The Untamed, Max Brand [electronic reader txt] 📗

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!"

Dan was laughing low—a sound like a croon.

"Tex," he said, "I'm goin' to take him alive for you!"

As if in answer the dying man stirred on the floor. Haines went for his gun, a move almost as lightning swift as that of Jim Silent, but now far, far too late. The revolver was hardly clear of its holster when Whistling Dan's weapon spoke. Haines, with a curse, clapped his left hand over his wounded right forearm, and then reached after his weapon as it clattered to the floor. Once more he was too late. Dan tossed his gun away with a snarl like the growl of a wolf; cleared the table at a leap, and was at Haines's throat. The bandit fought back desperately, vainly. One instant they struggled erect, swaying, the next Haines was lifted bodily, and hurled to the floor. He writhed, but under those prisoning hands he was helpless.

The sheriff headed the rush for the scene of the struggle, but Dan stopped them.

"All you c'n do," he said, "is to bring me a piece of rope."

Jacqueline came running with a stout piece of twine which he twisted around the wrists of Haines. Then he jerked the outlaw to his feet, and stood close, his face inhumanly pale.

"If he dies," he said, pointing with a stiff arm back at the prostrate figure of Tex Calder, "you—you'll burn alive for it!"

The sheriff and two of the other men turned the body of Calder on his back. They tore open his shirt, and Jacqueline leaned over him with a basin of water trying to wipe away the ever recurrent blood which trickled down his breast. Dan brushed them away and caught the head of his companion in his arms.

"Tex!" he moaned, "Tex! Open your eyes, partner, I got him for you. I got him alive for you to look at him! Wake up!"

As if in obedience to the summons the eyes of Calder opened wide. The lids fluttered as if to clear his vision, but even then his gaze was filmed with a telltale shadow.

"Dan—Whistling Dan," he said, "I'm seeing you a long, long ways off.
Partner, I'm done for."

The whole body of Dan stiffened.

"Done? Tex, you can't be! Five minutes ago you sat at that there table, smilin' an' talkin'!"

"It doesn't take five minutes. Half a second can take a man all the way to hell!"

"If you're goin', pal, if you goin', Tex, take one comfort along with you! I got the man who killed you! Come here!"

He pulled the outlaw to his knees beside the dying marshal whose face had lighted wonderfully. He strained his eyes painfully to make out the face of his slayer. Then he turned his head.

He said: "The man who killed me was Jim Silent."

Dan groaned and leaned close to Calder.

"Then I'll follow him to the end—" he began.

The feeble accent of Calder interrupted him.

"Not that way. Come