he long, dark, silent street the moon rose and passed up through the
safe, dark spaces of the sky.

He must move quickly now. The pursuit was not yet organized, but it
would begin in a space of minutes. From the group of half a dozen
horses which stood before the saloon he selected the best--a tall,
raw-boned nag with an ugly head. Into the saddle he swung, wondering
faintly that the theft of a horse mattered so little to him. His was
the greatest sin. All other things mattered nothing.

Down the long street he galloped. The sharp echoes flew out at him
from every unlighted house, but not a human being was in sight. So he
swung out onto the long road which wound up through the hills, and
beside him rode a grim brotherhood, the invisible fellowship of Cain.

The moon rose higher, brighter, and a grotesque black shadow galloped
over the snow beside him. He turned his head sharply to the other side
and watched the sweep of white hills which reached back in range after
range until they blended with the shadows of night.

The road faded to a bridle path, and this in turn he lost among the
windings of the valley. He was lost from even the traces of men, and
yet the fear of men pursued him. Fear, and yet with it there was a
thrill of happiness, for every swinging stride of the tall, wild roan
carried him deeper into freedom, the unutterable fierce freedom of the
hunted.

CHAPTER VII

THE VOICE IN THE STORM

All life was tame compared with this sudden awakening of Pierre, for
his whole being burst into flower, his whole nature opened. He had
killed a man. For fear of it he raced the tall roan furiously through
the night.

He had killed a man. For the joy of it his head was high, he shouted a
song that went ringing across the blank, white hills. What place was
there in Red Pierre for solemn qualms of conscience? Had he not met
the first and last test triumphantly? The oldest instinct in creation
was satisfied in him. Now he stood ready to say to all the world:
Behold, a man!

Let it be remembered that his early years had been passed in a dull,
dun silence, and time had slipped by him with softly padding,
uneventful hours. Now, with the rope of restraint snapped, he rode at
the world with hands, palm upward, asking for life, and that life which
lies under the hills of the mountain-desert heard his question and sent
a cold, sharp echo back to answer his lusty singing.

The first answer, as he p