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"That was a bum play," he said solemnly to Mac Strann. "When Barry hears about what you done here to two men, d'you think that he'll ever hit your trail?" The other started. "I never thought about it," he murmured, his thick lips, as always, framing speech with difficulty. "D'you s'pose I'd ought to go back to the Cumberland place for him?" A yell rose at the farther end of the room. "A wolf! Hey!
And Mac Strann loved his brother as much as he hated everything else; it is impossible to state it more strongly. It was not long before the men of the Three B's discovered how Mac Strann felt about his brother. After Jerry's famous Hallowe'en party in Buckskin, for instance, Williamson, McKenna, and Rath started out to rid the country of the disturber.
Indeed, in the horse-corral a score of frantic animals were attempting to leap the high rails in the direction of the burning barn. Their stamping and snorting came volleying up the hill to the watchers. "All hosses goes mad," concluded Mac Strann, "an' Barry'll get tramped under the feet of his own hoss even if he gets to the stall which he won't. Look there!"
"Red-eye all 'round," said the loud voice of Jerry Strann, "but there's one out. Who's out? Oh, it's him. Hey O'Brien, lemonade for the lady." It brought a laugh, a deep, good-natured laugh, and then a chorus of mockery; but Barry stepped unconfused to the bar, accepted the glass of lemonade, and when the others downed their fire-water, he sipped his drink thoughtfully.
It died off short on the lips of the applauders, however, for it was seen that Mac Strann was not yet done with his work, and he went about it in a manner which made men sober suddenly and exchange glances. First the stranger dragged the two brothers together, laying one of them face down on the floor. The second he placed over the first, back to back.
They had reached the largest of the barns, a long, low structure. "This here," said Mac Strann, "is where that hoss must be. They wouldn't run a hoss like that with others. They'd keep him in a big stall by himself. We'll try this one, Haw-Haw." But Haw-Haw drew back at the door.
And he looked down to his blunt-knuckled hands. "'S matter of fact," continued Haw-Haw easily, "he's right here now!" He looked again towards Mac Strann and remembered once more the drink which Mac might so easily have purchased for him. "It ain't Pale Annie, is it?" asked the black haired man, casting a dubious glance up and down the vast frame of the undertaker. "Him? Not half!" grinned Haw-Haw.
I could tell you a lot of other things. My friend, I will tell you about 'em if you'll listen." But Mac Strann considered the speaker with his dull eyes. "I never was much on talkin'," he observed mildly. "I don't understand talkin' very well." Pale Annie started to speak again, but he checked himself, stared earnestly at Mac Strann, and then hurried back behind his bar.
It was as if the whistling man had disappeared at the place where the rain swallowed his form, and had taken body again at their very side. Mac Strann shrank back against the wall, bracing his shoulders, and gripped the butts of his guns.
"Bart!" came the command again. "Heel!" The dog obeyed with a slinking swiftness; Jerry Strann put up his gun and smiled. "I don't take a start on no man," he announced quite pleasantly. "I don't need to. But you yaller hearted houn' get out from between. When I make my draw I'm goin' to kill that damn wolf."
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