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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/10324-0.txt b/10324-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e233a43 --- /dev/null +++ b/10324-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5981 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10324 *** + +BULL HUNTER + +BY + +MAX BRAND + + + + + + +BULL HUNTER + +CHAPTER 1 + + +It was the big central taproot which baffled them. They had hewed +easily through the great side roots, large as branches, covered with +soft brown bark; they had dug down and cut through the forest of +tender small roots below; but when they had passed the main body of +the stump and worked under it, they found that their hole around the +trunk was not large enough in diameter to enable them to reach to the +taproot and cut through it. They could only reach it feebly with the +hatchet, fraying it, but there was no chance for a free swing to sever +the tough wood. Instead of widening the hole at once, they kept +laboring at the root, working the stump back and forth, as though they +hoped to crystallize that stubborn taproot and snap it like a wire. +Still it held and defied them. They laid hold of it together and +tugged with a grunt; something tore beneath that effort, but the stump +held, and upward progress ceased. + +They stopped, too tired for profanity, and gazed down the mountainside +after the manner of baffled men, who look far off from the thing that +troubles them. They could tell by the trees that it was a high +altitude. There were no cottonwoods, though the cottonwoods will +follow a stream for more than a mile above sea level. Far below them a +pale mist obscured the beautiful silver spruce which had reached their +upward limit. Around the cabin marched a scattering of the balsam fir. +They were nine thousand feet above the sea, at least. Still higher up +the sallow forest of lodgepole pines began; and above these, beyond +the timberline, rose the bald summit itself. + +They were big men, framed for such a country, defying the roughness +with a roughness of their own--these stalwart sons of old Bill +Campbell. Both Harry and Joe Campbell were fully six feet tall, with +mighty bones and sinews and work-toughened muscles to justify their +stature. Behind them stood their home, a shack better suited for the +housing of cattle than of men. But such leather-skinned men as these +were more tender to their horses than to themselves. They slept and +ate in the shack, but they lived in the wind and the sun. + +Although they had looked down the stern slopes to the lower Rockies, +they did not see the girl who followed the loosely winding trail. She +was partly sheltered by the firs and came out just above them. They +began moiling at the stump again, sweating, cursing, and the girl +halted her horse near by. The profanity did not distress her. She was +so accustomed to it that the words had lost all edge and point for +her; but her freckled face stirred to a smile of pleasure at the sight +of their strength, as they alternately smote at the taproot and then +strove in creaking, grunting unison to work it loose. + +They remained so long oblivious of her presence that at length she +called, "Why don't you dig a bigger hole, boys?" + +She laughed in delight as they jerked up their heads in astonishment. +Her laughter was young and sweet to the ear, but there was not a great +deal outside her laughter that was attractive about her. + +However, Joe and Harry gaped and grinned and blushed at her in the +time-old fashion, for she lived in a country where to be a woman is +sufficient, beauty is an unnecessary luxury, soon taxed out of +existence by the life. She possessed the main essentials of social +power; she could dance unflaggingly from dark to dawn at the nearest +schoolhouse dance, chattering every minute; and she could maintain a +rugged silence from dawn to dark again, as she rode her pony home. + +Harry Campbell took off his hat, not in politeness, but to scratch his +head. "Say, Jessie, where'd you drop from? Didn't see you coming +no ways." + +"Maybe I come down like rain," said Jessie. + +All three laughed heartily at this jest. + +Jessie swung sidewise in her saddle with the lithe grace of a boy, +dropped her elbow on the high pommel, and gave advice. "You got a +pretty bad taproot under yonder. Better chop out a bigger hole, boys. +But, say, what you clearing this here land for? Ain't no good for +nothing, is it?" She looked around her. Here and there the clearing +around the shanty ate raggedly into the forest, but still the plowed +land was chopped up with a jutting of boulders. + +"Sure it ain't no good for nothing," said Joe. "It's just the old +man's idea." + +He jerked a grimy thumb over his shoulder to indicate the controlling +and absent power of the old man, somewhere in the woods. + +"Sure makes him glum when we ain't working. If they ain't nothing +worthwhile to do he always sets us to grubbing up roots; and if we +ain't diggin' up roots, we got to get out old 'Maggie' mare and try to +plow. Plow in rocks like them! Nobody but Bull can do it." + +"I didn't know Bull could do nothing," said the girl with interest. + +"Aw, he's a fool, right enough," said Harry, "but he just has a sort +of head for knowing where the rocks are under the ground, and somehow +he seems to make old Maggie hoss know where they lie, too. Outside of +that he sure ain't no good. Everybody knows that." + +"Kind of too bad he ain't got no brains," said the girl. "All his +strength is in his back, and none is in his head, my dad says. If he +had some part of sense he'd be a powerful good hand." + +"Sure would be," agreed Harry. "But he ain't no good now. Give him an +ax maybe, and he hits one or two wallopin' licks with it and then +stands and rests on the handle and starts to dreaming like a fool. +Same way with everything. But, say, Joe, maybe he could start this +stump out of the hole." + +"But I seen you both try to get the stump up," said the girl in +wonder. + +"Get Bull mad and he can lift a pile," Joe assured her. "Go find him, +Harry." + +Harry obediently shouted, "Bull! Oh, Bull!" + +There was no answer. + +"Most like he's reading," observed Joe. "He don't never hear nothing +then. Go look for him, Harry." + +Big Harry strode to the door of the hut. + +"How come he understands books?" said the girl. "I couldn't never make +nothing out of 'em." + +"Me neither," agreed Joe in sympathy. "But maybe Bull don't +understand. He just likes to read because he can sit still and do it. +Never was a lazier gent than Bull." + +Harry turned at the door of the shack. "Yep, reading," he announced +with disgust. He cupped his hands over his mouth and bellowed through +the doorway, "Hey!" + +There was a startled grunt within, a deep, heavy voice and a thick +articulation. Presently a huge man came into the doorway and leaned +there, his figure filling it. There was nothing freakish about his +build. He was simply over-normal in bulk, from the big head to the +heavy feet. He was no more than a youth in age, but the great size and +the bewildered puckering of his forehead made him seem older. The book +was still in his hand. + +"Hey," returned Harry, "we didn't call you out here to read to us. +Leave the book behind!" + +Bull looked down at the book in his hand, seemed to waken from a +trance, then, with a muffled sound of apology, dropped the book +behind him. + +"Come here!" + +He slumped out from the house. His gait was like his body, his stride +large and loose. The lack of nervous energy which kept his mind from a +high tension was shown again in the heavy fall of his feet and the +forward slump of his head. His hands dangled aimlessly at his sides, +as though in need of occupation. A ragged thatch of blond hair covered +his head and it was sunburned to straw color at the edges. + +His costume was equally rough. He wore no belt, but one strap, from +his right hip, crossed behind his back, over the bulging muscles of +his shoulder to the front of his left hip. The trousers, which this +simple brace supported, were patched overalls, frayed to loose threads +halfway down the calf where they were met by the tops of immense +cowhide boots. As for the shirt, the sleeves were inches too short, +and the unbuttoned cuffs flapped around the burly forearms. If it had +been fastened together at the throat he would have choked. He seemed, +in a word, to be bulging out of his clothes. One expected a mighty +rending if he made a strong effort. + +This bulk of a man slouched forward with steps both huge and hesitant, +pausing between them. When he saw the girl he stopped short, and his +brow puckered more than before. One felt that, coming from the shadow, +he was dazed and startled by the brilliant mountain sunshine; and the +eyes were dull and alarmed. It was a handsome face in a way, but a +little too heavy with flesh, too inert, like the rest of his body and +his muscular movements. + +"She ain't going to bite you," said Harry Campbell. "Come on over here +to the stump." He whispered to the girl, "Laugh at him!" + +She obeyed his command. It brought a flush to the face of Bull Hunter +and made his head bow. He shuffled to the stump and stood aimlessly +beside it. + +"Get down into the hole, you fool!" ordered Joe. + +He and Harry took a certain pride in ordering their cousin around. It +was like performing with a lion in the presence of a lady; it was +manipulating an elephant by power of the unaided voice. Slowly Bull +Hunter dropped his great feet into the hole and then raised his head a +little and looked wistfully to the brothers for further orders. + +But only half his mind was with them. The other half was with the +story in the book. There Quentin Durward had been nodding at his guard +in the castle, and the evil-faced little king had just sprung out and +wrenched the weapon from the hands of the sleepy boy. Bull Hunter +could see the story clearly, very clearly. The scar on the face of Le +Balafré glistened for him; he had veritably tasted the little round +loaves of French bread that the adventurer had eaten with the +pseudo-merchant. + +But to step out of that world of words into this keen sunlight--ah, +there was the difference! The minds which one found in the pages of a +book were understandable. But the minds of living men--how terrible +they were! One could never tell what passed behind the bright eyes of +other human beings. They mocked one. When they seemed sad they might +be about to laugh. The minds of the two brothers eluded him, mocked +him, slipped from beneath the slow grasp of his comprehension. They +whipped him with their scorn. They dodged him with their wits. They +bewildered him with their mockery. + +But they were nothing compared with the laughter of the girl. It went +through him like the flash and point of Le Balafré's long sword. He +was helpless before that sound of mirth. He wanted to hold up his +hands and cower away from her and from her dancing eyes. So he stood, +ponderous, tortured, and the three pairs of clear eyes watched him and +enjoyed his torture. Better, far better, that dark castle in ancient +France, and the wicked Oliver and the yet more wicked Louis. + +"Lay hold on that stump," shouted Harry. + +He heard the directions through a haze. It was twice repeated before +he bowed and set his great hands upon the ragged projections, where +the side roots had been cut away. He settled his grip and waited. He +was glad because this bowed position gave him a chance to look down to +the ground and avoid their cruel eyes. How bright those eyes were, +thought Bull, and how clearly they saw all things! He never doubted +the justice behind their judgments of him; all that Bull asked from +the world was a merciful silence--to let him grub in his books now and +then, or else to tell him how to go about some simple work, such as +digging with a pick. Here one's muscles worked, and there was no +problem to disturb wits which were still gathering wool in the pages +of some old tale. + +But they were shrilling new directions at him; perhaps they had been +calling to him several times. + +"You blamed idiot, are you goin' to stand there all day? We didn't +give you that stump to rest on. Pull it up!" + +He started with a sense of guilt and tugged up. His fingers slipped +off their separate grips, and the stump, though it groaned against the +taproot under the strain, did not come out. + +"It don't seem to budge, somehow," said Bull in his big, soft, +plaintive voice. Then he waited for the laughter. There was always +laughter, no matter what he did or said, but he never grew calloused +against it. It was the one pain which ever pierced the mist of his +brain and cut him to the quick. And he was right. There was laughter +again. He stood suffering mutely under it. + +The girl's face became grave. She murmured to Harry, "Ever try +praisin' to big stupid?" + +"Him? Are you joshin' me, Jessie? What's he ever done to be praised +about?" + +"You watch!" said the girl. Growing excited with her idea, she called, +"Say, Bull!" + +He lifted his head, but not his eyes. Those eyes studied the impatient +feet of the girl's mustang; he waited for another stroke of wit that +would bring forth a fresh shower of laughter at his expense. + +"Bull, you're mighty big and strong. About the biggest and strongest +man I ever seen!" + +Was this a new and subtle form of mockery? He waited dully. + +"I seen Harry and Joe both try to pull up that root, and they couldn't +so much as budge it. But I bet you could do it all alone, Bull! You +just try! I bet you could!" + +It amazed him. He lifted his eyes at length; his face suffused with a +flush; his big, cloudy eyes were glistening with moisture. + +"D'you mean that?" he asked huskily. + +For this terrible, clear-eyed creature, this mocking mind, this alert, +cruel wit was actually speaking words of confidence. A great, dim joy +welled up in the heart of Bull Hunter. He shook the forelock out +of his eyes. + +"You just try, will you, Bull?" + +"I'll try!" + +He bowed. Again his thick fingers sought for a grip, found places, +worked down through the soft dirt and the pulpy bark to solid wood, +and then he began to lift. It was a gradual process. His knees gave, +sagging under the strain from the arms. Then the back began to grow +rigid, and the legs in turn grew stiff, as every muscle fell into +play. The shoulders pushed forward and down. The forearms, revealed by +the short sleeves, showed a bewildering tangle of corded muscle, and, +at the wrists, the tendons sprang out as distinct and white as the new +strings of a violin. + +The three spectators were undergoing a change. The suppressed grins of +the two brothers faded. They glanced at the girl to see if she were +not laughing at the results of her words to big Bull, but the girl was +staring. She had set that mighty power to work, and she was amazed by +the thing she saw. And they, looking back at Bull, were amazed in +turn. They had seen him lift great logs, wrench boulders from the +earth. But always it had been a proverb within the Campbell family +that Bull would make only one attempt and, failing in the first +effort, would try no more. They had never seen the mysterious +resources of his strength called upon. + +Now they watched first the settling and then the expansion of the body +of their big cousin. His shoulders began to tremble; they heard deep, +harsh panting like the breathing of a horse as it tugs a ponderous +load up a hill, and still he had not reached the limit of his power. +He seemed to grow into the soil, and his feet ground deeper into the +soft dirt, and ever there was something in him remaining to be tapped. +It seemed to the brothers to be merely vast, unexplored recesses of +muscle, but even then it was a prodigious thing to watch the strain on +the stump increase moment by moment. That something of the spirit was +being called upon to aid in the work was quite beyond their +comprehension. + +There was something like a groan from Bull--a queer, animal sound that +made all three spectators shiver where they stood. For it showed that +the limit of that apparently inexhaustible strength had been reached +and that now the anguish of last effort was going into the work. They +saw the head bowed lower; the shoulders were now bunching and swelling +up on either side. + +Then came a faint rending sound, like cloth slowly torn. It was +answered by something strangely like a snarl from the laborer. +Something jerked through his body as though a whip had been flicked +across his back. With a great rending and a loud snap the big stump +came up. A little shower of dirt spouted up with the parting of the +taproot. The trunk was flung high, but not out of the hands of Bull +Hunter. He whirled it around his head, laughing. There was a ring and +clearness in that laughter that they had never heard before. He dashed +the stump on the ground. + +"It's out!" exclaimed Bull. "Look there!" + +He strode upon them. As he straightened up he became huger than ever. +They shrank from him--from the veins which still bulged on his +forehead and from the sweat and pallor of that vast effort. The very +mustang winced from this mountain of a man who came with a long, +sweeping, springing stride. On his face was a strange joy as of the +explorer who tops the mountains and sees the beauty of the promised +land beneath him. He held out his hand. + +"Lady, I got to thank you. You--taught me how!" + +But she shrank from his outstretched hand--as though she had labored +to a larger end than she dreamed and was terrified by the thing +she had made. + +"You--you got a red stain on your hands. Oh!" + +He came to a stop sharply. The sharp edges, where the roots had been +cut away had worked through the skin and his hands were literally +caked with mud and stained red. Bull looked down at his hands vaguely. + +It came to Harry that Bull was taking up a trifle too much of Jessie's +attention. The next thing they knew she would be inviting him to come +to the next dance down her way, and they would have the big hulk of a +man shaming himself and his uncle's family. + +"Go on back to the house," he ordered sharply. "We don't have no more +need of you." + +Bull obeyed, stumbling along and still looking down at his wounded +hands. + + + + +CHAPTER 2 + + +He left the three behind him, bewildered and frightened. Had lightning +split a thick tree beside them, or an unexpected landslide thundered +past and swept the ground away at their feet, they could have been +hardly more disturbed. + +"Who'd of thought he could act like that!" remarked Joe. "My gosh, +Jessie!" + +They went and looked at the hole where the stump had stood. At the +bottom was the white remnant of the taproot where it had burst under +the strain. + +"It wasn't so much how he pulled up the stump," said the girl faintly. +"But--but did you see his face, boys, after he heaved the stump up? +I--just pick that stump up, will you?" + +They went to the misshapen, ragged monster and lifted it, puffing +under the weight. + +"All right." + +They dropped it obediently. + +"And he--he just swung it around his head like it was nothing!" +declared the girl. "Look how it smashed into the gravel where he threw +it down! Why--why--I didn't know men was made like that. And his +face--the way he laughed--why he didn't look like no fool at all, +boys. But just as if he'd waked up!" + +"You act so interested," said Harry Campbell dryly, "that maybe you'd +like to have us call him out again so's you can talk to him?" + +Apparently she did not hear, but stared down into the mist of the late +afternoon, warning her that she must start home. She seemed puzzled +and a little frightened. When she left them it was with a wave of the +hand and with no words of farewell. They watched her go down the trail +that jerked back and forth across the pitch of the slope; twice her +pony stumbled, a sure sign that the rider was absent-minded. + +"Jessie didn't seem to know what to make of it," said Harry. + +"Neither do I," returned his brother. + +Both of them spoke in subdued voices as if they were afraid of being +overheard. + +"And think if he'd ever lay a hold on one of us like that!" said +Harry. He went to the stump and examined the side of one of the roots. +It was stained with crimson. + +"Look where his finger tips worked through the dirt and the bark, +right down to the solid wood," murmured Joe. + +They looked at each other uneasily. "My gosh," said Joe, "think of the +way I handled him the other night! He--he let me trip him up and throw +him!" He shuddered. "Why, if he'd laid hold of me just once, he'd of +squashed my muscles like they was rotten fruit!" + +Of one accord they turned back to the house. At the door they paused +and peered in, as into the den of a bear. There sat Bull on the +floor--he risked his weight to none of the crazy chairs--still looking +at his stained hands. Then they drew back and again looked at each +other with scared eyes and spoke in undertones. + +"After this maybe he won't want to follow orders. Maybe he'll get sort +of free and easy and independent." + +"If he does, you watch Dad give him his marching orders. Dad won't +have no one lifting heads agin' him." + +"Neither will I," snapped Joe. "I guess we own this house. I guess we +support that big hulk. I'm going to try him right quick." + +He went back to the door of the shack. "Bull, they ain't any wood for +the stove tonight. Go chop some quick." + +The floor squeaked and groaned under Bull's weight as he rose, and +again the brothers looked to each other. + +"All right," came cheerily from Bull Hunter. + +He came through the door with his ax and went to the log pile. The +brothers watched him throw aside the top logs and get at the heavier +trunks underneath. He tore one of these out, laid it in place, and the +sun flashed on the swift circle of the ax. Joe and Harry stepped back +as though the light had blinded them. + +"He didn't never work like that before," declared Joe. + +The ax was buried almost to the haft in the tough wood, and the steel +was wrenching out with a squeak of the metal against the resisting +wood. Again the blinding circle and the indescribable sound of the +ax's impact, slicing through the wood. A great chip snapped up high +over the shoulder of the chopper and dropped solidly to the ground at +the feet of the brothers. Again they exchanged glances and drew a +little closer together. The log divided under the shower of eating +blows, and Bull attacked the next section. + +Presently he came to a pause, leaning on the handle of the ax and +staring into the distance. At this the brothers sighed with relief. + +"I guess he ain't changed so much," said Harry. "But it was queer, eh? +Kind of like a bear waking up after he'd been sleeping all winter!" + +They jarred Bull out of his dream with a shout and set him to work +again; then they started the preparations for the evening meal. The +simple preparations were soon completed, but after the potatoes were +boiled, they delayed frying the bacon, for their father, old Bill +Campbell, had not yet returned from his hunting trip and he disliked +long-cooked food. Things had to be freshly served to suit Bill, and +his sons dared the wrath of heaven rather than the biting reproaches +of the old man. + +It was strange that Bill delayed his coming so long. As a rule he was +always back before the coming of evening. An old and practiced +mountaineer, he had never been known to lose sense of direction or +sense of distance, and he was an hour overdue when the sun went down +and the soft, beautiful mountain twilight began. + +There were other reasons which would ordinarily have disturbed Bill +and brought him home even ahead of time. Snow had fallen heavily above +the timberline a few days before, and now the keen whistling of the +wind and the swift curtaining of clouds, which was drawing across the +sky, threatened a new storm that might even reach down to the shack. + +And yet no Bill appeared. + +The brothers waited in the shack, and the darkness was increasing. Any +one of a number of things might have happened to their father, but +they were not worried. For one thing, they wasted no love on the stern +old man. They knew well enough that he had plenty of money, but he +kept them here to a dog's life in the shack, and they hated him for +it. Besides, they had a keen grievance which obscured any worry about +Bill--they were hungry, wildly hungry. The darkness set in, and the +feeble light wandered from the smoked chimney of the lantern and made +the window black. + +Outside, the wind began to scream, sighing in the distance among the +firs, and then pouncing upon the cabin and shaking it as though in +rage. The fire would smoke in the stove at every one of these blasts, +and the flame leaped in the lantern. + +Bull Hunter had to lean closer to the light and frown to make out the +print of his book. The sight of his stolid immobility merely sharpened +their hunger, for there was never any passion in this hulk of a man. +When he relaxed over a book the world went out like a snuffed candle +for him. He read slowly, lingering over every page, for now and again +his eyes drifted away from the print, and he dreamed over what he had +read. In reality he was not reading for the plot, but for the pictures +he found, and he dreaded coming to the end of a book also, for books +were rare in his life. A scrap of a magazine was a treasure. A full +volume was a nameless delight. + +And so he worked slowly through every paragraph and made it his and +dreamed over it until he knew every thought and every picture by +heart. Once slowly devoured in this way, it was useless to reread a +book. It was far better to simply sit and let the slow memory of it +trail through his mind link by link, just as he had first read it and +with all the embroiderings which his own fancy had conjured up. + +Often this stupid pondering over a book would madden the two brothers. +It irritated them till they would move the lantern away from him. But +he always followed the light with a sigh and uncomplainingly settled +down again. Sometimes they even snatched the book out of his hands. In +that case he sat looking down at his empty fingers, dreaming over his +own thoughts as contentedly as though the living page were in his +vision. There was small satisfaction in tormenting him in these ways. + +Tonight they dared not bother him. The stained hands were still in +their minds, and the tremendous, joyous laughter as he whirled the +stump over his head still rang in their ears. But they watched him +with a sullen envy of his immobility. Just as a man without an +overcoat envies the woolly coat of a dog on a windy December day. + +Only one sound roused the reader. It was a sudden loud snorting from +the shed behind the house and a dull trampling that came to him +through the noise of the rising wind. It brought Bull lurching to his +feet, and the stove jingled as his weight struck the yielding center +boards of the floor. Out into the blackness he strode. The wind shut +around him at once and plastered his clothes against his body as if he +had been drenched to the skin in water. Then he closed the door. + +"What brung him to life?" asked Harry. + +"Nothin', He just heard ol' Maggie snort. Always bothers him when +Maggie gets scared of something--the old fool!" + +Maggie was an ancient, broken-down draft horse. Strange vicissitudes +had brought her up into the mountains via the logging camp. She was +kept, not because there was any real hauling to be done for Bill +Campbell, but because, having got her for nothing, she reminded him of +the bargain she had been. And Bull, apparently understanding the +sluggish nature of the old mare by sympathy of kind, use to work her +to the single plow among the rocks of their clearing. Here, every +autumn, they planted seed that never grew to mature grain. But that +was Bill Campbell's idea of making a home. + +Presently Bull came back and settled with a slump into his old place. + +"Going to snow?" asked Harry. + +"Yep." + +"Feel it in the wind?" + +It was an old joke among them, for Bull often declared with ridiculous +solemnity that he could foretell snow by the change in the air. + +"Yep," answered Bull, "I felt the wind." + +He looked up at them, abashed, but they were too hungry to waste +breath with laughter. They merely sneered at him as he settled back +into his book. And, just as his head bowed, a far shouting swept down +at them as the wind veered to a new point. + +"Uncle Bill!" said Bull and rose again to open the door. + +The others wedged in behind his bulk and stared into the blackness. + + + + +CHAPTER 3 + + +They stood with the wind taking them with its teeth and pressing them +heavily back. They could hear the fire flare and flutter in the stove; +then the wind screamed again, and the wail came down to them. + +"Uncle Bill!" repeated Bull and, lowering his head, strode into the +storm. + +The others exchanged frightened glances and then followed, but not +outside of the shaft of light from the door. In the first place it was +probably not their father. Who could imagine Bill shouting for help? +Such a thing had never been dreamed of by his worst enemies, and they +knew that their father's were legion. Besides it was cold, and this +was a wild-goose chase which meant a chilled hide and no gain. + +But, presently, through the darkness they made out the form of a +horseman and the great bulk of Bull coming back beside him. Then they +ran out into the night. + +They recognized the hatless, squat figure of their father at once, +even in the dark, with the wind twitching his beard sideways. When +they called to him he did not speak. Then they saw that Bull was +leading the horse. + +Plainly something was wrong, and presently they discovered that Bill +Campbell was actually tied upon his horse. He gave no orders, and they +cut the ropes in silence. Still he did not dismount. + +"Bull," he commanded, "lift me off the hoss!" + +The giant plucked him out of the saddle and placed him on the ground, +but his legs buckled under him, and he fell forward on his face. Any +of the three could have saved him, but the spectacle of the terrible +old man's helplessness benumbed their senses and their muscles. + +"Carry me in!" said Bill at last. + +Bull lifted him and bore him gingerly through the door and placed him +on the bunk. The light revealed a grisly spectacle. Crimson stains and +dirt literally covered him; his left leg was bandaged below the knee; +his right shoulder was roughly splinted with small twigs and +swathed in cloth. + +The long ride, with his legs tied in place, had apparently paralyzed +his nerves below the hips. He remained crushed against the wall, his +legs falling in the odd position in which they were put down by Bull. +It was illustrative of his character that, even in this crisis, not +one of the three dared venture an expression of sympathy, a question, +a suggestion. + +Crumpled against the wall, his head bowed forward and cramped, the +stern old man still controlled them with the upward glance of his eyes +through the shag of eyebrows. + +"Gimme my pipe," he commanded. + +Three hands reached for it--pipe, tobacco, matches were proffered to +him. Before he accepted the articles he swept their faces with a +glance of satisfaction. Without attempting to change the position +which must have been torturing him, he filled the pipe bowl, his +fingers moving as if he had partially lost control of them. He filled +it raggedly, shreds of tobacco hanging down around the bowl. He bent +his head to meet the left hand which he raised with difficulty, then +he tried to light a match. But he seemed incapable of moving the +sulphur head fast enough to bring it to a light with friction. Match +after match crumbled as he continued his efforts. + +"Here, lemme light a match for you, Dad!" + +Harry's offer was received with a silent curling of the lips and a +glint of the yellow teeth beneath that made him step back. The old man +continued his work. There were a dozen wrecked matches before the +blood began to stir in his numbed arm and he was able to light the +match and the pipe. He drew several breaths of the smoke deep into his +lungs. For the moment the savage, hungry satisfaction changed his +face; they could tell by that alteration what agonies he had been +suffering before. + +Presently he frowned and set about changing his position with infinite +labor. The left leg was helpless, and so was the right arm. Yet, after +much labor, he managed to stuff a roll of the blankets into the corner +and then shift himself until his back rested against this support. But +his strength deserted him again. His pipe was dropped down in the left +hand, his head sagged back. + +Still they dared not approach him. His two sons stood about, shifting +from one foot to another, as if they expected a blow to descend upon +them at any moment, as if each labored movement of terrible old Bill +Campbell caused them the agony which he must be suffering. + +As for Bull Hunter, he sat again on the floor, his chin dropped upon +his great fist, and wondered for a time at his uncle. It was the +second great event to him, all in one day. First he had discovered +that by fighting a thing, one can actually conquer. Second, he +discovered that great fighter, his uncle, had been beaten. The +impossible had happened twice between one sunrise and sunset. + +But men and the affairs of men could not hold his eye overlong. +Presently he dropped his head again and was deep in the pages of his +book. At length Bill Campbell heaved up his head. It was to glare into +the scared faces of his sons. + +"How long are you goin' to keep me waiting for food?" + +The order snapped them into action. They sprang here and there, and +presently the thick slices of bacon were hissing on the pan, and the +clouds of bacon smoke wafted through the cabin. When they reached Bill +Campbell he blinked. Pain had given him a maddening appetite, yet he +puffed steadily on his pipe and said nothing. + +The tin plate of potatoes and bacon was shoved before him, and the big +tin cup of coffee. The three younger men sat in silence and devoured +their own meal; the two sons swiftly, but Bull Hunter fell into +musings, and part of his food remained uneaten. Then his glance +wandered to his uncle and saw a thing to wonder at--a horrible thing +in its own way. + +The nerveless left hand of the mountaineer, which had barely possessed +steadiness to light a match, was far too inaccurate to handle a fork; +and Bull saw his uncle stuffing his mouth with his fingers and daring +the others to watch him. + +Something like pity came to Bull. It was so rare an emotion to connect +with human beings that he hardly recognized it, for men and women, as +he knew them, were brilliant, clever creatures, perfectly at home in +the midst of difficulties that appalled him. But, as he watched the +old man feed himself like an animal, the emotion that rose in Bull was +the sadness he felt when he watched old Maggie stumbling among the +rocks. There was something wrong with the forelegs of Maggie, and she +was only half a horse when it came to going downhill on broken ground. +He had always thought of the great strength that once must have been +hers, and he pitied her for the change. He found himself pitying Uncle +Bill Campbell in much the same way. + +When Bill raised his tin cup he spilled scalding coffee on his breast. +The old man merely set his teeth and continued to glare his challenge +at the three. But not one of the three dared speak a word, dared make +an offer of assistance. + +What baffled the slow mind of Bull Hunter was the effort to imagine a +force so great that battle with it had reduced the invincible Campbell +to this shaken wreck of his old self. Mere bullets could tear wounds +in flesh and break bones; but mere bullets could not wreck the nerves +of a man so that his hand trembled as if he were drunk or hysterical +with weariness. + +He tried to work out this problem. He conceived a man of gigantic +size, vast muscles, inexhaustible strength. The power of a bear and +the swift cunning of a wild cat--such must have been the man who +struck down Uncle Bill and sent him home a shattered remnant of +his old self. + +There was another mystery. Why did the destroyer not finish his task? +Why did he take pity on Uncle Bill Campbell and bind up the wounds he +had himself made? Here the mind of Bull Hunter paused. He could not +pass the mysterious idea of another than himself pitying Uncle Bill. +It was pitying a hawk in the sky. + +Harry was taking away the dishes and throwing them in the little tub +of lukewarm water where the grease would be carelessly soused +off them. + +"Did you get up that stump?" asked Uncle Bill suddenly. + +There was a familiar ring in his voice. Woe to them if they had not +carried out his orders! All three of the young men quaked, and Bull +laid aside his book. + +"We done it," answered Joe in a quavering voice. + +"You done it?" asked Bill. + +"We--we dug her pretty well clear, then Bull pulled her up." + +Some of the wrath ebbed out of the face of Bill as he glanced at the +huge form of Bull. "Stand up!" he ordered. + +Bull arose. + +The keen eye of the old man went over him from head to foot slowly. +"Someday," he said slowly, speaking entirely to himself. +"Someday--maybe!" + +What he expected from Bull "someday" remained unknown. The dishwashing +was swiftly finished. Then Uncle Bill made a feeble effort to get off +his boots, but his strength had been ebbing for some time. His sons +dared not interfere as the old man leaned slowly over and strove to +tug the boot from his wounded leg; but Bull remembered, all in a flood +of tenderness, some half-dozen small, kind things that his uncle had +said to him. + +That was long, long ago, when the orphan came into the Campbell +family. In those days his stupidity had been attributed largely to the +speed with which he had grown, and he was expected to become normally +bright later on; and in those days Bill Campbell occasionally let fall +some gentle word to the great boy with his big, frightened eyes. And +the half-dozen instances came back to Bull in this moment. + +He stepped between his cousins and laid his hand on the foot of his +uncle. It brought a snarl from the old man, a snarl that made Bull +straighten and step back, but he came again and put aside the shaking +hand of Uncle Bill. His cousins stood at one side, literally quaking. +It was the first time that they had actually seen their father defied. +They saw the huge hand of Bull settle around the leg of their father, +well below the wound and then the grip closed to avoid the danger of +opening the wound when the boot was worked off. After this he pulled +the tight riding boot slowly from the swollen foot. + +Uncle Bill was no longer silent. The moment the big hand of his nephew +closed over his leg he launched a stream of curses that chilled the +blood and drove his own sons farther back into the shadow of the +corner. He demanded that they stand forth and tear Bull limb from +limb. He disinherited them for cowardice. He threatened Bull with a +vengeance compared with which the thunderbolt would be a feeble flare +of light. He swore that he was entirely capable of taking care of +himself, that he would step down into his grave sooner than be nursed +and petted by any living human being. + +All the while, the great Bull leaned impassively over the wounded man +and finally worked the boot free. That was not all. Uncle Bill had +slipped over until he could reach a billet of wood beside his bunk. He +struck at Bull's head with it, but the stick was brushed out of his +palsied fingers with a single gesture, and, while Uncle Bill groaned +with fury and impotence, Bull continued the task of preparing him for +bed. He straightened the old body of the terrible Campbell; he heated +water in the tub and washed away stains and dirt; he took off the +stained bandages and replaced them with clean ones. + +His cousins helped in the latter part of this work. Weakness had +reduced Uncle Bill to speechlessness. Finally the head of Bill +Campbell was laid on a double fold of blanket in lieu of a pillow. A +pipe had been tamped full and lighted by Bull and--crowning +insult--set between Bill's teeth. When all this was accomplished Bull +retired to his corner, picked up his book, and was instantly absorbed. + +In the hushed atmosphere it seemed that a terrible blow had fallen, +and that another was about to fall. Harry and Joe were as men stunned, +but they looked upon their father with a gathering complacency. They +had found it demonstrated that it was possible to disobey their father +without being instantly destroyed. They were taking the lesson to +heart. And indeed old Bill Campbell himself seemed to be slowly +admitting that he was beaten. + +The illusion of absolute self-sufficiency, which he had built up +through the years for the sake of imposing upon his sons and Bull +Hunter, was now destroyed. At a single stroke he had been exposed as +an old man, already beaten in battle by a foeman and now requiring as +much care as a sick woman. The shame of it burned in him; but the +comfort of the smoothed bunk and the filled pipe between his teeth was +a blessing. He found to his own surprise that he was not hating Bull +with a tithe of his usual vigor. He began to realize that he had come +to the end of his period of command. When he left that sickbed he +could only advise. + +As a king about to die he looked at his heirs and found them strong +and sufficient and pleasing to the eye. Nowhere in the mountains were +there two boys as tall, as straight, as deadly with rifle and +revolver, as fierce, as relentless, as these two boys of his. He had +sharpened their tempers, and he rejoiced in the sullen ferocity with +which they looked at him now, unloving, cunning, biding their time and +finding that it had almost come. But he was not yet done. His body was +wrecked; there remained his mind, and they would find it a great +power. But he did not talk until the lights had been put out and the +three youths were in their separate bunks. Then, without the light to +show them his helpless body, in the darkness, which would give his +mind a freer play, he began to tell his story. + +It was a long narrative. Far back in the years he had prospected with +a youth named Pete Reeve. They had located a claim and they had gone +to town together to celebrate. In the celebration he had drunk with +Reeve till the boy stupefied. Then he had induced Reeve to gamble for +his share of the claim and had won it. Afterward Pete swore to be even +with him. But the years had gone by without another meeting of +the men. + +Only today, riding through the mountains, he had come on a dried-up +wisp of a man with long, iron-gray hair, a sharp, withered face, and +hands like the claws of a bird. He rode a fine bay gelding, and had +stopped Bill to ask some questions about the region above the +timberline because he was drifting south and intended to cross the +summits. Bill had described the way, and suddenly, out of their talk, +came the revelation of their identities--the one was Bill Campbell, +the other was Pete Reeve. + +At this point in the story Bull heaved himself slowly, softly up on +one arm to listen. He was beginning to get the full sense of the words +for the first time. This narrative was like a book done in a +commoner language. + + + + +CHAPTER 4 + + +The tale halted. To be defeated is one thing; to be forced to confess +defeat is another. Uncle Bill determined on the bitterer alternative. + +"He made a clean fight," declared Uncle Bill. "First he cussed me out +proper. Then he went for his gat and he beat me to the draw. They +ain't no disgrace to that. You'll learn pretty soon that anybody might +get beaten sooner or later--if he fights enough men. And my gun hung +in the leather. Before I got it on him he'd shot me clean through the +right shoulder--a placed shot, boys. He wanted to land me there. It +tumbled me off my hoss. I rolled away and tried to get to my gun that +had fallen on the ground. He shot me ag'in through the leg and +stopped me. + +"Then he got off his hoss and fixed up the wounds. He done a good job, +as you seen. 'Bill' says he, 'you ain't dead; you're worse'n dead. +That right arm of yours is going to be stiff the rest of your days. +You're a one-armed man from now on, and that one arm is the worst +you got.' + +"That was why he sent me home alive. To make me live and keep hating +him, the same's he'd lived and hated me. But he made a mistake. Pete +Reeve is a wise fox, but he made one mistake. He forgot that I might +have somebody to send on his trail. He didn't know that I had two boys +I'd raised so's they was each better with a gun nor me. He didn't +dream of that, curse him! But when you, Harry, or you, Joe, pump the +lead into him, shoot him so's he'll live long enough to know who +killed him and why!" + +As he spoke, there was a quality in his voice that seemed to find the +boys in the darkness and point each of them out. "Which of you takes +the trail?" + +A little silence followed. Bull wondered at it. + +"He's gone by way of Johnstown," continued the wounded man. "If one of +you cuts across the summit toward Shantung he's pretty sure to cut in +across Pete's trail. Which is goin' to start? Well, you can match for +the chance! Because him that comes back with Pete Reeve marked off the +slate is a man!" + +That chilly little silence made Bull's heart beat. To be called a man, +to be praised by stern Bill Campbell--surely these were things to make +anyone risk death! + +"Is that the Pete Reeve," said Harry's voice, "that shot up Mike +Rivers over the hill to the Tompkins place, about four year back?" + +"That's him. Why?" + +Again the silence. Then Bull heard the old man cursing +softly--meditatively, one might almost have said. + +"Cut across for Johnstown," said Joe softly, "in a storm like this? +They won't be no trails left to find above the timberline. It'd be +sure death. Listen!" + +There was a lull in the wind, and in the breeze that was left, they +could hear the whisper of the snow crushing steadily against +the window. + +"It's heavy fall, right enough," declared Harry. + +"And this Pete Reeve--why, he's a gunfighter, Dad." + +"And what are you?" asked the old man. "Ain't I labored and slaved all +my life to make you handy with guns? What for d'you think I wasted all +them hours showin' you how to pull a trigger and where to shoot and +how to get a gun out of the leather?" + +"To kill for meat," suggested Harry. + +"Meat, nothing! The kind of meat I mean walks on two feet and fights +back." + +"Maybe, if we started together--" ventured Joe. + +His father broke in, "Boy, I ain't going to send out a pack of men to +run down Pete Reeve. He met me single and he fought me clean, and he's +going to be pulled down by no pack of yaller dogs! Go one of you alone +or else both of you stay here." + +He waited, but there was no response. "Is this the way my blood is +showin' up in my sons? Is this the result of all my trainin'?" + +After that there was no more talk. The long silence was not broken by +even the sound of breathing until someone began to snore. Then Bull +knew that the sleep of the night had settled down. + +He lay with his hands folded behind his head, thinking. They were +willing enough to go together to do this difficult thing. But had they +not lifted together at the stump and failed to do the thing which he +had done single-handed? That thought stuck in his memory and would not +out. And suppose he, Bull, were to accomplish this great feat and +return to the shack? Would not Bill Campbell feel doubly repaid for +the living he had furnished for his nephew? More than once the grim +old man had cursed the luck that saddled him with a stupid incubus. +But the curses would turn to compliments if Bull left this little man, +this catlike and dangerous fighter, this Pete Reeve, dead on +the trail. + +Not that all this was clear in the mind of Bull, but he felt something +like a command pushing him on that difficult south trail, through the +storm and the snow that would now be piling above the timberline. He +waited until there was no noise but the snoring of the sleepers and +the rush and roar of the wind which continually set something stirring +in the room. These sounds served to cover effectually any noises he +made as he felt about and made up his small pack. His old canvas coat, +his most treasured article of apparel, he took down from the hook +where it accumulated dust from month to month. His ancient, secondhand +cartridge belt with the antiquated revolver he removed from another +hook--he had never been given enough ammunition to become a shot of +any quality--and he pushed quickly into the night. + +The moment he was through the door, the storm caught him in the face a +stinging blow, and the rush of snow chilled his skin. That stinging +blow steadied to a blast. It was a tremendous, heavy fall. The wind +had scoured the drifts from the clearing and was already banking them +around the little house. In the morning, as like as not, the boys +would have to dig their way out. + +He went straight to the horse shed for his snowshoes that hung on the +wall there. Ordinary snowshoes would not endure his ponderous weight, +and Uncle Bill Campbell had fashioned these himself, heavy and +uncomfortable articles, but capable of enduring the strain. + +Fumbling his way down behind the stalls, Bill's roan lashed out at him +with savage heels; but Maggie, the old draft horse, whinnied softly, +greeting that familiar heavy step. He tied the snowshoes on his back +and then stopped for a last word to Maggie. She raised her head and +dropped it clumsily on his shoulder. She was among the little, agile +mountain ponies what he was among men, and their bulk had rendered +each of them more or less helpless. There seemed to be a mute +understanding between them, and it was never more apparent than when +Maggie whinnied gently in his ear. He stroked her big, bony head, a +lump forming in his throat. If the bullets of little Pete Reeve +dropped him in some far-off trail, the old-broken-down horse would be +the only living creature that would mourn for him. + +Outside, the night and the storm swallowed him at once. Before he had +gone fifty feet the house was out of sight. Then, entering the forest +of balsam firs, the force of the wind was lessened, and he made good +time up the first part of the grade. There would probably be no use +for the snowshoes in this region of broken shrubbery before he came to +the timberline. + +He swept on with a lengthening stride. He knew this part of the +country like a book, of course, and he seldom stumbled, save when he +came out into a clearing and the wind smote at him from an unexpected +angle. In one of these clearings he stopped and took stock of his +position. Far away to the west and the south, the head of Scalped +Mountain was lost in dim, rushing clouds. He must make for that goal. + +Progress became less easy almost at once. The trees that grew in this +elevated region were not tall enough to act as wind breaks; they were +hardly more than shrubs a great deal of the time, and merely served to +force him into detours around dense hedges. Sometimes, in a clearing, +he found himself staggering to the knees in a compacted drift of snow; +sometimes an immense sheet of snow was picked up by the wind and flung +in his face like a blanket. + +Indeed the cold and the snow were nothing compared with the wind. It +was now reaching the proportions of a westerly storm of the first +magnitude. Off the towering slopes above, it came with the chill of +the snow and with flying bits of sand, scooped up from around the base +of trees, or with a shower of twigs. Many a time he had to throw up +his arms across his face before he leaned and thrust on into the teeth +of the blast. + +But he was growing accustomed to seeing through this veil of snow and +thick darkness. All things were dreamlike in dimness, of course, but +he could make out terrific cloud effects, as the clouds gushed over +the summit and down the slope a little way like the smoke of enormous +guns; and again a pyramid of mist was like a false mountain before +him, a mountain that took on movement and rushed to overwhelm him, +only to melt away and become simply a shadow among shadows above +his head. + +Once or twice before the dawn, he rested, not from weariness perhaps, +but from lack of breath, turning his back to the west and bowing his +head. Walking into the wind it had become positively difficult to +draw breath! + +Still it gained power incredibly. Up the side of Scalped Mountain it +was a steady weight pressing against him rather than a wind. And now +and then, when the weight relaxed, he stumbled forward on his knees. +For there was now hardly any shelter. He was approaching the +timberline where trees stand as high as a man and little higher. + +Dawn found him at the edge of the tree line. He flung himself on his +face, his head on his arms, to rest and wait until the treacherous +time of dawn should have passed. While the day grew steadily his heart +sank. He needed the rest, but the cold bit into him while he lay +extended, and the peril of the summit would be before him for his +march of the day. The wind mourned over him as if it anticipated his +defeat. Never had there been such wind, he thought. It screamed above +him. It dropped away in sudden lulls of more appalling silence. Then, +far off, he would hear a wave of the storm begin, wash across a crest, +thunder in a canyon, and then break on the timberline with a prolonged +and mighty roaring. Those giant approaches made him hold his breath, +and when the wave of confusion passed, he found himself often +breathless. + +Day came. He was on the very verge of the line with a dense fence of +stunted trees just before him and the wilderness of snow beyond, +sloping up to the crest, outlined in white against the solid gray sky. +The Spartans of the forest were around him--fir, pine, spruce, birch, +and trembling little aspens up there among the stoutest. All were of +one height, clean-shaven by the volleys of the wind-driven sand and +pebbles that clipped off any treetop that aspired above the mass. In +solid numbers was their salvation, and they grew dense as grass, two +feet high on the battlefront. They were carved by that wind, for all +storms came here out of the west, and the storm face of every tree was +denuded of branches. To the east the foliage streamed away. Even in +calm weather those trees spoke of storm. + +Bull Hunter sat up to put on his snowshoes. It was a white world below +him and above. Winter, which a day before had vanished, now came back +with a rush off the summits, where its snows were still piled. Again +the heart of the big man quaked. Down in the hollow, over that ridge, +was the house of the Campbells. They would be getting up now. Joe +would be making the fire, and Harry slicing the bacon. It made a +cheerful picture to Bull. He could close his eyes and hear the fire +snap and see the stove steam with smoke through every fissure before +the draft caught in the chimney. From the shed came the neigh of +Maggie, calling softly to him. + +He shook his head with a groan, stood up, and strode out of the timber +into the summit lands. It was a great desert. Never could it be +construed as a place for life. Even lichens were almost out of place +here, and what folly could lead a man across the shifting snows? But +to be called a man, to be admired in silence, to be asked for +opinions, to be deferred to--this was a treasure worth any price! He +bowed himself to the wind again and made for the summit with the +peculiar stride which a man must use with snowshoes. + +He dared not slacken his efforts now. The cold had been increasing, +and to pause meant peril of freezing. It was a highly electrified air, +and the result was a series of maddening mirages. He stumbled over +solid rocks where nothing seemed to be in his way; and again what +seemed a rock of huge size was nothing at all. Bull discovered that +what seemed firm ground beneath him, as he started to round a +precipice, might after all be the effect of the mirage. + +Added to this was another difficulty. As he wound slowly, about +midday, up the last reach, with the summit just above him, the wind +carried masses of cloud over the crest and into his face. He walked +alternately in a bewildering, driving fog and then in an air made +crazy with electricity. Again and again, from one side or the other, +he started when the storm boomed and cannonaded down a ravine and then +belched out into the open. All this time the babel of the winds +overhead never ceased, and the force of the storm cut up under him +with such violence that he was almost raised from the earth. + +Then an unexpected barrier obtruded--a literal mountain of ice was +before him. The snow of the recent fall had been whipped away, and the +surface of the mountain, here perilously steep, was now sleek and +solid with ice. Bull looked gloomily toward the summit so close above +him, and the ice glimmered in the dull light. There was only one way +to make even the attempt. He sat down, took off his snowshoes, +strapped them to his back, and began to work his way up the slope, +battering out each foothold with the head of his ax. It was possible +to ascend in this manner, but it would be practically impossible +to descend. + +Once committed to this way, he had either to go on to the summit, or +else perish. Working slowly, with little possible muscular exercise to +warm him, he began to grow chilled and the wind-driven cold numbed his +ears. But, more than that, the wind was now a grim peril, for, from +time to time, it swerved and leaped on him heavily from the side. +Once, off balance, he looked back at the dazzling slope below him. He +would be a shapeless mass of flesh long before he tumbled to +the bottom. + +Vaguely, as he hewed his footholds and worked his way up, he yearned +for the cleverness of Harry or the wit of Joe. What an ally either of +them would be! That he was undertaking a task from which either of +them would have shrunk in horror never occurred to him. Yonder, beyond +the summit, lay his destiny--Johnstown--and this was the way toward +it; it was a simple thing to Bull. He could no more vary from his +course than a magnetic needle can vary from its pole. + +Suddenly he came on a break in the solid face of the ice. Above him +was a narrow rift through the ice to the gravel beneath; how it was +made, Bull could not guess. But he took advantage of it. Presently he +was striding on toward the summit, beating his hands to restore the +circulation and gingerly rubbing his ears. + +There was a magical change as he reached the summit and sat down +behind some rocks to regain his breath and quiet his shaken nerves. +The clouds split apart in the zenith; the sun burst through; on both +sides the broad mountain billowed away to white lowlands; the air was +alive with little, brilliant spots of electricity. + +It cheered Bull Hunter vastly. The gale, which was tumbling the clouds +down the arch of the sky and toward the east, was more mighty than +ever, but he put his head down to it confidently and began +the descent. + + + + +CHAPTER 5 + + +There was more snow on this side, and to travel through it he soon +found that he must put on the snowshoes again; but after that the +descent was actually restful compared with the labors of the climb. +Yonder was the dark streak of the timberline again. Far down the +valley he watched it curving in and out along the mountainside like a +water level. Below was the darkness of the forest where other things +lived, and where Bull could live more easily, also. Never had trees +seemed such beautiful and friendly things to him. + +Once a thought stopped him completely. He was in a new world. He was +seeing everything for the first time. On other days he had gone out +with others. Under their guidance, not trusted to undertake an +expedition by himself, he looked at nothing until it was pointed out +to him, heard nothing that was not first called to his attention. He +had always wondered at the acuteness of the senses of all other men. +But now, looking on the mountains for himself, he decided, with a +start of the heart, that they were beautiful--beautiful and terrible +at once, with the reality that he had never found in his books. What +leveled spear of a knight, in the pages of romance, could equal the +invisible thrust of this wind? + +He reached the timberline. Looking back, he saw the summit, a +brilliant line of white against a blue sky. Again the heart of Bull +Hunter leaped. Here was a great treasure that he had taken in with one +grasp of the eyes and which he could never lose! + +He turned down the valley. Where it swerved out into the lower plain, +stood Johnstown, and there he was to cross the flight of Pete Reeve, +if Pete were indeed flying. But it was incredible that the man who had +struck down Uncle Bill Campbell should flee from any man or number +of men. + +He had reached the bottom of the narrow valley. A dull noise came down +to him from the mountain in the lull of the wind. He looked up. + +Far away, miles and miles, near the summit of Scalped Mountain, a +snaky form of mist was twisting swiftly down. He looked curiously. The +thing grew, traveling with great speed that increased with every +moment. It increased--it gained velocity--a snowslide! + +He watched it in doubt. It was twisting like a snake down the farther +side of the mountain, but, in his experience, slides were as +treacherous as serpents. Bull started hastily for a low cliff that +stood up from the floor of the valley, clear of the trees. + +He had not gone far when the wind fell away to a whisper, and a dull +roaring caught his ear. He looked back over his shoulder in alarm. A +great wall of white was shooting down the mountainside. The little +slide of surface snow, which had twisted across the surface of the old +snows of the winter, had been gaining in weight, in momentum, picking +up claws of shrubbery, teeth of stone, and eating through layer after +layer of the old snow, packed hard as ice. Now it was a roaring mass +with a front steadily increasing in height, and far away in the rear +it tossed up a tail of snow dust, a flying mist that gave Bull an +impression of speed greater than the main wall of the snow itself. + +The noise grew amazingly, and coming in range of the opposite wall of +the valley, a low and steadily increasing thunder poured into the ears +of Bull. It was a fascinating thing to watch, and at this distance to +the side he was quite safe. But at the very moment that he reached +this decision, the front of the slide smashed with a noise like +volleyed canyon against the side of a hill, tossed immense arms of +white in the air, floundered, and then veered with the speed of an +express train rounding a curve and rocked away down the slope straight +for Bull. Turned cold with dread, he saw it hit the timberline with a +great crashing, and the dark forms of the trees were dashed up by the +running mass of stones and then swallowed in the boiling front of +the slide. + +He waited to see no more, but dashed on for the saving cliff. Once his +back was turned it seemed that the slide gained speed. The immense +roaring literally leaped on him from behind, and in the roar, his +senses were drowned. He could feel his knees weaken and buckle, but +the cliff, now just before him, gave him fresh strength. But was the +cliff high enough? He hurried up to higher ground and flung himself +prostrate. The front of the slide was cutting down the heavily +forested slope as though the trees were blades of grass before a keen +scythe. The noise passed all description. + +Once he thought the mass was changing direction. It put out a massive +arm to the left, licked down five hundred trees at a gulp, and then, +smashing its fist into a hillside, flung back into the valley floor, +tossing the great trees in its top and poured straight at him. He +watched it in one of those dazes during which one sees everything. The +whole body came like water down a chute, but one part of the front +wall spilled out ahead and then another, and then the top, overtaking +the rest, toppled crashing to the bottom. And so it rushed out of +sight beneath the cliff. But would it wash over the top? + +The first answer was an impact that shook the ground under him, and +then he heard a noise like a huge ripping explosion. A dozen lofty +geysers of snow streamed up into the air, dazzling against the sun, +misty at the edges of each column, whose center was solid tons and +tons of snow. Old pines and spruces, their branches shaved away in the +tumult of the slide, were picked up and hurled like javelins over the +cliff; a shower of fragments beat on the body of Bull; and then the +main mass of snow washed up over the edge of the cliff in a great +mound, and the slide was ended. + +He crawled slowly back to his feet. Far up the mountainside, beginning +in a point, the track of the slide swept down in a broadening scar, +black and raw, across forest and snow. Far down the valley the last +echoes of thunder were passing away to a murmur, and the valley floor, +beneath the cliff, was a mass of snow and tree trunks. + +Bull took off the snowshoes and climbed along the valley wall until he +could descend to the clear floor beneath him. Then he headed down +toward Johnstown. + +It was well past midday when he escaped the slide; it was the +beginning of night when, at the conclusion of that first heroic march, +he reached Johnstown. With hunger his stomach cleaved to his back, and +his knees were weak with the labor. + +Stamping through the snow to the hotel he asked the idlers around the +stove, "Has any of you gents seen a man named Pete Reeve pass through +this town?" + +They looked at him in amazement. He had closed the door behind him, +and now, with his battered hat pushed high on his head, he seemed +taller than the entrance--taller and as wide, a mountain of a man. The +efforts of the march had collected a continual frown on his forehead, +and as he peered about from face to face, no one for a moment was able +to answer, but each looked to his companion. + +It was the proprietor who answered finally. Talk was his commercial +medium and staff of life. "What sort of a looking man, captain?" + +Bull blinked at him. He was not used to honorary epithets such as +this, and he searched the face of the proprietor carefully to detect +mockery. To his surprise the other showed signs of what Bull dimly +recognized as fear. Fear of him--of Bull Hunter! + +"The way you look at me," said the other and laughed uneasily, "I +figure it's pretty lucky that I ain't this here Pete Reeve. That +so, boys?" + +The boys joined in the laughter, but they kept it subdued, their eyes +upon the giant at the door. He was leaning against the wall, and the +sight of his outspread hand was far from reassuring. + +But Bull went on to describe his man. "Not very big; hands like the +claws of a bird's; iron-gray hair; quick ways." That was Uncle Bill's +description. + +"Sure he's been here," said the owner. "I recognized him right off. He +was through about dusk. He came over the mountains and just got past +the summit, he said, before the storm hit. Lucky, eh?" He looked at +the battered coat of Bull. "Kind of appears like you mightn't of been +so lucky?" + +"Me?" asked Bull gently. "Nope. I was at the timberline on the other +side about daybreak today." + +There was a sudden and chilly silence; men looked at one another. +Obviously no man could have traveled that distance between dawn and +dark, but it was as well not to express disbelief to a man who could +tell a lie as big as his body. + +"I got to eat," said Bull. + +The proprietor jumped out of his chair. "I can fix you up, son." + +He led the way, Bull following with his enormous strides, and, as the +floor creaked under him, the eyes of the others jerked after him, +stride by stride. It was beginning to seem possible that this man had +done what he said he had done. When the door slammed behind him and +his steps went creaking through the room beyond, a mutter of a hum +arose around the stove. + +As a matter of fact it was the beginning of the great legend that was +finally to bulk around the name of the big man. And it was fitting +that the huge figure of Bull Hunter should have come upon the +attention of men in this way, descending out of the storm and the +mountains. + +That he had done something historic was far from the mind of Bull as +he stalked into the dining room. + +"You sit right down here," his host was saying, placing a chair at the +table. + +Bull tried the chair with his hand. It groaned and squeaked under the +weight. "Chairs don't seem to be made for me," he said simply. +"Besides I'm more used to sitting on the floor." He dropped to the +floor accordingly, with the effect of a small earthquake. The +proprietor stared, but he swallowed his astonishment. "What you'd like +to eat is something hearty, I figure." + +"What you got?" said Bull. + +"Well, Mrs. Jarney come in this morning with a dozen fresh eggs. Got +some prime bacon, too, and some jerky and--" + +"That dozen eggs," said Bull thoughtfully, "will start me, and then a +platter of bacon, and you might mix up a bowl of flapjacks. You ain't +got a quart or so of canned milk, partner?" + +The proprietor could only nod, for he dared not trust his voice. +Fleeing to the kitchen he repeated the prodigious order to his wife. +Then he circled by a back way and communicated the tidings to the +"boys" around the stove. + +"A couple of dozen eggs, he says to me, and a few pounds of beef and +three or four quarts of milk and a bowl of flapjacks and a platter of +bacon," was the way the second version of the historic order for food +came to the idlers. + +Half a dozen of the men risked the cold and the wind to steal around +to the side of the house and peer through the window at the huge, +bunched figure that sat on the floor. They found him with his chin +dropped upon the burly fist and a frown on his forehead, for Bull +was thinking. + +He would have been glad to have found Pete Reeve in Johnstown and have +the matter over with. But, after all, it was beginning to occur to him +that it might not be wise to kill the man in the presence of other +people. They might attempt to correct him with the assistance of a +rope and a limb of a tree. Somewhere he must cut in ahead of this +Reeve and start out at him if possible. As for his ability to keep +pace with a horse he had no doubt that he could do it fairly well. +More than once he had gone out on foot, while Harry and Joe rode, and +he had pressed the little ponies, bearing their riders slowly up and +down the slopes, to keep pace with him. On the level, of course, it +was a different matter, but in broken country he more than kept up. + +"Have you got a grudge agin' Reeve?" asked the host, as he brought in +the fried eggs. + +"Maybe," admitted Bull, and instantly he began to attack the food. + +The proprietor watched with a growing awe. No chinook ever ate snow as +this hungry giant melted food to nothingness. He came back with the +first stack of flapjacks and bacon and more questions. "But I'd think +that a gent like you'd be pretty careful about tangling with Pete +Reeve--him being so handy with a gun and you such a tolerable +big target." + +"I've figured