The Mule Tamer

by John C. Horst

  “Stop cryin’ gringo, soon all your troubles will be over.”

  She pulled out her knife and walked around the man, stopping behind him. She knocked the hat from his head and grabbed a fistful of hair with her left hand, preparing to cut the man’s throat, when Dick Welles and his men rode up. Dick stood up in his saddle and tipped his hat to Chica. “Ma’am.”

  “This son of a bitch gringo said that you were not to be killed, Capitan. They are going to kill Arvel Walsh and the Governor. They told me a bad story to get you and most of your men here, so that they could kill the others without interference.”

  “God damn it!” Dick Welles shouted orders. The men rode, Dick peeling off toward Tombstone to get a wire to the Governor.

  Chica left the wounded man where he lay. She chose not to kill him. She jumped on her horse and rode as quickly as she could to the mule ranch. There might be time.

  Governor Murphy prepared for the day as usual. He was a man of strict routine. He was orderly and precise in every aspect of his life. He arose at six every morning, chopped wood for forty five minutes, shaved, dressed, and ate a breakfast of one egg, two sausages and one slice of toast. He drank one cup of coffee with one spoon of sugar and one ounce of cream. He read the most up-to-date Washington Post, the Tucson Daily Citizen and The Wall Street Journal as he could get it. At precisely seven-thirty, he got into a closed cab and rode for fifteen minutes to his office.

  The man in the mustard suit was leaning against a post at seven-forty. He twisted a cigarette and smoked casually. He had a carpet bag at his feet. He looked at his watch, then down the street. He waited.

  On this morning, the governor’s carriage was delayed by a slow going wagon pulled by a scruffy looking man. The wagon was laden with empty beer kegs, piled high, well above ten feet. The wagon plodded along, and as the street narrowed, there was no way to pass. The governor’s coachman became terse, and called up to the man driving the keg wagon to give way. His calls remained unanswered. As the coachman’s swearing intensified, the keg driver drove more slowly. The wagon finally stopped in the middle of the street. The driver jumped off and ran through an ally.

  The man in the mustard suit lit a fuse poking out of the carpet bag at his feet, picked it up and ran at the Governor’s coach. He ran toward the door. It opened, followed by two violent blasts from the barrels of a shotgun.

  The old man fell backward, his derby bouncing on the dusty road, the carpet bag erupting on his chest. It was reported that shreds of mustard brown cloth were recovered from the roof of the Daily Star.

  Chica arrived before the Rangers, being much lighter and carrying less gear. Alanza was a much faster pony. As she headed toward the ranch, she could make out riders, coming from further east, and she soon recognized them as the execution squad. She decided to slow them down a bit, and galloped Alanza ahead of them until she could find a good ambush point. She pulled Alanza onto her side; the pony lay stock-still, as if she were taking a morning siesta. Chica sat next to her, legs crossed, elbows resting on her knees. Shoot from the bones; she remembered Uncle Alejandro’s words. She aimed carefully at the last rider and pressed the trigger. She did not wait to see if she had hit her mark, but rather slid her rifle back into its scabbard and threw a leg onto Alanza, urging her up in one motion. She galloped Alanza hard, straight for the group of men. She closed the distance quickly, and got within a hundred yards when the men finally comprehended that they were under attack. By then, she had her pistols drawn and at fifty yards, fired into the bunch. She hit three of them immediately, and the group began to break stride and spread out.

  She turned Alanza to the rear, and hit the last man in the string, knocking him from his horse. She wheeled Alanza and rode up on the next man in line, who had finally gotten his bearings, and was putting his Winchester to his shoulder. He fired, and missed. Chica rode hard straight at him and waited until she was within twenty feet and fired. He dropped to the ground. When she had emptied her pistols she wheeled again, and rode in a wide arc around the confused mob. She had taken five out completely and wounded one who would be able to do little damage at the ranch. She rode so quickly that she was gone before the men could comprehend who had attacked them. They continued on toward Arvel’s ranch.

  She pulled her horse up to the corral where Uncle Bob was working with a mule in the early morning light. She shouted to him that he would soon be under attack, and rode, stopped just in front of Arvel’s bedroom; she could see the young deputy, standing over Arvel, lying in bed. She wasted no time, and still mounted, threw the rifle to her shoulder, she put the wire X on the man’s breastbone and squeezed the trigger. The morning’s silence exploded in a deafening roar.

