Valley of the Vanishing Men (11 page)

F
AR
up the long ravine, through the narrows, up the hill of loose sand, Jim Silver and Ben Trainor had come close to the stone house in front of the old Spanish mine. For here, they hoped, they might be able to pick up the lost sign of Barry Christian’s men. Leading the way was Jim Silver’s tame wolf, and when Frosty came to the black, open doorway of the house, he suddenly shrank down and leaped aside. He began to back toward his master with his head down, his legs bent so that he was in a position to leap in any direction.

The horses had been left at a little distance, and now Silver murmured to Trainor: “There’s a man in that house. Take the back. I’ll take the front. Frosty wouldn’t act that way except for a man and guns.”

“There may be ten men, for that matter, and the darkness may be only a bait,” said Trainor.

“No,” answered Silver. “If there were a lot of men, Frosty wouldn’t come back slowly. He’d come on the run. Take the back way; I’ll take the front, and We’ll see what’s inside the place.”

Trainor, in fact, had barely skirted to the rear of the house when he heard Silver say, from the front and inside:

“Steady, brother! Don’t move! I see you in spite of the dark.”

“Move?” answered a groaning voice. “The only place I can move to is hell, and I’m bound there pretty fast.”

By the time Trainor got in, Silver had already kindled a lantern and with Trainor he looked down into the face of a man who had a great red-stained bandage about his body, which was naked above the hips. A blanket had been thrown on the long table, and that one of Yates’s companions who was called Les was stretched there to die or live, as chance might help him or leave him.

He was a good-looking fellow in his early twenties, with a growth of pale blond stubble over his face. His brows were puckered with pain that made him turn his head restlessly, continually, from side to side. But when he saw Silver, his head stopped its turning, and his eyes fixed.

“It’s a funny damn thing,” said Les. “I kind of thought that I’d see you again. And here you are, eh? Well, you got me, Silver, and I guess you got me good. Either of you hombres would kindly please to gimme a slug of water out of the canteen over yonder? I can’t get down off the table to fetch it for myself.”

Silver brought him the canteen quickly and held it at his lips. Les drank with bulging eyes.

“That’s better by a whole lot,” he declared, panting. “Luck that brung you two here — luck or that devil of a Frosty, eh?”

For the wolf had reared and, planting his forefeet on the edge of the table, lolled the long red flag of his tongue and looked with green eyes into the face of the wounded man.

“Frosty brought us,” said Silver, “and told us that there was someone in here in the dark. Where are the rest of your pals, Les?”

“Dead, I hope!” said Les. “They go off and leave me here to die! They wouldn’t fetch me a doctor. They wouldn’t leave one man to look after me! Perry wanted to. And Christian he just cussed Perry out. Perry’s a white man, but Christian’s a snake. What does he care if I live or I die? ‘We got no time to pick up the hindmost’ is all he says. And so — ”

He began to cough. With both hands he grappled the pain in the center of his body. His mouth opened. The coughing stopped, but the convulsion of it remained on his face.

“Don’t talk any more,” said Silver. “I’m sorry you’re hurt, partner. We’ll fix you a decent bed, before we start. And then — ”

His voice died out, for a crimson froth came bubbling on the lips of Les, the telltale sign that he had been wounded through the lungs. Les wiped his lips and looked at the froth on the back of his hand. Then his staring eyes gaped at the two.

“I’m goin’ to die,” he whispered. “Whatcha think of that? I feel right strong, but I’m goin’ to die!”

“You may not,” said Silver. “Lie still. Be quiet. We’ll — we’ll stay with you — one of us will!”

“Will you?” muttered Les. “No, don’t you do it. I’m goin’ to go quick — there ain’t much air — I can’t get hold of no air. Don’t stay here with me. Go and get on the trail of Christian and blast the heart out of his body. Go and open him up! I’ll tell you where to look. The girl led ‘em over to Slocum’s Ravine. The one with the walls stickin’ straight up on each side. It’s a gulch that not even a fly could climb out of. She said that that’s where the mine is. You’ll find ‘em there. Find ‘em and shoot to kill. They all oughta die, the skunks! Only Perry is kind of a white man. The rest had oughta die! Go get ‘em, Silver!”

He lay still, panting, and his eyes rolled rapidly in his head. His mouth opened and shut as he bit at the air.

Trainor looked with horrified inquiry at Silver and received one quick glance that said, “No!”

“As long as I had to be bumped off, it was better that a gent like Silver should do the trick,” said the husky whisper of Les. “I sort of wish that I’d been on your side of the fence, Silver, and gone straight. I ain’t been a lazy, crooked hound like a lot of ‘em — more kind of crazy and didn’t care. And now, I’m finished up. They ain’t goin’ to forget me, just because I’m on your list! But if only that bullet had socked into Christian instead of me! It might’ve, just as good! The world would be a lot better off. Wouldn’t it?”

He twisted again, from side to side.

“Is the pain bad?” said Silver.

“Yeah, bad, bad!” gasped Les.

Silver laid his big, brown hands softly over the bandage. Les suddenly let his own hands drop away.

