# The Girl Of Ghost Mountain/Chapter 8

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CHAPTER VIII
NIGHT
Night poured into the hollow of the Hidden Homestead in an amethystine flood of shadow, rising slowly as the last light shifted upwards towards the crags, and the bowl, filled at last with the wine of dusk, brimmed over into the void. The crags held the sunset rays, rosy and then fading gradually to gray, to purple spires hardly distinguishable against the sky, save as they were blocked out by the stars. Only, in the heart of the ancient crater, a light showed orange in the window of the log house and was reflected in the placid water of the little lake.
All day Mary and Thora had worked uncrating and arranging the furniture that had come from far off Hannal, each piece bringing with it the memories and the atmosphere of New England transferred to the West, the old Colonial to the new. It was always crisp after dark on Ghost Mountain and they had lit a fire both for warmth and cheerful celebration. The light winked back from polished mahogany, from the brass of drawer handles and candlesticks, from a few bits of silver, from the gilded frames of pictures and from the massive andirons that reared themselves aristocratically on the frontier hearthstone. Highboy and ​lowboy, gate-legged table and another larger, center one. Old chairs with fiddle and spindle backs, an ancient mirror and a yet more ancient clock, hand-woven rugs and carpets, some cushions and curtains for the windows; it made a brave and comfortable show, and the two women surveyed it with satisfaction.
"It makes the place look like a real home, Thora," said Mary, who was sewing at some stuff, to Thora, darning stockings.
Thora nodded her head and finished her criss-cross.
"It bane hard for just two women to make a home," she said. "They bane keep everything too much in place; home needs a man—and kiddies—to make it real complete."
Mary's eyes twinkled.
"Is that all you need a man for, Thora, to make work for you, to clutter up the house so that you can clean up after him?"
"He bane make safe the house," said Thora, eyes on another darn.
"We have the gate. And you are as good as any man, Thora."
"Ay, I suppose so." And Thora gave a little sigh.
"Thora. Is it Red?" Thora blushed. It started at the V of her gown where her milky skin was untouched by the sun, it spread up under the tan.
"Red, he bane gude enough," she answered. "And he bane awful fule too."
"Are you looking for a perfect man, Thora? There ain't any such animal," teased the other.
​"I think a man bane much like a stocking," replied Thora. "He need plenty darning if he bane going to wear good."
"Have you ever been in love, Thora?" Mary thrust directly and Thora countered.
"Why? Bane you looking for a cure? I think that Mister Sheridan, he bane pretty good man."
"And I think it's time to go to bed. I'm tired. Tomorrow we'll send an invitation down to both of them to come up and see the new place." Mary rose and went to the door, opening it on to the verandah. The air gushed in, fragrant with the scent of drying grasses, the delicate perfume of yucca bloom.
"I'd like to sleep out tonight, and every night it is like this," the girl went on. "Beneath a blanket underneath the stars."
"When you bane got your own four-poster bed yust set up? There bane no springs in the ground. I bane too heavy for such sleeping. And I don't like no lion sniffin' round me in the night. Wait till I kill that second one."
"I forgot about the lion, Thora. We'll sleep in the four-poster tonight. It would be ungrateful not to. But we can leave the doors all open, now the gate is there. Let in the out-of-doors as much as we can."
"Then you bane go to bed, pretty, and I'll come as soon as I bane finish this stocking." Mary smothered a yawn, picked up a candlestick and lit the wick, then disappeared into the inner room. After a while Thora rolled up her work and put it ​away in a basket. She went with wonderful lightness for her weight, to the inner door and looked in. Mary was in bed but not asleep. Her eyes glinted lazily at Thora, then closed. Thora tiptoed back and took up her violin, taking it out on the verandah. Lightly, lovingly, she played a folk song of her own land, a simple lullaby. One could hear the crooning mother, see the softly rocking cradle, the drowsy, drowsy babe. She had not played it thus since Mary had lain, a motherless youngster, uncomforted and lonely, upon the same four-poster—and Thora had come to be mother and companion, elder sister and handmaiden.
Twice she played the air, the second time so gently it was but a whispered melody, and then she went into the house, nodded to herself at Mary's even breathing, twined her mass of hair in two great braids and prepared for bed. At the last moment before she blew out the lamp she hesitated and then carefully closed the outer door, shooting two bolts into their sockets. Thora liked the out-of-doors but to her practical side a house was a house, therefore to be closed at nightfall. A moment later the candle was extinguished and the mountain bowl lay dark and still, steeped in flower fragrance and the scent of standing hay.
