Riders of the Silences

by Max Brand

  CHAPTER VI

  FEAR

  Pierre turned and looked calmly upon the other.

  And the man whispered in a sort of awe: "Well, I'll be damned!"

  "Stand aside!"

  The other fell back a pace, and Pierre went straight to the table andsaid to Cochrane: "Sir, I have come to take you home."

  The old man looked up and rubbed his eyes as though waking from a sleep.

  "Stand back from the table!" warned Hurley.

  "By the Lord, have they been missing me?" queried old Cochrane.

  "You are waited for," answered Pierre le Rouge, "and I've been sent totake you home."

  "If that's the case--"

  "It ain't the case. The kid's lying."

  "Lying?" repeated Cochrane, as if he had never heard the word before,and he peered with clearing eyes toward Pierre. "No, I think this boyhas never lied."

  Silence had spread through the place like a vapor. Even the slightsounds in the gaming-room were done now, and one pair after another ofeyes swung toward the table of Cochrane and Hurley. The wave of thesilence reached to the barroom. No one could have carried the tidingsso soon, but the air was surcharged with the consciousness of animpending crisis.

  Half a dozen men started to make their way on tiptoe toward the backroom. One stood with his whisky glass suspended in mid air, and tiltedback his head to listen. In the gaming-room Hurley pushed back hischair and leaned to the left, giving him a free sweep for his righthand. The Mexican smiled with a slow and deep content.

  "Thank you," answered Pierre, "but I am waiting still, sir."

  The left hand of Hurley played impatiently on the table.

  He said: "Of course, if you have enough--"

  "I--enough?" flared the old aristocrat.

  Pierre le Rouge turned fairly upon Hurley.

  "In the name of God," he said calmly, and God on his lips was as gentleas music, "make an end of your game. You're playing for money, but Ithink this man is playing for his eternal soul."

  The solemn, bookish phraseology came smoothly from his tongue. He knewno other. It drew a murmur of amusement from the room and a snarl fromHurley.

  "Put on skirts, kid, and join the Salvation Army, but don't getyourself messed all up in here. This is my party, and I'm damnedparticular who I invite! Now, run along!"

  The head of Pierre tilted back, and he burst into laughter whichtroubled even Hurley.

  The gambler blurted: "What's happening to you, kid?"

  "I've been making a lot of good resolutions, Mr. Hurley, about keepingout of trouble; but here I am in it up to the neck."

  "No trouble as long as you keep your hand out of another man's game,kid."

  "That's it. I can't see you rob Mr. Cochrane like this. You aren'tgambling--you're digging gold. The game stops now."

  It was a moment before the crowd realized what was about to happen;they saw it reflected first in the face of Hurley, which suddenly wenttaut and pale, and then, even as they looked with a smile of curiosityand derision toward Pierre le Rouge, they saw and understood.

  For the moment Pierre said, "The game stops now," the calm which hadbeen with him was gone. It was like the scent of blood to the starvedwolf. The last word was scarcely off his tongue when he was crouchedwith a devil of green fury in his eyes--the light struck his hair intoa wave of flame--his face altered by a dozen ugly years.

  "D'you mean?" whispered Hurley, as if he feared to break the silencewith his full voice.

  "Get out of the room."

  And the impulse of Hurley, plainly enough, was to obey the order, andgo anywhere to escape from that relentless stare. His glance waveredand flashed around the circle and then back to Red Pierre, for theexpectancy and the alertness of all the crowd forced him back.

  When the leader of the pack springs and fails to kill, the rest of thepack tear him to pieces. Remembering this, Mac Hurley forced hisglance back to Pierre. Moreover, there was a soft voice from behind,and he remembered Diaz.

  All this had taken place in the length of time that it takes a heavybody to totter on the brink of a precipice or a cat to regain its feetafter a fall. After the voice of Diaz there was a sway through theroom, a pulse of silence, and then three hands shot for theirhips--Pierre, Diaz, and Hurley.

