The Lonesome Gods

by Louis L'Amour

  Her voice trailed off; then she said, “Have you ridden your black stallion yet?”

  “Not yet,” I said, “but soon. I think he likes me. I think, somehow, that he expects me to ride him. When I saddle the other horses, he comes to the corral bars and watches. He follows along inside the corral as I ride away, and I do not believe it is just because he wishes to be with the other horses.”

  Wind stirred the leaves in the trees outside. Miss Nesselrode got to her feet, then said suddenly, “I almost forgot. Captain Laurel was by the shop earlier. He wants to talk to you.”

  Meghan’s father wished to talk to me? And about what? It did not matter. I would see him.

  Perhaps I would see her.

  Chapter 37

  WHEN IT WAS discovered that I had lately been rounding up wild horses in the San Joaquin, many wished to question me about what I had seen and what the country was like. The area from the mountains to the Colorado was virtually unknown, although some of the citizens, particularly those like Ben Wilson and William Wolfskill, who had been trappers, had crossed it at least once.

  Yet why did Captain Laurel wish to see me? Was it this? Was he interested in those inner lands? Or was it some other matter?

  On an early afternoon I walked my dark dapple-gray along the dusty street to his door.

  An attractive Indian woman opened the door for me and I was shown into the shadowed quiet of a rectangular room carpeted with Oriental rugs. Other such rugs were thrown across the hidebound chairs. The inner walls were whitewashed, and over the mantel was an ancient shield and two samurai swords, which I recognized from drawings I had seen.

  One wall of the room was covered with books, and I crossed to them at once. It needed but a glance to realize that I had discovered a first-class mind, one who had read far beyond my limited opportunities. Somewhat awed, I studied the titles, choosing a volume published in Spanish in 1621 of the journals of Matthew Ricci, covering his travels in China from 1583 to 1610. I knew nothing of the book, and opening it, was soon lost in its pages and scarcely heard Captain Laurel enter the room, nor was I aware of his presence until he appeared beside me.

  “You are interested in China?”

  “In everything,” I admitted, “but I’ve read nothing about China but The Travels of Marco Polo.”

  “Then you should read Ricci. His may be the first book to come to Europe since Polo. The first about China, I mean. If you are interested, you may read it.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll treat it as though it were my own.”

  He lifted an eyebrow at me. “I was afraid of that. Please remember it is not your own. Too many people borrow books and come to believe they are their own.”

  “I wouldn’t—”

  He waved a hand. “Forget it. Will you sit down?”

  When we were seated, the Indian woman brought hot chocolate. He glanced at me several times. “I knew your grandfather,” he said abruptly, “and knew your father slightly. They were good men. Two of the very best.”

  He changed the subject. “Tell me about this foray of yours into the interior.”

  Briefly but with care for the major points, I told him of the country, our capture of wild horses, and of the Cahuillas who helped us. He listened, asking but few questions; then he said suddenly, “You know my daughter, I believe?”

  “Yes, sir. We attended the same school.”

  “Fraser’s a bright young man. A good teacher, I believe.” He looked at me again. “You are finished with school?”

  “I can go no further here, and in any event, I must make my way in the world. I am a boy no longer, and whatever future I have lies in these”—I spread my hands—“or in what I can learn.”

  “You have no wish to go to sea?”

  “No, sir. I have chosen California, or it chose me, I do not know which.”

  He emptied his cup and put it down. He stared at me, lighting a cigar. “You have enemies.”

  “Yes, sir. Enemies I have not made myself. They have chosen to be my enemies.”

  “No matter. The reality is that you have enemies.” He paused, staring at me from under his brows. “Perhaps more than you realize, and that is unfortunate. A man can protect himself against enemies of whom he is aware. It is the others who can be most dangerous. In this case, most dangerous.”

  “I do not follow you, sir. I know my grandfather—”

  “Of course. He is an old fool, not only because of his attitude toward you but because of his acceptance of others.”

