Range Of Golden Hoofs
Page 19
“Tio Abrán,” Fitzpatrick drawled, “is a dead-game sport. He knows when he’s backed a losin’ hand. Watch! They’re breakin’ up.”
Indeed it was true. About the old man his listeners were dispersing. Some, with sullen glances toward the men in the doorway, started across the street, making toward the wagons tied there; others, their voices shrill as they spoke of what they had heard, moved along the sidewalk, stopping to talk to those of their faction that they met. Tio Abrán was one of these. At the hitch rack a man untied a team, climbed stiffly into a wagon and backed it out.
“Why,” Louder said, “they’re pullin’ out. They’re done.”
“Sure,” Fitzpatrick agreed. “Tio Abrán’s spreading the news. He hates a coward. I think this is finished, Louder.”
“Just the same,” Louder announced grimly, “I’ll let the boys hold things down awhile longer. There might be some that get ideas.”
Fitzpatrick turned back into the office. Louder remained at the door watching the plaza. Other wagons were departing now, and all along the plaza sides the little knots of De la Luz adherents were breaking up. With a grunt Louder left the doorway.
“That’s that,” he announced with finality.
As Louder left the door Bert Cassidy made his announcement. Cassidy, who had been a spectator in the drama, now assumed a role. “I guess I might as well take Ramon an’ Arturo to jail,” Cassidy remarked. “That’s about all there’s left to do.”
“You want some help?” Louder asked.
Cassidy glanced from Arturo to Ramon and then looked at Louder. The deputy was chewing again, his jaws moving rhythmically on his cud. “No,” he answered calmly. “I guess not. Git up, Arturo. Come on, Ramon.”
Arturo got up, still cringing from Vicente. Like a man in a daze Ramon de la Luz obeyed the deputy’s command. Cassidy reached out a hand on either side, drawing his prisoners together. “Go on,” he commanded and, a pace behind the two, started them toward the doorway. Just at the door Cassidy paused. “I’ll look after Delaney,” he announced to the room at large, “just as soon as I get these fellers located. You needn’t to bother about it.” Then Bert Cassidy went out, following his unresisting prisoners.
When the door was cleared Fitzpatrick looked at Dan Shea and then all around at those left in the office. “By gosh,” Fitzpatrick announced positively, “there goes the next sheriff as far as I’m concerned. I’m goin’ to back him. He’s all right.”
Louder was nodding agreement. Dan Shea stared at the empty doorway. Fitzpatrick, having endorsed Bert Cassidy, spoke again. “What you goin’ to do now, Dan? Go to the hotel? You can’t get back to El Puerto tonight. It’s already gettin’ dark.”
The tension was gone now. Dan Shea’s nerves sagged, and weariness possessed him. “I guess that’s right, Fitz,” he said. “I guess we’ll go to the hotel.”
They left the little office then, the office where George Delaney had studied and plotted and acted against El Puerto del Sol and, issuing from its door, they saw the plaza. Jesse Louder’s riders still occupied their vantage points, but there was no more need for them. The plaza was emptying. Wagons creaked away. Riders, some scowling, some with uncertainty in their eyes, followed along the streets, heading toward the exits. Dan Shea walked slowly, Marillita beside him, Fitzpatrick flanking his other side, Gotleib and Louder striding ahead and Vicente and Perrier bringing up the rear.
“I guess the boys can turn loose now,” Louder commented and, breaking away from Gotleib, approached his foreman on the corner. Dan Shea did not see this, did not see the foreman’s sudden grin or his quick departure after Louder’s words. Dan Shea was looking at Marillita. He was not thinking of Louder or of Louder’s men or of Fitzpatrick striding along before him or of Perrier and Vicente walking alertly behind.
Hilario and Nopomencenco, with others of the herders following them, came along the side of the plaza, approaching Dan’s party. Hilario started forward toward Dan Shea, but Nopomencenco caught his arm and drew him back. Hilario wanted orders and had come for them, but Nopomencenco, having glimpsed Dan’s face, knew that the orders must wait.
“No importa,” Nopomencenco said, and Hilario, having also looked into Dan’s eyes, obeyed the hand upon his arm and stopped his advance. Orders were not important.
“I’ll start to Albuquerque tomorrow,” Gotleib informed Louder who had rejoined him. “When I get there I’ll amend our answer to the suit. I’ll take that decision with me and get it back to the land office.”
“Yeah,” Louder agreed. He was watching his men, all of them, gathering in front of Fitzpatrick’s saloon. They would go into Fitzpatrick’s and get a drink and then another drink. By the time they finished they’d be feeling plenty high. He ought to…Louder grunted aloud, interrupting his own thoughts. Those were all good boys he had, and the foreman was with them. They wouldn’t get too drunk, and if they did what difference did it make? Those boys had sided him right straight through, and if they wanted to drink a little liquor it was all right.
Fitzpatrick, too, was watching the group gathering in front of his saloon. Plenty of business tonight, Fitzpatrick thought. Maybe he ought to get back to the place. His bartender was all right, but maybe just a little too handy around the till. As soon as he got Dan located he’d go over to the saloon. He’d buy all those boys a drink or two. They’d earned it.
Perrier, following along behind, looked at Dan Shea’s back. It was broad and flat and his hips were slim: a proper back for a horseman. Perrier’s blue eyes gleamed. There was a man to ride with him, a man who asked no quarter and gave none. A thoroughgoing sportsman! Against Perrier’s hand great Puck pushed his head, and Mab, jealous, came up on the other side, thrusting herself between her master and Vicente. Absently Perrier touched Puck’s head. Absently, with the fingers of the other hand, he found Mab’s silky ear and caressed it.
Vicente, too, was watching Dan Shea’s back. There was adoration in Vicente’s eyes. As Mab and Puck followed Perrier, so Vicente followed Dan Shea, unreasoning, willing, loyal. There, in front of Vicente, walked his patrón, the master.
Marillita, looking up into Dan’s face, saw that his eyes were blank. He was looking at her and not seeing her. “Dan,” Marillita said softly.
With a start Dan Shea returned to the present. He had been far away. Wandering.
They had stopped now, all of them. The hotel was before them, and Louder and Gotleib, Perrier and Vicente, were gathered around.
“Tomorrow,” Dan Shea said, “we’ll go back to El Puerto del Sol.” He looked at Marillita as he spoke, excluding all the rest, locking them out.
Marillita met that look fully, fairly, bravely. Watching those two, the others stood a moment and then, as though aware that this was a tryst, a meeting in which they had no part, turned away their eyes.
“Tomorrow,” Marillita promised. “Tomorrow, Dan.”
The last of the sunlight, coming across the plaza of Bendición, filtering through the leafless cottonwoods, casting the shadows long before it, caught and tangled in Marillita’s hair and gleamed like gold.
Other Leisure books by John Trace:
TRIGGER VENGEANCE
Copyright
A LEISURE BOOK®
July 2009
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