Brand, Max - Silvertip 06

by The Fighting Four

  Instantly there was the explosion of a gun, and a bullet clattered through the branches close to Wayland's head.

  He thought, for an instant, that he had been seen and was a visible target, but the shot was not repeated for another moment. And in the meantime. Parade had lunged to his feet.

  Wayland swung up behind the wounded man. To manage the saddlebag with one hand and grip the body of Silver with the other was all that he could do. He had to leave Parade to his own head, and that seemed, after all, the better way.

  For the big horse wound rapidly through the brush, dodged among the trees, and came out in the open floor of a valley just beyond.

  In the east, there was a growing pyramid of yellow, pale light to tell where the moon was about to rise. Behind them, in the woods, voices were calling out more dimly.

  They had escaped safely, it seemed. But what did the escape mean if the Mfe of Jim Silver were running momentarily out of his body?

  "Lift me up. Help me," conmaanded the murmur of Silver.

  Wayland used his strength to lift up the torso of the wounded man. And the bulk of Silver lolled heavily back against him. A shadowy horseman swept out from the right and made straight toward them. Wayland leveled a revolver at the right.

  "Steady!" said Silver. "It's not one of the three. It's Lovell. He's with us against the others, no matter what sort of a rat he is. Wayland, get me across the valley and into the trees. Leave me there. Go on with Lovell. Get yourselves away from danger, quick!"

  Get across the valley into the opposite trees—leave Jim Silver—save themselves?

  The mustang of Lovell drew up beside them as Parade struck forward with a long, easy canter.

  "The saddlebag?" he called. "Did you get it?"

  "Silver's hurt," said Wayland. "Watch out behind us. Silver's hurt!"

  "That's his luck," cried Lovell. "Have you got the bag? I see it. Here, give it to me. I'll take care of it! We'll pull together, partner!"

  The hungry stupidity of Lovell made Wayland almost smile.

  He shouted in answer: "They're coming! Follow on Lovell!"

  For far behind them they could distinctly hear the beat of hoofs and the crashing of brush as riders drove their horses recklessly through the woods. And as Parade increased his pace, throwing up his head and half turning it, as though inquiring after the state of his master, as Frosty began to labor his best to keep up with the long-striding stallion, Lovell fell cursing behind the leader.

  They swept across the valley. They were entering the edge of the opposite forest when Wayland heard the loud yell of men tingling out of the distance—Indian yells of triumph—and he knew that the three had sight of their quarry.

  He estimated their strength quickly. Silver would be of ho use for fighting, probably. That left Lovell, who would be a treacherous companion, to say the best. And as for himself, Wayland knew that he was a very poor shot.

  Against him and the doubtful quantity of Lovell there were ranged the adroit shrewdness of Dave Lister, the pantherlike ferocity and killing instinct of Joe Mantry, and above all the more capacious and patient strength of Phihp Bray.

  What could the fugitives do? Even Parade could not carry double for an indefinite time. And the moon was riding now, to show the way to the pursuit

  The light from the east threw long, slanting shadows among the trees.

  Now, as they labored up the slope of the hill. Silver was saying:

  "You can let me down anywhere. Frosty'll stay with me. If you give Parade his head, he may be willing to carry you away from me. I don't know. I hope he will. Give him his head, and he may keep on with Lovell's horse. But if you try to rein him and control him, he'll fight you till he kills you or you kill him. Let me down anywhere—and run for your lives!"

  Run for their lives, and leave Jim Silver dying there among the shadows of the trees?

  "Save your breath," said Wayland shortly. "I'm not leaving you, Silver, no matter what happens."

  "You fool!" whispered Silver weakly.

  Up from the rear came the struggling mustang of Lovell. And Lovell's voice called:

  "Silver, are you hurt?"

  "He's badly hurt. We've got to pull up and fight it out with the three of 'em," said Wayland. "Silver's out of it. He's fought enough for other people. Now we've got a chance to fight for him!"

  Lovell reined his horse closer and leaned far out from the saddle to peer at the limp form of Silver, and suddenly he exclaimed:

  "He's got it! He's done for! Silver's gone!"

