by Max Brand
Mrs. Sommers flung away from the door.
“Then go and marry your man-killer!”
But Betty Neal was already clattering down the stairs. Half way to the bottom her strength and courage ebbed suddenly from her; she went on with short steps, and when at last she closed the parlor door behind her, she was staring as if she looked at a ghost.
Yet Vic Gregg was not greatly changed — a little thinner perhaps, and just now he certainly did not have his usual color. The moment she appeared he jumped to his feet as if he had heard a shot, and now he stood with his feet braced a little to meet a shock, one hand twitching and playing nervously with the embroidered cloth on the table. She did not speak; merely stood with her fingers still gripping the handle of the door as if she were ready to dart away at the first alarm. A wave of pain went over the face of Vic Gregg and remained looking at her out of his eyes, for all that his single-track, concentrated mind could perceive in her was the thing he took for fear.
“Miss Neal,” he said. His voice shook, straightened out again. He made her think of one of her big school boys who had forgotten his lesson and now stood cudgeling his memory and dreading that terrible nightmare of “staying after school.” She had a wild desire to laugh.
“Miss Neal, I ain’t here to try to take up things that can’t be took up ag’in.” Apparently he had prepared the speech carefully, and now he went on with more ease: “I’m leavin’ these here parts for some place unknown. Before I go I jest want to say I know I was wrong from the beginnin’. All I want to say is that I was jest all sort of tied up in a knot inside and when I seen you with him—” He stopped. “I hope you marry some gent that’s worth you, only they ain’t any such. An’ — I want to wish you good-luck, an’ say good-by—”
He swept the perspiration from his forehead, and caught up his hat; he had been through the seventh circle of torture.
“Oh, Vic, dear!” cried a voice he had never heard before. Then a flurry of skirts, then arms about him, then tears and laughter, and eyes which went hungrily over his face.
“I been a houn’-dog. My God, Betty, you don’t mean—”
“That I love you, Vic. I never knew what it was to love you before.”
“After I been a man-killin’, lyin’, sneakin’—”
“Don’t you say another word. Vic, it was all my fault.”
“It wasn’t. It was mine. But if you’d only kind of held off a little and gone easy with me”
“You didn’t give me a chance.”
“When I looked back from the road you wasn’t standin’ in the door.”
“I was. And you didn’t look back.”
“I did.”
“Vic Gregg, are you trying to—”
But the anger fled from her as suddenly as it had come.
“I don’t care. I’ll take all the blame.”
“I don’t want you to. I won’t let you.”
She laughed hysterically.
“Vic, tell me that you’re free?”
“I’m paroled.”
“Thank God! Oh, I’ve prayed and prayed — Vic, don’t talk. Sit down there — so! I just want to look and look at you. There’s a hollow, hungry place in me that’s filling up again.”
“It was Pete Glass,” said Gregg brokenly. “He — he trusted me clean through when the rest was lookin’ at me like I was a snake. Pete got word to the governor, an’—”
There followed a long interval of talk that meant nothing, and then, as the afternoon waned towards evening, and the evening toward dark, he told her the whole story of the long adventure. He left out nothing, not a detail that might tell against him. When he came to the moment when Glass persuaded him to go back and betray Barry he winced, but set his jaw and plunged ahead. She, too, paled when she heard that, and for a moment she had to cover her eyes, but she was older by half a life-time than she had been when he was last with her, and now she read below the surface. Besides, Vic had offered to undo what he had done, had offered to stay and fight for Barry, and surely that evened the score!
There was a light rap on the door, and then Mrs. Sommers came in with a tray.
“Maybe you young folks forgot about supper,” she said. “I just thought I’d bring in a bite for you.”
She placed it on the table, and then lingered, delighted, while her eyes went over them together and one by one. Perhaps Betty Neal was a fool for throwing herself away on a gun-fighter, but at least Mrs. Sommers was furnished with a story which half Alder would know by tomorrow. The walls of her house were not sound proof. Besides, Mrs. Sommers had remarkably keen ears.
“They’s been a gentleman here ask for you, Vic,” she said, “but I thought maybe you wouldn’t like it much to be disturbed. So I told him you wasn’t here.”
