Lando (1962) by Louis - Sackett's 08 L'amour Page B
Authors: Louis - Sackett's 08 L'amour
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time. Whoever had made that marker intended for it to be seen, but not by just anybody. Nobody would see it unless he was trained to look for sign.
It stood all by itself, though. I mean, there was grass all around and some brush, but no other markers. That meant that what it was intended to mark was close by, within the range of my eyes. It was up to me to see it. Yet, looking all around, I saw nothing. The clouded sky, the gray, whitecapped water, the green grass growing just short of knee-high, the scattered brush, the reeds along the shore ...
The reeds!
Reaching up, I taken my Henry from the boot.
"You stand watch, Gin. Watch everything, not just me."
For two, three minutes I didn't move.
I stood there beside my horse and I studied those reeds, and I studied them section by section, taking a piece maybe ten foot square and studying it careful, then moving on to another square.
Trailing the bridle reins, I stepped away from the horse and worked my way carefully through the reeds. What I had spotted was an open space among the reeds, which might mean an inlet of water, for there were several such around. However, when I got to that open place--minding myself to break no reeds and to move with care--I found a low hive, a mound-like hut of reeds made by drawing the tops together and tying them, then weaving other reeds through the rooted ones. It was maybe eight feet long by four or five wide.
Room enough for a man to sleep.
"I'm friendly," I said, speaking low but so I could be heard. "I'm hunting no trouble."
There was no answer.
Easing forward a bit, I spotted the opening that led inside, and kneeling, I eased forward. I spoke once more, and there was no response. Then I stuck my head inside.
The hut was empty.
The ground inside must have been damp, so close to the water, and it had been covered by several hastily woven mats of reeds, with grass thrown atop of them.
I backed out and stood up.
My father had taught me to build an emergency shelter just thataway from reeds, cane, or slim young trees. He taught me when I was six years old, and I'd not forgotten.
Pa . Was here.
I was sure of it now. That marker, just the way he used to use them, something to call attention, not necessarily to indicate a trail ... and now this.
When I got back to the horse I put a foot in the stirrup and swung my leg over the saddle. Gin was waiting for me to tell her, and I did.
"Pa's close by," I said. "I've got an idea that prisoner Herrara is hunting is my father."
"You're sure he's near?"
So I told her what I had seen, and explained a bit about it.
If he was close by, he would fine me-- unless he was lying hurt.
Even so, he would find me or let me know some way, so I turned and we started back to the herd.
We rode more swiftly now, eager to get back.
There was so much inside me I wasn't looking out as sharp as I should have. We came riding around the brush, and there were fifteen or twenty riders, and down in the middle of them was Miguel.
Miguel was on the ground, and his face was all blood. A thick-set Mexican was standing over him with a quirt in his hand. Herrara sat his horse nearby.
Only thing saved me was they'd been so busy they weren't listening, and a horse on soft sod doesn't make a whole lot of disturbance.
Lucky for me I was carrying that Henry out in the open. She swung up slick as a catfish on a mudbank and I eared back the hammer.
They all heard that.
Their heads came around like they were all on string, but the one I had covered was Herrara himself.
"Call that man off," I said, "or I'll kill you."
He looked at me, those black eyes flat and steady as a rattler's. I'll give him this.
There was no yellow showing. He looked right into that rifle barrel and he said, "You shoot me, se@nor, and you are dead in the next instant."
Me, I wasn't being bluffed. Not that day. I looked right along that barrel and I said, "Then I'll be the second man to die. When I fall, you'll lie there to make me a
It stood all by itself, though. I mean, there was grass all around and some brush, but no other markers. That meant that what it was intended to mark was close by, within the range of my eyes. It was up to me to see it. Yet, looking all around, I saw nothing. The clouded sky, the gray, whitecapped water, the green grass growing just short of knee-high, the scattered brush, the reeds along the shore ...
The reeds!
Reaching up, I taken my Henry from the boot.
"You stand watch, Gin. Watch everything, not just me."
For two, three minutes I didn't move.
I stood there beside my horse and I studied those reeds, and I studied them section by section, taking a piece maybe ten foot square and studying it careful, then moving on to another square.
Trailing the bridle reins, I stepped away from the horse and worked my way carefully through the reeds. What I had spotted was an open space among the reeds, which might mean an inlet of water, for there were several such around. However, when I got to that open place--minding myself to break no reeds and to move with care--I found a low hive, a mound-like hut of reeds made by drawing the tops together and tying them, then weaving other reeds through the rooted ones. It was maybe eight feet long by four or five wide.
Room enough for a man to sleep.
"I'm friendly," I said, speaking low but so I could be heard. "I'm hunting no trouble."
There was no answer.
Easing forward a bit, I spotted the opening that led inside, and kneeling, I eased forward. I spoke once more, and there was no response. Then I stuck my head inside.
The hut was empty.
The ground inside must have been damp, so close to the water, and it had been covered by several hastily woven mats of reeds, with grass thrown atop of them.
I backed out and stood up.
My father had taught me to build an emergency shelter just thataway from reeds, cane, or slim young trees. He taught me when I was six years old, and I'd not forgotten.
Pa . Was here.
I was sure of it now. That marker, just the way he used to use them, something to call attention, not necessarily to indicate a trail ... and now this.
When I got back to the horse I put a foot in the stirrup and swung my leg over the saddle. Gin was waiting for me to tell her, and I did.
"Pa's close by," I said. "I've got an idea that prisoner Herrara is hunting is my father."
"You're sure he's near?"
So I told her what I had seen, and explained a bit about it.
If he was close by, he would fine me-- unless he was lying hurt.
Even so, he would find me or let me know some way, so I turned and we started back to the herd.
We rode more swiftly now, eager to get back.
There was so much inside me I wasn't looking out as sharp as I should have. We came riding around the brush, and there were fifteen or twenty riders, and down in the middle of them was Miguel.
Miguel was on the ground, and his face was all blood. A thick-set Mexican was standing over him with a quirt in his hand. Herrara sat his horse nearby.
Only thing saved me was they'd been so busy they weren't listening, and a horse on soft sod doesn't make a whole lot of disturbance.
Lucky for me I was carrying that Henry out in the open. She swung up slick as a catfish on a mudbank and I eared back the hammer.
They all heard that.
Their heads came around like they were all on string, but the one I had covered was Herrara himself.
"Call that man off," I said, "or I'll kill you."
He looked at me, those black eyes flat and steady as a rattler's. I'll give him this.
There was no yellow showing. He looked right into that rifle barrel and he said, "You shoot me, se@nor, and you are dead in the next instant."
Me, I wasn't being bluffed. Not that day. I looked right along that barrel and I said, "Then I'll be the second man to die. When I fall, you'll lie there to make me a
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