THE COMING OF NIGHT
It was not yet full dusk, for the shadows were still swinging out from
the mountains and a ghost of colour lingered in the west, but midnight
lay in the open eyes of Jerry Strann. There had been no struggle, no
outcry, no lifting of head or hand. One instant his eyes were closed,
and then, indeed, he looked like death; the next instant the eyes open,
he smiled, the wind stirred in his bright hair. He had never seemed so
happily alive as in the moment of his death. Fatty Matthews held the
mirror close to the faintly parted lips, examined it, and then drew
slowly back towards the door, his eyes steady upon Mac Strann.
"Mac," he said, "it's come. I got just this to say: whatever you do, for
God's sake stay inside the law!"
And he slipped through the door and was gone.
But Mac Strann did not raise his head or cast a glance after the
marshal. He sat turning the limp hand of Jerry back and forth in his
own, and his eyes wandered vaguely through the window and down to the
roofs of the village.
Night thickened perceptibly every moment, yet still while the eastern
slope of every roof was jet black, the western slopes were bright, and
here and there at the distance the light turned and waned on upper
windows. Sleep was coming over the world, and eternal sleep had come for
Jerry Strann.
It did not seem possible.
Some night at sea, when clouds hurtled before the wind across the sky
and when the waves leaped up mast-high; when some good ship staggered
with the storm, when hundreds were shrieking and yelling in fear or
defiance of death; there would have been a death-scene for Jerry Strann.
Or in the battle, when hundreds rush to the attack with one man in front
like the edge before the knife--there would have been a death-scene for
Jerry Strann. Or while he rode singing, a bolt of lightning that slew
and obliterated at once--such would have been a death for Jerry Strann.
It was not possible that he could die like this, with a smile. There was
something incompleted. The fury of the death-struggle which had been
omitted must take place, and the full rage of wrath and destruction must
be vented. Can a bomb explode and make no sound and do no injury?
Yet Jerry Strann was dead and all the world lived on. Someone cantered
his horse down the street and called gayly to an acquaintance, and
afterwards the dust rose, invisible, and blew through the open window
and stung the nostrils of Mac Strann. A child cried, faintly, in the
distance, and then was hushed by the voice of the mother, making a
sound like a cackling hen. This was all!
There should have been wailing and weeping and cursing and praying, for
handsome Jerry Strann was dead. Or there might have been utter and
dreadful silence and waiting for the stroke of vengeance, for the
brightest eye was misted and the strongest hand was unnerved and the
voice that had made them tremble was gone.
But there was neither silence nor weeping. Someone in a nearby kitchen
rattled her pans and then cursed a dog away from her back-door. Not that
any of the sounds were loud. The sounds of living are rarely loud, but
they run in an endless river--a monotone broken by ugly ripples of noise
to testify that men still sleep or waken, hunger or feed. Another ripple
had gone down to the sea of darkness, yet all the ripples behind it
chased on their way heedlessly and babbled neither louder nor softer.
There should have been some giant voice to peal over the sleeping
village and warn them of the coming vengeance--for Jerry Strann was
dead!
The tall, gaunt figure of Haw-Haw Langley came on tiptoe from behind,
beheld the dead face, and grinned; a nervous convulsion sent a long
ripple through his body, and his Adam's-apple rose and fell. Next he
stole sideways, inch by inch, so gradual was his cautious progress,
until he could catch a glimpse of Mac Strann's face. It was like the
open face of a child; there was in it no expression except wonder.
At length a hoarse voice issued from between the grinning lips of
Haw-Haw.
"Ain't you goin' to close the eyes, Mac?"
At this the great head of Mac Strann rolled back and he raised his
glance to Haw-Haw, who banished the grin from his mouth by a vicious
effort.
"Ain't he got to see his way?" asked Mac Strann, and lowered his glance
once more to the dead man. As for Haw-Haw Langley, he made a long,
gliding step back towards the door, and his beady eyes opened in terror;
yet a deadly fascination drew him back again beside the bed.
Mac Strann said: "Kind of looks like Jerry was ridin' the home trail,
Haw-Haw. See the way he's smilin'?"
The vulture stroked his lean cheeks and seemed once more to swallow his
silent mirth.
"And his hands," said Mac Strann, "is just like life, except that they's
gettin' sort of chilly. He don't look changed, none, does he, Haw-Haw?
Except that he's seein' something off there--away off there. Looks like
he was all wrapped up in it, eh?" He leaned closer, his voice fell to a
murmur that was almost soft. "Jerry, what you seein'?"
Haw-Haw Langley gasped in inaudible terror and retreated again towards
the door.
Mac Strann laid his giant hand on the shoulder of Jerry. He asked in a
raised voice: "Don't you hear me, lad?" Sudden terror caught hold of
him. He plunged to his knees beside the bed, and the floor quaked and
groaned under the shock. "Jerry, what's the matter? Are you mad at me?
Ain't you going to speak to me? Are you forgettin' me, Jerry?"
He caught the dead face between his hands and turned it strongly towards
his own. Then for a moment his eyes plumbed the shadows into which they
looked. He stumbled back to his feet and said apologetically to Haw-Haw
at the door: "I kind of forgot he wasn't livin', for a minute." He
stared fixedly at the gaunt cowpuncher. "Speakin' man to man, Haw-Haw,
d'you think Jerry will forget me?"
