her wrists and her hands were jerked
down from her face. She looked up into the eyes of a beautiful tigress.

"Answer me--your yellow hair against mine--your child fingers against
my grip--are you equal with me?"

But the strength of Jacqueline faded and grew small; her arms fell to
her side; she stepped back, with a rising pallor taking the place of
the red. For Mary, brushing her hands, one gloved and one bare, before
her eyes, returned the stare of the mountain girl with a calm and equal
scorn. Her heart was breaking, but a mighty loathing filled up her
veins in place of strength.

"Tell me," she said, "was--was this man living with you when he came to
me and--and made speeches--about love?"

"Bah! He was living with me. I tell you, he came back and laughed
with me about it, and told me about your baby-blue eyes when they
filled with tears; laughed and laughed and laughed, I tell you, as I
could laugh now."

The other twisted her hands together, moaning: "And I have followed
him, even to the place where he keeps his--woman? Ah, how I hate
myself; how I despise myself. I'm unclean--unclean in my own eyes!"

"Wait!" called Jacqueline. "You are leaving too soon. The night is
cold."

"I am going. There is no need to gibe at me."

"But wait--he will want to see you! I will tell him that you have been
here--that you came clear up the valley of the Old Crow to see him and
beg him on your knees to love you--he'll be angry to have missed the
scene!"

But the door closed on Mary as she fled with her hands pressed against
her ears.

CHAPTER XXXII

A TALE OF A CARELESS MAN

Jacqueline ran to the door and threw it open.

"Ride down the valley!" she cried. "That's right. He's coming up, and
he'll meet you on the way. He'll be glad--to see you!"

She saw the rider swing sharply about, and the clatter of the galloping
hoofs died out up the valley; then she closed the door, dropped the
latch, and, running to the middle of the room, threw up her arms and
cried out, a wild, shrill yell of triumph like the call of the old
Indian brave when he rises with the scalp of his murdered enemy
dripping in his hand.

The extended arms she caught back to her breast, and stood there with
head tilted back, crushing her delight closer to her heart.

And she whispered: "Pierre! Mine, mine! Pierre!"

Next she went to the steel mirror on the wall and looked long at the
flushed, triumphant image. At length s