Delphi Collected Works of Max Brand US

by Max Brand

  She hated them for some reasons; she feared them for others; but the brave blood of Joe Cumberland was thick in her and she loved the danger of the coming moment. Their plans were finally agreed upon, their masks arranged, and after Haines had tied a similar visor over Kate’s face, they started down the hill at a swinging gallop.

  In front of the house of the station-agent they drew up, and while the others were at their horses, Lee Haines dismounted and rapped loudly at the door. It was opened by a grey-bearded man smoking a pipe. Haines covered him. He tossed up his hands and the pipe dropped from his mouth.

  “Who’s in the house here with you?” asked Haines.

  “Not a soul!” stammered the man. “If you’re lookin’ for money you c’n run through the house. You won’t find a thing worth takin’.”

  “I don’t want money. I want you,” said Haines; and immediately explained, “you’re perfectly safe. All you have to do is to be obliging. As for the money, you just throw open that switch and flag the train when she rolls along in a few moments. We’ll take care of the rest. You don’t have to keep your hands up.”

  The hands came down slowly. For a brief instant the agent surveyed Haines and the group of masked men who sat their horses a few paces away, and then without a word he picked up his flag from behind the door and walked out of the house. Throughout the affair he never uttered a syllable. Haines walked up to the head of the siding with him while he opened the switch and accompanied him back to the point opposite the station-house to see that he gave the “stop” signal correctly. In the meantime two of the other outlaws entered the little station, bound the telegrapher hand and foot, and shattered his instrument. That would prevent the sending of any call for help after the hold-up. Purvis and Jordan (since Terry could shoot with his left hand in case of need) went to the other side of the track and lay down against the grade. It was their business to open fire on the tops of the windows as the train drew to a stop. That would keep the passengers inside. The other four were distributed along the side nearest to the station-house. Shorty Rhinehart and Bill Kilduff were to see that no passengers broke out from the train and attempted a flank attack. Haines would attend to having the fire box of the engine flooded. For the cracking of the safe, Silent carried the stick of dynamite.

  Now the long wait began. There is a dreamlike quality about bright mornings in the open country, and everything seemed unreal to Kate. It was impossible that tragedy should come on such a day. The moments stole on. She saw Silent glance twice at his watch and scowl. Evidently the train was late and possibly they would give up the attempt. Then a light humming caught her ear.

  She held her breath and listened again. It was unmistakable — a slight thing — a tremor to be felt rather than heard. She saw Haines peering under shaded eyes far down the track, and following the direction of his gaze she saw a tiny spot of haze on the horizon. The tiny puff of smoke developed to a deeper, louder note. The station-agent took his place on the track.

  Now the train bulked big, the engine wavering slightly to the unevenness of the road bed. The flag of the station-agent moved. Kate closed her eyes and set her teeth. There was a rumbling and puffing and a mighty grinding — a shout somewhere — the rattle of a score of pistol shots — she opened her eyes to see the train rolling to a stop on the siding directly before her.

  Kilduff and Shorty Rhinehart, crouching against the grade, were splintering the windows one by one with nicely placed shots. The baggage-cars were farther up the siding than Silent calculated. He and Haines now ran towards the head of the train.

  The fireman and engineer jumped from their cab, holding their arms stiffly above their heads; and Haines approached with poised revolver to make them flood the fire box. In this way the train would be delayed for some time and before it could send out the alarm the bandits would be far from pursuit. Haines had already reached the locomotive and Silent was running towards the first baggage-car when the door of that car slid open and at the entrance appeared two men with rifles at their shoulders. As they opened fire Silent pitched to the ground. Kate set her teeth and forced her eyes to stay open.

  Even as the outlaw fell his revolver spoke and one of the men threw up his hands with a yell and pitched out of the open door. His companion still kept his post, pumping shots at the prone figure. Twice more the muzzle of Silent’s gun jerked up and the second man crumpled on the floor of the car.

