by Judith Pella
“Now, how do you know about this canyon, Mr. Santiago? What’s your interest in the rustlers? And how do you know my name? I know I’ve never met you before. Where are you from, anyway?”
“We’ve never met, Carolyn Stoner,” said Santiago. “But look closer at me. Am I not a little familiar to you?”
Carolyn was about to reaffirm that she’d never seen him before and had no idea how he could be familiar, when he pushed back his sombrero, turning his head slightly so that the flames of the fire illuminated his profile. He was a total stranger. How could she possibly—?
Then she saw it. She couldn’t quite pinpoint where it originated. It was not really in the eyes, which were softer, wider set; nor was it in the silhouette of the face with its slightly humped nose and rounded jaw and full lips visible under the camouflage of the dark moustache. But somehow it was a combination of all these things, a bit here, a bit there, like puzzle pieces that fit together.
As her eyes widened with dawning enlightenment—and fear—Santiago’s lips parted into a grin. And, oddly, this singular act seemed to break the spell, eliminate all her former sense of familiarity.
She frowned, puzzled once more.
“I feel the same way when I look at you,” Santiago said. “Sure…and then not so sure; happy, and then…a little frightened. We’re very much alike, you and I. We’re made of two warring halves, good and evil, so to speak. And it’s a constant struggle of one over the other.”
“That’s—that’s the way it is with all folks, I think,” Carolyn said in a broken, uncertain tone.
“More for some than others.” He paused, studying Carolyn for a moment before continuing. “But you’re not interested in philosophy or guessing games, are you? Your mother was like that, too. She never was very good at subtlety; perhaps that’s why she was so miserable at the Stoner Ranch—”
“Who are you?” burst Carolyn out sharply, as surprised at her tone as she was at the sudden tremor in her hands. “What do you know of my mother?”
“She and I were very close once, though friends only. She had too much honor to run away with me and be my lover. I loved her, and I wanted her, in spite of the fact that she was my brother’s wife—”
Carolyn sucked in a sharp breath. It couldn’t be!
“Ah, you know now, don’t you? She has told you about me,” he said.
Carolyn nodded. “You’re Jacob Stoner.”
“Yes.”
“Everyone thought you were dead. Where have you been all these years? If you cared so much about my mother, why did you never return to help her?”
“I have returned now,” he said earnestly. “Whether I can help her or not is doubtful, but I plan to try.”
“But where have you been?”
“Would you like more coffee, my dear niece? I have a long tale to tell.”
Carolyn forgot all about the danger of being missed at camp and held out her cup.
What she heard in the next half hour was an adventure story like she had never imagined. It began several days after Jacob Stoner fled the Stoner Ranch, escaping the murderous wrath of his brother Leonard. He had headed for the West, for always in his mind was the dream of beginning a new life in California. He determined that someday he’d return for Deborah, but it would be too dangerous for him to do so in the near future. All those hopes and dreams, however, were crushed in the Staked Plaines. It had been foolish for him to travel across the plains alone, but he had no friends, no one he could trust to keep his whereabouts from his brother. A band of Apaches attacked him and, probably having been scared off by other hostiles, left him half dead on the searing plains. He was found the next day by a couple of buffalo hunters who gathered up his nearly lifeless body, took it to their camp, and nursed him. When he could be safely moved, they took him to Fort Belknap, in the northwest frontier of Texas, where he spent the winter months recuperating. In the spring when he was able to ride, he thought often of going back for Deborah. But could he be sure she’d even want to go with him? It had been months since his departure, and a lot could have happened in that time. He assumed she would have a baby by then, because before his departure she had revealed she was pregnant with Leonard’s child. That alone would bind her tightly to her husband. Thus, he was dissuaded from seeking Deborah out.
He went, instead, to California. He never heard about Leonard’s death, or Deborah’s conviction for his murder. Jacob was of a bitter and resentful mind himself after the years of mistreatment and bigotry he had suffered at the hands of his father and brother, and many other white men. In California he fell in with a gang of Mexican nationalists—men who resented the United States for stealing, as they viewed it, so much Mexican territory.
Jacob made a life for himself in Mexico, a land where he for the first time in his life was treated with respect. He soon became leader of a gang—called nationalists south of the border, but north of the Rio Grande, they were considered banditos. They all had prices on their heads. The name of Santiago became widely known and feared even by the Texas Rangers. Had Carolyn lived farther south, she no doubt would have heard of him.
“It was several years before I heard of my brother’s death and Deborah’s arrest. By then, of course, she had escaped and, I hoped, was safe. But she had disappeared and there was no way to find her, especially for me, also a wanted man. I knew it was best for both of us to remain as we were.”
“Why, then, have you come back?” asked Carolyn.
“I’ve tried to maintain some contact with my father’s ranch, though I knew it would be best for us, especially my brother, Laban, if I remained as dead to them. You’d be surprised how many Mexicans here are sympathetic with the cause of the banditos. Several friends have kept me up on happenings in the area. I learned of my father’s illness—”
“Illness? You mean when he was under the weather the other day?”
