Delphi Collected Works of Max Brand US

by Max Brand

  The sheriff put away his ruined, battered cigar and took out a fresh one, which he lighted. And all during the process of selecting the new cigar, and cutting off the end of it, and lighting and rolling it, he gave his work not so much as a glance, but kept his gaze constantly fixed upon the face of the boy.

  “You wouldn’t see that,” he said. “But suppose that I try to show you. I dunno that you’d agree, but I could show you my side of the idea!”

  It occurred to Signal that there was a deep, hidden irony in the air and in the words of the sheriff. He flushed a little and then he said:

  “Maybe you think that I’m a fathead. I don’t think that I am. If I’ve been playing out of a high hand, it’s because, as far as I can see, you’ve been wanting to give me the run out of this county, and I still think that nothing would please you better than to see a chunk of lead go through my head!”

  “Nothing would please me much more,” admitted the strange sheriff, “than to see you out of this here county. But nothing would please me much less than to see you dead. Now if you’ll let me point out something to you, I’d like to say that it’s probably all over Monument already that you’ve jailed this gent, and the reason why you jailed him, and the confession that you’ve made him sign!”

  “How could it?” asked the boy. “Langley would be a fool to get himself into such trouble!”

  “What trouble?”

  “Why, the minute the gang knows that he’s apt to confess, won’t they try to kill him, to stop his mouth?”

  “You’ve thought of that?” asked the sheriff genially.

  “You’re trying to make a fool out of me,” said the boy.

  “No,” said the sheriff in the same gentle manner. “I couldn’t try my hand at that. God has done too good a job for you, without retouching from me!”

  This plain insult was made easier, in a way, by the smile with which the sheriff spoke. It might have been called a sad smile, or an indulgent one, had there not been a bright light of rather foxy inquiry in the eyes of the sheriff as he spoke. It was enough, however, to rouse the boy, who was always listening for the call to war, as it were. He said angrily:

  “I won’t take such talk from you, sir. I don’t have to, and I won’t!”

  The sheriff sighed.

  “This here love of duty that you got,” said he, “will make you murder me before you’re out of the town. I can see that. Ah, God, and how many murders will there be, before the finish of this here?” He did not allow the boy to answer or comment, but continued hastily: “This is gunna be the final crash, of course!”

  “The final crash of what?”

  “Monument, I’m afraid.”

  “I don’t know,” replied the boy, “how you’re going to link up the finish of Monument with the jailing of one self-confessed crook like Langley!”

  “You don’t know,” said the sheriff, “and I don’t suppose that you could learn.”

  “Look here!” cried the tormented youth, “if you’re gunna keep on talking down to me, I’ll leave your office and do things my own way!”

  “Will you?”

  “I will!”

  “Go on!” said the sheriff. “Every river has gotta run down to the sea. Go ahead and do your work the way that you see that it should be done!”

  “I’d like to know—”

  “Something from me?”

  “I’d like to know what you mean when you say that Monument is about to go bust because I’ve put one crook called Langley in the jail?”

  “I’ll try to explain,” said the ironical sheriff. “Suppose you look at it this way. Men was killed in San Real Ca¤on.”

  “Yes.”

  “Langley was one of the murderers.”

  “Yes.”

  “He wasn’t the only murderer.”

  “No. Of course not.”

  “He belonged to a gang, then?”

  “Naturally. Everybody has always known that.”

  “He belonged to a gang that was so slick and so strong that they could eat up that whole mule train with its load of Mexican silver and of Mexican goods and never show no signs of indigestion.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Why, the most ornery sort of an ordinary robbery, when the goods are shared, leads to some fights on the distribution, as you ought to know. And after the split has been made, some fool is always sure to get drunk, and talk about what easy money it is that he’s spending, and where that easy money came from.”

  “I suppose that that’s likely. Matter of fact, I never would want a crooked life, sheriff!”

