by Max Brand
CHAPTER 6
The house would have been more in place on the main street of a townthan here in the mountain desert; but when the first John Merchant hadmade his stake and could build his home as it pleased him to build, hisimagination harked back to a mid-Victorian model, built of wood, withhigh, pointed roofs, many carved balconies and windows, and severaltowers. Here the second John Merchant lived with his son Charles, whosetaste had quite outgrown the house.
But to the uneducated eye of Andrew Lanning it was a great and dignifiedbuilding. He reined the pinto under the trees to look up at that tall,black mass. It was doubly dark against the sky, for now the firststreaks of gray light were pale along the eastern horizon, and the houseseemed to tower up into the center of the heavens. Andy sighed at thethought of stealing through the great halls within. Even if he couldfind an open window, or if the door were unlatched, how could hefind the girl?
Another thing troubled him. He kept canting his ear with eternalexpectation of hearing the chorus of many hoofs swinging toward him outof the darkness. After all, it was not a simple thing to put Bill Dozieroff the trail. When a horse neighed in one of the corrals, Andy startedviolently and laid his fingertips on his revolver butt.
That false alarm determined him to make his attempt without furtherwaste of time. He swung from the stirrups and went lightly up the frontsteps. His footfall was a feathery thing that carried him like a shadowto the door. It yielded at once under his hand, and, stepping through,he found himself lost in utter blackness.
He closed the door, taking care that the spring did not make the lockclick, and then stood perfectly motionless, listening, probing the dark.
After a time the shadows gave way before his eyes, and he could make outthat he was in a hall with lofty ceiling. Something wound down fromabove at a little distance, and he made out that this was the stairway.Obviously the bedrooms would be in the second story.
Andy began the ascent.
He had occasion to bless the thick carpet before he was at the head ofthe stairs; he could have run up if he had wished, and never have made asound. At the edge of the second hall he paused again. The sense ofpeople surrounded him. Then directly behind him a man cleared histhroat. As though a great hand had seized his shoulder and wrenched himdown, Andy whirled and dropped to his knees, the revolver in his handpointing uneasily here and there like the head of a snake laboring tofind its enemy.
But there was nothing in the hall. The voice became a murmur, and thenAndy knew that it had been some man speaking in his sleep.
At least that room was not the room of the girl. Or was she, perhaps,married? Weak and sick, Andy rested his hand against the wall and waitedfor his brain to clear. "She won't be married," he whispered to himselfin the darkness.
But of all those doors up and down the hall, which would be hers? Therewas no reasoning which could help him in the midst of that puzzle. Hewalked to what he judged to be the middle of the hall, turned to hisright, and opened the first door. A hinge creaked, but it was no louderthan the rustle of silk against silk.
There were two windows in that room, and each was gray with the dawn,but in the room itself the blackness was unrelieved. There was the onedim stretch of white, which was the covering of the bed; the furniture,the chairs, and the table were half merged with the shadows around them.Andy slipped across the floor, evaded a chair by instinct rather than bysight, and leaned over the bed. It was a man, as he could tell by theheavy breathing; yet he leaned closer in a vain effort to make surer bythe use of his eyes.
Then something changed in the face of the man in the bed. It was anindescribable change, but Andrew knew that the man had opened his eyes.Before he could straighten or stir, hands were thrown up. One struck athis face, and the fingers were stiff; one arm was cast over hisshoulders, and Andy heard the intake of breath which precedes a shriek.Not a long interval--no more, say, than the space required for the lashof a snapping blacksnake to flick back on itself--but in that interimthe hands of Andy were buried in the throat of his victim.
His fingers, accustomed to the sway and quiver of eight-pound hammersand fourteen-pound sledges, sank through the flesh and found thewindpipe. And the hands of the other grappled at his wrists, smashedinto his face. Andy could have laughed at the effort. He jammed the shinof his right leg just above the knees of the other, and at once thewrithing body was quiet. With all of his blood turned to ice, Andyfound, what he had discovered when he faced the crowd in Martindale,that his nerves did not jump and that his heart, instead of trembling,merely beat with greater pulses. Fear cleared his brain; it sent atremendous nervous power thrilling in his wrists and elbows. All thewhile he was watching mercilessly for the cessation of the struggles.And when the wrenching at his forearms ceased he instantly relaxedhis grip.
For a time there was a harsh sound filling the room, the rough intake ofthe man's breath; he was for the time being paralyzed and incapable ofany effort except the effort to fill his lungs. By the glint of themetal work about the bits Andy made out two bridles hanging on the wallnear the bed. Taking them down, he worked swiftly. As soon as the fellowon the bed would have his breath he would scream. Yet the time sufficedAndy; he had his knife out, flicked the blade open, and cut off the longreins of the bridles. Then he went back to the bed and shoved the coldmuzzle of his revolver into the throat of the other.
There was a tremor through the whole body of the man, and Andy knew thatat that moment the senses of his victim had cleared.
He leaned close to the ear of the man and whispered: "Don't make no loudtalk, partner. Keep cool and steady. I don't aim to hurt you unless youplay the fool."
Instantly the man answered in a similar whisper, though it was brokenwith panting: "Get that coat of mine out the closet. There--the door isopen. You'll find my wallet in the inside pocket and about all you canwant will be in it."
"That's the way," reassured Andy. "Keep your head and use sense. But itisn't the coin I want. You've got a red-headed girl in this house.Where's her room?"
His hand which held the revolver was resting on the breast of the man,and he felt the heart of the other leap. Then there was a current ofcurses, a swift hissing of invective. And suddenly it came over Andythat since he had killed one man, as he thought, the penalty would be nogreater if he killed ten. All at once the life of this prostrate fellowon the bed was nothing to him.
When he cut into that profanity he meant what he said. "Partner, I'vegot a pull on this trigger. There's a slug in this gun just trembling toget at you. And I tell you honest, friend, I'd as soon drill you as turnaround. Now tell me where that girl's room is?"
"Anne Withero?" Only his breathing was heard for a moment. Then: "Twodoors down, on this side of the hall. If you lay a hand on her I'lllive to--"
"Partner, so help me heaven, I wouldn't touch a lock of her hair. Nowlie easy while I make sure of you."
And he promptly trussed the other in the bridle reins. Out of apillowcase folded hard he made a gag and tied it into the mouth of theman. Then he ran his hands over the straps; they were drawn taut.
"If you make any noise," he warned the other, "I'll come back to findout why. S'long."