Outlaw's Pursuit

by Max Brand

  “Señor!” he breathed. “Ah, in the name of a kind God.”

  “In His name,” I said coldly, “I cared for you after you had sneaked up on me to cut my throat as I slept. Who sent you on that errand, José?”

  To my astonishment, even in his fear of death, he retained his fear of his master.

  “Señor, I wish to tell you,” whimpered José, who was fast breaking down.

  “Consider. You speak life . . . or death for yourself. Answer me everything you have in your heart, and perhaps I shall let you live, my friend.”

  He wriggled halfway across the floor toward me, writhing his body like a snake. It was a frightful thing to watch the hope of life, like a new birth, flare across the mind of that villain.

  “Will you swear that?”

  “How will you have me swear?”

  “Your hand . . . in my hand, señor! A white man’s oath.”

  I put out my hand, and, reading my face desperately with his eyes, he clung to that hand with both of his. It was frightfully animal—it was strangely prayerful, too.

  Then he released me reluctantly. I showed him my good faith by deliberately putting up my gun, but he merely smiled at that.

  “Ah, señor,” he said, “do not play with me. I have seen you with more than the speed of a striking snake. Even Señor Vidett could only gaze and marvel at you.”

  “You followed us through the trees?” I said.

  “I did. I had your life in the crook of this finger.” The rogue could not help grinning at the delightful thought.

  “But?”

  “But then Señor Vidett began to speak kindly to you. I could not tell . . . the hair had changed your face. I was not sure. And so . . . here I am.”

  His gesture plainly called himself a fool.

  “And who sent you to me tonight?”

  He dragged himself half erect and approached my ear with his trembling, chalky lips.

  “Señor Vidett.”

  I had expected Caporno for an answer. It was a distinct shock.

  “Vidett?” I said with as much assurance as I could summon. “And who sent you riding north to kill Truck Janvers?”

  “Señor Vidett.”

  Here, at last, was an answer for which I was more than half prepared, and yet being prepared did not ease the sense of shock entirely. For I still kept the picture of the death of poor Janvers before my eyes.

  “Vidett sent you north?”

  “Yes.”

  “Vidett knows that Hugo Ames followed you south, then?”

  “Yes.”

  “Vidett knows that you suspect me of being Ames?”

  “No.”

  I caught him by the throat with one hand and pressed him to his knees. He had barely room in his windpipe to gasp out: “I shall speak the truth.”

  “Very well,” I said, and relaxed my hold again.

  “The truth is this, señor . . . I spoke to him and I told him that I suspected.”

  “And he?”

  “He swore that no man in the world would dare to be so bold.”

  “Ah?”

  “I was to spy on you tonight and try some little test . . . he suggested this one of your name . . . and then to watch your face. I did not dream that it would bring you leaping out at a window behind me.” He shuddered.

  “You will go back to Vidett?”

  “At once.”

  “And tell him?”

  “That I was a fool to dream of such a thing.”

  “José, if I trust you, I put my life in your hands.”

  He stared at me for a moment as though he did not comprehend.

  “Ah, señor,” he said at the last, “have I not sworn to you the Americans’ own oath?”

  And he smiled like a child who has struck upon a truth brighter than a shining diamond. I could not help but believe that he would be true to me, even after I tested him twice and found such villainy in his heart.

  XIX

  José went to deliver a lying report to his master; I went back to my bed, and I slept soundly, because it is my good fortune to have such nerves that, in time of need, they steady like steel and allow me to rest perfectly. To that fact alone I can attribute the hundred lucky escapes I have had from sure death.

  I slept soundly, and I awakened in the morning to find myself an accepted member of the household. I was taken in among them most smoothly and without friction. We all met at the breakfast table. That is to say, everyone was there with the exception of Señor Caporno himself, who lay on a couch at a side of the room where the sunshine would fall across his body. The ancient Pedro went softly back and forth waiting upon him, and the loud voice of Caporno filled the room.

