VIII
HEASLEP’S AGAIN
He was actually on the Road, traveling east toward Tucson, Mamie showing up from hour to hour a little better than he could ask or expect. Elbert had to keep telling himself that there was no hurry, no stress, but the urges of all past years rose up in him, trying to make him believe that everything was ahead, instead of here and now.
Expense money to work with, a gold mine back of him; best of all, there was a purpose to carry out; a meaning back of his setting forth. Had he tried to plan it all before leaving the East, he couldn’t have arranged an adventure half so satisfactory as this—not just an aimless ride, no mere purposeless freedom. By some marvelous destiny he had come into the right to venture forth—a quest to work toward, an allegiance to make good with Mr. Leadley and his son, with silence on his tongue all the way.
No, he was not to tell any one—not even Cal and Slim, if they were still at Heaslep’s.
He reached the main buildings of the big ranch shortly after noon, five leisurely days of riding from San Forenso. Approaching the ‘Office,’ faces looked out from cook-house, farrier shop, and other doors and windows. Elbert waved and nodded, but there was no flare of welcome, no adequate answer for him—all eyes fixed on what he rode. He had to wait a minute for Frost-face, who appeared from his back room, nodding curtly. He moved at once to the outer door, where his sleety gaze fixed on Mamie at the far end of the rail.
‘Your’n?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘In the advertisin’ business?’
‘No.’
‘Been workin’ in a movie?’
‘No.’
‘Show horse?’
‘No—’
‘Want a job?’
‘No. Just thought I’d stop off—possibly see Cal and Slim—and some of the boys.’
‘Thought you’d come back to locate. Here’s a letter an’ telegram. Thoroughbred?’
‘Her father was.’
Frost-face moved out to Mamie. The telegram was from Mort Cotton, advising him to wait at Heaslep’s for a letter containing a certain newspaper clipping. The letter already at hand, was the one referred to in the telegram, for Elbert drew out a half-page of a Sunday newspaper and a moment later was deep in the latest Sonora doings. Frost-face’s jerky tones cut in presently:
‘Cal and Slim are out in the northeast range—about fifteen miles. They’ll be ridin’ farther north to-morrow, but you can get to ’em by sundown. Better drive the truck out, though.’
‘The mare isn’t tired,’ said Elbert.
‘Her thorough-breedin’ might wilt down.’
‘She can do fifteen—’
‘Be careful not to let any of the cow-truck out there bite her.’
‘I’ll watch close.’
‘Stop off here for a package of paper napkins and readin’ matter to take out to the range—before you start.’
All that afternoon as he rode, Elbert conned the alleged facts of the newspaper story. Monte Vallejo was said to be greatly enlarging the number of his followers, turning away hundreds of peons because they had no horses. This Monte was certainly a cavalry leader first and last, Elbert reflected.... American holdings threatened; gold and silver mines and oil properties of Northern Sonora, unsafe; General Cordano reported to be establishing garrisons near the big mines in an attempt to forestall seizure, but none could tell when Monte Vallejo would strike—
Elbert reached the distant camp at sundown, but full darkness had fallen, before the final thud of ponies on the range grass, and Slim’s voice called from outside the circle of firelight.
‘... if it ain’t Elber-r-rt!’
And big Cal rocked forward, taking him by both shoulders at once—one of those moments when Elbert wouldn’t have dared to use his voice.
‘What’s this I hear about a she race horse you’re ridin’?’ Slim asked.
Elbert pointed out toward his picket pin, and the two moved toward it. Mamie was led in toward the fire, and examined in all points, her owner being entirely overlooked for the time being.
‘Where did you say you come from?’ Slim asked severely.
‘San Forenso.’
‘Any more like that there?’
‘I didn’t see any.’
‘Somebody leavin’ the country?’
‘She was given to me.’
‘Was he dyin’?’
‘Yes.’
Cal and Slim glanced at each other.
‘Elbert,’ said Slim. ‘You didn’t hurry him off none?’
‘No.’
‘You see, it has been done,’ said Cal. ‘For a hoss like that, it has been done. I recollect hearin’ that old Chester was fought for in his gay young days. Ever hear about that, Slim?’
The other nodded solemnly.
‘Ain’t back to stay, Elbert?’
‘No—’
‘Where you goin’?’
The partner’s eyes checked off each other again, and finally Cal remarked: ‘Looks as if Elbert might need help—’
‘He’s makin’ me restless,’ said Slim.
After supper, the three sat down at a small fire a little apart from the main camp. Elbert was watching himself closely, some tension not to be lured into disclosure of any kind. One fact rested lightly on his faculties at this time. The more that men knew about horses, the more Mamie was appreciated. Cal and Slim had opened a newspaper package and divided a big Sunday paper between them.
