The Essential Max Brand - 29 Westerns in One Edition. Max Brand
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father, "they's a black out in the shed right now that'd make your eyes jest nacherally pop out'n their sockets. No more'n fifteen hands, but a reg'lar picture. Must be greased lightnin'."
"I've heard talk of these streaks of greased lightnin'," said Buck, with a touch of scorn, "but I'll stack old Mike agin the best of them."
"An' there's a dog along with the hoss—a dog that's the nearest to a wolf of any I ever seen."
There was a sudden change in Buck—a change to be sensed rather than definitely noted with the eye. It was a stiffening of his body—an alertness of which he was at pains to make no show. For almost immediately he began to whistle softly, idly, his eyes roving carelessly across the wall while he tilted back in his chair. Dan dropped his hand close to the butt of his gun. Instantly, the eyes of Buck flashed down and centered on Dan for an instant of keen scrutiny. Certainly Buck had connected that mention of the black horse and the wolf-dog with a disturbing idea.
When they went to their room—a room in which there was no bed and they had to roll down their blankets on the floor—Dan opened the window and commenced to whistle one of his own wild tunes. It seemed to Calder that there was a break in that music here and there, and a few notes grouped together like a call. In a moment a shadowy figure leaped through the window, and Black Bart landed on the floor with soft padding feet.
Recovering from his start Calder cursed softly.
"What's the main idea?" he asked.
Dan made a signal for a lower tone.
"There ain't no idea," he answered, "but these Daniels people—do you know anything about them?"
"No. Why?"
"They interest me, that's all."
"Anything wrong?"
"I guess not."
"Why did you whistle for this infernal wolf? It makes me nervous to have him around. Get out, Bart."
The wolf turned a languid eye upon the marshal.
"Let him be," said Dan. "I don't feel no ways nacheral without havin' Bart around."
The marshal made no farther objections, and having rolled himself in his blankets was almost immediately asleep and breathing heavily. The moment Dan heard his companion draw breath with a telltale regularity, he sat up again in his blankets. Bart was instantly at his side. He patted the shaggy head lightly, and pointed towards the door.
"Guard!" he whispered.
Then he lay down and was immediately asleep. Bart crouched at his feet with his head pointed directly at the door.
In other rooms there was the sound of the Daniels family going to bed —noises distinctly heard throughout the flimsy frame of the house. After that a deep silence fell which lasted many hours, but in that darkest moment which just precedes the dawn, a light creaking came up the hall. It was very faint and it occurred only at long intervals, but at the first sound Black Bart raised his head from his paws and stared at the door with those glowing eyes which see in the dark.
Now another sound came, still soft, regular. There was a movement of the door. In the pitch dark a man could never have noticed it, but it was plainly visible to the wolf. Still more visible, when the door finally stood wide, was the form of the man who stood in the opening. In one hand he carried a lantern thoroughly hooded, but not so well wrapped that it kept back a single ray which flashed on a revolver. The intruder made a step forward, a step as light as the fall of feathers, but it was not half so stealthy as the movement of Black Bart as he slunk towards the door. He had been warned to watch that door, but it did not need a warning to tell him that a danger was approaching the sleeping master. In the crouched form of the man, in the cautious step, he recognized the unmistakable stalking of one who hunts. Another soft step the man made forward.
Then, with appalling suddenness, a blacker shadow shot up from the deep night of the floor, and white teeth gleamed before the stranger's face. He threw up his hand to save his throat. The teeth sank into his arm—a driving weight hurled him against the wall and then to the floor—the revolver and the lantern dropped clattering, and the latter, rolling from its wrapping, flooded the room with light. But neither man nor wolf uttered a sound.
Calder was standing, gun in hand, but too bewildered to act, while Dan, as if he were playing a part long rehearsed, stood covering the fallen form of Buck Daniels.
"Stand back from him, Bart!" he commanded.
The wolf slipped off a pace, whining with horrible eagerness, for he had tasted blood. Far away a shout came from Sam Daniels. Dan lowered his gun.
"Stand up," he ordered.
The big fellow picked himself up and stood against the wall with the blood streaming down his right arm. Still he said nothing and his keen eyes darted from Calder to Whistling Dan.
"Give me a strip of that old shirt over there, will you, Tex?" said Dan, "an' keep him covered while I tie up his arm."
Before Calder could move, old Daniels appeared at the door, a heavy Colt in his hand. For a moment he stood dumbfounded, but then, with a cry, jerked up his gun—a quick movement, but a fraction of a second too slow, for the hand of Dan darted out and his knuckles struck the wrist of the old cattleman. The Colt rattled on the floor. He lunged after his weapon, but the voice of Buck stopped him short.
"The game's up, Dad," he growled, "that older feller is Tex Calder."
The name, like a blow in the face, straightened old Daniels and left him white and blinking. Whistling Dan turned his back on the father and deftly bound up the lacerated arm of Buck.
"In the name o' God, Buck," moaned Sam, "what you been tryin' to do in here?"
"What you'd do if you had the guts for it. That's Tex Calder an' this is Dan Barry. They're on the trail of big Jim. I wanted to put 'em off that trail."
"Look here," said Calder, "how'd you know us?"
"I've said my little say," said Buck sullenly, "an' you'll get no more out of me between here an' any hell you can take me to."
"He knew us when his father talked about Satan an' Black Bart," said Dan to Tex. "Maybe he's one of Silent's."
"Buck, for God's sake tell 'em you know nothin' of Silent," cried old Daniels. "Boy, boy, it's hangin' for you if they get you to Elkhead an' charge you with that!"
"Dad, you're a fool," said Buck. "I ain't goin' down on my knees to 'em. Not me."
Calder, still keeping Buck covered with his gun, drew Dan a little to one side.
"What can we do with this fellow, Dan?" he said. "Shall we give up the trail and take him over to Elkhead?"
"An' break the heart of the ol' man?"
"Buck is one of the gang, that's certain."
"Get Silent an' there won't be no gang left."
"But we caught this in red blood—"
"He ain't very old, Tex. Maybe he could change. I think he ain't been playin' Silent's game any too long."
"We can't let him go. It isn't in reason to do that."
"I ain't thinkin' of reason. I'm thinkin' of old Sam an' his wife."
"And if we turn him loose?"
"He'll be your man till he dies."
Calder scowled.
"The whole range is filled with these silent partners of the outlaws —but maybe you're right, Dan. Look at them now!"
The father was standing close to his son and pouring out a torrent of appeal—evidently begging him in a low voice to disavow any knowledge of Silent and his crew, but Buck shook his head sullenly. He had given up hope. Calder approached them.
"Buck," he said, "I suppose you know that you could be hung for what you've tried to do tonight. If the law wouldn't hang you a lynching party would. No jail would be strong enough