Читать книгу Timber-Wolf - Jackson Gregory - Страница 5

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There was a crowd of men, tight-jammed, about the little square stone jail as Deveril made his way toward his cabin. Every man of them was striving for a glance through the barred slit of a window behind which Mexicali Joe glared out at them. In the throng Deveril marked a man who wore his deputy-sheriff's badge thrust prominently into notice and who carried a rifle across the hollow of his arm. Deveril shrugged and went on.

"In jail or out, the Mex is going to keep a shut mouth," he meditated. "He'll never spill a word now, unless Taggart gets a chance to give him a rough-and-ready third degree. And Taggart will get no such chance to-night."

Through the dim dusk gathering among the pines he came to the cabin. A light winked at him through the open door; Maria, Joe's daughter, was getting his supper. Well, he was ready for it; blow hot, blow cold, a man must eat.

"Hello, Señorita," he greeted her from the threshold. "How does it feel to be the one and only daughter of the most distinguished gentleman in town?"

Maria did not understand him, but her white teeth flashed and her large southern eyes were warm and friendly.

"They found your papa," he told her. "He's in jail."

"Seguro," responded Maria, unmoved. "That is nothing for him."

Deveril laughed and went to wash at the bucket of water which the girl had placed on a bench in the corner. Maria finished setting his table with the few articles at hand, putting a black pot of red beans in the place of honor before his plate. As he returned from washing and smoothing his hair down, he noted the plate itself; a plain, cracked affair of heavy crockery with a faded design in red roses. Plainly, Maria had raided her mother's home for that. She was looking at him for his approval and received it. At the moment she had both hands occupied and he stooped forward and kissed her. It was lightly and carelessly done; a gay salute to the girl's warm smouldering beauty. For beauty of its kind she did have, that of the young half-bred animal.

She gasped; her face, whether through indignation or pleasure, went a dark burning red. Deveril laughed softly and sat down upon the box which she had drawn up for his chair.

It was only then that he saw that he had a visitor. His eyebrows shot upward as he wondered. Another girl or young woman; in that light, as she stood just outside his door, nothing very definite could be made of her.

"Could I have a word with you, Mr. Deveril?"

He came to his feet almost at the first word, quick and lithe and graceful. Always was Babe Deveril at his best when it was a question of a lady. The voice accosting him was clear and cool and musically modulated. He tried to make out her face, but was baffled by the shadow cast by her wide hat. She was clad in a neat dark outing suit and wore serviceable walking boots; she was slim and trim and young and confident. Beyond that the dusk made a mystery of her.

"A thousand!" he returned in answer. "Won't you come in?"

"It is very pleasant outside. May I sit on your door-step?"

"Lord love you," he assured her, "you may do anything on earth that pleases you.... Maria, my dear, you may run home to your mama; I have affairs of state. And I'll be delighted to see you again at breakfast time."

Maria put down her things and fled. Again Deveril laughed softly.

"It was no tender scene that you interrupted," he told his visitor. "I was merely seeking expression in a bit of rudimentary human language of my gratitude for the loan of a cracked plate! Look at it!" He held it aloft.

"A gratitude which obviously springs from the heart," she returned as lightly as he had spoken.

She sat down on the door-step. He came toward her, meaning to have a better look at her.

"But you were just beginning your supper," she objected. "Please go on with it while it is hot. Otherwise I shall most certainly leave without talking with you as I had wished."

"But you? There is plenty for both of us."

She shook her head emphatically.

"No, thank you. It's very kind, but I have eaten."

"Then I eat, though it's putting a hungry man at an unfair advantage to watch him at such a disgusting pastime." He poured himself a cup of coffee, all the while trying to make out her features. He knew already that she was pretty; one sensed a thing like that. But just how pretty, that even Babe Deveril could not decide as long as the light was no better and she hid in the shadows of her provoking hat. "And now, how may I be of service?"

Thus of the two she was the first to be given the opportunity of clear observation. There were two candles stuck in their own grease on the rough table, and between them his face looking out toward her was unshadowed. A face gay and insouciant, dark and clean-cut, the face of devil-may-care youth. It struck her that there was an evidence of the man's character in the fact that, though she had caught him in the act of kissing his maid of all work, he was not in the least perturbed. She thought that it would be easy to like this man; she was not sure that she could ever trust him.

