8

Inside the house, Ramon drew in his breath sharply and darted a glance around in search of a weapon. The muzzle-loading rifle was the only firearm they possessed, and Juliano had left it outside against the wall after greeting Elliot earlier in the evening.

The lad crept back softly toward the fireplace and picked up a heavy stick of wood, then slipped noiselessly through the door into the starlit night to his father’s side.

The two men were standing ten feet from the doorway, and Joe Elliot’s back was turned toward Ramon.

Starlight gleamed on the muzzle of the six-gun in Elliot’s hand, and was reflected in silvery glints from Juliano’s white flowing hair. The old man stood stiffly erect, facing the threatening revolver without fear. In a calm, steely voice, he answered:

“You will perhaps do that, Señor, but I doubt not you will regret your hasty action later. In my possession and mine alone is the map of the Padres’ treasure and the secret of reaching it. Do not forget that I am an old man and have spent my life seeking the exact spot, and if I die, the secret dies with me.”

Creeping up behind the man who held a .45 pointed at his father’s heart, Ramon paused with glittering black eyes, waiting to see if his father’s words produced the desired effect on the gringo.

The muzzle of the gun in Elliot’s hand wavered as the old man’s logic struck home. He hesitated, then holstered the weapon with a short laugh.

“Hell, they ain’t no use fer us tuh fight one another. I got sech a temper it plumb gits away from me sometimes. We’re pardners in this yere gold-huntin’.”

He turned and saw Ramon crouched a few feet behind him with a heavy stick of firewood poised to deliver a blow if necessary. Elliot’s laughter was shakier and more forced this time as he began to realize that the old Mexican and the lad were not to be dismissed as casually as he had first believed.

“Ha-ha. So, you thought I meant what I said to yore daddy, did yuh, kid? Say, thet’s a good joke on you. Why, I was jest funnin’ all the time.”

“It is well, Ramon,” said Juliano softly. “I think Señor Fisher will not make the same mistake again.”

Ramon said, “Yes, Papa,” and moved back to sit unobtrusively in the shadows near the hut.

Despite his father’s words, he distrusted the gringo entirely. He listened quietly while Elliot went on with assumed heartiness:

“Shore, I wouldn’t want you an’ thuh kid tuh go off an’ leave me here tuh git the gold less’n you trusted me. But I jest thought—seein’ you and my dad was sech good friends—I jest thought mebbe we could trick Colter that-a-way.”

“It is to secure a fair share of the gold for Ramon that I shall take the risk of removing it from its hiding place,” Juliano said with dignity, “and a fair reward for my life’s work.”

“Shore, shore, le’s not have no hard feelin’s, pardner,” Elliot put in quickly. “Mornin’s time enuff fer me tuh see the stuff. I reckon you keep the map hid good, huh?”

“The map is safe,” Juliano assured him. “There is no power on earth could force me to disclose its hiding place.” He looked squarely into the greedy eyes of his visitor. “Tomorrow we will follow the trail to the gold.”

Joe Elliot cringed under the steady gaze, though he could see the old man’s eyes only faintly by the light of the stars and a pale yellow glow from the door of the hut. He decided to change his tactics and endeavor to make up for the false move he had made. He sauntered over to where Ramon sat leaning over with slim arms hugging his knees.

Slouching down beside the lad, he slapped him good-naturedly on the shoulder, and was reminded of the sore condition of Ramon’s back by the yelp of pain that came from his lips.

“Say, I’m shore sorry. I done forgot all about yore back, kid,” Elliot apologized hastily. “Seems like I’m gittin’ off on the wrong foot all the way round tonight.”

“Si, Señor. It would seem so,” Ramon replied, choking back a sob in his voice.

“Waal, now, I shore don’t mean no harm. Jest tryin’ to be friendly,” Elliot cajoled. He patted Ramon’s shoulder gently and the lad sprang away from him.

“Techy, ain’t yuh?” Elliot commented coarsely. “You ac’ like you was afraid I was pizen er somethin’.”

“It is not that, Señor. I … am not accustomed to men who act … as you do.”

Elliot shook his head, puzzled, and rubbed the stubble of beard on his chin. Both the old man and the boy had an austere manner of effectually putting him in his place, and Joe Elliot did not understand that trait in a Mexican. He knew only the Border ruffians who either cringed or swaggered, and had come to the hut with every expectation of domineering and bullying an old man and a lad. Instead of this, it was he who had to make the apologies.

“Awright,” he muttered, “I was jest tryin’ tuh make friends with yuh.” He yawned loudly and turned to address Juliano who stood a little distance away silently smoking a cigarillo.

“’Bout time tuh hit the hay, I reckon. Have we got a long trip ahead of us tomorry?”

