The Night Horseman | Page 5

my son before I die."
"This sounds quite promising."
"But I'll tell nobody else."
"Really!"
"It's about a man and a hoss and a dog. The man ain't possible, the hoss
ain't possible, the dog is a wolf."
He paused again and glowered on the doctor. He seemed to be drawn
two ways, by his eagerness to tell a yarn and his dread of consequences.
"I know," he muttered, "because I've seen 'em all. I've seen"--he looked
far, as though striking a silent bargain with himself concerning the sum
of the story which might safely be told--"I've seen a hoss that
understood a man's talk like you and me does--or better. I've heard a
man whistle like a singing bird. Yep, that ain't no lie. You jest imagine
a bald eagle that could lick anything between the earth and the sky and
was able to sing--that's what that whistlin' was like. It made you glad to
hear it, and it made you look to see if your gun was in good workin'
shape. It wasn't very loud, but it travelled pretty far, like it was comin'

from up above you."
"That's the way this strange man of the story whistles?" asked Byrne,
leaning closer.
"Man of the story?" echoed the proprietor, with some warmth. "Friend,
if he ain't real, then I'm a ghost. And they's them in Elkhead that's got
the scars of his comin' and goin'."
"Ah, an outlaw? A gunfighter?" queried the doctor.
"Listen to me, son," observed the host, and to make his point he tapped
the hollow chest of Byrne with a rigid forefinger, "around these parts
you know jest as much as you see, and lots of times you don't even
know that much. What you see is sometimes your business, but mostly
it ain't." He concluded impressively: "Words is worse'n bullets!"
"Well," mused Byrne, "I can ask the girl these questions. It will be
medically necessary."
"Ask the girl? Ask her?" echoed the host with a sort of horror. But he
ended with a forced restraint: "That's your business."

CHAPTER III
THE DOCTOR RIDES
Hank Dwight disappeared from the doorway and the doctor was called
from his pondering by the voice of the girl. There was something about
that voice which worried Byrne, for it was low and controlled and
musical and it did not fit with the nasal harshness of the cattlemen.
When she began to speak it was like the beginning of a song. He turned
now and found her sitting a tall bay horse, and she led a red-roan mare
beside her. When he went out she tossed her reins over the head of her
horse and strapped his valise behind her saddle.
"You won't have any trouble with that mare," she assured him, when

the time came for mounting. Yet when he approached gingerly he was
received with flattened ears and a snort of anger. "Wait," she cried, "the
left side, not the right!"
He felt the laughter in her voice, but when he looked he could see no
trace of it in her face. He approached from the left side, setting his
teeth.
"You observe," he said, "that I take your word at its full value," and
placing his foot in the stirrup, he dragged himself gingerly up to the
saddle. The mare stood like a rock. Adjusting himself, he wiped a
sudden perspiration from his forehead.
"I quite believe," he remarked, "that the animal is of unusual
intelligence. All may yet be well!"
"I'm sure of it." said the girl gravely. "Now we're off."
And the horses broke into a dog trot. Now the gait of the red roan mare
was a dream of softness, and her flexible ankles gave a play of whole
inches to break the jar of every step, the sure sign of the good
saddle-horse; but the horse has never been saddled whose trot is really
a smooth pace. The hat of Doctor Byrne began to incline towards his
right eye and his spectacles towards his left ear. He felt a peculiar
lightness in the stomach and heaviness in the heart.
"The t-t-t-trot," he ventured to his companion, "is a d-d-d-dam--"
"Dr. Byrne!" she cried.
"Whoa!" called Doctor Byrne, and drew mightily in upon the reins. The
red mare stopped as a ball stops when it meets a stout wall; the doctor
sprawled along her neck, clinging with arms and legs. He managed to
clamber back into the saddle.
"There are vicious elements in the nature of this brute," he observed to
the girl.

"I'm very sorry," she murmured. He cast a sidelong glance but found
not the trace of a smile.
"The word upon which I--"
"Stopped?" she suggested.
"Stopped," he agreed, "was not, as you evidently assumed, an oath. On
the contrary, I was