Fair Blows the Wind (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures)

by Louis L'Amour

  Yet I could not completely convince myself. Suddenly I became aware that I was walking, I was already headed toward that smoke.

  “Feet,” I said aloud, “you lead me to trouble. For as surely as I go back to them, there will be strife.”

  Yet, when I stopped to think of it, when had I not known trouble? And was not struggle the law of growth?

  It took me more than an hour to get close to the smoke, though it was little more than a mile away.

  The camp was on high ground among the pines, and I could see their fire a good hundred yards before I was expecting it. They were less than careful, which did not surprise me, but they had company, which did.

  I paused behind some brush and looked them over carefully. At the distance I could only make out the fire, some smoke, and several more people than I had expected to see. I had started to approach closer for a better look when I heard, close by me, a faint chink of metal on metal.

  Instantly, I was immobile, my hand on my sword. The brush was thick, so I squatted to peer through the stems where there might be fewer leaves.

  I found myself looking into a pair of squinting brown eyes belonging to a man who was crouching not six feet from me.

  “Captain Tatton Chantry,” I said, “and may I be of service?”

  He blinked. He had the advantage of me, for his blade was in his hand. “That you may,” he replied grimly. “I’d like to know who the bloody hell you are and what you think you’re doing?”

  “Merely a passing wayfarer,” I replied cheerfully, “left ashore by the ship the Good Catherine when we were attacked by Indians. And you?”

  “The Catherine was a ship, y’ say, and not a woman? ’Twould not be the first time a man had been left high and dry by a woman.”

  “It was indeed a ship, and carrying all I owned it was. Gone now, and here I stand.”

  “And here you squat, y’ should say, because that’s what you’re a-doin’. I am wondering if your story’s a true one.”

  “Do you question my word? If so, stand up like a man, call me a liar, then make your peace with the Lord.”

  “Ah, you’re the cocky one, aren’t you? Ready to fight, are you? Well, I am not. Unless cornered, that is, or there’s gold in it. I’d fight then. Once I’d have fought for a woman, but no more. They aren’t worth it.

  “Fought for ’em often, I did, until oncet the two of us stood to our weapons nigh an hour with no benefit one side or the other, and when we stopped to draw breath, be damned if the woman had not gone off with a man not half of either of us. It shows a man. It shows him.”

  “You have the advantage of me. There’s a woman by the fire yonder I’d fight for. Now, tomorrow, or any day.”

  “Ah? That fire? That woman? Well, you’d have to fight, my friend, but you’d lose. That man yonder who stands beside that fire is a swordsman. He’s one of the best.”

  “Only one of the best? Then perhaps we shall see what ‘best’ is where he comes from.”

  The man slowly stood up and unlimbered himself. He was a good two inches taller than I, and perhaps twenty pounds less in weight. He had a long, haggard face and half an ear missing. His hands were extraordinarily large and his feet as well. He was clad in rags, the merest remnants of clothing.

  “Who am I, you ask? Just a poor sailorman who’s been ashore these past months, dodging redskins an’ keeping a weather eye out for a ship, any kind of ship to take me back where there’s Christian folk.”

  “What about those people?”

  “A bad lot! A mighty bad lot, if you’ll be takin’ my word for it.”

  Had he seen my boat? If he had not, I was wishful that he would not, yet such a one as this might easily stumble upon it where a larger party would have small chance of doing so.

  “You’ve been down to their camp?”

  “That I have not, nor shall I, for they’re a bad lot, as I’ve said. They’re folk to fight shy of.”

  As briefly as possible, I explained how I came to be here, and what my intentions were—as far as I knew them. “Aye,” I said at the last. “It is a ship I want, too, and a means to get back to England. But there’s a girl yonder that worries me. I think she is in trouble.”

  “Hah! It’s the youth in you speaking! In trouble, is she? I’ll warrant if she’s not she will be. Trouble goes with women, walks hand in hand with them, and he who goes among them shall expect nothing else.”

  “I believe she’d like to be free of them,” I said, irritated.

