accounts.
“It is not enough,” he said, at last, “to own property in these days. One must
be strong enough to keep it. If one is not strong, then there is no hope.”
“You’ll be on your feet again in no time,” I said.
He smiled at me, and from the way he smiled, he knew I was trying to make him
feel good. Fact was, right at that time I wouldn’t have bet that he’d live out
the month.
Jonathan Pritts, he told me, was demanding a new survey of the Grant, claiming
that the boundaries of the Grant were much smaller than the land the don
claimed. It was a new way of getting at him and a troublesome one, for those old
Grants were bounded by this peak or that ridge or some other peak, and the way
they were written up a man could just about pick his own ridges and his own
peak. If Pritts could get bis own surveyor appointed they would survey Don Luis
right out of his ranch, his home, and everything.
“There is going to be serious trouble,” he said at last. “I shall send Drusilla
to Mexico to visit until it is over.”
Something seemed to go out of me right then. If she went to Mexico she would
never come back because the don was not going to win his fight. Jonathan Pritts
had no qualms, and would stop at nothing.
I sat there with my hat in my hand wishing I could say something, but what did I
have to offer a girl like Drusilla? I was nigh to broke. Right then I was
wondering what we could do for operating expenses, and it was no time to talk
marriage to a girl, even if she would listen to me, when that girl was used to
more than I could ever give her.
At last the don reached for my hand, but his grip was feeble. “Señor, you are
like a son to me. We have seen too little of you, Drusilla and I, but I have
found much in you to respect, and to love. I am afraid, señor, that I have not
long, and I am the last of my family. Only Drusilla is left. If there is
anything you can do, señor, to help her … take care of her, señor.”
“Don Luis, I’d like … I mean … I don’t have any money, Don Luis. Right now
I’m broke. I must get money to keep my ranch working.”
“There are other things, my son. You have strength, and you have youth, and
those are needed now. If I had the strength …”
Drusilla and I sat at the table together in the large room, and the Indian woman
served us. Looking down the table at her my heart went out to her, I wanted her
so. Yet what could I do? Always there was something that stood between us.
“Don Luis tells me you are going to Mexico?”
“He wishes it. There is trouble here, Tye.”
“What about Juan Torres?”
“He is not the same … something has happened to him, and I believe he is
afraid now.”
Chico Cruz …
“I will miss you.”
“I do not want to go, but what my grandfather tells me to do, I must do. I am
worried for him, but if I go perhaps he will do what must be done.”
“Any way I can help?”
“No!” She said it so quickly and sharply that I knew what she meant. What had to
be done we both knew: Chico Cruz must be discharged, fired, sent away. But Dru
was not thinking of the necessity, she was thinking of me, and she was afraid
for me.
Chico Cruz …
We knew each other, that one and I, and we each had a feeling about the other.
If this had to be done, then I would do it myself. There was no hope that the
Don would recover in time, for we both knew that when we parted tonight we might
not meet again. Don Luis did not have the strength, and his recovery would take
weeks, or even months.
What was happening here I understood. Torres was afraid of Cruz and the others
knew it, so their obedience was half-hearted. There was no leader here, and it
was nothing Cruz had done or needed to do. I doubted if he had thought of it …
it was simply the evil in him and his willingness to kill.
Whatever was to be done must be done now, at once, so as we ate and talked I was
thinking it out. This was nothing for Orrin, Cap, or anyone but me, and I must
do it tonight. I must do it before this went any further. Perhaps then she would
stay, for I knew that if she ever left I would never see her again.
At the door I took her hand … it was the first time I had found courage to do
it. “Dru … do not worry. I will come to see you again.” Suddenly, I said what
I had been thinking. “Dru … I love you.”
And then I walked swiftly away, my heels clicking on the pavement as I crossed
the court. But I did not go to my horse, but to the room of Juan Torres.
It seemed strange that a man could change so in three years since we had met.
Three years? He had changed in months. And I knew that Cruz had done this, not
by threats, not by warnings, just by the constant pressure of his being here.
“Juan … ?”
“Señor?”
“Come with me. We are going to fire Chico Cruz.”
He sat very still behind the table and looked at me, and then he got up slowly.
“You think he will go?”
He looked at me, his eyes searching mine. And I told him what I felt. “I do not
care whether he goes or stays.”
We walked together to the room of Antonio Baca. He was playing cards with Pete
Romero and some others.
We paused outside and I said, “We will start here. You tell him.”
Juan hesitated only a minute, and then he stepped into the room and I followed.
“Baca, you will saddle your horse and you will leave … do not come back.”
Baca looked at him, and then he looked at me, and I said, “You heard what Torres
said. You tried it once in the dark when my back was turned. If you try it now
you will not be so lucky.”
He put his cards into a neat, compact pile, and for the first time he seemed at
a loss. Then he said, “I will talk to Chico.”
“We will talk to Chico. You will go.” Taking out my watch, I said, “Torres has
told you. You have five minutes.”
We turned and went down the row of rooms and stopped before one that was in the
dark. Torres struck a light and lit a lantern. He held the light up to the
window and I stepped into the door.
Chico Cruz had been sitting there in the darkness. Torres said, “We don’t need
you any longer, Chico, you can go … now.”
He looked at Torres from his dark, steady eyes and then at me.
“There is trouble here,” I said, “and you do not make it easier.”
“You are to make me go?” His eyes studied me carefully.
“It will not be necessary. You will go.”
His left hand and arm were on the table, toying with a .44 cartridge. His right
hand was in his lap.
“I said one day that we would meet.”
“That’s fool talk. Juan has said you are through. There is no job for you here,
and the quarters are needed.”
“I like it here.”
“You will like it elsewhere.” Torres spoke sharply. His courage was returning.
“You will go now … tonight.”
Cruz ignored him. His dark, steady eyes were on me. “I think I shall kill you,
señor.”
“That’s fool talk,” I said casually and swung my boot up in a swift, hard kick
at the near edge of the table. It flipped up and he sprang back to avoid it and
tripped, falling back to the floor. Before he could grasp a gun I kicked his
hand away, then grabbed him quickly by the shirt and jerked him up from the
floor, taking his gun and dropping him in one swift moment.
He knew I was a man who used a gun and he expected that, but I did not want to
shoot him. He clung to his wrist and stared at me, his eyes unblinking like
those of a rattler.
“I told you, Cruz.”
Torres walked to the bunk and began stuffing Chico’s clothes into his
saddlebags, and rolling his bedroll. Chico still clung to his wrist.
“If I go they will attack the hacienda,” Cruz said, “is that what you want?”