“The pain,” he said, “it sort of goes right out — into your hands — like it was running out into them!”

Like a child, he wondered at Silver.

“This ain’t so bad,” said Les. “This feels pretty good. If only I could breathe better. Silver, am I goin’ to die?”

“You’re going to die, Les,” said Silver. “I’m sorry.”

“Would you be sorry, honest?” asked Les.

“With my whole heart, I’m sorry,” said Silver.

“You’re a good guy, Silver,” whispered Les. “Yeah, and we all of us know that. Even Yates and Christian know it. We all know that you’re the right sort. Only — we fought against you. I’m sorry for that.”

Suddenly he went limp. His lips moved. No words came.

“Silver!” he called out suddenly and sat straight up. Silver caught him in his arms. The head of the dead man fell back against his shoulder.

Ben Trainor looked not at the dead face, but into the sorrowful eyes of Jim Silver, as the big man lowered the body gently onto the flat of the table, again. He pulled the blanket over the head of Les after he had closed the eyes.

“That’s that!” he said. “We ride for Slocum’s Ravine now, and try to make up for this mistake of mine, Ben.”

T
HE
unhampered stride of the golden stallion would have brought Silver to the mouth of Slocum’s Ravine in time to interfere with the retreat of Christian and his men as the sand storm blew up, but Parade had to be checked to keep back with the gait of the horse of Ben Trainor. That was why, from the distance, the two riders saw the rout of mounted men pouring into the narrow mouth of the ravine on whose polished sides the moon was still glimmering, though across the desert, rapidly enveloping Silver and Trainor, the sand storm was increasing in strength and in darkness.

“It’s no good!” shouted Trainor to Silver. “We’ve got to get to some kind of shelter and — ”

“Look!” said Silver, calling through the bandanna which he had tied across his face to shut out the flying dust. “We’ve got to get to those people and see who they are. Two of ‘em, left out there — why do the fools stay? Do they think that they can get shelter from that bit of rock? Or is it some of Christian’s devilishness? Trainor, those are his men who just went back into the ravine. I’ve half a mind to ride in behind them and — ”

A sudden, howling blast of the wind cut short these words. The two men went forward to the figures which were now barely distinguishable as they strove to take shelter behind the rock.

The moon was gone. The sheeted dust made a false twilight as thick as the last hour of dusk, and through it the two men forced their horses.

Trainor, as he reached the goal, saw the girl trying to make more shelter for a helpless man stretched flat on his back; through the murk, he thought he could make out the face of his brother, and he threw himself hastily from the saddle.

It was an almost fatal error, as time was to tell, for the horse, wild with fear in the storm, snatched the reins through the fingers of Trainor and suddenly bolted before the wind. Only for an instant was it visible, making gigantic strides as though the wind were buoying it up on wings. Then it was gone.

Trainor, for the instant, paid little heed to that. He was sprawling flat, helping to make a shelter for his brother. Silver was there, also. On the flat top of the gold rock, he had made Parade lie down, thereby increasing the height of the barrier toward the wind. Under the lee of that shelter the five people huddled.

Speech was impossible. The wind screamed like a thousand fiends. The heavy body of Parade, even, was shaken and battered by its force. And in the thick murk of the night, Ben Trainor could barely make out what was happening close beside him.

Clive, happily, was bearing the thing fairly well. That was because Silver took charge and from the first carefully moistened the cloth that covered the face of the sick man. That moisture helped to strain out the incredibly fine sand which was sifting through the clothes of the others. It not only worked in up sleeves and down neckbands, but also it actually blew right through the strong fabric of the cloth! Wherever the air could penetrate, the fine sand could work with it!

Ben Trainor and Wells and the girl, huddling over Clive, helped make the barrier more solid against the sweep of the wind, but that was all they could do. The fight to keep breathing was enough to tax them. The frightful sense of stifling drove Ben Trainor half mad. He wondered how the girl could endure. And yet she offered no complaint, by any gesture. Neither did Doctor Wells. However, it was Silver who did everything. It was he who busily pushed away the sand that whipped around the rock like water. The moment that it was thrust out, as it threatened to overwhelm the group, the wind caught hold of it and knocked it into a cloud that traveled off with a hissing sound down the wind. It was Silver, too, who continually turned and swabbed out the nostrils of Parade. Sometimes, in a lull of the wind, he reached into the mouth of the stallion and, with a few drops of water on a rag, swabbed out the dust that was clogging the air passages of the nose, making the mouth dry. The same service he performed for Frosty, who lay, as a rule, with his head thrust under the coat of his master.

The magic hands of Silver were nearly always busy, with the two animals, and with the sick man. And now and then he bowed his head and listened to the heartbeat of Clive Trainor. For it might well be that the suggestion of Christian would come into effect, and that Clive would stifle in the storm.

One thing was certain — they could not move either with the storm or against it. The weight of the wind was such that even a horse could hardly have stood in it.

And this continued for hours.

Doctor Wells had begun to act strangely before the end of the strain. Ben Trainor could see the medical man swaying his head and then his entire body from side to side, as though he were in great distress. But he was not prepared to see Wells suddenly leap to his feet with a gasping cry, that sounded faint and small and far away.

