The Untamed / Brand, Max, 1892-1944

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Title: The Untamed

Author: Max Brand

Release Date: January 31, 2004 [EBook #10886]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

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Produced by Suzanne Shell, Gene Smethers and PG Distributed Proofreaders




THE UNTAMED

BY MAX BRAND


1919



CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I.       Pan of the Desert

II.      The Panther

III.     Silent Shoots

IV.      Something Yellow

V.       Four in the Air

VI.      Laughter

VII.     The Mute Messenger

VIII.    Red Writing

IX.      The Phantom Rider

X.       The Strength of Women

XI.      Silent Bluffs

XII.     Partners

XIII.    The Lone Riders Entertain

XIV.     Delilah

XV.      The Cross Roads

XVI.     The Three of us

XVII.    The Panther's Paw

XVIII.   Cain

XIX.     Real Men

XX.      One Trail Ends

XXI.     One Way Out

XXII.    The Woman's Way

XXIII.   Hell Starts

XXIV.    The Rescue

XXV.     The Long Ride

XXVI.    Black Bart Turns Nurse

XXVII.   Nobody Laughs

XXVIII.  Whistling Dan, Desperado

XXIX.    "Werewolf"

XXX.     "The Manhandling"

XXXI.    "Laugh, Damn it!"

XXXII.   Those who See in the Dark

XXXIII.  The Song of the Untamed

XXXIV.   The Coward

XXXV.    Close in!

XXXVI.   Fear

XXXVII.  Death

XXXVIII. The Wild Geese




THE UNTAMED




CHAPTER I


PAN OF THE DESERT

Even to a high-flying bird this was a country to be passed over
quickly. It was burned and brown, littered with fragments of rock,
whether vast or small, as if the refuse were tossed here after the
making of the world. A passing shower drenched the bald knobs of a
range of granite hills and the slant morning sun set the wet rocks
aflame with light. In a short time the hills lost their halo and
resumed their brown. The moisture evaporated. The sun rose higher and
looked sternly across the desert as if he searched for any remaining
life which still struggled for existence under his burning course.

And he found life. Hardy cattle moved singly or in small groups and
browsed on the withered bunch grass. Summer scorched them, winter
humped their backs with cold and arched up their bellies with famine,
but they were a breed schooled through generations for this fight
against nature. In this junk-shop of the world, rattlesnakes were
rulers of the soil. Overhead the buzzards, ominous black specks
pendant against the white-hot sky, ruled the air.

It seemed impossible that human beings could live in this
rock-wilderness. If so, they must be to other men what the lean, hardy
cattle of the hills are to the corn-fed stabled beeves of the States.

Over the shoulder of a hill came a whistling which might have been
attributed to the wind, had not this day been deathly calm. It was fit
music for such a scene, for it seemed neither of heaven nor earth,
but the soul of the great god Pan come back to earth to charm those
nameless rocks with his wild, sweet piping. It changed to harmonious
phrases loosely connected. Such might be the exultant improvisations
of a master violinist.

A great wolf, or a dog as tall and rough coated as a wolf, trotted
around the hillside. He paused with one foot lifted and lolling,
crimson tongue, as he scanned the distance and then turned to look
back in the direction from which he had come. The weird music changed
to whistled notes as liquid as a flute. The sound drew closer. A
horseman rode out on the shoulder and checked his mount. One could not
choose him at first glance as a type of those who fight nature in a
region where the thermometer moves through a scale of a hundred and
sixty degrees in the year to an accompaniment of cold-stabbing winds
and sweltering suns. A thin, handsome face with large brown eyes and
black hair, a body tall but rather slenderly made--he might have been
a descendant of some ancient family of Norman nobility; but could such
proud gentry be found riding the desert in a tall-crowned sombrero
with chaps on his legs and a red bandana handkerchief knotted around
his throat? That first glance made the rider seem strangely out of
place in such surroundings. One might even smile at the contrast, but
at the second glance the smile would fade, and at the third, it would
be replaced with a stare of interest. It was impossible to tell why
one respected this man, but after a time there grew a suspicion of
unknown strength in this lone rider, strength like that of a machine
which is stopped but only needs a spark of fire to plunge it into
irresistible action. Strangely enough, the youthful figure seemed in
tune with that region of mighty distances, with that white, cruel sun,
with that bird of prey hovering high, high in the air.

It required some study to guess at these qualities of the rider, for
they were such things as a child feels more readily than a grown man;
but it needed no expert to admire the horse he bestrode. It was a
statue in black marble, a steed fit for a Shah of Persia! The stallion
stood barely fifteen hands, but to see him was to forget his size. His
flanks shimmered like satin in the sun. What promise of power in the
smooth, broad hips! Only an Arab poet could run his hand over that
shoulder and then speak properly of the matchless curve. Only an Arab
could appreciate legs like thin and carefully drawn steel below the
knees; or that flow of tail and windy mane; that generous breast with
promise of the mighty heart within; that arched neck; that proud head
with the pricking ears, wide forehead, and muzzle, as the Sheik said,
which might drink from a pint-pot.

A rustling like dried leaves came from among the rocks and the hair
rose bristling around the neck of the wolflike dog. With outstretched
head he approached the rocks, sniffing, then stopped and turned
shining eyes upon his master, who nodded and swung from the saddle. It
was a little uncanny, this silent interchange of glances between the
beast and the man. The cause of the dog's anxiety was a long rattler
which now slid out from beneath a boulder, and giving its harsh
warning, coiled, ready to strike. The dog backed away, but instead of
growling he looked to the man.

Cowboys frequently practise with their revolvers at snakes, but one of
the peculiarities of this rider was that he carried no gun, neither
six-shooter nor rifle. He drew out a short knife which might be used
to skin a beef or carve meat, though certainly no human being had ever
used such a weapon against a five-foot rattler. He stooped and rested
both hands on his thighs. His feet were not two paces from the poised
head of the snake. As if marvelling at this temerity, the big rattler
tucked back his head and sounded the alarm again. In response the
cowboy flashed his knife in the sun. Instantly the snake struck but
the deadly fangs fell a few inches short of the riding boots. At the
same second the man moved. No eye could follow the leap of his hand as
it darted down and fastened around the snake just behind the head. The
long brown body writhed about his wrist, with rattles clashing. He
severed the head deftly and tossed the twisting mass back on the
rocks.

Then, as if he had performed the most ordinary act, he rubbed his
gloves in the sand, cleansed his knife in a similar manner, and
stepped back to his horse. Contrary to the rules of horse-nature, the
stallion had not flinched at sight of the snake, but actually advanced
a high-headed pace or two with his short ears laid flat on his
neck, and a sudden red fury in his eyes. He seemed to watch for an
opportunity to help his master. As the man approached after killing
the snake the stallion let his ears go forward again and touched his
nose against his master's shoulder. When the latter swung into the
saddle, the wolf-dog came to his side, reared, and resting his
forefeet on the stirrup stared up into the rider's face. The man
nodded to him, whereat, as if he understood a spoken word, the dog
dropped back and trotted ahead. The rider touched the reins and
galloped down the easy slope. The little episode had given the effect
of a three-cornered conversation. Yet the man had been as silent as
the animals.

In a moment he was lost among the hills, but still his whistling came
back, fainter and fainter, until it was merely a thrilling whisper
that dwelt in the air but came from no certain direction.

His course lay towards a road which looped whitely across the hills.
The road twisted over a low ridge where a house stood among a grove of
cottonwoods dense enough and tall enough to break the main force of
any wind. On the same road, a thousand yards closer to the rider of
the black stallion, was Morgan's place.




CHAPTER II


THE PANTHER

In the ranch house old Joseph Cumberland frowned on the floor as he
heard his daughter say: "It isn't right, Dad. I never noticed it
before I went away to school, but since I've come back I begin to feel
that it's shameful to treat Dan in this way."

Her eyes brightened and she shook her golden head for emphasis. Her
father watched her with a faintly quizzical smile and made no reply.
The dignity of ownership of many thousand cattle kept the old
rancher's shoulders square, and there was an antique gentility about
his thin face with its white goatee. He was more like a quaint
figure of the seventeenth century than a successful cattleman of the
twentieth.

"It _is_ shameful, Dad," she went on, encouraged by his silence, "or
you could tell me some reason."

"Some reason for not letting him have a gun?" asked the rancher, still
with the quizzical smile.

"Yes, yes!" she said eagerly, "and some reason for treating him in a
thousand ways as if he were an irresponsible boy."

"Why, Kate, gal, you have tears in your eyes!"

He drew her onto a stool beside him, holding both her hands, and
searched her face with eyes as blue and almost as bright as her own.
"How does it come that you're so interested in Dan?"

"Why, Dad, dear," and she avoided his gaze, "I've always been
interested in him. Haven't we grown up together?"

"Part ways you have."

"And haven't we been always just like brother and sister?"

"You're talkin' a little more'n sisterly, Kate."

"What do you mean?"

"Ay, ay! What do I mean! And now you're all red. Kate, I got an idea
it's nigh onto time to let Dan start on his way."

He could not have found a surer way to drive the crimson from her face
and turn it white to the lips.

"Dad!"

"Well, Kate?"

"You wouldn't send Dan away!"

Before he could answer she dropped her head against his shoulder
and broke into great sobs. He stroked her head with his calloused,
sunburned hand and his eyes filmed with a distant gaze.

"I might have knowed it!" he said over and over again; "I might have
knowed it! Hush, my silly gal."

Her sobbing ceased with magic suddenness.

"Then you won't send him away?"

"Listen to me while I talk to you straight," said Joe Cumberland,
"and accordin' to the way you take it will depend whether Dan goes or
stays. Will you listen?"

"Dear Dad, with all my heart!"

"Humph!" he grunted, "that's just what I don't want. This what I'm
goin' to tell you is a queer thing--a mighty lot like a fairy tale,
maybe. I've kept it back from you years an' years thinkin' you'd find
out the truth about Dan for yourself. But bein' so close to him has
made you sort of blind, maybe! No man will criticize his own hoss."

"Go on, tell me what you mean. I won't interrupt."

He was silent for a moment, frowning to gather his thoughts.

"Have you ever seen a mule, Kate?"

"Of course!"

"Maybe you've noticed that a mule is just as strong as a horse--"

"Yes."

"--but their muscles ain't a third as big?"

"Yes, but what on earth--"

"Well, Kate, Dan is built light an' yet he's stronger than the biggest
men around here."

"Are you going to send him away simply because he's strong?"

"It doesn't show nothin'," said the old man gently, "savin' that he's
different from the regular run of men--an' I've seen a considerable
pile of men, honey. There's other funny things about Dan maybe you
ain't noticed. Take the way he has with hosses an' other animals. The
wildest man-killin', spur-hatin' bronchos don't put up no fight when
them long legs of Dan settle round 'em."

"Because they know fighting won't help them!"

"Maybe so, maybe so," he said quietly, "but it's kind of queer, Kate,
that after most a hundred men on the best hosses in these parts had
ridden in relays after Satan an' couldn't lay a rope on him, Dan could
jest go out on foot with a halter an' come back in ten days leadin'
the wildest devil of a mustang that ever hated men."

"It was a glorious thing to do!" she said.

Old Cumberland sighed and then shook his head.

