lla.thelonelymen-第28部分

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　But　first；　I　had　taken　his　guns　and　ammunition；　to　leave　nothing　for　the　Apaches　if　they　found　him。　There　was　a　full　belt　of　ammunition　as　well　as　some　loose　cartridges。　And　there　was　a　swallow　of　water　in　the　canteen。
　In　his　pocket　I　found　a　stub　of　pencil　and　some　old　papers　on　which　he　had　been　learning　to　write　his　name。　He　had　gotten　somebody　to　write　it　for　him；　or　had　taken　it　from　something　addressed　to　him；　and　had　practiced；　over　and　over　again；　on　many　different　surfaces。　I　had　never　seen　him　do　so；　nor　likely　had　anyone　else；　for　he　was　a　proud　man；　ashamed　to　let　us　know　he　could　not　write；　and　that　he　cared。
　There　was　no　address；　nothing　to　show　that　there　was　anyone　to　whom　he　belonged。　But　there　had　been　a　girl　he　had　talked　of；　so　I　took　what　money　he　had；　only　a　few　dollars　and　some　pesos；　to　give　to　her。
　Scarcely　twenty　minutes　was　used　in　burying　the　body。　Then；　leading　the　spare　horse；　I　went　back　to　the　arroyo　and　followed　it　for　perhaps　a　mile；　the　soft　sand　leaving　no　tracks　that　could　be　recognized。　When　I　came　out　I　started　across　country。
　The　sun　had　gone　down　by　now　and　the　desert　was　cool。　Off　in　the　distance　I　could　hear　a　quail　call　。。。　I　hoped　it　was　a　real　quail。
　I　felt　stiff　and　cold　now；　and　I　worked　my　fingers　to　keep　them　easy　for　my　gun。　Shifting　to　Rocca's　horse；　I　rode　on　into　the　night。　There　was　no　trail；　but　I　went　ahead；　all　the　time　looking　for　water。　The　green　place　I'd　seen　from　afar　should　be　near。
　The　black　horse　pulled　up　alongside　me；　and　Rocca's　horse　quickened　its　pace。　They　smelled　it。
　An　arroyo　opened　on　my　right　and　I　found　my　way　into　it；　listened；　then　walked　the　horses　on；　knowing　the　arroyo　would　end　where　the　water　was。　The　arroyo　gaped；　and　I　looked　into　a　small　oasis　darkening　with　the　cool　of　evening。
　There　were　a　dozen　cottonwoods；　some　mesquite　and　willows；　and　slopes　green　with　grass；　and　through　the　trees　a　glimmer　of　water。　I　could　hear　birds　twittering。　The　horses　tugged　at　their　bits；　wanting　to　go　forward。　Winchester　in　hand；　I　walked　them　slowly；　ready　with　a　spur　if　need　be。
　Suddenly　my　way　was　blocked　by　a　low　stone　wall　that　looked　to　be　a　part　of　one　of　those　trincheras　the　ancient　people　built　to　terrace　and　till　their　land；　or　sometimes　for　dams。　I'd　seen　a　lot　of　them　in　Mexico。
　Dismounting；　I　led　the　horses　around　it　and　down　to　a　broken　place　in　the　wall；　and　saw　something　dark　and　shadowy　through　the　trees。　There　was　no　sound　but　the　water；　and　the　rustle　of　the　cottonwood　leaves。　I　walked　ahead　to　an　opening　among　the　trees；　and　came　to　an　ancient　ruin。　It　had　once　been　a　considerable　structure；　built　right　from　the　edge　of　the　pool　back　to　the　cliffs　where　it　joined　the　native　rock。
　Only　the　floor　remained；　and　a　corner　of　a　wall　that　reached　up　to　six　feet；　slanting　down　to　no　more　than　three　feet　near　the　water。　There　was　green　grass　all　around；　and　a　stillness　that　came　from　utter　isolation。
　First　off；　I　let　the　horses　drink　sparingly；　and　drank　myself；　and　then　filled　Rocca's　canteen。　All　the　while　I　kept　my　ears　tuned　for　any　sound。　But　there　were　no　tracks　around　that　I　could　see；　no　signs　of　campfires；　nothing　to　show　anybody　had　been　here　at　all　in　years。
　Picketing　the　horses；　I　found　a　corner　of　the　wall　that　protected　me　on　two　sides。　A　pile　of　fallen　adobe　bricks　mingled　with　chunks　of　rock　that　had　been　used　in　the　walls　formed　a　partial　breastwork　on　the　other　sides。
　Tired　as　I　was；　there　was　no　sleep　in　me。　Places　like　this　made　a　man　sort　of　sad。　Somebody　had　lived　here；　and　judging　by　the　look　of　the　place；　different　people　at　different　times。　There　had　once　been　a　building　of　native　stone。　It　had　fallen　in　and　been　rebuilt　with　adobe　and　rock；　and　it　looked　as　if　the　last　time　was　no　more　than　thirty；　forty　years　back。　Indians　had　perhaps　built　the　place　first；　and　rebuilt　it；　too。　Later　white　people　had　settled　in　here　until　driven　out。
　It　was　a　quiet　place。　A　small　garden　patch　had　been　worked　at　one　time；　and　there　was　a　meadow　where　hay　might　have　been　cut；　but　nobody　could　live　long　in　such　a　place　with　the　Apaches　on　the　rampage。
