Bull Hunter, Page 3

  CHAPTER 3

  They stood with the wind taking them with its teeth and pressing themheavily back. They could hear the fire flare and flutter in the stove;then the wind screamed again, and the wail came down to them.

  "Uncle Bill!" repeated Bull and, lowering his head, strode into thestorm.

  The others exchanged frightened glances and then followed, but notoutside of the shaft of light from the door. In the first place it wasprobably not their father. Who could imagine Bill shouting for help?Such a thing had never been dreamed of by his worst enemies, and theyknew that their father's were legion. Besides it was cold, and thiswas a wild-goose chase which meant a chilled hide and no gain.

  But, presently, through the darkness they made out the form of ahorseman and the great bulk of Bull coming back beside him. Then theyran out into the night.

  They recognized the hatless, squat figure of their father at once,even in the dark, with the wind twitching his beard sideways. Whenthey called to him he did not speak. Then they saw that Bull wasleading the horse.

  Plainly something was wrong, and presently they discovered that BillCampbell was actually tied upon his horse. He gave no orders, and theycut the ropes in silence. Still he did not dismount.

  "Bull," he commanded, "lift me off the hoss!"

  The giant plucked him out of the saddle and placed him on the ground,but his legs buckled under him, and he fell forward on his face. Anyof the three could have saved him, but the spectacle of the terribleold man's helplessness benumbed their senses and their muscles.

  "Carry me in!" said Bill at last.

  Bull lifted him and bore him gingerly through the door and placed himon the bunk. The light revealed a grisly spectacle. Crimson stains anddirt literally covered him; his left leg was bandaged below the knee;his right shoulder was roughly splinted with small twigs andswathed in cloth.

  The long ride, with his legs tied in place, had apparently paralyzedhis nerves below the hips. He remained crushed against the wall, hislegs falling in the odd position in which they were put down by Bull.It was illustrative of his character that, even in this crisis, notone of the three dared venture an expression of sympathy, a question,a suggestion.

  Crumpled against the wall, his head bowed forward and cramped, thestern old man still controlled them with the upward glance of his eyesthrough the shag of eyebrows.

  "Gimme my pipe," he commanded.

  Three hands reached for it--pipe, tobacco, matches were proffered tohim. Before he accepted the articles he swept their faces with aglance of satisfaction. Without attempting to change the positionwhich must have been torturing him, he filled the pipe bowl, hisfingers moving as if he had partially lost control of them. He filledit raggedly, shreds of tobacco hanging down around the bowl. He benthis head to meet the left hand which he raised with difficulty, thenhe tried to light a match. But he seemed incapable of moving thesulphur head fast enough to bring it to a light with friction. Matchafter match crumbled as he continued his efforts.

  "Here, lemme light a match for you, Dad!"

  Harry's offer was received with a silent curling of the lips and aglint of the yellow teeth beneath that made him step back. The old mancontinued his work. There were a dozen wrecked matches before theblood began to stir in his numbed arm and he was able to light thematch and the pipe. He drew several breaths of the smoke deep into hislungs. For the moment the savage, hungry satisfaction changed hisface; they could tell by that alteration what agonies he had beensuffering before.

  Presently he frowned and set about changing his position with infinitelabor. The left leg was helpless, and so was the right arm. Yet, aftermuch labor, he managed to stuff a roll of the blankets into the cornerand then shift himself until his back rested against this support. Buthis strength deserted him again. His pipe was dropped down in the lefthand, his head sagged back.

  Still they dared not approach him. His two sons stood about, shiftingfrom one foot to another, as if they expected a blow to descend uponthem at any moment, as if each labored movement of terrible old BillCampbell caused them the agony which he must be suffering.

  As for Bull Hunter, he sat again on the floor, his chin dropped uponhis great fist, and wondered for a time at his uncle. It was thesecond great event to him, all in one day. First he had discoveredthat by fighting a thing, one can actually conquer. Second, hediscovered that great fighter, his uncle, had been beaten. Theimpossible had happened twice between one sunrise and sunset.

  But men and the affairs of men could not hold his eye overlong.Presently he dropped his head again and was deep in the pages of hisbook. At length Bill Campbell heaved up his head. It was to glare intothe scared faces of his sons.

