by Dale Cramer
The door hinge squeaked and a soft footstep crunched the dirt. Micah’s silhouette filled the doorframe.
“I thought I might find you here,” he said as he took her in his arms. “We got a lot of troubles just now, don’t we, Mir?”
She laid her head against his chest. “Jah, I’m really worried about Rachel and Aaron. Thank Gott Ada found her way home with Little Amos.”
“I heard about that. It’s a miracle, her being crazy and all. I don’t know how she ever—”
“My sister is not crazy, Micah, she’s just slow. She can’t help it.”
His head backed away and he stared down his nose at her. “I didn’t mean nothing by it, Mir. I just meant—”
“I know what you meant, and you’re right about it being a miracle, but what Ada did would be a heroic thing even for me, and I’m not crazy.” Although there were moments when she doubted her own sanity. She pulled apart from him then, and turned her back.
Micah was silent for a minute, then said, “I heard Ervin Kuhns never showed up at the train station when your dat went to get him. Is this true?” He was quick to change the subject whenever he’d stuck his foot in his mouth.
She nodded, her back still turned to him. “Jah, it’s true.”
“Maybe he’s just late and he’ll show up on his own in a day or two,” Micah said, and laid a hand gently on her shoulder. “We’ll be needing him later in the fall, Mir.”
Miriam shook her head. “Dat didn’t think so. They closed the border. Dat said that Ervin probably just went back home.”
Distracted, Micah took his hand from her shoulder and wandered a few steps toward the other end of the shed, where Dr. Gant’s car was parked.
“That doctor’s sure got a fancy automobile,” he said. “I can’t believe your dat let him leave it in the buggy shed, though.”
Streaks of afternoon light slanted in from the cracks around the bay doors and dappled the doctor’s Nash convertible. The cloth top was folded down.
“We get rain this time of year, and Dr. Gant is our guest. Dat didn’t think it was right to leave his car outside.”
“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter since there’s no school now. Oh, that reminds me. Who will teach school after we get married?”
Miriam turned around and looked straight at him. “I will,” she said.
He put on a beneficent smile as he closed the gap between them and took her shoulders in his hands. “No wife of mine is ever gonna have to work a job, I promise you that.”
She leaned back, staring at him in the shadows. “I don’t have to teach school, Micah, and I don’t get paid for it. It’s not a job; it’s something I want to do because the children need me, and I’m good at it.”
Shaking herself out of his hands, she stalked past him, through the open door and down toward the house without looking back.
Movement in the distance caught her eye—a wagon coming slowly down the road from the west, drawn by a familiar team of horses, with a familiar figure holding the reins.
Dat!
She broke into a run, shouting as she burst through the back door of the house, “Dat and Harvey are home! They’re coming up the drive!”
Miriam never broke stride but ran straight on through the house, out the front door and down across the yard to meet the wagon. Her two youngest sisters poured out behind her, and she heard their footsteps following, anticipating a glad reunion. But as she neared the wagon she saw her father’s face, and Harvey’s.
Despair was the only word for what she saw in their faces, and it was clear they had both been weeping. Only once before in her life had she seen her father weep, and now the memory filled her with despair because she knew what it meant. Her steps slowed and her hands came up to cover her mouth even as her eyes found what she already knew they would find in the back of the wagon—a long, low shape, shrouded entirely in a buggy robe and perfectly still.
Leah and Barbara caught up with her, and as Caleb brought the wagon to a halt the three of them stopped short, a last desperate effort to stave off the unthinkable for at least a few more seconds. Mamm burst between them crying, “No, no, no . . .” and ran right around to the back of the wagon. Breathless, wide-eyed, she reached out hesitantly and peeled back the buggy robe to reveal Aaron’s booted feet. She collapsed to her knees before Caleb and her daughters could reach her.
When they caught up to her the whole family huddled around Mamm in the dirt behind the wagon, and the wailing began in earnest.
