He stopped, halted by Bull’s look, then cried aloud while the tears coursed down his wrinkled face. “The white ewe and the lamb! Gone! and I, the old dog, am left? But so it was always. Death takes his pick of the best! I would go after them, señor, those wicked ones; but of what use, save to make a noise, is an old dog after the teeth are gone? The biting must be done by stronger jaws; the running by fleeter feet. Take thou my horse.”
Thus freshly mounted, Bull made such time that he climbed to the smoldering beacon on the mountain’s shoulder before daylight failed. Below lay the valleys in mysterious pools from which long shadows issued to crawl up the flaming hills. Westward the dying sun had left a crimson wake, barred with black across the smoldering sky; a reflection, Bull felt it, of the fiery blossom that glowed in one dark valley. The faint stars weaving a wan embroidery across the trailing skirts of night, the fading light, the first cool breath of the evening, all helped to intensify the loneliness that clothed the obscure prospect. Yet in it that loneliness, the stillness of great solitudes, wide oceans, Bull sensed sympathy and peace; Nirvana, the peace of great worlds, planetary systems swinging through space on their appointed ways. She! They! That pleasant woman, lovely child, had been absorbed into, were part of it, this peace that quieted his troubled spirit.
He did not think this. Such philosophies were beyond him. But he felt and, feeling, a hoarse sob rose in his throat. Bowing his dark face in his hands, the big, black rustler shook in the throes of saving grief. He did not hear the thud of approaching hoofs; saw nothing until with a clatter of displaced stones Sliver and Jake came shooting out of the sage.
Because of its position far out on the plains, the warning smoke had been seen at Los Arboles long before its soaring column rose high enough to be noticed by Gordon above the rim; in fact, Jake and Sliver gained the forks of the Bowl trail while Gordon and Lee lacked still a mile of the summit. As Pedro had delivered Lee’s note the preceding evening, Jake knew that the couple were there. After a moment’s thought he voted down Sliver’s proposal to ride down for Gordon.
“He’d come in handy. Kin shoot some an’ his nerve’s all right. But you jes’ kedn’t shut her out. Better to leave them where she’s safe.”
“That’s right,” Sliver had added. “An’ it ’u’d shore be a shame to break up their honeymoon.”
Accordingly, unaware that the pair were riding hard at their heels, Jake and Sliver had held on until, as before said, they came shooting out on Bull. He had whirled, hand on his gun, but it dropped when a cowman’s yell issued simultaneously from their throats.
“Why, you dolgorned old son of a—” Sliver stopped as, riding closer, he saw Bull’s face. “Why, hombre! What—”
Turning in his saddle, Bull pointed at the crimson blossom in the dark valley below. He did not explain. With that keen intuition natural in those who live alone in the wide spaces, they had read in his face that which is denied to speech—the soul agony of a strong man. Given that blossom of fire, their knowledge of Mexican raiders supplied the rest.
“Murdered!... Mother and child!... Burned ... with the house!”