Robinson Jeffers

Give Your Heart To The Hawks

I The apples hung until a wind at the equinox, That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass Under the old trees with rosy fruit. In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a basket, The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly She knelt to reach them. Her husband's brother passing Along the broken fence of the stubble-field, His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden. The young man drew it all out, and as the coil Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun, But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it; And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear; He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed, Clutching her thigh. "Michael, you beast. " She stood up And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader Fell down her ankle. Fayne snatched for it and missed; Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small Finely cut features in a dance of delight; Fayne with one sweep flung at his face All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan, A fragrant volley, and while he staggered under it, The hat fallen from his head, she found one thoroughly Soft-rotten, brown in the long white grass, and threw For the crown of his dark head but perfectly missed, Crying "Quits. We're even. " They stood and warily smiled at each other In the heavy-sweet apple air. The garden was sunken lower than the little fields; it had many fragrances And its own shadow, while the cows lay in the stream-bed, large sycamore leaves dropped on their flanks; the yellow Heads of the hills quivered with sun and the straining sea-glare. Fayne said, "Where did it go, poor thing? " Looking for the little serpent. Michael said gravely, "That's to remember me by. I wish I could do worse. I'm going away. " "What? " "From here again. " "Oh, no. " "I am, though. " "No, Michael. " "Freckles," he answered, "didn't it ever occur to you That it's fairly dull here? I'm going up to town again. I've got to earn money and spend it and hear the motors. " She said dismally, "What about me? Who'll there be to talk to? " "Lance, of course. " "I love him dearly; he's not fun exactly. He wouldn't stick a rattlesnake up my leg. " "Gopher-snake," he shouted. They stood and laughed at each other, And Michael: "I was over the ridge to Drunken Charlie's, Fixing up a little party for Saturday. There'll be a moon in the evening. I leave Monday. " Fayne said unhappily, "Help me pick up the apples I poured on you. " II Michael was taking Mary Abbey; The Dolmans came, and Will Howard with two girls, And Leo Ramirez with his sister Nell, so that the youth Of the coast was all there. They met at Erasers' And crossed the ridge; and were picketing the horses Where they could ride no farther, on the airy brink Above the great slides of the thousand-foot cliff. They were very gay, colorful mites on the edge of the world. The men divided the pack to carry; Lance Eraser, being strongest, took most. Far down below, the broad ocean burned like a vast cat's eye Pupilled by the track of sun; but eastward, beyond the white-grassed hump of the ridge, the day moon stood bleak And badly shaped, face of stained clay, above the limestone fang of one of the Ventana mountains Just its own color. Lance, looking back, saw his wife talking to Michael, her cinnabar-colored hair Like a flag of life against the pale east. That moment he saw the horses plunging against the sky And heard a noise like a sharp head of water from a narrow pipe; a girl cried out, Lance dropped his pack and returned. Will Howard was looking for stones But found none, but Lance found a burnt fence-post, relic of an ancient fire. The snake lay with raised head, The rattle of its tail making that noise of sharp water running; a big rattler, but very small At bay in the circle of the laughing men. Lance struck for its head, but the snake that moment struck at the rope's end That Michael was flicking at it, so that Lance's blow failed, the fence-post broke to bits in his hand, The snake not harmed; then Michael laughing with pleasure whipped the creature to death with the doubled rope And set his heel on the head; Lance damned all rotten wood, his blond face flushing Dark through the sunburn. Michael cut off the victim's Tail with the ten rattles to give to Mary; The other young men quieted the horses, and caught One that had dragged away the bush it was tied to. Lance would not wait, he picked up his pack and went Alone down the zigzag path; but after a moment His temper cleared. Far down, short of the cat's-eye ocean, they saw like a brown pebble Drunken Charlie's hut in a gorge of the cliff, a feather of smoke, and his boat like a split berry Of bladdery seaweed up the thin strand; and Lance stood waiting down the wild cliffside, his light-brown hair Golden with sun, his hat and the pack laid down. The warm wind up the mountain was wild with fragrance, Chiefly the scent of the chiya bushes, that wear rosettes of seed Strung on the stem. The girls squealed as they scrambled down, when the brittle trap-rock broke underfoot, Small fragments ran over on the next below. When they came to the foot of the cliff Michael said, "Now," and offered A bottle hot from his pocket. "It's time. " Mary Abbey refused it but the others drank, from mouth to mouth, Stinging fire from the slobbered bottle-neck. The sun was low But had played all day on this southwestward Cliff over the burning-glass water and the air Still swirled with heat; the headland of Eraser's Point Stopped off the trade-wind here. Fayne Fraser a little dizzily Looked seaward, left of the blazing sun-track, and saw the track of the northwest gale and the running waves Like an endless army of horse with banners going by offshore; her eyes followed them, a ruled line southward Of violent water, converging toward the bronze headland beyond headland of the mountain coast; and someone was saying, "It's hot, we'll swim. " "Before we eat," someone said. The girls twittered together and clustered northward To a little cove beyond a fair spit of rock; The men remained on this side. Fayne undressed beside Mary Abbey, And was careful of words, because she'd sucked from the bottle more than she meant to, and had small experience of drinking. She said carefully, "Where did those girls of Will Howard's come from? " "Nina told me," she answered; "waitresses Down from the city on their vacation. " "Honestly are they? I guessed it. " "No," Mary said, "they're nice girls. " "That yellow-haired one, she's bad. " "No," Mary said. Fayne said, "Did you see her face when she looked at Michael Across that bottle? " "Oh, no," Mary answered. ". . . Well. Are you ready, Mary? Let's go. " They limped down to the waves, giggling and wincing. Fayne had tied a broad handkerchief around her hair To shed the spray; she swam out farther than others, Mary remained along shore. The other side of the rock-spit The men had bathed, and had come up strand again To dry by the driftwood fire; all except Michael, Who loved to swim. Lance Fraser stood by the fire, his broad smooth chest, grooved between the square plates Of heavy muscle, steamed and was ruddy in the glowing heat. He narrowed his eyes to look seaward And saw Michael's left arm, over the speck of his head, lift, reach and dip, Swimming side-stroke; two white arms flashing swanlike on either side of a handkerchief-hooded head Emerged from the scales of light on the edge of the sun-dazzle. The swimmers approached each other, And met this side the long brown stain of the breathing kelp-bed. Lance frowned, But only thinking that they were too far out And making a show of themselves. On the pleasant water Michael had called to Fayne, "I've something for you. Come here a minute. " She hardly dared, and thought In the flashing joy of the sea, "Oh, the water covers us. What have you got? " "Gin for girls. We've got a fire on this side. " They met laughing, And reached the bottle from hand to hand and floated decorously Separate again. Fayne looked toward shore, and saw the vast cliff in the flare of sundown soaring above Like beaten gold, the imperfect moon-disk gold on its brow; the tiny distinct white shapes of men Around their spot of fire in the flat blue sea-shadow. She breathed hard and said, "My God, how beautiful. Oh, Michael, stay here at home. " He answered with a watery yell of pleasure, submerging his mouth To roar as the sea-lions do. Fayne trailed the bottle And swam ashore. There was nothing to dry herself with; The chill of the water had touched her blood, she sucked breath gustily Through clicking teeth. She sipped from the salted bottle, And dressed, but shivered still. She sunned herself by the fire, Watching with fascinated speculation of pain The antennae of lobsters like spikes of jointed grass Above the heating water in a five-gallon tin Writhe at the sky, lives unable to scream. III Under the vast calm vaulting glory of the afterglow, low smoky rose and delicately Stratified amber, soaring purple; then rose again, luminous and virginal, floating the moon, High up a scoured hollow of the cliff Cormorants were settling to roost on the jags and ledges. They writhed long Negro snake-throats and shot Sharp heads at each other, shaking out sooty wings And angry complaining cries. Below, on the thread of beach, The lonely fisherman who was called Drunken Charlie, Fire glowing on his drugged eyes, wide beard and lank hair, Turned meat on the grid over the barbecue-pit And talked to himself all the time. Michael Fraser knelt By a turned chest that served for table and poured From a jug into cups, fierce new distillate From Charlie's cliff-hidden kettle. Fayne Fraser shook half-dried hair, The color of the coals at the heart of the fire But darkening as light decreased, and went to Lance Who stood alone at the waves' edge, turning his back on the world, and the wet sand Raised by his weight on either side of his foot-soles ran water and glistened in the still light. Fayne said "Are you cross, dear? " She pushed up his rolled sleeve and clasped her fingers on the broad trunk of his arm Above the elbow, "Dear, are you sad? " "I? No," he said, "What about? " "You haven't spoken to anyone Since we were swimming. " "Why should I? You were out too far, though. " "Oh, I can swim. And Michael was there to help me if I'd got tired. " "By God, no," Lance said, with a sharp vision in his mind Of her bright nakedness, the shining whiteness and the red hair. She understood and said softly, "Well, I didn't need help. But he's our brother. " "Certainly; I didn't mind him," he answered. "But I did hate To think that rabble of girls could look at you; it isn't decent. " She said, "They didn't seem interested. Come, drink and eat. Those waitress women are passing the paper plates. " He saw that vision once more, The form and whiteness, the little gay-colored flower of the pubic hair, and groaned, as a thick bull Alone in the field groans to himself, not knowing why the hot brow and the hooves itch for destruction. Fayne to cure his unhappiness hasted and returned Fetching two cups of the fire Michael was pouring. After they had eaten, twilight and moonlight came; The fire burned smaller and brighter; they were twelve around it; and drinks were poured. The bearded fisherman seemed Stiffly asleep, with open eyes like a drowned man's Glazed by the yellow firelight. Tom Dolman and Leo Ramirez Roughed at each other, and Nina Dolman Sitting between them cried out; then Michael said, "Get up and wrestle. " All but the fisherman turned To watch them circle clumsily on the damp sand And suddenly lock, into one quadruped body reeling Against the dark band of ocean and the low sky. Ramirez had the low hold but Dolman was the heavier man; They tugged and sobbed; Ramirez was lifted high And writhed on the other's shoulder by the evening star, But the strained column staggered and crumbled, the Spaniard Fell uppermost and was the first to rise up. Michael asked very gravely, "Who was the winner? The winner may challenge Lance. " Ramirez gasping and laughing Said, "Drunk; not to that extent. " "Then gather firewood. The fire's got low. " The yellow-haired one of the two girls Will Howard had brought Sat in the sand beside Lance Fraser; she leaned on his shoulder and held a cup to his mouth and said "Please drink it for me: things are beginning to go 'round in circles. " He drank; then Fayne on his other side Grew suddenly cool and quite clear; she leaned across him and said, "That hair in the cup! Well, you drank it. Her bleaches have made it brittle so it keeps falling. " "Oh," the other gasped, "that's not true. " "It's pretty," Fayne said, "Only the black half inch at the roots. Is your name Lois? What's your name? " "Lois. " "Lean the other way, Lois. " Then Lance said angrily, "Be quiet, will you," and got up To fetch more firewood. A timber from one of the four ships That have broken in half a century off Fraser's Point Lay near and dry; Ramirez and Howard had brought it, But the axe was lost in the sand. Lance up-ended it, An ivory-white pillar under the moon, Garnished with great iron bolts. He wedged his fingers Into a crack and suddenly straining tore it in two; The splitting made a great noise under the cliff, The sea being quiet. Lance felt himself curiously Numbed, as if the sharp effort had strained the whiskey Out of his blood through the sheathes of his nerves; His body obeyed as ever but felt a distance Blocked off and alien. He took the halves of the timber Under each arm and a bolt in his hand, For two or three had fallen out of the wood, This one straight, long and heavy. After he had laid His logs on the fire he saw the fisherman's Firelight-discolored eyes, and called "Hey! Charlie. " Still the man slept. Lance, wavering a little, reached Over Will Howard's shoulder and took the cup from his hand, Drank half, poured the other half on Charlie's long hair; It dribbled into his beard; he coughed and awoke. Lance said "D'you ever have rattlesnakes down here? I snicked at one up the cliff with a rotten stick; But this'd fix 'em. " He gave him the iron bar; Charlie posted it carefully up in the sand Between his feet and answered, "Mm; but there's Injuns. " "What? " "All that was cleared out of the country. Where did you think they got to? They ain't got ships. Down here they are. " The dark-haired girl that Will Howard had brought Suddenly stood up from the fire, she went toward the sea and was heard vomiting. Charlie nodded and said, "There's one o' them now. Most nights I see their fires away down the beach. " Mary Abbey whispered to Michael, "Don't take any more. Time to go home. " "Ah no," he said, "dear, we just got here. " Fayne came to Lance And said, "Don't drink any more. Time to go home. " He answered briskly, "Since when are you giving orders? " "Since you're not fit to. " She knew while the words made in her throat, "Now he'll be angry," a pale rush of anger Ran to meet his; the memory of all his bad-tempered times, his heavy earnestness and lack of laughter, Pierced like a mountain-peak the cloud in her mind, "Oh, I do hate you. " He stared, more astonished than angry, and saw her face Lean, sharp, bled white, each freckle black as a mole Against its moon-gleam pallor. "That's how you feel, ah? " He turned his back. She thought, "He'll never forgive me: Let him not," and saw the Dolmans, Nina and Tom, Seeking the way up the cliff, Mary Abbey with them, Fayne went and said, "Michael, I've lost my cup, Aren't there any more cups? " "I'll hold the jug: You hold your mouth. " "Oo, I need water with it. " "No, you don't. " Half of the sip went strangling Into her throat, half ran by her little chin And trickled between her breasts. She looked at the fire, Then at the moon, both blurred fantastically, Red burrowed, white wavered high. Michael said, "My girl's gone. " Fayne said, "Oh, and yours? " He said "That's no sense. That's very. " She laughed and answered, "They don't. " The moon suspended in her great antelope-leap from the head of the cliff Hung pouring whiteness along the narrow runway of sand and slide-rock under the continent's foot, A watery glittering and secret place, walled from the world, closed by the cliff, ditched by the ocean. Drunken Charlie dreamed by the dying fire; Will Howard and Nell Ramirez were one slight point Far down the white beach. Yellow-haired Lois Spilled her drink and said, "Seeing is believing. Come on, I'll show you. " She smiled at Lance, "Come, dear. Sadie's passed out; it's all right wi' Sadie," And to Leo Ramirez, "Come if you like, dark boy. " He swayed and stammered, "Responsible; Sister Nell. Keep an eye on young sister. " "Ah, go and find her. " "Not till I see the picture on Sadie's stomach. " They wandered toward Drunken Charlie's little hollow skiff And its black shadow, drawn up the moonlight strand. Lance thought, "Here's a boat, let's break it," and thought with an ache of shame, "I wouldn't think that, only being drunk. " The center of his mind made savage war on rebellious out-liers In breathless darkness behind the sweating forehead; while Leo Ramirez, seeing the bright fish-scales glued With blood and slime to the boat-thwarts glitter like a night of stars, began to sing a stale song: "We'll always, Be young and gay. We'll always, feel that way. " Lois said "Shut up," and led them around the boat, Her friend lay in the moonlight nestled against it. Lois knelt down and gently drew her by the shoulder; She groaned in her sleep, resisting. Lois laughed, "The boys want to see it, Sadie," and tugged, and turned her Onto her back, the stained pale face up to the moonlight; the teeth in the opened mouth glittered, And sour breath crossed them, while Lois turned up the blouse, loosened the band and jerked up the linen shift To show a three-masted sailing-ship tattooed with black and red inks on the soft white belly Below the breasts. "My God," Ramirez said, "there it is. " Lois answered, "A fellow dared her," and looked for Lance, Who trembled and said, "Cover her up, damn you. " Lois blinking drew down the