by Brand, Max
And still Derry clung to his old belief in Rainey, like a bulldog to a fighting hold. He would not give up his faith. Somehow the thing would be explained.
He had breakfast in a thick silence with the old man and Maria. At the edge of the creek he got out soap and a razor and shaved. Immediately after that, the journey started.
The Cary clan divided. The women and children and a number of injured or sick men remained behind. In the other party there were seventeen youths or men in th prime of life who were ta take the trail. Tom Derry was to go with them. The old man would travel with the outfit and to take care of him there was Maria.
The farewell was very brief, very stern. It seemed to Derry that there was hardly a trace of human emotion in the voices of the clansmen, but when they were at a little distance, he looked back and saw that the mothers were holding up their smaller children to catch the last look at their fathers.
There were plenty of horses, but Derry, according to the will of the old man, had to go on foot. However, the way was very mountainous, and his long powerful legs kept him up with the riders easily enough. He was not very closely guarded. That is to say, men were not constantly at his side. But he knew that their glances were on him and he also knew that every one of the Cary men wanted only a fair excuse to put a bullet into him. The least movement on his part out of line would bring an accurate volley, he was sure.
And the old man headed the advance through the mountains! He sat his saddle with as straight a back as any of the youths, and though he did not ride at more than a walk, and though it was a mule instead of a horse that carried him, still he was plainly the overlord and brains of the outfit. A peculiar grim respect for him was still growing up in the mind of Tom Derry.
He found big Stan Parker in the line of riders and walked for a moment at his side.
“He’ll use the boys for one of his own crooked schemes,” she went on, “and that’ll get the law on us harder than ever. Grandpa, you’re losin’ your wits. There ain’t a man in the family that dares to give you advice. Take some from Tom Derry and see how it tastes.”
“I thought you was gone, sure enough, when they closed in on you. The gal saved your hide, brother,” said Parker.
“What was in Christian’s head when he sent me up here with you?” asked Derry. “Didn’t he know that the Carys were likely to lift my scalp?”
“I don’t know what was in Christian’s head, and why should I give a damn what happens to you?” asked Stan Parker frankly.
Derry regarded him calmly, and talked no more.
Afterwards, he had a chance to walk near the dancing mustang of “Molly” Cary. Generally she was close to the old man, but the narrowness of a defile had forced her back to a little distance, and there was room for Derry to walk beside her.
“Where are we headed, Molly?” he asked.
“For Barry Christian,” she answered.
“Christian? I thought the old man didn’t want to deal with him?”
“He don’t. But he’s made a deal with Christian, and now he’s going to carry through his part of the game, unless something better shows up in the meantime. Use your brain, Tom. Try to find a way these fellows can be used.”
“In a circus, fighting tigers with their bare hands,” suggested Derry.
She did not smile. “You use your head better than that, and maybe you’ll save the scalp on top of it,” she said. “There’s nothing between you and murder except the word of the old man, and that may peg out any time. He’s able to change his mind; you’ve noticed that.”
“I’ve noticed that,” agreed Derry. “What’s the deal with Christian?”
She shook her head.
“I’m fond of you, Tom,” she admitted, “but I’m not fool enough to trust you with everything I know. Whatever becomes of me, I’m a Cary, first, last, and all the time.”
And she found a chance to urge her pony away from him, while she rode up to regain her place beside the old man.
It was nearly noon of that day, and still the old man was sitting stiff and straight in his saddle, when two horsemen came out of a draw at the side of a wide gulch, two men on splendid horses, who waved their hands as they galloped in.
“Christian!” Derry heard the rider behind him say.
The whole line closed up until Derry could see that it was in fact Barry Christian and Buck Rainey beside him. At the sight of Buck, a vast burden rolled from Derry’s heart. He felt that he was breathing easily and deeply again for the first time in days.
He hurried toward Buck as that tall fellow dismounted, the leg which had been wounded sinking a trifle under his weight as he reached the ground. All about there was a general dismounting as Derry got to Rainey and gripped his hand.
