The Untamed - Max Brand
"Bart," said the gentle voice, "go out to Satan."
The wolf turned and slipped from the room. It was a little thing, but,
to the men who saw it, it was terrible to watch an untamed beast obey
the voice of a man.
Still with that light, panther-step he crossed the barroom, and now he
was looking up into the face of the giant. The huge long rider loomed
above Dan. That was not terror which set his face in written lines--it
was horror, such as a man feels when he stands face to face with the
unearthly in the middle of night. This was open daylight in a room
thronged with men, yet in it nothing seemed to live save the smile of
Whistling Dan. He drew out the two revolvers and slipped them onto the
bar. They stood unarmed, yet they seemed no less dangerous.
Silent's arms crept closer to his sides. He seemed gathering himself
by degrees. The confidence in his own great size showed in his face,
and the blood-lust of battle in his eyes answered the yellow light in
Dan's.
Dan spoke.
"Silent, once you put a stain of blood on me. I've never forgot the
taste. It's goin' to be washed out today or else made redder. It was
here that you put the stain."
He struck the long rider lightly across the mouth with the back of
his hand, and Silent lunged with the snarl of a beast. His blow spent
itself on thin air. He whirled and struck again. Only a low laughter
answered him. He might as well have battered away at a shadow.
"Damnation!" he yelled, and leaped in with both arms outspread.
The impetus of his rush drove them both to the floor, where they
rolled over and over, and before they stopped thin fingers were locked
about the bull neck of the bandit, and two thumbs driven into the
hollow of his throat. With a tremendous effort he heaved himself from
the floor, his face convulsed.
He beat with both fists against the lowered head of Dan. He tore at
those hands. They were locked as if with iron. Only the laughter, the
low, continual laughter rewarded him.
He screamed, a thick, horrible sound. He flung himself to the floor
again and rolled over and over, striving to crush the slender,
remorseless body. Once more he was on his feet, running hither and
thither, dragging Dan with him. His eyes swelled out; his face
blackened. He beat against the walls. He snapped at the wrists of Dan
like a beast, his lips flecked with a bloody froth.
That bull-dog grip would not unlock. That animal, exultant laughter
ran on in demoniac music. In his great agony the outlaw rolled his
eyes in appeal to the crowd which surrounded the struggling two. Every
man seemed about to spring forward, yet they could not move. Some had
their fingers stiffly extended, as if in the act of gripping with
hands too stiff to close.
Silent slipped to his knees. His head fell back, his discoloured
tongue protruding. Dan wrenched him back to his feet. One more
convulsive effort from the giant, and then his eyes glazed, his body
went limp. The remorseless hands unlocked. Silent fell in a shapeless
heap to the floor.
Still no one moved. There was no sound except the deadly ticking of
the clock. The men stared fascinated at that massive, lifeless figure
on the floor. Even in death he was terrible. Then Dan's hand slid
inside his shirt, fumbled a moment, and came forth again bearing a
little gleaming circle of metal. He dropped it upon the body of Jim
Silent, and turning, walked slowly from the room. Still no one moved
to intercept him. Passing through the door he pushed within a few
inches of two men. They made no effort to seize him, for their eyes
were upon the body of the great lone rider.
The moment Dan was gone the hypnotic silence which held the crowd,
broke suddenly. Someone stirred. Another cursed beneath his breath.
Instantly all was clamour and a running hither and thither. Buck
Daniels caught from the body of Jim Silent the small metal circle
which Dan had dropped. He stood dumbfounded at the sight of it, and
then raised his hand, and shouted in a voice which gathered the others
swiftly around him. They cursed deeply with astonishment, for what
they saw was the marshal's badge of Tex Calder. The number on it was
known throughout the mountain-desert, and seeing it, the worst of
Dan's enemies stammered, gaped, and could not speak. There were more
impartial men who could. In five minutes the trial of Whistling Dan
was under way. The jury was every cowpuncher present. The judge was
public opinion. It was a grey-haired man who finally leaped upon the
bar and summed up all opinion in a brief statement.
"Whatever Whistlin' Dan has done before," he said, "this day he's done
a man-sized job in a man's way. Morris, before he died, said enough to
clear up most of this lad's past, particular about the letter from Jim
Silent that talked of a money bribe. Morris didn't have a chance to
swear to what he said, but a dying man speaks truth. Lee Haines had
cleared up most of the rest. We can't hold agin Dan what he done in
breakin' jail with Haines. Dan Barry was a marshal. He captured Haines
and then let the outlaw go. He had a right to do what he wanted as
long as he finally got Haines back. And Haines has told us that when
he was set free Barry said he would get him again. And Barry did get
him again. Remember that, and he got all the rest of Silent's gang,
and now there lies Jim Silent dead. They's two things to remember. The
first is that Whistlin' Dan has rid away without any shootin' irons on
his hip. That looks as if he's come to the end of his long trail. The
second is that he was a bunkie of Tex Calder, an' a man Tex could
trust for the avengin' of his death is good enough for me."