  I noticed in the very first place one astonishing thing—that Rosa and Lewis Vidett listened to every word that the older man said, but that they paid not the slightest mental heed to him. Their faces were the mere masks of attention when he spoke, and I began to surmise that there were things in this household and its ways of which Señor Caporno did not guess.

  In the meantime, I determined to use my eyes and ears as well as I could to find out the hidden facts, but so long as I possessed a friend in the house, I would be a fool not to use him and his information as well as I could. I was to attend Vidett on this day for the first time, and, just after breakfast, he started out for a canter down the valley to see some friend in the town of San Marin, as he said. I went at his side, and behind us rode José and another among the Negroes. Vidett explained about them as we cantered along—he and I mounted upon splendid thoroughbreds and the Negroes on the wiry little horses that had set me such a dizzy pace across the mountains.

  “We keep attendants always, as you see, Mendez,” said Vidett. “Because, as Caporno has explained to you, of course, we exist in the midst of dangers constantly. These black fellows are better fighters than you would guess. Although on their last trip they ran into one man who scattered four of them like chaff. However, Caporno has told you that story, of course.”

  I said that he had not.

  “It was this Ames . . . this Hugo Ames. They have put fifteen thousand dollars reward on the head of that scoundrel, but he has gone four years without capture. However, you know a good deal about him?”

  I told him that it was my business to find out about Ames. I only wondered why it was that Ames was an enemy of Lewis Vidett.

  “Four of my servants,” said Vidett, “started across the mountains on an errand. On their way back, this Ames fell foul of them. He scattered them like four handfuls of chaff. He killed one. But he is a stupid dolt, after all. They say that all criminals have weak spots in their minds. Instead of dropping a bullet through the head of the wounded Negro and taking off after the other two . . . who he would have caught because they were almost frightened to death . . . he spent several weeks . . . imagine it if you can . . . in taking care of the hurt man. Who, when he was healed, simply stole the mule of Ames. . . .”

  “Mule?” I exclaimed.

  “Ah, you have not heard much of this Ames if you have not heard of his mule, Spike, which scales cliffs like a mountain goat. No horse can catch him through a course of rough country even when he has the bulk of his master on his back. And his master is even larger than you are, Mendez. An inch or two taller. It is said that he weighs two hundred and fifty pounds! But this famous mule flaunts away under that enormous burden and beats the best of horses over hard going. Hello!”

  I do not use the stirrups much in riding, holding to the balance theory pretty thoroughly. But here my horse side-stepped with a violent bound, and, when I threw weight into the opposite stirrup, the saddle suddenly gave way as though the girths were not binding in the slightest degree. I toppled onto the road.

  It came near being the end of me. My fine thoroughbred turned suddenly into a devil. He began lunging and thrusting at me with fore hoofs and with his teeth.

  There was much shouting from the others, but it seemed to me that no one leaped in to my assistance as men should
have done. It was only by chance, you may say, that an upward sweep of my hand managed to catch the reins beneath the chin of the horse. By that leverage I wrenched myself to my feet with such force that I almost broke the jaw of my horse at the same time.

  That ugly man-killer was tamed the minute he felt the force of my arm and stood like a lamb while the saddle, which was now under his belly, was righted. Then it was found that the girth had broken in two. José, with a strip of buckskin, proposed to remain behind and to sew the broken girth together again. As for Vidett, he showed the most extravagant concern, clapping me on the shoulder and swearing that it was the grace of heaven that had delivered me and that he would make the day a hot one for the groom who had permitted a girth to leave the stable in such a condition. In the meantime, he was late for his appointment in the town and he begged me to forgive him if he rode on and left me with José while he took the other Negro with him.

  I told him it was quite all right. There was nothing else that I could do, but it angered me to the heart to be shaken off his trail the very first day of my appointed guardianship. I had to stand by and watch José most expertly repair the damage that was done. But, first, I asked to see the break.

