That 'we' sort of slipped in there, but Penelope didn't seem to notice it.
Then she said, 'What could have happened to the gold?'
'Things look a lot different by night. You probably mistook the place.'
'But that tree! I know it was under that dead pine!'
'There's lots of dead pines,' I said carelessly.
'You certainly don't seem very upset about it.'
'I'm not. I never had that much money in my life, so if I never see it again I ain't a-going to miss it.'
We drove on, talking a bit from time to time, then she dropped off to sleep. It was daybreak when she sat up and began to push her hair into place and try to straighten her clothes.
'Where is the wagon train?' she asked. 'We've fallen way behind.'
'That Reinhardt! He's been taking it almighty slow. I didn't know until it got light that we were so far behind the rest of them.'
Suddenly the wagon ahead pulled up. Nobody moved--the wagon just stood there. I got down and walked up to it. 'Reinhardt,' I said, 'what's the matter? You gone to sleep?'
I looked into the muzzle of a gun, behind it the black, heavy-lidded eyes of Flinch.
'The belt,' he said. 'Unbuckle.'
With this man I took no chances. Moving my hands with infinite care, I unbuckled the belt and let it fall to the trail.
'The bowie ... take it out of the scabbard and drop it ... fingertips only.'
'Where is Reinhardt?'
Flinch jerked his head toward the wagon. 'He is all right.'
'How do you fit into this, Flinch? You working with Karnes?'
'I work for Punch. My grandfather ... he was in fight at Rabbit Ears. He was Indian. He tell me the white chief hide something there. A long time after he went back to look, but could not find. When I hear talk in Fort Griffin about Rabbit Ears, I get a job.'
The way the wagons stood on the trail, Penelope could not see us. I heard her getting down from the wagon and heard the sound of her feet.
'You too,' Punch said as she came up. 'You stand over there. Beside him.'
For the first time his thin lips smiled. 'Now, after all, the Indian gets the gold.'
'The gold isn't here, Flinch,' Penelope protested. 'It's back there, at Loma Parda.'
'The gold in his wagon.' He nodded toward me. 'I follow him. I know he will find it, so I follow, watch him when he hide it, watch him when he load it in wagon.
It is better for me to have the wagon for a while ... the gold is much heavy.'
Penelope stared at me. 'You had that gold all the time? You mean you had--'
'Now I am going to kill,' Flinch said. 'First you, then her.'
'Let her take my horse and go.'
He did not even reply. I took a half-step toward him. 'Up!' he said. 'Manos arriba!'
I lifted my hands as high as my ears. He kept his eyes on me, wanting to see the effect of his words. 'I kill you. I keep her until tomorrow.'
'They'll hang you,' I said. 'Look here, Flinch, let's--'
My right hand, only inches from my collar, moved suddenly. The knife slung down my back, slid into my hand, the hand whipped forward, and he fired. I felt the slam of his bullet, heard the thud of my knife. It had gone into the hollow at the base of his throat, up to the hilt.
His mouth opened in a great gasp and blood gushed from it. He fell forward to his knees, grasping at the hilt, fumbling to get hold of it with both hands, but I had thrown with all my strength and the knife had gone in hard.
He struggled, choked, then fell over on his side, the knife coming free in his hand.
Stooping down, I took the knife from his fingers and sank it twice into the sandy earth to cleanse the blade. Penelope was looking at him, her eyes filled with horror.
'See what happened to Reinhardt,' I said sharply. 'Be quick!'
Startled, she turned and hurried to the wagon. When I looked back at Flinch, he was dead. Belting on my gun again, I stripped Flinch's gun belt and tossed it into the wagon.
Reinhardt came out from under the wagon cover, rubbing his wrists. 'He wouldn't have killed me, I think,' he said. 'I staked him a couple of times when he was broke.'
'We'd better move on. Ollie Shaddock will be wondering what happened.'
He glanced at me, then at the dead man. 'What happened? He was sure enough going to kill you.'
I reached back and drew the knife again. 'This,' I said. 'I learned it south of the border.'
I started back to the wagon. Penelope joined me, and I helped her up. Reinhardt was already moving off.
We had been traveling for some time when she said, 'You had the gold all the time?'
'Uh-huh.'
'What are you going to do with it?'
'Been contemplating on that. Likely I'll give half of it to you.'
'You'll give--!'
'And I'll keep the other half myself. That way,' I continued, 'you'll be free to marry for love. But with half of that gold, I won't need anybody to take care of me, either, so you won't be married for what you have.'
She didn't say anything to that, and I didn't figure she needed to, the way things were shaping up.
'I thought you got hit back there,' she said presently.
So I showed her where the bullet had hit my cartridge belt right on my left hip.
It had struck the lead noses of two bullets, fusing them into one. 'I'll have a bad bruise, the way it feels, but I'm the luckiest man alive.'
Only thing was, I surely wished I had a shave. And before we got to Santa Fe she was wishing it, too.
Author's Note Borregos Plaza was on the south bank of the Canadian River, only a short distance from the river crossing that was to become Tascosa. Tascosa went from a booming and untamed cow town to a ghost town, and is presently the site of Boys'
Ranch, founded by Panhandle businessmen.
Romero, a small town in ranching country, has a long memory of buffalo hunting and Indian fighting days. The country around is little changed from the period of my story.
The Rabbit Ears, known to many travelers along the Old Santa Fe Trail, is only a little way from the town of Clayton, New Mexico. The box canyon featured in the story is there, so is the pool, which is usually covered with a green scum, and there is also an open hole some three to four feet in diameter. Around it the walls and rocks are blackened by fire, likely the result of some explosion of oil or gas.
Loma Parda on the Mora River is now a ghost town, some eight miles northwest of Watrous, New Mexico. When Fort Union was abandoned the town began to die, but in the 1870's it had a rough and bloody reputation.
At the time of my story the buffalo hunters still had two or three good years ahead of them, and they would be replaced by cattlemen. Practically the only settlers in the Panhandle country then were Mexicans from Taos or Mora with their sheep.
The Sostenes l'Archeveque mentioned early in the story was a notorious outlaw and killer of the period, often credited with twenty-three killings. He was killed by his own people when his conduct became too unruly.
About the Author 'I think of myself in the oral tradition -- of a troubadour, a village taleteller, the man in the shadows of the campfire. That's the way I'd like to be remembered -- as a storyteller. A good storyteller.'
It is doubtful that any author could be as at home in the world recreated in his novels as Louis Dearborn L'Amour. Not only could he physically fill the boots of the rugged characters he wrote about, but he literally 'walked the land my characters walk.' His personal experiences as well as his lifelong devotion to historical research combined to give Mr. L'Amour the unique knowledge and understanding of people, events, and the challenge of the American frontier that became the hallmarks of his popularity.
Of French-Irish descent, Mr. L'Amour could trace his own family in North America back to the early 1600s and follow their steady progression westward, 'always on the frontier.' As a boy growing up in Jamestown, North
