Sunset Wins

by Max Brand

  “I hear you talk,” said Jim Orchard, “but I don’t get you. It ain’t no ways possible that you figure I’d pull Jerico? That I’d keep him from doing his best?”

  “Look here,” replied Tim Hogan, “I ask you man to man … do you think Jerico can beat Long Tom?”

  “Man to man, I don’t think he can. But I don’t know.”

  “You don’t think so, and neither do I. But I simply want to make it a sure thing. I’m putting up too much coin to take a chance, no matter how small the chance is. Orchard, I am asking you to pull Jerico.”

  Something came into the face of Orchard that made the other spring away.

  “Easy!” he cried. “Easy, Orchard! Jerico hasn’t a chance in a hundred. I’m just asking you to wipe out even that hundredth chance. And I’m talking business. I’m talking money.”

  “Get into that buckboard,” Jim Orchard said hoarsely, “and drive me back to town.”

  “Do you mean that? But I say, I’m talking money. I’m talking a thousand dollars, man, if you’ll pull Jerico on the hundredth chance.”

  “Climb into that buckboard and drive me back. If you had a gun, Hogan, I’d do more than talk to you.”

  “I’m talking two thousand … three thousand dollars, Orchard. Are you deaf?”

  “Deaf as a stone.”

  “Four thousand. I’ll do better. Give me what money you have, and I’ll get it down for you on Long Tom at three to one. How does that sound to you?”

  “Hogan, for the last time, will you drive me back, or do I drive back alone?”

  Tim Hogan climbed obediently into the buckboard. Not once on the return trip did he speak, feeling the silent loathing and scorn of the big man. But when Jim Orchard climbed down near the hotel, the jockey leaned far out across the wheel and whispered: “Think it over, Orchard. I’ll expect an answer. Think it over. Easy money, man. Easy money. Three dollars for one!” He put the whip to the mustangs, and the buckboard jumped away from the curse of Jim Orchard.

  IX

  The cowpuncher felt that the matter was closed the moment the wagon whirled out of sight around the corner but, oddly enough, the silence that followed was more tempting than the voice of the jockey. It was the first time in his life that anyone had ever attempted to bribe him. Ordinarily he would have made his revolver reply to such an offer, but one could not draw a weapon on an unarmed man, and it was impossible to use fists on a fellow of the size of Tim Hogan.

  The heart of Jim Orchard was heavy. He pushed through a crowd on the veranda—a crowd that wanted to tell him, one by one, how much they thought of the nerve he had shown in the riding of Jerico that day. He broke through them and entered the hotel.

  To those men on the veranda the race was already run and won. They would bet their last dollars on Jerico, for had they not heard how he had been run? Were there not men at the rodeo who had actually taken part in the chase of the wild mustang, and who had seen him wear out horse after horse in the relay that followed Jerico?

  But Jerico was beaten. He was as sure of it as if he had actually seen the gallant black pounding down the homestretch, behind the flaunting tail of the long-legged bay. Nothing equine that he had ever seen had moved with the speed of Long Tom. Of course there were unknown possibilities in Jerico. And in a longer race—five or six miles, say—in spite of the greater weight he had to carry, he would undoubtedly break the heart of Long Tom and win as he pleased. But for a single flash of speed—a single mile of sprinting—what chance had Jerico against the long legs and the flyweight rider of the bay?

  Jim Orchard dragged a chair up to the window of his room and looked gloomily into the night. He looked forward to the beating of Jerico as to a personal shame and mortification. There was something wrong about it. It should not be allowed. Take Long Tom in the open desert with a day’s ride ahead, and what use would he be? And, therefore, was it not bitterer than words could tell that he should be allowed to win fame and name by outstepping the staunch Jerico over a single mile?

  There was a sudden outburst of noise, a chorus of voices, shouts, laughter, mocking yells, spilling across the veranda. What was it?

  “On what? On Long Tom?”

