Tucker (1971)

by L'amour, Louis

  Pony Zale was seated on his haunches not ten feet away. His grinning lips showed broken teeth, but there was no smile in his cold eyes. "Got you this time," he said.

  Slowly, I sat up. "Figured you were dead," I lied. "I got lead into you, didn't I?"

  "You surely did." He spat a brown stream close to my boot. "I'm still packin' some of it, but it takes a lot to put me down. Bullet was never made to kill me. Old fortune-tellin' woman, a gypsy woman, she told me that, so I never worry."

  His horse was nearby, right alongside my dun. My saddlebags were on his horse now, only his horse was no longer the crow-bait "You've got you a new horse," I commented.

  "Yes, sir. I got me a good one. Better'n your dun, I'm thinkin' The man wouldn't have been wishful to give it up, so I taken no chances. I surely do hate to be refused."

  He spat again. "You know what you got comin', don't you?"

  I grinned at him. "Why, sure! You and me are going to ride down to Carson City and have us a drink at one of those fancy drinkin' places where the politicians go. I'll even stand treat ... that is, I will if you've left me any money."

  "Well, now, that there's a thought. I might even take you up on it ifn' you hadn't put lead into me. I don't take to that at all."

  He was on his feet in one easy, fluid movement, unexpected in a man of his years. "No, sir. I don't take to gettin' shot at, nor hit. I'm a-goin' to kill you. I ain't a-goin' to kill you outright just put lead into you and ride off an let you die.

  "This here trail you've chose ain't been used in a couple hundred years or more. The Pah-Utes say it's a medicine trail, and they won't ride it No white man knows of it . . . except me.

  "There ain't no water in fifty mile, and I don't figure you're going to make that much with a bullet in you.

  Not with you losin' blood, and no water."

  "You'd better kill me, Pony," I said casually, "because I'll track you down and have your hide for this."

  He chuckled. "You're game. Game as hell, but 't won't do you no good."

  There wasn't one chance in a million, but I came off the ground in a long dive. I heard the bellow of his gun, felt a brutal slam alongside my skull, and went down into the gravel.

  The gun bellowed again, and I felt my body twitch as it took the second bullet.

  "Well, now," I heard him say. "Reckon that'll hold you. If you catch up to me now, you'll surely earn what you get."

  There was a sound of a horse's hoofs retreating, and then a vast emptiness. And then, for the first time, I felt the pain. The pain, and the hot, hot sun.

  Chapter 18

  It was dark ... dark and cold. My head throbbed horribly, and my mouth was dry. I lay very still against the earth, only I was no longer up on the mountain.

  Somehow, some way, I had gotten myself into a ravine.

  The canyon walls sloped back steeply on either side, but I had no idea where I was, or how I had got there.

  Yet under me was the trail. I could feel it with my hands. Covered with dirt as I found myself to be, I thought, I must have rolled down the side of the canyon and landed in the trail.

  I grasped rocks at the side and pulled myself along.

  There was no conscious thought of trying to survive, only that terrible drive to keep moving, not to stop. It was in my mind that I must get somewhere, and I must be there soon.

  Somewhere along the line I must have ceased to be conscious, or at least, to have any sense of awareness.

  For when I realized anything at all, it was the warmth of the sun, and I was no longer in a ravine, but in a sandy wash in an open area a playa., as the Spanish call a dry lake.

  A shadow passed over me, momentary, fleeting. After a moment, it passed again ... or perhaps it was another shadow.

  I turned my head, looking up and around. It was a buzzard. It was several buzzards.

  Somebody had told me they went for the kidneys first. It was a man I had met who had fought in China. He said the vultures always tried for the kidneys, not always waiting until a man was dead. If you went down, he said, always pull something over your kidneys, some protection.

  My holster was empty, but he had not taken my knife maybe because I was waking up. In all the crawling and rolling it had stayed in its scabbard, with the rawhide thong to hold it there. Slipping the thong, I got it out.

  "Come oni" I yelled. "Come on down here!"

  They did not come.

