Rubio: The Legend (Ben Blue)

by Lou Bradshaw

  Putting my knife away, I started moving around to where the lance lay. I was hoping to get close enough to it to use my quickness to scoop it up and thrust it as he was coming at me. It was a long risk, for I would have to bend and grab, and to do that I would have to be exposed for a blink of an eye.

  He was like a bear slashing and smashing with no thought or expectations. He was in a killing rage, and I couldn’t predict what he would do next. All I could do was work my way around toward the lance and hope.

  When I had myself in position to reach for the lance, I switched my hatchet from my right hand to my left to have the stronger arm doing the thrusting. At the last instant, he saw what I was planning and lunged to knock the shaft from my hand, but he wasn’t close enough. As I lifted the end of the lance, he swung down on the shaft. Instead of knocking it from my hand, he smashed it to the ground breaking it. I came up with the light weight shaft, which I used to smash into his face.

  His rage was so intense that he threw his ax at me and came charging like a bull buffalo. His head was down and both arms were out to entrap me. There was no time to get away; all I could do was move to the side and hope that he didn’t get a good enough hold to squeeze me to death.

  My plan was weak but there was no time for a better one. I spun out to my left, and as his right arm started to encircle my hips, my hatchet was coming down with every bit of strength my left arm could muster. The dulled blade hit him in the middle of the lower back. I couldn’t see how deep it went in because he was stumbling forward taking me to the ground with him. My hatchet had been lost somewhere during the fall.

  He was on his chest and I was on my back penned beneath his arm. He must have had the wind knocked out because for an instant he didn’t move… but I did. I came out from under his arm and quickly to my feet looking for anything to kill him with. I found my hatchet and retrieved it. He had yet to move. I had the advantage, if I wanted to challenge those powerful arms and hands, to get close enough to take it.

  I didn’t want to get pulled into those crushing arms. My bow and my lance were beyond running and getting them quick enough. He’d be rising soon and I needed to kill him before he could. My mind went to days before bows and lances, our people used stones and rocks in those times.

  There were plenty of weapons at hand, and I wasn’t beyond using them. I turned to pick one up when he started lifting his head and chest off the ground. I raised my rock and made ready to smash his skull when he dropped to the ground again with a groan. Then he used his arms to roll over and prop himself up on his elbows. Those hard black eyes had a different look when he focused them on my face… It was the look of a rabbit when cornered by a wolf.

  “Are you going to lay there and let me bash your brains out with rocks? I expected more from a warrior of your status.”

  “If I could move my legs, I would stand and fight you to the death, and then cut your heart out and eat it.”

  I moved around him and nudged his legs a few times and got no reaction. I took out my knife and jabbed him hard enough to draw blood with not even a twitch. Pulling off a moccasin and jabbed him on the bottom of his foot and got no reaction. Seeing my hatchet, I picked it up and turned to him.

  “I believe you have a broken back.”

  “Go ahead and kill me. I’m no good with a broken back.”

  “You were no good when your back was whole… You’ve been like a puma in a sheep’s fold, all you know how to do is kill.”

  “Put an arrow in my heart, sheep herder. You’d do that much for a horse with a broken leg.”

  “A horse is a nobler animal than you.”

  I walked back to my horse and took one of the water bags and tossed it at his feet. “That should last you for a few days. If you can crawl to your bow and your arrows, you might be able to keep the wolves and coyotes at bay for a while…. You took my family from me and now I’m taking yours.”

  I turned and walked away from him to the sound of his rage and bellowing. He called me every vile thing he could think of. At the mouth of the cut, I picked up my bow and three arrows lying on the ground. Then I took up the reins of both ponies and led them back the way we had come. I wanted to see if his horse would be alright after it had gotten some water and rest. If it would survive I would take it along. If it would only be fit to be pulled down by wolves, I would put it out of its misery.

  As we walked along with the little one on a pony, Moon Woman asked, “Will you take us back to our home?”

  “No.”

  She hesitated and then asked, “Are you going to kill us because he killed your family?”

  “I’ll not kill you or your child… If you want to go to the Chiricahuas, I will take you there, but Small Dove must come with me. She will be my daughter… you may come if you wish… that will be your choice.”