“Not too far … not too near,” Juliano answered with frigid politeness. In his heart he was terribly disappointed in the ally who had come from New Mexico in response to his letter, but he could not be less than polite to an invited guest. He moved toward the hut saying:

“You will have our bed inside, Señor. Ramon and I will bring blankets out and sleep in the open.”

“I don’t wanta run you outta yore bed,” Elliot protested in an effort to regain some of the ground he had lost during their altercation. “Gimme a blanket and I’ll sleep outdoors while you an’ the kid keep yore bed.”

“But … no. If there is but one bed, the guest of Juliano Navarro must have it, Señor.”

Elliot showed his first human characteristic since arriving when he awkwardly suggested to Ramon: “Waal, since yore paw’s so determined tuh sleep outdoors, s’pose you share the bed with me. We could sorta git acquainted an’ mebbe you wouldn’t jump every time I looked at you.”

Ramon took a quick step backward, his big black eyes bright with fear, lips parted in horrified protest. “Me … sleep with you, Señor? But no! I could not do that.”

“What the hell’s the matter with me?” he growled. “I ain’t pizen, an’ I hadda bath las’ week. Damn ef yuh don’t ac’ like yuh thought I was lousy.”

“It is not that, Señor Fisher,” Juliano interposed, pausing in the folding of blankets to be carried outside. “You will be more comfortable alone on the bed that is not too large. Get the saddle blankets,” he added, looking at Ramon who was hanging back as though afraid to move.

When the lad disappeared through the door, the old Mexican explained apologetically to his guest:

“You must not think hard of my Ramon, Señor. We have lived alone here for many years and he is like a wild young animal who distrusts all those he does not know well. Do not think he dislikes you. He is this way, shy with all strangers. Later, you will see that he will understand you are our friend who has ridden far to aid us.”

“Waal, mebbe yo’re right,” the man muttered, unconvinced. “But he shore gives me the jumps the way he gits outta my way like mebbe I smell bad.”

The old man went through the door with his load of folded blankets, saying, “Buenas noches, Señor.”

Taking off his gunbelt, Elliot rolled it up under the pillow. He stood for a moment looking down at the hard pallet in the corner which was the bed his host so generously offered. There was a hostile leer in his eyes when he blew out the lamp, then he sat down to pull off his boots.

He couldn’t quite figure out the old Mexican and his son. They were stand-offish and hard to get along with. He’d have to watch his step, he told himself sleepily as he lay down. No more breaks like the one he had made tonight until after they showed him the gold. After that … well, a couple of bullets put in the right place would get rid of the Navarros all right, and he, Joe Elliot, was just the man to put those two bullets where they belonged.

Under one of the huge spreading cottonwoods outside, Ramon came back from the rude one-burro corral with two heavy saddle blankets and met his father with his load. In silence, they spread the saddle blankets next to the ground and laid the others on top, then made their simple preparations for sleep under the soft light of stars filtered through the leafy branches overhead.

“You must be brave, my Ramon,” Juliano said when they were lying side by side. “My heart is heavy that this one is the son of my old amigo … the one upon whom we must depend, but it is as God wills it shall be.”

“I hate him,” Ramon breathed softly and fiercely close to his father’s ear. “If it could but have been the brave gringo … the one who wears two guns and is quick with the shooting.”

“But this one,” said his father unhappily, “is the son of my friend. It is he whom we must look to for help in getting the gold past Lem Colter.”

The sound of a rasping snore came clearly through the night’s silence from the house, and Ramon shuddered. He whispered:

“When he looks at me I am afraid. When his dirty hand touches me I shrink as I would from the spring of a rattler. Can you explain this, Papa? Never before have I felt this toward any one.”

“I cannot explain it,” his father told him heavily.

“And you will show him the gold … tell him the secret of the map? The secret that I kept locked in my heart while the quirt of Lem Colter tore my flesh and sent hot blood streaming down my back?”

“What would you? He has the letter I wrote asking him to come.”

“I wish that I had broken his head with my stick of firewood while he dared to point his gun at you,” the lad cried vehemently.

“This is not like you, Ramon. I have taught you to be gentle and kind to strangers. Steve Fisher has come a great distance to help us. We should be grateful and not question the wisdom of Providence.”

“I cannot be grateful … I shall never be grateful for his coming,” the overwrought lad cried passionately. “If it is as God wills, then I do not think God wills well.”

“Hush!” Juliano spoke sternly. “That is blasphemy, Ramon. You should be on your knees asking forgiveness for those thoughts.”

Ramon ground his teeth together and turned aside without replying. The rasping snores came louder from the hut, and he fell asleep with that unpleasant reminder of Elliot’s presence in his ears.