You want to know something? I was scared. I never feared man nor beast when I was on my feet with two good hands, but now I was down, weak as could be, and my right arm was useless.
Later, I ate my stew and contemplated. I had no idea Barnabas Talon would get back. He would intend to, but there'd be need of him there and his first duty was to his ma. As for me it would be root hog or die, so I settled to figuring what I could do.
My chances were slim if Flanner's men trailed me down, as they would surely try to do. Despite what Talon said, I'd no doubt they could find this place, so I must find a better one ... somewhere I could really hide.
My need for water tied me to the spring, so I commenced to study the ground, looking for someplace I could hide. There were tumbled boulders down the stream bed below the spring, and scattered branches of dead trees, piled-up rubble, and debris.
When I finished my stew, and mighty good it tasted, I took a long pull at a canteen and felt better.
Yet worry was upon me. There was weakness in me, and I'd an idea the worst was yet to come, that I might become so weak I could not move, even delirious. I'd seen men gunshot before this and knew my chances were slight if caught in a sudden shower with a fever upon me. And showers in the high peaks are a thing that happens almost every day.
I saw nothing that would help. No caves, no corners hidden from the wind ... nothing.
Suppose I crawled into the saddle and made a try for the ranch? I'd never make it, of course. And my horse was not saddled now, and there was no way I could get a saddle on it. Yet there had to be a way.
Gathering my gear together, I rolled my bed, drank the last of the coffee, and using my rifle pulled and pushed myself up until I stood on one foot, clinging to an aspen. Inch by careful inch I searched the terrain. There was little I'd not seen in my few years and I knew about all that could happen to trees, brush, and rocks that would provide a place to hide, and I found none of it here.
Yet there was something nagging at me, something I should notice, something that worried at my mind like a ghost finger poking me. No way my thoughts took brought any clue to mind, and one by one I climbed the trees of my ideas and looked over the country around each of them. But I came upon nothing.
It came to me at last as I was hitching myself along from tree to tree toward the roan.
What I heard was a waterfall.
Chapter 13
Em Talon peered through the slats of the shutter toward the gate. Nothing in sight.
Logan should have returned by now. It was foolish of him to ride off as he had done, yet she knew how he felt, and she also subscribed to the theory that once you have an enemy backing up you must stay on top of him. "Never let them get set," she muttered.
The sky was overcast, the air still. Sullen clouds gave a hint of rain.
She went from window to window, checking the fastenings on the shutters. Pennywell had been up on the lookout atop the house and now she returned. "There's nobody, Aunt Em. The road's empty all the way to town."
"He should be back." She was talking half to herself. What would he have done? Riding in like that? She knew exactly, because it was what she would do. He had tackled them head on, horn to horn. Logan might not be the smartest Sackett there was but he was meaner than a cornered wolf, and he wasn't a back-shooter.
She pictured the town, tried to think out what he would do. And if wounded? He'd run for the hills. He would try to lead them off, like a wounded quail would do, anything to keep the enemy away from the nest. It was the instinctive response of a wild thing.
He would ride into the mountains, hunt him a hole, and wait until the time was right to come home. If he could get home.
That was the worrisome part, for he might be holed up yonder in the mountains, needing help, needing it the worst way. And the trouble was to pick up his trail a body would about have to pick it up from town, from Siwash.
Pennywell would be no good on a trail of that kind; besides, she was vulnerable. She was a young thing, and it would not do for her to be traipsing around the hills with the land of men around that Flanner had brought into the country.
Al? She hesitated. He might be a good man on the trail, but he was new to this country, and trailing was more than a matter of following the sign a body found.
She did know the country, and she could read sign as good as any Sackett she knew of, which was better than most.
Em Talon made up her mind, and she made up her mind there was nothing to do but get ready. There was also a matter of time. She'd have to cut out from the ranch at a time when she'd not be seen, she'd have to get up there in the hills and find Logan.