that all out," said Bull calmly. "But they's so much of +me to kill that I don't figure one bullet could do the work. Do you?" + +The eyes of the proprietor grew large. He swallowed, and before he +could answer Bull continued in the exposition of his theory. "Before +he shoots the next shot, maybe I can get my hands on him." + +"You going to fight him bare hands agin' a gun?" + +"You see," said Bull apologetically, "I ain't much good with a gun, +but I feel sort of curious about what would happen if I got my grip +on a man." + +And that was the foundation on which another section of the Bull +Hunter legend was built. + + + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +The bed on which Bull Hunter reposed his bulk that night was not the +cot to which he was shown by his host. One glance at the spindling +wooden legs of the canvas-bottomed cot was enough for Bull, and having +wrapped himself in the covers he lay down on the floor and was +instantly asleep. + +While it was still dark, he wakened out of a dream in which Pete Reeve +seemed to be riding far--far away on the rim of the world. Ten minutes +later Bull was on the trail out of Johnstown. There was only one trail +for a horseman south of Johnstown, and that trail followed the +windings of the valley. Bull planned to push across the ragged peaks +of the Little Cloudy Mountains and head off the fugitive at +Glenn Crossing. + +Two days of stern labor went into the next burst. He followed the cold +stars by night and the easy landmarks by day, and for food he had the +stock of raisins he had bought at Johnstown. He came out of the +heights and dropped down into Glenn Crossing in the gloom of the +second evening. But raisins are meager support for such a bulk as that +of Bull Hunter. It was a gaunt-faced giant who looked in at the door +of the shop where the blacksmith was working late. The mechanic looked +up with a start at the deep voice of the stranger, but he managed to +stammer forth his tidings. Such a man as Pete Reeve had indeed been in +Glenn Crossing, but he had gone on at the very verge of day and night. + +Bull Hunter set his teeth, for there was no longer a possibility of +cutting off Pete Reeve by crossing country. The immense labors of the +last three days had merely served to put him on the heels of the +horseman, and now he must follow straight down country and attempt to +match his long legs against the speed of a fine horse. He drew a deep +breath and plunged into the night out of Glenn Crossing, on the south +trail. At least he would make one short, stiff march before the +weariness overtook him. + +That weariness clouded his brain ten miles out. He built a fire in a +cover of pines and slept beside it. Before dawn he was up and out +again. In the first gray of the daylight he reached a little store at +a crossroad, and here he paused for breakfast. A tousled girl, rubbing +the sleep out of her eyes, served him in the kitchen. The first +glimpse of the hollow cheeks and the unshaven face of Bull Hunter +quite awakened her. Bull could feel her watching him, as she glided +about the room. He sunk his head between his shoulders and glared down +at the table. No doubt she would begin to gibe at him before long. +Most women did. He prepared himself to meet with patience that +incredible sting and penetrating hurt of a woman's mockery. + +But there was no mockery forthcoming. The sun was still not up when he +paid his bill and hastened to the door of the old building. Quick +footsteps followed him, a hand touched his shoulders, and he turned +and looked suspiciously down into the face of the girl. It was a +frightened face, he thought, and very pretty. At some interval between +the time when he first saw her and the present, she had found time to +rearrange her hair and make it smooth. Color was pulsing in +her cheeks. + +"Stranger," she said softly, "what are you running away from?" + +The question slowly penetrated the mind of Bull; he was still +bewildered by the change in her--something electric, to be felt rather +than noted with the eye. + +"They ain't any reason for hurrying on," she urged. "I--I can hide +you, easy. Nobody could find where I'll put you, and there you can +rest up. You must be tolerable tired." + +There was no doubt about it. There was kindness as well as anxiety in +her voice. For the second time in his entire life, Bull decided that a +woman could be something more than an annoyance. She was placing a +value on him, just as Jessie, three days before, had placed a value on +him; and it disturbed Bull. For so many years, he had been mocked and +scorned by his uncle and cousins that deep in his mind was engraved +the certainty that he was useless. He decided to hurry on before the +girl found out the truth. + +"I can still walk," he said, "and, while I can walk, I got to go +south. But--you gimme heart, lady. You gimme a pile of heart to keep +going. Maybe"--he paused, uncertain what to say next, and yet +obviously she expected something more--"I'll get a chance to come back +this way, and if I do, I'll see you! You can lay to that--I'll +see you!" + +He was gone before she could answer, and he was wondering why she had +looked down with that sudden color and that queer, pleased smile. It +would be long before Bull understood, but, even without understanding, +he found that his heart was lighter and an odd warmth suffused him. + +The rising of the sun found him in the pale desert with the magic of +the hills growing distant behind him, and he settled to a different +step through the thin sand--a short, choppy step. His weight was +against him here, but it would be even a greater disadvantage to a +horseman, and with this in mind, he pressed steadily south. + +Every day on that south trail was like a year in the life of Bull. +Heat and thirst wasted him, the constant labor of the march hardened +his muscles, and he got that forward look about his eyes, which comes +with shadows under the lids and a constant frown on the forehead. It +was long afterward that men checked up his march from date to date and +discovered that the distance between the shack of Bill Campbell and +Halstead in the South was one hundred and fifty miles over bitter +mountains and burning desert, and that Bull Hunter had made the +distance in five days. + +All this was learned and verified later when Bull was a legend. When +he strode into Halstead on that late afternoon no one had ever heard +of the man out of the mountains. He was simply an oddity in a country +where oddities draw small attention. + +Yet a rumor advanced before Bull. A child, playing in the incredible +heat of the sun, saw the dusty giant heaving in the distance and ran +to its mother, frightened, and the worn-faced mother came to the porch +and shaded her eyes to look. She passed on the word with a call that +traveled from house to house. So that, when Bull entered the long, +irregular street of Halstead, he found it lined on either side by +children, old men, women. It was almost as though they had heard of +the thing he had come to do and were there to watch. + +Bull shrank from their eyes. He would far rather have slipped around +the back of the village and gone toward its center unobserved. A pair +of staring eyes to Bull was like the pointing of a loaded gun. He put +unspoken sentences upon every tongue, and the sentences were those he +had heard so often from his uncle and his uncle's sons. + +"Too big to be any good." + +"Bull's got the size of a hoss, and as a hoss he'd do pretty well, but +he ain't no account as a man." + +His life had been paved with such burning remarks as these. Many an +evening had been long agony to him as the three sat about and baited +him. He hurried down the street, the pulverized sand squirting up +about his heavy boots and drifting in a mist behind him. When he was +gone an old man came out and measured those great strides with his eye +and then stretched his legs vainly to cover the same marks. But this, +of course, Bull did not see, and he would not have understood it, had +he seen, except as a mockery. + +He paused in front of the hotel veranda, an awful figure to behold. +His canvas coat was rolled and tied behind his sweating shoulders; his +too-short sleeves had bothered him and they were now cut off at the +elbow and exposed the sun-blackened forearms; his overalls streamed in +rags over his scarred boots. He pushed the battered hat far back on +his head and looked at the silent, attentive line of idlers who sat on +the veranda. + +"Excuse me, gents," he said mildly. "But maybe one of you might know +of a little gent with iron-gray hair and a thin face and quick ways of +acting and little, thin hands." He illustrated his meaning by +extending his own huge paws. "His name is Pete Reeve." + +That name caused a sharp shifting of glances, not at Bull, but from +man to man. A tall fellow rose. He advanced with his thumbs hooked +importantly in the arm holes of his vest and braced his legs apart as +he faced Bull. The elevation of the veranda floor raised him so that +he was actually some inches above the head of his interlocutor, and +the tall man was deeply grateful for that advantage. He was, in truth, +a little vain of his own height, and to have to look up to anyone +irritated him beyond words. Having established his own superior +position, he looked the giant over from head to foot. He kept one eye +steadily on Bull, as though afraid that the big man might dodge out of +sight and elude him. + +"And what might you have to do with Pete Reeve?" he asked. "Mightn't +you be a partner of Pete's? Kind of looks like you was following him +sort of eager, friend." + +While this question was being asked, Bull saw that the line of idlers +settled forward in their chairs to hear the answer. It puzzled him. +For some mysterious reason these men disapproved of any one who was +intimately acquainted with Pete Reeve, it seemed. He looked blandly +upon the tall man. + +"I never seen Pete Reeve," said Bull apologetically. + +"Ah? Yet you're follerin' him hotfoot?" + +"I was aiming to see him, you know," answered Bull. + +The tall man regarded him with eyes that began to twinkle beneath his +frown. Then he jerked his head aside and cast at his audience a +prodigious wink. The cloudy eyes of Bull had assured him that he had +to do with a simpleton, and he was inviting the others in on the game. + +"You never seen him?" he asked gruffly, turning back to Bull. "You +expect me to believe talk like that? Young man, d'you know who I am?" + +"I dunno," murmured Bull, overawed and drawing back a pace. + +The action drew a chuckle from the crowd. Some of the idlers even rose +and sauntered to the edge of the veranda, the better to see the +baiting of the giant. His prodigious size made his timidity the +more amusing. + +"You dunno, eh?" asked the other. "Well, son, I'm Sheriff Bill +Anderson!" He waited to see the effect of this portentous +announcement. + +"I never heard tell of any Sheriff Bill Anderson," said Bull in the +same mild voice. + +The sheriff gasped. The idlers hastily veiled their mouths with much +coughing and clearing of the throat. It seemed that the tables had +been subtly turned upon the sheriff. + +"You!" exclaimed the sheriff, extending a bony arm. "I got to tell +you, partner, that I'm a pile suspicious. I'm suspicious of anybody +that's a friend of Pete Reeve. How long have you knowed him?" + +Bull was very anxious to pacify the tall man. He shifted his weight to +the other foot. "Something less'n nothing," he hastened to explain. "I +ain't never seen him." + +"And why d'you want to see him? What d'you know about him?" + +It flashed through the mind of Bull that it would be useless to tell +what he knew of Pete. Obviously nobody would believe what he could +tell of how Reeve had met and shot down Uncle Bill Campbell. For Bill +Campbell was a historic figure as a fighter in the mountain regions, +and surely his face must be bright even at this distance from his +home. That he could have walked beyond the sphere of Campbell's fame +in five days never occurred to Bull Hunter. + +"I dunno nothing good," he confessed. + +There was a change in the sheriff. He descended from the floor of the +veranda with a stiff-legged hop and took Bull by the arm, leading him +down the street. + +"Son," he said earnestly, walking down the street with Bull, "d'you +know anything agin' this Pete Reeve? I want to know because I got Pete +behind the bars for murder!" + +"Murder?" asked Bull. + +"Murder--regular murder--something he'll hang for. And if you got any +inside information that I can use agin' him, why I'll use it and I'll +be mighty grateful for it! You see everybody knows Pete Reeve. +Everybody knows that, for all these years, he's been going around +killing and maiming men, and nobody has been able to bring him up for +anything worse'n self-defense. But now I think I got him to rights, +and I want to hang him for it, stranger, partly because it'd be a +feather in my cap, and partly because it'd be doing a favor for every +good, law-abiding citizen in these parts. So do what you can to help +me, stranger, and I'll see that your time ain't wasted." + +There was something very wheedling and insinuating about all this +talk. It troubled Bull. His strangely obscure life had left him a +child in many important respects, and he had a child's instinctive +knowledge of the mental processes of others. In this case he felt a +profound distrust. There was something wrong about this sheriff, his +instincts told him--something gravely wrong. He disliked the man who +had started to ridicule him before many men and was now so +confidential, asking his help. + +"Sheriff Anderson," he said, "may I see this Reeve?" + +"Come right along with me, son. I ain't pressing you for what you +know. But it may be a thing that'll help me to hang Reeve. And if it +is, I'll need to know it. Understand? Public benefit--that's what I'm +after. Come along with me and you can see if Reeve's the man +you're after." + +They crossed the street through a little maelstrom of fine dust which +a wind circle had picked up, and the sheriff led Bull into the jail. +They crossed the tawdry little outer room with its warped floor +creaking under the tread of Bull Hunter. Next they came face to face +with a cage of steel bars, and behind it was a little gray man on a +bunk. He sat up and peered at them from beneath bushy brows, a +thin-faced man, extremely agile. Even in sitting up, one caught many +possibilities of catlike speed of action. + +Bull knew at once that this was the man he sought. He stood close to +the bars, grasping one in each great hand, and with his face pressed +against the steel, he peered at Pete Reeve. The other was very calm. + +"Howdy, sheriff," he said. "Bringing on another one to look over your +bear?" + + + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +The prisoner's good humor impressed Bull immensely. Here was a man +talking commonplaces in the face of death. A greater man than Uncle +Bill, he felt at once--a far greater man. It was impossible to +conceive of that keen, sharp eye and that clawlike hand sending a +bullet far from the center of the target. + +He gave his eyes long sight of that face, and then turned from the +bars and went out with the sheriff. + +"Is that your man?" asked the sheriff. + +"I dunno," said Bull, fencing for time as they stood in front of the +jail. "What'd he do?" + +"You mean why he's in jail? I'll tell you that, son, but first I want +to know what you got agin' him--and your proofs--mostly your proofs!" + +The distaste which Bull had felt for the sheriff from the first now +became overpowering. That he should be the means of bringing that +terrible and active little man to an end seemed, as a matter of fact, +absurd. Guile must have played a part in that capture. + +Suppose he were to tell the sheriff about the shooting of Uncle Bill? +That would be enough to convince men that Pete Reeve was capable of +murder, for the shooting of Uncle Bill had been worse than murder. It +spared the life and ruined it at the same time. But suppose he added +his evidence and allowed the law to take its course with Pete Reeve? +Where would be his own reward for his long march south and all the +pain of travel and the crossing of the mountains at the peril of his +life? There would be nothing but scorn from Uncle Bill when he +returned, and not that moment of praise for which he yearned. To gain +that great end he must kill Pete Reeve, but not by the aid of the law. + +"I dunno," he said to the sheriff who waited impatiently. "I figure +that what I know wouldn't be no good to you." + +The sheriff snorted. "You been letting me waste all this time on you?" +he asked Bull. "Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?" + +Bull scratched his head in perplexity. But as he raised the great arm +and put his hand behind his head, the sheriff winced back a little. +"I'm sorry," said Bull. + +The sheriff dismissed him with a grunt of disgust, and strode off. + +Bull started out to find information. This idea was growing slowly in +his mind. He must kill Pete Reeve, and to accomplish that great end he +must first free him from the jail. He went back to the hotel and went +into the kitchen to find food. The proprietor himself came back to +serve him. He was a pudgy little man with a dignified pointed beard of +which he was inordinately proud. + +"It's between times for meals," he declared, "but you being the +biggest man that ever come into the hotel, I'll make an exception." +And he began to hunt through the cupboard for cold meat. + +"I seen Pete Reeve," began Bull bluntly. "How come he's in jail?" + +"Him?" asked the other. "Ain't you heard?" + +"No." + +The little man sighed with pleasure; he had given up hope of finding a +new listener for that oft-told tale. "It happened last night," he +confided. "Along late in the afternoon in rides Johnny Strange. He +tells us he was out to Dan Armstrong's place when, about noon, a +little gray-headed man that give the name of Pete Reeve came in and +asked for chow. Of course Johnny Strange pricks up his ears when he +hears the name. We all heard about Pete Reeve, off and on, as about +the slickest gunman that the ranges ever turned out. So he looks Pete +over and wonders at finding such a little man." + +The proprietor drew himself up to his full height. "He didn't know +that size don't make the man! Well, Armstrong trotted out some chuck +for Reeve, and after Pete had eaten, Johnny Strange suggested a game. +They sat in at three-handed stud poker. + +"Things went along pretty good for Johnny. He made a considerable +winning. Then it come late in the afternoon, and he seen he'd have to +be getting back home. He offered to bet everything he'd won, or double +or nothing, and when the boys didn't want to do that, it give him a +clean hand to stand up and get out. He got up and said good-bye and +hung around a while to see how the next hands went. So far as he could +make out, Pete Reeve was losing pretty steady. Then he come on in. + +"Well, when Johnny Strange told about Pete being out there, Sheriff +Anderson was in the room and he rises up. + +"'Don't look good to me,' he says. 'If a gunfighter is losing money, +most like he'll fight to win it back. Maybe I'll go out and look that +game over.' + +"And saying that he slopes out of the room. + +"Well, none of us took much stock in the sheriff going out to take +care of Armstrong. You see Armstrong was the old sheriff, and he give +Anderson a pretty stiff run for his money last election. They both +been spending most of their time and energy the last few years hating +each other. When one of 'em is in office the other goes around saying +that the gent that has the plum is a crook; and then Anderson goes +out, and Armstrong comes in, and Anderson says the same thing about +Armstrong. Take 'em general and they always had the boys worried when +they was together, for fear of a gunfight and bullets flying. And so, +when Anderson stands up and says he's going out to see that Reeve +don't do no harm to Armstrong, we all sat back and kind of laughed. + +"But we laughed at the wrong thing. Long about an hour or so after +dark we hear two men come walking up on the veranda, and one of 'em we +knowed by the sound was the sheriff." + +"How could you tell by the sound?" asked Bull innocently. + +"Well, you see the sheriff always wears steel rims on his heels like +he was a horse. He's kind of close with his money is old Anderson, +I'll tell a man! We hear the ring of them heels on the porch, and +pretty soon in comes the sheriff, herding a gent in ahead of him. And +who d'you think that gent was? It was Reeve! Yes, sir, the old sheriff +had stepped out and grabbed his man. He wasn't there quick enough to +stop the killing of Armstrong, but he got there fast enough to nab +Reeve. Seems that when he was riding up to the house he heard a shot +fired, and then he seen a man run out of the house and jump on his +hoss, and the sheriff didn't stop to ask no questions. He just out +with his gat and drills the gent's hoss. And while Reeve was +struggling on the ground, with the hoss flopping around and dying, the +sheriff runs up and sticks the irons on Reeve. Then he goes into the +house and finds Armstrong lying shot through the heart. Clear as day! +Reeve loses a lot of money, and when it comes to a pinch he hates to +see that money gone when he could get it back for the price of one +slug. So he outs with his gun and shoots Armstrong. And the worst part +of it was that Armstrong didn't have no gun on at the time. The +sheriff found Armstrong's gun hanging on the wall along with his +cartridge belt. Yep, it was plain murder, and Pete Reeve'll hang as +high as the sky--and a good thing, too!" + +This story was a shock to Bull for a reason that would not have +affected most men. That a man who had had the courage to stand up and +face Uncle Bill in a fair duel should have been so cowardly, so +venomous as to take a mean advantage of a gambling companion seemed to +Bull altogether too strange to be reasonable. Certainly, if he had had +a difference with this fellow, thought Bull, Pete Reeve was the man to +let the other use his own weapons before he fought. But to shoot him +down across a table, unwarned--this was too much to believe! And yet +it was the truth, and Pete Reeve was to hang for it. + +The big man sat shaking his head. "And they found the money on Pete +Reeve?" he asked gloomily. "They found the money he took off this +Armstrong?" + +"There's the funny part of the yarn," said the proprietor glibly. +"Pete had the nerve to shoot the gent down in cold blood, but when he +seen him fall he lost his nerve. He didn't wait to grab the money, but +ran out and jumped on his hoss and tried to get away. So there you +are. But it pretty often happens that way! Take the oldest gunfighter +in the world, and, if his stomach ain't resting just right, it sort of +upsets him to see a crimson stain. I seen it happen that way with the +worst of 'em, and in the old days they used to be a rough crowd in my +barroom. They don't turn out that style of gent no more!" He sighed as +his mind flickered back into the heroic past. + +"And Reeve--he admits he done the killing?" Bull asked hopelessly. + +"Him? Nope, he's too foxy for that. But the only story he told was so +foolish that we laughed at him, and he ain't had the nerve to try to +bluff us ever since. He says that he was sitting peaceable with +Armstrong when all at once without no warning they was a shot from the +window--the east window, I remember he was particular to say--and +Armstrong dropped forward on the table, shot through the heart. + +"Reeve says that he didn't wait to ask no questions. He blew the +candle out, and having got the darkness on his side, he made a jump +through the door and got onto his hoss. He says that he wanted to +break away to the trees and try to get a shot at the murderer from +cover, but the minute he got onto his hoss, he had his hoss shot from +under him." + +"Was they any shots fired then?" + +"Yep. Reeve says that he fired a couple of times when he fell. But the +sheriff says that Reeve only fired once, as his hoss was falling, and +that the other shot that was found fired out of Reeve's gun was fired +into the heart of Armstrong. Oh, they ain't any doubt about it. All +Reeve has got is a cock-and-bull yarn that would make a fool laugh!" + +Although Bull had been many times assured by his uncle and his cousins +that he was a fool of the first magnitude, he was in no mood for +laughter. Somewhere in the tale there was something wrong, for his +mind refused to conjure up the picture of Reeve pulling his gun and +shooting across the table into the breast of a helpless, unwarned man. +That would not be the method of a man who could stand up to Uncle +Bill. That would not be the method of the man who had sat up on his +bunk and looked so calmly into the face of the sheriff. + +Bull stood up and dragged his hat firmly over his eyes. "I'd kind of +like to see the place where that shooting was done," he declared. + +"You got lots of time before night," said the proprietor. "Ain't +more'n a mile and a half out the north trail. Take that path right out +there, and you can ride out inside of five minutes." + +There was no horse for Bull Hunter to ride. But, having thanked his +host, he stepped out into the cooler sunshine of the late afternoon. + +The trail led through scattering groves of cottonwood most of the way, +for it was bottom land, partially flooded in the winter season of +rain, and, even in the driest and hottest part of the summer, marshy +in places. He followed the twisting little trail through spots of +shadow and stretches of open sky until he reached the shack which was +obviously that of the dead Armstrong. + +The moment he entered the little cabin he received proof positive. + +The furniture had not apparently been disturbed since the shooting. +The table still leaned crazily, as though it had not recovered from a +violent shock on one side. One chair was overturned. A box had been +smashed to splinters, probably by having someone put a foot +through it. + +Bull examined the deal table. Across the center of it there was a dark +stain, and on the farther side, two hands were printed distinctly into +the wood, in the same dull color. The whole scene rose revoltingly +distinct in the mind of Bull. + +Here sat Dan Armstrong playing his cheerful game, laughing and +jesting, because forsooth he was the winner. And there, on the +opposite side of the table, sat Pete Reeve, the guest in the house of +his host, growing darker and darker as the money was transferred from +his pocket to the pocket of the jovial Armstrong. Then, a sudden +taking of offense at some harmless jest, the cold flash of steel as +Reeve leaned and jumped to his feet, and then the explosion of the +revolver, with Armstrong settling slowly, limply forward on the table. +There he lay with a stream pouring across the table from the death +wound, his helpless arms outstretched on the wood. + +Then Reeve, panic-stricken, perhaps with a sudden stirring of remorse, +started for the door, struck the box on his way, smashing it to bits, +and as soon as he got outside, leaped for his horse. Luckily +retribution had overtaken the murderer in the very moment of escape. +Bull Hunter sighed. Never had the strength of the arm of the law been +so vividly brought home to him as by this incident. Suppose that he +had fulfilled his purpose and killed Reeve? Would not the law have +reached for him in the same fashion and taken and crushed him? + +He shuddered, and looking up from his broodings, he glanced through +the opposite window and saw that the woods were growing dark in that +direction. Night was approaching, and, with the feeling of night, +there was a ghostly sense of death, as though the spirit of the dead +man were returning to his old home. On the other side of the house, +however, the woods showed brighter. This was the east window--the east +window through which Reeve declared that the shot had been fired. + +Bull shook his head. He stepped out of the cabin and looked about. It +was a prosperous little stretch of meadow, cleared into the +cottonwoods and reclaiming part of the marshland--all very rich soil, +as one could see at a glance. There was a field which had been +recently upturned by the plow, perhaps the work of yesterday. The +furrows were still black, still not dried out by the sun. Today would +have been the time for harrowing, but that work was indefinitely +postponed by the grim visitor. No doubt this Armstrong was an +industrious man. The sense of a wasted life was brought home to Bull; +a bullet had ended it all! + +Absent-mindedly he passed around the side of the house and started for +the east window through which Reeve had said that the bullet was +fired, but he shook his head at once. + +On the east side the house leaned against a mass of white stone. It +rose high, rough, ragged. Certainly a man stalking a house to fire a +shot would never come up to it from this side! His own words were +convicting Reeve of the murder! + +Still he continued to clamber over the stones until he stood by the +window. To be sure, if a man stood there, he could easily have fired +into the room and into the breast of a man sitting on the far side of +the table. Armstrong was found there. Bull looked down to his feet as +a thoughtful man will do, and there, very clearly marked against the +white of the stone, he saw a dark streak--two of them, side by side. + +He bent and looked at them. Then he rubbed the places with his +fingertips and examined the skin. A stain had come away from the rock. +It was as if the rocks had been rubbed with lead or a soft iron. And +then, strangely, into the mind of Bull came the memory of what the +hotel man had said of the sheriff's iron-shod heels. + +The sheriff had gone for many a year hating Armstrong. The truth +rushed over the brain of the big man. What a chance for a crafty mind! +To kill his enemy and place the blame on the shoulders of one already +known to be a man-killer! Bull Hunter leaped from the rocks and +started back for the town with long, ground-devouring strides. + + + + +CHAPTER 8 + + +There were two reasons for the happiness which lightened the step of +Bull Hunter as he strode back for the town. In the first place he saw +a hope of liberating Reeve from jail and accomplishing his own mission +of killing the man. In the second place he felt a peculiar joy at the +thought of freeing such a man from the imputation of a cowardly murder. + +Yet he had small grounds for his hopes. Two little dark marks on the +white, friable stone, marks that the first small shower of rain would +wash away, marks that the first keen sandstorm would rub off--this was +his only proof. And with this to free one man from danger of the rope +and place the head of another under the noose--it was a task to try +the resources of a cleverer man than Bull. + +Indeed, the high spirits of Bull in some measure left him as he drew +nearer and nearer to the village. How could he convict the sheriff? +How, with his clumsy wits and his clumsy tongue, could he bring the +truth to light? Had he possessed the keen eyes of his uncle he felt +that a single glance would have made the guilt stand up in the face of +Anderson. But his own eyes, alas, were dull and clouded. + +Thoughtfully, with bowed head, he held his course. A strange picture, +surely, this man who so devoutly wished to free another from the +danger of the law in order that he might take a life into his own +hands. But the contrast did not strike home to Bull. To him everything +that he did was as clear as day. But how to go to work? If the man +were like himself it would be an easy matter. More than once he +remembered how his cousins had shifted the blame for their own boyish +pranks upon him. In the presence of their father they would accuse +Bull with a well-planned lie, and the very fact that he had been +accused made Bull blush and hang his head. Before he could be heard in +his own behalf the cruel eye of his uncle had grown stern, and Bull +was condemned as a culprit. + +"The only time you show any sense," his uncle had said more than once, +"is when you want to do something you hadn't ought to do!" + +Steadily through the years he had served as a scapegoat for his +cousins. They set a certain value upon him for his use in this +respect. Ah, if only he had that keen, embarrassing eye of Bill +Campbell with which to pierce to the guilty heart of the sheriff and +make him speak! The eye of his uncle was like the eye of a crowd. It +was an audience in itself and condemned or praised with the strength +of numbers. + +It was this thought of numbers that brought the clue to a possible +solution to Bull Hunter. When it came to him he stopped short in the +road, threw back his head and laughed. + +"And what's all the celebration about?" asked a voice behind him. + +He turned and found Sheriff Anderson on his horse directly behind him. +The soft loam of the trail had covered the sound of the sheriffs +approach. Bull blushed with a sudden sense of shame. Moreover, the +sheriff seemed unapproachably stern and dignified. He sat erect in the +saddle, a cavalier figure with his long, well-drilled mustaches. + +"I dunno," said Bull vaguely, pushing his hat back to scratch his +thatch of blond hair. "I didn't know I was celebrating, particular." + +The sheriff watched him with small, evil eyes. "You been snooping +around, son," he said coldly. "And we folks in this part, we don't +like snoopers. Understand?" + +"No," said Bull frankly, "I don't exactly figure what you mean." Then +he dropped his hand to his hip. + +"Git your hand off that gun!" said the sheriff, his own weapon +flashing instantly in the light. + +It had been a move like lightning. Its speed stunned and baffled Bull +Hunter. Something cold formed in his throat, choking him, and he +obediently drew his hand away. He did more. He threw both immense arms +above his head and stood gaping at the sheriff. + +The latter eyed him for a moment with stern amusement, and then he +shoved the gun back into its holster. "I guess they ain't much harm in +you," he said more to himself than to Bull. "But I hate a snooper +worse than I do a rat. You can take them arms down." + +Bull lowered them cautiously. + +"You hear me talk?" asked the sheriff. + +"I hear," said Bull obediently. + +"I don't like snoopers. Which means that I don't like you none too +well. Besides, who in thunder are you? A wanderin' vagrant you look +to me, and we got a law agin' vagrants. You amble along on your trail +pretty pronto, and no harm'll come to you. But if you're around town +tomorrow--well, you've heard me talk!" + +It was very familiar talk to Bull; not the words, but the commanding +and contemptuous tone in which they were spoken. Crestfallen, he +submitted. Of one thing he must make sure: that no harm befell him +before he faced Pete Reeve and Pete Reeve's gun. Then he could only +pray for courage to attack. But the effect of the sheriff's little +gunplay entirely disheartened Bull at the prospect of facing Pete. + +With a noncommittal rejoinder he started down the road, and the +sheriff put the spurs to his horse and plunged by at a full gallop, +flinging the dust back into the face of the big man. Bull wiped it out +of his eyes and went on gloomily. He had been trodden upon in spirit +once more. But, after all, that was so old a story that it made little +difference. It convinced him, however, of one thing; he could never do +anything with the sheriff man to man. Certainly he would need the help +of a crowd before he faced the tall man and his cavalier mustaches. + +He waited until after the supper at the hotel. It was a miserable +meal for Bull; he had already eaten, and he could not find a way of +refusing the invitation of the proprietor to sit down again. Seated at +the end of the long table he looked miserably up and down it. Nobody +had a look for him except one of contempt. The sheriff, it seemed, had +spread a story around about his lack of spirit, and if Bull remained +long in the village, he would be treated with little more respect than +he had been in the house of his uncle. Even now they held him in +contempt. They could not understand, for instance, why he sat so far +forward. He was resting most of his weight on his legs, for fear of +the weakness of the chair under his full bulk. But that very bulk made +them whisper their jokes and insults to one another. + +When the long nightmare of that meal was ended, Bull began making his +rounds. He had chosen his men. Every man he picked was sharp-eyed like +Uncle Bill Campbell. They were the men whose inlooking eyes would +baffle the sheriff; they were the men capable of suspicions, and such +men Bull needed--not dull-glancing people like himself. + +He went first to the proprietor of the hotel. "I got something to say +to the sheriff," he declared. "And I want to have a few important +gents around town to be there to listen and hear what I got to say. I +wonder, could you be handy?" + +He was surprised at the avidity with which his invitation was +accepted. It was a long time since the hotel owner had been referred +to as an "important man." + +Then he went with the same talk to five others--the blacksmith, the +carpenter and odd-jobber, the storekeeper, and two men whom he had +marked when he first halted near the hotel veranda. To his invitation +each of them gave a quick assent. There had been something mysterious +in the manner in which this timid-eyed giant had descended upon the +town from nowhere, and now they felt that they were about to come to +the heart of the reason of his visit. + +The invitation to the sheriff was delivered by the proprietor of the +hotel, and he said just enough--and no more--to bring the sheriff +straight to the hotel. Anderson arrived with his best pair of guns in +his holsters, for the sheriff was a two-gun man of the best variety. +He came with the aggressive manner of one ready to beat down all +opposition, but when he stepped into the room, his manner changed. For +he found sitting about the table in the dining room, which was to be +the scene of the conference, the six most influential men of the +town--men strong enough to reelect him next year, or to throw him +permanently out of office. + +At the lower end of the table stood Bull Hunter, his arms folded, his +face blank. Standing with the light from the lamp shining upon his +face, the others seated, he seemed a man among pygmies. + +"Shall I lock the door?" asked the proprietor, and he turned to Bull, +as if the latter had the right to dictate. + +Bull nodded. + +"All right, sheriff," the proprietor went on to explain. "Our young +friend yonder says that he's got something to say to you. He's asked +each of us to hang around and be a witness. Are you ready?" + +"Jud," burst out the sheriff, "you're an idiot! This overgrown booby +needs a horsewhipping, and that's the sort of an answer I'd like to +make to him." + +Having delivered this broadside he strode up and confronted Bull. It +was a very poor move. In the first place, the sheriff had insulted one +of the men who was about to act as his official judge. In the second +place, by putting himself so close to Bull, he made himself appear a +trifle ludicrous. Also, if he expected to throw Bull out of the poise +with this blustering, he failed. It was not that Bull did not feel +fear, but he had seen a curious thing--the sinewy, long neck of the +sheriff--and he was wondering what would happen if one of his hands +should grip that throat for a single instant. He grew so fascinated by +this study that he forgot his fear of the sheriff's guns. + +Anderson hastened to retreat from his false position. "Gents," he +said, "excuse me for getting edgy. But, if you want me to listen to +this fellow's talk--" + +"Hunter is his name--Bull Hunter," said the proprietor. + +The sheriff took his place at the far end of the long table. Like +Bull, he preferred to stand. "Start in your talk," he commanded. + +"It looks to me," said Bull gently, "that they's only one gent here +that's wearing a gun." He had thrown his own belt on a chair; and now +he fixed his eyes on the weapons of Anderson. + +The sheriff glared. "You want me to take off my guns? Son, I'd rather +go naked!" + +Jud, the hotel man, had already been insulted once by the sheriff, and +he had been biding his time. This seemed an excellent opening. "Looks +to me," he remarked, "like Mr. Hunter was right. He's got something +pretty serious to say, and he don't want to take no chances on your +cutting him short with a bullet!" + +The sheriff glared at Bull and then cast a swift glance over the faces +of the others. He read upon them only one expression--a cold +curiosity. Plainly they agreed with Jud, and the sheriff gave way. He +took off his belt and tossed it upon a chair near him. Then he faced +Bull again, but he faced the big man with half his confidence +destroyed. As he had said, he felt worse than naked without his +revolvers under his touch, but now he attempted to brave out the +situation. + +"Well," he said jocularly, "what you going to accuse me of, Bull +Hunter?" + +"I'm just going to tell a little story that I been thinking about," +said Bull. + +"Story--nothing!" exclaimed Anderson. + +"Wait a minute," broke in Jud. "Let him tell this his own way--I think +you'd best, sheriff!" + +Bull was looking at the sheriff and through him into the distance. +After all, it was a story, as distinctly a story as if he had it in a +book. As he began to tell it, he forgot Sheriff Anderson at the +farther end of the table. He talked slowly, bringing the words out one +by one, as if what he said were coming to him by inspiration--a kind +of second sight. + +"It starts in," said Bull, "the other night when the gent come in with +word that Pete Reeve was out playing cards with Armstrong and losing +money. When the sheriff heard that, he started to thinking. He was +remembering how he'd hated Armstrong for a good many years, and that +made him think that maybe Armstrong would get into trouble with Reeve, +because Reeve is a pretty good shot, and the sheriff hoped that, if it +come to a showdown, Reeve would shoot Armstrong full of holes. And +that started him wishing pretty strong that Armstrong would +get killed!" + +"Do I have to stand here and listen to this fool talk?" demanded the +sheriff. + +"I'm just supposing," said Bull. "Surely they ain't any harm in just +supposing?" + +"Not a bit," decided Jud, who had taken the position of main arbiter. + +"Well, the sheriff got to wishing Armstrong was dead so strong that it +didn't seem he could stand to have him living much more. He told the +folks that he was going out to see that no harm come to Armstrong from +Reeve. Then he got on his hoss and went out. All the way he was +thinking hard. Armstrong was the gent that was sheriff before +Anderson; Armstrong was the gent that might get the job and throw him +out again. Ain't that clear? Well, the sheriff gets close to the +cabin and--" + +He paused and slowly extended his long arm toward the sheriff. "What'd +you do then?" + +"Me? I heard a shot--" + +"You left your hoss standing in the brush near the house," interrupted +Bull, "and you went along on foot." + +"Does that sound reasonable, a gent going on foot when he might ride?" +demanded the sheriff. + +"You didn't want to make no noise," said Bull, and his great voice +swallowed the protest of the sheriff. + +Anderson cast another glance at the listeners. Plainly they were +fascinated by this tale, and they were following it step by step +with nods. + +"You didn't make no noise, either," went on Bull Hunter. "You slipped +up to the cabin real soft, and you climbed up on the east side of the +house over some rocks." + +"Why in reason should a man climb over rocks? Why wouldn't he go right +to the door?" + +"Because you didn't want to be seen." + +"Then why not the west window, fool!" + +"You tried that window first, but they was some dry brush lying in +front of it, and you couldn't come close enough to look in without +making a noise stepping on the dead wood. So then you went around to +the other side and climbed over the rocks until you could look into +the cabin. Am I right?" + +"I--no, curse you, no! Of course you ain't right!" shouted Anderson. + +"Looking right through that window," said Bull heavily, "you seen +Armstrong, the man you hated, facing you, and, with his back turned, +was Pete Reeve. You said to yourself, 'Drop Armstrong with a bullet, +catch Reeve, and put the blame on him!' Then you pulled your gun." + +He pushed aside the ponderous armchair which stood beside him at the +head of the table. + +"Say," shouted the sheriff, paler than ever now, "what are you +accusing me of?" + +"Murder!" thundered Bull Hunter. + +The roar of Bull's voice chained every one in his place, the sheriff +with staring eyes, and Jud in the act of raising his hand. + +"I'll jail you for slander!" said the sheriff, fighting to assurance +and knowing that he was betrayed by his pallor and by the icy +perspiration which he felt on his forehead. + +"Anderson," said Bull, "I seen the marks of them iron heels of yours +on the rock!" + +That was a little thing, of course. As evidence it would not have +convinced the most prejudiced jury in the world, but Sheriff Anderson +was not weighing small points. Into his mind leaped one image--the +whiteness of those rocks on which he had stood and the indelible mark +his heels must have made against that whiteness. He was lost, he felt, +and he acted on the impulse to fight for his life. + +One last glance he cast at the six listeners, and in their wide-eyed +interest he read his own damnation. Then Anderson whirled and leaped +for his belt with the guns. + +Out of six throats came six yells of fear; there was a noise of chairs +being pushed back and a wild scramble to find safety under the table. +Jud, risking a moment's delay, knocked the chimney off the lamp before +he dived. The flame leaped once and went out, but the pale moonshine +poured through the window and filled the room with a weird play +of shadows. + +What Bull Hunter saw was not the escape of the sheriff, but a sudden +blind rage against everything and everybody. It was a passion that set +him trembling through all of his great body. One touch of trust, one +word of encouragement had been enough to make him a giant to tear up +the stump in the presence of Jessie and his cousins; how far more +mighty he was in the grip of this new emotion, this rage. + +His own gun was far away, but guns were not what he wanted. They were +uncongenial toys to his great hands. Instead, he reached down and +caught up that massive chair of oak, built to resist time, built to +bear even such a bulk as that of Bull Hunter with ease. Yet he caught +it up in one hand, weighed it behind his head at the full limit of his +extended arm, and then, bending forward, he catapulted the great +missile down the length of the table. It hit the lamp on the way and +splintered it to small bits, its momentum unimpeded. Hurtling on +across the table it shot at the sheriff as he whirled with his guns in +his hands. + +Fast as the chair shot forward, the hand of the sheriff was faster +still. Bull saw the big guns twitch up, silver in the moonshine. They +exploded in one voice, as if the flying mass of wood were an animate +object. Then the sheriff was struck and hurled crashing along +the floor. + + + + +CHAPTER 9 + + +At that fall the six men scampered from beneath the table to seize the +downed man. There was no need of their haste. Sheriff Anderson was a +wreck rather than a fighting man. One arm was horribly crumpled +beneath him; his ribs were shattered, there was a great gash where the +rung of the chair had cut into the bone like a knife. + +They stood chattering about the fallen man, straightening him out, +feeling his pulse, making sure that he, who would soon hang at the +will of the law, was alive. Outside, voices were rushing toward them, +doors slamming. + +Bull Hunter broke through the circle, bent over the limp body, and +drew a big bundle of keys from a pocket. Then, without a word, he went +back to the far end of the room, buckled on his gun belt, and in +silence left the room. + +The others paid no heed. They and the newcomers who had poured into +the room were fascinated by the work of the giant rather than the +giant's self. They had a lantern, swinging dull light and grotesque +shadows across the place now, and by the illumination, two of the men +went to the wall and picked up the great oaken chair. They raised it +slowly between them, a battered mass of disconnected wood. Then they +looked to the far end of the long table where he who had thrown the +missile had stood. Another line had been written into the history of +Bull Hunter--the first line that was written in red. + +Bull himself was on his way to the jail. He found it unguarded. The +deputy had gone to find the cause of the commotion at the hotel. The +steel bars, moreover, were sufficient to retain the prisoner and keep +out would-be rescuers. + +In the dim light of his lantern, Bull saw that Pete Reeve was sitting +cross-legged on his bunk, like a little, dried-up idol, smoking a +cigarette. His only greeting to the big man was a lifting of the +eyebrows. But, when the big key was fitted into the lock and the lock +turned, he showed his first signs of interest. He was standing up when +Bull opened the door and strode in. + +"Have you got your things?" said Bull curtly. + +"What things, big fellow?" + +"Why, guns and things--and your hat, of course." + +Pete Reeve walked to the corner of the cell and took a sombrero off +the wall. "Here's that hat," he answered, "but they ain't passing out +guns to jailbirds--not in these parts!" + +"You ain't a jailbird," answered Bull, "so we'll get that gun. Know +where it is?" + +Reeve followed without a question through the open door, only stopping +as he passed beyond the bars, to look back to them with a shudder. It +was the first sign of emotion he had shown since his arrest. But his +step was lighter and quicker as he followed Bull into the front room. + +"In that closet, yonder," said Reeve, pointing to a door. "That's +where they keep the guns." + +Bull shook out his bundle of keys into the great palm of his hand. + +"Not those keys--the deputy has the key to the closet," said Pete. "I +saw Anderson give it to him." + +Bull sighed. "I ain't got much time, partner," he said. Approaching +the door, he examined it wistfully. "But, maybe, they's another way." +He drew back a little, raised his right leg, and smashed the heavy +cowhide boot against the door. The wood split from top to bottom, and +Bull's leg was driven on through the aperture. He paused to wrench the +fragments of the door from lock and hinges and then beckoned to Pete +Reeve. "Look for your gun in here, Reeve." + +The little man cast one twinkling glance at his companion and then was +instantly among the litter of the closet floor. He emerged strapping a +belt about him, the holster tugging far down, so that the muzzle of +the gun was almost at his knee. Bull appreciated the diminutive size +of the man for the first time, seeing him in conjunction with the big +gun on his thigh. + +There was an odd change in the little man also, the moment his gun was +in place. He tugged his broad-brimmed hat a little lower across his +eyes and poised himself, as if on tiptoe; his glance was a constant +flicker about the room until it came to rest on Bull. "Suppose you +lemme in on the meaning of all this. Who are you and where do you +figure on letting me loose? What in thunder is it all about?" + +"We'll talk later. Now you got to get started." + +Bull waved to the door. Pete Reeve darted past him with noiseless +steps and paused a moment at the threshold of the jail. Plainly he was +ready for fight or flight, and his right hand was toying constantly +with the holstered butt of his gun. Bull followed to the outside. + +"Hosses?" asked the little man curtly. + +"On foot," answered Bull with equal brevity, and he led the way +straight across the street. There was no danger of being seen. All the +life of the town was drawn to a center about the hotel. Lights were +flashing behind its windows, men were constantly pounding across the +veranda, running in and out. Bull led the way past the building and +cut for the cottonwoods. + +"And now?" demanded Pete Reeve. "Now, partner?" + +That word stung Bull. It had not been applied to him more than a half +a dozen times in his life, together with its implications of free and +equal brotherhood. To be called partner by the great man who had +conquered terrible Uncle Bill Campbell! + +"They's a mess in the hotel," said Bull, explaining as shortly as he +could. "Seems that Sheriff Anderson was the gent that done the killing +of Armstrong. It got found out and the sheriff tried to get away. Lots +of noise and trouble." + +"Ah," said Reeve, "it was him, then--the old hound! I might have +knowed! But I kep' on figuring that they was two of 'em! Well, the +sheriff was a handy boy with his gun. Did he drop anybody before they +got him? I heard two guns go off like one. Them must of been the +sheriff's cannons." + +"They was," said Bull, "but them bullets didn't hit nothing but wood." + +"Wild, eh? Shot into the wall?" + +"Nope. Into a chair." + +The little man was struggling and panting sometimes breaking into a +trot to keep up with the immense strides of his companion. "A chair? +You don't say so!" + +Bull was silent. + +"How come he shot at a chair? Drunk?" + +"The chair was sailing through the air at him." + +"H'm!" returned Pete Reeve. "Somebody throwed a chair at him, and the +sheriff got rattled and shot at it instead of dodging? Well, I've seen +a pile of funnier things than that happen in gun play, off and on. Who +threw the chair?" + +"I did." + +"You?" He squinted up at the lofty form of Bull Hunter. "What name did +you say?" he asked gently. + +"Hunter is my name. Mostly they call me Bull." + +"You got the size for that name, partner. So you cleaned up the +sheriff with a chair?" he sighed. "I wish I'd been there to see it. +But who got the inside on the sheriff?" + +"I dunno what you mean?" + +Pete Reeve looked closely at his companion. Plainly he was bewildered, +somewhere between a smile and a frown. + +"I mean who found out that the sheriff done it?" + +"He told it himself," said Bull. + +"Drunk, en?" + +"Nope. Not drunk. He was asked if he didn't do the murder." + +"Great guns! Who asked him?" + +"I done it," said Bull as simply as ever. + +Reeve bit his lip. He had just put Bull down as a simple-minded hulk. +He was forced to revise his opinion. + +"You done that? You follered him up, eh?" + +"I just done a little thinking. So I asked him." + +Reeve shook his head. "Maybe you hypnotized him," he suggested. + +"Nope. I just asked him. I got a lot of folks sitting around, and then +I began telling the sheriff how he done the shooting." + +"And he admitted it?" + +"Nope. He jumped for a gun." + +"And then you heaved a chair at him." Pete Reeve drew in a long +breath. "But what reason did you have, son? I got to ask you that +before I thank you the way I want to thank you. But, before you kick +out, you'll find that Pete Reeve is a friend." + +"My reason was," said Bull, "that I had business to do with you that +couldn't be done in a jail. So I had to get you out." + +"And now where're we headed?" + +"Where we can do that business." + +They had reached a broad break in the cottonwoods; the moonlight was +falling so softly and brightly. + +Bull paused and looked around him. "I guess this'll have to do," he +declared. + +"All right, son. You can be as mysterious as you want. Now what you +got me here for?" + +"To kill you," said Bull gently. + +Pete Reeve flinched back. Then he tapped his holster, made sure of the +gun, became more easy. "That's interesting," he announced. "You +couldn't wait for the law to hang me, eh?" + +Bull began explaining laboriously. He pushed back his hat and began to +count off his points into the palm of one hand. "You shot up Uncle +Bill Campbell," he explained. "It ain't that I got any grudge agin' +you for that, but you see, Uncle Bill took me in young and give me a +home all these years. I thought it would sort of pay him back if I run +you down. So I walked across the mountains and come after you." + +"Wait!" exclaimed Pete Reeve. "You walked?" + +"Yep," he went on, heedless of the fact that Pete Reeve was peering +earnestly into the face of his companion, now puckered with the +earnest frown of thought. "I come down hoping to get you and kill you. +Besides, that wouldn't only pay back Uncle Bill. It would make him +think that I was a man. You see, Reeve, I ain't quick thinking, and I +ain't bright. I ain't got a quick tongue and sharp eyes, and they been +treating me like I was a kid all my life. So I got to do something. I +got to! I ain't got anything agin' you, but you just happen to be the +one that I got to fight. Stand over yonder by that stump. I'll stand +here, and we'll fight fair and square." + +Pete Reeve obeyed, his movements slow, as if they were the result of +hypnotism. "Bull," he said rather faintly, looking at the towering +bulk of his opponent, "I dunno. Maybe I'm going nutty. But I figure +that you come down here to kill me for the sake of getting your uncle +to pat you on the back once or twice. And you find you can't get at me +because I'm in jail, so you work out a murder mystery to get me out, +and then you tackle me. You say you ain't very bright. I dunno. Maybe +you ain't bright, but you're mighty different!" + +He paused and rubbed his forehead. "Son, I've seen pretty good men in +my day, but I ain't never seen one that I cotton to like I do to you. +You've saved my life. How can you figure on me going out and taking +yours, now?" + +"You ain't going to, maybe," said Bull calmly. "Maybe I'll get to +you." + +"Son," answered the other almost sadly, shaking his head, "when I'm +right, with a good, steady nerve, they ain't any man in the world that +can sling a gun with me. And tonight I'm right. If it comes to a +showdown--but are you pretty good with a gun yourself, Bull?" + +"No," answered Bull frankly. "I ain't any good compared to an expert +like you. But I'm good enough to take a chance." + +"Them sort of chances ain't taken twice, Bull!" + +"You see," said Bull, "I'm going to make a rush as I pull the gun, and +if I get to you before I'm dead, well--all I ask is to lay my hands on +you, you see?" + +The little man shuddered and blinked. "I see," he said, and swallowed +with difficulty. "But, in the name of reason, Bull, have sense! Lemme +talk! I'll tell you what that uncle of yours was--" + +"Don't talk!" exclaimed Bull Hunter. "I sort of like you, partner, and +it sort of breaks me down to hear you talk. Don't talk, but listen. +The next time that frog croaks we go for our guns, eh? That frog off +in the marsh!" + +He had hardly spoken before the ominous sound was heard, and Bull +reached for his gun. For all his bulk of hand and unwieldy arms, the +gun came smoothly, swiftly into his hand. He would have had an +ordinary man covered, long before the latter had his gun muzzle-clear +of the leather. But Pete Reeve was no ordinary man. His arm jerked +down; his fingers flickered down and up. They went down empty; they +came up with the burden of a long revolver, shining in the moonlight, +and he fired before Bull's gun came to the level for a shot. + +Only Pete Reeve knew the marvel of his own shooting this day. He had +sworn a solemn and silent oath that he would not kill this faithful, +courageous fellow from the mountains. He could have planted a bullet +where the life lay, at any instant of the fight. But he fired for +another purpose. The moment Bull reached for his weapon he had lurched +forward, aiming to shoot as he ran. Pete Reeve set himself a double +goal. His first intention was to disarm the giant; the other was to +stop his rush. For, once within the grip of those big fingers, his +life would be squeezed out like the juice of an orange. + +His task was doubly difficult in the moonlight. But the first shot +went home nicely, aimed as exactly as a scientist finds a spot with +his instruments. Where the moon's rays splashed across the bare right +forearm of Bull, he sent a bullet that slashed through the great +muscles. The revolver dropped from the nerveless hand of the giant, +but Bull never paused. On he came, empty-handed, but with power of +death, as the little man well knew, in the fingers of his extended +left hand. He came with a snarl, a savage intake of breath, as he felt +the hot slash of Pete's bullet. But Reeve, standing erect like some +duelist of old, his left hand tucked into the hollow of his back, took +the great gambling chance and refused to shoot to kill. + +He placed his second shot more effectively, for this time he must stop +that tremendous body, advancing upon him. He found one critical spot. +Between the knee and the thigh, halfway up on the inside of the left +leg, he drove that second bullet with the precision of a surgeon. The +leg crumpled under Bull and sent him pitching forward on his face. + +Perhaps the marsh ground was unstable, but it seemed to Pete Reeve +that the very earth quaked beneath his feet as the big man fell. He +swung his gun wide and leaned to see how serious was the damage he had +done. Bleeding would be the greater danger. + +But that fraction of a second brought him into another peril. The +giant heaved up on his sound right leg and his sound left arm, and +flung himself forward, two limbs dangling uselessly. With a hideously +contorted face, Bull swung his left arm in a wide circle for a grip +and scooped in Pete Reeve, as the latter sprang back with a cry +of horror. + +The action swept Pete in and crushed his gun hand and arm against the +body of his assailant, paralyzing his only power of attack or defense. +Reeve was carried down to the ground as if beneath the bulk of a +mountain. There was no question of sparing life now. Pete Reeve began +to fight for life. He wrestled at his gun to tug it free, but found it +anchored. He pulled the trigger, and the gun spoke loud and clear, but +the bullet plunged into empty space. Then he felt that left arm begin +to move, and the hand worked up behind his back like a great spider. + +Higher it rose, and the huge, thick fingers reached up and around his +throat, fumbling to get at the windpipe. Pete Reeve made his last +effort; it was like striving to free himself from a ton's weight. +Hysteria of fear and horror seized him, and his voice gave utterance +to his terror. As he screamed, the big fingers joined around his +throat. Any further pressure would end him! + +He looked up into the glaring eyes and the contorted face of the +giant; the rasping, panting breathing paralyzed his senses. There was +a slight inward contraction of the grip; then it ceased. + +Miraculously he felt the great hand relax and fall away. The bulk was +heaved away from him, and staggering to his own feet, he saw Bull +Hunter supported against a tree, one leg useless, one arm streaming. + +"I couldn't seem to do it," said Bull Hunter thickly. "I couldn't +noways seem to do it, Reeve. You see, I sort of like you, and I +couldn't kill you, Pete." + +When Pete Reeve recovered from his astonishment he said, "You can do +more. You can go home and tell that infernal hound of an uncle of +yours that you had the life of Pete Reeve under your fingertips and +that you didn't take it. It's the second time I've owed my life, and +both times in one day, and both times to one man. You tell your +uncle that!" + +The big man sagged still more against the tree. "I'll never go home, +Pete, unless ghosts walk; and I'll never tell Uncle Bill anything, +unless the ghosts talk. I'm dying pretty pronto, I think, Pete." + +"Dyin'? You ain't hurt bad, Bull!" + +"It's the bleeding; all the senses is running out of my head--like +water--and the moon--is turning black--and--" He slumped down at the +foot of the tree. + + + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +When old Farmer Morton and his son came in their buckboard through the +marshes, they heard the screaming of Pete Reeve for help. Leaving +their team, they bolted across country to the open glade. There they +found Pete still shouting for help, kneeling above the body of a man, +and working desperately to arrange an effectual tourniquet. They ran +close and discovered the two men. + +Old Morton knew enough rude surgery to stop the bleeding. It was he +who counted the pulse and listened to the heart. "Low," he said, "very +low--life is just flickerin', stranger." + +"If they's as much light of life in him," said Pete Reeve, "as the +flicker of a candle, I'll fan it up till it's as big as a forest fire. +Man, he's got to live." + +"H'm!" said Morton. "And how come the shooting?" + +"Stop your fool questions," said Reeve. "Help me get him to town and +to a bed." + +It was useless to attempt to carry that great, loose-limbed body. They +brought the buckboard perilously through the shrubbery and then +managed, with infinite labor, to lift Bull Hunter into it. With Pete +Reeve supporting the head of the wounded man and cautioning them to +drive gently, they managed the journey to the town as softly as +possible. At the hotel a strong-armed cortege bore Bull to a bed, and +they carried him reverently. Had his senses been with him he would +have wondered greatly; and had his uncle, or his uncle's sons, been +there, they would surely have laughed uproariously. + +In the hotel room Pete Reeve took command at once. "He's too big to +die," he told the dubious doctor. "He's got to live. And the minute +you say he can't, out you go and another doc comes in. Now do +your work." + +The doctor, haunted by the deep, fiery eyes of the gunfighter, stepped +into the room to minister to his patient. He had a vague feeling that, +if Bull Hunter died, Pete Reeve would blame him for lack of care. In +truth, Pete seemed ready to blame everyone. He threatened to destroy +the whole village if a dog was allowed to howl in the night, or if the +baby next door were permitted to cry in the day. + +Silence settled over the little town--silence and the fear of Pete +Reeve. Pete himself never left the sickroom. Wide-eyed, silent-footed, +he was ever about. He seemed never to sleep, and the doctor swore that +the only reason Bull Hunter did not die was because death feared to +enter the room while the awful Reeve was there. + +But the long hours of unconsciousness and delirium wore away. Then +came the critical period when a relapse was feared. Finally the time +came when it could be confidently stated that Bull was recovering his +health and his strength. + +All this filled a matter of weeks. Bull was still unable to leave his +bed. He was dull and listless, bony of hand, and liable to sleep many +hours through the very heart of the day. At this point of his recovery +the door opened one day, and, in the warmth of the afternoon, a big +man came into the room, shutting the door softly behind him. + +Bull turned his head slowly and then blinked, for it was the unshaven +face of his cousin, Harry Campbell, that he saw. With his eyes closed, +Bull wondered why that face was so distinctly unpleasant. When he +opened them again, Harry had drawn closer, his hat pushed on the back +of his head after the manner of a baffled man, and a faint smile +working at the corners of his lips. He took the limp hand of Bull in +his and squeezed it cautiously. Then he laid the hand back on the +sheet and grinned more confidently at Bull. + +"Well, I'll be hanged, Bull, here you are as big as life, pretty near, +and you don't act like you knew me!" + +"Sure I do. Sit down, Harry. What brung you all this ways?" + +"Why, anxious to see how you was doing." + +Again Bull blinked. Such anxiety from Harry was a mystery. + +"They ain't talking about much else up our way," said Harry, "but how +you come across the mountains in the storm, and how big you are, and +how you got the sheriff, and how you rushed Pete Reeve bare-handed. +Sure is some story! All the way down I just had to say that I was Bull +Hunter's cousin to get free meals!" He licked his lips and grinned +again. "So I come down to see how you was." + +"I'm doing tolerable fair," said Bull slowly, "and it was good of you +to come this long ways to ask that question. How's things to home?" + +"Dad's bunged up for life; can't do nothing but cuss, but at that he +lays over anything you ever hear." Harry's eyes flicked nervously +about the room. "It was him that sent me down! Where's Reeve?" + +This was in a whisper. Bull gestured toward the next room. + +"Asleep? Can he hear if I talk?" + +"Asleep," said Bull. "Been up with me two days. I took a bad turn a +while back. Pete's helping himself to a nap, and he needs one!" + +"Now, listen!" said Harry. "Dad figured this out, and Dad's mostly +never wrong. He says, 'Reeve shot up Bull. Now he's hanging around +trying to make up by nursing Bull, according to reports, because he's +afraid of what Bull'll do when he gets back on his feet. But Bull +has got to know that, even when he's back on his feet, he can't beat +Reeve--not while Reeve can pull a gun. Nobody can beat that devil. +If he wants to beat Reeve, just take advantage of him while Reeve +ain't expecting anything--which means while Bull is sick.' Do you +get what Dad means?" + +"Sort of," said Bull faintly. He shut out the eager, dirty, unshaven +face. "I'll just close my eyes against the light. I can hear you +pretty well. Go on." + +"Here's the idea. Everybody knows you hate Reeve, and Reeve fears you. +Otherwise would he act like this, aside from being afraid of a +lynching, in case you should die? No, he wouldn't. Well, one of these +days you take this gun"--here Harry shoved one under the pillow of +Bull--"and call Pete Reeve over to you, and when he leans over your +bed, blow his brains out! That's easy, and it'll do what you'll want +to do someday. You hear? Then you can say that Reeve started +something--that you shot in self-defense. Everybody'll believe you, +and you'll get one big name for killing Reeve! You foller me?" + +Bull opened his eyes, but they were squinting as though he was in the +severest pain. "Listen, Harry," he said at last. "I been thinking +things out. I owe a lot to your dad for taking me in and keeping me. +But all I owe him I can pay back in cash--someday. I don't owe him +no love. Not you, neither." + +Harry had risen to his feet with a snarl. + +"Sit down," said Bull, letting his great voice swell ever so little. +"I'm pretty near dead, but I'm still man enough to wring the neck of +a skunk! Sit down!" + +Harry obeyed limply, and his giant cousin went on, his voice softening +again. "When you come in I closed my eyes," said Bull, "because it +seemed to me like you was a dream. I'd been awake. I'd been living +among men that sort of liked me and respected me and didn't laugh at +me. And then you come, and I saw your dirty face, and it made me think +of a bad nightmare I'd had when you and your brother and your dad +treated me worse'n a dog. Well, Harry, I'm through with that dream. +I'll never go back to it. I'm going to stay awake the rest of my life. +It was your dad that put the wish to kill Reeve into my head with his +talk. I met Reeve, and Reeve pumped some bullets with sense into me. +He let out some of my life, but he let in a lot