Savage. Part 32

Beyond that, it was all blank.

Had I pa.s.sed out? Or had I gone on with my tale? For a while, my worries hurt more than my head, for I feared what I might've told about me and Sarah.

It didn't feel good at all, lying there, so I sat up. My boots were by my head, along with my belt and holster and both guns. I sure couldn't recall taking them off.

Over on the other side of them the gra.s.s was matted down with once-used stew. Had I done that?

I checked my clothes. If I'd lost my supper, at least I'd gotten none on me.

Oh, I felt a proper fool.

My mouth was so dry I could hardly swallow, so I got into the boots and went over to the stream. I drank till I couldn't hold any more, then washed up and sat on a rock and hung on to my head.

I had half a notion to wander off, for I sure didn't look forward to facing the boys.

I stayed there even after I heard their voices.

Finally, I worked up my nerve and went back to the camp.

McSween had the fire going. He looked at me and smiled. "Glad to see you ain't dead, w.i.l.l.y."

"I rather wish I were."

"Know how it is."

I appreciated McSween's kindness. Chase came along, and didn't make sport of me, either. Emmet and Snooker and Breakenridge, however, had themselves a fine time at my expense. I felt too sick to care much. From their comments, I gathered that my story hadn't progressed much beyond telling how I'd beached the yacht and gone along the sh.o.r.e looking for Whittle. I'd got a bit rowdy, at that point, and jumped to my feet and yelled, "Show your face, you b.l.o.o.d.y cur! I'll put a slug where your nose use to be!" Then I'd pulled my Colt, dropped it, bent over to pick it up, and would've fallen into the fire except that Chase leaped and caught me.

In spite of my ill health and humiliation, I was mighty glad I'd pa.s.sed out and never had a chance to blather about me and Sarah.

Well, I survived all the jos.h.i.+ng the boys handed out. With some breakfast in me, I felt a spot less sick. But then it came time to mount up. I took my usual place behind McSween. We left the camp behind, and I commenced to experience the most frightful agony as the horse rocked and swayed under me.

By and by, I thought I might lose my breakfast. So McSween let me climb down and walk. Right away, I felt better. The way the horses ambled along, I had no trouble at all keeping up with them. My boots pinched, but not too bad. Every so often, I'd give my feet a rest and ride for a spell. Mostly with McSween, but also with Emmet and Snooker. I couldn't stay on any of their horses for long, though, without feeling woozy. Then I'd jump down and walk some more.

The day seemed to drag on forever.

Finally we stopped and made camp. By then, I wasn't feeling horrible any more, just sore and headachy. Emmet and Snooker tried to talk me into some shooting, but about the last thing I wanted was to hear gunfire. "I'd rather not, really."

"There'll be plenty of time for practice," McSween said, "when w.i.l.l.y ain't feeling so poorly."

So they let me off the hook.

After supper, we sat around the fire and the boys pa.s.sed around a bottle of whiskey. When it came to me, I took one whiff and winced. The others drank, though.

They asked me to go on with my story. Actually, I would've preferred to hear about their adventures, but they insisted, so I went ahead.

I told about finding Whittle's skiff, hiking through the snow and sneaking into General Forrest's house. McSween, he'd been a trooper in the General's command, and asked a pa.s.sel of questions about him. I talked considerable about the General and Mable, but didn't say much about Sarah. Only that we got to be friends, and how, after the deaths of her grandparents, I'd stayed on as her servant until I read about Whittle in the newspaper and we headed west.

Not a word about our baths or dancing or any such thing.

Even though I mostly kept mum about Sarah, I took to missing her something awful. I tried not to let it show.

When it came time to tell about Briggs, I had to bend the truth considerable. Otherwise, they would've seen it was jealousy that got me into trouble. I let on that Briggs had been rude and ornery to Sarah, and pestered her till I had no choice but to deal with him. Finally, it came to getting myself tossed off the train.

