The Seventh Man by Max Brand (books to read romance .TXT) 📕

“'S a matter of fact,” said Sliver, “when Vic was talkin' I sort of felt the chills go up my back. How about you, Ronicky?”

“I'll tell a man,” sighed Ronicky. “While Vic was talkin' I seen that devil comin' on his hoss like he done when he broke out of the cabin that night. I'll tell you straight, Sliver. I had my gun drilled on him. I couldn't of missed; but after I fired he kept straight on. It was like puncturin' a shadow!”

“Sure,” nodded Sliver. “Shootin' by night ain't ever a sure thing.”

Ronicky wiped his heated brow.

“So I sent Vic away before he had a chance to get real nervous. But when he comes back—well, boys, it'll be kind of amusin' to watch Vic's face when he saunters into town tomorrow and sees Dan Barry—maybe dead, maybe in the irons. Eh?”

Only a deep silence answered him, but in the interest which his words excited the terror seemed to have left Ronicky and Gus. They rode close, their heads toward Sliver alone.

“There goes Vic,” mused Sliver. “There he goes—go on. Mac, you old fool!—scared to death, ridin' for his life. And why? Because he believes some ghost stories he's heard about Dan Barry!”

“Ghost stories?” echoed Reeve. “Some of 'em ain't fairy tales, Sliver.”

“Jest name one that ain't!”

“Well, the way he trailed Jim Silent. We've all heard of Silent, and Barry—was too good for him.”

“Bah,” sneered Sliver. “Too good for Silent? Ye lied readily enough: booze done for Silent long before Barry come along.”

“That right?”

“I'll tell a man it is. Mind you, I don't say Barry ain't handy with his gun; but he's done a little and the gents have furnished the trimmin's. Look here, if Barry is the man-eater they say, why did he pick a time for comin' down when the sheriff was out of town?”

“By God!” exclaimed Ronicky. “I never thought of that!”

“Sure you didn't,” chuckled Sliver. “But this sucker figures that you and Gus and me will be easy pickin's. He figures we'll do what Vic did—hit for the tall pines. Then he'll blow around how he ran the four of us out of Alder. Be pleasant comin' back to talk like that, eh?”

There was a volley of rapid curses from the other two.

“We'll get this cheap skate, Sliver,” suggested Ronicky. “We'll get this ghost and tie him up and take him back to Alder and make a show of him.”

“We will,” nodded Sliver. “Have you figured how?”

“Lie out here in the bush. He'll hunt around Alder all night and when the mornin' comes he'll leave and he'll come out this way. We'll be ready for him where the valley's narrow down there. They say his hoss and his dog is as bad as any two ordinary men. Well, that's three of them and here's three of us. It's an even break, eh?”

“Ronicky,” murmured Sliver, “I always knowed you had the brains. We'll take this gent and tame him, and run him back to Alder on the end of a rope.”

Gus Reeve whooped and waved his hat at the thought.

So the three reached the point where the shadowy walls of the valley narrowed, drew almost together. There they placed the horses in a hollow near the southern cliff, and they returned to take post. There was only one bridle path which wound through the gulch here, and the three concealed themselves behind a thicket of sagebrush to wait.

They laid their plan carefully. Each man was to have his peculiar duty: Gus Reeve, an adept with the rope, would wait until the black stallion was cantering past and then toss his noose and throw the horse. At the same instant, Ronicky Joe would shoot the wolf-dog, and Sliver Waldron would perforate Dan Barry while the latter rolled in the dust, unless, indeed, he was pinioned by the fall of his horse, in which case they would have the added glory of taking him alive.

By the time all these details were settled the pale moonlight was shot through with the rose of dawn. Then, rapidly, the mountains lifted into view, range beyond range, all their gullies deep blue and purple, and here and there sharp triangles of snow. There was not a cloud, not a trace of mist, and through the crisp, thin air the vision carried as if through a telescope. They could count the trees on the upper ridges; and that while the floor of the valley was still in shadow. This in turn grew brilliant, and everywhere the sage brush glittered like foliage carved in gray-green quartz.

It was then that they saw Dan Barry, while the dawn was still around them, and before the sun pushed up in the east above the mountains. He came winding down the bridle path with the dawn glittering on the side of Satan, and a dark, swift form spiriting on ahead.

“Look at him!” muttered Sliver Waldron. “The damned wolf is a scout. See him nose around that hummock? Watch him smell behind that bush. The black devil!”

Bart, in fact, wove a loose course before his master, running here and there to all points of vantage, as if he knew that danger lurked ahead, but where he came close, with only the narrow passage between the cliffs, he seemed to make up his animal brain that there could be no trouble in so constricted a place, and darted straight ahead.

“They're ours,” whispered Waldron. “Steady, boys. Gus, get your rope, get ready!”

Gus tossed the noose a little wider, and gathered himself for the throw, but it seemed as if the wolf saw or heard the movement. He stopped suddenly and stood with his head high; behind him the rider checked the black horse; all three waited.

“He's tryin' to get the wind,” chuckled Waldron, “but the wind is ag'in' our faces!”

It was only a slight breeze, but it came directly against the lurking three; and moreover the scent of the sage was particularly keen at this time of the day, and quite sufficient to blur the scent of man even in the keen nostrils of Black Bart. Only for a second or so he stood there sniffing the wind, a huge animal, larger than any wolf the three had ever seen; his face wise in a certain bear-like fashion from the three gray marks in the center of his forehead. Now he trotted ahead, and the stallion broke into a gallop behind.

“My God,” whispered Sliver to Gus, “don't spoil that hoss when you daub the rope on him! Look at that action; like runnin' water!”

They came more rapidly. As if the rider knew that a point of danger was there to be passed, he spoke to his mount, and Satan lengthened into a racing gait that blew the brim of the rider's hat straight up. On they came. The wolf-dog darted past. Then as the horse swept by, Gus Reeve rose from behind his