Delphi Collected Works of Max Brand US

by Max Brand

  “She’s here?” cried the big man in an indescribable tone.

  “She was here.”

  “Carrol, you turned her away?”

  There was something so sinister in his manner, so quietly grim, that the gambler gave back a little.

  “Pardner, would you have wanted me to bring her in? Where a dozen men might have seen her? Where they’d been a hundred chances for folks to start talking about her? This ain’t no ladies’ seminary where they can come calling, is it?”

  At this, Jess Dreer wiped his forehead.

  “You’re right.”

  “She gimme this letter for you, Jess.”

  He extended the letter, and then — a rare act of delicacy — lest he should see an unwonted emotion in the face of the big man, Carrol bowed his head and left the room without another glance at his guest.

  But Jess Dreer, when the door closed, stood for a long moment with the letter unopened. At length, nervously, he ripped the envelope open and shook out the folded paper. He read:

  DEAR JESS DREER: I thought at the time that it was not a farewell, but I never dreamed that I would have to remember your offer. And now I have to come to you for help. I have thought and thought, but there is really nobody else. Others might be willing to try, but you are the only one who could accomplish it.

  It is an ugly thing out of my past. I hurt the feelings of young Joe Norman; and he said something indiscreet about me, and my cousin, Charlie Valentine, shot him — only a slight wound. The Normans were furious. They had no one to put up against Charlie, so they hunted until they found a professional fighter — the low cowards! — and that man is the notorious Jud Boone. Charlie has to go to Salt Springs tomorrow for a saddle he won in the bucking contest, and the plan as we hear it is for Jud Boone to meet him and bring on a fight.

  What can I do? You see that Charlie is really in grave danger for my sake, for it all began with me. If I were a man — but I’m not a man, and I have to turn to the bravest and strongest man I know, and appeal to Jess Dreer for help.

  Can you stop Jud Boone before he murders Charlie?

  MARY VALENTINE.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE WHOLE THEORY of Dreer’s strategy in remaining in Salt Springs was the theory of the rabbit which cowers in a hole while the hunters sweep on along the probable trail. But if the rabbit raises its head before the hunt has driven by, its trick is worse than useless — it is suicidal. And if Jess Dreer, while half a dozen headhunters were scouring distant mountains around Salt Springs in pursuit of him, should appear in the center of danger he would be fully in the role of the silly rabbit.

  Yet he was called upon to act, and from the first moment of that call he had not the slightest hesitancy. The only question was: how he should strike at Jud Boone.

  One possibility presented itself at once. Aside from the people on the Valentine ranch, and they would not be apt to be in Salt Springs, there was only one man who was apt to recognize him, and that was the sheriff of the southland — Caswell. Suppose, therefore, that he boldly walked into the bar of Carrol’s saloon at the time when Charlie Valentine arrived for the saddle, and if matters reached a crisis, stepped between Charlie and danger. The repute of Jud Boone had reached his ears even in the distant south, yet he was perfectly willing to take a chance against the bad man. The thing that troubled him was that if he entered into a shooting fracas with Boone, he would certainly be detained for an inquiry after the affair was over. And in that case Caswell or someone else was certain to recognize him.

  It was suicidal, therefore, to face Boone in the saloon. It remained to stop him even before he entered the saloon. And that was the plan of the outlaw.

  The first thing he had done when he took refuge with Carrol was to secure from the gambler a rudely sketched map of Salt Springs, the trails around it and the location, and the alleys branching from the main street, as well as the position of each house and the name of the owner — a task far from complicated. To this plan he now had reference, and having located his goal, he left his room.

  It was not difficult to escape from Carrol’s gambling house without attracting attention. In the first place, the men within the building were occupied with interesting affairs of their own. In the second place, there was an easy “back door” for Jess Dreer. He had only to slip from his window out onto the broad, shelving roof; along this he worked to the lowest corner over the rear of the house, and having made sure that no one was in sight, he dropped noiselessly to the ground and remained where he fell, bunched and moveless, while he examined again everything around him.

