Riders of the Silences

Riders of the Silences

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Riders of the Silences, by Max Brand
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Title: Riders of the Silences
Author: Max Brand
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RIDERS OF THE SILENCES
Max Brand
1919

Prologue
The Great West, prior to the century's turn, abounded in legend. Stories
were told of fabled gunmen whose bullets always magically found their
mark, of mighty stallions whose tireless gallop rivaled the speed of the
wind, of glorious women whose beauty stunned mind and heart. But
nowhere in the vast spread of the mountain-desert country was there a
greater legend told than the story of Red Pierre and the phantom
gunfighter, McGurk.
These two men of the wilderness, so unalike, of widely-differing
backgrounds, had in common a single trait: each was unbeatable. Fate
brought them clashing together, thunder to thunder, lightning to

lightning. They were destined to meet at the crossroads of a long, long
trail ... a trail which began in the northern wastes of Canada and led,
finally, to a deadly confrontation in the mountains of the Far West.

Riders of the Silences


CHAPTER 1
It seemed that Father Anthony gathered all the warmth of the short
northern summer and kept it for winter use, for his good nature was an
actual physical force. From his ruddy face beamed such a kindliness
that people reached out toward him as they might extend their hands
toward a comfortable fire.
All the labors of his work as an inspector of Jesuit institutions across
the length and breadth of Canada could not lessen the good father's
enthusiasm; his smile was as indefatigable as his critical eyes. The one
looked sharply into every corner of a room and every nook and hidden
cranny of thoughts and deeds; the other veiled the criticism and soothed
the wounds of vanity.
On this day, however, the sharp eyes grew a little less keen and
somewhat wider, while that smile was fixed rather by habit than
inclination. In fact, his expression might be called a frozen kindliness
as he looked across the table to Father Victor.
It required a most indomitable geniality, indeed, to outface the rigid
piety of Jean Paul Victor. His missionary work had carried him far
north, where the cold burns men thin. The zeal which drove him north
and north and north over untracked regions, drove him until his body
failed, drove him even now, though his body was crippled.
A mighty yearning, and a still mightier self-contempt whipped him on,

and the school over which he was master groaned and suffered under
his régime. Father Anthony said gently: "Are there none among all your
lads, dear Father Victor, whom you find something more than
imperfect machines?"
The man of the north drew from a pocket of his robe a letter. His lean
fingers touched it almost with a caress.
"One. Pierre Ryder. He shall carry on my mission in the north. I, who
am silent, have done much; but Pierre will do more. I had to fight my
first battle to conquer my own stubborn soul, and the battle left me
weak for the great work in the snows, but Pierre will not fight that
battle, for I have trained him.
"This letter is for him. Shall we not carry it to him? For two days I have
not seen Pierre."
Father Anthony winced.
He said: "Do you deny yourself even the pleasure of the lad's company?
Alas, Father Victor, you forge your own spurs and goad yourself with
your own hands. What harm is there in being often with the lad?"
The sneer returned to the