by Ralph Cotton
‘‘The bleeding stopped,’’ Sam replied, gathering the cups and coffeepot. ‘‘It doesn’t matter how it happened, so long as it happened.’’ He stood and raked his boot back and forth in the bed of clod ashes from last night’s fire.
‘‘Yes,’’ said Jefferies, ‘‘but I’d like to know what you think. Did he stop the bleeding by laying his hands on me, or not?’’
‘‘It doesn’t matter what I think about it,’’ said the ranger. ‘‘It’s your wound. It’s what you think that counts.’’
‘‘I suppose I’m asking because I want to believe he’s a holy man like Caridad thinks he is,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘But what if he’s not? What if he’s a phony?’’ He looked worried. ‘‘What if he’s the kind of man who would take advantage of her?’’
‘‘I can see it’s going to be hard traveling with you, Jefferies,’’ Sam said. He stopped and took a deep, patient breath, realizing that in spite of his size and demeanor, William Jefferies wasn’t much more than an overgrown kid.
‘‘All right, here’s what I think,’’ Sam said, stooping down as he spoke. ‘‘I believe there’s things in this world that are bigger than my understanding. Sabio said he used to be a holy man. I can only take his word for it. You went to him bleeding to death, and he stopped it. Are you sorry he did?’’
‘‘I’m most grateful,’’ said Jefferies, ‘‘but that’s not the point.’’
‘‘It was while the blood was flowing out of you,’’ Sam said. ‘‘Sometimes it’s best not to question things too close.’’
‘‘Is Caridad going to be all right with him?’’ Jefferies asked.
‘‘She seems to be,’’ Sam replied. ‘‘He’s as protective of her as a father. It appears they’ve been together for a while.’’
Jefferies considered it. ‘‘Yeah, you’re right. I’m making something out of nothing.’’ He rose to his feet and swayed sideways before catching himself.
Sam caught his forearm and steadied him. ‘‘Are you all right?’’
‘‘Yeah . . . still a little dizzy from yesterday,’’ Jefferies said, his voice having gone weak for a moment.
‘‘Are you going to be all right?’’ Sam asked again.
‘‘Oh yeah. Once I get a saddle under me I’ll be just fine.’’ His voice was already coming back stronger.
‘‘You wait here. I’ll get your horse,’’ Sam said. ‘‘First village we come to, we’re going to get a good full meal into your belly, help get your strength back.’’
‘‘Yes, that’s all I need,’’ said Jefferies, recovering quickly. He watched Sam walk away toward the horses.
Chapter 8
At midmorning the ranger and William Jefferies had ridden the meandering high trail across another stretch of hills until they stopped and looked down on a small detachment of Mexican soldiers who’d made camp outside a village alongside the trail leading toward the border.
‘‘The town of Sol de Oro,’’ Sam said. ‘‘It means ‘golden sun’ in English.’’ He nodded along the trail winding past the village until it disappeared into a flat stretch of rocky sand. ‘‘This road will take you home,’’ he added. ‘‘More than likely it’s the same trail you and your uncle rode in on.’’
‘‘Yes, I believe it is,’’ said Jefferies, sitting a bit slumped in his saddle.
He’d had no more dizziness since they’d broke camp at early morning, yet Sam looked him up and down closely, then said, ‘‘Here’s the meal I promised—and a clean bandage for you.’’
‘‘What about these soldiers?’’ Jefferies asked.
‘‘We’ll swing wide around them,’’ said Sam, ‘‘but only because they might get nosy about Fadden’s body.’’ He jerked his head toward the canvas-wrapped corpse in tow. ‘‘Otherwise they would pay little mind to a couple of gringos traipsing across the badlands.’’
They touched heels to their horses and followed a thinner trail that led down and into Sol de Oro without crossing alongside the army encampment. When they had reached the outskirts of the village, Sam veered off the trail and led the horse carrying Fadden’s body into a thick stand of cedar saplings. ‘‘Wait here. I’ll be right back,’’ he said over his shoulder, seeing Jefferies start to follow him.
Jefferies did as he was told and in a moment Sam stepped his horse out of the cedar thicket, brushing twigs and briars from his duster sleeve. ‘‘I left Fadden hidden in the shade. It’s easier than explaining him to the soldiers if we come upon some of them in town.’’
