the word. "I'm going to break him do you under- 
 stand ? to break him !" 
 
 She closed her fingers on the light whip she still 
 held, as if it were as much as she could do to keep 
 from bringing it down on his head. Her face was 
 bleak. The high bridge of the nose looked higher 
 than usual and sharp. All the pretty mirage of ten- 
 derness had melted, all vision of themselves as lovely 
 
 376
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 bodies invested with radiant intentions. They looked 
 at each other, and knew each other over again from 
 the beginning, people of jealous conceit, without 
 charity, with passionate wills for their own predilec- 
 tions, born enemies, who had thought themselves 
 lovers. Her lips tightened without a smile, showing 
 a flash of teeth. "You can't !" she said. 
 
 The words struck him like a flat palm in the face. 
 "Don't you teach me what I can or can't do," he 
 said hardily. "I know my business, and it isn't a 
 woman's business." He emphasized each word with 
 a nod of his head. "You keep out of it !" 
 
 Her eyes opened wide as if to take in to the full 
 the altered condition confronting her. Like a woman 
 confronted by her rival, recognizing a greater power, 
 she felt her own breaking. "Yes, yes, yes!" The 
 words came from her in a wail more of fury than 
 of sorrow. "I'll keep out of it ! I will never see that 
 again ! I'll not see you again ! Never in all my life !" 
 She made a wild gesture of hands, sweeping every- 
 thing away from her. 
 
 "Of course, you'll see me again," he said, indig- 
 nant, thinking she impugned his honor. "I shall be 
 back to-morrow." 
 
 Planted there in front of them she appeared as im- 
 movable as marble. With a last passionate outburst 
 all feeling in her seemed to have spent itself. "Once 
 
 377
 
 SON OF THE .WIND 
 
 you are out of here, don't come back." He looked at 
 her in stupefaction. What she was saying seemed 
 to him ridiculous, "I will never see you again," she 
 said. "I wish you had died before I had seen you, 
 before you had done all this harm." 
 
 "Blanche!" Mrs. Rader's voice drove into the 
 conflict. The appearance of her, as if out of no- 
 where, with her loosened hair, and the drapery of 
 her blown shawl, was like a warning apparition, a 
 figure that had been carried there by the wind. 
 
 "You don't know what you are saying !" she cried 
 at her daughter. "What is the horse to you, or fifty 
 like it? What is that to you beside the man you 
 want ?" 
 
 The girl looked at her. "I don't want him," she 
 said in her monotonous voice. "He's not mine. I 
 don't know him. I have never even heard of him." 
 
 "Don't be a fool !" Mrs. Rader said. The words 
 came out with a dry sound, almost with a smile. 
 "You know him as well as any woman can. You 
 think you have been badly used," she went on with 
 increasing bitterness, "you think you're suffering, 
 you think this is the end of everything. It's nothing 
 it's only the beginning! You'll forgive worse 
 things than this before you're through, and you'll be 
 glad to do it. I tell you a year after you're mar- 
 ried the horse will be nothing to you, and every- 
 
 373
 
 THE SUPERB MOMENT 
 
 thing you ever thought or wanted when you were a 
 girl will be like a dream. But you'll remember this 
 man all your life, and you'll be sorry all your life if 
 you let him go !" 
 
 As well have spoken to the winds, or Son of the 
 Wind himself, leaping against the barrier. 
 
 "See what you've done to her !" the woman cried, 
 turning to Carron. "Why weren't you careful? 
 Why didn't you make it easy for her? Now, there'll 
 be no stopping, there'll be no changing her. Speak 
 to her !" she entreated. "Blanche, listen to him !" 
 
 The contending voices beating on Carron's ears 
 seemed to be holding him back. He heard words, 
 but did not hear their significance, only felt the 
 force behind them, a tremendous inflated opposi- 
 tion to him. He wanted to lift his arms and dash 
 down the clamor that was heaping up around him. 
 If only they would wait, just wait, with all their 
 demands and questions, whicfc were nothing but 
 words, only words in the air, until the great action 
 was complete. Then there could be time in plenty 
 for talk. He thought he spoke this to them, he 
 thought he said they would have all night to settle 
 their questions in, but for this business of his there 
 was not an hour to waste, not a minute. Yet he was 
 not sure what he had spoken. He did not even re- 
 member afterward how he left the women, nor 
 
 379
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 at the moment of his going, which might have been 
 the last time he was to see those two faces, how the 
 faces had looked. There, memory was blank, as it is 
 sometimes at crises, when the intense sensations of 
 the soul obliterate the vision. He heard his feet 
 hurrying muffled upon the earth. He heard over his 
 head, more clearly now, the audible rushing past of 
 the hours. It was indeed the sound of the wind, ris- 
 ing and traveling in the pines above him. 
 
 380
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 ALAS, for the superb moment ! His high mood 
 that had set him alone at the head of the world 
 was broken. He was no longer driving men and 
 mountains, and the unconscious forces of the earth 
 like linked horses. He was being driven himself. 
 He was running from something; yet, in fact, he 
 was only hurrying toward the thing he wanted. All 
 the opposition had amounted to nothing. He had 
 gone through it head down. Would he never get 
 past it ? Never shake off the effect of it ? He was al- 
 ready far on his way. He tried to look forward, to 
 think of what was awaiting him, but persistently his 
 thought rushed back to the scene behind him. It 
 came to him at first not as a scene, but with the mem- 
 ory of the nerves which still felt in their hot cur- 
 rent the echoes of the women's voices, strained 
 high in excitement. Those sensations of irritation, 
 bewilderment and confoundment, that had rushed 
 upon him then, instead of diminishing, were grow- 
 ing heavier, stifling reason; and from under their
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 cloud he felt intermittently the breath of a hotter 
 feeling, a burning sense of injury of cruel injus- 
 tice. Through the thick eddy of emotions, fragments 
 of vision half memories began to flash upon him : 
 certain looks of that girl's ; certain words ; the quick 
 drawing back of lips on the teeth; "You can't!" 
 flung at him like a gauntlet. 
 
