Max Brand (7 page)

He dipped out of the brighter level into a premature night below;
evening was gathering quickly, and with each step Connor felt the misty
darkness closing above his head. He was stumbling over the boulders,
downheaded, hardly able to see the ground at his feet, yet when he
reached the bottom of the little ravine which ran toward the entrance,
he looked up to a red sky, and the higher mountains rolled off in waves
of light. Distances were magnified; he seemed to look from the bottom of
the world to the top of it; he turned, a little dizzy, and between the
edges of the cleft that rose straight as Doric pillars, he saw a fire
burning at the entrance to the Garden of Eden. The sunset was above
them, but the fire sent a long ray through the night of the lower
valley. Connor pointed it out to his horse, and the little cavalcade
went slowly forward.

With every step that he took into the darkness the feeling of awe
deepened upon Connor, until he went frowning toward the fire as though
it were an eye that watched his coming. He was quite close when the
chestnut threw up its head with a snort and stopped, listening; Connor
listened as well, and he heard a music of men's voices singing together,
faint with distance; the sound traveled so far that he caught the pulse
of the rhythm and the fiber of the voices rather than the tune itself,
yet the awe which had been growing in Connor gathered suddenly in his
throat. He had to close his hands hard to keep from being afraid.

As though the chestnut felt the strangeness also, he neighed suddenly;
the rock walls of the ravine caught up the sound and trumpeted it back.
Connor, recovering from the shock, buried his fingers in the nostrils of
the horse and choked the sound away; but the echo still went faintly
before them and behind. The alarm had been given. The fire winked once
and went out. Connor was left without a light to guide him; he looked up
and saw that the sunset flush had fallen away to a dead gray.

He looked ahead to where the fire had been. Just then the horse jerked
his nose away and gasped in a new breath. Even that slight sound
flurried Connor, for it might guide the unknown danger to him. Connor
remembered that after all he was not a bandit stealing upon a peaceful
town; he composed his mind and his nerves with an effort, and was about
to step forward again when he saw in the night just before him a deeper
shade among the shadows. Peering, he discovered the dim outlines of a
man.

Ben Connor was not a coward, but he was daunted by this apparition. His
first impulse was to flee; his second was to leap at the other's throat.
It spoke much for his steadiness in a crisis that he did neither, but
called instead: "Who's there?"

Metal gritted on metal, and a shaft of light poured into Connor's face
so unexpectedly that he shrank. The chestnut reared, and turning to
control the horse, Connor saw his eyes and the eyes of the mule shining
like phosphorus. When he had quieted the gelding he saw that it was a
hooded lantern which had been uncovered. Not a ray fell on the bearer of
the light.

"I saw a light down here," said Connor, after he had tried in vain to
make out the features of the other. "It looked like a fire, and I
started for it; I've lost my bearing in these mountains."

Without answering, the bearer of the lantern kept the shaft staring into
Connor's face for another moment; then it was as suddenly hooded and
welcome darkness covered the gambler. With a gesture which he barely
could make out, the silent man waved him forward down the ravine. It
angered Connor, this mummery of speechlessness, but with his anger was
an odd feeling of helplessness as though the other had a loaded gun at
his head.

The man walked behind him as they went forward, and presently the fire
shone out at them from the entrance to the valley; thus Connor saw the
blanket which had screened the fire removed, and caught a glimpse of a
second form.

Even the zenith was dark now, and it was double night in the ravine.
With the chestnut stumbling behind him, Connor entered the circle of the
fire and was stopped by the raised hand of the second man.

"Why are you here?" said the guard.

The voice was thin, but the articulation thick and soft, and as the
questioner stepped into the full glow of the fire, Connor saw a Negro
whose head was covered by white curls. He was very old; it seemed as
though time had faded his black pigment, and now his skin, a dark
bronze, was puckered at the corners of his mouth, about his eyes, and in
the center of his forehead, seeming to have dried in wrinkles like
parchment. While he talked his expression never varied from the weary
frown; yet years had not bowed him, for he stood straight as a youth,
and though his neck was dried away until it was no thicker than a strong
man's forearm, he kept his head high and looked at Connor.

