The Max Brand Megapack (65 page)

“By God, Calder—”

“Steady! I have some promising evidence, partner. Would you like to hear part of it?”

“This country has its share of the world’s greatest liars,” said Hardy, “I don’t care what you’ve heard.”

“That saves my time. Understand me straight. I can slap you into a lock-up, if I want to, and then bring in that evidence. I’m not going to do it. I’m going to use you as a trap and through you get some of the worst of the lone riders.”

“There’s nothin’ like puttin’ your hand on the table.”

“No, there isn’t. I’ll tell you what you’re to do.”

“Thanks.”

The marshal drove straight on.

“I’ve got four good men in this town. Two of them will always be hanging around your office. Maybe you can get a job for them here, eh? I’ll pay the salaries. You simply tip them off when your visitors are riders the government wants, see? You don’t have to lift a hand. You just go to the door as the visitor leaves, and if he’s all right you say: ‘So long, we’ll be meeting again before long.’ But if he’s a man I want, you say ‘Good-bye.’ That’s all. My boys will see that it is good-bye.”

“Go on,” said the agent, “and tell the rest of the story. It starts well.”

“Doesn’t it?” agreed Calder, “and the way it concludes is with you reaching over and shaking hands with me and saying ‘yes’!”

He leaned forward. The twinkle was gone from his eyes and he extended his hand to Hardy. The latter reached out with an impulsive gesture, wrung the proffered hand, and then slipping back into his chair broke into hysterical laughter.

“The real laugh,” said Calder, watching his man narrowly, “will be on the long riders.”

“Tex,” said the agent. “I guess you have the dope. I won’t say anything except that I’m glad as hell to be out of the rotten business at last. Once started I couldn’t stop. I did one ‘favour’ for these devils, and after that they had me in their power. I haven’t slept for months as I’m going to sleep tonight!”

He wiped his face with an agitated hand.

“A week ago,” he went on, “I knew you were detailed on this work. I’ve been sweating ever since. Now that you’ve come—why, I’m glad of it!”

A faint sneer touched Calder’s mouth and was gone.

“You’re a wise man,” he said. “Have you seen much of Jim Silent lately?”

Hardy hesitated. The rôle of informer was new.

“Not directly.”

Calder nodded.

“Now put me right if I go off the track. The way I understand it, Jim Silent has about twenty gun fighters and long riders working in gangs under him and combining for big jobs.”

“That’s about it.”

“The inside circle consists of Silent; Lee Haines, a man who went wrong because the law did
him
wrong; Hal Purvis, a cunning devil; and Bill Kilduff, a born fighter who loves blood for its own sake.”

“Right.”

“Here’s something more. For Jim Silent, dead or alive, the government will pay ten thousand dollars. For each of the other three it pays five thousand. The notices aren’t out yet, but they will be in a few days. Hardy, if you help me bag these men, you’ll get fifty per cent of the profits. Are you on?”

The hesitancy of Hardy changed to downright enthusiasm.

“Easy money, Tex. I’m your man, hand and glove.”

“Don’t get optimistic. This game isn’t played yet, and unless I make the biggest mistake of my life we’ll be guessing again before we land Silent. I’ve trailed some fast gunmen in my day, and I have an idea that Silent will be the hardest of the lot; but if you play your end of the game we may land him. I have a tip that he’s lying out in the country near Elkhead. I’m riding out alone to get track of him. As I go out I’ll tell my men that you’re O.K. for this business.”

He hesitated a moment with his hand on the door knob.

“Just one thing more, Hardy. I heard a queer tale this morning about a fight in a saloon run by a man named Morgan. Do you know anything about it?”

“No.”

“I was told of a fellow who chipped four dollars thrown into the air at twenty yards.”

“That’s a lie.”

“The man who talked to me had a nicked dollar to prove his yarn.”

“The devil he did!”

“And after the shooting this chap got into a fight with a tall man twice his size and fairly mopped up the floor with him. They say it wasn’t a nice thing to watch. He is a frail man, but when the fight started he turned into a tiger.”

“Wish I’d seen it.”

“The tall man tallies to a hair with my description of Silent.”

“You’re wrong. I know what Silent can do with his hands. No one could beat him up. What’s the name of the other?”

