Man From Mustang Page 6

  But he was disappointed. He had to rejoin One-eyed Harry, who, in the presence of a few yawning spectators, cursed him as a lazy greaser for being late, and threatened to flay him alive if he were ever tardy again.

  Then they went up the valley, and camped between the edge of Kirby Run and the trees that crowded the valley. They chose the site of some old diggings. Gold was everywhere in the sands of the creek. The only trouble was that it was scarce, and there were few places where a man could wash a day’s wages with any ease. However, One-eyed Harry Bench was willing to stay there as long as Silver needed him.

  “If it hadn’t been for you routing me out with a bullet,” said Bench, “I’d still be out there in the desert, eating sand with my bacon and hating the whole world! I’ll camp anywhere you say. And what could be better than this here?”

  It was a good camp, with plenty of food and water, and a view of big mountains before them and behind. Kirby Crossing was only a little over a mile away.

  They built a lean-to the next morning, and Silver left his friend arranging the stones for an outdoor fireplace, while he slipped up into the town again. There were other Mexicans in the town, and one saloon at the end of the street was their gathering place. Into the brown horde Silver went, to let his disguise be thoroughly tested. But he had few doubts that it would pass muster; a dozen times he had used it in old Mexico itself.

  In the saloon he kept his eyes down and his ears open, while he drank tequila. But he heard nothing that had any bearing on his quest. There was only talk and more talk about the prison break. It pleased the Mexicans to know that the government and the law had failed. Their rattling voices rose to crescendos; they laughed heartily, flashing their eyes at one another.

  But what was the prison break to Silver? He left the saloon and resumed his search through the town. His eye was so trained that half a second’s pause in front of a window could show him all the faces inside. And a few side glances were enough for his study of whole groups as he passed among them. But he had worked up and down the street twice before some one caught his eye.

  It was a man he had seen before, seated in the back room of a saloon, playing poker and chewing nervously at a cigar. But only when he walked out onto the street did the attention of Silver fall seriously on him. For he had a quick, lightly rising step, like that of a sprinter in the pink of condition for a race. As he walked, his head had the same birdlike alertness that Silver had noted in the unknown companion of Edith Alton, that morning in the ravine. The farther the man drew into the distance, the more convinced was Silver that he had found his quarry.

  A warm little glow ran through him. He had to set his teeth to keep from laughing aloud.

  The stranger mounted a horse tethered in front of the saloon, and rode out of town at a dogtrot that freshened to a lope as he gained the open space beyond. But Silver was not far behind. He kept among the trees that bordered the narrow road closely on either side, and his long legs flew over the ground with the easy stride of a natural runner.

  He had a chance to note several things on the way. The first was that he was behind a good horseman. The second was that the stranger was by no means used to the Western style of riding. And finally his conviction was that in spite of the cow-puncher outfit, time-rubbed as it was, his quarry was quite a stranger to the West and Western ways.

  He was inclined to take the reins in both hands, for instance, instead of reining across the neck. And when they came to a runlet that ran across the road, the rider pitched forward in the saddle and hunched over, as though expecting the mustang to jump the barrier. Instead, being Western, that cow pony calmly trotted through the water.

  It was not a long run. In twenty minutes or less the rider turned off toward the creek, and halted in front of an old, disused cabin, on the front of which a flap of canvas had been hung to take the place of a door. A burly young Mexican with a mustache that glistened like black glass came to take the horse of his master, throwing down the ax with which he had been chopping wood.

  The rider disappeared into the cabin, while Silver sat on the edge of the woods and watched the Mexican put up the pony in a lean-to that was attached to the end of the cabin. This was only until saddle and bridle had been removed, and hobbles fitted. After that the mustang was turned loose to graze on the good grass.

  When this had been done, the Mexican returned to his ax. Silver, who was now breathing easily again, came out from the trees and stood to watch. The other gave him a wave of the hand, and then went on with his swinging of the ax.

  “There is no chance to talk, amigo,” said he. “That gringo has the eye of a hawk and the ear of a grizzly bear. He keeps me working all day. Except for the good pay, I am only a slave. If you have something to say to me, wait for me tonight in the saloon in Kirby Crossing, where all of our people meet.”

  “The fact is,” said Silver, “that this work is too hard for you, friend. It needs a stronger man.”

  “A stronger man?” said the Mexican, scowling. “Who sent you out here to trouble me?”

  “I came of my own accord,” said Silver. “I have a kind heart. I never want to see a man working beyond his strength.”

  “You, perhaps,” said the Mexican, “could do this work very easily?”

  “No doubt,” said Silver.

  “You could cut the wood, do the cooking, wash some gold out of the creek sands? You could wash the soiled clothes and sweep out the cabin, and then find spare time to shoot fresh meat for his table?”

  “I could do all of those things,” said Silver. “What’s more, I shall do them.”

  The Mexican stared. Then his eyes glassed over with rage. His chest swelled, his chin sank. “Fool of a stonefaced half-wit!” he roared. “Get out before I cut you in two with the ax!”

  “Don’t lift the ax,” said Silver, “or I’ll have to take it away from you.”