blouse. Ramirez giggled, "My God, a U. S. flag at the peak," and reached Over Lois's shoulder to raise the cloth; Lance struck and felled him, and stepping across him fallen Leaned and strode toward the cliff and the red coals That had been the fire. Drunken Charlie lay on the sand, The iron bolt erect by his feet; Lance caught it up And smashed the jug, and saw the remnant of whiskey Glitter among the shards to sink into sand. He ground his teeth; he saw in his mind in the stream of images A second jug, and began to search for it. The tide had fallen, the steep ribbon of beach was but little wider, But the sea was become so flattened that no waves flashed. Enormous peace of the sea, white quiet of the cliff, And at their angle and focus a few faint specks of humanity happy in liquor or released in sleep, But Lance alone. Then noises like the cries of a woman screaming, bird after bird of sharp-colored sound Flew on the face of the cliff, tattered wild wings against jagged rocks. On the cliffhead the patient horses Turned their ears, grooving small wrinkles about the roots of the cartilage, but did not lift up their heads; And the sea was not moved, nor the moonlight quivered. Will Howard was lying beside Nell Ramirez; they'd fallen asleep Before he had his desire; they sighed and stirred in the sand. He murmured "Oh, somebody's got hysterics," And wriggled his fingers, which had grown painfully numb between her plump knees. But Lois, Leo Ramirez And Drunken Charlie heard the sounds nearer; they went in a wind of fear to find out their fountain, And Sadie awoke in the sand and followed heavily, Falling but once, catching her clothes that slipped, Whining at the hollow pain in her skull. Beyond a rock Stood Lance, high white in the moon-glaze, distorted, taller than human; Lois said, "Dearie? " He babbled, "Oh Jesus Christ Oh Jesus Christ Oh Jesus Christ," Behind him in a great shadow of her hair darkened By the rock-shadow Fayne turned her white wedge of face With three holes in it. She was kneeling, bent S-shape, And seemed to stare up from the very ground. She said, "I think It is finished. Water please. Water please. He fell down from the cliff. " Then Michael's feet were seen, And thence the prone extended ridge of his body Ending indefinitely under Fayne's face. Lois cried, "He's hurt. " But they dared not approach For Lance standing between, high and twisted Like a dead tree. Lance said, "I . . . " Fayne cried, "He fell down from the cliff. " They all stood silent, Lois's mouth opened and closed on silence Three times, then asked, "Is he hurt? " Lance said, "Oh Christ. I . . . " Fayne cried so that his words were hidden, And stood up and said, "He has died. Michael. He was climbing the cliff and fell, his foot caught on that bush; He struck his head on that rock, on that edge of rock. It is all broken in. Oh, we loved him. " Ramirez said, "What for did he climb up there? " "Have we drunk waterY* Fayne said. But Lance began To shake, like a tall dead mast of redwood that men are felling, It is half cut through, each dip of the axe the sonorous timber quivers from the root up to the cloud, He said "I caught them . . . " "He caught him," Fayne cried, "when he fell but he could not save him. " "I killed . . . " "You are wild with sorrow He fell head down whether you'd tried to catch him or not. You are not to blame. " He said, "It is horrible To hear the lies from her mouth like bees from a hot hive: I am the one," but Fayne running to him Made an animal moan in her throat in time to hide what he said. She came to Lance, and her face Like a held spear, and said, "Drunkard. Too drunk to be understood. Keep still until you can talk and be understood. " He drew backward from her, Shuddering like a horse from a snake, but when his back was against the rock he stammered, "I Will find my time. " "Yes," she answered, "be quiet now. Tomorrow when you are better they'll understand you. " "Is he dead? " "Keep still. Will you shame his end With drunkard babbling? For he was the dearest," she said, "in the world to all of us. Lovelier than morning light On the mountain before the morning. There is not one of us would not have died for him: I would, I would, I would," She cried writhing, "but not lose Lance too. How can I plan to save him, I've got what I can't bear? You are all our friends. " She set her hands in the masses of red-dark hair, dark in the moonlight, and tearing it, with her white face To the white moon: "That eye's blind. Like Juan Arriba's old mare he used to beat on the face, Her eyes froze white like that. He was larking on the cliff and fell. " She seemed to be treading a tragic dance, She was scuffling sand to cover the bolt of shipwreck that lay in the shadow of the rock; she wrung her hands And knelt moaning by Michael's head; she rose with blood on her hand and fibers of hair, and ran To the rock under the cliff. "This rock killed him. He fell on this edge," she drew her hand on the edge And the rock was stained. Then Sadie was heard gasping from her poor stained face. One or two looked at her. "O-uh," She whispered hoarsely, "we was having fun!" Lance moved at length, like a dead man walking, toward his dead brother, And stooped as one stoops to gather a sleeping child. Fayne ran and said, "No, the man. No, the man. He has to come. " Lance turned toward her his face like a paralyzed man's Slack with peace, and said softly, "The man. " "He'd think wrong has been done. I can't think . . . coroner. Don't take him up. " "Home? " he said, Seeming gently surprised; he gathered the body Into his arms and walked along the foot of the cliff. Fayne stayed behind a moment, the others following. She cast quick looks over the rocks and sand; One end of the rusty bolt was visible still; She leaned toward it and fell on her face. She labored up And went ten steps to the ebb and flung the iron To the water edge. Lance walked along the foot of the cliff. He turned, not where the path went up, and walked Into the face of the cliff, and stood there walking Like an ox in a tread-mill, until Ramirez Showed him the path. Fayne went up behind him. Half way up He awoke a moment out of his automatism To feel failure and pain, his breathing like knives, and the failure Of his eyes; it was impossible to see the path; He checked a step and fell forward. Fayne came up to him And stood; there was nothing that she could do. They lay Very peacefully together, Lance's face On his brother's breast. She looked across them; Terribly far down the moonlight cliff crouched the dark sea. Ramirez came up and stood. Fayne said they had not the strength to carry up either of the fallen, and so They had to wait. They heard a faint breeze through the dry bushes; and the crying of sea-lions far down below, Where eight or ten were lying in a circle by the softly heaving kelp-bed, as their custom is, and gazed With great mild eyes at the sky and the night of water. Then they sing in their manner, lifting up sleek Dark-shining muzzles to the white moon, making a watery noise of roaring and a lonely crying For joy of life and the night. At length Lance Began to paw with his feet like a dreaming hound, And some stones fell. He knelt and stood up And took his burden and went up. When they entered the sleeping farmstead, Fayne led the horse; Lance held his brother and rode behind him, It would be hard to tell which one was slain If the moon shone on their faces. The horse stopped and sighed By the garden-gate; Lance did not move to dismount, But sat and held up his brother. Fayne came beside, Reaching to help; Lance whispered "Ah, ah, thank God. " "What? " "He may be saved, Fayne. He is hot under the arms and I heard him breathe. " "You heard the horse breathe," she said. They lifted down The unmanageable weight. Oh, ignorant penitents, For surely the cause is too small for so much anguish. To be drunk is a folly, to kill may call judgment down, But these are not enormous evils, And as for your brother, he has not been hurt. For all the delights he has lost, pain has been saved him; And the balance is strangely perfect, And why are you pale with misery? Because you have saved him from foolish labors and all the vain days? From desires denied, and desires staled with attaining, And from fear of want, and from all diseases, and from fear of death? Or because you have kept him from becoming old, When the teeth drop and the eyes dim and the ears grow dull, And the man is ashamed? Surely it is nothing worse to be slain in the overflowing Than to fall in the emptiness; And though this moon blisters the night, Darkness has not died, good darkness will come again; Sometimes a fog will come in from sea, Sometimes a cloud will crop all the stars. IV The moonlight from the west window was a square cloth Laid on the floor, with one corner on the bed, Lying over Michael's hand; they had taken him To his own room. Fayne whispered: "Now we must tell them. Your mother may die-her sick heart. Don't let her die too bitterly. For this one night, dear, Say nothing worse than 'Michael's gone. ' Spare her something Until she has cried. Four hours' mercy. By morning That heart of hers will be seasoned. " Fayne strained in the dark To see his face. He answered in a short while, "How many mornings I've come in here And routed him out of bed. He always was a late sleeper. Sound asleep, Mother. " Fayne caught his arm. "Can't you hear me? " "You," he said, "keep your hands off! . . . Until morning I'll say he fell. " It was not morning, but the moon was down. The old mother sat by the bed with her hand on Michael's, regularly her great fat-swollen body Jerked with a sob, and tears were spurted from her closed eyes. Old Fraser sat with his fists evenly Together on his knees, his bony face held erect, the brown eyes in their hollows red with lamplight. Fayne heard the noise of a motor starting and left the room. He was backing out the big truck, The shed was full of the headlight glare, the ruby tail-light glowed by the axle. Before she could come It had crept out; its light swung up the driveway by the stooping sycamore And picked from darkness the heavy timbers of the high corrals and the white beehives remote on the hill; Fayne ran down the river of light to the gate and closed it, and stood in the gate for fear he might smash through; But Lance came wearily to open; stooping, tall, Black on the light. She said, "Oh, where? " "You know. Tell dad to come to Salinas and get the truck; There wasn't enough gas in the little one. " She answered, "Can the sheriff make us happy again? Or the judge make Michael alive again? " "Open the gate. " "Yes, dear. Listen to me. When Arriba and his boys Stole cows of ours, did you run to the courthouse? We take care of ourselves down here. What we have done Has to be borne. It's in ourselves and there's no escaping, The state of California can't help you bear it. That's only a herd of people, the state. Oh, give your heart to the hawks for a snack o' meat But not to men. " When she touched him with her hands, Pleading, he sighed and said, "If I'd been nearer My decent mind, it would have been you, not Michael. Did y' love him? Or was it only because you're female And were drunk, female and drunk? " "Oh. Hush. I was begging him Not to leave us, as I'm begging you. He promised me, dear. He said he'd not go away. I kissed him for that; he was our brother; And you came behind. " Lance's blackness of his leaning bulk Vibrated in the light-beam. "It'd be a pity for me then. I can't see clear, in the dirty streaming memories . . . Don't be afraid; your part will be secret. I'll say I killed him for nothing, a flea-bite quarrel, Being beastly drunk. " "He was killed," she answered, "for nothing. " "It's a great pity for me then. Open the gate. " She clung to the timber bolt To hold it home in the slot, and felt his mind Tearing itself. "Lance. Lance? Sweetheart: Believe . . . whatever you need to save you. I won't give you up. You can't remember what happened; I tell you he fell from the cliff. But if your dreadful Dream were true, I know you are strong enough To give your heart to the hawks without a cry And bear it in lonely silence to the end of life. What else do you want? Ah. Confession's a coward Running to officers, begging help. Not you. " She heard The scrape of slow boots on gravel outside the light-stream, Across the pulses of the idling motor, and suddenly cried, "He fell from the cliff. " An old man said in the dark, "They ain't got consideration. Where was you going This time o' night, after what's happened? Your dad wants you. Your ma's took bad. " Lance moaned and stood still. Fayne said, "He was going to Lobos to telephone The doct . . . the coroner. Dearest, you ought to go in. She suffered great pain before, she was near death. Old Davie will drive up the coast for you When daylight comes. " "Oh," he said stilly, and turned His face to the fountains of light; it gleamed without meaning In the stream of radiance like a stake in a stream, Except that from exhaustion the pupils of the eyes Failed to contract, so that their secret interiors Of their chambers returned the light all sanguine. At length he kneaded them with his fists and said, "I can't see well. You'll have to help me find the way in. It's not a trick of yours, uh? " V His mother lay on the floor, For Michael's body lay on the bed. The sun of pain at her heart had rays like skewers of anguish Along the left arm and up by the jugular arteries. She dared not move; her face stood wet-white and still, With live blue eyes; but the clay-pale lips opened and closed. Old Eraser had swathed her in hasty blankets. Fayne entered; Lance behind her stood swaying and stooping in the door and saw his father Crouched beside the great cocoon of the blankets; and Michael in the bed above, and trinkets of Michael's That hung on the wall, gleam in the lamplight. The violence of pain was brief; she whispered "better," and breathed With greedy shallow passion; her eyes found Lance. Daylight grayed slowly into the room; The lamp ran dry unnoticed. Lance and his father Labored and carried the heavy old woman to bed. Fayne brought them food, but Lance refused it. In the afternoon He walked outdoors for a time, but nothing farther Than the cattle-pens. Fayne must have been watching for him, Because she went and walked by his side, and said, When they were turned from the house, "Mary Abbey was here. It seems she expected to marry Michael, though he never told us. She cried a lot. " Lance made no sign of hearing her. Fayne said, looking up sidelong at his cheek and jaw, Where the flesh hung thin on the bone: "Her griefs not Like ours, forever; but sharp at present. If she ever Imagined that you . . . how could we bear her looks? You are too strong, dear, To lay on weaker persons a burden That you alone ought to bear. " He strode faster And stopped, muttering, "He lies up there, like that. And my mother, like that; and I have done it; And you talk about Mary Abbey. " Fayne said, "I have no time To choose names, for a man is coming to-day To question us. He's sent for. I have to tell you that you must choose whether to relieve Your own weakness , . . conscience I mean . . . by easy confession, Or bear the whole weight unhelped. The first way's easy; you'll be acquitted; you'll be left humbled and soiled, But free; for confession is not enough; and you were too lost to remember anything clearly; and I Am the one witness. I saw him climb on the cliff and fall. So your conscience will be well comforted, And fairly cheap. Only your mother perhaps will die of it; your father and I will swallow our portion; And the crowd at Salinas Will have had a good time watching your face in court. It would be harder, if you’ve a snake in your heart, To keep it shut there. " He was silent, and drew sharp breath and said, "A red-haired one. Ah. A white one with a red brush. Did you do it with him Or not? " "Leave that," she said stilly; "this choice is now? He groaned and answered, "My mind's not quick like yours. . . . I'll not lie to them. " "Let me show your mind to you; Be patient a moment still; if I seem cruel, That's to save, all that's left. Look at yourself: A man who believes his own sweet brother's blood Lies on his hands: yet Too scrupulous to tell a lie, for his mother's life. Our minds are wonderful. " He meditated, and answered Heavily, "The sunlight seems dull but red. What makes it red? " "Your eyes are sick of not sleeping; Or there's a forest-fire in the south. " "Our minds? Little bottles That hold all hell. I seem too tired to feel it, though. I'll think, I'll think. " "You have no time for thinking. He will come probably Within this hour. " "Who? Let him come. I'll tell him God made them male and female but men have made So-and-so . . . I fall asleep while I talk . . . whiskey eh? Lighted the sticky fire. It's not possible I'd ever done it except that I stumbled on you In the heart of guilt. I know that. " "Believe it then," She answered shrilly, and stood twitching her lips In the white freckled face, in the reddish light of her hair, "If that will help. " "Oh," he said. ". . . I wish you had picked from another tree. " She answered: "You are to say that you found him dying. You heard me cry, and he was down by the rock. Isn't that the truth exactly, because you remember No previous thing? You heard me cry out; you came; Michael was dying or had died. That's all. You carried him home. . . , I wish he'd come. " But the man did not come Until afternoon the next day. Dark weather, for a stagnant ocean of cloud was hung on the sky, And what light shone came colored like the taste of metal through smoke of burning forests far to the south, That veiled the coast, so that it seemed brown twilight In the house, in Michael's room. A lamp was lighted, The death-wound viewed. "Who saw him fall? " "I alone. My husband and others came when I cried. " "Where is your husband? " "With his mother," she answered faintly. "She had an attack, Her heart, angina, and has to lie still. Shall I Call him, sir? " her voice hardening, her eyes Growing hard and narrow. "Pretty soon. Was this young