"I am Lynette Brooke," she said in a moment. "And I thought it possible that, if you cared to do so, you might answer a question for me."

"If I may be of assistance to you," he told her, cordially, watching her narrowly, "you have but to let me know."

"Thank you." He had inclined his head in acknowledgment of her introduction and now her head tipped slightly toward him. "My question has to do, naturally, with the one matter of general interest in Big Pine to-day. You see, I have heard of you; I know that you know some of the men here ... Sheriff Taggart and Mr. Gallup, for example. And ... I once had the pleasure of meeting you, Mr. Deveril. Small excuse for troubling you, I know, but when one is in earnest...."

"I'll tell you something!" said Deveril quickly.

"Yes?"

"I'd give a whole lot for a good square look at you! I am no hand for names; and I haven't been able to make out your face."

"A whole lot?" It was a fair guess that she was smiling. "Well, then, it's a bargain. You give me an answer to a question!"

"Done! Any question!"

With a sudden gesture her two hands went up to her hat. At the same moment she jumped to her feet and came three steps into his cabin. As she brought the hat down to her side and turned toward him, the candle-light streamed across her face and Babe Deveril sat back on his box and with a sudden lighting up of his eyes collected his share of the obligation by letting his admiring glance rove across her disclosed features. Pretty; yes, far and away more than pretty. He was startled by an unexpected, soft loveliness; an alluring, seductive charm of line and expression. Just now it was her mood to smile at him; and she was one of those rare girls whose smile is sheer tenderness. He marked the curl in her soft brown hair; the sparkle in her big gray eyes; the curve of the lips; in another moment the red mouth would be laughing at him. She held herself erect under his frank inspection; her chin was up; her eyes did not waver; she challenged him with her glance to look his fill and shape his judgment of her.

"I think you are mistaken on one point," he told her quickly. "I never saw you before, for I would not have forgotten."

"The obvious remark nicely made," she laughed at him.

He frowned.

"Through no fault of mine. You are welcome to know that I have a memory for pretty girls. And that you are absolutely the prettiest girl I ever saw."

"Thank you," she mocked him. She put her hat on again and went back to the door-step. "Nevertheless, it is true that we have met before. Of course," she amended hastily, "I am not going to claim any obligation on either side because of that. But it suggested that I should come to you now instead of taking my chances with utter strangers."

"If you care to do me a very great favor," said Deveril, "you will tell me when you think you and I met."

"Certainly. I have no desire to make a mystery of so common an occurrence. Last May you were in Carson?"

"Yes."

"There was a dance. You went with Mildred Darrel. When you called for her she was out on the porch. Another girl was with her and you were introduced."

"After all, I was right!" he cried triumphantly. "You were in the shadows that the vines threw all over the porch. I don't believe I even heard your name. Most positively I did not catch a glimpse of your face."

She dismissed the subject with indifference.

"At least I have made my explanation. And now may I ask my question?" And, when he nodded: "Are they telling the truth when they say that Mexicali Joe stole his gold from Mr. Gallup's mine?"

He had expected something like that; all along he had felt that this girl with the bright daring eyes and that eager confident carriage was in Big Pine because she, equally with himself, was concerned with the one occurrence which for the moment made the community a place of interest to such as found no lure in the humdrum.

"Of course, you know that anything I could say in answer would be but one man's opinion?"

"Yes. But knowing these men, your opinion would be of value to me."

"Well, then, I'd gamble my boots that they're lying. And I can advance no reasons whatever for my belief. But there's your question answered."

"As I thought that it would be. I was sure of it before I came here. You make me doubly sure."

He, for the moment, was more interested in her than in Mexicali Joe and his gold.

"You don't belong up here in the mountains? You're a long way from your stamping-ground, aren't you?"

"Of course. I happened to be down in Rocky Bend when the news came and I caught the first stage up."

He tried to make her out. She did not look the type of woman who followed in the wake of such news, adventuring. But then you could never tell what a woman was inside by the outer peach-and-cream softness of her, as Babe Deveril very well understood.

She appeared to be plunged deep into revery. Perhaps there was something of weariness in the droop of her shoulders; if she had come on the early stage, she might have had a hard day of it altogether....

"Were you able to get a room at the Gallup House?" he asked.

"Yes. I was one of the first, you know. As to how long I can keep my room, I can't tell. Mr. Gallup has doubled his prices and is likely to double them again."

