Black Thunder

by Max Brand

  Just as Harrigan finished these observations, two ponderous fists landed on his jaw from opposite sides. He dropped on his face.

  When he wakened, a pair of monstrous legs bestrode him. It was MacTee, bellowing like a mad bull, striking right and left.

  As Harrigan gathered his feet and hands under the weight of his body, the men of Yellow Gulch fell back a little, and the deputy sheriff stood before MacTee with a gun in either hand.

  The deputy sheriff was no longer what he had been. The left side of his face was a great red puff. His right eye was closed. His coat was half ripped from his body.

  “Stick up those hands, or I’ll blow you to hell!” shouted the deputy sheriff.

  But Harrigan dived along the floor, struck the legs from beneath the man of the law, and, as the revolvers drilled eyeholes for the sunlight through the wall, Harrigan arose again into the fight.

  “Harrigan!” thundered MacTee, a drunken joy in his voice, as he saw that his friend was again in the fight. “Harrigan!” he roared as though it were a battle cry.

  He caught up a chair and swung it.

  “Harrigan!” he bellowed. “Harrigan!”

  With each shout, he struck down a man. Half the little crowd of Yellow Gulch warriors was on the floor, and through the rest Harrigan and MacTee charged to the side entrance to the dining room.

  They heard an uproar of pursuit behind them. As Harrigan slammed and locked the door behind them, a bullet clipped through and split one panel. But the door held, nevertheless, while the two fugitives sprinted with lengthened legs down a narrow alley, and straight out of the little town of Yellow Gulch into the woods.

  ****

  The green of the trees covered them. And presently they were sitting at the side of a little brook that wandered through the forest.

  They smoked cigarettes, considered the brightness of the patches of the sun, and the brown of shadows upon pine needles, and listened to the quiet conversation of the flowing water.

  Finally MacTee announced: “We were licked and chucked out. We were chucked out with no breakfast, even. What’s the matter with us, Harrigan? We used to rate as men. Now what are we?”

  Harrigan shook his head. He was peeling off his clothes, and, when he had finished that task, he stepped into the water of the brook and scrubbed from himself the signs of battle. At last he redressed and lay on the bank in the shadow.

  “This Yellow Gulch,” he observed, at the last, “is the sort of a town that we ought to know a whole lot more about, MacTee. It’s full of folks that I could be glad to see, and so could you.”

  “I could,” agreed MacTee. “It’s a town worth having and a town worth knowing. Did you see that yellow-headed fellow with the straight left?”

  “I did,” said Harrigan, caressing his face. “And there was the short man with the big shoulders and the over-arm swing. You remember him?”

  “Ugh!” grunted MacTee. “I couldn’t plant him with a solid sock. Did you cop him?”

  “I just managed to hit him in the pit of the belly, and, as he dropped, I was able to uppercut him, and, when he straightened from that, I clouted him on the jaw.”

  “With a hook?” asked MacTee.

  “With a hook,” said Harrigan.

  “Danny,” said MacTee dreamily, “there’s times when I love you more than a brother. What did he look like when you last saw him? I sort of missed him in the last few minutes.”

  “He looked like an astronomer,” said Harrigan, after a moment of thought. “He was lying on his back and he seemed to be studying the stars.”

  MacTee laughed broodingly.

  Harrigan said: “Are we beaten, MacTee, or what do you say?”

  “The mountains are up and against us,” said MacTee.

  “They are,” agreed Harrigan. “But if we lose her now, we’ll never find her.”

  “Now,” said MacTee, “that they know the quality of us, they’ll be shooting on sight. And these people, they wouldn’t know how to miss.”

  “They would not,” agreed Harrigan.

  “So what do you suggest?” asked MacTee.

  “I suggest,” said Harrigan, “that we draw straws to see who goes into Yellow Gulch after dark and tries his best to get on the track of her.”

  MacTee shuddered. “Draw to see who goes back into Yellow Gulch?” he echoed.

  “That’s the idea,” said Harrigan.

  MacTee groaned. “All right,” he said. “Pick out some straws, and we’ll see.”

