Border Dogs

by Ralph Cotton

  “We can stop for a moment, can’t we? We’re this close. We’ve made it, haven’t we?” Prudence asked, her voice sounding thick and parched. She swayed to one side but caught herself, righting her steps. Ahead of them, San Carlos stood as a black streak of wavering mass in an otherwise stark and endless furnace of sand, mesquite, cactus, and broken boulders that lay strewn about as if tossed there by the careless hand of the Devil.

  “Sí…we will make it.” Maria gasped a lungful of dry hot air, struggling on, her legs determined yet drained, her trousers burning against her skin, her shirt dried to her back and stained white from her sweat. “But we cannot stop here. The desert is full of the bones…of those who stopped for one last rest.” Her words were coming out jumbled, she knew. She shook her head and motioned Prudence forward. “Can’t stop—”

  “Turn the horse loose,” Prudence said, seeing Maria struggle with the worn-out animal. “He’s slowing us down.”

  “No. He stays with us.” She stared ahead into the shimmering heat.

  “But…he’s not going to make it.” Even as Prudence spoke, she felt herself sway over against the horse, the animal wavering itself until Maria jerked on the reins and righted it forward.

  With her free hand, Maria caught Prudence’s arm without stopping and pulled her forward. “He is going to make it. Soon he will smell the water…it will draw him in.”

  Prudence whispered under her breath, a mindless, failing curse that seemed to cost her what little strength she had left. She seemed to grow smaller with each faltering step, as if sinking step after step down into the burning sand. Then, after a moment, the white heat above her no longer pressed her down. Indeed, the heat seemed to draw her upward now, weightless and free, above the desert floor and into a cooling breeze somewhere high up, in a softer body of air.

  “Santa Madre,” Maria said.

  Prudence heard Maria’s voice, but it seemed to come from a long ways off, as if through a thin, watery veil. From some distant place, Prudence seemed to argue with her. She’d asked Maria earlier why they couldn’t find shade among a strip of low buttes or in a dry wash along the trail. Maria had said they could not stop because the Parkers would catch up to them. Well…maybe that was so, Prudence thought, catching glimpses of the sandy ground drifting past her face, below her now as she moved forward without effort. But now look at them.

  Maria pressed on, the horse struggling harder now with Prudence lying across its back. Yard by precious yard, she willed herself toward the wobbling black thread of San Carlos, seeing it grow and take shape. When she felt the staggering horse grow less heavy behind her, she glanced back and saw its muzzle had lifted slightly into the hot breeze. Behind them, their tracks snaked backward into the heat as if having led them out of some fiery netherworld that lay consumed and dead in the vanished distance.

  When a few blank minutes had passed, she found the horse had taken the lead somehow, its legs trembling and unsure, yet finding within itself some instinct stronger than its exhausted muscle and sinew. Maria staggered along behind it now, her hand entwined in its tail, the horse blowing its breath deep and steady. She heard a voice call out in Spanish through the unstable floating world before her, and as she tried calling back to the voice, she realized her hand had slipped free from the horse’s tail, and her face lay hot against the sand. The horse moved on without her.

  “Get her up. We must hurry,” a voice said in Spanish. Maria heard them talking and wanted to tell them never mind about her, that she was all right, that they should see to her companion and the horse, that she herself would just lie here for a second and catch her breath and be along in a moment or two…

  No…! Maria found the strength to shake her head clear and look up into the eyes of the old woman and the young boy bending down to her. She struggled up onto an elbow and assisted herself as they raised her to her feet. The young boy tried to cradle her back into his arms, to carry her, but she told him in Spanish that she could walk. Maria looped an arm across his shoulders and staggered forward with him, seeing the old woman move ahead of them and take up the horse’s reins as the animal moved forward step after halted step to the adobe wall of the town well.

  “San Carlos…” Maria whispered the words to herself.

  “Sí, San Carlos,” the young boy said. “Facil, facil.” He held her arm around his narrow shoulders and led her to the sparse shade of an ancient sourwood tree whose branches stretched above its own black shadows on the sandy dirt street. “For now you must rest, sí?”

