Rubio: The Legend (Ben Blue)

by Lou Bradshaw

  Why would the killer take that from her head, after he had already killed and scalped her? That gave me much to think about. Why would he? A small child’s headband was not much of a trophy to hang on your lance or tied to your pony’s main. It was the kind of trophy that would bring jeers around the campfires. He may have given that some thought and decided that it wasn’t the type of trophy to boast about…. Or maybe he had taken it for another reason.

  He may have kept it because he knew that I would be coming after him. He wanted to taunt me with it. He must know that I wear the headband of red. The Spanish traders called me Rubio because as a small boy I always wore a headband the color of their red gemstones. My almost forgotten name was Walking Wolf, but my clansmen called me Rubio.

  This was not an attack of opportunity, this was a cruel attack meant only to hurt me. And it did. It hurt me more than anyone would ever know. But it made the pain and suffering that Scar Face the Red Hand would have to endure before he went to the underworld, that much worse.

  There was no doubt in my mind who I was following. The attack could have come from any brave of the Mescalero band, but they would have been likely to have killed the mother and stolen the Morning Sky. The Apache value children, but will kill them if they are not courageous. Morning Sky and Small Puma were too young to be expected to show courage. Small Puma would have been killed because he wouldn’t survive without his mother.

  Knowing who I was following, and the kind of man he was, made me think about my approach to catching up with them. They were leaving a trail that a blind coyote could follow. They knew I was coming, but they didn’t know how far behind I was. They would expect a war party if there was any pursuit at all. They wouldn’t expect one man to go out alone. They would be watching for large dust clouds… more than two horses.

  The Apache look down on the Diné because we plant corn and tend sheep. To their thinking that is woman’s work. They laugh and call us, women without breasts. I didn’t care what they called us, as long as our children were not crying for food as their bellies shrunk during the ice moons.

  ~~~~~ 0 ~~~~~~

  I took my own red headband off and stored it with my daughter’s tiny strip in my pouch, then I used a rawhide strip and tied it in place of my headband to keep the hair out of my eyes. The red was too strong a color for the desert and would be too easily seen.

  Later that day, I saw a great number of carrion birds circling above the entrance to a canyon. I rode with caution. I had been riding along the northern face of a very large mesa. The birds were fighting and squabbling as they competed for what was there. Some were being chased away, only to be replaced by others coming in. When I got nearer to the canyon mouth they began to fly away and scatter.

  The carrion birds didn’t go far; they would fly up and land on rocks or boulders to wait. They were always waiting… they knew that eventually they would have their fill. As I turned into the canyon, I saw what they were feasting on. A man and a boy were lying close together in the dirt. From the looks of their moccasins and other bits of clothing, I would have said they were Diné, probably father and son. They were badly mutilated by the birds and by the hand of man. I could see further up in the canyon the bodies of several sheep, and the tracks of many sheep were everywhere.

  Leading my horses, I went deeper into the canyon. The carcass of an ewe was laying in the open. It had been partially skinned and several cuts of meat had been taken. My enemies were killing anyone or anything they came upon. They were in a killing frenzy. I didn’t want to just leave the man and boy there, but I needed to be on my way.

  Getting ready to pull myself up on my pony, I saw something move back deeper in the canyon. At first, I thought it was a surviving sheep, but it had dark hair and moved on two feet. It was another child.

  Chapter 6

  Thinking that there may be more children or another adult farther back in the canyon, I followed. As I went around the bend I found a large open area with about twenty or so sheep milling around. There was a good stand of grass and a pool of water from a small spring. I didn’t see a trace of any other human… neither adult nor child.

  The young one I had followed back there thought he was well hidden, but I could see him easily. He moved too much to be invisible. I called to him and told him to come on out, and I would help him get to his people safely. But he didn’t come out; he only burrowed himself deeper into the brush. He was scared.

  “Come out, boy.” I called again. “The Apache have gone, and I will take you to your village.” There was only slight movement as he tried to make himself even smaller.

  “I am called Rubio I am Diné, you are safe. No one will harm you.” There was still no answer. If the Spanish men had been trading with his people, he may not have known our true name. So I called again, “I am Rubio of the Navajo people.”

  At first there was no movement, but soon a little hesitant raising of his head occurred. Then his eyes shown and shortly after, he was climbing out of the greasewood and moving toward me. He was a small boy, not more than five or six summers, and much smaller than his brother lying at the entrance to the canyon. He must have been hidden when the others were attacked.

  He came to me. I put my arm around his shoulder and drew him close. It wasn’t something I would do in the village, but the boy was alone, scared, and probably hungry. He wrapped his arms around my legs and clung to me. He did not cry or shed a tear.

  I asked him how long it was since the Apache had left, and the way he described it, I was a day and a half behind them. After building a small fire, I cut a joint from the sheep that the Apache had eaten from, and cut away the parts that didn’t smell good. Then I cooked it and we ate. After eating, I removed what I was wearing and covered myself with ashes, so I could touch the bodies of his father and brother. It is taboo to look upon or touch the dead, unless you are a close family member or are suitably prepared. I hoped I was prepared. I didn’t want spirits attaching themselves to me.

  Having no tool to dig with, all I could do was move them together and pile stones over them to keep the birds and coyotes from feeding on them. There was no time to gather and drive the sheep, but some of his family or clansmen could do that. They would be safe with the scavengers feeding on the dead sheep. It would have to do.

  I let the ponies drink and then washed the ash away. I was still uneasy about touching the dead, but this was a special time. I hoped the spirits would understand. If they did not, I would have to deal with what followed as best I could.

  Putting the boy up on my other pony, he grabbed the mane with both hands. I asked if he had ever been on horseback. His eyes were as big as moons, and he shook his head. This would be a new experience for him and give him something else to think about.

  I asked him if one of the raiders had a scar on his face. I traced a line from my eye to the corner of my mouth. His eyes were big with fright, and he said that the leader had such a scar. That confirmed what I already suspected. Scar Face was on a rampage.

  When we were out of the canyon, he pointed to a butte across the desert floor. It was tall and narrow at the top, but large at the base. The sun would move half of a half across the sky before we were there.

  The head man of the village welcomed me and thanked me for bringing the boy home. He offered to let me stay there as long as I needed. But when I told him my story, his face grew cloudy with concern. “Are you so powerful a warrior, that you can take vengeance from these devils? Scar Face the Red Hand is well known for his feats in battle. He has many scalps. We have heard little of your powers, and there are no scalps hanging on your lance.” He said to me.

  I told him, “I know Scar Face’s reputation, and I have met him in the circle. I gave him his name, when I gave him his scar… I do not fear him, and he knows it. My only regret is that I didn’t kill him when I could have. I must make amends and collect my debt from him.”

  The headman had no more warnings; he must have felt I could do what I said I would.
He told me that they had found the body of a young brave who had been out hunting meat, earlier in the day. I asked if they could show me where he was found, so I could pick up the trail and be on my way.

  The next morning, two Navajo braves went with me to show where the young man had died. It was along the north face of the same mesa where I had found the boy. I had no trouble finding the trail of the three raiders. We parted, and they went east to gather what was left of the boy’s flock. I turned to the west and the bloody trail of Scar Face and his followers. The problem was, I had lost time and they were moving farther away.