  They were old at this game. Buzzards have patience built into them, a patience born of the knowledge that all things die, and they have only to wait.

  Knife back in the scabbard again, thong in place, I crawled on because there was nothing else to do. My body was sore, my head was a huge hollow drum in which something pounded. My mouth was full of cotton and I could not feel my tongue. All through the endless heat, I crawled and crawled.

  My hands grew bloody, the flesh was raw, and the blood left traces on the trail, but still I crawled.

  How far I went each time I had no idea. Ahead of me I would see a stone and would drag myself as far as that stone. When I reached it after a long time, I chose another stone, and dragged myself to that one.

  I was realizing now that the second bullet had hit me in the side, and the place was awfully sore There was no doubt about where the first bullet had hit, because the throbbing in my head told me. There might be a hole in it, but I did not want to know.

  Another rock ahead, and I crawled on. Then a juniper tree. I crawled . . . and then I passed out. I awakened in the , dark, and this time I crawled toward a low star somewhere ahead of me. It was a reddish star ... Mars, maybe. I'd heard that Mars was a red planet.

  But crawling on, I somehow got too close to a bank and rolled over, hit bottom, or seemed to; a rock gave way and I fell straight down, landing with a thud. Pain shot through my skull and I passed out once again.

  The sun was hot when I tried to open my eyes. My lids were thick and heavy. There was nothing in my mouth but a dry stick where my tongue should be.

  I was lying in the bottom of a narrow gulch. Looking up, I could see where I had fallen . . . all of six feet.

  Above there was the sunlight and the sky, the lovely clear blue sky. I rolled over on my belly and looked down the gulch Rocks, water-worn and smooth. small rocks, huge boulders, with two banks rising high above me.

  Vashti ... I was going back to Vashti. I had started out to go there and she would be waiting. I crawled again and something hammered inside my skull waves of heat and cold swept over me. My hands were ugly to look at the blood was stiff with sand and gravel and gray dust.

  No longer did I sense clearly whether it was night or day. Dimly T chose rocks Junipers, anything to crawl to.

  I chewed on leaves I tore at a prickly pear ripping my bloody hands on its thorns, but crushing some of the pulp into my mouth It was sticky, but wet.

  And again in the heat there were those shadows that passed over me. I finally crawled into a hollow under a rock and lay there for some minutes with my eyes closed.

  The sand was damp, and with my bloody hands, I dug into it until soaking blobs of sand came up, and I lay in the wet sand drinking in the coolness through my dry, parched skin. Water was around my hand. My hand was in water.

  It was slowly seeping in, it was muddy, but it was water.

  I lowered my sore face into it, drank a little, then drew back away from it. After a while I drank again. I bathed my face with it, bathed the blood from my raw hands I put water on my neck, my face. Then I dipped my head into it to my eyebrows and held it there. After a moment I lay back again.

  My pants were torn but I found where the bullet had gone in right under the belt. Moving the belt, I bathed the wound. It looked inflamed and ugly.

  I felt that the sun would kill me if I went out in it again. I must wait until night I stayed in the hollow, poured water over me, waited for it to seep in once more, and then drank again. After that I slept, and it was dark when I woke up. I took a long drink, then got to my feet. />
  Outside of the hollow where I stood, I could make out the trail, still slanting away from me. I found a stick nearby, and took it for a staff. Then I started to walk, hobbling a little because my side was painful.

  I was going to live. I was going back to Vashti. I was going back to her, but first I was going to find Pony.

  Most of the night I walked, with occasional rests, and toward dawn I hunted for shelter. With the first rays of the sun I found three junipers bunched together and I crawled into their partial shade. By hunching myself up and moving a bit as the sun moved, I stayed in shade the long day through.

  Then I started on, walking, falling sometimes, but moving along. Far ahead of me I saw a star, a star low down too low.

  A campfire ... I broke into a stumbling run, but fell after only a few steps, exhausted.

  After a while I got to my feet. The fire was still there, but dimmer now. I struggled on, walking, falling, crawling, then getting up to walk again.

