Valley of the Vanishing Men (8 page)

N
EVER
was a sight more welcome to human eyes than the picture of the rider of the great horse, with the slinking form of Frosty loping in front. They came up the ravine, and Frosty showed the way, at once, up the side slip where the Trainors had climbed to the top. But half the joy went out of Ben Trainor when he looked into the gloomy face of Jim Silver.

He had missed Christian again!

Doubling like a hunted fox into the broken bad lands of a long ravine, Christian had melted from view. Which one of half a hundred wandering little cross canyons the fugitive might have taken, Silver could not determine. Therefore, he had to wait until Frosty came up. And when the wolf came, he had to wait impatiently, until the keen nose of Frosty at last found the trail. After that, he was limited to the speed of the wolf in making the pursuit, and that speed, of course, could not match the striding horse that carried Christian. Finally, late in the afternoon, Silver had found that the trail led out from the highlands onto the desert, and there he had given up his man hunt.

“You gave it up to come back and see what was happening to Clive. Is that the reason?” asked Trainor seriously.

“There’ll be another chance to get at Christian’s trail,” said Silver grimly.

He looked down at Clive, then knelt and felt his pulse for a long moment.

“He has to have a doctor,” declared Silver, “and he’s too weak to be taken to one. He needs careful nursing, anyway, to pull him through this. Trainor, I’ll be the nurse. You ride to Alkali and get a doctor. Get the best one in the town. There are three of them. The best of the lot for talent is a drunken rascal called Wells. Better not try him, though. He drinks too much for his wits. Alexander is a good doctor. So is Murray. They’re both Scotch and they’re honest. The only fault with them is that they hate each other. Try to get one of the pair.”

“I ought to stay here with Clive,” said Trainor. “You’d do better with the bringing of the doctor, wouldn’t you?”

“Your voice might quiet your brother,” admitted Silver, “but he’s beyond recognizing voices, just now.”

Clive broke into long, delirious laughter, just then, and Silver laid his hand on the flushed brow of the sick man. The laughter died away. After a moment, Clive lay still, breathing hard and fast.

“What did you do?” whispered Ben Trainor.

“Animal magnetism — I don’t know what it is,” said Silver. “But it seems to help sick people. You go for the doctor. I’ll take care of Clive well enough, I hope.”

Ben Trainor argued no more, for he could see that his own care of Clive would be far less efficient than that which big Jim Silver could give. He merely saddled his horse, took a canteen of water, and mounted.

“They might come back to look for us,” said Ben Trainor. “And whatever they do, they’re moving fast tonight. By tomorrow they know it will be almost too late to file a claim on their stolen mine and certainly after tomorrow, they know they’ll be exposed. Tonight and tomorrow morning is about all the time that’s left to them. They’ll find a way of making the girl talk, tonight. They’ll have the mine located before morning. They’ll file the claim before tomorrow night, and once they file, the law won’t let us shake them off.”

“It depends,” said Silver, “on whether the girl will hold out for a time or give in.”

“A girl hold out — against Christian and Yates?” exclaimed Trainor.

“Your brother held out, and women are stronger than men,” answered Silver.

“Do you mean that?” asked Trainor.

A deep groan began to tear the throat of Clive. The sound rippled through the very soul of Ben, but he heard it die away half uttered. The hand of Silver was again comforting the sick man, and relieving him with a hypnotic touch.

Silver said: “Women stand pain better than men do. Women make better martyrs. Maybe Christian and Yates will have their hands full before they make her talk. But whatever happens, you’re to ride to Alkali. Go fast — take Parade and go fast!”

At the sound of his name, the great golden stallion came quickly toward his master, pricking up his ears.

“Ride Parade?” said Ben Trainor. “I know that nobody can ride Parade. No one except you.”

“He’ll carry you safely enough as soon as you know a few things about him and have an introduction,” said Silver. “Come here, Parade.” The horse came instantly up to him, and Silver laid his hand between the eyes of the chestnut.

“Put your hand under mine,” he directed Trainor.

The instant Parade felt the touch of the stranger, his ears twitched back, he snorted and crouched a little. Trainor could feel, clearly, the shudder of revolt and of anger that ran through the great horse.

