THE THREE
The whistling came from behind the hotel, and although it ended as soon
as he reached the veranda of the building, Buck Daniels hurried to the
rear of the place. There were the long, low sheds of the barn, and
behind these, he knew, must be the corrals. He raced around the corner
of the shed and there came to a halt, for he saw a thing that turned his
blood to ice.
One of those rare rains of the mountain-desert had recently fallen and
the corrals behind the barn were carpeted with a short, thick grass. In
the small corral nearest him he beheld, rolling on that carpet of grass,
a great wolf--or a dog as large and as rough-coated as a wolf, and a
man; and they were engaged in a desperate and silent struggle for
mastery. Their movements were so lightning fast that Buck Daniels could
not make out distinct forms from the tangle. But he saw the great white
teeth of the wolf flash in the sun one instant, and the next the man had
whirled on top. It was Dan and Bart at play.
No outcry from Dan; no growl from the wolf. Buck felt the old chill
which never left him when he saw the fierce game of the wolf and the
wolf-man. All this passed in the twinkling of an eye, and then Dan, by a
prodigious effort, had thrown the great beast away from him, so that
Bart fell upon its back. Dan leaped with outstretched arms upon the
fallen animal, and buried his clutching hands in the throat of the
beast.
Yet still there was a thrill to add to these, for now a black horse
appeared in the picture, a miracle of slender, shimmering grace--and he
rushed with flattened ears upon the two twisting, writhing, prostrate
figures. His teeth were bared--he was more like a prodigious dog than a
horse. And those teeth closed on the back of the man's neck--or did they
merely pinch his shirt?--and then Dan was dragged bodily away from the
wolf and thrown through the air by a flirt of the stallion's head.
Horrible! Buck Daniels shuddered and then he grinned shamefacedly in
apology to himself.
"The three of 'em!" he grunted, and stepped closer to the fence to
watch.
The instant the man was torn away by the intercession of the horse, the
wolf regained its feet and rushed upon him; but Dan had landed from his
fall upon his feet, with catlike agility, and now he dodged the rush of
the wolf and the arrowy spring of the creature, and sprang in his turn
towards the stallion.
The black met this attack by rearing, his ears flattened, his teeth
bared, his eyes terrible to behold. As the man raced close the stallion
struck with lightning hoofs, but the blow failed of its mark--by the
breadth of a hair. And the assailant, swerving like a will-o'-the-wisp,
darted to the side of the animal and leaped upon its back. At the same
instant the wolf left the ground with terribly gaping mouth in a spring
for the rider; but Dan flattened himself along the shining back of his
mount and the wolf catapulted harmlessly past.
After this failure the wolf-dog seemed to desire no further active part
in the struggle, but took up a position to one side, and there, with
lolling tongue and red-stained eyes, watched the battle continue. The
stallion, to be sure, kept up the conflict with a whole-hearted energy.
Never had Buck Daniels in a long and varied career seen such wild
pitching. The black leaped here and there, doubling about with the
sinuous speed of a snake, springing high in the air one instant, and
landing the next on stiff legs; dropping to the ground the next second,
and rolling to crush the rider; up again like a leaf jerked up by a gale
of wind, and so the fierce struggle continued, with the wild rider
slapping the neck of the horse as if he would encourage it to more
terrible efforts, and drumming its round barrel with vindictive heels.
His hair blew black; his face flushed; and in his eyes there was the joy
of the sailor, long land-bound, who climbs at last the tallest mast and
feels it pitch beneath him and catches the sharp tang of the travelled
wind.
The struggle ceased as if in obedience to an inaudible command. From the
full frenzy of motion horse and man were suddenly moveless. Then Dan
slipped from his seat and stood before his mount. At once the ears of
the stallion, which had been flat back, pricked sharply forward; the
eyes of the animal grew luminous and soft as the eyes of a woman, and he
dropped the black velvet of his muzzle beneath the master's chin. As for
Dan Barry, he rewarded this outburst of affection with no touch of his
hand; but his lips moved, and he seemed to be whispering a secret to his
horse. The wolf in the meantime had viewed this scene with growing
unrest, and now it trotted up and placed itself at the side of the man.