Her smile fairly glowed with triumph.
“Thanks,” said Gregg, “but who was he?”
“I never seen him before. Anyway, it didn’t much matter. He wanted to see some of the rest of the boys quite bad: Pete Glass and Ronicky Joe, and Sliver Waldron, and Gus Reeve. He seemed to want to see ’em all particular bad.”
“Pete Glass and Ronicky and — the posse!” murmured Vic. He grew thoughtful. “He wanted to see me, too?”
“Very particular, and he seemed kind of down-hearted when he found that Pete was out of town. Wanted to know when he might be back.”
“What sort of a lookin’ gent was he?” asked Vic, and his voice was sharp.
“Him? Oh, he looked like a tenderfoot to me. Terrible polite, though, and he had a voice that wasn’t hardly rougher’n a girl’s. Seemed like he was sort of embarrassed jest talkin’ to me.” She smiled at the thought, but Gregg was on his feet now, his hands on the shoulders of Mrs. Sommers as though he would try to shake information from her loose bulk.
“Look quick, now,” he said. “Where did you send him?”
“How you talk! Why, where should I send him? I told him like as not Ronicky and Sliver and Gus would be down to Lorrimer’s—”
The groan of Vic made her stop with a gasp.
“What did be look like?”
Mrs. Sommers was very sober. Her smile congealed.
“Black hair, and young, and good-lookin’, and b-b-brown eyes, and—”
“God!”
“Vic,” cried Betty Neal, “what is it!” She looked around her in terror.
“It’s Barry.”
He turned towards the door, and then stopped, in an agony of indecision. Betty Neal was before him, blocking the way with her arms outstretched.
“Vic, you shan’t go. You shan’t go. You’ve told me yourself that he’s sure death.”
“God knows he is.”
“You won’t go, Vic?”
“But the others! Ronicky — Gus—”
She stammered in her fear.
“That’s their lookout! They’re three to one. Let them kill—”
“But they don’t know him. They’ve never been close enough to see his face. Besides, no three men I — he — for God’s sake tell me what to do!”
“Stay here — if you love me. I won’t let you go. I won’t!”
“I got to warn them.”
“You’ll be killed!”
He tore away her hands.
“I got to warn them — but who’ll I help? Them three against Dan? He saved me — twice! But — I got. I got to go.”
“If you fight for him first he’ll only turn on you afterwards. Vic, stay here.”
“What good’s my life? What good’s it if I’m a yaller dog ag’in? I’m goin’ out — and be a man!”
22. THE FIFTH MAN
THE MOMENT VIC Gregg stood in the open air, with the last appeal of Betty ringing still at his ear, he felt a profound conviction that he was about to die and he stood a moment breathing deeply, taking the faint alkali scent of the dust and looking up to the stars. It was that moment when night blends with day and there is no sign of light in the sky except that the stars burn more and more bright as the darkn
ess thickens, and Vic Gregg watched the stars draw down more closely and believed that he was seeing this for the last time. Alder seemed inexpressibly dear to him as he stood there through a little space, and the vaguely discernible outlines of the shacks along the street were like the faces of friends. In that house behind him was Betty Neal, waiting, praying for him, and indeed, had it not been for shame, he would have weakened now and turned back. For he hardly knew which way to turn. He wanted to save Ronicky and the other two from the attack of Barry, yet he would not lay a trap for Dan. To Barry he owed a vast debt; his debt to the three was that which any human being owes to another. He had to save them from the wolf which ran through the night in the body of a man.
That thought sent him at a run for Captain Lorrimer’s saloon. It was lighted brilliantly by the gasoline lamp within, but a short distance away from it he heard no sound and his imagination drew a terrible picture of the big, empty room, with three dead men lying in the center of it where the destroyer had reached them one by one. That was what took the blood from his face and made him a white mask of tragedy when he stepped into the door of the saloon. It was quiet, but half a dozen men sat at the tables in the corner, and among them were Ronicky and the other two. Sliver Waldron was in the very act of pulling back his chair, and perhaps all three had just come in. Perhaps Barry had come here to look for his quarry and found them not yet arrived; perhaps he was now hunting in other places through the town; perhaps he was even now crouched in the shadow near at hand and ready to attack.
