As the day brightened, the black and gray of the wagon began to acquire colors and he could see words on the side that faced him. A little more light confirmed that the words had been made in black or red paint against the white surface of the side, which formed a continuous curve up and over the roof.
Perhaps the white was cloth after all. Cloth over an open wooden box. The letters of the words spelled out Paul Sanderson and Company, Peddler.
The letters were a good three feet high, painted in what, as the morning brightened broadly, he saw to be a very brilliant red indeed, upon the white cloth. They looked almost as if they had been freshly painted. Overall, there was an air of unusual cleanliness and competence about the wagon and everything connected with it. It seemed stoutly built, well maintained, and strangely businesslike in this newly disorderly and dirty age.
Just then one of the dogs stirred, got to its feet, and shook itself. It was time to go; but Jeebee wanted one more look at those three horses by the back of the wagon. He swung the binoculars on them and saw they were tethered to the wagon; each one saddled and bridled with a full pack behind each saddle, and a rifle in a scabbard at the right front of each one. This was something to think about. Jeebee began his retreat.
In the brightening light he made it back quickly to the trees where he had spent the night before. From there, he took a longer, and much clearer, observation of the wagon, now aided by the daylight.
Now that the sun had risen, the inhabitants of the wagon evidently began to stir. Smoke rose from a metal flue through the wagon’s roof. Following that first dog on its feet, all the others had roused. Now they began to move around and congregate closely near the front of the wagon. After some time, Jeebee thought he smelled cooking on the breeze that was still toward him from them. Eventually, the smaller—and Jeebee now saw—beardless figure came out and threw a panful of scraps of some kind to the dogs. They dived hungrily at them and gobbled them down.
While they were still eating, another dog burst from the trees in the same patch that Jeebee had been in earlier, and raced down to the wagon. It was the yellow dog Jeebee had seen with Wolf. She jumped up on the slight figure, greeting the human effusively, and receiving a vigorous scratching and petting in return.
With the morning formalities concluded, the human turned toward the front of the wagon. Jeebee could not hear anything, but he got the impression that the person he saw had called out. Within moments two more figures appeared. One was the larger person Jeebee had seen in outline by the fire the night before, clearly a large, somewhat blocky man of middle age, with a short, square beard. He was followed almost immediately by a smaller man, clean shaven and carrying something that turned out to be more scraps, which were fed to the yellow dog.
After a consultation among the three figures, the smaller man went back inside the wagon, the one who had met the yellow dog as she returned went back to the rope corral. This person ducked through the rope and selected six of the heavier of the horses, who allowed themselves to be caught with no protest whatsoever. They had halter ropes loosely about their necks. They were led out of the rope corral and toward the front of the wagon.
They were met halfway by the larger man, who took the horses over, led them to the front of the wagon, and began the process of harnessing them two by two to the wagon tongue. Meanwhile the one that brought the horses to him was now back, bringing three fresh riding horses up to replace the ones who had been tied to the wagon back.
The replacement horses were tied to the end of the wagon, and the handler transferred saddles, bridles, guns, and all gear from the ones who had stood there during the night to the three just brought up. Halter ropes with short, loose ends were put around the necks of the ones just stripped of their gear and they were turned loose. They followed like dogs as the handler returned to the corral and began to take it apart. The horses released from the wagon joined the others, but they all stayed in a close group.
It was plain that the wagon was at last preparing to move on. Whether the decision to start going had anything to do with the return of the yellow dog or not, Jeebee did not know. But he knew that he wanted to start getting away from where he was and back into familiar territory. He crawled backward, stood up, and went off at a slow jog, keeping a fold of land between him and the wagon.
Now that he understood more about the vehicle and those with it, he was less concerned about keeping out of sight as he returned. Simply going back from the highway, he went west in a straight line, shielded by the land between him and the wagon, until he was back among his familiar trees.
As he went, he made some mental computations of the time it might take for the wagon to get under way and to get up level with where he was now. He decided that there would be time to circle back around his own camping place. He could make sure everything there was all right and the .22 was still safely hidden in the tree, as well as the bag of food he had hung up separately.
He did so. All was as he had left it. He took the .22 with him when he returned to his observation point. The .30/06 was still in the rope sling on his back.
Lying down at his usual observation point, he used the opera glasses to study the wagon’s three people as it got closer. There was just a chance these were the kind he could risk approaching.
The legend “Paul Sanderson and Company, Peddler,” was in itself reassuring. It implied that those with the wagon were used to meeting people at all times and in all places. Consequently, they should not be startled into defensive action by someone showing up along the roadside. On the other hand, they had looked like a very efficient outfit. And if they had survived with that kind of a rig to get this far, they must be in a better state to take offensive action, if they wanted to, than they appeared.
With the advantage of the angle from which he viewed their approach, and the small but definite added height from which he viewed them, he began to see not only the wagon, but what was behind it.
The extra horses he had seen earlier were following the wagon in a herd, apparently keeping station there pretty much of their own will. The man who had greeted the yellow dog was now mounted on horseback, and riding gracefully back and forth between the herd and the front of the wagon, where the large man sat driving the team of six horses that pulled it.