  A voice spoke suddenly, sharply, from the cabin doorway, and there was the master of the house.

  “What’s the matter out there, José,” asked he.

  “Matter, Señor Lorens?” said José. “Here is a crazy man who says that this work is too hard for me, and that he is going to take my place!”

  Silver turned to Lorens and gave him a deep bow.

  “A bright day to you, señor,” said Silver. “May the sunshine fall on your heart; may the gold gather for you in the sands.”

  This flowery outburst, in swift Mexican, set Lorens chuckling.

  “This fellow is a poet, and poets are the devil, José,” said he. “Does he say that he is going to take your place?”

  “He may be a devil,” said José, grating his teeth together, “but even a devil will feel the edge of this ax.”

  He gave it a swing as he spoke.

  “What’s your name?” asked Lorens.

  “Juan,” said Silver.

  “Juan, I like the look of you,” said Lorens. “Your hair might be mowed or tied back from your eyes, but you look able to do something.”

  “I can do everything that that man can do, and then twist his neck,” said Silver.

  “Do you hear, Señor Lorens?” said José, trembling with rage. “This is one of those fools who boasts and thinks that his loud talking will be the thing that weakens the heart of another man! Away with you, you lying, stealing, ragged thief! Would an honest man wear such clothes? Look, señor! His trousers are not long enough to reach his ankles, and therefore, he keeps them rolled up to his knees. There is nothing on his body but that cheap shirt. See the sandals on his feet! Señor, let me send him on his travels again!”

  “If you can,” said Lorens calmly. “Drive him as far as you please — if you’re able!”

  Chapter 10

  José, when he had received this permission, gaped at Silver with a sudden joy. Then, weighing the broad-bladed ax in both hands, he advanced at him with short, quick steps, like a boxer.

  “Hold on!” called Lorens. “An ax against a man with empty hands?”

 
“Señor,” said Silver, “I have a knife, but I shall not use it. Who will use weapons on children, señor?”

  José uttered a short howl, something like that of a dog when it starts to bay the moon. Then he came with a skip and a leap and a swing of the ax right at Silver.

  In José there was no such folly as would lead him to try a downright blow that might be side-stepped. Instead, he feinted at the head, and then swept the ax around in a mighty circle. The edge of the blade flamed with keenness. It could have cloven deep into the body of Silver if it struck fairly home. Instead, it merely brushed through the top hair of his black wig as it swished by, for he had crouched suddenly close to the earth. The weight of the stroke turned José half around. He knew that he had missed, and that his failure was apt to be his ruin. Even while his arms were carrying his body around, his head turned toward Silver, and his face was desperate. But there was nothing that he could do. The blow that found him had the weight of Silver leaning straight behind it. José fell in a heap.

  Silver took the ax from those numb hands and swayed it lightly into the air.

  “This poor rascal,” said Silver, “may come back to steal, señor. But if I tap him across the back of the neck until the bone snaps, then I can weight him with stones and drop him into the river. With this current he will soon be rolled to bits. In five days, if they have dragged the river, they would be able to find no more than a finger bone of all of him.”

  Lorens began to laugh heartily. He was a handsome fellow, a little too thin of face, a little too bright and active of eye; now he was alight with appreciation.

  “Don’t kill the poor rat, Juan,” said he. “Do you think he’ll come back if you tell him that you don’t want him around?”

  “I must talk to him in a special way,” said Silver. “Permit me, señor, and his face shall never be seen around here again!”

  “Talk to him any way you please,” said Lorens. “I have an idea that you’re going to work for me, Juan.”

  “Ah, señor,” said Silver, “to hear you say that is already as good as roast kid and frijoles in my stomach. Hey! José!”

  José, coming to his senses by degrees, was startled by this cry to his feet. He stood wavering, looking wildly from Silver to his master.

  “The honorable and rich señor,” said Silver, “is tired of wasting his money, tired of spending the kindness of his heart on a poor thickwit, a wretched fellow who knows nothing of cooking, who leaves the floor of the house dirty, who has no luck in finding gold, and who cannot make the smoke of the fire blow away from the house. He sends you away, José. And he tells you that if you are seen near this house again, to beg or to steal, he will make you disappear — like this!”

  At that he picked up a small stone from the ground, hurled it far into the air and when it spun, hovering, at the height of its rise, he flashed a revolver into his hand and fired. The glimmering stone and the bullet met with an audible impact, and the stone disappeared.

  José still was blinking in the direction of that spot where the little rock had hung in the air. Now his mouth opened slowly.

  He had seen something that was worth more to him than a thousand hours of explanation and lecturing. He backed up a few steps, turned, and fled dodging, like a snipe when it goes winging against the wind to avoid the gun of the hunter.

  “You see, señor,” said Silver, “that when we deal with children, we do not need weapons except to frighten the silly fools!”

  “Juan, you speak good Spanish,” said Lorens, standing in the doorway, with his chin on his fist and study in his eyes.

  “I learned it, my master,” said Silver, “in Mexico City itself. I was in service there.”

  “What sort of service?”

  “Shining silver, and taking the small dogs out for their walks.”

  Lorens smiled, but there was still dubious thought in his eyes.

