Brand, Max - Silvertip 06

by The Fighting Four

  X—JIM SILVER

  LOVELL TOOK the straightest trails for Iron Mountain. By noon, as he crossed the Camber Mountains, he was in sight of the big peak. The head of it was white, but below the snowcap it extended broad, dark shoulders that looked like metal and had given the peak its name. StiU farther down, the forest commenced to clothe its sides, but the trees failed at a much lower level than they attained on neighboring moimtains, as though the soil of Iron Mountain were hard for them to grapple with their roots.

  It was noon when Lovell saw the peak. It was twilight, nevertheless, before he had managed to get to the valley at the base of it. A roar of water kept rushing through the great ravine. He climbed higher up the side of the mountain, through the dense woods, until he found a quieter place for his camp. He reached a little clearing in the woods, with a trickle of water across the center of it and a patch of out-cropping rocks that would be ideal to shelter his fire from tiie wind.

  There he unsaddled his mustang, built his fire, and cooked bacon and coffee, which he ate with hard-tack. There were plenty of pine needles, so he kicked together a quantity of them and laid his blankets over this soft bed. He sat down beside the embers of the fire and smoked cigarettes, brooding.

  Fear had followed him all the way from Rusty Gulch, and fear would keep on companioning him. He looked anxiously toward the saddle. Half a million dollars was there. But where else could he leave it?

  He was at this point in his thoughts when he felt eyes watching him. He felt them drilling into the small of his back, and, turning suddenly, he had a glimpse of something that faded back behind a bush.

  He shrugged his shoulders. There were plenty of wild beasts in the woods, of course, but there were none that would attack a man—certainly not at this time of year, when easier game was all about.

  He had hardly a chance to slip into his reflections again, however, when he felt the eyes once more, and this time, looking sharply ahead of him, he saw the green gleaming of eyes among the shadows.

  He snatched out a revolver, ready to fire. But the eyes had disappeared.

  For a time a peculiar and unearthly fear troubled him, so that he could not move. Then he got up, lighted a match, and went to examine the place from which the eyes had been watching him.

  There he found the footprints of a wolf, but prints of such a size that he could hardly convince himself that they were not made by a bear or a mountain lion.

  No, they were the sign of a wolf, beyond any doubt! He measured the spread of the forepaws on his own hand, and went back to his dim little fire, shaking his head.

  Then a thought stiffened him with a stroke of joy.

  Huge prints of a wolf's foot? Why, it was the very thing that he had come to Iron Mountain to search for. Frosty's paws left on the ground gigantic sign, because Frosty was a gigantic monster of his kind. It must be that strange companion of Jim Silver that had come to look in on the interloper. In that case, if he could follow the back trail of the wolf, might he not reach Jim Silver even sooner than he had dared to hope?

  He went on into the brush, lighting matches, finding the sign of the wolf, losing it again. At last he felt that he had discovered the general line of the retreat of the big animal, and along that course he headed up the mountainside for a considerable distance, the big trees shifting slowly around him, the moon throwing patches of dazzling silver onto the ground here and there.

  Then he came to a runlet of water, an incredible stream of brightness under the moon that seemed to drink up all of the rays and cast them confusedly out again. He paused to drink. His shadow stained the brilliant water with darkness. He picked up a handful of the water and drank. It was so cold that his fingers tingled; his palate ached a little from the iciness.

  He stepped onto a small stone in the center of the stream. As he did so, a voice from behind him said:

  "Hunting for something, stranger?" The sudden unexpectedness of that speech plucked Jimmy Lovell around by the shoulder. He slipped off the rock he had been standing on and stood waist-deep in the tugging swiftness of the current, with a revolver ready for action.

  But he saw nothing. The big trees stood in a dense row before him. Their black shadows lay evenly at their feet. The pine needles that covered the ground were moon-whitened, except where the shadows lay. And not a living thing was in sight!

