A Second thought made him lean a little, listening closely, and then he discovered that after this terrific trial Abra was breathing deep and free. Connor sat straight again and smiled. They must be close to the lake he had seen from the mountain, for among the trees to his left was a faint gleam of water. A moment later this glimmer went out, and the hoofbeats of Abra were muffled on turf. They had left the road and headed for a scattering of lights. Joseph had drawn the mare back to a hand-gallop, and Abra followed the example; at this rocking gait they swept through the grove between two long, low buildings, always climbing, and came suddenly upon a larger house. On three sides Connor looked down upon water; the building was behind him. Not a light showed in it, but he made out the low, single story, the sense of weight, and crude arches of the Mission style. Through an opening in the center of the façade he looked into darkness which he knew must be the patio.
Following the example of Joseph, he dismounted, and while the big man, with his waddling, difficult walk, disappeared into the court, Connor stepped back and looked over Abra. Starlight was enough to see him by, for he glimmered with running sweat even in the semidarkness, but it was plain from his high head and inquisitive muzzle that he was neither winded nor down-hearted. He followed Connor like a dog when the gambler went in turn to the mare. She turned about nervously to watch the newcomer. Not until Abra had touched noses with her and perhaps spoken to her the dumb horse-talk would she allow Connor to come close, and even then he could not see her as clearly as the stallion. By running his finger-tips over her he discovered the reason—only on the flanks and across the breast was she wet with perspiration, and barely moist on the thighs and belly. The race had winded her no more than a six-furlong canter.
He was still marveling at this discovery when Joseph appeared under the arch carrying a lantern and beckoned him in, leading the way to a large patio, surrounded by a continuous arcade. In the center a fountain was alternately silver and shadow in the swinging lantern light. The floor of the patio was close-shaven turf.
Joseph hung the lantern on the inside of one of the arches and turned to Connor, apparently to invite him to take one of the chairs under the arcade. Instead, he raised his hand to impose silence. Connor heard, from some distance, a harsh sound of breathing of inconceivable strength. For though it was plainly not close to them, he could mark each intake and expulsion of breath. And the noise created for him the picture of a monster.
Let us go to the master, said Joseph, and turned straight across the patio in the direction of that sonorous breathing.
Connor followed, by no means at ease. From the withered old men to huge Joseph had been a long step. How far would be the reach between Joseph himself and the omnipotent master?
He passed in the track of Joseph toward the rear of the patio. Presently the big man halted, removed his hat, and faced a door beneath the arcade. It was only a momentary interruption. He went on again at once, replacing his hat, but the thrill of apprehension was still tingling in the blood of the gambler. Now they went under the arcade, through an open door, and issued in the rear of the house, Connor's imaginary "monster" dissolved.
For they stood in front of a blacksmith shop, the side toward them being entirely open so that Connor could see the whole of the interior. Two sooty lanterns hung from the rafters, the light tangling among wreaths of smoke above and showing below a man whose back was turned toward them as he worked a great snoring bellows with one hand.
That bellows was the source of the mysterious breathing. Connor chuckled; all mysteries dissolved as this had done the moment one confronted them. He left off chuckling to admire the ease with which the blacksmith handled the bellows. A massive angle of iron was buried in the forge, the white flames spurting around it as the bellows blew, casting the smith into high relief at every pulse of the fire. Sometimes it ran on the great muscles of the arm that kept the bellows in play; sometimes it ran a dazzling outline around his entire body, showing the leather apron and the black hair which flooded down about his shoulders.
Who— began Connor.
Hush, cautioned Joseph in a whisper. "David speaks when he chooses—not sooner."
Here the smith laid hold on the iron with long pincers, and, raising it from the coals, at once the shop burst with white light as David placed the iron on the anvil and caught up a short-handled sledge. He whirled it and brought it down with a clangor. The sparks spurted into the night, dropping to the ground and turning red at the very feet of Connor. Slowly David turned the iron, the steady shower of blows bending it, changing it, molding it under the eye of the gambler. This was that clangor which had floated through the clear mountain air to him when he first gazed down on the valley; this was the bell-like murmur which had washed down to him through the gates of the valley.
At least it was easy to understand why the servants feared him. A full fourteen pounds was in the head of that sledge, Connor guessed, yet David whirled it with a light and deft precision. Only the shuddering of the anvil told the weight of those blows. Meantime, with every leap of the spark-showers the gambler studied the face of the master. They were features of strength rather than beauty from the frowning forehead to the craggy jaw. A sort of fierce happiness lived in that face now, the thought of the craftsman and the joy of the laborer in his strength.
As the white heat passed from the iron and it no longer flowed into a shape so readily under the hammer of the smith, a change came in him. Connor knew nothing of ironcraft, but he guessed shrewdly that another man would have softened the metal with fire again at this point. Instead, David chose to soften it with strength. The steady patter of blows increased to a thundering rain as the iron turned a dark and darker red.
The rhythm of the worker grew swifter, did not break, and Connor watched with a keen eye of appreciation. Just as a great thoroughbred makes its supreme effort in the stretch by a lengthening and slight quickening of stride, but never a dropping into the choppy pace of unskilled labor at speed, so the man at the anvil was now rocking steadily back and forth from heel to toe, the knees unflexing a little as he struck and stiffening as he swung up the hammer. The greater effort was told only by the greater ring of the hammer face on the hardening iron—by that and by the shudder of the arm of the smith as the fourteen pounds went clanging home to the stroke.
And now the iron was quite dark—the smith stood with the ponderous sledge poised above his head and turned the bar swiftly, with study, to see that the angle was exactly what he wished. The hammer did not descend again on the iron; the smith was content, and plunging the big angle iron into the tempering tub, his burly shoulders were obscured for a moment by a rising cloud of steam.
He stepped out of this and came directly to them. Now the lantern was behind him, he was silhouetted in black, a mighty figure. He was panting from his labor, and the heavy sound of his breathing disturbed the gambler. He had expected to find a wise and simple old man in David. Instead, he was face to face with a Hercules.
His attention was directed entirely to Joseph.
I come from my work unclean, he said. "Joseph, take the stranger within and wait."
Joseph led back into the patio to a plain wooden table beside which Connor, at the gesture of invitation, sat down. Here Joseph left him hurriedly, and the gambler looked about. The arcade was lightened by a flagging of crystalline white stone, and the ceiling was inlaid with the same material. But the arches and the wall of the building were of common dobe, massive, but roughly built.
Beyond the fountain nodded like a ghost in the patio, and now and then, when the lantern was swayed by the wind, the pool glinted and was black again. The silence was beginning to make him feel more than ever like an unwelcome guest when another old Negro came, and Connor noted with growing wonder the third of these ancients. Each of them must have been in youth a fine specimen of manhood. Even in white-headed age they retained some of that noble countenance which remains to those who have once been strong. This fellow bore a tray upon his arm, and in the free hand carried a large yellow cloth of a coarse weave.
He placed on the table a wooden trencher with a great loaf of white bread, a cone of clear honey, and an earthen pitcher of milk. Next he put a wooden bowl on a chair beside Connor, and when the latter obediently extended his hands, the old man poured warm water over them and dried them with a napkin.
There was a ceremony about this that fitted perfectly with the surroundings, and Connor became thoughtful. He was to tempt the master with the wealth of the world, but what could he give the man to replace his Homeric comfort?
In the midst of these reflections soft steps approached him, and he saw the brown-faced David coming in a shapeless blouse and trousers of rough cloth, with moccasins on his feet. Rising to meet his host, he was surprised to find that David had no advantage in height and a small one in breadth of shoulder; in the blacksmith shop he had seemed a giant. The brown man stopped beside the table. He seemed to be around thirty, but because of the unwrinkled forehead Connor decided that he was probably five years older.
I am David, he said, without offering his hand.
I, said the gambler, "am Benjamin."
There was a flash that might have been either pleasure or suspicion in the face of David.
Joseph has told me what has passed between you, he said.
I hope he's broken no law by letting me come in.
My will is the law; in disregarding me he has broken a law.
He made a sign above his shoulder that brought Joseph hurrying out of the gloom, his keen little eyes fastened upon the face of the master with intolerable anxiety. There was another sign from David, and Joseph, without a glance at Connor, snatched the ivory head out of his pocket, thrust it upon the table, and stood back, watching the brown man with fascination.
You see, went on David, "that he returns to you the price which you paid him. Therefore you have no longer a right to remain in the Garden of Eden."
Connor flushed. "If this were a price," he answered, clinging as closely as he could to language as simple and direct as that of David, "it could be returned to me. But it is not a price. It is a gift, and gifts cannot be returned."
He held out the ape-head, and when Joseph could see nothing save the face of David, he pushed the trinket back toward the huge man.
Then, said the brown man, "the fault which was small before is now grown large."
He looked calmly upon Joseph, and the giant quailed. By the table hung a gong on which the master tapped; one of the ancient servants appeared instantly.
Go to my room, said David, "and bring me the largest nugget from the chest."
The old man disappeared, and while they waited for his return the little bright eyes of Joseph went to and fro on the face of the master; but David was staring into the darkness of the patio. The servant brought a nugget of gold, as large as the doubled fist of a child, and the master rolled it across the table to Connor.
A tenseness about his mouth told the gambler that much was staked on this acceptance. He turned the nugget in his hand, noting the discoloration of the ore from which it had been taken.
It is a fine specimen, he said.
You will see, said David, "both its size and weight."
And Connor knew; it was an exchange for the ivory head. He laid the nugget carelessly back upon the table, thankful that the gift had been offered with such suspicious bluntness.
It is a fine specimen, he repeated, "but I am not collecting."
There was a heavy cloud on the face of David as he took up the nugget and passed it into the hand of the waiting servant; but his glance was for Joseph, not Connor.
Joseph burst into speech for the first time, and the words tumbled out.
I do not want it. I shall not keep it. See, David; I give it up to him! He made a gesture with both hands as though he would push away the ape-head forever.
The master looked earnestly at Connor.
You hear?
The latter shrugged his shoulders, saying: "I've never taken back a gift, and I can't begin now."
Connor's heart was beating rapidly, from the excitement of the strange interview and the sense of his narrow escape from banishment. Because he had made the gift to Joseph he had an inalienable right, it seemed, to expect some return from Joseph's master—even permission to stay in the valley, if he insisted.
There was another of those uncomfortable pauses, with the master looking sternly into the night.
Zacharias, he said.
The servant stepped beside him.
Bring the whip—and the cup.
The eyes of Zacharias rolled once toward Joseph and then he was gone, running; he returned almost instantly with a seven foot blacksnake, oiled until it glistened. He put it in the hand of David, but only when Joseph stepped back, shuddering, and then turned and kneeled before David, the significance of that whip came home to Connor, sickening him. The whites of Joseph's eyes rolled at him and Connor stepped between Joseph and the whip.
Do you mean this? he gasped. "Do you mean to say that you are going to flog that poor fellow because he took a gift from me?"
From you it was a gift, answered the master, perfectly calm, "but to him it was a price. And to me it is a great trouble."
God! murmured Connor.
Do you call on him? asked the brown man severely. "He is only here in so far as I am the agent of his justice. Yet I trust it is not more His will than it is the will of David. Also, the heart of Joseph is stubborn and must be humbled. Tears are the sign of contrition, and the whip shall not cease to fall until Joseph weeps."
His glance pushed Connor back; the gambler saw the lash whirled, and he turned his back sharply before it fell. Even so, the impact of the lash on flesh cut into Connor, for he had only to take back the gift to end the flogging. He set his teeth. Could he give up his only hold on David and the Eden Grays? By the whizzing of the lash he knew that it was laid on with the full strength of that muscular arm. Now a horrible murmur from the throat of Joseph forced him to turn against his will.
The face of David was filled, not with anger, but with cruel disdain; under his flying lash the welts leaped up on the back of Joseph, but he, with his eyes shut and his head strained far back, endured. Only through his teeth, each time he drew breath, came that stifled moan, and he shuddered at each impact of the whip. Now his eyes opened, and through the mist of pain a brutal hatred glimmered at Connor. That flare of rage seemed to sap the last of his strength, for now his face convulsed, tears flooded down, and his head dropped. Instantly the hand of David paused.
Something had snapped in Connor at the same time that the head of Joseph fell, and while he wiped the wet from his face he only vaguely saw Joseph hurry down the corridor, with Zacharias carrying the whip behind.
But the master? There was neither cruelty nor anger in his face as he turned to the table and filled with milk the wooden cup which Zacharias had brought.
This is my prayer, he said quietly, "that in the justice of David there may never be the poison of David's wrath." 79
He drained the cup, broke a morsel of bread from the loaf and ate it. Next he filled the second cup and handed it to the gambler.
Drink.
Automatically Connor obeyed.
Eat.
In turn he tasted the bread.
