Juana had brought this to me, which meant that Nativity Pettigrew had it in his possession. He knew pa had a family, so why had he made no effort to get it to us?
April 20: Weather bad. Hard wind, rain turning to snow. Snow still on the mountains but Bontemps is wishful to proceed. He's got enthusazm enough for two.
Don't like this. Trouble has a smell to it, and Baston's a hard man. I've had words with Swan twixt over the way he treats Angus.
April 23: Clearing. Trail muddy, grass very wet. Horses about stove up. Nobody knows mountains but me. They've no idea how miserable it can be up yonder this time of year. They won't show me the map. If it's like most it just is no good.
I read on. The paper was old and rotting and some of the words were blurred.
April 26: In camp. Third day. Trail belly-deep in snow, drifts very deep. Only the fact they couldn't find anything in the snow is keeping them in camp.
Situation growing touchy. Pierre straightened Andre out today. Thought there'd be ... Angus steady. Pettigrew talks a lot, does his work. No idea where he stands.
April 29: Moved on today. Ground soggy with snow-melt. Occasional sleet.
April 30: Showed me map. No good. Hadn't been for ma and boys I'd not be here.
Chance to get enough to settle down, education, home for ma. Landmarks poorly chosen, same from several points, important tree gone.
May 4: In camp on mountain. Three days scouting, digging. Nothing. Utes scouting us. Pierre won't ... Utes or lack of treasure. Swan sullen, Andre furious.
Pettigrew quiet, secretive.
Orrin raised up from bed. "What is it?"
"Kind of a daybook. Pa's. Juana Pettigrew brought it to us. I ain't read it all yet."
"Better get some sleep. I think we're riding up to trouble. Whatever's there won't have changed by tomorrow."
"You're right." I was dead tired. We'd covered a lot of country and tomorrow there'd be more. Pa wasn't tellin' much, but a body could see how touchy things had become. Swan an' Andre sore, Pettigrew kind of bidin' his time, and Pierre still unwillin' to believe he'd lost the pot. Only maybe they hadn't. Pettigrew come out of it with enough to buy a ranch and stock it. Now that mightn't take so much, but it surely cost something.
Stretched out in bed I pondered the daybook. Pa wasn't much hand to write. He'd had some schoolin' and he'd read a lot, although his grammar was only a mite better'n mine.
Why would he write that stuff? Was there more to it than met the eye? Was he tryin' to leave us a message, feelin' he might not get back? But pa wasn't apt to think that way. He was a tough, capable man--but careful, too. Maybe the daybook was in case--just in case something went wrong.
Why had Juana brought it to me? Because it was pa's? Because it was intended for us? Or because she didn't want Pettigrew going off to the mountains again?
Now why had I thought that? Did the book have a clue to where pa was? Or where the gold might be?
Pettigrew came back with something, but Andre did not know it or he'd have robbed him. Or Swan would have.
Yet Andre may have come back with something, too. Suppose they had found some of the gold and not all of it?
Chapter XIV
Since reaching San Luis we had used Esteban's horses, but now we saddled our own mounts and were gone with the sun's rising. Clear and cool the morning was, and I breathed deeply of the fresh air from off the mountains Westward we rode, seeing the peaks loom up before us, the twin peaks of Blanca and Baldy looking from some angles like one gigantic mountain The old Indian traditions speak of them as one long, long ago.
We rode and we camped and rode again. At night I read to them from pa's daybook, and passed it at times to Orrin.
There had been growing animosity in the camp on the mountain Nat Pettigrew is a prying man, forever peering, listening, and poking about. He is able, does his share and more. He's a good man on a horse and handy with a rifle, but I do not trust him. Yet he is all for himself, and not for them.
May 20: This morning there was trouble. Swan struck Angus, knocking him down.
Pierre was on his feet at once and for a moment I was sure they would come to blows. I noticed also that Andre stood to one side making no effort to stop Swan, who is his man. Andre just stood there with a little smile on his face. I believe Andre hates his brother-in-law, and I wish I was free of them, and far away.
Angus, the black slave, is a powerful man, loyal to Pierre, and a fair woodsman.
