by Max Brand
It veered and wheeled like a crazy thing. I heard Charlie calling, and in answer to his yells, I climbed over the front of the jumping, bouncing wagon and got down beside the breed.
He was steering that coach by the pole, pitching his weight first to one side and then to the other, and I helped him, imitating as exactly as I could every move of his. I dared not look ahead, because my nerve was completely gone. We were rushing into blackness. Whole mountains loomed before us. We were going like a train, and there were no smooth tracks ahead of us. The stars blurred above my head. I was waiting for the last shock, and then mercifully brief death. I only prayed for that, not to have to linger too long.
Then I heard a screeching. I saw Charlie reaching up and pulling down the long lever of the brake. The grip of it seemed to affect our progress not at all, for a long moment, but gradually we came under control. We hit a small stream, dashing the water with stinging force up where it drove against our faces. And on the farther slope of the stream, we came to a halt, the brake groaning loudly.
Well behind us, far outdistanced by our headlong speed, we saw the dim forms of the horsemen driving the stampede toward us. Up the valley to the rear there was no sight of man, no sound of gun, and suddenly I knew that we had won, and far more than I had ever dreamed of winning!
CHAPTER XXXIV. THE WORDS OF THE BREED
WHEN WE CLIMBED down from the double-trees, we could hardly stand. I looked back into the body of the stage and saw that our captured Makerite, Will, was lying extended in a complete faint, and I blamed him not at all. My own head was so dizzy that the bright stars turned into circular lines and haze spinning through the central portions of the sky.
The boys came up with the horses. Two of them went ahead to keep the captured herd in hand. The other two rounded in a few of the horses and onto these we huddled harness.
I say “we,” but I mean that they did all the work. For my own part, my heart was hammering so that I could barely speak a word. I wanted to kill the men who came up and hammered me on the back, and said it was the greatest thing that had ever been done on the range, but I told them that Charlie had thought of everything, and managed everything.
They would have smitten Charlie on the shoulder, too, but he was too known a man; they would sooner have taken liberties with a rattlesnake!
Well, we got eight mustangs hitched into that splendid harness, so gilded that it shone even under the starlight, and I, still exhausted, tremulous, thankful that the night might cover the whiteness of my cold face, climbed into the coach, and we drove off up the valley, heading toward our goal.
I told Slim Jim, who had an eye for horse, to try to keep the stampeded herd as quiet as possible, so that when the dawn commenced, we could try to pick out the best of the lot to serve for harness work, for already it was dawning on me that Piegan never could furnish a team equal to the splendid turnout which the Makerites had sent for Tracy Dixon, the Great!
At first, I was too sick, too suffering from shock, to fix my mind upon anything. But gradually the effect of much straight living, in that magic air of the West, exerted its effect upon me, and I recovered. It always amazed me, in those days, to see how my strength was gaining, how much more I could do one week than I had been able to do the week before. A vague hope was rising in me that perhaps, before many years, I could lead almost a normal life.
Then, as my brain cleared, I could look further into the future and see that the colonel, after all, might be able to erect this wild night adventure into a great thing for Piegan. By such idiotic and piratic freaks of the fancy he was always building up his own fortune and that of the town!
We had enough time before us now.
Those fellows behind us were all on foot. Their splendor of costume would have to be dragged on weary foot over the rough mountain miles until they came to the end of the branch road, and long before they got there, I hoped that the train would have arrived and we would be carting the deluded Tracy Dixon not toward his right destination, but on the trail toward Piegan.
And Sid Maker?
I really shuddered when I tried to conceive the fury that would be in the soul of that fellow. And all his companions, too, would be madmen. It seemed to me that I had recognized through the dimness of the night the second man to leap at the stage and fire in the air, unbalanced by the heeling of the vehicle. I thought that it was Chuck, the gunman. And if that were the case, and he learned of my presence there in the coach, I knew that the man would never rest until he had murdered me.
