by Max Brand
“D’you know why he wouldn’t take any credit away from me?” said Jerry.
“You mustn’t be mysterious about it.”
“I’m going to be as plain as day. Lou, he’s my father.”
He had expected a cry of fear and sorrow. Instead, she merely folded her hands and blinked at him.
“You know,” he explained, “that I’m not really the son of Jeff Peters. And tonight, when he heard what I’d done today, Jeff broke out and told the whole story … how my father had come to the store at midnight, twenty-three years ago, and made Jeff swear never to tell whose son I was, and how Jeff took the oath and promised to raise me up to be an honest man … and … Lou, are you going to take it like that?”
For she was backing toward the door. As she stepped back, the light struck across her face, and he saw that she was deathly white. He followed her a pace, but she threw up her hand.
“Don’t,” she whispered.
“You’re afraid,” said Jerry. “I might’ve known it. You’re afraid.”
“Dad!” screamed the girl.
Footfalls rushed toward them from the interior of the house. Mr. Donnell and Mark Donnell plunged out through the front door. And there they confronted Jerry and Lou with wonder.
“What on earth, Lou?” began her father.
She clung to him. “Send him away!” she cried. “Send him away!”
“What the devil have you been doing?” asked Donnell.
“He … he’s the son of the Black Muldoon!”
“Good Lord, Jerry, what nonsense have you been telling her?”
“The truth. The flat truth,” said Jerry Muldoon.
“Good Lord!” Donnell gasped.
And Mark Donnell’s hand instinctively sought his gun.
Jerry waited to see no more. He turned, walked slowly down the steps, and threw himself again into the saddle.
Behind him, as the roar of the hoofs began, came the voice of Donnell calling his name, but Jerry paid no heed and spurred harder on the road back to Custis.
IX
There was no one at the sheriff’s home. He was a minor figure on this great day. And when Jerry came in, the man of the law rose and greeted him with a restrained enthusiasm. In fact, he was sick of the name of Jerry, and the sight of him was very far from welcome.
“Sheriff,” said Jerry seriously, as he shook hands, “I’ve come around to have a little private talk with you.”
“Step in here, then.”
They went into the sheriff’s little office.
“Sheriff,” said Jerry, “I thought that I’d drop around and tell you that I don’t see this business the way the rest of ’em do. Not by a long shot. I know that I had no right to leave the posse …”
“It wasn’t a particular good example for discipline, I guess,” said the sheriff mildly. “Not even if it turned out good.”
“Sure,” said Jerry, “the luck just broke on my side. And I’m here to tell you that I know, if you’d been there, you would’ve done the job just as well as I did it.”
“I dunno about that, but …”
“Matter of fact,” said Jerry, “it’s too easy for folks to forget how much you’ve done.”
“Well, I can’t say but that there’s some truth in that, Jerry. And I’m sure glad to see that your head ain’t turned by what the boys been saying to you all today.”
“Well,” said Jerry, “I just wanted you to know what I felt, and that, the next time you picked a posse, I’d be plumb glad to ride with you, Sheriff, and I wouldn’t be breaking any orders the way I did today.”
The sheriff’s heart was touched. He wrung the hand of Jerry. “You’re a good lad, Jerry,” he said. “I always known it, but now I’m dead certain.”
By tomorrow, thought Jerry bitterly, he’ll know … and the whole town will know. Then what will they be saying about the son of the Black Muldoon? But he controlled his emotions so that he could continue to smile. Indeed, that he was able to act his part so easily in this interview was proof to him that the blood of Muldoon was clearly showing in him.
“But there was another thing,” he went on, wondering how it was that the Peters family had kept from spreading the news during the evening, “and the other thing was that when Muldoon tried to buy me off …”
“He tried to do that? The hound!”
“D’you blame him?” said Jerry. “But anyway, he offered me big money. He said that twenty-five thousand …”
“Twenty-five thousand!” exclaimed the sheriff.
“Apiece,” said Jerry. “That much for him and that much for me. That was what he offered.”
