Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 31, 2025
He could have said nothing that would have cleared the situation, would have told himself or her what was in that pounding heart of his for to save his life he did not know. And Tharon frowned in the darkness and drew her hands from under those pressing ones. "Mr. Kenset," she said steadily, "you're always tryin' to make me weak, to break me down with words an' looks an' touches.
It was a trim body, they could see from where they stood, clad in dark garments of olive drab that hugged the lean limbs close. "Kenset!" whispered Tharon with paling lips. "Kenset of th' foothills, an' he looks," she wet those ashy lips, "he looks like he is dead."
"I mean that it looks better here in my cabin than it ever did on city walls." "Why?" "Well I don't know. Contrast, perhaps." Tharon stood a moment thinking. "Perhaps," she answered slowly, "yes, perhaps. I guess that's why you seem so diff'rent to me. Jim Last used to say that was why th' Valley was so soft-like an' lovely, contrasted by th' Rockface."
So old Pete, the snow-packer, had paid the price of gallantry. The bullet he had averted from Tharon Last's young head that day in the Golden Cloud but sheathed itself to wait for him. All the Valley knew it. Not a soul beneath the Rockface but knew beyond a shadow of a doubt who, or whose agents, had followed Pete that night to the Cañon Country.
It was whispered about, as was every smallest happening, and came to the ears of Courtrey himself, who had promised those vague things for the future on the fateful night. But Courtrey was playing a waiting game. He was obsessed with the image of Tharon. Sooner or later he meant to have her, to install her at the Valley's head. He had always had what he wanted.
As she did so, Courtrey flung out an arm and caught her about the shoulders. He drew her against him with the motion and kissed her square on the lips. For a second his narrowed eyes were drunken. As he loosed her Tharon gasped like a swimmer sinking. She put up a hand and drew it across her mouth, which was pale as ashes with sudden rage. "Now," she said, "I'll tell him."
A strange man, surely. Tharon wondered what made him so different from other men she had known. There was Billy who had come into Lost Valley from somewhere "below," and Conford, and Curly. Jack Masters had been born in the Valley. So had Bent Smith. These men were her men, like herself and Jim Last. This man was from "below," too, yet he was unlike.
It was all so familiar, so filled with his personality, that Tharon felt the very power of his dark eyes, smiling, grave "Hello!" said Jack Masters suddenly. "Burt, what's this?" Conford stepped quickly around the table and held his candle down. Tharon pushed forward and looked over the leaning shoulders.
"He said 'you'll have to pro you rec'lect? He meant protect an' unless I miss my guess, Billy, he'd have added 'yourself' if th' hand of Ol' Man Death hadn't stopped his words. Somethin' happened out there in th' Cup Rim that day when Last got his that had to do with Tharon, an' he knew she'd be in danger. Let her alone." So Billy let her alone, as did the rest.
Tharon Last knew little outside her own environment. Words and names that had to do with unknown places were vague things to her. "Yes?" she answered politely, "I make no doubt you've come far. Come in. Dinner'll soon be ready," and she moved back from the door with a smile that covered her pitiful ignorance as with a garment of gold.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking