"Forget it," Logan said. He wasn't sure she meant it, but it was nice of her to say it anyway. "It must have seemed pretty bad, all right."
She stood hesitating, and he wondered what she was waiting for. Now that she had apologized, was he supposed to go over and put his arms around her and pretend that nothing had happened? He wouldn't. He wasn't sure he felt the same way about her any more. That night at the ranch had taken something out of him.
"Is that all?"
"There's something else. You said you were going back after the gold, for my sake. I don't want you to."
"For my sake, too," he said. "Besides, it won't be any worse than it was before."
"It might be. That Apache Agent... Ramsey Moon ... he stopped by the ranch the other day. He asked about Jeffrey. He suspects something. If he ever found out you knew the way to the gold, he'd put the whole story together. Whether it's true or not."
There it was: true or not. He felt his anger coming back. He tossed the bracelet from one hand to another, trying to calm himself. "What about Jeffrey?"
"Moon wanted to know where he was. I told him
ne'd gone to Gallup, for a new plow. I don't think he believed me."
. "He wouldn't," fLogan said. "You could have done better." Still, there was one gratifying part to it. There were times when he'd put his suspicions of Moon down to an excess of wariness. It was good to find out he'd been right after all.
"It doesn't change anything, though," he said. "I've got an outfit ready. I'll pull out in a few days and when I do, I'll find the gold. I'll find something else, too. I'll find out what happened...."
He didn't hear anything this time, above the sound of his own voice. The door opened and Selina came part way into the room, then stopped. She stared at Angela; for a long time they stared at each other. It was Selina who first regained her composure.
"I didn't know you were having company, Logan. If you'd told me, I'd have made the bed."
"Come in," Logan said, and smiled to himself. He seemed to be inviting any number of women into a house that wasn't his.
"No, I just wanted to show you my new dress," she said. "But that can wait." She took a last look at Angela, a long, slow exploration, then went out.
Angela stood surveying the room as though she had never seen it before. There were some things, apparently, that she hadn't noticed: the dresses through the half-open closet door; the vanity in the corner; the nightgown crumpled up on the unmade bed.
"I'm sorry," she said brittlely, unapologetically. "I didn't know. They told me uptown I would find you here. I didn't know you were staying with..."
She let the sentence hang and put her hand on the doorknob. She was thinking of something else now.
"You always were sort of a prude, Angela," Logan
said. "Sit down. The chair's clean enough."
It was all he could do to keep from laughing and she should have noticed it, but didn't. She came over to the chair and waited while he held it out for her. He had dropped the bracelet on the table. She was staring at it.
"I've changed my mind, Logan. You can go looking for that gold, after all."
This time he did laugh. "You haven't got anything to say about it."
"Oh, yes," she said. She was unnaturally cool and matter-of-fact. "I could stop you. Next time Ramsey Moon asked about JefiErey, I could tell him the truth."
He watched her out of the comer of his eye, curious, and a little uncertain. "You wouldn't, though."
"No, I'll let you go, Logan. But you won't go alone. I'll be with you."
"Why, that's crazy," he said; he stood up. "You wouldn't last two days in that country. I wouldn't let you try. Besides, there's no reason for it."
"Isn't there, Logan?"
He had picked up the bracelet again, and she was looking at it, not him. It made him wonder. "If you're thinking..."
But he had no idea what she was thinking. Not any more. She was suddenly a stranger, and it occurred to him that maybe all the old stories were true: gold did odd things to people. Even to level-headed Angela, who'd spent eight years grubbing out an existence with a man she didn't love simply because it was less risky than living with a man she did.
"You've got something in your craw, Angela," he said. "I don't know what it is, and it doesn't matter. You're not going."
She stood up to face him. There was a fierceness in
her eyes that he couldn't remember seeing before. *'That's all right by me," she said, lifting her voice so that he stepped back from it. "Just remember: if I don't go, you don't either. It's my gold too, but I'd rather see it rot out there than have you spend it on that filthy bitch."
