Crusader

by Max Brand

  “Perhaps,” Loring said carelessly.

  “In fact,” insisted Mervin, making his point with some solemnity, “I understand that the resemblance is very great.”

  At this, Loring raised his brows, frowned as though he were hunting to find something offensive in this remark, and then shrugged his shoulders. “I suppose . . . ,” he began, but before he had a chance to end the sentence, the door at the farther end of the room opened suddenly, and Mervin had a glimpse of a short, wide-shouldered man standing in the opening, with a broad, blunt-featured face. He had seen ugly men before, but never before one in whom the expression was so thoroughly evil as that of him who stood in the doorway, gave them a single glance, and then hastily and noiselessly closed the door again and was gone. Into the mind of Mervin ran certain odd tales that circulated now and again through the countryside to the effect that Loring, unable to gain a revenue in any other way, had confederated himself with a scattering of criminals and gave them refuge in times of stress in his big house.

  “I suppose,” Loring continued steadily, fixing those grim eyes of his upon Mervin, “that there are vague resemblances between horses as there are between people, eh?”

  Mervin endured that stare very well. The danger in this man was stimulating as well as nerve straining. “I’d like to have you look at my horse. She’s at the rack in front of your house now.”

  Loring hesitated for a long moment—long enough to allow Mervin to see that he had no desire to bestir himself. At length he rose, for courtesy could not permit him to refuse the invitation, particularly because of the pointed manner in which the other gave it. So they went out, carrying a lantern with them, and stood before the brown mare.

  AN EXCELLENT ASSISTANT MURDERER

  The first exclamation of Loring relieved the mind of Mervin of one anxiety.

  “Why,” he cried, “you have Sally Ann, here!” So striking was the resemblance between the two. But he added, raising the lantern and stepping closer to the head of the mare: “No, not Sally Ann. She’s a shade smaller, I think. And . . . no . . . there’s a barbed-wire nick in the left ear of Sally Ann. . . .”

  “Hush,”whispered Mervin.“Not so loud, if you please.”

  Loring whirled on him with a scowl. “I don’t understand you, sir,” he said stiffly.

  “You shall, presently,” answered Mervin. “But what I want you first to look to are the points of similarity. Would anyone other than yourself be able to tell the difference between the two? That is what I want to know.”

  Loring favored him with another stare in which, however, there was as much sheer curiosity as there was disapproval. Then, without a word, he went over the horse from head to heel. He came back and made a terse report.

  “The stocking on the rear leg, there, is a bit longer than Sally Ann’s. Otherwise . . . and I think I know the points of a horse fairly well . . . there’s hardly a hair’s difference between ’em. And, now, Mister Mervin?”

  “I think that we could talk a trifle better in the house,” said Mervin.

  “This begins to become a mystery.”

  “I hope it will be one to your liking,” Mervin said more pointedly than before.

  At this, Loring paused abruptly on the way to the house and turned the light of the lantern into the eyes of Mervin. What he saw there was doubtless firm resolution and that shade of desperation that comes into the face of any man who has resolved beyond recall upon a dishonest action, or a criminal one of any nature.

  “Well,” said Loring, “it may be. . . .” He led on into the house and to the room that they had recently occupied. There he laid his hands upon the table and looked across it at his guest. “I like short talk,” he said at last. “Now, Mervin, what do you want from me?”

  “To begin with, I’m in need of money, Mister Loring,” Mervin explained, growing a trifle red in spite of the long rehearsal of this speech. “I’m in need of money. . . .”

  “And you presume, sir, that I am in need, also?”

  “I presume nothing. I have come here to make a . . . business . . . proposal. No more.”

  “Very well. I’ll hear you out.”

  “There are various ways of making money, and one of the quickest and easiest ways, I understand, is to bet a small sum on a horse race.”

  Loring made a gesture. “I have lost money,” he said, “in a great variety of fashions. I have lost money investing it in real estate. I have lost in mines and in cattle. All of these ways seem fairly expedite when one wishes to decrease a bank account. But I know of no way in which one can lose more money, or lose it faster, than by betting on horses.”

