Way of the Lawless

by Max Brand

  CHAPTER 31

  By one thing he knew the utter desperation of Hal Dozier. For the manhad fired while Andrew's back was turned. The bullet had followed thewarning cry as swiftly as the strike of a snake follows its rattle. Luckand his sudden leap forward had unbalanced the nice aim of Dozier, andperhaps his mental agitation had contributed to it. But, at any rate,Andrew was troubled as he cleared the edge of the trees and canteredSally not too swiftly along the Little Silver River toward Las Casasmountains, a little east of south.

  He did not hurry her, partly because he wished to stay close and makesure of the number and force of his pursuers, and partly because healready had a lead sufficient to keep out of any but chance rifle shots.

  He had not long to wait. Men boiled out of the village like hornets outof a shaken nest. He could see them buckling on belts while they wereriding with the reins in their teeth. And they came like the wind,yelling at the sight of their quarry. Who would not kill a horse for thesake of saying that he had been within pistol range of the great outlaw?But, fast as their horses ran, Dozier, on Gray Peter, was able to keepup with them and also to range easily from group to group. Truly, GrayPeter was a glorious animal! If he were allowed to stretch out after themare, what would the result be?

  The pursuers, under the direction of Dozier, spread across the riverbottom and, having formed so that no tricky doubling could leave them inthe lurch on a blind trail, they began to use a new set of tactics.

  Dozier kept Gray Peter at a steady pace, never varying his gait. But,on either side of him groups of his followers urged their horses forwardat breakneck speed. Three or four would send home the spurs and rush upthe river bottom after Andrew. If he did not hurry on they opened firewith their rifles from a short distance and sent a hail of randombullets, but Andrew knew that a random bullet carries just as much forceas a well-aimed one, and chance might be on the side of one of thoseshots. He dared not allow them to come too close. Yet his heart rejoicedas he watched the manner in which Sally accepted these challenges. Shenever once had to lurch into her racing gait; she took the rushes of thecow ponies behind her by merely lengthening her stride until the horsesbehind her were winded and had to fall back.

  If Andrew had let out Sally she would have walked away from them all,but he dared not do that. For, after he had run the heart out of thecommoner ones, there remained Gray Peter in reserve, never changing hispace, never hurrying, falling often far back, as the groups one afteranother pushed close to Sally and made her spurt, gaining again when thespurts ended one by one.

  There were two hours of daylight; there was one hour of dusk; and allthat time the crowd kept thrusting out its small groups, one after theother, reaching after Sally like different arms, and each time sheanswered the spurt, and always slipped away into a greater lead at theend of it. And then, while the twilight was turning into dark, Andrewlooked back and saw the whole crowd rein in their horses and turn back.There remained a single figure following him, and that figure was easilyseen, because it was a man on a gray horse. And then Andrew grasped theplan fully. The posse had played its part; the thing for which themountain desert had waited was come at last, and Hal Dozier was going onto find his man single-handed and pull him down. Twice, before completedarkness set in, Andrew had been on the verge of turning and going backto accept the challenge of Hal Dozier. Always two things stopped him.There was first the fear of the man which he frankly admitted, and morethan that was the feeling that one thing lay before him to be donebefore he could meet Dozier and end the long trail. He must see AnneWithero. She was about to be married and be drawn out of his world andinto a new one. He felt it was more important than life or death to seeher before that transformation took place. They would go East, no doubt.Two thousand miles, the law and the mountains would fence him away fromher after that.

  During the last months he accepted her as he accepted thestars--something far away from him. Now, by some pretext, by some wile,he must live to see her once more. After that let Hal Dozier meet himwhen he would.

  But with this in mind, as soon as the utter dark shut down, he swervedSally to the right and worked slowly up through the mountains, headingdue southwest and out of the valley of the Little Silver. He kept at it,through a district where the mare could not even trot a great deal ofthe time, for two or more hours. Then he found a little plateau thickwith good grazing for Sally and with a spring near it. There he campedfor the night, without food, without fire.

  And not once during the hours before morning did he close his eyes. Whenthe first gray touched the sky he was in the saddle again; before thesun was up he had crossed the Las Casas and was going down the greatshallow basin of the Roydon River. A fine, drizzling rain was falling,and Sally, tired from her hard work of the day before and the long duelswith the horses of the posse, went even more down-heartedly moody thanusual, shuffling wearily, but recovering herself with her usual catlikeadroitness whenever her footing failed on the steep downslope.

  For all her dullness, it was a signal from Sally that saved Andrew. Shejerked up her head and turned; he looked in the same direction and saw aform like a gray ghost coming over the hills to his left, a dim shapethrough the rain. Gloomily Andrew watched Hal Dozier come. Gray Peterhad been fresher than Sally at the end of the run of the day before. Hewas fresher now. Andrew could tell that easily by the stretch of hisgallop and the evenness of his pace as he rushed across the slope. Hegave the word to Sally. She tossed up her head in mute rebellion at thisnew call for a race, and then broke into a canter whose first fewstrides, by way of showing her anger, were as choppy and lifeless as thestride of a plow horse.

  That was the beginning of the famous ride from the Las Casas mountainsto the Roydon range, and all the distance across the Roydon valley. Itstarted with a five-mile sprint--literally five miles of hot racing inwhich each horse did its best. And in that five miles Gray Peter wouldmost unquestionably have won had not one bit of luck fallen the mare. Ahedge of young evergreen streaked before Sally, and Andrew put her atthe mark; she cleared it like a bird, jumping easily and landing in herstride. It was not the first time she had jumped with Andrew.