The man who had gone out to stop Connor now answered for him, and
turning to the voice the gambler saw that this fellow was a Negro
likewise; as erect as the one by the fire, but hardly less ancient.

"He is lost in the mountains, and he saw the fire at the gate, Ephraim."

Ephraim considered Connor wistfully.

"This way is closed," he said; "you cannot pass through the gate."

The gambler looked up; a wall of rock on either side rose so high that
the firelight failed to carry all the distance, and the darkness arched
solidly above him. The calm dignity of the men stripped him of an
advantage which he felt should be his, but he determined to appear at
ease.

"Your best way," continued Ephraim, "is toward that largest mountain.
You see where its top is still lighted in the west, while the rest of
the range is black.

"Jacob can take you up from the ravine and show you the beginning of the
way. But do not pass beyond the sight of the fire, Jacob."

"Good advice," nodded Connor, forcing himself to smile, "if it weren't
that my horse is too sore-footed to carry me. Even the mule can hardly
walk—you see."

He waved his hand and the chestnut threw up its head and took one or two
halting steps to the side.

"In the meantime, I suppose you've no objection if I sit down here for a
moment or two?"

Ephraim, bowing as though he ushered the other into an apartment of
state, waved to a smooth-topped boulder comfortably near the fire.

"I wish to serve you," he went on, "in anything I can do without leaving
the valley. We have a tank just inside the gate, and Jacob will fill
your canteen and water the horse and mule as well."

"Kind of you," said Connor. "Cigarette?"

The proffered smoke brought a wrinkling of amazed delight into the face
of Ephraim and his withered hand stretched tentatively forth. Jacob
forestalled him with a cry and snatched the cigarette from the open palm
of Connor. He held it in both his cupped hands.

"Tobacco—again!" He turned to Ephraim. "I have not forgotten!"

Ephraim had folded his arms with dignity, and now he turned a reproving
glance upon his companion.

"Is it permitted?" he asked coldly.

The joy went out of the face of Jacob.

"What harm?"

"Is it permitted?" insisted Ephraim.

"He will not ask," argued Jacob dubiously.

"He knows without asking."

At this, very slowly and unwillingly, Jacob put the cigarette back into
the hand of Ben Connor. A dozen curious questions came into the mind of
the gambler, but he decided wisely to change the subject.

"The boss gives you orders not to leave, eh?" he went on. "Not a step
outside the gate? What's the idea?"

"This thing was true in the time of the old masters. Only Joseph can
leave the valley," Ephraim answered.

"And you don't know why no one is allowed inside the valley?"

"I have never asked," said Ephraim.

Connor smoked fiercely, peering into the fire.

"Well," he said at length, "you see my troubles? I can't get into the
valley to rest up. I have to turn around and try to cross those
mountains."

"Yes," nodded Ephraim.

"But the horse and mule will never make it over the rocks. I'll have to
leave them behind or stay and starve with them."

"That is true."

"Rather than do that," said Connor, fencing for an opening, "I'd leave
the poor devils here to live in the valley."

"That cannot be. No animals are allowed to enter."

"What? You'd allow this pair to die at the gate of the valley?"

"No; I should lead them first into the mountains."

"This is incredible! But I tell you, this horse is my friend—I can't
desert him!"

He fumbled in his coat pocket and then stretched out his hand toward the
chestnut; the horse hobbled a few steps nearer and nosed the palm of it
expectantly.

"So!" muttered Ephraim, and shaded his eyes with his hand to look. He
settled back and said in a different voice: "The horse loves you; it is
said."

"I put the matter squarely up to you," said Connor. "You see how I
stand. Give me your advice!"

Ephraim protested. "No, no! I cannot advise you. I know nothing of what
goes on out yonder. Nevertheless—"

He broke off, for Connor was lighting another cigarette from the butt of
the first one, and Ephraim paused to watch, nodding with a sort of
vicarious pleasure as he saw Connor inhale deeply and then blow out a
thin drift of smoke.

"You were about to say something else when I lighted this."