"The next day, I climbed on back up the hill and followed the tracks. I thought Sarah might disembark, don't you know, once she discovered that I'd gone missing. Perhaps she would be waiting for me at the next station down the line. But then I met up with you chaps. I haven't a clue what to do next, actually, other than ride along with you."

"We're pleased to have you, w.i.l.l.y," Chase said.

"You've all been mighty good to me."

"Seems to me," McSween said, "like you've got business elsewhere."

"I do hope to find Sarah."

"You don't wanta be showing your face around no railroad depots," Chase said. "Not for a spell, leastwise."

"No, I should think not."

"Not unless you're looking for a chance to use your Colts on something more lively than a stump," Emmet said.

"You ain't likely to find her, anyhow, walking the rails," McSween told me. "By now, your Sarah's either turned around and headed for home, or gone on down the line figuring you might catch up to her at Tombstone."

"Least if she hasn't been interfered with by that Briggs feller," Chase added, which didn't make me feel any better.

"I reckon Tombstone is where I need to go. Even if Sarah's not there, it seems the best place to start my search for Whittle."

"Well," McSween said, "you can't go nowhere till we get you a horse. Best thing's to stick with us till we get to Bailey's Corner. You can buy a good mount there and rig yourself up for the hunt."

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO.

Dire Threats The next day, I got my horse.

I'd been taking turns riding double with some of the boys, and was mounted behind Emmet when he pointed and said, "Over yonder."

I leaned sideways and looked past him. Off to the right, at some distance, a pair of hors.e.m.e.n were headed in our general direction. These were the first strangers we'd come across since lighting out from the train.

Emmet reined in, and the rest of the boys caught up with us.

"Not enough of 'em to be a posse," Breakenridge said.

"If we had a posse after us," Chase said, "it wouldn't likely be coming from the east."

This talk of posses unsettled me some. n.o.body'd mentioned, until now, that we had any reason to worry about such things.

"Don't matter who they are," McSween said. "Thing is, there's only just the two of 'em."

McSween took the lead, and we headed for the strangers. When we got within hailing distance, he waved his arm and called out, "Howdy, boys!"

One nodded. The other touched a finger to the brim of his hat. They were riding side by side, going slow as if they weren't in any rush to get somewhere. From the looks on their faces, they were neither glad to meet us nor unhappy about it. They didn't rightly have expressions, at all. They just watched us approach.

The older of the two was a slim fellow with grim eyes and a mustache that was just as black as his outfit. His hat was black, same as his string tie and frock coat, trousers, gunbelt and boots. I didn't care at all for the looks of him.

The bloke he rode with wasn't just younger, but heavier. He looked as if the heat didn't agree with him. His face was red and sweaty, his s.h.i.+rt collar open, his tie hanging loose. He had a black coat like his friend, but it was tied down behind his saddle.

I wondered if they might be a pair of preachers or undertakers, dressed in black that way.

If it'd been up to me, I would've pa.s.sed them by.

But McSween rode straight toward them. "Hate to be a bother," he said, "but you boys look like you've got a horse to spare." The last word wasn't out of his mouth before a Colt was in his hand, c.o.c.ked and pointed at the skinny fellow.

Emmet, Chase and Breakenridge all pulled at once. On both sides of me, hammers went snick-clack. snick-clack. Snooker took a while to come out with his Winchester. He worked its lever and shouldered it. Snooker took a while to come out with his Winchester. He worked its lever and shouldered it.

Both the strangers hoisted their arms.

"Climb on down," McSween said.

They dismounted and stood beside their horses. Each had one hand in the air, the other holding reins.

"w.i.l.l.y, get on over here."

I slid off the back of Emmet's horse and walked toward the two fellows. The way they glowered at me, I rather shriveled up inside. But then their eyes turned to McSween as he swung to the ground. He stepped in front of them, one at a time, and took their pistols. They never said a word to him. The fat one, his chin was trembling. The mean one looked like he wanted to bite McSween.

