PARTNERS
Dust powdered his hat and clothes as Tex Calder trotted his horse
north across the hills. His face was a sickly grey, and his black
hair might have been an eighteenth century wig, so thoroughly was it
disguised. It had been a long ride. Many a long mile wound back behind
him, and still the cattle pony, with hanging head, stuck to its task.
Now he was drawing out on a highland, and below him stretched the
light yellow-green of the willows of the bottom land. He halted his
pony and swung a leg over the horn of his saddle. Then he rolled a
cigarette, and while he inhaled it in long puffs he scanned the trees
narrowly. Miles across, and stretching east and west farther than his
eye could reach, extended the willows. Somewhere in that wilderness
was the gang of Jim Silent. An army corps might have been easily
concealed there.
If he was not utterly discouraged in the beginning of his search, it
was merely because the rangers of the hills and plains are taught
patience almost as soon as they learn to ride a horse. He surveyed the
yellow-green forest calmly. In the west the low hanging sun turned
crimson and bulged at the sides into a clumsy elipse. He started down
the slope at the same dog-trot which the pony had kept up all day.
Just before he reached the skirts of the trees he brought his horse to
a sudden halt and threw back his head. It seemed to him that he heard
a faint whistling.
He could not be sure. It was so far off and unlike any whistling he
had ever heard before, that he half guessed it to be the movement of a
breeze through the willows, but the wind was hardly strong enough to
make this sound. For a full five minutes he listened without moving
his horse. Then came the thing for which he waited, a phrase of melody
undoubtedly from human lips.
What puzzled him most was the nature of the music. As he rode closer
to the trees it grew clearer. It was unlike any song he had ever
heard. It was a strange improvisation with a touch of both melancholy
and savage exultation running through it. Calder found himself nodding
in sympathy with the irregular rhythm.
It grew so clear at last that he marked with some accuracy the
direction from which it came. If this was Silent's camp, it must be
strongly guarded, and he should approach the place more cautiously
than he could possibly do on a horse. Accordingly he dismounted, threw
the reins over the pony's head, and started on through the willows.
The whistling became louder and louder. He moved stealthily from tree
to tree, for he had not the least idea when he would run across a
guard. The whistling ceased, but the marshal was now so near that he
could follow the original direction without much trouble. In a few
moments he might distinguish the sound of voices. If there were two or
three men in the camp he might be able to surprise them and make his
arrest. If the outlaws were many, at least he could lie low near
the camp and perhaps learn the plans of the gang. He worked his way
forward more and more carefully. At one place he thought a shadowy
figure slipped through the brush a short distance away. He poised his
gun, but lowered it again after a moment's thought. It must have
been a stir of shadows. No human being could move so swiftly or so
noiselessly.
Nevertheless the sight gave him such a start that he proceeded with
even greater caution. He was crouched close to the ground. Every inch
of it he scanned carefully before he set down a foot, fearful of the
cracking of a fallen twig. Like most men when they hunt, he began to
feel that something followed him. He tried to argue the thought out of
his brain, but it persisted, and grew stronger. Half a dozen times he
whirled suddenly with his revolver poised. At last he heard a stamp
which could come from nothing but the hoof of a horse. The sound
dispelled his fears. In another moment he would be in sight of the
camp.
"Do you figger you'll find it?" asked a quiet voice behind him.
He turned and looked into the steady muzzle of a Colt. Behind that
revolver was a thin, handsome face with a lock of jet black hair
falling over the forehead. Calder knew men, and now he felt a strange
absence of any desire to attempt a gun-play.
"I was just taking a stroll through the willows," he said, with a
mighty attempt at carelessness.
"Oh," said the other. "It appeared to me you was sort of huntin' for
something. You was headed straight for my hoss."
Calder strove to find some way out. He could not. There was no waver
in the hand that held that black gun. The brown eyes were decidedly
discouraging to any attempt at a surprise. He felt helpless for the
first time in his career.
"Go over to him, Bart," said the gentle voice of the stranger. "Stand
fast!"
The last two words, directed to Calder came, with a metallic hardness,
for the marshal started as a great black dog slipped from behind a
tree and slunk towards him. This was the shadow which moved more
swiftly and noiselessly than a human being.
"Keep back that damned wolf," he said desperately.
"He ain't goin' to hurt you," said the calm voice. "Jest toss your gun
to the ground."
There was nothing else for it. Calder dropped his weapon with the butt
towards Whistling Dan.
"Bring it here, Bart," said the latter.
The big animal lowered his head, still keeping his green eyes upon
Calder, took up the revolver in his white fangs, and glided back to
his master.
"Jest turn your back to me, an' keep your hands clear of your body,"
said Dan.
Calder obeyed, sweating with shame. He felt a hand pat his pockets
lightly in search for a hidden weapon, and then, with his head
slightly turned, he sensed the fact that Dan was dropping his revolver
into its holster. He whirled and drove his clenched fist straight at
Dan's face.
What happened then he would never forget to the end of his life.
