Spanish Gold (12 page)

“You couldn't get a doctor?”

“No time,” said Travis. “He told me to tell you, take his belongings to you, and let you know what had happened. No time to get a doctor. He knew that. Told me that there was no time to get a doctor.”

“Why would they kill him?”

“I don't know,” said Travis. “Maybe they were just trying to scare him. Learn where the gold was hidden and somehow it got out of hand. Gold does that. It makes people do stupid things.”

She continued to stare at Travis. “Gold didn't do that to you.”

“Maybe because I still don't believe it.”

“Then why are you here?”

Travis shrugged again. What could he say. He was there because he had nothing else to do. He was there because he felt he owed the old prospector something because he hadn't stopped the men from stabbing him. He was there because Emma Crockett was a good-looking young woman who needed his help. He was there as a way of paying back the prospector. He hadn't been able to save him, but he might be able to save his daughter. There was no good answer to her question. Or at least no answer to her question that he cared to give her.

He reached out and pulled the pot of beans from the fire. He looked down into it and said, “Looks like dinner is ready.” He used a wooden spoon to stir it.

She ignored that and asked, “What was my father saying? I mean, what did he tell the men about the gold?”

Travis set the pot on the ground. He rocked back so that he was sitting there, looking at her. “He was in a saloon getting the men to buy him drinks by telling them about the Spanish gold. He'd tell a little bit of it and stop until someone bought a drink. He told them everything including the fact that he had seen the gold himself.”

“Did you see the two men there? Listening to his stories?”

“I saw them.”

“Then you could recognize them,” she said.

“If I saw them again, I would recognize them,” he said.

She nodded and said, “Then we should find them and see that they are hanged. They murdered my father.”

“Well,” said Travis.

There was now steel in her voice. “They should be hunted down and jailed. They murdered a man.”

“You don't want to let revenge color your thinking,” said Travis. “It could turn you into a bitter woman.”

“All I want is justice. Once we have the gold, we'll have the money to search for them.” She looked up at him and said, “That's what I'm going to buy with my gold. Justice for my father.”

Travis wiped a hand over his face. He reached out for the pot with the beans. They were still bubbling slowly. “That's a job for the marshal.”

“My father was a gentle man. He might have told tales for free drinks, but what's the harm in that? It's no reason for two men to kill him.”

“Those men could be anywhere now. A couple days ride and they're into desolate country. It would be impossible to find them,” said Travis.

“So we shouldn't even try? Is that what you're suggesting here?”

Travis could tell that she was becoming angry. He said, “We'll try, but it shouldn't become a life's work.”

“What else is there?” she asked. “Now?”

“There's getting married and raising a family.”

“That an offer?” she asked suddenly.

Travis felt his stomach flip over. He didn't know if it was excitement at the prospect. Or the fear of it. “No. Just an alternative.” He looked into the pot of beans again, suddenly not very hungry. He turned toward her and said, “I'm only suggesting that people who allow themselves to be consumed with a mission, no matter how right that mission might be, become something less than human.” The image of the dead men at Gettysburg flashed through his mind.

“I don't need you to teach me about being human,” she said. “You're little more than an opportunist, hanging on because I might be able to lead you to the gold.”

“The gold isn't that important,” said Travis, wondering if she would believe him. He kept his eyes on the beans, wondering if what she said was true. Was he there because of the gold, or was he there because he felt guilty about letting the old man get killed?

She laughed. “That's what everyone says. They don't believe the story and the gold isn't important, but the next thing you know, they're out there searching. Just like those men you saw in El Paso. Didn't believe Dad's story, but they were there just the same.”

Travis sat quietly for a moment and then said, “I'm only here because you asked for my help. I still don't believe we'll find anything of value, even after seeing that diary. Just because it's a diary, it doesn't follow that it has to be true. Everyone assumes that what was written a hundred years ago, two hundred years ago, has to be true, but that man might have had a dozen other reasons for lying. Maybe he wanted people to settle in this region. Tales of gold would certainly spark the interest.”

“Why would he want that?” asked Crockett.

“I don't know. Maybe the Spanish king had given him large tracts of land here and the only way he could make any money on it would be to get people to move into Texas so that the Spanish wouldn't try to take the territory back. Maybe he thought that getting people into the region would keep it all out of the hands of foreigners.”

‘Tomorrow,” she said, looking right at him, “you can return to El Paso if you want. You're not required to follow me into the desert. I'll take care of this myself.”

“And just how long will you survive out here by yourself?”

“I can take care of myself,” she said. “I've been doing it since I was twelve years old.”

“Living in a cabin at the edge of a town is different than surviving in the desert. If you don't know what you're doing, the desert will kill you. And if it doesn't, there are Apaches out there.”

“The Indians are not hostile.”

“The hell,” said Travis. “If they want to do something, they're going to do it. They don't even need a reason.”

“I said you're free to go.”

Travis stirred the beans and lifted a spoonful to his lips to see how hot they were. Ignoring her last statement, he said, “We can eat now.”

“Fine.” She didn't speak for a moment and then asked, “What are you planning to do in the morning?”

