The Fetchens had just moved in on him and he had welcomed them as guests, although mistrusting their looks. Well, they were hunting the Reynolds treasure, all right, but they wanted his ranch and Judith as well.
Costello had had a lead on that treasure himself, but it didn’t pan out, and so he had settled down to hunting wild stock and breeding them to horses brought from the East, the way Tom Sharp was doing.
“Reynolds buried some loot, all right,” Costello said, “but whoever finds it will find it through pure dumb luck. I don’t trust any of those maps.”
“They aren’t cured,” Moss Reardon said. “There’s supposed to be treasure in a cave up on Marble Mountain too. I’d lay a bet they’re huntin’ it now.”
For the first time in my life I was pleased just to sit and contemplate. I’d lost a lot of blood and used myself in a hard way, and so had Galloway. As I looked around that country it made me wish I had a place of my own, and I said as much to Galloway.
“We get up and around,” I said, “we ought to find us a place, some corner back in the hills with plenty of green grass and water.”
James Black Fetchen seemed to me like somebody from another world. After a week had passed we never mentioned the big fight on the mountain, nor any of that crowd. One thing we did hear about them. The Fetchens had buried another man somewhere up on Grape Creek.
My appetite came back, and I began thinking about work. Galloway and me had used up the mite of cash we’d had left and had nothing but our outfits. I mentioned it to Tom Sharp.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You just eat all you’re of a mind to. Those men would have caused plenty of trouble for us if you hadn’t taken their measure.”
The next morning we heard about the stage holdup over on the Alamosa trail.
Four men, all masked, had stopped the stage and robbed the passengers. There was no gold riding the boot on that trip, and the passengers were a hard-up lot. The robbery netted the outlaws just sixty-five dollars.
Two days later there was another holdup in the mountains west of Trinidad. That netted the thieves about four hundred dollars. There had been six of them in that lot, and one of the passengers had ridden the other stage and said they were the same outfit. One of them had been riding a big blaze-faced sorrel that sounded like Russ Menard’s horse.
Sitting around waiting to get my strength back, I hadn’t been idle. I’d never been one to waste time doing nothing, so while I sat there I plaited a rawhide bridle for Sharp, mended a saddle, and fixed some other things.
Costello rode out to his ranch. His place had been burned, even his stacked hay, and all the stock in sight had been driven off.
Galloway had taken to wearing two guns, one of them shoved down behind his waistband.
Then there was a holdup near Castle Rock, to the north; and word came down that Black Fetchen had killed a man at Tin Cup, a booming mining camp.
Meanwhile, Galloway and me were beginning to feel spry again, and we helped Tom Sharp round up a few head of cattle and drive them down to Walsenburg. There we heard talk of the Fetchen outlaws.
Those days Galloway and me were never far apart. We knew it was coming. The trouble was, we didn’t exactly know what to expect, or when.
Costello hired two new hands, both on the recommendation of Rodriguez and Sharp. One was a Mexican named Valdez, a very tough man and a good shot who, as a boy, had worked for Kit Carson; and the other was Frank White, a one-time deputy sheriff from Kansas. Both were good hands and reliable men.
Judith was riding with me one day when she said, “Flagan. you and Galloway be careful now. I’m scared.”
“Don’t worry your pretty head. We’ll ride loose and careful.”
“Do you think he’ll come back?”
Now, I was never one to lie or to make light of trouble with womenfolks. There’s men who feel they should, but I’ve found women stand well in trouble, and there’s no use trying to make it seem less than it is. They won’t believe you, anyway.
“He’ll come,” I said. “He wasn’t scared, Judith. He just wanted to be sure he lived long enough to kill Galloway and me. I’ve got an idea he’s just waiting his chance.”
By now Galloway and me were batching it in a cabin on Pass Creek. We had built up the corral, made some repairs in the roof, and laid in a few supplies bought on credit at the trading post. Work was scarce, but we disliked to leave the country with Black Fetchen still around … and of course, there was Judith.
We had talked about things, even made some plans, but I had no money and no immediate way of getting any. Evan Hawkes had sold out and gone back to Texas. The loss of the boy had hurt him more than he had ever showed. We were just waiting, shooting our meat out in the hills and occasionally prospecting a little.
The showdown came all of a sudden, and by an unexpected turn.
A short, stocky man came riding up to the place one day, and he had a big, black-haired man with him. Both of them were dressed like city folks, except they wore lace-up boots.
“Are you the Sacketts? Flagan and Galloway?” the short man asked.
Now, I didn’t take to these men much, but they were all business. “Understand you’ve had trouble with the Fetchen outlaws? Well, I’ve got to ride the stage to Durango, and I’ll need some bodyguards.”
“Bodyguards?” I said.
“I’ll be carrying twenty thousand dollars in gold, and while I can use a gun I am no gun-fighter, nor is my partner here. We’d like to hire you boys to ride with us. We’ll pay you forty dollars each for the ride.”
Now, forty dollars was wages for a top hand for a month, and all we had to do was sit up on the cushions in that stage and see that no harm came to Mr. Fred Vaughn and his money. His partner was made known to us as Reed Griffin.
We taken the job.
Chapter 17
Walsenburg was quiet when we rode in and stabled our horses. We had come up a day early, for we both needed a few things and we hadn’t been close to a town since the fight. The trading post at Buzzard Roost had most things a body could wish for, but we both figured to buy white shirts and the like to wear in Durango.
We found a table in a back corner of the restaurant and hung our hats on the rack. The food was good, and the coffee better. We were sitting where we could look out the window and down the street, and we were sitting there when we saw Reed Griffin come out of a saloon down the street
“Might as well let him know we’re here,” I said, but when I started to get up, Galloway stopped me.
“Plenty of time for that,” he said.
Griffin walked across the road and went down a passage between two buildings and disappeared.
It was quiet where we were, and we continued to sit there, talking possibilities. We figured to prospect around Durango a mite and see what jobs were availble, if any. If there were none, we would use what cash we had to outfit ourselves and go wild-horse hunting. There was always a good market for saddle stock that had been rough-broken, and while many of the wild horses were scrubs there were always a few good ones in every herd.
Later in the afternoon we went across the street to the hotel and hired ourselves a room on the second floor, in back. Pulling off our boots, we stretched out for a rest. When I woke up it was full dark, but there was a glow coming through the windows from the lights in the other buildings.
Without putting on my boots I walked across the room and poured cold water into the bowl and washed my face and combed my hair by the feel of it. I had picked up my boots and dropped into a chair by the window when I happened to look out.
The door of a house on the street back of the hotel was standing open and there were two men seated at a table over a bottle. One of those men was Colby Rafin. The other was Reed Griffin.
“Galloway?” I said, not too loud.
He was awake on the instant. “Yeah?”