"Yes, I was about to say that I could not advise you, but I can send to
Joseph. He is near us now."

"By all means send to Joseph."

"Jacob," ordered the keeper of the gate, "go to Joseph and tell him what
has happened."

The other nodded, and then whistled a long note that drifted up the
ravine. Afterward there was no answer, but Jacob remained facing
expectantly toward the inside of the valley and presently Connor heard a
sound that made his heart leap, the rhythmic hoofbeats of a galloping
horse; and even in the darkness the long interval between impacts told
him something of the animal's gait. Then into the circle of the
firelight broke a gray horse with his tail high, his mane fluttering. He
brought his gallop to a mincing trot and came straight toward Jacob, but
a yard away he stopped and leaped catlike to one side; with head tossed
high he stared at Connor.

Cold sweat stood on the forehead of the gambler, for it was like
something he had seen, something he remembered; all his dreams of what a
horse should be, come true.

Ephraim was saying sternly:

"In my household the colts are taught better manners, Jacob."

And Jacob answered, greatly perturbed: "There is a wild spirit in all
the sons of Harith."

"It is Cassim, is it not?" asked Ephraim.

"Peace, fool!" said Jacob to the stallion, and the horse came and stood
behind him, still watching the stranger over the shoulder of his master.

"Years dim your eyes, Ephraim," he continued. "This is not Cassim and he
is not the height of Cassim by an inch. No, it is Abra, the son of Hira,
who was the daughter of Harith."

He smiled complacently upon Ephraim, nodding his ancient head, and
Ephraim frowned.

"It is true that my eyes are not as young as yours, Jacob; but the
horses of my household are taught to stand when they are spoken to and
not dance like foolish children."

This last reproof was called forth by the continual weaving back and
forth of the stallion as he looked at Connor, first from one side of
Jacob and then from the other. The old man now turned with a raised
hand.

"Stand!" he ordered.

The stallion jerked up his head and became rigid.

"A sharp temper makes a horse without heart," said the oracular Ephraim.

Jacob scowled, and rolling his eyes angrily, searched for a reply; but
he found none. Ephraim clasped one knee tightly in both hands, and
weaving his head a little from side to side, delighted in his triumph.

"And the hand which is raised," went on the tormentor, "should always
fall."

He was apparently quoting from an authority against which there was no
appeal; now he concluded:

"Threats are for children, and yearlings; but a grown horse is above
them."

"The spirit of Harith has returned in Abra," said Jacob gloomily. "From
that month of April when he was foaled he has been a trial and a burden;
yes, if even a cloud blows over the moon he comes to my window and calls
me. There was never such a horse since Harith. However, he shall make
amends. Abra!"

The stallion stepped nearer and halted, alert.

"Go to him, fool. Go to the stranger and give him your head. Quick!"

The gray horse turned, hesitated, and then came straight to Connor, very
slowly; there he bowed his head and dropped his muzzle on the knee of
the white man, but all the while his eyes flared at the strange face in
terror. Jacob turned a proud smile upon Ephraim, and the latter nodded.

"It is a good colt," he admitted. "His heart is right, and in time he
may grow to some worth."

Once more Connor fumbled in his pocket.

"Steady," he said, looking squarely into the great, bright eyes.
"Steady, boy."

He put his hand under the nose of the stallion.

"It's a new smell, but little different."

Abra snorted softly, but though he shook he dared not move. The gambler,
with a side glance, saw the two men watching intently.

"Ah," said Connor, "you have pulled against a headstall here, eh?"

He touched an old scar on the cheek of the horse, and Abra closed his
eyes, but opened them again when he discovered that no harm was done to
him by the tips of those gentle fingers.

"You may let him have his head again," said Connor. "He will not leave
me now until he is ordered."

"So?" exclaimed Jacob. "We shall see! Enough Abra!"

The gray tossed up his head at that word, but after he had taken one
step he returned and touched the back of the white man's hand, snuffed
at his shoulder and at his hat and then stood with pricking ears. A soft
exclamation came in unison from Jacob and Ephraim.