Travis glanced at her and thought it would be very easy to leave her alone in the desert. He could ride into El Paso and have a good time. A little whiskey, a willing woman, and then out on the trail again.

But he just couldn't leave Crockett. He still felt he owed it to the old prospector to stick it out. He had to protect the old man's daughter. A week, ten days would be all that it would take before she was tired of the desert. It didn't take the desert long to sap the strength of the unwary. It had chased strong men out in less than a week. It had killed strong men in a day.

“If you don't mind,” he said. “I'll stay with you until we either find the gold or abandon the search.”

“The gold is there,” she said. “Sure,” said Travis.

“Sure it is.”

Travis woke just as the dawn was beginning to break and there was a streak of red orange across the eastern sky. He sat up suddenly, as if he thought the enemy, the Rebels, were approaching. He had not awakened so quickly and so alertly since he had opted out of the army and left the fields of Gettysburg far behind him.

He stood up and moved around the giant rock where he could look out on the road. There was nothing on it. Nothing around it. Nothing anywhere to wake him. Just something in the air that made him uneasy. An odor or a sound that was below the level of perception. Something that was there but at such a low level that he wasn't consciously aware of it. Something frightening that he couldn't see.

He walked back and looked down at Crockett. She was lying on her side, her eyes opened. “What is it?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Be full light here in about thirty minutes or so.”

“You want to get started?”

“It'll give us all day for travel. We can put a lot of miles in if we get started early enough.”

She threw the blanket off and sat up. She was wearing a light cotton shirt and dungarees. They looked to be molded to her body and Travis found himself staring at her. He pulled his eyes away.

“There enough time for coffee?”

Travis looked down at the fire. It had burned itself out during the night. “It'd take an hour to find the wood and get the fire going. Let's just move on.

She moved to the wagon, climbed into the back, and took the lid off one of the water barrels. She dipped a hand in and took a drink. She then leaned over, her face only inches from the water, and splashed it up onto her cheeks and forehead.

“What in the hell are you doing?” snapped Thivis.

“Washing my face.”

“That water is for drinking and for cooking. It is for the horse and for us and has to last us while we ride around in the desert. It is not for bathing.”

She stood up, her face dripping. “I was just washing my face.”

“In the desert, it is a luxury that you cannot afford.”

“When'd you become such an expert on the desert?” she asked.

“I'm just using common sense. Water is in short supply, so you don't waste it.”

“Fine. I won't wash my face.” She slammed the lid back onto the top of the barrel.

“At the water holes,” said Travis. “That's different. Plenty of water there. But we have to be careful so we don't run out between here and the water hole.”

“All right,” she said. “I understand.” Her face was an angry mask.

“What the hell's wrong with you?” he asked, surprised by her sudden anger.

“Nothing. I just don't need lectures. I didn't waste that much water.”

Travis realized that the argument was no longer about wasted water. There was something else going on that he didn't quite understand. He looked away from her and her wet face and mumbled, “Sorry.”

“Sure,” she said.

“No, really,” he said. “I'm sorry.” He walked away then and began getting the horses ready to hitch to the wagon. He moved one around and backed it up toward the front of the wagon. He pulled at the leather harness, threw part of it over the animal's back, and worked to buckle it to the tongue. Finished, he repeated the process with the other horse. Then he made sure that the reins were clear, running his hands along them and finally tying them to the brake handle.

When he finished, he saw that Crockett had picked up the blankets, folded them, and tossed them in the back of the wagon. Without a word to Travis she climbed up and sat down.

Travis stood there for a moment, looking around. The fire was out and there was nothing left behind to show that they had been there. He then got up on the seat beside her, untied the reins, and shook them so that they rippled across the backs of the horses.

They pulled out from behind the rocks and then angled toward the road.

“North from here,” she said.

“I know that.”

“Then just follow the road.”

Bailey rode closer to Davis and said, “I think there is someone behind us.”

Davis turned in the saddle and scanned the horizon to the south. The land was open and there didn't seem to be anyone there. No sign of riders.

“Who?”

Bailey kept his eyes forward and said, “Apaches. Been there since last night.”

“You sure? I don't see anything.”

“And you won't unless they want to be seen.” He fell silent and watched the ground at his horse's feet. “Apaches know what happened to their men at the water hole.”

“You can't know that,” said Davis.

“I can feel it,” said Bailey.

Davis turned and faced the other man. He knew Bailey as a merchant. Not someone who had the second sight. Not someone who had a feeling for Apaches or understood them.

“I'd like something a little more tangible,” said Davis.

“They're out there,” said Bailey. “When you can't see them, it's when they're there.”

“Crap,” said Davis. “If you can't see them, it means you can't see them. It doesn't mean they're spooks able to appear and disappear at will.”

“I know they're following us.” Bailey still didn't look up at Davis. “We're leaving enough signs that an old lady in a wagon could follow us.”

“If you want to ride on back to Sweetwater, I'm sure that no one will object. If you're scared, that is.”

“No,” said Bailey. “The last thing we can do is split up. We do that and they'll take us one at a time. Whittle us down until we won't be able to defend ourselves.”