Cain (Ben Blue Book 5)

by Lou Bradshaw

  Rubio greeted me and took me in to the jakal to meet his wife. I was a bit surprised when she turned from the cook fire. At first I took her as his daughter or even granddaughter… Rubio was in his seventies, and she couldn’t be more than forty, but what she lacked in years, she made up for in girth. She was a whole bunch of woman. They both seemed to like the arrangement.

  We walked out to the sheep, which were at the far end of the meadow. A nearly grown boy was sitting on a low boulder with a rifle hung by a thong across his back. A roan cow pony was picking at tree leaves nearby. Two midsized mongrel dogs were moving around and about the sheep.

  The boy was Rubio’s grandson, a good looking youth of about fifteen or sixteen. Rubio introduced him as Nino. The boy stood and said with utmost respect, “Grandfather, you forget that my Saint name is Antonio. That is my name now. Nino was my child name.”

  Rubio rolled his eyes and looked to the heavens and said to me, “Too much to remember, but he is still my grandson.”

  We spent the rest of the day talking about sheep and watching the dogs do their work without command or interference from man or boy. Those dogs were something to watch. The next three days were much the same as the first, with plenty of repeated bits of information.

  At the end of my stay, I moved my thirty ewes and one ram. The ram was an older one but still in good shape. Rubio had a younger Ram that he wanted to anoint the head wooly. I also took possession of one of the dogs, at no doubt, more than it was worth, but it was worth it to me.

  Chapter 8

  I also made a deal to take Antonio with me for a month at cowhand wages… thirty a month. Antonio was excited and Rubio whispered to me. “It will do him good to get out into the world… and I can spend some time alone with my young squaw; then he chuckled.”

  We moved the sheep to the gate and held them there, while I went to bid goodbye and thank you to Ben Blue and his family. I also needed to pick up my pack horse and gear. I found the pack filled with about a week’s worth of smoked meat, flour and coffee.

  Ben said, “Patty Ann wouldn’t think of sending a guest off hungry, and since we didn’t get to feed you, this is the best we can do…. Oh, I think you’ll enjoy having Antonio along. He’s a fine boy, he just finished school and knows his way around a book whether it’s in English, Spanish or Latin…. And he knows his way around those woolies.”

  Having had little or no experience with sheep, I had no idea how slow they moved. The dog did most of the work, all we did was assist him when one stopped to munch a little of the grass. The dog took care of the herd quitters and kept them moving in the right direction. We each carried a long staff, which we used to nudge them along.

  I’d had little enough knowledge of cattle but a bit more than I had of the woolies. We took one of the older ewes who was willing to be a leader. Actually, she didn’t have a lot to say about it, Antonio put a little tinkle bell on her and drove her ahead of the rest. She went along fine. If she had any complaints, she kept them to herself.

  I walked the drag. But there wasn’t any dust to speak of. I had a lead rope on my horse and he brought the other two along. There wasn’t much riding when you’re herding sheep. They’re so slow, that you’d wear out a pair of pants on a walking horse a couple hundred miles.

  I wasn’t sure what I’d gotten myself into with these sheep. They sure seemed awfully needy. They need watching, some need help birthing, and unlike cattle they need a good deal of protecting. My job was to keep the varmints cleared out of their area. The dog’s job was to get them to their meadow, keep ‘em there and together, then bring ‘em home in the evening.

  Now that dog was an ugly brute. He was bigger than I would have expected a sheep dog to be. He was knee high at the shoulder and weighed a good fifty pounds or more… kind of a tawny color with medium long hair. But he was quick and he knew his job.

  We kept a fire going all night to keep any predators away, and the dog, which I found out from Antonio, was named Pico. Antonio had no idea why or what it meant, but it meant something to Rubio, and that was all that mattered.

  At those campfire sessions, I must have asked hundreds of questions about sheep and shepherding, and that boy had all the answers. He was a pretty bright youngster. I asked if he was going to take over his grandfather’s sheep when the old man passed on.