The sun had gone down and the light faded to dusky gray when Domingo stopped his horse and held up a hand. His eyes scanned the landscape up ahead, peering through the treetops. Jake eased up next to him, curious.
“What is it?”
“You see that high bluff up ahead on the left? There is a man up there with a rifle.”
Jake squinted. “Really? I see no one.”
“He’s gone now, but I saw him move between those two rocks. He didn’t act like he saw us. El Pantera’s ranch must be close—maybe just beyond that bluff.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Hide,” Domingo answered, climbing down and leading Star into denser cover, uphill and behind them. “We can’t get any closer until after dark.”
Jake followed him up into the rocks on the mountainside. They found a place not far away, completely out of sight from either the trail or the bluff, where wild grasses had grown up around the edge of a little spring. They tied the horses and let them graze.
Domingo gathered a handful of some kind of berries, and while they waited in the twilight they found a spot to rest.
Leaning back against a rock with his arms crossed behind his head, staring at a purpling sky, a question came to Jake for the first time.
“Domingo, why are you here?”
Domingo gave a derisive snort. “To keep you from killing yourself. Without me, you would have wandered in the mountains until you starved. Even if you were lucky enough to trail them to Diablo Canyon you would have blundered in and gotten yourself shot, and Rachel would be lost forever.”
Jake refused to be put off by his unkind remarks, chiefly because they were true. “But, Domingo, even I know this is a fool’s errand. It makes sense for me because it’s Rachel, but I can’t help wondering why a man like you would risk his life for someone else’s girl.”
Domingo pondered this for a moment, plucking a blade of grass from the ground and chewing the end of it.
“She is Caleb’s daughter,” he finally said, “and I have great admiration for the man. He looks on me like a son, and I have come to love his family. Caleb treats other people with respect, and puts them above himself. This is how he lives. I still do not understand why, but I know that if things were different Caleb Bender would not hesitate to risk his life for me.” He shrugged. “So I am here.”
Jake nodded slowly. There was more to Domingo than he’d thought. “I’m glad you’re here. You’re right—I wouldn’t have a chance without you. I’m not even sure there’s a chance with you. Only Gott can get us out of this mess.”
Chapter 25
Two hours later they set out on foot toward the bottom of the bluff, quietly, keeping to the shadows. They stopped once while Domingo debated about whether to circle around and silence the lookout on the bluff, but in the end he decided it was too risky. If the guard got off a single shot, the others would be warned and there would be no chance of escape. He moved ahead slowly, staying under the trees.
Working their way over boulders and rocks, hugging the bottom of the sheer cliff to avoid the eyes on top, they rounded the bluff and got their first glimpse of Diablo Canyon, past the bluff and down to the left.
Some of the bandits had built a huge fire in front of a long bunkhouse, and by the light of the fire Domingo and Jake could see the lay of the place. The house and bunkhouse sat opposite them on the other side of the canyon, and in the weak light of a half-moon they could just make out the barn and corral, deeper into the canyon to the
left.
“We have a chance,” Domingo whispered. “Rachel is in the barn, and if we are careful we can get to it without being seen.”
“How do you know she’s in the barn?” Jake asked. Domingo’s reasoning constantly baffled him, though he was seldom wrong.
“She is too valuable to tie her outside for the coyotes, and there are only three main buildings. The outhouse and smokehouse are too small, and the woodshed is falling down, so Rachel is either in the house, the bunkhouse, or the barn. I know that El Pantera has a woman, and his woman will never allow a pretty young girl to stay in the house. If he put her in the bunkhouse with thirty men she would not last the night.” A shrug. “Unless she is dead, she has to be in the barn.”
Jake nodded. “So how do we get to the barn?”
“We don’t. You will wait here and watch. I will stay under the canyon wall where the lookout can’t see me until I can get behind the corral fence and follow it to the barn. Watch for me to come around the back side of the barn—with Rachel, I hope. When you see us come out, I want you to get back to the horses, quietly. Bring them down to the trail and wait for us. We will need to get away quickly.”
