the Long, Long Trail (1923)

by Brand, Max

  It was a pretty thing to see her grow excited. What Mary Valentine could not decide was whether her cousin was excited by Jess Dreer the man, or Jess Dreer the audience.

  She was similarly puzzled by Dreer. In another she would have thought his attitude one of polite indifference. But she could not be sure of him and his mental status.

  She had known many a boy and many a boy's mind. They always showed their entire hand at once. One read the cards, was fascinated for a moment perhaps, and the next moment became bored because the antagonist was a known quantity. But Jess Dreer was not known. He lurked behind a screen. He revealed not half, not a tithe of his strength--or of his weakness, for that matter. As far as Mary could make out, this fellow had brought Lizbeth out of her shell as another woman might have done. It was odd. Mary would have given a great deal to know why he winced when a door was opened behind him, why his eyes were apt to flash suddenly up, glitter, and droop. She felt that he would be more content if his chair were back against the wall.

  It was at this point in her train of thought that the doorbell rang, and Mary sprang up to answer it. She was glad to get away from the room. She wanted to have the chill air of the night against her face--to breathe of it in the hope that it would clear a mist from her mind and enable her to think logically and brush away her rising excitement. For the question was beating into her consciousness always: What is Jess Dreer? Her uncle had put her off. Why? Or did he know? And was Jess Dreer there because he had some claim and power over Morgan Valentine?

  She threw open the front door after she had gone thoughtfully down the hall, and she saw--dim figures in the moonlight, and with the reek of a long horseback ride about them--Sheriff Clancy of Salt Springs, and another man. Now Sheriff Clancy's boy had been one of Mary's victims in the near past, and that was the reason that she threw a conciliatory warmth into her greeting:

  "Why, Sheriff Clancy! Come in. Dad will be happy to see you."

  The sheriff smiled at her, and in smiling the ends of his drooping mustaches bristled out to the sides like tusks.

  "Mostly folks feel another way when I come along to say how d'you do. But wait a minute, Mary. I ain't here on a pleasure call."

  "You have business--here?"

  She thought of Charlie's affair with Joe Norman.

  "That miserable Norman family--have they sent you after Charlie?"

  The sheriff smiled, disagreeably.

  "I dunno anything about Charlie and the Norman boy," he said. "I don't go prying after trouble. Mostly, enough of it comes my way without hunting. All I want to do is to ask you a few questions, Mary."

  "And you won't come in?"

  "Nope. Is there a man in your house called Jess Dreer?"

  The floodgates opened, the water burst through the dam, and Mary Valentine was picked up in a torrent of sudden knowledge. Jess Dreer! The question flashed a lantern light on the man.

  "Jess Dreer?" she repeated.

  "That's the name. Is he inside?"

  She fought for time. As a matter of fact she was balancing between two impulses. The first was to hand this fellow over to the law at once. The second impulse was--she did not know what--but certainly it was to keep him safe.

  "What does he look like?"

  "About as tall as my friend here. Mr. John Caswell--Miss Mary Valentine. About as tall as Caswell, maybe a mite smaller. Big shoulders, I understand, and the sort of a face that's easy to remember. Quiet. Soft-spoken. Active with his hands."

  She still paused. How fast her mind was working! And therefore her speech was slow.

  "Oh, yes, I remember now. Yes, there was a man like that here, and, now that I remember, I think he said that his name was Jess Dreer."

  "But he ain't here now?"

  "No. He rode away--quite a while ago."

  "I told you so," said the big man who had been called Caswell. "That gent is a fox. He's got these people on his side."

  But Sheriff Clancy hushed the other with a raised hand.

  "I think maybe you're mistaken, miss. We've got an idea that Dreer is in the house right now. Maybe he's hiding, and you don't know it. But we got his hoss and his saddle. In fact, we've found his hoss in the corral and saddled her, and now we got that hoss waiting for Mr. Dreer!"

  "Of course you have his horse." Mary Valentine nodded. "He left the mare and took one of Dad's horses. I think he paid Dad something into the bargain for the exchange."

