Devils canyon, p.4
Devil's Canyon, page 4
Three vaqueros, one of them mounted, turned their heads from their private discussion to watch the Americans ride in. Tremaine drew up his horse.
‘Hold the men back, Donahue,’ the colonel said. ‘Set up camp in the oaks by the creek.’
‘All right,’ Asa said, as if this were a personal affront.
‘Water the horses and spread your bedrolls. I’ll try to have some food sent out to you. Kirby, come along with me.’ Tomas, of course, went along without being invited. It was, after all, his father’s house.
The three men rode past the watching vaqueros silently. Tremaine removed his hat in a sign of greeting. Oddly, Kirby noted, none of the men spoke to Tomas although he must have known them. It was a strange sort of homecoming for the young Mexican. No greetings, cries of joy … only dark eyes following them across the dusty yard to the front of the hacienda. The tall man with the silver hair dressed in immaculate white linen stepped out to meet them.
‘Lopez!’ Tremaine called out with genuine affection.
‘Tremaine,’ the Mexican answered with equal enthusiasm. ‘Step down, my friend, come into my casa. It has been a long trail, I know.’
‘Long and dusty. Seeing you is like a cool drink of water,’ the colonel said floridly.
The Mexican’s eyes went to Kirby, their expression giving nothing away. Then Lopez looked at his son. If anything, the inspection was even briefer, bordering, in fact, on dismissal.
Tomas shrugged to Kirby and said, ‘So you see, the prodigal son is not always welcomed warmly.’
Kirby said nothing. He knew nothing of the circumstances under which Tomas and his father had parted company. He just swung down tiredly, loosening the double cinches of his saddle while the two older men embraced warmly.
‘Now, please do come in out of the sun,’ Don Trujillo-Lopez said with his arm over the colonel’s shoulders; ‘all of you,’ he added after a moment.
Dusting off the best he could, Kirby trailed them into the coolness of the big house. And just for a moment before he entered he caught a glimpse of the young, dark-eyed girl in yellow on the balcony above them.
They entered along a tiled corrridor. The walls were paneled with dark wood. The ceiling was high, heavily beamed. Crossing a massively furnished front room they entered a formal dining-room. The table and chairs were dark, hand-carved in the Spanish style. The chairs were high-backed, the cushions covered in purple velvet. A candelabra of ornate silver rested in the center of the table. As the men sat to the table a small, shy Indian servant of middle years appeared and, at a signal from Lopez, scurried away again, returning in minutes with a pitcher of cool water, a tray of sweets and a carafe of pale wine.
‘To business,’ Don Trujillo-Lopez said almost immediately. ‘It is not our way to hurry things like this, as you know, Tremaine, but time is of the essence these days.’
‘I understand.’
‘I wonder if you do,’ the Mexican said with a frown. ‘I can no longer pay my men. If not for you I would have been forced to simply shoot my cattle for hides. They are not content to stay on the rancho, the grass has grown so poor. The men must fight constantly to contain them. If they were not loyal to a man to me …’
‘As you say,’ Tremaine said soothingly, ‘at times expediency is called for. Tomas?’
Tomas nodded and, unbuttoning his shirt, removed the rawhide sack he wore on a thong around his neck. The gold coins in the sack clinked as he placed it on the table and pushed it toward his father.
The don, Kirby could not help but notice, had still not said a single word to his son.
‘These matters …’ the don said, genuinely embarrassed. It was not the way he would have chosen to do business, especially with an old friend. In normal times there would have been a feast, a fandango perhaps with dancing and conversations about matters other than those of business. But these were not good times.
‘I have now only about eight-hundred head of steers that are trail-worthy,’ the Mexican said without touching the sack of gold. ‘Those who are ill or weak have been culled. There will be enough grass and water for those who remain. My vaqueros, of course, are at your disposal to help you round up the others.’
‘Of course.’
Hesitantly then, the proud don opened the gold sack and stacked the twenty- and fifty-dollar pieces into neat columns.
From somewhere a second servant, an old man, appeared. In his hand was a carefully hand-written contract on parchment.
