Page 44 (1/1)

"Jean, would it be any easier for our women if we let these men shoot us down in cold blood?"

"Oh no--no, I see, there's no hope of--of But, dad, I wasn't thinkin' about ged I was Only it's so hard to-to give in"

Jean leaned an ar his face over it, he surrendered to the irresistible contention within his breast And as if with a wrench that strange inward hold broke He let down He went back So that was boyish and hopeful--and in its place slowly rose the dark tide of his inheritance, the savage instinct of self-preservation bequeathed by his Indian mother, and the fierce, feudal blood lust of his Texan father

Then as he raised hi coldness in his breast, he reazed dreamily down off the Ri, with far-seeing stare of dark eyes, peering into the unknown, the instinct of life still unlived With confused vision and naht of her

"Dad, it's hard on--the--the young folks," he said, bitterly "The sins of the father, you know An' the other side How about Jorth? Has he any children?"

What a curious gleam of surprise and conjecture Jean encountered in his father's gaze!

"He has a daughter Ellen Jorth Naht she was a ghost of the girl I had loved an' lost Sight of her was like a blade in ibe Old as I am, my heart--Bah! Ellen Jorth is a damned hussy!"

Jean Isbel went off alone into the cedars Surrender and resignation to his father's creed should have ended his perplexity and worry His instant and burning resolve to be as his father had represented hi, to the craft of the Indian, to the development of hate But there seemed to be an obstacle A cloud in the way of vision A face limned on his memory

Those dareat he could not tell Was it only a day since he had met Ellen Jorth? What had rance of her hair came back to him Then the sweet coolness of her lips! Jean trembled He looked around him as if he were pursued or surrounded by eyes, by instincts, by fears, by incos