Mountain Riders

by Brand, Max

  By one of those lakes he camped. The yellow of his firelight turned the little waves of the lake to ripples of gold over the black. He could not see the tops of the images of the trees. And as the wind came and went busily through the woods, he asked himself what a man wanted more in the world than a chance to let his eye grasp, every day, all that was held within the round of such a Western horizon.

  He suddenly felt calmer and steadier, and wondered why the wanderlust had left his blood within so few days! When he reached back into his mind to find the reason, his thought struck on the image of “Molly Cary.” There it lodged. He had found his mate, and one day he would go for her. He would find a way to make her come happily with him. He would take up a land claim, somewhere in this region, this same district of the Blue Waters. He would fell logs, and they would build a cabin. The earth and their labour would support them.

  He was full of that thought when he lay wrapped in his blanket. The last thing he knew was the leap of a fish, breaking water in the lake.

  When he wakened, the morning was commencing about him, and he let his eye run up the tall shafts of the trees into the thin, bright blue of the sky.

  Where the lake broke into ripples, running out down a little creek, he caught trout and breakfasted on them when they were broiled brown. Then he mounted the black horse and went on his way according to the map that was planned and drawn in his mind. The day was still and bright and hot in the hollows, clear and delightful on the uplands. It was on the uplands, somewhere, that he would build his cabin. If there were wind, he would not mind. It is best to have movement, even in the sky.

  Late in the afternoon, from a great height, from the verge of a tall-shouldered bulwark of mountains, he looked down on Little Rock and saw the circle of hills, and particularly that one which was crowned with what seemed a mere scalp-lock of woods. That was his destination.

  He was about to go on, across the big valley that lay between him and his goal, when he felt eyes behind him, and looked quickly around in time to see a great grey timber wolf disappearing into a clump of brush.

  He pulled his revolver and waited for a second glimpse, but the animal was gone. And he chuckled. How could men live in cities when there was real life to be found out here in the wilderness, where the watcher is watched?

  He rode on down the valley, sent the tired black gelding up the slope of his promised hill, and came to the circling woods that crowned it. It was a perfect camping place, with a clearing inside the hollow circle of the trees, and a small spring breaking out in the midst of the open place. There was plenty of tall grass for the black to graze, and when he had picketed the horse, he found enough daylight remaining to survey his surroundings carefully before he had supper of hardtack and coffee.

  From the one side, he looked down into the town of Little Rock. It got its name from a great boulder that rose in the centre of the little frame buildings, all flashing with the western light that struck the windows. A huge rock loomed up the valley at a small distance. When he had considered the town for a moment, through the thin smoke haze that drifted over it, he rounded the hill slowly, keeping to the edge of the woods, and from the opposite side looked down the slope he had mounted. There, gliding from one patch of brush to another, he had a longer look at the same grey wolf that he had seen earlier in the afternoon.

  He knew it was the same one, because a man would not see two of that size in an entire lifetime. Besides, the beast was distinguished by the light dusty grey of its colour, perfectly fitted to melt into a background of sand or of rocks or of sunburned foliage. The timber wolf felt the glance of the human eye. Instead of slinking off, it sat down and opened its mouth and favoured him with a bit of blood-red laughter.

  He felt a chill up his spine. Also, he had a desire to laugh. So he compromised between the two emotions by snatching out a revolver. The lobo waited not an instant, but sprang into the brush and was gone. It would not come out again; he knew the uncanny wisdom of the race.

  So he went back and had his supper in the darkening of the day. He was on his second cup of night-black coffee when something stirred soundlessly. In the tail of his eye he saw the dim silhouette of his friend the grey wolf!

  The fear that had come faintly upon him at his second meeting with the brute was an electric shock at this third encounter. He could not move a hand for a moment, then he rose slowly to his feet. But to his bewilderment, the wolf did not budge! Instead, it crouched as though ready to hurl itself at him!