  Frightful suspicious darkened the mind of Jimmy Lovell. Out of books in his childhood he had read stories of werewolves. Fancies such as he did not dare to conceive haunted him in an instant. Then the same deep bass voice spoke to him from nowhere, saying:

  "Put up that gun, please."

  "Who are you?" asked Lovell.

  "My name is Silver," said the other.

  It was not pleasure that Lovell felt at first, but a shock of thrilling fear. During so many years he had dreaded that name—he and all his kind. During so many years he had heard the stories, the legends of this relentless pursuer of crime and criminals, this unpaid agent of the law, this protector of the defenseless. But now he felt that Jim Silver was his one resource. And he gasped:

  "Thank Heaven! I was looking for you."

  He put up his gun as he spoke. At the same time, from behind a tree there stepped out into the moonlight the biggest wolf that Jimmy Lovell had ever seen. The beast remained motionless, staring fearlessly at the stranger. After the wolf appeared a tall man with broad shoulders.

  He did not seem so very big until he had walked close to Lovell. But his stature appeared to grow with every step that he made forward, until he was accepting the hand which Lovell held out to him. In the distance Jim Silver seemed rather made for speed and lightness of movement. It was only at close hand that one could appreciate the solid weight of those shoulders and the bulk and extent of the arms. He differed from other men as race horses differ from draft animals.

  With a chilly awe, Lovell looked up at him.

  "You're as big as they say," said Jimmy. "Did that wolf tell you that I was looking for you?"

  "Frosty acted as though some one were on my trail," admitted Silver. "He can't tell why people want me, but he generally knows when they're on the trail."

  "They say that he can talk to you," said Lovell, staring at the wolf, which waited on his master at a little distance.

  Silver made a short gesture of denial, answering: "He's like any dog that's been well trained. That's all. He's not a bit cleverer than a thousand circus dogs. Most of the things that people say about him are bunk. Why do you want me? Are you bringing me news?"

  "Aye," said Jimmy Lovell. "If you come back to my camp, I'll show you about the biggest news that you ever got in your hfe."

  Silver made a pause. He seemed to be reading the man before him, line by line and feature by feature; it was not hard to guess that he did not altogether approve of what he saw.

  "I'll go back with you," he said at last.

  He whistled. Out of the distance a horse whinnied, not loudly. After a moment came a crackling of brush, and then there glided into the clearing the great stallion, Parade. He halted and tossed up his head as he saw the stranger. Then he sidled around behind his master.

  Lovell looked on the horse almost with more awe than he had looked on the master, for he could remember the stories of how Parade had run down a fleeing man in spite of relayed horses that were used to save the fugitive; he could remember tales of how Parade had snatched Jim Silver time and again away from death.

  There was no bit in the stallion's mouth. It was only a light cavalry saddle that was on his back. He looked almost as free and as wild as in the earlier days when he had roamed the desert as the lord of a herd. Creatures which are enslaved and subdued are dull of eye and low of head; but Parade had not ceased thinking for himself, even though he included his master in his thoughts.

  The big horse followed the two man as Lovell showed the way back through the woods. On the way he kept turning in his mind various words, various ways of opening the conversation and making his proposals to Silv
er.

  He was still in doubt when at last they came into the clearing where he had camped. Of his fire there remained one red eye alone. He took up some brush to freshen the fire to a blaze, and presently the warm, yellow light was flooding out in waves over the ground, and making thin filters of shadow dance among the piae trees. By that kinder light, Lovell looked at Silver again and wondered at the youth of the man.

  The legend of him was so full and rich that it seemed he must have spent a long lifetime iq passing through so many adventures; but, as a matter of fact, he was not over thirty, perhaps. Yes, he might even be younger. He had taken off his broad-brimmed sombrero, and Lovell saw the two gray spots above the temples, looking like small, silver horns pushing through the rest of the hair. He had heard them mentioned a thousand times. It was by imitating those marks that Duff Gregor, in another day, had managed to complete his resemblance to the true Silver and make himself pass off as that famous and trusted man.

  Famous, honest, trusted—and what was Jimmy Lovell to talk with him?

