Savage. Part 33

If they'd fired just a single shot, I've no doubt at all but what McSween would've wheeled around and led the gang in a charge.

The pair was still in sight when we slowed our horses to a walk. Me and Snooker were at the rear. I rode over closer to him and said, "Do you reckon they'll be coming after us?"

"Never can tell. I'd rest a sight easier if McSween'd shot 'em. Now we're gonna have to watch our backsides."

"They don't seem at all worried, do they?" I asked, nodding toward the others.

"Them rascals is nothing we can't handle. Just gotta watch they don't take and bushwack us. If they do that, though, they'll wind up dead. We ain't a bunch of gals, you know."

"I rather suppose you've dealt with worse rascals," I said.

He gave me a weasely grin full of sharp, yellow teeth. "None that's still above ground."

"Who's the best of the lot?"

Patting the stock of his rife, he said, "Why, I reckon I could knock the left eye out of a gnat at a hundred yards in a sandstorm. Chase and Emmet, they're mighty sharp with their six-guns, though they can't hold a candle to McSween. You take Breakenridge, now, he's having a lucky day when he can hit the air. air. But I once seen him get shot twice by a card-sharp, then lay one punch that turned the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's head clean around backward. They never bothered to untwist him, either. Saw him in his casket." But I once seen him get shot twice by a card-sharp, then lay one punch that turned the b.a.s.t.a.r.d's head clean around backward. They never bothered to untwist him, either. Saw him in his casket."

"Which side up?" I asked.

Snooker laughed. "Face and a.s.s!"

"You're having me on."

"It's the plain truth, just ask Breakenridge."

I thought I might pa.s.s on that, as Breakenridge wasn't one for talking much and generally seemed rather solemn. "Is that how he came to be on the wrong side of the law?"

"Oh, he got himself acquitted on that one. A fair fight, you know. The way I hear it, he was just a kid in Missouri when he laid an ax into his schoolmaster on account of the fellow called him a name. Went home to fetch it, first. Then came along with it and chopped him up right there in front of everyone."

"I say," said I. "What did the schoolmaster call him, do you know?"

"Called him Meriwether."

"But that's his name, isn't it?"

"He don't care to be reminded of the fact."

"I heard McSween call him that."

"Well, I reckon McSween can call him anything he likes."

"They're great chums, is it?"

"Not hardly. They only just tolerate each other. But Breakenridge, he knows you don't fool with McSween."

"That dangerous, is he?"

"Only if you rile him."

"He seems quite friendly, really."

"Oh, he's as sweet as pie, mostly."

"Is he the leader of the gang? I'd rather a.s.sumed it was Chase, but..."

"Chase pretty much runs things. But he don't run McSween. It'd been up to Chase, I reckon we would've let them fellers alone, back there, and you'd still be riding double. Looks to me like McSween took a notion you oughta have a horse of your own, that's all. He thinks highly of you, w.i.l.l.y."

Well, it didn't come as a surprise to hear that, but it made me feel mighty good.

"With a friend the likes of him, you ain't got much to worry about. He'll look after you and see no harm comes your way."

Later on in the day, McSween broke off from the rest of us and rode to the top of a hill. Up there, he raised a pair of field gla.s.ses to his face. He studied the direction we'd come from.

I met up with him at the bottom. "Are they after us?" I asked.

"Didn't see no sign of 'em. I spect they knew better, though I wouldn't trust that one feller no more than a rattlesnake."

"What if they should come?"

"Be some gunplay."

"Perhaps we shouldn't have taken the man's horse."

"He acting up on you?"

"Not at all. He's quite fine, really." I patted the horse's neck, and he glanced back at me and nodded like he appreciated the kindness. "I just don't want any troubles to come of it."

"Don't worry yourself about that, w.i.l.l.y."

The rest of the boys had started moving again. We rode along behind. McSween didn't seem in any hurry to catch up with them.

"Got a name for him?" he asked.

"I should imagine he already has a name."

"Has he whispered it to you?"

I laughed.

McSween rolled a smoke. He lit it up, then handed his makings across to me. I'd had some practice since my first go at it, back when we'd divvied up the loot. So I made myself a smoke that wasn't too crooked or leaky. I lit up, and pa.s.sed the makings back to him.

"You oughta give him a name," he said.

"He doesn't feel as if he's actually my my horse." horse."

"Why, sure he is. You paid for him fair and square. All you're missing's a bill of sale. Fraid I didn't think of that. If it'd make you feel better, I'll do you one up myself when we make camp. We'll let on like I sold him to you. Not that anyone's likely to raise a fuss about it."

"Other than the owner, do you mean?"

"You heard what I told him, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, I don't say such things but what I mean 'em."

"So you'll actually shoot him if you ever see him again?"

"That's the long and short of it, w.i.l.l.y."

"What if he sees you first?"

"You sure do worry your head over things."

"I shouldn't like to see you get shot."

