by Jory Sherman
The clouds began to thicken and the sky grew darker. Peebo stepped up the pace, looking up every so often.
“If it rains again, we might lose Cullers,” Peebo told Martin.
“He can’t be far ahead of us now.”
“No. Fifteen, twenty minutes, maybe.”
“Then let’s get him.”
“Easier said than done,” Peebo said.
The hoof tracks led them into rougher country, country thick with thorny brush and brambly undergrowth. For a time Cullers followed a small stream, emerged in a dry wash and climbed to a narrow ridge. Then he plunged downward again and rode through a small ravine, went again to higher ground and rode across a rocky ridge, where he left few tracks. But Peebo noticed every overturned stone, every broken twig and bent or crushed blade of grass.
“He’s tricky,” Peebo said sometime later as the tracks got fresher and the route more serpentine and circuitous. “Cullers ain’t tryin’ to gain ground no more. ’Stead, he’s hopin’ to botch us up.”
“Botch us up?” Martin said.
“Confuse us. Maybe hopin’ we make a mistake and lose him.”
“Any likelihood of that?”
“Nope. But I wouldn’t put nothin’ past him from now on. He’s pretty desperate, I reckon.”
The track switched back and forth through a series of ravines and gullies, and then over open ground the hoofprints stretched out. Cullers had run the horse hard to gain some time and distance.
Peebo put his horse to a gallop. Martin and Anson followed suit and caught up with him at the edge of a dropoff. Below, the land was once again rolling, with many small hills and ridges, ravines and stream beds broken only by sandy hillocks and thick brush and mesquite.
“He ain’t far off now,” Peebo said, pausing for a moment to get a line on where Cullers might have gone. “He could be anywhere down there.”
“Hard to follow him down there.”
“Well, if he makes it easy for us, look out,” Peebo said.
“What do you mean?” Martin asked.
“I mean he might have another trick or two up his thievin’ sleeve.”
Peebo headed his horse down into the maze of ravines and hills. From what Anson could see of him, Peebo was having no trouble in following Cullers. They rode steeply down a ravine, over another hill and then, abruptly, it seemed, Cullers started riding in the opposite way, up a deep ravine. Even Anson could see the tracks, the rolled-over stones, the broken brush. Cullers was having a hard time making it up the ravine, just as they were doing.
They heard a sound up ahead and Peebo raised his hand to halt the small column of three. Martin rode up just behind Peebo’s horse, since the ravine was too narrow for him to come up alongside.
“What was that?” Martin whispered.
Peebo shook his head, then seemed to ponder for a moment. Then he gestured with his right hand toward his horse’s rump. Martin nodded in understanding.
Peebo rode on, Martin and Anson following.
The ravine was a tangle of cedars and juniper, a few scrub mesquite and thick tangles of black chaparral that slowed the horses. Anson saw that some of the brush was trampled and broken. They continued to climb and finally emerged at the crest. Peebo kept following the spoor past the top of the ridge and down into another ravine on the other side.
Martin crested the ravine and plunged down into the next one, following Peebo. Anson came up last in line and hesitated for a moment. He looked around, but could not say why. Some slight sound, the scrape of a boot on stone, the rattle of a tree branch, the hoarse whisper of a man’s heavy breathing.
He watched as Peebo disappeared from sight, then his father rounded a bend in the ravine and he too was gone. He heard brush break ahead of the two men and he started down the same path.
Then from the side a blur, a shadow, and he twisted in the saddle too late and felt something hard strike him in the side. His feet left the stirrups and another blow from an unseen assailant knocked him out of the saddle.
He tumbled downward and struck the ground hard. Sparks and fireflies danced in his brain and the darkness spun in his head like a whirlwind.
34
URSULA LAY ON her bed watching the pale light of morning seep through the windows. She looked over at the dark hulk of her husband, Jack, sleeping on his side. Had she dreamed it all? She thought he had made love to her three times during the night, but it might have been only twice. No, three times, and each time better than the time before.
