Valley Thieves (18 page)

"All right, Jim," said Christian. "It looks as though you win this trick, for the moment. How you'd like to smash the gun into my face, eh?"

He chuckled softly. It seemed to me that I could live a thousand years and never come across a stranger thing than that laugh of Christian's, as he confronted Silver.

"Fan him, Taxi," said Silver.

The slim, deft hands of Taxi dipped into the clothes of Christian.

They brought out two man-sized Colts and a little double-barreled pistol hardly larger than a man's hand, but able to throw a fatal bullet across the width of a room, no doubt. It was hitched up the arm of Christian with a strong elastic. There was a long knife that was worn just inside the front of his belt. It had a flat, heavily weighted handle, so that it could be used either for throwing or hand-to-hand fighting. As I looked at the four weapons, I had a grisly, a sickening sense that all of them had taken lives.

There was a wallet, also, that Taxi produced. It was fat. He opened it up, and I saw two thick sheaves of bills, each sheaf filling a side of the wallet. The man was carrying a good-sized fortune around with him.

Silver said hastily: "Put the wallet back, Taxi." There was a quick disgust in his voice.

Christian interpreted calmly: "Blood money, Taxi. None of that shall ever touch the pure fingers of Jim Silver. Blood money, my boy!"

He chuckled again. I had a feeling that the cool devil was almost enjoying this excitement.

Silver tied Christian. He did it in a strange way. He simply wound a twine cord around his wrists and then put a loop of the twine around his neck. That left Christian free to move, but it meant that he could not move fast. His hands were about helpless, and no man could run or jump freely, tied in that way.

Then we four left the house, taking Christian with us, and Julie.

Nothing happened, of all the things that
could
have happened. We simply went down to the head of the first stairs, and down those stairs through a door that stood open for us, and so out under the stars. I had a crazy desire to screech and laugh.

We walked straight away from the house and got safely into the first patch of brush. As it closed around us, rays of dim light came from the cabin and struck all about us, throwing wild patterns of shadow over us.

And I heard the voice of the old man, saying: "Keep on watch all night. Mind you, keep stirring. And every time a star blinks, think that it may be Jim Silver about to drop out of the sky!"

Yes, the old man had finished stirring up his boys, and now he was posting them on guard. He was just a little too late. If he had been ten years younger, he would have had them out on post well before we got away from the place, I dare say. And I had a shivering suspicion that, when he was a youngster, he might have been a full match for Jim Silver and all the rest of us.

I looked back through the leaves and I saw the old man's tall, straight, but fragile figure, supported as usual against the slender strength of Maria. The Cary outfit was scattered here and there, taking up positions about the house.

Then I heard the old man say: "What the devil's the matter with you, M'ria? What are you bawlin' about?"

Maria's sobbing voice answered: "Shut your mouth! Don't speak to me. Don't you
never
speak to me!"

I wondered what would happen after that speech, but to my amazement, the old man simply broke out into his husky laughter.

"That's the way I like to hear a gal talk," he said. "That's the good old Cary blood speakin' up loud and bold. M'ria, I'm sorry that you ain't a man. You would 'a' been worth all the rest of the gang, I can tell you!"

The girl said nothing. I heard her catch her breath on another sob. That was all.

I wondered, then, whether she cried because she thought Clonmel was still in the house, being hemmed in, or whether she guessed that he was already gone. I still wonder about it, but I imagine that the second guess was right.

Then I had to turn and walk on after my companions.

We went through the trees for a good distance, and down a hollow, and across a rivulet of water, and over a hill into another wood until we reached a small clearing among the trees. Every step of that journey I was thanking my stars that we were putting distance between us and the house of the Carys.

But here we stopped, and Silver said to Taxi:

"Will the sound of guns carry from here to the house?"

"Not the noise of revolvers," said Taxi. "Not with the wind hanging where it is."

Silver looked carefully about him. When he had finished his survey, he finally said:

"Well, It seems all right to me. Taxi, turn Christian's hands loose, and give him one of his Colts."

"Why?" asked Taxi.