  I examined the edges carefully. But they had not been cut. The ragged edges of the tear were sufficient evidence of that. When the damage was remedied, I swung into the saddle again, but, before I started, I said savagely to José: “Why do you have such a thoughtful look, José?”

  He looked at me with his ugly grin that changed all at once to something like sunshine. The nearest to kindness that was possible on his disagreeable face.

  “Señor Ames. . . .”

  “Not that name!”

  “Last night I was a dead man between your hands.”

  “Well?”

  “But I am still alive. You, señor, a moment ago were almost a dead man and. . . .”

  “In whose hands?”

  José shrugged his shoulders; his eyes were speaking, but his tongue refused that duty.

  “Look here, José,” I said, “that girth was not cut.”

  “It was chafed very thin, however,” said José. “And we all know that this horse is a man-killer when he gets his chance.”

  It made the perspiration stand on my forehead.

  “Vidett?” I said.

  José nodded.

  “Why in the name of the devil should he want to finish me? How am I a danger to him?”

  “You follow him, señor!”

  “To save his infernal hide.”

  “Ah, señor, he wishes only to save himself. He does not wish to trouble others.” His white teeth flashed out at me.

  “Very well,” I said. “He wishes to have me out of his way, and, in the meantime . . . but I cannot understand. The entire household is too much for me. José, how much do you know?”

  “I, señor? Nothing, of course.”

  “There you are lying. But what do you guess, at least?”

  “Will the señor ask me?”

  “The marriage of Vidett and Señorita Rosa, for instance . . . if they are such lovers, why do they not marry and have that part of their troubles ended?”

  José smiled on me with a savage meaning. “Perhaps it is not the wish of Señor Caporno.”

  “What?”

  “I cannot tell. I only guess. Suppose that they go to him and say . . . ‘Tomorrow, or next week, we shall be married?’ He only says to them . . . ‘That is not wise, my children. I must bring all of my affairs into perfect order before this marriage takes place. So that all of my great fortune will be ordered and prepared for you.’”

  A light darted upon my mind—a red light of danger, you may be sure.

  “José, the old man does not wish this marriage in spite of all his talk about it.”

  “It is not for me to read his mind,” said José.

  “He is opposed to it . . . he puts it off every day, all the time pretending that he wants nothing more than the immediate performance of the ceremony. That is it!”

  “Señor, I cannot so much as guess.” But his grin assured me that I was right.

  It suggested to me such a wild confusion of hatreds and shams in that apparently smooth household that I was more bewildered than I had been before I received that last bit of incredible information.

  “Very well,” I said. “Let us ride like the devil to catch up with them.”

  We stormed along toward the town until a new thought made me draw heavily back on the rein and I brought my long-striding thoroughbred to a canter again. The Negro had been distanced by that burst of racing speed, but now he drew up beside me again.

  “If you ride in this manner, you will need a new horse every day, señor.”

  “Tell me, José. This Vidett is a man with many enemies, is he not?”

  The Negro laughed. “Ten thousand hate him.”

  “Tell me, then, if you can guess, who is his greatest enemy in the world?”

  “You, señor,” he said.

  “I am not speaking of myself. Who else?”

  “Of the others . . . Señor Caporno. A child could know that.”

  Again I was so perfectly confused that my thoughts refused to function.

  XX

  I merely drove the spurs into the sides of my tormented horse and sent him flying ahead at full speed. Here was growing up a problem so maddening that no one could make head or tail of it. Caporno hires for the protection of his household, but more particularly for the protection of his prospective son-in-law, the pseudo-Mendez. And now I learn, having taken the position, that Caporno desires nothing in the world so much as the death of this man! It was certainly enough to turn a feeble brain into a mad whirl. And I was dizzy as I rode.

