by Max Brand
CHAPTER 16
It was just after the hot hour of the afternoon. The shadows from thehills to the west were beginning to drop across the village; people whohad kept to their houses during the early afternoon now appeared ontheir porches. Small boys and girls, returning from school, werebeginning to play. Their mothers were at the open doors exchangingshouted pieces of news and greetings, and Andrew picked his way withcare along the street. It was a town flung down in the throat of aravine without care or pattern. There was not even one street, butrather a collection of straggling paths which met about a sort of opensquare, on the sides of which were the stores and the inevitable saloonsand hotel.
But the narrow path along which Andrew rode was a gantlet to him. Forall he knew, the placards might be already out, one of the least ofthose he passed might have recognized him. He noticed that one or twowomen, in their front door, stopped in the midst of a word to watch himcuriously. It seemed to Andrew that a buzz of comment and warningpreceded him and closed behind him. He felt sure that the children stoodand gaped at him from behind, but he dared not turn in his saddle tolook back.
And he kept on, reining in the gelding, and probing every face with oneswift, resistless glance that went to the heart. He found himselfliterally taking the brains and hearts of men into the palm of his handand weighing them. Yonder old man, so quiet, with the bony fingersclasped around the bowl of his corncob, sitting under the awning by thewatering trough--that would be an ill man to cross in a pinch--that handwould be steady as a rock on the barrel of a gun. But the big, squareman with the big, square face who talked so loudly on the porch ofyonder store--there was a bag of wind that could be punctured by onethreat and turned into a figure of tallow by the sight of a gun.
Andrew went on with his lightning summary of the things he passed. Butwhen he came to the main square, the heart of the town, it was quiteempty. He went across to the hotel, tied the gelding at the rack, andsat down on the veranda. He wanted with all his might to go inside, toget a room, to be alone and away from this battery of searching eyes.But he dared not. He must mingle with these people and learn whatthey knew.
He went in and sought the bar. It should be there, if anywhere, theposter with the announcement of Andrew Lanning's outlawry and thepicture of him. What picture would they take? The old snapshot of theyear before, which Jasper had taken? No doubt that would be the one. Butmuch as he yearned to do so, he dared not search the wall. He stood upto the bar and faced the bartender. The latter favored him with onesearching glance, and then pushed across the whisky bottle.
"Do you know me?" asked Andrew with surprise. And then he could havecursed his careless tongue.
"I know you need a drink," said the bartender, looking at Andrew again.Suddenly he grinned. "When a man's been dry that long he gets a hungrylook around the eyes that I know. Hit her hard, boy."
Andrew brimmed his glass and tossed off the drink. And to hisastonishment there was none of the shocking effect of his first drinkof whisky. It was like a drop of water tossed on a huge blotter. To histired nerves the alcohol was a mere nothing. Besides, he dared not letit affect him. He filled a second glass, pushing across the bar one ofthe gold pieces of Henry Allister. Then, turning casually, he glancedalong the wall. There were other notices up--many written ones--but nota single face looked back at him. All at once he grew weak with relief.But in the meantime he must talk to this fellow.
"What's the news?"
"What kind of news?"
"Any kind. I've been talkin' more to coyotes than to men for a longspell."
Should he have said that? Was not that a suspicious speech? Did it notexpose him utterly?
"Nothin' to talk about here much more excitin' than a coyote's yap. Nota damn thing. Which way you come from?"
"South. The last I heard of excitin' news was this stuff about Lanning,the outlaw."
It was out, and he was glad of it. He had taken the bull by the horns.
"Lanning? Lanning? Never heard of him. Oh, yes, the gent that bumped offBill Dozier. Between you and me, they won't be any sobbin' for that.Bill had it comin'. But they've outlawed Lanning, have they?"
"That's what I hear."
But sweet beyond words had been this speech from the bartender. They hadbarely heard of Andrew Lanning in this town; they did not even know thathe was outlawed. Andrew felt hysterical laughter bubbling in his throat.Now for one long sleep; then he would make the ride across the mountainsand into safety.
He went out of the barroom, put the gelding away in the stables behindthe hotel, and got a room. In ten minutes, pausing only to tear theboots from his feet, he was sound asleep under the very gatesof freedom.
And while he slept the gates were closing and barring the way. If he hadwakened even an hour sooner, all would have been well and, though hemight have dusted the skirts of danger, they could never have blockedhis way. But, with seven days of exhausting travel behind him, he sleptlike one drugged, the clock around and more. It was morning,mid-morning, when he wakened.
Even then he was too late, but he wasted priceless minutes eating hisbreakfast, for it was delightful beyond words to have food served to himwhich he had not cooked with his own hands. And so, sauntering out ontothe veranda of the hotel, he saw a compact crowd on the other side ofthe square and the crowd focused on a man who was tacking up a sign.Andrew, still sauntering, joined the crowd, and looking over theirheads, he found his own face staring back at him; and, under the pictureof that lean, serious face, in huge black type, five thousand dollarsreward for the capture, dead or alive--
The rest of the notice blurred before his eyes.
Some one was speaking. "You made a quick trip, Mr. Dozier, and I expectif you send word up to Hallowell in the mountains they can--"
So Hal Dozier had brought the notices himself.
Andrew, in that moment, became perfectly calm. He went back to thehotel, and, resting one elbow on the desk, he looked calmly into theface of the clerk and the proprietor. Instantly he saw that the men didnot suspect--as yet.
"I hear Mr. Dozier's here?" he asked.
"Room seventeen," said the clerk. "Hold on. He's out in the square now."
"'S all right. I'll wait in his room." He went to room seventeen. Thedoor was unlocked. And drawing a chair into the farthest corner, Andrewsat down, rolled a cigarette, drew his revolver, and waited.
