Chapter 4 The Ridge
Once out in the night, he felt he could not take another step. But he had to. Lightheaded, he cast himself down the street toward one of the lighted saloons, the one where a couple of men who had staked him that afternoon should have been waiting to see him play—and win—for them. They were. He stumbled through the swing doors and fell into the arms of two of the miners in town for a game. They maneuvered him over to his stakers' table where he sat down amid lots of concerned stares and rapid-fire questions. He couldn't say anything at first, rubbing his eyes and forehead with the heel of his hand and trying to get his bearings. Then in a tight voice, looking up at those standing around, he murmured, "Robbers."
"Did they get the stake-money?"
Maverick turned his head to look at one of his stakers, a feverish-looking man in a dapple-gray, three-piece suit. He looked down again and shook his head.
"Only some of my pocket money. The other money's in my right boot."
"Bring him a wet cloth for his cuts and let's get started," said that one.
Maverick shook all over as he laughed outright. "'fraid not tonight. Got a telegram, too. Brother's sick. Have to leave town tomorrow. But I have your money. Will somebody get my boot off?"
Maverick repaid the stake money, several hundred in bills, then putting his boot back on, he eased himself up out of the saloon chair and bade everyone good night.
"On second thought. Give me a couple of bottles of soda pop," he asked the bartender, turning back around.
"Can't you stay and let me see to those bruises?" asked a girl in a sequined, purple dress who put a diamond-studded hand against his coat arm. Against the dark broadcloth of his frock coat, it glittered there.
"Or play a hand or two?" asked a very hopeful gentleman.
Maverick smiled and shook his head. "No, I have to leave early tomorrow.
"Are you runnin' from something, Maverick," the questioner asked. He laughed. "Again?"
He looked down at the man beside him at the bar.
"I wish I knew," he answered, a strange sad look in his eye. Taking the bottles from the barkeep who came to set them on the bar, he paid him two bits, then waved, saying, "Night!" He left the doors swinging behind him. Stares followed him out. The girl twirled a strand of peroxide-dyed hair around her finger and walked up to the door, looking out. She never saw a sadder man than he, that night.
He came out into the brisk night air and wrapped his arms together. August was about done for, he reckoned, and with it the summer. Snow was already falling in the mountains, and he had as yet achieved no particular aim. He'd hoped for a pot or two before he had to leave Denver, but now that wasn't likely. Resolved to make a clean start tomorrow, he first went to the stable and dropped a dollar in the stable boy's hand, requesting him to make sure that both the farm mare and his own horse had their feed early the next day and were ready for the saddle.
Then he went back to the hotel where he and Tommy were staying. Explaining why they had to leave so soon would not be easy, for Maverick had also resolved not to lie to him. He just wouldn't tell him the truth! Maybe he'd say that Katie French had moved on, never having been heard from since. That might settle things for right now, and Maverick could go on his way, keeping himself out of the hands of Demarest and his iron-fisted henchmen. Tommy would never see his ma again in all likelihood. Not knowing of her death, though, he'd never give up trying to find her.
He might suffer some qualms of conscience, but for Maverick staying alive had its charms, too. He might kick himself for a while, asking who was he to keep the boy from reaching his aim? Didn't every boy have a right to see his ma? He couldn't remember his.
He found the boy awake in bed reading a dime novel lent him by one of the clerks downstairs. He'd been good to have stayed shut up this long without going anywhere else. When he saw Maverick though, taking a good look at his face, he threw the book aside and jumped off the bed.
"What happened to you, mister?"
"I fell down a flight of steps,' Maverick lied, setting the twin brown, long-necked bottles on a round table under the window. He suddenly gripped its edge as he began to sway. "I'll be alright. Just a bruise or two, but they'll be gone in a couple of days." Maverick hoped that all of his troubles would be gone in a couple of days. He looked down at one right then.
"I'll get you some water." Tommy sped over to the dry sink and wet a towel in the ewer water, then he brought it over. "Where've you been?" he asked. "Been hungry."
Maverick, holding the wet towel against one of his eyes, struggled over to sit on the bed, Tommy's hand guiding him. "I had to rest up first, before coming back, but I'll fine now."
"You don't look it, mister."
"Tom, call me Bret."
"I prefer 'mister.'"