 What did the woman think he was made for? 
 His smoldering thoughts burst into flame. "You 
 can't!" rapped out on him on the edge of success. 
 The words were as little as a needle point, yet they 
 denied him, and everything he was, and wanted to be. 
 Why hadn't she fought him, heaped him with re- 
 proaches, given him something to contend with? But 
 this infernal turning her back on him, and closing 
 her eyes! She did not know him she couldn't see 
 him she had never heard of him ! He was suffer- 
 ing. Vanity proclaimed itself shrieking, but some 
 spirit deeper in him wept, the ego, the pervading 
 possessing presence men call the soul, which is for 
 ever looking for itself in some form outside of it- 
 self, foredoomed to disenchantment. Where was the 
 mind which had had no thought that was not for 
 him ? The face that had been like a rose, now white, 
 now red? It was all an immense fraud practised, a 
 soft-looking surface that, at the first blow, rang iron. 
 
 Her face, as he had seen it last, rose clear in 
 382
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 memory, bleak and white, locked lips, deaf ears, im- 
 placable eyes ; a mind fixed with devouring pity upon 
 itself. Hateful to think of! There was not an eye- 
 lash of hers, a glance, or an inch of her finger that 
 he did not hate. Anything to make her turn again 
 and look at him if not with worship at least with 
 fear. Any way of beating down the wall of stub- 
 bornness, even to breaking her with it, if only he 
 could make her see what he meant. Words would 
 never show. He might clamor at her with words for 
 ever. The exploit was the thing to speak : to appear 
 before her with his adventure achieved; with the 
 spoil in his hands. That would be the unanswerable 
 argument. Everything would be justified by ac- 
 complishment! He wanted it accomplished now 
 instantly. It was unendurable he could not turn on 
 them this moment in his triumph. There was all the 
 journey first, and the struggle an hour, two hours, 
 the afternoon, when a minute was too long for him. 
 He rode headlong. The Sphinx rose in front of him 
 no longer a sphinx, only a high and senseless mass 
 of stone between himself and his object. No mys- 
 tery looked upon him, from her forehead, nor whis- 
 pered to him in the window at her ear. She had be- 
 come to him the common path by which he reached 
 his goal. He scaled her, reckless in his haste, risking 
 his life on her cruel breast; and, descending on the 
 
 383
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 other side, came under shadows of pines, heard the 
 thin voice of the river, and began to run. 
 
 Presently the ford came into sight, and in the 
 opening of the trees the outline of a figure. It was 
 Esmeralda Charley, standing, shading his eyes with 
 his hand. Carron came up to him panting. The 
 surrounding, and the expectation it aroused in him 
 were having their effect. Weariness, wrath, aching 
 nerves, wrung by the twist circumstance had given 
 him at the last, were beginning to lose consciousness 
 of themselves in a blaze of excitement. Abreast his 
 man he stopped. He drew out his watch mechani- 
 cally and looked at it. Half-past two. "Well?" he 
 asked, "how is it?" 
 
 "I can't drive him," said Esmeralda Charley. 
 
 The words dashed counter to Carron's thoughts. 
 "What's that?" he said. "What's the matter?" 
 
 "I don't know," the vaquero replied without emo- 
 tion. "He won't drive not like any I ever saw." 
 
 "You mean he doesn't move ?" 
 
 "Oh, yes, he moves but the way he thinks like 
 that, like that !" With his fingers he illustrated all 
 directions. 
 
 Carron stared. He had never seen so much elo- 
 quence in the fellow. "Did you try him with the 
 mares?" 
 
 "He doesn't follow." 
 
 384
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 The horse-breaker glanced at the corral. At the in- 
 stant he looked no horses were in sight, but while 
 he looked the chestnut mare broke from the trees 
 and trotted across the enclosure whinnying with 
 high head. She stood at the edge of the water look- 
 ing over the stockade at the two men. She had al- 
 most a human air of being puzzled. 
 
 "I'll show you," the half-breed said. 
 
 Carron followed him across the ford, and through 
 the trees. On every side were the signs of what he 
 had carried out, the print of himself in the footsteps 
 on the ground, in the strong sides of the corral of 
 which he had glimpses between branches. They 
 turned sharply to the left, and coming into a little 
 break in the timber stood at the gate and looked over 
 it at what was within. 
 
 At this upper end of the enclosure were the few 
 groups of pines that had helped to conceal the begin- 
 ning of the canvas. Here, pressed in among the 
 trunks of the trees, not lying on the ground, yet 
 scarcely standing upright, he saw his captive. 
 
 He saw for a flash with that rare impartial eye 
 which perceives the thing neither as it has been nor 
 as hope expects it will be, but as it is in fact, at the 
 moment. He saw Son of the Wind already 
 marked by captivity, soiled with earth, stained with 
 sweat, sick with defiance. He felt as a hunter who 
 
 385
 
 has taken an eagle. What had caught desire was the 
 proud flight in the air. It was that the man wanted 
 to possess; and lo, fierce eyes and a heap of fury in 
 a cage. There was a lost quality somewhere, the 
 quality that had most lured possession was lost. Ah, 
 if ever that could be captured, too! Carron thought 
 lie could understand the meaning of Heaven. Yet 
 what a body, just as it stood there ! What a flow of 
 muscles under the skin ! What a threat in the immo- 
 bility! His hopes shot up like fire. His eye, busy 
 with outward things, thought something unexpected 
 in the prospect before him. He turned angrily to 
 the half-breed. "Why didn't you drive him into the 
 open as I told you, and put up that canvas in front 
 of the trees? How do you think we can lasso him 
 in that thicket ?" 
 
 "I could not get him out. He would not move. I 
 could not charge him in the trees." 
 
 "You never ought to have let him get in there in 
 the first place." 
 
 "I could not drive him/' the half-breed answered 
 unmoved. "He ran at me, or he ran past me ; and I 
 had no one to help." 
 
 "Yes, you had. You had that fellow !" 
 
 "Oh, him !" The man lifted his shoulders a little. 
 "He went away." 
 
 "Went away?" 
 
 386
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "Yes, over there, into the trees, running. He went 
 when the woman came." 
 
 "Oh!" Carron muttered. "Oh, yes, yes yes, of 
 course," he repeated vaguely. He looked at Esme- 
 ralda Charley hesitatingly as if he had suddenly for- 
 gotten what he was saying. He tried to gather his 
 wits together and go on with it, but one thought 
 stood large before him and blotted out everything 
 else. It had nothing to do with the business in hand, 
 yet in spite of himself the question was on his lips. 
 "What did she do?" he asked. 
 