  He took the cigar from his teeth. “Have you given thought to what would happen should your grandfather die?”

  “Die? No, sir. It had not occurred to me. I should certainly have one enemy the less.”

  “What of his estate?”

  “I have not thought of it, sir.”

  “You’d better! You’d better give it serious thought. Your grandfather is not a young man. Moreover, I suspect there are those who do not expect him to live much longer. If he should die, you would be his heir, or one of his heirs.”

  “I had not thought of it, sir. My Aunt Elena—”

  He dismissed her with a wave. “She is a woman. She would be left a modest pension, I suspect.” He paused, dusted ash from his cigar, and asked, “Do you know of any other heirs?”

  “No, I don’t,” I admitted, “but I’ve given it no thought. My grandfather hates me, sir. He would leave nothing to me.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps he has been no more careful in that than in other business dealings. Perhaps he has no will.”

  He paced the floor, then turned abruptly and said, “What do you know of your grandfather’s Spanish properties?”

  “I wasn’t aware there were any.”

  “There are. Your grandfather, in property, is a very wealthy man. His cash position is, I believe, not so good. Not that a skillful manager couldn’t straighten it out very quickly.”

  He sat down again, leaning his elbows on his knees. He was a stocky, powerful man with fierce gray brows and a shock of gray, curly hair. “What do you know of Don Federico Villegra?”

  “It is a new name to me.”

  He drew on his cigar, dusted the ash again, and said, “It is good that you have friends. You’d last no time at all without them.”

  Irritated, I said, “I can take care of myself!” Yet even as I spoke, I thought of Chato Valdez and honesty made me remind myself that I’d been a fool once. Was I about to be so again?

  “I have some good friends,” I agreed.

  “You have more than you realize of those, too. Why do you think you are here?”

  “I’ve no idea. Frankly, sir, I have been puzzled, although I have wanted very much to know you.”

  “You have, have you? Well, you know me now, thanks to Meghan. She decided you needed help.”

  Meghan thought I needed help? Did she think me a child, then? Or did she think me weak? I said nothing, waiting.

  “You see, young man, Meghan and I knew things you did not. You must not blame yourself, for there is no way you were likely to know.

  “Don Federico is the man your grandfather wanted to marry your mother. When she ran off with your father, he was insulted. He was furious.” He drew on his cigar, then put it down beside the empty cup. “And not only because of your mother.

  “You see, Don Federico is a relative. A distant one, it is true. Distant enough so he could marry your mother, but close enough to inherit if you were dead.”

  For a moment, I just stared. Slowly it sank in. “You are sure of this?”

  “My first trip to California was around the Horn, from Spain. Before that I spent several months sailing to Spain from Tripoli. I am a man who listens well, and there is much gossip. There was a lot of it when your grandfather suddenly decided to sail to America so suddenly that he arranged to leave Cádiz at night.”

  “On your ship?”

  “No, my ship was to come later. I was to bring cargo that belonged to him. I was also to bring his sister.”


  “Aunt Elena?”

  “It was she. We carried five other passengers on that voyage. An old man, a Spanish lad several years less than twenty, three women, and a sick boy.”

  “Then you know Aunt Elena?”

  “Only slightly. She kept to her cabin much of the time, as did the woman who was caring for the sick boy. Occasionally when the weather was fair she would come on deck, and sometimes she helped the woman care for the sick boy. If he was really sick.”

  “You do not think he was?”

  “I’ve no idea, although he seemed active enough when on deck, and quick enough when he needed to be. You see, one night the other Spanish lad tried to stab him. At least, that was what my mate thought, and the helmsman, too. The sick boy was alone by the rail, and it all happened very fast. According to the mate, the Spanish lad suddenly drew a knife and tried to stab the boy, but the boy turned so suddenly the attempt failed, and the boy twisted the Spanish lad’s wrist and forced him to drop the knife. And he did it almost without effort.