"It shows more'n that, honey. There ain't any man but Dan that can sit
the saddle on Satan. If Dan should die, Satan wouldn't be no more use
to other men than a piece of haltered lightnin'. An' then tell me how
Dan got hold of that wolf, Black Bart, as he calls him."

"It isn't a wolf, Dad," said Kate, "it's a dog. Dan says so himself."

"Sure he says so," answered her father, "but there was a lone wolf
prowlin' round these parts for a considerable time an' raisin' Cain
with the calves an' the colts. An' Black Bart comes pretty close to a
description of the lone wolf. Maybe you remember Dan found his 'dog'
lyin' in a gully with a bullet through his shoulder. If he was a dog
how'd he come to be shot--"

"Some brute of a sheep herder may have done it. What could it prove?"

"It only proves that Dan is queer--powerful queer! Satan an' Black
Bart are still as wild as they ever was, except that they got one
master. An' they ain't got a thing to do with other people. Black
Bart'd tear the heart out of a man that so much as patted his head."

"Why," she cried, "he'll let me do anything with him!"

"Humph!" said Cumberland, a little baffled; "maybe that's because Dan
is kind of fond of you, gal, an' he has sort of introduced you to
his pets, damn 'em! That's just the pint! How is he able to make his
man-killers act sweet with you an' play the devil with everybody
else."

"It wasn't Dan at all!" she said stoutly, "and he _isn't_ queer. Satan
and Black Bart let me do what I want with them because they know I
love them for their beauty and their strength."

"Let it go at that," growled her father. "Kate, you're jest like your
mother when it comes to arguin'. If you wasn't my little gal I'd say
you was plain pig-headed. But look here, ain't you ever felt that Dan
is what I call him--different? Ain't you ever seen him get mad--jest
for a minute--an' watched them big brown eyes of his get all packed
full of yellow light that chases a chill up and down your back like a
wrigglin' snake?"

She considered this statement in a little silence.

"I saw him kill a rattler once," she said in a low voice. "Dan caught
him behind the head after he had struck. He did it with his bare hand!
I almost fainted. When I looked again he had cut off the head of the
snake. It was--it was terrible!"

She turned to her father and caught him firmly by the shoulders.

"Look me straight in the eye, Dad, and tell me just what you mean."

"Why, Kate," said the wise old man, "you're beginnin' to see for
yourself what I'm drivin' at! Haven't you got somethin' else right on
the tip of your tongue?"

"There was one day that I've never told you about," she said in a low
voice, looking away, "because I was afraid that if I told you, you'd
shoot Black Bart. He was gnawing a big beef bone and just for fun I
tried to take it away from him. He'd been out on a long trail with Dan
and he was very hungry. When I put my hand on the bone he snapped.
Luckily I had a thick glove on and he merely pinched my wrist. Also
I think he realized what he was doing for otherwise he'd have cut
through the glove as if it had been paper. He snarled fearfully and I
sprang back with a cry. Dan hadn't seen what happened, but he
heard the snarl and saw Black Bart's bared teeth. Then--oh, it was
terrible!"

She covered her face.

"Take your time, Kate," said Cumberland softly.

"'Bart,' called Dan," she went on, "and there was such anger in his
face that I think I was more afraid of him than of the big dog.

"Bart turned to him with a snarl and bared his teeth. When Dan saw
that his face turned--I don't know how to say it!"

She stopped a moment and her hands tightened.

"Back in his throat there came a sound that was almost like the snarl
of Black Bart. The wolf-dog watched him with a terror that was uncanny
to see, the hair around his neck fairly on end, his teeth still bared,
and his growl horrible.

"'Dan!' I called, 'don't go near him!'

"I might as well have called out to a whirlwind. He leaped. Black Bart
sprang to meet him with eyes green with fear. I heard the loud click
of his teeth as he snapped--and missed. Dan swerved to one side and
caught Black Bart by the throat and drove him into the dust, falling
with him.

"I couldn't move. I was weak with horror. It wasn't a struggle between
a man and a beast. It was like a fight between a panther and a wolf.
Black Bart was fighting hard but fighting hopelessly. Those hands were
settling tighter on his throat. His big red tongue lolled out; his
struggles almost ceased. Then Dan happened to glance at me. What he
saw in my face sobered him. He got up, lifting the dog with him, and
flung away the lifeless weight of Bart. He began to brush the dust
from his clothes, looking down as if he were ashamed. He asked me if
the dog had hurt me when he snapped. I could not speak for a moment.
Then came the most horrible part. Black Bart, who must have been
nearly killed, dragged himself to Dan on his belly, choking and
whining, and licked the boots of his master!"

"Then you _do_ know what I mean when I say Dan is--different?"

She hesitated and blinked, as if she were shutting her eyes on a fact.
"I _don't_ know. I know that he's gentle and kind and loves you more
than you love him." Her voice broke a little. "Oh, Dad, you forget the
time he sat up with you for five days and nights when you got sick out
in the hills, and how he barely managed to get you back to the house
alive!"

The old man frowned to conceal how greatly he was moved.

"I haven't forgot nothin', Kate," he said, "an' everything is for his
own good. Do you know what I've been tryin' to do all these years?"

"What?"

"I've been tryin' to hide him from himself! Kate, do you remember how
I found him?"

"I was too little to know. I've heard you tell a little about it. He
was lost on the range. You found him twenty miles south of the house."

"Lost on the range?" repeated her father softly. "I don't think he
could ever have been lost. To a hoss the corral is a home. To us our
ranch is a home. To Dan Barry the whole mountain-desert is a home!
This is how I found him. It was in the spring of the year when the
wild geese was honkin' as they flew north. I was ridin' down a gulley
about sunset and wishin' that I was closer to the ranch when I heard a
funny, wild sort of whistlin' that didn't have any tune to it that
I recognized. It gave me a queer feelin'. It made me think of fairy
stories--an' things like that! Pretty soon I seen a figure on the
crest of the hill. There was a triangle of geese away up overhead an'
the boy was walkin' along lookin' up as if he was followin' the trail
of the wild geese.

"He was up there walkin' between the sunset an' the stars with his
head bent back, and his hands stuffed into his pockets, whistlin' as
if he was goin' home from school. An' such whistlin'."

"Nobody could ever whistle like Dan," she said, and smiled.

"I rode up to him, wonderin'," went on Cumberland.

"'What're you doin' round here?' I says.

"Says he, lookin' at me casual like over his shoulder: 'I'm jest
takin' a stroll an' whistlin'. Does it bother you, mister?'

"'It doesn't bother me none,' says I. 'Where do you belong, sonny?'

"'Me?' says he, lookin' sort of surprised, 'why, I belong around over
there!' An' he waved his hand careless over to the settin' sun.

"There was somethin' about him that made my heart swell up inside of
me. I looked down into them big brown eyes and wondered--well, I don't
know what I wondered; but I remembered all at once that I didn't have
no son.

"'Who's your folks?' says I, gettin' more an' more curious.

"He jest looked at me sort of bored.

"'Where does your folks live at?' says I.

"'Oh, they live around here,' says he, an' he waved his hand again,
an' this time over towards the east.

"Says I: 'When do you figure on reachin' home?'

"'Oh, most any day,' says he.

"An' I looked around at them brown, naked hills with the night comin'
down over them. Then I stared back at the boy an' there was something
that come up in me like hunger. You see, he was lost; he was alone;
the queer ring of his whistlin' was still in my ears; an' I couldn't
help rememberin' that I didn't have no son.

"'Then supposin' you come along with me,' says I, 'an' I'll send you
home in a buckboard tomorrow?'

"So the end of it was me ridin' home with the little kid sittin' up
before me, whistlin' his heart out! When I got him home I tried to
talk to him again. He couldn't tell me, or he wouldn't tell me where
his folks lived, but jest kept wavin' his hand liberal to half the
points of the compass. An' that's all I know of where he come from. I
done all I could to find his parents. I inquired and sent letters to
every rancher within a hundred miles. I advertised it through the
railroads, but they said nobody'd yet been reported lost. He was still
mine, at least for a while, an' I was terrible glad.

"I give the kid a spare room. I sat up late that first night listenin'
to the wild geese honkin' away up in the sky an' wonderin' why I was
so happy. Kate, that night there was tears in my eyes when I thought
of how that kid had been out there on the hills walkin' along so happy
an' independent.

"But the next mornin' he was gone. I sent my cowpunchers out to look
for him.

"'Which way shall we ride?' they asked.

"I don't know why, but I thought of the wild geese that Dan had seemed
to be followin'.

"'Ride north,' I said.

"An' sure enough, they rode north an' found him. After that I didn't
have no trouble with him about runnin' away--at least not durin' the
summer. An' all those months I kept plannin' how I would take care of
this boy who had come wanderin' to me. It seemed like he was sort of a
gift of God to make up for me havin' no son. And everythin' went well
until the next fall, when the geese began to fly south.

"Sure enough, that was when Dan ran away again, and when I sent my
cowpunchers south after him, they found him and brought him back. It
seemed as if they'd brought back half the world to me, when I seen
him. But I saw that I'd have to put a stop to this runnin' away. I
tried to talk to him, but all he'd say was that he'd better be movin'
on. I took the law in my hands an' told him he had to be disciplined.
So I started thrashin' him with a quirt, very light. He took it as if
he didn't feel the whip on his shoulders, an' he smiled. But there
came up a yellow light in his eyes that made me feel as if a man was
standin' right behind me with a bare knife in his hand an' smilin'
jest like the kid was doin'. Finally I simply backed out of the room,
an' since that day there ain't been man or beast ever has put a hand
on Whistlin' Dan. To this day I reckon he ain't quite forgiven me."

"Why!" she cried, "I have never heard him mention it!"

"That's why I know he's not forgotten it. Anyway, Kate, I locked him
in his room, but he wouldn't promise not to run away. Then I got an
inspiration. You was jest a little toddlin' thing then. That day you
was cryin' an awful lot an' I suddenly thought of puttin' you in Dan's
room. I did it. I jest unlocked the door quick and then shoved you in
an' locked it again. First of all you screamed terrible hard. I was
afraid maybe you'd hurt yourself yellin' that way. I was about to take
you out again when all at once I heard Dan start whistlin' and pretty
quick your cryin' stopped. I listened an' wondered. After that I never
had to lock Dan in his room. I was sure he'd stay on account of you.
But now, honey, I'm gettin' to the end of the story, an' I'm goin' to
give you the straight idea the way I see it.

"I've watched Dan like--like a father, almost. I think he loves me,
sort of--but I've never got over being afraid of him. You see I can't
forget how he smiled when I licked him! But listen to me, Kate, that
fear has been with me all the time--an' it's the only time I've ever
been afraid of any man. It isn't like being scared of a man, but of a
panther.

"Now we'll jest nacherally add up all the points we've made about
Dan--the queer way I found him without a home an' without wantin'
one--that strength he has that's like the power of a mule compared
with a horse--that funny control he has over wild animals so that they
almost seem to know what he means when he simply looks at them (have
you noticed him with Black Bart and Satan?)--then there's the yellow
light that comes in his eyes when he begins to get real mad--you an' I
have both seen it only once, but we don't want to see it again! More
than this there's the way he handles either a knife or a gun. He
hasn't practiced much with shootin' irons, but I never seen him miss a
reasonable mark--or an unreasonable one either, for that matter. I've
spoke to him about it. He said: 'I dunno how it is. I don't see how
a feller can shoot crooked. It jest seems that when I get out a gun
there's a line drawn from the barrel to the thing I'm shootin' at. All
I have to do is to pull the trigger--almost with my eyes closed!' Now,
Kate, do you begin to see what these here things point to?"

