Way of the Lawless

by Max Brand

  CHAPTER 22

  If only the night had been dark, if the gelding had had a fair start;but the moon was bright, and in the thin mountain air it made a radiancealmost as keen as day and just sufficiently treacherous to delude ahorse, which had been sent unexpectedly out among rocks by a cruel pairof spurs. At the end of the first leap the gelding stumbled to his kneeswith a crash and snort among the stones. The shock hurled Andrewforward, but he clung with spurs and hand, and as he twisted back intothe saddle the gelding rose valiantly and lurched ahead again.

  Yet that double sound might have roused an army, and for the keen-earedwatchers around the clearing it was more than an ample warning. Therewas a crash of musketry so instant and so close together that it waslike a volley delivered by a line of soldiers at command. Bullets sangshrill and small around Andrew, but that first discharge had been aburst of snap-shooting, and by moonlight it takes a rare man indeed tomake an accurate snapshot. The first discharge left both Andrew and thehorse untouched, and for the moment the wild hope of unexpected successwas raised in his heart. And he had noted one all-important fact--theflashes, widely scattered as they were, did not extend across the exactcourse of his flight toward the trees. Therefore, none of the possewould have a point-blank shot at him. For those in the rear and on thesides the weaving course of the gelding, running like a deer andswerving agilely among the rocks, as if to make up for his firstblunder, offered the most difficult of all targets.

  All this in only the space of a breath, yet the ground was alreadycrossed and the trees were before him when Andrew saw a ray ofmoonlight flash on the long barrel of rifle to his right, and he knewthat one man at least was taking a deliberate aim. He had his revolveron the fellow in the instant, and yet he held his fire. God willing, hewould come back to Anne Withero with no more stains on his hands!

  And that noble, boyish impulse killed the chestnut, for a moment later astream of fire spouted out, long and thin, from the muzzle of the rifle,and the gelding struck at the end of a stride, like a ship going down inthe sea; his limbs seemed to turn to tallow under him, and he crumpledon the ground.

  The fall flung Andrew clean out of the saddle; he landed on his kneesand leaped for the woods, but now there was a steady roar of guns behindhim. He was struck heavily behind the left shoulder, staggered.Something gashed his neck like the edge of a red-hot knife, his wholeleft side was numb.

  And then the merciful dark of the trees closed around him.

  For fifty yards he raced through an opening in the trees, while ayelling like wild Indians rose behind him; then he leaped into cover andwaited. One thing favored him still. They had not brought horses, or atleast they had left their mounts at some distance, for fear of thechance noises they might make when the cabin was stalked. And now,looking down the lane among the trees, he saw men surge into it.

  All his left side was covered with a hot bath, but, balancing hisrevolver in his right hand, he felt a queer touch of joy and pride atfinding his nerve still unshaken. He raised the weapon, covered theirbodies, and then something like an invisible hand forced down the muzzleof his gun. He could not shoot to kill!

  He did what was perhaps better; he fired at that mass of legs, and evena child could not have failed to strike the target. Once, twice, andagain; then the crowd melted to either side of the path, and there was ashrieking and forms twisting and writhing on the ground.

  Some one was shouting orders from the side; he was ordering them to theright and left to surround the fugitive; he was calling out that Lanningwas hit. At least, they would go with caution down his trail after thatfirst check. He left his sheltering tree and ran again down the ravine.

  By this time the first shock of the wounds and the numbness were leavinghim, but the pain was terrible. Yet he knew that he was not fatallyinjured if he could stop that mortal drain of his wounds.

  He heard the pursuit in the distance more and more. Every now and thenthere was a spasmodic outburst of shooting, and Andrew grinned in spiteof his pain. They were closing around the place where they thought hewas making his last stand, shooting at shadows which might be the manthey wanted.

  Then he stopped, tore off his shirt, and ripped it with his right handand his teeth into strips. He tied one around his neck, knotting ituntil he could only draw his breath with difficulty. Several more stripshe tied together, and then wound the long bandage around his shoulderand pulled. The pain brought him close to a swoon, but when his sensescleared he found that the flow from his wounds had eased.

  But not entirely. There was still some of that deadly trickling down hisside, and, with the chill of the night biting into him, he knew that itwas life or death to him if he could reach some friendly house withinthe next two miles. There was only one dwelling straight before him, andthat was the house of the owner of the bay mare. They would doubtlessturn him over to the posse instantly. But there was one chance in ahundred that they would not break the immemorial rule of mountainhospitality. For Andrew there was no hope except that tenuous one.

  The rest of that walk became a nightmare. He was not sure whether heheard the yell of rage and disappointment behind him as the possediscovered that the bird had flown or whether the sound existed only inhis own ringing head. But one thing was certain--they would not trailAndrew Lanning recklessly in the night, not even with the moon tohelp them.

  So he plodded steadily on. If it had not been for that ceaseless drip hewould have taken the long chance and broken for the mountains above him,trying through many a long day ahead to cure the wounds and in somemanner sustain his life. But the drain continued. It was hardly morethan drop by drop, but all the time a telltale weakness was growing inhis legs. In spite of the agony he was sleepy, and he would have likedto drop on the first mat of leaves that he found.

  That crazy temptation he brushed away, and went on until surely, like astar of hope, he saw the light winking feebly through the trees, andthen came out on the cabin.

  He remembered afterward that even in his dazed condition he wasdisappointed because of the neat, crisp, appearance of the house. Theremust be women there, and women meant screams, horror, betrayal.

  But there was no other hope for him now. Twice, as he crossed theclearing before he reached the door of the cabin, his foot struck a rockand he pitched weakly forward, with only the crumbling strength of hisright arm to keep him from striking on his face. Then there was afurious clamor and a huge dog rushed at him.

  He heeded it only with a glance from the corner of his eye. And then,his dull brain clearing, he realized that the dog no longer howled athim or showed his teeth, but was walking beside him, licking his handand whining with sympathy. He dropped again, and this time he couldnever have regained his feet had not his right arm flopped helplesslyacross the back of the big dog, and the beast cowered and growled, butit did not attempt to slide from under his weight.

  He managed to get erect again, but when he reached the low flight ofsteps to the front door he was reeling drunkenly from side to side. Hefumbled for the knob, and it turned with a grating sound.

  "Hold on! Keep out!" shrilled a voice inside. "We got guns here. Keepout, you dirty bum!"

  The door fell open, and he found himself confronted by what seemed tohim a dazzling torrent of light and a host of human faces. He drewhimself up beside the doorway.

  "Gentlemen," said Andrew, "I am not a bum. I am worth five thousanddollars to the man who turns me over, dead or alive, to the sheriff. Myname is Andrew Lanning."

  At that the faces became a terrible rushing and circling flare, and thelights went out with equal suddenness. He was left in total darkness,falling through space; but, at his last moment of consciousness, he feltarms going about him, arms through which his bulk kept slipping down,and below him was a black abyss.