Fair Blows the Wind

by Louis L'Amour

  Guadalupe was no more sleepy than I, so we sat together listening to the sounds of the night and watching the stars.

  “Where was your home?” she asked. “I mean, when you were very young?”

  I told her, choosing my words with care, and without naming places, of my boyhood. I told her what little I remembered of my mother, and of my father and his teaching, of his sharing with me those things he loved, the beauties of the wilder world and the love of learning and of pleasure in the word.

  “You loved it, and yet you left?”

  “My father was killed, part of my home was in flames. Whether it was the house or the stables, I know not. I escaped, and they pursued.”

  “But you did get away.”

  “That I did, but only because my father had expected that day and had taught me well. Each possible route we might take, and what I must do if alone, where I must go.”

  “If you go back will they know you?”

  “I think not. The name I shall use now is another name, and I shall return to the place from England. A few about may know the look of me, but the ones who know will never speak. There I shall go, and there I shall live.”

  She sat close to me in the darkness and told me of her Andes mountains, and of the far land beyond those mountains where she had lived, but she, too, mentioned no names. And it pleased me that she was wary, although she had others to protect, and I did not.

  At last she went away to lie near Conchita and to sleep. And I slept, too, awakening, shivering, in the first chill moments before the dawning.

  Turley was awake also and he brought the canoe around. A dugout canoe it was, but good enough. We loaded into it what we required and pushed off. There was a soft rain falling and no great visibility, which was helpful in avoiding our enemies—or would be, if they appeared.

  We held close to the southern shore of what was obviously a large sound, a place of only brackish water, affected by the tides and also by the fresh water flowing down from several rivers that rose somewhere far inland.

  Turley sat in the bow, as it was he who knew the way, and Armand held the steering oar, guided by gestures from Turley. I sat amidships, keeping my weapons dry under my blanket…or so I hoped.

  We had been moving an hour before day came, only a vague graying of the mist about us. We glided through the still water like a ghost boat, shielded or at least screened by the mistlike rain.

  We had far to go. We crept from the swamp into open water, holding up for just a minute close against a wall of reeds to study the sound. All was still. We could see less than a hundred yards. Felipe and I now took up our paddles and the canoe moved forward, gaining speed. Water dripped from our paddles when we lifted them.

  A huge old snag lifted suddenly from the water like the head of some primeval monster, and Turley’s gestures guided us around it. Ahead there were patches of outlying reeds and we went between them.

  We saw nothing, heard nothing but the occasional lonely cry of some gull overhead. The sky above was clearing. The rain ceased. Yet suddenly the sky was darkened again, and looking up, we saw an immense cloud of birds.

  Turley looked around at me. “Passenger pigeons,” he said. “The savages kill them for their oil. Knock ’em down with a long pole when they are roosting. I’ve seen ’em killed by the thousands. Good eatin’, too.”

  “Turn in toward the shore,” I said, “toward that lightning-struck pine.”

  We eased in toward shore. Stepping off to a log which lay half-in, half-out of the water, I told them, “I’ll not be long!”

  Swiftly I moved, holding to solid ground when I could find it until I was safely among the trees, mostly cypress and swamp gum mingled with a few pines. Walking the log again, I got back to the narrow, sandy islet where my boat had been hidden.

  It was still there! A hasty check showed me that nothing had been changed. Taking in the painter, I shoved off with an oar, pushing the boat back out of the narrow waterway in which it had been snugged down.

  Once clear of the islet I settled the oars in place and pulled strongly, with a glance over my shoulder from time to time to maintain the proper heading.

  Yet for all of that it was nearly an hour until I came alongside the canoe. The boxes were covered by a tarpaulin brought from the ship.

  Despite the heavy load the boat carried there was plenty of room for the others. Silliman Turley got out and with Felipe’s help got the canoe ashore and turned bottom-up.

  There was no sign of the big man or his followers, no evidence of Don Diego or Don Manuel. Yet I doubted I had seen the last of them and was eager to be away.