  Harrigan picked two blades of grass. The short one he laid under his thumb projecting less than the long one. Then he changed his mind and laid them with their ends exactly even.

  “The long man goes to Yellow Gulch,” said Harrigan.

  “Good,” said MacTee, and straightway picked the shorter of the pair.

  Harrigan stared, opening his palm to reveal the long one.

  “Well,” said Harrigan, “that’s the way I’d rather have it.”

  “You’re a brave man, Danny,” said MacTee. “And when we’re this far from Kate, I don’t mind saying that you’re as brave as any man in the world. But you wouldn’t be telling me that you’d rather be going into Yellow Gulch than sitting out here in the woods, waiting for news?”

  “I would, though,” argued Harrigan. “If I sat here, and you went in, I’d go mad. For I’d see you finding Kate Malone, for yourself. And I’d see you talking to her, persuading and lying, until you got her for yourself.”

  “She’s not there at all, most likely,” said MacTee.

  “Maybe not,” said Harrigan. “But I’ll go fishing in Yellow Gulch for her as soon as it’s dark . . . and I’ll be a happy man to start on my way.”

  VIII

  MacTee went to the edge of the woods with Harrigan, where he looked with his friend at the glitter of the town lights.

  “You’re a brave man, Harrigan,” he said, “considering the sort of men they have in Yellow Gulch. Good bye, and God bless you. If a thing happens wrong to you, I’ll find the man that did it, and plant him alive.”

  So Harrigan went like a thief into the town.

  If MacTee dreaded the place and the strong-handed men of it, so did Harrigan. But in his heart there was the wild and eerie passion that led him toward the girl.

  So he went on until, upon the dark of an alley, a kitchen door opened, a dull shaft of yellow lamplight fell upon Harrigan, and a woman’s voice shouted: “It’s Harrigan! It’s Harrigan!”

  Harrigan ran.

  It was as though the woman had called to furious hornets, all in readiness inside of a nest. Out they poured, the men of Yellow Gulch, to follow him. Doors slammed. The heavy feet of men hit the ground.

  He fled across the main street, a gorge of revealing light that brought a shower of bullets after him. One of them kissed the tip of his right ear.

  He bounded like a deer into a silent byway. A tall board fence rose beside it. He leaped, caught the top rim, swung himself over, and started for the fence on the opposite side.

  Then the imp of the perverse made him decide to trust to his luck—so he dropped into a nest of high grass and lay still. At the same time, a pursuer swung over the top of the fence like a polevaulter, and another and another followed him.

  What manner of men were these in Yellow Gulch, when all of them seemed able to match the best that Harrigan could do? His heart grew small in him, with wonder, and he shook his head as he lay in the tall grass, murmuring: “I must be pretty far West.”

  A dozen, he counted, crossed the yard, vaulted the fence on the farther side, and rushed away. Other footfalls stormed through the street. Then gunshots broke out, far away. The noise diminished, the shouting turned corners and was obscured.

  After that, a quiet footfall drew near to Harrigan. Then the voice of a girl said: “I’ve got a sawed-off shotgun loaded with buckshot. I’ve got you covered, and I can’t miss. Get up out of that, Harrigan.”

  Harrigan got up, at once. With a sawed-off shotgun, no ma
tter in what hands, argument is futile. He saw that the girl was small. He saw that the gun in her hands was real. So he lifted his arms above his head. This was something for the world to read in newspapers and laugh at—how Harrigan was captured by a girl, by a child.

  “March up there through that screen door into the kitchen,” said the girl. “And if you try to jump one side or the other, I’ll blow you out of your socks.”

  If they had men in Yellow Gulch, they had women, also. Harrigan walked a chalk line to the back verandah, up the steps, and through the screen door of the kitchen. He faced the stove, his arms still lifted over his head. The screen door creaked gently behind him.

  “All right,” said the girl. “You can turn around.”

  He turned. She was not more than sixteen. She had freckles across her nose. She was rather small. But her eyes were of the divine Irish blue.

  “So you’re Harrigan,” she said.

  “I’m a piece of him,” said Harrigan.