"Tell me what you see," she said, "and then I'll tell you what I think
of it all."

"All right," he said. "I see in Dan a man who's different from the
common run of us. I read in a book once that in the ages when men
lived like animals an' had no weapons except sticks and stones, their
muscles must have been two or three times as strong as they are
now--more like the muscles of brutes. An' their hearin' an' their
sight an' their quickness an' their endurance was about three times
more than that of ordinary men. Kate, I think that Dan is one of those
men the book described! He knows animals because he has all the powers
that they have. An' I know from the way his eyes go yellow that he has
the fightin' instinct of the ancestors of man. So far I've kept him
away from other men. Which I may say is the main reason I bought Dan
Morgan's place so's to keep fightin' men away from our Whistlin' Dan.
So I've been hidin' him from himself. You see, he's my boy if he
belongs to anybody. Maybe when time goes on he'll get tame. But I
reckon not. It's like takin' a panther cub--or a wolf pup--an tryin'
to raise it for a pet. Some day it gets the taste of blood, maybe its
own blood, an' then it goes mad and becomes a killer. An' that's what
I fear, Kate. So far I've kept Dan from ever havin' a single fight,
but I reckon the day'll come when someone'll cross him, and then
there'll be a tornado turned loose that'll jest about wreck these
parts."

Her anger had grown during this speech. Now she rose.

"I won't believe you, Dad," she said. "I'd sooner trust our Dan than
any man alive. I don't think you're right in a single word!"

"I was sure loco," sighed Cumberland, "to ever dream of convincin' a
woman. Let it drop, Kate. We're about to get rid of Morgan's place,
an' now I reckon there won't be any temptation near Dan. We'll see
what time'll do for him. Let the thing drop there. Now I'm goin' over
to the Bar XO outfit an' I won't be back till late tonight. There's
only one thing more. I told Morgan there wasn't to be any gun-play in
his place today. If you hear any shootin' go down there an' remind
Morgan to take the guns off'n the men."

Kate nodded, but her stare travelled far away, and the thing she saw
was the yellow light burning in the eyes of Whistling Dan.




CHAPTER III


SILENT SHOOTS

It was a great day and also a sad one for Morgan. His general store
and saloon had been bought out by old Joe Cumberland, who declared
a determination to clear up the landscape, and thereby plunged the
cowpunchers in gloom. They partially forgave Cumberland, but only
because he was an old man. A younger reformer would have met armed
resistance. Morgan's place was miles away from the next oasis in the
desert and the closing meant dusty, thirsty leagues of added journey
to every man in the neighbourhood. The word "neighbourhood," of
course, covered a territory fifty miles square.

If the day was very sad for this important reason, it was also very
glad, for rustling Morgan advertised the day of closing far and wide,
and his most casual patrons dropped all business to attend the big
doings. A long line of buckboards and cattle ponies surrounded the
place. Newcomers gallopped in every few moments. Most of them did not
stop to tether their mounts, but simply dropped the reins over the
heads of the horses and then went with rattling spurs and slouching
steps into the saloon. Every man was greeted by a shout, for one or
two of those within usually knew him, and when they raised a cry
the others joined in for the sake of good fellowship. As a rule he
responded by ordering everyone up to the bar.

One man, however, received no more greeting than the slamming of the
door behind him. He was a tall, handsome fellow with tawny hair and a
little smile of habit rather than mirth upon his lips. He had ridden
up on a strong bay horse, a full two hands taller than the average
cattle pony, and with legs and shoulders and straight back that
unmistakably told of a blooded pedigree. When he entered the saloon
he seemed nowise abashed by the silence, but greeted the turned heads
with a wave of the hand and a good-natured "Howdy, boys!" A volley of
greetings replied to him, for in the mountain-desert men cannot be
strangers after the first word.

"Line up and hit the red-eye," he went on, and leaning against the
bar as he spoke, his habitual smile broadened into one of actual
invitation. Except for a few groups who watched the gambling in the
corners of the big room, there was a general movement towards the bar.

"And make it a tall one, boys," went on the genial stranger. "This is
the first time I ever irrigated Morgan's place, and from what I have
heard today about the closing I suppose it will be the last time. So
here's to you, Morgan!"

And he waved his glass towards the bartender. His voice was well
modulated and his enunciation bespoke education. This, in connection
with his careful clothes and rather modish riding-boots, might have
given him the reputation of a dude, had it not been for several other
essential details of his appearance. His six-gun hung so low that he
would scarcely have to raise his hand to grasp the butt. He held his
whisky glass in his left hand, and the right, which rested carelessly
on his hip, was deeply sunburned, as if he rarely wore a glove.
Moreover, his eyes were marvellously direct, and they lingered a
negligible space as they touched on each man in the room. All of this
the cattlemen noted instantly. What they did not see on account of his
veiling fingers was that he poured only a few drops of the liquor into
his glass.

In the meantime another man who had never before "irrigated" at
Morgan's place, rode up. His mount, like that of the tawny-haired
rider, was considerably larger and more finely built than the common
range horse. In three days of hard work a cattle pony might wear down
these blooded animals, but would find it impossible to either overtake
or escape them in a straight run. The second stranger, short-legged,
barrel-chested, and with a scrub of black beard, entered the barroom
while the crowd was still drinking the health of Morgan. He took a
corner chair, pushed back his hat until a mop of hair fell down his
forehead, and began to roll a cigarette. The man of the tawny hair
took the next seat.

"Seems to be quite a party, stranger," said the tall fellow
nonchalantly.

"Sure," growled he of the black beard, and after a moment he added:
"Been out on the trail long, pardner?"

"Hardly started."

"So'm I."

"As a matter of fact, I've got a lot of hard riding before me."

"So've I."

"And some long riding, too."

Perhaps it was because he turned his head suddenly towards the light,
but a glint seemed to come in the eyes of the bearded man.

"Long rides," he said more amiably, "are sure hell on hosses."

"And on men, too," nodded the other, and tilted back in his chair.

The bearded man spoke again, but though a dozen cowpunchers were close
by no one heard his voice except the man at his side. One side of his
face remained perfectly immobile and his eyes stared straight before
him drearily while he whispered from a corner of his mouth: "How long
do you stay, Lee?"

"Noon," said Lee.

Once more the shorter man spoke in the manner which is learned in a
penitentiary: "Me too. We must be slated for the same ride, Lee. Do
you know what it is? It's nearly noon, and the chief ought to be
here."

There was a loud greeting for a newcomer, and Lee took advantage of
the noise to say quite openly: "If Silent said he'll come, he'll be
here. But I say he's crazy to come to a place full of range riders,
Bill."

"Take it easy," responded Bill. "This hangout is away off our regular
beat. Nobody'll know him."

"His hide is his own and he can do what he wants with it," said Lee.
"I warned him before."

"Shut up," murmured Bill, "Here's Jim now, and Hal Purvis with him!"

Through the door strode a great figure before whom the throng at the
bar gave way as water rolls back from the tall prow of a ship. In his
wake went a little man with a face dried and withered by the sun and
small bright eyes which moved continually from side to side. Lee and
Bill discovered their thirst at the same time and made towards the
newcomers.

They had no difficulty in reaching them. The large man stood with his
back to the bar, his elbows spread out on it, so that there was a
little space left on either side of him. No one cared to press too
close to this sombre-faced giant. Purvis stood before him and Bill and
Lee were instantly at his side. The two leaned on the bar, facing him,
yet the four did not seem to make a group set apart from the rest.

"Well?" asked Lee.

"I'll tell you what it is when we're on the road," said Jim Silent.
"Plenty of time, Haines."

"Who'll start first?" asked Bill.

"You can, Kilduff," said the other. "Go straight north, and go slow.
Then Haines will follow you. Purvis next. I come last because I got
here last. There ain't any hurry--What's this here?"

"I tell you I seen it!" called an angry voice from a corner.

"You must of been drunk an' seein' double, partner," drawled the
answer.

"Look here!" said the first man, "I'm willin' to take that any way you
mean it!"

"An' I'm willin'," said the other, "that you should take it any way
you damn please."

Everyone in the room was grave except Jim Silent and his three
companions, who were smiling grimly.

"By God, Jack," said the first man with ominous softness, "I'll take a
lot from you but when it comes to doubtin' my word----"

Morgan, with popping eyes and a very red face, slapped his hand on
the bar and vaulted over it with more agility than his plumpness
warranted. He shouldered his way hurriedly through the crowd to the
rapidly widening circle around the two disputants. They stood with
their right hands resting with rigid fingers low down on their hips,
and their eyes, fixed on each other, forgot the rest of the world.
Morgan burst in between them.

"Look here," he thundered, "it's only by way of a favour that I'm
lettin' you boys wear shootin' irons today because I promised old
Cumberland there wouldn't be no fuss. If you got troubles there's
enough room for you to settle them out in the hills, but there ain't
none at all in here!"

The gleam went out of their eyes like four candles snuffed by the
wind. Obviously they were both glad to have the tension broken. Mike
wiped his forehead with a rather unsteady hand.

"I ain't huntin' for no special brand of trouble," he said, "but Jack
has been ridin' the red-eye pretty hard and it's gotten into that
dried up bean he calls his brain."

"Say, partner," drawled Jack, "I ain't drunk enough of the hot stuff
to make me fall for the line you've been handing out."

He turned to Morgan.

"Mike, here, has been tryin' to make me believe that he knew a feller
who could drill a dollar at twenty yards every time it was tossed up."

The crowd laughed, Morgan loudest of all.

"Did you anyways have Whistlin' Dan in mind?" he asked.

"No, I didn't," said Mike, "an' I didn't say this here man I was
talkin' about could drill them every time. But he could do it two
times out of four."

"Mike," said Morgan, and he softened his disbelief with his smile and
the good-natured clap on the shoulder, "you sure must of been drinkin'
when you seen him do it. I allow Whistlin' Dan could do that an' more,
but he ain't human with a gun."

"How d'you know?" asked Jack, "I ain't ever seen him packin' a
six-gun."

"Sure you ain't," answered Morgan, "but I have, an' I seen him use it,
too. It was jest sort of by chance I saw it."

"Well," argued Mike anxiously, "then you allow it's possible if
Whistlin' Dan can do it. An' I say I seen a chap who could turn the
trick."

"An' who in hell is this Whistlin' Dan?" asked Jim Silent.

"He's the man that caught Satan, an' rode him," answered a bystander.

"Some man if he can ride the devil," laughed Lee Haines.

"I mean the black mustang that ran wild around here for a couple of
years. Some people tell tales about him being a wonder with a gun. But
Morgan's the only one who claims to have seen him work."

"Maybe you did see it, and maybe you didn't," Morgan was saying to
Mike noncommittally, "but there's some pretty fair shots in this
room, which I'd lay fifty bucks no man here could hit a dollar with a
six-gun at twenty paces."

"While they're arguin'," said Bill Kilduff, "I reckon I'll hit the
trail."

