The Night Horseman

by Max Brand

  CHAPTER XXXII

  VICTORY

  The grey light which Buck Daniels saw that morning, hardly brightened asthe day grew, for the sky was overcast with sheeted mist and through ita dull evening radiance filtered to the earth. Wung Lu, his celestial,slant eyes now yellow with cold, built a fire on the big hearth in theliving-room. It was a roaring blaze, for the wood was so dry that itflamed as though soaked in oil, and tumbled a mass of yellow fire up thechimney. So bright was the fire, indeed, that its light quiteover-shadowed the meagre day which looked in at the window, and everychair cast its shadow away from the hearth. Later on Kate Cumberlandcame down the backstairs and slipped into the kitchen.

  "Have you seen Dan?" she asked of the cook.

  "Wung Lu make nice fire," grinned the Chinaman. "Misser Dan in there."

  She thought for an instant.

  "Is breakfast ready, Wung?"

  "Pretty soon quick," nodded Wung Lu.

  "Then throw out the coffee or the eggs," she said quickly. "I don't wantbreakfast served yet; wait till I send you word."

  As the door closed behind her, the eye-brows of Wung rose into perfectRoman arches.

  "Ho!" grunted Wung Lu, "O ho!"

  In the hall Kate met Randall Byrne coming down the stairs. He wasdressed in white and he had found a little yellow wildflower and stuckit in his button-hole. He seemed ten years younger than the day he rodewith her to the ranch, and now he came to her with a quick step,smiling.

  "Doctor Byrne," she said quietly, "breakfast will be late this morning.Also, I want no one to go into the living-room for a while. Will youkeep them out?"

  The doctor was instantly gone.

  "He hasn't gone, yet?" he queried.

  "Not yet."

  The doctor sighed and then, apparently following a sudden impulse, hereached his hand to her.

  "I hope something comes of it," he said.

  Even then she could not help a wan smile.

  "What do you mean by that, doctor?"

  The doctor sighed again.

  "If the inference is not clear," he said, "I'm afraid that I cannotexplain. But I'll try to keep everyone from the room."

  She nodded her thanks, and went on; but passing the mirror in the hallthe sight of her face made her stop abruptly. There was no vestige ofcolour in it; and the shadow beneath her eyes made them seem inhumanlylarge and deep. The bright hair, to be sure, waved over her head andcoiled on her neck, but it was like a futile shaft of sunlight fallingon a dreary moor in winter. She went on thoughtfully to the door of theliving-room but there she paused again with her hand upon the knob; andwhile she stood there she remembered herself as she had been only a fewmonths before, with the colour flushing in her face and a continuallight in her eyes. There had been little need for thinking then. One hadonly to let the wind and the sun strike on one, and live. Then, in aquiet despair, she said to herself: "As I am--I must win or lose--as Iam!" and she opened the door and stepped in.

  She had been cold with fear and excitement when she entered the room tomake her last stand for happiness, but once she was in, it was not sohard. Dan Barry lay on the couch at the far end of the room with hishands thrown under his head, and he was smiling in a way which she wellknew; it had been a danger signal in the old days, and when he turnedhis face and said good-morning to her, she caught that singular glimmerof yellow which sometimes came up behind his eyes. In reply to hisgreeting she merely nodded, and then walked slowly to the window andturned her back to him.

  It was a one-tone landscape. Sky, hills, barns, earth, all was a singlemass of lifeless grey; in such an atmosphere old Homer had seen thewraiths of his dead heroes play again at the things they had done onearth. She noted these things with a blank eye, for a thousand thoughtswere leaping through her mind. Something must be done. There he lay inthe same room with her. He had turned his head back, no doubt, and wasstaring at the ceiling as before, and the yellow glimmer was in his eyesagain. Perhaps, after this day, she should never see him again; everymoment was precious beyond the price of gold, and yet there she stood atthe window, doing nothing. But what _could_ she do?

  Should she go to him and fall on her knees beside him and pour out herheart, telling him again of the old days. No, it would be like strikingon a wooden bell; no echo would rise; and she knew beforehand the deadlyblackness of his eyes. So Black Bart lay often in the sun, staring atinfinite distance and seeing nothing but his dreams of battle. What wereappeals and what were words to Black Bart? What were they to Dan Barry?Yet once, by sitting still--the thought made her blood leap with agreat, joyous pulse that set her cheeks tingling.

  She waited till the first impulse of excitement had subsided, and thenturned back and sat down in a chair near the fire. From a corner of hereye she was aware that Whistling Dan had turned his head again to awaither first speech. Then she fixed her gaze on the wall of yellow flame.The impulse to speak to him was like a hand tugging to turn her around,and the words came up and swelled in her throat, but still she would notstir.

  In a moment of rationality she felt in an overwhelming wave of mentalcoldness the folly of her course, but she shut out the thought with aslight shudder. Silence, to Dan Barry, had a louder voice and moremeaning than any words.