"Many a man has tried." He flicked his smoke away and pulled off his hat. While he held that in one hand, he stroked his mustache with the other. Then he gave his long hair a few flings with his fingers. "You see all this-here silver?"

Both his mustache and his hair were mostly black, but streaked with plenty of s.h.i.+ny strands.

"Know what it is, w.i.l.l.y?"

"Gray hair, is it?"

"Silver. Precious silver. It's the pay you get for staying alive. The longer you go without getting perforated by various rapscallions and Indians-or scalped-the more you collect. All you gotta do is take a gander at a man's head, and you can get yourself a fair estimate of his worth. You see much silver up there, you know he ain't easy to kill." He flapped his hat back down onto his head. "What I'm getting at, you shouldn't be spoiling your good times fretting about me. What're you gonna call your horse?"

I gave it some thought. "Perhaps I ought to name him Meriwether."

When I said that, McSween laughed harder than I'd ever seen him do before. He didn't take on like Emmet over my reloading, gasping and weeping, but he sure did laugh up a storm. After he'd settled down some, he said, "That's purely rich, w.i.l.l.y. Don't you do it, though. That old boy's a mite touchy about his name."

"How does General sound?"

"After Matthew Forrest? I reckon he'd be right proud."

"General it is, then. Howdy, General," I said. The horse bobbed his head up and down as if he liked the new name.

Once I'd named him, he did seem to be more mine. I suddenly felt fonder of him just because of it. I knew I'd actually stolen him, no matter what sort of light McSween wanted to put on the doings. But I told myself that General was better off with me. Just by looking at the previous owner, you could see he had a mean streak. I had no doubt but what he'd mistreated General whenever he got the chance. So I pretty much stopped feeling bad about stealing him, though I never got past worrying that the fellow might come after us.

By and by, it came to me that I was all set up, now, to travel on my own. I had myself a horse, a rifle, two pistols, a bit of money. No reason, really, not to bid the gang farewell and head for Tombstone to seek out Sarah and Whittle.

I just wasn't eager, though, to take that step. Partly, I reckon, it was for fear I might run afoul of the pair we'd robbed. I didn't hanker to be alone if that should happen. Thing is, I didn't hanker to be alone at all.

So I figured to ride along with the boys, at least till after we got to Bailey's Corner.

For the next few days, we kept an eye on the territory to our rear. n.o.body appeared to be following, though.

Each evening, after finding a place to camp, Emmet and I wandered off for shooting practice. He gave me some rawhide to tie down my holster, and that helped considerable. I got quicker on the draw, and my aim improved.

A couple of times, I asked McSween to come along with us. He never did, though, until the final evening before we rode into Bailey's Corner.

"You've come along real good," he said after watching me pull and fire. "That feller Whittle, he's gonna rue the day he crossed your trail."

"If I'm ever able to find him, perhaps."

"I've got half a mind to join you for the hunt," he said.

"Do you?"

Emmet gave McSween a look as if he figured the chap had gone daft.

"Yup. Half a mind."

"That would be smas.h.i.+ng!"

"Fact is, I used to be a fair hand at tracking redskins. Might be I could help you run down this Whittle and put him to rest."

"Why on earth you wanta do such a thing?" Emmet said.

"Not much sport in robbing trains."

"It's what we do. do."

"Seems like maybe I've done enough of it for a spell. It'd feel good to take a rest from it and get in on a good chase."

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE.

Trouble at Bailey's Corner Nothing more was said about McSween's notion to help me track down Whittle. I got to worrying, later on that night, about whether he'd meant it or not. After the others had turned in and McSween was standing first watch, I crawled out of my blanket and went looking for him.

We'd been posting lookouts ever since we took Prue's horse, as a precaution against ambush. There'd never been any sign of Prue or his friend, but McSween had said we shouldn't count them out. "It's when you quit watching for trouble," he said, "that it most always sneaks up on you."

It took me a few minutes to spot him. He stood in a shadow between two high, moonlit boulders off beyond the campsite. He had his back to me.

I was trying to walk quiet, mostly as it was night and I didn't care to disturb the stillness. So sudden it shocked me, McSween whirled around and grabbed iron.

"Don't shoot!" I whispered. "It's me!"

"I know know it's you. If I was fixing to shoot, it'd be done with by now." He holstered his Colt. "You got a lot to learn, w.i.l.l.y, or you ain't likely to grow no silver." it's you. If I was fixing to shoot, it'd be done with by now." He holstered his Colt. "You got a lot to learn, w.i.l.l.y, or you ain't likely to grow no silver."

As I walked closer to him, he said, "Many a feller's died before his time for no better reason than he walked up behind the wrong man. I knowed a marshal in Tucson shot his best friend dead in just such a manner. Heard him sneaking up, turned and let fly. Put three slugs in his buddy and only just saw who he'd killed by the muzzle flashes."

"That's awful," I said.

"Happens plenty. What you wanta do is keep your distance and call out, make sure he knows who you are."