the Sky-Liners (1967) (12 page)

"And those men?"

Galloway grinned at him, then at me. "Why, they'd better light a shuck for Texas before we tie cans to their tails."

"Those men, now," I said, "did they have any cattle?"

"Not with them. But they said they had a herd following." He paused. "Is there anything I can do? There's good folks in this country, and Costello was a good neighbor, although a man who kept to himself except when needed. If it comes to that, we could round up a goodly lot who would ride to help him."

"You leave it to us. We Sacketts favor skinning our own cats."

The old man seated alone at the table spoke up then. "I knowed it. I knowed you two was Sacketts. I'm Cap Rountree, an' I was with Tyrel and them down on the Mogollon that time."

"Heard you spoken of," Galloway said. "Come on over and set."

"If you boys are ridin' into trouble," Rountree said, "I'd admire to ride along. I been sharin' Sackett trouble a good few years now, and I don't feel comfortable without it."

We talked a spell, watching the night hours pass, and listening for the sounds of riders who did not come.

Black Fetchen must have sent riders on ahead, and those riders must have moved in fast and hard. He might even have gone on ahead himself, letting the herd follow. We would have ridden right into a trap had we just gone on ahead without making inquiries, or being a mite suspicious.

"Hope he's all right," I said. "Costello, I mean. It would go hard with Judith to lose her pa as well as her grandpa all to once, like that"

"Well, I'll see you boys, come daylight," Rountree said. "I'm holed up in the stable should you need me."

"I'll be around off and on all night," I told him. "Don't shoot until you see the whites of my eyes."

Cap walked outside, stood there a moment, and then went off into the darkness.

"I like that old man," Galloway said. "Seems to me Tyrel set store by him."

"One of his oldest friends. Came west with him from eastern Kansas, where they tied up on a trail herd."*

*The Daybreakers

"Well need him," Galloway added. "We're facing up to trouble, Flagan."

"You get some sleep," I advised. "I'll do the same."

Outside it was still. Off to the west I thought I could see the gleam of snow on the mountains. I liked the smell of the wind off those peaks, but after a minute I walked tiredly across the road, picked up my blanket and poncho, and bedded down under a cottonwood where I could hear the trail sounds in the night. If any riders came up to the Greenhorn Inn I wanted to be the first to know.

Tired as I was, I didn't sleep, my thoughts wandering, just thinking of Galloway and me, homeless as tumbleweeds, drifting loose around the country. It was time we found land, time we put down some roots. It did a man no good to ride about always feathered for trouble. Sooner or later he would wind up dead, back in some draw or on some windy slope, leaving his carcass for the coyotes and buzzards to fight over. It doesn't matter how tough a man becomes, or how good he is with a gun, there comes the time when his draw is a little too slow, or something gets in the way of his bullet.

We were rougher than cobs, Galloway and me, but in this country many a tough man had cashed in his chips. It wasn't in me to think lightly of Black Fetchen. He was known throughout the mountains for his fist fighting and shooting, a man of terrible rages and fierce hatreds ... we weren't going to come it over him without grief.

Suddenly, I came wide awake. I had no idea just when I'd dozed off, but my eyes came wide open and I was listening. What I heard was a horse walking ... two horses.

My hand closed on my gun butt.

There was no light showing anywhere in any of the four or five buildings that made up Greenhorn. The inn was dark and still.

The first thing I made out was the shine of a horse's hip, then the glisten of starlight on a rifle barrel. Two riders had pulled up in the road right in front of the inn. A saddle creaked ... one man was getting down.

Our horses were out back, picketed on a stretch of meadow. Unless those riders scouted around some they'd not be likely to find them, for the meadow was back beyond the corral and stable.

Noiselessly I sat up, keeping the blanket hunched around my shoulders, for the night was chill. I held my .45 in my hand, the barrel across my thigh.

