 CHAPTER I At the age of six Randall Byron could name and bound every state in the Union, and give the date of its admission. At nine he was conversant with Homeric, Greek, and Caesar. At twelve he had read Aristophanes with perfect understanding of the allusions of the day, and divided his leisure between Ovid and Horus. At fifteen we read by the simplicity of Old English and 13th century Italian. He dipped into the history of philosophy, and passed from that, naturally, into calculus and the higher mathematics. At eighteen he took an A.B. from Harvard, and, while idling away a pleasant summer with Hebrew and Sanskrit, he delved lightly into biology and its kindred sciences. When reached the conclusion that truth is greater than goodness or beauty, because it comprises both, and the whole is greater than any of its parts, at twenty-one he pocketed his Ph.D., and was touched with the fever of his first practical enthusiasm, surgery. At twenty-four he was an M.D., and a distinguished diagnostician, though he preferred work in his laboratory, in his endeavor to resolve the elements into simpler forms. Also he published at this time a work on anthropology, whose circulation was limited to two-hundred copies, and he received in return two-hundred letters of congratulation from great men who had tried to read his book. At twenty-seven he collapsed one fine spring day on the floor of his laboratory. That afternoon he was carried into the presence of a great physician, who was also a very vulgar man. The great physician felt his pulse and looked into his dim eyes. You have a hundred-and-twenty horsepower brain and a run about body, said the great physician. I have come, answered Randall Byron faintly, for the solution of a problem, not for the statement thereof. I'm not through, said the great physician. Among other things, you are a damned fool. Randall Byron rubbed his eyes. What steps do you suggest I consider, he queried. The great physician spat noisily. Mary, a farmer's daughter, he said brutally. But said Randall Bryan vaguely. I'm a busy man, and you've wasted ten minutes of my time, said the great physician, turning back to his plate-glass window. My secretary will send you a bill for one-thousand dollars. Good day. And therefore, ten days later, Randall Byron sat in his room in the hotel at Elkhead. He had just written to his friend, Swinerton Lauborn, MA, PhD, LLD. Incontrovertibly, the introduction of the personal equation leads to lamentable inversions, and the perceptive faculties, when contemplating phenomena through the lens of ego, too often conceive an accidental connotation or manifest distortion to be actuality. For the physical or personal, too often be clouds the power of inner vision, which so unerringly penetrates to the inherent truths of incorporeality and the extra mundane. Yet this problem, to your eyes, I fear, not essentially novel or peculiar, involute, holds for my contemplative faculties an extraordinary fascination, too wit. Wherein does the mind, in itself a muscle, escape from the laws of the physical, and, wherein and wherefore, do the laws of the physical exercise so inexorable a jurisdiction over the processes of the mind, so that a disorder of the visual nerve actually distorts the assomatis and veils the pneumatoscopic. You pardon, dear Lou Bern, for these lapses from the general to the particular, but in a lighter moment of idleness, I pray you give some careless thought to a problem now painfully my own, though rooted inevitably so deeply in the dirt of the commonplace. But you have asked me in a letter of recent date, for the particular physical aspects of my present environment, and though, as you so well know, it is my conviction that the physical fact is not, and only, the immaterial is. Yet I shall gladly look about me, a thing I have not yet seen occasion to do, and describe to you the details of my present condition. Accordingly, at this point, Randall Byron removed from his nose his thick glasses, and holding them poised, he stared through the window at the view without. He had quite changed his appearance by removing the spectacles, for the allish touch was gone, and he seemed at a stroke ten years younger. It was such a face as one is glad to examine in detail, lean, pale, the transparent skin stretched tightly over cheekbones, nose, and chin. That chin was built on good fighting lines, though somewhat over-delicate in substance, and the mouth quite colorless. But oddly enough, the upper lip had the habitual appearance of stiff compression, which is characteristic of highly strong temperaments. It is a noticeable feature of nearly every great actor, for instance. The nose was straight and very thin, and in a strong side-light, a tracery of the red blood showed through at the nostrils. The eyes were deeply buried, and the lower lids bruised with purple, weak eyes that blinked at a change of light, or a sudden thought, distant eyes which missed the design of wallpaper, and saw the trees growing on the mountains. The forehead was Byron's most notable feature, pyramidal, swelling largely toward the top, and divided in the center into two distinct lobes by a single marked furrow, which gave his expression a hint of the wistful. Looking at that forehead, one was strangely conscious of the brain beneath. There seemed no bony structure, the mine, undefended, was growing and pushing the confining walls further out, and the fragility which the head suggested the body confirmed, for he was not framed to labor. The burden of the noble head had bowed the slender throat, and crooked the shoulders, and when he moved his arm, it seemed the arm of a skeleton too loosely clad. There was a differing connotation in the hands, to be sure. They were thin, bones and sinus chiefly, with the violet of the veins showing along the backs. But they were active hands without tremor. Hands ideal for the accurate scalpel, where a fractional error means death to the helpless. After a moment of staring through the window, the scholar wrote again. The major portion of Elkhead lies within plain sight of my window. I see a general merchandise store, twenty-seven buildings of a comparatively major, and eleven of a minor significance, and five saloons. The streets, however, were not described at that sitting, for at this juncture a heavy hand knocked, and the door of Randall Byron's room was flung open by Hank Dwight, proprietor of Elkhead's saloon. A versatile man, expert behind the bar, or in a blacksmith's shop. Docs at Hank Dwight here wanted. Randall Byron placed his spectacles more firmly on his nose to consider his host. What he began. But Hank Dwight had already turned on his heel. Her name is Kate Cumberland. A little speed doc, she's in a hurry. If no other physician is available, protested Byron, following slowly down the stairs. I suppose I must see her. If there was another within ten miles, do you suppose I'd call on you? asked Hank Dwight. So sane, he led the way out onto the veranda, where the doctor was aware of a girl in a short writing skirt, who stood with one gloved hand on her hip, while the others slapped a quart idly against her writing boots. End of chapter one. Chapter two of The Night Horseman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Night Horseman by Max Brand. Chapter two. Words and Bullets. Here's a gent that calls himself a Docs on Hank Dwight by way of an introduction. If you can use him, Miss Cumberland, fly to it. And he left them alone. Now the sun laid directly behind Kate Cumberland, and in order to look at her closely, the doctor had to shade his weak eyes and pucker his brows, for, from beneath her wide sombrero, he rolled a cloud of golden hair, as bright as the sunshine itself, a sad strain upon the visual nerve of Dr. Randall Byron. He repeated her name, bowed, and when he straightened blinked again. As if she appreciated the strain upon his eyes, she stepped closer and entered the shadow. Dr. Harden is not in town, she said, and I have to bring a physician out to the ranch at once. My father is critically ill. Randall Bryan rubbed his lean chin. I'm not practicing at present, he said reluctantly. Then he saw that she was watching him closely, weighing him with her eyes. And it came to the mind of Randall Byron that he was not a large man, and might not incline the scale far from the horizontal. I am hardly equipped, began Byron. You will not need equipment, she interrupted. His trouble lies in his nerves and the state of his mind. A slight glean lighted the eyes of the doctor. Ah, he murmured, the mind, yes. He rubbed his bloodless hands slowly together, and when he spoke, his voice was sharp and quick, and holy and personal. Call me the symptoms. Can't we talk those over on the way to the ranch? Even if we start now, it will be dark before we arrive. But protested the doctor. I have not yet decided, this precipitancy. Oh, she said and flushed. He perceived that she was on the verge of turning away, but something withheld her. There is no other physician within reach. My father is very ill. I only ask that you come as a diagnostician, doctor. But a ride to your ranch, he said miserably. I presume you refer to riding a horse. Naturally. I'm unfamiliar with that means of locomotion, said the doctor, with serious eyes, and in fact have not carried my acquaintance with the equining species beyond a purely experimental stage. Anatomically, I have a superficial knowledge, but on the one occasion on which I sat in a saddle, I observe that the docility of the horse is probably a poetic fallacy. He rubbed his left shoulder thoughtfully, and saw a slight tremor at the corners of the girl's mouth. It caused his vision to clear and concentrate. He found that the lips were, in fact, in the very act of smiling. The face of the doctor brightened. You shall ride my own horse, said the girl. She is perfectly gentle, and has a very easy gait. I'm sure you'll have not the slightest trouble with her. And you? I'll find something about town. It doesn't matter what. This, said the doctor, is most remarkable. You choose your mounts at random? But will you go, she insisted? Ah, yes, to trip to the ranch, groaned the doctor. Let me see. The physical obstacles to such a trip, while many, are not altogether insuperable. I may say, in the meantime, the moral urge which compels me toward the ranch seems to be of the first order. He sighed. Is it not strange, Miss Cumberland, that man, though distinguished from the lower orders by mind, so often is controlled in his actions by ethical impulses which override the considerations of reason? An observation which legis toward the conclusion that the passion for goodness is a principle hardly secondary to the passion for truth. Understand that I build the hypotheses only tentatively, with many reservations, among which he broke off short, the smile was growing upon her lips. I will