by Neal Barrett
Again, Howie wondered what in all hell Pardo was thinking about. Maybe he had gone plumb crazy, filling half of Roundtree with food and whiskey. By sundown, every-: one in town would know they were riding out in the morning and no one would have to guess what they were up to. Colonel Monroe and every Loyalist trooper in the Territory’d be just licking their chops and waiting. Then, what? Howie thought miserably. He felt vaguely sick inside and knew it wasn’t the meat. The whole business gave him the shivers.
Chapter Twenty-Three
The steep trail twisted like a dry river through a tumble of giant boulders worn by wind and weather. From the top of the ridge he could look back and see the long column winding up to meet him. It was hard going and taxed the best that men and mounts had to offer. Loose stone turned slick as ice under a horse’s hooves and threatened to send mount and rider sliding off the path. Men below cursed and held their breath as rock and choking dust clattered down to meet them.
Howie decided no one could have mistaken the band for anything but what it was. There wasn’t a man afoot in Par- do’s hire—only heavily armed raiders on horses. Even the precious cargo of weapons was slung across the backs of a dozen sturdy mounts.
Not one of the riders had ever seen that done before—a horse was for carrying a man, and much too valuable for hauling heavy loads about.
But wagons were too slow for Pardo. In this war party a man carried what he needed on his back. When he ran out of that, why, he’d just have to do without.
Harlie reined up beside him and rubbed the mask of sweat and dust from his face. “I’ll be godamned if I ain’t wishin’ I’d of got a lot drunker’n I did,” he growled. “Last night I had a right good idea what I come on this trip for, but I sure can’t remember what it was.”
“You were goin’ to be rich as one of them Old Kings,” said Howie.
“Oh, yeah, I do recall.” He screwed up his weathered face and scratched his chin. “’Bout when you reckon that’ll be?”
“I don’t reckon nothing ’til I see it, Harlie. And I ain’t real sure about it then.”
“Uhuh.” Harlie thought a minute. “That’s sound thinkin’ in a outfit like this.” He took a long swig of water and wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “Ain’t hardly nothin’ a man can do but take the breaks as he sees ’em, and hope for the best. But I’ll tell you certain, the more I put my mind to it the more I wish I was back under some fine shade in Roundtree with a big, cool cup of corn close by. Lordee!”
Howie laughed. “Harlie, you want to be poor and drunk all your life?”
Harlie looked straight at him. “Shit, boy, it sure beats dyin’ rich and sober, which is likely what we’re in for on this little party.” He grinned and whipped his mount away.
“Least half of that, anyways.”
Howie watched him go. Harlie wasn’t thinking much different than anyone else in the crew, he decided. pardo’s riders weren’t nearly as excited about filling their hats with gold as they had been the night before. The corn whiskey in their bellies had dried up quick on the hot plains. There was nothing to do now but ride, and wonder where you were going.
Pardo was a tricky bastard, for sure. If you got a man drunk enough, he’d work all night loading horses and packing gear, and take off riding at sunup without asking why. Now, though, like Harlie, they were remembering how they’d left the Keep all stiff and bleary-eyed with half the town up to see them off. Every halfwit in Roundtree knew they were carrying a fortune in guns out to the Rebels. Pardo had done everything but nail up signs pointing the way.
Now, all a man could do was curse Pardo for a fool and keep a wary eye over his shoulder. If there wasn’t something after him already, there soon would be.
The top of the ridge was a midday stopping point and, before the tail end of the column reached the summit, the first riders had small fires going to warm their rations. The heat felt good, too. Even under the clear blue sky there was a slight chill to the air. A rider who’d been through the country before told Howie they had left the plains behind and were now on the edge of a great mesa that stretched all the way to the far mountains.
“You seen the mountains?” Howie asked him. “For certain?” He’d looked at a picture once, in a real book, and stared at the tall, craggy white towers of stone that seemed to reach clear to the sky. It was hard to believe they were anywhere near. He was sure you could already see anything that big, if you were close enough to talk about them.