‘I have already signed this, Tremaine. The terms we have already agreed to.’
Tremaine nodded. He didn’t even glance at the bill of sale. A man’s word meant so much more than a piece of paper to men like these in those times.
‘There is one matter we have not discussed,’ Lopez said. Shoveling the gold back in the pouch, handing it to his manservant. ‘The safe, Miguel.’ The servant bowed and went away with the gold.
‘There is one more matter?’ Tremaine asked curiously. ‘What could that be, Don Lopez?’
‘Something that has arisen.’ The Mexican fumbled for the right words. ‘I wish … I almost would say: you must help me with this matter.’
‘Anything at all,’ Tremaine agreed quickly.
‘It is Angela,’ Lopez said and, as he began to speak, the girl in the yellow dress emerged from the shadows, her eyes downcast, her dark hair shiny and carefully held in place with a high Spanish comb, her body lithe and still just a little boyish.
‘… She must travel with you.’
FOUR
Kirby and the colonel exchanged incredulous glances. Surely Don Lopez knew that what he was proposing was crazy: escort a young woman across Comanchero country, a hard land with a rough crowd of men.
Tremaine said cautiously, ‘I know I said I would do anything for you, Lopez, but what you are asking is incredible. Impossible.’
‘It must be done,’ Don Lopez said solemnly.
‘I cannot understand you. Why must this be done?’ Tremaine spread his hands. Kirby watched the girl from the corner of his eyes. She walked slowly, gracefully, before the large window, the late sunlight silhouetting her slender figure.
‘It is Escobar!’ Tomas burst out angrily. His father’s eyes slashed at him. ‘I knew it all along. I knew it would come to this!’
‘Silence!’
‘Silence?’ Tomas laughed. ‘That is what you instructed me before – and now it has come to this. You … afraid of Escobar!’
‘I command you to be silent,’ Don Trujillo-Lopez said. His fist suddenly banged down against the heavy table. To Tremaine, he said, ‘I beg your forgiveness for my behavior.’
‘It is nothing,’ the colonel replied, his eyes still narrowed in puzzlement.
‘My son is right,’ the don said, as if it pained him to admit it. He ran a hand over his silver hair and half-smiled bitterly. ‘Luis Escobar is the son of my closest friend here. They own the neighboring rancho. Now his father is very ill and Luis has grown arrogant and threatening. Unfortunately … in the hard times, I was forced to borrow some money from him.’
‘And in return all he wants is my sister!’ Tomas said wildly. This time his father did not attempt to silence him.
Angela had turned from the window to face them, but still she said nothing.
‘But why send her with me?’ Tremaine asked, still not understanding.
‘I am ashamed to admit it, but I cannot stand alone against the man,’ Lopez said. ‘Angela has an aunt in San Antonio. If she goes there, she will be safely away. She can complete her education. If she remains here longer …’
‘Luis Escobar is a madman,’ Tomas said, and now his father only sighed as he listened to his son. ‘I tried to tell you, Father!’
‘I know, I know, Tomas. I thought you were jealous of the man. I believed you were making trouble with my old friend over nothing. I didn’t—’
‘You never saw the way he looked at Angela? Like a hungry wolf.’
‘Please, Tomas.’ Lopez was silent for a long time before he met his son’s gaze. ‘I was wrong. This is not easy for me to admit. I was wrong about all of it.’
‘Still,’ Kirby put in without being invited, ‘there must be some better way of sending the girl north. With a rough crew like we’ve got – and Oso out there.’
‘That is precisely it, Mr. McBride. Oso is out there. Escobar would think nothing of overpowering a few of my vaqueros if that was what it took, assuming I could spare them just now. What is needed is a large body of men – perhaps even rough men are needed – to guard her on her way north.’
Tremaine was staring at his fingertips meditatively. Kirby knew what was going on in his mind. With all of the other problems the long drive promised, why this? And yet, how could he refuse his old friend?
The colonel asked, ‘Will this Escobar try to follow her?’
‘I fear so, yes.’