  He said that he would not. The sheep would go to Rubio’s squaw. It was arranged when he bought her from her father. She was well past her prime and her father was afraid that she would be left to fend for herself.

  “No,” he told me, “I would like to be a teacher, like Padre Paulo but not a priest like him. I will go to school in Santa Fe in the fall to learn how. I will teach Navajo children to read and write and do their numbers, so they will not be cheated so easy.”

  Well, if he teaches those youngsters their number with the same patience that he’s using to teach me everything I need to know about sheep, then I’d think he’d do just fine. I was learning, but at times I wondered if being a sheepman was something you had to be born with. Maybe it was something that was handed down like the color of your eyes or your hair. Well we’d be pushing these sheep for a couple of weeks, so maybe I could get the color of my hair and eyes tinted enough to make it work.

  Moving sheep was, if nothing else, boring. They never got in a hurry, and it seemed that if you nudged one, it would just melt into flock and two more would be displaced and moved out and into where that first one was. It was like pushing mud, it would slide between and around your fingers. I heard a fella say once, that something was like pushing a rope… that kinda summed it up.

  After the first week we were out of the low country and into the foot hills. We’d just follow the valleys and water courses up to the southern shoulder of Marble Mountain and home. I knew that the place wasn’t ready for sheep, but with Antonio guiding me, I hoped to get it figured out soon enough.

  That dog, Pico, was everywhere. It was worth the price of him just to watch him. Nothing got past him. He could sense when one of his bunch was going to be a problem and was ready for it. I figured the old ram would be the problem, but it was some of the younger ones that made the most trouble. They hadn’t learned yet how painful a nip from that dog could be. I imagine, the old ram had been nipped a time or two and learned the folly of it.

  We were within about twenty miles of home and it looked like we would get there sometime the next day or the following morning. I was getting anxious to put my feet under my own homemade table, as soon as I made one. And I wanted to sleep in my own rough built cot, which was no more than a split log frame and rope webbing. But it was mine.

  I was walking point, since we were in an area where twists and turns became important, and Antonio had never been here before. I was somewhat lost in my thinking and planning, and I really wasn’t paying attention to what was going on around me. That’s a bad habit to get into in these mountains.

  That Pico dog stopped right in front of me, and I was about to shove him out of the way, when I noticed his posture with his head low and the hair on his ruff was standing straight up. A low rumbling growl was coming from somewhere way down deep. He was looking off to the right, and he was ready for a fight.

  I couldn’t imagine any varmint bold enough to come tearing out of that brush with two men and a dog waiting for ‘em. Stranger things have happened, and sometimes a young bear hasn’t encountered humans before and will get reckless. There could be wolves prowling around back in that brush looking to snatch a stray. I shucked that staff and jacked a cartridge into the Winchester and scanned the bushes. I took a look back at Antonio, and he had his rifle in hand, but the horses were calm. Now a horse has a nose almost as good as a dog, and they can sniff out a varmint as quick or quicker than a dog. After all, a horse is prey and his life often depends on what he can smell.

  It didn’t add up, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I stood ready, thinking, what if that was an Injun there in the brush… I’m standing out here in th
e open like a target. But if that was an Injun and he wanted my scalp, he’d be taking it by now. Then I saw movement in the undergrowth. It wasn’t much, but enough to make a branch shake. The hillside was covered with aspens, which grew so close together that it would be difficult for a bear of any size to move around there and almost impossible for a horse to go through at any speed.

  The sheep were milling around but not going anywhere, they were just taking a dinner break… they didn’t seem to notice anything wrong. But they were making enough noise so that I couldn’t have heard anything from the brush.

  Whatever it was, it was slow moving and clumsy. The movements were erratic and jerky. Branches and stalks were being shoved aside with abandon; then I heard a distinct crack of a breaking branch or sapling. Now what could make that much of a ruckus in the brush? I would have seen anything as big as a bear, cow, or horse by now. That left things like a wild hog or a human.

