Sunfish heaved to his feet and began to serve up stew and biscuits and coffee. "What's he got in that bag?" he said.
"A litte food," said Chet, settling into the armchair to start on his first bowl of the Sunfish special. "A few things for the kids."
"It ain't much," said Monte, suddenly, sharply, looking up from his rubbing. The other two stared at him. "Aw, shucks," he said, returning to work. "Tomorrow's Christmas, ain't it?"
Silence in the big old room.
"It's sure doing things outside," said Sunfish, squatting on the raised hearth out of range of direct heat from the fire. "Must of been four inches already when you came in. Maybe it'll be like that one two years ago."
"Colder," said Chet. "That ought to mean less snow."
Over by the door Jose opened eyes and stared unaware at the ceiling. He turned away on his side, doubling up, muttering bitterly in Spanish.
"No cussing," said Monte. "That ain't polite. Reckon you're about ready to try navigating some." He slipped an arm under the thin shoulders and rose to his feet, bringing Jose up with him. Jose wobbled on unsteady bare feet and, reached out instinctively to brace himself against the front wall.
"Exercise," said Monte, looking down at him from headtaller height. "That's what you need. Walking'll do it." He laid an arm along one thin shoulder and across the back and under the opposite armpit and began propelling him across the floor, back and forth.
"Easy," said Chet around a mouthful of stew. "Slow down. He ain't made of cast iron like you."
"Shucks," said Monte. "He's doing fine. Ain't you, Jose"
Moving his feet mechanically, unaware of the motion, Jose turned his head to look up vacantly at Monte.
"Aw, come on," said Monte, cheerful. "You're doing fine. Stepping out like a trooper." He propelled Jose over by the ladder-back chair and released the arm holding him, ready to grab again.
Jose stood steady enough, staring down at the clothes on the chair as if unaware of what they were.
"Quit it now," said Monte, stern. "Don't you go being stupid on me. It's plumb indecent the way you're parading around here. Put those things on."
Mechanically, moving out of old habit, Jose began dressing.
"Well, lookathere," said Sunfish. "Monte, you get too old to straddle a hoss, you can hire out as a nursemaid."
Jose had on the patched underwear, the ragged pants and shirt. He stooped to pick up one of the boots and sat down on the chair as if to put it on and simply sat there, holding the boot, staring into the fire.
"Still being stupid, eh?" said Monte. "I ought to bat you one. Want to roast yourself?" He took hold of the chair and pulled it and Jose in it back to a safe distance and Jose simply sat there, holding the boot, staring into the fire.
"All I got to say," said Sunfish, "is he's going to be mighty exciting company if he stays that way."
"He'll snap out of it," said Chet. "Shock, I guess. He's been through a little something."
"Wish we had a guitar around," said Monte, dropping into the old rocker. "He sure can tickle one of those things."
Silence in the big old room.
"Doggone," said Monte, aggrieved. "I just realized. Chet, you've got my chair."
"And keeping it," said Chet.
On the ladder-back chair Jose stirred and the boot fell to the floor. His head rose higher. "Gracias," he said. "Muchas gracias." The other three turned heads to look at him and he was Jose Gonzales again, the quiet little man whose ancestors had come into the big land with the early conquistadores and who clung now in this Yankee invasion time to his one remaining piece of small sparse valley on the western edge of the Slash Y range, the nearest neighbor and an honest neighbor and that seven miles away, and there scratched out a living somehow for himself and family with a few chickens and a small garden and a few goats and a rare willingness to haul firewood the long way into town on his one old burro. "I theenk there was snow," he said. "I theenk I fall from the horse." He looked around at the three and smiled a small apologetic smile and shrugged his thin shoulders. "I be dead, no?"
"Not no," said Monte. "Yes. Oh my yes, yes. Deader'n a last year's tumbleweed. Sunfish, I reckon he's ready to eat. That is, if Chet left him anything."
Silence in the big old room, warm and cheerful, as three men watched a fourth finish the last of the stew, the last biscuit, and start on his third cup of coffee.
"Wonder when the others'll get back," said Sunfish.