put together a few of my things, said the doctor, and come down to you at once. Good, said the girl. I'll be waiting for you with two horses, before you are ready. He turned away, but had taken hardly a step, before he turned, saying. But why are you so sure that you will be ready before I? But she was already down the steps from the veranda, and stepping briskly down the street. There is an element of the unexplainable in women, said the doctor, and resumed his way to his room. Once there, something prompted him to act with the greatest possible speed. He tossed his toilet articles and a few changes of linen into a small, flexible valise, and ran down the stairs. He reached the veranda again, panting, and the girl was not in sight. The smile of triumph appeared, on the grave, colorless lips of the doctor. Feminine instinct, however, is not infallible, he observed to himself, and to one of the cowboys, lounging loosely in a chair nearby. He continued his train of thought aloud, though the verity of the feminine intuition has already been thrown in a shade of doubt by many thinkers, as you will undoubtedly agree. The man, thus addressed, allowed his lower jaw to drop, but after a moment he ejaculated. Now, what in the hell do you mean by that? The doctor already turned away, intent upon his thoughts. But he now paused, and again, faced the cowboy. He said, frowning, There is unnecessary violence in your remarks, sir. Duck your glasses, said the worthy in question. You ain't talking to a man. And in your attitude went on the doctor. There is an element of offense, which, if carried farther, might be corrected by physical violence. Don't follow your words, said the cattleman. But from the drift of your tune, I gather you're a bit peeved, and if you are, his voice had risen to a ringing note as he proceeded. And he now slipped from his chair and faced Randall Byron. A big man, brown, hard-handed, the doctor crimsoned. Well, he echoed. But in a place of a deep ring his words were pitched in a high squeak of defiance. He saw a large hand contract to a fist. But almost instantly the big man grinned, and his eyes went past Byron. Oh, hail, he grunted, and turned his back with a chuckle. For an instant there was a mad impulse in the doctor to spring at this fellow, but a wave of impotence overwhelmed him. He knew that he was white around the mouth, and there was a dryness in his throat. The excitement of imminent physical contest and personal danger, he diagnosed swiftly, causing acceleration of the pulse and attendant weakness of the body. A state unworthy of the balanced intellect. Having brought back his poise by this quick interposition of reason, he went his way down the long veranda. Against the pillar leaned another tall cattleman, also brown and lean and hard. May I inquire, he said? If you have any information, direct or casual, concerning a family named Cumberland, which possesses ranch property in this vicinity, you may, said the cow puncher, and continued to roll a cigarette. Well, said the doctor. Do you know anything about them? Sure, said the other, and having finished a cigarette, he introduced it between his lips. It seemed to occur to him instantly, however, that he was committing an inhospitable breach. Before he produced his Durham and Brown papers with a start and extended them toward the doctor. Smoke, he asked? I used tobacco in no form, said the doctor. The cowboy stared with such fixity that the match burned down to his fingertips and singed them, before he had lighted his cigarette. The fact, he queried, when his astonishment found utterance. What he'd do to kill time. Well, I've been thinking about knocking off the stuff for a while. May me get sore at me for having my fingers all stained up with nicotine like this. He extended his hand, the first and second fingers of which were painted a bright yellow. Soap won't take it off, he remarked. A popular but inexcusable error, said the doctor. It is a tarry byproducts of tobacco which cause that stain. Nicotine itself, of course, is a volatile alkaloid base of which there is only the nearest trace in tobacco. It is one of the deadliest nerve poisons and is quite colorless. There is enough of that stain upon your fingers, if it were nicotine, to kill a dozen men. To hell you say. Nevertheless, it is an indudable fact a lump of nicotine the size of the head of a pin placed on the tongue of a horse will kill the beast instantly. The cow puncher pushed back his hat and scratched his head. This is worth knowing, he said. But I'm some glad that Mamie ain't heard it. Concerning the Cumberlands, said the doctor, I, concern in the Cumberlands, repeated the cattleman. It's best to leave him to their own concerns. And he started to turn away. But the thirst for knowledge was dry in the throat of the doctor. Do I understand, he insisted, that there is some mystery connected with him? From May replied the other. He understand nothing. And he lumbered down the steps and away. Be it understood that there was nothing of the gossip in Randall Bryan. But now he was paradoxically excited and perceiving the tall form of Hank Dwight in the doorway. He approached his host. Mr. Dwighty said, I'm about to go to the Cumberland ranch. I gather that there is something of an unusual nature concerning them. There is, admitted Hank Dwight. Can you tell me what it is? I can. Good, said the doctor, and he almost smiled. It's always well to know the background of a case, which has to do with mental states. Now, just what do you know? I know, began the proprietor, and then paused and eyed his guest dubiously. I know he continued a story. Yes, yes, about a man and a horse and a dog. The approach seems not quite obvious, but I shall be glad to hear it. There was a pause. Words, said the host at length, his worsten bullets. You never know what they'll hit. But the story persisted Randall Bryan. The story, said Hank Dwight, I may tell to my son before I die. This sounds quite promising, but I'll tell nobody else. Really? It's about a man, a horse and a dog. The man ain't possible. The horse ain't possible. The dog is a wolf. He paused again and glowered on the doctor. He seemed to be drawn two ways. By his eagerness to tell a yarn and his dread of consequences. I know he muttered. Because I've seen him all. I've seen. He looked far as though striking a silent bargain with himself concerning the sum of the story, which might safely be told. I've seen a horse that understood a man's talk like you and me does, or better. I've heard a man whistling like a singing bird. Yep, that ain't no line. You just imagine a bald eagle that could lick anything between the earth and the sky That's what the whistling was like. It made you glad to hear it. And it made you look to see if your gun was in good working shape. It wasn't very loud, but it traveled pretty far, like it was coming from up above you. That's the way this strange man of the story whistles, aspirin, leaning closer. Man of the story echoed the proprietor with some warmth. Friend, if he ain't real, then I'm a ghost. That's got the scars of his coming and going. Ah, an outlaw, a gunfighter, queried the doctor. Listen to me, son, observed the host. And to make his point, he tapped the hollow chest of Byron with a rigid forefinger. Around these parts, you know just as much as you see. And a lot of times, you don't even know that much. What you see is sometimes your business. But mostly it ain't, he concluded impressively. Well, mused Byron, I can ask the girl these questions. It will be medically necessary. Ask the girl, ask her, echoed the host with a sort of horror. But he ended it with a forced restraint. That's your business. End of chapter two. Chapter three of The Night Horseman. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Night Horseman by Max Brand. Chapter three. The Doctor Rides. Hank Dwight disappeared from the doorway. And the doctor was called from his pondering by the voice of the girl. There was something about that voice which worried Byron. For it was low and controlled and musical. And it did not fit with the nasal harshness of the cattleman. When she began to speak, it was like the beginning of a song. He turned now and found her sitting a tall bay horse. And she led a red-roan mare beside her. When he went out, she tossed her reins over the head of her horse and strapped his valise behind her saddle. You won't have any trouble with that mare, she assured him, when the time came for mounting. Yet, when he approached gingerly, he was received with flattened ears and a snort of anger. Wait, she cried, the left side, not the right. He felt the laughter in her voice. But when he looked, he could see no trace of it in her face. He approached from the left side, setting his teeth. You observe, he said, that I take your word at its full value. In placing his foot in the stirrup, he dragged himself gingerly up to the saddle. The mare stood like a rock, adjusting himself. He wiped the sudden perspiration from his forehead. I quite believe, he remarked, that the animal is of unusual intelligence. All may yet be well. I'm sure of it, said the girl, gravely. Now we're off. And the horses broke into a dog-trot. Now the gate of the red-roan mare was a dream of softness, and her flexible ankles gave a play of whole inches to break the jar of every step, the sure sign of the good saddle-horse. But the horse has never been saddled, whose trot is really a smooth pace. The hat of Dr. Byron began to incline toward his right eye, and his spectacles toward his left ear. He felt a peculiar lightness in the stomach and a heaviness in the heart. The trot he ventured to his companion is a damn Dr. Byron, she cried. Whoa, called Dr. Byron, and drew mightily upon the reins. The red mare stopped as a ball stops when it meets a stout wall. The doctor sprawled along her neck, clinging with arms and legs. He managed to clamber back into the saddle. There are vicious elements to the nature of this brute, he observed the girl. I'm very sorry, she murmured. He cast aside long glance, but found not the trace of a smile. The word upon which I stopped, she suggested. Stopped, he agreed, was not, as you evidently assumed, an oath. On the contrary, I was merely remarking that the trot is a damaging gait, but through an interrupted articulation. His eyes dared her, but she was utterly grave. He perceived that there was, after all, a certain kinship between this woman of the mountain desert and the man thereof. Their silences were filled with eloquence. We'll try a canter, she suggested, and I think you'll find that easier. So she gave the word and her bay sprang into a lope from a standing start. The red mare did likewise, nearly flinging the doctor over the back of the saddle. But, by the grace of God, he clutched the pommel in time and was saved. The air caught at his face. They swept out of the