The Lonesome Gods

by Louis L'Amour

  “Water comes to the town from zanjas, or ditches. There are wells, also. Several of the Anglos have married Spanish girls from the old families. These Anglos are mostly former mountain men, trappers, and traders who came west when the fur trade ceased to be profitable. They are very shrewd men, alive to opportunity and quick to move.

  “The town is twenty miles from the sea, the climate is superb, and the town has room in which to grow.”

  “There is gold there?” Fletcher asked. “I heard gold had been discovered.”

  “There is some mining. I knew the man who first discovered it. He was sitting on a hillside and pulled some wild onions and found bits of gold in the earth clinging to the roots.”

  “There is a harbor?” Miss Nesselrode asked.

  “A quite good one, that will be made better. There’s some coast-wise trade, and trade with the Sandwich Islands as well as Mexico.”

  “And China?”

  “A little. They buy furs, mostly sea otter. The business has fallen into the hands of the Russians, I hear.”

  As we moved, the conversation ceased, then started up again.

  Often I slept, awakening to find everybody else asleep, and once when we were walking to ease the load on the horses, my father said, “Your Miss Nesselrode is a very bright young woman. I wonder what her plans are?”

  Papa was not the only one who was curious. One morning by the fire, when only Mr. Farley and Mr. Kelso were there, I heard Mr. Farley saying, “There isn’t much out there for a single woman except to get married.”

  “She might teach school.”

  “She’d have to speak Spanish. Unless maybe she started a private school for the Anglos and foreigners.”

  Fletcher came over and extended his hands to the fire. He had overheard the comments, just as I had. “She’s got money,” he said. “I figure she’s well-off.”

  “She has relatives out there, I suspect,” Kelso said, a shade of irritation in his tone. I knew he did not like Fletcher.

  Fletcher knew he was not liked, but cared not at all. There was amusement in his eyes when he replied. “Maybe, but I am betting she doesn’t know anybody out there. She’s just got herself a notion. She’s one of them romantic females with a notion of finding some Spanish don with a big hacienda. She’s got herself a little, and she’s figuring to marry rich.”

  Nobody replied to that, and Farley walked away to harness the team. Kelso glanced at me. “Stay in the wagon today, Johannes. We will be changin’ direction pretty soon.”

  We took a trail that led between a black conelike mountain of cinders and a dry lake. Papa was the guide now, and he often rode Mr. Kelso’s horse so he could scout out the trail ahead of us.

  On the third day I was walking behind the wagon with Miss Nesselrode, and we had stopped to look at a lizard with some brown bands around him, and we fell behind.

  “Miss Nesselrode? What are you going to do in California?”

  Her eyes laughed at me. “Have they been wondering about that? I could see they are curious.” She smiled again. “Johannes, if they ask you, you can tell them I really do not know. I will make up my mind when I get there.”

  “Mr. Kelso said you might start a school for the foreigners.”

  “It is a thought, Johannes, but I am afraid I am simply not the type. It is a bit tame for me, and will not accomplish what I wish.”

  “Mr. Fletcher says you have money. And you are looking for a Spanish don.”

  “He would think that.” She walked on a few steps. “What does your father say?”

  “That you are a very bright young woman.”

  She smiled again. “I like that. Most men do not give a woman credit for intelligence.” And then she added, “And that may be an advantage.”

  We camped one night where there were many palm trees, and the following day we were among the Joshua trees again, those weird-looking trees with the twisted arms, although I did not think they looked much like trees.

  In the far distance there were mountains, and my father pointed to them. “That is where we will go, Hannes, and beyond them.”

  “Papa? Is the ocean out there?”

  “Beyond the mountains? Yes, it is.”

  “Mama loved the desert, didn’t she?”

  “She came to love it, Hannes. She was born within sight of the sea, and not many women of her class ever went into the desert, or even the mountains. It was very dangerous, you know. There are outlaws, and also grizzly bears.”

  “In the town?”

  “No, in the mountains a few miles from town. Sometimes we rode there, several of us in a group, but your mother did not see the desert until we eloped. But you are right. She came to love it.”

  “You ran away into the desert?”

  “There was no place else to go, Hannes. We loved each other, and they would have killed me for even daring to speak to her.