"Wait a minute," grinned Jim Silent, "an' watch me have some fun with
these short-horns."

He spoke more loudly: "Are you makin' that bet for the sake of
arguin', partner, or do you calculate to back it up with cold cash?"

Morgan whirled upon him with a scowl, "I ain't pulled a bluff in my
life that I can't back up!" he said sharply.

"Well," said Silent, "I ain't so flush that I'd turn down fifty bucks
when a kind Christian soul, as the preachers say, slides it into my
glove. Not me. Lead out the dollar, pal, an' kiss it farewell!"

"Who'll hold the stakes?" asked Morgan.

"Let your friend Mike," said Jim Silent carelessly, and he placed
fifty dollars in gold in the hands of the Irishman. Morgan followed
suit. The crowd hurried outdoors.

A dozen bets were laid in as many seconds. Most of the men wished to
place their money on the side of Morgan, but there were not a few who
stood willing to risk coin on Jim Silent, stranger though he was.
Something in his unflinching eye, his stern face, and the nerveless
surety of his movements commanded their trust.

"How do you stand, Jim?" asked Lee Haines anxiously. "Is it a safe
bet? I've never seen you try a mark like this one!"

"It ain't safe," said Silent, "because I ain't mad enough to shoot my
best, but it's about an even draw. Take your pick."

"Not me," said Haines, "if you had ten chances instead of one I might
stack some coin on you. If the dollar were stationary I know you could
do it, but a moving coin looks pretty small."

"Here you are," called Morgan, who stood at a distance of twenty
paces, "are you ready?"

Silent whipped out his revolver and poised it. "Let 'er go!"

The coin whirled in the air. Silent fired as it commenced to fall--it
landed untouched.

"As a kind, Christian soul," said Morgan sarcastically, "I ain't in
your class, stranger. Charity always sort of interests me when I'm on
the receivin' end!"

The crowd chuckled, and the sound infuriated Silent.

"Don't go back jest yet, partners," he drawled. "Mister Morgan, I got
one hundred bones which holler that I can plug that dollar the second
try."

"Boys," grinned Morgan, "I'm leavin' you to witness that I hate to do
it, but business is business. Here you are!"

The coin whirled again. Silent, with his lips pressed into a straight
line and his brows drawn dark over his eyes, waited until the coin
reached the height of its rise, and then fired--missed--fired again,
and sent the coin spinning through the air in a flashing semicircle.
It was a beautiful piece of gun-play. In the midst of the clamour of
applause Silent strode towards Morgan with his hand outstretched.

"After all," he said. "I knowed you wasn't really hard of heart. It
only needed a little time and persuasion to make you dig for coin when
I pass the box."

Morgan, red of face and scowling, handed over his late winnings and
his own stakes.

"It took you two shots to do it," he said, "an' if I wanted to argue
the pint maybe you wouldn't walk off with the coin."

"Partner," said Jim Silent gently, "I got a wanderin' hunch that
you're showin' a pile of brains by not arguin' this here pint!"

There followed that little hush of expectancy which precedes trouble,
but Morgan, after a glance at the set lips of his opponent, swallowed
his wrath.

"I s'pose you'll tell how you did this to your kids when
you're eighty," he said scornfully, "but around here, stranger, they
don't think much of it. Whistlin' Dan"--he paused, as if to calculate
how far he could safely exaggerate--"Whistlin' Dan can stand with
his back to the coins an' when they're thrown he drills four dollars
easier than you did one--an' he wouldn't waste three shots on one
dollar. He ain't so extravagant!"




CHAPTER IV


SOMETHING YELLOW

The crowd laughed again at the excitement of Morgan, and Silent's
mirth particularly was loud and long.

"An' if you're still bent on charity," he said at last, "maybe we
could find somethin' else to lay a bet on!"

"Anything you name!" said Morgan hotly.

"I suppose," said Silent, "that you're some rider, eh?"

"I c'n get by with most of 'em."

"Yeh--I suppose you never pulled leather in your life?"

"Not any hoss that another man could ride straight up."

"Is that so? Well, partner, you see that roan over there?"

"That tall horse?"

"You got him. You c'n win back that hundred if you stick on his back
two minutes. D'you take it?"

Morgan hesitated a moment. The big roan was footing it nervously here
and there, sometimes throwing up his head suddenly after the manner of
a horse of bad temper. However, the loss of that hundred dollars and
the humiliation which accompanied it, weighed heavily on the saloon
owner's mind.

"I'll take you," he said.

A high, thrilling whistle came faintly from the distance.

"That fellow on the black horse down the road," said Lee Haines, "I
guess he's the one that can hit the four dollars? Ha! ha! ha!"

"Sure," grinned Silent, "listen to his whistle! We'll see if we can
drag another bet out of the bar-keep if the roan doesn't hurt him too
bad. Look at him now!"

Morgan was having a bad time getting his foot in the stirrup, for
the roan reared and plunged. Finally two men held his head and the
saloon-keeper swung into the saddle. There was a little silence. The
roan, as if doubtful that he could really have this new burden on his
back, and still fearful of the rope which had been lately tethering
him, went a few short, prancing steps, and then, feeling something
akin to freedom, reared straight up, snorting. The crowd yelled with
delight, and the sound sent the roan back to all fours and racing down
the road. He stopped with braced feet, and Morgan lurched forwards on
the neck, yet he struck to his seat gamely. Whistling Dan was not a
hundred yards away.

Morgan yelled and swung the quirt. The response of the roan was
another race down the road at terrific speed, despite the pull of
Morgan on the reins. Just as the running horse reached Whistling Dan,
he stopped as short as he had done before, but this time with an added
buck and a sidewise lurch all combined, which gave the effect of
snapping a whip--and poor Morgan was hurled from the saddle like
a stone from a sling. The crowd waved their hats and yelled with
delight.

"Look out!" yelled Jim Silent. "Grab the reins!"

But though Morgan made a valiant effort the roan easily swerved past
him and went racing down the road.

"My God," groaned Silent, "he's gone!"

"Saddles!" called someone. "We'll catch him!"

"Catch hell!" answered Silent bitterly. "There ain't a hoss on earth
that can catch him--an' now that he ain't got the weight of a rider,
he'll run away from the wind!"

"Anyway there goes Dan on Satan after him!"

"No use! The roan ain't carryin' a thing but the saddle."

"Satan never seen the day he could make the roan eat dust, anyway!"

"Look at 'em go, boys!"

"There ain't no use," said Jim Silent sadly, "he'll wind his black for
nothin'--an' I've lost the best hoss on the ranges."

"I believe him," whispered one man to a neighbour, "because I've got
an idea that hoss is Red Peter himself!"

His companion stared at him agape.

"Red Pete!" he said. "Why, pal, that's the hoss that Silent--"

"Maybe it is an' maybe it ain't. But why should we ask too many
questions?"

"Let the marshals tend to him. He ain't ever troubled this part of the
range."

"Anyway, I'm goin' to remember his face. If it's really Jim Silent, I
got something that's worth tellin' to my kids when they grow up."

They both turned and looked at the tall man with an uncomfortable awe.
The rest of the crowd swarmed into the road to watch the race.

The black stallion was handicapped many yards at the start before Dan
could swing him around after the roan darted past with poor Morgan in
ludicrous pursuit. Moreover, the roan had the inestimable advantage
of an empty saddle. Yet Satan leaned to his work with a stout heart.
There was no rock and pitch to his gait, no jerk and labour to his
strides. Those smooth shoulders were corded now with a thousand lines
where the steel muscles whipped to and fro. His neck stretched out
a little--his ears laid back along the neck--his whole body settled
gradually and continually down as his stride lengthened. Whistling Dan
was leaning forward so that his body would break less wind. He laughed
low and soft as the air whirred into his face, and now and then he
spoke to his horse, no yell of encouragement, but a sound hardly
louder than a whisper. There was no longer a horse and rider--the two
had become one creature--a centaur--the body of a horse and the mind
of a man.

For a time the roan increased his advantage, but quickly Satan began
to hold him even, and then gain. First inch by inch; then at every
stride the distance between them diminished. No easy task. The great
roan had muscle, heart, and that empty saddle; as well, perhaps, as a
thought of the free ranges which lay before him and liberty from the
accursed thraldom of the bit and reins and galling spurs. What he
lacked was that small whispering voice--that hand touching lightly now
and then on his neck--that thrill of generous sympathy which passes
between horse and rider. He lost ground steadily and more and more
rapidly. Now the outstretched black head was at his tail, now at his
flank, now at his girth, now at his shoulder, now they raced nose and
nose. Whistling Dan shifted in the saddle. His left foot took the
opposite stirrup. His right leg swung free.

The big roan swerved--the black in response to a word from his rider
followed the motion--and then the miracle happened. A shadow plunged
through the air; a weight thudded on the saddle of the roan; an iron
hand jerked back the reins.

Red Pete hated men and feared them, but this new weight on his back
was different. It was not the pressure on the reins which urged him to
slow up; he had the bit in his teeth and no human hand could pull down
his head; but into the blind love, blind terror, blind rage which
makes up the consciousness of a horse entered a force which he had
never known before. He realized suddenly that it was folly to attempt
to throw off this clinging burden. He might as well try to jump out of
his skin. His racing stride shortened to a halting gallop, this to a
sharp trot, and in a moment more he was turned and headed back for
Morgan's place. The black, who had followed, turned at the same time
like a dog and followed with jouncing bridle reins. Black Bart, with
lolling red tongue, ran under his head, looking up to the stallion now
and again with a comical air of proprietorship, as if he were showing
the way.

It was very strange to Red Pete. He pranced sideways a little and
shook his head up and down in an effort to regain his former temper,
but that iron hand kept his nose down, now, and that quiet voice
sounded above him--no cursing, no raking of sharp spurs to torture his
tender flanks, no whir of the quirt, but a calm voice of authority and
understanding. Red Pete broke into an easy canter and in this fashion
they came up to Morgan in the road. Red Pete snorted and started to
shy, for he recognized the clumsy, bouncing weight which had insulted
his back not long before; but this quiet voiced master reassured him,
and he came to a halt.

"That red devil has cost me a hundred bones and all the skin on my
knees," groaned Morgan, "and I can hardly walk. Damn his eyes. But
say, Dan"--and his eyes glowed with an admiration which made him
momentarily forget his pains--"that was some circus stunt you done
down the road there--that changin' of saddles on the run, I never seen
the equal of it!"

"If you got hurt in the fall," said Dan quietly, overlooking the
latter part of the speech, "why don't you climb onto Satan. He'll take
you back."

Morgan laughed.

"Say, kid, I'd take a chance with Satan, but there ain't any hospital
for fools handy."

"Go ahead. He won't stir a foot. Steady, Satan!"

"All right," said Morgan, "every step is sure like pullin' teeth!"

He ventured closer to the black stallion, but was stopped short. Black
Bart was suddenly changed to a green-eyed devil, his hair bristling
around his shoulders, his teeth bared, and a snarl that came from the
heart of a killer. Satan also greeted his proposed rider with ears
laid flat back on his neck and a quivering anger.

"If I'm goin' to ride Satan," declared Morgan, "I got to shoot the dog
first and then blindfold the hoss."