Calder's weapon still hung in Dan's right hand, but the latter made no
effort to use it. He dropped the gun, and as Calder's right arm shot
out, it was caught at the wrist, and jerked down with a force that
jarred his whole body.
"Down, Bart!" shouted Dan. The great wolf checked in the midst of his
leap and dropped, whining with eagerness, at Calder's feet. At the
same time the marshal's left hand was seized and whipped across his
body. He wrenched away with all his force. He might as well have
struggled with steel manacles. He was helpless, staring into eyes
which now glinted with a yellow light that sent a cold wave tingling
through his blood.
The yellow gleam died; his hands were loosed; but he made no move to
spring at Dan's throat. Chill horror had taken the place of his shame,
and the wolf-dog still whined at his feet with lips grinned back from
the long white teeth.
"Who in the name of God are you?" he gasped, and even as he spoke
the truth came to him--the whistling--the panther-like speed of
hand--"Whistling Dan Barry."
The other frowned.
"If you didn't know my name why were you trailin' me?"
"I wasn't after you," said Calder.
"You was crawlin' along like that jest for fun? Friend, I figger to
know you. You been sent out by the tall man to lay for me."
"What tall man?" asked Calder, his wits groping.
"The one that swung the chair in Morgan's place," said Dan. "Now
you're goin' to take me to your camp. I got something to say to him."
"By the Lord!" cried the marshal, "you're trailing Silent."
Dan watched him narrowly. It was hard to accuse those keen black eyes
of deceit.
"I'm trailin' the man who sent you out after me," he asserted with a
little less assurance.
Calder tore open the front of his shirt and pushed back one side of
it. Pinned there next to his skin was his marshal's badge.
He said: "My name's Tex Calder."
It was a word to conjure with up and down the vast expanse of the
mountain-desert. Dan smiled, and the change of expression made him
seem ten years younger.
"Git down, Bart. Stand behind me!" The dog obeyed sullenly. "I've
heard a pile of men talk about you, Tex Calder." Their hands and their
eyes met. There was a mutual respect in the glances. "An' I'm a pile
sorry for this."
He picked up the gun from the ground and extended it butt first to the
marshal, who restored it slowly to the holster. It was the first time
it had ever been forced from his grasp.
"Who was it you talked about a while ago?" asked Dan.
"Jim Silent."
Dan instinctively dropped his hand back to his revolver.
"The tall man?"
"The one you fought with in Morgan's place."
The unpleasant gleam returned to Dan's eyes.
"I thought there was only one reason why he should die, but now I see
there's a heap of 'em."
Calder was all business.
"How long have you been here?" he asked.
"About a day."
"Have you seen anything of Silent here among the willows?"
"No."
"Do you think he's still here?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"I dunno. I'll stay here till I find him among the trees or he breaks
away into the open."
"How'll you know when he leaves the willows?"
Whistling Dan was puzzled.
"I dunno," he answered. "Somethin' will tell me when he gets far away
from me--he an' his men."
"It's an inner sense, eh? Like the smell of the bloodhound?" said
Calder, but his eyes were strangely serious.
"This day's about done," he went on. "Have you any objections to me
camping with you here?"
Not a cowpuncher within five hundred miles but would be glad of such
redoubted company. They went back to Calder's horse.
"We can start for my clearing," said Dan. "Bart'll bring the hoss.
Fetch him in."
The wolf took the dangling bridle reins and led on the cowpony. Calder
observed his performance with starting eyes, but he was averse to
asking questions. In a few moments they came out on a small open
space. The ground was covered with a quantity of dried bunch grass
which a glorious black stallion was cropping. Now he tossed up his
head so that some of his long mane fell forward between his ears and
at sight of Calder his ears dropped back and his eyes blazed, but when
Dan stepped from the willows the ears came forward again with a
whinny of greeting. Calder watched the beautiful animal with all the
enthusiasm of an expert horseman. Satan was untethered; the saddle and
bridle lay in a corner of the clearing; evidently the horse was a pet
and would not leave its master. He spoke gently and stepped forward to
caress the velvet shining neck, but Satan snorted and started away,
trembling with excitement.
"How can you keep such a wild fellow as this without hobbling him?"
asked Calder.
"He ain't wild," said Dan.
"Why, he won't let me put a hand on him."
"Yes, he will. Steady, Satan!"
The stallion stood motionless with the veritable fires of hell in his
eyes as Calder approached. The latter stopped.
"Not for me," he said. "I'd rather rub the moustache of the lion in
the zoo than touch that black devil!"
Bart at that moment led in the cowpony and Calder started to remove
the saddle. He had scarcely done so and hobbled his horse when he was
startled by a tremendous snarling and snorting. He turned to see the
stallion plunging hither and thither, striking with his fore-hooves,
while around him, darting in and out under the driving feet, sprang
the great black wolf, his teeth clashing like steel on steel. In
another moment they might sink in the throat of the horse! Calder,
with an exclamation of horror, whipped out his revolver, but checked
himself at the very instant of firing. The master of the two animals
stood with arms folded, actually smiling upon the fight!
"For God's sake!" cried the marshal. "Shoot the damned wolf, man, or
he'll have your horse by the throat!"
