by Max Brand
“I can’t answer you in any other way,” answered Jerry.
“Is there somebody else?” he said through his teeth.
“Nobody.”
“It’s that smooth-faced, smiling, good-looking Ronicky Doone?”
“On my honor, there’s no one!”
“Then, Jerry, the fact that you don’t love me as much as I do you is just nothing! I can’t expect you to. But in time I’ll teach you how. It takes time for all great things. I’ll surround you with it like a wall. You’ll know nothing else. Look here. I know what it is to run men. It’s better than running a thousand horses to run one man. And me, Jerry—I’ve run men and run ’em by the scores; and wherever I go, I’ll still run men!”
He raised his great head, and his voice swelled.
“Wherever I’ve gone, I’ve been king,” he declared. “I’ve never met a man that could match me if it came to strength of muscles or strength of quick thinking. I’ve planned better than the others, and I’ve beat ’em in cunning and in tricks. I’ve read their minds and beat them always. Just the same way, when it come to fighting, I’ve beat ’em at fighting. I’m going to go East, Jerry, if you say the word, and do the same thing there that I’ve done in the West. I’m going to run men—run ’em by the score—have ’em working for me! And you, Jerry—you’ll be the power behind. You’ll be the rider with your hand on the reins. I’ll run scores, and you’ll run me. You’ll be like a queen on a throne, Jerry. You hear?”
She believed him, as she had reason to. It was within his capabilities to do as he said—to build up a power relentlessly strong, to make her rich, to pour treasures into her lap. Wherever he went, he would be king, and she, by very virtue of the fact that she did not love him blindly, could be absolute dictator in his life and carry the great power of the man in the palm of her hand to do with it as she pleased.
Yet she shook her head, though she paused a moment before she answered. It had been a great temptation. Moreover, she knew that the man would lead as straight a life, for her sake, as he had led a criminal one for his own sake.
“I can’t do it,” she said simply. “I tell you frankly, Jack, that I admire you for your strength, and I’m grateful with all my soul for what you’ve done for me. But I respect you too much, and I respect all the possibilities in you too much, to do what you ask. There’s no use talking any further!”
It was her calmness that laid the whip on him more than her words. He had debased himself before her. He had offered to sell himself. He had, so to speak, put a saddle on his back and offered to go where she bid him, and her refusal tortured him.
“Then,” he said suddenly, “Heaven help Hugh Dawn!”
She winced and stared at him.
“I say it again,” said the outlaw. “Heaven help Hugh Dawn!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The Last Card
There was no question about the threat which his words implied. He had drawn away from her as he spoke, and now he sat gloomily, drawing his horse to a halt.
“Here’s where I leave you,” said Jack Moon. “You go on with the hosses, and you take the gold. I’ve promised you that, and I keep my promise.”
“Do you think I value the money a straw’s weight?” she cried in terror. “Jack, what do you mean about my father?”
“Why, Jerry,” he said, frowning in wonder that she did not understand, “you see there ain’t more’n two ways open to me. Either I sell myself out to you and go East as your husband, or else I go back up the north trail and meet my boys and take command again. I’ll have to find an explanation for being away so long, but I’ll explain it away, right enough, and take command; and, once back in command, I’ll forget about you as though you never existed!”
“But my father?”
“Why, the boys have a claim on his life—and he’s got to go! He owes us a debt, and he’s got to pay. I’ve busted too many rules already. Once back at the head of the band, I play the game.”
“You can’t do it,” breathed the girl. “You can’t do it!”
“You think so?” he answered, almost sneering. “You don’t know me, Jerry. There’s one thing I love more than the rest of the world, and that’s you; but next to you I love power, and to me power is the band. The way I hold the band together is by being as cold as iron and as hard as iron. I rule ’em with a stiff rod, and they come to me when I tell ’em to come, they go when I tell ’em to go. One sign of softening, and they’ll turn and sink their teeth in me. So I won’t soften!”
