The Untamed - Max Brand
In a small clearing among these willows sat Silent and his companions.
A fifth member had just arrived at this rendezvous, answered the quiet
greeting with a wave of his hand, and was now busy caring for his
horse. Bill Kilduff, who had a natural inclination and talent for
cookery, raked up the deft dying coals of the fire over which he had
cooked the supper, and set about preparing bacon and coffee for the
newcomer. The latter came forward, and squatted close to the cook,
watching the process with a careful eye. He made a sharp contrast with
the rest of the group. From one side his profile showed the face of
a good-natured boy, but when he turned his head the flicker of the
firelight ran down a scar which gleamed in a jagged semi-circle from
his right eyebrow to the corner of his mouth. This whole side of his
countenance was drawn by the cut, the mouth stretching to a perpetual
grimace. When he spoke it was as if he were attempting secrecy. The
rest of the men waited in patience until he finished eating. Then
Silent asked: "What news, Jordan?"
Jordan kept his regretful eyes a moment longer on his empty coffee
cup.
"There ain't a pile to tell," he answered at last. "I suppose you
heard about what happened to the chap you beat up at Morgan's place
the other day?"
"Who knows that _I_ beat him up?" asked Silent sharply.
"Nobody," said Jordan, "but when I heard the description of the man
that hit Whistling Dan with the chair, I knew it was Jim Silent."
"What about Barry?" asked Haines, but Jordan still kept his eyes upon
the chief.
"They was sayin' pretty general," he went on, "that you _needed_ that
chair, Jim. Is that right?"
The other three glanced covertly to each other. Silent's hand bunched
into a great fist.
"He went loco. I had to slam him. Was he hurt bad?"
"The cut on his head wasn't much, but he was left lyin' in the saloon
that night, an' the next mornin' old Joe Cumberland, not knowin' that
Whistlin' Dan was in there, come down an' touched a match to the old
joint. She went up in smoke an' took Dan along."
No one spoke for a moment. Then Silent cried out: "Then what was that
whistlin' I've heard down the road behind us?"
Bill Kilduff broke into rolling bass laughter, and Hal Purvis chimed
in with a squeaking tenor.
"We told you all along, Jim," said Purvis, as soon as he could control
his voice, "that there wasn't any whistlin' behind us. We know you
got powerful good hearin', Jim, but we all figger you been makin'
somethin' out of nothin'. Am I right, boys?"
"You sure are," said Kilduff, "I ain't heard a thing."
Silent rolled his eyes angrily from face to face.
"I'm kind of sorry the lad got his in the fire. I was hopin' maybe
we'd meet agin. There's nothin' I'd rather do than be alone five
minutes with Whistlin' Dan."
His eyes dared any one to smile. The men merely exchanged glances.
When he turned away they grinned broadly. Hal Purvis turned and caught
Bill Kilduff by the shoulder.
"Bill," he said excitedly, "if Whistlin' Dan is dead there ain't any
master for that dog!"
"What about him?" growled Kilduff.
"I'd like to try my hand with him," said Purvis, and he moistened his
tight lips. "Did you see the black devil when he snarled at me in
front of Morgan's place?"
"He sure didn't look too pleasant."
"Right. Maybe if I had him on a chain I could change his manners some,
eh?"
"How?"
"A whip every day, damn him--a whip every time he showed his teeth at
me. No eats till he whined and licked my hand."
"He'd die first. I know that kind of a dog--or a wolf."
"Maybe he'd die. Anyway I'd like to try my hand with him. Bill, I'm
goin' to get hold of him some of these days if I have to ride a
hundred miles an' swim a river!"
Kilduff grunted.
"Let the damn wolf be. You c'n have him, I say. What I'm thinkin'
about is the hoss. Hal, do you remember the way he settled to his
stride when he lighted out after Red Pete?"
Purvis shrugged his shoulders.
"You're a fool, Bill. Which no man but Barry could ever ride that
hoss. I seen it in his eye. He'd cash in buckin'. He'd fight you like
a man."