town and onto a limitless level stretch. Speed, gasped the doctor, has never been of a passion with me. He noted that she was not moving in the saddle. The horse was like the bottom of a wave, swinging violently back and forth. She was the calm crest, swaying slightly and graciously, with emotion as smooth as the flowing of water. And she spoke as evenly as if she were sitting in a rocking chair. You'll be used to it in a moment, she assured him. He learned, indeed, that if one pressed the stirrups as the shoulders of the horse swung down and leaned a trifle forward when the shoulders rose again, the motion ceased to be jarring, for she was truly a matchless creature and gait it like one of those fabulous horses of old, sired by the swift western wind. In a little time a certain pride went beating through the veins of the doctor. The air blew more deeply into his lungs. There was a different tang to the wind and a different feel to the sun, a peculiar richness of yellow warmth and the small head of the horse and the short, sharp, pricking ears tossed continually. And now and then the mare threw her head a bit to one side and glanced back at him with what he felt to be a reassuring air. Life and strength and speed were gripped between his knees. He flashed a glance at the girl. But she rode with face straight forward and there was that about her which made him turn his eyes suddenly away and look far off. It was a jagged country. For in the brief rainy season there came sudden and terrific downpours which lashed away the soil and scoured the face of the underlying rock. And in a single day might cut a deep arroyo where before had been smooth plain. This was the season of grass but not the dark rank green of rich soil and mild air. A bluish green a colour at once tender and glowing. It spread everywhere across the plains about Elkhead broken here and there by the projecting boulders which flashed in the sun. So a great battlefield might appear pockmarked with shell holes and all the scars of war freshly cut upon its face. And in truth the mountain desert was like an arena ready to stage a conflict. It was like an arena with space for earth giants to struggle. And there in the distance were the spectator mountains high lean flanked mountains they were not clad in forest but rather bristling with stubby growth of a few trees which might endure in the precarious soil and bitter weather but now they gathered the dignity of distance about them. The grass of the foothills were naked cloaks of exquisite blue hung around the upper masses but their heads were naked to the pale skies and all day long with deliberate alteration the garb of the mountains changed. When the sudden morning came they lept naked upon the eye and then withdrew muffling themselves in browns and blues until at nightfall they covered themselves to the eyes in thickly purple and prepared for sleep with their heads among the stars. Something of all this came to Dr. Randall Byron as he rode for it seemed to him that there was a similarity between these mountains and the girl beside him. She held that keen purity of the upper slopes under the sun and though she had no artifice or careful wiles to make her strange there was about her natural dignity like the mystery of distance. There was a rhythm too about that line of peaks against the sky and the girl had caught it. He watched her sway with the gallop of her horse and felt that though she was close at hand she was a thousand miles from him. She concealed nothing and yet he could no more see her naked soul than he could tear the veils of shadow from the mountains. Dr. Randall byron praised his emotion in words he was only conscious of a sense of all and the necessity of silence. A strange feeling for the doctor he came from the region of the mind where that which is not spoken does not exist and now this girl was carrying him swiftly away from hypotheses, doubts and polysyllabic speech into the world of what, the spirit? No. He only felt that he was about to step into the unknown and it held for him the fascination of the suspended action of a statue. Let it not be thought that he calmly accepted the sheer necessity for silence. He fought against it but no words came. It was evening. The rolling hills about them were already dark. Only the heads of the mountains took the day and now they paused and the girl pointed across the hollow. There we are, she said. It was a tall clump of trees through which broke the outlines of a two-storied house larger than any of the doctor had seen in the mountain desert. And outside the trees lay long sheds a great barn and a widespread wilderness of corrals. It struck the doctor with its apparently limitless capacity for housing man and beast. Coming in contrast with the rock-strewn desolation of the plains, this was a great establishment. The doctor had ridden out with a wave of the desert and she had turned into a princess at a stroke. Then, for the first time since they left Elkhead he remembered with a start that he was to care for a sick man in that house. You were to tell me, he said, something about the sickness of your father the background behind his condition but we've both forgotten about it. I have been thinking how I could describe it every moment of the ride, she answered. Then, as the gloom fell more thickly around them every moment she swerved her horse over to the mare as if it were necessary that she read the face of the doctor while she spoke. Six months ago she said my father was robust and active in spite of his age. He was cheerful, busy and optimistic. But he fell into a decline. It has not been a sudden sapping of his strength. If it were that, I should not worry so much. I'd attribute it to disease. But every day some of the vitality goes from him. He is fading almost from hour to hour as slowly as the hour hand of a clock. You can't notice the change. But every twelve hours the hand makes a complete revolution. It's as if his blood were evacuating what everything we can do will supply him with fresh strength. Is this attended by irritability? He is perfectly calm and seems to have no care for what becomes of him. Has he lost interest in things which formally attracted and occupied him? Yes, he minds nothing now. He is no care for the condition of the cattle or for profit or loss in the sales. He has simply stepped out of every employment. He has no care for the disease of attention. In a way, yes. But also he is more alive than he has ever been. He seems to hear with uncanny distinctness, for instance. The doctor frowned. I was inclined to attribute his decline to the operation of old age, he remarked. But this is unusual. This, sir, inner acuteness is accompanied by no particular interest in any one thing? He was about to accept the silence for acquiescence. But then, through the dimness, he was arrested by the luster of her eyes, fixed, apparently, far beyond him. One thing she said at length, yes, there is one thing in which he retains an interest. The doctor nodded brightly. Good, he said, and that. The silence fell again. But this time he was more roused and he fixed his eyes keenly upon her through the gloom. She was deeply troubled. One hand gripped the horn of her saddle strongly. Her lips had parted. She was like one who endures inexcapable pain. He could not tell whether it was the slight breeze which disturbed her blouse or the rapid panting of her breath. Of that, she said, it is hard to speak. It is useless to speak. Surely not, protested the doctor. The cause, my dear madam, though perhaps apparently remote from the immediate issue, is of the utmost significance in diagnosis. She broke in rapidly. This is all I can tell you. He is waiting for something which will never come. He has missed something from his life which will never come back into it. Then why should we discuss what it is that he has missed? To the critical mind, replied the doctor calmly, and clearly adjusted his glasses closer to his eyes. Nothing is without significance. It is nearly dark, she exclaimed hurriedly. Let us write on. First he suggested, I must tell you, that before I left Elkhead I heard a hint of some remarkable story concerning a man and a horse and a dog. Is there anything? But it seemed that she did not hear. There was a sharp, low exclamation which might have been addressed to her horse and the next instant she was galloping swiftly down the slope. The doctor followed as fast as he could jouncing in the saddle until he was quite out of breath. End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 of The Night Horseman This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The Night Horseman Chapter 4 The Chain They had hardly passed the front door of the house when they were met by a tall man with dark hair and dark, deep-set eyes. He was tanned to the bronze of an Indian and he might have been termed handsome had not as features been so deeply cut and roughly finished. His black hair was quite long and as the wind from the open door started there was a touch of wildness about the fellow that made the heart of Randall Byron jump. When this man saw the girl his face lighted briefly when his glance fell on Byron the light went out. Couldn't get the dock, Kate, he asked. Not Dr. Hardin, she answered. And I brought Dr. Byron instead. The tall man allowed his gaze to drift leisurely from head to foot of Randall Brian. Then, before you dock, he said, and extended a big hand. It occurred to Byron that all these men of the mountain desert were big. There was something intensely irritating about their mere physical size. They threw him continually on the defensive and he found himself making apologies to himself and summing up personal merits. In this case there was a more direct reason for his anger. It was patent that the man made the strange doctor against any serious thoughts. And this she was saying is Mr. Daniels. Buck, is there any change? Nothing much, answered Buck Daniels. Come along towards evening and he said he was feeling kind of cold so I wrapped him up in a rug. Then he sat as usual one hand inside the other looking steady at nothing. But a while ago he began getting sort of nervous. What did he do? Nothing. I just felt he was getting excited. The way you know when your horse is going to shy. Do you want to go to your room first doctor? Or will you go in to see him now? Now decided the doctor and followed her down the hall through a door. The room reminded the doctor more of a New England interior than of the mountain desert. There was a round rag rug on the floor with every imaginable color woven into its texture but blended with a rude design. Reds toward the center and blue grays toward the edges. There were chairs upholstered in green which looked mouse colored where the highlights struck along the backs and arms. Shallow seated chairs that made one's knees project foolishly high