It was a bluff. He knew that he had already hopelessly lost the band. But it was a bluff which must win.
“If I don’t soften, I’ve got to get your father out of the way. His life is a forfeit. And it’s got to be paid down. I go back up the north trail. I find the boys and swing ’em southward. Before night I ride down your father on the way to Trainor and leave him dead on the trail. There’s nothing else to do.”
He turned his horse, waving to her, settled his hat more firmly on his head, and touched the gray with the spurs, but at the first leap he heard her voice calling faintly after him. He checked the gray and turned, his heart bounding with triumph.
There she sat with her eyes almost closed in the pain of what she was to do, and both her hands clutched hard over the pommel of the saddle.
“Come back to me,” said Jerry Dawn sadly. “I didn’t know it was possible. Even now I’d go down on my knees and beg with you, Jack Moon, except that I know it’s worse than useless! You are what you say—hard as iron. I surrender. Tell me what I have to do. I’ll do it. But I never will forgive you.”
A strange sound of choked triumph came from the throat of the outlaw. He had played his last card, to be sure, but that last card had been enough, and he had won. He forbore, however, from pressing his triumph on her.
“We’ll ride out of the hills and down into the valley,” he said quietly. “And there well find a minister in the first town. In that town we’ll be married. You understand, Jerry?”
She swallowed and then nodded, never looking at him.
“But when we’re East, Jerry, I’ll teach you to forgive me. This thing may be hard for you to do. But someday—”
She raised a hand in mute entreaty, and he stopped abruptly. So they rode on in silence until they reached the crest of the highest mountain, where the trail drove straight down before them. Faraway, beyond the foothills, stretched the green fields of that rich farming country, and he could see the windows of the first town gleaming faintly in the early rays of the morning sun. There was, indeed, his promised land!
There was a sound of a caught breath from the girl. He glanced aside at her and saw that she had turned in the saddle and was looking back, though when he turned to her she instantly righted herself in the saddle and faced forward again. But that stifled exclamation of pleasure, or fear, aroused his interest, and, searching the ranges of hills which stretched behind and below him in wave after wave, he saw, two crests away, the form of a horseman riding over a summit at full gallop.
The outlaw set his teeth and whipped out the field glasses from the saddle pocket. By the time he had focused the glasses, he was able to catch only a glimpse as the horseman dipped out of sight among the trees, but that glimpse had been enough. He had made out the flashing sides of a bay horse. He had marked the gait of the animal, long and free as the flight of a swallow, dipping lightly up and down on the wind. There was no other horse in the range of the mountains with that high-headed grace, that spiritlike ease of gait. It was the mare, Lou, and that rider was Ronicky Doone!
“Ride!” he called to the girl. “Ride hard, Jerry. Don’t put your hopes in the fool behind us. He’s late. He’s too late, like all the rest that come up against Jack Moon. He’s late, and he’s beaten!”
“Who is it?” cried the girl above the roar of the hoofs as the horses broke down the slope of the mountain.
“Nobody worth thinking about,” said the other. “A gent I could wait for and salt awa
y with lead. But I ain’t going to stain our first ride together.”
He saw a fleeting sneer cross her face, and the expression was to him like a blow. Then: “It’s Ronicky Doone!” she cried. “Ah, Heaven bless him! It’s Ronicky Doone, and you’re running from him like a coward. Running from one man like a coward!”
She was even more clever than he had suspected. But after all it was a childish ruse to attempt to badger him into pausing to vindicate his prowess in single combat, while she, perhaps in the midst of the battle, slipped away to safety and rode to warn her father that the devil himself was on their trails! No, Jack Moon merely smiled to himself. Let her show her teeth now. Later on he would teach her what discipline meant! As they spurred on, he noticed that her expression was rather thoughtful than sullen, rather studious than terrified.
They came off the first long down slope of the mountain, and they began to climb the slope of the hill beyond, only a short rise before they would again have a declining grade to make their way the easier and the swifter. Here the girl fell a little behind, but still he could hear her speaking to the horse to urge it on.