And now, said the master, in the deep, calm voice, "you have drunk with David in his house, and he has broken bread with you. Hereafter may there be peace and good will between us. You have given a free gift to one of my people, and he who gives clothes to David's people keeps David from the shame of nakedness; and he who puts bread in the mouths of David's servants feeds David himself. Stay with me, therefore, Benjamin, until you find in the Garden the thing you desire, then take it and go your way. But until that time, what is David's is Benjamin's; your will be my will, and my way be your way."
He paused.
And now, Benjamin, you are weary?
Very tired.
Follow me.
It seemed well to Connor to remove himself from the eye of the master as soon as possible. Not that the host showed signs of anger, but just as one looks at a clear sky and forebodes hard weather because of misty horizons, so the gambler guessed the frown behind David's eyes. He was glad to turn into the door which was opened for him. But even though he guessed the danger, Connor could not refrain from tempting Providence with a speech of double meaning.
You are very kind, he said. "Good night, David."
May God keep you until the morning, Benjamin.
From the house of David, Joseph skulked down the terraces until he came to the two long buildings and entered the smaller of these. He crossed a patio, smaller than the court of David's house; but there, too, was the fountain in the center and the cool flooring of turf. Across this, and running under the dimly lighted arcade, Joseph reached a door which he tore open, slammed behind him again, and with his great head fallen upon his chest, stared at a little withered Negro who sat on a stool opposite the door. It was rather a low bench of wood than a stool; for it stood not more than six inches above the level of the floor. His shoes off, and his bare feet tucked under his legs, he sat tailorwise and peered up at the giant. The sudden opening of the door had set his loose blouse fluttering about the old man's skeleton body. The sleeves fell back from bony forearms with puckered skin. He was less a man than a receptacle of time. His temples sank in like the temples of a very old horse; his toothless mouth was crushed together by the pressure of the long bony jaw, below which the skin hung in a flap. But the fire still glimmered in the hollows of his eyes. A cheerful spirit lived in the grasshopper body. He was knitting with a pair of slender needles, never looking at his work, nor during the interview with Joseph did he once slacken his pace. The needles clicked with such swift precision that the work grew perceptibly, flowing slowly under his hands.
Meanwhile this death's head looked at the giant so steadily that Joseph seemed to regret his unceremonious entrance. He stood back against the door, fumbling its knob for a moment, but then his rage mastered him once more, and he burst into the tale of Connor's coming and the ivory head. He brought his story to an end by depositing the trinket before the ancient man and then stood back, his face still working, and waited with every show of confident curiosity.
As for the antique, his knitting needles continued to fly, but to view the little carving more closely he craned his skinny neck. At that moment, with his fallen features, his fleshless nose, he was a grinning mummy head. He remained gloating over the little image so long that Joseph stirred uneasily; but finally the grotesque lifted his head. It at once fell far back, the neck muscles apparently unable to support its weight. He looked more at the ceiling than at Joseph. His speech was a writhing of the lips and the voice a hollow murmur.
This, he said, "is the face of a great suhman. It is the face of the great suhman, Haneemar. It was many years ago that I knew him. It was a time so long ago that I do not know how to tell you. It was before your birth and the birth of your father. It was when I lived in a green country where the air is thick and sweet and the sun burns. There I knew Haneemar. He is a strong suhman. You see, his eyes are green; that is because he has the strength of the great snake that ties its tail around a branch and hangs down with its head as high as the breast of a man. Those snakes kill an antelope and eat it at a mouthful. Their eyes are green and so are the eyes of Haneemar. And you see that Haneemar has golden teeth. That is because he has eaten wisdom. He knows the meat of all things like a nut he can crack between his teeth. He is as strong as the snake which eats monkeys, and he is as wise as the monkeys that run from the snake and throw sticks from the tops of the trees. That is Haneemar.
There is no luck for the man who carries the face of Haneemar with him. That is why David used the whip. He knew Haneemar. Also, in the other days I remember that when a child was sick in the village they tied a goat in the forest and Haneemar came and ate the goat. If he ate the goat like a lion and left tooth marks on the bones then the child got well and lived. If he ate the goat like a panther and left the guts the child died. But if the goat was not eaten for one day then Haneemar came and ate the child instead. I remember this. There will be no luck for you while you carry Haneemar.
The big man had heard this speech with eyes that grew rounder and rounder. Now he caught up the little image and raised his arm to throw it through the window. But the old man hissed, and Joseph turned with a shudder.
You cannot throw Haneemar away, said the other. "Only when some one takes him freely will you be rid of him."
It is true, answered Joseph. "I remember the visitor would not take him back."
Then, said the old sage, "if the stranger will not take him back, bad luck has come into the Garden, for only the stranger would carry Haneemar out again. But do not give Haneemar to one of our friends, for then he will stay with us all. If you dig a deep hole and bury him in it, Haneemar may not be able to get out."
Joseph was beginning to swell with wrath.
The stranger has put a curse on me, he said. "Abraham, what shall I do to him? Teach me a curse to put on him!"
Hush! answered Abraham. "Those who pray to evil spirits are the slaves of the powers they pray to."
Then I shall take this Benjamin in my hands!
He made a gesture as though he were snapping a stick of dry wood.
You are the greater fool. Is not this Benjamin, this stranger, a guest of the master?
I shall steal him away by night in such a manner that he shall not make even the noise of a mouse when the cat breaks its back. I shall steal him away and David will never know.
The loose eyelids of the old man puckered and his glance became a ray of light.
The curse already works; Haneemar already is in your mind, Joseph. David will not know? Child, there is nothing that he does not know. He uses us. We are his tools. My mind is to him as my hand is to me. He comes inside my eyes; he knows what I think. And if old Abraham is nothing before David, what is Joseph? Hush! Let not a whisper go out! Do not even dare to think it. You have felt the whip of David, but you have not felt his hand when he is in anger. A wounded mountain lion is not so terrible as the rage of David; he would be to you as an ax at the root of a sapling. These things have happened before. I remember. Did not Boram once anger John? And was not Boram as great as Joseph? And did not John take Boram in his hands and conquer him and break him? Yes, and David is a greater body and a stronger hand than John. Also, his anger is as free as the running of an untaught colt. Remember, my son!
Joseph stretched out his enormous arms and his voice was a broken wail.
Oh, Abraham, Abraham, what shall I do?
Wait, said the old man quietly. "For waiting makes the spirit strong. Look at Abraham! His body has been dead these twenty years, but still his spirit lives."
But the curse of Haneemar, Abraham?
Haneemar is patient. Let Joseph be patient also.
Connor wakened in the gray hour of the morning, but beyond the window the world was much brighter than his room. The pale terraces went down to scattered trees, and beyond the trees was the water of the lake. Farther still the mountains rolled up into a brighter morning. A horse neighed out of the dawn; the sound came ringing to Connor, and he was suddenly eager to be outside.
In the patio the fountain was still playing. As for the house, he found it far less imposing than it had been when lantern light picked out details here and there. The walls and the clumsy arches were the disagreeable color of dried mud and all under the arcade was dismal shadow. But the lawn was already a faintly shining green, and the fountain went up above the ground shadow in a column of light. He passed on. The outside wall had that squat, crumbling appearance which every one knows who has been in Mexico—and through an avenue of trees he saw the two buildings between which he had ridden the night before. From the longer a man was leading one of the gray horses. This, then, was the stable; the building opposite it was a duplicate on a smaller scale of the house of David, and must be the servants' quarters.
Connor went on toward a hilltop which alone topped the site of the master's house; the crest was naked of trees, and over the tops of the surrounding ones Connor found that he commanded a complete view of the valley. The day before, looking from the far-off mountaintop, it had seemed to be a straight line very nearly, from the north to the south; now he saw that from the center both ends swung westward. The valley might be twelve miles long, and two or three wide, fenced by an unbroken wall of cliffs. Over the northern barrier poured a white line of water, which ran on through the valley in a river that widened above David's house into a spacious lake three or four miles long. The river began again from the end of the lake and continued straight to the base of the southern cliffs. Roads followed the swing of the river closely on each side, and the stream was bridged at each end of the lake. His angle of vision was so small that both extremities of the valley seemed a solid forest, but in the central portion he made out broad meadow lands and plowed fields checkering the groves. The house, as he had guessed the evening before, stood into the lake on a slender peninsula. And due west a narrow slit of light told of the gate into the Garden. It gave him a curiously confused emotion, as of a prisoner and spy in one.
He had walked back almost to the edge of the clearing when David, from the other side went up to the crest of the hill. Connor was already among the trees and he watched unobserved. The master of the Garden, at the top of the hill, paused and turned toward Connor. The gambler flushed; he was about to step out and hail his host when a second thought assured him that he could not have been noticed behind that screen of shrubbery and trunks; moreover the glance of David Eden passed high above him. It might have been the cry of a hawk that made him turn so sharply; but through several minutes he remained without moving either hand or head, and as though he were waiting. Even in the distance Connor marked the smile of happy expectation. If it had been another place and another man Connor would have thought it a lover waiting for his mistress.
But, above all, he was glad of the opportunity to see David and remain unseen. He realized that the evening before it had been difficult to look directly into David's face. He had carried away little more than impressions; of strength, dignity, a surface calm and strong passions under it; but now he was able to see the face. It was full of contradiction; a profile irregular and deeply cut, but the full face had a touch of nobility that made it almost handsome.
As he watched, Connor thought he detected a growing excitement in David—his head was raised, his smile had deepened. Perhaps he came here to rejoice in his possessions; but a moment later Connor realized that this could not be the case, for the gaze of the other must be fixed as high as the mountain peaks.
At that instant came the revelation; there was a stiffening of the whole body of David; his breast filled and he swayed forward and raised almost on tiptoe. Connor, by sympathy, grew tense—and then the miracle happened. Over the face of David fell a sudden radiance. His hair, dull black the moment before, now glistened with light, and the swarthy skin became a shining bronze; his lips parted as though he drank in strength and happiness out of that miraculous light.
The hard-headed Connor was staggered. Back on his mind rushed a score of details, the background of this picture. He remembered the almost superhuman strength of Joseph; he saw again the old servants withering with many years, but still bright-eyed, straight and agile. Perhaps they, too, knew how to stand here and drink in a mysterious light which filled their outworn bodies with youth of the spirit, at least. And David? Was not this the reason that he scorned the world? Here was his treasure past reckoning, this fountain of youth. Here was the explanation, too, of that intolerable brightness of his eye.
The gambler bowed his head.
When he looked up again his soul had traveled higher and lower in one instant than it had ever moved before; he was staring like a child. Above all, he wanted to see the face of David again, to examine that mysterious change, but the master was already walking down the hill and had almost reached the circle of the trees on the opposite side of the slope. But now Connor noted a difference everywhere surrounding him. The air was warmer; the wind seemed to have changed its fiber; and then he saw that the treetops opposite him were shaking and glistening in a glory of light. Connor went limp and leaned against a tree, laughing weakly, silently.
Hell, he said at length, recovering himself. "It was only the sunrise! And me—I thought—"
He began to laugh again, aloud, and the sound was caught up by the hillside and thrown back at him in a sharp echo. Connor went thoughtfully back to the house. In the patio he found the table near the fountain laid with a cloth, the wood scrubbed white, and on it the heavy earthenware. David Eden came in with the calm, the same eye, difficult to meet. Indeed, then and thereafter when he was with David, he found himself continually looking away, and resorting to little maneuvers to divert the glance of his host.
Good morrow, said David.
I have kept you waiting? asked Connor.
The master paused to make sure that he had understood the speech, then replied:
If I had been hungry I should have eaten.
There was no rebuff in that quiet statement, but it opened another door to Connor's understanding.
Take this chair, said David, moving it from the end of the table to the side. "Sitting here you can look through the gate of the patio and down to the lake. It is not pleasant to have four walls about one; but that is a thing which Isaac cannot understand."
The gambler nodded, and to show that he could be as unceremonious as his host, sat down without further words. He immediately felt awkward, for David remained standing. He broke a morsel from the loaf of bread, which was yet the only food on the table, and turned to the East with a solemn face.
Out of His hands from whom I take this food, said the master—"into His hands I give myself."
He sat down in turn, and Isaac came instantly with the breakfast. It was an astonishing menu to one accustomed to toast and coffee for the morning meal. On a great wooden platter which occupied half the surface of the table, Isaac put down two chickens, roasted brown. A horn-handled hunting knife, razor sharp, was the only implement at each place, and fingers must serve as forks. To David that was a small impediment. Under the deft edge of his knife the breast of one chicken divided rapidly; he ate the white slices like bread. Indeed, the example was easy to follow; the mountain air had given him a vigorous appetite, and when Connor next looked up it was at the sound of glass tinkling. He saw Isaac holding toward the master a bucket of water in which a bottle was immersed almost to the cork; David tried the temperature of the water with his fingers with a critical air, and then nodded to Isaac, who instantly drew the cork. A moment later red wine was trickling into Connor's cup. He viewed it with grateful astonishment, but David, poising his cup, looked across at his guest with a puzzled air.
