Way of the Lawless

by Max Brand

  CHAPTER 11

  Far away in the western sky Andy Lanning saw a black dot that moved inwide circles and came up across the heavens slowly, and he knew it was abuzzard that scented carrion and was coming up the wind toward thatscent. He had seen them many a time before on their gruesome trails, andthe picture which he carried was not a pleasant one.

  But now the picture that drifted through his mind was still morehorrible. It was a human body lying face downward in the sand with thewind ruffling in the hair and the hat rolled a few paces off and the gunclose to the outstretched hand. He knew from Uncle Jasper that no matterhow far the trail led, or how many years it was ridden, the end of theoutlaw was always the same--death and the body left to the buzzards. Orelse, in some barroom, a footfall from behind and a bullet throughthe back.

  The flesh of Andy crawled. It was not possible for him to relax invigilance for a moment, lest danger come upon him when he least expectedit. Perhaps, in some open space like this. He went on until the sun waslow in the west and all the sky was rimmed with color.

  Dusk had come over the hills in a rush, when he saw a house half lost inthe shadows. It was a narrow-fronted, two-storied, unpainted, lonelyplace, without sign of a porch. Here, where there was no vestige of atown near, and where there was no telephone, the news of the deaths ofBill Dozier and Buck Heath could not have come. Andy accepted the houseas a blessing and went straight toward it.

  But the days of carelessness were over for Andy, and he would neveragain approach a house without searching it like a human face. Hestudied this shack as he came closer. If there were people in thebuilding they did not choose to show a light.

  Andy went around to the rear of the house, where there was a low shedbeside the corral, half tumbled down; but in the corral were five or sixfine horses--wild fellows with bright eyes and the long necks of speed.Andy looked upon them wistfully. Not one of them but was worth the priceof three of the pinto; but as for money there was not twenty dollars inthe pocket of Andy.

  Stripping the saddle from the pinto, he put it under the shed and leftthe mustang to feed and find water in the small pasture. Then he wentwith the bridle, that immemorial sign of one who seeks hospitality inthe West, toward the house. He was met halfway by a tall, strong man ofmiddle age or more. There was no hat on his head, which was covered witha shock of brown hair much younger than the face beneath it. He beheldAndy without enthusiasm.

  "You figure on layin' over here for the night, stranger?" he asked.

  "That's it," said Andy.

  "I'll tell you how it is," said the big man in the tone of one who iswilling to argue a point. "We ain't got a very big house--you seeit--and it's pretty well filled right now. If you was to slope over thehills there, you'd find Gainorville inside of ten miles."

  Andy explained that he was at the end of a hard ride. "Ten more mileswould kill the pinto," he said. "But if you don't mind, I'll have a bitof chow and then turn in out there in the shed. That won't crowd you inyour sleeping quarters, and it'll be fine for me."

  The big man opened his mouth to say something more, then turned on hisheel.

  "I guess we can fix you up," he said. "Come on along."

  At another time Andy would have lost a hand rather than accept suchchurlish hospitality, but he was in no position to choose. The pain ofhunger was like a voice speaking in him.

  It was a four-room house; the rooms on the ground floor were thekitchen, where Andy cooked his own supper of bacon and coffee andflapjacks, and the combination living room, dining room, and, from thebunk covered with blankets on one side, bedroom. Upstairs there musthave been two more rooms of the same size.

  Seated about a little kitchen table in the front room, Andy found threemen playing an interrupted game of blackjack, which was resumed when thebig fellow took his place before his hand. The three gave Andy a lookand a grunt, but otherwise they paid no attention to him. And if theyhad consulted him he could have asked for no greater favor. Yet he hadan odd hunger about seeing them. They were the last men in many a month,perhaps, whom he could permit to see him without a fear. He brought hissupper into the living room and put his cup of coffee on the floorbeside him. While he ate he watched them.

  They were, all in all, the least prepossessing group he had ever seen.The man who had brought him in was far from well favored, but he washandsome compared with the others. Opposite him sat a tall fellow veryerect and stiff in his chair. A candle had recently been lighted, and itstood on the table near this man. It showed a wan face of excessiveleanness. His eyes were deep under bony brows, and they alone of thefeatures showed any expression as the game progressed, turning now andagain to the other faces with glances that burned; he was winningsteadily. A red-headed man was on his left, with his back to Andy; butnow and again he turned, and Andy saw a heavy jowl and a skin blotchedwith great, rusty freckles. His shoulders over-flowed the back of hischair, which creaked whenever he moved. The man who faced the redheadwas as light as his companion was ponderous. His voice was gentle, hiseyes large and soft, and his profile was exceedingly handsome. But inthe full view Andy saw nothing except a grisly, purple scar that twisteddown beneath the right eye of the man. It drew down the lower lid ofthat eye, and it pulled the mouth of the man a bit awry, so that heseemed to be smiling in a smug, half-apologetic manner. In spite of hisyouth he was unquestionably the dominant spirit here. Once or twice theothers lifted their voices in argument, and a single word from him cutthem short. And when he raised his head, now and again, to look at Andy,it gave the latter a feeling that his secret was read and all hispast known.

  These strange fellows had not asked his name, and neither had theyintroduced themselves, but from their table talk he gathered that theredhead was named Jeff, the funereal man with the bony face was Larry,the brown-haired one was Joe, and he of the scar and the smile wasHenry. It occurred to Andy as odd that such rough boon companions hadnot shortened that name for convenience.

  They played with the most intense concentration. As the night deepenedand the windows became black slabs Joe brought another candle andreenforced this light by hanging a lantern from a nail on the wall. Thisilluminated the entire room, but in a partial and dismal manner. Thegame went on. They were playing for high stakes; Andrew Lanning hadnever seen so much cash assembled at one time. They had stacks ofunmistakable yellow gold before them--actually stacks. The winner wasLarry. That skull-faced gentleman was fairly barricaded behind heaps ofmoney. Andy estimated swiftly that there must be well over two thousanddollars in those stacks.

  He finished his supper, and, having taken the tin cup and plate out intothe next room and cleaned them, he had no sooner come back to the door,on the verge of bidding them good night, then Henry invited him to sitdown and take a hand.