CHAPTER XXII He made the preparation for supper with such easy speed that everything seemed to be done by magic hands. When Joan's mother cooked supper there was always much rattling of the stove and then the building of the fire, a long preparation of food and another interval when things steamed and sizzled on the fire. There followed the setting of the table and then a long aching time of hunger when the food was in sight but one could not eat until Daddy Dan had done this and Munner had done that. Also when one did eat half the taste was taken from things by the necessity of various complicated evolutions of knife and fork. Instant the absurdity of taking the fork under the thumb with the forefinger pressing along the back of the wobbly instrument when anyone could see that the proper natural way of using a fork was to grasp it dagger-like and drive it firmly through that skinning piece of meat. Not only this but a cup must be held in one hand and bread must be broken into little pieces before putting butter on it. Of all, no matter how terribly hard one tried there was sure to be a mistake and then, now Joan, don't do that. This is the way. But how different everything was in this delightful house of Daddy Dan. In an incredibly short time three torches flared about them and filled the air with sense of freshness and the outdoor sense that went tingling up the nose and filled one with immense possibilities of eating. At the very same time a few motions caused a heap of wood to catch fire and blaze among the stones while a steady stream of blue-white smoke wavered up toward the top of the cave and disappeared in the shadows. After this her father showed her a little stream of water which must come from a spring far back in the cave and the current slipped noiselessly along one wall and dipped out of sight again before it reached the entrance to the place. Here she discovered a little bowl made out of small stones nicely fitted together and allowing the water to pour over one edge and out at another with a delicious purling. Such crystal clear water that one actually wanted to wash in it even if it was cold and even if one had the many sore places on fingers and nose and behind the ears. Behold! No sooner did one turn from the washing of hands and face than the table was miraculously spread upon the surface of a flat rock with other stones nearby to serve as chairs and on the table steamed pwn, warmed over coffee with milk in it, coffee which was so strictly band at home, potatoes sliced to transparent thinness and fried to crisp brown at the edges and a great slab of meat that fairly shouted to the appetite. So far so good but the realization was a thousandfold better than anticipation. No cutting of one's own meat at this enchanted board. The shining knife of Daddy Dan divided it into delectable bits with a speed of light and it needed only the slightest amount of experimenting and cautious glances to discover that one could use a fork dagger-wise and when in doubt even seize upon a morsel with one's fingers and wipe the fingers afterwards on a bit of the dry grass. One could grasp the cup by both sides, scorning the silly handle and if occasionally one sipped the coffee with a little noise which added astonishingly to the taste, there was no sharp warning, no frowning eye to overlook. Besides, at Munner's table, there was never time to pay attention to Joan for there was talk about vague abstract things, the price of skins, the melting of the snows, the condition of the passes, the long and troubling argument about the wicker chairs with some remarkably foolish asides now and then concerning happiness and love when all the time any one with half an eye could see that the thing to do was to eat and eat and eat until that hollow place ceased to be. Talking came afterwards. In the house of Daddy Dan all these things were ordered as they should be. Not a word was said, not a glance of criticism rested upon her. When her tin plate was cleared she heard no reproofs for eating too greedily, but she was furnished anew with the store of good things on the rock. In place of conversation there were other matters to occupy the mind during the meal. For presently she observed the beautiful head of Satan just behind his master, Satan who could pass over noisy gravel with the softness of a cat and now loomed out of the deeper night down the cavern. Inch by inch with infinite caution and keenly pricked ears the head lowered beside Dan and the quivering delicate muzzle stole towards a fragment of the poem. Joan watched breathlessly and then she saw that in spite of the caution of that movement her father knew all about it, just a glint of amusement in the corner of his eyes, just a slight twitch at the corners of his mouth to tell Joan that he was as delighted as a boy playing a trick. Barely in time to save the morsel of the poem he spoke and the head was dashed up. Yet Satan was not entirely discouraged. If he could not steal the bread he would beg for it. It made Joan pause in her destruction of the edibles not to watch openly for an instinct told her that the thing to do was to note these by-plays from the corner of one's eye as Daddy Dan did and swallow the ripples of mirth that came tickling in her throat. She knew perfectly well that Satan would have it in the end for of all living things not even Munner had such power over Dan as the black stallion. He maneuvered adroitly. First he circled the table and stood opposite the master begging with his eyes, but Dan looked fixedly down at the rock until an impatient Winnie called up his eyes. Then he pretended the most absolute surprise. Why, Satan, you old scoundrel, what are you doing over there? Get back where you belong. He gestured with a thumb over his shoulder and Satan glided around the rock and stood once more behind Dan. Manors, continued Dan, you ain't got him. You'll be trying to sit down at the table with me pretty soon, he concluded, but I'll teach you one of these days and you'll smart for a week. Even at the mock menace, Joan trembled a little. But to her astonishment Satan paid not the slightest heed. Dan sat with his hat on his head, which was a new and delightful event at the table and now the stallion took the hat by the crown dexterously and raised it just an inch and put it back in place. Black Bart, having crept out of the shadows sat down near Joan with his long red tongue lolling out. This procedure called a growl from him, but the master continued eating without the slightest interest, apparently, in Satan's insolence. A velvety muzzle appeared, with a chin resting on the shoulder of Dan and the great luminous eyes above. He winnied so softly that it was not more than a human whisper and meant almost as much. Oh, said Dan, in all seeming just roused to attention. Hungry, old boy! He raised the morsel of porn between thumb and forefinger, holding it tightly. Then it was a joy to watch Satan. He tried to tug it all away at once, but only a fragment broke off. He stamped in impatience and then went to work to nibble the bread away on all sides of Dan's fingers. Very fine work for such broad, keen chisels as Satan's teeth. But he went about it with the skill of long practice, turning his head this way and that and always watching the face of the master with sideways eyes, one ear forward and one ear back. Finally the tight fingers opened out and Satan gathered the last crumbs from the smooth palm. Two or three times during this performance Black Bart had half risen from his haunches, and a growl swelled almost inaudibly in his throat. But now he stalked around the table and pushed his narrow head between Dan's shoulders and the stallion. A snarl of incredible ferocity made Satan turn, but without the slightest dread, apparently.  The growling rose toward a crescendo, a terrible sound. Then a lean hand shot out with that speed which Joan could never comprehend and which always made her think rather breathlessly of the strike of a snake. The fingers settled around the muzzle of Bart.  Lie down! Bart obeyed slowly, but his evil eyes were fixed upwards upon the head of Satan. If you've got any manners, remarked Dan, you'll be saying that you're sorry. The ears flattened along the snakey head, otherwise no answer. Sorry, repeated the master. Out of the deep throat of Black Bart, infinitely ludicrously small came a whine which was more dog-like than anything Joan had ever heard before from the wolf. Now, continued the implacable master, you go over in that corner and lie down.  Farther, clear over there in the dark, came the order, and Bart had to uncoil himself again in the very act of lying down and retreat with another ominous growl clear into the darkness. Satan held his head high and watched triumphantly. But Joan felt that this was a little hard on Bart. She wanted to run over and comfort him, but she knew from of old that it was dangerous to interfere where Daddy Dan was disciplining either horse or wolf. Besides, she was not quite free from her new awe for Bart. All right, said the master presently and without raising his voice. It brought a dark thunderbolt rushing into the circle of light and stopping at Dan's side with such suddenness that his paws slid in the gravel. There he stood, actually wagging his bushy tail, an unprecedented outburst of joy for Bart, and staring hungrily into the face of Dan. She saw a wonderful softening in the eyes of her father as he looked at the great, dangerous beast. You ain't a bad sword, he said, but you need putting in place continual. Black Bart whined agreement. After that, when the dishes were being cleared away and cleaned with the speed fully as marvelous as the preparation of the supper, Joan remembered with a guilty start the message which she should have given to Daddy Dan, and she brought out the paper, much rumpled. He stood by the fire to read the letter. Dan, come back to us. The house is empty, and there's no sign of you except your clothes and the skins you left drying in the vacant room. Joan sits all day mourning for you, and my heart is breaking. Oh, Dan, I don't grieve so much for what has been done, but I tremble for what you may do in the future.  Suppose some gent was to drop you, Satan, he murmured. Suppose he was to plug you while you was doing your best to take me where I want to go. Suppose he shot you not for anything you'd done, but because of something again me. And suppose after killing you he was to sneak up on me with a lot of other gents and try to murder me before I had a chance to fight back. Satan, wouldn't I be right to trail them all and kill them one by one? Wouldn't it? Joan heard very little of the words, only a soft murmur of anxiety, and she saw that Daddy Dan was very thoughtful indeed. The stallion reached for the brim of Dan's hat. It was withdrawn from his reach.  