Taking up my saddle, I kicked sand over the coals.
“You are one of us.”
“I am Johannes Verne. Beyond that I know nothing. What I am to be is something I must become. I must create myself from this that I have.” I glanced around at him. “We are nothing until we make ourselves something.” “No doubt.”
“I do not know what I shall be except that I wish to be something, to be someone.”
“Before the world? Before other men?”
“Perhaps. Sometimes that also comes, but what I wish is to be complete in myself.”
Ramon took up his saddle. “Not too complete-to be too complete is often to be lonely. A man needs a woman, and a woman a man. It is the way of things.” We walked down to the corral and caught up our horses. Francisco was there, and he walked over to me. “You will take the stallion? He is trouble, I think.” “Let him be my trouble. If he escapes, let him go.” Monte walked over to me. Jacob was already in the saddle. “We’re going to let out a few of the tame ones first, and I think the others will go to them with a mite of urging. We’ll head them toward Tejon Pass.” “They’ll be watching,” I said. “They may try to stampede the horses.” “Maybe, but I think they will try to steal them at night, after they’re trail-broke. They won’t have men enough to handle a herd of this size. Or the horses.”
We let a few of the horses out, and Francisco and Martin headed them off and held them; then we let a few more out and they fled at once to join them. After a few minutes we let out some more, and then some more, and Jacob led off, leading the herd down the old Indian trail.
Francisco and Martin flanked them, and we let out more and then more. By the time we let the stallion out, the herd was trailing along in good shape, with Jaime and Diego falling in beside them. His mares were already with the herd, so the black stallion went after them and we closed in. Selmo started from habit to close the gate.
“Leave it,” I said. “Other animals will want to get to the water.”
“Of course,” he agreed.
Monte McCalla was waiting. He had his rifle in his hands, and I the same. “We’ll sort of bring up the rear,” Monte said, “just in case we have visitors.” Ramon had mounted up and disappeared, and when I looked around for Alejandro, I did not see him.
“Scoutin’,” Monte said. “He thought he’d have a look around, but he’ll be along.”
A dapple-gray mare had taken the lead. She was older, and had been saddled and ridden in some bygone time. There was a strange brand on her shoulder that we could not make out. When she shed some more of her winter hair, we would see it better.
“You going to ride that stallion?” Monte asked.
“Sooner or later,” I admitted. “When the time seems right.”
“Give it plenty of time,” Monte advised. “He’s a fighter.” We kept them moving at a good gait. “Get them tired,” Jacob had said, “so when we bed down they’ll be ready to rest.”
The trail we followed was old, leading through low hills crested with boulders. Larger rocks were scattered across the low ground among the hills. There were only scattered oaks, but the grass was good.
Selmo was bringing up the rear, close behind the last of the horses. Monte and I fell back.
“You ever been in a fight, kid?” he asked me.
“I lived through a couple, loading guns for my pa. Miss Nesselrode was there, too.”
“Her? In a fight?”
I told him about the Indian she had killed trying to crawl into the wagon. “And that wasn’t the only one,” I told him. “She can shoot.” “I’ll be damned. You’d think she’d faint at the sight of blood.”
“Not her,” I said.
Late in the afternoon we slowed the pace and let the horses scatter out a bit. There was good grass in that little basin, and some water. They ate and they drank a little, and we moved them on.
Alejandro came up to us just as we were going into camp. There was an old horse corral, half of natural boulders and pieced out with poles. We let them graze a little more and then bunched them into the corral. There was room enough for all of them, but not much more. Each of us roped another horse and picketed them outside for easy access in case of trouble. I chose a dark dapple-gray that I had been watching.
Martin put together a small fire and Francisco squatted on his heels nearby.
“They come,” Francisco said.
“You’ve seen them?”
“They come. Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow.” Well, we had understood that. We had known they would come, and we were ready, as ready as anyone can be. When it was not quite dark, I took my rifle and went down to the corral with a couple of tortillas. I fed half of one to the mare, with the black stallion looking on. I held out a piece to him and he took a step forward, then shied away. The mare wanted it, but I would not give it to her.
Francisco came over to me. “There are Mohaves out there.”
Surprised, I said, “Mohaves? Indians?”
“Si. Maybe ten, maybe twelve.”
Mohaves, too? I thought about that. Were they working with Fletcher? Or were they on their own? More likely the latter, but if so, did Fletcher know they were there?
When I had taken a circle around the area, I went back to the fire, took my coffee, some tortillas, and jerky, and backed off from the firelight. When Jacob came over, I told him what Francisco had said. He squatted on his heels beside me, and Monte came over, too.
“What d’you think?” Monte asked. “I sav we catch an hour’s sleep, then get the herd down the trail. Alejandro just came in and he says there is a good place with grass and a seep of water down the trail about an hour’s drive. We can leave the fire burning low.” Jacob straightened up. “I’ll go tell the boys.” He glanced at me. “That set all right with you?”
“It does.” I drew the back of my hand across my mouth and looked up at the stars. There would be light enough.
Ramon came in from the darkness. The blackened coffeepot still sat by the coals. He took his cup and filled it and came and sat near me. He sipped his coffee as the others scattered to what they must do. “What is it you wish?” he asked. “To be a complete man.”
“And what is that?”
“I do not know yet. One lives so long to learn so little.”
“So you will come again to the desert and the mountains?” “I will.” I looked off toward the east, where the morning would begin, and then to the west, where along the distant mountains we would see the first light. I was thinking then of Meghan, but I was remembering the vanishing books. I spoke abruptly. “Do you know the house of Tahquitz? Where I live?” “I know it.” He sipped his coffee and was silent, watching the rim of the mountains for the first light. “Of course it is not Tahquitz,” he said then, almost impatiently.
“Of course,” I agreed; then added, “They say he is a monster.” Ramon shrugged. “Which of us is not a monster to something else? To the ant in my path, I am a monster. Do you think this Tahquitz a monster?” “No,” I said. “He reads. No one who reads can quite be a monster. Or,” I added, “perhaps he is only partially a monster.”
“I cannot read.”
“But you think,” I said, “and you listen.” The Cahuillas were in the saddle. I got up and walked over to the dark dapple-gray and saddled up. The stallion was watching. “One of these days,” I said to him, “this saddle will be for you.” He snorted and tossed his head, almost as if he understood, which might have been nonsense.
We trailed the horses off down the dim track, with Monte and me bringing up the rear again. Francisco fell back beside us, holding his rifle. Then suddenly from far behind us there was a quick rattle of distant firing. Sharp, quick explosions, very close together. Francisco turned in his saddle and looked back, but all was still darkness and we could see nothing. We heard other firing, but much less, and then silence, and after a bit, a single shot. Death had come in the morning, death blowing gently across the hills like a breeze at dawn. Had those who died been ready? Was one ever ready? Monte glanced at me. “Maybe we won’t have trouble after all.” “Not now,” I agreed, “not this time.” The Mohaves and Fletcher’s men. But somehow, I knew, not Fletcher. Somehow I knew he was for me or I was for him, yet I said nothing of that.