Mustang Man (1966)

by L'amour, Louis - Sackett's 15

  Climbing down the small bank off the road, I went into the trees, pausing from moment to moment to listen. I heard no sound that seemed out of place, and I stooped to pick up the pack saddles. Behind me I thought I heard a faint stir among the pine needles and junipers. Crouching, I listened, but heard nothing more.

  I reached down into the hollow and lifted the first pack saddle out, then the second. I had been going to carry them both, but if I did I would be helpless if attacked. It was not so quick a thing to let go of such a weight and grab a gun … One at a time then.

  Picking up the first, I swung it to my shoulder and, keeping my free hand on my gun, walked back to the bank. There I needed the free hand to help me climb. I scrambled up and placed the pack saddle and its gold in the wagon, then went back for the second.

  As I crouched by the second load, I listened again. I could hear the now distant, subdued sounds of the wagons—there was no special sound from Penelope’s wagon. But I thought I heard something stirring up ahead. Taking up the second load, I lifted it to my shoulder and walked slowly and carefully to the bank. I put the gold down on the bank and, turning, looked all around, listening.

  Nothing moved. Getting up on the roadbed quickly, I picked up the gold and lifted it into the wagon, then drew the tarpaulin over it and tied it in place.

  I was standing beside the mules when I heard someone walking along the road. As he came up I saw that it was Reinnardt.

  “Sackett? That girl’s been out there ten minutes or more. What’s this all about, d’you know?”

  “I guess she had some packages she wanted picked up. Things look different in the dark and she’s probably looking for them.”

  “Is that all?”

  He was a good man, Ollie had said, and an honest man, no doubt. “Look,” I said, “you better stay by your team. There’s trouble in this, and there’s no use in your getting shot over something that’s no part of your business.”

  “Hell, I’m not afraid.”

  “Of course you’re not, but that’s not the point. You could get killed out there, and to no purpose.”

  “If that girl’s in trouble—”

  “Take it from me, she can handle it. Or I can. You sit tight.” One hand checked my gun. “I’ll go get her.”

  I had no urge to go down into that black patch of juniper with Penelope down there, and the Lord only knew how many others. The smart thing to do was to stay right where I was and let her get out under her own power.

  All I would get down there was trouble. Nevertheless, that girl was down there alone, and like a damned fool I went after her.

  At this point there was no bank—the road was level with the woods. Knee-high brush grew alongside the trail and I tried to step over it to avoid sound, but I made a little.

  First off, I headed for that broken-off tree where she’d had the gold hidden.

  When I was almost there, something moved near me, and I smelled a faint perfume.

  “Penelope?”

  A body moved against mine and a hand took my arm, a woman’s fingers closing gently on my wrist. Suddenly those fingers tightened and my wrist was jerked back, and at the same time I felt her body move close to mine with a quick, violent movement. My wide silver buckle that held my gun belt saved me, that and my own reaction, for as the point of the knife hit the silver and was deflected upward. My hand swept down in a blind, instinctive action and struck her arm on the inside of the elbow.

  Like I said, I’m a big man, and mighty strong, and that sudden blow must have numbed her arm. She dropped the knife and I heard it hit the ground. The next instant the whole place was lit by a tremendous blaze of light. Somebody had dropped a match into the top of that dead pine.

  Now, anybody who has ever seen fire hit dead pine would know what happened then.

  It went up in one tremendous burst of crackling, spitting flame, lighting the entire area. And across the space in front of me was Ralph Karnes, and not far away Noble Bishop.

  In the instant the light leaped up, Bishop saw me and I saw him, and both of us knew the cards were on the table. His hand dropped for his gun, and my instinct must have triggered my muscles even before my brain realized the necessity, for my gun sprang to my hand … a split second faster than his.

  I felt the sharp whip of the bullet as it cut by my neck, and I saw Bishop crumple and begin to fall. He caught himself with his left hand on a tree branch and started to bring his gun around on me. I shot into him again.