  ~~~~~ 0 ~~~~~

  Two days later, I was still in the valley of rocks, but the trail had turned more to the north. The land was greener. The trail led me into a wide valley with tall cliffs on either side. It was wide enough that from one side to the other, I could see large rocks and the shadows on the cliffs, but I wouldn’t be able to see a man unless he was moving.

  The trail suddenly split, with two riders going to the right toward the far side. The third rider stayed on the left side and continued on. They had split up, now I would have to watch my back trail. They would like nothing more that to herd me into a trap with the third rider waiting to take my life.

  So I rode with more caution, and I would have to go at a much slower pace. Now I would have to watch the trail, watch ahead for any possible ambush, and watch for the two who would get behind me. From the weight of the riders, and what I had learned at their campsites, I knew that Scar Face was the single rider. I knew his horse’s stride and its hoof marks. I had also seen where the dragging right foot had stood to mount that horse.

  I didn’t remember Scar Face having a limp or a bad leg when we fought, but that was five summers ago and many things could have happened to it in that time. Then it occurred to me that

  during our fight, I had plunged my knife into his thigh and struck the bone. Who knows what may have been cut by that knife on that day. It’s very likely that I caused him to drag his right foot. That was just one more reason for him to hate me. He should have considered that he may not win when he challenged me into the circle. But if he hadn’t challenged me, I would have challenged him. His fate was set when he brought the wine to Fat Bear.

  The sun had traveled a quarter of its path across the big bowl of the sky, when I saw the dust behind me. They were still a long way back, but they were riding hard. They had gone to the other side of the valley. Looking ahead, I was watching for places to make my stand. Nothing looked promising. In this place there were few canyons cutting into the mountain.

  There was one up ahead that looked inviting, but it looked too inviting. I had a feeling that Scar Face was waiting for me to come running in there looking for safety. Was Rubio a child that he would fall for such a cheap trick…. He was not.

  Instead, I turned my ponies, and went back to where I had been. I knew there would be places to go along that stretch of rock face. I had seen them already. They had ridden too far to cut off my retreat. By the time they realized I had turned they were almost even with me and still a long way off to my right. They veered off from their path and were after me again, but they had lost distance their advantage.

  With my bow and quiver of arrows strung across my shoulder, I held my lance in my left hand and switched horses on the run. It was a risky move, but I had done it many times. As soon as I was seated, I turned the second horse loose… he would follow. I kicked my fresh pony in the ribs, and we were running away from them.

  Finding the canyon that I wanted, I turned in and raced for cover. The canyon was not as deep as I had thought it would be, but it was plenty deep for me to hold up in. The canyon walls were steep, but not impossible for a good horse to climb if need be. The brush was abundant along the steep walls. As I went around a bend, I abruptly found the end of the canyon. There had been a water fall at this place before time had started and the water had fallen from distance of at least ten tall pine trees high. And it was straight up. Turning, I went back until I found a trail used by desert sheep…. I took it.