After collecting their sidearms, McSween fetched their rifles out of the saddle scabbards. He handed one of the Winchesters to me, then toted the other weapons over to a thicket of p.r.i.c.kly bush and tossed them in among the nettles.

Coming back, he said, "Let's have your boots off, friends."

They sat on the ground and tugged their boots off.

"Try 'em on, there, w.i.l.l.y."

"I'd rather not, actually."

"Go on, now. You need a pair what fits, don't you?"

Well, this didn't seem a good time to argue the matter, so I gathered the boots. I sat down with my back to the fellows so I wouldn't have to look at them, then pulled off the boots I'd taken from the conductor. I tried on the new ones. The first set felt too tight, the second too loose. The loose boots belonged to the fat chap. They felt a sight better than what I'd been wearing, but I had no wish to keep them on. They were hot and juicy inside so I felt like my feet were sliding about in swamp slime.

So I yanked them off and shook my head. "They're altogether too large," I said, and got into my old familiar boots.

"Well, that's a shame," McSween said.

I carried the boots back to their owners and dropped them.

"Too bad, friends," McSween told them. "You lost out on a sale."

"A sale?" the fat guy asked.

"Why, we ain't here to rob you. Nosirree. w.i.l.l.y here, he'll pay you fair and square for what he needs." After saying that, McSween checked the horses over pretty good. He looked inside their mouths, ran his hands down their legs, studied their hoofs, and such. Then he came around front and said to the thin fellow, "He'll give you eighty dollars for your mount, friend. Throw in an extra ten for the tack, and ten for the Winchester. w.i.l.l.y, you owe the man a hundred dollars."

I wasn't eager to do it, but figured I hadn't much choice. So I counted out my money. I stepped closer to the man, who was still on the ground with his legs stretched out. He just glared up at me. I tossed the money at his feet.

"You take my horse, boy, and I'll kill you sure."

A chill started to rush through my bones, but then I flinched as a couple of gunshots bashed the silence. The slugs missed him. They kicked dust onto the legs of his black trousers.

"You best watch your tongue, mister," Emmet said. I looked up at him in time to see smoke drifting away from the muzzles of his Colts.

McSween drew his own pistol. Crouching, he aimed it at the fellow's face and thumbed back the hammer. "You wanta take back them words?"

"Take 'em back, Prue," the fatty blurted. "They'll shoot us both sure."

"It's my my horse." horse."

"No call to threaten a boy's life," McSween told him. "He's my buddy. You look like the sort to follow through on a thing like that, so I reckon you either repent your words or die right here."

"Prue! Good G.o.d, man!"

Prue, he looked fit to bust. Not scared at all, but just in a rage, all red in the face, his breath hissing through his gritted teeth.

"What's it gonna be?"

Prue took to nodding.

"What's that?"

"I take it back."

"How's that?"

"I won't kill him."

"I don't reckon I believe you. Goes against my grain, though, to shoot a man down in cold blood. So I'll tell you this. Listen good. We ain't taking nothing we ain't paid for. We're leaving you a horse and your weapons. No law says we gotta, but it wouldn't be right to do otherwise. You keep that in mind. We treated you fair and square. Now, if you or your pal take it into your heads to come after us, know this. Next time I catch sight of either one of you, I'll figure you come to make good on your threat to the lad. Lead'll fly. It's that simple."

After having his say, McSween unsquatted and holstered his gun. He led the horse forward between the two men. While I held the reins, he unloaded the bedroll, saddlebags and such so we wouldn't be taking anything we hadn't paid for.

Then I mounted up and slid my new Winchester into its scabbard.

I was awful shaken by the whole affair, but it did feel good to be sitting up high in the saddle of my own horse.

We rode off at a trot. I wanted to dig my heels in and light out fast, but the others just weren't in that much of a rush. Except for me, Snooker was the only one who even looked back to keep an eye on those fellows.

They were watching us. Not even heading for the bush to retrieve their guns.

Well, I reckon they were too smart for such a play.