15 - Alcatraz - The King

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Episode Transcript

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Chapter fifteen of Alcatraz by Max Brand. This LibriVox recording is in the public
domain. The king if men mayto some degree be classed in the categories
of bird and beasts, one likethe eagle, another like the bear,
some swinish, some elephantine, someboldly leoline, unquestionably red, Paris must

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be likened to the cat tribe.To some the comparison would have seemed that
most opportune, having seen him inrestless action. But the same idea might
have come the one who saw himlying prone on a certain hilltop in the
western foothills of the Eagle Mountains,unmoving hour by hour, his rifle shoved

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out before him among the dead grasses, his chin resting on the back of
his folded hands, and always hisattentive eyes roved from point to point over
the landscape below him. A catlies passive in this manner half a day,
watching the gopher hole. It wasnot the first or second time he

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had spent the afternoon in this place. For nearly a week, he had
given the better part of every dayto the vigil on this hilltop. All
this for very good reasons. Duringten days after his first coming to the
ranch, he tried the ordinary methodsof hunting down wild horses, and with
a carefully posted string of a halfa dozen horses, he twice attempted to

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run down the outlaw, but hehad never come within more than the most
distant and hazardous rifle range. Tobe sure, he had fired some dozen
shots during the pursuits, but theyhad been random efforts at times when the
red chestnut was flashing off in thedistance, fairly walking away from the best

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mounts the hunter could procure. Havinglogically determined that it was not in the
power of horse flesh burdened with theweight of a rider, to come within
striking distance of the stallion. ReadJim Parris pass from action to quiescence.
If he could not outrun Alcatraz,he would outwait him. First. He

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studied the habits of the new kingof the Eagle Mountains day by day following
the trail. It was not hardto distinguish after he had once measured the
mighty stride of Alcatraz in full gallop, and he came the note to a
hair's breadth, the distance which thechestnut stepped when he walked or trotted,

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or loped or galloped or ran.More than that, he could tell by
the print of the four hoofs,all of the same size, the same
roundness token so dear to the heartof a horseman. By such signs he
identified old and new trails, untilhe could guess the future by the past,

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until he could begin to read thecharacter the stallion. He knew,
for instance, that insatiable curiosity withwhich the chestnut studied his wilderness and its
inhabitants. He had seen the trailloping around the spot where the rattler's length
had been coiled in the sand,or where a tentative hoof had opened the

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squirrel's hole. On a night ofbrilliant moonshine, he had watched through his
glass while Alcatraz galloped madly, tossinghead and tail and neighing at a low,
swooping owl. Great foolish impulses cameto Alcatraz. He might gather his
mares about him and lead them forten miles at a terrific pace, and

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with a blind destination. He mightleave them and scout far and wide alone,
always at dizzy speed. As thehunter stayed longer by his puzzling task,
he began to wonder if this sprangfrom mere running instinct, or knowledge
that he must keep himself in thepink of condition like a man, the

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preferences of Alcatraz were distinctly formed andwell expressed. He disliked the middle day,
and during this period sought a combinationof wind and shade. Only in
the morning and in the evening heranged for pasture or for pleasure. Impulse
still guided him. Now and againhe wandered to the eastern or the western

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mountains, then far into the hotheart of the desert. Then, with
incredible boldness, he doubled back tothe well watered lands of the Jordan Ranch,
leaped the fence, followed by themares, to whom he had taught
the art of jumping, and fedfat under the very eye of his enemies.

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The boldness of these proceedings taught Pariswhat he already knew, that the
Stallion knew men and hated as muchas he dreaded his former masters. These
excursions were tempting of providence, gamesof hazard. Paris Gambler, by instinct
himself, understood and appreciated at thesame time that his anger had been so

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constantly outwitted, out distanced grew hot. Then there remained no kindness, only
desire to make the kill. Hisdreams had come to turn on one picture,
Alcatraz cantering in range of the waitingrifle. That dream haunted even his
walking moments, as he lay hereon the hilltop, wondering if he had

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not been mistaken in selecting this place, of all the range, Yet he
had chosen it with care as oneof the points of passage for Alcatraz during
the Stallion's wanderings to the four quartersof his domains. And though since he
took up his station here, animp of the perverse kept the Stallion far

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away. The watcher remained on guard, baked and scorched by the midday sun,
constantly surveying the lower hills near byor sweeping more distant reaches with his
glass. This day he felt thelong vigil to be definitely a failure,
for the sun was behind the westernsummits, and the time of deepening shadows

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most unfavorable to marksmanship had come.He swung the glass for the last time
to the south. It caught theglint of some moving creature. He focused
his attention, but the object disappeareda full five minutes past before it came
out of the intervening valley. Butthen bursting over the hilltop, it swept

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enormous into the power of the glassAlcatraz, and at full gallop. There
was no shadow of a doubt,for though it was the first time he
had been able to watch the stallionat close hand, he recognized a long
and effortless swing of that gallop.Next, he remembered those stories of the
charmed life and the tails he hadmocked that before now became possible truths.

