by P. A. Bechko
The corners of Carson’s mouth turned down, driving the lines in deeply, and he settled his hat back on his head. He looked at the men and their horses then nodded.
“We’ve done all we can, boys. It really twists my tail, but we’re heading back.”
* * *
The threat gone, or at least mitigated to the point of being of no consideration, the trail seemed suddenly much easier from Amanda’s perspective. They moved in a more northwesterly direction, anxious now to reach their destination.
Now there was some time to think. In fact it was the best time since she needed something to distract herself from her discomforts and allow her to last out the remainder of this hellish ride. Her thoughts were random at first, wandering in the direction of what would happen once they made camp with the knowledge that they were safe from immediate pursuit. She wasn’t about to delude herself. She knew nothing about the man she rode with, believed him to be a basically honest, good man. Still, he was a man and she was a woman and they were likely to be out here, alone, together, for some time. She was totally dependent on him. Quite simply, she’d be dead out here without him. She craved independence and the freedom to make choices of her own, but, at the moment, she wasn’t doing so well. Things would have to change.
By mid-afternoon they entered Jake’s canyon and began climbing, Jake being careful still to cover their trail, especially at the notch where they entered between towering rock spires.
Hollander, guiding them through twists and turns in the narrow gulch, avoiding beckoning forks. It was like a maze where water had run well above a man’s head on horseback thousands of times in the past. The stone walls were worn smooth in some places, and in others there were low banks and great gouges in the earth. A barely audible, slide, squish sort of sound was made by the horses’ hoofs as they passed through the loose sand of the canyon floor. Insects sang noisily and as the rock walls fell away on one side into what appeared to be a plateau, a covey of quail rose up from the brush ahead of them spooking their horses. A few frantic moments followed during which Amanda strove for control of her mount and Jake watched with an amused smile.
“You can always find those birds near water,” he offered with a grin.
She gave him a sour look.
“Look. You got us this far. We beat the posse and I don’t mind if you want to crow a little bit, but that wasn’t funny. My life is in a shambles. I ache all over, and a lady couldn’t even tell you the places where my skin is rubbed raw. So, can we just get to where we’re going and get some rest?”
Jake laughed and led the way. A canyon wren called from a nearby scrub bush, and the climb became suddenly much steeper. Their path took one more bend to the west as they dragged themselves upward. Then, suddenly, it ended in a rock waterfall glistening in the dazzling sunlight. Water cascaded in streams thick as a man’s thigh, from somewhere above, splashing vigorously over rock outcroppings, filling a series of deep pools. One overflowed into the next, graduating down, their precious bounty too much for each rock bowl until, in the end, it dribbled and seeped into the parched sand that made up the canyon floor.
Amanda stared at the liquid bounty then at the canyon. The transformation of the desert here was complete. The long, dusty trail opened up into a green hollow extending into a broad, grassy bench. Majestic old cottonwoods shared the green bank in a stately line. Thick, lush grass growing higher than the horses’ knees, waved in the hot breeze. Spring flowers, balanced on delicate stems, waved in a gentle rhythm with the grasses. Mesquite trees grew in a thick grove a little further on, the deep sage color of their leaves lending a false coolness to the air. The sun-tautness of her skin responded to the moisture the air offered here and her mind leaped ahead to what it would feel like to wash off the protective mud and sprawl out in the shade.
“It’s beautiful here,” she proclaimed. “An oasis.”
Jake grunted and led the way up a narrow ledge of a trail to the rock tanks above. There he dismounted and led his horse to drink from one of the lower tanks. Amanda followed without urging, their horses’ metal-shod hoofs clicking and clattering to the tantalizing water.
Jake dropped his mount’s reins and climbed a few feet higher on the slick, smooth surface to drink from one of the higher pools. Amanda went along, her town shoes slipping alarmingly on the wet grade of the rock until she dropped down on her stomach across from him, lowered her lips to the surface of the pool, and was startled at the coolness of the water cupped in the deep, rock tanks. She drank deeply through cracked lips until Jake splashed her lightly from the far side of the pool.