  Karnes shot, but he was no gunfighter and he shot too quick. He must have pulled the trigger instead of squeezing, because he missed me. I didn’t miss him. He backed up, clawing at his chest and spitting, then fell into the leaves, where he threshed around like a wild animal for a moment, then was still.

  The brief burst of flame was dying down, and I looked around for Penelope. She was standing where the gold had been, almost as if unaware of all that had happened, just standing there saying over and over again, “It’s gone … it’s gone.”

  From the direction of town I could hear excited yells, and I saw a lantern bobbing in the distance as someone came toward us.

  Without a word, I picked up Penelope and carried her to my wagon. “Get rolling!”

  I said to Reinhardt. “Try to catch up with the others. I’ll take care of her.”

  “She all right?”

  “Sure … now get going. I want to get out of here.”

  Reinhardt moved ahead and swung to his wagon. I put Penelope on the seat of mine, then climbed up beside her and took the reins from around the brake handle.

  Reinhardt was moving out, and we followed. Mentally I counted my shots. Two bullets left in the pistol, no chance to load while driving the mules. The rifle was right behind me, within reach of my hand.

  Suddenly, as the wagon began to move, Penelope came to life. “No, no! I can’t go! The gold is back there! I’ve got to find it!”

  “It isn’t there,” I said calmly. “It was moved within a short time after you hid it.”

  She turned on me. “How do you know that?”

  “Relax,” I said. “It’s a long ride to Santa Fe.”

  “I don’t want to go to Santa Fe! I want that gold!”

  “They wanted it, too—Sylvie, Bishop, and them. Look what it got them.”

  Reinhardt’s wagon had stopped again, then after a moment it started on.

  “I need that gold,” she said stubbornly. “I’ve got to have it. I don’t know how to make a living, and there aren’t any jobs for women.”

  “You could get married.”

  “When I marry I don’t want it to be because I need someone to take care of me. I want to marry for love.”

  “Romantic,” I said coolly, “Well, I don’t care—it’s the way I feel!”

  “You have all that gold, somebody would marry you because he wanted somebody to take care of him.”

  Reinhardt was sure doing an erratic job of driving. He had stopped again. I sat there, holding the lines, waiting for him to get going again.

  “You couldn’t find that gold now anyway. That place back there will be overrun with folks trying to figure out who shot who. If you figure to go back, you’d better wait a few weeks.”

  We drove on for a short distance, and then I said, “Did you have a nice talk with Sylvie last night?”

  She turned sharply around on me. “You were spying!”

  “Sure. A man has to know what’s going on. I like to know who my friends are.”

  “And you don’t think I’m your friend?”

  “Are you?”

  She was silent for a minute. Then she said, “I ought to be. You’ve done more for me than anyone else has. I don’t think I’d even be alive but for you.”

  “You saved my bacon when I was down and hurt. You kept Ralph off me.” I urged the mules a little faster. “And you did pretty well coming across the country alone.”

  “If you hadn’t been coming somewhere behind me, I couldn’t have done it. I k
new you had to be back there, and I tried to do what you would have done.”

  “You did it well.”

  Neither of us said anything for a good while, just listening to the rumble of the wagon wheels on the road, watching the stars. But I was listening for other sounds too. By now my ears knew the sounds the wagon made, and the harness and the mules. I knew what sounds came from up ahead, and what the right night sounds were around me.

  There was a missing piece somewhere. … Did Penelope have a knife ready for my ribs?

  “That Sylvie,” I said, “she tried to knife me.”

  “Where is she?”

  “Back there. She may have a sore arm for a while, but she’s going to live … worse luck.”

  “She’s mean.”

  “I sort of gathered that. Sure as shootin’, other folks will die because of her.

  I just hope we can stay shut of her.”

  That “we” sort of slipped in there, but Penelope didn’t seem to notice it.

  Then she said, “What could have happened to the gold?”

  “Things look a lot different by night. You probably mistook the place.”

  “But that tree! I know it was under that dead pine!”

  “There’s lots of dead pines,” I said carelessly.

