'I can't argue with that. My drive will start on the Neuces and drive to the Musselshell in Montana. How about it, Sunday?'
'I think not. I'll trail along with the boys.'
There I sat with almost six thousand dollars belonging to me and about a thousand more back in Sante Fe, and I was scared. It was the first time in my life I'd ever had anything to lose. The way I saw it unless a man knows where he's going he isn't going anywhere at all. We wanted a home for Ma, and a ranch, and we also wanted enough education to face the changing times. It was time to do some serious thinking.
A voice interrupted. 'Aren't you Tyrel Sackett?'
It was the manager of the Drovers' Cottage. 'There's a letter for you.'
'A letter?' I looked at him stupidly. Nobody had ever written me a letter.
Maybe Ma ... I was scared. Who would write to me?
It looked like a woman's handwriting. I carefully unfolded the letter. It scared me all hollow. Worst of it was, the words were handwritten and the letters were all which-way and I had a time making them out. But I wet my lips, dug in my heels, and went to work--figuring a man who could drive cattle could read a letter if he put his mind to it.
First off there was the town: Santa Fe. And the date. It was written only a week or so after we left Santa Fe.
Dear Mr. Sackett:
Well, now! Who was calling me mister? Mostly they called me Tyrel, or Tye, or Sackett.
The letter was signed Drusilla.
Right about then I started to get hot around the neck and ears, and took a quick look to see if anybody noticed. You never saw so many people paying less attention to anybody.
They heard I was in Santa Fe and wondered why I did not visit them. There had been trouble when some men had tried to take part of the ranch but the men had gone away. All but four, which they buried. And then her grandfather had gone to town to see Jonathan Pritts. In my mind's eyes I could see those two old men facing each other, and it must have been something to see, but my money was on the don. She ended with an invitation to visit them when I was next in Santa Fe.
Time has a way of running out from under a man. Looked like a man would never amount to much without book learning and every day folks were talking of what they read, of what was happening, but none of it made sense to me who had to learn by listening. When a man learns by listening he is never sure whether he is getting the straight of things or not.
There was a newspaper that belonged to nobody and I took that; it took me three days to work my way through its four pages.
There was a man in town with gear to sell, and figuring on buying an extra pistol, I went to see him. The gun I bought, and some boxes of shells, but when I saw some books in his wagon I bought them without looking.
'You don't want to know what they are?'
'Mister, I don't see that's your business, but the fact is, I wouldn't know one from the other. I figured if I studied out those books I'd learn. I'd work it out.'
He had the look of a man who knew about writing and printing. 'These aren't the books I'd recommend for a beginner, but you may get something out of them.'
He sold me six books and I took them away.
Night after night I sat by the campfire plugging away at those books, and Tom Sunday sure helped a lot in telling me what words were about. First off, I got a surprise by learning that a man could learn something about his own way of living from a book. This book by an Army man, Captain Randolph Marcy, was written for a guide to parties traveling west by wagon. He told a lot of things I knew, and a good many I didn't.
Cap Rountree made out like he was sour about the books. 'Need an extry pack horse for all that printed truck. First time I ever heard of a man packin' books on the trail.'
Chapter IX
Santa Fe lay lazy in the sun when we rode into town. Nothing seemed to have changed, yet there was a feeling of change in me. And Drusilla was here, and this time I would call at her home. I'd never called on a girl before.
My letter from Drusilla was my own secret and I had no idea of telling anyone about it. Not even Orrin. When Drusilla wrote I didn't answer because I couldn't write and if I'd traced the letters out--well, it didn't seem right that a man should be writing like a child.
First off when we got to Santa Fe I wanted to see Drusilla, so I went about getting my broadcloth suit brushed and pressed out. It was late afternoon when I rode to the ranch. Miguel was loafing at the gate with a rifle across his knees.
'Senor! It is good to see you! Every day the senorita has asked me if I have seen you!'
'Is she in?'
'Senor, it is good that you are back. Good for them, and good for us too.' He indicated the door. The house surrounded a patio, and stood itself within an adobe wall fifteen feet high. There was a walk ran around the inside near the top of the wall, and there were firing positions for at least thirty men on that wall.
Don Luis sat working at a desk. He arose. 'Good afternoon, senor. It is good to see you. Was your venture a success?'
So I sat down and told him of our trip. A few of the cattle had carried his brand and we had kept the money for him and this I now paid.
'There is much trouble here,' Don Luis said. 'I fear it is only the beginning.'
It seemed to me he had aged a lot in the short time since I'd last seen him.
Suddenly, I realized how much I liked that stern, stiff old man with his white mustache.
Sitting back in his chair, he told me how Pritts' men made their first move.
Forty in the group had moved on some flat land well within the Grant and had staked claims there, then they had dug in for a fight. Knowing the manner of men he faced, Don Luis held back his vaqueros.
'There are, senor, many ways to victory, and not all of them through violence.
And if there was a pitched battle, some of my men would be hurt. This I wished to avoid.'
The invaders were watched, and it was noted when Pritts and Fetterson returned to Santa Fe on business that several bottles appeared and by midnight half the camp was drunk. Don Luis was close by, but he held back his vaqueros who were eager for a fight.
By three in the morning when all were in a drunken sleep, Don Luis' vaqueros moved in swiftly. The invaders were tied to their horses and started back down the road toward Santa Fe. Their tents and equipment were burned or confiscated, their weapons unloaded and returned to them. They were well down the trail when several riders returning from Mora engaged in a running gun battle with the vaqueros. Four of the invaders were killed, several wounded. Don Luis had two men wounded, none seriously.
'The advantage was ours,' Don Luis explained, 'but Jonathan Pritts is a very shrewd man and he is making friends, nor is he a man to suffer defeat without retaliation. It is difficult,' he added, 'to carry out a project with the sort of men he uses. They are toughs and evil men.'
'Don Luis,' I said, 'have I your permission to see Miss Drusilla?'
He arose. 'Of course, senor. I fear if the privilege were denied that I should have another war, and one which I am much less suited to handle.
'We in New Mexico,' he added, 'have been closer to your people than our own. It is far to Mexico City, so our trade has been with you, our customs affected by yours. My family would disapprove of our ways, but on the frontier there is small time for formality.'
Standing in the living room of the lovely old Spanish home, I felt stiff in my new clothes. Abilene had given me time to get used to them, but the awkwardness returned now that I was to see Drusilla again. I could hear the click of her heels on the stone flags, and turned to face the door, my heart pounding, my mouth suddenly so dry I could scarcely swallow.
She paused in the doorway, looking at me. She was taller than I had remembered, and her eyes were larger. She was beautiful, too beautiful for a man like me.
'I thought you had forgotten us,' she said, 'you didn't answer my letter.'
I shifted my hat in my hands. 'It looked like I'd get here as fast as the letter, and I'm not much hand at
