Silvertip's Strike

by Brand, Max

  Close beside him, a voice drove in, screaming out curses. A bullet touched his hat, jerked at it with a small but deadly touch. He shot that fellow out of the saddle and saw the frightened cow pony go crash into the wall of the herd.

  But it was no longer quite a solid wall. It was splitting up. A shudder was working through the mass of the steers; the solidity of the throng opened into cracks that filled, closed, opened again. It was like watching a quicksand at work. Then all that quicksand began to flow, slowly, more quickly, as fast as a man could run, as fast, almost, as a horse could gallop.

  Parade followed close to the swinging tails.

  It was dangerous work. The dust streamed back at them in dense up-pourings that blinded the eyes. But eyes were needed to see the crumpled, red-washed bodies that lay on ground, here and there, where some unlucky steer had fallen and been beaten instantly to death by heavy hoofs.

  Through rifts in the flying dust, Silver, muffled to the eyes in a bandanna so that breathing could be possible, saw the walls of the ravine, one black with shadow, one gleaming with the moon.

  That gleaming wall he saw thrust out a straight-faced bluff where the valley narrowed a trifle. It was easy to see and easy to avoid, with the moon striking the front of it as if it glanced from white marble; but the steers could not turn, no matter what they saw through the blindness of their fear. There was no shifting inward, because the little valley was blocked from side to side, jammed with the sweep of the running cattle. There was no halting or turning back, because the rearward cattle picked up those in front and hurled them forward.

  So Silver saw a living wave strike the face of that bluff, pile instantly high on it, bank the angle full with the dead, and so shunt the remnant safely past the danger point.

  It was enough to break a man’s heart to see good beef wasted in this fashion, but in a moment like that the salvation of the entire herd was what Silver had to think of.

  Then, before him, he saw the herd thinning. He knew by that that they were approaching the mouth of the valley. Presently the dust cloud thinned away. Breaths and puffs of sweet, fresh air came to him like a salvation. The myriad beating of the hoofs no more kept the ground quivering beneath him, but scattered far and wide.

  He rode off to the right, drawing up Parade to a canter. He was off to the side of the valley’s mouth when he saw other riders fly by him, half revealed through the dust, sweeping on to head off the stampede, if possible.

  But Silver, drawing back into a corner of the hills, observed the onward course of the living avalanche which he had started and was content. Stampeding steers are not easily turned, and they do not easily lose their momentum. Far, far away across the desert the dust cloud blew, rolled small and smaller, dwindled, seemed no more than an obscure smoke that was barely visible beneath the moon.

  After it had dwindled like this, he saw, from his shadow-filled cranny, the thing that he had hoped to see.

  Out of the valley’s mouth proceeded a small group of riders, among whom he recognized Rutherford, Waring, and Red. With them came a tall fellow who sat with his hands tied behind his back and had his horse’s lead rope attached to Waring’s saddle.

  That was poor Danny Farrel. The stampede had given him the grace of a little more life, but in a way it seemed to have made his death almost the more sure. For every one of the group would be savagely hungry for blood after the disappointment of that night.

  CHAPTER XX

  WARING’S PROPOSITION

  Moonlight swallows things quickly, even when there is the clear air of the desert for it to shine through. That cavalcade disappeared and left an ache in the back of Silver’s brain as he recalled the straight back and the high head of poor Dan Farrel.

  Why had they saved him? Perhaps — it had been Silver’s hope from the first — because with the cattle scattered and Jim Silver abroad to make further mischief, Rutherford and the rest would be glad to have him alive as a bargaining point.

  It was in this hope that he calmly unsaddled Parade that night, wrapped himself in slicker and blanket, and, with the saddle for a pillow went to sleep.

  Twice Parade wakened him, snuffing close to his face and stamping to give the alarm. Once it was merely a wolf that had come out on the shoulder of the hill to look down on man. Once it was for some taint that had blown to Parade on the air; but, when Silver could see nothing, he lay down again and slept peacefully until the sun put a warm hand on his face.