man In trouble about anything? " "No. " "A girl? " "He was engaged To Miss Abbey. " "They had a quarrel, ah? " "No. " "Did he seem cheerful? " "Very. " "They always do. Yesterday I had to drive by Elkhorn Slough Because a very cheerful old man opened his throat With his nephew’s pen-knife. I was two hours Finding that place; the farmers around there they couldn't tell you Whether Jesus Christ died on the cross Or at the battle of Bull Run. " Old Eraser had stood Nerveless and dreaming over the livid face Since they uncovered it; abruptly he turned his head Above his bowed shoulder, saying "It's enough. Dog, blaspheme not. Go to your own place. My son found death in recklessness, I fear in folly; Write that and leave us alone; go hence and leave us To mourn and hope. " "Well, Mr. Fraser. You understand . . . " "I am very patient," the old man said, thrusting His hollowed face toward the other, the closely set Inflamed brown eyes pushing like the burnt end of a stick That has been used to stir fire; the man stepped backward. "Did he say patient! . . . Well, is your husband here? " Fayne's mouth jerked and froze hard, her hands quieted. "I will call him. Come to the room downstairs. " She said at the foot of the stair, "This way, sir. It's dark. Will you have to go . . . to see the cliff, to see The cliff? " "Hm, what's that? " "Where he fell. " "Can we drive there? " "No, ride and walk. " "Look here," He said, "I've come sixty-five miles already. You're sure it was accidental? " "Yes. " "Well. I always try to save the family feelings When the case is not clear. " He tried his pen, Shook it, and wrote. Fayne watched, quiet and cold, thinking that Lance Would not have to be questioned; he was saved now; And saw the man to his car. When he had gone She thought that now she could laugh or cry if she wanted to, Now Lance was saved, but her nerves and her mind stood quiet. She looked at the dusty gate and the dark house-gable In the stagnant air against the black cloud, and perceived that all events are exact and were shaped beforehand, And spaced in a steel frame; when they come up we know them; there is nothing for excitement. She went in, And found Lance in the dark at the head of the stair, bent forward like a great bird. "Has he gone, Fayne? " "Did you know he was here? " "I will live on," he answered, "seems to be best. I loved him well; he died instantly, No anger nor pain. Davis has dug a place by the children's graves. " On account of the dull weather And closing twilight the group on the hilltop was hardly visible in their vast scene. It was quite evident That not only Pico Blanco against the north, and the gray Ventanas, but even every dry fold And gully of the humbler hills was almost by an infinite measure of more importance Than the few faint figures on the bare height, The truck, and three saddled horses, And some persons. The old man swayed and shook, standing praying At the head of a dug slot Beside the pile of pale earth. The heavy great brown-furred sky that covered all things made a red point in the west, lost it and darkened, And the Point Sur lighthouse made a thin stabbing from the northwest. Swaying on his heels and toes the old man prayed: "Oh Lord our God, when thy churches fell off from thee To go awhoring after organ music, Singing-women and lecturers, then my people Came out from among them; and when thy last church, Thy little band, thy chosen, was turned at length To lust for wealth and amusement and worldly vanities, I cried against them and I came forth from among them. I promised thee in that day that I and my house Would remain faithful, thou must never despair; I said, though all men forget thee thou hast a fort Here in these hills, one candle burning in the infidel world, And my house is thy people. My children died, And I laid them in this place and begot more children To be thy servants, and I taught them thy ways, but they fell away from thee. They found their pleasure among the ungodly, and I believe They made themselves drunk with wine, and my dear son is fallen. He died on the shore. One half of the curse of Eli has fallen upon me. " He covered his face with his knotted hands and stood gasping, And said, "I loved him. Here he is, Lord. Surely thou hast forgiven his sins as I have forgiven them, And wilt lift him to thy glory on the last day. " The old man stood silent, lifting his face, and fixed his deep close-set eyes, like the eyes of an old ape, Small, dark and melancholy under the bar of the brow, between the wide cheek-bones, fixed them far off Across the darkening ridges and ocean upon that single red spot that waned in the western sky, And said "The world darkens and the end is coming. I cannot beget more children; I am old and empty, And my wife is old. All men have turned their faces away from thee; I alone am thy church. Lord God, I beseech thee not to despair, But remember thine ancient power, and smite the ungodly on their mouths And the faithless churches with utter destruction. For Jesus' sake, amen. " While he prayed, Fayne watched Lance With pity and fear; and Mary Abbey, who was there with her father, Kept stealing glances at Lance through her wet eyelashes. She whispered to Fayne: "Oh, Lance looks dreadfully. I never knew he loved him so dreadfully. " Fayne answered, "Yes, he did"; and looked up at Lance With pity and fear. "He looks as if he'd fall sick," Mary said. Fayne answered, "No, he is strong. He hasn't eaten since Michael died; maybe He hasn't slept. " Mary said, wiping her eyes, "His face is so sad and fine, like carved marble. They say he carried him all the way home, up that cliff. " The old man ended his prayer, the redwood box Was lowered with ropes; Lance had the weight at one end, Old Fraser and Davis at the other. The ropes cut grooves In the earth edges. While they were shovelling earth, Mary Abbey, with a sudden abandoned gesture Of the hand that had the handkerchief in it, ran up to Lance On the scraped ground. "Don't grieve so. " She reached and touched His hand on the spade-handle. "It makes me afraid for you. We all loved him; life has to go on. " He jerked his hand, And looked down at her face with startled eyes So pale gray-blue that all the light that remained in the world Under the low black sky seemed to live in them, Stammering, "No. No. He fell from the cliff. " She said, "I know, Lance. We have to bear it. I loved him too. " He gathered his dreaming nerves Into the bundle again and said, "Oh. All right. Please keep out of the way for the time. We have this to do. " "Good-bye," she answered patiently. "Father's calling me. " The pit was filled full and mounded; Fayne came and said, "What was she saying to you? " "Nothing. Who? " "Mary Abbey. " "I didn't see her. " "What, Lance? She came and spoke to you. " "I'd rather be there with Michael," he answered. "Dear, you must rouse yourself. Life has to go on. " "Somebody was saying so, I think. There's not a hawk in the sky. " She answered from a hoarse throat, "After dark? What are you dreaming? See, Davie's turned on the headlights. " "I hate them," he said, "killers, dirty chicken-thieves. " The farm-truck headlights Shone on the mounded earth, and cast its enormously lengthened shadow and the shadows of a few moving Persons across the world, with the beam of light, over mound beyond mound of bare autumn hills, and black Ocean under the black-roofed evening. VI That night he returned To lie with Fayne in their bed, but like two strangers Lying in one bed in a crowded inn, who avoid Touching each other; but the fifth night She laid her hand on the smooth strength of his breast, He pretended to be asleep, she moved against him, Plucking his throat with her lips. He answered, "After all? You're right. If we're to live in this life We'll keep its customs. " He approached her confidently, And had no power. The little irrational anger At finding himself ridiculous brought to his mind That worse rage, never before clearly remembered, But now to the last moment; or imagined. He drew His limbs from Fayne's without thinking of her, and lay still, with shut fists, Sweating, staring up spirals of awful darkness, that spun away up and wound over his eyes Around a hollow gray core with flecks in it. "I am damned unjustly. I did it in a moment. " But Fayne knew nothing Of the shut agony beside her; only she was troubled at heart, and wondering Whether he had ceased to love her said tenderly, "Sleep, Darling. I didn't mean. I didn't want. Only I love you. " He felt her instinctive hand Move downward fondling along the flat of his belly. He set it aside and spoke, so low that her ears Lost every word between the hair and the pillow. "What, dearest? " "I know it," he said, "they're dogs: that was exactly Fit to tell dogs. I can be damned At home as well. " "Hush, dear. " "I don't make a good murderer," He said, "I sweat. " She was silent and heard him breathing, And mourned, "Oh, cover your mind with quietness to-night. In the morning you'll face it down again. This will get well with time. It was really only a dreadful accident. " "Very damnable," he said, "Very true. " Fayne said, "We'll live, sweetheart, to feel it Only a dreadful accident, and the sad death Of one we loved. " "That's your smooth skin. The fires fester on mine. Will you do something For me? " "Dearest, with all my heart. " "An easy kindness: Shut up your mouth. " He got up after a time; When he went out she followed, trembling. He turned on her Outside the door. "I'm not going to Salinas," He whispered, "nor bump myself off either. I'll not starve your hawks of their snatch o' meat. Now let me alone for Christ's sake. " She stood and saw him Against the starlit window at the end steal down The hallway, go past the stairhead, and enter the empty Room of his brother. He slept there from that night on, And seemed to regain calm strength. VII In the course of a month Rain seemed at hand, the south wind whetting his knife on the long mountain and wild clouds flying; Lance and his father set out to burn the hill to make pasture. They carried fire in forkfuls of straw Along the base of the south wall of their valley; the horses they rode snorted against it, and smoke Boiled, but the seaward end of the hill would only be burnt in patches. Inland, at the parched end, A reach of high grass and sage might have led out the fire to the forest, and Lance rode up To watch a flame down the wind to black out the danger. He carried two barley-sacks and went to the Abbeys' trough At the hill spring to dip them, to beat down the fire's Creepings up wind. From that spur of the mountain He saw the planted pine trees at Abbey's place, And riding back with the dipped sacks, the vale Of his own place, the smoke-mist, and Sycamore Creek Wound like a long serpent down the small fields. He set his fires and watched them rage with the wind, Easily stifling their returns, riding herd On the black line; then from the base of the hill Red surf, and the dark spray rolled back by the wind, Of the other fire came up roaring. The lines met On the fall of the hill like waves at a river's mouth That spout up and kill each other, and hang white spray On cold clear wind. A rabbit with blazing fur broke through the back-fire, Bounding and falling, it passed by Lance and ran Straight into the stem of a wild lilac bush, He saw it was blind from the fire, and watching it struggle away Up its dark pain, saw Mary Abbey coming down the black hill against the white sky, Treading on embers. Lance turned and hardened in the saddle, and saw the vale below him a long trough of smoke Spilled northward, then Mary came near and said, "I wanted to talk to you. I saw you ride by the water-trough. " He shuddered and said, "What? I'll watch the fire. " "Fayne doesn't like me so well I think Since Michael . . . indeed I'm ashamed to be always around your house. " "I noticed you there," he said, carefully regarding The dark braids of her hair, and the pale brown face Seen from above. "I don't know," she said. "My father says to go away for a time, His sister lives on a place in Idaho. But I wouldn't want to forget. But I told Fayne . . . So I don't know. We could see that you grieved for him More deeply than anyone else, and all these great hills are empty. " He said, "Is that all? " "Ah . . . ? Yes," she answered, And turned away and looked back. Lance found that the bridle-leather Had broken suddenly between his hands, and said "You won't get anything from Fayne; she's hard as iron. Why do you follow us around? What do you think you'll find out? " She said, "Your grief is greater perhaps, For you knew him longer. But you have Fayne and I have nobody: speak kindly to me. As I remember, At first it came from seeing you and Fayne so happy in each other, I wanted to be like that. I can't talk well, like Fayne, But I read a great deal. " He stared at her face and began to knot the bridle, his hands relaxing, And said, "I must ride around by the oak-scrub and see that the fire has checked. I've got to be watchful always. Will you stay here? " He went and returned and said, "Come down to our place whenever you are lonely, Mary. My mother's quite well again. His death was . . . do people talk much about it? " She looked in wonder at his face, And he with numbed lips: "What lies do they . . . can't you speak out? " "I never Talked about it with anyone, since Nina Dolman Told us that day. Truly there's nothing to be said by anyone Except, he was bright with life and suddenly nothing, nothing, nothing, darkness. " Lance breathed and said sharply, "I wouldn't bet on it If I were you. Mary, you are tender and merciful: Don't come to the house; Fayne is like iron. You'd better Run home and forget about us. Unless you should hear something I ought to know. " "What do you mean? " "Good-bye. " She saw his bridle-hand lift, she said "I've no pride, I pray you not to leave me yet, Lance. I loved him greatly, and now that bond hangs cut, Bleeding on the empty world, it reaches after You that were near him, Fayne and you. I was always Without companions, and now I'd give anything To be in your friendship a little. " "Anything? " he said. "You faithful women. Fayne was five days. Mmhm, I have seen a vision. My eyes are opened I believe. " He rode across the burnt hill, Watching the wind swirl up the ashes and flatten The spits of smoke. Past the singed oak-scrub he began to wonder, If there was honey in the little tree, had . . . the dead Tasted it before he died? "You'd better be off to Idaho. . . . I shy from his name like a scared horse. By God, I'd better get used to it; I've got to live with it. " He looked sharply all about the burnt solitude To be sure of no hearers, and recited aloud: "I killed Michael. My name is Lance Fraser. I murdered my brother Michael. I was plastered, But I caught 'em at it. I killed my brother Michael. I'm not afraid to sleep in his room or even Take over his girl if I choose. I am a dog, But so are all. " The tall man riding the little bay horse Along the burnt ridge, talking loudly to nothing but the ash-drifting wind; a shadow passed his right shoulder; He turned on it with slitted eyes, and saw through the strained lashes against the gray wind a ghastly old woman Pursuing him, bent double with age and fury, her brown cloak wild on the wind, but when she turned up the wind It was only a redtail hawk that hunted On the burnt borders, making her profit in the trouble of field-mice. Lance groaned in his throat "Go up you devil. Ask your high places whether they can save you next time. " VIII Leo Ramirez rode down on business About redwood for fence-posts; he asked in vain For Lance, and had to deal with old Eraser. When he went out He saw red hair around the corner of the house And found Fayne in the garden, and asked for Lance. "I couldn't tell you. I saw him ride to the south. He'll be home soon for supper. " Ramirez stood In troubled silence, looking at the earth, and said "I wonder ought I to tell him . . . " Fayne's body quivered Ever so slightly, her face grew carefully blank. 