"They've become a family. Good neighbors, at least, and they want to stay with their friends. Watch 'em, you'll see."
Jacob indicated the black stallion. "That one's a troublemaker. He's too smart. I think we should get rid of him."
"I want him," I said.
"Look," Jacob warned, "that stallion is anyway six years old. He's been runnin' wild all that time. He's tough and he's smart, and he looks to me like a fighter. He'll make you no end of trouble."
"He's right, Johannes," Monte said.
"I want him," I insisted. "Leave him to me."
"Your funeral," Jacob said, "and it could be just that." The weather held. It was bright and clear, day and night, and we took our time. Nobody was in a hurry, nobody was waiting for us. Nobody had a watch and nobody had a calendar. We just forgot all about time except for dawn and sunset.
When we quit work, we'd eat, and then I'd stroll down to the corral. I'd already learned that singing will quiet a herd, mostly because it knows where that sound is coming from and that you're not some varmint sneaking up on them.
I'd lean on the gate and keep my voice low. I wanted them to get to know me, and especially that black, who seemed to know that gate was the way out. He watched it like a hawk, never far away, always watching his chance. We started weeding them out on the first day, two of us riding into the corral and just easing the culls out, with a man on the gate ready to open and close it. Some of the culls ran away; others hung around looking for their friends, like Jacob had said.
We tried not to make any fuss. We wanted them to get used to our moving around and to the feeling that we didn't represent trouble. We spotted a couple wearing brands, and there were three mules in the lot which showed signs of having been worked.
Even in the pasture we'd created, they separated into bunches. The black stallion kept his lot to one side, but never far from the gate.
"Horses may seem stupid," Jacob said, "but they know what they have to know to get along, and you can teach them a lot if you take time. Wild horses have learned a lot by just surviving out there, so be careful."
By the fourth day, taking our time and raising no dust, we had weeded out most of the culls. We were sitting by the fire considering our next step when RamOn came in and squatted near us. He accepted a cup of coffee, sipped a little, and then said, "Somebody is out there."
Jacob looked over at him. "Injuns?"
"White men. Six, maybe seven. They watch us." "Could be Fletcher," I said.
"I never liked that man," Jacob agreed.
Monte reached for the coffeepot. "Why don't we take turns standing by with rifles? Maybe two at a time?" Fletcher it could be, but there was also my grandfather. His holdings were vast and he had many riders, few of whom I knew by sight. There were other dangers, too, the Mohaves, who raided deep into the settlements at times, and the few lingering Piutes who came down from the Tehachapis.
There was also, somewhere around, old Peg-Leg Smith. Supposedly he had left the country, but one could never be sure. He was a wily old pirate, and if I judged him right, he would wait until we had our horses broken to ride, and then steal them. They would bring more money. I said as much, but Jacob doubted his presence. "Heard he was up Frisco way. You know, that little town on the bay?"
"Monterey?" Monte suggested.
"North of there. Yerba Buena, they called it. I heard the name was changed."
There was good talk around the campfire, and occasionally the Indians joined in, but usually it was Alejandro who did the talking. He had left the Cahuilla country as a young boy and worked on the west side of the mountains; then for a time he had gone north and worked for a doctor up there, often riding with him when he made calls on the sick.
We moved our camp closer to our horses, both to protect them and to let them become familiar with us. Jacob decided after studying the horses that aside from the mules there were at least four horses that showed signs of having been ridden.
Separating them from the others, we brought them outside, and Monte offered to ride them.
RamOn was quiet, speaking rarely. He had an easy way with horses and occasionally led one out of the corral, walked it around, let it graze where the grass was green and fresh while he held the picket rope himself. His way of gentling horses took time, but when he called them, they came to him.
For three weeks we worked hard, breaking horses to lead and to ride. The Cahuillas we had were all riders, but Francisco was the best of the lot.
Even Ram6n avoided the black stallion. "He is a devil," he warned.