“Stroke his neck with your other hand; talk to him, Trainor. Get close to him and pat him like an old friend. As soon as he knows that you’re a partner of mine, he’ll carry you safely enough.”

Trainor obeyed. It was not easy. Stroking the stallion and talking to him was something like handling a wild lion. He would not have been surprised, at any moment, if the chestnut had leaped away from the detaining touch of Silver and plunged at him with smashing hoofs and tearing teeth.

“It’s no good,” said Trainor. “I can’t handle him. I can’t make it. I’m afraid of him, and he knows it.”

“He will obey you like a pet dog, in a moment,” answered Silver, a little sternly. “It’s not a question of fear. He’s not afraid of anything, or of me. Do you think that I beat Parade or rode him into submission? No, no, Trainor. When a man takes a thing by force, he spoils it before he owns it. You’ll always find that true. Parade and I became friends. That’s all. Now you see he’s stopped trembling. Now his ears come up. Get into the saddle, Ben.”

Trainor, feeling cold with doubt and with fear, put his foot into the stirrup. He remembered the old tales of how this stallion had ranged the desert, wild, and gathered herds, and led them where men could not track him down until Jim Silver went out for weeks and months, and finally put the magic of his hands on the famous horse. More than a hundred thousand dollars, it was said, had been spent by one mustang hunter or another in the great effort to capture Parade, but only Silver had succeeded. And except for obedience to that one master, it was said that the stallion could be as savage as a mountain lion.

But now Trainor settled softly into the saddle, and felt the horse go down under him on tense springs, ready to hurl him at the sky. Gradually, as Silver talked, the tension relaxed. Parade stood alert, his ears once more pricking.

Silver stood back with a nod.

“There’s only one danger now,” he said, “and that’s a danger to Parade. Because if you ask him to, he’ll run his heart out and keep his ears forward and never say no to you, whatever you ask. Remember that. He’ll face guns for you. He’ll charge through a herd of enemies for you and fight his way with his teeth and his hoofs. But treat him well, and only use as much of him as you have to. Now you can start on.”

“There’s only a hackamore,” said Trainor, still doubtful, though a little ashamed of his doubts.

“A touch will turn him,” said Silver. “Don’t doubt that. A word to him will do more than a spur. Good-by and good luck, Ben.”

Ben Trainor turned the great horse. It was true that Parade obeyed a mere touch, though he tossed up his head and whinnied very softly to his master. Then, as though realizing that Silver would do nothing to stop this journey, Parade submitted and gave his attention to the difficult descent down the rocky slide to the level of the desert below.

He went like a mountain goat, daintily, swiftly, surely. His own self-training in the wilderness told, now, as he seemed to know by instinct which rock would endure his weight and which one was hung on an unsure balance. Lightly, rapidly, he ran a zigzag course to the level of the canyon floor and then strode away with a gait that made Trainor feel that he had been picked up by a strong wind and was being blown effortlessly forward.

Ben threw back his head. All that had to be done, all the danger of his entry into the town, all fear for his brother’s safety or for that of blue-eyed Nell left him. The whole world went right, when a man sat on the back of Parade.

The hills walked rapidly past him. In the softer going of the desert sand, the stallion did not relax his striding. Out of the distance the lights of Alkali glittered, spread out wider from side to side. And suddenly Trainor remembered, conscious-stricken, that he had let the stallion run the entire distance at one mighty burst.

He drew rein, and heard the large labor of the lungs of the stallion and felt the thumping heart under his knee. Parade was dripping and shining with sweat. Another few miles at such a gait and he might, as Silver had warned, have run himself to death, but with a light stride and a swift one to the last moment of his strength. Trainor shook his head with shame and with pity. The rest of the way into town he walked Parade and loved and honored him with every step the horse made.

I
N THAT
same close grove of trees where he had tied his mustang the night before, Trainor now left Parade tethered, and patted the wet neck of the chestnut before he stepped out into danger.

Danger there would be, of course.

Before he found Doctor Murray or Doctor Alexander, it was very highly probable that he would be seen and recognized by one of the hangers-on of Yates, or a follower of Barry Christian. And the instant that he was known, there was sure to be a hue and cry raised after him. He had a revolver, which he was not very well able to use, and once more he would be confronting men who were born with weapons in their hands.

However, there was no purpose in waiting. He left the grove and walked up the side street. Before him sounded the hum of the town, and the lights of it were a dull yellow glow above the roofs, here and there, thrown up by the street lamps, or the big oil burners that flared above the saloons and dance halls along the main street. All of those sounds echoed through the mind of Trainor like gloomy warnings of a fate that might not be far away.

He stopped a half-drunken fellow who was coming down the street with uncertain steps. The man gripped Trainor’s arm and steadied himself to answer the question.

“Murray or Alexander?” said the drunk. “Well, son, Murray won’t be no more use to you in Alkali. You won’t find him here.”

“He’s left town?” asked Trainor.

“He’s up and left us all this afternoon.”

“You don’t know where he went?”

“No, sir, I don’t know.”

“Well, then there’s Alexander. You know where his house is?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“Tell me, then, will you?”

“Why, it’s right up the street, there, two blocks. Got a high fence around it, so’s you can’t make a mistake.”

“Thanks,” said Trainor, starting to leave.

“Wait a minute. Alexander ain’t in his house,” said the drunk, pulling at Ben’s arm.

“No? Where is he, then?”

“He’s half-way,” said the other.

“Half-way where?”

“To hell or heaven. I dunno which. Point is that him and Murray had it out this afternoon. He shot high and got Murray through the head, and that was all there was to that part of it. But Murray shot low and got Alexander through the stomach. And Alexander might live a coupla days. Will your sick friend last that long?”

“There’s the other one, then,” groaned Trainor. “There’s Doctor Wells. D’you know where he is?”

“I know where he is,” said the stranger, “but you wouldn’t want him. He wouldn’t be no good to you. Drunken fool, he is! Drunkenness is a terrible thing, partner. You wouldn’t want to take no drunk doctor to a friend, would you?”

“I’ve got to have a doctor,” said Trainor, “and I’ve got to have one soon. Will you tell me where I can look up Wells? Then I’ll sashay along and find him.”

“You that kind?” said the drunkard sadly. “You one of the kind that would take a drunk doctor to see a friend? Well, sir, then I don’t want to know nothin’ more of you, I don’t want nothin’ to do with you, and I ain’t goin’ to tell you where to find Doctor Wells.”

“I want him for a friend that’s drunk, too,” said Trainor.

“Hey, do you?” exclaimed the stranger. “Well, doggone my rats, that’s different. I could use Wells for that, myself. I gotta drink, partner. The doggone curse of my life is that I gotta weak stomach and I gotta drink to strengthen it up a lot. Y’understand, if you want a doctor for a drunk, Wells would be the best man in the world. He’d be the best man because he’s the one that’s done the most drinkin’. He’s drunk now, up there in the back room of the Golden Hope.”

That news struck Trainor in the face, heavily. He left his informant and went on slowly, knowing that it was no use to go ahead, but unable to turn back before he had at least looked over the situation. When he got to the rear of the Golden Hope, he could hear the music — a jigging of the violins, a blaring of muffled horns. And he was sickened a little, he knew not why, by the familiarity of the tune and the sweetness of the strings, and the terrible danger that waited for him in the place out of which that music issued.

Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes. To go in was death for him, he was reasonably sure; not to go in was death for his brother, who waited yonder, across the desert, with Jim Silver beside him.

He was no hero, Trainor told himself. Only men like Silver could rally themselves so as to go strongly and steadily ahead in the face of danger, loving duty more than they loved safety.

After a moment, he gathered his strength and did what he had done before — he pushed open the unlocked rear door of the place and stepped straight into the narrow hall which split the building into two parts. The same lamp gave him the same dim light.

He hesitated for an instant, but he knew, now, more about the layout of the place. Off to the left was the dance hall. To the right lay the main bar and the small rooms which were arranged behind it. He had been told that he was apt to find Doctor Wells drinking in one of the back rooms of the place, so he opened the first door to the right.

