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Updated: June 10, 2025
"He's playin' cairds with Jackson an' Colter. Shore's playin' bad, too, an' it's gone to his haid." "Gamblin'?" queried Ellen. "Mah child, when'd Kurnel Jorth ever play for fun?" said Daggs, with a lazy laugh. "There's a stack of gold on the table. Reckon yo' uncle Jackson will win it. Colter's shore out of luck." Daggs stepped inside. He was graceful and slow. His long' spurs clinked.
Revenge! An eye for an eye! A life for a life! But she could not kill Jean Isbel. Woman's love could turn to hate, but not the love of Ellen Jorth.
"You're no Jorth the same as I'm no Isbel. We oughtn't be mixed in this deal," he said, somberly. "I'm sorrier for you than I am for myself.... You're a girl.... You once had a good mother a decent home. And this life you've led here mean as it's been is nothin' to what you'll face now. Damn the men that brought you to this! I'm goin' to kill some of them." With that he mounted and turned away.
An' when we seen you runnin' so wild we shore thought you was bein' chased." "No. I was only trying out Spades to see how fast he could run," returned Ellen. "Reckon when we do get chased it'll take some running to catch me." "Haw! Haw!" roared Daggs. "It shore will, Ellen." "Girl, it's not only your runnin' an' your looks that's queer," declared Jorth, in dark perplexity. "You talk queer."
Jean swiftly bent to put his eye to a crack in the door. Most of those visible seemed to have been frozen into unnatural positions. Jorth stood rather in front of his men, hatless and coatless, one arm outstretched, and his dark profile set toward a little man just inside the door. This man was Blue.
I heerd Blaisdell groan, an' Fredericks thar cussed somethin' fierce.... When your dad halted I reckon aboot fifty steps from Jorth then we all went numb. I heerd your dad's voice then Jorth's. They cut like knives. Y'u could shore heah the hate they hed fer each other." Blue had become a little husky. His speech had grown gradually to denote his feeling.
Such a girl can't keep men from handlin' her and kissin' her. Maybe she's too free. Maybe she's wild. But she's honest, Jean. You can trust a woman to tell. When she rode past me that day her face was white and proud. She was a Jorth and I was an Isbel. She hated herself she hated me. But no bad girl could look like that. She knows what's said of her all around the valley. But she doesn't care.
The Jorth contingent were burning the big lamp that hung in the center of Greaves's store. Jean listened. Loud voices and coarse laughter sounded discord on the melancholy silence of the night. What Blue had called his instinct had surely guided him aright. Death of Gaston Isbel was being celebrated by revel. In a few moments Jean had regained his breath.
Just when it looked as if we were goin' to be friends she told me who she was and asked me my name. I told her. Jean, I couldn't have hurt her more if I'd slapped her face. She turned white. She gasped. And then she ran off. The last time I saw her was about a year ago. I was ridin' a short-cut trail to the ranch where a friend lived. And I met Ellen Jorth ridin' with a man I'd never seen.
"Daggs asked me to marry him again and I said he belonged to a bad lot," she replied. Jorth laughed in scorn. "Fool! My God! Ellen, I must have dragged you low that every damned ru er sheepman who comes along thinks he can marry you." At the break in his words, the incompleted meaning, Ellen dropped her eyes. Little things once never noted by her were now come to have a fascinating significance.
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