“I’m not a fool!” he said angrily.
Meg walked in then and smiled at us both. She was enjoying herself, and if she sensed anything in the air it surely didn’t show.
“It’s a real pleasure,” I said, “meeting Mr. Huddle. I don’t know many people in the San Juan Basin yet, and I’m most anxious to get acquainted.” I looked over at him and smiled. “I understand you’re connected with the Dunn family. Good neighbors,” I continued.
“Why the other night when we were driving our cattle in, the whole lot of them waited for hours in the dark so they could be there to help us drive them in. And we’ve scarcely met. I call that neighborly,” I said to Meg, “don’t you?”
“I hadn’t heard about it”—She was wary of me now. Something was going on and I knew she was remembering what I had said about Vern Huddy. He was no good at hiding his feelings either. A blind man could track the anger across his face—”but I would say that was very nice of them.”
“I thought so. Especially as we didn’t even know them, you know. All twenty or more of them waiting there in the dark, anxious to surprise us with their help. Fortunately we already had recruited some Indians to help us, so we had to express our appreciation an’ run along about our business.”
Rossiter was sitting there, saying nothing, missing nothing.
He was no fool and he had heard some of the talk that was going around. Also, the facts were obvious. We Sacketts had brought cattle into the country, a big herd and good stock, and we had shown every evidence of settling down.
The Dunns had built cabins but nothing else, making no effort to improve their land.
“We’re going to build,” I said to Meg, “and when we have the barn-raisin’ we’ll have all the folks over. We Sacketts sing … not me, I’m not much good at that, except for myself when I’m riding an easygoing horse … but the rest of them. We were Welsh and Irish away back, and we brought the singing notion with us.
“We’ll have a barn-raisin’, a house-warmin’ and a sing. We’ve got some fiddlers amongst us, and we like a good time. Now I’m the serious one, me and Cousin Tyrel, I reckon, but Galloway, he’s right amusing, downright amusing.”
“I’d love a party!” Meg said. “Nobody’s had one since we’ve been here. There are scarcely enough people, I think.”
“Ma’am, a western party never lacks for folks. I’ve seen cowboys ride from sixty, seventy miles away just to look at a pretty girl, let alone dance with her, and ma’am, you sure are the prettiest!”
Now like I’ve said, I ain’t much on saying things to girls. I get tongue-tied and all, but being here with Vern Huddy across the table, and sort of ridin’ him a mite, I just got shook loose and took to talkin’ like Galloway or somebody. Maybe it was the excitement. I don’t know much about causes and things, but I did not like Mr. Huddy. I’ve used a gun, but never to hunt a man down and kill him in cold blood. It’s been in defense of life or property and when I’m forced to it. And I had doubts that Mr. Vern Huddy could meet anybody face to face.
Meg looked surprised and pleased, but she was also looking as if she couldn’t believe it was me that said it. Neither could I.
“Nice to have new folks in the Basin, Mr. Huddle,” I said. “We need folks who can help to build, to make this a better place to live. I look forward to the time when we’ll have schools, churches and homes around about here. I suppose you’re a prospector?”
“No, I am not.” Vern Huddy looked up, his eyes on mine. “I am going into the cattle business.”
“He’s joking,” I said, cheerfully. “At least I took him for a prospector. He was all over Baldy today, knocking on rocks, beating through the brush … he was surely looking for something and I am equally sure it wasn’t cattle.”
He ate with small appetite, while I felt good. Meg could really cook, and she was a right fine girl when it came to that, and I did justice to her food.
When the meal was over, Huddy got up. “I am sorry, but I must go.” He was a little stiff and very angry.
“I reckon I’d better go too, then.” I glanced at Meg. “You know, ma’am, there’s been some shooting from the dark around here, and I think we’d be better off if we rode two together. Nobody’s so apt to start shooting if there’s two men.”
“Oh!” she was disappointed. “Do you have to go?”
“Mister Huddy can stay if he wishes,” I said blandly. “I have to be a-gettin’ off down the road.”
He had no idea of staying after I did and giving me the chance to lay for him beside the road, or to follow him to wherever he was going. So we walked out together.
Rossiter and Meg came with us. He gripped my hand. “It’s been good to see you, Sackett,” he said. “Come back any time.”
He glanced over at Huddy. “Goodnight, Mr. Huddle,” he said, and I chuckled. Then he and Meg went inside.
Vern Huddy wheeled his horse around and dropped his hand to his gun. Mine was covering him.
‘Temper, Mr. Huddle,” I said, “and there’s a matter of common politeness. Never shoot anybody in somebody’s yard who has been entertaining you.”
My draw had been so much faster than his that he never cleared leather, and I know he thought I was going to kill him as he certainly would have killed me. “Now you ride out ahead of me, and don’t try anything fancy.”
He rode quietly until we neared the first bend in the road, then suddenly he was around it and running, and I let him go. We knew what was coming, both of us, and the showdown would be tomorrow, in the mountains.
To follow down that trail now with him maybe laying for me would be crazy, so I turned off. There was a dun trail that led into the high-up hills just a mite west of Starvation Creek, so I taken it.
It wasn’t until I was well up in the breaks before I realized that the head of Starvation Creek was where Nick Shadow’s gold and diamonds were supposed to be hidden.
Chapter XVII
When Logan Sackett rode back to Shalako after the haying, Berglund’s saloon was sporting a new sign—The Gold Miner’s Daughter—and a painting of a well-endowed young lady in a flaming red dress and rings in her ears.
Berglund was standing outside looking at it. “Now there,” he said, “is a work of art!”
“Who’s the painter?”
“Who, he says. I am. Pat Berglund.”
Logan studied it. “You better go back for more lessons,” he said, “and I don’t mean in painting.”
They went inside and Berglund set out a bottle of beer. Despite the fact that the year was growing late, the day was hot. The beer was cold.
“How’d a Swede ever get the name of Pat?” Logan asked.
“My mother was Irish. I’m named for her brother who was a policeman in Boston.”
He glanced at Sackett. “What are you named after? A berry?”
“A preacher … a circuit-ridin’ preacher. He gave me a prayer book at my christening.”
“You ever read it?”
“Sure. I know all the prayers. Trouble is, I never used ’em enough. I can quote the Bible by the chapter. My ma was a great one for camp meetings.”
“You come to town alone?”
“Why not? I don’t need any help.”
“You may. Here come the Dunns.”
Logan Sackett glanced out of the window, then finished pouring his beer. “There’s only five or six of them. No use spoiling the fun by having Galloway along.”
“You’re not entirely alone,” Berglund said. “I just saw Nick Shadow step into the store.”
Bull Dunn got down off his horse. Ollie Hammer looked slowly around, then got off his horse.
Logan took a swallow of the beer. “Berglund, if there’s anything in this place you don’t want busted you better duck it out of sight. I have an idea those Dunns are hot for trouble.”
The first one through the door was Tin-Cup Hone. He saw Logan Sackett and stopped dead. “Howdy, Tin! You’re a long way from home, and you’ve got a horse.”
“What’s that mean?” Hone said warily.
“A man with a horse who’s so far from home ought to be riding it,” Logan said cheerfully.
“I’ll stay.”
“All right. When I go to funerals I always admire to see a handsome corpse. They’ll fix you up real pretty, Tin.”
Red had come in from the back door. “Take his advice, Hone. I got that advice one time and I pulled out. I ain’t never been sorry.”