Way of the Lawless

by Max Brand

  CHAPTER 41

  The first ten days of the following time were the hardest; it was duringthat period that Scottie and the rest were most apt to return and make abackstroke at Dozier and Andrew. For Andrew knew well enough that thiswas the argument--the promise of a surprise attack--with which Scottiehad lured his men away from the shack.

  During that ten days, and later, he adopted a systematic plan of work.During the nights he paid two visits to the sick man. On one occasion hedressed the wound; on the next he did the cooking and put food and waterbeside the marshal, to last him through the day.

  After that he went out and took up his post. As a rule he waited on thetop of the hill in the clump of pines. From this position he commandedwith his rifle the sweep of hillside all around the cabin. The greatesttime of danger for Dozier was when Andrew had to scout through theadjacent hills for food--their supply of meat ran out on thefourth day.

  But the ten days passed; and after that, in spite of the poor care hehad received--or perhaps aided by the absolute quiet--the marshal's ironconstitution asserted itself more and more strongly. He began to mendrapidly. Eventually he could sit up, and, when that time came, the greatperiod of anxiety was over. For Dozier could sit with his rifle acrosshis knees, or, leaning against the chair which Andrew had improvised,command a fairly good outlook.

  Only once--it was at the close of the fourth week--did Andrew findsuspicious signs in the vicinity of the cabin--the telltale tramplingon a place where four horses had milled in an impatient circle. But nodoubt the gang had thought caution to be the better part of hate. Theyremembered the rifle of Andrew and had gone on without making a sign.Afterward Andrew learned why they had not returned sooner. Three hoursafter they left the shack a posse had picked them up in the moonlight,and there had followed a forty-mile chase.

  But all through the time until the marshal could actually stand andwalk, and finally sit his saddle with little danger of injuring thewound, Andrew, knowing nothing of what took place outside, wasceaselessly on the watch. Literally, during all that period, he neverclosed his eyes for more than a few minutes of solid sleep. And, beforethe danger line had been crossed, he was worn to a shadow. When heturned his head the cords leaped out on his neck. His mouth had thatlook, at once savage and nervous, which goes always with the hunted man.

  And it was not until he was himself convinced that Dozier could takecare of himself that he wrapped himself in his blankets and fell into atwenty-four-hour sleep. He awoke finally with a start, out of a dream inwhich he had found himself, in imagination, wakened by Scottie stoopingover him. He had reached for his revolver at his side, in the dream,and had found nothing. Now, waking, his hand was working nervouslyacross the floor of the shack. That part of the dream was come true,but, instead of Scottie leaning over him, it was the marshal, who sat inhis chair with his rifle across his knees. Andrew sat up. His weaponshad been indeed removed, and the marshal was looking at him withbeady eyes.

  "Have you seen 'em?" asked Andrew. "Have the boys shown themselves?"

  He started to get up, but the marshal's crisp voice cut in on him. "Sitdown there."

  There had been--was it possible to believe it?--a motion of the gun inthe hands of the marshal to point this last remark.

  "Partner," said Andrew, stunned, "what are you drivin' at?"

  "I've been thinking," said Hal Dozier. "You sit tight till I tell youwhat about."

  "It's just driftin' into my head, sort of misty," murmured Andrew, "thatyou've been thinkin' about double-crossin' me."

  "Suppose," said the marshal, "I was to ride into Martindale with you infront of me. That'd make a pretty good picture, Andy. Allister dead, andyou taken alive. Not to speak of ten thousand I dollars as a background.That would sort of round off my work. I could retire and live happy everafter, eh?"

  Andrew peered into the grim face of the older man; there was not aflicker of a smile in it.

  "Go on," he said, "but think twice, Hal. If I was you, I'd think tentimes!"

  The marshal met those terrible, blazing eyes without a quiver of hisown.

  "I began with thinking about that picture," he said. "Later on I hadsome other thoughts--about you. Andy, d'you see that you don't fitaround here? You're neither a man-killer nor a law-abidin' citizen. Youwouldn't fit in Martindale any more, and you certainly won't fit withany gang of crooks that ever wore guns. Look at the way you split withAllister's outfit! Same thing would happen again. So, as far as I cansee, it doesn't make much difference whether I trot you into town andcollect the ten thousand, or whether some of the crooks who hate you runyou down--or some posse corners you one of these days and does its job.How do you see it?"

  Andrew said nothing, but his face spoke for him.

  "How d'you see the future yourself?" said the marshal. His voice changedsuddenly: "Talk to me, Andy."

  Andrew looked carefully at him; then he spoke.

  "I'll tell you short and quick, Hal. I want action. That's all. I wantsomething to keep my mind and my hands busy. Doing nothing is the thingI'm afraid of."

  "I gather you're not very happy, Andy?"

  Lanning smiled, and it was not a pleasant smile to see.

  "I'm empty, Hal," he answered. "Does that answer you? The crooks areagainst me, the law is against me. Well, they'll work together to keepme busy. I don't want any man's help. I'm a bad man, Hal. I know it. Idon't deny it. I don't ask any quarter."

  It was rather a desperate speech--rather a boyish one. At any rate themarshal smiled, and a curious flush came in Andrew's face.

  "Will you let me tell you a story, Andrew? It's a story about yourself."