 The half-breed was holding a match to the end of 
 his cigarette. "She came around here where we are 
 standing now." 
 
 "Yes, of course but did she go inside? Did she 
 try to get near him? Did she try to to " 
 
 The man made a scornful negative motion of the 
 head. "She stood like this." He stiffened himself. 
 "She looked at him as long as this" he waved the 
 match back and forth once in the air. "Then she 
 mourned." 
 
 "Mourned?" 
 
 "Like women for the dead," Esmeralda Charley 
 explained, throwing the match away. "She put her 
 face there where your hand is now. She covered her 
 head and mourned." 
 
 Carron looked at the spot to which the half-breed 
 
 387
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 pointed, the place where his hand lay on the rail; 
 suddenly he let go as if the wood had burnt him. 
 "Stiffen that top timber," he said. "It is weak." 
 Some emotion that he couldn't account for took him 
 by the throat, strangling him, threatening for a mo- 
 ment to master him. "Where is the canvas?" he said 
 as soon as he could gather voice. 
 
 The half-breed pointed to where it lay, at one side 
 of the trail. 
 
 "Very well. Get me a blanket from camp a red 
 one. Where's. Jim?" He looked behind him. He 
 had not thought of the peon since he had left Ra- 
 ders', but here he was a yard from his heel, waiting. 
 "Get the lassos up here right away. I want the ropes 
 and the saddle, too. Jim can help you. Well, what 
 are you standing there for?" He swung around 
 ready with a blow. "How are we to get through, do 
 you think?" 
 
 Esmeralda Charley ran on his errand; Carron 
 looked after him. Why, the fellow had hesitated. 
 He had lo'oked as if he found something strange. 
 Strange, good Lord! There was nothing strange 
 about Carron. There was nothing strange about 
 Carron's giving orders. But it was strange that any 
 one should hesitate to carry them out. Why, what 
 were these for, but to do as he said? Or he, if in 
 this case, he did not know what he was saying? His 
 
 388
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 throat was dry. He took a swallow of water from 
 his canteen, threw the bottle on the ground, and 
 threw off hat and coat. He gathered up the canvas 
 and the poles, and, staggering, carried them and 
 flung them down inside the enclosure, at the edge of 
 the trees. There was the half-breed coming back 
 again, still with that expression on his face, a lurking 
 question, a doubt of what was being done. The sec- 
 ond vaquero followed. The ropes and lassos were 
 over his arms, across his shoulders, around his neck, 
 more than enough for a hangman. Last into the en- 
 closure, he slid the gates shut. 
 
 "Be ready with that stuff, to begin putting it up 
 as soon as I get him out into the open," the horse- 
 breaker said. He took the blanket from Esmeralda 
 Charley, and keeping close to the canvas wall, made 
 a little circuit to the upper side of the enclosure. 
 Here, with his back to the gate, he had the length of 
 the corral before him, sloping a little to the water. 
 It would have been an easy place down which to 
 stampede an army, were it not for the trees directly 
 in front. He dodged here and there, peering for an 
 opening. The mares at the lower end of the corral 
 moved nervously while he moved, but the stallion 
 did not stir. That was strange. The slightest move- 
 ment in the stockade was usually enough to set all 
 the wild ones in a flicker. Ah, at last he had what 
 
 389
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 he had been looking for. From a certain angle the 
 obscuring glimmer of trunks and branches fell away 
 into a narrow open prospect, a sort of aisle through 
 the trees. At the end of it he saw Son of the Wind 
 facing him with head held low. 
 
 Carron whirled the blanket above his head, and 
 charged with a shout. The horse stood for an un- 
 canny minute, when the man felt as if he were 
 charging an image. There was only a rod between 
 them when the animal wheeled and broke. He went 
 with leaps across the open, toppling forward as if 
 every bound would fling him, sullenly, with a strange 
 reluctance, a fear of the open that was greater than 
 his fear of the man. At the water's edge, he faced 
 about, dazed to find himself there, to realize the 
 covert of trees so far behind. Carron saw the white 
 of the eyes, the white of the teeth, the sharp edge of 
 hoofs, felt the threatened charge, and charged first 
 himself. 
 
 He heard the sounds behind him of the men driv- 
 ing the posts home. He ran back an4 forth with 
 cries, keeping the scarlet folds flying above his head, 
 keeping the creature in recoil, half backed into the 
 water. Triumph was rising in im. Presently be- 
 hind his back he heard the half-breed call. He 
 knew what that meant. "All right," he replied, but 
 did not look behind him. Now that he had the ani- 
 
 390
 
 mal in his power, the horse-breaker's instinct was 
 strong to hold him there. Even with the barrier 
 raised he did not mean to let his captive out of the 
 corner, except by the way that he should determine. 
 He made a feint to charge from the front, swerved 
 before the horse could swerve and darted at him on 
 the flank, setting him off toward the left, plunging 
 around the side of the corral. No need to drive him 
 now. He was flying for his covert of trees, three legs 
 playing the part of four, wallowing like a hulk in 
 the trough of the sea, gathering himself when it 
 seemed that he must be down ; then, abreast the can- 
 vas, swerving with a snort of terror. Around he 
 went, with head flung up at the barrier, through 
 which or over which he could not see. No trees, no 
 hiding-place left, only the high white blank circle 
 around him, and rock underfoot. His pace grew 
 slower. He ran in a smaller circle, and stopped. 
 
 "How about that?" Carron demanded, in an ec- 
 stasy of admiration for himself. "Here, Charley, 
 drive those mares down here. We've got to get them 
 out of the way. Open the gate, Jim wait until they 
 get close now !" 
 
 The flap of canvas slipped to let the chestnut and 
 her companion through, and closed again. Esmeralda 
 Charley stood looking at his employer silently. If 
 there had ever been an expression on his face it was 
 
 391
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 there now in a faint shadow of anxiety. "You going 
 to break him to-morrow ?" he inquired. 
 
 To-morrow? Was there such a thing as to- 
 morrow? "I'm going to break him," Carron an- 
 swered, "as soon as Jim gets inside the corral with 
 the ropes." 
 
