Comanche

by Max Brand

  “Do you remember, Deems, that you said you would put a bullet through me, one day, and drop me in the street?”

  “I remember that I said that,” said Deems.

  “I’ll think of that,” said Shodress, “when I see you kicking. But what about the trial tomorrow? Have the Apperleys sent you a lawyer to defend you?”

  “I’ll do without a lawyer,” said Deems. “Do you know what you remind me of now, Shodress?”

  “I don’t want to hear you,” said the fat man.

  “You remind me of a mad dog, too fat to do as much harm as it wants to do. But looking for a few other curs to help it bite and fight.”

  “He calls you a cur, McGruder. Do you hear that?” snarled Shodress.

  But McGruder shrugged his shoulders and listened curiously. He had overheard too many of these wordy brawls before. And the noisy rage on the one side and the coldly concentrated malice on the other always fascinated him.

  Steve Grange, having started to go out, turned and lingered in the door. And in the excess of his fury, Shodress glared sidewise at his young lieutenant, as though only the presence of Steve kept him from throwing himself headlong at Single Jack.

  “Lock him up in his room, McGruder,” said Shodress. “And no more cards, today. I’ll come in and relieve you in an hour.”

  So poor Deems was marched away to his room, though it was still far from bedtime. He was not left alone there. Day and night there was always a guard over him and in the room with him, and even the strong security of the fetters was not trusted for an instant. For new stories about Single Jack had drifted from the East. They told how deftly he could slip handcuffs, and with a bit of watch spring undo the most intricate locks. And they related many another interesting particular, until the people of Yeoville began to feel that they had a veritable will-o’-the-wisp in their midst.

  At any rate, he was never left for a single instant unobserved, and it was felt that his exploits in Eastern prisons had thrown down a gauntlet of challenge to Yeoville. If they kept this dexterous fellow safely through the time of his imprisonment, they would be accomplishing more than the tallest of stone walls and the stoutest of steel bars had been able to do in the more civilized portions of the community.

  That was not all. It seemed, indeed, as though the affair of Single Jack was literally putting Yeoville upon the map. There suddenly appeared in the town the emissaries of the police of many states. Could Yeoville keep her prisoner? Did she desire to spare herself the expenses of his trial? In that case, here were the legal departments of so many states only too ready, too anxiously willing to take up the matter. If only Yeoville were to be persuaded to give over her prize. Into how many penitentiaries might he not be slipped frictionlessly and easily.

  But Yeoville had no desire to give up her prize and the fame that he was bringing to her. For nearly every day, someone turned up from the far eastern states to see this criminal, and look into his dark eyes, and strive to connect him with other crimes in distant parts of the country. But while they remained in town, they could not help seeing something of the ways of that wild little village, and by every mail fat letters departed, describing what had been seen, such as the random parties of cowpunchers who, for the mere joy of living, rode through the place with guns spitting fire and lead, and the growing cemetery where there was always a fresh grave to be seen. It was the proud boast of Yeoville that three out of every four men buried there had died with their boots on, gun in hand. In one detail about Yeoville all these strangers agreed, and that was in praising big, blustering, good-natured, open-handed Alec Shodress, who extended a broad welcome to all comers.

  But to go back to the moment when Single Jack was taken from the room to his bedchamber by McGruder. It must be pointed out that the eyes of both McGruder and Shodress were earnestly upon him, and, moreover, his movements were seriously restricted and hampered by the heavy double manacles. Yet when he left the room, up one sleeve was tucked the fold of paper that young Steve Grange had stuffed between two of the adobe bricks.

  Presently he lay on his bed and pretended to sleep, but under that masking pretense, little by little, soundlessly, he drew forth the paper and spread it out against his raised knee and read through the lowered lashes of his eyes:

  Deems:

  Hester has told me all about that hound, Myers. It’s enough to make me see what Myers is, and what Shodress is for using methods like that.

  I’ve ridden out and gotten in touch with Andrew Apperley. He’s willing to do anything that he can. I’ve told him how you kept his brother from being poisoned, and he’ll mortgage his whole estate to get enough money to save you if that’s possible, but none of us know how we can get a lawyer into Yeoville, now that Shodress is running amuck.

  Can you suggest anything?

  You have the confession of Myers. Where did you hide it? If we can have that, we may be able to bring up a case against Shodress that will keep him so busy that he won’t have time to bother about you.

  Tell me what you want us to do. I’m your man to the limit.

  Hester wants me to tell you again, what you wouldn’t believe before, that she had nothing to do with the scheme to get Apperley away from you so that he could be shot up by the gang. If you knew her the way I do, you would never have suspected her of such a trick.

  Stephen Grange

  This letter he read twice, and then folded it and conveyed it back into his sleeve.

  He could not help smiling faintly when he thought of the heedless recklessness that had induced Steve Grange to put down such things in black and white and in a place where there were great chances that the paper would fall into the hands of Alec Shodress. And if Shodress had seen it, there was no reasonable doubt as to what he would have done. Myers, Grange, and Deems himself would all have fallen an instant sacrifice.

  However, that bad chance had not fallen out, and now in what manner could he use this offer of help?