  He had heard of wolves attacking humans, though he had never actually known an eye-witness of such an occurrence. But in every case, the wolf was supposed to be driven half mad by the pangs of the winter famine, whereas this big fellow seemed in the perfect pink of condition. And there was the lobo in leaping distance, while he, Tom Derry, was three steps from the spot where he had foolishly left his revolver!

  There was the light hand axe near him, but he wondered if it would be safe to lean for it.

  Then, behind him, the deep voice of a man said: “You can hoist your hands. Put them up, mind you!”

  He felt that voice through him. There was such authority that though he was a fighting man by pride and by instinct, he found his hands obeying the command.

  They went up as high as his shoulders, as high as his ears.

  “Turn this way,” said the commanding voice. It added: “It’s not Christian, Taxi. Come on in. We wouldn’t have such luck.”

  From the other side of the clearing came the voice of Taxi: “What good if it were Christian, anyway? You wouldn’t do anything about him. You’d simply turn him back to the law again, Jim.”

  “Turn around!” commanded the first speaker.

  Derry turned gradually. He hated to give his back to that crouched devil of a wolf. It seemed as if the man with the deep voice read his thoughts perfectly, because he said:

  “The wolf won’t hurt you. Not if you move slowly. Frosty — steady, boy!”

  Then, as Derry faced about, he saw a big man step from behind a tree into the thin red of the firelight. One did not need full day to see his formidable size, the weight of his shoulders, and the look of speed and lightness about the rest of him. It was Jim Silver, of course. He, and Taxi — and the wolf, Frosty, of which people had spoken more than once. There was only Parade lacking, the golden chestnut of which people talked still more. Then the trio would be complete.

  There was a gun in the hand of Silver, held negligently at his side.

  “Tie his hands,” commanded Silver.

  The hands of Derry were suddenly pulled down behind his back by one who had approached with a soundless step. A hard twist of cord fastened his wrists together.

  “Take a look at him,” said Silver. “You remember faces, Taxi. I don’t think I’ve seen this fellow before.”

  “He’s the one who gave the signal the other day at Blue Water. He must be one of Christian’s inside men. He has to be, or he wouldn’t be on Christian’s horse, pulling the scent away from the chief thug of them all!”

  Derry could see the truth of that, and it stunned him. Christian had confessed that he expected Silver on the trail before long. What better way, then, of throwing the hunt of Silver astray than by giving his horse with its known tracks to another man? It might be that that had not been in the mind of Christian, but the thing seemed strangely close to the probability. It could not be the truth, however, because Buck Rainey would not let a friend be imposed upon even by a greater friend. He had to pin his faith to Rainey.

  “You belong to Christian, do you?” said Silver.

  “I don’t belong to him,” answered Derry. “I never saw him before Blue Water.”

  “You lie,” said Taxi.

  “Don’t do that, Taxi,” cautioned Silver.

  “Bah,” said Taxi, “when I see the snakes, I want to cut their throats. Look at him! He’s willing to ride Christian’s horse and lead the hunt crooked, and he’s fool enough to think that the money he gets can be worth the risk.
Nobody knows what he was paid for the job in Blue Water.”

  “What were you paid?” asked Silver.

  “Nothing,” said Derry.

  “Search him,” said Silver.

  Taxi’s lightning fingers went rapidly through the clothes of Derry and brought out the thin wallet.

  “Eighteen dollars and some chicken feed,” said Taxi.

  “That’s strange,” remarked Silver. “What’s your name?”

  “Tom Derry.”

  “Sit down here by the fire, please.”

  “Jim,” said Taxi savagely, “are you going to waste time on him? We’ve got to make him tell us where Christian can be found.”

  “All right,” answered Silver. “Will you tell us where we can find Christian, Derry?”

  “I don’t know where he is,” said Derry.

  “Ah, you don’t know?”

  “He lies, of course,” said Taxi. “I’m going to put pressure on the big rat!”

  “No, not that,” said Silver. “I don’t want any of that.”

