CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE WAITING
After that call first reached him, clear to his ears though vague as amurmur at the ear of Mary, McGurk swung to the saddle of his whitehorse, and galloped down the gorge like a veritable angel of death.
The end was very near, he felt, yet the chances were at least ten toone that he would miss Pierre in the throat of the gorge, for among thegreat boulders, tall as houses, which littered it, a thousand men mighthave passed and repassed and never seen each other. Only the callingof Pierre could guide him surely.
The calling had ceased for some moments, and he began to fear that hehad overrun his mark and missed Pierre in the heart of the pass, when,as he rounded a mighty boulder, the shout ran ringing in his very ears:"McGurk!" and a horseman swung into view.
"Here!" he called in answer, and stood with his right hand lifted,bringing his horse to a sharp halt, like some ancient cavalier stoppingin the middle of the battle to exchange greetings with a friendly foe.
The other rider whirled alongside, his sombrero's brim flaring backfrom his forehead, so that McGurk caught the glare of the eyes beneaththe shadow.
"So for the third time, my friend--" said McGurk.
"Which is the fatal one," answered Pierre. "How will you die, McGurk?On foot or on horseback?"
"On the ground, Pierre, for my horse might stir and make my work messy.I love a neat job, you know."
"Good."
They swung from the saddles and stood facing each other.
"Begin!" commanded McGurk. "I've no time to waste."
"I've very little time to look at the living McGurk. Let me look myfill before the end."
"Then look, and be done. I've a lady coming to meet me."
The other grew marvelously calm.
"She is with you, McGurk?"
"My dear Pierre, I've been with her ever since she started up the OldCrow."
"It will be easier to forget her. Are you ready?"
"So soon? Come, man, there's much for us to say. Many old times tochat over."
"I only wonder," said Pierre, "how one death can pay back what you'vedone. Think of it! I've actually run away from you and hidden myselfaway among the hills. I've feared you, McGurk!"
He said it with a deep astonishment, as a grown man will speak of theway he feared darkness when he was a child. McGurk moistened his whitelips. The white horse pawed the rocks as though impatient to be gone.
"Listen," said Pierre, "your horse grows restive. Suppose we standhere--it's a convenient distance apart, you see, and wait with our armsfolded for the next time the white horse paws the rocks, because when Ikill you, McGurk, I want you to die knowing that another man was fasteron the draw and straighter with his bullets than you are. D'you see?"
He could not have spoken with a more formal politeness if he had beenasking the other to pass first through the door of a dining-room. Thewonder of McGurk grew and the sweat on his forehead seemed to bespreading a chill through his entire body.
He said: "I see. You trust all to the cross, eh, Pierre? The littlecross under your neck?"
"The cross is gone," said Pierre le Rouge. "Why should I use itagainst a night rider, McGurk? Are you ready?"
And McGurk, not trusting his voice for some strange reason, nodded.The two folded their arms.
But the white horse which had been pawing the stones so eagerly amoment before was now unusually quiet. The very postures of the menseemed to have frozen him to stone, a beautiful, marble statue, withthe moonlight glistening on the muscles of his perfect shoulders.
At length he stirred. At once a quiver jerked through the tense bodiesof the waiting men, but the white horse had merely stiffened and raisedhis head high. Now, with arched neck and flaunting tail he neighedloudly, as if he asked a question. How could he know, dumb brute, thatwhat he asked only death could answer?
And as they waited an itching came at the palm of McGurk's hand. Itwas not much, just a tingle of the blood. To ease it, he closed hisfingers and found that his hand was moist with cold perspiration.
He began to wonder if his fingers would be slippery on the butt of thegun. Then he tried covertly to dry them against his shirt. But heceased this again, knowing that he must be of hair-trigger alertness towatch for the stamp of the white horse.
It occurred to him, also, that he was standing on a loose stone whichmight wabble when he pulled his gun, and he cursed himself silently forhis hasty folly. Pierre, doubtless, had noticed that stone, andtherefore he had made the suggestion that they stand where they were.Otherwise, how could there be that singular calm in the steady eyeswhich looked across at him?
