“Gandil?”
“N-no!” “You’re lying.
It was Gandil.”
And he made straight for the door.
She ran after him and flung herself between him and
the door. Clearly, as if it were a painted picture,
she saw him facing Gandil—saw their hands
leap for the guns—saw Gandil pitch face
forward on the floor. “Pierre—for
God’s sake!”
Her terror convinced him partially, and the furor
went back from his eyes as a light goes back in a
long, dark hall.
“On your honor, Jack, it’s not Gandil?”
“On my honor.”
“But someone has broken you up. And he’s
here—he’s one of us, this man who’s
bothered you.”
She could not help but answer: “Yes.”
He scowled down at the floor.
“You would never be able to guess who it is.
Give it up. After all—I can live through
it—I guess.”
He took her face between his hands and frowned down
into her eyes.
“Tell me his name, Jack, and the dog—”
She said: “Let me go. Take your hands
away, Pierre.”
He obeyed her, deeply worried, and she stood up for
a moment with a hand pressed over her eyes, swaying.
He had never seen her like this; he was like a pilot
striving to steer his ship through an unfathomable
fog. Following what had become an instinct with
him, he raised his left hand and touched the cross
beneath his throat. And inspiration came to him.
“Whether you want to or not, Jack, we’ll
go to this dance tonight.”
Jacqueline’s hand fell away from her eyes.
She seemed suddenly glad again.
“Do you want to take me, Pierre?”
He explained: “Of course. Besides,
we have to keep an eye on Wilbur. This girl with
the yellow hair—”
She had altered swiftly again. There was no understanding
her or following her moods this day. He decided
to disregard them, as he had often done before.
“Black Gandil swears that I’m bringing
bad luck to the boys at last. Patterson has disappeared;
Wilbur has lost his head about a girl. We’ve
got to save Dick.”
He knew that she was fond of Wilbur, but she showed
no enthusiasm now.
“Let him go his own way. He’s big
enough to take care of himself.”
“But it’s common talk, Jack, that the
end of Wilbur will come through a woman. It was
that that sent him on the long trail, you know.
And this girl with the yellow hair—”
“Why do you harp on her?”
“Harp on her?”
“Every other word—nothing but yellow
hair. I’m sick of it. I know the kind—faded
corn color—dyed, probably. Pierre,
you are all blind, and you most of all.”
This being obviously childish, Pierre brushed the
consideration of it from his mind. “And
for clothes, Jack?”
They were both dumb. It had been years since
she had worn the clothes of a woman. She had
danced with the men of her father’s gang many
a time while someone whistled or played on a mouth-organ,
and there was the time they rode into Beulah Ferry
and held up the dance hall, and Jim Boone and Mansie
lined up the crowd with their hands held high above
their heads while the sweating musicians played fast
and furious and Jack and Pierre danced down the center
of the hall.
