“Well, shit, Zeb,” I said, “let’s us just ride up into the mountains for a spell and think on it a while.”
“Now that there’s a good idea,” he said. “Let’s do her.”
A course, it was Zeb’s idea in the first place. I knowed it, and he knowed it, but he never rubbed it in. He just acted as how it was my own latest idea, and I never said nothing about it not being that neither.
“There’s a place just up ahead where we can turn up towards the high country,” he said.
We rid on for a space, and then there it was. The place what Zeb had said would be there. I knowed it would be, ’cause Zeb, he knowed them mountains. I reckon ole Zeb knowed them mountains better than any living critter, ’cept maybe mountain goats and mountain lions and such. Anyhow, he turned his horse up that trail, leading Bernice Burro, and I turned my own ole horse and follered them. We rid on for a considerable distance without talking no more, but once whenever the trail leveled out just a little, I turned to look back. I hadn’t never got used to them high spots like that. I was still fascinated by being able to look out for miles and miles, and I just wanted to take me a look, was all, but I got more than what I was bargaining for, I can tell you that.
“Zeb,” I said.
Ole Zeb stopped his horse, and Bernice walked right into its ass end. Then she stopped too. Zeb turned around in his saddle and looked back at me.
“What is it?” he asked me.
“Look there down below,” I said.
“By damn,” he said, “that there sure has the look of a posse about it.”
“It does, don’t it?” I said. “You reckon they’ll see where we turned off and foller us up here?”
Zeb clumb down outa his saddle and walked back to where I was at, and he looked off over the edge a the drop off there.
“What do we do,” he said, “if it is for real a posse, and if they does come up the trail after us? Will you shoot a couple of them to make the rest turn around and go back? What’ll you do, Kid?”
“I can’t shoot no lawmen, Zeb,” I said. “Hell, I want to prove we ain’t guilty a that other business. If I was to kill me a lawman or two, I’d be guilty a that for sure. Then the other thing wouldn’t matter none no more, would it?”
“I reckon you’re right about that,” he said, “but if they’ve got us all slated to hang anyhow, what’s the difference?”
“The difference is that I aim to prove we’re innocent,” I said. “If I can do that without shooting me no lawmen, we’ll be all right.”
“I don’t know if ole Jim Chastain will feel thataway about it,” Zeb said.
“How come?” I said.
“’Cause we’re damn sure guilty a breaking outa his jail and locking him in it and leaving him nekkid in there, ain’t we?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I reckon we are at that, but that ain’t no hanging offense. Least, I don’t think it is.”
“Hey,” he said, “looky there. They’re a-coming up this way for sure.”
He run over to one side a the trail and put his back against a rock and commenced to shoving at it by propping his feet against another rock. It come loose a little.
“What’re you doing?” I said.
“You said you can’t shoot them. They can’t blame you for a little rock slide, can they?”
“I don’t want to kill no one, Zeb,” I said.
“It’ll just block the trail, is all,” he said. “Come on. Give me a hand.”
Well, I didn’t know what else to do, so I swung down offa ole horse and moved over to that there rock beside ole Zeb. With both our backs at it, it come loose all right, and it commenced to tumbling and rolling down the trail, a-bouncing offa one side and then t’other, and along the way, it picked up and kicked loose some other rocks, and pretty soon, by God, we had us a regular rock slide running down the trail.
That trail was winding and narrow, and before the rock slide reached all the way down to the posse, it stopped all right, and it just kinda jammed up the trail there above one a the sharpest turns.
“It stopped, Zeb,” I said.
“That’s all right,” he said. “It done just what you wanted it to do. It stopped them dead, and ain’t no one hurt. They can’t get over it, though, or around it. They’ll just have to turn around and go back where they come from. That’s all.”
“Zeb,” I said, “you got them spyglasses on you?”
“I’ll fetch them,” he said, and he walked back to his horse and reached into the saddlebag. I follered him and tuck them from him, and then I looked through them down the trail, and by God, I seen ole Chastain hisself. He was dismounted and standing in the trail a-looking at them rocks what blocked his way, and he tuck the hat off his head and throwed it down real hard. I could tell that he was plenty pissed off.