In the old days, he said gravely, "when my masters drank they spoke to one another in a kindly fashion. It is now five years since a man has sat at my table, and I am moved to say this to you, Benjamin: it is pleasant to speak to another not as a master who must be obeyed, but as an equal who may be answered, and this is my wish, that if I have doubts of Benjamin, and unfriendly thoughts, they may disappear with the wine we drink."
Thank you, said Connor, and a thrill went through him as he met the eye of David. "That wish is my wish also—and long life to you, David."
There was a glint of pleasure in the face of David, and they drank together.
By Heaven, cried Connor, putting down the cup, "it is Médoc! It is Château Lafite, upon my life!"
He tasted it again.
And the vintage of '96! Is that true?
David shook his head.
I have never heard of Médoc or Château Lafite.
At least, said Connor, raising his cup and breathing the delicate bouquet, "this wine is Bordeaux you imported from France? The grapes which made this never grew outside of the Gironde!"
But David smiled.
In the north of the Garden, he said, "there are some low rolling hills, Benjamin; and there the grapes grow from which we make this wine."
Connor tasted the claret again. His respect for David had suddenly mounted; the hermit seemed nearer to him.
You grew these grapes in your valley? he repeated softly.
This very bottle we are drinking, said David, warming to the talk. "I remember when the grapes of this vintage were picked; I was a boy, then."
I believe it, answered Connor solemnly, and he raised the cup with a reverent hand, so that the sun filtered into the red and filled the liquid with dancing points of light.
It is a full twenty years old.
It is twenty-five years old, said David calmly, "and this is the best vintage in ten years." He sighed. "It is now in its perfect prime and next year it will not be the same. You shall help me finish the stock, Benjamin."
You need not urge me, smiled Connor.
He shook his head again.
But that is one wine I could have vowed I knew—Médoc. At least, I can tell you the soil it grows in.
The brows of the host raised; he began to listen intently.
It is a mixture of gravel, quartz and sand, continued Connor.
True! exclaimed David, and looked at his guest with new eyes.
And two feet underneath there is a stone for subsoil which is a sort of sand or fine gravel cemented together.
David struck his hands together, frankly delighted.
This is marvelous, he said, "I would say you have seen the hills."
I paid a price for what I know, said Connor rather gloomily. "But north of Bordeaux in France there is a strip of land called the Médoc—the finest wine soil in the world, and there I learned what claret may be—there I tasted Château Lafite and Château Datour. They are both grown in the commune of Pauillac."
France? echoed David, with the misty eyes of one who speaks of a lost world. "Ah, you have traveled?"
Wherever fine horses race, said Connor, and turned back to the chicken.
Think, said David suddenly, "for five years I have lived in silence. There have been voices about me, but never mind; and now you here, and already you have taken me at a step halfway around the world.
Ah, Benjamin, it is possible for an emptiness to be in a manlike hunger, you understand, and yet different—and nothing but a human voice can fill the space.
Have you no wish to leave your valley for a little while and see the world? said Connor, carelessly.
He watched gloomily, while an expression of strong distaste grew on the face of David. He was still frowning when he answered:
We will not speak of it again.
He jerked his head up and cleared away his frown with an effort.
To speak with one man in the Garden—that is one thing, he went on, "but to hear the voices of two jabbering and gibbering together—grinning like mindless creatures—throwing their hands out to help their words, as poor Joseph does—bah, it is like drinking new wine; it makes one sick. It made me so five times."
Five times? said Connor. "You have traveled a good deal, then?"
Too much, sighed David. "And each time I returned from Parkin Crossing I have cared less for what lies outside the valley."
Parkin Crossing?
I have been told that there are five hundred people in the city, said David, pronouncing the number slowly. "But when I was there, I was never able to count more than fifty, I believe."
Connor found it necessary to cough.
And each time you have left the valley you have gone no farther than Parkin Crossing? he asked mildly, his spirits rising.
And is not that far enough? replied the master, frowning. "It is a ride between dawn and dark."
What is that in miles?
A hundred and thirty miles, said David, "or thereabout."
Connor closed his eyes twice and then: "You rode that distance between dawn and dark?"
Yes.
Over these mountains most of the way? he continued gently.
About half the distance, answered David.
And how long—queried Connor hoarsely—"how long before your horse was able to make the trip back after you had ridden a hundred and thirty miles in twelve hours?"
The next day, said David, "I always return."
In the same time?
In the same time, said David.
To doubt that simple voice was impossible. But Connor knew horses, and his credence was strained to the breaking point.
I should like very much, he said, "to see a horse that had covered two hundred and sixty miles within forty-eight hours."
Thirty-six, corrected David.
Connor swallowed.
Thirty-six, he murmured faintly.
I shall send for him, said the master, and struck the little gong which stood on one side of the table. Isaac came hurrying with that light step which made Connor forget his age.
Bring Glani, said David.
Isaac hurried across the patio, and David continued talking to his guest.
Glani is not friendly; but you can see him from a distance.
And yet, said Connor, "the other horses in the Garden seem as friendly as pet dogs. Is Glani naturally vicious?"
His is of other blood, replied David. "He is the blood of the great mare Rustir, and all in her line are meant for one man only. He is more proud than all the rest."
He leaned back in his chair and his face, naturally stern, grew tender.
Since he was foaled no hand has touched him except mine; no other has ridden him, groomed him, fed him.
I'll be glad to see him, said Connor quietly. "For I have never yet found a horse which would not come to my hand."
As he spoke, he looked straight into the eyes of David, with an effort, and at the same time took from the pocket of his coat a little bulbous root which was always with him. A Viennese who came from a life half spent in the Orient had given him a small box of those herbs as a priceless present. For the secret was that when the root was rubbed over the hands it left a faint odor on the skin, like freshly cut apples; and to a horse that perfume was irresistible. They seemed to find in it a picture of sweet clover, blossoming, and clean oats finely headed; yet to the nostrils of a man the scent was barely perceptible. Under cover of the table the gambler rubbed his hands swiftly with the little root and dropped it back into his pocket. That was the secret of the power over Abra which had astonished the two old men at the gate. A hundred times, in stable and paddock, Connor had gone up to the most intractable race horses and looked them over at close hand, at his leisure. The master seemed in nowise disturbed by the last remark of Connor.
That is true of old Abraham, also, he said. "There was never a colt foaled in the valley which Abraham had not been able to call away from its mother; he can read the souls of them all with a touch of his withered hands. Yes, I have seen that twenty times. But with Glani it is different. He is as proud as a man; he is fierce as a wolf; and Abraham himself cannot touch the neck of my horse. Look!"
Under the arch of the entrance Connor saw a gray stallion, naked of halter or rope, with his head raised. From the shadow he came shining into the sunlight; the wind raised his mane and tail in ripples of silver. Ben Connor rose slowly from his chair. Horses were religion to him; he felt now that he had stepped into the inner shrine.
When he was able to speak he turned slowly toward David. "Sir," he said hoarsely, "that is the greatest horse ever bred."
It was far more than a word of praise; it was a confession of faith which surrounded the moment and the stallion with solemnity, and David flushed like a proud boy.
There he stands, he said. "Now make him come to your hand."
It recalled Connor to his senses, that challenge, and feeling that his mind had been snatched away from him for a moment, almost that he had been betrayed, he looked at David with a pale face.
He is too far away, he said. "Bring him closer."
There was one of those pauses which often come before crises, and Connor knew that by the outcome of this test he would be judged either a man or a cheap boaster.
I shall do this thing, said the master of the Garden of Eden. "If you bring Glani to your hand I shall give him to you to ride while you stay in the valley. Listen! No other man had so much as laid a hand on the withers of Glani, but if you can make him come to you of his own free will—"
No, said Connor calmly. "I shall make him come because my will is stronger than his."
Impossible! burst out David.
He controlled himself and looked at Connor with an almost wistful defiance.
I hold to this, he said. "If you can bring Glani to your hand, he is yours while you stay in the Garden—for my part, I shall find another mount."
Connor slipped his right hand into his pocket and crushed the little root against the palm.
Come hither, Glani, commanded the master. The stallion came up behind David's chair, looking fearlessly at the stranger.
Now, said David with scorn. "This is your time."
I accept it, replied Connor.
He drew his hand from his pocket, and leaning over the table, he looked straight into the eye of the stallion. But in reality, it was only to bring that right hand closer; the wind was stirring behind him, and he knew that it wafted the scent of the mysterious root straight to Glani.
That is impossible, said David, following the glance of Connor with a frown. "A horse has no reasoning brain. Silence cannot make him come to you."
However, said Connor carelessly, "I shall not speak."
The master set his teeth over unuttered words, and glancing up to reassure himself, his face altered swiftly, and he whispered:
Now, you four dead masters, bear witness to this marvel! Glani feels the influence!
For the head of Glani had raised as he scented the wind. Then he circled the table and came straight toward Connor. Within a pace, the scent of strange humanity must have drowned the perfume of the root; he sprang away, catlike and snorted his suspicion.
David heaved a great sigh of relief.
You fail! he cried, and snatching up a bottle of wine, he poured out a cup. "Brave Glani! I drink this in your honor!"
Every muscle in David's strong body was quivering, as though he were throwing all the effort of his will on the side of the stallion.
You think I have failed? asked Connor softly.
Admit it, said David.
His flush was gone and he was paler than Connor now; he seemed to desire with all his might that the test should end; there was a fiber of entreaty in his voice.
Admit it, Benjamin, as I admit your strange power.
I have hardly begun. Give me quiet.
David flung himself into his chair, his attention jerking from Glani to Connor and back. It was at this critical moment that a faint breeze puffed across the patio, carrying the imperceptible fragrance of the root straight to Glani. Connor watched the stallion prick his ears, and he blessed the quaint old Viennese with all his heart.
The first approach of Glani had been in the nature of a feint, but now that he was sure, he went with all the directness of unspoiled courage straight to the stranger. He lowered the beautiful head and thrust out his nose until it touched the hand of Connor. The gambler saw David shudder.
You have conquered, he said, forcing out the words.
Take Glani; to me he is now a small thing. He is yours while you stay in the Garden. Afterward I shall give him to one of my servants.
Connor stood up, and though at his rising Glani started back, he came to Connor again, following that elusive scent. To David it seemed the last struggle of the horse before completely submitting to the rule of a new master. He rose in turn, trembling with shame and anger, while Connor stood still, for about this stranger drifted a perfume of broad green fields with flowering tufts of grass, the heads well-seeded and sweet. And when a hand touched his withers, the stallion merely turned his head and nuzzled the shoulder of Connor inquisitively.
With his hand on the back of the horse, the gambler realized for the first time Glani's full stature. He stood at least fifteen-three, though his perfect proportions made him seem smaller at a distance. No doubt he was a giant among the Eden Grays, Connor thought to himself. The gallop on Abra the night before had been a great moment, but a ride on Glani was a prospect that took his breath. He paused. Perhaps it was the influence of a forgotten Puritan ancestor, casting a shade on every hope of happiness. With his weight poised for the leap to the back of the stallion, Connor looked at David. The master was in a silent agony, and the hand of Connor fell away from the horse. He was afraid.
I can't do it, he said frankly.
Jump on his back, urged David bitterly. "He's no more to you than a yearling to the hands of Abraham."
Connor realized now how far he had gone; he set about retracing the wrong steps.
It may appear that way, but I can't trust myself on his back. You understand?
He stepped back with a gesture that sent Glani bounding away.
You see, went on Connor, "I never could really understand him."
The master seized with eagerness upon this gratifying suggestion.
It is true, he said, "that you are a little afraid of Glani. That is why none of the rest can handle him."
He stopped in the midst of his self-congratulation and directed at Connor one of those glances which the gambler could never learn to meet.
Also, said David, "you make me happy. If you had sat on his back I should have felt your weight on my own shoulders and spirit."
He laid a hand on Connor's shoulder, but the gambler had won and lost too often with an impenetrable face to quail now. He even managed to smile.
Hearken, said David. "My masters taught me many things, and everything they taught me must be true, for they were only voices of a mind out of another world. Yet, in spite of them," he went on kindly, "I begin to feel a kinship with you, Benjamin. Come, we will walk and talk together in the cool of the morning. Glani!"
The gray had wandered off to nibble at the turf; he whirled and came like a thrown lance.
Glani, said David, "is usually the only living thing that walks with me in the morning; but now, my friend, we are three."