Kilduff sighed. A great yearning was in his eyes.
"Hal," he said softly, "they's some men go around for years an'
huntin' for a girl whose picture is in their bean, cached away
somewhere. When they see her they jest nacherally goes nutty. Hal, I
don't give a damn for women folk, but I've travelled around a long
time with a picture of a hoss in my brain, an' Satan is the hoss."
He closed his eyes.
"I c'n see him now. I c'n see them shoulders--an' that head--an', my
God! them eyes--them fire eatin' eyes! Hal, if a man was to win the
heart of that hoss he'd lay down his life for you--he'd run himself
plumb to death! I won't never sleep tight till I get the feel of them
satin sides of his between my knees."
Lee Haines heard them speak, but he said nothing. His heart also
leaped when he heard of Whistling Dan's death, but he thought neither
of the horse nor the dog. He was seeing the yellow hair and the blue
eyes of Kate Cumberland. He approached Jordan and took a place beside
him.
"Tell me some more about it, Terry," he asked.
"Some more about what?"
"About Whistling Dan's death--about the burning of the saloon," said
Haines.
"What the hell! Are you still thinkin' about that?"
"I certainly am."
"Then I'll trade you news," said Terry Jordan, lowering his voice so
that it would not reach the suspicious ear of Jim Silent. "I'll tell
you about the burnin' if you'll tell me something about Barry's fight
with Silent!"
"It's a trade," answered Haines.
"All right. Seems old Joe Cumberland had a hunch to clean up the
landscape--old fool! so he jest up in the mornin' an' without sayin' a
word to any one he downs to the saloon and touches a match to it. When
he come back to his house he tells his girl, Kate, what he done. With
that she lets out a holler an' drops in a faint."
Haines muttered.
"What's the matter?" asked Terry, a little anxiously.
"Nothin," said Haines. "She fainted, eh? Well, good!"
"Yep. She fainted an' when she come to, she told Cumberland that Dan
was in the saloon, an' probably too weak to get out of the fire. They
started for the place on the run. When they got there all they found
was a pile of red hot coals. So everyone figures that he went up in
the flames. That's all I know. Now what about the fight?"
Lee Haines sat with fixed eyes.
"There isn't much to say about the fight," he said at last.
"The hell there isn't," scoffed Terry Jordan. "From what I heard, this
Whistling Dan simply cut loose and raised the devil more general than
a dozen mavericks corralled with a bunch of yearlings."
"Cutting loose is right," said Haines. "It wasn't a pleasant thing to
watch. One moment he was about as dangerous as an eighteen-year-old
girl. The next second he was like a panther that's tasted blood.
That's all there was to it, Terry. After the first blow, he was all
over the chief. You know Silent's a bad man with his hands?"
"I guess we all know that," said Jordan, with a significant smile.
"Well," said Haines, "he was like a baby in the hands of Barry. I
don't like to talk about it--none of us do. It makes the flesh creep."
There was a loud crackling among the underbrush several hundred yards
away. It drew closer and louder.
"Start up your works agin, will you, Bill?" called Silent. "Here comes
Shorty Rhinehart, an' he's overdue."
In a moment Shorty swung from his horse and joined the group. He
gained his nickname from his excessive length, being taller by an inch
or two than Jim Silent himself, but what he gained in height he lost
in width. Even his face was monstrously long, and marked with such sad
lines that the favourite name of "Shorty" was affectionately varied to
"Sour-face" or "Calamity." Silent went to him at once.
"You seen Hardy?" he asked.
"I sure did," said Rhinehart, "an' it's the last time I'll make that
trip to him, you can lay to that."
"Did he give you the dope?"
"No."
"What do you mean?"
"I jest want you to know that this here's my last trip to Elkhead--on
_any_ business."
"Why?"
"I passed three marshals on the street, an' I knew them all. They was
my friends, formerly. One of them was--"
"What did they do?"