  He went on: "You were a kid in Martindale. Husky, good-natured, a littlesleepy, with touchy nerves, not very confident in yourself. I've knownother kids like you, but none just the same type.

  "You weren't waked up. You see? The pinch was bound to come in a townwhere every man wore his gun. You were bound to face a show-down. Therewere equal chances. Either you'd back down or else you'd give the man abeating. If the first thing happened, you'd have been a coward the restof your life. But the other thing was what happened, and it gave you atouch of the iron that a man needs in his blood. Iron dust, Andy,iron dust!

  "You had bad luck, you think. You thought you'd killed a man; it madeyou think you were a born murderer. You began to look back to the oldstories about the Lannings--a wild crew of men. You thought that bloodwas what was a-showing in you.

  "Partly you were right, partly you were wrong. There was a new strengthin you. You thought it was the strength of a desperado. Do you know whatthe change was? It was the change from boyhood to manhood. That wasall--a sort of chemical change, Andy.

  "See what happened: You had your first fight and you saw your firstgirl, all about the same time. But here's what puzzles me: according tothe way I figure it, you must have seen the girl first. But it seemsthat you didn't. Will you tell me?"

  "We won't talk about the girl," said Andrew in a heavy voice.

  "Tut, tut! Won't we? Boy, we're going to do more talking about her thanabout anything else. Well, anyway, you saw the girl, fell in love withher, went away. Met up with a posse which my brother happened to lead.Killed your man. Went on. Rode like the wind. Went through about ahundred adventures in as many days. And little by little you were fixingin your ways. You were changing from boyhood into manhood, and you werechanging without any authority over you. Most youngsters have theirfathers over them when that change comes. All of 'em have the law. Butyou didn't have either. And the result was that you changed from a boyinto a man, and a free man. You hear me? You found that you could dowhat you wanted to do; nothing could hold you back except onething--the girl!"

  Andrew caught his breath, but the marshal would not let him speak.

  "I've seen other free men--most people called them desperadoes. What's adesperado in the real sense? A man who won't submit to the law. That'sall he is. But, because he won't submit, he usually runs foul of othermen. He kills one. Then he kills anoth
er. Finally he gets the bloodlust. Well, Andy, that's what you never got. You killed one man--hebrought it on himself. But look back over the rest of your career. Mostpeople think you've killed twenty. That's because they've heard a packof lies. You're a desperado--a free man--but you're not a man-killer.And there's the whole point.

  "And this was what turned you loose as a criminal--you thought the girlhad cut loose from you. Otherwise to this day you'd have been trying toget away across the mountains and be a good, quiet member of society.But you thought the girl had cut loose from you, and it hurt you.Man-killer? Bah! You're simply lovesick, my boy!"

  "Talk slow," whispered Andrew. "My--my head's whirling."

  "It'll whirl more, pretty soon. Andy, do you know that the girl nevermarried Charles Merchant?"

  There was a wild yell; Andrew was stopped in mid-air by a rifle thrustinto his stomach.

  "She broke off her engagement. She came to me because she knew I wasrunning the manhunt. She begged me to let you have a chance. She triedto buy me. She told me everything that had gone between you. Andy, sheput her head on my desk and cried while she was begging for you!"

  "Stop!" whispered Andrew.

  "But I wouldn't lay off your trail, Andy. Why? Because I'm as proud asa devil. I'd started to get you and I'd lost Gray Peter trying. And evenafter you saved me from Allister's men I was still figuring how I couldget you. And then, little by little, I saw that the girl had seen thetruth. You weren't really a crook. You weren't really a man-killer. Youwere simply a kid that turned into a man in a day--and turned into afree man! You were too strong for the law.

  "Now, Andrew, here's my point: As long as you stay here in the mountaindesert you've no chance. You'll be among men who know you. Even if thegovernor pardons you--as he might do if a certain deputy marshal were tostart pulling strings--you'd run some day into a man who had an oldgrudge against you, and there'd be another explosion. Because there'snitroglycerin inside you, son!

  "Well, the thing for you to do is to get where men don't wear guns. Thething for you to do is to find a girl you love a lot more than you doyour freedom, even. If that's possible--"

  "Where is she?" broke in Andy. "Hal, for pity's sake, tell me where sheis!"

  "I've got her address all written out. She forgot nothing. She left itwith me, she said, so she could keep in touch with me."

  "It's no good," said Andy suddenly. "I could never get through themountains. People know me too well. They know Sally too well."

  "Of course they do. So you're not going to go with Sally. You're notgoing to ride a horse. You're going in another way. Everybody's seenyour picture. But who'd recognize the dashing young man-killer, theoriginal wild Andrew Lanning, in the shape of a greasy, dirty tramp,with a ten-days-old beard on his face, with a dirty felt hat pulled overone eye, and riding the brake beams on the way East? And before you gotoff the beams, Andrew, the governor of this State will have signed apardon for you. Well, lad, what do you say?"

  But Andrew, walking like one dazed, had crossed the room slowly. Themarshal saw him go across to the place where Sally stood; she met himhalfway, and, in her impudent way, tipped his hat half off his head witha toss of her nose. He put his arm around her neck and they walkedslowly off together.

  "Well," said Hal Dozier faintly, "what can you do with a man who don'tknow how to choose between a horse and a girl?"