and far. Byron saw a cabinet at one end of the room filled with seashells and knickknacks. And above it was a memorial cross surrounded by wreath inside a glass case. Most of the wall's space thronged with engravings whose subjects ranged from Niagara Falls to Lady Hamilton. One end of the entire room was occupied by a painting of a neck and neck finish in a race. And the artist had conceived the blood at racers as creatures with tremendous round hips and mighty muscled shoulders while the legs tapered to a fawn like delicacy. These animals were spread eagled in the most amazing fashion their forehoofs reaching beyond their noses and their rear hoofs striking out beyond the tips of the tails. The jockey and the lead sat quite still but he who was losing had his whip drawn and looked like an automatic doll so pink were his cheeks. Beside the course in attitudes of graceful ease stood men in very tight trousers and very high stocks and ladies in dresses which pinched in at the waist and flowed out at the shoulders. They leaned upon canes or twirled parasails and they had their backs turned upon the racetrack as if they found their own negligent conversation far more exciting than the breathless driving finish. Under the terrific action and still more terrific quiescence of this picture lay the sick man propped high on a couch and wrapped to the chest in a Navajo blanket. Dad said Kate Cumberland Dr. Harden was not in town. I've brought out Dr. Byron the newcomer. The invalid turned his white head slowly toward them and his shaggy brows lifted and fell slightly in his face. It was a very stern face and framed in the long white hair it seemed surrounded by an atmosphere of arctic chill. He was thin, terribly thin not the leanness of Byron but a grim emaciation which exaggerated the size of the tall forehead and made his eyes supernally bright. It was in the first glance of those eyes that Byron recognized the restlessness of which Kate had spoken and he felt almost as if it were an inner fire which had burned and was still wasting the body of Joseph Cumberland to the attentions of the doctor the old man submit it with patient self-control and Byron found a pulse feeble rapid but steady. There was no temperature in fact the heat of the body was a trifle subnormal considering that the heart was beating and started. Most of his work had been in laboratories and the horror of death was not yet familiar but old Joseph Cumberland was dying it was not a matter of moment death might be a week or a month away but die soon he inevitably must for the doctor saw that the fire was still raging in the hallow breast of the cattleman but there was no longer fuel to feed it he stared again and more closely there without fuel to feed it Dr Byron gave what seemed to be an infinitely muffled cry of exultation so faint that it was hardly a whisper then he leaned closer and poured over Joe Cumberland with a lighted eye one might have thought the doctor was gloating over the sick man suddenly he straightened and began the pace up and down the room muttering to himself Kate Cumberland listened intently and she thought that what the man muttered so rapidly over and over to himself was Eureka, Eureka I have found it found what? the triumph of mind over matter on that couch was a dead body the flutter of the heart was not the strong beating of the normal organ the hands were cold even the body was chilled yet the man lived or rather his brain lived and compelled the shattered and outworn body to comply with its will Dr Byron turned and stared again at the face of Cumberland he felt as if he understood now the look which was concentrated so brightly on the vacant air it was illumined by a steady and desperate defiance for the old man was denying his body to the grave the scene changed for Randall Byron the girl disappeared the walls of the room were broken away the eyes of the world looked in upon him and the wise men of the world kept paced with him up and down the room shaking their heads and saying it is not possible but the fact lay there to contradict them Prometheus stole fire from heaven and paid it back to an eternal death the old cattleman was refusing his payment it was no state of calma it was no prolonged trance he was vitally, vividly alive he was concentrating with a bitter and exhausting vigor day and night and fighting a battle the more terrible because it was fought in silence a battle in which he could receive no aid, no reinforcement a battle in which he could not win but in which he might delay defeat I the wise men would smile and shake their heads when he presented this case to their consideration but he would make his account so accurate in particular and so well witnessed that they would have to admit the truth of all he said and science which proclaimed that matter was indestructible and that the mind was matter and that the brain needed nourishment like any other muscle science would have to hang the head and wonder the eyes of the girl brought him to a halt and stopped confronting her his excitement had transformed him his nostrils were quivering his eyes were pointed with light his head was high and he breathed fast he was flushed as a Roman conqueror and his excitement tinged the girl also with color she offered to take him to his room as soon as he wished to go he was quite willing he wanted to be alone to think but when he followed her Buck Daniel slumbered slowly after them in a clumsy attempt at sauntering well asked Kate Cumberland she had thrown a blue mantle over her shoulders when she entered the house and the touch of boyish self-confidence which had been hers on the ride was gone in its place there was something even more difficult for Randall Bryan to face if there had been a garish brightness about her when he had first seen her the urgency of a mirror playing in the sun against his feeble eyes there was now a blending of pastel shades for the hall was dimly illumined and the shadow tarnished her hair and her pallor was like cold stone even her eyes were misted by fear yet a vital sense of her nearness swept upon Byron and he felt as if he were surrounded by a danger opinion said the doctor based on so summary and examination are necessarily inexact yet the value of a first impression is not negligible the best I can say that there is probably no immediate danger but Mr. Cumberland is seriously ill furthermore it is not old age he would not say all he thought it was not yet time she winced and clasped her hands tightly together she was like a child she punished for a crime it had not committed and it came vaguely to the doctor that he might have broached his ill tidings more gently he added I must have further opportunities for observance before I give a detailed opinion and suggest a treatment her glance wondered past him and at once the heavy step of Buck Daniels approached at least she murmured I'm glad that you were frank I don't want to have anything kept from me please Buck will you take the doctor up to his room she managed the faint smile this is an old-fashioned house Dr. Byron but I hope we can make you fairly comfortable you will ask for whatever you need the doctor bowed and was told that they would die in half an hour then the girl went back towards the room in which Joe Cumberland lay she walked slowly with her head bent and her posture seemed to Byron the picture of a burden-bearer then he followed Daniels up to the stairs led by the jingling of the spurs great rowled spurs that might grip the side of a refractory horse like teeth a half light guided them and from the hall Buck Daniels entered a room and fumbled above him until he had lighted a lamp which was suspended by two chains from the ceiling a circular burner which cast a glow as keen as an electric globe it brought out every detail of the old-fashioned room the bear painted floor the bed in itself a separate and important piece of architecture with its four tall posts a relic of times when beds were built not simply made and there was a chest of drawers with swelling hospitable front and a rectangular mirror above with its date and guilt paint on the upper edge a rising wind shook the window and through some crack stirred the lace curtains it was a very comfortable retreat and the doctor became aware of aching muscles and heavy brain when he glanced at the bed the same gust of wind which rattled the window-pane now pushed as with invisible and ghostly hand the door which opened on the side of the bedroom and as it swung mysteriously and gradually wide the doctor found himself looking into an enjoining chamber all he could see clearly was a corner on which struck the shaft of light from the lamp and lying on that floor in the corner was something limp and brown a snake he surmised at first but then he saw clearly that it was a chain of formidable proportions bolted against the wall at one end and terminating at the other in a huge steel collar a chill started in the boots of the doctor and wriggled its uncomfortable way up to his head hell burst out Buck Daniels how'd that door get open he slammed it with violence she's been in there again I guess muttered the cow puncher as he stepped back scowling who ventured the doctor Buck Daniels world on him none of your he began hotly but checked himself with choking suddenness and strode heavily from the room end of chapter 4 chapter 5 of The Night Horseman this LibriVox recording is in the public domain The Night Horseman by Max Brand chapter 5 The Waiting the doctor removed his coat with absent-minded slowness and all the time he was removing the dust and stains of travel he kept narrowing the eye of his mind to visualize more clearly that cumbersome chain which lay on the floor of the adjoining room now the doctor was not of a curious or gossipy nature but if someone had offered to tell him the story of that chain for a thousand dollars the doctor at that moment would have thought the price ridiculously small then the doctor went down to the dinner table prepared to keep one eye upon Buck Daniels and the other upon Kate Cumberland but if he expected to learn through conversation at the table he was grievously disappointed for Buck Daniels ate with an eye to strict business that allowed no chatter and the girl sat with a forced smile and an absent eye now and again Buck would glance up at her, watch her for an instant and then turn his attention back to his plate with a sort of gloomy resolution there were not half a dozen words exchanged from the beginning to the end of the meal after that they went into the invalid he lay in the same position his skinny hands crossed upon his breast and his shaggy brows were drawn so low that the eyes were buried in profound shadow they took positions in a loose semi-circle all pointing toward the sick man and it reminded Byron with grim force of a picture he had seen of three wolves waiting for