  A great hissing and a jetting cloud of steam announced that Haines had succeeded in flooding the fire box. Silent climbed into the first baggage-car, stepping, as he did so, on the limp body of the Wells Fargo agent, who lay on the road bed. A moment later he flung out the body of the second messenger. The man flopped on the ground heavily, face downwards, and then — greatest horror of all! — dragged himself to his hands and knees and began to crawl laboriously. Kate ran and dropped to her knees beside him.

  “Are you hurt badly?” she pleaded. “Where? Where?”

  He sagged to the ground and lay on his left side, breathing heavily.

  “Where is the wound?” she repeated.

  He attempted to speak, but only a bloody froth came to his lips. That was sufficient to tell her that he had been shot through the lungs.

  She tore open his shirt and found two purple spots high on the chest, one to the right, and one to the left. From that on the left ran a tiny trickle of blood, but that on the right was only a small puncture in the midst of a bruise. He was far past all help.

  “Speak to me!” she pleaded.

  His eyes rolled and then checked on her face.

  “Done for,” he said in a horrible whisper, “that devil done me. Kid — cut out — this life. I’ve played this game — myself — an’ now — I’m goin’ — to hell for it!”

  A great convulsion twisted his face.

  “What can I do?” cried Kate.

  “Tell the world — I died — game!”

  His body writhed, and in the last agony his hand closed hard over hers. It was like a silent farewell, that strong clasp.

  A great hand caught her by the shoulder and jerked her to her feet.

  “The charge is goin’ off! Jump for it!” shouted Silent in her ear.

  She sprang up and at the same time there was a great boom from within the car. The side bulged out — a section of the top lifted and fell back with a crash — and Silent ran back into the smoke. Haines, Purvis, and Kilduff were instantly at the car, taking the ponderous little canvas sacks of coin as their chief handed them out.

  Within two minutes after the explosion ten small sacks were deposited in the saddlebags on the horses which stood before the station-house. Silent’s whistle called in Terry Jordan and Shorty Rhinehart — a sharp order forced Kate to climb into her saddle — and the train robbers struck up the hillside at a racing pace. A confused shouting rose behind them. Rifles commenced to crack where some of the passengers had taken up the weapons of the dead guards, but the bullets flew wide, and the little troop was soon safely out of range.

  On the other side of the hill-top they changed their course to the right. For half an hour the killing pace continued, and then, as there was not a sign of immediate chase, the long riders drew down to a soberer pace. Silent called: “Keep bunched behind me. We’re headed for the old Salton place — an’ a long rest.”

  19. REAL MEN

  SOME PEOPLE POINTED out that Sheriff Gus Morris had never made a single important arrest in the ten years during which he had held office, and there were a few slanderers who spoke insinuatingly of the manner in which the long riders flourished in Morris’s domain. These “knockers,” however, were voted down by the vast majority, who swore that the sheriff was the finest fellow who ever threw leg over saddle. They liked him for his inexhaustible good-nature, the mellow baritone in which he sang the range songs at any one’s request, and perhaps more than all, for the very laxness with which he conducted his work. They had had enough of the old school of sheriffs who lived a few months gun in hand and di
ed fighting from the saddle. The office had never seemed desirable until Gus Morris ran for it and smiled his way to a triumphant election.

  Before his career as an office-holder began, he ran a combined general merchandise store, saloon, and hotel. That is to say, he ran the hostelry in name. The real executive head, general manager, clerk, bookkeeper, and cook, and sometimes even bartender was his daughter, Jacqueline. She found the place only a saloon, and a poorly patronized one at that. Her unaided energy gradually made it into a hotel, restaurant, and store. Even while her father was in office he spent most of his time around the hotel; but no matter how important he might be elsewhere, in his own house he had no voice. There the only law was the will of Jacqueline.