Why, even Satan can see I'm right, murmured Dan, and moving back to the fire he tore the letter into many pieces which fluttered down in a white stream and made the blaze leap up. CHAPTER XXI The Acid Test Mrs. Johnny Summers managed to preserve her dignity while she escorted the visitor into the front room and even while she asked him to sit down and wait. But once she had closed the door behind her she cast dignity far away and did two steps at a time going upstairs. The result was that she reached the room of Betty Neal entirely out of breath. Two hundred pounds of fat, good-natured widowhood do not go with speed. She tossed open the door without any preliminary knock and stood there very red with a clearly defined circle of white in the center of each cheek. For a moment there was no sound except her panting, and Betty Neal stared wildly at her from above her book. He's come, gasp, Mrs. Summers. Who? Him. As if this odd explanation made everything clear, Betty Neal sprang from her chair and she grew so pale that every freckle stood out. Him! she echoed ungrammatically. Then, where is he? Let me downstairs! But the widow closed the door swiftly behind her and leaned her comfortable bulk against it. You ain't going, she asserted. You ain't going, least ways not till you've got time to think it over. I haven't time to think. I—he—that was the way with me, nodded Mrs. Summers, and her eyes were tragic. I went ahead and married Johnny in spite of everything, and look at me now! A witter! No! I ain't sorry for myself because I was a fool. Mrs. Summers, said Betty, will you please step out of my way?  He's dangerous. When I opened the door and seen him, I tell you the shivers went up my back. Is he thin? Is he pale? cried Betty Neal. How did he get away? Did he escape? Did they parole him? Did they pardon him? Did they—let me get down! Mrs. Summers flung away from the door. Then go and marry your man-killer! But Betty Neal was already clattering down the stairs. Halfway to the bottom, her strength and courage ebbed suddenly from her. She went on with short steps, and when at last she closed the parlor door behind her she was staring as if she looked at a ghost. Yet Big Greg was not greatly changed. Little thinner, perhaps. Just now he certainly did not have his usual color. The moment she appeared he jumped to his feet as if he had heard a shot, and now he stood with his feet braced a little to meet a shock—one hand twitching and playing nervously with the embroidered cloth on the table. She did not speak, merely stood with her fingers still gripping the handle of the door as if she were ready to dart away at the first alarm. A wave of pain went over the face of Big Greg and remained looking at her out of his eyes, for all that his single-track concentrated mind could perceive in her was the thing he took for fear. Miss Neal, he said, his voice shook, straightened out again. He made her think of one of her big schoolboys who had forgotten his lesson and now stood cuddling his memory and dreading that terrible nightmare of staying after school. She had a wild desire to laugh. Miss Neal, I ain't here to try to take up things that can't be took up again. Apparently he had prepared the speech carefully, and now he went on with more ease. I'm leaving these here parts for someplace unknown. Before I go, I just want to say I know I was wrong from the beginning. All I want to say is that I was just all sort of tied up in a knot inside, and when I seen you with him—he stopped—I hope you marry some gent that's worth you. He ain't any such, and I want to wish you good luck and say good-bye. He swept the perspiration from his forehead and caught up his hat. He had been through the seventh circle of torture. Oh, Vic, dear! cried a voice he had never heard before, then a flurry of skirts, then arms about him, then tears and laughter and eyes which went hungrily over his face. I've been a hound dog, my God, Betty. You don't mean that I love you, Vic. I never knew what it was to love you before. After I've been a man killing lion, sneaking—don't you say another word? Vic, it was all my fault. It wasn't. It was mine. But if you'd only kind of held off a little and gone easy with me, you didn't give me a chance. When I looked back from the road, you wasn't standing in the door. I was, and you didn't look back. I did. Vic, Greg, are you trying to—but the anger fled from her as suddenly as it had come. I don't care. I'll take all the blame. I don't want you to. I won't let you—she laughed hysterically. Vic, tell me that you're free. I'm paroled. Thank God. Oh, I've prayed and prayed. Vic, don't sit down there. So I just want to look and look at you. There's a hollow, hungry place in me that's filling up again. It was Pete Glass, said Vic, brokenly. He trusted me clean through when the rest was looking at me like I was a snake. Pete got word to the governor, and there followed a long interval of talk that meant nothing. And then, as the afternoon waned toward evening and the evening toward dark, he told her the whole story of the long adventure. He left out nothing, not a detail that might tell against him. When he came to the moment when Glass persuaded him to go back and betray Barry, he winced, but said his jaw and plunged ahead. She, too, paled when she heard that. And for a moment she had to cover her eyes, but she was older by half a lifetime than she had been when he was last with her, and now she read below the surface. Besides, Vic had offered to undo what he had done, had offered to stay and fight for Barry, and surely that even the score. There was a light wrap on the door, and then Miss Summers came in with a tray. Maybe you young folks forgot about supper, she said. I just thought I'd bring in a bite for you. She placed it on the table, and then lingered, delighted, while her eyes went over them together, and one by one. Perhaps Betty Neil was a fool for throwing herself away on a gunfighter, but at least Miss Summers was furnished with a story which half Alder would know by tomorrow. The walls of her house were not soundproof. Besides, Miss Summers had remarkably keen ears. They's been a gentleman here asked for you, Vic, she said, but I thought maybe you wouldn't like it much to be disturbed, so I told him he wasn't here. Her smile faintly glowed with triumph. Thanks, said Greg, but who was he? I never seen him before. Anyway, it didn't much matter. He wanted to see some of the rest of the boys quite bad. Pete Glass and Ronicky Joe, and Sliver Waldron, and Gus Reeve. He seemed to want to see them all particular bad. Pete Glass and Ronicky and the posse, murmured Vic. He grew thoughtful. He wanted to see me too. Very particular, and he seemed kind of downhearted when he found that Pete was out of town, wanted to know when he might be back. What sort of a looking gent was he? asked Vic, and his voice was sharp. Him? Oh, he looked like a tenderfoot to me. Terrible polite, though, and he had a voice that wasn't hardly rougher than the girls. Seemed like he was sort of embarrassed just talking to me. She smiled at the thought, but Vic was on his feet now, his hands on the shoulders of Mrs. Summers, as though he would try to shake information from her loose bulk. Look quick now, he said. Where did you send him? How you talk? Why, where should I send him? I told him lack is not. Ronicky and Sliver and Gus would be down to Loramers. The groan of Vic made her stop with a gasp. What did he look like? Mrs. Summers was very sober. Her smile congealed. Black hair and young and good looking and brown eyes and God. Vic cried Betty Neal. What is it? She looked around her in terror. It's Barry. He turned towards the door and then stopped in an agony of indecision. Betty Neal was before him blocking the way with her arms outstretched. Vic, you shan't go. You shan't go.  God knows he is. You won't go Vic, but the others. Ronicky, Gus. She stammered in her fear that that's their look out. There's there's there are three to one. Let him kill. But they don't know him. They've never been close enough to see his face. Besides, no three men. I he for God's sake, tell me what to do. Stay here. If you love me, I won't let you go. I won't. I got to warn them. You'll be killed. He tore away her hands. I got to warn them. But who'll I help them three against Danny? He saved me twice, but I got I got to go.  Vic, stay here. What good's my life? What good's it if I'm a yellow dog again? I'm going out and be a man. End of Chapter 21. Chapter 22 of The Seventh Man. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, reading by Robert Kuiper. The Seventh Man by Max Brand. Chapter 22. The Fifth Man. The moment Vic Gregg stood in the open air with the last appeal of Betty ringing still at his ear, he felt a profound conviction that he was about to die, and he stood a moment breathing deeply, taking the faint alkali scent of the dust and looking up to the stars. It was that moment when night blends with day and there is no sign of light in the sky except that the stars burn more and more bright as the darkness thickens. And Vic Gregg watched the stars draw down more closely and believed that he was seeing this for the last time. Alder seemed inexpressibly dear to him as he stood there through a little space, and the vaguely discernible outlines of the shacks along the street were like the faces of friends. In that house behind him was Betty Neal waiting, praying for him, and indeed had it not been for shame he would have weakened now and turned back, for he hardly knew which way to turn. He wanted to save Ronikey and the other two from the attack of Barry, yet he would not lay a trap for Dan. To Barry he owed a vast debt. His debt to the three was that which any human being owes to another. He had to save them from the wolf which ran through the night in the body of a man. That thought sent him at a run for Captain Lorimer's saloon. It was lighted brilliantly by the gasoline lamp from within. But a short distance away from it he heard no sound and his imagination drew a terrible picture of the big empty room with three dead men lying in the center of it where the destroyer had reached them one by one. That is what took the blood from his face and made him a white mask of tragedy when he stepped into the door of the saloon. It was quiet, but half a dozen men sat at the tables in the corner, and among them were Ronikey and the other two. Sliver Waldron was in the very act of pulling back his chair and perhaps all three had just come in. Perhaps Barry had come here to look for his quarry and found them not yet arrived. Perhaps he was now hunting in other places through the town. Perhaps he was even now crouched in the shadow near at hand and ready to attack. It made the hand of Vic Gregg contract with a cruel pressure when it fell on the shoulder of Sliver Waldron. Now what the hell, grunted that hardened warrior. He had no love of Vic Gregg since that day when the posse rode through the hills after him. Neither had Ronikey or Gus Reeve, who rose from their chairs as if at a signal. Come with me, gents, said Vic, and come quick. They asked no questions. It did not stay to argue the point, for he had that in his face, which meant action. He led them outside and behind the horse shed of the saloon. We're alone, he asked. Nothing in sight. Look sharp. They peered about them through the night and a wine moon only helped to make the darkness visible. Gents, we may be alone now, but we ain't going to be alone long.  