The Night Horseman

by Max Brand

  CHAPTER XI

  THE BUZZARD

  Most animals have their human counterparts, and in that room where JerryStrann had fallen a whimsical observer might have termed Jerry, with histawny head, the lion, and O'Brien behind the bar, a shaggy bear, and thedeputy marshal a wolverine, fat but dangerous, and here stood a man asugly and hardened as a desert cayuse, and there was Dan Barry, sleek andsupple as a panther; but among the rest this whimsical observer musthave noticed a fellow of prodigious height and negligible breadth, astructure of sinews and bones that promised to rattle in the wind, along, narrow head, a nose like a beak, tiny eyes set close together andshining like polished buttons, and a vast Adam's apple that rolled upand down the scraggy throat. He might have done for the spirit of Faminein an old play; but every dweller of the mountain-desert would havefound an apter expression by calling him the buzzard of the scene.Through his prodigious ugliness he was known far and wide as "Haw-Haw"Langley; for on occasion Langley laughed, and his laughter was anindescribable sound that lay somewhere between the braying of a mule andthe cawing of a crow. But Haw-Haw Langley was usually silent, and hewould sit for hours without words, twisting his head and making littlepecking motions as his eyes fastened on face after face. All thebitterness of the mountain-desert was in Haw-Haw Langley; if his bodylooked like a buzzard, his soul was the soul of the vulture itself, andtherefore he had followed the courses of Jerry Strann up and down therange. He stuffed his gorge with the fragments of his leader's food; hefed his soul with the dangers which Jerry Strann met and conquered.

  In the barroom Haw-Haw Langley had stood turning his sharp little eyesfrom Jerry Strann to Dan Barry, and from Dan Barry back to Strann; andwhen the shot was fired something like a grin twisted his thin lips; andwhen the spot of red glowed on the breast of the staggering man, theeyes of Haw-Haw blazed as if with the reflection of a devouring fire.Afterwards he lingered for a few minutes making no effort to aid thefallen man, but when he had satisfied himself with the extent of theinjury, and when he had noted the froth of bloody bubbles which stainedthe lips of Strann, Haw-Haw Langley turned and stalked from the room.His eyes were points of light and his soul was crammed to repletion withill-tidings.

  At the hitching rack he stepped into the saddle of a diminutive horse,whirled it into the street with a staggering jerk of the reins, andburied the spurs deep in the cow-pony's flanks. The poor brute snortedand flirted its heels in the air, but Langley wrapped his long legsaround the barrel of his mount and goaded it again.

  His smile, which began with the crack of Barry's gun in O'Brien's place,did not die out until he was many a mile away, headed far up through themountains; but as he put peak after peak behind him and as the whitelight of the day diminished and puffs of blue shadow drowned thevalleys, the grin disappeared from Haw-Haw's face. He became keenlyintent on his course until, having reached the very summit of a tallhill, he came to a halt and peered down before him.

  It was nearly dusk by this time and the eyes of an ordinary man couldnot distinguish a tree from a rock at any great distance; but it seemedthat Haw-Haw was gifted with eyes extraordinary--the buzzard at the topof its sky-towering circles does not see the brown carcass far belowwith more certainty than Haw-Haw sensed his direction. He waited only afew seconds before he rolled the rowel once more along the scored flanksof his mustang and then plunged down the slope at a reckless gallop.

  His destination was a hut, or rather a lean-to, that pressed against theside of the mountain, a crazy structure with a single length of stovepipe leaning awry from the roof. And at the door of this house Haw-HawLangley drew rein and stepped to the ground. The interior of the hut wasdark, but Haw-Haw stole with the caution of a wild Indian to theentrance and reconnoitered the interior, probing every shadowy cornerwith his glittering eyes. For several long moments he continued thisexamination, and even when he was satisfied that there was no one in theplace he did not enter, but moved back several paces from the door andswept the sides of the mountains with an uneasy eye. He made out, ashort distance from the door, a picketed horse which now reared up itshead from the miserable scattering of grass on which it fed and staredat the stranger. The animal must have bulked at least twice as large asthe mount which had brought Langley to the mountain-side. And it wasmuscled even out of proportion to its bulk. The head was so tremendouslybroad that it gave an almost square appearance, the neck, short andthick, the forelegs disproportionately small but very sturdy; and thewhole animal was built on a slope towards the hind quarters which seemedto equal in massiveness all the rest of the body. One would have saidthat the horse was a freak meant by nature for the climbing of hills.And to glance at it no man could suppose that those ponderous limbsmight be moved to a gallop. However, Haw-Haw Langley well knew thepowers of the ugly beast, and he even made a detour and walked about thehorse to view it more closely.

