by Ralph Cotton
The Colt cocked slowly, as if the ranger wanted to make sure he heard it. ‘‘I’ll trouble you to reach your left hand under and pull your gun up real easy.’’
‘‘My left arm’s awfully stiff and sore, Ranger,’’ Jefferies offered even as he followed Sam’s order.
‘‘I know,’’ Sam replied. ‘‘That’s why my boot’s not planted on it right now.’’
‘‘How’d you know I was back there?’’ Jefferies asked, pulling the gun from his belt slowly and holding it out left-handed, with much effort.
Sam wasn’t about to mention the birds. If Jefferies saw it, good for him. If not, he’d have to wonder, or figure it out on his own. ‘‘Call it a hunch born from more than just a few bushwhackings. Roll over, sit up.’’
Jefferies sighed, doing as he was told. ‘‘Sounds like you’re giving orders to a dog.’’ Sitting with his forearms in his lap, he sighed again and said, ‘‘For what it’s worth, I wasn’t bushwhacking you.’’
‘‘It’s not the first time I‘ve heard that either,’’ Sam said in a no-nonsense tone. He jiggled the rifle in his hand. ‘‘You’re saying one thing, but this Winchester says something else.’’
Jefferies looked down and shook his head, then looked up and said, ‘‘Ranger, we need to talk.’’
‘‘Still nothing new,’’ Sam said, this time with a trace of a wry grin.
‘‘Just hear me out, please,’’ said Jefferies, raising a hand as if to stop the ranger from anything else for a moment. ‘‘I’m Captain William Jefferies, U.S. Army, operating as an agent for the United States Secret Service.’’ He let out a tense breath.
‘‘I have to admit, that is a story I don’t hear every day.’’ Sam’s Colt remained cocked and pointed as if what Jefferies said made no difference at all. ‘‘What goes along with it?’’
‘‘I’m down here working under the utmost discretion—’’
‘‘No, I mean a badge? Something that proves to me you are who you say you are?’’
‘‘I wouldn’t last five minutes if Desmond Prew caught me carrying a badge,’’ Jefferies said. Pausing, he shook his head again. ‘‘The fact is, I don’t have anything to prove who I am. But you didn’t get your reputation shooting unarmed men, Ranger. So you’ll have to give me time to do what I’m here to do— then check out my story back across the border.’’
‘‘That’s a good deal for you,’’ Sam said, ‘‘but it doesn’t work for me at all.’’
‘‘Then what can I tell you?’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘Your story about just happening by the old mission above Esperanza with a body in tow didn’t sound too real to me. For all I know you could be working for Prew.’’
‘‘Watch your language, young man,’’ Sam said sternly.
‘‘You wouldn’t be the first lawman working both sides of the line,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘How do I know you’re not using—’’
‘‘Let’s stop right there before you make me start thinking I’m the one in the wrong here,’’ Sam said. He took a step back. ‘‘Who started the Secret Service?’’
Jefferies nodded. ‘‘All right, a test then. Good idea. The Secret Service Division was started by Chief William P. Wood.’’ He gave Sam a confident stare. ‘‘Next question.’’
Sam nodded, knowing his answer to be true. ‘‘What’s the Secret Service’s job?’’
‘‘The Secret Service was formed to chase down counterfeiters, Ranger. But any schoolboy would probably know the answer to that one, don’t you think?’’
Sam didn’t respond. Instead he asked quickly, ‘‘That being the case, what’s a Secret Service investigator doing down here checking out Prew and his mercenaries?’’
Jefferies cocked his head slightly. ‘‘I could ask you what an Arizona Ranger is doing here in the first place, let alone riding up to Esperanza when you’ve already finished what you came here to do.’’
‘‘Yes, you could ask,’’ said Sam, ‘‘but you’d do well to keep in mind who’s holding the gun here and who’s looking into the barrel.’’
‘‘All right,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘Prew has run wild down here for too long. He’s robbed too many army trains. My chief thinks he has inside men within the army ranks and the railroad. We’ll never find out who his contacts are. I’m here to bust up his whole operation. Once that’s done his informers will be out of business.’’
