Riders of the Silences | Page 4

him like a willow wand,
and--in the name of God, Jean Paul!"
For the two, abandoning their feints, suddenly rushed together, and the
swarthy arms of the monster slipped around the white body of Pierre.
For a moment they whirled, twisting and struggling.
"Now!" murmured Father Victor; and as if in answer to a command,
Pierre slipped down, whipped his hands to a new grip, and the two
crashed to the mat, with Pierre above.
"Open your eyes, Father Anthony. The lad is safe. How Goliath
grunts!"
The boy had not cared to follow his advantage, but rose and danced
away, laughing softly. The Canuck floundered up and rushed like a
furious bull. His downfall was only the swifter. The impact of the two
bodies sounded like hands clapped together, and then Goliath rose into
the air, struggling mightily, and pitched with a thud to the mat.
He writhed there, for the wind was knocked from his body by the fall.
At length he struggled to a sitting posture and glared up at the
conqueror. The boy reached out a hand to his fallen foe.
"You would have thrown me that way the first time," he said, "but you
let me change grips on you. In another week you will be too much for

me, bon ami."
The other accepted the hand after an instant of hesitation and was
dragged to his feet. He stood resting one elbow on the gleaming
shoulder of Pierre and looking down into the boy's face with a singular
grin. But there was no triumph in the eye of Pierre--only a
good-natured interest.
"In another week," answered the giant, "there will not be a sound bone
in my body. This very night I shall go to Father Victor. I had rather
starve for three days in the forest than stand up to you for three minutes,
little brother."
CHAPTER II
IRENE
"You have seen him," murmured the tall priest. "Now let us go back
and wait for him. I will leave word."
He touched one of the two or three men who were watching the athletes,
and whispered his message in the other's ear. Then he went back with
Father Anthony.
"You have seen him," he repeated, when they sat once more in the
cheerless room. "Now pronounce on him."
The other answered: "I have seen a wonderful body--but the mind,
Father Victor?"
"It is as simple as that of a child--his thoughts run as clear as spring
water."
"Ah, but they are swift thoughts. Suppose the spring water gathers up a
few stones and rushes on down the side of the mountain. Very soon it is
wearing a deeper channel--then but a little space, and it is a raging
torrent and tears down great trees from its banks and goes shouting and
leaping out toward the sea.

"Suppose a strange thought came in the mind of your Pierre. It would
be like the pebbles in the swift-running spring water. He would carry it
on, rushing. It would tear away the old boundaries of his mind--it might
wipe out the banks you have set down for him--it might tear away the
choicest teachings."
Father Victor sat straight and stiff with stern, set lips.
He said dryly: "Father Anthony has been much in the world."
"I speak from the best intention, good father. Look you, now, I have
seen that same red hair and those same lighted blue eyes before, and
wherever I have seen them has been war and trouble and unrest. I have
seen that same whimsical smile which stirs the heart of a woman and
makes a man reach for his revolver. This boy whose mind is so
clear--arm him with a single wrong thought, with a single doubt of the
eternal goodness of God's plans, and he will be a thunderbolt indeed,
dear Father, but one which even your strong hand could not control."
"I have heard you," said the priest; "but you will see. He is coming
now."
There was a knock at the door; then it opened and showed a modest
novice in a simple gown of black serge girt at the waist with the flat
encircling band. His head was downward; it was not till the blue eyes
flashed inquisitively up that Father Anthony recognized Pierre.
The hard voice of Jean Paul Victor pronounced: "This is that Father
Anthony of whom I have spoken."
The novice slipped to his knees and folded his hands. The two priests
exchanged glances, one of triumph and one of wonder, while the plump
fingers of Father Anthony poised over that dark red hair, pressed
smooth on top where the skull-cap rested, and curling somewhat at the
sides. The blessing which he spoke was Latin, and Father Victor looked
somewhat anxiously toward his protégé till the