Daniels ran to the big lamp and turned up the wick. At once a clear light flooded every nook of the big room and showed all its emptiness.
"Can't you make the lamp work?" asked the old ranchman angrily. "Ain't they any oil in it? Why, Buck, they ain't enough light for me to see your face, hardly. But I'll do without the light. Buck, how far will they go? Kate's a good girl! She won't leave me, lad!"
"She won't," agreed Buck Daniels. "Jest gone with Dan for a bit of a canter."
"The devil was come back in his eyes," muttered the old man. "God knows where he's headin' for! Buck, I brought him in off'n the range and made him a part of my house. I took him into my heart; and now he's gone out again and taken everything that I love along with him. Buck, why did he go?"
"He'll come back," said the big cowpuncher softly.
"It's gettin' darker and darker," said Joe Cumberland, "and they's a kind of ringing in my ears. Talk louder. I don't hear you none too well."
"I said they was comin' back," said Buck Daniels.
Something like a light showed on the face of Joe Cumberland.
"Ay, lad," he said eagerly, "I can hear Dan's whistlin' comin' back—nearer and nearer. Most like he was jest playin' a joke on me, eh, Buck?"
"Most like," said Buck, brokenly.
"Ay, there it's ringin' at the door of the house! Was that a footstep on the hall?"
"It was," said Buck. "They's comin' down the hall!"
But far, far away he heard the whistling of Dan Barry dying among the hills.
"You let the lamp go out," said Joe Cumberland, "and now I can't see nothing. Are they in the room?"
"They're here," said Buck Daniels, "comin' towards you now."
"Dan!" cried the old man, shading his eyes and peering anxiously—"no, I can't see a thing. Can you find me, lad?"
And Buck Daniels, softening his voice as much as he could, answered. "I can find you."
"Then gimme your hand."
Buck Daniels slipped his own large hand into the cold fingers of the dying cattleman. An expression of surpassing joy lay on the face of Joe Cumberland.
"Whistlin' Dan, my Dan," he murmured faintly, "I'm kind of sleepy, but before I go to sleep, to-night, I got to tell you that I forgive you for your joke—pretendin' to take Kate away."
"They's nothin' but sleep worth while—and goin' to sleep, holdin' your hand, lad—"
Buck Daniels dropped upon his knees and stared into the wide, dead eyes. Through the open window a sound of whistling blew to him. It was a sweet, faint music, and being so light it seemed like a chorus of singing voices among the mountains, for it was as pure and as sharp as the starlight.
Buck Daniels lifted his head to listen, but the sound faded, and the murmur of the night-wind came between.
THE END
THE SEVENTH MAN
CHAPTER IX. THE LONG ARM OF THE LAW
CHAPTER XI. A NEW TRAIL BEGINS
CHAPTER XVIII. CONCERNING THE STRENGTH OF WOMEN