“They’re there, all right,” the man told him. “Taller’n God. Some so high a man can’t hardly get all the air he needs on top.”
Howie doubted that. There was air everywhere—why wouldn’t there be some on a mountain, too?
In the late afternoon he traded outrider duty with Harlie and rode along at the front of the column with Kari. Howie had mixed emotions about her presence on the trip. He was glad she was there, but he knew they were in almost certain danger and didn’t like to think of something happening to her. Pardo had felt the same way, for different reasons. Kari was too valuable to risk on the trail. He sure didn’t want to think about trying to replace her.
Kari had stood her ground, though—there wouldn’t be any shipment of high quality arms without her, and she’d damn sure see them through to the finish.
Earlier, Howie had promised himself he wasn’t going to let anything show, this time. She could make a fool of someone else if she wanted to, but it wouldn’t be him. Not any more. The minute he was with her, though, the whole business started all over again. Everything tightened up inside, like something was fair squeezing the life out of him. He felt hot all over, even in the crisp wind sweeping off the mesa.
He talked about the trail, and the different kinds of rocks, and how cool it was getting, and anything he could think of besides stopping right there and pulling her clothes off and laying her good and proper. Godamn, she looked good, even under the heavy cotton jacket that near covered her from head to toe! It didn’t do any good at all if you knew what was there.
“Howie…”
“What?”
“Stop it, Howie.”
Howie flushed. “Stop… what?”
“What you’re thinking.”
“You don’t have any idea what I’m thinking, Kari.” “Sure I do, Howie.”
“You sure as hell don’t!”
Kari didn’t answer, but he caught the slight corner of her smile. “You really do like that, don’t you? You think I’m real funny.”
“No.”
“Uhuh.”
“I said I didn’t, Howie.”
“Well… what do you think, then? You gotta think something.”
She looked at him a long moment, gray eyes sleepy beneath her lids. “No I don’t,” she said finally. “I really don’t have to think anything.”
Howie felt vaguely uncomfortable. There was something about the way she looked at him that told him it might very well be true. And not just about him, either.
At sundown the sky turned brilliant red, coloring the mesa in stark shades of fiery pink. Gray, crimson-topped clouds hugged the horizon, and Howie imagined they’d reached the mountains already, though he knew that couldn’t be.
Pardo stopped the column at an ancient site, where two long ribbons of man-made stone crossed each other and wandered off straight as arrows across the mesa. Everyone knew they were roads and that machines had used them to carry people before the War. Just how this was done no one could say for sure, though there were pictures that showed what it had looked like.
You could see traces of roads most everywhere; there had been plenty of them and they usually turned up right where you were fixing to plow, or dig a stock pen. This one was in fair condition, with a lot of surface showing. Time had taken its toll, and the stone was cracked and split all over and choked with sand and weeds, but you could still trace its edges with your eyes.
Some of the crew grumbled over Pardo’s choice of campsite, not too many liked the idea of spending the nig
ht in old places. Pardo ignored them, he had a reason for stopping there. Right at the crossroads there was a gutted building. It had thick stone walls higher than a man, and a narrow doorway. It was here he planned to store the guns overnight. More than that, he explained, if anyone decided to bother the column, why, there was a ready-made fortress right at hand, and it’d be worth a man’s life to try to take it over flat ground.
No one argued, but all the riders said they’d just as soon sleep outside in the sand until something happened to bring them inside.
“I wonder what they looked like?” said Howie.
Kari kicked her boot in the sand and squinted at him. “What?”
“The roads. Before, I mean.”
“Just like they do now, Only newer.”
Howie shook his head. “You know what I mean, Kari.” “I’ve seen lots of them. Better than that. Some good as new.”
“Where?”
“Where I come from.”
“Where’s that?”
