Galloway (1970) (3 page)

And, of course, there was the wolf.

Chapter
III

There was a pole corral and two lights shining from square windows in the long, low log building. Galloway Sackett swung from the saddle and stood looking into the window for a full minute before he tied his horse.

It was little enough he could see. The window was fly-specked and dirty, but there was a bar inside, and several men. A half dozen horses stood at the hitching rail.

Four of the horses wore a brand strange to him, a Clover Three ... three figure 3's arranged like a three-leaf clover.

Galloway whipped the dust from his clothes with his hat, then started for the door. A glance at a powerful black horse stopped him. He looked at the brand and whistled softly.

Originally the brand must have been a Clover Three, but now it was a Flower. A reverse 3 had been faced to each of the other 3's, then another set had been added, a stem and tendrils to join the petals to the stem. The job was beautifully done, obviously by a rewrite man who knew his business and enjoyed it.

"That's a man I've got to see," Galloway muttered. "He'd wear a Sherman button to a Georgia picnic!"

He pushed open the door and stepped in, then walked to the bar. As he crossed the floor he saw four men sitting at a table together, obviously the Clover Three men. In a corner not far from the bar sat another man, alone.

He wore a fringed buckskin hunting shirt, under it a blue shirt, obviously either new or fresh. He wore a low-crowned black hat, and was smooth-shaved except for a reddish mustache, neatly trimmed and waxed.

The man in the buckskin shirt wore two pistols, one butt forward, one butt to the rear ... a tricky thing, for a man might draw with either hand or both guns at once. On the table were a bottle of wine, a glass, and a pack of cards.

Aside from the scruffy-looking man behind the bar there were two others in the room, a man in a dirty white shirt with sleeve garters, and a hairy old man in soiled buckskins.

Galloway Sackett, who had as much appreciation for situations as the next man, ordered rye and edged around the corner of the bar so he could watch what was happening ... if anything.

The four riders from the Clover Three looked embarrassed, while the lone man in the buckskin shirt drank his wine calmly, shuffled the cards and laid them out for solitaire, seemingly unconcerned.

Finally one of the Clover Three riders cleared his throat. "Quite a brand you got there, Mister."

Without lifting his eyes from the cards, the other man replied: "You are speaking to me, I presume? Yes, I rather fancy that brand." He glanced up, smiling pleasantly. "Covers yours like a blanket, doesn't it?"

Galloway was astonished, but the four riders only fidgeted, and then the same man said, "The boss wants to talk to you."

"Does he now? Well, you tell him to ride right on in ... if he has any horses left."

"I mean ... he's got a proposition for you. After all, it wasn't him--"

"Of course it wasn't. How could he be expected to account for all the stock on his ranches? You tell your boss to come right on into town. Tell him that I'll be waiting for him. Tell him I've been looking forward to our meeting. Tell him I've been wanting to say hello and goodbye."

"Look, Shadow," the Clover Three man protested, "the boss just doesn't have the time--"

"That's right, Will. Your boss doesn't have the time. In fact he is completely out of time." The man called Shadow placed a card, then glanced up. "You tell Fasten for me that if he will turn his remuda loose, fire his hands and ride off the range with what he can carry on his saddle he can go.

"Otherwise," Shadow added, "I will kill him."

Nobody said anything. Galloway Sackett tasted his rye and waited, as they all waited.

Then Will said, "Aw, give him a chance! You know he can't do that!"

"Fasten robbed a lot of people to build his herd. Some of the cattle were my cattle, some of the cattle had belonged to friends of mine. Some of those people are no longer alive to collect what he owes them, but I intend to see that he does not profit from it. You tell him he's got twenty-four hours ... no longer."

"Look here." One of the punchers started to rise. "You can't get away with that!

You--!"

"Twenty-four hours, gentlemen. You ride out and tell him that. I am through talking." His head turned ever so slightly. "As for you, I would suggest you either sit down or draw a gun. The choice is yours."

He spoke mildly, as one might in a polite conversation, and without stress.

Slowly, carefully, the puncher sat down.

Galloway Sackett tasted his rye again and when the bartender came near he said, "I'm hunting a man who knows the San Juan country."

The bartender shrugged, then indicated Shadow with a gesture of his head. "He knows it, but I wouldn't start any talk about it now. He's got things on his mind."

"I also want a horse--a good horse and a couple of pack horses or mules."

"Talk to him." Then the bartender added, "That's a good country to stay out of.

There's talk of trouble with the Utes, and the Jicarillas been cutting loose up thataway."

The four men at the table got up quietly and went out of the door, walking carefully. Galloway Sackett finished his drink, then walked over to the other man's table.

"Mr. Shadow? I'm Galloway Sackett."

"It is a name not unknown to me. Sit down, will you? What will you have?"

"I'm going to have some coffee and some grub, but what I really want is information. The bartender told me you knew the San Juan country."

"I do."

"About a week ago I ran into a bunch of Jicarillas and they had my brother.

They'd started to work on him. I was alone, but figured if I could create a fuss he'd cut loose on his own. I did, and he did."

"He got away?"

"He surely did. And dropped clean off the world. I hunted for him and they did.

Those Jicarillas weren't about to lose him so they taken in after him. He was stark naked and had his hands tied, but he got away."

"He's dead, then."

"Not Flagan. We Sacketts don't die easy, and Flagan is a tough man. He's been up the creek and over the mountain. He's fit Comanches and Arapahoes on the buffalo plains, and about ever' kind of man or animal. He's a tough man."

"That San Juan country is tough. It's the most beautiful country in the world, but about two-thirds of it stands on end."