  “Exactly,” Mervin said. “But if one could be more than reasonably sure. . . .”

  “You have a system, I see,” broke in Loring with an uncontrolled sneer. “A system? One system cost me ten thousand. I have never had any appetite to try out a second. Betting systems are short cuts to suicide, my friend.”

  Still Mervin endured and persisted. “This system of mine,” he said, “has never been tried before. I want to ask you, in the first place, if you think that your horse has a good chance of winning the Jericho?”

  “I have paid the entry fee,” Loring said in his disagreeable way, “and I expect to ride the race myself. I suppose that’s your answer. I would not make the effort if I did not think that I have a chance. Sally Ann is not the fastest thing on four feet, but she’s one of the toughest . . . she has to be,” he added grimly, “to suit my tastes . . . and I’ve ridden her two years without breaking her heart.”

  Mervin added slowly: “Flight, the mare you’ve just seen, was given to me by Colonel Dinsmore. He told me, when he made the present, that other horses might distance her at the beginning of a race, but that none would ever come in ahead of her in a long test. She’s as gentle as a lamb and brave as a lion. She’ll run her heart out and ask no questions. She’ll go from morning to night, and, at the end of the day, she’ll still have her ears pricking.”

  “Enter her in the Jericho, then, by all means,” said Loring. “But may I inquire why you have come here . . . at night . . . to tell me the good points of your mare?”

  Mervin gritted his teeth, but still his patience held. “I’ll tell you this, sir. If your horse is half as good as you say she is, and mine is half as good as I think her to be, it will take a good deal of beating to get ahead of the pair of them.”

  “There will be several dozen entries. The odds are big against us. Is that what you mean? To enter them as a stable?”

  “Not that. But suppose, Loring, that each horse ran half the race.”

  “What?”

  “Loring, if you rode the first quarter of the race on Sally Ann, and then, in a secure meeting place, appointed beforehand, met Flight and mounted her and rode the next half of the race, on your return trip you could be met by Sally Ann again, mount her, and so you would start and end the race on the same horse, but a good half of the work would be done by another that could never be told from your own mare.”

  It was part of the pride of Loring never to be surprised, but he was plainly staggered now. He burst out: “By the heavens, Mervin, what a handsome scoundrel you are!”

  Mervin was a fighter, and his nerve was of the best, but although he turned pale with fury, he held his temper. For, after all, he was more at home with his fists than with guns, when it came to fighting, and it would not be hard to guess how long it would take Loring to get a revolver in his fingers. So he ran on smoothly, as though he had not heard the last remark:“You understand, of course, that this race will be worth the winning. The actual stake and the added money will come to around fifteen thousand dollars.”

  “I know that, of course.”

  “Half of fifteen thousand would make seventy-five hundred apiece.”

  “I,” Loring said coolly, “ride the horses and take the risk of detection, and you get half of the money?”

  “Two parts to you, then, and one to me. Ten thousand to you and five thousand
to me.”

  “Well?”

  “There’s more than the stake, however. Consider that before the time of the race, the crowd will have picked out its favorites, and among those favorites Sally Ann is not apt to be one.”

  “Not when they know that I am to ride. They would bet against me for the exquisite pleasure of seeing me lose, if for no other reason.”

  “Exactly! Very well, then. The odds against Sally Ann should go up to thirty to one. And there will be people on hand at Jericho who will be ready to back their opinions with hard cash. There are plenty of millions in this part of the country.”

  “Stolen, and otherwise,” Loring said, sneering. “But stolen money will burn its way. . . .” He checked himself short. After all, the scheme they were even then contemplating would not brook too much moral contemplation.

  “Twenty or thirty to one,” he granted. “Well? What good would it do me? I have no money to bet.”

  “But I have, Loring. I have five thousand that I can get together. Five thousand at thirty to one would be a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. At twenty to one, it’s forty thousand to me and sixty thousand to you. Am I wrong?”