"I waved my hand to them, glad an' familiar. They jest grunted. One of
them, he looked up an' down the street, an' seein' that no one was in
sight, he come up to me an' without shakin' hands he says: 'I'm some
surprised to see you in Elkhead, Shorty.' 'Why,' says I, 'the town's
all right, ain't it?' 'It's all right,' he says, 'but you'd find it a
pile more healthier out on the range.'"
"What in hell did he mean by that?" growled Silent.
"He simply meant that they're beginnin' to think a lot more about
us than they used to. We've been pullin' too many jobs the last six
months."
"You've said all that before, Shorty. I'm runnin' this gang. Tell me
about Hardy."
"I'm comin' to that. I went into the Wells Fargo office down by the
railroad, an' the clerk sent me back to find Hardy in the back room,
where he generally is. When he seen me he changed colour. I'd jest
popped my head through the door an' sung out: 'Hello, Hardy, how's the
boy?' He jumped up from the desk an' sung out so's his clerk in the
outside room could hear: 'How are you, lad?' an' he pulled me quick
into the room an' locked the door behind me.
"'Now what in hell have you come to Elkhead for?' says he.
"'For a drink' says I, never battin' an eye.
"'You've come a damn long ways,' says he.
"'Sure,' says I, 'that's one reason I'm so dry. Will you liquor, pal?'
"He looked like he needed a drink, all right. He begun loosening his
shirt collar.
"'Thanks, but I ain't drinkin', says he. 'Look here, Shorty, are you
loco to come ridin' into Elkhead this way?'
"'I'm jest beginnin' to think maybe I am,' says I.
"'Shorty,' he says in a whisper, 'they're beginnin' to get wise to the
whole gang--includin' me.'
"'Take a brace,' says I. 'They ain't got a thing on you, Hardy.'
"'That don't keep 'em from thinkin' a hell of a pile,' says he, 'an'
I tell you, Shorty, I'm jest about through with the whole works. It
ain't worth it--not if there was a million in it. Everybody is gettin'
wise to Silent, an' the rest of you. Pretty soon hell's goin' to bust
loose.'
"'You've been sayin' that for two years,' says I.
"He stopped an' looked at me sort of thoughtful an' pityin'. Then he
steps up close to me an' whispers in that voice: 'D'you know who's on
Silent's trail now? Eh?'
"'No, an' I don't give a damn,' says I, free an' careless.
"'Tex Calder!' says he."
Silent started violently, and his hand moved instinctively to his
six-gun.
"Did he say Tex Calder?"
"He said no less," answered Shorty Rhinehart, and waited to see his
news take effect. Silent stood with head bowed, scowling.
"Tex Calder's a fool," he said at last. "He ought to know better'n to
take to _my_ trail."
"He's fast with his gun," suggested Shorty.
"Don't I know that?" said Silent. "If Alvarez, an' Bradley, an'
Hunter, an' God knows how many more could come up out of their graves,
they'd tell jest how quick he _is_ with a six-gun. But I'm the one man
on the range that's faster."
Shorty was eloquently mute.
"I ain't askin' you to take my word for it," said Jim Silent. "Now
that he's after me, I'm glad of it. It had to come some day. The
mountains ain't big enough for both of us to go rangin' forever. We
had to lock horns some day. An' I say, God help Tex Calder!"
He turned abruptly to the rest of the men.
"Boys, I got somethin' to tell you that Shorty jest heard. Tex Calder
is after us."
There came a fluent outburst of cursing.
Silent went on: "I know jest how slick Calder is. I'm bettin' on
my draw to be jest the necessary half a hair quicker. He may die
shootin'. I don't lay no bets that I c'n nail him before he gets his
iron out of its leather, but I say he'll be shootin' blind when he
dies. Is there any one takin' that bet?"
His eyes challenged them one after another. Their glances travelled
past Silent as if they were telling over and over to themselves the
stories of those many men to whom Tex Calder had played the part of
Fate. The leader turned back to Shorty Rhinehart.
