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[Illustration: "He tried to shoot once more, into the very face of the
oncoming brute."--FRONTISPIECE. _See Page 245._]




THE HEART OF THUNDER MOUNTAIN

By EDFRID A. BINGHAM

With Frontispiece in Colors

By ANTON OTTO FISHER

A. L. BURT COMPANY

Publishers New York

Published by Arrangements with Little, Brown & Company




Copyright, 1916,

By Edfrid A. Bingham.

All rights reserved

Published, March, 1916

Reprinted, March, 1916 (twice)

July, 1916; August, 1916

April, 1917




CONTENTS

  CHAPTER                                                         PAGE
        I The Forbidden Pasture                                      1
       II The Road to Paradise                                      15
      III Seth Huntington's Opportunity                             26
       IV The Highest Bidder                                        37
        V "He Shall Tell Me!"                                       50
       VI The Story of the Scar                                     60
      VII The Way of a Maid With a Man                              71
     VIII The End of Her Stratagem                                  86
       IX Hearts Insurgent                                          99
        X Strictly Confidential                                    112
       XI Avalanche                                                121
      XII Sunnysides                                               133
     XIII Hillyer's Dilemma                                        144
      XIV Coals of Fire                                            155
       XV The Valley of the Shadow                                 166
      XVI Questions and Answers                                    176
     XVII Interlude                                                186
    XVIII The Challenge of the Brute                               193
      XIX Smythe's Last Budget                                     202
       XX "The Trail Held True"                                    215
      XXI In the Hollow of the Storm                               228
     XXII The Narrow Passage                                       238
    XXIII The Miracle                                              252
     XXIV Haig's Argument                                          264
      XXV Diana                                                    278
     XXVI The Snow                                                 288
    XXVII The Voice in the Hurricane                               302
   XXVIII The Man Who Did Not Forget                               316
     XXIX Ghosts                                                   330
      XXX The Lamp Relighted                                       344
     XXXI Sangre De Cristo                                         359




THE HEART OF THUNDER MOUNTAIN

CHAPTER I

THE FORBIDDEN PASTURE


She sat hunched up in the middle of the silent pasture, where the
tall, thin grass ran ripening before the breeze in waves the hue of
burnished bronze. Her cow pony grazed greedily a few yards away,
lifting his head now and then to gaze inquiringly at her, and then
returning to his gluttony with a satisfied snort, commendatory of this
long rest. The girl had removed her small sombrero to adjust the
masses of tawny hair that had become disordered in her morning ride;
and the breeze now played with it, and the sun sought out its glints
of gold. She was fair, of a curiously rich complexion with soft golden
tints beneath the skin, as if the rusty gold in her hair was just the
outcropping of what ran in solution in her veins. And there was a
certain air about her that contrasted strangely with the scene upon
which she now gazed intently, with her head bent forward, and her
hands clasped round her upthrust knees.

It was a little valley she had come upon by chance, snugly tucked away
among the hills. Below the bronze- <DW72> there were lush
meadows of a brilliant green, and a shallow, swift stream that
flashed over black bowlders and white sand; beyond the meadows lay
more shining pastures rising to pale-green aspen groves and then to
dark-green pines; and above all these the foothills climbed swiftly to
the mountains, and the mountains more swiftly to the sky. There were
faint blue mists in the foothills, fainter violet shadows on the
distant fields, an icy whiteness on the peaks; and in the sky no more
than two small puffs of cloud like eiderdown adrift in the depths of
blue. What at first had seemed an utter silence laid upon that summer
landscape had now become, as she looked and listened, a silence full
of sound; of that indefinable humming undertone of nature maturing in
the sun; of insects busy at their harvest; of birds in the distance
calling; of grasses rustling in the breeze; of pines on the long ridge
droning like an organ in the Recessional.

Yes, it was very beautiful, she thought. And sweet. And peaceful. She
had come a long way--halfway across the great continent--to find that
peace. But why should there be a touch of sadness in all that beauty?
And why should there be need to search for her handkerchief to press
against her eyes? For the first time since she had come to Paradise
Park she felt a little lonely, a little doubtful about the wisdom of
her brave revolt.

She sank back at last, and lay curled up in the grass with her head
pillowed on one bent arm. There, to her half-closed eyes, the grass
seemed like a fairy forest, soon peopled by her fancy, the fancy of a
girl who still retained the quick imagination of a child. An Indian
paintbrush flamed at her with barbaric passion; nodding harebells
tinkled purple melodies; and a Mariposa lily with a violet eye seemed
like a knight in white armor, bowing himself into her outstretched
hand. Her eyelids drooped more and more. The music of the pines and
the murmur of the pasture blended in a faint and fading lullaby....

