For the second time in his life Andy McFardell found disaster in the fall of his horse.
The man sprawled clear of the saddle. He was unhurt, and, on the instant, made to spring to his feet. But he never got beyond a sitting posture. He was held there motionless and something dumfounded. As once before, a man was standing over him with a levelled gun. A pair of stern, merciless eyes were looking down into his. The face of the man was lined, and burnt to a deep bronze. It was old in years, but alight with cold purpose. Even the grey hair and the tatter of the whisker could not lessen the significance of the hate which shone so frigidly in his sunken eyes.
It was the last man Andy McFardell had thought to encounter. It was Lightning.
CHAPTER XXXVII
By the Light of the Aurora
THE northern horizon was alight with a splendid aurora. It was still evening, with a prevailing sense of great peace. The two men and two women on the verandah were absorbed in the magnificence of the heavenly display. It was nothing unusual. There was nothing new in the magic of its movement. But its interest and beauty were a source of never-failing attraction, even to Molly, who had known its splendour from the days of her earliest childhood.
The yellow lamplight, shining through the window, lit the intimate little scene. It was the hour before supper, an hour of complete rest after the day’s work. Jim and Larry were lounging luxuriously in rocker chairs. They were smoking, and meditating over the long, cool drinks with which Blanche had provided them.
Molly was seated close beside the older girl. She had laid her sewing upon the table before her, and, with elbows resting upon it, she remained with her chin supported in the palms of her hands, staring thoughtfully out at the ceaseless movement of the heavenly mystery.
Blanche was talking. It was her way when her men-folk were present. She made no secret of her weakness, she even laughed at it openly.
“Isn’t it good to be right here sitting around on such a night?” she asked generally, turning almost reluctantly from the radiant night sky. She laughed a little self-consciously. “I can surely guess the thing Larry’s thinking in his queer red head. Maybe he’s wondering when I’ll get something new to scare him with. But then he hasn’t a soul for the beauties around him,” she added, with pretended regret. “There, Molly, look right down there at the barns and bunk-houses. Look at the lights winking out at us. Don’t they stand out like—like jewels? Then look down the valley into the darkness and shadows. See the mists gathering along the creek. And listen to the croaking chorus of the frogs, that never seem to get tired of their queer chatter. And the air, and the stars standing out overhead. It’s—it’s all glorious,” she breathed contendedly. “It’s so quiet and peaceful, and—and it makes you feel that God never meant us folk to build drab cities and things. It makes you think we were all meant to live in the open——”
“Till winter gets round. Then you guess again, and yearn for the Dago janitor who can fix the steam heat right.”