the bull moose to sink in the snows they also were waiting for death it seemed indeed as if death must have already come at least it could not make him more moveless than he was against the dark wall his profile was etched by a sharp highlight which was brightest of all on his forehead and his nose while the lower portion of the face was lost in comparative shadow so perfect and so detailed was resemblance to death indeed that the lips in the shadow smiled fixedly it was not until Kate Cumberland shifted a lamp throwing more light on her father that Byron saw the smile a forced compression of the lips he understood suddenly that the silent man on the couch was struggling terribly against an hysteria of emotion it brought beads of sweat out upon the doctor's tall forehead for this perfect repose suggested an agony more awful than yells and groans and struggles the silence was like acid it burned without a flame and Byron knew that moment the quality of the thing which had wasted the rancher it was this acid of grief or yearning which had eaten deep into him and was now close to his heart the girl had said that for six months he had been failing six months six eternities of burning at the stake he lay silent waiting and his resignation meant that he knew death would come before that for which he waited for silence that was the keynote of the room the girl was silent her eyes dark with grief yet they were not fixed upon her father it came trilling home to Byron that her sorrow was not entirely for her dying parent for she looked beyond him rather than at him was she too waiting was that what gave her the touch of sad gravity the mystery like the mystery of distance but Daniels he also said nothing he rolled cigarettes one after another with amazing dexterity and smoked them with a half a dozen titanic breaths his was a single track mind he loved the girl and he bore the sign of his love on his face he wanted her desperately it was a hunger like that of Tantalus too keen to be ever satisfied yet still more than he looked at the girl he also stared into the distance he also was waiting it was the deep suspense of Cumberland which made him so silently alert he was as intensely alive as the receiver of a wireless apparatus he gathered information from the empty air so that Byron was hardly surprised when in the midst of that grim silence the old man raised a rigid forefinger of warning Kate and Daniels stiffened in their chairs and Byron felt his flesh creep of course it was nothing the wind which had shaken the house with several strong gusts before dinner had now grown stronger and blew with steadily increasing violence perhaps the sad old man had been attracted by the mournful chorus and imagined some sound he knew within it but now once more the finger was raised the arm extended shaking violently and Joe Cumberland turned upon them a glance which flashed with delirious and unhealthy joy listen he cried again what asked Kate I hear them I tell you her lips blanched and parted to speak but she checked the impulse and looked swiftly about the room with what seemed to Byron an appeal for help but Daniels he changed from a dark bronze to an unhealthy yellow fear, plain and grimly unmistakable was in his face then he strode to the window and threw it open with a crash the wind leaped in and tossed the flames in the throat of the chimney so that great shadows waved suddenly through the room and made the chairs seem afloat even the people were suddenly unreal and the rush of the storm gave Byron an eerie sensation of being blown through infinite space for a moment there was only the sound of the gale and the flapping of a loose picture against the wall and the rattling of a newspaper then he heard it first it was a single note which he could not place it was music and yet it was discordant and it had the effect once he had been in Egypt and had stood in the corridor of Cheops pyramid the torch had been blown out in the hand of his guide from somewhere in the black depths before them came a laugh made unhuman by echoes and Byron had visioned the mummy dead pushing back the granite lids of their sarcifi and sitting upright but that was nothing compared with this not half so wild or strange he listened again breathless with the sharp prickling running up and down his spine it was the honking of the wild geese flying north and out of the sound he builded a picture of the grey triangle cleaving through the cold upper sky sent on a mission no man could understand was I right was I right shrill the invalid and when Byron turned toward him he saw the old man sitting erect with an expression of wild triumph there came an indescribable cry from the girl and a deep-throated curse from Buck Daniels as he slammed down the window with a chill blast shut off and the flame burning steadily once more in the lamp a great silence besieged the room with a note of expectancy in it Byron was conscious of being warm too warm it was close in the room it was waited down it was if another presence had stepped into the room and stood invisible he felt it with unspeakable keenness as when one knows certainly the thoughts which pass in the mind of another and more than that he knew that the others in the room felt what he felt in the waiting silence he saw that the old man lay on his couch with eyes of fire and gapping lids as if he drank the wine of his joyous expectancy and big Buck Daniels stood with his hand on the sash of the window frozen there his eyes bulging his heart thundering in his throat and Kate Cumberland sat with her eyes closed as she had closed them when the wind first rushed upon her and she still smiled as she had smiled then and to Byron Cumberland or the dread of Buck Daniels was the smile and the closed eyes of the girl but the silence held and the fifth presence was in the room and not one of them dared speak End of Chapter 5 Chapter 6 of The Night Horseman This LibriVox recording is in the public domain The Night Horseman by Max Brand Chapter 6 The Mission Starts Then with the shifting of the wind a song was blown to them from the bunkhouse a cheerful ringing chorus the sound was like daylight it drove the terror from the room Jill Cumberland asked them to leave that night he said he would sleep he felt it like a promise the other three went out from the room In the hall Kate and Daniels stood close together under a faint light from the wall lamp and they talked as if they had forgotten the presence of Byron it had to come she said I knew it would come to him sooner or later but I didn't dream it would be as terrible as this Buck what are we going to do God knows said the big cow puncher just wait I suppose same as we've been doing he had aged wonderfully in that moment of darkness he'll be happy now for a few days when on the girl but afterwards when he realizes that it means nothing what then Buck the man took her hands and began the pat them softly as a father might sue the child I seen you when the wind come in he said gently are you going to stand it Kate is it going to be hell for you too do you hear him she answered if it were only I yes I could stand it lately I've begun to think that I can stand anything but when I see dad it breaks my heart and you oh Buck it hurts it hurts she drew his hands impulsively against her breast if it were only something we could fight outright fight against him Kate you're all tired out go to bed honey and try to stop thinking and God help us all she turned away from him and passed the doctor blindly Buck Daniels had set his foot on the stairs when Byron hurried after him and touched his arm they went up together Mr. Daniels said the doctor it is necessary that I speak with you alone will you come into my room for a few moments Doc said the cattleman I'm short I'm a feed and I don't feel a pile like talking can't you wait till morning there has been a great deal too much waiting Mr. Daniels said the doctor what I have to say to you must be said now will you come in I will not at Buck Daniels but cut it short once in his room the doctor looked at the door what's all this mystery and hush stuff growled Daniels and with a gesture he refused a proffered chair cut loose Doc and make it short the little man sat down removed his glasses held them up to the light found a speck upon them polished it carefully away replaced the spectacles upon his nose and peered thoughtfully at Buck Daniels Buck Daniels rolled his eyes to the door and then even towards the window and then as one who accepts the inevitable he sank into a chair and plunged his hands into his pockets prepared to endure I am called when on the doctor to examine a case in which the patient is dangerously ill in fact hopelessly ill and I have found the cause of his illness is a state of nervous expectancy however it being obviously necessary to know the nature of the disease and its cause before that cause may be removed I have asked you to sit here this evening to give me whatever explanation you may have for it Buck Daniels stirred uneasily at length he broke out Doc I size you up as a jant with brains I've got one piece of advice for you get the hell away from Cumberland Ranch and never come back again the doctor flushed and his lean jaw thrust out although he said I cannot pretend to be classed among those to whom physical fear is an unknown yet I wish to assure you sir that with me physical trepidation is not an overruling motive aw hell grown Buck Daniels then he explained more gently I don't say you're yellow all I say is this mess ain't one that you can straighten out nor no other man can give it up wash your hands and get back to Elkhead I don't know what Kate was thinking to bring you out here the excellence of your intentions said the doctor I shall freely admit though the assumption that difficulty is the essential problem would deter me from the analysis is and hypothesis which I cannot leave uncontested in the vulgar I may give you to understand that I am in this to stay Buck Daniels started to speak but thinking better of it he shrugged his shoulders and sat back resigned well he said Kate brought you out here maybe she has a reason for it what do you want to know what connection said the doctor have wild geese with a man a horse and a dog what in the hell you know about a horse a dog and wild geese inquired Buck in a strange voice rumors said the doctor has been in this instant unfortunately my only teacher but sir I have ascertained that Mr. Cumberland his daughter and you sir are all waiting for a certain thing to come to this ranch and that thing I naturally assume to be a man Doc said the cow puncher sarcastically there ain't no doubt you've got a wonderful brain mockery pronounced the man of learning is the use of the mental powers which is both unworthy and barren and does not in this case advance the argument which is who and what is this man for whom you wait