'What, Leo? " "Will Howard, for instance. Mouths that can't Shut up for the love of God. " "He drives the coast-stage," Fayne answered carefully. Ramirez looked over the creek At the branded flanks of the south hill, and no rain had come To streak them with gray relentings. "He didn't see it," He said; "and those two janes on vacation Went back to town the next day. " He giggled, remembering The sailing-ship stippled on the white skin, And fixed his mind smooth again. Fayne said, "How dares he Lie about us? " Ramirez's brown soft eyes Regarded her with mournful wonder and slid away. He said, "You was very quick-thinking. " "What? " she said, "You were there. And when I cried to him to be careful you looked And saw him larking on the rock, and you saw him fall, You could see very plainly in the awful moonlight. These are things, Leo, that you could swear to. " He nodded, And slid his red tongue along his dry lips and answered, "Yes'm. " "So Howard's a liar," she said. "But don't tell Lance; He'd break him in two. We'll all do very well, All wicked stories will die, long long before Our ache of loss. " "Yes'm. " She walked beside him To his tethered horse, and charmed him with an impulsive handclasp After he was in the saddle. She stood with her face high, the great sponge of red hair Lying like a helmet-plume on her shoulders, and thought she was sure of conquering security but she was tired; She was not afraid of the enemy world, but Michael would never be here laughing again. On the hill, In the hill he lay; it was stranger than that, and sharper. And his killer Ought to be hated a little in the much love. The smells in the wind were of ocean, the reedy creek-mouth, Cows, and wood-smoke, and chile-con-carne on the kitchen stove; it was harder to analyze thoughts in the mind. She looked at the dear house and its gables Darkening so low against the hill and wide sky and the evening color commencing; it was Lance's nest Where he was born, and his great white body grew high and beautiful. Old Davie shuffled up from the calf-pens Into the house; then far and high, like a tiny horn on the hill against the green-saffron heaven Lance grew into sight, the man and the horse and the evening peace. He was well again; he was sometimes cheerful Since the early plowing; his muscles needed strong labor. He was like this mountain coast, All beautiful, with chances of brutal violence; precipitous, dark-natured, beautiful; without humor, without ever A glimmer of gayety; blind gray headland and arid mountain, and trailing from his shoulders the infinite ocean. So love, that hunts always outside the human for his choice of metaphors, Pictured her man on her mind. He dropped from sight In the hill thickets. She thought, "That's the direction From the Abbeys' or farther south. Mary Abbey's Quit haunting our house. " The sky grew ever more luminous pale, The hills more solid purple. At the valley sea-mouth pale rose layered over amber, and over the rose Pale violet, high over the lifted hawk-wings of divided hills, to one fine twist of flamingo-feather Cloud flying in the wind and arch of the world. A bat flitted up the still glimmer. Fayne went up the drive and opened the gate For Lance coming across the fields. He looked As if he had fought, a victory; Fayne was silent; He nodded, and said, "I've got it over with. You were right. " She saw a thin drift of blood on the bay's foreleg; A big brown bird hung from the saddle-thongs, The half-spread sail of one wing clasped Lance's knee; He had his rifle. "Another hawk, Lance? " "Fve been there,'* He answered. "Oh, this? I pick 'em off when I see 'em. I've been back to that place. " "What place, dear? " "The . . . Slaughter-house. Under the cliff. Ah: I looked around there. And rubbed that . . . time into my eyes Until it formed. Now I guess it won't mix With every mouthful of air; I can call it to memory Or shut it up. " Fayne looked at his drawn face. But she thought he seemed a degree restored To natural goodness again, for he dismounted And walked beside her. She smelled the prickly sweet fragrance Of whiskey, and said: "That nasty old man was there. Lance: you were careful with him? " "Care? " he said, "Hell. We talked about fish. . . . I heard once about a fellow in jail Kept banging his head on the wall until he died: I'd liefer have done that than killed my brother. I often . . . miss him. " He stopped to tie up the hawk's feet To the top wire of the fence; thence they went on Without speaking. At supper he said suddenly across the table, "Listen, dad. Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? When Mikey and I were little you used to have prayers in the evenings And flogged us the times we snickered: why did you quit? " Old Fraser fixed his narrow-set apelike eyes On Lance's face; they seemed to become one thrusting darkness, but he said nothing. After a time Lance said, "But why did you quit? " "Because I grew old and powerless," the old man answered. Lance: "What was that You used to read about two sparrows for a farthing? " "The Book is there. " He nodded toward the other room. "Look it out for yourself. " When they stood up from table Lance said, "I wish you would read it for us, About the sparrows. " "I will not," he said, "read for your mockery. I am utterly left alone on earth; And God will not rise up in my time. " But Lance: "Doesn't it say No sparrow can fall down without God? " Fayne said, "Oh, Lance: come on. " "No, no; I want him to read and pray. What does that mean, fall to earth without God? Does it mean that God fells it? Fayne and I Know better than that: ah, Fayne? We know, ah? But God connives. Do read about the two sparrows. " His roving glance Came on his mother's blanched and full-moon face, The pouched watery blue eyes, and the mouth always Thirsting for breath. "No, no, I'll keep still, mother. I didn't want to tease him, I was in earnest To have prayers again. " But he remained in the room Until his mother had gone up to bed, then instantly Said, "Listen, dad. Be a good sport. Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? " Fayne had watched him Sitting stone-still, only twitching his hands, His face hollow in the lamp-shadow: she went quickly And touched his shoulder; she smoothed her hand on his throat, Saying, "Please, Lance, no more of that. Why will you do it? " "Sh," he said, "I have him by a raw spot: keep out. He spooned the gospel down my throat when I was a cub: Why's he so tight wi' that farthing? Once, dad, you whipped Mikey For spelling the name of God backward Until the red crucifixion ran down his legs. Do you remember the brave little brown legs All smeared and welted? " The old man eyed him and said, "You lie. He had a thorn-scratch that opened. " "Booh," Lance answered, "I won't quarrel with you. I want the truth: Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? " Old Fraser Groaned, and the straight edge of the lamp-shade shadow That crossed his broad face obliquely over the burning Blackness of the eyes, but left the stiff mouth and jaw In the yellow light, shook with his passion. He said, "My Master also Was mocked cruelly by those he loved, desiring to save them. You have a strong body, and if I struck you You'd take me by the wrists like a little child. I am in my house and I have no one to help me. I am old and worn out; my strength is gone and white hair has come, but honor has not come. I say that God Is not mocked; but a feeble ailing old man, who loved his boys too indulgently and has seen the blithe hands Reach out for damnation, and the happy feet . . . Oh . . . Is rightly mocked. Oh Lance, over Michael's death. " Lance, pale and mumbling: "We all have troubles, old man; Yours have come late. Well. Are not two sparrows . . . " Fayne cried, "Lance, Lance, for pity Hush, whatever he did to you when you were little. He earns peace now. " "Mm," he said, "where's that? I’ve Been trying to get him to call me about those sparrows: The old man won't play: we've an ace in the hole too. Here it is for nothing, old man: I rode by the Abbeys' line-fence along the steep Over Wreck Beach, and there's a young deer, a spike-buck, Hanging dead on the wire, made a bad jump From the low side. The barbs caught him by the loins, Across the belly at the spring of the haunches, the top wire. So there he hangs with his head down, the fore-hooves Reaching the ground: they dug two trenches in it Under his suspended nose. That's when he dragged at the barbs Caught in his belly, his hind legs hacking the air. No doubt he lived for a week: nothing has touched him: a young spike-buck: A week of torture. What was that for, ah? D'you think God couldn't see him? The place is very naked and open, and the sea glittering below; He hangs like a sign on the earth's forehead, y' could see him from China. . . . But keep the wind side. For a loving God, a stinking monument. " "Bosh," the old man answered, And stood up, and puckering a miminy mouth: "Your little buck! There is not one soul in hell but would take his place on the wire Shouting for joy . . . and few men past fifty. " Lance also, Made surly by the slow death of whiskey in his blood, Stood up: "Your merciful God, that made you whip little boys. We're dogs, But done licking those feet. " He bulked in the old man's way to the door, towering in the shadow, and forced him Toward the near corner. Fayne ran between them. "Tell me the truth," Lance said, "do you believe in your God? " Old Fraser, who had stood glaring like a bayed cat, suddenly dwindled; and felt outside the walled cube Of lamplight, under gray stars no Scottish nor Palestinian uplands but the godless hills of America Like vacant-eyed bison lying toward the sea, waiting for rain. He moved his lips without breath, he struck His throat and said feebly: "I am choked and dried up with the running sands. I have prayed a great deal in vain, and seen the whole earth Shed faith like leaves; And the faces of sin round as the sun and morality Sneered to death. I cannot Live unless I believe. . . . I cannot live"; And stood all shrunken. Lance, awed: "My God, who'd ever 'a' thought He could be plagued into honesty? " The old man Cried fiercely: "I believe. Ah: tell your people to be careful Of the God they have backed into a snarling corner, And laugh off like a dirty story. " "That's it," Lance answered. "Dogs. We all are. " He stood backward, the old man Passed slowly, staring, saying, "Make yourself ready if you can. For I see you are changed. " Fayne shuddered and said, "What does he mean? " "He? Nothing. He means two sparrows For a farthing. " She said, "Lance . . . Lance? " He moved to leave her; she breathed and said, "Can you hear? We were doing, what you thought. It seemed . . . usual That night: both drunk: he was going away . . . So what you did, Lance, Was justice. " "Agh," he said, "nudge me wi' that, still? I know it perfectly. What does it matter, what farthing Sold them? " Fayne, sobbing: "Oh, then, we did not. It is not true. I lied. " "It would not be possible to tell you," he said, "How little I care. " She, with both hands at her white throat, but lifting her face: "Yes. I can bear that. We've sailed I think away past the narrows of common faithfulness. Then care for this: To be able to live, in spite of pain and that horror and the dear blood on your hands, and your father's God, To be able to go on in pure silence In your own power, not panting for people's judgment, nor the pitiful consolation of punishing yourself Because an old man filled you with dreams of sin When you were little: you are not one of the sparrows, you are not a flock-bird: but alone in your nature, Separate as a gray hawk. " "The very thing I was thinking," he answered. "If you'd take your red hair and spindly face Out of my lamplight I'd be alone: it's like a burst blood-vessel In the eye of thought. " IX Old Mrs. Fraser Caught cold and remained in bed, the bronchial pain Frightened her heart with memories of worse anguish. Fayne went back and forth from the stove to the bed Heating flannels, to lay them on the white upland Between the blond mountains of falling flesh That had fed Lance. Going by the curtainless window She looked whether she could see him, across the fields Or up the burnt hill. Not Lance, but a smaller figure Was coming down the black hill under white clouds: Mary Abbey: her father had horses enough, Was she walking down here? Lance's mother Wished for that wintergreen oil again; Fayne rubbed it On the white plain and the roots of the great soft udders. She could feel in her finger-tips the suck and rattle Of phlegm in the breathing-tubes, the old woman coughing And saying "I see there was four sheets in the wash again From you and Lance; well, dearie, don't fret. He's just his father all over, crazy as hawks. They get to thinking Antichrist and the Jews and the wicked Pope in Rome And scunner at every arrangement for human comfort. Then they come home like hungry sailors from sea. You're all worn out in the morning; my feet are cold. " She coughed and panted; Fayne rubbed the oil. The old woman said, "My feet are cold. " Fayne answered sadly "I'll rub them. " "No, if you'd get me an iron; a fine hot flat-iron Done up in cloth is a great comfort in bed. Right often it's been a husband to me when my old man Was prophesying around and a fresh cow Cried all the night. " Fayne went downstairs for the iron And heard a wonderful sound behind the house; she heard Lance laughing. She looked from the door and saw old Davie by the lime-washed hen-house, leaning both hands on a long shovel, Gaze at the ground; Lance crouched near by, with blood on his hands and something between his knees, red feathers, That fiery old half-bred game-cock, that sent the dogs Yelping for mercy. A little Cooper's-hawk was tethered in front of Lance to a driven peg, One wing bloodily trailing; Lance pushed the game-cock toward it and the hawk fell, tripped by its wing, But crutched itself on the other and came up again, Erect and watchful, holding the earth with its yellow feet. Lance pushed and freed the game-cock, that eagerly Staring-hackled in his battle-passion Leaped up and struck down; the hawk tripped by its wing Fell quivering under the spurs, but a long-fingered Lean yellow hand reaching up out of ruin Plucked at the red king's breast: who charged again: one hawk-wing Waved, and the talons mysteriously accomplished Many quick bitter acts, whence the red king Reeled out of hope. He crouched beyond tether's reach, Propping himself on both wings, but the sinking head Still stretched for fight; then dull-eyed, at strength's end, Went staggering to it again. The yellow hands Easily made him what would never any more Chirp over bright corn to the hens or subdue a rival. Lance came, and the little hawk ran quickly and fell Onto its broken shoulder at the tether's end. Lance picked up the dying game-cock; Red grains of wheat from the torn crop fell down with the blood. Fayne watched from the open door; she saw him GIVE YOUR HEART TO THE HAWKS Turn at the click of a gate, and Mary Abbey came up from the creek-bed path. At sight of Lance She stopped; her hands went up to her throat. He, frowning: "What do you want . . . Mary? " She lowered her hands And stepping backward almost inaudibly said, "I . . . Came the back way. I . . . came to see Fayne. " She had hurried and was breathing hard. Lance stared at her, And said "Go on in, confess your sins. " He turned with his shoulder toward her; the bleeding bird in his hands Stretched itself, thrusting back with the spurs as if it were killing its last rival, and suddenly died, With a bright bubble of blood in the gaping beak. Old Davie laughed, but not Lance; the little hawk Stood up and watched all with intent eyes. Mary stayed wringing her hands and Fayne came from the door, Then Mary, half running toward her: "I hardly bear to see blood: let me go in. " Fayne said to Lance: "It won. " "It will lose," he said in his throat, "when my heel is on it. " She, gravely: "It fought well, Lance. Have you hurt your hands? " "Ugh," he said, "nothing: the vermin. " He moved toward the little captive, that looked up at him With cold intentness; the blood had started again from its broken shoulder and striped the dead wing. Mary Abbey, Shrilly, whipping the air with her hands: "Let me go!" Lance raised his foot to tread, but the victim's intent Concentration of binocular eyes looked human; Mary cried shrilly: "They told me, my father said . . . And Nina told me . . . Oh Fayne!" Lance, suddenly rigid: "What's that? " Fayne answered steadily and said, "Its life Is little value to it with a broken wing. Come into the house. " She answered "I am afraid. " But approached the door, whispering "What kind of a house, with blood sprinkled Where you enter the door: what have you done? His hands are red. " Lance turned from the hawk and said with his teeth showing, "Tell your father That I may soon be with this," he toed the dead cock, "our second-sighted old Scotchman has got a hunch, But not with that, not caught alive. " She fled from him To the open door. Fayne, jerking her face but not Her shoulders toward him, said low: "You speak of things Less real than nothing. It is not courage to make Danger where there is none. " She followed Mary Abbey Into the door, saying: "Lance is not well. He loved his brother Most deeply, and having heard of venomous talk Makes the wound burn. Have you too been listening To our enemies? " Mary, trembling in the house twilight: "I know you couldn't speak calmly, if, if . . . Oh Fayne. But every person . . . What have I done? " "Will you hush," Fayne said, "Mrs, Gomez is probably not interested In your girl dreams. " Then Mary was silent, seeing The dark ruler of the kitchen. Fayne took the iron, And said on the stair, "I have to attend to Lance's mother: You'd better stay with me. Then we'll walk. " At the room door: "Mary Abbey is here, Mother. " Mary faltered At the air of the room, the stove-heat and stale hangings in the air Of wintergreen and eucalyptus. She stood close to the door, And felt the weary mill turn in her mind, Unable to think of any definite thing, painfully grinding, turning. Old Mrs. Fraser Sniffed and said, "I can smell scorching cloth, Did you try it with a wet finger? It ought to sizz But if it whistles it will burn the sheets; Mary, are you sick? You look all blue by the mouth," she wagged her head in the pillow, "watch your heart. " Fayne, kneeling To slip the iron under the covers of the bed, tossed back her bright hair and said, "She's all right, Mother. Lance was having a kind of cock-fight in the back yard, that struck her pale: she's one of those delicate Natures that die at seeing blood. " The weary mill of the mind struck a hard kernel and seemed to fall Down hollow waters; Mary leaned on the door-frame, clenching her fists not to go down with it, biting Her white lip, the circle of sight contracted until only the blood-splatch of Fayne's hair was visible At the hub of the whirlpool. She slid with her back to the steep door-frame and did not fall; Fayne helped her To escape the room, the old woman far off proclaiming "It is her heart. " Mary leaned on the newel Of the stairhead to find her strength to go down, and said, "I am so caught. And someone has daubed every Beam of your house with it. All women have to bear blood But mine has stopped. Please go first, Fayne, For you don't hate me yet; now I can't bear To meet . . . anyone. " Fayne slowly said, "It was Michael? " "I am in terror," she answered, "of every living thing, And him, and you. " Payne's triangular face, The high cheek-bones and narrow jaw, thrust in the twilight Opposite the other's white oval, as a small perching hawk Thrusts with her head, forcing the shapes of things To grow alive in the motion of the eyes And yield up their hunted secrets: Fayne peered at her, Trembling, and said, "Then follow. " They went out the front way; No one was seen; Fayne said: "It is horrible to be nearing New Year's And still the dust and the sun, as if it could never rain. Would you like to be nurse to that old woman? She's Lance's mother. " Mary said faintly, stumbling on the plain path, "I have no mother: and the raging Blue of your eyes hates me. " "What