"Three-four days, more'n likely," said Chet. "They wasn't figuring on leaving till day after tomorrow anyways. And you know how the snow piles into those hills up that way."
Moving quietly on the ladder-back chair, Jose leaned down to set his cup on the floor and pick up one of the boots. "Muchas gracias," he said. "I theenk I go now."
"Whoa there, Jose," said Monte. "You ain't going nowheres. It's colder'n an icehouse outside. Snowing to beat hell."
Jose stopped moving, bent over some, boot in hand, and looked at Monte.
"Goddamn it!" said Monte, sharp. "We ain't a-going to cart you in a second time."
Jose let the boot drop and sat very still, looking into the fire.
"Aw, hell," said Monte. "You're beat up and that horse of yours ain't got much. Tell you what. When this thing lets up, I'll ride over with you."
Silence in the big old room. Sunfish rose and went to the corner of the room and picked up several pieces of piiion and returned, put them on the fire. He sat again on the hearth, shifting weight uneasily.
"Los ninos," said Jose. "I theenk I go." He picked up one boot and began to pull it on.
"Two women," said Chet softly. "And a couple of kids. Jose, have they got food and firewood?"
"Un poco," said Jose. He picked up the other boot.
"The hell with him," said Monte, rising and striding to the one front window to look out into the swirling grayness.
"Can't let him go like that," said Sunfish. "Hey, Chet, ain't Cal's bearskin somewhere around?"
"Must be," said Chet, pushing up from the armchair and heading for the closed door to the left side room. "And he sure could use some socks."
"Give the goddamn fool one of our horses," said Monte savagely without turning from the window. "But I ain't having a thing to do with it."
Five minutes later Jose stood in the center of the room, a shapeless small bulk in a long old bearskin coat, minus the fur in patches, that came down to his ankles, an old pair of Cal Brennan's gloves on his hands, cap on head with the piece of toweling down over it and his ears and tied under his chin.
"Ain't he something," said Sunfish. "Looks like a mangy he-bear with the mumps."
"I nevair forget," said Jose. He started toward his burlap bag by the door and Monte Walsh, leaving the window in long strides, was in the way.
"You goddamned little gamecock," said Monte, bitter. "You really set on it?"
"Si," said Jose simply. "Los ninos." He shrugged shoulders inside the old coat. "Ees Chreestmas." He started around Monte. He was stopped by a lean hard-muscled arm that clamped over his shoulders and held him firm, immovable.
Monte drew a deep breath and looked across the room at Chet Rollins.
"All right, Monte," said Chet. He sighed. "Looks like it's us again."
"And me," said Sunfish Perkins. "Maybe you two can take care of Jose here. But somebody's got to take care of you."
* * *
In the dim driven darkness of storm over the big land, out through the gate from the partial protection of the highrailed small corral, into the open of swirling snow and wrenching wind, four men, bundled thick against the cold, led four saddled horses.
"Shucks," said Monte Walsh, hefting a half-full burlap bag hanging from his gloved right hand. "This thing's mighty puny. Rest of you wait a minute." He strode off, carrying the bag with him, pushing through the knee-deep snow on the ground, to the door of the bunkhouse, opened it. Inside, he flipped off a glove, fumbled for a match, lit the lantern on the old kitchen table in the middle
of the long room.
"What d'you think you're doing?" said Chet Rollins from the doorway.
"I got two pair of socks I ain't ever wore," said Monte, heading for his bunk and squatting to reach under. "And a deck of cards that's almost new."
"Whatever for?" said Chet.
"For this goddamn bag," said Monte. He turned, crouching, to look at Chet. "Ees Chreestmas," he said and turned back.
"Damned if it ain't," said Chet, watching Monte move on and pull a box of checker men from under Dally Johnson's bunk and a mouth organ from under Powder Kent's pillow. "I got a pair of spurs I ain't used yet," he said, heading for his own bunk. "And some tobacco I been hiding from you."
Two minutes of swift movement later the bag was twothirds full. "What they really need is food," said Chet. He picked up the lantern and led out and over to the cookhouse. Inside, he set the lantern on the big old stove, picked another and empty burlap bag off a chopping block in a corner, and with Monte helping began to stuff it with cans from the wide cupboard nearly filling one end of the room. He stopped. He was looking at two humped objects under limp well-washed flour sacks on the wide shelf by the stove.