 "The second day you never break," the man in- 
 sisted. "You break the third day. No snow before 
 the third day. Why not break then ?" 
 
 Carron didn't know why not, except that to the 
 fierce immediacy of his expectations there was no 
 future. Time was not a thing outside of him, pass- 
 ing him. He held it in his hands. "I say to-day 
 you understand? I break him when I like." He 
 pulled his belt closer, and felt to make sure his spurs 
 were tight. "Bring the ropes," he called over his 
 shoulder, and walked a few steps farther toward 
 Son of the Wind. 
 
 The horse stood canted forward as if overbal- 
 anced by the great weight of his chest, his feet 
 spread, head hanging, muzzle touching the ground. 
 The dust trembled with his breath. He was shorn 
 of his beauty. He was no longer a thing of outline 
 and undulation. He was mass and weight ; thickness 
 yes, it was that and power. Menace emanated 
 from the motionless body, promise of infinite re- 
 sources of strength; strength that might be even be- 
 
 392
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 yond a man's control. Had Carron admitted such a 
 thing possible ? No, he hadn't admitted, but the idea 
 had caught him before he had foreseen it. There it 
 was. Could a man mount and bridle the wind ? A 
 strange little thought touched him. He had never 
 had such a thought in all his life. To die? Was 
 that what Blanche had meant when she had 
 said "You can't?" Then of course he could not go 
 back to her. That would be strange! There had 
 never been a moment when he had not expected to 
 go back to her. His brain had not been able to take 
 in the idea of an end to what was between them, 
 not even when she had screamed those wild things 
 after him, not even when he had hated her. But to 
 die! That was an end he could understand. He 
 had seen other men die, backs or necks broken. He 
 looked hard at the thought of himself in such case 
 and found it didn't trouble him. It was a ghost be- 
 side the beautiful reality of adventure. 
 
 There was no difference in the casting of a lasso 
 for the least of horses, or the greatest. The rope 
 sang just so, like a long snake through the dust. 
 The ankle it caught was as small as a woman's, but 
 the body leaping and falling was a thing to remem- 
 ber. The sight stopped the breath with admiration. 
 Both ropes, one from either side of the corral, 
 stretched tight in a quivering line, straining out the 
 
 393
 
 SON OE THE WIND 
 
 forefoot and hindfoot, kept the creature prone; but 
 a ripple passed continuously down the back; the 
 shoulders heaved, the muscles on the neck swelled 
 as the head struggled to lift itself. Carron's brows 
 were deep in a frown. He had watched with phil- 
 osophic eyes many horses flung agonizing and ter- 
 rified, but this was his darling, his one of all. He 
 hated to see that beautiful body wrestling in the 
 dust. "Just a moment, just a moment," he muttered 
 consolingly between his teeth, leaning forward while 
 the vaqueros tightened the knots. Esmeralda Char- 
 ley, with the saddle, hesitated, and looked at his mas- 
 ter. 
 
 "What are you waiting for?" Carron said. 
 
 The half-breed lifted his shoulders with a faint, 
 resigned shrug. He clicked his teeth hard together 
 as he pulled the cinches around the horse's shivering 
 middle. 
 
 "Just a minute, just a minute!" It seemed to 
 Carron that his brain had been repeating that for 
 ever. Always the next minute. Now, at last, before 
 he realized it, he was in that minute the brief, 
 flashing space of time which he had looked forward 
 to for long. He was seated in saddle. The horse's 
 four legs were under him. Between his knees, the 
 black sides expanded, trembling with a great breath. 
 The creature seemed scarcely to stand, rather to 
 
 394
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 hover for an instant between his struggle up from 
 the earth and his bound into the air. Carron found 
 himself borne toward the clouds ; felt the back hump 
 under him, the shoulders heave and shake, a magnifi- 
 cent, negligent motion. Only half the strength of 
 the horse went into it, he was so sure of getting rid 
 of the weight. Then, the easy concussion when they 
 touched earth again, alighting with wings, the 
 young fetlocks yielding and springing, resilience run- 
 ning through the whole frame; then the stop, sus- 
 pension of motion, as the astonished back realized 
 itself still burdened. That was the amazing sensa- 
 tion for the rider to feel the body shrink and try to 
 shiver away from under him; then, with muscles 
 stiffening, gathering themselves, drawing energy 
 from an inexhaustible source, leap ! He was carried 
 upward again, mounting air. 
 
 However high and mightily imagination had built, 
 no dream could ever approach this moment of the 
 flaming fact. Nothing he had fancied was like the 
 tremendous stretch and play of the muscles that 
 contracted and extended themselves betwee/i his 
 grasping knees; nothing like the sense of strength 
 gathering, gathering itself, increasing doubly with 
 every spent effort. Wonderful to feel that fountain 
 of power beneath power. Leap high as it would it 
 only carried him higher. Yet, for a few minutes it 
 
 395
 
 SON OE THE .WIND 
 
 struggled with persisting determination to leap high 
 enough to leave him behind. Abruptly all that al- 
 tered, the aspiring for the clouds, the shaking force, 
 the thundering. The change was as sharp as if a 
 human mind had conceived it. He felt himself car- 
 ried sidewise lightly. He was swept toward the side 
 of the enclosure as if he were to be carried over it; 
 then away to the other side; then, giddily, rapidly 
 backward. Insane, unimagined movements took him 
 here and there, softly, delicately as if upon feathers! 
 then suddenly, the unexpected excruciating twist and 
 fling that meant to be rid of him. 
 
 His brain was working furiously, his nerves at 
 full stretch to meet the brute's guile, his hands and 
 his body ready to counteract, to check, to meet every 
 danger as it sharpened. The abundant energy in 
 him streamed out to the conflict. He was in the 
 furnace of action, at play on the edge of life where 
 love of living is keenest, his blood on fire with the 
 joy of violent motion. All the world around him 
 seemed in motion, the woods waved like a curtain; 
 the canvas of the corral revolved slowly ; dark spots 
 floated against it. These were the vaqueros' faces. 
 He had no fear of being unseated. Such fears were 
 years behind him; but a fear he had not thought of 
 before seized him now as the white sides of the in- 
 closure rushed near him on this side, on that. The 
 
 396
 
 SON OF .THE WIND: 
 
 barrier, the work of his hands, which he had thought 
 of as so strong and safe, appeared to him suddenly 
 terribly penetrable. It was in fact no barrier at 
 all, but only a phantom, an appearance of a barrier 
 between the horse and the forest. If the stallion 
 charged it, wouldn't it break like a cobweb? Was 
 this the end of all the bright adventure, to have the 
 prize slip from him and be lost in the hopeless, end- 
 less wilderness ? 
 