They rode on, and as they put their horses onto a partially stone-paved street, they saw ahead six soldiers filling water bladders at the large town well in the center of the square. As the soldiers watched them riding by, Jefferies said in a lowered voice, ‘‘Good idea about leaving the body out of town.’’
Sam reached up and closed his duster over his ranger badge. He could feel the soldiers’ eyes on him and Jefferies, most specifically on Jefferies’ wounded shoulder. ‘‘It didn’t help,’’ Sam said. ‘‘It looks like they’re going to stop us anyway.’’
No sooner had he spoken than an older sergeant called out in stiff but understandable English, ‘‘Eh, you! You two horsemen! Stop where you are.’’
‘‘Usted dos jinetes, parada!’’ another soldier called out, saying much the same thing in Spanish.
‘‘Yep, just like I suspected,’’ Sam murmured. ‘‘You keep quiet, Jefferies. Let me talk for both of us.’’
‘‘Sure thing,’’ Jefferies replied under his breath.
‘‘Yes, you!’’ the sergeant called out gruffly as Sam stopped his horse in the middle of the street and turned in his saddle facing the soldier. ‘‘What are you two doing here?’’
‘‘We’re speculating cattle,’’ Sam said, realizing he was not a good liar.
‘‘Cattle?’’ The sergeant looked puzzled and amused. ‘‘You come from the Tejas or the Californias, to speculate cattle here, in my poor country?’’
Sam cursed his mistake. ‘‘That was my way of saying it’s none of your business,’’ he said bluntly.
‘‘Oh no, meester, that will not do,’’ said the sergeant, wagging a finger. ‘‘It is my business.’’ His hand rested on the closed flap of his sidearm holster. He gestured toward Jefferies’ bandaged shoulder. ‘‘Now tell me what you two are really doing here, and what happened to this one?’’
‘‘He was shot by a misfire,’’ Sam said, already wondering what to say next. ‘‘He was—’’
Jefferies cut in. ‘‘I was shot accidentally by one of Desmond Prew’s men. We ride for Desmond Prew.’’ He stopped talking and sat with a calm gaze on his face while the Mexican sergeant let his words sink in.
‘‘Desmond Prew. Ah!’’ The sergeant’s stern expression turned from confused to elated. ‘‘Then you two are some of the men who supplied our weapons, eh?’’
‘‘That’s right,’’ said Jefferies, cutting a quick glance to the ranger, then back to the soldier. ‘‘We met with Capitán Luis Murella, in Esperanza. That is where I was shot mistakenly while all of us drank and twirled the whores the capitán sent for us.’’ He gave a slight smile, raising his sore shoulder just enough to make notice of it.
Sam sat in silence and listened, observing William Jefferies in a different light. Maybe he wasn’t such a big ole kid after all.
‘‘Ah, you two twirled putas, compliments of el capitán, eh?’’ The sergeant beamed, raising a finger and twirling it above his head. ‘‘I knew el capitán went to Esperanza. If only I could have gone with him.’’
‘‘You would have enjoyed it,’’ said Jefferies. He seemed perfectly at ease, Sam noted. The men behind the sergeant nodded in gleeful unison.
‘‘Perhaps another time,’’ the sergeant said. Changing the subject, he said, ‘‘You men provide us with the very best!’’ As he spoke his hand flipped his holster flap up. He jerked out a big army Colt pistol so fast Sam almost reached for his own Colt before he realized the sergeant was only showi
ng them the gun.
‘‘Look at this. Never have I owned such a magnificent firearm.’’ He handed the pistol up to Sam, butt first, for Sam to admire.
‘‘Very nice,’’ Sam offered, looking the pistol over good. He noticed the U.S. Army ordnance stamp above the trigger guard. Realizing that this gun had either been taken off of a dead American soldier or stolen from an army munitions shipment along the border, he held the revolver by its barrel and handed it back to the sergeant. ‘‘Glad we could be of service,’’ he said flatly.
‘‘But look how foolish of me, to show this to you!’’ said the sergeant. ‘‘You have seen far more of these beauties than I.’’ He took the gun, holstered it and gestured a hand to one of the men behind him. ‘‘Show him your rifle, Private, quickly!’’ he said with a show of authority.
The young soldier stepped forward and held a Winchester repeating rifle up at a high port arms position.