"He's that sort," conceded Deveril. "He plays a big game and all the time has a shrewd eye for the little bets. By the way, do you feel entirely comfortable there?"

Her eyes drifted to a meeting with his.

"What do you mean?"

"There's as tough a crowd there and spread all over town as I ever saw. Are you alone?"

"Yes. Quite."

"You don't mean to say that you, a young girl and not overused to hardship, from the look of you, are up here to mix into such a scrimmage as may be pulled off? To match your wits and your grit and your endurance against the kind of men who go hell-raising into a new gold strike?"

She tilted back her head against the door-jamb and looked up, straight into his eyes. Thus he saw her chin brought forward prominently. It was delicately turned and joined, softly curving, a full feminine throat; and yet it was a chin which bespoke character and stubbornness.

"When men go rushing after gold," she said quietly, "more likely than not they go with empty pockets if not empty stomachs. There is always a chance, in a new mining-camp, for one who has a little money. A chance to stake a miner, going shares; and always, of course, the chance to stake one's own claim."

"But you.... What do you know of such things?"

"Not much, first-hand, perhaps. But it's in the blood!... You look a very young man, Mr. Deveril, but you and I know that looks are not everything; and it is quite possible that you are old enough to have heard of Olymphe Labelle?"

"Why," he exclaimed, "I have seen her. I was only a boy; it was twenty years ago. That was down at Horseshoe; why, bless your soul, I fell head over heels in love with her! I can tell you how she dressed and how she looked. Big blue eyes; golden hair; a pink dress; a great big picture-hat, with ribbons. I was only eight or nine years old, but forget? Never!"

"My father married her down in Horseshoe! That was the first time he ever saw her and he didn't let her get away! Dick Brooke; maybe you have heard of him, too? If so you won't ask why the daughter of Olymphe Labelle and Dick Brooke has it in her veins to mingle with the first of the crowd when there's word of a new strike!"

There was scarcely a community in all Arizona or New Mexico, certainly none within the broad scope of the great southwestern plateau country, which had not in its time, a generation ago, paid tribute to the gaiety and grace and beauty of Olymphe Labelle. She danced for them; she sang; she went triumphantly from one mining town or lumber-camp to another and men went mad over her. They packed the houses in which she appeared; they spent their money generously to see her, and night after night, captivated, they tossed to the stage under her pretty high-heeled feet both raw and minted gold. Olymphe was to this country what Lotta was to the camps of California in an earlier day. Then young Dick Brooke, a stalwart and hot-blooded young miner, saw her and that was the end of Olymphe's dancing career. They were married within ten days. And from this union was sprung the superb young creature now sitting upon an adventurer's door-step and looking straight up into his eyes.

"You see, it is only the thing to be expected, after all, that I should follow the gleam!"

She, like himself, was young and eager and unafraid and adventuresome; and within her pulsing arteries was that pioneer blood which, trickling down through the generations is ever prone to set recklessness seething.

There was a man coming up through the pines on horseback. In the gloom all detail was wanting. But obviously he meant to come straight on to the cabin. Deveril, seeing this intent, stepped by the girl and a couple of paces forward. The man, sitting in a strange, sideways fashion in the saddle, drew rein and peered at him.

"Name of Deveril? Babe Deveril?"

"Right, friend. What's your trouble?"

"Offering to shake hands, to begin with. I'm Winch; Billy Winch. You and me know each other."

He leaned outward from the saddle, putting out his hand. But Deveril ignored it, saying coolly:

"Why should I shake hands with you? You and I are not friends that I know of!"

Billy Winch sighed, and used his hand to remove his hat and then rumple his bristly hair. Then he laughed softly. His horse, restless and fiery and well-fed, whirled, and for the first time Lynette Brooke made out the reason for that strange, lopsided attitude in the saddle; the man, a little, weazened fellow, had lost his right leg above the knee and managed a sure seat only by throwing his weight upon his left stirrup and thus maintaining his balance.

"Well," said Winch good-naturedly, "he said to start off by shaking hands. Just to show as I was friendly."

"He?" repeated Deveril. "You mean Bruce Standing?"

"Sure. Of course. When I just say he I mean him."

The girl sitting in the shadows smiled. Deveril, however, whose profile she could watch, appeared to have no good humor left to spend upon his caller. She marked how his voice hardened and how he bit off his words curtly.

