Then would come moments when his will rallied and Young VB fought with the ferocity of a jungle cat, walking back and forth across the corral, talking to the Captain, condemning his weaker self, gesticulating, promising. At those times he doubted whether it was so much the actual thirst that tore him as it was wondering if he could be worthy of her.

Then the old desire would come again, in an engulfing wave, and his fighting would become empty words.

Jed, who had ridden up the gulch to look after a gap in the fence, returned at dusk. As he watched VB feed the Captain he saw in the gloom the straining of the boy's face; heard him talk to the stallion piteously; and the old man's lips framed silent words.

"If it's that girl," he declared, shaking his fist at the skies--"if it's that girl, she ought to be--ought to be spanked. An' if it's th'

wantin' of whisky, G.o.d pity th' boy!"

Supper was a curious affair. VB tried to help in the preparation but spoiled everything he touched, so far removed was his mind from the work of his hands. Jed ate alone. VB sat down, but could not touch the food offered. He gulped coffee so steaming hot that Jed cried aloud a warning.

"Burned?" scoffed VB. "Burned by that stuff? Jed, you don't know what burning is!"

He got to his feet and paced the floor, one hand pressed against his throat.

The boy sat down twice again and drank from the cup the old man kept filled, but his lips rebelled at food; his hands would not carry it from the plate.

Once Jed rose and tried to restrain the pacing.

"VB, boy," he implored, "set down an' take it easy. Please do! It's been bad before, you know, but it's always turned out good in th' end.

It will this time--same as always. Just--"

"Don't, Jed." He spoke weakly, averting his white face and pushing the old man away gently with trembling hands. "You don't understand; you don't understand!"

For the first time he was beyond comfort from the little old man who had showed him the lighted way, who had encouraged and comforted and held faith in him.

After a while a calm fell on VB and he stopped his walking, helped with the work, and then sat, still and white, in his chair. Jed watched him narrowly and comfort came to the old soul, for he believed the boy had won another fight over the old foe; was so sure of it that he whistled as he prepared for the night.

The candle burned on, low against the neck of the bottle, but still bright and steady. VB watched it, fascinated, thought tagging thought through his mind. Then a tremor shot through his body.

"Jed," he said in a voice that was strained but even, "let's play a little pitch, won't you?"

It was his last hope, the last attempt to divert the attack on his will and bolster his waning forces. His nerves jumped and cringed and quivered, but outwardly he was calm, his face drawn to mask the torture.

Jed, aroused, rubbed his sleepy eyes and lighted his pipe. He put on his steel-rimmed spectacles and took down the greasy, cornerless deck of cards to shuffle them slowly, with method, as though it were a rite.

VB sat motionless and a little limp in his chair, too far from the table for comfortable playing. Jed peered at him over his gla.s.ses.

"You might get th' coffee beans," he said, with a great yawn.

When the other did not answer he said again: "You might get th' coffee beans, VB. Sleepy?"

The young chap arose then to follow the suggestion, but ignored the query. He went to the cupboard and brought back a handful of the beans, the cowman's poker chips. His hand was waiting for him.

"Good deal?" Jed asked.

VB shook his head. "Not better than a couple."

"O-ho, I'm better off!" and Jed slammed down the ace of hearts.

VB leaned low and played the four-spot, almost viciously, gritting his teeth to force his mind into the game. It rebelled, told him the uselessness of such things, the hopelessness before him, tried to play on the aridness of his throat. But for the moment his will was strong and he followed the game as though gambling for a life.

Suddenly the thought surged through him that he was gambling for a life--his _own_ life, and possibly for a woman's life!

Jed made his points, and again, on his own bid, he swept up the coffee counters. Then he took off his gla.s.ses and laid them aside with another yawn.

VB wanted to cry aloud to him to keep on playing; he wanted to let Jed Avery know all that the simple, foolish little game of cards meant to him. But somehow his waning faith had taken with it the power to confide.