The wind, as he jumped up, took him with many hands and jerked him away. He rolled helplessly in the sand, and it was Silver who sprang after him — Silver and Frosty!

Ben Trainor, stunned, had barely begun to rise to give his hand, when already he saw the doctor dragged back by Silver, who leaned with his body almost horizontal, and with Frosty backing up, tugging with all his might at the coat of Wells.

The doctor was unconscious.

No doubt he had been gradually stifling for a long time, fighting to keep himself calm while the sand coated the inside of his nose and mouth, even through the doubled folds of his bandanna. The shattered nerves and the alcohol-weakened heart had endured this long simply because the will of the doctor had bravely held on. But at last, in a panic, all had given way together. He had leaped, in the throes of strangulation, to his feet, and had been hurled into the darkness by the stroke of the wind.

Now, his nose and mouth filled with sand — blind with it, also — he lay like one dead while Silver worked over him. More of the precious water had to be used to swab out the nose passages. Water had to be poured down the throat of the senseless man. It seemed to Ben Trainor that poor Wells was surely dead. And then, by the grace of Silver and good chance, the man began to move. It was merely a movement of the hand, but it announced life.

And just after that the wind began to fall away.

Its terrible screaming dropped down the scale several notes at a time. It was possible to uncover the eyes, if they were carefully squinted. And as the wind fell away, the masses of the flying dust diminished. The light of the moon once more was filtering through, and the group could look about into each other’s ghastly faces.

They were winning. They had two helpless men on their hands, but they were winning — for the moment.

What would happen when the storm had passed quite on and the men of Christian rode out again? They would find the group huddled up, waiting for destruction.

It was possible even now to rise and walk against the wind, barely possible. But even if both the helpless men were put on Parade, the other three would have to remain on foot, and they could not travel a mile before the savage horsemen of Christian would bear down upon them.

They had this moment while the wind screamed less fiercely to make up their minds.

Wells was badly done in. Silver, taking his heartbeat, shook his head gloomily. The honest doctor had endured, as a matter of fact, too long. He should have asked for help before coming to the verge of prostration. Now there was the very effect of shock which he had noted in Clive Trainor.

Whatever was done, Wells would have to be considered a helpless weight of flesh.

As for Clive, he was alive; perhaps it would be better for him directly, but he was very far gone, and as the wind fell, Ben Trainor could hear him muttering rapidly, somewhat vaguely, without meaning. The delirium, it seemed, had commenced again in him, and no wonder!

The girl?

As the falling of the wind, and the hurtling mists of dust made it possible for her to uncover her face, it appeared like the faces of the others — black as a Negro’s, because the covering and the heat had produced rivers of sweat that turned into rivers of sticky mud. But she actually seemed less affected by the storm than any of the others. Perhaps that was because she had had the head of Clive Trainor in her lap all through the crisis, and her hands had cherished him, following the precepts that Silver showed her.

Silver himself? The storm seemed to have passed over him as over a rock. He was busy, now, caring for the stallion, which was snorting the clotted dust out of its flaring nostrils. Parade, no doubt, had saved them more than all else, with the bulwark of his body.

Then Silver called loudly, through the dying yell of the wind: “Ben, what are you thinking of?”

Ben Trainor had been thinking, and not in vain.

“That ravine — you remember Les said that not even a fly could climb out of it?”

“Yes, I remember.”

“Then suppose that a man with a rifle and plenty of ammunition lay right in the mouth of the gulch and opened up on anyone who tried to get out? Wouldn’t that plug the valley like a cork in a bottle? Wouldn’t that hold ‘em all there until help comes from Alkali?”

Before he got an answer, Ben Trainor added: “But we’ll get no help out of that town. I forgot that!”

“We’ll get plenty of help,” said Silver. “Don’t think that everybody in Alkali is a crook. Not a bit! With Yates and Christian gone, we can get plenty of followers-enough to ring that valley around, I tell you! Trainor, go back with the others. Parade will carry Wells and Clive. Nell and you can walk. I’ll stay here and bottle up the valley.”

“No,” said Ben Trainor, though the heart in him shrank as he spoke and saw the danger that he would have to face. “You’ll have to go with them to handle Parade. How could I make him carry double? And there’s no time for you to teach him; Christian’s rats may poke their heads out of the hole any minute now. Besides, it’s Jim Silver that will raise the crowd in town. What could I do? Nothing! But even the crooks will follow Jim Silver! It’s your job to go!”

He knew that he had spoken the truth and the full truth. Even Silver was silent, though his face worked as he peered through the flying mist of dust toward the mouth of the valley — where his heart was urging him to go. For in there was Christian.

Ben Trainor gripped the senseless hand of his brother. He patted Wells on the shoulder and drew a feeble groan for an answer.

The hand of Silver almost crushed Trainor’s, and Silver’s own rifle was passed into his hands. They said nothing. They merely looked at one another.

Then the girl stood up. The wind staggered her, and she gripped both hands of Ben Trainor, and let him go, head down, blundering, stumbling, toward his post of danger and honor.