He found the place brightly lighted. A man in a checked flannel shirt, with the ends of a rusty-colored mustache showing past the sides of his cheeks, was seated with his back to the door, and facing him, looking straight into the eyes of Trainor, was the dance hall girl, Dolly.

The sight of her, the sense that he was lost and betrayed, stunned him, and then one of her eyelids fluttered. There was no other change in her expression-just that wink. He drew the door soundlessly shut and stood back in the dimness of the hallway, his brain whirling and his heart ill at ease.

The wink might have meant almost anything. But the fact that he had been seen was enough to drive him out of the place. Yet he could not go. He was still hesitant when the door jerked quickly open, and let into the hall a flash of brighter lamplight, and Dolly.

“Hey, bozo,” said Dolly, “I’m glad to see you. What turned you to stone when you put an eye on me, a minute ago? Did you think I was going to sound the alarm, and whistle for the boys? I got rid of that mug who was in there with me. Now you can tell me what brand of hell-fire you’re handling tonight?”

“I’m only looking for a doctor,” said Trainor, “and — ”

“Has somebody sunk lead into you, kid?” asked Dolly. “Are you hurt?”

She touched him with a swift, anxious hand.

“Somebody else is hurt and — ”

“And you hurt ‘em, and then you get soft and come for a doctor — wade right into a rattlesnake cave to get salve for the guy you socked and — ”

“No, no,” said Trainor, “the hurt man is — ”

“And the boys in here are carrying a special kind of poison for you, brother,” said Dolly. She put back her head and laughed at him, joyously, her eyes shining, her teeth flashing. “What a man you turned out to be, old-timer! Quiet-looking, too. Well, I always say that the quiet lads are the ones that make the ructions. That was a show you put on last night. I thought you were gone. I thought they’d polish you off, and when that yahoo of a barkeep came with his gun, did you slam him? Oh, you slammed him pretty, all right! But that was nothing; getting Blondy out of the soup was what counted.”

“Why did you try that dirty trick on Blondy?” Trainor asked. “Why did you start doping him?”

“Oh, I ain’t the Queen of Sheba,” said the girl. “I gotta do what I’m told to do. When Doc Yates speaks, I gotta jump. But I was sorry for Blondy. I was sorry for the big red-faced ham. He was all right, today. He got out of town this morning, and he got fast. I guess Yates would have kept him here, but Yates was busy somewhere else. Blacky is back in town with a couple of yards of flannel wrapped around his bean. He don’t smile when folks mention your name. He don’t brag about the way he threw you out of the saloon. Look, kid. Being what you are, what made you let Blacky throw you out, that way? What made you kid him along like that? Were you fixing a harder spot to drop him in?”

Trainor would have been glad to tell her the truth, but he saw that she was not able to believe it. She wanted to create of him a master of the outlaw world, a desperate gunman. That was why she stepped closer to him, now, and laid her hands on his shoulders.

“You make a hit with me, Trainor,” she said. “That mug of yours is what I call handsome. Open up and be nice, will you? Dolly isn’t such a bad sort of a girl. Not to a fellow she likes.”

“You’re as game as they come, Dolly,” he told her honestly. “Some day there’ll be time for me to tell you a lot of other things. But go on and give me a hand, now. Tell me where I can get hold of Doctor Wells.”

“The old souse is pie-eyed,” said Dolly calmly. “He’s up there in the next room, freezing onto a bottle and having a solitary drunk. That’s the only kind he can afford to pay for, just now. He’s blotto. He’s no good for you, brother. I don’t know where you shot the hombre that’s sick now, but Wells wouldn’t do him any good. He’s mean when he’s boiled. You couldn’t do anything with him.”

“Is he alone in that room?” asked Trainor.

“No. There’s some others in there.”

“Can you get him back into the next room, where you were before? That’s empty now, isn’t it?”

“I’ll try to get him back. I’ll try anything for you, Ben. When you pasted that barkeep on the mug, it was a personal favor you did for me, kid. Wait here till I open the door for you.”

She left Trainor. A long minute followed, and still not a soul came down the hall. Then there was a tap on the door, and Trainor opened it and stepped through.

The girl was there, her arms akimbo, facing a great whale of a man with a fat, bloated face and eyes dulled and red-stained with alcohol. His mouth was loose. His whole body seemed loose with the effects of the poison. And yet there was in his face a suggestion of a strength which was still not entirely corrupted.

“Here, doctor,” said the girl. “Here’s an hombre that wants to see you and wants to see you bad. He’s slammed a hole in the ribs of somebody and now he wants to get the hole patched up.”

The doctor made a wide, but clumsy gesture of refusal.

“The whisky’s too damn bad in this hang-out,” he hotly declared. “Whisky ought to make a man steady on his pins, clear his brain, firm his touch. But this stuff is poison. I’ve got to spend some time with it. I’m going to analyze it, Dolly, and then I’m going to put the whole lot of you crooks behind the bars. Understand me? I’m going to put you behind. That’s the job that keeps me here, and I’m not going to leave the place.”

He kept shaking his head and waving his arm.

Trainor approached him.

“Keep away from me!” commanded the doctor. “I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you. I don’t like you. You got a mean face. You got a bad eye. Get away from me. Dolly, where’s that bottle of whisky?”

He turned toward the door of the next room, and Dolly made to Trainor a gesture of surrender. But Ben Trainor could not be stopped so easily. He saw, now, that he had half a chance of winning the doctor to the purpose he wished, but it would only be through the means of a violent ruse.

He touched the doctor on the arm to stop him, at the same time asking Dolly to leave the room.

She went out laughing. “If you get Wells, you could get the King of England. Quick, Ben, or the crowd will find out that you’re here, and then there will be the devil to pay for both of us!”

The doctor was very angry. He told Trainor to remove his hand at once. He told him that he was a boor and that under no conditions would the doctor do him any medical service.

Trainor cut that talking short by using the flat of his hand and striking Wells heavily across the face.

His hope was that the insult might sober the doctor a little. He was not prepared for the sudden and strong effect of the stroke. The doctor looked fixedly at him, lifted his hand, and wiped away a trickle of blood that ran down from his mouth.

“My friend,” he said, “I’ll have your life for this, one day.”

“You can pay me back now,” said Trainor, “if it will help to clear your brain at all. There you are, with your hands free.”

Doctor Wells stepped right in with a hearty, chopping punch that clicked on the point of Trainor’s undefended jaw and sent him reeling. Wells charged after him and was about to hit him again when he took note that the arms of Trainor were still hanging defenselessly at his sides and, therefore, he paused, puffing, raging.

“I’m going to thrash you, you puppy!” he said. “I’m going to teach you manners! I’m going to teach you that your elders may still be able to take care of themselves!”

“If you’re sober enough to talk sense, then listen to me,” said Trainor. “If you’re not, go on beating me till your brain is straight again.”

Doctor Wells looked curiously from his clenched fist to the jaw of Trainor before he muttered words that Trainor could understand. Then he said, wiping his brow:

“Have I made a fool of myself again? Young man, who are you?”

“My name is Ben Trainor,” said Ben Trainor.

“Great Scott!” gasped the doctor, retreating. “You mean that you’re the desperado who — ”

“My brother’s almost a dying man across the desert,” said Trainor. “He needs a doctor or he will die tomorrow. Fever, and weakness from starvation, and enough trouble to drive him mad. Doctor Wells, will you come away from town with me?”

However much alcohol was in the body of Wells, there was very little of it in his brain, by this time. He merely said:

“Trainor, whatever you may be, you’re a brave devil for daring to come back into this town, and I’ll go with you to hell and back, just as you say. I suppose you have your own way of sneaking out of Alkali. I’m going home to get a medical kit. I’ll meet you on the road outside of town in fifteen minutes. The road toward Baldy.”

He turned on his heel and went off briskly. Trainor, feeling that he had ended his main difficulty, and that he was on the verge of a complete success, opened the door into the hall just in time to see Blacky, Josh May, and two others come into the hall from the rear. He slammed the door in their faces, and threw the bolt across.