The Max Brand Megapack (366 page)

As he left the house he found Kate Cumberland, and they went on together, running without a word to each other. Only, when he came beside her, she stopped short and flashed one glance at him. By that glance he knew that she understood why he was there, and that she accepted his sacrifice.

They hurried around the outer edge of the corrals, and as they approached the flaming barn from one side the men from the bunk-house rushed up from the other. It was Buck Daniels who reached Dan as the latter stumbled back from the door of the barn, surrounded by a following cloud of smoke, and fell stumbling to the ground. And Buck raised him.

The girl was instantly beside them.

She had thrown on a white dressing gown when she rose from bed. It was girded high across her breast, and over it showered her bright hair, flashing like liquid gold in growing light. She, now, received the semi-conscious burden of Dan Barry, and Buck Daniels stepped forward, close to the smoke. He began to shout directions which the two watchers behind the hill could not hear, though they saw his long arms point and gesticulate and they could see his speaking lips. But wild confusion was on the crowd of cowpunchers. They ran here and there. One or two brought buckets of water and tossed the contents uselessly into the swirling, red-stained hell of smoke. But most of them ran here and there, accomplishing nothing.

“An’ all this come from one little match, Mac,” cried Haw-Haw ecstatically at the ear of Mac Strann. “All what we’re seein’! Look at the gal, Mac! She’s out of her wits! She’s foolin’ about Barry, doin’ no good.”

A gust of smoke and fire must have met Barry face to face when he entered the barn, for he seemed now as helpless as if he were under a strong narcotic influence. He leaned heavily back into the arms of the girl, his head rolling wildly from side to side. Then, clearer than before, dominating all the confusion of noise, and with a ringing, trumpet note of courage in it, the black stallion neighed again from his burning stall. It had a magic effect upon Barry. He stood up and tore himself from the arms of the girl. They saw her gesture and cry to the surrounding men for help, and a dozen hands were stretched out to keep the madman from running again into the fire. They might better have attempted to hold a wild horse with their naked hands. He slipped and broke through their grips, and a second later had leaped into the inferno of smoke, running bent close to the ground where the pure air, if there were any, was sure to be.

“The gal’s sick!” said Haw-Haw Langley. “Look, Mac!”

And he began to laugh in that braying voice which had given him his nickname. Yet even in his laughter his eyes were brightly observant; not a single detail of misery or grief was lost upon him; he drank it in; he fed his famine-stricken soul upon it. Kate Cumberland had buried her face in her arms; Buck Daniels, attempting to rush in after Dan Barry, had been caught beneath the arms by Doctor Byrne and another and was now borne struggling back.

From the very heart of the burning barn the sharp single whistle burst and over the rolling smoke and spring fire rose the answering neigh. A human voice could not have spoken more intelligibly: “I wait in trust!”

After that neigh and whistle, a quiet fell over the group at the barn door. There was nothing to do. There was not enough wind to blow the flames from this barn to one of the neighbouring sheds; all they could do was to stand still and watch the progress of the conflagration.

The deep, thick voice of Mac Strann broke in: “Start prayin’, Haw-Haw, that the hoss don’t kill Barry when he gets to him. Start prayin’ that Barry is left for me to finish.”

He must have meant his singular request more as a figure of speech than a real demand, but an hysteria was upon Haw-Haw Langley. He stretched up his vast, gaunt arms to the dim spot of red in the central heavens above the fire, and Haw-Haw prayed for the first and last time in his life.

“O Lord, gimme this one favour. Bring Barry safe out of the barn. Bring him out even if you got to bring the damned hoss with him. Bring him out and save him for Mac Strann to meet. And, God A’mighty, let me be around somewhere’s when they meet!”

This strange exhibition Mac Strann watched with a glowering eye.

“But it ain’t possible,” he said positively. “I been in fires. Barry can’t live through the fire; an’ if he does, the hoss will finish him. It ain’t possible for him to come out!”

From half the roof of the shed flames now poured, but presently a great shower of sparks rose at the farther end of the barn, and then Haw-Haw heard the sound of a beating and crashing.

“Hei!” he screamed, “Barry’s reached the black hoss and the black hoss is beating him into the floor!”

“You fool!” answered Mac Strann calmly, “Barry has got a beam or something and he’s smashing down the burning partition of the box stall. That’s what he’s doing; listen!”