  He pondered it carefully, but the more he thought it over, the stranger it seemed to him. His opinions of men and women were most definite. They were the coldly selfish creatures who lived in a universe of suspicion and distrust such as he had always known. Only one thing in all his life had half startled him out of his old conceptions, and that had been the kindness of Andrew Apperley. To repay that man, he had worked and fought until his own life seemed about to be laid down. The manacles that held him were a partial token of the payment that he had made.

  But with Hester and Steve Grange the matter was different. They belonged to the camp of the enemy. Steve Grange himself still lay in danger of a prison sentence that had been imposed upon him by the skill and the courage of David Apperley, backed up by the commanding guns of Deems himself.

  And yet yonder was Hester Grange working day and night to draw back young David from the shadow of death. And here was Steve Grange risking his life boldly and silently in the determination to do something for the prisoner. He realized that it was no easy task he had set for himself. But he never had been a man to shrink from the unpleasant things that came up. Life was like that, he reflected, and you sometimes had to trust to your instincts to guide you. So now he was, without fear or regret, determined to help the prisoner.

  It was enough to cause a mighty revolution in the mental world of Deems. It was a conception that ripped out old ideas and planted in their place an idea of human kindness and generosity that brought sudden tears stinging into his eyes.

  He could only shake his head and decide that he would let the matter adjust itself with time. For these were ideas so great and so new that he could not comprehend them at once.

  His thoughts turned on Steve Grange, young, bold, careless, reckless of himself and of others, but apparently with a heart of gold. But if Steve Grange were of the right stuff, then what of his sister? What of Hester? Suppose, then, that she also had the gold in her, that she was not merely scheming, cool, crafty, clever, and ready to take advantage of all opportunities?

  If
that were the case . . .

  And all at once, he stopped thinking altogether, and in the place of thought the face of Hester blazed across his mind. He saw her smile. He felt her eyes resting upon him with gentle kindness. And the heart of Single Jack almost stopped with wonder and with joy that was the very brother of sadness.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  It was an extremely brief trial, as might have been suspected beforehand.

  The witnesses of the state against the prisoner were Pete and Sam Wallis, Lefty Mandell, barely recuperated enough to be carried into the courtroom, and Dan McGruder himself.

  And the story that they told could be inferred from the summing up of the judge to the jury at the end, for he said in part: “Here we have, apparently, a lover of blood and guns who sneaks up on a peaceful party of five young friends, forgathered in a quiet home, and, tearing open the door, shoots in upon them without warning, and then, when the lamp has fallen, rushes in with his devilish wolf dog beside him . . .”

  The verdict was guilty. Guilty of murder in the first degree.

  And the next day Deems stood before the same judge and heard him pronounce the fatal words: “To be hanged by the neck until dead.”

  He walked out from the courtroom past faces that had suddenly turned grave, and past eyes that were filled with horror, even though not with sympathy.

  To Single Jack himself the thing had a bitter meaning. For he had barely come upon the discovery that there might be in life and human nature such possibilities of happiness as he had not dreamed in the old days. He had just walked by Hester Grange, crystal pale from the long watches of the sick room, and seen the tears in her eyes. He had gone past Steve Grange, beside her, dark red with anger at the course that the law had taken.

  To die—why, that was a little thing, an idea that he had looked upon with indifference all of his days. But to die and leave these possibilities of friendship—and of more than friendship . . .

  He passed out into the sun, but though it fell burningly upon his body, it could not reach his heart, for that was gathered in the deepest darkness.

  And then a heavy voice said beside him: “It begins to mean something, kid. Eh?”

  He looked up and found Shodress striding near—Shodress red with heat and with triumph.

  “But this here is just the beginning,” said the boss of Yeoville. “Every day, now, you can spend your time thinking about the gallows, kid. And I’ll help you think.”

  He broke into savagely exultant laughter, and for the first time Deems was unable to smile calmly in return. Instead, he felt a bitter resentment.

  That new feeling startled him, for he knew that it was a sign of weakness, and he dreaded lest that weakness should grow upon him.

  Shodress, with a devilish intuition, saw that he had gained his first ground against this enemy, and he was filled with ardent happiness, and he called the attention of McGruder to the prisoner the instant they were in the jail.

  “He looked pretty strong and confident, Mac,” he said. “But take an eyeful of him now. Oh, he’s weakening fast enough. He’s weakening, Mac. And now that he’s started going downhill, who can tell how long it’ll be before he crumbles altogether? He throws a bluff until the pinch comes, and then he yelps like a dog that’s been kicked. What a sneakin’ puppy you are, Deems.” And he leaned and shook his fat fist in the face of Single Jack.

  The latter had recovered some of his poise, by this time. He had not spent in vain a lifetime of effort to control his nerves. They were as a rule his perfect servants. Now he leaned back in his chair and composed his ironed hands comfortably upon his knees. His eyes were half closed, and a contented smile hovered upon his lips.

  No matter what Shodress might suspect was in the mind of the younger man, he could not help asking: “What’s the matter with you?”

  “It’s an odd thing. Something that you wouldn’t understand,” said Deems.

  “What?”