"Because," said Silver, "the time has come for us to fight the old fight out to a finish. Either Christian or I come to the end of the trail, here."

WHEN I heard Silver say this, I looked steadily at Christian, but the moonlight struck such a shadow across his face that I could not see his features clearly or judge his expression. I only remember that by the dignity of his carriage and that peculiarly proud outline of the high head, he seemed perfectly at ease.

Silver told us to pile all our weapons under a tree and stand a little distance from them. We did as he told us. I felt a trembling awe when I thought that I had come to see the end of the long feud.

I remember how Frosty sat down and pointed his nose up in the air as though he were about to bay the moon, and how the black shadows of the western trees lay out on the sun-bleached whiteness of the grass. Then Silver said:

"You can pick the sort of weapons, Barry. Rifles or revolvers—or bare hands. Whatever you say."

When he came to "bare hands," something came into his voice that I can't describe. It was simply one rush of savagery to the throat, and the sound of the voice gave me the creeps. It made me realize how utterly he hated and loathed Barry Christian.

Then I heard Christian say, as calmly as ever: "I won't fight you, Silver."

I heard it, but I couldn't believe it.

Neither could Silver, it seemed. He walked up and gave Christian one of the revolvers which had been taken from him. Christian took it in a limp hand.

"It's no good, Jim," he said. "I won't fight you."

"You don't understand," explained Silver. "You see not one of my friends has a weapon of any kind. All the stuff is piled under that tree. If you drop me, you can get out before they even reach the guns."

"Frosty would pull me down if I ran," said Christian.

"A bullet would stop Frosty," answered Silver. "Or I'll tie him."

Christian simply shook his head. He turned a little. The moon struck aslant across his face, and I could study the expression easily. There was no contortion, as of a man passing through a great emotion. He was perfectly calm, I'll swear.

"It's no good, Jim," he said. There was something like affection in his voice, as when one explains a thing to a small child. "I won't fight you."

"Knife, or hand, or gun—you can make your choice," said Silver.

He was the one who was passing a little out of control. His voice quivered.

"You're a shade stronger, a shade faster, a shade keener than I am," said Christian. "You can murder me, Jim, but I won't fight you on equal terms."

"You want a—" Silver choked on what he was about to say. He walked up to Christian and struck him across the face with the back of his hand and then leaped away. I saw Christian crouch a bit. I made sure that he would jerk up his gun that instant and fire. Silver, tense as a cat, was ready for the first move. But gradually Christian straightened.

"No," he said slowly. "Not even that!"

I heard Silver groan, as he said: "You wait for a chance to put a bullet through my back. Is that it?"

"The way one wild beast treats another. That's exactly it," said Christian.

It was the strangest scene I ever imagined. My mind still turns back to it with a shock—a sort of horror. For here were two fearless men. You couldn't say that fear was what was working in Christian. It was simply that he was logical. He was convinced that Silver was his master in a fight and he would not throw his life away.

"It has to be murder, then?" said Silver.

"Not murder, Jim," said Harry Clonmel. "It's an execution. I'll shoot him down, if you won't. It's only doing justice on the dog."

He turned to go to the tree where the guns were piled.

"Wait a moment," said Silver. "Barry," he pleaded, "will you stand up like a man and fight?"

"Not a stroke," said Christian. "Pick me any other man in the world, and I'll give him odds and beat him. But even now that you're excited, you're a little too fast for me. Just the hair's-breadth that means a killing. You can murder me, but I won't fight."

You see, it was beyond a mere question of shame. And he used that word "murder" repeatedly—to Silver the most horrible word in the language.

"You lie," said Taxi. "You won't give odds, and you won't have to give odds. I'll take you on."

"Will you?" said Christian.

"I'll take you on," answered Taxi.

"Take him then," said Silver.

"Give him your gun," said Christian eagerly. "It's a bargain, Jim. If I beat him—if I down him, I'm free? I'll get Parade back for you, if that's what you want. After that—I'm free?"

Silver was breathing so hard that I could hear the sound half a dozen paces away, where I stood.

