Freka yawned. “Jake, let’s ride. This talk is puttin’ me to sleep.” He got up. “You talk mighty well, Chantry, but I don’t buy it, not even a piece of it.”
Strawn got up. “You suggestin’ I lay off, Chantry?”
“No. We’re mercenaries, you and me. We’re paid warriors. All I’m asking is that you make sure the payoff is there. If I got up against a man of your caliber, I want to be sure I’m getting paid for it, one way or another. And I’ll be paid, that I know. But what will you get out of it?
“If we lock horns, Jake, one of us is going to die. There’s a better than even chance that both of us will. I’ve seen you in action, and you’re good. Damned good. I believe you’ve seen me in action, too.”
“I have.”
“Well, make Mowatt come up with something more than hot air.”
“Mowatt knows something. He doesn’t go off half-cocked.”
“No? How many times has he told of a Wells-Fargo treasure chest that was supposed to be loaded with gold…and then it turned up empty?”
“Maybe you’re right, Chantry. But Freka won’t buy it. He wants to kill. And he’s good, Chantry, damn good.”
“I hope when I find out how good he is you don’t have me in a cross fire, Jake.”
“Hell, I fight my own battles. You and him…I’d kind of like to see that.”
Strawn picked up his hat and followed Jake and Freka, who had gone outside. “See you, Owen.” He paused. “I’ll talk to the old man.”
Owen Chantry stood in the door and watched them ride away.
Kernohan slowly approached the house. “What was all that about?”
“Strawn and Freka, killers working for Mac Mowatt, and dangerous men.”
“Taken you long enough. I figured you was old friends.”
“No…Jake Strawn and I know each other by sight and reputation. We’ve even eaten in the same bunkhouse, and he rode shotgun on a stage I drove a few times. I’ve never seen Freka before…but he’s mean as a rattler, and just as deadly.”
“Strawn ain’t?”
“Strawn’s one of the best men with a gun I ever saw, and he’ll take a lot of lead before he dies. He’s got six bullet wounds I know of, and he’s still breathing good. The men who shot at him are dead. I was just trying to convince him there was no gold, so there couldn’t be a payoff. He almost bought it, but Freka didn’t. Freka doesn’t care.”
Kernohan was silent a minute. Then he said, “Chantry, I’m goin’ to pull out. Me and the boy ain’t geared for such as this, and I don’t aim to get him hurt.”
Chantry shrugged. “Your decision, Kernohan, but you’ve got a nice place here. You can run cattle and do well. You’ve a meadow or two where you can cut hay, and there’s water. You’ll have to hunt awhile to find its equal.”
“Mebbe. But I don’t aim to get my boy shot up for nothin’. I don’t take to shootin’ folks. I don’t want him endin’ up like Strawn or them others.”
“Like me?” Chantry suggested.
“Or you. I don’t know much about you, Chantry, but if your stories are true you’ve been mixed up in a lot of shootin’.”
“Yes, I have. And you’re right, Kernohan. But stay…I’ll keep them off your back. But talk Doby out of going into the hills. He’s got a kind of case on that girl.”
“He’s never even seen her!”
“He’s a boy alone, Kernohan. Don’t you recall how it was? At sixteen there’s always a girl you dream about. Well, she’s the only one around.”
“Let ’im dream. Won’t do no harm.”
“Not unless he ties in with that Mowatt outfit just to be close to her.”
Kernohan swore. “I wondered why he taken his ridin’ horse when he went after them poles!” He paused, worried. “He’ll come back. I know he will.”
Chantry had a sudden thought. “Kernohan, when you first got here were those books boxed up?”
“No, they was on that shelf.” He pointed.
“Was there anything else?”
“No, not’s I recall.” Kernohan sat down at the table. “That poor man lived a bit after he was left for dead. You could see that.”
“How do you mean? He’d been dead a good while, you said.”
“He had. But there was writin’ on the step. That’s why I figured there might be treasure. He tried to write some numbers.”
“Show me?”
“Sure. It’s faded now. He had a stub of pencil.”