  Gone? Well, perhaps he was. With a sick heart, Wayland had been feeling the trickling of hot blood out of the body of Jim Silver. Jim Silver apparently was dying, and it was plain that Lovell was far from displeased.

  "He can't lift a hand!" said Lovell. "Pass me the saddlebag, Wayland. I'll carry it for you. I'll stick with you, too. The pair of us, we'll get clear. We'll fight our way through."

  They had climbed up the slope through the woods until they came to a canyon that gave them, for a moment, easier footing, and now they were passing many small, dark mouths of side cuts that sliced back from the main throat of the ravine.

  "We'll take him in here," said Wayland, and they came to a long and narrow cleft that promised to run back for a considerable distance through the mountain. "We'll take him in here. They've got no noses to follow our scent, and maybe they won't be able to follow the trail with their eyes till morning."

  "You fool," cried Lovell, "they'll just bottle us up, in there! Let Silver drop. He's done for a lot of others, and now his turn has come. Let him drop, and come along with me. Man, we've got half a million to ride for. Are you going to throw us away on a dead one?"

  But Wayland already had swerved big Parade to the side, with a swing of his body, and they were passing straight back into the close, thick darkness of the ravine.

  XXIII—THE RAVINE

  The voice of Jim Silver, pitched very low, murmured at the ear of Wayland like soundless thought rising in his own mind: "Let me down. You've done enough. I know that your heart's right. No use throwing yourself away when you can't really help me."

  "Listen," said Wayland, for he felt himself weakening under the steady flow of Silver's persuasion. "Listen to me. It was me being a clumsy fool that brought you into the trouble. You came to save my neck. You could have had the saddlebag for the taking, but you took me along, too. And then I blundered and got Mantry's eye, and you absorbed the bullet that should have been for me. Now you tell me to run off and leave you alone. Well, I won't run off. Don't persuade me. It's hard enough for me to try to do what's right without arguing about it."

  A glint of stronger moonlight was reflected from the shining face of a cliff of quartz, and by that strange light, Wayland saw the eyes of Silver had closed and that his pale lips were smiling a little.

  "All right," said Silver. "It's better to die like a white man than to keep on living like a sneak. I won't argue any more."

  "We're going to cut through this ravine. We're going to get out on the high ground and bed you down in a corner where Bray and the rest will never find you. We're going to stop your bleeding. And a month from now, you and I will be in Elkdale eating beef-steak and laughing about the scare we're going through now."

  That optimistic speech had hardly stopped sounding from the lips of Wayland when they turned a corner and found that the canyon pitched out to nothing, suddenly. Straight before them there was a slope of seventy degrees or more. It went up and up, endlessly, to the very peak of the mountam.

  It might be that Parade could climb that slope alone. But it was certain that he could never manage it with a man on his back.

  Wayland halted the horse and looked helplessly around him. Lovell appeared, fuming, groaning, talking low as though he feared the enemy were already in hearing distance.

  "You see what you've done? You've bottled us up!" he gasped. "I never heard of such a fool. Bottled up two living gents and one dead one—and half a million dollars of good, clean
money!"

  "Watch him!" whispered Silver to Wayland. "Watch his guns!"

  Wayland slipped suddenly out of the saddle and put Parade between him and Lovell.

  "I'm taking Silver off the horse," he said. "Watch the mouth of the ravine. We'll talk things over. We'll try to find a way out, man!"

  He took the weight of Silver over his shoulder, as he spoke, and lowered him from the saddle. Silver stood beside him, one loose, big arm cast over the shoulders of Wayland, and his head sagging down. The tremor of his weakness Wayland could feel. And the irregular breathing of Silver told of the pain that he was enduring.

  Off to the side, there was a sort of natural penthouse, where the bottom of the rock gave back. And into this, Wayland supported Silver and stretched him on the ground.

  Lovell followed, still arguing, but Wayland had slung the saddlebag over his shoulder and now he dropped it between the prostrate form of Silver and the rock wall.

