The Untamed - Max Brand
One morning into the inner sanctum of this dignitary stepped a man
built in rectangles, a square face, square, ponderous shoulders, and
even square-tipped fingers. Into the smiling haze of Hardy's face his
own keen black eye sparkled like an electric lantern flashed into a
dark room. He was dressed in the cowboy's costume, but there was no
Western languor in his make-up. Everything about him was clear cut
and precise. He had a habit of clicking his teeth as he finished a
sentence. In a word, when he appeared in the doorway Lee Hardy woke
up, and before the stranger had spoken a dozen words the agent was
leaning forward to be sure that he would not miss a syllable.
"You're Lee Hardy, aren't you?" said he, and his eyes gave the
impression of a smile, though his lips did not stir after speaking.
"I am," said the agent.
"Then you're the man I want to see. If you don't mind--"
He closed the door, pulled a chair against it, and then sat down, and
folded his arms. Very obviously he meant business. Hardy switched his
position in his chair, sitting a little more to the right, so that the
edge of the seat would not obstruct the movement of his hand towards
the holster on his right thigh.
"Well," he said good naturedly, "I'm waitin'."
"Good," said the stranger, "I won't keep you here any longer than is
necessary. In the first place my name is Tex Calder."
Hardy changed as if a slight layer of dust had been sifted over his
face. He stretched out his hand.
"It's great to see you, Calder," he said, "of course I've heard
about you. Everyone has. Here! I'll send over to the saloon for some
red-eye. Are you dry?"
He rose, but Calder waved him back to the swivel-chair.
"Not dry a bit," he said cheerily. "Not five minutes ago I had a drink
of--water."
"All right," said Hardy, and settled back into his chair.
"Hardy, there's been crooked work around here."
"What in hell--"
"Get your hand away from that gun, friend."
"What the devil's the meaning of all this?"
"That's very well done," said Calder. "But this isn't the stage. Are
we going to talk business like friends?"
"I've got nothing agin you," said Hardy testily, and his eyes followed
Calder's right hand as if fascinated. "What do you want to say? I'll
listen. I'm not very busy."
"That's exactly it," smiled Tex Calder, "I want you to get busier."
"Thanks."
"In the first place I'll be straight with you. Wells Fargo hasn't sent
me here."
"Who has?"
"My conscience."
"I don't get your drift."
Through a moment of pause Calder's eyes searched the face of Hardy.
"You've been pretty flush for some time."
"I ain't been starvin'."
"There are several easy ways for you to pick up extra money."
"Yes?"
"For instance, you know all about the Wells Fargo money shipments, and
there are men around here who'd pay big for what you could tell them."
The prominent Adam's apple rose and fell in Hardy's throat.
"You're quite a joker, ain't you Calder? Who, for instance?"
"Jim Silent."
"This is like a story in a book," grinned Hardy. "Go on. I suppose
I've been takin' Silent's money?"
The answer came like the click of a cocked revolver.
"You have!"
"By God, Calder--"
"Steady! I have some promising evidence, partner. Would you like to
hear part of it?"
"This country has its share of the world's greatest liars," said
Hardy, "I don't care what you've heard."
"That saves my time. Understand me straight. I can slap you into a
lock-up, if I want to, and then bring in that evidence. I'm not going
to do it. I'm going to use you as a trap and through you get some of
the worst of the lone riders."
"There's nothin' like puttin' your hand on the table."
"No, there isn't. I'll tell you what you're to do."
"Thanks."
The marshal drove straight on.
"I've got four good men in this town. Two of them will always be
hanging around your office. Maybe you can get a job for them here, eh?
I'll pay the salaries. You simply tip them off when your visitors are
riders the government wants, see? You don't have to lift a hand. You
just go to the door as the visitor leaves, and if he's all right you
say: 'So long, we'll be meeting again before long.' But if he's a man
I want, you say 'Good-bye.' That's all. My boys will see that it is
good-bye."
"Go on," said the agent, "and tell the rest of the story. It starts
well."
"Doesn't it?" agreed Calder, "and the way it concludes is with you
reaching over and shaking hands with me and saying 'yes'!"
He leaned forward. The twinkle was gone from his eyes and he extended
his hand to Hardy. The latter reached out with an impulsive gesture,
wrung the proffered hand, and then slipping back into his chair broke
into hysterical laughter.
"The real laugh," said Calder, watching his man narrowly, "will be on
the long riders."
