‘Well,” he said, ‘if you need any help, you can come to us. That is, if you have a warrant.” ‘I haven’t.” He shrugged. “comMere’s not much I can do, then, except to put out some feelers. I have friends over in Sonora Town and they’ll listen around.
If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.” I made one last attempt. “oMe girl mill not be using her own name, I imagine, and won’t be living over there. She likes to spend money and live high on the hog.” I surveyed the street with care. I pulled my hat-brim down and studied each face I saw, each window I passed. They had tried to kill me before, and if they so much as imagined I was in town, they would try again.
Had it been mere chance that they stopped under my window last night?
What if Ruby knew I was in town and had somehow passed the word along?
As well as the outlaws in Sonora Town, there were others holed up in the canyons of the Santa Monica Mountains. while there were cattle on the bills, there were not nearly so many since the four-year drouth that had ended in 1868. The cattle business in the vicinity of Los Angeles was, they told me, a thing of the past.
Suddenly I saw a man crossing the street toward me.
It was Hampton Todd. He stepped up on the boardwalk and stopped.
“Are you Shell Tucker?” he asked.
‘I am.
“I understand you have followed Miss Ross to this city. That you are persecuting her. Well, I want to tbu you-” “I do not know a Miss Ross,” I interrupted.
‘What?” “I came here,- I answered, ‘in pursuit of two outlaws and a woman friend of theirs, Miss Ruby Shaw. I do not know anyone named Miss Ross, nor do I have any interest in a person of that name.” Deliberately, I turned away and started down the street. I had taken only two steps when he was upon me. He took hold of my shoulder, and I turned swiftly, throwing his hand off.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Todd,” I said. “I have no trouble with you, and I don’t want any.” He glared at me, angry, but suddenly wary.
He was wise enough to see I was ready for trouble if he wanted it.
“Leave her alone,” he said. “Or I’ll kill you!” “Take my advice, Todd, and ask the Wells Fargo agent to see his flyer on Heseltine. Do that before you get yourself killed. And watch yourself. Heseltine is in town.” “What’s he got to do with me? This … this Heseltine?” ‘Look at the flyer,” I said, and walked away from him.
“Go to belli” he shouted after me.
The last thing I wanted was trouble in Los Angeles, but Ruby Shaw had planted suspicion of me, and I doubted if Hampton Todd would examine the flyer. Nor would the Wells Fargo agent be inclined to speak up under the circumstances.
He had probably overheard the altercation in the street, as others had, but he had to live here and stay in business, and from his standpoint his best course was to know nothing one way or the other.
Hampton Todd was known and liked by many; he was disliked by some.
But I was a stranger, and therefore suspect. The woman they knew as Elaine Ross was beautiful, and conducted herself as a lady.
There were many solid, able men in Los Angeles.
From all I heard the town had been fortunate in many of its early settlers, for such men as John Temple, Abel Steams, and Benjamin Wilson had come to build, not to make their money and get out.
Most of these men would be friendly to the Todds, and I knew none of them.
It would be well for me to act moth caution or I would find myself in trouble with people for whom I felt no animosity.
At the livery stable I collected my horse and rode slowly down Spring Street and out of town, taking the road west toward Rancho La Brea.
My best thinking was done when alone, and west of the settlement there were only a few scattered huts, clumps of oak trees, and in some areas, forests of prickly pear.” This was land where cattle had grazed until the drouth had killed many of them and caused others to be slaughtered to save the Mdes and tallow. Farther west was the little town of Santa Monica, with visions of becoming a great port, to rival San Francisco.
A railroad had been completed not long before that led from Los Angeles to Santa Monica, and a pier built to deep water where ocean-going vessels could dock.
As I rode I occasionally glanced back toward the pueblo, but I saw no one. It was a sunny, pleasant day. I could catch glimpses of sunlight on the sea, and in the distance I could see Catalina Island.
Several times I drew up just to look out over the vast panorama before me. Close on my right were the mountains, a low, rugged range covered with chaparral and split by occasional canyons that offered a way to San Femando Valley beyond. There were grizzlies in those mountains, although there were fewer now.
My best bet, I thought, was to avoid Ruby Shaw and her new friends.
Bob Heseltine and Kid Reese had ridden into Sonora Town and gone into hiding … no doubt they knew to whom they could go for shelter.
Along the slope of the mountain I found a wagon trail, no more than two ruts in the sparse grass, but it was a trail, so I followed it, and soon overtook a wagon with an old Mexican driving.
He lifted a hand to me and I slowed my horse to a walk. His smile was pleasant.
“It is a splendid view,” I said, waving a hand at the wide expanse of grassland, oak clumps, and cacti that lay between us and the sea.
He drew rein and I stopped beside the wagon.
“It is a thing to be seen,” he said, “and always the light is different. I have looked many times from here, and”-he gestured toward the mountains at from up there.” “I hear there are outlaws in the canyons,” I suggested.
‘allyou are not afraid?” He shrugged. “I am an old man, seflor, and a poor one. Why should they bother me?” ‘The area now called Hollywood; known then as La Nopalera.
No man is poor,” I said, “who can look on beauty. It lifts the spirit.” He glanced at me, then away. “You have come from far?” ‘Texas,” I said, ‘and Colorado.” “Ah, I know them. When I was younger, seflor, I was a traveled man.
You come here for land?” “No,” I replied, “I follow two men.
They have taken what did not belong to them.” “You are a Ranger?” “I am a man.” He nodded to indicate the road ahead. ‘My borne is near. At this time of day I drink coffee. You will join me?” Now, many people might have thought it a waste of time to talk with this old Mexican, but I had learned by now that no man’s friendship is to be despised, and especially not by me, who had no friends here.
His house was small, an adobe that stood on a shoulder of the mountain.
There was a small corral close by, and several burros, two horses, and a small flock of goats.
The house was poor, but neat.
There was a young girl there, of sixteen or so, and a boy a couple of years yo’Linger.
“My grandchildren,” he said. “They help me. It is good to have grandchildren when one is old.” “You had a son.
“Three sons. One is in Mexico, and two are gone.
They were vaqueros, senior, and the way of a vaquero is hard. One was killed when his horse fell with him after he had roped a wild bull.
My son killed the bull, but the bull had a horn into him first. He was three days getting borne, senor, and it was too late to help him.
“And the other?” “The desert, amigo. The desert killed him, as it has killed others.
At least, he went into the desert and he has not come back.
Perhaps it was the Mobaves, for they had stolen horses from the ranchos. He pursued, separated from the others, and we have never found him. It was three years ago. If he could have come, he would have, for these children are his, and he was a good man, a good son.” We sat at a table inside the adobe and looked out through the open door. From where we sat we could look far across the low hills to where the sun glinted on the sea. Below us was the almost flat plain, and the cienaga with its marshy ground. He rambled on, talking of his family, of his life there, and of the country around.