WE FIND THE COURIER
unforgiving. To him the war was only a greater feud, bringing with it a long-sought opportunity for vengeance against his enemies. Somehow the very thought sickened me; yet, although I turned away, striving to concentrate my attention on other matters, my eyes invariably came roving back to observe his wrinkled face, his thin set jaws, and his gaunt form slouching in the saddle. Twice I spoke, hoping to break the spell, but he answered only in gruff monosyllables, oblivious apparently to everything except that he was again back on the old familiar ground, ever drawing nearer to those he hated with an intensity I could not comprehend. However much of a soldier his long service had made him, all was now forgotten, and he had returned to the bitterness of his mountain feud. He would hunt and kill as the beast hunts and kills—treacherously, and from covert. Yet he was alert enough and watchful, his keen eyes being first to observe the signal of some discovery waved back from a scout far away to the left, who suddenly tipped a distant ridge, a mere black dot among the rocks.
"What is it, Daniels?"
"Ther feller out thar is wavin' us over. He 's run up agin something that 's made him need help, I reckon."
We rode straight across the upland, side by side, I spurring cruelty to keep my horse even with his raw-boned mount, both intently watching the movements of the man who had signalled. As we struck the ridge he came toward us on a lope.
"It's O'Brien," I said, as soon as my eyes clearly revealed his identity.
[ 97 ]