  “It’d sort of scare you, maybe?” asked the sheriff, with a curious question and amusement in his eyes.

  “It’d scare me to death, sir!”

  “Well, you’ll never be scared to death in that way. I was pointing out that the whole Mexican mule train was eat up and no sign of it ever showed. Well, that shows that the organization is pretty big, wouldn’t you say? And that the doggone gang has numbers, and brains to run it, and experience, and nerve, eh?”

  “I suppose that it shows all of that.”

  “Now, look here, one of that gang is caught, and he begins to get ready to confess.”

  “That’s right. I’ve said that. The gang are apt to try to get him set free — or to kill him.”

  “Or kill you,” said the sheriff.

  “Why me? Out of spite, you mean?”

  “If they could have you out of the way, they’re pretty sure that they could handle me.”

  “They are?”

  “Yep. They’re sure of that.”

  “And so?”

  “They’ll be trying a couple of things quick — to bump you off, to kill Langley by raiding the jail.”

  “I can see that there’s sense in what you say there.”

  “And so the battle’s sure to come on — I mean, the battle that I’ve been trying to stave off all of these months.”

  “What battle do you mean?”

  “You’ve heard about the Eagans and the Bones, lad?”

  “I’m not deaf!”

  “You ain’t? I sometimes wonder. Now, it ain’t hard to find out that Langley is a member of the Bone gang.”

  “With Colter at the head of it?”

  “Yes.”

  “Colter is a friend of mine.”

  “Colter ain’t the friend of anybody who is going to get a confession out of Langley.”

  “He might try to kill Langley. He’d never put a hand on me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “You’re a fool!” said the sheriff, heat breaking through his talk again.

  “Maybe I am. I trust Colter.”

  “Now I’ll tell you what you’ll be inside of one day.”

  “And what is that?”

  “Dead and smashed between two parties.”

  “Which two? Bone and Eagan?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do the Eagans come in?”

  “They hate the Bones, don’t they?”

  “Yes.”

  “And Fitz is the city marshal besides?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Very well, then. Fitz is sure to come and offer us his help for the defense of the jail. And there you are! The battle is on! That means that every out and out crook in the town will throw in his hand with the Bones. And that means that there will be hell boiling on all the street corners in no time. Am I wrong?”

  “I don’t know!”

  The sheriff laid his hand suddenly on the shoulder of the boy. His voice was rich with kindness.

  “Here in Monument you can do nothing but get yourself killed. Take this advice from me. Out of my heart! Leave Monument. Get out and get quick, and stay out.”

  “And leave the work to you?”

  “Naturally.”

  The boy laughed.

  “I’ve got to go,” said he, “but not out of Monument!”

  “Very well,” said the sh
eriff. “I ain’t a prophet, but I’ll predict that you’ll be dead before tomorrow morning!”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  WHEN HE LEFT the sheriff again, his sense of the importance of his achievement was reinforced, but he had two new impressions — one that the sheriff might very possibly be an honest or partially honest man, after all, and the other that Monument might soon be devastated by the most terrible strife because of the imprisonment of the robber and killer. But, first of all, it required that the city marshal should actually volunteer his aid on the side of the law for the defense of the jail. For this he could wait. But without some such assistance as the Eagans could give, he despaired of ever keeping the prisoner against the uprising in the town.

  One thing at least was assured — that he must remain in the jail from this moment forward, until the fate of the prisoner was assured one way or the other.

  So he turned straight toward the boarding house, prepared to take up his pack and go with all his possessions to the jail and camp there.

  He met the inevitable Crawlin again in the street, as he came out. That little spirit of evil grinned and smirked at him in the most detestable manner.

  “Things are buzzin’! Things are buzzin’!” he declared to the deputy sheriff.

  “In what way?”

  “You wouldn’t be knowing that, would you?” he asked with detestable cheerfulness, giving his hands a brisk rub. “You wouldn’t know what’s happening. You wouldn’t suspect it, even. Not you!”

