Sackett (1961) (9 page)

I hung my rifle over my back to have my hands free, and started up that chimney and made it out on the slope. Holding on to catch my breath, I looked down into the canyon.

It made a man catch his breath. I swear, I had no idea I'd climbed so high up. The creek was a thread, the cave mouth looked no bigger than the end of a fingernail, and I was a good two thousand feet above the floor of the valley. My horse, feeding in the meadow where I'd left him on a picket-rope, looked like an ant.

Clinging to the reasonably solid rock along the side of the rock slide, I worked my way to the top, and was wringing wet by the time I got there.

Nothing but sky and cloud above me, and around me bare, smooth granite, with a hollow where there was snow, but nowhere any trees or vegetation. I walked across the top of that ridge, scoured by wind and storm ... the air was fresher than a body could believe, and a light wind was blowing.

In a few minutes I was looking down into the valley of the Vallecitos.

A little way down the forest began, first scattered, stunted trees, then thick stands of timber. Our camp--I could see a thin trail of smoke rising --was down there among them.

From where I stood to the point where camp was, I figured it to be a half-mile, if it was level ground. But the mountain itself was over a mile high, which made the actual distance much greater. Here and there were sheer drops. And there would be no going straight down. One cliff I could see would take a man almost a mile north before he could find a place to get down.

Off where Cap and me had laid out the town site there was a stir of activity. There were several columns of smoke, and it looked like some building going on, but it was too far to make out, even in that clear air.

It was sundown when I got back to the cave, and Ange broke into a smile when I showed up.

"Worried?'

She smiled at me. "No . . . you said you'd come back."

She was looking better already. There was color in her cheeks and she had started to make coffee. Coming back I had killed a big-horn sheep, and we roasted it over the fire, and had us a grand feast. That night we sat talking until the moon came up.

After she went to sleep I sat in the door of the cave and watched the moon chin itself on the mountains, and slowly slide out of sight behind a dark fringe of trees.

At dawn, five days later, we pulled out. We crossed toward that stream that ran down to the north or northeast and followed the old game trail Ange had mentioned. She showed me where they had lost their pack mule with some of their grub, and then she told me that there was a way which would lead down to our camp, a deer and sheep trail off to the south of the canyon.

With Ange riding and me leading the appaloosa among those rocks and thick forests, it was slow going and it took a long time to get to the bottom. I led the horse on through the trees until I reached a point maybe a half-mile from the town site.

There must have been forty men working around over there, with buildings going up, but I could see no sign of Cap. Somehow the set-up didn't look right to me.

I helped Ange down from the horse. "Well rest," I said. "Come dark, we'll go to our camp. That bunch over there look like trouble." I'd no idea of facing up to a difficulty with a sick girl on my hands.

Dark came on slowly. Finally, thinking of Cap, it wasn't in me to wait longer. I helped Ange back into the saddle, and took my Winchester from the scabbard.

It was a short walk across a meadow and into the willows. Nothing stirred except the nighthawks which dipped and swung in the air above us. Somewhere a wolf howled. The sun was down, but it was not yet dark.

We turned south. Wearing my moccasins, I made little sound in the grass, and the appaloosa not much more. There was a smell of smoke in the air, and a gentle drift of wind off the high peaks.

All I could think of was Cap Rountree. If that crowd at the town site were the wrong bunch--and I had a feeling they were--then Cap was bad hurt or killed. And if he was killed I was going up to that town and read them from the Book. I was going to give that bunch gospel.

The first of the three men who came out of the brush ahead of me was Kitch.

"We been waiting for you, Sackett," he said, and he lifted his gun. He thought sure enough he had me.

Trouble was, he hadn't seen that Winchester alongside my leg. I just tilted it with my right hand, grabbed the barrel with my left, and shot from the hip. While he was swinging that gun up, nonchalant and easy, I shot him through the belly. Without moving from my tracks I fired at the second man, and saw him go spinning.

The third one stood there, white-faced and big-eyed, and I told him, "Mister, you unloose that gun belt. If you want to, you just grab that pistol . . . I'm hoping you do."

He dropped his gun belt and backed off a step.

"Now we're going to talk," I said. "What's your name?"

"Ab Warren ... I didn't mean no harm." He hesitated. "Mister, Kitch ain't dead ... can I do for him?"

"He'll get another bullet 'less he lies still," I replied. "You want to help him, you talk. Where's my partner?"

The man shifted his feet. "You better high-tail it. The others'll be down here to see."

"Let 'em come. You going to talk?"

"No, I ain't. By--"

By that time I'd moved in close and I backhanded him across the mouth. It was a fairly careless blow but, like I said, my hands are big and I've worked hard all my life.

He went down, and I reached over and took him by the front of his shirt and lifted him upright.

"You talk or I'll take you apart. I'll jump down your throat and jollop your guts out."

"They ambushed him, but he ain't dead. That ol coot Injuned-away in the brush and downed two before they pulled off. He's back at your camp, but I don't think he's doing so good."

"Is he alone?

"No ... Joe Rugger's there with him." Warren paused. "Rugger took up for him."

Kitch was moaning. I walked over to him. I didn't run, did I, Kitch?" I turned on Warren. "If he lives, and I ever see him carrying a gun, here, in Texas or Nebraska, I'm going to kill him on sight. That goes for you, too. If you want to stay around, stay. But if you wear a gun, I'll kill you."

Taking up the bridle, I added, "You go back up there and tell that outfit that all those who didn't make a deal with Cap for their lots can move, or be moved by me. We staked and claimed that town site and we cut lumber for the buildings."

"There's forty men up there!" Warren said.

"And there's one of me. But you tell them. I hope they are gone before I have to come read them from the Book."

Scooping up his guns and the others, I started off.

It was full dark by the time we got to the camp, and I heard a challenge. The voice sounded familiar, but it wasn't Cap.

"Sackett here," I said, "and I got a lady for company. I'm coming in."

Falling back beside her, I said, "Ma'am, I'm sure sorry about back yonder. Folks never reckoned me a quarrelsome man, but I'd trouble with these men before."

She did not reply and suddenly scared, I said, "Look--you ain't hurt, are you?"

"No... I'm not hurt"

Her voice sounded different, somehow, but I didn't think much of it until I reached up and helped her down. She felt stiff in my hands, and she wouldn't look at me.

A man stepped up beside us. "Sackett? I'm Joe Rugger. Remember? I spoke of coming back to see you. I've been trying to keep them off Cap."

Rugger was the square-set man who had ridden with Kitch. Brushing past him, I went to the lean-to. Cap was lying there on his blankets, and he was so pale it scared me.