  “It’s you that licked Jim Bingham, is it?” said the girl.

  “Who’s Jim Bingham?”

  “You licked him, and you don’t even know his name? He’s my brother.”

  “I know him, then,” said Harrigan. “He’s short and wide and he knows how to box. He’s got black hair and a pair of eyes in his head.”

  “I’m mighty glad you noticed him,” said the girl.

  “Molly!” groaned a voice at a distance of two or three rooms.

  “Aye, Jim. Wait a minute.” She added: “He’s lying in there with a couple of busted ribs. But you don’t look so big. Not to me, you don’t.”

  “I’m not so big,” said Harrigan gently.

  “But you licked Jim,” she said grimly, bitterly.

  “I had the weight and the reach on him,” said Harrigan.

  “You had ten or twelve Huskies socking at you, too,” she answered, shaking her head. “I thought the Binghams were the best, but I guess they’re not. The Harrigans must be close to the top.”

  “I got in a lucky punch,” said Harrigan.

  “Harrigan,” said the girl, “why do you and MacTee steal horses and chase around after a girl that doesn’t want you?”

  “Who says that?”

  “There’s talk around.”

  “The talk’s wrong,” said Harrigan. “She wants one of us. We want to find which one.”

  “Ah?” said the girl.

  “Yes. She wants one of us.”

  “She’s mighty pretty,” said the girl. “I saw her. She’s beautiful. She’s good, too, and she’s kind, and gentle, and wise, and brave, and everything.”

  “Yes. She’s everything,” agreed Harrigan. “I’ve known her for a long time. I’ve known her since she was a ringer for you.”

  “Since she was what? Are you trying to flatter me, Harrigan?”

  “The truth is not flattering,” answered Harrigan. “I remember her when she was a ringer for you. And I’ve been following her ever since.”

  “Never mind who she’s a ringer for,” said Molly Bingham, flushing. “But go on and tell me what makes you think she wants one of you?”

  “She said so, one day.”

  “It was a long time ago, then,” suggested the girl.

  “Yes, it was a long time ago,” agreed Harrigan, sighing.

  “Suppose that she took MacTee,” said the girl. “What would you do?”

  “I’d murder the black Scotch heart of him,” said Harrigan.

  The girl started. “I think you mean it,” she answered. “And yet you and MacTee fight for each other like two brothers.”

  “He’s the best man in the world,” agreed Harrigan, “except where Kate Malone’s concerned.”

  At this, the girl chuckled softly.

  “Molly!” called her brother, in angry impatience.

  “Be still, Jimmy. I’m coming in a moment,” answered the girl.

  “How did you know me?” asked Harrigan.

  “I saw the red of your hair,” answered the girl. “And who else but a Harrigan or a MacTee would be leaping the fences around Yellow Gulch at this time of the night?”

  “True,” said Harrigan. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “I’m going to call for help,” said Molly Bingham.

  “If you do,” answered Harrigan, “they’ll never take me alive.”

  “Well, then,” she replied, “I’ll give you a chance. I’ll send you to where Kate Malone is staying. But I’ll have a promise out of you, first.”

  “I’ll promise you the clouds out of the sky,” said Harrigan.

  “Harrigan,” said the girl, “she loves either you or MacTee, and neither of you can guess which one it is. And she doesn’t dare to give herself to one of you for fear that the other will make mincemeat of the lucky man. But now I’m going to take your word of honor that you’ll go to her, Harrigan, and swear on the Bible to her that, if she loves MacTee, you’ll do him no harm, but you’ll go far away. Will you promise me that?”

  Harrigan looked up at the ceiling, then down into the face of the girl. “Well . . .” he said.

  “Or else I’ll raise a yell that’ll bring all of the town to this spot. It’s a mean town, too, Harrigan. There’s a dozen of its best men that are wearing bumps and breaks because of you and MacTee, and all their friends, and themselves, are achin’ to have another go at you.”

  “It’s true,” said Harrigan. “It’s a tough town. The toughest that ever I found in my days.”

  “Will you promise me?”

