The Untamed - Max Brand
"You fool!" cried Rogers. "Don't use that name!"
Dan slipped a couple of paces down the hall and flattened himself
against the wall just as the door opened. Rogers looked out, drew a
great breath of relief, and went back into the room. Dan resumed his
former position.
"Now talk fast!" said Rogers.
"About time for you to drop that rotten bluff. Why, man, I could even
tell you jest how much you've cost Jim Silent."
Rogers growled: "Tell me what's up."
"The boys are goin' for the jail tonight. They'll get out Haines an'
string him up."
"It's comin' to him. He's played a hard game for a long time."
"An' so have you, Rogers, for a damn long time!"
Rogers swallowed the insult, apparently.
"What can I do?" he asked plaintively. "I'm willin' to give Silent and
his gang a square deal."
"You should of done something while they was only a half-dozen
cowpunchers in town. Now the town's full of riders an' they're all
after blood."
"An' my blood if they don't get Haines!" broke in the deputy sheriff.
Hardy grunted.
"They sure are," he said. "I've heard 'em talk, an' they mean
business. All of 'em. But how'd you answer to Jim Silent, Rogers? If
you let 'em get Haines--well, Haines is Silent's partner an' Jim'll
bust everything wide to get even with you."
"I c'n explain," said Rogers huskily. "I c'n show Silent how I'm
helpless."
Footsteps went up and down the room.
"If they start anything," said Rogers, "I'll mark down the names of
the ringleaders and I'll give 'em hell afterwards. That'll soothe Jim
some."
"You won't know 'em. They'll wear masks."
Dan opened the door and stepped into the room. Rogers started up with
a curse and gripped his revolver.
"I never knew you was so fond of gun play," said Dan. "Maybe that gun
of yours would be catchin' cold if you was to leave it out of the
leather long?"
The sheriff restored his revolver slowly to the holster, glowering.
"An' Rogers won't be needin' you for a minute or two," went on Dan to
Hardy.
They seemed to fear even his voice. The Wells Fargo agent vanished
through the door and clattered down the steps.
"How long you been standin' at that door?" said Rogers, gnawing his
lips.
"Jest for a breathin' space," said Dan.
Rogers squinted his eyes to make up for the dimness of the lamplight.
"By God!" he cried suddenly. "You're Whistlin' Dan Barry!"
He dropped into his chair and passed a trembling hand across his
forehead.
He stammered: "Maybe you've changed your mind an' come back for that
five thousand?"
"No, I've come for a man, not for money."
"A man?"
"I want Lee Haines before the crowd gets him."
"Would you really try to take Haines out?" asked Rogers with a touch
of awe.
"Are there any guards in the jail?"
"Two. Lewis an' Patterson."
"Give me a written order for Haines."
The deputy wavered.
"If I do that I'm done for in this town!"
"Maybe. I want the key for Haines's handcuffs."
"Go over an' put your hoss up in the shed behind the jail," said
Rogers, fighting for time, "an' when you come back I'll have the order
written out an' give it to you with the key."
"Why not come over with me now?"
"I got some other business."
"In five minutes I'll be back," said Dan, and left the house.
Outside he whistled to Satan, and the stallion trotted up to him. He
swung into the saddle and rode to the jail. There was not a guard in
sight. He rode around to the other side of the building to reach the
stable. Still he could not sight one of those shadowy horsemen who
had surrounded the place a few minutes before. Perhaps the crowd had
called in the guards to join the attack.
He put Satan away in the stable and as he led him into a stall he
heard a roar of many voices far away. Then came the crack of half
a dozen revolvers. Dan set his teeth and glanced quickly over the
half-dozen horses in the little shed. He recognized the tall bay of
Lee Haines at once and threw on its back the saddle which hung on a
peg directly behind it. As he drew up the cinch another shout came
from the street, but this time very close.
When he raced around the jail he saw the crowd pouring into the house
of the deputy sheriff. He ran on till he came to the outskirts of the
mob. Every man was masked, but in the excitement no one noticed that
Dan's face was bare. Squirming his way through the press, Dan reached
the deputy's office. It was almost filled. Rogers stood on a chair
trying to argue with the cattlemen.
"No more talk, sheriff," thundered one among the cowpunchers, "we've
had enough of your line of talk. Now we want some action of our own
brand. For the last time: Are you goin' to order Lewis an' Patterson
to give up Haines, or are you goin' to let two good men die fightin'
for a damn lone rider?"
"What about the feller who's goin' to take Lee Haines out of Elkhead?"
cried another.
The crowd yelled with delight.