　I　settled　down；　and　after　a　while　I　slept。　I　awoke　when　the　morning　sun　began　to　filter　through　the　leaves。　Everything　was　as　quiet　as　before。　I　watered　the　horses；　saddled　them；　and　prepared　to　move　out；　but　first　I　had　scouting　to　do。
　There　were　crude　steps　cut　from　the　rocks　at　one　side；　taking　advantage　of　natural　steps　left　by　the　erosion　of　rock　layers。　Climbing　these；　I　found　a　natural　hollow　that　had　been　shaped　by　hand　into　a　lookout　of　some　fort；　with　a　view　in　all　directions。
　For　several　minutes　I　studied　the　desert；　but　saw　nothing。　Back　down　below　again；　I　dug　into　my　saddlebags　for　the　small　packet　of　coffee　I　always　carried　for　emergencies。　Often　I　carried　some　jerky　and　flour；　but　now　there　was　only　the　coffee。
　I　built　a　small　fire；　and　rinsed　out　an　old　clay　jar　I　found。　When　I'd　made　coffee　I　filled　a　cup　and　prowled　around；　and　finding　some　chia；　I　gathered　a　handful　of　the　seeds　and　ate　them。　Then　I　went　up　for　another　look。
　Off　to　the　north　I　glimpsed　a　buzzard。　There　might　be　a　dead　steer；　or　it　might　be　one　of　my　friends；　and　buzzards　do　not　always　wait　for　a　man　to　die。
　Due　north　I　rode；　then　I　swung　wide　to　the　east；　cutting　for　a　sign。　Whatever　was　up　ahead　must　have　left　tracks　getting　there；　and　I　wished　to　find　out　what　I　was　up　against。
　〃Tell；〃　I　told　myself；　〃you　better　ride　easy　in　the　saddle。　I　think　you're　headin'　into　trouble。〃
　That　black　nicked　an　ear　at　me　as　if　to　show　he　agreed。　A　lonely　man　a…horseback　in　wild　country　gets　to　carryin'　on　conversations　with　his　horse；　and　some　horses　bee　right　knowledgeable　and　understanding。
　No　tracks。　I　rode　up　on　the　east　of　where　the　buzzard　circled；　and　swung　in　closer。　Standing　in　my　stirrups　I　looked　the　country　over；　and　at　first　I　saw　only　a　lot　of　prickly　pear　around；　and　some　clumps　of　cholla；　all　white　thorns　on　top；　brown　underneath。
　Then　I　saw　the　horse　…　a　horse　down；　a　saddled　horse。
　Circling　around　it；　rifle　in　hand；　I　taken　a　chance　and　called　out：　〃Spanish？　Is　that　you？〃
　A　couple　of　buzzards　roosting　in　a　palo　verde　tree　nearby　looked　mighty　upset　with　me；　and　one　of　them　dropped　his　wings　as　if　to　scare　me　off　or　stampede　my　horses。
　No　answer　came　back。　So　I　cut　a　little　closer；　then　drew　up　and　looked　around。　It　was　all　just　as　it　should　be；　sunlit　and　still。
　My　black　was　curious；　too。　He　could　sense　something　I　could　not；　and　though　it　made　him　curious；　it　was　something　he　shied　from。　Probably　it　was　the　dead　horse。
　I　walked　him　slowly　forward；　the　hammer　of　my　Winchester　eared　back　for　trouble。
　The　shirt　was　what　I　saw　first；　men　the　boots；　and　the　Mexican　spurs　with　the　big　rowels。　It　was　Spanish。
　I　swung　down　and；　having　tied　the　black　to　a　mesquite；　I　walked　up　to　him。
　He　was　lying　face　down　in　the　sand；　but　he　had　pulled　his　saddlebags　across　his　kidneys；　so　he'd　been　alive　and　conscious　when　he　hit　the　ground。　He　knew　that　buzzards　went　for　the　eyes　and　the　kidneys　first；　so　he'd　rolled　on　his　face　and　pulled　those　saddlebags　over　him。　They　might　not　help　much；　but　getting　them　off　him　might　bring　him　to　enough　to　fight　the　buzzards　off。
　Lifting　the　saddlebags　free；　I　rolled　him　over。
　There　was　blood　all　over　the　front　of　him；　dried　blood　that　seemed　to　e　from　a　shoulder　wound。　And　there　was　blood　lower　down　that　came　from　some　place　in　his　middle。　But　he　was　breathing。
　We　were　right　out　in　the　open；　and　those　buzzards　could　attract　more　than　me；　so；　good　for　him　or　not；　we　had　to　move。
　He　muttered　something；　so　I　tried　to　let　him　know　who　was　with　him。　〃It's　all　right；　Spanish；〃　I　said。　〃You'll　see　that　girl　in　Tucson　yet。〃
　There　was　no　time　for　fixing　him　up　at　all。　Gathering　him　into　my　arms；　I　went　with　him　to　the　spare　horse　and　put　him　in　the　saddle；　then　I　lashed　his　wrists　to　the　pommel　and　his　boots　into　the　stirrups。　I　taken　his　saddlebags；　although　what　was　in　them　I　didn't　know。　Then　I　checked　his　horse；　but　the　animal　was　dead。　There　was　a　rifle　in　the　saddle　scabbard；　so　I　took　it　along。　There　was　no　canteen。
　We　rode　out　of　there　at　a　good　clip。　The　country　ahead　promised　n