“Good Lord,” murmured the sheriff. “But then, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t have that much cached away. He’s stole that much ten times over.”
“But it sure seems too bad to me,” went on Jerry, “that all that money should go to waste.”
“It sure is a shame,” said the sheriff, “but there ain’t nothing that can be done, I guess.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“What’s in your mind, Jerry?”
“Suppose I go talk to him in the jail? Suppose I talk to him all alone. Suppose that while I’m there I make a bargain with him … if he’ll tell me where the money is cached, I’ll guarantee to get him loose?”
The sheriff bowed his head to conceal a sneer that twisted his lips. Such miserable bargaining was not at all to his taste, but if Jerry was willing to do the dirty work, he felt that he had no right to refuse.
“You go do the talking, son,” he suggested.
“But how’ll I be able to talk to him alone?”
“You and me’ll go down to the jail together. How does that suit you, old son? I’ll send the others home and let you take over the guarding of the jail. After what you done today, I guess that there won’t be none that kick at that idea.”
So they started at once and went down the street to the little square, stone-walled building that served in Custis as a jail. It was simple, and it was unpretentious, but from those massive walls no criminal had ever escaped. Such was the formidable record of the sheriff.
It was not difficult to dismiss the volunteer guards. Jerry was this day the most popular man in the town, and he could do very much as he pleased in all matters. He would have been allowed to guard a dozen Black Muldoons, single-handed, had he so desired.
So they cleared out, and the sheriff waved good-bye. Jerry was left alone with Bill Muldoon. The latter was lying on a cot in one of the two cells that filled most of the interior of the little building. He had put his hat over his face to shut out the light, and so soundly was he sleeping that, even through all the loud talk that had greeted the arrival of Jerry, he still kept on snoring. Jerry walked to the bars and looked him over.
Lying prone, the outlaw seemed more huge than ever. In spite of Jerry’s own size, he wondered how he could have stood for a moment before the assault of such a warrior.
“Muldoon!” he called.
The sleeper, who had remained impervious to all other sounds, responded instantly to the calling of his own name. He sat up, put the hat on his head, stood up, brushed back his mustaches, blinked his eyes, and on the instant was ready for whatever might come. Jerry could not but wonder at such prodigious self-control.
“So it’s you, eh?” said Muldoon, advancing toward the bars and looking Jerry up and down. “You’ve dropped in to let me see what a great man you are, eh? Well, kid, you lay to this. It ain’t you that beat me. It’s the law. The law always wins. It’s got loaded dice. And you … well, you just happened along at the right time, and the law used you for its tool. That’s all that you figure in on.”
Jerry smiled. “That’s all, eh?” he said.
“What else?” demanded the Black Muldoon. “If I had a chance at you again, I’d smash you to bits, you young hound.”
“Dad,” said Jerry, very pale, “you could have that chance, I suppose.”
“What?” said Muldoon, but his vo
ice lowered quickly. “What did you call me?”
“Jeff Peters has told me everything,” said Jerry quietly. “And I’ve come to set you free.”
“Jeff Peters? Jeff Peters?” echoed the bandit, as though he had never heard the name before.
“Yep, he’s the man,” said Jerry.
“And he told you … what?”
“How you came twenty-three years ago, about midnight, and made him take me in and promise to raise me like I was one of his sons.”
The Black Muldoon spread out his legs and hooked his thumbs into his belt. “So you’re the brat, eh? You’re the kid that I took to him that night?”
“I am,” said Jerry.
“Well,” said Muldoon, “Peters sure done a fine job in the raising of you. Might I be asking, did he teach you how to shoot, besides?”
Jerry watched him, amazed. There was no fatherly pride, no gleam of joyous recognition in the face of Muldoon.
“And you called me Dad on account of me bringing you to Peters?” said Muldoon.
“Didn’t you tell Peters that you were my father?” gasped out Jerry, as a flash of hope sprang into his breast.