  No living thing moved within range of his eye. Behind him, the gaming house still bustled softly with humming voices and the occasional clink of glasses; but all the rest of Salt Springs was gathered in a black sleep.

  So he went boldly down the main street until, coming opposite the house he wanted, he walked to the front door of it and knocked. Luckily, there was someone still up even at this hour, for a light flickered yellow in an upper window.

  In answer to the knock, after a moment, a window was flung up noisily. Jess Dreer stepped back from the flat face of the shack, for in spite of its two stories there was no sign of a veranda, and he could look straight up to the second level of the building. There he saw that the window had been opened in the lighted room but the occupant was not standing in view. He remained to one side, and his bulky shadow wavered across the curtain above him.

  “Who’s there?” he called in a rather guarded voice.

  “A friend with news.”

  “Who d’you want to see?”

  Dreer made swift calculations and then took his chance.

  “Why, I want to see you, Jud.”

  A silence. He could not tell how that announcement was taken, and yet by the change in the shadow he had no doubt that the other was striving to reconnoiter the midnight visitor and at the same time remain himself in covert. Law-abiding citizens were not apt to show such remarkable discretion, and Dreer’s belief that his guess was right was growing stronger when the voice went on: “Well, and who are you that wants to see me?”

  “Look down,” said Jess, knowing perfectly that the other could not distinguish his face by the starlight. “Look down and you’ll recognize me, Jud.”

  “I ain’t a bat. How can I see in the dark? What’s your name?”

  “Don’t you even know my voice?” said Jess in aggrieved tones. “Then lemme come up and surprise you, Jud.”

  The other did not reply for a moment. Then he reached a decision.

  “Come tomorrow. Too late now. Come tomorrow.”

  “Whist!” Jess Dreer whispered. He stepped closer to the wall and cupped his hands about his whisper: “Tomorrow’ll be too late, Jud!”

  At this, the shadow swerved on the curtain; then a whisper answered.

  “Come on up, pardner. The front door’s open. This end of the hall — door on the right!”

  So Jess Dreer entered the house and went up hurriedly over the uncarpeted stairs that creaked at every step, and down the hall until he tapped at the designated door.

  “Come in,” said the other.

  And Jess, entering, found on the other side of the room a blocky fellow, prematurely bald, perhaps thirty-five years old, with the small, chunky hands and the little feet which often denote a man of agility. He stood beyond a little deal table, with his hands resting lightly on his hips and an expression of face and attitude which betokened the utmost readiness for action.

  All of these things Jess Dreer noted with a familiar eye, and while he closed the door without turning away from the stranger, he allowed a broad grin to spread over his face. The hands of Jud Boone slipped a little farther down his thighs.

  “A fake, eh?” he said grimly.

  “It’s the first time, Jud, that I’ve ever been called a fake.”

  “And who the devil might you be?”

  “My name is something that I handle real tender. As a matter of fact, of late years every tim
e I have to mention my name, I most generally have got to mention my gun at the same time. You know how it is?”

  This amiability seemed by no means to the liking of Jud Boone. He studied his man from beneath a deepening frown, and by the twitching of his lips it was easy to tell that he was of two minds whether to pitch the stranger headlong through the door or let him continue to talk. Perhaps it was the width of the shoulders of Jess that discouraged the first notion.

  “I don’t know nothing,” averred Jud Boone. “But I’d like to know what you want out of me.”

  “Talk,” said Jess, helping himself to a chair by hooking a foot under it and swinging it dexterously behind him. “Talk is my prime reason for coming here, Jud.”

  “You know me, eh?”

  “I never seen you before,” said Jess, smiling again.

  The face of the other grew tense for an instant. He made half a step sidewise toward the window, and then seemed to realize that he could not look out of it without relinquishing his watch upon his visitor.

  “I ain’t got any friends with me,” said Jess. “If that’s what’s bothering you. I ain’t got the sheriff down below waiting for me to bring you out.”

  “And what’s any sheriff got to do with me, eh?”

  “I leave that to you,” said Jess with a careless gesture. But the gesture was with his left hand; the right remained resting easily upon his thigh. All of which Jud Boone took into careful consideration.

