11 - Alcatraz - The Failure

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter eleven of Alcatraz by Max Brand. This LibriVox recording
is in the public domain. The failure before noon, Shorty,
the lightweight and tireless rider, unwearied to all appearance by
his effort of that night, had started toward Gloucesterville with

(00:21):
her letter to Paris. But it was not until the
next day that she confessed what she had done to Hervey.
Certainly he had done more than his share in his
effort to get back the coals horses, and she had
no wish to needlessly hurt his feelings by letting him
know that the business was to be taken out of
his hands and given into those of a more efficient worker.

(00:45):
But Hervey surprised her by the complaisance with which he
heard the tidings. Never in my life hung out as
shingle as a horse catcher, He assured her, He's welcome
to the job men. The boys won't envy him none.
It'll be a long trail and a tolerably lonely one,
most like. After that, she settled down to wait with

(01:08):
as great a feeling of security as though the mayors
were already safely back in the corral. If he came,
the death warrant on Alcatraz was as good as signed.
But when the third day of waiting ended without bringing
Shorty in Paris as it should have done, the if
began to assume greater proportions, and by late afternoon of

(01:30):
the fourth day, she had made up her mind that
Paris was gone from Gloucesterville, and that Shorty was on
a wild goose chase after him. So great was her
gloom that even her father, usually blind to all emotions
around him, delayed a moment after he had been helped
into his buckboard, and stared thoughtfully down at her. The

(01:54):
habit had grown on Oliver Jordan of late when the
westering sun lost most of its heat, and through slant
shadows and a yellow light over the mountains, Oliver would
have a pair of ancient grays, patient as burrows and
hardly faster, hitched to a buckboard, and then drive off

(02:14):
into the evening and perhaps long after the dinner hour.
Only foul weather kept him from these lonely jaunts, on
which he never took a companion. To mary Anne, they
were a never ending source of wonder and sorrow, for
she saw her father slowly withdrawing himself from the life
about him, and dwelling in a gentle, uninterrupted melancholy. She

(02:39):
met his stare on this evening with eyes clouded with tears. Truly,
he had aged woefully in the past years. The accident
which robbed him of his physical freedom seemed at the
same time to destroy all spirit of youth. Whether walking
or sitting, he was bowed. His eyes were dull beside

(03:02):
his mouth, and between his eyes, deep lines gave a
sad dignity to his expression. And though as his cowpunchers swore,
his hand was as swift to draw a gun as ever,
and his eye a steady on a target, he had
gradually lost interest in even his revolvers. Indeed, what real
interest remained to him in the world, mary Anne was

(03:25):
unable to tell. He lived and moved as one in
a dream, surrounded by a world of dreams. His eyes
were dull from looking into the dim distance of strange thoughts,
and the smile, which was rarely away from his lips,
was rather whimsically enduring than a sign of mirth. But

(03:46):
as he looked down at her from the buckboard, mary
Anne saw his expression clear to awareness of her. He
even reached out and rested his hand on her head
so that her face was tilted up to him. Honey,
he said, you're eating your heart out about something. How
come Red Paris is overdue? She said, But I don't

(04:08):
want to bother you with my troubles. Dad, Red Paris,
who's he? Don't you remember I told you how he
rode Rickety, And now I've sent for him to come
and hunt Alcatraz because once that man killing horses dead,
it will be easy to get the mayor's back. And
every day counts. Every day the mayors are getting wilder?

(04:32):
What mayors? Then he nodded, I remember, there ain't nothing
but that worrying you, Marianne. His expression of concern vanished,
his glance wandered far east, where the shades were already
brimming the valleys. I'll be getting on then, honey, all

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at once, for pity had thought of him driving into
the lonely silences. She caught his hand. It was still lean,
heard of palm, sinewy, with strength of which most extreme
age indeed would never entirely rob it. And the touch
of those strong fingers called back to her mind the
picture of Oliver Jordan as he had been a kingly man,

(05:16):
among men. Tears came into the eyes of mary Anne.
But where are you going? She asked him gently? And
why do you never let me go with you? Dear you,
he chuckled, waste of time driving out nowheres with an
old cujer like me. I didn't give you all that
schooling to have you throw your life away doing things

(05:38):
like that. Don't you bother about me, mary Anne. I'm
just going to drift over yonder around Jackson Peak, you see.
But who is there? And what is there? He merely
rubbed his knuckles across his forehead and then shook his head.
I don't know nothing much. It's tolerable quiet, though, and

(06:00):
you get the smell of the pines the minute the
trail starts climbing. Sort of a lazy place to go.
But then I've turned into a lazy man, Honey. Just
sitting and thinking is about all I'm good for, or
most like, just the sitting without the thinking. Why Mary Anne,
where'd you get them? Tears? She choked them back. I

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wish I wish, she began. That's writing on it. Keep
right on wishing things. That's what I've been doing lately,
and wishing things is better than doing them the way
kids are, that's the best way to be. So long,
Mary Anne. She stepped back, trying valiantly to smile, and

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he raised a cautioning finger, chuckling, Look here, now, don't
you go bothering your head about me. To save your
worrying for this paris gent, he clucked to the Grays,
and their sudden start threw him violently against the back
of the seat. The promise of that start, however, was