“Tell Peters? Did I tell him that?” Suddenly the giant broke into tremendous laughter and smote his thighs with his hand. “By God,” he said, “I begin to remember chunks out of that night. And … it seems to me that I did tell the little storekeeper something like that.”
“And it wasn’t true?”
“No, you fool! Do you look like me? Nope, I picked you up out of a sheepherder’s cabin. He was dead, and his wife was dying. I watched her pass out, and then I picked you up and brought you along for luck. That’s all there was to it. I gave the storekeeper a yarn so’s he would be kept amused. And there you are.”
X
But Jerry, startled though he was, kept a steady eye fixed upon the outlaw, and it seemed to him, as he did so, that the fellow could hardly meet his gaze but, turning away, stalked up and down the cell and now and again indulged in fits of heavy laughter.
“Listen to me,” said Jerry suddenly, “if you can prove that you’re my father, Bill Muldoon, you go free out of this jail. I’ve come here for that reason. I’ve got the keys turned over to me. I’ve got guns for two. I’ve got a horse outside, and I can get another horse while we travel. Say the word, Bill, and you and me go on together and do what you was trying to buy and bribe me into doing this morning.”
Bill Muldoon halted in his pacing, strode to the bars with a muttered word of triumph, and then stepped back once more with an oath.
“I’ll see you to the devil, first,” he said. “I’ll see you to the devil before I call you any son of mine.”
But Jerry, watching very closely, saw that the face of the older man was shining with perspiration, and all of his great body was quivering and trembling as though with exhaustion. Suddenly Jerry unlocked the door to the cell and stepped in. Onto the bed of Muldoon he tossed a bunch of keys.
“There’s what’ll get you safely out of the jail,” he said. “And here’s a gun for you to start working with.” As he spoke, he passed a Colt into the hand of the Black Muldoon. “Muldoon,” he said, “if you’re not my father … if I’m only a stranger to you … the son of a sheepherder that you never knew … why, Muldoon, what’s to keep you from shooting your way out of this jail? Start going, for when you make a pass with your gun, I’ll know certain sure that you aren’t any father of mine. Start up some action.”
Bill Muldoon, facing him in anguish, suddenly tossed the gun from him with a shudder. “Jerry,” he said, his voice changing to a peculiar moan, “the Lord is witness that I didn’t ever want you to find out. And your mother that’s watching somewheres … she’ll sure put a curse on me for what I’ve done today.”
Jerry Muldoon thrust his own weapon back into the holster. He leaned by the iron bars only the fraction of a second. Then he stepped forward and held out his hand. At his touch the anguish melted wonderfully out of the eyes of the Black Muldoon, to be replaced by a sort of childish marvel.
“Dad,” said Jerry, “when I saw you up there on the roof of Custis Mountain, I must’ve known you. Something kept me from shooting when I had the bead drawn on you. It was something working in both of us, Dad, that kept us from doing a killing up yonder.”
“Jerry,” whispered the other.
“Aye, Dad?”
“D’ye mean it, Jerry? D’ye mean that you ain’t hating me and despising me and wishing me dead?”
“Me? Why in heaven’s name should I wish you dead?”
“Lad, I’ve busted my word to your mother. When she was a-dying with her heart plumb broken, I swore to her that I’d never let you know that a black Muldoon was your father. Because she knowed well enough that it might lead on to all kinds of bad luck in your life.”
The arm of Jerry Muldoon passed around the wide shoulders of his father.
“There’s only one thing worth thinking about,” he said, “and that is that you and I have found each other. And after that, the next thing in order is for us to get you out of this jail.”
“So that the blame of it can come on you, Jerry?”
“D’you think I could ever hold up my head among folks if they didn’t know that I’d done my best for my own father?”
“Jerry, I’m fighting hard to be honest and to do what’s right by you, but how can I talk against you?”
“You can’t, because it isn’t natural or right. Dad, we’re going to do what’s right for both of us. D’you think that I’m ashamed of being a Muldoon? I’m not. I’m glad to find out that I am one. It makes me a pile stronger. It makes me a pile surer of myself. It’s … it’s the biggest day in my life!”