"So be it." He pulled the towel away and looked up at the boy. "Tom, I've got something to say. We're leaving tomorrow, first thing. I'm taking you back to the Jaspers' farm. You'll be safe there until Sheriff Hardee finds that lady who used to keep you."
"You didn't find my ma?"
"No, but—" Here, Maverick cleared his throat, dabbing at his eye again. "Only that she's gone," he murmured, "nobody knows where."
"No idea?"
Maverick again looked the boy in the eye. Taking his arms as he stood before him, he said, "None."
Tommy turned away, walking back to the wash-stand. "I had hoped," he said, his voice very low, "you'd find her."
"Tom, there're things in this life hard to explain. Guess your ma was one of them." He suddenly yawned, throwing his hand in front of his face. Looking at it, it was the first time he'd noticed the wide swath of torn skin there. Using the damp towel, he dabbed at the dried blood, feeling queasy. "I've got to sleep. Go downstairs and get yourself a couple of sandwiches. Tell 'em I'll pay for it tomorrow."
Tommy nodded, though still not moving from the room. Maverick stood up and began unbuttoning his shirt. Pulling it off, he folded it up and walked over to his saddlebags to put it in, pulling out a clean shirt and laying it on a chair back for tomorrow. He sat down again on the bed and pulled off his boots. Then lying down in his dusty trousers, he grabbed a handful of the bedcovers and slipped beneath them.
"Go get something to eat, Tommy. Just don't go far."
Tommy looked at the bottles that the hurt gambler had been thoughtful enough to bring and said, "I won't. I'll be back. You need me."
When he returned with a plate of two sandwiches, he found his friend asleep. He found his way over to the bed, took a sandwich and laid the tray on a chair. Eating it, he kicked off his shoes and then pulled off his own shirt, laying it on top of Maverick's shirt for tomorrow. Then he slipped in beside the gambler.
Maverick woke up. "Oh, I forgot," he said, groggily. "Want to drink the soda pop before we nod off?"
Tommy leapt out of bed and brought the bottles over, laying one on top of the coverlet and trying to uncork the other, not successfully. When he had got to the point of putting the bottle between his teeth, Maverick intervened and took it from him. He uncorked it easily and gave it back to the boy, then picking up the other one, uncorked it and lay back, taking a long swig. He reached over again and took Tommy's bottle while the boy climbed in under the covers. Together, they lay and drank and talked a little, with the kerosene lamp burning low on the round table under the window.
The two bottles lay on either side of the bed the next day. Both man and boy had slept fitfully, feeling a little of that cold they knew they'd experience on the trail. Maverick didn't have enough money to buy Tommy a jacket after paying for their hotel bill. The stores weren't open that early anyway, so he wrapped him up in one of his own cotton shirts, the same kind as he now wore. He had to roll the sleeves back on the boy's small arms about a mile. Then they gathered up their horses and rode out into a dewy day even while the birds still slept.
Their breakfast in the hotel that morning, always prepared for early risers, like drummers, had been very light, just eggs, toast, milk and, for Maverick, coffee without cream, though it wouldn't have cost extra for that and sugar. But he had his ways. Black coffee in the morning, soda pop at night. Rising from the table, he reached deep into the pocket of his denim jeans, having packed his finer suit pants for now in a saddlebag, and brought out a two-bit tip for the serving lady. She had to make a living, too.
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Whenever things began to look as if they're going good, Maverick took heart. He'd think good thoughts and replenish himself for times when things weren't going so good. It was now that he should be filling his mental canteen with wonders, miracles and other positives. Here's where he needed it full. For on the way back to the Jaspers, who should they meet up with but the two thieves, Dan'l and Harvey, his leader? Dan'l came out of the rocks first, followed by his friend. Maverick pulled up and reached for the mare's bridle, pulling Tommy up, too.
"You again," he breathed.
"Likewise," said the leader. "Name's Harvey. Doesn't matter, first or last. Thanks for helpin' us out o' jail."
Tall rocks had closed in both sides of the road, except for one chute down into some tumbled boulders. Maverick suddenly got an idea. He'd give over what money he carried in his wallet, which was usually less than the coins or bills he carried in his boot. After the thieves had let them go, he'd send Tommy on his way and try himself to double back, coming up through the chute and surprising the two thieves as they hid in the rocks, counting their booty. He might be able to take them if he saw them before they saw him. It was heroic, and no Maverick he knew was ever given much to heroics, but somebody had to try to stop Harvey and Dan'l before they killed somebody.