"Leave 'em be," said Dan, without turning his head. "Satan an' Black
Bart ain't got any other dogs an' hosses to run around with. They's
jest playing a little by way of exercise."
Calder stood agape before what seemed the incarnate fury of the pair.
Then he noticed that those snapping fangs, however close they came,
always missed the flesh of the stallion, and the driving hoofs never
actually endangered the leaping wolf.
"Stop 'em!" he cried at last. "It makes me nervous to watch that sort
of play. It isn't natural!"
"All right," said Dan. "Stop it, boys."
He had not raised his voice, but they ceased their wild gambols
instantly, the stallion, with head thrown high and arched tail and
heaving sides, while the wolf, with lolling red tongue, strolled
calmly towards his master.
The latter paid no further attention to them, but set about kindling a
small fire over which to cook supper. Calder joined him. The marshal's
mind was too full for speech, but now and again he turned a long
glance of wonder upon the stallion or Black Bart. In the same silence
they sat under the last light of the sunset and ate their supper.
Calder, with head bent, pondered over the man of mystery and his two
tamed animals. Tamed? Not one of the three was tamed, the man least of
all.
He saw Dan pause from his eating to stare with wide, vacant eyes among
the trees. The wolf-dog approached, looked up in his master's face,
whined softly, and getting no response went back to his place and lay
down, his eyes never moving from Dan. Still he stared among the trees.
The gloom deepened, and he smiled faintly. He began to whistle, a low,
melancholy strain so soft that it blended with the growing hush of the
night. Calder listened, wholly overawed. That weird music seemed an
interpretation of the vast spaces of the mountains, of the pitiless
desert, of the limitless silences, and the whistler was an
understanding part of the whole.
He became aware of a black shadow behind the musician. It was Satan,
who rested his nose on the shoulder of the master. Without ceasing his
whistling Dan raised a hand, touched the small muzzle, and Satan went
at once to a side of the clearing and lay down. It was almost as if
the two had said good-night! Calder could stand it no longer.
"Dan, I've got to talk to you," he began.
The whistling ceased; the wide brown eyes turned to him.
"Fire away--partner."
Ay, they had eaten together by the same fire--they had watched the
coming of the night--they had shaken hands in friendship--they were
partners. He knew deep in his heart that no human being could ever
be the actual comrade of this man. This lord of the voiceless desert
needed no human companionship; yet as the marshal glanced from the
black shadow of Satan to the gleaming eyes of Bart, and then to
the visionary face of Barry, he felt that he had been admitted by
Whistling Dan into the mysterious company. The thought stirred him
deeply. It was as if he had made an alliance with the wandering wind.
Why he had been accepted he could not dream, but he had heard the word
"partner" and he knew it was meant. After all, stranger things
than this happen in the mountain-desert, where man is greater and
convention less. A single word has been known to estrange lifelong
comrades; a single evening beside a camp-fire has changed foes to
partners. Calder drew his mind back to business with a great effort.
"There's one thing you don't know about Jim Silent. A reward of ten
thousand dollars lies on his head. The notices aren't posted yet."
Whistling Dan shrugged his shoulders.
"I ain't after money," he answered.
Calder frowned. He did not appreciate a bluff.
"Look here," he said, "if we kill him, because no power on earth will
take him alive--we'll split the money."
"If you lay a hand on him," said Dan, without emotion, "we won't be
friends no longer, I figger."
Calder stared.
"If you don't want to get him," he said, "why in God's name are you
trailing him this way?"
Dan touched his lips. "He hit me with his fist."
He paused, and spoke again with a drawling voice that gave his words
an uncanny effect.
"My blood went down from my mouth to my chin. I tasted it. Till I get
him there ain't no way of me forgettin' him."
His eyes lighted with that ominous gleam.
"That's why no other man c'n put a hand on him. He's laid out all for
me. Understand?"
The ring of the question echoed for a moment through Calder's mind.
"I certainly do," he said with profound conviction, "and I'll never
forget it." He decided on a change of tactics. "But there are other
men with Jim Silent and those men will fight to keep you from getting
to him."
"I'm sorry for 'em," said Dan gently. "I ain't got nothin' agin any
one except the big man."
Calder took a long breath.
"Don't you see," he explained carefully, "if you shoot one of these
men you are simply a murderer who must be apprehended by the law and
punished."
"It makes it bad for me, doesn't it?" said Dan. "An' I hope I won't
have to hurt more'n one or two of 'em. You see,"--he leaned forward
seriously towards Calder--"I'd only shoot for their arms or their
legs. I wouldn't spoil them altogether."
Calder threw up his hands in despair. Black Bart snarled at the
gesture.
"I can't listen no more," said Dan. "I got to start explorin' the
willows pretty soon."
"In the dark?" exclaimed Calder.
"Sure. Black Bart'll go with me. The dark don't bother him."
"I'll go along."
"I'd rather be alone. I might meet him."
"Any way you want," said Calder, "but first hear my plan--it doesn't
take long to tell it."
The darkness thickened around them while he talked. The fire died
out--the night swallowed up their figures.