In the mid-afternoon of that day Connor rested in his room, and David rested in the lake, floating with only his nose and lips out of water. Toward the center of the lake even the surface held the chill of the snows, but David floated in the warm shallows and looked up to the sky through a film of water. The tiny ripples became immense air waves that rushed from mountain to mountain, dashed the clouds up and down, and then left the heavens placid and windless.
He grew weary of this placidity, and as he turned upon one side he heard a prolonged hiss from the shore. David rolled with the speed of a water moccasin and headed in with his arm flashing in a powerful stroke that presently brought him to the edge of the beach. He rose in front of old Abraham.
A painter should have seen them together—the time-dried body of the old man and the exuberant youth of the master. He looked on the servant with a stern kindness.
What are you doing here without a covering for your head while the sun is hot? Did they let you come of their own accord, Abraham?
I slipped away, chuckled Abraham. "Isaac was in the patio, but I went by him like a hawk-shadow. Then I ran among the trees. Hat? Well, no more have you a hat, David."
The master frowned, but his displeasure passed quickly and he led the way to the lowest terrace. They sat on the soft thick grass, with their feet in the hot sand of the beach, and as the wind stirred the tree above them a mottling of shadow moved across them.
You have come to speak privately with me, said David. "What is it?"
But Abraham embraced his skinny knees and smiled at the lake, his jaw falling.
It's not what it was, he said, and wagged his head. "It's a sad lake compared to what it was."
David controlled his impatience.
Tell me how it is changed.
The color, said the old man. "Why, once, with a gallon of that blue you could have painted the whole sky." He shaded his face to look up, but so doing his glance ventured through the branches and close to the white-hot circle of the sun. His head dropped and he leaned on one arm.
Look at the green of the grass, suggested David. "It will rest your eyes."
Do you think my eyes are weak? No, I dropped my head to think how the world has fallen off in the last fifty years. It was all different in the days of John. But that was before you came to the valley.
The sky was not the same? queried the master.
And men, also, said Abraham instantly. "Ho, yes! John was a man; you will not see his like in these days."
David flushed, but he held back his first answer. "Perhaps."
There is no 'perhaps.'
Abraham spoke with a decision that brought his jaw close up under his nose.
He is my master, insisted Abraham, and, smiling suddenly, he whispered: "Mah ol' Marse Johnnie Cracken!"
What's that? called David.
Abraham stared at him with unseeing eyes. A mist of years drifted between them, and now the old man came slowly out of the past and found himself seated on the lawn in a lonely valley with great, naked mountains piled around it.
What did you say? repeated David.
Abraham hastily changed the subject.
In those days if a stranger came to the Garden of Eden he did not stay. Aye, and in those days Abraham could have taken the strongest by the neck and pitched him through the gates. I remember when the men came over the mountains—long before you were born. Ten men at the gate, I remember, and they had guns. But when my master told them to go away they looked at him and they looked at each other, but after a while they went away.
Abraham rocked in an ecstasy.
No man could face my master. I remember how he sat on his horse that day.
It was Rustir? asked David eagerly.
She was the queen of horses, replied the old man indirectly, "and he was the king of men; there are no more men like my master, and there are no more horses like Rustir."
There was a pause, then David spoke.
John was a good man and a strong man, he said, looking down at his own brown hands. "And Rustir was a fine mare, but it is foolish to call her the best."
There was never a horse like Rustir, said the old man monotonously.
Bah! What of Glani?
Yes, that is a good colt.
A good colt! Come, Abraham! Have you ever opened your dim eyes and really looked at him? Name one fault.
I have said Glani is a good colt, repeated Abraham, worried.
Come, come! You have said Rustir was better.
Glani is a good colt, but too heavy in the forehand. Far too heavy there.
The restraint of David snapped.
It is false! Ephraim, Jacob, they all say that Glani is the greatest.
They change like the masters, grumbled Abraham. "The servants change. They flatter and the master believes. But my master had an eye—he looked through a man like an eagle through mist. When I stood before my master my soul was naked; a wind blew through me. But I say John was one man; and there are no other horses like his mare Rustir. My master is silent; other men have words as heavy as their hands."
Peace, Abraham, peace. You shame me. The Lord was far from me, and I spoke in anger, and I retract it.
A word is a bullet that strikes men down, David. Let the wind blow on your face when your heart is hot.
I confess my sin, said David, but his jaw was set.
Confess your sins in silence.
It is true.
He looked at Abraham as if he would be rid of him.
You are angry to-day, Abraham.
The law of the Garden has been broken.
By whom?
David has unbarred the gate.
Yes, to one man.
It is enough.
Peace, Abraham. You are old and look awry. This one man is no danger. I could break him in my hands—so!
A strong man may be hopeless against words, said the oracular old man. "With a word he may set you on fire."
Do you think me a tinder and dry grass? Set me on fire with a word?
An old man who looks awry had done it with a word. And see—again!
There was a silence filled only by the sound of David's breathing and the slow curling of the ripples on the beach.
You try me sorely, Abraham.
Good steel will bend, but not break.
Say no more of this man. He is harmless.
Is that a command, David?
No—but at least be brief.
Then I say to you, David, that he has brought evil into the valley.
The master burst into sudden laughter that carried away his anger.
He brought no evil, Abraham. He brought only the clothes on his back.
The serpent brought into the first Garden only his skin and his forked tongue.
There was a devil in that serpent.
Aye, and what of Benjamin?
Tell me your proofs, and let them be good ones, Abraham.
I am old, said Abraham sadly, "but I am not afraid."
I wait.
Benjamin brought an evil image with him. It is the face of a great suhman, and he tempted Joseph with it, and Joseph fell.
The trinket of carved bone? asked David.
The face of a devil! Who was unhappy among us until Benjamin came? But with his charm he bought Joseph, and now Joseph walks alone and thinks unholy thoughts, and when he is spoken to he looks up first with a snake's eye before he answers. Is not this the work of Benjamin?
What would you have me do? Joseph has already paid for his fault with the pain of the whip.
Cast out the stranger, David.
David mused. At last he spoke. "Look at me, Abraham!"
The other raised his head and peered into the face of David, but presently his glance wavered and turned away.
See, said David. "After Matthew died there was no one in the Garden who could meet my glance. But Benjamin meets my eye and I feel his thoughts before he speaks them. He is pleasant to me, Abraham."
The voice of the serpent was pleasant to Eve, said Abraham.
The nostrils of David quivered.
What is it that you call the trinket?
A great suhman. My people feared and worshiped him in the old days. A strong devil!
An idol! said David. "What! Abraham, do you still worship sticks and stones? Have you been taught no more than that? Do you put a mind in the handiwork of a man?"
The head of Abraham fell.
I am weak before you, David, he said. "I have no power to speak except the words of my master, which I remember. Now I feel you rise against me, and I am dust under your feet. Think of Abraham, then, as a voice in the wind, but hear that voice. I know, but I know not why I know, or how I know, there is evil in the valley, David. Cast it out!"
I have broken bread and drunk milk with Benjamin. How can I drive him out of the valley?
Let him stay in the valley if you can keep him out of your mind. He is in your thoughts. He is with you like a shadow.
He is not stronger than I, said the master.
Evil is stronger than the greatest.
It is cowardly to shrink from him before I know him.
Have no fear of him—but of yourself. A wise man trembleth at his own strength.
Tell me, Abraham—does the seed of Rustir know men? Do they know good and evil?
Yes, for Rustir knew my master.
And has Glani ever bowed his head for any man saving for me?
He is a stubborn colt. Aye, he troubled me!
But I tell you, Abraham, he came to the hand of Benjamin!
The old man blinked at the master.
Then there was something in that hand, he said at last.
There was nothing, said David in triumph. "I saw the bare palm."
It is strange.
You are wrong. Admit it.
I must think, David.
Yes, said the master kindly. "Here is my hand. Rise, and come with me to your house."
They went slowly, slowly up the terrace, Abraham clinging to the arm of the master.
Also, said David, "he has come for only a little time. He will soon be gone. Speak no more of Benjamin."
I have already spoken almost enough, said Abraham. "You will not forget."
Although David was smiling when he left Abraham, he was serious when he turned from the door of the old man. He went to Connor's room, it was empty. He summoned Zacharias.
The men beyond the mountains are weak, said David, "and when I left him a little time since Benjamin was sighing and sleepy. But now he is not in his room. Where is he, Zacharias?"
Shakra came into the patio and neighed, Zacharias answered, "and at that Benjamin came out, rubbing his eyes. 'My friend,' said he to me, and his voice was smooth—not like those voices—"
Peace, Zacharias, said David. "Leave this talk of his voice and tell me where he is gone."
Away from the house, said the old man sullenly.
The master knitted his brows.
You old men, he said, "are like yearlings who feel the sap running in their legs in the spring. You talk as they run—around and around. Continue."
Zacharias sulked as if he were on the verge of not speaking at all. But presently his eye lighted with his story.
Benjamin, he went on, "said to me, 'My friend, that is a noble mare.'
"
'She is a good filly,' said I. 'With a hundred and ten up,' said Benjamin, 'she would make a fast track talk.'""
"
What? said David.
I do not know the meaning of his words, said the old servant, "but I have told them as he said them."
He is full of strange terms, murmured David. "Continue."
He went first to one side of Shakra and then to the other. He put his hand into his coat and seemed to think. Presently he stretched out his hand and called her. She came to him slowly.
Wonderful!
That was my thought, nodded Zacharias.
Why do you stop? cried David.
Because I am talking around and around, like a running yearling, said Zacharias ironically. "However, he stood back at length and combed the forelock of Shakra with his fingers. 'Tell me, Zacharias,' he said, 'if this is not the sister of Glani?'"
He guessed so much? It is strange!
Then he looked in her mouth and said that she was four years old.
He is wise in horses, indeed.
"
When he turned away Shakra followed him; he went to his room and came out again, carrying the saddle with which he rode Abra. He put this on her back and a rope around her neck. 'Will the master be angry if I ride her?' he asked. I told him that she was first ridden only three months before to-day, and that she must not be ridden more than fifty miles now in a day.
"
He looked a long time at me, then said he would not ride farther than that. Then he went galloping down the road to the south.
Good! said the master, and sent a long whistle from the patio; it was pitched as shrill and small as the scream of a hawk when the hawk itself cannot be seen in the sky.
Zacharias ran into the house, and when he came out again bringing a pad Glani was already in the patio.
David took the pad and cinched it on the back of the stallion.
And when Shakra began to gallop, said Zacharias, "Benjamin cried out."
What did he say?
Nothing.
Zacharias, men do not cry out without speaking.
Nevertheless, said Zacharias, "it was like the cry of a wolf when they hunt along the cliffs in winter and see the young horses and the cattle in the Garden below them. It was a cry, and there was no spoken word in it."
The master bit his lip.
Abraham has been talking folly to you, he said; and, springing on the back of the stallion, he raced out of the patio and on to the south road with his long, black hair whipping straight out behind his head.
At length the southern wall rose slowly over the trees, and a deep murmur which had begun about them as soon as they left the house, light as the humming of bees, increasing as they went down the valley, now became a great rushing noise. It was like a great wind in sound; one expected the push of a gale, coming out from the trees, but there was only the river which ran straight at the cliff, split solid rock, and shot out of sunlight into a black cavern. Beside this gaping mouth of rock stood Connor with Shakra beside him. Twice the master called, but Connor could not hear.
The tumbling river would have drowned a volley of musketry. Only when David touched his shoulder did Connor turn a gloomy face. They took their horses across the bridge which passed over the river a little distance from the cliff, and rode down the farther side of the valley until the roar sank behind them. A few barriers of trees reduced it to the humming which on windless days was picked up by echoes and reached the house of David with a solemn murmur.
I thought you would rest, said David, when they were come to a place of quiet, and the horses cantered lightly over the road with that peculiar stride, at once soft and reaching, which Connor was beginning to see as the chief characteristic of the Eden Gray.
I have rested more in two minutes on the back of Shakra than I could rest in two hours on my bed.
It was like disarming a father by praise of his son.
She has a gentle gait, smiled David.
I tell you, man, she's a knockout!
A knockout?
The gambler added hastily: "Next to Glani the best horse I have seen."
You are right. Next to Glani the best in the valley.
In the world, said Connor, and then gave a cry of wonder.
They had come through an avenue of the eucalyptus trees, and now they reached an open meadow, beyond which aspens trembled and flashed silver under a shock from the wind. Half the meadow was black, half green; for one of the old men was plowing. He turned a rich furrow behind him, and the blackbirds followed in chattering swarms in their hunt for worms. The plow team was a span of slender-limbed Eden Grays. They walked lightly with plow, shaking their heads at the blackbirds, and sometimes they touched noses in that cheery, dumb conversation of horses. The plow turned down the field with the sod curling swiftly behind. The blackbirds followed. There were soldier-wings among them making flashes of red, and all the swarm scolded.