‘‘All by yourself, you’re going to bust up his operation?’’ Sam asked. ‘‘Fighting Prew and his Mexican federales allies, you’d be fighting an army.’’
‘‘You know the saying ‘One town, one ranger’?’’ He gave Sam a flat stare. ‘‘Here’s a new one for you: ‘One army, one agent.’ ’’
Sam considered what Jefferies had said. ‘‘How do you propose to bust up his operation?’’ As he spoke he uncocked the Colt, reached down with his free hand and helped Jefferies to his feet.
‘‘I have some supplies in a leather weapons bag in Esperanza,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘I hid it the night Rance Hurley hanged himself.’’
‘‘Rance Hurley the bank robber? The murderer?’’ Sam asked.
‘‘Yep, that’s the one,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘He was sentenced to hang. But he agreed to pose as my uncle, get me inside with Prew and the Mexican captain. Then he was supposed to disappear and never be seen or heard from again. Things fell apart when he shot too much cocaine, ate too much peyote and washed it down with too much mescal. He ended up hanging anyways.’’
‘‘The thing that worries me about you, Jefferies,’’ said the ranger, ‘‘is that the story about your uncle and you slid off your tongue so easy. I have to wonder if you were lying then or if you’re lying now.’’
‘‘I’ve learned that lying is a form of art in this line of work, Ranger,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘You should know that by now.’’
‘‘No, I don’t know it,’’ Sam replied. ‘‘I do my job without deceiving anybody.’’
‘‘Come on—you’ve never told a little lie along the way, to save somebody, or to keep the game running level?’’
‘‘Maybe I have,’’ said Sam. He didn’t want Jefferies to know one way or the other about how he thought, how he did his job, or anything else until he knew for certain if the man was telling the truth.’’
Seeing something to that effect in the ranger’s eyes, Jefferies shrugged and said, ‘‘I’m just a horse-soldier captain hired by the Secret Service to handle this assignment. When it’s over I might be right back at the head of a column, chasing renegade Indians, for all I know. You don’t have to worry about me.’’
‘‘I’m not,’’ said Sam. He directed Jefferies toward the horses with the barrel of his Colt. On their way up the steep rock ground, Sam kept to the man’s side, not right behind him. He gave a sharp short whistle to bring Black Pot up from the trail.
‘‘If you weren’t out to bushwhack me, what was your plan when I rode through here?’’
‘‘I intended to follow you to Esperanza,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘I knew that whatever you did there was going to draw attention. I figured while everybody stayed busy with you, I’d pick up my hidden leather bag and get out of town. I’m following Prew to wherever they plan to take down the next army train.’’ He looked sidelong at Sam. ‘‘What are you going to do in Esperanza?’’
‘‘I told Prew I’d be coming for what’s mine,’’ Sam said. ‘‘After seeing all the fancy firearms the federales had, I decided to get on back up there now instead of later. I wanted to look around, see what I might do to stop Prew and his men. With enough guns like that in their hands, I could see lots of innocent blood spilled before long.’’
‘‘Yes, and too much of it has been spilled already,’’ said Jefferies.
They walked on.
‘‘Where are you taking me, Ranger, if you don’t mind me asking?’’ He gave a slight wry grin.
‘‘To Esperanza, so you can get your weapons bag and show it to me,’’ Sam replied.
‘
‘Whoa, Ranger.’’ Jefferies almost stopped. ‘‘If you think you’re going in with me on this, you’re mistaken. I’ve gotten too used to working alone.’’
Sam gestured him on to the horses without commenting any further on the matter. ‘‘I have to hand it to you,’’ he said. ‘‘You played a convincing role, acting like the big dumb rube. I sure believed it.’’
‘‘I feel bad about that, Ranger,’’ Jefferies said. ‘‘I don’t like deceiving you, Sabio and Caridad. You all three saved my life.’’
‘‘Speaking of Caridad,’’ said Sam, ‘‘where does she stand in all this? Was that just a made-up story you gave her, about how you would come back to her? She believed you meant every word of it.’’
‘‘I did,’’ said Jefferies in a softer tone, stopping at his horse. Sam’s Appaloosa walked up from the trail and joined them. ‘‘Maybe I was wrong, telling her I was coming back. The truth is I might not be coming back. I could be dead when this is finished. But if I’m alive, I’ll be back for her. You can count on that.’’
