by R. W. Stone
Standing up, I stepped out of the tub, toweled off, and dressed. As I faced the small mirror tied to the opposite wall trying to bring some sense of order to my hair, I had the uncomfortable feeling that I had forgotten something. There were serious questions that still bothered me, but try as I might, the answers eluded me.
I shrugged the feeling off at least for the moment. The next time I met Rosa I wanted to be as presentable as possible, and another glance in the mirror convinced me that a shave wouldn’t hurt. I tossed a tip to the boys, hoping they’d get to keep it this time, and left in search of a barber.
The building next door to the bathhouse was a single, freestanding, converted wood frame house with a large picture window. The sign out front was written in both Spanish and English. The English part read:
Dentist, Alchemist, and Phrenologist
Barber extraordinaire…No credit!
Uncle Zeke always claimed that dentists made the best barbers. “Nobody gives as close a shave as a good dentist,” he used to say. “Must be the way they’re taught to sharpen instruments. Always keep a good edge on their razors.” I rubbed the palm of my hand across the stubble that had formed on my face and pushed open the door.
A middle-aged man with spectacles, wearing a long white apron, was washing his hands in a sink that stood in front of a swivel-type barber chair. The room was covered with charts depicting teeth, skull configurations, and other assorted body parts.
“¿Con permiso, está abierto?” I asked.
He turned around and looked me over as he finished drying his hands. Dropping the towel over the back of the chair, he finally answered. “Yep, open for business. Name’s Grumet, Doctor Robert Grumet. What’ll it be, gent…haircut, shave, or extraction?”
“Just a shave will be fine. It’s that obvious I’m a gringo, huh?” I joked, referring to the fact that, although I’d addressed him in Spanish, he hadn’t even hesitated to answer me in English.
“Over six foot tall, and with that accent? Are you kidding me?” He laughed. Dusting off the chair with the same towel, he gestured to me. “Here you go. Have a seat.”
I tossed my hat on the rack near the door and settled into the chair.
With a grandiose sweep he pulled a large white sheet from the counter and spun it around my neck. Clipping it together from behind, he asked: “Want the sideburns wide, long, short, or nonexistent?”
“Clean and short will do, I guess,” I answered, watching him glide his razor back and forth across the leather strop, in a timeless and traditional barbershop ceremony. Uncle Zeke was probably right, I thought.
“So what’s a man of your obvious talents doing this far south?” I asked.
He started lathering up a small soap brush and looked down at me. “Well, I’ll tell you. Ever hear of a man up Texas way named Loving? Oliver Loving?”
“Who hasn’t? Drives cattle throughout the whole area. Owns most of it, too. What of it?”
“I used to practice up north. One day a drive comes through town and this cowboy drops in complaining of a sore tooth. At least I thought he was a cowpoke. With all that dust and dirt it was hard to tell the steers from the ramrods. This fellow had a badly infected back molar…you know the kind, a real challenge.”
I grimaced and nodded. He was still lathering the brush so I leaned back and tried to relax.
“Anyway, I was anxious to try out this new elixir I’d bought from this traveling supplier, name of Moser, Conrad Moser. Ever heard of him?”
“Nope,” I replied.
“Well, sir, this elixir was supposed to kill pain better than a jug of straight Tennessee moonshine. It didn’t come with no instructions, so I told the cowpoke to drink about half the bottle. Figured that ought to do the trick. Sure enough, he passed right out and I started chiseling away. That tooth was real impacted so it took a little longer than I thought it would. Guess I didn’t notice how long the patient sat there without moving. When I finished pulling the tooth and straightened up, I noticed he was sort of blue. I slapped his face a little, but he just sat there with his mouth open, staring off into space.” Dr. Grumet shook his head in thought, and then started to soap up my beard with the brush. “Yep, that fellow just sat there…all paralyzed, eyes open, and staring off into space. Couldn’t get his mouth to close, neither. I pricked him a couple of times to test him, but he weren’t moving. I swear I thought he was dead. Just then the door opened and another cowboy stuck his head in and asked if Mister Loving was finished yet. Not quite, I says. I had him covered over with my drape so’s the other couldn’t see, but, as he turns to leave, he says he hopes things work out all right ’cause they’d hung the last dentist what hurt the boss. Well, I’ll tell you, I packed up my bags, locked the door, and hightailed it right out of there. Didn’t stop till I crossed the border, either.”