She sighed deeply, trying to remember the last time. It couldn’t have been more than a few moments ago, yet Jack was sound asleep, the expression on his face one of innocence. No, she had gone to sleep after that and dreamed. But she couldn’t remember the dream. It was like gauze in her mind, wispy fragments she could not connect. She sighed again and slid from the bed. Let him sleep, she told herself. I’m content. Very happy.
The room reeked of their twin sweats, but the scent of Jack was overpowering. She let the aroma of him linger in her nostrils for a long time, thinking of the massive weight of him on top of her, but strangely light, not crushing, but clinging in a gentle way. For all his roughness, she thought, Jack was a gentle man, at least with her. She had thought about the scents of him for a long time after he had gone away, and for a long time his musk lingered in their bedroom, like some heady perfume from a dark flower.
And she had been sad when Jack’s scent had faded away and only her own clung cloyingly to the bedding, the dainty powder, the flowery perfume that seemed so tawdry now in the strong bouquet that was Jack.
She heard footsteps and then the back door slammed and she knew Roy was up tending to his chores before breakfast. It was her signal to rise and prepare the morning meal, put on the coffee. And this was a special morning, a bittersweet morning, for her men would leave her and she would be alone. She sat up and turned, dangling her bare legs over the edge of the bed. She was naked, and in the soft light of dawn her body was comely, soft, like a young girl’s. She smiled and stepped to the floor.
She groped for her gown on the chair near the bed and pulled it over her head. Then she found the wrapper at the foot of the bed and put her arms inside the sleeves so that she would be decent in front of her son.
She tiptoed from the room carrying her old slippers, the ones she had brought from Saint Louis years before. She wore them only once in a while. They were pink, but the pink had faded, and there were tiny blue bows at the toes. She felt like a ballerina when she was wearing them.
She opened the lid on the firebox of the woodburning stove carefully so that she made no sound. She stuffed splints of kindling wood in the box and reached up and brought down a small tin box. She removed the contents and stuffed a wad under the wood. Then she struck a match to the excelsior she kept in that tin box on top of the stove.
The excelsior burst into flame and the kindling caught fire. She set the lid back down gently, then walked to the counter. She dipped coffee from the can of Arbuckle’s and put it in the blackened coffeepot, then filled it with water from a wooden bucket set beside the counter. Roy had filled it the night before, as he always did.
Ursula began humming to herself as she prepared breakfast: cured ham, potatoes, eggs, biscuits and red-eye gravy. She smiled when Jack, rubbing sleep dust from his eyes, appeared in the kitchen doorway half dressed.
“Umm, I could smell it,” he said. “Hungry as a bear.”
Ursula laughed. “Why don’t you get dressed and go out and fetch Roy? He should be about through with the milking by now.”
“I’ll help him finish up. God, that ham smells good. Coffee ready?”
“It will be by the time you two get back in here.”
The men, washed up and ravenous, sat down at the kitchen table. Ursula piled food on their plates, filled their tin cups with steaming coffee.
“There’s milk, too, if you want, cool from the spring-house.”
“Yes,” Jack declared and began to burrow into the fo
od on his plate. He washed the eggs down with coffee and smeared a biscuit with fresh-churned butter. He dragged the biscuit through the red-eye gravy and smacked his lips after he bit into it.
Ursula sat down and proudly watched her two men as she sipped coffee and dabbled at her food. The mood was dampened only by a touch of sadness at their leaving.
“You both eat like you’ve never seen food before,” she said.
“It’s the best, Mother,” Roy said.
“Better’n that.” Jack cut a large chunk of ham and impaled it with his fork. “Sweetest pork I ever tasted.”
“It was …” Roy started to say. But Ursula gave him a sharp look.
“What’s that?” Jack asked.
“It was a good buy,” Ursula said quickly.
“Well, it’s mighty fine-tasting,” Jack said.
When Roy and Jack were finished eating, Ursula suggested they go outside for a smoke while she cleaned up the dishes.