"No you don't," said Dan. "No one else has ever had a seat on Satan,
but I got an idea he'll make an exception for a sort of temporary
cripple. Steady, boy. Here you, Bart, come over here an' keep your
face shut!"

The dog, after a glance at his master, moved reluctantly away, keeping
his eyes upon Morgan. Satan backed away with a snort. He stopped at
the command of Dan, but when Morgan laid a hand on the bridle and
spoke to him he trembled with fear and anger. The saloon-keeper turned
away.

"Thankin' you jest the same, Dan," he said, "I think I c'n walk back.
I'd as soon ride a tame tornado as that hoss."

He limped on down the road with Dan riding beside him. Black Bart
slunk at his heels, sniffing.

"Dan, I'm goin' to ask you a favour--an' a big one; will you do it for
me?"

"Sure," said Whistling Dan. "Anything I can."

"There's a skunk down there with a bad eye an' a gun that jumps out
of its leather like it had a mind of its own. He picked me for fifty
bucks by nailing a dollar I tossed up at twenty yards. Then he gets a
hundred because I couldn't ride this hoss of his. Which he's made a
plumb fool of me, Dan. Now I was tellin' him about you--maybe I was
sort of exaggeratin'--an' I said you could have your back turned when
the coins was tossed an' then pick off four dollars before they hit
the ground. I made it a bit high, Dan?"

His eyes were wistful.

"Nick four round boys before they hit the dust?" said Dan. "Maybe I
could, I don't know. I can't try it, anyway, Morgan, because I told
Dad Cumberland I'd never pull a gun while there was a crowd aroun'."

Morgan sighed; he hesitated, and then: "But you promised you'd do me a
favour, Dan?"

The rider started.

"I forgot about that--I didn't think----"

"It's only to do a shootin' trick," said Morgan eagerly. "It ain't
pullin' a gun on any one. Why, lad, if you'll tell me you got a ghost
of a chance, I'll bet every cent in my cash drawer on you agin that
skunk! You've give me your word, Dan."

Whistling Dan shrugged his shoulders.

"I've given you my word," he said, "an' I'll do it. But I guess Dad
Cumberland'll be mighty sore on me."

A laugh rose from the crowd at Morgan's place, which they were nearing
rapidly. It was like a mocking comment on Dan's speech. As they came
closer they could see money changing hands in all directions.

"What'd you do to my hoss?" asked Jim Silent, walking out to meet
them.

"He hypnotized him," said Hal Purvis, and his lips twisted over yellow
teeth into a grin of satisfaction.

"Git out of the saddle damn quick," growled Silent. "It ain't nacheral
he'd let you ride him like he was a plough-hoss. An' if you've tried
any fancy stunts, I'll----"

"Take it easy," said Purvis as Dan slipped from the saddle without
showing the slightest anger. "Take it easy. You're a bum loser. When
I seen the black settle down to his work," he explained to Dan with
another grin, "I knowed he'd nail him in the end an' I staked twenty
on you agin my friend here! That was sure a slick change of hosses you
made."

There were other losers. Money chinked on all sides to an
accompaniment of laughter and curses. Jim Silent was examining the
roan with a scowl, while Bill Kilduff and Hal Purvis approached Satan
to look over his points. Purvis reached out towards the bridle when a
murderous snarl at his feet made him jump back with a shout. He stood
with his gun poised, facing Black Bart.

"Who's got any money to bet this damn wolf lives more'n five seconds?"
he said savagely.

"I have," said Dan.

"Who in hell are you? What d'you mean by trailing this man-killer
around?"

He turned to Dan with his gun still poised.

"Bart ain't a killer," said Dan, and the gentleness of his voice was
oil on troubled waters, "but he gets peeved when a stranger comes nigh
to the hoss."

"All right this time," said Purvis, slowly restoring his gun to its
holster, "but if this wolf of yours looks cross-eyed at me agin he'll
hit the long trail that ain't got any end, savvy?"

"Sure," said Dan, and his soft brown eyes smiled placatingly.

Purvis kept his right hand close to the butt of his gun and his eyes
glinted as if he expected an answer somewhat stronger than words.
At this mild acquiesence he turned away, sneering. Silent, having
discovered that he could find no fault with Dan's treatment of his
horse, now approached with an ominously thin-lipped smile. Lee Haines
read his face and came to his side with a whisper: "Better cut out the
rough stuff, Jim. This chap hasn't hurt anything but your cash, and
he's already taken water from Purvis. I guess there's no call for you
to make any play."

"Shut your face, Haines," responded Silent, in the same tone. "He's
made a fool of me by showin' up my hoss, an' by God I'm goin' to give
him a man-handlin' he'll never forgit."

He whirled on Morgan.

"How about it, bar-keep, is this the dead shot you was spillin' so
many words about?"

Dan, as if he could not understand the broad insult, merely smiled at
him with marvellous good nature.

"Keep away from him, stranger," warned Morgan. "Jest because he rode
your hoss you ain't got a cause to hunt trouble with him. He's been
taught not to fight."

Silent, still looking Dan over with insolent eyes, replied: "He sure
sticks to his daddy's lessons. Nice an' quiet an' house broke, ain't
he? In my part of the country they dress this kind of a man in gal's
clothes so's nobody'll ever get sore at him an' spoil his pretty face.
Better go home to your ma. This ain't any place for you. They's men
aroun' here."

There was another one of those grimly expectant hushes and then a
general guffaw; Dan showed no inclination to take offence. He merely
stared at brawny Jim Silent with a sort of childlike wonder.

"All right," he said meekly, "if I ain't wanted around here I figger
there ain't any cause why I should stay. You don't figger to be peeved
at me, do you?"

The laughter changed to a veritable yell of delight. Even Silent
smiled with careless contempt.

"No, kid," he answered, "if I was peeved at you, you'd learn it
without askin' questions."

He turned slowly away.

"Maybe I got jaundice, boys," he said to the crowd, "but it seems to
me I see something kind of yellow around here!"

The delightful subtlety of this remark roused another side-shaking
burst of merriment. Dan shook his head as if the mystery were beyond
his comprehension, and looked to Morgan for an explanation. The
saloon-keeper approached him, struggling with a grin.

"It's all right, Dan," he said. "Don't let 'em rile you."

"You ain't got any cause to fear that," said Silent, "because it can't
be done."




CHAPTER V


FOUR IN THE AIR

Dan looked from Morgan to Silent and back again for understanding.
He felt that something was wrong, but what it was he had not the
slightest idea. For many years old Joe Cumberland had patiently taught
him that the last offence against God and man was to fight. The old
cattleman had instilled in him the belief that if he did not cross the
path of another, no one would cross his way. The code was perfect
and satisfying. He would let the world alone and the world would not
trouble him. The placid current of his life had never come to "white
waters" of wrath.

Wherefore he gazed bewildered about him. They were laughing--they were
laughing unpleasantly at him as he had seen men laugh at a fiery young
colt which struggled against the rope. It was very strange. They could
not mean harm. Therefore he smiled back at them rather uncertainly.
Morgan slapped at his shoulder by way of good-fellowship and to
hearten him, but Dan slipped away under the extended hand with a
motion as subtle and swift as the twist of a snake when it flees for
its hole. He had a deep aversion for contact with another man's body.
He hated it as the wild horse hates the shadow of the flying rope.

"Steady up, pal," said Morgan, "the lads mean no harm. That tall man
is considerable riled; which he'll now bet his sombrero agin you when
it comes to shootin'."

He turned back to Silent.

"Look here, partner," he said, "this is the man I said could nail the
four dollars before they hit the dust. I figger you don't think how it
can be done, eh?"

"Him?" said Silent in deep disgust. "Send him back to his ma before
somebody musses him all up! Why, he don't even pack a gun!"

Morgan waited a long moment so that the little silence would make his
next speech impressive.

"Stranger," he said, "I've still got somewhere in the neighbourhood of
five hundred dollars in that cash drawer. An' every cent of it hollers
that Dan can do what I said."

Silent hesitated. His code was loose, but he did not like to take
advantage of a drunk or a crazy man. However, five hundred dollars was
five hundred dollars. Moreover that handsome fellow who had just taken
water from Hal Purvis and was now smiling foolishly at his own shame,
had actually ridden Red Peter. The remembrance infuriated Silent.

"Hurry up," said Morgan confidently. "I dunno what you're thinkin',
stranger. Which I'm kind of deaf an' I don't understand the way
anything talks except money."

"Corral that talk, Morgan!" called a voice from the crowd, "you're
plumb locoed if you think any man in the world can get away with a
stunt like that! Pick four in the air!"

"You keep your jaw for yourself," said Silent angrily, "if he wants to
donate a little more money to charity, let him do it. Morgan, I've got
five hundred here to cover your stake."

"Make him give you odds, Morgan," said another voice, "because----"

A glance from Silent cut the suggestion short. After that there was
little loud conversation. The stakes were large. The excitement made
the men hush the very tones in which they spoke. Morgan moistened his
white lips.

"You c'n see I'm not packin' any shootin' irons," said Dan. "Has
anybody got any suggestions?"

Every gun in the crowd was instantly at his service. They were
heartily tempted to despise Dan, but as one with the courage to
attempt the impossible, they would help him as far as they could. He
took their guns one after the other, weighed them, tried the action,
and handed them back. It was almost as if there were a separate
intelligence in the ends of his fingers which informed him of the
qualities of each weapon.

"Nice gun," he said to the first man whose revolver he handled, "but I
don't like a barrel that's quite so heavy. There's a whole ounce too
much in the barrel."

"What d'you mean?" asked the cowpuncher. "I've packed that gun for
pretty nigh eight years!"

"Sorry," said Dan passing on, "but I can't work right with a top-heavy
gun."

The next weapon he handed back almost at once.

"What's the matter with that?" asked the owner aggressively.

"Cylinder too tight," said Dan decisively, and a moment later to
another man, "Bad handle. I don't like the feel of it."

Over Jim Silent's guns he paused longer than over most of the rest,
but finally he handed them back. The big man scowled.

Dan looked back to him in gentle surprise.

"You see," he explained quietly, "you got to handle a gun like a
horse. If you don't treat it right it won't treat you right. That's
all I know about it. Your gun ain't very clean, stranger, an' a gun
that ain't kept clean gets off feet."

Silent glanced at his weapons, cursed softly, and restored them to the
holsters.

"Lee," he muttered to Haines, who stood next to him, "what do you
think he meant by that? D' you figger he's got somethin' up his
sleeve, an' that's why he acts so like a damned woman?"

"I don't know," said Haines gravely, "he looks to me sort of
queer--sort of different--damned different, chief!"

By this time Dan had secured a second gun which suited him. He whirled
both guns, tried their actions alternately, and then announced that he
was ready. In the dead silence, one of the men paced off the twenty
yards.

Dan, with his back turned, stood at the mark, shifting his revolvers
easily in his hands, and smiling down at them as if they could
understand his caress.

"How you feelin', Dan?" asked Morgan anxiously.

"Everything fine," he answered.

"Are you gettin' weak?"

"No, I'm all right."

"Steady up, partner."

"Steady up? Look at my hand!"

Dan extended his arm. There was not a quiver in it.

"All right, Dan. When you're shootin', remember that I got pretty
close to everything I own staked on you. There's the stranger gettin'
his four dollars ready."

