THE BUZZARD
Most animals have their human counterparts, and in that room where Jerry
Strann had fallen a whimsical observer might have termed Jerry, with his
tawny head, the lion, and O'Brien behind the bar, a shaggy bear, and the
deputy marshal a wolverine, fat but dangerous, and here stood a man as
ugly and hardened as a desert cayuse, and there was Dan Barry, sleek and
supple as a panther; but among the rest this whimsical observer must
have noticed a fellow of prodigious height and negligible breadth, a
structure of sinews and bones that promised to rattle in the wind, a
long, narrow head, a nose like a beak, tiny eyes set close together and
shining like polished buttons, and a vast Adam's apple that rolled up
and down the scraggy throat. He might have done for the spirit of Famine
in an old play; but every dweller of the mountain-desert would have
found an apter expression by calling him the buzzard of the scene.
Through his prodigious ugliness he was known far and wide as "Haw-Haw"
Langley; for on occasion Langley laughed, and his laughter was an
indescribable sound that lay somewhere between the braying of a mule and
the cawing of a crow. But Haw-Haw Langley was usually silent, and he
would sit for hours without words, twisting his head and making little
pecking motions as his eyes fastened on face after face. All the
bitterness of the mountain-desert was in Haw-Haw Langley; if his body
looked like a buzzard, his soul was the soul of the vulture itself, and
therefore he had followed the courses of Jerry Strann up and down the
range. He stuffed his gorge with the fragments of his leader's food; he
fed his soul with the dangers which Jerry Strann met and conquered.
In the barroom Haw-Haw Langley had stood turning his sharp little eyes
from Jerry Strann to Dan Barry, and from Dan Barry back to Strann; and
when the shot was fired something like a grin twisted his thin lips; and
when the spot of red glowed on the breast of the staggering man, the
eyes of Haw-Haw blazed as if with the reflection of a devouring fire.
Afterwards he lingered for a few minutes making no effort to aid the
fallen man, but when he had satisfied himself with the extent of the
injury, and when he had noted the froth of bloody bubbles which stained
the lips of Strann, Haw-Haw Langley turned and stalked from the room.
His eyes were points of light and his soul was crammed to repletion with
ill-tidings.
At the hitching rack he stepped into the saddle of a diminutive horse,
whirled it into the street with a staggering jerk of the reins, and
buried the spurs deep in the cow-pony's flanks. The poor brute snorted
and flirted its heels in the air, but Langley wrapped his long legs
around the barrel of his mount and goaded it again.
His smile, which began with the crack of Barry's gun in O'Brien's place,
did not die out until he was many a mile away, headed far up through the
mountains; but as he put peak after peak behind him and as the white
light of the day diminished and puffs of blue shadow drowned the
valleys, the grin disappeared from Haw-Haw's face. He became keenly
intent on his course until, having reached the very summit of a tall
hill, he came to a halt and peered down before him.
It was nearly dusk by this time and the eyes of an ordinary man could
not distinguish a tree from a rock at any great distance; but it seemed
that Haw-Haw was gifted with eyes extraordinary--the buzzard at the top
of its sky-towering circles does not see the brown carcass far below
with more certainty than Haw-Haw sensed his direction. He waited only a
few seconds before he rolled the rowel once more along the scored flanks
of his mustang and then plunged down the slope at a reckless gallop.
His destination was a hut, or rather a lean-to, that pressed against the
side of the mountain, a crazy structure with a single length of stove
pipe leaning awry from the roof. And at the door of this house Haw-Haw
Langley drew rein and stepped to the ground. The interior of the hut was
dark, but Haw-Haw stole with the caution of a wild Indian to the
entrance and reconnoitered the interior, probing every shadowy corner
with his glittering eyes. For several long moments he continued this
examination, and even when he was satisfied that there was no one in the
place he did not enter, but moved back several paces from the door and
swept the sides of the mountains with an uneasy eye. He made out, a
short distance from the door, a picketed horse which now reared up its
head from the miserable scattering of grass on which it fed and stared
at the stranger. The animal must have bulked at least twice as large as
the mount which had brought Langley to the mountain-side. And it was
muscled even out of proportion to its bulk. The head was so tremendously
broad that it gave an almost square appearance, the neck, short and
thick, the forelegs disproportionately small but very sturdy; and the
whole animal was built on a slope towards the hind quarters which seemed
to equal in massiveness all the rest of the body. One would have said
that the horse was a freak meant by nature for the climbing of hills.