  “What horse is that?”

  “Never seen him.”

  “I have, it’s a bay with legs almost as long as I’m tall.”

  Then, as the hubbub died away, he made out a clear, strong voice: “All right, boys, have your laugh. But I think those long legs can carry the horse over the ground. What’s more, I’ll back up what I say with money.”

  It was the voice of Garry Munn.

  “But you’re nutty, Munn. Jerico’s in the race! And he’s like a lamb with Jim Orchard in the saddle. Didn’t you see Jim ride the black today?”

  “I saw it. Still I have some faith in Long Tom. What odds will you give me, chief?”

  “Anything you want.”

  “Five to one.”

  “Five to one what?”

  “Five thousand to one thousand!”

  “Take you, Garry!”

  The hubbub roared again. It became a blur, blotting the mind of Jim Orchard.

  Garry Munn was the backer of Tim Hogan and the bay horse? Garry Munn was the man who was prepared to plunge up to the eyes? Jim bowed his head, for this was more than he could bear. The very day which was to see him fail to make good in making $6,000, which he had set his heart on possessing, this was to be the day of all days for Garry Munn. The very day which saw him fail to win either Sue Hampton or the black stallion, this was the day which was to give Garry Munn a real fortune—and Sue Hampton as well. About the girl, Jim was perfectly certain. She had waited too long. When she finally left him, she would go to the man who could offer her all that Jim lacked.

  Then, into the confusion of his mind, came the voice of the little man with the withered face as he leaned out across the wheel of the buckboard. What was it he had said with so much confidence?

  You’ll think it over. Easy money, man. Easy money. Three dollars for one.

  Of course it was easy money. It was more than easy. It was picking the gold out of the street. What difference did it make? Garry Munn would never bet on a rash chance, and yet he was apparently backing Long Tom with thousands. And whether Jerico were pulled or not in the race, he had not a chance in ten of winning. Why not get in on the clean-up? Why not wager his $2,000 at odds of three or four to one? Then, even if Jerico were beaten, he would win both the girl and the horse. Was it double-crossing those men who were wagering their very boots on Jerico?

  Forget them, Jim Orchard thought savagely to himself, as this thought came home to him. The world owes me something!

  On that thought he stuck. The world did, indeed, owe him something. Tomorrow should be his collection day. There might be some pangs of conscience afterward, but in the end Sue Hampton and Jerico would certainly salve those wounds. The babble had increased on the veranda.

  “Wait a minute! One at a time!”

  Garry Munn was fighting them off. They were wild with joy at the thought of putting a bet on Jerico. They were offering any odds he would take. Five, seven, ten to one.

  It was too much for Jim Orchard.

  He counted out the $2,000 that made up his worldly fortune, scribbled a brief note which he stuffed into the mouth of the bag and, going down to the back of the hotel, found and saddled his horse and galloped to the shack of Tim Hogan. He kicked open the door without dismounting.

  “Hogan!”

  The little man with the withered face sauntered out to meet him. “I knew …” he began.

  “Take this and be hanged,” said Orchard. Flinging down the bag, he wheeled his horse and spurred away.

  As for Tim Hogan, he picked up the bag and opened it gingerly. His face lighted at the sight of the contents, and then he drew out the paper. He stood for a long time looking down at it. Fi
nally he crumpled it again and dropped it into its former place.

  “I didn’t think he’d come around,” Tim declared. “Didn’t really think it.”

  He added joyously after a time: “But I guess they all got their price. Every one of ’em’s got the tag on if you can only hit the right figure.”

  He was not half an hour alone before a second horseman galloped to his door.

  “He’s changed his mind,” said Tim Hogan, almost happily.

  But it was Garry Munn. He came in pale with excitement. “What’s happened?” he asked. “Anything happen?”

  “That,” Tim said dryly, and pointed to the little sack of money.

  “From Orchard? He’s come through?”

  “He has.”

