Sackett (1961) (14 page)

"I had no schooling, ma'am, so I'm making out with this book and a few others. Some day"--I felt myself getting red around the gills--"I hope to have children and they'll have schooling, and I don't aim they should be ashamed of their Pa."

"How could they be?" Ange demanded. "You're good, you're brave, and--"

"Here they come," I said, and settled down behind the woodpile.

We could hear their boots crunching through the snow. There were five of them. Tuthill I recognized at once, and the two men beside him were probably the Bigelows. Will Boyd looked done up from the climbing and the cold. Behind him was Ben Hobes. The only one missing was that white-haired youngster with the guns.

I watched them come, chewing on a bit of stick, my Winchester in my hands. They were playing the fool, for at that distance...

"Come on out, Sackett! We want to talk."

"I can hear you."

"Come on out here."

"And leave this warm fire? I'm comfortable."

They started arguing among themselves. Then Tuthill started toward the cave, so I put a bullet into the snow at his feet and he stopped so quick he almost fell.

"You boys have got bigger problems than me," I commented, conversationally. "A sight of snow fell since you came into the mountains. How do you plan to get out?"

"Look here, Sackett," Tuthill said, "we know you're sitting on a rich claim. Well, all we want is a piece of it. Why be foolish? There's enough for us

"Why share it? I've got it, and all you boys have

a chance to die in the snow." I eased my position a little. Tuthill, you don't to understand. When you came in here you came into a trap. The passes are closed, and we're all going to spend the winter. I hope you brought grub for five or six months."

"If you don't come out, Sackett," Tuthill threatened, "we're coming in." "If I shoot again, Tuthill, I'll shoot to kill." It was cold. Knowing this kind of country as I did, I knew what we could expect. It had cleared It was cold now--at least ten below. In a few it might drop to fifty below.

"Ben," I called, "you're no pilgrim. Tell them how cold it can get at ten or eleven thousand feet on a still night. We are all stuck for the winter, and you might as well get used to the idea.

You're going to need shelter, fuel, and food. The game won't stay this high, it will all head for lower ground. If you make a run for it, you might still get out."

The pile of fire-wood covered half the tunnel mouth to a height of more than four feet, and made a crude windbreak and shelter from gunfire. The tunnel, in following the vein, had taken a slight bend--enough to shelter one person--and I whispered to Ange to get back behind it.

While partly open, the walls of rock acted as reflectors and threw heat back upon us. Moreover, in our struggle to live, I would have three priceless assets not available to them--the pick, shovel, and axe.

They had come to take a mine away from me. I had come to work the mine.

I knew there were at least two things they could do that would be terribly dangerous to us. They could direct a heavy fire at the walls and roof of the tunnel, causing the bullets to ricochet within the small space. Such bullets tear like the jagged pieces of hot metal they are.

And they could kill the horses.

Killing them in the tunnel mouth could obscure our vision, and might even block escape. It might be they were doomed to die anyway, but I was going to get them out if I could.

Somewhere up on the slope a tree branch cracked in the cold. It was very still ... an icy stillness.

Boyd stamped his feet and complained. Boyd would be the first to go. He simply hadn't the guts for the long pull. Of them all, Ben Hobes was the one to last.

Suddenly, they turned around and started for trees. / should nail one of them, I thought. it was too late, and they were under three large trees and behind some brush where I could hear branches breaking as they built a fire. They would need more than a fire. Where was the kid?

There had been six ... one had tripped and fallen down below. That whole lower canyon was of boulders and logs, covered now with snow.

The bullet hit the butt end of a cut log just an instant before the report racketed against the hills. I reached over for the coffeepot and filled my cup. Nursing it in my hands to keep my fingers warm, I sat tight. A volley of shots came next, and one of them struck above the entrance, showering the woodpile with chipped rock.

back there, Ange. Don't move unless you have to."

"Tell? Are we going to get out of this?"

"Ange, I could lie to you, but I don't know. If any of us get out, we'll be lucky."

For several minutes they kept up a hammering and I let them shoot, holding my cup in my and waiting. Finally, they stopped, and we could hear them arguing.

Would they believe us dead? That was what I hoped.

Tuthill called out, but I made no sound. A couple searching shots came then, one striking the rock the opening again, the other hitting just inside the

Again Tuthill yelled, and I finished my coffee, peering through openings in the woodpile.

Another shot. This one struck deep into the cave with an angry smack.

There was more arguing. The voices could be heard, but not the words. Then the bushes parted and Tom Bigelow was coming toward the cave, a pistol in his hand.

He slowed as he came nearer, worried by what he was doing. He paused, threw up his pistol, and fired. It was a quick, testing shot, and it struck the rock at the side of the opening.

Bigelow hesitated, then came on, walking fast. He was within a dozen steps when I spoke out "All right, Bigelow. Drop that gun!"

He pulled up sharp, starting to tilt the gun.

"Drop it!"

He could see the rifle muzzle now. At that distance even a child couldn't miss with a Winchester. He dropped the gun.

"Your brother was killed because he tried to bottom deal on me, and I told him he'd better not grab iron. He tried it. I didn't want to kill him."

Tom Bigelow said nothing.

"Unloose your gun belt," I said.

He unfastened the belt and let it fall.

"All right, I'm letting you go back. But before you go, you might tell me what you boys are going to do for something to eat. Your passes are closed. You can't take our grub, and if you could, there isn't enough to last out a week."

"We can get back."

"Ask Ben Hobes. Ask him about Al Packer."

"Who's he?"