And to glance at it no man could suppose that those ponderous limbs
might be moved to a gallop. However, Haw-Haw Langley well knew the
powers of the ugly beast, and he even made a detour and walked about the
horse to view it more closely.
Now he again surveyed the darkening landscape and then turned once more
to the house. This time he entered with the boldness of a possessor
approaching his hearth. He lighted a match and with this ignited a
lantern hanging from the wall to the right of the door. The furnishings
of the dwelling were primitive beyond compare. There was no sign of a
chair; a huddle of blankets on the bare boards of the floor made the
bed; a saddle hung by one stirrup on one side and on the other side
leaned the skins of bob-cats, lynx, and coyotes on their stretching and
drying boards. Haw-Haw took down the lantern and examined the pelts. The
animals had been skinned with the utmost dexterity. As far as he could
see the hides had not been marred in a single place by slips of the
knife, nor were there any blood stains to attest hurried work, or
careless shooting in the first place. The inner surfaces shone with the
pure white of old parchment But Haw-Haw gave his chief attention to the
legs and the heads of the skins, for these were the places where
carelessness or stupidity with the knife were sure to show; but the work
was perfect in every respect. Until even the critical Haw-Haw Langley
was forced to step back and shake his head in admiration. He continued
his survey of the room.
In one corner stood a rifle and a shot-gun; in another was a pile of
provisions--bacon, flour, salt, meal, and little else. Spices and
condiments were apparently unknown to this hermit; nor was there even
the inevitable coffee, nor any of the molasses or other sweets which the
tongue of the desert-mountainer cannot resist. Flour, meat, and water,
it seemed, made up the entire fare of the trapper. For cookery there was
an unboarded space in the very centre of the floor with a number of
rocks grouped around in the hole and blackened with soot. The smoke
must rise, therefore, and escape through the small hole in the centre of
the roof. The length of stove-pipe which showed on the roof must have
been simply the inhabitant's idea of giving the last delicate touch of
civilisation; it was like a tassel to the cap of the Turk.
As Haw-Haw's observations reached this point his sharp ear caught the
faint whinny of the big horse outside. He started like one caught in a
guilty act, and sprang to the lantern. However, with his hands upon it
he thought better of it, and he placed the light against the wall; then
he turned to the entrance and looked anxiously up the hillside.
What he saw was a form grotesque beyond belief. It seemed to be some
gigantic wild beast--mountain lion or great bear, though of a size
beyond credence--which slowly sprawled down the slope walking erect upon
its hind feet with its forelegs stretched out horizontal, as if it were
warning all who might behold it away. Haw-Haw grew pale and
involuntarily reached for his gun as he first beheld this apparition,
but instantly he saw the truth. It was a man who carried a burden down
the mountain-side. The burden was the carcass of a bear; the man had
drawn the forelegs over his shoulders--his jutting elbows making what
had seemed the outstretched arms--and above the head of the
burden-bearer rose the great head of the bear. As the man came closer
the animal's head flopped to one side and a red tongue lolled from its
mouth. Haw-Haw Langley moved back step by step through the cabin until
his shoulders struck the opposite wall, and at the same time Mac Strann
entered the room. He had no ear for his visitor's hail, but cast his
burden to the floor. It dropped with a shock that shook the house from
the rattling stove-pipe to the crackling boards. For a moment Mac Strann
regarded his prey. Then he stooped and drew open the great jaws. The
mouth within was not so red as the bloody hands of Mac Strann; and the
big, white fangs, for some reason, did not seem terrible in comparison
with the hunter. Having completed his survey he turned slowly upon
Haw-Haw Langley and lowered his eyebrows to stare.
So doing, the light for the first time struck full upon his face.
Haw-Haw Langley bit his thin lips and his eyes widened almost to the
normal.
For the ugliness of Mac Strann was that most terrible species of
ugliness--not disfigured features but a discord which pervaded the man
and came from within him--like a sound. Feature by feature his face was
not ugly. The mouth was very large, to be sure, and the jaw too heavily
square, and the nose needed somewhat greater length and less width for
real comeliness. The eyes were truly fine, being very large and black,
though when Mac Strann lowered his bush of brows his eyes were
practically reduced to gleams of light in the consequent shadow. There
was a sharp angle in his forehead, the lines of it meeting in the centre
and shelving up and down. One felt, unpleasantly, that there were heavy
muscles overlaying that forehead. One felt that to the touch it would be
a pad of flesh, and it gave to Mac Strann, more than any other feature,
a peculiar impression of resistless physical power.
