He shifted his eyes to right and left. I saw him look at Monte, then look quickly again. Obviously he recognized him.
My rifle was in my hands, directed toward them but at no one in particular. “You know,” I said, “it’s strange what a moment can do. Right now you’ve got it all on the table. You can turn your horses and ride quietly down the trail and live for years. There are a lot of women, a lot of wine and whiskey down that road, and if you stay here, there’s only a mouthful of blood, teeth, and the dirt you’ll bite into while dying.”
“You talk too damn much!” he said, but I could just feel him trying for a way out.
“I want to live,” I said simply, “and if you don’t turn down that road, a lot of you will die. Most of my men will live, because you can’t even see them.” Suddenly I smiled. “Now, why don’t you save my life?”
“Save your life?”
“Sure. I’m right out in front, like you. We’re going to catch it, sure as hell, so why don’t you save my life by riding right off down that trail?” He stared at me for a moment; then he lifted a hand. “Adios!” he said, and rode away, his men following.
We sat there, our guns ready, and watched them go. As they reached the trail, some of them looked back, and I lifted a hand. Their leader lifted a hand in return.
“Now, what the hell?” Monte spat into the dust. “I thought we’d bought ourselves a scrap.”
“A man can always fight,” I said, “but sometimes there are other ways.”
“We were outnumbered,” Jacob commented.
“He didn’t know that, and all he had to show was right on the table. We could see what he was holding, but he didn’t know what we had. Also, our men were on the ground, which gives us the advantage over men on moving horses.” We moved them out and headed off down the trail. As we moved on, that day and the next, the country became increasingly broken. Ridges, hills, jagged rocks, which I indicated to Jacob. “Earthquake country?” I asked. “It happens here,” he admitted.
Ramon heard our conversation and said, “It is often the ground shakes, but soon a big one. Maybe this year, maybe next. The Old Men are agreed, the next one will be bad.”
“That one,” Monte said suddenly, “the one with the pockmarks? I remember him now. He rides with Boston Daimwood, a very bad one, and he himself is bad. His name is Steffens, Turkey Bob Steffens.”
The name meant nothing to me, although I had heard of Boston Daimwood. Yet now I wished to be finished with the drive. I wished to be in Los Angeles again, and to see Meghan.
Other trails fed into the one we now traveled, and from time to time we saw other travelers, some headed toward Los Angeles, some riding away. All day I rode abreast or right behind the black stallion, and from time to time I talked to him, letting him grow accustomed to my presence and my voice. “Wait until you try to ride him,” Monte said. “He’ll kill you if he can. He’s just bidin’ his time.”
Of that I was not so sure, but Monte had more experience with wild horses than I, and caution was advisable. Thus far I had made no effort to approach him beyond offering him bits of food from time to time. These he only occasionally accepted, and once when I seemed to get too close, he started to rear, as though to strike with his forefeet. Casually I walked on past, ignoring him. We drove our horses to some brush-and-pole corrals west of Cahuenga Pass. Monte and the Indians agreed to stay with them while Jacob and I rode into town. Months had passed, and I noticed Jacob looking at me. “You’ve taken on some beef,” he commented. “Miss Nesselrode will hardly know you.” Francisco strolled over and squatted on his heels. “We go home soon,” he said. “You’ve got money coming,” Jacob said. “Better stick around until we talk to the boss.”
“We want cattle,” Francisco said.
Along with the horses, we’d rounded up a few head, but they deserved more.
“You’ll get them,” I said.
Jacob came up, leading my horse. Mounting, I lifted a hand to them and we rode away. Smoke lifted from the town. I stood in my stirrups, looking to see farther.
“You can’t see her from here,” Jacob said.
Embarrassed, I glanced at him. “Just wanted to see the town,” I said. “We’ve been gone a long time.”
“It’s still there, Don Isidro is still there, too, so ride easy.” He glanced at me. “Monte says you’re pretty good with that gun.” “We didn’t work much,” I said.
“The way he talks, you didn’t need it. Your pa teach you?”
“Some.”
“Watch yourself, anyway. Last year Los Angeles averaged a killing a day. I don’t want one of them to be you.”
“Or you,” I said, grinning at him.
Thirty-six
Miss Nesselrode looked up when I came through the door, then sat back in her chair, her eyes on me. “Johannes! It has been almost a year.” She stood up and extended her hand. There was gray in her hair that I had not seen before. I felt a sharp twist of pain, for somehow she had seemed ageless, and she was my family, she was all I had.
“Come and sit down. I want to hear all about it.”
“I’ve just come from the corrals,” I protested.
“Don’t be foolish. Sit down.”
Curiously, I was shy. “We’ve some fine horses. They are beautiful, wild and wonderful, and I’ve loved every minute of it.”
“Even the hard work?”
“Why not? The work is part of it. I suppose a woman wouldn’t think of it that way, but I like the smell of my own sweat, the dust, riding the rough stock. I am afraid I am a man of the hills, after all.”
“We must talk of that.” She was a beautiful woman, I thought, and wished my father might have lived to know her better. “Have you decided what you wish to do? It is time, I think.”
“No, not exactly.” Changing the subject I asked, “Have you seen Aunt Elena?” “Yes, as a matter of fact I have seen her several times. She loves you very much, Johannes.”
“How could she? She does not know me.”
“You are your mother’s son, and despite Don Isidro, she always admired your father. She has told me how romantic he was, how exciting a man. I believe she was half in love with him herself, without knowing it.” She paused. “Anyway, Johannes, she is a lonely woman and you are all she has.” Hesitating again, she said, “I gather she had much sadness long ago. Something about a relative. Would you know anything of that?” “I know very little about her. I remember my mother talking of Tia Elena, but she was only a name to me.”
“You must be careful, Johannes. Don Isidro is still here, rarely in the town, but on his ranch. All the men he used to have with him left him. Now he has a new lot-a very bad lot, if all we hear is true.” We talked long and I told her of Ramon, of the Tehachapis, and of the desert. She listened, as always intent upon any information she could obtain. Finally she stood up.
“You must get some sleep, and tomorrow you must see a tailor. You will need clothes, and you have outgrown everything you had.” She measured me with her eyes. “You’ve grown a lot, and you’re a bigger man than your father.”
Picking up my hat, I had taken a step toward my room when she said, “Johannes, I have been dealing with a man named Captain Laurel. He has a ship that often comes to Wihnington and San Pedro.”
Starting to speak, I stopped abruptly. Then, more carefully, trying to seem casual, I said, “Oh? I have heard of him, I believe.” Her amusement showed. “Yes, I believe you have. I believe you went to school with Meghan. She’s a beautiful girl, Johannes, and very interested in you.” “In me?”
“We’ve been riding together several times, in fact. She is very curious about you, Johannes.”
“It’s been a long time. We sat beside each other in school for months and months. Sometimes she was away on voyages with her father.” “And you had a fight over her.”
I blushed. “Well …. maybe. I can’t say it was over her, although it was because of her. I mean, there would probably have been trouble between us anyway. Rad seemed to be hunting trouble.”
“He still is, Johannes, so be careful. He killed a man in Sonora Town a few weeks ago, and he’s been in two or three other shootings, and some rather ugly brawls.”