by Frank Hayes
When Virgil shook her into consciousness, she could not believe she had actually fallen asleep. She felt out of sync, that feeling like everything was just beyond her grasp. Sunlight had gone, long shadows had crawled across the land. Virgil helped her to her feet. She saw that he had already saddled Jack. He took the blanket she had been lying on. After shaking it out a couple of times, he threw it on Ringo’s back. When he turned around, Marian was holding the saddle. Within moments, both saddles were cinched up and ready to go. Virgil suggested that they lead the horses rather than ride.
“Won’t they call to a strange horse in the corral?”
“I didn’t see any horses when I scouted the cabin out earlier. Follow me. Try to make as little noise as possible.”
He untied the reins of both horses, handing Ringo’s to Marian. They moved through the trees until they came within sight of the cabin. Faint light showed through the windows. Wood smoke was coming from the chimney. With the loss of sunlight the air had noticeably chilled. Breath from the horses condensed in small puffs, rising on the nighttime air. Marian and Virgil each buttoned up their jackets, then turned their collars up.
“Stay here,” Virgil said. “I’ll go in alone. You hear shooting, get out of here. Don’t hesitate.”
“No, Virgil. I have a rifle and I know how to use it. We go together. You lead the way, but I’ll be right in back of you.”
Virgil could see from the look on Marian’s face that it would be useless to argue. They tied both horses up to a corral post. Then, each carrying a carbine, they started for the cabin.
There was only a sliver of a moon showing from a cloud. Virgil was sure a glancing look out of one of the cabin’s windows would not reveal their presence. Within a couple of minutes they were hugging the cabin’s walls. When Virgil attempted to look in one of the windows, he realized that it was so smoke stained and clouded that all their precautions were unnecessary. They could have walked boldly right up to the cabin. He motioned to Marian to stand to one side as they reached the door. Rifle in hand and remembering how the door from the cabin of the previous night was stuck fast, he drew in a deep breath, then threw his full weight against it. The door flew open as he broke in, his rifle aimed to meet any threat. He could hear Marian right behind him.
A young man who had been placing a log on the fire leaped to his feet. When he saw the rifle in Virgil’s hands, he threw his hands over his head.
“¡Lo siento! ¡Lo siento!” he shouted.
Virgil never took his eyes off him or lowered his rifle. “What’s he sorry about?” Virgil said.
“Virgil,” Marian said, pointing to the bed in the corner of the cabin. “Look.”
They had found Charlie Thompson.
21
His name was Ernesto. He was sixteen and terrified. Marian had immediately gone to her father while Virgil tried to get a handle on what had happened. In mixed English and Spanish, the boy told Virgil how he had been up on the ridge when he heard the shots. At first he thought somebody was shooting at him. Then, he said, he heard the death scream of Jupiter on the other side of the rise from where he had taken cover. By the time the shooting had stopped there was no sign of anyone, so he climbed over the rise. He found Charlie Thompson with his horse in the bottom of a steep ravine. He saw that he also had been shot. Blood was streaming from a scalp wound. It was only after he reached his body that he realized Charlie had been shot a second time. Whoever had done it, Ernesto said, had come and gone. More than likely they saw Charlie along with the dead horse, all the blood in the bottom of the gully, thought they were both dead, decided to leave them both for the vultures. Ernesto also thought Charlie was dead. He had only realized he was still alive when he got up close. He managed to pull him out from under his horse, then carried him to the cabin. He went back then to see if there was anything in Charlie’s saddlebags that he could use to help him. Ernesto pointed to the opposite corner of the room from where Charlie lay. The saddlebags along with Jupiter’s tack were neatly piled there. He also said he had found a first aid kit, which was what he had used to dress his wounds. Virgil went over to the bed. Marian looked up at him.
“The boy did the best he could, Virgil, but Dad’s in a bad way. His pulse is irregular. He’s lost a lot of blood. As far as I can tell, the bullet that grazed him didn’t probably do more than knock him unconscious. That along with the fall into that gulch. Maybe he’s got a concussion.”