In the catalogue of his features, indeed, there was nothing severely
objectionable; but out of it came a feeling of _too much strength!_ A
glance at his body reinsured the first thought. It was not normal. His
shirt bulged tightly at the shoulders with muscles. He was not
tall--inches shorter than his brother Jerry, for instance--but the bulk
of his body was incredible. His torso was a veritable barrel that bulged
out both in the chest and the back. And even the tremendous thighs of
Mac Strann were perceptibly bowed out by the weight which they had to
carry. And there was about his management of his arms a peculiar
awkwardness which only the very strongest of men exhibit--as if they
were burdened by the weight of their mere dangling hands.
This giant, having placed his eyes in shadow, peered for a long moment
at Haw-Haw Langley, but very soon his glance began to waver. It flashed
towards the wall--it came back and rested upon Langley again. He was
like a dog, restless under a steady stare. And as Haw-Haw Langley noted
this a glitter of joy came in his beady eyes.
"You're Jerry's man," said Mac Strann at length.
There was about his voice the same fleshy quality that was in his face;
it came literally from his stomach, and it made a peculiar rustling
sound such as comes after one has eaten sticky sweet things. People
could listen to the voice of Mac Strann and forget that he was speaking
words. The articulation ran together in a sort of glutinous mass.
"I'm a friend of Jerry's," said the other. "I'm Langley."
The big man stretched out his hand. The hair grew black, down to the
knuckles; the blood of the bear still streaked it; it was large enough
to be an organism with independent life. But when Langley, with some
misgiving, trusted his own bony fingers within that grasp, in was only
as if something fleshy, soft, and bloodless had closed over them. When
his hand was released he rubbed it covertly against his trowser leg--to
remove dirt--restore the circulation. He did not know why.
"Who's bothering Jerry?" asked Mac Strann. "And where is he?"
He went to the wall without waiting for an answer and took down the
saddle. Now the cowpuncher's saddle is a heavy mass of leather and
steel, and the saddle of Mac Strann was far larger than the ordinary.
Yet he took down the saddle as one might remove a card from a rack.
Haw-Haw Langley moved towards the door, to give himself a free space for
exit.
"Jerry's hurt," he said, and he watched.
There was a ripple of pain on the face of Mac Strann.
"Hoss kicked him--fall on him?" he asked.
"It weren't a hoss."
"Huh? A cow?"
"It weren't no cow. It weren't no animal."
Mac Strann faced full upon Langley. When he spoke it seemed as if it
were difficult for him to manage his lips. They lifted an appreciable
space before there was any sound.
"What was it?"
"A man."
Langley edged back towards the door.
"What with?"
"A gun."
And Langley saw the danger that was coming even before Mac Strann moved.
He gave a shrill yelp of terror and whirled and sprang for the open. But
Mac Strann sprang after him and reached. His whole body seemed to
stretch like an elastic thing, and his arm grew longer. The hand
fastened on the back of Langley, plucked him up, and jammed him against
the wall. Haw-Haw crumpled to the floor.
He gasped: "It weren't me, Mac. For Gawd's sake, it weren't me!"
His face was a study. There was abject terror in it, and yet there was
also a sort of grisly joy, and his eyes feasted on the silent agony of
Mac Strann.
"Where?" asked Mac Strann.
"Mac," pleaded the vulture who cringed on the floor, "gimme your word
you ain't goin' to hold it agin me."
"Tell me," said the other, and he framed the face of the vulture between
his large hands. If he pressed the heels of those hands together bones
would snap, and Haw-Haw Langley knew it. And yet nothing but a wild
delight could have set that glitter in his little eyes, just as nothing
but a palsy of terror could have set his limbs twitching so.
"Who shot him from behind?" demanded the giant.
"It wasn't from behind," croaked the bearer of ill-tidings. "It was from
the front."
"While he wasn't looking?"
"No. He was beat to the draw."
"You're _lyin'_ to me," said Mac Strann slowly.
"So help me God!" cried Langley.
