She stood there looking unsure of herself, and I kept on with what I had to say. “Woman needs a man out hereneeds him bad. But a man needs a woman too. How do you think that man of yours feels now? His wife has shamed him before others, taking on like a girl-baby, running off.”
She sat down by the fire, but she looked at me with a chilly expression. “I will thank you to take me to Hardyville. I did not mean to saddle myself on you, as you put it. I will gladly pay you for your trouble.”
“Aint that much money.”
“Dont say aint!” She snapped her eyes at me.
“Thank you, maam,” I said, “but you better get you some shuteye. We got to ride fifty miles tomorrow, and I cant be bothered with any tired female. You sit up on that horse tomorrow or Ill dump you in the desert.”
“You wouldnt dare!”
“Yes, maam, I surely would. And leave you right there, and all your caterwauling wouldnt do you a mite of good. You get some sleep. Come daylight were taking out of here faster than a scared owl.”
Taking up my rifle I went out to scout the country, and setting up there on that rock slab I done my looking and listening. That fire was still aburning, away off yonder, like a star fallen out of the sky.
When I came back, she was lying on the bed Id made, wrapped in a blanket, already asleep. Seen like that with the firelight on her face she looked like a little girl.
It was way shy of first light when I opened my eyes, and itd taken me only a minute or two to throw the saddles on those broncs. Then I fixed that pack saddle for her to ride. My outfit was skimpy, so it wasnt much extra weight, carrying her.
When I had coffee going, I stirred her awake with a touch on the shoulder, and her eyes flared open and she was like to scream when she saw me, not that Id blame her. In my sock feet I stand six-three, and I run to shoulders and hands, with high cheekbones and a wedge face that sun had made dark as any Indian. With no shave and little sleep I must have looked a frightening thing.
“You better eat a little,” I said. “You got five minutes.”
We rode out of there with the stars still in the sky, and I was pleasant over seeing no fire over yonder where it had been the night before.
It was just shy of noon, with the sun hot in the sky, when we crossed a low saddle and started out across a plain dotted with Joshua treesnamed by the Mormons who thought they looked like Joshua lifting his arms to Heaven.
We came down across that country, and there had been no dust in the sky all morning, but of a sudden four men rode up out of a draw, and it was the Coopers. Their description had been talked around enough.
“Howdy, Coopers! You hunting something?”
They looked at Christine Mallory and then at me. “Were looking for you,” one said, “and that gold, but well take the lady, too, sort of a bonus-like.”
Like I said, when youve quit running, you can talk or you can fight, and times like this I run long on talk.
“Youll take nothing,” I said. “You are talking to Tell SackettWilliam Tell Sackett, to be exact, as my pa favored William Tell in his thinking. We Sacketts hail from the Cumberland Gap in Tennessee, and pa always taught us never to give up nothing without a fight. Specially money or a woman.
“Now,” I continued on before they could interrupt, “back to home, folks used to say I wasnt much for fiddling or singing, and my feet was too big for dancing, but along come fighting time, Id be around.
“Couple of you boys are wearing brass buttons. I figure a forty-four slug would drive one of those buttons so deep into your belly a doc would have to get him a search warrant to find it.”
My horse was stepping around kind of uneasy-like, and I was making a show of holding him in.
“Anyway,” I said, “this here is General James Whitfield Mallorys wife, and if you so much as lay a hand to her, this territory wouldnt be big enough to hold you. Hes the kind to turn out the whole frontier Army just to hunt you.”
My horse gave a quick sidestep about then, and when he swung his left side to them, I used the moment to fetch out my gun, and when the roan stopped sidestepping, I had that big Colt looking at them.
Pa, he set me to practicing getting a gun out as soon as the end of my holster quit cutting a furrow in the ground when I walked. Pa said to me, “Son, you ever need that gun, youll need it in your fist, not in no holster.”
They were surprised when they saw that gun staring them down, and this George Cooper was mad clean through. “That aint going to cut no ice,” he said. “We want you, well take you.”