 A horror seized him. Why hadn't he thought of 
 this before? How had he rushed so headlong into 
 this position? Why hadn't the half-breed spoken of 
 the danger, instead of staring dumb, with the saddle 
 in his hands? Was he going crazy himself? How 
 was there any danger? In five years no horse had 
 ever tested the resistance of the walls. But a reply 
 leaped, prompt and uncomforting in his mind. 
 Horses had never been broken in the canvas cor- 
 ral. They had been captured and hobbled here, 
 but they had not been saddled here and mounted. 
 They had never been driven here to the third degree 
 of madness when they cease to see, cease to fear, 
 welcome anything a dead wall or a descending cliff 
 rather than endure the will which stays persist- 
 ently above them. 
 
 It was no chance that threatened. It was cer- 
 tainty; it came always, inevitably, the last stage of 
 
 397
 
 SON OF THE WIND. 
 
 the fight. Carron sensed the approach of it now, 
 the loosing of the one great terror. Memories of 
 former, lesser battles swam through his head ; mem- 
 ories of being dashed against stockades of rails and 
 stakes. The dread he had known then of the stout, 
 resisting substance, the crash against it, the injury, 
 the pain, was as nothing to his present dread of 
 being flung against the canvas and feeling it yield 
 like silk. At what moment would this wild birth 
 of the wind stumble upon his freedom? He was 
 courting it as a reckless man courts his death, un- 
 aware of how near he comes to it. He would have 
 it now! This was the charge that could not be 
 stopped ! 
 
 Carron felt himself carried, helpless and light, as 
 a cork on the current. The white edge of the canvas 
 raced for him. The forest behind it marched upon 
 him. He flung his weight back in the saddle, elbows 
 came hard back, knees pressed, and wrists like iron 
 gave the sharp, steady pull at the certain moment. 
 Black trees moved in procession along his sight, and 
 swung away from it; and around came the rocky 
 banks of the stream. The breadth of the enclosure 
 was before him. The body of the horse quivered 
 like a machine suddenly stopped. It had felt the 
 weight of man, the passive, stubborn endurance, but 
 not the terrible assertion of power, the curb. That 
 
 398
 
 , 
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 came, a fresh horror. The rider had not time to 
 realize what had happened before he was swept 
 headlong, across the clearing toward the high and 
 ragged bank. The wall of the enclosure concealed it, 
 but Carron knew well enough it was there. He tried 
 to remember how far down the wall extended to the 
 silent, flowing water. The smell of wet moss and 
 earth was in his nostrils. He braced for the fall. 
 He was not conscious of trying to resist it, but, be- 
 fore his mind could grasp such possibility, his greater 
 self had brought it about. He was refacing the arena 
 of struggle. He was dazed, amazed, incredulous 
 with delight. It did not need that there should be 
 walls to contain the frantic creature in the narrow 
 circle. Carron alone held him there. It was a mira- 
 cle, himself the god. Triumph lifted him to the top 
 wave. He was in control, seated again above the 
 world, anticipating submission. 
 
 It came unexpectedly, with a dead pause in the 
 middle of the corral. It was too complete. He sus- 
 pected. He tightened the grip of his knees. At 
 the same time he heard a voice calling faintly. One 
 of those dark, dancing sparks was giving tongue. 
 He recognized Esmeralda Charley's voice, no word 
 distinguished, only a piercing quality of sound 
 which meant warning. Then the strange sensation. 
 Some large thumb and finger of fate seemed to have 
 
 399
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 i 
 
 seized him. He was tossed up and down, now in 
 
 air, now upon solid ground again, with a grinding 
 shock driving along his spine into his head. After 
 a little his head seemed disassociated from his body, 
 and white stars floated before his eyes. He was not 
 struggling, he was not controlling, he was holding 
 to something, and still he saw the pommel of the 
 saddle jumping beneath his eyes, and a flying rag 
 of mane. Then he was no longer upon a horse, but 
 upon a tower that, for a moment, held itself straight 
 up in the air, then tottered and leaned backward. He 
 was clinging to the under side of it, helpless, spur- 
 ring. 
 
 He heard repeated shouts. He had no thought 
 of past or future, or of anything, but that his hands 
 still held to something solid and living, and would 
 hold to that. Yet all rules and laws seemed reversed. 
 He saw the sky where the trees should have been. 
 The curb that should have been tight flew loose 
 against his face. Dark like a shadow came over him. 
 His knees loosened as the mass descended upon him. 
 His hands opened, and, closing, grasped air. 
 
 Gradually he became conscious of dull pain, in- 
 creasing with return of light. His cheek was rest- 
 ing on flinty substance. He half unclosed his eyes 
 and saw a white level stretching from where he lay. 
 
 400
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 A swarm of confused memories rose in his mind. 
 He thought he was lying on the rock above the 
 quicksand. He moved his head, and opened his eyes 
 wider, expecting to see the Sphinx. He saw at 
 short distance a tumult of dust, from the heart of 
 which came sounds like blows. Then a head like a 
 black snake's rose out of the cloud. He saw the ears 
 laid flat, the nostrils expanded thin, the line of the 
 frontal bone showing keen. It had been less pitiful 
 without that look of fury, less terrible without the 
 look of despair. Then a sound shrill and appalling, 
 a voice without articulate words crying on the 
 heavens to witness man. Then the head disap- 
 peared. Still the cloud of dust, and, out of it, four 
 feet kicking frantically, struggling with an enemy, 
 invisible, more overpowering than man. Then nly 
 a cloud of dust. 
 