He took out his wallet and removed the paper dollars he carried in it.
"What else you got—any hold-out money?"
"A bit of change, here—" he scrounged in his coat pocket. "Two quarters and a few pennies."
"Four bits buys two shots of whiskey," said Dan'l, appreciatively.
"Pea-brain!" shouted Harvey at his companion. "Dollars buy a lot more."
"Take off your gun," said Harvey. Maverick sighed, but complied with the request, handing over his gun belt with all its cartridges and his holstered gun.
"Can I get the boy on home now?" he asked.
"Sure. But we'll have to take your horses—again."
"Take the horses! Why? Aren't yours good enough to ride?"
"They need a rest onct every so often. Get off," said Harvey.
"And what will you do if we don't?"
"On the other side of them rocks, at your right, is a pretty steep drop-off. We'd toss the pair of you over."
"Murder?"
"It happens. Now we want your horses."
"You can't just rob us of our money and call it quits!"
"What's your name?"
"Maverick. Bret Maverick."
"I've heard of you, card player. You oughta be carryin' a lot more than a few measly dollars!"
"I never played last night due to some unforeseen circumstances."
"What?"
"I got beat up."
"Jealous husband?"
"No, not in the least. But I'm just about flat broke. What with your help, I am now."
Maverick held the bridle while Tommy got down and then he followed. Leading both horses over to the two men, as they sat in the middle of the road on their own mounts, he handed over the two pairs of reins. Harvey took them and lowered the gun in Maverick's face. "Tell no one where you saw us, sharp!"
"Now, get!" added Dan'l.
Maverick looked for Tommy and collaring him began walking away. Tommy hadn't said a word, which was probably a good thing. He attracted unwanted attention when he spoke. But now that they were out of earshot of the thieves, he burst out, "You let 'em take the horses! Mr. Jasper's mare."
"And who stole it in the first place?" asked Maverick, rounding on the boy and stopping in the middle of the road.
"I did. I'm sorry. But all your things, the saddlebags and everything—all gone."
"They're replaceable. Tommy, I want you to listen to me." When he thought he had the boy's attention, he divulged his plan. "I'm going back to get our horses so it won't be easy. I'll have to surprise Harvey and Dan'l."
"You can't do that," Tommy said, his breathing short.
"I aim to try. Jasper's farm is a long way off and there's almost nothing between there and here but Drinkin' Springs, where I want you to go. Get the sheriff—or the marshal if he's back—and bring him out to this spot with some of his men. He'll come if he's got any guts."
"What'll you be doin'?"
"Getting our horses. If I do, I'll catch up with you."
"I don't like it, mister. You might get killed."
"Possibly. Now take off down that road and don't look back."
Tommy dropped his head and turned about. Suddenly, he whirled and threw his arms about Maverick's chest. Hugging the boy close, the card player said, "I'll be fine."
When they had gone their separate ways, Maverick left the road on his right and slipped down a rocky escarpment. He crept through the brush and rocks back toward the place where the thieves had been lying in wait for travelers on horseback and in stages. He tore himself a bit getting through, but eventually located the chute of rocks leading back up to the road where the outlaws had confronted them.
Very cautiously, flattening himself against the rocks, he peered around them trying to determine where Harvey and Dan'l were hiding out. They'd be sitting in the rocks apart from each other so one man could back the other up. He made a bird whistling sound, but it was no bird familiar to these parts. Again and again, he made the call until Harvey and Dan'l crept out of their holes and into the road.
"Hear that?" asked Dan'l. "Last time I heard so much bird calling, I was in Indian country."
"You may still be," said Harvey. "It came from over there."
Harvey started walking Maverick's way. He took slow steps so as not to rush things. Maverick waited in his hide-out for the first man to approach. It was Harvey. He was no different in form from Dan'l, but he was meaner. More ornery.