Barry is in town. Vic, you're drunk. I tell you he's been seen. Then by God, growled Sliver Waldron, lead me to him. I need to have a little talk with that gent. Lead you to him, echoed Vic Gregg. Sliver, are you hungry to push daisies? Look here, bud, answered the older man, and he laid a hand on the shoulder of Vic. You've been with this Barry, gent. You've lived in his house. Now, do you mean to say you're one of the lot that talks about him like he was a ghost bullets couldn't harm?  I'm going to remind him of that little fact. Vic Gregg groaned. Even while he talked, he was glancing over his shoulder as if he feared the shadows under the moon. His voice was half gasp, half whisper. Sliver, runnicky, don't ask me how I know. Just believe me when I say Dan Barry will never die by the hand of any man. I tell you he can see in the dark. A soft oath from Gus Reeve, a twitching of runnicky's head, told that this last had taken effect. Sliver Waldron suddenly altered his manner. All right, Vic. Now trot on back into town or come with us. We're going to move out. The wisest thing you've ever done, Sliver. I'm feeling the same way, breathed Gus Reeve. Slong, whispered Vic Gregg, and faded into the night, running. The others, without a word among themselves, gathered their horses and struck down the valley out of Alder. The padding and swish of the sand about the feet of their mounts, the very creaking of the saddle-leather seemed to alarm them, and they were continually turning and looking back. That is, Gus Reeve and runnicky Joe manifested the signs of trouble, but Sliver Waldron, riding in the center of the trio, never moved his head. They were hardly well out of town when a swift rush of hoofbeats swept up from behind and a horseman darted into the pale mist of the valley, bending low over his pommel to cut the wind of his riding. Who was it? Vic Gregg, muttered Gus Reeve. Stir along, Sliver. Vic ain't lingerin' any, but Sliver Waldron drew rain and let his horse go on at a walk. Here in you talk, runnicky, he said, you'd think you was really scared of Dan Barry. Runnicky Joe stiffened in his saddle and peered through the uncertain light to make out if Sliver was jesting, but the latter seemed perfectly grave. A gent would almost think, went on Sliver, that we three was running away from Barry instead of going out to set a trap for him. There was something nearly akin to a grunt from Gus Reeve, but runnicky merely continued to stare at the leader. Smatter a fact, said Sliver. When Vic was talkin', I sorta felt the chills go up my back. How about you, runnicky? I'll tell the man, sighed runnicky. While Vic was talkin', I seen that devil comin' on his horse like he'd done when he broke out of the cabin that night. Not tell you straight, Sliver. I had my gun drilled on him. I couldn't have missed, but after I fired, he kept straight on. It was like puncturing the shadow. Sure, nodded Sliver, shootin' by night ain't ever a sure thing. Runnicky 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 amusing to watch Vic's face when he saunters into town tomorrow and sees Dan Barry, maybe dead, maybe in irons. Only a deep silence answered him. But in the interest which his words excited, the terror seemed to have left Runnicky and Gus. They rode close, their heads toward Sliver alone. There goes Vic, new 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 them ain't fairy tales, Sliver. Just 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. Nah, ha, sneered Sliver. Too good for Silent, you lied readily enough. Boo's done for Silent long before Barry came along. That right? I'll tell a man it is.  Now look here. If Barry is the man either they say, why did he pick a time for coming down when the sheriff was out of town? By God, exclaimed Runnicky. I never thought of that. Sure, you didn't, chuckled Sliver. But this sucker figures that you and Gus and me will be easy pickets. He figures we'll do what Vic did, hit for the tall pines. Then he'll blow around how he ran four of us out of Alder. Be pleasant coming back to talk like that, huh? There was a volley of rapid curses from the other two. We'll get this cheap skate, Sliver. Suggested Runnicky, we'll get this ghost and time up and take him back to Alder and make a show of him. We will, knotted Sliver. Have you figured how? Lie out here in the bush. He'll hunt around Alder all night. And when morning comes, he'll leave and he'll come out this way and we'll be ready for him where the valley's narrow down there. They say his horse and 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, huh? Runnicky, murmured Sliver, 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 bridal 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 particular 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, runnicky Joe would shoot the wolf dog and Sliver Waldron would perforate Dan Berry 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 upon range, all their gullies deep blue and purple. And here and there are 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 sagebrush glittered like foliage carved in gray green quartz. It was then that they saw Dan Berry. While the dawn was still around them and before the sun pushed up in the east above the mountains, he came winding down the bridal path with a dawn glittering on the side of Satan and a dark swift form, spiriting on ahead.  See him nose round 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. There ours, whispered Waldron. Steady, boys. Gus, get your group, 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 trying to get the wind, juggled Waldron, but the wind is again off 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 Slipper to Gus. Don't spoil that horse when you dob the rope on him. Look at that action like running water. They came on 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 gate 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 bush and the rope darted snake-like from his hand. The four feet of Satan landed in the noose and the next instant the backflung weight of Gus tightened the rope and Satan shot over upon his side, flinging the master clear of the saddle. It sent him rolling over and over in the dust and Slipper Waldron was on his feet with both guns in action, sending bullet after bullet towards the tumbling body. Gus Reeve was running towards the stallion, his rope in action to entangle one of the hind feet and make sure of his prey. Ronicky Joe had leaped up with a yell and blazed away at Black Bart. It was no easy mark to strike. For the moment the rope shot out from the hand of Gus, the wolf dog whirled in his tracks and darted straight for the scene of action. It was that perhaps which troubled the aim of Ronicky more than anything else, for wild animals do not whirl in this fashion and run for an assailant. He had expected to find himself plugging away at a flying target in the distance.  Indeed all that followed was in silence after that first wild Indian yell from Ronicky Joe. His gun barked, but Black Bart was running like a football player down a broken field, swerving here and there with uncanny speed. Again, again Joe missed and then flung up his arm toward the flying danger. But Black Bart shot from the ground to make his kill. He could bring down the strongest bull in the herd. What was the arm of a man to him? His snake-like head shot through that futile guard. His teeth cut off the screams of Ronicky Joe. Down they went. The gun flew from the hand of Ronicky. For an instant he struggled with the hands and writhing legs and then the murderous teeth of Bart sank deeper, found the life. The dead body was limp, but Bart, shaking his hold deeper to make sure, glared across to the fallen master. The third man had died for Gray Molly. All this had happened in a second, and the body of Barry was still rolling when a gun flashed in his hand, drawn while he tumbled. It spat fire and sliver Waldron staggered forward drunkenly, waved both his armed hands as if he were trying to talk by signal and pitched onto his face in the dust. The fourth man had died for Gray Molly. No gun was destined for Gus Reeve, however. Black Bart had left the lifeless body of his victim and was darting toward the third man. The master was on his knee, raising his gun for the last shot. But Gus Reeve was blind to all that had happened. He saw only the black stallion, the matchless prize of horse flesh. He tossed a loop in the taut rope to entangle a hind foot. But that slackening of the line gave Satan his instant purchase, and a moment later he was on his feet, twirled, and two iron-hard hooves crushed the whole framework of the man's chest, like an eggshell. The impact lifted him from his feet, but before that body struck the ground, the life was fled from it. The fifth man had died for Gray Molly. End of Chapter 22 Chapter 23 of The Seventh Man This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Robert Kuiper. The Seventh Man by Max Brand. Chapter 23 Bad News News of the killing at Alder, as they call that night's slaughter to this day in the mountain desert, traveled swiftly and lost nothing of bulk and burden on the way. So that two days later, when Lee Haynes went down for mail to the wretched little village in the valley, he heard the storekeeper retailing the story at an awe-stricken group. How the tale had crossed all the wild mountains which lay between in so brief a space no man could say. But first there ran a whisper, then a stirrer, then half a dozen men came in at once, each with an elaboration of the theme more horrible than the last. The storekeeper, culled the choicest fragments from every version, strung them together with a narrative of his own fertile invention, polished off the tail by a few rehearsals in his home, and then placed his product on the open market. The very first day he kept the storeroom well filled from dawn until dusk. And this was the creation to which Lee Haynes had to listen, impatient, sifting chaff from the grains of truth. Down upon Alder, exactly at midnight, had ridden a cavalcade headed by that notorious, half-legendary manslayer, Dan Barry, whistling Dan. While his crew of two-score hardened ruffians held the doors and the windows with leveled rifles, Barry had entered with a gun and a wolf, a