It made the hand of Vic Gregg contract with a cruel pressure when it fell on the shoulder of Sliver Waldron.
“Now, what in hell!” grunted that hardened warrior.
He had no love for Vic Gregg since that day when the posse rode through the hills after him; neither had Ronicky or Gus Reeve, who rose from their chairs as if at a signal. “Come with me, gents,” said Vic. “An’ come quick!”
They asked no questions and did not stay to argue the point for he had that in his face which meant action. He led them outside, and behind the horse shed of the saloon.
“We’re alone?” he asked.
“Nothin’ in sight.”
“Look sharp.”
They peered about them through the night, and a wan moon only helped to make the darkness visible.
“Gents, we may be alone now, but we ain’t goin’ to be alone long. Get your bosses and ride like hell. Barry is in town!”
“Vic, you’re drunk.”
“I tell you, he’s been seen—”
“Then by God,” growled Sliver Waldron, “lead me to him. I need to have a little talk with that gent.”
“Lead you to him?” echoed Vic Gregg. “Sliver, are you hungerin’ to push daisies?”
“Look here, Bud,” answered the older man, and he laid a hand on the shoulder of Vic. “You been with this Barry, gent, and you’ve lived in his house. D’you mean to say you’re one of the lot that talks about him like he was a ghost bullets couldn’t harm? I tell you, son, they’s been so much chatter about him that folks forget he’s human. I’m goin’ to remind ’em of that little fact.”
Vic Gregg groaned. Even while he talked he was glancing over his shoulder as if he feared the shadows under the moon. His voice was half gasp, half whisper.
“Sliver — Ronicky — don’t ask me how I know — jest believe me when I say Dan Barry’ll never die by the hand of any man. I tell you — he can see in the dark!”
A soft oath from Gus Reeve; a twitching of Ronicky’s head told that this last had taken effect. Sliver Waldron suddenly altered his manner.
“All right, Vic. Trot back into town, or come with us. We’re going to move out.”
“The wisest thing you ever done, Sliver.”
“I’m feelin’ the same way,” breathed Gus Reeve.
“S’long,” whispered Vic Gregg, and faded into the night, running.
The others, without a word among themselves, gathered their horses and struck down the valley out of Alder. The padding and swish of the sand about the feet of their mounts; the very creaking of the saddle leather seemed to alarm them, and they were continually turning and looking back. That is, Gus Reeve and Ronicky Joe manifested these signs of trouble, but Sliver Waldron, riding in the center of the trio, never moved his head. They were hardly well out of the town when a swift rush of hoof beats swept up from behind, and a horseman darted into the pale mist of the valley bending low over his pommel to cut the wind of his riding.
“Who is it?”
“Vic Gregg!” muttered Gus Reeve. “Stir, along, Sliver. Vic ain’t lingerin’ any!”
But Sliver Waldron drew rein, and let his horse go on at a walk.
“Hearin’ you talk, Ronicky,” he said, “you’d think you was really scared of Dan Barry.”
Ronicky Joe stiffened in his saddle and peered through the uncertain light to make out if Sliver were jesting. But the latter seemed perfectly grave.
“A gent would almost think,” went on Sliver, “that we three was runnin’ away from Barry, instead of goin’ out to set a trap for him,”
There was something nearly akin to a grunt from Gus Reeve, but Ronicky merely continued to stare at the leader.
“‘S a matter of fact,” said Sliver, “when Vic was talkin’ I sort of felt the chills go up my back. How about you, Ronicky?”
“I’ll tell a man,” sighed Ronicky. “While Vic was talkin’ I seen that devil comin’ on his hoss like he done when he broke out of the cabin that night. I’ll tell you straight, Sliver. I had my gun drilled on him. I couldn’t of missed; but after I fired he kept straight on. It was like puncturin’ a shadow!”
“Sure,” nodded Sliver. “Shootin’ by night ain’t ever a sure thing.”
Ronicky wiped his heated brow.