of knowledge. Among +other things he showed me what a friend might be. He's stayed here and +nursed me and talked to me--like I was his equal, almost, instead of +being sort of simple, like I really am. And I've made up my mind that +I'm going to cut loose from remembering you folks in the mountains. +I ain't your kind. I don't want to be your kind. I want to fight, +like Pete Reeve. I don't want to murder like a Campbell! All the way +through, I want to be like Pete Reeve. He don't know it. Maybe when +I'm well he'll go off by himself. But whether he's near or far, I've +adopted him. I'm going to pattern after him, and the happiest day of +my life will be when I earn the right to have this man, that I tried +to kill, come and take my hand and call me 'friend'! I guess that +answers you, Harry. Now get out and take my talk back to your dad, +and don't trouble me no more--you spoil my sleep!" + +As he spoke the door of the next room opened softly. Peter Reeve stood +at the entrance. Harry, shaking with fear, backed toward the other +door, then leaped far out, and whirled out of sight with a slam and +clatter of feet on the stairs. Pete Reeve came slowly to the bedside. + +"I was awake, son," he said, "and I couldn't help hearing." + +Bull flushed heavily. + +"It's the best thing I ever heard," said Pete. "The best thing that's +ever come to my ears--partner!" + +With that word their hands joined. In reality, far more than he +dreamed, Bull had been born again. + + + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +When they were together, they made a study in contrasts. By seeing one +it was possible to imagine the other. For instance, seeing the high, +narrow forehead, peaked face, the gray-flecked hair of Pete Reeve, his +nervous step, his piercing and uneasy eyes--seeing this man with his +body from which all spare flesh was wasted so that he remained only +muscle and nerve, it was easy to conjure up the figure of Bull Hunter +by thinking of opposites. + +Their very voices held a world of difference. The tone of Pete Reeve +was pitched a little high, hard, and somewhat nasal, and when he was +angry his words came shrill and ringing. The mere sound of his voice +was irritating--it put one on edge with expectancy of action. Whereas +the full, deep, slow, musical voice of Bull Hunter was a veritable +sleep producer. Men might fear Charlie Bull Hunter because of his +tremendous bulk; but children, hearing his voice, were unafraid. + +The motions of Pete Reeve were as fast and as deft as the whiplash +striking of a snake. The motions of Bull Hunter were premeditated and +cautious, as befitting one whose hands might crush what they touched, +and whose footfall made a flooring groan. + +He sat cross-legged on the floor, his back against the wall. They had +moved a ponderous stool into the room so that Bull might have +something on which to sit, but long habit had made him uneasy in a +chair, and he kept to the floor by preference, with the great square +chin resting on his fist and his knee supporting his elbow. That +position pressed the forearm against the biceps and the big muscles +bulged out on either side, vast as the thigh of a strong man. + +With lionlike wrinkles of attention between his eyes, he listened to +the exposition of the little man, and followed his movements with +patient submission--like a pupil to whom a great master has consented +to unfold the secrets of his brushwork; in such a manner did Bull +Hunter drink in the words and the acts of Pete Reeve. And, indeed, +where guns were the subject of conversation it would have been hard to +find a man more thoroughly equipped to pose as an expert than Pete +Reeve. That fleshless hand, all speed of motion as it whipped out the +gun from the nerve and sinew, became an incredible ghost with the +holster and the long, heavy Colt danced and flashed at his fingertips +as though it were a gilded shadow. + +As he worked he talked, and as he talked he strode constantly back and +forth through the room with his light-falling, mincing steps. He grew +excited. He flushed. There came a thrill and a ring and a deepening of +the voice. For the master was indeed talking of the secrets of +his craft. + +A thousand men of the mountains and the cattle ranges, men who, for +personal pride or for physical need, studied accuracy and speed in +gunplay, would have paid untold prices to learn these secrets from the +lips of the little man. To Bull Hunter the mysteries were revealed for +nothing, freely, and drilled and drummed into him through the weeks of +his convalescence; and still the lessons continued now that he was +hale and hearty once more--as the clean-swept platters from which he +ate three times a day gave evidence. + +"I've practiced, you admit," said Bull in his slow voice, as Pete +Reeve came to a pause. "But I haven't got your way with a gun, Pete. +You've got a genius for it. I don't blame you for laughing at me when +I try to get out my gun fast. I can shoot straight. That's because I +haven't any nerves, as you say, but I'll never be able to get out a +gun as fast as a thought--the way you do. Fact is, Pete, I don't think +fast, you know." + +"Shut up!" exploded Pete Reeve, who had been inwardly chafing with +impatience during the whole length of this speech. "Sometimes you talk +like a fool, Bull, and this is one time!" + +Bull shook his head. "My arms are too big," he said sadly. "The muscle +gets in my way. I can feel it bind when I try to jerk out the gun +fast. Better give up the job, Pete. I sure appreciate all the pains +you've taken with me--but I'll never be a gunfighter." + +Pete Reeve shook his head with a sigh and then dropped into a chair, +growing suddenly inert. + +"No use," he groaned. "All because you ain't got any confidence, +Bull." He leaned forward in his sudden way. "Know something? I been +keeping it back, but now I'll tell you the straight of it. You're +faster with a gun right now than four men out of five!" + +Bull gaped in amazement. + +"Fact!" cried Reeve. "You get it out slicker than most; and after it's +out, you shoot as straight as any man I've ever seen. Trouble is, you +don't appreciate yourself. You've had it drilled into you so long that +you're stupid that now you believe it. All nonsense! You got more than +a million have and you're fast right now on the draw. Once get hold of +how important it is, and you'll keep trying. But you think it's only a +game. You just play at it; you don't work! I wish you could have seen +me when I was first practicing with a gun! I lived with it. Hours +every day it was my companion, and right up to now, there ain't a day +goes by that I don't spend some time keeping on edge with my revolver. +Bull, you'll have to do the same thing. You hear?" + +He sprang up again. It was impossible for him to remain seated a long +time. + +"You think it don't mean much. Look here!" + +The Colt flicked into his hand and lay trembling in his palm, and as +he talked, it shifted smoothly, as if of its own volition, forward +toward his fingertips, backward, to the side, dropping out until it +seemed about to fall, only to be caught with one finger through the +trigger-guard and spun up again. Always the heavy weapon was in motion +as though some of the nervous spirit of Reeve had entered the heavy +metal. It responded to his thoughts rather than to his muscles. Bull +Hunter gazed enchanted. He was accustomed to forgetting himself and +admiring others. + +"Look here!" went on the little man. "Look at me. I weigh about a +hundred and twenty. I'm skinny. I'm a runt. And look at you. You +weigh--heaven knows what! No fat, but all muscle from your head to +your feet. You're the strongest man that I've ever seen. Take me, I'm +not a coward; but you, Bull, you don't know what fear means. Well, +there you are, without fear, and stronger than three strong men. +You're pretty fast with a gun, and you shoot straight as a hawk looks. +And still, if we stood face to face and went for our guns, I'd live; +and you with your muscle would be dead, Bull." + +"I know," Bull nodded. + +"That's what this gun means," cried Pete. "This gun, and the fact that +I can get it out of the leather faster'n you do. Not very much faster. +But by just as much quicker as it takes for an eyelid to wink. That +ain't much time, but it's enough time to mean life or death! That's +all! I'm not the only man that's faster'n you are. They's others. I've +never been beat to the draw, but they's some that's shot so close to +me that it sounded like one gun going off--with a sort of a stammer. +And any one of those men would of shot you dead, Bull, if you'd fought +'em. Now, knowing that, tell me, are you going to keep practicing?" + +"I'll keep tryin', Pete. But I'll never get much faster. You see, my +arm--it's too big, too heavy. It gets in my way, handling a little +thing like a revolver!" + +Pete spun the big Colt and shoved it back into the holster so +incredibly fast that the steel hissed against the leather. + +"There you go running yourself down," he muttered. + +He began to pace the room again, biting his nether lip, and now and +then shooting side glances at Bull, glances partly guilty and partly +scornful. Presently he came to a halt. He had also come to a new +resolution, one that cost him so much that beads of perspiration +came out on his forehead. + +"Bull," he said gravely, "I'm going to tell you the secret." + +"You've told me a dozen already," Bull sighed. "You've taught me how +to swing the muzzle up, and not too far up, and how to lean back +instead of forward, and how to harden the arm muscles just as I pull +the trigger, and how to squeeze with the whole hand and keep my wrist +stiff, and how--" + +"None of them things counts," said Pete gravely, almost sadly, +"compared to what I'm going to tell you. Stand up!" + +It was plain that he was going to give something from the depths of +his mind. The cost and importance of it made his eyes like steel and +drew his mouth to a thin, straight line. + +Bull Hunter arose; and as the great body unfolded and the legs +straightened, it seemed that he would never reach his full height. +At length he stood, enormous, wide, towering. He was not a freak, +but simply a perfectly proportioned man increased to a huge scale. + +Pete Reeve canted his head back and looked into the face of the giant. +There was a momentary affectionate appreciation in his eye. Then he +hardened his expression. + +"Let your arm hang loose." + +Bull Hunter obeyed. The hand came just above the holster that was +strapped on his thigh. All these weeks Pete Reeve had kept him from +going an instant without that gun except when he slept. And even when +he slept the gun had to be under his pillow. + +"Because it helps to have it near all the time," Pete had explained. +"It sort of soaks into your dreams. It's never out of your mind. It +haunts you, like the face of the girl you love. You see!" + +Bull Hunter did not see, but he had nodded humbly, after his fashion, +and obeyed. Now, with his arm fallen loose at his side he peered +studiously into the face of his master gunman and waited for the +next order. + +"Draw!" + +The command was snapped out; Bull's gun whipped from the holster; and +Pete Reeve drew in the same instant, carelessly, his eyes watching the +movement of Bull instead of paying heed and put his gun up again, but +Bull followed the example almost reluctantly. + +"Nearly beat you that time, Pete," he exclaimed happily. "But maybe +you weren't half trying?" + +"Beat me?" sneered Pete. "I wasn't half trying, but you didn't beat +me. I shot you twice before you had your muzzle in line. I shot you in +the throat and through the teeth before your gun was ready." + +Bull, with a shrug of the massive shoulders, touched the mentioned +places and looked with awe at the little man. + +"Now, listen!" + +Bull grew tense. + +"Watch my draw!" + +Pete did not put his hand near the butt of his weapon. He held his arm +out before him, dangling in the air. There was a convulsive moment. +One could see the imaginary weapon shoot from the holster and become +level and rigid, pointed at its mark. + +"I've seen before--fast as my eye could go," Bull sighed. + +"Look again," said Pete, gritting his teeth with impatience. "This +time I'm going so slow a cow could see and beat me." + +He made the same motion, but to an ordinary eye it was still as fast +as light. Bull shook his head. + +"Idiot!" cried Pete, his voice jumping up the scale, flat and harsh +and piercing. "It's the wrist! Not the arm, but the--" + +He stopped with an expression of dismay. Even now he regretted +revealing the mystery, it seemed. But then he went on. + +"I found out quick that I couldn't beat a good gunman if I used the +old methods. Practice makes perfect; they practiced as much as I did. +So I studied the methods and the great idea come to me. They all use +the whole arm. Look at you! Your shoulder bulges up when you make the +draw, and you raise the whole arm. Matter of fact, you'd ought only to +use your fingers. Not stir a muscle above the wrist. Now try!" + +Bull tried--the gun did come clear of the holster. + +"No good," he said gravely. "It's magic when you do it, Pete. It just +makes a fool of me." + +"Shut up and listen!" Pete said sharply. "I'm telling you a thing +that'll save your life some day!" + +He drew a little closer. His emotion made him swell to a greater +stature, and he rose a little on tiptoe as if partly to make up for +the differences between their bulks. + +Bull obeyed. + +"Now start thinking. Start concentrating on that right hand. There's +nothing else to your body. You see? You forget you got a muscle. +There's three things in the world. You see? Just three things and no +more. There's your gun with a bullet in it; there's your hand that's +going to get the gun out; and there's your target--that doorknob, say! +Keep on thinking. They ain't any more to your body. You're just a hand +and an eye. All your nerves are down there in that hand. They're all +piled down there. That hand is full of electricity. Don't let your +eyes wander. Keep on concentrating. You're stocking the electricity in +that hand. When your hand moves, it'll be as fast as the jump of a +spark! And when that hand moves, the gun is going to come out clean in +it. It's _got_ to come out with it! You hear? It's _got_ to! Your +fingertips catch under the butt; they flick up. They don't draw the +gun; they throw it out of the holster; they pitch the muzzle up, and +the butt comes smack back against the palm of your hand. And in the +same part of a second you pull the trigger. You hear?" + +He leaned forward, trembling from head to foot. The eyes of the big +man were beginning to narrow. + +"I hear; I understand!" he said through his teeth. + +"You don't pull the gun. You _think_ it out of the leather. And then +the bullet hits the doorknob. You don't move your arm. Your arm +doesn't exist. You're just a hand and a brain--thinking! And that +thought sends a bullet at the mark!" He leaped back. "Draw!" + +There was a wink of light at the hip of Bull Hunter, and the gun +roared. + +Instantly he cried out, alarmed, confused, ashamed. + +"I didn't mean to shoot, Pete. I'm a fool! I didn't mean to! It--I +sort of couldn't help it. The--the trigger was just pulled without my +wanting it to! Lord, what'll people think!" + +But Pete Reeve had flung his arms around the big man as far as they +would go, and he hugged him in a hysteria of joy. Then he leaped back, +dancing, throwing up his hands. + +"You done it!" he cried, his voice squeaking, hysterical. + +"I made a fool of myself, all right," said Bull, bewildered by this +exhibition of joy where he had expected anger. + +"Fool nothing! Look at that knob!" + +The doorknob was a smashed wreck, driven into the thick wood of the +door by the heavy slug of the revolver. Footsteps were running up the +stairs of the hotel. Pete Reeve ran to the door and flung it open. + +"It's all right, boys," he called. "Cleaning a gun and it went off. No +harm done!" + + + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +"And now," said Pete Reeve, looking almost ruefully at his pupil, +"with a little practice on that, they ain't a man in the world that +could safely take a chance with you. I couldn't myself." + +"Pete!" + +"I mean it, son. Not a man in the world. I was afraid all the time. I +was afraid you didn't have that there electricity in you or whatever +they call it. I was afraid you had too much beef and not enough +nerves. But you haven't. And now that you have the knack, keep +practicing every day--thinking the gun out of the leather--that's +the trick!" + +Bull Hunter looked down to the gun with great, staring eyes, as though +it was the first time in his life that he had seen the weapon. Pete +Reeve noted his expression and abruptly became silent, grinning +happily, for there was the dawn of a great discovery in the eyes of +the big man. + +The gun was no longer a gun. It was a part of him. It was flesh of his +flesh. He had literally thought it out of the holster, and the report +of the weapon had startled him more than it had frightened anyone else +in the building. He looked in amazement down to the broad expanse of +his right hand. It was trembling a little, as though, in fact, that +hand were filled with electric currents. He closed his fingers about +the butt of the gun. At once the hand became steady as a rock. He +toyed with the weapon in loosely opened fingers again, and it slid +deftly. It seemed impossible for it to fall into an awkward position. + +The voice of Pete Reeve came from a great distance. "And they's only +one thing lacking to make you perfect--and that's to have to fight +once for your life and drop the other gent. After that happens--well, +Pete Reeve will have a successor!" + +How much that meant Bull Hunter very well knew. The terrible fame of +Pete Reeve ran the length and the breadth of the mountains. Of course +Bull did not for a moment dream that Pete meant what he said. It was +all figurative. It was said to fill him with self-confidence, but part +of it was true. He was no longer the clumsy-handed Bull Hunter of the +moment before. + +A great change had taken place. From that moment his very ways of +thinking would be different. He would be capable of less misty +movements of the mind. He would be capable of using his brain as +fast as his hand acted. A tingle of new life, new possibilities were +opening before him. He had always accepted himself as a stupidly +hopeless burden in the world, a burden on his friends, useless, +cloddish. Now he found that he had hopes. His own mind and body was an +undiscovered country which he was just beginning to enter. What might +be therein was worth a dream or two, and Bull Hunter straightway began +to dream, happily. That was a talent which he had always possessed in +superabundance. + +The brief remainder of the day passed quickly; and then just before +supper time a stranger came to call on Pete Reeve. He was a tall, bony +fellow with straight-looking eyes and an imperious lift of his head +when he addressed anyone. Manners was his name--Hugh Manners. When he +was introduced he ran his eyes unabashedly over the great bulk of Bull +Hunter, and then promptly he turned his back on the big man and +excluded him from the heart of the conversation. It irritated Bull +unwontedly. He discovered that he had changed a great deal from the +old days at his uncle's shack when he was used to the scorn and the +indifference of all men as a worthless and stupid hulk of flesh, with +no mind worth considering, but he said nothing. Another great talent +of Bull's was his ability to keep silent. + +Shortly after this they went down to the supper table. All through the +meal Hugh Manners engaged Pete Reeve in soft, rapid-voiced +conversation which was so nicely gauged as to range that Bull Hunter +heard no more than murmurs. He seemed to have a great many important +things to say to Pete, and he kept Pete nodding and listening with a +frown of serious interest. At first Pete tried to make up for the +insolent neglect of his companion by drawing a word or two from Bull +from time to time, but it was easy for Bull to see that Pete wished to +hear his newfound friend hold forth. It hurt Bull, but he resigned +himself and drew out of the talk. + +After supper he went up to the room and found a book. There had +been little time for reading since he passed the first stages of +convalescence from his wounds. Pete Reeve had kept him constantly +occupied with gun work, and the hunger for print had been accumulating +in Bull. He started to satisfy it now beside the smoking lamp. He +hardly heard Pete and Hugh Manners enter the room and go out again +onto the second story of the veranda on which their room opened. From +time to time the murmur of their voices came to him, but he +regarded it not. + +It was only when he had lowered the book to muse over a strange +sentence that his wandering eye was caught beyond the window by the +flash of a falling star of unusual brilliance. It was so bright, +indeed, that he crossed the room to look out at the sky, stepping very +softly, for he had grown accustomed to lightening his footfall, and +now unconsciously the murmuring voices of the talkers made him move +stealthily--not to steal upon them, but to keep from breaking in on +their talk. But when he came to the door opening on the veranda the +words he heard banished all thought of falling stars. He listened, +dazed. + +Pete Reeve had just broken into the steady flow of the newcomer's +talk. + +"It's no use, Hugh. I can't go, you see. I'm tied down here with the +big fellow." + +"Tied down?" thought Bull Hunter, and he winced. + +A curse, then, "Why don't you throw the big hulk over?" + +"He ain't a hulk," protested Pete somewhat sharply, and the heart of +Bull warmed again. + +"Hush," said Hugh Manners. "He'll be hearing." + +"No danger. He's at his books, and that means that he wouldn't hear a +cannon. That's his way." + +"He don't look like a book-learned gent," said Hugh Manners with more +respect in his voice. + +"He don't look like a lot of things that he is," said Pete. "I don't +know what he is myself--except that he's the straightest, gentlest, +kindest, simplest fellow that ever walked." + +Bull Hunter turned to escape from hearing this eulogy, but he dared +not move for fear his retreat might be heard--and that would be +immensely embarrassing. + +"Just what he is I don't know," said Pete again. "He doesn't know +himself. He's had what you might call an extra-long childhood--that's +why he's got that misty look in his eyes." + +"That fool look," scoffed Hugh Manners. + +"You think so? I tell you, Manners, he's just waking up, and when he's +clear waked up he'll be a world-beater! You saw that doorknob?" + +"Smashed? Yep. What of it?" + +"He done it with a gun, standing clean across the room, with a flash +draw, shooting from the hip--and he made a clean center hit of it." + +Pete brought out these facts jerkily, one by one, piling one +extraordinary thing upon the other; and when he had finished, Hugh +Manners gasped. + +"I'm mighty glad," he said, "that you told me that, I--I might of made +some mistake." + +"You'd sure've made an awful mistake if you tangle with him, Manners. +Don't forget it." + +"Your work, I guess." + +"Partly," said Pete modestly. "I speeded his draw up a bit, but he had +the straight eye and the steady hand when I started with him. He +didn't need much target practice--just the draw." + +"And he's really fast?" + +"He's got my draw." + +That told volumes to Manners. + +"And why not take him in with us?" he asked, after a reverent pause. + +"Not that!" exclaimed Pete. "Besides, he couldn't ride and keep up +with us. He'd wear out three hosses a day with his weight." + +"Maybe we could find an extra-strong hoss. He ain't so big as to kill +a good strong hoss, Pete. I've seen a hoss that carried--" + +"No good," said Pete with decision. "I wouldn't even talk to him about +our business. He don't guess it. He thinks that I'm--well, he don't +have any idea about how I make a living, that's all!" + +"But how _will_ you make a living if you stick with him?" + +"I dunno," Pete sighed. "But I'm not going to turn him down." + +"But ain't you about used up your money?" + +"It's pretty low." + +"And you're supporting him?" + +"Sure. He ain't got a cent." + +Bull started. He had not thought of that matter at all, but it stood +to reason that Pete had expended a large sum on him. + +"Sponging?" said Manners cynically. + +"Don't talk about it that way," said Pete uneasily. "He's like a big +kid. He don't think about those things. If I was broke, he'd give me +his last cent." + +"That's what you think." + +"Shut up, Manners. Bull is like--a cross between a son and a brother." + +"Pretty big of bone for your son, Pete. You'll have a hard time +supporting him," and Manners chuckled. Then, more seriously, "You're +making a fool of yourself, pardner. Throw this big hulk over and come +back--with me! They's loads of money staked out waiting for us!" + +"Listen," said Pete solemnly. "I'm going to tell you why I'll never +turn Bull Hunter down if I live to be a hundred! When I was a kid a +dirty trick was done me by old Bill Campbell. I waited all these years +till a little while ago to get back at him. Then I found him and +fought him. I didn't kill him, but I ruined him and sent him back to +his home tied on his hoss with a busted shoulder that he'll never be +able to use again. His right shoulder, at that." + +There was a subdued exclamation from Manners, but Pete went on, "Seems +he was the uncle of this Bull; took Bull in when Bull was orphaned, +because he had to, not because he wanted to, and he raised Bull up to +be a sort of general slave around the place. Well, when he comes back +home all shot up he tries to get his sons to take my trail, but they +didn't have the nerve. But Bull that they'd always looked down on for +a big good-for-nothing hulk--Bull stepped out and took my trail on +foot and hit across the mountains in a storm, above the timberline! + +"And he followed till he come up with me here where he found me in +jail, accused of a murder. Did he turn back? He didn't. He didn't want +the law to hang me. He wanted to kill me with his own hands so's he +could go back home and hear his uncle call him a man and praise him a +little. That shows how simple he is. + +"Well, I'll cut a long story short. Bull scouted around, found out +that the sheriff had done the killing himself and just saddled the +blame on me, and then he makes the sheriff confess, gets me out of +jail, and takes me out in the woods. + +"'Now,' says he, 'you've got a gun, and I've got a gun, and I'm going +to kill you if I can.' + +"No use arguing. He goes for his gun. I didn't want to kill a man +who'd saved my life. I tried to stop him with bullets. I shot him +through the right arm and made him drop his gun. Then he charged me +barehanded!" + +There was a gasp from Manners. + +"Barehanded," repeated Pete. "That's the stuff that's in him! I shot +him through the left leg. He pitched onto his face, and then hanged if +he didn't get up on one arm and one leg and throw himself at me. He +got that big arm of his around me. I couldn't do a thing. My gun was +squeezed between him and me. He started fumbling. Pretty soon he found +my throat with them big gorilla fingers of his. I thought my last +minute had come. One squeeze would have smashed my windpipe--and +good-bye, Pete Reeve! + +"But he wouldn't kill me. After I'd filled him full of lead, he let me +go. After he had the advantage he wouldn't take it." Pete choked. He +concluded briefly, "He mighty near bled to death before I could get +the wounds bandaged, and then I stayed on here and nursed him. Matter +of fact, Manners, he saved my life twice and that's why I'm tied to +him for life. Besides, between you and me, he means more to me than +the rest of the world put together." + +"Listen," said Manners, after a pause. "I see what you mean and I'll +tell you what you got to do. That big boy will do anything you tell +him. He follers you with his eyes. Well, we'll find a hoss that will +carry him. I guarantee that. Then you put your game up to him, best +foot forward, and he'll come with us." + +"Not in a thousand years," said Pete with emotion. "That boy will +never go crooked if I can keep him straight. Do you know what he's +done? Because his uncle and cousins tried to get me, he's sworn never +to see one of 'em again. He's given them up--his own flesh and +blood--to follow me, and I'm going to stick to him. That's complete +and final." + +"No, Pete, of all the fools--" + +Bull waited to hear no more. He stole back to the table on the far +side of the room sick at heart and sat down to think or try to think. + +The truth came to him slowly. Pete Reeve, whom he had taken as his +ideal, was, as a matter of fact--he dared not think what! The blow +shook him to the center. But he had been living on the charity of +Reeve. He had been draining the resources of the generous fellow. +And how would he ever be able to pay him back? + +One thing was definite. He must put an end to any increase of the +obligations. He must leave. + +The moment the thought came to him he tore a flyleaf out of the book +and wrote in his big, sprawling hand: + + _Dear Pete:_ + + _I have to tell you that it has just occurred to me that you + have been paying all the bills, and I've been paying none. That + has to stop, and the only way for me to stop it is to go off + all by myself. I hate to sneak away, but if I stay to say + good-bye I know you'll argue me out of it because I'm no good + at an argument. Good-bye and good luck, and remember that I'm + not forgetting anything that has happened; that when I have + enough money to pay you back I'm coming to find you if I have + to travel all the way around the world._ + + _Your pardner, + BULL_ + +That done, he paused a moment, tempted to tear up the little slip. But +the original impulse prevailed. He put the paper on the table, picked +up his hat, and stole slowly from the room. + + + + +CHAPTER 13 + + +He went out the back door of the hotel so that few people might mark +his leaving, and cut for the woods. Once in them, he changed his +direction to the east, heading for the lower, rolling hills in that +direction. He turned back when the lights of the town had drawn into +one small, glimmering ray. Then this, too, went out, and with it the +pain of leaving Pete Reeve became acute. He felt lost and alone, that +keen mind had guided him so long. As he stalked along with the great +swinging strides through the darkness, the holster rubbed on his thigh +and he remembered Pete. Truly he had come into the hands of Pete Reeve +a child, and he was leaving him as a man. + +The dawn found him forty miles away and still swinging strongly down +the winding road. It was better country now. The desert sand had +disappeared, and here the soil supported a good growth of grass that +would fatten the cattle. It was a cheerful country in more ways than +the greenness of the grass, however. There were no high mountains, but +a continual smooth rolling of hills, so that the landscape varied with +every half-mile he traveled. And every now and then he had to jump a +runlet of water that murmured across his trail. + +A pleasant country, a clear sky, and a cool wind touching at his face. +The contentment of Bull Hunter increased with every step he took. He +had diminished the sharpness of his hunger by taking up a few links of +his belt, but he was glad when he saw smoke twisting over a hill and +came, on the other side, in view of a crossroads village. He fingered +the few pieces of silver in his pocket. That would be enough for +breakfast, at least. + +It was enough; barely that and no more, for the long walk had made him +ravenous, and the keenness of his spirits served to put a razor edge +on an appetite which was already sharp. He began eating before the +regular breakfast at the little hotel was ready. He ate while the +other men were present. He was still eating when they left. + +"How much?" he said when he was done. + +His host scratched his head. + +"I figure three times a regular meal ought to be about it," he said. +"Even then it don't cover everything; but matter of fact, I'm ashamed +to charge any more." + +His ruefulness changed to a grin when he had the money in his hand, +and Bull Hunter rose from the table. + +"But you got something to feed, son," he said. "You certainly got +something to feed. And--is what the boys are saying right?" + +It came to Bull that while he sat at the table there had been many +curious glances directed toward him, and a humming whisper had passed +around the table more than once. But he was accustomed to these side +glances and murmurs, and he had paid no attention. Besides, food had +been before him. + +"I don't know. What do they say?" + +"That you're Dunbar from the South--Hal Dunbar." + +"That's not my name," said Bull. "My name is Hunter." + +"I guess they were wrong," said the other. "Trouble is, every time +anybody sees a big man they say, 'There goes Hal Dunbar.' But you're +too big even to be Dunbar I reckon." + +He surveyed the bulk of Bull Hunter with admiring respect. This +personal survey embarrassed the big man. He would have withdrawn, but +his host followed with his conversation. + +"We know Dunbar is coming up this way, though. He sent the word on up +that he's going to come to ride Diablo. I guess you've heard +about Diablo?" + +Bull averred that he had not, and his eyes went restlessly down the +road. It wove in long curves, delightfully white with the bordering of +green on either side. He could see it almost tossing among the far-off +hills. Now was the time of all times for walking, and if Pete Reeve +started to trail him this morning, he would need to put as much +distance behind him by night as his long legs could cover. But still +the hotel proprietor hung beside him. He wanted to make the big man +talk. It was possible that there might be in him a story as big as +his body. + +"So you ain't heard of Diablo? Devil is the right name for him. Black +as night and meaner'n a mountain lion. That's Diablo. He's big enough +and strong enough to carry even you. Account of him being so strong, +that's why Dunbar wants him." + +"Big enough and strong enough to carry me?" repeated Bull Hunter. + +He had had unfortunate experiences trying to ride horses. His weight +crushed down their quarters and made them walk with braced legs. To be +sure, that was up in the high mountains where the horses were little +more than ponies. + +"Yep. Big enough. He's kind of a freak hoss, you see. Runs to almost +seventeen hands, I've heard tell, though I ain't seen him. He's over +to the Bridewell place yonder in the hills--along about fifteen miles +by the road, I figure. He run till he was three without ever being +taken up, and he got wild as a mustang. They never was good on +managing on the Bridewell place, you see? And then when they tried to +break him he started doing some breaking on his own account. They say +he can jump about halfway to the sky and come down stiff-legged in a +way that snaps your neck near off. I seen young Huniker along about a +month after he tried to ride Diablo. Huniker was a pretty good rider, +by all accounts, but he was sure a sick gent around hosses after +Diablo got through with him. Scared of a ten-year-old mare, Huniker +was, after Diablo finished with him. Scott Porter tried him, too. That +was a fight! Lasted close onto an hour, they say, nip and tuck all the +way. Diablo wasn't bucking all the time. No, he ain't that way. He +waits in between spells till he's thought up something new to do. And +he's always thinking, they say. But if he wasn't so mean he'd be a +wonderful hoss. Got a stride as long as from here to that shed, +they say." + +He rambled on with a growing enthusiasm. + +"And think of a hoss like that being given away!" + +"Given away?" said Bull with a sudden interest. + +And then he remembered that horses were outside of his education +entirely. + +He listened with gloomy attention while his host went on. "Yes, sir. +Given away is what I said and given away is what I mean. Old Chick +Bridewell has kept him long enough, he says. He's tired of paying +buckaroos for getting busted up trying to ride that hoss. Man-eater, +that's what he calls Diablo, and he wants to give the hoss away to the +first man that can ride him. Hal Dunbar heard about it and sent up +word that he was coming up to ride him." + +"He must be a brave man," said Bull innocently. He had an immense +capacity for admiring others. + +"Brave?" The proprietor paused as though this had not occurred to him +before. "Why, they ain't such a thing as fear in Hal Dunbar, I guess. +But if he decides to ride Diablo, he'll ride him, well enough. He has +his way about things, Hal Dunbar does." + +The sketchy portrait impressed Bull Hunter greatly. "You know him, +then?" + +"How'd I be mistaking you for him if I knowed him? No, he lives way +down south, but they's a pile heard about him that's never seen him." + +For some reason the words of his host remained in the mind of Bull as +he went down the road that day. Oddly enough, he pictured man and +horse as being somewhat alike--Diablo vast and black and fierce, and +Hal Dunbar dark and huge and terrible of eye, also; which was proof +enough that Bull Hunter was a good deal of a child. He cared less +about the world as it was than for the world as it might be, and as +long as life gave him something to dream about, he did not care in the +least about the facts of existence. + +Another man would have been worried about the future; but Bull Hunter +went down the road with his swinging stride, perfectly at peace with +himself and with life. He had not enough money in his pocket to buy a +meal, but he was not thinking so far ahead. + +It was still well before noon when he came in sight of the Bridewell +place. It varied not a whit from the typical ranch of that region, a +low-built collection of sheds and arms sprawling around the ranch +house itself. About the building was a far-flung network of corrals. +Bull Hunter found his way among them and followed a sound of +hammering. He was well among the sheds when a great black stallion +shot into view around a nearby corner, tossing his head and mane. He +was pursued by a shrill voice crying, "Diablo! Hey! You old fool! +Stand still ... it's me ... it's Tod!" + +To the amazement of Bull Hunter, Diablo the Terrible, Diablo the +man-killer, paused and reluctantly turned about, shaking his head as +though he did not wish to obey but was compelled by the force of +conscience. At once a bare-legged boy of ten came in sight, running +and shaking his fist angrily at the giant horse. Indeed, it was a +tremendous animal. Not the seventeen hands that the hotel proprietor +had described to Bull, but a full sixteen three, and so proudly +high-headed, so stout-muscled of body, so magnificently long and +tapering of leg, that a wiser horseman than the hotelkeeper might have +put Diablo down for more than seventeen hands. + +Most tall horses are like tall men--they are freakish and malformed in +some of their members; but Diablo was as trim as a pony. He had the +high withers, the mightily sloped shoulders, and the short back of a +weight carrier. And although at first glance his underpinning seemed +too frail to bear the great mass of his weight or withstand the effort +of his driving power of shoulders and deep, broad thighs, yet a closer +reckoning made one aware of the comfortable dimensions of the cannon +bone with all that this feature portended. Diablo carried his bulk +with the grace which comes of compacted power well in hand. + +Not that Bull Hunter analyzed the stallion in any such fashion. He +was, literally, ignorant of horseflesh. But in spite of his ignorance +the long neck, not overfleshed, suggested length of stride and the +mighty girth meant wind beyond exhaustion and told of the great heart +within. The points of an ordinary animal may be overlooked, but a great +horse speaks for himself in every language and to every man. He was +coal-black, this Diablo, except for the white stocking of his off +forefoot; he was night-black, and so silken sleek that, as he turned +and pranced, flashes of light glimmered from shoulders to flanks. + +Bull Hunter stared in amazement that changed to appreciation, and +appreciation that burst in one overpowering instant to the full +understanding of the beauty of the horse. Joy entered the heart of the +big man. He had looked on horses hitherto as pretty pictures perhaps, +but useless to him. Here was an animal that could bear him like the +wind wherever he would go. Here was a horse who could gallop +tirelessly under him all day and labor through the mountains, bearing +him as lightly as the cattle ponies bore ordinary men. The cumbersome +feeling of his own bulk, which usually weighed heavily on Bull, +disappeared. He felt light of heart and light of limb. + +In the meantime the bare-legged boy had come to the side of the big +horse, still shrilling his anger. He stood under the lofty head of the +stallion and shook his small fist into the face of Diablo the +Terrible. And while Bull, quaking, expected to see the head torn from +the shoulders of the child, Diablo pointed his ears and sniffed the +fist of the boy inquisitively. + +In fact, this could not be the horse of which the hotelkeeper had told +him, or perhaps he had been recently tamed and broken? + +That, for some reason, made the heart of Bull Hunter sink. + +The boy now reached up and twisted his fingers into the mane of the +black. + +"Come along now. And if you pull away ag'in, you old fool, Diablo, +I'll give you a thumping, I tell you. Git along!" + +Diablo meekly lowered his head and made his step mincing to regulate +his gait to that of his tiny master. He was brought alongside a rail +fence. There he waited patiently while the boy climbed up to the top +rail and then slid onto his back. Again Bull Hunter caught his breath. +He expected to see the stallion leap into the air and snap the child +high above his head with a single arching of his back, but there was +no such violent reaction. Diablo, indeed, turned his head with his +ears flattened and bared his teeth, but it was only to snort at the +knee of the boy. Plainly he was bluffing, if horses ever bluffed. The +boy carelessly dug his brown toes into the cheek of the great horse +and shoved his head about. + +"Giddap," he called. "Git along, Diablo!" + +Diablo walked gently forward. + +"Hurry up! I ain't got all day!" And the boy thumped the giant with +his bare heels. + +Diablo broke into a trot as soft, as smooth flowing, as water passing +over a smooth bed of sand. Bull ran to the corner of the shed and +gaped after them until the pair slid around a corner and were gone. +Instinctively he drew off his hat and gaped. + +He was startled back to himself by loud laughter nearby, and, looking +up, he saw an old fellow in overalls with a handful of nails and a +hammer. He stood among a scattering of uprights which represented, +apparently, the beginnings of the skeleton of a barn. Now he leaned +against one of these uprights and indulged his mirth. Bull regarded +him mildly; he was used to being laughed at. + + + + +CHAPTER 14 + + +"That's the way they all do," said the old man. "They all gape the +same fool way when they see Diablo the first time." + +"Is that the wild horse?" asked Bull in his gentle voice. "That's him. +I s'pose after seeing Tod handle him, you'll want to try to ride him +right off?" + +Bull looked in the direction in which the horse had disappeared. He +swallowed a lump that had risen in his throat and shook his +head sadly. + +"Nope. You see, I dunno nothing about horses, really." + +The old man regarded him with a new and sudden interest. + +"Takes a wise man to call himself a fool," he declared axiomatically. + +Bull took this dubious bit of praise as an invitation and came slowly +closer to the other. He had the child's way of eyeing a stranger with +embarrassing steadiness at a first meeting and thereafter paying +little attention to the face. He wrote the features down in his memory +and kept them at hand for reference, as it were. As he drew nearer, +the old man grew distinctly serious, and when Bull was directly before +him he gazed up into the face of Bull with distinct amazement. At a +distance the big man did not seem so large because of the grace of his +proportions; when he was directly confronted, however, he seemed a +veritable giant. + +"By the Lord, you _are_ big. And who might you be, stranger?" + +"My name's Charlie Hunter; though mostly folks call me just plain +Bull." + +"That's queer," chuckled the other. "Well, glad to know you. I'm +Bridewell." + +They shook hands, and Bridewell noted the gentleness of the giant. As +a rule strong men are tempted to show their strength when they shake +hands; Bridewell appreciated the modesty of Charlie Hunter. + +"And you didn't come to ride Diablo?" + +"No. I just stopped in to see him. And--" Bull sighed profoundly. + +"I know. He gives even me a touch now and then, though I know what a +devil he is!" + +"Devil?" repeated Bull, astonished. "Why, he's as gentle as a kitten!" + +"Because you seen Tod ride him?" Bridewell laughed. "That don't mean +nothing. Tod can bully him, sure. But just let a grown man come near +him--with a saddle! That'll change things pretty pronto! You'll see +the finest little bit of boiled-down hell-raising that ever was! The +jingle of a pair of spurs is Diablo's idea of a drum--and he makes his +charge right off! Gentle? Huh!" The grunt was expressive. "And what +good's a hoss if he can't be rode with a saddle?" He waved the subject +of Diablo into the distance. "They ain't any hope unless Hal Dunbar +can ride him. If he can't, I'll shoot the beast!" + +"Shoot him?" echoed Bull Hunter. He took a pace back, and his big, +boyish face clouded to a frown. "Not that, I guess!" + +"Why not?" asked Bridewell, curious at the change in the big stranger. +"Why not? What good is he?" + +"Why--he's good just to look at. I'd keep him just for that." + +"And you can have him just for that--if you can manage to handle him. +Want to try?" + +Bull shook his head. "I don't know nothing about horses," he confessed +again. He glanced at the skeleton of standing beams. "Building a +barn, eh?" + +"You wouldn't call it pitching hay or shoeing a hoss that I'm doing, I +guess," said the old fellow crossly. "I'm fussing at building a barn, +but a fine chance I got. I get all my timber here--look at that!" + +He indicated the stacks of beams and lumber around him. + +"And then I get some men out of town to work with me on it. But they +get lonely. Don't like working on a ranch. Besides, they had a scrap +with me. I wouldn't have 'em loafing around the job. Rather have no +help at all than have a loafer helping me. So they quit. Then I tried +to get my cowhands to give me a lift, but they wouldn't touch a +hammer. Specialists in cows is what they say they are, ding bust 'em! +So here I am trying to do something and doing nothing. How can I +handle a beam that it takes three men to lift?" + +He illustrated by going to a stack of long and massive timbers and +tugging at the end of one of them. He was able to raise that end only +a few inches. + +"You see?" + +Bull nodded. + +"Suppose you give me the job handling the timbers?" he suggested. "I +ain't much good with a hammer and nails, but I might manage +the lifting." + +"All by yourself? One man?" he eyed the bulk of Bull hopefully for a +moment, then the light faded from his face. "Nope, you couldn't raise +'em. Not them joists yonder!" + +"I think I could," said Bull. + +Old Bridewell thrust out his jaw. He had been a combative man in his +youth; and he still had the instinct of a fighter. + +"I got ten dollars," he said, "that says you can't lift that beam and +put her up on end! That one right there, that I tried to lift a +minute ago!" + +"All right," Bull nodded. + +"You're on for the bet?" the old man chuckled gayly. "All right. Let's +see you give a heave!" + +Bull Hunter obediently stepped to the timber. It was a twelve footer +of bulky dimensions, heavy wood not thoroughly seasoned. Yet he did +not approach one end of it. He laid his immense hands on the center of +it. Old Bridewell chuckled to himself softly as he watched; he was +beginning to feel that the big stranger was a little simple-minded. +His chuckling ceased when he saw the timber cant over on one edge. + +"Look out!" he called, for Bull had slipped his hand under the lifted +side. "You'll get your fingers smashed plumb off that way." + +"I have to get a hold under it, you see," explained Bull calmly, and +so saying his knees sagged a little and when they straightened the +timber rose lightly in his hands and was placed on his shoulder. + +"Where'd you like to have it?" asked Bull. + +Bridewell rubbed his eyes. "Yonder," he said faintly. + +Bull walked to the designated place, the great timber teetering up and +down, quivering with the jar of each stride. There he swung one end to +the ground and thrust the other up until it was erect. + +"Is this the way you want it?" said Bull. + +By this time Bridewell had recovered his self-possession to some +degree, yet his eyes were wide as he approached. + +"Yep. Just let it lean agin' that corner piece, will you, Hunter?" + +Bull obeyed. + +"That might make a fellow's shoulder sort of sore," he remarked, "if +he had to carry those timbers all day." + +"All day?" gasped Bridewell, and then he saw that the giant, indeed, +was not even panting from his effort. He was already turning his +attention to the pile of timbers. + +"Here," he said, reluctantly drawing out some money. "Here's your +ten." + +But Bull refused it. "Can't take it," he explained. "I just made the +bet by way of talk. You see, I knew I could lift it; and you didn't +have any real idea about me. Besides, if I'd lost I couldn't have +paid. I haven't any money." + +He said this so gravely and simply that old Bridewell watched him +quizzically, half suspecting that there was a touch of irony hidden +somewhere. It gradually dawned on him that a man who was flat broke +was refusing money which he had won fairly on a bet. The idea +staggered Bridewell. He was within an ace of putting Bull Hunter down +as a fool. Something held him back, through some underlying respect +for the physical might of the big man and a respect, also, for the +honesty which looked out of his eyes. He pocketed the money slowly. He +was never averse to saving. + +"But I've been thinking," said Bull, as he sadly watched the money +disappear, "that you might be needing me to help you put up the barn? +Do you think you could hire me?" + +"H'm," grumbled Bridewell. "You think you could handle these big +timbers all day?" + +"Yes," said Bull, "if none of 'em are any bigger than that last one. +Yes, I could handle 'em all day easily." + +It was impossible to doubt that he said this judiciously and not with +a desire to overstate his powers. In spite of himself the old +rancher believed. + +"You see," explained Bull eagerly, "you said that you needed three men +for that work. That's why I ask." + +"And I suppose you'd want the pay of three men?" + +Bull shook his head. "Anything you want to pay me," he declared. + +The rancher frowned. This sounded like the beginning of a shrewd +bargain, and his respect and suspicion were equally increased. + +"Suppose you say what you want?" he asked. + +"Well," Bull said slowly, "I'd have to have a place to sleep. And--I'm +a pretty big eater." + +"I guess you are," said Bridewell. "But if you do three men's work you +got a right to three men's food. What else do you want?" + +Bull considered, as though there were few other wishes that he could +express. "I haven't any money," he apologized. "D'you think maybe you +could pay me a little something outside of food and a place to sleep?" + +Bridewell blinked, and then prepared himself to become angry, when it +dawned on him that this was not intended for sarcasm. He found that +Bull was searching his face eagerly, as though he feared that he were +asking too much. + +"What would do you?" suggested Bridewell tentatively. + +"I dunno," said Bull, sighing with relief. "Anything you think." + +It was plain that the big man was half-witted--or nearly so. Bridewell +kept the sparkle of exultation out of his eyes. + +"You leave it to me, then, and I'll do what's more'n right by you. +When d'you want to start work?" + +"Right now." + + + + +CHAPTER 15 + + +When Bull left the dining room that night after supper, Mrs. Bridewell +looked across the table at her husband with horror in her eyes. + +"Did you see?" she gasped. "He ate the _whole_ pot of beans!" + +"Sure I seen him," and he grinned. + +"But--he'll eat us out of house and home! Why, he's like a wolf!" + +Bridewell chuckled with superior knowledge. "He's ate enough for +three," he admitted, "but he's worked enough for six--besides, most of +his wages come in food. But work? I never seen anything like it! He +handled more timbers than a dozen. When it come to spiking them in +place he seen me swinging that twelve-pound sledge and near breaking +my back. 'I think it's easier this way,' he says. 'Besides you can hit +a lot faster if you use just one hand.' And he takes the hammer, and +sends that big spike in all the way to the head with one lick. And he +wondered why I didn't work the same way! Ain't got any idea how +strong he is." + +Mrs. Bridewell listened with wide eyes. "The idea," she murmured. "The +idea! Where's he now?" + +Her husband went to the back door. "He's sitting over by the pump +talking to Tod. Sitting talking like they was one age. I reckon he's +sort of half-witted." + +"How come?" sharply asked Mrs. Bridewell. "Ain't Tod got more brains +than most growed-up men?" + +"I reckon he has," admitted the proud father. + +And if they had put the same question to Bull Hunter, the giant would +have agreed with them emphatically. He approached the child tamer of +Diablo with a diffidence that was almost reverence. The freckle-faced +boy looked up from his whittling when the shadow of Bull fell athwart +him, with an equal admiration; also with suspicion, for the +cowpunchers, on the whole, were apt to make game of the youngster and +his grave, grown-up ways. He was, therefore, shrewdly suspicious of +jests at his expense. + +Furthermore, he had seen the big stranger heaving the great timbers +about and whirling the sledge with one hand; he half suspected that +the jokes might be pointed with the weight of that heavy hand. His +amazement was accordingly great when he found the big man actually +sitting down beside him, cross-legged, and he was absolutely stupefied +when Bull Hunter said, "I've been aiming at this chance to talk to +you, Tod, all day." + +"H'm," grunted Tod noncommittally, and examined the other with a +cautious side glance. + +But the face of Bull Hunter was unutterably free from guile. Tod +instantly began to adjust himself. The men he most worshiped were the +lean, swift, profanely formidable cowpunchers. But there was something +in him that responded with a thrill to this accepted equality with +such a man as Bull Hunter. Even his father he had seen stricken to an +awed silence at the sight of Bull's prowess. + +"You see," explained Bull frankly, "I been wondering how you managed +to handle Diablo the way you do." + +Tod chuckled. "It's just a trick. You watch me a while with him, +you'll soon catch on." + +But Bull shook his head as he answered, "Maybe a mighty bright man +might figure it out, but I'm not good at figuring things out, Tod." + +The boy blinked. He was accustomed to the studied understatement of +the cowpunchers and he was accustomed, also, to their real vanity +which underlay the surface shyness. But it was patent that Bull +Hunter, in spite of his size, was truly humble. This conception was +new to Tod and slowly grew in his brain. His active eyes ran over the +bulk beside him; he almost pitied the giant. + +"Besides," pondered Bull heavily, "I guess there's a whole lot of +bright men that have seen you handle Diablo, but they couldn't make +out what you did. They tried to ride Diablo and got their necks nearly +broken. They were good riders, but I'm not. You see, Diablo's the +first horse I've ever seen that could really carry me." He added +apologetically, "I'm so heavy." + +No vanity, certainly. He gestured toward himself as though he were +ashamed of his brawn, and the heart of Tod warmed and expanded. He +himself would never be large, and his heart had ached because of his +smallness many a time. + +"Yep," he said judiciously, "you're pretty heavy. About the heaviest I +ever seen, I guess. Maybe Hal Dunbar is as big, but I never seen Hal." + +"I've heard a good deal about Hal, but--" + +He stopped short and stiffened. Tod saw that the eyes of the big man +had fixed on the corral in which stood Diablo. A puff of wind had +come, and the great black had thrown up his head into it, an imposing +picture with mane and tail blown sidewise. Not until the stallion +turned away from the unseen thing which he had scented in the wind, +did Bull turn to his small companion with a sigh. + +Tod nodded, his eyes glinting. "I know," he said. "I used to feel that +way--before I learned how to handle Diablo." He interpreted, "You feel +like it'd be pretty fine to get onto Diablo's back and have him gallop +under you." + +"About the finest thing in the world," sighed Bull Hunter. He cast out +his great hands before him as he tried to explain the mysterious +emotions which the horse had excited in him. "You see, Tod, I'm pretty +big and I'm pretty slow. Most folks have horses, and they get about +pretty lively on 'em, but I've always had to walk." + +The enormity of this lack made Tod stare, for travel and horses were +inseparably connected in his mind. He shuddered a little at the +thought of the big man stalking across the burning and interminable +sands of the desert or toiling through the mountains. It seemed to him +that he could see the signs of that pain stamped in the face of Bull +Hunter, and his heart leaped again in sympathy. + +"So when I saw Diablo--" Bull paused. But Tod had understood. Suddenly +the boy became excited. + +"Suppose you was to learn to ride Diablo before Hal Dunbar come to try +him out? Suppose that?" + +"Could you teach me?" the giant asked in an almost awed whisper. + +The child looked over his companion with a vague wonder. It would be a +tremendous responsibility, this teaching of the giant, but what could +be more spectacular than to have such a man as his pupil? But to share +his unique empire over Diablo--that would be a great price to pay! + +"No," he decided, "it wouldn't do. Besides, suppose even I _could_ +teach you how to ride Diablo--with a saddle, which I don't think I +could--what would happen when Hal Dunbar come up to these parts and +found that the hoss he wanted was somebody else's? He'd make an awful +fuss--and he's a fighting man, Bull." + +He said this impressively, leaning a little toward the giant, and he +was rewarded infinitely by seeing the right hand of the giant stir a +little toward the holster at his thigh. + +"I guess I'd have to take my chance with him," was all Bull answered +in his mildest tone. + +Tod was beginning to guess that there was a certain amount of mental +strength under this quiet exterior. He had often noted that his +father, who made by far the most noise, was more easily placated than +his mother, in spite of her gentle silences. The strength of Bull +Hunter had a strain of the same thing about it. + +"You'd take a chance with Hal Dunbar?" he repeated wonderingly. He +trembled a little, with a sort of nervous ecstasy at the thought of +that coming encounter. "That's more'n anybody else in these parts +would do. Why, everybody's heard about Hal Dunbar. Everybody's scared +of him. He can ride anything that's big enough to carry him; he can +fight like a wildcat with his hands; and he can shoot like"--his eye +wandered toward a superlative--"like Pete Reeve, almost," he concluded +with a tone of awe. + +A spark of tenderness shone in the eye of Bull. "D'you know Pete +Reeve?" + +"No, and I don't want to. Ma had a brother once, and he met up with +Pete Reeve." + +A tragedy was inferred in that oblique reference. Bull decided that +this was a conversational topic on which he must remain silent, and +yet he yearned to speak of the little withered catlike fellow with the +wise brain who had done so much for him. + +"When I'm big enough," mused the boy with a quiet savagery, "maybe +I'll meet up with Pete Reeve." + +Bull switched the talk to a more comfortable topic. "But how'd you +make a start with that man-eating Diablo?" + +Tod studied, the question. "I got a way with hosses, you see," he +began modestly. + +He played two brown fingers in his mouth and sent out a shrilling +whistle that was answered immediately by a whinny, and a little +chestnut gelding, sun-faded to a sand color nearly, cantered into view +around the corner of a shed and approached them. He came to a pause +nearby, and having studied Bull Hunter with large, unafraid, curious +eyes for a moment, began to nibble impertinently at the ragged hat +brim of the child. + +"Git away!" exclaimed Tod, and when the chestnut made no move to go, +the brown fist flashed up at the reaching head. But the head was +jerked away with a motion of catlike deftness. + +"He's a terrible bother, Crackajack is," said the boy angrily, and +from the corner of his eye he stole a glance of unspeakable pride at +the big man. + +"He's a beauty," exclaimed Bull Hunter. "A regular beauty!" + +For Crackajack combined the toughness of a mustang and the lean, +strong running lines of a thoroughbred in miniature. His legs were as +delicately made as the legs of a deer; his head was a little model of +impish intelligence and beauty. + +"You and Crackajack are pals," said Bull. "I guess that's what you +are!" + +"We get on tolerable well," admitted the boy, whose heart was full +with this praise of his pet. + +Bull continued on the agreeable topic. "And I'll bet he's fast, too. +He looks like speed to me!" + +"Maybe you don't know hosses, but you sure got hoss sense." Tod +chuckled. "Most folks take Crackajack for a toy pony. He ain't. I've +seen him carry a full-grown man all day and keep up with the best of +'em. He don't mind the weight of me no more'n if I was a feather. He's +fast, he's tough, and he knows more'n a hoss should know, you +might say!" + +He changed his voice, and a brief command made Crackajack give up his +teasing and retreat. Bull watched the exquisite little creature go, +with a smile of pleasure. He did not know it, but that smile unlocked +the last door to Tod's heart. + +"He was pretty near as wild as Diablo when I first got him," said the +boy. "And mean--say, he'd been kicked around all his life. But I +fatted him up in the barn, and he got so's he'd follow me around. And +now he runs loose like a dog and comes when I whistle. He knows more +things than you could shake a stick at, Crackajack does." "I'll bet he +does," said Bull with shining eyes. + +"Say," said the boy suddenly, "I'm going to tell you about the way I +worked with Diablo." + +"I'll take that mighty kind," said Bull gratefully. "D'you think I'd +have a chance with him even if you showed me how?" + +"You got to have a way with hosses," admitted the boy, and he examined +Bull again. "But I think you'll get on with hossflesh pretty well. +When Diablo first come, he used to go plumb crazy when anybody come +near his corral. He still does if a growed man comes there. Well, they +used to go out and stand and watch him and laugh at him prancing +around and kicking up a fuss at the sight of 'em. + +"And it made me mad. Made me plumb mad to see them bother Diablo when +he wasn't doing no harm, when they wasn't gaining anything by +it, either." + +"I used to go out when nobody was around and stand by the bars with a +bit of hay and grain heads in my hand. First off he'd prance around +even at me, but pretty soon he seen that I wasn't big enough to do him +no harm, and then he'd just stand still and snort and look at me. +Along about the third time he took notice of the grain heads and come +and smelled them, and the next day he ate 'em. + +"Well, I kept at it that way. Pretty soon I went inside the corral. +Diablo just come up sort of excited and trembling and didn't know +whether to bash my head in with his forehoofs or let me go. Then he +seen the grain heads and ate them while he was making up his mind what +to do about me. And he winded up by just having a little talk with me. +He was terribly dirty and dusty, and he was shedding. Nobody dared to +brush him, and so I took a soft-haired brush and started to work on +his neck. He liked it, and so I dressed him down and left him pretty +near shining. And every day after that I went and had a talk with him +and brushed him. Then I rode Crackajack up to the bars and let Diablo +see me on him, with no bridle or saddle. Pretty soon I found out that +it was the saddle and the bridle and the spurs that scared Diablo to +death. He didn't mind anything else so very much. So one day I climbed +up the fence and slid onto Diablo's back, and he just turned his head +and snorted at me. Just then Pa seen me and let out a terrible yell, +and Diablo pitched me right off over his head and over the fence. But +I got right up and came back to him. He seen that he could get me off +whenever he wanted to and he seen that I didn't do him no harm when +I got on. + +"After that everything was easy. I never bothered him none with a +saddle or a bridle. And there you are. D'you think you can do +the same?" + +"But the saddle and the bridle?" said Bull. "What about them?" + +"That's up to you to figure out a way of getting him used to 'em. I'll +go introduce you now, if I can." + +Bull rose, and the boy led the way. + +"If he takes to you pretty kind," said the boy, "you may have a +chance. But if he begins acting up, it won't be no use." + + + + +CHAPTER 16 + + +Diablo greeted them with a throwing up of his formidable head. He took +his place in the very middle of his corral, but when Bull Hunter and +his small guide reached the bars, the black stallion seemed to go +suddenly mad. He flung himself into the air and came down bucking. +Back and forth across the corral he threw himself in the wildest swirl +of pitching that Bull Hunter had ever seen or ever dreamed of. + +"He's an educated bucker, you see?" said the boy in admiration. "They +ain't any trick that he don't know. Look!" + +Diablo had begun to sunfish in the most approved method, and swirled +from this to some fence rowing as swift as the jagged course of +lightning. At every jump Bull could see an imaginary rider snapped +from the back of the black giant. A cloud of dust was sent swishing +up, and in the midst of this fog, Diablo came to a pause as sudden as +the beginning of his strange struggle against an imaginary foeman; but +it seemed to Bull Hunter that the ground beneath his feet was still +quivering from the impacts of that mighty body. + +"That's just his way of telling you what he'll do when you try to +saddle him," chuckled the boy. + +As he spoke he slipped through the bars of the corral. + +"Look out!" exclaimed Bull in horror, for the stallion had rushed at +the small intruder with gaping mouth. Bull reached for his gun--Diablo +was already on the child, but at the last minute he swerved, and +flashed around Tod in a circle. + +"He's all right," Tod was shrilling through his laughter, for the +horrified face of Bull amused him. "That's just his way of saying that +he's glad to see me!" + +In fact, Diablo came to a sudden halt directly behind the child, his +head towering aloft above that of Tod while he flashed his defiance at +Bull Hunter, as though he were making use of the small bulwark of Tod +against the stranger. + +"Diablo, you old fool," the boy was saying, as he reached up and +managed to wind his fingers in the end of Diablo's mane, "you come +along and meet my friend, Bull Hunter. I figure you're going to get to +know him pretty good before long. Hey, Bull, come up close to the bars +so's he can see you ain't got a rope or a whip or spurs, and stick +your hand out so's he can sniff at it. That's his way of saying +how d'ye do." + +Bull obeyed, and to his amazement, Diablo responded to the small +forward urge of the child's hand and approached the bars one trembling +step at a time. Bull began to talk to him softly. He had never talked +like this to any living creature. He did not know exactly what he +said. The words came of their own accord into his throat. He only knew +that he wanted to reassure the big, powerful, uncertain brute, and +though Diablo stopped short at the first sound of Bull's voice and +laid his ears back, he presently pricked one of those ears again and +allowed himself to be drawn forward with long, crouching strides. + +"That's the way!" said the child softly, as though he feared that a +loud voice might break in upon the spell. "You know how to talk to +him! And, outside of me, you're the only one that does! I knew you'd +have it in you!" + +For Diablo had extended his long neck and actually sniffed the hand of +Bull Hunter. He immediately tossed his head aloft, but he did not +flinch away. + +"That's half the fight won already," advised the boy in the same soft +voice. "D'you want to try the saddle on him now?" + +"The saddle? Now?" exclaimed Bull. "I should say not! Why, he don't +hardly know me; I'll have to get acquainted before I try anything +like that." + +He discovered that Tod was nodding in hearty approval. + +"You do know," he said. "Don't tell me that you ain't been around +hosses a pile. Yep, you got to get acquainted. What you want to +do now?" + +Bull considered. "I'd like to have something to show him that it isn't +unpleasant having me around. I'd like to have him see some good +results, you know? Is there anything I could feed him?" + +The boy chuckled. "Best thing is some dried prunes with the pits taken +out of 'em. I have some at the house. They get stuck in Diablo's teeth +and it's sure funny to see him eat 'em. But he just nacherally plumb +likes the taste of the prunes." + +He followed his own suggestion by scampering away to the house and +returned almost at once with a hat full of the prunes. + +"You want to feed him these now?" + +"First," said Bull, "I'd like to have you leave us alone. If I can't +teach him to like me all by myself, then I'd better give up +right away." + +The boy looked at him in surprise and then impulsively stretched out +his hand. They shook hands gravely. + +"You got the right idea, pardner," said Tod. "Go ahead--and good luck! +And keep talking to him all the time. That's the main thing!" + +He retreated accordingly, but before the evening was over, Bull +regretted dismissing his little ally so quickly, for although Diablo +indulged in no more threatening outbreaks of temper, he resolutely +refused to eat the prunes from Bull's hand. Several times he +approached the bars of the corral and the patiently extended hand, but +always he drew back, snorting, and sometimes he would run around the +corral, shaking his head and throwing up his heels after the manner of +a horse tempted but still afraid of being overruled. + +It was long after dark when Bull gave up the attempt. He went back to +the bunkhouse, rolled up the blankets which had been