“Don’t drink too much too fast. You’ll make yourself sick.”
Instantly she froze, lifting her eyes to meet Jake’s. His expression told her he wasn’t kidding. She was sore, raw and miserable and not about to add wretched to the list. She contented herself with splashing water over her face and arms, soaking herself through.
Hollander suppressed a grin she would not appreciate, and filled the empty canteens before collecting the horses’ reins to lead them down to the hollow where he’d make camp.
Amanda watched his sure-footed, cat-like descent. He wasn’t an easy man to get to know. He had his own way of doing things and she was dependent on him, a burden to him. For the moment, that was something she could do nothing about. That, though, would change.
Jake led the horses clattering over stone onto level ground when he looked over his shoulder.
“Come on down when you’re ready. I’m gonna pitch camp.”
The expression on his face was unreadable. She knew little about him, but Amanda kept telling herself he was a good man.
She climbed ungracefully to her feet, slipping on the smooth rock, fighting the aches and pains threatening to stiffen her up like a cigar store Indian. She was moving quickly down the trail when she made the decision. Somehow she was going to prove her own innocence, and at the same time, Jake’s. It was a debt of honor.
When she joined him, Amanda was surprised to see he had already stripped the horses of their saddles, picketed them on the tall green grass, and collected wood from a dead fall for a fire.
When she drew up even with him, Jake tossed her a pair of boots withdrawn from his saddlebags.
“Boots might be a bit large, but maybe you can make ’em do. We stay here long enough and I’ll show you how to make a pair of high-top moccasins that’ll suit you better.”
Amanda caught the dusty, battered boots with a startled expression.
“Who did all these things belong to?”
“A kid. A stupid, unlucky kid. I was taking these things home to his Maw, but she’d understand the need.”
That soured it some for Amanda, but the need remained. She dropped down in the grass, peeled off her demolished street boots, and pulled one of the well-worn boots on. It was like having her foot fall into a well. Nothing but space. She frowned, then pulled it off and grabbed the saddlebags where she had stuffed her old clothes.
Jake watched her a few moments, then stretched out on his bedroll.
“You work with that a while. If you get it to where you can hobble around, go see if you can find anything you can recognize as food. I’m going to catch a couple hours of sleep before dark, do your best keep an eye peeled for trouble. Don’t wake me unless it’s a matter of life and death.”
With that, he pulled his hat down over his eyes and fell silent. For a moment Amanda sat staring dumbly at his reclining form, not believing he could fall asleep so quickly. He didn’t move, didn’t even twitch.
Amanda sighed and did as he said, surprised at how vulnerable she felt just knowing he was not alert. He had to sleep sometime and she had to get over these unreasoning fears.
She stuffed the toe of one over-sized boot, then grabbed the other. Her hand stuck down the shaft, she felt something in the boot and pulled it out. A pair of wadded up well-used leather work gloves. Amanda smiled sadly, then smoothed them and tucked them into her belt.
On
ce she had the boots on her feet, Amanda set out to follow Jake’s instructions. Stumbling around, she was swearing under her breath while she scoured the area for food, mainly the prickly pear Jake had shown her on the trail, when she heard the sound and recognized it. The last time the buzzing had not been nearly so close. Nonetheless, the rattle of a desert diamond back was not a sound the wise, traveling this country, would care to forget. She froze, green eyes flickering over the terrain in search of the threatening snake.
She’d been so immersed in her hunt for food, in her determination to have a least something there when Jake awoke, noticed little about her surroundings. A mistake she would not make again.
With grim humor, Amanda wondered if getting bitten by a snake constituted a matter of life and death worthy of waking Jake Hollander from his well-deserved slumber. One thing was certain, if she did, Hollander would never let her live it down, provided she did live.
