clarity seeing himself as he was. He shuddered in revulsion and then began to shake weakly. But abruptly he sat up again, stiffening, startled.
Cordray
didn’t know who he was — Cordray didn’t know him from Adam’s off ox …
He commenced to feel better. All was not yet lost. So long as Cordray didn’t know him, didn’t know he’d come from Sierra, there was a fair to middling chance if he was careful he’d get out of this. They’d probably taken his clothes to clean; they were keeping him in bed because they thought he needed rest.
He wiped the sweat off his face and even managed a parched sort of smile. The money wasn’t his but it wasn’t anybody’s else that you could properly put a tag on. “Finders keepers,” he muttered, sinking back again. If he could just get away from this place now before Sierra or some other of his agents rode up to discover why the promised guns weren’t forthcoming.
Another startling thought rolled him onto an elbow. He thrust his feet to the floor and with the blanket around him went over and had a look through the window. This place wasn’t built in the hidalgo fashion of a square kind of box with a patio in the center; it was sprawled all over after the American manner with its outbuildings scattered like chicks around a hen. There was nothing which he had seen before. Now where in the hell was that shack he’d come up to?
He got back in the bed, worried again, excited, nervous. Be a fine situation if he couldn’t find that shack! Then he remembered the girl and breathed easier. She could tell him.
Where was she now? Why didn’t she come in here? Too embarrassed perhaps, now he’d got back his senses. But there would be time for that; plenty of time to find her after he got himself into his clothes again. He could sure do with a drink, though. His mouth tasted like an old sock had been wadded into it.
The hours dragged by. He fell into a doze and disquieteningly dreamed he saw Sierra bent over Descardo’s corpse. He seemed to be enumerating the things which were missing, the hat and black coat, the quirt and the pistol; and now Tano’s eyes leaped beyond to the horse and Reno heard his snarled curse when he discovered the bags were gone from behind the big black’s saddle. He saw Sierra grab the general’s dead shoulder, shaking it so vigorously Descardo’s head wabbled. “Quick, fool! Where are they? What has happened to my onzas?” To his horror Reno saw the general’s eyes come open. The lips in his dead face began to move and he said, “That borracho — that gringo jellybean took them.” Reno watched Sierra straighten. “Oho,” Tano said with a beautiful smile, “that is all right then. He goes to pay for my rifles.” Descardo laughed harshly. “He goes with your gold to buy a chicken farm at Sante Fe!”
It was the laugh that brought the American, wildly staring, bolt upright. The laugh was still in the room. It was Juanito chucking. “Come, sleepin head,” the fat man spoke to him in English. “I would feex up your peellows. All the morning you have cut the logs. Mira — look, I have come weeth your T-bones.”
Reno sank back, weakly, soaked with sweat, against the pillows. The dream was too vivid and the threat of it stayed in his mind like a burr snarled into the fuzz of a blanket. He stared at the Mexican speechlessly; then spoke in a cracked whisper, “Hombre, what day is this?”
“It is the Wednesday,” Juan smiled; and fear built its cold lump in the American’s belly. Wednesday — Jesucristo! It had been on the night of a Wednesday that Descardo had roared down into Boca Grande and had his Dorados shot to dollrags by the Federalista infantry! Seven days … Reno shuddered.
He tried to pull himself together. “I’ve got to have my clothes.”
“Si
. On the morrow, the patron says, eef you are strong enough.”
Reno scowled at the food the man had placed in his lap. He chewed at his lip. “Tonight,” he said
Cordray
didn’t know who he was — Cordray didn’t know him from Adam’s off ox …
He commenced to feel better. All was not yet lost. So long as Cordray didn’t know him, didn’t know he’d come from Sierra, there was a fair to middling chance if he was careful he’d get out of this. They’d probably taken his clothes to clean; they were keeping him in bed because they thought he needed rest.
He wiped the sweat off his face and even managed a parched sort of smile. The money wasn’t his but it wasn’t anybody’s else that you could properly put a tag on. “Finders keepers,” he muttered, sinking back again. If he could just get away from this place now before Sierra or some other of his agents rode up to discover why the promised guns weren’t forthcoming.
Another startling thought rolled him onto an elbow. He thrust his feet to the floor and with the blanket around him went over and had a look through the window. This place wasn’t built in the hidalgo fashion of a square kind of box with a patio in the center; it was sprawled all over after the American manner with its outbuildings scattered like chicks around a hen. There was nothing which he had seen before. Now where in the hell was that shack he’d come up to?
He got back in the bed, worried again, excited, nervous. Be a fine situation if he couldn’t find that shack! Then he remembered the girl and breathed easier. She could tell him.
Where was she now? Why didn’t she come in here? Too embarrassed perhaps, now he’d got back his senses. But there would be time for that; plenty of time to find her after he got himself into his clothes again. He could sure do with a drink, though. His mouth tasted like an old sock had been wadded into it.
The hours dragged by. He fell into a doze and disquieteningly dreamed he saw Sierra bent over Descardo’s corpse. He seemed to be enumerating the things which were missing, the hat and black coat, the quirt and the pistol; and now Tano’s eyes leaped beyond to the horse and Reno heard his snarled curse when he discovered the bags were gone from behind the big black’s saddle. He saw Sierra grab the general’s dead shoulder, shaking it so vigorously Descardo’s head wabbled. “Quick, fool! Where are they? What has happened to my onzas?” To his horror Reno saw the general’s eyes come open. The lips in his dead face began to move and he said, “That borracho — that gringo jellybean took them.” Reno watched Sierra straighten. “Oho,” Tano said with a beautiful smile, “that is all right then. He goes to pay for my rifles.” Descardo laughed harshly. “He goes with your gold to buy a chicken farm at Sante Fe!”
It was the laugh that brought the American, wildly staring, bolt upright. The laugh was still in the room. It was Juanito chucking. “Come, sleepin head,” the fat man spoke to him in English. “I would feex up your peellows. All the morning you have cut the logs. Mira — look, I have come weeth your T-bones.”
Reno sank back, weakly, soaked with sweat, against the pillows. The dream was too vivid and the threat of it stayed in his mind like a burr snarled into the fuzz of a blanket. He stared at the Mexican speechlessly; then spoke in a cracked whisper, “Hombre, what day is this?”
“It is the Wednesday,” Juan smiled; and fear built its cold lump in the American’s belly. Wednesday — Jesucristo! It had been on the night of a Wednesday that Descardo had roared down into Boca Grande and had his Dorados shot to dollrags by the Federalista infantry! Seven days … Reno shuddered.
He tried to pull himself together. “I’ve got to have my clothes.”
“Si
. On the morrow, the patron says, eef you are strong enough.”
Reno scowled at the food the man had placed in his lap. He chewed at his lip. “Tonight,” he said
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