Silent took his place with the four dollars in his hand.

"Are you ready?" he called.

"Let her go!" said Dan, apparently without the least excitement.

Jim Silent threw the coins, and he threw them so as to increase his
chances as much as possible. A little snap of his hand gave them a
rapid rotary motion so that each one was merely a speck of winking
light. He flung them high, for it was probable that Whistling Dan
would wait to shoot until they were on the way down. The higher he
threw them the more rapidly they would be travelling when they crossed
the level of the markman's eye.

As a shout proclaimed the throwing of the coins, Dan whirled, and it
seemed to the bystanders that a revolver exploded before he was fully
turned; but one of the coins never rose to the height of the throw.
There was a light "cling!" and it spun a dozen yards away. Two more
shots blended almost together; two more dollars darted away in
twinkling streaks of light. One coin still fell, but when it was a
few inches from the earth a six-shooter barked again and the fourth
dollar glanced sidewise into the dust. It takes long to describe the
feat. Actually, the four shots consumed less than a second of time.

"That last dollar," said Dan, and his soft voice was the first sound
out of the silence, "wasn't good. It didn't ring true. Counterfeit?"

It seemed that no one heard his words. The men were making a wild
scramble for the dollars. They dived into the dust for them, rising
white of face and clothes to fight and struggle over their prizes.
Those dollars with the chips and neat round holes in them would
confirm the truth of a story that the most credulous might be tempted
to laugh or scorn. A cowpuncher offered ten dollars for one of the
relics--but none would part with a prize.

The moment the shooting was over Dan stepped quietly back and restored
the guns to the owners. The first man seized his weapon carelessly. He
was in the midst of his rush after one of the chipped coins. The other
cowpuncher received his weapon almost with reverence.

"I'm thankin' you for the loan," said Dan, "an here's hopin' you
always have luck with the gun."

"Luck?" said the other. "I sure _will_ have luck with it. I'm goin'
to oil her up and put her in a glass case back home, an' when I get
grandchildren I'm goin' to point out that gun to 'em and tell 'em what
men used to do in the old days. Let's go in an' surround some red-eye
at my expense."

"No thanks," answered Dan, "I ain't drinkin'."

He stepped back to the edge of the circle and folded his arms. It was
as if he had walked out of the picture. He suddenly seemed to be aloof
from them all.

Out of the quiet burst a torrent of curses, exclamations, and shouts.
Chance drew Jim Silent and his three followers together.

"My God!" whispered Lee Haines, with a sort of horror in his voice,
"it wasn't human! Did you see? Did you see?"

"Am I blind?" asked Hal Purvis, "an' think of me walkin' up an'
bracin' that killer like he was a two-year-old kid! I figger that's
the nearest I ever come to a undeserved grave, an' I've had some close
calls! 'That last dollar wasn't good! It didn't ring true,' says he
when he finished. I never seen such nerve!"

"You're wrong as hell," said Silent, "a _woman_ can shoot at a target,
but it takes a cold _nerve_ to shoot at a man--an' this feller is
yellow all through!"

"Is he?" growled Bill Kilduff, "well, I'd hate to take him by
surprise, so's he'd forget himself. He gets as much action out of a
common six-gun as if it was a gatling. He was right about that last
dollar, too. It was pure--lead!"

"All right, Haines," said Silent. "You c'n start now any time, an'
the rest of us'll follow on the way I said. I'm leavin' last. I got a
little job to finish up with the kid."

But Haines was staring fixedly down the road.

"I'm not leaving yet," said Haines. "Look!"

He turned to one of the cowpunchers.

"Who's the girl riding up the road, pardner?"

"That calico? She's Kate Cumberland--old Joe's gal."

"I like the name," said Haines. "She sits the saddle like a man!"

Her pony darted off from some imaginary object in the middle of the
road, and she swayed gracefully, following the sudden motion. Her
mount came to the sudden halt of the cattle pony and she slipped to
the ground before Morgan could run out to help. Even Lee Haines, who
was far quicker, could not reach her in time.

"Sorry I'm late," said Haines. "Shall I tie your horse?"

The fast ride had blown colour to her face and good spirits into her
eyes. She smiled up to him, and as she shook her head in refusal her
eyes lingered a pardonable moment on his handsome face, with the stray
lock of tawny hair fallen low across his forehead. She was used to
frank admiration, but this unembarrassed courtesy was a new world to
her. She was still smiling when she turned to Morgan.

"You told my father the boys wouldn't wear guns today."

He was somewhat confused.

"They seem to be wearin' them," he said weakly, and his eyes wandered
about the armed circle, pausing on the ominous forms of Hal Purvis,
Bill Kilduff, and especially Jim Silent, a head taller than the rest.
He stood somewhat in the background, but the slight sneer with which
he watched Whistling Dan dominated the entire picture.

"As a matter of fact," went on Morgan, "it would be a ten man job to
take the guns away from this crew. You can see for yourself."

She glanced about the throng and started. She had seen Dan.

"How did he come here?"

"Oh, Dan?" said Morgan, "he's all right. He just pulled one of the
prettiest shootin' stunts I ever seen."

"But he promised my father--" began Kate, and then stopped, flushing.

If her father was right in diagnosing Dan's character, this was the
most critical day in his life, for there he stood surrounded by armed
men. If there were anything wild in his nature it would be brought out
that day. She was almost glad the time of trial had come.

She said: "How about the guns, Mr. Morgan?"

"If you want them collected and put away for a while," offered Lee
Haines, "I'll do what I can to help you!"

Her smile of thanks set his blood tingling. His glance lingered a
little too long, a little too gladly, and she coloured slightly.

"Miss Cumberland," said Haines, "may I introduce myself? My name is
Lee."

She hesitated. The manners she had learned in the Eastern school
forbade it, but her Western instinct was truer and stronger. Her hand
went out to him.

"I'm very glad to know you, Mr. Lee."

"All right, stranger," said Morgan, who in the meantime had been
shifting from one foot to the other and estimating the large chances
of failure in this attempt to collect the guns, "if you're going to
help me corral the shootin' irons, let's start the roundup."

The girl went with them. They had no trouble in getting the weapons.
The cold blue eye of Lee Haines was a quick and effective persuasion.

When they reached Jim Silent he stared fixedly upon Haines. Then he
drew his guns slowly and presented them to his comrade, while his eyes
shifted to Kate and he said coldly: "Lady, I hope I ain't the last one
to congratulate you!"

She did not understand, but Haines scowled and coloured. Dan, in the
meantime, was swept into the saloon by an influx of the cowpunchers
that left only Lee Haines outside with Kate. She had detained him with
a gesture.




CHAPTER VI


LAUGHTER

"Mr. Lee," she said, "I am going to ask you to do me a favour. Will
you?"

His smile was a sufficient answer, and it was in her character that
she made no pretext of misunderstanding it.

"You have noticed Dan among the crowd?" she asked, "Whistling Dan?"

"Yes," he said, "I saw him do some very nice shooting."

"It's about him that I want to speak to you. Mr. Lee, he knows very
little about men and their ways. He is almost a child among them. You
seem--stronger--than most of the crowd here. Will you see that if
trouble comes he is not imposed upon?"

She flushed a little, there was such a curious yearning in the eyes of
the big man.

"If you wish it," he said simply, "I will do what I can."

As he walked beside her towards her horse, she turned to him abruptly.

"You are very different from the men I have met around here," she
said.

"I am glad," he answered.

"Glad?"

"If you find me different, you will remember me, whether for better or
worse."

He spoke so earnestly that she grew grave. He helped her to the saddle
and she leaned a little to study him with the same gentle gravity.

"I should like to see you again, Mr. Lee," she said, and then in a
little outburst, "I should like to see you a _lot!_ Will you come to
my house sometime?"

The directness, the sudden smile, made him flinch. His voice was a
trifle unsteady when he replied.

"I _shall!_" He paused and his hand met hers. "If it is possible."

Her eyebrows raised a trifle.

"Is it so hard to do?"

"Do not ask me to explain," he said, "I am riding a long way."

"Oh, a 'long-rider'!" she laughed, "then of course--" She stopped
abruptly. It may have been imagination, but he seemed to start when
she spoke the phrase by which outlaws were known to each other. He was
forcing his eyes to meet hers.

He said slowly: "I am going on a long journey. Perhaps I will come
back. If I am able to, I shall."

He dropped his hand from hers and she remained silent, guessing at
many things, and deeply moved, for every woman knows when a man speaks
from his soul.

"You will not forget me?"

"I shall never forget you," she answered quietly. "Good-bye, Mr. Lee!"

Her hand touched his again, she wheeled, and rode away. He remained
standing with the hand she had grasped still raised. And after a
moment, as he had hoped, she turned in the saddle and waved to him.
His eyes were downward and he was smiling faintly when he re-entered
the saloon.

Silent sat at a table with his chin propped in his hand--his left
hand, of course, for that restless right hand must always be free. He
stared across the room towards Whistling Dan. The train of thoughts
which kept those ominous eyes so unmoving must be broken. He sat down
at the side of his chief.

"What the hell?" said the big man, "ain't you started yet?"

"Look here, Jim," said Haines cautiously, "I want you to lay off on
this kid, Whistling Dan. It won't meant anything to you to raise the
devil with him."

"I tell you," answered Silent, "it'll please me more'n anything in the
world to push that damned girl face of his into the floor."

"Silent, I'm asking a personal favour of you!"

The leader turned upon him that untamed stare. Haines set his teeth.

"Haines," came the answer, "I'll stand more from you than from any man
alive. I know you've got guts an' I know you're straight with me.
But there ain't anything can keep me from manhandlin' that kid over
there." He opened and shut his fingers slowly. "I sort of yearn to get
at him!"

Haines recognized defeat.

"But you haven't another gun hidden on you, Jim? You won't try to
shoot him up?"

"No," said Silent. "If I had a gun I don't know--but I haven't a gun.
My hands'll be enough!"

All that could be done now was to get Whistling Dan out of the saloon.
That would be simple. A single word would suffice to send the timid
man helter-skelter homewards.

The large, lazy brown eyes turned up to Haines as the latter
approached.

"Dan," he said, "hit for the timbers--get on your way--there's danger
here for you!"

To his astonishment the brown eyes did not vary a shade.

"Danger?" he repeated wonderingly.

"Danger! Get up and get out if you want to save your hide!"

"What's the trouble?" said Dan, and his eyes were surprised, but not
afraid.

"The biggest man in this room is after your blood."

"Is he?" said Dan wonderingly. "I'm sorry I don't feel like leavin',
but I'm not tired of this place yet."

"Friend," said Haines, "if that tall man puts his hands on you, he'll
break you across his knee like a rotten stick of wood!"

It was too late. Silent evidently guessed that Haines was urging his
quarry to flee.

"Hey!" he roared, so that all heads turned towards him, "you over
there."

Haines stepped back, sick at heart. He knew that it would be folly to
meet his chief hand to hand, but he thought of his pledge to Kate, and
groaned.

"What do you want of me?" asked Dan, for the pointed arm left no doubt
as to whom Silent intended.

"Get up when you're spoke to" cried Silent. "Ain't you learned no
manners? An' git up quick!"

Dan rose, smiling his surprise.

"Your friend has a sort of queer way of talkin'," he said to Haines.