High over the fire, once again rose the neighing of the black horse, a sound of unspeakable triumph.

“You’re right,” groaned Haw-Haw, downcast. “He’s reached the hoss!”

He had hardly finished speaking when Mac Strann said: “Anyway, he’ll never get out. This end wall of the barn is fallin’ in.”

Indeed, the outer wall of the barn, nearest the door, was wavering in a great section and slowly tottering in. Another moment or two it would crash to the floor and block the way of Dan Barry, coming out, with a flaming ruin. Next the watchers saw a struggle among the group which watched. Three men were struggling with Buck Daniels, but presently he wrenched his arms free, struck down two men before him with swinging blows of his fists, and leaped into the smoke.

“He’s gone nutty, like a crazy hoss with the sight of the fire,” said Mac Strann quietly.

“He ain’t! He ain’t!” cried Haw-Haw Langley, wild with excitement. “He’s holdin’ back the burnin’ wall to keep the way clear, damn him!”

Indeed, the tottering wall, not having leaned to a great angle, was now pushed back by some power from the inside of the barn and kept erect. Though now and again it swayed in, as though the strength which held it was faltering under the strain.

Now the eyes of the watchers were called to the other end of the barn by a tremendous crashing. The entire section of that part of the roof fell in, and a shower of sparks leaped up into the heart of the sky, lighting the distant hills and drawing them near like watchers of the horror of the night.

“That’s the end,” said Mac Strann. “Haw-Haw, they wasn’t any good in your prayer.”

“I ain’t a professional prayin’ man,” answered Haw-Haw defensively, “but I done my best. If—” He was cut short by a chorused cry from the watchers near the door of the barn, and then, through the vomitted smoke and the fire, leaped the unsaddled body of Satan bearing on his back the crouched figure of Dan Barry, and in the arms of Barry, limp, his head hanging down loosely, was the body of the great black dog, Bart.

A fearful picture. The smoke swept following around the black stallion, and a great tongue of flame licked hungrily after the trio. But the stallion stood with head erect, and ears flattened, pawing the ground. With that cloud of destruction blowing him he stood like the charger which the last survivor might ride through the ruin of the universe in the Twilight of the Gods.

At the same instant, another smoke-clad figure lunged from the door of the barn, his hands outstretched as though he felt and fumbled his way through utter darkness. It was Buck Daniels, and as he cleared the door the section of tottering wall which he had upheld to keep the way clear for the Three, wavered, sagged, and then sank in thunder to the floor, and the whole barn lay a flame-tossed mass of ruin.

The watchers had scattered before the plunge of Satan, but he came to a sliding halt, as if his rider had borne heavily back upon the reins. Barry slipped from the stallion’s back with the wounded dog, and kneeled above the limp figure.

“It ain’t the end,” growled Mac Strann, “that hoss will go runnin’ back into the fire. It ain’t hoss nature to keep from goin’ mad at the sight of a fire!”

In answer to him, the black stallion whirled, raised his head high, and, with flaunting mane and tail, neighed a ringing defiance at the rising flames. Then he turned back and nuzzled the shoulder of his master, who was working with swift hands over the body of Black Bart.

“Anyway,” snarled Haw-Haw Langley, “the damned wolf is dead.”

“I dunno,” said Mac Strann. “Maybe—maybe not. They’s quite a pile that we dunno.”

“If you want to get rid of the hoss,” urged Haw-Haw, writhing in the glee of a new inspiration, “now’s the time for it, Mac. Get out your gun and pot the black. Before the crowd can get after us, we’ll be miles away. They ain’t a saddled hoss in sight. Well, if you don’t want to do it, I will!” And he whipped out his gun.

But Mac Strann reached across and dragged the muzzle down.

“We done all we’re goin’ to do to-night. Seems like God’s been listenin’ pretty close, around here!”

He turned his horse, and Haw-Haw, reluctantly, followed suit. Still, as they trotted slowly away from the burning barn, Haw-Haw kept his glance fixed behind him until a final roaring crash and a bellying cloud of fire that smote the zenith announced the end of the barn. Then Haw-Haw turned his face to his companion.

“Now what?” he demanded.

“We go to Elkhead and sit down and wait,” answered Mac Strann. “If the dog gets well he’ll bring Barry to us. Then all I’ve got to do is defend myself.”