  Chapter 9

  I gripped the stock of my rifle with my finger on the trigger. I was ready for almost anything that might come out of the parting bushes, but I wasn’t near ready for what finally stood up and stepped out of the brush.

  What stood before me was something that resembled a woman. By that, I mean she was a woman in about the worst state of affairs I’d ever seen. Her clothing had been ripped to shreds. Her skirt and blouse hung like filthy pieces of rags barely covered her equally destroyed undergarments. Her long black hair was tangled and matted with leaves and dirt. I couldn’t tell much about her face because of the scratches, blood and dirt. But her eyes were sunken like red rimmed holes in her face.

  She stood for a second looking at the sheep, and then her eyes swept the flock and came to rest on me. I’d never seen such terror and fear in anyone’s eyes as what I saw then. She mumbled something that wasn’t hearable and made a sign that I’d seen many Mexicans make when there was death or dying going on. Her eyes glazed over and rolled back, and she fell in a heap.

  I looked back to Antonio, only to find him a statue holding a rifle and a lead rope. “Antonio,” I called, “Bring the horses.” There was water in the canteens and some medicinal whiskey in the pack, so I just kept the order simple.

  He was startled out his trance, but he started backing away. He must have thought she was a witch or a spirit because he was terrified. “It’s alright,” I called again, “it ain’t a demon, she’s just a hurt woman.”

  He wasn’t real sure… I figured that the priest and nuns had done a fair job of converting him but like most Indians, he probably still believed in some of the old ways. Can’t blame him… some of those ways were good ways. But he gathered himself and started forward with the horses in tow.

  I got my bedroll off the saddle and a canteen and returned to the hurt woman. Holding her head up, I was able to get her to take a little water, and she coughed and I got a little more into her. She still didn’t open her eyes, although she was breathing in little gasps. I unrolled my blankets and retrieved a spare kerchief, which I gave to Antonio and instructed him to wet it and start cleaning her face.

  You’d have thought that I’d asked him to kiss a rattler, but he was a gritty kid and he did what he was asked to do. My thinking was pretty simple, since something about me had caused her to faint away; I wanted her to be lookin’ at the fresh young face of a youngster when she opened her eyes. Besides, she looked to be Mexican or Indian, and may feel safer with a fine Indian youth tending her than a…. whatever I was.

  I took one of my blankets and covered her with it. Then I started a fire. From the looks of her, she must be three quarters starved. I cut up some beef into small chunks and threw in a couple hands full of crushed oats and a generous amount of salt, and then I went looking for some wild onions. When that concoction was boiling and bubbling away, I put some bacon in a pan for Antonio and myself.

  We’d just make our camp right here. There was plenty of grass and water to keep the sheep from wandering off and between the dog and the two of us; we’d be able to keep the critters away. I’d keep the fire going throughout the night in case she woke and didn’t know where she was.

  “Senior Cain.” Came a hushed call.

  I looked up from my cooking and said, “What is it Antonio?”

  “I think she will be awake soon.”

  Pulling the bacon away from the flames, I got up and moved closer to where Antonio sat next to the hurt lady. She was indeed trying to wake up. Her head was rolling from side to side, and the way her eyes were moving beneath their lids, she seemed to be searching for something or trying to see right through them.

  Suddenly, her eyes flew open and flashed in all directions, like she was trying to see everything all at once. Her eyes finally stopped on Antonio. She took in a quick breath of air, and then slowly let it out. She started to say something, but nothing came out. Antonio gave her a drink, and she grasped his hand as tight as she could grip it in her weakened state.

  I was standing behind and out of the light, so that she couldn’t see me. She held his hand for a long half minute, neither of them saying anything nor did either try to pull away. Finally she released her grip and he gave her another drink.

  Looking up at him she asked, “You are Mexican?”

  “I am Navajo, but I speak the language.” He replied.

  She smiled her approval. “I heard the sheep… I thought it was some of my people… I thought I was safe… then I saw the gringo… I was afraid I was going to die….. I didn’t care.”