I believe he'd do even better in the swamps of Louisiana than here, yet I doubt if he has long to live.
There was a gap here, looked like a couple of lost pages, then some words were smeared.
... suddenly there was an outburst of firing. Somebody yelled "Indians!" and we all fell into defensive positions. For awhile there was no sound, then a single shot. For some time there was no sound and when we took stock, Angus was dead--shot in the back of the head. When I talked with Pettigrew later, he admitted to having seen no Indians, nor had Pierre. Swan had seen one, Andre thought he had seen them. Andre showed a scar on the bark of a tree made by a bullet, and of course, Angus was dead.
Well, now Judas knew what happened to his brother. I looked at him in the firelight and thought I saw tears in his eyes. There seemed nothing to say to him. He stood and walked away from the fire.
"What do you think?" I asked Orrin. We were on the banks of the Rio Grande with Del Norte Peak looming to the soutwest. Orrin shook his head.
The Rio Grande headed up in those mountains in the direction we were riding, and it gave me an odd feeling to think this water. I looked at was headed down toward El Paso and then Laredo, and finally to enter the Gulf below Brownsville.
It was a far, far stretch.
"Orrin," I said, "I wished pa had just up and rode off. He guided them there, and he owed them nothing."
"He was in for a piece of it," said Orrin. "He wanted it for ma, and for an education for us boys."
"I wished he'd pulled out."
"You know what I think?" Orrin held up the papers and the book to me. "I think somebody in that outfit's found gold."
"You mean somebody knows where the stuff is and is holding it for himself?"
"Look at it, Tell. It needn't have been the big caches. There were supposed to be three, weren't there? All right. You know what soldiers are. Some individual soldiers may have had their own pokes stuffed with gold, and they may have hid them. I think somebody found some gold, and I think Angus was killed to take help from Pierre. I think he's next."
"Or pa," I said.
Setting late by the fire, I pondered it. Pa was up there in May. Unless it was unusually warm for the year, there'd still be snow up there where he was, and it would be almighty cold. But there couldn't have been too much snow left, or they'd have found no landmarks at all.
Of course, there were some slopes where the wind could sweep away the snow, but there was risk of a bad storm at any time.
Judas suddenly came in out of the darkness. "Suh? We are followed, suh."
"You're surely right. How far back are they?"
"They are gaining, suh And there are more than we believed."
"More?" the Tinker said.
"They have two fires," Judas said. "I would imagine there are at least ten men, perhaps twice that many."
At daybreak our camp was an hour behind us, and we were climbing steadily.
There'd been no chance to get back to pa's daybook. Me an' Orrin ... well, it had felt almost like we were talkin' to pa, yet he was shorter of word than usual in this writin' of his. Mostly pa was a man with a dry humor, a quick man to see things, and he always had a comment. He knew most tricks a body could play, was slick with cards when he needed to be, and had seen a lot of the world, time to time.
We came up to the forks of the Rio Grande and it was the South Fork pointed the way up Wolf Creek Pass. Pa had come this way, and the fact that he was keepin' a daybook showed he had something to tell us--who else but us? Pa was a consid
ering man, and I'd no doubt he figured somehow to get that daybook to us. Maybe he'd trusted Nativity Pettigrew to bring it to us, or mail it. If so, his gamble failed.
If he had planned to get it to us, he must have been wishful to get some particular word to us. We'd likely have to read careful so we'd miss nothing.
Orrin dropped back from the point. "Tell, is there any other way to that mountain? I mean other than right up the pass?"
"Well, I reckon." I pointed. "That there's Cattle Mountain, with Demijohn right behind it. I never followed that trail, but Cap Rountree told me of it one time."
"Let's worry them a little," Orrin suggested, so I went up to ride point.
Watching carefully, I turned off and took a dim trail leading up the east side of Grouse Mountain. We followed that up a switchback trail and over the saddle on Cattle Mountain then down the trail west of the Demijohn and onto the Ribbon Mesa trail.
