by Max Brand
The big roan swerved — the black in response to a word from his rider followed the motion — and then the miracle happened. A shadow plunged through the air; a weight thudded on the saddle of the roan; an iron hand jerked back the reins.
Red Pete hated men and feared them, but this new weight on his back was different. It was not the pressure on the reins which urged him to slow up; he had the bit in his teeth and no human hand could pull down his head; but into the blind love, blind terror, blind rage which makes up the consciousness of a horse entered a force which he had never known before. He realized suddenly that it was folly to attempt to throw off this clinging burden. He might as well try to jump out of his skin. His racing stride shortened to a halting gallop, this to a sharp trot, and in a moment more he was turned and headed back for Morgan’s place. The black, who had followed, turned at the same time like a dog and followed with jouncing bridle reins. Black Bart, with lolling red tongue, ran under his head, looking up to the stallion now and again with a comical air of proprietorship, as if he were showing the way.
It was very strange to Red Pete. He pranced sideways a little and shook his head up and down in an effort to regain his former temper, but that iron hand kept his nose down, now, and that quiet voice sounded above him — no cursing, no raking of sharp spurs to torture his tender flanks, no whir of the quirt, but a calm voice of authority and understanding. Red Pete broke into an easy canter and in this fashion they came up to Morgan in the road. Red Pete snorted and started to shy, for he recognized the clumsy, bouncing weight which had insulted his back not long before; but this quiet voiced master reassured him, and he came to a halt.
“That red devil has cost me a hundred bones and all the skin on my knees,” groaned Morgan, “and I can hardly walk. Damn his eyes. But say, Dan” — and his eyes glowed with an admiration which made him momentarily forget his pains— “that was some circus stunt you done down the road there — that changin’ of saddles on the run, I never seen the equal of it!”
“If you got hurt in the fall,” said Dan quietly, overlooking the latter part of the speech, “why don’t you climb onto Satan. He’ll take you back.”
Morgan laughed.
“Say, kid, I’d take a chance with Satan, but there ain’t any hospital for fools handy.”
“Go ahead. He won’t stir a foot. Steady, Satan!”
“All right,” said Morgan, “every step is sure like pullin’ teeth!”
He ventured closer to the black stallion, but was stopped short. Black Bart was suddenly changed to a green-eyed devil, his hair bristling around his shoulders, his teeth bared, and a snarl that came from the heart of a killer. Satan also greeted his proposed rider with ears laid flat back on his neck and a quivering anger.
“If I’m goin’ to ride Satan,” declared Morgan, “I got to shoot the dog first and then blindfold the hoss.”
“No you don’t,” said Dan. “No one else has ever had a seat on Satan, but I got an idea he’ll make an exception for a sort of temporary cripple. Steady, boy. Here you, Bart, come over here an’ keep your face shut!”
The dog, after a glance at his master, moved reluctantly away, keeping his eyes upon Morgan. Satan backed away with a snort. He stopped at the command of Dan, but when Morgan laid a hand on the bridle and spoke to him he trembled with fear and anger. The saloon-keeper turned away.
“Thankin’ you jest the same, Dan,” he said, “I think I c’n walk back. I’d as soon ride a tame tornado as that hoss.”
He limped on down the road with Dan riding beside him. Black Bart slunk at his heels, sniffing.
“Dan, I’m goin’ to ask you a favour — an’ a big one; will you do it for me?”
“Sure,” said Whistling Dan. “Anything I can.”
“There’s a skunk down there with a bad eye an’ a gun that jumps out of its leather like it had a mind of its own. He picked me for fifty bucks by nailing a dollar I tossed up at twenty yards. Then he gets a hundred because I couldn’t ride this hoss of his. Which he’s made a plumb fool of me, Dan. Now I was tellin’ him about you — maybe I was sort of exaggeratin’ — an’ I said you could have your back turned when the coins was tossed an’ then pick off four dollars before they hit the ground. I made it a bit high, Dan?”
His eyes were wistful.
