mention it around here. The Army would not allow you to cross the border on any such mission. Right now they are trying to arrange a working agreement with the Mexicans to join forces in stamping out the Apaches.
They want to attack them right in their stronghold in the Sierra Madre ... and that's another reason we must hurry. I have heard that if the Apaches are attacked they will kill all their captives.'
Shortening my pace, I walked beside her. There was small chance the boy was alive, but I could not tell her that. Not that I even gave thought to not going to hunt for him. We Sacketts stand by one another, come hell or high water. The boy was a Sackett, and he was my brother's son.
My mind went down that trail into Mexico, and I had a cold feeling along my spine. Every inch of that trail would be trouble, and not only from the Apaches.
Water was scarce, and whilst the folks were friendly, the Rurales and the Army were not. They'd likely shoot a man out of hand.
Somewhere along the trail I'd heard about Dan Creed's two boys and another youngster being taken, but I hadn't any details, and they weren't important now.
A body would have to be almighty cautious. If the Army got wind of anyone going into Mexico with any such notion that would be the end of it. They'd surely stop him.
With negotiations going on between the two governments that would be all it would take to end them ... they'd never believe he'd come into Mexico on his own.
My name being Sackett, and all, they might be suspicious. I mean the Army might.
And Laura made me uneasy. I'd no knowledge of womenfolks, and never had been able to talk to any but Ange. Other women left me tongue-tied and restless, and Laura, she was all white lace, blonde hair, and those dainty little lacy gloves with no fingers in them. And that parasol she carried ... I was a raw country boy from the hills, not used to such fixings.
'You will try, then?' We had stopped at her door, and she rested her hand on my arm. 'Tell, you're my only hope. There is no one else.'
'I'll do what I can.' Standing there on the step, with her a-looking at me from those big blue eyes, it made me wish I was three men, so as I could do more.
'Don't you forget, ma'am, there's no accounting for Apaches. They're mighty notional when it comes to prisoners. You mustn't be hoping for muck.'
'He's such a little boy.'
It came on me to wonder if she'd any notion what she was letting me in for, but I pushed the thought away. I had no call to be thinking of myself. How could she know what that trail into Sonora was like? A trail like a walk through hell, with ugly death waiting on every side, at every moment. You had to travel trails like that to know them. In my mind's eye I could see the faint thread of it winding across the hot desert under a brassy sky, with the sand underfoot and all lands of cactus and thorny bush around, with rattlers and Gila monsters and all ... to say nothing of outlaws and Indians.
A thought came to me suddenly. 'I was wondering how Orrin ever let you get so far from him? You and the boy?'
She smiled quickly, sadly. 'It was my father, Tell. He died in California and I had to go there for the funeral. There was no one else. When I found how dangerous it was, I left Orry here ... I thought he'd be safe here.'
That made sense, all right. Still, there was a lot that puzzled me, but a man could waste any amount of time quibbling and fussing over details, which was never my way. If anything was to be done it had to be done fast. With her description of the boy and his clothing, I decided I'd best get together an outfit and pull out.
She stood there, her white dress like a light against the adobe walls. I looked back once as I walked away, and she was still standing there, looking after me.
It worried me some because this whole thing had come on me so sudden that I'd no chance to sort of think things through. Out there on the trail with those Apaches around there'd been no time, and now it seemed there was no time either.
Nevertheless, there was some thinking I had to do.
The worst of it was I was almighty short of money, and no matter what a man sets out to do, it seems it costs him something. This here was going to cost money as well as sweat, and maybe blood.
All I had to my name was about two hundred saved-up dollars, the most I'd had in months, and I'd lost my saddle back yonder, and needed a horse. We'd come into Tucson on horses just borrowed from the stage outfit, and they'd be going back soon.
So I needed a horse and an outfit, and a pack horse if I had enough to handle it.
What I wanted was a good used saddle, and there was a reason. I was of no mind to ride into Apache country with a squeaky new saddle. Now, any saddle will squeak a mite, and it's a comforting sort of sound, most times, but when there are Apaches around any sound more than your breathing is liable to get you killed.
I needed not only a saddle, but also, a pair of saddlebags, a canteen, a poncho, a blanket, a spare cartridge belt and a small amount of grub. I'd have to live off the country, on food I could get without shooting. From the time I crossed the border I was going to have to move like a ghost.
Tampico Rocca was in the Quartz Rock Saloon when I came in, and I went to his table and sat down. He leaned across the table. 'John J., he rides out tonight.
There is trouble, I think.'
'Trouble?'
'There was difficulty in Texas. Battles won out. Two of the dead man's brothers are in town, with some friends. Battles wants no more trouble.'
'He's broke, isn't he?' Me, I dug down in my jeans. 'I'm outfitting for Mexico, but I can let him have twenty dollars.'
Rocca shook his head. 'This is not what I mean, amigo. He will meet us outside of town. He wished me to tell you this so you would not think he rode off alone.
We are coming with you, senor.'
'Now, you see here. This is my affair, and you boys got no call to ride along.
It's going to be rough.'
Tampico chuckled. 'Amigo, you talk to Rocca, not to some pilgrim. I am Rocca, who is half Apache and who has lived with them. I know where they go. I know how they live. You will need me, amigo.'
Well, I just sat there, finding nothing to say. Words just don't come easy to me, and at such times I find myself coming up empty. So I just looked at him and he grinned and waved for another beer.
The place was filling up, and it was a tough place. Nobody ever said the Quartz Rock was gentle. Over at the Congress Hall Saloon you'd find the gentry. You'd find the solid men, the good men, and mixed with them some of the drifters, but the Quartz Rock was rough. At least when Foster ran it.
You drank their liquor and you took your chances at the games, and the men who hung out there were hard cases, men with the bark on, men who had been born with the bark on. There were men came into that place so rough they wore their clothes out from the inside first. When you saw a man walk into the Quartz Rock wearing a six-shooter or a bowie knife he wasn't wearing it for show.
We were finishing our second beer when four men came into the place.
Rocca sat up easily and moved on the chair to keep his gun hand free. This was beginning to shape up like grief of some kind, and I was in no mood for it.
They were four of a kind, raw and ragged, just in off the trail and they looked it. Like uncurried wolves they bellied up to the bar, and when they had had a drink, they looked around.
'It is those who seek for John J., amigo. I think they know I am his friend.'
They crossed the room, the four of them, and every man-jack in the room could smell the trouble they brought with them.
They came to our table and ranged themselves in front of it. All of them were armed, and they wore guns as if they knew how to use them.
Me, I just sort of shifted one foot. The other foot was propped up on a chair's edge, resting easy.
'You!' The one with the handle-bar mustache stabbed a finger at Rocca. 'You, greaser. They tell me you are a friend of the man named Battles.'
Rocca was like a coiled snake. He looked at them, and he smiled. Now no Mex likes to be called a greaser. Me, I've been called a gringo many times and couldn't see that it left any scars, but some folks are almighty touchy,