At three in the morning—the quiet hour of the night—a waning quarter of a moon topped the eastern crags and diluted the shadows, giving vague form to the trees, enlivening the lake. A coyote barked sharply at the head of the gorge that led to the tunnel and the stout gate.
​In the gorge horsemen climbed slowly, with the scrape of hoofs, with low words and a low laugh or two. They emerged on to the meadow, five of them, one leading an extra horse, and looked across to where the house lay dark. Matches made points of light and three lanterns glowed, swinging as the riders galloped towards the lake. Outside the house they dismounted and talked in whispers. One of them stole up on the verandah and tried the door.
"It's locked, or bolted," he reported in Spanish.
"To hell with it!" answered the leader—Hollister. "They're abed and asleep. We'll wake 'em up. Get a log. Bust it open. We've wasted too much time over that damned gate."
They found a fallen pine for a battering ram, handling it by the broken snags of branches still firm in the trunk. Outside the door they aligned, two opposite two, while Hollister held a lantern high. They swung the heavy timber back and forth, butt foremost.
Mary Burrows sat upright, her heart hammering, clutching at Thora, who rose and slid out from the covers of the four-poster to the floor as a crash resounded on the door and the sturdy house shook to the impact. Again and again it sounded with splintering crashes while Thora groped vainly for matches and then sprang for the doorway between the bedroom and living room. The outer door split, gave way at the hinges and fell flat while, over it, with oaths and shouts and gleaming lanterns, the five marauders rushed in. They paused for a second at the sight of Thora, filling the inner doorway, ​towering, white clad, her eyes ablaze, her hands curved to clutch.
"Get her out of the road," cried Hollister and two jumped at her. The rest set down their lanterns and two more leaped in to reinforce as Thora sent one spinning away, another crashing against a table and so to the floor. They grappled with her, fighting with snarls and curses as she fought with them as a she-bear protects her cub, dragging her out into the main room, a whirling teetotum of fury, panting, thumping, tripping. They caught at her braids, pulling back her head, and she whirled, swinging them clear, flailing at them, struggling desperately against the odds.
Hollister leaped for the bedroom door with one man close behind him, while the three held the raging Thora. Mary slammed the panels in their face, turned the key, dragged a bureau up and put her slimsy weight to it. There was not a weapon in the room. She had recognized Hollister's voice, she knew that they had come for her. The door swayed before the shock of their shoulders.
"Choke that Swedish sow, if you can't handle her," shouted Hollister. "Get a rope, Ramon. Keep an eye on that window outside, one of you. She may jump! Now! Damnation!"
Thora had broken loose, an incarnate fury, her nightrobe torn, her face bruised. She hurled herself at Hollister and caught him by the neck. Another, coming from behind, she gripped by his collar and swung the two together. Their skulls thudded and they dropped like pole-axed bullocks. Then a rope ​came whistling, the loop settled over her head, tightened viciously about her throat. She was dragged away, choking, amid a shout of triumph.
"Tie up the bitch!" shouted Hollister, gathering himself up from the planks. "Get that log again. Pronto, now. We'll have the daylight on us in a minute."
Terrified but not witless, Mary, behind her flimsy barricade, found in the dark her riding breeches and slipped them on, then her sweater. The silhouette of a man's head and shoulders showed at the window. With a crash the bureau was pushed back, the lock gave way, the door opened and Hollister jumped in, seizing her as she shrank against the bed. With all her strength she fought him, tearing at his face, the reek of liquor strong as he laughed at her, gathering her in his arms, bearing her into the other room.
There she saw Thora, flung into a corner, bound hand and foot.
Thora cried to her and a man struck her savagely in the mouth. He was a Mexican, as were all save Hollister, and his own lips were split and bleeding. The furniture was out of place, chairs on the floor, the lamp broken, rugs scrambled in mute evidence of the fight that Thora had made.
A man with a lantern went into the bedroom and returned with an armful of clothes, offering them to Hollister.
"Will you come as you are?" demanded Hollister to Mary in his arms. "Or will you go in there quietly and put them on first? Don't worry to fuss up in the mirror. You can use my eyes later."
​He set her down and she stood quietly, knowing her plight, but giving him such a look of utter loathing that he turned away as she went into the room.
"You can tell that tenderfoot lover of hers, if he comes," he said to the bound but unconquered Thora, glaring defiance from her corner, "that I have taken his sweetheart. I may send her back—when I get tired of her. All right, boys, get ready to clear out. We want to get clear before it's light."
Mary came out, pale, her lips close set. Hollister caught her wrists and bound them with a leather strip. Then he picked her up and started for the door. Mary looked across his shoulder at Thora. She did not venture to speak the words she tried to utter with her eyes.