                  *       *       *       *       *

Tuesday's shrill neigh awakened her. She sat up shivering, for the
warm air was underlaid with cold; and quivering, for the alarm had
fallen pat upon the climax of her dream. She rubbed her eyes, a little
blinded by the sunlight, and saw that Tuesday stood with head high and
nostrils distended, gazing past her toward the upper end of the
pasture. She was not surprised, being yet under the spell of her
dream-fairyland, to see a horseman galloping straight toward her. If
not the white knight, then--For some seconds she stared, awakening
slowly; and smiled at length at her childish fancy. It was only a
cowboy, doubtless, riding upon his own prosaic business. And yet--She
became gradually aware of something unusual, something disquieting in
the manner of the man's approach. The horse was leaping under the
spurs; the rider sat upright and alert in the saddle; and suddenly, as
she watched him, the man's hand went to his hip, and there was a gleam
of metal in the sun.

She was not afraid. Seth Huntington had assured her there was nothing
to be feared in Paradise Park. But for all that, it was not without
uneasiness that she hastily arranged the meager folds of her divided
skirt, and passed her hands quickly over the still disordered masses
of her hair. And then he was fairly upon her, reining up with a jerk
that brought the sweating pony back upon its haunches.

There was an angry glitter in the man's dark eyes, his face was black
with passion, and the bright object she had seen flashing in his hand
was the twin brother of Huntington's six-shooter. He was roughly, even
meanly, dressed. His coarse blue flannel shirt was unbuttoned at the
throat; his soiled brown corduroy trousers were thrust unevenly into
dusty and wrinkled boot tops; his old, gray hat was slouched over one
side of his forehead, shading his eyes. But the face beneath that
faded and disreputable hat, as Marion saw with a slight thrill of
curiosity, belonged to no ranch hand or cow-puncher. Whoever he might
be, and whatever he might be doing there scowling at her, she felt at
once that he was as foreign as herself to that neighborhood. But there
was no time at that moment to analyze her feeling, to formulate her
thought. And her next impression, following very swiftly, was one of
vague antagonism. She felt that she was going to hate him.

"What new trick is this?" he demanded angrily, when he had looked from
the girl to her pony, and at her again, with unconcealed suspicion.

For a moment she was undecided whether to answer him sharply or to
rebuke his incivility with silence.

"I don't know!" she replied at last, by way of compromise between her
two impulses, with a half-playful emphasis on the "I," accompanied by
a very solemn, shaking of the head and a very innocent widening of the
eyes.

There was a pause while he searched her face with a distrustful
scrutiny.

"You're not just the person I was looking for," he said finally, with
a touch of irony.

"How fortunate!" she replied, in a tone that was like a mocking echo
of his own.

Her eyes met his unflinchingly, a little impudently, telling him
nothing; then they slowly fell, and rested on the revolver in his
hand. With a shrug he thrust the weapon into its holster.

"Thank you!" she said sweetly. "You really won't need it."

He jerked his head impatiently.

"How did you get in here?" he demanded, quite as roughly as before.

There was no reason in the world why she should not have answered him
simply and directly; but she did not. She was exasperated, not so much
by his words as by his manner, and not so much by his manner even as
by something provocative in the man himself. He was rude, but it was
not his rudeness that most annoyed her. She scarcely knew what it
was,--perhaps a certain indifference, a certain cold contempt that she
detected underlying all his anger, a certain icy and impenetrable
reserve that, for all his hot words, and for all his lowering looks,
she resented most as being in some way personal to her. And instantly
the minx in her rose up for mischief.

"By aeroplane, of course!" she said tartly.

It was a silly speech, and she regretted it almost before it had left
her lips.

A faint flush came into the enemy's face.

"Spoken like a woman!" he retorted. "Always tragic over little things
and flippant over big ones."

That brought the color up into her face. But she was not subdued; for
the cat in woman also has nine lives--at least.

"There's my horse," she said, with a toss of her head. "You saw him."

"True! But cow ponies don't easily jump four-wire fences."

"Why should they when the fences are down?"

"Good! We arrive by the devious ways that women love. Perhaps you'll
give me the answer now that you should have given in the first place.
_How did you get in here?_"

She bit her lip, reflected a moment, and attempted a flank movement.

"My name is Marion Gaylord."

"I knew that."

"But you have never seen me before!"

"No. But that's one of Huntington's horses, and Miss Gaylord is a
guest at his house. You see, I am more courteous than you after all. I
answer your questions."

"Perhaps I'll answer yours when I know what right you have to ask
them."

A light began to dawn upon him.

"Do you mean--you don't know where you are?"

"No."

He gave her a long, searching look before he spoke again.

"My name is Philip Haig," he said, leaning forward with a curious
smile.

The result was all that he could have wished for. Until that moment
she had remained seated, firm in her determination not to be
disturbed by him. But now she rose slowly to her feet, her face
reddening, her lips parted, a frightened look in her eyes. The shoe
was on the other foot, with a vengeance.