"Now tell me what he had to say about the coin."
"Hardy says the shipment's delayed. He don't know how long."
"How'd it come to be delayed?"
"He figures that Wells Fargo got a hunch that Silent was layin' for
the train that was to carry it."
"Will he let us know when it _does_ come through?"
"I asked him, an' he jest hedged. He's quitting on us cold."
"I was a fool to send you, Shorty. I'm goin' myself, an' if Hardy
don't come through to me--"
He broke off and announced to the rest of his gang that he intended to
make the journey to Elkhead. He told Haines, who in such cases usually
acted as lieutenant, to take charge of the camp. Then he saddled his
roan.
In the very act of pulling up the cinch of his saddle, Silent stopped
short, turned, and raised a hand for quiet. The rest were instantly
still. Hal Purvis leaned his weazened face towards the ground. In this
manner it was sometimes possible to detect far-off sounds which to one
erect would be inaudible. In a moment, however, he straightened up,
shaking his head.
"What is it?" whispered Haines.
"Shut up," muttered Silent, and the words were formed by the motion of
his lips rather than through any sound. "That damned whistling again."
Every face changed. At a rustling in a near-by willow, Terry Jordan
started and then cursed softly to himself. That broke the spell.
"It's the whisperin' of the willows," said Purvis.
"You lie," said Silent hoarsely. "I hear the sound growing closer."
"Barry is dead," said Haines.
Silent whipped out his revolver--and then shoved it back into the
holster.
"Stand by me, boys," he pleaded. "It's his ghost come to haunt me! You
can't hear it, because he ain't come for you."
They stared at him with a fascinated horror.
"How do you know it's him?" asked Shorty Rhinehart.
"There ain't no sound in the whole world like it. It's a sort of cross
between the singing of a bird an' the wailin' of the wind. It's the
ghost of Whistlin' Dan."
The tall roan raised his head and whinnied softly. It was an unearthly
effect--as if the animal heard the sound which was inaudible to all
but his master. It changed big Jim Silent into a quavering coward.
Here were five practised fighters who feared nothing between heaven
and hell, but what could they avail him against a bodiless spirit? The
whistling stopped. He breathed again, but only for a moment.
It began again, and this time much louder and nearer. Surely the
others must hear it now, or else it was certainly a ghost. The men sat
with dilated eyes for an instant, and then Hal Purvis cried, "I heard
it, chief! If it's a ghost, it's hauntin' me too!"
Silent cursed loudly in his relief.
"It ain't a ghost. It's Whistlin' Dan himself. An' Terry Jordan has
been carryin' us lies! What in hell do you mean by it?"
"I ain't been carryin' you lies," said Jordan, hotly. "I told you
what I heard. I didn't never say that there was any one seen his dead
body!"
The whistling began to die out. A babble of conjecture and exclamation
broke out, but Jim Silent, still sickly white around the mouth, swung
up into the saddle.
"That Whistlin' Dan I'm leavin' to you, Haines," he called. "I've had
his blood onct, an' if I meet him agin there's goin' to be another
notch filed into my shootin' iron."
CHAPTER X
THE STRENGTH OF WOMEN
He rode swiftly into the dark of the willows, and the lack of noise
told that he was picking his way carefully among the bended branches.
"It seems to me," said Terry Jordan, "which I'm not suggestin'
anything--but it seems to me that the chief was in a considerable
hurry to leave the camp."
"He was," said Hal Purvis, "an' if you seen that play in Morgan's
place you wouldn't be wonderin' why. If I was the chief I'd do the
same."
"Me speakin' personal," remarked Shorty Rhinehart, "I ain't layin' out
to be no man-eater like the chief, but I ain't seen the man that'd
make me take to the timbers that way. I don't noways expect there _is_
such a man!"
"Shorty," said Haines calmly, "we all knows that you're quite a man,
but you and Terry are the only ones of us who are surprised that
Silent slid away. The rest of us who saw this Whistling Dan in action
aren't a bit inclined to wonder. Suppose you were to meet a black
panther down here in the willows?"
