'Maybe we'll ride over and see those Sacketts. The ones over on the La Plata.'
'If you go,' the bartender advised, 'better go friendly. They're good boys but they don't take kindly to folks pushing them.
'They've got them a ranch over just beyond that new town--Shalako, or some such name. They've brought in some cattle, but from all I hear they're still sort of camping out. Haven't started to build, yet.'
We drank our rye, then ordered coffee. We could see the Tinker had come back and was loafing near the corral, honing the blade of that Tinker-made knife of his.
Perhaps the finest knife ever made.
'You been around here long?' Orrin asked.
'We just opened up. Nobody's been here very long, some folks came in in '73, but the town didn't sort of begin to settle up until '76. If you ride around much, keep your eyes open and a gun handy. The Utes haven't decided what to do about us yet.'
One of the other men--a short, barrel-chested man with a broad, friendly face--was looking at me. Suddenly he said, 'Speaking of Sacketts, there was one come into this country some years back. Had him a claim up on the Vallecitos. He was hell-on-wheels with a pistol.'
'You don't say?' I said, innocently. 'Well, I figure if you leave those folks alone they'll leave you alone.
'There's something else, though,' I added. 'If any of you know anybody who was around here about twenty years back, I'd like to talk to him ... or them.'
'Ask Ragan or Galloway Sackett. They're new in the country but they've got an old Indian working for them who has been in this country since those mountains were holes in the ground--goes by the name of Powder- Face.'
We finished our coffee and drifted outside. It was a warm, pleasant morning with a blue sky overhead and a scattering of white clouds here and there, a real picture-book sky, typical of that country.
'I've got an uneasy feelin',' I told Orrin.
He nodded. 'Reason I wanted to get out of there. No use mixing innocent people in our troubles.'
'That one man knew me, or figured he did.'
We stood there looking up and down the street. Animas City wasn't much of a town, but it was growing, and it looked like there would be business enough with the mining, ranching, and all.
The Tinker strolled over and joined us. 'Man just rode in,' he said. 'Tied his horse over yonder by the drugstore.'
The Newman, Chestnut, and Stevens Drugstore was right along the street. We walked out and went down to the blacksmith shop run by the Naegelin Brothers, and we glanced across at the horse.
The brand was visible from there, and it was 888.
'Charley McCaire's brand,' I said. 'What do you make of that?'
Orrin shrugged. 'Let's ride out.'
We walked back to the Tinker and then the three of us went to where Nell and Judas Priest were setting on the bank by the river. We all mounted up and rode out. As we glanced back we saw a man come out of the drugstore and look after us.
A short time later we stopped near the Twin Buttes and waited, studying our back trail, but nobody showed so we rode on, walking our horses as it was mostly uphill, although the grade was not too steep.
The town of Shalako lay on a flat bench with a looming backdrop of the La Plata Mountains behind it. On past the town a trail went on up La Plata Canyon, following the La Plata River. There were very few buildings in the town--one of them was a saloon.
The man behind the bar was a big Swede. He sized me up as I came through the door. Orrin and the others were following me.
He grinned and came around the bar. 'Tell! Tell Sackett! Well, I'll be damned!
The boys said you'd be coming up sooner or later, but this is great! Have a drink on the house!'
'We'd rather eat,' I said. 'We've just come in from Animas City.' I drew back a chair and sat down.
'Orrin, this here is Swede Berglund, a good man anywhere you find him.'
They shook hands, and then he greeted Judas, Nell, and the Tinker and went to the kitchen to stir up the grub. I wiped the sweat from my hatband and squinted out the open door. Across the street was a supply outfit-- general store, miners' supplies, and whatever, and next to that was a livery stable.
When I looked across the street again two men were getting down in front of the store. They looked like they'd come a far piece, and one of them stayed beside the horses while the other went into the store.
The flank of one horse was turned toward me and I could read the brand.
Three Eights ...
'Orrin,' I said, 'looks like we've got comp'ny.'
Chapter XIX
'Could be chance,' he said, glancing out the window. 'I doubt if Charley McCaire's mad enough to follow us here.'
'Suppose he tied up with Baston an' them?'
He shrugged. 'Unlikely, but it could be.'
There was no use asking for trouble. We'd had a mite of difficulty with McCaire back yonder in New Mexico, and he was truly a hard, stubborn man. Of course, this was good cattle country, with water aplenty and grass. A desert or dry-plains country rancher will ride a far piece for range country like there was hereabouts.
Berglund was putting some bowls of stew on the table, and slabs of bread made from stone-ground wheat. 'Eat up, the coffee's gettin' hot.'
'That peak yonder,' I said, indicating a smooth-domed mountain that seemed to be covered with green growth right over the top, 'what peak is that?'
'Baldy,' Berglund said. 'That's Parrott Peak on the other side of the canyon.'
'That's La Plata Canyon?'
'Sure is. The river comes right down from the top. That's rough country up yonder, rough and beautiful.'
'Heard about it,' I said. 'The river heads up in a big glacial basin?'
'What they call a cirque. Yeah, that's right. She picks up some other little streams on the way down. I've only been part way up. Lots of elk and deer up there, and bear, too.
'Last time I was up there I stopped to pick wild strawberries and saw a grizzly doing the same thing. I just backed off and left him alone. He was a good hundred yards off, but that wasn't far enough for me. It's wonderful how cramped a country can get when it's you and a grizzly in the same neighborhood.'
Pa had taken off from Treasure Mountain and come down. Chances were he came this far, for he knew the La Plata country as well as that west of here. He might have stopped in the Animas Valley, but, knowing him, I doubted it.
'Orrin, tomorrow you ought to scout around for a place, something ma would like to pass her days in, where we could raise up some cattle.'
'What about you?'
'I'm going to find old Powder-Face and make talk with him. If pa came into this country you can bet those Indians knew about it.'
The stew was good, and, as I ate, my mind went a-wandering into those far-up hills, seeking out the way pa might have taken. The minds of men are not so different, and the mountains do not allow for much changing of direction.
If a body takes out to follow a made trail down over the hills, he'd best hold to that trail, for there are not too many ways to go. Most of the trouble a man finds in the mountains is when he tries shortcuts or leaves a known way.
Trails are usually made by game or by Indians, then used by latecomers, but the trails are there because somebody has found--through trial and error--the best way to get somewhere. If you see an easier looking way in the mountains, don't take it. You may walk two or three miles and find yourself standing on the edge of a cliff with no way down.
When a body sets out to find another man's trail, he has to sort of ease his way into that man's thoughts and try to reason out what he might have done.