"Yes, where is he? What about him?"
Rogers, glancing down from his position on the chair, stared into the
brown eyes of Whistling Dan. He stretched out an arm that shook with
excitement.
"That feller there!" he cried, "that one without a mask! Whistlin' Dan
Barry is the man!"
CHAPTER XXIV
THE RESCUE
The throng gave back from Dan, as if from the vicinity of a panther.
Dan faced the circle of scowling faces, smiling gently upon them.
"Look here, Barry," called a voice from the rear of the crowd, "why
do you want to take Haines away? Throw in your cards with us. We need
you."
"If it's fightin' you want," cried a joker, "maybe Lewis an' Patterson
will give us all enough of it at the jail."
"I ain't never huntin' for trouble," said Dan.
"Make your play quick," said another. "We got no time to waste even on
Dan Barry. Speak out, Dan. Here's a lot of good fellers aimin' to take
out Haines an' give him what's due him--no more. Are you with us?"
"I'm not."
"Is that final?"
"It is."
"All right. Tie him up, boys. There ain't no other way!"
"Look out!" shouted a score of voices, for a gun flashed in Dan's
hand.
He aimed at no human target. The bullet shattered the glass lamp into
a thousand shivering and tinkling splinters. Thick darkness blotted
the room. Instantly thereafter a blow, a groan, and the fall of a
body; then a confused clamour.
"He's here!"
"Give up that gun, damn you!"
"You got the wrong man!"
"I'm Bill Flynn!"
"Guard the door!"
"Lights, for God's sake!"
"Help!"
A slender figure leaped up against the window and was dimly outlined
by the starlight outside. There was a crash of falling glass, and as
two or three guns exploded the figure leaped down outside the house.
"Follow him!"
"Who was that?"
"Get a light! Who's got a match?"
Half the men rushed out of the room to pursue that fleeing figure. The
other half remained to see what had happened. It seemed impossible
that Whistling Dan had escaped from their midst. Half a dozen sulphur
matches spurted little jets of blue flame and discovered four men
lying prone on the floor, most of them with the wind trampled from
their bodies, but otherwise unhurt. One of them was the sheriff.
He lay with his shoulders propped against the wall. His mouth was a
mass of blood.
"Who got you, Rogers?"
"Where's Barry?"
"The jail, the jail!" groaned Rogers. "Barry has gone for the jail!"
Revolvers rattled outside.
"He's gone for Haines," screamed the deputy. "Go get him, boys!"
"How can he get Haines? He ain't got the keys."
"He has, you fools! When he shot the lights out he jumped for me and
knocked me off the chair. Then he went through my pockets and got the
keys. Get on your way! Quick!"
The lynchers, yelling with rage, were already stamping from the room.
With the jangling bunch of keys in one hand and his revolver in the
other, Dan started full speed for the jail as soon as he leaped down
from the window. By the time he had covered half the intervening
distance the first pursuers burst out of Rogers's house and opened
fire after the shadowy fugitive. He whirled and fired three shots high
in the air. No matter how impetuous, those warning shots would make
the mob approach the jail with some caution.
On the door of the jail he beat furiously with the bunch of keys.
"What's up? Who's there?" cried a voice within.
"Message from Rogers. Hell's started! He's sent me with the keys!"
The door jerked open and a tall man, with a rifle slung across one
arm, blocked the entrance.
"What's the message?" he asked.
"This!" said Dan, and drove his fist squarely into the other's face.
He fell without a cry and floundered on the floor, gasping. Dan picked
him up and shoved him through the door, bolting it behind him.
A narrow hall opened before him and ran the length of the small
building. He glanced into the room on one side. It was the kitchen and
eating-room in one. He rushed into the one on the other side. Two men
were there. One was Haines, sitting with his hands manacled. The other
was the second guard, who ran for Dan, whipping his rifle to his
shoulder. As flame spurted from the mouth of the gun, Dan dived at the
man's knees and brought him to the floor with a crash. He rose quickly
and leaned over the fallen man, who lay without moving, his arms
spread wide. He had struck on his forehead when he dropped. He was
stunned for the moment, but not seriously hurt. Dan ran to Haines, who
stood with his hands high above his head. Far away was the shout of
the coming crowd.
"Shoot and be damned!" said Haines sullenly.
For answer Dan jerked down the hands of the lone rider and commenced
to try the keys on the handcuffs. There were four keys. The fourth
turned the lock. Haines shouted as his hands fell free.
"After me!" cried Dan, and raced for the stable.
As they swung into their saddles outside the shed, the lynchers raced
their horses around the jail.
