CHAPTER XXXVII
DEATH
Before noon of the next day Buck joined the crowd which had beengrowing for hours around Tully's saloon. Men gave way before him,whispering. He was a marked man--the friend of Whistling Dan Barry.Cowpunchers who had known him all his life now avoided his eyes, butcaught him with side glances. He smiled grimly to himself, readingtheir minds. He was more determined than ever to stand or fall withWhistling Dan that day.
There was not an officer of the law in sight. If one were present itwould be his manifest duty to apprehend the outlaws as soon as theyappeared, and the plan was to allow them to fight out their quarreland perhaps kill each other.
Arguments began to rise among separate groups, where the crimesattributed to Whistling Dan Barry were numbered and talked over. Itsurprised Buck to discover the number who believed the stories whichhe and Haines had told. They made a strong faction, though manifestlyin the minority.
Hardly a man who did not, from time to time, nervously fumble the buttof his six-gun. As three o'clock drew on the talk grew less and less.It broke out now and again in little uneasy bursts. Someone would tella joke. Half hysterical laughter would greet it, and die suddenly,as it began. These were all hard-faced men of the mountain-desert,warriors of the frontier. What unnerved them was the strangeness ofthe thing which was about to happen. The big wooden clock on the sideof the long barroom struck once for half-past two. All talk ceased.
Men seemed unwilling to meet each other's eyes. Some of them drummedlightly on the top of the bar and strove to whistle, but the onlysound that came through their dried lips was a whispering rush ofbreath. A grey-haired cattle ranger commenced to hum a tune, very low,but distinct. Finally a man rose, strode across the room, shook theold fellow by the shoulder with brutal violence, and with a curseordered him to stop his "damned death song!"
Everyone drew a long breath of relief. The minute hand crept ontowards three o'clock. Now it was twenty minutes, now fifteen, nowten, now five; then a clatter of hoofs, a heavy step on the porch, andthe giant form of Jim Silent blocked the door. His hands rested on thebutts of his two guns. Buck guessed at the tremendous strength of thatgrip. The eyes of the outlaw darted about the room, and every glancedropped before his, with the exception of Buck's fascinated stare.
For he saw a brand on the face of the great long rider. It lay in noone thing. It was not the unusual hollowness of eyes and cheeks. Itwas not the feverish brightness of his glance. It was something whichincluded all of these. It was the fear of death by night! His handsfell away from the guns. He crossed the room to the bar and nodded hishead at the bartender.
"Drink!" he said, and his voice was only a whisper without body ofsound.
The bartender, with pasty face, round and blank, did not move eitherhis hand or his fascinated eyes. There was a twitch of the outlaw'shand and naked steel gleamed. Instantly revolvers showed in everyhand. A youngster moaned. The sound seemed to break the charm.
Silent put back his great head and burst into a deep-throatedlaughter. The gun whirled in his hand and the butt crashed heavily onthe bar.
"Drink, damn you!" he thundered. "Step up an' drink to the health ofJim Silent!"
The wavering line slowly approached the bar. Silent pulled out hisother gun and shoved them both across the bar.
"Take 'em," he said. "I don't want 'em to get restless an' muss upthis joint."
The bartender took them as if they were covered with some deadlypoison, and the outlaw stood unarmed! It came suddenly to Buck whatthe whole manoeuvre meant. He gave away his guns in order to temptsomeone to arrest him. Better the hand of the law than the yellowglare of those following eyes. Yet not a man moved to apprehend him.Unarmed he still seemed more dangerous than six common men.
The long rider jerked a whisky bottle upside down over a glass. Halfthe contents splashed across the bar. He turned and faced the crowd,his hand dripping with the spilled liquor.
"Whose liquorin'?" he bellowed.
Not a sound answered him.
"Damn your yaller souls! Then all by myself I'll drink to--"
He stopped short, his eyes wild, his head tilted back. One by one thecowpunchers gave back, foot by foot, softly, until they stood close tothe opposite wall of the saloon. All the bar was left to Silent. Thewhisky glass slipped from his hand and crashed on the floor. In hisface was the meaning of the sound he heard, and now it came to theirown ears--a whistle thin with distance, but clear.
Only phrases at first, but now it rose more distinct, the song of theuntamed; the terror and beauty of the mountain-desert; a plea and athreat.
The clock struck, sharp, hurried, brazen--one, two, three! Before thelast quick, unmusical chime died out Black Bart stood in the entranceto the saloon. His eyes were upon Jim Silent, who stretched out hisarms on either side and gripped the edge of the bar. Yet even when thewolf glided silently across the room and crouched before the bandit,at watch, his lips grinned back from the white teeth, the man had noeyes for him. Instead, his stare held steadily upon that open door andon his raised face there was still the terror of that whistling whichswept closer and closer.
