The Untamed - Max Brand
He started his cattle-pony into a sudden gallop, and they drove on
into the bright morning.
CHAPTER XVIII
CAIN
Hardly a score of miles away, Jim Silent and his six companions topped
a hill. He raised his hand and the others drew rein beside him. Kate
Cumberland shifted her weight a little to one side of the saddle to
rest and looked down from the crest on the sweep of country below. A
mile away the railroad made a streak of silver light across the brown
range and directly before them stood the squat station-house with
red-tiled roof. Just before the house, a slightly broader streak of
that gleaming light showed the position of the siding rails. She
turned her head towards the outlaws. They were listening to the final
directions of their chief, and the darkly intent faces told their own
story. She knew, from what she had gathered of their casual hints,
that this was to be the scene of the train hold-up.
It seemed impossible that this little group of men could hold the
great fabric of a train with all its scores of passengers at their
mercy. In spite of herself, half her heart wished them success. There
was Terry Jordan forgetful of the wound in his arm; Shorty Rhinehart,
his saturnine face longer and more calamitous than ever; Hal Purvis,
grinning and nodding his head; Bill Kilduff with his heavy jaw set
like a bull dog's; Lee Haines, with a lock of tawny hair blowing over
his forehead, smiling faintly as he listened to Silent as if he heard
a girl tell a story of love; and finally Jim Silent himself, huge,
solemn, confident. She began to feel that these six men were worth six
hundred.
She hated them for some reasons; she feared them for others; but the
brave blood of Joe Cumberland was thick in her and she loved the
danger of the coming moment. Their plans were finally agreed upon,
their masks arranged, and after Haines had tied a similar visor over
Kate's face, they started down the hill at a swinging gallop.
In front of the house of the station-agent they drew up, and while the
others were at their horses, Lee Haines dismounted and rapped loudly
at the door. It was opened by a grey-bearded man smoking a pipe.
Haines covered him. He tossed up his hands and the pipe dropped from
his mouth.
"Who's in the house here with you?" asked Haines.
"Not a soul!" stammered the man. "If you're lookin' for money you c'n
run through the house. You won't find a thing worth takin'."
"I don't want money. I want you," said Haines; and immediately
explained, "you're perfectly safe. All you have to do is to be
obliging. As for the money, you just throw open that switch and flag
the train when she rolls along in a few moments. We'll take care of
the rest. You don't have to keep your hands up."
The hands came down slowly. For a brief instant the agent surveyed
Haines and the group of masked men who sat their horses a few paces
away, and then without a word he picked up his flag from behind the
door and walked out of the house. Throughout the affair he never
uttered a syllable. Haines walked up to the head of the siding with
him while he opened the switch and accompanied him back to the point
opposite the station-house to see that he gave the "stop" signal
correctly. In the meantime two of the other outlaws entered the little
station, bound the telegrapher hand and foot, and shattered his
instrument. That would prevent the sending of any call for help after
the hold-up. Purvis and Jordan (since Terry could shoot with his left
hand in case of need) went to the other side of the track and lay down
against the grade. It was their business to open fire on the tops
of the windows as the train drew to a stop. That would keep the
passengers inside. The other four were distributed along the side
nearest to the station-house. Shorty Rhinehart and Bill Kilduff were
to see that no passengers broke out from the train and attempted a
flank attack. Haines would attend to having the fire box of the engine
flooded. For the cracking of the safe, Silent carried the stick of
dynamite.
Now the long wait began. There is a dreamlike quality about bright
mornings in the open country, and everything seemed unreal to Kate.
It was impossible that tragedy should come on such a day. The moments
stole on. She saw Silent glance twice at his watch and scowl.
Evidently the train was late and possibly they would give up the
attempt. Then a light humming caught her ear.
She held her breath and listened again. It was unmistakable--a slight
thing--a tremor to be felt rather than heard. She saw Haines peering
under shaded eyes far down the track, and following the direction of
his gaze she saw a tiny spot of haze on the horizon. The tiny puff of
smoke developed to a deeper, louder note. The station-agent took his
place on the track.
Now the train bulked big, the engine wavering slightly to the
unevenness of the road bed. The flag of the station-agent moved. Kate
closed her eyes and set her teeth. There was a rumbling and puffing
and a mighty grinding--a shout somewhere--the rattle of a score of
pistol shots--she opened her eyes to see the train rolling to a stop
on the siding directly before her.