  “Come short with me, stranger,” he said. “What you want? I’m a tolerable peevish man, and I need sleep just now.”

  “I’m agreeable. What I want is a promise.”

  Jud Boone gasped.

  “If I had my pick between a million and a nerve like yours,” he declared with wondering admiration, “I dunno which I’d take. You want a promise out of me?”

  “Gentleman’s agreement. I want you to keep your hands off Charlie Valentine when he comes in tomorrow.”

  “They’s been a lot of fool talk floating around this town,” declared the gunman, “about what I figure on with Charlie Valentine. I ain’t never seen him, and I don’t never want to. But first I want to know what is the point you knife in at?”

  “Jud, I’ll tell you. I’ll double the ante you got from the Normans. I’ll give you a thousand bucks in cold cash if you just fade out of Salt Springs and make no noise.”

  In response, the latter merely stared with narrowed eyes.

  “I see,” nodded Jess. “You ain’t so cheap as I figured. What’s your price?”

  “I dunno what you mean,” declared Jud Boone, “but if I did know, I reckon I’d have to bust you in two, pardner, and throw the loose ends out the window.”

  “If that’s the way of it,” and Jess smiled, “then maybe you know enough. Think again, Jud. What’s your price?”

  “I’ll tell you the price of a whole hide for you,” said the gunfighter, “and that’s to get up and back out of this joint mighty quick. I’m tired of your funny chatter, friend.”

  “My money don’t talk?”

  “It don’t.”

  “My, my. Now you’re getting real cross. But listen to reason. You get hired for one job — to bump off Valentine. But now it’s a different job. You got two men on your hands.”

  “Meaning you’re the other?”

  “Meaning just that.”

  “And d’you think that’d stop me, pardner?”

  “That’s what I think.” He lowered his voice to the volume of a whisper: “I’m Dreer, Jud.”

  CHAPTER 20

  IT CAUSED AN astonishing change in the face of the Other. Dreer saw a desperate thought balancing in the eyes of Boone, but then the glitter died away.

  It was a slow death, and for a time either fought the other with his eyes. Just as two men try grips until the hand of one weakens — crumbles. In such a manner the nerve of Jud Boone, keyed up to the point of fighting, broke and weakened. In the first moment, had Jess Dreer made the slightest motion toward a weapon, gun play would have resulted. And Dreer knew it perfectly well. His hands did not stir, but the faint sneer was stamped upon his face, and his eyes never wavered until the mouth of Jud Boone sagged open a little and his glance grew dull.

  “You’re Dreer?” he said huskily.

  “I’m Dreer.”

  Jud Boone raised an uncertain hand and wiped his dry lips. Then he shrugged his shoulders and managed to chuckle.

  “I might of known you,” he said with an attempt at cheeriness. “As a matter of fact, I’ve heard old Tom Le Sand talk a pile about you. Put her there!”

  He crossed the room with a swagger and extended a hand which Dreer instantly took. But on the part of Boone it was unconditional surrender, and both men knew it. Just as some promising prize fighter, who would beat an ordinary man to a pulp, is suddenly frozen to helplessness when he is placed in the ring with a champion in his class, so Boone collapsed under the eye of his companion. And he hated Dreer for his superiority.

  “What I don’t figure,” he said, “is why you didn’t tell me your name the minute you come in?”

  “I knew I could trust you, Jud,” the other lied smoothly, “but I’ve sort of formed a habit of keeping my name in the dark. Mostly, it don’t do no good but a lot of harm. You know how it is?”

  “Sure, sure. Have a drink?”

  “I’m keeping clear of the booze. Thanks.”

  Jud Boone flushed and then sat down in turn. During the rest of the talk his eyes were mostly lowered, only flashing up for instants at the face of Dreer when the latter spoke.

