Secret of the Malpais

by Ferber, Richard

  She had moved to the bed. She put the lamp on the nightstand and lay down, and he went over to her. He lighted the cigarette and stood looking at her, then looked through the little window over the bed. The lights everywhere were out now. It would be morning in a little while. A dog barked, perhaps in anticipation of it, but there was no other sound. The street was deserted. He started to turn away, then something caught his eye. Something had moved under the verandah across the way. Or had it? He watched for a long time, and after a while it was easy to believe that the wind had merely stirred a shadow. He had spent too many days up in Apacheria; he was getting flighty, like an old lobo.

  "Come to bed, Logan," Selina said, and her voice pulled him down, as though her hands were doing it. He gave her the cigarette and began to undress, and it was her turn to watch. Not lustfully. Her face was somber, and there were lines in it that he had never seen before, and he thought: she loves me. It gave him a twinge, but only momentarily. He blew out the lamp and lay down close beside her.

  "Do you need me, Logan?" she said.

  "Yes," he said. "That's it."

  "That's something," she said, and he imagined he could see, in the feeble glow of the cigarette, that the look of somberness had left her face.

  "Be careful, Logan," she said. "Of the cigarette."

  But he didn't hear her.

  There were times, especially at night when they lay together in the warm darkness, that it was easy to forget all about The Place in the Rocks. Gold seemed unimportant; food, a bed to lie in, flesh to touch, those were enough. Besides, how could he be sure he'd

  ever find the diggings again? Could he possibly retrace his steps? ("He go like crazy lizard," Old Pablo had said.) Or remember the trail that had first taken them in? Three days' ride to the big river, two days to the old pumpkin patch, another two ... wasn't it? ... to the two buttes that the old man called the breasts of the woman, then ...

  He'd forgotten; he'd almost forgotten the old man. They had found him in a little cantina on the Rio Salado and they'd had to feed him whiskey every day and they thought he was crazy and it turned out he wasn't: he knew the way. And now he was dead, along with the others... except for one. And that one was sick. And he'd forgotten.

  But not enough. There were still the nightmares, and sometimes waking memories of the gold, Jthe way it had glistened in the gravel, the way they had pried it out in walnut-sized nuggets from th'e walls of the canyon ... enough to load a pack horse. There was still Angela, too. And no matter how he felt about her now ... how she felt about him ... hadn't he promised her?

  Logan got up from the chair. A week had gone by now, and he could walk about without feeling the tremor in his legs, without feeling sick. The sun was high. Selina stirred in the bed and threw the covers off her shoulders.

  **You're going out?"

  "Just for a walk," he said.

  "Be careful."

  He wondered what she meant but she was half-asleep and he didn't ask her. Probably he was still weak and^ shouldn't overexert himself. He looked at her lying there with her eyes closed, one arm across her breasts, and for a moment hesitated. Then went out.

  It was the first time he'd been outside, and it felt good. He stopped at the gate and rolled a cigarette. The air was hot but pleasant. Three Indian children came out from the side of a building and ran down the street with a dog following at their heels. They stopped in front of the deserted store front and stared at the man standing in the shade under the verandah. They were begging. Ramsey Moon took something out of his pocket and gave it to them.

  Logan turned up the street, in the opposite direction. The cigarette in his mouth was still unlighted. He stopped aft^ a few yards, struck a match and list^ No one was following him. Perhaps it ^as jus^ 4 cidence that Moon was standing there. But whiat; the shadow that had moved that first nigh1?*he'a s at Selina's? Hadn't it moved under that same verandah? He turned to look, and Moon was gone.

  Logan went along the main street, past the log walls of the old stockade, and turned agaiil |fcwn the next alley. At first there seemed to be no on^m the livery.^. Then Jake Bigges came out from the back somewhere, ^ brushing straw from his shirt and looking guilty.