As soon as Harvey passed the opening of the chute, Maverick slipped out and conked him with a rock. Harvey fell to the ground, but Dan'l backed up out of range with his gun. Maverick lurched at him and both men wrestled over it. They fell, rolling over and over, hands locked on the gun, the sharp rocks bruising their spines. Harvey groggily turned over and saw the scene before him. He picked up a rock—there was blood on it, his—and rushed forward.
Now Maverick had to contend with two men at once. He rolled over just as Harvey slashed down with the rock. Harvey hit the air and staggered forward. Dan'l and Maverick continued wrestling, getting up, but Dan'l direct punch to the jaw tumbled Maverick. Harvey, still holding his rock, leaped over him, preparing to strike again, but Maverick sat up and grabbed his arm, twisting it aside. Dan'l, who had waited to see what Harvey's rock accomplished, rejoined the fray, throwing himself bodily at Maverick and forcing him down again. He pulled the card player's arms behind him, keeping a knee in his back. Maverick struggled like a fish on a line, but Dan'l was too strong.
"Get 'im up," said Harvey, weaving to and fro with the rock still in his hand.
Dan'l pulled Maverick up, but he had to subdue him with another flattening blow. Maverick reeled back, but stayed on his feet. He swung—and hit empty air. Dan'l just wasn't there, he had moved. Two beatings in less than twenty-four hours might have been something of a record for even a Maverick, but record or no, he was tiring. He and Dan'l set to again. Finally Harvey strode up and struck him with the twice-used rock. Maverick leaned away, glancing left toward his attacker and fell into a heap on the ground, raising a bit of dust.
Both Harvey and Dan'l, through some unspoken signal, bent to pick him up. Carrying him, they struggled up the steep hill beside the road, ascending through a brushy crevice. When they emerged on the ridge-top, on the other side of which were trees, rocks, and a swift running stream, Harvey and Dan'l pitched him over. But first they took off his boots to keep, and found his secret stash. With absolutely no awareness, Maverick tumbled down the rough hillside and fetched up in the water, lying face down against the huge river stones. Eddies and currents tugged at his body and threatened to pull him into the deeper, faster water.
The two men went laughing off, slapping the dust off each other. Since the area was now tainted with violence, they'd get their horses and light out for some other spot for an ambush.
The boy had returned while the fight was in progress, sooner than Maverick desired, and without the marshal of Drinkin' Springs, or the sheriff. He had climbed a bluff of trees and seen some of the fight, if distantly. He even saw Maverick being pitched off the rocks. Coming down again, not minding a rip in his dungarees on some raspberry thorns, he snuck into the draw where the thieves had picketed their four horses while they watched the road. He patted their cheeks or rubbed their foreheads, speaking softly to them to keep them quiet.
Tommy couldn't believe how he ever led the four skittish horses out of the steep, rocky draw. He untied the reins and wrapped them around his own arms, two on either side, then led them back down the hill through a stand of aspen. Looking up once, he saw the two outlaws running through the brush after their vanished horses. On the road again, he climbed on his own mare. Holding the reins of Maverick's horse, gripping the saddle horn, he leaned way over and slapped the flank of one of the outlaws' horses, sending it shooting off in a fright. His companion followed.
When he turned and saw the outlaws sliding down through the massive boulders to the road, shouting for him, he got wings and flew, Maverick's horse trailing his. They had come mighty close, he thought, to catching him. He knew he could outrun them on his horse, so he decided to do what Maverick had said and head off to find help.
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The first man he ran into was not the marshal or sheriff, but an old miner living on his own. His gray, weathered shack lay just off the road, tucked up in a stretch of pines. It wasn't much, but Tommy saw smoke rising from the chimney and feverishly banged on the board and batten door. The crusty old miner slowly opening it, Tommy poured forth his story. He had to put out a hand as the miner began to close the door again.
"Get out!" cried the old fellow, his long beard and hair bobbing with excitement. He had a strong smell of whiskey on him. "I want no trouble with thieves. Or you, either!"
"I need a rope," said Tommy. "Just let me have a rope!"
"I'll get it for you, but you return it, hear?"
Tommy promised he would and waited on the door sill for the old-timer to open the door wider. He entered the dark cavern. Dust motes hung in the air. An aroma of everything ancient struck his nose, but he had too much on his mind to take any more than a passing notice of it.
