The Long Shadow | Page 8

all along that the mere presence of the Pilgrim was an offense to her, no
less real because it was intangible and not to be put into words; and for
that offense the Pilgrim must pay.
But for the presence of the Pilgrim, he told himself ill-temperedly, they
might have waited for breakfast; but he had been so anxious to get her
away from under the man's leering gaze that he had not thought of
eating. And if the Pilgrim had been a man, he might have sent him over
to Bridger's for her father and a horse. But the Pilgrim would have lost
himself, or have refused to go, and the latter possibility would have
caused a scene unfit for the eyes of a young woman.

So he rode slowly and thought of many things he might have done
which would have been better than what he did do; and wondered what
the girl thought about it and if she blamed him for not doing something
different. And for every mile of the way he cursed the Pilgrim anew.
In that unfriendly mood he opened the door of the cabin, stood a minute
just inside, then closed it after him with a slam. The cabin, in contrast
with the bright light of sun shining on new-fallen snow, was dark and
so utterly cheerless and chill that he shrugged shoulders impatiently at
its atmosphere, which was as intangibly offensive as had been the
conduct of the Pilgrim.
The Pilgrim was sprawled upon the bunk with his face in his arms,
snoring in a peculiarly rasping way that Billy, heavy-eyed as he was,
resented most unreasonably. Also, the untidy table showed that the
Pilgrim had eaten unstintedly--and Billy was exceedingly hungry. He
went over and lifted a snowy boot to the ribs of the sleeper and
commanded him bluntly to "Come alive."
"What-yuh-want?" mumbled the Pilgrim thickly, making one word of
the three and lifting his red-rimmed eyes to the other. He raised to an
elbow with a lazy doubling of his body and stared dully for a space
before he grinned unpleasantly. "Took 'er home all right, did yuh?" he
leered, as if they two were in possession of a huge joke of the kind
which may not be told in mixed company.
If Charming Billy Boyle had needed anything more to stir him to the
fighting point, that one sentence admirably supplied the lack. "Yuh
low-down skunk!" he cried, and struck him full upon the insulting,
smiling mouth. "If I was as rotten-minded as you are, I'd go drown
myself in the stalest alkali hole I could find. I dunno why I'm dirtying
my hands on yuh--yuh ain't fit to be clubbed to death with a tent pole!"
He was, however, using his hands freely and to very good purpose,
probably feeling that, since the Pilgrim was much bigger than he, there
was need of getting a good start.
But the Pilgrim was not the sort to lie on his bunk and take a thrashing.
He came up after the second blow, pushing Billy back with the very

weight of his body, and they were fighting all over the little cabin,
surging against the walls and the table and knocking the coffee-pot off
the stove as they lurched this way and that. Not much was said after the
first outburst of Billy's, save a panting curse now and then between
blows, a threat gasped while they wrestled.
It was the dog, sneaking panther-like behind Billy and setting
treacherous teeth viciously into his leathern chaps, that brought the
crisis. Billy tore loose and snatched his gun from the scabbard at his hip,
held the Pilgrim momentarily at bay with one hand while he took a shot
at the dog, missed, kicked him back from another rush, and turned
again on the Pilgrim.
"Get that dawg outdoors, then," he panted, "or I'll kill him sure." The
Pilgrim, for answer, struck a blow that staggered Billy, and tried to
grab the gun. Billy, hooking a foot around a table-leg, threw it between
them, swept the blood from his eyes and turned his gun once more on
the dog that was watching treacherously for another chance.
"That's the time I got him," he gritted through the smoke, holding the
Pilgrim quiet before him with the gun. "But I've got a heap more
respect for him than I have for you, yuh damn', low-down brute. I'd
ought to kill yuh like I would a coyote. Yuh throw your traps together
and light out uh here, before I forget and shoot yuh up. There ain't room
in this camp for you and me no more."
The Pilgrim backed, eying Billy malevolently. "I never done nothing,"
he defended sullenly. "The boss'll have something to say about
this--and I'll