was stark and clear, the ridges sharply cut against the faintly lightening sky. Grass swished about our horses' hoofs, our saddles creaked, and over at Golondrinos a dog barked inquiringly into the morning.
Cap Rountree hunched his shoulders in his wore-out homespun coat and never once looked back to see if we were coming along. He did his part and expected others to do theirs.
I had a lot to think about, and there's no better time for thinking than a day in the saddle. There'd been many changes in life for Orrin and Tyrel and Ma, and my mind was full of them.
I had rolled out of my soogan at three o'clock that morning. It was cold, believe me. Any time you think summer is an always warm time, you try a high country in the Southwest with mountains close by.
After rolling my bed for travel, I went down to the corral, shook out a loop, and caught up the horses. They were frosty and wild-eyed and suspected my notions, liking their corral.
Before there was a light in the house I had those horses out and tied to the corral with their pack saddles on them. Then I stepped into the leather on my appaloosa to top him off and get the kinks out of him. By the time I had him stopped pitching and bucking, Cap was around.
The door opened, throwing a rectangle of light into the yard. It was Brasilia, Tyrel's wife. 'Come and get it,' she said, and I never heard a prettier sound.
Cap and me, we came in out of the dark, our guns belted on, and wearing jackets. We hung our hats on pegs and rinsed our hands off in the wash basin. Cap had a face on that would sour milk.
Tyrel was at table, fresh-shaved and looking fit as a man could. How he found the time, I didn't know, but sizing him up, I decided it was mighty becoming in a man to be fresh-shaved at breakfast. Seemed like if I was going to fit myself for living with a woman I'd have to tone up my manners.
Women-folks were something I'd seen little of, and having them around was unsettling, sort of. But I could see the advantages. It's a comforting feeling to hear a woman about tinkling dishes, and stepping light, and looking pretty.
Ma was up, too. She was no youngster any more, and some crippled by rheumatism, but Ma would never be abed when one of us boys was taking off. The room was warm from the fire and there was a fine smell of bacon frying and coffee steaming. Drusilla had been raised right. She had a mug of steaming coffee before Cap and me as soon as we set down to table.
Drusilla looked slim and pretty as a three-month-old fawn, her eyes big and dark and warm. That Tyrel was a lucky man.
Cap was a good eater and he leaned into his food. I ate seven eggs, nine strips of bacon and six hot-cakes, and drank five cups of coffee. Tyrel watched me, no smile on his face. Then he looked over at Dru. 'I'd sooner buy his clothes than feed him,' he said.
Finally I got up and took up my Winchester. At the door I stopped and looked at Ma, then around the room. It was warm, comfortable, friendly. It was home. Ma'd never had much until now, and what she had now wasn't riches, but it was better than ever before, and she was happy. The boys had done well by her, and well by themselves.
Me? The least I could do was try to make something of myself. The eldest-born, the last to amount to anything, if ever.
Tyrel came outside when I stepped into the saddle and handed me up that copy of Blackstone he'd seen me looking at. 'Give it study, Tell,' he said. 'It's the law we live by, and a lot of men did a lot of thinking for a lot of years to make it so.' I'd never owned a book before, or had the loan of one, but it was a friendly feeling, knowing it was there in my saddlebag, waiting to give me its message over a lot of campfires to come.
The proper route to the country where we were headed was up the old Spanish Trail, but Cap suggested we head north for San Luis and old Fort Massachusetts, to avoid anybody who might be laying for us. We made camp that night in the pines a half-mile back from Black Lake.
Earlier, we had ridden through the village of Guadalupita without stopping. In a country where folks are few they make up for it with curiosity. News is a scarce thing in the far hills. Two men riding north with six pack horses were bound to cause comment.
It was a quiet night, and we weren't to see too many of that kind for a long, long time.
Coyotes talked inquiringly to the moon and cocked their ears for the echo of their own voices. Somewhere up the slope an old grizzly poked around in the brush, but he paid us no mind, muttering to himself like a grouchy old man.
About the time coffee water was on, Cap opened up and started to talk. He had his pipe going and I had some steaks broiling.
'Coolest man I ever saw in a difficulty is your brother Tyrel. Only time he had me worried was when he faced up to Tom Sunday.
'You've heard tell of Sunday? He was our friend. As good a man as ever stretched a buffalo hide, but when Orrin commenced getting the things Tom Sunday figured should come to him, trouble showed its hand.
'Sunday was a big, handsome, laughing man, a man of education and background, but hell on wheels in any kind of a fight. Only when Orrin edged him out on things, though Orrin wanted to share everything, or even step aside for him, Tom turned mean and Tye had to get tough with him.'
'Tye's a good man with a gun.'
'Shooting's the least of it,' Cap said irritably. 'Any man can shoot a gun, and with practice he can draw fast and shoot accurately, but that makes no difference. What counts is how you stand up when somebody is shooting back at you.'
I hadn't heard Cap talk much before but Tyrel was one of his few enthusiasms, and I could see why.
Gold is a hard-kept secret.
The good, the bad, the strong, and the weak all flock to the kind of warmth that gold gives off.
Come daylight we moved out, and soon we had Angel Fire Mountain abreast of us, with Old Taos Pass cutting into the hills ahead and on our left. Cap was troubled in his mind about our back trail, and he was giving it