  He laughed again. He could not keep still, but had to twist himself this way and that in the excess of his joy. He looked like a dope fiend, after too great an excess of a drug, and the deputy sheriff, with that idea in his mind, looked upon the other with a more tolerant and pitying eye, prepared to excuse the base devil in this man by some such pathetic and contemptible reason. But the closer he looked the less the fellow seemed afflicted by any such trouble. It was sheer evil of mind which influenced him, and, unable to stop any longer to find out what Crawlin might mean, filled with uncontrollable disgust, such as the lion would feel for the jackal, Signal mounted the roan gelding and rode off.

  At least, he could use his imagination. What Crawlin meant was that certain elements in Monument were in a ferment because of the arrest of Langley.

  He had not gone two blocks before, passing the door of the saloon of Mortimer, he had a sufficient proof, for out of the door of the saloon half a dozen men poured at that instant, recognized him, and halted. They had showed their dislike of him before this, but now they glared at him with a grim frankness. Someone called out something, sharply, and a gun actually flashed.

  The deputy sheriff made ready to drop over the side of his horse, gun in hand, and open fire, Indian fashion, from under the throat of the gelding. But here Henry Colter appeared, like a guardian angel, and pushed through the crowd, barking at the men, thrusting them and their weapons aside. He jumped into the saddle of a very fine black mare which stood before the saloon and rode on to the side of the boy. Signal was now moving down the street, keeping a most watchful eye behind him.

  Colter, coming up to him, showed a stern and excited face. He said:

  “Youngster, what sort of hell are you stirring up in Monument?”

  “Do you mean Langley?” asked the boy.

  “I mean that, of course!”

  “I have my job and my duty,” said Signal.

  “Oh, damn that sort of talk!” answered the other angrily. “The fact is that your scalp is sitting damned loose, just now. You’re good for a damn short life, young feller!”

  “You’re worried, are you?” asked Signal point blank.

  “Worried about you. Yes!”

  “And not about yourself?”

  “What do you mean? What is there for me to worry about?”

  “Suppose that Langley confesses everything.”

  “He’d never mention me,” said Henry Colter with an expression of a peculiar grimness. “The cur wouldn’t dare to mention me, even if he knew something against me!”

  “He’d mention anybody,” replied Signal. “Besides, I don’t have to have his story in order to get you into the affair. I know that you were at the Ca¤on when the murders were done!”

  Colter narrowed his eyes.

  “Kid,” said he, “we’ve been friends. I’ve tried to steer you straight in Monument. I’ve tried to help you out. But this is pretty large talk for me to take from any man.”

  “I’m not trying to badger you,” Signal assured him. “I knew the other morning, when I saw the old shoe that was taken off your horse.”

  “What?”

  “I had the broken piece from the old shoe in my pocket at that minute. I knew all about it, Colter.”

  “Well?” snapped Colter.

  “I let the thing drop. Do you think that after what’s happened between us I ever could raise a hand against you? You’ve always been above the law, for me!”

  Colter suddenly smiled with relief and with a shade of surprise also.

  “I believe you, kid,” said he. “But I want to beg you to turn Langley loose. He’s a dead man, anyway. But if he dies right now, pronto, then maybe I can save your hide as well!”

  “I’ll have to take my chances with my hide,” said the boy. “And as for Langley, they can kill him when they can get him.”

  “You’ll chuck yourself away for that proven rat? The same that tried to murder you?”

  “I’ve an idea that Langley may be the tool that will clean up Monument.”

  At this, Colter laughed with an ugly abandon.

  “All right,” said he. “I like you, kid. But God pity you if you try to work out this dodge in Monument. Nobody wants it; Monument wants to stay itself!”

  He waved his hand and abruptly left Signal, leaving that young man extremely disturbed. He never before had seen Colter so thoroughly worked up in excitement, and yet he had seen that notable outlaw in many circumstances before this. The mere words of warning which the sheriff and Crawlin had given to him were doubly confirmed by Colter.

