been trouble when some men had tried to take part of the ranch but the men had
gone away. All but four, which they buried. And then her grandfather had gone to
town to see Jonathan Pritts. In my mind’s eyes I could see those two old men
facing each other, and it must have been something to see, but my money was on
the don. She ended with an invitation to visit them when I was next in Santa Fe.
Time has a way of running out from under a man. Looked like a man would never
amount to much without book learning and every day folks were talking of what
they read, of what was happening, but none of it made sense to me who had to
learn by listening. When a man learns by listening he is never sure whether he
is getting the straight of things or not.
There was a newspaper that belonged to nobody and I took that; it took me three
days to work my way through its four pages.
There was a man in town with gear to sell, and figuring on buying an extra
pistol, I went to see him. The gun I bought, and some boxes of shells, but when
I saw some books in his wagon I bought them without looking.
“You don’t want to know what they are?”
“Mister, I don’t see that’s your business, but the fact is, I wouldn’t know one
from the other. I figured if I studied out those books I’d learn. I’d work it
out.”
He had the look of a man who knew about writing and printing. “These aren’t the
books I’d recommend for a beginner, but you may get something out of them.”
He sold me six books and I took them away.
Night after night I sat by the campfire plugging away at those books, and Tom
Sunday sure helped a lot in telling me what words were about. First off, I got a
surprise by learning that a man could learn something about his own way of
living from a book. This book by an Army man, Captain Randolph Marcy, was
written for a guide to parties traveling west by wagon. He told a lot of things
I knew, and a good many I didn’t.
Cap Rountree made out like he was sour about the books. “Need an extry pack
horse for all that printed truck. First time I ever heard of a man packin’ books
on the trail.”
Chapter IX
Santa Fe lay lazy in the sun when we rode into town. Nothing seemed to have
changed, yet there was a feeling of change in me. And Drusilla was here, and
this time I would call at her home. I’d never called on a girl before.
My letter from Drusilla was my own secret and I had no idea of telling anyone
about it. Not even Orrin. When Drusilla wrote I didn’t answer because I couldn’t
write and if I’d traced the letters out—well, it didn’t seem right that a man
should be writing like a child.
First off when we got to Santa Fe I wanted to see Drusilla, so I went about
getting my broadcloth suit brushed and pressed out. It was late afternoon when I
rode to the ranch. Miguel was loafing at the gate with a rifle across his knees.
“Señor! It is good to see you! Every day the señorita has asked me if I have
seen you!”
“Is she in?”
“Señor, it is good that you are back. Good for them, and good for us too.” He
indicated the door. The house surrounded a patio, and stood itself within an
adobe wall fifteen feet high. There was a walk ran around the inside near the
top of the wall, and there were firing positions for at least thirty men on that
wall.
Don Luis sat working at a desk. He arose. “Good afternoon, señor. It is good to
see you. Was your venture a success?”
So I sat down and told him of our trip. A few of the cattle had carried his
brand and we had kept the money for him and this I now paid.
“There is much trouble here,” Don Luis said. “I fear it is only the beginning.”
It seemed to me he had aged a lot in the short time since I’d last seen him.
Suddenly, I realized how much I liked that stern, stiff old man with his white
mustache.
Sitting back in his chair, he told me how Pritts’ men made their first move.
Forty in the group had moved on some flat land well within the Grant and had
staked claims there, then they had dug in for a fight. Knowing the manner of men
he faced, Don Luis held back his vaqueros.
“There are, señor, many ways to victory, and not all of them through violence.
And if there was a pitched battle, some of my men would be hurt. This I wished
to avoid.”
The invaders were watched, and it was noted when Pritts and Fetterson returned
to Santa Fe on business that several bottles appeared and by midnight half the
camp was drunk. Don Luis was close by, but he held back his vaqueros who were
eager for a fight.
By three in the morning when all were in a drunken sleep, Don Luis’ vaqueros
moved in swiftly. The invaders were tied to their horses and started back down
the road toward Santa Fe. Their tents and equipment were burned or confiscated,
their weapons unloaded and returned to them. They were well down the trail when
several riders returning from Mora engaged in a running gun battle with the
vaqueros. Four of the invaders were killed, several wounded. Don Luis had two
men wounded, none seriously.
“The advantage was ours,” Don Luis explained, “but Jonathan Pritts is a very
shrewd man and he is making friends, nor is he a man to suffer defeat without
retaliation. It is difficult,” he added, “to carry out a project with the sort
of men he uses. They are toughs and evil men.”
“Don Luis,” I said, “have I your permission to see Miss Drusilla?”
He arose. “Of course, señor. I fear if the privilege were denied that I should
have another war, and one which I am much less suited to handle.
“We in New Mexico,” he added, “have been closer to your people than our own. It
is far to Mexico City, so our trade has been with you, our customs affected by
yours. My family would disapprove of our ways, but on the frontier there is
small time for formality.”
Standing in the living room of the lovely old Spanish home, I felt stiff in my
new clothes. Abilene had given me time to get used to them, but the awkwardness
returned now that I was to see Drusilla again. I could hear the click of her
heels on the stone flags, and turned to face the door, my heart pounding, my
mouth suddenly so dry I could scarcely swallow.
She paused in the doorway, looking at me. She was taller than I had remembered,
and her eyes were larger. She was beautiful, too beautiful for a man like me.
“I thought you had forgotten us,” she said, “you didn’t answer my letter.”
I shifted my hat in my hands. “It looked like I’d get here as fast as the
letter, and I’m not much hand at writing.”
An Indian woman came in with some coffee and some little cakes and we both sat
down. Drusilla sat very erect in her chair, her hands in her lap, and I decided
she was almost as embarrassed as I was.
“Ma’am, I never called on a girl before. I guess I’m almighty awkward.”
Suddenly, she giggled. “And I never received a young man before,” she said.
After that we didn’t have much trouble. We both relaxed and I told her about our
trip, about founding up wild cattle and my fight with the Indians.
“You must be very brave.”
Well, now. I liked her thinking that about me but fact is, I hadn’t thought of
much out there but keeping my head and tail down so’s not to get shot, and I
recalled being in something of a sweat to get out of there.
I’ve nothing against a man being scared as long as he does what has to be done
… being scared can keep a man from getting killed and often makes a better
fighter of him.
We sat there in that cool, spacious room with its dark, massive furniture and
tiled floors and I can tell you it was a wonderful friendly feeling. I’d never
known a house like that before, and it seemed very grand and very rich.
Dru was worried about her grandfather. “He’s getting old, Tyrel, and I’m afraid
for him. He doesn’t sleep well, and sometimes he paces the floor all night