  “Now we’ll talk turkey. Let’s go back to the matter of the coin, Jud. I know how it is. A gent will get in a hole so that he needs a bit of coin, and—”

  “Money ain’t got nothing to do with it,” cried Jud Boone. He writhed in his chair. “I’ll tell you the straight of it. I’m busting loose from the old game, Dreer. You know me. You know I ain’t been any little tin angel. But you don’t have anything on me — nothing cold. They ain’t a man living that could put me behind the bars!”

  How many of the dead could have given that evidence, was the thought of Jess Dreer.

  “And now I’ve found some blood kin of mine. These Normans. They want me to settle down with ’em. They need me. And if I’m to go straight, I need them. It ain’t easy to go straight. A gent’s past is apt to come up and turn him wrong any time. Besides—”

  He choked.

  “They’s a girl, Jud?” suggested Jess Dreer with singular emotion.

  “Maybe,” admitted the other, flushing. “Here’s my point: This Charlie Valentine is a bad one. He’s got the makings of a gunman. He’d ought to be stopped before he gets going real good. You see?”

  He was arguing desperately; and Jess Dreer sat back with a vague pity beginning to work in his heart — pity and contempt. This hardened rascal to talk of stopping the career of a gun fighter! But he saw that there was a grain of sincerity buried in the talk of Jud Boone. The man meant it. He wanted to go straight, to break away from his past. The whole story came out as he talked.

  He had been passing through that section of the country. He had stopped in at the house of Joel Norman, a distant cousin. He had fallen desperately in love with Joel’s daughter May. The girl had liked him, she had shown it, and he had tried to play the game straight by going to Joel and asking his consent to the marriage. But Joel put him away with horror.

  And Jud Boone left the country with hatred for his whole clan in his heart. Then they sent after him, and Joel put up the proposition to him. He was to right the affair of Valentine and avenge the shooting of Joe Norman. That done, no cash would change hands but Jud — if May was still willing — could marry her and settle down on a piece of land which Joel would stock for him. His past would be forgotten. The family power of the Normans would be used to the utmost to restore Jud’s standing as a law-abiding citizen.

  Not that this tale flowed smoothly from the lips of Jud. It came brokenly. Illuminating phrases told who
le episodes in a second.

  “That’s how I’m fixed,” he concluded. “I don’t aim to kill Valentine, I just want to—”

  “Wait a minute,” said Jess Dreer. “If Charlie was a common cowhand, you wouldn’t need to kill him. You could drill him through an arm, or a leg, and let him go. But he ain’t that kind. He’s a fast boy, Jud, and you know what that means just as well as I know it. If you meet him, you’ll have to shoot to kill. So would I, if I met him. Just the same as we’d have to shoot to kill if we got tangled up with each other.”

  Once more Jud Boone met the eye of Dreer and quailed.

  “Put it short,” he said at length. “How far’ll you go for this Valentine?”

  “To the limit.”

  “They must of paid you high,” said Jud bitterly. “They’s no other way out?”

  “They ain’t a single way. We got to give way, one of us, Jud. And that one ain’t going to be me!”

  A gray color invaded the face of Jud Boone. He rose slowly from his chair with his arms hanging stiffly at his sides.

  “Dreer, I can’t step out. I’ve give my word. I — I’d rather go to hell than to face her — after running out on my promise.”

  He swayed himself a little back and forth and set his teeth. With every scruple of energy in his soul and body he was striving to call up the fighting passion, but the result was only a dull glare, and the mouth of the gun fighter was twitching loosely.

  “If you’re going to stop me, Dreer, you got to stop me now!”

  The sneer deepened on the thin lips of Dreer.

  “You poor fool,” he said contemptuously. “Look down at your hand! A Chinaman could beat you to your gun, Boone, and shoot you full of holes.”

  As one fascinated by a superior power, Boone looked down, saw the quaking fingers of his hands, and dropped back in his chair. His face was buried and he groaned. Jess Dreer walked to him and touched the trembling, massive shoulders. The gun fighter dared not look up.

  “Listen to me. Jud, I’m sorry for you. I ain’t your confessor, but I tell you I’ve heard some awful things about you. About what you done to your pardner that found that claim for you back of Angelville. About a pile of other things I’ve heard, too. But I’ll say now that I don’t believe them.