  “How do you wear that revolver?”

  “Here under my left arm,” said Silver. “Most people don’t expect it to come from that place. So I have a chance to surprise them, and to please myself, and that means that everybody is happy.”

  “Or dead,” suggested Lorens.

  “Or dead, señor,” said Silver, bowing.

  “A fellow with your talents,” said Lorens, “ought never have to work with his hands.”

  “Observe my palms,” answered Silver. “They are smoother than the hands of a young maiden, señor.”

  “Ah?” said Lorens. “Then why are you taking a job here with me?”

  “I am not in my own country, where I would be known,” said Silver. “If I were there, señor, there are villages where the men would stop everything the instant that I appear, and the women, without being bidden, would at once begin to cook. One would roast a kid. Another would seethe a chicken. Another old woman would bring out her finest cheese, packed in wet salt grass, delicious in the mouth with wine. I should sit, señor, in front of the fonda, and drink with the head men of the town, and then eat and ask one of two of the notables to sit down with me and taste my food. And when I had finished eating, I should pay them all ten times over by telling them three true stories of three days of my life. They would give me their blessing, follow me to the edge of the town, fill my saddlebags with food, press a canteen of good red wine into my hands, place a little bottle of tequila in my coat pocket, and tell me to hurry back to them again!”

  He delivered this long speech with a sort of lordly flourish.

  “Well,” said Lorens, “Mexico is still in the old place. Why aren’t you there?”

  “Because all of my countrymen are not so kind and so true,” said Silver. “There are some rude fellows that you may have heard of.”

  “The rurales, perhaps?”

  “The señor,” said Silver, “sees at a glance to the heart of everything. The rurales know that there is a price on my head. Therefore they hunt me with more passion, señor, than the Americanos of your country will hunt a wild duck -though they may have plenty of tame ducks waddling about in their back yards!”

  Lorens laughed again, but very shortly. “Look here, Juan,” he said. “You won’t want to be working for me very long as a cook and a hunter and a fire tender.”

  “Señor,” said Silver, “you will not very long be camped by this river, pretending to hunt for gold. And before you leave this place, you may have found better ways to employ me.”

  “What do you mean by saying that I only pretend to hunt for gold?” asked Lorens.

  “What do I mean? Nothing! If the señor is angry, I mean nothing. I know that the señor has eyes enough for two, and ears enough for two, also, and a tongue that is capable of speaking for all his affairs.”

  “No, but tell me why you think I only pretend to look for gold?”

  “Because I saw you playing poker, señor. And after I had watched you shuffle the deck three times, I knew that you could dig more money out of the hands of men with a pack of cards than strong miners can earn by digging and blasting at a mountain of rock all their lives!”

  Lorens tapped his rapid, slender fingers against his lips, looking over his knuckles at Silver critically.

  “Juan,” said he, “you’re an impudent rascal, and you see too much.”

  “It is true,” said Silver calmly. “the señor does not want a blind José, but a Juan with two eyes, perhaps. Yet if you tell me to close them, I am blind!”

  “I know what you mean,” remarked Lorens. “You’re able to see anything and remember only what I want you to know.”

  “The señor understands,” said Silver.

  “Juan, you have killed men in your time.”

  “I have had that joy, señor,” said Silver. “I have seen the faces of my enemies turn black under my hands.”

  Lorens shrugged his shoulders as though to get rid of a feeling of cold up his spine.

  “What money do you want?” he asked. “How will you have it?”

  “I shall be paid according to my services,” said Sil
ver. “If it is to cook and clean and hunt for the señor, the scraps of food that are left will be food and pay for me. But if more important matters come, and they are put in my hands, then the señor himself will know how to reward me. It is not for money alone that I work, but for pleasure, señor, and to fill my hands with the name of a man!”

  This speech seemed to please Lorens more than all the rest put together.

  “You’re a hard bit of steel, Juan,” said he. “You’ll take an edge and keep it. I want to know one thing from you. Did you ever hear of a man named Silver — an American?”

  “The Señor Silver?” said Silver, looking down. “I have heard of him and seen him.”

  “Tell me what sort of a man he is?”

  “A man to beware of. He has done certain things. He shoots very straight, and he shoots very quickly. And he has killed men, señor — a great many of them.”

  “A fellow like that, Juan — a fellow who answers the very description of this man Silver, may be on my trail. I don’t know. I’m not sure that he will follow me. But he’s one that I should like you to have in mind. Dream of him as he was, Juan. Look for him in the shadow under every tree. Listen for his voice. Watch for the flash of his gun!”

  “He shall be more in my mind than my own self,” said Silver.

  “Tell me this,” said Lorens. “Would you stand up to a fellow like Silvertip, do you think?”

  “Perhaps he is a larger man than I am,” said Silver. “But I should hope to stand up to him. A brown hand can be as quick as a white one, and a white skin does not turn bullets.”

  “Juan,” said Lorens seriously, “you and I are going to get on together. You don’t need to make a slave of yourself. If you can shoot fresh meat and cook it, that will be enough for me, along with some coffee. And I suppose you know how to cook frijoles?”