Jed made four inexcusable blunders in playing that hand, and each time his muttered apologies became shorter. When the hand was over and he had won a point he did not notice that the boy failed to give him the counter.

VB dealt, picked up his cards, and waited for the bid. But Jed's chin was on his breast, one hand lay loosely over the scattered cards before him; the other hung at his side limply. His breath came and went regularly. Sleep had stolen in on VB's final stand!

Oh, if Jed Avery had only known! If his kindly old heart had only read VB better, divining the difference between calm and peace! For a long time VB looked at the old man, his breath gradually quickening, the flame in his eyes growing sharper, more keen, as the consuming fire in him ate away the last barriers of resistance. Once his gaze went to the candle, burning so low against the bottle, yet so brightly, its molten wax running down and adding to the incrustment. He stared wanly at the bright little beacon and shook his head, terror wiping out the vestiges of a smile.

Action! That was what he wanted! Action! He must move or lose his mind and babble and scream! He must move and move rapidly--as rapidly as the rush of those thoughts through his inflamed mind.

He trembled in every limb as he sat there, realizing the need for bodily activity.

And yet, guilefully, craftily, softly, that voice down within him told that action could be of only one sort, could take him only in one direction. It whined and wheedled and gave him a cowardly a.s.surance, made him lie in his own thoughts; made him cautious in his sneaking determination, for he knew any question Jed might ask would bring frenzy.

VB rose, slowly, carefully, so that there might be no creaking of the boots or sc.r.a.ping of chair legs. He picked up his hat, his m.u.f.fler, his jumper, and moved stealthily toward the door, opened it inch by inch, and shut it behind him quickly, silently, cutting off the draft of night air--for such a thing might be as disastrous as a cry aloud.

The moon rode above the ridge and the air had lost its winter's edge.

It was mild, but with the tang of mountain nights. It was quiet below, but as he stood in the open, pulling on his jumper, he heard the stirring of wind on the points above. It was a soughing, the sort of wind that makes stock uneasy; and VB caught that disquieting vibration.

He stepped out from the cabin and a soft calling from the corral reached him.

"Coming, Captain, coming," he answered.

And with a guilty glance behind him he felt for the gun nestling against his side. His jaw-muscles tightened as he a.s.sured himself it was fastened there securely.

The Captain was waiting at the gate. VB let it swing open, then turned and walked toward the saddle rack. The horse followed closely, ears up as though in wonder at this procedure.

"It's all right, Captain," VB whispered as he threw on the saddle blanket. As he drew the cinch tight he muttered: "Or else all wrong!"

Action, action! his body begged. He must have it; nothing else would suffice! He wanted to fly along, skimming the tops of those ghost bushes, ripping through the night, feeling the ripple of wind on that throat, the cooling currents of air against those hammering temples.

And VB knew it was a lie! A rank, deliberate, hypocritical lie! He knew what that action meant, he knew in what direction it would take him. He knew; he knew!

"Oh, Captain!" he sobbed, drawing the bridled head against his chest.

"You know what it is to fight! You know what it is to yield! But the yielding didn't break you, boy! It couldn't. You were too big, too great to be broken; they could only bend and--"

With a breath of nervous rage he was in the saddle. The Captain's feet rattled on the hard ground with impatience. An instant VB hesitated, gathering the reins, separating them from the strands of thick mane.

Then, leaning low, uttering a throaty wail, he gave the Captain his head and into the veiled night they bolted.

The cattle were coming on him, and he was powerless to move! They were bunched, running shoulder to shoulder, and his bed was in their path!

Jed tried to raise his arms and could barely move them; his legs rebelled. The stampede was roaring at him! Oh, the rumble of those hoofs, those sharp, cloven, blind, merciless hoofs, that would mangle and tear and trample!

Jed Avery awoke with a start. He was on his feet in the middle of the floor before consciousness came, gasping quickly at the horror of his dream, his excited heart racing!