The Essential Max Brand - 29 Westerns in One Edition. Max Brand
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and cursing and praying, for handsome Jerry Strann was dead. Or there might have been utter and dreadful silence and waiting for the stroke of vengeance, for the brightest eye was misted and the strongest hand was unnerved and the voice that had made them tremble was gone.
But there was neither silence nor weeping. Someone in a nearby kitchen rattled her pans and then cursed a dog away from her back-door. Not that any of the sounds were loud. The sounds of living are rarely loud, but they run in an endless river—a monotone broken by ugly ripples of noise to testify that men still sleep or waken, hunger or feed. Another ripple had gone down to the sea of darkness, yet all the ripples behind it chased on their way heedlessly and babbled neither louder nor softer.
There should have been some giant voice to peal over the sleeping village and warn them of the coming vengeance—for Jerry Strann was dead!
The tall, gaunt figure of Haw-Haw Langley came on tiptoe from behind, beheld the dead face, and grinned; a nervous convulsion sent a long ripple through his body, and his Adam's-apple rose and fell. Next he stole sideways, inch by inch, so gradual was his cautious progress, until he could catch a glimpse of Mac Strann's face. It was like the open face of a child; there was in it no expression except wonder.
At length a hoarse voice issued from between the grinning lips of Haw-Haw.
"Ain't you goin' to close the eyes, Mac?"
At this the great head of Mac Strann rolled back and he raised his glance to Haw-Haw, who banished the grin from his mouth by a vicious effort.
"Ain't he got to see his way?" asked Mac Strann, and lowered his glance once more to the dead man. As for Haw-Haw Langley, he made a long, gliding step back towards the door, and his beady eyes opened in terror; yet a deadly fascination drew him back again beside the bed.
Mac Strann said: "Kind of looks like Jerry was ridin' the home trail, Haw-Haw. See the way he's smilin'?"
The vulture stroked his lean cheeks and seemed once more to swallow his silent mirth.
"And his hands," said Mac Strann, "is just like life, except that they's gettin' sort of chilly. He don't look changed, none, does he, Haw-Haw? Except that he's seein' something off there—away off there. Looks like he was all wrapped up in it, eh?" He leaned closer, his voice fell to a murmur that was almost soft. "Jerry, what you seein'?"
Haw-Haw Langley gasped in inaudible terror and retreated again towards the door.
Mac Strann laid his giant hand on the shoulder of Jerry. He asked in a raised voice: "Don't you hear me, lad?" Sudden terror caught hold of him. He plunged to his knees beside the bed, and the floor quaked and groaned under the shock. "Jerry, what's the matter? Are you mad at me? Ain't you going to speak to me? Are you forgettin' me, Jerry?"
He caught the dead face between his hands and turned it strongly towards his own. Then for a moment his eyes plumbed the shadows into which they looked. He stumbled back to his feet and said apologetically to Haw-Haw at the door: "I kind of forgot he wasn't livin', for a minute." He stared fixedly at the gaunt cowpuncher. "Speakin' man to man, Haw-Haw, d'you think Jerry will forget me?"
The terror was still white upon the face of Haw-Haw, but something stronger than fear kept him in the room and even drew him a slow step towards Mac Strann; and his eyes moved from the face of the dead man to the face of the living and seemed to draw sustenance from both. He moistened his lips and was able to speak.
"Forget you, Mac? Not if you get the man that fixed him."
"Would you want me to get him, Jerry?" asked Mac Strann. And he waited for an answer.
"I dunno," he muttered, after a moment. "Jerry was always for fightin', but he wasn't never for killin'. He never liked the way I done things. And when he was lyin' here, Haw-Haw, he never said nothin' about me gettin' Barry. Did he?"
Astonishment froze the lips of Haw-Haw. He managed to stammer: "Ain't you going to get Barry? Ain't you goin' to bust him up, Mac?"
"I dunno," repeated the big man heavily. "Seems like I've got no heart for killing. Seems like they's enough death in the world." He pressed his hand against his forehead and closed his eyes. "Seems like they's something dead in me. They's an ache that goes ringin' in my head. They's a sort of hollow feelin' inside me. And I keep thinkin' about times when I was a kid and got hurt and cried." He drew a deep breath. "Oh, my God, Haw-Haw, I'd give most anything if I could bust out cryin' now!"
While Mac Strann stood with his eyes closed, speaking his words slowly, syllable by syllable, like the tolling of a bell, Haw-Haw Langley stood with parted lips—like the spirit of famine drinking deep; joy unutterable was glittering in his eyes.
"If Jerry'd wanted me to get this Barry, he'd of said so," repeated Mac Strann. "But he didn't." He turned towards the dead face. "Look at Jerry now. He ain't thinkin' about killin's. Nope, he's thinkin' about some quiet place for sleep. I know the place. They's a spring that come out in a holler between two mountains; and the wind blows up the valley all the year; and they's a tree that stands over the spring. That's where I'll put him. He loved the sound of runnin' water; and the wind'll be on his face; and the tree'll sort of mark the place. Jerry, lad, would ye like that?"
Now, while Mac Strann talked, inspiration came to Haw-Haw Langley, and he stretched out his gaunt arms to it and gathered it in to his heart.
"Mac," he said, "don't you see no reason why Jerry wouldn't ask you to go after Barry?"
"Eh?" queried Mac Strann, turning.
But as he turned, Haw-Haw Langley glided towards him, and behind him, as if he found it easier to talk when the face of Mac was turned away. And while he talked his hands reached out towards Mac Strann like one who is begging for alms.
"Mac, don't you remember that Barry beat Jerry to the draw?"
"What's that to do with it?"
"But he beat him bad to the draw. I seen it. Barry waited for Jerry. Understand?"
"What of that?"
"Mac, you're blind! Jerry knowed you'd be throwing yourself away if you went up agin Barry."
At this Mac Strann whirled with a suddenness surprising for one of his bulk. Haw-Haw Langley flattened his gaunt frame against the wall.
"Mac!" he pleaded, "I didn't say you'd be throwin' yourself away. It was Jerry's idea."
"Did Jerry tell you that?" he asked.
"So help me God!"
"Did Jerry want me to get Barry?"
"Why wouldn't he?" persisted the vulture, twisting his bony hands together in an agony of alarm and suspense. "Ain't it nacheral, Mac?"
Mac Strann wavered where he stood.
"Somehow," he argued to himself, "it don't seem like killin' is right, here."
The long hand of Langley touched his shoulder.
He whispered rapidly: "You remember last night when you was out of the room for a minute? Jerry turned his head to me—jest the way he's lyin' now—and I says: 'Jerry, is there anything I can do for you?'"
Mac Strann reached up and his big fingers closed over those of Haw-Haw.
"Haw-Haw," he muttered, "you was his frien'. I know that."
Haw-Haw gathered assurance.
He said: "Jerry answers to me: 'Haw-Haw, old pal, there ain't nothin' you can do for me. I'm goin' West. But after I'm gone, keep Mac away from Barry.'
"I says: 'Why, Jerry?"
"'Because Barry'll kill him, sure,' says Jerry.
"'I'll do what I can to keep him away from Barry,' says I, 'but don't you want nothin' done to the man what killed you?'
"'Oh, Haw-Haw,' says Jerry, 'I ain't goin' to rest easy, I ain't goin' to sleep in heaven—until I know Barry's been sent to hell. But for God's sake don't let Mac know what I want, or he'd be sure to go after Barry and get what I got.'"