It was easy to cast blame. Chances were Paul had never faced gunfire before.
Like a lot of others he was ready to hurt or kill, but not to be hurt or killed.
Many men avoid battle not from cowardice but from fear of cowardice, fear that when the moment of truth comes they will not have the courage to face up to it.
Paul had no such nerve, and he had been hurt--perhaps not badly, and certainly not fatally, but he had seen his own blood flowing, a profound shock to some.
'It is no problem,' I heard Andre's voice, calm and easy. 'No problem. I know the place where he is, and there's no way out. It worked before and it will again.'
Before?
I looked around me.
Here? Had this been where pa died? I looked toward the corner where the horses were. There?
I had seen no bones, no grave. Wild animals might have scattered the bones, or the body might have been thrown over the edge into the hollow below.
Here ... had pa come to an end here? And was I to follow him?
The situation was different, I told myself. I had a good Winchester, plenty of food, ammunition ... I could stand a siege. Unless there was something else, some unknown factor.
Some time back Judas had said that Andre Baston had ten men with him. It might be an exaggeration, but there were several. I could hear their voices.
After a moment, seeing all clear, I retreated to where the horses were. Here the cul-de-sac narrowed down, and the drop into the basin below was steep. Even had a man been able to get down there, until he could reach the trees, he would be wide open for a shot from the rim. And Andre wasn't likely to miss, as Paul had.
It looked like there might be a narrow way along the rim, a way that might be used by man or horse, but it showed no tracks, no trail, no sign of use. There was also a good chance that a rifleman would be waiting at the other end, with a certain target. There'd be no chance of missing if the target was approaching over a way not three feet wide.
Some rocks had been heaped up here, one slab on another, and some had fallen from a higher barricade. Now there was a fallen tree, the needles still clinging to the dead branches.
When I reached the horses I broke open a box of cartridges and filled my coat pockets. My Winchester '73 was fully loaded, and I was ready as a man could be.
Right over beyond that bare knoll that towered above me was the basin, and from the lower side of the basin a trail went down La Plata Canyon to Shalako.
At Shalako were at least three Sacketts and some friends, but that was six or seven miles away, maybe further, and they might as well be in China for all the good they'd do.
What happened here was up to me. And only me.
I just had a thought that worried me. It passed through my mind while I was considering other things. Something was suddenly nagging me ... what could it have been?
There was some factor in my setup here ...
I had a good field of fire down the ledge from where I'd chosen my hiding place.
There were a few dips and hollows, some fallen logs, some of them almost rotted through.
Getting the horses into as safe a spot as could be, I settled down and gave study to the situation. Over my shoulder I could see the almost bare flank of that ridge where the ghost trail led. Now if I could get over there ...
Nobody was coming. Evidently they were sure they had me and would let me worry a mite. I smelled smoke ... they were fixing some breakfast.
Well, why not me?
I gathered some sticks and put together a bit of a blaze and set some coffee to boiling. Then I got out my skillet and fried up some bacon. Meanwhile I kept an eye open for those gents who were hunting me.
If this was where they had cornered pa, where were his bones? And what became of his outfit? And the gold?
Pa was a canny man, and he'd not be wishful of them profiting by his death. If this was where it happened, then he would have made some show of hiding things ... Yet, how had it happened? True, pa only had a muzzle- loader, and, fast as he was, he'd not be able to fight off a bunch of them for long. But he had a pistol--or should have had.
Thing that disturbed me was the fact that Baston and them were so sure they had me. Now if I could just see what they were about ...
Suddenly a cold chill went through me, like they say happens when somebody steps on your grave. All of a sudden I knew why they were so sure of themselves.
They had a man atop that knoll who could shoot into this place where I was.
He was probably up there now, and, when the attack began and my attention was directed down along the ledge, he'd shoot me from the top of that hill.
Actually, it was a peak, standing higher than anything close by. Looking up at it, I could see where a man up there, if willing to expose himself a little, could fire at almost every corner of this ledge--almost every corner.
Well, cross that bridge when it came. Now for the bacon. I ate it there, liking the smell of it and the smell of the fire. What would I miss most, I wondered, if I should be killed here? The sight of those clouds gathering over the mountains yonder? The smell of woodsmoke and coffee and bacon? The feel of a good horse under me? Or the sunlight through the aspen leaves?
I hadn't a lot to remember, I guess. I'd been to none of the great places, nor walked among people of fame. I'd never eaten very fancy, nor been to many drama-shows. I'd set over many a campfire and slept out under the stars so much I knew all their shapes and formations from looking up at them time after time.
There'd been some good horses here and there, and some long trails and wide deserts I'd traveled. I had those memories, and I guess they stacked up to quite a lot when a fellow thought of it. But pa was away head of me when he settled down here to make his stand. He had a wife back home, and some boys growing, boys to carry on his name and carry on his living for him. I hadn't a son nor a daughter. If I went out now there'd be nobody to mourn me. My brothers, yes. But a man needs a woman to cry for him when he goes out.
Still, I'd want to be the last to go. I'd want to see her safely to bed before I cashed in my checks. Maybe it is easier for a man to be alone than a woman. I wouldn't know much about such things.
They are gettin' busy over yonder. Voices are closer. I reckon the fussin' and the feudin' are shapin' up to start. I reckon this is how some of those old Trojans felt when they put on their armor for the last fight, when the Greeks were closing in and they knew they weren't going to make it.
But I am going to make it. No man should go down the long way without leaving something behind him, and all I've got to leave will disappear when the dust settles.
A man can carve from stone, he can write fine words, or he can do something to hold himself in the hearts of people. I hadn't done any of those things, not yet.
Maybe I never would.
The wind was dying. Leaves hanging still. There was the coolness of the mountains around me. This here place must be close onto twelve thousand feet up.
A shade less, because there were trees around me. But the trees stopped not fifty yards off, and even here there weren't very many.
Looked like something moved atop that knoll. I'd like to burn him a mite, like to singe his scalp so's he'll know it ain't all going to be fun.
They were comin' now. Some movement down the ledge. I ate the last strip of bacon and refilled my cup with coffee. A bullet nudged at the rock over my head, spilling fragments into my coffee. I swore. Now they shouldn't ought to have done that. A body can take just so much, and I set store by a good cup of coffee.
If I stayed back close to the rocks nobody was going to get a real good shot at me, so I just set there. When shootin' time come, I'd do my share. No use to take the fun away from those anxious folks down there. A couple of more shots from down the ledge, but they done nobody any harm. I took another gulp of coffee and looked out yonder at the mountain peaks. Some of them were fifty, sixty miles off.
I wished I could see the one called the Sleeping Ute, but that mountain was hidden behind the rim yonder. When I leaned forward to take up the pot, that gent atop the knoll shot right into my fire. I slapped around, putting
