Passin' Through (1985) (22 page)

Irritation began to mount in me, and I liked the Dutchman. He was a good man. He worked hard and was good at what he did.

"Probably," I said. "I'd like to see Miss Le Caudy get settled on her ranch first. She's had a lot of trouble."

They knew that to be true and they knew that I had ridden point for her in all of it.

That was well and good. They knew what I had done and why I had done it but that was over now. Trouble had a way of building around a man who was known to be good with a gun, and they did not want trouble. The west was growing up and they no longer liked the old wild cowboy reputation. The railroad had come in, Animas City was giving way to Dur- ango, and they were thinking of being a city. They wished to attract businessmen, not the wild bunch. We who rode the lone trails, our time was running out.

Businessmen were showing their irritation by coming out and shooting some of the wild bunch out of their saddles. The unknowing were too quick to forget that most of those businessmen had been soldiers in the Civil and Indian wars, and many had been cattlemen themselves. They knew just as much about guns and fighting as did the outlaws, and in some cases a good deal more.

The Lincoln County War down New Mexico way had fought itself out, and only last July, not sixty days ago, Billy the Kid had been killed at Fort Sumner by Pat Garrett.

"Two mens comes this day, very early." The Dutchman was talking to me. "They come from the west. I do not know them, and they do not talk." He swallowed some coffee. "They look at your horses. They talk about the roan, and I think they know him. I think they know that horse."

Only half my mind was following him. I was watching for Janet and she was not coming. Or had she already gone? I wished to ask but did not. Both of these men would know.

I rode a blue horse to where the trails divided, and the blue horse brought me here.

"Will you stay?" The Dutchman was persistent.

He wished to be rid of me. No animosity, just because he did not think me good for the town or the time. I smiled at him. "Right now, Dutch, I don't know. I'm thinking of taking my outfit and riding up the mountains to where the rivers are born. I'm thinking of going up there to look for whatever I can find. I'm a looker and a seeker, Dutchman, not a man who hunts trouble.

"None of this that's been happening was of my choosing. They came to me and I accommodated them to clear the road for the settling of that ranch. When Janet Le Caudy is settled and safe I will ride on."

"We take care of her."

Well, I looked at him. "Dutch, you've got drills to sharpen, hinges to make, and horses to shoe. Will you be sitting on her ranch if Charles Pelham Clinton comes back? Could you handle him if he did come? I mean, with a gun?"

"I think it better you go."

"Give me time, Dutchman, give me time."

Getting up, I walked outside. There were two men down the street, standing together. There was another across the street standing by the horses, and it all looked natural enough except that it was the middle of the morning and few men loafed about at that hour.

Up in my room I stretched out on the bed but I did not sleep. "You've got to ride away, Mr. Passin'," I said to myself. "You've got to find a place where nobody knows you. Particularly you've got to ride away before that trouble down the street begins to happen."

They were through with me here. I'd worn out my welcome. If I rode out of town those men would follow and they would all be rid of me.

I stared up at the ceiling, suddenly lonely, sad for myself, and wondering what the next step would be. Would those men even let me get out of town? Or would it happen down there? And who were they, anyway? Maybe it was somebody else they wanted? Yet I knew it was me. I knew they wanted me in their sights and they had what they believed was a reason.

Maybe I was like Matty, only she was worse off, being a woman. I doubted if she had any money, being dependent on Mrs. Hollyrood, and she was too beautiful, with no home, no relatives, no place to go. Some of that I knew, some I had surmised. To get a job she would have to work for a man, and the man, chances were, would have a wife. Few wives would want to have so beautiful a woman working day after day with their husbands, even as still, cold, and quiet a woman as Matty.

When sundown came I went across the street to eat. When I glanced down the street only one man was there, loitering in front of a saloon and smoking a cigarette. Well, they were going to get their chance. Fd be no more trouble to Parrott. When the night came I would get my horses and ride out, and whatever those men were after they would find. They'd find it somewhere on down the trail, and I hoped they'd be satisfied with what they found.

Cook didn't have much to say until he'd served my meal and two other customers had gone. Then he brought the coffeepot and sat down across from me. "Sorry about that," he said, "sorry about this mornin', but the Dutchman was speakin' for the community."

"You, too?"

"No, not me. I told them you were a good man to have around, but they wouldn't buy it. Things had been quiet, they said, until you came. They want you gone. The Dutchman feels like me but they asked him to speak for them."

"I'll ride out tonight."

"Sorry to see you go." He paused. "The Dutchman will get your horses, saddle up for you, load your pack. Why don't you go up the canyon? You can ride over the rim and down Bear Creek. They'll never know what happened to you."

"I never got anywhere sidestepping trouble."

"This time you'd better. If you want there's a trail up the side of the canyon, up Madden. If you want to go west you could follow the Mancos down. If I were you I'd ride out Bear Creek. There's something doing at a place called Tellur- ide. I've never been there myself."

"I don't follow the camps. I like wild country."

"You'll find it."

We were silent then, and others came in, ate, and left. It was time I was leaving.

"If you're thinking of the young lady," cook said, "she left on the stage for Durango. Pulled out this morning. Seems she's got another aunt in there. The aunt's not a resident. She came out to try to get her niece to come home with her."

"Think she'll do it?"

"Why not? A ranch like that is no place for a young, pretty girl. Too lonesome. She'll go back east, I reckon."

"Was she in here?"

"Early this morning, about daylight. Ate her breakfast and seemed in no hurry."

My cup was empty. I stared into it, then got up slowly. "All right," I said, "if the Dutchman will bring my horses to the upper end of town, I'll ride out."

