more about Faust’s life, his work, and critical essays on various aspects of his fiction of all kinds can be found in The Max Brand Companion (Greenwood Press, 1996).
Chapter 1
“It ain’t hard at all,” said the sheriff. “Most likely he thinks that nobody seen him because of the dark. And he’s right when he thinks that nobody could make out his face. But the point is that there’s lots of ways of identifying a gent, and one of the ways is by the hoss that he rides. And old Jeffreys is willing to swear that he made out the gray gelding of Bill Vance, the high-headed fool of a hoss that young Vance has been riding around lately. So all I’m going to do, boys, is to wait till the moon comes up and then slip out to the Vance place. The reason that I want you fellows to come along is because I never can tell when the Vance people will put up a fight. They got the spirit of a load of dynamite, and any old spark is lightning enough to set them off and blow the tar out of everything within reach.”
“Till the moon comes up?” queried one of his men. “Well, that won’t be more’n half an hour, I guess, at the most and…”
But Jack Trainor, sitting in the next room of thehotel and hearing every syllable that was spoken because the wall between was of a thickness hardly rivaling cardboard, waited to hear no more. He had made out, from what passed before in their talk, that the sheriff had gathered the half dozen men in the next room to conduct an inquiry into the stage robbery that had occurred the night before. And now he had been struck rigid with horror by the mention of the name of Bill Vance, his brother-in-law.
Trainor had left Bill’s house the previous evening after a visit of a fortnight. It seemed impossible that young Vance should have committed the robbery, but on second thought Jack remembered that his host had been absent during the entire first half of the night, pleading a business call across the hills. Moreover, he knew that Vance was desperately hard pressed for money. He had made considerable loans to Bill in the past, but all that he could raise on a cowpuncher’s pay had been little enough, considering the needs of a growing family. However that might be, he had no time to argue about possibilities. The important thing for him to do was to rush back to Bill’s house and learn the truth from him and deliver the warning about the coming of the sheriff.
That was what he did. Five minutes later he was out of the hotel and on his horse galloping hard along the road. As he swung out of the saddle before the door, he saw the white rim of the moon slide up above the eastern hills. The house was black. The family slept. And yet, at the first rap at the door, there was an answering stir.
Did a guilty conscience make the sleep of Bill Vance light?
“It’s me, Bill,” he called softly, and a moment laterthe door was opened to him by his brother-in-law, the moonlight shining fully on his face and making him seem old and pale.
“What’s wrong?” gasped out Vance.
“How d’you know that there’s anything wrong?” demanded Jack Trainor sternly. “Who said that there was anything wrong?”
“I don’t know…only…”
“Bill,” commanded Jack, “you got to tell me the whole truth. Did you stick up the Norberry stage?”
There was another gasp from the wretched Bill. Confession of his guilt, and his despair for the consequences of his act that now confronted him, showed at once in his face.
“It was only because I…” He stopped short. “Who says I did it?” he asked.
“You’re guilty, Bill,” said Trainor. “And they know it. They know that the gent that stuck up the stage rode a gray horse. They recognized that high-headed young gray of yours, that Mike horse that you been riding lately.”
“They co-couldn’t,” stammered Bill. “It was dark and…”
“You did it, then?”
“Lord help me,” groaned Bill.
“Better start by helping yourself. Bill, they’ll
Chapter 1
“It ain’t hard at all,” said the sheriff. “Most likely he thinks that nobody seen him because of the dark. And he’s right when he thinks that nobody could make out his face. But the point is that there’s lots of ways of identifying a gent, and one of the ways is by the hoss that he rides. And old Jeffreys is willing to swear that he made out the gray gelding of Bill Vance, the high-headed fool of a hoss that young Vance has been riding around lately. So all I’m going to do, boys, is to wait till the moon comes up and then slip out to the Vance place. The reason that I want you fellows to come along is because I never can tell when the Vance people will put up a fight. They got the spirit of a load of dynamite, and any old spark is lightning enough to set them off and blow the tar out of everything within reach.”
“Till the moon comes up?” queried one of his men. “Well, that won’t be more’n half an hour, I guess, at the most and…”
But Jack Trainor, sitting in the next room of thehotel and hearing every syllable that was spoken because the wall between was of a thickness hardly rivaling cardboard, waited to hear no more. He had made out, from what passed before in their talk, that the sheriff had gathered the half dozen men in the next room to conduct an inquiry into the stage robbery that had occurred the night before. And now he had been struck rigid with horror by the mention of the name of Bill Vance, his brother-in-law.
Trainor had left Bill’s house the previous evening after a visit of a fortnight. It seemed impossible that young Vance should have committed the robbery, but on second thought Jack remembered that his host had been absent during the entire first half of the night, pleading a business call across the hills. Moreover, he knew that Vance was desperately hard pressed for money. He had made considerable loans to Bill in the past, but all that he could raise on a cowpuncher’s pay had been little enough, considering the needs of a growing family. However that might be, he had no time to argue about possibilities. The important thing for him to do was to rush back to Bill’s house and learn the truth from him and deliver the warning about the coming of the sheriff.
That was what he did. Five minutes later he was out of the hotel and on his horse galloping hard along the road. As he swung out of the saddle before the door, he saw the white rim of the moon slide up above the eastern hills. The house was black. The family slept. And yet, at the first rap at the door, there was an answering stir.
Did a guilty conscience make the sleep of Bill Vance light?
“It’s me, Bill,” he called softly, and a moment laterthe door was opened to him by his brother-in-law, the moonlight shining fully on his face and making him seem old and pale.
“What’s wrong?” gasped out Vance.
“How d’you know that there’s anything wrong?” demanded Jack Trainor sternly. “Who said that there was anything wrong?”
“I don’t know…only…”
“Bill,” commanded Jack, “you got to tell me the whole truth. Did you stick up the Norberry stage?”
There was another gasp from the wretched Bill. Confession of his guilt, and his despair for the consequences of his act that now confronted him, showed at once in his face.
“It was only because I…” He stopped short. “Who says I did it?” he asked.
“You’re guilty, Bill,” said Trainor. “And they know it. They know that the gent that stuck up the stage rode a gray horse. They recognized that high-headed young gray of yours, that Mike horse that you been riding lately.”
“They co-couldn’t,” stammered Bill. “It was dark and…”
“You did it, then?”
“Lord help me,” groaned Bill.
“Better start by helping yourself. Bill, they’ll
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