  "How long ago?" Sheriff Claney asked.

  "An hour; but, Sheriff, come on inside and search the house if you want."

  "Not if he's gone. Which way?"

  "He took that road. You ought to catch him in the mountains."

  "How's your hoss, Caswell?"

  "Played out."

  "So's mine, pretty nigh."

  "Well, then, come in, Sheriff."

  For she knew perfectly that this bulldog would not leave the trail. She leaned against the side of the door and laughed at him.

  "I think that for a moment you suspected that we were sheltering him. But what's he done?"

  "What's he done?" Caswell said explosively. "What ain't he done? He's done enough to bring me a thousand miles on the trail. What's he done? Why, that's Jess Dreer; they scare their kids with that name down south!"

  One might have thought that Mary Valentine would shrink in horror at this news. She did not. No, a fire came in her eyes.

  "Is he as bad as all that? Oh, I hope you get him, Mr. Caswell!"

  "Right down that road!" She ran to the front of the veranda. "Hurry! I'll go back and tell Dad about it. He'll be after you in five minutes with fresh horses. He'll take along a couple of fresh mounts for you."

  "Come on, Caswell!"

  But Caswell, with his foot on the verge of taking the first step down, paused.

  "What I don't figure," he said, "is why Dreer left his own saddle behind? It's hard enough to figure why he left the hoss."

  "Because he knew you were on his heels, Caswell," cried Claney. "Hurry up, man. He's gaining miles on us."

  "How'd he know I was on his heels? Nobody else has give him a run--not for five years. He's always give the others too hot a reception at the end of the trail--them that ever come up with him."

  "Facts is facts. Come on."

  "I'm thinkin'."

  And he rubbed his chin and stared hard at Mary Valentine.

  "Don't you see that he's getting away?" she cried in an apparent frenzy.

  "Seems to me, ma'am, that you're in a considerable trouble to have him caught. Most of the womenfolk I know most generally hopes he gets away."

  "Caswell, I'm going on without you."

  "Wait a minute. Claney, it won't do."

  The latter turned and hurried back up the steps.

  "I'll tell you why," explained the man from the south. "That hoss has been with Dreer for eight years. Ten times he could of changed her for a fresh hoss when he was being trailed, but he never wouldn't do it. And why does he do it now? Even if he knowed I was after him, that mare could of kept on going and run down a fresh hoss. She ain't common hossflesh. She's all leather inside and out. I know her."

  "Well, where are you aiming?"

  Claney turned on Mary.

  "I'm aiming to search this house, and I don't think I'll have far to go."

  She stared at him an instant.

  "You're a little insulting," said Mary, drawing herself up. And then, seeing that he would persist in his purpose, she slipped before him and opened the door.

  "Come in, then," said Mary.

  But when he made a step forward, she slammed the door in his face, and the astonished sheriffs heard the heavy bolt click home.

  Chapter 11

  In the living room there had grown up a slight suspense.

  "What keeps Mary so long?" asked her uncle at length.

  "I'll go to find out," suggested Elizabeth.

  And then, to the astonishment of the others, big Jess Dreer was seen to slip from his chair. The fire cast a gigan
tic shadow behind him against the wall.

  "If you don't mind," he said gently, "I think I'll step out and see."

  But at that moment the front door crashed; there was the metallic ring of the bolt driven home, and then Mary whipped into the room. A beautiful picture. A wisp of hair had blown down across her cheek. Her eyes were alight with excitement. And yet there was something akin to a laugh on her lips.

  "Jess Dreer," she cried, "follow me!"

  And before one of the others could so much as rise from a chair, she had raced across the room and out through the farther door with Dreer gliding at her heels; even then he appeared unhurried.

  "This way!" commanded the girl, and ran up the brief flight of steps that joined one stretch of the back hall with another at a higher level. They went down the passage at full speed, and then, at the foot of it, she cast open another door and beckoned him into the room. Once inside, she bolted the door behind her.