They walked outside. On the riser between the first and second step was written, in a barely legible scrawl, one word:
Ten…
“He was layin’ there, kinda bunched up. Course, coyotes or wolves might have twisted his body round some, but I figgered he started to writin’ some figgers and died ’fore he got any more wrote down.”
Owen Chantry straightened up, disappointed. He had hoped for a clue.…
Clive had been a careful man. He would have known that if Owen was alive he would come. And, being Clive, he would have tried to leave some message, some clue.
But there was nothing…simply nothing at all.
Chapter 8
*
WHEN I GOT back to where I’d cut the poles I picketed the team and taken my saddle horse. Right then I had my doubts. I had a sinkin’ feeling in my belly, like. Pa would never’ve left a team like that, to be gone nobody knew how long.
There were varmints in the mountains, and a heavy team, picketed like that, wouldn’t even have a fightin’ chance against ’em. These were big horses, and most times they’d give a pretty good account of themselves if they had to fight.
But all I could think of was that girl. Owen Chantry might have been tellin’ the truth, but I just had to see. I still didn’t like him much, he was too durned sure of himself. I couldn’t see where he was so high an’ mighty.
So with one long look around, I taken off a horseback. Pa was back at the ranch, and so was Chantry. I had it all to myself. I’d scout around, then come back, hitch up, an’ try to make it back with the poles before it come nighttime.
Sure ’nough, back in a notch of that rampart I found me a way up. It was a scramble, that was, but I had me a good mountain horse and we made it to the top of the mesa. A moment there, we stood to take a look.
Then I turned that horse of mine and started across the top of the mesa to cut into the trail to the cabin. When I come into the open, I could look off across the country. There was a box canyon in front of me, just off a little ways, and beyond it a fine roll of country, timbered heavy.
Some place off thataway was prob’ly where Mowatt was holed up. I had me a notion to ride over there, explaining that we were neighbors an’ all, so why not be friendly? But I had another notion that warned me that for all my words to Chantry, I wasn’t that sure. So I turned my horse toward the cabin.
Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I seen something move in the trees, so I turned quick in the saddle and looked back.
Nothing.
Maybe I was a half, or three-quarters of a mile from the cabin. I walked the horse along. Here and there I could see bare spots on the trunks and limbs, high up off the ground where porcupines had eaten the bark. Give ’em time an’ they’ll kill a good tree.
The cabin stood silent. I saw no horse, and it was a disappointin’ thing. I pulled in. I walked to the door and lifted the latch.
Inside it was cool, dim, and still. There were fresh flowers in the pot I’d put on the table. I looked around some more, then turned and went outside.
An’ there sat three men on horses, an’ one of ’em was that man Wiley. They just set a lookin’ at me an’ grinnin’.
My rifle was on my horse and my horse was away t’other side of them riders.
“Well, well!” Wiley was grinning. “This is the one I was tellin’ you all about.”
A redheaded man I hadn’t seen before had him a rifle across his saddle. “You want I should shoot him a little?” he asked Wiley, grinning. “Maybe cut h
is ears back?”
“Well,” Wiley scowled kinda like he was studyin’ on it. “No. I reckon not. I promised myself I’d pin his ears back my own self and if you shoot ’em off, how can I?”
“Look here, boys,” I said. “No use for us to have trouble, us bein’ neighbors an’ all. Why don’t we just set down an’ get acquainted? Pa an’ me we’re no kin to Owen Chantry. We never seen the man ’til he showed up down there.”
“What’s the matter, kid? You scared? Why you so friendly of a sudden?”
Wiley had got down from his saddle, taking his time. I started to move toward my horse, and the redhead aimed his rifle. “You stand quiet, kid, unless you want your guts all over the grass.”
The other one, the one who’d been on the trail that first day with Wiley, he was takin’ his rope off the saddle. Suddenly, I was real scared. Here I was, all alone, and them three men was beginnin’ to shape up trouble. I wished I had me a handgun, and for a minute there I wondered if I could jump back into the cabin and slam the door.
There wasn’t no way I could make it to the woods without bein’ run down or shot. That redhead just kept a-grinnin’ at me. Then Wiley started for me, an’ I started to jump for the door.
