Lando (1962) (9 page)

We put up at a livery stable and I started up the street after arranging to meet Miguel at a cantina near the stable.

One thing I hadn't found to suit me was a good belt knife, and the Tinker wasn't about to part with one of his. I went into a store and started looking over some Bowie knives, and finally found one to please me--not that it was up to what the Tinker could do.

I paid for the knife, and then ran my belt through the loop on the scabbard and hitched it into place.

A moment there, I paused in the doorway. And that pause kept me from walking right into trouble.

Standing not ten feet away, on the edge of the boardwalk, was Duncan Caffrey!

He was facing away from me and I could see only the side of his face and his back, but I'd not soon forget that nose. I had fixed it the way it was.

No sooner had I looked at him than my eyes went to the man he spoke with, and I felt a little chill go down my spine. I was looking right into a pair of the blackest, meanest, cruelest eyes I ever did see.

The man wore a stovepipe hat and a black coat. His face was long, narrow, and deep-lined.

He wore a dirty white shirt and a black tie that looked greasy, even at the distance.

Stepping outside, I walked slowly away in the opposite direction, my skin crawling because I felt they were looking at me. Yet when I reached the corner and looked back, they were still talking, paying me no mind.

Never before had I seen that man in the stovepipe hat, but I knew who he was.

The Bishop.

It had to be him. He had been described to me more than once, and he'd been mentioned by Caffrey that night when the Tinker and me listened from the brush.

Now, nobody needed to tell me that there's such a thing as accident, or coincidence, as some call it. I've had those things happen to me, time to time, but right at that moment I wouldn't buy that as a reason for Dun and the Bishop being in Matamoras. Whatever they were here for was connected with me. That much I was sure of and nothing would shake it.

Right there I had an idea of going back to Brownsville and telling the Tinker and Jonas.

Trouble was, they'd think I was imagining things, or scaring out, or something like that.

What I did do was head for the cantina where I dropped into a chair across the table from Miguel and said, "Enjoy that drink, because we're pulling out--tn."

"Tonight?"

"Soon as ever we can make it without drawing eyes to us."

Sitting there at the table, I drank a glass of beer and told him why. Even down here they had heard of the Bishop, so Miguel was ready enough.

"One thing," he said, "we must ride with great care, for there was ^w that a prisoner escaped from prison and is at large to the south of here. They believe he will come to the border, and the soldiers search for him."

It was past midnight when we walked through the circle of lemon light under the livery-stable lantern. The hostler sat asleep against the wall, his serape about his shoulders. Music tinkled from the cantina ... there was a smell of hay, andof fresh manure, of leather harness, andof horses.

As we walked our horses from the stable I leaned over and dropped a peso in the lap of the hostler.

Riding past the cantina, I glanced back.

I thought I saw, in a dark doorway next to the cantina, the boot-toes and the tip of a hat belonging to a very tall man. I could have been mistaken.

We rode swiftly from the town. The night was quiet except for the insects that sang in the brush. A long ride lay before us. The cattle about which we had inquired were at a ranch southwest of Santa Teresa ... the gold lay somewhere off the coast we would parallel.

So far as we knew, pa was the only man who knew exactly where that sunken ship lay. The Kurbishaws had killed the man who told them of it, thinking they could find it from the description.

Captain Elam Kurbishaw's only map that showed the coast was vague, and had indicated only one inlet on that stretch of coast, where actually there were several. More to the point, there was a long stretch of coast that lay behind an outlying sand bar.

If the ship had succeeded in getting through one of the openings in the shore line, it would be lost in a maze of inlets, channels, and bays. Looking for it would be like looking for one cow that bawled in a herd of five thousand.

"Soldiers may stop us," Miguel warned. "It is well to give them no displeasure, for the soldiers can be worse than bandidos."

As we rode along, my mind kept thinking back to Gin Locklear and that snippy little Marsha.

Marsha was fourteen ... she'd be up to marrying in maybe two years, and I pitied the man who got her. As for Gin, she was older than me, but she was a woman to take a man's eye, and to talk a man's tongue, too. It was no wonder Jonas set such store by her.

It lacked only a little of daybreak when we turned off the trail into the brush. We went maybe half a mile off the traveled way before we found a hollow where there was grass and a trickle of water. We staked out the horses and bedded down for sleep. Miguel took no time about it, but sleep was long in coming to me.

Thoughts kept going round in my mind, and pa was in the middle of them. I thought how pa was always teaching me things. Had he maybe taught me where that gold was, and me not knowing?

And then my mind was sorting out memories and feeling the sadness they brought.

Ma was gone. ... Pa? Who could ever know about pa? Those were bad days for travelers and folks who went a-yondering. Chances were the Bald Knobbers had got him ... or somebody from ambush.

I'd never believe it was the Kurbishaws.

Chapter
Five.

We saw no more of the Bishop or the Kurbishaws on the trail in the next few days.

We found Santa Teresa a sleepy, pleasant Mexican village, with hens scratching in the street, and the best tortillas I'd eaten up to then, or for a long time after.

The hacienda where I bargained forand bought three hundred head of cattle was another pleasant place, and when we started the cattle back toward the border they loaned me three vaqueros to help until my own hands joined us--they were to meet us in camp just north of Santa Teresa.

The range from which we bought our cattle had been overstocked and the cattle were thin, but they showed an immediate liking for the grass of the coast land and its plentiful salt. We were four days driving from the hacienda to the camp north of Santa Teresa, but when we reached the camp there was no one there.

Here the vaqueros were to leave us, and here we must hold our stock until help came from the north. Five men could handle three hundred head without too much trouble when they were intent upon stuff+ their lean bellies with good grass, but from there on it would be more difficult.