he came said Buck Daniels out of nowhere that's all we know about who he is what is he I'll tell you easy he's a gent that looks like a man and talks like a man but he ain't a man ah not at the philosopher a crime of extraordinary magnitude has perhaps cut off this unfortunate fellow from communications with others of his kind is this the case it ain't replied Buck doc tell me this can a wolf commit a crime admitting this definition that crime is the breaking of law created by reason to control the rational it may be granted that acts of the lower animals lie outside of categories framed according to ethical precepts to directly answer your not incurious question I believe that a wolf cannot commit a crime Buck Daniels sighed you know doc he said gravely hey you remind me of a side hill goat ah murmured the man of learning is it possible and what Mr. Daniels is the nature of a side hill goat it's a goat that's got legs of one side shorter than the legs on the other side and the only way he can get to the top of the hill is to keep trotting round and round the hill like a 5% grade he goes a mile to get 10 feet higher this fact said Byron as he rubs his chin thoughtfully is not without interest though I failed to perceive the relation between me and such a creature unless perhaps there are biological similarities of which I have at present no cognition I didn't think you'd follow me replied Buck with equal gravity but you can lay to this doc this gent we're waiting for ain't committed any more crimes than a wolf has I see murmured the doctor a man so near the brute that his enormities pass beyond Kate said Buck interrupting him with a sternly pointed finger there ain't a kinder or gentler man in the mountain desert than him he's got a voice softer than Kate Cumberland's which is some soft voice and as for his heart doc I've seen him get off his horse to put a wounded rabbit out of its pain a ring of all came in the throat of Daniels as he repeated the incredible fact he went on in trouble I'd rather have him beside me than ten other men if I was sick I'd rather have him than the ten best doctors in the world if I wanted a pal that would die for them that done him good and go to hell to get them that done him bad I'd choose them first and there ain't none that comes second the panjiric was not a burst of imagination Buck Daniels was speaking seriously hunting for words he used superlatives it was because he needed them extraordinary murmured the doctor and he repeated the word in a louder tone it was a rare word for him in all his scholastic career and in all his scientific investigations he had found occasion to use so strong a term not more than half a dozen times at the most he went on cautiously and his weak eyes blinked at Daniels and there was a relation between this man and a horse and a dog Buck Daniels shuttered and his color changed listen he said I've talked enough he ain't going to get another word out of me except this Doc have a good sleep get on your horse tomorrow morning and beat it don't even wait for breakfast because if you do wait you may get a hand in this little hell of ours you may be waiting too his sudden thought brought him to his feet he stood over the doctor how many times he thundered have you seen Kate Cumberland today for the first time well said Daniels growling with relief if seen her enough I know and he turned towards the door unlock he commanded and tired out and sick of talking about him but the doctor did not move nevertheless he stated there is something further which you know and which you will communicate to me Buck Daniels turned at the door his face was not pleasant while observing you as you talked with the girl Byron said it occurred to me that you were holding information from her the exact nature of that information I cannot state but it is reasonable to deduce that you could at the present moment name the place where the man for whom Mr. Cumberland and his daughter wait is now located Buck Daniels made no reply but he returned to his chair and slumped heavily into it staring at the little doctor and Byron realized with a thrill of pleasure that he was not afraid of death I may further deduce at the doctor that you will go in person to the place where you know this man may be found and induce him to come to this ranch the silent anger of Daniels died away he smiled and at length he laughed without mirth Doc he said if you knew where there was a gun would that make you want to put it up again your head and pull the trigger but the doctor proceeded inexorably with his deductions because you are aware Mr. Daniels that the presence of this man may save the life of Mr. Cumberland a thought to be sure accepted by the medical fraternity but which may without undue exaggeration devolve from the psychological situation in this house Doc said Daniels huskily you talk straight and you act straight and I think you're a straight so I'll take off the bridle and talk free I know where Whistlin' Dan is just about but if I was to go to him and bring him here I'd bust the heart of Kate Cumberland his voice lowered with intense emotion I thought it out sideways and backwards it's Kate or old Joe which is the most important the doctor straightened in the chair polished his glasses and peered once more at the cow puncher you are quite sure also that the return of this man the strange wanderer might help Mr. Cumberland back to health I am all right he sure wrapped up in Whistlin' Dan what is the nature of their relations what makes them so oddly dependent upon the other I don't know Doc it's got us all fooled when Dan is here it seems like old Cumberland just naturally lives on things Dan does and hears and sees we've seen Cumberland prick up his ears the minute Dan comes into the room and show life sometimes Dan sits with him and tells him what he's been doing maybe it ain't any more than how the sky looks that day or about the feel of the wind but Joe sits with his eyes dreaming like a little kid hearing fairy stories Kate says it's been that way since her dad first bought Dan in off in the range he's been sort of necessary to old Joe almost like air to breathe I tell you it's just a picture to see them two together very odd very odd brooded the doctor frowning but this seems to be an odd place and an odd set of people you've no real idea why Dan left the ranch ask the wild geese said Buck bitterly he added maybe you'd better ask Dan's black horse or his dog Bart they know better than anything else but what has this man been doing since he left have you any idea get a little chatter now and then of a jet that's ridden to a town on a black horse prettier than anything that was ever seen before it's all pretty much the same what news we get mostly I guess he just wanders around doing no harm to nobody but once in a while somebody sticks a dog on Bart and Bart just naturally chows that dog in two then the owner of the dog may start a fight and Dan drops him and rides on with a trail of dead men behind him cried the doctor, hunching his shoulders as if to shake off a chill dead, nope you don't have to shoot the kill when you can handle a gun the way Dan does nope, he just wings him plants a chunk of lead in his shoulder or an arm or a leg that's all there ain't no love of blood in Dan except well Doc said Buck with a shutter I ain't gonna talk about the exceptions mostly the news we gets on Dan is about troubles he's had but sometimes we hear of gents he's helped out when they was sick and things like that there ain't nobody like Dan when a gent is down sick I'll tell a man the doctor sighed he said and do I understand you to say that the girl in this man whistling Dan as you call him are intimately and sentimentally related she loves him said Daniel slowly she loves the ground he walks on and the places where he's been but sir it would seem probable that the reasoning that the return of the man in this case will not be unwelcome to her reason broke out Dan bitterly what the hell reasons got to do with whistling Dan man if Barry was to come back dispose he'd remember that he once told Kate he loved her Doc I know him as near as any man can know him I'll tell you he thinks no more of her than the wild geese think of her it's nice because Dan is away well Cumberland is an old man anyway but how could I stand to see Barry pass Kate by with an empty eye the way he'd do if he'd come back I'd want to kill him and I'd get bumped off trying it like it's not and what would it do to Kate and kill her Doc as sure as you're born your assumption being muttered to the doctor that if she never sees the man again forget a knife that's sticking into you no she won't forget him but maybe after a while she'll be able to stand thinking about him she gets used to the hurt she'll be able to talk and laugh the way she used to oh Doc if you could have seen her as I've seen her in the old days when the man was with her cut in the doctor Buck Daniels caught his breath damn your eternal soul Doc he said softly from time neither of them spoke whatever went on in the mind of Daniels it was something that contorted his face as for Byron he was trying to match fact and possibility and he was finding a large gap between the two for he tried to visualize the man whose presence had been food old Joe Cumberland and whose absence had taken the oil from the lamp so that the flame now flickered dimly nearly out but he could build no such picture he could merely draw together a vague abstraction of a man to whom the storm and the wild geese who ride the storm had meaning and relationship the logic which he loved was breaking the pieces in the hands of Randall Byron silence after all is only a name never a fact there are noises in the most absolute quiet if there is not even the sound of a cricket or the wind if there are not even ghost whispers in the house there is the sigh of one's own breathing and in those moments of deadly waiting the beat of the heart may be as loud and as awful as the rattle of the death march now between the doctor and the cow puncher such a silence began Buck Daniels wanted nothing more in the world than to be out of that room the eye of the doctor held him unwilling and there began once more that eternal waiting waiting which was the horror of the place until the faint creakings through the wind shaken house took on the meaning of footsteps stalking down the hall and pausing at the door and there was a hushing breath of one who listened and smiled to himself and Buck Daniels was widening brightening it was as if the mind of the big man were giving way in the strain his face blanched even the lips had no color and they moved gibberingly listen he said is it the wind answered the doctor but his voice was hardly audible listen commanded Daniels again the doctor could hear it then it was a pulse of sound as if the obscure has the thudding of his heart