Page:Edison Marshall--Shepherds of the wild.djvu/98

90 last when he got his breath. Pete looked down at him in amazement. Hugh smiled into his dark eyes.

"What you mean?" Pete asked in bewilderment.

Hugh smiled again but felt too tired to explain. There was no use of explanations: he didn't know that he could find words for them. For the moment he had lost faith in words: only deeds mattered now. He didn't seem to be able to tell why Hugh Gaylord, the son of wealth and of cities, should yield himself to such folly. The body of the dead herder still lay across the horse's back: the fact that another week might find himself in the same position could not matter either.

"You're to go on alone," he explained quite clearly. "I'm going to stay here—until some one comes up and takes my place—and watch the sheep."

For Hugh knew the truth at last. A new power, a greater strength had risen within him. His eyes saw clear at last. In that wild moment in the heart of the stream he had given service, he had risked all for a cause. None of his old, soft delights had yielded one part of the pleasure that had been his as his strong strokes braved the current; no false flattery had ever been so satisfying as his victory over Broken Fang. It was service, it was conquest, it was manhood at last.

He had no sense of self-sacrifice as he made