That was a time of change and of portent, and a day
well fitted to the mood of Randall Byrne. He,
also, had altered, and there was about to break upon
him the rain of life, and whether it would destroy
him or make him live, and richly, he could not guess.
But he was naked to the skies of chance—naked
as this landscape.
Far past the mid-day they reached the streets of Elkhead
and stopped at the hotel. As the doctor swung
down from his saddle, cramped and sore from the long
ride, thunder rattled over the distant hills and a
patter of rain splashed in the dust and sent up a
pungent odor to his nostrils. It was like the
voice of the earth proclaiming its thirst. And
a blast of wind leaped down the street and lifted the
brim of Barry’s hat and set the bandana at his
throat fluttering. He looked away into the teeth
of the wind and smiled.
There was something so curious about him at the instant
that Randall Byrne wanted to ask him into the hotel—wanted
to have him knee to knee for a long talk. But
he remembered an old poem—the sea-shell
needs the waves of the sea—the bird will
not sing in the cage. And the yellow light in
the eyes of Barry, phosphorescent, almost—a
thing that might be nearly seen by night—that,
surely, would not shine under any roof. It was
the wind which made him smile. These things he
understood, without fear.
So he said good-bye, and the rider waved carelessly
and took the reins of the piebald and turned the stallion
back. He noted the catlike grace of the horse
in moving, as if his muscles were steel springs; and
he noted also that the long ride had scarcely stained
the glossy hide with sweat—while the piebald
reeked with the labour. Randall Byrne drew thoughtfully
back onto the porch of the hotel and followed the rider
with his eyes. In a moment a great cloud of dust
poured down the street, covered the rider, and when
it was gone he had passed around a corner and out
of the life of the doctor.
THE CHALLENGE
All this time Black Bart had trotted contentedly ahead
of Satan, never having to glance back but apparently
knowing the intended direction; save that when Dan
Barry turned to the road leading out of the little
town, the wolf-dog had turned in an opposite direction.
The rider turned in the saddle and sent a sharp whistle
towards the animal, but he was answered by a short
howl of woe that made him check Satan and swing around.
Black Bart stood in the centre of the street facing
in the opposite direction, and he looked back over
his shoulder towards his master.
There was apparently a perfect understanding between
them, and the master first glanced up and made sure
of the position of the sun and the length of time
he might allow for the trip home, before he decided
to follow the whim of the wolf-dog. Then he turned
Satan and cantered, with the piebald trailing, back
towards Black Bart.