  Once beneath the tree, Maria looked up, then all around, seeing the old woman slide Prudence down off the horse’s back and into the arms of an old man who came forward out of a crumbling adobe. The horse stopped and stood spraddle-legged, shoving its muzzle deep into the run-off trough from the well.

  “Sí, facil,” Maria said in a hollow voice, feeling her mind start to clear itself. “I will rest for now…” A hand came from somewhere in the heat with a dripping water gourd. She raised it, cupping it with both hands, and poured it back onto her forehead, catching part of it with her open mouth as it washed down her dusty face. She lowered it for a second, spat out a short stream, then sipped a mouthful and looked back into the sweltering inferno.

  They rested in the shelter of the small adobe. Maria had poured water over her head, took off her clothes, and then poured water down her body. She stood naked except for the thin serape she held around herself and looked down at where Prudence lay on a pallet of straw. “You must try to gain your strength. We are still in danger.”

  “How long—?” Prudence looked around in confusion at the adobe walls, and at a lank and scraggly chicken that pecked on the dirt floor near her. “How long have we been here?” Prudence looked down at herself, seeing her dress had been removed, and that she was naked and glistening with beads of water where Maria had squeezed out a large sponge and washed her down, cooling her skin.

  “Not long,” Maria said, “perhaps an hour. Can you sit up? If you can, you must. The Parkers will be coming soon.”

  Prudence sat up, addled for a second as she shook her head, and ran a hand through her damp hair. “What…what if they don’t make it across the desert? We almost didn’t.”

  “They will make it. We were down to only one horse, and very little water. They will be better prepared. Believe me, they will be here, even if they wait out the hottest part of the day and come in this evening.” As she spoke, she reached down among Prudence’s clothing on the dirt floor, picked up the straight razor in its leather case, looked at it, and pitched in onto the straw pallet beside her.

  “Then, can’t we also wait and make a run for it tonight? I mean, if it’s that much easier at night…” Prudence rose farther from the pallet, having to take it slow, her head swimming a bit.

  “And go where?” Maria lowered the thin serape to her waist and tied it, her bare breasts still beaded with water, mixed with fresh perspiration. She’d had the young boy bring the rifle from her saddle scabbard, and now she reached down and picked it up from the dirt floor and checked it.

  “Anywhere,” Prudence said, her voice sounding a little stronger, “somewhere where there’s law—protection, soldiers or something.”

  “There are only a few small towns like this for the next two hundred miles…and they can offer us no protection. The boy said there is a federale camp not far from here. But they will be looking for us also once they hear what happened. Don’t forget, it is their gold we took last night.” She jacked a round into the rifle chamber and cradled it in her arms. With her free hand she gathered her wet hair back. “We will make a stand here and fight.”

  “Fight them?” Prudence staggered to her feet and stepped naked off the straw pallet onto the dirt floor. “What chance do we have against three armed gunmen, not to mention the others who were with them!”

  “We will fight them. We have no other choice.”

  “Like hell we don’t have a choice. We’ve got their gold! You said yourself
last night, it might become our bargaining chip. Let’s deal our way out of this.”

  “You cannot trust men like these. This Payton Parker is an animal, and a stupid animal at that.” Maria moved over to her own clothes lying on the floor, where she’d stepped out of them. “Of course we will use the gold to bargain our way out of this. But we will have to fight them to even be in that position. If they overtake us, they will try to torture us—beat the gold out of us. From here on, we must deal only from a position of strength.”

  Prudence thought about it, picking up her tattered dress and slipping it on. “Will these people help us? I mean, they have so far.”

  “No. We cannot ask them to risk their lives for us. I have spoken to the old woman and the boy. No one here even has a gun except for the old man. He has an old flintlock rifle. It would only get him killed. There is a Frenchman and a cantina owner who both carry pistols, but the boy said no one has seen either of them since last night. They rode out with some gringos, the boy said.” Maria stared at Prudence, pulling up her trousers and hitching them around her waist, the rifle still cradled in her arm. “What does that tell you about them?”