"Tex," said the agent. "I guess you have the dope. I won't say
anything except that I'm glad as hell to be out of the rotten business
at last. Once started I couldn't stop. I did one 'favour' for these
devils, and after that they had me in their power. I haven't slept for
months as I'm going to sleep tonight!"
He wiped his face with an agitated hand.
"A week ago," he went on, "I knew you were detailed on this work. I've
been sweating ever since. Now that you've come--why, I'm glad of it!"
A faint sneer touched Calder's mouth and was gone.
"You're a wise man," he said. "Have you seen much of Jim Silent
lately?"
Hardy hesitated. The role of informer was new.
"Not directly."
Calder nodded.
"Now put me right if I go off the track. The way I understand it, Jim
Silent has about twenty gun fighters and long riders working in gangs
under him and combining for big jobs."
"That's about it."
"The inside circle consists of Silent; Lee Haines, a man who went
wrong because the law did _him_ wrong; Hal Purvis, a cunning devil;
and Bill Kilduff, a born fighter who loves blood for its own sake."
"Right."
"Here's something more. For Jim Silent, dead or alive, the government
will pay ten thousand dollars. For each of the other three it pays
five thousand. The notices aren't out yet, but they will be in a few
days. Hardy, if you help me bag these men, you'll get fifty per cent
of the profits. Are you on?"
The hesitancy of Hardy changed to downright enthusiasm.
"Easy money, Tex. I'm your man, hand and glove."
"Don't get optimistic. This game isn't played yet, and unless I make
the biggest mistake of my life we'll be guessing again before we land
Silent. I've trailed some fast gunmen in my day, and I have an idea
that Silent will be the hardest of the lot; but if you play your end
of the game we may land him. I have a tip that he's lying out in the
country near Elkhead. I'm riding out alone to get track of him. As I
go out I'll tell my men that you're O.K. for this business."
He hesitated a moment with his hand on the door knob.
"Just one thing more, Hardy. I heard a queer tale this morning about
a fight in a saloon run by a man named Morgan. Do you know anything
about it?"
"No."
"I was told of a fellow who chipped four dollars thrown into the air
at twenty yards."
"That's a lie."
"The man who talked to me had a nicked dollar to prove his yarn."
"The devil he did!"
"And after the shooting this chap got into a fight with a tall man
twice his size and fairly mopped up the floor with him. They say it
wasn't a nice thing to watch. He is a frail man, but when the fight
started he turned into a tiger."
"Wish I'd seen it."
"The tall man tallies to a hair with my description of Silent."
"You're wrong. I know what Silent can do with his hands. No one could
beat him up. What's the name of the other?"
"Barry. Whistling Dan Barry."
Calder hesitated.
"Right or wrong, I'd like to have this Barry with me. So long."
He was gone as he had come, with a nod and a flash of the keen, black
eyes. Lee Hardy stared at the door for some moments, and then went
outside. The warm light of the sun had never been more welcome to him.
Under that cheering influence he began to feel that with Tex Calder
behind him he could safely defy the world.
His confidence received a shock that afternoon when a heavy step
crossed the outside room, and his door opening without a preliminary
knock, he looked up into the solemn eyes of Jim Silent. The outlaw
shook his head when Hardy offered him a chair.
"What's the main idea of them two new men out in your front room,
Lee?" he asked.
"Two cowpunchers that was down on their luck. I got to stand in with
the boys now and then."
"I s'pose so. Shorty Rhinehart in here to see you, Lee?"
"Yep."
"You told him that the town was gettin' pretty hot."
"It is."
"You said you had no dope on when that delayed shipment was comin'
through?"
Hardy made lightning calculations. A half truth would be the best way
out.
"I've just got the word you want. It come this morning."
Silent's expression changed and he leaned a little closer.
"It's the nineteenth. Train number 89. Savvy? Seven o'clock at
Elkhead!"
"How much? Same bunch of coin?"
"Fifty thousand!"
"That's ten more."
"Yep. A new shipment rolled in with the old one. No objections?"
Silent grinned.
"Any other news, Lee?"
"Shorty told you about Tex Calder?"
"He did. Seen him around here?"
The slightest fraction of a second in hesitation.
"No."
"Was that the straight dope you give Shorty?"
"Straighter'n hell. They're beginnin' to talk, but I guess I was jest
sort of panicky when I talked with Shorty."
"This Tex Calder----"
"What about him?" This with a trace of suspicion.
"He's got a long record."
"So've you, Jim."
Once more that wolflike grin which had no mirth.
"So long, Lee. I'll be on the job. Lay to that."
