Lone Pine: The Story of a Lost Mine

by R. B. Townshend

"Thank you, señor, a thousand thanks for all your kindness," said Felipe, rising. "May I see the pistol?"

The storekeeper took a key from his pocket, unlocked a chest, and produced a heavy, old-fashioned, muzzle-loading Colt's revolver in a leather holster. He drew it out; it was well smeared with grease. He pulled the hammer to half-cock, and spun the cylinder round, click, click, click, with his finger.

"She's not new," he remarked; "but she goes like clockwork, and she'll throw a conical ball through four inches of pine wood. I've tried her at a mark, too, and she'll hit the size of a silver dollar at ten yards every pop, if you're man enough to hold her steady." He handed it over to Felipe, who examined it with great care. Though he had never owned a weapon of his own, he knew how to handle one. They did not read or write in the pueblo, but they had compulsory education for all that; every boy learned two necessary things, the use of weapons and the use of tools. And they never required any salaried attendance officer to drive them to school. The boy drew back the hammer with his left thumb, holding the barrel with his stiff right hand, and squinted down the sights.

"That's right," said Backus approvingly, "I see you know all about it. Now that pistol cost fifteen dollars new, and I can sell it to you for four dollars and a half, and there's a little ammunition that goes with it, thrown in. It's as good as new, too; these Colt's pistols never wear out, but they've got a new style now with copper cartridges, and that's why these old-fashioned ones are cheap." It was all quite true. Mr. Backus loved truth, it got you such a useful reputation; he never lied except when he thought it would pay him, and then he could lie like a gas-meter.

Felipe produced the cash, and slipped his belt through the loop of the holster. He felt himself more a man now; from this time forward he would go "heeled."

"No use your going back all that way to the pueblo," said the storekeeper, "and it won't do your arm any good. I can let you sleep here in an outhouse, and I've lots of sheepskins I've traded for that you can spread down for a bed." The Indians despise soft mattresses, but love to lie on skins.

For the next three days Felipe was Backus's guest. His wounded arm made rapid progress towards recovery, and the boy spent his days either squatting in the store with his blanket drawn round him, silently noting all that went on, or in lounging round the corral, looking after Backus's horse and practising aiming at a mark with his new toy. He could not afford to waste his ammunition, but Backus showed him how to put on old caps to save the tubes from the blow of the hammer, and by snapping it thus he acquired a useful familiarity with his weapon.

* * * * * * *

For three days no tiding came to San Remo of Manuelita and her captors, or of their pursuers. But on the fourth morning two young Mexicans came spurring in from the westward, and reined up their weary horses before one of the San Remo corrals. They were soon surrounded by eager questioners, boys and women mostly, and the storekeeper and Felipe were not long in joining the throng. The young men felt their own importance, and dealt out their information gradually. No, there had been nothing to call a fight, and no one was hurt, though there had been some shots fired. Yes, the Señorita Manuelita Sanchez was all right. She and the Americano, Don Estevan, and the Navajos were all coming home together in one party; and Don Nepomuceno and Don Andrés with the rest of the Mexicans were also coming home together, but by a different route, and along with them were the Santiago trailers. The various incidents of the expedition,—of the loss of the trail and of the finding it again, of the renewed pursuit almost to the verge of the Lava Beds, and of the meeting there between the party of Mexicans and the returning Santiago trailers, who announced to them that Stephens, with Manuelita and the Navajos, were already on their way back to San Remo,—all these things had to be related at length and with impressive detail. And then, their horses unsaddled and attended to, these young men, who had been riding a good part of the night, slipped away to contrive an interview with their sweethearts, to get quickly back to whom they had ridden far and fast. The young men of San Remo were neither laggards in love nor dastards in war.

"I think, mebbe, if I was you," said Backus to the young Indian, "I'd contrive not to be here just when they arrive, but go off somewheres and keep out of the way. If you have a notion in your head to do anything, better not let folks see you, as it were, waiting for anyone—you understand?"