Cattle grazed on the salt meadows as they neared the town. Here and there a farm wagon headed toward town. The road was gray with the crushed shells of an old sea, whether natural or dumped to fill mud holes, Mac could not guess. The town looked gray and weather-beaten. There were scattered trees, and back from the main street there were several unusually attractive houses.
At the livery barn Mac lighted a cigar, and glancing at the hostler, a gray-haired, weathered old Texan, he asked, “Any other strangers riding in today?”
“Not that come here.” The Texan accepted a light for the cigar Mac offered. “Seen a few Confederate uniforms around.”
“My brother fought for the Confederacy,” Mac said casually. “I went along with old Sam Houston’s thinking.”
“Me, too, although I’m a Texian from way back. Lost an uncle at Goliad, and I was with them who chased the Comanches after they destroyed Victoria an’ Linnville. They run off about two thousand horses, killed a lot of folks, and headed back for the Plains.”
They talked quietly for a while of Texas, the hard times, and what might be expected from a carpet-bag governor.
“Bad outfit camped down on the Guadalupe,” Mac commented. “Some renegades who claim to be Confederates. Some of them were, most weren’t.”
“Know them kind. These fellers I seen this morning, they’re yonder in the saloon right this minute. A couple of them are over to the store.” He took the cigar from his teeth and pointed with a middle finger. “Those are their horses yonder.”
Dal looked over at him. “Maybe we should go read ’em from the Book.”
“Not yet,” Mac objected. “Buy what we need first, pack it on the horses.” He turned to his uncle. “Happy, do any of those boys know you?”
“I don’t reckon.”
“Why don’t you go in there and keep an eye on them. Have a drink, listen to what you can hear.
“Dal? Why don’t you sort of hang around outside in case of trouble. I’ve got the money, so I’ll do a fast job of buyin’ what we need.”
Mac watched the two cross the street separately, then he went to the store.
It was a large room with tables stacked with cooking-ware, shirts, pants, vests. At the counter were two men, both wearing Confederate coats. Both were unshaven and dusty from travel. Both men wore guns in holsters.
“Sorry.” The clerk was a man in a white shirt, smooth-shaven except for mustache and side-burns. “Confederate money is no longer good. I cannot accept it.”
“What d’ you mean, no good? I fit for the Cause. They paid me this here money.”
“I am truly sorry, gentlemen, but you will have to have gold. That’s the way we have to pay for what we buy.”
“Now looky here,” the speaker was a stocky man with a beard streaked with gray, “we ain’t huntin’ trouble but we got thirty men down on the river who say this here money is good. You want them to come into town to show you?”
The clerk smiled. “You have thirty men? We have three hundred men here who can bear arms, and who do. These men grew up fighting Comanches. You may bring your thirty men in whenever you wish, and some of you may even ride out, if you are quick enough.”
The clerk was still smiling but his eyes were cold. “I would suggest, gentlemen, that you bring gold to do your buying or forget it.”
Mac stood by, quietly watching. One of the men glanced at him, at his Cavalry hat, started to turn away, then looked back. “Don’t I know you?”
“I don’t believe so,” Mac spoke gently. “I am careful about my company.”
“What? What did you say?”
The clerk had started away; now he paused. “Please,” he said to Mac. “I understand how you feel, but not in here, please.”
“What did you say?” The man with the beard was belligerent. “Just repeat that!”
“Are you with that bunch camped over on the Guadalupe? In all my born days I never did see so many different brands on a herd of cattle. Why, I recall one of those brands from away up on the Red River!”
“We been buyin’ cattle,” the bearded man replied sullenly.
“With Confederate money?” Mac asked gently. “Your business must be very good, or you are very persuasive.”
“Frank,” one of the other men said, “we got to get back to camp.” He caught the bearded man by the arm.
“Let’s go.”
Frank pulled his arm away. “Just a minute. I want to know what this man’s gettin’ at.”
Mac Traven smiled pleasantly, his eyes twinkling. “I am simply interested, that’s all. When I see a wild-looking bunch of men driving cattle with mixed brands, and guarding a wagon loaded with young girls, I just wonder what’s going on.”
“You seen no such thing!” the second man said angrily. “We’re just a travellin’ with our folks, that’s all! Come on, Frank. They don’t like the color of our money. Let’s go elsewhere.”
The clerk turned to Mac. “Is what you said true?”
“They’re a bad bunch,” Mac said. “They’re driving cattle picked up all along the way. Most of them are former guerillas, and they have captured some young women.
“I didn’t mean to start trouble in your store but neither did I want them to get supplies here.”
Mac smiled again. “I have gold, and I would like to buy.”
When his order was filled he picked up the sacks and slung them over his left shoulder, moving to the door, where he paused.
Dal was still loitering in front of the saloon, but now he had moved from the place where he had been standing and was on the edge of the walk, looking toward him.
Glancing left and right, Mac saw three men gathered, two of them the men he had talked to in the store. The one named Frank was resisting arguments by the other two.
Mac hesitated, then stepped out on the walk. He would have to pass by the three men to reach the livery stable where their horses were. He glanced at Dal, and Dal nodded. Mac stepped off the board-walk and started toward them.
If shooting started there were other men inside the saloon. This was not going to be easy. There was no way it could be easy.
He was within six feet of them before they saw him. Frank jerked away from the others. “There’s that Blue Belly, son-of-a -”
A dozen men along the street turned at the loud voice. Frank lunged for him, and Mac dropped his two heavy sacks in front of him, drawing his Remington at the same time.
Frank stumbled and fell over the dropped sacks, and the other two were looking at Mac’s gun. He stepped back one step to keep Frank covered also.
“I suggest,” Mac spoke quietly, “that if you gentlemen wish to live a few days longer, you leave, now.”
Frank was getting up, very slowly. He looked at Mac Traven and then at the gun. He kept his hands wide from his body.
“When you get back to your camp,” Mac continued, “you tell Ashford to free those girls he has taken, to free every one of them, unharmed. Tell him that word comes from Major Mac Traven.”
“I don’t see no army,” Frank sneered. Mac Traven smiled. “I don’t need an army, Frank, but what I need, I’ve got.”
Suddenly three men burst from the saloon, then pulled up sharply, looking at the scene in the street before them. Happy Jack Traven emerged from the saloon behind them, a cup of coffee in his left hand.
“If I were you,” Mac said, “I’d deliver that message and then get yourself out of the way. This is a big, wide open country. You don’t have to go to Mexico.”
A slender man in a black coat, who was one of the three from the saloon, stepped down off the porch. “What’s going on here?” he asked pleasantly.
“Nothing very exciting,” Mac replied. “These gentlemen have been stirring up a little trouble, and I’ve just suggested they leave town before somebody gets hurt.
“I also suggested they free those young women they’ve captured, and free them unharmed.”
“I am sure there’s been a mistake,” the man said smoothly. “I have been travelling with these men, who are cattle drovers.”
“Whose cattle are they driving?” Mac said. “I saw a collection of brands from ranches north and somewhat west of here, but no road brand. I suggest we ask the local sheriff to inspect that herd and your papers, sir.”
The man in the black coat glanced around. There were twenty-five or thirty people standing around listening. Under his breath he swore bitterly. This was all they needed, to stir up trouble with these people now.
“Of course,” he said politely, “I’d be glad to agree. We are under a good deal of pressure for time, unhappily. We have some sickness in the wagons and wish to get our young people to the care of a physician.”