the Lonesome Gods (1983) (40 page)

Nor was I sure I wished it to become a great city, for we who are among the first always yield reluctantly to the latecomers, seeing our meadows fade, our trees cu
t
down, our horizons obscured. We who were the first-corners accepted the dollar prices but bemoaned the loss of beauty, yet what was happening was inevitable, I suppose. Yet we must never forget that the land and the waters are ours for the moment only, that generations will follow who must themselves live from that land and drink that water. It would not be enough to leave something for them; we must leave it all a little better than we found it. Never did a tree fall that I did not feel a pang, and rightly so, for when the trees are gone, man will also be gone, for without them we cannot live. The very air we breathe comes from trees, and when they are gone, the air will thicken and men will die and our great towers of stone will fall away to rubble and there will be only weeds, and then grass to cover the unsightly mounds we leave behind.

My coffee was cold, and Elfego was off about his business somewhere. As I turned my head to look out across the meadow, I saw some of our horses run by, biting playfully at one another, bright flashes of color upon the green of the meadow. This was the good life, this I could do, raise horses, watch them grow, and perhaps have a little to do in shaping the destiny of our country.

For it is not buildings that make a city, but citizens, and a citizen is not just he who lives in a city, but one who helps it to function as a city. My father had often talked of the town meetings in New England and of the discussions that helped to shape the destinies of cities and states. For this I must prepare myself, for I knew too little of law, too little of governing, too little of the conducting of public meetings.

There is no greater role for a man to play than to assist in the government of a people, nor anyone lower than he who misuses that power.

The shadows were reaching out toward the edges of the fields, the trees were losing their forms in the darkness, and night was coming.
t
here under the sky, under the stars by night, they waited for the click of a stone thrown upon a pile, for arms lifted in prayer.

Men need their gods, but did not the gods also need men?

Chapter
43

W
e rode into the morning while the stars were there, like anchor lights of ships afloat in the harbor of the sky. We rode with a soft wind blowing, our horses stepping quick and light, eager for the trail.

We smelled the dampness of fallen leaves and of disturbed grass as we wove our way among the clumps of boulders and prickly pear.

Over coffee and the campfire we had talked that morning of what was to come, our faces heavy with sleep, our lips fumbling for words. We had said what needed to be said and were on our way, five young men armed for the work we had to do.

"They will be waiting," I told them. "This wasn't just a horse-stealing. There are a dozen ranches around where they could have rounded up more horses with less trouble. You boys would be better off to let me go it alone." "Are you crazy?"

"I am the one they want, but I am better out there than they know. I grew up with the Cahuilla. I can find them and I can bring the horses back."

"When we hired on," Owen Hardin said, "we put our money in the pot. We're not likely to throw in our hands until we see what the other feller is holding."

"Glad to have you along." I said it with sincerity, although I'd have preferred going alone. Then I should have to worry about no one but myself.

A man alone can become a ghost in the woods; others, no matter how skillful, will make some sound. Also, he who leads is responsible. How many riding out on
a
dangerous venture would ride back? I must think of them as well as myself. If alone I made a foolish move, there was none to pay but me, but with others? Good men might die through some error of mine. Yet these were warriors, veteran fighting men who knew the risks as well as I ... or better.

What would Sir Walter Scott have thought of us? I wondered. Yet those who rode with me were fit men to ride with any of the clansmen of whom he had written. They were men of much the same stripe, driven by many of the same motives.

Those fierce clansmen of Scotland were often driven by pride to actions as foolish as those of my grandfather, and for much the same absurd reasons. I recalled the story of Donald the Hammer who when he saw his son actually working in the fields rushed across the stream intending to kill him to erase the shame.

Reading had done that for me--that even when I disapproved of what my grandfather had done, I could understand him. It made his crimes no less, but left me with a clearer view.

We rode into the morning, but we rode alert for trouble and aware of the tracks we followed, all too plain, all too easy. The problem was, how far would they lead us before laying the trap?

The sun was rising when we came down the narrow trail off the mountain into the San Fernando Valley, a vast waste of sparse grass and prickly pear with a few cattle scattered here and there. In the distance lay the old San Fernando Mission.

They were moving fast, keeping the horses at a trot, following along the base of the mountains.

"They've chosen the place, I'm thinking," Finney suggested. "Some special place to hole up and wait for you." "They've a full day's start on us," Monte added.

We held to a steady pace, took a short nooning, then pushed on. The trail was rarely used, and from the top of each small rise we could see the tracks several hundred yards in advance.

Short of sundown we saw a trickle of water coming down from some rocks among the oaks and willows. There was grass for the horses and a good place to camp. Myron Brodie came over after staking his horse. He hunkered down beside the fire. "Notice the tracks back by that big lichen-covered boulder?"

"They've got company."

"Two more," Brodie said. "Probably whoever was in town watching to see if we left, and when. That'll make maybe a dozen men they've got."

"That figures about right."

"And there's five of us?" Monte lifted an eyebrow.

The coffee was coming to a boil. I pushed fuel under it and glanced at him. "The way you talk, I figured you'd be good for two, anyways, and those El Monte boys--"

"No more'n five," Hardin said, straight-faced, "an' do tell 'em not to bunch up. I like to take 'em single and straight up."

There were oaks behind us with a lot of fallen branches. Some of those blue oaks, as they called them, shed branches like leaves, sometimes good-sized limbs. All of which made a place nobody could come through without making noise. Backing up against that with the stream from the spring before me and some rocks lower down, I felt good.