“That way.” She jerked a thumb west.
“Huh?” Howie raised a brow. “You mean the mountains?”
“No, past that.”
“California? You come clear from California, Kari?”
That was all she would say, though, and he decided wearily he probably knew more about her than anyone else, anyway.
He watched her make a windbreak for herself in the sand, and spread her blankets down, then he walked around the far side of the old building and made his own bed. No wonder she didn’t talk like anyone else. He’d never seen anyone from California before. ’Course, she hadn’t come right out and said that was it, but he figured it was so.
He wondered, wistfully, if all the girls from California looked like Kari. He decided they didn’t. Hell, if that was so, every man in the country would’ve high-tailed it out there already and there wouldn’t be anyone left anywhere else.
With the night, a million stars filled the sky and the real cold set in. Howie pulled his blankets tight around him and tried to sleep. It wouldn’t be long before someone’d come by and kick him awake. Pardo had two-thirds of the forty-odd riders doing sentry duty on horseback in a wide circle around the camp. He hadn’t said so, but it was plain enough he was more than a little concerned about Monroe and his troopers. They were out there somewhere—everybody knew that. The only question was when they’d try to take the guns. If they had good sense, they’d make their run before Pardo’s riders met up with strong Rebel forces.
It was something to think about, and Howie figured every man in camp was wishing he was back in Roundtree, or damn near anywhere else.
Near sunup, he climbed off his horse and crawled half frozen back in his blankets. He was asleep as soon as he hit the ground; it was only minutes later that the scream brought him up straight again. He grabbed his weapons, certain the troopers were upon them.
A dozen riders had bunched up around the far corner of the building and someone had pulled a torch from the fire. A man named Kelsey was on the ground. His eyes were near coming out of their sockets with fear and sweat was pouring like fresh rain down his face. Four men held him down and tried to stop the screaming, while another did something to his head.
The whole side of Kelsey’s face was blood-red and swollen, and Howie could see ugly wounds where something had punctured the skin again and again.
In moments, Kelsey was dead, a white foam of spittle ringing his open mouth. The riders covered him quickly, and crowded ’round to take a look at what had done it.
Howie was horrified. Someone had killed the thing, but it still writhed and squirmed blindly across the ground—a long, terrible creature with no legs at all, and big around as his arm. Someone said it was a snick and that they’d seen two or three in the mountains before.
God help us, thought Howie. Horses, rabuts, and now snicks. He’d liked it a lot better when there was only one kind of animal around.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Hacker and Pardo nearly had it out before breakfast. Howie was sure they’d have killed each other if Klu and some of the Rebel soldiers hadn’t stepped in to pull them apart. The two kept their distance the rest of the day—Hacker riding point, and Pardo sticking close to his pack horses.
Everyone in the column had seen it coming. Hacker was storming mad over the way Pardo had pulled out of Roundtree, making a show for the town. And no one blamed him much, either. As Hacker put it, it was a damn fool thing to do. And though he didn’t care one way or the other whether Pardo got his own people killed, he didn’t figure on losing his whole troop over another man’s ignorance. That was when Pardo went for him, pale eyes flashing and a big grin spreading his features. Klu wrestled the knife from him before he could sink it half a foot in Hacker’s big belly.
Looking at Pardo’s face, you could swear the man had lost his senses. Howie knew better than that. The only time Pardo went plumb crazy was when he wanted to, and for a good reason. If he’d figured on sticking Hacker, Hacker’d be kicking up sand right then instead of setting his mount and sulking.
So why hadn’t they seen through the rest of the business, Howie wondered? He could have kicked himself for not thinking. Pardo never did anything without a reason—and he sure as hell wasn’t crazy. If he’d let everyone in town know he was carrying that big shipment of arms to the Rebels—why, that was exactly what he’d intended to do!