“It’s ole Jim all right,” I said, and I handed them glasses back to Zeb.
“Has he got his clothes on?” Zeb said. I never answered him, ’cause I seed that he was putting them glasses up to his own eyes and so he’d see for hisself. “Yeah,” he said. “He found hisself some britches all right.”
Ole Zeb, he laughed some at that, and he walked back to his horse and put the glasses back in the saddlebag. Then he clumb on up in the saddle. Well, I done the same thing, and then Zeb started in to riding, and I commenced to foller. We come at last to a kinda plateau where ever’thing leveled off for a while, and we turned north and rid thataway. Neither one of us said nothing, but I was glad that Zeb had turned us north, on account a that was the direction a that stagecoach robbery, and I kinda wanted to hunt around some in that direction, even though I wasn’t sure atall that them three criminal bastards would still be hanging around loose anywheres up thataway.
Anyhow, we rid most a that day away till the sun was getting real low in the western sky, which that didn’t take too long ’cause a them mountains, you know. The sky was getting gray, and it didn’t look to me as if we’d have much daylight left to us, and then ole Zeb, he spoke up.
“We’d oughter stop along here,” he said, “and make us a camp for the night. Riding along here after dark, a feller just might fall right offa the edge.”
I’d heared Zeb talk thataway before.
“Would he fall all the way to China,” I said, “and never be found?”
“If he was to be found,” Zeb said, “it’d be by a Chinaman.”
Well, we stopped, and we pitched our camp all right, and we even built ourselfs a little fire on account a the night air was fixing to chill up some that high up in the mountains, but we didn’t have us no vittals to cook, so we just set around hungry and kinda grumpy on account a that. By and by, we crawled underneath our blankets and went to sleep.
We both of us woke up kinda early the next morning, and I believe we’d a fought each other over a damned ole chicken egg. Anyhow, we broke camp and was saddling up our horses, when we heared the loudest bang I had ever heared. It sounded to me kinda like thunder but only not quite, and besides that there weren’t no storm clouds in the sky and no lightning a-flashing. I like to a jumped right outa my britches, and our three critters jumped and stamped around, a-neighing and braying out their own concerns.
“What the hell was that?” I said.
“Someone’s blasting up ahead,” Zeb said. “They’re either onto a hell of a big strike, or they’re too damn lazy to dig. Let’s mount up and go find out.”
Well, I weren’t so sure, but I mounted up to foller him, ’cause what the hell else could I do but ’cept to just trust him up in them mountains the way we was.
“Zeb,” I hollered out, “what if we was to ride on up there where they’re a-blasting, and just get our ass blasted right offa this mountain and on down into China?”
“Not a chance,” he said. “I can tell where they’re a-blasting at.”
Well, I was still nervous, but I did believe him what he said. He was a old hand at them mountains, and he knowed ever’thing there was to know about gold, whether it was
panning or digging or blasting. At least, he said he did, and I believed him—mostly. But I was nervous. Then there come another blast, and it was ferocious. Ole horse, she jumped sideways and like to of skittered right offa the edge, but I fit her back over onto the trail. It tuck all I had in me though.
“Damn it, ole horse,” I said. “You want to wake up being meat for some Chinee dog?”
Zeb, he just rid on like there wasn’t nothing the matter, so I kept follering. We went on like that for another while, maybe it was a hour, maybe more, and then Zeb just stopped. Bernice run into his horse’s ass, and then she stopped. I stopped too.
“What is it, Zeb?” I asked him.
“Well, I be damned,” he said.
“What?” I said. “What is it?”
“Come on up here, Kid,” he said.
The trail was a little more accomodating just there, so I moved over and rid past Bernice so I could come up alongside ole Zeb, and then I seed what it was that had stopped him like that. He was a-staring straight ahead with big wide-open eyes at a whole damn little town just up ahead of us.