  “I was a man of the sea, but I went into the desert to look for gold. I thought if I were rich her father would accept me.”

  “You did not become rich.”

  “No, I did not find the gold I looked for. I found some, only a very little, but I found the desert. I came to love it. I rode far and wide, sometimes with Indian friends, often alone. I learned how to find water in the desert, and the plants that could be eaten and those that were poisonous.

  “Learn from the Indians, Hannes, but with them one must always be strong. They respect truth, and they respect strength.”

  Yet always he watched the desert, and I saw him walk out to examine the trail, looking for tracks. Mr. Farley noticed it, too. “Keep your eyes open, Jacob,” he said to Finney. “Verne’s expectin’ trouble.”

  “Injuns?”

  “I don’t think so. I think this here’s somethin’ worse.”

  That night when the stars were large in the sky I went out into the coolness and stood there, feeling it all, loving the night and the stillness. Papa came out too, and stood beside me.

  “Papa? Is someone coming?”

  “I hope not, but this is Peg-Leg country. He’s a bad man, Hannes, and a very dangerous one. Twice I have seen the marks left by his wooden leg, and it is unlikely he would be afoot out here unless he was planning something.”

  “Would he rob us?”

  “Of course. He would if he could, but he is cunning. He will not take a chance on getting killed.”

  We walked back to the others, and Papa said, “Stay away from the fire.” He advised Farley, “Let one man cook. The rest of you stay in the dark. Peg-Leg is out there, and he’s watching. He already knows how many men are with you, and he won’t attempt anything unless he can make a clean sweep.”

  We had camped in a thick stand of Joshuas. “The trail is down there,” Papa said. “It’s the Yuma trail. Agua Caliente is over yonder, at the foot of the mountains.”

  Later he said to me, “Sleep in the wagon tonight, with the women. If there’s any shooting, you’ll be safer.”

  I did not like that very much, but I knew better than to protest. My father was a kind man, but he did not like disobedience or argument.

  It was warmer in the wagon. Miss Nesselrode was surprised when I climbed in. “Your father is expecting trouble,” she said.

  “Peg-Leg Smith is here,” I told her. “My father has seen his tracks. He is a robber.”

  My father came to the back of the wagon. “Miss Nesselrode? Have your weapons ready. This is more serious than the Indians.”

  “I have heard of him. There was some talk in Santa Fe.”

  “He’s known everywhere, ma’am. He’s a very hard man.”

  “You know him?”

  “Oh, yes. We traveled across the desert together once. Yes, I know him. He can be very affable, very pleasant. And he is not to be trusted for one minute.”

  The fire was down to coals before he came. We had the wagon at one side of a rough circle of rocks and ocotillo, a kind of sticklike cactus with very ugly thorns. He came riding up outside the circle and
stopped in the glow of the fire.

  He was a big, burly man in a greasy homespun shirt, wearing a belt gun and carrying a rifle. He rode a mean-looking roan horse.

  “Hello, the camp! All right if I come in?”

  My father answered. “As long as you come alone, Peg. If even one other man raises a head, I’ll put a bullet into you.”

  “Verne! By the Lord Harry, Zachary Vernel Hell, I thought you went back East!”

  “I came back, Peg. My son’s with me. I’m taking him home.”

  “Then you’re crazier than I thought. They’ll kill you, an’ him too.”

  “Peg, these people are my friends. We want no trouble, but we’re ready for it.”

  He stood in his stirrups. “All right!” he bellowed over his shoulder. “Go have a drink! All off for tonight!”

  He swung down. “Hell, Verne, it would have to be you. I was fixin’ to kill the lot of you an’ steal your goods!” He bellowed a laugh. “An’ maybe I’ll do it yet!”

  Chapter 7

  HIS EYES TWINKLED, and he looked down at me. “I’m just a-funnin’, youngster. Why, old Peg-Leg wouldn’t kill nobody, ’less he was a-shootin’ at me!

  “Hey? You’re a likely-lookin’ youngster. You Verne’s boy?”

  “I am.”

  He looked at me again, then sat down by the fire, which was smoldering. He added a few sticks, then reached for the coffeepot. “Mind if I do?”