“You kill him or not?” I asked.
“No, sir. It turns out Mister Loving survived, after all. But he must have woke up awfully mad. Guess that was all the screaming I heard when I lit a shuck out of town. Luckily things worked out for me in the end. I got a nice little practice here and don’t plan on going back.”
As he took the straight razor in hand, I sat upright in the chair silently praying that he was more proficient at shaving. Fortunately it turned out to be a needless worry as he skillfully ran the razor back and forth, without even a nick.
“Let me ask you a question,” I said, noticeably relieved. “You deal a lot with the public around here. Ever see a tall, heavy-set cowboy, about my size, similar color hair, with thick eyebrows and a thin moustache? Had a healed-up broke nose and a cleft chin. Wore his pistols cross-draw, butts forward. Maybe a couple of months back?”
“Not in here, but it seems like I do remember someone like that walking past my window on a few occasions. Noticed him ’cause of them double pistols you mentioned. Most folks around here can hardly afford even one.” He eyed the ivory grip on my Navy Colt. “Friend o’ yours?”
“Not hardly,” I answered. “You said he walked by a few times. Headed anywhere in particular?”
“Ain’t much else down this way exceptin’ the fruit market and the telegraph office. He didn’t strike me as the type to be shopping for apples.” Dr. Grumet looked down again at my Colt. “Ain’t gonna ask why you’re so curious. I’ve had enough problems for one lifetime, thank you.”
So I was right. Luke Pierce had come to San Rafael to recruit men and to keep Davies informed by telegraph. Still, one thing bothered me. There was no way that Pierce could have known beforehand that we would change directions once the drive began. I hadn’t discussed my plans with anyone until the very morning that I explained it to Don Enrique and his caporal.
Pierce and his bunch might simply have trailed the herd from a distance, but I had been far out in front when I was shot. So how could Pierce have possibly gotten into position to dry-gulch me, unless he knew well ahead of time where I was going? But how could he know that?
According to Chavez, no one left camp that day and nobody reëntered camp until the attack. There was no telegraph on the trail, and, if anything were being left behind as a signal, the drag riders would have noticed and they were rotated too often to be suspect themselves.
As I sat there thinking, the glare of reflected sunlight off his mirror hit me squarely in the eyes, causing me to squint in pain. Dr. Grumet almost drew blood when I jerked my head.
“Sorry about that, mister. Sun always does that around this time of day. Been meaning to put some curtains on that window. Here let me fix it.” He adjusted a knob on the side of the chair and began to swivel it in an attempt to avoid the glare. As the chair moved back and forth in front of his mirror, the sunbeam kept reflecting on and off into my eyes. I suddenly knew! Planting my feet on the ground to stop the chair, I jumped up and pulled the sheet from my neck, using it to wipe the lather off.
“Something the matter?” he asked.
“It’s OK, Doc, I just remembered something important.” I t
ossed him a few coins. “You’ve been a great help. Nice close shave, too,” I added.
“Sure you won’t let me check that mouth for you?” he asked.
My jaw clamped down instinctively and I flinched a little. “No thanks, maybe some other time.”
Chapter Twenty-four
Later that afternoon Rosa, Chavez, Sonora, and I were waiting next to her buckboard when Miguel emerged from the livery, leading his horse.
“¡Oye, Miguel, ven acá!” I shouted, calling him over.
He tied his horse to the nearest hitch and crossed the street to join us.
“What’s up?” he asked, smiling.
Rosa was the first to answer him. “My father is riding to town to join us, but he is a little overdue. Would you please ride up into the hills outside of town and watch for him?”
