The Trail Beyond by Max Brand

Author:Max Brand
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Blackstone Publishing
Published: 2018-04-17T18:20:18+00:00

Chapter Seventeen

And the village was not the only place where there was silence and wonder as the dusk came on. Five minutes after Peter left the town to go out and wait for the bandit, a runner slipped away on the opposite side of the town, wove among the hills until he had cut around to the west, and settled to a steady jog. He was making for El Tigre, but how could he have known where to find the man? That was apparently settled in his mind by the sight of two columns of smoke, two thin columns that almost melted into the haze of sky blue. They burned far away to the north of the town, but by them the runner headed to the west. He worked for two hours at a pace that would have strained a good horse. Then he came on his quarry. No doubt he had been seen in the distance and had been allowed to come in simply because he was known to be a friend. But, dodging through the rocks, he came upon a little opening where a party of a dozen were lounging in the shadows.

He had been struggling up sharp slopes for two hours; he had been running for two hours, on fire with exciting news. But the moment he saw the man to whom the news was to be delivered, he slowed his pace to a walk, sobered his labor-drawn face to an expression of indifference, and, appropriating to himself the shady side of a large boulder, he dropped down, crossed-legged, and began to manufacture a cigarette.

While he made the smoke and lit it, no one addressed him, nor for another minute while the smoke coiled, thin and small, above his head. But at length he was offered a canteen. His dark eyes flashed a glance of thanks. He tilted the canteen, and yet he took only a few swallows. The long race and the dust and the heat, together with the last irritation of tobacco smoke, had given him such a thirst that he could easily have drained the canteen twice over, but pride kept him from exposing his necessity. The few swallows moistened his throat, made it easier to breathe, and took the knife edge from his thirst.

But here a tall and slender fellow, built like a dancer for agility and grace, and dressed in a jacket covered with gold braid and trousers brilliant with silver conchas, stepped up to the newcomer. It was the lieutenant of El Tigre. It was no other than Guillermo Suave, or William the Soft. And Guillermo retained carefully the velvet touch and saved the harsh word for the harsh moment. He had been known to shriek and sing and weep in the hysteria of a battle. For he fought like a madman or a drunkard, but ordinarily his manner was as gentle as the manner of a girl. He was in fact more dreaded than El Tigre himself, and for his cruelty he was famous over the length and the breadth of the barren mountains.

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