‘‘Then I suppose we better see to it you stay alive.’’ Sam handed Jefferies the gun he’d taken from him. The young man looked surprised until he opened the chamber and saw the bullets were missing.
‘‘I told you, I work alone.’’
Sam held six bullets up in his cupped gloved hand. ‘‘As soon as I believe you might be telling me the truth about yourself, you’ll get these back. Until then, don’t let me see your hands near the bullets in your pistol belt.’’
‘‘Anything you say, Ranger,’’ Jefferies murmured under his breath.
Chapter 11
Sabio and Caridad rode as hard as the horses and the hill trail would allow for over an hour. Then they slowed to a walk and let the animals walk gently and pick their way into the entrance of a vine-covered valley away from any trails or paths. When they’d ridden nearly a mile deep into the valley, they stepped down from the tired horses for the first time since fleeing the two gunmen. Sabio slipped the rifle into the saddle boot and looked back on the silent forest as if someone might be following. Satisfied, he sighed and smiled at their remote, peaceful surroundings.
‘‘We are safe here. This hidden forest is my friend and it will allow no one to harm us,’’ he said. ‘‘To-night it will rain and wash away our tracks. By the time they follow us here on foot, we will have vanished.’’ He gestured toward an ancient tree whose trunk opened at the ground like the entrance to a small cavern. ‘‘In there you will find a canvas full of blankets and supplies.’’
‘‘Oh, Sabio,’’ Caridad said, looking all around in sheer wonderment, ‘‘how do you know about such places as this? All my life I have lived in these hills and yet—’’
‘‘Shhh,’’ said Sabio, barely above a whisper. ‘‘You must speak quietly in this place. This is my special forest. We are guests here. If we are not quiet and respectful it will cast us away.’’ He gazed upward into the tops of tall reaching trees draped in the same thick vines that guarded the entrance to the valley.
‘‘I am sorry,’’ Caridad whispered, turning her dark eyes upward too, for a second, as if apologizing to the forest itself. Then lowering her eyes back to Sabio, she whispered, ‘‘You know everything, Sabio. Again you have protected me from harm.’’ Before Sabio could say a word, she’d thrown her arms around him and hugged him tightly. ‘‘Thank God for you, mi ángel del guarda!’’
Her guardian angel . . . Feeling her breasts hot against his chest even through his tattered robe, Sabio tried not to let lustful thoughts and images seep into his mind. Yet he was only human, he reminded himself. He held her loosely and stroked her long hair, her face nuzzled against the side of his neck. ‘‘Please, Caridad,’’ Sabio whispered, almost in the anguished moan of a lover.
‘‘It is true,’’ Caridad insisted, unaware of the effect her warm young body had on him and therefore holding none of herself back. ‘‘You are my savior, my confessor, my holy man, my brave rifleman!’’ She squeezed him tighter, her body naturally undulating against his. ‘‘Is there anything you cannot do?’’
Sante Madre! He lifted his aging eyes to heaven as if praying for strength. ‘‘Caridad, Caridad,’’ he said softly, sadly, ‘‘what am I to do with you? What is God to do with the two of us?’’
Caridad pushed back from him, to arm’s length. ‘‘What a strange thing to say. What have we done to make God wonder how to deal with us?’’
‘‘Dear Caridad,’’ said Sabio. ‘‘How I wish you could stay as innocent as you are now for the rest of your life.’’ He turned her loose and stepped back. ‘‘Yet when I see the trouble your innocence nearly brought upon you today, I think perhaps it is time for you to come forward and join the rest of us.’’
‘‘It was my innocence that caused all the trouble at the waterfall?’’ Caridad asked. At first she tried to make sense of his words; but then she shook her head, knowing there was no sense to be made of them. ‘‘Why do you say such a thing? Did my ‘innocence’ as you call it draw those men to us and make them want to do things to me?’’
‘‘I am sorry. That is not what I meant,’’ Sabio said, hoping to let the matter drop.
‘‘Oh, then what did you mean?’’ she asked.