‘He will,’ Tomas said firmly. ‘He feels Angela is his due since he has loaned Father money. I know the man. He is a snake.’
‘I have asked him to wait,’ Don Lopez said, rubbing his forehead. ‘For payment. I knew you would not fail me, old friend. But now he has refused payment even. “It is too late”, is what he has said. “We must merge our holdings through marriage.” I am afraid, as my son says, he is a snake. There is nothing to be said to him. If his father were well … but he is not. He is gravely ill and when I spoke to him, I am afraid he did not understand me. Or even know who I was.’
Tremaine sighed, made a loose gesture with one hand, looked again at the girl before the window and at the worried face of his old friend. There was no way to refuse. There must be honor in friendship as well.
‘Have the girl’s trunks packed,’ Tremaine said.
Angela scurried away, holding her skirts off the floor. Her face was glowing, but Kirby could not tell if it was from pleasure or from the terrible excitement of the moment. While the two older men spoke of old times, Tomas and Kirby went out onto the porch of the hacienda. Doves winged homeward across the sundown sky and an owl hooted from the shelter of the oak grove.
‘This Escobar,’ Kirby asked, ‘is he really that dangerous?’
‘Yes,’ Tomas answered softly, ‘very dangerous, Kirby.’
‘That’s the whole reason behind you leaving home? You thought Escobar wanted your sister and your father wouldn’t listen to you?’
‘You do not understand, Kirby. In my country a man does not speak out against his father. When we disagreed it was the same as challenging his authority.’
‘I see.’
‘Perhaps you do. I think not entirely.’
‘No, I guess not. I’ll tell you, though, I don’t think much of this plan of your father’s. Taking your sister north with us.’ Kirby shook his head. ‘It won’t be easy for her.’
‘It would be worse for her to remain here, believe me.’
‘I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.’
‘My father is no longer young, Kirby. He has few vaqueros anymore. The rancho is dying, and so I am afraid … is he. There will be nothing left for Angela here soon. No money, no men to watch out for her … and, perhaps, I fear … not even her father.’
‘Sorry,’ was all Kirby could think of to say. He still liked none of this, but he could see what life would become for an unprotected, destitute girl on a dying ranch if anything did happen to Don Lopez, and Tomas seemed to believe that end was in sight.
They spoke for a little while longer and then Kirby rode over to the camp the Texans had set up in the oak grove. The narrow creek running through it caught the early starlight and gleamed silver as it wove its way through the trees. Someone was playing a harmonica. Mostly the camp was quiet. The men were trail-weary, not up to jokes and games.
Big Bull Schultz to whom Kirby had only spoken in passing sauntered across as he swung down from the gray horse, his bear-like shoulders rolling.
‘Everything set, Kirby?’
‘Far as I know. Money’s changed hands. Tomorrow we’ll start bunching the herd.’
‘Gonna be hell trying to work with those nasty old long-horns.’ Bull took off his hat and scratched his head.
‘It will,’ Kirby agreed. Then he grinned, ‘That’s what we’re being paid for, though, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, it is. That doesn’t mean I have to like it, though.’
There was a lot Kirby didn’t like about this drive either, but he had signed on for it, and that was that.
The Comancheros would be watching, probably smiling, as they watched the Texans doing their hard work for them. They would not strike until the colonel’s drive was well underway and the herd trail-broken. Nor, for that matter, would Asa Donahue – if taking the herd was his plan, and Kirby was almost certain that it was.
Add to that the girl, Angela, and her unwanted suitor, Escobar, and it didn’t make a good mix at all.
Not at all.
Kirby took his bedroll to a huge, bowed old sycamore a little distant from the others and spread it out under the tree to watch the night sky roll over for a time before he closed his eyes and slept deeply.
It was Dallas who awoke him just before dawn.
‘All right, Kirby, it’s time. Let’s collect us some cows.’
Yawning, Kirby McBride sat up and rubbed his head for a minute, letting the fog of sleep clear away. Then he made up his bedroll and walked to the creek to splash cold water on his face and head.