“One thing about this country,” I said, “a mans got a right to his opinion. Case like this here, if youre wrong, you dont get a chance to try it over. Any time you want to give it a try,” I said, “you just unlimber and have at it.”
Nobody had anything to say, none of those Coopers looking anything but mad right about then, so I kept on, figuring when we were talking we werent fighting.
“I got me a bet, Coopers; I got me a bet says I can kill three of you before you clear leatherand that last man better make it a quick shot or Ill make it four.”
“You talk a good fight,” George Cooper said.
“You can call my hand. You got the right. One thing I promise, if I dont kill you dead with my first shots, Ill leave you lay for the buzzards and the sun.”
Those Coopers didnt like it much, but my roans was standing rock still now that Id quit nudging him with my spur, and at that range a man wasnt likely to miss very often. And its a fact that nobody wants to die very much.
“If shes Mallorys wife, whats she doing with you?”
“She was headed for Whipple,” I said, “and she turned sick, and the doc said she should go back to Ehrenberg. They asked me to take her there. Served with the general during the war,” I added. “He knows me well.”
“I never heard of no General Mallory,” George Cooper said.
“You never heard of General James Whitfield Mallory?” By now I believed in him my own self. “He was aide to General Grant! Same class at the Point with Phil Sheridan and Jeb Stuart. Fact is, they are talking of making him governor of the territory just to wipe out outlaws and such.”
“Begging the ladys pardon, but hes noted for being a mighty mean manstrict. And smart? Hes slicker than a black snake on a wet-clay sidehill. Last thing you want to do is get him riled.”
“Lady here was telling me if he is made territorial governor he plans to recruit a special police force from among the Apache. He figures if those Apaches hate white men they might as well turn it to use tracking down outlawsand he doesnt say anything about them bringing anybody back.”
“Thats not human!” George Cooper protested.
“Thats the general for you. He’s that kind.” Now that trusty Colt had stayed right there in my fist, and so I said, “Now, well ride on.”
Motioning her on ahead, I rode after her, but believe me, I sat sidewise in my saddle with that Colt ready for a quick shot. The last I could see they were still asetting there, arguing. Most talking Id done since leaving Tennessee, and the most lying Id done since who flung the chunk.
We fetched up to Hardyville about sundown on the second day, and the first person I saw when we rode up to the store was Bill Squires.
“Bill,” I said, “the Coopers were ahunting me. Only way they could have known I had that gold was if you told them. Somebody had to ride out to tell them, and somebody would want to be on hand to divvy up.
“Now,” I said, “if you want to call me a liar, Ill take this lady inside and Ill come right back. But you hear this: they didnt get one speck of this gold, and neither are you.”
“I panned my share of that gold!” He was looking mighty bleak.
“So you did, but yours wasnt enough; you had to try for all of it. A month or so back Jack Walker left camp and was drygulched. I plan to send your gold to his widow and family, and you can save your objections to that until I come out.”
So I went inside with Christine Mallory, and t
here were two or three fresh Army officers right off the boat waiting to go to Fort Whipple.
“My husband is not a general,” she said then, “and his name is Robert Mallory.”
“I know that, Mrs. Mallory. Your husband is Second Lieutenant Robert Mallory, and hes greener than meadow grass. Month or so back he came out and ordered me to get my horse off the parade ground at Whipple. Mighty stiff-necked he was too.
“Maam, you havent got you a man there, youve got a boy, but a boy sound in wind and limb; and two or three years on the frontier will give you a man you can be proud of. But if you run off now the chances are he will resign his commission and run after you, and you’ll have a boy for a husband as long as you live.
“You stay with him, you hear? You aint much account, either, but give you seasoning and you will be. Fact is, if youd been a woman back there on that trail I might have been less of the gentleman, but you havent grown up to a man yet.”
She had the prettiest blue eyes you ever saw, and she looked straight at me. She was mad, but she was honest, and behind those blue eyes she had a grain of sense.
“You may be right,” she admitted, “although Id rather slap your face than agree. After what I have been through these past few days, that dirt floor would look very good indeed.”
“Maam, when my time comes to marry, I hope I find a woman as pretty as youand with as much backbone.”