you have heard," Fayne said, "is only the common lies of the shore. It's natural for people to furnish a house with lies if it meets misfortune. When a man loses his property He's called fool, or thief; when they see you crushed By the sudden death of someone you love they begin to hint murder; it's human nature. If you're weak enough, Believe them; it won't hurt us. But what are you here for? " She answered, leaning her hand on the post of the little gate To steady her body: "I am not strong like you. I am in danger of killing myself, if . . . Or if I believe them. " "Better than you," Fayne said, "have died. Come on. " A little way past the gate, Mary said, "What is it? You too are trembling!" She answered, trembling, "Oh no: my life is easy. Dear, We're friends, we mustn't make mysteries; tell me, won't you, what's all this web of trouble You stare so white through? You can count on my loving friendship, and my Forgiveness, if for any reason . . . My worst enemy Will call me warm-hearted; and if I once had the name Of being a jealous woman in my love for Lance: Well," she said with a calm voice, her face twisting Like a small white flame specked with flying ashes, "That wears, it softens. And he . . . grows morose and strange, Is not perfectly a splendor in my eyes any more. I will confess that I cannot feel so warmly about him As once I did. . , . Here above the beehives, Mary, Nobody ever conies, and you could tell me Everything safely; and if any advice of mine Could help, though I am not wise. " They stood silently, Turning their faces away from each other, In a wind acrid with stale honey and the life of bees. Mary Abbey shuddered and said, "I came here To tell you. Oh, Oh. I used to seem to myself Locked in, cold and unwishing; but . . . Michael's . . . love Made April in me, and the sudden emptiness of death Tore . . . I was much changed: you remember How I clung to you in the desert of the days afterwards, And tired you into dislike, until you turned Hard eyes toward me. The first time I saw Lance alone He was riding in fire and ashes; he was more unkind Than you ever were. " Fayne tasted The crack in her bitten lip, and shut her eyes and said softly, "Go on, sweetheart"; but the dark-haired one Only wept, and Fayne said, "You've told me nothing, Sweetheart. " She answered, "Are you still really my friend? Don't look at me," and turned her face from Fayne, Saying, "I was so aching lonely. I only wanted To be friends with someone: he really . . . he took me roughly On the great lonely hill; it hurt, does it hurt at first If you are loved? " Fayne had stopped trembling and stood With bones and teeth showing through the skin of her face, And trying to speak moaned slightly, and avoided The little blind hand feeling for hers. "But still I Strain and ache to be near him. " Fayne took the hand, And with her unfleshed mouth kissed Mary's hair, And tried to speak, and with painful care: "Go . . . on . . . Sweetheart? " "Then they told me that he killed Michael. That was not true. Oh yes, I know, but I thought If I loved where I ought to hate I would kill myself. I have always been as regular as the new moon, And this time, twelve days have passed. When I was troubling About that, that was when they told me. I thought About a coyote that was caught near our house In two steel traps at once, so that it couldn't Stand nor lie down. " Fayne touched her teeth with her tongue Until the stretched white lips came slowly to cover them, And said, "Do you mean? " She answered, "I am so caught. I know, I have a book about it. So I came here. Your dooryard was full of blood. " Fayne said, "Maybe you are. He's travelled away past caring, and would let Nature fly. I'd naturally . . . I have to control my starts, because Lance, Who's worth ten thousand of you, hangs on the scale. D' y' love him, sweetheart? " She turned her face toward her, Saying, "Yes. " Fayne mumbled and said, "I'd naturally . . . It's babies like you . . . Listen to me. I took Lance in my hand in that bad night To fling at the world. We do not have to let the dogs judge for us. I told him that we are our own people And can live by ourselves: if we could endure the pain of being lonely. Do you think you with Lance Could strangle time? I am holding the made world by the throat Until I can make it change, and open the knot that past time tied. To undo past time, and mend The finished world: while you were busy teething your young virginity. I have to control myself. Last year I'd 'a' let Nature fly; changed your baby face wi' my hands, Sweetheart: but I cannot risk: life has changed. " "Oh Fayne! why did you say . . . " "I'm not a tame animal," She answered, "the wild ones are not promiscuous. What would you do," her voice thinning to a wire, "if . . . Lance . . . If it proved true, that you'd given your little dry heart and careful body And anxious little savings of honor For a prize to your lover's murderer: could you walk, eat, sleep, While you knew that? " She said, "It is true then. I had made up my mind: indeed I long for it. Sleep: Oh, you'll see. " Fayne drew in breath like one Drinking in a desert passion, and said, "You've not Enough courage. " "Not for anything else," Mary answered; "But that"; and began to go back down the dry hill. Fayne followed, with eyes like the blue flame of sulphur Under the fever of her hair, and lips reddening. The moment of joy withered out of her face. "I am fighting the whole people, do you think I'll risk: For the pleasure of a small soft fool's removal, Who'd weep it out to her father or leave a letter. . . . Oh, you: it's not true. Lance is no murderer, you're innocent as far as that. I saw with my eyes your unmourned lover Clambering up the ledges in his happy drunkenness, All alone, and the shale broke in his hands; I saw him pitching down the white moonlight, And heard the noise like a melon of his head on rock In the clatter of the falling pebbles. Lance came up the sand After I screamed. " Mary Abbey stood swaying and said, "If you knew my heart you'd pity me. " Fayne, amazed: "Pity you For having had Lance? " and said hoarsely, "When did you tell him That you think you are pregnant? " "Oh, Oh," she stammered, "Never. You hate me. " "You're good at guessing," Fayne said. "What do you want here, money to bribe a doctor? We have no money here. Yet it seems I must help you, Or worse will come. I know a woman in the city . . . When you start east . . . But you must promise never to come back Into the drawing net of our lives. " X When Mary had gone, Fayne went where Lance had been; but only the little hawk Stood in the dust, hopeless and watchful, with its own misery And a shadow of its own, between the privy and the hen-house and the back door. Fayne thought: would Lance Be harmed if she should give it the gift? and fetched the axe from the wood-block, but forgot to be merciful And went upstairs. She washed herself, brushed her bright fleece, and came down. She found Lance at the fence-corner Where the north pasture comes down to drink. He had looped his belt around the neck of a yearling colt That had a head like a barrel; the little body and long knotted legs of nature, but the head enormous, Like a barrel-headed beast in a dream. "Oh Lance, what ails it? " He stared at her And answered, faintly smiling, "I guess a little Message from someone. " "What? " she said. "Nothing. We don't have rattlers In the middle of winter. " "Is it a rattlesnake bite? " "They sleep in the rocks and holes, twisted in bunches, They won't strike if you dig them up: but here On his lip are the pricks. " He unhaltered The shuddering colt. "Stumble away, poor thing. That was a mean trick, to sung the innocent. " Fayne said, "Was it a rattlesnake bite? " "Mm: but What sent it up? " "This weather," she said, "the vicious sun. " "Fine hawk's-weather, ah? Did Mary what's-her-name Tell you her young sins? " Fayne quivered, closing her eyes, And answered at length, "She's sick. " "So are we all. " "I am not. . . . Lance, you are generous: if you found a stranger Starving, and gave her . . . him milk and bread, and came Home, and you found someone of yours starving; Your father, whom you don't love, but you have to owe him A kind of duty . . . " "Why didn't you say brother? " She fixed her eyes on his face and sighed and said, "I am speaking Of the living. . . . And he begged you for the mouthed cup, and what was left Of the broken loaf? " He made a sound of impatience And turned, but Fayne took his hand, still marked by pressure Of the strap that had held the struggling colt: "Would you let him starve? " "No. What about it? " "That . . . stranger . . . you fed seems to be sorry about it. I suppose she was starving. I have some angry rinsings of pride in me Make begging bitter. " "That’s it," he said. "I could 'a' laughed at you In the days before I was damned. I'm learning. The mares have their seasons but women always. " "I will bear anything," She answered sighing, her narrow white face opaque with tolerance. "I was not always perfectly patient. If you were safe I'd have twisted a knife in her fluty throat. My knife is patience. " "I know the very Place," he said. "Come on, I’ll answer his note. The very place. " They went up by the dry Gully through the starved and naked pasture; the autumn hunger of horses and the patient hooves had left Hardly roots of the grass, and the yellow dust was reddened with sundown. They saw lean horses drift off Along the ridges on the darkening sky, and far on the last knoll Three slabs of redwood standing like erect stones, quite black against the red streak and slate-color cloud, Lonely and strange. Fayne, breathless with labor up the long slopes, cried hoarsely, "Where are you going? Oh Lance, Not there? " "There," he said. "No. I won't. No. What agony in you . . . not here. " "On his earth," he answered. "It would make us despise ourselves. Oh, do not hate him. He did no wrong, he was happy and laughing-natured, and dear to us all. " "Come on," he said, "or go home. Choose. " She went slowly away down the hill, and returned and said, "I love you and I want . . . not what you think, But near enough. And the dead know nothing. " "I wouldn't bet on it," he said; "the drunk did. " "You are wildly wrong," She answered, "Oh, horribly," and embracing him strained up to his throat Her whitened lips. She felt the bare crumbled earth, The dark home of the dead and serpents, Under her back, and gave herself eagerly, Desiring that gift that Mary meant to destroy, And herself had never wanted before, but now To accept what her rival dared not keep, Take and be faithful where the other fled, had some bitter value; And faith and the world were shaken; Lance might be lost, The past might prove unconquerable: no, she could save him: but yet She'd bind the future. This time Lance did not fail. She feared his caution and schemed against it, quite needlessly, For he had wandered beyond prudent thoughts; But when they were going away in the twilight, "Ah vile. Vile," he said, "your hawks have worse poison in their hook beaks Than any ground-nest of rattlers. " She answered, "I am not to tell you What my hope is. " "On top of his bones, dogs in a bone-yard. " She answered languidly and bitterly, "I ought to have let you Go to Salinas. I did not know that your mind . . . I would have waited for you all the long years. I did not know that your mind needed men's judgment And the helpless appraisals of the world to help you. You stood so strong, Separate, clear, free in my eyes: and I did violence to you When I kept you. " She felt a trembling about him And saw that he did not hear but was watching shadows Fleet in the air: "Sea gulls. They are gulls, Lance. Look how beautiful The long sharp silent wings in the fading light On the bare hill. " "He took it very quietly," he answered; "We are all dogs, every one. " "Oh," she said, "the world's full Of evil and foolishness but it is terribly beautiful. If you could see that, Lance. " "What? By God they won't, not alive. But then comes hell. " "I pray you, I pray you, dear, Not to begin to think strangely: that's for your father, who often Walks his road all staring between hedges Of Christs and Satans: but you will rub your mind quiet Like the face of a crystal; there is enough to see In the dark lovely shoulders of hills, the cows and horses, the old gray rocks and the folk around us, Without tapping strange dreams. . . "Oh, we'll live well. " XI The rain held off; for two hundred and forty days there had been no rain But one sun-drunken shower. The creek was dry rock and weary gray roots; the skin of the mountain crumbled Under starved feet; the five carcasses of hawks that Lance had hung on the fence-wire dried without odor In the north wind and rages of the sun. Old Fraser walked under the moon along the farm-drive beside them, Saying, "Lord if thou art minded to burn the whole earth And spat off the dust from thy hands, it is well done, The glory and the vengeance: but if anywhere Rain falls on hills, remember I beseech thee thy servant's placer Or the beasts die in the field. " While he was praying The moon was dimmed; he felt a flutelike exultance Flow up from the V of his ribs to his wrinkled throat: He was not abandoned: and looked aloft and saw A little many-colored man's-palm-size cloud Coasting the moon from the southeast, the storm-side. The old man exalted himself; he had power upon God; and anxiously Repressing his joy for fear it waste the event Beforehand, compelled his heart to remember bitterness, His two sons lost, one dead, the other in rebellion, And poverty and scorn and the starved cattle. "Oh Lord God, As in old time thou didst choose one little people for thine out of all the earth, So now thou hast chosen one man, one old man, foolish and poor: but if thy will was made up To punish the earth, then heed not my voice but arise and punish. It is rank with defilement and infidelity And the music of the evil churches. " He saw a shining white form at the garden-gate, and for a high moment Believed that some angel, as unto Abraham . . . It was Lance, Perfectly naked, and Fayne his wife behind him Walking in her white nightdress, who spoke pleadingly, But Lance went on. He came with stiff hesitance, And seemed not to look down at the latch but opened the gate. The old man watched and waited in the tool-house shadow. Lance passed the gate and stood in the open dust Like a blind marble pillar-stone, the icy moonlight Washing his body, pouring great shadows Of the heavily moulded muscles on the hairless breast, And the ripple of strength on the smooth belly; he stood And babbled and called: "Mikey. Oh Mikey. Come home. I'll be it to-morrow again. It's getting too dark to play, Don't hide any more, buddy, for the owls are out. If you'll come in I'll let you have my cornelian, And the heron's eggs that I found. " Fayne took his hand, "Lance, Lance, wake up," and stroked the smooth power of his arm, Her face caressing his shoulder. He said, "Hurry, they're blaming me. They think you're lost. " Fayne said, "I can't bear it, Lance. Mikey's in the house. He's come in already. " The old man Came forward out of the shadow; Fayne heard and stared at him. Lance said, "Damned liar. Ma's not . . . mare. People ain't made like . . . dirty . . . " and babbled words That could not be understood. Fayne said, "Sleep-walking. Did he ever before . . . what can I do? " Lance moaned, She reached her arm around him and stroked his face With the other hand; the old man saw her hair Against the wide white breast like a burst of blood Deep in the moonlight, then Lance flung her aside As white foam flies from the oar, saying still in the dream-drunken Sing-song, "Oh no you don't: this is not dog's meat. Or you'll have to kill it before you paw it. The angels wi' the hooky beaks . . . What in hell," he said Sharply, "who's there? " "I, Lance. Oh come to bed, dear. You wandered out in your sleep. " "No: that spying devil," He said, "Hm? " "Your father, your father, Lance. He was here when you came. " "Oh. . . . Did I talk? " "Hardly a word. Nothing, dear. " "I sleep better Alone," he said, "now. " The old man looked up at cloud-flecks Like algae breeding on clear deep well-water around the moon, And looked at Lance, and returned up the drive. Lance said, "Do you wear white? Hitch it up on your breast, The teat is bare. Why did he turn away without speaking? " "He saw you'd wakened. " "Black will look fine," He answered, "wi’ the fiery hair. I want you to marry again, you'll have chances. " The sky in the morning Was layered with cloud, and it drove from the southeast; the old man kept working his mouth in silent thanksgiving For answered prayer; and the wind came down from heaven and smoked in the fields. The sky cleared for a time, But that was natural; the wind increased. It ran quartering the little valley; ashes from the hill And mountain dust entered all cracks of the house. It raged on the salt pool at the creek sea-mouth By the caverned crag that storms have worn spongelike; it reaped the heads of the waves on the wide sea, and lay Like a quivering steel blade on the necks of the herbless mountains. Far away northward in San Francisco It blew the filth of the street into the faces That walked there; one was Mary Abbey's little pale oval Lost among thousands. She moved unevenly, fast and lagging, And looked with terrified eyes at the gilt street-number Scribed on a window; beyond a mean plush-curtained restaurant The number stood over a door. She stood choking, And read on a brass plate in the doorway: "Dr. Eisendraht, Eye, ear, nose, throat"; a wind-scoop of sudden dust Blurred the letters and filled her eyes. She went on With faint small steps, and at the street-corner Tried to stand still, and was jostled. Not wearing gloves She spurred blood from the back of her left hand With the nails of her right: the pain helped her go back And enter the door and find the stairway. She had to sit long, Waiting her turn; she was served impersonally And dismissed, fainting or able, to the desert wind And dust and multitude down the mean street. At Sycamore Creek