Riders of the Silences

by Max Brand

  CHAPTER XI

  JACK GROWS UP

  It was not fear nor shame that made the eyes of Jacqueline so wide asshe stared past Pierre toward the door. He glanced across hisshoulder, and blocking the entrance to the room, literally filling thedoorway, was the bulk of Jim Boone.

  "Seems as if I was sort of steppin' in on a little family party," hesaid. "I'm sure glad you two got acquainted so quick. Jack, how didyou and-- What the hell's your name, lad?"

  "He tricked me, dad, or he would never have got the gun away from me.This--this Pierre--this beast--he got me to talk of Hal till my eyesfilled up and I couldn't see. Then he stole----"

  "The point," said Jim Boone coldly, "is that he got the gun. Runalong, Jack. You ain't so growed up as I was thinkin'. Or holdon--maybe you're more grown up. Which is it? Are you turnin' into awoman, Jack?"

  She whirled on Pierre in a white fury.

  "You see? You see what you've done? He'll never trust meagain--never! Pierre, I hate you. I'll always hate you. And if Halwere here----"

  A storm of sobs and tears cut her short, and she disappeared throughthe door. Boone and Pierre stood regarding each other critically.

  The boy spoke first: "You're not as big as I expected."

  "I'm plenty big; but you're older than I thought."

  "Too old for what you want of me. The girl told me what that was."

  "Not too old to be made what I want."

  And his hands passed through a significant gesture of moulding theempty air. The boy met his eye dauntlessly.

  "I suppose," he said, "that I've a pretty small chance of getting away."

  "Just about none, Pierre. Come here."

  Pierre stepped closer and looked down the hall into another room.There, about a table, sat the five grimmest riders of the mountaindesert that he had even seen. They were such men as one could judge ata glance, and Pierre made that instinctive motion for his six-gun.

  "The girl," Jim Boone was saying, "kept you pretty busy tryin' to makea break, and if she could do anything maybe you'd have a pile oftrouble with one of them guardin' you. But if I'd had a good look atyou, lad, I'd never have let Jack take the job of guardin' you."

  "Thanks," answered Pierre dryly.

  "You got reason; I can see that. Here's the point, Pierre. I knowyoung men because I can remember pretty close what I was at your age.I wasn't any ladies' lap dog, at that, but time and older men molded methe way I'm going to mold you. Understand?"

  Pierre was nerved for many things, but the last word made him stir. Itroused in him a red-tinged desire to get through the forest of blackbeard at the throat of Boone and dim the glitter of those keen eyes.It brought him also another thought.

  Two great tasks lay before him: the burial of his father and theavenging of him on McGurk. As to the one, he knew it would be childishmadness for him to attempt to bury his father in Morgantown with onlyhis single hand to hold back the powers of the law or the friends ofthe notorious Diaz and crippled Hurley.

  And for the other, it was even more vain to imagine that through hisown unaided power he could strike down a figure of such almostlegendary terror as McGurk. The bondage of the gang might be aterrible thing through the future, but the present need blinded him towhat might come.

  He said: "Suppose I stop raising questions or making a fight, but giveyou my hand and call myself a member----"

  "Of the family? Exactly. If you did that I'd know it was because youwere wantin' something, Pierre, eh?"

  "Two things."

  "Lad, I like this way of talk. One--two--you hit quick like a two-gunman. Well, I'm used to paying high for what I get. What's up?"

  "The first----"

  "Wait. Can I help you out by myself, or do you need the gang?"

  "The gang."

  "Then come, and I'll put it up to them. You first."

  It was equally courtesy and caution, and Pierre smiled faintly as hewent first through the door. He stood in a moment under the eyes offive silent men.

  The booming voice of Jim Boone pronounced:

  "This is Pierre. He'll be one of us if he can get the gang to do twothings. I ask you, will you hear him for me, and then pass on whetheror not you try his game?"

  They nodded. There were no greetings to acknowledge the introduction.They waited, eyeing the youth with distrust.

  Pierre eyed them in turn, and then he spoke directly to big Dick Wilbur.

  "Here's the first: I want to bury a man in Morgantown and I need helpto do it."

  Black Gandil snarled: "You heard me, boys; blood to start with. Who'sthe man you want us to put out?"

  "He's dead--my father."

  They came up straight in their chairs like trained actors rising to astage crisis. The snarl straightened on the lips of Black MorganGandil.

  "He's lying in his house a few miles out of Morgantown. As he died hetold me that he wanted to be buried in a corner plot in the Morgantowngraveyard. He'd seen the place and counted it for his a good manyyears because he said the grass grew quicker there than any otherplace, after the snow went."

  "A damned good reason," said Garry Patterson. As the idea stuck moredeeply into his imagination he smashed his fist down on the table sothat the crockery on it danced. "A damned good reason, say I!"

  "Who's your father?" asked Dick Wilbur, who eyed Pierre more criticallybut with less enmity than the rest.

  "Martin Ryder."

