Over on the Dry Side (14 page)

“Ain't no house. He's wastin' his time. It's done burned down.”

“No, it isn't, Doby. The old man looked at it through his telescope and the house is standing. It's been partly burned, all right, but it's still standing.”

Course, I should have maybe figgered on that. Heavy timbers like them would take time to burn. A sudden flash fire might not hold long enough to get them tight-fitted, squared-off logs to burnin'.

I went to the creek and splashed water on my face and washed my hands. I taken a mouthful of water and kind of sloshed it around inside, then spit it out. Then I combed my hair with my fingers the best I could.

When I come back to the fire, Marny poured coffee for me. And about that time Owen Chantry come in with that old man who looked like the walkin' dead.

Chantry had an armful of books, some of 'em charred a mite, but that was all. “The house didn't burn, Doby. Only part of the roof and part of the porch.”

“You saved you some books,” I said. “Is that all you looked for?”

“It's Tennyson I wanted,” he said, “I…” A kind of funny look come over his face, and he stared hard at Marny. “Tennyson.…Now that
is
a thought.”

Chapter 13

T
HEY WERE HUDDLED together in a bunch.

“I used to read,” Marny said, “but we've few books here. If it wasn't for Mac—”

“Mowatt reads?”

“As a matter of fact, he does. My feeling is, considering where he's lived, he's had a better than average education.”

“My brother liked Tennyson,” Chantry said, “and we had a mutual favorite, a poem called ‘Ulysses.' ”

It wasn't the right time to be talking of books and poetry. It was time to figure a way to get out of the fix.

The Mowatts had bled and they'd not take it lightly. They'd come back.

“I think we should pay us a visit to Mowatt,” said Doby.

“Clive would have his own way of doing things,” Chantry mused, “and if he wanted to tell me something he'd have his own way of doing it.”

“Them Mowatts got a way of tellin' things, too,” Kernohan said, cross-like. “They'll be comin' back and here we set, like an ol' ladies' tea party!”

“You're right, of course,” Chantry said. “But I don't think they'll come now. Sooner or later, we must leave this canyon, and when we do it will be easier for them to attack.”

Marny brought Chantry a cup of coffee. He took it gratefully and glanced over at Doby.

Chantry knew the younger Kernohan had a chip on his shoulder, and it was probably over Marny. Well…that was to be expected. The important thing was not to let it get out of hand. Chantry was, he knew himself, inclined to be impatient, but he must not be impatient with Doby, who was a good lad and had the makings of a man.

Despite his assurances to the others, Chantry also knew the situation was uncertain. How much control could or would be exerted by Mac Mowatt remained to be seen.

He was tired and he needed a shave. Suddenly, he was irritated. Doby was right. It was time to wind this thing up.

“I'm going to see him,” he said suddenly.

They looked at him, uncomprehendingly.

“I'm going to see Mac Mowatt and have him call off his dogs.”

“You're plumb crazy!” The old man spoke before any of the others could. “They'd kill you afore you got to 'im. An' he ain't callin' nobody off, even if he could.”

“We'll see.”

Marny was on her feet again. She was wide-eyed and still, staring at him. “They won't listen,” she protested. “They'll kill you.”

They were right, of course, but he was right, too. Mowatt might see reason. If he did, that would take most of the load off their backs, anyway. Getting to him would be a problem but, despite his normal caution, there was in Owen Chantry a streak of wild Irish rebellion—foolhardiness some would call it. Others would call it plain damn foolishness.…But it was his way to bow his neck and plunge in. And better him than the others.

“They won't expect it,” he said, more quietly. “I could walk in on them.”

“You can walk in,” Doby said grimly, “but you'll never walk out again.”

In a flash of anger, Chantry spoke and was instantly sorry. “You'd like that, wouldn't you, Doby?”

All their heads came up. Doby flushed. “Nossir, I wouldn't,” he said. “You an' me may not see eye to eye, but I'd surely not like to see you get killed. I surely wouldn't.”

Doby swallowed.