  Now he again surveyed the darkening landscape and then turned once moreto the house. This time he entered with the boldness of a possessorapproaching his hearth. He lighted a match and with this ignited alantern hanging from the wall to the right of the door. The furnishingsof the dwelling were primitive beyond compare. There was no sign of achair; a huddle of blankets on the bare boards of the floor made thebed; a saddle hung by one stirrup on one side and on the other sideleaned the skins of bob-cats, lynx, and coyotes on their stretching anddrying boards. Haw-Haw took down the lantern and examined the pelts. Theanimals had been skinned with the utmost dexterity. As far as he couldsee the hides had not been marred in a single place by slips of theknife, nor were there any blood stains to attest hurried work, orcareless shooting in the first place. The inner surfaces shone with thepure white of old parchment But Haw-Haw gave his chief attention to thelegs and the heads of the skins, for these were the places wherecarelessness or stupidity with the knife were sure to show; but the workwas perfect in every respect. Until even the critical Haw-Haw Langleywas forced to step back and shake his head in admiration. He continuedhis survey of the room.

  In one corner stood a rifle and a shot-gun; in another was a pile ofprovisions--bacon, flour, salt, meal, and little else. Spices andcondiments were apparently unknown to this hermit; nor was there eventhe inevitable coffee, nor any of the molasses or other sweets which thetongue of the desert-mountainer cannot resist. Flour, meat, and water,it seemed, made up the entire fare of the trapper. For cookery there wasan unboarded space in the very centre of the floor with a number ofrocks grouped around in the hole and blackened with soot. The smokemust rise, therefore, and escape through the small hole in the centre ofthe roof. The length of stove-pipe which showed on the roof must havebeen simply the inhabitant's idea of giving the last delicate touch ofcivilisation; it was like a tassel to the cap of the Turk.

  As Haw-Haw's observations reached this point his sharp ear caught thefaint whinny of the big horse outside. He started like one caught in aguilty act, and sprang to the lantern. However, with his hands upon ithe thought better of it, and he placed the light against the wall; thenhe turned to the entrance and looked anxiously up the hillside.

  What he saw was a form grotesque beyond belief. It seemed to be somegigantic wild beast--mountain lion or great bear, though of a sizebeyond credence--which slowly sprawled down the slope walking erect uponits hind feet with its forelegs stretched out horizontal, as if it werewarning all who might behold it away. Haw-Haw grew pale andinvoluntarily reached for his gun as he first beheld this apparition,but instantly he saw the truth. It was a man who carried a burden downthe mountain-side. The burden was the carcass of a bear; the man haddrawn the forelegs over his shoulders--his jutting elbows making whathad seemed the outstretched arms--and above the head of theburden-bearer rose the great head of the bear. As the man came closerthe animal's head flopped to one side and a red tongue lolled from itsmouth. Haw-Haw Langley moved back step by step through the cabin untilhis shoulders struck the opposite wall, and at the same time Mac Strannentered the room. He had no ear for his visitor's hail, but cast hisburden to the floor.
It dropped with a shock that shook the house fromthe rattling stove-pipe to the crackling boards. For a moment Mac Strannregarded his prey. Then he stooped and drew open the great jaws. Themouth within was not so red as the bloody hands of Mac Strann; and thebig, white fangs, for some reason, did not seem terrible in comparisonwith the hunter. Having completed his survey he turned slowly uponHaw-Haw Langley and lowered his eyebrows to stare.

  So doing, the light for the first time struck full upon his face.Haw-Haw Langley bit his thin lips and his eyes widened almost to thenormal.

  For the ugliness of Mac Strann was that most terrible species ofugliness--not disfigured features but a discord which pervaded the manand came from within him--like a sound. Feature by feature his face wasnot ugly. The mouth was very large, to be sure, and the jaw too heavilysquare, and the nose needed somewhat greater length and less width forreal comeliness. The eyes were truly fine, being very large and black,though when Mac Strann lowered his bush of brows his eyes werepractically reduced to gleams of light in the consequent shadow. Therewas a sharp angle in his forehead, the lines of it meeting in the centreand shelving up and down. One felt, unpleasantly, that there were heavymuscles overlaying that forehead. One felt that to the touch it would bea pad of flesh, and it gave to Mac Strann, more than any other feature,a peculiar impression of resistless physical power.