  Lovell said, his voice whining as he strove to make it persuasive: "We going to throw ourselves away for a dead man. We're going to "

  "Wait," said Wayland. "I'm not fool enough to throw myself away for a dead man. We'll tie up his wound. That's all. We'll tie him up and see how he is. Then we'll talk. Give me a hand, Lovell!"

  "And waste the time that might save our necks—and half a million dollars. I tell you, it ain't right to throw away a chunk of coin like that!"

  But he fell to, with his little, rapid hands, to make bare the wound of Silver.

  The slug had torn right through his body. The mark where it entered, under the breast, was comparatively small. But there was a great hole in the back. Certainly it seemed that there was no way of keeping the life from flying out through such an aperture. Wayland turned sick as, by the dim moonlight, he saw the truth of things.

  "You see?" snapped Lovell.

  "We'll just tie him up!" urged Wayland.

  "Oh, well," said Jimmy Lovell through his teeth.

  But he helped, nevertheless. With dust they stopped the mouths of the wounds. Then, with tom-up shirts, they made a big, clumsy bandage.

  What chance was there for Silver, who lay with closed eyes, his face like a stone? How much life was flickering in him like a dying fire? Now and then his mouth pinched in a little, but there was no other way in which he expressed the agony that must be wringing him.

  Beside him crouched the great wolf, making strange sounds in the base of his throat. The smell of blood, even of his master's blood, made the slaver of the brute start running, and increased the fire in his eyes. But the sound in his throat was like a queer mourning. Sometimes he showed his great fangs, as though he would sink his teeth in the hands that worked over his master and gave him pain, but he seemed to realize that this work might be, beyond his comprehension, in behalf of Jim Silver.

  Wayland could see, in the back of his mind, a picture of the dead man stretched here, unknown to the world, with the wolf keeping guard over the corpse, and the stallion lingering, starving among the rocks, unwilling to drift away from the body of Jim Silver.

  Somewhere, in an old poem, there was such a picture. Somewhere in an old ballad. As though to prove that beasts may be truer than men.

  When the bandaging was done, Lovell said eagerly: "You can see for yourself. There ain't more'n a spark of life in him. He's going out. And every minute those three are getting closer. Listen!"

  He sprang up and lifted his head to catch the sounds that drifted through the air. It was the clangor of iron-shod hoofs, far away, striking against a rocky surface. The noise poured closer and closer, seemed to sweep up the narrows of the ravine toward them, and then suddenly diminished and rolled away.

  "They've gone by," sighed Lovell, with a groan of relief. "But they'll come again. Bray's got a brain in his head. Mantry is a devil. Lister has all the brains in the world. They'll find out they've drawn a blank, and they'll come back and find us! Wayland, this gent, Silver, has hounded fifty men to death. He's getting his own turn now and I'm glad of it! That's what I say for myself. Let's clear out of here. We can climb that slope. In twenty minutes we'll be where the three of 'em will never find us!"

  His hand, that had stretched out toward the saddlebag, jumped back again as he saw the leveled gun of Wayland.

  "I'll tell you something, brother," said Wayland. "Now that Silver's here, he's going to stay here. Fill your canteen out of that run of water, will you? And bring it over here. I won't leave him while he's alive. And when he's dead, I'll stay to burn him. He's got no claim on you, but he's got a claim on me. Understand? I won't leave him— not for a half a billion dollars!"

  Lovell, as he listened, swayed a little, as though the words were ponderous weights that he could hardly sustain. He swayed to this side and to that, making short,, feeble gestures of protest. Then he remained silent, staring.

  Wayland, looking beyond him, saw the moonlight brighten down the opposite slope of the little valley. They were caught in a funnel, as it were, and the moonlight would shine with increasing force, leaving only this slice of blackness where Jim Silver was stretched under the lip of the lower rock.

  "All right," said Lovell finally, and his voice was no more than a whisper. "But listen!"

  Once more they heard the ringing sound of hoof-beats out of the distance, slowly, slowly drawing back toward them.

