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Then at the last moment, with darkness closing around, I saw a patch of grass
pressed down and almost yellow, some scattered pine neddles and cones upon
the
grass. Drawing up, I studied the place. Something had been on that spot,
something that was there no longer.
The mark, I saw, had clearly been made by a fallen pine tree, a tree no more
than ten feet high that had been blown down or broken off and had rested
there.
The tree was there, but it was now a few feet over to one side, still
fastened
to the stump by a strip of wood and bark. Somebody had picked up the top end
of
the tree and pulled it to one side, leaving uncovered the place where it had
originally fallen and where it had been lying for at least several weeks.
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Leading the black off the trail, I left it tied, and went over to the tree.
When
I had pulled it aside I found the pack saddles, fully loaded and not more
than a
few feet off the trail the freighters would take. Each saddle held a hundred
and
fifty pounds of gold.
Reaching down, I caught hold of a loaded saddle with each hand and
straightened
my knees. I walked off about fifty feet and paused, resting the saddles, and
then after a moment went on. Twenty minutes or so later I returned and rode
my
horse all around the area, trampling out all the tracks. Then I rode back
into
town and tied my horse to the hitch rail in front of a store, now closed for
the
night.
Carrying those three hundred pounds had been no trick for me, for I'd grown
up
swinging a double-bitted axe, wrestling with a crowd of brothers and cousins,
and then going on to handling freight on a river boat. After that I'd
wrestled
mean broncs and thousand-pound longhorn steers. I guess I'd been born strong,
and anything I could pick up I could carry away ... and often had.
But moving that gold would only help me for a matter of hours. By daylight
there'd be other folks hunting it. However, if a freighter was pulling out
with
a train of wagons, I figured to be along. I'd driven a team a good many
times,
and handled a jerk-line outfit as well.
Standing in the darkness alongside my horse, I checked my gun and my knives,
for
if ever a man was bucking for a fistful of trouble it was me. If there were
freighters about I figured they'd be in Baca's saloon, and it was there I
went.
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The place was already half full of soldiers from the Fort, mingling with
Baca's
dancehall girls, and he had him a plenty of them. Here and there some
tough-looking Mexicans stood around, and they were Baca men, not to be taken
lightly.
Baca's eyes found me as soon as I came in, and they watched me as I worked my
way through the crowd. When I stopped near him I ordered a drink. "Gracias,
Baca," I said. "I found her."
He shrugged. "Bueno. Annie tells me you are a good man."
"One thing, Baca. If any trouble starts around here, I want none with you.
I've
no argument with you, and want no trouble."
"Si, it is understood." He motioned for a glass and poured me a drink. "To
you,
senor, and good fortune." We drank, and then he placed his glass carefully on
the bar. "Noble Bishop is in town. He was asking for you."
"I'm not trying to prove anything, Baca. If he wants me he's got to come
asking."
"Is it about the senorita?"
Better for him to think that than to start wondering. "She's a pretty girl,"
I
said, "and a lady."
"So I am told."
"Frankly," I said, "I'm hunting a job. Something to sort of keep me out of
sight
for a while. Riding or driving a freight team. But not a stage ... nobody
sees a
freighter, but everybody sees a stage driver."
"There is a man in town his name is Ollie Shaddock. He is taking some wagons
out
tonight, picking up more at Las Vegas."
I moved to a table near the wall, where I sat down and waited for Shaddock to
come in. Most times I was a patient man, but now I was impatient, for gold
makes
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a heavy weight on a man's thinking. It worried me that I had not seen Bishop,
or
Sylvie or any of that lot.
When Shaddock came in he was motioned to my table by Baca. I've no doubt Baca
wanted to get shut of me.
Ollie Shaddock was a broad, cheerful man whose blond hair was turning gray.
He
thrust out a hand. "Anybody by the name of Sackett is a friend of mine. I'm
from
Tennessee, too."
"You know Tyrel and them?"
"I brought their ma and younger brothers west. I'm from the Cumberland."
"Me, I'm from Clinch Mountain."
"Good folks over there. I've some kin there. What can I do for you?"
"I want to hire on as a driver, or I'll drive for free. Only I want to be
driving the last wagon when you pull out tonight."
His face sobered. "You tied up with that girl?"
"Sort of. I'll load what she thinks she's going to load. She'll get her share
at
Santa Fe ... only I want to be sure I get mine."
"You're a Sackett. That's enough for me." He motioned for a bottle. "Nolan, I
was the one who started Orrin in politics. In fact, it was because I was
sheriffin' back in Tennessee that the boys come west.
"Tyrel, he wound up their feud with the Higginses by killin' Long Higgins. It
was up to me to arrest him, and he went west to avoid trouble ... me bein' a
friend of the family, and all."
"Well, can you leave me a space for a couple of loaded pack saddles in the
middle of the wagon?"
"Sure enough." Shaddock filled his glass. "You know Tyrel and them?"
"No. Heard tell of them."
By now the place was going full blast and I wanted to get out; besides, I
wanted
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to see if Penelope was all right. That girl worried me. I couldn't figure
whether she was a-fixin' to get me killed or not. Maybe she'd been out in
that
kitchen pourin' coffee ... but she might have been signaling Loomis.
Ollie Shaddock got up after a while and left, telling me where to meet them.
It
was sheer luck that he had turned out to be a friend of the family, and a man
from the Tennessee hills. I'd heard of him before this, but only as being a
man
who operated several strings of freight wagons in New Mexico and Arizona.
After a few minutes I got up, paid what was asked, and eased out of a side
door.
Baca watched me go, no doubt glad to see me leaving. Not that fights were
unusual in Loma Parda, for the town had been the scene of many a bloody
battle,
with many kinds of weapons.
The night was cool and still. Stars hung large in the dark sky, the
cottonwoods
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