“The devil’s to pay,” said Tom Derry. “The Carys are out for my scalp. They nearly lifted it this morning. You and Barry had better talk to them, Buck.”
“Of course,” said Rainey. “Of course, of course!”
He waved, and nodded, and moved into the thick of the talking men.
The old man sat on a rock while Maria Cary made a shade over him with a wide straw sombrero of Mexican make. And before him stood Christian, saying:
“Before we get any farther, we’d better talk about my friend yonder, Tom Derry. Tom, come over here, will you? Now then, tell me what’s happened since you started off on my horse.”
“Things went all right till the second day,” said Derry. “And then I spotted a grey wolf sneaking along behind me. The thing faded out in the brush. That evening, I saw it again. And that night, on the hill over Little Rock, Jim Silver and Taxi jumped me and tied me. The wolf had been Silver’s.”
“Hadn’t you brains enough to guess that?” asked Christian coldly.
The question startled Tom Derry, but he went on:
“I thought Taxi would put an end to me. But Silver seemed to think I might be straight. Anyway, he turned me loose. I got on the black horse and started — ”
“Why lie to me?” demanded Christian sternly. “You made a dicker with Jim Silver. He wants a trail laid that will take him up to us. He knew that you’d come this way. He hired you to double-cross us and leave sign that he and his wolf could follow. You cur, you’ve been a traitor to us. And you’re fool enough to think that we won’t see through any of your crooked ways?”
19
THROWN TO THE DOGS
AT the pale, handsome face of Barry Christian, Derry could not look. He stared, instead, toward Buck Rainey, as though he might be able to find in the face of his friend some explanation of the strange words of the other. But the horse of Buck Rainey — that same gentle-mannered Nell — became at this moment strangely restive and started dancing and prancing in such a way that Buck Rainey did not seem to be aware of any words that had been spoken. Instead, he was carried to a little distance, quite out of earshot, and had to dismount to begin soothing the frightened horse.
This was almost stranger than anything that Derry had heard from Christian.
The husky, harsh voice of the old man brought him back to his senses.
“If this here’s no more’n a rat, then why shouldn’t he be treated like a rat?”
“There’s no reason in the world,” said Christian. “I’m through with him. I wash my hands of him. If you want to waste time on him, Cary, you can do as you please. The sneak is trying to bring Jim Silver on our trail. And if you want trouble of that sort, you’re welcome to it.”
He added: “Come over here, and we’ll talk things through. I’ve a lot to tell you.”
With that, he drew the old man aside. Derry, looking wildly about him, saw the savage, the mocking faces of the Carys. He could not hate them, any more than a helpless man could hate wild Indians. He could simply understand the lives they had led and the danger to which their training exposed him now. There was only one face that might hold kindness for him, and that was “Molly” Cary’s. He remembered how lightly he had proposed to return to the valley for her one day
, and take her away to be his wife — when she had grown up!
Well, she might still be more girl than woman, but she was his main hope for life in this affair. He could not tell what was in her mind now, for her face was impassive. The sun flashed on her as on a dark bronze, she was so stained by many coats of shadowy copper. She had the two long braids of her hair tied around under her chin. She wore a deer-skin jacket that left her round arms bare to the shoulder. She was as unwearied, as straight-backed in the saddle as any of the Cary men. And from a distance she drifted her glance over Derry and the rest just as though he were a most undistinguished feature in the landscape.
Big Dean Cary said calmly: “This is the man that ran us out of the valley and made beggars of us. Anybody got ideas about what we should do to him?”
A young fellow who had dismounted took a long blacksnake whip from his neck, around which it was draped. He popped it loudly in the air.
“There’s a tree to tie him to, and here something that’ll open him up, fast enough. When we see the colour of his blood, we’ll know better then!”
“Yeah! Chuck!” shouted three or four voices at once. “Cut him up and see if he stands it as good as a mule!”
