Willock's face was twisted into a sardonic grin. "Guess I could explain that, all right—but I says nothing beyond Lahoma's word. I banks on document'ry proofs, and otherwise stands technical and arbitrary."
Hitherto Wilfred, as guest of honor, had been offered the cabin as his sleeping-quarters, and he had accepted it because of the countless reminders of Lahoma's fresh and innocent life; but this night, he shared the dugout with Bill, from a sense of impending danger. Until a late hour they sat over the glowing coals, discussing their present situation and offering conjectures about Willock's younger days. There could hardly have been a stronger contrast between the emaciated old man of the huge white mustache, thin reddish cheeks and shock of white hair, and the broad-shouldered, handsome and erect young man—or the stern and gloomy countenance of the former, and the expressive eyes and flexible lips of Wilfred. Yet they seemed unconscious of any chasm of age or disposition as they spoke in low tones, not without frequent glances toward the barricaded door and the heavily curtained window.
The wind made strange noises overhead and at times one could be almost certain there was the stamping of a man's foot upon the earthen roof. The distant cry of a wild beast, and the nearer yelping of hungry wolves mingled with the whistling of the wind. Sometimes Wilfred rose and, passing noiselessly to the window, raised the curtain with a quick gesture to stare out on a dark and stormy night; and once, in doing so, he surprised a pair of red eyes under bristling gray hair which seemed to glow hot as molten lead, as the fire from the open stove caught them unaware.
"If my arms were tied," remarked Bill, "I'd rather trust myself to that coyote than to Red Kimball. I hate to think of Brick out yonder on the mountain, all alone, and no fire to warm him, afraid to smoke his pipe, I reckon. Well, this kind of thing can't last long, that's plain."
It was Wilfred's conviction that "this kind of thing" could not, indeed, last long, which kept him awake half through the night; and yet, when the morning sunlight flooded the cove, it seemed impossible that deeds of violence could be committed in so peaceful a world. In that delusion, however, he could not long remain; Lahoma's next letter came confirmatory of his worst fears.
"Just read it aloud, Wilfred," said Brick, as all gathered about the lantern in the retreat at the mountain-top. "We're all one, now, and I've got no secrets from you—at least none that's knowed to Lahoma. And if the case seems immediate, I reckon you'll prove game, son."
Wilfred nodded briefly. "My horse is ready saddled," he said, as he opened the letter addressed to Willock. "As soon as I've read 'Yours truly,' I'll be ready to jump into the saddle, so I say 'good-by' now!"