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Iffen you wants to sit ’round waitin’ for ’em, do it! I’m clearin’ out—ain’t nobody can say Amos Lutterfield was here." "Nobody but us," Shannon said coldly. "Lutterfield!" Even Drew’s head came around at that. The moonlight was silver bright on the barrel of the Colt in Kitchell’s grasp. "Sergeant, suppose you take precautions to insure the continued company of this man.
Drew, seeing the man’s swollen face, his half-closed, set eyes, thought he was in high fever, probably no longer conscious. Kitchell ought to have sense enough to know Benito might not last out the night. But it was plain they were now pushed for time. They had been on the way for a while before Drew noticed that Lutterfield was not with them. His reappearance was far more dramatic than his going.
We come west from Kansas ’long th’ end of that year. Th’ Colonel, he saw what might be done out here where it’s a long ride between sheriffs an’ th’ army hadda think ’bout Injuns most of th’ time—what army there still was in th’ territory. Me an’ old man Lutterfield, we could help th’ Colonel better not ridin’ with him, but for him, as you might say." "And now you’re goin’ to Mexico?"
Old Amos Lutterfield, he’s got him those wot believe wot he says like it was Holy Writ—he sure has! Them troopers’ll go poundin’ down th’ Sonora road huntin’ wot never was, till they drop men an’ hosses all along. Then Nahata an’ his bucks’ll tickle ’em up a bit—an’ they’ll forgit there was anyone else t’ hunt."
I don’t intend, Lutterfield, to let you curry favor by pointing out our trail to the army. I’d answer your proposed desertion as it deserves—with a bullet—but a body on our trail would provide an excellent signpost for any pursuers." The rope which had been coiled on Wayne’s saddle swung out in a perfect loop and tightened about Lutterfield, pinning his arms to his sides.
They were part of someone’s personal library—had no bookplate, though." "And what was Stein’s story concerning them?" "An old prospector named Lutterfield found them in a trunk in some cave he located out in the desert country. He brought them in to trade for supplies." "Lutterfield," Rennie repeated thoughtfully. "Yes, that could be." "Trunk in a cave?" Herrera was skeptical.
"But why leave books in a trunk in a cave?" "One of Kitchell’s caches? Or else left by someone who cleared out in ’61 and had to travel light. If anything remains, perhaps Lutterfield can locate it for us later. Anyway this"—Rennie took the book box from Drew, clapped the cover over, hiding the treasure—"won’t go to Mexico now. And if the owner is still alive, we may even find him—who knows?
Drew lay in the position where they had dumped him, his hands still tied, the ropes on his ankles now knotted together. Had the season been high summer they would have baked in this rock slit, but it was still uncomfortably warm. He heard a low moaning and saw Kitchell and Lutterfield bending over the Mexican. It was plain that the wounded man had suffered from his enforced ride.
Drew’s curiosity was aroused. "That is a story almost as fanciful as the ones inside them." Stein rested his bony elbows on the counter as he talked. "Would you believe, Mister Kirby, these were brought to me by Amos Lutterfield?" "Lutterfield? Who’s he?" "I forget, you have not been in Tubacca long. Amos Lutterfield—he is what one might term a character, a strange one.
He gazed beyond Drew’s shoulder into the world outside the cantina door. "Why would anyone want to store books in a trunk in a cave?" Drew changed the subject quickly to break that unseeing stare. He outlined what Stein had told him, and Anse’s attention was all his again. "Might catch up with this Lutterfield an’ ask a few questions—" "Stein couldn’t get anythin’ out of him.
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