The Short Cut | Page 5

who had
called Arthur Shandon one of her "boys."
The girl drew nearer, with no tightening of reins upon Gypsy's
headlong speed. Another glimpse through the cedars showed her that
there was some one with her mother, a man, broad and heavy
shouldered. He turned, hearing the pound of the flying hoofs through
the still air as she came on. It was her father. She could see the massive,
calm face, the white hair and white square beard.
She was barely five hundred yards from the foot of the knoll when she
saw that her father and mother were not alone. The third figure had
been concealed from her until now by the great post standing at the top
of the steps. But now the man sitting there rose to his feet and turned to
look in the direction her parents were looking. A sudden choking came
into the girl's throat, a quick rush of tears into her dry eyes. She drew
her reins tight, bringing her pony down into a trot, then to a walk. She
could not rush on like this, carrying a message of grief and terror; must
she hasten so eagerly to speak the word that was going to make life so
different to this man?
"Oh, how can I tell him?" she was moaning. "The gladdest, gayest,
happiest boy of a man that ever lived! Will he ever be glad again?"
Her mother had waved to her, her father was smiling, proud of her as
he always was when he saw how she rode. And the other man who had
leaped to his feet was running down the steps, coming to meet her,
coming to meet the news she brought.
CHAPTER II
THE SHADOW

The girl drooped her head a little, while Gypsy walked very slowly.
Then she looked up again, swiftly, saw that the man was coming on to
meet her, saw the great, tall, gaunt form, marked the free swinging
carriage which she had noted so many times before, noticed the way he
carried his head, well back, saw the sunlight splashing like fire in the
red, red hair that in some fashion seemed to proclaim red blood and
recklessness. A young man he was with mighty hands and iron body,
with life leaping high in his laughing eyes, a man who might have been
some pagan god of youth and joy and heedlessness.
His big boots brought him on swiftly until he came to her horse and she
stopped, her eyes dropping before his. He twined his fingers in Gypsy's
mane and looked up into her face, he laughing softly.
"So you've ridden back to us, at last." His voice was in tune with the
rest of him, suggesting the wildness and recklessness that were part of
the man's nature. He ran on, half bantering, half softly wondering at the
loveliness of her. "Are you pagan nymph or Christian maiden,
Wanda?" he asked a little seriously, as nearly serious, one might have
said, as it was this man's nature to be.
She raised her lowered eyes, looking at him searchingly. Then he saw
the tears that at last were spilling over, the face from which the colour
was going again, the traces of horror of that thing which lay far back
there under the pines.
"Wanda!" he cried sharply. "You . . . There's something the matter! I've
been running on like an inspired idiot and . . . What is it, Wanda?"
"Oh," she said desperately, "it is terrible! I can't . . ." She choked over
her words. But they were burning the soul within her, and she ran on
hastily. "I found him back there by Echo Creek crossing. He . . . he is
dead."
"Dead?" repeated the man. "Dead? Who, Wanda?"
"Arthur!" she whispered.

"Arthur, dead?" he muttered, his voice oddly low and quiet. "Arthur,
dead? I don't understand."
"He is dead," she said again heavily. "Some one shot him."
She broke off and began to sob. He looked first at her, then along the
trail she had ridden, and finally, taking his hand from her horse's mane
he turned abruptly and strode off toward the house. He mounted the
steps swiftly, passed her father and mother without a word in answer to
the questioning faces they turned toward him, entered the door and
returned almost immediately, carrying his hat in his hand. As he came
down the steps, he put on his hat and bent his head a little so that she
could not see his face. He passed her without a sign and went down to
the stable. Then she rode up to the house and slipped from her saddle at
the foot of the steps. Her father and mother hurried to meet her.
"It is Arthur.