“I want to go with you. Rachel is my girl.”
Domingo patted his shoulder. “I know this, but your clumsy gringo feet would get us caught, so listen—you must do exactly as I say. There will be a guard at the barn, and I will have to take him down. If you hear a shot, or if you see me come out on horseback, run. Don’t wait for me, just run back to the horses as fast as you can and get away from here. Do you understand?”
Jake nodded. “Be careful, amigo.”
Domingo disappeared into the shadows, leaving Jake to wonder if maybe he should have brought along the rifle, just for consolation.
A half hour passed and nothing changed. The men around the campfire came and went, laughed and sang and gambled and squabbled, but none of them made a move toward the barn.
And then, suddenly, Jake sensed movement in the corral. His eyes had grown accustomed to the dark. He held a hand up to block the glare of the distant campfire, and in the moonlight he could make out forty or fifty horses shifting like a tide in the corral, the whole herd trotting toward the far end in the shadow of the canyon wall.
Something had made them nervous. Jake couldn’t see him at that distance, but he knew it could only be Domingo, creeping along behind the fence toward the barn.
He held his breath, watching so intently that he was completely unaware of anything behind him until he heard a little noise like metal scraping against leather. It was a faint sound, and very brief, like a pistol being drawn from a holster. And it was very close.
He froze. He lay perfectly still on the rock, waiting, hoping he was mistaken.
But then someone whispered into his ear.
“Did you really think it would be so easy, gringo?”
Jake didn’t look around to see who it was. It didn’t really matter—his job was to watch out for Domingo. He yelled as loud as he could.
“DOMINGO! IT’S A TRAP! RUN!”
He expected to be shot any second, but all he heard was laughter. There were two men behind him—he could hear them both laughing.
One of the bandits cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted even louder than Jake, “Sí, Domingo! It is a TRAP! Run, Domingo, RUN!”
The two bandits cackled at themselves, and in the dark distance Jake saw a figure rise up from behind the fence.
Domingo. He had almost made it to the barn.
Two shadows appeared from behind the barn, two more rushed around from the front, and two others rose up from the field behind Domingo. All six dark figures converged on him and a short, furious fight ensued. No shots were fired, but a minute later Jake could make out a small gang of men dragging a limp body up the rocky road toward the campfire.
He rolled over slowly and sat up. One of his captors held a revolver, the other a shotgun.
“If you have a weapon, gringo, you would be wise to hand it to me. Slowly. My amigo, his shotgun has a very light trigger and he is always a little nervous.”
“I have no weapons.”
Again they laughed. “What were you going to do, throw rocks?”
“Maybe the gringo was going to shout insults at us,” the other one said, and then doubled over, chortling at his own joke.
“Come, get to your feet, boy. Ochoa will be here with your horses in a minute. Oh, sí, we know where you hid your horses. Our sentries have been watching you all evening. We thought you two young fools would never make your move.”
———
There were at least twenty bandits sitting around the campfire in front of the bunkhouse on makeshift benches and short sections of logs, smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and swigging from whiskey bottles and pottery jugs. The bandoliers were gone, and most of the pistols, but the men looked as fierce as ever. El Pantera himself rose from his seat near the fire and set his jug on the ground as the horses trotted into the firelight and his men tossed Jake roughly to the ground in front of him.
Domingo lay at the far end of the circle holding his ribs, one eye swollen nearly shut, bleeding from his mouth, his hat missing. He rose up onto an elbow and looked at Jake. In place of his usual blank defiance there was a note of apology in the native’s face, of sorrow. More than anything else, the look in Domingo’s eyes struck fear into Jake’s heart. If Domingo was defeated, all hope was lost. They were going to die.
“Put their horses in the barn,” El Pantera said. “I will look them over in the morning and decide. As for this one”—he nudged Jake with his foot—“he is young and healthy. What do you think, my compadres? Perhaps we should liven our fiesta with a little sport?”