Scarcely were we camped, with a fire going, when we heard a rush of horses and suddenly our camp was surrounded by soldiers, their rifles leveled on us.

Their officer was a lean and savage man. He rode around the herd, inspecting the brands, then he wheeled up to the fire.

"Who is in charge here?" he asked in Spanish.

Miguel gestured to me. "The Americano.

We have bought the cattle from [email protected] Ulloa.

We drive them to Texas."

"You are lying!"

"No, [email protected]," one of the vaqueros spoke up quickly. "I am of the hacienda of Ulloa.

Three of us have ridden with the cattle to this point.

Here their own riders join them. It is of truth, [email protected]"

The officer looked at me, his eyes cold and unfriendly. "Your name?"

"Orlando, [email protected]" It seemed possible he might have heard the name Sackett, although it would have been long ago.

He studied me without pleasure. "Do you know [email protected] King?"

"We spoke with him two days ago. He was driving to Brownsville with the [email protected]"

King was well thought of on both sides of the border, and to know him seemed the wise thing.

He considered the situation a bit, then said:

"One thing, [email protected] A prisoner has escaped. We want him. If you should come upon him, seize him at once and send a rider for me. Anyone rendering assistance to him will be shot."

Without further ^ws, he wheeled his horse.

When they had ridden away, the vaquero turned to me, his expression grave. "[email protected], that was Antonio Herrara--a very bad man.

Avoid him if you can."

They were packing to leave, and seemed more than anxious to get away, and I couldn't find it in my heart to go a-blaming them. Surely, this was no trouble of theirs.

After they had gone there was nothing we could do but ride herd on our cattle, and wait.

Sometimes a man is a fool, and I had a feeling that when I left my mare to go traipsing after gold money I'd been more of a fool than most. I'd sure enough be lying if I said I wasn't scared, for that Herrara shaped up like a mean man, and we were in his country where he was the law.

Miguel took the first ride around, bunching the cattle for night. They seemed willing enough to rest, being chock full of good grass like they were. Me, I kept looking up trail toward the border and a-hoping for those riders.

What if Jonas and the Tinker couldn't make it? What if Herrara spotted them as escaped prisoners themselves?

"Miguel," I said, when he stopped by on his circling, "come daybreak we're pushing on, riders or no riders. We're going to head for the border."

He nodded seriously. "It is wise, amigo. That Herrara, he is a bad man."

The place where we were was a meadow four, five miles out of Santa Teresa and on an arm of the sea. There was brush around, and some marshy land.

"That prisoner," Miguel said, "he will not be taken easily. He killed a guard in escaping, and he has been much tortured. It is said, [email protected]"--Miguel paused expressively--?t he was believed to know something of a treasure."

"A treasure?" I asked mildly.

"Si, [email protected] It is a treasure much talked of, a treasure of the pirate, LaFitte. For thirty years and more men have sought it along the shore to the north. Most of all, Antonio Herrara and his father, the commandant of this area."

What could a man say to that? Only it made me itch all the more to get that herd moving.

"Miguel, an hour before daylight we will start the herd. Twenty miles tomorrow."

"It is a long drive, [email protected]," he said doubtfully.

"Twenty miles--no less."

When the moon lifted, the cattle rose to stretch their legs and move around. Far off, there was a sound of coyotes, and closer by we could hear the rustle of the surf. The waters of the Laguna Madre were close by, the sea itself lay out beyond the bar, at least twenty-five miles away.

Miguel came in and, after coffee, turned in. Mounting the dun, I circled the cattle, singing softly to let them know that they were not alone, and that the shadow they saw moving was me. Nevertheless, there was a restlessness in them I could not explain, but I put it down to my ignorance of cattle.

With the first gray of dawn I stopped by to wake up Miguel.

He sat up and put on his hat, then pulled on his boots. He reached for the big, fire-blackened coffee pot, and shook it in surprise. "You drink much coffee, [email protected]"

"One cup," I said. "I was afraid to stop for more. Something was bothering the cattle."

He emptied out the pot into his cup. "There were at least five cups in this, amigo. No less, certainly. I made the coffee myself, and know what we drank. It is a pot for ten men."

"Pack up," I said, "let's move 'em."

They seemed willing enough to go, and an old blue-roan steer moved out and took the lead, as he had done all the way from the hacienda.

As they moved, they fed; and we let them for the first two or three hours. Then we stepped up the speed a bit, because both of us wanted distance between us and last night's camp.

Most of the time I rode with a hand ready to grab a gun. From time to time I reached for that Walch Navy, and the butt had a mighty friendly feeling.

Nothing feels better when trouble shapes than the butt of a good pistol.

We kept scanning the trail ahead, hoping for a sign of our riders. Lucky for us the cattle seemed to want to get away from that place as much as we did.

There were no trees. Meadows of grass appeared here and there, and sometimes there'd be grass for miles, but between the trail and the sea there was a regular forest of brush. Here and there were signs that the sea had on occasion even come this far. The last time must have been the great hurricane of 1844.

If there had been another of such power since, we hadn't heard of it, but the one of #'dd was well known.

The cattle drifted steadily. The heat rising from their bunched bodies was as stifling as the dust.

Only once in a while did one of the steers cut loose and try to stray from the column. But for two riders it was too many cattle, and our horses would soon be worn to nothing.

Off to the right was the sea ... that was east. As far as we were from it, I turned again and again to look that way, for though we had been close a time or two, I had never yet seen the ocean. It gave a man an odd feeling to known all the miles upon miles of water that lay off there.