“Nick four round boys before they hit the dust?” said Dan. “Maybe I could, I don’t know. I can’t try it, anyway, Morgan, because I told Dad Cumberland I’d never pull a gun while there was a crowd aroun’.”
Morgan sighed; he hesitated, and then: “But you promised you’d do me a favour, Dan?”
The rider started.
“I forgot about that — I didn’t think—”
“It’s only to do a shootin’ trick,” said Morgan eagerly. “It ain’t pullin’ a gun on any one. Why, lad, if you’ll tell me you got a ghost of a chance, I’ll bet every cent in my cash drawer on you agin that skunk! You’ve give me your word, Dan.”
Whistling Dan shrugged his shoulders.
“I’ve given you my word,” he said, “an’ I’ll do it. But I guess Dad Cumberland’ll be mighty sore on me.”
A laugh rose from the crowd at Morgan’s place, which they were nearing rapidly. It was like a mocking comment on Dan’s speech. As they came closer they could see money changing hands in all directions.
“What’d you do to my hoss?” asked Jim Silent, walking out to meet them.
“He hypnotized him,” said Hal Purvis, and his lips twisted over yellow teeth into a grin of satisfaction.
“Git out of the saddle damn quick,” growled Silent. “It ain’t nacheral he’d let you ride him like he was a plough-hoss. An’ if you’ve tried any fancy stunts, I’ll—”
“Take it easy,” said Purvis as Dan slipped from the saddle without showing the slightest anger. “Take it easy. You’re a bum loser. When I seen the black settle down to his work,” he explained to Dan with another grin, “I knowed he’d nail him in the end an’ I staked twenty on you agin my friend here! That was sure a slick change of hosses you made.”
There were other losers. Money chinked on all sides to an accompaniment of laughter and curses. Jim Silent was examining the roan with a scowl, while Bill Kilduff and Hal Purvis approached Satan to look over his points. Purvis reached out towards the bridle when a murderous snarl at his feet made him jump back with a shout. He stood with his gun poised, facing Black Bart.
“Who’s got any money to bet this damn wolf lives more’n five seconds?” he said savagely.
“I have,” said Dan.
“Who in hell are you? What d’you mean by trailing this man-killer around?”
He turned to Dan with his gun still poised.
“Bart ain’t a killer,” said Dan, and the gentleness of his voice was oil on troubled waters, “but he gets peeved when a stranger comes nigh to the hoss.”
“All right this time,” said Purvis, slowly restoring his gun to its holster, “but if this wolf of yours looks cross-eyed at me agin he’ll hit the long trail that ain’t got any end, savvy?”
“Sure,” said Dan, and his soft brown eyes smiled placatingly.
Purvis kept his right hand close to the butt of his gun and his eyes glinted as if he expected an answer somewhat stronger than words. At this mild acquiesence he turned away, sneering. Silent, having discovered that he could find no fault with Dan’s treatment of his horse, now approached with an ominously thin-lipped smile. Lee Haines read his face and came to his side with a whisper: “Better cut out the rough stuff, Jim. This hasn’t hurt anything but your cash, and he’s already taken water from Purvis. I guess there’s no call for you to make any play.”
“Shut your face, Haines,” responded Silent, in the same tone. “He’s made a fool of me by showin’ up my hoss, an’ by God I’m goin’ to give him a man- handlin’ he’ll never forgit.”
He whirled on Morgan.
“How about it, bar-keep, is this the dead shot you was spillin’ so many words about?”
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p; Dan, as if he could not understand the broad insult, merely smiled at him with marvellous good nature.
“Keep away from him, stranger,” warned Morgan. “Jest because he rode your hoss you ain’t got a cause to hunt trouble with him. He’s been taught not to fight.”
Silent, still looking Dan over with insolent eyes, replied: “He sure sticks to his daddy’s lessons. Nice an’ quiet an’ house broke, ain’t he? In my part of the country they dress this kind of a man in gal’s clothes so’s nobody’ll ever get sore at him an’ spoil his pretty face. Better go home to your ma. This ain’t any place for you. They’s men aroun’ here.”