“Damn thing weren’t here when I was here last,” he said. “Someone musta run onto something. Just look at that, Kid. They’s mining shacks and sluices and ever’thing. There looks to be several houses too, like as if some families is in on this together.”
He reached back to pull the glasses outa his bag again, and he tuck hisself a long look, and while he was a-looking, he was a-talking.
“Yeah,” he said. “Sure enough. I see womenfolk. I see some kids too. It’s a sure enough town all right. A gold-mining town. I be goddamned all the way straight down to blackest hell. It’s a gold-mining town in the mountains.”
“Well, what’ll we do, Zeb?” I said.
He set still for another minute or so just a-staring through them glasses, and then he brung them down and turned a bit and stuck them back in the bag.
“Let’s ride on down there and meet them,” he said. “Likely they got some food, and I’m hungry as a hibernating bear.”
Well, we done like he said. We rid on for a while, but then whenever we come close enough for the folks in the mining town to see that someone was a-coming, I seed three men run for rifles, and I could see that they all cranked shells into the chambers too.
“Zeb,” I said, “you see that?”
“Don’t pay it no nevermind,” he said. “That’s the way a feller gets when he’s got gold. They’re just being keerful. We’ll ride on in easy like. They won’t do us no harm. Just stay calm, Kid. Leave me do the talking.”
“I ain’t going to argue on that one with you,” I said, and I slowed ole horse down so that pretty soon I was back riding behind Bernice Burro again. We rid on into that town single file, and when we come in close, ole Zeb stopped. He kinda held his hands up to show them that he wasn’t planning on no hostilities.
“Howdy, folks,” he said. “I’m ole Zeb Pike. That there skinny kid back there is my pardner, Kid Parmlee. We’re just a-traveling this here mountain trail, and we’re mighty hungry. Thought we’d try your hospitality.”
It stayed quiet, and I couldn’t handle not knowing what was going on up there, so I raised my own hands up some and rid on around. Them three with the rifles was a-standing and staring real hard at ole Zeb, and when they seed me a-coming around, they give me pretty hard and cold looks too.
“Your pard looks like a gunfighter,” one a the three said.
“Ah, he’s just a kid,” Zeb said. “That’s how come me to call him that. Kid.”
“Whenever I had me a job,” I said, “I was a cowhand. Then I done me a little placer mining with ole Zeb here. He taught me.”
“You’re not a gunfighter?” the man said.
“No, sir,” I said. “I’ve learnt to use my six-shooter for when I have to use it in defense a my own life and limb or my pardner Zeb, but I wouldn’t call myself no gunfighter.”
“You ain’t working for Morgan?” the man said.
I give Zeb a look, and he give me one.
“Morgan?” he said. “I don’t know no Morgan. You know a Morgan, Kid?”
“No, I don’t,” I said. “Me and ole Zeb, we ain’t working for no one. We ain’t got jobs right now.”
Them three men looked at each other, then one of them lowered his rifle, and so did the other two.
“Climb on down, men,” the one said, “and welcome. We’re sorry for the rude greeting, but we can’t be too careful these days. My name’s Willie Weaver.”
Weaver stuck out his hand, and ole Zeb shuck it. Then Weaver turned to me, and I shuck his hand.
“These men are Charlie Raspberry and Larry Tucker,” Weaver said. “You’re welcome to come in and rest a spell and have something to eat.”
“Thanks,” Zeb said, and me and him shuck with Raspberry and Tucker.
“Follow me,” Weaver said.
He led us over to a white canvas tent with a chimbley poking out its top, and we went in. It was a big tent, and it was pitched up on top of a wood frame. There was long tables and benches in it along with a cookstove, and we could smell the beans and stuff a-cooking before we even went inside. Weaver made a motion toward a table and bench.
“Sit down,” he said. Then he turned toward a woman who was standing nearby. “Myrtle,” he said, “we have guests, and they’re hungry.”