wild wolf, and had butchered ten men wantonly. To add to the mystery there was no motive of robbery for the crime. One sweeping visitation of death, and then the night-riders had rushed away. Nor was this all, for Sheriff Pete Glass, hearing of the tragedy, had ridden to Rickert, the county seat, and from this strategic point of vantage he was sending out a call for the most practiced fighters on the mountain desert. He wanted twenty men, proved beyond the shadow of question for courage, endurance, speed, and surety of action. And, concluded the storekeeper, fixing his eye upon Lee Haynes, if you want a long ride free of charge and ten bucks a day with chow thrown in, some of you gents ought to go to Rickert and chin with Pete. Haynes waited to hear no more. He even forgot to ask for the berry mail, swung into his saddle, and rode with red spurs back to the cabin in the mountains. There he drew Buck Daniels aside, and they walked among the rocks while Haynes told his story. When it was ended they sat on adjoining boulders and chucked pebbles aimlessly into the emptiness beyond the cliff. Maybe, said Buck suddenly, it wasn't Dan at all. He sure wouldn't be riding with no crowd of gents like that. A fool like that storekeeper could make a crowd of Indians out of one papoo, censored Haynes. It was Dan. Who else would be traipsing around with a dog that looks like a wolf and hunts men? I remember when Dan cornered Jim Silent in that cabin, and all Jim's gang was with him. Black Barton, Buck, cut in, Haynes. You've remembered plenty. After a moment, when you're going in to break the news to Kate, Buck Daniels regarded him with the angry astonishment. Me, he cried, sooner cut my tongue out. He drew a great breath. I feel like, like Dan was dead. Best thing for Kate, if he were. That's a queer thing to say, Lee. Me, to be rotting off your bones six years ago in Elkhead if it hadn't been for whistling Dan. I know it, Buck, but I'll tell you straight that I could never feel towards Dan as if he were a human being, but a wolf in the height of a man, he turned my blood cold. He always has. Buck Daniels groaned aloud as thoughts poured back on him. Of all the pals that ever a man had, he said, sadly, there never was a partner like whistling Dan.  First time I met him, I tried to double cross him because I had my orders from Silent. And Dan played clean with me. By God, he shook hands with me when he left. He straightened a little. So help me God, Lee, I've never done a crooked thing more since I shook hands with Dan that day. He sat silent, but breathing hard. Well, this the end whistling Dan. The law will never let up on him now, but I tell you, Haynes, I'm sick inside and I'd give my right hand plumb to the wrist to set him straight and bring him back to keep. Go in and tell her, Lee, I'll wait for you here. You'll be damned, cried Haynes. I've done my share of bringing the word this far. You can relay it. Buck Daniels produced a silver dollar. Heads or tails? Heads, said Haynes. The dollar spun upwards, winking and clanked on the rocks, tails up. Haynes stared at it with a grisly face. Good God, he muttered. What'll I do, Buck, if she faints? Faints, echoed Daniels. There's no fear of that. The first thing you'll have to do is to saddle her horse.  She'll be thinking of Joan. God knows she's worried enough because Dan hasn't brought the kid back before this. But when she hears what he's done now, she'll know that he's wild for keeps and she'll be on the trail to bring the young and home. He turned his back cleanly on the house and set his shoulders tense.  Be a man. He heard the steps of Haynes start briskly enough for the house, but they trailed away slowly and more slowly, and finally there was a long pause. He's standing at the door, muttered Buck. Thank God I ain't in his boots. He jerked out his papers and tobacco, but in the very act of twist and the cigarette tight, the door slammed, and he ripped the flimsy thing in too. He started to take another paver, but his fingers were so unsteady that he could not pull away the single sheet of tissue which he wanted. Then his hands froze in place. A faint tapping came out to him. He's wrapping on her door, whispered Buck, and remained fixed in place, his eyes staring straight before him. The second slipped away. He's turned yellow, muttered Buck. He couldn't do it. He'll be up to me. But he had hardly spoken the words when a low cry came out to him from the house. Then the silence again. But Buck Daniels began to mop his forehead. After that, once, twice and again, he made the effort to turn towards the house. But when he finally succeeded, it was whole minutes later, and Lee Haynes was leading a saddled horse from the corral. Kate stood beside the cabin, waiting. When he reached her, she was already mounted. He hauled it beside her, panting his hand on her bridle. Don't do it, Kate, he pleaded. Let me go with you. Let me go and try to help. The brisk wind up the galt set her clothes fluttering, stirred the hair about the rim of her hat. And she seemed to Buck more gracefully, more beautifully young than he had ever seen her. But her face was like stone. You'd be no help, she answered. When I get to the place, I may have to meet him. Would you face him, Buck? His hand fell away from the bridle. It was not so much what she said as the cold, steady voice with which she spoke that unnerved him. Then, without a farewell, she turned the brown horse around and struck across the meadow at a swift gallop.  Well, he said. Let me have that flask. Buck produced a metal lifesaver and Haynes with nervous hands unscrewed the top and lifted it to his lips. He lowered it after a long moment and stood bracing himself against the wall. It was hell, Buck. God help me if I ever have to go through a thing like that again. I see what you've done, said Buck angrily. You walked right in and took your story in both hands and knocked her down with it. Haynes of all the armory thick-headed kyus, as I ever see, you're the most out-beatenist. I couldn't help it. Why not? When I went in, she took one look at me and then jumped up and stood as straight as a pine tree. Lee, she said, what have you heard? About what, I asked her, and I looked sort of indifferent. Dan, snorted Buck.  I suppose, muttered Haynes, I was sick. Tell me, she said, coming close up. He's gone wild again, was all I could put my tongue to. Then I blurted it out.  How Dan rode into Alder and did the killing. When I got to that, she gave one cry. I know, said Buck, shuddering, like something dying. Then she asked me to saddle her horse. I begged her to let me go with her and she said to me what she just now said to you, so I stayed. What good could we do against that devil? End of Chapter 23. Chapter 24 of The Seventh Man. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, reading by Robert Kuiper. The Seventh Man by Max Brand. Chapter 24. The Music. To the last ravine Kate's horse carried her easily enough, but that mountain pass was impenetrable through all its length to anything except the uncanny agility of Satan. And so she left the cowpony in the bottom of the gorge and climbed the last rise on foot. On the mountainside above her it was not easy to locate the cave, for the slope was clawed into ravines and confused with meaningless crisscross gulches. Whatever scrub evergreens grew there stood under the shade of boulders, which threatened every instant to topple over and go thundering to the base. She had come upon the cave by chance in her ride with Dan, and now she hunted vainly through the great stones for the entrance. A fresh wind, chill with the snows of the upper peaks, pulled and tugged at her and cut her face and hands with flying bits of sand. It kept up a whistling so insistent that it was some time before she recognized in the hum of the gale a different note, not of pleasant music, but a thin shrill sound that blended with the voice of the wind. The instant she heard it she stopped short on the lee side of a tall rock and looked about her in terror. The mountains walked away on every side and those resolute masses gave her courage. She listened, for the big rock cut away the breath of the wind about her ears, and she could make out the whistling more clearly. It was a strain as delicate as the pinpoint ray of light in a dark room, but it made Kate tremble. Until the sound ended she stayed there by the rock, harkening. But the moment it ceased she gathered her resolution with a great effort and went straight toward the source of the whistling. It was only a moment away, although the wind had made it seem much farther, and she came on a tall, narrow opening with Jones sitting on a rock just within. Instead of the blue cloak she was wrapped in a tawny hide and the yellow hair blew this way and that, unsheltered from the wind. The loneliness of the little figure made Kate's heart ache, made her pause on her way, and while she hesitated Jones' head rested back against the rock, her eyes half closed, her lips pursed. She began to whistle that same keen, eerie music. It brought Kate to her in a rush. Oh, Jones, she cried. My baby! And she would have swept the child into her arms, but Jones slipped out from under her very fingers and stood a little distance off with her hands pressed against the wall on either side of her, ready to dart one way or the other. It was not sudden terror, but a rather resolute determination to struggle against capture to the end, and her blue eyes were blazing with excitement. Kate was on her knees with her arms out. Jones, dear, have you forgotten Munner? The wilderness flickered away from the eyes of the child, little by little. Munner? She repeated dubiously. No shout of welcome, no sudden rush, no arms to fling about her mother, but if her throat was dry and closed Kate allowed no sign of it to creep into her voice. Where's Daddy Dan? He's gone away. Where? Oh, over there! The mother rose slowly to her feet and looked out across the mountains as if in search of aid, for her mind had harked back to that story her father used to tell of the coming of Danbury, how he had ridden across the hills one evening and saw, walking against the sunset, a tattered boy who whistled strangely as he went, and when old Joe Cumberland asked where he was going he had only waved a big hand toward the north and answered, Oh, over there! It was sufficient destination for him. It was sufficient explanation now for the child. She remembered how she herself a child then had sat at her father's table and watched the brown face of the strange boy with fascination, and the wild, quick eyes that went everywhere and rested in no one place. They were the eyes which looked up to her now from Joan's face, and she felt suddenly divorced from her baby, as if all the blood in Joan were the blood of her father. He left you here alone, she murmured. The child