"Straightaway!" called Dan. "Through the cottonwoods and down the
lane. After me. Satan!"
The stallion leaped into a full gallop, heading straight for a tall
group of cottonwoods beyond which was a lane fenced in with barbed
wire. Half a dozen of the pursuers were in a position to cut them off,
and now rushed for the cottonwoods, yelling to their comrades to join
them. A score of lights flashed like giant fireflies as the lynchers
opened fire.
"They've blocked the way!" groaned Haines.
Three men had brought their horses to a sliding stop in front of the
cottonwoods and their revolvers cracked straight in the faces of Dan
and Haines. There was no other way for escape. Dan raised his revolver
and fired twice, aiming low. Two of the horses reared and pitched
to the ground. The third rider had a rifle at his shoulder. He was
holding his fire until he had drawn a careful bead. Now his gun
spurted and Dan bowed far over his saddle as if he had been struck
from behind.
Before the rifleman could fire again Black Bart leaped high in the
air. His teeth closed on the shoulder of the lyncher and the man
catapulted from his saddle to the ground. With his yell in their ears,
Dan and Haines galloped through the cottonwoods, and swept down the
lane.
CHAPTER XXV
THE LONG RIDE
A cheer of triumph came from the lynchers. In fifty yards the
fugitives learned the reason, for they glimpsed a high set of bars
blocking the lane. Dan pulled back beside Haines.
"Can the bay make it?" he called.
"No. I'm done for."
For answer Dan caught the bridle of Lee's horse close to the bit. They
were almost to the bars. A dark shadow slid up and over them. It was
Black Bart, with his head turned to look back even as he jumped, as if
he were setting an example which he bid them follow. Appallingly high
the bars rose directly in front of them.
"Now!" called Dan to the tall bay, and jerked up on the bit.
Satan rose like a swallow to the leap. The bay followed in gallant
imitation. For an instant they hung poised in air. Then Satan pitched
to the ground, landing safely and lightly on four cat-like feet. A
click and a rattle behind them--the bay was also over, but his hind
hoofs had knocked down the top bar. He staggered, reeled far to
one side, but recovering, swept on after Satan and Dan. A yell of
disappointment rang far behind.
Glancing back Haines saw the foremost of the pursuers try to imitate
the feat of the fugitives, but even with the top bar down he failed.
Man and horse pitched to the ground.
For almost a mile the lane held straight on, and beyond stretched
the open country. They were in that free sweep of hills before the
pursuers remounted beyond the bars. In daytime a mile would have been
a small handicap, but with the night and the hills to cover their
flight, and with such mounts as Satan and the tall bay, they were
safe. In half an hour all sound of them died out, and Haines,
following Dan's example, slowed his horse to an easy gallop.
The long rider was puzzled by his companion's horsemanship, for Dan
rode leaning far to the right of his saddle, with his head bowed.
Several times Haines was on the verge of speaking, but he refrained.
He commenced to sing in the exultation of freedom. An hour before he
had been in the "rat-trap" with a circle of lynchers around him, and
only two terror-stricken guards to save him from the most horrible of
deaths. Then came Fate and tore him away and gave him to the liberty
of the boundless hills. Fate in the person of this slender, sombre
man. He stared at Dan with awe.
At the top of a hill his companion drew rein, reeling in the saddle
with the suddenness of the halt. However, in such a horseman, this
could not be. It must be merely a freak feature of his riding.
"Move," said Dan, his breath coming in pants. "Line out and get to
her."
"To who?" said Haines, utterly bewildered.
"Delilah!"
"What?"
"Damn you, she's waitin' for you."
"In the name of God, Barry, why do you talk like this after you've
saved me from hell?"
He stretched out his hand eagerly, but Dan reined Satan back.
"Keep your hand. I hate you worse'n hell. There ain't room enough in
the world for us both. If you want to thank me do it by keepin' out of
my path. Because the next time we meet you're goin' to die, Haines.
It's writ in a book. Now feed your hoss the spur and run for Kate
Cumberland. But remember--I'm goin' to get you again if I can."
"Kate--" began Haines. "She sent you for me?"
Only the yellow blazing eyes made answer and the wail of a coyote far
away on the shadowy hill.
"Kate!" cried Haines again, but now there was a world of new meaning
in his voice. He swung his horse and spurred down the slope.
At the next hill-crest he turned in the saddle, saw the motionless
rider still outlined against the sky, and brought the bay to a halt.
He was greatly troubled. For a reason mysterious and far beyond the
horizon of his knowledge, Dan was surrendering Kate Cumberland to him.
