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Therefore the settlers waited, and held their breath while they did so. And Courtrey took to riding much more alone, to watching the slopes and stretches with a hand at his hat-brim, shading his keen eyes. He looked far and wide in the golden summer land for the sight of a silver horse cutting down the wind with a slim girl in saddle.
As she stepped in the open door her quick glance went over the big room with a comprehensiveness which catalogued its inmates accurately and instinctively. Courtrey was not there, though his great bay, Bolt, stood outside. However, Wylackie Bob was there. This man, sitting at a canvas covered table in a corner, idly fingering a pack of cards, was not one to be passed over easily. He was notorious.
Courtrey or no Courtrey, she could not fight it down. So, on a golden day when all the boys were out with the herds and only the Indian vaqueros left in charge by Conford were at the stables, she flung the big saddle with its silver studs and its sombre stain on El Rey, mounted and went out and away like the wind itself.
"Mothers killed outright an' th' calves branded. Oh, I know it all but what could I do? Kep' gettin' poorer an' poorer. Couldn't afford enough riders t' protect 'em. Then couldn't afford any an' tried t' make it go as th' boys got older. Courtrey, damn him, wants me offen that piece o' land a-fore th' patent's granted. Him with his twenty thousan' acres of Lost Valley now! An' how'd he get it?
If Lola knew this she had never mentioned it, wise creature that she was. Proud of her beauty and her power she had reigned at The Golden Cloud in supreme indifference, even to her men themselves, it seemed, though hidden undercurrents ran strong in her. Which way they tended many a reckless buck of Lost Valley would have given much to know, among them Courtrey himself.
She left a little note for Courtrey, a pathetic short scrawl, which simply reiterated that she had "ben true to him as his shadow," and that if he did no longer want her, she did not want herself. At that pitiful end to a guiltless life, Lola, who knew innocence and sin, sat down on the only carpeted floor in Corvan and wept.
Courtrey was too secure in his insolent might to take those rigid and untiring precautions which were the only price of safety to the lesser men of the community. Toward the south where the Valley narrowed to the Bottle Neck and the Broken Bend went out, there shimmered and shone like a silver ribbon hung down the cliff the thin, long shower of Vestal's Veil fall.
Courtrey thinks he owns Lost Valley, an' he comes near doin' it, what with his hired killers, Wylackie an' Black Bart an' this new gun man that's just come in. I heered today he's from Arizona, an' imported article." Jameson turned to him and held out his hand. "I'm goin' to ride tomorrow," he said. Hill grasped the extended hand and looked hard in the other's eyes. "Me, too," he said.
There was no one now to hold her back, no vital hands to press hers upon a beating heart, to make her untrue to her given word! Now she could go out, reckless and grim in her utter disregard of the outcome, and kill Courtrey where he stood. The time had come. There should be another cross in the granite beneath the pointing pine.
They were no murderers.... They did not strike in the dark shoot a man from ambush nor kill a man unarmed.... And Kenset Kenset of the foothills what had he said about the stain of blood blood-guilt clean hands The girl caught her breath with a choking sob. The game was up. Neither Jim Last nor Kenset nor she would shoot a man unarmed. And Courtrey was riding toward the Bottle Neck.
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