 Lifted up on his hands, Carron watched this turn 
 and drift like a curtain. There was not the smallest 
 movement behind it now not a sound. He won- 
 dered at the stillness. For so long his ears had been 
 full of the clamor of sounds, his eyes reporting 
 pictures of rapid motion. His brain laboring 
 against odds of cunning and strength. Now 
 everything was quiet, harmless. He could have lain 
 where he was for ever and been untouched. The 
 curtain was drifting lower and growing thinner, 
 
 401
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 and through it he began to see the outline of a black 
 lump. 
 
 He sat up. The sharpness of the action made him 
 dizzy, and sent pains darting through him. He 
 groaned not for his own body's sake. A hand 
 came under his head as though he had been ill. A 
 brown face in a black shock of hair was looking 
 anxiously at him. Yet he wasn't ill. He was 
 certain of that. He only felt as though he 
 had been pitched down from one world to 
 another. He took the flask presented to his lips 
 and swallowed what was in it, and waited for nerve 
 and strength. But the reaction was faint. His feet 
 were like lead, his veins were cold. He crawled 
 painfully on hands and knees across the intervening 
 space. His eyes were fixed on the outline which 
 was becoming sharper. Then the veil altogether 
 disappeared. In fact he had entered it, and the 
 thing it had concealed had become strange and plain. 
 It was stretched out upon earth, the four feet ex- 
 tended toward him. They looked large and heavy, 
 and he could see the hollow inside the hoofs. The 
 legs were thin. The curve of the barrel stood high 
 off the ground. He laid his hand on it. It was 
 warm and soft and still. He lifted him- 
 self to his knees, and saw what the body had hidden 
 the sunk neck and the head. A film was on 
 
 402
 
 the eye, and flowing from somewhere a slender 
 stream of blood. 
 
 An ugly thing ! A bad thing for her to see ! The 
 thought of Blanche sprang live and clear out of the 
 blank of his mind. There was nothing to account 
 for the sudden vision, unless it were that sound he 
 seemed to be hearing, very faint, like something 
 heard in a dream the sound of some one weeping. 
 A flurry of fear went over him. She must not see 
 it. She had seen it at the wrong time before, and if 
 she saw it again as it was now No, no, better 
 wait until he had it as he meant to have it! His 
 thought flawed. All his fiery determinations 
 drooped and stopped. All the while he had been 
 watching it, the thing in front of him had not 
 stirred. It looked more inert than the earth it rested 
 on. Yet there was a strange evanescence about it, 
 like a shadow which wanes constantly, impercep- 
 tibly. Could all that pulse, that power of motion, 
 escape by such a narrow path as the thin, dark 
 stream which flowed and flowed and settled in a pool 
 in a depression of the rock, and there slowly, by de- 
 grees, began to sink out of sight. No way of making 
 the strewn limbs gather themselves and stand up- 
 right! No way of wrenching victory from them! 
 The back that had carried him, the .neck that had 
 been hot, the feet that had been light, now heavy, 
 
 403
 
 SON OF, THE 
 
 stiff, motionless, triumphed over him. They had got 
 beyond the reach of woman to release or man to 
 bind. 
 
 He let his arms fall at his sides. The sound of 
 the crying was nearer, but it wasn't Blanche's voice. 
 A howl of fear was in it. It was odd that a man 
 should be in fear, now that everything had come 
 to an end. He got up, and stood swaying while the 
 horizon rushed to the middle of the sky, and the sky 
 plunged down and seemed to swing in under his feet. 
 He felt hands groping over him delicately, tenderly. 
 They were the same hands that had raised his head, 
 that had given him the brandy. They seemed to 
 think him an object for pity and consideration. But 
 he could see, he could breathe, his heart was beat- 
 ing; he was conscious in all his limbs of how sound 
 he was. If the earth were shaken to pieces it seemed 
 to him he would remain unharmed, invulnerable, 
 good for God knew how much long living. This 
 solicitude drove him to a fury. He escaped from 
 the pitying hands and started forward.- 
 
 Some one stood in front of him, not the half- 
 breed this, but that other man who was always in 
 the way to be stumbled over. Carron pushed past 
 him. The man clawed at his elbow and clung close 
 to it. 
 
 "What's the use of going back?" he stammered. 
 404
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 "She won't look at us now ! My God ! She'll never 
 look at me again !" 
 
 "Go away !" Carron said gently. He had cursed 
 the creature before, but now it did not seem worth 
 doing. He shook him off and walked on. The 
 cold waters of the ford curled around his feet. 
 He looked down at them, and saw them flow- 
 ing yet they seemed to him to be stagnant, dead. 
 He knew himself to be in the shadow of pines; 
 at the same time it appeared to him they were prone 
 around his feet, shriveled to nothing, dead, leaving 
 him pitilessly exposed under the heavens. Every- 
 thing had a dual aspect. Even himself. He 
 was Carron, an indifferent Carron who had come 
 to the end of his determinations and desires, Carron 
 still. But there was this other person who was 
 hurrying with such resolution on an errand he 
 would not disclose. 
 
 He was a strange fellow. He went as if he had 
 an appointment with himself. There was an oath 
 to be fulfilled somewhere. Carron felt a little 
 curious about it a vague, mild curiosity, far on the 
 outside. The heart that was pounding on his ribs 
 must be this fellow's. There was nothing that could 
 make Carron's heart beat like that. He wondered, 
 if they went very far together, they might not be- 
 come friends, and explain themselves, and under- 
 
 405
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 stand each other. There was plenty of time for it 
 an endless amount of time, and nothing but that to 
 put in it. Yet the second person was in haste, and, 
 perforce, he was dragging Carron with him. Time 
 was the solid thing to be walked on, space the chilly, 
 intangible power that wrapped his face and shoul- 
 ders, stirred his hair, and made him shiver. He 
 had heard there was no end to either of these things, 
 and just as he was becoming convinced of the truth 
 of this, he saw the end. The end was a flight of 
 steps. 
 
