Black Jack, Max Brand [snow like ashes .txt] 📗
- Author: Max Brand
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you-all a heap!”
He brought it out with a faint smile; there was no response to that
mirth.
“Matter of fact, I been keeping my eye on you fellows right along. Now, I
ain’t up here to do no accusing. I’m up here to talk to you man to man.
They’s been a good many queer things happen. None of ‘em in my county,
mind you, or I might have done some talking to you before now. But they’s
been a lot of queer things happen right around in the mountains; and some
of ‘em has traced back kind of close to Joe Pollard’s house as a starting
point. I ain’t going to go any further. If I’m wrong, they ain’t any harm
done; if I’m right, you know what I mean. But I tell you this, boys—
we’re a long-sufferin’ lot around these parts, but they’s some things
that we don’t stand for, and one of ‘em that riles us particular much is
when a gent that lays out to be a regular hardworking rancher—even if he
ain’t got much of a ranch to talk about and work about—takes mankillers
under their wings. It ain’t regular, and it ain’t popular around these
parts. I guess you know what I mean.”
Terry expected Pollard to jump to his feet. But there was no such
response. The other men stared down at the table, their lips working.
Pollard alone met the eye of the sheriff.
The sheriff changed the direction of his glance. Instantly, it fell on
Terry and stayed there.
“You’re the man I mean; you’re Terry Hollis, Black Jack’s son?”
Terry imitated the others and did not reply.
“Oh, they ain’t any use beating about the bush. You got Black Jack’s
blood in you. That’s plain. I remember your old man well enough.”
Terry rose slowly from his chair.
“I think I’m not disputing that, sheriff. As a matter of fact, I’m very
proud of my father.”
“I think you are,” said the sheriff gravely. “I think you are—damned
proud of him. So proud you might even figure on imitating what he done in
the old days.”
“Perhaps,” said Terry. The imp of the perverse was up in him now, urging
him on.
“Step soft, sheriff,” cried Pollard suddenly, as though he sensed a
crisis of which the others were unaware. “Terry, keep hold on yourself!”
The sheriff waved the cautionary advice away.
“My nerves are tolerable good, Pollard,” he said coldly. “The kid ain’t
scaring me none. And now hark to me, Black Jack. You’ve got away with two
gents already—two that’s known, I mean. Minter was one and Larrimer was
two. Both times it was a square break. But I know your kind like a book.
You’re going to step over the line pretty damn pronto, and when you do,
I’m going to get you, friend, as sure as the sky is blue! You ain’t going
to do what your dad done before you. I’ll tell you why. In the old days
the law was a joke. But it’s tolerable strong now. You hear me talk—get
out of these here parts and stay out. We don’t want none of your kind.”
There was a flinching of the men about the table. They had seen the
tigerish suddenness with which Terry’s temper could flare—they had
received an object lesson that morning. But to their amazement he
remained perfectly cool under fire. He sauntered a little closer to the
sheriff.
“I’ll tell you, McGuire,” he said gently. “Your great mistake is in
talking too much. You’ve had a good deal of success, my friend. So much
that your head is turned. You’re quite confident that no one will invade
your special territory; and you keep your sympathy for neighboring
counties. You pity the sheriffs around you. Now listen to me. You’ve
branded me as a criminal in advance. And I’m not going to disappoint you.
I’m going to try to live up to your high hopes. And what I do will be
done right in your county, my friend. I’m going to make the sheriffs pity
you, McGuire. I’m going to make your life a small bit of hell. I’m
going to keep you busy. And now—get out! And before you judge the next
man that crosses your path, wait for the advice of twelve good men and
true. You need advice, McGuire. You need it to beat hell! Start on your
way!”
His calmness was shaken a little toward the end of this speech and his
voice, at the close, rang sharply at McGuire. The latter considered him
from beneath frowning brows for a moment and then, without another word,
without a glance to the others and a syllable of adieu, turned and walked
slowly, thoughtfully, out of the room. Terry walked back to his place. As
he sat down, he noticed that every eye was upon him, worried.
“I’m sorry that I’ve had to do so much talking,” he said. “And I
particularly apologize to you, Pollard. But I’m tired of being hounded.
As a matter of fact, I’m now going to try to play the part of the hound
myself. Action, boys; action is what we must have, and action right in
this county under the nose of the complacent McGuire!”
There was no exuberant joy to meet this suggestion. McGuire had, as a
matter of fact, made his territory practically crime-proof for so long
that men had lost interest in planning adventures within the sphere of
his authority. It seemed to the four men of Pollard’s gang a peculiar
folly to cast a challenge in the teeth of the formidable sheriff himself.