  He got up, washed his eyes and mouth with water from his canteen, swallowed a few drops of the liquid, and then pulled up his belt two notches to take the place of breakfast. Parade, grazing the tough gramma grass at a short distance from his master, came back and stood with downward head, dozing, while Silver smoked a cigarette.

  After a time the stallion went off to graze again, while Silver waited through the hot hours. For once in his life he had no plan beyond that waiting.

  A glad man was Jim Silver when, late in the morning, he saw a rider jog toward him across the sands from the direction of the ranch house. He watched the little puffs of dust that squirted out from the feet of the horse as the rider drew nearer. Then he made out the bulky form of none other than Sam Waring, who stopped at a considerable distance and waved a white rag or handkerchief slowly back and forth.

  Silver grinned as he watched. He took out a bandanna and waved that in answer. Waring seemed still in doubt, but finally he came on slowly. Twice and again he paused for further thought, but at length he rode straight up to the place where Silver sat on a rock, inhaling the smoke of a cigarette.

  The hesitation that had appeared in Waring’s actions was not in his speech. He summoned a broad smile and waved his hand at Silver.

  “All safe and friendly, brother, eh?” he asked cheerfully.

  Silver made a noncommittal gesture.

  “It seemed a good time for a little talk,” said Waring, “so the boys sent me out to find you. They thought you’d be around this valley, somewhere — and here you are.”

  “Get off the horse and sit down, Waring,” suggested Silver. “You don’t look happy there. You’re too high in the air.”

  Waring laughed as he got down to the ground.

  “I ain’t what I used to be in a saddle,” he confessed. “There was a day when I fitted onto a hoss like a clothespin onto a line. But that day’s gone, and now I’m kind of swelled up and wabbling with fat.”

  He sat down on a rock near Silver, took off his hat, mopped his fleshy brow, and went on:

  “I’ve come to talk about young Farrel, of course.”

  Silver nodded.

  “Being a friend of yours,” said Waring, “nacherally you want him out of hock.”

  Silver nodded again.

  “And the fact is,” said Waring, “that he’s been in a good deal of danger.”

  “Has he?” said Silver.

  “There was a time last night,” said Waring, “when some of the boys wanted to bump him off before he had a chance to get loose and spread the news around about the way they’d been cutting up. If it hadn’t been for me talking on his side, something bad would sure ‘a’ happened to him.”

  “Thanks,” said Silver. “I was behind a rock near the dynamite sack, Waring, when you were interceding for him. I know the kind things you said.”

  He looked into the eyes of the fat man, but Waring merely laughed.

  “You’re a fox, Silver,” said he. “A regular silver fox, is what you are, and it would take a brighter man than poor old Sam Waring to put anything over on you. But, all jokes aside, young Danny Farrel is in a heap of hot trouble.”

  “He is,” agreed Silver.

  “So doggone much trouble that something had oughta be done about it, and that’s why I’m out here to talk to you, Jim!”

  “Make your proposition,” said Silver.

  “It’s this way,” said Waring. “Everybody knows that Silver ain’t the sort of a fellow to turn down a friend. Everybody knows that you’re the sort who
sticks by a partner to the finish. Well, then, this is what we’ve got in mind: On the one side there’s a few cows. On the other side there’s a friend. You can make your choice, and I know what choice you’ll make.”

  “It’s this way,” said Silver. “If I agree to let you fellows get away with the cattle, you’ll let me have young Danny Farrel — and his girl beside him.”

  “Aw, the girl don’t count. We throw her in. Sure, you can have her,” said Waring. “You don’t think that we’d make trouble for a woman, do you, Jim? Do you think that we’re that sort of snake?”

  “I think,” said Silver, “that you’d throttle a baby in a cradle if you could make a hundred dollars out of it.”