 He looked at them carefully. There was no 
 doubt about them. At the top of them a white door 
 was open, and that was evidently the door opening 
 out of the known world. His possessing spirit that 
 had brought him here had vanished. He was 
 alone, and felt very tired, but he continued to 
 stand looking up, expectant, without knowing 
 what he was waiting for. It was not for 
 this woman who came and stared at him over the 
 railing, and fled. He did not think he knew her. 
 But it was for this other one who appeared as he 
 had expected, from the open door. She came like 
 a torch carried out upon the dark. Her appearance 
 illuminated everything to him. The past rose up 
 behind him, a vision of heights, with a figure of 
 himself like a giant upon them. There was a brush 
 
 406
 
 SON OF THE WIND 
 
 of the wing of some terrific god, and he stood here, 
 tiny, upon a flat, inutile plain. She stood at the top 
 step looking down at him. He knew her, and where 
 he was and why he was there. 
 
 "The horse is dead," he said. Her forehead was 
 raised in wrinkles, and her mouth held tight, but 
 she wasn't crying. She didn't believe him, perhaps. 
 "It's dead," he repeated, and sat down on the lowest 
 step and put his hands over his eyes. She came, 
 stood close to him and touched him timidly. 
 
 "Never mind, never mind! It doesn't matter!" 
 she said in a trembling voice. 
 
 He let his hands fall. "You don't understand," 
 he explained. "It's the horse it isn't I. There's 
 nothing wrong with me. I am all right." 
 
 She began to sob. He felt her arms around his 
 head, her cheek against his forehead and the hot rain 
 of her tears. She said his name, and at first nothing 
 but that over and over, as if it were he only who 
 needed consolation. It did not matter to her, she 
 passionately assured him, it did not matter at all to 
 her that Son of the Wind was dead. She was glad, 
 glad, glad that it was so ! It was the only way out 
 for them all. 
 
 He regarded her in dreary amazement. How 
 could she lightly dismiss death, that final and terrible 
 fact? What was it that looked so much worse to 
 
 407
 
 SON OE THE .WIND 
 
 her? She had not been flung down from her moun- 
 tain ! . . . Had she ? . . . Now that he thought 
 of it, he was not sure. She had said strange things 
 to him once, when he had not understood them. 
 How could a man know what she meant when it was 
 not real things that moved her, but the thoughts she 
 had about them? He did not understand what was 
 going on in her mind, and he never would. But her 
 shoulder was soft and her eyes, red with weeping 
 and sad, were valiantly for him. Her arms strained 
 around him. There was a fierceness in their grasp, 
 as if she tried to hold something that was far away 
 from her. He seemed to be among the pieces of 
 something that had been his, something as frail and 
 far away from life as one of her thoughts. He left 
 it to her. It was for women to gather up the broken 
 pieces, patiently to fit them together and try to make 
 the figure of Love; breathe in his lips and waken 
 the god from that ghost, the ideal. 
 
 THE END
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP'S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 CY WHITTAKER'S PLACE. By Joseph C. Lincoln. 
 
 Illustrated by Wallace Morgan. 
 
 A Cape Cod story describing the amusing efforts of an el- 
 derly bachelor and his two cronies to rear and educate a little 
 girl. Full of honest fun a rural drama. 
 
 THE FORGE IN THE FOREST. By Charles G. D. 
 
 Roberts. Illustrated by H. Sandham. 
 A story of the conflict in Acac"^ after its conquest by the 
 British. A dramatic picture that lives and shines with the in- 
 definable charm of poetic romance. 
 
 A SISTER TO EVANGELINE. By Charles G. D. 
 
 Roberts. Illustrated by E. McConnell. 
 Being the story of Yvonne de Lamourie, and how she went 
 into exile with the villagers of Grand Pre. Swift action, 
 fresh atmosphere, wholesome purity, deep passion and d*uuvu 
 ing analysis characterize this strong novel. 
 
 THE OPENED SHUTTERS. By Clara Louise Burn- 
 ham. Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher. 
 
 A summer haunt on an island in Casco Bay is the back- 
 ground for this romance. A beautiful woman, at discord with 
 life, is brought to realize, by her new friends, that she may 
 open the shutters of her soul to the blessed sunlight of joy by 
 casting aside vanity and self love. A delicately humorous 
 work with a lofty motive underlying it all. 
 THE RIGHT PRINCESS. By Clara Louise Burnham. 
 
 An amusing story, opening at a fashionable Long Island re- 
 sort, where a stately Englishwoman employs a forcible New 
 England housekeeper to serve in her interesting home. How 
 types so widely apart react on each others' lives, all to ulti- 
 mate good, makes a story both humorous and rich in sentiment. 
 
 THE LEAVEN OF LOVE. By Clara Louise Burn- 
 ham. Frontispiece by Harrison Fisher. 
 At a Southern California resort a world-weary woman, young 
 and beautiful but disillusioned, meets a girl who has learned 
 the art of living of tasting life in all its richness, opulence and 
 joy. The story hinge? upon the change wrought in the soul 
 of the blase woman by this glimpse into a cheery life,, 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP'S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 WHEN A MAN MARRIES. By Mary Roberts Rinehart. 
 Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker. 
 
 A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that 
 a visit is due from his Aunt Selina, an elderly lady having ideas 
 about things quite apart from the Bohemian set in which her 
 nephew is a shining light. The way in which matters are tempo* 
 rarily adjusted forms the motif of the story. 
 
 A farcical extravaganza, dramatized under the title of "Seven Days" 
 
 THE FASHIONABLE ADVENTURES OF JOSHUA 
 CRAIG. By David Graham Phillips. Illustrated. 
 
 A young westerner, uncouth and unconventional, appears in 
 political and social life in Washington. He attains power in poli- 
 tics, and a young woman of the exclusive set becomes his wife, un* 
 dertaking his education in social amenities. 
 
 " DOC." GORDON. By Mary E. Wiikins-Freeman. Illus- 
 trated by Frank T. Merrill. 
 
 Against the familiar background of American town life, the 
 author portrays a group of people strangely involved in a mystery. 
 "Doc." Gordon, the one physician of the place, Dr. Elliot, his 
 assistant, a beautiful woman and her altogether charming daughter 
 are ail involved in the plot. A novel of great interest. 
 
 HOLY ORDERS. By Marie Corelli. 
 
 A dramatic story, in which is pictured a clergyman in touch with 
 Society people, stage favorites, simple village folk, powerful finan- 
 ciers and others, each presenting vital problems to this man "in 
 holy orders " problems that we are now struggling with in America, 
 
 KATRINE. By Elinor Macartney Lane. With frontispiece. 
 