It took him by surprise, not what she had said but the way she had said it. There was a mean streak in her that was unfamiliar to him. And pleasant to discover; it proved that she was human.
"You're the one that's the bitch," he said. "A stubborn bitch. And a greedy one."
"I only want what's mine."
"I told you ..."
"I don't think I trust you any more, Logan."
He shrugged and walked to the window and stood looking out. It was noon and the Indian kids had gone off somewhere to eat. She'd suddenly made it easy for him, he thought. He had never given her any reason to distrust him, but it wasn't too late to make up for it. He'd give her a reason now.
"All right," he said, without turning; he could lie more easily with his back to her. "I wish I could stop you. I can't. I'll pull out of town as soon as I get a chance; three nights from now, when the moon's gone. There's a trail that leads into the Malpais just south of Dixon's old ferry. You be waiting. I hope you know what you're getting into."
"I hope you'll be there."
"I'll be there," he said, facing her to show that he wasn't lying, though he was lying in his teeth now. "You'll have to trust me that far. Now get out of here."
He crossed and opened the door and she hesitated, then went out and down the path. He watched her. There were other questions she might have asked, and
hadn't. She trusted him more than she claimed, and he was sorry; he felt a twinge of conscience.
But the feeling was only momentary; feelings of justification set in next. Seven men had already died up in The Place of the Rocks. He might be the eighth, and the thought was unpleasant but bearable. Thinking about what might happen to Angela wasn't. The Apaches had some nasty tricks that they played on women.
He had just one real regret. He might not see her again for a long time... the sight of her turning up the alley toward Main Street might be his last... and there were things that he still hadn't found out about her. He wasn't sure he wanted to. Discovering things about women was like discovering gold. It took work, and the more work you put into it, the more gold you , had to find. Sometimes you didn't find enough to pay your wages. Sometimes nothing at all. Still, you never knew until you tried.
They had set fire to the cabin, but it was made of green timbers and hadn't burned well. It went on smoking and smoldering for days, staying too hot for him to get inside. And finally when it cooled off and he was able to lift the hearthstone, he was disappointed. Had the gold shrunk? There had seemed so much more of it before, when so little of it was his.
Now it was all his, the gold under the hearthstone, the gold in the creek, in the rocks, everywhere. He couldn't go off and leave it. Besides, it was no use to anybody else. Old Charlie, for example, lying so still in the moonlight. Old Charlie didn't have any use for gold. Or old Pete. He must remember to go down and visit old Pete sometime, before the buzzards got through with their nasty work. Come to think about it, there were a lot of old friends down in the brush that he hadn't seen lately.
He put the sack of gold back under the hearthstone and crawled out of the cabin and went up into the rocks. It would be light in a few minutes and he could hear animals skittering toward their holes and dens. He skittered with them. There was no sense in being greedy; tomorrow was another night.
Logan ordered another bottle and p
ut his hand on Selina's knee under the table. It was nicely rounded, and warm.
"You're acting just like a customer," she said.
"I am a customer. I've been buying you grenadine for the last hour, at a dollar a throw."
"I'm worth it."
"I know."
"Let's go home."
"In a minute," he said. He took another drink. It was past two o'clock and the Mint Saloon and Dance Hall was beginning to look deserted. Nobody was dancing. The band had packed up. There were just a few late hangers-on at the bar, and one of them was Ramsey Moon. He had his back turned, but Logan was sure he was watching through the mirror now and then.
"Things couldn't be better so far," Logan said.
"What?"
He squeezed her knee. "I said, things couldn't be better."
"You're drunk, Logan."
"The hell I am," Logan said, and he wasn't, but he hoped it sounded that way. "You ready?"
He got up, corking the bottle and putting it under his arm, and strolled toward the door while she got her wrap. Then he took her around the waist and steered her down the street. The town was dark and dead; there was no moon tonight.
He bumped the gatepost going through, and she pretended to help him along the path, laughing. Once inside, he fumbled in the darkness for a lamp.