  "Hello, Logan," he said. "Haven't seen you aiffUiK

  for awhile." jf^* 1 ''.-'7^

  "I haven't been around," Logan said. *'^<» ^ '<^^

  "Ain't seen Jtffi;ey, either." . ^^ "No," Logan saki. Terseness was called for. Bigges

  divided his time between taking care of his livery, • sleeping in one of* the b^ck stalls, and gossiping... in

  equal proportions. . i, - ^

  "What can I do foi^uTLogan?"

  "Nothing," Logan |aid. "I just thought I might take

  a look at my pinto." ^j^

  "Oh?" Bigges said.^Tou^mean the one Miss Kane

  brought in? I didn't know that was your pinto, Logan.

  Guess I should have, though."

  His meaning was clear, and Logan had half a notion to back him into one of the stalls and put him to sleep again. But he didn't. He was going to give Bigges something to talk about; he needed his silence, what there was of it.

  "I might look at some pack animals, too," Logan said. "While I'm here."

  "Sure," Bigges said. He followed at Logan*s heels like the dog had followed the Indian children, impatient. He was small, and when Logan leaned against the top rail of the corral he climbed up beside him. "How come you need pack horses, Logan?"

  "I thought I'd pull for some new country," Logan said. "I'd appreciate it if you kept it quiet, though. I OY^e money to a few people, and I'm afraid if they find out, they'll come down on me."

  It was a lie, and it had the proper effect. Bigges looked disappointed. Blabbing on a man who was pulling out on his debts was the one thing he couldn't bring himself to do. He owed everybody in town.

  "I won't breathe a word, Logan. I swear. How many horses you need?'*

  "Two is plenty," Logan said. Three would be more like it, but it wouldn't look right; a man didn't need three pack horses just to get out of the country.

  "Pick out a couple for me, Jake, and put them on grain until I come and get them. Maybe that sorrel gelding, too. That pinto's too small for me."

  "How much?" Bigges said.

  "You name the price," Logan said. "You're always fair."

  It was plain and simple bribery, and Bigges knew it. "You can depend on me," he said, and Logan said, "I know it, Jake," and walked back through the barn

  and into the street. Whatever the price turned out to be, it would be a small enough price for what he was getting. One saddle horse, two pack horses, and Bigges* silence. Things were going.better than he had expected. He didn't have to buy any mining equipment... there was all he'd ever need strewn around the rocks in the little canyon... and buying a gun and rifle would arouse suspicion. All that was left was to find the gold. He stopped and rolled another cigarette and surveyed the street. The town was busy. There was a teamster trying to back his wagon into the sidewalk. There was another bunch of Indian children, with another dog. There were three town ladies gathered in front of the window of Miss Ketchum's Millinery. But there was no sign of Ramsey Moon.

  Ramsey Moon rode across the street, ducked his head as he went through the door of the livery, and got down.

  "How's business, Jake?" he said, and thought that Bigges acted a little nervous. He hoped so. It would mean he hadn't been wasting his time.

  "Fine, Mr. Moon. Just fine," Bigges said, but he didn't act like it. "If you've come about those horses..."

  "No, not about the horses," Moon said. Damn, he'd forgotten the horses. They probably explained Bigges' fidgetiness. "I told you, Jake, pay when you can. I just want to ask a question."

  Bigges looked relieved, then suspicious.

  "I saw Logan coming out of here," Moon said. "What did he want?"

  "Just to look at his horse."

  Moon walked down the row of stalls, found the pinto mare, and studied her. He decide
d she wouldn't go over eight hundred pounds... too small for a man of Logan's size ... then recognized her. She'd belonged to one of Old Pablo's bucks, the one Logan had killed.

  Bigges hadn't followed him; he was still standing just inside the doorway. "Come here," Moon said, and waited until Bigges had shuffled down and was at the corner of the stall. "Don't lie to me."

  Bigges' face ran through a medley of emotions: in-

  jury, protest, indignation. And said nothing. Moon was patient with him.

  "Figure it out with me, Jake. This mare is too small for Logan. So either she's stolen ... and Logan doesn't strike me as the kind to steal a horse... or she's borrowed. Right?"