  “If she says that it’s MacTee, will I go way off and never do him a harm?” repeated Harrigan.

  “Aye. Will you promise that?”

  “Yes,” groaned the hesitant Harrigan.

  “Good,” said the girl. “Give your hand on it.”

  She held out hers.

  Harrigan looked at the hand and sighed.

  “Be a man, Harrigan,” said the girl.

  Gingerly he took her hand. He closed his eyes, and sighed.

  “Here’s my promise,” said Harrigan, “and God help me. Where’ll I find her?”

  “I know where she is,” said Molly Bingham. “Go out to the front corner of the garden. Wait there. I’ll soon be coming.”

  Harrigan went out through the darkness of a trance and stood in the garden. Presently the front door opened and closed. The girl stood beside him.

  “Come with me,” she said.

  Harrigan followed her down a lane, and across an alley, and up a barren, empty street until they came to a little house retired among trees.

  “She’s in there,” said the girl. “Wouldn’t you feel shame, Dan Harrigan, to be hounding a girl like her, and making the world talk? Wouldn’t you feel shame?”

  But she was laughing softly, as she walked up the path before him to the house.

  When they came to the trees, she said: “Wait here.”

  He waited. She went on. She climbed the steps through a soft shaft of lamplight. She knocked at the front door, then opened it and went inside.

  Harrigan heard nothing. The coldness of ice water welled up in him, covered his heart, rose as high as his throat. He felt dizzy, and weak.

  At last the front door of the house opened. Two women came out. One of them sat down at the top of the steps, and he knew that this was Molly Bingham.

  The other came with hesitant steps down the path. At last she reached a full halt, turned, and beckoned. Molly Bingham instantly ran and joined her. They came on together. A dullness of lamplight passed over them, and Harrigan saw the face of Kate Malone. His dizziness increased. He wanted to run away, leaving all questions unasked and unanswered.

  Then they were close. Kate Malone halted.

  The younger girl stamped on the gravel of the path. “Come on to her, then, you great hulk,” she said.

  Harrigan strode looming through the darkness. When he came to Kate Malone, he dropped to one knee, and felt that it was the weakness of his legs that compelled him.

  She
made a gesture toward him. He caught her hand. It was cold and trembling.

  “Poor Danny,” she said. “Did the brutes hurt you badly?”

  At that, a wild hope filled him.

  “Fists couldn’t be hurting me, Kate!” he exclaimed. “Nothing but a word from you could hurt me. That’s what I’ve come to learn from you. Tell me, Kate, that you love MacTee, and I’ll take myself from your way. I’ll never bother Angus. You’ll be free with him, and God give you both happiness. But tell me the truth of it. Do you love Angus MacTee?”

  He listened breathlessly. The pause was long. The moments of it stung him like poisoned daggers.

  Then she answered in a broken voice: “Aye, Danny . . . I love him.”

  IX

  The hope sickened and died in Harrigan as a green twig withers and droops in flame. After a while, he got up to his feet. He kept on rising when he was erect. He kept on drawing himself straighter and straighter, drawing in deeper breaths, telling himself silently that he would not die, that men did not die of wounds that words could make.

  Someone was weeping. Well, that was like Kate Malone. She could not endure giving pain, and she was an old friend and a dear one. Yes, Kate would weep over him. This made tears sting his own eyes, until suddenly he saw that it was the other girl who was crying heartily, stifling her sobs.

  But Kate stood with her hands clasped in front of her, and her face lifted toward the stars. She reminded him of a picture he had seen somewhere, he could not remember where.

  He said: “Well, Kate, I’m taking myself away. If I were man enough, I’d go out into the woods and tell Angus that he’s the lucky one. But I couldn’t trust myself that far. If I looked at the face of Black Angus, and thought of him calling you his wife . . . I’d likely go mad. But I’ve sworn an oath and given my hand on it . . . and now take your word and leave you.”

  He held out his hand. The cold hand of Kate was laid in his.

  “You blithering idiot!” gasped Molly Bingham. “I never knew a red-headed man to be such a fool. Kiss her good bye . . . and then see.”