“Barry. Whistling Dan Barry.”

Calder hesitated.

“Right or wrong, I’d like to have this Barry with me. So long.”

He was gone as he had come, with a nod and a flash of the keen, black eyes. Lee Hardy stared at the door for some moments, and then went outside. The warm light of the sun had never been more welcome to him. Under that cheering influence he began to feel that with Tex Calder behind him he could safely defy the world.

His confidence received a shock that afternoon when a heavy step crossed the outside room, and his door opening without a preliminary knock, he looked up into the solemn eyes of Jim Silent. The outlaw shook his head when Hardy offered him a chair.

“What’s the main idea of them two new men out in your front room, Lee?” he asked.

“Two cowpunchers that was down on their luck. I got to stand in with the boys now and then.”

“I s’pose so. Shorty Rhinehart in here to see you, Lee?”

“Yep.”

“You told him that the town was gettin’ pretty hot.”

“It is.”

“You said you had no dope on when that delayed shipment was comin’ through?”

Hardy made lightning calculations. A half truth would be the best way out.

“I’ve just got the word you want. It come this morning.”

Silent’s expression changed and he leaned a little closer.

“It’s the nineteenth. Train number 89. Savvy? Seven o’clock at Elkhead!”

“How much? Same bunch of coin?”

“Fifty thousand!”

“That’s ten more.”

“Yep. A new shipment rolled in with the old one. No objections?”

Silent grinned.

“Any other news, Lee?”

“Shorty told you about Tex Calder?”

“He did. Seen him around here?”

The slightest fraction of a second in hesitation.

“No.”

“Was that the straight dope you give Shorty?”

“Straighter’n hell. They’re beginnin’ to talk, but I guess I was jest sort of panicky when I talked with Shorty.”

“This Tex Calder——”

“What about him?” This with a trace of suspicion.

“He’s got a long record.”

“So’ve you, Jim.”

Once more that wolflike grin which had no mirth.

“So long, Lee. I’ll be on the job. Lay to that.”

He turned towards the door. Hardy followed him. A moment more, in a single word, and the job would be done. Five thousand dollars for a single word! It warmed the very heart of Lee Hardy.

Silent, as he moved away, seemed singularly thoughtful. He hesitated a moment with bowed head at the door—then whirled and shoved a six-gun under the nose of Hardy. The latter leaped back with his arms thrust above his head, straining at his hands to get them higher.

“My God, Jim!”

“You’re a low-down, lyin’ hound!”

Hardy’s tongue clove to the roof of his mouth.

“Damn you, d’you hear me?”

“Yes! For God’s sake, Jim, don’t shoot!”

“Your life ain’t worth a dime!”

“Give me one more chance an’ I’ll play square!”

A swift change came over the face of Silent, and then Hardy went hot with terror and anger. The long rider had known nothing. The gun play had been a mere bluff, but he had played into the hands of Silent, and now his life was truly worth nothing.

“You poor fool,” went on Silent, his voice purring with controlled rage. “You damn blind fool! D’you think you could double cross me an’ get by with it?”

“Give me a chance, Jim. One more chance, one more chance!”

Even in his terror he remembered to keep his voice low lest those in the front room should hear.

“Out with it, if you love livin’!”

“I—I can’t talk while you got that gun on me!”

Silent not only lowered his gun, but actually returned it to the holster. Nothing could more clearly indicate his contempt, and Hardy, in spite of his fear, crimsoned with shame.

“It was Tex Calder,” he said at last.

Silent started a little and his eyes narrowed again.

“What of him?”

“He came here a while ago an’ tried to make a deal with me.”

“An’ made it!” said Silent ominously.

No gun pointed at him this time, but Hardy jerked his hands once more above his head and cowered against the wall.

“So help me God he didn’t, Jim.”

“Get your hands down.”

He lowered his hands slowly.

“I told him I didn’t know nothin’ about you.”

“What about that train? What about that shipment?”

“It’s jest the way I told you, except that it’s on the eighteenth instead of the nineteenth.”

“I’m goin’ to believe you. If you double cross me I’ll have your hide. Maybe they’ll get me, but there’ll be enough of my boys left to get you. You can lay to that. How much did they offer you, Lee? How much am I worth to the little old U.S.A.?”

