LaBoeuf said, “I told you we should have separated them.”
Rooster said nothing to that, not wishing to own he had made a mistake. He went through the pockets of the dead thieves and put such oddments as he found upon the table. The lantern was beyond repair and LaBoeuf brought out a candle from his saddle wallet and lit it and fixed it on the table. Rooster turned up a few coins and cartridges and notes of paper money and a picture of a pretty girl torn from an illustrated paper and pocket knives and a plug of tobacco. He also found a California gold piece in Quincy’s vest pocket.
I fairly shouted when I saw it. “That is my father’s gold piece!” said I. “Let me have it!”
It was not a round coin but a rectangular slug of gold that was minted in “The Golden State” and was worth thirty-six dollars and some few cents. Rooster said, “I never seen a piece like this before. Are you sure it is the one?” I said, “Yes, Grandfather Spurling gave Papa two of these when he married Mama. That scoundrel Chaney has still got the other one. We are on his trail for certain!”
“We are on Ned’s trail anyhow,” said Rooster. “I expect it is the same thing. I wonder how Quincy got aholt of this. Is this Chaney a gambler?”
LaBoeuf said, “He likes a game of cards. I reckon Ned has called off the robbery if he is not here by now.”
“Well, we won’t count on that,” said Rooster. “Saddle the horses and I will lug these boys out.”
“Do you aim to run?” said LaBoeuf.
Rooster turned a glittering eye on him. “I aim to do what I come out here to do,” said he. “Saddle the horses.”
Rooster directed me to straighten up the inside of the dugout. He carried the bodies out and concealed them in the woods. I sacked up the turkey fragments and pitched the wrecked lantern into the fireplace and stirred around on the dirt floor with a stick to cover the blood. Rooster was planning an ambush.
When he came back from his second trip to the woods he brought a load of limbs for the fireplace. He built up a big fire so there would be light and smoke and indicate that the cabin was occupied. Then we went out and joined LaBoeuf and the horses in the brush arbor. This dwelling, as I have said, was set back in a hollow where two slopes pinched together in a kind of V. It was a good place for what Rooster had in mind.
He directed LaBoeuf to take his horse and find a position up on the north slope about midway along one stroke of the V, and explained that he would take up a corresponding position on the south slope. Nothing was said about me with regard to the plan and I elected to stay with Rooster.
He said to LaBoeuf, “Find you a good place up yonder and then don’t move about. Don’t shoot unless you hear me shoot. What we want is to get them all in the dugout. I will kill the last one to go in and then we will have them in a barrel.”
“You will shoot him in the back?” asked LaBoeuf.
“It will give them to know our intentions is serious. These ain’t chicken thieves. I don’t want you to start shooting unless they break. After my first shot I will call down and see if they will be taken alive. If they won’t we will shoot them as they come out.”
“There is nothing in this plan but a lot of killing,” said LaBoeuf. “We want Chelmsford alive, don’t we? You are not giving them any show.”
“It is no use giving Ned and Haze a show. If they are taken they will hang and they know it. They will go for a fight every time. The others may be chicken-hearted and give up, I don’t know. Another thing, we don’t know how many there is. I do know there is just two of us.”
“Why don’t I try to wing Chelmsford before he gets inside?”
“I don’t like that,” said Rooster. “If there is any shooting before they get in that dugout we are likely to come up with a empty sack. I want Ned too. I want all of them.”
“All right,” said LaBoeuf. “But if they do break I am going for Chelmsford.”
“You are liable to kill him with that big Sharps no matter where you hit him. You go for Ned and I will try to nick this Chaney in the legs.”
“What does Ned look like?”
“He is a little fellow. I don’t know what he will be riding. He will be doing a lot of talking. Just go for the littlest one.”
“What if they hole up in there for a siege? They may figure on staying till dark and then breaking.”
“I don’t think they will,” said Rooster. “Now don’t keep on with this. Get on up there. If something queer turns up you will just have to use your head.”
“How long will we wait?”
“Till daylight anyhow.”
“I don’t think they are coming now.”
“Well, you may be right. Now move. Keep your eyes open and your horse quiet. Don’t go to sleep and don’t get the ‘jimjams.’”
Rooster took a cedar bough and brushed around over all our tracks in front of the dugout. Then we took our horses and led them up the hill in a roundabout route along a rocky stream bed. We went over the crest and Rooster posted me there with the horses. He told me to talk to them or give them some oats or put my hand over their nostrils if they started blowing or neighing. He put some corn dodgers in his pocket and left to go for his ambush position.
I said, “I cannot see anything from here.”
He said, “This is where I want you to stay.”
“I am going with you where I can see something.”
“You will do like I tell you.”
“The horses will be all right.”
“You have not seen enough killing tonight?”
“I am not staying here by myself.”
We started back over the ridge together. I said, “Wait, I will go back and get my revolver,” but he grabbed me roughly and pulled me along after him and I left the pistol behind. He found us a place behind a big log that offered a good view of the hollow and the dugout. We kicked the snow back so that we could rest on the leaves underneath. Rooster loaded his rifle from a sack of cartridges and placed the sack on the log where he would have it ready at hand. He got out his revolver and put a cartridge into the one chamber that he kept empty under the hammer. The same shells fit his pistol and rifle alike. I thought you had to have different kinds. I bunched myself up inside the slicker and rested my head against the log. Rooster ate a corn dodger and offered me one.
I said, “Strike a match and let me look at it first.”
“What for?” said he.
“There was blood on some of them.”
“We ain’t striking no matches.”
“I don’t want it then. Let me have some taffy.”
“It is all gone.”
I tried to sleep but it was too cold. I cannot sleep when my feet are cold. I asked Rooster what he had done before he became a Federal marshal.
“I done everything but keep school,” said he.
“What was one thing that you did?” said I.
“I skinned buffalo and killed wolves for bounty out on the Yellow House Creek in Texas. I seen wolves out there that weighed a hundred and fifty pounds.”
“Did you like it?”
“It paid well enough but I didn’t like that open country. Too much wind to suit me. There ain’t but about six trees between there and Canada. Some people like it fine. Everything that grows out there has got stickers on it.”
“Have you ever been to California?”
“I never got out there.”
“My Grandfather Spurling lives in Monterey, California. He owns a store there and he can look out his window any time he wants to and see the blue ocean. He sends me five dollars every Christmas. He has buried two wives and is now married to one called Jenny who is thirty-one years of age. That is one year younger than Mama. Mama will not even say her name.”
“I fooled around in Colorado for a spell but I never got out to California. I freighted supplies for a man named Cook out of Denver.”
“Did you fight in the war?”
“Yes, I did.”
“Papa did too. He was a good soldier.”