assigned to him, +and carried them out to the corral. Close to the fence he laid them +down, and a few minutes later he was wrapped in them and sound asleep. +The last thing he remembered was the form of the great stallion, +standing watchfully in the exact middle of the corral, the starlight +glimmering very faintly in his big eyes. + +Bull Hunter fell asleep and had a nightmare of the arrival of the +famous Hal Dunbar the next day, a fierce conquest of Diablo, and the +battle ending with the departure of Dunbar on the back of +the stallion. + +The dream waked him, nervous, and he turned and saw Diablo standing +huge and formidable in the darkness, as though he had not moved from +his first position. + +In the morning the arduous labors of the building began again, and +though the prodigious appetite of Bull at the breakfast table made +even old Bridewell look askance, Bull had not been at work an hour +handling the ponderous uprights and joists before his employer was +smiling to himself. His new hand was certainly worth his keep, and +more, for weariness seemed a stranger to that big body, and no weight +was too great to be cheerily assumed. And always he worked with a sort +of nervous anxiety as though he feared that he might not be +doing enough. + +During the day Bridewell attempted to probe the past history of his +hired man, expecting a story as big as the body of the man, but Bull +was discreetly vague, for he had no wish to reveal his connection with +Pete Reeve; and if he left out Reeve, he felt that there was nothing +in his life worth talking about. Many a time he wondered what the +little gunfighter was doing, and what trail he was riding now. A +dangerous trail, he doubted not, and a lawless trail, he greatly +feared. But someday he might be able to find the terrible little man +and bring him back to a truer place in society. + +That night he began again the long, quiet struggle with Diablo; and +before he ended, Diablo had gathered some of the dried fruit from the +palm of his hand with a sensitive, trembling pair of lips. And he had +come back for more, and more. Yet it was not until the next night that +Bull ventured inside the bars of the corral and sat cross-legged on +the ground, with a vague feeling that Diablo would be less alarmed if +his visitor bulked less large. + +Inside the bars he seemed an entirely new proposition to the stallion. +The big black kept discreetly on the far side of the corral with much +snorting and stamping, and it was not until the next evening that he +ventured to approach the man. Still another day passed before Bull was +allowed to stand and touch the neck of the black; and that, it seemed +to him, was the greatest forward step toward the conquest. + +It was terribly slow work, and in the meantime the skeleton frame of +the barn was fast rising. Would he accomplish his purpose by the time +the barn was completed and Bridewell no longer had a use for him? Or +would Hal Dunbar arrive before that appointed time? That night, +however, another portentous event happened. Waking in the night, Bull +heard a sound of deep, regular breathing close to him, and, turning on +his side, he saw that Diablo had lain down as close to him as the +corral fence would allow, and there he slept, panther-black, sleek in +the starlight. Bull stretched out his hand. The head of the stallion +jerked up, but a moment later he carelessly sniffed the extended +fingers and resumed his position of repose. And the heart of Bull +Hunter swelled with triumph. + +That event gave him a new idea, and the following evening he made a +groundwork of branches in the corner of the corral itself, and put +down his blankets on the evergreens. Diablo was much concerned and +walked about examining the new work from every angle. There Bull +slept, and the next night he found that during the day the stallion +had torn the boughs to pieces and scattered them about. He patiently +laid a new foundation, and after this the bed was left strictly alone. + +In the meantime Bull had made a light, strong halter of rawhide, and +after several attempts he managed to slip it onto the head of Diablo. +Once in place, it was easy to teach Diablo that he must follow when he +felt a pull on the halter--the first steps were rewarded with dried +prunes, and after that it was simple. + +On that evening, also, Bull made his next step forward toward the most +difficult proposition of all--he took a partly filled barley sack and +put it on the back of Diablo. The next moment the sack was shot into +the air as Diablo leaped up and arched his back like a cat at the +height of his leap. He came down trembling and snorting, but Bull +picked up the fallen sack and allowed him to smell it. Diablo found +that the smell was good and that the hateful sack even contained +things very good to eat. The next time the sack was put on his back he +quivered and shrank, but he did not buck it off. + +After that, Bull spent his evenings in gradually increasing the weight +of that sack until a full hundred pounds caused Diablo no worry +whatever, and when this point had been attained, Bull decided that he +might venture his own bulk on the back of Diablo. He confided his +purpose to Tod, and the boy, greatly excited, hid himself at a +distance to watch. + +In the beginning it was deceptively easy. Diablo stood perfectly +unconcerned as Bull raised himself on the bars of the fence. And when +the long legs of Bull were passed over his back, Diablo merely turned +his head and sniffed the shoe tentatively. Slowly, very softly, +steadying himself on the top bar of the fence, Bull lowered his weight +more and more until the whole burden was on the back of the +stallion--and then he took his hands from the top rail. + +But the moment he released that grip there was a change in Diablo, as +though he realized that the man had suddenly trusted himself entirely +to his mount. Bull felt a sudden wincing of all that great body; the +quarters sank and trembled. He thought at first that it was because +the horse was failing under the weight of this ponderous burden; but +instinct told him a moment later that it was fear, and a mixture of +suspicious anger. + +Diablo took one of his long, catlike steps, and paused without +bringing up his other foot. In vain Bull spoke to him, softly, +steadily. Diablo took another step, quickened to a soft trot, and +stopped suddenly. That weight on his back failed to leave him. He +began to tremble violently. Bull felt the sudden thundering of the +great heart beneath the pressure of his knee. + +To the stallion, this man had been a friend, a constant companion. The +touch of his hand was pleasant. Pleasanter still was the continual +deep murmur of the voice, reassuring, telling him of a superior and +guardian mind looking out for his interests. Now that hand was +stroking his sleek neck and that voice was steadily in his ear. But +the position was the most hated one. To be sure, there was no saddle, +no cutting, binding cinch, no drag of cruel Spanish curb to control +his head, no tearing spurs to threaten him. But his flanks twitched +where the spurs had dug in many a time, and he panted, remembering the +cinches. Those memories built up a panic. He became unsure. The voice +reached him less distinctly. Moreover it was a strange time of the +evening. The light of the day was nearly done; the moon was barely up, +and all things were ghostly and unreal in that slant light. + +Something of all that went through the mind of Diablo was understood +by Bull Hunter. It was telegraphed to him by the twitching and +vibration of great muscles, by the stiff arching of the neck, and the +snorting breathing. But he was beginning to forget fear. The stallion +danced lightly forward, and as the wind struck the face of Bull Hunter +he suddenly rejoiced. This was what he had dreamed of, to be carried +thus lightly, easily. The weight that had crushed other horses was +nothing to Diablo. It made him feel buoyant. He became tinglingly +alert. On the back of Diablo not a horse of the mountains could +overtake him if he fled; and not a man of the mountains could escape +him if he pursued on the back of the stallion. + +That thought had hardly formed in his excited mind when Diablo sprang, +cat-footed, to one side. It made Bull Hunter sway, and he naturally +sought to preserve his balance by gripping the powerful barrel of the +horse with his knees. But at the first touch of the knee Diablo went +suddenly mad. Exactly what he did Bull Hunter never knew. Indeed, it +seemed that Diablo left his feet, shot a dizzy height into the air, +and at the crest of his rise did three or four things at once. At any +rate, as the stallion landed, Bull pitched from the arched back and +hurtled forward and to the right side. He landed heavily against the +ground, his head striking a small rock; and he lay there a +moment, stunned. + +Far off he heard Tod shrilling at him, "Bull! Are you hurt?" + +He gathered himself together and arose, "I'm all right. Stay where you +are!" + +"Don't try him again. He'll kill you, Bull!" + +"Maybe. But I'm going to try." + +Diablo stood on the far side of the corral in the moonlight, a +splendid figure with haughty tail and head. Inwardly he was trembling, +enraged. He knew what would come. He had thrown men before, and +usually he had tried to batter them to pieces after they fell. This +man he had no desire to batter. There had been no saddle, no bridle, +no spurs, no quirt--nevertheless, he must not be controlled by the +hand of any man! But having thrown the fellow, now other men would run +on him, swinging the accursed ropes over their heads, shouting, +cursing at him in strident voices. Vitally he yearned to break through +the bars of the corral and flee, but the bars were there and he must +stay in the inclosure with this friendly enemy. It was not the +prostrate man he feared so much as vengeance from other men, for that +had always been the way. + +But no one came. No shouts were heard except from the small, thin, +familiar voice of Tod. And presently the giant arose from the ground +where he had fallen and came toward him. Diablo flattened his ears +expectantly. At the first throat-tearing curse he would charge. But no +curse came. The man approached, as always, with extended hand, and the +voice was the smooth, gentle murmur that carries peace into the +shadowy mind of a horse. + +Something relaxed in Diablo. If the man did not resent being thrown +off--if that were a sort of game, as it were--why should he, Diablo, +resent having the man on his back? The hand touched his nose gently; +another hand was stroking his neck. + +Presently he was led to the fence and again that heavy weight slid +onto his back. He crouched again, with waves of blind panic surging up +in him, but the panic did not master his sense this time, and as his +brain cleared he began to discover that there was no urging, no will +of another imposed upon him. He could walk where he pleased, following +his own sweet will, or else he could stand still. It made no +difference; but the soft-touching hand and the deep, quiet voice were +assuring him that the man was glad to be up there on his back. + +Diablo turned his head. One ear quivered and came forward tentatively; +then the other. He had accepted Bull Hunter. + +Afterward Bull found Tod. The boy wrung his hand ecstatically. + +"That's what I call game!" he said. + +"Why, Tod," the big man smiled, "you did the same thing." + +"He knew I was nothing. But you're a growed man. But--what's this, +Bull? Your back's all wet." + +"It's nothing much," said Bull calmly. "When I fell, my head hit a +stone. There's some things worth paying for, and Diablo's one +of them." + + + + +CHAPTER 17 + + +The cut proved, as he had said, to be a small thing; but it turned out +that Diablo was far from won. He was haltered and he would carry Bull +bareback. The saddle was quite another affair. So Bull returned to the +idea of the barley sack, with gradual additions. On each side of the +sack he attached hanging straps. Diablo snorted at these and tried +them with his teeth. They reminded him vaguely of the swinging +stirrups that had so often battered his tender sides. He discovered +that the straps were not alive, however, and were not harmful. And +when their length was increased and an uncovered stirrup was tied on +each side, he gradually became accustomed to these also. The next +stage was passing the straps under his belly. They were tied there +loosely, the circle was completed, and Diablo, examining them +critically, found nothing wrong. Then, a dozen times in a single +evening, the straps were drawn up, tighter and tighter, until they +touched him. At this he became excited, and it required all the +resourcefulness of Bull to quiet him. But in three days the barley +sack and its queer-looking additions had been changed for a true +saddle--with the cinches drawn up tight enough for riding. And this +without eliciting a single bucking spasm from Diablo! + +Not even to Tod did Bull Hunter impart his great tidings. He had not +yet climbed into that real saddle; Diablo had not yet heard the creak +of the stirrup leathers under the weight of his rider. Indeed, there +was still much to be done before the happy day when he saddled the +black stallion and took down the bars of the corral gate and rode him +out. And rode him without a bit! For on the point of steel in the +mouth of Diablo, Bull Hunter knew that the horse would be against it +resolutely. So he confined himself to a light hackamore alone. That +was enough, for Diablo had learned to rein over the neck and stop at +the slightest pull of the reins. + +The next morning he went out to his work with a light heart. They had +had the help of several new men during the past ten days and now the +frame of the roof was almost completed. It would not be long before +Bull's services could be dispensed with and he connected the idea of +the completion of the barn in a symbolic fashion with the completion +of his conquest of the stallion. The two would be accomplished in the +same moment, as it were. No wonder, then, that as he climbed the +ladder up the side of the barn, with the ladder quaking beneath his +weight, Bull Hunter began to sing, his thundering bass ringing among +the ranch buildings until Mrs. Bridewell opened the kitchen window to +hear the better, and old Bridewell stopped his ears in mock dismay at +the thunder of Bull's voice. + +But the work was not two hours old when little Tod scampered up to his +side. + +"Bull," he whispered, "Hal Dunbar is down yonder with a couple of men. +He's come to ride Diablo. What'll we do, Bull? What'll we do?" + +"Diablo will throw him," said Bull with conviction. + +"But he won't. He can't," stammered the boy in his excitement. +"Nothing could throw Hal Dunbar. Wait till you see him! Just you wait +till you see. Gee, Bull, he's as big as you and--" + +The other qualifications were apparently too amazing to be adequately +described by the vocabulary of Tod. + +"If any other man can ride Diablo," said Bull at length, "I don't +think I care about him so much. I've been figuring that I'm the only +man who can get on his back. If somebody else can handle him, they're +welcome to the horse as far as I'm concerned." + +"Are you going to let him go like that?" Tod was bitter with shame and +anger. "After all our work, are you going to give him up without +a fight?" + +"A fight would be a gunfight, and a gunfight ends up in a death," said +Bull gently. "I don't like bloodshed, Tod!" + +The boy writhed. Here was an idol smashed with a vengeance! + +"I might of knowed!" he groaned. "You ain't nothing but--but a big +hulk!" + +And he turned on his heel and gave the exciting news to his father. + +For an event of this caliber, Bridewell called down all his men from +the building, and they started for the corral. Hal Dunbar and his two +men already were standing close to the bars, and Diablo stood +quivering, high-headed, in the center of the inclosure. But, of the +picture, the attention of Bull Hunter centered mainly on Hal Dunbar. + +His dreams of the man had been true. He was a huge fellow, as tall as +Bull, or taller, and nearly as bulky. But about Bull Hunter there was +a suggestion of ponderous unwieldiness, and there was none of that +suggestion about Hal Dunbar. He was lithe and straight as a poplar, +and as supple in his movements. The poise of his head and the +alertness of his body and something of lightness in his whole posture +told of the trained athlete. Providence had given the man a marvelous +body, and he had improved it to the uttermost. To crown all, there was +a remarkably handsome face, dark eyes and coal-black hair. + +Yet, more than the imposing body of this hero of the ranges, Bull was +impressed by the spirit of the man. The thing that Tod had felt, he +felt in turn. It shone from the eye, it spoke in the set of Dunbar's +mouth, something unconquerable. It was impossible, after a single +glance, to imagine this man failing. Diablo, it was true, had the same +invincible air. Indeed, they seemed meant for each other, this horse +and this man. They might have been picked from a crowd and the one +assigned to the other. Huge, lithe, fleet, powerful, and fiercely +free, surely Hal Dunbar was intended by fate to sit in the saddle and +govern Diablo according to his will. + +The heart of Charlie Hunter sank. Here was the end, then, of all the +love he had put into his work, of all the feminine gentleness with +which he had petted Diablo and soothed him. And he discovered, in that +bitter moment, that he had not worked merely to gain control of the +horse. There would be no joy in making Diablo bend to his will. His +aim was, and from the first unconsciously had been, to win Diablo so +that the stallion would serve him joyously and freely out of the love +he bore him. As he thought of this, his glance rested on the long, +spoon-handled spurs of big Hal Dunbar. + +Dunbar was shaking hands with Bridewell, leaning a trifle over the +little old man. + +"Here's one that'll be sorry to see you ride Diablo," said Bridewell. +He pointed to Hunter. "He's been working weeks, trying to make a pet +out of the hoss." + +"A pet out of him? A pet?" echoed Dunbar. + +He measured Bull Hunter with a certain bright interest. The sleeves of +Bull were rolled up to the elbows and down the forearms ran the +tangling masses of muscle. But the interest of Dunbar was only +monetary. Presently his lip curled slightly, and he turned his haughty +head toward the great stallion. + +"I'll do something more than pet him. Ill make something useful out of +the big brute. Saddle him, boys!" + +He gestured carelessly, and his two attendants started toward the +corral, one with a heavy saddle and one with a rope. As he stood +rolling his cigarette and watching negligently, he impressed Bull as a +veritable knight of the ranges, a baron with baronial adherents. It +came partly from his splendid stature, and more from his flauntingly +rich costume. The heavy gold braid on the sombrero, the gilded spurs, +the brilliant silk shirt would have been out of place on another man, +but they fit in with Hal Dunbar. They were adjuncts to the pride of +his face. Bull's attention wavered to Tod. + +"Are--are they going to rope Diablo?" + +Tod flashed a half-disgusted, half-despairing glance up at his +companion. + +"What d'you think they're going to do? What do you think?" + +Bull turned away, sick hearted. He could not bear the thought of the +great stallion struggling helpless in the snaky coils of the rope. But +of course there was no other way. Yet his muscles tightened, and the +perspiration poured out on his forehead as he heard a shout from one +of the men, then a brief drumming of Diablo's hoofs, and finally the +heavy thud as the stallion struck full length on the ground. + +That sound stunned Bull as though he had received a blow himself. +Every nerve in him was tingling, revolting against the brutality. They +were idiots, hopeless fools, to dream of conquering Diablo by brute +force. And if they succeeded, they would have a broken-spirited horse +on their hands, worse than useless, or else a treacherous man-killer +to the end of his days. + +He looked again. Diablo, saddled and blindfolded was being driven out +of the corral; a man held him on either side, and his mouth, dragged +out, was already bleeding from the cruel Spanish bit. At that Bull +Hunter saw red. + +When his senses returned to him, he went hurriedly to Dunbar. + +"Friend," he said, earnestly pleading, "will you let me make a +suggestion?" + +The insolent dark eyes ran over him mockingly. + +"Oh, you're the fellow who tried to make a pet out of Diablo? Well, +what's the suggestion?" + +"If you wear those spurs you'll drive him mad! Take 'em off, Mr. +Dunbar!" + +Dunbar stared at him in amazement, and then looked to the others. "Did +you hear that? This wise one wants me to try to ride without spurs. +Who taught you to ride, eh?" + +"I don't know much about it," confessed Bull humbly, "but I know +you're apt to cut him up badly with those big spurs." + +"And what the devil difference does that make to you?" cried Dunbar +with heat. "And what do you mean by all these fool suggestions? I'm +riding the horse!" + +Bull drew back, downheaded. Hal Dunbar cast one contemptuous glance +toward him and then stepped to the side of Diablo. The stallion was +quivering and crouching with fear and anger, and shaking his head from +time to time to get clear of the bandage which blinded him and made +him helpless. Now and then he reared a little and came down on +prancing forefeet, and Bull noted the spring and play of the fetlock +joints. The whole running mechanism of the horse, indeed, seemed +composed of coiled springs. Once released, what would the result be? +And the first hope entered his mind, the first hope since he had seen +the proud form of Hal Dunbar. + +Now the big man set his hand on the pommel and vaulted into the saddle +with a lightness that Bull admired hugely. Under the impact of that +descending bulk the stallion crouched almost to the earth, but he came +up again with a snort and a strangled neigh of rage. + +"Are you ready?" called Dunbar, gathering the reins, and giving the +string of his quirt another twist around his right hand. + +One of his men had mounted his horse with a rope, the noose end of +which was around Diablo's neck. This would serve as a pivot block to +keep Diablo running in a circle. If he tried to run in a straight line +the running noose would stop him and choke him down. He would have to +gallop in a circle for his bucking, and to help keep him in that +circle, the spectators now grouped themselves loosely in a wide rim. +But Bull Hunter did not move. From where he stood he could see all +that he wished. + +"All ready!" called the man with the rope. + +"Let her go, then!" + +The bandage was torn from the eyes of the stallion by Dunbar's second +assistant, and the fellow leaped aside as he did so. Even then he +barely escaped. Diablo had launched himself in pursuit, and his teeth +snapped a fraction of an inch from the shoulder of the fugitive as the +rope came taut and jerked him aside, and the full weight of Dunbar was +thrown back on the reins. + +That mighty wrench of back and shoulder and arm would have broken the +jaw of an ordinary horse; it hardly disturbed Diablo. His head was +first tucked back until his chin was against his breast, but a moment +later he was head down, bucking as never horse bucked before. One +second earlier Hal Dunbar had seemed almost as powerful as the animal +he rode; now he suddenly became small. + +For one thing Diablo wasted no time running against the rope. He +followed the line of least resistance and bolted around the wide +circle with tremendous leaps, gathering impetus as he ran--then +stopping in mid-career by the terrific process of hurling himself in +the air and coming down on four stiff legs and with his back humped so +that the rider sat at the uneasy apex of a pyramid. And this was +merely a beginning. That wild category of tricks which Bull had seen +partially unraveled the first time he visited the horse was now +brought forth again, enlarged, improved upon, made more intricate, +intensified. But well and nobly did Hal Dunbar sustain his fame as a +peerless rider. He rode straight up, and a cheer came from the +spectators when they saw that he was not touching leather in the midst +of the fiercest contortions of Diablo. It seemed that the great brute +would snap the very saddle off his back, but still the rider sat +erect, swaying as though in a storm, but still firmly glued to +the saddle. + +Even the heart of Bull Hunter warmed to the battle. They were a +brutally glorious pair as they struggled. The wrenching hand of the +rider and the Spanish bit had bloodied the mouth of the stallion, the +spurs were clinging horribly at his sides, and he fought back like a +mad thing. He flung himself on the ground, Dunbar barely slipped from +the saddle in time, and whipped onto his feet again, but as he lurched +up, he carried the weight of the rider again, for Dunbar had leaped +into his seat, and as Diablo came up on all fours, it could be seen +that the big man had secured both stirrups--the difficult thing in +that feature of the fight. Dunbar urged the stallion on with a yell; +and swinging the quirt over his head, he brought it down with a +stinging cut on the silky flanks of the great horse. Bull Hunter +crouched as though the lash had cut into his own flesh. He became +savage for the moment. He wanted to have his hands on that rider! + +But the cut of the quirt transformed Diablo. If he had fought hard +before, he now fell into a truly demoniacal frenzy. The long flashing +legs were springs indeed, and the moment his hoofs struck the earth he +was flung up again to a greater height. He was sunfishing now in that +most deadly manner when the horse lands on one forehoof, the rider +receiving a double jar from the down-shock and then the whiplash snap +to the side. Hal Dunbar was no longer using his quirt. It dangled idly +at his side. The joy had gone from his face. In its place, as shock +after shock benumbed his brain, there was an expression of fierce +despair. Neither was he riding straight up, but he was pulling +leather. + +Otherwise, nothing human could have retained a seat in the saddle for +an instant. Diablo, squealing, snorting, and grunting with effort, was +dashing back and forth, flinging himself aloft, coming down on one +stiff leg, doubling back with jackrabbit agility. + +There was no longer applause from the onlookers. Old Bridewell himself +in all of his years had never seen riding such as this, and it seemed +that Diablo at last had met his master. Never had he fought as he +fought now; never had he been stayed with as he was now. With foam and +sweat the great black was reeking, but never once were the efforts +relaxed. It was too terrible a sight to be applauded. + +Then, at the end of a run, instead of hurling himself into the air as +he had usually done before, Diablo flung himself down and rolled. It +caught Dunbar by surprise, but the yell of horror from the bystanders +stimulated him to sharp action, and he was out of the saddle in the +last hair's breadth of time. + +Diablo had been carried on over to his feet by the impetus of the +fall, and he was already rising when Dunbar leaped for the saddle. +Fair and true he struck the saddle and with marvelous skill his left +foot caught the stirrup and clung to it--but the right foot missed its +aim, and, before Dunbar could lodge his foot squarely, the stirrup was +dancing crazily as Diablo began a wild combination of cross-bucking +and sunfishing. The hat snapped from the head of Dunbar and his long +black hair tossed; with both hands he was clinging. All joy of battle +was gone from him. In its place was staring fear, for his right foot +was still out of the stirrup. + +"Choke him down! Choke him--" he shrieked. + +Before he could be obeyed by his confused henchmen, Diablo shot into +the air and at the very crest of his rise, bucked. Dunbar lurched to +one side. There was a groan from the bystanders; and the next instant +the stallion, landing on the one stiffened foreleg, had snapped his +rider from the saddle and hurled him to the ground. + +He lay in a shapeless heap, and the stallion whirled to finish his +enemy. + + + + +CHAPTER 18 + + +Every second of the fight Bull Hunter had followed the actions of the +horse as though he were directing them from the distance with some +electric form of communication and control. When Hal Dunbar with a +yell of despair was flung sidewise in the saddle as Diablo bucked in +mid-air, Bull Hunter knew what was coming and lurched through the line +of watchers. Straight across the open space of the circle he raced as +he had never run before, and while the others stood frozen, while the +man with the rope tugged futilely, Bull came in front of the stallion +as Diablo whirled to smash his late rider to a pulp. There was no +question of Dunbar crawling out of the way. He had rolled on his back +with arms outstretched, helplessly stunned. Even in the lightning +speed of the action Bull found time to wonder what would be the result +if the hoof of the wild horse crashed down into that upturned, +handsome face, now stained with crimson and black with dust. + +He had no time to imagine further. Diablo, red-eyed with anger, had +whirled on him and reared, and swerving from those terrible, pawing +hoofs, Bull Hunter leaped in and up. His goal was not the tossing +bridle rein, but the stout strap which circled the head just above the +bit, and his big right hand jarred home on this goal. All his weight +was behind his stiffened arm, and under the blow the stallion lurched +higher. A down-sweep of a forefoot gashed Bull's shoulder and tore his +shirt to shreds. But he pressed, expecting every instant the finishing +blow on his head. In he went, with all his weight behind the effort, +and felt the stallion stagger on his hind legs, then topple, lose +balance, and fall with a crash on his side! + +Bull followed him in the fall, for half a step, then whirled, scooped +the nerveless body of Hal Dunbar in his arms, and rushed staggering +under the burden to the edge of the circle. Diablo had regained his +footing instantly, but as he strove to follow, the rope had drawn taut +about his throat, and he was checked. + +As for Bull Hunter, he laid the senseless burden down in safety, and +turned toward the stallion. One haunting fear was in his mind. Had +Diablo been sufficiently blinded in the excitement of the battle to +fail to recognize him, or had the great horse known the hand that +toppled it back? In the latter case Bull Hunter could never come near +the black without peril of his life. + +In a gloomy quandary he stared at the trembling, shining giant, who +stood with his head high and his tail flaunting, and all the fierce +pride of victory in his eye. One knot of people had gathered over the +fallen Hal Dunbar, but some remained, dazed and gaping, looking at the +form of the conqueror. A wild temptation came to Bull to test the +horse even in this crisis of excitement, with every evil passion +roused in him. He stepped out again, his right hand extended, his +voice soft. + +"Diablo!" + +The stallion jerked his head toward the voice, but the head was +twitched away as the man with the rope brought it taut again. + +"You fool!" he shouted. "Get back, or the hoss'll nail you!" + +Unreasoning rage poured thrilling through Bull Hunter. He shook his +great fist at the other. + +"Slack away on that rope or I'll break you in two!" + +There was a moment of amazed silence; then, with a curse, the rider +threw the rope on the ground. + +"Get your head broke then!" + +Bull Hunter had forgotten him already. He had resumed that approach. +At his voice the stallion turned that proud and terrible head--with +the ears flattened against his neck. It gave him an ominous, snakelike +appearance about the head, but still Bull went steadily and slowly +toward him with his hand out, that ancient gesture of peace and good +will. There were shouts and warnings from the others. Hal Dunbar, his +senses returned, had staggered to his feet; he had received no injury +in the fall, and now he gaped in amazement at this empty-handed man +approaching the stallion. And Diablo was no longer controlled by +the rope! + +But all the outcries meant nothing to Bull Hunter. They faded to a +blur. All he saw was the head of the stallion. Had he known and +remembered that fall and the hand that forced him to it? He could not +tell. There might be any murderous intent in that quivering, +crouching form. + +Just that name, over and over again, very softly, "Diablo! Steady, +Diablo!" + +Now he was within two paces--within a yard--his fingers were close to +the terrible head and the ears of Diablo pricked forward. + +"Ah, Diablo! They'll never touch you with the spurs again!" + +The stallion made a long step, and with his head raised he looked over +the shoulder of Bull Hunter and snorted his defiance at all other men +in the world! And down his neck the big, gentle hand was running, +soothing his quivering body, and the steady voice was bringing +infinite messages of reassurance to the troubled brain. That hand was +loosening now the rope which was burning into his neck--loosening it, +drawing it off. And now the bridle followed; and Diablo's mouth was +free from the cruel taint of the steel. The head of the stallion +turned--great, soft eyes looked into the face of Bull Hunter and +accepted him as a friend forever. + +Hal Dunbar, groggy from the shock of the fall, staggered toward them. + +"Get away from the horse!" he commanded. "Hey, Riley, grab Diablo for +me again. I'll ride him this time." + +He was too unsteady to walk in a straight line, but the fire of battle +was in his eyes again. There was no doubting the gameness of the big +man. Old Bridewell caught his arm and drew him back. + +"If Diablo gets a sniff of you on the wind he'll come at you like a +wolf. Stand back here--and watch!" + +Hal Dunbar was too dazed to resist. Besides, he began to see that all +eyes were focused on the black stallion and the man beside him. That +man was the huge, cloddish stranger who had advised him to ride +without spurs. Then the full meaning came to Dunbar. The rope was no +longer around the neck of the stallion. The very bridle had been taken +from his head, and yet the stranger stood undaunted beside him, and +the stallion did not seem to be angered by that nearness. + +The next thing Dunbar heard was the voice of Bridewell saying, +"Nerviest thing I ever seen. I been putting this Bull Hunter down for +a half-wit, pretty near. All his strength in his back and none in his +head. But I changed my mind today. When you hit the ground, Diablo +whirled on you, and he'd of smashed you to bits before they could +choke him down and pull him away, but Bull came out of the crowd on +the run, grabbed the bridle, made Diablo rear, took that cut on his +shoulder, and threw him fair and square. Finest, coolest, headiest +thing I ever seen done with a hoss in a pinch. And he saved your skin, +Dunbar. You'd be a mess this minute, if it wasn't for Hunter! He threw +Diablo and turned around and picked you up as if you was a baby and +packed you over here. Then he went back--and you see what's +he's doing?" + +"He saved my life?" muttered Dunbar. "That big--He saved my life?" + +Gratitude, for the moment at least, was obscured in his mind. All he +felt vividly was a burning shame. He, Hal Dunbar, the invincible, had +been beaten fairly and squarely in the battle with the horse; not only +this, he had been saved from complete destruction only by the +intervention of this nonentity, this Bull Hunter whom he had scorned +only a few moments before. He looked about him in blind anger at the +bystanders. Worst of all, this was a new country where he was only +vaguely known, and whenever his name was mentioned in these parts in +the future, there would be someone to tell of the superior prowess of +Hunter, and how the life of Dunbar was thrown away and saved by +another. No wonder that big Hal Dunbar writhed with the shame of it. + +He forgot even that emotion now in wonder at what was happening. +Hunter had stepped to the side of the horse, raised his foot, and put +it in the stirrup. Did the fool intend to climb into the saddle while +that black devil was not blindfolded, without even a bridle? + +That, in fact, was what he was doing. The steady murmur of the voice +of Hunter reached him as the big man soothed the horse. He saw the +head of Diablo turn, saw him sniff the shoulder of his companion, and +then Hunter lifted himself slowly into the saddle. There was a groan +of excitement from the spectators, and at the sound rather than at the +weight of his back, Diablo crouched. It was only for a moment that he +quivered, wild-eyed, irresolute. Then he straightened and threw up his +head. Bull Hunter, his face white and drawn but his mouth resolute, +had touched the shining flank of the stallion, and Diablo moved into a +soft trot, gentle as the flowing of water. + +Before him the circle split and rolled back. He glided through, guided +by a hand that touched lightly on his neck, and in an utter silence he +was seen to turn the corner of the nearest shed and approach the +corral. Hal Dunbar, rubbing his eyes, was the first to speak. + +"A trick horse!" he said. "By the Lord, a trick horse!" + +"The first time I ever seen him play that trick," gasped old +Bridewell, his eyes huge and round, "except when Tod was up on him. I +dunno what's happened. It's like a dream. But there's a saddle on him +now, and that was something even Tod could never make him stand. I +dunno what's happened!" + +The little crowd broke up into chattering groups. Here had been a +thing that would bear telling and retelling for many a year. In the +confusion Dunbar's man, Riley, approached his employer. + +Both gratitude and shame were forgotten by Dunbar now. He gripped the +shoulder of this man and groaned, "I've lost him, Riley! The only +horse ever foaled that could have carried me the way a man should be +carried. Now I'll have to ride plow horses the rest of my life!" + +He pointed to the cloddish, heavy-limbed gray which he had ridden in +his quest for the superhorse at the Bridewell place. + +"I been thinking," said Riley. "I been thinking a pile the last few +minutes." + +"What you been thinking about? What good does thinking do me? I've +lost the horse, haven't I, and that half-wit has him?" + +"He has him--now," suggested Riley, watching the face of the big man +for fear that he might go too far. + +"You mean by that?" queried the master. + +"Exactly," said Riley. "Because he has the black now, it doesn't mean +that he's going to have him forever, does it?" + +"Riley, you're a devil. That fellow saved my life, they tell me." + +"I don't mean you're going to bump him off. But suppose you get him to +come and work on your place? There might be ways of getting the +hoss--buying him or something. Get him there, and we'll find a way. +Besides, he can teach you how to handle the hoss before you get him. I +say it's all turned out for the best." + +Dunbar frowned. "Take him with me? And every place I go I hear it +said, 'There's the man who rode the horse that threw Dunbar!' No, curse +him, I'll see him in Hades before I take him with me!" + +"How else are you going to get the hoss? Tell me that?" + +"That's it," muttered Dunbar. "I've got to have him. I've got to have +him! Did you watch? I felt as if the big black devil had wings." + +"He had you in the air most of the time, all right," and Riley +grinned. + +"Shut up," snapped his master. "But the chief thing is, I want to show +that big black fiend that I'm his master. He--he's beaten me once. But +one beating doesn't finish me!" + +"Then go get Hunter to come with us when we ride back." + +Dunbar hesitated another instant and then nodded. "It has to be done." + +He strode off in pursuit of Bull and presently found the big man in +the corral rubbing down the stallion; the little bright-eyed Tod was +close beside them. It had been a great day for Tod. First he had felt +that his giant pupil was disgraced--a man without spirit. And then, in +the time of blackest doubt, Bull Hunter had become a hero and +accomplished the great feat--ridden Diablo, before all the incredulous +eyes of the watchers. All of Tod's own efforts had been repaid a +thousandfold when he heard Bull say to one of those who followed with +questions and admiration, "It's not my work. Tod showed me how to go +about it. Tod deserves the credit." + +That was the reason that Tod's eyes now were supernally bright when +big Hal Dunbar approached. Diablo showed signs of excitement, but +Charlie Hunter quieted him with a word and went to the bars of the +corral. The hand of Dunbar was stretched out, and Bull took it with +humble earnestness. + +"I'm glad you weren't hurt bad," he said. "For a minute or two I was +scared that Diablo--" + +"I know," cut in Dunbar, for he detested a new description of the +scene of his failure. Then he made himself smile. "But I've come to +thank you for what you did, Hunter. Between you and me, I know that I +talked rather sharp to you a while back. I'm sorry for that. And +now--why, man, your side must be wounded!" + +"It's just a little scratch," said Bull good-naturedly. "It isn't the +first time that Diablo has made me bleed but now--well, isn't he worth +a fight, Mr. Dunbar?" + +And he gestured to the magnificent, watchful head of the stallion. The +heart of Hal Dunbar swelled in him. By fair means or foul, he must +have that horse, and on the spot he made his proposition to Hunter. He +had only to climb on the back of Diablo and ride south with him; the +pay would be anything--double what he got from Bridewell, who, +besides, was almost through with him, Dunbar understood. + +"But I'm not much good," and Bull sighed reluctantly. "I can't use a +rope, and I don't know cattle, and--" + +"I'll find uses for you. Will you come?" + +So it was settled. But before Bull climbed into the saddle and started +off after Dunbar, little Tod drew him to one side. + +"There ain't any good in Dunbar. Watch him and--remember me, Bull." + + + + +CHAPTER 19 + + +That ride to the southern mountains seemed to Bull Hunter to mark a +great point of departure between his old life and a new life. + +He had not heard Riley, fox-faced and wicked of eye, say to his +master, "What this big fool needs is a little kidding. Make him think +that we figure him to be a big gun." He had not seen Hal Dunbar make a +wry face before he nodded. + +All that Bull Hunter could know was that the three men--Riley, Dunbar, +and Joe Castor--were all exceedingly pleasant to him on the way. Of +all the men in the world, only Pete Reeve had treated him as these men +were now doing, and it was sweet beyond measure to Bull Hunter to be +treated with considerate respect, to have his opinion asked, to be +deferred to and flattered. As for the thousand little asides with +which they made a mock of him, they were far above his head. It seemed +only patent to Bull Hunter that he had been accepted freely into the +equal society of men. + +He drew a vague comparison between that success and his mastery of +Diablo. The big stallion was like a kitten under his hand. It required +much coaxing during the first half-day of riding to bring Diablo +within speaking distance of the other men, but gradually he discovered +that they could do him no harm so long as the gentle voice of Hunter +was near him; thereafter he was entirely amenable to reason. One could +see that the stallion was learning difficult lessons, but he was +learning them fast. Eye and ear and scent told him that these +creatures were dangerous. Old experience told him that they were +dangerous, and only a blind trust in Bull Hunter enabled him to +conquer the panic which surged up in his brain time and again. But he +kept on trying, and the constant struggle against men which had +featured his life made him astonishingly quick to pick up new facts. +The first step had been the hard one, and it seemed to Bull Hunter +that the close-knit, smooth-flowing muscles beneath him were carrying +him onward into the esteem of all men. To Diablo he gave the praise, +and after Diablo to little freckled Tod, and to Pete Reeve, the +fighter. As for taking any credit for himself, that idea never came to +him for a moment. + +The long trip took two days. They crossed the green, rolling hills; +they passed the foothills, and climbing steadily they came onto a +broad, high plateau--it was a natural kingdom, this ranch of the +Dunbars. The fence around it was the continuous range of mountains +skirting the plateau on all sides, and in every direction up to those +blue summits as far as the eye carried, stretched the land which owned +Hal Dunbar as master. To Bull Hunter, when they reached the crest, +and the broad domain was pointed out to him, this seemed a princely +stretch indeed, and Hal Dunbar was more like a king than ever. It was +easy to forgive pride in such a man and a certain asperity of temper. +How could so rich and powerful a man be like others? + +The ranch house was worthy of such a holding. A heavy growth of +beautiful silver spruce swept up the slope of some hills, and riding +through the forest, one caught the first glimpse of the building. It +was spread out carelessly, the foundations laid deep to cover the +irregularities of the ground. It was a heterogeneous mass, obviously +not the work of any one builder. Here a one-story wing rambled far to +the side, built heavily, of logs rudely squared, and there was a +three-story frame section of the house; and still again there was a +tall tower effect of rough stone. As for the barns and sheds which +swept away down the farther and lower slopes, the meanest of them +looked to Bull as though it might have made a home of more than +average comfort. + +The three other riders noted the gaping astonishment of Bull and +passed the wink quietly around. To Hal Dunbar it was growing more and +more annoying that he had to trouble himself with such a clod of a man +and use diplomacy where contemptuous force would have been so much +more after his heart. But he continued to follow the scheme first laid +down for his pursuit by clever Riley, and when they came to the +wide-ranging stable he assigned the black stallion to a roomy box +stall. Bull Hunter thanked him for the courtesy as though it had been +a direct personal favor; as a matter of fact, Hal felt that he was +merely taking care of a horse which was already as good as his. + +Coming back toward the house Bull walked slowly in the rear of the +little party. He wanted to take plenty of time and drink in the +astonishing details of what to him was a palace. And about the +weather-beaten old house he felt that there was a touch of mystery of +a more or less feudal romance. Climbing the steps to the porch he +turned; a broad sweep of hills opened above the tops of the spruces, +and the blue mountains were piled beyond. + +While he stood, a door slammed, and he heard a girl's mellow voice +calling, "Hello, Hal, what luck?" + +"What luck? No luck!" grumbled young Dunbar. "All the luck has gone +the way of my ... friend ... here." He brought out the last words +jokingly. "This is Charlie Hunter, commonly called Bull for reasons +you may guess. Bull, this is Mary Hood." + +Bull had turned lumberingly, and he found himself staring at a girl in +a more formal riding outfit than he had ever seen before, with tall +boots of soft red leather, and a little round black hat set on her +hair, and a coat fitted somewhat closely. The rather masculine outfit +only served to make her freer, more independent, more delightfully +herself, Bull Hunter thought. She looked him up and down and reserved +judgment, it seemed. + +"He rode Diablo," Dunbar was explaining. + +"And that's why you brought him?" she asked, flashing a queer glance +at Hal. + +Then she came a pace down the steps and shook hands with Bull. He took +the small hand carefully, with a fear that the bones would break +unless he were excessively gentle. At last she laughed so frankly that +a tingle went through his big body, and he peered closely at her. As a +rule the laughter of others made him hot with shame, but this laughter +was different; it seemed to invite him into a pleasant secret. + +"I'm glad to meet the man who conquered Diablo," she was saying. + +"I didn't beat Diablo," he hastened to explain. "We just sort of +reached an understanding. He saw that I didn't mean him any harm--so +he let me ride him. That's all there was to it!" + +He saw her eyes narrow a trifle as she looked down at him, for she had +drawn back to the level of the porch. Was she despising him and +condemning him merely because he had told her the truth? He flushed at +the thought, and then he was called into the house by Dunbar and +brought to a room. The size of it inspired him with a profound awe, +and he was still gaping when Dunbar left him. + +In the hall the master of the house met Riley, and the fox-faced +lieutenant drew him aside. + +"I've got a plan," he said. + +"You're full of plans," muttered Dunbar evilly. + +All the way home he had been striving to find some way of explaining +his lack of success with the stallion to Mary Hood. She had grown up +on the ranch with him, for her father had been the manager of the +ranch for twenty years; and she had grown up with the feeling that Hal +Dunbar was infallible and invincible. + +"Did you see the big hulk look at Mary Hood?" Riley asked. + +The name came pat with the unpleasant part of Hal's brooding, and his +scowl grew blacker. "What about it?" + +"Looked at her as though she was an angel--touched her hand as though +it was fire. I tell you, Hal, she knocked Hunter clean off +his balance." + +"Not the first she's done that to," said Hal with meaning. + +"Maybe not. Maybe not," said Riley rather hastily. "But I been +thinking. Suppose you go to Mary and tell her that you're dead set on +keeping this Hunter with you. Tell her that he's a hard fellow to +handle, that he likes her, and that the best way to make sure of him +is for her to be nice to him. She can do that easy. She takes nacheral +to flirting." + +"Flirt with that thick-head? She'd laugh in my face." + +"She'd do more than that for you, Hal." + +"H'm," grunted Dunbar, greatly mollified. "I ask her to make Hunter +happy. What comes of it? If her father sees Hunter make eyes at her +he'll blow the head off the clodhopper." + +"I know." Riley nodded. "He's always afraid she'll take a fancy to one +of the hands and run off with him, or something like that. He's dead +set agin' her saying two words to anybody like me, say!" + +He gritted his teeth and flushed at the thought. Then he continued. +"But that's just what you want. You want to get Hunter's head blown +off, don't you?" + +Dunbar caught the shoulder of Riley and whirled him around. + +"Are you talking murder to me, Riley?" + +"I'm talking sense," said Riley. + +"By the Lord," growled Dunbar, "you're a plain bad one, Riley. You +like deviltry for the sake of the deviltry itself. You want me +to get--" + +"How much do you want the black hoss, chief?" Dunbar sighed. + +"You can't touch him, after him saving your life, and I can't touch +him, because everybody knows that I'm your man. But suppose you get +the girl and Hunter planted? Then when Jack Hood rides in this +afternoon, I'll take him where he can see 'em together. Leave the rest +to me. Will you? I'll have Jack Hood scared she's going to elope +before morning, and Jack will do the rest. You know his way." + +"Suppose Hood gets killed?" + +"Killed--by that? Jack Hood? Why, you know he's near as good as you +with his gat!" + +Dunbar nodded slowly. After all, the scheme was a simple one. + +"Well?" whispered Riley. + +"You and the devil win," said Hal. "After all, what's this Hunter +amount to? Nothing. And I need the horse!" + +He executed the first step of the scheme instantly. He went downstairs +and found the girl still on the veranda. She began to mock him +at once. + +"You'll go to heaven, Hal, giving a home to the man who beats you." + +He managed to smile, although the words were poison to him. He had +loved her as long as he could remember, and sooner or later she would +be his wife, but the period remained indefinitely in the future as the +whims of the girl changed. It was for that reason, as Hal very well +knew, that her father became furious when she smiled at another man. +The rich marriage was his goal; and when a second man stepped onto the +stage, old Jack Hood was ready to fight. Hal saw a way of stopping her +gibes and proving his good intentions toward Hunter all in a breath. + +"He saved my life, Mary. I lost a stirrup, and the devil of a horse +threw me." + +Briefly he sketched in the story of the rescue, and how Bull Hunter +afterward had ridden the horse without spurs, without a bridle. Before +he ended her eyes were shining. + +"That's what he meant when he said he hadn't beaten Diablo. I +understand now. At the time I thought he was a little simple, Hal." + +"He's not exceptionally clever, Mary," said Hal, "and that's where the +point comes in of what I want you to do. Hunter is apt to take a fancy +that he isn't wanted here--that he's being kept out of charity because +he saved my life. Nothing I can say will convince him. I want you to +give him a better reason for staying around. Will you do it--as a +great favor?" + +She dropped her chin into her hand and studied him. + +"Just what are you driving at, Hal?" + +"You know what I mean well enough. I want you to waste a smile or two +on him, Mary. Will you do that? Make him think you like him a good +deal, that you're glad to have him around. Will you? Take him out for +a walk this afternoon and get him to tell you the story of his life. +You can always make a man talk and generally you turn them into fools. +You've done it with me, often enough," he added gloomily. + +"Flirt with that big, quiet fellow?" she said gravely. "Hal, you're +criminal. Besides, you know that I don't flirt. It's just the +opposite. When I like a man I'm simply frank about it." + +"But you have a way of being frank so that a poor devil usually thinks +you want to marry him, and then there's the devil to pay. You know it +perfectly well." + +"That's not true, Hal!" + +"I won't argue. But will you do it?" + +"Absolutely not!" + +"It might be quite a game. He may not be altogether a fool. And +suppose he were to wake up? Suppose he's simply half-asleep?" + +He saw a gleam of excitement come in her eyes and wisely left her +without another word. After things had reached a certain point Mary +could be generally trusted to carry the action on. + + + + +CHAPTER 20 + + +Jack Hood had ridden out on his rounds with a new horse that morning, +and the new horse developed the gait of a plow horse. The result was +that grim old Jack reached the house that night with a body racked by +the labor of the day and a disposition poisoned for the entire +evening. He was met at the stable by Riley, and the sight of him +brought a spark for the moment into the eye of the foreman. + +"You're back, then, and you got Diablo?" + +"Look yonder." + +Jack Hood went to the box stall and came back rubbing his hands, but +his exultation was cut short by Riley's remark. "He doesn't belong to +Hal. Hal was thrown and another gent rode him." + +The amazement of Jack Hood took the shape of a wild torrent of +profanity. He was proud of the ranch which he had controlled for so +long, and still prouder of his young master. His creed included two +main points--the essential beauty of his daughter and the +infallibility of young Hal Dunbar; consequently his great ambition was +to unite the two. + +"Mary took to Hunter pretty kindly," concluded Riley, as they walked +back toward the house at the conclusion of the story. + +The foreman took off his hat and shook back his long, iron-gray hair. + +"Trust her for that. Something new is always what she wants." + +"They've got the new well pretty near sunk," said Riley. "Take a look +at it?" + +"All right." + +But before they had gone halfway down the path onto which Riley had +cunningly diverted the older man, he caught Hood's arm and stopped him +with a whisper. + +"Look at that. _Already!_ This Hunter ain't such a slow worker, eh, +Jack?" + +They had come in view of the little terraced garden which was Mary's +particular property; it was screened from the house by a rank or two +of the spruce, and on a rustic bench, seated with their backs to the +witnesses, were Mary and Bull Hunter. The girl was rapt in attention, +and her eyes never left the face of Hunter. As for Bull, he was +talking steadily, and it seemed to Jack Hood that as the big stranger +talked he leaned closer and closer to the girl. The hint which Riley +had already dropped was enough to inflame the imagination of the +suspicious foreman; what he now saw was totally conclusive, he +thought. Now, under his very eyes, he saw the big man stretch out his +hand, and he saw the hand of Mary dropped into it. + +It was more than Riley had dared to hope for. He caught Jack Hood by +the shoulders, and whirled him around, and half dragged him back to +the house. + +"Not in front of your daughter, Jack," he pleaded. "I don't blame you +for being mad when a skunk like that starts flirting with a girl the +first day he's seen her. But if you got anything to say to him, wait +till Mary is out of the way. There goes the supper bell. Hurry on in. +Keep hold on yourself." + +"Do I have to sit through supper and look at that hound?" + +"Not at all," suggested the cunning Riley. "Have a bite in the kitchen +and go up to your room. I'll say that you got some figures to run +over. Afterward, you can come down and jump him!" + +He watched Jack Hood disappear, grinning faintly, and then hunted for +Hal Dunbar. + +"It's started," he said. "I dropped a word in Jack's ear and then +showed him the two of 'em sitting together. It was like a spark in the +powder. The old boy exploded." + +"How close were they sitting?" asked Hal suspiciously. + +"Close enough." Riley grinned, for he was not averse to making even +Dunbar himself writhe. + +The result was that Hal maneuvered to draw Mary Hood aside when she +came in with big Hunter for supper. Something in Bull Hunter's face +disturbed the owner of the ranch, for the eyes of Bull were alight, +and he was smiling for no apparent reason. + +"How did things go?" he asked carelessly. + +"You were all wrong about him," said the girl earnestly. "He's not a +half-wit by any means, Hal. I had a hard time of it at first, but then +I got him talking about Diablo and the trouble ended. Not a bit of +sentiment in him; but just like a great big, simple, honest boy, with +a man's strength. It would have done you good to hear him!" + +"And he'll stay with us?" asked Hal dryly, for he was far from +enthusiastic. + +"Of course he'll stay. Do you know what he did? He promised to try to +teach me to ride Diablo, and he even shook hands on it! Hal, I like +him immensely!" + +All during the meal the glances of Hal Dunbar alternated between the +girl and the giant. He was more disturbed than he dared to confess +even to himself. It was not so much that Bull Hunter sat with a +faintly dreamy smile, staring into the future and forgetting his food, +but it was the fact that Mary Hood was continually smiling across the +table into that big, calm face. Dunbar began to feel that the devil +was indeed behind the wit of Riley. + +He began to wait nervously for the coming of the girl's father and the +explosion. As soon as supper was over, following the time-honored +custom which the first Dunbar established on the ranch, Mary left the +room, and the men gathered in groups for cards or dice or talk, for +they were not ordinary hired hands, but picked men. Many of them had +grown gray in the Dunbar service. Now was the time for the coming of +Jack Hood, and Hal had not long to wait. + +The door at the far side of the big room was thrown open not five +minutes after the disappearance of Mary Hood, and her father entered. +He came with a brow as black as night, tossed a sharp word here and +there in reply to the greetings, and going to the fireplace leaned +against the mantel and rolled a cigarette. While he smoked, from under +his shaggy brows he looked over the company. + +Hal Dunbar waited, holding his breath. One brilliant picture was +dawning on his mind--himself mounted on great black Diablo and +swinging over the hills at a matchless gallop. + +The picture vanished. Jack Hood had left the fireplace and was +crossing the room with his alert, quick step. His nerves showed in +that step; and it was nerve power that made him a dreaded gunfighter. +His gloom seemed to have vanished now. He smiled here; he paused there +for a cheery word; and so he came to where Bull Hunter sat with his +long legs stretched before him and the unchanging, dreamy smile on +his face. + +Over those long legs Jack Hood stumbled. When he whirled on the seated +man his cheer was gone and a devil was in his face. + +"You damned lummox," he said, "what d'ye mean by tripping me?" + +"Me?" gasped Bull, the smile gradually fading and blank amazement +taking its place. + +It was at this moment that a man stepped out of the shadow of the +kitchen doorway, a very small withered man. No doubt he was some late +arrival asking hospitality for the night; and having come after supper +was over, he had been fed in the kitchen and then sent in among the +other men; for no one was turned away hungry from the Dunbar house. He +was so small, so light-footed, that he would hardly have been noticed +at any time, and now that the roar from Jack Hood had focused all eyes +on Bull Hunter, the newcomer was entirely overlooked. He seemed to +make it a point to withdraw himself farther, for now he stepped into a +dense shadow near the wall where he could see and remain unseen. + +Jack Hood had shaken his fist under the nose of the seated giant. + +"I meant it," he cried. "You tripped me, you skunk, and Jack Hood +ain't old enough to take that from no man!" + +Bull Hunter cast out deprecatory hands. The words of this fire-eyed +fellow were bad enough, but the tigerish tenseness of his muscles was +still worse. It meant battle, and the long, black, leather holster at +the thigh of Hood meant battle of only one kind. It had come so +suddenly on him that Bull Hunter was dazed. + +"I'm sorry," he said. "I sure didn't mean to trip you--but maybe my +foot might of slipped out a little and--" + +"Slipped out!" sneered Hood. He stopped, panting with fury. That a +comparative stranger should have dared to speak familiarly with his +daughter was bad enough; that a blank-faced coward should have dared +flirt with her, dared take her hand, was maddening. + +"You infernal sneak!" he growled. "Are you going to try to get out of +it, now that you've seen you can't bluff me down--that I won't stand +for your tricks?" + +Bull Hunter rose, slowly, unfolding his great bulk until he towered +above the other; and yet the condensed activity of Hood was fully as +formidable. There were pantherlike suggestions of speed about the arm +that dangled beside his holster. + +The withered little man in the shadow by the kitchen door took one +noiseless step into the light--and then shrank back as though he had +changed his mind. + +"It looks to me," said Bull Hunter mildly, "that you're trying to +force a fight on me. Stranger, I can't fight a man as old as you are." + +Perhaps it was a tactless speech, but Bull was too dazed to think of +grace in words. It brought a murderous snarl from the other. + +"I'm old enough to be Jack Hood--maybe you've heard of me? And I'm +young enough to polish off every unlicked cub in these parts. Now, +curse you, what d'ye say to that?" + +"I can only say," said Bull miserably, feeling his way, "that I don't +want to fight." + +With an oath Hood exclaimed, "A coward! They're all like that--every +one of the big fellers. A yaller-hearted sneak!" + +"Easy, Jack!" broke in one of the men. + +"Let Jack alone," called the commanding voice of Hal Dunbar. "I saw +Hunter trip him!" + +"But," pleaded Bull Hunter, "I give you my word--" + +"Shut up! I've heard enough of your talk." + +Bull Hunter obediently stopped his talk. + +A sickening quiet drew through the room. Men bowed their heads or +turned them away, for such cowardice was not pleasant to see. The +little man in the shadow raised one hand and brushed it across +his face. + +"I'll let you off one way," said Jack Hood. "Stand up here, and face +the crowd and tell 'em you're a liar, that you're sorry for what +you done!" + +Bull faced the crowd. A shudder of expectancy went through them, and +then they saw that his face was working, not with shame or fear but +with a mental struggle, and then he spoke. + +"Gents, it seems like I may be wrong. I may have tripped him which I +didn't mean to. But not knowing that I tripped him, I got to say that +I can't call myself a liar. I can't apologize." + +They were shocked into a new attention; they saw him turn and face the +frown of Jack Hood. + +"You're forcing this fight, stranger. And, if you keep on, you'll +drop, sir. I promise you that!" + +The sudden change in affairs had astonished Jack Hood; now his +astonishment gave way to a sort of hungry joy. + +"I never was strong on words. I got two ways of talking and here's the +one I like best!" As he uttered the last word he reached for his gun. + +The little man glided out of the shadow, crouched, intense. It seemed +to him that the hand of Bull Hunter hung motionless at his side while +the gun flashed out from Hood's holster. He groaned at the thought, +but in the last second, there was a move of Hunter's hand that no eye +could follow, that singular convulsive twitch which Pete Reeve had +taught him so long before. Only one gun spoke. Jack Hood spun sidewise +and crashed to the floor, and his gun rattled far away. + +By the time the first man had rushed to the fallen figure, the gun was +back in Bull's holster. + +The little man in the shadow heard him saying, "Pardners, he's not +dead. He's shot through the right shoulder, low, beneath the joint. +That bullet won't kill him, but get him bandaged quick!" + +A calm, clear voice, it rang through the room. The little man slipped +back into his shadow, and straightened against the wall. + +"He's right," said Hal Dunbar, stepping back from the cluster. "Riley +and Jerry, get him up to his room and bandage him, quick! The rest of +you stay here. We got a job. Hood's gun hung in the holster, and this +fellow shot him down. A murdering, cowardly thing to do. You hear? A +murdering, cowardly thing to do!" + +Obviously he was wrong, and obviously not one of his henchmen would +tell him so. For some reason the boss intended to take up the lost +battle of Jack Hood. Why, was not theirs to reason, though plainly the +fight had been fair, and Hood had been in the wrong from the first. +They shifted swiftly, a man to each door, the others along the wall +with their hands on their weapons. There was a change in Bull Hunter. +One long leap backward carried him into a corner of the room. He stood +erect, and they could see his eyes gleaming in the shadow. + +"I think you got me here to trap me, Dunbar," he called in such a +voice that the little man in the shadow thrilled at the sound of it, +"but you'll find that you're trapped first, my friend. Touch that gun +of yours, and you're a dead man, Dunbar. Curse you, I dare you to +go for it!" + +Could this be Bull Hunter speaking? The little man in the shadow +thrilled with joyous amazement. + +Hal Dunbar evidently was going to fight the thing through. He stood +swaying a little from side to side. "No guns out, boys, as yet. Wait +till I take my crack at him, and then--" + +The little man in the shadow stepped out into the light and walked +calmly toward the center of the room. + +"Just a little wee minute, Dunbar," he was saying. "Just a little wee +minute, Mr. Man-trapper Dunbar! I got a word to say." + +"Who the devil are you?" cried Hal Dunbar, turning on this puny +stranger. + +A joyous shout from Bull Hunter drowned the answer of the other. + +"Pete! Pete Reeve!" + +The little man waved his hand carelessly to the giant in the corner. + +"You give me a hard trail, Bull, old boy. But you didn't think you +could slip me, did you? Not much. And here I am, pretty pronto on the +dot, I figure." He took in with a glance the men along the walls. "You +know me, boys, and I'm here to see fair play. They ain't going to be +fair play in this room with you boys lined up waiting to drop Bull in +case he plugs Dunbar. Dunbar, I know you. And between you and me, I +don't know no good of you. You're young, but you're going to show +later on. If you want to talk business to Bull Hunter some other time, +you're welcome to come finding him, and he won't be hard to find. +Bull, come along with me. Just back up, if you don't mind, Bull. +Because they's murder in our friend Dunbar's face. And here we are!" + +Side by side they drew back to the outer door with big Hal Dunbar +watching them from under a scowl, with never a word, and so through +the door and into the night. + +Two minutes later Diablo was rocking across the hills with his mighty +stride, and the cow pony of Pete Reeve was pattering beside him. + +As they drove through the great spruces the moon rose. Bull Hunter +greeted it with a thundering song and threw up his hands to it. + +Pete Reeve swore softly in amazement and drew his horse to a walk. + +"By the Lord," cried Bull, "and I haven't thanked you yet for pulling +me out of that mess. I'd be crow's food by this time if it hadn't been +for you, Pete!" + +"That only wipes out one score. Let's talk about you, Bull. Since I +last seen you, you've got to be a man. Was it dropping Hood that made +you buck up like this?" + +"That old man?" + +"That old man," snorted Pete, "is Jack Hood, one of the best of 'em +with a gun. But if it wasn't the fight that made you feel your oats, +was it breaking Diablo?" + +"No breaking to it. We just got acquainted." + +"But what's happened? What's wakened you, Bull?" + +"I dunno," said Bull and became thoughtful. + +"Pete," he said, after a long time, "have you ever noticed a sort of +chill that gets inside you when the right sort of a girl smiles and--" + +"The devil," murmured Pete Reeve, "it's the girl that's happened to +you, eh? You forget her, Bull. I'm going to take you on the trail with +me and keep you from thinking. It's a new trail for me, Bull. It's a +trail where I'm going straight, I can't take you with me while I'm +playing against the law. So I'm going to stay inside the +law--with you." + +"Maybe," and Bull Hunter sighed. "But no matter how far the trail +leads, I'm thinking that some day I'll ride in a circle and come back +to this place where we started out together." + +He turned in the saddle. + +The outline of the Dunbar house was fading into the night. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bull Hunter, by Max Brand + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 10324 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..573e52d --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #10324 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/10324) diff --git a/old/10324.txt b/old/10324.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..41588b8 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/10324.