  Out of the stable behind this hostelry Dan and Tex Calder walked on the evening of the train robbery. They had reached the place of the hold-up a full two hours after Silent’s crew departed; and the fireman and engineer had been working frantically during the interim to clean out the soaked fire box and get up steam again. Tex looked at the two dead bodies, spoke to the conductor, and then cut short the voluble explanations of a score of passengers by turning his horse and riding away, followed by Dan. All that day he was gloomily silent. It was a shrewd blow at his reputation, for the outlaws had actually carried out the robbery while he was on their trail. Not till they came out of the horse- shed after stabling their horses did he speak freely.

  “Dan,” he said, “do you know anything about Sheriff Gus Morris?”

  “No”

  “Then listen to this and salt every word away. I’m an officer of the law, but I won’t tell that to Morris. I hope he doesn’t know me. If he does it will spoil our game. I am almost certain he is playing a close hand with the long riders. I’ll wager he’d rather see a stick of dynamite than a marshal. Remember when we get in that place that we’re not after Jim Silent or any one else. We’re simply traveling cowboys. No questions. I expect to learn something about the location of Silent’s gang while we’re here, but we’ll never find out except by hints and chance remarks. We have to watch Morris like hawks. If he suspects us he’ll find a way to let Silent know we’re here and then the hunters will be hunted.”

  In the house they found a dozen cattlemen sitting down at the table in the dining-room. As they entered the room the sheriff, who sat at the head of the table, waved his hand to them.

  “H’ware ye, boys?” he called. “You’ll find a couple of chairs right in the next room. Got two extra plates, Jac?”

  As Dan followed Tex after the chairs he noticed the sheriff beckon to one of the men who sat near him. As they returned with the chairs someone was leaving the room by another door.

  “Tex,” he said, as they sat down side by side, “when we left the dining- room for the chairs, the sheriff spoke to one of the boys and as we came back one of them was leavin’ through another door. D’you think Morris knew you when you came in?”

  Calder frowned thoughtfully and then shook his head.

  “No,” he said in a low voice. “I watched him like a hawk when we entered. He didn’t bat an eye when he saw me. If he recognized me he’s the greatest actor in the world, bar none! No, Dan, he doesn’t know us from Adam and Abel.”

  “All right,” said Dan, “but I don’t like somethin’ about this place — maybe it’s the smell of the air. Tex, take my advice an’ keep your gun ready for the fastest draw you ever made.”

  “Don’t worry about me,” smiled Calder. “How about yourself?”

  “Hello,” broke in Jacqueline from the end of the table. “Look who we’ve picked in the draw!”

  Her voice was musical, but her accent and manner were those of a girl who has lived all her life among men and has caught their ways — with an exaggeration of that self-confidence which a woman always feels among Western men. Her blue eyes were upon Dan.

  “Ain’t you a long ways from home?” she went on.

  The rest of the table, perceiving the drift of her badgering, broke into a rumbling bass chuckle.

  “Quite a ways,” said Dan, and his wide brown eyes looked seriously back at her.

  A yell of delight came from the men at this naive rejoinder. Dan looked about him with a sort of childish wonder. Calder’s anxious whisper came at his side: “Don’t let them get you mad, Dan!” Jacqueline, having scored so heavily with her first shot, was by no means willing to give up her sport.

  “With them big eyes, for a starter,” she said, “all you need is long hair to be perfect. Do your folks generally let you run around like this?”

  Every man canted his ear to get the answer and already they were grinning expectantly.

  “I don’t go out much,” returned the soft voice of Dan, “an’ when I do, I go with my friend, here. He takes care of me.”

  Another thunder of laughter broke out. Jacqueline had apparently uncovered a tenderfoot, and a rare one even for that absurd species. A sandy- haired cattle puncher who sat close to Jacqueline now took the cue from the mistress of the house.

  “Ain’t you a bit scared when you get around among real men?” he asked, leering up the table towards Dan.

  The latter smiled gently upon him.

  “I reckon maybe I am,” he said amiably.

