Tulane stood for a moment as the intensity of his emotions began to fade, to be replaced by blankness and despair as he remembered Pocket. The boy was dead. It seemed like a long time had passed since he had seen him fall under Spade’s bullet. Feeling heavy and numb, he turned slowly aside and, in a kind of trance, began to drag himself away from the tunnel entrance.
A strange hush seemed to lie over the scene and envelop him as though his ears had been sealed; then, through the silence, a sound began to make itself heard. Gradually it grew, like birdsong, and through the tears which were flowing down his cheeks he saw something move and advance towards him. Suddenly he seemed to come to his senses and he saw that the moving object was just a boy waving his arms and shouting:
‘Mr Tulane! Mr Tulane!’
His heart thumped and something warm flooded his chest. It was Pocket! The boy was not dead but alive! At once laughing and crying, he ran forward to take him in his arms and embrace him.
‘Pocket,’ he stammered. ‘Pocket. Are you sure you’re not hurt? I saw you fall. I thought . . .’
‘I tripped over something trying to get away from that man. I was so pleased when you turned up. I ran out of the cave before he could stop me.’
Tulane took the boy’s hand. ‘We’d better get you away from here,’ he said.
Pocket turned his face up to Tulane’s. ‘But what about Mr Malloy?’ he said. ‘We can’t leave Mr Malloy.’
‘Malloy?’ Tulane was more puzzled than ever. ‘What has Malloy got to do with anythin’?’
Before the boy could reply, Tulane knew that Malloy must be the other person he had seen slumped in the tunnel.
‘You wait here,’ he said. ‘I’ll go see about Malloy.’
He turned to go back but Pocket detained him. ‘Mr Tulane, you’re bleedin’,’ he said.
Tulane looked down. A large red stain had spread across his shirt. He realized for the first time that he had been hit in the side. The bullet he had assumed was aimed at Pocket had been aimed at him. He knew instinctively that it wasn’t a bad wound.
‘It’s nothin’,’ he said.
‘Be careful,’ Pocket said.
Tulane nodded and made his way to the tunnel entrance. Kneeling beside the prostrate figure, he recognized Malloy. He felt for a pulse and found one. Even as he examined the oldster, one eye flickered open.
‘Is that you, Tulane?’ he murmured.
‘You’ve taken a bullet in the leg and your head’s cut. I figure you must have knocked yourself out when you fell.’
‘The boy,’ Malloy said. ‘Where’s the boy?’
‘You mean Pocket? He’s fine. Now just take it easy while I figure a way to get all of us out of here.’
Over a week had gone by. Loman and his men had returned to the Pitchfork L, driving the missing cattle with them. Tulane, Jordan and Pocket had stayed on for a few days while the oldster recovered. Since he was the only person passing as a doctor in town, there was something of a problem till it emerged that Hellawell knew enough medicine to dig out the bullets Malloy and Tulane had taken. Neither of them was badly hurt, although it was likely that Malloy would be left with a limp to go alongside his other ailments. Loman was full of gratitude for the help Tulane and Jordan had provided.
‘Any time you need a job,’ he said to Tulane, ‘there’s one right here. I don’t reckon we’d have come through this without you.’
‘Rockwell should never have been allowed to get as far as he did. What about the law around town?’
Loman smiled. ‘Well, that’s another question altogether,’ he said. ‘Still, one thing’s for sure. Now that Rockwell’s out of the picture, Marshal Keogh won’t be stayin’ long in place. Maybe things will be different when we get somebody who’s up to the job.’
Tulane was silent for a few moments, thinking about the rancher’s offer. ‘You know,’ he concluded. ‘I might just take you up on that.’
When Malloy was fit to be moved, Tulane and Jordan, together with Pocket, made their way back to town. On a balmy evening they all sat around the table at the Sumac guest-house, relaxing and talking after Miss Winona had served them all a slap-up meal.
‘You’re welcome to stay here as long as you like,’ Miss Winona said to Tulane.
‘At reduced rates?’ Jordan joked.
Tulane, observing her, thought he saw a faint blush rise to her cheeks.
‘It’s much appreciated, ma’am,’ he replied. ‘I’d be glad to put up here for a while.’
Pocket looked eagerly from one to the other. ‘It’ll be great havin’ Mr Tulane around,’ he said to all and sundry.
‘Maybe you can teach me that old banjo,’ Tulane remarked.
‘What do you think will become of the mine?’ Jordan said.
Tulane shrugged. ‘I don’t know and I don’t care. I guess someone might have a legal claim. I guess the same goes for the Bar Nothing. Best leave that to the lawyers.’
‘It could be the making of Water Pocket,’ Jordan replied. ‘If there’s gold still left.’
Miss Winona shook her head. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘If it attracts gold seekers, I’m not sure that’s a good thing. I kinda like Water Pocket just the way it is.’
She and Tulane exchanged glances.
‘Me too,’ Tulane said.
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