  “Come, come, come!” protested Waring, holding up a fat, soft hand. “You wouldn’t wanta talk rough, Jim, would you? The fact is that you and me have to talk business, and it don’t help business along to start calling names. You know that, I suppose?”

  “I suppose I do,” said Silver. “But I’ve named the proposition, haven’t I?”

  “Exactly,” said Waring. “We’ve got your young friend. A fine, manly, honest kid, Silver. As manly and honest as I ever seen. It would do me good to see a kid like that wearing my name, matter of fact. But, when all’s said and done, business is business. How does it sound to you?”

  Silver rubbed his toe in the dust. “I could spoil your business for you, Waring,” said he. “I could get to town and gather in plenty of men in a posse to wreck the job for you before your boys will ever be able to gather those cows out of the stampede.”

  Waring scowled at him with a sudden loss of his cheerful veneer.

  “You’ve raised hell already,” said he. “You’ve spilled more’n a thousand dollars of good beef out of the cup already. It’s lying dead back there in the valley to feed the buzzards, and that’s your work. What put it into your head to use dynamite to start the stampede?”

  “They laid the dynamite down in front of me,” said Silver. “You can’t expect me to refuse a gift like that, can you?”

  Waring stared.

  “And then you rode right in through the bunch and got at the cows. Ferris is laid up bad. He’s shot inside the shoulder, and he might not pull through.”

  “I’m sorry for that,” said Silver, frowning.

  Sam Waring answered suddenly: “Why lie about it, Silver? You’re glad that you nicked one of the boys. It pleases you the same’s it would ‘a’ pleased them to put a slug in you. I ain’t wrong about that.”

  “You are,” said Silver. “I’ve seen men that I’d like to drift some lead into. But I hate to shoot at a man I don’t know.”

  Waring grunted his disbelief as he rolled a cigarette.

  “How did you happen to have that dynamite along?” asked Silver.

  “Ferris again!” exclaimed Waring. “The fool only got what he deserved. He was on a prospecting trip, him and a mule. We come across him in the hills, and we picked up him and our bad luck and brought ’em both along to help out. A lot of help he was. But come on, Silver. Make your bargain.”

  “I give up a third of the cattle for the sake of one man?” said Silver.

  Waring winced, as though he felt the force of this argument.

  “Well,” he said, “that’s the proposition, and I gotta stick to it.”

  Suddenly Silver nodded. “I’ll make the exchange,” he said.

  Waring heaved a breath of relief.

  “Well,” he said, “that’s great. I gotta admit that you’re a reasonable gent to do business with. Mighty reasonable. We’ll just run the cows out of the desert and off the ranch into the hills, and then you can have your partner. You can have him safe and sound.”

  Silver smiled.

  “Hey, what’s the matter?” asked Waring.

  “You keep him till you’ve got the cattle where you want ’em, eh?” queried Silver.

  “What’s the matter with that? Mean that you don’t trust us, old son?”

  Silver shook his head. “If I let you get the cattle through the hills, you may turn Farrel over to me, but he’ll be a dead man when I find him.”

  “I swear,” said Waring, lifting one hand and rolling up his eyes with a solemn shake of his head. “I swear — ”

  “Don’t do it,” said Silver. “Take your hand down and don’t swear. It doesn’t work with me, Waring.”

  The fat man slowly dropped his hand. A faint stain of red crawled up his throat and over his face. He said nothing.

  “I’ll have to make another sort of deal,” said Silver. “I’ll have to have security that you’ll turn Farrel over to me if I let the herd go.”

  “What sort of security?” asked Waring.

  “A man for a man. If Delgas or Rutherford will put themselves in my hands, I’ll take ’em as bail for Farrel.”

  “Delgas — Rutherford — you ain’t crazy, Silver, are you?” shouted Waring.

  “It’s the only way I’ll talk business,” said Silver.

  Waring stared at him, started to talk, changed his mind. Then he stood up.

  “How long before you expect an answer?” he asked.