  "I guess so," Bigges said. He was somewhere past forty, but he stood there like a small boy, shuffling one foot, his thumbs hooked in the corners of his pants pockets.

  "Of course," Moon said quietly. "And a man doesn't visit a borrowed horse, does he?"

  "I suppose not."

  "Then there was something. What was it, Jake?**

  "I don't know."

  Moon stepped close to him. There was a vast difference in size, and it wouldn't hurt to make it as obvious as possible. He waited while Bigges slowly and reluctantly drew his eyes up from his boot tops.

  "Don't lie to me, Jake."

  "I ain't lying," Bigges shouted, suddenly bristling; and Moon thought, I hate cocky little men. "I ain't lyin', and you've got no right to say I am. You've got no right to ask me questions, either. You're not the law around here. Maybe you can push people around on that filthy reservation, but not..."

  Moon drew back his fist and Bigges didn't even seem to notice. He hit him, and the little man sprawled backward, bounced off the wall and fell at the mare's feet. The mare kicked at him.

  "Jesus, you've got no right..." but he was whining instead of protesting now. Moon hauled him up.

  "Those horses you were talking about," Moon said, still quietly. "Let's see, you bought twenty head from a bunch of my Mescaleros. Isn't that right? And you

  haven't paid for them yet."

  Bigges was struggling to pull the hand from the front of his shirt. "I'll pay, damn it, as soon as I make a sale."

  "To Logan?"

  The fist was clenched again. Bigges looked at it, pondered it.

  "He's buying three horses," he said at last. "Two pack animals, one saddler."

  Moon let go of Bigges' shirt. "What's he going to do with them, Jake?"

  "He said he was leaving the territory."

  Moon was about to let it go, but Jake was still looking cocky and it made him angry. He reminded him of some of the young bucks, before they learned their place. Before he taught them their place. One more lesson wouldn't hurt Jake, he decided. He hit him again, and this time Bigges crashed into the mare's rump. She threw him against the wall and his head struck it and he went down, but he was still conscious. He was moaning.

  "Can you hear me, Jake?" Moon asked. "Jake?"

  "I can hear yuh."

  "As soon as Logan pays you, you pay me for those Indian ponies. Then I'll know. All right, Jake?"

  He didn't wait for an answer. He walked down through the shadowy aisle, got up on his big Apaloosa and rode out into the sunlight. There were other things he should do before he made up his mind about Logan, but he decided against them. His business with Logan could wait. He had other business that couldn't.

  He hurried down the alley. He hoped Selina was alone, not because he was afraid of what Logan might say, but because of what Selina might say in front of him. She'd been in a bad mood these last few days. She

  hadn't even talked to him when he'd tried to stop her on the street.

  He tied his horse to the picket fence. There were wild roses growing along it, dusty and stunted, but he picked a handful of them. Not because he was particularly struck by their beauty. He lacked gentleness, and was aware of it sometimes and tried to make up for it. Giving flowers to a girl seemed like a gentle thing to do.

  He took the roses up on the porch and knocked on the door and waited. It rankled him to have to stand there. A week ago he would have walked right in and...

  "Come in." He opened the door and went inside. She was standing at the table, bent over a little so that her nightgown had fallen open. "You don't have to knock," she said, and then saw him. "Oh, it's you," and she reached up quickly and drew the garment together. Moon felt his face flush. Why does she have to be that way, he thought. He was as familiar with those breasts as anyone. Almost anyone.

  "Well, Ramsey?"

  "I brought you some flowers," he said, and suddenly realized how stupid he must seem, standing there with a bunch of roses in his hand. For a moment he thought she was going to laugh at him. Instead, she sat down and began drinking her coffee.

  That made it worse. He was angry. He threw the roses down on the table and they skidded across it and came up against her cup. Some of the coffee sloshed out, into her lap. She took a napkin and calmly wiped it off. Then she stood up.

  "Don't be angry, Ramsey," she said. "Sit down; I'll get you some coffee."

  He sat and looked glumly at his hands, waiting for

  her to get settled again. There was something he had to say, if he could only find a way to say it. That was the trouble. He almost wished she were a man. He would know how to handle her then. He hadn't found a man yet that he couldn't take care of... somehow.

