by Jory Sherman
“No, Millie. Do you know Allen Oltman? Allen, this is Millie Collins, the best waitress in Texas.”
“Just in Texas?” Oltman asked. “I’m pleased to meet you, Millie. We’ll have two whiskeys. You can leave the slate here.”
Millie set the slate beside Oltman, brushed away a wisp of hair that was caressing her cheek. Oltman almost overreached the slate, but she slid away from his hand in a practiced glide that offended no one.
“I’ll be right back with your drinks,” she said, and gave Oltman no less a smile than he deserved.
“Mighty pretty gal,” Oltman said.
“I wouldn’t try and write my name on her just yet.”
“Oh? She got a feller?”
Ed licked his lips as if he could taste the whiskey yet to come. “Not exactly, but the gossip in town is that she has her eye set on a man.”
“Who?”
Ed looked around him, then bent over the table and whispered to Oltman. “No less than Martin Baron.”
“But, he’s…”
Ed sat back, a smile playing on his lips. He was close to gloating. “Ah, you forget, Al. Martin’s a widower as of this morning.”
“Anything going on between…”
“Oh, I doubt it. But Martin’s met her and she made her play. He didn’t back down.”
“Well, it doesn’t sound to me like she’s all hogtied and branded.”
“True, but if I were you I’d step careful. Especially if you want Martin to join you and the Rangers.”
“Good point, Ed.”
Millie brought their drinks and Al told her they’d order lunch in a few minutes. She batted her eyes coquettishly at Oltman and lingered at the table for a moment until he dropped his gaze, breaking eye contact with her.
“Now, a few questions, Al, if you don’t mind?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Officially, there are no Texas Rangers, right?”
“Officially? No. Unofficially, we’re still in business. And getting bigger by the day. Nobody to stop us, really. Except the army, and it’s too busy hiding its head in the sand.”
“Why?”
“The damned army doesn’t like us. And it doesn’t like to fight Indians.”
“Know why?”
“Sure. The settlers in Texas are howling over the Indian raids, the killings, stolen stock, burnt ranches and farms. They scream to Washington and the government does nothing. It sends in troops who say the Indians are not their problem. They say the settlers have to settle it themselves.”
“So the Rangers fight the army’s battles.”
“That’s the way we look at it, Ed.”
“Mmm. Interesting.”
“I wouldn’t print any of this right now, if I were you.”
“Oh, I don’t intend to. I just wanted some background. But why? Doesn’t the army know about you?”
“Sure, they know. But if there’s going to be a war, the Indians will damned sure take advantage of the situation. When the men go off to fight the North, they’ll run roughshod over the whole country.”
“You may be right,” Ed said, a thoughtful cast to his freckled face.
“You’re worried, aren’t you?”
“Yes. For several reasons.”
“Well, so am I. If war comes, and it will if Lincoln beats out Calhoun, then this whole country’s going to explode like a room full of powder kegs. The army will be running around chasing its tail and the Apaches and Comanches will have a field day in all the empty spaces.”
“Christ.”
“There are a few of us looking into the future. Rangers. We’re going around trying to sign up good men in key places. To keep the bloody peace when war erupts.”
“So, you came after Martin Baron.”
“Martin, some others, here and there.”
“Won’t the army try and stop you?”
“Which army? The Southern or the Northern?”
“Um, I see. You sound like a militia group.”
“Allowed by the Constitution of these United States.”
“Soon to be un-united, maybe.”
“The Constitution will stand, Ed. No matter what.”
“Sounds like you, or someone in your organization, has it all figured out.”
“Well, we have good advice from a very good man.”
“I could take a guess,” Wales said.
Al smiled knowingly. “And you’d probably guess right.”
“Sam Houston?”
“He’s one. Maybe the only clearheaded man in Texas right now. Not many up in Austin, that’s for damned sure.”
“God. It’s going to be a horror, isn’t it? This war.”
