CHAPTER XXIV
THE LUCK OF THE SHIPWRECKED
It was early morning before Pierre reached the refuge of Boone's gang,but there was still a light through the window of the large room, andhe entered to find Boone, Mansie, and Gandil grouped about the fire,all ominously silent, all ominously wakeful. They looked up to him andbig Jim nodded his gray head. Otherwise there was no greeting.
From a shadowy corner Jacqueline rose and went toward the door. Hecrossed quickly and barred the way.
"What is it, Jack?"
"Get out of the way."
"Not till you tell me what's wrong."
A veritable devil of fury came blazing in her eyes, and her handtwitched nervously back to her hip where the dark holster hung. Shesaid in a voice that shook with anger: "Don't try your bluff on me. Iain't no shorthorn, Pierre le Rouge."
He stepped aside, frowning.
"To-morrow I'll argue the point with you, Jack."
She turned at the door and snapped back: "You? You ain't fast enoughon the draw to argue with me!"
And she was gone. He turned to face the mocking smile of Black Gandiland a rapid volley of questions.
"Where's Patterson?"
"No more idea than you have."
"And Branch?"
"What's become of Branch? Hasn't he returned?"
"No. And Dick Wilbur?"
"Boys, he's done with this life and I'm glad of it. He's starting on anew track."
"After a woman?" sneered Bud Mansie.
"Shut up, Bud," broke in Boone, and then slowly to Pierre: "Pattersonis gone for two days now. You ought to know what that means. Branchought to have returned from looking for him, and Branch is still out.Wilbur is gone. Out of seven we're only four left. Who's next?"
He stared gloomily from face to face, and Gandil snarled: "A fellow whosaves a shipwrecked man--"
"Damn you, keep still, Gandil."
"Don't damn me, Pierre le Rouge, but damn the luck you've brought toJim Boone."
"Jim, do you chalk all this up against me?"
"I, lad? No, no! But it's queer. Patterson's done for; there's nodoubt of that. Good-natured Garry Patterson. God, boy, how we'll misshim! And Branch seems to have gone the same way. If neither of themshow up before morning we can cross 'em off the list. Now Wilbur hasgone and Jack has ridden home looking like a small-sized thunder storm,and now you come with a white face and a blank eye. What hell istrailin' us, Pierre, what hell is in store for us. You've seensomething, and we want to know what it is."
"A ghost, Jim, that's all. Just a ghost."
Bud Mansie said softly: "There's only one ghost that could make youlook like this. Was it McGurk, Pierre?"
Boone commanded: "No more of that, Bud. Boy's we're going to turn in,and to-morrow we'll climb the hills looking for the two we've lost.But there's something or some one after us. Lads, I'm thinking ourgood days are over. The seven of us have been too many for a smallposse and too fast for a big one, but the seven are down to four. Thegood days are over."
And the three answered in a solemn chorus: "The good days are over."
All eyes fixed on Pierre, and his glance was settled on the floor.
The morning brought them no better cheer, for Jack, whose singinggenerally wakened them, was not to be coaxed into speech, and whenPierre entered the room she rose and left the breakfast-table. The sadeyes of Jim Boone followed her and then turned to Pierre. Noexplanation was forthcoming, and he asked for none. The old fatalisthad accepted the worst, and now he waited for doom to descend.
They took their horses after breakfast and rode out to search thehills, for it was quite possible that an accident had crippled at leastone of the two lost men, either Patterson or Branch. Not a gullywithin miles was left unsearched, but toward evening they rode back,one by one, with no tidings.
One by one they rode up, and whistled to announce their coming, andthen rode on to the stable to unsaddle their horses. About the suppertable all gathered with the exception of Bud Mansie. So they waitedthe meal and each from time to time stole a glance at the fifth platewhere Bud should sit.
It was Jack who finally stirred herself from her dumb gloom to take upthat fifth and carry it out of the room. It was as if she hadannounced the death of Mansie.