Then he heard the grunt of a horse brought to a halt, or wrenched away in a new direction. He turned in haste. Jerry Dawn had whirled the tall gray and was dashing back down the trail as fast as the spurs would drive her mount, and the lead rope which had been bringing the horse on was dangling in the air where she had severed it with a single slash of her knife.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
A Vital Blow
The outlaw jerked loose the knot which bound him to his own lead horse, swinging his gray about at the same time, and so he was off in pursuit, his teeth set, and one of those red rages which occasionally swept over him now blurring his eyes. Jerry had reached the long upslope of the mountain while he was still coming down from the hill, so that he gained with tremendous bounds on her, but now she was reaching into the saddlebags and throwing out the treasure of gold which weighted her horse. It fell on the grass and gleamed there, unregarded. What was gold, save a heavy metal, a worse than useless thing to her?
Cursing bitterly, the leader saw the horse of the girl pull away, thus lightened, and he followed the example, hurling out what was in his own saddlebags. Then he bent himself to the serious work of the pursuit.
She was not a dozen feet away. With a lariat he could have roped her horse and brought it to a halt, but there was no rope on his saddle, and he groaned because of the lack. With all his skill brought to bear on the problem, with merciless spurs urging on his mount, he tore after her, but, to favor her horse, she was a full seventy pounds lighter than her gigantic pursuer, and she rode with all the energy she could bring to bear.
No matter how he swung himself with the gallop of his gray, still her mount drew away little by little, widening the gap between them. For they were going up a steep grade, and her weight told as it would never have done on the level; all of the outlaw’s skill in the saddle was wasted. He could not gain, he could not keep even with the fugitive. He saw her turn her head and then shout with joyous triumph!
It was worse than merely being distanced. In that merciless drive at full speed up the side of the hill they were burning up precious strength, and the grays would be far from the horses they had been before the spur was started. With spurs, with beating quirt, he drove his gray until he heard the breath of the honest beast come in great, wheezing gasps—and still the other gained, for the girl was whipping as fiercely as himself.
There was nothing else for it. To continue that stern chase was simply to waste valuable time. Moon drew his revolver and poised it. Perhaps bluff, which had won for him before, would win again.
“Jerry!” he shouted. “Stop or I’ll shoot.”
She turned toward him, and he glimpsed the white, set face.
“I swear it!” called Jack Moon. “I’ll shoot unless you stop.”
But she merely raised her clenched fist and shook it back at him in hatred and defiance. And suddenly he loved her more than he had ever loved her before. Here, indeed, in this fearless girl, was a mate for him! But could he let her go? Yonder, once over the crest of the hill, she would have downslope to give her horse impetus, and they would be driving straight into the arms of Ronicky Doone. No, he decided fiercely, it was better, far better, to see her die than to let that chance come to him. He aimed with all the skill at his command at the right off hind leg of the fleeing gray and fired. In response there was only a greater burst of speed, and a streak of crimson leaped out on the hip of the wounded horse.
Once more he fired, taking still more careful aim, and this time his bullet struck. The gray pitched up with a snort of pain; then his quarters crumbled beneath him as he strove to take the next driving stride uphill. He sank to the right, and he fell heavily, the girl being flung out of the saddle and turning twice over and over before she struck.
She lay where she dropped, a queerly twisted body with outflung arms, and Jack Moon felt in his heart that she was dead. He was out of the stirrups in an instant and beside her, lifting her in his arms. There was a long gash in her forehead, but it was only a shallow flesh wound where the edge of a sharp rock had clipped the skin. For the rest, as he ran his swift hands over her body, he could feet no broken bones.
Jerry was still alive, she was still with him. Though they had wasted priceless time and burned up the strength of one horse and destroyed another, there was still, perhaps, a fighting chance.