"I have no business with either Bruce Standing or with you."

"Well," said Winch cheerfully, "here's the message: You're to meet him in half an hour or so at the Gallup House."

For a moment Deveril was silent; then the girl heard his barely audible muttering and knew that under his breath he was roundly cursing the man who sent him a message like that. In another instant he flared out hotly, forgetful of her or ignoring her:

"You go tell your Bruce Standing that I said that he is a land hog and a thief and a damn' fool, all rolled in one; and that I'll meet him nowhere this side of hell."

Billy Winch chuckled as at the rarest of all jests.

"I got a picture of me going to him with a mouthful like that! On the low-down level, Deveril, he means to be friendly, I think...."

"Do your infernal thinking somewhere else," snapped Deveril angrily. "Clear out or I'll throw you out!"

"I told him most likely you'd be sassy, so he won't be disappointed, I guess. Well, I'm travelling, so you don't have to mess your place all up throwing me off!" He was still chuckling good-naturedly as he swung his horse about with a light touch of the reins. Over his shoulder he called back: "He said it was important and he'd see you at Gallup's inside the hour!" The voice was taunting; Billy Winch threw his weight into his one stirrup, and even the attitude, though made necessary through his physical handicap, was vaguely irritating, so carelessly nonchalant did it appear. His horse bolted like a shot as he gave the signal and in a moment bore him out of sight among the shadows under the pines. Babe Deveril, hands on hips, stood staring after him. Then he swung about and came back to the cabin, and the girl on his door-step, seeing his face clearly in the candle-light streaming forth, caught her breath sharply at the outward sign she glimpsed of the rage burning high and hot in his breast.

"I'm of half a mind to meet him after all and break his confounded neck!" he cried out, a passionate tremor in his voice.

All along he had intrigued her, with his handsome face and devil-may-care air and light gracefulness; she estimated coolly that if, as he had said of himself, he had a memory for pretty girls it was something more than likely that more than one pretty girl had carried in her heart the memory of him. Now, suddenly, his good looks were sinister; his gaiety was so utterly gone that it was next door to impossible to imagine that he could ever be inconsequentially gay. The innate evil in the man stood up naked and ugly. And all because some man, a certain Bruce Standing, had sent a message commanding a meeting at the Gallup House.

It was not exactly the thing to do to put her question, but interest, mounting above mere curiosity, piqued her, and, certain of an answer in his present mood, she offered innocently:

"It seems to me I have heard the name Bruce Standing. Just who is he?"

Deveril glared at her and for a brief fragment of a second she was afraid of him; it was as though, by the mere mention of the name, she drew on herself something of the hatred he must have felt for this man Standing.

"You heard me read his title clear enough to his one-legged dog Winch," he told her harshly. "He is a man who came into this country with nothing a dozen years ago and who now rolls in the fat of his ill-gotten gains. He's a land hog who has robbed right and left and who has with him the devil's luck. He owns thousands of acres of land out yonder." A wide sweep of his arm indicated the endlessly rolling wilderness land, sombre ridges and ebony cañons, rising into stony barren crests here, thick timbered yonder where they slumbered under the first stars. "He operates mines; he gambles in gold and copper and lumber ... and life, curse him! And in human souls, his own with the rest. He runs half a dozen lumber-camps and has a thousand of the toughest men in the world working for him at one place and another. Men hate him for what he is, a cold-blooded highwayman. They have sent him a warning not to show his face in Big Pine, and being of the devil's spawn he sends me word to meet him at Gallup's! That's his way and his nerve and his colossal conceit. May hell take him!"

"And," suggested the girl, watchful of him as she ventured to probe at his emotions, "on top of all of this ... your cousin?"

"No!" He shouted the word at her angrily. "No cousin, thank God. Not so closely related as that. A kinsman of a sort, yes; but if you go back far enough to dig out the roots of things, we are all kinsmen since Adam. I claim no relationship with Bruce Standing."

"I should like to meet this wicked kinsman of yours," she said, as though thoughtful and in earnest.

"And," she added, "warned against coming into Big Pine, he will still come openly?"

"At least," he grunted back at her, "there is one thing I have never denied him; he's no coward. No Gallup was ever conceived who can tell him where to head in and get away with it. Of course he will come and in the wide open and on the run."

She rose to go.

"I wish you all success in your dealings with your bold, bad kinsman. And I do thank you for your frank answer to my question. And now ... good night."

