Dubiously he eyed the cliff above, half dreading another such fall. But there was no overhang of stone now, no danger of another drop. He let his thoughts run back again.
Long ago he had perceived the flaw in the tradition that “where the sun first strikes the wall, there is the mine.” The sun, moving north or south with the changing seasons, would cast its first beams on different points of the wall at varying times of year. Even when he had climbed the Mohonk slope to see the sun rise he had been aware of this; and since then he had relegated the whole story to the realm of myths. Yet the mine was real enough, and he had found it at last; and, through his good-humored promise to Lou Brackett, part of it belonged to her.
But Snake, Lou’s own man, had found it before him. This was why he had been so elusive of late; this was where he had been most of the time, evading all eyes and perhaps working to get more mineral from the vein. Was it likely that he would share his secret with Lou? Hardly. Perhaps he intended soon to drive her from him, and hoped—the thinker’s face hardened—hoped with his new-found wealth to gain possession of Marion.
The thought brought him to his feet. Where was Snake now? What was he doing? Was all well down below? But then, as if in answer, arose the vision of glacial gray eyes and the echo of ominously quiet words: “Pop’s gun—I got it ready—if Snake comes a-pesterin’ round he won’t never walk outen our yard!”
The self-reliant girl was well able to defend herself. He need not worry. But he began moving away, leaving behind him the soft silvery bar. One last glance he threw at it, and a hard smile twitched his lips.
“It was a treasure in Indian days,” he thought, “and I haven’t a doubt that you, Snake, you ignorant reptile, think you’re a coming silver king. But you’ll never make much money out of those few bars of lead!”
CHAPTER XXVI
SNAKE STRIKES
“Snake Sanders has kilt his woman!”
Aghast, Douglas stood in his dark doorway, staring down into the upturned face of Marion. Around them the dusk was thickening into night, and in the shadow of his porch it was dim indeed; but through the gloom the eloquent gray eyes and the hushed voice spoke the same shocked horror, pity, and wrath that stirred in his own soul.
“Killed her? Killed Lou Brackett?” he repeated slowly.