The weather was turning cold. Blade sat huddled in a corner of the house trying to sleep. His growing beard itched. He was hungry. In that moment before first light, his patience was thin. He was sick to the back teeth of this whole business. He should stop playing the part of an avenging angel and go about his own business, looking for the man he had been hired to find.
He stood up and stretched his aching limbs; looking around him, he saw in the first light of morning the peaceful sleeping face of the Indian girl. That brought back to him the awful sight of the massacred Indians —her people. Then he turned his head and saw Pilar Pelaez. The girl was awake and her green eyes met his. She smiled a little.
He returned her smile and walked over to old Charlie Hedges. Annie was snoring beside him.
‘How you feelin’, Charlie?’ he asked.
‘I can’t lie about it, Joe,’ the old prospector said. ‘I didn’t sleep a minute last night, what with the pain. I feel like hell. Annie and the rest of you should take the gold on to Taos. It ain’t goin’ to do me much good now. I just hate to think of it bein’ spent by them devils.’
‘That gold’ll get to Taos with you,’ Blade promised.
He walked outside and saw the cold light of dawn hitting the surface of the water like frozen silver. The sky was grey. Winter was closer by another day. Snow was not far off. Blade felt low. He knew that he was on the brink of telling McMasters that he would go after the outlaws and settle their hash then and there. He didn’t know if he could do it, but he reckoned he should have a damn good try. He fetched his rifle from the house and started to walk toward the rocks where McMasters was doing guard.
As he came in sight of the rocks, he heard a sound from the north further along the edge of the river. It was a horse running. The animal was out of his sight, so he angled toward the river, hitting a hard run himself. Dimly, about one hundred yards away, he caught sight of the misty figure of a horse and rider coming toward him. In the same second, he heard the sharp crack of a carbine to the west.
The rider suddenly swerved to his right. Alarm blossomed in Blade. The man was heading straight for the horses.
McMasters’ rifle sounded from the rocks.
Blade changed direction for the horses.
He could hear McMasters yelling his alarm. He glimpsed the rider over the tops of the bush and watched the man disappear as he dismounted. Blade ran past the guard rocks and at once came under fire from the marksman to the west. Lead started to miss him narrowly. He reached the comparative cover of the brush and the rifleman at once turned his attention back to McMasters. Brush tore savagely at Blade’s clothes and flesh. His naked feet were lacerated by rocks and thorns. But he did not slacken his pace. He had to get the man among the animals or they were all afoot. He guessed the fellow was cutting hobbles. There came a loud cry followed by the sound of a blow. Hoofs sounded as an animal ran.
Blade burst into the open, gasping for breath.
There was a thousand feet of rough pasture stretching away to a mass of scattered boulders, brush and trees. The animals were scattered out over it, all slightly spooked by the shooting and noise, except for the burros that stood stoic and calm. Blade spotted his own horse, head up and alarmed. Blade whistled and it started gratefully toward him, shuffling against the hobbles.
The man was working frantically, slashing a hobble and striking at the freed animal. It kicked up its heels and ran.
Blade shouted.
Still down on one knee, the man whirled and the gun in his right hand produced smoke. The range was long for a belt gun and the bullet passed far to the left of Blade who pulled the butt of his purloined Winchester into his shoulder and fired one careful shot.
The man jumped to his feet and seemed to dance a fantastic jig of agony for a couple of seconds before he threw out his arms and pitched forward on to his face.
Blade advanced on him, holding the Winchester aimed until he stood over him and turned him over with his toe.
The man had taken the bullet through the center of his chest and was dead. Blade had never seen him before in his life.
He heard hoofs near him and, turning his head, saw that his horse was near. Hurrying to him, he slipped the hobbles from him and struck him lightly on the rump. The animal trotted quietly in the direction of the river.