Receiving no attention in this position, it caught the arm of the man
between its great fangs and drew his hands down. The stallion, angered
by this interruption, raised a delicate forefoot to strike, and was
received with a terrific snarl--the first sound of the entire scene.
"Bart," said the man, and his voice was not raised or harsh, but came as
softly as running water, "if you ain't going to be a gentleman, I got
to teach you manners. Get up on Satan's back and lie down till I tell
you to get off."
The wolf received this command with a snarl even more blood-curdling
than before, but he obeyed, slinking sidewise a reluctant pace or two,
and then springing to the back of the stallion with a single bound.
There he crouched, still snarling softly until his master raised a
significant forefinger. At that he lowered his head and maintained a
fiercely observant silence.
"Dan!" called Buck Daniels.
The other whirled.
"Speakin' of pets," observed Buck Daniels, "I heard tell once about a
gent that had a tame lion. Which you got the outbeatingest pair I ever
see, Dan. Gentle, ain't they, like a stampede of cows!"
But Barry left this remark unanswered. He ran to the tall fence, placed
his hand on the top rail, and vaulted lightly over it. Then he clasped
the hand of the larger man, and his face lighted.
"Buck," he said, "I been sort of lonesome. It feels pretty good to see
you agin."
"Oh man," answered Buck Daniels, "speakin' of bein' lonesome------" He
checked himself. "How about steppin' inside and havin' a talk?"
The other started forward agreeably, but stopped almost at once.
"Heel!" he called, without turning his head.
Black Bart left the back of the stallion in a long bound that carried
him half way to the fence. His next leap brought him over the rail and
beside his master. Buck Daniels moved back a step involuntarily.
"Bart," he said, "d'you know me?"
He stretched out his hand; and was received with a sudden baring of the
fangs.
"Nice dog!" said Buck sarcastically. "Regular house-pet, ain't he?"
The other apparently missed the entire point of this remark. He said in
his gentle, serious way: "He used to be real wild, Buck. But now he
don't mind people. He let the cook feed him a chunk o' meat the other
day; and you remember he don't usually touch stuff that other men have
handled."
"Yep," grunted Buck, "it's sure disgustin' to have a dog as tame as
that. I'd bet he ain't killed another dog for a whole day, maybe!"
And still Barry saw no irony in this.
He answered, as gravely as before: "No, it was the day before yesterday.
Somebody come to town and got drunk. He had two dogs, and sicked 'em on
Bart."
Buck Daniels controlled an incipient shudder.
"Both dead?"
"I was inside the house," said Dan sadly, "and it took me a couple of
seconds to get outside. Of course by that time Bart had cut their
throats."
"Of course. Didn't the drunk guy try to pot Bart?"
"Yes, he got out his gun; but, Mr. O'Brien, the bartender, persuaded him
out of it. I was glad there wasn't no trouble."
"My God!" exclaimed Buck Daniels. And then: "Well, let's go inside.
We'll take your man-eater along, if you want to."
A shadow came in the eyes of Barry.
"Can't we talk jest as well out here?"
"What's the matter with findin' some chairs?"
"Because I don't like to get inside walls. You know how four walls seem
like so many pairs of eyes standin' around you?"
"No," said Buck bluntly, "I don't know nothin' of the kind. What d'you
mean?"
"I dunno," answered Barry, depressed. "It jest seems that way. Ain't you
noticed how sort of close it is in a house? Hard to breathe? Like you had
on a shirt too small for you."
"We'll stay out here, then."
The other nodded, smiled, and made a gesture to the dog behind him.