After that, they ate what they could and then went back around thefire. The evening waned, but it brought no sign of any of the missingthree. The wood burned low in the fire. The first to break the longsilence was Jim Boone, with "Who brings in the wood?"
And Black Gandil answered: "We'll match, eh?"
In an outburst of energy the day before he disappeared Garry Pattersonhad chopped up some wood and left a pile of it at the corner of thehouse. It was a very little thing to bring in an armful of that wood,but long-riders do not love work, and now they started the matchingseriously. The odd man was out, and Pierre went out on the first tossof the coins.
"You see," said Gandil. "Bad luck to every one but himself."
At the next throw Jacqueline was the lucky one, and her fatherafterward. Gandil rose and stretched himself leisurely, yet as hesauntered toward the door his backward glance at Pierre was blackindeed. He glanced curiously toward Jack--who looked away sharply--andthen turned his eyes to her father.
The latter was considering him with a gloomy, foreboding stare andconsidering over and over again, as Pierre le Rouge well knew, theprophecy of Black Morgan Gandil.
He fell in turn into a solemn brooding, and many a picture out of thepast came up beside him and stood near till he could almost feel itspresence. He was roused by the creaking of the floor beneath theponderous step of Jim Boone, who flung the door open and shouted: "Oh,Morgan."
In the silence he turned and stared back at Pierre.
"What's up with Gandil?"
"God knows, not I."
Pierre rose and ran from the room and around the side of the building.There by the woodpile lay the prostrate body. It was a mere limpweight when he turned and raised it in his arms. So he walked backinto the house carrying all that was left of Black Morgan Gandil, andplaced his burden on a bunk at the side of the room.
There had been no outcry from either Jim Boone or his daughter, butthey came quickly to him, and Jacqueline pressed her ear over the heartof the hurt man.
She said; "He's still alive, but nearly gone. Where's the wound?"
They found it when they drew off his coat--a small cut high on theright breast, and another lower and more to the left. Either of themwould been fatal, and about each the flesh was discolored where thehilt of the knife or the fist of the striker had driven home the blade.
They stood back and made no hopeless effort to save him. It wasuncanny that Black Morgan Gandil, after all of his battles, should diewithout a struggle in this way. And it had been no cowardly attackfrom the rear. Both wounds were in the front. A hope came to themwhen his color increased at one time, but it was for only a moment; itwent out again as if some one were erasing paint from his cheeks.
But just as they were about to turn away his body stirred with a slightconvulsion, the eyes opened wide, and he strove to speak. A red frothcame on his lips. He made another desperate effort, and twistinghimself onto one elbow pointed a rigid arm at Pierre. He gasped:"McGurk--God!" and dropped. He was dead before his head touched theblanket.
It was Jacqueline who closed the staring eyes, for the two men werefrozen where they stood. They had heard the story of Patterson andBranch and Mansie in one word from the lips of the dying man.
McGurk was back. McGurk was prowling about the last of the gang ofBoone, and the lone wolf had pulled down four of the band one by one onsuccessive days. Only two remained, and these two looked at oneanother with a common thought.
"The lights!" cried Jacqueline, turning from the body of Gandil. "Hecan shoot us down through the windows at his leisure."
"But he won't," said her father. "I've lived too long with the name ofMcGurk in my ears n
ot to know the man. He'll never kill by stealth,but openly and man to man. I know him, damn him. He'll wait till hemeets us alone, and then we'll finish as poor Gandil, there, orPatterson and Branch and Bud Mansie, all of them fallen somewhere inthe mountains with the buzzards left to bury 'em. That's how we'llfinish with McGurk on our trail. And you--Gandil was right--it's youthat's brought him on us. A shipwrecked man--by God, Gandil was right!"
His right hand froze on the butt of his gun and his face convulsed withimpotent rage, for he knew, as both the others knew, that long beforethat gun was clear of the holster the bullet from Pierre's gun would beon its way. But Pierre threw his arms wide, and standing so, hisshadow made a black cross on the wall behind him. He even smiled totempt the big man further.