This is to introduce one of my best friends, Pierre Landis, of Wyoming. Please be of service to him. His mission has and deserves to have my full sympathy.
So, after all, it wasn’t Holliwell below and the check-book would not be needed. “Pierre Landis, of Wyoming.” Jasper went down the stairs and on the way he remembered a letter received from Yarnall a long time before. He remembered it with an accession of alarm. “I’ve probably let hell loose for your protégée, Jane; given your address, and incidentally hers, to a fellow who wants her pretty badly. His name’s Pierre Landis. You’re a pretty good judge of white men. Size him up and do what’s best for Jane.”
For some time after receiving this letter, Jasper had expected the appearance of this Pierre Landis, then had forgotten him. The fellow who wanted Jane so badly had been a long while on his way to her. Remembering and wondering, the manager opened the crimson curtains and stepped into the presence of Pierre.
Even if he had had no foreknowledge, Jasper felt that, at sight of his visitor, his fancy would have jumped to Joan. It was the eyes; he had seen no others but hers like them for clarity; far-seeing, grave eyes that held a curious depth of light. Here was one of Joan’s kindred, one of the clean, wild things.
Then came the gentle Western drawl. “I’m right sorry to trouble you, Mr. Morena.”
Jasper took a brown hand that had the feel of iron. The man’s face, on a level with Jasper’s, was very brown and lean. It had a worn look, a trifle desperate, perhaps, in the lines of lip and the expression of the smoke-colored eyes. Jasper, sensitive to undercurrents, became aware that he stood in some fashion for a forlorn hope in the life of this Pierre. At the same time the manager remembered a confidence of Jane’s. She had been “afraid of some one.” She had been running away. There was one that mustn’t find her, and to run away from him, that was the business of her life. Pierre Landis was this “one,” the something wild and clean that had at last come searching even into this city. It was necessary that Jane’s present protector should be very careful. There must be no running away this time, and Pierre must be warned off. Jasper had plans of his own for his star player. For one thing she must draw Prosper Gael completely out of Betty’s life.
Jasper made his guest comfortable, sat opposite to him, and lighted a cigarette. Although Pierre had accepted one, he did not smoke. He was far too disturbed.
“Frank Holliwell gave me a note to you, Mr. Morena. I got your address some years ago from Yarnall, of Lazy-Y Ranch, Middle Fork, Wyoming. I’ve been gettin’ my affairs into shape ever since, so that I could come East. I don’t rightly know whether Yarnall would have wrote to you concernin’ me or no.”
“Yes. He did write—just a line—two years ago.”
Pierre studied his own long, brown hands, turning the soft hat between them. When he lifted his eyes, they were intensely blue. It was as though blue fire had consumed the smoke.