Even Pollard was shaken and looked to Denver. But that worthy, who had
returned from the door where he was stationed during the presence of the
sheriff, remained in his place smiling down at his hands. He, for one,
seemed oddly pleased.
In the meantime Sandy was setting forth his second and particularly
interesting news item.
“You-all know Lewison?” he asked.
“The sour old grouch,” affirmed Phil Marvin. “Sure, we know him.”
“I know him, too,” said Sandy. “I worked for the tenderfoot that he
skinned out of the ranch. And then I worked for Lewison. If they’s
anything good about Lewison, you’d need a spyglass to find it, and then
it wouldn’t be fit to see. His wife couldn’t live with him; he drove his
son off and turned him into a drunk; and he’s lived his life for his
coin.”
“Which he ain’t got much to show for it,” remarked Marvin. “He lives like
a starved dog.”
“And that’s just why he’s got the coin,” said Sandy. “He lives on what
would make a dog sick and his whole life he’s been saving every cent he’s
made. He gives his wife one dress every three years till she died. That’s
how tight he is. But he’s sure got the money. Told everybody his kid run
off with all his savings. That’s a lie. His kid didn’t have the guts or
the sense to steal even what was coming to him for the work he done for
the old miser. Matter of fact, he’s got enough coin saved—all gold—to
break the back of a mule. That’s a fact! Never did no investing, but
turned everything he made into gold and put it away.”
“How do you know?” This from Denver.
“How does a buzzard smell a dead cow?” said Sandy inelegantly. “I ain’t
going to tell you how I smell out the facts about money. Wouldn’t be any
use to you if you knew the trick. The facts is these: he sold his ranch.
You know that?”
“Sure, we know that.”
“And you know he wouldn’t take nothing but gold coin paid down at the
house?”
“That so?”
“It sure is! Now the point’s this. He had all his gold in his own private
safe at home.”
Denver groaned.
“I know, Denver,” nodded Sandy. “Easy pickings for you; but I didn’t find
all this out till the other day. Never even knew he had a safe in his
house. Not till he has ‘em bring out a truck from town and he ships the
safe and everything in it to the bank. You see, he sold out his own place
and he’s going to another that he bought down the river. Well, boys,
here’s the dodge. That safe of his is in the bank tonight, guarded by old
Lewison himself and two gunmen he’s hired for the job. Tomorrow he starts
out down the river with the safe on a big wagon, and he’ll have half a
dozen guards along with him. Boys, they’s going to be forty thousand
dollars in that safe! And the minute she gets out of the county—because
old McGuire will guard it to the boundary line—we can lay back in the
hills and—”
“You done enough planning, Sandy,” broke in Joe Pollard. “You’ve smelled
out the loot. Leave it to us to get it. Did you say forty thousand?”
And on every face around the table Terry saw the same hunger and the same
yellow glint of the eyes. It would be a big haul, one of the biggest, if
not the very biggest, Pollard had ever attempted.
Of the talk that followed, Terry heard little, because he was paying
scant attention. He saw Joe Pollard lie back in his chair with squinted
eyes and run over a swift description of the country through which the
trail of the money would lead. The leader knew every inch of the
mountains, it seemed. His memory was better than a map; in it was jotted
down every fallen log, every boulder, it seemed. And when his mind was
fixed on the best spot for the holdup, he sketched his plan briefly.
To this man and to that, parts were assigned in brief. There would be
more to say in the morning about the details. And every man offered
suggestions. On only one point were they agreed. This was a sum of money
for which they could well afford to spill blood. For such a prize as this
they could well risk making the countryside so hot for themselves that
they would have to leave Pollard’s house and establish headquarters
elsewhere. Two shares to Pollard and one to each of his men, including
Sandy, would make the total loot some four thousand dollars and more per
man. And in the event that someone fell in the attempt, which was more
than probable, the share for the rest would be raised to ten thousand for
Pollard and five thousand for each of the rest. Terry saw cold glances
pass the rounds, and more than one dwelt upon him. He was the last to
join; if there were to be a death in this affair, he would be the least
missed of all.
A sharp order from Pollard terminated the conference and sent his men to
bed, with Pollard setting the example. But Terry lingered behind and
called back Denver.
“There is one point,” he said when they were alone, “that it seems to me
the chief has overlooked.”
“Talk up, kid,” grinned Denver Pete. “I seen you was thinking. It sure
does me good to hear you talk. What’s on your mind? Where was Joe wrong?”
“Not wrong, perhaps. But he overlooked this fact: tonight the safe is
guarded by three men only; tomorrow it will be guarded by six.”
Denver stared, and then blinked.
“You mean, try the safe right in town, inside the old bank? Son, you
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