There was another one of those grimly expectant hushes and then a general guffaw; Dan showed no inclination to take offence. He merely stared at brawny Jim Silent with a sort of childlike wonder.
“All right,” he said meekly, “if I ain’t wanted around here I figger there ain’t any cause why I should stay. You don’t figger to be peeved at me, do you?”
The laughter changed to a veritable yell of delight. Even Silent smiled with careless contempt.
“No, kid,” he answered, “if I was peeved at you, you’d learn it without askin’ questions.”
He turned slowly away.
“Maybe I got jaundice, boys,” he said to the crowd, “but it seems to me I see something kind of yellow around here!”
The delightful subtlety of this remark roused another side-shaking burst of merriment. Dan shook his head as if the mystery were beyond his comprehension, and looked to Morgan for an explanation. The saloon-keeper approached him, struggling with a grin.
“It’s all right, Dan,” he said. “Don’t let ’em rile you.”
“You ain’t got any cause to fear that,” said Silent, “because it can’t be done.”
5. FOUR IN THE AIR
DAN LOOKED FROM Morgan to Silent and back again for understanding. He felt that something was wrong, but what it was he had not the slightest idea. For many years old Joe Cumberland had patiently taught him that the last offence against God and man was to fight. The old cattleman had instilled in him the belief that if he did not cross the path of another, no one would cross his way. The code was perfect and satisfying. He would let the world alone and the world would not trouble him. The placid current of his life had never come to “white waters” of wrath.
Wherefore he gazed bewildered about him. They were laughing — they were laughing unpleasantly at him as he had seen men laugh at a fiery young colt which struggled against the rope. It was very strange. They could not mean harm. Therefore he smiled back at them rather uncertainly. Morgan slapped at his shoulder by way of good-fellowship and to hearten him, but Dan slipped away under the extended hand with a motion as subtle and swift as the twist of a snake when it flees for its hole. He had a deep aversion for contact with another man’s body. He hated it as the wild horse hates the shadow of the flying rope.
“Steady up, pal,” said Morgan, “the lads mean no harm. That tall man is considerable riled; which he’ll now bet his sombrero agin you when it comes to shootin’.”
He turned back to Silent.
“Look here, partner,” he said, “this is the man I said could nail the four dollars before they hit the dust. I figger you don’t think how it can be done, eh?”
“Him?” said Silent in deep disgust. “Send him back to his ma before somebody musses him all up! Why, he don’t even pack a gun!”
Morgan waited a long moment so that the little silence would make his next speech impressive.
“Stranger,” he said, “I’ve still got somewhere in the neighbourhood of five hundred dollars in that cash drawer. An’ every cent of it hollers that Dan can do what I said.”
Silent hesitated. His code was loose, but he did not like to take advantage of a drunk or a crazy man. However, five hundred dollars was five hundred dollars. Moreover that handsome fellow who had just taken water from Hal Purvis and was now smiling foolishly at his own shame, had actually ridden Red Peter. The remembrance infuriated Silent.
“Hurry up,” said Morgan confidently. “I dunno what you’re thinkin’, stranger. Which I’m kind of deaf an’ I don’t understand the way anything talks except money.”
“Corral that talk, Morgan!” called a voice from the crowd, “you’re plumb locoed if you think any man in the world can get away with a stunt like that! Pick four in the air!”
“You keep your jaw for yourself,” said Silent angrily, “if he wants to donate a little more money to charity, let him do it. Morgan, I’ve got five hundred here to cover your stake.”
“Make him give you odds, Morgan,” said another voice, “because—”
A glance from Silent cut the suggestion short. After that there was little loud conversation. The stakes were large. The excitement made the men hush the very tones in which they spoke. Morgan moistened his white lips.
“You c’n see I’m not packin’ any shootin’ irons,” said Dan. “Has anybody got any suggestions?”