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6403 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Bull Hunter, by Max Brand + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Bull Hunter + +Author: Max Brand + +Release Date: November 27, 2003 [EBook #10324] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BULL HUNTER *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sandra Bannatyne and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + +BULL HUNTER + +BY + +MAX BRAND + + + + + + +BULL HUNTER + +CHAPTER 1 + + +It was the big central taproot which baffled them. They had hewed +easily through the great side roots, large as branches, covered with +soft brown bark; they had dug down and cut through the forest of +tender small roots below; but when they had passed the main body of +the stump and worked under it, they found that their hole around the +trunk was not large enough in diameter to enable them to reach to the +taproot and cut through it. They could only reach it feebly with the +hatchet, fraying it, but there was no chance for a free swing to sever +the tough wood. Instead of widening the hole at once, they kept +laboring at the root, working the stump back and forth, as though they +hoped to crystallize that stubborn taproot and snap it like a wire. +Still it held and defied them. They laid hold of it together and +tugged with a grunt; something tore beneath that effort, but the stump +held, and upward progress ceased. + +They stopped, too tired for profanity, and gazed down the mountainside +after the manner of baffled men, who look far off from the thing that +troubles them. They could tell by the trees that it was a high +altitude. There were no cottonwoods, though the cottonwoods will +follow a stream for more than a mile above sea level. Far below them a +pale mist obscured the beautiful silver spruce which had reached their +upward limit. Around the cabin marched a scattering of the balsam fir. +They were nine thousand feet above the sea, at least. Still higher up +the sallow forest of lodgepole pines began; and above these, beyond +the timberline, rose the bald summit itself. + +They were big men, framed for such a country, defying the roughness +with a roughness of their own--these stalwart sons of old Bill +Campbell. Both Harry and Joe Campbell were fully six feet tall, with +mighty bones and sinews and work-toughened muscles to justify their +stature. Behind them stood their home, a shack better suited for the +housing of cattle than of men. But such leather-skinned men as these +were more tender to their horses than to themselves. They slept and +ate in the shack, but they lived in the wind and the sun. + +Although they had looked down the stern slopes to the lower Rockies, +they did not see the girl who followed the loosely winding trail. She +was partly sheltered by the firs and came out just above them. They +began moiling at the stump again, sweating, cursing, and the girl +halted her horse near by. The profanity did not distress her. She was +so accustomed to it that the words had lost all edge and point for +her; but her freckled face stirred to a smile of pleasure at the sight +of their strength, as they alternately smote at the taproot and then +strove in creaking, grunting unison to work it loose. + +They remained so long oblivious of her presence that at length she +called, "Why don't you dig a bigger hole, boys?" + +She laughed in delight as they jerked up their heads in astonishment. +Her laughter was young and sweet to the ear, but there was not a great +deal outside her laughter that was attractive about her. + +However, Joe and Harry gaped and grinned and blushed at her in the +time-old fashion, for she lived in a country where to be a woman is +sufficient, beauty is an unnecessary luxury, soon taxed out of +existence by the life. She possessed the main essentials of social +power; she could dance unflaggingly from dark to dawn at the nearest +schoolhouse dance, chattering every minute; and she could maintain a +rugged silence from dawn to dark again, as she rode her pony home. + +Harry Campbell took off his hat, not in politeness, but to scratch his +head. "Say, Jessie, where'd you drop from? Didn't see you coming +no ways." + +"Maybe I come down like rain," said Jessie. + +All three laughed heartily at this jest. + +Jessie swung sidewise in her saddle with the lithe grace of a boy, +dropped her elbow on the high pommel, and gave advice. "You got a +pretty bad taproot under yonder. Better chop out a bigger hole, boys. +But, say, what you clearing this here land for? Ain't no good for +nothing, is it?" She looked around her. Here and there the clearing +around the shanty ate raggedly into the forest, but still the plowed +land was chopped up with a jutting of boulders. + +"Sure it ain't no good for nothing," said Joe. "It's just the old +man's idea." + +He jerked a grimy thumb over his shoulder to indicate the controlling +and absent power of the old man, somewhere in the woods. + +"Sure makes him glum when we ain't working. If they ain't nothing +worthwhile to do he always sets us to grubbing up roots; and if we +ain't diggin' up roots, we got to get out old 'Maggie' mare and try to +plow. Plow in rocks like them! Nobody but Bull can do it." + +"I didn't know Bull could do nothing," said the girl with interest. + +"Aw, he's a fool, right enough," said Harry, "but he just has a sort +of head for knowing where the rocks are under the ground, and somehow +he seems to make old Maggie hoss know where they lie, too. Outside of +that he sure ain't no good. Everybody knows that." + +"Kind of too bad he ain't got no brains," said the girl. "All his +strength is in his back, and none is in his head, my dad says. If he +had some part of sense he'd be a powerful good hand." + +"Sure would be," agreed Harry. "But he ain't no good now. Give him an +ax maybe, and he hits one or two wallopin' licks with it and then +stands and rests on the handle and starts to dreaming like a fool. +Same way with everything. But, say, Joe, maybe he could start this +stump out of the hole." + +"But I seen you both try to get the stump up," said the girl in +wonder. + +"Get Bull mad and he can lift a pile," Joe assured her. "Go find him, +Harry." + +Harry obediently shouted, "Bull! Oh, Bull!" + +There was no answer. + +"Most like he's reading," observed Joe. "He don't never hear nothing +then. Go look for him, Harry." + +Big Harry strode to the door of the hut. + +"How come he understands books?" said the girl. "I couldn't never make +nothing out of 'em." + +"Me neither," agreed Joe in sympathy. "But maybe Bull don't +understand. He just likes to read because he can sit still and do it. +Never was a lazier gent than Bull." + +Harry turned at the door of the shack. "Yep, reading," he announced +with disgust. He cupped his hands over his mouth and bellowed through +the doorway, "Hey!" + +There was a startled grunt within, a deep, heavy voice and a thick +articulation. Presently a huge man came into the doorway and leaned +there, his figure filling it. There was nothing freakish about his +build. He was simply over-normal in bulk, from the big head to the +heavy feet. He was no more than a youth in age, but the great size and +the bewildered puckering of his forehead made him seem older. The book +was still in his hand. + +"Hey," returned Harry, "we didn't call you out here to read to us. +Leave the book behind!" + +Bull looked down at the book in his hand, seemed to waken from a +trance, then, with a muffled sound of apology, dropped the book +behind him. + +"Come here!" + +He slumped out from the house. His gait was like his body, his stride +large and loose. The lack of nervous energy which kept his mind from a +high tension was shown again in the heavy fall of his feet and the +forward slump of his head. His hands dangled aimlessly at his sides, +as though in need of occupation. A ragged thatch of blond hair covered +his head and it was sunburned to straw color at the edges. + +His costume was equally rough. He wore no belt, but one strap, from +his right hip, crossed behind his back, over the bulging muscles of +his shoulder to the front of his left hip. The trousers, which this +simple brace supported, were patched overalls, frayed to loose threads +halfway down the calf where they were met by the tops of immense +cowhide boots. As for the shirt, the sleeves were inches too short, +and the unbuttoned cuffs flapped around the burly forearms. If it had +been fastened together at the throat he would have choked. He seemed, +in a word, to be bulging out of his clothes. One expected a mighty +rending if he made a strong effort. + +This bulk of a man slouched forward with steps both huge and hesitant, +pausing between them. When he saw the girl he stopped short, and his +brow puckered more than before. One felt that, coming from the shadow, +he was dazed and startled by the brilliant mountain sunshine; and the +eyes were dull and alarmed. It was a handsome face in a way, but a +little too heavy with flesh, too inert, like the rest of his body and +his muscular movements. + +"She ain't going to bite you," said Harry Campbell. "Come on over here +to the stump." He whispered to the girl, "Laugh at him!" + +She obeyed his command. It brought a flush to the face of Bull Hunter +and made his head bow. He shuffled to the stump and stood aimlessly +beside it. + +"Get down into the hole, you fool!" ordered Joe. + +He and Harry took a certain pride in ordering their cousin around. It +was like performing with a lion in the presence of a lady; it was +manipulating an elephant by power of the unaided voice. Slowly Bull +Hunter dropped his great feet into the hole and then raised his head a +little and looked wistfully to the brothers for further orders. + +But only half his mind was with them. The other half was with the +story in the book. There Quentin Durward had been nodding at his guard +in the castle, and the evil-faced little king had just sprung out and +wrenched the weapon from the hands of the sleepy boy. Bull Hunter +could see the story clearly, very clearly. The scar on the face of Le +Balafré glistened for him; he had veritably tasted the little round +loaves of French bread that the adventurer had eaten with the +pseudo-merchant. + +But to step out of that world of words into this keen sunlight--ah, +there was the difference! The minds which one found in the pages of a +book were understandable. But the minds of living men--how terrible +they were! One could never tell what passed behind the bright eyes of +other human beings. They mocked one. When they seemed sad they might +be about to laugh. The minds of the two brothers eluded him, mocked +him, slipped from beneath the slow grasp of his comprehension. They +whipped him with their scorn. They dodged him with their wits. They +bewildered him with their mockery. + +But they were nothing compared with the laughter of the girl. It went +through him like the flash and point of Le Balafré's long sword. He +was helpless before that sound of mirth. He wanted to hold up his +hands and cower away from her and from her dancing eyes. So he stood, +ponderous, tortured, and the three pairs of clear eyes watched him and +enjoyed his torture. Better, far better, that dark castle in ancient +France, and the wicked Oliver and the yet more wicked Louis. + +"Lay hold on that stump," shouted Harry. + +He heard the directions through a haze. It was twice repeated before +he bowed and set his great hands upon the ragged projections, where +the side roots had been cut away. He settled his grip and waited. He +was glad because this bowed position gave him a chance to look down to +the ground and avoid their cruel eyes. How bright those eyes were, +thought Bull, and how clearly they saw all things! He never doubted +the justice behind their judgments of him; all that Bull asked from +the world was a merciful silence--to let him grub in his books now and +then, or else to tell him how to go about some simple work, such as +digging with a pick. Here one's muscles worked, and there was no +problem to disturb wits which were still gathering wool in the pages +of some old tale. + +But they were shrilling new directions at him; perhaps they had been +calling to him several times. + +"You blamed idiot, are you goin' to stand there all day? We didn't +give you that stump to rest on. Pull it up!" + +He started with a sense of guilt and tugged up. His fingers slipped +off their separate grips, and the stump, though it groaned against the +taproot under the strain, did not come out. + +"It don't seem to budge, somehow," said Bull in his big, soft, +plaintive voice. Then he waited for the laughter. There was always +laughter, no matter what he did or said, but he never grew calloused +against it. It was the one pain which ever pierced the mist of his +brain and cut him to the quick. And he was right. There was laughter +again. He stood suffering mutely under it. + +The girl's face became grave. She murmured to Harry, "Ever try +praisin' to big stupid?" + +"Him? Are you joshin' me, Jessie? What's he ever done to be praised +about?" + +"You watch!" said the girl. Growing excited with her idea, she called, +"Say, Bull!" + +He lifted his head, but not his eyes. Those eyes studied the impatient +feet of the girl's mustang; he waited for another stroke of wit that +would bring forth a fresh shower of laughter at his expense. + +"Bull, you're mighty big and strong. About the biggest and strongest +man I ever seen!" + +Was this a new and subtle form of mockery? He waited dully. + +"I seen Harry and Joe both try to pull up that root, and they couldn't +so much as budge it. But I bet you could do it all alone, Bull! You +just try! I bet you could!" + +It amazed him. He lifted his eyes at length; his face suffused with a +flush; his big, cloudy eyes were glistening with moisture. + +"D'you mean that?" he asked huskily. + +For this terrible, clear-eyed creature, this mocking mind, this alert, +cruel wit was actually speaking words of confidence. A great, dim joy +welled up in the heart of Bull Hunter. He shook the forelock out +of his eyes. + +"You just try, will you, Bull?" + +"I'll try!" + +He bowed. Again his thick fingers sought for a grip, found places, +worked down through the soft dirt and the pulpy bark to solid wood, +and then he began to lift. It was a gradual process. His knees gave, +sagging under the strain from the arms. Then the back began to grow +rigid, and the legs in turn grew stiff, as every muscle fell into +play. The shoulders pushed forward and down. The forearms, revealed by +the short sleeves, showed a bewildering tangle of corded muscle, and, +at the wrists, the tendons sprang out as distinct and white as the new +strings of a violin. + +The three spectators were undergoing a change. The suppressed grins of +the two brothers faded. They glanced at the girl to see if she were +not laughing at the results of her words to big Bull, but the girl was +staring. She had set that mighty power to work, and she was amazed by +the thing she saw. And they, looking back at Bull, were amazed in +turn. They had seen him lift great logs, wrench boulders from the +earth. But always it had been a proverb within the Campbell family +that Bull would make only one attempt and, failing in the first +effort, would try no more. They had never seen the mysterious +resources of his strength called upon. + +Now they watched first the settling and then the expansion of the body +of their big cousin. His shoulders began to tremble; they heard deep, +harsh panting like the breathing of a horse as it tugs a ponderous +load up a hill, and still he had not reached the limit of his power. +He seemed to grow into the soil, and his feet ground deeper into the +soft dirt, and ever there was something in him remaining to be tapped. +It seemed to the brothers to be merely vast, unexplored recesses of +muscle, but even then it was a prodigious thing to watch the strain on +the stump increase moment by moment. That something of the spirit was +being called upon to aid in the work was quite beyond their +comprehension. + +There was something like a groan from Bull--a queer, animal sound that +made all three spectators shiver where they stood. For it showed that +the limit of that apparently inexhaustible strength had been reached +and that now the anguish of last effort was going into the work. They +saw the head bowed lower; the shoulders were now bunching and swelling +up on either side. + +Then came a faint rending sound, like cloth slowly torn. It was +answered by something strangely like a snarl from the laborer. +Something jerked through his body as though a whip had been flicked +across his back. With a great rending and a loud snap the big stump +came up. A little shower of dirt spouted up with the parting of the +taproot. The trunk was flung high, but not out of the hands of Bull +Hunter. He whirled it around his head, laughing. There was a ring and +clearness in that laughter that they had never heard before. He dashed +the stump on the ground. + +"It's out!" exclaimed Bull. "Look there!" + +He strode upon them. As he straightened up he became huger than ever. +They shrank from him--from the veins which still bulged on his +forehead and from the sweat and pallor of that vast effort. The very +mustang winced from this mountain of a man who came with a long, +sweeping, springing stride. On his face was a strange joy as of the +explorer who tops the mountains and sees the beauty of the promised +land beneath him. He held out his hand. + +"Lady, I got to thank you. You--taught me how!" + +But she shrank from his outstretched hand--as though she had labored +to a larger end than she dreamed and was terrified by the thing +she had made. + +"You--you got a red stain on your hands. Oh!" + +He came to a stop sharply. The sharp edges, where the roots had been +cut away had worked through the skin and his hands were literally +caked with mud and stained red. Bull looked down at his hands vaguely. + +It came to Harry that Bull was taking up a trifle too much of Jessie's +attention. The next thing they knew she would be inviting him to come +to the next dance down her way, and they would have the big hulk of a +man shaming himself and his uncle's family. + +"Go on back to the house," he ordered sharply. "We don't have no more +need of you." + +Bull obeyed, stumbling along and still looking down at his wounded +hands. + + + + +CHAPTER 2 + + +He left the three behind him, bewildered and frightened. Had lightning +split a thick tree beside them, or an unexpected landslide thundered +past and swept the ground away at their feet, they could have been +hardly more disturbed. + +"Who'd of thought he could act like that!" remarked Joe. "My gosh, +Jessie!" + +They went and looked at the hole where the stump had stood. At the +bottom was the white remnant of the taproot where it had burst under +the strain. + +"It wasn't so much how he pulled up the stump," said the girl faintly. +"But--but did you see his face, boys, after he heaved the stump up? +I--just pick that stump up, will you?" + +They went to the misshapen, ragged monster and lifted it, puffing +under the weight. + +"All right." + +They dropped it obediently. + +"And he--he just swung it around his head like it was nothing!" +declared the girl. "Look how it smashed into the gravel where he threw +it down! Why--why--I didn't know men was made like that. And his +face--the way he laughed--why he didn't look like no fool at all, +boys. But just as if he'd waked up!" + +"You act so interested," said Harry Campbell dryly, "that maybe you'd +like to have us call him out again so's you can talk to him?" + +Apparently she did not hear, but stared down into the mist of the late +afternoon, warning her that she must start home. She seemed puzzled +and a little frightened. When she left them it was with a wave of the +hand and with no words of farewell. They watched her go down the trail +that jerked back and forth across the pitch of the slope; twice her +pony stumbled, a sure sign that the rider was absent-minded. + +"Jessie didn't seem to know what to make of it," said Harry. + +"Neither do I," returned his brother. + +Both of them spoke in subdued voices as if they were afraid of being +overheard. + +"And think if he'd ever lay a hold on one of us like that!" said +Harry. He went to the stump and examined the side of one of the roots. +It was stained with crimson. + +"Look where his finger tips worked through the dirt and the bark, +right down to the solid wood," murmured Joe. + +They looked at each other uneasily. "My gosh," said Joe, "think of the +way I handled him the other night! He--he let me trip him up and throw +him!" He shuddered. "Why, if he'd laid hold of me just once, he'd of +squashed my muscles like they was rotten fruit!" + +Of one accord they turned back to the house. At the door they paused +and peered in, as into the den of a bear. There sat Bull on the +floor--he risked his weight to none of the crazy chairs--still looking +at his stained hands. Then they drew back and again looked at each +other with scared eyes and spoke in undertones. + +"After this maybe he won't want to follow orders. Maybe he'll get sort +of free and easy and independent." + +"If he does, you watch Dad give him his marching orders. Dad won't +have no one lifting heads agin' him." + +"Neither will I," snapped Joe. "I guess we own this house. I guess we +support that big hulk. I'm going to try him right quick." + +He went back to the door of the shack. "Bull, they ain't any wood for +the stove tonight. Go chop some quick." + +The floor squeaked and groaned under Bull's weight as he rose, and +again the brothers looked to each other. + +"All right," came cheerily from Bull Hunter. + +He came through the door with his ax and went to the log pile. The +brothers watched him throw aside the top logs and get at the heavier +trunks underneath. He tore one of these out, laid it in place, and the +sun flashed on the swift circle of the ax. Joe and Harry stepped back +as though the light had blinded them. + +"He didn't never work like that before," declared Joe. + +The ax was buried almost to the haft in the tough wood, and the steel +was wrenching out with a squeak of the metal against the resisting +wood. Again the blinding circle and the indescribable sound of the +ax's impact, slicing through the wood. A great chip snapped up high +over the shoulder of the chopper and dropped solidly to the ground at +the feet of the brothers. Again they exchanged glances and drew a +little closer together. The log divided under the shower of eating +blows, and Bull attacked the next section. + +Presently he came to a pause, leaning on the handle of the ax and +staring into the distance. At this the brothers sighed with relief. + +"I guess he ain't changed so much," said Harry. "But it was queer, eh? +Kind of like a bear waking up after he'd been sleeping all winter!" + +They jarred Bull out of his dream with a shout and set him to work +again; then they started the preparations for the evening meal. The +simple preparations were soon completed, but after the potatoes were +boiled, they delayed frying the bacon, for their father, old Bill +Campbell, had not yet returned from his hunting trip and he disliked +long-cooked food. Things had to be freshly served to suit Bill, and +his sons dared the wrath of heaven rather than the biting reproaches +of the old man. + +It was strange that Bill delayed his coming so long. As a rule he was +always back before the coming of evening. An old and practiced +mountaineer, he had never been known to lose sense of direction or +sense of distance, and he was an hour overdue when the sun went down +and the soft, beautiful mountain twilight began. + +There were other reasons which would ordinarily have disturbed Bill +and brought him home even ahead of time. Snow had fallen heavily above +the timberline a few days before, and now the keen whistling of the +wind and the swift curtaining of clouds, which was drawing across the +sky, threatened a new storm that might even reach down to the shack. + +And yet no Bill appeared. + +The brothers waited in the shack, and the darkness was increasing. Any +one of a number of things might have happened to their father, but +they were not worried. For one thing, they wasted no love on the stern +old man. They knew well enough that he had plenty of money, but he +kept them here to a dog's life in the shack, and they hated him for +it. Besides, they had a keen grievance which obscured any worry about +Bill--they were hungry, wildly hungry. The darkness set in, and the +feeble light wandered from the smoked chimney of the lantern and made +the window black. + +Outside, the wind began to scream, sighing in the distance among the +firs, and then pouncing upon the cabin and shaking it as though in +rage. The fire would smoke in the stove at every one of these blasts, +and the flame leaped in the lantern. + +Bull Hunter had to lean closer to the light and frown to make out the +print of his book. The sight of his stolid immobility merely sharpened +their hunger, for there was never any passion in this hulk of a man. +When he relaxed over a book the world went out like a snuffed candle +for him. He read slowly, lingering over every page, for now and again +his eyes drifted away from the print, and he dreamed over what he had +read. In reality he was not reading for the plot, but for the pictures +he found, and he dreaded coming to the end of a book also, for books +were rare in his life. A scrap of a magazine was a treasure. A full +volume was a nameless delight. + +And so he worked slowly through every paragraph and made it his and +dreamed over it until he knew every thought and every picture by +heart. Once slowly devoured in this way, it was useless to reread a +book. It was far better to simply sit and let the slow memory of it +trail through his mind link by link, just as he had first read it and +with all the embroiderings which his own fancy had conjured up. + +Often this stupid pondering over a book would madden the two brothers. +It irritated them till they would move the lantern away from him. But +he always followed the light with a sigh and uncomplainingly settled +down again. Sometimes they even snatched the book out of his hands. In +that case he sat looking down at his empty fingers, dreaming over his +own thoughts as contentedly as though the living page were in his +vision. There was small satisfaction in tormenting him in these ways. + +Tonight they dared not bother him. The stained hands were still in +their minds, and the tremendous, joyous laughter as he whirled the +stump over his head still rang in their ears. But they watched him +with a sullen envy of his immobility. Just as a man without an +overcoat envies the woolly coat of a dog on a windy December day. + +Only one sound roused the reader. It was a sudden loud snorting from +the shed behind the house and a dull trampling that came to him +through the noise of the rising wind. It brought Bull lurching to his +feet, and the stove jingled as his weight struck the yielding center +boards of the floor. Out into the blackness he strode. The wind shut +around him at once and plastered his clothes against his body as if he +had been drenched to the skin in water. Then he closed the door. + +"What brung him to life?" asked Harry. + +"Nothin', He just heard ol' Maggie snort. Always bothers him when +Maggie gets scared of something--the old fool!" + +Maggie was an ancient, broken-down draft horse. Strange vicissitudes +had brought her up into the mountains via the logging camp. She was +kept, not because there was any real hauling to be done for Bill +Campbell, but because, having got her for nothing, she reminded him of +the bargain she had been. And Bull, apparently understanding the +sluggish nature of the old mare by sympathy of kind, use to work her +to the single plow among the rocks of their clearing. Here, every +autumn, they planted seed that never grew to mature grain. But that +was Bill Campbell's idea of making a home. + +Presently Bull came back and settled with a slump into his old place. + +"Going to snow?" asked Harry. + +"Yep." + +"Feel it in the wind?" + +It was an old joke among them, for Bull often declared with ridiculous +solemnity that he could foretell snow by the change in the air. + +"Yep," answered Bull, "I felt the wind." + +He looked up at them, abashed, but they were too hungry to waste +breath with laughter. They merely sneered at him as he settled back +into his book. And, just as his head bowed, a far shouting swept down +at them as the wind veered to a new point. + +"Uncle Bill!" said Bull and rose again to open the door. + +The others wedged in behind his bulk and stared into the blackness. + + + + +CHAPTER 3 + + +They stood with the wind taking them with its teeth and pressing them +heavily back. They could hear the fire flare and flutter in the stove; +then the wind screamed again, and the wail came down to them. + +"Uncle Bill!" repeated Bull and, lowering his head, strode into the +storm. + +The others exchanged frightened glances and then followed, but not +outside of the shaft of light from the door. In the first place it was +probably not their father. Who could imagine Bill shouting for help? +Such a thing had never been dreamed of by his worst enemies, and they +knew that their father's were legion. Besides it was cold, and this +was a wild-goose chase which meant a chilled hide and no gain. + +But, presently, through the darkness they made out the form of a +horseman and the great bulk of Bull coming back beside him. Then they +ran out into the night. + +They recognized the hatless, squat figure of their father at once, +even in the dark, with the wind twitching his beard sideways. When +they called to him he did not speak. Then they saw that Bull was +leading the horse. + +Plainly something was wrong, and presently they discovered that Bill +Campbell was actually tied upon his horse. He gave no orders, and they +cut the ropes in silence. Still he did not dismount. + +"Bull," he commanded, "lift me off the hoss!" + +The giant plucked him out of the saddle and placed him on the ground, +but his legs buckled under him, and he fell forward on his face. Any +of the three could have saved him, but the spectacle of the terrible +old man's helplessness benumbed their senses and their muscles. + +"Carry me in!" said Bill at last. + +Bull lifted him and bore him gingerly through the door and placed him +on the bunk. The light revealed a grisly spectacle. Crimson stains and +dirt literally covered him; his left leg was bandaged below the knee; +his right shoulder was roughly splinted with small twigs and +swathed in cloth. + +The long ride, with his legs tied in place, had apparently paralyzed +his nerves below the hips. He remained crushed against the wall, his +legs falling in the odd position in which they were put down by Bull. +It was illustrative of his character that, even in this crisis, not +one of the three dared venture an expression of sympathy, a question, +a suggestion. + +Crumpled against the wall, his head bowed forward and cramped, the +stern old man still controlled them with the upward glance of his eyes +through the shag of eyebrows. + +"Gimme my pipe," he commanded. + +Three hands reached for it--pipe, tobacco, matches were proffered to +him. Before he accepted the articles he swept their faces with a +glance of satisfaction. Without attempting to change the position +which must have been torturing him, he filled the pipe bowl, his +fingers moving as if he had partially lost control of them. He filled +it raggedly, shreds of tobacco hanging down around the bowl. He bent +his head to meet the left hand which he raised with difficulty, then +he tried to light a match. But he seemed incapable of moving the +sulphur head fast enough to bring it to a light with friction. Match +after match crumbled as he continued his efforts. + +"Here, lemme light a match for you, Dad!" + +Harry's offer was received with a silent curling of the lips and a +glint of the yellow teeth beneath that made him step back. The old man +continued his work. There were a dozen wrecked matches before the +blood began to stir in his numbed arm and he was able to light the +match and the pipe. He drew several breaths of the smoke deep into his +lungs. For the moment the savage, hungry satisfaction changed his +face; they could tell by that alteration what agonies he had been +suffering before. + +Presently he frowned and set about changing his position with infinite +labor. The left leg was helpless, and so was the right arm. Yet, after +much labor, he managed to stuff a roll of the blankets into the corner +and then shift himself until his back rested against this support. But +his strength deserted him again. His pipe was dropped down in the left +hand, his head sagged back. + +Still they dared not approach him. His two sons stood about, shifting +from one foot to another, as if they expected a blow to descend upon +them at any moment, as if each labored movement of terrible old Bill +Campbell caused them the agony which he must be suffering. + +As for Bull Hunter, he sat again on the floor, his chin dropped upon +his great fist, and wondered for a time at his uncle. It was the +second great event to him, all in one day. First he had discovered +that by fighting a thing, one can actually conquer. Second, he +discovered that great fighter, his uncle, had been beaten. The +impossible had happened twice between one sunrise and sunset. + +But men and the affairs of men could not hold his eye overlong. +Presently he dropped his head again and was deep in the pages of his +book. At length Bill Campbell heaved up his head. It was to glare into +the scared faces of his sons. + +"How long are you goin' to keep me waiting for food?" + +The order snapped them into action. They sprang here and there, and +presently the thick slices of bacon were hissing on the pan, and the +clouds of bacon smoke wafted through the cabin. When they reached Bill +Campbell he blinked. Pain had given him a maddening appetite, yet he +puffed steadily on his pipe and said nothing. + +The tin plate of potatoes and bacon was shoved before him, and the big +tin cup of coffee. The three younger men sat in silence and devoured +their own meal; the two sons swiftly, but Bull Hunter fell into +musings, and part of his food remained uneaten. Then his glance +wandered to his uncle and saw a thing to wonder at--a horrible thing +in its own way. + +The nerveless left hand of the mountaineer, which had barely possessed +steadiness to light a match, was far too inaccurate to handle a fork; +and Bull saw his uncle stuffing his mouth with his fingers and daring +the others to watch him. + +Something like pity came to Bull. It was so rare an emotion to connect +with human beings that he hardly recognized it, for men and women, as +he knew them, were brilliant, clever creatures, perfectly at home in +the midst of difficulties that appalled him. But, as he watched the +old man feed himself like an animal, the emotion that rose in Bull was +the sadness he felt when he watched old Maggie stumbling among the +rocks. There was something wrong with the forelegs of Maggie, and she +was only half a horse when it came to going downhill on broken ground. +He had always thought of the great strength that once must have been +hers, and he pitied her for the change. He found himself pitying Uncle +Bill Campbell in much the same way. + +When Bill raised his tin cup he spilled scalding coffee on his breast. +The old man merely set his teeth and continued to glare his challenge +at the three. But not one of the three dared speak a word, dared make +an offer of assistance. + +What baffled the slow mind of Bull Hunter was the effort to imagine a +force so great that battle with it had reduced the invincible Campbell +to this shaken wreck of his old self. Mere bullets could tear wounds +in flesh and break bones; but mere bullets could not wreck the nerves +of a man so that his hand trembled as if he were drunk or hysterical +with weariness. + +He tried to work out this problem. He conceived a man of gigantic +size, vast muscles, inexhaustible strength. The power of a bear and +the swift cunning of a wild cat--such must have been the man who +struck down Uncle Bill and sent him home a shattered remnant of +his old self. + +There was another mystery. Why did the destroyer not finish his task? +Why did he take pity on Uncle Bill Campbell and bind up the wounds he +had himself made? Here the mind of Bull Hunter paused. He could not +pass the mysterious idea of another than himself pitying Uncle Bill. +It was pitying a hawk in the sky. + +Harry was taking away the dishes and throwing them in the little tub +of lukewarm water where the grease would be carelessly soused +off them. + +"Did you get up that stump?" asked Uncle Bill suddenly. + +There was a familiar ring in his voice. Woe to them if they had not +carried out his orders! All three of the young men quaked, and Bull +laid aside his book. + +"We done it," answered Joe in a quavering voice. + +"You done it?" asked Bill. + +"We--we dug her pretty well clear, then Bull pulled her up." + +Some of the wrath ebbed out of the face of Bill as he glanced at the +huge form of Bull. "Stand up!" he ordered. + +Bull arose. + +The keen eye of the old man went over him from head to foot slowly. +"Someday," he said slowly, speaking entirely to himself. +"Someday--maybe!" + +What he expected from Bull "someday" remained unknown. The dishwashing +was swiftly finished. Then Uncle Bill made a feeble effort to get off +his boots, but his strength had been ebbing for some time. His sons +dared not interfere as the old man leaned slowly over and strove to +tug the boot from his wounded leg; but Bull remembered, all in a flood +of tenderness, some half-dozen small, kind things that his uncle had +said to him. + +That was long, long ago, when the orphan came into the Campbell +family. In those days his stupidity had been attributed largely to the +speed with which he had grown, and he was expected to become normally +bright later on; and in those days Bill Campbell occasionally let fall +some gentle word to the great boy with his big, frightened eyes. And +the half-dozen instances came back to Bull in this moment. + +He stepped between his cousins and laid his hand on the foot of his +uncle. It brought a snarl from the old man, a snarl that made Bull +straighten and step back, but he came again and put aside the shaking +hand of Uncle Bill. His cousins stood at one side, literally quaking. +It was the first time that they had actually seen their father defied. +They saw the huge hand of Bull settle around the leg of their father, +well below the wound and then the grip closed to avoid the danger of +opening the wound when the boot was worked off. After this he pulled +the tight riding boot slowly from the swollen foot. + +Uncle Bill was no longer silent. The moment the big hand of his nephew +closed over his leg he launched a stream of curses that chilled the +blood and drove his own sons farther back into the shadow of the +corner. He demanded that they stand forth and tear Bull limb from +limb. He disinherited them for cowardice. He threatened Bull with a +vengeance compared with which the thunderbolt would be a feeble flare +of light. He swore that he was entirely capable of taking care of +himself, that he would step down into his grave sooner than be nursed +and petted by any living human being. + +All the while, the great Bull leaned impassively over the wounded man +and finally worked the boot free. That was not all. Uncle Bill had +slipped over until he could reach a billet of wood beside his bunk. He +struck at Bull's head with it, but the stick was brushed out of his +palsied fingers with a single gesture, and, while Uncle Bill groaned +with fury and impotence, Bull continued the task of preparing him for +bed. He straightened the old body of the terrible Campbell; he heated +water in the tub and washed away stains and dirt; he took off the +stained bandages and replaced them with clean ones. + +His cousins helped in the latter part of this work. Weakness had +reduced Uncle Bill to speechlessness. Finally the head of Bill +Campbell was laid on a double fold of blanket in lieu of a pillow. A +pipe had been tamped full and lighted by Bull and--crowning +insult--set between Bill's teeth. When all this was accomplished Bull +retired to his corner, picked up his book, and was instantly absorbed. + +In the hushed atmosphere it seemed that a terrible blow had fallen, +and that another was about to fall. Harry and Joe were as men stunned, +but they looked upon their father with a gathering complacency. They +had found it demonstrated that it was possible to disobey their father +without being instantly destroyed. They were taking the lesson to +heart. And indeed old Bill Campbell himself seemed to be slowly +admitting that he was beaten. + +The illusion of absolute self-sufficiency, which he had built up +through the years for the sake of imposing upon his sons and Bull +Hunter, was now destroyed. At a single stroke he had been exposed as +an old man, already beaten in battle by a foeman and now requiring as +much care as a sick woman. The shame of it burned in him; but the +comfort of the smoothed bunk and the filled pipe between his teeth was +a blessing. He found to his own surprise that he was not hating Bull +with a tithe of his usual vigor. He began to realize that he had come +to the end of his period of command. When he left that sickbed he +could only advise. + +As a king about to die he looked at his heirs and found them strong +and sufficient and pleasing to the eye. Nowhere in the mountains were +there two boys as tall, as straight, as deadly with rifle and +revolver, as fierce, as relentless, as these two boys of his. He had +sharpened their tempers, and he rejoiced in the sullen ferocity with +which they looked at him now, unloving, cunning, biding their time and +finding that it had almost come. But he was not yet done. His body was +wrecked; there remained his mind, and they would find it a great +power. But he did not talk until the lights had been put out and the +three youths were in their separate bunks. Then, without the light to +show them his helpless body, in the darkness, which would give his +mind a freer play, he began to tell his story. + +It was a long narrative. Far back in the years he had prospected with +a youth named Pete Reeve. They had located a claim and they had gone +to town together to celebrate. In the celebration he had drunk with +Reeve till the boy stupefied. Then he had induced Reeve to gamble for +his share of the claim and had won it. Afterward Pete swore to be even +with him. But the years had gone by without another meeting of +the men. + +Only today, riding through the mountains, he had come on a dried-up +wisp of a man with long, iron-gray hair, a sharp, withered face, and +hands like the claws of a bird. He rode a fine bay gelding, and had +stopped Bill to ask some questions about the region above the +timberline because he was drifting south and intended to cross the +summits. Bill had described the way, and suddenly, out of their talk, +came the revelation of their identities--the one was Bill Campbell, +the other was Pete Reeve. + +At this point in the story Bull heaved himself slowly, softly up on +one arm to listen. He was beginning to get the full sense of the words +for the first time. This narrative was like a book done in a +commoner language. + + + + +CHAPTER 4 + + +The tale halted. To be defeated is one thing; to be forced to confess +defeat is another. Uncle Bill determined on the bitterer alternative. + +"He made a clean fight," declared Uncle Bill. "First he cussed me out +proper. Then he went for his gat and he beat me to the draw. They +ain't no disgrace to that. You'll learn pretty soon that anybody might +get beaten sooner or later--if he fights enough men. And my gun hung +in the leather. Before I got it on him he'd shot me clean through the +right shoulder--a placed shot, boys. He wanted to land me there. It +tumbled me off my hoss. I rolled away and tried to get to my gun that +had fallen on the ground. He shot me ag'in through the leg and +stopped me. + +"Then he got off his hoss and fixed up the wounds. He done a good job, +as you seen. 'Bill' says he, 'you ain't dead; you're worse'n dead. +That right arm of yours is going to be stiff the rest of your days. +You're a one-armed man from now on, and that one arm is the worst +you got.' + +"That was why he sent me home alive. To make me live and keep hating +him, the same's he'd lived and hated me. But he made a mistake. Pete +Reeve is a wise fox, but he made one mistake. He forgot that I might +have somebody to send on his trail. He didn't know that I had two boys +I'd raised so's they was each better with a gun nor me. He didn't +dream of that, curse him! But when you, Harry, or you, Joe, pump the +lead into him, shoot him so's he'll live long enough to know who +killed him and why!" + +As he spoke, there was a quality in his voice that seemed to find the +boys in the darkness and point each of them out. "Which of you takes +the trail?" + +A little silence followed. Bull wondered at it. + +"He's gone by way of Johnstown," continued the wounded man. "If one of +you cuts across the summit toward Shantung he's pretty sure to cut in +across Pete's trail. Which is goin' to start? Well, you can match for +the chance! Because him that comes back with Pete Reeve marked off the +slate is a man!" + +That chilly little silence made Bull's heart beat. To be called a man, +to be praised by stern Bill Campbell--surely these were things to make +anyone risk death! + +"Is that the Pete Reeve," said Harry's voice, "that shot up Mike +Rivers over the hill to the Tompkins place, about four year back?" + +"That's him. Why?" + +Again the silence. Then Bull heard the old man cursing +softly--meditatively, one might almost have said. + +"Cut across for Johnstown," said Joe softly, "in a storm like this? +They won't be no trails left to find above the timberline. It'd be +sure death. Listen!" + +There was a lull in the wind, and in the breeze that was left, they +could hear the whisper of the snow crushing steadily against +the window. + +"It's heavy fall, right enough," declared Harry. + +"And this Pete Reeve--why, he's a gunfighter, Dad." + +"And what are you?" asked the old man. "Ain't I labored and slaved all +my life to make you handy with guns? What for d'you think I wasted all +them hours showin' you how to pull a trigger and where to shoot and +how to get a gun out of the leather?" + +"To kill for meat," suggested Harry. + +"Meat, nothing! The kind of meat I mean walks on two feet and fights +back." + +"Maybe, if we started together--" ventured Joe. + +His father broke in, "Boy, I ain't going to send out a pack of men to +run down Pete Reeve. He met me single and he fought me clean, and he's +going to be pulled down by no pack of yaller dogs! Go one of you alone +or else both of you stay here." + +He waited, but there was no response. "Is this the way my blood is +showin' up in my sons? Is this the result of all my trainin'?" + +After that there was no more talk. The long silence was not broken by +even the sound of breathing until someone began to snore. Then Bull +knew that the sleep of the night had settled down. + +He lay with his hands folded behind his head, thinking. They were +willing enough to go together to do this difficult thing. But had they +not lifted together at the stump and failed to do the thing which he +had done single-handed? That thought stuck in his memory and would not +out. And suppose he, Bull, were to accomplish this great feat and +return to the shack? Would not Bill Campbell feel doubly repaid for +the living he had furnished for his nephew? More than once the grim +old man had cursed the luck that saddled him with a stupid incubus. +But the curses would turn to compliments if Bull left this little man, +this catlike and dangerous fighter, this Pete Reeve, dead on +the trail. + +Not that all this was clear in the mind of Bull, but he felt something +like a command pushing him on that difficult south trail, through the +storm and the snow that would now be piling above the timberline. He +waited until there was no noise but the snoring of the sleepers and +the rush and roar of the wind which continually set something stirring +in the room. These sounds served to cover effectually any noises he +made as he felt about and made up his small pack. His old canvas coat, +his most treasured article of apparel, he took down from the hook +where it accumulated dust from month to month. His ancient, secondhand +cartridge belt with the antiquated revolver he removed from another +hook--he had never been given enough ammunition to become a shot of +any quality--and he pushed quickly into the night. + +The moment he was through the door, the storm caught him in the face a +stinging blow, and the rush of snow chilled his skin. That stinging +blow steadied to a blast. It was a tremendous, heavy fall. The wind +had scoured the drifts from the clearing and was already banking them +around the little house. In the morning, as like as not, the boys +would have to dig their way out. + +He went straight to the horse shed for his snowshoes that hung on the +wall there. Ordinary snowshoes would not endure his ponderous weight, +and Uncle Bill Campbell had fashioned these himself, heavy and +uncomfortable articles, but capable of enduring the strain. + +Fumbling his way down behind the stalls, Bill's roan lashed out at him +with savage heels; but Maggie, the old draft horse, whinnied softly, +greeting that familiar heavy step. He tied the snowshoes on his back +and then stopped for a last word to Maggie. She raised her head and +dropped it clumsily on his shoulder. She was among the little, agile +mountain ponies what he was among men, and their bulk had rendered +each of them more or less helpless. There seemed to be a mute +understanding between them, and it was never more apparent than when +Maggie whinnied gently in his ear. He stroked her big, bony head, a +lump forming in his throat. If the bullets of little Pete Reeve +dropped him in some far-off trail, the old-broken-down horse would be +the only living creature that would mourn for him. + +Outside, the night and the storm swallowed him at once. Before he had +gone fifty feet the house was out of sight. Then, entering the forest +of balsam firs, the force of the wind was lessened, and he made good +time up the first part of the grade. There would probably be no use +for the snowshoes in this region of broken shrubbery before he came to +the timberline. + +He swept on with a lengthening stride. He knew this part of the +country like a book, of course, and he seldom stumbled, save when he +came out into a clearing and the wind smote at him from an unexpected +angle. In one of these clearings he stopped and took stock of his +position. Far away to the west and the south, the head of Scalped +Mountain was lost in dim, rushing clouds. He must make for that goal. + +Progress became less easy almost at once. The trees that grew in this +elevated region were not tall enough to act as wind breaks; they were +hardly more than shrubs a great deal of the time, and merely served to +force him into detours around dense hedges. Sometimes, in a clearing, +he found himself staggering to the knees in a compacted drift of snow; +sometimes an immense sheet of snow was picked up by the wind and flung +in his face like a blanket. + +Indeed the cold and the snow were nothing compared with the wind. It +was now reaching the proportions of a westerly storm of the first +magnitude. Off the towering slopes above, it came with the chill of +the snow and with flying bits of sand, scooped up from around the base +of trees, or with a shower of twigs. Many a time he had to throw up +his arms across his face before he leaned and thrust on into the teeth +of the blast. + +But he was growing accustomed to seeing through this veil of snow and +thick darkness. All things were dreamlike in dimness, of course, but +he could make out terrific cloud effects, as the clouds gushed over +the summit and down the slope a little way like the smoke of enormous +guns; and again a pyramid of mist was like a false mountain before +him, a mountain that took on movement and rushed to overwhelm him, +only to melt away and become simply a shadow among shadows above +his head. + +Once or twice before the dawn, he rested, not from weariness perhaps, +but from lack of breath, turning his back to the west and bowing his +head. Walking into the wind it had become positively difficult to +draw breath! + +Still it gained power incredibly. Up the side of Scalped Mountain it +was a steady weight pressing against him rather than a wind. And now +and then, when the weight relaxed, he stumbled forward on his knees. +For there was now hardly any shelter. He was approaching the +timberline where trees stand as high as a man and little higher. + +Dawn found him at the edge of the tree line. He flung himself on his +face, his head on his arms, to rest and wait until the treacherous +time of dawn should have passed. While the day grew steadily his heart +sank. He needed the rest, but the cold bit into him while he lay +extended, and the peril of the summit would be before him for his +march of the day. The wind mourned over him as if it anticipated his +defeat. Never had there been such wind, he thought. It screamed above +him. It dropped away in sudden lulls of more appalling silence. Then, +far off, he would hear a wave of the storm begin, wash across a crest, +thunder in a canyon, and then break on the timberline with a prolonged +and mighty roaring. Those giant approaches made him hold his breath, +and when the wave of confusion passed, he found himself often +breathless. + +Day came. He was on the very verge of the line with a dense fence of +stunted trees just before him and the wilderness of snow beyond, +sloping up to the crest, outlined in white against the solid gray sky. +The Spartans of the forest were around him--fir, pine, spruce, birch, +and trembling little aspens up there among the stoutest. All were of +one height, clean-shaven by the volleys of the wind-driven sand and +pebbles that clipped off any treetop that aspired above the mass. In +solid numbers was their salvation, and they grew dense as grass, two +feet high on the battlefront. They were carved by that wind, for all +storms came here out of the west, and the storm face of every tree was +denuded of branches. To the east the foliage streamed away. Even in +calm weather those trees spoke of storm. + +Bull Hunter sat up to put on his snowshoes. It was a white world below +him and above. Winter, which a day before had vanished, now came back +with a rush off the summits, where its snows were still piled. Again +the heart of the big man quaked. Down in the hollow, over that ridge, +was the house of the Campbells. They would be getting up now. Joe +would be making the fire, and Harry slicing the bacon. It made a +cheerful picture to Bull. He could close his eyes and hear the fire +snap and see the stove steam with smoke through every fissure before +the draft caught in the chimney. From the shed came the neigh of +Maggie, calling softly to him. + +He shook his head with a groan, stood up, and strode out of the timber +into the summit lands. It was a great desert. Never could it be +construed as a place for life. Even lichens were almost out of place +here, and what folly could lead a man across the shifting snows? But +to be called a man, to be admired in silence, to be asked for +opinions, to be deferred to--this was a treasure worth any price! He +bowed himself to the wind again and made for the summit with the +peculiar stride which a man must use with snowshoes. + +He dared not slacken his efforts now. The cold had been increasing, +and to pause meant peril of freezing. It was a highly electrified air, +and the result was a series of maddening mirages. He stumbled over +solid rocks where nothing seemed to be in his way; and again what +seemed a rock of huge size was nothing at all. Bull discovered that +what seemed firm ground beneath him, as he started to round a +precipice, might after all be the effect of the mirage. + +Added to this was another difficulty. As he wound slowly, about +midday, up the last reach, with the summit just above him, the wind +carried masses of cloud over the crest and into his face. He walked +alternately in a bewildering, driving fog and then in an air made +crazy with electricity. Again and again, from one side or the other, +he started when the storm boomed and cannonaded down a ravine and then +belched out into the open. All this time the babel of the winds +overhead never ceased, and the force of the storm cut up under him +with such violence that he was almost raised from the earth. + +Then an unexpected barrier obtruded--a literal mountain of ice was +before him. The snow of the recent fall had been whipped away, and the +surface of the mountain, here perilously steep, was now sleek and +solid with ice. Bull looked gloomily toward the summit so close above +him, and the ice glimmered in the dull light. There was only one way +to make even the attempt. He sat down, took off his snowshoes, +strapped them to his back, and began to work his way up the slope, +battering out each foothold with the head of his ax. It was possible +to ascend in this manner, but it would be practically impossible +to descend. + +Once committed to this way, he had either to go on to the summit, or +else perish. Working slowly, with little possible muscular exercise to +warm him, he began to grow chilled and the wind-driven cold numbed his +ears. But, more than that, the wind was now a grim peril, for, from +time to time, it swerved and leaped on him heavily from the side. +Once, off balance, he looked back at the dazzling slope below him. He +would be a shapeless mass of flesh long before he tumbled to +the bottom. + +Vaguely, as he hewed his footholds and worked his way up, he yearned +for the cleverness of Harry or the wit of Joe. What an ally either of +them would be! That he was undertaking a task from which either of +them would have shrunk in horror never occurred to him. Yonder, beyond +the summit, lay his destiny--Johnstown--and this was the way toward +it; it was a simple thing to Bull. He could no more vary from his +course than a magnetic needle can vary from its pole. + +Suddenly he came on a break in the solid face of the ice. Above him +was a narrow rift through the ice to the gravel beneath; how it was +made, Bull could not guess. But he took advantage of it. Presently he +was striding on toward the summit, beating his hands to restore the +circulation and gingerly rubbing his ears. + +There was a magical change as he reached the summit and sat down +behind some rocks to regain his breath and quiet his shaken nerves. +The clouds split apart in the zenith; the sun burst through; on both +sides the broad mountain billowed away to white lowlands; the air was +alive with little, brilliant spots of electricity. + +It cheered Bull Hunter vastly. The gale, which was tumbling the clouds +down the arch of the sky and toward the east, was more mighty than +ever, but he put his head down to it confidently and began +the descent. + + + + +CHAPTER 5 + + +There was more snow on this side, and to travel through it he soon +found that he must put on the snowshoes again; but after that the +descent was actually restful compared with the labors of the climb. +Yonder was the dark streak of the timberline again. Far down the +valley he watched it curving in and out along the mountainside like a +water level. Below was the darkness of the forest where other things +lived, and where Bull could live more easily, also. Never had trees +seemed such beautiful and friendly things to him. + +Once a thought stopped him completely. He was in a new world. He was +seeing everything for the first time. On other days he had gone out +with others. Under their guidance, not trusted to undertake an +expedition by himself, he looked at nothing until it was pointed out +to him, heard nothing that was not first called to his attention. He +had always wondered at the acuteness of the senses of all other men. +But now, looking on the mountains for himself, he decided, with a +start of the heart, that they were beautiful--beautiful and terrible +at once, with the reality that he had never found in his books. What +leveled spear of a knight, in the pages of romance, could equal the +invisible thrust of this wind? + +He reached the timberline. Looking back, he saw the summit, a +brilliant line of white against a blue sky. Again the heart of Bull +Hunter leaped. Here was a great treasure that he had taken in with one +grasp of the eyes and which he could never lose! + +He turned down the valley. Where it swerved out into the lower plain, +stood Johnstown, and there he was to cross the flight of Pete Reeve, +if Pete were indeed flying. But it was incredible that the man who had +struck down Uncle Bill Campbell should flee from any man or number +of men. + +He had reached the bottom of the narrow valley. A dull noise came down +to him from the mountain in the lull of the wind. He looked up. + +Far away, miles and miles, near the summit of Scalped Mountain, a +snaky form of mist was twisting swiftly down. He looked curiously. The +thing grew, traveling with great speed that increased with every +moment. It increased--it gained velocity--a snowslide! + +He watched it in doubt. It was twisting like a snake down the farther +side of the mountain, but, in his experience, slides were as +treacherous as serpents. Bull started hastily for a low cliff that +stood up from the floor of the valley, clear of the trees. + +He had not gone far when the wind fell away to a whisper, and a dull +roaring caught his ear. He looked back over his shoulder in alarm. A +great wall of white was shooting down the mountainside. The little +slide of surface snow, which had twisted across the surface of the old +snows of the winter, had been gaining in weight, in momentum, picking +up claws of shrubbery, teeth of stone, and eating through layer after +layer of the old snow, packed hard as ice. Now it was a roaring mass +with a front steadily increasing in height, and far away in the rear +it tossed up a tail of snow dust, a flying mist that gave Bull an +impression of speed greater than the main wall of the snow itself. + +The noise grew amazingly, and coming in range of the opposite wall of +the valley, a low and steadily increasing thunder poured into the ears +of Bull. It was a fascinating thing to watch, and at this distance to +the side he was quite safe. But at the very moment that he reached +this decision, the front of the slide smashed with a noise like +volleyed canyon against the side of a hill, tossed immense arms of +white in the air, floundered, and then veered with the speed of an +express train rounding a curve and rocked away down the slope straight +for Bull. Turned cold with dread, he saw it hit the timberline with a +great crashing, and the dark forms of the trees were dashed up by the +running mass of stones and then swallowed in the boiling front of +the slide. + +He waited to see no more, but dashed on for the saving cliff. Once his +back was turned it seemed that the slide gained speed. The immense +roaring literally leaped on him from behind, and in the roar, his +senses were drowned. He could feel his knees weaken and buckle, but +the cliff, now just before him, gave him fresh strength. But was the +cliff high enough? He hurried up to higher ground and flung himself +prostrate. The front of the slide was cutting down the heavily +forested slope as though the trees were blades of grass before a keen +scythe. The noise passed all description. + +Once he thought the mass was changing direction. It put out a massive +arm to the left, licked down five hundred trees at a gulp, and then, +smashing its fist into a hillside, flung back into the valley floor, +tossing the great trees in its top and poured straight at him. He +watched it in one of those dazes during which one sees everything. The +whole body came like water down a chute, but one part of the front +wall spilled out ahead and then another, and then the top, overtaking +the rest, toppled crashing to the bottom. And so it rushed out of +sight beneath the cliff. But would it wash over the top? + +The first answer was an impact that shook the ground under him, and +then he heard a noise like a huge ripping explosion. A dozen lofty +geysers of snow streamed up into the air, dazzling against the sun, +misty at the edges of each column, whose center was solid tons and +tons of snow. Old pines and spruces, their branches shaved away in the +tumult of the slide, were picked up and hurled like javelins over the +cliff; a shower of fragments beat on the body of Bull; and then the +main mass of snow washed up over the edge of the cliff in a great +mound, and the slide was ended. + +He crawled slowly back to his feet. Far up the mountainside, beginning +in a point, the track of the slide swept down in a broadening scar, +black and raw, across forest and snow. Far down the valley the last +echoes of thunder were passing away to a murmur, and the valley floor, +beneath the cliff, was a mass of snow and tree trunks. + +Bull took off the snowshoes and climbed along the valley wall until he +could descend to the clear floor beneath him. Then he headed down +toward Johnstown. + +It was well past midday when he escaped the slide; it was the +beginning of night when, at the conclusion of that first heroic march, +he reached Johnstown. With hunger his stomach cleaved to his back, and +his knees were weak with the labor. + +Stamping through the snow to the hotel he asked the idlers around the +stove, "Has any of you gents seen a man named Pete Reeve pass through +this town?" + +They looked at him in amazement. He had closed the door behind him, +and now, with his battered hat pushed high on his head, he seemed +taller than the entrance--taller and as wide, a mountain of a man. The +efforts of the march had collected a continual frown on his forehead, +and as he peered about from face to face, no one for a moment was able +to answer, but each looked to his companion. + +It was the proprietor who answered finally. Talk was his commercial +medium and staff of life. "What sort of a looking man, captain?" + +Bull blinked at him. He was not used to honorary epithets such as +this, and he searched the face of the proprietor carefully to detect +mockery. To his surprise the other showed signs of what Bull dimly +recognized as fear. Fear of him--of Bull Hunter! + +"The way you look at me," said the other and laughed uneasily, "I +figure it's pretty lucky that I ain't this here Pete Reeve. That +so, boys?" + +The boys joined in the laughter, but they kept it subdued, their eyes +upon the giant at the door. He was leaning against the wall, and the +sight of his outspread hand was far from reassuring. + +But Bull went on to describe his man. "Not very big; hands like the +claws of a bird's; iron-gray hair; quick ways." That was Uncle Bill's +description. + +"Sure he's been here," said the owner. "I recognized him right off. He +was through about dusk. He came over the mountains and just got past +the summit, he said, before the storm hit. Lucky, eh?" He looked at +the battered coat of Bull. "Kind of appears like you mightn't of been +so lucky?" + +"Me?" asked Bull gently. "Nope. I was at the timberline on the other +side about daybreak today." + +There was a sudden and chilly silence; men looked at one another. +Obviously no man could have traveled that distance between dawn and +dark, but it was as well not to express disbelief to a man who could +tell a lie as big as his body. + +"I got to eat," said Bull. + +The proprietor jumped out of his chair. "I can fix you up, son." + +He led the way, Bull following with his enormous strides, and, as the +floor creaked under him, the eyes of the others jerked after him, +stride by stride. It was beginning to seem possible that this man had +done what he said he had done. When the door slammed behind him and +his steps went creaking through the room beyond, a mutter of a hum +arose around the stove. + +As a matter of fact it was the beginning of the great legend that was +finally to bulk around the name of the big man. And it was fitting +that the huge figure of Bull Hunter should have come upon the +attention of men in this way, descending out of the storm and the +mountains. + +That he had done something historic was far from the mind of Bull as +he stalked into the dining room. + +"You sit right down here," his host was saying, placing a chair at the +table. + +Bull tried the chair with his hand. It groaned and squeaked under the +weight. "Chairs don't seem to be made for me," he said simply. +"Besides I'm more used to sitting on the floor." He dropped to the +floor accordingly, with the effect of a small earthquake. The +proprietor stared, but he swallowed his astonishment. "What you'd like +to eat is something hearty, I figure." + +"What you got?" said Bull. + +"Well, Mrs. Jarney come in this morning with a dozen fresh eggs. Got +some prime bacon, too, and some jerky and--" + +"That dozen eggs," said Bull thoughtfully, "will start me, and then a +platter of bacon, and you might mix up a bowl of flapjacks. You ain't +got a quart or so of canned milk, partner?" + +The proprietor could only nod, for he dared not trust his voice. +Fleeing to the kitchen he repeated the prodigious order to his wife. +Then he circled by a back way and communicated the tidings to the +"boys" around the stove. + +"A couple of dozen eggs, he says to me, and a few pounds of beef and +three or four quarts of milk and a bowl of flapjacks and a platter of +bacon," was the way the second version of the historic order for food +came to the idlers. + +Half a dozen of the men risked the cold and the wind to steal around +to the side of the house and peer through the window at the huge, +bunched figure that sat on the floor. They found him with his chin +dropped upon the burly fist and a frown on his forehead, for Bull +was thinking. + +He would have been glad to have found Pete Reeve in Johnstown and have +the matter over with. But, after all, it was beginning to occur to him +that it might not be wise to kill the man in the presence of other +people. They might attempt to correct him with the assistance of a +rope and a limb of a tree. Somewhere he must cut in ahead of this +Reeve and start out at him if possible. As for his ability to keep +pace with a horse he had no doubt that he could do it fairly well. +More than once he had gone out on foot, while Harry and Joe rode, and +he had pressed the little ponies, bearing their riders slowly up and +down the slopes, to keep pace with him. On the level, of course, it +was a different matter, but in broken country he more than kept up. + +"Have you got a grudge agin' Reeve?" asked the host, as he brought in +the fried eggs. + +"Maybe," admitted Bull, and instantly he began to attack the food. + +The proprietor watched with a growing awe. No chinook ever ate snow as +this hungry giant melted food to nothingness. He came back with the +first stack of flapjacks and bacon and more questions. "But