“He has visited a doctor in Austin several times in the last year.”
“What for? Do you know? Is it something serious?”
Jacob shrugged. “No man in the West goes to the doctor unless it’s serious—very serious.”
Carolyn recalled her conversation with Caleb that day he had been sick, how curiously intense his words had been. Was he afraid he was dying? Was he that ill? A sudden knot gripped Carolyn’s throat as she considered this possibility. Would she lose her grandfather so soon after discovering him? But just because he had visited a doctor didn’t mean he was dying; he might have a serious malady without it being life-threatening. It just couldn’t be.
She tried to focus on her long-lost uncle. “So, you came back to claim your inheritance?”
“That would be impossible for me to do without also turning myself over to the authorities. No, that’s not why I came back. I thought perhaps of attempting to see my father and making things right between us. But I put off that decision until I heard that your mother had been arrested again. I knew then that I must come.”
“She’s married again, you know,” Carolyn said suddenly.
Jacob smiled. “I’m not surprised. A woman like your mother would have had many suitors to choose from. I, too, am married; my wife and five children live in Mexico. I did truly love your mother at one time, but more than that, we were friends. The love has faded over the years, but the friendship has not. We were very important to one another at a time when we both desperately needed a friend.”
“Most folks think you and my ma were…well, were much more than just friends.”
“Who will you believe, Carolyn?”
That was a good question, and one Carolyn was faced with constantly. But she knew there was really only one answer.
“My mother,” she said confidently.
Jacob’s moustache moved, and his eyes reflected a smile. “A good answer, Carolyn. Always remember that.”
Those words, more than anything else, caused a sense of kinship with Jacob to blossom within Carolyn. He was the only Stoner who showed any sympathy at all for her
mother, and it was refreshing and encouraging. “But how can you help her now, Jacob? I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you, but she has plenty of friends now, and she’s still in trouble.”
“I’d be glad to see Deborah also, but of course I can’t even do that, at least while she’s in jail. As I said, I am a wanted man.”
“I thought Santiago was a wanted man,” said Carolyn hopefully. “Isn’t it possible that Jacob Stoner could appear and testify?”
“Not impossible, I suppose. Even lawmen might have trouble identifying me by my face. Still it’s risky, especially to walk into a jail or courtroom where the law is especially wary.”
Carolyn’s disappointment must have been clearly evident on her face, for when Jacob spoke next, it was with deep sympathy.
“I have failed your mother in so many ways,” he said, “and now I may fail you also. Let me give this some thought. I would do almost anything for your mother, but I also have my own family to consider. But, Carolyn, there may still be ways in which I can help. I know things, and I can tell them to you—”
“What good will that do? The judge wants to hear firsthand testimony—anything else, Mr. Barnum says, is called hearsay. It won’t count.”
Jacob shook his head. “There must be something I can do.”
“Do you know what really happened with my ma and pa?”
“If I knew that, if I had evidence that would without a doubt free your mother, I’d be far more willing to risk my own freedom to help her.”
“Would you, Uncle Jacob? I want to believe that—”
“But you can’t keep from thinking that I had as much a motive to kill my brother as anyone.”
“I reckon so.”
“Do you think I came back and shot my brother?”
“I’d be lying if I said that thought didn’t occur to me. Can you prove what you said about the Apache attack and getting wounded and all?”
“Probably not. The men who helped me are long gone.”
“I’m sorry, Uncle Jacob. I want to believe you. If only you had something else to give us.”
“I would never have allowed your mother to suffer for a crime I had committed,” said Jacob earnestly. “But as with everything else, there is no reason for you to believe me.” He sighed with discouragement. “It is time that we part. I’ve already kept you long enough. It would not be good if your companions started looking for you tonight and found you here with me. I’ll meet you again soon, and we’ll talk more.”
“When?” Carolyn asked, not attempting to mask her impatience.
“How hard is it for you to get away?”
“I go where I please—well, most of the time. My grandfather is different with me than my mother says he was with her.”
Jacob was genuinely surprised at this. “But then, you are Leonard’s daughter, aren’t you?” he said almost to himself. He eyed her carefully one more time.
“All right,” Jacob said after a brief pause, “let’s meet tomorrow night. Not here—that would be too risky. There’s a line cabin about five miles southeast of the foot of this ridge. It should be deserted this time of year. I’ll be there about an hour after sundown.”
“Okay.”
“Carolyn, it’s very important that no one know I am here—not Caleb, or even your mother.”
“I understand.”
Carolyn stood and started toward her horse, but Jacob rose also and hurried up beside her.
“I’m glad I have come home, Carolyn, and found a niece like you here,” he said, his dark eyes gazing earnestly upon her. “This ranch has needed someone like you for many years. You bring hope here, Carolyn.”
She gave him a puzzled look, not quite knowing what to make of his statement. She only smiled before she said goodbye, mounted Tres Zapatos, and rode off.
59
When Carolyn slipped into her bedroll that night, the night was deep and still. Only the restive lowing of cattle disturbed the quiet air. She was glad to see no one had missed her; Matt was still asleep, but his watch was near. The camp was quiet except for the snores of the men.