  “Then you must be shakin’ in your boots right now,” said the other over the sound of the laughter.

  “No, said Dan,” “I feel sort of comfortable.”

  The other replied with a frown that would have intimidated a balky horse.

  “What d’you mean? Ain’t you jest said men made you sort of — nervous?”

  He imitated the soft drawl of Dan with his last words and raised another yell of delight from the crowd. Whistling Dan turned his gentle eyes upon Jacqueline.

  “Pardon me, ma’am,” he began.

  An instant hush fell on the men. They would not miss one syllable of the delightful remarks of this rarest of all tenderfoots, and the prelude of this coming utterance promised something that would eclipse all that had gone before.

  “Talk right out, Brown-eyes,” said Jacqueline, wiping the tears of delight from her eyes. “Talk right out as if you was a man. I won’t hurt you.”

  “I jest wanted to ask,” said Dan, “if these are real men?”

  The ready laughter started, checked, and died suddenly away. The cattlemen looked at each other in puzzled surprise.

  “Don’t they look like it to you, honey?” asked Jacqueline curiously.

  Dan allowed his eyes to pass lingeringly around the table from face to face.

  “I dunno,” he said at last, “they look sort of queer to me.”

  “For God’s sake cut this short, Dan,” pleaded Tex Calder in an undertone. “Let them have all the rope they want. Don’t trip up our party before we get started.”

  “Queer?” echoed Jacqueline, and there was a deep murmur from the men.

  “Sure,” said Dan, smiling upon her again, “they all wear their guns so awful high.”

  Out of the dead silence broke the roar of the sandy-haired man: “What’n hell d’you mean by that?”

  Dan leaned forward on one elbow, his right hand free and resting on the edge of the table, but still his smile was almost a caress.

  “Why,” he said, “maybe you c’n explain it to me. Seems to me that all these guns is wore so high they’s more for ornament than use.”

  “You damned pup—” began Sandy.

  He stopped short and stared with a peculiar fascination at Dan, who started to speak again. His voice had changed — not greatly, for its pitch was the same and the drawl was the same — but there was a purr in it that made every man stiffen in his chair and make sure that his right hand was free. The ghost of his former smile was still on his lips, but it was his eyes that seemed to fascinate Sandy.

  “Maybe I’m wrong, partner,” he was saying, “an’ maybe you c’n prove that your gun ain’t jest ornamental hardware?”

  What followed was very strange. Sandy was a brave man and everyone at that table knew i
t. They waited for the inevitable to happen. They waited for Sandy’s lightning move for his gun. They waited for the flash and the crack of the revolver. It did not come. There followed a still more stunning wonder.

  “You c’n see,” went on that caressing voice of Dan, “that everyone is waitin’ for you to demonstrate — which the lady is most special interested.”

  And still Sandy did not move that significant right hand. It remained fixed in air a few inches above the table, the fingers stiffly spread. He moistened his white lips. Then — most strange of all! — his eyes shifted and wandered away from the face of Whistling Dan. The others exchanged incredulous glances. The impossible had happened — Sandy had taken water! The sheriff was the first to recover, though his forehead was shining with perspiration.

  “What’s all this stuff about?” he called. “Hey, Sandy, quit pickin’ trouble with the stranger!”

  Sandy seized the loophole through which to escape with his honour. He settled back in his chair.

  “All right, gov’nor,” he said, “I won’t go spoilin’ your furniture. I won’t hurt him.”

  20. ONE TRAIL ENDS

  BUT THIS DECEIVED no one. They had seen him palpably take water. A moment of silence followed, while Sandy stared whitefaced down at the table, avoiding all eyes; but all the elements of good breeding exist under all the roughness of the West. It was Jacqueline who began with a joke which was rather old, but everyone appreciated it — at that moment — and the laughter lasted long enough to restore some of the colour to Sandy’s face. A general rapid fire of talk followed.