  "They'll block the ravine and then "

  Lovell said no more. He rose, gradually straightening

  his lithe body. He went to the run of water, filled his canteen, and brought it back.

  Wayland took it. Lovell turned away and stood staring down the ravine, while Wayland, with one hand, lifted the fallen head of Jim Silver, and with the other offered the canteen to his lips.

  Silver drank eagerly.

  Then he lay back, breathing hard, his eyes half open,

  "How is it?" murmured Wayland.

  "It's as if—the water—were blood—new blood. It's as if—I had a chance," breathed Silver.

  He made a small gesture with his hand. Wayland took it in a strong grip. Tears rushed into Wayland's eyes.

  "Old son!" he said through his teeth.

  He saw Silver smile, and watched the eyes of the wounded man close again. The breast of Silver rose. He sighed. Peace seemed to be coming over him.

  To Wayland, matters of life and death were suddenly given a new proportion. Death itself was no longer a frightful skeleton, a bogy. And life was no crown of glory. Death could be better than life. Dying in a good cause seemed itself the highest reward that could come to any man.

  That had been the conviction of Jim Silver, Wayland knew. Because he thought nothing of himself, other men had loved him. Dumb beasts loved him, too.

  Parade came and thrust out his long neck, and bent until his knees trembled with his weight and with horror at the smell of his master's blood. He snuffed at the face of Jim Silver, and then raised his head suddenly, and seemed about to whinny.

  But there was only the tremor of the nostrils and no more. He had not been trained in vain by Jim Silver.

  The wolf had risen when the horse drew near. Silently he had showed his fangs.

  Now he lay down again, and dropped his head across the body of Silver. There he remained on watch while Wayland stood up to stretch his limbs.

  There was a vague trouble in his mind. Finally he realized that during all these last moments he had been completely unaware of Lovell—so unaware that the thief might have easily stolen the saddlebag again.

  But the bag was still there. It was Lovell who was gone!

  Softly Wayland ventured to call for him, and then more loudly. But Lovell was gone, and Wayland suddenly realized what his absence meant!

  XXIV—LOVELL'S TERMS

  Lovell was a logician, and he knew men. That was why he left the wounded man and Wayland. The truth having once been shown to Lovell, he did not need to have a professor stand at a blackboard and point out the details of it. After he had brought the canteen of water to Way-land at
his request, Lovell had stood for a moment with his back turned to the others and had considered matters afresh.

  Then he stepped down the narrows of the ravine and went softly out of view. The matter was as clear as glass to him. He knew that Wayland was not talking for the sake of making an effect. He knew that Wayland would do exactly as he had said that he would do, and stay with the wounded man to the finish.

  What would the finish be?

  Well, Lovell could see that, too. He could see how the wounded man would grow weaker, the loss of blood wearing him down, while death was always assured for the end by the brutal fashion in which the bullet must have torn the interior of the body. Therefore big Jim Silver must die. But the gigantic strength of his body would draw out the struggle. He might even last two or three days. There had been knovm men who lingered through such a period of agony.

  During all of that time Bray and the other two would be searching, searching all the while, and at last they would have daylight to aid them. By daylight they would re-foUow the sign of the fugitives. They would spot the long strides by which the stallion had flown up the outer vaUey. They would distinguish his trail from the others, and thereby know that they were following the right direction. So, at last, they would turn the proper way— and behold, the dying man would be waiting for them, and the poor, clumsy, sentimental fool, Wayland, and also, there would be a wolf to be shot, a glorious stallion to be taken; and, last of all, and sweetest of all, half a million dollars for discreet hands to take and to spend.

  Lovell saw all of these things clearly. And suddenly he was ashamed. He was ashamed that he should be found on a side that must lose, and he was delighted that he saw a way of transferring himself to the winners. Of course, he could sneak away across the hills and thereby save his own hide. He could disappoint the dear vengeance of Bray and the others, to begin with. But was that enough?

  No, there remained the money stolen from the Elkdale bank, which had once been all his, and to which he would still be able to put in a quarter claim.