Kilduff and Shorty Rhinehart, crouching against the grade, were
splintering the windows one by one with nicely placed shots. The
baggage-cars were farther up the siding than Silent calculated. He and
Haines now ran towards the head of the train.
The fireman and engineer jumped from their cab, holding their arms
stiffly above their heads; and Haines approached with poised revolver
to make them flood the fire box. In this way the train would be
delayed for some time and before it could send out the alarm the
bandits would be far from pursuit. Haines had already reached the
locomotive and Silent was running towards the first baggage-car when
the door of that car slid open and at the entrance appeared two men
with rifles at their shoulders. As they opened fire Silent pitched to
the ground. Kate set her teeth and forced her eyes to stay open.
Even as the outlaw fell his revolver spoke and one of the men threw up
his hands with a yell and pitched out of the open door. His companion
still kept his post, pumping shots at the prone figure. Twice more the
muzzle of Silent's gun jerked up and the second man crumpled on the
floor of the car.
A great hissing and a jetting cloud of steam announced that Haines
had succeeded in flooding the fire box. Silent climbed into the first
baggage-car, stepping, as he did so, on the limp body of the Wells
Fargo agent, who lay on the road bed. A moment later he flung out the
body of the second messenger. The man flopped on the ground heavily,
face downwards, and then--greatest horror of all!--dragged himself
to his hands and knees and began to crawl laboriously. Kate ran and
dropped to her knees beside him.
"Are you hurt badly?" she pleaded. "Where? Where?"
He sagged to the ground and lay on his left side, breathing heavily.
"Where is the wound?" she repeated.
He attempted to speak, but only a bloody froth came to his lips. That
was sufficient to tell her that he had been shot through the lungs.
She tore open his shirt and found two purple spots high on the chest,
one to the right, and one to the left. From that on the left ran a
tiny trickle of blood, but that on the right was only a small puncture
in the midst of a bruise. He was far past all help.
"Speak to me!" she pleaded.
His eyes rolled and then checked on her face.
"Done for," he said in a horrible whisper, "that devil done me.
Kid--cut out--this life. I've played this game--myself--an' now--I'm
goin'--to hell for it!"
A great convulsion twisted his face.
"What can I do?" cried Kate.
"Tell the world--I died--game!"
His body writhed, and in the last agony his hand closed hard over
hers. It was like a silent farewell, that strong clasp.
A great hand caught her by the shoulder and jerked her to her feet.
"The charge is goin' off! Jump for it!" shouted Silent in her ear.
She sprang up and at the same time there was a great boom from within
the car. The side bulged out--a section of the top lifted and fell
back with a crash--and Silent ran back into the smoke. Haines, Purvis,
and Kilduff were instantly at the car, taking the ponderous little
canvas sacks of coin as their chief handed them out.
Within two minutes after the explosion ten small sacks were deposited
in the saddlebags on the horses which stood before the station-house.
Silent's whistle called in Terry Jordan and Shorty Rhinehart--a sharp
order forced Kate to climb into her saddle--and the train robbers
struck up the hillside at a racing pace. A confused shouting rose
behind them. Rifles commenced to crack where some of the passengers
had taken up the weapons of the dead guards, but the bullets flew
wide, and the little troop was soon safely out of range.
On the other side of the hill-top they changed their course to the
right. For half an hour the killing pace continued, and then, as there
was not a sign of immediate chase, the lone riders drew down to a
soberer pace. Silent called: "Keep bunched behind me. We're headed for
the old Salton place--an' a long rest."
CHAPTER XIX
REAL MEN
Some people pointed out that Sheriff Gus Morris had never made a
single important arrest in the ten years during which he had held
office, and there were a few slanderers who spoke insinuatingly of the
manner in which the lone riders flourished in Morris's domain. These
"knockers," however, were voted down by the vast majority, who swore
that the sheriff was the finest fellow who ever threw leg over saddle.
They liked him for his inexhaustible good-nature, the mellow baritone
in which he sang the range songs at any one's request, and perhaps
more than all, for the very laxness with which he conducted his work.
They had had enough of the old school of sheriffs who lived a few
months gun in hand and died fighting from the saddle. The office had
never seemed desirable until Gus Morris ran for it and smiled his way
to a triumphant election.