  In the catalogue of his features, indeed, there was nothing severelyobjectionable; but out of it came a feeling of _too much strength!_ Aglance at his body reinsured the first thought. It was not normal. Hisshirt bulged tightly at the shoulders with muscles. He was nottall--inches shorter than his brother Jerry, for instance--but the bulkof his body was incredible. His torso was a veritable barrel that bulgedout both in the chest and the back. And even the tremendous thighs ofMac Strann were perceptibly bowed out by the weight which they had tocarry. And there was about his management of his arms a peculiarawkwardness which only the very strongest of men exhibit--as if theywere burdened by the weight of their mere dangling hands.

  This giant, having placed his eyes in shadow, peered for a long momentat Haw-Haw Langley, but very soon his glance began to waver. It flashedtowards the wall--it came back and rested upon Langley again. He waslike a dog, restless under a steady stare. And as Haw-Haw Langley notedthis a glitter of joy came in his beady eyes.

  "You're Jerry's man," said Mac Strann at length.

  There was about his voice the same fleshy quality that was in his face;it came literally from his stomach, and it made a peculiar rustlingsound such as comes after one has eaten sticky sweet things. Peoplecould listen to the voice of Mac Strann and forget that he was speakingwords. The articulation ran together in a sort of glutinous mass.

  "I'm a friend of Jerry's," said the other. "I'm Langley."

  The big man stretched out his hand. The hair grew black, down to theknuckles; the blood of the bear still streaked it; it was large enoughto be an organism with independent life. But when Langley, with somemisgiving, trusted his own bony fingers within that grasp, in was onlyas if something fleshy, soft, and bloodless had closed over them. Whenhis hand was released he rubbed it covertly against his trowser leg--toremove dirt--restore the circulation. He did not know why.

  "Who's bothering Jerry?" asked Mac Strann. "And where is he?"

  He went to the wall without waiting for an answer and took down thesaddle. Now the cowpuncher's saddle is a heavy mass of leather andsteel, and the saddle of Mac Strann was far larger than the ordinary.Yet he took down the saddle as one might remove a card from a rack.Haw-Haw Langley moved towards the door, to give himself a free space forexit.

  "Jerry's hurt," he said, and he watched.

  There was a ripple of pain on the face of Mac Strann.

  "Hoss kicked him--fall on him?" he asked.

  "It weren't a hoss."

  "Huh? A cow?"

  "It weren't no cow. It weren't no animal."

  Mac Strann faced full upon Langley. When he spoke it seemed as if itwere difficult for him to manage his lips. They lifted an appreciablespace before there was any sound.

  "What was it?"

  "A man."

  Langley edged back towards the door.

  "What with?"

  "A gun."

  And Langley saw the danger that was coming even before Mac Strann moved.He gave a shrill yelp of terror and whirled and sprang for the open. ButMac Strann sprang after him and reached. His whole body seemed tostretch like an elastic thing, and his arm grew longer. The handfastened on the back of Langley, plucked him up, and jammed him againstthe wall. Haw-Haw crumpled to the floor.

  He gasped: "It weren't me, Mac. For Gawd's sake, it weren't me!"

  His face was a study. There was abject terror in it, and yet there wasalso a sort of grisly joy, and his eyes feasted on the silent agony ofMac Strann.

  "Where?" asked Mac Strann.

  "Mac," pleaded the vulture who cringed on the floor, "gimme your wordyou ain't goin' to hold it agin me."

  "Tell me," said the other, and he framed the face of the vulture betweenhis large hands. If he pressed the heels of those hands together boneswould snap, and Haw-Haw Langley knew it. And yet nothing but a wilddelight could have set that glitter in his little eyes, just as nothingbut a palsy of terror could have set his limbs twitching so.

  "Who shot him from behind?" demanded the giant.

  "It wasn't from behind," croaked the bearer of ill-tidings. "It was fromthe front."

  "While he wasn't looking?"

  "No. He was beat to the draw."

  "You're _lyin'_ to me," said Mac Strann slowly.

  "So help me God!" cried Langley.

  "Who done it?"