  “You certainly don’t seem very upset about it.”

  “I’m not. I never had that much money in my life, so if I never see it again I ain’t a-going to miss it.”

  We drove on, talking a bit from time to time, then she dropped off to sleep. It was daybreak when she sat up and began to push her hair into place and try to straighten her clothes.

  “Where is the wagon train?” she asked. “We’ve fallen way behind.”

  “That Reinhardt! He’s been taking it almighty slow. I didn’t know until it got light that we were so far behind the rest of them.”

  Suddenly the wagon ahead pulled up. Nobody moved—the wagon just stood there. I got down and walked up to it. “Reinhardt,” I said, “what’s the matter? You gone to sleep?”

  I looked into the muzzle of a gun, behind it the black, heavy-lidded eyes of Flinch.

  “The belt,” he said. “Unbuckle.”

  With this man I took no chances. Moving my hands with infinite care, I unbuckled the belt and let it fall to the trail.

  “The bowie … take it out of the scabbard and drop it … fingertips only.”

  “Where is Reinhardt?”

  Flinch jerked his head toward the wagon. “He is all right.”

  “How do you fit into this, Flinch? You working with Karnes?”

  “I work for Punch. My grandfather … he was in fight at Rabbit Ears. He was Indian. He tell me the white chief hide something there. A long time after he went back to look, but could not find. When I hear talk in Fort Griffin about Rabbit Ears, I get a job.”

  The way the wagons stood on the trail, Penelope could not see us. I heard her getting down from the wagon and heard the sound of her feet.

  “You too,” Punch said as she came up. “You stand over there. Beside him.”

  For the first time his thin lips smiled. “Now, after all, the Indian gets the gold.”

  “The gold isn’t here, Flinch,” Penelope protested. “It’s back there, at Loma Parda.”

  “The gold in his wagon.” He nodded toward me. “I follow him. I know he will find it, so I follow, watch him when he hide it, watch him when he load it in wagon.

  It is better for me to have the wagon for a while … the gold is much heavy.”

  Penelope stared at me. “You had that gold all the time? You mean you had—”

  “Now I am going to kill,” Flinch said. “First you, then her.”

  “Let her take my horse and go.”

  He did not even reply. I took a half-step toward him. “Up!” he said. “Manos arriba!”

  I lifted my hands as high as my ears. He kept his eyes on me, wanting to see the effect of his words. “I kill you. I keep her until tomorrow.”

  “They’ll hang you,” I said. “Look here, Flinch, let’s—”

  My right hand, only inches from my collar, moved suddenly. The knife slung down my back, slid into my hand, the hand whipped forward, and he fired. I felt the slam of his bullet, heard the thud of my knife. It had gone into the hollow at the base of his throat, up to the hilt.

  His mouth opened in a great gasp and blood gushed from it. He fell forward to his knees, grasping at the hilt, fumbling to get hold of it with both hands, but I had thrown with all my strength and the knife had gone in hard.

  He struggled, choked, then fell over on his side, the knife coming free in his hand.

  Stooping down, I took the knife from his fingers and sank it twice into the sandy earth to cleanse the blade. Penelope was looking at him, her eyes filled with horror.

  “See what happened to Reinhardt,” I said sharply. “Be quick!”

  Startled, she turned and hurried to the wagon. When I looked back at Flinch, he was dead. Belting on my gun again, I stripped Flinch’s gun belt and tossed it into the wagon.

  Reinhardt came out from under the wagon cover, rubbing his wrists. “He wouldn’t have killed me, I think,” he said. “I staked him a couple of times when he was broke.”

  “We’d better move on. Ollie Shaddock will be wondering what happened.”

  He glanced at me, then at the dead man. “What happened? He was sure enough going to kill you.”

  I reached back and drew the knife again. “This,” I said. “I learned it south of the border.”

  I started back to the wagon. Penelope joined me, and I helped her up. Reinhardt was already moving off.

  We had been traveling for some time when she said, “You had the gold all the time?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “Been contemplating on that. Likely I’ll give half of it to you.”

