Valley of the Vanishing Men (13 page)

T
HERE
might have been a battle to the death, of course. Or at least the outlaws might have waited until the enemy had mounted the rim rock that overlooked the ravine, and so made resistance useless. But the desertion of Christian seemed to take the heart away from the other men. They simply threw up their hands and walked out to be tied hand to hand by the directions, not of Jim Silver, but of the deputy sheriff.

Yes, he was there to glory in the work to which so long he had not dared to put his hand. He was there to greet by name and special insult all of the men from the ravine, except one.

It was after the others had come, out that a single shot was heard from the canyon.

“That’s Yates,” said Perry. “He’d never live to be tried. He’d rather go out this way than be shamed!”

They found Yates, in fact, sitting against a rock and looking east at the blazing sun with open, dead eyes. He had shot himself through the temple. As the gun fell to the sand, his hands had dropped folded into his lap. He seemed to be smiling in contemplation of another world. He was buried beside Blacky.

Jim Silver was not there for the funeral ceremonies, brief as they were. When he learned that the great prize had actually escaped from the canyon, he had thrown up his long arms with a cry that tore the soul of poor Trainor with remorse. Then, without a word, he had rushed with Parade and Frosty in the pursuit.

But the rest of the party went slowly back across the desert toward Alkali, and the whole town came out to meet them.

It was a wonderful thing to Ben Trainor to see that greeting! He had thought that in the whole of the town there was hardly a single man that really cared about law and order. Now it appeared that everyone, nearly, had been terrorized, and now that the terror had been removed, there was a great wave of rejoicing.

They made a hero out of Trainor in spite of himself. They pointed him out to one another. Except for his wounds, they would have ridden him through the streets on their shoulders. They had to content themselves with striding beside his horse and cheering themselves hoarse.

So Trainor came past the Golden Hope.

It was a wreck. Axes and hammers were battering it to pieces. The gambling machines were being thrown out into the street, at that moment, under the supervision of a fat man, who spoke with an authority that was obeyed by everyone. That was Doctor Wells.

He came hastily to Trainor. From the suffocating strain of the sand storm he had quite recovered. He was only a little pale, and the sweat of labor ran down his face, because he had organized the smashing of the Golden Hope. There was already a murmur running through the place that a reformed town needed a reformed man for mayor, and that Wells should be the one for the job.

He gripped the hand of Trainor and shouted:

“Everything’s all right! Clive’s asleep like a baby. He’s too tough to be more than dented by what he’s been through. The girl’s happy as a queen, and I’m happy as a king. It’s all owing to you, Ben! The town knows it. I know it. More power to you, lad!”

Then the crowd poured on, carrying Ben Trainor with it.

Wells came after him to dress his wounds. But before Ben Trainor would let his hurts be touched, he looked in for a glance at Clive, in the hotel room where he lay, and saw him smiling in his sleep, while Nell sat beside him, brooding, happy forever.

The loss of blood hurt Ben Trainor almost more than the tearing of his flesh by the twisting bullet. He lay in a semi-stupor for two days and nights; after that, he began to recover rapidly.

When townsmen representative of the newly organized vigilance committee came to ask what they could do for him, he requested only one thing — freedom for Perry. It was granted at once, and Perry came to see him before leaving town — under escort.

Big and rangy, brown-faced, with a careless blue eye, Perry sat beside Trainor for a long time.

He said, smiling: “I’m through, Trainor. I thought I was tough enough to hit the high spots with the wildest hombres on earth. But all I turned out to be was a mama’s boy that was playing hookey. Now I’m going back to the range and punch cows. You’ll be hearing from me one of these days.”

Perry was not the only visitor who came to see Trainor as he lay in the sick bed. Others dropped in, from time to time, and the most persistent were the reporters who were wanting to make him famous. Nell came, too, several times a day, with reports about the progress of Clive, and how the mine was being opened, offering a tide of wealth that increased the more the vein was developed. She and Clive had declared a third interest in favor of Ben.

