the Daybreakers (1960) (22 page)

"I'd guess it's about an easy two-hour ride from here," I looked ahead, searching out the way the riders had gone. "They've taken themselves a notion, all right. Tres Ritos, it is."

Nevertheless, we kept a close watch on the trail. Neither of us had a good feeling about it. A man living in wild country develops a sense of the rightness of things ... and he becomes like an animal in sensing when all is not well.

So far it had been easy, but I was riding rifle in hand now and ready for trouble. Believe me, I wanted that Henry where I could use it. We had seven tough men ahead of us, men who had killed and who did not wish to be caught. I believe we had them fooled, for they would expect to be followed by a posse, but only a fool depends on a feeling like that.

Against such men you never ride easy in the saddle, you make your plans, you figure things out, and then you are careful. I never knew a really brave man yet who was reckless, nor did I ever know a real fighting man who was reckless ... maybe because the reckless ones were all dead.

Cap drew up. "I think I'll have a smoke," he said. Cap got down from his saddle, keeping his rifle in his hand. He drew his horse back under the trees out of sight and I did likewise. Only one fault with Kelly. That big red horse stood out like a forest fire in this green country.

We sat there studying the country around but doing no talking until Cap smoked his pipe out. Meanwhile both of us had seen a long bench far above the trail that led in the direction of Tres Ritos.

"We might ride along there," I suggested, "I'm spooky about that trail ahead."

"If they turn off we'll lose 'em."

"We can come back and pick up the trail."

We started off at an easy lope, going up through the trees, cutting back around some rocks. We'd gone about a mile when Cap pointed with his rifle.

Down the hill, not far off the trail, we could see some horses tied in the trees. One of them was a dark roan that had a familiar look. Reminded me of a horse I'd seen Paisano riding. And Paisano had taken money from Fetterson. This trail might take us somewhere at that.

We dusted the trail into Tres Ritos shy of sundown. We had taken our own time scouting around and getting the country in our minds. We headed for the livery stable. The sleepy hostler was sitting on the ground with his back to the wall.

He had a red headband and looked like a Navajo. He took our horses and we watched him stall them and put corn in the box. Cap walked down between the rows of stalls and said, "Nobody ... we beat 'em to town."

The barkeep in the saloon was an unwashed half-breed with a scar over his left eye like somebody had clouted him with an axe.

We asked for coffee and he turned and yelled something at a back door. The girl his yell brought out was Tina Fernandez. She knew me all right. All those Santa Fe women knew me.

Only she didn't make out like she knew me. She was neat as a new pin, and she brought a pot of coffee and two cups and she poured the coffee and whispered something that sounded like cuidado--a word meaning we should be careful.

We drank our coffee and ate some chili and beans with tortillas and I watched the kitchen door and Cap watched the street.

The grub was good, the coffee better, so we had another cup. "Behind the corral," she whispered, "after dark."

Cap chewed his gray mustache and looked at me out of those old, wise-hard eyes.

"You mixin' pleasure with business?"

"This is business."

We finished our coffee and we got up and I paid the bartender while Cap studied the street outside. The bartender looked at my face very carefully and then he said, "Do I know you?"

"If you do," I said, "you're going to develop a mighty bad memory."

The street was empty. Not even a stray dog appeared. Had we guessed wrong? Had they gone around Tres Ritos? Or were they here now, waiting for us?

Standing there in the quiet of early evening I had a dry mouth and could feel my heart beating big inside of me. Time to time I'd seen a few men shot and had no idea to go out that way if I could avoid it.

We heard them come into town about an hour later. Chances are they grew tired of waiting for us, if that was what they had been doing. They came down the street strung out like Indians on the trail, and from where we lay in the loft over the livery stable we could not see them but we could hear their horses.

They rode directly to the saloon and got down there, talking very little. As we had ridden into Tres Ritos by a back trail they would have seen no tracks, so unless they were told by the bartender they were not likely to realize we were around.

Lying there on the hay, listening out of the back of my mind for any noise that would warn us they were coming our way, I was not thinking of them, but of Orrin, Laura, Tom Sunday, Dru, and myself. And there was a lot to think about.

Jonathan Pritts would not be talking to Tom Sunday unless there was a shady side to his talk, for Jonathan was a man who did nothing by accident. I knew Tom had no use for the man, but as far back as the night Jonathan had sent for us in Santa Fe there had been a streak of compromise in Tom. He had hesitated that night, recognizing, I think, that Jonathan was a man who was going to be a power.

What was Jonathan Pritts up to? The thought stayed with me and I worried it like a dog at a bone, trying to figure it out. Of one thing I was sure: it promised no good for us.

Cap sat up finally and took out his pipe. "You're restless, boy."

"I don't like this."

"You got it to do. A man wants peace in a country he has to go straight to the heart of things." He smoked in silence for a few minutes. "Time to time I've come across a few men like Pritts ... once set on a trail they can't see anything but that and the more they're balked the stiffer they get." He paused a moment. "As he gets older he gets meaner ... he wants what he's after and he knows time is short."

The loft smelled of the fresh hay and of the horses below in their stalls. The sound of their eating was a comfortable sound, a good sleeping sound, but I could not sleep, tired as I was.

If I was to do anything with my life it had to be now and when this trail had been followed to the end I was going to quit my job, marry Dru, and settle down to build something.

We'd never rightly had a real home and for my youngsters I wanted one. I wanted a place they could grow up with, where they could put down roots. I wanted a place they'd be proud to come back to and which they could always call home ... no matter how far they went or what happened.

