The hoisting-engine chugged away, shooting up a white cloud of steam. Lanterns hung about, and these had already been lighted although the evening was young. Linus ran toward the edge of the shaft to look down, and Zeb called him back. “You stay close to me,” he said sternly. “That shaft’s a thousand feet deep. If you had two hundred brothers down there, each one standing on another’s shoulders, they wouldn’t reach the top.”
“You ever work in a mine, pa?”
“Some … not any so good as this one, by all accounts. I worked in low-grade gold … a good bit of it was there, but I never saw any of it. All we miners ever saw was broken rock.”
“Is this always the way they get the ore out?”
“No, for some kinds of ore they use a conveyor system, a lot of little buckets on an endless chain. But in a mine this deep that isn’t practical. It’s mostly used in coal mines. Men push ore cars to the edge of the shaft and dump them in a pocket, a big hole covered by steel rails, they call a ‘grizzly.’ The man who operates the cage fills that bucket you see on top of the cage at those pockets and hoists it on top.”
As he spoke he was watching a man who came out of the assay office. It had become dark as they walked about, and he could not quite distinguish the man’s face, but when he stepped into the light of a lantern, Zeb saw it was Charlie Gant. Gant saw him at the same instant, and after a moment’s hesitation, he started over.
“Boys,” Zeb suggested to the children, “you go in the hoisting-engine room and look at the steam engine. I’ll be along in a minute.” Gant walked up to him. “Evenin’, Rawlings. Marshal tells me you had a word with him. Now, would you call that friendly?”
“I never thought of us as friendly.”
“I ain’t lookin’ for trouble,” Gant said, “but if you’d like to put it on the old basis, just you an’ me, that’s fine.”
“I’ve no reason to fight you, Gant, as long as you obey the law and stay out of the way. Floyd and I had differences that were strictly a matter of law. They’re settled. As far as that’s concerned, I’ve finished.” “You went to the marshal.”
“Of course.” Zeb tapped the badge on his chest. “I still wear it, and when you come around I’m suspicious. Other than that, I’ve nothing to do with it. This is Lou Ramsey’s problem. I’m not asking for trouble.” “So it’s peace you want, Marshal?” His tone changed. “There’ll be only one peace for you, Rawlings, the kind my brother got.”
“What hapened to him didn’t teach you much, did it?”
“Easy, Marshal.” Anger burned in Gant’s eyes. “I wouldn’t push my luck.” “Floyd made mighty few mistakes … except the time he depended on you. And you were the one who got away.”
Gant held himself still. Zeb Rawlings could see the anger that flared in him, but Gant controlled himself, although not without effort. For several minutes he was silent, watching the ore bucket come up, dump, and go back down the shaft again.
“I don’t like you, Marshal,” he said finally. “I don’t like what you and your kind have done to this country, and are doin’ to it. Used to be a man felt free around here, now a man can hardly breathe.”
“I haven’t noticed any honest men having trouble.” “One of these days, Rawlings, I’ll pay you Rawlingses a visit. I’ll pay you a visit you’ll never forget.”
Turning on his heel, he strode away, and after a minute, Zeb called to the boys, who had waited not far off. It was not until he called them that he noticed each boy held a large chunk of rock. Surreptitiously, they dropped them. He smiled, but made no comment.
“What did he mean, pa?”
“Nothin’ much, boys. But you know how womenfolks worry about such things. I want you to make me a promise—a real promise—not to say a word to ma about this. Will you, Prescott?”
“I promise.”
“Linus?”
“Sure, I promise, and I bet I keep it better than Prescott!”
“Good! Now let’s go back down the mountain.”
They walked together down the hill, and Zeb moved along easily, but with all his old alertness. Charlie Gant had something more important than revenge on his mind just now, but one could never tell … there were times when emotion defeated reason, and Charlie Gant was a man who knew how to hate. Zeb strolled along with the boys, liking the coolness of the evening air after the heat of the day. That was one thing you could say for the desert. It was like a man with a quick temper: it cooled off fast once the sun went down. The windows were lighted, and men stood along the walk, talking and smoking. Down at the far end of the street a few children played tag, and horses at the hitch-rail stood three-legged … waiting. Inside the saloons there was a rattle of chips, and the sounds of men at cards.
Zeb paused outside the hotel and let the boys go up by themselves. It was a good life, he thought, and this was a part he had always enjoyed, this business of coming out and taking stock of a town. Yet how quickly one learned to sense trouble. It was an instinct one acquired. Only he was not the marshal here—that was Lou Ramsey’s job.
He thought back again to the rifle and pistol left by the strange rider, and the message. If that old outlaw had left it, it was a curious mark of respect, something that went beyond the law or lawlessness. Of course, it had been that way in the old days, and still was, in a way. The men on both sides of the law had known each other, often respected each other. Sometimes a sheriff was himself a reformed outlaw, but that made no difference.
What was mutually respected was courage, fair play, ingenuity, and ability. How many times he had sat in a ranch house and heard a rancher tell admiringly of the slick way he had been outfoxed by cow-thieves. And there were many stories about how clever Indians became at stealing horses, which was their favorite sport.
Like the time the soldier was sent out to graze the regimental race horse. He had the horse on a picket rope, but he did not even take a chance of picketing it. To be sure the horse was safe, he held one end of the rope. It was a bright, sunny day, and the grass was good and green. The horse cropped grass and the soldier watched, and then all of a sudden he realized he was holding a rope’s end and nothing more. The horse had been stolen right before his eyes.
Had he blinked? Closed his eyes for a moment, looked away without realizing?
Anyway, the horse was gone, and they never saw it again. A cowhand passed behind him. “Evenin’,” he said, and Zeb answered. A tin-panny piano started down the street, and in the restaurant a dish was dropped and broke. Zeb Rawlings stood there, at peace with the night. Old Jethro was dead, then … Lamar Valley. They’d have to go up that way sometime. Julie said her pa had often talked of going back up there. There was some little valley off the headwaters of the Yellowstone that he wanted to see again. And likely that was it.
Prescott came to the door. “Pa? Ma says they’re going to eat supper. You want to come in?”
“Sure, son.”
They were already at table, but it took him a moment to realize that the beautiful young woman with Lilith was truly his wife. She had done something to her hair, and he had never seen it more lovely. Also, she was wearing a dress he had never seen before—one of Lilith’s, no doubt. He felt a little pang, realizing he had never been able to afford such a dress for her. And likely never would. Folks expected a lot of their law officers, but they never liked to pay them for it.
He walked up to the table, keeping his eyes from Julie. “Aunt Lil, how soon will Julie be coming down? I sure want—“ “Zeb!” Julie interrupted.
“What!” he exclaimed in mock astonishment. “Why, Julie! I’d never have known you! And I never saw you look more beautiful.”
She knew he was faking his amazement, but she was pleased. “Do you really like it?”
“Of course—and thanks, Lilith. I detect your San Francisco hand in this.” “It does a woman good to change her looks once in a while—the way she does her hair … something …”
“If this is a sample, I’ll accept your judgment,” he said. He glanced at Lilith approvingly. “You don’t need any changes, Lilith.” She looked at him thoughtfully. This nephew of hers had a quality she liked. “You’re going to have a free hand with the ranch, Zeb, but we aren’t going to have much capital. I came away from San Francisco with very little.” “I’ve never had much capital,” he said quietly. “We’ll get along.” “What I was thinking,” Lilith said, “was that it may be necessary for you to devote all your time to the ranch.”