Every gun in the crowd was instantly at his service. They were heartily tempted to despise Dan, but as one with the courage to attempt the impossible, they would help him as far as they could. He took their guns one after the other, weighed them, tried the action, and handed them back. It was almost as if there were a separate intelligence in the ends of his fingers which informed him of the qualities of each weapon.
“Nice gun,” he said to the first man whose revolver he handled, “but I don’t like a barrel that’s quite so heavy. There’s a whole ounce too much in the barrel.”
“What d’you mean?” asked the cowpuncher. “I’ve packed that gun for pretty nigh eight years!”
“Sorry,” said Dan passing on, “but I can’t work right with a top-heavy gun.”
The next weapon he handed back almost at once.
“What’s the matter with that?” asked the owner aggressively.
“Cylinder too tight,” said Dan decisively, and a moment later to another man, “Bad handle. I don’t like the feel of it.”
Over Jim Silent’s guns he paused longer than over most of the rest, but finally he handed them back. The big man scowled.
Dan looked back to him in gentle surprise.
“You see,” he explained quietly, “you got to handle a gun like a horse. If you don’t treat it right it won’t treat you right. That’s all I know about it. Your gun ain’t very clean, stranger, an’ a gun that ain’t kept clean gets off feet.”
Silent glanced at his weapons, cursed softly, and restored them to the holsters.
“Lee,” he muttered to Haines, who stood next to him, “what do you think he meant by that? D’ you figger he’s got somethin’ up his sleeve, an’ that’s why he acts so like a damned woman?”
“I don’t know,” said Haines gravely, “he looks to me sort of queer — sort of different — damned different, chief!”
By this time Dan had secured a second gun which suited him. He whirled both guns, tried their actions alternately, and then announced that he was ready. In the dead silence, one of the men paced off the twenty yards.
Dan, with his back turned, stood at the mark, shifting his revolvers easily in his hands, and smiling down at them as if they could understand his caress.
“How you feelin’, Dan?” asked Morgan anxiously.
“Everything fine,” he answered.
“Are you gettin’ weak?”
“No, I’m all right.”
“Steady up, partner.”
“Steady up? Look at my hand!”
Dan extended his arm. There was not a quiver in it.
“All right, Dan. When you’re shootin’, remember that I got pretty close to everything I own staked on you. There’s the stranger gettin’ his four dollars ready.”
Silent took his place with the four dollars in his hand.
“Are you ready?” he called.
“Let her go!” said Dan, apparently without the least excitement.
Jim Silent threw the coins, and he threw them
so as to increase his chances as much as possible. A little snap of his hand gave them a rapid rotary motion so that each one was merely a speck of winking light. He flung them high, for it was probable that Whistling Dan would wait to shoot until they were on the way down. The higher he threw them the more rapidly they would be travelling when they crossed the level of the markman’s eye.
As a shout proclaimed the throwing of the coins, Dan whirled, and it seemed to the bystanders that a revolver exploded before he was fully turned; but one of the coins never rose to the height of the throw. There was a light “cling!” and it spun a dozen yards away. Two more shots blended almost together; two more dollars darted away in twinkling streaks of light. One coin still fell, but when it was a few inches from the earth a six-shooter barked again and the fourth dollar glanced sidewise into the dust. It takes long to describe the feat. Actually, the four shots consumed less than a second of time.
“That last dollar,” said Dan, and his soft voice was the first sound out of the silence, “wasn’t good. It didn’t ring true. Counterfeit?”
It seemed that no one heard his words. The men were making a wild scramble for the dollars. They dived into the dust for them, rising white of face and clothes to fight and struggle over their prizes. Those dollars with the chips and neat round holes in them would confirm the truth of a story that the most credulous might be tempted to laugh or scorn. A cowpuncher offered ten dollars for one of the relics — but none would part with a prize.
The moment the shooting was over Dan stepped quietly back and restored the guns to the owners. The first man seized his weapon carelessly. He was in the midst of his rush after one of the chipped coins. The other cowpuncher received his weapon almost with reverence.