  He swung down the next street, taking a short cut for the lodging house, when he heard the rapid spatting of hoofs behind him, and turned to see a dashing, flashing form whirled around the next corner, the brim of the sombrero furled with speed — a slender rider, swaying with the speed of the gallop. And so Esmeralda Pineta loomed suddenly behind him, distancing the escort of two vacqueros who spurred behind her.

  She had no sooner seen the deputy sheriff than she threw up a hand and flung her mustang upon its quarters. So she slid it to a halt beside Signal, and a great cloud of dust went belching down the street, like smoke from the mouth of a gigantic cannon. She swayed out to Signal and took his hands. Her face shone with deepest delight.

  “The moment I heard,” said Esmeralda, “I came at once. Oh, but I knew the first moment that I saw you! I knew that you would make the curs run! I knew that you’d hunt them down! They never would dare to face you! And now — now you’ve got one of them! Oh, keep him safe! Keep him safe! Never let him get away! Never let the crowd break in at him. They’ll want to kill him! They’ll want to do away with him, of course. They know that what he says will hang twenty of their best rascals! But I trust in you, Se¤or Sheriff, oh, brave, brave Juan Alias!”

  She was in an ecstasy. She began to laugh with the extremity of her joy, and Signal thought that he never had seen a thing so beautiful or so sinister. She was all in black — black habit, black boots, black sombrero. The very riding whip was ebony handled and black of lash. But at her breast, where the white blouse showed, she had planted a red rose. And this she now took and kissed it and leaned forward, and pinned it on the coat of young Signal.

  Now, with the nearness of her beauty, and the radiance of her eyes, so close, and the breath of sweetness that went up from her as if from the body of a flower, John Signal was more than a little dazed, and bewildered. And he felt as though a great procession and flashing bursts of music had poured past him,
and as though, somehow, he had been a part of that procession, and had been cheered by great throngs.

  So he was stunned by the beauty and by the nearness of Esmeralda when a glance over her shoulder cleared his mind. For into the mouth of the next street, he saw Henry Colter ride, drawing rein as he saw the close group of the boy and Esmeralda. Only for an instant did Henry Colter remain there, and then he jerked his horse about and was off. But, in that instant, even in the distance Signal had seen the outlaw’s face contracted with all the pain of jealousy.

  And that sight pricked the bubble of romance and left him clear-headed and himself, as Esmeralda reined her horse suddenly back, laughing at him, and nodding.

  “I wish that it were one great ruby!” cried she. “And set in diamonds, too! But those two poor dead boys will have a proper vengeance now! They’ll have a proper vengeance now, Juan Alias!”

  “I’m going to do my best,” said he.

  There was a perceptible shadow on her face. She had not succeeded half as well as she had hoped in bewitching the youngster. But she went on to more practical measures. She said:

  “You’ll do your best, but you need men to work for you. Here are two men, Juan Alias. You see? Eduardo and Ricardo are both brave men. They can shoot straight. Oh, I’ve seen them do it! And I want you to take them along to jail! I’ll pay them double wages for it!”

  He looked keenly at the pair. They were, in fact, seasoned punchers in appearance, hardy enough to tackle any sort of dangerous work, but when they were directly hailed, they looked blankly at one another.

  “No, se¤or!” they finally said in one voice. “We ride night herd on cattle, not on men!”

  “Listen!” cried the girl. “I’ll give you three times your regular pay. I — I’ll pay you a week’s wages for every day that you guard the jail!”

  One of them shook his head. The other spread out his hands with a shrug of the shoulders.

  “And how shall one spend even a week’s wages in heaven?” he asked.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  IT TOOK SOME of the blood out of the cheeks of the deputy sheriff, this apparently common opinion of the town of Monument about the security of the jail which held his prisoner. But though he was daunted, he set his teeth, and that the girl saw, and cried to him: