The Night Horseman

HOW MAC STRANN KEPT THE LAW

For when the dog sprang, Mac Strann fired, and the wolf was jerked up in the midst of his leap by the tearing impact of the bullet.  It was easy for Strann to dodge the beast, and the great black body hurtled past him and struck heavily on the floor of the barn.  It missed Mac Strann, indeed, but it fell at the very feet of Haw-Haw Langley, and a splash of blood flirted across his face.  He was too terrified to shriek, but fell back against the wall of the barn, gasping.  There he saw Black Bart struggle to regain his feet, vainly, for both of the animal’s forelegs seemed paralyzed.  Now the yellow light of the fire rose brightly, and by it Haw-Haw marked the terrible eyes and the lolling, slavering tongue of the great beast, and the fangs like ivory daggers.  It could not regain its feet, but it thrust itself forward by convulsive efforts of the hind legs towards Mac Strann.

Haw-Haw Langley stared for a single instant in white faced fear, but when he realised that Black Bart was helpless as a toothless old dog, the tall cowpuncher, twisted his lean fingers with a silent joy.  Once more Bart pushed himself towards Mac Strann, and then Haw-Haw Langley stepped forward, and with all the force of his long leg smashed his heavy riding boot into the face of the dog.  Black Bart toppled back against the base of the manger, struggled vainly to regain his poise, and it was then that he pointed his nose up, and wailed like a lost soul, wailed with the fury of impotent hate.  Mac Strann caught Haw-Haw by the arm and dragged him back towards the door.

“I don’t want to kill the dog,” he repeated.  “Get out of here, Haw-Haw.  Barry’ll be comin’ any minute.”

He could have used no sharper spur to urge on the laggard.  Haw-Haw Langley raced out of the barn a full stride before Mac Strann.  They hurried together to the little rise of ground behind which they had left their horses, and as they ran the scream which had curdled the blood of Randall Byrne rang through the night.  In a thousand years he could never have guessed from what that yell issued; his nearest surmise would have been a score of men screaming in unison under the torture.  But Mac Strann and Haw-Haw Langley knew the sound well enough.

When they mounted their saddles they could look over the top of the little hill and observe everything easily without being seen; for the hill-top commanded a range of the corrals and a view of the fronts of the barns and sheds which opened upon the fenced enclosures.  The largest and longest of these buildings was now plainly visible, for a long arm of fire reached above the roof on one side of the low shed and by this growing light the other barns, the glimmering-eyed horses and cattle of the corrals, the trees about the house, the house itself, were in turn visible, though vaguely, and at times, as the flame lapsed, all were lost in a flood of swift darkness.  Once more that unhuman shriek echoed from hill to hill and from building to building.  It was Satan in his box stall.  The flames were eating through the partition, and the stallion was mad with fear.

Lights flashed, here and there, in the big ranch house; and from the bunk-house on the farther side of the corrals rose a volley of curses and yells of dismay.  The cattle began milling blindly, bellowing and stamping, and the horses ranged at a mad gallop back and forth across their corrals, wild-eyed with terror.  It was like the tumult of a battle, and sharper than a trumpet a new sound cut through the din—­it was a short, high whistle, twice repeated.  An answer came from the burning barn—­the long, strong neighing of the stallion.

“D’ye hear?” muttered Mac Strann.  “It’s the hoss talkin’ to his master!”

“And there he comes!” said Haw-Haw Langley.  “Runnin’ like the wind!”

The flame, picked up by the gale, tore for itself a wider breathing space through the roof and sent up an audibly roaring column of blinding red.  By that light, Mac Strann, following Haw-Haw’s directing arm, saw a lithe figure vault over the fence on the farther side of the corral and dart forward among the milling cattle.

Now, when cattle begin to mill it takes a brave man on a brave, well-trained horse to trust his chances in the midst of that ocean of tossing horns.  But this man ventured it on foot.  Mac Strann could follow him easily, for the man’s hat was off, and the firelight glittered on his black hair.  That glimmering head darted here and there among the circling cattle.  Now it was lost, swamped, to all appearances, under a score of trampling hooves.  Again it reappeared on the further side.  Mac Strann could see the runner in a comparatively open space, racing like a trained sprinter, and he headed straight towards a wall of tossing horns.  They were long-horns, and one sway of those lowered heads could drive the hard, sharp point through and through the body of a man.  Yet straight at this impassable wall the stranger rushed, like a warrior in his Berserker madness leaping naked upon a hedge of spears.  At the verge of the danger the man sprang high into the air.  Two leaps, from back to back among the herd, and he was across the thickest of danger, down once more on the ground, and dodging past the outskirts of the bellowing cows.  Over the nearer fence he vaulted and disappeared into the smoke which vomitted from the mouth of the burning barn.

“God A’mighty,” groaned Haw-Haw Langley, “can he get the hoss out?”

“It ain’t possible,” answered Mac Strann.  “All hosses goes mad when they gets in a fire—­even when they sees a fire.  Look at them fools over yonder in the corral.”

Indeed, in the horse-corral a score of frantic animals were attempting to leap the high rails in the direction of the burning barn.  Their stamping and snorting came volleying up the hill to the watchers.

“All hosses goes mad,” concluded Mac Strann, “an’ Barry’ll get tramped under the feet of his own hoss even if he gets to the stall—­which he won’t.  Look there!”

Out of the rush of fire and smoke at the door of the barn Dan Barry stumbled, blindly, and fell back upon the ground.  Haw-Haw Langley began to twist his cold hands together in an ecstasy.

“The hoss is gone and the wolf is gone, and Barry is beat!” he chuckled to himself.  “Mac, I wouldn’t of missed this for a ten days’ ride.  It’s worth it.  But see the gal and that new gent, Mac!”

* * * * *

For when the clamour arose outside the house, Buck Daniels had run to the window.  For many reasons he had not taken off his clothes this night, but had lain down on the bed and folded his hands behind his head to wait.  With the first outcry he was at the window and there he saw the flames curling above the roof of the barn, and next, by that wild light, how Dan Barry raced through the dangerous corral, and then he heard the shrill neighing of Satan, and saw Dan disappear in the smoking door of the barn.

Fear drew Buck Daniels one way but a fine impulse drew him another.  He turned away from the window with a curse; he turned back to it with a curse, and then, muttering:  “He went through hell for me; and him and me together, we’ll go through hell again!” he ran from the room and thundered down the crazy stairs.

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.