Why, though? Where was the sense in it? That was something Howie couldn’t figure. The whole thing sent shivers up the back of his neck. He hadn’t forgotten his last trip with Pardo…
The column made camp early, long before the sun was down. Pardo picked a spot where weathered spires of red sandstone capped a small rise in the land. It offered good cover, and was high enough so that the riders had a distinct - advantage over any intruders. They could walk the horses up easy, but an attacking force would have to leave their mounts behind and fight on foot over open ground. Even Hacker had no quarrel with the site.
Every man in the column, for that matter, breathed a sigh of relief. Most had figured the Loyalists would hit them sometime during the day and, if they had to fight, they preferred to do it from good cover. A man dragging ass over the flat tableland on a horse was pretty hard to miss with a rifle.
Before the evening fires were lit, the rumor spread through the camp that they’d be meeting the main Rebel forces early the next day. And if that was true, wouldn’t Monroe have scouts out like everyone else—and know the Rebels were there? If he did, he’d sure try to take the arms while he had a smaller foe to face—and that meant tonight.
“You figure they’ll come?” Howie asked Harlie.
“Hmmmph.” Harlie nodded through a mouthful of dried meat. “They’ll come. Ain’t much question ’bout that.”
“If they’re out there,” said Howie.
“Oh, they’re out there, all right,” Harlie assured him. He gave Howie a crooked grin. “Some or soldier probably got you in his sights right now, boy.”
Howie made a face. “How come the scouts ain’t seen anything, then? There’s nothing out there but flat, and you can look ’bout a thousand miles everywhere.”
Harlie studied the lone bite of beans left on his plate. “0l’ Kelsey didn’t see that snick, neither. But it seen him.” He shook his head. “Ain’t no use wishin’ for what isn’t goin’ to
be. They’re out there, and they’re goin’ to hit us—because they got to.”
Howie figured he was right, but it just didn’t make sense, everyone settin’ around eating and talking and knowing what was going to happen. They ought to be doin’ something, shouldn’t they? The more he learned about war and fighting, the less he understood.
He had his own reason for risking his neck out in the middle of nowhere. He’d promised himself a long time ago he wouldn’t get far from Pardo until things were settled between them. But what about Harlie, and the rest of the riders? And Hacker’s troops, for that matter. Some of them wouldn’t be coming back from this busin
ess. They all knew that, and thought about it plenty, but they went right on putting their necks in a noose for a day’s pay and rations. Even if they came through all right they wouldn’t gain much. The Rebels would just go on fighting somewhere else until they got themselves killed or all shot up, and the riders would keep making money for Pardo, or someone else who didn’t care whether they lived or died. Why, Howie wondered? Maybe they had reasons for doing what they did, same as he did. But what they were, he sure couldn’t figure.
All the fires were out by the time the sun dropped through low clouds in the west. The Loyalists might know where they were, but there was no use in making targets. A few men slept, but most huddled in small groups against the cold. Both Pardo’s men and the Rebels kept to themselves. They had no quarrel with each other, but there was bad blood between their leaders, and you didn’t get real friendly with a man you might be fighting later. That seemed like a damn fool idea to Howie, when they all had plenty on their hands with the Loyalists. But as Harlie or someone at supper had pointed out, “even if Monroe ain’t climbing our backs ’fore morning, what you figure is goin’ to happen when we meet the rest of Hacker’s troops? There’s twenty-four of us, and about twenty of them if I’m countin’ right. There’s no trouble in a match like that. But what about tomorrow, when the odds ain’t so good? You figure Hacker’s goin’ to worry about paying for those guns—when he’s got maybe a hundred or so troopers to back him? Hell no, he ain’t!”
No one could think of a good answer for that, and it didn’t make sleeping any easier thinking about maybe getting through one fight before morning, so you could take on the Rebels by noon.
“That’s plain silly, is what it is,” said Kari. They stood together out of the wind. The high spires of rock looming above looked like dark fingers against the night.
“You don’t like Pardo much,” she said flatly.