Before his career as an office-holder began, he ran a combined general
merchandise store, saloon, and hotel. That is to say, he ran the
hostelry in name. The real executive head, general manager, clerk,
bookkeeper, and cook, and sometimes even bartender was his daughter,
Jacqueline. She found the place only a saloon, and a poorly patronized
one at that. Her unaided energy gradually made it into a hotel,
restaurant, and store. Even while her father was in office he spent
most of his time around the hotel; but no matter how important he
might be elsewhere, in his own house he had no voice. There the only
law was the will of Jacqueline.
Out of the stable behind this hostelry Dan and Tex Calder walked on
the evening of the train robbery. They had reached the place of the
hold-up a full two hours after Silent's crew departed; and the fireman
and engineer had been working frantically during the interim to clean
out the soaked fire box and get up steam again. Tex looked at the two
dead bodies, spoke to the conductor, and then cut short the voluble
explanations of a score of passengers by turning his horse and riding
away, followed by Dan. All that day he was gloomily silent. It was a
shrewd blow at his reputation, for the outlaws had actually carried
out the robbery while he was on their trail. Not till they came out of
the horse-shed after stabling their horses did he speak freely.
"Dan," he said, "do you know anything about Sheriff Gus Morris?"
"No"
"Then listen to this and salt every word away. I'm an officer of the
law, but I won't tell that to Morris. I hope he doesn't know me. If he
does it will spoil our game. I am almost certain he is playing a close
hand with the lone riders. I'll wager he'd rather see a stick of
dynamite than a marshal. Remember when we get in that place that we're
not after Jim Silent or any one else. We're simply travelling cowboys.
No questions. I expect to learn something about the location of
Silent's gang while we're here, but we'll never find out except by
hints and chance remarks. We have to watch Morris like hawks. If he
suspects us he'll find a way to let Silent know we're here and then
the hunters will be hunted."
In the house they found a dozen cattlemen sitting down at the table in
the dining-room. As they entered the room the sheriff, who sat at the
head of the table, waved his hand to them.
"H'ware ye, boys?" he called. "You'll find a couple of chairs right in
the next room. Got two extra plates, Jac?"
As Dan followed Tex after the chairs he noticed the sheriff beckon
to one of the men who sat near him. As they returned with the chairs
someone was leaving the room by another door.
"Tex," he said, as they sat down side by side, "when we left the
dining-room for the chairs, the sheriff spoke to one of the boys and
as we came back one of them was leavin' through another door. D'you
think Morris knew you when you came in?"
Calder frowned thoughtfully and then shook his head.
"No," he said in a low voice. "I watched him like a hawk when we
entered. He didn't bat an eye when he saw me. If he recognized me he's
the greatest actor in the world, bar none! No, Dan, he doesn't know us
from Adam and Abel."
"All right," said Dan, "but I don't like somethin' about this
place--maybe it's the smell of the air. Tex, take my advice an' keep
your gun ready for the fastest draw you ever made."
"Don't worry about me," smiled Calder. "How about yourself?"
"Hello," broke in Jacqueline from the end of the table. "Look who
we've picked in the draw!"
Her voice was musical, but her accent and manner were those of a girl
who has lived all her life among men and has caught their ways--with
an exaggeration of that self-confidence which a woman always feels
among Western men. Her blue eyes were upon Dan.
"Ain't you a long ways from home?" she went on.
The rest of the table, perceiving the drift of her badgering, broke
into a rumbling bass chuckle.
"Quite a ways," said Dan, and his wide brown eyes looked seriously
back at her.
A yell of delight came from the men at this naive rejoinder. Dan
looked about him with a sort of childish wonder. Calder's anxious
whisper came at his side: "Don't let them get you mad, Dan!"
Jacqueline, having scored so heavily with her first shot, was by no
means willing to give up her sport.
"With them big eyes, for a starter," she said, "all you need is long
hair to be perfect. Do your folks generally let you run around like
this?"
Every man canted his ear to get the answer and already they were
grinning expectantly.
"I don't go out much," returned the soft voice of Dan, "an' when I do,
I go with my friend, here. He takes care of me."
Another thunder of laughter broke out. Jacqueline had apparently
uncovered a tenderfoot, and a rare one even for that absurd species. A
sandy-haired cattle puncher who sat close to Jacqueline now took the
cue from the mistress of the house.
"Ain't you a bit scared when you get around among real men?" he asked,
leering up the table towards Dan.
The latter smiled gently upon him.
"I reckon maybe I am," he said amiably.
"Then you must be shakin' in your boots right now," said the other
over the sound of the laughter.
"No, said Dan," "I feel sort of comfortable."
The other replied with a frown that would have intimidated a balky
horse.