The terror was still white upon the face of Haw-Haw, but something
stronger than fear kept him in the room and even drew him a slow step
towards Mac Strann; and his eyes moved from the face of the dead man to
the face of the living and seemed to draw sustenance from both. He
moistened his lips and was able to speak.
"Forget you, Mac? Not if you get the man that fixed him."
"Would you want me to get him, Jerry?" asked Mac Strann. And he waited
for an answer.
"I dunno," he muttered, after a moment. "Jerry was always for fightin',
but he wasn't never for killin'. He never liked the way I done things.
And when he was lyin' here, Haw-Haw, he never said nothin' about me
gettin' Barry. Did he?"
Astonishment froze the lips of Haw-Haw. He managed to stammer: "Ain't
you going to get Barry? Ain't you goin' to bust him up, Mac?"
"I dunno," repeated the big man heavily. "Seems like I've got no heart
for killing. Seems like they's enough death in the world." He pressed
his hand against his forehead and closed his eyes. "Seems like they's
something dead in me. They's an ache that goes ringin' in my head.
They's a sort of hollow feelin' inside me. And I keep thinkin' about
times when I was a kid and got hurt and cried." He drew a deep breath.
"Oh, my God, Haw-Haw, I'd give most anything if I could bust out cryin'
now!"
While Mac Strann stood with his eyes closed, speaking his words slowly,
syllable by syllable, like the tolling of a bell, Haw-Haw Langley stood
with parted lips--like the spirit of famine drinking deep; joy
unutterable was glittering in his eyes.
"If Jerry'd wanted me to get this Barry, he'd of said so," repeated Mac
Strann. "But he didn't." He turned towards the dead face. "Look at Jerry
now. He ain't thinkin' about killin's. Nope, he's thinkin' about some
quiet place for sleep. I know the place. They's a spring that come out
in a holler between two mountains; and the wind blows up the valley all
the year; and they's a tree that stands over the spring. That's where
I'll put him. He loved the sound of runnin' water; and the wind'll be on
his face; and the tree'll sort of mark the place. Jerry, lad, would ye
like that?"
Now, while Mac Strann talked, inspiration came to Haw-Haw Langley, and
he stretched out his gaunt arms to it and gathered it in to his heart.
"Mac," he said, "don't you see no reason why Jerry wouldn't ask you to
go after Barry?"
"Eh?" queried Mac Strann, turning.
But as he turned, Haw-Haw Langley glided towards him, and behind him, as
if he found it easier to talk when the face of Mac was turned away. And
while he talked his hands reached out towards Mac Strann like one who is
begging for alms.
"Mac, don't you remember that Barry beat Jerry to the draw?"
"What's that to do with it?"
"But he beat him bad to the draw. I seen it. Barry _waited_ for Jerry.
Understand?"
"What of that?"
"Mac, you're blind! Jerry knowed you'd be throwing yourself away if you
went up agin Barry."
At this Mac Strann whirled with a suddenness surprising for one of his
bulk. Haw-Haw Langley flattened his gaunt frame against the wall.
"Mac!" he pleaded, "_I_ didn't say you'd be throwin' yourself away. It
was Jerry's idea."
"Did Jerry tell you that?" he asked.
"So help me God!"
"Did Jerry _want_ me to get Barry?"
"Why wouldn't he?" persisted the vulture, twisting his bony hands
together in an agony of alarm and suspense. "Ain't it nacheral, Mac?"
Mac Strann wavered where he stood.
"Somehow," he argued to himself, "it don't seem like killin' is right,
here."
The long hand of Langley touched his shoulder.
He whispered rapidly: "You remember last night when you was out of the
room for a minute? Jerry turned his head to me--jest the way he's lyin'
now--and I says: 'Jerry, is there anything I can do for you?'"
Mac Strann reached up and his big fingers closed over those of Haw-Haw.
"Haw-Haw," he muttered, "you was his frien'. I know that."
Haw-Haw gathered assurance.
He said: "Jerry answers to me: 'Haw-Haw, old pal, there ain't nothin'
you can do for me. I'm goin' West. But after I'm gone, keep Mac away
from Barry.'
"I says: 'Why, Jerry?"
"'Because Barry'll kill him, sure,' says Jerry.
"'I'll do what I can to keep him away from Barry,' says I, 'but don't
you want nothin' done to the man what killed you?'
"'Oh, Haw-Haw,' says Jerry, 'I ain't goin' to rest easy, I ain't goin'
to sleep in heaven--until I know Barry's been sent to hell. But for
God's sake don't let Mac know what I want, or he'd be sure to go after
Barry and get what I got.'"
Mac Strann crushed the hand of Haw-Haw in a terrible grip.
"Partner," he said, "d'you swear this is straight?"
"So help me God!" repeated the perjurer.
"Then," said Mac Strann, "I got to leave the buryin' to other men what
I'll hire. Me--I've got business on hand. Where did Barry run to?"
"He ain't run," cried Haw-Haw, choking with a strange emotion. "The
fool--the damned fool!--is waiting right down here in O'Brien's bar for
you to come. He's _darin'_ you to come!"
Mac Strann made no answer. He cast a single glance at the peaceful face
of Jerry, and then started for the door. Haw-Haw waited until the door
closed; then he wound his arms about his body, writhed in an ecstasy of
silent laughter, and followed with long, shambling strides.