After a bit I heard boots crunching and the rider came back. By now I could almost make him out - a big man with a kind of rolling walk. "Ain't there," I heard him whisper. "At least, their horses aren't in the stalls or the corral."

He stepped into the saddle again and I listened as they walked their horses down the road. Beyond the buildings they stepped them up to a trot, and I wondered where they figured to lay up for the night. It seemed to me they might have a place in mind. Come daylight, if they didn't find our tracks on the trail, they might just hole up and wait for us.

I dozed off, and when next I awakened the sky was getting bright. I rolled my bed and led the horses in, gave them an easy bait of water, and had all three horses saddled before Galloway came out of the inn.

"They're a-fixing to eat in there," he said. "It smells almighty nice."

Cap Rountree came from the stable, leading a raw-boned roan gelding, under a worn-out saddle packing two rifle scabbards. He glanced at me and I grinned at him.

"I take it your visitor wasn't talking much," I said.

"Didn't see me," Cap said, "an' just as well. I had my old Bowie to hand, and had he offered trouble I'd have split his brisket. I don't take to folks prowlin' about in the dark."

"Fetchen men?" Galloway asked.

"I reckon. Leastways, they were hunting somebody. They went on up the road."

Rountree tied his horse alongside ours. "You boys new to this country? I rode through here in the fall of 1830, my first time. And a time or two after that." He nodded toward the mountains. "I brought a load of fur out of those mountains two jumps ahead of a pack o' Utes.

"Ran into Bridger and some of his outfit, holed in behind a stream bank. I made it to them, and those Utes never knew what hit 'em. They'd no idea there was another white man in miles, nor did I ... Good fighters, them Utes."

He started across the street toward the inn. "Point is," he stopped to say, "I can take you right up to Costello's outfit without usin' no trail."

Judith was waiting for us, looking pretty as a bay pony with three white stockings. We all sat up, and the bartender, innkeeper, or whatever, brought on the eggs and bacon. We put away six eggs apiece and most of a side of bacon, it seemed like. At least, Galloway and me ate that many eggs. Judith was content with three, and Cap about the same.

An hour later we were up in the pines, hearing the wind rushing through them like the sound of the sea on a beach. Cap Rountree led the way, following no trail that a body could see, yet he rode sure and true, up and through mountains that reminded us of home.

Presently Cap turned in his saddle. "These Fetchens, now. You said they rustled the Hawkes herd. You ever hear talk of them hunting gold?"

"We had no converse with them," Galloway said, "but I know there was some talk of a Fetchen going to the western mountains many years back."

"Fetchen?" Cap Rountree puzzled over the name. "I figured I knowed most of the old-timers, but I recall no Fetchen. Reason I mentioned it, this here country is full of lost mines. The way folks tell it, there's lost mines or caches of gold all over this country."

He pointed toward the west and south. "There lie the Spanish Peaks, with many a legend about them of sun gods an' rain gods, and of gold, hidden or found.

"North of here there's a cave in Marble Mountain, called the Caverna del Oro, where there's supposed to be gold. I never did hear of gold in a natural cave unless it was cached there, but that's possible. Those old Spanish men rode all over this country.

"There's a man named Sharp lives over there yonder," he went on. "Got him a place called Buzzard Roost Ranch and he's made friends with the Utes. He probably knows more about those old mines than anybody, although I don't rec'lect him wastin' time a-huntin' for them."

Half a mile further he drew up to let the horses take a blow. "I was thinkin' that maybe the Fetchen outfit knew something you boys don't," he said. He threw a sharp glance at Judith. "You ever hear your grandpa talk of any gold mines or such?" he asked her.

Then he said to us, "You told me the Fetchens murdered him. D' you suppose they wanted something besides this here girl? Or the horses?"

He grinned slyly at Judith. "Meanin' no offense, ma'am, for was I a younger man I might do murder myself for such a pretty girl."

"That's all right," Judith said. "I'm used to it." After a moment, she shook her head. "No, there's nothing that I can recall."