Black Bart crouched on the ground, and Dan Barry sat down cross-legged,
his shoulders leaning against the shaggy pelt of Bart. Daniels followed
the example with less grace. He was thinking very hard and fast, and he
rolled a Durham cigarette to fill the interlude.
"I s'pose you're bustin' to find out the news about the folks," he said
dryly, at last.
The other sat with his hands loosely clasped in his lap. His wide eyes
looked far away, and there was about his lips that looseness, that lack
of compression, which one sees so often in children. He might have sat,
in that posture, for the statue of thoughtlessness.
"What folks?" he asked at last
Buck Daniels had lighted a match, but now he sat staring blank until the
match burned down to his fingers. With an oath he tossed the remnant
away and lighted another. He had drawn down several long breaths of
smoke to the bottom of his lungs before he could speak again.
"Some people you used to know; I suppose you've forgotten all about 'em,
eh?" His eyes narrowed; there was a spark of something akin to dread in
them. "Kate Cumberland?" he queried.
A light came in the face of Dan Barry.
"Kate Cumberland?" he repeated. "How is she, Buck? Lately, I been
thinkin' about her every day."
A trembling took the body and the voice of Daniels; his errand, after
all, might meet some success.
"Kate?" he repeated. "Oh, ay, she's well enough. But Joe Cumberland
ain't."
"No?"
"He's dyin' Dan."
And Dan replied calmly. "He's kind of old, I s'pose."
"Old?" said Buck, with a sort of horror. "Yes, he's old, right enough.
D'you know why he's dying? It's because you went away the way you done,
Dan. That's what's killin' him."
Something of thought came in the face of Barry.
"Maybe I understand," he said slowly. "If I was to lose Satan, or
Bart--" here the great dog whined at the mention of his name, and Barry
dropped a slender hand across the scarred forehead of his servant. "If I
was to lose 'em, I'd sort of mourn for 'em, maybe."
Buck Daniels set his teeth.
"I don't suppose it seems possible," he said, "that a man could miss
another man the way you could miss your--dog, eh? But it is! Joe
Cumberland is dying for you, Dan, as sure as if you'd put a bullet in
his bowels."
The other hesitated and then frowned and made a gesture of vague
dismissal.
"Don't you figure on doin' nothing about it?" asked Buck softly.
"What could I do?"
"My God A'mighty, ain't you got no human feelin's?"
"I dunno what you mean," said the soft voice.
"This! Can't you git on your hoss and ride back with me to Cumberland
Ranch? Stay with the old man till he gets back on his feet. Ain't that
easy to do? Is your time so damned valuable you can't spare a few days
for that?"
"But I am goin' back," answered Dan, in a rather hurt voice. "They ain't
no need for cussin' me, Buck. I been thinkin' of Kate, every day,
almost."
"Since when?"
"I dunno." Dan stirred uneasily. He looked up, and far above Buck,
following the direction of Dan's eyes, saw a pattern of wild geese. "I
been sort of driftin' North towards the Cumberland Ranch and Kate," went
on Dan. He sighed: "I been thinkin' of her eyes, which is blue, Buck,
and her hair, and the soft sound of her voice. They been hangin' in my
ears, stayin' behind my eyes, lately, and I been driftin' up that way
steady."
"Why, man," cried Buck, "then what's there to keep you here? Jump on
your hoss, and we'll head North in ten minutes."
"I will!" said Dan, full as eagerly. "We'll start full speed."
"Come on, then."
"Wait a minute!" said Dan, his voice growing suddenly cold. "I been
forgettin' something."
Buck Daniels turned and found his companion strangely changed. There was
a set expression of coldness about his face, and a chill glitter in his
eyes.
"I got to wait here for something."
"What's that?"
"They's a man in town that may want to see me."
"Mac Strann! I've heard about him. Dan, are you goin' to let Joe
Cumberland die because you want to stay here and fight it out with a
dirty cutthroat?"
"I don't want to fight," protested Barry. "No, there ain't nothin' I
like less than fightin'!"
