Without thinking, I said, “I wish I were!”
Teasingly she said, “I wouldn’t know how to act toward a brother.”
“I wasn’t thinking of being a brother,” I said. “We’d better go in. Respectable young ladies do not talk to gentlemen when unchaperoned.”
We walked back to the porch, not talking, and the evening passed quietly with casual conversation with Philo Burns, a few words with Kelda, and at the last, with Captain Laurel again. “If you are serious about learning,” he said, “I’ll have my boatswain up from the port. There’s much to do aboard ship, but the mates can handle it.” He paused. “We do not have much time, so you will have to work hard. I will suggest he dispense with the formalities. Formalities and ritual are very important to the Far Eastern peoples, you know.” So it began. For the next six weeks I worked with Liu Ch’ang six to seven hours a day. Liu Ch’ang was a big man, enormously strong, and agile as a monkey. He was from somewhere in northern China and had trained from childhood. He spoke but little English, a few words of Spanish, and he taught me some Chinese as we worked.
Wrestling for sport was not considered. My purpose was to defend myself and to retaliate as swiftly and brutally as possible. There was no time to learn any system of self-defense completely. That would come later. What I wanted now were a few throws and blows to be used in an emergency, and to practice these until their use became as natural as the act of swallowing. Occasionally when Liu Ch’ang was busy with other things, I rode to the corral and worked with Monte McCalla at breaking horses. Often Jacob was there as well. The black stallion now came to the bare looking for me. He shied from my hand but accepted a piece of bread. So far, I had found but two horses that I would keep for myself, the dark dapple-gray and the bay with black mane and tail. How fast either horse might be, I did not know, but both had stamina, and both were smart, quick to learn, and very quick in their movements. “Watch that stallion,” Monte warned. “He’s ready to go at the slightest chance. One of these days he’s going to try it, and I just hope I’m not in the way when he starts!”
Change was in the air, and no amount of concentration on one’s personal affairs could prevent one from realizing it.
Miss Nesselrode was crocheting when I entered the shop. “Johannes! I see very little of you these days.”
“We’ve some fine horses out there, ma’am. Monte’s working them hard, and he’s got about three dozen as good roping horses as a man could want. “We’ve picked out some others, paired them up for teams. We’ve been working them together, getting them used to each other.”
“We’ll need them, Johannes. There’s a man on the other side of town who has started building wagons. It will take time to make the change, and the Califomios may want to stay with their carretas. I am depending on the easterners to want wagons, and later, buggies.” Glancing over the new books that had come in, I looked across the street and saw a tall man in a dark tailored suit. He was just standing there, apparently reading a newspaper, but he was watching the shop, too. “Ma’am? Do you know that man?”
She glanced up at me, then followed my gaze to the street. After a moment she said, “I am not sure, Johannes. He does look familiar.” Several vaqueros rode by; then a carreta passed. When I looked again, he was gone. Miss Nesselrode put down her pen, placed her palms flat on the desk as if she was about to rise, then relaxed. She was disturbed. “Someday,” she said, “we must have a talk.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
She flashed a quick smile. “No, Johannes, but I may need some advice.”
“Advice? From me? If there is anything I can do … “
“I value your judgment, Johannes. I have no one else to turn to.”
“Whatever I can do. You have only to ask.”
Yet I was puzzled. She had always seemed so thoroughly in command of herself, so self-sufficient. I looked again at the street. The well-dressed man was gone. Who was he? Was it he who had triggered that comment by Miss Nesselrode? Or was it merely a coincidence?
For that matter, the very question of who Miss Nesselrode was still left me with a sense of guilt. What, after all, did I know of her? What did anyone know? As far as I was concerned, her life began when she appeared for our ride west in Farley’s wagon.
Who was she? What had she left behind? To all appearances she was a lady. Obviously she had education. Of her intelligence there could be no doubt, but where had she come from?
Fletcher had been suspicious, yet he was suspicious of everyone. As with many a dishonest man, he suspected everyone of duplicity. Our horses were held in a series of corrals near a spring at the edge of the mountains. There was a small grove of sycamores and oak nearby that offered shade, and the water was good. It was far enough up the side of the mountains to offer a good view of the wide-open country, below which was grasslands and cienaga, dotted with clumps of trees, some of them quite extensive. On a clear day we could actually make out riders or carretas along the old Indian trail from Santa Monica Bay to Los Angeles, the same trail that led to and past the pits of brea. Francisco and his Cahuillas had taken their cattle and the rest of their payment and returned to their own country, far away on the desert’s edge. Jacob Finney came up to the fire in the coolness of the morning, stepping down from his horse and trailing the reins. He extended his hard brown hands to the fire’s warmth. “I don’t like it, Johannes. We need more men, good men. Coming in from the La Brea Ranch, I saw tracks, fresh horse tracks coining this way.” Monte looked up at him from where he squatted, cup in hand. “How fresh?” “Last night. Maybe sundown or after. They were scouting us.” He reached for a cigar from his breast pocket. “I think they’re holed up down there near the old Anza spring, eight to ten of them.”
“Stearns and Wilson have both lost horses,” Monte said. “Stearns thinks it’s some outfit from over on the Mohave River.”
“Kelso should be back in town tomorrow,” Jacob said. “He’s been up to Santa Barbara for Miss Nesselrode.”
“The Yorbas have lost both cattle and horses,” I said. “They think it was some of the old Jack Powers outfit.”
“He lit out,” Jacob said. “Powers, I mean. He went down to Baja just ahead of a posse with a hangin’ noose.”
“I can stay around,” I said. “We’ve put in too much hard work on these horses to lose them.”
“How you comin’ with that stallion of yours?” Jacob asked. I shrugged. “He’ll take bread or a carrot from my fingers, but if I go to put a hand on him, he shies away.”
“Be careful. You can’t trust a stallion.”
“Odd about people’s notions of riding,” I said. “Most Americans will only ride geldings. I’m talking about working riders. The Spanish conquistadors favored stallions, and the Arabs, I hear, favored mares.” Jacob took up the reins and led his horse to the corral, where he tied the reins. “You know the Yorbas,” he said to me. “Did Raymundo tell you anything about that bunch of horses they took back from outlaws over at Tujunga Canyon? A couple of hundred of them, somebody said.”
“Hundred and fifty, the way Raymundo tells it. Mexican and American outlaws.
Maybe some of that same bunch we ran into over near the Grapevine.” Jacob dropped to his heels by the fire. “Monte? You know those folks over at El Monte? Why don’t you take some time off and ride over there? If you can find three or four good hands, hire them.”
“They’re a tough lot of Texas boys, but they’re good hands, too.” “That’s what we want, isn’t it?” Jacob smiled slyly. “Although with Johannes takin’ all those fightin’ lessons, we may not need anybody else. He should handle four, maybe five all to onct.”
“Give me time,” I said. “Somebody has to protect you boys from the boogers.” Sunshine lay along the slopes, and from Los Angeles a few thin trails of smoke pointed fingers at the clouds. Where we sat under the sycamores, sunlight and shadow dappled the earth.
“It has to change,” I commented, “yet I wish it were not so. This is my kind of country. This”-and I waved a hand toward the distant hills-“and what we saw out there. Maybe I’ll go to horse ranching. There’s nothing prettier than a bunch of colts playing in a meadow.”