The girl was not badly injured—merely stunned, it seemed; but the cut on her face was flowing. He whipped out his bandanna and knotted it as a crimson bandage about her head. Then he picked her up lightly, as though she had been a child, and ran back to the gray. Once more in the saddle, he spurred back along the hill, heading toward the two led horses. They must be his last resource now—and a bad one to mate against the speed and great-hearted courage of the bay mare, Lou.
But in the meantime, here was the girl, for one moment at least, his. No matter that she was unconscious, for when her senses returned she would either weep or moan her despair. Only for this instant, as the gray bore them with staggering gallop down the hill and the wind whipped into his face, she was his beyond question. Gathering her close to him, he cupped her head in his free hand and kissed her lips.
By the time he reached the led horses and drew up his own mount, the gray was broken of wind and trembling of limb. That burst up the hill had completely shattered his running powers, and he would not be good for an hour more of going such as lay before them. Therefore, he was less than nothing to Jack Moon.
Instead, the outlaw intended to use the two remaining horses. Into one saddle he raised the girl. Into the other he cast himself; first emptying the gold from the pouches along the saddles, he sent the horses ahead at a reckless gallop. The girl, since he could no longer trust her for an instant, he allowed to sit motionless in her saddle; taking the reins of her mount, he urged on both horses.
Truly, the girl had worked better than she knew. She had not delayed them in actual time more than ten minutes, but in fact the delay would prove a far more vital thing. Instead of the ground-devouring swing of the grays there was now the choppy stride of the cow ponies. The leader remembered how the bay mare, Lou, had skimmed over the ground. She was the queen of horses, and this pair were like dirt compared with her! Yes, Jerry Dawn had struck her blow at the vital moment, and perhaps in the end she would win. With anxious eyes Jack Moon turned and scanned what lay behind.
All his sacrifice, he felt a moment later, would be in vain, for now, over the top of the mountain far behind, skimmed the form of the bay mare, Lou, running as smoothly as ever, running with exhaustless strength, and with the sunlight flashing from her wet sides. While Moon looked, the pursuer, small in the distance, tore off his hat and waved it—a cheering sign to the girl, a nameless threat to Jack Moon.
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Trail Ends
Straight west Ronicky Doone had sent Lou when he parted from Hugh Da
wn. There was not a chance in ten that he would come on signs of the fugitive, if indeed the bandit had taken this way. It only remained to play the single chance bravely and strongly. So he laid a true course due west and let the mare do her gallant best. Then, when the sun was well up, and before and behind him the mountains were tossing in endless waves of rocky summits, he saw the two figures hurrying far before him over a crest two ranges away. At the very moment when the two looked back and saw him, he had sighted them, and, though at that distance he could not tell whether or not one was a man and one was a woman, he sent Lou like a red-bay streak down the mountainside.
But when he struck the opposite slope, unlike the blind eagerness of the outlaw, and even though he were groaning at the thought of a further delay, Ronicky drew down the willing mare to a slow trot. In this fashion he climbed the steep slope, even forcing Lou to come back to a steady walk when the trail rose sheer before him, and finally slipping from the saddle and trotting at the side of the beautiful creature.
She knew what this meant. When the master so favored her, to lighten her burden, it meant that he expected her, sooner or later, to give every ounce of her energy in his service. Well, let him make the call; she was prepared to answer. How different from the method of huge Jack Moon was this partnership of man and beast! As he trotted beside his struggling mare along that heartbreaking trail, Ronicky called out to her cheerily and patted her shining shoulder. When they reached the top of the heavy grade, he jumped into the saddle and was off like the wind.
Down the next mountainside they dipped and climbed the farther rise. Down they went again, and, reaching the farther summit, Ronicky stiffened in the saddle and cried out in joy.
Straight down below him lay the struggling figure of the prostrate gray, ruined forever. Farther still, in the hollow before the first rise, there was the glint of gold which had been thrown away. And over the first foothill—could he believe his eyes?—were the girl and Jack Moon, so close that he could identify the broad shoulders of the outlaw!