"I wouldn't give a damn if I had my Winchester with me."
"All right, Terry, but suppose the panther," broke in Hal Purvis,
"could sling shootin' irons as well as you could--maybe _that'd_ make
you partic'ler pleased."
"It ain't possible," said Terry.
"Sure it ain't," grinned Purvis amiably, "an' this Barry ain't
possible, either. Where you going, Lee?"
Haines turned from his task of saddling his mount.
"Private matter. Kilduff, you take my place while I'm gone. I may be
back tomorrow night. The chief isn't apt to return so soon."
A few moments later Haines galloped out of the willows and headed
across the hills towards old Joe Cumberland's ranch. He was
remembering his promise to Kate, to keep Dan out of danger. He had
failed from that promise once, but that did not mean that he had
forgotten. He looked up to the yellow-bright mountain stars, and they
were like the eyes of good women smiling down upon him. He guessed
that she loved Barry and if he could bring her to Whistling Dan she
might have strength enough to take the latter from Silent's trail. The
lone rider knew well enough that to bring Dan and Kate together was
to surrender his own shadowy hopes, but the golden eyes of the sky
encouraged him. So he followed his impulse.
Haines could never walk that middle path which turns neither to the
right nor the left, neither up nor down. He went through life with
a free-swinging stride, and as the result of it he had crossed the
rights of others. He might have lived a lawful life, for all his
instincts were gentle. But an accident placed him in the shadow of the
law. He waited for his legal trial, but when it came and false witness
placed him behind the bars, the revolt came. Two days after his
confinement, he broke away from his prison and went to the wilds.
There he found Jim Silent, and the mountain-desert found another to
add to its list of great outlaws.
Morning came as he drew close to the house, and now his reminiscences
were cut short, for at a turn of the road he came upon Kate galloping
swiftly over the hills. He drew his horse to a halt and raised his
hand. She followed suit. They sat staring. If she had remembered his
broken promise and started to reproach, he could have found answer,
but her eyes were big with sorrow alone. He put out his hand without a
word. She hesitated over it, her eyes questioning him mutely, and then
with the ghost of a smile she touched his fingers.
"I want to explain," he said huskily.
"What?"
"You remember I gave you my word that no harm would come to Barry?"
"No man could have helped him."
"You don't hold it against me?"
A gust of wind moaned around them. She waved her arm towards the
surrounding hills and her laugh blended with the sound of the wind,
it was so faint. He watched her with a curious pang. She seemed among
women what that morning was to the coming day--fresh, cool, aloof. It
was hard to speak the words which would banish the sorrow from her
eyes and make them brilliant with hope and shut him away from her
thoughts with a barrier higher than mountains, and broader than seas.
"I have brought you news," he said at last, reluctantly.
She did not change.
"About Dan Barry."
Ay, she changed swiftly enough at that! He could not meet the fear and
question of her glance. He looked away and saw the red rim of the sun
pushing up above the hills. And colour poured up the throat of Kate
Cumberland, up even to her forehead beneath the blowing golden hair.
Haines jerked his sombrero lower on his head. A curse tumbled up to
his lips and he had to set his teeth to keep it back.
"But I have heard his whistle."
Her lips moved but made no sound.
"Five other men heard him."
She cried out as if he had hurt her, but the hurt was happiness. He
knew it and winced, for she was wonderfully beautiful.
"In the willows of the river bottom, a good twenty miles south," he
said at last, "and I will show you the way, if you wish."
He watched her eyes grow large with doubt.
"Can you trust me?" he asked. "I failed you once. Can you trust me
now?"
Her hand went out to him.
"With all my heart," she said. "Let us start!"
"I've given my horse a hard ride. He must have some rest."
She moaned softly in her impatience, and then: "We'll go back to the
house and you can stable your horse there until you're ready to start.
Dad will go with us."
"Your father cannot go," he said shortly.
"Cannot?"