He saw all this, and without compunction, seized his advantage.
With a grim smile he threw the reins over the pony's head, swung
himself out of the saddle, and stepped toward her. As he came on he
removed his dilapidated hat with a gesture that made her forget it
was dilapidated,--a mocking, insolent gesture though it was. In
spite of her embarrassment she let none of his features escape her
quickening interest. She saw that he was tall, erect, alert; handsome
in some strange and half-repellent way, with his pale dark face,
rather long in contour, and with his black, curly hair matted on
the broad forehead. But she almost recoiled when, on his drawing
nearer, she saw for the first time--it had been hidden by the shadow
of his slouched hat--an ugly scar that ran from the outer corner of
his left eye down to the jawbone below the ear. It gave to one
side of his face a singularly sinister expression that vanished when
he turned and disclosed a profile that was not without nobility
and charm.

Then suddenly her mystification was complete. Their eyes met, not as
before, but very near, so close had he come to her, still smiling. And
instantly, instinctively, she lowered hers; for she felt as if she had
been caught peering through a window at something she had no right to
see. Yet the next instant she was looking again, half-guiltily, but
irresistibly drawn. The eyes were of a curious color,--smoky black, or
dark gray-blue, or somber purple,--liquid and deep like a woman's,
but with a steady, dull glow in their depths that was unlike anything
she had ever seen or imagined. What was it that burned there?
Suffering? Hunger? Evil? Sorrow? Shame? It gave her something to think
about for many a day and night. Meanwhile--

"I see you have heard of me," he said mockingly.

She had no reply. She was realizing slowly that she had trespassed,
that she had perhaps seriously compromised her cousin, and, most
humiliating of all, that she had assumed quite the wrong attitude
toward the man.

"You really didn't know you were on my land?" he demanded, with a
little less offensiveness in his tone.

"No," she answered weakly.

"And Huntington didn't send you here?"

"No."

"I believe you, of course. But it's rather queer. How did you
happen--if you don't mind--"

She did not mind in the least--was eager, indeed, to explain her
presence there.

"I'm just learning to ride," she began impulsively.

"This was my first venture off the valley road, and I--"

"And you came straight to me!" he exclaimed, chuckling.

At that a strange thing happened. He had meant only that she, the
guest and cousin of Seth Huntington, his bitter foe, had blundered
straight into the camp of the enemy; and that was a rare joke on
Huntington. But she was a girl; her little adventure was already rosy
with romance; and the effect of his careless speech was as if he had
looked into her heart, and read aloud for her something she had not
known was there. To his surprise and wonder the girl's fair face
turned red to the roots of her tawny hair, and a look of helpless
confusion came into the clear, blue eyes that until now, for all her
embarrassment, had frankly met his own. She looked suddenly away from
him.

"You make me ashamed," she said at length, stealing a look at him.

"If you know anything about my difficulty with Huntington," he began,
"you'll understand that--"

"I do. I do understand!" she interrupted eagerly. "I don't know much
about it--the trouble. They haven't told me. I've only overheard some
talk--and I didn't ask. I rode down the valley this morning trying to
do it like a cowboy. And there was a branch road--and then the break
in the fence--and before I knew it I'd fallen asleep. That's
all--except--" She shot a half-mischievous glance at him "--you
spoiled a very beautiful dream."

But this was all lost upon him. His face was clouding again.

"Where is it--the break in the fence?"

Chagrined at the failure of her bit of coquetry, she merely pointed in
the direction whence she had come.

"Thank you!" he said. "At last!"

With that he went swiftly to his pony, mounted, and started to ride
away. But suddenly he reined up again, whirled his horse savagely
around, and faced Marion with the sunlight full upon the scarred side
of his face, now ugly with menace.

"If that fence has been cut," he said, in a hard and level tone, "it's
been cut by Huntington or his men. You tell him for me, please--and
you'll be doing _him_ a favor not to forget it--tell him that he's a
fool to anger me. I've been very patient in this business, but I don't
claim patience as one of my virtues. Do you hear? Tell him he's a fool
to anger me!"

She watched him gallop to the gap in the barb-wire fence; she watched
him dismount to examine the severed wires; she watched him leap on his
horse again, and ride furiously down the road until he was lost to
view below the dip in the <DW72> toward the valley. And still for some
minutes she stood staring at the place where he had disappeared. Then,
left alone with her pent-up emotions, she no longer resisted them.
Tears of vexation started in her eyes; chagrin, resentment, anger
swept over her in turn. She dug the heel of one small boot into the
unoffending soil--his soil--and thrust her clenched hands down at her
side.

"Oh! Oh! Oh!" she cried, over and over again, striding forward and
back across some yards of pasture, trampling lilies and harebells
under her heedless feet, turning her flaming face at intervals toward
the spot in the smiling landscape that had last held the figure of
Philip Haig.

The shame of it! She had never--never--never been treated so
outrageously