She spotted the snake coiled on a bare spot of earth, well camouflaged in the dust, within its striking range. The erect, weaving, spade-shaped head along with the persistent buzz of the rattles told her it wouldn’t take much to make the reptile do just that.
Well hell and damnation, Amanda thought to herself, He’s not asleep more than ten minutes and I’ve already gotten myself into a fix.
For a few seconds she just stayed put, feeling like her feet were stuck in mud, hoping something would distract the snake. That didn’t happen. Cautiously, eyes fixed on the poised snake, she eased backwards a few painful inches at a time. The furious buzzing of the rattles filled her ears and the snake’s shiny, black eyes glared at her intrusion, the dusty head swaying hypnotically.
Crooning to the snake, her hand drifted to the butt of the gun in her holster. Maybe she could shoot it, Hollander’s beauty rest be damned. She eased the weapon out, moving very smoothly, very slowly. The snake’s rattles colored the air.
She couldn’t breathe and was fighting an urge to tremble, when, nearly out of range and ready to congratulate herself, the heel of her boot fell squarely on a small rock, throwing her off balance. She lurched forward, then staggered back. She felt the impact of the rattler’s lightning strike at her right ankle and nearly screamed her terror. The force was almost enough to take her off her feet, but she reeled out of reach as the diamond back slithered off in the opposite direction.
Amanda looked down at the moist spot on the leather of the boot where the fangs had struck, realized it had penetrated the leather, but not the padding inside or her skin, and instantly took off after the snake.
“Oh no you don’t!” she cried softly.
She had heard some people actually prized rattlesnake meat. They claimed it tasted a lot like chicken and she dearly loved chicken.
On the run, Amanda picked up a hefty rock and caught up with the snake near the rocky ascent to the pools. In her anger she surprised herself, chucking the rock so it hit the snake squarely on the head, stunning it into confused thrashing. She grabbed another rock and hit it again. The reptile continued to whip wildly about, but it was dying, the life force plainly ebbing. Amanda was merciful. She hit it again, finishing it.
She dropped to the ground a few feet away, eyes locked on the thick-bodied snake, still in death. She drew in her breath in long. ragged gasps and sweat broke out all over her body as she shook uncontrollably, but she was proud. She had taken care of herself and she’d gotten them dinner! Now, she had to figure out what to do with it.
That last thought brought a smile to her lips. She climbed to her feet, picked up the dead snake and returned to camp, the smile finally giving way to a giggle as she tossed the carcass in the grass near Hollander who dozed on, secure atop his bedroll.
Damned if I did all that and I didn’t even have to wake him. Amanda started to laugh at that thought, and stifled it until, knees weak, she collapsed to the carpet of green a short distance from where Jake lay. She gasped and lay helplessly in the grass doubled over in silent mirth. The more she thought about it, and the man laying nearby, the more she laughed. Her sides ached, her belly clenched, but still she laughed, and she did it in silence, the possibility of him seeing her like this causing her to laugh even harder.
A giggle escaped, a release. She closed her eyes and hiccuped. When she opened them again, Hollander was standing right beside her, scuffed, worn boots at eye-level, frowning down at her.
“If it was anybody but me, you’d be in one helluva fix,” Hollander observed. “What the hell’s the matter with you?”
Amanda gasped, giggled and felt the rush of embarrassment at not even being able to force a word between her teeth. She pointed to the dead five-foot snake in the grass.
Jake spotted it and started to chuckle himself.
“Got us dinner after all, did you?”
Amanda nodded and gasped out, “I didn’t want to wake you!”
“Good thought, but I’m hungry now, so let’s eat.”
Jake rummaged in his sparse sack of supplies, coming up with some coffee, a pot to cook it in, some flour, and a twist of salt. He handed her the pot and coffee, then dragged a wicked-looking knife from his boot.
“Get some water. I’ll skin the snake and get a fire going. Teach you how to do some trail cooking.”