"We don't need a light, Logan."
But he struck a match anyway and turned up the wick. "Why not? You're going to have a drink, aren't you?"
"You've had enough."
"I'm not drunk," he said, and then hoped she didn't believe him. She was happy, and he didn't want to disappoint her. When he was drunk, she claimed, he was a different person; sometimes he talked to her.
He poured them both a drink and watched her. Sometime ... probably a long time ago ... she'd gotten used to taking it neat, without watery eyes, without any grimaces.
"I'll be back in a minute," he said.
The outhouse was at the corner of the lot, under a stand of cottonwood. He went in and closed the door behind him and felt around in the darkness. The rifle was standing in the comer where he'd left it. He unstrapped the gunbelt, found a nail, and hung it up. Then he went back to the cabin.
Selina was undressing and he sat down for a moment to watch her. She had turned the lamp down. A faint breeze came through the open window and the room was cool and comfortable; he almost wished he wasn't going to leave it.
"What are you thinking about, Logan?"
He hadn't been watching her after all. He'd been staring at the shadows and thinking about the long hot days he was going to spend in the Malpais; the waterless trails, the blistering rocks, and what he was going to find in the little canyon. Gold, of course. And bodies ... what the Apaches, the coyotes, and the buz-
zards had left of them.
"I was thinking of you," he said.
"You're a big liar, Logan," she said, and she tried to laugh. Not with much success. She had some premonition, women always had. She was sitting on her heels on the bed, her hands on her knees, looking at him inquisitively, uncertain. "Aren't you coming to bed?"
He got up and turned the lamp wick back up. He went to the window and started to undress, and this time her laugh was more genuine.
"Are you showing off, Logan? Get away from the window. Somebody'll see you."
"There's nobody awake at this time of night," he said, pulling the old cavalry shirt over his head.
But somebody was; he saw him just as he got the shirt down past his eyes. Just a shadow under the verandah, but unmistakable. Ramsey Moon.
"Come to bed," Selina said, and he did.
An hour later Logan crushed his cigarette out in the tray on the nightstand. It would be his last smoke for awhile, at least until dawn... when the spurt of a match would no longer matter. He felt Selina move beside him and knew she was awake.
"Well," he said.
"I know," she said. "You don't have to tell me. You're leaving. I've known it all night. You weren't drunk at all."
Her voice was dead and resigned. He reached out to touch her, but she moved away from him, facing the wall. I wish I loved her, he thought. If he did, he wouldn't hurt her. Not this way, at least.
He got up and put on his trousers and boots. There was nothing else he needed. Her voice from the bed
sounded high-pitched and strained, as though she were fighting back tears.
"Where are you going, Logan?"
**A long ways away, Selina."
He heard the bedclothes rustle; she was sitting up. "You son of a bitch. You think you can leave me, come back, and leave again... anytime you like."
He felt a certain relief at her outburst; it would make it easier for him to leave. In a minute she would find something to throw at him, and that would make it easier yet. He took a roll of greenbacks from his pocket and counted out a hundred dollars. The bills rustled like the bedclothes had, but the sound aroused no anger from her. She was a smart girl, he thought, a sensible one. She probably valued love over money, but love was valueless if you didn't have it. Money might be a poor substitute, but it was a substitute nonetheless.
"Goodbye, Selina,** he said. He opened the door and heard her move. He closed it just in time, just as the shoe struck behind his head.
There was was a suggestion of light in the sky, faint and far to the east, as Logan crossed the yard toward the outhouse. He took a side glance toward the verandah across the street, but nothing stirred there. Perhaps Moon had gotten tired and gone somewhere to sleep. He hoped not. He didn't want to miss the satisfaction of outsmarting him.
He*d planned things carefully, down to the last detail. If Moon were still there, he'd see nothing to arouse his suspicions. Just a man who'd gone to bed and had gotten up again and gone out, shirtless, to heed a call of nature. Though this was one call that might take a little longer than the Agent had any right to expect.
