The Everlasting Whisper

allen man was another matter. The sun was appreciably lower, the shadows already made dusky tangles among the trees, when the man carrying the ca

you, B

rodie'

very weak, sharp

who ar

does it make?-i

wanted help?

Not B

propped up against a tree. There was a rifle across the man's knees, gripped in both hands. And yet surely the rifle had been w

gainst the tree did not seem overjoyed

eaking his way t

be--" But he did not say who. He came on and stood over the man on the ground

ey. From it a pair of close-set, shallow brown eyes looked shi

I'm sort of bunged up." He looked up sharply. "Oh, I'll

Brodi

s on his gun shook so that the wea

voice rising into a storm of windy incoherence. Suddenly he broke off, eyeing

u were hurt. I came to see

hat. What are you after,

s surly with

gry and burs

ted to help you. If you don't take my i

ited King well enough. He had business of his own and no desire to step to one side or another to deal with Swen Brodie or Andy Parker, or w

how. And I ain't got a bite of grub, and already I'

got out a cup, and began to search for water. Above him there were patches of snow; he found where a trickle of clear cold water ran in a narr

ky, you know, King

im not to pretend that he did not know t

on nodding like a broken automatic toy. At

the Seven got it. Look how it happens with old man Loony Honeycutt, clucking and chuckling and stepping up and down in his shadow all the time; gone nuts from just smel

before I go?"

o his scalp and examined

e," he said. "Aching and

up, holding to the tree with both shaking hands, putting his weight gingerly on one leg. Suddenly his weak hands gave way, he

ard, about their bases, surged the flooding shadows like a dark tide rising swiftly; the light on the tallest spire winked and went out; and all of a sudden the rush of air through the pine tops strengthened and a growing murmur like the voice of a dis

the most part he babbled like a noisy brook. He spoke of Swen Brodie and old Loony Honeycutt and Gus Ingle all in one breath, and King knew that Gus Ingle was sixty years dead; he dwelt h

*

the stars, King found a fairly level space free of rock and carpeted in young grass. Here with a pine-tree to mark head and foot, he worked at the shallow grave. He put his own blanket down, laid the quiet figure gen

sappeared. Just where had Brodie gone? He wondered. The answer came before the question could have been put into words. Though it was full day across the heights where King stood, it would be an hour and longer befo

ective who did not care to be spied on. In twenty minutes, after many a hazardous passage along a steep bare surface, he came to a spot where the knife edge of the ridge was broken down and blunted into a fairly le

hree rotting logs, but a small rectangle of slightly raised ground indicated how they had extended. Even the rock chimney had fallen

inevitably tell Brodie of his presence. For Brodie, callously brutish as he was, must be something less tha

e here since King's own last October. A look of satisfaction shone for an instant in his eyes. Then, done with this keen examination, they went with curious eagerness to the more distant landscape. He passed through the storm-broken trees and to the far rim of the flat, where he stood a long time staring frowningly at one

d solitude, brooding over a region where "the trails run out and stop." Something urged, something called, and his blood r

and find it. Go and

the Ranges. Lost and

of bread, caught up his pack and found the familiar way down the cliffs, striking off