somewhere at the far end of the house, and it was a great way off, it seemed.
'You helped her in the desert, Sackett, and for that I thank you.'
Surprised, I was, for I'd been thinking he knew nothing of her leaving the pueblo. 'I went for water, and when I started back, they had her. I stumbled as one of them shot at me, and he thought me dead.'
'And you lay still? She does not know that I know.'
He lighted a long black cheroot, then gave me a sharp glance. 'Did she get your gold?'
'As to that, I couldn't say, but I would believe her a woman to know where gold was. I think'-I tried to put it so he would take no offense--
'she has a nose for gold, if you'll not mind my saying so.'
She came back then, walking along the veranda toward us, and we sat silent, waiting. The bottle she brought was Madeira, of a kind they call Rainwater, although no storm that I have seen brought such water from the sky.
'I would have preferred Jamaica,' he said, 'but it is hard to come by in California.'
We tasted the wine, and it was good. I thought him a fine old man, but I trusted the wine more than I did Old Ben Mandrin; and I trusted him a bit more than I did that black-eyed witch woman. Surely, I thought, this was a strange way for a tall and homely cowhand and miner to be treated, and it gave me an uncomfortable feeling to think that it was likely he would lose all this.
Roderigo had told me a little more during our ride from the pueblo to Greek George's ranch. Turner, the man from the bank, had relied on Dorinda to persuade Old Ben to sign the notes; and Turner would get cash from Dayton and his friends, while they would take over the note and get the ranch. Even without the note, they would have Old Ben lashed to the mast, for he was broke and down to his last bit of money.
The drought had ruined the crops and his range, and there was nothing left for him but to yield up the rancho ... but what would he do then, a crippled old man?
There was none of that in his talk now, for once the wine warmed his blood he talked of the old days off the Carolina coast, and of the fight with my grandfather. They had fought on a bloody deck--my grandfather being one of a make-up crew that had gone off to intercept him when there was no warship about equipped to handle the job. They had fought a desperate fight, with both men wounded and bleeding before the cut that felled Old Ben.
As we talked he kept his eyes on me, or looked off and seemed to be listening to the sound of my voice, although it was rare indeed that I had chance to speak. But it seemed to me there was something on his mind, something dark and secret that he held within himself.
Dorinda listened, and occasionally she went from the room and returned. I noticed she drank no wine ... was there purpose in that? Or did she simply not drink at all? Sometimes she seemed impatient, wishing me to be off, no doubt, for all of our talk was taking us no place.
It was in my own mind to leave, until suddenly Old Ben said, 'You must stay the night, Sackett. You can snug down here--there's room enough and more. It will be time enough to go off hunting your gold in the morning.'
He looked at me sharply as he replaced his glass on the table. 'Roderigo said you had planned to buy mules or horses and pack goods back to the mines to sell. Is that still in your mind?'
'When I have my gold.'
He waved his hand at the broad acres around me. 'They plan to take all this from me, but there's mules enough, and I could let you have some ... for a small price. I'll have some run up for you to look upon.'
He caught hold of his cane suddenly as if to get up, then stopped and said to Dorinda, 'Tell them to come for me, and show Mr. Sackett to a room.' He paused again as if thinking.
'To Pio's room,' he added.
She looked surprised, but left the room, and when she came back two vaqueros came with her.
They picked Old Ben up, chair and all, and carried him from the room. When they had gone I finished my wine and put down the glass.
'I have never seen him like this,' Dorinda said, puzzled and disturbed. 'He has never talked so much to any stranger.'
'It was because of the old times,' I said. 'My mention of the fight off Hatteras brought it all back to him.'
Some of her puzzlement seemed to go away.
'Yes, yes, that must be it,' she said.
She was a beautiful woman, but now I could see a coldness there that I had not noticed so much before, although I was ever wary of her.
'But in Pio's room!' she went on. 'He has never allowed anyone in that room but the old governor.'
'Pio Pico?'
'They were friends ... are still friends, I think, although he comes out but rarely now.' And she said no more.
There were four of us at supper, Old Ben, Roderigo, Dorinda, and myself, but now Old Ben talked little. He broke in once to say, 'There was some shooting around Mora, in New Mexico, in which some Sacketts were involved.
One of them married a Mexican girl.'
'They are my brothers,' I said.
He ate with good appetite, I noticed, but drank no more wine--only several cups of the blackest coffee this side of Hell itself. I drank my own share, but I was used to cow-camp coffee which will float a horseshoe.
Tired, I was, and ready for the bed, and we sat about very little after supper was over.
In my room was a huge old four-poster bed, the finest bed I had ever seen, and on a marble-topped table were a bowl and a pitcher of water.
There was a chair and a thick carpet on the stone-flagged floor. The room had one window, and an inner door that evidently connected with Old Ben's room.
Sitting down on the edge of the bed, I considered the situation, and none of it made sense. All I wanted was to get my gold back and get out on the trail back to the mines, yet here I was, a guest in an old Spanish hacienda, the guest of a former pirate.
True, I had my outfit back, but the country was filled with my enemies--and all through no fault of mine. Only trying to help a girl who, it now seemed, was tied in with my enemies ... enemies I'd made because of her.
Tired of trying to figure it out, and deciding I was pretty much of a fool, I pulled off my boots, washed my face and hands, and started to undress.
And then the door from Old Ben Mandrin's room opened and he stood there, hanging on a pair of crutches, and looking at me with devil's laughter in his eyes.
He swung himself around and lowered himself into the chair. 'I need help, boy. I need your help.'
Me, I just stood looking at him. He was dressed for riding, in an outfit that had once fitted him, but did so no longer.
'We've got to ride nearly twenty miles before daybreak,' he said. 'Pull your boots on.'
It looked like I was never going to sleep in a bed.
'You in shape for a twenty-mile ride?' I said.
'No ... but I'll ride it. Leave that to me.'
I could only stare at him. 'Why me?' I said. 'You've got men around. You've got Roderigo.' And then I grinned at him. 'And you've got Dorinda.'
He brushed the suggestion away. 'An old man's fancy. Look, son, you're young.
You're strong. There will be many women for you, but for me she may be the last. I'll not be saying she's mine, for she isn't, and I am sure she has nothing of the kind in mind.
'She looks like a passionate woman, but she isn't, son. Take it from me, the great courtesans of the past-- and Dorinda is like them-- were never passionate, loving women. They were cold, calculating. They used the emotions of men for their own purposes, they were all show, all promises. A passionate woman gets too involved for straight thinking, she becomes too emotional ... not Dorinda. She's thinking all the time.'
'Then why not be rid of her?'
'Like I say, she may be the last beautiful woman to pay me attention. Most of us pay for love in one way or another, and I paid for her attentions by signing that note.' A wolfish gleam came into ^th hard old eyes. 'Now with your help, I'm going to serve them what they have coming.'
