Only Tyrel was miles away and days away, and whatever happened now was up to me. Anyway, it never does a man much good to be thinking of what he could do if he had help . . . better spend his time figuring a way of doing it himself.
Gathering up that rope, I taken it to my horse and saddled up.
“Joe,” I said, “yon be careful. They may come a-winging it over this way. If they do, and if I’m able, I’ll come a-smoking, but you stand ’em off until I get here.”
Ange was standing with the fire behind her and I couldn’t see her face. Only when I rode out, I lifted a hand. “See you,” I said, and let the palouse soft-foot if off the bench and into the stream bed.
It was cool, with no wind. The clouds were low, making it especial dark. There was a smell of pine woods in the air, and a smell of wood smoke and of cooking, too.
Nigh the town site I drew up and got down, tying the appaloosa to some willows in the stream bed. I put my hand on his shoulder. “Now you stand steady, boy. I won’t be gone long.”
But I wondered if that was truth or not.
Maybe it would be just as well if I was to get the worst of them. That Ange, now—she had no use for me, and sure as shooting I was getting a case on her.
Not that it was likely she could ever see me. Girl that pretty had her choice of men. Nobody ever said much about me being good-looking—except Ma—and even Ma, with the best intentions in the world, looked kind of doubtful when she said it.
I didn’t shape up to much except for size. Only thing I could do better than anybody else I knew was read sign … and maybe shoot as good as most. Otherwise, all I had was a strong back.
That Blackstone, now. I’d been worrying that book like a dog worries a bone, trying to get at the marrow of it, but it was a thing took time. Days now I’d been at it, off and on, and everything took a sight of thinking out.
He said a lot of things that made a man study, although at the wind-up they made a lot of sense. If I could learn to read … I would never get to be a lawyer like Orrin there, but…
This was no time for dreaming. Pa, he always advised taking time for contemplating, but this was the wrong time.
Taking that rope and my Winchester, I edged in close. Working soft on moccasin feet, I ran my rope through the guy ropes of that big tent, up behind about four guy ropes, and then a loop clean around one of the smaller tents and around the guy ropes of another. Then I walked back to my horse and loosed him, mounting up and taking a dally around the pommel with the loose end.
Everything at the town seemed mighty peaceful.
Inside I could hear folks a-cutting up some touches, the clatter of glasses and poker chips. Seemed almost a shame to worry them.
Walking my horse alongside the building, I stood up on the saddle and pulled myself to the roof. I slid out of my shirt, and shoved it into the chimney. Then I stepped back to the eaves and, about time I touched saddle, all hell broke loose inside. The room had started to fill up with wood smoke and I heard folks a-swearing something awful and coughing.
Turning my horse, I taken a good hold on that rope, let out a wild Comanche yell, and slapped spurs to that palouse.
Those spurs surprised him. He taken out like a scared rabbit. Ripping down those guy ropes and collapsing the other tents, I lit out. When I’d done what I could that way, I rode back through between the tents at a dead run. As I came through, a gang of men rushed up and caught themselves in a loop of rope.
It tumbled the lot of them, and dragged some. I let go the rope and, leaning from the saddle, I wrenched loose a length of tent stake. I rode up on that bunch and rapped a skull here and there.
A man on the stoop of the store building grabbed his pistol. I tossed that stake at his face and said, “Catch!”
He jumped back, fell over the last step and half inside the door.
Riding by, I drew up in the shadow. I’d sure enough played hob. Two small tents had collapsed and folks were struggling under them. The big tent was leaning away over. There was a lot of shouting, and somebody yelled, “No, you don’t! Drop that money!” A shot was fired.
I remembered Pa’s advice then, and taken time to contemplate. Setting my horse there in the shadows, I watched that mess-up and enjoyed it.
There was swelling under those tents, everybody arguing and swearing. Nobody was making any kind of sense.
One tent flattened down as the men struggled from under it. I decided they needed light, so I taken a flaming stick from the outside fire and tossed it at that flattened-out tent.
Somebody saw me and yelled. I turned sharp and trotted my horse away just as he let go with a shotgun. Then that tent burst into flame and I had to move back further.
They wanted to settle on my town site without paying, did they? They wanted to shoot up my camp?
I happened to notice their corral on the edge of the wash. A couple of saddles, a rope . . . Shaking out a loop, I caught a comer post of the corral with my rope and rode off, pulling it down. Horses streamed by me.
Surely does beat all what a man can do when he sets his mind to being destructive.
One leg hooked around my saddlehorn, I spoke gentle to my horse to warn him of trouble to come, and then I turned my head to the sky.
“When I walked out on the streets of Laredo, when I—”
A bullet cut wind near me, and I taken off. Seemed like nobody liked my singing.
XI
“There was a faint lemon color edging the gray of the clouds when trolled out of my blankets. Joe Rugger had teased the fire into flame and put water on for coffee. Sticking my feet into my boots, stomped them into place and slung my gun belt around my hips. Expecting trouble, that was all I had taken off, except for my vest. I put on my vest and tucked another gun behind toy belt and then walked out to the edge of the woods. Oh, sure, I had my hat on—first thing a cow-boy does when he crawls out of bed in the morning is to put his hat on.
Looked to me like somebody was leaving over yonder.
Ange was up, her hair combed as pretty as might be, and sunlight catching the gold of it through a rift in the clouds. She brought me a cup of coffee.
“I suppose you’re satisfied with what you’ve done,” she said. Thank you, ma’am. . . . Satisfied? Well, now. Takes a lot to satisfy a man, takes a lot to please him if he’s any account. But what I did, I did well … yes, ma’am, I’m pleased.”
“I thought you were a good man.”
“Glad to hear you say so. It’s an appearance I favor. Not that I’ve ever been sure what it was made a good man. Mostly I’d say a good man is one you can rely on, one who does his job and stands by what he believes.”
“Do you believe in killing people?”
“No, ma’am, not as a practice. Trouble is, if a body gets trouble out here he can’t call the sheriff . . . there isn’t any sheriff. He can’t have his case judged by the law, because there aren’t any judges. He can’t appeal to anybody or anything except his own sense of what’s just and right.
“There’s folks around believe they can do anything they’re big enough to do, no matter how it tromples on other folks’ rights. That I don’t favor.
“Some people you can arbitrate with . . . you can reason a thing out and settle it fair and square. There’s others will understand nothing but force.
“Joe Rugger now, there’s a good man. Cap Rountree is another. They are trying to build something. Those others, they figure to profit by what other people do, and I don’t aim to stand by in silence.”
“You have no authority for such actions.”
“Yes, ma’am, I do. The ideas I have are principles that men have had for many a year. I’ve been reading about that. When a man enters into society —that’s living with other folks—he agrees to abide by the rules of that society, and when he crosses those rules he becomes liable to judgment, and if he continues to cross them, then he becomes an outlaw.