Lance's mother was wiping the table oil-cloth For the noon meal, the film of the wind's dust, and suddenly Fell into a chair; Mrs. Gomez came in with knives and forks on the plates and found her, and Fayne Came at the cry; they couldn't take her upstairs until Lance came in. They helped her slip to the floor, And brought a pillow, then Lance came in. Fayne said, "She is weak but better, the pain is passing. " The old woman Mountainous laid on the floor wished to lie still for a time. Lance knelt by her side. "All right, Mother. As long as you like. Fayne," he said gravely, "Will you come to the door a minute? " Fayne went, and outside the door said, "What do you want, Lance? You scare her Wi' that secret look. " "I was not afraid to go in after him, I want you to see him. The question is Whether my eyes have begun to sing lies to me. He came from the orchard walk and went in the shed. I know you have courage. A frightful branding. Oh," he sighed, "That's the point. " She looked at his face and followed him, And reeled in the dry fierce wind in front of the house; But he leaning his back on the stiff wind, So that his shirt moulded the groove between The great bands of lean power from the shoulders: "Well. Do you see him? In the shed door. " "No. " "It was closed, he opened it. You can see that it's open? Now I'll catch him. Come. " He ran suddenly and leaped the garden gate. But Fayne must stop to unlatch it, and when she came Lance had gone into the shed and around the motor-truck That stood within. Fayne said, "Wind broke the peg That held the clasp of the door: see, here's one piece. That's why it's open. " She heard the roof straining Over the imprisoned storm. Lance said, "Did he pass you? Ah? " She answered, "We must go away from this place. For you, it's haunted. Your mother, whom I think you love, is just now Lying low between life and death, and you leave her To chase the wind, and the foxes of your eyes. Do you love him so? Or hate him? " He answered, "The fire's burnt through his cheek, His back teeth grinned at me through the horrible scar. I'll be there soon. " "What fire? . . . Are you dreaming punishment? Oh, that's the vainest craziest falsehood of all. Leave that to your poor old father. " "We go down Into blackness," he stiffly answered, "And neither you nor I nor the old man Knows what happens there. This was Michael: if I should dream him I'd dream the skull knocked in, hm? What I saw's The cheek burnt through. " "I will not let go and lose you," she answered. "Probably," Lance said, "he'd have lied If I could have caught him. " In the afternoon Fayne saw from the window above the kitchen a small gray object Making a singular dance in the flying dust. The little hawk which Lance had shot but not killed Was dying; they had dropped it a strip of beef that dried in the sun, And given it a dish of water, and not again Remembered it, though it stood up grimly and watched Whoever passed to the privy. The water was blown Out of the dish; no matter, it had never drunk. Now it was flapping against the wind, Fluttering the natural wing and trailing the broken one, Grotesque in action as the blackcock at dawn Making his dance of love; but this was of death. In the night Fayne said: "That little hawk died. Oh, be quiet now; You've shot them out of the sky. . . . Dear, I am to blame Like you, and yet I'd be as happy at heart As a fed bird that glides through the high air If you were not tearing yourself. " He made no answer, She heard the wind tear at the roof, and said, "I love this place. But time has changed, let old Davie And your dad farm it now, it is full of memories And very fit for old men. You and I Will take three horses for all our share of it, And travel into the south by that deer-track Where the planted foot is on the face of the mountain and the lifted foot High over the gray face of the sea: four or five days Only the eagles will see us, and the coasting ships Our fires at evening, and so on southward. But when we get to Los Angeles, dear, You'll put your great white shoulders to work For passage-money, we'll sell the horses and ride In a ship south, Mexico's not far enough, The Andes are over the ocean like our hills here, But high as heaven. " "Fancy-work," he mumbled. "Ah. Low as hell. " Fayne said, "No. Listen: how the air rushes along the keel of the roof, and the timbers whining. That's beautiful; and the hills around here in the cloud-race moon-glimmer, round rocks mossed in their cracks with trees: Can't you see them? I can, as if I stood on them, And all the coast mountain; and the water-face of the earth, from here to Australia, on which thousand-mile storms Are only like skimming swallows; and the earth, the great meteorball of live stone, flying Through storms of sunlight as if forever, and the sun that rushes away we don't know where, and all The fire-maned stars like stallions in a black pasture, each one with his stud of plunging Planets for mares that he sprays with power; and universe after universe beyond them, all shining, all alive: Do you think all that needs us? Or any evil we have done Makes any difference? We are a part of it, And good is better than evil, but I say it like a prayer That if you killed him, the world is all shining. It does not matter If you killed him; the world's out of our power, the goodness and splendor Are things we cannot pervert, although we are part of them And love them well. " He heavily answered: "Have you finished? Don't speak of . . . him . . . again. " She began to answer, Thought, and was silent. XII She fetched a pair of rawhide panniers From the harness wall in the barn, remembering that Michael Less than two years ago had whittled the frame, and Lance Shaped the hairy leather and stitched it with sinew thongs. That was the time they three in delight and love Rode south by the sea-eagle trails to Point Vicente and Gamboa For seven days' hunting, when Fayne shivered with happiness, Riding between the most beautiful and strongest man For husband, and the gayest in the world for brother, on perfectly Wild hills and by rushing streams. She packed the panniers, And balanced the weight, mixing her things with Lance's. The wind had ceased and no rain had fallen, but the air grown colder Whipped up her courage to believe Lance would go, And find life, in new places. His mother was well again; And on the farm all things had come to a pause; he was not needed. The hay-loft was emptying fast; but Lance could not make it rain by staying! While she packed the panniers A little agony was acting under the open window, between the parched lips of the creek. One of those white-crowned sparrows that make sweet voices in the spring evenings in the orchard Was caught by a shrike and enduring death, not the bright surgical mercy of hawks, but slow and strangling. Its little screams quivered among the gray stones and flew in the window; Fayne sighed without noticing them, And packed the panniers. When Lance came up at evening she showed him what she had done: "We'll go to-morrow. " He said he'd not leave the place in trouble, "Even dogs are faithful. After the first good rain I'll go. " The reasons she made only angered him. Late in January Fell rain mingled with hail, and snow in the nights. Three or four calves died in a night, then Lance Had occupation with what survived; and the north slopes of hills were sleeted with magic splendor That did not melt. Fayne was drying dishes while Mrs. Gomez washed them; she dropped a cup With the dazzle of the white hill in her eyes when the sun came out; Then Lance's mother filled up the door and said, "That Mary Abbey is here. " Fayne answered clearly, "I broke a cup. She is in Idaho I think. '* The old woman: "She's thinner. Oh Fayne, there were only seven Left of the dozen"; she gasped, remembering Michael: six were enough. "She's got something to tell you. " Fayne said, "Being out of our net Has she flown back? Where's Lance? " and passed the old woman As one moves a door to pass through a doorway, But found no one; neither in the front rooms Nor on the garden path when she opened the house-door. Then she returned to Lance's mother and asked, "Where has she gone? Where was she? " but found no light in the answers, Only that Mary looked waxy as a little candle, Her heart must be terribly weak, she looked all blue by the mouth, And must have come a wet way. Fayne felt the jealous Devil fingering her throat again, tightening her breath, And hasted and found Lance; but he was alone; In the lower creek-bed, lopping all the twigs from the willows, making a load, to be chopped fine And mixed with little portions of hay. She saw him reaching up the dwarf stems, as tall as the trees, The sky-cold knife, the purple twigs at his feet, and said, "Have you seen Mary Abbey? " "What? " "Mary Abbey. " "You said she'd gone. " "Well, she did go: she was up at the house just now"; and knowing her own bitter absurdity Fayne trembled, saying, "Was she here? " He looked into the hollow creek-bed behind him; what was Fayne seeing To make her tremble? "No," he said. Fayne, trembling with anger: "I'll tell you what she went east for: she was pregnant. She stopped in San Francisco to be fixed up. " "That's bad," he said; "poor child"; He slashed the twigs. Fayne tortured her hands together until the pain in the knuckles made her able To smell the wounds of the willows and say steadily, "What will you do, Now she's come back? " "Oh," he answered. She stood waiting; he slashed the twigs and dropped them, saying, "Let her stay there. I've been thinking, Fayne. I've been able to think, now the heat's broken. We have no outlet for our bad feelings. There was a war but I was too young: they used to have little wars all the time and that saved them, In our time we have to keep it locked up inside and are full of spite: and misery: or blindly in a flash: Oh," he said stilly; "rage Like a beast and kill the one you love best. Because our blood grows fierce in the dark and there's no course for it. I dream of killing all the mouths on the coast, I dream and dream. " She said, "Will you go to-morrow? " "No. When the grass grows up. I'm bound to save what I can for the old people, but knives and axes Are a temptation. Two inches of grass. " She stood gazing; he saw the blue of her defenseless eyes Glance at his knife-hand. "Don't be a fool," he said, "I can be quiet forever. Have you seen the old man When he looks at me? I think he knows. " "That is impossible," Fayne answered. "Why? " "For his mind is like A hanging rock; he'd go mad when you crossed his eyes. But if he learned it after you'd gone away He could absorb it, like the other dreadful dreams that he eats. " He answered, "Davis has known for weeks. I can tell that. " "We have friends," she said; "faithful ones. " "Did you say that poor child Was . . . what did you say? " Fayne hardened and answered, "Your mother saw her. " "I mean . . . no matter," he said. In the night she lay Unable to sleep; she heard the coyotes howl And shriek on the white hill, and the dogs reply. Omens and wraiths waked in her night-weakened nerves, Reminders of the vague time when wolves were terrible To one's ancestors; and through all the staring-gaps of the night She kept thinking or dreaming of Mary Abbey, Who had come to the house and then lacked courage to stay, and must no doubt Be suffering something. But Lance to-night slept quietly; he'd enjoyed the good fortune Of useful and active labor outdoors, in the cold Beautiful weather. He was so concentrated On the one spot of anguish That nothing else in the world was real to him. The Abbey girl Was never real to him; not even while . . . Fayne heard her own teeth Chipping each other in the angry darkness . . . Nor whether she'd been in trouble. The little wolves on the hill Lifted their tumult into a tower of wailing; Fayne saw clearly in her mind the little muzzles Lifted straight up, against the starlit gray shoal of snow, and the yellow-gray clamor shot up the night Like a church-spire; it faded and floated away, the crackling stars remained. "They smell," Fayne thought, "The dead calves, and no doubt have found them. They've feasted, And now they sing. . . . Nothing is real to Lance but his wound; But when we get away from this luckless place, Which yet I love, Then gradually the glory of the outer world Will become real; when he begins to perceive the rushing and shining storm and fragrance of things, Then he'll be well. " A drift of thin rain fell in the morning; The white vanished from the hill. The third day, Fayne, going to spy for fear Mary might come Where Lance was working, found old Davis in the driveway Talking to a tall thin man on a red horse; A Spanish man whom Fayne had not seen before, But felt that she'd seen the horse. She eyed them and said, "What does he want? " Davis, turning his back on the stranger, Covertly touched his forehead and drooped an eyelid. "He works at Abbey's. This is the famous Onorio Vasquez, The cowboy that sees the visions. He wants to tell you: you can send him off if you want to. Have you heard About Abbey's girl? " "What? " Fayne asked, her eyes narrowed, lips thinned. "He says she put herself out. The young they ain't got consideration for nobody. " "What do you mean? " "Jumped off a pier I believe. A telegram came in their mail yesterday. Her dad's gone up to San Francisco to view the body. So his hired man can roam. " Payne's mouth jerked, her eyes widened. "I cannot understand what you mean, Davie," she said; but gazed at the Spanish-Indian, the hollow brown eyes With a bluish glaze across them, in the shadow of his hat, in his bony face. "Jumped off a pier," Davis answered with patient enjoyment; "it seems she kept her address in her hand-bag on account of traveling, So they telegraphed. " "Did you say that she died? " He nodded, "Mmhm: wa'n't made for a fish, didn't have gills. The young ain't got consideration for things like that. " "Mary!" Fayne said, her hand at her throat. She drew deep breath, and sharply lifting her face toward the silent horseman: "What are you waiting for, Your news is told? " He, in better English than one expected, In the soft voice of his race: "You are very sorry: Excuse me, please. I only saw her a little and she went away After I came to work; she was beautiful with patient eyes but I think it is often good to die young. I often wish. " "She came to this house," Fayne said, "two days ago: how could she . . . in the city? She was here The day before yesterday. " "No, that was the day," he answered, "she died. " Fayne stared at him Without speaking; he was half dazzled by the wide blue of her eyes below the fire-cloud of hair, He looked at the brown earth. "What time did she . . . What time? " Fayne asked. "Don't know. " She said slowly, "I think it is . . . strange. " She hardened. "Nothing. Have you come To tell us any other thing? " "Yes," he said proudly, "I ride on the hill and see a vision over this house. You have heard of Onorio Vasquez? That is my name. " Old Davis made a derisive noise in his throat; Fayne, thinking "Visions? Apparently we too . . . " said quietly, "I never heard of you. " He, saddened: "It does not matter. " But Davis, the grizzled Thatch of his lip moving to make a smile: "Now that's too bad: for the man's famous. He's got six brothers And every one of them knows him, every Vasquez on the coast. If they can't steal meat nor borrow a string of peppers they listen to brother Onorio Telling his dreams all through a winter night; They don't need nothing. " She answered, "If you have nothing to do here, Go and help Lance. " And to Vasquez: "Tell me what it is You have to say. " "You know a place in the south call' Laurel Spring? No? " he said. "Near Point Vicente. I never been: my brother Vidal has been. He told me a rock and an old laurel tree Is cut by the wind into the shape of the rock, and the spring runs down. He made a beautiful place The way he told; we are much Indian, we love such places. " Fayne answered, "I am busy just now. " He: "Excuse me, please. I ride on the hill and every day Watch the old war in the sky over this house; I hurt my heart with my eyes. Sometimes a naked man Fighting an eagle, but a rattlesnake bitten him; Sometimes a lion fighting a tide of dogs; But sometimes terrible armies out of the east and west, and the hacking swords. " Fayne gazed at him And said, "Is that all? I have just heard that my best friend has died: I cannot think of these things. " He said "The two armies Destroyed each other, except one man alone Walking among the bodies of horses and men That blocked the sky; then I heard someone say, 'Let him lie down with the others. ' Someone say, 'No. At Laurel Spring he will wash off the blood, And be cured of his wound. ' I cannot live Until I tell you. " "Is it on the way Into the south? " Fayne said. "Yes: on the trail. My brother Vidal . . . " "I believe many lies Are told about us," she said. "Have you heard talk About this house? " He picked at the hair rope of the halter On the horn of the saddle. She said, "I can guess What you have heard. . . . May I call you Onorio? Because it was kind of you to come down; and thank you For telling me about your vision. " She went nearer to him, To reach his eyes under the eaves of his hat. "Do you know Leo Ramirez? " "Him? Yes. " "Have you talked to him? He could tell you about it. He and I alone Saw my husband's brother climb on the cliff and fall. Ask him and he will tell you the truth. The others lie: To amuse idleness, I guess. If they had your great power And saw the spirits of the air, they'd never do so. But would you think the spirits of the dead? " Her face Flashed at him, soft and hard at once, like a wet stone. "Nothing," she said. "This present world is enough For all our little strength. Good-bye, Onorio. If you hear anything Come down and tell me . . . at Abbeys' or anywhere . . . For nobody comes down to see us any more, On account of those wicked . . . lies . . . " While she spoke A sob broke through and she hid her face. He from above Looked down at her bent head and the wild color And foam of her hair; he reached and touched