They hauled Derry straightway to the tree. They tied his hands and his feet about the trunk and ripped the shirt from his back. Then they cried:
“Now, Chuck, let her go!”
“Lemme see the red the first crack, or I’ll try the whip.”
“Make him holler the first whack or you ain’t no good, Chuck!”
“Give it to him, boy!”
The voice of Chuck answered: “Leave him hear this bird sing first, will you? Even a rattler gives a warnin’ before it bites, and I’ll warn him a little.”
Straightway the long lash hummed about the ears of Derry rapidly. Then it popped, and he started as though a gun had exploded a bullet into his flesh.
There was a yell of delight at this sign of fear.
“Take it!” shouted Chuck, and sent the lash home on the bare back of Derry. The thing cut like a sword. The numbing pain of it rushed to his feet, and up into his brain, and worked wildly in the muscles of his throat. But he kept his teeth locked in the good, bulldog grip. His eyes were party veiled, and through the lids he was able to see his “Molly” Cary sitting calmly on her horse, surveying the scene with folded arms.
That was the truth about her then. She was simply a white-skinned Indian. Ay, not so white-skinned, at that!
“Go get the red, Chuck! That’s the boy. You’ll have him hollerin’ the next pop. Lay it into him!”
The whip fell again. He felt the blow like a hammer-stroke, and there was also a drawing, burning cut that went through the skin.
He locked his jaws harder. He closed his eyes altogether and composed his face, for several of the men had hurried around to study him from the front and read his agonies rather in his face than in the bloody welts that were being painted across his back.
“He kind of bears up pretty good!” he heard one of them mutter. “But Chuck’ll wear him down if he has to lay the bones bare!”
Of course, they would whip the flesh from his bones. He would be dead by that time from the loss of blood. A merciful God would let him faint before the agony had lasted that long!
Now Chuck made play with the humming whip about his ears, skillfully fanning the flesh without touching it. At last came a third stroke more terrible than the others by far. This time he could feel the lash, as he thought, sink deep in his body, and a hot flow of blood followed the blow.
“Hi, Chuck! That’s openin’ him up!”
“He’s as soft as butter,” said Chuck. “I can cut him near right in two,” he went on, panting and happy.
Then several voices shouted in unison: “Get away from there, M’ria! What you mean, you fool girl?”
“I’m here, Tom,” said the girl calmly, her voice just at his ear. “If they carve you up it’ll have to be through me.”
She added to the angry men loudly: “What a lot of cheap hounds you are! Here’s a gent that plays a game for Barry Christian, and gets Christian out of jail by getting us into the fight. And then Christian turns him down flat. You know why? Because he’s too straight for that crook to use any more! Christian gives his horse to Tom Derry so’s Tom can draw Silver on to the wrong trail. And Silver does catch up with Tom and grabs him — but two white men can always agree together, and Silver lets him go. There’s a heart in Silver. The whole world knows that he ain’t any starved coyote.
“He lets Tom go, and Tom gets up to us, where Stan Parker brings him; and then when we meet up with Christian, Christian tells us to do what we please, because he knows that you’ll please to cut him to bits. Why? Just because Christian is through with him! That’s why. Because Christian thinks that maybe Silver will be able to follow the trail, after all, Christian’s thrown him to the dogs — and you’re the dogs! I sort of feel lifted up when I look at you. I despise you! There ain’t a man of you would fight Tom Derry with his bare hands — but you’ll play the pack of dogs to sink your teeth in him all at once!”
They were yipping and yelling with their fury, by this time.
Chuck cried: “Stand away from him, M’ria, or I’ll flog you away!”
“I won’t budge,” said the girl.
“Whip her off!” thundered the larger voice of Dean Cary.
The whip sang. The blow fell — but not on Tom Derry. It cracked again, loudly, and again, on other flesh than his, and gradually his dulled brain could realize through the shouting of the men.
“Give it to her ag’in, Chuck! That’ll take the jacket off of her!”