looked at her with a sort of curious amazement. Joan isn't alone! She whistled softly, and around the corner of the rock peered two tiny, beady-bride eyes, the sharp nose of a coyote puppy. It disappeared at once at the sight of the stranger, and now all the strength went from Kate. She slipped helplessly down and sat on a boulder trying to think, trying to master the panic which chilled her, for she thought of the day when whistling Dan brought home to the Cumberland Ranch the wounded wolf-dog, Black Bart. But the call of Joan had traveled far, and now a squirrel came in at a gallop with its vast tail bobbing behind him, and ran right up the rock until he was on the shoulder of the child. From this point of vantage, however, he saw Kate and was instantly on the floor of the cave and scurrying for the entrance, chattering with rage. The wild things came to Joan as they came to her father, and the eyes of the child were the eyes of Dan Barry. It came home to Kate and she saw the truth for the first time in her life. She had struggled to win him away from his former life, but now she knew that it was not habit which controlled him, for he was wild by instinct, by nature. Just as the tang of his untamed blood had turned the child to this, and a few days more of life with him would leave her wild forever. He left you alone here, she repeated fiercely, where a thousand things might happen. Thank God I've found you! Even if her words conveyed little meaning to Joan, the intonation carried a message which was perfectly clear. Don't you like Daddy Dan? Joan. Joan, I love him, of course. But Joan sat with a dubious eye which quickly darkened into fear. Oh, Munner, don't take us back. Such horror and terror and sadness mixed. The tears rushed into the eyes of Kate. Do you want to stay here, sweetheart? Yes, Munner. Without me? At first Joan shook her head decidedly, but thereafter she quickly became thoughtful. No. Except when we eat. You don't want me here at dinner time? Poor Munner will go hungry. A great concession was about to burst from the remorseful lips of Joan, but again second thought sobered her. She remained in a quandary, unable to speak. Don't you want me even when you wake up at night? Why? Because you're so afraid of the dark. Joan's not afraid. Oh, no! Joan loves the dark. If Kate maintained a smile it was a frozen grimace. It had only been a few days, hardly yesterday that Joan left, and already she was a little stranger.  She started up, clutching the hand of the child. Quick, Joan, we must go. Joan doesn't want to go. We'll go for a little walk. We'll surprise Daddy Dan. But Daddy Dan won't come back for a long, long time, not till the sun is way down behind that hill. That should mean two hours at least, thought Kate. She could wait a little. Joan, what taught you not to be afraid of the dark? This problem made Joan look about for an answer, but at length she called softly. Jacky! She waited and then whistled, at once the bright eyes of the little coyote appeared around the edge of the rock. Come here! she commanded. He slunk out with his head turned towards Kate and cowered at the foot of the child, and the mother cringed inwardly at the sight. All wild things which hated man instinctively with tooth and claw were the friends, the allies of whistling Dan, and now Joan was stepping in her father's path, a little while longer and the last vestige of gentleness would pass from her. She would be like Dan Berry, following calls which no other human could even hear. It meant one thing. At whatever cost Joan must be taken from Dan and kept away. Jacky sleeps near me. Joan was saying, We can see in the dark, can't we, Jacky? She lifted her head, and the moment her compelling eyes left him, Jacky scooted for shelter. The first strangeness had worn away from Joan, and she began to chatter away about life in the cave, and how Satan played there by the firelight with Black Bart, and how sometimes wonderful sight Daddy Dan played with them. The recital was quite endless, as they pushed further and further into the shadows, and it was the uneasiness which the dim light raised in her that made Kate determine that the time had come to go home. Now, she said, we're going for that walk. Not a way down there, cried Joan. Kate winced. It's lot nicer here, Munner. You ought to just see what we have to eat, and my Daddy Dan knows how to fix things. Of course he does. Now put on your hat and your cloak, Joan. This is lots warmer, Munner. Don't you like it? She added, in alarm, stroking the delicate fur.  Kate ripped away the fastenings and tossed the skin far away. Oh, breathe, Joan. It isn't clean. It isn't clean, cried Kate. Oh, my poor darling baby. Get your bonnet and your cloak, Joan, quickly. We're coming back? Of course. Joan trudged obediently to the side of the cave and produced both articles, sadly rumbled, and Kate buttoned her into them with trembling fingers. Something akin to cold made her shake now. It was very much like a child's fear of the dark. But as she turned toward the entrance to the cave and caught the hand of Joan, the child wrenched herself free. We'll never come back, she wailed. Munner, I won't go. Joan, come with me this instant. Grief and fear and defiance had set the child trembling, but what the mother saw was the glint of the eyes, uneasy, hunting escape with animal cunning. It turned her heart cold, and she knew with a sad, full knowledge that Dan was lost forever and that only one power could save Joan. That power was herself. I won't go. Joan. A resolute silence answered her. And when she went threateningly forward, Joan shrank into the shadows near the rock. It was the play of light striking slant wise from the entrance, no doubt, but it seemed to Kate that a flicker of yellow light danced across the eyes of the child, and it stopped Kate, took her breath with a new terror. Dan Berry in the old days had lived a life as quiet as a summer's day until the time Jim Silent struck him down in the saloon. And she remembered how Black Bart had come for her and led her to the saloon and how she found Dan lying on the floor, streaked with blood, very pale, and how she had kneeled by him in a panic, and how his eyes had opened and stared at her without answer and the yellow inhuman light swirled in them until she rose and backed out the door and fled in a hysteria of fear up the road. That had been the beginning of the end for Dan Berry, that instant when his eyes changed, and now Joan. She ran at her swiftly and gathered her into her arms. One instant of wild struggling and then the child lay still, her head straightened a little, a shrill whistle pealed through the cave. Kate stopped that piercing call with her hand, but when she turned she saw in the entrance the dark body of Bart and his narrow, snake-like head. End of Chapter 24 Chapter 25 The Battle It's Dan, whispered Kate. He's come! Maybe Daddy Dan sent Bart back alone, Munner. Does he do that often? Come quickly, Joan! Run! She ran towards the entrance, stumbling over the uneven ground and dragging Joan behind her, but when they came close the wolf-dog bristled and sent down the cavern a low growl that stopped them like an invisible barrier. The softest sounds in his register were ominous warnings to those who did not know Black Bart, but Kate and Joan understood that this muttering, harsh thunder was an ultimatum. If she had worn her revolver, a light beautifully mounted 32 which Dan had given her, Kate would have shot the wolf and gone on across his body, for she had learned from whistling Dan to shoot quickly as one points a finger and straight by instinct. Even as she stood there bare-handed, she looked about her desperately for a weapon, seeing the daylight and the promise of escape beyond and only this dumb beast between her and freedom. Once before, many a year before, she had gone like this with empty hands and subdued Black Bart simply through the power of quiet courage and the human eye. She determined to try again. Stand there quietly, Joan. Don't move until I tell you. She made a firm step toward Bart. Munner, he'll bite! Hush, Joan, don't speak. At her forward movement the wolf dog flattened his belly to the rock and she saw his forepaws, large almost as the hands of a man, dig and work for a purchase from which he could throw himself at her throat. Steady Bart. His silence was more terrible than a snarl, yet she stretched out her hand and made another step. It brought a sharp tensing of the body of Bart. The fur stood up about his throat like the mane of a lion and his eyes were a devilish green.  If he had killed once he would kill again, wild as he had been on that other time when she quelled him. He had never before been like this. The courage melted out of her. She forgot the pleasant day outside. She saw only those blazing eyes and shrank back toward the center of the cave. The muscles of the wolf relaxed visibly and not till that moment did she realize how close she had been to the crisis. Bad Bart, cried Joan, running in between. Bad, bad dog! Stop, Joan, don't go near him. But Joan was already almost to Bart. When Kate would have run to snatch the child away that deep rattling growl stopped her again and now she saw that Joan ran not the slightest danger. She stood beside the huge beast with her tiny fist raised. I'll tell Daddy Dan on you, she shrilled. Black Bart made a furtive, cringing movement toward the child but instantly stiffened again and sent his warning down the cave to Kate.  