"He's doing it while he still loves her," muttered Haines, "and am I
cur enough to take her from him after he has saved me from God knows
what?"
He turned his horse to ride back, but at that moment he caught
the weird, the unearthly note of Dan's whistling. There was both
melancholy and gladness in it. The storm wind running on the hills and
exulting in the blind terror of the night had such a song as this to
sing.
"If he was a man," Haines argued briefly with himself, "I'd do it. But
he isn't a man. He's a devil. He has no more heart than the wolf which
owns him as master. Shall I give a girl like Kate Cumberland to that
wild panther? She's mine--all mine!"
Once more he turned his horse and this time galloped steadily on into
the night.
When Haines dropped out of sight, Dan's whistling stopped. He looked
up to the pitiless glitter of the stars. He looked down to the sombre
sweep of black hills. The wind was like a voice saying over and over
again: "Failure." Everything was lost.
He slipped from the saddle and took off his coat. From his left
shoulder the blood welled slowly, steadily. He tore a strip from his
shirt and attempted to make a bandage, but he could not manage it with
one hand.
The world thronged with hostile forces eager to hunt him to the death.
He needed all his strength, and now that was ebbing from a wound which
a child could have staunched for him, but where could he find even a
friendly child? Truly all was lost! The satyr or the black panther
once had less need of man's help than had Dan, but now he was hurt in
body and soul. That matchless co-ordination of eye with hand and foot
was gone. He saw Kate smiling into the eyes of Haines; he imagined
Bill Kilduff sitting on the back of Satan, controlling all that
glorious force and speed; he saw Hal Purvis fighting venomously with
Bart for the mastery which eventually must belong to the man.
He turned to the wild pair. Vaguely they sensed a danger threatening
their master, and their eyes mourned for his hurt. He buried his face
on the strong, smooth shoulder of Satan, and groaned. There came the
answering whinny and the hot breath of the horse against the side of
his face. There was the whine of Black Bart behind him, then the rough
tongue of the wolf touched the dripping fingers. Then he felt a hot
gust of the wolf's breath against his hand.
Too late he realized what that meant. He whirled with a cry of
command, but the snarl of Black Bart cut it short. The wolf stood
bristling, trembling with eagerness for the kill, his great white
fangs gleaming, his snarl shrill and guttural with the frenzy of his
desire, for he had tasted blood. Dan understood as he stared into the
yellow green fury of the wolf's eyes, yet he felt no fear, only a
glory in the fierce, silent conflict. He could not move the fingers of
his left hand, but those of his right curved, stiffened. He desired
nothing more in the world than the contact with that great, bristling
black body, to leap aside from those ominous teeth, to set his fingers
in the wolf's throat. Reason might have told him the folly of such a
strife, but all that remained in his mind was the love of combat--a
blind passion. His eyes glowed like those of the wolf, yellow fire
against the green. Black Bart crouched still lower, gathering himself
for the spring, but he was held by the man's yellow gleaming eyes.
They invited the battle. Fear set its icy hand on the soul of the
wolf.
The man seemed to tower up thrice his normal height. His voice rang,
harsh, sudden, unlike the utterance of man or beast: "_Down!_"
Fear conquered Black Bart. The fire died from his eyes. His body sank
as if from exhaustion. He crawled on his belly to the feet of his
master and whined an unutterable submission.
And then that hand, warm and wet with the thing whose taste set the
wolf's heart on fire with the lust to kill, was thrust against his
nose. He leaped back with bared teeth, growling horribly. The eyes
commanded him back, commanded him relentlessly. He howled dismally to
the senseless stars, yet he came; and once more that hand was thrust
against his nose. He licked the fingers.
That blood-lust came hotter than before, but his fear was greater.
He licked the strange hand again, whining. Then the master kneeled.
Another hand, clean, and free from that horrible warm, wet sign of
death, fell upon his shaggy back. The voice which he knew of old came
to him, blew away the red mist from his soul, comforted him.
"Poor Bart!" said the voice, and the hand went slowly over his head.
"It weren't your fault."
The stallion whinnied softly. A deep growl formed in the throat of the
wolf, a mighty effort at speech. And now, like a gleam of light in a
dark room, Dan remembered the house of Buck Daniels. There, at least,
they could not refuse him aid. He drew on his coat, though the
effort set him sweating with agony, got his foot in the stirrup with
difficulty, and dragged himself to the saddle. Satan started at a
swift gallop.
"Faster, Satan! Faster, partner!"