Chapter 7
Amanda stared at him a moment in disbelief, transfixed by his swift return to consciousness. He moved and worked, unencumbered by sleep, or the clinging dregs of it.
She got to her feet, laughter ebbing, then picked up the coffee pot and headed off to the pools.
By the time she returned, pot full, Jake had the snake skinned and dressed out, the succulent white flesh of the reptile laid out in the green grass.
“Tastes like chicken I hear.”
Hollander laughed. “Tastes like snake. But snake can taste mighty good.”
He dug in his saddlebags, pulled out a flint and handed it over to her.
“Get us a fire started. I’ll go see what else I can find to eat. You might get some dumplings started if you can cook.”
Amanda tossed him a scathing look. “Of course I can cook! I’ve fed myself for a good long while now.”
“There’s some salt pork in the sack. Go easy on it though, it’s all we’ve got for a spell.”
She wrinkled her nose. What would he want salt pork for?
“It’s for the grease in the pan,” Jake called back over his shoulder as if he could read her mind.
She cut a few chunks of the pork into the pan, then threw some coffee into the pot setting it optimistically beside the pan before she turned her hand to starting the fire Jake had laid. There was tinder, kindling and heavier sticks laying in a pile nearby. She struck the flint and was rewarded by a good-sized spark jumping from it. Then she settled down to start the fire. Directing the flint toward the tinder, she struck it firmly. A spark jumped, caught for an instant, then smoldered and died. She tried again. This time the spark didn’t even catch for a moment.
Amanda frowned. The sun was drifting quickly toward the western horizon. Her stomach growled. The past several days, living on hardly more than water, jerky and hard tack, had meant little, but now it was different. In another lifetime such frustration might have reduced her to tears of frustration, but no longer.
Again and again she struck the flint, rearranged the tinder, re-stacked the kindling. Finally another spark caught. It burned, tentative, precarious, vulnerable to the slightest breeze. She cupped her hands around it and softly blew on the tiny fire then delicately fed it a few more bits shredded bark, some dried grass. It swelled and the smallest hint of warmth emanated from the fire. She coddled it and it grew until a strong flame burned at the center of the circle of rocks.
Back aching from the stooped over effort, Amanda straightened and fed the flames even more until the heat of it caressed her face, oblivious to the fact that darkness had fallen while she had worked.
When Jake returned he was laden with freshly washed greenery, seed pods and roots.
&
nbsp; “You got the fire started. Good. I’ll show you what to do with the rest of this stuff in a few minutes. Every critter in these parts needing water will be coming down to those pools tonight. Can’t afford to lose one of the horses.”
He turned to go again, but Amanda pulled him up short.
“Why don’t you just carry sulfur matches?”
Jake grinned. “I do, but they’re for emergencies. Didn’t figure this was one of them.”
Hollander turned on his heel, disappearing into the night shadows.
Amanda had the flour, salt and bit of powder he’d given her, but nowhere to mix the dumplings. She rummaged through his supplies again. Nothing. For a moment she puzzled over it, then got to work.
Hollander walked as quietly as an Indian, listening to the soft rustlings and cracklings as night creatures skittered across the rock face to the pools. From somewhere to the north an uncanny shriek told him a big cat was on the prowl.
When he approached the horses, his own nickered to him in greeting and extended his head, nostrils flaring, ears pricked forward. It was a good thing he had come to get the horses. That cat might have caused both of them to pull their picket pins and bolt. He had enough just trying to keep track of Amanda Cleary and what was on her mind without being forced to take off on foot after their horses.
At least that was his gut reaction, but was it really true? Amanda, for all her headstrong, irritating ways, was still one to admire for her spirit. She was gutsy, she didn’t back down and when she set her claws, she didn’t let go. There were few women, green as she was, who would have taken to the trail as she had, not complaining, just riding it out. The trouble was she was ignorant, and there was plenty she’d have to learn before she could even say she still had a lot to learn. To make matters worse, felt she had to take it all in at once. All or nothing, do or die.