  He thought of his stolen money. He would offer half of it if Silver guaranteed him safety.

  No, because if the money were offered to Silver, that man would first of all inquire as to the source if it. And when he learned the truth, he would surely take it back to the ruined bank from which it had been stolen, far away in Elkdale. He would probably truss up Jimmy Lovell, also, and carry him along, to be received by the hands of the law.

  What else could Lovell offer to tempt the man?

  He stared helplessly at Jim Silver, and marked the faint smile that continued habitually on the lips of the big, big man. It was neither a sardonic nor an amused smile, but a mysterious expression of content, perhaps.

  Suddenly Lovell exclaimed: "I was going to give you a good reason for wanting to see you. But there's no good trying to buy you, Jim Silver. I'll tell you plain and flat why I've come chasing to you—I'm afraid for my life!"

  "Are you?" said the gentle voice of Silver.

  "Three men are after me, and every one of 'em is full of guns and wants my hide."

  "Why?"

  "Three crooks. They broke out of jail a time back. I used to work with them, and they want me to work with 'em still. That's all. They want my scalp because I'm through with crooked business. They want my hide because I've made up my mind to go straight!"

  He waited for the lie to take effect on the big man.

  Silver said: "I've heard of things like that happening. Who are they?"

  "Phil Bray, Dave Lister, the forger, Joe Mantry, the gunman. But Phil Bray is the dangerous one. He's the brains of the lot, and the best hand, too."

  "Bray—Lister—Mantry," murmured Silver. "I don't think that I've seen them or heard of 'em before."

  He sat down on a log. The wolf sat down at his feet and faced Lovell with eyes green with danger. If Lovell came a step too near, he was favored by a glimpse of long, needle-sharp fangs.

  So Lovell kept back. He was glad, after all, to have an excuse for remaining at a little distance. He had an idea that Silver might otherwise detect the lies by watching the face of the man that conceived them.

  In the background, Parade waited patiently, now and then turning his head to listen to a sound among the trees, now tossing up his mane as he sniffed at the wind that carried to him all manner of tidings beyond human perceptions.

  "What do you want out of me?" asked Silver finally.

  "My life!" exclaimed Jimmy Lovell.

  Silver made a slow gesture, as though to indicate that life and death could not be in the range of his bestowal.

  At last he said: "I'm staying on Iron Mountain for about ten days. I'll be glad to have you with me for that time."

  "Thanks!" breathed Jimmy Lovell. "And after that, will you let me tag along, Silver? You'll find I'm not a bad hand around a camp, and I can hunt meat for you. I'll keep you in fresh meat. I'll do the cooking and the cleaning up. I ain't proud. I'll take more than my half of the work, and when anything's wanted, I'll fetch and carry. If we get near a town, I'll buy what you want, and pay for it out of my own pocket. I won't be no burden to you. What about it?"

  Silver ran his hand thoughtfully over the head of the wolf. The eyes of Frosty rolled back in acknowledgement of the caress. Then he ducked away from it, as though he feared that he might be blinded by the trailing fingers, and so prevented from maintaining his watch every instant upon the stranger.

  Then Jim Silver said: "After about ten days, I'll have to start away. I don't know exactly where I'll have to go, but it will be away from Iron Moimtain, and I'm afraid that I'll have to travel alone. I don't want to seem to turn you down. But I've got to admit that I'll have to travel by myself. If I can be on any use to you during the next ten days, I'm your man. After that I guess our trails will have to split up. I'm sorry."

  There was no use appealing to him. The very gentleness of his voice was an assurance that he would not alter his mind in the least.

  Jimmy Lovell nodded. Perhaps, during the ten days, by constantly watching his step, by entertaining with song and dance, by being useful on all occasions, he might, at the end of that period of probation, have attached himself to Jim Silver as the pilot fish is attached to the shark.

  "Whatever you say goes for me," he said. "Ten days of life is better than ten days of lying dead, and that's where I'd be, except that I've run into you. Silver. And if I've got any luck, the three devils will tackle me while I'm with you—and after we've finished, maybe there won't be enough pieces of 'em left to put together and make one whole man."