  "How long are you goin' to keep me waiting for food?"

  The order snapped them into action. They sprang here and there, andpresently the thick slices of bacon were hissing on the pan, and theclouds of bacon smoke wafted through the cabin. When they reached BillCampbell he blinked. Pain had given him a maddening appetite, yet hepuffed steadily on his pipe and said nothing.

  The tin plate of potatoes and bacon was shoved before him, and the bigtin cup of coffee. The three younger men sat in silence and devouredtheir own meal; the two sons swiftly, but Bull Hunter fell intomusings, and part of his food remained uneaten. Then his glancewandered to his uncle and saw a thing to wonder at--a horrible thingin its own way.

  The nerveless left hand of the mountaineer, which had barely possessedsteadiness to light a match, was far too inaccurate to handle a fork;and Bull saw his uncle stuffing his mouth with his fingers and daringthe others to watch him.

  Something like pity came to Bull. It was so rare an emotion to connectwith human beings that he hardly recognized it, for men and women, ashe knew them, were brilliant, clever creatures, perfectly at home inthe midst of difficulties that appalled him. But, as he watched theold man feed himself like an animal, the emotion that rose in Bull wasthe sadness he felt when he watched old Maggie stumbling among therocks. There was something wrong with the forelegs of Maggie, and shewas only half a horse when it came to going downhill on broken ground.He had always thought of the great strength that once must have beenhers, and he pitied her for the change. He found himself pitying UncleBill Campbell in much the same way.

  When Bill raised his tin cup he spilled scalding coffee on his breast.The old man merely set his teeth and continued to glare his challengeat the three. But not one of the three dared speak a word, dared makean offer of assistance.

  What baffled the slow mind of Bull Hunter was the effort to imagine aforce so great that battle with it had reduced the invincible Campbellto this shaken wreck of his old self. Mere bullets could tear woundsin flesh and break bones; but mere bullets could not wreck the nervesof a man so that his hand trembled as if he were drunk or hystericalwith weariness.

  He tried to work out this problem. He conceived a man of giganticsize, vast muscles, inexhaustible strength. The power of a bear andthe swift cunning of a wild cat--such must have been the man whostruck down Uncle Bill and sent him home a shattered remnant ofhis old self.

  There was another mystery. Why did the destroyer not finish his task?Why did he take pity on Uncle Bill Campbell and bind up the wounds hehad himself made? Here the mind of Bull Hunter paused. He could notpass the mysterious idea of another than himself pitying Uncle Bill.It was pitying a hawk in the sky.

  Harry was taking away the dishes and throwing them in the little tubof lukewarm water where the grease would be carelessly sousedoff them.

  "Did you get up that stump?" asked Uncle Bill suddenly.

  There was a familiar ring in his voice. Woe to them if they had notcarried out his orders! All three of the young men quaked, and Bulllaid aside his book.

  "We done it," answered Joe in a quavering voice.

  "You done it?" asked Bill.

  "We--we dug her pretty well clear, then Bull pulled her up."

  Some of the wrath ebbed out of the face of Bill as he glanced at thehuge form of Bull. "St
and up!" he ordered.

  Bull arose.

  The keen eye of the old man went over him from head to foot slowly."Someday," he said slowly, speaking entirely to himself."Someday--maybe!"

  What he expected from Bull "someday" remained unknown. The dishwashingwas swiftly finished. Then Uncle Bill made a feeble effort to get offhis boots, but his strength had been ebbing for some time. His sonsdared not interfere as the old man leaned slowly over and strove totug the boot from his wounded leg; but Bull remembered, all in a floodof tenderness, some half-dozen small, kind things that his uncle hadsaid to him.

  That was long, long ago, when the orphan came into the Campbellfamily. In those days his stupidity had been attributed largely to thespeed with which he had grown, and he was expected to become normallybright later on; and in those days Bill Campbell occasionally let fallsome gentle word to the great boy with his big, frightened eyes. Andthe half-dozen instances came back to Bull in this moment.