I'd think +that a gent like you'd be pretty careful about tangling with Pete +Reeve--him being so handy with a gun and you such a tolerable +big target." + +"I've figured that all out," said Bull calmly. "But they's so much of +me to kill that I don't figure one bullet could do the work. Do you?" + +The eyes of the proprietor grew large. He swallowed, and before he +could answer Bull continued in the exposition of his theory. "Before +he shoots the next shot, maybe I can get my hands on him." + +"You going to fight him bare hands agin' a gun?" + +"You see," said Bull apologetically, "I ain't much good with a gun, +but I feel sort of curious about what would happen if I got my grip +on a man." + +And that was the foundation on which another section of the Bull +Hunter legend was built. + + + + +CHAPTER 6 + + +The bed on which Bull Hunter reposed his bulk that night was not the +cot to which he was shown by his host. One glance at the spindling +wooden legs of the canvas-bottomed cot was enough for Bull, and having +wrapped himself in the covers he lay down on the floor and was +instantly asleep. + +While it was still dark, he wakened out of a dream in which Pete Reeve +seemed to be riding far--far away on the rim of the world. Ten minutes +later Bull was on the trail out of Johnstown. There was only one trail +for a horseman south of Johnstown, and that trail followed the +windings of the valley. Bull planned to push across the ragged peaks +of the Little Cloudy Mountains and head off the fugitive at +Glenn Crossing. + +Two days of stern labor went into the next burst. He followed the cold +stars by night and the easy landmarks by day, and for food he had the +stock of raisins he had bought at Johnstown. He came out of the +heights and dropped down into Glenn Crossing in the gloom of the +second evening. But raisins are meager support for such a bulk as that +of Bull Hunter. It was a gaunt-faced giant who looked in at the door +of the shop where the blacksmith was working late. The mechanic looked +up with a start at the deep voice of the stranger, but he managed to +stammer forth his tidings. Such a man as Pete Reeve had indeed been in +Glenn Crossing, but he had gone on at the very verge of day and night. + +Bull Hunter set his teeth, for there was no longer a possibility of +cutting off Pete Reeve by crossing country. The immense labors of the +last three days had merely served to put him on the heels of the +horseman, and now he must follow straight down country and attempt to +match his long legs against the speed of a fine horse. He drew a deep +breath and plunged into the night out of Glenn Crossing, on the south +trail. At least he would make one short, stiff march before the +weariness overtook him. + +That weariness clouded his brain ten miles out. He built a fire in a +cover of pines and slept beside it. Before dawn he was up and out +again. In the first gray of the daylight he reached a little store at +a crossroad, and here he paused for breakfast. A tousled girl, rubbing +the sleep out of her eyes, served him in the kitchen. The first +glimpse of the hollow cheeks and the unshaven face of Bull Hunter +quite awakened her. Bull could feel her watching him, as she glided +about the room. He sunk his head between his shoulders and glared down +at the table. No doubt she would begin to gibe at him before long. +Most women did. He prepared himself to meet with patience that +incredible sting and penetrating hurt of a woman's mockery. + +But there was no mockery forthcoming. The sun was still not up when he +paid his bill and hastened to the door of the old building. Quick +footsteps followed him, a hand touched his shoulders, and he turned +and looked suspiciously down into the face of the girl. It was a +frightened face, he thought, and very pretty. At some interval between +the time when he first saw her and the present, she had found time to +rearrange her hair and make it smooth. Color was pulsing in +her cheeks. + +"Stranger," she said softly, "what are you running away from?" + +The question slowly penetrated the mind of Bull; he was still +bewildered by the change in her--something electric, to be felt rather +than noted with the eye. + +"They ain't any reason for hurrying on," she urged. "I--I can hide +you, easy. Nobody could find where I'll put you, and there you can +rest up. You must be tolerable tired." + +There was no doubt about it. There was kindness as well as anxiety in +her voice. For the second time in his entire life, Bull decided that a +woman could be something more than an annoyance. She was placing a +value on him, just as Jessie, three days before, had placed a value on +him; and it disturbed Bull. For so many years, he had been mocked and +scorned by his uncle and cousins that deep in his mind was engraved +the certainty that he was useless. He decided to hurry on before the +girl found out the truth. + +"I can still walk," he said, "and, while I can walk, I got to go +south. But--you gimme heart, lady. You gimme a pile of heart to keep +going. Maybe"--he paused, uncertain what to say next, and yet +obviously she expected something more--"I'll get a chance to come back +this way, and if I do, I'll see you! You can lay to that--I'll +see you!" + +He was gone before she could answer, and he was wondering why she had +looked down with that sudden color and that queer, pleased smile. It +would be long before Bull understood, but, even without understanding, +he found that his heart was lighter and an odd warmth suffused him. + +The rising of the sun found him in the pale desert with the magic of +the hills growing distant behind him, and he settled to a different +step through the thin sand--a short, choppy step. His weight was +against him here, but it would be even a greater disadvantage to a +horseman, and with this in mind, he pressed steadily south. + +Every day on that south trail was like a year in the life of Bull. +Heat and thirst wasted him, the constant labor of the march hardened +his muscles, and he got that forward look about his eyes, which comes +with shadows under the lids and a constant frown on the forehead. It +was long afterward that men checked up his march from date to date and +discovered that the distance between the shack of Bill Campbell and +Halstead in the South was one hundred and fifty miles over bitter +mountains and burning desert, and that Bull Hunter had made the +distance in five days. + +All this was learned and verified later when Bull was a legend. When +he strode into Halstead on that late afternoon no one had ever heard +of the man out of the mountains. He was simply an oddity in a country +where oddities draw small attention. + +Yet a rumor advanced before Bull. A child, playing in the incredible +heat of the sun, saw the dusty giant heaving in the distance and ran +to its mother, frightened, and the worn-faced mother came to the porch +and shaded her eyes to look. She passed on the word with a call that +traveled from house to house. So that, when Bull entered the long, +irregular street of Halstead, he found it lined on either side by +children, old men, women. It was almost as though they had heard of +the thing he had come to do and were there to watch. + +Bull shrank from their eyes. He would far rather have slipped around +the back of the village and gone toward its center unobserved. A pair +of staring eyes to Bull was like the pointing of a loaded gun. He put +unspoken sentences upon every tongue, and the sentences were those he +had heard so often from his uncle and his uncle's sons. + +"Too big to be any good." + +"Bull's got the size of a hoss, and as a hoss he'd do pretty well, but +he ain't no account as a man." + +His life had been paved with such burning remarks as these. Many an +evening had been long agony to him as the three sat about and baited +him. He hurried down the street, the pulverized sand squirting up +about his heavy boots and drifting in a mist behind him. When he was +gone an old man came out and measured those great strides with his eye +and then stretched his legs vainly to cover the same marks. But this, +of course, Bull did not see, and he would not have understood it, had +he seen, except as a mockery. + +He paused in front of the hotel veranda, an awful figure to behold. +His canvas coat was rolled and tied behind his sweating shoulders; his +too-short sleeves had bothered him and they were now cut off at the +elbow and exposed the sun-blackened forearms; his overalls streamed in +rags over his scarred boots. He pushed the battered hat far back on +his head and looked at the silent, attentive line of idlers who sat on +the veranda. + +"Excuse me, gents," he said mildly. "But maybe one of you might know +of a little gent with iron-gray hair and a thin face and quick ways of +acting and little, thin hands." He illustrated his meaning by +extending his own huge paws. "His name is Pete Reeve." + +That name caused a sharp shifting of glances, not at Bull, but from +man to man. A tall fellow rose. He advanced with his thumbs hooked +importantly in the arm holes of his vest and braced his legs apart as +he faced Bull. The elevation of the veranda floor raised him so that +he was actually some inches above the head of his interlocutor, and +the tall man was deeply grateful for that advantage. He was, in truth, +a little vain of his own height, and to have to look up to anyone +irritated him beyond words. Having established his own superior +position, he looked the giant over from head to foot. He kept one eye +steadily on Bull, as though afraid that the big man might dodge out of +sight and elude him. + +"And what might you have to do with Pete Reeve?" he asked. "Mightn't +you be a partner of Pete's? Kind of looks like you was following him +sort of eager, friend." + +While this question was being asked, Bull saw that the line of idlers +settled forward in their chairs to hear the answer. It puzzled him. +For some mysterious reason these men disapproved of any one who was +intimately acquainted with Pete Reeve, it seemed. He looked blandly +upon the tall man. + +"I never seen Pete Reeve," said Bull apologetically. + +"Ah? Yet you're follerin' him hotfoot?" + +"I was aiming to see him, you know," answered Bull. + +The tall man regarded him with eyes that began to twinkle beneath his +frown. Then he jerked his head aside and cast at his audience a +prodigious wink. The cloudy eyes of Bull had assured him that he had +to do with a simpleton, and he was inviting the others in on the game. + +"You never seen him?" he asked gruffly, turning back to Bull. "You +expect me to believe talk like that? Young man, d'you know who I am?" + +"I dunno," murmured Bull, overawed and drawing back a pace. + +The action drew a chuckle from the crowd. Some of the idlers even rose +and sauntered to the edge of the veranda, the better to see the +baiting of the giant. His prodigious size made his timidity the +more amusing. + +"You dunno, eh?" asked the other. "Well, son, I'm Sheriff Bill +Anderson!" He waited to see the effect of this portentous +announcement. + +"I never heard tell of any Sheriff Bill Anderson," said Bull in the +same mild voice. + +The sheriff gasped. The idlers hastily veiled their mouths with much +coughing and clearing of the throat. It seemed that the tables had +been subtly turned upon the sheriff. + +"You!" exclaimed the sheriff, extending a bony arm. "I got to tell +you, partner, that I'm a pile suspicious. I'm suspicious of anybody +that's a friend of Pete Reeve. How long have you knowed him?" + +Bull was very anxious to pacify the tall man. He shifted his weight to +the other foot. "Something less'n nothing," he hastened to explain. "I +ain't never seen him." + +"And why d'you want to see him? What d'you know about him?" + +It flashed through the mind of Bull that it would be useless to tell +what he knew of Pete. Obviously nobody would believe what he could +tell of how Reeve had met and shot down Uncle Bill Campbell. For Bill +Campbell was a historic figure as a fighter in the mountain regions, +and surely his face must be bright even at this distance from his +home. That he could have walked beyond the sphere of Campbell's fame +in five days never occurred to Bull Hunter. + +"I dunno nothing good," he confessed. + +There was a change in the sheriff. He descended from the floor of the +veranda with a stiff-legged hop and took Bull by the arm, leading him +down the street. + +"Son," he said earnestly, walking down the street with Bull, "d'you +know anything agin' this Pete Reeve? I want to know because I got Pete +behind the bars for murder!" + +"Murder?" asked Bull. + +"Murder--regular murder--something he'll hang for. And if you got any +inside information that I can use agin' him, why I'll use it and I'll +be mighty grateful for it! You see everybody knows Pete Reeve. +Everybody knows that, for all these years, he's been going around +killing and maiming men, and nobody has been able to bring him up for +anything worse'n self-defense. But now I think I got him to rights, +and I want to hang him for it, stranger, partly because it'd be a +feather in my cap, and partly because it'd be doing a favor for every +good, law-abiding citizen in these parts. So do what you can to help +me, stranger, and I'll see that your time ain't wasted." + +There was something very wheedling and insinuating about all this +talk. It troubled Bull. His strangely obscure life had left him a +child in many important respects, and he had a child's instinctive +knowledge of the mental processes of others. In this case he felt a +profound distrust. There was something wrong about this sheriff, his +instincts told him--something gravely wrong. He disliked the man who +had started to ridicule him before many men and was now so +confidential, asking his help. + +"Sheriff Anderson," he said, "may I see this Reeve?" + +"Come right along with me, son. I ain't pressing you for what you +know. But it may be a thing that'll help me to hang Reeve. And if it +is, I'll need to know it. Understand? Public benefit--that's what I'm +after. Come along with me and you can see if Reeve's the man +you're after." + +They crossed the street through a little maelstrom of fine dust which +a wind circle had picked up, and the sheriff led Bull into the jail. +They crossed the tawdry little outer room with its warped floor +creaking under the tread of Bull Hunter. Next they came face to face +with a cage of steel bars, and behind it was a little gray man on a +bunk. He sat up and peered at them from beneath bushy brows, a +thin-faced man, extremely agile. Even in sitting up, one caught many +possibilities of catlike speed of action. + +Bull knew at once that this was the man he sought. He stood close to +the bars, grasping one in each great hand, and with his face pressed +against the steel, he peered at Pete Reeve. The other was very calm. + +"Howdy, sheriff," he said. "Bringing on another one to look over your +bear?" + + + + +CHAPTER 7 + + +The prisoner's good humor impressed Bull immensely. Here was a man +talking commonplaces in the face of death. A greater man than Uncle +Bill, he felt at once--a far greater man. It was impossible to +conceive of that keen, sharp eye and that clawlike hand sending a +bullet far from the center of the target. + +He gave his eyes long sight of that face, and then turned from the +bars and went out with the sheriff. + +"Is that your man?" asked the sheriff. + +"I dunno," said Bull, fencing for time as they stood in front of the +jail. "What'd he do?" + +"You mean why he's in jail? I'll tell you that, son, but first I want +to know what you got agin' him--and your proofs--mostly your proofs!" + +The distaste which Bull had felt for the sheriff from the first now +became overpowering. That he should be the means of bringing that +terrible and active little man to an end seemed, as a matter of fact, +absurd. Guile must have played a part in that capture. + +Suppose he were to tell the sheriff about the shooting of Uncle Bill? +That would be enough to convince men that Pete Reeve was capable of +murder, for the shooting of Uncle Bill had been worse than murder. It +spared the life and ruined it at the same time. But suppose he added +his evidence and allowed the law to take its course with Pete Reeve? +Where would be his own reward for his long march south and all the +pain of travel and the crossing of the mountains at the peril of his +life? There would be nothing but scorn from Uncle Bill when he +returned, and not that moment of praise for which he yearned. To gain +that great end he must kill Pete Reeve, but not by the aid of the law. + +"I dunno," he said to the sheriff who waited impatiently. "I figure +that what I know wouldn't be no good to you." + +The sheriff snorted. "You been letting me waste all this time on you?" +he asked Bull. "Why didn't you tell me that in the first place?" + +Bull scratched his head in perplexity. But as he raised the great arm +and put his hand behind his head, the sheriff winced back a little. +"I'm sorry," said Bull. + +The sheriff dismissed him with a grunt of disgust, and strode off. + +Bull started out to find information. This idea was growing slowly in +his mind. He must kill Pete Reeve, and to accomplish that great end he +must first free him from the jail. He went back to the hotel and went +into the kitchen to find food. The proprietor himself came back to +serve him. He was a pudgy little man with a dignified pointed beard of +which he was inordinately proud. + +"It's between times for meals," he declared, "but you being the +biggest man that ever come into the hotel, I'll make an exception." +And he began to hunt through the cupboard for cold meat. + +"I seen Pete Reeve," began Bull bluntly. "How come he's in jail?" + +"Him?" asked the other. "Ain't you heard?" + +"No." + +The little man sighed with pleasure; he had given up hope of finding a +new listener for that oft-told tale. "It happened last night," he +confided. "Along late in the afternoon in rides Johnny Strange. He +tells us he was out to Dan Armstrong's place when, about noon, a +little gray-headed man that give the name of Pete Reeve came in and +asked for chow. Of course Johnny Strange pricks up his ears when he +hears the name. We all heard about Pete Reeve, off and on, as about +the slickest gunman that the ranges ever turned out. So he looks Pete +over and wonders at finding such a little man." + +The proprietor drew himself up to his full height. "He didn't know +that size don't make the man! Well, Armstrong trotted out some chuck +for Reeve, and after Pete had eaten, Johnny Strange suggested a game. +They sat in at three-handed stud poker. + +"Things went along pretty good for Johnny. He made a considerable +winning. Then it come late in the afternoon, and he seen he'd have to +be getting back home. He offered to bet everything he'd won, or double +or nothing, and when the boys didn't want to do that, it give him a +clean hand to stand up and get out. He got up and said good-bye and +hung around a while to see how the next hands went. So far as he could +make out, Pete Reeve was losing pretty steady. Then he come on in. + +"Well, when Johnny Strange told about Pete being out there, Sheriff +Anderson was in the room and he rises up. + +"'Don't look good to me,' he says. 'If a gunfighter is losing money, +most like he'll fight to win it back. Maybe I'll go out and look that +game over.' + +"And saying that he slopes out of the room. + +"Well, none of us took much stock in the sheriff going out to take +care of Armstrong. You see Armstrong was the old sheriff, and he give +Anderson a pretty stiff run for his money last election. They both +been spending most of their time and energy the last few years hating +each other. When one of 'em is in office the other goes around saying +that the gent that has the plum is a crook; and then Anderson goes +out, and Armstrong comes in, and Anderson says the same thing about +Armstrong. Take 'em general and they always had the boys worried when +they was together, for fear of a gunfight and bullets flying. And so, +when Anderson stands up and says he's going out to see that Reeve +don't do no harm to Armstrong, we all sat back and kind of laughed. + +"But we laughed at the wrong thing. Long about an hour or so after +dark we hear two men come walking up on the veranda, and one of 'em we +knowed by the sound was the sheriff." + +"How could you tell by the sound?" asked Bull innocently. + +"Well, you see the sheriff always wears steel rims on his heels like +he was a horse. He's kind of close with his money is old Anderson, +I'll tell a man! We hear the ring of them heels on the porch, and +pretty soon in comes the sheriff, herding a gent in ahead of him. And +who d'you think that gent was? It was Reeve! Yes, sir, the old sheriff +had stepped out and grabbed his man. He wasn't there quick enough to +stop the killing of Armstrong, but he got there fast enough to nab +Reeve. Seems that when he was riding up to the house he heard a shot +fired, and then he seen a man run out of the house and jump on his +hoss, and the sheriff didn't stop to ask no questions. He just out +with his gat and drills the gent's hoss. And while Reeve was +struggling on the ground, with the hoss flopping around and dying, the +sheriff runs up and sticks the irons on Reeve. Then he goes into the +house and finds Armstrong lying shot through the heart. Clear as day! +Reeve loses a lot of money, and when it comes to a pinch he hates to +see that money gone when he could get it back for the price of one +slug. So he outs with his gun and shoots Armstrong. And the worst part +of it was that Armstrong didn't have no gun on at the time. The +sheriff found Armstrong's gun hanging on the wall along with his +cartridge belt. Yep, it was plain murder, and Pete Reeve'll hang as +high as the sky--and a good thing, too!" + +This story was a shock to Bull for a reason that would not have +affected most men. That a man who had had the courage to stand up and +face Uncle Bill in a fair duel should have been so cowardly, so +venomous as to take a mean advantage of a gambling companion seemed to +Bull altogether too strange to be reasonable. Certainly, if he had had +a difference with this fellow, thought Bull, Pete Reeve was the man to +let the other use his own weapons before he fought. But to shoot him +down across a table, unwarned--this was too much to believe! And yet +it was the truth, and Pete Reeve was to hang for it. + +The big man sat shaking his head. "And they found the money on Pete +Reeve?" he asked gloomily. "They found the money he took off this +Armstrong?" + +"There's the funny part of the yarn," said the proprietor glibly. +"Pete had the nerve to shoot the gent down in cold blood, but when he +seen him fall he lost his nerve. He didn't wait to grab the money, but +ran out and jumped on his hoss and tried to get away. So there you +are. But it pretty often happens that way! Take the oldest gunfighter +in the world, and, if his stomach ain't resting just right, it sort of +upsets him to see a crimson stain. I seen it happen that way with the +worst of 'em, and in the old days they used to be a rough crowd in my +barroom. They don't turn out that style of gent no more!" He sighed as +his mind flickered back into the heroic past. + +"And Reeve--he admits he done the killing?" Bull asked hopelessly. + +"Him? Nope, he's too foxy for that. But the only story he told was so +foolish that we laughed at him, and he ain't had the nerve to try to +bluff us ever since. He says that he was sitting peaceable with +Armstrong when all at once without no warning they was a shot from the +window--the east window, I remember he was particular to say--and +Armstrong dropped forward on the table, shot through the heart. + +"Reeve says that he didn't wait to ask no questions. He blew the +candle out, and having got the darkness on his side, he made a jump +through the door and got onto his hoss. He says that he wanted to +break away to the trees and try to get a shot at the murderer from +cover, but the minute he got onto his hoss, he had his hoss shot from +under him." + +"Was they any shots fired then?" + +"Yep. Reeve says that he fired a couple of times when he fell. But the +sheriff says that Reeve only fired once, as his hoss was falling, and +that the other shot that was found fired out of Reeve's gun was fired +into the heart of Armstrong. Oh, they ain't any doubt about it. All +Reeve has got is a cock-and-bull yarn that would make a fool laugh!" + +Although Bull had been many times assured by his uncle and his cousins +that he was a fool of the first magnitude, he was in no mood for +laughter. Somewhere in the tale there was something wrong, for his +mind refused to conjure up the picture of Reeve pulling his gun and +shooting across the table into the breast of a helpless, unwarned man. +That would not be the method of a man who could stand up to Uncle +Bill. That would not be the method of the man who had sat up on his +bunk and looked so calmly into the face of the sheriff. + +Bull stood up and dragged his hat firmly over his eyes. "I'd kind of +like to see the place where that shooting was done," he declared. + +"You got lots of time before night," said the proprietor. "Ain't +more'n a mile and a half out the north trail. Take that path right out +there, and you can ride out inside of five minutes." + +There was no horse for Bull Hunter to ride. But, having thanked his +host, he stepped out into the cooler sunshine of the late afternoon. + +The trail led through scattering groves of cottonwood most of the way, +for it was bottom land, partially flooded in the winter season of +rain, and, even in the driest and hottest part of the summer, marshy +in places. He followed the twisting little trail through spots of +shadow and stretches of open sky until he reached the shack which was +obviously that of the dead Armstrong. + +The moment he entered the little cabin he received proof positive. + +The furniture had not apparently been disturbed since the shooting. +The table still leaned crazily, as though it had not recovered from a +violent shock on one side. One chair was overturned. A box had been +smashed to splinters, probably by having someone put a foot +through it. + +Bull examined the deal table. Across the center of it there was a dark +stain, and on the farther side, two hands were printed distinctly into +the wood, in the same dull color. The whole scene rose revoltingly +distinct in the mind of Bull. + +Here sat Dan Armstrong playing his cheerful game, laughing and +jesting, because forsooth he was the winner. And there, on the +opposite side of the table, sat Pete Reeve, the guest in the house of +his host, growing darker and darker as the money was transferred from +his pocket to the pocket of the jovial Armstrong. Then, a sudden +taking of offense at some harmless jest, the cold flash of steel as +Reeve leaned and jumped to his feet, and then the explosion of the +revolver, with Armstrong settling slowly, limply forward on the table. +There he lay with a stream pouring across the table from the death +wound, his helpless arms outstretched on the wood. + +Then Reeve, panic-stricken, perhaps with a sudden stirring of remorse, +started for the door, struck the box on his way, smashing it to bits, +and as soon as he got outside, leaped for his horse. Luckily +retribution had overtaken the murderer in the very moment of escape. +Bull Hunter sighed. Never had the strength of the arm of the law been +so vividly brought home to him as by this incident. Suppose that he +had fulfilled his purpose and killed Reeve? Would not the law have +reached for him in the same fashion and taken and crushed him? + +He shuddered, and looking up from his broodings, he glanced through +the opposite window and saw that the woods were growing dark in that +direction. Night was approaching, and, with the feeling of night, +there was a ghostly sense of death, as though the spirit of the dead +man were returning to his old home. On the other side of the house, +however, the woods showed brighter. This was the east window--the east +window through which Reeve declared that the shot had been fired. + +Bull shook his head. He stepped out of the cabin and looked about. It +was a prosperous little stretch of meadow, cleared into the +cottonwoods and reclaiming part of the marshland--all very rich soil, +as one could see at a glance. There was a field which had been +recently upturned by the plow, perhaps the work of yesterday. The +furrows were still black, still not dried out by the sun. Today would +have been the time for harrowing, but that work was indefinitely +postponed by the grim visitor. No doubt this Armstrong was an +industrious man. The sense of a wasted life was brought home to Bull; +a bullet had ended it all! + +Absent-mindedly he passed around the side of the house and started for +the east window through which Reeve had said that the bullet was +fired, but he shook his head at once. + +On the east side the house leaned against a mass of white stone. It +rose high, rough, ragged. Certainly a man stalking a house to fire a +shot would never come up to it from this side! His own words were +convicting Reeve of the murder! + +Still he continued to clamber over the stones until he stood by the +window. To be sure, if a man stood there, he could easily have fired +into the room and into the breast of a man sitting on the far side of +the table. Armstrong was found there. Bull looked down to his feet as +a thoughtful man will do, and there, very clearly marked against the +white of the stone, he saw a dark streak--two of them, side by side. + +He bent and looked at them. Then he rubbed the places with his +fingertips and examined the skin. A stain had come away from the rock. +It was as if the rocks had been rubbed with lead or a soft iron. And +then, strangely, into the mind of Bull came the memory of what the +hotel man had said of the sheriff's iron-shod heels. + +The sheriff had gone for many a year hating Armstrong. The truth +rushed over the brain of the big man. What a chance for a crafty mind! +To kill his enemy and place the blame on the shoulders of one already +known to be a man-killer! Bull Hunter leaped from the rocks and +started back for the town with long, ground-devouring strides. + + + + +CHAPTER 8 + + +There were two reasons for the happiness which lightened the step of +Bull Hunter as he strode back for the town. In the first place he saw +a hope of liberating Reeve from jail and accomplishing his own mission +of killing the man. In the second place he felt a peculiar joy at the +thought of freeing such a man from the imputation of a cowardly murder. + +Yet he had small grounds for his hopes. Two little dark marks on the +white, friable stone, marks that the first small shower of rain would +wash away, marks that the first keen sandstorm would rub off--this was +his only proof. And with this to free one man from danger of the rope +and place the head of another under the noose--it was a task to try +the resources of a cleverer man than Bull. + +Indeed, the high spirits of Bull in some measure left him as he drew +nearer and nearer to the village. How could he convict the sheriff? +How, with his clumsy wits and his clumsy tongue, could he bring the +truth to light? Had he possessed the keen eyes of his uncle he felt +that a single glance would have made the guilt stand up in the face of +Anderson. But his own eyes, alas, were dull and clouded. + +Thoughtfully, with bowed head, he held his course. A strange picture, +surely, this man who so devoutly wished to free another from the +danger of the law in order that he might take a life into his own +hands. But the contrast did not strike home to Bull. To him everything +that he did was as clear as day. But how to go to work? If the man +were like himself it would be an easy matter. More than once he +remembered how his cousins had shifted the blame for their own boyish +pranks upon him. In the presence of their father they would accuse +Bull with a well-planned lie, and the very fact that he had been +accused made Bull blush and hang his head. Before he could be heard in +his own behalf the cruel eye of his uncle had grown stern, and Bull +was condemned as a culprit. + +"The only time you show any sense," his uncle had said more than once, +"is when you want to do something you hadn't ought to do!" + +Steadily through the years he had served as a scapegoat for his +cousins. They set a certain value upon him for his use in this +respect. Ah, if only he had that keen, embarrassing eye of Bill +Campbell with which to pierce to the guilty heart of the sheriff and +make him speak! The eye of his uncle was like the eye of a crowd. It +was an audience in itself and condemned or praised with the strength +of numbers. + +It was this thought of numbers that brought the clue to a possible +solution to Bull Hunter. When it came to him he stopped short in the +road, threw back his head and laughed. + +"And what's all the celebration about?" asked a voice behind him. + +He turned and found Sheriff Anderson on his horse directly behind him. +The soft loam of the trail had covered the sound of the sheriffs +approach. Bull blushed with a sudden sense of shame. Moreover, the +sheriff seemed unapproachably stern and dignified. He sat erect in the +saddle, a cavalier figure with his long, well-drilled mustaches. + +"I dunno," said Bull vaguely, pushing his hat back to scratch his +thatch of blond hair. "I didn't know I was celebrating, particular." + +The sheriff watched him with small, evil eyes. "You been snooping +around, son," he said coldly. "And we folks in this part, we don't +like snoopers. Understand?" + +"No," said Bull frankly, "I don't exactly figure what you mean." Then +he dropped his hand to his hip. + +"Git your hand off that gun!" said the sheriff, his own weapon +flashing instantly in the light. + +It had been a move like lightning. Its speed stunned and baffled Bull +Hunter. Something cold formed in his throat, choking him, and he +obediently drew his hand away. He did more. He threw both immense arms +above his head and stood gaping at the sheriff. + +The latter eyed him for a moment with stern amusement, and then he +shoved the gun back into its holster. "I guess they ain't much harm in +you," he said more to himself than to Bull. "But I hate a snooper +worse than I do a rat. You can take them arms down." + +Bull lowered them cautiously. + +"You hear me talk?" asked the sheriff. + +"I hear," said Bull obediently. + +"I don't like snoopers. Which means that I don't like you none too +well. Besides, who in thunder are you? A wanderin' vagrant you look +to me, and we got a law agin' vagrants. You amble along on your trail +pretty pronto, and no harm'll come to you. But if you're around town +tomorrow--well, you've heard me talk!" + +It was very familiar talk to Bull; not the words, but the commanding +and contemptuous tone in which they were spoken. Crestfallen, he +submitted. Of one thing he must make sure: that no harm befell him +before he faced Pete Reeve and Pete Reeve's gun. Then he could only +pray for courage to attack. But the effect of the sheriff's little +gunplay entirely disheartened Bull at the prospect of facing Pete. + +With a noncommittal rejoinder he started down the road, and the +sheriff put the spurs to his horse and plunged by at a full gallop, +flinging the dust back into the face of the big man. Bull wiped it out +of his eyes and went on gloomily. He had been trodden upon in spirit +once more. But, after all, that was so old a story that it made little +difference. It convinced him, however, of one thing; he could never do +anything with the sheriff man to man. Certainly he would need the help +of a crowd before he faced the tall man and his cavalier mustaches. + +He waited until after the supper at the hotel. It was a miserable +meal for Bull; he had already eaten, and he could not find a way of +refusing the invitation of the proprietor to sit down again. Seated at +the end of the long table he looked miserably up and down it. Nobody +had a look for him except one of contempt. The sheriff, it seemed, had +spread a story around about his lack of spirit, and if Bull remained +long in the village, he would be treated with little more respect than +he had been in the house of his uncle. Even now they held him in +contempt. They could not understand, for instance, why he sat so far +forward. He was resting most of his weight on his legs, for fear of +the weakness of the chair under his full bulk. But that very bulk made +them whisper their jokes and insults to one another. + +When the long nightmare of that meal was ended, Bull began making his +rounds. He had chosen his men. Every man he picked was sharp-eyed like +Uncle Bill Campbell. They were the men whose inlooking eyes would +baffle the sheriff; they were the men capable of suspicions, and such +men Bull needed--not dull-glancing people like himself. + +He went first to the proprietor of the hotel. "I got something to say +to the sheriff," he declared. "And I want to have a few important +gents around town to be there to listen and hear what I got to say. I +wonder, could you be handy?" + +He was surprised at the avidity with which his invitation was +accepted. It was a long time since the hotel owner had been referred +to as an "important man." + +Then he went with the same talk to five others--the blacksmith, the +carpenter and odd-jobber, the storekeeper, and two men whom he had +marked when he first halted near the hotel veranda. To his invitation +each of them gave a quick assent. There had been something mysterious +in the manner in which this timid-eyed giant had descended upon the +town from nowhere, and now they felt that they were about to come to +the heart of the reason of his visit. + +The invitation to the sheriff was delivered by the proprietor of the +hotel, and he said just enough--and no more--to bring the sheriff +straight to the hotel. Anderson arrived with his best pair of guns in +his holsters, for the sheriff was a two-gun man of the best variety. +He came with the aggressive manner of one ready to beat down all +opposition, but when he stepped into the room, his manner changed. For +he found sitting about the table in the dining room, which was to be +the scene of the conference, the six most influential men of the +town--men strong enough to reelect him next year, or to throw him +permanently out of office. + +At the lower end of the table stood Bull Hunter, his arms folded, his +face blank. Standing with the light from the lamp shining upon his +face, the others seated, he seemed a man among pygmies. + +"Shall I lock the door?" asked the proprietor, and he turned to Bull, +as if the latter had the right to dictate. + +Bull nodded. + +"All right, sheriff," the proprietor went on to explain. "Our young +friend yonder says that he's got something to say to you. He's asked +each of us to hang around and be a witness. Are you ready?" + +"Jud," burst out the sheriff, "you're an idiot! This overgrown booby +needs a horsewhipping, and that's the sort of an answer I'd like to +make to him." + +Having delivered this broadside he strode up and confronted Bull. It +was a very poor move. In the first place, the sheriff had insulted one +of the men who was about to act as his official judge. In the second +place, by putting himself so close to Bull, he made himself appear a +trifle ludicrous. Also, if he expected to throw Bull out of the poise +with this blustering, he failed. It was not that Bull did not feel +fear, but he had seen a curious thing--the sinewy, long neck of the +sheriff--and he was wondering what would happen if one of his hands +should grip that throat for a single instant. He grew so fascinated by +this study that he forgot his fear of the sheriff's guns. + +Anderson hastened to retreat from his false position. "Gents," he +said, "excuse me for getting edgy. But, if you want me to listen to +this fellow's talk--" + +"Hunter is his name--Bull Hunter," said the proprietor. + +The sheriff took his place at the far end of the long table. Like +Bull, he preferred to stand. "Start in your talk," he commanded. + +"It looks to me," said Bull gently, "that they's only one gent here +that's wearing a gun." He had thrown his own belt on a chair; and now +he fixed his eyes on the weapons of Anderson. + +The sheriff glared. "You want me to take off my guns? Son, I'd rather +go naked!" + +Jud, the hotel man, had already been insulted once by the sheriff, and +he had been biding his time. This seemed an excellent opening. "Looks +to me," he remarked, "like Mr. Hunter was right. He's got something +pretty serious to say, and he don't want to take no chances on your +cutting him short with a bullet!" + +The sheriff glared at Bull and then cast a swift glance over the faces +of the others. He read upon them only one expression--a cold +curiosity. Plainly they agreed with Jud, and the sheriff gave way. He +took off his belt and tossed it upon a chair near him. Then he faced +Bull again, but he faced the big man with half his confidence +destroyed. As he had said, he felt worse than naked without his +revolvers under his touch, but now he attempted to brave out the +situation. + +"Well," he said jocularly, "what you going to accuse me of, Bull +Hunter?" + +"I'm just going to tell a little story that I been thinking about," +said Bull. + +"Story--nothing!" exclaimed Anderson. + +"Wait a minute," broke in Jud. "Let him tell this his own way--I think +you'd best, sheriff!" + +Bull was looking at the sheriff and through him into the distance. +After all, it was a story, as distinctly a story as if he had it in a +book. As he began to tell it, he forgot Sheriff Anderson at the +farther end of the table. He talked slowly, bringing the words out one +by one, as if what he said were coming to him by inspiration--a kind +of second sight. + +"It starts in," said Bull, "the other night when the gent come in with +word that Pete Reeve was out playing cards with Armstrong and losing +money. When the sheriff heard that, he started to thinking. He was +remembering how he'd hated Armstrong for a good many years, and that +made him think that maybe Armstrong would get into trouble with Reeve, +because Reeve is a pretty good shot, and the sheriff hoped that, if it +come to a showdown, Reeve would shoot Armstrong full of holes. And +that started him wishing pretty strong that Armstrong would +get killed!" + +"Do I have to stand here and listen to this fool talk?" demanded the +sheriff. + +"I'm just supposing," said Bull. "Surely they ain't any harm in just +supposing?" + +"Not a bit," decided Jud, who had taken the position of main arbiter. + +"Well, the sheriff got to wishing Armstrong was dead so strong that it +didn't seem he could stand to have him living much more. He told the +folks that he was going out to see that no harm come to Armstrong from +Reeve. Then he got on his hoss and went out. All the way he was +thinking hard. Armstrong was the gent that was sheriff before +Anderson; Armstrong was the gent that might get the job and throw him +out again. Ain't that clear? Well, the sheriff gets close to the +cabin and--" + +He paused and slowly extended his long arm toward the sheriff. "What'd +you do then?" + +"Me? I heard a shot--" + +"You left your hoss standing in the brush near the house," interrupted +Bull, "and you went along on foot." + +"Does that sound reasonable, a gent going on foot when he might ride?" +demanded the sheriff. + +"You didn't want to make no noise," said Bull, and his great voice +swallowed the protest of the sheriff. + +Anderson cast another glance at the listeners. Plainly they were +fascinated by this tale, and they were following it step by step +with nods. + +"You didn't make no noise, either," went on Bull Hunter. "You slipped +up to the cabin real soft, and you climbed up on the east side of the +house over some rocks." + +"Why in reason should a man climb over rocks? Why wouldn't he go right +to the door?" + +"Because you didn't want to be seen." + +"Then why not the west window, fool!" + +"You tried that window first, but they was some dry brush lying in +front of it, and you couldn't come close enough to look in without +making a noise stepping on the dead wood. So then you went around to +the other side and climbed over the rocks until you could look into +the cabin. Am I right?" + +"I--no, curse you, no! Of course you ain't right!" shouted Anderson. + +"Looking right through that window," said Bull heavily, "you seen +Armstrong, the man you hated, facing you, and, with his back turned, +was Pete Reeve. You said to yourself, 'Drop Armstrong with a bullet, +catch Reeve, and put the blame on him!' Then you pulled your gun." + +He pushed aside the ponderous armchair which stood beside him at the +head of the table. + +"Say," shouted the sheriff, paler than ever now, "what are you +accusing me of?" + +"Murder!" thundered Bull Hunter. + +The roar of Bull's voice chained every one in his place, the sheriff +with staring eyes, and Jud in the act of raising his hand. + +"I'll jail you for slander!" said the sheriff, fighting to assurance +and knowing that he was betrayed by his pallor and by the icy +perspiration which he felt on his forehead. + +"Anderson," said Bull, "I seen the marks of them iron heels of yours +on the rock!" + +That was a little thing, of course. As evidence it would not have +convinced the most prejudiced jury in the world, but Sheriff Anderson +was not weighing small points. Into his mind leaped one image--the +whiteness of those rocks on which he had stood and the indelible mark +his heels must have made against that whiteness. He was lost, he felt, +and he acted on the impulse to fight for his life. + +One last glance he cast at the six listeners, and in their wide-eyed +interest he read his own damnation. Then Anderson whirled and leaped +for his belt with the guns. + +Out of six throats came six yells of fear; there was a noise of chairs +being pushed back and a wild scramble to find safety under the table. +Jud, risking a moment's delay, knocked the chimney off the lamp before +he dived. The flame leaped once and went out, but the pale moonshine +poured through the window and filled the room with a weird play +of shadows. + +What Bull Hunter saw was not the escape of the sheriff, but a sudden +blind rage against everything and everybody. It was a passion that set +him trembling through all of his great body. One touch of trust, one +word of encouragement had been enough to make him a giant to tear up +the stump in the presence of Jessie and his cousins; how far more +mighty he was in the grip of this new emotion, this rage. + +His own gun was far away, but guns were not what he wanted. They were +uncongenial toys to his great hands. Instead, he reached down and +caught up that massive chair of oak, built to resist time, built to +bear even such a bulk as that of Bull Hunter with ease. Yet he caught +it up in one hand, weighed it behind his head at the full limit of his +extended arm, and then, bending forward, he catapulted the great +missile down the length of the table. It hit the lamp on the way and +splintered it to small bits, its momentum unimpeded. Hurtling on +across the table it shot at the sheriff as he whirled with his guns in +his hands. + +Fast as the chair shot forward, the hand of the sheriff was faster +still. Bull saw the big guns twitch up, silver in the moonshine. They +exploded in one voice, as if the flying mass of wood were an animate +object. Then the sheriff was struck and hurled crashing along +the floor. + + + + +CHAPTER 9 + + +At that fall the six men scampered from beneath the table to seize the +downed man. There was no need of their haste. Sheriff Anderson was a +wreck rather than a fighting man. One arm was horribly crumpled +beneath him; his ribs were shattered, there was a great gash where the +rung of the chair had cut into the bone like a knife. + +They stood chattering about the fallen man, straightening him out, +feeling his pulse, making sure that he, who would soon hang at the +will of the law, was alive. Outside, voices were rushing toward them, +doors slamming. + +Bull Hunter broke through the circle, bent over the limp body, and +drew a big bundle of keys from a pocket. Then, without a word, he went +back to the far end of the room, buckled on his gun belt, and in +silence left the room. + +The others paid no heed. They and the newcomers who had poured into +the room were fascinated by the work of the giant rather than the +giant's self. They had a lantern, swinging dull light and grotesque +shadows across the place now, and by the illumination, two of the men +went to the wall and picked up the great oaken chair. They raised it +slowly between them, a battered mass of disconnected wood. Then they +looked to the far end of the long table where he who had thrown the +missile had stood. Another line had been written into the history of +Bull Hunter--the first line that was written in red. + +Bull himself was on his way to the jail. He found it unguarded. The +deputy had gone to find the cause of the commotion at the hotel. The +steel bars, moreover, were sufficient to retain the prisoner and keep +out would-be rescuers. + +In the dim light of his lantern, Bull saw that Pete Reeve was sitting +cross-legged on his bunk, like a little, dried-up idol, smoking a +cigarette. His only greeting to the big man was a lifting of the +eyebrows. But, when the big key was fitted into the lock and the lock +turned, he showed his first signs of interest. He was standing up when +Bull opened the door and strode in. + +"Have you got your things?" said Bull curtly. + +"What things, big fellow?" + +"Why, guns and things--and your hat, of course." + +Pete Reeve walked to the corner of the cell and took a sombrero off +the wall. "Here's that hat," he answered, "but they ain't passing out +guns to jailbirds--not in these parts!" + +"You ain't a jailbird," answered Bull, "so we'll get that gun. Know +where it is?" + +Reeve followed without a question through the open door, only stopping +as he passed beyond the bars, to look back to them with a shudder. It +was the first sign of emotion he had shown since his arrest. But his +step was lighter and quicker as he followed Bull into the front room. + +"In that closet, yonder," said Reeve, pointing to a door. "That's +where they keep the guns." + +Bull shook out his bundle of keys into the great palm of his hand. + +"Not those keys--the deputy has the key to the closet," said Pete. "I +saw Anderson give it to him." + +Bull sighed. "I ain't got much time, partner," he said. Approaching +the door, he examined it wistfully. "But, maybe, they's another way." +He drew back a little, raised his right leg, and smashed the heavy +cowhide boot against the door. The wood split from top to bottom, and +Bull's leg was driven on through the aperture. He paused to wrench the +fragments of the door from lock and hinges and then beckoned to Pete +Reeve. "Look for your gun in here, Reeve." + +The little man cast one twinkling glance at his companion and then was +instantly among the litter of the closet floor. He emerged strapping a +belt about him, the holster tugging far down, so that the muzzle of +the gun was almost at his knee. Bull appreciated the diminutive size +of the man for the first time, seeing him in conjunction with the big +gun on his thigh. + +There was an odd change in the little man also, the moment his gun was +in place. He tugged his broad-brimmed hat a little lower across his +eyes and poised himself, as if on tiptoe; his glance was a constant +flicker about the room until it came to rest on Bull. "Suppose you +lemme in on the meaning of all this. Who are you and where do you +figure on letting me loose? What in thunder is it all about?" + +"We'll talk later. Now you got to get started." + +Bull waved to the door. Pete Reeve darted past him with noiseless +steps and paused a moment at the threshold of the jail. Plainly he was +ready for fight or flight, and his right hand was toying constantly +with the holstered butt of his gun. Bull followed to the outside. + +"Hosses?" asked the little man curtly. + +"On foot," answered Bull with equal brevity, and he led the way +straight across the street. There was no danger of being seen. All the +life of the town was drawn to a center about the hotel. Lights were +flashing behind its windows, men were constantly pounding across the +veranda, running in and out. Bull led the way past the building and +cut for the cottonwoods. + +"And now?" demanded Pete Reeve. "Now, partner?" + +That word stung Bull. It had not been applied to him more than a half +a dozen times in his life, together with its implications of free and +equal brotherhood. To be called partner by the great man who had +conquered terrible Uncle Bill Campbell! + +"They's a mess in the hotel," said Bull, explaining as shortly as he +could. "Seems that Sheriff Anderson was the gent that done the killing +of Armstrong. It got found out and the sheriff tried to get away. Lots +of noise and trouble." + +"Ah," said Reeve, "it was him, then--the old hound! I might have +knowed! But I kep' on figuring that they was two of 'em! Well, the +sheriff was a handy boy with his gun. Did he drop anybody before they +got him? I heard two guns go off like one. Them must of been the +sheriff's cannons." + +"They was," said Bull, "but them bullets didn't hit nothing but wood." + +"Wild, eh? Shot into the wall?" + +"Nope. Into a chair." + +The little man was struggling and panting sometimes breaking into a +trot to keep up with the immense strides of his companion. "A chair? +You don't say so!" + +Bull was silent. + +"How come he shot at a chair? Drunk?" + +"The chair was sailing through the air at him." + +"H'm!" returned Pete Reeve. "Somebody throwed a chair at him, and the +sheriff got rattled and shot at it instead of dodging? Well, I've seen +a pile of funnier things than that happen in gun play, off and on. Who +threw the chair?" + +"I did." + +"You?" He squinted up at the lofty form of Bull Hunter. "What name did +you say?" he asked gently. + +"Hunter is my name. Mostly they call me Bull." + +"You got the size for that name, partner. So you cleaned up the +sheriff with a chair?" he sighed. "I wish I'd been there to see it. +But who got the inside on the sheriff?" + +"I dunno what you mean?" + +Pete Reeve looked closely at his companion. Plainly he was bewildered, +somewhere between a smile and a frown. + +"I mean who found out that the sheriff done it?" + +"He told it himself," said Bull. + +"Drunk, en?" + +"Nope. Not drunk. He was asked if he didn't do the murder." + +"Great guns! Who asked him?" + +"I done it," said Bull as simply as ever. + +Reeve bit his lip. He had just put Bull down as a simple-minded hulk. +He was forced to revise his opinion. + +"You done that? You follered him up, eh?" + +"I just done a little thinking. So I asked him." + +Reeve shook his head. "Maybe you hypnotized him," he suggested. + +"Nope. I just asked him. I got a lot of folks sitting around, and then +I began telling the sheriff how he done the shooting." + +"And he admitted it?" + +"Nope. He jumped for a gun." + +"And then you heaved a chair at him." Pete Reeve drew in a long +breath. "But what reason did you have, son? I got to ask you that +before I thank you the way I want to thank you. But, before you kick +out, you'll find that Pete Reeve is a friend." + +"My reason was," said Bull, "that I had business to do with you that +couldn't be done in a jail. So I had to get you out." + +"And now where're we headed?" + +"Where we can do that business." + +They had reached a broad break in the cottonwoods; the moonlight was +falling so softly and brightly. + +Bull paused and looked around him. "I guess this'll have to do," he +declared. + +"All right, son. You can be as mysterious as you want. Now what you +got me here for?" + +"To kill you," said Bull gently. + +Pete Reeve flinched back. Then he tapped his holster, made sure of the +gun, became more easy. "That's interesting," he announced. "You +couldn't wait for the law to hang me, eh?" + +Bull began explaining laboriously. He pushed back his hat and began to +count off his points into the palm of one hand. "You shot up Uncle +Bill Campbell," he explained. "It ain't that I got any grudge agin' +you for that, but you see, Uncle Bill took me in young and give me a +home all these years. I thought it would sort of pay him back if I run +you down. So I walked across the mountains and come after you." + +"Wait!" exclaimed Pete Reeve. "You walked?" + +"Yep," he went on, heedless of the fact that Pete Reeve was peering +earnestly into the face of his companion, now puckered with the +earnest frown of thought. "I come down hoping to get you and kill you. +Besides, that wouldn't only pay back Uncle Bill. It would make him +think that I was a man. You see, Reeve, I ain't quick thinking, and I +ain't bright. I ain't got a quick tongue and sharp eyes, and they been +treating me like I was a kid all my life. So I got to do something. I +got to! I ain't got anything agin' you, but you just happen to be the +one that I got to fight. Stand over yonder by that stump. I'll stand +here, and we'll fight fair and square." + +Pete Reeve obeyed, his movements slow, as if they were the result of +hypnotism. "Bull," he said rather faintly, looking at the towering +bulk of his opponent, "I dunno. Maybe I'm going nutty. But I figure +that you come down here to kill me for the sake of getting your uncle +to pat you on the back once or twice. And you find you can't get at me +because I'm in jail, so you work out a murder mystery to get me out, +and then you tackle me. You say you ain't very bright. I dunno. Maybe +you ain't bright, but you're mighty different!" + +He paused and rubbed his forehead. "Son, I've seen pretty good men in +my day, but I ain't never seen one that I cotton to like I do to you. +You've saved my life. How can you figure on me going out and taking +yours, now?" + +"You ain't going to, maybe," said Bull calmly. "Maybe I'll get to +you." + +"Son," answered the other almost sadly, shaking his head, "when I'm +right, with a good, steady nerve, they ain't any man in the world that +can sling a gun with me. And tonight I'm right. If it comes to a +showdown--but are you pretty good with a gun yourself, Bull?" + +"No," answered Bull frankly. "I ain't any good compared to an expert +like you. But I'm good enough to take a chance." + +"Them sort of chances ain't taken twice, Bull!" + +"You see," said Bull, "I'm going to make a rush as I pull the gun, and +if I get to you before I'm dead, well--all I ask is to lay my hands on +you, you see?" + +The little man shuddered and blinked. "I see," he said, and swallowed +with difficulty. "But, in the name of reason, Bull, have sense! Lemme +talk! I'll tell you what that uncle of yours was--" + +"Don't talk!" exclaimed Bull Hunter. "I sort of like you, partner, and +it sort of breaks me down to hear you talk. Don't talk, but listen. +The next time that frog croaks we go for our guns, eh? That frog off +in the marsh!" + +He had hardly spoken before the ominous sound was heard, and Bull +reached for his gun. For all his bulk of hand and unwieldy arms, the +gun came smoothly, swiftly into his hand. He would have had an +ordinary man covered, long before the latter had his gun muzzle-clear +of the leather. But Pete Reeve was no ordinary man. His arm jerked +down; his fingers flickered down and up. They went down empty; they +came up with the burden of a long revolver, shining in the moonlight, +and he fired before Bull's gun came to the level for a shot. + +Only Pete Reeve knew the marvel of his own shooting this day. He had +sworn a solemn and silent oath that he would not kill this faithful, +courageous fellow from the mountains. He could have planted a bullet +where the life lay, at any instant of the fight. But he fired for +another purpose. The moment Bull reached for his weapon he had lurched +forward, aiming to shoot as he ran. Pete Reeve set himself a double +goal. His first intention was to disarm the giant; the other was to +stop his rush. For, once within the grip of those big fingers, his +life would be squeezed out like the juice of an orange. + +His task was doubly difficult in the moonlight. But the first shot +went home nicely, aimed as exactly as a scientist finds a spot with +his instruments. Where the moon's rays splashed across the bare right +forearm of Bull, he sent a bullet that slashed through the great +muscles. The revolver dropped from the nerveless hand of the giant, +but Bull never paused. On he came, empty-handed, but with power of +death, as the little man well knew, in the fingers of his extended +left hand. He came with a snarl, a savage intake of breath, as he felt +the hot slash of Pete's bullet. But Reeve, standing erect like some +duelist of old, his left hand tucked into the hollow of his back, took +the great gambling chance and refused to shoot to kill. + +He placed his second shot more effectively, for this time he must stop +that tremendous body, advancing upon him. He found one critical spot. +Between the knee and the thigh, halfway up on the inside of the left +leg, he drove that second bullet with the precision of a surgeon. The +leg crumpled under Bull and sent him pitching forward on his face. + +Perhaps the marsh ground was unstable, but it seemed to Pete Reeve +that the very earth quaked beneath his feet as the big man fell. He +swung his gun wide and leaned to see how serious was the damage he had +done. Bleeding would be the greater danger. + +But that fraction of a second brought him into another peril. The +giant heaved up on his sound right leg and his sound left arm, and +flung himself forward, two limbs dangling uselessly. With a hideously +contorted face, Bull swung his left arm in a wide circle for a grip +and scooped in Pete Reeve, as the latter sprang back with a cry +of horror. + +The action swept Pete in and crushed his gun hand and arm against the +body of his assailant, paralyzing his only power of attack or defense. +Reeve was carried down to the ground as if beneath the bulk of a +mountain. There was no question of sparing life now. Pete Reeve began +to fight for life. He wrestled at his gun to tug it free, but found it +anchored. He pulled the trigger, and the gun spoke loud and clear, but +the bullet plunged into empty space. Then he felt that left arm begin +to move, and the hand worked up behind his back like a great spider. + +Higher it rose, and the huge, thick fingers reached up and around his +throat, fumbling to get at the windpipe. Pete Reeve made his last +effort; it was like striving to free himself from a ton's weight. +Hysteria of fear and horror seized him, and his voice gave utterance +to his terror. As he screamed, the big fingers joined around his +throat. Any further pressure would end him! + +He looked up into the glaring eyes and the contorted face of the +giant; the rasping, panting breathing paralyzed his senses. There was +a slight inward contraction of the grip; then it ceased. + +Miraculously he felt the great hand relax and fall away. The bulk was +heaved away from him, and staggering to his own feet, he saw Bull +Hunter supported against a tree, one leg useless, one arm streaming. + +"I couldn't seem to do it," said Bull Hunter thickly. "I couldn't +noways seem to do it, Reeve. You see, I sort of like you, and I +couldn't kill you, Pete." + +When Pete Reeve recovered from his astonishment he said, "You can do +more. You can go home and tell that infernal hound of an uncle of +yours that you had the life of Pete Reeve under your fingertips and +that you didn't take it. It's the second time I've owed my life, and +both times in one day, and both times to one man. You tell your +uncle that!" + +The big man sagged still more against the tree. "I'll never go home, +Pete, unless ghosts walk; and I'll never tell Uncle Bill anything, +unless the ghosts talk. I'm dying pretty pronto, I think, Pete." + +"Dyin'? You ain't hurt bad, Bull!" + +"It's the bleeding; all the senses is running out of my head--like +water--and the moon--is turning black--and--" He slumped down at the +foot of the tree. + + + + +CHAPTER 10 + + +When old Farmer Morton and his son came in their buckboard through the +marshes, they heard the screaming of Pete Reeve for help. Leaving +their team, they bolted across country to the open glade. There they +found Pete still shouting for help, kneeling above the body of a man, +and working desperately to arrange an effectual tourniquet. They ran +close and discovered the two men. + +Old Morton knew enough rude surgery to stop the bleeding. It was he +who counted the pulse and listened to the heart. "Low," he said, "very +low--life is just flickerin', stranger." + +"If they's as much light of life in him," said Pete Reeve, "as the +flicker of a candle, I'll fan it up till it's as big as a forest fire. +Man, he's got to live." + +"H'm!" said Morton. "And how come the shooting?" + +"Stop your fool questions," said Reeve. "Help me get him to town and +to a bed." + +It was useless to attempt to carry that great, loose-limbed body. They +brought the buckboard perilously through the shrubbery and then +managed, with infinite labor, to lift Bull Hunter into it. With Pete +Reeve supporting the head of the wounded man and cautioning them to +drive gently, they managed the journey to the town as softly as +possible. At the hotel a strong-armed cortege bore Bull to a bed, and +they carried him reverently. Had his senses been with him he would +have wondered greatly; and had his uncle, or his uncle's sons, been +there, they would surely have laughed uproariously. + +In the hotel room Pete Reeve took command at once. "He's too big to +die," he told the dubious doctor. "He's got to live. And the minute +you say he can't, out you go and another doc comes in. Now do +your work." + +The doctor, haunted by the deep, fiery eyes of the gunfighter, stepped +into the room to minister to his patient. He had a vague feeling that, +if Bull Hunter died, Pete Reeve would blame him for lack of care. In +truth, Pete seemed ready to blame everyone. He threatened to destroy +the whole village if a dog was allowed to howl in the night, or if the +baby next door were permitted to cry in the day. + +Silence settled over the little town--silence and the fear of Pete +Reeve. Pete himself never left the sickroom. Wide-eyed, silent-footed, +he was ever about. He seemed never to sleep, and the doctor swore that +the only reason Bull Hunter did not die was because death feared to +enter the room while the awful Reeve was there. + +But the long hours of unconsciousness and delirium wore away. Then +came the critical period when a relapse was feared. Finally the time +came when it could be confidently stated that Bull was recovering his +health and his strength. + +All this filled a matter of weeks. Bull was still unable to leave his +bed. He was dull and listless, bony of hand, and liable to sleep many +hours through the very heart of the day. At this point of his recovery +the door opened one day, and, in the warmth of the afternoon, a big +man came into the room, shutting the door softly behind him. + +Bull turned his head slowly and then blinked, for it was the unshaven +face of his cousin, Harry Campbell, that he saw. With his eyes closed, +Bull wondered why that face was so distinctly unpleasant. When he +opened them again, Harry had drawn closer, his hat pushed on the back +of his head after the manner of a baffled man, and a faint smile +working at the corners of his lips. He took the limp hand of Bull in +his and squeezed it cautiously. Then he laid the hand back on the +sheet and grinned more confidently at Bull. + +"Well, I'll be hanged, Bull, here you are as big as life, pretty near, +and you don't act like you knew me!" + +"Sure I do. Sit down, Harry. What brung you all this ways?" + +"Why, anxious to see how you was doing." + +Again Bull blinked. Such anxiety from Harry was a mystery. + +"They ain't talking about much else up our way," said Harry, "but how +you come across the mountains in the storm, and how big you are, and +how you got the sheriff, and how you rushed Pete Reeve bare-handed. +Sure is some story! All the way down I just had to say that I was Bull +Hunter's cousin to get free meals!" He licked his lips and grinned +again. "So I come down to see how you was." + +"I'm doing tolerable fair," said Bull slowly, "and it was good of you +to come this long ways to ask that question. How's things to home?" + +"Dad's bunged up for life; can't do nothing but cuss, but at that he +lays over anything you ever hear." Harry's eyes flicked nervously +about the room. "It was him that sent me down! Where's Reeve?" + +This was in a whisper. Bull gestured toward the next room. + +"Asleep? Can he hear if I talk?" + +"Asleep," said Bull. "Been up with me two days. I took a bad turn a +while back. Pete's helping himself to a nap, and he needs one!" + +"Now, listen!" said Harry. "Dad figured this out, and Dad's mostly +never wrong. He says, 'Reeve shot up Bull. Now he's hanging around +trying to make up by nursing Bull, according to reports, because he's +afraid of what Bull'll do when he gets back on his feet. But Bull +has got to know that, even when he's back on his feet, he can't beat +Reeve--not while Reeve can pull a gun. Nobody can beat that devil. +If he wants to beat Reeve, just take advantage of him while Reeve +ain't expecting anything--which means while Bull is sick.' Do you +get what Dad means?" + +"Sort of," said Bull faintly. He shut out the eager, dirty, unshaven +face. "I'll just close my eyes against the light. I can hear you +pretty well. Go on." + +"Here's the idea. Everybody knows you hate Reeve, and Reeve fears you. +Otherwise would he act like this, aside from being afraid of a +lynching, in case you should die? No, he wouldn't. Well, one of these +days you take this gun"--here Harry shoved one under the pillow of +Bull--"and call Pete Reeve over to you, and when he leans over your +bed, blow his brains out! That's easy, and it'll do what you'll want +to do someday. You hear? Then you can say that Reeve started +something--that you shot in self-defense. Everybody'll believe you, +and you'll get one big name for killing Reeve! You foller me?" + +Bull opened his eyes, but they were squinting as though he was in the +severest pain. "Listen, Harry," he said at last. "I been thinking +things out. I owe a lot to your dad for taking me in and keeping me. +But all I owe him I can pay back in cash--someday. I don't owe him +no love. Not you, neither." + +Harry had risen to his feet with a snarl. + +"Sit down," said Bull, letting his great voice swell ever so little. +"I'm pretty near dead, but I'm still man enough to wring the neck of +a skunk! Sit down!" + +Harry obeyed limply, and his giant cousin went on, his voice softening +again. "When you come in I closed my eyes," said Bull, "because it +seemed to me like you was a dream. I'd been awake. I'd been living +among men that sort of liked me and respected me and didn't laugh at +me. And then you come, and I saw your dirty face, and it made me think +of a bad nightmare I'd had when you and your brother and your dad +treated me worse'n a dog. Well, Harry, I'm through with that dream. +I'll never go back to it. I'm going to stay awake the rest of my life. +It was your dad that put the wish to kill Reeve into my head with his +talk. I met Reeve, and Reeve pumped some bullets with