  After a long time the fire was nearer. Day was coming. When day came the man whose camp that was would mount and ride away, and then I would be lost There could be no town within miles, or even a ranch or a settlement. I had to make it.

  I tried to break into a run again, but I couldn't manage it. But I was getting closer, and now I could see a thin blue trail of smoke rising.

  It was there. There was a fire, and there was somebody at the fuel I tried to yell, but no sound came. I went ahead ... and then I was at the fire.

  Two horses ... Pony.

  He got up, staring in horror at me. Then he let out a hoarse scream and grabbed at his rifle. I lunged at him, but I fell, and heard the bellow of his gun.

  I heard it again, felt the sting of sand kicked into my face, and then I got up, and I swung my stick. He lifted a hand to catch it, and as he did I dived at him.

  He tried to step back, but tripped and went down. He got up, but I swung at his face, my fist smashing his nose. He fell back into the fire, but rolled clear, grabbing for a gun. I swung a burning stick at his face and when his hand came up to ward it off, the flame enveloped his hand. He gave a scream and staggered back then swung at my head with a stick. The blow caught me across the forehead and I went down, twisting as I went, to fall clear of the fire.

  Again I was struggling back to consciousness, again it was night The fire was still smoking a little, but no flame showed. Pony was gone, the horses were gone. His frying pan was there, and his coffeepot. He must have jumped into the saddle and fled.

  I got to my knees, reached the coffeepot. Coffee sloshed in it and I drank. It was very hot, but I hardly noticed After a moment I put the coffeepot down and poked at the fire found some unburned ends and added them to it I tried to blow, but my lips were broken and bloody, and I almost cried out with the pain as they cracked open again.

  But a flame sprang up. I looked in the frying pan.

  Shriveled pieces of bacon lay there, and I ate them.

  Turning my neck stiffly, I looked around Evidently Pony had been packed to go when I appeared, and had simply leaped into the saddle after he struck me down.

  I drank more of the coffee and felt better, but I bated the look of my hands. The cracks had opened and they were bleeding again.

  My knife was still there, and my stick was there too.

  Nothing seemed right How had I come up to him when he was riding horseback and I was afoot? Why was he not far out of the country?

  Again I drank coffee but when there was still some left I put it back close to the fire. I added fuel, and lay down on the cold ground.

  Vashti Dawn came cold and gloomy. Shivering, I drank the last of the coffee scraped the fire apart so it would die quickly on the bare ground, and then I started.

  My legs were stiff, and I hobbled, but I moved.

  When I had gone only a short distance I fell, and this time I did not get up. One leg drew up, but it slipped back, and I lay still.

  I was not unconscious, nor was I quite conscious. I was vaguely aware that it had started to sprinkle.

  Rain.

  Feebly, I struggled to turn over, trying to get on my back.

  Somebody was watching me. The thought slowly seeped into my dulled brain. Somebody was watching mel It could not be. I was going crazy. I managed to roll on my back and opened my mouth. Slowly the rain fell over me, some water trickled down my throat, and my face felt good. My body was chilled and stiff, but somehow refreshed.

  My head lifted, I looked around, fell back. Somebody was watching me.

  They were Indians. There were forty or fifty of them and there were no women or children among them.

  They were painted for war, and every man was armed.

  I rolled over slowly, got my hands under me, and stood up. Some Utes, traveling back from a fight with the Comanches had once stayed at our ranch, recovering from their wounds. Pa had let them have three horses, although we were hard-up. But while they were there I had learned a little of their language. These would be Pahutes. I spoke to them.

  They looked at me. I tried English. "Much hurt," I said. "Bad man shoot me. I have no gun. I follow. He run."

  "You follow Medicine Trail."

  The Indian who spoke was weirdly gotten up. A medicine man?

  "Yes. The Sky Chief tells me to follow the Medicine Road and the Pahute will help me."

  They stared at me, muttering among themselves. It was different from the tongue I knew, but it was similar.

  Sometimes only a word or two seemed right; sometimes a whole sentence fell into place for me.

  They led several spare horses, and suddenly a slim warrior rode over to me with a horse, and catching hold on the mane, I swung to its back.

