'You had some money, then?'
Pettigrew smiled. It was a careful smile, and he looked down at his pipe, puffed a couple of times, and said, 'I had a mite. They knowed nothing of it or they'd surely have taken it.'
'What was the last you saw of pa?'
Pettigrew shifted a little in his hide-bottomed chair. 'He took us there, right up Wolf Creek Pass to the mountain, but there was trouble making up. Your pa, he was a quiet man, minded his own affairs, but he didn't miss much. He got along fine with Pierre Bontemps. The Frenchman was a fine man, a flighty one, but strong, always ready to carry his share and more. Trouble didn't develop until we got up in the mountains along Wolf Creek.
'Bontemps had a map, but you know the wild country--unless a map's laid out with care she ain't worth the match to burn it with.
'Whoever made that map made it quick, and either he made it with no ken of how things are in the mountains or he was figuring on coming right back.
'We located some of the landmarks. One tree, all important to locating the gold, was gone. One rock wasn't shaped like it was supposed to be. Sackett found the other half of it down in a canyon where it had weathered and fallen off. Upshot of it was, we never found no gold.
'I had trouble with Baston, an' I up an' quit. I took off down the mountain. A couple of days later, Swan an' Baston caught up with me. They said they'd quit, too.'
Orrin sat staring into the fire, listening. Finally he put down his cup. 'And you know nothing of what happened to pa?'
'No, sir. I don't.'
I didn't believe him. He was telling the truth up to a point, but he was holding back on quite a lot. So I figured to shake him up a little. 'It's ma we want to know for,' I said. 'She's an old woman, close on to her deathtime, an' we are wishful that she rest easy, content that pa's gone on ahead of her to blaze the trail.
'We can't let it lay, and we ain't about to. We're goin' to worry at this until we find out what happened.'
'After so long a time you won't find anything,' he muttered. He stared into his empty cup. 'Nothing lasts much, on them mountains.'
'Can't tell about that. I once found a wolf carcass in a cave that must have been there years an' years. My brother an' me, we're readers of sign. We'll find the answer.
'Fact is, I spent some time a few years ago over on the Vallecitos. I still have some claims over there.'
He looked up, surprised. 'Are you that Sackett? I heard of some shooting over there.'
'I done my share. I came in first, and I was the last to go.'
He seemed restless, and I had a feeling he wanted us to go. A couple of times I heard rustling around in the kitchen and I wondered how much Juana knew of all this.
Finally, I got up. Orrin followed suit, and Judas and the Tinker wandered over to the door. 'One thing, Mr. Petrigrew,' I said, 'if you had trouble with Baston and Swan, you'd best keep a gun handy.'
He looked up sharply. 'Why's that?'
'Because they're comin' along right behind us. I don't know why they want to come back, but they do. They may figure they missed something up yonder, and they'll be asking questions around.'
'What?' he got up, struggling to his feet, weaving a little, and if ever I saw fear in a man's eyes, it was in his.
'They're coming here?'
'Not more than two days behind us, probably less. Yes, they are coming, and if I were you I'd get myself out of sight, and your wife, too. Better not leave anything they can get hold of.'
We started back to San Luis where we scouted the town for Andre Baston and Swan, but there was nothing to be seen of them. I was coming out of the cantina, however, when I saw a man down by the corral. He turned sharp away when I glimpsed him, so I took notice. He looked an almighty lot like one of the hands who had ridden with Charley McCaire.
That set me to pondering. McCaire was a hard-as-nails man, used to riding roughshod over anything got in his way. He'd lost the game with us, but would he take it?
I wasn't worried about him tangling with Tyrel. Nobody worried about Tyrel.
Tyrel wasn't the kind you expected would be taken advantage of. He was a fair man, and not a trouble- hunting man, but I never knew anybody as ready to take up trouble if it came his way.
If Charley McCaire hunted trouble with Tyrel he just had my sympathy ... him or his boys. As for Tyrel's vaqueros, they liked him, and if he told them to they'd damp down the fires of hell.
Of course, that puncher, if it was him I saw, he might just have quit and drifted.
Still, I was going to keep my eyes open and give thought to my back trail.
We would be pulling out with daybreak, riding west into the mountains, and everyone turned in early against the riding to come.
One more time I went out to the corral to take a look around. All was quiet. The house was dark, the horses nickered a little when I came close because I was always packing little odds and ends of grub for them. This time I had a carrot for each, and I stood there by the rail listening to them crunch, when I heard a faint drum of hooves.
Now I was wearing a shootin' iron. So I just sort of faded back against the corral bars and scrunched down by one of the poles to get sight of whoever it was before they saw me.
The rider slowed down, walked the horse into the yard, hesitated, then slid down and trailed the reins. It was a woman.
I stood up and said, 'Ma'am?'
She turned sharp, but stood her ground. 'Who is it?'
I knew the voice, and it was Juana Pettigrew. 'Tell Sackett, ma'am. I was just checking my horses.'
'Here.' She came at me and thrust something into my hand. 'Take that, and say nothing.' She looked up at me. 'You are good people, you Sacketts. Tina has told me of you, and my cousin once worked for your brother at Mora. I want to help, and it is wrong for my husband not to give you this.' Then she was in the saddle once more and headed back. It was a long, hard ride she had ahead of her.
Inside the house I squatted by the light from the fire. In my hand was a large brown envelope like I'd seen them use for deeds and the like. It was fastened with a twist of string, and I opened it.
What I saw stopped me cold. It was pa's handwriting.
For a moment there I just held those papers in my hand, my heart beating heavy.
Pa's handwriting ... and pa had been dead for twenty years ... or had he?
Juana had brought this to me, which meant that Nativity Pettigrew had it in his possession. He knew pa had a family, so why had he made no effort to get it to us?
April 20: Weather bad. Hard wind, rain turning to snow. Snow still on the mountains but Bontemps is wishful to proceed. He's got enthusazm enough for two.
Don't like this. Trouble has a smell to it, and Baston's a hard man. I've had words with Swan twixt over the way he treats Angus.
April 23: Clearing. Trail muddy, grass very wet. Horses about stove up. Nobody knows mountains but me. They've no idea how miserable it can be up yonder this time of year. They won't show me the map. If it's like most it just is no good.
I read on. The paper was old and rotting and some of the words were blurred.
April 26: In camp. Third day. Trail belly-deep in snow, drifts very deep. Only the fact they couldn't find anything in the snow is keeping them in camp.
Situation growing touchy. Pierre straightened Andre out today. Thought there'd be ... Angus steady. Pettigrew talks a lot, does his work. No idea where he stands.
April 29: Moved on today. Ground soggy with snow-melt. Occasional sleet.
April 30: Showed me map. No good. Hadn't been for ma and boys I'd not be here.
Chance to get enough to settle down, education, home for ma. Landmarks poorly chosen, same from several points, important tree gone.
May 4: In camp on mountain. Three days scouting, digging. Nothing. Utes scouting us. Pierre won't ... Utes or lack of treasure. Swan sullen, Andre furious.
Pettigrew quiet, secretive.