  “Jesus.” Prudence looked out through the open door of the adobe, then back to Maria. “Just our luck. They’re connected to the Parkers.”

  “Sí, that is what I think.” Maria handed Prudence the rifle. Prudence looked at it, turning it in her hands as Maria slipped into her shirt, leaving most of it unbuttoned, shoving the tails down into her trousers. “I think we still have a long day ahead of us.” She took the rifle back from Prudence. “Come on, let’s take a look at our options.” Together they stepped out into the heat of the afternoon.

  Three miles out on the sand flats, Payton Parker sat slumped against the dirt bank of a narrow dry wash, a thin slice of shade mantling him and his brother Leo. They watched, squinting against the sun’s glare as McCord walked his horse toward them, followed by the Frenchman, Paschal. “Now this ought to be real interesting,” Payton said to Leo. He spat and ran a dusty hand across his mouth.

  Leo stood up, dusting the seat of his trousers as the two men walked up, but Payton stayed seated in the shadow of the dry wash bank, looking up from beneath his hat brim, first at McCord, then at Paschal. “I thought I smelt something rotten on the wind,” Payton Parker said. “How long have you been flanking us, Frenchy?”

  Paschal bristled at the insult, then calmed himself and said, “Ever since first light, off and on.” He squatted down with a deep grunt and let his tired horse’s reins drape over his thick knee. “If you had been paying attention, you would have seen what Juan and I have seen behind you. You have riders behind you, you know.”

  “Well…” Payton Parker sneered a bit. “I reckon you’ve seen more than us—scooting back and forth all over this desert. Looking for some stray Injun to eat, more than likely. Where is ole Juan? I’d kinda like to see him, maybe shoot a couple pounds of fat off his greasy arse.”

  “Who’s behind us?” McCord asked, shooting Payton Parker a sharp glance.

  “A black man to the west”—Paschal pointed a grimy gloved hand in that direction—“and back there, a lawman, a Ranger maybe, or else a bounty hunter.”

  “A black fellow?” Leo Parker looked spooked. He rubbed his sweaty throat and stared off into the wavering sand flats.

  “That is right, a black man, leading a spare horse.” Paschal squinted, eyeing Leo Parker, seeing it had frightened him. “There was much shooting from Diablo Canyon, then a loud explosion.”

  “We heard all that, Frenchy,” Payton Parker said. “Tell us something we don’t know.” He looked away along the dry wash and chuckled under his breath, shaking his head.

  “You heard him Payton,” Leo said, “a black man, it’s bound to be Durant—”

  “Shut up, Leo. Don’t soil yourself out here. Frenchy smells bad enough.” Payton looked back at Paschal. “Now look what you’ve done. Leo’s been seeing a big Negro after him in his sleep for the past year. What about this lawman? What did he look like? A tall sombrero? Riding a white horse, had one black-circled eye?”

  Before Paschal could answer, McCord cut in, asking Leo, “Did you just say, Durant? Willis Durant?”

  “Yeah, he said Durant,” Payton Parker answered before Leo got the chance. “What of it?”

  “I know Willis Durant, from years back. He’s one mean son of a bitch. Why’s he following us?” McCord looked concerned.

  “It’s none of your business why he’s following us,” Payton Parker said. “All you need to do is back my play here. Once we get the gold from those women, you can look that big Africano up and ask him, since you know him and all.” He turned back to Paschal. “Now what about this lawman?”

  “Yes, he wears a gray sombrero,” Paschal said, “but I could see no circle around his eye.”

  “Not his eye, you slug-sucking idiot…his horse’s.” Payton Parker shook his head in disgust.

  “I did not see his horse’s eyes either. But if you stay here much longer, you will see for yourself. He is not that far behind you.”

  “Oh…” Payton nodded, standing and slapping dust from his trousers. “So, out of the goodness of your heart you decided you best come warn us, huh?”