  “The mate called for me, and when I came up they both refused to admit there had been trouble. Under the circumstances, there was nothing I could do but warn them.”

  It seemed a story without point except that Aunt Elena’s voyage had not been without incident.

  “Some more chocolate? I shall have some.”

  “Please.” I did not know what to say except to comment, “There must have been some quarrel between them.”

  “Perhaps.” He accepted the cup from the Indian girl and waited until I had mine and then said, “The Spanish lad was Don Federico.”

  Was that it? Was he warning me?

  “The other boy, the sick one, simply dropped off the world. Perhaps he died. There was much sickness here for a while. When I asked about him, nobody knew anything, and the woman who cared for him had also disappeared. Later, I heard she married a vaquero.”

  “There has been much moving about. Every day people have left for Monterey or San José, and of course for Yerba Buena. Half the people who have come here have gone on. Why, even among the first settlers, three families were sent back as useless to themselves or the town. Another, an Indian from Mexico, simply ran off. There are many such stories.”

  “Of course.” Captain Laurel got to his feet. “You will eat with us? Meghan will be back soon, and I know she would enjoy seeing you.”

  “I’d be pleased.” I stared into the chocolate. What was he trying to tell me? That Don Federico was my enemy, and was dangerous? I could accept that. He had been among those who pursued my father into the desert.

  “It does not matter,” I said. “I want nothing from my grandfather.”

  “Do not be hasty. What you may not want, others may need.”

  Now, what did that mean?

  “You have sailed in Chinese waters?” I asked. “I have heard of a system of self-defense known to the Chinese. I’d like to learn it.”

  He smiled. “It might take years. And you would have to decide what it was you wished to learn, for each country has its own system, almost every province in Japan or China, in fact, almost every city has its own system. Some vary but little, some very much indeed.

  “Chi’in-na is one of the best, for if one attack fails, another is ready to follow. Tai-chi, kendo…you can choose what system you like.

  “However, if you are serious, I have just the teacher for you. He is the boatswain on the Queen Bess, my ship.”

  “I heard of a Chinese who lives here. Lives over against the mountain somewhere.”

  Laurel smiled. “I know him, but he will teach no one, and he is not a Chinese, although he comes from what is part of China. He comes from Khotan.”

  “Khotan?”

  “It is far west, in Turkestan, against the Kunlun Mountains. It is on the way to India. Long ago it was a center of Buddhist culture.”

  “I remember, I think. I believe Marco Polo was there. It is on the old Silk Road that led from China to the Mediterranean.”

  “The Silk Road branched at Khotan, to Syria, and over the mountains to India. It was a pilgrim’s road, also, for the Chinese Buddhists who went to India to learn.”

  “I should like to know that man.”

  “He will teach no one. He has found a place he loves, and he lives there. He lives alone, I believe.”

  The evening had come, and shadows were falling. The Indian woman came in and lighted the lamps. Their light was uncommonly bright, and I commented on it.

  “It is an oil from petroleum. The Chinese have been using it for centuries.”

  He changed the subject, and we talked of ships and men, of the far sea and of strange foreign ports whose names were music. Some of them I remembered from my father; many were strange to me. Others I remembered from stories I’d read.

  A door opened at the far side of the room and Meghan came into the room. Instantly I was on my feet. She was even more lovely than I had remembered.

  She came to me, holding out both hands. “Johannes! It is so good to see you!”

  She was no longer a little girl, but a young lady, and if she had confused me before, I was even more confused now.

  “You will have supper with us? Do you remember Kelda? She is coming over, I think, and Philo Burns as well.”

  “And Rad Huber?”

  “No, not Rad Huber. I am afraid he has found friends in other quarters. I have seen him on the street a few times.” She glanced at me. “He’s very big, you know. And very strong.”

  The comment irritated me. I was pretty strong myself.

