Somewhere, in an old poem, there was such a picture. Somewhere in an old ballad. As though to prove that beasts may be truer than men.
When the bandaging was done, Lovell said eagerly: “You can see for yourself. There ain’t more’n a spark of life in him. He’s going out. And every minute those three are getting closer. Listen!”
He sprang up and lifted his head to catch the sounds that drifted through the air. It was the clangor of iron-shod hoofs, far away, striking against a rocky surface. The noise poured closer and closer, seemed to sweep up the narrows of the ravine toward them, and then suddenly diminished and rolled away.
“They’ve gone by,” sighed Lovell, with a groan of relief. “But they’ll come again. Bray’s got a brain in his head. Mantry is a devil. Lister has all the brains in the world. They’ll find out they’ve drawn a blank, and they’ll come back and find us! Wayland, this gent, Silver, has hounded fifty men to death. He’s getting his own turn now and I’m glad of it! That’s what I say for myself. Let’s clear out of here. We can climb that slope. In twenty minutes we’ll be where the three of ‘em will never find us!”
His hand, that had stretched out toward the saddlebag, jumped back again as he saw the leveled gun of Wayland.
“I’ll tell you something, brother,” said Wayland. “Now that Silver’s here, he’s going to stay here. Fill your canteen out of that run of water, will you? And bring it over here. I won’t leave him while he’s alive. And when he’s dead, I’ll stay to burn him. He’s got no claim on you, but he’s got a claim on me. Understand? I won’t leave him— not for a half a billion dollars!”
Lovell, as he listened, swayed a little, as though the words were ponderous weights that he could hardly sustain. He swayed to this side and to that, making short,, feeble gestures of protest. Then he remained silent, staring.
Wayland, looking beyond him, saw the moonlight brighten down the opposite slope of the little valley. They were caught in a funnel, as it were, and the moonlight would shine with increasing force, leaving only this slice of blackness where Jim Silver was stretched under the lip of the lower rock.
“All right,” said Lovell finally, and his voice was no more than a whisper. “But listen!”
Once more they heard the ringing sound of hoof-beats out of the distance, slowly, slowly drawing back toward them.
“They’ll block the ravine and then “
Lovell said no more. He rose, gradually straightening his lithe body. He went to the run of water, filled his canteen, and brought it back.
Wayland took it. Lovell turned away and stood staring down the ravine, while Wayland, with one hand, lifted the fallen head of Jim Silver, and with the other offered the canteen to his lips.
Silver drank eagerly.
Then he lay back, breathing hard, his eyes half open,
“How is it?” murmured Wayland.
“It’s as if—the water—were blood—new blood. It’s as if—I had a chance,” breathed Silver.
He made a small gesture with his hand. Wayland took it in a strong grip. Tears rushed into Wayland’s eyes.
“Old son!” he said through his teeth.
He saw Silver smile, and watched the eyes of the wounded man close again. The breast of Silver rose. He sighed. Peace seemed to be coming over him.
To Wayland, matters of life and death were suddenly given a new proportion. Death itself was no longer a frightful skeleton, a bogy. And life was no crown of glory. Death could be better than life. Dying in a good cause seemed itself the highest reward that could come to any man.
That had been the conviction of Jim Silver, Wayland knew. Because he thought nothing of himself, other men had loved him. Dumb beasts loved him, too.
Parade came and thrust out his long neck, and bent until his knees trembled with his weight and with horror at the smell of his master’s blood. He snuffed at the face of Jim Silver, and then raised his head suddenly, and seemed about to whinny.
But there was only the tremor of the nostrils and no more. He had not been trained in vain by Jim Silver.
The wolf had risen when the horse drew near. Silently he had showed his fangs.
Now he lay down again, and dropped his head across the body of Silver. There he remained on watch while Wayland stood up to stretch his limbs.
There was a vague trouble in his mind. Finally he realized that during all these last moments he had been completely unaware of Lovell—so unaware that the thief might have easily stolen the saddlebag again.
But the bag was still there. It was Lovell who was gone!
Softly Wayland ventured to call for him, and then more loudly. But Lovell was gone, and Wayland suddenly realized what his absence meant!
XXIV—LOVELL’S TERMS
Lovell was a logician, and he knew men. That was why he left the wounded man and Wayland. The truth having once been shown to Lovell, he did not need to have a professor stand at a blackboard and point out the details of it. After he had brought the canteen of water to Way-land at his request, Lovell had stood for a moment with his back turned to the others and had considered matters afresh.
Then he stepped down the narrows of the ravine and went softly out of view. The matter was as clear as glass to him. He knew that Wayland was not talking for the sake of making an effect. He knew that Wayland would do exactly as he had said that he would do, and stay with the wounded man to the finish.
What would the finish be?
Well, Lovell could see that, too. He could see how the wounded man would grow weaker, the loss of blood wearing him down, while death was always assured for the end by the brutal fashion in which the bullet must have torn the interior of the body. Therefore big Jim Silver must die. But the gigantic strength of his body would draw out the struggle. He might even last two or three days. There had been known men who lingered through such a period of agony.
During all of that time Bray and the other two would be searching, searching all the while, and at last they would have daylight to aid them. By daylight they would re-follow the sign of the fugitives. They would spot the long strides by which the stallion had flown up the outer valley. They would distinguish his trail from the others, and thereby know that they were following the right direction. So, at last, they would turn the proper way— and behold, the dying man would be waiting for them, and the poor, clumsy, sentimental fool, Wayland, and also, there would be a wolf to be shot, a glorious stallion to be taken; and, last of all, and sweetest of all, half a million dollars for discreet hands to take and to spend.
Lovell saw all of these things clearly. And suddenly he was ashamed. He was ashamed that he should be found on a side that must lose, and he was delighted that he saw a way of transferring himself to the winners. Of course, he could sneak away across the hills and thereby save his own hide. He could disappoint the dear vengeance of Bray and the others, to begin with. But was that enough?
No, there remained the money stolen from the Elkdale bank, which had once been all his, and to which he would still be able to put in a quarter claim.
Being a logical fellow and having a swift mind, he knew very exactly what he would do at the time he turned away from the wounded man, Wayland, the horse, and the wolf. He walked straight down the ravine and came to the outer valley.
Being broader, and running more to east and west, it took a fuller flood of the moonlight. So he picked out a rock in the center of the valley and sat down there and made a cigarette.
What he thought about at that time was the face of Joe Mantry most of all.
Of course, all of the others hated him most heartily, but neither of the other two had the possibilities of hate developed to such a degree as Joe. Joe Mantry, when he saw the traitor, would go almost mad with the desire to kill. The other two would have to restrain him, because they would know that Lovell was not appearing before their eyes for fun. That would be the making of the comedy which Lovell would enjoy.