Shadow paused, waiting while the bartender placed coffee and food on the table.

Then he asked, "What do you want me to do?"

"Tell me about it. How the streams run, the best ways to get through the mountains, where I'm liable to run into Indians. I'm going in after him."

"You're bucking a stacked deck, my friend. You'll need an outfit."

"That's another thing. The bartender said you had horses. I need a spare for Flagan to ride when I find him, and I'll need a couple of pack horses for grub and the like."

Shadow took a thin cigar from his pocket and lighted it. He studied the end of it for a moment, then said, "If I didn't have some business to attend to, I'd go with you."

"Twenty-four hours, you gave him. Do you think he'll move?"

"Yes."

Galloway glanced at Shadow thoughtfully. "He must know you, this Fasten gent."

"He knows me. He stole cattle and killed men in the Mimbres country. He wiped out a lot of us, then pulled out and drove the cattle clear out of the country.

I took in after him."

"I lost the trail, then found it again. Meanwhile he'd settled down here, hired a bunch of reasonably honest hands, and then he cooked up that Clover Three brand. Guess he had an idea it couldn't be blotted, so I did it, just as a challenge. So he sent a hired man after me, but I remembered the man from Texas, and he did not remember me."

"How'd that happen?"

Shadow shrugged. "I was a teacher at Waco University. Our paths did not cross in a way he would notice."

"You were a teacher?"

He shrugged. "One does what one can. I needed the job, they needed the teacher.

In fact, they wanted me to stay on, but the pay was small and I was restless. I had come to America to hunt for gold."

He glanced at Galloway again. "Are you related to Orrin Sackett?"

"He's kin."

"He defended me in a shooting case. My first one, in fact. It was a little matter of a horse. My horse was stolen. I hunted the man down and he drew a pistol and I shot him. Someone advised me to hire Orrin Sackett and I did ... fortunately."

They finished their coffee, talked idly of various things, and then Shadow stood up. "I have a cabin down the road apiece. If you'd like you may join me. There's an empty bunk, and you're welcome."

The cabin was small but comfortable. There were Navajo rugs on the floors, curtains at the windows, and a couple of dozen books.

"I envy you the books," Galloway said. "School was a rare time thing for us.

Mostly it was Ma teaching us from the Bible, and she read a couple of stories to us written by Walter Scott. Flagan an' me, we got our learning in the woods with our Winchesters."

"Your brother is a woodsman? Not just a cowhand?"

"We grew up in the Cumberland country. We learned from the Cherokees. Given a chance Flagan could get along most anywhere."

"Then he might make it. He might just be alive."

It was the first time he had slept in a bed in weeks, but Galloway slept well, and awakened with the sun. Shadow was already outside but a minute or two later he came in.

"I just had word. Fasten left the country. I've started some men rounding up my cattle, and the others."

Galloway Sackett dressed. Somewhere in the country far to the north and east his brother was either dead or fighting for his very existence. Somehow he must find him. The night before, Shadow had carefully outlined the lay of the country, how the rivers ran, the Animas, the Florida, and the La Plata, and Galloway, knowing his brother's mind as he knew his own, was trying to figure out what Flagan would have done when he got away.

He would have headed for the mountains, and the first trail he'd found had pointed north. It was Flagan's trail, but that of the Apaches following him as well.

Flagan would head into the hills, try and find some place to hole up. He would need some clothes, and he would need shelter and food. In the mountains, with luck, he could find what he needed.

"Sackett?" Shadow called from the door. "Get your gear together. I've saddled our horses and we're packed for the trip."

"We?"

"I'm going with you."

Chapter
IV

For a week I rested beside the creek, keeping hidden when possible. I treated my feet alternately with the salve I had made and leaves of the Datura, and the soles began to heal.

Twice I snared rabbits, once I knocked down a sage hen. There were yampa roots, Indian potatoes, and I found a rat's nest containing nearly a bushel of hazelnuts. The fare was scant but I was making out.

By the end of the week I'd completed a bow and some arrows, and had killed a deer. With the piece of elk hide, softened by its burial in the earth, I made moccasins. Marking out the soles by tracing my feet with charcoal, I then cut out an oval as long as my two feet, cut it in half, and in the middle of each squared-off end I cut a slit long enough for my foot to get into, then cut another slit to make a T. I now had the upper for each moccasin and using a thorn for an awl I punched holes to sew the uppers to the soles. Finally I punched holes along each side of the slit to take a drawstring.

One of the first things I'd done was to make a shelter hidden well back in a clump of willows. Crawling back into the middle of the thickest clump I could find, I cut off some brush, enough to make a sleeping space. Then I drew the willows together overhead and tied them, allowing others to stand up to mask what I had done.

This wasn't a shelter I built all at once. First I had just crawled among the willows to sleep where I'd not be easily found, then I widened it for more room, and the willows I cut I wove in overhead and around the sides to make it snugger and warmer. After a week of work the tunnel was six feet long and masked by tying two growing willows a little closer together once I was inside.

Twice I saw deer just too far off to risk a shot. The one buckskin I had was not enough to make a shot.

Living in such a way leaves no time for rest. Between the two slopes, the stream, and the narrow bottom of the canyon, I made out. Several times I caught fish, never large enough, and found clumps of sego lily and ate the bulbs.

Gradually over that week the stiffness and soreness began to leave my muscles and my feet began to heal.

Yet I was facing the same thing that faced every hunting and food-gathering people. Soon a man has eaten all that's available close by and the game grows wary. Until men learned to plant crops and herd animals for food they had of necessity to move on ... and on.