  “Did she tell you that? Is it her husband she’d be free of? Well, I’m not surprised. The trouble with women is they’re always looking over the fence where the grass is greener.”

  “She would not be looking at me then,” I replied, “for I’ve nothing more than what you see. I’d put by a bit, and made a venture with the Good Catherine, and it is lost to me…gone.”

  “Aye, y’ll see nothing more of that cargo. The good captain of the Good Catherine will add your portion to his and grow the fatter for it.”

  He glanced at me shrewdly. “The girl is it? The Injun girl or that proud and devil-be-damned Spanish lass?”

  “It is the Señorita Guadalupe Romana,” I said, with what I hoped was dignity. “She is a lady, and a lovely one.”

  “Oh, I doubt it not! Them’s the worst kind! She’ll invite you to come forward in every way a woman has, then scream if you put a hand on her! I know the kind.”

  “You do not know her,” I replied stubbornly, “but we’ll get nothing done standing here. Go you about whatever it is you do. I am going to see if that girl needs assistance.”

  “Now what would I have to do in this godforsaken place besides saving my skin? What, I ask? You’ll not be rid of me so easy as that. I think you’ve a means to a ship, so I’ll stand hard by. And I’ll listen t’ your troubles, I’ll share whatever it is you eat, I’ll drink at your wake, but I’ll have nothing to do with your fancy women!”

  He turned his head, looking for all the world like a big bird, and then shook his open hand at me. “Don’t get me wrong! I like a woman as well as the next man. But find them, have your hour with them, an’ leave them, that’s what I say! If they speak of love, put your hand on your poke and keep it there. If they start worrying about you catching cold or not eating right or drinking too much, catch the first vessel out of port. Believe me, when it comes to women, I know them! Oh, do I know them!”

  My gesture indicated his sword. “Can you use that thing? Or is it just hung there for show?”

  “Show, is it? Aye, I can use it! Well enough, I can use it! I’ve fought my battles by sea and land and used every sort of weapon, and I am alive to see this day. I’ve been a rich man twice, left for dead once, twice a slave, and many times a prisoner. I know when to fight and when to run—and run I will if the time is not right or the numbers too great.” He glanced at me. “Don’t look for me to be a hero. That I am not. I will fight as long as it looks like winning and if there’s a bit to be had, I’ll fight the harder, and longer, too!”

  “Do you have a name then? I’ve told you mine.”

  “Captain Tatton Chantry, he says. Now there’s a name! It has a sound to it, all right. Well, mine does too, for I’m known as Silliman Turley.”

  “All right, Turley, come along with me if you wish, but if trouble comes, you stand to that sword or I’ll have no part of you.”

  “Well now! Captain, he says, and captain he acts! So be it. You lead and I will follow and you’ll not find me lacking. But if you fail me, I’ll be off, and you can lay to that.”

  My attention had been on the camp as we talked. We were some distance off, and had kept our voices low, but I didn’t want them to know we were about until I had some idea of what was happening.

  It was clear enough what my intentions should now be: to find a ship, or some way in which to return to England and open proceedings that would establish my claim to some of the profit from the voyage of the Good Catherine.

  A
thought occurred to me. “Turley, how long have you been here?”

  He shrugged. “Two years…I think. A man loses count of time when the days are alike and he has no need to be anywhere at a certain moment. It was a late summer when I came ashore, and there was a winter, then another winter.”

  “No trouble with Indians?”

  “Aye…with some of them. Mostly I keep shy of them.” He pointed. “I’ve a place in the swamp…deep inside.”

  Moving with infinite care, we edged closer to the camp. Turley was like a ghost in the woods. His body seemed to glide between leaves and branches, or under them, stirring scarcely a leaf in the passing. I was more clumsy, yet watching him, I learned to do better. Soon he paused, lifting a hand.

  There were voices, a faint smell of smoke. First, I saw Armand and Felipe. They stood together, off to one side.