  No stop-watch could have caught the differing lengths of time whicheach required for the draw. The muzzle of Hurley's revolver was notclear of the holster--the gun of Diaz was nearly at the level whenPierre's weapon exploded at his hip. The bullet cut through the wristof Hurley. Never again would that slender, supple hand fly over thecards, doing things other than they seemed. He made no effort toescape from the next bullet, but stood looking down at his brokenwrist; horror for the moment gave him a dignity oddly out of place withhis usual appearance. He alone in all the room was moveless.

  The crowd, undecided for an instant, broke for the doors at the firstshot; Pierre le Rouge, pitched to the floor as Diaz leaped forward, therevolver in either hand spitting lead and fire.

  It was no bullet that downed Pierre but his own cunning. He broke hisfall with an outstretched left hand, while the bullets of Diaz pumpedinto the void space which his body had filled a moment before.

  Lying there at ease, he leveled the revolver, grinning with themirthless lust of battle, and fired over the top of the table. Theguns dropped from the hands of huge Diaz. He caught at his throat andstaggered back the full length of the room, crashing against the wall.When he pitched forward on his face he was dead before he struck thefloor.

  Pierre, now Red Pierre, indeed, rose and ran to the fallen man, and,looking at the bulk of the giant, he wondered with a cold heart. Heknew before he slipped his hand over the breast of Diaz that this wasdeath. Then he rose again and watched the still fingers which seemedto be gripping at the boards.

  These he saw, and nothing else, and all he heard was the rattling ofthe wind of winter, wrenching at some loose shingle on the roof, and heknew that he was alone in the world, for he had put out a life.

  He found a strange weight pulling down his right hand, and started whenhe saw the revolver. He replaced it in the holster automatically, andin so doing touched the barrel and found it warm.

  Then fear came to Pierre, the first real fear of his life. He jerkedhis head high and looked about him. The room was utterly empty. Hetiptoed to the door and found even the long bar deserted, littered withtall bottles and overturned glasses. The cold in his heart increased.A moment before he had been hand in hand with all the mirth in thatplace.

  Now the men whose laughter he had repeated with smiles, the men againstwhose sleeves his elbow had touched, were further away from him thanthey had been when all the snow-covered miles from Morgantown to theschool of Father Victor had laid between them. They were men who mightlose themselves in any crowd, but he was set apart with a brand, evenas Hurley and Diaz had been set apart that eventful evening.

  He had killed a man. That fact blotted out the world. He drew his gunagain and stole down the length of the bar. Once he stopped and poisedthe weapon before he realized that the white, fierce face that squintedat him was his own reflection in a mirror.

  Outside the door the free wind caught at his face, and he blessed it inhis heart, as if it had been the touch of the hand of a friend. Beyondthe long, dark, silent street the moon rose and passed up through thesafe, dark spaces of the sky.

  He must move quickly now. The pursuit was not yet organized, but itwould begin in a space of minutes. From the group of half a dozenhorses which stood before the saloon he selected the best--a tall,raw-boned nag with an ugly head. Into the saddle he swung, wonderingfaintly that the theft of a horse mattered so little to him. His wasthe greatest sin. All other things mattered nothing.

  Down the long street he galloped. The sharp echoes flew out at himfrom every unlighted house, but not a human being was in sight. So heswung out onto the long road which wound up through the hills, andbeside him rode a grim brotherhood, the inv
isible fellowship of Cain.

  The moon rose higher, brighter, and a grotesque black shadow gallopedover the snow beside him. He turned his head sharply to the other sideand watched the sweep of white hills which reached back in range afterrange until they blended with the shadows of night.

  The road faded to a bridle path, and this in turn he lost among thewindings of the valley. He was lost from even the traces of men, andyet the fear of men pursued him. Fear, and yet with it there was athrill of happiness, for every swinging stride of the tall, wild roancarried him deeper into freedom, the unutterable fierce freedom of thehunted.