  But Gray Peter was not a steeplechaser. He had not been trained to it,and he refused. His rider had to whirl and go up the line of shrubsuntil he found a place to break through. Then he was after Sally again.But the moment that Andrew saw the marshal had been stopped he did notuse the interim to push the mare and increase her lead. Very wisely hedrew her back to the long, rocking canter which was her natural gait,and Sally got the breath which Gray Peter had run out of her. She alsoregained priceless lost ground, and when the gray came in view of thequarry again his work was all to do over again. Hal Dozier tried againin straightaway running. It had been his boast that nothing under thesaddle in the mountain desert could keep away from him in a stretch ofany distance, and he rode Gray Peter desperately to make his boast good.He failed. If that first stretch had been unbroken--but there his chancewas gone, and, starting the second spurt, Andrew came to realize onegreatly important truth--Sally could not sprint for any distance, but upto a certain pace she ran easily and without labor. He made it his pointto see that she was never urged beyond that pace. He found anotherthing, that she took a hill in far better style than Peter, and she didfar better in the rough, but on the level going he ate up herhandicap swiftly.

  With a strength of his own found and a weakness in his pursuer, Andrewplayed remorselessly to that weakness with his strength. He sought thechoppy ground as a preference and led the stallion through it whereverhe could; he swung to the right, where there was a stretch of rollinghills, and once more Gray Peter had a losing space before him.

  So they came to the river itself, with Gray Peter comfortably in therear, but running well within his strength. Andrew paused in theshallows to allow Sally one swallow; then he went on. But Dozier did notpause for even this. It was a grave mistake.

  And so the miles wore on. Sally was still running like a swallow forlightness, but Andrew knew by
her breathing that she was giving vitalstrength to the effort. He talked to her constantly. He told her howGray Peter ran behind them. He encouraged her with pet words. And Sallyseemed to understand, for she flicked one ear back to listen, and thenshe pricked them both and kept at her work.

  It was a heart-tearing thing to see her run to the point of lather andthen keep on.

  They were in low hills, and Gray Peter was losing steadily. They reacheda broad flat, and the stallion gained with terrible insistence. Lookingback, Andrew could see that the marshal had stripped away every vestigeof his pack. He followed that example with a groan. And still GrayPeter gained.

  It was the last great effort for the stallion. Before them rose thefoothills of the Roydon mountains; behind them the Las Casas range waslost in mist. It seemed that they had been galloping like this for aninfinity of time, and Andrew was numb from the shoulders down. If hereached those hills Gray Peter was beaten. He knew it; Hal Dozier knewit; and the two great horses gave all their strength to the last duelof the race.

  The ears of Sally no longer pricked. They lay flat on her neck. Theamazing lift was gone from her gait, and she pounded heavily with theforelegs. And still she struggled on. He looked back, and Gray Peterstill gained, an inch at a time, and his stride did not seem to haveabated. The one bitter question now was whether Sally would not collapseunder the effort. With every lurch of her feet, Andrew expected to feelher crumble beneath him. And yet she went on. She was all heart, allnerve, and running on it. Behind her came Gray Peter, and he also ranwith his head stretched out.

  He was within rifle range now. Why did not Dozier fire? Perhaps he hadset his heart on actually running Sally down, not dropping his prey witha distant shot.

  And still they flew across the flat. The hills were close now, andsometimes, when the drizzling rain lifted, it seemed that the Roydonmountains were exactly above them, leaning out over him like a shadow.He called on Sally again and again. He touched her for the first time inher life with spurs, and she found something in the depths of her heartand her courage to answer with. She ran again with a ghost of her formerbuoyancy, and Gray Peter was held even. Not an inch could he gain afterthat. Andrew saw his pursuer raise his quirt and flog. It was useless.Each horse was running itself out, and no power could get more speed outof the pounding limbs.

  And with his head still turned, Andrew felt a shock and flounder. Sallyhad almost fallen. He jerked sharply up on the reins, and she broke intoa staggering trot. Then Andrew saw that they had struck the slope of thefirst hill, a long, smooth rise which she would have taken at full speedin the beginning of the race, but now though she labored bitterly, shecould not raise a gallop. The trot was her best effort.

  There was a shrill yelling behind, and Andrew saw Dozier, a handbrandished above his head. He had seen Sally break down; Gray Peterwould catch her; his horse would win that famous duel of speed andcourage. Rifle? He had forgotten his rifle. He would go in, he wouldoverhaul Sally, and then finish the chase with a play of revolvers. Andin expectation of that end, Andrew drew his revolver. It hung the lengthof his arm; he found that his muscles were numb from the cold and thecramped position from the elbow down. Shoot? He was as helpless asthough he had no gun at all. He beat his hands together to bring backthe blood. He thrashed his arms against the pommel of the saddle. Therewas only a dull pain; it would take long minutes to bring those handsback to the point of service, and in the meantime Gray Peter gallopedupon him from behind!

  Well, he would let Sally do her best. For the last time he called onher; for the last time she struggled to respond, and Andrew looked backand grimly watched the stallion sweeping across the last portion of theflat ground, closer, closer, and then, at the very base of the slope,Gray Peter tossed up his head, floundered, and went down, hurling hisrider over his head. Andrew, fascinated, let Sally fall into a walk,while he watched the singular, convulsive struggles of Gray Peter togain his feet. Hal Dozier was up again; he ran to his horse, caught hishead, and at the same moment the stallion grew suddenly limp. The weightof his head dragged the marshal down, and then Andrew saw that Doziermade no effort to rise again.

  He sat with the head of the horse in his lap, his own head buried in hishands, and Andrew knew then that Gray Peter was dead.