“There has been much moving about. Every day people have left for Monterey or San José, and of course for Yerba Buena. Half the people who have come here have gone on. Why, even among the first settlers, three families were sent back as useless to themselves or the town. Another, an Indian from Mexico, simply ran off. There are many such stories.”
“Of course.” Captain Laurel got to his feet. “You will eat with us? Meghan will be back soon, and I know she would enjoy seeing you.”
“I’d be pleased.” I stared into the chocolate. What was he trying to tell me? That Don Federico was my enemy, and was dangerous? I could accept that. He had been among those who pursued my father into the desert.
“It does not matter,” I said. “I want nothing from my grandfather.”
“Do not be hasty. What you may not want, others may need.”
Now, what did that mean?
“You have sailed in Chinese waters?” I asked. “I have heard of a system of self-defense known to the Chinese. I’d like to learn it.”
He smiled. “It might take years. And you would have to decide what it was you wished to learn, for each country has its own system, almost every province in Japan or China, in fact, almost every city has its own system. Some vary but little, some very much indeed.
“Chi’in-na is one of the best, for if one attack fails, another is ready to follow. Tai-chi, kendo…you can choose what system you like.
“However, if you are serious, I have just the teacher for you. He is the boatswain on the Queen Bess, my ship.”
“I heard of a Chinese who lives here. Lives over against the mountain somewhere.”
Laurel smiled. “I know him, but he will teach no one, and he is not a Chinese, although he comes from what is part of China. He comes from Khotan.”
“Khotan?”
“It is far west, in Turkestan, against the Kunlun Mountains. It is on the way to India. Long ago it was a center of Buddhist culture.”
“I remember, I think. I believe Marco Polo was there. It is on the old Silk Road that led from China to the Mediterranean.”
“The Silk Road branched at Khotan, to Syria, and over the mountains to India. It was a pilgrim’s road, also, for the Chinese Buddhists who went to India to learn.”
“I should like to know that man.”
“He will teach no one. He has found a place he loves, and he lives there. He lives alone, I believe.”
The evening had come, and shadows were falling. The Indian woman came in and lighted the lamps. Their light was uncommonly bright, and I commented on it.
“It is an oil from petroleum. The Chinese have been using it for centuries.”
He changed the subject, and we talked of ships and men, of the far sea and of strange foreign ports whose names were music. Some of them I remembered from my father; many were strange to me. Others I remembered from stories I’d read.
A door opened at the far side of the room and Meghan came into the room. Instantly I was on my feet. She was even more lovely than I had remembered.
She came to me, holding out both hands. “Johannes! It is so good to see you!”
She was no longer a little girl, but a young lady, and if she had confused me before, I was even more confused now.
“You will have supper with us? Do you remember Kelda? She is coming over, I think, and Philo Burns as well.”
“And Rad Huber?”
“No, not Rad Huber. I am afraid he has found friends in other quarters. I have seen him on the street a few times.” She glanced at me. “He’s very big, you know. And very strong.”
The comment irritated me. I was pretty strong myself.
Kelda O’Brien came in with Philo Burns. She still had a few freckles over her nose, with deep blue eyes and black hair. Philo had changed but little except to grow older. He was an erect, handsome young man, looking very polished and at ease. “I am the Los Angeles representative for the Adelsdorfer Company, and through them for the Hamburg-Bremen Company.”
I knew enough to know that Adelsdorfer was an importer and the Hamburg-Bremen Company insured ships’ cargoes.
“You’ve a good job, then,” I said.
“I like it, and there’s a future in it, I believe.” He glanced at me, smiling suddenly. “Have you seen old Fraser? He’s hardly changed, and he’s finally finished his book. He’s written some things that were published in London, and I believe in Germany, as well.”
Fraser had finished his book, Burns had an assured future, but what about me? Where did I stand? What was I?
CHAPTER 38
Excusing myself, I went out into the night. I led my horse to the zanja for water and then tied him at the corral with a bit of hay. For a few minutes then I stood beside the dapple, idly scratching under his mane. The night was cool, the stars very bright.
Don Federico? I could scarcely place the man, although I had seen him about town and no doubt he knew me. It was hard to think of a man whom I did not know as an enemy.
Captain Laurel’s story of the sudden treacherous attack on the other boy had been intended as a warning. Obviously he wished to place me on guard against such a surprise attack.
The idea of inheriting from my grandfather had never occurred to me, nor was it likely. A man who hated so much would take no chances on such an inheritance falling to one he hated.
How much of what had happened had been due to Don Isidro, and how much to Don Federico? When I was abandoned in the desert, he had accompanied my grandfather. He had been younger than my father and was still a relatively young man, and strikingly handsome.
A door closed, and turning, I saw Meghan on the step. When I started toward her, she came to meet me.
“You were gone so long, I was beginning to wonder what had happened.”
“I watered my horse and then got to wondering. It’s not easy to believe a man I do not know might wish to kill me.”
