The Arvada enterprise., 1923-10-11
Book One: The Two-Bar
Brand
CHAPTER
CHAPTER !
Joan Rsads by FirsIIoht.

There is no silence 30 fearful, 10
breathless, SO searching a. the night
silence Of q wild country buried five
feet deep in snow. For thirty miles
or so north, south, east and west of
the small, half-smothered speck Of
gold In Pierre Landis' cabin window,
there lay. on certain December
night, this silence, bathed In NOON
light. The cold was intense: below
the bench where Pierre's homestead
lay there rose from the twisted. rapid
river a cloud of steam above which
the hoar-frosted tops Of cottonwood
trees were perfectly distinct, trunk.
branch and twig, against a sky the
color Of iris petals. The stars flared
brilliantly, hardly dimmed by the full
moon, and over the vast surface Of the
snow minute crystals kept up steady
shining Of their own. The range Of
sharp. wind-scraped mountains. up
lifted fourteen thousand feet, rode
across the c0lntry, northeast, south
west, dazzling in white armor, spears
up to the sky sight, seen suddenly,
to take the .eath. like the crashing
march Of arch ingels militant.
In the cent of this ring of silent
crystal Pierre Landis' logs shut In a
little square Ct warm and ruddy hu.
man darkness. Joan, his wife, made
the heart of Z is defiant space Joan.
the one mind living In this ghostly
area of night. She had put out the
lamp, for Pierre, starting downward
two days befOr., had warned her with
certain threatening sharpness not
to waste oil. and she lay on the
hearth. her rough head almost In the
ashes, reading book by the unsteady
light OF the flames. She followed the
printed lines with a strong, dark fore.
hnser md her lips framed the words
with slow. Whispering motions. 1t
was long, strong woman's body
stretched there across the door. heav.
hy II not sluggishly built. dressed
rudely in warm stuffs and clumsy
boots. and It was q heavy face. too.
anlit from within. but built on lines
OF perfect animal beauty. The head
and throat had the massive look Of =
marble fragment stained to one even
tone and dug up from Attic earth. And
she was reading thus heavily and
slowly, by hrellght In the midst Of
this tremendous northern night Keats
version Of Boscaccio's tale Of lisa.
bella and the Pot Of Basil"
The story for some reason Interest.
"a her. She felt that she could un.
dersfand the love Of young Lorenso
ehd OF Isabella. the hatred Of those
TWO brothers and Isabella's horrible
tenderness for that young murdered
mead. There were even things In her
own life that she compared with
snese; In fact. at every phrase she
stopped, and, staring ahead. crudely
ana 'gnornntly visualised. after her
own experience. what she had Just
{sad and, In doing 30. she pictured
her own life.
Her love and Pierre's-her life be-
,'re Pierre came-to put herself in
i"oelln's place. she felt back 10 the
.ays before her love. when she had
h'ed In a desolation Of bleak poverty.
.p ana nway along Lone nvsr In her
,a'h"rs shack. This log house Of
ferre's was a castle BY contrast.
'ohn Carver and his daughter had
shared me room between them: Joan's
oed enrtnined OF with glnny .sacking
10 corner. She slept on hides and
ro''ed herself up In old dingy patch.
WORK quilts and worn blankets. On
WINTER mornings she would wake GOV.
sred with the snow that had sifted In
oe'~esn the Unmatched logs. There
nAn been stove. nes isG gone and
sa'sf''u'ed for BY Q huge cobbis.
,'on.; there had bsen two chairs, 4
.ohx box, a table. sheives-all rudeiy
mhne by John: there had been guns
.hd frnps and snowshoea. hidea. skins.
W. winrs Of hirds. a couple Of fishing.
lode-John made his living By legal
IN. IN. Illegal trapping and killing. He
nAd looked like q trapped Of hunted
r..a'ure himself. suAil. fursivA very
na'k. With log eaeses always wset.
'ns over bic mOQth. q Rreat crooksd