Well, that hardly mattered. I curled up in that coach, begged mad Charlie Butcher to drive on slowly, and slept soundly all the rest of the night, in spite of the infernal slamming and banging of the coach over that rough trail. But I needed more sleep, and I got it, and wakened with the coach standing still, and the boys rounding up the entire horse herd quietly around me.
Slim Jim had found the best of the lot to make carriage horses of them. We spanned in eight, and away we went again, slowly and steadily.
Dan Loftus I sent back with a good pair of field glasses to scan the country behind us, and he declared that there was no sign for many miles of the Makerites coming along on foot. For that matter, we all agreed that since those fellows had lived most of their lives in the saddle, they would be apt to sit about for a long time and commiserate, before they started hobbling in any direction in their narrow-soled, pinching riding boots.
No, we had plenty of time before us.
Well on in the morning, we came in sight of the distant gleam of the railroad tracks, and when we got down to them, we turned out and polished up the stage, rubbed the scratches, whipped off the dust, and made all shipshape. From the harness we worked away the salty incrustations of the sweat, and we dressed down the horses, to their great surprise. Mustangs are not used to such attentions.
It was something after the prime of the day when the colonel pulled in.
He had the regular relief stage that was kept in the barn at Piegan, just as he had planned, and he had picked out six good horses to draw it. When he took off his duster, he revealed his most genteel costume, and he had made a concession to the West by buckling great golden spurs on the heels of riding boots. He looked a cross between a pirate and a college professor, more professor than pirate, perhaps.
And when he saw our splendid equipage, the boys who were with him told me afterward that he almost fainted.
“Poor Jerry Ash has failed at last!” he said to them. “I gave him more than a man could perform.”
Then he realized, at the last, that the Makerites actually were not in possession, and he came running over with the tails of his duster streaming out behind him, his hands held out, his face a study of childish joy. He shook hands with us all around, and called us the saviors of Piegan and such rot. When he got through with his first transports, he started centering his attack on me, but I tried to shut him up by telling him in detail just what Charlie Butcher had done.
Charlie cut in on me with these words, which I shall never forget:
“Brother, if you had not been with me, I would be lying dead up yonder among the Makerites!”
“It’s very well to be modest, Jerry,” said the colonel, “but you see that the truth will out.”
I had to let it go for the moment, but I shook my head at Charlie.
Afterward, when we were alone for a moment, he put his big bony hand on my arm and said: —
“Tell them whatever you want to. Men only believe what they wish to believe. Between you and me, there is nothing owing. You saved my life, for which I have no value. I gave you a little reputation, which you’ll die before you enjoy.”
There was a sour conviction behind his words that quite took out from me any thrill that I might have been feeling at the moment. It gave me no pleasure to feel the glance of Harry resting on me, a moment later, with a profound and silent worship.
Young Steve Cole had a different attitude. He looked at me with bewilderment. He could not feel tha
t I was such a conjurer, but he was puzzled. For his own part, he had done his share with the rest, and suddenly he was accepted by the entire lot of those fellows, both the ones who had ridden with him from Piegan, and those who came over afterward with the colonel.
His mistakes were forgotten, more or less. It’s that way with people in the West. In the East, if you slip once, you neck is broken forever, but in the West, we have a feeling that every man has a right to make a fool of himself now and again. It’s the best quality to be found in the entire country. So now the lad was taken wholeheartedly into the respect of all the community that was represented by the men from Piegan. I could even from a distance tell how he was blossoming under the new atmosphere.
While the colonel was making his final arrangements, I had a chance to chat for a moment with Steve, and I told him point-blank how well he had impressed every one, and how he would stand shoulder to shoulder, in public estimation, with every man in Piegan, from this time forth. He was so pleased that he turned red, but like a good fellow he tried to dodge the praise and turned back the talk to me, the last subject that I wanted.
