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She was brilliantly clad in crimson and black, and rings of value shone on her ivory-like hands. Lola of the Golden Cloud was known all over Lost Valley. Men who had no women worshipped her and some who had, also. At the Stronghold at the Valley's head there was a woman who hated her, though she had never set eyes on her Courtrey's wife.
She looked down at him and the black pupils were spread across the azure of her eyes, making them strangely exciting in their straight glance. "This," she said, panting, "is some of the law of Lost Valley. Courtrey's law. That is the man I'm goin' to kill some day." Kenset felt the blood flow back upon his heart, an icy flood. The words were simple, sincere, unconscious of dramatic effect.
She was near now she could see Courtrey's face, waxen white but fearless, his dark eyes turned back toward her in a sort of desperate admiration.... Courtrey loved strength and courage and all things wild and fierce. She could see Bolt's staring eyeballs, his open mouth, gasping and piteous.
What could he do when there wasn't another man in th' Valley dared to stand behind him? You saw what happened to Pete. He struck up Courtrey's arm when he shot at Tharon one night last spring. Th' same thing'd happen to Banner if he tried to pull off anythin' like that." A light flamed up in Kenset's eyes.
Only I ain't got no more light-wood," he finished quaintly, "I got to quit." There was another silence while the tree-toads sang. Then the man held out his hand, hardened and warped with the unceasing toil of those tragic years. "Good-bye, Tharon," he said, "I wisht Jim Last was here. With him gone Lost Valley's in Courtrey's hand an' no mistake.
I trust th' Indians, but there ain't no Indian livin' can meet Courtrey's white renegades in courage an' wits. Then we'll start right in an' dig a well th' first well ever dug on th' open range in this man's land." "Good Lord, Tharon!" said Conford, "A well!" "Yes. Th' livin' water holes have been th' pride of th' Valley, I know, but we'll fix this well of ours so's even Courtrey will respect it."
And she put the gun to her temple! "I ain't got nothin' t' live for," she said clearly and pitifully, "but Courtrey's life is worth what I got to me. If you don't clear out I'll pull th' trigger." She was tragic as death itself. The big blue wells of her eyes were black with the spreading pupils. Dark circles lay beneath them.
In the Court House door, Cleve Whitmore with his sister's limp form on his shoulder, beat him to it. He had drawn as he called. Before the words were off his lips he pulled the trigger and shot Wylackie through the heart. As his henchman fell Courtrey's good hand flashed to his hip, but Dixon of the Vigilantes, shot out an arm and knocked him forward from behind.
The Rockface at the west was black with shadow for all its rugged miles, the eastern uplands were bathed and aglow with purplish crimson light. In Corvan lights twinkled all up and down the one main street. Horses were tied at the hitch-racks and among them were the Ironwoods from Courtrey's Stronghold, beautiful big creatures, blood-bay, black-pointed, noticeable in any bunch.
Then Ben Garland was speaking, and Ellen gathered her dim wits enough to make out that he was saying strange things awful things that had to do with Courtrey's freedom. Then she knew swaying and groping with her blue-veined hands that the thing was done that she was no longer a wife.
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