There were a couple of lean-tos facing each other maybe a dozen yards apart. There was a fire going, with a kettle hanging over it, and a coffeepot in the coals. There were a couple of pairs of undershirts and drawers hanging over a line that ran tree to tree. And there was a man stretched out on the ground, hands behind his head and hat over his face, napping in the morning sun. Two saddled horses were nearby, and my horse unsaddled. My own saddle was back where I’d left it, half hidden under the edge of that big boulder where I’d started my sleep. When the time came, I could pick it up again. For a spell, I just laid there. Another man—too far off to tell who—came from a lean-to and began stropping a razor. Evidently, there was a piece of mirror on a corner post of the lean-to, because he stood there, shaving. It was a sore temptation to dust them up a little with my Winchester, but I put the idea aside.
Studying the herd, I could see several hundred head of cattle. And although it was too far to see for sure, they appeared to be in good shape. Now that I was here, I had no idea what to do. Before anything else, I must recover my horse—or another one—and prepare to guide the posse in when it arrived.
Easing back off the hill, I worked my way down a gully to the Llano. It was wide at this point, but not deep. Working my way down to the bank, I studied the situation with care. To attempt to get a horse by daylight would be asking for trouble that I did not want, so my best bet was to lie quiet and see what developed. I was hidden in thick brush near a huge old fallen tree, and although I could see almost nothing of the camp, I could hear voices. Only occasionally could I clearly make out a word. Straining my ears, I heard the man who was shaving … At least I guessed it was him, because it sounded like a man talking while he was shaving a jowl. “… tonio … deal. Figure we should drive … Guadalupe River.” There was a muttered response that I could not clearly hear, then some further argument.
“… don’t like it.” The voice came through louder and stronger. “He ain’t alone, I tell you! You know Balch? Well, I do! He’s meaner than hell, an’ if he gets you he’ll go no further than the nearest tree! I say we sell out and get out!”
There was more muttering. As their emotions became stronger, their voices rose. “What became of Laredo? You seen him? Have you seen Sonora? All we were supposed to do was drive some cows. Now look at it!”
There was a faint sound from upstream and, craning my neck, I saw a man stagger to the edge of the stream, fall, then saw him drinking, lapping at the water like a dog.
Lifting his head, he called out, a hoarse, choking cry.
“What the hell was that?” one of the men said. And then I heard running. They came out on the bank of the stream, maybe fifty yards up from where I was hidden. They stopped, stared, then splashed across the stream to the wounded man. This was probably one of the men I’d shot the previous night. They knelt beside him. I came swiftly to my feet, and eased down the bank into the water. Moving with great care to make no sound, I moved across the Llano. Their backs were to me, both kneeling beside the wounded man. In a moment they’d be helping him up, trying to get him back to the camp. Up the bank I crept. At the edge of the camp I stopped, taking a swift look around … Nobody was in sight. Running swiftly, I crossed the camp to the saddled horses. My horse was tied to the pole corral and I took his lead rope and one of the saddled horses, then turned the other loose and shied him off. He ran off a few steps and stopped, looking back. I could not see the stream and could hear no sound. Leading the two horses, I walked across the camp. There was a skillet with bacon on one side of the fire, keeping warm for somebody. I took up several slices and ate them, then picked up the pot and drank the hot coffee right from the edge of the pot. Stepping into the saddle on the roan, leading my own horse, I went back toward the Llano. Glancing upstream, I saw that the men had disappeared from the bank. So I rode my horses across and headed north to where I’d cached my saddle.
It was no plan of mine to steal the man’s horse, and least of all his saddle. Shoot a man I might, but stealing his saddle was another thing entirely. When I came back to the boulder where my own rig was, I dismounted, saddled my own horse and turned the roan loose.
Good crossings of the Llano were few, for the cliffs along each side were high and the country rugged. From the highest ground I could find, I looked north. But there was no sign of Balch or the major.
Riding west along the Llano, I found a place further upstream where I could cross over. Mounting the south bank, I worked my way back through scattered cedar and oak toward the cattle. I came upon a few scattered ones, and started to bunch them to move toward the main holding ground southwest of their camp. The man I’d shot the night before had seemed to be shot in the leg or hip, from the way they were handling him, It was possible he could still ride. Suddenly, I wondered. Where was Twin Baker? He had not been in the camp. There had been some discussion of San Antonio, and Lisa had said he often went there. Was he there now?
Keeping to the brush, trees and rocks, I worked nearer to the holding ground. As Baker seemed to have bunched and stolen the cattle by himself, these were probably just hired hands, outlaws he had picked up to help with the final drive.
Whatever had been his original plan, apparently that plan had now changed, due to the events of the past few days. The discovery of his thefts, the escape of Ann Timberly, and my pursuit of which he was certainly aware. Laredo and Davis had been sent to stop me, at least until Baker could get the cattle moved … Did he know they had failed?
It was all uncertain. And the fact that Twin Baker was not visible did not mean he was nowhere around. At any moment, he might have me locked in the sight of that rifle … And he could shoot!
Where were Balch and the others? Had they all turned back? Was I alone in my effort to recover the cattle? The more I looked at it, the less I liked it. Had Rossiter sent for his men to return? Had Twin Baker known he was stealing from his own father, among others?
From her reactions, it was obvious that Barby Ann had no knowlege that Twin Baker was her brother—or that she even had a brother. She had been aghast and confused by her father’s erratic words, unable to guess what he was talking about.
Uneasily, I began to wonder if I was not alone out here. And fated to be left alone!
In the shadow of a bluff, I drew up. From where I sat my horse, I could see out over the plain where the cattle grazed, and I was not the only one bunching cattle. Other riders were out there, working swiftly, bunching the cattle, with the apparent intention of moving them off toward the southeast. They were working the breaks on the north and west, working carefully but swiftly, and moving them not southeast, as I expected, but due east. The small lot of cattle I’d started moved out on the plain and a rider turned toward them, then suddenly slowed his pace. I chuckled grimly. He’d seen those cattle. Then suddenly he’d begun to wonder who had started them. Now he was approaching, but much more carefully. I held my horse, watching. He swung in behind the cattle, glancing over his shoulder as he did so. But I made no move, just watched. Reassured, he moved the cattle toward the drifting herd. Glancing north again, I searched the sky for dust, hoping for the posse’s arrival. I saw nothing. I swore, slowly, bitterly. My eyes looked toward the river and saw the wind move the leaves. I looked beyond the bobbing horns of the cattle, beyond the horsemen, weaving their arabesques as they circled and turned, gathering the cattle. Maybe there was more of Pa and Barnabas in me than I thought. For when I looked upon the beauty and upon distance, I could only think how short was a man’s life, with all the things to be done, the words to be spoken, the many miles to ride.