  Once in the boat we wasted no time but hoisted our sail and moved off. Guadalupe came aft to sit by me in the stern where I held the tiller.

  She indicated the tarp-covered mound in the boat’s center. “What is it there?”

  “Some food from the San Juan de Dios, some of my things and some of yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “I was aboard the ship. I found some of your clothing so I bundled it up to bring to you.”

  “May I have it?”

  “Not yet. I don’t want to loosen that tarp, and the less moving around we do, the better.”

  A thought came to me. “Turley? There’s several muskets under that canvas. They’d better be checked, but I left them charged. There’s powder and shot there, too.”

  He dug under the canvas and got out the muskets. He looked them over with satisfaction. “All shipshape, Cap’n!” His eyes swept the horizon. Nothing in sight but the distant shore. “Where we headin’ for?”

  “South by a little west, right down the sound. There’s an inlet runs through the bank there into a little cove behind Cape Lookout. That’s where we’re going.”

  After a bit I said, “It’s a chance we have to take. The Good Catherine should be beating back up the coast by now. The skipper told me he sometimes used that cove to lie up in. Anyway, it’s our best chance of sighting him.”

  Turley was quiet for a moment. “What we don’t know was where the pirate ship is—if they are pirates.”

  The clouds were low and the wind held fair. Off to our left now we could see the long yellow line of the inner side of the bank that broke the force of the sea. It was a long, narrow island stretching away for how many miles I knew not, but fifty or sixty miles of which I knew. The Atlantic side was straight and smooth, offering no inlets, no passages for most of its length. On the inner side facing toward the sound, the shore of the bank was broken by many small, sandy islets and shoals.

  An hour passed. I glanced at the sky. Only clouds, broken here and there now, showing patches of blue. We could not see the Atlantic across the dunes of the outer banks. Had a ship been there we would have missed it.

  “Who were those men?” I asked suddenly, of Guadalupe. “How did they come upon you?”

  “I know not. Suddenly they were all about us, and we had no chance. Yet they seemed to know who we were and where we had come from, and they addressed both Don Diego and Don Manuel by name. They said Don Manuel had a ship soon to be here.”

  “Aye, I heard them speak of that. The San Juan de Dios was never in danger of sinking. She had only made water, I do not know how, and somehow they managed to frighten Don Diego.”

  “He knows nothing of the sea. He is much thought of as an administrator, but he has crossed the sea but once and knows it not.”

  She watched the sea for a moment, then said, “There was one among them…not much older than you, I think, who seemed a not bad man. He would have helped us had he been able, and I believe he intended to. He said their captain was interested only in money…and power. They were all Englishmen, I believe.”

  The wind seemed to be picking up. I eased the tiller to bring us a little closer to the outer island. On the chart I had been shown the cove behind Cape Look
out and the narrow inlet that led to it from the sound. Turley glanced at the sky, and then at me. The clouds were building up and the southeastern sky had a yellow look that I did not like.

  Turley and Armand were taking in sail. Suddenly Turley seemed to stop all movement, looking back over my head. “Sail, ho!” he yelled then.

  Turning, I looked aft. A pinnace by the look of her, three masts, and a good ship under sail. She was crowding on all canvas, trying to overtake us.

  Obviously she had come from behind one of the shore-side islands and was no more than a half-mile off and closing fast.

  Another glance shoreward told me we were coming up to the coastal banks and fast…but none too fast. Yet the pinnace drew more water than we and would not dare, or so I hoped, follow us much further.

  Guadalupe leaned closer to me. “Tatton,” it was the first time she had called me that, “don’t let them take me. Those men…the way they looked at me and talked about me. I’d rather die.”

  “I won’t,” I replied grimly. “I’ll see them all in hell first.”

  My words were brave but the pinnace was coming on swiftly. When I glanced at them again they seemed to be making ready with a bow gun.