The little man had been sitting with him on the wagon seat earlier, but now there was nothing to be seen. Obviously he was inside the wagon. The three new horses that had been tied to the back of the wagon and furnished with bridles and saddles, packs and rifles, came along pretty much at the length of their tethers, but without putting any strain on them. Apparently they, too, were used to following the wagon under certain conditions, and in a certain pattern. All in all the wagon gave the curious impression of being a self-contained community; highly organized and time-tested, to a high pitch of efficiency.
Jeebee found himself still of two minds about approaching it. The very order and discipline he saw was a factor in urging him to make contact here. On the other hand, he remembered the wagon train with the several wagons, all of their drivers chained to their seats. In a way, what he saw was too neat and reassuring to be true, just as the wagon train had seemed at first glance. There was always the danger that there could be something un-obvious in the situation now approaching him down the road that he would find out, too late, that he did not like, at all.
On the other hand, he had to take a chance sometime. This was by far the most promising and attractive set of travelers he had seen since he first started his watch on the interstate.
The wagon was only about a hundred and fifty yards down the road now, and coming along with the horses pulling it at a slow trot. Evidently those horses must be changed frequently, for they could not keep up this pace for too long. Then Jeebee found his attention suddenly attracted away from the horses to the dogs alongside the wagon.
The other dogs were pestering the yellow one. None of them was as large as she was. But five of them were attempting to get close
enough to mount her. She kept turning back her head over her shoulder to snap at them, and occasionally stopped and literally drove them back before she turned on again, but they came after her once more. Her rather lean, short-haired tail was tucked protectively down between her hind legs. She was female and must be in heat. That would explain Wolf trying to keep her and Jeebee apart, particularly if he had designs of his own on her. Clearly, the other dogs were males; and it was becoming more and more obvious they were pestering her to the limits of her patience.
They and the wagon were almost within a hundred yards or so of the first edge of Jeebee’s protective trees when the female, apparently at last completely out of patience, turned and made a bolt. All at once she was in a flat run, away from the other dogs, the wagon, and everything else, toward Jeebee and the woods itself.
The other dogs raced out after her, but were shouted back by the man driving the wagon. Only the female herself ignored his voice and continued her flight toward the woods.
The rider on horseback abandoned the following equine herd and galloped after her. But the female vanished into the woods some twenty yards to the left of where Jeebee lay, before the rider could catch up with her. Another shout from the wagon train made the rider pull slowly to a halt and turn back before entering the trees. The slim figure in the saddle was apparently unhappy about doing so, but obeyed. Jeebee guessed that the rider might be a son, or some younger relative of the wagon driver.
The driver pulled to a stop as the rider came up to him. What appeared to be an argument ensued. Little snatches of it reached Jeebee; but what he was able to hear was too fragmentary for him to make out more than a few of the words, even though they were speaking in fairly high-pitched and somewhat angry tones at each other. Clearly the wagon driver was forbidding any attempt by the rider to follow the dog into the woods.
The wagon stayed stopped, however, and the argument continued. From what little Jeebee could catch of the argument, the driver was claiming that the rider would only be safe staying with the wagon. The rider, on the other hand, was arguing that the woods were perfectly safe.
Then a snatch of the conversation came clearly to Jeebee’s ears. They were only about a hundred feet away from him. He did not catch all the words but what the rider said, in a high-pitched voice, was that they were definitely not going on again until they had Greta safely back with them.
Just then the voices were drowned out by the yelping of a dog in the woods to his right. Jeebee swung his opera glasses swiftly in that direction, but the trunks of the trees and the stands of bush hid whatever was going on. Then the yelping moved past him, out toward the highway again, and he saw that the yellow dog had emerged from the woods, tied to Wolf, who was now breeding her.
Greta headed back toward the wagon, and Wolf had little choice but to follow since she weighed at least as much as he did. The wagon driver reached back and drew a rifle from the wagon. He was putting it to his shoulder before Jeebee finally recognized his intention was to shoot Wolf, who was now being towed to within about fifty feet of the wagon.
Reacting completely without thought, Jeebee scrambled to his feet. He had taken the .30/06 off his back earlier and laid it up in a tree behind him. Grabbing it, he dashed out of the woods toward the wagon, himself.
“Stop!” he shouted. “Don’t shoot! He’s mine! It’s all right!”
He continued on at a run toward the wagon.
The rifle in the driver’s hands swung to cover Jeebee himself, and a revolver was suddenly in the hands of the rider, also aimed at him. Jeebee threw the rifle away and continued to run toward the wagon, calling out to them not to shoot.
But before he reached there, Wolf came loose, and was immediately set upon by the other dogs. To Jeebee’s surprise, the yellow female immediately wheeled about to his defense and began snapping and snarling at the others.
They fell back before her. Apparently she had rank among them, as well as being the largest. Jeebee, panting for breath, had just reached the wagon.
He caught hold of one edge of the wagon seat to hold himself upright, panting. Looking up, he saw the face of a broad-shouldered, stocky man with a salt-and-pepper beard trimmed short, and hair of the same color; and the nearby round, young face of the rider, whom he now saw was unmistakably a woman rather than a man. Blue eyes looked at him from under a light brown hat.