"Back of the courthouse," Cookie said. "That's what they call it," he added.

It wasn't like me to slip out of town, ducking trouble, but this was the way they wanted it. A half-hour later I'd come out of the back door of the hotel and walked up back of the buildings to where the Dutchman waited.

"T'ank you, Mr. Passin'," he said. "I know this not your way, but if it keeps the peace -"

I stepped into the saddle. "See you sometime, Dutchman. No hard feelings."

That night I made a fireless camp on the side of Parrott Peak, but well back in the timber. When day came, without eating breakfast, I crossed over the ridge, then the saddle between Helmet Peak and the Hogback, and camped again in Echo Basin. When morning came I followed down the creek until it joined the West Mancos River, and found some men working a prospect. They were just finishing breakfast so I sat down with them.

"You're ridin' a high-country and a lonely trail," one said. "Prospectin'?"

"Not this trip, but I've done some." Gesturing toward my pack, I said, "I'm geared up for it but right now I thought I'd head for Silverton."

"Last night," another commented, "I was over on Burnt Ridge and I could see a campfire down at T-Down Park. I had my glasses and I could make out three men. No packhorses. Seemed to be ridin' light." He looked at me again. "They wouldn't be lookin' to meet you, would they?"

"That might be their intention. It isn't mine. However, if they catch up to me, I'll try to entertain them."

We talked about color, outcroppings, and plants that might indicate minerals. I told them about pockets I'd found and they told me of their present discovery. Then I got up. "Thanks for the beans," I said. "If you ever ride up to a camp of mine, you're welcome."

"If we do," one said, "we'll ride careful." He paused. "Three can be quite a few."

"But one can be too many," I agreed.

They were bright boys, those men on my trail. They had figured it right. Somehow I'd gotten out of town, and not toward the stage route or the ranch. La Plata Canyon was a possibility, but either they had information, which I doubted, or they had guessed right, and now they were only a few miles away. So far they were guessing, but they might have a clue. I got into the Gold Run Trail and rode it down to the Lost Canyon Stock Driveway. They were going to find me and there was no use running, but I'd try. There were three of them and one of me, and they could spread out and signal with a rifle shot when one sighted me.

Riding just below timberline, I halted at every possible spot to look over the country and to listen. Sound carries quite a distance in the high country, but I figured they were below me, and I should hear them before I saw them.

Drawing my rifle from the scabbard, I rode carefully. My heart was pounding. Three tough men, but who were they?

This was big, big country, but not so easy to lose one's self in because of the few trails. Under some spruce I drew up, letting my horses take a breather, and then I saw them. They were at least four hundred feet lower down and perhaps two miles away. They cut across a meadow, loping their horses. The sun glinted on their rifles.

If I went on, my trail would intersect theirs. If I turned back, they would follow. If I tried to hide, they would find me.

My lips were dry. Touching them with my tongue did no good. Taking my canteen, I took a long drink, then stoppered it, watching them. They knew, as I did, that we were close, and I now had an idea who they might be.

The Burrows outfit, and a tough lot. It began to look as if I were riding into trouble, real trouble.

Chapter
Twenty One

The Burrows outfit were not like Lew Paine. They were tough, dangerous men who after the killing of their brother Houston would not think of facing me in a man-to-man gun battle. They would try to hunt me down or would lay up somewhere and try an ambush.

Bear Canyon was out in front of me, and the Gold Run Trail, which dipped into it, was not far off. Once in the canyon, a trail led down to the Dolores River and a way out of the area in any direction I chose to go. If that did not seem a good idea, there were at least two trails leading north out of the canyon that would take me to Indian Trail Ridge.

This wasn't country I knew well but I'd heard of the trails. That was the kind of knowledge men passed along to one another. So far the Burrows outfit had been riding a hunch. They had an idea where I was going and they planned to intercept me. If they succeeded in that, it would mean a fight.

Somewhere I would have to make a stand, for if I continued to run they would catch me as they were traveling lighter than I and could move faster.

Riding across the open meadow, I went into the trees and started down the Gold Run Trail, which was a lot of switchbacks, most of them hidden from above by trees. The descent was something over a thousand feet, I judged, and immediately at the bottom I turned west. When I had gone a hundred yards or so I rode into Bear Creek and walked my stock back to the east, keeping in water until I turned up Grindstone Creek. Then I left the creekbed and took the eastern-most of the two trails that went up the mountain. Undoubtedly they were following, and I doubted if my switching from west to east in the creek would fool them for long. It might give me a little advantage and the sort of place I was looking for.

Slowly, anger began to grow in me.

This was no trouble I wanted. Houston Burrows had begun it all, and he only got what he expected to give me. These brothers of his felt this was a blood feud, and they had come for me of their own volition. They were hunting me for one reason alone, to kill me. And I was taking them into my country, the high-up mountains where timberline is, where the trees cease to be because their buds are above ground and too easily frozen. The tundra plants that manage to survive have their buds below ground, protected from frost.

Right along that line of timber was where I wanted them. A man could see a great distance up there and hiding places were fewer. Maybe they were high-country people, too, but I doubted it. They were cattlemen and this was sheep country.

Riding out of a dense stand of spruce, I came to an open slope, but riding there was no danger for they could not see me from below if they were following. The blue roan was a mountain horse and seemed to like the high country as much as I did. We were right at ten thousand five hundred feet, judging by the plant growth. My eyes searched my back trail. If they wanted me, they were going to ride some rough country before they got me.

Indian Trail Ridge was above me, above a bare slope of slide rock. Finding a small hollow, I tied my horse to some dwarf spruce, and taking my rifle went up into a tree island of spruce and bellied down.