Haw-Haw Langley twisted up his face and laughed, silently, to the red-stained sky.

CHAPTER XXIV

DOCTOR BYRNE LOOKS INTO THE PAST

The black head of Barry, the brown head of Randall Byrne, the golden head of Kate Cumberland, were all bowed around the limp body of Black Bart. Buck Daniels, still gasping for breath, stood reeling nearby.

“Let me attempt to resuscitate the animal,” offered the doctor.

He was met by a blank look from Barry. The hair of the man was scorched, his skin was blistered and burned. Only his hands remained uninjured, and these continued to move over the body of the great dog. Kate Cumberland was on her knees over the brute.

“Is it fatal, Dan?” she asked. “Is there no hope for Bart?”

There was no answer from Barry, and she attempted to raise the fallen, lifeless head of the animal; but instantly a strong arm darted out and brushed her hands away. Those hands fell idly at her sides and her head went back as though she had been struck across the face. She found herself looking up into the angry eyes of Randall Byrne. He reached down and raised her to her feet; there was no colour in her face, no life in her limbs.

“There’s nothing more to be done here, apparently,” said the doctor coldly. “Suppose we take your father and go back to the house.”

She made neither assent nor dissent. Dan Barry had finished a swift, deft bandage and stopped the bleeding of the dog’s wounds. Now he raised his head and his glance slipped rapidly over the faces of the doctor and the girl and rested on Buck Daniels. There was no flash of kindly thanks, no word of recognition. His right hand raised to his cheek, and rested there, and in his eyes came that flare of yellow hate. Buck Daniels shrank back until he was lost in the crowd. Then he turned and stumbled back towards the house.

Instantly, Barry began to work at expanding and depressing the lungs of the huge animal as he might have worked to bring a man back to life.

“Watch him!” whispered the doctor to Kate Cumberland. “He is closer to that dog—that wolf, it looks like—than he has ever been to any human being!”

She would not answer, but she turned her head quickly away from the man and his beast.

“Are you afraid to watch?” challenged Byrne, for his anger at Barry’s blunt refusals still made his blood hot. “When your father lay at death’s door was he half so anxious as he is now? Did he work so hard, by half? See how his eyes are fixed on the muzzle of the beast as if he were studying a human face!”

“No, no!” breathed the girl.

“I fell you, look!” commanded the doctor. “For there’s the solution of the mystery. No mystery at all. Barry is simply a man who is closer akin to the brute forces in nature. See! By the eternal heavens, he’s dragging that beast—that dumb beast—back from the door of death!”

Barry had ceased his rapid manipulations, and turned the big dog back upon its side. Now the eyes of Black Bart opened, and winked shut again. Now the master kneeled at the head of the beast and took the scarred, shaggy head between his hands.

“Bart!” he commanded.

Not a stir in the long, black body. The stallion edged a pace closer, dropped his velvet muzzle, and whinnied softly at the very ear of the dog. Still, there was not an answering quiver.

“Bart!” called the man again, and there was a ring of wild grief—of fear—in his cry.

“Do you hear?” said Byrne savagely, at the ear of the girl. “Did you ever use such a tone with a human being? Ever?”

“Take me away!” she murmured. “I’m sick—sick at heart. Take me away!”

Indeed, she was scarcely sure of her poise, and tottered where she stood. Doctor Byrne slipped his arm about her and led her away, supporting half her weight. They went slowly, by small, soft steps, towards the house, and before they reached it, he knew that she was weeping. But if there was sadness in Byrne, there was also a great joy. He was afire, for there is a flamelike quality in hope. Loss of blood and the stifling smoke, rather than a mortal injury or the touch of fire, had brought Black Bart close to death, but now that his breathing was restored, and almost normal, he gained rapidly. One instant he lingered on the border between life and death; the next, the brute’s eyes opened and glittered with dim recognition up towards Dan, and he licked the hand which supported his head. At Dan’s direction, a blanket was brought, and after Dan had lifted Black Bart upon it, four men raised the corners of the blanket and carried the burden towards the house. One of the cowpunchers went ahead bearing the light. This was the sight which Doctor Byrne and Kate Cumberland saw from the veranda of the ranch-house as they turned and looked back before going in.

“A funeral procession,” suggested the doctor.