the Quick and the Dead (1983) (10 page)

"Yeah," Doc studied it. "Surely ain't been in the water long. I'd say only a few miles."

"If we was to angle for northwest," Dobbs suggested, "we'd surely cut their sign."

Red Hyle got to his feet and walked to his saddle. Without a word he began to saddle up.

"Maybe Purdy's right," Booster said, "what if they ain't got nothin'?"

"The mules will be worth it at Cherry Creek. Where there's mines there's a market for mules."

Yet the trail was older than they believed. They found it, west of the creek by some distance, and the Huron rode up and down, studying the lay of the grass.

"This ain't the same," Booster said, "look at the tracks. The wagon we're lookin' for made deep tracks. She really cut deep!"

"Same wagon," the Huron said mildly. "Not so heavy now."

"What's that mean?" Shabbitt demanded.

"They have lightened their load," Purdy Mantle said quietly, "so they could travel faster."

"You mean they done buried the gold?" Ike said. "They wouldn't do a fool thing like that! Not way the hell an' gone out here!"

"I don't know anything about gold. That's just something we conjured up in our minds our own selves. I seen furniture all along the trail. They carry it a ways, then their stocks gets played out and they drop it. There's never been any gold."

"You say!" Ike sneered.

"Why go to the gold fields if you've already got gold? And why take gold to the gold fields?" Purdy asked.

"They got it," Ike insisted. "Anyway, they've got horses and mules and a wagon load of stuff."

"You seen many of those wagons, Ike?" Purdy asked gently. "Most of what they hold is important to nobody but them, except for tools, grub, and such. I never seen anything in a wagon yet that was worth the trouble to carry off."

"They can't be far," Dobbs said, "and we're goin' that way. Anyway, Red wants his woman."

"That's just a notion," Purdy said.

Red turned a little in the saddle. "It's my notion," Red said quietly, "and I like it."

Their eyes held for an instant and then Purdy shrugged and smiled. "Have at it," he said, "ever'-body's entitled to a notion now and again."

He was smiling, but his eyes were still and watchful. Red turned abruptly away. "Let's get on," he said harshly. "Time's a-wastin'."

When morning came again there was a cool fresh wind coming down through the spruce, the aspen, and the pine trees. The wind had the smell of pines on its breath, and the sound of the aspen leaves stirring, and cool water over stones.

A dim road led off the bench down through the aspens and the cottonwood and almost without thinking, Duncan turned the mules down the faint tracks and they braked the wagon into the river bottom. Free of the trees, with marmots disappearing on every hand, there was a long green meadow, an old corral in the distance, and a faint track, overgrown with grass.

They were sitting tall on the wagon-seats now, and Tom had left his post at the rear to look at what they were approaching.

On the left were the aspens, their white trunks like the columns of a mosque, their leaves restlessly moving, always moving. The corral they were drawing near to was empty, the bars down, the grass within grown tall. The road dipped away to their right and they saw sunlight gleam on rushing water.

The gray of stones, a small field of them over which water had run and would run again, and then the stream, only a few feet wide at this point, but clear and maybe a couple of feet deep. Beyond the stream there was more forest and then the mountain, rising boldly up, bald and green at its higher points, the lower slopes thick with forest.

"Pa ... look!"

Duncan McKaskel drew up. Beond the stream, not more than fifty or sixty yards beyond, was a cabin. It was a log cabin, patched with some cut boards, and it was old, obviously abandoned.

"Duncan ... ? I love it."

"Let's look around."

He spoke to the mules and they moved ahead, ears pricked. "They like it too," he told himself.

They bumped and rumbled, splashing through the stream, struggled a little at the opposite bank because in the years between the river had cut it away somewhat, and then they were there.

The grass was green around the old cabin, the trees had been cleared back, behind it there was, some distance back, an old beaver pond with much gray, fallen timber, the bare ribs of a small and vanished forest. As he looked a fish plopped in one of the ponds, and ripples spread out.

He tied the reins and got stiffly down, stretching his back after the long sitting. Then he put up a hand and helped Susanna down.

Tom was already on the ground and running toward the cabin. He leaned into the open door. "Ma! It's got a floor!"

Susanna paused and looked all around. She listened to the gentle sound of the running water, the faint rustle of aspen leaves, the cloud shadows on the green dome of the mountain.

"Duncan? It is lovely, isn't it?"

"Yes ... yes, it is. There's plenty of water, and there's grass."

The cabin was small, and it needed work, but it was the sound of running water and the aspen as well as the beaver ponds that made them like it.

"Duncan? Can we--?"

"We'll give it a try, Susanna. We'll stop for a few days while I look around." In his own mind, he was sure. He wanted to look at the higher ground first though.

There was room enough for a kitchen garden, and perhaps a crop of corn and potatoes ... some beans.

Duncan McKaskel walked back to the wagon and began to unhitch. There were things to be seen, he must look around, but in his own mind this was home.

Whoever had built the cabin had abandoned it long ago. Judging by the look of the logs and the weathering, he would guess ten years or more. Nor was there any sign of occupancy of even the casual sort. By leaving the known trails, the prescribed route, they had come to this place, come as if guided by fate.

Picketing the horses and mules on the rich green grass, after watering them, he began to gather firewood, and as in any forest, it was scattered everywhere. Much heavy stuff had been washed down by the stream, and there were deadfalls and many trees killed by beavers. There was wood enough to last a winter through.

"We will sleep in our camp tonight," he suggested, "and tomorrow we'll clean up the house and repair what is needed."

Leaving Tom to gather more wood and Susanna to prepare supper, he took his rifle and walked up the dim game trail toward the bench above the river-bottom.