It ceased. A footfall crossed the porch. How different from theponderous stride of Jim Silent! This was like the padding step of thepanther. And Whistling Dan stood in the door. He did not fill it asthe burly shoulders of Silent had done. He seemed almost as slender asa girl, and infinitely boyish in his grace--a strange figure, surely,to make all these hardened fighters of the mountain-desert crouch, andstiffen their fingers around the butts of their revolvers! His eyeswere upon Silent, and how they lighted! His face changed as theface of the great god Pan must have altered when he blew into theinstrument of reeds and made perfect music, the first in the world.
"Bart," said the gentle voice, "go out to Satan."
The wolf turned and slipped from the room. It was a little thing, but,to the men who saw it, it was terrible to watch an untamed beast obeythe voice of a man.
Still with that light, panther-step he crossed the barroom, and now hewas looking up into the face of the giant. The huge long rider loomedabove Dan. That was not terror which set his face in written lines--itwas horror, such as a man feels when he stands face to face with theunearthly in the middle of night. This was open daylight in a roomthronged with men, yet in it nothing seemed to live save the smile ofWhistling Dan. He drew out the two revolvers and slipped them onto thebar. They stood unarmed, yet they seemed no less dangerous.
Silent's arms crept closer to his sides. He seemed gathering himselfby degrees. The confidence in his own great size showed in his face,and the blood-lust of battle in his eyes answered the yellow light inDan's.
Dan spoke.
"Silent, once you put a stain of blood on me. I've never forgot thetaste. It's goin' to be washed out today or else made redder. It washere that you put the stain."
He struck the long rider lightly across the mouth with the back ofhis hand, and Silent lunged with the snarl of a beast. His blow spentitself on thin air. He whirled and struck again. Only a low laughteranswered him. He might as well have battered away at a shadow.
"Damnation!" he yelled, and leaped in with both arms outspread.
The impetus of his rush drove them both to the floor, where theyrolled over and over, and before they stopped thin fingers were lockedabout the bull neck of the bandit, and two thumbs driven into thehollow of his throat. With a tremendous effort he heaved himself fromthe floor, his face convulsed.
He beat with both fists against the lowered head of Dan. He tore atthose hands. They were locked as if with iron. Only the laughter, thelow, continual laughter rewarded him.
He screamed, a thick, horrible sound. He flung himself to the flooragain and rolled over and over, striving to crush the slender,remorseless body. Once more he was on his feet, running hither andthither, dragging Dan with him. His eyes swelled out; his faceblackened. He beat against the walls. He snapped at the wrists of Danlike a beast, his lips flecked with a bloody froth.
> That bull-dog grip would not unlock. That animal, exultant laughterran on in demoniac music. In his great agony the outlaw rolled hiseyes in appeal to the crowd which surrounded the struggling two. Everyman seemed about to spring forward, yet they could not move. Some hadtheir fingers stiffly extended, as if in the act of gripping withhands too stiff to close.
Silent slipped to his knees. His head fell back, his discolouredtongue protruding. Dan wrenched him back to his feet. One moreconvulsive effort from the giant, and then his eyes glazed, his bodywent limp. The remorseless hands unlocked. Silent fell in a shapelessheap to the floor.
Still no one moved. There was no sound except the deadly ticking ofthe clock. The men stared fascinated at that massive, lifeless figureon the floor. Even in death he was terrible. Then Dan's hand slidinside his shirt, fumbled a moment, and came forth again bearing alittle gleaming circle of metal. He dropped it upon the body of JimSilent, and turning, walked slowly from the room. Still no one movedto intercept him. Passing through the door he pushed within a fewinches of two men. They made no effort to seize him, for their eyeswere upon the body of the great lone rider.
The moment Dan was gone the hypnotic silence which held the crowd,broke suddenly. Someone stirred. Another cursed beneath his breath.Instantly all was clamour and a running hither and thither. BuckDaniels caught from the body of Jim Silent the small metal circlewhich Dan had dropped. He stood dumbfounded at the sight of it, andthen raised his hand, and shouted in a voice which gathered the othersswiftly around him. They cursed deeply with astonishment, for whatthey saw was the marshal's badge of Tex Calder. The number on it wasknown throughout the mountain-desert, and seeing it, the worst ofDan's enemies stammered, gaped, and could not speak. There were moreimpartial men who could. In five minutes the trial of Whistling Danwas under way. The jury was every cowpuncher present. The judge waspublic opinion. It was a grey-haired man who finally leaped upon thebar and summed up all opinion in a brief statement.
"Whatever Whistlin' Dan has done before," he said, "this day he's donea man-sized job in a man's way. Morris, before he died, said enough toclear up most of this lad's past, particular about the letter from JimSilent that talked of a money bribe. Morris didn't have a chance toswear to what he said, but a dying man speaks truth. Lee Haines hadcleared up most of the rest. We can't hold agin Dan what he done inbreakin' jail with Haines. Dan Barry was a marshal. He captured Hainesand then let the outlaw go. He had a right to do what he wanted aslong as he finally got Haines back. And Haines has told us that whenhe was set free Barry said he would get him again. And Barry did gethim again. Remember that, and he got all the rest of Silent's gang,and now there lies Jim Silent dead. They's two things to remember. Thefirst is that Whistlin' Dan has rid away without any shootin' irons onhis hip. That looks as if he's come to the end of his long trail. Thesecond is that he was a bunkie of Tex Calder, an' a man Tex couldtrust for the avengin' of his death is good enough for me."