Buck Daniels cursed softly and continuously to himself.
"Dan," he said, "can you sit there and lie like that to me? Ain't I seen
you in action? Don't I remember the way you trailed Jim Silent? Don't I
remember how we all got down and prayed you to keep away from Jim? Don't
I remember how you threw everything to hell so's you could get your
hands on Jim? My God A'mighty, man, didn't I see your face when you had
your fingers in Silent's throat?"
An expression of unutterable revulsion rippled over the face of Dan
Barry.
"Stop!" he commanded softly, and raised his slender hand. "Don't keep on
talkin' about it. It makes me sick--all through. Oh, Buck, they's a
tingle in the tips of my fingers still from the time I had 'em in his
throat. And it makes me feel unclean--the sort of uncleanness that won't
wash out with no kind of soap and water. Buck, I'd most rather die
myself than fight a man!"
A vast amazement overspread the countenance of Buck Daniels as he
listened to this outburst; it was as if he had heard a healthy man
proclaim that he had no desire for bread and meat. Something rose to his
lips, but he swallowed it.
"Then it looks kind of simple to me," he said. "You hate fightin'. This
gent Mac Strann likes it; he lives on it; he don't do nothing but wait
from day to day hungerin' for a scrap. What's the out? Jest this! You
hop on your hoss and ride out with me. Young Jerry Strann kicks out--Mac
Strann starts lookin' for you--he hears that you've beat it--he goes off
and forgets about you. Ain't that simple?"
The old uneasiness returned to the far-seeing eyes of Dan Barry.
"I dunno," he said, "maybe----"
Then he paused again.
"Have you got anything to say agin it?" urged Buck, arguing desperately.
"I dunno," repeated Barry, confused, "except that I keep thinking what a
terrible disappointment it'll be to this Mac Strann when his brother
dies and I ain't around."
Buck Daniels stared, blinked, and then burst into unmelodious laughter.
Satan trotted across the corral and raised his head above the fence,
whinnying softly. Barry turned his head and smiled up to the horse.
Then he said: "Seems like if Jerry Strann dies I owe somebody something.
Who? Mac Strann, I reckon. I sort of got to stay and give him his
chance."
"I hope to God," burst out Daniels, smashing his hands together, "that
Mac Strann beats you to a pulp! That's what I hope!"
The eyes of Dan Barry widened.
"Why d'you hope that?" he asked gently.
It brought Daniels again to speechlessness.
"Is it possible?" he growled to himself. "Are you a human bein' and yet
you think more of your hoss and your damned wolf-dog than you do of the
life of a man? Dan, I'm askin' you straight, is that a square thing to
do?"
The fragile hands went out to him, palm up.
"Don't you see, Buck? I don't want to be this way. I jest can't help
it!"
"Then the Lord help poor old Joe Cumberland--him that took you in out of
the desert--him that raised you from the time you was a kid--him that
nursed you like you was his own baby--him that loved you more'n he loved
Kate--him that's lyin' back there now with fire in his eyes, waitin',
waitin', waitin', for you to come back. Dan, if you was to see him you'd
go down on your knees and ask him to forgive you!"
"I s'pose I would," murmured Barry thoughtfully.
"Dan, you're goin' to go with me!"
"I don't somehow think its my time for movin', Buck."
"Is that all you got to say to me?"
"I guess maybe it is, Buck."
"If I was to beg you to come for old-time's sake, and all we been
through together, you and me, wouldn't it make no difference to you?"
The large, gentle eyes focused far beyond Buck Daniels, somewhere on a
point in the pale, hazy blue of the spring sky.
"I'm kind of tired of talkin', Buck," he said at length.
And Buck Daniels rose and walked slowly away, with his head fallen.
Behind him the stallion neighed suddenly and loud, and it was so much
like a blast of defiant triumph that Buck whirled and shook his clenched
fist at Satan.