  “No. I came because we must get together on this thing for any one of us to ever come out ahead. Juan Verdere has gone on to the federale camp. He is telling them what happened and bringing them to San Carlos.” Paschal waited, seeing Payton Parker work it over in his mind. “The women lost one of their horses. I saw where they were down to one set of hoofprints. If they have the gold with them, we will find them lying dead somewhere in the sand.”

  “But that ain’t what you think, is it, Frenchy? You figure they’ve hid it out here somewhere? Figure we’d never find it on our own?” Payton Parker winked. “Boy, that’s some powerful figuring for a Frenchman in this kind of heat.”

  “That is what I think, yes,” Paschal said, ignoring Payton’s insults. “I think you do not know this desert the way I do. You need my help. Tell me if I am mistaken, eh?” He puffed out his broad chest with a confident look on his face.

  “I bet this’s gonna hurt your feelings, Frenchy,” Payton said, raising his pistol from his holster. “But you are more wrong at this minute than you’ve ever been in your whole frog-licking life.”

  Paschal’s eyes opened wide as Payton Parker cocked his pistol and pointed toward his large stomach.

  “Hold it, Payton!” McCord called out, seeing Payton had every intention of pulling the trigger. “What if he’s right? What if they did bury the gold out here somewhere? He does know this place better than us!”

  “Aw hell, McCord, I’ve never known a woman in my life smart enough to dig a hole, let alone put something in it and cover it back up.” He shook his head and leveled the cocked pistol on Paschal’s stomach. “Naw, I really do want to shoot some holes in this tub of guts.”

  “Come on now, Payton,” Leo said, “them women were smart enough to get away…to take the gold, blow ole Delbert into dust. Maybe McCord’s right. What have we got to lose, taking Paschal with us? You can’t just keep shooting everybody!”

  “Well, now, who says I can’t?” Payton spread a dark smile at Leo, a muscle twitching in his tight jaw. “Just ’cause you’re my brother, Leo, don’t think you get a right to start telling me—”

  McCord cut in. “If the women have the gold with them, you can always kill this man after we get it. For God sakes, Payton, let’s do this thing right and get it done. We’ve got Willis Durant, a lawman, and Lord knows how many of Zell’s men on our trail. Don’t start shooting—not out here!”

  Payton made a sucking sound between his teeth, let out a breath, and settled himself. He wiped his free hand across his face. “All right then, Frenchy. I won’t shoot you right now. But you get on that horse and keep your stinking arse downwind from me. If them women have that gold with them, I’ll have to kill ya…you can understand that, can’t you?”

 
Paschal just stared at him, lifted his horse’s reins, and stepped up into the saddle. “I only understand that we need to hurry. After we get the gold, we will see which of us ends up dead.”

  Chapter 19

  The Ranger saw the back of the lone horse above the edge of the dry wash. It stood in the narrow wash, scraping its hoof at the outcropping of spindly roots from the cottonwood stump. At first the Ranger thought it might be Willis Durant’s horse; but when he’d gotten down from his saddle amid the hoofprints alongside the trail, he saw the smaller footprints and realized these were made by a woman. Could it be Maria? He bent down with his reins in his hand and touched his gloved fingers to the footprints in the sand, as if touching them alone would tell him something.

  When he arose, the sound of a low groan came from the dry wash. With his saddle rifle in his hand, the Ranger moved closer to the wash, leading his white barb behind him. The sound came again, and he crouched on the edge of the dry wash and looked down into it, the lone horse only tossing its head up at him for a glance, then lowering once more to its business of scraping at the cottonwood roots. Across the wash, the Ranger saw the Mexican lying against the flat rock on the other bank.

  “Por favor, señor,” Juan Verdere said in a weak voice, one hand against the deep gash across his stomach. His other hand, bloody and gritty with red-stained sand, reached up toward the Ranger, then fell to the ground. “Please, señor… water, por favor.”

  “Un momento.” The Ranger stood up and looked all around before leading the white barb down into the wash and lifting the canteen from his saddle horn. He looked more closely at the bleeding wound on the Mexican’s stomach as he handed the canteen down to him. “Who did this to you?” the Ranger asked, glancing all around once more as Juan Verdere raised the canteen with a trembling hand and drank from it.