He fumbled around in the darkness of the outhouse, took down the gunbelt and strapped it on, and hoisted the rifle. The door of the shack faced away from the street. There was a rock wall just beyond it, then somebody's back yard. Logan went through it, trying to keep to the darkest shadows; the pale undershirt was a disadvantage now. A dog came out from under a loose board and started barking, but he didn't try to quiet it. At night dogs barked at anything: at cats, at men in outhouses, at woodrats on the roof, at nothing.
The livery was just down the next alley, at the eastern edge of town. The sky was lighter behind it and he could make out the pole corrals, looking spindly and ghostly, but the barn itself was dark. He felt his way along toward the office where Bigges slept to save himself the expense of a night hostler.
"Bigges."
He was awake. "You're late," he said. "Just give me a second to light this lantern...."
"No," Logan said. "The alforjas are all loaded. There's nothing left to do but rig out those pack horses. We can handle that in the dark."
"Suit yourself," Bigges said. "It's something I ain't used to, though; I want you to understand that. There's something else I ain't used to, too. There's a..."
"Shut up and bring out those pack horses," Logan said. He'd already used up ten minutes getting from the cabin. Moon would only watch that outhouse so long, before he began to wonder.
Bigges went off, and Logan could hear him muttering to himself, and to the horses. He was more used to rigging out animals in the dark than he had let on. He had them almost packed before Logan could find his way around in the darkness to help him.
"Reach me over that strap," he said. "You told me you were tryin' to pull out on some creditors. Now it looks like somethin' else."
Logan handed him the strap and waited. Bigges was muttering to himself again.
"Speak up."
"You told me to be quiet," Bigges said, putting on an injured tone. "Besides, it ain't none of my business."
"Make it your business," Logan said, and then went a step further. "I'm sorry I barked at you. I was nervous, that's all."
&
nbsp; "I don't blame you," Bigges said conversationally, drawing out his revenge. "Running out on creditors is bad. Some things is worse. I put your gelding in the back stall, the one on the right. There's somebody else there, too, waitin' for yuh."
Logan drew out the gun and cocked it. Bigges must have heard the click. "I don't think you'll need that. Then again, maybe you will. Depends on what you done to her."
"Her?"
"That's what it looks like, if I'm any judge. I used to be. I told her I didn't know anything, that she was bayin' up the wrong tree, but she didn't believe me. Can't say as I blame her. Horses is my business, not lying for ..."
Logan left him to his muttering and moved down the aisle. A little light showed through the cracks in the back wall, but not enough to see anything by. He felt his way into the stall, found the gelding and ran a hand along his back to keep him quieted. He was all saddled and ready to go, which should have been surprising; but nothing was surprising any more.
"You'd better tighten that cinch. I left it loose, in
case he had to stand here all night, in case I was wrong."
It was Angela's voice, as he knew it would be. "I told you I'd meet you at the ranch."
"You told me tomorrow night, too. You were trying to sneak out on me. You thought that once you got into the hills, it wouldn't matter whether I told Moon or not. You'd have enough start to stay clear of him."
"That's right," Logan said. "I lied to you. I didn't want to, but I had to; you wouldn't listen to reason. You will now. You'll..."
"I'll get my horse," she said, and he heard her move in the darkness. "Don't forget to tighten that cinch."
It sounded light and humorous, except for her tone. She was deadly serious, and he knew that no amount of bluff or bluster was going to make any difference, even if there was time for it. There wasn't. He was stuck with her. He untied the latigo and drew it up so forcefully that the gelding pranced and hit against the side of the stall, and he had to loosen it again.
It was getting lighter all the time, but it was still dark enough that they had to stop sometimes to figure out the way. They headed out into the open valley, with Logan leading the two pack horses and Angela herding them from behind until they got used to the idea that they couldn't turn back and go home again. They settled down finally. Then after a half hour's ride, they smelled water and tried to pull ahead.
Secret of the Malpais Page 4