  Taking a cup from the kitchen box, I handed it to him. “Thanks, boy.” He looked at me again, his hard blue eyes twinkling. “You scared of me, boy?”

  “No, I am not.”

  He chuckled. “Don’t s’pose you are, boy, but some are, some are!”

  “My father isn’t.”

  He chuckled again. “No, I reckon he ain’t. Your papa shoots mighty good, boy. I’ve seen it. And he takes no nonsense. Hell, if I’d knowed he was along, I’d never wasted time follerin’ you all.”

  Doug Farley came in from the dark, a shotgun in his hands. Coolly he poured a cup for himself.

  Peg-Leg looked up suddenly. “Verne, don’t be a damn fool! Don’t you go traipsin’ into Los Angeles! They’ll kill you. I’d back you against any three of them, but it won’t be three, it’ll be six or eight. The old man wants you dead.”

  He held his cup in both hands, his wooden leg stretched out in front of him. He noticed me looking at it. “That there’s the third one, boy. Whittled ’em out myself! I busted the first one in some rocks, but the second…”

  He looked up at my father. “Hell, Verne! There was six or seven of them. They come at me in a cantina, aimin’ to stretch my hide. They had knives, and so did I, an old bowie, but when there’s that many.…

  “Well, I fetched off my wooden leg an’ had at ’em! I laid out four before they taken out. Like scared rabbits, they was! But they left four all stretched out, two of ’em with busted skulls.

  “Trouble was, I busted my leg an’ had to limp out of there usin’ a chair. I done holed up in one of them canyons where there’s a trail from the San Fernando Valley down toward Rancho La Brea. I set up there until I whittled out a new leg. This’n’s better’n the other was.”

  “How’s the trail through Romero’s Pass?”

  “Romero’s? Oh, y’mean the one north of San Jacinto Mountain? It ain’t bad. Sandy here an’ there, but you can go through, all right.

  “Romero…I mind him. He was the Spanish captain who went through there first. I mean aside from Injuns.”

  He filled another cup. “Set down, Verne. I’m peaceful, and them boys out there, they’ll be long gone back to camp.” He sipped his coffee, then glanced slyly at my father. “You’re close to them Injuns at Agua Caliente, so you’ll hear it sooner or later. They be sayin’ that Tahquitz has come back.”

  My father did not immediately reply. He took his time filling his cup; then he glanced over at me. “Tahquitz is supposed to be an evil spirit. Some say he’s a monster of some kind, even a dragon. Once in a while the mountains rumble and they say Tahquitz is trying to escape.

  “Long ago, so the story went, Tahquitz used to come down and steal maidens from the villages. They said he ate them. One day a brave young warrior tracked him into the mountains and found the cave where he lived, and walled it shut with Tahquitz inside.”

  My father looked across his cup at Smith. “What do you mean, ‘come back’?”

  Peg-Leg’s eyes twinkled slyly and he stole a look at my father. “They be sayin’ he’s out of his cave, an’ that he walks the mountains of a night. They’ve found tracks up yonder, even down close to the hot springs. No Cahuilla will leave his lodge after dark. Not now.”

  “There are many such beliefs,” Papa said mildly.

  “This here’s more’n just a belief. Got so no Injun will even hunt in the piney woods. They stay down on the desert. They’re scared, Verne, real scared. I know Injuns, an’ no matter what folks say, they don’t scare easy.”

  There was a movement behind us, and looking around, I saw it was Miss Nesselrode. She had gotten out of the wagon and was coming up to the fire.

  Peg-Leg Smith saw her at the moment I did and scrambled up with surprising agility. He swept off his hat. “Ma’am! I heard there was womenfolks along, but wasn’t expectin’ to have the pleasure.”

  “Please sit down, Mr. Smith. The coffee smelled so good I just had to have a cup. Besides, I want to see the most notorious horse thief in the country.”

  Smith looked pained. “Now, ma’am, that ain’t right. Ain’t right nor fair. If you was a man, I’d shoot you for sayin’ that, but I can’t shoot no woman. Especially no lady. It just ain’t fair, you takin’ advantage like that. Anyway, I never stole no horses of yours.” He looked at her suddenly. “I didn’t, did I?”

  “No, Mr. Smith, you have not. I hope you never will, Mr. Smith, because you have become something of a legend. I would not like to hang a legend.”