His glance ran from the bristling body of Bart to Kate, shrinking among the shadows and lingered without a spark of recognition. Satan, he ordered, go on into your place. The black stallion glided past the master and came on until he saw Kate. He stopped, snorting, and then circled her with his head suspiciously high and ears back until he reached the place where his saddle was usually hung. There he waited and Kate felt the eyes of the horse, the wolf, the man, and even Joan curiously upon her. Evening, not a Dan. Might you have come up for supper? That was all. Not a step toward her, not a smile, not a greeting, and between them stood Joan. Her hands clasped idly before her while she looked from face to face trying to understand. All the pangs of heart which come to woman between girlhood and old age went burningly through Kate in that breathing space. And afterwards she was cold, and saw herself and all the others clearly. I haven't come for supper. I've come to bring you back, Dan. Not that she had the slightest hope that he would come, but she watched him curiously, almost as if he were a stranger to see how he would answer. Come back, he echoed, to the cabin. Where else? It ain't happy there, he started. You come up here with us, Kate, and raise Joan like a young animal in a cave. He looked at her with wonder and then at the child. Ain't you happy, Joan, up here? Oh, Daddy Dan. Joan's so happy. You see, he said to Kate, she's terribly happy. It was his utter simplicity which convinced her that arguments and pleas would be perfectly useless. Just behind the cool command which she kept over herself now was hysteria. She knew that if she relaxed her purposefulness for an instant, the love for him would rush over her, weaken her. She kept her mind clear and steady with a great effort, which was like divorcing herself from herself. When she spoke, there was another being which stood aside, listening in wonder to the words, You've chosen this life, Dan. I won't blame you for leaving me this time any more than I blamed you the other times. I suppose it isn't you. It's the same impulse after all that took you south after the wild geese. She stopped, almost broke down by the memory, and then recalled herself sternly. It's the same thing that led you away after McStrain through the storm, but whether it's a weakness in you or the force of something outside your control, I see this thing clearly. We can't go on. This is the end. He seemed troubled vaguely as a dog is anxious when it sees a child weep and cannot make out the reason. Oh, Dan, she burst out. I love you more than ever. If it were I alone, I'd follow you to the end of the world, and live as you live, and do as you do. But it's Joan. She has to be raised as a child should be raised. She isn't going to live with wild horses and wolves all her life. And if she stays on here, don't you see that the same thing which is a curse in you will grow strong and be a curse in her?  It's in her eyes. Her step is too light. She's lost her fear of the dark. She's drifting back into wildness. Dan, she has to go with me back to the cabin. At that she saw him start again, and his hand went out with a swift subtle gesture towards Joan. Let me have her. I have to have her. She's mine.  He had stepped to Joan while she spoke, and his hands made a quick movement of cherishing about her golden head without touching it. For the first and last time in her life she saw something akin to fear in his eyes. Kate, I can't come back. I got things to do out here. Then let me take her. She watched the wavering in him. Things would be kind of empty if she was gone, Kate. Why, she asked bitterly, you say you have your work to do out here. He considered this gravely. I don't know. Except that I sort of need her. She knew from of old that such questions only puzzled him, and soon he would cast away the attempt to decide and act. Action was his sphere. There was only one matter in which he was unfailingly, relentlessly the same. And that was justice. To that sense in him she would make her last appeal. Dan, I can't take her. I only ask you to see that I'm right. She belongs to me. I bought her, with pain. It was a staggering blow to whistling Dan.  I only want you to do the thing you think is square, Dan. Once more he winced, then slowly. I'm trying to be squared, trying hard. I know you gotta claim in her. But it seems like I have too. She's like a part of me, mostly. When she's happy I feel like smiling, sort of. When she cries it hurts me so I can't hardly stand it. He paused, looking wistfully from the staring child to Kate. He said with sudden illumination, Let her do the judging. You ask her to go to you and I'll ask her to come to me. Ain't that square? For a moment Kate hesitated. But as she looked at Joan it seemed to her that when she stretched out her arms to her baby nothing in the world could keep them apart. It's fair, she answered. Dan dropped to one knee. Joan, you got to make up your mind. If you want to stay with Satan, speak up, Satan. The stallion winnied softly and Joan smiled. With Satan and Black Bart the wolf dog had glided near and now stood watching. And with Daddy Dan you just come to me. But if you want to go to Munner you just go. On his face the struggle showed. The struggle to be perfectly just. If you stay here maybe it'll be cold. Sometimes the wind blows and maybe it'll be hard other ways.  And you'll sleep soft between sheets. And if you wake up in the night she'll be there to talk to you. And you'll have pretty little dresses with all kinds of colors on them. Most like Joan. Do you want to go to Munner or stay here with me? Perhaps the speech was rather long for Joan to follow, but the conclusion was plain enough. And there was Kate. She also upon one knee and her arms stretched out. Joan, my baby, my darling. Munner whispered the child and ran toward her. A growl came up in the throat of Black Bart and then sunk away into a wine.  Joan cried Kate. Anguish made her voice loud and from the loudness Joan shrank, for there was never a harsh sound in the cave except the growl of Bart warning away danger. She turned quite around and there stood Daddy Dan, perfectly erect, quite indifferent to all seeming, as to her choice.  Oh, Daddy Dan, I don't want to go.   The wolf dog lay down at her feet and looked up in her face. Satan from the shadows beyond, winnied again. After that there was not a word spoken, for Kate looked at the picture of the three, saw the pity in the eyes of Whistlin Dan, saw the wonder in the eyes of Joan. Saw the truth of all she had lost. She turned towards the entrance and went out, her head bowed, stumbling over the pebbles. End of Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Of The Seventh Man This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, reading by Robert Kuiper. The Seventh Man by Max Brand Chapter 26 The Test The most that could be said of Rickert was that it had a courthouse and plenty of quiet so perfect that the minds of the office-holders could turn and turn and hear no sound saving their own turning. There were, of course, more buildings than the courthouse, but not so many that they could not be grouped conveniently along one street. The hush, which rested over Rickert, was never broken except in the periods immediately after the spring and fall roundups, when the saloons and gaming tables were suddenly flooded with business, otherwise it was a rare evented deed which injected excitement into the village. Such an event was the gathering of Sheriff Pete Glass's posse. There had been other occasions when Pete and officers before his time had combed the county to get the cream of the fighting men, but the gathering of the new posse became different in many ways. In the first place the call for members was not confined to the county, for though it stretched as large as many a minor European kingdom, it had not the population of a respectable manufacturing town, and Pete Glass went far beyond its bounds to get his trailers. Everywhere he had the posters set up and on the posters appeared the bait. The state began the game with a reward of three thousand dollars. The county plastered two thousand dollars on top of that to make it an even five. Then the town of Alder dug into its deep pockets and produced twenty-five hundred, while disinterested parties added contributions which swelled the total to around ten thousand. Ten thousand dollars reward for the man described below, dead or alive, ten thousand dollars which might be earned by the investment of a single bullet and the pressure on trigger, and above this the fame which such a deed would bring. No wonder that the mountain desert hummed through all its peaks and plains and stirred to life. Moreover the news had gone abroad. The tale of the killing of Alder and everything that went before. It went west. It appeared in newspapers. It cropped up at firesides. It gave a spark of terror to a myriad conversations. And everyone in Rikert felt that the eye of the nation was upon it. Everyone in Rikert dreamed nightly of the man described. Daniel Barry called Whistlin' Dan. About five feet nine or ten, slender, black hair, brown eyes, age about thirty years. Secretly Rikert felt perfectly convinced that Sheriff Pete Glass alone could handle this fellow and trim his claws, for they knew how many a bad man had built a reputation high as Babel and baffled posseys and murdered right and left until the little dusty man on the little dusty ron went out alone and came back alone and another fierce name went from history into legend. However, there were doubters. Since this affair had new earmarks, it had been buzzed abroad that Whistlin' Dan was not only the hunted, but also the hunter, and that he had pledged himself to strike down all the seven who first took his trail. Five of these were already gone, two remained, and of these two one was Vic Gregg, no despicable fighter himself, and the other was no less than the invincible little Sheriff himself. To imagine the Sheriff beaten in the speed of his draw, or the accuracy of his shot, was to imagine the first cause, infinity, or whatever else is inconceivable. Nevertheless, there were such possibilities as bullets fired at night through the window, and attacks from the rear, so Richard waited and held its breath and kept its eyes rather more behind than in front. In the meantime, there was no lack of amusement, for from the four corners, blown by the four winds, men rode out of the mountain desert and drifted into Richard to seek for a place on that posse. Twenty men, that was the goal the Sheriff had set, twenty men trained to a hare. Beside the courthouse was a shooting gallery, not over much used except during the two annual seasons of prosperity and reckless spending, and Pete Glass secured the place to test out applicants. After they passed this trial they were mustered into his presence and he gave them an examination for himself. Just what he asked them or what they could do might never be known, but some men came from his presence very red and others extremely pale and some men blustered and some men swore and some men rode hastily out of town and never spoke a word. But few, very few, were those who came out wearing a little badge on their vest with the pride of a night of the garter. At first the hordes rode in, young and old, youths keen for a taste of adventure, rusty fellows who had once been noted warriors, but these early levees soon discovered that courage and willingness was not so much valued as accuracy, and the old timers learned also that accuracy must be accompanied by speed, and even when a man possessed both these qualities of hand and eye, the gentle, inscrutable little man in his office might still reject them for reasons they could not guess. This one thing was certain. The next time Pete Glass ran for office, he would be beaten even by a greaser. He made enemies at the rate of a hundred a day during that period of selection. Still the twenty was not recruited to the full. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen were gathered into the fold, but still five men were lacking to complete the toll. Most men would have started their manhunt with that formidable force, but Pete Glass was methodical. In his own heart of hearts he would have given his hope of heaven to meet Barry face to face and hand to hand and see which was the better man, but Pete Glass owed a duty to his state before he owed a duty to himself. He stuck by his first plan, and every day the inhabitants of Rickard gathered at the shooting gallery to watch the tests and wonder at the successes and smile at the failures. It was a very hard test which the sheriff had imposed. A man stood to one side of the iron plate back wall which served as the target. He stood entirely out of sight, and through an aperture in the side wall at a signal he tossed a round ball of clay painted white. The marksman stood a good ten paces off, and he must strike that clay ball as it passed across the target.  It was old Pop Geersburg who stood with his ancient forty-five behind the counter with his feet braced on this bright morning, and behind him half of Rickard was gathered. "'Do you give me warnin' son?' he inquired of the man at the counter. "'Narry a warnin,' grinned the other, who was one of the chosen fifteen. He wished Pop well. So did they all, but they had seen every man fail for two days at that target, and one and all they had their doubts.  He was at least twenty years older than he felt.' He had hardly finished asking his question when the white ball was tossed across the target. "'Up came the gun of Pop Geersburg. Exploded. And the bullet clanged on the iron. The white ball floated idly on across the wall and disappeared on the other side. "'Give me another chance,' pleaded Pop with a quaver in his voice. "'That was just a try to get my eye in shape.' "'Sure,' chuckled the deputy. "'Everybody gets three tries. It ain't hardly natural to hit that ball the first crack. Least wise nobody ain't done it yet. "'You just keep your eye peeled, Pop, and that ball will come out again.' And Pop literally kept his eye peeled. He had double reason to pray for success, for his old woman had smiled and shook her head when he allowed that he would try out for a place on that posse. All his nerves grew taut and keen. He waited. Once more the white streak appeared, and surely he who threw the ball had every wish to see Pop succeed, for he tossed it high and easily. Again the gun barked from Geersburg's hand, and again the ball dropped almost slowly out of sight. "'It's a trick,' gasped Pop.   Pop glared at him and gritted his teeth.  He jerked his hat lower over his eyes, spread his feet a little more, and got ready for the last desperate chance. But fate was against Pop. Twenty years before he might have struck that mark if he had been in top condition, but today, though he put his very soul into the effort and though the ball for the third time was lobbed with the utmost gentleness through the air, his bullet banged vainly against the sheet of iron and the white, inoffensive ball continued on its way. Word came in the throat of Pop, reached his open mouth, and died there. He thrust the gun back into its holster and turned slowly toward the crowd. There was no smile to meet his challenging eye, for Pop was a known man, and though he might have failed to strike this elusive mark, that was no sign he would fail to hit something six feet in height by a couple in breadth. When he found that no mockery awaited him, a sheepish smile began at his eyes and wandered dimly to his lips. "'Well, gents,' he muttered. "'I guess I ain't as young as I was once. So long!' He shouldered his way to the door and was gone. "'That's but all, friends,' said the deputy crisply. "'I guess there ain't any more clamoring for a place to-day.' He swept the crowd with a complacent eye. "'If you've got no objection,' murmured a newcomer who had just slipped into the room, I'd sort of like to take a shot at that.' END OF CHAPTER XXVI "'I don't want to put you out, nun,' said the applicant gently. His voice was extremely gentle, and there was about him all the shrinking aloofness of the naturally timid. The deputy looked him over with quiet amusement. Slender fellow, with the gentlest brown eyes. And then with a quick side glance, invited the crowd to get in on the joke.  "'Not if you pay for your own ammunition.' "'Oh, yes,' answered the would-be man-hunter. I reckon I could afford that. He was so serious about it that the crowd murmured its amusement rather than bursting into loud laughter. If the man was a fool, at least he was not aggressive in his folly. They gave way, and he walked slowly towards the counter and stepped into the little open space besides the master of ceremonies. Very obviously he was ill at ease to find himself the center of so much attention. "'I suppose you've been practicing up on tin cans,' suggested the deputy, leaning on the counter. "'Well, sometimes I hit things, and sometimes I don't,' answered the stranger. "'Well,' and this was put more crisply, as the deputy brought out a large pad of paper. "'Just give me your name, partner.' Joe Cumber. He grew still more ill at ease. I hear that even if you hit the mark, you got to talk to the sheriff himself afterwards. "'Yep,' the applicant sighed.  But when the other turned his head toward him, his smile went out, suddenly, while the wrinkle of mirth still lay in his cheek. The deputy stroked his chin and looked thoughtful. "'Get your gun ready,' he ordered. The other slipped his hand down to his gun-butt, and moved his weapon to make sure that it was perfectly loose in the leather. "'Ain't you going to take your gun out?' queried the deputy. "'Can I do that?' "'I reckon not,' said the deputy, and looked the stranger straight in the eyes. His change to deadly earnestness put a hush over the crowd. Across the target, not tossed easily as it had been for Pop Geersberg, but literally thrown, darted the line of white, while the gun flipped out of its holster as if it possessed a life of its own and spoke. The white line ended halfway to the farther side of the target, and the revolver slid again into hiding. A clamor of amazement broke from the crowd, but the deputy looked steadily without enthusiasm at the stranger. "'Joe Cumber,' he said, when the noise fell away a little. "'I guess you'll see, the Sheriff.' "'Harry, take Joe Cumber up to Pete, will you?' One of the bystanders jumped at the suggestion and led the other from the room. With a full half of the crowd following. The deputy remained behind, thoughtful. "'What's the matter?' asked one of the spectators. "'You look like you've seen a ghost.' "'Gents,' answered the deputy. "'Do any of you recollect seeing this fellow before?' They did not. "'They something queer about him,' muttered the deputy. "'He may be word shy, Proffer to wit, but he sure ain't gun shy.' "'When he looked at me,' said the deputy, more to himself than to the others. "'It seemed to me like they was a swirl of yeller come into his eyes, made me feel like someone had sneaked up behind me with a knife.' In his thoughtfulness his eyes wandered, and wandering they fell upon the notice of the reward for the capture, dead or alive, of Daniel Berry, about five feet nine or ten, slender with black hair and brown eyes. "'My God!' cried the deputy. But then he relaxed against the counter.  "'Gents, I got a crazy idea.' He had no sooner started toward the door than he seemed to gain surety out of the motion. "'It's him!' he cried. He turned toward the others, white aface. "'Come on, all of you. It's him. Berry!' But in the meantime Harry had gone on swiftly to the office of the sheriff with Joe Cumber. Behind him swirled the curious crowd, and for their benefit he asked his questions loudly. "'Partner, that was sure a pretty play you made. "'I seen them all try out to crack them balls, "'but I never seen none of them do it the way you did, "'with your gun in the leather to start. "'What part of the country might you be from?' The other answered gently. "'Why, from over yonder.' "'The T.O. outfit, huh?' "'Beyond that.' "'Up in the gray mountains? That so? "'I suppose you've been on trails like this before.' "'Nothing to talk about.' "'There might have been a double meaning in this remark, "'and Harry looked twice to make sure that there was no guile.' "'Well, here we are.' He threw open a door which revealed a bald-headed clerk seated at a desk in a little bare room. "'Billy, here's a gent that cracked it the first whack "'and started his gun from the holster by God. "'He'd just kindly close the door, Harry,' said Billy. "'Step in, partner. Give me your name.' The door closed on the discomforted Harry, and Joe Cumber stood close to it, apparently driven to shrinking into the wall in his embarrassment, but while he stood there his hand fumbled behind him and turned the key in the lock and then extracted it. "'My name's Joe Cumber.' "'Joe Cumber,' this while inscribing it. "'Age?' "'About thirty-two, maybe.' "'Don't you know?' "'I don't, exactly.' "'His eyes were as vague as his words, gentle and smiling. "'Thirty-two,' said Billy sharply, "'more like twenty-five to me. "'Suppose we split the difference, hey?' "'And with a grin he wrote, "'Age twenty-two or three.' "'Business?' "'Trapper.' "'Good. The sheriff is pretty keen for them. "'You gents in that game got a sort of nose for the trail, "'mostly.' "'All right, Cumber, you'll see glass.' He stood at the door. "'By the way, Cumber, is that straight about "'starting your shot with your gun in the holster?' "'I suppose it is.' "'You suppose,' grounded the clerk. "'Well, come on in.' He banged once on the door and then threw it open. "'Joe Cumber, Pete.' "'And he drilled the ball, "'starting his gun out of the leather. "'Here's his card.' He closed the door, and once more the stranger stood almost cringing against it. And once more his fingers deftly turned the key, softly, silently, and extracted it from the lock. The sheriff had not looked up from the study of the card, for reading was more difficult to him than man-killing. And Joe Cumber had an opportunity to examine the room. It was hung with a score of pictures, some large, some small, but most of them enlargements. It was apparent of Kodak snapshots, for the eyes had that bleary look which comes in photographs spread over ten times their intended space. The faces had little more than bleary eyes in common. For there were bearded men and smooth-shaven faces, and lean and fat men. There were round cherubic countenances and lean, hungry heads. There were squared, protruding chins. There were chins which sloped away awkwardly toward the neck. In fact, it seemed that the sheriff had collected twenty specimens to represent every phase of weakness and strength in the human physiognomy. But beneath the pictures, almost without exception, there hung weapons, rifles, revolvers, knives, placed crisscross in a decorative manner, and it came to Joe Cumber that he was looking at the galaxy of the dead who had fallen by the hand of Sheriff Pete Glass. Not a face meant anything to him, but he knew instinctively that they were the chosen bad men of the past twenty years. So your Joe Cumber, the sheriff turned in his swivel chair and tossed his cigarette butt through the open window. What can I do for you? I got an idea, Sheriff, that maybe you'd sort of like to have my picture. The sheriff looked up from his study of the card, and having looked up, his eyes remained riveted. The other no longer cringed with embarrassment, but every line of his body breathed the great happiness. He was like one who had been riding joyously with a sharp wind in his face. There was a distant rushing of feet, a pounding on the door of the next room. What's that? muttered the sheriff. His attention called away. They want me. Wait a minute! called the voice of Billy without. I'll open the door! By God, it's locked! They want me.  