Ransom slipped to the side and grabbed Rafael’s wrist. He lifted Rafael’s arm over his shoulder, positioned the elbow at the point of his shoulder and pulled down.
Rafael cried out in pain and the knife dropped from his hand.
Ransom elbowed Rafael in the ribs, lost his footing, spun around and dropped to his butt.
Rafael fell back and lost his balance at the edge of the trail catching hold of a rock outcropping as he slid over the edge. He cut his eyes to Ransom as he struggled to find a foothold. His voice reflected his panic. "I have the gold. I have it hidden. If you let me fall, you will lose the gold."
Ransom blinked hard and rose to his feet. He stepped to Rafael and stared down at him. He waited a moment for his head to clear and glared into Rafael’s terrified face. "Fuck the gold," he said grimly and kicked Rafael’s hands from the rock. He watched the cold horror in Rafael’s eyes as he slid down the face of the steep slope and disappeared over the cliff.
Rafael screamed for only a moment before he struck a rock outcropping, then there were only the muffled noises of his lifeless body impacting against the rocks as it fell.
* * * *
Patch Wilkes took the final step and topped the canyon trail. His pants were bloody from his wound and his left arm rested in a sling made from Turrubiates’ shirt. He stopped to catch his breath. Ransom was sitting against a boulder at the edge, staring vacantly across the canyon.
Patch made his way towards him. "You all right?"
Ransom shook his head. "No."
"You look like hell. You’re a bloody mess. Did Rafael get away?"
"No." Ransom pointed over the edge of the cliff.
Patch stepped to the edge and looked down. "I suppose that’s bits and pieces of Rafael decorating those rocks."
Ransom nodded.
Patch studied the narrow trail snaking up the canyon wall towards them. "Well, it’s fitting. They call this trail the Devil’s Staircase. Did he have the gold?"
"He said he did."
Patch studied the sheer walls of the precipice realizing there was no way for him to get to the body. "I suppose you didn’t bother to find out where it was before you taught him to fly?"
Ransom shook his head.
Patch smiled apathetically. "Figures." He took a seat beside Ransom and stared across the canyon. "I tried to catch one of the horses but the damn thing ran off. All the rest are dead. I don’t suppose you have a horse either."
"No."
"I see you got another bullet hole in you and a nasty slash on the arm. Do you have any water or food?"
"No."
"Guns?"
"No."
Patch was silent for several moments. "No food, no water, no guns, no gold and Texas is six hundred miles away through hostile Indians and Mexicans."
Ransom sighed and nodded.
"Got any ideas?"
"No."
Patch looked across the canyon and sighed. "You know, old Jacky, I believe we’re in a hell of a fix."
Ransom smiled and nodded. "You can quit if you want to."
Patch nodded and tossed a small stone at his boot. "Shit."
Chapter 22
Sergio Quintero set yet another basket of freshly picked corn in front of his wife Estella and his granddaughters, Maria Elena and Nohema. The women smiled as they shucked the leaves away from the golden ears and neatly piled them in rows.
"The corn is better than ever, my husband," Estella smiled. "How many more baskets will you bring us?"
The old man smiled and wiped sweat from his forehead as he caught his breath. "I am not sure—twenty maybe thirty baskets still wait to be picked."
"Are you sure you do not want one of the girls to help you with the picking? You look tired."
"No, I will finish. There is something grand about picking the corn that a man has raised with his own hands."
"You are not young anymore. The work is hard and the day is hot. I worry about you."
"I have plenty of time. Do not worry, woman. I will be careful."
Nohema set her corn in her lap and shaded her eyes with her hand. "Grandfather, look to the west. Two riders approach."
The old man squinted to make them out. The riders were leading pack mules but he could not tell who they were. He could tell that they were carrying rifles and their dress was Anglo. "Perhaps you should go into the house until I can tell who they are. Many bad men ride this trail."
Estella nodded and helped the girls carry the fresh basket into the house.
Sergio decided to go to the well for a drink of water. If the riders were Tejanos he could distract them with offerings of fresh well water to quench their thirst and keep their attention away from the women. He waited as the riders followed the river trail at a leisurely pace. After a while he smiled when he realized that he had nothing to fear.
Paco Torres held up his mount and smiled. "How are you my old friend and how is your corn crop this year?"
"Very good, my friend. Is that handsome young man, my grandson Earnesto?"
Earnesto tipped back his hat and smiled broadly. "It is Grandfather. It is very good to see you well. How are Grandmother and my sisters?"
"They are very well. They are in the house. They will want to see what a fine young man you have grown to become. You will join us for dinner and spend the night?"
"Many thanks," Paco said as he stepped down from his mule. "We have ridden far and have not slept well for many nights."
"Has Senora Valverde sent you far?"
Paco shook his head. He fought to control his emotions. "Senora Valverde is dead."
"What happened?" Sergio gasped. "This is terrible news."
"It is a long story, my friend. It is a sad tale of greed and many dangers. Many good friends are dead—Paco Sanchez, Antonio Ortiz, Segundo, the senora, even the scoundrel Don Francisco is no more."
"Don Francisco? He returned from Mexico? The Tejanos had a price on his head."
"No more. He was killed after he shot the Senora. It was a terrible thing."
"He shot the Senora? Such news! What is the world coming to?" Sergio hesitated as he gathered his thoughts. "What of the rancho? Who is left?"
"The rancho is no more. No one is left. All the vaqueros are gone and Sonia has returned to Mexico City. Even if there were someone, we would not go back. Without Dona Elaina nothing would be the same. All is gone and perhaps it is for the best."
Sergio shook his head. "And what of you and Earnesto? Where will you go? What will you do?"
"We are going to California," Earnesto blurted. "We have come to take you, Grandmother and the girls with us."
"California! That is impossible. Why would we go so far?"
Paco put his arm around his old friend’s shoulder. "Texas is no place for us. The Tejanos steal more each day from our people. They grind us under their heels. We live in fear of the very sight of a Ranger. There is no future for us in Texas. In California we can make a fresh start and no one will know who we are."
"But, California. What would become of my field? How would we make a living? Who will grow the corn?"
Earnesto laughed, jumped from his mule, and gave his grandfather a tremendous embrace. "Grandfather, after you see what we have found, you will know that the Quinteros will never water corn again."
Paco joined the lad in laughter. They took hold of Sergio’s hands, dancing in a circle and singing La Varsoviana. The women rushed from the house and laughed at the antics of Paco and Earnesto’s dance with a bewildered old man.
Earnesto’s words were true. The Quinteros never watered corn again.
END
er: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
The Devil's Staircase Page 14