"I'll walk with you ... if you will let me?"

"Thank you, but...."

They heard the clippety-clop of horses' hoofs, running. Not one horse this time, but three, bearing their riders like so many indistinguishable dark blurs through the night, sweeping on to the cabin. A man, one of the riders, was laughing, and Lynette Brooke knew that already here was Billy Winch returning. Babe Deveril, too, must have recognized the voice, for he jerked his head up and stiffened where he stood, oblivious of the fact that she had broken off with an objecting "but," conscious only of a hated man's impertinence.

Those three were expert riders, men who lived in the saddle. They and their horses seemed moulded centaurs for certainty and the grace of the habitual horseman. They came on at such a break-neck speed and so close that the girl whipped back, thinking that they would run her and her companion down. Then, with that quick light pluck at the reins, they brought their horses down from a mad run to a trembling standstill.

"He said you was to meet him ... about now!"

That was Billy Winch, lopsided and cock-sure in the saddle, the chosen messenger of his impudent, reckless chief.

Winch flung out his arm. In the dark they could have made nothing of the gesture had it not been for the sudden sibilant hiss of the rope, swung by an iron wrist, cutting through the air. The noose fell with absolute exactness; Winch was not ten steps away and the rope thrown so unerringly settled about Babe Deveril's shoulders and with a quick jerk grew so tight that it cut into the flesh. On the instant the two men with Winch left their saddles and struck earth, both on the run forward. And, while Lynette Brooke thought with horror to see sudden death dealt, they threw themselves upon the man already fighting against the imprisonment of thirty feet of hemp.

She had never seen men battle as now these three battled while Billy Winch sitting back in his saddle with his rope drawn tight, watched and laughed and cried out in broken phrases expressing his satisfaction with the situation. Babe Deveril, roped as he was, gave her such proof of prowess as to make her admiration for the physical perfection of him leap high. She, too, cried out brokenly; she wanted to see him win against these unfair odds. But the men clung on and Billy Winch sat laughing and tautening his rope; blows and curses and throaty growls, the whole thing lasted not half a minute. Babe Deveril was down, mastered by three men.

"Well?" she heard him pant furiously. "What now? Murder or only robbery again?"

"Again? Robbery?" That was Winch's untroubled voice, always gay. "When was the other time, pardner?"

"He robbed me once of three thousand dollars. Now what?"

"Now," said Winch coolly, loosening his rope an inch or two but still on guard, "it's only what I said before: You are to meet him at the Gallup House, and I'm responsible for your coming. So we're taking you."

Deveril lay very still, two brawny men upon him. When he made no immediate reply Winch waited patiently and knew, as the girl knew, that a man must be given a moment in such circumstances to collect his wits. Deveril's panting gradually gave over to more quiet breathing; he lay flat on his back and saw the two heads bending over his own and, beyond them, the stars. He started once to speak, but clamped his lips tight. Still, in high tolerant patience, Billy Winch waited upon him while Lynette Brooke, trembling from head to foot with excitement, waited in burning impatience.

"You got me, boys."

She could scarcely recognize Deveril's voice; at first she thought that it was one of the other men speaking.

"That's sensible." That was Billy Winch. Again he loosened his rope.

"I guess," Deveril went on quietly, "that the three of you, jumping me like that, regular Standing sneak-style, can lead me down to Gallup's. Or, if you care to let me up, I'll save you the trouble, and will go without your help."

"That's your promise?" queried Winch.

"Yes ... damn you."

"That's fair. Let him go, boys."

The two men holding him down, got to their feet and went back to their horses as if, their bit of work done, they had lost all interest, as perhaps they had. Deveril got to his feet and cast the rope off. Winch drew it in, coiled it, and tied it at his saddle strings.

"Most any time now," he said casually. "He's on his way and due in a dozen minutes. All you got to do is listen for him!"

Deveril stood, both arms stiffening at his sides, his head lifted high, looking straight at Winch.

"Some fine day," he said with low-toned quiet anger, "I'll get you or I'll get him. And it will be a great day!"

"It sure will, Kid," laughed Winch. "Adios, and all best wishes."

The three riders, all seated by now, sped away, their horses kicking up the fine dust fragrant with fallen pine-needles. Deveril remained, rigid and angry, looking after them.