It was narrow, twisty, and rough. Several times we heard the warning whistles of marmots looking like balls of brown fur as they scattered into the rocks. We skirted a meadow where mountain lupine, Indian paintbrush, and heartleaf arnica added their blue, red, and gold to the scene. It was very quiet except for the murmur of the waters of the creek. We twisted, doubled, rode back over our tracks, and did everything possible to confuse our trail. The way was rocky, torn by slides. Leaving Park Creek, I cut over the pass back of Fox Mountain down Middle Creek about a mile and then took a dimmer trail that led us right over the mountain.
We rode through aspens, skirted groves of them, and then we rode across high mountain meadows, leaving as little sign as we could. If Andre Baston had a dozen men with him he probably had some mountain-riding men, but if he caught up with us I was figuring to make him earn it.
Of course, they might have taken the easy way right up Wolf Creek Pass. Indians and mountain-men had used it for years, along with occasional prospectors. More than likely the French soldiers who'd buried that gold had come down Wolf Creek.
We had come down the slope into the canyon of Silver Creek with the San Juan just ahead and below. On our west was the mountain of the treasure, and a whole lot of mountain it was, too.
Orrin pointed out a cove in the mountainside, and we skirted a tight grove of aspen and moved into a small meadow with a plunging stream alongside it. We pulled up under the trees and stepped down, and, believe me, I was tired.
We stripped the gear from our horses, and, after I'd rubbed my horse and one of the packhorses a mite, I wandered off down to the stream, hunting wood. I picked up some good dead branches, heavy stuff, and then tasted the water. It was fresh, cold, and clear. As I started to rise I heard a faint chink of metal. It sounded from upstream. Well, I shucked my gun and kind of eased back under the bank.
After finding the wood, I'd kind of explored along the riverbank, so camp was a good hundred yards back of me now. Crouching near some cottonwood roots that ran down into the earth under the water, I waited, listening. The stream chuckled along over the stones, and upstream I could hear a bird singing. After that I heard only the stream.
Ahead of me, the stream took a little bend, curving around some rocks and thick brush--dogwood, willow, and the like. Searching the ground between me and that brush, I saw nothing to worry me, so I started forward, walking mighty easy to make no sound.
Reaching the little bend, I eased up on the bank to look through the brush. From behind the brush and rocks I had a clear view of fifty yards or more of the stream.
Up yonder about as far as my eyes could take me was a woman. It looked to be a girl--a chancy judgment at that distance--and she was panning gravel, handling that pan like she'd done it before, a lot of times before.
I looked up the bank as far as I could, but there was no camp, nor was there anything like it that I could see. Seemed to me the situation called for study, and if a body aims to study women it's better done at close range, so I came down from my perch and started around that bend. When I cleared it and had a view of the stream again, she was gone!
Yes, sir. She was vanished out of there. Now I was a puzzled man. Surely my eyes hadn't played games with me. Of course, when a man is long enough without a woman he begins to see them, or imagine them, everywhere.
I walked across that creek, which was shallow at that point, and I went upstream, stepping careful. I'd kept my gun in my hand without really thinking, except it seemed logical that where there'd be a pretty woman there'd likely be a man.
When I got up to where she'd been, sure enough there were tracks in the sand. I started to look around when a voice spoke from right behind me. I'd knowed I should have looked into that tangle right up the slope, but I hadn't done it.
"You stand where you be, mister," a girl's voice said, "and if you're wishful of savoring your supper, don't fool around. Now you stick that piece back in the leather, and you do it right quick or I'll run a lead tunnel through your brisket!"
"I'm a peaceful man, ma'am, plumb peaceful. I seen what looked like a woman up here, an'--"
Her tone was scornful. "Looked like a woman? Why, you two-by-twice foreigner, I'm more woman than you ever did see! Turn around, damn you, and take a good look!"
Well, I turned, and from what I seen I was in no position to argue. She was about three inches over five feet, I'd guess, and must have weighed what it needed to fill that space out proper, with maybe a mite extry here an' yonder.
"Yes, ma'am." She had a cute nose, freckles, and rusty hair, and taking all in all, the way a woman should be taken, she was pretty as a button.
She was also holding a Spencer .56 that wasn't no way cute at all, and from the way she held it a body could see she was no stranger to its use.
