'You made a good buy,' Hardy acknowledged, 'although I got my price. There's no better horses around, unless it's those you've got.'
We stood in the stable door, listening to the river. 'She came up on the boat,' Hardy volunteered, 'and just missed the stage to Prescott.'
'Prescott?'
'Uh-huh. Then she changed her mind and decided on Los Angeles. Seems to me like she wants the first stage out, no matter where it goes.'
He paused and we stood there in silence, with me thinking about that road west, and those men who had been following me.
There'd been a time, back along the trail, when I was not sure ... maybe they were just traveling the same way ... but when I left Beale's Springs I headed up to the Coyote Wells and got in there with time to spare. Those riders never showed up, although I'd seen their dust on my trail. That could mean only one thing--they were lying out in the hills, making dry camp, just so's I wouldn't see them.
Short of midnight I had left my fire burning low, saddled up, and taken off across the hills. My trail led west, toward Union Pass; but I got a notion, and after whipsawing back and forth in the trail, I cut off through the brush toward the south. South, then west, and through Secret Pass.
At Secret Spring I made camp and slept until well past daybreak. Then, after saddling up, I had climbed to the top of the cliff looked off to the east and north. Sure enough, there was dust and movement on my back trail. Through my field glasses--taken off a dead Confederate officer on the battlefield--I could just make out four riders.
They had ridden on by the place where I'd turned off, discovering too late that I'd cut out somewhere. Now they were scouting their back trail to find the turn-off. They a good ten, twelve miles off and in the bottom of Sacramento Wash.
Descending to my outfit, I had mounted up and followed the Secret Pass trail into Hardyville.
Nobody had ridden in, so they were lying out again, fearful of being seen by me, which might mean that I knew them and they feared recognition.
'Whoever it is,' Hardy said now, 'who wants that Robiseau woman, he wants her pretty bad, and wants her himself.'
There was meaning in the way he said it, and I turned to look at him. 'Keep out of it, friend,'
Hardy went on. 'Three of those men in the saloon are watching her for somebody, and they shape up like grief a-plenty for anybody in their way.'
'I gave her my word.'
'Your funeral.'
'Maybe,' I said gloomily. 'I'm not a trouble-hunting man. Not a one of us Sacketts ever was.'
Hardy gave a quick, funny sort of sound.
'Did you say Sackett? Is your name Sackett?'
'Sure ... do you know the name?'
He turned away from me. 'Get out ... get out while you can.'
He started off, walking very fast, but when he had taken but a couple of steps he turned around.
'Does she know your name? Have you told her that?'
'No ... no, I never did, come to think on it.'
'Of course not ... of course.' He looked at me, but I could not see the expression in his eyes. There was only light enough to see his face under the brim of his hat. 'Take my advice and don't tell her ... not, at least, until you reach Los Angeles--if you do.'
He walked away, leaving me almighty puzzled, but convinced the time to leave was now.
Chapter Two.
When I looked into the window of the saloon the men at the bar were still drinking their liquor and talking it up. The black-eyed woman was gone.
The hotel had only four special rooms and I had latched onto one of those. The only other occupied one was the one given to the Robiseau girl, so I slipped in the back door and went to her room and tapped ever so gently.
There was a quick rustle of clothing inside, and something that sounded like a click of a drawed-back gun- hammer, and then her voice, low. 'I have a pistol. Go away.'
'Ma'am,' I whispered right back to her, 'you want to go to Los Angeles, you come to this door, an' quick.'
She came, easing it open a crack. The pistol looking through the opening was no feisty little-girl pistol. It was a sure enough he-coon of a pistol, a .44 Navy Colt.
'Ma'am, if you want to get to Los Angeles, you get dressed. We're leaving out of here in twenty minutes.'
I'll give her this--she didn't say aye, yes, or no, she just lowered that gun muzzle and said, 'I'll be ready. At the stable?'
'The ferry,' I said, 'only we're going to swim it. The ferry stopped crossing at sundown.'
I'd never left hold of my gold, nor my rifle, but I stepped across the hall and picked up the rest of my gear, took one longing look at that bed, and then tiptoed down the hall and out to the stable.
When I made my dicker for the horses I'd gotten an old saddle thrown in, and now I saddled up two horses.
We'd be riding those two, and leading two spare saddle horses and my pack horse. By swapping horses, we could make faster time than most anybody coming after us, and I was figuring on that.
But that wasn't the only bee I had in my bonnet. True it was that I'd never ridden those westward trails that lay before us, but I'd listened to a sight of talk about them from those who had, and it came over me that a body might strike off on a new route and make it through, if he was lucky.
That would be something to keep in mind.
She was at the river, carpetbags and all, when I got there with the horses. She had dressed in an all-fired hurry, but she didn't show it.
Helping her into the saddle, I got the feel of her arm, and she was all woman, that one. She swung up, hooking one knee around the horn like she was riding a sidesaddle, and we taken off.
The water was dark, and there was more current than a body would expect. Walking our horses into the water, I pointed across. 'Make for that peak, and when you get over there, don't call out. If we get separated, just stay put. I'll find you.'
Holding my rifle and gunbelt high, I rode on into the water, and she followed.
I felt the stallion's feet go out from under him as he hit deep water.
He was a strong swimmer, and when I glanced back I saw that woman right behind me, her horse swimming strong too. We made it up the bank, and as I turned to glance back I heard a door slam and somebody shouted and swore.
'What the hell?' I said. 'They ain't found out a-ready?'
She pulled up beside me. 'Maybe the ferryman told them,' she said.
'Ferryman? How would he know?'
She turned and looked at me like I was a fool. 'Why, I asked him to take us across.
He refused.'
Me, I'd never hit a woman, but I wanted to right then. I wanted to hit her the worst way. Instead, I just turned my horse and started off into the Dead Mountains, mad enough to tackle a grizzly with my bare hands.
'Ma'am,' I said roughly, 'you played hell. The reason we started now was to get some distance between us before daylight. Now you've tipped them off and they will be comin' right behind us.'
'But they couldn't!' she protested. 'He's not--I mean, why would anybody want to catch us?'
'You know that better than me, but even Hardy knew some of those men back at the saloon were there to watch you. He told me so.'
She shut up then, having nothing more to say and no chance to say it, for I led off, walking that stallion fast. Having the fresh horse was going to spell my two horses, and they could use the rest.
The trail lay white under the hoofs of the horses; the desert night was still. That liver-colored stallion went