  "A ringer!" cried Bud Mansie, and he leaned forward alertly. "Youremember what I said, Jim?"

  "Shut up. Pierre, talk soft and talk quick. We all know Mart Ryderhad only two sons and you're not either of them."

  The Northerner grew stiff and as his face grew pale the red mark wherethe stone had struck his forehead stood out like a danger signal.

  He said slowly: "I'm his son, but not by the mother of those two."

  "Was he married twice?"

  Pierre was paler still, and there was an uneasy twitching of his righthand which every man understood.

  He barely whispered. "No; damn you!"

  But Black Gandil loved evil.

  He said, with a marvelously unpleasant smile: "Then she was----"

  The voice of Dick Wilbur cut in like the snapping of a whip: "Shut up,Gandil, you devil!"

  There were times when not even Boone would cross Wilbur, and this wasone of them.

  Pierre went on: "The reason I can't go to Morgantown is that I'm notvery well liked by some of the men there."

  "Why not?"

  "When my father died there was no money to pay for his burial. I hadonly a half-dollar piece. I went to the town and gambled and won agreat deal. But before I came out I got mixed up with a man calledHurley, a professional gambler."

  "And Diaz?" queried a chorus.

  "Yes. Hurley was hurt in the wrist and Diaz died. I think I'm wantedin Morgantown."

  Out of a little silence came the voice of Black Gandil: "Dick, I'mthankin' you now for cuttin' me so short a minute ago."

  Phil Branch had not spoken, as usual, but now he repeated, with rapt,far-off eyes: "'Hurley was hurt in the wrist and Diaz died?' Hurleyand Diaz! I played with Hurley, a couple of times."

  "Speakin' personal," said Garry Patterson, his red verging towardpurple in excitement, "which I'm ready to go with you down toMorgantown and bury your father."

  "And do it shipshape," added Black Gandil.

  "With all the trimmings," said Bud Mansie, "with all Morgantown joinin'the mournin' voluntarily under cover of our six-guns."

  "Wait," said Boone. "What's the second request?"

  "That can wait."

  "It's a bigger job than this one?"

  "Lots bigger."

  "And in the mean time?"

  "I'm your man."

  They shook hands. Even Black Gandil rose to take his share in theceremony--all save Bud Mansie, who had glanced out the window a momentbefore and then silently left the room. A bottle of whiskey wasproduced and glasses fille
d all round. Jim Boone brought in theseventh chair and placed it at the table. They raised their glasses.

  "To the empty chair," said Boone.

  They drank, and for the first time in his life, the liquid fire wentdown the throat of Pierre. He set down his glass, coughing, and theothers laughed good-naturedly.

  "Started down the wrong way?" asked Wilbur.

  "It's beastly stuff; first I ever drank."

  A roar of laughter answered him.

  "Still I got an idea," broke in Jim Boone, "that he's worthy of takin'the seventh chair. Draw it up lad."

  Vaguely it reminded Pierre of a scene in some old play with himself inthe role of the hero signing away his soul to the devil, but aninterruption kept him from taking the chair. There was a racket at thedoor--a half-sobbing, half-scolding voice, and the laughter of a man;then Bud Mansie appeared carrying Jack in spite of her struggles. Heplaced her on the floor and held her hands to protect himself from herfury.

  "I glimpsed her through the window," he explained. "She was lining outfor the stable and then a minute later I saw her swing a saddleonto--what horse d'you think?"

  "Out with it."

  "Jim's big Thunder. Yep, she stuck the saddle on big black Thunder andhad a rifle in the holster. I saw there was hell brewing somewhere, soI went out and nabbed her."

  "Jack!" called Jim Boone. "What were you started for?"

  Bud Mansie released her arms and she stood with them stiffening at hersides and her small brown fists clenched.

  "Hal--he died, and there was nothing but talk about him--nothing done.You got a live man in Hal's place."

  She pointed an accusing finger at Pierre.

  "Maybe he takes his place for you, but he's not my brother--I hate him.I went out to get another man to make up for Pierre."

  "Well?"

  "A dead man. I shoot straight enough for that."

  A very solemn silence spread through the room; for every man waswatching in the eyes of the father and daughter the same shining blackdevil of wrath.

  "Jack, get into your room and don't move out of it till I tell you to.D'you hear?"

  She turned on her heel like a soldier and marched from the room.

  "Jack."

  She stopped in the door but would not turn back, and still the room,watching that little tragedy, was breathless.

  "Jack, don't you love your old dad any more?"

  She whirled and ran to him with outstretched arms and clung to him,sobbing.

  "Oh, dad--dear dad," she groaned. "You've broken my heart; you'vebroken my heart!"

  The others filed softly out of the room and stood bareheaded under thewinter sky.

  Bud Mansie, his meager face transformed with wonder, said: "Fellers,what d'you know about it? Our Jack's grown up."

  And Black Gandil answered: "Look at this Pierre frowning at the ground.It was him that changed her."