"He started across the mountains in the winter with a party. They ran out of grub. He ate all five of the others. These same mountains. Are you ready for that, Bigelow?"

"You're lyin'!"

"All right, go on back."

One less gun they had, and maybe eighteen to twenty less ca'tridges. Come night time they would try and close in on me. Of course, on the white snow...

"Did they bring any pack horses?" I asked Ange.

"No," she said, "they planned to go right back."

They would be short of grub then. Whatever they did, they must do at once.

Suddenly, as Bigelow disappeared into the trees, I levered three fast, searching shots over there, waited an instant, then fired again, holding the rifle a little lower.

Shivering, I added fuel to the fire. The hungry flames crept slowly along the branches, then finding a piece of pitch pine, blazed up. A shot struck the roof, ricocheted down, and scattered fire. I brushed the sparks from my clothing and the bed, and felt a sharp tug at my sleeve as a second bullet came, striking just beyond the fire.

Through the trees I could see their fire. Lying prone on the cold floor, and taking my time, I drew a careful bead on a dark spot at the edge. It might be a log or a stump. It might also be a man.

For a moment I relaxed. Then, taking a long breath, I gathered trigger-slack, let the breath out slowly, and squeezed off the shot.

The cry was hoarse, choking . . . followed by a horrible retching sound such as I had never heard from anything, animal or human.

There was a volley in reply. I fired four more shots that covered an area about four feet back from the fire, and then a final shot across the fire itself.

"Ange," I said, "you'll find some cold flour in my pack. Take it and some of that meat and cook them up together. When it gets dark, we're going to get out."

"Can we?"

"We can try."

Worried as I was about what Tuthill and the rest of them might do, I was more worried about the cold.

Somehow we had to escape. We had to try. We had to try while we had our strength.

Ange was in no condition to attempt a winter in the mountains. We lacked the food for it, lacked the proper clothing and equipment. Yet bad off as we were, those others must be suffering more by now. For his own sake, I hoped the man I shot was dead.

Frightened by the firing, the horses had drawn away from the cave mouth. Now they started back, but before they could reach us, two quick shots put them down. The pack horse first, then the appaloosa.

For the first time in months I swore. Pa was never strong on cussing, and Ma was dead set against it, so we boys kind of grew up without doing much of that, but I said some words this time. They were good horses, and they had done no harm to anyone. But I knew why they were killed. Those men over there, they were realizing how much they needed grub . . . and horse meat was still meat, and not bad eating at that.

Night came. Stars appeared, wind came flowing like icy water over the rim of the mountain. The moon was not visible to us yet, but shone white upon the mountain tops. Twice I dusted the woods with gunfire; and then Ange and me, we ate what we could. What was left of the jerked meat I stowed away in a pack, and made another pack of our blankets and the ammunition.

With a long pole I'd used a couple of times for fishing, I reached out and snagged Tom Bigelow's gun belt, then the pistol. I shucked the shells from the gun belt, and used them to fill empty loops in my own belt. Emptying the shells into my hand from the cylinder, I took my axe and smashed the firing pin.

Then I made a loop on my pack from which to hang the axe, and covered over the shovel and pick with rock waste from the floor of the tunnel. They would probably find them, but I had no intention of making anything easy.

Occasionally a shot hit the back wall or struck into the woodpile. Only at long intervals I returned their fire ... I wanted them to become accustomed to long waiting.

There was every chance they would try an attack under cover of darkness, although their dark figures would be visible on the snow for a time. However if they managed to cross far down the valley and worked toward us along the wall...

"Be ready to move," I whispered to Ange. "I think they will try something now, and after that we're pulling out."

Getting up from behind the stacked wood, I moved outside and eased along the rock wall until I could look both ways. Nothing at first . . . then a faint whisper of coarse cloth brushing on branches. Waiting until I detected a movement, I lifted the rifle, located the movement again, and fired.

There was a grunt, a heavy fall, and a bullet struck rock near my face. I ducked and half fell back into the tunnel. Outside there was cursing, and several shots. Catching up the packs, I slung one on my back. Ange already had the small one. An instant we paused. I levered a shot at a stab of flame from the trees, and then we slipped out.

The area around the tunnel lay in heavy darkness. We went swiftly along the wall and, when well away from the tunnel, turned up through the trees.

We had to go down the trail up which they had come, and go down it in darkness. Then we had to go up the opposite side, climb that steep talus slope to the bare, icy ridge that overlooked the Vallecitos. Whether Ange could make this, I did not know.

Once into the trees and moving, working away from the valley of the mine, we slowed down, holding to a steady pace. The snow had frozen, and we moved now across a good surface where there was no need for snowshoes.

The crude pair had been abandoned, as they were in bad shape anyway after the rough usage they had. As long as the cold held the snow would remain solid, but when it began to get warmer the ice beneath the snow, left from the sleet storm, would melt. Once that happened, travel would become impossible. At the lightest step, snow might slide, bringing down all the snow upon an entire mountainside in one gigantic avalanche. The cold was a blessing, severe as it was.

We traveled steadily. Nobody would be too anxious to investigate the mine, even when they began to believe we had escaped. And when they did investigate, they would start at once to seek for gold. Most of that in sight had been taken by me, and they were going to have to do some digging to get at the rest.

And before long they would have other things on their minds.

Time to time I stopped to give Ange a chance to catch her breath and ease her muscles. She didn't complain, and seemed to be holding up.

The moon was bright on the canyon wall when we came to the path down. Ange caught my sleeve. "Tell? Do we have to?"