“I reckon we’ll saddle up,” Jack said, a bit awkwardly, Ursula thought.
“I kind of hoped we could talk a little before you leave, Jack,” she said.
“Sure, we’ll talk. Come on, Roy, let’s have a smoke. You all packed?”
“You bet,” Roy said, and a moment later, Ursula was alone in the kitchen. She felt lonesome for them already, even though they had not left yet. She drew in a deep breath and began to clear the table.
35
ROY STOOD IMPATIENTLY beside his new horse, his new pistol strapped on, his bedroll tied tightly behind the cantle of the saddle. He fidgeted with the reins while his parents talked quietly on the porch, just beyond earshot of the boy. The sun had just cleared the eastern horizon and had begun to burnish the high, thin rolls of clouds.
“I want Roy to go with you and I don’t want him to go with you, Jack,” Ursula said.
“I know. We’ll be back.”
“When?”
“Eventually. I figure three or four months at the outside.”
“I can stand it for that long, I suppose.”
“Sure you can,” Jack said.
“It’s just that, well, seeing you go away again like this. Breaking up our little family.”
“Aw, it ain’t like that, sugar.”
“It is, Jack,” she said, a stubborn tone in her voice.
“Why, we’ll be back before you know it.”
“The nights get long, Jack. The moments stretch into years.”
“Don’t make me feel any worse than I do, Urs. I need the boy. He needs to become a man.”
“What if something happens?”
“To me or to Roy?”
“Either of you,” she said.
“Ain’t nothin’ goin’ to happen. It’s just a cattle drive, up into New Mexico.”
“Indians.”
“Why, we’ll be travelin’ with a regular army—wranglers, drovers, a cookie, the cattle. With men who can shoot and aren’t afeared of Injuns.”
“It just won’t seem like a family no more, Jack. Me all alone. You and Roy out God knows where.”
“You just keep the home fires burnin’, sugar.”
“I’ll be waiting,” she said. “And worrying.”
“Now, now, don’t you worry none,” Jack said. He leaned close to her and pecked her on the cheek.
“Is that all I get?” she asked.
“Aw, not in front of the boy,” he said.
“Jack, you give me a hug and a proper husbandly kiss or I won’t let either of you ride off.”
“Dammit, Urs. You got to make a fuss?”
“Yes, I do. I have to remember this last kiss a long time.”
Jack cursed soundlessly and took Ursula in his arms. He kissed her quickly as her fingers dug hard into his back. Then he tried to break away, but she held him fast.
“Now, don’t go cryin’ on me now.”
“I—I won’t,” she said.
“And let me go. We got to make tracks.”
“Good-bye, Jack.”
“Good-bye, hon.”
“I love you.”
“Yeah, me too,” he said, and turned from her, took the porch steps without touching a one.
“Better go give your ma a last hug, Roy,” Jack said when he reached his horse.
“Aw, do I have to?”
“You better,” Jack said.
Roy gangled over to the porch. “Good-bye, Mother,” he said.
“You come up here right now, Roy Killian, and give me a good-bye kiss.”
“I already gave you one,” he said.
“It ain’t the same.”
Reluctantly Roy climbed the steps and embraced his mother.
“You take care, you hear?”
“I will, Mother.”
“Mind your father.”
“Yes’ m.”
“There now. Hurry back and bring me something pretty.”
“Yes’m, I will. I promise. Good-bye, Mother.”
Roy dashed down the steps and trotted to his horse. He climbed up into the saddle, glad that he had cinched it tight. It didn’t slip as he pulled on the horn and his weight concentrated on the left stirrup.
“I’m ready, Pa.”
“Wave good-bye to your ma,” Jack said.
Roy turned and flung a hand into the air. His mother looked so small there on the porch he couldn’t bear to look at her but for just a moment.
“Good-bye, Mother,” Roy yelled.
“So long, Urs,” Jack said, and touched the brim of his hat in a casual salute.