"Who done it?"
"A little feller. He ain't half as big as me. He's got a voice like
Kitty Jackson, the school-marm; and he's got eyes like a starved
pup. It was him that done it."
The eyes of Mac Strann grew vaguely meditative.
"Nope," he mused, in answer to his own thoughts, "I won't use no rope.
I'll use my hands. Where'd the bullet land?"
A fresh agony of trembling shook Langley, and a fresh sparkle came in
his glance.
"Betwixt his ribs, Mac. And right on through. And it come out his back!"
But there was not an answering tremor in Mac Strann. He let his hands
fall away from the face of the vulture and he caught up the saddle.
Langley straightened himself. He peered anxiously at Strann, as if he
feared to miss something.
"I dunno whether he's livin' right now, or not," suggested Haw-Haw.
But Mac Strann was already striding through the door.
* * * * *
Sweat was pouring from the lather-flecked bodies of their horses when
they drew rein, at last, at the goal of their long, fierce ride; and
Haw-Haw slunk behind the broad form of Mac Strann when the latter strode
into the hotel. Then the two started for the room in which, they were
told, lay Jerry Strann.
"There it is," whispered Haw-Haw, as they reached the head of the
stairs. "The door's open. If he was dead the door would be closed, most
like."
They stood in the hall and looked in upon a strange picture, for flat in
the bed lay Jerry Strann, his face very white and oddly thin, and over
him leaned the man who had shot him down.
They heard Dan Barry's soft, gentle voice query: "How you feelin' now,
partner?"
He leaned close beside the other, his fingers upon the wrist of Jerry.
"A pile better," muttered Jerry Strann. "Seems like I got more'n a
fightin' chance to pull through now."
"Jest you keep lyin' here quiet," advised Dan Barry, "and don't stir
around none. Don't start no worryin'. You're goin' to live's long as you
don't lose no more blood. Keep your thoughts quiet. They ain't no cause
for you to do nothin' but jest keep your eyes closed, and breathe, and
think of yaller sunshine, and green grass in the spring, and the wind
lazyin' the clouds along across the sky. That's all you got to think
about. Jest keep quiet, partner."
"It's easy to do it now you're with me. Seems like they's a pile of
strength runnin' into me from the tips of your fingers, my frien'.
And--I was _some_ fool to start that fight with you, Barry."
"Jest forget all that," murmured the other. "And keep your voice down.
I've forgot it; you forget it. It ain't never happened."
"What's it mean?" frowned Mac Strann, whispering to Haw-Haw.
The eyes of the latter glittered like beads.
"That's him that shot Jerry," said Haw-Haw. "Him!"
"Hell!" snarled Mac Strann, and went through the door.
At the first sound of his heavy footfall, the head of Barry raised and
turned in a light, swift movement. The next instant he was on his feet.
A moment before his face had been as gentle as that of a mother leaning
over a sick child; but one glimpse of the threat in the contorted brows
of Mac Strann set a gleam in his own eyes, an answer as distinct as the
click of metal against metal. Not a word had been said, but Jerry, who
had lain with his eyes closed, seemed to sense a change in the
atmosphere of peace which had enwrapped him the moment before. His eyes
flashed open; and he saw his burly brother.
But Mac Strann had no eye for any saving Dan Barry.
"Are you the creepin', sneakin' snake that done--this?"
"You got me figured right," answered Dan coldly.
"Then, by God------" began the roaring voice of Mac, but Jerry Strann
stirred wildly on the bed.
"Mac!" he called, "Mac!" His voice went suddenly horribly thick, a
bubbling, liquid sound. "For God's sake, Mac!"
He had reared himself up on one elbow, his arm stretched out to his
brother. And a foam of crimson stood on his lips.
"Mac, don't pull no gun! It was me that was in wrong!"
And then he fell back in the bed, and into the arms of Mac, who was
beside him, moaning: "Buck up, Jerry. Talk to me, boy!"
"Mac, you've finished the job," came the husky whisper.
Mac Strann raised his head, and his terrible eyes fixed upon Dan Barry.
And there was no pity in the face of the other. The first threat had
wiped every vestige of human tenderness out of his eyes, and now, with
something like a sneer on his lips, and with a glimmer of yellow light
in his eyes, he was backing towards the door, and noiselessly as a
shadow he slipped out and was gone.