Carolyn was tired and fell immediately asleep. And, although only ten or fifteen minutes had passed, she was in a deep slumber when she was awakened suddenly by a sharp snap. She jerked awake to the sight of a dark figure bent over her, and her eyes caught the dull glint of steel moving toward her throat. She gasped out a cry as a big, rough hand clamped over her mouth.
The steel object, now clearly revealed as a big Bowie knife, had come within a fraction of an inch of its target when a shot rang through the air. The knife fell on Carolyn’s chest, followed an instant later by the dark figure.
“Carolyn! Are you okay?” cried Matt as he frantically hauled the dead man off her body.
“Yeah…I am. Who—?”
“Whoever he was, he’s dead now.” There was a deep regret in Matt’s tone.
But before they could answer any other questions or Carolyn could comfort Matt with the assurance that he had acted out of necessity, another voice shouted, “The cattle! They’re stampeding!”
There was not even a moment for Carolyn to thank Matt, or to discover who her attacker was. There was a mad dash for horses, a flurry of saddling up, and a race to where the herd was running madly out of control. Carolyn didn’t even pay attention to Caleb’s protests about her joining the cowboys. Everything was happening too quickly to think or reason. All was simply reaction, and Carolyn only reacted naturally.
The cowhands had grabbed their hats and blankets and were waving them mightily to distract the herd which was fleeing in about as many directions as there were cows. Carolyn, Caleb, and two of the cowboys took flanking positions in order to turn the herd into a column heading in one direction. Matt guided the leaders, hoping to provide focus for the animals. Then, when the herd was more a rushing river than a scattering dust storm, Matt rode headlong into the herd, firing his pistol and turning them so they soon formed a U-shape. Their intent, after channeling the herd into some order, was to wait until the two “legs” of the U were even with each other; then the other four riders would “attack” the herd, yelling, waving blankets and hats, and shooting—forcing the herd to merge and, hopefully, to begin “milling,” a stance that would eventually wear the cows out.
All was going according to plan, and Carolyn was impressed at how skilled the Stoner hands were. But the country was rough and uneven in places, and it was a major feat, even for an experienced cowboy, to navigate such terrain at the breakneck pace they were setting. When the flanks were fairly well under control, Carolyn was directed to ride ahead and give Matt a hand. Her eyes were on Matt as she rode forward. One minute he was waving his hat wildly in the air, then the next he suddenly disappeared.
“Matt!” she yelled as she dug her knees into her mount’s flanks.
****
Matt’s mount had stumbled into a gopher hole, taking both rider and horse down to the ground. He managed to roll away from the weight of his horse, only to find himself right in the path of the stampeding cows. He dared not stand and run, for he’d be an even bigger target for the herd. He curled up, using his mount’s fallen body as a shield. A steer flew over him, then another, but his luck couldn’t hold out much longer. He thought about praying, but managed only a choked “God, help me!” before another steer’s hoof clipped him in the head. The last thing he heard before all went black was the report of several pistol shots.
****
Carolyn raced forward, Tres Zapatos’ mighty strides out-distancing the careening herd only by a few feet, but it was enough to get ahead of them. She saw Matt’s horse first and feared she was too late, especially when she didn’t see Matt. But even if he was dead, she couldn’t stand the thought of him being trampled by a herd of cattle.
She already had her Remington in hand with four shots in the chamber. She wouldn’t have time to reload. But she raised it high and fired two shots in quick succession, then two more.
The herd seemed to v
isibly wince from the sharp sounds they so hated. Some turned, crashing into oncoming beasts, but breaking the flow. Another cowboy, seeing her problem, joined her and began firing until the entire body of stubborn animals were finally convinced to go the other way.
Less than two minutes had passed from the time Matt first went down. The ground around the fallen horse was now clear except for trampled grass. Carolyn’s anxious eyes swept the area, and she was almost to the point of despair when she saw a booted foot sticking out from behind the horse.
****
When Matt came to, he was well out of harm’s way, lying on the ground about a stone’s throw from the now milling herd. His horse’s carcass lay in a heap some distance away, and he realized what a close call he’d had.
He went back to camp with the intention of getting a new mount and rejoining the herd. But the hike to the camp had left him so dizzy and nauseous all he could do was collapse. An hour later, he felt a little better. He got up and built a fire, put on a pot of coffee, and rustled up a mess of beans. It was the least he could do for his companions who had been up most of the night tending an ornery herd.
The smell of fresh coffee was indeed welcome to the weary riders as they soon drifted back to camp. One man stayed with the herd, and his voice, raised in gentle serenade to the cows, wafted into the camp. Caleb, Carolyn, and the other hand, whose name was Rusty, collapsed in front of the fire and made no protest as Matt served them coffee.
“So, which of you galoots do I gotta thank for saving my hide?” Matt said after all were settled. His light tone in no way detracted from his earnestness.
Caleb shook his head in response.
Rusty said with a slight grin, “Don’t look at me.”
Carolyn said nothing but just stared into her coffee.
