Riders of the Silences | Page 3

unenlightened; and this
is the hand which shall wield it. Ha!"
A flash of cold fire came for a single instant in his eyes as he stood
with upturned face. He changed.
"Yet he is gentle as a woman. He goes out through the villages and
comes back unharmed, and after him come letters from girls and old
men and dames. Even strong men come many miles to see him and
they write to him. He is known. It is now hardly a six month since he
saved a trapper from a bobcat and killed the animal with a knife."
His heart failed him at the thought, and he murmured: "It must have
been my prayers which saved him from the teeth and the claws."
Good Father Anthony rose.
"You have described a young David. I am eager to see him. Let us go."
"Wait. Before you go you must know that he does not suspect that he
differs from other youths. Women have looked lewdly upon him and
written him letters with singing words, but Pierre being of a simple
nature, he answers them briefly and commends them to God. In fact,
the flattery of women he does not understand, and the flattery of men
he thinks is mere kindliness. Are you prepared to meet him, father?"
Father Anthony nodded, and the two went out together. The chill of the
open was hardly more than the bitter cold inside the building, but there
was a wind that drove the cold through the blood and bones of a man.
They staggered along against it until they came to a small outhouse,
long and low. On the sheltered side of it they paused to take breath, and
Feather Victor explained: "This is his hour in the gymnasium. To make
the body strong required thought and care. Mere riding and running and

swinging of the ax will not develop every muscle. So I made this
gymnasium, and here Pierre works every day. His teachers of boxing
and wrestling have abandoned him."
There was almost a smile on the lean face.
"The last man left with a swollen jaw and limping on one leg."
Conscience-stricken, he stopped short, crossed himself, and then went
on: "So I give him for partners men who have committed small sins.
Their penance is to stand before Pierre and box each day for a few
minutes and then to wrestle against him. They are fierce men, these
woodsmen and trappers, and big of body; but little Pierre, they dread
him like a whip of fire. One and all, they come to me within a fortnight
and beg for an easier penance."
Here he opened the door, and they slipped inside. The air was warmed
by a big stove, and the room--for the afternoon was dark--lighted by
two swinging lanterns suspended from the low roof. By that
illumination Father Anthony saw two men stripped naked, save for a
loin-cloth, and circling each other slowly in the center of a ring which
was fenced in with ropes and floored with a padded mat. Certainly
Father Victor had spared nothing in expense to make the fittings of the
gymnasium perfect.
Of the two wrestlers, one was a veritable giant of a Canuck, swarthy of
skin, hairy-chested. His great hands were extended to grasp or to
parry--his head lowered with a ferocious scowl--and across his
forehead swayed a tuft of black, shaggy hair. He might have stood for
one of those northern barbarians whom the Romans loved to pit against
their native champions in the arena. He was the greater because of the
opponent he faced, and it was upon this opponent that the eyes of
Father Anthony centered.
Like Father Victor, he was caught first by the bright hair. It was a dark
red, and where the light struck it strongly there were places like fire.
Down from this hair the light slipped like running water over a lithe
body, slender at the hips, strong-chested, round and smooth of limb,

with long muscles everywhere leaping and trembling at every move.
He, like the big Canuck, circled cautiously about, but the impression he
gave was as different from the other as day is from night. His head was
carried high; in place of a scowl, he smiled with a sort of boyish
eagerness, and a light which was partly exultation and partly mischief
sparkled in his eyes. Once or twice the giant caught at the other, but
David slipped from under the grip of Goliath easily. It seemed as if his
skin were oiled. The big man snarled with anger, and lunged more
eagerly at Pierre. Father Anthony caught the shoulder of his friend.
"Quick!" he whispered anxiously. "Stop them, for if the black fellow
sets his fingers on the boy he will break