  “You’ll give—!”

  “And I’ll keep the other half myself. That way,” I continued, “you’ll be free to marry for love. But with half of that gold, I won’t need anybody to take care of me, either, so you won’t be married for what you have.”

  She didn’t say anything to that, and I didn’t figure she needed to, the way things were shaping up.

  “I thought you got hit back there,” she said presently.

  So I showed her where the bullet had hit my cartridge belt right on my left hip.

  It had struck the lead noses of two bullets, fusing them into one. “I’ll have a bad bruise, the way it feels, but I’m the luckiest man alive.”

  Only thing was, I surely wished I had a shave. And before we got to Santa Fe she was wishing it, too.

  Author’s Note Borregos Plaza was on the south bank of the Canadian River, only a short distance from the river crossing that was to become Tascosa. Tascosa went from a booming and untamed cow town to a ghost town, and is presently the site of Boys’

  Ranch, founded by Panhandle businessmen.

  Romero, a small town in ranching country, has a long memory of buffalo hunting and Indian fighting days. The country around is little changed from the period of my story.

  The Rabbit Ears, known to many travelers along the Old Santa Fe Trail, is only a little way from the town of Clayton, New Mexico. The box canyon featured in the story is there, so is the pool, which is usually covered with a green scum, and there is also an open hole some three to four feet in diameter. Around it the walls and rocks are blackened by fire, likely the result of some explosion of oil or gas.

  Loma Parda on the Mora River is now a ghost town, some eight miles northwest of Watrous, New Mexico. When Fort Union was abandoned the town began to die, but in the 1870’s it had a rough and bloody reputation.

  At the time of my story the buffalo hunters still had two or three good years ahead of them, and they would be replaced by cattlemen. Practically the only settlers in the Panhandle country then were Mexicans from Taos or Mora with their sheep.

  The Sostenes l’
Archeveque mentioned early in the story was a notorious outlaw and killer of the period, often credited with twenty-three killings. He was killed by his own people when his conduct became too unruly.

  About the Author “I think of myself in the oral tradition — of a troubadour, a village taleteller, the man in the shadows of the campfire. That’s the way I’d like to be remembered — as a storyteller. A good storyteller.”

  It is doubtful that any author could be as at home in the world recreated in his novels as Louis Dearborn L’Amour. Not only could he physically fill the boots of the rugged characters he wrote about, but he literally “walked the land my characters walk.” His personal experiences as well as his lifelong devotion to historical research combined to give Mr. L’Amour the unique knowledge and understanding of people, events, and the challenge of the American frontier that became the hallmarks of his popularity.

  Of French-Irish descent, Mr. L’Amour could trace his own family in North America back to the early 1600s and follow their steady progression westward, “always on the frontier.” As a boy growing up in Jamestown, North Dakota, he absorbed all he could about his family’s frontier heritage, including the story of his great-grandfather who was scalped by Sioux warriors.

  Spurred by an eager curiosity and desire to broaden his horizons, Mr. L’Amour left home at the age of fifteen and enjoyed a wide variety of jobs including seaman, lumberjack, elephant handler, skinner of dead cattle, assessment miner, and officer on tank destroyers during World War II. During his “yondering” days he also circled the world on a freighter, sailed a dhow on the Red Sea, was shipwrecked in the West Indies and stranded in the Mojave Desert. He won fifty-one of fifty-nine fights as a professional boxer and worked as a journalist and lecturer. He was a voracious reader and collector of rare books.

  His personal library contained 17,000 volumes.

  Mr. L’Amour “wanted to write almost from the time I could talk.” After developing a widespread following for his many frontier and adventure stories written for fiction magazines, Mr. L’Amour published his first full-length novel, Hondo, in the United States in 1953. Every one of his more than 100 books is in print; there are nearly 230 million copies of his books in print worldwide, making him one of the bestselling authors in modern literary history. His books have been translated into twenty languages, and more than forty-five of his novels and stories have been made into feature films and television movies.