'No, Se@nor, but it is known that he is a good man, and a friend to Mexicans.' The sheepherder paused. 'Se@nor, the half-dollar ... it is not much.' He hesitated again. 'Would the se@nor ... perhaps a loan?' He extended a gold eagle.
Nolan Sackett, whom not many things could astonish, was astonished now--astonished and touched.
He looked at the old Mexican. 'You don't know me, old man. And I might never come this way again.'
The old man shrugged.
'I can't lay claim to goodness, old man.
I'm a Clinch Mountain Sackett, and we've the name of being rough folk. I never paid much mind to where money came from as long as I had it to hand, but nobody ever loaned me any, not as I recall.
I'm obliged.'
He tightened the cinch, then swung to the saddle.
'Thanks, old man. And if somebody comes by, you tell them to ride high-tail to Mora and tell Tyrel and them that a Sackett's in trouble in the Mogollons.'
The pound of the horse's hoofs became a lessening sound in the still mountain air. The old Mexican looked after the rider, long after he had disappeared from sight, and then he said, 'Vaya con Dios!'
In the shadowed coolness of the ranch house on Mora Creek the dining-room table was laid for ten, and as the Mexican girls moved swiftly and silently about, making last-minute preparations for dinner, their skirts rustled with excitement.
Orrin Sackett was up from Santa Fe after his return from Washington, D. C.
Tyrel Sackett, wearing a black broadcloth suit, sat in a big hide-covered chair listening to Orrin.
The huge living room was two stories high, and was framed by a balcony on three sides with a beautiful staircase leading to the upper floor.
The room itself was sparsely furnished and cool.
'Cap should be here any minute, Orrin. He rode out this morning to check the range on the south.'
'How is Cap?'
'You know how he is. He's lived all his life on beef, beans, and gun smoke. If somebody doesn't shoot him, he'll live forever.'
'Heard from Tell?'
'Never a ^w since they left for Arizona.
I've held back the herd, waiting. But you know Tell ... he was never any hand to write.'
'Look, Tye, I can't tell you how important this meeting is. Ollie Shaddock is coming over, and the men with him want me to run for the United States Senate. It's a big step, and I'd like to try.'
'What do they want from me?'
'Tye, the Mexican vote can elect me, and you know as well as I do that most of them do not trust Anglos, and they know very little about them. They do know something about me ... or you.
'What's important is that they believe in you--they know you, and they like you. What the men back of me want is your assurance that you're supporting me. And they want you to tell some of your Mexican friends.'
Tye laughed. 'Damn it, Orrin, who else would I support? You're not only my brother, but an honest man. Sure, I'll drop the ^w, but it isn't necessary. They remember you, and they trust you. Believe me, the only mistake your friends are making is in underrating the political sense of the Mexicans. They aren't easily led, and they certainly aren't easily stampeded.'
'I'll need the help, Tye. There's a lot of talk against electing a gunfighter to the Senate --or to any public office.'
'You mean they've forgotten about Andy Jackson?' Tyrel said. 'Or Thomas Hart Benton? And Cassius Clay, our ambassador to Russia?'
He crossed his legs. 'Anyway, Orrin, you weren't the one who got into gunfights. I was the one.'
The door opened suddenly, and Drusilla, breathtakingly lovely, stood framed there.
'Tye, it's Cap. He's got bad news.'
Cap Rountree stepped past her. 'Tye, a Mexican boy just rode in. There's ^w that Tell's in trouble. The whole Lazy A has taken in after him and they've got him cornered back in the breaks under the Mogollon Rim.
They're going to hang him, Tye.'
Tyrel Sackett knocked the ash from his Spanish cigar and placed it carefully on the ash tray. 'Cap, have them saddle a horse for me.'
He turned to Orrin. 'Sorry. You can tell them for me that I'm with you ... all the way ... when I get back.'
'Dru will have to tell them. I'm going along.'
'Tye,' Cap interrupted, 'This here's worse than you think. Somebody killed Ange, and the whole lot of old hands on the Lazy A up an' quit. What they've got now are a passel of border gunmen.'
'There's the three of us,' Orrin said to his brother, 'you, me, and Tell.'
'Four,' Cap said. 'Since when have I missed a Sackett fight?'
It was past midnight when the stage rolled up to Knight's Ranch, and the few passengers got down stiffly. The tall, elegant man who helped his lovely wife from the coach looked unrumpled, showing no evidence of the long, chilling, and dusty ride. Nor did she.
'Better grab a bite to eat, folks,' the driver advised. 'Doubt if you'll get anything worth eatin' this side of Globe.'
The tall man offered his wife his arm and together they went to the door of the thick-walled adobe ranch house that doubled as a stage station. Inside, it was warm and comfortable. The table was freshly laid, with a white cloth and napkins ... unheard of in western stage stations.
As they stepped through the door, he heard a rattle of hoofs on the hard-packed earth, and turned to look back. Something in the appearance of the two riders arrested his attention.
'Gin, you've been asking me what the mountain people back home look like.'
She came back to stand beside him, watching the two tall, long-legged men dismount from their cow ponies.
Neither was more than twenty years old, and they were built alike, lean and big-boned. Each carried a rifle as if it were part of him, and they dressed in worn homespun. 'Right out of the hills, Gin.'
'Falcon, look at them. At their faces.'
'Yes, I see what you mean. At least, there's a possibility.'
As the two men came through the door, dusty and travel-worn, he turned to them. 'Gentlemen?
If I may suggest a drink.'
They paused, studying him with frank curiosity. Then the older one of the two said, 'We'd take that kindly, mister, kindly.'
Falcon turned to his wife. 'If you will excuse us, Gin?'
The three walked to the bar, and Gin Sackett looked after them, amused.
Tall and lean, the three men stood up to the bar. A girl came from the kitchen and placed a bottle and glasses before them.
'Gentlemen,' Falcon said when they had poured, 'your health!'
When they had placed their empty glasses back on the bar, he commented, 'A fine flavor, gentlemen, although it lacks the taste of the metheglin.'
The two exchanged a glance. 'I knowed it.
Sure enough, I said, a man with a face like that would have to be a Sackett from the Tennessee mountains.
Where you'all from?'
'It's been a while,' Falcon said. 'I'm Falcon Sackett. Tennessee, North Carolina, points west and south.'
The taller one, who had a scar on his cheekbone, said, 'I'm Flagan Sackett.
This here's more'brother, Galloway. We come fresh from the hills, and then last night we heard talk.'
'Talk?'
'There's a Sackett ridin' ahead of trouble in the Mogollons. We'uns are Sacketts.
So we're ridin' to the Mogollons.'