“Sí, Señorita Rosa, I’ll leave right away,” he replied, turning toward his horse.
Chavez stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “Perhaps it would be a good idea to signal us when he is in sight. But…,” he hesitated, “it will be too far for us to hear you shout and a rifle shot might give the don the wrong idea. What do you think, gringo?”
“You’re right,” I answered. “After all that he’s been through, the last thing Don Enrique would want to hear is more rifle fire.” I paused a moment as if deep in thought.
“Wait a minute, I’ve got an idea,” Sonora chipped in, right on cue. “How about usin’ a mirror?”
“That’s a good idea,” Rosa agreed. “There may be one here in my wagon.”
I rummaged around in the back of the buckboard and pulled out a small piece of mirror that we had planted there earlier. I tossed it over to Miguel. “Here, you can use this to signal us with.”
“Andale, Miguel, before it gets too dark,” said Chavez.
It had all happened so quickly Miguel didn’t have time to think things out. He just nodded to us and hurried back to his horse. Just before he reached it, however, I called out to him again.
“Oye, Miguel, un momento. One more thing.”
He turned around again. “What is it?”
“You sure you know how to send mirror signs?”
“Por supuesto …of course, my father taught me. Many in our village use mirrors that way.”
“That how you let the Four Box brand know where our herd was goin’? Is that how you sent them after me, amigo?” I stared him right in the eye, and stepped away from the rest, facing him in the middle of the street.
Miguel looked around desperately, but had no cover nearby.
Rosa moved out of the way, back behind her buckboard, while Chavez and the other vaqueros on both sides of the street moved to block his escape.
“I never could understand how those rustlers managed to anticipate all our moves without a mistake, and without us knowing,” I said.
“You see, Miguel, they knew Chavez and I always double checked our back trail. They had to stay far enough away so that we’d never pick up their tracks. Hard to follow if you’re that far back. But then they could do it easily enough if they already knew ahead of time where we were going, couldn’t they? A mirror shines light for miles, doesn’t it, Miguel?”
“¿Como? You are wrong. It was not me,” he answered nervously.
In the corner of my eye I noticed Pili standing behind the cantina doors. Several of the townspeople were lined up along the walk watching us, but none seemed threatening.
“Had to be you, chico. Luke Pierce used the town telegraph before we left town. So he already knew all about the drive. Francisco and you were the only ones in town after the drive was planned. Remember, that’s how we met. But you see, the caporal and I already know Francisco can’t read mirror sign….”
Miguel’s gun hand dropped slowly to his side.
“Always seemed to me you spent just a little too much time shaving in the morning. I understand now. Good opportunity to use your mirror. I’ll bet Joaquin wouldn’t have appreciated your generous offers to help him shine his pots so much had he known you were also using them to signal with. It got him killed, didn’t it?” I started walking slowly toward him, my right hand down at my side.
“Miguel, you betrayed us just for money?” Francisco shouted from across the street. “Why? Didn’t Don Enrique treat us fairly?”
“This is between us two. Stay out of it, Cisco!” I yelled, without once taking my eyes off Miguel.
“You sent them after me, Miguel, didn’t you? Had them bushwhack me from hiding. Why’d you do it? ¿Porqué?”
“A man needs enough money for his own place. I would never be good enough just working for others.” As he answered, I caught him releasing his holster thong.
“Who gave you that idea, Miguel?” I asked. “Never be good enough for who?”
He never gave me time to find out. Instead, he dropped quickly to one knee, drew, and fired. He was very fast, and the sudden move might have worked had he only waited a touch longer and not jerked his shot so much.
Pa’s words echoed in my ears. “Shootin’ first don’t always cut it. Ya got to hit what you aim at, too. And, Son, don’t trust to one shot, either, you keep shootin’ until the threat is over. Remember, boy, only a fool stands still in a gunfight.”