  “You don’t want that? No, you want to fight fair — with snakes!” cried Taxi. “I’m going to ask for my own chance, though. Is it fair to me if you let these hounds that Christian hires get through your hands time after time? They’re after you. They’re always after you. They’d knife you or bomb you in the dark. They’d poison a whole river if they thought you’d be one of the dead. But you still treat them like human beings. Jim, they’ll get you, and they’ll get me, unless you change your tactics.”

  Silver turned his back.

  “Do what you please, then,” he consented, and stepped over by the fire.

  “Now,” said Taxi to Derry, “are you talking?”

  “I’ve nothing to say,” answered Derry.

  Even by the dim light, he could see the devil flare in the eyes and twist at the face of Taxi.

  “You crooked me the other day in Blue Water,” he said. “Now I’ll see how I can loosen your tongue for you.”

  He took another length of cord out of his pocket and twisted it around the head of Derry. Into the loop of the cord above one ear he thrust the barrel of his automatic. Derry knew what that meant. A twisting, tightening cord like that would cut through the flesh to the bone, in time. Before that, it crushed the eyes out. He drew in a slow breath and prepared to endure.

  “I’m giving you your last chance,” said Taxi. “If you won’t talk — ”

  “I won’t talk,” said Derry.

  “Then take it!” said Taxi, and gave the automatic the first turn, taking up the slack.

  “Wait a minute,” said the voice of Silver, who had not turned from the dying fire.

  “Walk away. Keep away out of hearing,” urged Taxi. “Let me have five minutes with him, and I’ll make him talk or know the reason why!”

  “Sorry, partner,” said Silver. “I can’t walk away. I can’t stand it.”

  The words sounded very strange in the ears of Derry. It was not the sort of thing he expected to hear from the fiend who had pursued Christian with such malice and hate.

  “Once more!” groaned Taxi. “Are you going to lie down and let them walk over you?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Silver. “You may be right — but I can’t stand it!”

  Taxi snatched the cord from the head of Derry and flung it on the ground.

  “We’re beaten before we start!” he said. “Your squeamishness will always beat us. We’ve cornered him more than once. He ought to be dead long ago. But he’s still alive because you won’t treat him for what he is — a dog!”

  Silver said nothing, but the long silence began to send a chill and a thrill through the soul of Tom Derry. For the first time he confronted firmly the possibility that Buck Rainey might be wrong about this man.

  16

  SILVER’S DECISION

  SILVER whistled. At once there was a light trampling beyond the trees. It came closer. Out of the brush stepped a horse that gleamed like copper wherever the firelight touched its body. Only a stallion could have such a head and neck, and a stallion is about as tractable as a panther. But this monster went straight up to Silver and stood obviously at attention. Yet Tom Derry could see clearly that the big horse wore not a bridle and bit, but simply a light halter with a pair of reins attached to it!

  Then he realized that that must be the Parade of whom he had heard men speak. The grey wolf, at the appearance of the horse, showed every sign of hate and rage. It crouched in front of its master and bared its teeth and snarled in a consummate fury. But Parade lowered his head and sniffed at Frosty with pricking ears and a fearless curiosity.

  “Frosty is going to tear his throat wide open for him, one of these days,” declared that gloomy prophet, Taxi. “He hates Parade. You ought to see that, Jim.”

  “Frosty won’t touch him. Not as long as I’m alive,” said Silver.

  He sat down on a rock by the fire and took off his sombrero. The reddish light showed to Derry a brown, handsome, rather weary face. He could not guess at the exact age, for as Silver turned, his expression altered. Sometimes he seemed not more than twenty-five. Again, he looked ten years older.

  Above his temples, Derry could see the two tufts of grey hair, like incipient horns. They gave a hint of something devilish, like an uncanny image out of a fable.

  “You think,” went on Taxi, who was plainly in a state of high irritation, “that there’s nothing in the way of danger for Parade from Frosty — while you live? You think you can control the teeth of Frosty even when your back is turned?”

  “I think that what I’ve handled has my scent on it. He won’t touch that scent with his teeth. Is that so strange?”