"What d'you mean? Ain't you jest said men made you sort of--nervous?"
He imitated the soft drawl of Dan with his last words and raised
another yell of delight from the crowd. Whistling Dan turned his
gentle eyes upon Jacqueline.
"Pardon me, ma'am," he began.
An instant hush fell on the men. They would not miss one syllable of
the delightful remarks of this rarest of all tenderfoots, and the
prelude of this coming utterance promised something that would eclipse
all that had gone before.
"Talk right out, Brown-eyes," said Jacqueline, wiping the tears of
delight from her eyes. "Talk right out as if you was a man. _I_ won't
hurt you."
"I jest wanted to ask," said Dan, "if these are real men?"
The ready laughter started, checked, and died suddenly away. The
cattlemen looked at each other in puzzled surprise.
"Don't they look like it to you, honey?" asked Jacqueline curiously.
Dan allowed his eyes to pass lingeringly around the table from face to
face.
"I dunno," he said at last, "they look sort of queer to me."
"For God's sake cut this short, Dan," pleaded Tex Calder in an
undertone. "Let them have all the rope they want. Don't trip up our
party before we get started."
"Queer?" echoed Jacqueline, and there was a deep murmur from the men.
"Sure," said Dan, smiling upon her again, "they all wear their guns so
awful high."
Out of the dead silence broke the roar of the sandy-haired man:
"What'n hell d'you mean by that?"
Dan leaned forward on one elbow, his right hand free and resting on
the edge of the table, but still his smile was almost a caress.
"Why," he said, "maybe you c'n explain it to me. Seems to me that all
these guns is wore so high they's more for ornament than use."
"You damned pup--" began Sandy.
He stopped short and stared with a peculiar fascination at Dan, who
started to speak again. His voice had changed--not greatly, for its
pitch was the same and the drawl was the same--but there was a purr
in it that made every man stiffen in his chair and make sure that his
right hand was free. The ghost of his former smile was still on his
lips, but it was his eyes that seemed to fascinate Sandy.
"Maybe I'm wrong, partner," he was saying, "an' maybe you c'n prove
that _your_ gun ain't jest ornamental hardware?"
What followed was very strange. Sandy was a brave man and everyone at
that table knew it. They waited for the inevitable to happen. They
waited for Sandy's lightning move for his gun. They waited for the
flash and the crack of the revolver. It did not come. There followed a
still more stunning wonder.
"You c'n see," went on that caressing voice of Dan, "that everyone
is waitin' for you to demonstrate--which the lady is most special
interested."
And still Sandy did not move that significant right hand. It remained
fixed in air a few inches above the table, the fingers stiffly spread.
He moistened his white lips. Then--most strange of all!--his eyes
shifted and wandered away from the face of Whistling Dan. The others
exchanged incredulous glances. The impossible had happened--Sandy had
taken water! The sheriff was the first to recover, though his forehead
was shining with perspiration.
"What's all this stuff about?" he called. "Hey, Sandy, quit pickin'
trouble with the stranger!"
Sandy seized the loophole through which to escape with his honour. He
settled back in his chair.
"All right, gov'nor," he said, "I won't go spoilin' your furniture. I
won't hurt him."
CHAPTER XX
ONE TRAIL ENDS
But this deceived no one. They had seen him palpably take water. A
moment of silence followed, while Sandy stared whitefaced down at the
table, avoiding all eyes; but all the elements of good breeding exist
under all the roughness of the West. It was Jacqueline who began with
a joke which was rather old, but everyone appreciated it--at that
moment--and the laughter lasted long enough to restore some of the
colour to Sandy's face. A general rapid fire of talk followed.
"How did you do it?" queried Calder. "I was all prepared for a
gun-play."
"Why, you seen I didn't do nothin'."
"Then what in the world made Sandy freeze while his hand was on the
way to his gun?"
"I dunno," sighed Dan, "but when I see his hand start movin' I sort of
wanted his blood--I _wanted_ him to keep right on till he got hold of
his gun--and maybe he seen it in my eyes an' that sort of changed his
mind."
"I haven't the least doubt that it did," said Calder grimly.
At the foot of the table Jacqueline's right-hand neighbour was saying:
"What happened, Jac?"
"Don't ask me," she replied. "All I know is that I don't think any
less of Sandy because he backed down. I saw that stranger's face
myself an' I'm still sort of weak inside."
"How did he look?"
"I dunno. Jest--jest _hungry_. Understand?"