"Let's start back for the ranch," he said, "and I'll tell you
something about it as we go."
As they turned their horses he went on: "In order that you may reach
Whistling Dan, you'll have to meet first a number of men who are
camping down there in the willows."
He stopped. It became desperately difficult for him to go on.
"I am one of those men," he said, "and another of them is the one whom
Whistling Dan is following."
She caught her breath and turned abruptly on him.
"What are you, Mr. Lee?"
Very slowly he forced his eyes up to meet her gaze.
"In that camp," he answered indirectly, "your father wouldn't be
safe!"
It was out at last!
"Then you are--"
"Your friend."
"Forgive me. You _are_ my friend!"
"The man whom Dan is following," he went on, "is the leader. If he
gives the command four practised fighters pit themselves against
Barry."
"It is murder!"
"You can prevent it," he said. "They know Barry is on the trail, but I
think they will do nothing unless he forces them into trouble. And he
will force them unless you stop him. No other human being could take
him off that trail."
"I know! I know!" she muttered. "But I have already tried, and he will
not listen to me!"
"But he will listen to you," insisted Haines, "when you tell him that
he will be fighting not one man, but six."
"And if he doesn't listen to me?"
Haines shrugged his shoulders.
"Can't you promise that these men will not fight with him?"
"I cannot."
"But I shall plead with them myself."
He turned to her in alarm.
"No, you must not let them dream you know who they are," he warned,
"for otherwise--"
Again that significant shrug of the shoulders.
He explained: "These men are in such danger that they dare not take
chances. You are a woman, but if they feel that you suspect them you
will no longer be a woman in their eyes."
"Then what must I do?"
"I shall ride ahead of you when we come to the willows, after I have
pointed out the position of our camp. About an hour after I have
arrived, for they must not know that I have brought you, you will ride
down towards the camp. When you come to it I will make sure that it
is I who will bring you in. You must pretend that you have simply
blundered upon our fire. Whatever you do, never ask a question while
you are there--and I'll be your warrant that you will come off safely.
Will you try?"
He attempted no further persuasion and contented himself with merely
meeting the wistful challenge of her eyes.
"I will," she said at last, and then turning her glance away she
repeated softly, "I will."
He knew that she was already rehearsing what she must say to Whistling
Dan.
"You are not afraid?"
She smiled.
"Do you really trust me as far as this?"
With level-eyed tenderness that took his breath, she answered: "An
absolute trust, Mr. Lee."
"My name," he said in a strange voice, "is Lee Haines."
Of one accord they stopped their horses and their hands met.
CHAPTER XI
SILENT BLUFFS
The coming of the railroad had changed Elkhead from a mere crossing of
the ways to a rather important cattle shipping point. Once a year it
became a bustling town whose two streets thronged with cattlemen with
pockets burdened with gold which fairly burned its way out to the open
air. At other times Elkhead dropped back into a leaden-eyed sleep.
The most important citizen was Lee Hardy, the Wells Fargo agent.
Office jobs are hard to find in the mountain-desert, and those who
hold them win respect. The owner of a swivel-chair is more lordly
than the possessor of five thousand "doggies." Lee Hardy had such
a swivel-chair. Moreover, since large shipments of cash were often
directed by Wells Fargo to Elkhead, Hardy's position was really more
significant than the size of the village suggested. As a crowning
stamp upon his dignity he had a clerk who handled the ordinary routine
of work in the front room, while Hardy set himself up in state in
a little rear office whose walls were decorated by two brilliant
calendars and the coloured photograph of a blond beauty advertising a
toilet soap.
To this sanctuary he retreated during the heat of the day, while in
the morning and evening he loitered on the small porch, chatting with
passers-by. Except in the hottest part of the year he affected a soft
white collar with a permanent bow tie. The leanness of his features,
and his crooked neck with the prominent Adam's apple which stirred
when he spoke, suggested a Yankee ancestry, but the faded blue eyes,
pathetically misted, could only be found in the mountain-desert.