‘‘There, you see,’’ said the sergeant. ‘‘It is much good you are doing for my government.’’ He gestured a hand around at the horses lined along a hitch rail beside the well. Winchester repeaters hung from saddle rings. A brace of Colt revolvers in saddle holsters lay across one of the saddles, the sergeant’s no doubt, in addition to the Colt on his hip.
‘‘We’re only glad we can help,’’ said Jefferies, without the slightest glimpse of insincerity. ‘‘Will you direct me who to go to to get this wound checked and cleaned?’’
‘‘Sí. There is a French doctor in Sol de Oro. His name is Lafluer,’’ said the sergeant. ‘‘Tell him Sergeant Torio sent you to him. Tell him he better take good care of you, or he will answer to me.’’ He pounded a fist on his chest.
‘‘Thank you, Sergeant,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘Is there anything else?’’
‘‘No, you go, get yourself taken care of,’’ said the sergeant. ‘‘Give el capitán my best regards.’’
Jefferies and Sam turned their horses back to the street and heeled them into a walk. ‘‘That was pretty smooth of you, Jefferies,’’ Sam said quietly. ‘‘I don’t think you’re going to have any trouble making your way home on your own. You seem to know the right words to say.’’
Jefferies smiled thinly. ‘‘Prew told us to use his name if we got stopped and questioned by federales.
I threw in the part about twirling the whores just to make it sound real. We were supposed to each get a letter to carry on us. But it never happened.’’ He gave Sam a look and asked, ‘‘Did I do something wrong, speaking up like that?’’
Sam, already having given it thought, said, ‘‘No, you did good. It just surprised me, is all.’’
‘‘I’m young, Ranger,’’ Jefferies said, without taking offense, ‘‘but I’m not stupid.’’
‘‘I never thought you were,’’ said the ranger. They rode quietly along the stone-paved street.
When they walked into Dr. Lafluer’s hacienda, just off the main street of Sol de Oro, Sam waited and watched as the elderly Frenchman unwrapped Jefferies’ wounded shoulder and washed it with clean water. Once the doctor gave Sam a nod, telling him that the wound appeared to be healing, Sam stepped forward with his sombrero in hand and said, ‘‘Well, Jefferies, it looks like this is where we part company. Stick to the main trail. I expect you’ll find your way home from here.’’
‘‘Yes, I know the trail from here,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘Much obliged, Ranger, for all your help. Maybe someday our trails will cross again.’’
‘‘Maybe,’’ Sam said. ‘‘Until then, adios. And stay out of trouble,’’ he added.
‘‘You can count on it,’’ Jefferies said. He watched as the ranger turned and left, closing the large oak door behind himself.
Moments later, as soon as Dr. Lafluer had completed redressing the wound, Jefferies stood and walked purposefully to a window that faced onto the wide stone street. Looking out, he saw the ranger come out of a supply store carrying a shovel under his arm. He watched curiously until he saw him step into the Appaloosa’s saddle, lay the shovel across his lap and ride away.
‘‘How much do I owe you, Doctor?’’ Jefferies asked. Stooping, he ran his hand down into his boot well, brought out a folded leather wallet and flipped it open. As he took out crisp new American dollar bills, he asked, ‘‘Where can I buy rifle ammunition and a good pair of binoculars?’’
The doctor looked at the money in Jefferies’ hand and said dubiously, ‘‘You will need binoculars on your way home?’’
‘‘I was born with a curious nature, Doc,’’ Jefferies replied. ‘‘I like to see everything that’s going on around me.’’
Outside, Sam rode back past the town well and along the stone street until it turned into dirt. He rode straight to the cedar thicket where he’d left Fadden’s body. Unhitching Fadden’s horse, he led it out of the thicket onto a flat stretch of brushy soil.
Fifty yards out, Sam dug a shallow grave, rolled Dallas Fadden’s body into it and shoveled the dirt over him. He gathered stones, covered the grave, then stepped back and wiped his forehead with his bandanna. ‘‘It’s better than you deserve,’’ he murmured down to the fresh mound of earth. Holding his breath against the terrible stench, he turned and dropped the saddle and bridle from Fadden’s horse and slapped its rump.
He watched the horse kick up a low rise of dust as it raced away. Then he stuck the shovel into the ground at the head of the grave, mounted the Appaloosa and rode on. But instead of taking the trail toward the border, he rode back to the hill trail and followed it upward in the direction of Esperanza.