A rifle cracked on the edge of the pasture. Blade turned quickly and saw gunsmoke drifting idly. A warning sounded in his head, telling him to go carefully with the ammunition. He was sharply aware that McMasters’ gun was silent. Had George been hit? How many attackers were there? His mind flitted to the women in the house. At least Annie was there with her cannon and Pilar had the revolver. He became abruptly conscious that he was standing unprotected in the open as a bullet hummed viciously past him and kicked up dirt behind him.
There was another shot and another. At first, he naturally thought the shooter was cutting down on him. But he knew his mistake when a horse behind him sank to its knees and rolled over on the ground.
The next shot found his own horse, taking it clean through the head. Blade knew that the horses that could not be stampeded were being killed. What else could he expect from men who could kill humans without thought?
His eyes searched the brush for movement and saw none.
He briefly turned his eyes to his own horse and watched it kick its life away. Bitterly he saw something he loved die.
It was anger that drove him to his feet, knowing that he would have to take risks if he did not want to lose the rest of the animals. He ran directly north where there was a light sorrel Indian pony fighting its hobbles in its effort to get away from the shooting.
The rifle sounded again. A fleck of blood appeared on the horse’s rump. It squealed and started pitching violently. Blade managed to get around to its head and grab the crude hackamore that adorned its head. The little horse fought him savagely, but he fore footed it with his own naked foot and brought it down. It was not the easiest task in the world to get the hobbles off the animal while it was kicking and while the man in the brush was shooting. Somehow he managed it and was astride the sacred animal as it reared to its feet and jumped.
Blade clung to its back like a burr, the fingers of his left hand entwined in the coarse hair of its mane.
It ran north until he forced it around by sheer physical strength. It galloped at full stretch across the open stretch of grass and hit the brush like an exploding shell. The tangle of brush slowed it and he managed to turn it east toward the river and, presumably, toward the marksman. Above the crashing of the brush, Blade could hear the repeating rifle still firing. Glancing left, he saw another horse go down.
He had almost reached the open stretch of ground by the river when he saw the dark figure of a man darting through the brush. He tried to turn the Indian horse toward him, but the animal jibbed and refused. He kicked it and yelled to it, then tried to reach McMasters with a shout to warn him that the fellow was going back west past his position.
Finally, he got the horse around. He heard a loud crashing in the brush. Annie emerged with her massive rifle in her hands. Blade pointed, yelling for her to make a try for the fleeing man. The old woman at once clambered on a boulder and shouted that she had the sonuvabitch in her sights. Blade got his horse on the move and the big gun went off with a roar.
It was as if the little horse were trying to make up for its bad behavior. It ran with a will, getting its legs under it and pushing through the undergrowth like a Texas brushpopper, putting its rider’s life at risk almost every jump it took. He passed the guard rocks and caught sight of the man rearing into the saddle. A moment later, the fellow was spurring away south. Blade turned after him and at once found the man was on the better horse. He started lengthening his lead markedly.
Blade at once called off the chase. He did not know how many men he was up against and he could not leave his own party unprotected. He reluctantly turned back.
He came on the three women searching through the rocks for McMasters. At first he was nowhere to be seen. Finally, however, the Indian girl traced him by a trail of blood from the rocks to the edge of the pasture.
McMasters lay on his back and his face looked, on first inspection, as if it had been shattered. Together they lifted him onto the back of the Indian pony. The animal did not like the smell of blood and acted up badly, but it apparently knew the girl and quietened down when she spoke to it and handled it.
In the house, when they laid McMasters on a tarpaulin and blanket, he opened his eyes and told them he felt like his head had been bust wide open.
Old Charlie raised himself up on his elbows and said: ‘Give the bastards the goddam gold. Men’s lives ain’t worth it.’
Wiping the blood from his face with the back of a hand, McMasters said indistinctly: ‘Like hell we give ’em the gold. Take a look at this head, Joe, and tell me the damage.’
They brought water from the river in the coffee pot and boiled it over a fire the Indian girl built. Then they washed his face and head and found to their relief that the damage was not so bad as the bleeding had led them to believe. But there was damage enough. To Blade it looked as if a bullet had shattered rock into McMasters’ face and also ricocheted against his skull.