  From the front of the house there was a thunder against the door, and the voice of Morgan Valentine was calling: "Mary, what's this all about?"

  Jess Dreer took quick stock of the room. The moonlight struck in a broad shaft through one of the windows, and the rest of the apartment was filled with a dim, dim light. It was a girl's room. That indescribable fragrance lived in it, like a spirit. And there were splashes of bright color made faint by the night.

  "They're after you," cried the girl softly. "Sheriff Clancy and a man named Caswell, who has followed you from the south."

  She was shocked to see him leaning idly against the wall.

  "Now, think of that," murmured Jess Dreer. "I figured that Caswell was a sensible sort of gent, and here he is trying to make a reputation by catching me. Well, well, they ain't any way of judging a man when he starts out to try to get famous."

  She gasped away her surprise.

  "No matter what he is. He may be a fool, but Sheriff Clancy is a dangerous man. He's well known. Too well known."

  "Mighty good of you to let me know about him."

  "Come here. Quick! It isn't far to drop to the ground from this window. You see how the hill slopes away up just underneath?"

  "Dear me, now! But they's one great trouble. I have to get out to my hoss and saddle her before I can start on."

  "You'll never ride that horse again. They found her in the corral, and they've saddled her to take you away on her."

  "I knowed Caswell was a terrible considerate man."

  She paid no attention.

  "You see that hill? Strike for that. Just beyond there's broken country. No horse can follow you over it. You have a gun?"

  "A sort of a one."

  "Then go!"

  "Lady," said Jess Dreer, "I'd a pile rather go on Angelina as a prisoner than go on foot a free man."

  She stared at him.

  There was the unmistakable sound of the splintering of wood.

  "Quick!" she pleaded, almost sobbing in her frenzy of excitement.

  "They's one or two things that sort of holds me back," murmured the bandit.

  "What? What?"

  "Look out yonder!"

  She saw to one side--fifty yards away--two men sitting motionless on their horses.

  "Then you're lost!"

  "I'm squeezed, anyways. And yonder is Angelina, I see."

  And following the direction in which he pointed, she saw another pair of men on their horses, with a spare horse held between them.

  "There's no hope? Tell me how to help you!"

  "Lady, I sure appreciate all the interest you're showing."

  And with this, he sank down upon a chair and crossed his legs.

  She stood back from him at that.

  "Are you going to give up without a struggle?"

  "I'm going to have a little think," said the outlaw. "I'd rather start a fight after I've thought it out than I would to have a pardner to help me. Two minutes of getting ready is worth an hour of hard riding sometimes."

  "I see. You don't really care if they _do_ catch you? You haven't done anything very wrong? It doesn't mean that--"

  "A busted neck. That's all it means."

  "Then what he said is true?"

  "Most probable it is. Lady, I ain't one of them parlor bad men that wears a bad look and a nervous hand. You got a lot of questions to ask me. Am I a downtrodden man that's tried to right my wrongs and got tangled with the law? No, I ain't. Am I a wild but nacherally noble heart that's persecuted by the miserable world that don't understand me? No, I ain't. I'm plain Jess Dreer. Too lazy to work with my hands and just able to get a good living with my gun. That's all. Now take my advice. Get out of this room and wash your hands of me."

  "I don't care what you are," cried the girl. "I believe in you. There never was a scoundrel yet that was a truly brave man. Jess Dreer, I believe in you. But quick, quick, quick. Do something! There's no time. They've broken in the door."

  "That's what I been waiting for," said the bandit, and he raised his great length from the chair and stretched himself. "Now that I got part of 'em inside the house, they're divided. That's the way old Napoleon did, I guess."

  "But they're coming. I can do something. Raise a false alarm on the other side--"

  He broke out with a strange heartiness: "You're the salt of the earth. No, don't raise your hand. The fools have give me a chance, and I'll take it."

  A heavy rush of feet in the hall. A body smashed against the door and the room quivered.

  "Open, Mary!"

