But Torrance's reaction had carried him too far—just too far. Tressa was safe. Heppel and eight cruel companions, as directed by Koppy, had gone on the trail of the two lovers. But when it came the moment to strike, Adrian Conrad was their master. In the darkness they slunk away. And the two lovers, arms entwined, scarcely knew that darkness was falling.
In the shack the Indian listened to the fading exhaust of the speeder. His eyes were roving about the room. He was smiling. For the second time in a year he was within the walls of a home; for the first time free to look about. A curious pathetic longing twisted his face. He began to tip-toe about the room, laying a reverent finger everywhere. The covers of the coloured magazines he lifted and let fall, pressed the gaudy cushions that strewed the couch, touched the cheap ornaments Tressa had woven into the picture with happy hand, stared into the home-framed pictures. Over the vase of wild flowers he stooped with a reminiscent smile; and thoughtfully for several minutes he rocked Tressa's own chair.
"Mira shud have 'em all. . . . An' she's got nothin' but a hole in the ground with a halfbreed. . . . An' yet I ain't done nothin' . . . nothin'!"
Absorbed as he was in his dreams, he did not forget the open doorway with its view from the distant camp. Stooping beyond its range, he pushed through to the kitchen. It was pitch dark there, yet his eyes seemed to take in everything. A distant sound from far down the track sent him running to the stable door. It was locked. Inside he could hear the quiet munching of the two horses. His powerful fingers closed over the padlock. A mere twist and nothing lay between Mira and the home that should be hers. The chug of the returning speeder roared nearer.
Blue Pete put a hand to his head and turned away.
Up through the night came the beating car, everything wide open, and stopped before the door. Into the shaft of light from the open doorway Torrance and Sergeant Mahon ran.
"Chief, Chief, where are you?"
From out over the trestle a voice replied.
"Indian gone."
Torrance dashed out on the grade and tried in vain to pierce the darkness. "Here—here, you blithering idiot! The police want you."