She was silent for a time, but she was evidently thinking hard. At
last she turned to the same man.
"Did you hear Brown-eyes say that the broad-shouldered feller next to
him was his friend?"
"Sure. I seen them ride in together. That other one looks like a hard
nut, eh?"
She returned no answer, but after a time her eyes raised slowly and
rested for a long moment on Dan's face. It was towards the end of
the meal when she rose and went towards the kitchen. At the door
she turned, and Dan, though he was looking down at his plate, was
conscious that someone was observing him. He glanced up and the moment
his eyes met hers she made a significant backward gesture with her
hand. He hesitated a moment and then shoved back his chair. Calder was
busy talking to a table mate, so he walked out of the house without
speaking to his companion. He went to the rear of the house and as he
had expected she was waiting for him.
"Brown-eyes," she said swiftly, "that feller who sat beside you--is he
your partner?"
"I dunno," said Dan evasively, "why are you askin'?"
Her breath was coming audibly as if from excitement.
"Have you got a fast hoss?"
"There ain't no faster."
"Believe me, he can't go none too fast with you tonight. Maybe they're
after you, too."
"Who?"
"I can't tell you. Listen to me, Brown-eyes. Go get your hoss an' feed
him the spur till you're a hundred miles away, an' even then don't
stop runnin'."
He merely stared at her curiously.
She stamped.
"Don't stop to talk. If they're after him and you're his partner, they
probably want you, too."
"I'll stay aroun'. If they're curious about me, I'll tell 'em my
name--I'll even spell it for 'em. Who are they?"
"They are--hell--that's all."
"I'd like to see 'em. Maybe _they're_ real men."
"They're devils. If I told you their names you'd turn stiff."
"I'll take one chance. Tell me who they are."
"I don't dare tell you."
She hesitated.
"I _will_ tell you! You've made a fool out of me with them big baby
eyes. Jim Silent is in that house!"
He turned and ran, but not for the horse-shed; he headed straight for
the open door of the house.
* * * * *
In the dining-room two more had left the table, but the rest,
lingering over their fresh filled coffee cups, sat around telling
tales, and Tex Calder was among them. He was about to push back his
chair when the hum of talk ceased as if at a command. The men on the
opposite side of the table were staring with fascinated eyes at the
door, and then a big voice boomed behind him: "Tex Calder, stan' up.
You've come to the end of the trail!"
He whirled as he rose, kicking down the chair behind him, and stood
face to face with Jim Silent. The great outlaw was scowling; but his
gun was in its holster and his hands rested lightly on his hips. It
was plain for all eyes to see that he had come not to murder but to
fight a fair duel. Behind him loomed the figure of Lee Haines scarcely
less imposing.
All eternity seemed poised and waiting for the second when one of the
men would make the move for his gun. Not a breath was drawn in the
room. Hands remained frozen in air in the midst of a gesture. Lips
which had parted to speak did not close. The steady voice of the clock
broke into the silence--a dying space between every tick. For the
second time in his life Tex Calder knew fear.
He saw no mere man before him, but his own destiny. And he knew that
if he stood before those glaring eyes another minute he would become
like poor Sandy a few minutes before--a white-faced, palsied coward.
The shame of the thought gave him power.
"Silent," he said, "there's a quick end to the longest trail,
because--"
His hand darted down. No eye could follow the lightning speed with
which he whipped out his revolver and fanned it, but by a mortal
fraction of a second the convulsive jerk of Silent's hand was faster
still. Two shots followed--they were rather like one drawn-out report.
The woodwork splintered above the outlaw's head; Tex Calder seemed to
laugh, but his lips made no sound. He pitched forward on his face.
"He fired that bullet," said Silent, "after mine hit him."
Then he leaped back through the door.
"Keep 'em back one minute, Lee, an' then after me!" he said as he ran.
Haines stood in the door with folded arms. He knew that no one would
dare to move a hand.
Two doors slammed at the same moment--the front door as Silent leaped
into the safety of the night, and the rear door as Whistling Dan
rushed into the house. He stood at the entrance from the kitchen to
the dining-room half crouched, and swaying from the suddenness with
which he had checked his run. He saw the sprawled form of Tex Calder
on the floor and the erect figure of Lee Haines just opposite him.
"For God's sake!" screamed Gus Morris, "don't shoot, Haines! He's done
nothin'. Let him go!"
"My life--or his!" said Haines savagely. "He's not a man--he's a
devil!"