Then, out of the brush to his left, a gun spoke.
It was not aimed at Wayland. There was no sound of whirring lead. But high up the side of the ravine there was an answering scream of agony.
A figure leaped up from among the rocks and tottered into the full light of the moon—Joe Mantry, walking with his arms flung out and his head back, like one who feels his way in the dark. A warning chorus yelled at Mantry from down the ravine. But he walked straight on, step out into space, and then pitched forward.
A frightful moment elapsed. The shadow covered the falling body. But Wayland distinctly heard the loose shock and jar as it met the ground.
Joe Mantry was dead.
And Wayland knew that Jim Silver had managed to strike one blow at the enemy. Ah, if only a tenth part of his real strength were in him, how he would scatter the three men who were left down the valley!
“He’s shifted over to the left!” some one called.
Was that not Lovell? Yes, it must be Lovell, yelling
“Charge in here on the right, boys. Come on in. We’ll cut him off. We’ll tear him to pieces!”
“Look out! There’s two of ‘em!” called the heavy voice of Bray.
“Aw, Silver’s as good as dead!” cried Lovell. “Come on, you cowards, and I’ll show you the way to do it.”
He came right out through the shadows, bending over, running low, with his rifle swinging back and forth as he raced. Right at Wayland’s rock he charged, while two other forms leaped out from the brush and pursued him in the effort.
Wayland took a good aim—and the hammer of the gun dropped with a dull click! Something had gone wrong with the mechanism. He might have known better than to leave it open to the flying sprays of sand, perhaps!
But again the revolver of Jim Silver spoke from the side.
Lovell stopped running, spun around, and, while he was still spinning, a second shot found him in the shadows and dropped him in a moveless heap to the ground.
Again that terrible gunman to the left of Wayland fired, and this time the tall body of Dave Lister leaped up and jackknifed in the air. He fell to the ground and lay there perfectly still.
Silver’s gun was still flaming, and its last bullet found the heart of big Phil Bray. He slumped down, his lifeless body sprawling over a small boulder.
XXVI—THE RETURN
There was no question of moving Jim Silver from the spot where Wayland found him afterward, stretched on his face in a dead faint. His exertions had caused his wounds to burst into a fresh tide of bleeding. He was quite unconscious.
A day later he was able to speak again.
Two days after that he was lost in the madness of a high fever. And it was still another week before he opened his eyes and looked out with a clear vision upon the world.
Wayland had buried the four dead men in the meantime. He had taken their effects and wrapped them in a slicker, so that the law would be able to identify the four wrongdoers. He had to take other time out from his care of Silver in order to hunt and then cook. And day and night there was hardly a moment when he dared to close his eyes.
Finally he dared to move Jim Silver. The wounds were not healing as they ought to, and Wayland guessed, when the fever continued even after the delirium ended, that the wounds were deeply infected, and that expert medical attendance was necessary.
So he made a horse litter out of the lean, limber poles of saplings and stretched a blanket across it. On that comfortable contrivance he stretched Silver. His own horse took the lead. And sure-footed Parade followed, with the butt ends of the saplings tied into his stirrup leathers.
That was the fashion in which Wayland made his march up the ravines and out into sight of the town of Elkdale.
People never forgot the procession as it turned down the main street of the town, with a tall, gaunt form leading a runt of a mustang, a man with a shaggy, new growth of unrazored beard on his face, and his hollow eyes burning with triumph and joy. At the tail of the mustang swung the light litter, and in that litter lay a man at whose side skulked what seemed a huge gray timber wolf. Except that who has ever heard of a tame lobo?
But, last of all, bringing up the procession, and identifying the man who lay in the litter, pranced a great chestnut stallion on whose silken sides the sun flamed eagerly.
That was Parade. Every man and boy, every woman and child, had seen pictures of the glorious horse, and they knew him now.
They came out and walked at a respectful distance from the procession, for the whisper went through the air and reached every heart: Silver himself lay on the litter, wounded very badly, dying, perhaps.
They walked with hushed murmurs until the mustang was guided to the door of the doctor’s house.
There many willing, gentle, respectful hands loosed the litter. They had a dangerous time doing their work, for Frosty, though terrified by the presence of such great numbers of the enemy, man, was ready to tear them all to pieces. It required the steady, gentle voice of his master to keep him in hand. Even so, the bearers of that litter walked on tiptoe as they carried their famous burden into the doctor’s house.
They laid him on the doctor’s own big, comfortable double bed at the doctor’s request. Frosty installed himself instantly on the rug at the bedside; and the stallion. Parade, was loosed in the little plot of pasture ground where the doctor’s cow grazed.
So Parade, from time to time, could thrust his head right in over the sill of the window and whinny very softly, now and again, to his master. On those occasions the great wolf was sure to rise up and bare his teeth with a terrible snarl. He never shared his master willingly with the horse. He never shared Silver willingly with any human company, either, and from first to last he had his teeth bared when even tall Wayland came stepping into the room.
As for Silver, the wide-whiskered doctor pronounced a favorable verdict at once. He declared that Silver should have died, of course, during the first fever, but since that was ended, it was merely a matter of antiseptics and a little patience and care.
Patience and care? The whole town of Elkdale was ready to offer its services. It was ready to watch by day and by night.
Then came the day when Rucker and his daughter arrived.
It was a great day for Wayland. It was such a great day that he wanted to sneak away from the meeting, because he did not know how he should be able to endure the thanks of the banker for what he had done.
But Rucker took that famous saddlebag with the treasure inside it and threw it profanely into a corner.
“It don’t make a bit of difference to me,” he said. “I’m through with the banking business. I can raise all the beef I can eat on my ranch. I can get all the happiness I want out of my own mountains. And what will I be doing with half a million in spare cash? I don’t owe it to anybody. My depositors didn’t lose a bean. This here is nothing but a lot of extra capital for you, Wayland.”
“Capital for me?” said Wayland, aghast.
“What do you mean by that tone?” asked the banker. “Don’t you intend to marry May, or have you only been philandering with her? May, come here. Here’s a hound that’s only been wasting your time. He didn’t mean a word that he spoke.”
Well, it was possible for Wayland to explain that he had meant every word of it. He took the girl in to see Jim Silver, and Silver smiled at her quietly and took her hand.
“You’ve got the best sort of a man in the world,” he told her. “Because he’s always better than the best he knows about himself.”