He turned towards the door. Hardy followed him. A moment more, in a
single word, and the job would be done. Five thousand dollars for a
single word! It warmed the very heart of Lee Hardy.
Silent, as he moved away, seemed singularly thoughtful. He hesitated a
moment with bowed head at the door--then whirled and shoved a six-gun
under the nose of Hardy. The latter leaped back with his arms thrust
above his head, straining at his hands to get them higher.
"My God, Jim!"
"You're a low-down, lyin' hound!"
Hardy's tongue clove to the roof of his mouth.
"Damn you, d'you hear me?"
"Yes! For God's sake, Jim, don't shoot!"
"Your life ain't worth a dime!"
"Give me one more chance an' I'll play square!"
A swift change came over the face of Silent, and then Hardy went hot
with terror and anger. The long rider had known nothing. The gun play
had been a mere bluff, but he had played into the hands of Silent, and
now his life was truly worth nothing.
"You poor fool," went on Silent, his voice purring with controlled
rage. "You damn blind fool! D'you think you could double cross me an'
get by with it?"
"Give me a chance, Jim. One more chance, one more chance!"
Even in his terror he remembered to keep his voice low lest those in
the front room should hear.
"Out with it, if you love livin'!"
"I--I can't talk while you got that gun on me!"
Silent not only lowered his gun, but actually returned it to the
holster. Nothing could more clearly indicate his contempt, and Hardy,
in spite of his fear, crimsoned with shame.
"It was Tex Calder," he said at last.
Silent started a little and his eyes narrowed again.
"What of him?"
"He came here a while ago an' tried to make a deal with me."
"An' made it!" said Silent ominously.
No gun pointed at him this time, but Hardy jerked his hands once more
above his head and cowered against the wall.
"So help me God he didn't, Jim."
"Get your hands down."
He lowered his hands slowly.
"I told him I didn't know nothin' about you."
"What about that train? What about that shipment?"
"It's jest the way I told you, except that it's on the eighteenth
instead of the nineteenth."
"I'm goin' to believe you. If you double cross me I'll have your hide.
Maybe they'll get me, but there'll be enough of my boys left to get
you. You can lay to that. How much did they offer you, Lee? How much
am I worth to the little old U.S.A.?"
"I--I--it wasn't the money. I was afraid to stick with my game any
longer."
The long rider had already turned towards the door, making no effort
to keep his face to the agent. The latter, flushing again, moved his
hand towards his hip, but stopped the movement. The last threat of
Silent carried a deep conviction with it. He knew that the faith of
lone riders to each other was an inviolable bond. Accordingly he
followed at the heels of the other man into the outside room.
"So long, old timer," he called, slapping Silent on the shoulder,
"I'll be seein' you agin before long."
Calder's men looked up with curious eyes. Hardy watched Silent swing
onto his horse and gallop down the street. Then he went hurriedly
back to his office. Once inside he dropped into the big swivel-chair,
buried his face in his arms, and wept like a child.
CHAPTER XII
PARTNERS
Dust powdered his hat and clothes as Tex Calder trotted his horse
north across the hills. His face was a sickly grey, and his black
hair might have been an eighteenth century wig, so thoroughly was it
disguised. It had been a long ride. Many a long mile wound back behind
him, and still the cattle pony, with hanging head, stuck to its task.
Now he was drawing out on a highland, and below him stretched the
light yellow-green of the willows of the bottom land. He halted his
pony and swung a leg over the horn of his saddle. Then he rolled a
cigarette, and while he inhaled it in long puffs he scanned the trees
narrowly. Miles across, and stretching east and west farther than his
eye could reach, extended the willows. Somewhere in that wilderness
was the gang of Jim Silent. An army corps might have been easily
concealed there.
If he was not utterly discouraged in the beginning of his search, it
was merely because the rangers of the hills and plains are taught
patience almost as soon as they learn to ride a horse. He surveyed the
yellow-green forest calmly. In the west the low hanging sun turned
crimson and bulged at the sides into a clumsy elipse. He started down
the slope at the same dog-trot which the pony had kept up all day.
Just before he reached the skirts of the trees he brought his horse to
a sudden halt and threw back his head. It seemed to him that he heard
a faint whistling.
He could not be sure. It was so far off and unlike any whistling he
had ever heard before, that he half guessed it to be the movement of a
breeze through the willows, but the wind was hardly strong enough to
make this sound. For a full five minutes he listened without moving
his horse. Then came the thing for which he waited, a phrase of melody
undoubtedly from human lips.
