if you've drawn the blood from McGurk."

"His left shoulder," said Pierre, and smiled in spite of his pain.

"And you, lad?"

"I'm going to live; I've got to finish the job. Who's that beside you?
There's a mist over my eyes."

"It's Jack. She outrode us all."

Then the mist closed over the eyes of Pierre and his senses went out in
the dark.

CHAPTER XV

GOLD HAIR

Those who are curious about the period which followed during which the
title "Le Rouge" was forgotten and he became known only as "Red" Pierre
through all the mountain-desert, can hear the tales of his doing from
the analists of the ranges. This story has to do only with his
struggle with McGurk, and must end where that struggle ended.

The gap of six years which occurs here is due to the fact that during
that period McGurk vanished from the mountain-desert. He died away
from the eyes of men and in their minds he became that tradition which
lives still so vividly, the tradition of the pale face, the sneering,
bloodless lips, and the hand which never failed.

During this lapse of time there were many who claimed that he had
ridden off into some lonely haunt and died of the wound which he
received from Pierre's bullet. A great majority, however, would never
accept such a story, and even when the six years had rolled by they
still shook their heads and "had their doubt on the matter" like
_Wouter Van Twiller_ of immortal memory.

They awaited his return just as certain stanch old Britons await the
second coming of Arthur from the island of Avalon. In the mean time
the terror of his name passed on to him who had broken the "charm" of
McGurk.

Not all that grim significance passed on to "Red" Pierre, indeed,
because he never impressed the public imagination as did the terrible
ruthlessness of McGurk. At that he did enough to keep tongues wagging.

Cattlemen loved to tell those familiar exploits of the "two sheriffs,"
or that "thousand-mile pursuit of Canby," with its half-tragic,
half-humorous conclusion, or the "Sacking of Two Rivers," or the
"three-cornered battle" against Rodriguez and Blond.

But men could not forget that in all his work there rode behind Red
Pierre six dauntless warriors of the mountain-desert, while McGurk had
been always a single hand against the world, a veritable lone wolf.

Whatever kept him away through those six years, the memory of the wound
he received at Gaffney's place never left McGurk, and now he