“Yes, Ed, it’s going to be a horror. And right at the center of it stands a black man who won’t even know why everybody’s shooting at everybody else.”
“Oh, the Negro will know. Martin freed some slaves not long ago, brought them to his place, town, some other ranches.”
“I know. That’s one reason I want him on my side. On the side of Texas.”
“Is that what Sam thinks? That the North will win and the slaves will be freed?”
“That’s what most of us think. We don’t cotton to slavery, Ed. It ain’t right and there are going to be some mighty soreheaded folks who don’t agree.”
“You think Mr. Lincoln will free the slaves if he becomes president.”
“Either that, or someone will come after him with a gun in hand.”
“Maybe someone will if he does free the slaves,” Ed said.
“Could be,” Al said. “That’s what I meant when I said the black man won’t even know the trouble he’s caused. Not through any fault of his, mind you, but the Negro is liable to have a worse life as a freeman than he ever had as a slave. That’s why the Rangers are going to be important.”
“You’re going to be bucking against a mighty hard foe—not only the U.S. Government, but whatever government Texas has left.”
“I know. But we’re Texans, Ed. And we mean to keep the peace. And, when this is all over, there will be peace. A peace to keep.”
“God, I wish the legislature had listened to old Sam.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Ed. They’ll hear him good and loud when we get through doing what we have to do. I guarantee it.”
Al lifted his hand and motioned to Millie. Then he finished his drink and set the glass down.
Ed looked at Al Oltman with intensity. He sighed and finished his own drink as Millie approached. He could hear her footsteps on the hardwood floor of the saloon.
“I think, Al,” Ed said softly, “that Martin will want to join up with you. I’ll put a word in Ken’s ear when he returns.”
Al grinned wide.
“That’s what I was hoping you’d say, Ed. We need Martin Baron if the Rangers are to stay alive beyond this moment in history.”
“Gentlemen?” Millie said. “Have you decided?”
Ed looked up at her and smiled. “Yes, Millie, I think we have. Al?”
“For sure. We have decided a whole hell of a lot.”
Millie wrinkled up her face in puzzlement as she looked at the two men. She had the feeling that she had stepped onto foreign soil where nobody spoke her language. For a brief moment, she felt as if she were standing there stark naked, without a stitch of clothes on her back. She blushed and batted her eyes in confusion.
And, as the two men looked at her, she opened her mouth and found she could not utter a word.
7
MARTIN READ THE death certificate without much comprehension. The doctor’s scrawl was difficult to read and he did not know the Latin words. Doc Purvis was speaking, but he didn’t hear him clearly. He heard Anson speaking, too, but the words were like wet cotton in his ears.
“You want to know who was close to my ma beside pa?”
“I think it’s necessary,” Doc Purvis said.
“Why?”
“She caught her disease from someone. Someone with whom she had int
imate contact.”
“I don’t follow your drift, Doc.”
“Your mother had an infection, Anson. She got it from someone who was infected. It doesn’t appear to me that either you or your father were the source of her illness. So, it has to be someone else and that person might infect others. He or she would have to be warned of the danger.”
“If Pa doesn’t know, then you’d have to talk to Esperanza and Lucinda. They saw Ma every day.”
Martin snapped out of his mild reverie when he heard the names of the two criadas.
“Huh? What’s this about Esperanza and Lucinda?”
“Doc Purvis wants to talk to them,” Anson said.
“Why?”
“Something about Ma.”
“It’s important,” Purvis said.
“Something to do with Caroline?” Martin asked.
“Yes.”
Martin scratched his head. “Well, let’s go downstairs. Lucinda ought to have lunch about ready. I reckon we can scare up Esperanza right quick.”
The three men walked downstairs and into the kitchen. Martin nodded to Peebo and Ken, spoke in Spanish to Lucinda.
“She and Lazaro are outside,” she said.
“Bring them here,” Martin said.