But the redhead snapped a loop over my head ’fore I’d took a step, and his horse taken off at a jump, throwin’ me to the ground. I’d heard about men being dragged to death, so I grabbed for the rope. But he just jerked me again, and the rope tightened. Then Wiley walked over to me, and he had him a club about four feet long.
After startin’ to get up, I had my feet jerked out from under me again. And Wiley lambasted me with that club. I saw it comin’ and tried to twist away. Maybe I done so a little, but he fetched me right over the shoulder with that club. An’ then he started at me again. I tried to get up but that rope jerked me down, and then all I could remember was a terrible pain from them blows. Wiley swung that club. He hit me over the head, over the shoulders, and across the back.
I come to, raised myself an’ run at him, butted him with my head, knockin’ him sprawlin’ on the grass. Then I jumped on him with both feet. They jerked me with the rope and I fell again, but when Wiley reared up over me I doubled back my knees and kicked him on the knee with both my heels.
And down he went again, roaring with pain and anger, and I rolled around and lunged at him. I think the redhead wasn’t tryin’ too hard, and that he didn’t truly mind Wiley gettin’ knocked around, ’cause he and that other feller, they sat up there laughin’.
Wiley give me another bat over the head and I went down to my knees. I could feel the blood comin’ down in my eyes, and I dove at him again. He got away from me and knocked me sprawlin’. Then he came in swingin’ at me, but I fetched him a kick again, and he fell.
Dazed like I was, and hurt, I could only just try to keep goin’ at him. But when he got up again he just had at me. How many times he hit me, I couldn’t later recall, only he beat me somethin’ fierce. When I finally tried to get up, he hit me a fearful swing and I felt a terrible pain in my side an’ I just fell over and laid there. All I could feel was pain, and I bit at the grass so’s they wouldn’t hear me groan.
Wiley walked up on me, and I heard that redhead say, “Aw, leave him be, Wiley! You got your evens!”
“I’m gonna kill him,” I heard Wiley say.
“Forget it,” somebody said. “Hell, he’s hurt bad. The way it is, he’ll never get home. I think you busted some ribs that last time. Leave him be.”
Nowhere then did I lose my thoughts. I could hear them talkin’ and I didn’t much care if they killed me, I hurt so bad. Finally I heard them just a-ridin’ off, an’ I lay there, thinkin’ of night comin’ on an’ Pa’s team with the varmints around.
Somewheres along there I kinda passed out, an’ when my eyes opened again it was plumb dark, an’ must’ve been dark for some time, because I was all over wet from dew. And cold, so cold I couldn’t hardly breathe.
Diggin’ my fingers into the grass, I drawed myself toward the step. I heard something movin’ toward me and it was my horse. I spoke to him, “Brownie,” I said. “Brownie…”
He come to me, snortin’ a little because I smelled of blood. But he stood by me and I managed to rear up enough to catch hold of a stirrup. I drawed myself up, and a pain went through my side like a knife stuck in me, so I leaned against the horse, and whispered to him.
My head throbbed an’ I was sore. I wasn’t goin’ to get into that saddle. There wasn’t no way could I make it. Best thing to do was get inside that house and get a fire a-goin’.
Somehow I got the reins up and looped them over the pommel. Then I got my rifle from the scabbard and I taken my saddlebags with my lump in ’em. Then I kinda leaned on the rifle and slapped the gelding on the hip and said, “Go home, Brownie! Go home!”
Brownie walked off a ways and stopped. That horse didn’t want to leave. Then I must’ve passed out again, ’cause I was cold and shivering when next I opened my eyes. Somehow I crawled inside. Dragged my rifle with me, and got the door shut.
There was fuel there, and a fire fresh-laid. I managed to get it alight, fed it some sticks, and passed out again.
During the night I half woke up, sick and moaning with pain. The fire was down. I got more sticks on it and saw the coffeepot.
There was a mite of coffee left but not near as much as I wanted. I nudged it into the coals. Then I set, shiverin’, feelin’ that terrible throbbing in my skull and the pain in my side and a rawness and soreness all over.