but it was a human sound and it made his throat close up tightly as if a hand were settling around his windpipe Buck Daniels rose from his chair that half mad half listening look was still in his eyes behind his eyes staring at him the doctor understood intimately how men can throw their lives away gloriously in battle fighting for an idea or how they can commit secret and foul murder yet he was more afraid of the pulse of sound than of the face of Buck Daniels he also was rising from his chair and when Daniels stalked to the side door of the room and leaned there the doctor followed then they could hear it clearly there was a note of music in the voice it was a woman weeping in that room where the chain lay on the floor coiled loosely like a snake Buck Daniels straightened and moved away from the door he began to laugh guarding it so that not a whisper could break outside the room and his silent laughter was the most horrible thing the doctor had ever seen it was only for a moment the hysteria passed and left the big man shaking like a dead leaf doc he said I'm going out and try to get him back here and God forgive me for it he left the room slamming the door behind him and then he stamped down the hall as if he were trying to make a companion out of his noise Dr. Randall Byron sat down to put his thoughts in order he began at the following point the physical fact is not only the immaterial is but before he had carried very far his deductions from this premise he caught the name of a horse near the house so he went to the window and threw it open at the same time he heard the rattle of galloping hoofs and then he saw a horseman riding furiously into the heart of the wind almost at once the rider was lost from sight End of Chapter 6 Chapter 7 of the Night Horseman The night horseman by Max Brand Chapter 7 Jerry Strand The wrath of the Lord seems less terrible when it is localized and the world at large gave thanks daily that the range of Jerry Strand was limited to the three B's as everyone in the mountain desert knows the three B's are Bender Buckskin and Brownsville they make the points of a loose triangle that is cut with canyons and tumbled with mountains and that triangle was the chosen stamping ground of Jerry Strand Jerry was not born in the region of the three B's and why it should have been chosen especially by him was matter which the inhabitants could not puzzle out felt that for their sins the Lord had probably put his wrath among them in the form of Jerry Strand he was only 24 this Jerry but he was already grown into a proverb men of the three B's reckoned their conversational dates by the visits of the youth if a storm hung over the mountains someone might remark it looks like Jerry Strand is coming and such a remark was always received in gloomy silence mothers had been known to hush their children by chanting Jerry Strand will get you if you don't watch out yet he was not an ogre with a red knife between his teeth he stood at exactly the perfect romantic height he was just six feet tall he was as graceful as a young cotton wood in a windstorm and he was as strong and tough as the roots of the mesquite he was one of those rare men who are beautiful without being unmanly his face was modeled with the care of praxatiles would lavish on a Phoebus his brown hair was thick and dark and every touch of wind stirred it and his hazel eyes were brilliant with an enduring light the inextinguishable joy of life consider that there was no malice in Jerry Strand but he loved strife as the young Apollo loved strife or a pure-blooded bolterrier he fought with distinction and grace and abandoned and was perfectly willing to use fists or knives or guns at the pleasure of the other contracting party in another age with armor and a golden chain and spurs Jerry Strand would have been but why think of that swords are not forty-fives and the twentieth century is not the thirteenth he was in fact born just six hundred years too late from his childhood he had thirsted for battle as other children thirst for milk and now he wrote anything on hoofs and threw a knife like a Mexican with either hand and at short range he did snapshooting with two revolvers that made rifle experts sick at heart however the men of the three B's as everyone understands are not gentle or long enduring and you will wonder why this young destroyer was allowed to range at large so long there was a vital reason up in the mountains lived Max Strand the hermit-trapper who hated everything in the wide world except his younger brother the beautiful, wild and sunny Jerry Strand and Max Strand loved his brother as much as he hated everything else it is impossible to state it more strongly it was not long before the men of the three B's discovered how Max Strand felt about his brother after Jerry's famous Halloween party and Buckskin for instance Williamson, McKenna and Wrath started out to rid the country of the Disturber they went out to hunt him as men go out to hunt a wild mustang and they caught him and bent him down those three stark men in bed for a month but before the month was over Max Strand came down from his mountain and went to Buckskin and gathered Williamson and McKenna and Wrath in one public place and when the morning came Williamson and McKenna and Wrath had left this veil of tears and Max Strand was back on his mountain he was not even arrested for there was a devilish cunning and he made his victims without exception attack him first then he destroyed them suddenly and surely and retreated to his lair things like this happened once or twice and then the men of the three B's understood that it was not wise to lay plots for Jerry Strand they accepted him as I have said before as men accept the Wrath of God let it not be thought as a solitary like his brother when he went out for a frolic the young men of the community gathered around him for Jerry paid all scores and the red eye flowed in his path like wine before the coming of Bacchus where Jerry went there was never a dull moment and young men love action so it happened that when he rode in the Brownsville this day he was the leader of a cavalcade rumor rode before them they were locked and windows were darkened and men sat in the darkness with their guns across their knees for Brownsville lay at the extreme northern tip of the triangle and it was rarely visited by Jerry and it is well established that men fear the unfamiliar more than the known as has been said Jerry headed the train of revelers partially because it was most unwise to cut in ahead of Jerry and partially because there was not a piece of horse flesh in the three B's which could out foot his chestnut it was a gilding out of the loyans of the north wind and sired by the devil himself and its spirit was one with the spirit of Jerry Strand perhaps because they both served one master the cavalcade came with a crash of racing hoofs in a cloud of dust but in the middle of the street Jerry raised his right arm stiffly overhead with a whoop and brought his chestnut to a sliding stop the cloud of dust rolled lazily on ahead the young men gathered quickly around the leader and there was silence as they waited for him to speak a silence broken only by the wheezing of the horses and the stench of sweating horse flesh was in every man's nostrils who owns that horse asked Jerry Strand and pointed he had stopped just opposite O'Brien's hotel store blacksmith's shop and saloon and by the hitching rack was a black stallion now there are some men who carry tidings of their inward strength stamped on their foreheads and written in their eyes in times of crises crowds will turn to such men and follow them as soldiers follow a captain for it is patent by chance that this is a man of men it is likewise true that there are horses which stand out among their fellows and this was such a horse he was such a creature that if he had been led to a barrier the entire crowd at the racetrack would rise as one man and say what is that horse there were points in which some critics would find fault most of the men of the mountain desert would have said that the animal was too lightly and delicately limbed for long endurance but as the man of men bears the stamp of his greatness in his forehead and his eyes so it was with a black stallion when the thunder of the cavalcade had rushed upon him down the street he had turned with cat-like grace and raised his head to sea and his forehead and his eyes arrested Jerry Strand like a leveled rifle looking at that proud head one forgot the body of the horse the symmetry of curves exquisite beyond the sculptor's dream the arching neck and the steel muscles one was only conscious of the great spirit in human beings we refer to it as personality after a little pause sin that no one offered a suggestion as to the identity of the owner softly that horse is mine it caused a stir in the crowd of his followers in the mountain desert one may deal lightly with a man's wife and lift a random cow or two and settle the score at need with a snug 45 chunk of lead but with horses it is different a horse in the mountain desert lies outside of all laws and above all laws it is greater than honor and when a man's horse is taken from him the men of the desert gather together and hunt the thief whether it be a day or whether it be a month and when they have reached him they shoot him like a dog and leave his flesh to the buzzards and his bones to the merciless stars for all of this there is a reason but Jerry Strand swung from his mount tossed the reins over the head of the chestnut and walked toward the black eyes he was careless also and venturing too close the black world with his sudden cat-like agility and two black hoofs lashed within a hair's breath of the man's shoulder there was a shout from the crowd but Jerry Strand stepped back and smiled so that his teeth showed boy as he said but he was really speaking to himself there is nothing in the world I want as bad as I want that horse nothing I'm going to buy him, where's the owner don't look like a horse a man would want to sell Jerry came a suggestion from the cavalcade who had dismounted and now pressed behind their leader and Jerry favored the speaker with another of his enigmatic smiles oh he chuckled he'll sell all right maybe he's inside you gent stick out here and watch for him I'll step inside and he strode through the swinging doors of the saloon it was a dull time of the day for O'Brien so he sat with his feet on the edge of the bar and sipped a tall glass of beer he looked up at the welcome click of the doors however and then was instantly on his feet the good red went out of his face and the freckles over his nose stood out like ink marks there's a black horse outside the Jerry that I'm going to buy where's the owner have drinks at the bartender and he forced an amiable smile I've got business on my hands not drinking