David, said Connor when he could speak, "you might as well harness lightning to your plow. Why in the name of God, man, don't you get mules for this work?"
The master looked to the ground, for he was angered.
It is not against His will that I work them at the plow, he answered. "He has not warned me against it."
Who hasn't?
Our Father whose name you spoke. Look! They are not unhappy, Jurith and Rajima, of the blood of Aliriz.
He whistled, whereat the off mare tossed her head and whinnied.
By Heaven, she knows you at this distance! gasped Connor.
Which is only to say that she is not a fool. Did I not sit with her three days and three nights when she was first foaled? That was twenty-five years ago; I was a child then.
Connor, staring after the high, proud head of Jurith, sighed. The horses started on at a walk which was the least excellent gait in the Eden Grays. Their high croups and comparatively low withers, their long hindlegs and the shorter forelegs, gave them a waddling motion with the hind quarters apparently huddling the forehand along.
Indeed, they seemed designed in every particular for the gallop alone. But Glani was an exception. Just as in size he appeared a freak among the others, so in his gaits all things were perfectly proportioned. Connor, with a deep, quiet delight, watched the big stallion stepping freely. Shakra had to break into a soft trot now and then to catch up.
Let us walk, said David. "The run is for when a man feels with the hawk in the sky; the gallop is for idle pleasure; the trot is an ugly gait, for distance only; but a walk is the gait when two men speak together. In this manner Matthew and I went up and down the valley roads. Alas, it is five years since I have walked my horse! Is it not, Glani, my king? And now, Benjamin, tell me your trouble."
There is no trouble, said Connor.
But David smiled, saying: "We are brothers in Glani, Benjamin. To us alone he has given his head. Therefore speak freely."
Look back, said Connor, feeling that the crisis had come and that he must now put his fortune to the touch.
David turned on the stallion. "What do you see?"
I see old Elijah. He drives the two mares, and the furrow follows them—the blackbirds also.
Do you see nothing else?
I see the green meadow and the sky with a cloud in it; I see the river yonder and the aspens flash as the wind strikes them.
And do you hear nothing?
I hear the falling of the Jordan and the cry of the birds. Also, Elijah has just spoken to Rajima. Ah, she is lazy for a daughter of Aliriz!
Do you wish to know what I see and hear, David?
If it is your pleasure, brother.
I see a blue sky like this, with the wind and the clouds in it and all that stuff—
All of what?
And I see also, continued Connor, resolving to watch his tongue, "thousands of people, acres of men and women."
David was breathless with interest. He had a way of opening his eyes and his mind like a child.
We are among them; they jostle us; we can scarcely breathe. There is a green lawn below us; we cannot see the green, it is so thickly covered with men. They have pulled out their wallets and they have money in their hands.
What is it? muttered David. "For my thoughts swim in those waves of faces."
I see, went on Connor, "a great oval road fenced on each side, with colored posts at intervals. I see horses in a line, dancing up and down, turning about—"
Ah, horses!
Kicking at each other.
So? Are there such bad manners among them?
But what each man is trembling for, and what each man has risked his money upon, is this question: Which of all those is the fastest horse? Think! The horses which fret in that line are the finest money can buy. Their blood lines are longer than the blood lines of kings. They are all fine muscles and hair-trigger nerves. They are poised for the start. And now—
Benjamin, is there such love of horses over the mountains? Listen! Fifty thousand men and women breathe with those racers.
I know. There was a glint in the eyes of David. "When two horses match their speed—"
Some men have wagered all their money. They have borrowed, they have stolen, to get what they bet. But there are two men only who bet on one of the horses. You, David, and I!
Ha? But money is hard to come by.
We ask them the odds, continued Connor. "For one dollar we shall take a hundred if our horse wins—odds of a hundred to one! And we wager. We wager the value of all we have. We wager the value of the Garden of Eden itself!"
It is madness, Benjamin!
Look closer! See them at the post. There's the Admiral. There's Fidgety—that tall chestnut. There's Glorious Polly—the little bay. The greatest stake horses in the country. The race of the year. But the horse we bet on, David, is a horse which none of the rest in that crowd knows. It is a horse whose pedigree is not published. It is a small horse, not more than fourteen-three. It stands perfectly still in the midst of that crowd of nervous racers. On its back is an old man.
But can the horse win? And who is the old man?
On the other horses are boys who have starved until they are wisps with only hands for the reins of a horse and knees to keep on his back. They have stirrups so short that they seem to be floating above the racers. But on the back of the horse on which we are betting there is only an old, old man, sitting heavily.
His name! His name! David cried.
Elijah! And the horse is Jurith!
No, no! Withdraw the bets! She is old.
They are off! The gray mare is not trained for the start. She is left standing far behind.
Ah! David groaned.
Fifty thousand people laughing at the old gray mare left at the post!
I see it! I hear it!
She's too short in front; too high behind. She's a joke horse. And see the picture horses! Down the back stretch! The fifty thousand have forgotten the gray, even to laugh at her. The pack drives into the home stretch. There's a straight road to the finish. They straighten out. They get their feet. They're off for the wire!
The voice of Connor had risen to a shrill cry. "But look! Look! There's a streak of gray coming around the turn. It's the mare! It's old Jurith!"
Jurith!
"
No awkwardness now! She spreads herself out and the posts disappear beside her. She stretches down low and the rest come back to her. Fine horses; they run well. But Jurith is a racing machine. She's on the hip of the pack! Look at the old man all the thousand were laughing at. He sits easily in the saddle. He has no whip. His reins are loose. And then he uses the posts ahead of him. He leans over and speaks one word in the ear of the gray mare. By the Lord, she was walking before; she was cantering! Now she runs! Now she runs! And the fifty thousand are dumb, white. A solid wall of faces covered with white-wash! D'you see? They're sick! And then all at once they know they're seeing a miracle. They have been standing up ever since the horses entered the home-stretch. Now they climb on one another's shoulders. They forget all about thousands—the hundreds of thousands of dollars which they are going to lose. They only know that they are seeing a great horse. And they love that new, great horse. They scream as they see her come. Women break into tears as the old man shoots past the grand stand. Men shriek and hug each other. They dance.
""
The gray streak shoots on. She is past the others. She is rushing for the finish wire as no horse ever ran before. She is away. One length, two lengths, six lengths of daylight show between her and the rest. She gallops past the finish posts with Elijah looking back at the others! She has won! You have won, David. I have won. We are rich. Happy. The world's before us. David, do you see?""
"
Is it possible? But no, Benjamin, not Jurith. Some other, perhaps, Shakra—Glani—
No, we would take Jurith—twenty-five years old!
Connor's last words trailed off into hysterical laughter.
David was still flushed with the excitement of the tale, and he was perplexed and troubled when Connor's strange, high laughter brought to an abrupt end the picture they had both lived in.
The gambler saw the frown on David's brow, and with an effort he made himself suddenly grave, though he was still pale and shaking.
David, this is the reason Jurith can win. Somewhere in the past there was a freak gray horse. There are other kinds of freaks; oranges had seeds in 'em; all at once up pops a tree that has seedless fruit. People plant shoots from it. There you have the naval orange, all out of one tree. It's the same way with that gray horse. It was a freak; had a high croup and muscles as stretchy as India-rubber, and strong—like the difference between the muscles of a mule and the muscles of most horses. That's what that first horse was. He was bred and the get came into this valley. They kept improving—and the result is Glani! The Eden Gray, David, is the finest horse in the world because it's a different and a better horse!
The master paused for some time, and Connor knew he was deep in thought. Finally he spoke:
But if we know the speed of the Eden Grays, why should we go out into the world and take the money of other men because they do not know how fast our horses run?
Connor made sure the master was serious and nerved himself for the second effort.
What do you wish, David?
In what measure, Benjamin?
The sky's the limit! I say, what do you wish? The last wish that was in your head.
Shakra stumbled a little while ago; I wished for a smoother road.
David, with the money we win on the tracks we'll tear up these roads, cut trenches, fill 'em with solid blocks of rock, lay 'em over with asphalt, make 'em as smooth as glass! What else?
You jest, Benjamin. That is a labor for a thousand men.
I say, it's nothing to what we'll do. What else do you want? Turn your mind loose—open up your eyes and see something that's hard to get.
Every wish is a regret, and why should I fail of gratitude to God by making my wishes? Yet, I have been weak, I confess. I have sometimes loathed the crumbling walls of my house. I have wished for a tall chamber—on the floor a covering which makes no sound, colors about me—crystal vases for my flowers—music when I come—
Stop there! You see that big white cliff? I'll have that stone cut in chunks as big as you and your horse put together. I'll have 'em piled on a foundation as strong as the bottom of those hills. You see the way those mountain-tops walk into the sky? That's how the stairways will step up to the front of your house and put you out on a big terrace with columns scooting up fifty feet, and when you walk across the terrace a couple of great big doors weighing about a ton apiece will drift open and make a whisper when you mosey in. And when you get inside you'll start looking up and up, but you'll get dizzy before your eyes hit the ceiling; and up there you'll see a lighting stunt that looks like a million icicles with the sun behind 'em.
He paused an instant for breath and saw David smiling in a hazy pleasure.
I follow you, he said softly. "Go on!" And his hand stretched out as though to open a door.
What I've told you about is only a beginning. Turn yourself loose; dream, and I'll turn your dream into stone and color, and fill up your windows with green and gold and red glass till you'll think a rainbow has got all tangled up there! I'll give you music that'll make you forget to think, and when you think I'll give you a room so big that you'll have silence with an echo to it.
All this for my horses?
Send one of the grays—just one, and let me place the wagers. You don't even have to risk your own money. I've made a slough of it betting on things that weren't lead pipe cinches like this. I made on Fidgety Midget at fifty to one. I made on Gosham at eight to one. Nobody told me how to bet on 'em. I know a horse—that's all! You stay in the Garden; I take one of the grays; I bring her back in six months with more coin than she can pack, and we split it fifty-fifty. You furnish the horse. I furnish the jack. Is it a go?
A bird stopped above them, whistled and dipped away over the treetops. David turned his head to follow the trailing song, and Connor realized with a sick heart that he had failed to sweep his man off his feet.
Would you have me take charity? asked David at length.
It seemed to Connor that there was a smile behind this. He himself burst into a roar of laughter.
Sure, it sounds like charity. They'll be making you a gift right enough. There isn't a horse on the turf that has a chance with one of the grays! But they'll bet their money like fools.
Would it not be a sin, then?
What sin? asked Connor roughly. "Don't they grab the coin of other people? Does the bookie ask you how much coin you have and if you can afford to lose it? No, he's out to get all that he can grab. And we'll go out and do some grabbing in turn. Oh, they'll squeal when we turn the screw, but they'll kick through with the jack. No fear, Davie!"
Whatever sins may be theirs, Benjamin, those sins need not be mine.
Connor was dumb.
Because they are foolish, said David, "should I take advantage of their folly? A new man comes into the valley. He sees Jurith, and notices that she runs well in spite of her years. He says to me: 'This mare will run faster than your stallion. I have money and this ring upon my finger which I will risk against one dollar of your money; If the mare beats Glani I take your dollar. If Glani beats the mare, you take my purse and my ring; I have no other wealth. It will ruin me, but I am willing to be ruined if Jurith is not faster than Glani.
Suppose such foolish man were to come to me, Benjamin, would I not say to him: 'No, my friend. For I understand better than you, both Jurith and Glani!' Tell me therefore, Benjamin, that you have tempted me toward a sin, unknowing.
It made Connor think of the stubbornness of a woman, or of a priest. It was a quiet assurance which could only be paralleled from a basis of religion or instinct. He knew the danger of pressing too hard upon this instinct or blind faith. He swallowed an oath, and answered, remembering dim lessons out of his childhood:
Tell me, David, my brother, is there no fire to burn fools? Is there no rod for the shoulders of the proud? Should not such men be taught?
And I say to you, Benjamin, said the master of the Garden: "what wrong have these fools done to me with their folly?"
Connor felt that he was being swept beyond his depth. The other went on, changing his voice to gentleness:
No, no! I have even a kindness for men with such blind faith in their horses. When Jacob comes to me and says privately in my ear: 'David, look at Hira. Is she not far nobler and wiser than Ephraim's horse, Numan?' When he says this to me, do I shake my head and frown and say: 'Risk the clothes on your back and the food you eat to prove what you say.' No, assuredly I do neither of these things, but I put my hand on his shoulder and I say: 'He who has faith shall do great things; and a tender master makes a strong colt.' In this manner I speak to him, knowing that truth is good, but the whole truth is sometimes a fire that purifies, perhaps, but it also destroys. So Jacob goes smiling on his way and gives kind words and fine oats to Hira.
Connor turned the flank of this argument.