Leaving her talking to those officers, I went to the counter with my gold and checked it in with Hardy in the names of those to whom it was credited, to Jim Hodge, Willy Mander, Tom Padgettand to Mrs. Jack Walker, whose address I supplied.
“And Ive got a hundred dollars coming,” I said.
Hardy paid it to me, and I put it in my pocket. More money than Id seen since the coon went up the tree. Then I went outside like Id promised, and Bill Squires surprised me. He was sure enough waiting.
He shot at me and missed. I shot at him and didn’t.
The Defense of Sentinel
When the morning came, Finn McGraw awakened into a silent world. His eyes opened to the wide and wondering sky where a solitary cloud wandered reluctantly across the endless blue. At first he did not notice the silence. He had awakened, his mouth tasted like a rain-soaked cathide, he wanted a drink, and he needed a shave. This was not an unusual situation. He heaved himself to a sitting position, yawned widely, scratching his ribs-and became aware of the silence.
No sound … No movement. No rattling of well buckets, no cackling of hens, no slamming of doors. Sentinel was a town of silence. Slowly, his mind filling with wonder, Finn McGraw climbed to his feet. With fifty wasted years behind him, he had believed the world held no more surprises. But Sentinel was empty. Sentinel, where for six months Finn McGraw had held the unenvied position of official town drunk. He had been the tramp, the vagabond, the useless, the dirty, dusty, unshaven, whisky-sodden drunk. He slept in alleys. He slept in barns-wherever he happened to be when he passed out.
Finn McGraw was a man without a home. Without a job. Without a dime. And now he was a man without a town. What can be more pitiful than a townless town drunk?
Carefully, McGraw got to his feet. The world tipped edgewise and he balanced delicately and managed to maintain his equilibrium. Negotiating the placing of his feet with extreme caution, he succeeded in crossing the wash and stumbling up the bank on the town side. Again, more apprehensively, he listened. Silence. No smoke rising from chimneys, no barking dogs, no horses. The street lay empty before him, like a street in a town of ghosts. Finn McGraw paused and stared at the phenomenon. Had he, like Rip van Winkle, slept for twenty years?
Yet he hesitated, for well he knew the extreme lengths that Western men would go for a good practical joke. The thought came as a relief. That was it, of course, this was a joke. They had all gotten together to play a joke on him. His footsteps echoed hollowly on the boardwalk. Tentatively, he tried the door of the saloon. It gave inward, and he pushed by the inner, batwing doors and looked around. The odor of stale whisky mingled with cigar smoke lingered, lonesomely, in the air. Poker chips and cards were scattered on the table, but there was nobody. … Nobody at all! The back bar was lined with bottles.
His face brightened. Whisky! Good whisky, and his for the taking! At least, if they had deserted him they had left the whisky behind. Caution intervened. He walked to the back office and pushed open the door. It creaked on a rusty hinge and gave inward, to emptiness.
“Hey?” His voice found only an echo for company. “Where is everybody?” No answer. He walked to the door and looked out upon the street. Suddenly the desire for human companionship blossomed into a vast yearning. He rushed outside. He shouted. His voice rang emptily in the street against the false-fronted buildings. Wildly, he rushed from door to door.
The blacksmith shop, the livery stable, the saddle shop, the bootmaker, the general store, the jail-all were empty, deserted. He was alone. Alone! What had happened? Where was everybody? Saloons full of whisky, stores filled with food, blankets, clothing. All these things had been left unguarded. Half-frightened, Finn McGraw made his way to the restaurant. Everything there was as it had been left. A meal half-eaten on the table, dishes unwashed. But the stove was cold.
Aware suddenly of a need for strength that whisky could not provide, Finn McGraw kindled a fire in the stove. From a huge ham he cut several thick slices. He went out back and rummaged through the nests and found a few scattered eggs. He carried these inside and prepared a meal. With a good breakfast under his belt, he refilled his coffee cup and rummaged around until he found a box of cigars. He struck a match and lighted a good Havana, pocketing several more. Then he leaned back and began to consider the situation. Despite the excellent meal and the cigar, he was uneasy. The heavy silence worried him, and he got up and went cautiously to the door.
