The Essential Max Brand - 29 Westerns in One Edition - Max Brand

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"I ain't so flush that I'd turn down fifty bucks when a kind Christian soul, as the preachers say, slides it into my glove. Not me. Lead out the dollar, pal, an' kiss it farewell!"

      "Who'll hold the stakes?" asked Morgan.

      "Let your friend Mike," said Jim Silent carelessly, and he placed fifty dollars in gold in the hands of the Irishman. Morgan followed suit. The crowd hurried outdoors.

      A dozen bets were laid in as many seconds. Most of the men wished to place their money on the side of Morgan, but there were not a few who stood willing to risk coin on Jim Silent, stranger though he was. Something in his unflinching eye, his stern face, and the nerveless surety of his movements commanded their trust.

      "How do you stand, Jim?" asked Lee Haines anxiously. "Is it a safe bet? I've never seen you try a mark like this one!"

      "It ain't safe," said Silent, "because I ain't mad enough to shoot my best, but it's about an even draw. Take your pick."

      "Not me," said Haines, "if you had ten chances instead of one I might stack some coin on you. If the dollar were stationary I know you could do it, but a moving coin looks pretty small."

      "Here you are," called Morgan, who stood at a distance of twenty paces, "are you ready?"

      Silent whipped out his revolver and poised it. "Let 'er go!"

      The coin whirled in the air. Silent fired as it commenced to fall— it landed untouched.

      "As a kind, Christian soul," said Morgan sarcastically, "I ain't in your class, stranger. Charity always sort of interests me when I'm on the receivin' end!"

      The crowd chuckled, and the sound infuriated Silent.

      "Don't go back jest yet, partners," he drawled. "Mister Morgan, I got one hundred bones which holler that I can plug that dollar the second try."

      "Boys," grinned Morgan, "I'm leavin' you to witness that I hate to do it, but business is business. Here you are!"

      The coin whirled again. Silent, with his lips pressed into a straight line and his brows drawn dark over his eyes, waited until the coin reached the height of its rise, and then fired—missed—fired again, and sent the coin spinning through the air in a flashing semicircle. It was a beautiful piece of gun-play. In the midst of the clamour of applause Silent strode towards Morgan with his hand outstretched.

      "After all," he said. "I knowed you wasn't really hard of heart. It only needed a little time and persuasion to make you dig for coin when I pass the box."

      Morgan, red of face and scowling, handed over his late winnings and his own stakes.

      "It took you two shots to do it," he said, "an' if I wanted to argue the pint maybe you wouldn't walk off with the coin."

      "Partner," said Jim Silent gently, "I got a wanderin' hunch that you're showin' a pile of brains by not arguin' this here pint!"

      There followed that little hush of expectancy which precedes trouble, but Morgan, after a glance at the set lips of his opponent, swallowed his wrath.

      "I s'pose you'll tell how you did this to your kids when you're eighty," he said scornfully, "but around here, stranger, they don't think much of it. Whistlin' Dan"—he paused, as if to calculate how far he could safely exaggerate—"Whistlin' Dan can stand with his back to the coins an' when they're thrown he drills four dollars easier than you did one—an' he wouldn't waste three shots on one dollar. He ain't so extravagant!"

      4. SOMETHING YELLOW

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      The crowd laughed again at the excitement of Morgan, and Silent's mirth particularly was loud and long.

      "An' if you're still bent on charity," he said at last, "maybe we could find somethin' else to lay a bet on!"

      "Anything you name!" said Morgan hotly.

      "I suppose," said Silent, "that you're some rider, eh?"

      "I c'n get by with most of 'em."

      "Yeh—I suppose you never pulled leather in your life?"

      "Not any hoss that another man could ride straight up."

      "Is that so? Well, partner, you see that roan over there?"

      "That tall horse?"

      "You got him. You c'n win back that hundred if you stick on his back two minutes. D'you take it?"

      Morgan hesitated a moment. The big roan was footing it nervously here and there, sometimes throwing up his head suddenly after the manner of a horse of bad temper. However, the loss of that hundred dollars and the humiliation which accompanied it, weighed heavily on the saloon owner's mind.

      "I'll take you," he said.

      A high, thrilling whistle came faintly from the distance.

      "That fellow on the black horse down the road," said Lee Haines, "I guess he's the one that can hit the four dollars? Ha! ha! ha!"

      "Sure," grinned Silent, "listen to his whistle! We'll see if we can drag another bet out of the bar-keep if the roan doesn't hurt him too bad. Look at him now!"

      Morgan was having a bad time getting his foot in the stirrup, for the roan reared and plunged. Finally two men held his head and the saloon-keeper swung into the saddle. There was a little silence. The roan, as if doubtful that he could really have this new burden on his back, and still fearful of the rope which had been lately tethering him, went a few short, prancing steps, and then, feeling something akin to freedom, reared straight up, snorting. The crowd yelled with delight, and the sound sent the roan back to all fours and racing down the road. He stopped with braced feet, and Morgan lurched forwards on the neck, yet he struck to his seat gamely. Whistling Dan was not a hundred yards away.

      Morgan yelled and swung the quirt. The response of the roan was another race down the road at terrific speed, despite the pull of Morgan on the reins. Just as the running horse reached Whistling Dan, he stopped as short as he had done before, but this time with an added buck and a sidewise lurch all combined, which gave the effect of snapping a whip—and poor Morgan was hurled from the saddle like a stone from a sling. The crowd waved their hats and yelled with delight.

      "Look out!" yelled Jim Silent. "Grab the reins!"

      But though Morgan made a valiant effort the roan easily swerved past him and went racing down the road.

      "My God," groaned Silent, "he's gone!"

      "Saddles!" called someone. "We'll catch him!"

      "Catch hell!" answered Silent bitterly. "There ain't a hoss on earth that can catch him—an' now that he ain't got the weight of a rider, he'll run away from the wind!"

      "Anyway there goes Dan on Satan after him!"

      "No use! The roan ain't carryin' a thing but the saddle."

      "Satan never seen the day he could make the roan eat dust, anyway!"

      "Look at 'em go, boys!"

      "There ain't no use," said Jim Silent sadly, "he'll wind his black for nothin'—an' I've lost the best hoss on the ranges."

      "I believe him," whispered one man to a neighbour, "because I've got an idea that hoss is Red Peter himself!"

      His companion stared at him agape.

      "Red Pete!" he said. "Why, pal, that's the hoss that Silent—"

      "Maybe it is an' maybe it ain't. But why should we ask too many questions?"

      "Let the marshals tend to him. He ain't ever troubled this part of the range."

      "Anyway, I'm goin' to remember his face. If it's really Jim Silent, I got something that's worth tellin' to my kids when they grow up."

      They both turned and looked at the tall man with an uncomfortable

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