"Now, think of this a mite. Yours is a horse-tradin' family, and they stick together. I know about the Irish traders - I spent time in country where they traded. Seems unusual one of them would cut off from the rest like your pa done. D' you suppose he knew something? Maybe when he got to swappin' around, he took something in trade he didn't talk about."

The more I considered what Cap was saying the more I wondered if he hadn't made a good guess. That Fetchen outfit were a murdering lot by all accounts, but why should they kill Costello? What could they hope to gain?

It was possible, trading around like they had done, that one of the Costellos might have picked up a map or a treasure story in trade. Maybe thrown in as boot by somebody who did not believe it themselves.

Now here was a new idea that would account for a lot.

"You consider it," I said to Judith. "Come morning, you may recall something said or seen."

There were a lot of folks scattered through the East who had gone west and then returned to the States - some to get married, some because they liked the easier life, some because they figured the risk of getting their hair lifted by a Comanche was too great. It might be that one of them had known something; or maybe some western man, dying, had sent a map to some of his kinfolk.

We had been following Rountree up an old Indian trail through the high country, but now we saw a valley before us, still some distance off. He drew up again and pointed ahead.

"Right down there is Sharp's trading post, the Buzzard Roost. Closer to us, but out of sight, is the town of Badito.

"Some of the finest horseflesh you ever did see, right down in that valley," he added.

"Costello's?"

"His an' Sharp's. Tom Sharp went back to Missouri in seventy-one and bought himself about thirty, forty head o' stock, a thoroughbred racer among them. Then he sent north into Idaho and bought about two hundred head of appaloosa's from the Nez Perce. He's bred them together for some tough, hardy stock."

"That's what Pa and Grandpa were doing," Judith said.

Well, I looked over at her. "Judith, was your pa in Missouri in seventy-one? I mean, it might have been him or some of his kinfolk who made a deal with Sharp. The tie-up might be right there."

"I don't know," she said doubtfully. "I was just a little girl. We were in Missouri in that year or the next, I think, but I never paid much attention ... we were always moving."

We camped in the woods that night, smelling the pines, and eating venison we'd killed ourselves. It was a good night, and we sat late around the fire, just talking and yarning of this and that. Galloway and me, we sang a mite, for all we mountain boys take to singing, specially those of Welsh extraction like us.

It was a fine, beautiful night, and one I'd not soon forget, and for once we felt safe. Not that one or the other of us didn't get up once in a while and move away from the fire to prowl around and listen.

Tomorrow we were heading down into the valley, for we had decided to talk to Tom Sharp. Cap knew him, and he had been a friend to Costello. If there was anything to be found out, we would learn it from him.

But I was uneasy. I'd got to thinking about that girl too much, and it worried me. When a man gets mixed up in a shooting affair he'd best keep his mind about him, and not be contemplating a girl's face and a pair of lovely lips.

When we tangled with the Fetchens again they would be out for blood. They had got where they were going, but we had won several hands from them ... now they would try to make us pay for it. We were few, and there was nowhere about that we could look for help.

Cap gestured off toward the western mountains. "Just over there Tell Sackett an' me had quite a shindig a while back. Believe me, they know the name of Sackett in that country."

I knew about Tell. I'd heard all that talk down in the Mogollon. The trouble was, mostly we Sacketts were noted for our fighting ways, except maybe for Tyrel, who had become a rancher, and Orrin, who was in politics. It was time some of us did something worthwhile, time we made a mark in the country for something besides gunplay.

A man who rides a violent road comes to only one end-up a dry creek somewhere, or on Boot Hill.

Tom Sharp was a fine-looking man, the kind you'd ride the river with. He was pushing forty. He had been wounded in the War Between the States, had come west, hunted meat for the mining camps, and cut telegraph poles on contract for the Union Pacific. Finally he'd traveled up the old Ute trail to Huerfano River and opened a trading post in the valley in a big adobe building.