"Now wait a minute," said Monte. "Don't go getting foolish complete."
"Ees Chreestmas," said Chet, stepping over and taking the larger of the two objects out of its pan and wrapping its flour sack around under it.
"Aw, hell," said Monte. "You going to be so damned smart, do it right." He moved over and picked up the other object.
* * *
Far out in the directionless storm-clogged darkness of night, four men on four tough little cow ponies, sleet-crusted beyond recognition, slugged through two feet and more of snow into the teeth of the wind up the side slope of a long ridge. Monte Walsh in the lead on a deep-chested leggy dun peered from under the brim of his pulled-down hat, wiping a gloved hand often across his face, picking the way. Behind him Chet Rollins on a thick-necked black rode close, very close, beside Jose Gonzales shrunken down almost out of sight inside the old bearskin coat on a short sturdy roan. And behind them came Sunfish Perkins, big solid shape firm in saddle on a rough rangy bay.
The snow underfoot thinned as they climbed and they came out on the flattened bare-swept crest and the wind here wrenched and beat at them and they dropped down the other side, slow, the horses fighting for footing on the slope as the snow underfoot thickened again, and the wind was less brutal here, rushing past overhead, and Monte stopped and the others pulled up bunched with him to breathe the horses.
"How's he making it?" said Monte.
"He's doing it on nerve alone," said Chet. "But he's doing it."
"He's a goddamned fool," said Monte. "But he's got that all right."
They pushed on, angling down the slope, and Jose sank slowly forward in the saddle and the reins fell from his hands and he took hold of the saddle horn with them both and clung to it, leaning forward over it, head down, and Chet leaned far over and grabbed the trailing reins and straightened, leading the roan in close beside him, and Sunfish Perkins moved up, close in on the other side, and they pushed steadily on, the three behind almost abreast, following Monte's lead.
Time passed and they might have been moving into anywhere in the whole of the vast storm-ridden land or perhaps not have moved at all in the blank featureless directionless dark of the storm and still Monte led steadily and the other three followed.
The swirling snow in the air slackened some and vision lengthened and clumped junipers, snow-sided, could be seen and out of banked snow ahead rose the top rails of a rickety corral with an open-end shed at one side and a burro and a thin horse dim shapes in it and beyond that another shed with a pen attached and a small chicken house and beyond again a low three-room adobe house.
They stopped by the corral and three of them dismounted and looped reins around a rail and Chet pulled Jose out of the saddle and set him on his feet, unsteady and exhausted past speech, and took one arm and Sunfish took the other and they moved toward the house and Monte unlooped two burlap bags from saddle horns and cradled one in each arm and followed.
"Hello in there!" shouted Chet. He began stomping and shaking to get rid of crusted snow and Sunfish and Monte took the example. They waited. "Hello in there!" shouted Chet again and the door opened and in the doorway stood a woman with a blanket wrapped around her and up over her head, eyes peering out bright and frightened at them. Behind her they could see in the faint light from a small fire another woman, standing by the fireplace wrapped in a heavy shawl, an old single-shot rifle in her hands.
The first woman backed away, one hand at her mouth, as they pushed forward. "Madre de Dios!" she said. "Jose!"
"He's all right, ma'am," said Chet quickly. "Just wore out mucho from trying to get home. We put him in bed with plenty of cover he'll do fine. Some rest is all he needs. That your bedroom over there?" With the woman leading he and Sunfish took Jose through the inner door to the right.
The other woman had set the rifle somewhere. She had looked at each of them in turn and now looked past Monte out the open front door. "Dobe?" she said.
"Shucks, no, ma'am," said Monte, reaching back with one foot to close the door behind him. "But if he'd known about this storm, he'd of sure been here. Now where'll I put these things?"
She pointed to the left inner doorway.