  The eyes of young Loring turned up to the high ceiling above him as though to note the cracks in the plaster and study the places where the laths were bared.

  “Sixty thousand dollars?” he murmured at last. “Well, Mister Mervin, that would be worth some effort. They owe it to me, heaven knows. If I had what is my right, sixty thousand dollars would be a mere nothing. The very ground that Twin Creeks is built upon . . . however, let that go. The dogs owe me money. What difference how they pay it to me?”

  “Very clear reasoning,” Mervin agreed, grinning. “And certainly, Loring, it would be very strange if any horse should beat our pair?”

  “Run such a distance and beat two such horses as ours? No animal in the world could manage that!”

  “Certainly not. Flight will at least keep you close to the leaders. For the last quarter of the race, when all the men will be working hard on their ponies, you will have Sally Ann as fresh as a daisy under you. Certainly nothing could possibly beat you, Mister Loring. Nothing, I am sure.”

  “A thousand thanks. I am not a heavyweight, at least, and I shall fear nothing.”

  “Nothing,” said Mervin, “except one man and one horse.”

  “And that?”

  “The one that is sure to be the favorite.”

  “That will be one of the Arabs, I suppose.”

  “No, no! It can’t be other than one horse . . . Crusader with Harry Camden riding him.”

  “Camden? Crusader?” Loring stated. “Why, man, no one but a fool would bet on a pair of heavyweights like them to win any distance race of more than a mile or two.”

  Mervin shook his head, and there was a shade of thought in his eyes. “I’ve seen him,” he said.

  “With his ribs standing out?”

  “As sleek as Flight, I give you my word. What Camden has done with the big horse is a miracle. If he can train Crusader in that fashion, why may he not work another miracle in the riding of the race? As for his weight, you have to remember that he does not ride in a heavy range saddle. He rides only on a light blanket, and he seems to know how to make himself a part of the horse.”

  “Perhaps he rides well. However, there is nothing that could beat the two mares, if your Flight is a tithe the animal that Sally Ann is!”

  “You’ll find her as good, or nearly so. But this Camden understands how to wring everything out of a horse. He is a part of Crusader, I tell you.”

  “Bah!” exclaimed Loring. “You will have to persuade me that a madman from the mountains can outride a gentleman. I only hope to heaven that you may be wrong.”

  “Not horsemanship . . . magic, Loring. That’s what you’ll have to contend with when you ride against Camden. I’ve seen him riding Crusader. He goes like the wind, and he manages the animal with his thinking, not with reins. They know one another better than two men.”

  Loring merely smiled.

  “I tell you,” Mervin said seriously, “that although I would bet freely against any other man riding in the race and any other horse than Crusader . . . I feel that even with our two horses against him we have no better than an even chance. And that chance must be improved, man, before I invest five thousand dollars.”

  “Improved?”

  “Exactly that. I must have a better surety.”

  “Tell me how that can be managed?”

  “Suppose, for instance, that Crusader never starts in that race?”

  “Eh?”

  “It could be managed.”

  “In what way?”

  “Isn’t it possible, say, that Camden should be incapacitated for riding . . . ?”

  There was a gleam in the eyes of Loring now. He began to nod and smile in a wickedly gratified way at Mervin. “That’s the way with the devil,” he said. “He takes left-handed ways of getting at us. You start with a little crooked work in a horse race, which involves the loss of nothing saving honor”—and here he laughed, short and sharp—“but now you are coming on finely. You want a murder done, Mervin.”

  “Murder?” gasped out the other. “Certainly not. It was never in my mind. Never!” But, even as he spoke, the glitter was in his eye and flare was in his nostrils.

  “You only mean that Camden should be incapacitated?”

  “Only that, Loring. On my honor, only that. And the man’s a mere brute. He doesn’t deserve consideration as anything else. An animal, Loring, but no decency, no refinement, no. . . .”