“I know. My father has been worried that you might be attacked without warning. He is concerned about you.” She paused, then added, “You see, your other grandfather, the one who was a ship’s captain, taught my father navigation, helped him to his first command. There was a strong bond between them. He feels almost as if you were one of the family.”
Without thinking, I said, “I wish I were!”
Teasingly she said, “I wouldn’t know how to act toward a brother.”
“I wasn’t thinking of being a brother,” I said.
“We’d better go in. Respectable young ladies do not talk to gentlemen when unchaperoned.”
We walked back to the porch, not talking, and the evening passed quietly with casual conversation with Philo Burns, a few words with Kelda, and at the last, with Captain Laurel again. “If you are serious about learning,” he said, “I’ll have my boatswain up from the port. There’s much to do aboard ship, but the mates can handle it.” He paused. “We do not have much time, so you will have to work hard. I will suggest he dispense with the formalities. Formalities and ritual are very important to the Far Eastern peoples, you know.”
So it began. For the next six weeks I worked with Liu Ch’ang six to seven hours a day. Liu Ch’ang was a big man, enormously strong, and agile as a monkey. He was from somewhere in northern China and had trained from childhood. He spoke but little English, a few words of Spanish, and he taught me some Chinese as we worked.
Wrestling for sport was not considered. My purpose was to defend myself and to retaliate as swiftly and brutally as possible. There was no time to learn any system of self-defense completely. That would come later. What I wanted now were a few throws and blows to be used in an emergency, and to practice these until their use became as natural as the act of swallowing.
Occasionally when Liu Ch’ang was busy with other things, I rode to the corral and worked with Monte McCalla at breaking horses. Often Jacob w
as there as well.
The black stallion now came to the bars looking for me. He shied from my hand but accepted a piece of bread. So far, I had found but two horses that I would keep for myself, the dark dapple-gray and the bay with black mane and tail. How fast either horse might be, I did not know, but both had stamina, and both were smart, quick to learn, and very quick in their movements.
“Watch that stallion,” Monte warned. “He’s ready to go at the slightest chance. One of these days he’s going to try it, and I just hope I’m not in the way when he starts!”
* * *
Change was in the air, and no amount of concentration on one’s personal affairs could prevent one from realizing it.
Miss Nesselrode was crocheting when I entered the shop. “Johannes! I see very little of you these days.”
“We’ve some fine horses out there, ma’am. Monte’s working them hard, and he’s got about three dozen as good roping horses as a man could want.
“We’ve picked out some others, paired them up for teams. We’ve been working them together, getting them used to each other.”
“We’ll need them, Johannes. There’s a man on the other side of town who has started building wagons. It will take time to make the change, and the Californios may want to stay with their carretas. I am depending on the easterners to want wagons, and later, buggies.”
Glancing over the new books that had come in, I looked across the street and saw a tall man in a dark tailored suit. He was just standing there, apparently reading a newspaper, but he was watching the shop, too.
“Ma’am? Do you know that man?”
She glanced up at me, then followed my gaze to the street. After a moment she said, “I am not sure, Johannes. He does look familiar.”
Several vaqueros rode by; then a carreta passed. When I looked again, he was gone. Miss Nesselrode put down her pen, placed her palms flat on the desk as if she was about to rise, then relaxed. She was disturbed.
“Someday,” she said, “we must have a talk.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
She flashed a quick smile. “No, Johannes, but I may need some advice.”
“Advice? From me? If there is anything I can do…?”
“I value your judgment, Johannes. I have no one else to turn to.”
“Whatever I can do. You have only to ask.”
Yet I was puzzled. She had always seemed so thoroughly in command of herself, so self-sufficient. I looked again at the street. The well-dressed man was gone.
Who was he? Was it he who had triggered that comment by Miss Nesselrode? Or was it merely a coincidence?
For that matter, the very question of who Miss Nesselrode was still left me with a sense of guilt. What, after all, did I know of her? What did anyone know? As far as I was concerned, her life began when she appeared for our ride west in Farley’s wagon.
Who was she? What had she left behind? To all appearances she was a lady. Obviously she had education. Of her intelligence there could be no doubt, but where had she come from?
Fletcher had been suspicious, yet he was suspicious of everyone. As with many a dishonest man, he suspected everyone of duplicity.
* * *
Our horses were held in a series of corrals near a spring at the edge of the mountains. There was a small grove of sycamores and oak nearby that offered shade, and the water was good. It was far enough up the side of the mountains to offer a good view of the wide-open country, below which was grasslands and ciénaga, dotted with clumps of trees, some of them quite extensive. On a clear day we could actually make out riders or carretas along the old Indian trail from Santa Monica Bay to Los Angeles, the same trail that led to and past the pits of brea.
Francisco and his Cahuillas had taken their cattle and the rest of their payment and returned to their own country, far away on the desert’s edge.
Jacob Finney came up to the fire in the coolness of the morning, stepping down from his horse and trailing the reins. He extended his hard brown hands to the fire’s warmth. “I don’t like it, Johannes. We need more men, good men. Coming in from the La Brea Ranch, I saw tracks, fresh horse tracks coming this way.”