  Kelda O’Brien came in with Philo Burns. She still had a few freckles over her nose, with deep blue eyes and black hair. Philo had changed but little except to grow older. He was an erect, handsome young man, looking very polished and at ease. “I am the Los Angeles representative for the Adelsdorfer Company, and through them for the Hamburg-Bremen Company.”

  I knew enough to know that Adelsdorfer was an importer and the Hamburg-Bremen Company insured ships’ cargoes.

  “You’ve a good job, then,” I said.

  “I like it, and there’s a future in it, I believe.” He glanced at me, smiling suddenly. “Have you seen old Fraser? He’s hardly changed, and he’s finally finished his book. He’s written some things that were published in London, and I believe in Germany, as well.”

  Fraser had finished his book, Burns had an assured future, but what about me? Where did I stand? What was I?

  Chapter 38

  EXCUSING MYSELF, I went out into the night. I led my horse to the zanja for water and then tied him at the corral with a bit of hay. For a few minutes then I stood beside the dapple, idly scratching under his mane. The night was cool, the stars very bright.

  Don Federico? I could scarcely place the man, although I had seen him about town and no doubt he knew me. It was hard to think of a man whom I did not know as an enemy.

  Captain Laurel’s story of the sudden treacherous attack on the other boy had been intended as a warning. Obviously he wished to place me on guard against such a surprise attack.

  The idea of inheriting from my grandfather had never occurred to me, nor was it likely. A man who hated so much would take no chances on such an inheritance falling to one he hated.

  How much of what had happened had been due to Don Isidro, and how much to Don Federico? When I was abandoned in the desert, he had accompanied my grandfather. He had been younger than my father and was still a relatively young man, and strikingly handsome.

  A door closed, and turning, I saw Meghan on the step. When I started toward her, she came to meet me.

  “You were gone so long, I was beginning to wonder what had happened.”

  “I watered my horse and then got to wondering. It’s not easy to believe a man I do not know might wish to kill me.”

  “I know. My father has been worried that you might be attacked without warning. He is concerned about you.” She paused, then added, “You see, your other grandfather, the one who was a ship’s cap
tain, taught my father navigation, helped him to his first command. There was a strong bond between them. He feels almost as if you were one of the family.”

  Without thinking, I said, “I wish I were!”

  Teasingly she said, “I wouldn’t know how to act toward a brother.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of being a brother,” I said.

  “We’d better go in. Respectable young ladies do not talk to gentlemen when unchaperoned.”

  We walked back to the porch, not talking, and the evening passed quietly with casual conversation with Philo Burns, a few words with Kelda, and at the last, with Captain Laurel again. “If you are serious about learning, he said, “I’ll have my boatswain up from the port. There’s much to do aboard ship, but the mates can handle it.” He paused. “We do not have much time, so you will have to work hard. I will suggest he dispense with the formalities. Formalities and ritual are very important to the Far Eastern peoples, you know.”

  So it began. For the next six weeks I worked with Liu Ch’ang six to seven hours a day. Liu Ch’ang was a big man, enormously strong, and agile as a monkey. He was from somewhere in northern China and had trained from childhood. He spoke but little English, a few words of Spanish, and he taught me some Chinese as we worked.

  Wrestling for sport was not considered. My purpose was to defend myself and to retaliate as swiftly and brutally as possible. There was no time to learn any system of self-defense completely. That would come later. What I wanted now were a few throws and blows to be used in an emergency, and to practice these until their use became as natural as the act of swallowing.

  Occasionally when Liu Ch’ang was busy with other things, I rode to the corral and worked with Monte McCalla at breaking horses. Often Jacob was there as well.

  The black stallion now came to the bars looking for me. He shied from my hand but accepted a piece of bread. So far, I had found but two horses that I would keep for myself, the dark dapple-gray and the bay with black mane and tail. How fast either horse might be, I did not know, but both had stamina, and both were smart, quick to learn, and very quick in their movements.