‘Please excuse us, Elbert, while we cool down our passions for news,’ said Cal.
A poring silence of many minutes; then from Slim: ‘This fellow’s crazy.’
‘How’s that?’
‘The fellow writin’ this—either crazy, or else there’s goin’ to be a war less than a hundred miles from here!’
‘Who’s fightin’, Slim?’
‘Mexican war—over some oil wells—down San Pasquali way—’
‘Any white men?’
‘Sure. That’s why. This fellow Burton—“Mexicali” Burton—he’s American. Struck it rich in oil, but looks to be unpopulyar with a revolutionist, called Vallejo—’
‘Just a Sunday newspaper yarn,’ said Cal.
‘This feller who’s writin’ says Mister Vallejo could use them oil wells of Burton’s to pay off his soldiers and finally take over the government.’
Elbert wasn’t breathing right. Another version of the same newspaper story Mort Cotton had sent. He felt as if the truth was being extracted in spite of him; that Cal and Slim had somehow landed into the midst of his private business. Perhaps he shouldn’t have come. At the same time, he was powerfully thrilled by some vague prospect, his mind repeating to itself that he had given nothing away so far.
Slim, meanwhile, was reading aloud laboriously about an American oil man, named Burton, who had sent in a call for help to General Juan Cordano, in charge of the Government soldiers in Sonora. This man Burton was said to be standing pat on his property at San Pasquali with a few dozen white men and some Mexican laborers he wasn’t at all sure of.
‘Every time them newspaper fellers up in Tucson can’t think of anything else to write on, they start a Mexican revolution,’ Cal said.
‘But why couldn’t it be?’ asked Slim, sitting up straighter, more and more sleepless, his bridle-arm lifted, his right fallen limp as if he were in the saddle. Slim had to wear his belt tight or it would drop down over his hips. One had a feeling that it could be pulled up over his shoulders without loosening a notch. ‘Why couldn’t it be?’ he wanted to know in a louder tone.
‘You’re breaking in on my rest,’ Cal murmured.
Slim straightened out his legs and helped himself to his feet with both hands. Taking a quart cup from his mess-case, he went back to the cook-wagon and returned with it full of hot coffee. ‘This ain’t no night for rest; this ain’t no place for me, Cal. I’ve been making forty dollars a month so long, anybody’d think I was keepin’ up a twenty-year endowment policy—’
The big one bent over to Elbert, whispering: ‘I shore hoped he was over them spells. Six months since Slim’s been took like this. Sad, ain’t it?’
But Elbert saw a reddish flare in Cal’s eyes, usually so icy gray and cool. Something queer was taking place in himself at the same time, a wild hope—the last chance on earth. But he couldn’t miss that he was forgotten now, the pair more and more involved in each other as the tension grew.
‘You’ll admit we’re dyin’ off here,’ said Slim.
‘Not so loud; hush yourself,’ said Cal. ‘We ain’t got no grudge against Heaslep’s. We don’t want to start a stampede of hands just as round-up’s comin’ on.’
‘That’s so,’ Slim muttered.
Elbert suddenly found the eyes of both men boring into his. ‘You won’t tell ’em anything about this, will you? We ain’t got nothin’ against old Frost-face,’ said Slim.
‘I shore would hate to see this outfit left short-handed through any abrupt transformations takin’ place between me and Slim,’ added Cal.
‘I won’t say anything,’ Elbert declared, but the sound of his own voice was strange and unsteady. A moment later he strolled off into the dark. He didn’t trust his face or his feelings which to himself, at least, were conveying meanings louder than words. In a moment or two, Cal’s easy tones reached him.
‘Elbert!’
He went back.
‘Anything eatin’ you?’
‘No—’
‘You ain’t figurin’—’
‘No, I won’t tell Frost-face, or any of the fellows—’
Cal chuckled: ‘It ain’t that. Slim and me sort of forgot ourselves. Bein’ married a long time, it works that way. Can’t be you’re honin’ to perforate the Border like Slim?’
‘Wouldn’t I slow you up?’
‘We thought of that, but concluded we could do with a balancer—’
‘I think it would be fine—’
‘It’ll be a blow to Frost-face, if we do break out. Speak Mexican?’
‘I’ve been studying it lately a little. I had some Latin which helps—’
‘Lord, does Latin run in your family, Elbert?’
‘I speak Mexican,’ Slim reminded, in the tone of one wronged.
Cal squinted at the fire. ‘Sure, I forgot. Slim eats her.’
Elbert looked up at the stars. They had suddenly blazed out friendly, and over the cattle came a warm wind and folded him in.
‘Excuse me,’ Cal added. ‘I’ve got some very close work to do right now—threadin’ a needle to tack my war-sack together.’