white, his skin a pale tan, his eyes brown and steady. He started to speak, but
the girl interrupted and seemed to be explaining something to him, but there was
no doubt about his answer.
She looked up at me. “I am sorry, sir, but my grandfather says it will be
impossible.”
“I’m sorry, too,” I said, “but if he would like to check up on our character he
could ask Mr. Belden over there.”
She explained, and the old man glanced at Mr. Belden across the room. There was
a moment when I thought he might change his mind, but he shook his head.
“I am sorry.” She looked like she really was sorry. “My grandfather is a very
positive man.” She hesitated and then she said, “We have been warned that we may
be attacked by some of your people.”
I bowed … more than likely it was mighty awkward, it was the first time I ever
bowed to anybody, but it seemed the thing to do.
“My name is Tyrel Sackett, and if ever we can be of help, my friends and I are
at your service.” I meant it, too, although that speech was right out a book I’d
heard read one time, and it made quite an impression on me. “I mean, I’ll sure
come a-foggin’ it if you’re in trouble.”
She smiled at me, mighty pretty, and I turned away from that table with my head
whirling like somebody had hit me with a whiffletree. Orrin had come in, and he
was setting up to a table with that blond girl and her father, but the way those
two glared at me you’d have sworn I’d robbed a hen roost.
Coming down off the steps I got a glimpse into that wagon the girl had been
riding in. You never seen the like. It was all plush and pretty, fixed up like
nothing you ever saw, a regular little room for her. The second wagon was the
old man’s, and later I learned that the third carted supplies for them, fine
food and such, with extra rifles, ammunition, and clothing. The three freight
wagons were heavy-loaded for their rancho in New Mexico.
Orrin followed me outside. “How’d you get to know Don Luis?”
“That his name? I just up an’ talked to him.”
“Pritts tells me he’s not well thought of by his neighbors.” Orrin lowered his
voice. “Fact is, Tyrel, they’re getting an outfit together to drive him out.”
“Is that Pritts? That feller you’ve been talking to?”
“Jonathan Pritts and his daughter Laura. Mighty fine New England people. He’s a
town-site developer. She wasn’t pleased to come west and leave their fine home
behind and all their fine friends, but her Pa felt it his duty to come west and
open up the country for the right people.”
Now something about that didn’t sound right to me, nor did it sound like Orrin.
Remembering how my own skull was buzzing over that Spanish girl I figured he
must have it the same way over that narrow-between-the-eyes blond girl.
“Seems to me, Orrin, that most folks don’t leave home unless they figure to gain
by it. We are going west because we can’t make a living out of no side-hill
farm. I reckon you’ll find Jonathan Pritts ain’t much different.”
Orrin was shocked. “Oh, no. Nothing like that. He was a big man where he came
from. If he had stayed there he would be running for the Senate right now.”
“Seems to me,” I said, “that somebody has told you a mighty lot about her fine
friends and her fine home. If he does any developin’ it won’t be from goodness
of his heart but because there’s money to be had.”
“You don’t understand, Tyrel. These are fine people. You should get acquainted.”
“We’ll have little time for people out west rounding up cows.”
Orrin looked mighty uncomfortable. “Mr. Pritts has offered me a job, running his
outfit. Plans to develop town sites and the like; there’s a lot of old Spanish
grants that will be opened to settlement.”
“He’s got some men?”
“A dozen now, more later. I met one of them, Fetterson.”
“With a scarred lip?”
“Why, sure!” Orrin looked at me mighty curious. “Do you know him?”
For the first time then I told Orrin about the shindig back of the saloon when I
belted Reed Carney with the bucket.
“Why, then,” Orrin said quietly, “I won’t take the job. I’ll tell Mr. Pritts
about Fetterson, too.” He paused. “Although I’d like to keep track of Laura.”
“Since when have you started chasing girls? Seems to me they always chased after
you.”
“Laura’s different … I never knew a city girl before, and she’s mighty fine.
Manners and all.” Right then it seemed to me that if he never saw them again it
would be too soon … all those fancy city manners and city fixings had turned
Orrin’s head.
Another thing. Jonathan Pritts was talking about those Spanish land grants that
would be opened to settlement. It set me to wondering just what would happen to
those Spanish folks who owned the grants?
Sizing up those riders of the don’s I figured no rawhide outfit made up of the
likes of Fetterson would have much chance shaking the don’s loose from their
land. But that was no business of ours. Starting tomorrow we were wild-cow
hunters.
Anyway, Orrin was six years older than me and he had always had luck with girls
and no girl ever paid me much mind, so I was sure in no position to tell him.
This Laura Pritts was a pretty thing … no taking that away from her.
Nonetheless I couldn’t get that contrary hammerheaded roan out of mind. They
surely did favor.
Orrin had gone back into the cottage and I walked to the edge of the street.
Several of the don’s riders were loafing near their wagons and it was mighty
quiet.
Rountree spoke from the street. “Watch yourself, Tye.”
Turning, I looked around.
Reed Carney was coming up the street.
Chapter III
Back in the hills Orrin was the well-liked brother, nor did I ever begrudge him
that. Not that folks disliked me or that I ever went around being mean, but
folks never did get close to me and it was most likely my fault. There was
always something standoffish about me. I liked folks, but I liked the wild
animals, the lonely trails, and the mountains better.
Pa told me once, “Tyrel, you’re different. Don’t you ever regret it. Folks won’t
cotton to you much, but the friends you will make will be good friends and
they’ll stand by you.”
Those days I thought he was wrong. I never felt any different than anybody else,
far as I could see, only now when I saw Reed Carney coming up the street, and
knowing it was me he was coming to kill, something came up in me that I’d never
felt before, not even when Long Higgins started for Orrin.
It was something fierce and terrible that came up and liked to choke me, and
then it was gone and I was very quiet inside. The moments seemed to plod, every
detail stood out in sharp focus, clear and strong. Every sense, every emotion
was caught and held, concentrated on that man coming up the street.
He was not alone. Fetterson was with him, and the two who had come from the
saloon when I laid Carney low with the bucket. They were a little behind him and
spread out.
Orrin was inside somewhere and only that dry, harsh old man with his wolf eyes
was there. He would know what was to be done, for nobody needed to tell him how
to play his cards in a situation like this … and no one needed to tell me.
Suddenly, with a queer wave of sadness and fatality, I realized that it was for
moments such as this that I had been born.
Some men are gifted to paint, some to write, and some to lead men. For me it was
always to be this, not to kill men, although in the years to come I was to kill
more than I liked, but to command such situations as this.
Reed was coming up the street and he was thinking what folks would say when they
told the story in the cow camps and around the chuck wagons. He was thinking of
how they would tell of him walking up the street to kill Tyrel Sackett.
Me, I wasn’t thinking. I was just standing there. I was just me, and I knew some
things were inevitable.
On my right a door closed and I knew Don Luis had come out on the porch. I even
heard, it was that still, the scratch of the match when he lit his cigar.
When Reed started at me he was more than a hundred yards off, but when he had