“So I sent Vic away before he had a chance to get real nervous. But when he comes back — well, boys, it’ll be kind of amusin’ to watch Vic’s face when he saunters into town tomorrow and sees Dan Barry — maybe dead, maybe in the irons. Eh?”
Only a deep silence answered him, but in the interest which his words excited the terror seemed to have left Ronicky and Gus. They rode close, their heads toward Sliver alone.
“There goes Vic,” mused Sliver. “There he goes — go on. Mac, you old fool! — scared to death, ridin’ for his life. And why? Because he believes some ghost stories he’s heard about Dan Barry!”
“Ghost stories?” echoed Reeve. “Some of ’em ain’t fairy tales, Sliver.”
“Jest name one that ain’t!”
“Well, the way he trailed Jim Silent. We’ve all heard of Silent, and Barry — was too good for him.”
“Bah,” sneered Sliver. “Too good for Silent? Ye lied readily enough: booze done for Silent long before Barry come along.”
“That right?”
“I’ll tell a man it is. Mind you, I don’t say Barry ain’t handy with his gun; but he’s done a little and the gents have furnished the trimmin’s. Look here, if Barry is the man-eater they say, why did he pick a time for comin’ down when the sheriff was out of town?”
“By God!” exclaimed Ronicky. “I never thought of that!”
“Sure you didn’t,” chuckled Sliver. “But this sucker figures that you and Gus and me will be easy pickin’s. He figures we’ll do what Vic did — hit for the tall pines. Then he’ll blow around how he ran the four of us out of Alder. Be pleasant comin’ back to talk like that, eh?”
There was a volley of rapid curses from the other two.
“We’ll get this cheap skate, Sliver,” suggested Ronicky. “We’ll get this ghost and tie him up and take him back to Alder and make a show of him.”
“We will,” nodded Sliver. “Have you figured how?”
“Lie out here in the bush. He’ll hunt around Alder all night and when the mornin’ comes he’ll leave and he’ll come out this way. We’ll be ready for him where the valley’s narrow down there. They say his hoss and his dog is as bad as any two ordinary men. Well,
that’s three of them and here’s three of us. It’s an even break, eh?”
“Ronicky,” murmured Sliver, “I always knowed you had the brains. We’ll take this gent and tame him, and run him back to Alder on the end of a rope.”
Gus Reeve whooped and waved his hat at the thought.
So the three reached the point where the shadowy walls of the valley narrowed, drew almost together. There they placed the horses in a hollow near the southern cliff, and they returned to take post. There was only one bridle path which wound through the gulch here, and the three concealed themselves behind a thicket of sagebrush to wait.
They laid their plan carefully. Each man was to have his peculiar duty: Gus Reeve, an adept with the rope, would wait until the black stallion was cantering past and then toss his noose and throw the horse. At the same instant, Ronicky Joe would shoot the wolf-dog, and Sliver Waldron would perforate Dan Barry while the latter rolled in the dust, unless, indeed, he was pinioned by the fall of his horse, in which case they would have the added glory of taking him alive.
By the time all these details were settled the pale moonlight was shot through with the rose of dawn. Then, rapidly, the mountains lifted into view, range beyond range, all their gullies deep blue and purple, and here and there sharp triangles of snow. There was not a cloud, not a trace of mist, and through the crisp, thin air the vision carried as if through a telescope. They could count the trees on the upper ridges; and that while the floor of the valley was still in shadow. This in turn grew brilliant, and everywhere the sage brush glittered like foliage carved in gray-green quartz.
It was then that they saw Dan Barry, while the dawn was still around them, and before the sun pushed up in the east above the mountains. He came winding down the bridle path with the dawn glittering on the side of Satan, and a dark, swift form spiriting on ahead.
“Look at him!” muttered Sliver Waldron. “The damned wolf is a scout. See him nose around that hummock? Watch him smell behind that bush. The black devil!”
Bart, in fact, wove a loose course before his master, running here and there to all points of vantage, as if he knew that danger lurked ahead, but where he came close, with only the narrow passage between the cliffs, he seemed to make up his animal brain that there could be no trouble in so constricted a place, and darted straight ahead.