There was a brief and futile struggle, and a hissing
of breath in the silence till the hat tumbled from
the head of Jack and down over the shoulders streamed
a torrent of silken black hair.
Pierre stepped back. This was the meaning, then,
of the strangely small feet and hands and the low
music of the voice. It was the body of a girl
that he had held.
It was not fear nor shame that made the eyes of Jacqueline
so wide as she stared past Pierre toward the door.
He glanced across his shoulder, and blocking the entrance
to the room, literally filling the doorway, was the
bulk of Jim Boone.
“Seems as if I was sort of steppin’ in
on a little family party,” he said. “I’m
sure glad you two got acquainted so quick. Jack,
how did you and—What the hell’s your
name, lad?”
“He tricked me, dad, or he would never have
got the gun away from me. This—this
Pierre—this beast—he got me to
talk of Hal. Then he stole—”
“The point,” said Jim Boone coldly, “is
that he got the gun. Run along, Jack.
You ain’t so growed up as I was thinkin’.
Or hold on—maybe you’re more
grown up. Which is it? Are you turnin’
into a woman, Jack?”
She whirled on Pierre in a white fury.
“You see? You see what you’ve done?
He’ll never trust me again—never!
Pierre, I hate you. I’ll always hate you.
And if Hal were here—”
A storm of sobs and tears cut her short, and she disappeared
through the door. Boone and Pierre stood regarding
each other critically.
Pierre spoke first: “You’re not as
big as I expected.”
“I’m plenty big; but you’re older
than I thought.”
“Too old for what you want of me. The girl
told me what that was.”
“Not too old to be made what I want.”
And his hands passed through a significant gesture
of molding the empty air. The boy met his eye
dauntlessly.
“I suppose,” he said, “that I’ve
a pretty small chance of getting away.”
“Just about none, Pierre. Come here.”
Pierre stepped closer and looked down the hall into
another room. There, about a table, sat the five
grimmest riders of the mountain-desert that he had
ever seen. They were such men as one could judge
at a glance, and Pierre made that instinctive motion
for his six-gun. “The girl,” Jim
Boone was saying, “kept you pretty busy tryin’
to make a break, and if she could do anything maybe
you’d have a pile of trouble with one of them
guardin’ you. But if I’d had a good
look at you, lad, I’d never have let Jack take
the job of guardin’ you.”
“Thanks,” answered Pierre dryly.
“You got reason; I can see that. Here’s
the point, Pierre. I know young men because I
can remember pretty close what I was at your age.
I wasn’t any ladies’ lap dog, at that,
but time and older men molded me the way I’m
going to mold you. Understand?”