sense into me. +He let out some of my life, but he let in a lot of knowledge. Among +other things he showed me what a friend might be. He's stayed here and +nursed me and talked to me--like I was his equal, almost, instead of +being sort of simple, like I really am. And I've made up my mind that +I'm going to cut loose from remembering you folks in the mountains. +I ain't your kind. I don't want to be your kind. I want to fight, +like Pete Reeve. I don't want to murder like a Campbell! All the way +through, I want to be like Pete Reeve. He don't know it. Maybe when +I'm well he'll go off by himself. But whether he's near or far, I've +adopted him. I'm going to pattern after him, and the happiest day of +my life will be when I earn the right to have this man, that I tried +to kill, come and take my hand and call me 'friend'! I guess that +answers you, Harry. Now get out and take my talk back to your dad, +and don't trouble me no more--you spoil my sleep!" + +As he spoke the door of the next room opened softly. Peter Reeve stood +at the entrance. Harry, shaking with fear, backed toward the other +door, then leaped far out, and whirled out of sight with a slam and +clatter of feet on the stairs. Pete Reeve came slowly to the bedside. + +"I was awake, son," he said, "and I couldn't help hearing." + +Bull flushed heavily. + +"It's the best thing I ever heard," said Pete. "The best thing that's +ever come to my ears--partner!" + +With that word their hands joined. In reality, far more than he +dreamed, Bull had been born again. + + + + +CHAPTER 11 + + +When they were together, they made a study in contrasts. By seeing one +it was possible to imagine the other. For instance, seeing the high, +narrow forehead, peaked face, the gray-flecked hair of Pete Reeve, his +nervous step, his piercing and uneasy eyes--seeing this man with his +body from which all spare flesh was wasted so that he remained only +muscle and nerve, it was easy to conjure up the figure of Bull Hunter +by thinking of opposites. + +Their very voices held a world of difference. The tone of Pete Reeve +was pitched a little high, hard, and somewhat nasal, and when he was +angry his words came shrill and ringing. The mere sound of his voice +was irritating--it put one on edge with expectancy of action. Whereas +the full, deep, slow, musical voice of Bull Hunter was a veritable +sleep producer. Men might fear Charlie Bull Hunter because of his +tremendous bulk; but children, hearing his voice, were unafraid. + +The motions of Pete Reeve were as fast and as deft as the whiplash +striking of a snake. The motions of Bull Hunter were premeditated and +cautious, as befitting one whose hands might crush what they touched, +and whose footfall made a flooring groan. + +He sat cross-legged on the floor, his back against the wall. They had +moved a ponderous stool into the room so that Bull might have +something on which to sit, but long habit had made him uneasy in a +chair, and he kept to the floor by preference, with the great square +chin resting on his fist and his knee supporting his elbow. That +position pressed the forearm against the biceps and the big muscles +bulged out on either side, vast as the thigh of a strong man. + +With lionlike wrinkles of attention between his eyes, he listened to +the exposition of the little man, and followed his movements with +patient submission--like a pupil to whom a great master has consented +to unfold the secrets of his brushwork; in such a manner did Bull +Hunter drink in the words and the acts of Pete Reeve. And, indeed, +where guns were the subject of conversation it would have been hard to +find a man more thoroughly equipped to pose as an expert than Pete +Reeve. That fleshless hand, all speed of motion as it whipped out the +gun from the nerve and sinew, became an incredible ghost with the +holster and the long, heavy Colt danced and flashed at his fingertips +as though it were a gilded shadow. + +As he worked he talked, and as he talked he strode constantly back and +forth through the room with his light-falling, mincing steps. He grew +excited. He flushed. There came a thrill and a ring and a deepening of +the voice. For the master was indeed talking of the secrets of +his craft. + +A thousand men of the mountains and the cattle ranges, men who, for +personal pride or for physical need, studied accuracy and speed in +gunplay, would have paid untold prices to learn these secrets from the +lips of the little man. To Bull Hunter the mysteries were revealed for +nothing, freely, and drilled and drummed into him through the weeks of +his convalescence; and still the lessons continued now that he was +hale and hearty once more--as the clean-swept platters from which he +ate three times a day gave evidence. + +"I've practiced, you admit," said Bull in his slow voice, as Pete +Reeve came to a pause. "But I haven't got your way with a gun, Pete. +You've got a genius for it. I don't blame you for laughing at me when +I try to get out my gun fast. I can shoot straight. That's because I +haven't any nerves, as you say, but I'll never be able to get out a +gun as fast as a thought--the way you do. Fact is, Pete, I don't think +fast, you know." + +"Shut up!" exploded Pete Reeve, who had been inwardly chafing with +impatience during the whole length of this speech. "Sometimes you talk +like a fool, Bull, and this is one time!" + +Bull shook his head. "My arms are too big," he said sadly. "The muscle +gets in my way. I can feel it bind when I try to jerk out the gun +fast. Better give up the job, Pete. I sure appreciate all the pains +you've taken with me--but I'll never be a gunfighter." + +Pete Reeve shook his head with a sigh and then dropped into a chair, +growing suddenly inert. + +"No use," he groaned. "All because you ain't got any confidence, +Bull." He leaned forward in his sudden way. "Know something? I been +keeping it back, but now I'll tell you the straight of it. You're +faster with a gun right now than four men out of five!" + +Bull gaped in amazement. + +"Fact!" cried Reeve. "You get it out slicker than most; and after it's +out, you shoot as straight as any man I've ever seen. Trouble is, you +don't appreciate yourself. You've had it drilled into you so long that +you're stupid that now you believe it. All nonsense! You got more than +a million have and you're fast right now on the draw. Once get hold of +how important it is, and you'll keep trying. But you think it's only a +game. You just play at it; you don't work! I wish you could have seen +me when I was first practicing with a gun! I lived with it. Hours +every day it was my companion, and right up to now, there ain't a day +goes by that I don't spend some time keeping on edge with my revolver. +Bull, you'll have to do the same thing. You hear?" + +He sprang up again. It was impossible for him to remain seated a long +time. + +"You think it don't mean much. Look here!" + +The Colt flicked into his hand and lay trembling in his palm, and as +he talked, it shifted smoothly, as if of its own volition, forward +toward his fingertips, backward, to the side, dropping out until it +seemed about to fall, only to be caught with one finger through the +trigger-guard and spun up again. Always the heavy weapon was in motion +as though some of the nervous spirit of Reeve had entered the heavy +metal. It responded to his thoughts rather than to his muscles. Bull +Hunter gazed enchanted. He was accustomed to forgetting himself and +admiring others. + +"Look here!" went on the little man. "Look at me. I weigh about a +hundred and twenty. I'm skinny. I'm a runt. And look at you. You +weigh--heaven knows what! No fat, but all muscle from your head to +your feet. You're the strongest man that I've ever seen. Take me, I'm +not a coward; but you, Bull, you don't know what fear means. Well, +there you are, without fear, and stronger than three strong men. +You're pretty fast with a gun, and you shoot straight as a hawk looks. +And still, if we stood face to face and went for our guns, I'd live; +and you with your muscle would be dead, Bull." + +"I know," Bull nodded. + +"That's what this gun means," cried Pete. "This gun, and the fact that +I can get it out of the leather faster'n you do. Not very much faster. +But by just as much quicker as it takes for an eyelid to wink. That +ain't much time, but it's enough time to mean life or death! That's +all! I'm not the only man that's faster'n you are. They's others. I've +never been beat to the draw, but they's some that's shot so close to +me that it sounded like one gun going off--with a sort of a stammer. +And any one of those men would of shot you dead, Bull, if you'd fought +'em. Now, knowing that, tell me, are you going to keep practicing?" + +"I'll keep tryin', Pete. But I'll never get much faster. You see, my +arm--it's too big, too heavy. It gets in my way, handling a little +thing like a revolver!" + +Pete spun the big Colt and shoved it back into the holster so +incredibly fast that the steel hissed against the leather. + +"There you go running yourself down," he muttered. + +He began to pace the room again, biting his nether lip, and now and +then shooting side glances at Bull, glances partly guilty and partly +scornful. Presently he came to a halt. He had also come to a new +resolution, one that cost him so much that beads of perspiration +came out on his forehead. + +"Bull," he said gravely, "I'm going to tell you the secret." + +"You've told me a dozen already," Bull sighed. "You've taught me how +to swing the muzzle up, and not too far up, and how to lean back +instead of forward, and how to harden the arm muscles just as I pull +the trigger, and how to squeeze with the whole hand and keep my wrist +stiff, and how--" + +"None of them things counts," said Pete gravely, almost sadly, +"compared to what I'm going to tell you. Stand up!" + +It was plain that he was going to give something from the depths of +his mind. The cost and importance of it made his eyes like steel and +drew his mouth to a thin, straight line. + +Bull Hunter arose; and as the great body unfolded and the legs +straightened, it seemed that he would never reach his full height. +At length he stood, enormous, wide, towering. He was not a freak, +but simply a perfectly proportioned man increased to a huge scale. + +Pete Reeve canted his head back and looked into the face of the giant. +There was a momentary affectionate appreciation in his eye. Then he +hardened his expression. + +"Let your arm hang loose." + +Bull Hunter obeyed. The hand came just above the holster that was +strapped on his thigh. All these weeks Pete Reeve had kept him from +going an instant without that gun except when he slept. And even when +he slept the gun had to be under his pillow. + +"Because it helps to have it near all the time," Pete had explained. +"It sort of soaks into your dreams. It's never out of your mind. It +haunts you, like the face of the girl you love. You see!" + +Bull Hunter did not see, but he had nodded humbly, after his fashion, +and obeyed. Now, with his arm fallen loose at his side he peered +studiously into the face of his master gunman and waited for the +next order. + +"Draw!" + +The command was snapped out; Bull's gun whipped from the holster; and +Pete Reeve drew in the same instant, carelessly, his eyes watching the +movement of Bull instead of paying heed and put his gun up again, but +Bull followed the example almost reluctantly. + +"Nearly beat you that time, Pete," he exclaimed happily. "But maybe +you weren't half trying?" + +"Beat me?" sneered Pete. "I wasn't half trying, but you didn't beat +me. I shot you twice before you had your muzzle in line. I shot you in +the throat and through the teeth before your gun was ready." + +Bull, with a shrug of the massive shoulders, touched the mentioned +places and looked with awe at the little man. + +"Now, listen!" + +Bull grew tense. + +"Watch my draw!" + +Pete did not put his hand near the butt of his weapon. He held his arm +out before him, dangling in the air. There was a convulsive moment. +One could see the imaginary weapon shoot from the holster and become +level and rigid, pointed at its mark. + +"I've seen before--fast as my eye could go," Bull sighed. + +"Look again," said Pete, gritting his teeth with impatience. "This +time I'm going so slow a cow could see and beat me." + +He made the same motion, but to an ordinary eye it was still as fast +as light. Bull shook his head. + +"Idiot!" cried Pete, his voice jumping up the scale, flat and harsh +and piercing. "It's the wrist! Not the arm, but the--" + +He stopped with an expression of dismay. Even now he regretted +revealing the mystery, it seemed. But then he went on. + +"I found out quick that I couldn't beat a good gunman if I used the +old methods. Practice makes perfect; they practiced as much as I did. +So I studied the methods and the great idea come to me. They all use +the whole arm. Look at you! Your shoulder bulges up when you make the +draw, and you raise the whole arm. Matter of fact, you'd ought only to +use your fingers. Not stir a muscle above the wrist. Now try!" + +Bull tried--the gun did come clear of the holster. + +"No good," he said gravely. "It's magic when you do it, Pete. It just +makes a fool of me." + +"Shut up and listen!" Pete said sharply. "I'm telling you a thing +that'll save your life some day!" + +He drew a little closer. His emotion made him swell to a greater +stature, and he rose a little on tiptoe as if partly to make up for +the differences between their bulks. + +Bull obeyed. + +"Now start thinking. Start concentrating on that right hand. There's +nothing else to your body. You see? You forget you got a muscle. +There's three things in the world. You see? Just three things and no +more. There's your gun with a bullet in it; there's your hand that's +going to get the gun out; and there's your target--that doorknob, say! +Keep on thinking. They ain't any more to your body. You're just a hand +and an eye. All your nerves are down there in that hand. They're all +piled down there. That hand is full of electricity. Don't let your +eyes wander. Keep on concentrating. You're stocking the electricity in +that hand. When your hand moves, it'll be as fast as the jump of a +spark! And when that hand moves, the gun is going to come out clean in +it. It's _got_ to come out with it! You hear? It's _got_ to! Your +fingertips catch under the butt; they flick up. They don't draw the +gun; they throw it out of the holster; they pitch the muzzle up, and +the butt comes smack back against the palm of your hand. And in the +same part of a second you pull the trigger. You hear?" + +He leaned forward, trembling from head to foot. The eyes of the big +man were beginning to narrow. + +"I hear; I understand!" he said through his teeth. + +"You don't pull the gun. You _think_ it out of the leather. And then +the bullet hits the doorknob. You don't move your arm. Your arm +doesn't exist. You're just a hand and a brain--thinking! And that +thought sends a bullet at the mark!" He leaped back. "Draw!" + +There was a wink of light at the hip of Bull Hunter, and the gun +roared. + +Instantly he cried out, alarmed, confused, ashamed. + +"I didn't mean to shoot, Pete. I'm a fool! I didn't mean to! It--I +sort of couldn't help it. The--the trigger was just pulled without my +wanting it to! Lord, what'll people think!" + +But Pete Reeve had flung his arms around the big man as far as they +would go, and he hugged him in a hysteria of joy. Then he leaped back, +dancing, throwing up his hands. + +"You done it!" he cried, his voice squeaking, hysterical. + +"I made a fool of myself, all right," said Bull, bewildered by this +exhibition of joy where he had expected anger. + +"Fool nothing! Look at that knob!" + +The doorknob was a smashed wreck, driven into the thick wood of the +door by the heavy slug of the revolver. Footsteps were running up the +stairs of the hotel. Pete Reeve ran to the door and flung it open. + +"It's all right, boys," he called. "Cleaning a gun and it went off. No +harm done!" + + + + +CHAPTER 12 + + +"And now," said Pete Reeve, looking almost ruefully at his pupil, +"with a little practice on that, they ain't a man in the world that +could safely take a chance with you. I couldn't myself." + +"Pete!" + +"I mean it, son. Not a man in the world. I was afraid all the time. I +was afraid you didn't have that there electricity in you or whatever +they call it. I was afraid you had too much beef and not enough +nerves. But you haven't. And now that you have the knack, keep +practicing every day--thinking the gun out of the leather--that's +the trick!" + +Bull Hunter looked down to the gun with great, staring eyes, as though +it was the first time in his life that he had seen the weapon. Pete +Reeve noted his expression and abruptly became silent, grinning +happily, for there was the dawn of a great discovery in the eyes of +the big man. + +The gun was no longer a gun. It was a part of him. It was flesh of his +flesh. He had literally thought it out of the holster, and the report +of the weapon had startled him more than it had frightened anyone else +in the building. He looked in amazement down to the broad expanse of +his right hand. It was trembling a little, as though, in fact, that +hand were filled with electric currents. He closed his fingers about +the butt of the gun. At once the hand became steady as a rock. He +toyed with the weapon in loosely opened fingers again, and it slid +deftly. It seemed impossible for it to fall into an awkward position. + +The voice of Pete Reeve came from a great distance. "And they's only +one thing lacking to make you perfect--and that's to have to fight +once for your life and drop the other gent. After that happens--well, +Pete Reeve will have a successor!" + +How much that meant Bull Hunter very well knew. The terrible fame of +Pete Reeve ran the length and the breadth of the mountains. Of course +Bull did not for a moment dream that Pete meant what he said. It was +all figurative. It was said to fill him with self-confidence, but part +of it was true. He was no longer the clumsy-handed Bull Hunter of the +moment before. + +A great change had taken place. From that moment his very ways of +thinking would be different. He would be capable of less misty +movements of the mind. He would be capable of using his brain as +fast as his hand acted. A tingle of new life, new possibilities were +opening before him. He had always accepted himself as a stupidly +hopeless burden in the world, a burden on his friends, useless, +cloddish. Now he found that he had hopes. His own mind and body was an +undiscovered country which he was just beginning to enter. What might +be therein was worth a dream or two, and Bull Hunter straightway began +to dream, happily. That was a talent which he had always possessed in +superabundance. + +The brief remainder of the day passed quickly; and then just before +supper time a stranger came to call on Pete Reeve. He was a tall, bony +fellow with straight-looking eyes and an imperious lift of his head +when he addressed anyone. Manners was his name--Hugh Manners. When he +was introduced he ran his eyes unabashedly over the great bulk of Bull +Hunter, and then promptly he turned his back on the big man and +excluded him from the heart of the conversation. It irritated Bull +unwontedly. He discovered that he had changed a great deal from the +old days at his uncle's shack when he was used to the scorn and the +indifference of all men as a worthless and stupid hulk of flesh, with +no mind worth considering, but he said nothing. Another great talent +of Bull's was his ability to keep silent. + +Shortly after this they went down to the supper table. All through the +meal Hugh Manners engaged Pete Reeve in soft, rapid-voiced +conversation which was so nicely gauged as to range that Bull Hunter +heard no more than murmurs. He seemed to have a great many important +things to say to Pete, and he kept Pete nodding and listening with a +frown of serious interest. At first Pete tried to make up for the +insolent neglect of his companion by drawing a word or two from Bull +from time to time, but it was easy for Bull to see that Pete wished to +hear his newfound friend hold forth. It hurt Bull, but he resigned +himself and drew out of the talk. + +After supper he went up to the room and found a book. There had +been little time for reading since he passed the first stages of +convalescence from his wounds. Pete Reeve had kept him constantly +occupied with gun work, and the hunger for print had been accumulating +in Bull. He started to satisfy it now beside the smoking lamp. He +hardly heard Pete and Hugh Manners enter the room and go out again +onto the second story of the veranda on which their room opened. From +time to time the murmur of their voices came to him, but he +regarded it not. + +It was only when he had lowered the book to muse over a strange +sentence that his wandering eye was caught beyond the window by the +flash of a falling star of unusual brilliance. It was so bright, +indeed, that he crossed the room to look out at the sky, stepping very +softly, for he had grown accustomed to lightening his footfall, and +now unconsciously the murmuring voices of the talkers made him move +stealthily--not to steal upon them, but to keep from breaking in on +their talk. But when he came to the door opening on the veranda the +words he heard banished all thought of falling stars. He listened, +dazed. + +Pete Reeve had just broken into the steady flow of the newcomer's +talk. + +"It's no use, Hugh. I can't go, you see. I'm tied down here with the +big fellow." + +"Tied down?" thought Bull Hunter, and he winced. + +A curse, then, "Why don't you throw the big hulk over?" + +"He ain't a hulk," protested Pete somewhat sharply, and the heart of +Bull warmed again. + +"Hush," said Hugh Manners. "He'll be hearing." + +"No danger. He's at his books, and that means that he wouldn't hear a +cannon. That's his way." + +"He don't look like a book-learned gent," said Hugh Manners with more +respect in his voice. + +"He don't look like a lot of things that he is," said Pete. "I don't +know what he is myself--except that he's the straightest, gentlest, +kindest, simplest fellow that ever walked." + +Bull Hunter turned to escape from hearing this eulogy, but he dared +not move for fear his retreat might be heard--and that would be +immensely embarrassing. + +"Just what he is I don't know," said Pete again. "He doesn't know +himself. He's had what you might call an extra-long childhood--that's +why he's got that misty look in his eyes." + +"That fool look," scoffed Hugh Manners. + +"You think so? I tell you, Manners, he's just waking up, and when he's +clear waked up he'll be a world-beater! You saw that doorknob?" + +"Smashed? Yep. What of it?" + +"He done it with a gun, standing clean across the room, with a flash +draw, shooting from the hip--and he made a clean center hit of it." + +Pete brought out these facts jerkily, one by one, piling one +extraordinary thing upon the other; and when he had finished, Hugh +Manners gasped. + +"I'm mighty glad," he said, "that you told me that, I--I might of made +some mistake." + +"You'd sure've made an awful mistake if you tangle with him, Manners. +Don't forget it." + +"Your work, I guess." + +"Partly," said Pete modestly. "I speeded his draw up a bit, but he had +the straight eye and the steady hand when I started with him. He +didn't need much target practice--just the draw." + +"And he's really fast?" + +"He's got my draw." + +That told volumes to Manners. + +"And why not take him in with us?" he asked, after a reverent pause. + +"Not that!" exclaimed Pete. "Besides, he couldn't ride and keep up +with us. He'd wear out three hosses a day with his weight." + +"Maybe we could find an extra-strong hoss. He ain't so big as to kill +a good strong hoss, Pete. I've seen a hoss that carried--" + +"No good," said Pete with decision. "I wouldn't even talk to him about +our business. He don't guess it. He thinks that I'm--well, he don't +have any idea about how I make a living, that's all!" + +"But how _will_ you make a living if you stick with him?" + +"I dunno," Pete sighed. "But I'm not going to turn him down." + +"But ain't you about used up your money?" + +"It's pretty low." + +"And you're supporting him?" + +"Sure. He ain't got a cent." + +Bull started. He had not thought of that matter at all, but it stood +to reason that Pete had expended a large sum on him. + +"Sponging?" said Manners cynically. + +"Don't talk about it that way," said Pete uneasily. "He's like a big +kid. He don't think about those things. If I was broke, he'd give me +his last cent." + +"That's what you think." + +"Shut up, Manners. Bull is like--a cross between a son and a brother." + +"Pretty big of bone for your son, Pete. You'll have a hard time +supporting him," and Manners chuckled. Then, more seriously, "You're +making a fool of yourself, pardner. Throw this big hulk over and come +back--with me! They's loads of money staked out waiting for us!" + +"Listen," said Pete solemnly. "I'm going to tell you why I'll never +turn Bull Hunter down if I live to be a hundred! When I was a kid a +dirty trick was done me by old Bill Campbell. I waited all these years +till a little while ago to get back at him. Then I found him and +fought him. I didn't kill him, but I ruined him and sent him back to +his home tied on his hoss with a busted shoulder that he'll never be +able to use again. His right shoulder, at that." + +There was a subdued exclamation from Manners, but Pete went on, "Seems +he was the uncle of this Bull; took Bull in when Bull was orphaned, +because he had to, not because he wanted to, and he raised Bull up to +be a sort of general slave around the place. Well, when he comes back +home all shot up he tries to get his sons to take my trail, but they +didn't have the nerve. But Bull that they'd always looked down on for +a big good-for-nothing hulk--Bull stepped out and took my trail on +foot and hit across the mountains in a storm, above the timberline! + +"And he followed till he come up with me here where he found me in +jail, accused of a murder. Did he turn back? He didn't. He didn't want +the law to hang me. He wanted to kill me with his own hands so's he +could go back home and hear his uncle call him a man and praise him a +little. That shows how simple he is. + +"Well, I'll cut a long story short. Bull scouted around, found out +that the sheriff had done the killing himself and just saddled the +blame on me, and then he makes the sheriff confess, gets me out of +jail, and takes me out in the woods. + +"'Now,' says he, 'you've got a gun, and I've got a gun, and I'm going +to kill you if I can.' + +"No use arguing. He goes for his gun. I didn't want to kill a man +who'd saved my life. I tried to stop him with bullets. I shot him +through the right arm and made him drop his gun. Then he charged me +barehanded!" + +There was a gasp from Manners. + +"Barehanded," repeated Pete. "That's the stuff that's in him! I shot +him through the left leg. He pitched onto his face, and then hanged if +he didn't get up on one arm and one leg and throw himself at me. He +got that big arm of his around me. I couldn't do a thing. My gun was +squeezed between him and me. He started fumbling. Pretty soon he found +my throat with them big gorilla fingers of his. I thought my last +minute had come. One squeeze would have smashed my windpipe--and +good-bye, Pete Reeve! + +"But he wouldn't kill me. After I'd filled him full of lead, he let me +go. After he had the advantage he wouldn't take it." Pete choked. He +concluded briefly, "He mighty near bled to death before I could get +the wounds bandaged, and then I stayed on here and nursed him. Matter +of fact, Manners, he saved my life twice and that's why I'm tied to +him for life. Besides, between you and me, he means more to me than +the rest of the world put together." + +"Listen," said Manners, after a pause. "I see what you mean and I'll +tell you what you got to do. That big boy will do anything you tell +him. He follers you with his eyes. Well, we'll find a hoss that will +carry him. I guarantee that. Then you put your game up to him, best +foot forward, and he'll come with us." + +"Not in a thousand years," said Pete with emotion. "That boy will +never go crooked if I can keep him straight. Do you know what he's +done? Because his uncle and cousins tried to get me, he's sworn never +to see one of 'em again. He's given them up--his own flesh and +blood--to follow me, and I'm going to stick to him. That's complete +and final." + +"No, Pete, of all the fools--" + +Bull waited to hear no more. He stole back to the table on the far +side of the room sick at heart and sat down to think or try to think. + +The truth came to him slowly. Pete Reeve, whom he had taken as his +ideal, was, as a matter of fact--he dared not think what! The blow +shook him to the center. But he had been living on the charity of +Reeve. He had been draining the resources of the generous fellow. +And how would he ever be able to pay him back? + +One thing was definite. He must put an end to any increase of the +obligations. He must leave. + +The moment the thought came to him he tore a flyleaf out of the book +and wrote in his big, sprawling hand: + + _Dear Pete:_ + + _I have to tell you that it has just occurred to me that you + have been paying all the bills, and I've been paying none. That + has to stop, and the only way for me to stop it is to go off + all by myself. I hate to sneak away, but if I stay to say + good-bye I know you'll argue me out of it because I'm no good + at an argument. Good-bye and good luck, and remember that I'm + not forgetting anything that has happened; that when I have + enough money to pay you back I'm coming to find you if I have + to travel all the way around the world._ + + _Your pardner, + BULL_ + +That done, he paused a moment, tempted to tear up the little slip. But +the original impulse prevailed. He put the paper on the table, picked +up his hat, and stole slowly from the room. + + + + +CHAPTER 13 + + +He went out the back door of the hotel so that few people might mark +his leaving, and cut for the woods. Once in them, he changed his +direction to the east, heading for the lower, rolling hills in that +direction. He turned back when the lights of the town had drawn into +one small, glimmering ray. Then this, too, went out, and with it the +pain of leaving Pete Reeve became acute. He felt lost and alone, that +keen mind had guided him so long. As he stalked along with the great +swinging strides through the darkness, the holster rubbed on his thigh +and he remembered Pete. Truly he had come into the hands of Pete Reeve +a child, and he was leaving him as a man. + +The dawn found him forty miles away and still swinging strongly down +the winding road. It was better country now. The desert sand had +disappeared, and here the soil supported a good growth of grass that +would fatten the cattle. It was a cheerful country in more ways than +the greenness of the grass, however. There were no high mountains, but +a continual smooth rolling of hills, so that the landscape varied with +every half-mile he traveled. And every now and then he had to jump a +runlet of water that murmured across his trail. + +A pleasant country, a clear sky, and a cool wind touching at his face. +The contentment of Bull Hunter increased with every step he took. He +had diminished the sharpness of his hunger by taking up a few links of +his belt, but he was glad when he saw smoke twisting over a hill and +came, on the other side, in view of a crossroads village. He fingered +the few pieces of silver in his pocket. That would be enough for +breakfast, at least. + +It was enough; barely that and no more, for the long walk had made him +ravenous, and the keenness of his spirits served to put a razor edge +on an appetite which was already sharp. He began eating before the +regular breakfast at the little hotel was ready. He ate while the +other men were present. He was still eating when they left. + +"How much?" he said when he was done. + +His host scratched his head. + +"I figure three times a regular meal ought to be about it," he said. +"Even then it don't cover everything; but matter of fact, I'm ashamed +to charge any more." + +His ruefulness changed to a grin when he had the money in his hand, +and Bull Hunter rose from the table. + +"But you got something to feed, son," he said. "You certainly got +something to feed. And--is what the boys are saying right?" + +It came to Bull that while he sat at the table there had been many +curious glances directed toward him, and a humming whisper had passed +around the table more than once. But he was accustomed to these side +glances and murmurs, and he had paid no attention. Besides, food had +been before him. + +"I don't know. What do they say?" + +"That you're Dunbar from the South--Hal Dunbar." + +"That's not my name," said Bull. "My name is Hunter." + +"I guess they were wrong," said the other. "Trouble is, every time +anybody sees a big man they say, 'There goes Hal Dunbar.' But you're +too big even to be Dunbar I reckon." + +He surveyed the bulk of Bull Hunter with admiring respect. This +personal survey embarrassed the big man. He would have withdrawn, but +his host followed with his conversation. + +"We know Dunbar is coming up this way, though. He sent the word on up +that he's going to come to ride Diablo. I guess you've heard +about Diablo?" + +Bull averred that he had not, and his eyes went restlessly down the +road. It wove in long curves, delightfully white with the bordering of +green on either side. He could see it almost tossing among the far-off +hills. Now was the time of all times for walking, and if Pete Reeve +started to trail him this morning, he would need to put as much +distance behind him by night as his long legs could cover. But still +the hotel proprietor hung beside him. He wanted to make the big man +talk. It was possible that there might be in him a story as big as +his body. + +"So you ain't heard of Diablo? Devil is the right name for him. Black +as night and meaner'n a mountain lion. That's Diablo. He's big enough +and strong enough to carry even you. Account of him being so strong, +that's why Dunbar wants him." + +"Big enough and strong enough to carry me?" repeated Bull Hunter. + +He had had unfortunate experiences trying to ride horses. His weight +crushed down their quarters and made them walk with braced legs. To be +sure, that was up in the high mountains where the horses were little +more than ponies. + +"Yep. Big enough. He's kind of a freak hoss, you see. Runs to almost +seventeen hands, I've heard tell, though I ain't seen him. He's over +to the Bridewell place yonder in the hills--along about fifteen miles +by the road, I figure. He run till he was three without ever being +taken up, and he got wild as a mustang. They never was good on +managing on the Bridewell place, you see? And then when they tried to +break him he started doing some breaking on his own account. They say +he can jump about halfway to the sky and come down stiff-legged in a +way that snaps your neck near off. I seen young Huniker along about a +month after he tried to ride Diablo. Huniker was a pretty good rider, +by all accounts, but he was sure a sick gent around hosses after +Diablo got through with him. Scared of a ten-year-old mare, Huniker +was, after Diablo finished with him. Scott Porter tried him, too. That +was a fight! Lasted close onto an hour, they say, nip and tuck all the +way. Diablo wasn't bucking all the time. No, he ain't that way. He +waits in between spells till he's thought up something new to do. And +he's always thinking, they say. But if he wasn't so mean he'd be a +wonderful hoss. Got a stride as long as from here to that shed, +they say." + +He rambled on with a growing enthusiasm. + +"And think of a hoss like that being given away!" + +"Given away?" said Bull with a sudden interest. + +And then he remembered that horses were outside of his education +entirely. + +He listened with gloomy attention while his host went on. "Yes, sir. +Given away is what I said and given away is what I mean. Old Chick +Bridewell has kept him long enough, he says. He's tired of paying +buckaroos for getting busted up trying to ride that hoss. Man-eater, +that's what he calls Diablo, and he wants to give the hoss away to the +first man that can ride him. Hal Dunbar heard about it and sent up +word that he was coming up to ride him." + +"He must be a brave man," said Bull innocently. He had an immense +capacity for admiring others. + +"Brave?" The proprietor paused as though this had not occurred to him +before. "Why, they ain't such a thing as fear in Hal Dunbar, I guess. +But if he decides to ride Diablo, he'll ride him, well enough. He has +his way about things, Hal Dunbar does." + +The sketchy portrait impressed Bull Hunter greatly. "You know him, +then?" + +"How'd I be mistaking you for him if I knowed him? No, he lives way +down south, but they's a pile heard about him that's never seen him." + +For some reason the words of his host remained in the mind of Bull as +he went down the road that day. Oddly enough, he pictured man and +horse as being somewhat alike--Diablo vast and black and fierce, and +Hal Dunbar dark and huge and terrible of eye, also; which was proof +enough that Bull Hunter was a good deal of a child. He cared less +about the world as it was than for the world as it might be, and as +long as life gave him something to dream about, he did not care in the +least about the facts of existence. + +Another man would have been worried about the future; but Bull Hunter +went down the road with his swinging stride, perfectly at peace with +himself and with life. He had not enough money in his pocket to buy a +meal, but he was not thinking so far ahead. + +It was still well before noon when he came in sight of the Bridewell +place. It varied not a whit from the typical ranch of that region, a +low-built collection of sheds and arms sprawling around the ranch +house itself. About the building was a far-flung network of corrals. +Bull Hunter found his way among them and followed a sound of +hammering. He was well among the sheds when a great black stallion +shot into view around a nearby corner, tossing his head and mane. He +was pursued by a shrill voice crying, "Diablo! Hey! You old fool! +Stand still ... it's me ... it's Tod!" + +To the amazement of Bull Hunter, Diablo the Terrible, Diablo the +man-killer, paused and reluctantly turned about, shaking his head as +though he did not wish to obey but was compelled by the force of +conscience. At once a bare-legged boy of ten came in sight, running +and shaking his fist angrily at the giant horse. Indeed, it was a +tremendous animal. Not the seventeen hands that the hotel proprietor +had described to Bull, but a full sixteen three, and so proudly +high-headed, so stout-muscled of body, so magnificently long and +tapering of leg, that a wiser horseman than the hotelkeeper might have +put Diablo down for more than seventeen hands. + +Most tall horses are like tall men--they are freakish and malformed in +some of their members; but Diablo was as trim as a pony. He had the +high withers, the mightily sloped shoulders, and the short back of a +weight carrier. And although at first glance his underpinning seemed +too frail to bear the great mass of his weight or withstand the effort +of his driving power of shoulders and deep, broad thighs, yet a closer +reckoning made one aware of the comfortable dimensions of the cannon +bone with all that this feature portended. Diablo carried his bulk +with the grace which comes of compacted power well in hand. + +Not that Bull Hunter analyzed the stallion in any such fashion. He +was, literally, ignorant of horseflesh. But in spite of his ignorance +the long neck, not overfleshed, suggested length of stride and the +mighty girth meant wind beyond exhaustion and told of the great heart +within. The points of an ordinary animal may be overlooked, but a great +horse speaks for himself in every language and to every man. He was +coal-black, this Diablo, except for the white stocking of his off +forefoot; he was night-black, and so silken sleek that, as he turned +and pranced, flashes of light glimmered from shoulders to flanks. + +Bull Hunter stared in amazement that changed to appreciation, and +appreciation that burst in one overpowering instant to the full +understanding of the beauty of the horse. Joy entered the heart of the +big man. He had looked on horses hitherto as pretty pictures perhaps, +but useless to him. Here was an animal that could bear him like the +wind wherever he would go. Here was a horse who could gallop +tirelessly under him all day and labor through the mountains, bearing +him as lightly as the cattle ponies bore ordinary men. The cumbersome +feeling of his own bulk, which usually weighed heavily on Bull, +disappeared. He felt light of heart and light of limb. + +In the meantime the bare-legged boy had come to the side of the big +horse, still shrilling his anger. He stood under the lofty head of the +stallion and shook his small fist into the face of Diablo the +Terrible. And while Bull, quaking, expected to see the head torn from +the shoulders of the child, Diablo pointed his ears and sniffed the +fist of the boy inquisitively. + +In fact, this could not be the horse of which the hotelkeeper had told +him, or perhaps he had been recently tamed and broken? + +That, for some reason, made the heart of Bull Hunter sink. + +The boy now reached up and twisted his fingers into the mane of the +black. + +"Come along now. And if you pull away ag'in, you old fool, Diablo, +I'll give you a thumping, I tell you. Git along!" + +Diablo meekly lowered his head and made his step mincing to regulate +his gait to that of his tiny master. He was brought alongside a rail +fence. There he waited patiently while the boy climbed up to the top +rail and then slid onto his back. Again Bull Hunter caught his breath. +He expected to see the stallion leap into the air and snap the child +high above his head with a single arching of his back, but there was +no such violent reaction. Diablo, indeed, turned his head with his +ears flattened and bared his teeth, but it was only to snort at the +knee of the boy. Plainly he was bluffing, if horses ever bluffed. The +boy carelessly dug his brown toes into the cheek of the great horse +and shoved his head about. + +"Giddap," he called. "Git along, Diablo!" + +Diablo walked gently forward. + +"Hurry up! I ain't got all day!" And the boy thumped the giant with +his bare heels. + +Diablo broke into a trot as soft, as smooth flowing, as water passing +over a smooth bed of sand. Bull ran to the corner of the shed and +gaped after them until the pair slid around a corner and were gone. +Instinctively he drew off his hat and gaped. + +He was startled back to himself by loud laughter nearby, and, looking +up, he saw an old fellow in overalls with a handful of nails and a +hammer. He stood among a scattering of uprights which represented, +apparently, the beginnings of the skeleton of a barn. Now he leaned +against one of these uprights and indulged his mirth. Bull regarded +him mildly; he was used to being laughed at. + + + + +CHAPTER 14 + + +"That's the way they all do," said the old man. "They all gape the +same fool way when they see Diablo the first time." + +"Is that the wild horse?" asked Bull in his gentle voice. "That's him. +I s'pose after seeing Tod handle him, you'll want to try to ride him +right off?" + +Bull looked in the direction in which the horse had disappeared. He +swallowed a lump that had risen in his throat and shook his +head sadly. + +"Nope. You see, I dunno nothing about horses, really." + +The old man regarded him with a new and sudden interest. + +"Takes a wise man to call himself a fool," he declared axiomatically. + +Bull took this dubious bit of praise as an invitation and came slowly +closer to the other. He had the child's way of eyeing a stranger with +embarrassing steadiness at a first meeting and thereafter paying +little attention to the face. He wrote the features down in his memory +and kept them at hand for reference, as it were. As he drew nearer, +the old man grew distinctly serious, and when Bull was directly before +him he gazed up into the face of Bull with distinct amazement. At a +distance the big man did not seem so large because of the grace of his +proportions; when he was directly confronted, however, he seemed a +veritable giant. + +"By the Lord, you _are_ big. And who might you be, stranger?" + +"My name's Charlie Hunter; though mostly folks call me just plain +Bull." + +"That's queer," chuckled the other. "Well, glad to know you. I'm +Bridewell." + +They shook hands, and Bridewell noted the gentleness of the giant. As +a rule strong men are tempted to show their strength when they shake +hands; Bridewell appreciated the modesty of Charlie Hunter. + +"And you didn't come to ride Diablo?" + +"No. I just stopped in to see him. And--" Bull sighed profoundly. + +"I know. He gives even me a touch now and then, though I know what a +devil he is!" + +"Devil?" repeated Bull, astonished. "Why, he's as gentle as a kitten!" + +"Because you seen Tod ride him?" Bridewell laughed. "That don't mean +nothing. Tod can bully him, sure. But just let a grown man come near +him--with a saddle! That'll change things pretty pronto! You'll see +the finest little bit of boiled-down hell-raising that ever was! The +jingle of a pair of spurs is Diablo's idea of a drum--and he makes his +charge right off! Gentle? Huh!" The grunt was expressive. "And what +good's a hoss if he can't be rode with a saddle?" He waved the subject +of Diablo into the distance. "They ain't any hope unless Hal Dunbar +can ride him. If he can't, I'll shoot the beast!" + +"Shoot him?" echoed Bull Hunter. He took a pace back, and his big, +boyish face clouded to a frown. "Not that, I guess!" + +"Why not?" asked Bridewell, curious at the change in the big stranger. +"Why not? What good is he?" + +"Why--he's good just to look at. I'd keep him just for that." + +"And you can have him just for that--if you can manage to handle him. +Want to try?" + +Bull shook his head. "I don't know nothing about horses," he confessed +again. He glanced at the skeleton of standing beams. "Building a +barn, eh?" + +"You wouldn't call it pitching hay or shoeing a hoss that I'm doing, I +guess," said the old fellow crossly. "I'm fussing at building a barn, +but a fine chance I got. I get all my timber here--look at that!" + +He indicated the stacks of beams and lumber around him. + +"And then I get some men out of town to work with me on it. But they +get lonely. Don't like working on a ranch. Besides, they had a scrap +with me. I wouldn't have 'em loafing around the job. Rather have no +help at all than have a loafer helping me. So they quit. Then I tried +to get my cowhands to give me a lift, but they wouldn't touch a +hammer. Specialists in cows is what they say they are, ding bust 'em! +So here I am trying to do something and doing nothing. How can I +handle a beam that it takes three men to lift?" + +He illustrated by going to a stack of long and massive timbers and +tugging at the end of one of them. He was able to raise that end only +a few inches. + +"You see?" + +Bull nodded. + +"Suppose you give me the job handling the timbers?" he suggested. "I +ain't much good with a hammer and nails, but I might manage +the lifting." + +"All by yourself? One man?" he eyed the bulk of Bull hopefully for a +moment, then the light faded from his face. "Nope, you couldn't raise +'em. Not them joists yonder!" + +"I think I could," said Bull. + +Old Bridewell thrust out his jaw. He had been a combative man in his +youth; and he still had the instinct of a fighter. + +"I got ten dollars," he said, "that says you can't lift that beam and +put her up on end! That one right there, that I tried to lift a +minute ago!" + +"All right," Bull nodded. + +"You're on for the bet?" the old man chuckled gayly. "All right. Let's +see you give a heave!" + +Bull Hunter obediently stepped to the timber. It was a twelve footer +of bulky dimensions, heavy wood not thoroughly seasoned. Yet he did +not approach one end of it. He laid his immense hands on the center of +it. Old Bridewell chuckled to himself softly as he watched; he was +beginning to feel that the big stranger was a little simple-minded. +His chuckling ceased when he saw the timber cant over on one edge. + +"Look out!" he called, for Bull had slipped his hand under the lifted +side. "You'll get your fingers smashed plumb off that way." + +"I have to get a hold under it, you see," explained Bull calmly, and +so saying his knees sagged a little and when they straightened the +timber rose lightly in his hands and was placed on his shoulder. + +"Where'd you like to have it?" asked Bull. + +Bridewell rubbed his eyes. "Yonder," he said faintly. + +Bull walked to the designated place, the great timber teetering up and +down, quivering with the jar of each stride. There he swung one end to +the ground and thrust the other up until it was erect. + +"Is this the way you want it?" said Bull. + +By this time Bridewell had recovered his self-possession to some +degree, yet his eyes were wide as he approached. + +"Yep. Just let it lean agin' that corner piece, will you, Hunter?" + +Bull obeyed. + +"That might make a fellow's shoulder sort of sore," he remarked, "if +he had to carry those timbers all day." + +"All day?" gasped Bridewell, and then he saw that the giant, indeed, +was not even panting from his effort. He was already turning his +attention to the pile of timbers. + +"Here," he said, reluctantly drawing out some money. "Here's your +ten." + +But Bull refused it. "Can't take it," he explained. "I just made the +bet by way of talk. You see, I knew I could lift it; and you didn't +have any real idea about me. Besides, if I'd lost I couldn't have +paid. I haven't any money." + +He said this so gravely and simply that old Bridewell watched him +quizzically, half suspecting that there was a touch of irony hidden +somewhere. It gradually dawned on him that a man who was flat broke +was refusing money which he had won fairly on a bet. The idea +staggered Bridewell. He was within an ace of putting Bull Hunter down +as a fool. Something held him back, through some underlying respect +for the physical might of the big man and a respect, also, for the +honesty which looked out of his eyes. He pocketed the money slowly. He +was never averse to saving. + +"But I've been thinking," said Bull, as he sadly watched the money +disappear, "that you might be needing me to help you put up the barn? +Do you think you could hire me?" + +"H'm," grumbled Bridewell. "You think you could handle these big +timbers all day?" + +"Yes," said Bull, "if none of 'em are any bigger than that last one. +Yes, I could handle 'em all day easily." + +It was impossible to doubt that he said this judiciously and not with +a desire to overstate his powers. In spite of himself the old +rancher believed. + +"You see," explained Bull eagerly, "you said that you needed three men +for that work. That's why I ask." + +"And I suppose you'd want the pay of three men?" + +Bull shook his head. "Anything you want to pay me," he declared. + +The rancher frowned. This sounded like the beginning of a shrewd +bargain, and his respect and suspicion were equally increased. + +"Suppose you say what you want?" he asked. + +"Well," Bull said slowly, "I'd have to have a place to sleep. And--I'm +a pretty big eater." + +"I guess you are," said Bridewell. "But if you do three men's work you +got a right to three men's food. What else do you want?" + +Bull considered, as though there were few other wishes that he could +express. "I haven't any money," he apologized. "D'you think maybe you +could pay me a little something outside of food and a place to sleep?" + +Bridewell blinked, and then prepared himself to become angry, when it +dawned on him that this was not intended for sarcasm. He found that +Bull was searching his face eagerly, as though he feared that he were +asking too much. + +"What would do you?" suggested Bridewell tentatively. + +"I dunno," said Bull, sighing with relief. "Anything you think." + +It was plain that the big man was half-witted--or nearly so. Bridewell +kept the sparkle of exultation out of his eyes. + +"You leave it to me, then, and I'll do what's more'n right by you. +When d'you want to start work?" + +"Right now." + + + + +CHAPTER 15 + + +When Bull left the dining room that night after supper, Mrs. Bridewell +looked across the table at her husband with horror in her eyes. + +"Did you see?" she gasped. "He ate the _whole_ pot of beans!" + +"Sure I seen him," and he grinned. + +"But--he'll eat us out of house and home! Why, he's like a wolf!" + +Bridewell chuckled with superior knowledge. "He's ate enough for +three," he admitted, "but he's worked enough for six--besides, most of +his wages come in food. But work? I never seen anything like it! He +handled more timbers than a dozen. When it come to spiking them in +place he seen me swinging that twelve-pound sledge and near breaking +my back. 'I think it's easier this way,' he says. 'Besides you can hit +a lot faster if you use just one hand.' And he takes the hammer, and +sends that big spike in all the way to the head with one lick. And he +wondered why I didn't work the same way! Ain't got any idea how +strong he is." + +Mrs. Bridewell listened with wide eyes. "The idea," she murmured. "The +idea! Where's he now?" + +Her husband went to the back door. "He's sitting over by the pump +talking to Tod. Sitting talking like they was one age. I reckon he's +sort of half-witted." + +"How come?" sharply asked Mrs. Bridewell. "Ain't Tod got more brains +than most growed-up men?" + +"I reckon he has," admitted the proud father. + +And if they had put the same question to Bull Hunter, the giant would +have agreed with them emphatically. He approached the child tamer of +Diablo with a diffidence that was almost reverence. The freckle-faced +boy looked up from his whittling when the shadow of Bull fell athwart +him, with an equal admiration; also with suspicion, for the +cowpunchers, on the whole, were apt to make game of the youngster and +his grave, grown-up ways. He was, therefore, shrewdly suspicious of +jests at his expense. + +Furthermore, he had seen the big stranger heaving the great timbers +about and whirling the sledge with one hand; he half suspected that +the jokes might be pointed with the weight of that heavy hand. His +amazement was accordingly great when he found the big man actually +sitting down beside him, cross-legged, and he was absolutely stupefied +when Bull Hunter said, "I've been aiming at this chance to talk to +you, Tod, all day." + +"H'm," grunted Tod noncommittally, and examined the other with a +cautious side glance. + +But the face of Bull Hunter was unutterably free from guile. Tod +instantly began to adjust himself. The men he most worshiped were the +lean, swift, profanely formidable cowpunchers. But there was something +in him that responded with a thrill to this accepted equality with +such a man as Bull Hunter. Even his father he had seen stricken to an +awed silence at the sight of Bull's prowess. + +"You see," explained Bull frankly, "I been wondering how you managed +to handle Diablo the way you do." + +Tod chuckled. "It's just a trick. You watch me a while with him, +you'll soon catch on." + +But Bull shook his head as he answered, "Maybe a mighty bright man +might figure it out, but I'm not good at figuring things out, Tod." + +The boy blinked. He was accustomed to the studied understatement of +the cowpunchers and he was accustomed, also, to their real vanity +which underlay the surface shyness. But it was patent that Bull +Hunter, in spite of his size, was truly humble. This conception was +new to Tod and slowly grew in his brain. His active eyes ran over the +bulk beside him; he almost pitied the giant. + +"Besides," pondered Bull heavily, "I guess there's a whole lot of +bright men that have seen you handle Diablo, but they couldn't make +out what you did. They tried to ride Diablo and got their necks nearly +broken. They were good riders, but I'm not. You see, Diablo's the +first horse I've ever seen that could really carry me." He added +apologetically, "I'm so heavy." + +No vanity, certainly. He gestured toward himself as though he were +ashamed of his brawn, and the heart of Tod warmed and expanded. He +himself would never be large, and his heart had ached because of his +smallness many a time. + +"Yep," he said judiciously, "you're pretty heavy. About the heaviest I +ever seen, I guess. Maybe Hal Dunbar is as big, but I never seen Hal." + +"I've heard a good deal about Hal, but--" + +He stopped short and stiffened. Tod saw that the eyes of the big man +had fixed on the corral in which stood Diablo. A puff of wind had +come, and the great black had thrown up his head into it, an imposing +picture with mane and tail blown sidewise. Not until the stallion +turned away from the unseen thing which he had scented in the wind, +did Bull turn to his small companion with a sigh. + +Tod nodded, his eyes glinting. "I know," he said. "I used to feel that +way--before I learned how to handle Diablo." He interpreted, "You feel +like it'd be pretty fine to get onto Diablo's back and have him gallop +under you." + +"About the finest thing in the world," sighed Bull Hunter. He cast out +his great hands before him as he tried to explain the mysterious +emotions which the horse had excited in him. "You see, Tod, I'm pretty +big and I'm pretty slow. Most folks have horses, and they get about +pretty lively on 'em, but I've always had to walk." + +The enormity of this lack made Tod stare, for travel and horses were +inseparably connected in his mind. He shuddered a little at the +thought of the big man stalking across the burning and interminable +sands of the desert or toiling through the mountains. It seemed to him +that he could see the signs of that pain stamped in the face of Bull +Hunter, and his heart leaped again in sympathy. + +"So when I saw Diablo--" Bull paused. But Tod had understood. Suddenly +the boy became excited. + +"Suppose you was to learn to ride Diablo before Hal Dunbar come to try +him out? Suppose that?" + +"Could you teach me?" the giant asked in an almost awed whisper. + +The child looked over his companion with a vague wonder. It would be a +tremendous responsibility, this teaching of the giant, but what could +be more spectacular than to have such a man as his pupil? But to share +his unique empire over Diablo--that would be a great price to pay! + +"No," he decided, "it wouldn't do. Besides, suppose even I _could_ +teach you how to ride Diablo--with a saddle, which I don't think I +could--what would happen when Hal Dunbar come up to these parts and +found that the hoss he wanted was somebody else's? He'd make an awful +fuss--and he's a fighting man, Bull." + +He said this impressively, leaning a little toward the giant, and he +was rewarded infinitely by seeing the right hand of the giant stir a +little toward the holster at his thigh. + +"I guess I'd have to take my chance with him," was all Bull answered +in his mildest tone. + +Tod was beginning to guess that there was a certain amount of mental +strength under this quiet exterior. He had often noted that his +father, who made by far the most noise, was more easily placated than +his mother, in spite of her gentle silences. The strength of Bull +Hunter had a strain of the same thing about it. + +"You'd take a chance with Hal Dunbar?" he repeated wonderingly. He +trembled a little, with a sort of nervous ecstasy at the thought of +that coming encounter. "That's more'n anybody else in these parts +would do. Why, everybody's heard about Hal Dunbar. Everybody's scared +of him. He can ride anything that's big enough to carry him; he can +fight like a wildcat with his hands; and he can shoot like"--his eye +wandered toward a superlative--"like Pete Reeve, almost," he concluded +with a tone of awe. + +A spark of tenderness shone in the eye of Bull. "D'you know Pete +Reeve?" + +"No, and I don't want to. Ma had a brother once, and he met up with +Pete Reeve." + +A tragedy was inferred in that oblique reference. Bull decided that +this was a conversational topic on which he must remain silent, and +yet he yearned to speak of the little withered catlike fellow with the +wise brain who had done so much for him. + +"When I'm big enough," mused the boy with a quiet savagery, "maybe +I'll meet up with Pete Reeve." + +Bull switched the talk to a more comfortable topic. "But how'd you +make a start with that man-eating Diablo?" + +Tod studied, the question. "I got a way with hosses, you see," he +began modestly. + +He played two brown fingers in his mouth and sent out a shrilling +whistle that was answered immediately by a whinny, and a little +chestnut gelding, sun-faded to a sand color nearly, cantered into view +around the corner of a shed and approached them. He came to a pause +nearby, and having studied Bull Hunter with large, unafraid, curious +eyes for a moment, began to nibble impertinently at the ragged hat +brim of the child. + +"Git away!" exclaimed Tod, and when the chestnut made no move to go, +the brown fist flashed up at the reaching head. But the head was +jerked away with a motion of catlike deftness. + +"He's a terrible bother, Crackajack is," said the boy angrily, and +from the corner of his eye he stole a glance of unspeakable pride at +the big man. + +"He's a beauty," exclaimed Bull Hunter. "A regular beauty!" + +For Crackajack combined the toughness of a mustang and the lean, +strong running lines of a thoroughbred in miniature. His legs were as +delicately made as the legs of a deer; his head was a little model of +impish intelligence and beauty. + +"You and Crackajack are pals," said Bull. "I guess that's what you +are!" + +"We get on tolerable well," admitted the boy, whose heart was full +with this praise of his pet. + +Bull continued on the agreeable topic. "And I'll bet he's fast, too. +He looks like speed to me!" + +"Maybe you don't know hosses, but you sure got hoss sense." Tod +chuckled. "Most folks take Crackajack for a toy pony. He ain't. I've +seen him carry a full-grown man all day and keep up with the best of +'em. He don't mind the weight of me no more'n if I was a feather. He's +fast, he's tough, and he knows more'n a hoss should know, you +might say!" + +He changed his voice, and a brief command made Crackajack give up his +teasing and retreat. Bull watched the exquisite little creature go, +with a smile of pleasure. He did not know it, but that smile unlocked +the last door to Tod's heart. + +"He was pretty near as wild as Diablo when I first got him," said the +boy. "And mean--say, he'd been kicked around all his life. But I +fatted him up in the barn, and he got so's he'd follow me around. And +now he runs loose like a dog and comes when I whistle. He knows more +things than you could shake a stick at, Crackajack does." "I'll bet he +does," said Bull with shining eyes. + +"Say," said the boy suddenly, "I'm going to tell you about the way I +worked with Diablo." + +"I'll take that mighty kind," said Bull gratefully. "D'you think I'd +have a chance with him even if you showed me how?" + +"You got to have a way with hosses," admitted the boy, and he examined +Bull again. "But I think you'll get on with hossflesh pretty well. +When Diablo first come, he used to go plumb crazy when anybody come +near his corral. He still does if a growed man comes there. Well, they +used to go out and stand and watch him and laugh at him prancing +around and kicking up a fuss at the sight of 'em. + +"And it made me mad. Made me plumb mad to see them bother Diablo when +he wasn't doing no harm, when they wasn't gaining anything by +it, either." + +"I used to go out when nobody was around and stand by the bars with a +bit of hay and grain heads in my hand. First off he'd prance around +even at me, but pretty soon he seen that I wasn't big enough to do him +no harm, and then he'd just stand still and snort and look at me. +Along about the third time he took notice of the grain heads and come +and smelled them, and the next day he ate 'em. + +"Well, I kept at it that way. Pretty soon I went inside the corral. +Diablo just come up sort of excited and trembling and didn't know +whether to bash my head in with his forehoofs or let me go. Then he +seen the grain heads and ate them while he was making up his mind what +to do about me. And he winded up by just having a little talk with me. +He was terribly dirty and dusty, and he was shedding. Nobody dared to +brush him, and so I took a soft-haired brush and started to work on +his neck. He liked it, and so I dressed him down and left him pretty +near shining. And every day after that I went and had a talk with him +and brushed him. Then I rode Crackajack up to the bars and let Diablo +see me on him, with no bridle or saddle. Pretty soon I found out that +it was the saddle and the bridle and the spurs that scared Diablo to +death. He didn't mind anything else so very much. So one day I climbed +up the fence and slid onto Diablo's back, and he just turned his head +and snorted at me. Just then Pa seen me and let out a terrible yell, +and Diablo pitched me right off over his head and over the fence. But +I got right up and came back to him. He seen that he could get me off +whenever he wanted to and he seen that I didn't do him no harm when +I got on. + +"After that everything was easy. I never bothered him none with a +saddle or a bridle. And there you are. D'you think you can do +the same?" + +"But the saddle and the bridle?" said Bull. "What about them?" + +"That's up to you to figure out a way of getting him used to 'em. I'll +go introduce you now, if I can." + +Bull rose, and the boy led the way. + +"If he takes to you pretty kind," said the boy, "you may have a +chance. But if he begins acting up, it won't be no use." + + + + +CHAPTER 16 + + +Diablo greeted them with a throwing up of his formidable head. He took +his place in the very middle of his corral, but when Bull Hunter and +his small guide reached the bars, the black stallion seemed to go +suddenly mad. He flung himself into the air and came down bucking. +Back and forth across the corral he threw himself in the wildest swirl +of pitching that Bull Hunter had ever seen or ever dreamed of. + +"He's an educated bucker, you see?" said the boy in admiration. "They +ain't any trick that he don't know. Look!" + +Diablo had begun to sunfish in the most approved method, and swirled +from this to some fence rowing as swift as the jagged course of +lightning. At every jump Bull could see an imaginary rider snapped +from the back of the black giant. A cloud of dust was sent swishing +up, and in the midst of this fog, Diablo came to a pause as sudden as +the beginning of his strange struggle against an imaginary foeman; but +it seemed to Bull Hunter that the ground beneath his feet was still +quivering from the impacts of that mighty body. + +"That's just his way of telling you what he'll do when you try to +saddle him," chuckled the boy. + +As he spoke he slipped through the bars of the corral. + +"Look out!" exclaimed Bull in horror, for the stallion had rushed at +the small intruder with gaping mouth. Bull reached for his gun--Diablo +was already on the child, but at the last minute he swerved, and +flashed around Tod in a circle. + +"He's all right," Tod was shrilling through his laughter, for the +horrified face of Bull amused him. "That's just his way of saying that +he's glad to see me!" + +In fact, Diablo came to a sudden halt directly behind the child, his +head towering aloft above that of Tod while he flashed his defiance at +Bull Hunter, as though he were making use of the small bulwark of Tod +against the stranger. + +"Diablo, you old fool," the boy was saying, as he reached up and +managed to wind his fingers in the end of Diablo's mane, "you come +along and meet my friend, Bull Hunter. I figure you're going to get to +know him pretty good before long. Hey, Bull, come up close to the bars +so's he can see you ain't got a rope or a whip or spurs, and stick +your hand out so's he can sniff at it. That's his way of saying +how d'ye do." + +Bull obeyed, and to his amazement, Diablo responded to the small +forward urge of the child's hand and approached the bars one trembling +step at a time. Bull began to talk to him softly. He had never talked +like this to any living creature. He did not know exactly what he +said. The words came of their own accord into his throat. He only knew +that he wanted to reassure the big, powerful, uncertain brute, and +though Diablo stopped short at the first sound of Bull's voice and +laid his ears back, he presently pricked one of those ears again and +allowed himself to be drawn forward with long, crouching strides. + +"That's the way!" said the child softly, as though he feared that a +loud voice might break in upon the spell. "You know how to talk to +him! And, outside of me, you're the only one that does! I knew you'd +have it in you!" + +For Diablo had extended his long neck and actually sniffed the hand of +Bull Hunter. He immediately tossed his head aloft, but he did not +flinch away. + +"That's half the fight won already," advised the boy in the same soft +voice. "D'you want to try the saddle on him now?" + +"The saddle? Now?" exclaimed Bull. "I should say not! Why, he don't +hardly know me; I'll have to get acquainted before I try anything +like that." + +He discovered that Tod was nodding in hearty approval. + +"You do know," he said. "Don't tell me that you ain't been around +hosses a pile. Yep, you got to get acquainted. What you want to +do now?" + +Bull considered. "I'd like to have something to show him that it isn't +unpleasant having me around. I'd like to have him see some good +results, you know? Is there anything I could feed him?" + +The boy chuckled. "Best thing is some dried prunes with the pits taken +out of 'em. I have some at the house. They get stuck in Diablo's teeth +and it's sure funny to see him eat 'em. But he just nacherally plumb +likes the taste of the prunes." + +He followed his own suggestion by scampering away to the house and +returned almost at once with a hat full of the prunes. + +"You want to feed him these now?" + +"First," said Bull, "I'd like to have you leave us alone. If I can't +teach him to like me all by myself, then I'd better give up +right away." + +The boy looked at him in surprise and then impulsively stretched out +his hand. They shook hands gravely. + +"You got the right idea, pardner," said Tod. "Go ahead--and good luck! +And keep talking to him all the time. That's the main thing!" + +He retreated accordingly, but before the evening was over, Bull +regretted dismissing his little ally so quickly, for although Diablo +indulged in no more threatening outbreaks of temper, he resolutely +refused to eat the prunes from Bull's hand. Several times he +approached the bars of the corral and the patiently extended hand, but +always he drew back, snorting, and sometimes he would run around the +corral, shaking his head and throwing up his heels after the manner of +a horse tempted but still afraid of being overruled. + +It was long after dark when Bull gave up the attempt. He went back to +the bunkhouse, rolled up the blankets which had been assigned