  “Have it your way, then,” muttered Taxi. “You always do! But now tell me what we’re to do about this Christian. He’s back there, by this time — back there with his Duff Gregor and his Buck Rainey and the rest of his cut-throats and sneaks and blood-suckers.”

  It was too much for Tom Derry. He exclaimed:

  “That’s a lie, Taxi, and you know it. Buck Rainey is the straightest man in the world.”

  “Lie?” snapped Taxi, spinning around.

  Then he seemed to realize that the hands of the prisoner were tied.

  “You mean that Buck Rainey’s not a yegg and a thief and a confidence man?” asked Taxi calmly.

  “He’s not!” said Derry, “and the man who says he is, is a hound!”

  “Jim,” murmured Taxi, “I’m going to turn this fellow loose, and we’ll have it out together.

  “Just a moment,” interrupted Silver. “What makes you so sure that Rainey’s an honest man, Derry?”

  “I owe my life to him, twice over,” answered Derry. “Besides, I’d swear by him and die for him. A whiter man was never born!”

  “Are you swallowing that, Jim?” asked Taxi, aside.

  “I’m thinking it over,” replied Silver. “How long have you known Rainey?”

  “Only a few days, but every day has had years packed into it.”

  “He talks like a fool as well as a crook,” said Taxi, and Derry could see the pale brightness of the eyes with which Taxi regarded him.

  “Will you tell me how Buck Rainey saved your life?” asked Silver. Again Tom Derry marvelled, not at the words, but at the gentleness and the courtesy of the voice.

  “I’ll tell you,” said Derry. “Once, when I was hanging head down on a barbed-wire fence and a bull was coming at me as fast as she could spread himself. An another time a gang was after me, and Rainey, instead of riding away — he was on a fast horse — turned back and opened up on that crew with his gun, and gave me my chance to get clear away. They put some lead in him to pay him for it. And now you want me to stand here and let you call him a crook?”

  Indignation made his voice ring.

  “Taxi,” said Silver, “turn him loose.”

  “Turn him — you mean, to set him free?” cried Taxi.

  “Yes,” said Silver.

  “Set him free so that I can
have it out with him?” pleaded Taxi.

  “What chance would he have against you?” asked Silver, rather sternly. “No, but give him his horse and let him go.”

  “Are you out of your head?” demanded Taxi. “He’s a fighting man, I tell you. It’s he that set Christian free. He’s the one who gave — ”

  “Never mind,” said Silver. “I’m working a little in the dark, I admit, but I know that in the long run no honest man can be of any use to Christian.”

  “You call this one honest?” demanded Taxi.

  Silver nodded as he answered: “He’s honest. He’s honest enough to do a lot of harm to Christian before the game is ended. So turn him loose.”

  Taxi, cursing under his breath, obeyed. Tom Derry swung his free hands forward and looked down at them in amazement.

  “There’s your horse,” remarked Silver. “Take him and go where you please.”

  Tom Derry saddled the black horse of Barry Christian, and his hands moved as in a trance, without wit or sense in them. His brain was a blank. At last, standing at the head of his horse, he looked across at Silver and saw the big man stripping away the saddle from Parade, taking even the halter off, to let the monster run free. It seemed to Derry that a man who could trust a dumb beast to this extent could be trusted by other men. And he could not help breaking out:

  “Silver, I know from Buck Rainey what you are. But no matter what comes of it, I want you to try to count on me after this!”

  “Ay,” said Taxi bitterly, “count you among Christian’s guns!”

  But Silver called cheerfully: “Thanks, Derry. Good luck.”

  That was all. And then Derry rode from the trees, and was surprised to find the white of moonlight silvering the ground of the hillside. His brain had been too filled, during the last moments, to permit him to look far above the ground.

  As he rode down toward the town of Little Rock, he saw another horseman coming up toward him. He came closer, and Derry saw that it was a very big fellow with a hump of strength across his shoulders. He had a surprisingly small mustang under him. Next of all, Derry marked a white rag that fluttered on the bridle rein of the stranger.