The Night Horseman

TALK

He was long in getting his answer.  The hours dragged on slowly for Kate and the doctor, for if Joe Cumberland could hold Dan it was everything to the girl, and if Barry left at once there might be some root for the hope which was growing stronger and stronger every day in the heart of Randall Byrne.  Before evening a not unwelcome diversion broke the suspense somewhat.

It was the arrival of no less a person than Marshal Jeff Calkins.  His shoulders were humped and his short legs bowed from continual riding, and his head was slung far forward on a gaunt neck; so that when he turned his head from one to another in speaking it was with a peculiar pendulum motion.  The marshal had a reputation which was strong over three hundred miles and more of a mountain-desert.  This was strange, for the marshal was a very talkative man, and talkative men are not popular on the desert; but it has been discovered that on occasion his six-gun could speak as rapidly and much more accurately than his tongue.  So Marshal Calkins waxed in favour.

He set the household at ease upon his arrival by announcing that “they hadn’t nothin’ for him there.”  All he wanted was a place to bunk in, some chow, and a feed for the horse.  His trail led past the Cumberland Ranch many and many a dreary mile.

The marshal was a politic man, and he had early in life discovered that the best way to get along with any man was to meet him on his own ground.  His opening blast of words at Doctor Byrne was a sample of his art.

“So you’re a doc, hey?  Well, sir, when I was a kid I had a colt that stuck its foreleg in a hole and busted it short and when that colt had to be shot they wasn’t no holdin’ me.  No, sir, I could of cleaned up on the whole family.  And ever since then I’ve had a hankerin’ to be a doc.  Something about the idea of cuttin’ into a man that always sort of tickled me.  They’s only one main thing that holds me back—­I don’t like the idea of knifin’ a feller when he ain’t got a chance to fight back!  That’s me!”

To this Doctor Randall Byrne bowed, rather dazed, but returned no answer.

“And how’s your patient, doc?” pursued the irresistible marshal.  “How’s old Joe Cumberland?  I remember when me and Joe used to trot about the range together.  I was sort of a kid then; but think of old Joe bein’ down in bed—­sick!  Why, I ain’t never been sick a day in my life.  Sick?  I’d laugh myse’f plumb to death if anybody ever wanted me to go to bed.  What’s the matter with him, anyway?”

“His nerves are a bit shaken about,” responded the doctor.  “To which I might add that there is superimposed an arterial condition——­”

“Cut it short, Doc,” cried the marshal goodnaturedly.  “I ain’t got a dictionary handy.  Nerves bad, eh?  Well, I don’t wonder about that.  The old man’s had enough trouble lately to make anybody nervous.  I wouldn’t like to go through it myself.  No, sir!  What with that Dan Barry—­I ain’t steppin’ on any corns, Kate, am I?”

She smiled vaguely, but the marshal accepted the smile as a strong dissent.

“They was a time not so long ago when folks said that you was kind of sweet on Dan.  Glad to hear they ain’t nothin’ in it.  ’S a matter of fact——­”

But here Kate interrupted with a raised hand.  She said:  “I think that was the supper gong.  Yes, there it is.  We’ll go in now, if you wish.”

“They’s only one sound in the world that’s better to me than a dinner gong,” said the profuse marshal, as they seated themselves around the big dining table, “and that was the sound of my wife’s voice when she said ‘I will.’  Queer thing, too.  Maria ain’t got a very soft voice, most generally speakin’, but when she busted up in front of that preacher and says ‘I will,’ why, God A’mighty—­askin’ your pardon, Kate—­they was a change come in her voice that was like a bell chimin’ down in her throat—­a bell ringin’ away off far, you know, so’s you only kind of guess at it!  But comin’ back to you and Dan, Kate——­”

It was in vain she plied the marshal with edibles.  His tongue wagged upon roller-bearings and knew no stopping.  Moreover, the marshal had spent some portion of his life in a boarding house and had mastered the boarding-house art of talking while he ate.