These men are blind. You say that your horses can run a mile in such and such a time, and they shrug their shoulders and answer that they have heard such chatter before—from trainers and stable boys. But you put your horse on a race track and prove what you say, and they pay for knowledge. Once they see the truth they come to value your horses. You open a stud and your breed is crossed with theirs. The blood of Rustir, passing through the blood of Glani, goes among the best horses of the world. A hundred years from now there will be no good horse in the world, of which men do not ask: 'Is the blood of Glani in him? Is he of the line of the Eden Grays?' Consider that, David!
He found the master of the Garden frowning. He pressed home the point with renewed vigor.
If you live in this valley, David, what will men know of you?
Have you come to take me out of the Garden of Eden?
I have come to make your influence pass over the mountains while you stay here. A hundred years from now who will know David of the Garden of Eden? Of the men who used to live here, who remains? Not one! Where do they live now? Inside your head, inside your head, David, and no other place!
They live with God, said David hoarsely.
But here on earth they don't live at all except in your mind. And when you die, they die with you. But if you let me do what I say, a thousand years from to-day, people will be saying: 'There was a man named David, and he had these gray horses, which were the finest in the world, and he gave their blood to the world.' They'll pick up every detail of your life, and they'll trace back the horses—
Do I live for the sake of a horse? cried David, in a voice unnaturally high.
No, but because of your horses the world will ask what sort of a man you are. People will follow your example. They'll build a hundred Gardens of Eden. Every one of those valleys will be full of the memories of David and the men who went before him. Then, David, you'll never die!
It was the highest flight to which Connor's eloquence ever attained. The results were alarming. David spoke, without facing his companion, thoughtfully.
Benjamin, I have been warned. By sin the gate to the Garden was opened, and perhaps sin has entered in you. For why did the first men withdraw to this valley, led by John, save to live apart, perfect lives? And you, Benjamin, wish to undo all that they accomplished.
Only the horses, said the gambler. "Who spoke of taking you out of the Garden?"
Still David would not look at him.
God grant me His light, said the master sadly. "You have stirred and troubled me. If the horses go, my mind goes with them. Benjamin, you have tempted me. Yet another thing is in my mind. When Matthew came to die he took me beside him and said:
"
'David, it is not well that you should lead a lonely life. Man is made to live, and not to die. Take to yourself a woman, when I am gone, wed her, and have children, so that the spirit of John and Matthew and Luke and Paul shall not die. And do this in your youth, before five years have passed you by.' So spoke Matthew, and this is the fifth year. And perhaps the Lord works in you to draw me out, that I may find this woman. Or perhaps it is only a spirit of evil that speaks in you. How shall I judge? For my mind whirls!""
"
As if to flee from his thoughts, the master of the Garden called on Glani, and the stallion broke into a full gallop. Shakra followed at a pace that took the breath of Connor, but instantly she began to fall behind; before they had reached the lake Glani was out of sight across the bridge.
Full of alarm—full of hope also—Connor reached the house. In the patio he found Zacharias standing with folded arms before a door.
I must find David at once, he told Zacharias. "Where has he gone?"
Up, said the servant, and pointed solemnly above him.
Nonsense! He added impatiently: "Where shall I find him, Zacharias?"
But again Zacharias waved to the blue sky.
His body is in this room, but his mind is with Him above the world.
There was something in this that made Connor uneasy as he had never been before.
You may go into any room save the Room of Silence, continued Zacharias, "but into this room only David and the four before him have been. This is the holy place."
Glani waited in the patio for the reappearance of the master, and as Connor paced with short, nervous steps on the grass at every turn he caught the flash of the sun on the stallion. Above his selfish greed he had one honest desire: he would have paid with blood to see the great horse face the barrier. That, however was beyond the reach of his ambition, and therefore the beauty of Glani was always a hopeless torment.
The quiet in the patio oddly increased his excitement. It was one of those bright, still days when the wind stirs only in soft breaths, bringing a sense of the open sky. Sometimes the breeze picked up a handful of drops from the fountain and showered it with a cool rustling on the grass. Sometimes it flared the tail of Glani; sometimes the shadow of the great eucalyptus which stood west of the house quivered on the turf.
Connor found himself looking minutely at trivial things, and in the meantime David Eden in his room was deciding the fate of the American turf. Even Glani seemed to know, for his glance never stirred from the door through which the master had disappeared. What a horse the big fellow was! He thought of the stallion in the paddock at the track. He heard the thousands swarm and the murmur which comes deep out of a man's throat when he sees a great horse.
The palms of Connor were wet with sweat. He kept rubbing them dry on the hips of his trousers. Rehearsing his talk with David, he saw a thousand flaws, and a thousand openings which he had missed. Then all thought stopped; David had come out into the patio.
He came straight to Connor, smiling, and he said:
The words were a temptation, but the mind that conceived them was not the mind of a tempter.
Ineffable assurance and good will shone in his face, and Connor cursed him silently.
I, leaving the valley, might be lost in the torrent. And neither the world nor I should profit. But if I stay here, at least one soul is saved to God.
Your own? muttered Connor. But he managed to smile above his rage. "And after you," he concluded, "what of the horses, David?"
My sons shall have them.
And if you have no sons?
Before my death I shall kill all of the horses. They are not meant for other men than the sons of David.
The gambler drew off his hat and raised his face to the sky, asking mutely if Heaven would permit this crime.
Yet, said David, "I forgive you."
You forgive me? echoed Connor through his teeth.
Yes, for the fire of the temptation has burned out. Let us forget the world beyond the mountains.
What is your proof that you are right in staying here?
The voice of God.
You have spoken to Him, perhaps?
The irony passed harmless by the raised head of David.
I have spoken to Him, he asserted calmly.
I see, nodded the gambler. "You keep Him in that room, no doubt?"
It is true. His spirit is in the Room of Silence.
You've seen His face?
A numbness fell on the mind of Connor as he saw his hopes destroyed by the demon of bigotry.
Only His voice has come to me, said David.
It speaks to you?
Yes.
Connor stared in actual alarm, for this was insanity.
The four, said David, "spoke to Him always in that room. He is there. And when Matthew died he gave me this assurance—that while the walls of this house stood together God would not desert me or fail to come to me in that room until I love another thing more than I love God."
And how, David, do you hear the voice? For while you were there I was in the patio, close by, and yet I heard no whisper of a sound from the room.
"
I shall tell you. When I entered the Room of Silence just now your words had set me on fire. My mind was hot with desire of power over other men. I forgot the palace you built for me with your promises. And then I knew that it had been a temptation to sin from which the voice was freeing me. Could a human voice have spoken more clearly than that voice spoke to my heart? Anxiously I called before my eyes the image of Benjamin to ask for His judgment, but your face remained an unclouded vision and was not dimmed by the will of the Lord as He dims creatures of evil in the Room of Silence. Thereby I knew that you are indeed my brother.""
"
The brain of Connor groped slowly in the rear of these words. He was too stunned by disappointment to think clearly, but vaguely he made out that David had dismissed the argument and was now asking him to come for a walk by the lake.
The lake's well enough, he answered, "but it occurs to me that I've got to get on with my journey."
You must leave me?
There was such real anxiety in his voice that Connor softened a little.
I've got a lot to do, he explained. "I only stopped over to rest my nags, in the first place. Then this other idea came along, but since the voice has rapped it there's nothing for me to do but to get on my way again."
It is a long trip?
Long enough.
The Garden of Eden is a lonely place.
You'll have the voice to cheer you up.
The voice is an awful thing. There is no companionship in it. This thought comes to me. Leave the mule and the horse. Take Shakra. She will carry you swiftly and safely over the mountains and bring you back again. And I shall be happy to know that she is with you while you are away. Then go, brother, if you must, and return in haste.
It was the opening of the gates of heaven to Connor at the very moment when he had surrendered the last hope. He heard David call the servants, heard an order to bring Shakra saddled at once. The canteen was being filled for the journey. Into the incredulous mind of the gambler the truth filtered by degrees, as candlelight probes a room full of treasure, flashing ever and anon into new corners filled with undiscovered riches.
Shakra was his to ride over the mountains. And why stop there? There was no mark on her, and his brand would make her his. She would be safe in an Eastern racing stable before they even dreamed of pursuit. And when her victories on the track had built his fortune he could return her, and raise a breed of peerless horses. A theft? Yes, but so was the stealing of the fire from heaven for the use of mankind.
He would have been glad to leave the Garden of Eden at once, but that was not in David's scheme of things. To him a departure into the world beyond the mountains was as a voyage into an uncharted sea. His dignity kept him from asking questions, but it was obvious that he was painfully anxious to learn the necessity of Connor's going.
That night in the patio he held forth at length of the things they would do together when the gambler returned. "The Garden is a book," he explained. "And I must teach you to turn the pages and read in them."
There was little sleep for Connor that night. He lay awake, turning over the possibilities of a last minute failure, and when he finally dropped into a deep, aching slumber it was to be awakened almost at once by the voice of David calling in the patio. He wakened and found it was the pink of the dawn.
Shakra waits at the gate of the patio. Start early, Benjamin, and thereby you will return soon.
It brought Connor to his feet with a leap. As if he required urging! Through the hasty breakfast he could not retain his joyous laughter until he saw David growing thoughtful. But that breakfast was over, and David's kind solicitations, at length. Shakra was brought to him; his feet were settled into the stirrups, and the dream changed to a sense of the glorious reality. She was his—Shakra!
A journey of happiness for your sake and a speed for mine, Benjamin.
Connor looked down for the last time into the face of the master of the Garden, half wild and half calm—the face of a savage with the mind of a man behind it. "If he should take my trail!" he thought with horror.
Good-by! he called aloud, and in a burst of joy and sudden compunction, "God bless you, David!"
He has blessed me already, for He has given to me a friend.
A touch of the rope—for no Eden Gray would endure a bit—whirled Shakra and sent her down the terraces like the wind. The avenue of the eucalyptus trees poured behind them, and out of this, with astonishing suddenness, they reached the gate.
The fire already burned, for the night was hardly past, and Joseph squatted with the thin smoke blowing across his face unheeded. He was grinning with savage hatred and muttering.
Connor knew what profound curse was being called down upon his head, but he had only a careless glance for Joseph. His eye up yonder where the full morning shone on the mountains, his mind was out in the world, at the race track, seeing in prospect beautiful Shakra fleeing away from the finest of the thoroughbreds. And he saw the face of Ruth, as her eyes would light at the sight of Shakra. He could have burst into song.
Connor looking forward, high-headed, threw up his arm with a low shout, and Shakra burst into full gallop down the ravine.
When Ruth Manning read the note through for the first time she raised her glance to the bearer. The boy was so sun-blackened that the paler skin of the eyelids made his eyes seem supremely large. He was now poised accurately on one foot, rubbing his calloused heel up and down his shin, while he drank in the particulars of the telegraph office. He could hardly be a party to a deception. She looked over the note again, and read:
Dear Miss Manning:
I am a couple of miles out of Lukin, in a place to which the bearer of this note will bring you. I am sure you will come, for I am in trouble, out of which you can very easily help me. It is a matter which I cannot confide to any other person in Lukin. I am impatiently expecting you.
Ben Connor.
She crumpled the note in her hand thoughtfully, but, on the verge of dropping it in the waste basket, she smoothed it again, and for the third time went over the contents. Then she rose abruptly and confided her place to the lad who idled at the counter.
The wire's dead, she told him. "Besides, I'll be back in an hour or so."
And she rode off a moment later with the boy. He had a blanket-pad without stirrups, and he kept prodding the sliding elbows of the horse with his bare toes while he chattered at Ruth, for the drum of the sounder had fascinated him and he wanted it explained. She listened to him with a smile of inattention, for she was thinking busily of Connor. Those thoughts made her look down to the dust that puffed up from the feet of the horses and became a light mist behind them; then, raising her head, she saw the blue ravines of the farther mountains and the sun haze about the crests. Connor had always been to her as the ship is to a traveler; the glamour of strange places was about him.
Presently they left the trail, and passing about a hillside, came to an old shack whose unpainted wood had blackened with time.
There he is, said the boy, and waving his hand to her, turned his pony on the back trail at a gallop.
Connor called to her from the shack and came to meet her, but she had dismounted before he could reach the stirrup. He kept her hand in his for a moment as he greeted her. It surprised him to find how glad he was to see her. He told her so frankly.
After the mountains and all that, he said cheerfully, "it's like meeting an old chum again to see you. How have things been going?"
This direct friendliness in a young man was something new to the girl. The youths who came in to the dances at Lukin were an embarrassed lot who kept a sulky distance, as though they made it a matter of pride to show they were able to resist the attraction of a pretty girl. But if she gave them the least encouragement, the merest shadow of a friendly smile, they were at once all eagerness. They would flock around her, sending savage glances to one another, and simpering foolishly at her. They had stock conversation of politeness; they forced out prodigious compliments to an accompaniment of much writhing. Social conversation was a torture to them, and the girl knew it.
