He dropped from the saddle, amazingly agile, and held his water bag to my lips.
A sip and a swallow, then he took it away.
“Just rinse your mouth this time,” he said. “Let it soak in a mite.” After a moment he said, “Where you comin’ from, boy? Where’s your pa?” “They killed him,” I said. “They were waiting for him. He tried to push me away so I would not be hurt, and they shot him.”
“He git any of them?” another man asked.
“One, I think.” Peg-Leg gave me another swallow and then stepped back into the saddle, reaching a hand down for me.
“Come on, son,” he said. “We’ll take you in.” Then he hesitated. “Your pa’s dead, boy? What’ll you do now?”
“I want to go to our house. Peter Burkin will come.” “Reckon he will, at that. Pete’s a loyal man.” Peg-Leg started off, leading the way. “You got grub in that house, boy? You got some’at to eat?” “Yes.”
We rode on for a little way, and then he stopped and let me have a drink, stopping me before I drank too much.
“We come on your trail, boy,” Peg-Leg told me. “We follered you. You come quite a stretch, you surely did.”
He looked down at me. “You got anybody in Los Angeles, boy?”
“No, sir.” Then I said, “Maybe Miss Nesselrode.” He laughed. “Say! I mind her! That there’s quite a woman!” He turned in his saddle to speak to the others. “Said if I stole any of her horses she’d hang me!” He chuckled. “By damn, I think she’d do it, too! That there was some kinda woman, boy. When the time comes, you find yourself a woman like that. Ain’t none any better.”
A long time later, after the drum of hooves and my own tiredness had made me fall asleep, we rode up the lane toward our house. All was dark and still. “Tom?” Peg-Leg said. “Take a look inside. See if there’s anybody there. We’ll cover you.”
Tom swung down, and, gun in hand, walked over to the door and lifted the latch. He stepped inside. A moment, and we could hear him fumbling about for the candles; then light streamed out the door.
His boots went from room to room; then he came to the door. “She’s clean as a whistle, Peg!”
Peg-Leg lowered me to the ground. “You’ll be all right here, boy? You an’ them Injuns get along?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I know they set store by your pa. You get some sleep how, boy. Drink a mite now an’ again, but don’t tank up until tomorrow. Then you’ll drink more’n you ever thought a man could hold.
“An’, boy? You be careful of that ol’ Spanish man. He hears you’re alive, he’ll come back for you. He’ll skin you alive.”
For a moment longer he stayed, and then he said, “You see, boy, I dasn’t stick around. I’m a man with enemies. There’s some as would hang me in a minute if they come upon me. I d’clare, boy, I’m goin’ to pack it in an’ head north. This here’s too rough a life for an old man. I can make a good livin’ up there in Frisco sellin’ maps to that gold mine folks think I lost.” He turned. “See you, boy! I’m right sorry about your pa. He was a good man!” For a long time I stood alone in the yard near where my father had fallen, listening to the receding sound of their horses. Then I went inside and looked around.
I was alone in the house of Tahquitz. Would he be angry that I was here? Would he come to drive me away or kill me?
What was Tahquitz? Who was he … or it?
I was very hungry, yet I did not want to eat. I straightened my bed, undressed slowly, then crawled into bed. For what seemed a long time, I lay still, staring into the darkness above me.
Somewhere far off there was a low rumble, and the earth seemed to shake a little. Was it Tahquitz? Was he angry?
But this was my home. It was the only home I had. What would I do now? What could I do? Would Peter ever come again? And why should I matter to him? I was not his boy. He had business of his own to see to. A low wind moaned around the eaves, and sand rattled against the windows and ran nervous fingers along the roof.
Miss Nesselrode had said I could come to her, but if I did, I should be close to my enemies and they would know I was alive; and that they must not know. To Los Angeles was a ride of five or six, maybe seven days. I did not know just how far.
What could I do? I could stay. I could live here, in the house of Tahquitz.
At least, until he returned…
Fifteen
When morning came I went to the cupboard. There was bread in the breadbox, there were two jars of jam, and there was cornmeal, two bottles of wine which I did not drink, and there was coffee which I did not drink either. At least, not often.
I found in the cool place under the floor a big hunk of cheese, so I cut off a piece and returned the rest to the cloth wrapping and the open jar. With the cheese and a piece of bread thickly covered with jam, I sat down by the table and ate. Until then I had not realized how hungry I was. Before, I had only wanted water.
When I had eaten, I went to the door, and Francisco was there.
“You do not see Tahquitz?”
“No,” I said.
“He was here. He covered the blood.” Francisco pointed to the place where my father had fallen. “Then he went away.”
“What was he like?”
“I did not see him. Nobody sees him. He comes in the night, and he goes. He was heard.” Francisco looked at me. “He was in the cabin.” Awed, I looked at the cabin. He was there? He had been inside?
“What do you do?”
“What?”
“You can come with us. You can become an Indian.”
“But I am not an Indian.”
“You can live like Indian.” He glanced at me from the corners of his very black eyes. “You can eat like Indian. At least,” he added, “you can eat.” I could eat. When the bread was gone, and the jam and cheese, what would I do? Father had told me that the Cahuilla collected acorns, that they were an important part of their diet. They also collected chia and other seeds. “I must stay here. Peter Burkin will come. Then I will go with you and you will teach me what to do.”
Francisco stood up, and then for the first time I saw the buckskin bag he had. He held it out. “Is for you.” He looked at me. “Jerky?” he said, as if the word were not familiar.
Peering into the bag, I could see the pieces of dried meat.
“Gracias,” I said, and he smiled, showing his white teeth.
“I go now,” he said.
He walked away, and after a moment I went back inside. Tahquitz had been here! Standing just inside the door, I looked all about me. If Tahquitz was here, what did he do? Why would he come? To see his home, if this was his house? To see what we did here?
Nothing was changed, nothing was different. Carefully, going from room to room, I looked for what he might have done here, and I found nothing. Anyway, I did not believe in Tahquitz. He was a story, like “Cinderella” or “Jack the Giant-Killer.” Even the Cahuillas had not seen him; they had heard him, which was not the same. It could have been the wind, or a coyote. It could have been anything.
Papa’s rifle stood in a corner, and I went to see if it was loaded. It was. His pistol belt had been hung on a peg in the bedroom, and I took it down. It was loaded, too. Somebody had loaded it, because my father had fired it. Somebody had loaded it while I was gone.
Taking the pistol belt from the peg, I hung it on the bed. It would be close to me at night, if I needed it. I had shot a pistol, but only with my father helping me. I had shot a rifle, too.
Remembering what my father had done, I got the broom and swept the cabin floor. Then I wiped the windows clean and dusted the furniture. In the desert there is much dust. When the house was clean, I filled the bucket with fresh water and filled a water bag and let it hang in the wind to keep cool. Chewing on a piece of the dried meat, I went to the shelf to look at the books. Quentin Durward was the book my father was reading. I would try to … It was gone!