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So they talked during the hour from sunset to dark。 Jean Isbel had
little to say。 He was revolving possibilities in his mind。 Darkness
brought a change in the attack of the rustlers。 They stationed men at
four points around the cabins； and every few minutes one of these
outposts would fire。 These bullets embedded themselves in the logs；
causing but little anxiety to the Isbels。
〃Jean； what you make of it？〃 asked the old rancher。
〃Looks to me this way；〃 replied Jean。 〃They're set for a long fight。
They're shootin' just to let us know they're on the watch。〃
〃Ahuh！ Wal； what 're you goin' to do aboot it？〃
〃I'm goin' out there presently。 〃
Gaston Isbel grunted his satisfaction at this intention of Jean's。
All was pitch dark inside the cabin。 The women had water and food
at hand。 Jean kept a sharp lookout from his window while he ate his
supper of meat； bread； and milk。 At last the children； worn out by
the long day； fell asleep。 The women whispered a little in their corner。
About nine o'clock Jean signified his intention of going out to
reconnoitre。
〃Dad； they've got the best of us in the daytime；〃 he said；
〃but not after dark。〃
Jean buckled on a belt that carried shells； a bowie knife； and revolver；
and with rifle in hand he went out through the kitchen to the yard。
The night was darker than usual； as some of the stars were hidden by
clouds。 He leaned against the log cabin； waiting for his eyes to
become perfectly adjusted to the darkness。 Like an Indian； Jean could
see well at night。 He knew every point around cabins and sheds and
corrals； every post； log； tree； rock； adjacent to the ranch。 After
perhaps a quarter of an hour watching； during which time several shots
were fired from behind the embankment and one each from the rustlers
at the other locations； Jean slipped out on his quest。
He kept in the shadow of the cabin walls； then the line of orchard
trees； then a row of currant bushes。 Here； crouching low； he halted
to look and listen。 He was now at the edge of the open ground； with
the gently rising slope before him。 He could see the dark patches of
cedar and juniper trees。 On the north side of the cabin a streak of
fire flashed in the blackness； and a shot rang out。 Jean heard the
bullet bit the cabin。 Then silence enfolded the lonely ranch and the
darkness lay like a black blanket。 A low hum of insects pervaded the
air。 Dull sheets of lightning illumined the dark horizon to the south。
Once Jean heard voices； but could not tell from which direction they
came。 To the west of him then flared out another rifle shot。 The
bullet whistled down over Jean to thud into the cabin。
Jean made a careful study of the obscure； gray…black open before him
and then the background to his rear。 So long as he kept the dense
shadows behind him he could not be seen。 He slipped from behind his
covert and； gliding with absolutely noiseless footsteps； he gained the
first clump of junipers。 Here he waited patiently and motionlessly for
another round of shots from the rustlers。 After the second shot from
the west side Jean sheered off to the right。 Patches of brush； clumps
of juniper； and isolated cedars covered this slope； affording Jean a
perfect means for his purpose； which was to make a detour and come up
behind the rustler who was firing from that side。 Jean climbed to the
top of the ridge； descended the opposite slope； made his turn to the
left； and slowly worked。 up behind the point near where he expected to
locate the rustler。 Long habit in the open； by day and night； rendered
his sense of direction almost as perfect as sight itself。 The first
flash of fire he saw from this side proved that he had come straight
up toward his man。 Jean's intention was to crawl up on this one of
the Jorth gang and silently kill him with a knife。 If the plan worked
successfully； Jean meant to work round to the next rustler。 Laying
aside his rifle； he crawled forward on hands and knees； making no
more sound than a cat。 His approach was slow。 He had to pick his
way； be careful not to break twigs nor rattle stones。 His buckskin
garments made no sound against the brush。 Jean located the rustler
sitting on the top of the ridge in the center of an open space。
He was alone。 Jean saw the dull…red end of the cigarette he was
smoking。 The ground on the ridge top was rocky and not well adapted
for Jean's purpose。 He had to abandon the idea of crawling up on the
rustler。 Whereupon； Jean turned back； patiently and slowly； to get
his rifle。
