Through Darkest America-Extended Version (22 page)

The party didn't take long getting underway. Free food and whiskey was news in Roundtree, the same as anywhere else, and it wasn't fifteen minutes before a curious crowd had gathered in front of the Keep. No one got in who wasn't supposed to, which meant riders who worked full-time for Pardo, and whatever women were available. But there was plenty to eat and drink and more on the way. Soon there was just as big a party outside as in.

Good white corn was on hand for the asking and a few special crocks aged in the barrel, if you knew the right people. There were sacks of new potatoes to toss in the big pot over the kitchen fire, fat loaves of hot bread, and green heads of cabbage brought in from Rebel country, east of the mountains. Best of all, there were great baskets of fresh, hot meat, some of it young colt no more than three or four years old, roasted whole on the spit. Not one slice of that cut found its way out of the Keep and into the crowd.

Howie knew something was up, for certain. When Pardo treated everybody in the Keep and half of Roundtree, you could
bet
somebody
else'd
be paying for it soon.

He glanced up once and saw Kari at the head of the stairs. She took one look at the brawl in progress below and fled back to her room. Howie wished glumly that he could join her. Not that
anything'd
come of it, but at least he'd be out of the mess downstairs. He tried his own room, but one of the crew had already taken a girl in and locked the door behind him. For a moment, he thought about rousting them both out and giving the man what for.

Instead, he wandered down to the kitchen and found himself a hot slab of meat and a piece of bread. Most everyone had gotten their fill and the kitchen was empty, so he settled down behind a big barrel to chew his meal. The noise came in loud as ever, but at least all the people had drifted out to the other room. The eating time was over, and serious drinking was getting underway. It'd last until the whiskey was gone, or a good fight put everyone on the street.

Again, Howie wondered what in all hell Pardo was thinking about. Maybe he
had
gone plumb crazy, filling half of Roundtree with food and whiskey. By sundown, every-: one in town would know they were riding out in the morning and no one would have to guess what they were up to. Colonel Monroe and every Loyalist trooper in the
Territory'd
be just licking their chops and waiting. Then, what? Howie thought miserably. He felt vaguely sick inside and knew it wasn't the meat. The whole business gave him the shivers.

Chapter Twenty-Three

T
he steep trail twisted like a dry river through a tumble of giant boulders worn by wind and weather. From the top of the ridge he could look back and see the long column winding up to meet him. It was hard going and taxed the best that men and mounts had to offer. Loose stone turned slick as ice under a horse's hooves and threatened to send mount and rider sliding off the path. Men below cursed and held their breath as rock and choking dust clattered down to meet them.

Howie decided no one could have mistaken the band for anything but what it was. There wasn't a man afoot in Par- do's hire—only heavily armed raiders on horses. Even the precious cargo of weapons was slung across the backs of a dozen sturdy mounts.

Not one of the riders had ever seen
that
done before—a horse was for carrying a man, and much too valuable for hauling heavy loads about.

But wagons were too slow for Pardo. In this war party a man carried what he needed on his back. When he ran out of that, why, he'd just have to do without.

Harlie
reined up beside him and rubbed the mask of sweat and dust from his face. "I'll be
godamned
if I ain't
wishin
' I'd of got a lot
drunker'n
I did," he growled. "Last night I had a right good idea what I come on this trip for, but I sure can't remember what it was."

"You were
goin
' to be rich as one of them Old Kings," said Howie.

"Oh, yeah, I do recall." He screwed up his weathered face and scratched his chin. "'Bout when you reckon that'll be?"

"I don't reckon nothing 'til I see it,
Harlie
. And I ain't real sure about it then."

"
Uhuh
."
Harlie
thought a minute. "That's sound
thinkin
' in
a
outfit like this." He took a long swig of water and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. "Ain't hardly
nothin
' a man can do but take the breaks as he sees '
em
, and hope for the best. But I'll tell you certain, the more I put my mind to it the more I wish I was back under some fine shade in Roundtree with a big, cool cup of corn close by.
Lordee
!
"

Howie laughed. "
Harlie
, you want to be poor and drunk all your life?"

Harlie
looked straight at him. "Shit, boy, it sure beats
dyin
'
rich and sober, which is likely what we're in for on this little party." He grinned and whipped his mount away.

 
"Least half of that, anyways."

Howie watched him go.
Harlie
wasn't thinking much different than anyone else in the crew, he decided.
pardo's
riders weren't nearly as excited about filling their hats with gold as they had been the night before. The corn whiskey in their bellies had dried up quick on the hot plains. There was nothing to do now but ride, and wonder where you were going.

Pardo was a tricky bastard, for sure. If you got a man drunk enough, he'd work all night loading horses and packing gear, and take off riding at sunup without asking why. Now, though, like
Harlie
, they were remembering how they'd left the Keep all stiff and bleary-eyed with half the town up to see them off. Every halfwit in Roundtree knew they were carrying a fortune in guns out to the Rebels. Pardo had done everything but nail up signs pointing the way.

Now, all a man could do was curse Pardo for a fool and keep a wary eye over his shoulder. If there wasn't something after him already, there soon would be.

The top of the ridge was a midday stopping point and, before the tail end of the column reached the summit, the first riders had small fires going to warm their rations. The heat felt good, too. Even under the clear blue sky there was a slight chill to the air. A rider who'd been through the country before told Howie they had left the plains behind and were now on the edge of a great mesa that stretched all the way to the far mountains.