"I'd say turn him loose or shoot him," Monte advised. "He's been wild too long and has been leading that herd too long. Look at the teeth scars and hoof scars. He's a fighter."
Nobody needed to tell me that. It showed in every line of him, and he was wary, watching his chance to escape and take his bunch with him. Sometimes I'd gather some green grass from near the water and drop it over the fence, and his mares would eat it, but not him.
At night when I was on watch I'd move over close to the corral where I could keep an eye on the horses. They would know if trouble was coming before I would, and it was a lot easier to watch them than to stare into the shadows under the trees. Sometimes I'd talk to them, low-voiced. Mostly I was talking to him, and I had an idea he knew it.
I've known men who thought horses stupid, but it's been my impression that horses are only as stupid as their masters. A riding man in wild country becomes very close to his horse, and most talk to them as to another person. The horse listens, and although he may not understand, there is communication and he senses the kinship of interests if no more.
The black stallion was wild and might have been wild all his years, yet sometimes I wondered about that. Sometimes I had a feeling he had belonged to somebody sometime, maybe when he was very young.
Each morning we roped a few head and took them out of the corral, where any fighting they did wouldn't get the others wrought up. Monte McCalla was a first-class hand, more experienced with breaking horses than any of us. Alejandro was good, too, as he'd broken horses for the doctor up north.
We were settling down to eat when we heard a horse walking. Jacob stayed where he was by the fire, but Monte an' me, we faded back into the dark. The Cahuillas were already there.
We waited, and then somebody called out, "Hello, the camp! How's for some coffee?"
"Ride in," Jacob Finney said, "but ride easy, with your hands in sight."
He was a tall, very lean man, a little stooped. He had quick, ferretlike eyes and he rode a dapple-gray gelding, a fine animal. There was no blanket roll behind his saddle. "Get down and come up to the fire," Jacob said. "Coffee's on, and we've got some grub, such as it is."
"Thankee, thankee much! I've been ridin' all day and I'm mighty tired an' almighty hungry!"
Monte, his rifle in his left hand and his pistol in its holster near his right, came in from the dark, flanking the stranger. Then Francisco and Alejandro came in. The rest stayed out, away from the fire. Diego was with the horses, and I suspected Jaime was, too.
He came on up to the fire, taking a look around as he did so. Seeing those men coming in from the dark seemed to make him a mite nervous, and you could almost see him counting.
"Come from Los Angeles," he said, although we did not ask. "Headin' for the Colorado."
"Well, that's different, anyhow," Monte commented. "Since that gold strike up north, everybody is headin' that way."
"Gold is where you find it," the stranger said easily. "I figure they've got to eat, so I'm thinkin' of drivin' cattle north. No matter whether they find gold, they've all got to eat."
Nobody had much to say to that. He drank coffee, seemed about to speak, then changed his mind. Finally he said, "Seen a corral yonder. You catchin' wild stuff?" "Here an' there," Jacob said, "catchin' an' breakin'." "Must be gold down here, too, feller knew where to find it."
"Like you said," Jacob said mildly, "gold is where you find it. We figure folks will have to ride to get a
nywhere, so we're breakin' horses to sell."
"Seen any Indians?" I asked innocently. "I mean Mohaves? Or Piutes? This is nervous country, so many of them around. Although," I added, "they don't often come this side of Tehachapi Pass."
He looked around as if seeing me for the first time. "No? Why not?"
"Superstitious," I said, "or what we'd call it. They don't like the spirits up yonder." I indicated the Tehachapis. "There's a spell on this country."
"You don't seem much skeered," he said contemptuously. "We aren't," I said. "We've got our own medicine man. He's out there now," I added, "casting spells on our enemies, whoever they may be."
"I don't put no stock in such things," he said.
"I didn't either," I replied. That this man was a spy, I had no doubt. He carried no blankets, yet he was supposed to be traveling for days. His horse hadn't even worked up a sweat, yet he implied he had come far, and he did not eat like a man who had missed even one meal.