  "A little feller. He ain't half as big as me. He's got a voice likeKitty Jackson, the school-marm; and he's got eyes like a starvedpup. It was him that done it."

  The eyes of Mac Strann grew vaguely meditative.

  "Nope," he mused, in answer to his own thoughts, "I won't use no rope.I'll use my hands. Where'd the bullet land?"

  A fresh agony of trembling shook Langley, and a fresh sparkle came inhis glance.

  "Betwixt his ribs, Mac. And right on through. And it come out his back!"

  But there was not an answering tremor in Mac Strann. He let his handsfall away from the face of the vulture and he caught up the saddle.Langley straightened himself. He peered anxiously at Strann, as if hefeared to miss something.

  "I dunno whether he's livin' right now, or not," suggested Haw-Haw.

  But Mac Strann was already striding through the door.

  * * * * *

  Sweat was pouring from the lather-flecked bodies of their horses whenthey drew rein, at last, at the goal of their long, fierce ride; andHaw-Haw slunk behind the broad form of Mac Strann when the latter strodeinto the hotel. Then the two started for the room in which, they weretold, lay Jerry Strann.

  "There it is," whispered Haw-Haw, as they reached the head of thestairs. "The door's open. If he was dead the door would be closed, mostlike."

  They stood in the hall and looked in upon a strange picture, for flat inthe bed lay Jerry Strann, his face very white and oddly thin, and overhim leaned the man who had shot him down.

  They heard Dan Barry's soft, gentle voice query: "How you feelin' now,partner?"

  He leaned close beside the other, his fingers upon the wrist of Jerry.

  "A pile better," muttered Jerry Strann. "Seems like I got more'n afightin' chance to pull through now."

  "Jest you keep lyin' here quiet," advised Dan Barry, "and don't stiraround none. Don't start no worryin'. You're goin' to live's long as youdon't lose no more blood. Keep your thoughts quiet. They ain't no causefor you to do nothin' but jest keep your eyes closed, and breathe, andthink of yaller sunshine, and green grass in the spring, and the windlazyin' the clouds along across the sky. That's all you got to thinkabout. Jest keep quiet, partner."

  "It's easy to do it now you're with me. Seems like they's a pile ofstrength runnin' into me from t
he tips of your fingers, my frien'.And--I was _some_ fool to start that fight with you, Barry."

  "Jest forget all that," murmured the other. "And keep your voice down.I've forgot it; you forget it. It ain't never happened."

  "What's it mean?" frowned Mac Strann, whispering to Haw-Haw.

  The eyes of the latter glittered like beads.

  "That's him that shot Jerry," said Haw-Haw. "Him!"

  "Hell!" snarled Mac Strann, and went through the door.

  At the first sound of his heavy footfall, the head of Barry raised andturned in a light, swift movement. The next instant he was on his feet.A moment before his face had been as gentle as that of a mother leaningover a sick child; but one glimpse of the threat in the contorted browsof Mac Strann set a gleam in his own eyes, an answer as distinct as theclick of metal against metal. Not a word had been said, but Jerry, whohad lain with his eyes closed, seemed to sense a change in theatmosphere of peace which had enwrapped him the moment before. His eyesflashed open; and he saw his burly brother.

  But Mac Strann had no eye for any saving Dan Barry.

  "Are you the creepin', sneakin' snake that done--this?"

  "You got me figured right," answered Dan coldly.

  "Then, by God------" began the roaring voice of Mac, but Jerry Strannstirred wildly on the bed.

  "Mac!" he called, "Mac!" His voice went suddenly horribly thick, abubbling, liquid sound. "For God's sake, Mac!"

  He had reared himself up on one elbow, his arm stretched out to hisbrother. And a foam of crimson stood on his lips.

  "Mac, don't pull no gun! It was me that was in wrong!"

  And then he fell back in the bed, and into the arms of Mac, who wasbeside him, moaning: "Buck up, Jerry. Talk to me, boy!"

  "Mac, you've finished the job," came the husky whisper.

  Mac Strann raised his head, and his terrible eyes fixed upon Dan Barry.And there was no pity in the face of the other. The first threat hadwiped every vestige of human tenderness out of his eyes, and now, withsomething like a sneer on his lips, and with a glimmer of yellow lightin his eyes, he was backing towards the door, and noiselessly as ashadow he slipped out and was gone.