“You ought to have half, at least,” said the girl, “but we knew that you wouldn’t take it.”

She was almost stunned with happiness. The marriage was to take place as soon as Clive was pronounced fit and well by the doctor.

The doctor himself was often with Ben Trainor, looking pale and nervous, but firm to that temperance pledge which he had made in the silence of that moonlight night under Mount Baldy.

It was on the fourth day that the dance hall girl, Dolly, appeared. Trainor hardly recognized her. The make-up was gone from her face. She wore a sober gray street dress and a gray hat, and she sat on the side of the bed and looked Trainor over with a smile.

“The game kids are the ones that bring home the bacon,” she said.

“Where’s all the decoration, Dolly?” Trainor asked her.

She rubbed the tips of her fingers over her face, letting the touch linger around her eyes.

“Aw, what’s the use of the bother?” asked Dolly. “I’m going home and cut out the rough stuff. I’m sick of everything. You made me sick of everything.”

“You’re in mourning, Dolly,” he told her. “Who for or what for?”

“For Doc Yates,” she answered him frankly.

“Yates!” he exclaimed.

“Yeah,” said Dolly. “He was a big crook. I always knew that. But I loved him. Not so much that I’m going to fade away, but enough so’s I don’t want to put on the war paint as long as that crook isn’t around to see it.”

“Girls are funny,” said Ben Trainor, with a sigh and a shake of his head.

“Yeah, and you don’t know how funny we are,” said Dolly. “Girls and towns are funny. Look at Alkali. They’re going to plant trees in the streets, and have a park, and everything. Look what you did to us, Ben!”

“I didn’t do it,” said Trainor. “What a sick mess I would have made of everything, if Jim Silver hadn’t dropped in at the right time.”

“Aw, sure. There’s Silver, of course, but he doesn’t count,” said the girl. “He’s not human. He’s not like the rest of us. He’s the sort of thing you pray for, and it comes true once in your life.”

News of Silver, there was none, or of how his chase after Christian had progressed. Then, one night Trainor heard a light scratching sound at the door of his room. The door was opened, because of the heat, and he saw the gigantic head of Frosty framed against the black of the hall, with red, lolling tongue, and bright green eyes. Behind him loomed Silver, who entered with a long, noiseless stride.

He sat down and took the hand of Trainor and held it for a long time.

Silver was thin. There were great hollows under his eyes; his cheek bones stood out. The hunger of an unfilled yearning was still straining the lines about his eyes. He had been through a most apparent hell.

“Ah, Jim, you missed him!” said Trainor.

“I missed him,” said Silver, nodding. “How are you, old son?”

“I’m sick, thinking about the way I let Christian get away. The right arm was pretty numb. And then — Christian went up that rope like a flying snipe. I never saw anything like it. I missed him three times, I guess!”

Silver said: “Forget about it. One day I’ll meet him. It’s not going to be with other people around, I imagine. There’ll be nothing to stop us. There won’t be weapons, either. It’ll be bare hands, I suppose. And then — a finish — maybe for both of us.”

He spoke dreamily. But long, long afterwards Trainor was to remember those words.

“Jim,” he said, “what do you get out of all this? You split my share in the mine, will you? It’s rich as sin. There’s too much loot in it for just the three of us!”

Silver smiled at him.

“Money doesn’t stick to me,” he said. “And gold is a mighty heavy weight to carry on the sort of a trail I have to ride. Maybe I’ll meet you on that trail some time, Ben. That is, if you ever go broke!”

He laughed, stood an instant in the doorway, smiling back at Trainor, and then was gone, with the gray wolf at his heels.

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Copyright © 1934 by Frederick Faust. Copyright © renewed 1961 by the Estate of Frederick Faust. The name Max Brand® is a registered trademark with the United States Patent and Trademark Office and cannot be used for any purpose without express written permission. Published by arrangement with Golden West Literary Agency. All rights reserved.

Cover images © www.clipart.com

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 10: 1-4405-4988-5
ISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4988-5
eISBN 10: 1-4405-4986-9
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4986-1