  XI—FROSTY

  For ten days there was nothing for Jimmy Lovell to fear, and he began to relax and enjoy himself in the presence of the strangest society that ever it had been his luck to know—a horse, a man, and a wolf, living together as a happy family.

  That was all that Lovell could think of when he saw the three together. It was a family bound together by the love of both animals for the man, and the love of the man for the pair of them. But there was a bitter animosity within that circle, also. There was never a time when the stallion ceased feeling fear and disgust for the wolf; there was never a time when the wolf ceased wishing to slit the throat of the great horse. So much was this true that Lovell said to Silver, on the second morning:

  "How come that you ain't afraid to leave Frosty near that horse all the time?"

  "They're not together all the time," answered Silver. "They have a rest from one another every now and then, and I watch them carefully. But if I were away for three days, I think that Frosty would murder Parade if he could catch him."

  "Think of havin' a dog like Frosty around!" exclaimed Lovell enviously. "Better than a hired guard, I'd say he is. No hired guard would hunt around in the brush all day long and find out if trouble is walking your way."

  "No," said Silver. "And he's useful in other ways. He has a book of things to do. You show him the page and he'll read it, all right."

  Lovell gaped. It would not have surprised him a great deal to hear that the wolf actually was able to understand print. But now Silver, with a smile, pulled out a key ring that had on it a queer collection of ragged trifles. There was a bit of rabbit's foot, several pieces of metal, strips of leather, some bits of cloth, other odds and ends.

  "That's the book of Frosty," said Silver. "He knows every page. Here's rabbits. If you want rabbit meat, Frosty will trot out and try to hunt for nothing else. If you want venison, here's a strip of the ear of a stag, and after Frosty scents that and gets the sign to start hunting, he'll go off and work all day, rounding through the country and trying to drive game to your gun."

  "Hold on!" exclaimed Lovell incredulously.

  Silver nodded. "He'll do that," he said. "It's hard for a wolf to catch a deer, but it's not so hard for a wolf to run it somewhere close to the direction that he wants to send it in. Here are other pages in his book. This leather off the pull straps of my boots. Here's my knife; here's my left-hand Colt, and here's my right-han
d one. Here's my hat, my coat, my trousers. When he sniffs any of these things he knows that I want 'em."

  Lovell had begun to frown. He tried to banish the frown from his face, but it kept on returning. He felt that his leg was being pulled more than a little.

  Then he said: "Well, Silver, here's your knife right over here. It'd be quite a sight to me to see a wolf—or a dog —handle a knife."

  Silver lifted a finger, and Frosty came to him. Under his nose, Silver displayed a single item on the odds and ends on the key ring, and Frosty immediately backed away with his nose in the air and his mane ruffing out.

  It was plain that he detested everything connected with that knife.

  He approached his master again.

  "You're going to lose out on this," said Lovell, with a keen touch of pleasure in the thought that he might have found Silver out in an exaggeration. He could hear himself, later on, telling other men that Jim Silver could tell a lie, just like any other fellow in the world. He would let people know that Jim SUver was not a whit better than ordinary mortality, and he would take a pleasure in letting them know it. "You're going to have your wolf miss—even if you point out where the knife is lying and tell your man to fetch it in!" He chuckled as he made this suggestion.

  Silver eyed him calmly.

  "I won't have to point to the knife," he said. "Frosty will find it."

  Frosty was sniffing the knife sheath that was suspended from the belt of his master. Now, with a shake of his head, he backed away once more and pointed his nose into the wind, his eyes half closed.

  Lovell fell silent. Half of his doubt fell away from him in an instant as he saw Frosty shift a bit across the wind and point into it again. But the wind blew from the lower part of the camp. It could not carry the scent of the knife to Frosty in his present position.

  He shifted again, falling right back across the clearing to the farther side, close to the trees. He disappeared into the shrubbery.

  "He's gone!" Lovell chuckled. "There's a trick that he misses, old son!"