The Shooting of Dan McGrew: A Novel Based on the Famous Poem of Robert Service

A clatter of hoofs on the gravel of the driveway. A shout from the rider as he swung himself down from the saddle:

"Lou!"

A woman came swiftly from the cool shadows of the porch into the brilliance of the summer sunlight, to meet the man who now advanced toward her with fond, smiling eagerness.

The two kissed very tenderly, for they were lovers still, after seven years of married life. The delicate rose of the wife's cheeks deepened a little under the warmth of the husband's caress, and the graciously curving lips trembled to a smile of happiness as she looked up into the strong face of the man she loved. In the slightly rugged features, she read virility and honesty and loyalty. An exquisite contentment pervaded her. She felt that the cup of joy was brimming. Husband and child and home—!

Her train of thought was broken by the man's words, spoken quickly in a tone that mingled curiously amusement and chagrin:

"Dangerous Dan! He's coming, Lou! He's buried the hatchet, and is coming to visit us. Dangerous Dan McGrew! Now, what do you think of that?" He waited for an answer, staring quizzically into the suddenly perturbed face of his wife.

"My rival!" he added whimsically, albeit a bit complacently.

"Never!" the wife declared with emphasis. A note of harshness had crept into the music of her voice. "Never your rival, Jim, though he tried to be." The earnestness of utterance gratified the man, in whom a vague, latent jealousy stirred at thought of that other who had loved where he loved. But there was no gratification in the new mood of the woman. Instead, a subtle dread touched her spirit. The contentment of a moment before was fled. There was nothing precise, nothing formulated, in her thoughts. Only, something sinister, menacing, pressed upon her. She welcomed the distraction afforded by her daughter's appearance on the scene.

The girl came running from the gardens behind the ranch-house and sprang into her father's arms with a cry of delight.

To her six years, his frequent rides to the village ten miles away were in the nature of great events, and she welcomed each return as if from long and perilous voyaging. Moreover, there was always an added thrill for Nell in her father's home-coming, because of the mysterious charm in the gift that never failed. To-day, indeed, the present was destined to mark her life; even to be of vital import in a crisis of distant years.

No hint of the gravity of things-to-be shadowed the radiant joy of the child's face, as she was lifted in the man's arms and kissed. There was only vivid anticipation of the gift that would mark this wonderful hour.

James Maxwell lowered his daughter to the ground, with an affirmative nod toward his wife.

"Now, Nell," he said in a voice of authority, "stand perfectly still, and keep your eyes shut, and maybe something will happen."

The girl rested uneasily in an effort of obedience, with her eyes screwed tight-shut, giggling expectantly.

The mother looked on, smiling again, the momentary depression of her spirit allayed, if not destroyed, by the scene. She met the man's glance with understanding in the brown, gold-flecked deeps of her eyes. The father took from a pocket a small leather case, and opened it, and held up for his wife's inspection the gold chain and pendant locket, set with an initial N in tiny pearls. The wife nodded her approval. Straightway, the chain was adjusted about the child's neck, with the locket hanging low on the slender breast.