"I didn't either," I repeated. "Until that man"--I was lying cheerfully now--"stole our medicine man's horse. "This fellow just rode up and threw down on him with a pistol and took his horse. Our medicine man just stood there and said, 'Did you ever have a broken back? Somehow I see you with a broken back.'
"The horse thief, he laughed sarcastic-like and said he'd had no broken back. At that moment the medicine man lifted a hand, and that horse started to buck. Next thing you know, that horse thief was on the ground. "He started to get up and he cried out and sweat broke out all over him. Our medicine man, he went and mounted his horse. He said to that horse thief, lyin' there, he said, 'You said you didn't have a broken back. Well, you've got one now.' And then he just rode off an' left him lyin' there."
"What happened?"
I shrugged. "What could happen? It was August. It was the Mohave Desert. If he was unlucky, he'd have lasted two, three days. If he was lucky, he'd have died the first night."
He glanced from one to the other of us, but nobody was smiling. Monte said, "Aw, he's a good feller, long as you don't cross him."
My eyes dropped to the stranger's gun. The thong was slipped off the hammer. Now, a riding man would want that thong in place unless he expected trouble.
Alejandro had moved slightly. He was now seated right behind the stranger. He spoke softly. "You didn't tell us your name."
"Just any name will do," I said. "We need something for the marker."
"What?" He started to get up, then sank back. "What marker?"
"Suppose horse thieves rode in and attacked us now?" I said. "We might be suspicious of you, or the thieves might think you were one of us. At least you'd be one less to share things with. We'd have to have a name for the marker on your grave. Shame to bury a man without leaving something to show where he passed."
He put down his cup. "Maybe I should be ridin' on," he said, "ride while it's cool, y' know?"
He got to his feet very carefully. He started to brush off his pants, which would put his hand near his gun, and then thought the better of it.
"Mount up," I said, "and ride. When you see Fletcher, tell him to come anytime he's ready."
Chapter 34
When it was daybreak, I walked down from our breakfast fire carrying a piece of bread, and when I reached the corral gate, I held it out to the black stallion. He shied away, tossing his head and rolling his eyes, but I talked quietly and held the bread out to him.
One of the mares came up and reached for it, and I broke off a bit and let her have it. This mare was one that had been handled quite a bit, I thought. Anyway, she took the bread from my hand.
The stallion seemed interested, but he was wary. I talked to him a little, but he held off, and finally I left the bread on the top rail of the gate and went away. I suspect the mare got it, but did not know.
Jacob was getting up from the fire, holding his cup in his hand. "I figure we should more 'em," he said. "I don't like that crowd."
"Me neither," Monte said. "I think they had something in mind last night. I think they were out there, ready to come in. I think he was going to start it."
"Martin saw something moving out there, and the horses were restless." Jacob sipped his coffee, his eyes on the scattered oaks along the mountainside. "Maybe it's the Injun stories, but I don't like this place. Or maybe it is just that I want to go back. I'd never have believed it, but that woman's got me thinkin' of business, wheelin' an' dealin' like she does. It's like poker, only it takes longer to rake in the pot."
He looked at me, a faint twinkle of humor in his eyes.
"Anybody told me I was becoming a city man, I'd of been ready to shoot him, but there it is."
My thoughts were on Meghan, and I agreed. "Why not?" But when I said it, I was looking at the hills. There was a place back there where a creek came down a canyon, with oaks on the mountainsides. I wanted to ride up that canyon alone sometime and drink out of that stream.
Ram& came up to the fire, leading a line-back dun from the herd. It was a horse to which he had given special attention. He dropped the reins, and getting his cup, poured coffee from the blackened pot. The others had gone, wandering off to catch up their horses. Most of them had already rolled their beds.
"We go now?"
"Jacob does not like it here."
"And you?"
"I like it." Nodding toward the hills, I said, "There is something up there for me. And in the desert there is something."
"You come back?"