Kirby decided to give the gray horse the day off. It was a long-striding animal, easy on a rider, but he was too big and bulky to be a cowpony. Kirby had been alternating on the ride down, using a stubby little buckskin with a black mane and tail. Balky in the morning, nevertheless he was a clever little horse and Kirby decided to saddle the buckskin for this morning’s work.
After a sullen breakfast the men rode to meet the half-dozen vaqueros Lopez had sent to work with them and guide them around the rancho. Neither side seemed to like the other much, but that didn’t matter as long as the job got done.
‘There is a narrow canyon,’ Tomas told Kirby, ‘not exactly a box canyon, but very narrow at the south end. The vaqueros will throw a brush fence across that. We should be able to hold the cattle there for at least a day or two.’
‘Sounds good,’ Kirby agreed.
‘And the vaqueros have already rounded up maybe half of the steers. We can concentrate on the strays – and there are many.’
Kirby nodded. He wasn’t really looking forward to this. Trying to prod an angry longhorn from the brush was inviting a swipe of those menacing horns. Hopefully they could get the cattle massed without a man or horse being seriously injured.
He and Dallas met, and by mutual if unspoken agreement they began working the broken land of the southwestern quarter together. Arroyos carved into the dry plain, some heavy brush to the far south, made for many hiding places for the range-tough steers.
Before lunch they had managed to drag, prod and frighten two dozen steers toward the canyon where two vaqueros hied them in with the others.
Riding alone early that afternoon, Kirby ran into Luis Escobar for the first time.
Kirby was sitting on the brow of a dry grass, brush-clotted hill, his hat on the pommel of his saddle, eyes searching the tangle of hills for stray longhorns.
He knew immediately that it had to be Luis Escobar riding toward him, sitting that tall black horse with the white tail and a splash of white on its flank. The silver trappings of his bridle and saddle glinted in the sunlight. Two men rode beside him, both wearing huge, wind-folded sombreros. They rode directly toward Kirby.
‘What are you doing here?’ Escobar demanded, as they halted before him. Luis Escobar was a handsome man with a thin black mustache and cold eyes. He knew he was good-looking and had the insolence to match his looks.
‘I asked you …’
‘Round-up for Don Trujillo-Lopez,’ Kirby said quietly. He put his hat back on and shifted a little in his saddle, his right hand dropping nearer his gun as he lowered it.
‘You are on my property,’ Escobar said.
‘I don’t think so. Don Lopez told me his line runs all the way to the butte.’
‘You do not understand me,’ Escobar said carefully. His men were edging their horses nearer. ‘I said you are on my land. I am ordering you off.’
‘Friend, if I was on your land, which you know I’m not, I still wouldn’t be doing you any harm. I’m looking for Trujillo-Lopez cattle and I can read brands well enough to tell which ones they are.’
‘I will give you one minute,’ Escobar said, and Kirby didn’t think the man was bluffing either. There was a nasty edge to his voice. There was no telling what would have happened then, but a voice from behind Kirby broke in.
‘Any trouble here, Kirby?’ Dallas asked in a soft drawl, as he drifted his sorrel out of the head-high brush.
‘Not unless he wants there to be.’
Escobar, surprised at Dallas’s sudden appearance settled back in his saddle. He didn’t like the odds so much now, it seemed.
‘You have been warned,’ he said, jabbing a finger at Kirby. Then he spun his black horse around and with a last backward glance, he galloped off to the south, his two sidekicks following.
‘Nice fella,’ Dallas commented drily.
‘I think he’s a little crazy,’ Kirby said on reflection.
Or greedy? Did he want Angela so much or the rancho of his neighbor to add to his own holdings? Through marriage he would have claim to the property of Don Trujillo-Lopez if anything were to happen to the old don. Kirby shrugged it off. It was none of his business so long as the man stayed out of his way.
‘Let’s get to work, Dallas.’
For the rest of that day and all of the next they combed the hills, pushing the longhorns to their makeshift pen in the narrow canyon. On the evening of the second day, Tremaine and Kirby had a conference.