Sabio looked at her, wondering for a second if he could explain to her that it was not her innocence that had brought on the trouble. Yet he knew from experience that innocence attracted the wicked the way fresh meat attracted wolves. Still, he knew that what he’d said was not even close to what preyed upon his mind. In his mind he’d meant what must he do to keep from spoiling her? Or, given his lifelong lust for women, what must God do to save her from him? No, he could not explain any of this to her, he thought.
‘‘Caridad,’’ he said instead, speaking benevolently, the way he’d learned to speak to his subjects as a young priest who did not want his authority questioned. ‘‘It does not matter what I meant when I said it. That moment is gone. What matters is what I am saying now.’’
‘‘And now you are saying?’’ Caridad asked, relenting to his will even though she needed an answer.
Sabio folded his hands at his waist in a priestly fashion and smiled gently. ‘‘I am saying we must rest the horses and ourselves. It is not good to have so much talking when one is weary from the trail. It makes any of us say things in ways we do not mean them.’’
‘‘Yes, I understand,’’ Caridad said meekly. ‘‘Forgive me for being bold. Please do not think less of me.’’
‘‘No, my dear Caridad,’’ said Sabio. He stepped back close to her and cupped her cheek. ‘‘Nothing you will ever say or do will change how I feel for you. I have raised you from a baby. You are the child I was forbidden to father.’’ He smiled, genuinely, warmly. ‘‘Have I not told you this throughout your life?’’
‘‘Yes, you have told me this many times,’’ Caridad said, looking into his eyes. She never quite understood everything she saw there, especially these past couple of years.
‘‘Then do not trouble yourself over what I say or what I mean,’’ Sabio said, caressing her cheek. ‘‘Now go lie down and rest out of the heat. We have much more traveling to do before we return to the mission.’’
‘‘Yes, I will go rest now,’’ she said dutifully. She walked away. She knew Sabio carried secrets about himself. Dark secrets? Yes, she was certain of it. She knew that when his eyes took on the look they now had it was time to leave him in peace, to his thoughts, the profound and troubled thoughts of her holy man. . . .
Sabio watched her walk away, her long hair swaying gently. He considered how many times he had longed to make love to such a beautiful young woman as this, here in this lush forest, on the soft fertile belly of the earth. But not with his Caridad, he told himself, as if he needed constant reminding lest his lower nature overwhelm him. He blew out a breath and shook his head.
Do not destroy this one’s faith in you, the way you have done with everyone else, he heard his stern inner voice call o
ut. In reply to that voice he bit his lip. No, he would not do such a thing. Not to Caridad, not to the only soul left on God’s earth who still thought him divine and without fault. He realized how deeply he needed to be seen with such blind adoration and reverence throughout his entire life; yet he realized too how low and unworthy of such treatment he’d become.
Were he to destroy what Caridad saw in him, his miserable life would end, he reminded himself, taking the reins to both horses and leading them to a small pond fed freshly from a trickling stream. ‘‘When God washes his hands of a man, why does he not remove himself from that man’s heart and spirit?’’ he asked the horses under his breath.
But even as he asked, he knew that it was not God who washed his hands of him. ‘‘Holy Mother Church,’’ he said bitterly, casting a scowl upward through the towering treetops. Whatever goodness remained in him lay in the eyes of Caridad. She did not see that his powers through God had turned into coincidences he’d learned to play upon, or twists of random fate he’d only purported to understand.
He’d managed to turn God’s power into cheap sleight-of-hand tricks like those of a traveling street performer. Shame overcame him. He stopped the horses, sat down in the dirt and buried his face in his crossed arms. Yet even in his shame, he yearned deeply for the cradling mothering arms of a woman—of Louisa, he thought. Or of any woman.
Ah, the women of my life, he pondered, hoping only to take his mind off his misery. Yet, in recalling their faces, their soft naked forms lying beneath him, his misery only grew, until finally he looked over to the large tree and saw Caridad spreading a blanket on the ground beneath its shading canopy. She added a gauzelike sleeping cover that floated weightlessly to the ground. When you finish with a man, he whispered silently to God, you leave him with nothing. No wonder a man must take—for nothing is given to him.