Bags cradled in his arms, Monte strode over to the doorway, into it, stopped. Dimly he could make out a mattress covering most of the floor of the small room, snuggled close to a woodstove in which the remains of a fire still glowed. On the mattress from under the top edge of a ragged heavy quilt two small heads, stocking-capped, peered up at him. "San Nicolks," said one in an awed whisper and both of them disappeared, ducked down under the quilt.
Monte looked down at the old quilt and the tiny quiverings that marked two small shapes beneath it. Carefully he stepped over a corner of the mattress and set the two bags on the floor against a wall. Carefully he stepped back, still looking down. Slowly he began to back out through the doorway and whirled, startled. The other woman had been close behind him.
In the faint light from the fireplace he saw her face, tired and sagging some in the relief of long waiting over, smiling gently at him. "San Nicolds," she said softly.
"Aw, shucks, ma'am," said Monte, embarrassed. "Kids say the silliest things." He fidgeted. "I got to go unsaddle that horse Jose rode," he said quickly. "We'll just leave him here 'cause likely you'll be needing him. Jose can swap him back for that pinto first good chance he gets. Monte fled to the door and out.
The snow had stopped now and the silent valley stretched away gray-white and cold to the horizon all around and high overhead in the moving cloud masses wind sighed, long and seeming mournful. Monte strode to the corral, sending snow ahead of his boots in spurts, and led the roan around to the rickety gate and in and to the shelter of the open-end shed and the low nickering welcomes of the old burro and the thin horse. He removed the saddle and leaned over a waist-high railing that shut off one corner of the shed and set it beside a packsaddle on a small sawbuck there. He looked around in the near darkness. "Where in hell's the hay?" he said. "Ain't he got any?"
Something tickled his nose and he looked up. A few wisps showed sticking through the cracks between the poles of the roof. He strode outside and stood on tiptoe to reach up and pull from the conical pile covering the roof poles a plentiful supply and a cascade of snow. He scooped up a double armful and took it in. He stood, quiet and still, watching the horses and the burro start on the hay, feeling the edge of weariness seep along his muscles in the absence of motion. "My oh my," he murmured. "Kids sure are crazy sometimes."
From back by the house came new sounds. He strode to the corral gate and out and moved toward them. In the lee of the end wall where the snow was thin Sunfish Perkins had scraped a fairly bare spot and pulled there a batch of dead pinon trunks from a pile nearby and was working on them steadily and competently with an old rusty ax. "They ain't got much in there,
" he said. "Grab yourself a load." Monte bent down, picking up stove lengths, and moved toward the house and met Chet coming out for more of the same.
Ten double-trips later they stood in the central room surveying a shoulder-high stack ranked along the wall between the fireplace and the near corner. "That ought to hold 'em
for a spell," said Sunfish, coming in behind and leaning the ax against the stack.
Shuffling sounds came from the room on the right. Jose Gonzales, thin and meager in patched long underwear and a pair of Cal Brennan's wool socks, struggled into the doorway with two women trying to hold him back. He pulled free and braced one hand against the doorjamb and stood straight and his head rose, erect and somehow dignified.
"Senores," he said. "Thees ees your house."
"That's mighty kindly of you, Jose," said Chet quickly. "Some time maybe. But we got a ranch to think of. We got a break in this storm too."
"Get back in that bed," said Monte. "Ain't you been fool enough for one night?" He turned toward the outer door. "Come on, let's scat."
Out by the corral three men swung up on three tough little cow ponies and headed for the horizon of ridge. And back at the house a woman with a blanket wrapped around her and up over her head stood in the partially open doorway and watched them go. "Vayan con Dios," she said softly.
* * *
Far out beyond the ridge where the gray-white land rolled seeming endless and distance died away into distance under the massed clouds of midnight, wind whistled in long fierce sweeps, blowing the brittle snow into long drifts belly deep on the three horses slugging patiently through them, needing no guidance, driving straight for the home corral. The bay led and the black followed and the leggy dun moved in sturdy stride behind. No more snow fell but the cold had deepened and was steadily deepening.
Monte Walsh caught himself toppling slowly forward in saddle. He straightened and shook himself vigorously. "Watch it," he muttered. "That's bad." He tried to wriggle his toes inside his worn boots. There seemed to be no feeling in them.
Monte Walsh Page 21