  “That was Senor Cain… he is a gringo, but he is a bueno hombre… you are safe with him.”

  I stepped around to where she could see me and said in Spanish, “I’m sorry, Senora, if I scared you… I can be hard to look at if a person ain’t expecting it… is there anyone else out there who needs help?”

  Her eyes started to water up again and she said, “There is no one… No one now.” The tears were starting to run down her cheeks, and I knew that I had caused her more pain.

  “I’ve fixed some stew for you if you think you can eat a little… It might make you feel better.” I told her.

  Antonio had already gone to the fire and brought the little pan of beef mush over. She didn’t want to eat anything but Antonio was not one to give up. After a few small bites she began to eat, and I propped my saddle behind her so she could sit up and feed herself.

  We went to the fire and ate our bacon from the skillet with our knives; the senora had the only spoon. When she had finished, I asked her if she would like some coffee, but she said she only wanted to sleep… and I approved of that.

  She wasn’t a young girl. I would guess her age at somewhere near thirty, but she had been through a lot, so she could be five or more years younger. From what I could tell, she had probably never been a beauty, but she was a handsome woman, and handsome beats the hell out of beautiful in my book.

  I woke several times during the night to the sound of weeping, and it was heart wrenching. I’d lay there until her breathing became normal again, and then I’d get up and add something to the fire, so that she would have light when she woke. Also it kept the varmints away from the sheep… I’d then take a turn around the flock to make sure everything was alright. The mongrel, Pico, would walk with me… I think he was beginning to like me. I already liked him.

  As the sun was beginning to wash away the shadows, I was up tending the fire, when I heard a soft voice call my name. I walked over and dropped down sitting on my heels to hear what she had to say.

  “Senor Cain. Is there a stream where I could bathe? I need to wash away the evil and the filth.”

  “Sure,” I said, “it’ll be cold but it’s clear and clean and private… I’ll take you and leave the dog to watch over you… wait just a minute.”

  I rummaged through the pack and found a bar of soap, a piece of blanket that served as a towel, and my new buckskin shirt. I told her she could wear that until we could make other arrangements or get her clothing fixed. I nudged Antonio awake and let him know
what I was doing, and he could start breakfast.

  I gave a chirp of a whistle and Pico fell into step beside me. The stream wasn’t one that was slow and deep… It was a tumbler, falling from rocks and spilling down the mountainside. She wouldn’t be able to sit and soak, but she’d get clean. I left her standing there, wrapped in a blanket as I turned and walked back through a thick growth of aspens the thirty or so yards to camp.

  Antonio and I fiddled around camp making breakfast and getting the camp in order, but mostly we were waiting for the lady to come back. Taking my rifle, I moved out and took a walk around the sheep in an effort to count them. That was a trick I had yet to learn. What I really wanted to do was make sure that there was no sign of a predator prowling around. I saw nothing that I didn’t expect to see. But with Pico sleeping with the sheep, I didn’t expect to find any bloody wool.

  Finally, the dog stuck his nose out of the brush and the woman was right behind him. I wouldn’t have known it was the same person had she not been wearing the shirt that I had spent so much time and effort on. It certainly looked better on her than it ever would on me. She had tied a sash from her dress around the waist. That only exaggerated her figure. The shirt would have normally hit me somewhere on the upper thigh, but it came to just below her knees. She had cuffed up the sleeves so that they wouldn’t cover her hands. Her hair was clean and shiny and it looked like very rich material… maybe silk or something.

  Her face was clean and smooth even with the cuts and scratches. There was a smile of appreciation on her lips that seemed to say thank you for helping me, but her eyes were full of sadness. It was no time to ask her about her troubles… she would tell us when she was ready.

  She came to the fire and accepted a plate and a cup of coffee, then she sat down to eat in silence. This was a different woman than the one who came through the brush yesterday evening. Trying to think out the reasons for her to be out here on a mountainside alone and in trouble, I came up with several possibilities.