  “Honesty?” cut in Loring. Mervin was silent, and his host went on slowly and dryly: “Be anything, Mervin. Be a liar, be a villain, be a murderer, even, but don’t be a hypocrite. Put your cards on the table. Face up! Let me see what’s in your mind. Bah, man, you don’t have to tell me, for I can see it too clearly in your eyes. You want him killed. You want it with your whole heart and your whole soul. You want the death of this Camden. Is that not so?”

  Mervin blinked. Then, unable to speak aloud, he whispered: “I want him dead, Loring. I admit it. God knows it may be a guilty wish, but there’s no need for such a man on the face of the world, and. . . .”

  “You’ve said it, now. And now that I have your mind, I’m satisfied. Only, Mervin, I tell you frankly that I like my part of this deal better than you can possibly like yours. All that I have to do is to fight a man, and a strong one, and kill him. And that can be managed . . . oh, yes, that can be managed. But you, Mervin, have to sit in the background and pull the strings. You think you are master of the puppet show, but I tell you, my friend, that when I am in purgatory for this, you will be in hell for the mere thinking of the thing! However,” he added, “that’s apart from the point, which is . . . where am I to get at Camden, and how?”

  “When he brings Crusader to Jericho.”

  “I must do it in the crowd?”

  “Do you wish to do it alone, where there’ll be no witnesses, and where’d they’d hang you for it? No, Loring. Do it in the open. They know that he’s a killer. They don’t know, a good many of them, that you could beat him with a gun. Because he’s strong in his hands, they think that nothing can ever beat him in any sort of a fight.”

  Loring smiled. “You make,” he said, “an excellent assistant murderer. My share is two-thirds, throughout all the profits?”

  “Two-thirds, man. You stand to make a comfortable fortune.”

  “From this moment,” said Loring, “never mention the money to me again.”

  TAKING WATER

  When Camden was just two miles from Jericho, the sheriff met him—Tom Younger himself, riding on a strong gray gelding. He turned in at the side of the dancing black giant, and for a moment he watched the magnificent play of muscles over the satiny body of the stallion.

  “You’ve trained him down fine, Camden,” he said. “Not too fine, I guess?”

  Camden smiled.

  “You’ve never raced hi
m before, you know,” said the sheriff, “except when you were running for your life . . . with me behind you.” He grinned at Camden, but there was no great store of friendliness in the smile.

  “I was aimin’ to free Manners,” he said quietly. “I guess you ain’t holdin’ ag’in’ me what I did to you, Sheriff?”

  The sheriff twisted up his face into a sour grin. “I’ll tell you this, Harry,” he managed to say at last. “No matter what happens, I’ll play with you fair and square. I won’t make no trouble for you, and I won’t hunt up no quarrels ag’in’ you that the law might find. And I don’t mind tellin’ you, Camden, that they’s some that would be plenty glad to see you jailed and kept there till the runnin’ of the race is over. But all you’ll get from me will be fair and square. Will you believe that?”

  “I’ll believe that, Sheriff,” said the wild man. “No gent that is a fair fightin’ man could ever want to step on a gent that was down.”

  “Down, Harry?”

  “I’m down when I get inside of that there town. I hate towns. They ain’t meant for me, I tell you. I hate ’em mighty bad. They crowd me. They don’t give me no chance to get by myself or to think my own kind of thoughts, I tell you. No, sir, I’ll be down so long as I’m in that there town of Jericho.”

  It amazed the sheriff to see the forlorn expression on his face, most like a child confronted by a great and baffling sorrow—a first day at school. He could not help smiling, but presently his smile darkened again.

  “I don’t mind tellin’you, Harry,” he said, “that the law has been stretched till it’s all plumb out of shape for the sake of what we’ve had to do for you. It was Colonel Dinsmore that saved your hash, young man. He come to me, and he talked pretty strong. And then he went along to the judge, and, finally, we decided that we’d give you one more chance. But understand, Camden, that you don’t have to do no more’n lift a hand while you’re in this here town, before I’ll have you arrested if I got to call out every armed man in the town, which they’s some considerable heap of men and guns in that town right now, young man.”