“Fact is, you go in there an' I'm a-goin' with you,” Doby said. “I can shoot, an' I can stand steady. You go in there with me an' you'll see you ain't the on'y one's got hair on his chest.”

“I never doubted it, Doby,” Chantry said, sincerely. “But I'll have to go by myself. After all,” he added, “it was my brother they killed. Whatever it is they're looking for belongs to me.”

“Maybe it does,” Doby said stubbornly, “an' maybe it don't. It's buried in the ground, or hid. So maybe it's just treasure-trove belongin' to the finder.”

Chantry shrugged. “Wherever and whatever it is,” he said calmly, “my brother intended me to find it, and so he will have left it.”

He wanted it over, done with. He was getting the old urge to get out, to leave. Yet how many times had he done just that? Was that not, in itself, a form of cowardice?

Chantry brushed the wood ashes from his sleeve. He would need a new coat. This one was getting threadbare. He straightened it and walked over to his horse. This was no place to leave his friends, yet…He glanced up the canyon.

He hated to leave. Kernohan was hard hit. Reluctantly, Chantry gave up the idea of moving their camp. They would have to chance it here.

“Sit tight,” he said, “I'll go out and take a look.”

“If you're goin' after 'em, I'm comin' along,” Doby insisted.

“You stay. What about your pa?”

Doby looked trapped, but he argued no longer. “You're takin' a long chance,” he said.

Chantry glanced over at Marny. “I'll be back,” he said and, touching a spur to his horse, he started for the trail.

He had no certain plan, nor could a plan be devised until he saw the situation at close hand.

It was a good scramble for his horse to get up the trail to the top of the mesa, and Chantry dismounted and led his horse when they reached the crest.

Birds were everywhere about. A squirrel sat on the ground near some rocks.

Every move must be made with caution now, for the renegades who rode with Mowatt were frontiersmen, all of them. His only advantage lay in the fact that they might also be careless.

He walked his horse in the deepest shadows, pausing from time to time to listen. He was disturbed by a vagrant but unfocused notion that kept slipping around at the edge of his mind. Every time he tried to pin the thought into position, to guide it into focus, it slipped away, eluding him.

…Something about Tennyson and his brother and himself. They used to write each other letters.

His horse walked softly through the grass and wild flowers that edged the woods. It was the long way around, but he had no desire to trust himself to the open out there, where the distance was shorter.

When he was well away from Lost Canyon, he moved more swiftly.

The air was cool, there was a dampness of dew on the underbrush now. Something stirred and he drew up suddenly. Several shadows moved out into sight. He waited, holding his breath. Then he slowly relaxed.…Elk. They liked to feed in high meadows at night.

He caught a faint smell of smoke. He waited, trying to locate the source. The smell faded. He walked his horse on, keeping his eyes on its ears.

The ears were up, and Chantry could sense the interest of his horse. It smelled something too. The smoke, other horses, or men.…

A faint breeze stirred the leaves, they rustled, and the breeze passed. He walked on, a few steps farther. Chantry had a feeling he was near their camp, but so far he had no definite indication of it.

He caught a gleam through the trees…water. He rode closer. It was a small lake, yet he still saw no fire, nor smelled any more smoke. He rode around the lake, taking his time. He glanced at the stars. He still had plenty of darkness before daybreak. Suddenly he caught a whiff of smoke again…very faint, but definite.

It seemed to be coming from straight ahead. He kept in the darkest shadows and rode on.

He saw the horses first, felt his own horse swell his sides with a deep breath. “Easy, boy,” Chantry whispered. “Take it easy now!” He wanted no whinny that would arouse the camp.

Chantry stepped down from the saddle and with a slipknot tied his horse in the deepest shadows. They were downwind of the Mowatt horses, yet it could be only a few minutes, perhaps a few seconds, until they scented his horse.

He glanced around at the sleeping camp. There was no guard, for obviously they doubted that anyone would have the courage to attack them. Chantry's sense of the fitness of things rebelled at the careless, dirty, ill-kept camp. One by one, he let his eyes slide over the sleeping men until he picked out Mowatt—a bit to one side, an enormous figure of a man covered with a buffalo robe.