It was broad and green, sweeping away, several hundred acres of excellent pasture, toward the aspens at the foot of the mountain. He saw the tracks and droppings of both deer and elk, and the track of a bear.

He stood still, drinking in the quiet beauty of the place. Suddenly, among the aspens beyond the meadow he saw something move, and a moment later it moved forward just a little, pausing in a spot of sunlight.

A bull elk, and a big one.

He started to lift his rifle, then hesitated, not wishing to shatter the stillness with a rifle shot. He smiled at himself, then lowered the rifle and turned away. They had meat enough for now, and if he knew Tom he would be fishing before noon tomorrow.

Carrying his rifle in the hollow of his arm, he walked back down the trail to the cabin. Tom had kindled a camp fire, and the smoke was rising slowly.

They had come a long way, but it was worth it. The shadows grew longer, and for a moment he stood halfway down the trail, looking at all that lay below. It was a quiet place, a lovely place, but suddenly he felt a shudder of fear.

They were alone, so very alone!

How far away was Cherry Creek? Were there nearer settlements? Or any neighbors at all? Suppose he should be injured? Unable to work?

Their food supplies were very low, and must be augmented by hunting and fishing. Tom was a good fisherman, and was on the way toward becoming a hunter, but that was not enough. They must plant their seed, once they had ploughed and harrowed the ground, and they must jerk some meat, and in the meanwhile, scout a little further around to see what trails there were, what neighbors they had.

This was, he believed, the land of the Ute, and the Utes were a fearless and warlike people, yet they had often been friendly to the white man.

He walked down to the fire. "Susanna, the first thing tomorrow, measure your flour, salt, coffee, sugar, and bacon. We'll have to see just where we stand.

"There's plenty of game." He hesitated, a little embarrassed. "I saw an elk up there. I just couldn't shoot him."

"Let's not hunt close by, Duncan. We don't have to, do we?"

"It would be better not to," he said thoughtfully. "If anything goes wrong we may not want to go too far afield for meat."

She looked at him quickly. She knew him very well indeed, and she felt the sudden change in mood.

"Is something wrong? Doesn't the place look right?"

"No, it's fine. It has everything. Everything but neighbors, I am afraid."

"You think they are following us, don't you?"

He hesitated before replying, but he had never been one who believed women should be sheltered. Protected, cared for, but not kept in ignorance. "Yes, I do. We have to think that way, Susanna, and if we are wrong we will have lost nothing."

He squatted and fed some sticks into the fire. And in the moment of stillness after their talking stopped, they both heard it. A single shot.

Chapter
XI

For a moment, neither moved. He squatted on his heels, she standing beside the fire, coffee-pot in hand. A shot?

Well, why not? They were not alone in the world, no matter how much it seemed so. There were sure to be prospectors, hunters, trappers, Indians....

"Maybe we do have neighbors," he said striving to keep his tone casual.

How far would the sound of a shot carry? In this clear air, perhaps as much as a mile, or even further. Yet whoever fired that shot was not far off, certainly within two miles. And that would imply they might have a neighbor.

Or that the Doc Shabbitt outfit had caught up with them.

"Somebody hunting meat," Duncan added. "Only one shot ... and at this hour. I'd say somebody killed a deer or an elk."

Tom caught three good-sized trout that evening, but they kept their fire small, cooked and ate the trout fresh from the stream, and by daylight Duncan started to examine the house. While he checked it over to see what needed to be done, Susanna went through their supplies. Their gifts to the Indians had cut sharply into their small hoard.

Only a few pounds of flour remained, and only three cupfuls of sugar. There was a slab of bacon, some dried apples, and the condiments. Fortunately there was a good supply of coffee and several pounds of tea scarcely touched.

Duncan listened while she told him and nodded. "All right, we will have to take it easy. Tom's fish supplied our supper, and we've enough venison left for breakfast. Tomorrow I'll go hunting."

That day they cleaned and mopped the cabin, wiping down the ceiling and walls, cleaning the cobwebs from the corners of the loft. There had never been glass in the windows, just strips of canvas tied over them to let light in and keep the rain out. The cabin had two rooms, a bedroom and a combination living room and kitchen. There was a lean-to where wood had been stored.

"That's your job, Tom," Duncan told him. "You can fill it up."

Tom looked at it, appalled. "Pa! That'll take days!"

"It will take days, perhaps weeks, but if we stay here it must be filled. Keep a corner for kindling, pitch-pine, and fine stuff to start fires."

The following day, several miles to the south, Duncan killed a deer, skinned it out and brought the hide and the best cuts of meat back to the cabin, and Susanna found the first of the strawberries. They were small but of excellent flavor.

Yet the sound of that one shot disturbed them. Duncan McKaskel knew they would have no rest until it was discovered who had fired that shot, and why.

On the morning of the third day he saddled the blaze-faced sorrel with the three white stockings. "Stay close," he said, "and keep the shotgun at hand. I will be gone several hours, but will definitely be back before dark. If I see any game I'll try to bring back some meat."

They watched him ride away into the aspens. He rode toward the mountain, and upstream. Susanna knew he intended to circle around and study the country.

Susanna heated water and began to wash clothes. Tom went to picking up fallen limbs, chunks of fallen trees and odds and ends of bark for fuel.

As she looked about her, Susanna was concerned about all that must be done before cold weather came upon them, and once more she thought how ill-fitted they were for the life they had begun.

When she had finished her washing and hung the clothes out to dry on a string from the wagon to the corner of the cabin, she got a sheet of paper and began to list what was needed. Once snow fell there was little they could do to obtain supplies, so all must be had beforehand.

Always her ears listened for a shot, but she heard no sound. Tom walked out through the trees, and swung back to their trail. When he returned to the cabin he said, "There are no tracks. At least, none that I could see. The wind and the rain have wiped them out."