The others scattered out, so if the thieves came at us at night they wouldn't get us all crowded together. Each chose his own bed in his own way and back from the small fire we'd had.

"I'm not sleepy," Brodie suggested, "so you boys roll up and catch some shut-eye. I'm good for two, maybe four hours."

When Monte was bedded down, he spoke out. "They don't care about the horses, like you said. What they want is a battle. They want to kill you."

"They'll let us catch up," I said, "and maybe they will set up a camp that is a trap. They'll corral the horses in plain sight, making them easy to get at, and they will bed down early, then slip off in the dark and wait for us."
d
angerous venture would ride back? I must think of them as well as myself. If alone I made a foolish move, there was none to pay but me, but with others? Good men might die through some error of mine. Yet these were warriors, veteran fighting men who knew the risks as well as I ... or better.

What would Sir Walter Scott have thought of us? I wondered. Yet those who rode with me were fit men to ride with any of the clansmen of whom he had written. They were men of much the same stripe, driven by many of the same motives.

Those fierce clansmen of Scotland were often driven by pride to actions as foolish as those of my grandfather, and for much the same absurd reasons. I recalled the story of Donald the Hammer who when he saw his son actually working in the fields rushed across the stream intending to kill him to erase the shame.

Reading had done that for me--that even when I disapproved of what my grandfather had done, I could understand him. It made his crimes no less, but left me with a clearer view.

We rode into the morning, but we rode alert for trouble and aware of the tracks we followed, all too plain, all too easy. The problem was, how far would they lead us before laying the trap?

The sun was rising when we came down the narrow trail off the mountain into the San Fernando Valley, a vast waste of sparse grass and prickly pear with a few cattle scattered here and there. In the distance lay the old San Fernando Mission.

They were moving fast, keeping the horses at a trot, following along the base of the mountains.

"They've chosen the place, I'm thinking," Finney suggested. "Some special place to hole up and wait for you." "They've a full day's start on us," Monte added.

We held to a steady pace, took a short nooning, then pushed on. The trail was rarely used, and from the top of each small rise we could see the tracks several hundred yards in advance.

Short of sundown we saw a trickle of water coming down from some rocks among the oaks and willows. 'There was grass for the horses and a good place to camp. Myron Brodie came over after staking his horse. He hunkered down beside the fire. "Notice the tracks back by that big lichen-covered boulder?"

"They've got company."

"Two more," Brodie said. "Probably whoever was in town watching to see if we left, and when. That'll make maybe a dozen men they've got."

"That figures about right."

"And there's five of us?" Monte lifted an eyebrow.

The coffee was coming to a boil. I pushed fuel under it and glanced at him. "The way you talk, I figured you'd be good for two, anyways, and those El Monte boys--"

"No more'n five," Hardin said, straight-faced, "an' do tell 'em not to bunch up. I like to take 'em single and straight up."

There were oaks behind us with a lot of fallen branches. Some of those blue oaks, as they called them, shed branches like leaves, sometimes good-sized limbs. All of which made a place nobody could come through without making noise. Backing up against that with the stream from the spring before me and some rocks lower down, I felt good.

The others scattered out, so if the thieves came at us at night they wouldn't get us all crowded together. Each chose his own bed in his own way and back from the small fire we'd had.

"I'm not sleepy," Brodie suggested, "so you boys roll up and catch some shut-eye. I'm good for two, maybe four hours."

When Monte was bedded down, he spoke out. "They don't care about the horses, like you said. What they want is a battle. They want to kill you."

"They'll let us catch up," I said, "and maybe they will set up a camp that is a trap. They'll corral the horses in plain sight, making them easy to get at, and they will bed down early, then slip off in the dark and wait for us."

"It's better not to have any preconceived ideas," Finney suggested. "There's no telling what they might do."

He was right, of course, but I was trying to foresee. There were many possibilities, and I hoped to consider them all.

From now on our travel most be extremely wary, for an ambush could be mounted at any place. Each night before dropping off to sleep, I tried to work out the possibilities of the following day, but Finney had been right. We must not expect any particular course of action, but be prepared for the unexpected.

Owen Hardin awakened me at what must have been about three o'clock, judging by the position of the Big Dipper, but he was in no mood to sleep. While I tugged on my boots, he sat beside me.

"Finney tells me you spent some time down in the desert with the Cahuillas? He says there's a big pass down there opens right into the desert. How come nobody knows much about it?"

"Folks out here are just not interested. Who cares about the desert? To most people it is just a big desolate place." "Never figured that way myself. I've prospected some, never had any luck, but there's a-plenty to keep a man interested, old riverbeds and the like. Found some old camps, too, and some Injun writing on the walls." "Ben Wilson has been through that pass. You know, the man they call Don Benito. He chased a bunch of horse thieves through there at one time, and long ago a Spanish man named Romero went through. I suppose he was the first white man, but you never know."

"Weird country," Hardin said. "I was sixteen when we come through from Texas. Started with a herd of four hundred head of cattle. With the deserts and all, we got through with less'n seventy head.

"My brother Pete, he died out yonder. He was maybe seven year old. Wandered off from camp an' we hunted for him most of two days. We'd about give up. Came back into camp all wore out.

"Ma, she was beside herself. So were the girls. W
e
figured to start huntin' again when morning came, but about midnight the dogs set up an awful barkin' an' me an' Charlie, we rolled out, tired as we was, to see what was happenin'.