“That scalp wound might have saved his life,” Virgil said.
“What do you mean?”
“Scalp wounds bleed profusely. Whoever shot him probably saw all that blood, reckoned he was dead, didn’t want to climb down into that ditch. If they had, they would have seen that he was alive. They would have taken the time to finish what they started.”
“The bullet that hit him in the abdomen is the one I’m worried about.”
Marian lifted up Charlie’s shirt, exposing the area.
“I didn’t find an exit wound. It’s still inside. What are we going to do?”
Virgil crouched down. Charlie was ashen.
“I’m going to see if we can get him out of here.” Virgil held up his cell phone.
“There’s no cell phone service up here,” Marian said.
“I’m sure you’re right, but maybe if I’m up on that ridge I could send a text. I think it’s worth a try.” He stood up. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep him warm—see if you can rouse him enough to get some liquid into him.”
“But Virgil, it’s dark out. You don’t know the terrain. I should go.”
“I’m sure you are a much better nurse than I could ever be. Stay here. Take care of your dad.”
Virgil called Ernesto over, told him to keep feeding the fire, then left the cabin.
He caught Jack up after he put Ringo into the corral. He leaped into the saddle, then immediately headed for the high ground up near the boundary line. It was full-on dark. For the most part he had to pick his way. The moon was skirting in and out of clouds, so he was constantly getting whipped by low-lying branches when its face was hidden. Finally, he reached open ground. When he put his heels into Jack’s side, the horse responded with a burst of speed. He didn’t slow until they hit the grade leading up to the high line. When Virgil touched him again, Jack gave a snort, then plunged up the grade. Virgil could feel his strength as he dug in without any hesitation. Virgil didn’t have the luxury of picking the easiest trail. Sometimes he could barely see. Jack was scrambling up an almost-vertical ascent. Shale and loose rock cascaded down the slide in back of him. Virgil didn’t have to urge Jack. He dug in even harder. After a quarter of a mile or so of straight up, he could hear Jack blowing hard. Jack’s neck was glistening and soaked with the effort. A couple of times, Virgil could actually feel his front legs buckle as he climbed. Once he felt him go down on his knees, but he dug in even deeper. Virgil knew it was a dangerous situation, but he had no choice. Jack was now grunting with each lurch forward. Virgil knew he couldn’t last much longer. Suddenly, a fresh breeze struck him in the face as Jack cleared the top. Virgil jumped off immediately. Clouds of Jack’s expelled breath rose in the night air. Virgil loosened the saddle as quickly as he could. Jack’s sides were heaving as he gulped in the night breeze. Virgil stood next to him, then he took out his cell phone. He held his breath as he punched in a text to Billy Three Hats. He had sent the text to him because he knew geographically he was closest. His phone was lit so he knew it held a charge. He was about to try again when to his delight and surprise he got a response. Three texts later, he breathed a sigh of relief. Then he turned to Jack.
“Great effort, son.”
Jack’s breathing had become more regular. He raised his head at Virgil’s touch. Virgil walked him around the plateau for five minutes to make sure he wasn’t lame. He ran his hands up and down his legs, checking for any injury. Miraculously, he found only one significant
gash on his right-rear leg just above the hock. He took the piece of terry cloth that he had used to wipe Jack down, then tied it around the cut. Then he started leading Jack down, carefully crisscrossing the hogback, letting him pick his own pace. The trip was five times as long, taking over an hour before they reached the grassland. The three-quarter moon had broken free of the clouds. Virgil was thankful for the light. By the time he reached the cabin, he had been gone almost two hours. When he walked through the door, Marian took one look at his scratched and sweat-stained face, hoping for a positive sign. He leaned against the cabin door, then gave a slight nod.
“I got through. They’re sending a chopper.”
Tears of relief rolled down her cheeks. The young boy came away from the fire when Virgil gestured to him.
“We’ve got to build another fire. Venga,” he said.
The two of them, boy and man, left the cabin. Virgil explained that they had to build a signal bonfire near a clearing for the helicopter that would soon be coming for Charlie. They walked only a few hundred feet before they found a likely spot.