“Comin’ back to you and Dan, we was all of us sayin’ that you and Dan kind of had an eye for each other.  I s’pose we was all wrong.  You see, that was back in the days before Dan busted loose.  When he was about the range most usually he was the quietest man I ever sat opposite to barrin’ one—­and that was a feller that went west with a bum heart at the chuck table!  Ha, ha, ha!” The marshal’s laughter boomed through the big room as he recalled this delightful anecdote.  He went on:  “But after that Jim Silent play we all changed our minds, some.  D’you know, doc, I was in Elkhead the night that Dan got our Lee Haines?”

“I’ve never heard of the episode,” murmured the doctor.

“You ain’t?  Well, I be damned!—­askin’ your pardon, Kate——­But you sure ain’t lived in these parts long!  Which you wouldn’t think one man could ride into a whole town, go to the jail, knock out two guards that was proved men, take the keys, unlock the irons off’n the man he wanted, saddle a hoss, and ride through a whole town—­full of folks that was shootin’ at him.  Now, would you think that was possible?”

“Certainly not.”

“And it ain’t possible, I’m here to state.  But they was something different about Dan Barry.  D’you ever notice it, Kate?”

She was far past speech.

“No, I guess you never would have noticed it.  You was livin’ too close to him all the time to see how different he was from other fellers.  Anyway, he done it.  They say he got plugged while he was ridin’ through the lines and he bled all the way home, and he got there unconscious.  Is that right, Kate?”

He waited an instant and then accepted the silence as an affirmative.

“Funny thing about that, too.  The place where he come to was Buck Daniels’ house.  Well, Buck was one of Jim Silent’s men, and they say Buck had tried to plug Dan before that.  But Dan let him go that time, and when Buck seen Dan ride in all covered with blood he remembered that favour and he kept Dan safe from Jim Silent and safe from the law until Dan was well.  I seen Buck this morning over to Rafferty’s place, and——­”

Here the marshal noted a singular look in the eyes of Kate Cumberland, a look so singular that he turned in his chair to follow it.  He saw Dan Barry in the act of closing the door behind him, and Marshal Calkins turned a deep and violent red, varied instantly by a blotchy yellow which in turn faded to something as near white as his tan permitted.

“Dan Barry!” gasped the marshal, rising, and he reached automatically towards his hip before he remembered that he had laid his belt and guns aside before he entered the dining-room, as etiquette is in the mountain-desert.  For it is held that shooting at the table disturbs the appetite.

“Good evenin’,” said Dan quietly.  “Was it Buck Daniels that you seen at Rafferty’s place, Marshal Calkins?”

“Him,” nodded the marshal, hoarsely.  “Yep, Buck Daniels.”

And then he sank into his chair, silent for the first time.  His eyes followed Barry as though hypnotized.

“I’m kind of glad to know where I can find him,” said Barry, and took his place at the table.

The silence continued for a while, with all eyes focused on the new-comer.  It was the doctor who had to speak first.

“You’ve talked things over with Mr. Cumberland?” he asked.

“We had a long talk,” nodded Dan.  “You was wrong about him, doc.  He thinks he can do without me.”

“What?” cried Kate.

“He thinks he can do without me,” said Dan Barry.  “We talked it all over.”

The silence fell again.  Kate Cumberland was staring blankly down at her plate, seeing nothing; and Doctor Byrne looked straight before him and felt the pulse drumming in his throat.  His chance, then, was to come.  By this time the marshal had recovered his breath.

He said to Dan:  “Seems like you been away some time, Dan.  Where you been hangin’ out?”

“I been ridin’ about,” answered Dan vaguely.

“Well,” chuckled the marshal, “I’m glad they ain’t no more Jim Silents about these parts—­not while you’re here and while I’m here.  You kept things kind of busy for Glasgow, Dan.”

He turned to Kate, who had pushed back her chair.

“What’s the matter, Kate?” he boomed.  “You ain’t lookin’ any too tip-top.  Sick?”

“I may be back in a moment,” said the girl, “but don’t delay supper for me.”

She went out of the room with a step poised well enough, but the moment the door closed behind her she fairly staggered to the nearest chair and sank into it, her head fallen back, her eyes dim, and all the strength gone from her body and her will.  Several minutes passed before she roused herself, and then it was to drag herself slowly up the stairs to the door of her father’s room.  She opened it without knocking, and then closed it and stood with her back against it, in the shadow.