"When I can." I threw the rest of my coffee on the ground. "It is an old place. I can feel that. It has changed, but it has been here. When I look at those mountains, I see the centuries pass like seasons.
"My father often said that men talk of what they call the 'Old World.' It is no older than this, if as old. Men had the Bible and they had the Greeks. They knew of the Egyptians and Babylon, so when the scholars began to dig, it was to find familiar things, things of which they had read. Whatever they found tied into something, and when they found something strange, they shied from it because it would have no place, no connection.
"Who knows when men first came here? Who knows how many people were here before you whom we call Indians? So much decays. So much disappears in the passage of years."
"You must come back."
The coals had burned down to nothing, only a few faint fingers of smoke rising. I looked at the dying red of the coals and thought of Meghan.
Did she ever think of me? Why should she? I was only a boy who had sat beside her.
I looked around. What would she think of my desert? Of these, my mountains? Was it vain to think of them as mine? Yet they were mine in a secret place in my mind. They were mine because I belonged to them and them to me. Or was this simply a romantic idea I had because my father and mother had sought a refuge in the desert? Taking up my saddle, I kicked sand over the coals. "You are one of us."
"I am Johannes Verne. Beyond that I know nothing. What I am to be is something I must become. I must create myself from this that I have." I glanced around at him. "We are nothing until we make ourselves something." "No doubt."
"I do not know what I shall be except that I wish to be something, to be someone."
"Before the world? Before other men?"
"Perhaps. Sometimes that also comes, but what I wish is to be complete in myself."
RamOn took up his saddle. "Not too complete--to be too complete is often to be lonely. A man needs a woman, and a woman a man. It is the way of things."
We walked down to the corral and caught up our horses. Francisco was there, and he walked over to me. "You will take the stallion? He is trouble, I think."
"Let him be my trouble. If he escapes, let him go." Monte walked over to me. Jacob was already in the saddle. "We're going to let out a few of the tame ones first, and I think the others will go to them with a mite of urging. We'll head them toward Tejon Pass."
"They'll be watching," I said. "They may try to stampede the horses."
"Maybe, but I think they wi
ll try to steal them at night, after they're trail-broke. They won't have men enough to handle a herd of this size. Or the horses."
We let a few of the horses out, and Francisco and Martin headed them off and held them: then we let a few more out and they fled at once to join them. After a few minutes we let out some more, and then some more, and Jacob led off, leading the herd down the old Indian trail. Francisco and Martin flanked them, and we let out more and then more. By the time we let the stallion out, the herd was trailing along in good shape, with Jaime and Diego falling in beside them.
His mares were already with the herd, so the black stallion went after them and we closed in. Selmo started from habit to close the gate.
"Leave it," I said. "Other animals will want to get to the water."
"Of course," he agreed.
Monte McCalla was waiting. He had his rifle in his hands, and I the same. "We'll sort of bring up the rear," Monte said, "just in case we have visitors."
RamOn had mounted up and disappeared, and when I looked around for Alejandro, I did not see him. "Scoutin'," Monte said. "He thought he'd have a look around, but he'll be along."
A dapple-gray mare had taken the lead. She was older, and had been saddled and ridden in some bygone time. There was a strange brand on her shoulder that we could not make out. When she shed some more of her winter hair, we would see it better.
"You going to ride that stallion?" Monte asked. "Sooner or later," I admitted. "When the time seems right."
"Give it plenty of time," Monte advised. "He's a fighter." We kept them moving at a good gait. "Get them tired," Jacob had said, "so when we bed down they'll be ready to rest."
The trail we followed was old, leading through low hills crested with boulders. Larger rocks were scattered across the low ground among the hills. There were only scattered oaks, but the grass was good.
Selmo was bringing up the rear, close behind the last of the horses. Monte and I fell back.
"You ever been in a fight, kid?" he asked me.
"I lived through a couple, loading guns for my pa. Miss Nesselrode was there, too."
"Her? In a fight?"
the Lonesome Gods (1983) Page 22