  “What?” He was startled.

  “Yes, Mr. Smith. I may go into the horse business, and if ever I do, and if ever you steal any horses from me, I would follow you to wherever you went with however many men it took, and I would hang you, Mr. Smith.”

  “Now, ma’am, that’s no way to talk! You wouldn’t hang a poor one-legged man, would you? After all, nobody’s ever catched me with stole horses. It’s just one o’ them stories that gets around.

  “Anyway, that was all years ago. I’m out here huntin’ a gold mine I lost.” He looked at her, his eyes innocent. “You wouldn’t want to invest in a gold mine, would you, ma’am?”

  “No, Mr. Smith, I would not.” She held out a hand for his cup. “May I get you some more coffee, Mr. Smith?”

  He watched her cross to the coffeepot and refill his cup. She returned it to him, smiling. “Tell us, Mr. Smith. How did you make three thousand horses disappear in the desert with men chasing you? That should be a most interesting story.”

  “Now, now! Ma’am, you shouldn’t ought to believe such stories! Them horses were stole by Injuns, driven off by Injuns. I had noth—”

  “Please, Mr. Smith! Who led those Indians?”

  Smith turned to look at Zachary Verne. “Zack? How come you got this woman along? Whose woman is she, anyway? If she keeps talkin’ like this, she could get a body into trouble! Why, I’m an old man now, fixin’ to move up to Frisco an’ settle down. I can’t have stories like that gettin’ around. Folks won’t trust me!”

  Smith was enjoying himself, and my father knew he was. “I d’clare, ma’am, if you was to want to go partners with me, I might just go back into business again!”

  She smiled at him. “You’re a rascal, Mr. Smith, and a scoundrel, but I like you. You’re an interesting man.”

  She paused. “Tell me the truth, Mr. Smith. Did you really amputate your own leg?”

  “Had to. Wasn’t nobody to he’p except there toward the end. Milt Sublette, he did some cutting. Injun shot me in the leg, shattered the bone right below the knee. Wasn’t no doctor wi
thin a thousand miles, prob’ly. It was cut or die, and all the time, them Injuns was around. I’d rather lose a piece of my leg than my hair. So I cut her off.”

  “You had no surgical training? I’m astonished.”

  “Ma’am? What you all mean by surgical trainin’? Of course I had! I’d killed an’ skinned out maybe a hundred buffler, and as many deer, to say nothing of all the other game.

  “Wasn’t one of us there hadn’t cut arrows out of people or cleaned up bad wounds one kind or another. I’d done more cutting on animals and folks than nine out of ten surgeons. I’d cut meat and I’d cut bone maybe a thousand times since I was a youngster. Cuttin’ on a man offers the same sort of problems.

  “You civilized city folks live in a world a whole lot different than ours! Why, Ewing Young, him that was our leader a time or two, he was tellin’ us one time how a man named Harvey discovered the circulation of the blood. We thought that was almighty funny, amusin’ I mean, because every Injun on the Plains and in the woods knew all about it. Hunters for thousands of years understood, and those old priests who performed thousands of human sacrifices, do you think they didn’t know? This Harvey feller, he just wrote it up for folks to read.

  “I hear folks talkin’ about Lewis and Clark and all they ‘discovered.’ Why, I talked with a Frenchman who was guide to David Thompson, the Hudson Bay man. That Frenchman had been all over that ‘discovered’ country ten years before!”

  “Mr. Smith.” Miss Nesselrode asked suddenly, “what is it like in California? Over the mountains, I mean?”

  He looked at her, then squatted on his haunches again, nursing the coffee. “It is the best of lands,” he said quietly, “and will someday be among the greatest. Don’t go there unless you can grow. That’s the trouble with the Spanish folks, they’ve lived too easy all these years, nobody to fight, or reason to. Now some of them smart Yankees are there, things will be different.

  “Me, I’ve been a mountain man and a trapper. Why do you think I left the East to trap for fur? Because that was where the money was! I could make more in a week, if I kept my hair, than I could make in a year back to home! That’s why those other fellers come west, too. Now that folks want silk hats instead of beaver, those smart Yankees are lookin’ about. They’ve seen Los Angeles.