  The surprise had brought a revolver in the hand of Jess Dreer, and even in that dim light the girl saw his face change. But he instantly put up the gun when he saw the door would hold.

  "Now wouldn't you think that wise gents like them would look before they leap? However, I won't wait for 'em."

  The door groaned under a new shock, and then Jess Dreer slipped his long body feet-first through the window and dropped to the ground. She looked out. He had sunk into the shadow at the base of the wall and had not yet been seen, and now she heard a brief, shrill whistle, twice repeated.

  It was answered by a snort of a horse, and instantly Angelina burst from the men who held her and plunged toward the house with flying bridle reins. Out from the shadow leaped Jess Dreer to meet her. He had covered half the distance before he was seen and before the others could start their horses toward him, he was in the saddle with a catlike bound. The four men converged on him, and straight toward the middle of the gap he sent the flying Angelina.

  He lay flat on the back of the mustang; he had not even drawn his revolver, so far as she could see. But the others galloped with naked weapons. One of these flashed, and on the heels of the report there was a shriek from one of the posse who had been closing in on the other side. The bullet had missed the enemy and struck a friend.

  It gave Jess Dreer a winking moment of a chance. For the shout of the hurt man and the plunge of his body to the ground threw the rest of the posse into confusion. Three horses were reined in three directions; Angelina rushed through the narrow gap between, and then Mary Valentine saw the fugitive strike out toward the nearest hill with three pursuers laboring behind him.

  Each of them had a gun unlimbered; each of them was pumping a hail of bullets after Jess Dreer; but they doubly defeated themselves by that very eagerness. For the racking gallop ruined their chances to shoot true, and, sitting straight to fire, they could not get the best speed out of their horses. And in the meantime Jess Dreer was jockeying the cat-footed Angelina through the rough ground at the base of the hill. She veered and dodged like a dancing will-o'-the-wisp and presently darted around the hill into oblivion.

  The fusillade of shots had drawn the two sheriffs from the door of Mary Valentine's room. She heard them plunging through the house, leaving a trail of crackling oaths behind them in lieu of musketry.

  Afterward she waited in her room, terrified by what she had done, and, though her aunt and then Elizabeth came and called her, she would not come out.

  She was spendi
ng that hour in profound thoughtfulness, and her thoughts were turning on that thing she had cried to Jess Dreer in her excitement: "There never was a scoundrel yet that was a truly brave man!"

  Had she not spoken the truth by inspiration?

  She heard the wounded man groaning as he was carried past her door. That was one result of her work, no doubt. Then she heard the posse returning from a fruitless chase. At this, Mary breathed freely for the first time.

  Chapter 12

  When she went out at last, she carried her head with a high stubbornness and walked bravely into the living room. Elizabeth was not there; she was tending the wounded man. And the rest of the posse was either gone home or had found quarters in the house. But the two sheriffs sat opposite each other. They scowled at Mary when she came in; only from Morgan Valentine did she receive the faint glimmer of a smile. As for Mrs. Valentine, she turned upon her niece a somber glance that betided no good.

  "A pretty night's work for you, Mary Valentine," she said. "Turning your uncle's house into a refuge for outlaws--and getting a man shot. All your work, too, Mary. And I'd like to know what you got to say to Sheriff Claney--and Sheriff Caswell, that's come so far all to be fooled by your doings."

  "Hush, Mother," said Morgan Valentine. "That's a little too much."

  "Don't bother about me," said Sheriff Caswell gloomily. "I don't hold no spite agin' the young lady--which I never knew womenfolk yet that didn't take the side of the underdog."

  "More power to the women!" muttered Morgan Valentine.

  "Right!" observed Sheriff Caswell with surprising calmness. "I wouldn't wish my own girl to help corner a man. No, sir. And I don't hold no grudge, young lady, though you did lie most amazing for that fox Dreer."

  Mary Valentine stood where the firelight could play full on her face--and there is nothing like firelight to bring out the luminous tenderness of a woman's eyes. She cast out her hands toward the two men she had disappointed.