The Essential Max Brand - 29 Westerns in One Edition. Max Brand
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him against the wall. Haw-Haw crumpled to the floor.
He gasped: "It weren't me, Mac. For Gawd's sake, it weren't me!"
His face was a study. There was abject terror in it, and yet there was also a sort of grisly joy, and his eyes feasted on the silent agony of Mac Strann.
"Where?" asked Mac Strann.
"Mac," pleaded the vulture who cringed on the floor, "gimme your word you ain't goin' to hold it agin me."
"Tell me," said the other, and he framed the face of the vulture between his large hands. If he pressed the heels of those hands together bones would snap, and Haw-Haw Langley knew it. And yet nothing but a wild delight could have set that glitter in his little eyes, just as nothing but a palsy of terror could have set his limbs twitching so.
"Who shot him from behind?" demanded the giant.
"It wasn't from behind," croaked the bearer of ill-tidings. "It was from the front."
"While he wasn't looking?"
"No. He was beat to the draw."
"You're lyin' to me," said Mac Strann slowly.
"So help me God!" cried Langley.
"Who done it?"
"A little feller. He ain't half as big as me. He's got a voice like Kitty Jackson, the school-marm; and he's got eyes like a starved pup. It was him that done it."
The eyes of Mac Strann grew vaguely meditative.
"Nope," he mused, in answer to his own thoughts, "I won't use no rope. I'll use my hands. Where'd the bullet land?"
A fresh agony of trembling shook Langley, and a fresh sparkle came in his glance.
"Betwixt his ribs, Mac. And right on through. And it come out his back!"
But there was not an answering tremor in Mac Strann. He let his hands fall away from the face of the vulture and he caught up the saddle. Langley straightened himself. He peered anxiously at Strann, as if he feared to miss something.
"I dunno whether he's livin' right now, or not," suggested Haw-Haw.
But Mac Strann was already striding through the door.
* * * * *
Sweat was pouring from the lather-flecked bodies of their horses when they drew rein, at last, at the goal of their long, fierce ride; and Haw-Haw slunk behind the broad form of Mac Strann when the latter strode into the hotel. Then the two started for the room in which, they were told, lay Jerry Strann.
"There it is," whispered Haw-Haw, as they reached the head of the stairs. "The door's open. If he was dead the door would be closed, most like."
They stood in the hall and looked in upon a strange picture, for flat in the bed lay Jerry Strann, his face very white and oddly thin, and over him leaned the man who had shot him down.
They heard Dan Barry's soft, gentle voice query: "How you feelin' now, partner?"
He leaned close beside the other, his fingers upon the wrist of Jerry.
"A pile better," muttered Jerry Strann. "Seems like I got more'n a fightin' chance to pull through now."
"Jest you keep lyin' here quiet," advised Dan Barry, "and don't stir around none. Don't start no worryin'. You're goin' to live's long as you don't lose no more blood. Keep your thoughts quiet. They ain't no cause for you to do nothin' but jest keep your eyes closed, and breathe, and think of yaller sunshine, and green grass in the spring, and the wind lazyin' the clouds along across the sky. That's all you got to think about. Jest keep quiet, partner."
"It's easy to do it now you're with me. Seems like they's a pile of strength runnin' into me from the tips of your fingers, my frien'. And—I was some fool to start that fight with you, Barry."
"Jest forget all that," murmured the other. "And keep your voice down. I've forgot it; you forget it. It ain't never happened."
"What's it mean?" frowned Mac Strann, whispering to Haw-Haw.
The eyes of the latter glittered like beads.
"That's him that shot Jerry," said Haw-Haw. "Him!"
"Hell!" snarled Mac Strann, and went through the door.
At the first sound of his heavy footfall, the head of Barry raised and turned in a light, swift movement. The next instant he was on his feet. A moment before his face had been as gentle as that of a mother leaning over a sick child; but one glimpse of the threat in the contorted brows of Mac Strann set a gleam in his own eyes, an answer as distinct as the click of metal against metal. Not a word had been said, but Jerry, who had lain with his eyes closed, seemed to sense a change in the atmosphere of peace which had enwrapped him the moment before. His eyes flashed open; and he saw his burly brother.
But Mac Strann had no eye for any saving Dan Barry.
"Are you the creepin', sneakin' snake that done—this?"
"You got me figured right," answered Dan coldly.
"Then, by God——" began the roaring voice of Mac, but Jerry Strann stirred wildly on the bed.
"Mac!" he called, "Mac!" His voice went suddenly horribly thick, a bubbling, liquid sound. "For God's sake, Mac!"
He had reared himself up on one elbow, his arm stretched out to his brother. And a foam of crimson stood on his lips.
"Mac, don't pull no gun! It was me that was in wrong!"
And then he fell back in the bed, and into the arms of Mac, who was beside him, moaning: "Buck up, Jerry. Talk to me, boy!"
"Mac, you've finished the job," came the husky whisper.
Mac Strann raised his head, and his terrible eyes fixed upon Dan Barry. And there was no pity in the face of the other. The first threat had wiped every vestige of human tenderness out of his eyes, and now, with something like a sneer on his lips, and with a glimmer of yellow light in his eyes, he was backing towards the door, and noiselessly as a shadow he slipped out and was gone.
XII. FINESSE
"A man talks because he's drunk or lonesome; a girl talks because that's her way of takin' exercise."
This was a maxim of Buck Daniels, and Buck Daniels knew a great deal about women, as many a school marm and many a rancher's daughter of the mountain-desert could testify.
Also Buck Daniels said of women: "It ain't what you say to 'em so much as the tune you put it to."
Now he sat this day in O'Brien's hotel dining-room. It was the lazy and idle hour between three and four in the afternoon, and since the men of the mountain-desert eat promptly at six, twelve, and six, there was not a soul in the room when he entered. Nor was there a hint of eating utensils on the tables. Nevertheless Buck Daniels was not dismayed. He selected a corner-table by instinct and smote upon the surface with the flat of his hand. It made a report like the spat of a forty-five; heavy footsteps approached, a door flung open, and a cross-eyed slattern stood in the opening. At the sight of Buck Daniels sitting with his hands on his hips and his sombrero pushed back to a good-natured distance on his head the lady puffed with rage.
"What in hell d'you think this is?" bellowed this gentle creature, and the tone echoed heavily back from all four walls. "You're three hours late and you get no chuck here. On your way, stranger!"
Buck Daniels elevated himself slowly from the chair and stood at his full height. With a motion fully as deliberate he removed his sombrero and bowed to such a depth that the brim of the hat brushed the floor.
"Lady," he said humbly, "I was thinkin' that some gent run this here eatin' place. Which if you'll excuse me half a minute I'll ramble outside and sluice off some of the dust. If I'd known you