Stepping lightly, Chantry walked right through the middle of the camp and squatted on his heels beside Mowatt. It was only then that he realized the old man's eyes were open and on him, and that Mac Mowatt held a pistol in his right hand.

“Mr. Mowatt,” he spoke softly.

“Been watchin' you,” Mowatt whispered and heaved himself up. “Been watchin' you ever since you showed up…listenin' to you come afore that. Got ears like a cat,” he said proudly. “Always could hear more'n anybody else.”

He rubbed his face, then squinted at Chantry. “You got you a nerve…ridin' in here like this. When the boys wake up they'll carve their names in your hide.”

“In your own camp?” Chantry acted surprised. “I understood
you
were the man in your outfit. Even an Apache respects an enemy in an Apache's camp.…”

“Some Indians do. All right. What d'ya want?”

“Marny tells me that you read.”

“
Read?
What in the hell's that got to do with anything? Course I read! I had schoolin'. Most of it's been forgot, but I had it. My pa was a reader. Had him a house full. Must have been eight or ten books.”

“That's why I came here. I want to talk to you before anybody else gets killed. There is no gold, Mowatt. There never was.”

Mowatt snorted. “You 'spect me to believe that? We done heard about this treasure already. How all that gold was brought up from Mexico—”

“ ‘All that gold'?
Think, man. When my brother came into this country he came out of Mexico with one, maybe two pack mules. He had a small outfit, some grub maybe, and he rode through Apache country. There was no way he could have carried enough gold to matter, even if he had it. And I know enough about him to know that he never cared much for money.

“If he'd had any gold, why would he stop
here
? Where he couldn't use it? Why stop here after riding all that distance out of Mexico?”

“You got you a point there. Always did wonder 'bout that. Figgered he was crazy or a miser or something.”

“I believe he brought something with him,” Chantry continued, “but I do not think it was treasure. I want to talk to you because you might understand, you might grasp the idea…which I am sure they,” Chantry gestured at the camp, “would not.

“Although,” he added, “Frank Mowatt might.” Chantry looked straight at Mac Mowatt. “You know, Mr. Mowatt, Frank is the best of the lot. He'll stay by you because he's loyal and a good son. But he's the only one of you who's worth a tinker's dam, and that includes you.”

Mowatt stared at him. “You got you a nerve. Talkin' that way to Mac Mowatt.”

Even Chantry was amazed at what he'd said.

“I had nerve when I rode in here, and whether you believe it or not, I'll ride out, too. But I thought maybe I could talk some sense into you. You've got a tough bunch of boys here, but you'll waste them trying for something that would keep the least of you in whiskey for less than an hour. Believe me.”

“You know what it is?”

“No…but I've a hunch. My brother was interested in the old civilization of Mexico. He was a thoughtful, intelligent man. Most of us Chantrys have gone off wandering for no special reason, but when he went to Mexico and Central America, I think it was for a special purpose. And I think he found something down there that has some bearing on history.”

Chantry paused. “He never cared much for money, and he passed up a dozen chances to have an easy life. All he ever wanted was to see what lay over the horizon, to study the ways of man.”

“Maybe.” Mowatt hitched himself around and reached for a boot. “Did you ride in here just to tell me that?”

“No.” The two were moving quietly away from the camp. “I wanted to talk some sense into you. I have nothing against you. So why should I kill you? Or any of your outfit? I came into this country to stay. I'm going to hang up my guns and do some ranching.”

“You?” Mowatt was skeptical. “I'd have to see that to b'lieve it.”

“You should do the same thing, Mowatt. Get yourself some land while you can, settle down and raise cattle.” Chantry paused. He had to say it. “The real reason I came into camp tonight was because of Marny.”

“Marny?” The old man's face turned toward him. “She's got nothing to do with you. Don't bring Marny into this.”

“She has everything to do with it. I had to shoot a couple of your boys yesterday. They'd chased her over a dozen miles of country. I killed one of them and put lead into three others.”

“Marny? My boys? You lie, Chantry!”