He thought back to the girl he loved and the terror in her face as she had heard his true name and denied him. And in a fury he repeated: “To the devil with them that hate the Muldoons! There’ve been black Muldoons before … but now I’ll show them what a red Muldoon can do.”
“Jerry …”
“Only say you’ll do what I want for tonight.”
“I’ll do that, Jerry … and God bless you, lad. When I heard your name up yonder on the mountain, and when you told me that you came out of Custis, right off I knew you, and right off I begun to think what we two could do if we was to start teaming it together … y’understand, Jerry?”
“There’s nothing to keep me back,” declared Jerry. “I’ve busted loose from everything that might hold, Dad.”
“How come that? Jerry, is there a girl in it?”
“She got the horrors when she heard what my full name was,” said Jerry. “She got the horrors and called for help. Well … she’ll need no help to keep me away from her. Why should a Muldoon be ashamed? We’ve never backed down to no man that ever stepped, and why don’t we figure as well with a girl? But I’m through, Dad … I’m plumb through with the whole job.”
“Wait a minute,” said the father, his fleshy brow corrugated with thought. “Just wait a minute, Jerry boy. How long have you been fond of her?”
“That doesn’t count … about six years, maybe.”
“Six years … and that doesn’t count? Listen to me, Jerry. There was a time when I started to break loose from the old life. There was a time when I figured that one woman was worth more’n the whole rest of the world, Jerry. And so her and me got married and … so help me God … I fought to lead a clean and honest life. But it wasn’t no use. I’d done too much before. Folks found me out and hunted me down. They drove me away from her. They broke up our home. But right up to the very end, Jerry, I’ve always figured that one happy year with her to be worth more’n all the rest of my life rolled into a lump. D’you hear? And you, lad, haven’t made the break yet. You’ve been honest, so far. Maybe it’ll be a hard thing for you to live down … but, after a time, folks’ll see that you ain’t following in my footsteps. They’ll see that you’re trying to be square all around … and then you’ve got a happy chance for a real life opening up to you
. You understand, Jerry?”
“Dad,” said the boy solemnly, “you’re trying to hang yourself.”
“I’m an old man,” said the Black Muldoon. “I ain’t fifty, but I’ve lived enough to fill five hundred years. And I’m ready to die … I deserve to die.”
“It’s no good,” said Jerry. “Why … Dad … every word you speak simply makes me love you. Give you up? I’d go through anything for you.”
The father was silent for a long moment. At length he made a gesture of surrender.
“Go get the hosses, lad,” he said. “Before morning we’ll show them what two Muldoons can do. But first … before you go, Jerry, give me the picture of the girl.”
“What girl?”
“Give me her picture, I say!” roared the Black Muldoon suddenly, and Jerry, in humble obedience, took out his wallet and gave him the treasured picture.
“Now get out and rustle the hosses,” said Bill Muldoon. “There’s got to be a head in this family, and I reckon that I’m it.”
XI
That last sentence seemed to Jerry to reveal more of the true nature of his father than everything that had been said before. And, passing slowly up the street, he sketched to himself the life that was before him, the constant alarm, the many dangers, the brutal companions, the more brutal adventures. There would be the first robbery, the first holdup, the first safecracking, the first murder!
Yes, call it what they would, a battle of guns between one possessing his skill and an ordinary man was nothing better than a murder. Many a brave man in the West, Jerry knew, had accepted a challenge and fought a fight of which he knew, before the start, the inevitable outcome. But in such battles as these, he loathed the thought of himself as the aggressor.
There would be ruthless raiding of houses in search of provisions. There would be the stealing of horses in the midst of pursuits. There would be stealthy night approaches and sudden flights. There would be the price laid upon his head, as it was laid upon the head of his father. These were the thoughts that thronged in the unhappy brain of Jerry Muldoon as he went up the street of Custis, wondering why God permitted such unhappiness in any man.