to him, +and carried them out to the corral. Close to the fence he laid them +down, and a few minutes later he was wrapped in them and sound asleep. +The last thing he remembered was the form of the great stallion, +standing watchfully in the exact middle of the corral, the starlight +glimmering very faintly in his big eyes. + +Bull Hunter fell asleep and had a nightmare of the arrival of the +famous Hal Dunbar the next day, a fierce conquest of Diablo, and the +battle ending with the departure of Dunbar on the back of +the stallion. + +The dream waked him, nervous, and he turned and saw Diablo standing +huge and formidable in the darkness, as though he had not moved from +his first position. + +In the morning the arduous labors of the building began again, and +though the prodigious appetite of Bull at the breakfast table made +even old Bridewell look askance, Bull had not been at work an hour +handling the ponderous uprights and joists before his employer was +smiling to himself. His new hand was certainly worth his keep, and +more, for weariness seemed a stranger to that big body, and no weight +was too great to be cheerily assumed. And always he worked with a sort +of nervous anxiety as though he feared that he might not be +doing enough. + +During the day Bridewell attempted to probe the past history of his +hired man, expecting a story as big as the body of the man, but Bull +was discreetly vague, for he had no wish to reveal his connection with +Pete Reeve; and if he left out Reeve, he felt that there was nothing +in his life worth talking about. Many a time he wondered what the +little gunfighter was doing, and what trail he was riding now. A +dangerous trail, he doubted not, and a lawless trail, he greatly +feared. But someday he might be able to find the terrible little man +and bring him back to a truer place in society. + +That night he began again the long, quiet struggle with Diablo; and +before he ended, Diablo had gathered some of the dried fruit from the +palm of his hand with a sensitive, trembling pair of lips. And he had +come back for more, and more. Yet it was not until the next night that +Bull ventured inside the bars of the corral and sat cross-legged on +the ground, with a vague feeling that Diablo would be less alarmed if +his visitor bulked less large. + +Inside the bars he seemed an entirely new proposition to the stallion. +The big black kept discreetly on the far side of the corral with much +snorting and stamping, and it was not until the next evening that he +ventured to approach the man. Still another day passed before Bull was +allowed to stand and touch the neck of the black; and that, it seemed +to him, was the greatest forward step toward the conquest. + +It was terribly slow work, and in the meantime the skeleton frame of +the barn was fast rising. Would he accomplish his purpose by the time +the barn was completed and Bridewell no longer had a use for him? Or +would Hal Dunbar arrive before that appointed time? That night, +however, another portentous event happened. Waking in the night, Bull +heard a sound of deep, regular breathing close to him, and, turning on +his side, he saw that Diablo had lain down as close to him as the +corral fence would allow, and there he slept, panther-black, sleek in +the starlight. Bull stretched out his hand. The head of the stallion +jerked up, but a moment later he carelessly sniffed the extended +fingers and resumed his position of repose. And the heart of Bull +Hunter swelled with triumph. + +That event gave him a new idea, and the following evening he made a +groundwork of branches in the corner of the corral itself, and put +down his blankets on the evergreens. Diablo was much concerned and +walked about examining the new work from every angle. There Bull +slept, and the next night he found that during the day the stallion +had torn the boughs to pieces and scattered them about. He patiently +laid a new foundation, and after this the bed was left strictly alone. + +In the meantime Bull had made a light, strong halter of rawhide, and +after several attempts he managed to slip it onto the head of Diablo. +Once in place, it was easy to teach Diablo that he must follow when he +felt a pull on the halter--the first steps were rewarded with dried +prunes, and after that it was simple. + +On that evening, also, Bull made his next step forward toward the most +difficult proposition of all--he took a partly filled barley sack and +put it on the back of Diablo. The next moment the sack was shot into +the air as Diablo leaped up and arched his back like a cat at the +height of his leap. He came down trembling and snorting, but Bull +picked up the fallen sack and allowed him to smell it. Diablo found +that the smell was good and that the hateful sack even contained +things very good to eat. The next time the sack was put on his back he +quivered and shrank, but he did not buck it off. + +After that, Bull spent his evenings in gradually increasing the weight +of that sack until a full hundred pounds caused Diablo no worry +whatever, and when this point had been attained, Bull decided that he +might venture his own bulk on the back of Diablo. He confided his +purpose to Tod, and the boy, greatly excited, hid himself at a +distance to watch. + +In the beginning it was deceptively easy. Diablo stood perfectly +unconcerned as Bull raised himself on the bars of the fence. And when +the long legs of Bull were passed over his back, Diablo merely turned +his head and sniffed the shoe tentatively. Slowly, very softly, +steadying himself on the top bar of the fence, Bull lowered his weight +more and more until the whole burden was on the back of the +stallion--and then he took his hands from the top rail. + +But the moment he released that grip there was a change in Diablo, as +though he realized that the man had suddenly trusted himself entirely +to his mount. Bull felt a sudden wincing of all that great body; the +quarters sank and trembled. He thought at first that it was because +the horse was failing under the weight of this ponderous burden; but +instinct told him a moment later that it was fear, and a mixture of +suspicious anger. + +Diablo took one of his long, catlike steps, and paused without +bringing up his other foot. In vain Bull spoke to him, softly, +steadily. Diablo took another step, quickened to a soft trot, and +stopped suddenly. That weight on his back failed to leave him. He +began to tremble violently. Bull felt the sudden thundering of the +great heart beneath the pressure of his knee. + +To the stallion, this man had been a friend, a constant companion. The +touch of his hand was pleasant. Pleasanter still was the continual +deep murmur of the voice, reassuring, telling him of a superior and +guardian mind looking out for his interests. Now that hand was +stroking his sleek neck and that voice was steadily in his ear. But +the position was the most hated one. To be sure, there was no saddle, +no cutting, binding cinch, no drag of cruel Spanish curb to control +his head, no tearing spurs to threaten him. But his flanks twitched +where the spurs had dug in many a time, and he panted, remembering the +cinches. Those memories built up a panic. He became unsure. The voice +reached him less distinctly. Moreover it was a strange time of the +evening. The light of the day was nearly done; the moon was barely up, +and all things were ghostly and unreal in that slant light. + +Something of all that went through the mind of Diablo was understood +by Bull Hunter. It was telegraphed to him by the twitching and +vibration of great muscles, by the stiff arching of the neck, and the +snorting breathing. But he was beginning to forget fear. The stallion +danced lightly forward, and as the wind struck the face of Bull Hunter +he suddenly rejoiced. This was what he had dreamed of, to be carried +thus lightly, easily. The weight that had crushed other horses was +nothing to Diablo. It made him feel buoyant. He became tinglingly +alert. On the back of Diablo not a horse of the mountains could +overtake him if he fled; and not a man of the mountains could escape +him if he pursued on the back of the stallion. + +That thought had hardly formed in his excited mind when Diablo sprang, +cat-footed, to one side. It made Bull Hunter sway, and he naturally +sought to preserve his balance by gripping the powerful barrel of the +horse with his knees. But at the first touch of the knee Diablo went +suddenly mad. Exactly what he did Bull Hunter never knew. Indeed, it +seemed that Diablo left his feet, shot a dizzy height into the air, +and at the crest of his rise did three or four things at once. At any +rate, as the stallion landed, Bull pitched from the arched back and +hurtled forward and to the right side. He landed heavily against the +ground, his head striking a small rock; and he lay there a +moment, stunned. + +Far off he heard Tod shrilling at him, "Bull! Are you hurt?" + +He gathered himself together and arose, "I'm all right. Stay where you +are!" + +"Don't try him again. He'll kill you, Bull!" + +"Maybe. But I'm going to try." + +Diablo stood on the far side of the corral in the moonlight, a +splendid figure with haughty tail and head. Inwardly he was trembling, +enraged. He knew what would come. He had thrown men before, and +usually he had tried to batter them to pieces after they fell. This +man he had no desire to batter. There had been no saddle, no bridle, +no spurs, no quirt--nevertheless, he must not be controlled by the +hand of any man! But having thrown the fellow, now other men would run +on him, swinging the accursed ropes over their heads, shouting, +cursing at him in strident voices. Vitally he yearned to break through +the bars of the corral and flee, but the bars were there and he must +stay in the inclosure with this friendly enemy. It was not the +prostrate man he feared so much as vengeance from other men, for that +had always been the way. + +But no one came. No shouts were heard except from the small, thin, +familiar voice of Tod. And presently the giant arose from the ground +where he had fallen and came toward him. Diablo flattened his ears +expectantly. At the first throat-tearing curse he would charge. But no +curse came. The man approached, as always, with extended hand, and the +voice was the smooth, gentle murmur that carries peace into the +shadowy mind of a horse. + +Something relaxed in Diablo. If the man did not resent being thrown +off--if that were a sort of game, as it were--why should he, Diablo, +resent having the man on his back? The hand touched his nose gently; +another hand was stroking his neck. + +Presently he was led to the fence and again that heavy weight slid +onto his back. He crouched again, with waves of blind panic surging up +in him, but the panic did not master his sense this time, and as his +brain cleared he began to discover that there was no urging, no will +of another imposed upon him. He could walk where he pleased, following +his own sweet will, or else he could stand still. It made no +difference; but the soft-touching hand and the deep, quiet voice were +assuring him that the man was glad to be up there on his back. + +Diablo turned his head. One ear quivered and came forward tentatively; +then the other. He had accepted Bull Hunter. + +Afterward Bull found Tod. The boy wrung his hand ecstatically. + +"That's what I call game!" he said. + +"Why, Tod," the big man smiled, "you did the same thing." + +"He knew I was nothing. But you're a growed man. But--what's this, +Bull? Your back's all wet." + +"It's nothing much," said Bull calmly. "When I fell, my head hit a +stone. There's some things worth paying for, and Diablo's one +of them." + + + + +CHAPTER 17 + + +The cut proved, as he had said, to be a small thing; but it turned out +that Diablo was far from won. He was haltered and he would carry Bull +bareback. The saddle was quite another affair. So Bull returned to the +idea of the barley sack, with gradual additions. On each side of the +sack he attached hanging straps. Diablo snorted at these and tried +them with his teeth. They reminded him vaguely of the swinging +stirrups that had so often battered his tender sides. He discovered +that the straps were not alive, however, and were not harmful. And +when their length was increased and an uncovered stirrup was tied on +each side, he gradually became accustomed to these also. The next +stage was passing the straps under his belly. They were tied there +loosely, the circle was completed, and Diablo, examining them +critically, found nothing wrong. Then, a dozen times in a single +evening, the straps were drawn up, tighter and tighter, until they +touched him. At this he became excited, and it required all the +resourcefulness of Bull to quiet him. But in three days the barley +sack and its queer-looking additions had been changed for a true +saddle--with the cinches drawn up tight enough for riding. And this +without eliciting a single bucking spasm from Diablo! + +Not even to Tod did Bull Hunter impart his great tidings. He had not +yet climbed into that real saddle; Diablo had not yet heard the creak +of the stirrup leathers under the weight of his rider. Indeed, there +was still much to be done before the happy day when he saddled the +black stallion and took down the bars of the corral gate and rode him +out. And rode him without a bit! For on the point of steel in the +mouth of Diablo, Bull Hunter knew that the horse would be against it +resolutely. So he confined himself to a light hackamore alone. That +was enough, for Diablo had learned to rein over the neck and stop at +the slightest pull of the reins. + +The next morning he went out to his work with a light heart. They had +had the help of several new men during the past ten days and now the +frame of the roof was almost completed. It would not be long before +Bull's services could be dispensed with and he connected the idea of +the completion of the barn in a symbolic fashion with the completion +of his conquest of the stallion. The two would be accomplished in the +same moment, as it were. No wonder, then, that as he climbed the +ladder up the side of the barn, with the ladder quaking beneath his +weight, Bull Hunter began to sing, his thundering bass ringing among +the ranch buildings until Mrs. Bridewell opened the kitchen window to +hear the better, and old Bridewell stopped his ears in mock dismay at +the thunder of Bull's voice. + +But the work was not two hours old when little Tod scampered up to his +side. + +"Bull," he whispered, "Hal Dunbar is down yonder with a couple of men. +He's come to ride Diablo. What'll we do, Bull? What'll we do?" + +"Diablo will throw him," said Bull with conviction. + +"But he won't. He can't," stammered the boy in his excitement. +"Nothing could throw Hal Dunbar. Wait till you see him! Just you wait +till you see. Gee, Bull, he's as big as you and--" + +The other qualifications were apparently too amazing to be adequately +described by the vocabulary of Tod. + +"If any other man can ride Diablo," said Bull at length, "I don't +think I care about him so much. I've been figuring that I'm the only +man who can get on his back. If somebody else can handle him, they're +welcome to the horse as far as I'm concerned." + +"Are you going to let him go like that?" Tod was bitter with shame and +anger. "After all our work, are you going to give him up without +a fight?" + +"A fight would be a gunfight, and a gunfight ends up in a death," said +Bull gently. "I don't like bloodshed, Tod!" + +The boy writhed. Here was an idol smashed with a vengeance! + +"I might of knowed!" he groaned. "You ain't nothing but--but a big +hulk!" + +And he turned on his heel and gave the exciting news to his father. + +For an event of this caliber, Bridewell called down all his men from +the building, and they started for the corral. Hal Dunbar and his two +men already were standing close to the bars, and Diablo stood +quivering, high-headed, in the center of the inclosure. But, of the +picture, the attention of Bull Hunter centered mainly on Hal Dunbar. + +His dreams of the man had been true. He was a huge fellow, as tall as +Bull, or taller, and nearly as bulky. But about Bull Hunter there was +a suggestion of ponderous unwieldiness, and there was none of that +suggestion about Hal Dunbar. He was lithe and straight as a poplar, +and as supple in his movements. The poise of his head and the +alertness of his body and something of lightness in his whole posture +told of the trained athlete. Providence had given the man a marvelous +body, and he had improved it to the uttermost. To crown all, there was +a remarkably handsome face, dark eyes and coal-black hair. + +Yet, more than the imposing body of this hero of the ranges, Bull was +impressed by the spirit of the man. The thing that Tod had felt, he +felt in turn. It shone from the eye, it spoke in the set of Dunbar's +mouth, something unconquerable. It was impossible, after a single +glance, to imagine this man failing. Diablo, it was true, had the same +invincible air. Indeed, they seemed meant for each other, this horse +and this man. They might have been picked from a crowd and the one +assigned to the other. Huge, lithe, fleet, powerful, and fiercely +free, surely Hal Dunbar was intended by fate to sit in the saddle and +govern Diablo according to his will. + +The heart of Charlie Hunter sank. Here was the end, then, of all the +love he had put into his work, of all the feminine gentleness with +which he had petted Diablo and soothed him. And he discovered, in that +bitter moment, that he had not worked merely to gain control of the +horse. There would be no joy in making Diablo bend to his will. His +aim was, and from the first unconsciously had been, to win Diablo so +that the stallion would serve him joyously and freely out of the love +he bore him. As he thought of this, his glance rested on the long, +spoon-handled spurs of big Hal Dunbar. + +Dunbar was shaking hands with Bridewell, leaning a trifle over the +little old man. + +"Here's one that'll be sorry to see you ride Diablo," said Bridewell. +He pointed to Hunter. "He's been working weeks, trying to make a pet +out of the hoss." + +"A pet out of him? A pet?" echoed Dunbar. + +He measured Bull Hunter with a certain bright interest. The sleeves of +Bull were rolled up to the elbows and down the forearms ran the +tangling masses of muscle. But the interest of Dunbar was only +monetary. Presently his lip curled slightly, and he turned his haughty +head toward the great stallion. + +"I'll do something more than pet him. Ill make something useful out of +the big brute. Saddle him, boys!" + +He gestured carelessly, and his two attendants started toward the +corral, one with a heavy saddle and one with a rope. As he stood +rolling his cigarette and watching negligently, he impressed Bull as a +veritable knight of the ranges, a baron with baronial adherents. It +came partly from his splendid stature, and more from his flauntingly +rich costume. The heavy gold braid on the sombrero, the gilded spurs, +the brilliant silk shirt would have been out of place on another man, +but they fit in with Hal Dunbar. They were adjuncts to the pride of +his face. Bull's attention wavered to Tod. + +"Are--are they going to rope Diablo?" + +Tod flashed a half-disgusted, half-despairing glance up at his +companion. + +"What d'you think they're going to do? What do you think?" + +Bull turned away, sick hearted. He could not bear the thought of the +great stallion struggling helpless in the snaky coils of the rope. But +of course there was no other way. Yet his muscles tightened, and the +perspiration poured out on his forehead as he heard a shout from one +of the men, then a brief drumming of Diablo's hoofs, and finally the +heavy thud as the stallion struck full length on the ground. + +That sound stunned Bull as though he had received a blow himself. +Every nerve in him was tingling, revolting against the brutality. They +were idiots, hopeless fools, to dream of conquering Diablo by brute +force. And if they succeeded, they would have a broken-spirited horse +on their hands, worse than useless, or else a treacherous man-killer +to the end of his days. + +He looked again. Diablo, saddled and blindfolded was being driven out +of the corral; a man held him on either side, and his mouth, dragged +out, was already bleeding from the cruel Spanish bit. At that Bull +Hunter saw red. + +When his senses returned to him, he went hurriedly to Dunbar. + +"Friend," he said, earnestly pleading, "will you let me make a +suggestion?" + +The insolent dark eyes ran over him mockingly. + +"Oh, you're the fellow who tried to make a pet out of Diablo? Well, +what's the suggestion?" + +"If you wear those spurs you'll drive him mad! Take 'em off, Mr. +Dunbar!" + +Dunbar stared at him in amazement, and then looked to the others. "Did +you hear that? This wise one wants me to try to ride without spurs. +Who taught you to ride, eh?" + +"I don't know much about it," confessed Bull humbly, "but I know +you're apt to cut him up badly with those big spurs." + +"And what the devil difference does that make to you?" cried Dunbar +with heat. "And what do you mean by all these fool suggestions? I'm +riding the horse!" + +Bull drew back, downheaded. Hal Dunbar cast one contemptuous glance +toward him and then stepped to the side of Diablo. The stallion was +quivering and crouching with fear and anger, and shaking his head from +time to time to get clear of the bandage which blinded him and made +him helpless. Now and then he reared a little and came down on +prancing forefeet, and Bull noted the spring and play of the fetlock +joints. The whole running mechanism of the horse, indeed, seemed +composed of coiled springs. Once released, what would the result be? +And the first hope entered his mind, the first hope since he had seen +the proud form of Hal Dunbar. + +Now the big man set his hand on the pommel and vaulted into the saddle +with a lightness that Bull admired hugely. Under the impact of that +descending bulk the stallion crouched almost to the earth, but he came +up again with a snort and a strangled neigh of rage. + +"Are you ready?" called Dunbar, gathering the reins, and giving the +string of his quirt another twist around his right hand. + +One of his men had mounted his horse with a rope, the noose end of +which was around Diablo's neck. This would serve as a pivot block to +keep Diablo running in a circle. If he tried to run in a straight line +the running noose would stop him and choke him down. He would have to +gallop in a circle for his bucking, and to help keep him in that +circle, the spectators now grouped themselves loosely in a wide rim. +But Bull Hunter did not move. From where he stood he could see all +that he wished. + +"All ready!" called the man with the rope. + +"Let her go, then!" + +The bandage was torn from the eyes of the stallion by Dunbar's second +assistant, and the fellow leaped aside as he did so. Even then he +barely escaped. Diablo had launched himself in pursuit, and his teeth +snapped a fraction of an inch from the shoulder of the fugitive as the +rope came taut and jerked him aside, and the full weight of Dunbar was +thrown back on the reins. + +That mighty wrench of back and shoulder and arm would have broken the +jaw of an ordinary horse; it hardly disturbed Diablo. His head was +first tucked back until his chin was against his breast, but a moment +later he was head down, bucking as never horse bucked before. One +second earlier Hal Dunbar had seemed almost as powerful as the animal +he rode; now he suddenly became small. + +For one thing Diablo wasted no time running against the rope. He +followed the line of least resistance and bolted around the wide +circle with tremendous leaps, gathering impetus as he ran--then +stopping in mid-career by the terrific process of hurling himself in +the air and coming down on four stiff legs and with his back humped so +that the rider sat at the uneasy apex of a pyramid. And this was +merely a beginning. That wild category of tricks which Bull had seen +partially unraveled the first time he visited the horse was now +brought forth again, enlarged, improved upon, made more intricate, +intensified. But well and nobly did Hal Dunbar sustain his fame as a +peerless rider. He rode straight up, and a cheer came from the +spectators when they saw that he was not touching leather in the midst +of the fiercest contortions of Diablo. It seemed that the great brute +would snap the very saddle off his back, but still the rider sat +erect, swaying as though in a storm, but still firmly glued to +the saddle. + +Even the heart of Bull Hunter warmed to the battle. They were a +brutally glorious pair as they struggled. The wrenching hand of the +rider and the Spanish bit had bloodied the mouth of the stallion, the +spurs were clinging horribly at his sides, and he fought back like a +mad thing. He flung himself on the ground, Dunbar barely slipped from +the saddle in time, and whipped onto his feet again, but as he lurched +up, he carried the weight of the rider again, for Dunbar had leaped +into his seat, and as Diablo came up on all fours, it could be seen +that the big man had secured both stirrups--the difficult thing in +that feature of the fight. Dunbar urged the stallion on with a yell; +and swinging the quirt over his head, he brought it down with a +stinging cut on the silky flanks of the great horse. Bull Hunter +crouched as though the lash had cut into his own flesh. He became +savage for the moment. He wanted to have his hands on that rider! + +But the cut of the quirt transformed Diablo. If he had fought hard +before, he now fell into a truly demoniacal frenzy. The long flashing +legs were springs indeed, and the moment his hoofs struck the earth he +was flung up again to a greater height. He was sunfishing now in that +most deadly manner when the horse lands on one forehoof, the rider +receiving a double jar from the down-shock and then the whiplash snap +to the side. Hal Dunbar was no longer using his quirt. It dangled idly +at his side. The joy had gone from his face. In its place, as shock +after shock benumbed his brain, there was an expression of fierce +despair. Neither was he riding straight up, but he was pulling +leather. + +Otherwise, nothing human could have retained a seat in the saddle for +an instant. Diablo, squealing, snorting, and grunting with effort, was +dashing back and forth, flinging himself aloft, coming down on one +stiff leg, doubling back with jackrabbit agility. + +There was no longer applause from the onlookers. Old Bridewell himself +in all of his years had never seen riding such as this, and it seemed +that Diablo at last had met his master. Never had he fought as he +fought now; never had he been stayed with as he was now. With foam and +sweat the great black was reeking, but never once were the efforts +relaxed. It was too terrible a sight to be applauded. + +Then, at the end of a run, instead of hurling himself into the air as +he had usually done before, Diablo flung himself down and rolled. It +caught Dunbar by surprise, but the yell of horror from the bystanders +stimulated him to sharp action, and he was out of the saddle in the +last hair's breadth of time. + +Diablo had been carried on over to his feet by the impetus of the +fall, and he was already rising when Dunbar leaped for the saddle. +Fair and true he struck the saddle and with marvelous skill his left +foot caught the stirrup and clung to it--but the right foot missed its +aim, and, before Dunbar could lodge his foot squarely, the stirrup was +dancing crazily as Diablo began a wild combination of cross-bucking +and sunfishing. The hat snapped from the head of Dunbar and his long +black hair tossed; with both hands he was clinging. All joy of battle +was gone from him. In its place was staring fear, for his right foot +was still out of the stirrup. + +"Choke him down! Choke him--" he shrieked. + +Before he could be obeyed by his confused henchmen, Diablo shot into +the air and at the very crest of his rise, bucked. Dunbar lurched to +one side. There was a groan from the bystanders; and the next instant +the stallion, landing on the one stiffened foreleg, had snapped his +rider from the saddle and hurled him to the ground. + +He lay in a shapeless heap, and the stallion whirled to finish his +enemy. + + + + +CHAPTER 18 + + +Every second of the fight Bull Hunter had followed the actions of the +horse as though he were directing them from the distance with some +electric form of communication and control. When Hal Dunbar with a +yell of despair was flung sidewise in the saddle as Diablo bucked in +mid-air, Bull Hunter knew what was coming and lurched through the line +of watchers. Straight across the open space of the circle he raced as +he had never run before, and while the others stood frozen, while the +man with the rope tugged futilely, Bull came in front of the stallion +as Diablo whirled to smash his late rider to a pulp. There was no +question of Dunbar crawling out of the way. He had rolled on his back +with arms outstretched, helplessly stunned. Even in the lightning +speed of the action Bull found time to wonder what would be the result +if the hoof of the wild horse crashed down into that upturned, +handsome face, now stained with crimson and black with dust. + +He had no time to imagine further. Diablo, red-eyed with anger, had +whirled on him and reared, and swerving from those terrible, pawing +hoofs, Bull Hunter leaped in and up. His goal was not the tossing +bridle rein, but the stout strap which circled the head just above the +bit, and his big right hand jarred home on this goal. All his weight +was behind his stiffened arm, and under the blow the stallion lurched +higher. A down-sweep of a forefoot gashed Bull's shoulder and tore his +shirt to shreds. But he pressed, expecting every instant the finishing +blow on his head. In he went, with all his weight behind the effort, +and felt the stallion stagger on his hind legs, then topple, lose +balance, and fall with a crash on his side! + +Bull followed him in the fall, for half a step, then whirled, scooped +the nerveless body of Hal Dunbar in his arms, and rushed staggering +under the burden to the edge of the circle. Diablo had regained his +footing instantly, but as he strove to follow, the rope had drawn taut +about his throat, and he was checked. + +As for Bull Hunter, he laid the senseless burden down in safety, and +turned toward the stallion. One haunting fear was in his mind. Had +Diablo been sufficiently blinded in the excitement of the battle to +fail to recognize him, or had the great horse known the hand that +toppled it back? In the latter case Bull Hunter could never come near +the black without peril of his life. + +In a gloomy quandary he stared at the trembling, shining giant, who +stood with his head high and his tail flaunting, and all the fierce +pride of victory in his eye. One knot of people had gathered over the +fallen Hal Dunbar, but some remained, dazed and gaping, looking at the +form of the conqueror. A wild temptation came to Bull to test the +horse even in this crisis of excitement, with every evil passion +roused in him. He stepped out again, his right hand extended, his +voice soft. + +"Diablo!" + +The stallion jerked his head toward the voice, but the head was +twitched away as the man with the rope brought it taut again. + +"You fool!" he shouted. "Get back, or the hoss'll nail you!" + +Unreasoning rage poured thrilling through Bull Hunter. He shook his +great fist at the other. + +"Slack away on that rope or I'll break you in two!" + +There was a moment of amazed silence; then, with a curse, the rider +threw the rope on the ground. + +"Get your head broke then!" + +Bull Hunter had forgotten him already. He had resumed that approach. +At his voice the stallion turned that proud and terrible head--with +the ears flattened against his neck. It gave him an ominous, snakelike +appearance about the head, but still Bull went steadily and slowly +toward him with his hand out, that ancient gesture of peace and good +will. There were shouts and warnings from the others. Hal Dunbar, his +senses returned, had staggered to his feet; he had received no injury +in the fall, and now he gaped in amazement at this empty-handed man +approaching the stallion. And Diablo was no longer controlled by +the rope! + +But all the outcries meant nothing to Bull Hunter. They faded to a +blur. All he saw was the head of the stallion. Had he known and +remembered that fall and the hand that forced him to it? He could not +tell. There might be any murderous intent in that quivering, +crouching form. + +Just that name, over and over again, very softly, "Diablo! Steady, +Diablo!" + +Now he was within two paces--within a yard--his fingers were close to +the terrible head and the ears of Diablo pricked forward. + +"Ah, Diablo! They'll never touch you with the spurs again!" + +The stallion made a long step, and with his head raised he looked over +the shoulder of Bull Hunter and snorted his defiance at all other men +in the world! And down his neck the big, gentle hand was running, +soothing his quivering body, and the steady voice was bringing +infinite messages of reassurance to the troubled brain. That hand was +loosening now the rope which was burning into his neck--loosening it, +drawing it off. And now the bridle followed; and Diablo's mouth was +free from the cruel taint of the steel. The head of the stallion +turned--great, soft eyes looked into the face of Bull Hunter and +accepted him as a friend forever. + +Hal Dunbar, groggy from the shock of the fall, staggered toward them. + +"Get away from the horse!" he commanded. "Hey, Riley, grab Diablo for +me again. I'll ride him this time." + +He was too unsteady to walk in a straight line, but the fire of battle +was in his eyes again. There was no doubting the gameness of the big +man. Old Bridewell caught his arm and drew him back. + +"If Diablo gets a sniff of you on the wind he'll come at you like a +wolf. Stand back here--and watch!" + +Hal Dunbar was too dazed to resist. Besides, he began to see that all +eyes were focused on the black stallion and the man beside him. That +man was the huge, cloddish stranger who had advised him to ride +without spurs. Then the full meaning came to Dunbar. The rope was no +longer around the neck of the stallion. The very bridle had been taken +from his head, and yet the stranger stood undaunted beside him, and +the stallion did not seem to be angered by that nearness. + +The next thing Dunbar heard was the voice of Bridewell saying, +"Nerviest thing I ever seen. I been putting this Bull Hunter down for +a half-wit, pretty near. All his strength in his back and none in his +head. But I changed my mind today. When you hit the ground, Diablo +whirled on you, and he'd of smashed you to bits before they could +choke him down and pull him away, but Bull came out of the crowd on +the run, grabbed the bridle, made Diablo rear, took that cut on his +shoulder, and threw him fair and square. Finest, coolest, headiest +thing I ever seen done with a hoss in a pinch. And he saved your skin, +Dunbar. You'd be a mess this minute, if it wasn't for Hunter! He threw +Diablo and turned around and picked you up as if you was a baby and +packed you over here. Then he went back--and you see what's +he's doing?" + +"He saved my life?" muttered Dunbar. "That big--He saved my life?" + +Gratitude, for the moment at least, was obscured in his mind. All he +felt vividly was a burning shame. He, Hal Dunbar, the invincible, had +been beaten fairly and squarely in the battle with the horse; not only +this, he had been saved from complete destruction only by the +intervention of this nonentity, this Bull Hunter whom he had scorned +only a few moments before. He looked about him in blind anger at the +bystanders. Worst of all, this was a new country where he was only +vaguely known, and whenever his name was mentioned in these parts in +the future, there would be someone to tell of the superior prowess of +Hunter, and how the life of Dunbar was thrown away and saved by +another. No wonder that big Hal Dunbar writhed with the shame of it. + +He forgot even that emotion now in wonder at what was happening. +Hunter had stepped to the side of the horse, raised his foot, and put +it in the stirrup. Did the fool intend to climb into the saddle while +that black devil was not blindfolded, without even a bridle? + +That, in fact, was what he was doing. The steady murmur of the voice +of Hunter reached him as the big man soothed the horse. He saw the +head of Diablo turn, saw him sniff the shoulder of his companion, and +then Hunter lifted himself slowly into the saddle. There was a groan +of excitement from the spectators, and at the sound rather than at the +weight of his back, Diablo crouched. It was only for a moment that he +quivered, wild-eyed, irresolute. Then he straightened and threw up his +head. Bull Hunter, his face white and drawn but his mouth resolute, +had touched the shining flank of the stallion, and Diablo moved into a +soft trot, gentle as the flowing of water. + +Before him the circle split and rolled back. He glided through, guided +by a hand that touched lightly on his neck, and in an utter silence he +was seen to turn the corner of the nearest shed and approach the +corral. Hal Dunbar, rubbing his eyes, was the first to speak. + +"A trick horse!" he said. "By the Lord, a trick horse!" + +"The first time I ever seen him play that trick," gasped old +Bridewell, his eyes huge and round, "except when Tod was up on him. I +dunno what's happened. It's like a dream. But there's a saddle on him +now, and that was something even Tod could never make him stand. I +dunno what's happened!" + +The little crowd broke up into chattering groups. Here had been a +thing that would bear telling and retelling for many a year. In the +confusion Dunbar's man, Riley, approached his employer. + +Both gratitude and shame were forgotten by Dunbar now. He gripped the +shoulder of this man and groaned, "I've lost him, Riley! The only +horse ever foaled that could have carried me the way a man should be +carried. Now I'll have to ride plow horses the rest of my life!" + +He pointed to the cloddish, heavy-limbed gray which he had ridden in +his quest for the superhorse at the Bridewell place. + +"I been thinking," said Riley. "I been thinking a pile the last few +minutes." + +"What you been thinking about? What good does thinking do me? I've +lost the horse, haven't I, and that half-wit has him?" + +"He has him--now," suggested Riley, watching the face of the big man +for fear that he might go too far. + +"You mean by that?" queried the master. + +"Exactly," said Riley. "Because he has the black now, it doesn't mean +that he's going to have him forever, does it?" + +"Riley, you're a devil. That fellow saved my life, they tell me." + +"I don't mean you're going to bump him off. But suppose you get him to +come and work on your place? There might be ways of getting the +hoss--buying him or something. Get him there, and we'll find a way. +Besides, he can teach you how to handle the hoss before you get him. I +say it's all turned out for the best." + +Dunbar frowned. "Take him with me? And every place I go I hear it +said, 'There's the man who rode the horse that threw Dunbar!' No, curse +him, I'll see him in Hades before I take him with me!" + +"How else are you going to get the hoss? Tell me that?" + +"That's it," muttered Dunbar. "I've got to have him. I've got to have +him! Did you watch? I felt as if the big black devil had wings." + +"He had you in the air most of the time, all right," and Riley +grinned. + +"Shut up," snapped his master. "But the chief thing is, I want to show +that big black fiend that I'm his master. He--he's beaten me once. But +one beating doesn't finish me!" + +"Then go get Hunter to come with us when we ride back." + +Dunbar hesitated another instant and then nodded. "It has to be done." + +He strode off in pursuit of Bull and presently found the big man in +the corral rubbing down the stallion; the little bright-eyed Tod was +close beside them. It had been a great day for Tod. First he had felt +that his giant pupil was disgraced--a man without spirit. And then, in +the time of blackest doubt, Bull Hunter had become a hero and +accomplished the great feat--ridden Diablo, before all the incredulous +eyes of the watchers. All of Tod's own efforts had been repaid a +thousandfold when he heard Bull say to one of those who followed with +questions and admiration, "It's not my work. Tod showed me how to go +about it. Tod deserves the credit." + +That was the reason that Tod's eyes now were supernally bright when +big Hal Dunbar approached. Diablo showed signs of excitement, but +Charlie Hunter quieted him with a word and went to the bars of the +corral. The hand of Dunbar was stretched out, and Bull took it with +humble earnestness. + +"I'm glad you weren't hurt bad," he said. "For a minute or two I was +scared that Diablo--" + +"I know," cut in Dunbar, for he detested a new description of the +scene of his failure. Then he made himself smile. "But I've come to +thank you for what you did, Hunter. Between you and me, I know that I +talked rather sharp to you a while back. I'm sorry for that. And +now--why, man, your side must be wounded!" + +"It's just a little scratch," said Bull good-naturedly. "It isn't the +first time that Diablo has made me bleed but now--well, isn't he worth +a fight, Mr. Dunbar?" + +And he gestured to the magnificent, watchful head of the stallion. The +heart of Hal Dunbar swelled in him. By fair means or foul, he must +have that horse, and on the spot he made his proposition to Hunter. He +had only to climb on the back of Diablo and ride south with him; the +pay would be anything--double what he got from Bridewell, who, +besides, was almost through with him, Dunbar understood. + +"But I'm not much good," and Bull sighed reluctantly. "I can't use a +rope, and I don't know cattle, and--" + +"I'll find uses for you. Will you come?" + +So it was settled. But before Bull climbed into the saddle and started +off after Dunbar, little Tod drew him to one side. + +"There ain't any good in Dunbar. Watch him and--remember me, Bull." + + + + +CHAPTER 19 + + +That ride to the southern mountains seemed to Bull Hunter to mark a +great point of departure between his old life and a new life. + +He had not heard Riley, fox-faced and wicked of eye, say to his +master, "What this big fool needs is a little kidding. Make him think +that we figure him to be a big gun." He had not seen Hal Dunbar make a +wry face before he nodded. + +All that Bull Hunter could know was that the three men--Riley, Dunbar, +and Joe Castor--were all exceedingly pleasant to him on the way. Of +all the men in the world, only Pete Reeve had treated him as these men +were now doing, and it was sweet beyond measure to Bull Hunter to be +treated with considerate respect, to have his opinion asked, to be +deferred to and flattered. As for the thousand little asides with +which they made a mock of him, they were far above his head. It seemed +only patent to Bull Hunter that he had been accepted freely into the +equal society of men. + +He drew a vague comparison between that success and his mastery of +Diablo. The big stallion was like a kitten under his hand. It required +much coaxing during the first half-day of riding to bring Diablo +within speaking distance of the other men, but gradually he discovered +that they could do him no harm so long as the gentle voice of Hunter +was near him; thereafter he was entirely amenable to reason. One could +see that the stallion was learning difficult lessons, but he was +learning them fast. Eye and ear and scent told him that these +creatures were dangerous. Old experience told him that they were +dangerous, and only a blind trust in Bull Hunter enabled him to +conquer the panic which surged up in his brain time and again. But he +kept on trying, and the constant struggle against men which had +featured his life made him astonishingly quick to pick up new facts. +The first step had been the hard one, and it seemed to Bull Hunter +that the close-knit, smooth-flowing muscles beneath him were carrying +him onward into the esteem of all men. To Diablo he gave the praise, +and after Diablo to little freckled Tod, and to Pete Reeve, the +fighter. As for taking any credit for himself, that idea never came to +him for a moment. + +The long trip took two days. They crossed the green, rolling hills; +they passed the foothills, and climbing steadily they came onto a +broad, high plateau--it was a natural kingdom, this ranch of the +Dunbars. The fence around it was the continuous range of mountains +skirting the plateau on all sides, and in every direction up to those +blue summits as far as the eye carried, stretched the land which owned +Hal Dunbar as master. To Bull Hunter, when they reached the crest, +and the broad domain was pointed out to him, this seemed a princely +stretch indeed, and Hal Dunbar was more like a king than ever. It was +easy to forgive pride in such a man and a certain asperity of temper. +How could so rich and powerful a man be like others? + +The ranch house was worthy of such a holding. A heavy growth of +beautiful silver spruce swept up the slope of some hills, and riding +through the forest, one caught the first glimpse of the building. It +was spread out carelessly, the foundations laid deep to cover the +irregularities of the ground. It was a heterogeneous mass, obviously +not the work of any one builder. Here a one-story wing rambled far to +the side, built heavily, of logs rudely squared, and there was a +three-story frame section of the house; and still again there was a +tall tower effect of rough stone. As for the barns and sheds which +swept away down the farther and lower slopes, the meanest of them +looked to Bull as though it might have made a home of more than +average comfort. + +The three other riders noted the gaping astonishment of Bull and +passed the wink quietly around. To Hal Dunbar it was growing more and +more annoying that he had to trouble himself with such a clod of a man +and use diplomacy where contemptuous force would have been so much +more after his heart. But he continued to follow the scheme first laid +down for his pursuit by clever Riley, and when they came to the +wide-ranging stable he assigned the black stallion to a roomy box +stall. Bull Hunter thanked him for the courtesy as though it had been +a direct personal favor; as a matter of fact, Hal felt that he was +merely taking care of a horse which was already as good as his. + +Coming back toward the house Bull walked slowly in the rear of the +little party. He wanted to take plenty of time and drink in the +astonishing details of what to him was a palace. And about the +weather-beaten old house he felt that there was a touch of mystery of +a more or less feudal romance. Climbing the steps to the porch he +turned; a broad sweep of hills opened above the tops of the spruces, +and the blue mountains were piled beyond. + +While he stood, a door slammed, and he heard a girl's mellow voice +calling, "Hello, Hal, what luck?" + +"What luck? No luck!" grumbled young Dunbar. "All the luck has gone +the way of my ... friend ... here." He brought out the last words +jokingly. "This is Charlie Hunter, commonly called Bull for reasons +you may guess. Bull, this is Mary Hood." + +Bull had turned lumberingly, and he found himself staring at a girl in +a more formal riding outfit than he had ever seen before, with tall +boots of soft red leather, and a little round black hat set on her +hair, and a coat fitted somewhat closely. The rather masculine outfit +only served to make her freer, more independent, more delightfully +herself, Bull Hunter thought. She looked him up and down and reserved +judgment, it seemed. + +"He rode Diablo," Dunbar was explaining. + +"And that's why you brought him?" she asked, flashing a queer glance +at Hal. + +Then she came a pace down the steps and shook hands with Bull. He took +the small hand carefully, with a fear that the bones would break +unless he were excessively gentle. At last she laughed so frankly that +a tingle went through his big body, and he peered closely at her. As a +rule the laughter of others made him hot with shame, but this laughter +was different; it seemed to invite him into a pleasant secret. + +"I'm glad to meet the man who conquered Diablo," she was saying. + +"I didn't beat Diablo," he hastened to explain. "We just sort of +reached an understanding. He saw that I didn't mean him any harm--so +he let me ride him. That's all there was to it!" + +He saw her eyes narrow a trifle as she looked down at him, for she had +drawn back to the level of the porch. Was she despising him and +condemning him merely because he had told her the truth? He flushed at +the thought, and then he was called into the house by Dunbar and +brought to a room. The size of it inspired him with a profound awe, +and he was still gaping when Dunbar left him. + +In the hall the master of the house met Riley, and the fox-faced +lieutenant drew him aside. + +"I've got a plan," he said. + +"You're full of plans," muttered Dunbar evilly. + +All the way home he had been striving to find some way of explaining +his lack of success with the stallion to Mary Hood. She had grown up +on the ranch with him, for her father had been the manager of the +ranch for twenty years; and she had grown up with the feeling that Hal +Dunbar was infallible and invincible. + +"Did you see the big hulk look at Mary Hood?" Riley asked. + +The name came pat with the unpleasant part of Hal's brooding, and his +scowl grew blacker. "What about it?" + +"Looked at her as though she was an angel--touched her hand as though +it was fire. I tell you, Hal, she knocked Hunter clean off +his balance." + +"Not the first she's done that to," said Hal with meaning. + +"Maybe not. Maybe not," said Riley rather hastily. "But I been +thinking. Suppose you go to Mary and tell her that you're dead set on +keeping this Hunter with you. Tell her that he's a hard fellow to +handle, that he likes her, and that the best way to make sure of him +is for her to be nice to him. She can do that easy. She takes nacheral +to flirting." + +"Flirt with that thick-head? She'd laugh in my face." + +"She'd do more than that for you, Hal." + +"H'm," grunted Dunbar, greatly mollified. "I ask her to make Hunter +happy. What comes of it? If her father sees Hunter make eyes at her +he'll blow the head off the clodhopper." + +"I know." Riley nodded. "He's always afraid she'll take a fancy to one +of the hands and run off with him, or something like that. He's dead +set agin' her saying two words to anybody like me, say!" + +He gritted his teeth and flushed at the thought. Then he continued. +"But that's just what you want. You want to get Hunter's head blown +off, don't you?" + +Dunbar caught the shoulder of Riley and whirled him around. + +"Are you talking murder to me, Riley?" + +"I'm talking sense," said Riley. + +"By the Lord," growled Dunbar, "you're a plain bad one, Riley. You +like deviltry for the sake of the deviltry itself. You want me +to get--" + +"How much do you want the black hoss, chief?" Dunbar sighed. + +"You can't touch him, after him saving your life, and I can't touch +him, because everybody knows that I'm your man. But suppose you get +the girl and Hunter planted? Then when Jack Hood rides in this +afternoon, I'll take him where he can see 'em together. Leave the rest +to me. Will you? I'll have Jack Hood scared she's going to elope +before morning, and Jack will do the rest. You know his way." + +"Suppose Hood gets killed?" + +"Killed--by that? Jack Hood? Why, you know he's near as good as you +with his gat!" + +Dunbar nodded slowly. After all, the scheme was a simple one. + +"Well?" whispered Riley. + +"You and the devil win," said Hal. "After all, what's this Hunter +amount to? Nothing. And I need the horse!" + +He executed the first step of the scheme instantly. He went downstairs +and found the girl still on the veranda. She began to mock him +at once. + +"You'll go to heaven, Hal, giving a home to the man who beats you." + +He managed to smile, although the words were poison to him. He had +loved her as long as he could remember, and sooner or later she would +be his wife, but the period remained indefinitely in the future as the +whims of the girl changed. It was for that reason, as Hal very well +knew, that her father became furious when she smiled at another man. +The rich marriage was his goal; and when a second man stepped onto the +stage, old Jack Hood was ready to fight. Hal saw a way of stopping her +gibes and proving his good intentions toward Hunter all in a breath. + +"He saved my life, Mary. I lost a stirrup, and the devil of a horse +threw me." + +Briefly he sketched in the story of the rescue, and how Bull Hunter +afterward had ridden the horse without spurs, without a bridle. Before +he ended her eyes were shining. + +"That's what he meant when he said he hadn't beaten Diablo. I +understand now. At the time I thought he was a little simple, Hal." + +"He's not exceptionally clever, Mary," said Hal, "and that's where the +point comes in of what I want you to do. Hunter is apt to take a fancy +that he isn't wanted here--that he's being kept out of charity because +he saved my life. Nothing I can say will convince him. I want you to +give him a better reason for staying around. Will you do it--as a +great favor?" + +She dropped her chin into her hand and studied him. + +"Just what are you driving at, Hal?" + +"You know what I mean well enough. I want you to waste a smile or two +on him, Mary. Will you do that? Make him think you like him a good +deal, that you're glad to have him around. Will you? Take him out for +a walk this afternoon and get him to tell you the story of his life. +You can always make a man talk and generally you turn them into fools. +You've done it with me, often enough," he added gloomily. + +"Flirt with that big, quiet fellow?" she said gravely. "Hal, you're +criminal. Besides, you know that I don't flirt. It's just the +opposite. When I like a man I'm simply frank about it." + +"But you have a way of being frank so that a poor devil usually thinks +you want to marry him, and then there's the devil to pay. You know it +perfectly well." + +"That's not true, Hal!" + +"I won't argue. But will you do it?" + +"Absolutely not!" + +"It might be quite a game. He may not be altogether a fool. And +suppose he were to wake up? Suppose he's simply half-asleep?" + +He saw a gleam of excitement come in her eyes and wisely left her +without another word. After things had reached a certain point Mary +could be generally trusted to carry the action on. + + + + +CHAPTER 20 + + +Jack Hood had ridden out on his rounds with a new horse that morning, +and the new horse developed the gait of a plow horse. The result was +that grim old Jack reached the house that night with a body racked by +the labor of the day and a disposition poisoned for the entire +evening. He was met at the stable by Riley, and the sight of him +brought a spark for the moment into the eye of the foreman. + +"You're back, then, and you got Diablo?" + +"Look yonder." + +Jack Hood went to the box stall and came back rubbing his hands, but +his exultation was cut short by Riley's remark. "He doesn't belong to +Hal. Hal was thrown and another gent rode him." + +The amazement of Jack Hood took the shape of a wild torrent of +profanity. He was proud of the ranch which he had controlled for so +long, and still prouder of his young master. His creed included two +main points--the essential beauty of his daughter and the +infallibility of young Hal Dunbar; consequently his great ambition was +to unite the two. + +"Mary took to Hunter pretty kindly," concluded Riley, as they walked +back toward the house at the conclusion of the story. + +The foreman took off his hat and shook back his long, iron-gray hair. + +"Trust her for that. Something new is always what she wants." + +"They've got the new well pretty near sunk," said Riley. "Take a look +at it?" + +"All right." + +But before they had gone halfway down the path onto which Riley had +cunningly diverted the older man, he caught Hood's arm and stopped him +with a whisper. + +"Look at that. _Already!_ This Hunter ain't such a slow worker, eh, +Jack?" + +They had come in view of the little terraced garden which was Mary's +particular property; it was screened from the house by a rank or two +of the spruce, and on a rustic bench, seated with their backs to the +witnesses, were Mary and Bull Hunter. The girl was rapt in attention, +and her eyes never left the face of Hunter. As for Bull, he was +talking steadily, and it seemed to Jack Hood that as the big stranger +talked he leaned closer and closer to the girl. The hint which Riley +had already dropped was enough to inflame the imagination of the +suspicious foreman; what he now saw was totally conclusive, he +thought. Now, under his very eyes, he saw the big man stretch out his +hand, and he saw the hand of Mary dropped into it. + +It was more than Riley had dared to hope for. He caught Jack Hood by +the shoulders, and whirled him around, and half dragged him back to +the house. + +"Not in front of your daughter, Jack," he pleaded. "I don't blame you +for being mad when a skunk like that starts flirting with a girl the +first day he's seen her. But if you got anything to say to him, wait +till Mary is out of the way. There goes the supper bell. Hurry on in. +Keep hold on yourself." + +"Do I have to sit through supper and look at that hound?" + +"Not at all," suggested the cunning Riley. "Have a bite in the kitchen +and go up to your room. I'll say that you got some figures to run +over. Afterward, you can come down and jump him!" + +He watched Jack Hood disappear, grinning faintly, and then hunted for +Hal Dunbar. + +"It's started," he said. "I dropped a word in Jack's ear and then +showed him the two of 'em sitting together. It was like a spark in the +powder. The old boy exploded." + +"How close were they sitting?" asked Hal suspiciously. + +"Close enough." Riley grinned, for he was not averse to making even +Dunbar himself writhe. + +The result was that Hal maneuvered to draw Mary Hood aside when she +came in with big Hunter for supper. Something in Bull Hunter's face +disturbed the owner of the ranch, for the eyes of Bull were alight, +and he was smiling for no apparent reason. + +"How did things go?" he asked carelessly. + +"You were all wrong about him," said the girl earnestly. "He's not a +half-wit by any means, Hal. I had a hard time of it at first, but then +I got him talking about Diablo and the trouble ended. Not a bit of +sentiment in him; but just like a great big, simple, honest boy, with +a man's strength. It would have done you good to hear him!" + +"And he'll stay with us?" asked Hal dryly, for he was far from +enthusiastic. + +"Of course he'll stay. Do you know what he did? He promised to try to +teach me to ride Diablo, and he even shook hands on it! Hal, I like +him immensely!" + +All during the meal the glances of Hal Dunbar alternated between the +girl and the giant. He was more disturbed than he dared to confess +even to himself. It was not so much that Bull Hunter sat with a +faintly dreamy smile, staring into the future and forgetting his food, +but it was the fact that Mary Hood was continually smiling across the +table into that big, calm face. Dunbar began to feel that the devil +was indeed behind the wit of Riley. + +He began to wait nervously for the coming of the girl's father and the +explosion. As soon as supper was over, following the time-honored +custom which the first Dunbar established on the ranch, Mary left the +room, and the men gathered in groups for cards or dice or talk, for +they were not ordinary hired hands, but picked men. Many of them had +grown gray in the Dunbar service. Now was the time for the coming of +Jack Hood, and Hal had not long to wait. + +The door at the far side of the big room was thrown open not five +minutes after the disappearance of Mary Hood, and her father entered. +He came with a brow as black as night, tossed a sharp word here and +there in reply to the greetings, and going to the fireplace leaned +against the mantel and rolled a cigarette. While he smoked, from under +his shaggy brows he looked over the company. + +Hal Dunbar waited, holding his breath. One brilliant picture was +dawning on his mind--himself mounted on great black Diablo and +swinging over the hills at a matchless gallop. + +The picture vanished. Jack Hood had left the fireplace and was +crossing the room with his alert, quick step. His nerves showed in +that step; and it was nerve power that made him a dreaded gunfighter. +His gloom seemed to have vanished now. He smiled here; he paused there +for a cheery word; and so he came to where Bull Hunter sat with his +long legs stretched before him and the unchanging, dreamy smile on +his face. + +Over those long legs Jack Hood stumbled. When he whirled on the seated +man his cheer was gone and a devil was in his face. + +"You damned lummox," he said, "what d'ye mean by tripping me?" + +"Me?" gasped Bull, the smile gradually fading and blank amazement +taking its place. + +It was at this moment that a man stepped out of the shadow of the +kitchen doorway, a very small withered man. No doubt he was some late +arrival asking hospitality for the night; and having come after supper +was over, he had been fed in the kitchen and then sent in among the +other men; for no one was turned away hungry from the Dunbar house. He +was so small, so light-footed, that he would hardly have been noticed +at any time, and now that the roar from Jack Hood had focused all eyes +on Bull Hunter, the newcomer was entirely overlooked. He seemed to +make it a point to withdraw himself farther, for now he stepped into a +dense shadow near the wall where he could see and remain unseen. + +Jack Hood had shaken his fist under the nose of the seated giant. + +"I meant it," he cried. "You tripped me, you skunk, and Jack Hood +ain't old enough to take that from no man!" + +Bull Hunter cast out deprecatory hands. The words of this fire-eyed +fellow were bad enough, but the tigerish tenseness of his muscles was +still worse. It meant battle, and the long, black, leather holster at +the thigh of Hood meant battle of only one kind. It had come so +suddenly on him that Bull Hunter was dazed. + +"I'm sorry," he said. "I sure didn't mean to trip you--but maybe my +foot might of slipped out a little and--" + +"Slipped out!" sneered Hood. He stopped, panting with fury. That a +comparative stranger should have dared to speak familiarly with his +daughter was bad enough; that a blank-faced coward should have dared +flirt with her, dared take her hand, was maddening. + +"You infernal sneak!" he growled. "Are you going to try to get out of +it, now that you've seen you can't bluff me down--that I won't stand +for your tricks?" + +Bull Hunter rose, slowly, unfolding his great bulk until he towered +above the other; and yet the condensed activity of Hood was fully as +formidable. There were pantherlike suggestions of speed about the arm +that dangled beside his holster. + +The withered little man in the shadow by the kitchen door took one +noiseless step into the light--and then shrank back as though he had +changed his mind. + +"It looks to me," said Bull Hunter mildly, "that you're trying to +force a fight on me. Stranger, I can't fight a man as old as you are." + +Perhaps it was a tactless speech, but Bull was too dazed to think of +grace in words. It brought a murderous snarl from the other. + +"I'm old enough to be Jack Hood--maybe you've heard of me? And I'm +young enough to polish off every unlicked cub in these parts. Now, +curse you, what d'ye say to that?" + +"I can only say," said Bull miserably, feeling his way, "that I don't +want to fight." + +With an oath Hood exclaimed, "A coward! They're all like that--every +one of the big fellers. A yaller-hearted sneak!" + +"Easy, Jack!" broke in one of the men. + +"Let Jack alone," called the commanding voice of Hal Dunbar. "I saw +Hunter trip him!" + +"But," pleaded Bull Hunter, "I give you my word--" + +"Shut up! I've heard enough of your talk." + +Bull Hunter obediently stopped his talk. + +A sickening quiet drew through the room. Men bowed their heads or +turned them away, for such cowardice was not pleasant to see. The +little man in the shadow raised one hand and brushed it across +his face. + +"I'll let you off one way," said Jack Hood. "Stand up here, and face +the crowd and tell 'em you're a liar, that you're sorry for what +you done!" + +Bull faced the crowd. A shudder of expectancy went through them, and +then they saw that his face was working, not with shame or fear but +with a mental struggle, and then he spoke. + +"Gents, it seems like I may be wrong. I may have tripped him which I +didn't mean to. But not knowing that I tripped him, I got to say that +I can't call myself a liar. I can't apologize." + +They were shocked into a new attention; they saw him turn and face the +frown of Jack Hood. + +"You're forcing this fight, stranger. And, if you keep on, you'll +drop, sir. I promise you that!" + +The sudden change in affairs had astonished Jack Hood; now his +astonishment gave way to a sort of hungry joy. + +"I never was strong on words. I got two ways of talking and here's the +one I like best!" As he uttered the last word he reached for his gun. + +The little man glided out of the shadow, crouched, intense. It seemed +to him that the hand of Bull Hunter hung motionless at his side while +the gun flashed out from Hood's holster. He groaned at the thought, +but in the last second, there was a move of Hunter's hand that no eye +could follow, that singular convulsive twitch which Pete Reeve had +taught him so long before. Only one gun spoke. Jack Hood spun sidewise +and crashed to the floor, and his gun rattled far away. + +By the time the first man had rushed to the fallen figure, the gun was +back in Bull's holster. + +The little man in the shadow heard him saying, "Pardners, he's not +dead. He's shot through the right shoulder, low, beneath the joint. +That bullet won't kill him, but get him bandaged quick!" + +A calm, clear voice, it rang through the room. The little man slipped +back into his shadow, and straightened against the wall. + +"He's right," said Hal Dunbar, stepping back from the cluster. "Riley +and Jerry, get him up to his room and bandage him, quick! The rest of +you stay here. We got a job. Hood's gun hung in the holster, and this +fellow shot him down. A murdering, cowardly thing to do. You hear? A +murdering, cowardly thing to do!" + +Obviously he was wrong, and obviously not one of his henchmen would +tell him so. For some reason the boss intended to take up the lost +battle of Jack Hood. Why, was not theirs to reason, though plainly the +fight had been fair, and Hood had been in the wrong from the first. +They shifted swiftly, a man to each door, the others along the wall +with their hands on their weapons. There was a change in Bull Hunter. +One long leap backward carried him into a corner of the room. He stood +erect, and they could see his eyes gleaming in the shadow. + +"I think you got me here to trap me, Dunbar," he called in such a +voice that the little man in the shadow thrilled at the sound of it, +"but you'll find that you're trapped first, my friend. Touch that gun +of yours, and you're a dead man, Dunbar. Curse you, I dare you to +go for it!" + +Could this be Bull Hunter speaking? The little man in the shadow +thrilled with joyous amazement. + +Hal Dunbar evidently was going to fight the thing through. He stood +swaying a little from side to side. "No guns out, boys, as yet. Wait +till I take my crack at him, and then--" + +The little man in the shadow stepped out into the light and walked +calmly toward the center of the room. + +"Just a little wee minute, Dunbar," he was saying. "Just a little wee +minute, Mr. Man-trapper Dunbar! I got a word to say." + +"Who the devil are you?" cried Hal Dunbar, turning on this puny +stranger. + +A joyous shout from Bull Hunter drowned the answer of the other. + +"Pete! Pete Reeve!" + +The little man waved his hand carelessly to the giant in the corner. + +"You give me a hard trail, Bull, old boy. But you didn't think you +could slip me, did you? Not much. And here I am, pretty pronto on the +dot, I figure." He took in with a glance the men along the walls. "You +know me, boys, and I'm here to see fair play. They ain't going to be +fair play in this room with you boys lined up waiting to drop Bull in +case he plugs Dunbar. Dunbar, I know you. And between you and me, I +don't know no good of you. You're young, but you're going to show +later on. If you want to talk business to Bull Hunter some other time, +you're welcome to come finding him, and he won't be hard to find. +Bull, come along with me. Just back up, if you don't mind, Bull. +Because they's murder in our friend Dunbar's face. And here we are!" + +Side by side they drew back to the outer door with big Hal Dunbar +watching them from under a scowl, with never a word, and so through +the door and into the night. + +Two minutes later Diablo was rocking across the hills with his mighty +stride, and the cow pony of Pete Reeve was pattering beside him. + +As they drove through the great spruces the moon rose. Bull Hunter +greeted it with a thundering song and threw up his hands to it. + +Pete Reeve swore softly in amazement and drew his horse to a walk. + +"By the Lord," cried Bull, "and I haven't thanked you yet for pulling +me out of that mess. I'd be crow's food by this time if it hadn't been +for you, Pete!" + +"That only wipes out one score. Let's talk about you, Bull. Since I +last seen you, you've got to be a man. Was it dropping Hood that made +you buck up like this?" + +"That old man?" + +"That old man," snorted Pete, "is Jack Hood, one of the best of 'em +with a gun. But if it wasn't the fight that made you feel your oats, +was it breaking Diablo?" + +"No breaking to it. We just got acquainted." + +"But what's happened? What's wakened you, Bull?" + +"I dunno," said Bull and became thoughtful. + +"Pete," he said, after a long time, "have you ever noticed a sort of +chill that gets inside you when the right sort of a girl smiles and--" + +"The devil," murmured Pete Reeve, "it's the girl that's happened to +you, eh? You forget her, Bull. I'm going to take you on the trail with +me and keep you from thinking. It's a new trail for me, Bull. It's a +trail where I'm going straight, I can't take you with me while I'm +playing against the law. So I'm going to stay inside the +law--with you." + +"Maybe," and Bull Hunter sighed. "But no matter how far the trail +leads, I'm thinking that some day I'll ride in a circle and come back +to this place where we started out together." + +He turned in the saddle. + +The outline of the Dunbar house was fading into the night. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Bull Hunter, by Max Brand + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BULL HUNTER *** + +***** This file should be named 10324.txt or 10324.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/0/3/2/10324/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Sandra Bannatyne and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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