by Max Brand
CHAPTER 21
First of all, naturally, he looked at the door. It was now a brightrectangle filled with moonlight and quite empty. There must have been asound, and he glanced over to the trapper for an explanation. But HankRainer lay twisted closely in his blankets.
Andrew raised upon one elbow and thought. It troubled him--the insistentfeeling of the eyes which had been upon him. They had burned their wayinto his dreams with a bright insistence.
He looked again, and, having formed the habit of photographing thingswith one glance, he compared what he saw now with what he had last seenwhen he fell asleep. It tallied in every detail except one. The trouserswhich had lain on the floor beside Hank's bed were no longer there.
It was a little thing, of course, but Andrew closed his eyes to makesure. Yes, he could even remember the gesture with which the trapper hadtossed down the trousers to the floor. Andrew sat up in bed noiselessly.He slipped to the door and flashed one glance up and down. Below him thehillside was bright beneath the moon. The far side of the ravine wasdoubly black in shadow. But nothing lived, nothing moved. And thenagain he felt the eye upon him. He whirled. "Hank!" he called softly.And he saw the slightest start as he spoke. "Hank!" he repeated in thesame tone, and the trapper stretched his arms, yawned heavily, andturned. "Well, lad?" he inquired.
But Andrew knew that he had been heard the first time, and he felt thatthis pretended slow awakening was too elaborate to be true. He went backto his own bed and began to dress rapidly. In the meantime the trapperwas staring stupidly at him and asking what was wrong.
"Something mighty queer," said Andrew. "Must have been a coyote in herethat sneaked off with your trousers, unless you have 'em on."
Just a touch of pause, then the other replied through a yawn: "Sure, Igot 'em on. Had to get up in the night, and I was too plumb sleepy totake 'em off again when I come back."
"Ah," said Andrew, "I see."
He stepped to the door into the horse shed and paused; there was nosound. He opened the door and stepped in quickly. Both horses were onthe ground, asleep, but he took the gelding by the nose, to muffle agrunt as he rose, and brought him to his feet. Then, still softly andswiftly, he lifted the saddle from its peg and put it on its back. Onelong draw made the cinches taut. He fastened the straps, and then wentto the little window behind the horse, through which had come the vagueand glimmering light by which he did the saddling. Now he scanned thetrees on the edge of the clearing with painful anxiety. Once he thoughtthat he heard a voice, but it was only the moan of one branch againstanother as the wind bent some tree. He stepped back from the window andrubbed his knuckles across his forehead, obviously puzzled. It might bethat, after all, he was wrong. So he turned back once more toward themain room of the cabin to make sure. Instead of opening the door softly,as a suspicious man will, he cast it open with a sudden push of hisfoot; the hulk of Hank Rainer turned at the opposite door, and the bigman staggered as though he had been struck.
It might have been caused by his swift right-about face, throwing himoff his balance, but it was more probably the shock that came fromfacing a revolver in the hand of Andrew. The gun was at his hip. It hadcome into his hand with a nervous flip of the fingers as rapid as thegesture of the card expert.
"Come back," said Andrew. "Talk soft, step soft. Now, Hank, what madeyou do it?"
The red hair of the other was burning faintly in the moonlight, and itwent out as he stepped from the door into the middle of the room, hisfinger tips brushing the ceiling above him. And Andrew, peering throughthat shadow, saw two little, bright eyes, like the eyes of a beast,twinkling out at him from the mass of hair.
"When you went after the shells for me, Hank," he stated, "you gave theword that I was here. Then you told the gent that took the message tospread it around--to get it to Hal Dozier, if possible--to have the mencome back here. You'd go out, when I was sound asleep, and tell themwhen they could rush me. Is that straight?"
There was no answer.
"Speak out! I feel like shovin' this gun down your throat, Hank, but Iwon't if you speak out and tell me the truth."
Whatever other failings might be his, there was no great cowardice inHank Rainer. His arms remained above his head and his little eyesburned. That was all.
"Well," said Andrew, "I think you've got me, Hank. I suppose I ought tosend you to death before me, but, to tell you the straight of it, I'mnot going to, because I'm sort of sick. Sick, you understand? Tell meone thing--are the boys here yet? Are they scattered around the edge ofthe clearing, or are they on the way? Hank, was it worth five thousandto double-cross a gent that's your guest--a fellow that's busted breadwith you, bunked in the same room with you? And even when they'vedrilled me clean, and you've got the reward, don't you know that you'llbe a skunk among real men from this time on? Did you figure on that whenyou sold me?"
The hands of Hank Rainer fell suddenly, but now lower than his beard.The fingers thrust at his throat--he seemed to be tearing his own flesh.
"Pull the trigger, Andy," he said. "Go on. I ain't fit to live."
"Why did you do it, Hank?"
"I wanted a new set of traps, Andy; that was what I wanted. I'd beenfigurin' and schemin' all autumn how to get my traps before the wintercomes on. My own wasn't any good. Then I seen that fur coat of yours. Itset me thinking about what I could do if I had some honest-to-goodnesstraps with springs in 'em that would hold--and--I stood it as long asI could."
While he spoke, Andrew looked past him, through the door. All the worldwas silver beyond. The snow had been falling, and on the first greatpeak there was a glint of the white, very pure and chill against thesky. The very air was keen and sweet. Ah, it was a world to live in, andhe was not ready to die!
He looked back to Hank Rainer. "Hank, my time was sure to come sooner orlater, but I'm not ready to die. I'm--I'm too young, Hank.Well, good-by!"
He found gigantic arms spreading before him.
"Andy," insisted the big man, "it ain't too late for me to double-cross'em. Let me go out first and you come straight behind me. They won'tfire; they'll think I've got a new plan for givin' you up. When we getto the circle of 'em, because they're all round the cabin, we'll driveat 'em together. Come on!"
"Wait a minute. Is Hal Dozier out there?"
"Yes. Oh, go on and curse me, Andy. I'm cursin' myself!"
"If he's there, it's no use. But there's no use two dyin' when I try toget through. Only one thing, Hank; if you want to keep your self-respectdon't take the reward money."
"I'll see it burn first, and I'm goin' with you, Andy!"
"You stay where you are; this is my party. Before the finish of thedance I'm going to see if some of those sneaks out yonder, lyin' sosnug, won't like to step right out and do a caper with me!"
And before the trapper could make a protest he had drawn back into thehorse shed.
There he led the chestnut to the door, and, looking through the crack,he scanned the surface of the ground. It was sadly broken and choppedwith rocks, but the gelding might make headway fast enough. It was ashort distance to the trees--twenty-five to forty yards, perhaps. And ifhe burst out of that shed on the back of the horse, spurred to fullspeed, he might take the watchers, who perhaps expected a signal fromthe trapper before they acted, quite unawares, and he would be among thesheltering shadows of the forest while the posse was getting upits guns.
There was an equally good chance that he would ride straight into a nestof the waiting men, and, even if he reached the forest, he would beriddled with bullets.
Now, all these thoughts and all this weighing of the chances occupiedperhaps half a second, while Andrew stood looking through the crack.Then he swung into the saddle, leaning far over to the side so that hewould have clearance under the doorway, kicked open the swinging door,and sent the chestnut leaping into the night.