Not that she despised them. She understood perfectly well that most of them were fine fellows and strong men. But their talents had been cultivated in roping two-year-olds and bulldogging yearlings. They could encounter the rush of a mad bull far more easily than they could withstand a verbal quip. With the familiarity of years, she knew, they lost both their sullenness and their starched politeness. They became kindly, gentle men with infinite patience, infinite devotion to their "womenfolk." Homelier girls in Lukin had an easier time with them. But in the presence of Ruth Manning, who was a more or less celebrated beauty, they were a hopeless lot. In short, she had all her life been in an amphibious position, of the mountain desert and yet not of the mountain desert. On the one hand she despised the "slick dudes" who now and again drifted into Lukin with marvelous neckties and curiously patterned clothes; on the other hand, something in her revolted at the thought of becoming one of the "womenfolk."
As a matter of fact, there are two things which every young girl should have. The first is the presence of a mother, which is the oldest of truisms; the second is the friendship of at least one man of nearly her own age. Ruth had neither. That is the crying hurt of Western life. The men are too busy to bother with women until the need for a wife and a home and children, and all the physical destiny of a man, overwhelms them. When they reach this point there is no selection. The first girl they meet they make love to.
And most of this Ruth understood. She wanted to make some of those lumbering, fearless, strong-handed, gentle-souled men her friends. But she dared not make the approaches. The first kind word or the first winning smile brought forth a volley of tremendous compliments, close on the heels of which followed the heavy artillery of a proposal of marriage. No wonder that she was rejoiced beyond words to meet this frank friendliness in Ben Connor. And what a joy to be able to speak back freely, without putting a guard over eyes and voice!
Things have gone on just the same—but I've missed you a lot!
That's good to hear.
You see, she explained, "I've been living in Lukin with just half a mind—the rest of it has been living off the wire. And you're about the only interesting thing that's come to me except in the Morse."
And what a happiness to see that there was no stiffening of his glance as he tried to read some profound meaning into her words! He accepted them as they were, with a good-natured laughter that warmed her heart.
Sit down over here, he went on, spreading a blanket over a chairlike arrangement of two boulders. "You look tired out."
She accepted with a smile, and letting her head go back against the upper edge of the blanket she closed her eyes for a moment and permitted her mind to drift into utter relaxation.
I am tired, she whispered. It was inexpressibly pleasant to lie there with the sense of being guarded by this man. "They never guess how tired I get—never—never! I feel—I feel—as if I were living under the whip all the time."
Steady up, partner. He had picked up that word in the mountains, and he liked it. "Steady, partner. Everybody has to let himself go. You tell me what's wrong. I may not be able to fix anything, but it always helps to let off steam."
She heard him sit down beside her, and for an instant, though her eyes were still closed, she stiffened a little, fearful that he would touch her hand, attempt a caress. Any other man in Lukin would have become familiar long ago. But Connor did not attempt to approach her.
Turn and turn about, he was saying smoothly. "When I went into your telegraph office the other night my nerves were in a knot. Tell you straight I never knew I had real nerves before. I went in ready to curse like a drunk. When I saw you, it straightened me out. By the Lord, it was like a cool wind in my face. You were so steady, Ruth; straight eyes; and it ironed out the wrinkles to hear your voice. I blurted out a lot of stuff. But when I remembered it later on I wasn't ashamed. I knew you'd understand. Besides, I knew that what I'd said would stop with you. Just about one girl in a million who can keep her mouth shut—and each one of 'em is worth her weight in gold. You did me several thousand dollars' worth of good that night. That's honest!"
She allowed her eyes to open, slowly, and looked at him with a misty content. The mountains had already done him good. The sharp sun had flushed him a little and tinted his cheeks and strong chin with tan. He looked more manly, somehow, and stronger in himself. Of course he had flattered her, but the feeling that she had actually helped him so much by merely listening on that other night wakened in her a new self-reverence. She was too prone to look on life as a career of manlike endeavor; it was pleasant to know that a woman could accomplish something even more important by simply sitting still and listening. He was watching her gravely now, even though she permitted herself the luxury of smiling at him.
All at once she cried softly: "Thank Heaven that you're not a fool, Ben Connor!"
What do you mean by that?
I don't think I can tell you. She added hastily: "I'm not trying to be mysterious."
He waved the need of an apology away.
Tell you what. Never knew a girl yet that was worth her salt who could be understood all the time, or who even understood herself.
She closed her eyes again to ponder this, lazily. She could not arrive at a conclusion, but she did not care. Missing links in this conversation were not vitally important.
Take it easy, Ruth; we'll talk later on, he said after a time.
She did not look at him as she answered: "Tell me why?"
There was a sort of childlike confiding in all this that troubled Ben Connor. He had seen her with a mind as direct and an enthusiasm as strong as that of a man. This relaxing and softening alarmed him, because it showed him another side of her, a new and vital side. She was very lovely with the shadows of the sombrero brim cutting across the softness of her lips and setting aglow the clear olive tan of her chin and throat. Her hand lay palm upward beside her, very small, very delicate in the making. But what a power was in that hand! He realized with a thrill of not unmixed pleasure that if the girl set herself to the task she could mold him like wax with the gestures of that hand. If into the softness of her voice she allowed a single note of warmth to creep, what would happen in Ben Connor? He felt within himself a chord ready to vibrate in answer.
Now he caught himself leaning a little closer to study the purple stain of weariness in her eyelids. Even exhaustion was attractive in her. It showed something new, and newly appealing. Weariness gave merely a new edge to her beauty. What if her eyes, opening slowly now, were to look upon him not with the gentleness of friendship, but with something more—the little shade of difference in a girl's wide eyes that admits a man to her secrets—and traps him in so doing.
Ben Connor drew himself up with a shake of the shoulders. He felt that he must keep careful guard from now on. What a power she was. What a power! If she set herself to the task who could deal with her? What man could keep from her? Then the picture of David jumped into his mind out of nothingness. And on the heels of that picture the inspiration came with a sudden uplifting of the heart, surety, intoxicating insight. He wanted to jump to his feet and shout until the great ravine beneath them echoed. With an effort he remained quiet. But he was thinking rapidly—rapidly. He had intended to use her merely to arrange for shipping Shakra away from Lukin Junction. For he dared not linger about the town where expert horse thieves might see the mare. But now something new, something more came to him. The girl was a power? Why not use her?
What he said was: "Do you know why you close your eyes?"
Still without looking up she answered: "Why?"
All of these mountains—you see? She did not see, so he went on to describe them. "There's that big peak opposite us. Looks a hundred yards away, but it's two miles. Comes down in big jags and walks up into the sky—Lord knows how many thousand feet. And behind it the other ranges stepping off into the horizon with purple in the gorges and mist at the tops. Fine picture, eh? But hard to look at, Ruth. Mighty hard to look at. First thing you know you get to squinting to make out whether that's a cactus on the side of that mountain or a hundred-foot pine tree. Might be either. Can't tell the distance in this air. Well, you begin to squint. That's how the people around here get that long-distance look behind their eyes and the long-distance wrinkles around the corners of their eyes. All the men have those wrinkles. But the women have them, too, after a while. You'll get them after a while, Ruth. Wrinkles around the eyes and wrinkles in the mind to match, eh?"
Her eyes opened at last, slowly, slowly. She smiled at him plaintively.
Don't I know, Ben? It's a man's country. It isn't made for woman.
Ah, there you've hit the nail on the head. Exactly! A man's country. Do you know what it does to the women?
Tell me.
Makes 'em like the men. Hardens their hands after a while. Roughens their voices. Takes time, but that's what comes after a while. Understand?
Oh, don't I understand!
And he knew how the fear had haunted her, then, for the first time.
What does this dry, hot wind do to you in the mountains? What does it do to your skin? Takes the velvet off, after a while; makes it dry and hard. Lord, girl, I'd hate to see the change it's going to make in you!
All at once she sat up, wide awake.
What are you trying to do to me, Ben Connor?
I'm trying to wake you up.
I am awake. But what can I do?
"
You think you're awake, but you're not. Tell you what a girl needs, a stage—just like an actor. Think they can put on a play with these mountains for a setting? Never in the world. Make the actors look too small. Make everything they say sound too thin. Same way with a girl. She needs a setting. A room, a rug, a picture, a comfortable chair, and a dress that goes with it. Shuts out the rest of the world and gives her a chance to make a man focus on her—see her behind the footlights. See?""
"
Yes, she whispered.
Do you know what I've been doing while I watched you just now?
Tell me.
He was fighting for a great purpose now, and a quality of earnest emotion crept into his voice. "Around your throat I've been running an edging of yellow old lace. Under your hand that was lying there I put a deep blue velvet; I had your shoulders as white as snow, with a flash to 'em like snow when you turned in the light; I had you proud as a queen, Ruth, with a blur of violets at your breast. I took out the tired look in your face. Instead, I put in happiness."
He stopped and drew a long breath.
You're pretty now, but you could be—beautiful. Lord, what a flame of a beauty you could be, girl!
Instead of flushing and smiling under the praise, he saw tears well into her eyes and her mouth grow tremulous. She winked the tears away.
What are you trying to do, Ben? Make everything still harder for me? Don't you see I'm helpless—helpless?
And instead of rising to a wail her voice sank away at the end in despair.
Oh, you're trapped well enough, he said. "I'm going to bust the trap! I'm going to give you your setting. I'm going to make you what you ought to be—beautiful!"
She smiled as at any unreal fairy tale.
How?
I can show you better than I can tell you! Come here! He rose, and she was on her feet in a flash. He led the way to the door of the shack, and as the shadows fell inside, Shakra tossed up her head.
The girl's bewildered joy was as great as if the horse were a present to her.
Oh, you beauty, you beauty, she cried.
Watch yourself, he warned. "She's as wild as a mountain lion."
But she knows a friend!
Shakra sniffed the outstretched hand, and then with a shake of her head accepted the stranger and looked over Ruth's shoulder at Connor as though for an explanation. Connor himself was smiling and excited; he drew her back and forgot to release her hand, so that they stood like two happy children together. He spoke very softly and rapidly, as though he feared to embarrass the mare.
Look at the head first—then the bone in the foreleg, then the length above her back—see how she stands! See how she stands! And those black hoofs, hard as iron, I tell you—put the four of 'em in my double hands, almost—ever see such a nick? But she's no six furlong flash! That chest, eh? Run your finger-tips down that shoulder!
She turned with tears of pleasure in her eyes. "Ben Connor, you've been in the valley of the grays!"
I have. And do you know what it means to us?
To us?
I said it. I mean it. You're going to share.
I—
Look at that mare again!
She obeyed.
Say something, Ruth!
I can't say what I feel!
Then try to understand this: you're looking at the fastest horse that ever stepped into a race track. You understand? I'm not speaking in comparisons. I'm talking the cold dope! Here's a pony that could have given Salvator twenty pounds, run him sick in six furlongs, and walked away to the finish by herself. Here's a mare that could pick up a hundred and fifty pounds and beat the finest horse that ever faced a barrier with a fly-weight jockey in the saddle. You're looking at history, girl! Look again! You're looking at a cold million dollars. You're looking at the blood that's going to change the history of the turf. That's what Shakra means!
She was trembling with his excitement.
I see. It's the sure thing you were talking about. The horse that can't be beat—that makes the betting safe?
But Connor grew gloomy at once.
What do you mean by sure thing? If I could ever get her safely away from the post in a stake race, yes; sure as anything on earth. But suppose the train is wrecked? Suppose she puts a foot in a hole? Suppose at the post some rotten, cheap-selling plater kicks her and lays her up!
He passed a trembling hand along the neck of Shakra.
God, suppose!
But you only brought one; nothing else worth while in the valley?
Nothing else? I tell you, the place is full of 'em! And there's a stallion as much finer than Shakra as she's finer than that broken-down, low-headed, ewe-necked, straight-shouldered, roach-backed skate you have out yonder!
Mr. Connor, that's the best little pony in Lukin! But I know—compared with this—oh, to see her run, just once!
She sighed, and as her glance fell Connor noted her pallor and her weariness. She looked up again, and the great eyes filled her face with loveliness. Color, too, came into her cheeks and into her parted lips.
You beauty! she murmured. "You perfect, perfect beauty!"
Shakra was nervous under the fluttering hands, but in spite of her uneasiness she seemed to enjoy the light-falling touches until the finger-tips trailed across her forehead; then she tossed her head high, and the girl stood beneath, laughing, delighted. Connor found himself smiling in sympathy. The two made a harmonious picture. As harmonious, say, as the strength of Glani and the strength of David Eden. His face grew tense with it when he drew the girl away.
Would you like to have a horse like that—half a dozen like it?
The first leap of hope was followed by a wan smile at this cruel mockery.