He said that the lot of them, as they slipped in among the horses, and began to cut the hobbles, had been able to look down onto the road and to make out, dimly, the form of the stage, but they could not see what Charlie and I were doing, and only were aware that the devil was loose when the stage began to rush and roar, careening down the valley. And then he asked me if I really took pleasure in that sort of work, and if I really were trying to throw my life away as soon as possible, because he said that that was what the rest of the men from Piegan said about me, and that they all declared that there must be some terrible mystery connected with my early life which had soured me, and made me indifferent to anything that might come into my life.
I said: “Steve, listen to me. I like life as well as the next fellow. To- night, it was Charlie Butcher who dragged me into this affair. I didn’t even know what he intended to do with the coach. Otherwise I wouldn’t have gone. But Piegan has determined to turn me into a hero. It’ll be a sick town when it finds out how far its pet gunman and wild man falls short of the mark.”
Steve surprised me by smiling only a little, and remarking: “Jerry, some people never know themselves even when their pictures are in the newspapers every day!”
Then the colonel came over, and I was glad to be able to talk of something else.
CHAPTER XXXV. A REAL HERO
WHAT CUT ME up was the continual expectation of the day when I should be cornered and show the white feather in front of the entire town. That was what I prayed against; that was why I kept swearing to myself that I would leave Piegan soon and stay away forever. Every day that I remained, I was apt to be rounded up for some such affair as this!
Well, Colonel Riggs came up, his arrangements all made for the return journey, and the arrangements were showy, but amusing. Ahead and behind the coach were to ride a special bodyguard of the Piegan fighters. The driver was to be Charlie Butcher, who it appeared had an old reputation for handling horses on reins. And since the visiting party consisted of three, the colonel wanted to have three Piegan men in the coach with them. He would be one, he insisted that I should be the second, and when I wanted to get out of it, he said that I was the only man in Piegan, outside of himself, who could speak good English. I said then that he ought to include Steve Cole, who spoke better English than either of us.
The colonel balked at the thought of Cole. He said that I was too young, as a matter of fact, and the only reason he really could afford to have me in the coach was because even Tracy Dixon might have heard about me and my exploits. But I insisted that Cole would be a good member of the reception committee, youth or not, and that he would make the visitors think that we had a few gentlemen in Piegan. At last Riggs agreed and went off to speak to Steve.
You should have seen the pleased and astonished face of Steve Cole! He came over to me, a little later, and grabbed my arm, and said that Colonel Riggs had asked him to be one of the three on the reception committee.
“Of course,” said I. “You’re a marked man in Piegan, Steve!”
He laughed happily.
“Jerry,” he added, a minute later, “I’ll tell you what! I’m going to show Piegan that I’m worth while, after all. You’ve shoved me into this job.”
“Not at all.”
“You have, though. I know that you are behind it, but I’ll try to manage things so that Piegan will be glad I’m in the party!”
There were other and bigger resolves shining in his eyes, and I began to see more clearly than ever that my friend Steve Cole was going to be a fellow to be proud of!
A little later, the train came slowly down to the end of the branch track, and the colonel had us all grouped about. The boys waved their hats and yelled and whooped and cheered, while the visiting party of three men got off the train. I saw right away that there was nothing pompous about them. They simply looked like ordinary farmers, or cattlemen. Two of them were biggish fellows, one middle-aged, one not more than thirty. The third was Tracy Dixon. One could pick him out from a distance in spite of his size by the silver shine of his hair, and something resolute and grim in his face. He had cut throats in business. He looked ready to cut some more.
Well, when I had watched that gang of three arrive, and saw the boys gathering up their bags, and watched the old rascal of a colonel greeting the men and shaking their hands, and with his hat off waving them toward the waiting stage, my heart went sliding and slipping down to my boots, for I suddenly was sure that all the wiles of a thousand such as Riggs would never impose upon one weather-beaten old fox like Tracy Dixon.
