Outside the door the free wind caught at his face,
and he blessed it in his heart, as if it had been
the touch of the hand of a friend. Beyond the
long, dark, silent street the moor rose and passed
up through the safe, dark spaces of the sky.
He must move quickly now. The pursuit was not
yet organized, but it would begin in a space of minutes.
From the group of half a dozen horses which stood
before the saloon he selected the best—a
tall, raw-boned nag with an ugly head. Into the
saddle he swung, wondering faintly that the theft
of a horse mattered so little to him. His was
the greatest sin. All other things mattered nothing.
Down the long street he galloped. The sharp echoes
flew out at him from every unlighted house, but not
a human being was in sight. So he swung out onto
the long road which wound up through the hills, and
beside him rode a grim brotherhood, the invisible fellowship
of Cain.
The moon rose higher, brighter, and a grotesque black
shadow galloped over the snow beside him. He
turned his head sharply to the other side and watched
the sweep of white hills which reached back in range
after range until they blended with the shadows of
night.
The road faded to a bridle path, and this in turn
he lost among the windings of the valley. He
was lost from even the traces of men, and yet the
fear of men pursued him. Fear, and yet with it
there was a thrill of happiness, for every swinging
stride of the tall, wild roan carried him deeper into
freedom, the unutterable fierce freedom of the hunted.
All life was tame compared with this sudden awakening
of Pierre. He had killed a man. For fear
of it he raced the tall roan furiously through the
night.
He had killed a man. For the joy of it he shouted
a song that went ringing across the blank, white hills.
What place was there in Red Pierre for solemn qualms
of conscience? Had he not met the first and last
test triumphantly? The oldest instinct in creation
was satisfied in him. Now he stood ready to say
to all the world: Behold, a man!
Let it be remembered that his early years had been
passed in a dull, dun silence, and time had slipped
by him with softly padding, uneventful hours.
Now, with the rope of restraint snapped, he rode at
the world with hands, palm upward, asking for life,
and that life which lies under the hills of the mountain-desert
heard his question and sent a cold, sharp echo back
to answer his lusty singing.
The first answer, as he plunged on, not knowing where,
and not caring, was when the roan reeled suddenly
and flung forward to the ground. Even that violent
stop did not unseat Red Pierre. He jerked up on
the reins with a curse and drove in the spurs.
Valiantly the horse reared his shoulders up, but when
he strove to rise the right foreleg dangled helplessly.
He had stepped in some hole and the bone was broken
cleanly across.