  Yellow was the sand on the long isle eastward, yellow under the dull gray sky where the winds lurked. There was a distant flash of lightning and a roll of thunder, and I could hear the beat of the waves upon the outer shore. Salt spray spattered my face and from behind me I heard a dull boom that was not thunder, and then a whishing from overhead and a shot plunged into the sea some twenty yards beyond us—too close to give me pleasure.

  An island, a small, sandy cay, loomed on our right. We slid behind it, with the outer bank closing on our left. I glanced back. The pinnace was coming on, although under shortened sail. There was a shoreline ahead of us too, not much more than a mile away. The pinnace fired again, but again the shot passed overhead.

  “We will need the muskets,” I said to Turley. He nodded. He had shortened sail because of the wind. Now, sheltered by the islands, he raised the sail again and we moved more swiftly. The gun boomed again, and again it was a miss, but closer, much closer.

  “Cap’n?” Turley said.

  I glanced around. The pinnace was hove to and lowering a boat. Men were getting into it.

  Guadalupe said quietly, “I can fight, Tatton, and I can shoot. And I’d not mind shooting any of them, for they are a bad lot…except for Tosti, that is.”

  Something within me stopped cold. “Who?” I said.

  “Tosti,” she replied. “Tosti Padget.”

  CHAPTER 31

  THAT ONE WHO had been lying on the ground! No wonder he had seemed familiar! Tosti Padget here, and a pirate! Yet, why not? He had been drifting, at loose ends, with no destination in view. Yet, how had he come to this?

  The wind had fallen, for we had glided into that narrow channel that led into the cove, and the sandbanks and trees on either side cut the force of the wind. Armand and Felipe were bending to the oars, but ours was a lost cause. Glancing back, I saw the ship’s boat clearing the side of the pinnace with at least a dozen rowers.

  Again I looked ahead. Turley was rowing also, but with a musket by his side. I recovered my own from beneath the tarp and looked to its charging. Then the pistols.

  The wind touched my cheek, but it barely filled the canvas, helping us not enough. Mentally, I made the calculation, and if my judgment was correct we would reach the cove on the other side just about the time they came up with us.

  Yet what had I to expect at that haven which we sought so desperately? Exactly nothing.

  Ships used it for shelter from the storms, and one such seemed to be building, for the clouds were swelling into great masses off to the southeast, and the wind blew in fitful, spiteful gusts. The Good Catherine had used this place…but that she would be there was unlikely, or that she would take part in a fight that seemed to have nothing to do with her. Unfortunately, I had been given up for dead long since.

  “Guadalupe,” I said, “can you steer a boat?”

  “I often have.”

  “Here, then. I think some shooting is in order.”

  If the wars had taught me anything it was something of muskets. Beyond a hundred yards their aim was a chancy thing, yet it was worth a gamble, and with a little elevation…

  Putting my back against the boxes covered with the tarpaulin and settling myself down, I lifted the musket. “Lie down!” I told her.

  She did as she was bade, as did Conchita, and I took a careful sight, then touched off my shot, tilting the gun to get proper elevation. I had no great confidence in the weapon, but my shot landed among them—although with what damage I knew not. Yet they fell off for a moment, and seemed none too anxious to provide me with a second chance.

  My second was a clear miss, yet not by much, for it hit the gunwale and bounced off into the sea. Shooting at such a distance was unheard of, yet I had noticed the balls carried further than expected although without accuracy. I deduced that given proper elevation, a ball would drop among them.

  The pinnace itself was now coming, slowly, taking soundings as it came.

  Suddenly we emerged into the cove, and wonder of wonders, a ship lay there at anchor.

  It was the Good Catherine!

  I stood up and whooped loud, waving my hat vigorously. But although somebody seemed to be watching us through a glass, I doubted they could see much. Spyglasses were found on some ships now, but few were of much value.

  Turley shook loose the sail and we made for the Good Catherine. Heavy-laden as we were, we made but slow time and the boat from the pinnace closed in swiftly.

