the Lonely Men (1969) Read Online Free PDF

how dangerous it was, I left Orry here ... I thought he'd be safe here."
    That made sense, all right. Still, there was a lot that puzzled me, but a man could waste any amount of time quibbling and fussing over details, which was never my way. If anything was to be done it had to be done fast. With her description of the boy and his clothing, I decided I'd best get together an outfit and pull out.
    She stood there, her white dress like a light against the adobe walls. I looked back once as I walked away, and she was still standing there, looking after me.
    It worried me some because this whole thing had come on me so sudden that I'd no chance to sort of think things through. Out there on the trail with those Apaches around there'd been no time, and now it seemed there was no time either.
    Nevertheless, there was some thinking I had to do.
    The worst of it was I was almighty short of money, and no matter what a man sets out to do, it seems it costs him something. This here was going to cost money as well as sweat, and maybe blood.
    All I had to my name was about two hundred saved-up dollars, the most I'd had in months, and I'd lost my saddle back yonder, and needed a horse. We'd come into Tucson on horses just borrowed from the stage outfit, and they'd be going back soon.
    So I needed a horse and an outfit, and a pack horse if I had enough to handle it.
    What I wanted was a good used saddle, and there was a reason. I was of no mind to ride into Apache country with a squeaky new saddle. Now, any saddle will squeak a mite, and it's a comforting sort of sound, most times, but when there are Apaches around any sound more than your breathing is liable to get you killed.
    I needed not only a saddle, but also, a pair of saddlebags, a canteen, a poncho, a blanket, a spare cartridge belt and a small amount of grub. I'd have to live off the country, on food I could get without shooting. From the time I crossed the border I was going to have to move like a ghost.
    Tampico Rocca was in the Quartz Rock Saloon when I came in, and I went to his table and sat down. He leaned across the table. "John J., he rides out tonight.
    There is trouble, I think."
    "Trouble?"
    "There was difficulty in Texas. Battles won out. Two of the dead man's brothers are in town, with some friends. Battles wants no more trouble."
    "He's broke, isn't he?" Me, I dug down in my jeans. "I'm outfitting for Mexico, but I can let him have twenty dollars."
    Rocca shook his head. "This is not what I mean, amigo. He will meet us outside of town. He wished me to tell you this so you would not think he rode off alone.
    We are coming with you, senor."
    "Now, you see here. This is my affair, and you boys got no call to ride along.
    It's going to be rough."
    Tampico chuckled. "Amigo, you talk to Rocca, not to some pilgrim. I am Rocca, who is half Apache and who has lived with them. I know where they go. I know how they live. You will need me, amigo."
    Well, I just sat there, finding nothing to say. Words just don't come easy to me, and at such times I find myself coming up empty. So I just looked at him and he grinned and waved for another beer.
    The place was filling up, and it was a tough place. Nobody ever said the Quartz Rock was gentle. Over at the Congress Hall Saloon you'd find the gentry. You'd find the solid men, the good men, and mixed with them some of the drifters, but the Quartz Rock was rough. At least when Foster ran it.
    You drank their liquor and you took your chances at the games, and the men who hung out there were hard cases, men with the bark on, men who had been born with the bark on. There were men came into that place so rough they wore their clothes out from the inside first. When you saw a man walk into the Quartz Rock wearing a six-shooter or a bowie knife he wasn't wearing it for show.
    We were finishing our second beer when four men came into the place.
    Rocca sat up easily and moved on the chair to keep his gun hand free. This was beginning to shape up