  We walked in silence until we found Scar Face’s pony and I determined that he was worth saving.

  She looked up at me and said, “A man who cares that much for a dumb animal would make a fitting father for my daughter.”

  And then she asked, “Is it far…. where the Diné live?”

  Chapter 23

  The sky was gray, and our surroundings were starting to take shape. But the sun hadn’t begun to push itself over the shoulder of the big white mountain that loomed over us. So I dragged myself out of my blankets and started stirring the fire to life. Rubio and I had talked the moon out of the sky last night, and he needed a little more sleep. And by the way his snoring was shaking the pinecones off the trees, I figured he was getting it.

  I got the campfire back to life and went about putting a pot of coffee together. When that was on the fire, I started slicing bacon into a pan. It didn’t take long after that bacon started giving off its aroma for Rubio to start stirring.

  “Hey there, you old pirate. If you want some of this bacon and some sweet coffee, you better drag yourself out of them blankets and get over to the fire. Otherwise I’m gonna get it all.”

  “You bring it over here, Benblue.” Was his answer but he was crawling out when he said it.

  I poured him a steaming cup, and he took the last of my sugar and dumped it in. “The way you like sweetness, you ought to go find yourself a bee tree.” I said.

  He gave me a queer look, and then said, “Oh you mean white mans’ flies.”

  Then it was my turn to wear a puzzle look, till I remembered that honey bees were not native to America, but had come over with the Europeans. “Right.” I said.

  “Too much work,” he said, “that why I got Benblue.”

  We worked on the coffee and bacon until we had both had our fill, and were getting ready to break camp, when I asked, “Rubio, what happened to Moon Woman and the little girl?”

  He grinned and said, “I wasn’t gonna tell you ‘lest you asked.” Then he laughed at getting one over on me. Whoever said Indians didn’t have a sense of humor never spent much time with them.

  “Moon Woman and Small Dove followed me to the great south running river you call the Rio Grande. She stayed with me for twenty years till she died. We had one son together… she was a good woman.

  Small Dove grew into a fine woman and a loving daughter. She married a man of the Pueblo people. They live in Colorado and have many sheep, and I have four grandchildren there. I haven’t seen her in about five years… I think I’ll take a ride to Colorado someday soon.

  Our son grew to a fine man and he had a son… Antonio. My son was killed at Canyon de Chelly at the hands of Kit Carson’s soldiers.”

  “How did you come to wind up in this valley?” I asked.

  “The Navajo women were unkind to Moon Woman in the village of my mother’s people. I was a big man in the clan so they did not get too mean, but they remembered that she had been the wife of Red Hand. We took our sheep and ponies and children and went to find a place by ourselves. When we found this valley, it was perfect, and I knew that one day a white man would come here and give me cartridges and sugar.” And then
he laughed.

  “How did you miss going to Canyon de Chelly?” I asked.

  “When they were rounding up Navajos, they missed this valley, and I didn’t go out to tell them that they missed me.” then he laughed again.

  “One more question, Rubio… Did Scar Face die in that wash with a broken back?”

  “Don’t know… don’t care. Whenever there was trouble with the Apaches, I would be called to lead a war party, but I never heard more about him. I took over thirty scalps…. And I still might take yours, Benblue.” And then he laughed again. He was still laughing as he climbed on his horse and rode off.

  I watched him go and smiled as I hobbled to my horse. I was trying to figure out how I’ll explain my cut up boot to Patty Anne.

  The End

  About the Author

  Lou Bradshaw is a retired illustrator, cartoonist, and graphic designer who had spent more than 40 years in the graphic arts field. A lifelong storyteller, he didn’t venture into serious writing until the age of 64. He now has eight finished novels, is working on the ninth.

  One of the more fascinating aspects of his writing is that until he was well into adulthood, he would have been considered a functional illiterate; he could barely read, and still struggles. Lou has no idea what the problem was, but he worked his way through it. He has since become an avid reader and a collector of old books, with hundreds of vintage titles in his personal library.

  He lives in the Missouri Ozarks with his wife, Avon, where they enjoy golf, kayaking, and the great outdoors.