Lucinda nodded, looked at the doctor with worry etched on her face. “The lunch is ready,” she said. “If you wish to serve yourselves.”
“We will,” Martin said, waving Anson and the doctor to chairs that had been set out for them. Lucinda had put dishes on the table, and more on the sideboard. She went out the back door as Martin walked to the stove.
“Martin, I’m sorry about Caroline,” Ken said.
“Me too,” Peebo said, his voice soft as glove leather.
Martin grunted and lifted a pot from the stove.
“I’ll help you, Pa,” Anson said, and walked over to the stove. Doc Purvis pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. Ken passed forks and plates to Peebo and the doctor.
“Anyone want water?” Anson asked. “We don’t have milk or anything else.”
“Water’s fine,” Purvis said. Peebo nodded, and so did Ken.
The men began eating, passing the warm tortillas, scooping up beans, and Anson filled water glasses and set them before each man there and at his own place.
Halfway through the meal, Lucinda returned. She stole into the kitchen from the back door in a furtive manner, a dark scowl on her face. Martin looked up.
“She does not want to come,” Lucinda said in Spanish.
“Why not?” Martin replied, in her tongue.
“She has fear.”
“Why has she fear?”
“I do not know.”
“I am not going to hurt her.”
“She has fear for Lazaro.”
“I am not going to hurt him, either.”
“She will not come.”
Martin slid his chair away from the table. “I will speak to her,” he said.
“Pa, I’ll go with you,” Anson said, scooting his chair out from under him.
“Ken, I’ll be back. Finish your meal. Doc, you’d better come with us,” Martin said.
“Peebo, you stay here,” Anson said. “I’ll meet you out at the barn later.”
Ken and Peebo looked at each other as Martin, Purvis, and Anson strode toward the back door. Lucinda smiled wanly and began to clear the dishes from the places where father and son had sat.
“Trouble?” Peebo asked.
“I don’t know,” Ken said, his brows furrowed. “Could be.”
“Family stuff.”
“Yeah, likely.”
They heard the back door slam and both men jumped at the noise. Neither began eating again, but sat there picking at what was left on their plates as Lucinda began to scrape the plates she had taken away. She muttered under her breath and Ken listened to her but could not tell whether she was praying or cursing.
Ken dropped his fork with a clatter, turned in his chair to face Lucinda. “What passes?” he asked in Spanish.
“I do not know,” Lucinda said.
“Yes, you know. What passes with Esperanza and Lazaro? Why will she not come into the house? Do not lie to me. Answer my questions.”
Lucinda looked down at her hands. She was rubbing them together, a look of anguish on her face. She wrung them hard as if trying to remove a stain. Then, her face clouded up like a thundercloud and the tears began to leak from her eyes.
“Hurry up,” Ken said. “I do not have patience.”
“Pues,” Lucinda began. “Esperanza has fear for the blind boy, Lazaro. She believes he is in danger from el patrón.”
“Martin?”
“Yes.”
“But Martin is not el patrón. Anson is the owner of the Box B.”
“I know. But Martin is the husband of Caroline. It is he who will be angry.”
“Martin will be angry? Why?”
Peebo was following the conversation with an intense interest. He knew enough Spanish to understand what Ken and Lucinda were saying.
“Because it is Lazaro who brings the disease that kills my mistress into this house. And it was Esperanza who brought Lazaro here. That is why she has fear.”
“Jesus,” Ken said.
“Please do not curse,” Lucinda said. “Have you no respect for the dead?”
“I’m sorry,” Ken said. “So, Esperanza knew that the blind boy has the disease that kills?”
“My mistress knew, as well. I knew. All but Martin and his son, Anson.”
“I do not see that Lazaro is to blame. He did not know. He was a small child when he came here. He was Pilar Aguilar’s son.”
“No, the boy did not know. And Caroline did not want her husband to know.”