  Before we reached the edge of the town of San Marin, however, I saw two horsemen swinging toward us, and they grew into the forms of Vidett and his attendant Negro. Vidett, as he came up, seemed particularly full of cheer. He expressed the liveliest concern about my fall from the horse and prayed that such a thing would not happen again. I answered him as cheerfully as I could. I was afraid that, whatever the goal of his visit might have been, it was a thing that would not bode well for anyone other than Vidett.

  But on the rest of the ride back toward the house of Caporno, I kept silence. I was too busy with my thoughts, of course. It is foolish for me to rehearse this insane situation, because you will see the confusion of it as well as I did at that time. Perhaps you have already guessed the solution, although certainly no dream of a solution came to me. For, if Caporno wished the early death of Vidett, why should he hire a formidable guard for the person of that youth?—but you see that this question becomes as baffling as the consideration of a first cause. It was quite beyond my comprehension.

  Finally I determined that mere thinking could do me no good and that the best thing for me was simply to forget that I was in any tangle—keep my ears and eyes open—put two and two together when I was able—and never forget that the real objective of my visit to San Marin and my acceptance of a position in the house of Señor Caporno was the desire to discover the murderer of Truck Janvers.

  After I had come to this conclusion, I felt much better, and I was beginning to enjoy the ride back up the valley. There was never a prettier place than that valley of the San Marin. It was lovely from the edges of the hills on either side, but it was prettiest of all when one rode near the bank of the river, with the clouds of willows along the edge and the silver glints of water showing through between the branches, and with scatterings of underbrush and trees on the farther side of the road.

  We had just come in view of the wide roof lines of the house of Caporno itself when a voice barked from the side of the road.

  “Crinky!”

  A word that had been haunting my ears like the name of an old friend, long unheard of.

  I jerked around in the saddle, with a gun in either hand, and I saw a tall old man rising out of the brush with a rifle ready in his hand as he shouted. I heard a
choked cry from Lewis Vidett as he whirled in the saddle, also, but he was late and wild with his shot. I knew that there was no time to waste, and, as the butt of the tall fellow’s rifle settled back in his shoulder, I tried a flying snap shot from the hip. The rifle spat out its fire and lead, but the big fellow was toppling before he pulled the trigger, and I did not have to look at Vidett to know that he was secure.

  I drew rein and turned hastily back to the fallen body of the assailant among the brush. I was late, however. Lewis Vidett himself was already there, flinging himself from the back of his horse with the activity of a wildcat.

  I heard the fallen man cry: “Hold on, Crinky, you ain’t gonna gut a man that’s down. . . .”

  “You rat,” said Crinky in snarling English—the first time I had heard him use that tongue, I think. “I’m going to send you home quick, Sam!”

  “Crinky . . . for heaven’s sake!”

  “What chance did you give me? Here’s the end for you, and perhaps after this. . . .”

  I heard this as I pressed up and hurled myself from my horse. But still I could not believe what I saw—a Negro crouched on either side of the big, fallen man, holding his arms stretched out, and Lewis Vidett leaning over the prostrate figure with a revolver ready in his hand. I reached that hand and I drew it back, revolver and all.

  Vidett jerked his head at me over his shoulder. What a face he showed me. All the sleeping devil was up in it—I mean his whole soul was showing, for there was nothing but devil in that man.

  “Will you keep back from me, Mendez?”

  “I’ll not keep back from you if you mean to murder that fellow.”

  “Murder him?”

  “I said that.”

  “After he tried to pot me out of the brush?”

  “He sang out and gave you a fair warning.”

  Here the wounded man—he was bleeding freely, for my slug had cut him fairly through the center of one thigh—nodded happily at me.

  “That’s right, señor,” he said. For I had been talking Spanish out of sheer force of habit.

  “This is good,” said Vidett, biting his lips with his fury. “Do I have to dispose of you before I can handle this skunk?”

  Well, I had kept in my anger for quite a time, but now it was boiling in me, and I couldn’t hold back any longer. I snapped the words back at him.