She was kind of staring at me like she couldn't believe it, and, knowing my ownself, I knew it wasn't good looks she was staring at.
"Well!" she said, gesturing with the gun muzzle a mite. "You jest back up an' set on that log, yonder. And don't you go to stretching for that gun because by tomorrow mornin' your body would have drawn so many flies I'd have to find a new place to pan."
"I'm peaceful, ma'am, but if I have to be shot it couldn't be by a prettier girl."
"Don't give me that, Sackett! Sweet talk will get you no place with me!"
Sackett? Now, how in--
"Oh, don't look so surprised! Up where I come from ever'body knows the Sackett boys. How could they help it with the country overrun with them? Best thing ever happened to Tennessee was when they opened up the west and found some way to shuck some of you Sacketts."
"You're from the Cumberland?"
Her disgust was plain. "Where else? Do you conceited mountain boys think you're known everywhere? Who would know you were a Sackett but somebody from yonder?
You all have those same weather-beaten, homely faces and those big hands!"
"Wasn't for your hair I'd say you was a Trelawney girl," I said, "but the only ones of them I ever met up with had black hair. Fact is, I run into one of them down on the Colorado one time, and she gave me no end of trouble."
"Served you right. Which Sackett are you, anyway?"
"William Tell. And you?"
"I'm Nell--Jack Ben's daughter."
Well, now. That made me back up for another look. The Sacketts ran long on boys, the Trelawneys on girls, but when the Trelawneys number a boy in their get, he was usually quite somebody. Ol' Jack Ben was no exception. He was saltier than that creek which runs into Coon Hollow an' meaner than a tied-up wolf.
We Sacketts carried on a fightin'-shootin' feud with the Higgins outfit for many a year, but ol' Jack Ben, he handled his own fightin'. I also recall that he was most tender about what boys come a-courtin' his girls.
You could always tell a boy who'd been tryin' to court one of Jack Ben's girls because he walked kind of straight up an' bent back, and he never set down nowhere. That was because of the rock salt ol' Jack Ben kep' in his shotgun.
"You ain't alone up here, are you?"
"S'posin' I am? I can
take care of myself."
"Now, you see here, Nell Trelawney, there's some folks a-comin' along behind us that are meaner than all get-out an' no respecters of womanfolk, so--"
"You runnin' scared?" she scoffed. "First time I ever heard of a Sackett runnin'
... unless pa was a-shootin' at him."
Darkness had kind of shut down on us. "You better get back to your camp," I said. "They'll be expectin' me back yonder."
"You mean you ain't goin' to see me home? If you're scared, I'll tell you now.
Ol' Jack Ben ain't there. I am surely alone. And I ain't scared--much of the time."
Chapter XV
"Where's your pa?"
"He's down to Shalako. That new town over west. He's down there a-waitin' for me to come bail him out."
"He's in jail?"
"No such thing! He's--he's laid up, that's all. We come west without--well, we didn't have much to do with, an' pa figured he could mine for gold.
"Well, he tried it, and it brought on his rheumatism again and he's laid up.
On'y things about him ain't ailin' is his trigger finger and his jaw.
"A man down yonder panned gold out of this stream, and he told us of it, so I done left a note to tell pa where I'd gone, an' then I hightailed it up here."
"You came all the way by yourself?"
"No, sir. I got a mule down yonder. A fast-walkin' mule and just like me he'll take nothing from nobody I've also got a dog that's half bear."
"You're funnin'--half bear? It won't work."
"You should of told his ma that. Anyway, I reckon that ol' he-bear wasn't askin' any questions. I tell you I got a dog that's half bear."
She glanced up at me as we walked along. "You said you took up with a Trelawney girl out west. Which one was it?"
"You mean there's more than the two of you come west? How much can this country stand, all to one time? Her name was Dorinda."
"Oh-oh-oh! Maybe I got to look at you in daylight, mister. If Dorinda took up with you there must be more to you than I figured. She was a beautiful one, Dorinda was."
"Yes, ma'am, but not to be trusted. Back in the mountains we could always count on a Trelawney girl to do her best, but that one! That Dorinda usually done her worst. She nigh got me killed."
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