her hair As if it were a holy thing. Fayne, in a moment Quelling her tears: "I'll remember About the way south, that fountain. I am very unhappy For my lost friend. " She turned hastily away And left him, and found Lance. She sobbed, "Mary Abbey Will never come back. I . . . . I liked her well enough If she had not . . . Oh Lance. " He was flaying the leather from a white and red calf, kneeling to work. He rested his red-stained hands on the carcass and looked up with vague eyes. Fayne remembered, "At Laurel Spring He'll wash the blood . . . " "Hm? " he said, "what? " "Mary . . . What am I doing," Fayne thought, "I oughtn't to tell him While his mind is like this"; and clearing her face if she could, making a smile, said carefully, "What Do you want the skin for? " "I've nothing to do," he said, "for the time. Rawhide has uses. I ground my knife After all the willows were cut. Occupation. " "A sort of bloody one," Fayne said carefully. "Well," he said, And tugged at the skin with his left hand, making small cuts with the knife against the cling of the flesh. She stood and watched, and furtively wiped her eyes. He looked up again: "No fat to scrape off. " He dipped The knife in the shrunken flesh between ribs. "Amazing," he said, "how the beasts resemble us, bone for bone, And guts and heart. What did you say about Mary Abbey? " "No," she answered, "nothing. I was too unkind. I think how lonely she was. " "Oh. You mean Mary Abbey. I wish to God . . . " He stopped speaking and tugged the skin, making small cuts At the tearing-place. Fayne said, "Did you ever hear Of Laurel Spring, down the coast? " She saw his wide shoulders Suddenly stiffen, a shadow shot over in the air And Lance's white-blue eyes rolled after the bird, A big black one, with bent-up wing-tips, a flesh-color head That hung and peered. He sighed and pulled at the skin, slicing the fiber. Fayne said, "A vulture. They're living high now. " "Mm," he said, "they know: they're always stooping over my head. I thought it was something else. " "You've shot them out of the sky," she answered, "there are no hawks. " "Aren't there!" He said, and hushed. After a time Fayne left him, and looked back When she came to the ridge of the hill. She saw the brown breast of earth without any grass, and the lean brown buckeye Thicket that had no leaves but an agony of stems, and Lance Furiously stabbing the flayed death with his knife, again and again, and heard his fist hammer On the basket-work of the ribs in the plunges of the hiltless blade. She returned; when he saw her he was suddenly still. She said, "Whom were you thinking of? " He gazed in silence as if he thought that he ought to remember her But could not. "Who was being stabbed . . . in your mind, Lance? " "Nobody. We are all dogs. Let me amuse myself. " "Me? " she said steadily. "No. " She sighed and said, "I was going to tell you . . . I will. Mary Abbey's dead. " She watched his blood-flecked face and his eyes, but they stood still. "Oh," he said coldly. "What did she die of? " "Unhappiness. She drowned herself. " "Too bad. " He said no more, and Fayne stared and said: "When your mother saw her That day, she was not real but a pleading spirit; she was dying in the north. We never pitied her. " "Is she frightened? " he said. "Who? Your mother? I have not told her. " "Don't then. " XIII He stood up slowly, And wiped the knife on the hair side of the skin; He looked up the darkening wind and said, "It is going to rain. " Fayne said, "Then will you go? " seeing his fixed face Against the lit cloud, so that the sanguine flecks And smear under the cheek-bone were not apparent, Only the ridge of the face, the unrounded chin Higher than her eyes. He turned in silence and passed Heavily over the grassless earth, but soon Fayne had to run to keep up. Near the house They came to Davis pouring water into the hand-pump Of the old well to prime it; who said, "The water's Quit in the pipes; the crick's not dry up yonder, I guess a rat in the intake . . . " Lance answered hoarsely, "Fish it out then. Where's the old man? " Fayne said, "What do you want, Lance? " "The old man. " Old Davis gaped At his changed face; Fayne saw the water clamber Up the sides of the can in the shaking hand In little tongues that broke and ran over, "Hey, hey," Davie stammered, "y' got to consider," but Lance touched him With only the finger-tips, then the man raised One arm and pointed northwestward, slant up the hill. Lance turned and ran; Fayne followed him, but could not now Keep up, old Davis hobbled panting behind them; At lengthening intervals the little ridiculous chase Crossed over the creek-bed under sycamore trees, Past buckeye clumps, and slant up the bare hill Below the broad moving sky. Tall spikes of a tough weed With leather leaves grew at a place on the hill; A few staring-flanked cows tongued the gray leaves But would not crop them, and broke the stalks. Old Fraser stood Against a fence-post and watched; he saw the herd A red and white stippling far down the slope, and the serpent-winding creek-bed, the salt pool of its end Behind the sand-bar, and the sandstone fang in the mouth of the valley, from which the shore hills over sky and water Went up each way like the wings of a sombre archangel. Lance came from behind And said, "I have run my course. I cannot go on forever. " The old man, broken out of his revery, Looked blindly at the wide chest, red hands and stained face, as if a pillar of mist had come up and stood Threatening above him. "You," he said harshly, "what do you want? " "Judgment. I cannot go on alone," And in a boy's voice, "Oh, judgment. I have done . . . I need, I need. " The old man's brown apelike eyes got him clear at length, and became after their manner A force of thrusting, like a scorched bar of fire-hardened wood. "Go home," he said, "drunkard. If there is no work in the field for your . . . hands . . what blood is that? " "My brother's," Lance said. Fayne came too late, And sobbed for breath, in her throat a whining, and said, "He was skinning a calf down there, he was . . . " Lance passed Between them and leaned on the fence-wire with his hands together and dragged the palms of his hands to the right and left So that the barbs of the wire clicked on the bones of his hands through the torn flesh. "And mine," he said. Fayne heard the tough noise of tearing, and felt in her own entrails through the groin upward an answering anguish. Lance turned, hissing with pain, and babbled: "For no reason on earth. I was angry without a cause and struck him with iron and killed him. The beast in me That wants destruction. I mean Michael you know, Michael I mean. " Old Fraser staggered, saying quietly, "Has he had drink? " Fayne said, "He . . . " she looked up at Lance's beautiful head and stained gray face, But the lower zone of her vision could not avoid his hands, and thick blood falling from the shut knuckles: Where was that readiness of mind, her thoughts were wailing away on the wind like kildeer, which flitter singly, Crying all through the white lofts of the moonlight sky, and you never see them. "Am I going to tip over For blood, like Mary? " She stammered: "He . . . Ah God. I'll tell you . . . " Lance said, "This is mine. I have come. Keep that woman away from me until I speak. She fooled me into concealment, time and again, Oh cunningly. I have fallen through flight after flight of evil And harmed many. " Fayne gathered her mind and said, "This is it. This is the thing. He made love With a girl and she has just died: now he hates me and he hopes To take all the sins of the world onto his shoulders, to punish himself. It is all like a mad saint. You trained him to it. But I saw Michael . . ," Lance said, "I remember an iron bolt for my shipwreck Stood in my hand": he opened the ripped palm and the red streamed: "I struck. " "Climb," Fayne said, "Up the awful white moon on the cliff and fall, I saw him. It is Mary Abbey Has killed herself. " Lance said, "How your power's faded. You'll never Fool me or the world again. I would not die Until I had told. " Davis came up, and saw Lance head and shoulders against the sky like a dead tree On which no bird will nest; the others at his base On the brown hill, Fayne saying "Oh weak as water, How will this help you bear it? " Davis, choked With haste on the hill: "Ah. Ah. What's he been doing? " Lance held His two hands toward his father, suppliant, but clenched To save the blood. "What shall I do? " The old man Stepped backward without an answer. Fayne said, "Because The Abbey girl drowned herself, Lance thinks his finger Helped push her down; but she was sick in her dreams And might 'a' done it for anyone: the rest's invention To punish himself. I am the one to hate him Meddling with that sick child, but I love him And will not lose. " Davis, eyeing certain flakes And scraps on the red thorns of the wire, sighed "Ah That was a ghastly thing," and stood swaying, Yellow and withered. Old Fraser's burnt wandering eyes Fixed on him, the old man said: "Which is the liar? Did Lance do it? " Lance opened his palms toward him As if they would take and hold, saying "Tell the truth, I will not bear to live in the dark any more. " Davis groaned, "Ay. It's true I guess. " Fayne: "Ah, Ah, coward. Because he held his hands at you. " She said to old Fraser: "People hate you and your enemies made this story Because you still had a son after Michael died. This is what they have whispered so long, and Lance has heard it And uses it to stab himself. " Lance said, "It is horrible To hear the lies from her mouth like bees from a hive Hot in the sun. I was Michael's death; And I cannot bear it in silence. Only I pray you all to keep it Hidden from my mother; you can do that With a little care, with a little care, she cannot live long. Make a story to save her. " Old Fraser, suddenly Covering his face: "Me . . . has anyone cared a little to save Lest I live to the bitterness? " He passed among them With tottering steps, tasting the way with his hands, And down the hill toward home. Lance stood and muttered, "What did he say, did he answer me? He's honest, I bank on that. " A short way down The old man stumbled and nearly falling stood still a moment; Then turned his course up the hill and seemed to make haste With short weak steps. Lance watched him and followed soon, But turned fiercely on old Davie: "Back to work. Off. That rat in the intake. " And to Fayne: "How death Makes even a rat powerful, they swell like clouds. Leave me, will you. " She answered, "I will never leave you. But you, Davie, go home. " "Hm? '' Lance said, "never? You take your time. Tie up my hands then; I think the seepage dulls me More than the hurt helps. Here's a handkerchief: Your dress is old. " She tore it, and while she bandaged him They stood, the old man trotted on. Lance dully wondered: "Why did I come to him; because he believes in God? What the hell good is that? Hm? Oh, to put it Out of its misery. " "I know you have been in torture," Fayne said. "And now you have done unwisely but yet we'll live: not here, but certainly, fully And freely again. You might have spared that old man. Our joined lives are not weak enough to have gone down In one bad night. . . . Oh Lance," she prayed suddenly, "have mercy on me. While you tear and destroy yourself It is me that you tear. " He went on, she followed. On the high knoll ahead Stood the bleak name-posts of those three burials, one new and two old, erect against the sinking gray sky, And seemed to rise higher as the clouds behind went down. The old man was struggling across a gully this side. Fayne breathlessly said, "Lance, Lance, can you hear me? He is going up to Michael's grave, where his wild mind, that you've Not spared, is to find some kind of fall, some kind of decision. Do you remember, dear, that you took me To Michael's grave a while back? You were so angry. But that was the break of our bitter frost. And maybe there, or maybe afterwards at home in bed: sometime you put new life in my body. Do you remember that I begged you for it? I could not bear That that sick child and not I . . . Through me you go on, the other threw you away. Remember, whatever destroying answer Is to gore us now, A spark of your life is safe and warm in my body and will find the future. There is some duty in the parcel With being a father; I think some joys too. But not to destroy yourself, Not now I think. " "Sing to yourself," Lance answered. "I am sorry if she died sadly, I've worse to think of. " Fayne saw old Fraser, crooked and black against the light cloud, Totter up the hilltop and drop himself down By the new name-post, but he stood up again Before Lance and Fayne came. He screamed, "Keep off," And picked up clods of the herbless earth and threw them, But Lance went up without noticing. "What must I do? " He prayed, "I cannot live as I am. " Old Fraser Suddenly kneeling covered his face and wept, And said, "What has God done? I had two sons and loved them too much, And he is jealous. Oh Lance, was there no silence in the streaming world To cover your mouth with, forever against me? I am not. Not hangman. Tell your story Where it belongs. Give yourself up. Must I take you? " "That's what I thought of at the very first, But have been deluded awhile," Lance answered quietly, And turned to go down. Fayne cried, "What good is this? Oh, but how often, Father, you have spoken of the godless world: is that what Lance is to go to for help and punishment? When they came to put a serum into your cows, what did you say? You would not trust an old cow to them, Will you trust Lance? If he were as red as Cain . . . when hunters come and break down your fences here Do we run to the law? Must we run to it For a dearer cause? What justice or what help or what understanding? I told him to give his heart To the wild hawks to eat rather than to men. " Lance gripped her elbow with the tips of his fingers, And pointing at the empty air past the old man: "See, he looks pleased wi' me, And happy again. " She looked first at Lance, then at the vacant air. "How could he help but forgive you," She answered, "he knows it was not hatred but madness. Why must you punish yourself, you loved each other"; and to the old man: "Is God's hand lamed? Tell Lance To lean on your God; what can man do for him? I cannot remember," she said trembling, "how Cain ended. There were no prisons I am sure? " Lance said, "He looks well. No scar at all and his eyes laughing. Ah, Ah, look: He waved his hand at his grave and laughed. I'll tell you, though, He's not real. Don't mistake him. It makes me glad, But it's bright nothing. Now it's gone: see? " The old man, suddenly Erect and shaking against the gray cloud: "I will have no part in this matter. It is written that sevenfold vengeance on the slayer of Cain. Go. Go. To be a fugitive and be a vagabond, And tramp the earth hard that has opened her mouth for thy brother's blood. No wonder the sweet rain could not fall. I say flee quickly, before the dogs . . . should I give My son to be judged by dogs? " Fayne said, "Do you hear him, Lance, he has answered you. We must go away south, As I've been praying. " Lance said, "It has all been useless and blind. I am back in hell. " He sighed and went down The way Fayne led, old Fraser behind them crying: "If you had listened in the days before: now it is night, And who shall hear? but the sharp feet of pursuers: yet look how Christ's blood Flows like a fiery comet through heaven and would rain sweetness The fields refuse. " Fayne said, "I am going to tell your mother That you've got work as foreman on a farm in the south, A dairy I'll say, near Paso Robles. You've got to go and earn wages Because we're to have a baby. But next summer She'll see us again: we'll come visiting: do you understand? You must not let her think that you're going for good; She couldn't bear that perhaps; but cheerfully say good-bye, You'll save the sorrow, that's your wish, perhaps even The ticking of her tired heart. Can you do it, Lance? No," she said sadly when she looked at his face. "I'll say that you've gone ahead. You had to go suddenly To get the job. " "By God," he said, "I can do my own lying, And smooth a face of my own, come on and watch me. It is my mother. " "Your hands, Lance. " He moaned impatiently "How will you say they were hurt? " He moaned, "Hobbled, hobbled. Never an inch. That's the first rule in hell, Never to step one inch until it is planned. . . . In the feed-cutter. " Fayne said "I daren't. Yes, at the end. I'll find clean cloth to bandage them. You must wash. Get Davie to help you ready the horses. The pack is ready, only we must put food in it. " He answered, "I am sick of life. I have beaten at the last door And found a fool. " XIV Beyond Abbey's place The trail began to wind up to the streaming cloud. Fayne looked back: Abbey's was hidden, the awful memoried cliff Crouched indistinguishable. Lance said fiercely, 44What do you see? " "Nothing. " Fayne led the packhorse To save torture of his hands; Lance rode behind. He stopped on the rounding of a high fold of the hillside And turned himself in the saddle, with his finger-tips On the withers and on the croup. Fayne stopped. "Did you see," Lance said, The look of the man that watched us by Abbey's fence? " "What, Lance? I am quite sure you are wrong: there has been no one Since we left home. " "Then I was mistaken. . . . I see nobody following. If they come after me I'll kill them; I am not going to be interfered with now. My trouble's my own affair. I'd cut my heart out To make him live: that's out of the question. I have beaten like a blind bird at every window of the world. No rational exit. No cure. Nothing. Go on. No," he said, "wait. You know it's our last chance to see home. There are our hills but the valley's hidden. There's Fraser's Point, Do you see? The small jag: like a beak, ah? And," he said slowly, "the curve On this side, glimmering along . . . that cliff you know. Looks like flat shore. " "Dear," she said faintly, "it would be better not to look back. We're going far. Come. " "Worn flat I suppose by my thoughts, walking