  Don Diego and Guadalupe Romana stood together; Don Manuel sat on a log not far from them. A large man was facing them, a huge, enormously fat man but one who moved with that curious ability some fat men seem to possess.

  “Do not repeat to me this fiction, this romance! I do not believe in your mysterious Englishman! I think he is a lie, but no matter! Tell me this only: Where is the San Juan de Dios?”

  “I repeat,” Don Diego replied, with dignity, “the galleon was sinking. Don Manuel acted quickly, getting us into the boat and away. Without him we all might have been lost.”

  “Ah, yes! Don Manuel! Very heroic, no doubt! But do you not ask yourselves why he hurried you? Was the vessel actually sinking? Was he saving your lives or merely getting you off the ship and away?”

  “Of course she was sinking!” Don Diego protested. “She was lying well over when we made the deck.”

  “I acted to save them,” Don Manuel replied coolly. “As for the San Juan de Dios, she undoubtedly lies on the bottom of the sea.”

  “Hah!” The big man turned in such a way that I could see a part of his face. It was a bearded but brutal face, the face of a strong, ruthless man, but an intelligent one—or such was my immediate estimate. “Very neat! Very tidy, indeed! And does the distinguished Don Diego know that your own vessel, the Santiago, is soon to sail up this coast?”

  “Is that true?” Don Diego spoke in a lower voice and we could scarcely hear the words.

  Don Manuel shrugged. “But of course! It was to sail to Florida, then to come along up the coast to spy out the presence of any French settlements. Or any English settlements, for that matter, for our people in England tell us that Sir Walter Raleigh is planning some such venture. It is a service to the King.”

  “And you?” The big man spoke with sarcasm. “Were not you to be here to meet your vessel?”

  “I would have been in Spain,” Don Manuel replied. “I took passage on the San Juan de Dios expecting it would take me to Spain.”

  “But you are not in Spain, Don Manuel,” the big man said, “you are here, a galleon loaded with gold is near here, and your rescue ship is coming. How very convenient, Don Manuel!”

  CHAPTER 7

  FOR A MOMENT there was silence in the camp, then the large man turned abruptly away from the dons and gestured to two armed men who stood nearby. “They are not to leave camp. They will be guarded every minute, and if either escapes—”

  The guards obviously understood the uncompleted sentence. Ignoring Guadalupe, the fat man strode across the camp to confront Armand and Felipe. “This Englishman…you spoke with him?”

  “We did.”

  “Who was he? What was he?”

  “A man cast away. He had come ashore for water. His party was attacked and he was abandoned when the others fled.”

  “Ah, yes. So he said.” He paused, as if thinking. “This captain…what sort of man was he?”

  “A gentleman, and unless I mistake not, a swordsman.”

  “You mean he was a man who carried a sword?” The big man’s tone was contemptuous.

  “I mean a swordsman. He had the movements and the manner, the style, if I might say so.”

  “Ah? You speak as one who knows. Do you?”

  “I do. I worked in the armory at Toledo. I was a maker of swords, and I have observed many swordsmen. I have seen the best.”

  “A swordsman. All right, I accept it. And a captain, too? A captain of what?”

  “I do not know.”

  “What has become of him?”

  “He went for a walk along the shore. I believe he wished to see if any ships were about. He did not come back.”

  “Any ships? Or one particular galleon?”

  “Who knows?”

  “So he did not return. Did he join others hidden nearby, perhaps? Did he seem interested in the galleon?”

  “No,” Armand lied. “He knew only that we had escaped from a sinking ship, nothing more.”

  The large man turned sharply on Felipe. “Is that true?”

  “I believe so. He seemed interested only in getting something to eat. He was hungry, I think.”

  “Why do you think so?”

  “I have been hungry, señor. I observed his attention to the fire where the food was, and how he ate. He was hungry, señor, even though he claimed this land—” Felipe waved a hand “—as his estate.”

  The big man changed the subject. “The San Juan de Dios…where is she now?”

  “I do not know. We were ordered to the boats. When I looked back…she was down in the water. But where or when she sank, who knows?”