Barry! Glass, I've come for you. And I'm ready. And I'll say this. He was standing now, and his nervous hands were at his sides. I've been hungry and hoping for this time to come. Barry, before you die, I want to thank you.  You got on my trail when I was living peaceable. There was a tremendous beating on the outer door of the outer room, but Barry went on. You took a gent that was living straight, and you made a sneak and a crook out of him and sent him to double cross me. You ain't worth living. You've spent your life hunting men, and now you're at the end of your trail. Think it over.  The little dusty man grew dustier still. His mouth worked.  It was out. His finger on the trigger, the barrel whipping into line when the weapon in Barry's hand exploded. The sheriff spun on his heel and fell on his face. Three times, as he lay there, dead in all except the instinctive movement of his muscles, his right hand clawed at the empty holster at his side. The sixth man had died for Gray Moly. The outer door of Billy's room crashed to the floor, and heavy feet thundered nearer. Barry ran to the window and whistled once, very high and thin. It brought a black horse racing around a corner nearby. It brought a wolf dog from an opposite direction, and as they drew up beneath the window he slid out and dropped lightly, cat-like, to the ground. One leap brought him to the saddle, and Satan stretched out along the street. End of Chapter 27 On the night of her failure at the cave, Kate came back to the cabin and went to her room without any word to buck or lee-haines. But when they sat before the fire, silent, or only murmuring, they could hear her moving about. Whatever sleep they got before morning was not free from dreams, for they knew that something was impending, and after breakfast they learned what it was. She struck straight out from the shoulder. She was going up to the cave, and if Dan was away she would take Joan by force. She needed help. Would they give it? They sat for a long time, looking at each other, and then avoiding Kate with their eyes. It was not the fear of death, but something more which both of them connected with the figure of whistling Dan. It was not until she took her light cartridge belt from the wall and buckled on her gun that they rose to follow. Before the first freshness of the morning past they were winding up the side of the mountain. Kate, a little in the lead, for she alone knew the way. When they rounded the shoulder the men rained their horses with which Kate had provided them, and sat looking solemnly at each other. Maybe we'll have no chance to talk alone again, said Leigh Haynes. This is the last trail, either for Barry or for us. And I don't think that Barry is that close to the end of his rope. Buck, give me your hand and say goodbye. All that a man can do against whistling Dan, and that isn't much, I'll do. Having you along won't make us a wit stronger. Thanks, growled Buck Daniels. Just save that kind of farewell till I show Yeller. Hurry up, she's getting too far ahead. At the bottom of the ravine, where they dismounted for the precipitous slope above, Kate showed her first hesitation. You both know what this means, she asked them. We sure do, replied Buck. Dan will find out you've helped me, and then he'll never forgive you. Will you risk even that? Kate, broke in Leigh Haynes, don't stop for questions, keep on and we'll follow. I don't want to think of what may happen. She turned, and without a word, went up the steep incline. Well, you think of your soft girl now, panted Buck at the ear of Haynes. The latter flashed a significant look at him, but said nothing. They reached the top of the canyon wall and passed on among the voters. Kate had drawn back to them now, and they walked as cautiously as if there were dried leaves underfoot. She had only lifted a finger of warning, and they knew that they were near to the crisis. She came to the great rock around which she had first seen the entrance to the cave on the day before. Inch by inch, with Buck and Leigh following her example, they worked toward the edge of the boulder and peered carefully around it. There opened the cave, and in front of it was Joan, playing with what seemed to be a ball of gray fur. Her hair tumbled loose and bright about her shoulders. She wore the tawny hide which Kate had seen before, and on her feet, since the sharp rocks had long before worn out her boots, she had daintily fashioned moccasins. Bare knees, profusely scratched, bare arms rapidly browning to the color of the fur she wore. Haynes and Buck had to rub their eyes and look again before they could recognize her. They must have made a noise. Perhaps merely an intaking of breath, inaudible even to themselves, but clear to the ears of Joan. She was on her feet with bright, wild eyes glancing here and there. There was no suggestion of childishness in her, but a certain willingness to flee from a great danger or attack a weaker force. She stood alert rather than frightened, with her head back as if she scented the wind to learn what approached. The ball of gray fur straightened into the sharp ears and the flashing teeth of a coyote puppy. Buck Daniel slipped on a pebble, and at the sound the coyote darted to the shadow of a little shrub and crouched there, hardly distinguishable from the shade which covered it. And the child, with infinitely cunning instinct, raced to a patch of yellow sand and tawny rocks among which she cowered and remained there, moveless. One thing at least was certain. Whistling Dan was not in the cave, for if he had been the child would have run to him for protection, or at least cried out in her alarm. This information Haynes whispered to Kate and she nodded, turning a white face toward him. Then she stepped out from the rock and went straight toward Joan. There was no stir in the little figure. Even the wind seemed to take part in the secret and did not lift the golden hair. Once the eyes of the child glittered as they turned toward Kate, but otherwise she made no motion, like a rabbit which will not budge until the very shadow of the reaching hand falls over it. So it was with Joan. And as Kate leaned silently over her, she sprang to her feet and darted between the hands of her mother and away among the rocks. Past the reaching hands of Lee Haynes she swerved, but it was only to run straight into the grip of Buck Daniels. Up to that moment she had not uttered a sound, but now she screamed out, twisted in his arms, and beat furiously against his face. Joan! cried Kate. Joan! She reached Buck and unwound his arms from the struggling body of the child. Honey, why are you afraid? Oh, my baby!   She sighed. Munner and stole a pace closer. A moment later Kate sat with Joan in her arms, rocking to and fro and weeping. What's happened, grasped Haynes to Daniels? What's happened to the kid? Don't talk, answered Buck, his face gray as that of Kate. It's Dan's blood. He drew a great breath. Did you see her try to bite me while I was holding her? Kate had started to her feet, holding Joan in one arm and dashing away her tears with a free hand. All weakness was gone from her. Hurry, she commanded. We haven't any time to lose. Buck, come here. No, Lee, you're stronger. Honey, this is your uncle Lee. He'll take care of you. He won't hurt you. Will you go to him? Joan shrank away while she examined him, but the instincts of a child moved with thrice the speed of a mature person's judgment. She read the kindly honesty which breathed from every line of Haynes' face and held out her arms to him. Then they started down the slope for the horses, running wildly. For the moment they turned their backs on the cave, the same thought was in the mind of each, the same haunting fear of that small shrill whistle pursuing. Half running, half sliding, they went down to the bottom of the gorge, while the pebble they started rushed after them in small avalanches, and they even had to dodge rocks of considerable size which came bounding after. Joan, alert upon the shoulder of Lee Haynes, enjoyed every moment of it. Her hair tossed in the sun, her arms were outstretched for balance, so they reached the horses and climbed into the saddles. Then without a word from one to the other, but with many a backward look, they started on the flight. By the time they reached the shoulder of the hill on the farther side, with a long stretch of downslope before them, they had placed a large handicap between them and the danger of pursuit. But still they were not at ease. On their trail sooner or later would come three powers working toward one end, the surety of Black Bart following the scent, the swiftness of Satan which never tired and above all the rider who directed them both and kept them to their work. His was the arm which could strike from the distance and bring them down. They spurted down the hill. No sooner were they in full motion than Joan for the first time seemed to realize what it was all about. She was still carried by Lee Haynes who cradled her easily in his powerful left arm, but now she began to struggle. Then she stiffened and screamed, Daddy Dan! Daddy Dan!  He can't, said Haynes. We're too far away even if you were at the cave now. I tell you he'll hear, don't talk to me about distance. Kate reigned her horse beside Lee. Joan, she commanded. They were sweeping across the meadow now at an easy gallop. Joan screamed again a wild plea for help. Joan! Repeated Kate and her voice was fierce. She raised her quirt and shook it. Be quiet! Munner whip! Hard! Another call died away on the lips of Joan. She looked at her mother with astonishment, and then with a new respect. If you cry once more, Munner whip! And Joan was silent, staring with wonder and defiance. When they came close to the cabin, Lee Haynes drew rain, but Kate motioned him on. Where to, he called? Back to the old ranch, she answered. We've got to have help. He nodded in grim understanding, and they headed on down the slope toward the valley. End of Chapter 28