woods. He had chosen two alternative routes. He was a careful man.
Ten to fifteen seconds to the window, lean in, fire his shot. Then, instead of running directly away, he would run along the wall of the saloon, go around the outhouse, and crouch along the corral into the scrub oaks.
On the other side of the oak brush a trail dipped into the river bottom where his horse waited. He would ride south, away from the canyon, where there was more room to lose himself.
He waited a moment longer, got to his feet, glanced left and right, and stepped out of the brush, walking swiftly to the window. Glancing left and right, he saw no one. The shotgun came up in his hands, and he was almost running when he reached the window. He started to thrust the shotgun into the open window when suddenly a voice on his left said, 'You lookin' for something, mister?'
It was that Trelawney girl, and she had a rifle in her hands, not aimed at him, but in a position where only an instant would be needed to aim it.
He hesitated, kept his head tilted downward. He muttered under his breath, then turned sharply away and walked toward the outhouse.
'Mister? Mister!'
He ducked around the small building and ran along the corral into the woods.
Another ten seconds! He swore, bitterly. Another ten seconds and he would have killed Tell Sackett and be on the run ... well away to his horse.
Nell walked to the window, glancing in. Taking one more quick look after the fleeing man, gone now, she went around to the front. The Tinker was standing in front of the store. She explained quickly.
The Tinker glanced toward the woods beyond the corral. 'He's gone. You scared him off.'
'But who was he? I never saw him before!'
The Tinker shrugged. 'It will not happen again.' He walked around the building, glanced toward the woods, then sat down. 'I'll stay right here until he wakes up. Don't you worry now.'
Morning light was laying across the windowsill before my eyes opened, and for a time I just lay still, letting myself get wide awake. That there was the soundest sleep I'd had in a long, long time. Finally, I swung my feet to the floor and reached for my boots.
Something stirred outside the window, and Tinker said, 'Tell? Better come out and have a look.'
When I was dressed and out there beside him, he showed me the tracks. There were only parts of two foot tracks, the rest were on grass and left no mark that remained to show size.
It was the same track I'd seen on the trail.
'He was out to get you, Tell. There's a place where he waited in the aspens over there. He must've waited an hour or more.'
In the earth back of the outhouse we found another track, smudged and shapeless because he had been running. We found where his horse had stood, tied and waiting.
I studied the tracks, knowing I had seen them before, but without remembering where. To a tracker a track is like a signature, and as easy to identify, but this was not one I had remembered, hence it was no one I had ever followed. It was simply a track I had noted casually without paying it any mind, but one thing I knew. If I saw that track again, I would remember it.
Orrin came in from the ranch. 'Good place,' he said, 'and I've found a spot for us.'
When I told him what had happened, he looked grim. 'I should have come back. I knew I should have come back.'
'Nothing gets by that girl,' Tinker commented. 'She had that man dead to rights.'
We drank coffee, ate breakfast, and watched the cloud shadows change on Baldy.
'I'm going up there again,' I said. 'I've got to settle it in my mind. I've got find what remains of him.'
'He's lost,' Berglund said. 'Coyotes or bears carried off the bones ... or the buzzards dropped them. Nothing lasts long up there that isn't stone.'
'There's evidence of that,' the Tinker said quietly, 'coming down the trail.'
Four horses, four riders--a rain-wet, beat-up looking crew--and one of them was Fanny Baston. Paul was there, one hand all tied up with a bandage, and those two riders they'd picked up from somewhere.
They came down the trail, and we stepped outside to see them pass, but they looked neither to the right nor the left, they just rode on through. They carried nothing, nor did they stop for grub.
'She's a beautiful woman,' Orrin said. 'You should have seen her the night we met.'
'Mountains are hard upon evil,' I said. 'They don't hold with it.'
Back inside we drank coffee whilst Judas saddled up for us. He came across the road, a neat black man in a neat black coat. 'I would like to ride along with you, suh,' he suggested.
'Why not? You're a man to ride with, Priest. But ride ready for war. It may come upon us.'
We packed the buckskin again, for we'd be gone one night, anyway.
We rode out into the street and started for the trail, and two more riders came up from the other end of town. It was Nell Trelawney and old Jack Ben.
'See here,' I said, pulling rein, 'this is a rough ride, and you've been ailin'.'
'I ain't ailin' now,' old Jack Ben said irritably, 'and as for rough rides, I was ridin' rough country before your head was as high as a stirrup! You just ride along now, and pay us no mind.'
'No use to argue,' Orrin said. 'He was always a hard-headed, unreasonable old coot.'
Jack Ben snorted, but when we started off they were right behind us, and there they stayed, all the way up the mountain, and we rode with our rifles ready to hand. Yet no trouble came to us, and we rode easy in our saddles, the wind cool and pleasant in our faces, winding around and doubling back, the wild waters of the La Plata tumbling over the rocks or slowing down where the canyon widened out.
Midday was long gone when we rode into the basin. The grass was a glorious green, wild flowers were everywhere. When we went down on the shelf Andre's body was gone. I showed them where the daybook had been. We had brought it along to read on the spot.
It was getting on for sundown, so we unsaddled and staked out our horses. When the fire was lit and the coffee on, I took out the daybook.
Chapter XXVII
Judas was fixing supper. The Tinker sat a little away from us in the dark where he could listen better to the night sounds.
With firelight flickering on the faces around, I tilted the book to catch the glow and settled down to read. There was a smudge on the first page.
... wind blowing, hard to write. Played out. A man trailin' me got a bullet into me when I went to move the picket pin. Low down on my left side. Hurts like hell. Lost blood. Worst is, he's in a place where I can't get a shot at him.
Dasn't have no fire.
Later: shot twice. Missed. I shot at sound, figured to make him carefuller. Gold hid. Got to hide this book--the other one's been stolen. If the boys come a-huntin', soon or late they'll find it. I trust if somebody else does he'll call the boys and share up. I don't expect no man to find gold and give it all up. Figured that was Andre, yonder. It ain't. Andre ain't that good in the brush. This'ns like Injun.
Later: ain't et for two days. Canteen empty. Licked dew off the grass. Caught a swallow of rain in my coffeepot. Wounds in bad shape.
Writing time to time. Boys will find that gold. They'll remember when it comes right down to it. That Orrin, he should recall, him always wantin' the cream of things. No further than from the house to the old well. Ma could find it. How many times she scolded that boy!
Been backed up here five days now. Grub's gone. Coffee's gone. No water but dew and rain. Whoever it is out there won't take a chance. Got a funny walk. Hear him. Got another bullet into me. Boys, I ain't goin' to make it. Be good boys.
Be good. Take care--got to put this away.
He was cornered like an old bear driven to the wall, wounded and dying, but his last thoughts were of us. He'd have handled everything all right if he could have moved around, but he was bad hurt. That bullet in the side, now. That must have been worse than he said ... and no water. He must have caught some rain in his coffeepot, but that wouldn't have been much. He would have been slower in his movements with that bruised hipbone.