Behind him in Sol de Oro, Jefferies led the tired horse to the town livery stables with his left arm resting in a sling. A few minutes later, he rode out of the livery on a big scrappy black-and-white paint horse he’d traded for. He wore a ragged duster that had been hanging in the stables. He carried a bandolier of rifle ammunition slung over his shoulder and a battered army field lens hung around his neck on a strip of leather.
Instead of heading toward the border, he carefully swung wide around the army encampment and rode the same hill trail the ranger had taken back up toward Esperanza. Clearly, that’s where he’s headed, Jefferies told himself, and that worked right into his plan. But unlike the ranger, he veered off the trail they’d ridden in on and took another trail at the base of the hills. With luck he would get up on a path above the ranger and be able to observe him from within the cover of the hillside.
PART 2
Chapter 9
Sabio climbed above the secluded pool that lay beneath the waterfalls and looked down on Caridad, who swam naked in the clear water below. ‘‘Holy Mother,’’ he gasped under his breath, watching her roll lithely onto her back. Even at such a distance the thin line of dark hair on her lower belly stood out like a glistening black jewel. The sight of her breasts, small but firm and maturing like spring peaches, caused him to close his eyes and whisper aloud.
‘‘My God, why must you tempt us poor mortals in such a manner? Are you as wicked in your torture of us as we are in our cravings for the fruits of your creation?’’ He looked back down past his weathered folded hands at the naked young woman, and felt a passing need to weep. ‘‘Must life be a test of either my will or yours?’’
He fell silent, but told himself that there could be no God. What kind of divine presence would have nothing better to do than to test men in this way? Why would any God care if he satisfied himself in the warmth of Caridad’s young body? Well, no sane, caring and merciful God would, he told himself, nodding, justifing his image of himself and this naked young woman locked together in a lovers’ embrace.
Yet, as soon as he denounced God as an insane, noncaring, merciless creature for forbidding man’s pleasure, an instinctive fear stirred inside him. He prayed quickly and silently to be forgiven for such blasphemy in his thoughts. Then, letting out a breath and looking back down at the naked swimmer, he shook his head, needing to pray again immediately, for both the thoughts and the urges surging inside him.
>
He whispered almost bitterly to himself, or to God, or to all the forces around him, ‘‘Perhaps I should save up my prayers until I have come to some resting point in my long carnal journey.’’ His eyes sliced upward as if to admonish heaven for its cruelty, rather than argue it out with God.
Caridad, unaware of Sabio’s eyes on her, stood up from swimming and walked back to the water’s edge. Standing in shallow water, she raised one leg at a time and rinsed herself, using only her cupped hands. In the same manner she washed her breasts, her stomach, her inner thighs. As she finished, she pulled back her long black hair, squeezed water from it and laid it down her back, its ends loose on her rounded hips.
‘‘Jesus, Sonny, she stepped out. Come take a look at this,’’ said Robert Koch, staring down at the naked woman from a higher edge of rock nearly a half mile away.
‘‘I’m not looking anymore,’’ said Sonny with determination. ‘‘Get your horse. We’re going down there.’’
Koch scooted back from the edge and scrambled to his feet. ‘‘I hope you wasn’t expecting some kind of argument out of me,’’ he said, slapping dirt from his shirt and trousers front. ‘‘Part of me is already down there.’’
‘‘Then hurry up. Let’s go,’’ said Sonny, already swinging up onto his horse.
Peering down for another quick look from the cover of a scrub piñon, Koch said, ‘‘There’s that ghostly-looking little sonsabitch. He’s climbing back down toward her.’’
‘‘Come on, damn it,’’ said Sonny, losing patience, ‘‘before he scoops her up and runs off with her.’’
Jumping up into his saddle, Koch asked as they turned their horses to the narrow trail, ‘‘Is this going to be all right with Prew, us dipping ourselves some honey from this sweet little ranúnculo?’’
‘‘The hell is a ranun—ranuncu—whatever?’’ Sonny asked, appearing agitated.
‘‘A buttercup,’’ Koch said with a tight grin.
‘‘How about talking English, damn it?’’ Sonny asked in a sore tone. ‘‘It’s bad enough every damn Mexican down here has to speak Spanish, let alone you.’’