At no time was I more’n half conscious, but when I come to again—woke up by a pain, I guess—there was a smell of coffee in the room. I had me a old cup in my saddlebags with my lump, and I got it out and spilled coffee into the cup. I got myself a swaller or two and spilled some over my lips. They were all swole up, but the coffee tasted good. I passed out again, all torn up with pain and sick and wishin’ I’d listened to Chantry and never come up here at all, nor trusted them people.
She found me. That girl. I was almighty sick and she come across the mesa to the cabin and found me there. It was full daylight and I was conscious but I couldn’t move anyway. I was just layin’ there, all sick and sore and knowin’ I was goin’ to die.
Laying there half-dead I’d heard a horse a-comin’. At first I figured it might be Brownie, or them men comin’ back, but it wasn’t no wanderin’ horse. That horse come right up to the cabin and I heard a saddle creak.
Somebody said somethin’—I guess it was when she seen blood on the stoop. And then the door opened and I heard a gasp. It was like in a dream, or when you’re only half-awake or somethin’. I felt a hand touch my shoulder and turn me on my back, and it hurt somethin’ awful and I cried out.
Next thing I knowed I heard breakin’ wood and smelled the smoke and heard a fire going. I could hear the pine wood crackle and smell it, too. I knowed I was in bad shape, but there was just nothin’ I could say or do.
She taken some cloth and wiped off my face, cleanin’ up the cuts and dabbin’ here and there at me. Then she began to work over me with her fingers, testin’ for sore spots an’ breaks. When she touched my ribs I gasped right out.
She went out for water and brought in some more wood. And once when my eyes were open I glimpsed her. She sure was pretty, on’y she was no blonde. She had no golden curls, but her hair was kinda dark red, like, with a little bit of gold in it, and prettier’n any gold-haired girl I ever seen.
“Pa,” I whispered. “I lef’ Pa’s horses.…I was cuttin’ poles. I lef’ ’em.”
“Don’t worry ’bout it,” she told me. “They’ll be all right.”
“Pa sets some store by that team. I got to—”
“You just lay still. We’ll get word to your pa. I’ll go get the team later.”
She made up soup and got some of it in me and I felt her fussin’ with a finger that was hurtin’. Somewhere along there I faded out again, and when next I knowed anything I heard him talkin’. Chantry.
“His horse came home,” Chantry was saying, “and I made sure his father stayed to watch the place. Just like them men to burn it down if they get a chance.”
“Did you come straight here?”
“Backtracked Doby to the team. They’re all right. I watered them and changed the picket pins and then headed up here. He’d found a way up the face through a notch, so I followed him. I knew he’d come here.”
Chantry come nearer and stood over me. I felt like I was a hundred miles off, driftin’ in some dream world. The voices came through, but faintly. “He’s taken quite a beating,” I heard him say.
“I think some ribs are broken, and he has a broken finger.”
Chantry touched my hand. “See? A rope burn. They roped him and he tried to grip the rope. That means there were at least two of them, probably more. This boy’s a fighter.”
He was checkin’ my body. I felt his fingers at my ribs, an’ winced from their pressure. After a while I heard him say, “We’ll splint that finger. And we’ll tear up his pants and bind them tight around him to hold those ribs in place. I’ve known ribs to knit with no trouble.
“The rest is mostly cuts and bruises. Whether he’s hurt worse, only time will tell. He took some nasty raps on the skull.”
“How can we move him?”
“A travois. The same way the Plains Indians carry their goods and their wounded. I’ll cut a couple of poles and we’ll rig up a travois.”
They talked some more, and then he was gone. When I next figured out where I was, we was alone in the cabin, me and her. I opened my eyes. Every part of me was sore, and my head throbbed somethin’ awful.
When she seen I was awake she come over and spooned more soup into me. It tasted good. “Thanks,” I mumbled.
“How many of them were there?”
“Three. One of them put a rope on me, but I put Wiley down. I put him down two, three times. We fought all over the place. That redhead—”
Over on the Dry Side Page 7