Getting up I brushed off the hay, hitched my gun belt into position, and started for the ladder.

"You be careful."

"I'm a careful man by nature."

At the back of the corral I squatted on my heels against a corral post and waited.

Time dragged and then I heard a soft rustle of feet in the grass and saw a shadow near me and smelled a faint touch of woman-smell.

"You all right?"

It was scarcely a whisper but she came to me and I stood up keeping myself in line with that corral post at the corner.

"They are gone," Tina said.

"What?"

"They are gone," she repeated, "I was 'fraid for you."

She explained there had been horses for them hidden in ths woods back of the saloon, and while they were inside drinking, their saddles had been switched and they had come out one by one and gone off into the woods.

"Fooled us ... hornswoggled us."

"The other one is there. He is upstairs but I think he will go in the morning."

"Who?"

"The man who gave them money. The blond man."

Fetterson? It could be.

"You saw the money paid?"

"Yes, senor. With my two eyes I saw it. They were paid much in gold ... the balance, he said."

"Tina, they killed Juan Torres ... did you know him?"

"Si... he was a good man."

"In court, Tina. Would you testify against them? Would you tell you saw money paid? It would be dangerous for you."

"I will testify. I am not afraid." She stood very still in the darkness. "I know, senor, you are in love with the Senorita Alvarado, but could you help me, senor? Could you help me to go away from here? This man, the one you talked to, he is my ... how do you call it? He married my mother."

"Stepfather."

"Si ... and my mother is dead and he keeps me here and I work, senor. Someday I will be old. I wish now to go to Santa Fe again but he will not let me."

"You shall go. I promise it."

The men had gone and we had not seen them but she told me one had been Paisano.

Only one other she knew. A stocky, very tough man named Jim Dwyer ... he had been among those at Pawnee Rock. But Fetterson was here and he was the one I wanted most.

We slept a little, and shy of daybreak we rolled out and brushed off the hay. I felt sticky and dirty and wanted a bath and a shave the worst way but I checked my gun and we walked down to the hotel. There was a light in the kitchen and we shoved open the back door.

The bartender was there in his undershirt and pants and sock feet. There was the tumbled, dirty bedding where he had slept, some scattered boots, dirty socks, and some coats hung on the wall, on one nail a gun belt hung. I turned the cylinder and shucked out the shells while the bartender watched grimly.

"What's all this about?"

Turning him around we walked through the dark hall with a lantern in Cap's hand to throw a vague light ahead.

"Which room is he in?"

The bartender just looked at me, and Cap, winking at me, said, "Shall I do it here? Or should we take him out back where they won't find the body so soon?"

The bartender's feet shifted "No, look!" he protested. "I ain't done nothing."

"He'd be in the way," I said thoughtfully, "and he's no account to us. We might as well take him out back."

Cap looked mean enough to do it, and folks always figured after a look at me that killing would be easier for me than smiling.

"Wait a minute ... he ain't nothin' to me. He's in Room Six, up the stairs."

Looking at him, I said "Cap, you keep him here." And then looking at the bartender I said, "You know something? That had better be the right room."

Up the stairs I went, tiptoeing each step and at the top, shielding the lantern with my coat, I walked down the hall and opened the door to Room Six.

His eyes opened when I came through the door but the light was in his eyes when I suddenly unveiled the lantern and his gun was on the table alongside the bed.

He started to reach for it and I said, "Go ahead, Fetterson, you pick it up and I can kill you."

His hand hung suspended above the gun and slowly he withdrew it. He sat up in bed then, a big, rawboned man with a shock of rumpled blond hair and his hard-boned, wedgelike face. There was nothing soft about his eyes.

"Sackett? I might have expected it would be you." Careful to make no mistakes he reached for the makings and began to build a smoke. "What do you want?"

"It's a murder charge, Fett. If you have a good lawyer you might beat it, but you make a wrong move and nothing will beat what I give you."

He struck a match and lit up. "All right ... I'm no Reed Carney and if I had a chance I'd try shooting it out, but if that gun stuck in the holster I'd be a dead man."

"You'd never get a hand on it, Fett."

"You takin' me in?"

"Uh-huh. Get into your clothes."

He took his time dressing and I didn't hurry him. I figured if I gave him time he would decide it was best to ride along and go to jail, for with Pritts to back him there was small chance he would ever come to trial. My case was mighty light on evidence, largely on what Tina could tell us and what I had seen myself, which was little enough.

When he was dressed he walked ahead of me down the hall to where Cap was waiting with a gun on the bartender. We gathered up Fetterson's horse and started back to town. I wasn't through with that crowd I'd trailed, but they would have to wait.

Our return trip took us mighty little time because I was edgy about being on the trail, knowing that the bartender might get word to Fetterson's crowd. By noon the next day we had him behind bars in Mora and the town was boiling.

Fetterson stood with his hands on the bars. "I won't be here long," he said, "I'd nothing to do with this."

"You paid them off. You paid Paisano an advance earlier."

There was a tic in his eyelid, that little jump of the lid that I'd noticed long ago in Abilene when he had realized they were boxed and could do nothing without being killed.

"You take it easy," I said, "because by the time this case comes to court I'll have enough to hang you."

He laughed, and it was a hard, contemptuous laugh, too. "You'll never see the day!" he said. "This is a put-up job."

When I walked outside in the sunlight, Jonathan Pritts was getting down from his buckboard.

One thing I could say for Jonathan ... he moved fast.