  They led off swiftly, and clinging to the mane, I rode with them.

  Their village was miles away, but somehow I clung to the horse and kept on with them. When we came to the village at last, I saw that it was made up of perhaps two dozen lodges huddled in a cluster on a bench above a ravine. The position was good it was sheltered, and there was water and fuel.

  For four days I lay in their village and they fed and cared for me. An old woman came into the lodge where I was and took care of my wounds.

  On the fifth day I walked out of the lodge. I was weak, but felt I was able to go.

  "What you do now?" the chief asked.

  "I will go to the white man's town and find the man who shot me."

  "You have no gun.'

  "I will find a gun."

  "You have no horse."

  "I ask my red brother to lend me one. I will return It if I am able, or I will pay you."

  "My people are at war with your people."

  "I did not know this. I have been where the Great Water lies, under the setting sun. I go back where my squaw is, in Colorado."

  He smoked and thought Then he said, "You brave man. We follow your blood . . . many miles. You find your enemy, you kill." He looked up at me. "I have no gun to give, but I will give pony."

  He pointed with his pipe. "You take that one."

  It was a mouse-colored horse, about fourteen hands, a good horse.

  "Thank you." I walked over to the horse, which was fitted with a hackamore.

  Swinging astride, I rode up to his fire. "You are a great chief," I said, "and you are my friend. If any man asks you, say you are a friend of Shell Tucker."

  Turning, I rode away, and they stood together, watching me go.

  I looked back once. They were a war party, and I had seen fresh scalps.

  Chapter 19

  Within the hour I had picked up the trail. Two horses, one led. And I knew the tracks of that line-back dun as I knew the cracks in my own hands.

  The grulla I rode was a good horse. The Pahute had given me a good one because he knew I had a long chase ahead of me, and he knew what sort of horse a man needed when the trail stretched on for uncounted miles Its gait was smooth. That horse was no showboat, but he'd get in there and stay until the sun was gone and the moon was up.r />
  When I came down out of those bleak, bitter mountains with the taste of alkali on my lips and my skin white from the dust of it, I had no idea where I was, only that I was riding east First it had been Bob Heseltine and Kid Reese. Now it was Zale. I'd find him somewhere up ahead, or he'd find me, and that would be an end to all of it, or part of it, depending on who saw who first A rugged, rawboned range lay before me, and across the flat of a vanished lake the jagged peaks lifted up.

  Not high . . not many of those desert ranges are high, but they are dry, and they are all jagged edge, broken rock, and plants with thorns ready to tear the flesh.

  A trail showed ... a trail that had seen some use, though not lately except for that lone-riding man with two horses.

  The trail pointed into the saw-toothed ridges, and I pointed the grulla that way and said, "Their way is our way, boy. Let's be a-goin'."

  I thought of Con Judy, who was my friend, and I thought of Vashti, who might be waiting or might not, and I thought of all the brutal, battered, and savage land that lay between us, and me without even a gun.

  If he waited for me somewhere up in those rocks, he'd have me. If he waited I was dead meat . . . buzzard and coyote meat. But I had an idea he was running hard, and I stayed on the trail.

  We climbed . . . higher and higher.

  Suddenly a rider showed. A lone man riding a mule, leading another with a pack. A prospector.

  He drew up when he saw me, not liking it. And there was a reason why, for my face was blistered and broken, my hands were only half-healed, my clothes were torn, and a sight "Howdy," he said. "Mister, wherever you been I don't wanna go."

  "I'm comin out," I said. "I made it. There's Indians back yonder though, and they're wearing their paint"

  "I seen 'em before," he said. "I cut my teeth on Injuns."

  "You got a gun to spare? I need a gun."

  "Boy, by the look of you you need a bed for two weeks, and a bath every day of it. You're riding death, boy. You should look at you from this side of your eyes."

  "I need a gun. You passed a man up yonder with two horses, and my guns as well as his own. At least, I believe he's got them. You loan me a gun and I'll send you twice the cost of it, wherever you are."