"You don't know," he said heavily, as the pounding hoof beats dwindled and the scurrying blurs of figures faded, "you don't know and can't guess...."

And when he remained where he was, stiff, hands clinched at his sides and face lifted to the stars, she thought that for an instant it was given her to glimpse for the first time in her life something of the realities working in a man's very soul. Almost she could see the hot tears in his angry eyes.

She was very deeply moved. Clearly here was no concern of hers; these men, all of them including Deveril, were strangers to her and their loves and hates had nothing to do with Lynette Brooke. But none the less that current of men's lives ran so strong and swift that she felt as though she were being actually and physically drawn into it. Nor, though her eyes did not once leave the rigid figure of Deveril, did her thoughts concern themselves exclusively with him. She felt a sudden strange and burning interest in that other man whom she had never seen but of whose wild nature she had heard. She resented the work of Bruce Standing, done for him by his emissaries; she felt that she, no less than Babe Deveril, could hate a man like that. And yet already there had sprung up within her a strong desire to see him for herself.

"How can it be," she wondered, "that if he is the lawbreaker you call him, thief and worse, men allow him to go on his way?"

He looked at her curiously. Then he laughed his short angry laugh.

"He's a man for you to look into, girl with the daring eyes! A cruel, merciless devil if half the tales are true and, to top off his madness, a man who has not hate but an abiding contempt for all your gentle sex. But you wonder why men let him roam free? In the first place, haven't I told you that he rolls in wealth? That's one thing. Another is his cursed craft. You wonder why I say in one breath that he stole three thousand dollars from me and then merely growl that he remains outside jail?"

"I don't understand it, of course."

"Here you go, then: Half a dozen years ago I held that Bruce Standing and I were friends. He sent me word to come up here into his wilderness; I was to bring whatever money I could raise and there was the chance to double it. I came. When I met him, twenty miles off over yonder in a cabin where he lived like a solitary old bear, we talked things out. With all of his big ventures he was on the edge of bankruptcy. He was grabbing money in both hands from any source and every source. He wanted my three thousand to throw in with the rest, the damned selfish hog that he was and is. I laughed at him and you could have heard him growl a mile. We slept that night in his cabin. In the middle of the night in the pitch black dark, I felt a man on top of me in my bunk, his hands at my throat. I got a tap over the head with something; when I woke up my money belt was gone and it was morning and there was Bruce Standing, singing and grinning and getting breakfast and asking me if I had had bad dreams."

"But...."

"The law? When he wouldn't either admit or deny? When he just laughed and said, 'Where in this country, my country, will you get a jury to convict me?' And where, by the same token, was any money left in my pockets to do legal battle with a man intrenched as he is in his old mountains?"

"And he goes on prospering?"

"I tell you he was hanging on the rim of nowhere, broke. And he used my three thousand and God knows what other stolen funds, and now again he is the one power across a hundred miles up here!"

There was one other thing she meant to ask. Billy Winch had said just now that Standing was on his way; that all they had to do was listen for him. She supposed that he had meant the clatter of a running horse's hoofs; and yet something in Winch's tone implied something else. No doubt Deveril understood; she was parting her lips to ask when, across the fields of the silent night, Bruce Standing himself answered her. A sudden thrill shot through her blood.

As she was to learn later, there were many wonderful things about Bruce Standing. Among them were his reckless impudence and his glorious voice. Now, before ever she saw the man, she heard him singing, somewhere far out, under the stars, alone with his wilderness, sending far ahead of him into Big Pine the word of his coming. A coming which was in defiance of the order which had gone forth and which, with his superb assurance, he was ignoring. It was a voice as sweet and clear and true, for the high notes and the low notes alike, as a silver trumpet. She stopped breathing to listen. She felt her heart leap and quicken; a tingling quivered along her nerves. Never had she heard singing like that, wild, free, a voice to haunt and linger echoing in the memory.

And then, all of a sudden, she was set shivering. For the voice had done with the song and, at the end, with a great unexpected upgathering of sound was poured forth into a long-drawn-out call that was like nothing on earth save the howling of a wolf. The night call throbbed and billowed across the disturbed silences and all of a sudden was gone and the night was again hushed and still.

"There you have one of the two good reasons why men call him Timber-Wolf," said Deveril with a grunt.

She scarcely heard. Somewhere, deep down within her, that golden outpouring, that rush of fierceness at the end, echoed and lived on.