“Well, we can sure take care of that,” Myrtle said, and she went to busying herself over some pots and pans. Weaver, he poured out two cups a coffee and brung them over to us. Then he went back and poured another’n and come and set down with us.
“Thank you, sir,” I said.
“Just call me Willie,” he said.
“Willie,” Zeb said, “who’s this Morgan you was asking about?”
“If you keep on riding that trail you were on,” Weaver said, “you’ll find him. He’s just over on the other side of the next rise, and he’s set up a gold camp there, but he wants ours. He’s been trying to run us off of this mountain. Well, first off, he tried to buy us out. When we told him we weren’t interested, he started threatening, then worse. He’s got some thugs working for him. Ever’ now and then, some of them slip over this way and do what they can to sabotage our equipment, harass us, to scare us off or slow us down. Anything they think of to try to get us to change our minds.”
“You musta come across a good vein here to put up with that kinda nastiness,” Zeb said. “And to be a-blasting like you was.”
“That was Morgan blasting,” Weaver said. “We don’t blast. And you’re right. We have a good thing here. I don’t know if it’ll make us all rich or not. We have twelve families here. It ought to make us all a decent living though. Maybe give us each a good enough stake so we can go down off this mountain eventually and open us each up a business of some kind. That’s all we want.”
“But Morgan wants it all,” I said.
“Yes, he does,” Weaver said.
“It’s a damn shame there’s got to be folks like that in this here world,” I said.
“I don’t know if there’s got to be,” Weaver said, “but we sure do have them.”
Just then that Myrtle brung us over plates, and Weaver sure enough told the truth whenever he said that she’d fix us up real good. We had us some mountain goat meat cooked ever’ bit as good as ole Zeb ever cooked it, and some beans, and some fresh bread, and some taters, and it was all good, good as ever I had, and skinny as I am, I et two plates full, and then I drunk me a few more cups a coffee. All the time we kept a-visiting with ole Weaver and hearing tales a the hard times him and his folks had been putting up with in them mountains all on account a that Morgan feller.
“Willie,” I said, “is there any way for us to ride around that Morgan when we leave outa here? I don’t really cotton to meeting up with him.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” Weaver said, “but it would be a rough ride. The trail goes right through his camp. You could go back the way you came in, or try to ride up higher wi
thout the benefit of a trail. That would be a rough go.”
I thought about falling all the way down to China, and I said, “I don’t want to try to ride around up here without no real trail to ride on.”
But I looked at ole Zeb just then, and I seed that he was a-giving me a look too, and I figgered that we both of us was recollecting just exact how we had done ruint the trail back t’other way. ’Course, we neither one of us never said nothing about that to ole Willie. We kept that little secret to just me and Zeb. But that was ole Weaver’s only way out too, ’cept unless to just go straight through ole Morgan’s camp, which a course he wouldn’t want to try, and so he might not appreciate us blocking him in the way we had did. The other thing, a course, was that we wasn’t wanting to tell no strangers, even if they had fed us real good, that we was on the fugitive trail.
It takes too much explaining and excuse-making to tell folks what don’t already know you pretty good that the law is a-wanting you but it ain’t your fault. The more you talks, the more guiltier you sound, ’cause a real guilty feller will be a-doing the same thing. He’ll be proclaiming that it was all a mistake, and that he’s as innocent as a newborn nekkid babe, and he got mistook on account a this and that. He’ll go on and on thataway with a real pitiful look on his face. So if a feller really and truly is innocent a whatever awful thing he’s been accused of, why, what is there to tell him from that other feller, the guilty one? They both acts just the same damn way. So there just ain’t no sense in even talking about it.
Chapter 5
Well, ole Weaver and them put us up for the night, and then they went and fed us a good big breakfast and lots a coffee, and we thanked them kindly and packed up and hit the trail. We headed north, figgering it couldn’t hurt nothing to just ride on through that there Morgan’s camp and go on our own way. We seed the camp whenever we topped the next rise, just like ole Weaver told us we would, and then ole Zeb, he stopped to study it a while before we rid on down into it.
A Cold Hard Trail Page 4