Adventure, December 3, 1920 — page 54: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

44 “That thought never entered my mind. I couldn’t have gone away without telling you; an’ I couldn’t have told any other'girl. I guess that’s it.” He was looking at the lofty ridges where the tips of the pines and sharp pinnacles of rock showed against the skies. And then he heard her speaking. “Have you ever seen the prickly pear in bloom?” “Every Spring I’ve seen the prairies covered with ’em—miles and miles of ’em,’’ answered Lang with a wistful, yearning note in his voice as he stared out across the valley. “My mother often told me about them. She loved them. She said they bloomed in three colors where she was born—white, pink and amber. And she used to think of the colors of the prickly-pear blossoms as faith, hope and charity. Faith was the white blossom, hope was the pink, and charity was the amber. Maybe it was the colors and what they stood for in her mind that she thought of—more than the blooms. Perhaps the same colors in other flowers would have meant the same to her.” Lang thrilled as he felt her hand touch his— press something into his palm. ““Good-by; Lang Rush,” she whispered. Lang turned to see her hurrying down to the ranch-house. He opened the fingers of the hand she had touched and looked. He started as if he would follow her, but didn’t. What was it she had said about the colors of the prickly-pear blossoms, and that the colors might mean the same in other flowers? White for faith Slowly he raised to his lips the fragrant bloom of a white, wild mountain rose. Faith! For a long time he looked at the valley bathed in sunshine and the green waves of timber rising tier on tier to the white peaks. So busy was he with his thoughts arising from a vague exulta- tion in his heart that he did not see a rider re- garding him from the crest of the ridge behind him; and when he did look about him again the rider was gone—threading his way silently through the timber toward the south end of the Thornton ranch. Lang wrapped the flower in a handkerchief and placed it within the bosom of his shirt. Satisfaction and misgiving and a strange trend of thought worried him. He suddenly became aware of the extraordinary fact that he was con- sidering giving himself up to the posse that must now be on the way. Give himself up? He had virtually arrived at that decision. He leaped upon his horse and dashed reck- lessly back through the pine growth toward the draw. He spurred his mount, through the screen of trees and up to the cabin. He built a cigaret and sat down at the table. Always there was the image of the girl in his thoughts, _Adventure and a sweet, intangible influence which she now had over him. “Tt might have been an hour that he sat thus— perhaps a little more, or less. But suddenly the silence of the hills was rudely shattered. From the direction of the river below the mouth of the draw came six shots in quick succession, twice repeated, as if they were a signal. AXVIIT @eua LANG leaped to his feet instantly alert. pasts THe rode to the mouth of the draw, dis- aa3_ mounted and peered through the fringe of trees. Three men were approaching on horses, and one was considerably in the lead. Lang could not recognize this man; but one of the others he made out to be Bransom. Lang stepped out from the fringe of silver firs and the man in the lead saw him. He shouted something which Lang could not hear. drew his gun, which was an action Lang could readily understand. His own weapon flashed into his hand and blazed just as the other’s bul- let spattered the dust at his feet. Lang saw the man collapse in his saddle as his horse shied and made off down the river. Bransom and the other man wheeled their horses and beat away from the draw, firing as they went. Lang sprang back within the shelter of the trees. His eyes were darting fire in resentment of the strange attack. It was Bransom’s work, he felt sure; trying to get even for the beating _ which he had received at Lang’s, sg and which he had well deserved. Leaping back into his saddle, he ee his “ worries and the unique problem ‘with which he had been wrestling. The shots from the trio had brought back his instinct of the open range —the protection of his life and liberty. The problem could wait. Meanwhile he would leave the draw. : He rode out from the shelter of the trees to be greeted by a volley of whistling bullets, Whcom- fortably close. He turned back his horse, dis- mounted in the draw, and climbed to the look- out on the south ridge. He gasped with astonishment and dismay; then his gaze became cold and hard, and the fire in his eyes was blue-steel. A party of horsemen was speeding toward him irom the direction of the Thornton cabin. Lang counted them—five! Even at that dis- tance he could make out the form of John Thornton. Instantly his thoughts—his hopes, resolves, good intentions—were cast into chaos. Bit- terly with grim irony he convinced himself that Alice Thornton had told her father. But whatever had precipitated this attack it was now unmistakably apparent that things had come to a showdown: CORNICOOOLK< Then he : (C@)