Suppose there was something here, something malign and evil? Suppose-Angrily, he pushed the door open. He was going to stop supposing. For the first time in his life he had a town full of everything, and he was going to make the most of it. Sauntering carelessly down the empty street to the Elite General Store, he entered and coolly began examining the clothing. He found a handsome-down gray suit and changed his clothes. He selected new boots and donned them as well as a white cambric shirt, a black string tie, and a new black hat. He pocketed a fine linen handkerchief.
Next he lighted another cigar, spat into the brass spittoon, and looked upon life with favor. On his right as he turned to leave the store was a long rack of rifles, shotguns and pistols. Thoughtfully, he studied them. In his day-that was thirty years or so ago-he had been a sharpshooter in the Army. He got down a Winchester ‘73, an excellent weapon, and loaded it with seventeen bullets. He appropriated a fine pair of Colts, loaded them, and belted them on, filling the loops with cartridges. Taking down a shotgun, he loaded both barrels with buckshot, then he sauntered down to the saloon, rummaged under the bar until he came up with Dennis Magoon’s excellent Irish whisky, and poured three fingers into a glass.
Admiring the brown, beautiful color, the somber amber, as he liked to call it, he studied the sunlight through the glass, then tasted it. Ah! Now that was something like it! There was a taste of bog in that! He tossed off his drink, then refilled his glass. The town was his;-the whole town-full of whisky, food, clothing-almost everything a man could want. But why? Were was everybody? Thoughtfully, he walked outside. The silence held sway. A lonely dust devil danced on the prairie outside of town, and the sun was warm. At the edge of town he looked out over the prairie toward the mountains. Nothing met his eye save a vast, unbelievable stretch of grassy plain.
His eyes dropped to the dust and with a kind of shock he remembered that he could read sign. Here were the tracks of a half-dozen rigs, buckboards, wagons and carts. From the horse tracks all were headed the same direction-east. He scowled and, turning thoughtfully, he walked back to the livery barn. Not a horse remained. Bits of harness were dropped on the ground-a spare saddle. Everything showed evide
nce of a sudden and hasty departure.
An hour later, having made the rounds, Finn McGraw returned to the saloon. He poured another glass of the Irish, lighted another Havana, but now he had a problem. The people of the town had not vanished into thin air, they had made a sudden, frightened, panic-stricken rush to get away from the place. That implied there was, in the town itself, some evil. Finn McGraw tasted the whisky and looked over his shoulder uncomfortably. He tiptoed to the door, looked one way, then suddenly the other way. Nothing unusual met his gaze. He tasted his whisky again and then, crawling from the dusty and cobwebbed convolutions of his brain, long befuddled by alcohol, came realization.
Indians! He remembered some talk the night before while he was trying to bum a drink. The Ladder Five ranch had been raided and the hands had been murdered. Victorio was on the warpath, burning, killing, maiming. Apaches! The Fort was east of here! Some message must have come, some word, and the inhabitants had fled like sheep and left him behind. Like a breath of icy air he realized that he was alone in the town, there was no means of escape, no place to hide. And the Apaches were coming!
Thrusting the bottle of Irish into his pocket, Finn McGraw made a break for the door. Outside, he rushed down to the Elite General Store. This building was of stone, low and squat, and built for defense, as it had been a trading post and stage station before the town grew up around it. Hastily, he took stock. Moving flour barrels, he rolled them to the door to block it. Atop the barrels he placed sacks, bales and boxes. He barred the heavy back door, then blocked the windows. In the center of the floor he built a circular parapet of more sacks and barrels for a last defense.
He got down an armful of shotguns and proceeded to load ten of them. These he scattered around at various loopholes, with a stack of shells by each. Then he loaded several rifles. Three Spencer .66’s a Sharps .50 and seven Winchester ‘73’s. He loaded a dozen of the Colts and opened boxes of ammunition. Then he lighted another Havana and settled down to wait.
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