There was a pause after this speech, and during the quiet the
cowpunchers were passing from hand to hand the marshal's badge which
Calder, as he died, had given to Dan. The bright small shield was a
more convincing proof than a hundred arguments. The bitterest of
Dan's enemies realized that the crimes of which he was accused were
supported by nothing stronger than blind rumour. The marshal's badge
and the dead body of Jim Silent kept them mute. So an illegal judge
and one hundred illegal jurymen found Whistling Dan "not guilty."
Buck Daniels took horse and galloped for the Cumberland house with the
news of the verdict. He knew that Whistling Dan was there.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE WILD GEESE
So when the first chill days of the late autumn came the four were
once more together, Dan, Kate, Black Bart, and Satan. Buck and old Joe
Cumberland made the background of their happiness. It was the latter's
request which kept the wedding a matter of the indefinite future. He
would assign no reason for his wish, but Kate guessed it.
All was not well, she knew. Day after day, as the autumn advanced,
Dan went out with the wolf and the wild black stallion and ranged the
hills alone. She did not ask him where or why, for she understood that
to be alone was as necessary to him as sleep is to others. Yet she
could not explain it all and the cold fear grew in her. Sometimes she
surprised a look of infinite pity in the eyes of Buck or her father.
Sometimes she found them whispering and nodding together. At last on
an evening when the three sat before the fire in solemn silence and
Dan was away, they knew not where, among the hills, she could bear it
no longer.
"Do you really think," she burst out, "that the old wildness is still
in Dan?"
"Wild?" said her father gently. "Wild? I don't say he's still
wild--but why is he so late tonight, Kate? The ground's all covered
with snow. The wind's growin' sharper an' sharper. This is a time for
all reasonable folk to stay home an' git comfortable beside the fire.
But Dan ain't here. Where is he?"
"Hush!" said Buck, and raised a hand for silence.
Far away they heard the wail of a wolf crying to the moon. She rose
and went out on the porch of the house. The others followed her.
Outside they found nothing but the low moaning of the wind, and the
snow, silver glimmering where the moonlight fell upon it. Then they
heard the weird, inhuman whistling, and at last they saw Dan riding
towards the house. A short distance away he stopped Satan. Black Bart
dropped to his haunches and wailed again. Dan was staring upwards.
"Look!" said Kate, and pointed.
Across the white circle of the moon drove a flying wedge of wild
geese. The wail of the wolf died out. A faint honking was blown to
them by the wind, now a distant, jangling chorus, now a solitary sound
repeated like a call.
Without a word the three returned to their seats close by the fire,
and sat silent, staring. Presently the rattle of the wolf's claws came
on the floor; then Dan entered with his soft step and stood behind
Kate's chair. They were used to his silent comings and goings. Black
Bart was slinking up and down the room with a restless step. His eyes
glowed from the shadow, and as Joe looked up to the face of Dan he
saw the same light repeated there, yellow and strange. Then, like the
wolf, Dan turned and commenced that restless pacing up and down, up
and down, a padding step like the fall of a panther's paw.
"The wild geese--" he said suddenly, and then stopped.
"They are flying south?" said Kate.
"South!" he repeated.
His eyes looked far away. The wolf slipped to his side and licked his
hand.
"Kate, I'd like to follow the wild geese."
Old Joe shaded his eyes and the big hands of Buck were locked
together.
"Are you unhappy, Dan?" she said.
"The snow is come," he muttered uneasily.
He began pacing again with that singular step.
"When I went out to Satan in the corral this evenin', I found him
standin' lookin' south."
She rose and faced him with a little gesture of surrender.
"Then you must follow the wild geese, Dan!"
"You don't mind me goin', Kate?"
"No."
"But your eyes are shinin'!"
"It's only the reflection of the firelight."
Black Bart whined softly. Suddenly Dan straightened and threw up his
arms, laughing low with exultation. Buck Daniels shuddered and dropped
his head.
"I am far behind," said Dan, "but I'll go fast."
He caught her in his arms, kissed her eyes and lips, and then whirled
and ran from the room with that noiseless, padding step.
"Kate!" groaned Buck Daniels, "you've let him go! We've all lost him
for ever!"
A sob answered him.
"Go call him back," pleaded Joe. "He will stay for your sake."
She whispered: "I would rather call back the wild geese who flew
across the moon. And they are only beautiful when they are wild!"
"But you've lost him, Kate, don't you understand?"
"The wild geese fly north again in spring," said Buck, "and he'll--"
"Hush!" she said. "Listen!"
Far off, above the rushing of the wind, they heard the weird
whistling, a thrilling and unearthly music. It was sad with the beauty
of the night. It was joyous with the exultation of the wind. It might
have been the voice of some god who rode the northern storm south,
south after the wild geese, south with the untamed.
THE END