“Good-bye, boys,” Ursula called out and her hand hung in the air until her husband and son began to get smaller and smaller and she knew they could no longer see her. She sniffled and turned away, her eyes already watering with the strain of trying to see them. Just before she walked back inside the house, she turned for one more look, but they were gone and the horizon, flat and featureless, looked desolate and empty.
Two hours later, with three apple pies baking in the oven, she heard the sound of hoofbeats. Ursula’s heart quickened, and she went to the front door, hoping against hope that Roy and Jack had returned.
Her heart fell when she saw the familiar horse, the blue-clad soldier with three chevrons on his sleeves. He rode up to the hitch-rail and stepped down from his big-boned army horse, a bay mare. As usual, his boots gleamed from polish and his uniform was well pressed.
Ursula opened the door, waited for the man to climb the steps.
“Top o’ the mornin’ to you, Ursula.”
“What brings you out here so early, Dave?”
“Why, I could smell your pies clear to Fort Worth.”
“Liar,” she said.
“Are you goin’ to invite me in? Isn’t that some of the ham I gave you that I smell?”
“You might as well come in, Dave. Yes, we had ham for breakfast.”
She felt the slight tension between them. She had not expected Dave Riley to come out so soon, so early. He took off his hat as he entered the house.
“Umm, it sure smells good in here. Them pies.”
“You didn’t come out here for pie, did you, Dave?”
“Why, I surely come out to see my best gal.”
Dave was a large, beefy man, a sergeant with twelve years of service. He was not married, she was almost certain, and he saved his money, but was often helpful to her and Roy. He helped with the chores and brought them things from the commissary. She knew his saddlebags were full of tins containing cookies, sweetmeats, perhaps some coffee, and other delicacies.
“Is that all?” Ursula teased.
“Well, I admit I saw your boys ride by and thought to myself that you might need sparkin’, seein’ as your men was gone and all.”
“You saw Jack, then?”
“I saw him buyin’ that horse for Roy and I figured he was comin’ out here. Didn’t expect he’d stay long.”
“Why not?”
“Man leaves a good-lookin’ woman alone for ten years, he can’t be too rooted in
family.”
“I won’t hear any bad talk about Jack, now.”
“No’m, I didn’t mean no harm. It’s just that you and me have been pretty good with each other while he was gone. I hope that won’t change none.”
Ursula felt a sudden giddiness. It was too soon, she thought. Although she had made the bed, Jack’s scent was all over the room, like the scent of wisteria, only stronger, like rich red wine.
“No,” Ursula said. “I guess not. It’s just that … .”
“I know, I shoulda waited a day or so. But … .”
“No need to explain, Dave. You been good to me and Roy.”
“Now, now, no need to lather me up with all that. I’d just like a little kiss to know I’m still welcome.”
She looked at him, tried to shut him out of her mind. But Dave Riley was a presence in the room, tall and sturdy, with broad, heavy shoulders, graceful sideburns shining with pomade, a handlebar moustache without a hair out of place. He smelled of horse and liniment and bath oil, all at once. She breathed of him and closed her eyes.
Dave took her in his arms and held her so tightly she could barely breathe. His kiss was long and vigorous and she almost swooned with the thrill of it. But she pushed him away, the kiss suddenly sour on her lips.
“No, not now,” she breathed when Dave broke the kiss. “I—I want you to leave. I just can’t do this.”
“You’re tellin’ me you don’t want it?”
“That’s what I’m saying, Dave. I want you to go. Now. And don’t come around no more.”
Dave’s shoulders sagged. He frowned and stepped away to look at Ursula. “You don’t still like that feller, do you?”
“Jack? I—I love him, Dave.”
“I’ll go. But you’ll beg me to come back.”
She turned away from him, heard him clump out of the house.
Later, when it was quiet, she sat down and wept.
36
PEEBO STOOD UP in the stirrups to make himself taller. He was trying to see over a clump of brier at the bottom of the ravine. He heard something thrashing around just beyond the patch of brush, but could not see what was making the noise.
“I don’t like this,” he said.
“I hear something in there,” Martin said.
