The Max Brand Megapack. Max Brand
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or Black Bart. In the same silence they sat under the last light of the sunset and ate their supper. Calder, with head bent, pondered over the man of mystery and his two tamed animals. Tamed? Not one of the three was tamed, the man least of all.
He saw Dan pause from his eating to stare with wide, vacant eyes among the trees. The wolf-dog approached, looked up in his master’s face, whined softly, and getting no response went back to his place and lay down, his eyes never moving from Dan. Still he stared among the trees. The gloom deepened, and he smiled faintly. He began to whistle, a low, melancholy strain so soft that it blended with the growing hush of the night. Calder listened, wholly overawed. That weird music seemed an interpretation of the vast spaces of the mountains, of the pitiless desert, of the limitless silences, and the whistler was an understanding part of the whole.
He became aware of a black shadow behind the musician. It was Satan, who rested his nose on the shoulder of the master. Without ceasing his whistling Dan raised a hand, touched the small muzzle, and Satan went at once to a side of the clearing and lay down. It was almost as if the two had said good-night! Calder could stand it no longer.
“Dan, I’ve got to talk to you,” he began.
The whistling ceased; the wide brown eyes turned to him.
“Fire away—partner.”
Ay, they had eaten together by the same fire—they had watched the coming of the night—they had shaken hands in friendship—they were partners. He knew deep in his heart that no human being could ever be the actual comrade of this man. This lord of the voiceless desert needed no human companionship; yet as the marshal glanced from the black shadow of Satan to the gleaming eyes of Bart, and then to the visionary face of Barry, he felt that he had been admitted by Whistling Dan into the mysterious company. The thought stirred him deeply. It was as if he had made an alliance with the wandering wind. Why he had been accepted he could not dream, but he had heard the word “partner” and he knew it was meant. After all, stranger things than this happen in the mountain-desert, where man is greater and convention less. A single word has been known to estrange lifelong comrades; a single evening beside a camp-fire has changed foes to partners. Calder drew his mind back to business with a great effort.
“There’s one thing you don’t know about Jim Silent. A reward of ten thousand dollars lies on his head. The notices aren’t posted yet.”
Whistling Dan shrugged his shoulders.
“I ain’t after money,” he answered.
Calder frowned. He did not appreciate a bluff.
“Look here,” he said, “if we kill him, because no power on earth will take him alive—we’ll split the money.”
“If you lay a hand on him,” said Dan, without emotion, “we won’t be friends no longer, I figger.”
Calder stared.
“If you don’t want to get him,” he said, “why in God’s name are you trailing him this way?”
Dan touched his lips. “He hit me with his fist.”
He paused, and spoke again with a drawling voice that gave his words an uncanny effect.
“My blood went down from my mouth to my chin. I tasted it. Till I get him there ain’t no way of me forgettin’ him.”
His eyes lighted with that ominous gleam.
“That’s why no other man c’n put a hand on him. He’s laid out all for me. Understand?”
The ring of the question echoed for a moment through Calder’s mind.
“I certainly do,” he said with profound conviction, “and I’ll never forget it.” He decided on a change of tactics. “But there are other men with Jim Silent and those men will fight to keep you from getting to him.”
“I’m sorry for ’em,” said Dan gently. “I ain’t got nothin’ agin any one except the big man.”
Calder took a long breath.
“Don’t you see,” he explained carefully, “if you shoot one of these men you are simply a murderer who must be apprehended by the law and punished.”
“It makes it bad for me, doesn’t it?” said Dan. “An’ I hope I won’t have to hurt more’n one or two of ’em. You see,”—he leaned forward seriously towards Calder—“I’d only shoot for their arms or their legs. I wouldn’t spoil them altogether.”
Calder threw up his hands in despair. Black Bart snarled at the gesture.
“I can’t listen no more,” said Dan. “I got to start explorin’ the willows pretty soon.”
“In the dark?” exclaimed Calder.
“Sure. Black Bart’ll go with me. The dark don’t bother him.”
“I’ll go along.”
“I’d rather be alone. I might meet him.”
“Any way you want,” said Calder, “but first hear my plan—it doesn’t take long to tell it.”
The darkness thickened around them while he talked. The fire died out—the night swallowed up their figures.
CHAPTER XIII
THE LONE RIDERS ENTERTAIN
When Lee Haines rode into Silent’s camp that evening no questions were asked. Questions were not popular among the long riders. He did not know more than the names of half the men who sat around the smoky fire. They were eager to forget the past, and the only allusions to former times came in chance phrases which they let fall at rare intervals. When they told an anecdote they erased all names by instinct. They would begin: “I heard about a feller over to the Circle Y outfit that was once ridin’—” etc. As a rule they themselves were “that feller over to the Circle Y outfit.” Accordingly only a few grunts greeted Haines and yet he was far and away the most popular man in the group. Even solemn-eyed Jim Silent was partial to the handsome fellow.
“Heard the whistling today?” he asked.
Purvis shook his head and Terry Jordan allowed “as how it was most uncommon fortunate that this Barry feller didn’t start his noise.” After this Haines ate his supper in silence, his ear ready to catch the first sound of Kate’s horse as it crashed through the willows and shrubs. Nevertheless it was Shorty Rhinehart who sprang to his feet first.
“They’s a hoss there comin’ among the willows!” he announced.
“Maybe it’s Silent,” remarked Haines casually.
“The chief don’t make no such a noise. He picks his goin’,” answered Hal Purvis.
The sound was quite audible now.
“They’s been some crooked work,” said Rhinehart excitedly. “Somebody’s tipped off the marshals about where we’re lyin’.”
“All right,” said Haines quietly, “you and I will investigate.”
They started through the willows. Rhinehart was cursing beneath his breath.
“Don’t be too fast with your six-gun,” warned Haines.
“I’d rather be too early than too late.”
“Maybe it isn’t a marshal. If a man were looking for us he’d be a fool to come smashing along like that.”
He had scarcely spoken when Kate came into view.
“A girl, by God!” said Rhinehart, with mingled relief and disgust.
“Sure thing,” agreed Haines.
“Let’s beat it back to the camp.”
“Not a hope. She’s headed straight for the camp. We’ll take her in and tell her we’re a bunch from the Y Circle X outfit headed north. She’ll never know the difference.”