  “We’re to bet this on Long Tom?”

  “We are.”

  Garry Munn shouted with relief and joy: “I knew it’d work!”

  “What you done?”

  “When you told me that Orchard had turned you down, I made up my mind to try a little bluff. I went to the veranda of the hotel and started betting on Long Tom to win.”

  “Before you knew Orchard would pull Jerico?”

  “Sure. I was playing for Jim. I knew he’d hear me and get to thinking that Tom was sure to win no matter what he does.”

  “And Tom will win.”

  “Aye, but we can’t take chances. They went mad when they heard that there was actually money out against Jerico. They gave me any odds I could ask. I didn’t get much down. I let them waste time talking and making a noise to reach the ears of Orchard. All I bet was a few hundred … at anything from five to one to ten to one. Think of that! And it hooked him?”

  “He came riding up a half hour ago and threw down that.” Tim pointed at Orchard’s money bag.

  “Why, you fool, aren’t you pleased?”

  “I s’pose so. But it means one more good man gone to the bad. You won’t hear me cheer. I’ve seen too much of it.”

  “But suppose something happens to Long Tom? Suppose he don’t win? I’m ruined, Tim, because I’m going to plunge in this up to the eyes. I’m going to soak every cent I can get my hands on into this race.” He broke off as he drew out the paper that was in the mouth of the money bag.

  “What’s here?” Then he read aloud:

  Here you are, Hogan. Bet this on Long Tom for me.

  He repeated that message, a smile slowly growing on his face.

  “Well?” asked Tim Hogan. “Anything mysterious about that?”

  But Garry Munn slowly spread and closed into a fist the fingers of one hand, as though he were strangling a creature of thin air.

  “I’ve got him,” he said.

  “Got what?”

  “He’ll get paid the money he wins … and long odds at that, as pat as I can get for him. But he loses everything else.”

  “What?”

  “His honor, Tim, and his girl!”

  X

  Fortunately for his own self-esteem, Garry Munn did not see the cynical smile with which Tim Hogan greeted his last speech. Tim had long since buried the last of his own scruples and could not even remember the long-distant day when he had decided to get along in the world minus the burden of a sense of honor. In his palmy times on the track he had done everything from artistically “roughing” the most dangerous of his competitors to cleverly “pocketing” or “pulling” his own mount.

  He had made a great deal of money in this manner and had always been clever enough to keep away from suspicion. But for the very reason that he had decided to do without moral scruples in his own life, Tim was the keener critic of the morals of others. There was something highly repulsive to him in the apparent good nature of Garry Munn and the real, cold unscrupulousness which underlay the surface appearances.

  Unaware of the scorn which was sneering behind his back, Garry went out from the shack singing gaily, and he took his way straight back to the town and then to the house of Sue Hampton. In the old days he had never paid much attention to Sue. Indeed, it was not until Jim Orchard took her up that Garry wakened to her possibilities. But he had long since formed such a habit of trying to get the same things that Jim Orchard wanted that when Jim seriously courted a woman, it seemed perfectly natural for Garry to desire the same girl.

  He never pretended to understand Sue. But, next to his own fortunes, he loved her as much as he was able to love anything. And the pleasure of beating out Jim Orchard in this most important of competitions would suffice to sweeten an entire married life, he felt.

  Before he knocked at her door he composed himself. In his hand he carried that sack of Orchard’s money with which he was to destroy forever Jim’s chances with the girl. In his mind he carried a convincing story. When he had arranged the details, he tapped. The lamp was picked up in the sitting room. He saw the light slant across the window and fade. Then the crack around the front door became an edging of light. The door was opened by Sue herself, who stood back, shading the lamp to keep the glare out of her eyes. It seemed to Garry Munn that the fingers of that hand were transparent.

  “Is there anyone with you?” he asked.

  “No one.”

  “Then come out on the veranda, Sue. I’ve got something to tell you. You don’t mind me calling as late as this?”

