The Branding Iron - Page 9/142

The period which followed had a quality of breathless, almost

unearthly happiness. They were young, savage, simple, and their love,

unanalyzed, was as joyous as the loves of animals: joyous with that

clear gravity characteristic of the boy and girl. Pierre had been

terribly alone before Joan came, and the building-up of his ranch had

occupied his mind day and night except, now and again, for dreams. Yet

he was of a passionate nature. Joan felt in him sometimes a savage

possibility of violence. Two incidents of this time blazed themselves

especially on her memory: the one, her father's visit, the other, an

irrelevant enough picture until after events threw back a glare upon

it.

They had been at Pierre's ranch for a fortnight before John Carver

found them. Then, one morning, as Pierre opened the door to go out to

work, Joan saw a thin, red pony tied to the fence and a small figure

walking toward the cabin.

"Pierre, it's Father!" she said. And Pierre stopped in his tracks,

drew himself up and waited, hands on his cartridge belt.

How mean and old and furtive her father looked in contrast to this

beautiful young husband! Joan was entirely unafraid. She leaned

against the side of the door and watched, as silent and unconsulted as

any squaw, while the two men settled their property rights in her.

"So you've took my gel," said John Carver, stopping a foot or two in

front of Pierre, his eyes shifting up and down, one long hand

fingering his lips.

Pierre answered courteously. "Some man was bound to hev her, Mr.

Carver, soon or late. You can't set your face ag'in' the laws of

natur'. Will you be steppin' in? Joan will give you some breakfast."

Carver paid no heed to the invitation. "Hev you married her?" said he.

The blood rose to Pierre's brown face. "Sure I hev."

"Well, sir, you hev married the darter of a ----" Carver used a

brutal word. "Look out fer her. If you see her eyes lookin' an'

lookin' at another man, you kin know what's to come." Pierre was

white. "I've done with her. She kin never come to me fer bite or bed.

Shoot her if you hev to, Pierre Landis, but when she's kotched at her

mother's game, don't send her back to me. That's all I come to say."

He turned with limber agility and went back to his horse. He was on it

and off, galloping madly across the sagebrush flat. Pierre turned and

walked into the house past Joan without a word.