There was a pause after this speech, and during the quiet thecowpunchers were passing from hand to hand the marshal's badge whichCalder, as he died, had given to Dan. The bright small shield was amore convincing proof than a hundred arguments. The bitterest ofDan's enemies realized that the crimes of which he was accused weresupported by nothing stronger than blind rumour. The marshal's badgeand the dead body of Jim Silent kept them mute. So an illegal judgeand one hundred illegal jurymen found Whistling Dan "not guilty."
Buck Daniels took horse and galloped for the Cumberland house with thenews of the verdict. He knew that Whistling Dan was there.
CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE WILD GEESE
So when the first chill days of the late autumn came the four wereonce more together, Dan, Kate, Black Bart, and Satan. Buck and old JoeCumberland made the background of their happiness. It was the latter'srequest which kept the wedding a matter of the indefinite future. Hewould assign no reason for his wish, but Kate guessed it.
All was not well, she knew. Day after day, as the autumn advanced,Dan went out with the wolf and the wild black stallion and ranged thehills alone. She did not ask him where or why, for she understood thatto be alone was as necessary to him as sleep is to others. Yet shecould not explain it all and the cold fear grew in her. Sometimes shesurprised a look of infinite pity in the eyes of Buck or her father.Sometimes she found them whispering and nodding together. At last onan evening when the three sat before the fire in solemn silence andDan was away, they knew not where, among the hills, she could bear itno longer.
"Do you really think," she burst out, "that the old wildness is stillin Dan?"
"Wild?" said her father gently. "Wild? I don't say he's stillwild--but why is he so late tonight, Kate? The ground's all coveredwith snow. The wind's growin' sharper an' sharper. This is a time forall reasonable folk to stay home an' git comfortable beside the fire.But Dan ain't here. Where is he?"
"Hush!" said Buck, and raised a hand for silence.
Far away they heard the wail of a wolf crying to the moon. She roseand went out on the porch of the house. The others followed her.Outside they found nothing but the low moaning of the wind, and thesnow, silver glimmering where the moonlight fell upon it. Then theyheard the weird, inhuman whistling, and at last they saw Dan ridingtowards the house. A short distance away he stopped Satan. Black Bartdropped to his haunches and wailed again. Dan was staring upwards.
"Look!" said Kate, and pointed.
Across the white circle of the moon drove a flying wedge of wildgeese. The wail of the wolf died out. A faint honking was blown tothem by the wind, now a distant, jangling chorus, now a solitary soundrepeated like a call.
Without a word the three returned to their seats close by the fire,and sat silent, staring. Presently the rattle of the wolf's claws cameon the floor; then Dan entered with his soft step and stood behindKate's chair. They were used to his silent comings and goings. BlackBart was slinking up and down the room with a restless step. His eyesglowed from the shadow, and as Joe looked up to the face of Dan hesaw the same light repeated there, yellow and strange. Then, like thewolf, Dan turned and commenced that restless pacing up and down, upand down, a padding step like the fall of a panther's paw.
"The wild geese--" he said suddenly, and then stopped.
"They are flying south?" said Kate.
"South!" he repeated.
His eyes looked far away. The wolf slipped to his side and licked hishand.
"Kate, I'd like to follow the wild geese."
Old Joe shaded his eyes and the big hands of Buck were lockedtogether.
"Are you unhappy, Dan?" she said.
"The snow is come," he muttered uneasily.
He began pacing again with that singular step.
"When I went out to Satan in the corral this evenin', I found himstandin' lookin' south."
She rose and faced him with a little gesture of surrender.
"Then you must follow the wild geese, Dan!"
"You don't mind me goin', Kate?"
"No."
"But your eyes are shinin'!"
"It's only the reflection of the firelight."
Black Bart whined softly. Suddenly Dan straightened and threw up hisarms, laughing low with exultation. Buck Daniels shuddered and droppedhis head.
"I am far behind," said Dan, "but I'll go fast."
He caught her in his arms, kissed her eyes and lips, and then whirledand ran from the room with that noiseless, padding step.
"Kate!" groaned Buck Daniels, "you've let him go! We've all lost himfor ever!"
A sob answered him.
"Go call him back," pleaded Joe. "He will stay for your sake."
She whispered: "I would rather call back the wild geese who flewacross the moon. And they are only beautiful when they are wild!"
"But you've lost him, Kate, don't you understand?"
"The wild geese fly north again in spring," said Buck, "and he'll--"
"Hush!" she said. "Listen!"
Far off, above the rushing of the wind,
they heard the weirdwhistling, a thrilling and unearthly music. It was sad with the beautyof the night. It was joyous with the exultation of the wind. It mighthave been the voice of some god who rode the northern storm south,south after the wild geese, south with the untamed.
THE END
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