“Then, surely, he could not blame Esperanza or Lazaro…”
The look on Lucinda’s face told Ken all he needed to know. A look of surprise brought a blankness to his eyes, a stare that fixed on nothing in the immediate world.
Peebo looked from Lucinda to Ken, wondering what he had missed in the conversation. But when he saw the look on Ken’s face he knew it was something important.
Peebo was wise enough not to ask what it was, but suddenly he wanted to be anyplace else than where he was at that moment. A cloud passed before the sun and he saw the kitchen darken as the sun was blotted out. He felt a twisting in his gut that made the food inside turn raw and acid and he gulped in air to keep from being sick.
“Jesus,” Peebo muttered, and Lucinda crossed herself and buried her face in her hands.
8
BONE SAW ALL the Mexican vaqueros around the Rocking A barn and knew that Matteo was planning something. The men did not greet him, but he knew they had seen him and Dawn ride up. He had seen most of them before, conducting military maneuvers in secret, marching and shooting at Matteo’s orders.
Dawn uttered a word in Yaqui that Bone knew was the equivalent of the Spanish caca, and he knew she was not happy to be brought to this rancho. He rode on past the barn where the men were gathered and then saw Matteo and Reynaud walking toward him. Reynaud strode with an arrogance that was mildly irritating, but at least he didn’t wear that oily smile, or that condescending smirk, of a man who thought he was superior to all others.
Matteo lifted a hand in greeting and Bone reined up his horse. Dawn settled next to him with her mount, and drew the baby to her breast protectively as Reynaud and Aguilar approached.
“You come to stay,” Matteo said.
“Yes.”
“That is good, my friend. As you can see, we are getting ready to make war on Martin Baron.”
“You will not fight Baron, will you, Bone?” Reynaud asked.
“Are you going to fight him?”
“I am going to kill him.”
“You have said that before. Martin must still be alive.”
“I asked you a question, Bone.”
Matteo stood silent, regarding both men with interest.
“I come to work for Ma
tteo. I work with cattle. That is what I want to do. If Matteo asks me to fight Martin Baron, then I will fight him.”
“Eh? I thought Baron was your friend.”
“No, he is not my friend. But he has done me no harm.”
“Enough of this,” Matteo said, interrupting. “We will talk of this later. Miguel, you and your woman have a baby.”
“Yes. A boy. He is called Juan.”
“Good. Do you know the little colonia? Over past the pond?”
“Yes. I do not want to live there. Dawn does not want to live there.”
“Ah, then you have another casita where you wish to live?”
“Yes. Where I lived before.”
“The old adobe. It is not clean. No one has lived there since you left.”
“I will live there,” Bone said.
Matteo nodded. “That is good. Go, and when you have made your little family comfortable, come to the house. If you need food, there is plenty.”
“I will come,” Bone said.
Matteo nodded to Dawn, who drew herself up like a proud woman and did not speak to Matteo. Nor did she look at Reynaud, who now wore that knowing smirk of his when he looked at her.
“I hope you’re ready to fight Baron,” Reynaud said, as Bone and his family rode away, past the barn and the corrals.
Bone did not answer. He heard Matteo say something to the Frenchmen but he could not hear the words.
When he had passed the barn and turned at the corrals, Dawn spoke to Bone. She rode up next to him and looked into his face. It was like looking at something made of stone. It was like looking at Death.
“I do not like this place,” Dawn said. “I do not like Reynaud. I do not like Matteo. They have bad faces.”
“We have no other place to go,” Bone said.
“We could look for my people. They would take us to their hearts.”
“Your people are scattered like the leaves that die in the winter. All of my people are gone from this earth.”
“But why must we live with these white men? They are not our people.”
“We do not live with them. We keep ourselves apart. You will see. Here there is food, there is plenty. In Mexico there is only starvation and death. Be patient.”
They rode past the little adobe houses and beyond all signs of a rancho and into a place where trees grew and there was quiet. Then there was a path, and beyond, a small adobe house in a small clearing, all by itself.