"Are you willing, Taxi?" he asked.

"Yes," said Taxi, "but I'll take my own automatic."

"Get it!" said Silver.

Taxi went over and got his own gun. He began to whistle a little, half under his breath, like a man whose mind is preoccupied. He came back and stood in front of Christian, about eight or nine steps from him. I began to feel sick at the stomach. Frosty ran to his master and lay across Silver's feet, exactly as though he realized that Silver was not going to fight.

"Ready!" said Christian.

"I'm ready any time," said Taxi.

Clonmel broke in: "After you, it ought to be my chance at him, Jim!"

"Be still!" said Silver sternly. And Clonmel was silent.

Silver said: "I'll count to three. You shoot then. If either of you stirs a hand before I get to three, I'll shoot that man down—even if it's you, Taxi."

"I understand," said Taxi. "I won't beat the gun."

"I understand," said Christian.

Why, he was smiling now, his head thrown back in the same proud way, and a gleam was in his eyes.

Taxi looked very small, in comparison, but he was a fine mechanism, I knew, with a hand swifter than a cat's paw. He leaned forward a little, staring, intent, savage. After all, he had hated Christian almost as long as Silver had hunted the criminal.

Silver went to Taxi and shook his hand. They said nothing. After all, what could words express between two such men? Then Silver stepped back and began counting.

"One—two—"

I waited through a horrible moment for the count of three. Suddenly I realized that it would never be reached, as Silver, with a groan, exclaimed: "It can't go through! He'll only kill you, Taxi. He's a surer man with a gun!"

"He's not!" said Taxi. "I'll take him with a revolver, or a knife, or a club, or whatever—"

As though he realized his own absurdity, and that his hate was speaking more than his good sense, he stopped himself quickly.

"Get your guns again," said Silver huskily. "It's got to be the law, after all."

"You've had him in prison before, and he's slipped out!" said Taxi. "If you turn him over to the law again, he'll beat you once more. He has the cash to hire lawyers. He has friends to help him escape, if he's headed for the death house. What's the good of going through a game of blindman's buff again? You have him now! It's the time you've prayed for. Now use it the way he'd use it, if he had the chance."

Silver stood silent, and it was Christian who, with amazing effrontery, said:

"You don't know the honorable gentleman, Taxi."

"Blast you!" breathed Silver, seething with anger.

He went to Christian and jerked the gun from his hand. He tied Christian's wrists behind his back again.

"Go to the edge of the trees and get Parade for me," he directed. "You can tell them to bring Parade to you. The fools will do what you tell them to do."

"Certainly," said Christian. "Any little thing to oblige you, Jim."

We all walked back with Christian and Silver, across the hill, the gulley, and over the knoll to the trees around the house. We passed through those, very softly and secretly, and when we were in view of the lighted corral of Parade, Christian stepped out in front of the trees, a pace or two.

"Hello, boys," he said. "I'll show you a trick with Parade. Take the hobbles off him."

"Hello, Barry," said one of the Carys. "What you want us to do that for?"

"I'm going to show you that I've made the big brute into a pet," said Christian. "Take the hobbles off him and you'll see him come to me like a dog."

It was Dean Cary who got through the fence and removed the hobbles.

"You're drunk or you're just talkin', brother," he declared. "Let's see you do your stuff, then!"

Christian nodded, but it was Silver who whistled softly.

The answer was a thing to do your heart good. Parade, when he heard the signal, whirled about and charged the fence as though he were starting a race over the flat. I think the top bar must have been over six feet high, but the big golden monster flew the barrier as though it had been merely knee-high. He made everything look small. He made the mountains and the whole world seem worthless as he flew the fence and, landing in his stride, streaked on toward his master.

"There—you see?" called Christian, stepping back to us, into the shadow of the trees.

Parade went into the group of us, braced his legs to skid to a halt, and tossed his head with a ringing neigh above Silver.

"If you can do that, you can ride him bareback!" called Dean Cary. "Let's see you handle him without a bridle, the way Silver can!"