“Don’t shoot!” Jeebee cried in one last, breathless gasp.
CHAPTER 7
The wagon driver slowly lowered his rifle as Wolf disappeared among the trees. “All right,” he said. “He’s gone anyway.” The driver’s voice was a slight, reedy baritone. His eyes turned to look down into Jeebee’s face. “What is he, a coyote? He’s big.”
They stared at each other wordlessly for a couple of minutes. Finally, Jeebee got both his wind and his wits back together at the same time.
“He’s a wolf,” he answered. “You’re Paul Sanderson?”
The other nodded.
“I’m Jeebee,” Jeebee said. “Jeeris Belamy Walthar. Your wagon says you’re a peddler. I might be able to do some business with you.”
Sanderson’s eyes flicked up for a moment to the edge of the trees into which Wolf had disappeared.
“Maybe,” he said in a noncommittal voice. His rifle had not ceased to point at Jeebee, and there was a revolver holstered at his hip. “How many more of you up there in the trees?”
“I’m alone!” said Jeebee. “Except for Wolf, that is. Completely alone. Look, I threw my gun away, I just want to buy some things from you, if you’ve got them to sell.”
“We’ll see.” Sanderson nodded at the rider. “Check him out.”
Jeebee had noticed that she was female, but it hadn’t really registered; so now there was some shock as she—a young woman, if not literally a girl—approached him from behind. He felt businesslike fingers inserted into his boot tops and then hands run lightly up and around his legs; patting his hips, searching his back pockets, then feeling about his shirt, up under his armpits, and across his chest from behind. At last the woman ended by even digging for a moment into his long hair and beard. Then the hands went away.
“Nothing on him, Dad.” The voice was unmistakably feminine.
She came around to stand facing him. She had a healthy-looking round young face that would have looked cheerful, except for the moment just now, it wore an expression of suspicion. He caught a glimpse of short, clean, light brown hair showing under the wide brim of her dusty brown hat, and a light, dark-colored leather vest, unbuttoned over a regular tan workshirt and blue jeans. About the only concession to her femininity was the fact that the heavy work clothes had been tailored to fit her rather better than Sanderson’s fit him and the single touch of brightness that was the turquoise bandanna knotted around the column of her throat.
She was now wiping the fingers with which she had searched him on the legs of her jeans. He was offended, then suddenly embarrassed. Sanderson was getting down from the wagon seat, leaving his rifle up there, and the girl, for she could not be much more than that, Jeebee thought, had already reholstered her revolver in order to search him.
“All right,” said Sanderson, now standing on the ground in front of Jeebee, “what do you need?”
“A couple of horses,” said Jeebee. “Supplies and tools.”
Sanderson laughed.
“For someone just standing there with nothing on you,” the wagon owner said, “you want a lot. What are you going to offer for all that?”
“Oh, I’ve something to pay with,” said Jeebee.
He reached in between the buttons of his shirt to the money belt underneath. With three fingers he reached inside and gathered three of the heavy coins. He brought them out and displayed them on his open palm for the wagon driver to see.
“So that’s what you had in that hideout belt,” said the girl’s voice behind him. “I felt them there, Dad, but I figured they couldn’t be anything dangerous, so I didn’t say anything.”
/> Jeebee looked back at Sanderson and was surprised to find the man silently laughing.
“And you were right enough, Mary,” Jeebee thought he heard him say. After a quick glance at his daughter, Sanderson’s eyes fastened on Jeebee, again.
“Gold,” he said, and shook his head.
“But it actually is gold!” Jeebee said urgently. “These are gold coins! I collected them over about a two-year period. I belonged to a Gold Coin of the Month mail-order club.” He offered his laden palm to the wagon driver.
“Go on,” he said. “Check them out for yourself. They’re almost pure gold. You can bite into them easily. Besides, somebody like you ought to know gold when you see it.”
“Oh, I believe you. They’re gold. Those are Krugerrands, all right,” said Sanderson. “It’s just that they aren’t going to buy you a lot. I couldn’t offer you much for them. Too risky to try trading with most people, too hard to find a buyer you can trust. The safe things to trade now are low-bulk, everyday necessities people nowadays can’t find or make easily.”
After he finished, there was a long moment of silence and then Sanderson spoke again.
“Just what did you figure on buying besides horses?” he asked Jeebee.
“What I need to survive with,” Jeebee said. “I’m headed for my brother’s ranch in Montana. I figure once I get there, I’ll be safe. I’d hoped to buy just a couple of horses from you, one to ride and one to pack; and for the packhorse, say, a spade, an ax, some blankets, some basics like flour and sugar and maybe bacon. I need a sidearm of some kind. A revolver, if you’ve got one to spare, and ammunition for that and the rifle I threw down back there, plus another one I’ve got up in the trees. I’ve been waiting a couple of weeks now for somebody to come by who looked like they might be safe for me to try to buy from. I might not even have come out for you if it hadn’t been for Wolf.”
“How much of that gold have you got?” Sanderson asked.
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