“I—I—it wasn’t the money. I was afraid to stick with my game any longer.”

The long rider had already turned towards the door, making no effort to keep his face to the agent. The latter, flushing again, moved his hand towards his hip, but stopped the movement. The last threat of Silent carried a deep conviction with it. He knew that the faith of lone riders to each other was an inviolable bond. Accordingly he followed at the heels of the other man into the outside room.

“So long, old timer,” he called, slapping Silent on the shoulder, “I’ll be seein’ you agin before long.”

Calder’s men looked up with curious eyes. Hardy watched Silent swing onto his horse and gallop down the street. Then he went hurriedly back to his office. Once inside he dropped into the big swivel-chair, buried his face in his arms, and wept like a child.

CHAPTER XII

PARTNERS

Dust powdered his hat and clothes as Tex Calder trotted his horse north across the hills. His face was a sickly grey, and his black hair might have been an eighteenth century wig, so thoroughly was it disguised. It had been a long ride. Many a long mile wound back behind him, and still the cattle pony, with hanging head, stuck to its task. Now he was drawing out on a highland, and below him stretched the light yellow-green of the willows of the bottom land. He halted his pony and swung a leg over the horn of his saddle. Then he rolled a cigarette, and while he inhaled it in long puffs he scanned the trees narrowly. Miles across, and stretching east and west farther than his eye could reach, extended the willows. Somewhere in that wilderness was the gang of Jim Silent. An army corps might have been easily concealed there.

If he was not utterly discouraged in the beginning of his search, it was merely because the rangers of the hills and plains are taught patience almost as soon as they learn to ride a horse. He surveyed the yellow-green forest calmly. In the west the low hanging sun turned crimson and bulged at the sides into a clumsy elipse. He started down the slope at the same dog-trot which the pony had kept up all day. Just before he reached the skirts of the trees he brought his horse to a sudden halt and threw back his head. It seemed to him that he heard a faint whistling.

He could not be sure. It was so far off and unlike any whistling he had ever heard before, that he half guessed it to be the movement of a breeze through the willows, but the wind was hardly strong enough to make this sound. For a full five minutes he listened without moving his horse. Then came the thing for which he waited, a phrase of melody undoubtedly from human lips.

What puzzled him most was the nature of the music. As he rode closer to the trees it grew clearer. It was unlike any song he had ever heard. It was a strange improvisation with a touch of both melancholy and savage exultation running through it. Calder found himself nodding in sympathy with the irregular rhythm.

It grew so clear at last that he marked with some accuracy the direction from which it came. If this was Silent’s camp, it must be strongly guarded, and he should approach the place more cautiously than he could possibly do on a horse. Accordingly he dismounted, threw the reins over the pony’s head, and started on through the willows. The whistling became louder and louder. He moved stealthily from tree to tree, for he had not the least idea when he would run across a guard. The whistling ceased, but the marshal was now so near that he could follow the original direction without much trouble. In a few moments he might distinguish the sound of voices. If there were two or three men in the camp he might be able to surprise them and make his arrest. If the outlaws were many, at least he could lie low near the camp and perhaps learn the plans of the gang. He worked his way forward more and more carefully. At one place he thought a shadowy figure slipped through the brush a short distance away. He poised his gun, but lowered it again after a moment’s thought. It must have been a stir of shadows. No human being could move so swiftly or so noiselessly.

Nevertheless the sight gave him such a start that he proceeded with even greater caution. He was crouched close to the ground. Every inch of it he scanned carefully before he set down a foot, fearful of the cracking of a fallen twig. Like most men when they hunt, he began to feel that something followed him. He tried to argue the thought out of his brain, but it persisted, and grew stronger. Half a dozen times he whirled suddenly with his revolver poised. At last he heard a stamp which could come from nothing but the hoof of a horse. The sound dispelled his fears. In another moment he would be in sight of the camp.

“Do you figger you’ll find it?” asked a quiet voice behind him.

He turned and looked into the steady muzzle of a Colt. Behind that revolver was a thin, handsome face with a lock of jet black hair falling over the forehead. Calder knew men, and now he felt a strange absence of any desire to attempt a gun-play.