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He caught up his gun to makesure. But when his left hand slipped
under the barrel to the balance,and the butt of the gun pulled into
the hollow of his shoulder, hebecame of rock like steadiness. Swinging the
gun to the left, he caughtAlcatraz full in the ready circle of the
sights, and over his set teeth, the lips curled in his smile.

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The trail had ended. The slightestmovement of his finger would beckon the life
out of that marauder. But asone who tastes the wine slowly inhales its
bouquet places the vintage, even so, red paris delayed to taste the fruition
of his work pivoted on his leftelbow. He swung the rifle with frictionless

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ease, and kept the galloping stallionsteadily in the center of the sight.
He smiled grimly now at those fablesof the charmed life, and drew a
bead just over the heart. Thechestnut was very near. Along the glorious
slope of his shoulder, Paris sawthe long muscles playing with every stride,

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and what strides they were. Hefloated rather than galloped. His hoofs barely
flicked the ground, and it seemedto Jim Perrish a shameful thing to smash
that mechanism. He did not lovehorses. He was raised in a land
where there were two strictly articles ofuse. But even as a machine he

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saw in Alcatraz perfection. Not thebody. Then he would drive the bullet
home into the brain, the cunningbrain which had conceived and executed all the
mischief. The chestnut had worked alongthe shining neck so imperiously arched, Paris
swung the sights and rested his headat last just below the ears, with

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the forelock blown back between them bythe wind of running slowly. His finger
closed on the trigger. It seemedthat in the silence Alcatraz had found a
signal of danger. For now heswung that imperious head about and looked full
at red Paris. By his ownact he had changed the aim of the

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hunter to a yet more fatal target. The forehead the heart of Paris leaped,
even as it had stirred more thanonce when he had looked into the
eyes of fighting men. Here wasan equal pride, an equal fierceness,
looking forth at him. Then heremembered the six mayors somewhere at the center

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of the guarding circle which Alcatraz nowdrew. What dauntless courage was here in
the brute mind, which, knowingthe power of man, dared to rob
him, to defy him. Truly, this was the king of horses,
meant for higher ends, then toserve as a target of a winchester.

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Aye, he could make his ownera king among men. Mounted on the
back of the chestnut, no enemycould overtake him. From that winged speed,
None could escape the back of Alcatrazmight be a throne. He could
end all that boundless strength by onepressure of his finger. But was that

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indeed a true conquest. It wascalling to his aid a trick. It
was using an unfair advantage, itseemed the Paris. But suppose that he,
the rider, who had never yetfailed in the saddle, were to
sit on the stallion, there wouldbe a battle for the gods to witness.

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It was madness, sheer madness.It was throwing away the labor of
the patient, days of waiting andworking. But to Paris it seemed the
only thing to do. He leapedto his feet and brandished the gleaming rifle.
Go it, boy, he shouted, we'll meet again. One snort
from Alcatraz. Then he changed toa red streak, flashing down the hollow.

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Before the stallion was out of sight, a cry rang down the wind.
It was chopped off by the crackof a rifle, and low Hervey
spurred from behind the neighboring hill andplunged after Alcatraz, pumping shot on shot
at the fugitive. In a frenzy, Paris jerked his own gun to the
shoulder and drew down on the pursuer. But the red anger cleared from his

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mind as he caught the burly shouldersof Hervey in the sights. He lowered
the rifle with a grim feeling thathe had never before been so close to
a murder. A moment later,he began the chuckle behind his set teeth.
No wonder they credited the chestnut witha charmed life. As he raced

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away, gaining a yard at everyleap, he sware deserved like a jack
rabbit, from side to side.Perhaps the deadly hum of bullets on many
another chase had taught him this trickof dodging. But beyond all doubt,
when Hervey returned to the ranch thatnight, he would have a tale of
mystery to preserve his self respect asa good marksman. What else could he

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do? In the meantime, pursuedand pursuer scurried out of sight beyond a
hill. The gun barked far away, and the echoes murmured lightly from the
hollows. Then Paris turned his backand trudged homewards. End of Chapter fifteen,