  “Of course not.”

  She disappeared and joined him at once in the semidarkness. He was glad to have that sheltering dark, for from the first he had never been entirely at ease, so long as the grave, quiet eyes of the girl could probe his face. The lamplight, he felt, would have been an ally for Jim Orchard. The darkness, on the other hand, would be an ally for Garry Munn. He struck at once into the heart of his subject, because he knew that she was too clever to be fooled by his diplomacy.

  “Sue,” he said, “I’ve got a mighty ugly job, tonight. Before I get through talking you’ll know I’m the best friend you’ve got in the world, or else you’ll think I’m a hound. Shall I go ahead?”

  “I don’t know,” answered the smooth voice of Sue Hampton. “Of course I won’t know till I hear.”

  That was a characteristic speech, he felt. It would also be characteristic for Sue to suspend judgment to the very end of his story. He felt that he must prepare her.

  “Well, we’ll start supposing. Suppose you had a friend you thought a lot of … and that friend had another friend he thought a lot of …”

  “I’m getting the friends all mixed up, Garry.”

  He blurted out impatiently: “It’s about Jim Orchard!”

  There was a long pause. He was not so sure that he was glad to have darkness. He would have given a good deal to be able to make out more than the blur of her features.

  “Well?” she said at length.

  “I’ve never bluffed with you, Sue,” he went on. “I guess you know where I stand.”

  “Just what do you mean?”

  This coolness was always a dash of water in his face.

  “I mean you know my attitude toward you.”

  She hesitated just a trifle. “I think you’ve acted as if … as if you’re a firm friend of mine, Garry. Is that what you mean?”

  “Nothing more than a friend?”

  “Yes,” she admitted willingly enough, “more than a friend.”

  “And it hasn’t bothered you to have me around so much?”

  “I don’t know just what all this leads to, Garry.”

  “Nothing that’ll embarrass you, Sue. I’ll give you my word.”

  “Then … of course, it hasn’t bothered me. I like you a lot, Garry. Partly for reasons that aren’t reasons. Partly because you’re so clean.”

  He winced. “That’s fine to hear. It gives me courage to go ahead and take chances with what’s to come. But in the first place you admit that I’ve never tried to force myself on you, Sue. I’ve just gone
on being fond of you for quite a time now, and never asking any return, never expecting anything? Is that true?”

  “I think it is, Garry.”

  “Because I’ve taken it for granted that you belong to Jim Orchard.”

  She paused again. And he was glad of it. “No woman belongs to a man, until they’re married.”

  “Not even then, really, Sue.”

  “Oh, yes. After a marriage … that means a giving without any reservation … a giving of the whole heart, Garry. But I don’t think a man can understand.”

  “The point is this. You know that I’ve never made any pretenses about you. I’ve never asked any return. I’ve never had any hopes. Do you know why? Because I’ve always thought Jim was worthy of you.”

  “Go on,” said a faint voice.

  “Tonight it’s different.”

  He had ventured everything on the blunt statement; he half expected that she would order him to leave. But she made no murmur of a reply.

  “I’m going to tell you why. It may seem like coming behind Jim’s back. I’m sorry, but I don’t see any other way out of it. You can be the judge. Sue, you know that he’s going to ride Jerico tomorrow?”

  “Of course.”

  “Which isn’t a very peaceful thing for a man about to be married to do. Anyway, he’s going to ride Jerico. But do you know what horse he’s betting on?”

  “No.”

  “On Long Tom.”

  “But … I don’t understand. He’s riding Jerico.”

  “He is.”

  “And surely no horse can beat Jerico. Everyone says no horse around here can beat Jerico.”

  “And maybe they’re right.”

  “Then why should Jim bet on another horse?”

  “Because he’s riding Jerico.”

  “My brain is whirling, Garry. What does it mean?”

  “You understand that everyone who bets against Jerico will get long odds … five dollars for one?”