Sunday fanned out on the other side. Two others ranged up along the man with the scarred lip.
'What happened?'
'Carney here,' I said, 'bought himself more than he could pay for.'
That blond puncher had been ready to buy himself a piece of any fight there was left and he was just squaring away when Cap Rountree put in his two-bit's worth.
'We figured you might be troubled, Tye,' Cap said in that dry, hard old voice, 'so Tom an' me, we came out to see the sides were even up.'
You could feel the change in the air. That blond with the scarred lip--later I found out his name was Fetterson--he didn't like the situation even a little.
Here I was dead center in front of him, but he and his two partners, they were framed by Tom Sunday and Cap Rountree.
Fetterson glanced one way and then the other and you could just see his horns pull in. He'd come through that door sure enough on the prod an' pawin' dust, but suddenly he was so peaceful it worried me.
'You better hunt yourself a hole before he comes out of it,' Fetterson said.
'He'll stretch your hide.'
By that time I had my pants on and was stamping into my boots. Believe me, I sure hate to face up to trouble with no pants on, and no boots. So I slung my gun belt and settled my holster into place. 'You tell him to draw his pay and rattle his hocks out of here. I ain't hunting trouble, but he's pushing, mighty pushing.'
The three of us walked across to the Drovers' Cottage for a meal, and the first thing we saw was Orrin setting down close to that blond girl and she was looking at him like he was money from home. But that was the least of it. Her father was setting there listening himself ... leave it to Orrin and that Welsh-talking tongue of his. He could talk a squirrel right out of a walnut tree ... I never saw the like.
The three of us sat down to a good meal and we talked up a storm about that country to the west, and the wild cattle, and how much a man could make if he could keep Comanches, Kiowas, or Utes from lifting his hair.
Seemed strange to be sitting at a table. We were all so used to setting on the ground that we felt awkward with a white cloth and all. Out on the range a man ate with his hunting knife and what he could swab up with a chunk of bread.
That night Mr. Belden paid us off in the hotel office, and one by one we stepped up for our money. You've got to remember that neither Orrin or me had ever had twenty-five dollars of cash money in our lives before. In the mountains a man mostly swapped for what he needed, and clothes were homespun.
Our wages were twenty-five dollars a month and Orrin and me had two months and part of a third coming. Only when he came to me, Mr. Belden put down his pen and sat back in his chair.
'Tye,' he said, 'there's a prisoner here who is being held for the United States Marshal. Brought in this morning. His name is Aiken, and he was riding with Back Rand the day you met them out on the prairie.'
'Yes, sir.'
'I had a talk with Aiken, and he told me that if it hadn't been for you Back Rand would have taken my herd . . or tried to. It seems, from what he said, that you saved my herd or saved us a nasty fight and a stampede where I was sure to lose cattle. It seems this Aiken knew all about you Sacketts and he told Rand enough so that Rand didn't want to call your bluff. I'm not an ungrateful man, Tye, so I'm adding two hundred dollars to your wages.'
Two hundred dollars was a sight of money, those days, cash money being a shy thing.
When we walked out on the porch of the Drovers' Cottage, there were three wagons coming up the trail, and three more behind them. The first three were army ambulances surrounded by a dozen Mexicans in fringed buckskin suits and wide Mexican sombreros. There were another dozen riding around the three freight wagons following, and we'd never seen the like.
Their jackets were short, only to the waist, and their pants flared out at the bottom and fitted like a glove along the thighs. Their spurs had rowels like mill wheels on them, and they all had spanking-new rifles and pistols. They wore colored silk sashes like some of those Texas cowhands wore, and they were all slicked out like some kind of a show.
Horses? Mister, you should see such horses! Every one clean-limbed and quick, and every one showing he'd been curried and fussed over. Every man Jack of that crowd was well set-up, and if ever I saw a fighting crowd, it was this lot.
The first carriage drew up before the Drovers' Cottage and a tall, fine-looking old man with pure white hair and white mustaches got down from the wagon, then helped a girl down. Now I couldn't rightly say how old she was, not being any judge of years on a woman, but I'd guess she was fifteen or sixteen, and the prettiest thing I ever put an eye to.
Pa had told us a time or two about those Spanish dons and the senoritas who lived around Santa Fe, and these folks must be heading that direction.
Right then I had me an idea. In Indian country the more rifles the better, and this, here outfit must muster forty rules if there was one, and no Indian was going to tackle that bunch for the small amount of loot those wagons promised.
The four of us would make their party that much stronger, and would put us right in the country we were headed for. Saying nothing to Sunday or Rountree, I went into the dining room. The grub there was passing fine. Situated on the rails they could get about what they wanted and the Drovers' Cottage was all set up to cater to cattlemen and cattle buyers with money to spend. Later on folks from back east told me some of the finest meals they ever set down to were in some of those western hotels ... and some of the worst, too.
The don was sitting at a table with that pretty girl, but right away I could see this was no setup to buck if a man was hunting trouble. There were buckskin-clad riders setting at tables around them and when I approached the don, four of them came out of their chairs like they had springs in their pants, and they stood as if awaiting a signal.
'Sir,' I said, 'from the look of your outfit you'll be headed for Santa Fe. My partners and me ... there are four of us ... we're headed west. If we could ride along with your party we'd add four rifles to your strength and it would be safer for us.'
He looked at me out of cold eyes from a still face. His mustache was beautifully white, his skin a pale tan, his eyes brown and steady. He started to speak, but the girl interrupted and seemed to be explaining something to him, but there was no doubt about his answer.
She looked up at me. 'I am sorry, sir, but my grandfather says it will be impossible.'
'I'm sorry, too,' I said, 'but if he would like to check up on our character he could ask Mr. Belden over there.'
She explained, and the old man glanced at Mr. Belden across the room. There was a moment when I thought he might change his mind, but he shook his head.
'I am sorry.' She looked like she really was sorry. 'My grandfather is a very positive man.' She hesitated and then she said, 'We have been warned that we may be attacked by some of your people.'
I bowed ... more than likely it was mighty awkward, it was the first time I ever bowed to anybody, but it seemed the thing to do.
'My name is Tyrel Sackett, and if ever we can be of help, my friends and I are at your service.' I meant it, too, although that speech was right out a book I'd heard read one time, and it made quite an impression on me. 'I mean, I'll sure come a-foggin' it if you're in trouble.'
She smiled at me, mighty pretty, and I turned away from that table with my head whirling like somebody had hit me with a whiffletree. Orrin had come in, and he was setting up to a table with that blond girl and her father, but the way those two glared at me you'd have sworn I'd robbed a hen roost.
Coming down off the steps I got a glimpse into that wagon the girl had been riding in. You never seen the like. It was all plush and pretty, fixed up like nothing you ever saw, a regular little room for her. The second wagon was the old man's, and later I learned that the third carted supplies for them, fine food and such, with extra rifles, ammunition, and clothing. The three freight wagons were heavy-loaded for their rancho in New Mexico.
Orrin followed me outside. 'How'd you get to know Don Luis?'
'That his name? I just up an' talked to him.'
'Pritts tells me he's not well thought of by his neighbors.' Orrin lowered his voice. 'Fact is, Tyrel, they're getting an outfit together to drive him out.'
