We rode scattered out, not talking, wary for traps because this was Indian
country, but wary for those coming down behind us, too. Pa’s travois would have
made an easy trail to follow, and I wondered if he, too, had feared what was
behind him. When we came up to his camp we saw why he’d chosen it. That camp was
well out in the open, among just a few trees and some brush, and there was a
good field of fire wherever a body looked.
Of course, at first we weren’t sure it was pa’s camp. It was a likely spot, and
there were stones blackened by fires in a clearing among the trees. We got down
from our horses and, while the Tinker kept a lookout, we stood around and sized
up the situation.
Nell found the grave. She had walked to the other side of the small clearing
among the trees. It was there, south of the patch of woods and a small knoll.
Only one grave. Above it was a cross and the name, Pierre Bontemps.
Pa had walked away from here when he saw the horses, and that might be any place
to the south, but he saw them from here. He’d made no mention of burying Pierre,
so he must have come back … but Pierre’s killer could have buried him. And
suppose pa lay in the same grave?
Neither Orrin nor me figured such would be the case, but scattered out around
that little nest of trees to see what we could find. Others had been here since,
and there would be nothing left unless pa had left some sign intentionally, or
unless there was some item time had not destroyed.
We found nothing.
“Tell,” Orrin said, “you were a mite older than any of us, and you knew pa a
little better. What do you think he would have done at this point?”
“Whoever killed Pierre may have killed him,” the Tinker suggested. “He may have
laid by those horses waiting for your father.”
Judas objected. “That is a possibility, of course. But it seems to me that
whoever killed Mr. Bontemps was not one to take chances. He stabbed a wounded,
helpless man three times. I believe he would prefer to wait, to catch Mr.
Sackett asleep or somehow helpless.”
“The way I see it, Orrin,” I said, “knowin’ the kind of man pa was, why he came
west and all, I think, once he had the horses and no longer had to worry about
Pierre, he’d go back after some of that gold.”
“I think he did go back,” Nell said.
“Well, maybe,” I said doubtfully. “I think he would, but we don’t know if he
did.”
“I know,” Nell repeated. “I am sure he went back.”
“Why?” Orrin asked.
“I think when he left the second time, having some gold and all, and remembering
what happened to Mr. Bontemps, I think he would take another route,” she said.
“These mountains offer very few roads,” Judas objected, “and this is the best
way, obviously.”
“And the most dangerous. Best routes never meant much to a mountain-born
Sackett, anyway,” she insisted. “I want to tell you something.
“Just east of Silver Falls I found an old Indian trail. It heads off south along
the shoulder above Quartz Creek. When I first settled in there to pan that creek
I studied the country in case I had to run. I scouted that trail across the
high-up mountains until I could see where it led.
“It goes right to Pagosa Springs, although there’s a branch, looks like, that
swings south. I’ve got a feeling it joins up with a trail I saw coming in from
the south at Haystack Mountain.”
It surely made sense. Pa was never one to set himself up for somebody, and if he
now had some gold he would be doubly in danger. He’d keep off the main trails,
use routes where he could find cover from which to study his back trail, and
he’d head west.
If anybody was lying in wait it would be along the trail east. Folks at San Luis
might have talked, and there were always bad men around who’d lie up for a man
and try to gather in what he had.
Pa had wintered out west and he liked that country. If he had taken his gold
that way he could come by an unexpected way and likely would avoid trouble.
Still, any man packing gold was sure to be an uneasy man.
Seemed to me the only thing to do now was to cut out for Shalako, scout around
there and talk to some of the Utes who might know something. Mighty few people
travel through Indian country without being seen, and it was likely the Utes
knew all that had taken place around Treasure Mountain—if they’d talk.
We headed west, rattling our hocks down the trail for Shalako. We knew that our
cousins Flagan and Galloway had settled in that neighborhood a short time back,
and we figured to meet up with them, then get our bearings. Galloway was a great
hand to make friends, and chances were that he had Indian friends among them.
We Sacketts have fought Indians, camped with them, hunted with them, told
stories with them, slept in their tipis and wickiups, and fought with them
again. Sometimes all was friendly, depending on the tribe and how they felt at
the moment. Pa had lived with Indians, too, and favored their way of life, and,
of course, back there in the high-up hills of Tennessee and North Carolina, we’d
had many a friend among the Cherokee, Shawnee, or Chickasaws.
They had their way of life and we had ours, and when the white man moved in he
did just what the Indians had done before him. He took what land he needed.
There were mighty few Indians for the size of the country, and we crowded them
like they crowded others.
Life had been that way from the beginning of time, and I could see no end to it.
Over there in Europe the Celts crowded the Picts, and the Saxons crowded the
Celts, and then the Normans moved in and took over the country, and it was the
same story all across the world.
Five days later we rode into Animas City which they were building into quite a
town. Must have been twenty or twenty-five buildings there, most of them
dwellings of one sort or another.
We rode up to Schwenk and Will’s saloon, which was also a store. By the look of
it, this place had just been opened, but business wasn’t suffering. There were
half a dozen men at the bar and this was just after midday.
The Tinker and Judas took the horses down to the river for water, Nell went with
them, and Orrin and me decided to listen to what was being said and try to find
out what we could.
A couple of men nodded as we came in, and one of them spoke. The rest just
glanced around and paid us no mind. Nobody was talking very much. There was some
talk of a railroad coming in, but it looked to me like that was nothing that was
going to happen very soon.
The bartender came down our way and we both ordered rye. He glanced at us real
sharp, then again. “Travelin’ through?”
“Maybe.”
“Pretty country,” Orrin commented, “right pretty country. Much going on around?”
“Mining. Cattle. You a cattleman?”
“Lawyer,” Orrin said. “But I’ve worked with cattle. Much ranching around here?”
“West of here, and south. Some good outfits. There’s a new bunch over on the La
Plata. Name of Sackett.”
“Heard of them,” Orrin said.
“There’s other Sacketts around here. One of the first men in this country was
Seth Sackett. He came in with the Baker outfit.”
“Good folks, no doubt,” I said.
“The best,” said the bartender. He was a shrewd, competent-looking man. “You
boys could do worse than to settle here yourselves.”
“Maybe we’ll ride over and see those Sacketts. The ones over on the La Plata.”
“If you go,” the bartender advised, “better go friendly. They’re good boys but
they don’t take kindly to folks pushing them.
“They’ve got them a ranch over just beyond that new town—Shalako, or some such
name. They’ve brought in some cattle, but from all I hear they’re still sort of
camping out. Haven’t started to build, yet.”
We drank our rye, then ordered coffee. We could see the Tinker had come back and
was loafing near the corral, honing the blade of that Tinker-made knife of his.
Perhaps the finest knife ever made.
“You been around here long?” Orrin asked.
“We just opened up. Nobody’s been here very long, some folks came in in ’73, but
the town didn’t sort of begin to settle up until ’76. If you ride around much,
keep your eyes open and a gun handy. The Utes haven’t decided what to do about