The pound of the horse’s hoofs became a lessening sound in the still mountain air. The old Mexican looked after the rider, long after he had disappeared from sight, and then he said, “Vaya con Dios!”
In the shadowed coolness of the ranch house on Mora Creek the dining-room table was laid for ten, and as the Mexican girls moved swiftly and silently about, making last-minute preparations for dinner, their skirts rustled with excitement. Orrin Sackett was up from Santa Fe after his return from Washington, D.C.
Tyrel Sackett, wearing a black broadcloth suit, sat in a big hide-covered chair listening to Orrin.
The huge living room was two stories high, and was framed by a balcony on three sides with a beautiful staircase leading to the upper floor. The room itself was sparsely furnished and cool.
“Cap should be here any minute, Orrin. He rode out this morning to check the range on the south.”
“How is Cap?”
“You know how he is. He’s lived all his life on beef, beans, and gun smoke. If somebody doesn’t shoot him, hell live forever.”
“Heard from Tell?”
“Never a word since they left for Arizona. I’ve held back the herd, waiting. But you know Tell … he was never any hand to write.”
“Look, Tye, I can’t tell you how important this meeting is. Ollie Shaddock is coming over, and the men with him want me to run for the United States Senate. It’s a big step, and I’d like to try.”
“What do they want from me?”
“Tye, the Mexican vote can elect me, and you know as well as I do that most of them do not trust Anglos, and they know very little about them. They do know something about me … or you.
“What’s important is that they believe in you – they know you, and they like you. What the men back of me want is your assurance that you’re supporting me. And they want you to tell some of your Mexican friends.”
Tye laughed. “Damn it, Orrin, who else would I support? You’re not only my brother, but an honest man. Sure, I’ll drop the word, but it isn’t necessary. They remember you, and they trust you. Believe me, the only mistake your friends are making is in underrating the political sense of the Mexicans. They aren’t easily led, and they certainly aren’t easily stampeded.”
“I’ll need the help, Tye. There’s a lot of talk against electing a gunfighter to the Senate – or to any public office.”
“You mean they’ve forgotten about Andy Jackson?” Tyrel said. “Or Thomas Hart Benton? And Cassius Clay, our ambassador to Russia?”
He crossed his legs. “Anyway, Orrin, you weren’t the one who got into gunfights. I was the one.”
The door opened suddenly, and Drusilla, breath-takingly lovely, stood framed there. “Tye, it’s Cap. He’s got bad news.”
Cap Rountree stepped past her. “Tye, a Mexican boy just rode in. There’s word that Tell’s in trouble. The whole Lazy A has taken in after him and they’ve got him cornered back in the breaks under the Mogollon Rim. They’re going to hang him, Tye.”
Tyrel Sackett knocked the ash from his Spanish cigar and placed it carefully on the ash tray. “Cap, have them saddle a horse for me.”
He turned to Orrin. “Sony. You can tell them for me that I’m with you … all the way … when I get back.”
“Dru will have to tell them. I’m going along.”
“Tye,” Cap interrupted, “This here’s worse than you think. Somebody killed Ange, and the whole lot of old hands on the Lazy A up an’ quit. What they’ve got now are a passel of border gunmen.”
“There’s the three of us,” Orrin said to his brother, “you, me, and Tell.”
“Four,” Cap said. “Since when have I missed a Sack-ett fight?”
It was past midnight when the stage rolled up to Knight’s Ranch, and the few passengers got down stiffly. The tall, elegant man who helped his lovely wife from the coach looked unrumpled, showing no evidence of the long, chilling, and dusty ride. Nor did she.
“Better grab a bite to eat, folks,” the driver advised. “Doubt if you’ll get anything worth eatin’ this side of Globe.”
The tall man offered his wife his arm and together they went to the door of the thick-walled adobe ranch house that doubled as a stage station. Inside, it was warm and comfortable. The table was freshly laid, with a white cloth and napkins … unheard of in western stage stations.
As they stepped through the door, he heard a rattle of hoofs on the hard-packed earth, and turned to look back. Something in the appearance of the two riders arrested his attention.
“Gin, you’ve been asking me what the mountain people back home look like.”
She came back to stand beside him, watching the two tall, long-legged men dismount from their cow ponies. Neither was more than twenty years old, and they were built alike, lean and big-boned. Each carried a rifle as if it were part of him, and they dressed in worn homespun. “Right out of the hills, Gin.”
“Falcon, look at them. At their faces.”
“Yes, I see what you mean. At least, there’s a possibility.”
As the two men came through the door, dusty and travel-worn, he turned to them. “Gentlemen? If I may suggest a drink.”
They paused, studying him with frank curiosity. Then the older one of the two said, “We’d take that kindly, mister, kindly.”
Falcon turned to his wife. “If you will excuse us, Gin?”
The three walked to the bar, and Gin Sackett looked after them, amused.
Tall and lean, the three men stood up to the bar. A girl came from the kitchen and placed a bottle and glasses before them.
“Gentlemen,” Falcon said when they had poured, “your health!”
When they had placed their empty glasses back on the bar, he commented, “A fine flavor, gentlemen, although it lacks the taste of the metheglin.”
The two exchanged a glance. “I knowed it. Sure enough, I said, a man with a face like that would have to be a Sackett from the Tennessee mountains. Where y’all from?”
“It’s been a while,” Falcon said. “I’m Falcon Sackett. Tennessee, North Carolina, points west and south.”
The taller one, who had a scar on his cheekbone, said, “I’m Flagan Sackett. This here’s m’brother, Galloway. We come fresh from the hills, and then last night we heard talk.”
“Talk?”
“There’s a Sackett ridin’ ahead of trouble in the Mogollons. We’uns are Sacketts. So we’re ridin’ to the Mogollons.”
“I hadn’t heard.”
“Talked about a good bit. Seems he claims some fellers killed his wife when he was off scoutin’ trail. He’s fetched in after them. Only there’s maybe forty of them and one of him, and they’ve got him treed.”
“We’ll have to ride hard,” Falcon said.
“You comin’, mister?” Falcon said.
“I’m with you. But we may be too late.”
“He couldn’t be so ornery. Not even a Sackett could be so down-right ornery. He don’t dare let us be late.”
“Ornery?”
“He couldn’t be so ornery as to kill all forty of ’em before we get there.”
Flagan put down his glass, glanced regretfully at the bottle, and moved swiftly from the bar.
chapter ten
When I opened up my eyes there on the face of that cliff I was a sore and hungry man. There was in me a craving for coffee, and a burning ache to get at those men down below. But first I had to find a way off the cliff where they had me treed.
There was an ugly feeling in me against those men and whoever had killed Ange. It was me or them, with all the advantage on their side. They knew this country better than me, and there was more of them. All the same, I was going to make them pay the price. They’d bought chips in my game, but I was going to spin the wheel.
Slinging my rifle so’s my hands would be free, I started along the face of the cliff, and it was getting steeper and steeper. Here and there I hung just by my fingers, and once I had to close my fist and jam it in a crack and hang by it to keep from falling.
And all the while that skittish, scared feeling that they would come upon me while I hung out there against the bare rock. Only they didn’t – not right then, at least.
Then, all of a sudden, I saw a ledge about eight feet below me, a ledge not more than a couple of feet wide, and below it the cliff fell sheer away. But it was better than where I was, and I took a chance and let go.
I landed right on the edge on my toes and felt the rock crumble underneath my feet, but I lay hold of a bush and worked myself over to a solid section of the ledge. It was the edge of a strata of sandstone, with limestone over it that had weathered back, and it gave me another chance to make time … up to a point.