 Katrine, the heroine of this story, is a lovely Irish girl, of lowly 
 birth, but gifted with a beautiful voice. 
 
 The narrative is based on the facts of an actual singer's career t 
 and the viewpoint throughout is a most exalted one. 
 
 THE FORTUNES OF FIFI. By Molly Elliot Seawell. 
 
 Illustrated by T. de Thulstrup. 
 
 A story of life in France at the time of the first Napoleon. Fifi, 
 a glad, mad little actress of eighteen, is the star performer in a third 
 rate Parisian theatre, A story as dainty as a Watteau painting. 
 
 SHE THAT HESITATES. By Harris Dickson. Ilius- 
 trated by C. W. Relyea. 
 
 The scene of this dashing romance shifts from Dresden to St. 
 Petersburg in the reign of Peter the Great, and then to New Orleans. 
 
 The hero is a French Soldier of Fortune, and the princess, who 
 hesitates but j^ou must read the story to know how she that hesitates 
 may be lost and yet saved. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST. , NEW YORK
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP'S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 HAPPY HAWKINS. By Robert Alexander Wason. Illus- 
 
 trated by Howard Giles. 
 
 A ranch and cowboy novel. Happy Hawkins tells his own story 
 with such a fine capacity for knowing how to do it and with so much 
 humor that the reader's interest is held in surprise, then admiration 
 and at last in positive affection. 
 
 COMRADES. By Thomas Dixon, Jr. Illustrated by C. D. 
 Williams. 
 
 The locale of this story is in California, where a few socialists 
 establish a little community. 
 
 The author leads the little band along the path of disillusion- 
 ment, and gives some brilliant flashes of light on one side of an 
 important question. 
 TO NO-BUN GAY. By Herbert George Wells. 
 
 The hero of this novel is a young man who, through hard work, 
 earns a scholarship and goes to London. 
 
 Written with a frankness verging on Rousseau's, Mr. Wells stil* 
 uses rare discrimination and the border line of propriety is nevei 
 crossed. An entertaining book with both a story and a moral, and 
 without a dull page Mr. Wells's most notable achievement. 
 
 A HUSBAND BY PROXY. By Jack Steele. 
 
 A young criminologist, but recently arrived in New York city, 
 is drawn into a mystery, partly through financial need and partly 
 through his interest in a beautiful W9man, who seems at times the 
 simplest child and again a perfect mistress of intrigue. A baffling 
 detective story. 
 
 LIKE ANOTHER HELEN. By George Horton. Illus- 
 trated by C. M. Relyea. 
 
 Mr. Horton's powerful romance stands in a new field and brings 
 an almost unknown world in reality before the reader the world 
 of conflict between Greek and Turk on the Island of Crete. The 
 " Helen " of the story is a Greek, beautiful, desolate, defiant pure 
 as snow. 
 
 There is a certain new force about the story, a kind of master- 
 craftsmanship and mental dominance that holds the reader. 
 
 THE MASTER OF APPLEBY. By Francis Lynde. 
 Illustrated by T. de Thulstrup. 
 
 "A novel tale concerning itself in part with the great struggle in 
 the two Carolinas, but chiefly with the adventures therein of two 
 gentlemen who loved one and the same lady. 
 
 A strong, masculine and persuasive story. 
 
 A MODERN MADONNA. By Caroline Abbot Stanley. 
 
 A story of American life, founded on facts as they existed some 
 years ago in the District of Columbia. The theme is the material 
 love and splendid courage of a woman. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
 
 A FEW OF 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP'S 
 Great Books at Little Prices 
 
 BRUVVER JIM'S BABY. By Philip Verrill Mighels. 
 
 An uproariously funny story of a tiny mining settlement in the 
 West, which is shaken to the very roots by the sudden possession 
 of a baby, found on the plains by one of its residents. The town is 
 as disreputable a spot as the gold fever was ever responsible for, 
 and the coming of that baby causes the upheaval of every rooted 
 tradition of the place. Its christening, the problems of its toys and 
 its illness supersede in the minds of the miners all thought of eartliy 
 treasure. 
 
 THE FURNACE OF GOLD. By Philip Verrill Mighels, 
 author of " Bruvver Jim's Baby." Illustrations by J. N. 
 Marchand. 
 
 An accurate and informing portrayal of scenes, types, and condi-> 
 tions of the mining districts in modern Nevada. 
 
 The book is an out-door story, clean, exciting, exemplifying no 
 bility and courage of character, and bravery, and heroism in the sort 
 of men and women we all admire and wish to know. 
 
 THE MESSAGE. By Louis Tracy. Illustrations by Joseph 
 
 C. Chase. 
 
 A breezy tale of how a bit of old parchment, concealed in a figure- 
 head from a sunken vessel, comes into the possession of a pretty 
 girl and an army man during regatta week in the Isle of Wight. 
 This is the message and it enfolds a mystery, the development of 
 which the reader will follow M'ith breathless interest. 
 
 THE SCARLET EMPIRE. By David M. Parry. Illus- 
 trations by Hermann C. Wall. 
 
 A young socialist, weary of life, plunges into the sea and awakes 
 in the lost island of Atlantis, known as the Scarlet Empire, where 
 a social democracy is in full operation, granting every man a living 
 but limiting food, conversation, education and marriage. 
 
 The hero passes through an enthralling love affair and other ad- 
 ventures but finally returns to his own New York world. 
 
 THE THIRD DEGREE. By Charles Klein and Arthui 
 Hornblqw. Illustrations by Clarence Rowe. 
 
 A novel which exposes the abuses in this country of the polici 
 system. 
 
 The son of .m aristocratic New York family marries a woman 
 socially beneath him, but of strong, womanly qualities that, latei , 
 on, save the man from the tragic consequences of a dissipated life. 
 
 The wife believes in his innocence and her wit and good sense 
 help her to win against the tremendous odds imposed by law. 
 
 THE THIRTEENTH DISTRICT. By Brand Whitlock, 
 A realistic western story of love and politics and a searching study 
 of their influence on character. The author shows with extraoidi- 
 nary vitality of treatment the tricks, the heat, the passion, the tu- 
 mult of the political arena the triumph and strength of love. 
 
 GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26th ST., NEW YORK
 
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