Jim told his story with care for the detail of it. He began it at the point where he had once saved his brother from the consequences of shooting his wife’s lover. He told of his frustration of the Police; of his ultimate trial and sentence. Then he passed on to his journey down to the Calford penitentiary, with Corporal Andrew McFardell as his escort. He smiled over the incident of his escape in the snowstorm. Then came to the story of his battle for life, and his arrival at Marton’s farm. He told of his appeal to the farmer, and its amazing result. And it was at this point that the old cattleman nodded and interrupted him.
“I get it now,” he cried. “That feller set you in the workshop. You slep a night ther’. An’ you beat it at daylight. He warned me to keep clear o’ that shack that night, and didn’t hand the story of it. Then he asked Molly fer food come morning, and that day we was a saddle-hoss short. It was you that was ther’ that night. An’ it was you he passed on next morning. Gee! He was a swell feller.”
“He was more than that,” Jim replied, and drew a deep breath.
Then he continued rapidly. He told of his wanderings in the hills till he found Dan Quinlan’s place. And the story of Dan Quinlan, and of his ultimate shelter in the Valley of Hope, held the cattleman’s deepest interest. Dan Quinlan! The man he had despised! The man he had believed to be a cattle thief, and anything else that was sufficiently unworthy! Then he came to the story of the valley as it was at present.
“You see, Lightning,” he went on, “Dan’s got his share in this enterprise. I’ve given him a share, and a good one. He’s got, or is getting, a swell home, and all he needs for himself and the bunch that he’s father, mother, and brother to. It’s something of a return to him, but nothing like enough for what he did for me. I built this place up for one big notion. I’m a rich man, with more dollars than I need, but I tripped up badly. There’s not a moment of my foolish life but I’m liable to go down to do five years in penitentiary. Well, I figure there’s many folk fixed that way—folk who’re not a deal more to blame than me. This is a shelter for such folk. They can come here, and work, and hide, just as long as they fancy. But they can only come on our terms, and live by our rules. And we aren’t a harbour for real criminals. They need to be folk who’ve tripped up. That’s all. There it is, boy. It’s maybe a crazy notion. But it’s a sort of thanksgiving, and I got it right in my bones. And now my chance has come to pay something of the debt I owe Molly and her father. And you’ve come right along here to tell me you’re going to let me pay it and help me. Isn’t that so? Yes. I guess it is.”
Lightning’s answer was there in the thrust of a hand that reached out towards the man opposite him. Jim gripped it, and wrung it, and as their hands fell apart the last of his smile vanished.
“We’ll get right back now to McFardell,” he said, and his face hardened.
“You ain’t through with him,” Lightning interjected.
“No. I don’t want to be either.”
Lightning turned his gaze upon the valley below him, where the passing of the evening sun had softened the far outline of the forest-belts. The life of the place was settling for the night, and the lowing of cattle came up to him, and reminded him of long past days.