around, up and down, walking around. Don't talk about it. I can even pick out the hill where we stood this morning, that posted hill. I'm a little run down in health, Perhaps these haggles in my hands will poison. Go on: I've seen enough. " Around the corner of the hill, where wet earth hushed The stony hooves, "Did you tell me," Lance said, "That my mother saw Mary . . . what did you tell me When she died? " Fayne felt a tired hope of joy: He was thinking of someone else than Michael at least. "Your mother saw her the day she died; probably the hour And very moment. She thought that she asked for me, But when I came, the presence had disappeared. " "What about it? " he said, "there's no sense in it. " "No. That's the manner of . . . spirits. She had a clear sweet nature, Candid and loving. " Lance answered, "I am much troubled About leaving my mother. The skin looked bluish again Around her nostrils; we ought not to have left her. " Fayne heard An angry repeated crying high up in the air; She was careful not to look up, but stealthily Looked back at Lance; and said, "She was happy, dear, When I told her about the baby; she was full of plans. And we'll write often. " He was glaring up at the sky, His face menacing and pale. Fayne said, "Lance? " And when he did not answer, herself looked up and watched a great soaring bird, White-tailed, white-headed, a bald eagle, wide over the mountain and shore scribing his arc of flight, Tormented by a red-tail hawk that sailed above. The hawk dived, screaming, and seemed to strike, The eagle dipped a wing with reluctant dignity And sailed his course. "Oh, you can't kill them all," Fayne said, "from here to Mexico. " "I don't want to. They win, damn them. " They climbed at length to the cloudy ridges Where the high trail went south; they rode through the clouds and in windy clearings Would see enormous declivities tilting from the hooves of the horses down wells of vapor to the sudden shore's Thin white surf on a rock like a grain of sand. Two or three times Fayne heard Lance stop; she sat in the cloud and waited until he came. When the ridge and the trail widened They rode abreast; then she saw that he'd stripped The bandage from his right hand, but one thin layer The wound gaped through. "Oh Lance, it is all exposed: was it too tight? " "Too stiff. " "I must fix it. Have you thrown the linen away? " He said with a shamed face, "Let's be friends, Fayne. I feel somebody Behind us; and I can tell you I won't be caught. I have my gun: I can't manage the trigger Wi' that muff on my hand. " "You are right," she answered with a flash of joyful fear; "but it is certain That no one's following. Your wrist looks swollen. " "No," he said; "but it is strange and pleasant to have left the place Along with you. Your hair is like a fire in the cloud. " She answered, "We have changed worlds. " "Wait for me," He said, and turned and went back. Hearing him speak, but not able to see him through the blind vapor, She struggled in a kind of nightmare to turn the packhorse To go back to him; she dropped the hair rope and struck Her mount with fists and heels. As it leaped, Lance Grew out of the fog, towering on his little horse. "What was it? What did you see? " "Ah, nobody. I could ‘a’ sworn. " He was always listening as they went on, And looking back, if the steam of the world cleared Over the draft from a gorge. Fayne suddenly stopped In the blind coil and drizzle of the cloud. "Are you there, Lance? Are you all right? " "Hm? Yes," he answered, "I know it. But I never can see him. " Fayne said quietly, "Perhaps he is. As when your mother saw Mary Abbey. But they're not real, As you and I are, and the hard mountains and the horses and the wet cloud. He is not an enemy; we never A moment hated him, but always loved and were sorry. But he is only an echo of our own troubled And loving thoughts. " Lance laughed like the sudden bark of a dog: "Eavesdroppers Have got to take what they get. But what's real, ah? How do you know? " "I never thought of it," she answered, "But I can tell you. What eyes, ears, fingers, can feel; and come again the next day And feel again: that's real. You may see visions but you cannot touch them; but if you could touch them too, Yet they don't last. . . . Did you ever hear of a place called Laurel Spring? " "No. Any water would do. It's growing toward night. " "I was thinking about a man named Vasquez," she answered, "That sees visions. " The trail had come lower, They rode in dropping skeins of the cloud, a slight cattle-track On a steeple-roof slope so sheer and high That every stone the hooves kicked out rolled down Into deep water; but had dwindled from sight down the pitch of distance The first quarter of its fall. The sea-west heaven Opened an eye, whence the last of the sun Flamed, like a fire fallen into a well Flashing before it is drowned, that makes the black disk of water As bright as blood; and the wild angry light streams from the bottom up the stained wall And washes with color every cold stone: so from the floor of the world a fountain and flood of roses Flew up to the height, those two riders might have seen Their own blue shadows on the red cloud above them; Then the eye of the west closed. Color was there But no radiance, here the gray evening gathered. Lance's mount suddenly stumbled; Fayne cried out; And they rode on. Lance said, "Now he's ahead of us; The horse shied when he passed; I couldn't see him. It's trembling still. " Fayne said, "No wonder. If it had fallen It would roll from here to the sea; oh, keep your feet Light in the stirrups. Your bay's getting too old, Lance. To-morrow it must take the pack; you'll ride the pinto. " "To-morrow!" he said. Fayne turned and looked and said nothing, feeling intolerable sadness Grow over her mind like the gray darkness covering the world; for a moment it seemed they were not escaping But only dragging the trap; and the twilight darkened. There was no stopping here; They rode like flies upon the face of a wall; The tired horses must stick if they could, and go in darkness Until some flat place found. Fayne was tired too, And shook in the cold. "Lance, Lance, ride carefully. If you should fall I'll follow. I will not live Without you. " He laughed, "Ha!" like the bark of a dog. "No danger here, we are going in the perfect owl's eye. Michael has gone ahead to make ready for us. You know: a camp. " "What? " she said. "You know: a camp. We'll come to it. " "Oh Lance, ride carefully. " A kind of shoulder on the wall Showed in the dark, and a little noise That Fayne thought was the sea. Lance called behind her, "Hello. Are you there? " She said, "Here, Lance. " "Uhk-hm. The other fellow; not you. " She thought "I can't bear it," And said quietly, "It's water my horse has found. It must be a little creek; I can hear it falling. " They stopped and drank under the whispering bushes, And found no place to lie down. There were no stars, But three ships' lights crept on the cavernous depth And made a constellation in the under-world; Lance said, "Damn you, go on. " Fayne understood By the useless curse how his mind stared. The horses Paced on with heads down, and around the fold of the hill Stopped of themselves. Here in a shallow gully There seemed to be room to camp, between the sharp slope And a comb of bushes. Fayne saw a glimmer move in the dark And sobbed to restrain a cry; it was Lance's hand From which he had slipped the bandage; the wound and its wet exudate Shone phosphorescent: the right hand: the hand that had done it. Or can pain shine? In a moment Fayne thought more quietly: "Is it infected, could infection shine in the dark like decaying wood? " He was feeling the earth for sticks To start a fire: she dipped in the pannier and found the matches. In the red firelight she examined his hand: Feverish, a little; but less than his lips and eyes: Oh, when would the strain end? "Let's make a big fire, This our first night of freedom, and keep ghosts away. " She took the short-handled axe from the pannier side And broke dead wood with it. "We'll make a bright eye up here for the night, in the high blackness, for the hollow night, For the ships to wonder what star . . . I'll tell you what star, You streaming ships: the camp-fire of Lance and Fayne is the star; we are not beaten, we are going to live. We have come out of the world and are free, more hawk than human, we've given our hearts to the hawks to keep In the high air. " Lance laughed, "Ha! Owls you mean. Welcome. " He kept his hands From the fire-heat, and would take no food. XV The famished horses Moved in the dark; Lance ground his teeth in sick sleep; Wind whispered; the ocean moaned; that tinkling water Fell down the rock. Fayne lay and was cold; she wondered Whether it was Laurel Spring perhaps; then perfectly knowing That all the leaves were oak, she was compelled To creep away in the darkness and crush leaves To smell their nature. "I was not like this A year ago," she thought wistfully, "to lie wakeful And stare at the words of a fool; in the high sweetness Of mountain night. " Her solitary mind Made itself a strange thought: that Lance would be saved and well, But she herself would die at the baby's birth, After some happy months: it seemed to lead hope Into the line of nature again; for nobody ever Comes off scot-free. She slept a little; Lance woke And felt his hands aching, and thought, "It cannot be true That I killed. Oh yes, it is. At every waking. And there is no way to change it. " Night was grown pale In the way to dawn, and many dark cold forms Of bush and rock stood quietly. But moving creatures Troubled the stillness, Lance heard the steps of pursuit Along the trail from the north, more than one rider; Then his long-frustrate and troublesome life Flaming like joy for the meeting, shook its bewildered elements To one sharp edge. He was up, and moved quietly, Willing to let Fayne sleep, in the sunset cloud And pillow of her hair. His puffed hot fingers buckled In a moment without fumbling the bolstered belt That had the gun; he caught the short-handled axe That magnetlike drew his hand; and the world was suddenly Most cool and spacious. Four lean steers Led by a barren cow were along the path. They had come to drink in the dawn twilight, and now Remembered a grass-plot southward. Where Lance met them The trail was but a hair of passage stepped in the face Of a leaning clay cliff; the leader stopped, Was pushed from behind, and trying in her fear to turn, Splayed with both forefeet over the slippery edge, Felt the axe bite her neck; so leaping out blindly Slid down the pit. They were horsemen to Lance, his enemies, Albeit a part of his mind was awake and faintly Knew what they were; the master part willed them to be Men pursuing a murderer; they were both cattle and men At the one moment. For being men, hated; for being cattle, The hand was more free to strike, the fiery delight More pure of guilt. The steer came on, not angrily, Dull and unable to turn, dipping his new-moon horns, Lance whining with joy and reckless of his own body With both hands on the axe-helve drove the sharp steel Into the shoulder; it broke right through the shoulder-blade And nicked the broad ribs below. At the same moment The curve and base of a horn found Lance's thigh And pushed; but he with his weight flung forward In the fury of the axe-blow went over the head Onto the shoulder, and a moment clung there, as when an old mountain-lion Has hunted under the spite of fortune for many days, until his bright hide is ruffled, and the ribs Lift up the hair; he comes by a secret way and crouches in the alder leaves an hour before dawn Over a pool where the deer drink; but not a deer but a cow-elk comes to the pool, And stands in the glimmer and the trembling twilight, and stoops her head: the puma watches, his lustful mind Can even taste the hot flesh through the rough hide, and smell the soft heavy fountain of blood: he springs, And sticks on the shoulder, blunting his teeth against the great bones of the neck; but the elk does not fall, But runs, and beats her death against the low branches, and scrapes him off: So Lance fell off from the steer's shoulder, and was ground Between the flank and the cliff, as the numbed foreleg Failed and recovered. The weight lifting, he stood With his back to the steep wall and violently Pushed the great hairy quarters with all his power Of both his arms; the hind hooves fell over the edge, And the forelegs, one crippled, scraped the stiff clay In vain for foothold, the great hurt bulk went down Standing, but fell in a moment and slid in the chasm. The others had turned and fled. Fayne saw her lover Come swaying and shining against the gray sky Over the abyss of darkness, and she had seen the steer fall. Lance held the axe. "Ah, Ah," Fayne cried, "strike then. Strike. Finish it. We have not lived pleasantly, And I have failed. " He threatened her, laughing with pleasure. "I have not had such pleasure in the days of my life. Did the dogs think they were hunting rabbit? Surprised them, ahf ah? " She said, "Your hands have opened again And dripping fast. " "More? " he said, hearing the horses that stamped and snorted beyond. "Oh, good. If they get me, Remember it's a grand end. " He ran and struck The nearest; it was holding its head ready for the axe, backing and straining On the taut halter, and went down on its knees; the second stroke Chopped horribly along the neck, the third ended the pain. Lance crouched and looked at the head, and wearily Rose, and said slackly, "There was no way out, here, either. My own horse you see. I must 'a' been . . . I have been troubled. Bearing my face on every glass gap and porthole . . . And get a beaten face. Were those more horses? " Fayne had stood rigid; she said, "Steers. " "Why didn't they shoot? . . . Oh . . . Steers. Tbafs it. Yet I hate blood. See how it springs from the ground: struck oil at last, ah? I felt like this, that time. So we've tried a long time And never found My exit: I think there's none: the world's closed. A brave fellow, a tethered horse. A natural butcher. " One of the fallen forelegs Paddled its hoof on the earth and Lance said faintly, "I've come to the point I cannot even put him out of his pain. " He dropped the red axe; Fayne saw his own blood spring from his palm When he let go. "I think," he said, "have I got the gun on me? Will you finish him off? " "He is dead," she answered. "Listen, Lance. " Her throat was twisting and beating upward with hot nausea; she swallowed and said, "Dearest. This is only a stumble on the way. We are going on. You will be well after this. You are dreadful with blood but you are too beautiful And strong to fail. Look, dear, How the clear quivering waters and white of dawn fill the whole world; they seem to wash the whole mountain All gently and white, and over the sea, purifying everything. If I were less tired I could be full of joy. " She pressed her hands to her throat and swallowed and said, "Where you and I Have come to, is a dizzy and lonely place on a height; we have to peel off Some humanness here or it will be hard to live. If you could think that all human feelings, repentance And blood-thirst too, are not very important in so vast a world; nor anyone's life; Nor love either, the unlucky angel That has led me so far: we'll go on, we'll not fail. All over the mountain The eagles and little falcons and all the bright cold hawks you've made friends with them now are widening Their wings to wash them in the cool clearness, and over the precipices launching their bodies like ships On the high waves of dawn. For us too Dawn brings us wandering; and any ghost or memory that wants to follow us will be sore in the feet Before the day's end. We're going until the world changes, you and I like the young hawks Going hunting; we'll take the world by the throat and make him give us What we desire. " He stood bent over, smiling sidewise, watching the drip from his hands, and said, "You do it quite bravely. No doubt you are right, and I must take your guidance without a word From this time on. What next? I'll go wash. Faugh. What a hell of red to be stuck in; you're out o' luck, Loving a butcher. " She answered with her hands at her mouth, struggling against her sickness, "I'll come in a moment And help you to clean your hands and bandage them again. " He went back by the trail, but she Vomited with grievous labor a little water and followed him. Now all the world was quite clear And full of dawn, so that Fayne saw from the trail The jutting shoulder of the hill, guessed at in darkness, Was a great rock, lengthened by thick hard foliage Of mountain laurel, which grew above it, and the wind had carved Into the very nature and form of the rock That gave it shelter, but green for gray. She remembered With a wild lift of the heart, "He'd wash the blood In Laurel Spring, and be healed of his wounds," But Lance had not gone to the stony basin, but stood Out on the ledge of the rock, and was looking down The straight vast depth, toward the beauty of the ocean Like a gray dove's breast under the dawn-light. She could not call to him Before he leaped and went down. He was falling erect With his feet under him for a long time, But toward the bottom he began turning in the air. One of the roots of the mountain concealed his end On the shore rocks. Fayne lay down in the trail And thought that when she was able she would go down to him, One way or another. ". . . That would be happiest. But then he'd be extinguished forever, his last young spark That lies warm in my body, bought too dear For gulls to eat . . . and I never could help you at all, And now has come the wild end. I could not keep you, but your child in my body Will change the world. " She climbed slowly down, Rock to rock, bush to bush. At length she could see him Lying softly, and there was somebody bending above hinif Who was gone in a moment. It was not so dreadful As she had feared; she kissed the stained mouth, And brought smooth stones from the shore until she had covered Her love against the vultures and salty gulls; Then climbed up, rock to rock, bush to bush.