The other made a familiar gesture with those who knew
him, a touching of his left hand against his throat
where the cross lay.
He said: “I suppose it seems like that
to you.”
“Like what? Dodging me, eh? Well,
I never press the point, but I’d give the worth
of your horse, Pierre, to see you and Mary together.”
Red Pierre started, and then frowned.
“Irritates you a little, eh? Well, a woman
is like a spur to most men.”
He added, with a momentary gloom: “God
knows, I bear the marks of ’em.”
He raised his head, as if he looked up in response
to his thought.
“But there’s a difference with this girl.
I’ve named the quality of her before—it
disarms a man.”
Pierre looked to his friend with some alarm, for there
was a saying among the followers of Boone that a woman
would be the downfall of big Dick Wilbur again, as
a woman had been his downfall before. The difference
would be that this fall must be his last.
And Wilbur went on: “She’s Eastern,
Pierre, and out here visiting the daughter of old
Barnes who owns about a thousand miles of range, you
know. How long will she be here? That’s
the question I’m trying to answer for her.
I met her riding over the hills—she was
galloping along a ridge, and she rode her way right
into my heart. Well, I’m a fool, of course,
but about this girl I can’t be wrong. Tonight
I’m taking her to a masquerade.”
He pulled his horse to a full stop.
“Pierre, you have to come with me.”
Pierre stared at his companion with almost open-mouthed
astonishment.
“I? A dance?”
And then his head tilted back and he laughed.
“My good times, Dick, come out of the hills
and the skyline, and the gallop of Mary. But
as for women, they bore me, Dick.”
“Even Jack?”
“She’s more man than woman.”
It was the turn of Wilbur to laugh, and he responded
uproariously until Pierre frowned and flushed a little.
“When I see you out here on your horse with
your rifle in the boot and your six-gun swinging low
in the scabbard, and riding the fastest bit of horseflesh
on the ranges,” explained Wilbur, “I get
to thinking that you’re pretty much king of
the mountains; but in certain respects, Pierre, you’re
a child.”
Pierre stirred uneasily in his saddle. A man
must be well over thirty before he can withstand ridicule.
He said dryly: “I’ve an idea that
I know Jack’s about as well as the next man.”
“Let it drop,” said Wilbur, sober again,
for he shared with all of Boone’s crew a deep-rooted
unwillingness to press Red Pierre beyond a certain
point. “The one subject I won’t quarrel
about is Jack, God bless her.”
“She’s the best pal,” said Pierre
soberly, “and the nearest to a man I’ve
ever met.”
“Nearest to a man?” queried Wilbur, and
smiled, but so furtively that even the sharp eye of
Red Pierre did not perceive the mockery. He went
on: “But the dance, what of that? It’s
a masquerade. There’d be no fear of being
recognized.”