I was introduced in turn, along with Steve, and then we got into the stage. The young engineer, whose name was Bridges, I think, called Dixon’s attention to the stage, saying that he never had seen a finer turnout. The great man climbed down from the stage again, and looked it over, and got down on his knees to examine the underpinning, and came in again all dusty and soiled, with a splotch of axle grease on one hand. But he said not one word in praise of the big stage!
I saw the colonel bite his lip, and guessed that he would have occasion to bite it again, before that day was over. Events proved that I was perfectly right, too.
We got away from the railroad in good time, for as we went winding up over the brow of the first hill, on the way toward Piegan, off to the left we could see a mass of men come streaking through the dust up the Makerville trail. They saw us, and halted, and some guns were fired in the air. I got a glass from the colonel, and through the glass I could see those Makerites doing a war dance of sheerest fury! It gave me cold chills of pleasure and terror to watch them. I felt like a small boy who is bound to get his thrashing sooner or later.
But then we rolled along our way, and presently the colonel got up and from the head of a mountain, where the stage had halted at his command, he started a long speech, whooping up the glories of the valley, and peopling it with farmers, and filling up the cities with thousands, and splitting the mountains apart and making rivers of gold and silver flow out from them.
He shot along for five minutes without drawing his breath, and when he paused, Tracy Dixon said coldly:
“What we see will mean a good deal more than what we hear!”
The colonel sat down with a jolt. He had barely breath left in him to tell the driver to go, and I never in my life saw a man that I pitied more than I did the colonel at that moment. His wind and gilt had done a great deal for him, during his career, but now he was up against a man to whom facts counted, and nothing but facts. Riggs recognized it in a flash, and he was gray with pain and fear. His eyes shifted. He looked like a caught fox.
Those three, for an instant, looked on him like so many judges, and before they had finished their glance at him, I knew that the entire project was looked into and damned. Then they exchanged glances, and Tracy Dixon shrugged his shoulders, as much as to say that since they had embarked so far
on the job, they might as well go through with it.
Well, I’ve never seen atmosphere change so suddenly. A moment before, all had been radiant hope, and the three of the committee had been up on their toes to take in everything. Now the colonel was a wet rag, and the three sat back with dull, tired eyes, and looked straight ahead of them at the front end of the coach instead of sparing an eye for the glories of Riggs’s paradise. I was sad, ashamed, and a little amused, too. I rather despised Riggs, but I was surprised to find that there was a good deal of affection for the old rascal tucked away in my heart.
I don’t like to think about most of that day, and how we sat there stewing in the infernal heat of the sun, and how the wind would not blow, and how the dust poured in on us like a sea fog, and how Cole and I were like mute stumps, and how the poor colonel gradually trotted out his best stories, and how he could not win even a semblance of a smile from the wooden faces of the three railroad men.
But one thing must be put in.
We had come to the last long down grade on the way to the town, and as we turned at the top of the slope, something went wrong. There was a squeal from one of the leading horses, a hearty curse from Charlie Butcher, and then that stage went down the grade a mile a minute.
The brake was slammed on. The rear wheels were skidding at every turn. But brakes couldn’t hold us. The surface of that road was like ice, and I jumped up and looked to see what was wrong.
It was easily seen.
Sid Maker had picked out the finest animals in Makerville for that team, and the most beautiful of the lot was the off leader, eleven hundred pounds of lightning, a cream-colored beautiful devil with never more than one ear forward at a time. He had been dancing and prancing all the time, and now, in some way, his rein had jerked out of the hold of the driver, though what Charlie meant by not securing the ends of all the reins to the seat, I can’t tell to this day. However, there the mischief was done. There was no control at all of that demon, and there was only a one-sided pull on the near leader; which had gone mad, in turn. The whole team had caught the frenzy in an instant — none of the lot were more than half broken to the work — and I had a pretty sight of eight crazed horses bolting down a sharp slope where there was only a semblance of a road, with a deep ravine ravening for us on one side, and sharp-toothed rocks reaching for us from the other.