"Don't stan' there like a fool. Trot over to the bar an' git me a jolt
of red-eye. I'm dry!" thundered Silent.

"Sure!" nodded Whistling Dan amiably, "glad to!" and he went
accordingly towards the bar.

The men about the room looked to each other with sick smiles.
There was an excuse for acquiescence, for the figure of Jim Silent
contrasted with Whistling Dan was like an oak compared with a sapling.
Nevertheless such bland cowardice as Dan was showing made their flesh
creep. He asked at the bar for the whisky, and Morgan spoke as Dan
filled a glass nearly to the brim.

"Dan," he whispered rapidly, "I got a gun behind the bar. Say the word
an' I'll take the chance of pullin' it on that big skunk. Then you
make a dive for the door. Maybe I can keep him back till you get on
Satan."

"Why should I beat it?" queried Dan, astonished. "I'm jest beginnin'
to get interested in your place. That tall feller is sure a queer one,
ain't he?"

With the same calm and wide-eyed smile of inquiry he turned away,
taking the glass of liquor, and left Morgan to stare after him with a
face pale with amazement, while he whispered over and over to himself:
"Well, I'll be damned! Well, I'll be damned!"

Dan placed the liquor before Silent. The latter sat gnawing his lips.

"What in hell do you mean?" he said. "Did you only bring one glass?
Are you too damn good to drink with me? Then drink by yourself, you
white-livered coyote!"

He dashed the glass of whisky into Dan's face. Half blinded by the
stinging liquor, the latter fell back a pace, sputtering, and wiping
his eyes. Not a man in the room stirred. The same sick look was on
each face. But the red devil broke loose in Silent's heart when he saw
Dan cringe. He followed the thrown glass with his clenched fist. Dan
stood perfectly still and watched the blow coming. His eyes were wide
and wondering, like those of a child. The iron-hard hand struck him
full on the mouth, fairly lifted him from his feet, and flung him
against the wall with such violence that he recoiled again and fell
forward onto his knees. Silent was making beast noises in his throat
and preparing to rush on the half-prostrate figure. He stopped short.

Dan was laughing. At least that chuckling murmur was near to a laugh.
Yet there was no mirth in it. It had that touch of the maniacal in it
which freezes the blood. Silent halted in the midst of his rush, with
his hands poised for the next blow. His mouth fell agape with an odd
expression of horror as Dan stared up at him. That hideous chuckling
continued. The sound defied definition. And from the shadow in which
Dan was crouched his brown eyes blazed, changed, and filled with
yellow fires.

"God!" whispered Silent, and at that instant the ominous crouched
animal with the yellow eyes, the nameless thing which had been
Whistling Dan a moment before, sprang up and forward with a leap like
that of a panther.

Morgan stood behind the bar with a livid face and a fixed smile. His
fingers still stiffly clutched the whisky bottle from which the last
glass had been filled. Not another man in the room stirred from his
place. Some sat with their cards raised in the very act of playing.
Some had stopped midway a laugh. One man had been tying a bootlace.
His body did not rise. Only his eyes rolled up to watch.

Dan darted under the outstretched arms of Silent, fairly heaved him up
from the floor and drove him backwards. The big man half stumbled and
half fell, knocking aside two chairs. He rushed back with a shout, but
at sight of the white face with the thin trickle of blood falling from
the lips, and at the sound of that inhuman laughter, he paused again.

Once more Dan was upon him, his hands darting out with motions too
fast for the eye to follow. Jim Silent stepped back a half pace,
shifted his weight, and drove his fist straight at that white face.
How it happened not a man in the room could tell, but the hand did not
strike home. Dan had swerved aside as lightly as a wind-blown feather
and his fist rapped against Silent's ribs with a force that made the
giant grunt.

Some of the horror was gone from his face and in its stead was baffled
rage. He knew the scientific points of boxing, and he applied them.
His eye was quick and sure. His reach was whole inches longer than his
opponent's. His strength was that of two ordinary men. What did it
avail him? He was like an agile athlete in the circus playing tag with
a black panther. He was like a child striking futilely at a wavering
butterfly. Sometimes this white-faced, laughing devil ducked under
his arms. Sometimes a sidestep made his blows miss by the slightest
fraction of an inch.

And for every blow he struck four rained home against him. It was
impossible! It could not be! Silent telling himself that he dreamed,
and those dancing fists crashed into his face and body like
sledgehammers. There was no science in the thing which faced him. Had
there been trained skill the second blow would have knocked Silent
unconscious, and he knew it, but Dan made no effort to strike a
vulnerable spot. He hit at anything which offered.

Still he laughed as he leaped back and forth. Perhaps mere weight of
rushing would beat the dancing will-o'-the-wisp to the floor. Silent
bored in with lowered head and clutched at his enemy. Then he roared
with triumph. His outstretched hand caught Dan's shirt as the latter
flicked to one side. Instantly they were locked in each other's arms!
The most meaning part of the fight followed.

The moment after they grappled, Silent shifted his right arm from its
crushing grip on Dan's body and clutched at the throat. The move was
as swift as lightning, but the parry of the smaller man was still
quicker. His left hand clutched Silent by the wrist, and that mighty
sweep of arm was stopped in mid-air! They were in the middle of the
room. They stood perfectly erect and close together, embraced. Their
position had a ludicrous resemblance to the posture of dancers, but
their bodies were trembling with effort. With every ounce of power in
his huge frame Silent strove to complete his grip at the throat.
He felt the right arm of Dan tightening around him closer, closer,
closer! It was not a bulky arm, but it seemed to be made of linked
steel which was shrinking into him, and promised to crush his very
bones. The strength of this man seemed to increase. It was limitless.
His breath came struggling under that pressure and the blood thundered
and raged in his temples. If he could only get at that soft throat!

But his struggling right hand was held in a vice of iron. Now his numb
arm gave way, slowly, inevitably. He ground his teeth and cursed. His
curse was half a prayer. For answer there was the unearthly chuckle
just below his ear. His hand was moved back, down, around! He was
helpless as a child in the arms of its father--no, helpless as a sheep
in the constricting coils of a python.

An impulse of frantic horror and shame and fear gave him redoubled
strength for an instant. He tore himself clear and reeled back. Dan
planted two smashes on Silent's snarling mouth. A glance showed the
large man the mute, strained faces around the room. The laughing devil
leaped again. Then all pride slipped like water from the heart of Jim
Silent, and in its place there was only icy fear, fear not of a man,
but of animal power. He caught up a heavy chair and drove it with all
his desperate strength at Dan.

It cracked distinctly against his head and the weight of it fairly
drove him into the floor. He fell with a limp thud on the boards.
Silent, reeling and blind, staggered to and fro in the centre of the
room. Morgan and Lee Haines reached Dan at the same moment and kneeled
beside him.




CHAPTER VII


THE MUTE MESSENGER

Almost at once Haines raised a hand and spoke to the crowd: "He's all
right, boys. Badly cut across the head and stunned, but he'll live."

There was a deep gash on the upper part of the forehead. If the
cross-bar of the chair had not broken, the skull might have been
injured. The impact of the blow had stunned him, and it might be many
minutes before his senses returned.

As the crowd closed around Dan, a black body leaped among them,
snarling hideously. They sprang back with a yell from the rush of this
green-eyed fury; but Black Bart made no effort to attack them. He sat
crouching before the prostrate body, licking the deathly white face,
and growling horribly, and then stood over his fallen master and
stared about the circle. Those who had seen a lone wolf make its stand
against a pack of dogs recognized the attitude. Then without a sound,
as swiftly as he had entered the room, he leaped through the door and
darted off up the road. Satan, for the first time deserted by this
wolfish companion, turned a high head and neighed after him, but he
raced on.

The men returned to their work over Dan's body, cursing softly. There
was a hair-raising unearthliness about the sudden coming and departure
of Black Bart. Jim Silent and his comrades waited no longer, but took
to their saddles and galloped down the road.

Within a few moments the crowd at Morgan's place began to thin out.
Evening was coming on, and most of them had far to ride. They might
have lingered until midnight, but this peculiar accident damped their
spirits. Probably not a hundred words were spoken from the moment
Silent struck Dan to the time when the last of the cattlemen took to
the saddle. They avoided each other's eyes as if in shame. In a short
time only Morgan remained working over Dan.

In the house of old Joe Cumberland his daughter sat fingering the keys
of the only piano within many miles. The evening gloom deepened as she
played with upward face and reminiscent eyes. The tune was uncertain,
weird--for she was trying to recall one of those nameless airs which
Dan whistled as he rode through the hills. There came a patter of
swift, light footfalls in the hall, and then a heavy scratching at the
door.

"Down, Bart!" she called, and went to admit him to the room.

The moment she turned the handle the door burst open and Bart fell in
against her. She cried out at sight of the gleaming teeth and eyes,
but he fawned about her feet, alternately whining and snarling.

"What is it, boy?" she asked, gathering her skirts close about her
ankles and stepping back, for she never was without some fear of this
black monster. "What do you want, Bart?"

For reply he stood stock still, raised his nose, and emitted a long
wail, a mournful, a ghastly sound, with a broken-hearted quaver at the
end. Kate Cumberland shrank back still farther until the wall blocked
her retreat. Black Bart had never acted like this before. He followed
her with a green light in his eyes, which shone phosphorescent and
distinct through the growing shadows. And most terrible of all was
the sound which came deep in his throat as if his brute nature was
struggling to speak human words. She felt a great impulse to cry out
for help, but checked herself. He was still crouching about her feet.
Obviously he meant no harm to her.

He turned and ran towards the door, stopped, looked back to her, and
made a sound which was nearer to the bark of a dog than anything he
had ever uttered. She made a step after him. He whined with delight
and moved closer to the door. Now she stopped again. He whirled and
ran back, caught her dress in his teeth, and again made for the door,
tugging her after him.

At last she understood and followed him. When she went towards the
corral to get her horse, he planted himself in front of her and
snarled so furiously that she gave up her purpose. She was beginning
to be more and more afraid. A childish thought came to her that
perhaps this brute was attempting to lure her away from the house, as
she had seen coyotes lure dogs, and then turn his teeth against her.
Nevertheless she followed. Something in the animal's eagerness moved
her deeply. When he led her out to the road he released her dress and
trotted ahead a short distance, looking back and whining, as if to beg
her to go faster. For the first time the thought of Dan came into her
mind. Black Bart was leading her down the road towards Morgan's place.
What if something had happened to Dan?

She caught a breath of sharp terror and broke into a run. Bart yelped
his pleasure. Yet a cold horror rose in her heart as she hurried. Had
her father after all been right? What power had Dan, if he needed her,
to communicate with this mute beast and send him to her? As she ran
she wished for the day, the warm, clear sun--for these growing shadows
of evening bred a thousand ghostly thoughts. Black Bart was running
backwards and forwards before her as if he half entreated and half
threatened her.

Her heart died within her as she came in sight of Morgan's place.
There was only one horse before it, and that was the black stallion.
Why had the others gone so soon? Breathless, she reached the door of
the saloon. It was very dim within. She could make out only formless
shades at first. Black Bart slid noiselessly across the floor. She
followed him with her eyes, and now she saw a figure stretched
straight out on the floor while another man kneeled at his side. She
ran forward with a cry.