She told them over breakfast. "I'll be gone a day or two. Al, you stay here an' take care of the place an' you watch over Pennywell."
"Ma'am," Al Fulbric protested, "you just cain't do that! You ain't a young woman, and those are mighty rough mountains."
"Of course, they're rough! That's why I like 'em. Son, I'm mountain born an' bred. I growed up walkin' the hills. I run a trap line before your mammy was born. As for these here hills, I've dodged Injuns all over them. I know the hideouts, and I know the mind of a dodging Sackett.
"We don't run just like other folks do, an' I know what Logan'll do, more than likely. You leave him to me. Just ketch me up that grulla mule out yonder - "
"Mule?"
"That's right. Him an' me been to the wars together, an' we can go again."
"If you say so, ma'am. A mule's not very fast."
"Neither am I. But I know that there mule and he'll take me there and bring me back, and that's what counts at my age, mister."
"Yes, ma'am. At any age."
Al walked out the back door and to the corral. He looked at the mule doubtfully and the mule looked at him. "I'd like to have this friendly," Al said. "It's the old lady's idea, not mine."
The mule put his ears back, and Al shook out a loop. He had tried to rope mules a few times, and had done it too ... after a while. Most of them had a gift for ducking a rope. He walked out into the corral trailing his loop and studying the situation.
Behind him he heard Emily Talon. "You won't need that rope. Coley, come here!"
Without hesitation, the mule walked right to her. She fed him a carrot and slipped the halter on him while Al Fulbric gathered his rope.
"What was that you called him?"
"Coley ... it's short for his name. Coleus. Talon named him, and Talon was a reader of the classics. The way he tells it, Coleus of Samos was the first Greek to sail out of the Mediterranean into the Atlantic."
"Well, I'll be! What did he want to do that for?"
"Seems some other folks - the Phoenicians, it was, who were some kin to the Philistines of the Bible - they had that whole end of the Mediterranean sewed up. They had laid claim to all that range, and they let nobody sail that way.
"This Coleus, he told them he got blown that way by a storm, and anyway he got through the Gates of Hercules and out into the Atlantic. And then he sailed up to Tartessus and loaded his ship with silver. That one trip made him a rich man.
"Talon favored him because he done the same. Folks said he was crazy to ride out here and start ranching in country only the Indians wanted. Anyway, Coley here, he had a way of straying into new pastures hisself, so Talon named him."
"I like it." Al Fulbric spat into the dust. "A man like that deserves credit"
"After that trip he never needed credit. He could afford to pay cash. Anyway, that's how Coley come by his name, and we've come a fur piece together, Coley an' me. We've been up the crick and over the mountain, and he'll fight anything that walks."
"That mule?"
"That mule, as you call him, was a jack once. They cut him, but they done forgot to tell him about it. He still figures he's a jack, and don't you borrow no trouble from him or he'll take a piece out of you."
Em Talon picked up her saddle and before Al could move to help her, had slung it in place and was cinching up. She slid her Spenc
er into the boot, then turned on him.
"Al, you go about your business now. I'm goin' to ride him astride, which no decent woman ought to do, but I'll have no man standin' by when I do it. You get to the house and keep a sharp lookout. They'll be a-comin', especially if they got Logan."
Al swore, spat into the dust, and walked off toward the house. When he reached the steps he turned to look back.
Em was riding out toward the gate, and sure enough, she was sitting astride, and he could see a short stretch of her long-Johns where they disappeared into her boot tops.
He blushed a little and turned his head away, ashamed for what he had seen. Pennywell was pouring coffee when he entered the house.
"She beats me," he said, "she really does. I'd have gone - "
"She'd not let you, and one thing I've learned about Em Talon, Al Fulbric, and that is that you get no place arguing with her. She's a notional woman, but the only notion she pays mind to is her own. When she sets her mind to something, you just stand clear."