What a response! The strong body settled a little closer to the
earth as the stride increased. The rhythm of the pace grew quicker,
smoother. There was no adequate phrase to describe the matchless
motion. And in front--always just a little in front with the plunging
forefeet of the horse seeming to threaten him at every stride, ran
Black Bart with his head turned as if he were the guard and guide of
the fugitive.
Dan called and Black Bart yelped in answer. Satan tossed up his
head and neighed as he raced along. The two replies were like human
assurances that there was still a fighting chance.
The steady loss of blood was telling rapidly now. He clutched the
pommel, set his teeth, and felt oblivion settle slowly and surely upon
him. As his senses left him he noted the black outlines of the next
high range of hills, a full ten miles away.
He only knew the pace of Satan never slackened. There seemed no effort
in it. He was like one of those fabled horses, the offspring of the
wind, and like the wind, tireless, eternal of motion.
A longer oblivion fell upon Dan. As he roused from it he found
himself slipping in the saddle. He struggled desperately to grasp the
saddlehorn and managed to draw himself up again; but the warning was
sufficient to make him hunt about for some means of making himself
more secure in the saddle. It was a difficult task to do anything
with only one hand, but he managed to tie his left arm to the
bucking-strap. If the end came, at least he was sure to die in the
saddle. Vaguely he was aware as he looked around that the black hills
were no longer in the distance. He was among them.
On went Satan. His breath was coming more and more laboured. It seemed
to Dan's dim consciousness that some of the spring was gone from that
glorious stride which swept on and on with the slightest undulation,
like a swallow skimming before the wind; but so long as strength
remained he knew that Satan would never falter in his pace. As the
delirium swept once more shadow-like on his brain, he allowed himself
to fall forward, and wound his fingers as closely as possible in the
thick mane. His left arm jerked horribly against the bonds. Black
night swallowed him once more.
Only his invincible heart kept Satan going throughout that last
stretch. His ears lay flat on his neck, lifting only when the master
muttered and raved in his fever. Foam flew back against his throat
and breast. His breath came shorter, harder, with a rasp; but the
gibbering voice of his rider urged him on, faster, and faster. They
topped a small hill, and a little to the left and a mile away, rose
a group of cottonwoods, and Dan, recovering consciousness, knew the
house of Buck. He also knew that his last moment of consciousness was
come. Surges of sleepy weakness swept over his brain. He could never
guide Satan to the house.
"Bart!" he called feebly.
The wolf whining, dropped back beside him. Dan pointed his right arm
straight ahead. Black Bart leaped high into the air and his shrill
yelp told that he had seen the cottonwoods and the house.
Dan summoned the last of his power and threw the reins over the head
of Satan.
"Take us in, Bart," he said, and twisting his fingers into Satan's
mane fell across the saddlehorn.
Satan, understanding the throwing of the reins as an order to halt,
came to a sharp stop, and the body of the senseless rider sagged to
one side. Black Bart caught the reins. They were bitter and salt with
blood of the master.
He tugged hard. Satan whinnied his doubt, and the growl of Black Bart
answered, half a threat. In a moment more they were picking their way
through the brush towards the house of Buck Daniels.
Satan was far gone with exhaustion. His head drooped; his legs
sprawled with every step; his eyes were glazed. Yet he staggered on
with the great black wolf pulling at the reins. There was the salt
taste of blood in the mouth of Black Bart; so he stalked on, saliva
dripping from his mouth, and his eyes glazed with the lust to kill.
His furious snarling was the threat which urged on the stallion.
CHAPTER XXVI
BLACK BART TURNS NURSE
It was old Mrs. Daniels who woke first at the sound of scratching and
growling. She roused her husband and son, and all three went to the
door, Buck in the lead with his six-gun in his hand. At sight of the
wolf he started back and raised the gun, but Black Bart fawned about
his feet.
"Don't shoot--it's a dog, an' there's his master!" cried Sam. "By the
Lord, they's a dead man tied on that there hoss!"
Dan lay on Satan, half fallen from the saddle, with his head hanging
far down, only sustained by the strength of the rein. The stallion,
wholly spent, stood with his legs braced, his head low, and his breath
coming in great gasps. The family ran to the rescue. Sam cut the rein
and Buck lowered the limp body in his arms.
"Buck, is he dead?" whispered Mrs. Daniels.
"I don't feel no heart beat," said Buck. "Help me fetch him into the
house, Dad!"
"Look out for the hoss!" cried Sam.
Buck started back with his burden just in time, for Satan,
surrendering to his exhaustion, pitched to the ground, and lay with
sprawling legs like a spent dog rather than a horse.
"Let the hoss be," said Buck. "Help me with the man. He's hurt bad."