(07:05):
by no means borne out by the pace into which
they immediately fell, which was a dog trot executed with
trailing hoofs that raised little wisps of dust at every stride.
She saw the lines slacken and hang loosely to every
swing of the buckboard. Had she not ten years before

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trembled at the sight of the same team dashing into
the road, high headed, eyes of fire and the reins humming.
With the strength of Oliver Jordan's pull, the buckboard jolted
slowly down the road and swung out of sight, But
Marianne Jordan remained for long moments, staring after her father

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every time they passed through one of these interviews, and
to day's talk had been longer than most she always
felt that she had been pushed a little farther away
from him. At the very time of his life when
his daughter should have become a comfort to him, Oliver
Jordan withdrew himself more and more from the world, and

(08:08):
she could not but feel that, as evening drives through
the silences of the hill were dearer and closer to
him than his daughter. The buckboard reappeared, lurching up a
farther knoll, and then rolled out of sight to be
seen no more, and Marianne felt again what she had
often felt before, seeing her father drive away in this fashion,

(08:32):
that some day Oliver Jordan would never come back from
the hills. A moment later, half a dozen of the
cowpunchers came into view, with the unmistakable form of Low
Hervey in the lead. He was a big looking man
in the saddle, and he showed himself to the greatest
advantage by riding rigidly erect with his head thrown a

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little back, so that the loose brim of his sombrero
was continually in play about his face. For all her
dislike of him, she could not but admit that he
was the beau ideal of the fine horseman. The dominant
leader showed in every line, and it was no wonder
that the cowpunchers feared and respected him. Besides, there were

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many tales of his proudness with rifle and revolver to
make him stand out in bolder relief, she saw the
riders disappear in the direction of the corrals, and then
turned back towards the house. Unquestionably, it was to avoid
sight of his men returning from their day's work that

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Oliver Jordan usually drove off at this time of the day.
It brought home to him too keenly the many times
when he himself had ridden back by the side of
lew Hervey from a day of galloping in the wind.
It crushed him with a sense of that impotence into
which his life had fallen. Indeed, unless some vital change came,

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her father must soon mourn himself into a grave. For
the first time, Marianne clearly perceived this, Oliver Jordan was
wasting for grief over his lost freedom, just as some
youthful lover might decline because of the death of his mistress.
The shock of this perception brought Marianne to a halt.

(10:26):
When she looked up shorty in Red Paris were not
a hundred yards away, swinging along at a steady lope.
All sad thoughts were whisked from her mind. Has a gust,
whirl's dead leaves away and shows the green grass beneath
newly growing. How it lifted her heart to see him,

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But she looked down with a cold falling of gloom
at her blue gingham dress. This was not as she
wished to appear. She could be in her writing costume,
with that rather mannished blouse and loosely tied cravat, spurs
on her boots, and court in her hand, as became
the mistress and ruling force of a big ranch. Then

(11:09):
she received sudden and convincing proof that mere outward appearances
meant nothing in the life of Red Jim Parris. He
took off his hat and swung it in greeting. There
was a white flash of his teeth as he laughed,
a red flash of his amazing hair in the sunset light.
Then he was pulling up and swinging down to the ground.

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He came to meet her with his hat dangling in
one hand and the other extended typically Western. She thought
that in their second meeting he should act like an
old friend, delightfully western too. Under his straight, glancing eyes,
his open smile of pleasure, new confidence came in the

(11:53):
merry Anne new self reliance. The grip of his hand
sent strength up her arm and into her heart. I'd
given you up, she admitted, mighty sorry, it took so long,
said Paris. You see, I was right in the middle
of a little poker game that hung on uncommon long.
But when it finished up, men, Shorty, come as fast

(12:16):
as we could. Ah, Shorty, humph, grunted Shorty. Marianne looked
to her messenger for the first time. He sat his
saddle loosely, one hand falling heavily on the pommel, and
his head bent. He did not raise it to meet
her glance, but rolled his eyes up in a gloomy scowl,

(12:36):
which flitted over her face and then came to a
rest on the face of Red Jim Parris. A frown
of weariness puckered the brow of Shorty, Purple bruised places
of sleeplessness surrounded his eyes, and every line of age
or wary or labor was graven more deeply on his face. Huh,

(13:01):
grunted Shorty again, mumbling his words, very much like a drunkard.
I've killed my mamie horse, that's all. And with this
gloomy retort, he urged the mayor to a downhearted trot.
In fact, the staunch little brown mare staggered on tired legs,
and her sides heaved like bellows. The gray horse of

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Red Jim Parris was in hardly better condition. I want you, quickly,
said Maryanne, a little horrified. But I didn't ask you
to kill your horses. Coming kill him, said Parris, and
he cast a sharp glance of disapproval at her. Not much.
That horse of mine is a pile fagged. I aim

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to get her that way, but she'll be fit as
a fiddle in the morning. I'll ride her till she's through,
and never a step more. I know the minute she's
through working on muscle and starts working on her nerve,
and when that time comes, I stop. I've put up
in the middle of nowheres to let her get back
her wind. Killer. Nope, lady, And the only reason Shorty's

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source was so used up was because he plumb insisted
on keeping up with us, and Marianne nodded. Ordinarily, such
a speech would have drawn argument from her. Indeed, her
own submissiveness startled her, as she found herself gently inviting
the fire eater to come into the house and learn

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in detail the work which lay before him. End of
Chapter eleven.