He went on with brutal tenseness, jabbing the points at her with his raised finger.
And everything else you've ever wanted: beautiful clothes? Manhattan? A limousine as big as a house. A butler behind your chair and a maid in your dressing room? A picture in the papers every time you turn around? You want 'em?
Do I want heaven?
How much will you pay?
He urged it on her, towering over her as he drew close.
What's it worth? Is it worth a fight?
It's worth—everything.
I'm talking shop. I'm talking business. Will you play partners with me?
To the very end.
The big deaf-mute doesn't own the grays in that valley they call the Garden of Eden. They're owned by a white man. They call him David Eden. And David Eden has never been out in the world. It's part of his creed not to. It's part of his creed, however, to go out just once, find a woman for his wife, and bring her back with him. Is that clear?
I—
You're to go up there. That old gray gelding we saw in Lukin the day of the race. I'll finance you to the sky. Ride it to the gates of the Garden of Eden. Tell the guards that you've got to have another horse because the one you own is old. Insist on seeing David. Smile at 'em; win 'em over. Make them let you see David. And the minute you see him, he's ours! You understand? I don't mean marriage. One smile will knock him stiff. Then play him. Get him to follow you out of the valley. Tell him you have to go back home. He'll follow you. Once we have him outside you can keep him from going back and you can make him bring out his horses, too. Easy? It's a sure thing! We don't rob him, you see? We simply use his horses. I race them and play them. I split the winnings with you and David. Millions, I tell you; millions. Don't answer. Gimme a chance to talk!
There was a rickety old box leaning against the wall; he made her sit on it, and dropping upon one knee, he poured out plan, reason, hopes, ambitions in fierce confusion. It ended logically enough. David was under what he considered a divine order to marry, and he would be clay in the hands of the first girl who met him. She would be a fool indeed if she were not able to lead him out of the valley.
Think it over for one minute before you answer, concluded Connor, and then rose and folded his arms. He controlled his very breathing for fear of breaking in on the dream which he saw forming in her eyes.
Then she shook herself clear of the temptation.
Ben, it's crooked! I'm to lie to him—live a lie until we have what we want!
God A'mighty, girl! Don't you see that we'd be doing the poor fathead a good turn by getting him out of his hermitage and letting him live in the world? A lie? Call it that if you want. Aren't there such things as white lies? If there are, this is one of 'em or I'm not Ben Connor.
His voice softened. "Why, Ruth, you know damned well that I wouldn't put the thing up to you if I didn't figure that in the end it would be the best thing in the world for you? I'm giving you your chance. To save Dave Eden from being a fossil. To earn your own freedom. To get everything you've longed for. Think!"
I'm trying to think—but I only keep feeling, inside, 'It's wrong! It's wrong! It's wrong!' I'm not a moralizer, but—tell me about David Eden!
Connor saw his opening.
Think of a horse that's four years old and never had a bit in his teeth. That's David Eden. The minute you see him you'll want to tame him. But you'll have to go easy. Keep gloves on. He's as proud as a sulky kid. Kind of a chap you can't force a step, but you could coax him over a cliff. Why, he'd be thread for you to wind around your little finger if you worked him right. But it wouldn't be easy. If he had a single suspicion he'd smash everything in a minute, and he's strong enough to tear down a house. Put the temper of a panther in the size of a bear and you get a small idea of David Eden.
He was purposely making the task difficult and he saw that she was excited. His own work with Ruth Manning was as difficult as hers would be with David. The fickle color left her all at once and he found her looking wistfully at him.
She returned neither answer, argument, nor comment. In vain he detailed each step of her way into the Garden and how she could pass the gate. Sometimes he was not even sure that she heard him, as she listened to the silent voice which spoke against him. He had gathered all his energy for a last outburst, he was training his tongue for a convincing storm of eloquence, when Shakra, as though she wearied of all this human chatter, pushed in between them her beautiful head and went slowly toward Ruth with pricking ears, inquisitive, searching for those light, caressing touches.
The voice of Connor became an insidious whisper.
Look at her, Ruth. Look at her. She's begging you to come. You can have her. She'll be a present to you. Quick! What's the answer!
A strange answer! She threw her arms around the shoulder of the beautiful gray, buried her face in the mane, and burst into tears.
For a moment Connor watched her, dismayed, but presently, as one satisfied, he withdrew to the open air and mopped his forehead. It had been hard work, but it had paid. He looked over the distant blue waves of mountains with the eye of possession.
"The evil at heart, when they wish to take, seem to give," said Abraham, mouthing the words with his withered lips, and he came to one of his prophetic pauses.
The master of the Garden permitted it to the privileged old servant, who added now: "Benjamin is evil at heart."
He did not ask for the horse, said David, who was plainly arguing against his own conviction.
Yet he knew. The ancient face of Abraham puckered. "Po' white trash!" he muttered. Now and then one of these quaint phrases would break through his acquired diction, and they always bore home to David a sense of that great world beyond the mountains. Matthew had often described that world, but one of Abraham's odd expressions carried him in a breath into cities filled with men.
His absence is cheaply bought at the price of one mare, continued the old servant soothingly.
One mare of Rustir's blood! What is the sin for which the Lord would punish me with the loss of Shakra? And I miss her as I would miss a human face. But Benjamin will return with her. He did not ask for the horse.
He knew you would offer.
He will not return?
Never!
Then I shall go to find him.
It is forbidden.
Abraham sat down, cross-legged, and watched with impish self-content while David strode back and forth in the patio. A far-off neighing brought him to a halt, and he raised his hand for silence. The neighing was repeated, more clearly, and David laughed for joy.
A horse coming from the pasture to the paddock, said Abraham, shifting uneasily.
The day was old and the patio was filled with a clear, soft light, preceding evening.
It is Shakra! Shakra, Abraham!
Abraham rose.
A yearling. It is too high for the voice of a grown mare.
The distance makes it shrill. Abraham, Abraham, cannot I find her voice among ten all neighing at once?
Then beware of Benjamin, for he has returned to take not one but all.
But David smiled at the skinny hand which was raised in warning.
Say no more, he said solemnly. "I am already to blame for hearkening to words against my brother Benjamin."
You yourself had said that he tempted you.
Because David could find no ready retort he grew angry.
Also, think of this. Your eyes and your ears are grown dull, Abraham, and perhaps your mind is misted also.
He had gone to the entrance into the patio and paused there to wait with a lifted head. Abraham followed and attempted to speak again, but the last cruel speech had crushed him. He went out on the terrace, and looking back saw that David had not a glance for him; so Abraham went feebly on.
I have become as a false prophet, he murmured, "and I am no more regarded."
His life had long been in its evening, and now, at a step, the darkness of old age fell about him. From the margin of the lake he looked up and saw Connor ride to the patio.
David, at the entrance, clasped the hand of his guest while he was still on the horse and helped him to the ground.
This, he said solemnly, "is a joyful day in my house."
What's the big news? inquired the gambler, and added: "Why so happy?"
Is it not the day of your return? Isaac! Zacharias!
They came running as he clapped his hands.
Set out the oldest wine, and there is a haunch of the deer that was killed at the gate. Go! And now, Benjamin, did Shakra carry you well and swiftly?
Better than I was ever carried before.
Then she deserves well of me. Come hither, Shakra, and stand behind me. Truly, Benjamin, my brother, my thoughts have ridden ten times across the mountains and back, wishing for your return!
Connor was sufficiently keen to know that a main reason for the warmth of his reception was that he had been doubted while he was away, and while they supped in the patio he was even able to guess who had raised the suspicion against him. Word was brought that Abraham lay in his bed seriously ill, but David Eden showed no trace of sympathy.
Which is the greater crime? he asked Benjamin a little later. "To poison the food a man eats or the thoughts in his mind?"
Surely, said the crafty gambler, "the mind is of more importance than the stomach."
Luckily David bore the main burden of conversation that evening, for the brain of Connor was surcharged with impatient waiting. His great plan, he shrewdly guessed, would give him everything or else ruin him in the Garden of Eden, and the suspense was like an eating pain. Luckily the crisis came on the very next day.
Jacob galloped into the patio, and flung himself from the back of Abra.
David and Connor rose from their chairs under the arcade where they had been watching Joseph setting great stones in place around the border of the fountain pool. The master of the Garden went forward in some anger at this unceremonious interruption. But Jacob came as one whose news is so important that it overrides all need of conventional approach.
A woman, he panted. "A woman at the gate of the Garden!"
Why are you here? said David sternly.
A woman—
Man, woman, child, or beast, the law is the same. They shall not enter the Garden of Eden. Why are you here?
And she rides the gray gelding, the son of Yoruba!
At that moment the white trembling lips of Connor might have told the master much, but he was too angered to take heed of his guest.
That which has once left the Garden is no longer part of it. For us, the gray gelding does not exist. Why are you here?
Because she would not leave the gate. She says that she will see you.
She is a fool. And because she was so confident, you were weak enough to believe her?
I told her that you would not come; that you could not come!
You have told her that it is impossible for me to speak with her? said David, while Connor gradually regained control of himself, summoning all his strength for the crisis.
I told her all that, but she said nevertheless she would see you.
For what reason?
Because she has money with which to buy another horse like her gelding, which is old.
Go back and tell her that there is no money price on the heads of my horses. Go! When Ephraim is at the gate there are no such journeyings to me.
Ephraim is here, said Jacob stoutly, "and he spoke much with her. Nevertheless she said that you would see her."
For what reason?
She said: 'Because.'
Because of what?
That word was her only answer: 'Because.'
This is strange, murmured David, turning to Connor. "Is that one word a reason?
Go back again, commanded David grimly. "Go back and tell this woman that I shall not come, and that if she comes again she will be driven away by force. And take heed, Jacob, that you do not come to me again on such an errand. The law is fixed. It is as immovable as the rocks in the mountains. You know all this. Be careful hereafter that you remember. Be gone!"
The ruin of his plan in its very inception threatened Ben Connor. If he could once bring David to see the girl he trusted in her beauty and her cleverness to effect the rest. But how lead him to the gate? Moreover, he was angered and his frown boded no good for Jacob. The old servant was turning away, and the gambler hunted his mind desperately for an expedient. Persuasion would never budge this stubborn fellow so used to command. There remained the opposite of persuasion. He determined on an indirect appeal to the pride of the master.
You are wise, David, he said solemnly. "You are very wise. These creatures are dangerous, and men of sense shun them. Tell your servants to drive her away with blows of a stick so that she will never return."
No, Jacob, said the master, and the servant returned to hear the command. "Not with sticks. But with words, for flesh of women is tender. This is hard counsel, Benjamin!"
He regarded the gambler with great surprise.
Their flesh may be tender, but their spirits are strong, said Connor. The opening he had made was small. At least he had the interest of David, and through that entering wedge he determined to drive with all his might.
And dangerous, he added gravely.
Dangerous? said the master. He raised his head. "Dangerous?"
As if a jackal had dared to howl in the hearing of the lion.
Ah, David, if you saw her you would understand why I warn you!
It would be curious. In what wise does her danger strike?
That I cannot say. They have a thousand ways.
The master turned irresolutely toward Jacob.
You could not send her away with words?
David, for one of my words she has ten that flow with pleasant sound like water from a spring, and with little meaning, except that she will not go.
You are a fool!
So I felt when I listened to her.
There is an old saying, David, my brother, said Connor, "that there is more danger in one pleasant woman than in ten angry men. Drive her from the gate with stones!"
I fear that you hate women, Benjamin.
They were the source of evil.
For which penance was done.
The penance followed the sin.
God, who made the mountains, the river and this garden and man, He made woman also. She cannot be all evil. I shall go.
Then, remember that I have warned you. God, who made man and woman, made fire also.
And is not fire a blessing?
He smiled at his triumph and this contest of words.
You shall go with me, Benjamin.
I? Never!
In what is the danger?
If you find none, there is none. For my part I have nothing to do with women.
But David was already whistling to Glani.
One woman can be no more terrible than one man, he declared to Benjamin. "And I have made Joseph, who is great of body, bend like a blade of grass in the wind."
Farewell, said Connor, his voice trembling with joy. "Farewell, and God keep you!"
Farewell, Benjamin, my brother, and have no fear.
Connor followed him with his eyes, half-triumphant, half-fearful. What would happen at the gate? He would have given much to see even from a distance the duel between the master and the woman.
At the gate of the patio David turned and waved his hand.
I shall conquer!
And then he was gone.
Connor stared down at the grass with a cynical smile until he felt another gaze upon him, and he became aware of the little beast—eyes of Joseph glittering. The giant had paused in his work with the stones.
What are you thinking of, Joseph? asked the gambler.
Joseph made an indescribable gesture of hate and fear.
Of the whip! he said. "I also opened the gate of the Garden. On whose back will the whip fall this time?"