Take her away, and the two wives that he had buried long years ago, with
their gray heads and lank, sour faces, from which the light of youth had
fled with the first child come to them--their ghosts would seek him out.
They would sit at his table, and taunt him with his vanished Louise,
asking him if he thought she was anything more than one of the trolls
that tempted men aforetime; one of the devil's wenches that lured him
into the secret garden, only at last to leave him scorned and alone.
Where had she gone, his troll, with the face of an angel? Where had she
gone? Where would she go, except to her devil's lover at Slow Down Ranch?
He had just started for Slow Down Ranch armed with his greasy, well-
thumbed Bible like a weapon in his pocket, when he heard a voice call
him. It was full of the devil's laughter. It was the voice of
Burlingame, the lawyer, on his horse. Burlingame had had a weary day
and was refreshing himself by a canter on the prairie.
"Where are you going?" asked Burlingame, as he cantered up to Mazarine's
wagon.
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