Riders of the Silences by Max Brand (the dot read aloud txt) 📖

night in the room, and Pierre

had passed from youth to manhood. Through the gloom nothing stood out

distinctly save the white face of the dead man, and from that Pierre

looked quickly away.

 

One by one he numbered his obligations to Martin Ryder, and first and

last he remembered the lie which had soothed his father. The money for

that corner plot where the grass grew first in the spring of the

year—where was he to find it? He fumbled in his pocket and found only

a single coin.

 

He leaned back against the wall and strove to concentrate on the

problem, but his thoughts wandered in spite of himself. Looking

backward, he remembered all things much more clearly than when he had

actually seen them. For instance, he recalled now that as he walked

through the door the two figures which had started up to block his way

had left behind them some playing-cards at the corner table. One of

these cards had slipped from the edge of the board and flickered

slowly to the floor.

 

With that memory the thoughts of Pierre le Rouge stopped. The picture

of the falling card remained; all else went out in his mind like the

snuffing of the candle. Then, as if he heard a voice directing him

through the utter blackness of the room, he knew what he must do.

 

All his wealth was the single half-dollar piece in his pocket, and

there was only one way in which that coin could be increased to the

sum he would need to buy that corner plot, where the soul of old

Martin Ryder could sleep long and deep.

 

From his brothers he would get no help. The least memory of those

sallow, hungry faces convinced him of that.

 

There remained the gaming table. In the north country he had watched

men sit in a silent circle, smoking, drinking, with the flare of an

oil-lamp against deep, seamed faces, and only the slip and whisper of

card against card.

 

Cold conscience tapped the shoulder of Pierre, remembering the lessons

of Father Victor, but a moment later his head went up and his eyes

were shining through the dark. After all, the end justified the means.

 

A moment later he was laughing softly as a boy in the midst of a

prank, and busily throwing off the robe of serge. Fumbling through the

night he located the shirt and trousers he had seen hanging from a

nail on the wall. Into these he slipped, and then went out under

the open sky.

 

The rest had revived the strength of the tough little cow-pony, and he

drove on at a gallop toward the twinkling lights of Morgantown. There

was a new consciousness about Pierre as if he had changed his whole

nature with his clothes. The sober sense of duty which had kept him in

awe all his life like a lifted finger, was almost gone, and in its

place was a joyous freedom.

 

For the first time he faintly realized what an existence other than

that of a priest might be. Now for a brief moment he could forget the

part of the subdued novice and become merely a man with nothing about

him to distinguish him from other men, nothing to make heads turn at

his approach and raise whispers as he passed.

 

It was a game, but he rejoiced in it as a girl does in her first

masquerade. Tomorrow he must be grave and sober-footed and an example

to other men; tonight he could frolic as he pleased.

 

So Pierre le Rouge tossed back his head and laughed up to the frosty

stars. The loose sleeves and the skirts of the robe no longer

entangled his limbs. He threw up his arms and shouted. A hillside

caught the sound and echoed it back to him with a wonderful clearness,

and up and down the long ravine beat the clatter of the flying hoofs.

The whole world shouted and laughed and rode with him on Morgantown.

 

If the people in the houses that he passed had known they would have

started up from their chairs and taken rifle and horse and chased

after him on the trail. But how could they tell from the passing of

those ringing hoofs that Pierre, the novice, was dead, and Red

Pierre was born?

 

So they drowsed on about their comfortable fires, and Pierre drew rein

with a jerk before the largest of Morgantown’s saloons. He had to set

his teeth before he could summon the resolution to throw open the

door. It was done; he stepped inside, and stood blinking in the sudden

rush of light against his face.

 

It was all bewildering at first; the radiance, the blue tangle of

smoke, the storm of voices. For Muldoon’s was packed from door to

door. Coins rang in a steady chorus along the bar, and the crowd

waited three and four deep.

 

Someone was singing a rollicking song of the range at one end of the

bar, and a chorus of four bellowed a profane parody at the other end.

 

The ears of Pierre le Rouge tingled hotly, and partly to escape the

uproar he worked his way to the quieter room at the back of

the saloon.

 

It was almost as crowded as the bar, but here no one spoke except for

an occasional growl. Sudden speaking, and a loud voice, indeed, was

hardly safe. Someone cursed at his ill-luck as Pierre entered, and a

dozen hands reached for six-guns. In such a place one had to

be prepared.

 

Pierre remembered with quick dismay that he was not armed. All his

life the straight black gown had been weapon enough to make all men

give way before him. Now he carried no borrowed strength upon his

shoulders.

 

Automatically he slipped his fingers under the breast of his shirt

until their tips touched the cold metal of the cross. That gave him

stronger courage. The joy of the adventure made his blood warm again

as he drew out his one coin and looked for a place to start

his venture.

 

So he approached the nearest table. On the surface of it were marked

six squares with chalk, and each with its appropriate number. The man

who ran the game stood behind the table and shook three dice. The

numbers which turned up paid the gambler. The numbers which failed to

show paid the owner of the game.

 

His luck had been too strong that night, and now only two men faced

him, and both of them lost persistently. They were “bucking” the dice

with savage stubbornness.

 

Pierre edged closer, shut his eyes, and deposited his coin. When he

looked again he saw that he had wagered on the five.