  The large man, whoever he was, seemed to know what he was about. That worried me. He was no man to trifle with, and it was obvious his sources of information were excellent. Yet where was his ship? If ship he had.

  Now he was giving orders to several men and they were moving out.

  “We’d better get shy of this place,” Turley whispered, “they’re comin’ for a look around, I’m thinking.”

  We moved back, taking our time and trying to make no sound or movement. From the slight rise from which we had first viewed the camp, I glanced back.

  The original Spaniards were all there, but there were a number of other men moving about. There must now be at least twenty in all.

  There was something disturbing about the large man, something that made me feel that I’d seen him before. Another strange man, a man lying on the ground with his back to us, had also seemed familiar.

  Suddenly we heard the big man speak again. His voice was loud. “No man or woman is to leave this camp but by my order. Do you understand that? He or she who tries to leave will die, and I do not exaggerate. I don’t care that,” he snapped his fingers, “for any of you.”

  Don Diego replied, his voice strong and clear. “Señor, if harm comes to anyone here, I will see that you hang for it, and your comrades will hang beside you!” He paused then and said, “Do you remember who I am, señor?”

  The large man bowed with a sweep of his hat. “Who does not, Don Diego? But let me remind you that the seas are wide and a man with a ship can go where he will. And I shall go where not even you can follow, and where the might of Spain is less than a whisper in the night. I will do what I please, Don Diego, and when it pleases me to do so I shall slit your noble gullet with my own hand, and feed what remains to the fish.

  “Do you understand me, Don Diego? You are nothing here…nothing! I have the power now, and I alone!”

  We moved away, finding our way back to a cedar-clad knoll where the waters of the sound could be seen, and much of the area around.

  There was now no sign of the San Juan de Dios.

  Had she sunk, at last? Or found some other place to rest until another tide floated her free? Search as I might, I could see nothing of her.

  We went down off the knoll and into a deeper thicket of cedar. There we found a place where the earth had been hollowed, perhaps by some bear, long ago, at the base of a cedar, but close against the trunk where it was covered by thick branches. There was room for two there, and we took shelter. From the packet inside my shirt I
took some ship’s biscuit and shared it with Turley.

  Night was shading down and we settled ourselves for sleep. Turley, with the ease of his years in the woods, was soon asleep, but I lay long awake, disturbed by memories of my youth. Why they had suddenly come upon me now, I could not guess, but lying back and looking up at the cedar, enjoying the pleasant smell of the crushed needles, my mind strayed back to my boyhood.

  My father had been a bookish man, quiet in manner and gentle of voice. He loved to walk the lonely beaches as I did, and to climb among the rocks. Often when resting he told me stories of the Milesians who had come to Ireland from Spain, long, long ago, and how the Irish were then called Scots from a Milesian queen named Scota. She had been a daughter of Pharaoh, ruler of Egypt. He told me tales of Conn of the Hundred Battles and of the old kings who ruled from Tara, and of the Druids who had been their teachers and advisers.

  He told me the story of how the Danes had settled Dublin. In Gaelic it was Dubh-Linn, or the Black Pond.

  One morning he took up his stick and said, “Come, lad, I’ve a thing to show you,” and he took me out along the shore and up among the rocks to a high place where the ground was suddenly flat, rimmed all around with the ruins of an ancient wall.

  “It was a castle once,” he said, “a fortress of a sort. It commanded,” he pointed the path, “a way up from the sea, yet it was a rare raider who came this way. Most often they came from the east coast and attacked the people who lived there. Only now are we in grave danger here.”

  “We are?”

  “You bear an old name, my son, as do I. Our name is a symbol, and so it has been for many, many years. Yes, one day they will come. Somehow we must get you safely away.”

  “I want to stay with you. I can fight.” I said this with more hope than honesty, for although I had learned to ride and to shoot, to fence and to duel with the quarterstaff, I had never fought except with my fists against the village boys.

  “No…you must not fight. You must escape, and then one day you will come back here and claim what is truly yours.