Also, how explain the hunger of that stare? Was not he McGurk, and wasnot this a man whom he had already once shot down? God, what a fool hehad been not to linger an instant longer in that saloon in the old daysand place the final shot in the prostrate body! In all his life he hadmade only one such mistake, and now that folly was pursuing him. Andnow--
The foot of the white horse lifted--struck the rock. The sound of itsfall was lost in the explosion of two guns, and a ring of metal onmetal. The revolver snapped from the hand of McGurk, whirled in aflashing circle, and clanged on the rocks at his feet. The bullet ofPierre had struck the barrel and knocked it cleanly from his hand.
It was luck, only luck, that placed that shot, and his own bullet,which had started first, had travelled wild for there stood Pierre leRouge, smiling faintly, alert, calm. For the first time in his lifeMcGurk had missed. He set his teeth and waited for death.
But that steady voice of Pierre said: "To shoot you would be apleasure; it would even be a luxury, but there wouldn't be any lastingsatisfaction in it. So there lies your gun at your feet. Well, herelies mine."
He dropped his own weapon to a position corresponding with that ofMcGurk's.
"We were both very wild that time. We must do better now. We'll stoopfor our guns, McGurk. The signal? No, we won't wait for the horse tostamp. The signal will be when you stoop for your gun. You shall haveevery advantage, you see? Start for that gun, McGurk, when you'reready for the end."
The hand of McGurk stretched out and his arm stiffened but it seemed asthough all the muscles of his back had grown stiff. He could not bend.It was strange. It was both ludicrous and incomprehensible. Perhapshe had grown stiff with cold in that position.
But he heard the voice of Pierre explaining gently: "You can't move, myfriend. I understand. It's fear that stiffened your back. It's fearthat sends the chill up and down your blood. It's fear that makes youthink back to your murders, one by one. McGurk, you're done for.You're through. You're ready for the discard. I'm not going to killyou. I've thought of a finer hell than death, and that is to live asyou shall live. I've beaten you, McGurk, beaten you fairly on thedraw, and I've broken your heart by doing it. The next time you face aman you'll begin to think--you'll begin to remember how one other manbeat you at the draw. And that wonder, McGurk, will make your handfreeze to your side, as you've made the hands of other men before mefreeze. D'you understand?"
The lips of McGurk parted. The whisper of his dry panting reachedPierre, and the devil in him smiled.
"In six weeks, McGurk, you'll take water from a Chinaman. Now get out!"
And pace by pace McGurk drew back, with his face still toward Pierre.
The latter cried: "Wait. Are you going to leave your gun?"
Only the steady retreat continued.
"And go unarmed through the mountains? What will men say when they seeMcGurk with an empty holster?"
But the outlaw had passed out of view beyond the corner of one of themonster boulders. After him went the white horse, slowly, picking hissteps, as if he were treading on dangerous and unknown ground and wouldnot trust his leader. Pierre was left to the loneliness of the gorge.
The moonlight only served to make more visible its rocky nakedness, andlike that nakedness was the life of Pierre under his hopeless inwardeye.
Over him loomed from either side the gleaming pinnacles of theTwin Bears, and he remembered many a time when he had looked up towardthem from the crests of lesser mountains--looked up toward them as aman looks to a great and unattainable ideal.
Here he was come to the crest of all the ranges; here he was come tothe height and limit of his life, and what had he attained? Only acruel, cold isolation. It had been a steep ascent; the declivity ofthe farther side led him down to a steep and certain ruin and the darknight below. But he stiffened suddenly and threw his head high as ifhe faced his fate; and behind him the cream-colored mare raised herhead with a toss and whinnied softly.
It seemed to him that he had heard something calling, for the sound waslost against the sweep of wind coming up the gorge. Something callingthere in the night of the mountains as he himself had called when herode so wildly in the quest for McGurk. How long ago had that been?
But it came once more, clear beyond all doubt. He recognized the voicein spite of the panting which shook it; a wild wail like that of aheart-broken child, coming closer to him like some one, running:"Pierre! Oh, Pierre!"
And all at once he knew that the moon was broad and bright and fair,and the heavens clear and shining with golden points of light. Oncemore the cry. He raised his arms and waited.