Emily Talon was no longer young, but there was a toughness in her hard, lean body that belied its age. She had never been one to think in terms of years, anyway. A person was what they were, and many a man at forty was sixty in his ways and many another was twenty and would never grow past it.
As a small girl she had helped her father and brothers with their trap lines, and when she was ten she had one of her own. She was more familiar with the life of the forest than of the settlement, and riding away from the ranch she suddenly felt free, freer than she had felt in many a year.
She scouted back of the town, between Siwash and the hills. A Sackett hurt and hunted was a Sackett heading for the high up yonder. She knew their nature well for she was one of them ... he would ride out and he would ride far.
As it was getting dark she came upon a trail, only it was two horses rather than one. Puzzled, she studied the tracks again. One of them had to be the roan ... and the roan seemed to be led.
She squinted at the tracks warily, then looked all around. Nobody seemed to be watching, nobody seemed to have followed them, yet all hell must have torn loose down mere in town.
Scouting farther she saw bunched tracks ... seven or eight riders, not on the trail of the two, but hunting it.
She had to have more information, so she rode toward town. It was dark, and she was unlikely to be seen, but she knew where to go.
There had been a time when men had killed over Dolores Arribas, but the years had gone by and somehow she had found herself at the end of a trail in Siwash.
In her veins was the blood of Andalusia, but there was Indian blood, too, the blood of a people who built grandly in stone when Spain was only the hinterland of Tarshish.
She washed the clothes of the gringo but took no nonsense from him. Fiercely proud, she walked her own way in the town, unmolested, even feared.
Emily Talon knew that of all the people in Siwash, Dolores would know what had happened and that she would be willing to tell what she knew.
The mule picked his way delicately up the alleyway and around to the dark side of the stable. Em did not dismount, for Dolores Arribas was sitting on her steps in the cool of the evening, watching the clouds.
"You ride very late, Mrs. Talon." She spoke with only the trace of an accent.
"There was a shooting in town?"
"Yes. Two men are dead, two are wounded. One win die, I think." She spoke matter-of-factly, and then added, "They were Flanner's men."
"And he who done the shootin'?"
"There were two ... one of them was Logan Sackett, but Jim Brewer was killed by another man, a stranger with a rifle, a tall, elegant man."
"Logan was hurt?"
"Yes ... he was hit very hard ... more than once. The other man took him away."
"I got to find them."
"You think you are the only one? Flanner looks for them, too. At least, his men look for him."
They were silent, and then Dolores suggested, "You would like a cup of tea? It is long, the way you will ride."
"I reckon. Yes, I'll take that tea."
She got down from the mule, spoke gently to it, and followed Dolores into the house. It was a small house, and even in the darkness she could feel its neatness.
"I will not make a light The water is hot."
"Thank you."
They sat in the vague light, and Dolores poured the tea.
"Where are your sons?"
"I wish I knew. Milo, he's ridin' somewheres, but Barnabas, he went off to Europe, lived right fancy the way I hear tell. I always figured him for that, but wondered why he never wrote. Then I heard. Somebody passed word that I was dead and the place broken up."
"He would do that. It is like him."
"Flanner?"
"Of course. That way they might not bother to come back. What is there for anyone in Siwash? Except those of us who have no money with which to leave."
For a while they sat in silence, then Emily said, "If it's just money - "
"I earn my own money."
"Reckon so. Reckon you always will. I just figured that if a loan would help you to move out of this place, I could come up with it."
'"Gracias. I do not think so. I will wait. Soon I will have enough, and then I shall go." She paused. "At least you were never one of those who tried to force me to go."
"No, I never was ... nor was Talon." Emily Talon hesitated. "It was just that you were too popular, and a durned sight too much woman. They were afraid you'd take their men from them."
"I did not want them." She turned her head and looked at Em in the darkness. "You were not afraid?"
"Of Talon? No ... one woman was all he ever wanted. One that was his own."
