The Max Brand Megapack. Max Brand
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eternity seemed poised and waiting for the second when one of the men would make the move for his gun. Not a breath was drawn in the room. Hands remained frozen in air in the midst of a gesture. Lips which had parted to speak did not close. The steady voice of the clock broke into the silence—a dying space between every tick. For the second time in his life Tex Calder knew fear.
He saw no mere man before him, but his own destiny. And he knew that if he stood before those glaring eyes another minute he would become like poor Sandy a few minutes before—a white-faced, palsied coward. The shame of the thought gave him power.
“Silent,” he said, “there’s a quick end to the longest trail, because—”
His hand darted down. No eye could follow the lightning speed with which he whipped out his revolver and fanned it, but by a mortal fraction of a second the convulsive jerk of Silent’s hand was faster still. Two shots followed—they were rather like one drawn-out report. The woodwork splintered above the outlaw’s head; Tex Calder seemed to laugh, but his lips made no sound. He pitched forward on his face.
“He fired that bullet,” said Silent, “after mine hit him.”
Then he leaped back through the door.
“Keep ’em back one minute, Lee, an’ then after me!” he said as he ran. Haines stood in the door with folded arms. He knew that no one would dare to move a hand.
Two doors slammed at the same moment—the front door as Silent leaped into the safety of the night, and the rear door as Whistling Dan rushed into the house. He stood at the entrance from the kitchen to the dining-room half crouched, and swaying from the suddenness with which he had checked his run. He saw the sprawled form of Tex Calder on the floor and the erect figure of Lee Haines just opposite him.
“For God’s sake!” screamed Gus Morris, “don’t shoot, Haines! He’s done nothin’. Let him go!”
“My life—or his!” said Haines savagely. “He’s not a man—he’s a devil!”
Dan was laughing low—a sound like a croon.
“Tex,” he said, “I’m goin’ to take him alive for you!”
As if in answer the dying man stirred on the floor. Haines went for his gun, a move almost as lightning swift as that of Jim Silent, but now far, far too late. The revolver was hardly clear of its holster when Whistling Dan’s weapon spoke. Haines, with a curse, clapped his left hand over his wounded right forearm, and then reached after his weapon as it clattered to the floor. Once more he was too late. Dan tossed his gun away with a snarl like the growl of a wolf; cleared the table at a leap, and was at Haines’s throat. The bandit fought back desperately, vainly. One instant they struggled erect, swaying, the next Haines was lifted bodily, and hurled to the floor. He writhed, but under those prisoning hands he was helpless.
The sheriff headed the rush for the scene of the struggle, but Dan stopped them.
“All you c’n do,” he said, “is to bring me a piece of rope.”
Jacqueline came running with a stout piece of twine which he twisted around the wrists of Haines. Then he jerked the outlaw to his feet, and stood close, his face inhumanly pale.
“If he dies,” he said, pointing with a stiff arm back at the prostrate figure of Tex Calder, “you—you’ll burn alive for it!”
The sheriff and two of the other men turned the body of Calder on his back. They tore open his shirt, and Jacqueline leaned over him with a basin of water trying to wipe away the ever recurrent blood which trickled down his breast. Dan brushed them away and caught the head of his companion in his arms.
“Tex!” he moaned, “Tex! Open your eyes, partner, I got him for you. I got him alive for you to look at him! Wake up!”
As if in obedience to the summons the eyes of Calder opened wide. The lids fluttered as if to clear his vision, but even then his gaze was filmed with a telltale shadow.
“Dan—Whistling Dan,” he said, “I’m seeing you a long, long ways off. Partner, I’m done for.”
The whole body of Dan stiffened.
“Done? Tex, you can’t be! Five minutes ago you sat at that there table, smilin’ an’ talkin’!”
“It doesn’t take five minutes. Half a second can take a man all the way to hell!”
“If you’re goin’, pal, if you goin’, Tex, take one comfort along with you! I got the man who killed you! Come here!”
He pulled the outlaw to his knees beside the dying marshal whose face had lighted wonderfully. He strained his eyes painfully to make out the face of his slayer. Then he turned his head.
He said: “The man who killed me was Jim Silent.”
Dan groaned and leaned close to Calder.
“Then I’ll follow him to the end—” he began.
The feeble accent of Calder interrupted him.
“Not that way. Come close to me. I can’t hear my own voice, hardly.”
Dan bowed his head. A whisper murmured on for a moment, broken here and there as Dan nodded his head and said, “Yes!”
“Then hold up your hand, your right hand,” said Calder at last, audibly.
Dan obeyed.
“You swear it?”
“So help me God!”
“Then here’s the pledge of it!”
Calder fumbled inside his shirt for a moment, and then withdrawing his hand placed it palm down in that of Dan. The breath of the marshal was coming in a rattling gasp.
He said very faintly: “I’ve stopped the trails of twenty men. It took the greatest of them all to get me. He got me fair. He beat me to the draw!”
He stopped as if in awe.
“He played square—he’s a better man than I. Dan, when you get him, do it the same way—face to face—with time for him to think of hell before he gets there. Partner, I’m going. Wish me luck.”
“Tex—partner—good luck!”
It seemed as if that parting wish was granted, for Calder died with a smile.
When Dan rose slowly Gus Morris stepped up and laid a hand on his arm: “Look here, there ain’t no use of bein’ sad for Tex Calder. His business was killin’ men, an’ his own time was overdue.”
Dan turned a face that made Morris wince.
“What’s the matter?” he asked, with an attempt at bluff good nature. “Do you hate everyone because one man is dead? I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll loan you a buckboard an’ a pair of hosses to take Tex back to Elkhead. As for this feller Haines, I’ll take care of him.”
“I sure need a buckboard,” said Dan slowly, “but I’ll get the loan from a—white man!”
He turned his back sharply on the sheriff and asked if any one else had a wagon they could lend him. One of the men had stopped at Morris’s place on his way to Elkhead. He immediately proposed that they make the trip together.
“All right,” said Morris carelessly. “I won’t pick trouble with a crazy man. Come with me, Haines.”
He turned to leave the room.
“Wait!” said Dan.
Haines stopped as though someone had seized him by the shoulder.
“What the devil is this now?” asked Morris furiously. “Stranger, d’you think you c’n run the world? Come on with me, Haines!”
“He stays with me,” said Dan.
“By God,” began Morris, “if I thought—”