  “And even if you did understand it, you wouldn’t believe it. What about a game of poker, McGruder?”

  “The deuce with poker!” exclaimed Shodress. “Let’s hear what you’ve got to offer.”

  “Did you ever hear of mediums?” asked Deems.

  “You mean the gents that talk to spirits . . . except that mostly they’re women, and not men. What about ’em?”

  “It’s very odd,” said Single Jack, “but I’ve always had a little touch of that in me.”

  “Blamed if I don’t believe you,” said McGruder. “That accounts for the spooky look that you got half of the time.”

  “Don’t let him make a fool out of you, Mac,” cautioned Shodress, but nevertheless his eyes were intent with interest. “Go on, let’s hear the yarn,” he urged.

  “I’ll tell it to McGruder,” said Deems, “because why should I waste my time on a fat-face like you, Shodress? You want to hear it, Dan?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, you see, ever since I was a youngster, I’ve been seeing things that my eyes had never rested on. A dozen times I’ve been in places where I never was before . . . and recognized them.”

  “D’you mean that?”

  “It’s a fact, Dan.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard of things like that happening,” said Shodress, forgetting his hatred of the man in the interest of the idea. “Matter of fact, it’s sort of a common thing, I believe.”

  “I could tell you about a time when it was very useful to me,” said Single Jack. “I was running down an alley in a town where I’d never been before. All I knew about its geography was that it stood about twenty miles from the sea and that it had a railroad running into it. And I had a lot of need for knowing that place well, the night that I’m speaking about, because I had a pocket more than half filled with uncut diamonds, and behind me there were about a dozen people running. And off in the distance I could hear a horse galloping closer and closer toward me, so that I knew I’d have to run as fast as a horse, pretty soon, unless I wanted to be caught . . . or shoot my way out. And I always hate to do that.”

  “Now look here, kid, why don’t you give us a chance to halfway believe you?”

  “I’m talking to McGruder,” said Deems gently. “This is stuff that you’re not even expected to understand.”

  “Go on,” put in McGruder. “And leave him alone for five minutes, Shodress, will you?”

  Shodress rolled himself from side to side in his seat, disturbed with hatred for narrator and interest in the story that he was hearing.

  “What happened, anyway?” he asked.

  “All at once,” said Single Jack, “I felt that I’d been in that street before, and that I knew all about it, and it seemed to me that once before I had been down that way and that along that street there was a little alley mouth opening, next to a fruit store, and that if I turned down that alley beside the fruit store, I’d come to the river . . .” He paused, and shook his head.

  “Go on!” growled Shodress. “I suppose that you want us to believe that you did come across the fruit store and that you went down the alley and got to the river and dived in and got away that way?”

  “It’s very odd,” declared Single Jack, “but now it seems that even a fool can guess the truth, because that’s the only reason that I’m here tonight. I did find the fruit store, and beside it, however, there was no alley mouth but a big pile of rubbish behind a tall fence. But I had faith in my dream. I had to have, or else be caught by that mob behind me.

  “When I headed for the fence, they thought that they had me, and they yelped like dogs. I got over the fence, with one of the policemen taking pot shots at me. I staggered through the junk pile, and there I saw the little black alley ahead of me. When I headed down it, I could see the glimmer of the water ahead, and I guessed that my dream would save me. It did save me, and here I am.”

  “You might better have died like a drowned rat in the water that night,” said Shodress, “than wait to be hanged like a dog here in Yeoville . . . except for t
he pleasure that I’m gonna take in seeing you die.”

  It seemed that the prisoner did not hear him, for he continued dreamily: “And several times since I’ve known you, you’ve been in one of these dreams of mine, Shodress.”

  “The devil I have!” gasped the fat man, his credulity showing instantly through his pretended contempt. “And what sort of a dream was it?”

  “I seem to see you running across a street,” said young Deems, squinting his eyes hard. “And when I see you, I’m leaning out from a window. I call to you, and you look up . . . and it’s a very sick face that you make when you see me above you, Shodress.”

  “Go on.”

  “That’s all that there is to it.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s a fool dream, then, with no meaning.”

  “Maybe, maybe,” agreed the prisoner without passion. “But it’s a dream that I like to think about.”

  “You’re half-witted!” yelled Shodress, losing his temper completely. “What is there about it to please even a fool like you?”

  “It’s your face in the dream,” said Deems, smiling upon the fat man, “because you always look as if you were about to die.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  But what of Steve Grange and his offer, during these days? Indeed, he was often in the mind of the condemned man, but he did not know what use to make of him. For there was always, the constant surveillance of the sharp-eyed McGruder and the omnipotent malice of Shodress to embarrass him.

  So he waited, wondering what he should do, and every day Steve Grange came to see him.

  Steve had adopted an attitude of bitterest hatred toward Single Jack, and never missed an opportunity of upbraiding him. He accused Deems of having laid a plot against the life of his young brother Oliver. He swore that if the gallows spared Deems, he, Steve Grange, would certainly take the first opportunity to fight the old quarrel out with him.

  He was so rabid that even Shodress was sometimes a little surprised, and McGruder was even a little bit horrified.