Riders of the Silences | Page 9

There wasn't no man I wouldn't of met fair
and square with bare hands or with a gun. Maybe my hands was big,
but they were fast on the draw. I've lived all my life with iron on the
hip, and my six-gun has seven notches.
"But McGurk downed me fair and square. There wasn't no murder. I
was out for his hide, and he knew it. I done the provokin', an' he jest
done the finishin', that was all. It hurts me a lot to say it, but he's a
better man than I was. A kid like you, why, he'd jest eat you, Pierre."
Pierre le Rouge smiled again. He felt a stern and aching pride to be the
son of this man.
"So that's settled," went on Martin Ryder, "an' a damned good thing it
is. Son, you didn't come none too soon. I'm goin' out fast. There ain't
enough light left in me so's I can see my own way. Here's all I ask:
When I die touch my eyelids soft an' draw 'em shut--I've seen the look
in a dead man's eyes. Close 'em, and I know I'll go to sleep an' have
good dreams. And down in the middle of Morgantown is the
buryin'-ground. I've ridden past it a thousand times an' watched a
corner plot, where the grass grows quicker than it does anywheres else
in the cemetery. Pierre, I'd die plumb easy if I knew I was goin' to sleep
the rest of time in that place."
"It shall be done."
"But that corner plot, it would cost a pile, son. And I've no money. I
gave what I had to them wolf-eyed boys, Bill an' Bert. Money was what
they wanted, an' after I had Irene's son with me, money was the
cheapest way of gettin' rid of 'em."
"I'll buy the plot."

"Have you got that much money, lad?"
"Yes," lied Pierre calmly.
The bright eyes grew dimmer and then fluttered close. Pierre started to
his feet, thinking that the end had come. But the voice began again,
fainter, slowly:
"No light left inside of me, but dyin' this way is easy. There ain't no
wind will blow on me after I'm dead, but I'll be blanketed safe from
head to foot in cool, sweet-smellin' sod--the kind that has tangles of the
roots of grass. There ain't no snow will reach to me where I lie. There
ain't no sun will burn down to me. Dyin' like that is jest--goin' to sleep."
After that he said nothing for a time, and the late afternoon darkened
slowly through the room.
As for Pierre, he did not move, and his mind went back. He did not see
the bearded wreck who lay dying before him, but a picture of Irene,
with the sun lighting her copper hair with places of burning gold, and a
handsome young giant beside her. They rode together on some upland
trail at sunset rime, sharply framed against the bright sky. Their hands
were together; their faces were raised; they laughed, from the midst of
their small heaven.
There was a whisper below him: "Irene!"
And Pierre looked down to blankly staring eyes. He groaned, and
dropped to his knees.
"I have come for you," said the whisper, "because the time has come,
Irene. We have to ride out together. We have a long ways to go. Are
you ready?"
"Yes," said Pierre.
"Thank God! It's a wonderful night. The stars are asking us out. Quick!
Into your saddle. Now the spurs. So! We are alone and free, with the

winds around us, and all that we have been forgotten behind us. Irene,
look up with me!"
The eyes opened wide and stared up; without a stir in the great, gaunt
body he was dead. Pierre drew the eyes reverently shut. There were no
tears in his eyes, but a feeling of hollowness about his heart, and a great
pain. He straightened and looked about him and found that the room
was quite dark.
So in the dimness Pierre fumbled, by force of habit, at his throat, and
found the cross which he wore by a silver chain about his throat. He
held it in a great grip and closed his eyes and prayed. When he opened
his eyes again it was almost deep night in the room, and Pierre had
passed from youth to manhood. Through the gloom nothing stood out
distinctly save the white face of the dead man, and from that Pierre
looked quickly away.
One by one he numbered his obligations to Martin Ryder, and first and
last he remembered the lie which had soothed his father. The money for
that corner plot where the grass grew first in the spring of the
year--where was he