“Rurales. Border patrol. They come here?”
Virgil could see the fear come into Ernesto’s eyes. In an instant he knew history was repeating itself. In Ernesto’s eyes, he saw the same look that his father must have seen in Cesar’s eyes over fifty years before when he had pulled him from the river. The boy was looking around like he was expecting someone to jump from behind one of the large pines. Virgil reached out to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Easy, boy. Nothing to worry about. They are only coming for the man inside.” He gestured toward the cabin. “No one is coming for you.”
Virgil wasn’t sure if Ernesto got everything he said, but the boy seemed to grow calmer. Virgil told him to scout around, gather as much deadfall as he could find, then bring it to the clearing where they had stopped. Within a half hour, they managed to accumulate almost half a cord of wood. Virgil got some dry tinder, then started to build a pyramid of wood on top of it. By the time he finished, the stack was so high, he had to throw the last couple of pieces on top. Then he went into the cabin, returning with a burning brand from the fireplace. He reckoned it had been more than two hours since his communication with Billy, so he decided to light the fire. The tinder caught right away. Within minutes, flames were shooting high into the night sky. Virgil sat down on the ground, the boy alongside him. They waited in the quiet of the night as the warmth of the fire layered over them. Shadows danced against the pines at the perimeter of the clearing. Virgil thought of the nights he had spent long ago, sitting around a much smaller fire with his father while they spoke of the hunt they were on or the history of the place and the people who had gone before them. They were timeless memories that he planned to hold on to till he died. He looked at the face of the boy sitting next to him, hoping that he had memories that would sustain him throughout his life. They sat in the afterglow a long time. Marian came out of the cabin for a moment to join them.
“Do you think it will be much longer? His breathing seems to be getting shallow.” The words were hardly out of her mouth when Ernesto jumped to his feet.
“Listen,” Virgil said.
A faraway sound that could have been mistaken for a high wind, except for the regular pulsations, grew louder and louder. They were all on their feet now, looking at the night sky. At last over the treetops they saw it, lights flashing, blades turning. It came over the clearing, poised, then started to lower. As it got closer to the ground, air currents buffeted them. Embers from the fire blew out from its center. Virgil and Ernesto ran about, stomping on them. Finally on the ground the rotors stopped, the fire settled, then the door of the helicopter opened. Two EMTs got out. Marian went inside with Ernesto while Virgil went to greet them. He gave them a quick assessment, then they followed him to the cabin with a stretcher. In less than ten minutes Charlie was loaded into the chopper, given oxygen, hooked up to an IV, then prepped for takeoff.
“Virgil, I hate to leave you here.”
“Don’t worry. Go with your father. The boy and I will get down to the ranch. I’ll catch up with you there. We’ll get Ringo home.”
Virgil and Ernesto stood watching as the helicopter rose above the trees, then disappeared from view. They listened till they could no longer hear the whirling blades, then they turned their attention to the fire. They sat for over an hour watching it, till it reached a point where Virgil could push all the wood to the center. At last there was more glow than flame and they finally turned their backs on it to walk to the cabin.
* * *
There was nothing but glowing cinders when Virgil stirred the ashes in the fireplace in the morning. He threw in a couple of small logs, just enough to take off the chill that had settled in as the fire died. By the time he and Ernesto had finished breakfast, the sun was well above the horizon. He went outside to check on Jack. Virgil was relieved to see that there was no swelling in his rear leg. The Fura ointment that he had packed on the gash had done its job. Jack was moving freely around the corral with Ringo. He gave each of them the last of the grain that he and Marian had packed. Then he took everything out of the saddlebags while the horses were grazing. Anything he could dispose of he did, anything that wasn’t perishable he brought inside to store for the next person who came this way. Then he took Charlie’s saddle with the rest of the tack from Jupiter, to load on the two horses. Charlie’s saddle he decided he would load on Ringo so that the injured Jack wouldn’t have to carry any extra weight. He was about to start the process of loading up when he saw Ernesto watching him.
“We’ve got to get going. It’s going to be a long day.”
