MCGURK
The mirth died and in its place came a long silence. Jim Boone stared
upon Pierre with miserable eyes, and then rose and left the room. The
others one by one followed his example. Dick Wilbur in passing dropped
his hand on Pierre's shoulder. Jacqueline was silent.
As he sat there minute after minute and then hour after hour of the
long night Pierre saw the meaning of it. If they sent word that they
would not give up Pierre it was war, and war with McGurk had only one
ending. If they sent word that Pierre was surrendered the shame would
never leave Boone and his men.
Whatever they did there was ruin for them in the end. All this Pierre
conned slowly in his mind, until he was cold. Then he looked up and
saw that the lamp had burned out and that the wood in the fireplace was
consumed to a few red embers.
He replenished the fire, and when the yellow flames began to mount he
made his resolution and walked slowly up and down the floor with it.
For he knew that he must go to meet McGurk.
The very thought of the man sent the old chill through his blood, yet
he must go and face him and end the thing.
It came over him with a pang that he was very young; that life was
barely a taste in his mouth, whether bitter or sweet he could not tell.
He picked a flaming stick from the fire and went before a little round
mirror on the wall.
Back at him stared the face of a boy. He had seen so much of the grim
six in the last day that the contrast startled him. They were men,
hardened to life and filled with knowledge of it. They were books
written full and ready to be ended. But he? He was a blank page with
a scribbled word here and there. Nevertheless, he was chosen and he
must go.
Having reached that decision he closed his mind on what would happen.
There was a vague fear that when he faced McGurk he would be unmanned
again and frozen with fear; that his spirit would be broken and he
would become a thing too despicable for a man to kill.
One thing was certain: if he was to act a man's part and die a man's
death he must not stand long before McGurk. It seemed to him then that
he would die happy if he had the strength to fire one shot before the
end.
Then he tiptoed from the house and went over the snow to the barn and
saddled the horse of Hal Boone. It was already morning, and as he led
the horse to the door of the barn a shadow, a faint shadow in that
early light, fell across the snow before him.
He looked up and saw Jacqueline. She stepped close, and the horse
nosed her shoulder affectionately.
She said: "Isn't there anything that will keep you from going?"
"It's just a little ride before breakfast. I'll be back in an hour."
It was foolish to try to blind her, as he saw by her wan, unchildish
smile.
"Is there no other way, Pierre?"
"I don't know of any, do you?"
"You have to leave us, and never come back?"
"Is he as sure as that, Jack?"
"Sure? Who?"
She had not known, after all; she thought that he was merely riding
away from the region where McGurk was king. Now she caught his wrists
and shook them.
"Pierre, you are not going to face McGurk? Pierre!"
It was sweet and bitter-sweet that the child should wish him to stay,
and it made the heart of Pierre old and stern to look down on her.
"If you were a man, you would understand."
"I know; because of your father. I do understand, but oh, Pierre, it
makes me so unhappy--so terribly sad, Pierre."
Inspiration made her catch her breath.
"Listen! I can shoot as straight as almost any man. We will ride down
together. We will go through the doors together--me first to take his
fire, and you behind to shoot him down."
"I guess no man can be as brave as a woman, Jack. No; I have to see
McGurk alone. He faced my father alone and shot him down. I'll face
McGurk alone and live long enough to put my mark on him."
"But you don't know him. He can't be hurt. Do you think my father
and--and Dick Wilbur would fear any man who could be hurt? No, but
McGurk has been in a hundred fights and never been touched. There's a
charm over him, don't you see?"
"I'll break the charm, that's all."
"You're only a boy, Pierre."
"I, also, carry a charm with me. Good-by."
He was up in the saddle.
"Then I'll call dad--I'll call them all--if you die they shall all
follow you. I swear they shall, Pierre!"
He merely leaned forward and touched the horse with his spurs, but
after he had raced the first hundred yards he glanced back. She was
running hard for the house, and calling as she went. Pierre cursed and
spurred the horse again.
Yet even if Jim Boone and his men started out after him they could
never overtake him. Before they were in their saddles and up with him,
he'd be a full three miles out in the hills. Not even black Thunder
could make up as much ground as that.
So all the fifteen miles to Gaffney's place he urged his horse. The
excitement of the race kept the thought of McGurk back in his mind.
Only once he lost time when he had to pull up beside a buckboard and
inquire the way. After that he flew on again. Yet as he clattered up
to the door of Gaffney's crossroads saloon and swung to the ground he
looked back and saw a cluster of horsemen swing around the shoulder of
a hill and come tearing after him. Surely his time was short.
He thrust open the door of the place and called for a drink. The
bartender spun the glass down the bar to him.
"Where's McGurk?"
The other stopped in the very act of taking out the bottle from the
shelf, and his curious glance went over the face of Pierre le Rouge.
He decided, apparently, that it was foolish to hold suspicions against
so young a man.
"In that room," and he jerked his hand toward a door. "What do you
want with him?"
"Got a message for him."
"Tell it to me, and I'll pass it along."
Pierre met the eye of the other and smiled faintly.
"Not _this_ message."
"Oh," said the other, and then shouted: "McGurk!"
Far away came the rush of hoofs over a hard trail. Only a minute more
and they would be here; only a minute more and the room would be full
of fighting men ready to die with him and for him. Yet Pierre was
glad; glad that he could meet the danger alone; ten minutes from now,
if he lived, he could answer certainly one way or the other the
greatest of all questions: "Am I a man?"
Out of the inner room the pleasant voice which he dreaded answered:
"What's up?"
The barkeeper glanced Pierre le Rouge over again and then answered: "A
friend with a message."
The door opened and framed McGurk. He did not start, seeing Pierre.
He said: "None of the rest of them had the guts even to bring me the
message, eh?"
Pierre shrugged his shoulders. It was a mighty effort, but he was able
to look his man fairly in the eyes.
"All right, lad. How long is it going to take you to clear out of the
country?"
"That's not the message," answered a voice which Pierre did not
recognize as his own.
"Out with it, then."
"It's in the leather on my hip."
And he went for his gun. Even as he started his hand he knew that he
was too slow for McGurk, yet the finest split-second watch in the world
could not have caught the differing time they needed to get their guns
out of the holsters.
Just a breath before Pierre fired there was a stunning blow on his
right shoulder and another on his hip. He lurched to the floor, his
revolver clattering against the wood as he fell, but falling, he
scooped up the gun with his left and twisted.
That movement made the third shot of McGurk fly wide and Pierre fired
from the floor and saw a spasm of pain contract the face of the outlaw.
Instantly the door behind him flew open and Boone's men stormed into
the room. Once more McGurk fired, but his wound made his aim wide and
the bullet merely tore up a splinter beside Pierre's head. A fusillade
from Boone and his men answered, but the outlaw had leaped back through
the door.
"He's hurt," thundered Boone. "By God, the charm of McGurk is broken.
Dick, Bud, Gandil, take the outside of the place. I'll force the door."
Wilbur and the other two raced through the door and raised a shout at
once, and then there was a rattle of shots. Big Patterson leaned over
Pierre.
He said in an awe-stricken voice: "Lad, it's a great work that you've
done for all of us, if you've drawn the blood from McGurk."
"His left shoulder," said Pierre, and smiled in spite of his pain.
"And you, lad?"
"I'm going to live; I've got to finish the job. Who's that beside you?
There's a mist over my eyes."
"It's Jack. She outrode us all."
Then the mist closed over the eyes of Pierre and his senses went out in
the dark.