Monte looked up at him from where he squatted, cup in hand. “How fresh?”
“Last night. Maybe sundown or after. They were scouting us.” He reached for a cigar from his breast pocket. “I think they’re holed up down there near the old Anza spring, eight to ten of them.”
“Stearns and Wilson have both lost horses,” Monte said. “Stearns thinks it’s some outfit from over on the Mohave River.”
“Kelso should be back in town tomorrow,” Jacob said. “He’s been up to Santa Barbara for Miss Nesselrode.”
“The Yorbas have lost both cattle and horses,” I said. “They think it was some of the old Jack Powers outfit.”
“He lit out,” Jacob said. “Powers, I mean. He went down to Baja just ahead of a posse with a hangin’ noose.”
“I can stay around,” I said. “We’ve put in too much hard work on these horses to lose them.”
“How you comin’ with that stallion of yours?” Jacob asked.
I shrugged. “He’ll take bread or a carrot from my fingers, but if I go to put a hand on him, he shies away.”
“Be careful. You can’t trust a stallion.”
“Odd about people’s notions of riding,” I said. “Most Americans will only ride geldings. I’m talking about working riders. The Spanish conquistadors favored stallions, and the Arabs, I hear, favored mares.”
Jacob took up the reins and led his horse to the corral, where he tied the reins. “You know the Yorbas,” he said to me. “Did Raymundo tell you anything about that bunch of horses they took back from outlaws over at Tujunga Canyon? A couple of hundred of them, somebody said.”
“Hundred and fifty, the way Raymundo tells it. Mexican and American outlaws. Maybe some of that same bunch we ran into over near the Grapevine.”
Jacob dropped to his heels by the fire. “Monte? You know those folks over at El Monte? Why don’t you take some time off and ride over there? If you can find three or four good hands, hire them.”
“They’re a tough lot of Texas boys, but they’re good hands, too.”
“That’s what we want, isn’t it?” Jacob smiled slyly. “Although with Johannes takin’ all those fightin’ lessons, we may not need anybody else. He should handle four, maybe five all to onct.”
“Give me time,” I said. “Somebody has to protect you boys from the boogers.”
Sunshine lay along the slopes, and from Los Angeles a few thin trails of smoke pointed fingers at the clouds. Where we sat under the sycamores, sunlight and shadow dappled the earth.
“It has to change,” I commented, “yet I wish it were not so. This is my kind of country. This”—and I waved a hand toward the distant hills—“and what we saw out there. Maybe I’ll go to horse ranching. There’s nothing prettier than a bunch of colts playing in a meadow.”
“It’s a livin’,” Monte said. He looked from me to Jacob. “You really want me to ride over to El Monte?”
“We do. But don’t waste around. You’ll miss all the fightin’ if you do, and Johannes will have all the fun.”
Monte walked to the corral and took his rope from where his saddle lay. He went into the corral and roped a mouse-colored mustang with three white stockings. He led it out and saddled up. We sat by the fire, watching while slow smoke drifted up from the dying coals.
“You serious about that?” Jacob asked. “Horse ranching, I mean?”
“I am. At least it is something I can do until I find my way. My trouble is the wild country, and there’s no money in trapping anymore. Prospecting…well, I don’t know. Since they’ve found gold up north, everybody is hunting it.”
“Is it the gold? Or is it the country?”
With
a small stick I poked at the coals. “The country, I guess. There’s something out there, something I’ve got to find. I feel sometimes like I’d lost something out there, but I don’t know what it is.”
He got up, dusted off his pants, and looked around at me. “Will you be all right here? Monte’s ridin’ in, and I think I’ll go along and see Miss Nesselrode. I can make it back before sundown.”
“Go ahead, I’ll be all right.”
When he had gone I walked over to the corral and talked to the stallion. He had to have a name, but what would it be? Standing near the corral, I let my eyes slowly sweep the country to the south, east, and west. North and west, the mountains were close, and the timber was thicker but rarely dense. A few vague trails reached toward the canyons.
I stood my rifle near me and against the corral bars, sweeping the country again with careful attention. Many times before I had watched that country down there. The view was unbroken except for the occasional clumps of trees, and I could see anybody approaching from afar.
The trouble was that I could not keep a good watch down toward the Anza spring. From there attackers could hold to low ground and groves, coming around behind me, and there was no need to wait until dark. Many previous raids had been by daylight.
Vásquez was somewhere around, and Joaquin Jim. Joaquin seemed to be a popular name for outlaws for there were at least three by the name. Probably that was why John Rollin Ridge, the Cherokee writer whose Indian name was Yellow Bird, had chosen that for the name of his outlaw. He had written a story for The Police Gazette about an outlaw named Murietta, and many people had come to believe he was a real person.
Pancho Daniel was around, and Juan Flores, both known men, and dangerous. Three-Finger Jack, whom Ridge had attached to the so-called Murietta gang, was actually riding with Vásquez.
Far away I could see the plume of dust that would be Monte and Jacob. Taking up my rifle, I turned toward my fire.
The Lonesome Gods (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 27