“Where?”
“That place they call Over-the-River. He goes there.”
“What’s his name, Lisa?”
She shook her head. “Stay away from him … Please! His name is John Baker …
He’s only my half-brother, but he’s been good to me. They call him Twin.”
“Twin? Why?”
“He was a twin. His brother Stan was killed up north some years back. They’d been stealing cattle. He never would tell me who killed his brother. Or how, except that it was a woman.”
“A woman?”
“They’d stolen some cattle from her, and she trailed them. She had a couple of her boys. And that woman shot Stan. Killed him.” Ma …
“Please, Milo, get away from here! Ride! Do anything. But get away! He’ll kill you. He’s talked about it, lives for it. And he’s killed other men in gunfights. I know he has because he’s told me. And he always says, ‘But just you wait! Them Talons! Just you wait!’ “ Henry Rossiter had engineered the steal, but we knew there’d been four other men waiting to drive the cattle away … four.
Ma shot one, Henry Rossiter got away, and she turned two men loose in the Red Desert in their underpants with no boots. Somehow, in all the excitement, nobody ever gave any further thought to the fourth man. Twin Baker …
23
“Danny … He was a nice boy … Why, oh, why did Twin kill him?” “He’s been stealing our cattle, Lisa. He probably thought Danny had tracked him down. Or maybe he thought Danny was me … Danny was wearing a shirt of mine.” She was frightened … anguished. Her teeth gnawed at her lower lip until I thought it would draw blood.
“Get away, Lisa. Get away now. Go to Major Timberly and tell him all you know … Go now. Don’t stop for anything, or Twin may kill you, too.” “He wouldn’t do that. I know he wouldn’t.”
“You know nothing of the kind. I said you should get away, and you must.” I paused, suddenly curious. “How long have you been here, Lisa?” “In this place? Oh … five months. Almost six. My father died and I came to Twin. He was in San Antonio on business. He had an address there, and I had no other relatives. He was very kind, and he brought me here. “I loved it … at first. Then it was so lonely, and he’d never let me go anywhere or ride out, unless I went south. Then one day, when I was riding south, I met a drifter … He’d been working up north—said he hated to leave because they were having a box supper at Rock Springs Schoolhouse.” She paused. “He rode on, but I kept thinking about what he said. Then Twin left for San Antonio … He said he’d be gone for several days, so I decided to go.” “I’m glad you did. Now get your things and get away. If anything has happened to Ann … Have you told me the truth, Lisa? You know nothing about her?” “Honest! I know nothing … Except he did pack some food to take away, and there is that old cabin.”
She started off, and I spoke quickly. “One more thing, Lisa. Where does he keep the cattle?”
She hesitated, then shook her head quickly. “I won’t tell you. Anyway, I don’t know they were stolen. He says they are his. He told me he would be one of the biggest cattlemen in Texas soon.”
“All right, Lisa. But ride! Don’t wait any longer!” First I had to know that Ann was not up there in their cabin. Lisa offered no argument when I took the lead ropes on the horses from her. She just stared at me, her eyes wide and empty.
I rode up to the door and stepped down. The house was empty. A large kitchen-living room, two bedrooms—painfully neat. In his bedroom, Twin’s clothes were hung neatly, his boots polished. There were a couple of store-bought suits in the closet, some white shirts, and there were three rifles. All in excellent shape, all fine weapons.
Mounting the dun, I led the other horses to the corral. No saddles. I turned up the Middle Concho. My eyes searched for tracks. He was less careful of his trail up here. Apparently, this was a place where no one ever came. It was off the beaten path. So there were tracks, and I followed them at a gallop. Suddenly they veered and went up a draw.
On the bank of the draw, under some pecan and hackberry trees, I saw an old adobe. There was a pole corral nearby, obviously little used. Grass had grown up around the place, and the roof of the adobe was sagging. Already the outside walls showed the effects of wind and rain. It must have been very old. Drawing up in the shadow of a tree, I studied the house. Then I looked all around. I was very uneasy, for I had a hunch Twin Baker might not be as far away as would seem to be the case. He might be inside the adobe there, or he might be waiting up behind those rocks across the Concho. Stepping down, I trailed the reins and took my rifle. On second thought, I loose-tied my horse for a quick escape—if need be. Somehow, Twin was tied in with the Kiowas … Suppose they were watching? I’d no wish to tackle a bunch of renegade Indians.
Finally, I took a chance and walked directly across to the house. The door was closed, a hasp in the lock. I spoke softly. “Anybody there?” “Milo?” It was Ann’s voice, the first time I’d ever heard a tremble in it. Lifting the hasp, I opened the door. She was tied to a chair, the chair tipped slightly back so that if she struggled at all, even moved, the chair would fall back with her head in the fire.
She might then wriggle free of the chair, but scarcely without catching her hair on fire.
Swiftly, keeping my face toward the door, I cut her free. She stood up, almost fell, then tried to soothe her wrists and arms where the tightly-drawn ropes had left deep marks.
“He said if I screamed, the Kiowas would come. He said he might trade me to them for a horse … He hadn’t yet decided, he said.” “Do you know him?”
“I’d never seen him before. Not his face, at least. He came up behind me and warned me that if I moved, he’d kill me. And I think he would have done it. It was very dark when we got here, and he did not take the blindfold off until we were in here and I was tied. Then he went away.” Her saddle was in the corner. “Ann? I’m going to have to ask you to carry your own saddle, and to saddle your own horse. I must have my hands free.” “All right.”
We went quickly out, and I carried my rifle at the ready, poised for a quick shot.
Nothing happened.
She saddled her horse and mounted. Her rifle had been on her saddle but he had left no ammunition. Fortunately, it was a .44 calibre. She loaded it with ammunition from my saddlebags.
As she did so, I took a quick look around. No man left so little sign of his presence as this Twin Baker. The only thing … and it might be nothing … had been a little dried mud near the hearth, not unlike the mud that Danny had left in the line-cabin. Of course, there were places aplenty along the Concho and up the draws where a man might get mud on his boots. Whatever was to be done now must be done with Ann in a safe place. But, my mother having raised no foolish children, I did not go back the way I had come. In Indian country, that could be the last mistake one made. Even Lisa might have had a change of heart and be waiting back there with a Winchester. For me. I am not a trusting soul. All of us, me included, are sadly, weakly human. We can all make mistakes. We can all be sentimental about a brother or sister, even when you know they are doing wrong. We can also be greedy, and I preferred not to tempt anybody too much.
What we did was take off up that draw—which pointed almost due north—then top out on the plains and continue north, staying in the open as much as possible. Liveoak Creek was on our right. Some scattered trees and brush lined it, so I kept wide of the creek with a ready rifle for trouble. Nobody needed to tell me that Twin Baker was as good as they come with a gun. His shooting, often under adverse conditions, had been good, mighty good. That I was was alive was due to a series of accidents, none of them due to my brains or skill. By this time, he must be exasperated and ready to try anything.