The Carbon County news. [volume] (Red Lodge, Mont.) 1924-1931, 1931-02-19


burning house. He could not see
his father or his mother or Hep
sibah Adams.
Even Odds heart seemed to
break in these moments. A sound
came from him that was like q
sob. He was half crouching, no
longer savage or yengeful But
Jeems did not see. He was try
ing to find some force in him that
could cry out his mothers name.
His lips were as dry as sticks. his
throat failed to respond. The 81
lence was terrific. In it he heard
the swapping of an exploding EN-
Der, like a pistol going off. He
could hear no one talking, no
voices calling.
Fear, the repulsion of flesh and
nerves to danger, was utterly gone
from him. He was impelled only
by thought of his father and
mother, the mystery of their 81
lence, his desire TO call out to
them and to hear their voices in
answer. He did not fit an arrow
to his bow as he walked down
through the starlight, his feet
travelling little unsteadily What
was there or was not there could
not be changed by an arrow.
Unexpectedly, he came upon his
father. Henri Nas on the ground
near one of GATHERINGS rose
bushes, as if asleep. But he was
dead He lay with his face turned
to the sky. freight played upon
him gently, now increasing, now
fading. as the emhers Jared or
died, like fitful notes in strain
of soundless music.
As softly as the light, without a
sob or cry. Jeems knelt beside him.
He spoke his fathers name, yet
knew that no answer would rise
from the lifeless lips. He re-
peated it in an unexctable way
as his hands clutched at the silent
form. The starlight left nothing
unrevealed; his father dead, his
white lips twisted, his hands
clenched at his side. the top of his
head naked and bleeding from the
scalping knife. Jeems slunped
down. He may have spoken again.
He may have sobbed. But the
thing like death that was creep.
ing over him, its darkness and
vastness hid him from himself. He
remained beside his father, as mo-
tionless and as STILL Odd crouched
near. After a little. an inch at
time, he crept to the dead man.
He muzzled the hands that were
growing cold. He licked .Ieems'
face where it had fallen against
his fathers shoulder Then he was
motiOnless again, his eyes seeking
about him like balls of living
flame. Death was in the air. He
was breathing it. He was hearing
it. At last, irresistibly impelled to
answer the spirit of death, he sat
back en- his launches and hoWled.
1t was not Odds howl any more
than ii had been Jeems' voice
speaking to his father a few mo.
| ileIlS DtIOit. IL was SHOotiJ
sound that seemed to quiet even
the whispering of the leaves, an
unearthly and shiverlng cry that
sent echoes over the clearing, with
grief for company.
1t was this which brought Jeems
out of the depths into which he
had fallen He raised his head
and saw his father again, and
swayed to his feet. He began seek
ing. Close by, near the pile of
apples which she had helped him
gather from under their trees on
the slope, he found his mother.
! She, too, lay with her face to the
sky. The little that was left of
her unbound hair lay scattered on
the earth. Her glorious beauty was
gone. Starlight, caressing her
gently, revealed to her boy the
hideousness of her end. There,
over her body, Jeems' heart broke.
Odd guarded faithfully, listening
to grief that twisted at his
brute soul Then fell greater
silence. Through long hours the
burning logs settled down into
flattened masses of dying embers.
The darkness came which precedes
the day, and after that, dawn.
Jeems rose to face his blasted
world. He was no longer youth
but a living thing aged by an
eternity that had passed 1t was
odd who led him in the quest for
Hepsibah Adams. He sought like
one half blind and yet sensed
everything. He saw the trampled
grass, the moccasin- beaten earth
at the spring, a Ratchet lost in the
night, and on the Ratchet an Eng
lish name. But he did not find his
uncle.
In the same gray dawn, stirring
with the wings of birds and the
play of squirrels among the trees,
he set out for Tonteur manor.
He carried the Ratchet, clutching
it as if the wood his fingers
gripped held life which might
escape him. Because of this
Ratchet there grew in him a slow
and terrible thought that had the
strength of a chain. The weapon
with its short hickory handle, its
worn iron blade, its battered head,
might have been flesh and blood
capable of receiving pain or of
giving up secret, so tenacious
was the hold of his hand about it.
But he did not see the iron or
wood He saw only the name
which told him that the English
had come with their Indians, or
had sent them, as his uncle had so
often said theT would. The Eng