  He stepped between his cousins and laid his hand on the foot of hisuncle. It brought a snarl from the old man, a snarl that made Bullstraighten and step back, but he came again and put aside the shakinghand of Uncle Bill. His cousins stood at one side, literally quaking.It was the first time that they had actually seen their father defied.They saw the huge hand of Bull settle around the leg of their father,well below the wound and then the grip closed to avoid the danger ofopening the wound when the boot was worked off. After this he pulledthe tight riding boot slowly from the swollen foot.

  Uncle Bill was no longer silent. The moment the big hand of his nephewclosed over his leg he launched a stream of curses that chilled theblood and drove his own sons farther back into the shadow of thecorner. He demanded that they stand forth and tear Bull limb fromlimb. He disinherited them for cowardice. He threatened Bull with avengeance compared with which the thunderbolt would be a feeble flareof light. He swore that he was entirely capable of taking care ofhimself, that he would step down into his grave sooner than be nursedand petted by any living human being.

  All the while, the great Bull leaned impassively over the wounded manand finally worked the boot free. That was not all. Uncle Bill hadslipped over until he could reach a billet of wood beside his bunk. Hestruck at Bull's head with it, but the stick was brushed out of hispalsied fingers with a single gesture, and, while Uncle Bill groanedwith fury and impotence, Bull continued the task of preparing him forbed. He straightened the old body of the terrible Campbell; he heatedwater in the tub and washed away stains and dirt; he took off thestained bandages and replaced them with clean ones.

  His cousins helped in the latter part of this work. Weakness hadreduced Uncle Bill to speechlessness. Finally the head of BillCampbell was laid on a double fold of blanket in lieu of a pillow. Apipe had been tamped full and lighted by Bull and--crowninginsult--set between Bill's teeth. When all this was accomplished Bullretired to his corner, picked up his book, and was instantly absorbed.

  In the hushed atmosphere it seemed that a terrible blow had fallen,and that another was about to fall. Harry and Joe were as men stunned,but they looked upon their father with a gathering complacency. Theyhad found it demonstrated that it was possible to disobey their fatherwithout being instantly destroyed. They were taking the lesson toheart. And indeed old Bill Campbell himself seemed to be slowlyadmitting that he was beaten.

  The illusion of absolute self-sufficiency, which he had built upthrough the years for the sake of imposing upon his sons and BullHunter, was now destroyed. At a single stroke he had been exposed asan old man, already beaten in battle by a foeman and now requiring asmuch care as a sick woman. The shame of it burned in him; but thecomfort of the smoothed bunk and the filled pipe between his teeth wasa blessing. He found to his own surprise that he was not hating Bullwith a tithe of his usual vigor. He began to realize that he had cometo the end of his period of command. When he left that sickbed hecould only advise.

  As a king about to die he looked at his heirs and found them strongand sufficient and pleasing to the eye. Nowhere in the mountains werethere two boys as tall, as straight, as deadly with rifle andrevolver, as fierce, as relentless, as these two boys of his. He hadsharpened their tempers, and he rejoiced in the sullen ferocity withwhich they looked at him now, unloving, cunning, biding their time andfinding that it had almost come. But he was not yet done. His body waswrecked; there remained his mind, and they would find it a greatpower. But he did not talk until the lights had been put out and thethree youths were in their separate bunks. Then, without the light toshow them his helpless body, in the darkness, which would give hismind a freer play, he began to tell his story.

  It was a long narrative. Far back in the years he had prospected witha youth named Pete Reeve. They had located a claim and they had goneto town together to celebrate. In the celebration he had drunk withReeve till the boy stupefied. Then he had induced Reeve to gamble forhis share of the claim and had won it. Afterward Pete swore to be evenwith him. But the years had gone by without another meeting ofthe men.

  Only today, riding through the mountains, he had come on a dried-upwisp of a man with long, iron-gray hair, a sharp, withered face, andhands like the claws of a bird. He rode a fine bay gelding, and hadstopped Bill to ask some questions about the region above thetimberline because he was drifting south and intended to cross thesummits. Bill had described the way, and suddenly, out of their talk,came the revelation of their identities--the one was Bill Campbell,the other was Pete Reeve.

  At this point in the story Bull heaved himself slowly, softly up onone arm to listen. He was beginning to get the full sense of the wordsfor the first time. This narrative was like a book done in acommoner language.