Mr. Bosman, an old-timer, had recognized the man as Jean La Monte, he had spoken to him, had called him by name, but no sign of understanding, not one faint glimmer of intelligence had shone from out those wild eyes. Mr. Bosman was almost overcome.
“It’s just terrible to see him that way, he was such a good man. Poor old La Monte, trouble has sure driven him crazy. How on earth he ever got here beats me. There ain’t a thing we can do tonight. We couldn’t handle him if he got violent. There never was a stronger man in this country than Jean La Monte. My God! It’s awful!”
So it was arranged that the Bosmans should go back to their ranch and send word to the Sheriff to be up there early in the morning and that Owen should have some of our men guard the place during the night.
“Poor devil, I don’t believe he’ll go away. He seemed so suspicious he wouldn’t touch the bread, and I believe he’s been here two or three days. See you in the morning,” and the Bosmans disappeared in the darkness.
The thought of the tragedy with which we had so suddenly come in touch, weighed upon us. A living ghost connected us with a past in which we had no part.
Long after we had left the old place behind, the mad singing followed us, except when it was drowned by a sudden crash of thunder. The jagged flashes of lightning illuminated the heavens for a brief second, then left the world shrouded in an impenetrable darkness. Rather than risk going through the creek a second time, we had decided to cut across country.
The prairies were broken by deep gullies washed and torn by the fury of the summer storms. By day, driving was difficult; by night, it was hazardous in the extreme, and after a blinding flash which fairly tore the heavens apart, we were forced to stop the horses for fear of driving into an unseen gulch. The horses, headed toward home and excited and nervous, were hard to control. We drove along in silence, our staring eyes trying to pierce the darkness. It was so dangerous that at last I got out and walked in front of the horses. I could not see; I could only know from the contour of the ground when we were near a gulch or by my outstretched hand tell when we were near the wires of a fence. After a time Gordon took my place, and all the way one or the other walked before the team. The lightning and thunder were terrific, but still it did not rain. We were worn out with fatigue and anxiety when we finally reached the ranch.
Steve was standing with his saddle horse at the crossing of the creek, swinging a lighted lantern. When he heard the sound of the wheels he gave a shout.
“Mr. Brook!”
“All right,” Owen called back. Steve came towards us.