“Hi! There she got it in the face! She’s always been too good for us. We’ll flog her into a corner. Give it to her ag’in!”
“Yip! That’s a good one!”
“Molly,” cried Tom Derry, over his shoulder, “get out of it. You can’t stop them. I’ll take what’s coming!”
“I don’t even feel it — I’ll never budge from here!” she answered.
“Yank her away, some of you!” shouted the voice of Chuck. “Leave me have a go at Derry before my arm gives out on me, will you?”
“Come on, boys,” called one man.
Then the girl called out: “If you rush me, I’ll blast some of you into the right country — the place you’re bound to go. I’ll send you there first.”
“Put up that gun, M’ria, you young fool!” yelled one.
“Look out — she’s goin’ to shoot! Back up!”
“M’ria, you’ll catch hell, for this. Chuck, knock the doggone gun out of her hand!”
“Get behind her, boys. We’ll pull her down. I never seen such a fool for a girl.”
The gutteral cry of the old man came out of the distance like a blessing to the ears of Derry.
“What you-all doin’ there with M’ria? M’ria, come on up here. Where’d you put my wallet, doggone you?”
She stood back by Tom Derry and slashed the ropes that tied him. He saw, as he turned, how the lash had raised two great welts across her left upper arm. And it had slashed the flesh of her left cheek, also. There was a thin, crimson knife cut, with a purple margin on either side of it.
Derry went mad.
“Give me that gun!” he groaned.
She struck his reaching hand down.
“Don’t be a fool. Want them to eat you alive?” she asked.
They swarmed up close. They were savage with eagerness.
“Get back from him, Maria,” commanded Dean Cary, “or we’ll give you something more to think about!”
“If you edge an inch closer, Dean,” said the girl, “I’ll blow the face out from between those whiskers of yours. You too, Pete! Chuck, you better go back to the women folks. I’ll be even with you for what you’ve done.”
But Derry, his hands gripped into fists, waited for the sudden flooding forward that would be the end of him. Then the voice of the old man called again:
“What you
doin’ down there? Doggone you brats, you’re goin’ to hear from me. I’ll warm up the hides of some of you if you don’t clear away from M’ria. M’ria! Oh, M’ria! Come here, you worthless fool girl, you!”
And that band of stalwarts gave way as though the strength of the voice had cleft a path through them. The girl gripped Derry by the wrist.
“Come along with me!” she commanded. “Walk close. Now, mind you, if there’s a hand laid on him, I’m going to start sinking lead into the nearest men. I don’t care who I hit. I’d like to butcher the lot of you. You’re not Carys. You’re only carrion crows. Keep back and give us room!”
They gave room. Many a hand, crooked of fingers with eagerness to grasp at Tom Derry, shrunk away from him. They cursed in savage volleying of oaths. But no grip seized him, and he was led by the hand, like a child, straight up to the place where the old man, Christian, and Buck Rainey were together under a tree.
“Here,” said the old man, “what you been spoilin’ the fun of the boys for, M’ria? I never seen such a gal! Find me that wallet. Where you put it? There ain’t nothin’ like a woman for puttin’ away things where a gent won’t ever find them!”
“You’re doddering in the brain,” she told him, “or you’d have sense enough to look in that left saddlebag. Here you are.”
She reached into the saddlebag, on the left of the old man’s mule, accordingly.
Tom Derry regarded her not. He did not look at Christain, either, except to notice a singular small smile of pleasure that curled the lip of the big man, as he saw the blood on Derry. It was toward Buck Rainey that Derry looked, mining deeply into that man in search for the golden ore of true friendship which must, surely, be hidden away somewhere under the surface. But all that he gained was a sudden shrug of the shoulders and a helpless gesture of resignation, as though Rainey were saying: “You see how things are?”
Ay, but for a friend? There is a code written down somewhere and copied into the hearts of all good men and bad, that friendship must be sacred, and Buck Rainey had allowed his friend to be flogged like a dog at a post. He had not lifted his voice. He had not even raised his hand.