Morgan rose, stammering. She pushed him aside and dropped beside Dan.
A broad white bandage circled his head. His face was almost as pale as
the cloth. Her touches went everywhere over that cold face, and she
moaned little syllables that had no meaning. He lived, but it seemed
to her that she had found him at the legended gates of death.

"Miss Kate!" said Morgan desperately.

"You murderer!"

"You don't think that _I_ did that?"

"It happened in your place--you had given Dad your word!"

Still she did not turn her head.

"Won't you hear me explain? He's jest in a sort of a trance. He'll
wake up feelin' all right. Don't try to move him tonight. I'll go out
an' put his hoss up in the shed. In the mornin' he'll be as good as
new. Miss Kate, won't you listen to me?"

She turned reluctantly towards him. Perhaps he was right and Dan would
waken from his swoon as if from a healthful sleep.

"It was that big feller with them straight eyes that done it," began
Morgan.

"The one who was sneering at Dan?"

"Yes."

"Weren't there enough boys here to string him up?"

"He had three friends with him. It would of taken a hundred men to lay
hands on one of those four. They were all bad ones. I'm goin' to tell
you how it was, because I'm leavin' in a few minutes and ridin' south,
an' I want to clear my trail before I start. This was the way it
happened--"

His back was turned to the dim light which fell through the door. She
could barely make out the movement of his lips. All the rest of his
face was lost in shadow. As he spoke she sometimes lost his meaning
and the stir of his lips became a nameless gibbering. The grey gloom
settled more deeply round the room and over her heart while he talked.
He explained how the difference had risen between the tall stranger
and Whistling Dan. How Dan had been insulted time and again and borne
it with a sort of childish stupidity. How finally the blow had been
struck. How Dan had crouched on the floor, laughing, and how a yellow
light gathered in his eyes.

At that, her mind went blank. When her thoughts returned she stood
alone in the room. The clatter of Morgan's galloping horse died
swiftly away down the road. She turned to Dan. Black Bart was crouched
at watch beside him. She kneeled again--lowered her head--heard the
faint but steady breathing. He seemed infinitely young--infinitely
weak and helpless. The whiteness of the bandage stared up at her like
an eye through the deepening gloom. All the mother in her nature came
to her eyes in tears.




CHAPTER VIII


RED WRITING

He stirred.

"Dan--dear!"

"My head," he muttered, "it sort of aches, Kate, as if--"

He was silent and she knew that he remembered.

"You're all right now, honey. I've come here to take care of you--I
won't leave you. Poor Dan!"

"How did you know?" he asked, the words trailing.

"Black Bart came for me."

"Good ol' Bart!"

The great wolf slunk closer, and licked the outstretched hand.

"Why, Kate, I'm on the floor and it's dark. Am I still in Morgan's
place? Yes, I begin to see clearer."

He made an effort to rise, but she pressed him back.

"If you try to move right away you may get a fever. I'm going back
to the house, and I'll bring you down some blankets. Morgan says you
shouldn't attempt to move for several hours. He says you've lost a
great deal of blood and that you mustn't make any effort or ride a
horse till tomorrow."

Dan relaxed with a sigh.

"Kate."

"Yes, honey."

Her hand travelled lightly as blown snow across his forehead. He
caught it and pressed the coolness against his cheek.

"I feel as if I'd sort of been through a fire. I seem to be still
seein' red."

"Dan, it makes me feel as if I never knew you! Now you must forget all
that has happened. Promise me you will!"

He was silent for a moment and then he sighed again.

"Maybe I can, Kate. Which I feel, though, as if there was somethin'
inside me writ--writ in red letters--I got to try to read the writin'
before I can talk much."

She barely heard him. Her hand was still against his face. A deep awe
and content was creeping through her, so that she began to smile and
was glad that the dark covered her face. She felt abashed before him
for the first time in her life, and there was a singular sense of
shame. It was as if some door in her inner heart had opened so that
Dan was at liberty to look down into her soul. There was terror in
this feeling, but there was also gladness.

"Kate."

"Yes--honey!"

"What were you hummin'?"

She started.

"I didn't know I was humming, Dan."

"You were, all right. It sounded sort of familiar, but I couldn't
figger out where I heard it."

"I know now. It's one of your own tunes."

Now she felt a tremor so strong that she feared he would notice it.

"I must go back to the house, Dan. Maybe Dad has returned. If he has,
perhaps he can arrange to have you carried back tonight."

"I don't want to think of movin', Kate. I feel mighty comfortable.
I'm forgettin' all about that ache in my head. Ain't that queer? Why,
Kate, what in the world are you laughin' about?"

"I don't know, Dan. I'm just happy!"

"Kate."

"Yes?"

"I like you pretty much."

"I'm so glad!"

"You an' Black Bart, an' Satan--"

"Oh!" Her tone changed.

"Why are you tryin' to take your hand away, Kate?"

"Don't you care for me any more than for your horse--and your dog?"

He drew a long breath, puzzled.

"It's some different, I figger."

"Tell me!"

"If Black Bart died--"

The wolf-dog whined, hearing his name.

"Good ol' Bart! Well, if Black Bart died maybe I'd some day have
another dog I'd like almost as much."

"Yes."

"An' if Satan died--even Satan!--maybe I could sometime like another
hoss pretty well--if he was a pile like Satan! But if you was to
die--it'd be different, a considerable pile different."

"Why?"

His pauses to consider these questions were maddening.

"I don't know," he muttered at last.

Once more she was thankful for the dark to hide her smile.

"Maybe you know the reason, Kate?"

Her laughter was rich music. His hold on her hand relaxed. He was
thinking of a new theme. When he laughed in turn it startled her. She
had never heard that laugh before.

"What is it, Dan?"

"He was pretty big, Kate. He was bigger'n almost any man I ever seen!
It was kind of funny. After he hit me I was almost glad. I didn't hate
him--"

"Dear Dan!"

"I didn't hate him--I jest nacherally wanted to kill him--and wantin'
to do that made me glad. Isn't that funny, Kate?"

He spoke of it as a chance traveller might point out a striking
feature of the landscape to a companion.

"Dan, if you really care for me you must drop the thought of him."

His hand slipped away.

"How can I do that? That writin' I was tellin' you about--"

"Yes?"

"It's about him!"

"Ah!"

"When he hit me the first time--"

"I won't hear you tell of it!"

"The blood come down my chin--jest a little trickle of it. It was
warm, Kate. That was what made me hot all through."

Her hands fell limp, cold, lifeless.

"It's as clear as the print in a book. I've got to finish him. That's
the only way I can forget the taste of my own blood."

"Dan, listen to me!"

He laughed again, in the new way. She remembered that her father had
dreaded the very thing that had come to Dan--this first taste of his
own powers--this first taste (she shuddered) of blood!

"Dan, you've told me that you like me. You have to make a choice now,
between pursuing this man, and me."

"You don't understand," he explained carefully. "I _got_ to follow
him. I can't help it no more'n Black Bart can help howlin' when he
sees the moon."

He fell silent, listening. Far across the hills came the plaintive
wail of a coyote--that shrill bodiless sound. Kate trembled.

"Dan!"

Outside, Satan whinnied softly like a call. She leaned and her lips
touched his. He thrust her away almost roughly.

"They's blood on my lips, Kate! I can't kiss you till they're clean."

He turned his head.

"You must listen to me, Dan!"

"Kate, would you talk to the wind?"

"Yes, if I loved the wind!"

He turned his head.

She pleaded: "Here are my hands to cover your eyes and shut out the
thoughts of this man you hate. Here are my lips, dear, to tell you
that I love you unless this thirst for killing carries you away from
me. Stay with me! Give me your heart to keep gentle!"

He said nothing, but even through the dark she was aware of a struggle
in his face, and then, through the gloom, she began to see his
eyes more clearly. They seemed to be illuminated by a light from
within--they changed--there was a hint of yellow in the brown. And she
spoke again, blindly, passionately.

"Give me your promise! It is so easy to do. One little word will make
you safe. It will save you from yourself."

Still he answered nothing. Black Bart came and crouched at his head
and stared at her fixedly.

"Speak to me!"

Only the yellow light answered her. Cold fear fought in her heart, but
love still struggled against it.

"For the last time--for God's sake, Dan!"

Still that silence. She rose, shaking and weak. The changeless eyes
followed her. Only fear remained now. She backed towards the door,
slowly, then faster, and faster. At the threshold she whirled and
plunged into the night.

Up the road she raced. Once she stumbled and fell to her knees. She
cried out and glanced behind her, breathing again when she saw that
nothing followed. At the house she made no pause, though she heard the
voice of her father singing. She could not tell him. He should be the
last in all the world to know. She went to her room and huddled into
bed.

Presently a knock came at her door, and her father's voice asked if
she were ill. She pleaded that she had a bad headache and wished to be
alone. He asked if she had seen Dan. By a great effort she managed to
reply that Dan had ridden to a neighbouring ranch. Her father left
the door without further question. Afterwards she heard him in the
distance singing his favourite mournful ballads. It doubled her sense
of woe and brought home the clinging fear. She felt that if she could
weep she might live, but otherwise her heart would burst. And after
hours and hours of that torture which burns the name of "woman" in the
soul of a girl, the tears came. The roosters announced the dawn before
she slept.

Late the next morning old Joe Cumberland knocked again at her door. He
was beginning to fear that this illness might be serious. Moreover, he
had a definite purpose in rousing her.

"Yes?" she called, after the second knock.

"Look out your window, honey, down to Morgan's place. You remember I
said I was goin' to clean up the landscape?"

The mention of Morgan's place cleared the sleep from Kate's mind and
it brought back the horror of the night before. Shivering she slipped
from her bed and went to the window. Morgan's place was a mass of
towering flames!

She grasped the window-sill and stared again. It could not be. It must
be merely another part of the nightmare, and no reality. Her father's
voice, high with exultation, came dimly to her ears, but what she saw
was Dan as he had laid there the night before, hurt, helpless, too
weak to move!

"There's the end of it," Joe Cumberland was saying complacently
outside her door. "There ain't goin' to be even a shadow of the saloon
left nor nothin' that's in it. I jest travelled down there this
mornin' and touched a match to it!"

Still she stared without moving, without making a sound. She was
seeing Dan as he must have wakened from a swoonlike sleep with the
smell of smoke and the heat of rising flames around him. She saw him
struggle, and fail to reach his feet. She almost heard him cry out--a
sound drowned easily by the roar of the fire, and the crackling of the
wood. She saw him drag himself with his hands across the floor, only
to be beaten back by a solid wall of flame. Black Bart crouched beside
him and would not leave his doomed master. Fascinated by the raging
fire the black stallion Satan would break from the shed and rush into
the flames!--and so the inseparable three must have perished together!

"Why don't you speak, Kate?" called her father.

"Dan!" she screamed, and pitched forward to the floor.




CHAPTER IX


THE PHANTOM RIDER

In the daytime the willows along the wide, level river bottom seemed
an unnatural growth, for they made a streak of yellow-green across
the mountain-desert when all other verdure withered and died. After
nightfall they became still more dreary. Even when the air was calm
there was apt to be a sound as of wind, for the tenuous, trailing
branches brushed lightly together, making a guarded whispering like
ghosts.

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 r