"I've got some around 'ere—somewhere," said the befuddled proprietor of the shack, scratching his torn shirt about the midsection before going into a back room. He scrounged around in there and five minutes later came up with a length of rope, a half-shot piece all hair and wires. Turning it over to see if it was the piece he wanted, he handed it to the boy. Tommy nodded and made off with it before the old man could remind him to "Bring it back again!"
Though the yell lit the silent skies, Tommy didn't hear it. He was many yards away, slipping down the pine slope. On his return trip, he didn't see either of the two outlaws. Had they just given up, or were they still looking for him? He tied the horses' reins around two rocks as an old man had once shown him how to do, and for a minute, he stood between the brutes, turning his head from side to side and murmuring into their ears for dear life. He'd knew it'd be his life if they so much as whinnied—as it may already have been his friend Bret's.
Now he climbed back up the rocks to see to his friend. In less than ten minutes, he stood on the ridge-top, looking down into the river. He didn't like what he saw. Maverick had floated down the quick stream to a quiet eddy among the rocks, but his body had turned, face up, somehow, either by his own power or the water's. Tommy rushed down among the boulders, leaping across the smaller rocks at each step. He glanced down at them for only a second to gauge his footing.
Once at the stream's edge, he knelt in the water, laying his shins and small ankles across the cold, slippery rocks that had slid down the steep slope into the stream. He tugged on Maverick's arm, calling him to awaken. With all his might, he tried dragging him out of the water by his shirt, giving up only when he was winded and dizzy and the big man hadn't moved an inch. He sat back on his heels, then bent forward over his friend's body with its cold, pale face and, grasping his arm, tugged again.
"Mister! Mister!" he shouted over the rushing water just a few yards away. "Wake up! Oh, wake up!"
Through the pulling and shouting, Maverick groaned and tried to roll over. He was coming around at last, but still so dazed that he hit the side of his head on a rock near Tommy as he turned. Wedged so tightly in among the boulders, guarded by even larger ones just beyond him, Maverick's limbs were unresponsive. He couldn't move unless he put forth a lot of will. He didn't have it. Tommy got around behind his head, sliding in the water between two rocks and nearly twisting an ankle. He put his hands under Maverick's arms and gave a mighty heave, but try as he might he couldn't budge him.
Then he remembered the rope. He could use one of the horses to pull Maverick out of the water. Rather tiredly, he got up and trod carefully across the rocks back to the bank, slipping some. Hoping the card player didn't move around too much and slip out of his niche in the rocks, into the higher water, he struggled up the hill, sometimes on hands and knees, until he reached the ridge-top where he had left the rope. The road itself lay further down, more to the east.
Looking for the outlaws, he turned that way, then grabbed up the rope and pushed through the brush until he returned to the horses. Wrangling the farm mare out of the draw where he'd left them, he threw the rope around the mare's neck and brought her to the ridge-top. Then, just as mindfully, he carefully eased her, step by step, down the craggy slope towards the river. Once there, he tied the other end of the rope around Maverick's torso—lifting him up was a whole job in itself! Stepping back to the mare, he began to talk into her large ear to start backing upon the uneven stones.
The mare balked at being pushed backward, and shied, neighing in an ear-splitting way, but all the while taking uncertain steps in the direction he wanted her to go. The weight of pulling Maverick when the rope tightened soon made her balk again. She reared her head up and loudly whinnied. Tommy found out that he had to use more of his own muscle than he had at first thought. Taking a deep breath, he pulled back on the mare's head-gear with one hand, while pushing on the mare's flank with his other.
The mare danced sideways a couple for steps, then one back, then a couple more to the side, twisting Maverick off the rocks first one way, then the other. The card player groaned, but remained otherwise unconscious. Through the mare's agency, he began moving across the rocks, but for all he knew, he might have still been lying out in the middle of the stream hugging a rock.
When he had Maverick out far enough, far enough so that all danger of his drowning was past, though he still lay at the bottom of the slope, Tommy sat down and rested. He breathed deeply in and out, his small chest rising and falling in great heaves, while watching his friend for any sign of his waking up. Some stirring, but that was all. He pondered how he, just a boy, would get him up the hill. He would have to leave that unsolved for later. He had done the important part, in just pulling the card player out of the water. Now Maverick would have to wake up and save himself the rest of the way. All that Tommy cold do now was to untie him from the horse and let him sleep.