They cleaned out the wound with what little whiskey they had left. The treatment caused the half-breed great pain, but he took it, as Blade told him with a smile, like a good Cheyenne. The man did not even draw his breath in sharply. Annie and the Indian girl went to keep watch, Annie with her spectacles firmly on her large nose, breathing fire and gripping her gun to her fiercely. Pilar Pelaez caught up and drove the remaining animals near to the house. There were three horses, Annie’s mule and the burros left to them.
Alone with Blade, McMasters said: ‘Give me a couple of days, Joe, and I’ll be as right as rain. Don’t you have any doubt about it. And, Joe, you don’t aim to pull out, do you?’
Blade said: ‘What makes you think I might pull out, George?’
‘No offense, but there ain’t no profit in a passle of women and a bunch of killers.’
Blade was silent for a moment and McMasters thought he would get an angry rejoinder. Blade just said softly: ‘I don’t aim to pull out, George. Bank on it.’
McMasters said: ‘I’ll do that, Joe.’
Blade walked out of the house and came on the Mexican girl tying a horse to a picket pin. She asked: ‘What do you plan to do now?’
‘Get myself a pair of boots,’ he said. ‘I’m plumb sick of walking around barefoot.’
She watched him cross the pasture to the dead man. He bent down and heaved off the fellow’s boots. She could not see Blade’s face, but he was smiling, pleased that the footwear was about his size and had flat heels. There was nothing he hated more than cowman’s boots. He liked to walk as well as ride. He pulled one boot on and tried it. The fit was miraculous. When he walked back to her, the dead man’s boots on and his pockets full of the dead man’s ammunition, Blade looked a different man.
‘Pilar,’ he said, ‘as soon as it’s dark, we’re pulling out. But we won’t go straight for Taos. We’ll head north first. Don’t fret about paying these animals for what they did to you. They’ll come to us in good time. We’ll travel during the night, rest and watch through the day. That’s the way we’ll get them in the end.’
‘And this man you are hunting, will he go free?’ she asked.
‘No,’ he told her. ‘He’ll come with them.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘I’ve seen him.’
She laid a hand on his arm and looked up into his face— ‘I think I can trust you.’
He looked at her straight and said: ‘You by-God best do so.’
He walked on into the house and she followed him. He sat on his heels in a corner. McMasters grinned and said: ‘I see you gotten yourself a pair of boots.’
‘Boys,’ Blade said, ‘I’m going to ask you to travel tonight. Charlie in a travois, George horseback. What do you say?’
‘All right,’ McMasters said at once.
Charlie Hedges groaned—‘Aw, Jesus, a goddam travois. The broken bones’ll grate together like tooth-saws, Joe.’
Blade said: ‘The Indian girl’ll make you real comfortable, Charlie.’
‘Annie’ll never let you do it to me,’ Charlie declared. ‘You’ll see.’
‘We’re trying to save you and your gold, Charlie.’ McMasters snarled: ‘Don’t argue with the old fool. He goes and that’s the end of it.’
Charlie looked like he was going to weep. ‘A man don’t have no rights when he’s old.’
McMasters said: ‘But he has gold enough.’
‘I won’t be takin’ no gold with me where I’m going when I hand in my chips in that goddam travois,’ said Charlie.
When Annie came back into the house and heard, she bellowed that nobody was treating her Charlie that way. Blade rose and walked out of the house, leaving her to bellow. He took up his position in the high rocks and looked across to the mountains, wondering if he would ever get this collection of folks into them safely. His hopes lay with McMasters who knew these hills like a man knew his backyard. He inspected himself and his state of mind and found he did not feel too bad at all. It was having the boots, he reckoned. A man without boots sure felt low. The day drifted on. The whole country seemed quiet and empty. At dusk, the Indian girl took his place and he returned to the house to get organized. He had left preparations till now so that any watchers would not suspect their simple plan.