“Oh, it’s Hell! Simple Hell!” he cried passionately. “What have we done that we should be cursed by these murdering Euralians. They’re not going to get you, Marty. We’ve got to fix that. Come right over here. Quit your shanty, an’ bring Felice, an’ Pri-loo, an’ Usak right over here. It’s no sort of swell place, this old frame house the Company’s set up for me. But the stockade outside it stands firm twelve feet high right around. And I’ve guns an’ things plenty to defend it. I can corral plenty trailmen who’d be glad enough to scrap these folk, and we could fight ’em an’ beat ’em, till we get help from Placer where the p’lice can collect a posse of ‘specials.’ We’re not goin’ to sit down under this thing. It’s not my way. An’ it’s not goin’ to be your way. We’ll fight. Come right over to-morrow, Marty. We’ll just be crazy for you to come, and—”
Le Gros interrupted him with a gesture.
“That’s all right boy,” he said. “I know just how you feel and I’m glad. But you don’t know the thing you’re trying to bring on your Hesther, and your unborn baby. You haven’t seen the thing I’ve seen. You haven’t seen old men and women, butchered and mutilated, lying stark on the ground. You haven’t seen babes scattered around legless, armless, headless. And the young men and young women—gone.” He shook his head, and the horror of recollection was in his eyes. “No. You haven’t seen those things, and you haven’t remembered that I carry this curse about with me. Sheltering here I bring it to your door. To you, and your Hesther, and your babe. With me across the river there you’re free and safe. No. I stand or fall by my wits, my luck, my own efforts. You are doing for me the only thing I ask in safeguarding my secret and caring for little Felice. That’s what I ask. And you’ve promised me. That’s all, Jim, my friend, and now I’ll get along back and fix those plans.”
He rose from his chair, tall, strong and completely calm. And the trader rose, too, and gazed up into the other’s face.
“I’ll take all those chances, Marty,” he said deliberately.
“And Hesther?”
“And my unborn baby. Yes.”
Marty Le Gros thrust out his hand and the two men gripped.
“You’re a good friend, Jim. But my mind’s made up. While I’ve life I’ll fight my own fight. When I’m dead please God you’ll do—what I can’t. So long Jim,” he added wringing the fleshy hand he was still gripping. “I’ll be along over with those plans before you eat your breakfast.”