What puzzled him most was the nature of the music. As he rode closer
to the trees it grew clearer. It was unlike any song he had ever
heard. It was a strange improvisation with a touch of both melancholy
and savage exultation running through it. Calder found himself nodding
in sympathy with the irregular rhythm.
It grew so clear at last that he marked with some accuracy the
direction from which it came. If this was Silent's camp, it must be
strongly guarded, and he should approach the place more cautiously
than he could possibly do on a horse. Accordingly he dismounted, threw
the reins over the pony's head, and started on through the willows.
The whistling became louder and louder. He moved stealthily from tree
to tree, for he had not the least idea when he would run across a
guard. The whistling ceased, but the marshal was now so near that he
could follow the original direction without much trouble. In a few
moments he might distinguish the sound of voices. If there were two or
three men in the camp he might be able to surprise them and make his
arrest. If the outlaws were many, at least he could lie low near
the camp and perhaps learn the plans of the gang. He worked his way
forward more and more carefully. At one place he thought a shadowy
figure slipped through the brush a short distance away. He poised his
gun, but lowered it again after a moment's thought. It must have
been a stir of shadows. No human being could move so swiftly or so
noiselessly.
Nevertheless the sight gave him such a start that he proceeded with
even greater caution. He was crouched close to the ground. Every inch
of it he scanned carefully before he set down a foot, fearful of the
cracking of a fallen twig. Like most men when they hunt, he began to
feel that something followed him. He tried to argue the thought out of
his brain, but it persisted, and grew stronger. Half a dozen times he
whirled suddenly with his revolver poised. At last he heard a stamp
which could come from nothing but the hoof of a horse. The sound
dispelled his fears. In another moment he would be in sight of the
camp.
"Do you figger you'll find it?" asked a quiet voice behind him.
He turned and looked into the steady muzzle of a Colt. Behind that
revolver was a thin, handsome face with a lock of jet black hair
falling over the forehead. Calder knew men, and now he felt a strange
absence of any desire to attempt a gun-play.
"I was just taking a stroll through the willows," he said, with a
mighty attempt at carelessness.
"Oh," said the other. "It appeared to me you was sort of huntin' for
something. You was headed straight for my hoss."
Calder strove to find some way out. He could not. There was no waver
in the hand that held that black gun. The brown eyes were decidedly
discouraging to any attempt at a surprise. He felt helpless for the
first time in his career.
"Go over to him, Bart," said the gentle voice of the stranger. "Stand
fast!"
The last two words, directed to Calder came, with a metallic hardness,
for the marshal started as a great black dog slipped from behind a
tree and slunk towards him. This was the shadow which moved more
swiftly and noiselessly than a human being.
"Keep back that damned wolf," he said desperately.
"He ain't goin' to hurt you," said the calm voice. "Jest toss your gun
to the ground."
There was nothing else for it. Calder dropped his weapon with the butt
towards Whistling Dan.
"Bring it here, Bart," said the latter.
The big animal lowered his head, still keeping his green eyes upon
Calder, took up the revolver in his white fangs, and glided back to
his master.
"Jest turn your back to me, an' keep your hands clear of your body,"
said Dan.
Calder obeyed, sweating with shame. He felt a hand pat his pockets
lightly in search for a hidden weapon, and then, with his head
slightly turned, he sensed the fact that Dan was dropping his revolver
into its holster. He whirled and drove his clenched fist straight at
Dan's face.
What happened then he would never forget to the end of his life.
Calder's weapon still hung in Dan's right hand, but the latter made no
effort to use it. He dropped the gun, and as Calder's right arm shot
out, it was caught at the wrist, and jerked down with a force that
jarred his whole body.
"Down, Bart!" shouted Dan. The great wolf checked in the midst of his
leap and dropped, whining with eagerness, at Calder's feet. At the
same time the marshal's left hand was seized and whipped across his
body. He wrenched away with all his force. He might as well have
struggled with steel manacles. He was helpless, staring into eyes
which now glinted with a yellow light that sent a cold wave tingling
through his blood.
The yellow gleam died; his hands were loosed; but he made no move to
spring at Dan's throat. Chill horror had taken the place of his shame,
and the wolf-dog still whined at his feet with lips grinned back from
the long white teeth.
"Who in the name of God are you?" he gasped, and even as he spoke
the truth came to him--the whistling--the panther-like speed of
hand--"Whistling Dan Barry."
The other frowned.
"If you didn't know my name why were you trailin' me?"
"I wasn't after you," said Calder.
"You was crawlin' along like that jest for fun? Friend, I figger to
know you. You been sent out by the tall man to lay for me."