  It was Guadalupe who got off the next shot, and it struck matchwood from the gunwale. Turley rested his musket on the tarp-covered cases and fired. His shot also scored. We saw one man drop his oar and rise up, and my ball took another.

  The boat swung off and we saw the big man rise up, sword in hand, gesturing at the others. More afraid of him than of us, they set to work, but we had gained a little as we had our sail and they had none.

  Suddenly there was a shout from Felipe. He was pointing, for the pinnace had cleared the inlet and was coming straight for us.

  “Can you swim?” I asked Guadalupe. “If you can, you and Conchita head for the Good Catherine. Tell the captain you’re friends of mine and he will stand by you.”

  She looked at me for a long moment. “And you?”

  “We will keep them busy,” I said. “I got these lads into this and I’ll not see them suffer alone.”

  By then I’d recharged my musket. Armand and Felipe had taken up theirs. “Take turns,” I advised. “Don’t let them catch us with an empty gun.”

  We were still moving, and now there seemed to be action aboard the Good Catherine. Armand fired toward the boat and missed; Felipe did not. His shot was well aimed but the boat was drawing closer. His ball hit the man at the tiller, for he had gotten a good shot. The man leaped to his feet, clawing at his chest, then tumbled into the water. The boat swung wide and lost distance.

  The Good Catherine was moving now, moving to cut off the pinnace. Suddenly a gun boomed and we saw a round-shot skip the waves across the bow of the pinnace. The pinnace promptly replied, and the master of the Good Catherine proved himself. He let go a broadside of four well-aimed guns. The first holed the pinnace a point abaft the beam, and just above the waterline. Another shot smashed the bowsprit and brought down the forestay.

  What happened to the other two shots I never knew for at that moment their boat came alongside ours. Turley fired into the boat, as I did. Then, grasping my two pistols, I fired again, once with each.

  “Tosti!” I yelled. “You’re on the wrong side!”

  He leaped to his feet, staring at me, and then the big man lunged from the stern of the boat and I was staring into the eyes of Rafe
Leckenbie!

  A shout from the pinnace tore his eyes from me. She was bearing down upon us, not answering to her whipstaff, for he who manned it must have been killed.

  The Catherine was also coming up fast. Sheathing my blade, I ran forward to throw her a line. The pinnace, running blind, sheared into Leckenbie’s boat and ran it down just as my line was taken by the Catherine.

  For a time all was confusion. Leckenbie’s men were swarming aboard the damaged pinnace as his longboat sank. Not sixty feet away Guadalupe and Conchita were being helped aboard the Catherine.

  Armand and Felipe came to help me lash lines around the boxes. One after another they were hoisted aboard, and at last I stood on the deck.

  Gesturing to the boxes, I said, “Take them below. To my cabin.”

  A glance toward the pinnace showed the

  apart. The pinnace was damaged, but nothing beyond repair.

  Leckenbie was aboard there. Rafe Leckenbie, of all people! I stared after his boat with almost a hunger in my heart. Never had I wanted so much to fight a man, to meet him face to face. Had he been the man who led the attack on my father’s house, I could have been no more eager.

  Would this be our last meeting? Knowing the man, I knew it would not. He was never one to give up. I knew that from our first meeting he had meant to kill me, and not for an instant had the thought left his mind.

  Nor mine….

  Was it that I doubted myself? Was it because he had made me feel fear, knowing the closeness of death? There was a savage hunger in me, a hot desire to cross blades with him, to end once and for all what lay between us.

  For with him alive, I would never know peace. Always I must be on guard, certain that he would strike at me in the way I could be most hurt. For Leckenbie, to kill was never enough. He enjoyed making other men suffer.

  And now I was vulnerable, for now I loved…

  Yes…in that moment I admitted it. For the first time I confessed it to myself. For better or worse I loved Guadalupe Romana.

  Not the Irish girl of my dreams, but a lass from the high Andes, a girl of another blood, another way of life. She I loved.