Miguel had aimed too quickly, firing at the very spot where I had been standing only an instant before. I side-stepped to my left just as he dropped, causing him to lose whatever edge he might have hoped for. My first shot didn’t miss him, though, nor did the next three. Miguel died in the middle of that street, curled into a lifeless ball.
Although I got no satisfaction from what had just happened, there was no remorse this time. It was his call, not mine, and he, like others in the past, had gotten what he deserved.
I holstered the Colt, suddenly feeling very weary, but relieved that the ordeal was finally over. I had fulfilled my promise to Rosa María, and could now begin seriously to consider the possibility of building a future with someone I cared deeply for. I felt a warm sense of well-being come over me, and was anxious to be with her forever.
Looking off to my left, I saw Rosa standing in her buckboard, facing me with a rifle in her arms. The next thing I knew, something struck me and I was flung forward into the dirt. There was a sharp pain in my chest and I had trouble breathing. Everything seemed to be spinning. I looked up and gasped.
“Rosa. What…?”
The last thing I remember before passing out was seeing her lever another round as she raised the rifle up to her shoulder.
I was content to lie where I was, warm and comfortable. But before long, I began to wonder just exactly where that was. I could detect a faint smell of perfume in the air and heard soft voices nearby that I couldn’t quite identify. It was clear I wasn’t still face down in the street, but, since I didn’t have the strength to sit up, I was forced to lie there, confused. I drifted in and out of sleep. The whole time my body rested, my mind fought for answers.
Over time it slowly came back to me, Miguel, the shoot-out, everything. The sudden realization that I’d been shot caused me to bolt upright. My eyes opened wide but captured nothing but pitch black darkness. My arms stretched out to feel but I couldn’t reach anything, either. I tried to make out where the voices were coming from, what they were saying, or who they belonged to, but couldn’t hear anything clearly enough to be of help.
I fell backward and started sweating profusely. When I tried to roll over, a sharp stabbing pain almost crushed the air from my lungs. I collapsed onto my back, exhausted.
“Where am I? Who’s there?” I tried to yell, but my voice was hoarse and distant, almost unrecognizable. I was so disoriented, I couldn’t even be sure if I was really making any sound.
A door finally opened to my right and light filtered in. A figure moved toward me and then paused. A match was struck and a lamp was lit. The glow hurt my eyes, causing me to swing an arm up over my face.
“Relax. You’re back at our hacienda. You’re safe.” It sounded like Ros
a’s voice, although right then and there it wouldn’t have been too hard to convince me the words had come from an angel. She took a wet towel from a pan on the table next to the bed, bent over, and wiped my forehead.
“Why, Rosa? What…?”
“Pilar shot you from the cantina. ¡Desgraciada! She always was looking for someone rich to take her away from here. Pilar must have promised to go with Miguel if only he got enough money.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Miguel was desperately in love with her and would have done anything she wanted. Pilar must have convinced him to betray us for money. She never was satisfied, that one, always looking for the easy life. Pilar would stop at nothing to get out of this pueblo, even if she had to make a fool of an innocent vaquero, or shoot a man in the back. Poor Miguel never had a chance with a she-devil like her.”
“You’re probably right about that,” I said. Pierce must have recruited her first, and Pilar, in turn, corrupted Miguel over to their side. She must have been the girl who arranged to have the telegraph messages sent to Davies. Miguel would have helped her translate them. What a web! “So, what finally happened to her?” I asked. “Where’s Pili now?”
“Where she belongs,” replied Rosa.
I suddenly recalled watching Rosa swing her rifle in my direction. She must have fired directly across me. “You shot her?” I asked.
She nodded. “She got what she deserved. I did what I had to. Besides,” Rosa said, looking down into my eyes with a smile, “I couldn’t very well let her kill a man who was about to ask me to marry him, could I?”
“I was?” I stammered, taken completely off guard.
She just looked down at me, hard, and frowned.
“I mean, I am!” I said a little more convincingly. She smiled, bent down, and kissed me softly.
“Duermate, mi amor. Sleep.” Rosa blew out the lamp and left the room, closing the door quietly after her.