  She wasn't going to help him, he could see that. She sat there drinking her coffee as though he wasn't in the same room with her. The roses still lay scattered on the table. The hell with them, he thought suddenly; the hell with her, I'll show her. He got up and lifted her by the shoulders and pulled her against him. He tried to raise her head, but he couldn't. She was strong, and he thought about that strong body and he tried to put one hand down on her breast. She fought him, and it made him fight harder and he thought: Oh, the bitch, the bitch, the bitch....

  The slap stung him, and he let go of her. Then he hit her. He hit her twice and the second time she fell back against the dresser. Her face was twisted, and he could almost imagine she was snarling at him; he could almost hear the hiss. He started to go toward her and she opened the dresser drawer and pulled out the little gun and pointed it at his belly.

  "Don't ever do that again, Ramsey."

  He stopped, not because he was afraid of the derringer ... he could take both barrels if he had to... but because he was sorry for what he had done. Why did he have to hit her? It always seemed to end that way, with every woman he had ever known.

  "You didn't mind my kissing you before," he said.

  "That was before."

  "It's Logan, isn't it?**

  She looked at him wearily. "Of course. It always has been. You've known that.*'

  He knew it, all right. He knew it was useless to argue

  with her, but he was desperate; he couldn't help himself. "He'll just pack up and leave you again," he said. **Like he's done before. You told me that yourself."

  "Not this time," she said, and he wondered if she believed it. She put the gun away and went over to the table and sat down. She looked tired. He stood watching her, and felt finally resigned to what had happened, and it made him feel gentle ... without having to put it on.

  "If anything should happen ..." It occurred to him that something might. He was tempted to tell her what he knew ... what he suspected, anyway ... but he thought better of it. He couldn't trust anyone, especially her.

  "If anything should happen, if there's anything you need, I'll be around."

  "Thanks, Ramsey."

  He started to leave, then remembered something. If there's anything you need ... She didn't need the bracelet, but he put it down on the table anyway and thought he saw her eyes brighten. They ought to. It wasn't the kind of jewelry he usually bought her: Apache stuff, hammered out of silver. This one had cost him eighty dollars.

  "I bought you that before..." Before Logan, he thought. "You might as well have it. It's yours."

  She d
idn't say anything, but she was looking at it. He opened the door and went out, and had an idea he'd be back.

  The bracelet was in bad taste, Logan decided, but worth something. He sat fingering it and looking at the roses on the table. They'd had quite a little squabble, apparently, and in a way he ought to feel relieved. It explained why Ramsey Moon had been hanging around these last few days; why he stood under the verandah across the street, why he had turned into the livery just after Logan had left it.

  Or did it explain anything, after all? A man had to be a fool to be so unsuspicious. Moon wasn't. He knew more than he was letting on.

  Selina had laughed at the bracelet, but she had kept it. He couldn't blame her. It had a lasting value. He didn't, and she knew it. She'd begun to notice his restlessness. She had laughed and sat on his lap for a moment, but there was a sadness behind her smile when she went out the door.

  He thought he heard her coming back. The gate slammed shut and high heels tapped along the board walk, but it wasn't her. There was a knock on the door. He got up and opened it. Angela stood there looking grim and serious, the way she always looked when she was doing something that was hard for her.

  "I want to talk to you, Logan."

  He let her in; there was nothing else to do. She was wearing her go-to-town clothes ... gingham dress, long black coat... and looking for all the world like a

  SECRET OF THE MALPAIS Richard Ferber 41 *

  starve-out homesteader's wife. Or widow. He couldn't help comparing her to Selina. She was taller, less soft, less fleshy, more desirable. *

  He offered her a chair, but she shook her head. "How are you, Logan?"

  "I'm fine. Still a little weak, that's all."

  *'I was worried about you."

  "Were you?" He couldn't resist being a little hard with her, but she ignored it. *'

  "What I said the other night... I didn't mean. I was so confused...."