“I see.”
Esteban started away, and I spoke after him. “These men who follow me. One of
them was with my father then. You be careful, and warn your people. Start
nothing, but be wary. They are hard men, Esteban, and they have killed before.”
He smiled, his teeth flashing under his mustache. “We have hard men, too, amigo,
but I will pass the word. They will know. It is always better to know.”
We ate, but I was restless, and, good as the food was, I was uneasy. It seemed
every time I came to San Luis there was trouble, not for the town or from the
town, but for me. It was a pleasant little village, settled in 1851, some said.
Stepping outside I stood for a moment, enjoying the stars and the cool air.
Looming on the skyline to the west was the towering bulk of Mount Blanca. My
father had been here, in this village. San Luis was a natural stop if you came
from the south or the east.
The wind was cool from off the mountains and I stood there, leaning against the
bars of the old corral, smelling the good smells of the barnyard, the freshly
mown hay, and the horses.
Tyrel and his vaqueros came out. The men rounded up all their horses, and Tyrel
said good-bye to me. They were headed back to Mora for the time being, and I
told Tyrel that he would hear from us as soon as we knew anything.
Esteban came up from the town walking with an old man—looked like a Mexican.
“You must sit down, amigo,” he said to me. “This man is very old, and he is much
shorter than you.”
There was a bench under an old tree and I sat down beside the old man. “Viejo,”
Esteban said, “this is the man I told you about, Tell Sackett.”
“Sackett,” he mumbled crossly, “of course there was a Sackett! A good man—good
man. Strong—very strong! He had been to the mountains for fur but now he was
going back for gold.”
“Did he say that, viejo?”
“Of course he did not! But I do not need to know what he say. He speaks of the
mountains, of Wolf Creek Pass, and I tell him not to go. He is wasting his time.
Others have looked and found nothing.”
“Were they here long?”
“Two, three days. They wanted horses, and Huerta sent to the mountains for them.
They were impatient to be off, and of course … well, two of them did not want
to go. I did not think Sackett wanted to go. I think he did not like these
people. Neither did the other man … Petgrew.”
Now I just sat quiet. Petgrew? Was it a new name? Or had I heard it before and
not remembered? There had been another man, but what happened to him, anyway?
Was Petgrew the name of the man Philip Baston had told us about? More than
likely. I remembered finally. It was Pettigrew.
“It is cold in the mountains when the snow falls,” I said. “They would not be
able to last through the winter.”
“They were not there after the snow fell. They came out in time. At least, three
of them did. The big young man whom I did not like—he came out. So did the
handsome one, who was cruel.”
“And the other?”
His thoughts had wandered off. “Cold, yes it is cold. Men have lived. If they
know how to live sometimes they can, but food … most of them starve.
“It is not only the cold. We were worried for them and thought of going out for
them. Twenty years ago—I was a young man then—scarcely sixty years I had. And
until I was seventy I could ride as well as any man in the valley … better.
Better.
“Two of them came down, and I was over near the pass then and saw them coming.
“I hid. I do not know why—I was not afraid of them, but I hid. They rode right
past me. One of their horses caught my scent. Oh, he smelled me, all right! But
they were stupid. They do not live with horses so they do not know.
“They rode past, but they did not stop in San Luis. They went to Fort Garland.”
“You followed them?”
“No, I did not follow. Later, I heard of it. This is not a big country for
people. What one does here is heard of, you know? Somebody sees. It is something
to tell when we have so little to tell.
“No, I did not follow. I went up the mountain. I was curious, you see. Like the
bear or the wolf I am curious.
“Only two track—two horses. No more. I find elk tracks. Ah! That is something!
We need meat, so I trailed the elk and killed it, and when I had the meat it was
late, and it was cold, and my horse, it was frighten—very frighten.
“To go down the mountain? The wind was rising. It is colder when the wind blows,
and home lay far out across the plains … those plains can be terrible,
terrible when the wind blows.
“High up the mountain there was a cave. Several times I had sheltered there. So
had we all. I mean, men from this village and the Fort. We knew of the cave.
“So I went higher up the mountain in the snow, and I reached the trail up there.
It was a mistake—or it was the good God speaking to me. On the trail were the
tracks of three horses … three? Yes.
“Now I had to take cover and build a fire to warm me. It was very cold. I rode
down the trail to the cave and I took my horse inside. I put him behind me. And
then I went with my axe to cut a tree. One must be very careful to cut a tree
when it is frozen. It is easy to cut a leg. I was careful.
“There was a good tree close by and some dead branches. I pull them in, and I
tug on another, and I hear something.
“There was a sound, a small sound. Not the sound of a tree, not a branch
breaking … an animal sound. I pull the branch again, and then I see it, lying
over the bank … a branch of the tree is there, too, but it is a horse.”
“A horse?”
“With a saddle. The horse try to get up. He cannot get up because he lies with
his legs uphill. If his legs were downhill he could get up, I think.
“So I get his bridle. It is frozen stiff. I take the bridle and pull him over,
pull his head over and hope he will keep it there. I get a rope on him, go back
for my horse, and with my horse I get him up.
“When he is on his feet I look around. Where the horse was is a hollow in the
snow. He must have struggled and worked himself down into the snow. He would
have frozen there. But a horse, amigo? A horse with a saddle? I explain to
myself that a horse with a saddle and no rider is not reasonable, you see?
“I look. Further down in the snow, I see him. A man lying there almost covered
with snow. Near him are some tracks.
“It seems to me somebody has made the horse jump. He is frighten, this horse.
And when he jumps he falls, and the man is thrown and hurt, you see? Then I
think somebody walks down to where he lies and hits him again, then leaves him
in the cold.
“It will look an accident, you see? A man thrown, frozen to death. I think they
did not want to trust to shooting … people wonder, you know.”
The old man’s voice was slowing, and he was growing tired. I sat there in the
darkness thinking back. A man must have returned with Baston and Swan, and for
some reason they had decided to kill him. A man left unconscious in the snow at
such a time would have small chance of survival, yet the human creature is
amazing. Nobody knew that better than me. I had seen men survive from impossible
wounds, seen them walk out of the desert or mountains. I’d had a few bad times
myself.
“You saved him?”
“It was cold. It was starting to snow, and the man was not big, but heavy, very
heavy, senor. I could not get him up the slope. It was steep … steep, Many
trees and rocks.
“The man was cold—he was freeze, I think. I could not carry him up the slope.”
I waited, knowing he had to tell it in his own way, in his own time, yet I could