  My pony did not want to go, so I jumped off and pulled him along, soon he was scrambling ahead of me. Stepping aside, I let the other one go ahead as well. They stopped somewhere far ahead and out of my line of sight.

  Starting up after them, I found that they had stopped near the top. Water had fallen from this place also, but that was to be expected. A place like this would need many water courses to have washed out a canyon of any size. And there are places where shells could be found, so long ago, this land was much wetter than it was now. The trail of the desert sheep led up beside where the water fell. The sheep had made a nice passage to and from the top… for a sheep or goat. It would be a scramble for a horse, but it was possible.

  I didn’t want to go any higher if I didn’t have to. It would mean coming back down or finding another way off the mesa. It wasn’t a mountain that punches holes in the sky, but I would lose time and have to find the trail again. I would wait and see if they came and if they followed me up the game trail.

  The shadows were getting long when they came into view. They rode beneath me and on to the back of the canyon. Shortly they came back looking for sign. I had been as careful as I could have been, but with two horses scrambling up a cliff, it was hard to be sure.

  They had their lances out and were poking into brush and cracks, as if they thought I could get two horses into a crack. I had cut some brush and placed it in the opening of the game trail. The shadows were playing tricks and nothing looked as it should. One of the men poked his lance into a bush I had used as cover. He would have passed if he hadn’t dragged the bush along as he moved. I heard him shout and the second man was on the ground throwing bushes and opening the trail.

  I would have to move higher. My first thought was to get my horses up and follow them, but with the failing light I would stand a chance of losing them on the upper level in the dark. I led the one I had not been riding to the sheep trail, and I was able to get him started up and over the top. He stalled on the last scramble and wanted to turn back. I gave him a smack with the shaft of my lance and he went right on over. I had lost time getting that pony over the top and I knew those from below were climbing toward me.

  If I sent the second pony up with a prodding from my shaft, he would likely run when he got on top. I couldn’t pull him up, so I would try to ride him over the top. Mounting up, I turned my pony toward the climb; he balked and refused to go. He reared and almost went over backward. I backed him out and was ready to try again but he was frightful and wanted no part of it. His head was thrashing around… he was scared.

  I gave him a kick and he started forward but stopped dead. His stop was his undoing and saved my life. A long shafted Apache arrow went through his neck just below his jaw. He was hopping and bucking and throwing his head left and right trying to shake that arrow. The only thing I could do was get off before we both went over the edge.

  I hit the ground and rolled out of his way breaking my bow at some part of the fall. The pony crow hopped a few times and went over the side. I found my lance and made ready to fight any way I could.

  I saw the brave before he saw me. He had been watching my pony and not watching me. He grabbed an arrow and was trying to notch it as my lance was entering his body. I’d hit him in the belly and he fell straight back with arms spread, as if he was asking the Great Spirit to spare his life. With knife in hand I ran to him and pulled my lance from his body. I might need it again soon.

  The brave was still alive but barely. I was getting ready to take his scalp, when an arrow from out of the gloomy shadows came sailing past me. Taking up the fallen man’s bow I sent an Apache arrow in the return direction. Standing over the man I told him in our common language that I couldn’t wait for him to die, but I wanted his scalp.

  His eyes were open, and filled with terror as I took a hand full of his forelock and began to cut around it. He was showing his bravery very well until I pulled it back and cu
t it loose. He screamed like no Apache should.

  A short time later, I heard horses racing out of the canyon. I turned to the dying man and said, “I guess we’ve both lost a horse.” He didn’t answer; if he did I didn’t wait to hear it. I was busy collecting any weapons he might have and getting over the top of the cliff.

  I didn’t know what to expect as I crawled over the top, but I knew what I was hoping to see was my pony. There was little light left, but enough to see that there wasn’t a horse in sight. I had a problem.

  Chapter 7

  Standing on the top of the mesa, I watched as the sun slipped behind the far mountains. The light was still good enough to see my pony’s tracks, and there would be a seeing moon that night. I could follow it far. The only thing I had to do was start walking.

  Taking stock of what I had managed to get to the top of the mesa, I found that I was better armed than before by fifteen arrows and a knife. The Apache bow was short but stout. I would have rather had my own, but this was a good one. What I didn’t have was water and food. My supply of jerky and corn were on my fallen horse. My two water bags were tied to the back of the horse I was hoping to find.

  I started walking and walked until it became too dark to see the tracks, so I found a spot out of the wind and lay down to rest. When I woke, the moon was low on the horizon but rising, so I sat where I was until it was high enough to read a trail. I found the trail and walked again. Like most Diné, I had learned not to waste water and not to cry about it when you are thirsty. I had to trust to my own skills to find water… if there was any.

  It had been my experience that there was water in the desert, but it would not be just sitting out in the open. It would be hard to find. My best chance for finding water was to follow my pony’s tracks because he would need water as much if not more than I would. The pony had a better sense of smell than I did, and he could smell water. At least that’s what we believed. It could be from some other sense that we know nothing about.