Upon securing it he began to retrace his course； this time more slowly
than before； as he was hampered by the rifle。 But he did not make the
slightest sound； and at length he reached the edge of the open ridge
top； once more to espy the dark form of the rustler silhouetted against
the sky。 The distance was not more than fifty yards。
As Jean rose to his knee and carefully lifted his rifle round to avoid
the twigs of a juniper he suddenly experienced another emotion besides
the one of grim； hard wrath at the Jorths。 It was an emotion that
sickened him； made him weak internally； a cold； shaking； ungovernable
sensation。 Suppose this man was Ellen Jorth's father！ Jean lowered
the rifle。 He felt it shake over his knee。 He was trembling all over。
The astounding discovery that he did not want to kill Ellen's father
that he could not do itawakened Jean to the despairing nature of his
love for her。 In this grim moment of indecision； when he knew his
Indian subtlety and ability gave him a great advantage over the Jorths；
he fully realized his strange； hopeless； and irresistible love for the
girl。 He made no attempt to deny it any longer。 Like the night and
the lonely wilderness around him； like the inevitableness of this
Jorth…Isbel feud； this love of his was a thing； a fact； a reality。
He breathed to his own inward ear； to his soulhe could not kill
Ellen Jorth's father。 Feud or no feud； Isbel or not； he could not
deliberately do it。 And why not？ There was no answer。 Was he not
faithless to his father？ He had no hope of ever winning Ellen Jorth。
He did not want the love of a girl of her character。 But he loved her。
And his struggle must be against the insidious and mysterious growth
of that passion。 It swayed him already。 It made him a coward。
Through his mind and heart swept the memory of Ellen Jorth； her beauty
and charm； her boldness and pathos； her shame and her degradation。
And the sweetness of her outweighed the boldness。 And the mystery of
her arrayed itself in unquenchable protest against her acknowledged
shame。 Jean lifted his face to the heavens； to the pitiless white
stars； to the infinite depths of the dark…blue sky。 He could sense
the fact of his being an atom in the universe of nature。 What was he；
what was his revengeful father； what were hate and passion and strife
in comparison to the nameless something； immense and everlasting； that
he sensed in this dark moment？
But the rustlersDaggsthe Jorthsthey had killed his brother Guy
murdered him brutally and ruthlessly。 Guy had been a playmate of Jean's
a favorite brother。 Bill had been secretive and selfish。 Jean had
never loved him as he did Guy。 Guy lay dead down there on the meadow。
This feud had begun to run its bloody course。 Jean steeled his nerve。
The hot blood crept back along his veins。 The dark and masterful tide
of revenge waved over him。 The keen edge of his mind then cut out sharp
and trenchant thoughts。 He must kill when and where he could。 This man
could hardly be Ellen Jorth's father。 Jorth would be with the main
crowd； directing hostilities。 Jean could shoot this rustler guard
and his shot would be taken by the gang as the regular one from their
comrade。 Then swiftly Jean leveled his rifle； covered the dark form；
grew cold and set； and pressed the trigger。 After the report he rose
and wheeled away。 He did not look nor listen for the result of his
shot。 A clammy sweat wet his face； the hollow of his hands； his breast。
A horrible； leaden； thick sensation oppressed his heart。 Nature had
endowed him with Indian gifts； but the exercise of them to this end
caused a revolt in his soul。
Nevertheless； it was the Isbel blood that dominated him。 The wind blew
cool on his face。 The burden upon his shoulders seemed to lift。 The
clamoring whispers grew fainter in his ears。 And by the time he had
retraced his cautious steps back to the orchard all his physical being
was strung to the task at hand。 Something had come between his
reflective self and this man of action。
Crossing the lane； he took to the west line of sheds； and passed beyond
them into the meadow。 In the grass he crawled silently away to the
right； using the same precaution that had actuated him on the slope；
only here he did not pause so often； nor move so slowly。 Jean aimed
to go far enough to the right to pass the end of the embankment behind
which the rustlers had found such efficient cover。 This ditch had
been made to keep water； during spring thaws and summer storms； from
pouring off the slope to flood the corrals。
Jean miscalculated and found he had come upon the emban