Riders of the Silences

by Max Brand

  CHAPTER XXXV

  JACK HEARS A SMALL VOICE

  It came back to her like a threat; it beat at her ears and roused her,that continually diminishing cry: "McGurk!" It went down the valley,and Mary Brown, and McGurk with her, perhaps, had gone up the gorge,but it would be a matter of a short time before Pierre le Rougediscovered that there was no camp-fire to be sighted in the lowervalley and whirled to storm back up the canon with that battle-cry:"McGurk!" still on his lips.

  And if the two met she knew the result. Seven strong men had riddentogether, fought together, and one by one they had fallen, disappearedlike the white smoke of the camp-fire, jerked off into thin air by thewind, until only one remained.

  How clearly she could see them all! Bud Mansie, meager, lean, with ashifting eye; Garry Patterson, of the red, good-natured face; PhilBranch, stolid and short and muscled like a giant; Handsome Dick Wilburon his racing bay; Black Gandil, with his villainies from the SouthSeas like an invisible mantle of awe about him; and her father, thestalwart, gray Boone.

  All these had gone, and there remained only Pierre le Rouge to followin the steps of the six who had gone before.

  She crawled to the door, feeble in mind and shuddering of body like arunner who has spent his last energy in a long race, and drew it open.The wind blew up the valley from the Old Crow, but no sound came backto her, no calling from Pierre; and over her rose the black pyramid ofthe western peak of the Twin Bears like a monstrous nose pointingstiffly toward the stars.

  She closed the door, dragged herself back to her feet, and stood withher shoulders leaning against the wall. Her weakness was notweariness--it was as if something had been taken from her. Shewondered at herself somewhat vaguely. Surely she had never been likethis before, with the singular coldness about her heart and the feelingof loss, of infinite loss.

  What had she lost? She began to search her mind for an answer. Thenshe smiled uncertainly, a wan, small smile. It was very clear; whatshe had lost was all interest in life and all hope for the braveto-morrow. Nothing remained of all those lovely dreams which she hadbuilt up by day and night about the figure of Pierre le Rouge. He wasgone, and the bright-colored bubble she had blown vanished at once.

  She felt a slight pain at her forehead and then remembered the crosswhich Pierre had thrown into her face. Casting that away he had thrownhis faintest chance of victory with it; it would be a slaughter, not abattle, and red-handed McGurk would leave one more foe behind him.

  But looking down she found the cross and picked up the shining bit ofmetal; it seemed as if she held the greater part of Pierre le Rouge inher hands. She raised the cross to her lips.

  When she fastened the cross about her throat it was with no exultation,but like one who places over his heart a last memorial of the dead; aconsecration, like the red sign or the white which the crusaders woreon the covers of their shields.

  Then she took from her breast the spray of autumn leaves. He had notnoticed them, yet perhaps they had helped to make him gay when he cameinto the cabin that night, so she placed the spray on the table. Nextshe unpinned the great rubies from her throat and let her eye lingerover them for a moment. They were chosen stones, each as deeplylighted as an eye, if there ever were eyes of this blood-red, and theylooked up at her with a lure and a challenge at once.

  The first thought of what she must do came to Jacqueline then, but notin an overwhelming tide--it was rather a small voice that whispered inher heart.

  Last, she took from her bosom the glove of the yellow-haired girl.Compared with her stanch riding gloves, how small was this! Yet, whenshe tried it, it slipped easily on her hand. This she laid in thatlittle pile, for these were the things which Pierre would wish to findif by some miracle he came back from the battle. The spray, perhaps,he would not understand; and yet he might. She pressed both hands toher breast and drew a long breath, for her heart was breaking. Throughher misted eyes she could barely see the shimmer of the cross.

  That sight made her look up, searching for a superhuman aid in her woe,and for the first time in her life a conception of God dawned on herwild, gay mind. She made a picture of him like a vast cloud loomingover the Twin Bear peaks and breathing an infinite calm over themountains. The cloud took a faintly human shape--a shape somewhat likethat of her father when he lived, for he could be both stern andgentle, as she well knew, and such gray Boone had been.