  Then she knew that he was sitting up on the couch. Was he about to standup and walk out of the room? For moment after moment he did not stir;and at length she knew, with a breathless certainty, that he was staringfixedly at her! The hand which was farthest from him, and hidden, shegripped hard upon the arm of the chair. That was some comfort, someadded strength.

  She had now the same emotion she had had when Black Bart slunk towardsher under the tree--if a single perceptible tremor shook her, if sheshowed the slightest awareness of the subtle approach, she was undone.It was only her apparent unconsciousness which could draw either thewolf-dog or the master.

  She remembered what her father had told her of hunting young deer--howhe had lain in the grass and thrust up a leg above the grass in sight ofthe deer and how they would first run away but finally come back step bystep, drawn by an invincible curiosity, until at length they were withinrange for a point blank shot.

  Now she must concentrate on the flames of the fireplace, see nothing butthem, think of nothing but the swiftly changing domes and walls andpinnacles they made. She leaned a little forward and rested her cheekupon her right hand--and thereby she shut out the sight of Dan Barryeffectually. Also it made a brace to keep her from turning her headtowards him, and she needed every support, physical and mental.

  Still he did not move. Was he in truth looking at her, or was he staringbeyond her at the grey sky which lowered past the window? The faintestcreaking sound told her that he had risen, slowly, from the crouch. Thennot a sound, except that she knew, in some mysterious manner, that hemoved, but whether towards her or towards the door she could not dream.But he stepped suddenly and noiselessly into the range of her vision andsat down on a low bench at one side of the hearth. If the strain hadbeen tense before, it now became terrible; for there he sat almostfacing her, and looking intently at her, yet she must keep all awarenessof him out of her eyes. In the excitement a strong pulse began to beatin the hollow of her throat, as if her heart were rising. She had won,she had kept him in the room, she had brought him to a keen thought ofher. A Pyrrhic victory, for she was poised on the very edge of a cliffof hysteria. She began to feel a tremor of the hand which supported hercheek. If that should become visible to him he would instantly know thatall her apparent unconsciousness was a sham, and then she would havelost him truly!

  Something sounded at one of the doors--and then the door opened softly.She was almost glad of the interruption, for another instant might haveswept away the last reserve of her strength. So this, then, was the end.

  But the footfall which sounded in the apartment was a soft, paddingstep, with a little scratching sound, light as a finger running on afrosty window pane. And then a long, shaggy head slipped close toWhistling Dan. It was Black Bart!
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  A wave of terror swept through her. She remembered another scene, notmany months before, when Black Bart had drawn his master away from herand led him south, south, after the wild geese. The wolf-dog had comeagain like a demoniac spirit to undo her plans!

  Only an instant--the crisis of a battle--then the great beast turnedslowly, faced her, slunk with his long stride closer, and then a coldnose touched the hand which gripped the arm of her chair. It gave her awelcome excuse for action of some sort; she reached out her hand,slowly, and touched the forehead of Black Bart. He winced back, and thelong fangs flashed; her hand remained tremulously poised in air, andthen the long head approached again, cautiously, and once more shetouched it, and since it did not stir, she trailed the tips of herfingers backwards towards the ears. Black Bart snarled again, but it wasa sound so subdued as to be almost like the purring of a great cat. Hesank down, and the weight of his head came upon her feet. Victory!

  In the full tide of conscious power she was able to drop her hand fromher face, raise her head, turn her glance carelessly upon Dan Barry; shewas met by ominously glowing eyes. Anger--at least it was notindifference.

  He rose and stepped in his noiseless way behind her, but he reappearedinstantly on the other side, and reached out his hand to where herfingers trailed limp from the arm of the chair. There he let them lie,white and cool, against the darkness of his palm. It was as if he soughtin the hand for the secret of her power over the wolf-dog. She let herhead rest against the back of the chair and watched the nervous andsinewy hand upon which her own rested. She had seen those hands fixed inthe throat of Black Bart himself, once upon a time. A grim simile cameto her; the tips of her fingers touched the paw of the panther. Thesteel-sharp claws were sheathed, but suppose once they were bared, andclutched. Or she stood touching a switch which might loose, by theslightest motion, a terrific voltage. What would happen?

  Nothing! Presently the hand released her fingers, and Dan Barry steppedback and stood with folded arms, frowning at the fire. In the weaknesswhich overcame her, in the grip of the wild excitement, she dared notstay near him longer. She rose and walked into the dining-room.

  "Serve breakfast now, Wung," she commanded, and at once the gong wasstruck by the cook.

  Before the long vibrations had died away the guests were gathered aroundthe table, and the noisy marshal was the first to come. He slammed backa chair and sat down with a grunt of expectancy.

  "Mornin', Dan," he said, whetting his knife across the table-cloth, "Ihear you're ridin' this mornin'? Ain't going my way, are you?"

  Dan Barry sat frowning steadily down at the table. It was a momentbefore he answered.

  "I ain't leavin," he said softly, at length, "postponed my trip."