"What tall man?" asked Calder, his wits groping.
"The one that swung the chair in Morgan's place," said Dan. "Now
you're goin' to take me to your camp. I got something to say to him."
"By the Lord!" cried the marshal, "you're trailing Silent."
Dan watched him narrowly. It was hard to accuse those keen black eyes
of deceit.
"I'm trailin' the man who sent you out after me," he asserted with a
little less assurance.
Calder tore open the front of his shirt and pushed back one side of
it. Pinned there next to his skin was his marshal's badge.
He said: "My name's Tex Calder."
It was a word to conjure with up and down the vast expanse of the
mountain-desert. Dan smiled, and the change of expression made him
seem ten years younger.
"Git down, Bart. Stand behind me!" The dog obeyed sullenly. "I've
heard a pile of men talk about you, Tex Calder." Their hands and their
eyes met. There was a mutual respect in the glances. "An' I'm a pile
sorry for this."
He picked up the gun from the ground and extended it butt first to the
marshal, who restored it slowly to the holster. It was the first time
it had ever been forced from his grasp.
"Who was it you talked about a while ago?" asked Dan.
"Jim Silent."
Dan instinctively dropped his hand back to his revolver.
"The tall man?"
"The one you fought with in Morgan's place."
The unpleasant gleam returned to Dan's eyes.
"I thought there was only one reason why he should die, but now I see
there's a heap of 'em."
Calder was all business.
"How long have you been here?" he asked.
"About a day."
"Have you seen anything of Silent here among the willows?"
"No."
"Do you think he's still here?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I dunno. I'll stay here till I find him among the trees or he breaks
away into the open."
"How'll you know when he leaves the willows?"
Whistling Dan was puzzled.
"I dunno," he answered. "Somethin' will tell me when he gets far away
from me--he an' his men."
"It's an inner sense, eh? Like the smell of the bloodhound?" said
Calder, but his eyes were strangely serious.
"This day's about done," he went on. "Have you any objections to me
camping with you here?"
Not a cowpuncher within five hundred miles but would be glad of such
redoubted company. They went back to Calder's horse.
"We can start for my clearing," said Dan. "Bart'll bring the hoss.
Fetch him in."
The wolf took the dangling bridle reins and led on the cowpony. Calder
observed his performance with starting eyes, but he was averse to
asking questions. In a few moments they came out on a small open
space. The ground was covered with a quantity of dried bunch grass
which a glorious black stallion was cropping. Now he tossed up his
head so that some of his long mane fell forward between his ears and
at sight of Calder his ears dropped back and his eyes blazed, but when
Dan stepped from the willows the ears came forward again with a
whinny of greeting. Calder watched the beautiful animal with all the
enthusiasm of an expert horseman. Satan was untethered; the saddle and
bridle lay in a corner of the clearing; evidently the horse was a pet
and would not leave its master. He spoke gently and stepped forward to
caress the velvet shining neck, but Satan snorted and started away,
trembling with excitement.
"How can you keep such a wild fellow as this without hobbling him?"
asked Calder.
"He ain't wild," said Dan.
"Why, he won't let me put a hand on him."
"Yes, he will. Steady, Satan!"
The stallion stood motionless with the veritable fires of hell in his
eyes as Calder approached. The latter stopped.
"Not for me," he said. "I'd rather rub the moustache of the lion in
the zoo than touch that black devil!"
Bart at that moment led in the cowpony and Calder started to remove
the saddle. He had scarcely done so and hobbled his horse when he was
startled by a tremendous snarling and snorting. He turned to see the
stallion plunging hither and thither, striking with his fore-hooves,
while around him, darting in and out under the driving feet, sprang
the great black wolf, his teeth clashing like steel on steel. In
another moment they might sink in the throat of the horse! Calder,
with an exclamation of horror, whipped out his revolver, but checked
himself at the very instant of firing. The master of the two animals
stood with arms folded, actually smiling upon the fight!
"For God's sake!" cried the marshal. "Shoot the damned wolf, man, or
he'll have your horse by the throat!"
"Leave 'em be," said Dan, without turning his head. "Satan an' Black
Bart ain't got any other dogs an' hosses to run around with. They's
jest playing a little by way of exercise."
Calder stood agape before what seemed the incarnate fury of the pair.
Then he noticed that those snapping fangs, however close they came,
always missed the flesh of the stallion, and the driving hoofs never
actually endangered the leaping wolf.
"Stop 'em!" he cried at last. "It makes me nervous to watch that sort
of play. It isn't natural!"