A cheer went up and half the men jumped to their feet, shouting, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
El Pantera knelt down and helped Jake to his feet—gently, smiling as if he were a friend. He slapped the dust from Jake’s shirt and squeezed a shoulder, then turned to his men with a look of exaggerated fear.
“I don’t know. He is a strong young buck . . . perhaps I should let someone else try him first. I am afraid he will hurt me.”
Raucous laughter and more cheers. “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
He turned back to Jake and shrugged. “What can I do? My men have been with me in the field for a month and they have fought very hard. They are good men, and I have promised them a grand fiesta. Now they want their entertainment and I cannot deny them.”
A large knife appeared from behind his back and he held it in front of Jake’s face. Firelight glinted from the steel. His men cheered, chanting him on.
“What do you say, young buck? You and me, mano a mano!”
Jake didn’t answer.
El Pantera held his free hand out to one of his men, wiggled his fingers. The ragged bandit grinned, drew a knife from a sheath at his belt and handed it, butt first, to his leader. El Pantera lifted Jake’s hand, wrapped his fingers around the handle, and stepped back.
“I will make you a deal,” the bandit said. “If you win, my men will let you and the girl go free, no?” He looked to his men, who grinned broadly and laughed, nodding agreement. These were men who had fought alongside El Pantera often, in close combat. They knew how this would end.
Jake stared, holding the blade loosely at his side. When the clamor died he said calmly, “I don’t fight,” and tossed the knife into the dirt at its owner’s feet.
El Pantera blinked. His brow furrowed and his head tilted.
“You don’t fight?” He squinted, his mouth slightly open. Quick as a snake, his fist slashed through the air and struck Jake flush in the jaw.
Jake staggered, but didn’t go down. Holding his arms down at his sides, refusing even to rub his aching jaw, he straightened up and stared.
El Pantera turned to his men, eyes wide with mock surprise. “He doesn’t fight!”
More raucous laughter as El Pantera looked Jake up and down—his farmer’s clothes, the flat wide-bri
mmed hat, the bowl-cut hair.
“I see,” he said. “You are from Señor Bender’s tribe! I have heard rumors that your people don’t believe in fighting, but I thought this could not be true. Is it?”
Another nod.
The bandit leader stroked his chin, thinking. “I wonder, do you believe in dying?” The tip of his knife came up slowly and pressed against Jake’s belly. “This knife has already met one of your kin. Tell me, young buck, if I am about to do the same to you, will you fight then?”
Jake shook his head. “It is a sin to kill. It is against Gott’s law.”
El Pantera chuckled, shaking his head as he lowered the knife.
“Ayeee. You people are loco.” He turned away and paced beyond the fire, stopping at the other end of the little circle made by his men. He stared down at Domingo. Holding his ribs, Domingo hobbled to his feet and stared back, defiant.
Standing nose to nose with Domingo, El Pantera said, “Tell me, young buck—what would you do if I was about to slit your friend’s throat while you watch? Would you fight then?”
El Pantera raised the knife and casually laid the razor edge under Domingo’s jaw. Domingo didn’t flinch, his hands hanging at his sides. The bandit turned and leered at Jake, his white eye reflecting the red of the fire.
Dead quiet hung over them until one of the men hissed, “Do it! Kill the traitor, my capitán.”
“Silence!” El Pantera shouted. The smile disappeared from his face and he glared at Jake, waiting for an answer.
Jake’s breathing quickened, but he was not looking at the bandit leader. With deep sorrow he looked Domingo in the eye and said quietly, “I fear hell more than I fear you, El Pantera. If you choose to murder this man in cold blood, it is between you and Gott. I will not throw away my own soul.”
El Pantera considered this for a second and his eyes grew fierce. He shoved Domingo down and stalked back toward Jake.
“But this makes no sense!” he raged, waving his arms, the knife still flashing in his hand. “Look around you! I am king of this place! Why would a young man think he can come into my camp and steal a girl, a girl who belongs to me, without a fight?”