  Perhaps it was because of this that another picture came out of herinfancy of a soft voice, of a tender-touching hand, of brooding,infinitely loving eyes. She smiled the wan smile again because for thefirst time it came to her that she, too, even she, the wild, the"tiger-heart," as Pierre himself had called her, might one day havebeen the mother of a child, his child.

  But the ache within her grew so keen that she dropped, writhing, to herknees, and twisted her hands together in agony. It was prayer. Therewere no words to it, but it was prayer, a wild appeal for aid.

  That aid came in the form of a calm that swept on her like the flood ofa clear moonlight over a storm-beaten landscape. The whisper which hadcome to her before was now a solemn-speaking voice, and she knew whatshe must do. She could not keep the two men apart, but she might reachMcGurk before and strike him down by stealth, by craft, any way to killthat man as terrible as a devil, as invulnerable as a ghost.

  This she might do in the heart of the night, and afterward she mighthave the courage left to tell the girl the truth and then creep offsomewhere and let this steady pain burn its way out of her heart.

  Once she had reached a decision, it was characteristic that she movedswiftly. Also, there was cause for haste, for by this time Pierre musthave discovered that there was no one in the lower reaches of the gorgeand would be galloping back with all the speed of the cream-coloredmare which even McGurk's white horse could not match.

  She ran from the cabin and into the little lean-to behind it where thehorses were tethered. There she swung her saddle with expert hands,whipped up the cinch, and pulled it with the strength of a man,mounted, and was off up the gorge.

  For the first few minutes she let the long-limbed black race on at fullspeed, a breathless course, because the beat of the wind in her faceraised her courage, gave her a certain impulse which was almosthappiness, just as the martyrs rejoiced and held out their hands to thefire that was to consume them; but after the first burst of headlonggalloping, she drew down the speed to a hand-canter, and this in turnto a fast trot, for she dared not risk the far-echoed sound of theclattering hoofs over the rock.

  And as she rode she saw at last the winking eye of red which she longedfor and dreaded. She pulled her black to an instant halt and swungfrom the saddle, tossing the reins over the head of the horse to keephim standing there.

  Yet, after she had made half a dozen hurried paces something forced herto turn and look again at the handsome head of the horse. He stoodquite motionless, with his ears pricking after her, and now as shestopped he whinnied softly, hardly louder than the whisper of a man.So she ran back again and threw the reins over the horn of the saddle;he should be free to wander where he chose through the free mountains,but as for her, she knew very certainly now that she would never mountthat saddle again, or control that triumphant steed with the touch ofher hands on the reins. She put her arms around his neck and drew hishead down close.

  There was a dignity in that parting, for it was the burning of herbridges behind her. When "King-Maker" Richard of Warwick, betrayed andbeaten on the field, came to his last stand by the forest, hedismounted and stabbed his favorite charger. Very different was thiswild mountain girl from the armored earl who put kings up and pulledthem down again at pleasure, but her heart swelled as great as theheart of famous Warwick; he gave up a kingdom, and she gave up her love.

  When she drew back the horse followed her a pace, but she raised asilent hand in the night and halted him; a moment later she was lostamong the boulders.

  It was rather slow work to stalk that camp-fire, for the big
boulderscut off the sight of the red eye time and again, and she had to makelittle, cautious detours before she found it again, but she keptsteadily at her work. Once she stopped, her blood running cold, forshe thought that she heard a faint voice blown up the canon on thewind: "McGurk!"

  For half a minute she stood frozen, listening, but the sound was notrepeated, and she went on again with greater haste. So she came atlast in view of a hollow in the side of the gorge. Here there were afew trees, growing in the cove, and here, she knew, there was a smallspring of clear water. Many a time she had made a cup of her hands anddrunk here.

  Now she made out the fire clearly, the trees throwing out great spokesof shadow on all sides, spokes of shadows that wavered and shook withthe flare of the small fire beyond them. She dropped to her hands andknees and, parting the dense underbrush, began the last stealthyapproach.