"You are right, but what of your son?"
"Milo? You mean you an' Milo?"
"Not Milo."
"Barnabas? I didn't think he had it in him."
"He was a good man, a fine man. I liked him. He was a gentleman."
"Thanks." Em got to her feet. "I got to be far back in the hills come daylight."
"Be careful. Jake Flanner will not care that you are a woman. Nor will most of the men he has now ... they are scum."
"I know that Len Spivey. I ..."
"Do not worry about him. He will not be one of them."
At the door Em paused, looking back. "Len Spivey?"
"Logan killed him. He was the first one."
Em went down the steps with care, then paused to look carefully about. At last she crossed the small yard to the mule. Dolores Arribas, standing in her doorway, heard the leather creak as she mounted.
"Mrs. Talon? I did not see it, but from what I heard I would swear that was Barnabas out there today."
Emily Talon waited a slow minute, wanting to believe it. "Barnabas?"
"He rode in at the right time. They'd have killed Sackett. Oh, he was making his fight, but he'd been hit hard and Jake Flanner himself was lining up for a shot and so was Brewer."
"And Barnabas fetched him?"
"He did. He took Brewer out, then turned his rifle, but Flanner was gone."
"That's Jake, all right That's Jake Flanner."
"Yes, Mrs. Talon. So you be careful. Very, very careful. It is you they want, you know. Just you."
Emily Talon turned her mule toward the mountains. Barnabas was back. Her son was home again.
Chapter 14
Em Talon was a considering woman, and now she gave thought to Barnabas and his plight. He was riding into the mountains with a wounded man. He would need shelter, and he would need medical attention for Logan. The obvious place was the Empty, but if they had tried to cross the country between Siwash and the ranch they would have certainly been inviting death.
Hence they must have headed for the mountains, to lose themselves in the forest at the earliest possible moment.
Barnabas would undoubtedly try to reach the ranch, but he had never known the mountain trails as Milo had, and Logan might be in no condition to show him the tr
ail he knew. Apparently Barnabas emerged from the gun battle uninjured, but there was no way she could be sure of that.
Talon had hunted and trapped these mountains years before any other white man he knew of, and part of that time Em had hunted with him. She knew trails where no trails seemed to be, and she knew those the buffalo used to find the mountain meadows.
When he was but ten years old she had once taken Barnabas with her into the mountains, showing him the lightning-blazed pine on the shoulder of the mountain that marked the opening of the trail to the crest of the ridge. It was likely he would remember that trail, for it had been their first trip into the mountains together, his first trip into the very high mountains. The mule's memory was good, for he had followed this trail many times and as soon as she turned him toward it, he knew where he was going.
It had changed, of course. The screen of brush that concealed the opening was thicker now, and the grove of young aspens had become sturdy trees in the passing of time, but the trail was there and she followed it swiftly. When she was well back in the forest she dismounted and screening the match with her hands, she studied the trail. There were two horses, one close behind the other, the second one probably led.
She made no attempt to guide the mule. It was almost too dark to see the trail under the trees and the mule could be trusted. At places they skirted the very rim of a canyon, a vast depth that fell away on one side. They climbed steadily.
At last, knowing she could go no farther without seeing their tracks, she got down from the mule at a place she knew. She had camped here before. There was fuel and shelter, and sounds from down the canyon carried easily to this point. Unsaddling the mule, she picketed it and wrapped it up in a blanket, leaning against the flat bole of a tree.
For a long tune she remained awake looking at the stars through the trees and letting her tired muscles relax slowly to invite sleep. It was not as easy as it once was. She was old now, and her muscles grew stiff too early in the game. She thought ahead, trying to decide where Barnabas would be apt to stop.
Awakening, she watched a chipmunk nibbling at a seed he had found. For a moment she sat still just enjoying the gray light of morning. The air was damp, and she was surprised to observe that a light rain had fallen during the night without disturbing her.
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