“The worst storms come on a voyage that starts
with fair weather. Patterson? He’s
gone; he ain’t just delayed; he’s gone.”
It was not the first of these gloomy prophecies which
Gandil had made, but each time a heavy gloom broke
over Red Pierre. For when he summed up the good
fortune which the cross of Father Victor had brought
him, he found that he had gained a father, and lost
him at their first meeting; and he had won money on
that night of the gambling, but it had cost the life
of another man almost at once. The horse which
carried him away from the vengeance in Morgantown had
died on the way and he had been saved from the landslide,
but the girl had perished.
He had driven McGurk from the ranges, and where would
the penalty fall on those who were near and dear to
him? In a superstitious horror he had asked himself
the question a thousand times, and finally he could
hardly bear to look into the ominous, brooding eyes
of Black Gandil. It was as if the man had a certain
and evil knowledge of the future.
The knowledge of the torment he was inflicting made
the eye of Black Gandil bright with triumph.
He continued, and now every man in the room was sitting
up, alert, with gloomy eyes fixed upon Pierre:
“Patterson is the first, but he ain’t
the last. He’s just the start. Who’s
next?” He looked slowly around.
“Is it you, Bud, or you, Phil, or you, Jim,
or maybe me?”
And Pierre said: “What makes you think
you know that trouble’s coming, Morgan?”
“Because my blood runs cold in me when I look
at you.”
Red Pierre grew rigid and straightened in a way they
knew.
“Damn you, Gandil, I’ve borne with you
and your croaking too long, d’ye hear?
Too long, and I’ll hear no more of it, understand?”
“Why not? You’ll hear from me every
time I sight you in the offing. You c’n
lay to that!”
The others were tense, ready to spring for cover,
but Boone reared up his great figure.
“Don’t answer him, Pierre. You, Gandil,
shut your face or I’ll break ye in two.”
The fierce eyes of Pierre le Rouge never wavered from
his victim, but he answered: “Keep out
of this. This is my party. I’ll
tell you why you’ll stop gibbering, Gandil.”
He made a pace forward and every man shrank a little
away from him.
“Because the cold in your blood is part hate
and more fear, Black Gandil.”
The eyes of Gandil glared back for an instant.
With all his soul he yearned for the courage to pull
his gun, but his arm was numb; he could not move it,
and his eyes wavered and fell.
The shaggy gray head of Jim Boone fell likewise, and
he was murmuring to his savage old heart: “The
good days are over. They’ll never rest
till one of ’em is dead, and then the rest will
take sides and we’ll have gun-plays at night.
Seven years, and then to break up!”