said Jerry Strand lost your chestnut queried O'Brien in concern that chestnut was all right until I seen that black now he ain't a horse at all where's Jan I want the bartender had fenced for time as long as possible over there he said and pointed it was a slender fellow sitting at a table in the corner of the long room his sombrero pushed back on his head he was playing solitaire and his back was towards Jerry Strand who now made a brief survey hitched his cartridge belt and approached the stranger with a grin the man did not turn he continued to lay down his cards with monotonous regularity and while he was doing it he said in the gentlest voice that had ever reached the ear of Jerry Strand better say where you are stranger my dog don't like you and Jerry Strand perceived under the shadow of the table a blacker shadow huge and formless in the gloom and two spots of incandescent green twinkling toward him he stopped he even made a step back and then he heard a stifled chuckle from the bartender if it had not been for that untimely mirth of O'Brien's probably nothing of what followed would have passed into the history of the three B's End of Chapter 7 Chapter 8 of The Night Horseman This LibriVox recording is in the public domain The Night Horseman by Max Brand Chapter 8 The Gift Horse Your dog is your own dog remarked Jerry Strand still to the back of the card lane stranger in the backyard keep your eye on him or I'll fix him so he won't need watching so saying he made another step forward and it brought a snarl from the dog not one of those high whining noises but a deep guttural that sounded like in-drawn breath the gun of Jerry Strand leaped into his hand Bart said the gentle voice stranger lie down and don't talk and he turned in his chair pulled his hat straight and looked mildly upon the gunman an artist would have made much of that picture for there was in this man as in Strand a singular portion of beauty it was not however free from objection for he had not the open manliness of the larger of the two indeed a feminine grace and softness marked him his wrists were as round as a girls and his hands as slender and as delicately finished whether it be the white hot sun of summer or the hurricane snows of winter the climate of the mountain desert roughens the skin and it cuts away spare flesh hewing out the face in angles but with this man there were no rough edges but all was smoothed over and rounded with painful care as if nature had concentrated in that birth to show what she could do such fine workmanship perhaps would be appreciated more by women than by men for men like a certain weight and bulk of bone and muscle whereas this fellow seemed as light of body as he was of hand he sat now watching Strand with the utmost gravity he had very large brown eyes of a puzzling quality perhaps that was because there seemed to be no thought behind them and one eye caught the mystery and the wistfulness of some animals from a glance at him the effect of that glance on Strand was to make him grin again and he at once banished the frown from his forehead and put away his gun the big dog had slunk deeper into the shadow and closer to his master I'm Strand maybe you've heard of me my name is Barry said the other I'm sorry that I haven't heard of you before and the sound of his voice made Jerry Strand grin again it was such a low soft voice with the velvet of a young girl's tone in it moreover the brown eyes seemed to apologize for the ignorance concerning Strand's name you got a horse out front a nod of agreement what's your price none no price look here argued Strand everything's got a price and I got to have that horse understand got to I ain't bargaining I won't try to beat you down you just set a figure and I'll cover it I guess that's square he ain't a gentle horse said Barry maybe you wouldn't like him that's all right about being gentle chuckled Strand then he checked his mirth and stared piercingly at the other to make out if there were a secret mockery it could not however be possible the eyes were as gravely apologetic as ever he continued I seen the hell fire in him that's what stopped me like a bullet I like him that way much rather have him with a fight well let's have your price hey O'Brien trot out your red eye I'm going to do some business here with drinks and while they waited Strand queried politely belong around these parts no answered the other softly no where you come from over there said Barry and waved a graceful hand poured half the points of the compass hmm muttered Strand and once more he bent a king gaze upon his companion the drinks were now placed before them here he concluded he said that black bevel outside and he swallowed the liquor at a gulp but as he replaced the empty glass on the table he observed with breathless amazement that the whiskey glass of the stranger was still full he had drunk his chaser now by God said Strand in a ringing voice and struck a heavy hand upon the top of the table he regained his control however instantly now about that price I don't know what horses are worth replied Barry to start then 500 bucks in cold cash gold for you what's his name Satan eh Satan hmm murmured Strand again 500 for Satan then how about it oh hell smiled Strand with a large and careless gesture I'll ride him all right then I would let you take him for nothing concluded Barry he had what said Strand then he rose slowly from his chair and shouted instantly the swinging doors broke open and a throng of faces appeared at the gap boys this gent here is going to give me that black if I can ride him he turned back on Barry they've heard it he concluded and this bargain is going to stick justice way if your horse can throw me the deals off oh yes not at the brown-eyed man what's the idea asked one of Jerry's followers as the latter stepped through the doors of the saloon onto the street I don't know said Jerry that gent looks kind of simple but it ain't my fault if he made a rotten bargain here you the battle rains of the black stallion speed lightning speed was what saved him for the instant his fingers touched the leather Satan twisted his head and snapped like an angry dog the teeth clicked beside Strand's shoulder as he leaped back he laughed savagely that'll be took out of him he announced and damned quick here the voice of Barry was heard saying I'll help you mount Mr. Strand and he edged his way through the little crowd until he stood at the head of the stallion look out Warren Strand in real alarm or he'll take your head off but Barry was already beside his horse and with his back toward those vicious teeth he drew the reins over his head as for the stallion it pricked one ear forward and then the other and muzzled the man's shoulder confidingly there was a liberal chorus Oath from the gathering I'll hold his head while you get on suggested Barry turning his mild eyes upon Strand again well muttered the big man may I be eternally damned he added all right hold his head I'll ride him without pulling leather is that square Barry nodded absently his slender fingers were patting the velvet nose of the stallion and he was talking to it in a weird tone meaningless words perhaps such as a mother uses to soothe a child when Strand set his foot in the stirrup and gathered up the reins the black horse cringed and shuttered it was not a pleasant thing to see it was like a dog crouching under the suspended whip it was worse than that it was almost a horror of a man who shivers at the touch of an unclean animal there was not a sound from the crowd Barry Grinn was wiped out Jerry Strand swung in to the saddle lightly there he sat testing the stirrups there were two short by inches but he refused to have them lengthened he poised his quirt and tugged his hat lower over his eyes Barnum loose he shouted hey and his shrill yell went down the street and the echoes sent it barking back from wall to wall Barry stepped back from the head of the black but for an instant the horse did not stir he was trembling violently but his blazing eyes were fixed upon the face of his owner Barry raised his hand and then it happened it was like the release of a coiled watchspring the black world as a top spins and Strand sagged far to the left before he could recover the stallion was away in a flash like a racer leaving the barrier and reaching full speed in almost a stride not far, hardly the breath of the street before he pitched up in a long leap as if to clear a barrier landed stiff-legged with a sickening jar whirled again like a spinning top and darted straight back and Jerry Strand pulled leather with might and mane but the short stirrups were against him and above all the suddenness of the start had taken him off guard for all his readiness when the stallion dropped stiff-legged Jerry was thrown forward and an unlucky left foot jarred loose from the stirrup and when the horse whirled Strand was flung from the saddle it was a clean fall he twisted over in the air as he fell and landed in deep dust the black stallion had reached his master turned in that same cat-like manner and watched with prickly nears as Strand dragged himself up from the dust there was no shout of laughter no cheer for that fall and without a smile they watched Strand returning Big O'Brien had seen from his open door and now he laid a hand on the shoulder of one of the men and whispered at his ear there's gonna be trouble, bad trouble Billy, go for Fatty Matthews he's a deputy marshal now and get him here as quick as you can run the others spared time for a last glance at Strand and then hurried down the street now a man who can lose and smile is generally considered the most graceful of failures but the smile of Jerry Strand as he walks slowly back worried his followers well, it dusts sometime he philosophized but one try don't prove nothing I ain't near through with that, Hoss Barry turned to Strand if there had been mockery in his eyes or a smile on his lips as he faced Jerry there would have been a gunplay on the spot but instead the brown eyes were as dumbly apologetic as ever we didn't talk about two tries he observed we'll talk about it now, said Strand there was one man in the crowd a little too old to be dangerous therefore there was one man who was in a position to speak openly to Strand it was Big O'Brien Jerry, you named your game and you made your play and lost I guess he ain't going to turn up a hard loser nobody plays twice for the same pot the his eyes of Strand were gray with anguish of the spirit as he looked from O'Brien to the crowd and from the crowd to Satan and from Satan to his meek-eyed owner nowhere was there a defiant eye or a glint of scorn on which he could wreck his wrath he stood poised in his anger for the space of a breath then in the sharp struggle his better nature conquered come on in, all of you he called we'll liquor and forget this End of chapter 8