“¿Dónde?” Ernesto asked.
“Down to the ranchero, off this mesa. It will be a long ride.”
“No,” Ernesto said. “No go back.”
Virgil saw the panic in his eyes.
“No policía.”
Virgil reached in his shirt pocket. Ernesto’s eyes widened when he saw the badge that Virgil held up. He looked around, wild-eyed. Virgil ran to him, fearing he was going to make a break for it.
“Ernesto, mi amigo, amigo. Está bien.”
For the next few minutes, Virgil talked to Ernesto till the fear left his eyes. Then he saddled both horses, took their hobbles off, and led them to the front of the cabin. He spent some time trying to load Charlie’s saddle and gear onto Ringo, but finally came to the conclusion that there was just too much bulk. He hated the idea of leaving it all behind. While he was standing there trying to puzzle it out, Ernesto went to Marian’s horse. He took Ringo’s saddle off, then replaced it with Charlie’s much bigger saddle. Virgil watched as he picked up the smaller saddle, placed it on Charlie’s saddle, then used the leathers on the aprons to tie the two saddles together. They looked incongruous, but Virgil realized it could work. Ernesto climbed up into the saddle. He was slight of build, not more than five foot eight. When Virgil climbed onto Jack, because of Ernesto’s added height, they were eyeball to eyeball.
“Muy bien, muy bien, Ernesto.”
The flash of white in the boy’s dark face told Virgil all he needed to know. Marian had quickly scratched out a map for Virgil, telling him that the route back to the ranch would be much easier. A pair of pines identified as the Twin Sisters marked the entrance to an arroyo that led off the top of the plateau to the flatland. It had been the way cattle had been driven off the mesa for over a hundred years. According to the map, the Sisters were within two miles of the cabin. Glancing once more at the cabin, Virgil spurred Jack forward. There was a definite change in the weather. Morning chills were lasting longer and coming earlier. He knew it wouldn’t be long before that morning flurry would become something more in this high country. It was the cycle of seasons reflecting the cycle of life. The year was winding down. Virgil rarely reflected on where he was in that arc before, but this had been a significant year of change for him. He
had found a daughter he never knew he had, brushed death a couple of times, been renewed in the arms of a woman who might be lost. Through it all the common thread that was his anchor was his ability to roll with the punches life had thrown at him. After all, he had long since learned, life doesn’t go in a straight line.
22
Sam Harris was waiting outside the hospital with one of the ER interns when Charlie Thompson was brought to them. He had known Charlie all his life. When he was young, he had looked at Charlie and Virgil’s father as relics of another age. A time when life was more one-dimensional. Good and evil, not so much gray. But then as he matured he came to the realization that the gray was always there. He could only wonder what could be the story behind Charlie being shot and left for dead while his wife lay downstairs in the morgue of the hospital. Marian was first out of the helicopter. Then the two EMTs took Charlie out. Sam gave him a quick check, then ushered them into the hospital.
Two hours later, Dr. Sam Harris stepped out of surgery, still in his scrubs, and found Marian Thompson waiting for him.
“Breathe easier. Your father is going to walk out of this hospital in a week or two. The scalp wound was easy, the fragment inside a little tricky. It would have been a lot worse, but I think he was hit by a ricochet, which is why there was no exit wound. The bullet had lost a lot of its velocity. He lost his spleen, has four fractured ribs, which near as I can tell were fractured once or twice before, lost a lot of blood, but all of that will heal. He won’t be conscious for a while. Those rib fractures are going to remind him of his rodeo days every time he breathes, but other than pain meds, there’s not much we can do for broken ribs. Fortunately, they were lower ribs so there was no lung puncture. But don’t be surprised when he wakes up if he has no memory of how he got here or what happened to him. That knock on the head might have stalled his short-term memory for a while. It’ll come back to him. Rest and more rest, that’s what he needs. He’s tough as rawhide, but I’m glad Virgil found him when he did and he had that boy looking after him. Don’t think he would have lasted another day. After you look in on him, you ought to get back to the ranch and get some rest yourself.”
