Riders of the Silences Part 12

"Of the family? Exactly. If you did that I'd know it was because you were wantin' something, Pierre, eh?"

"Two things."

"Lad, I like this way of talk. One--two--you hit quick like a two-gun man. Well, I'm used to paying high for what I get. What's up?"

"The first--"

"Wait. Can I help you out by myself, or do you need the gang?"

"The gang."

"Then come, and I'll put it up to them. You first."

It was equally courtesy and caution, and Pierre smiled faintly as he went first through the door. He stood in a moment under the eyes of five silent men.

The booming voice of Jim Boone p.r.o.nounced: "This is Pierre. He'll be one of us if he can get the gang to do two things. I ask you, will you hear him for me, and then pa.s.s on whether or not you try his game?"

They nodded. There were no greetings to acknowledge the introduction.

They waited, eyeing the youth with distrust.

Pierre eyed them in turn, and then he spoke directly to big d.i.c.k Wilbur.

"Here's the first: I want to bury a man in Morgantown and I need help to do it."

Black Gandil snarled: "You heard me, boys; blood to start with. Who's the man you want us to put out?"

"He's dead--my father."

They came up straight in their chairs like trained actors rising to a stage crisis. The snarl straightened on the lips of Black Morgan Gandil.

"He's lying in his house a few miles out of Morgantown. As he died he told me that he wanted to be buried in a corner plot in the Morgantown graveyard. He'd seen the place and counted it for his a good many years because he said the gra.s.s grew quicker there than any other place, after the snow went."

"A d.a.m.ned good reason," said Garry Patterson. As the idea stuck more deeply into his imagination he smashed his fist down on the table so that the crockery on it danced. "A d.a.m.ned good reason, say I!"

"Who's your father?" asked d.i.c.k Wilbur, who eyed Pierre more critically but with less enmity than the rest.

"Martin Ryder."

"A ringer!" cried Bud Mansie, and he leaned forward alertly. "You remember what I said, Jim?"

"Shut up. Pierre, talk soft and talk quick. We all know Mart Ryder had only two sons and you're not either of them."

The Northerner grew stiff and as his face grew pale the red mark where the stone had struck his forehead stood out like a danger signal.

He said slowly: "I'm his son, but not by the mother of those two."

"Was he married twice?"

Pierre was paler still, and there was an uneasy twitching of his right hand which every man understood.

He barely whispered. "No; d.a.m.n you!"

But Black Gandil loved evil.

He said, with a marvelously unpleasant smile: "Then she was--"

The voice of d.i.c.k Wilbur cut in like the snapping of a whip: "Shut up, Gandil, you devil!"

There were times when not even Boone would cross Wilbur, and this was one of them.

Pierre went on: "The reason I can't go to Morgantown is that I'm not very well liked by some of the men there."

"Why not?"

"When my father died there was no money to pay for his burial. I had only a half-dollar piece. I went to the town and gambled and won a great deal. But before I came out I got mixed up with a man called Hurley, a professional gambler."

"And Diaz?" queried a chorus.

"Yes. Hurley was hurt in the wrist and Diaz died. I think I'm wanted in Morgantown."

Out of a little silence came the voice of Black Gandil: "d.i.c.k, I'm thankin' you now for cuttin' me so short a minute ago."

Phil Branch had not spoken, as usual, but now he repeated, with rapt, far-off eyes: "'Hurley was hurt in the wrist and Diaz died?' Hurley and Diaz! I played with Hurley, a couple of times."

"Speakin' personal," said Garry Patterson, his red verging toward purple in excitement, "which I'm ready to go with you down to Morgantown and bury your father."

"And do it shipshape," added Black Gandil.

"With all the tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs," said Bud Mansie, "with all Morgantown joinin' the mournin' voluntarily under cover of our six-guns."

"Wait," said Boone. "What's the second request?"

"That can wait."

"It's a bigger job than this one?"

"Lots bigger."

"And in the meantime?"

"I'm your man."

They shook hands. Even Black Gandil rose to take his share in the ceremony--all save Bud Mansie, who had glanced out the window a moment before and then silently left the room. A bottle of whisky was produced and gla.s.ses filled all round. Jim Boone brought in the seventh chair and placed it at the table. They raised their gla.s.ses.

"To the empty chair," said Boone.

They drank, and for the first time in his life, the liquid fire went down the throat of Pierre. He set down his gla.s.s, coughing, and the others laughed good-naturedly.

"Started down the wrong way?" asked Wilbur.