Suddenly, his head whirled. He thought he heard a crunching of small pebbles far up on the hill. He stood and faced the ridge. The old miner appeared at the edge, throwing up a long, thin hand and lightening Tommy's heart considerably. The white-faced boy, all the blood gone out of him at the thought of the outlaws, waved back, smiling, then put his hands to his lips and called through them.
"He's alright, but he's too heavy for me to get up the hill."
"Use the horse! You got one!"
"Too many rocks, mister. I can't drag my friend over all these rocks in the way."
"Well, what do you expect me to do? Night'll be falling in a bit. Three or four hours." Hardly a 'bit.'
"I'm plannin' to sit here with him and hopefully he'll wake up before then. We've got to get back to town to get him a doctor."
"Looks like you may have a long wait. I'd come down and see to him, myself, if I thought I'd like to spend all winter in a cast."
"That's okay. I can tend him. We've got water, and a little food."
"I know what I'll do," said the graybeard.
Mostly talking to himself, he turned and vanished off the ridge. Tommy, still looking up that way, shivered as the wind gusted up. Night would indeed come, though the sun was still very high in the sky right then. He wondered what he'd do, how would he react when he heard the wolves, or coyotes, or cougars, or whatever lurked in these pines. He looked back at the pale card player asleep, then he stepped over to the horse and unhooked the canteen from the saddle. Kneeling by his friend's head, he tilted the canteen to his lips, parting them and slipping some of the water in. Not that he needed much more than he'd already had!
Tommy got up again, feeling rather lonesome for a human voice, and brought out some of the wrapped bread and butter that had been in the saddlebags all day. He sat on the bank again and ate it, thoughtlessly, while watching his still friend for signs of movement.
"Come on, wake up, mister," he urged.
After a very long while, but before dark, the old man appeared above him again. There was the sound of horses, too. Tommy had fallen down beside Maverick, asleep against his arm, and started up when he heard them. He heard the wrangling of men's voices, too. Turning in his spot on the ground, he grew anxious, widening his eyes and trying to drink it all in at once. Two or three men were approaching him. He found his feet and stood directly in their way, though offering but scant protection for his still-out friend.
"Who are you?" he snapped out.
"This the man who drowned?" asked one of the two men.
"He ain't drowned. Just out cold."
"Old man said he drowned. We're the undertaker's men. Has he got people around 'ere?"
"No, why?"
"Somebody has to pay to put 'im in the ground."
"Ain't no need for that! I tell you, he's alive."
"Then what're we doin' 'ere?" asked the other one. He hadn't spoken yet.
"Don't know. You want help, boy, gettin' 'im to the top?"
"Would you do that? For how much?"
"Pay us later. Guess you need some help."
Both men bent and lifted Maverick, one at his head, one at his feet, then began struggling up the slope with him.
"Gaw! He's sure heavy. Badly bruised, too. Stream do all that, boy?" asked one. He looked Maverick over and grunted as he altered his dead-weight in his arms for easier carrying. He was the man backing up.
"No, two men beat 'im up. I thought you was them, come back," said Tommy, in that instant lurching over a rock. It was getting dark out now. He landed on both hands. Picking himself up again, he brushed his hands against his jeans' seat and kept going.
"Naw, it wasn't us," answered the undertaker's man.
"It was thieves," Tommy spat out. "Robbed a store in Ellicott City, then robbed us, then beat 'im up. Beat 'im bad." Tommy reached out and put a hand under Maverick's head. It was all he could do, but he couldn't stay up beside the men, as he kept stumbling on the rocks. "Sheriff caught 'em once, then they got away," he added, recalling his part in their escape.
"They the ones took his boots?"
"Guess so. I hadn't seen that." Tommy looked transfixed now at Maverick's stocking feet. "Had no call to do that," he said, angry.
"Had no call to try drownin' him, either, but they did it," said one of the stoic men. Tommy only nodded.
Once at the top, they clambered back down to the road where the old man's wagon stood. The men fitted Maverick the best they could into the wagon bed. They pushed up his knees and threw his arm over them. He had never awakened, but did make some low, half-fitful moaning sounds. Tommy climbed up into the wagon beside him, and the trip back to Denver was long, tiring and hungry.