"You
seen
the mountains?" Howie asked him. "For certain?" He'd looked at a picture once, in a real book, and stared at the tall, craggy white towers of stone that seemed to reach clear to the sky. It was hard to believe they were anywhere near. He was sure you could already see anything that big, if you were close enough to talk about them.

"They're there, all right," the man told him. "
Taller'n
God. Some so high a man can't hardly get all the air he needs on top."

Howie doubted that. There was air everywhere—why wouldn't there be some on a mountain, too?

In the late afternoon he traded outrider duty with
Harlie
and rode along at the front of the column with Kari. Howie had mixed emotions about her presence on the trip. He was glad she was there, but he knew they were in almost certain danger and didn't like to think of something happening to her. Pardo had felt the same way, for different reasons. Kari was too valuable to risk on the trail. He sure didn't want to think about trying to replace her.

Kari had stood her ground, though—there wouldn't be any shipment of high quality arms without her, and she'd damn sure see them through to the finish.

Earlier, Howie had promised himself he wasn't going to let anything show, this time. She could make a fool of someone else if she wanted to, but it wouldn't be him. Not
any more
. The minute he was with her, though, the whole business started all over again. Everything tightened up inside, like something was fair squeezing the life out of him. He felt hot all over, even in the crisp wind sweeping off the mesa.

He talked about the trail, and the different kinds of rocks, and how cool it was getting, and anything he could think of besides stopping right there and pulling her clothes off and laying her good and proper.
Godamn
, she looked good, even under the heavy cotton jacket that near covered her from head to toe! It didn't do any good at all if you knew what was there.

"Howie . . . ."

"What?"

"Stop it, Howie."

Howie flushed. "Stop . . . what?"

"What you're thinking."

"You don't have any idea what I'm thinking, Kari." "Sure I do, Howie."

"You sure as hell don't!"

Kari didn't answer, but he caught the slight corner of her smile. "You really do like that, don't you? You think I'm real funny."

"No."

"
Uhuh
."

"I said I didn't, Howie."

"Well . . . what
do
you think, then? You
gotta
think something."
           
-

She looked at him a long moment, gray eyes sleepy beneath her lids. "No I don't," she said finally. "I really don't have to think anything."
         
-

Howie felt vaguely uncomfortable. There was something about the way she looked at him that told him it might very well be true. And not just about him, either.

At sundown the sky turned brilliant red, coloring the mesa in stark shades of fiery pink. Gray, crimson-topped clouds hugged the horizon, and Howie imagined they'd reached the mountains already, though he knew that couldn't be.

Pardo stopped the column at an ancient site, where two long ribbons of man-made stone crossed each other and wandered off straight as arrows across the mesa. Everyone knew they were roads and that machines had used them to carry people before the War. Just how this was done no one could say for sure, though there were pictures that showed what it had looked like.

You could see traces of roads most everywhere; there had been plenty of them and they usually turned up right where you were fixing to plow, or dig a stock pen. This one was in fair condition, with a lot of surface showing. Time had taken its toll, and the stone was cracked and split all over and choked with sand and weeds, but you could still trace its edges with your eyes.

Some of the crew grumbled over Pardo's choice of campsite, not too many liked the idea of spending the night in old places. Pardo ignored them, he had a reason for stopping there. Right at the crossroads there was a gutted building. It had thick stone walls higher than a man, and a narrow doorway. It was here he planned to store the guns overnight. More than that, he explained, if anyone decided to bother the column, why, there was a ready-made fortress right at hand, and it'd be worth a man's life to try to take it over flat ground.

No one argued, but all the riders said they'd just as soon sleep outside in the sand until something happened to bring them inside.

"I wonder what they looked like?" said Howie.

Kari kicked her boot in the sand and squinted at him. "What?"

"The roads. Before, I mean."

"Just like they do now, Only newer."

Howie shook his head. "You know what I mean, Kari." "I've seen lots of them. Better than that. Some good as new."

"Where?"

"Where I come from."

"Where's that?"

"That way." She jerked a thumb west.

"Huh?" Howie raised a brow. "You mean the mountains?"

"No, past that."

"California? You come clear from California, Kari?"

That was all she would say, though, and he decided wearily he probably knew more about her than anyone else, anyway.

He watched her make a windbreak for herself in the sand, and spread her blankets down, then he walked around the far side of the old building and made his own bed. No wonder she didn't talk like anyone else. He'd never seen anyone from California before. 'Course, she hadn't come right out and
said
that was it, but he figured it was so.

He wondered, wistfully, if all the girls from California looked like Kari. He decided they didn't. Hell, if that was so, every man in the country would've high-tailed it out there already and there wouldn't be anyone left anywhere else.

With the night, a million stars filled the sky and the real cold set in. Howie pulled his blankets tight around him and tried to sleep. It wouldn't be long before
someone'd
come by and kick him awake. Pardo had two-thirds of the forty-odd riders doing sentry duty on horseback in a wide circle around the camp. He hadn't said so, but it was plain enough he was more than a little concerned about Monroe and his troopers. They were out there somewhere—everybody knew that. The only question was when they'd try to take the guns. If they had good sense, they'd make their run before Pardo's riders met up with strong Rebel forces.

It was something to think about, and Howie figured every man in camp was wishing he was back in Roundtree, or damn near anywhere else.