  “Sunset,” said Silver. “If one of ’em rides out from the house at sunset, I’ll know that he’s come to be bail for Farrel, and the deal goes through.”

  Waring, his head fallen in thought, rode off without another word.

  CHAPTER XXI

  TRAPPED

  Silver waited out the hours of that long afternoon among the sun-baked hills. He was very hungry, and a big jack rabbit obligingly poked its foolish head up above a rock to make a dinner for him. He took off the head of the rabbit with a .45-caliber slug and broiled the flesh over a small fire. He ate it slowly, because he had very little water to wash it down. Parade was now so thirsty that he had stopped grazing altogether, so Silver took him across country to the verge of the big tank and let him drink from that muddy water.

  In the sunset he came back toward the ranch house and stopped five hundred yards from it, where he began to drift the horse forward and backward. Nearer he dared not come, for there were men in that outfit to whom even five hundred yards was not impossible with their favorite rifle. He depended on the flare and uncertainty of the light at this time of the day.

  In the meantime, he scanned the horizon and saw from south and east and west approaching clouds of dust which told him that some of the punchers were bringing up the cattle that they had collected across the face of the desert. All of those dust clouds moved toward the ranch house as a focus. Some time during the night, perhaps, the big herd would be assembled, and the drift toward the mountains would start.

  Already it was rather late. He had waited long, and, if he rode to get help, they might have most of the cattle deep in the ravines before he returned.

  He had thought of that all during the day, but he had not dared to ride for a posse. By that means he would be able to save the herd, of course, but he would never be able to save Danny Farrel. They would shoot him out of hand at the first sign of approaching danger, of course.

  But what a quandary Delgas and the great Rutherford must be in at this moment, risking, as they were, the value of both land and cattle. For, though they might rush the cows through, they would certainly lose their landed acres as men outlawed for their crime.

  It could only be that they hoped against hope that they would be able to sell the herd and deliver it, and then that they could dispose of Farrel and leave Silver with empty hands.

  If afterward Jim Silver appeared in the law courts — though that was not his wont — then a staunch agreement between themselves would swear down his testimony in nearly any court of the law.

  He thought of this grimly, as he saw the sun go down beneath the horizon without sign of anyone coming toward him from the ranch house.

  A number of the punchers had gathered near the house, staring out toward the shimmering, golden figure of the stallion. Silver could see them watching, pointing, gesticulating. He could hear the dim tremors
of their voices. He could hear a man calling from the bunk house, a sound like a bird in the far-away sky. But increasing dimness of the twilight thickened the air. And at last, as only a dull band of orange burned along the horizon, he knew that no one would come out to him.

  The house disappeared in darkness, then was marked by a single ray of yellow light, which told him of poor Esther at work in her kitchen with ice in her heart.

  He looked around the black immensity of the earth, and it seemed to him that his mind was as empty of all resources as the darkening vault of the sky. Still he could hear voices, the slamming of doors, from the house, though he could no longer make out individual figures. But some of the men were probably still there, staring across the night at him, wondering what he, poor fool, could do about it.

  That was the thing. What could he do?

  He could only grit his teeth and pray for an idea. So long as they held poor Danny Farrel, they held Jim Silver, also, and they were clever enough to know this. That was what forced him to make up his mind to the impossible. He would go straight into the house of the enemy and there do what he could for Farrel.

  He rode back through the night slowly, trying to sketch a plan. The house was fairly well in his mind, but now he wished that he had drawn a print of every room and every window. He had to plan, and yet there was not much to plan about. It seemed almost better to advance blindly and leave everything to chance when he came in contact with the Rutherford and Waring men.

  What worried him most of all was Rutherford. The others might be surprised, taken off their feet by a sudden move; but the imagination of Rutherford was of the capacious sort which understands what other men are likely to conceive.

  The shallow draw which ran out of the desert toward the house gave Silver such good cover that he could ride the gold stallion within a very short distance of the place. There he dismounted, made the tall horse lie down, and prepared to go ahead on foot.