  Arvel was too weak to move, but watched the deputy tumble backward. He could not fathom what was going on. Chica burst through the door as the distant firing began. The Rangers were engaging the assassins.

  “Pendejo. Wha’ are you doing?”

  He looked at her, and finally comprehended. “Hello, Chica.” He pulled himself up on an elbow, and surveyed the mess in his room. “Did you just shoot my man, Chica?”

  “I did, Pendejo.” She began pulling on the young deputy’s pockets. “You are not sick, Pendejo, you are poisoned.” She tossed a bottle of white powder onto the sheet covering Arvel’s lap.

  “He has been poisoning you a little at a time, Pendejo. Today was to be your last.” Arvel looked out the window, distracted by the shooting. Chica told him of the assassins, and the plan to kill him and the governor.

  “Why did you never tell your Capitan Welles about me, Pendejo?” She sat next to him, and hugged him. He brushed the hair from her eyes.

  “What?” Arvel was confused. He looked out the window. Uncle Bob was shooting men off horses. Pilar was standing next to him with a shotgun. The hands were clamoring out of the buildings, rifles at the ready. More men on horses arrived. Rangers he recognized. There was shooting in every direction. “What did you say, Chica?”

  “I said, why did you never tell Capitan Welles about me, Pendejo?”

  Arvel rubbed his head. He thought hard about the question. He was very confused. “Why do you think, Chica?”

  “I think you were ashamed of me, Pendejo.” He ducked at shots coming through the window. One shattered a picture on the wall. Chica seemed not to notice.

  “Is it the right time to discuss this, Chica?” He ducked behind his pillow, as if the goose feathers would afford some protection.

  “I don’ know, Pendejo. It look like Capitan Welles din’ know nothing about me.” She watched Pilar shoot an assassin in the face. His corpse dragged off by his terrified horse. “Good shot, Pilar,” she spoke, under her breath.

  Arvel regained his composure. The fighting was moving further away from the house. The shooting began to slow. The assassins were riding off, and the Rangers were after them. He looked at Chica again. “So, you want to discuss why I have not told Dick Welles about you?”

  “Well, if you are not going to tell about me, then it mus’ be because you don’ like me, Pendejo.”

  “Oh, so, it could not be that it would just sound very strange for me to say, to a Captain of Rangers: Oh, by the way, Dick, I have an outlaw half woman, half wild cat coming to visit me every now and again, who steals my watches and money, then runs off, God knows where, and does not show up again until she starts shadowing me from a mile away and then shoots a bunch of Apaches and saves my life, then takes me to a Negro with blue eyes who bores a hole through my skull and replaces the hole with a gold coin, and dumps me in Tombstone with a bunch of dead Indians’ traps, and again steals my watch and doesn’t come around again for God knows how long, and then takes me to a traveling show where we meet a young man, covered in hair, like an ape, and we find a severed head in a bottle, which the young woman knew of and was responsible for ?”

  “Do not say Dios name in vain, Pendejo.” She loved him. She laughed and looked down at him. “Well, I guess you cannot say all these things, Pen
dejo.”

  He felt awful, and his stomach was killing him more now that he knew he was poisoned. He thought that he might die any moment. He looked into her eyes. He became annoyed with her. “Ashamed of you! What kind of damned foolishness is that? Ashamed of you! I should be ashamed of you. You speak nonsense. Why would I be ashamed of you?”

  “Because I am Mexicana, and a bad woman.”

  “And when did I ever give you an idea that I was not happy with the way you were?”

  “I don’ know, Pendejo.” She stepped over the deputy lying on the floor and found a wash basin of water. She grabbed a fresh cloth from the washstand, wet it and wrung it out. She wiped Arvel’s brow. He looked bad, but she was hopeful that now he would get better, as the one poisoning him was put out of commission. He began to drift off when the man on the floor groaned. Arvel looked down.

  “Chica, look. He’s still alive.” Arvel forced himself out of bed, and leaned over the man. The young deputy opened his eyes, looking at Arvel then at Chica who was busy lighting a cigar.

  “Captain.”

  “Yes, take it easy, boy. You’ll be alright.”

  “I can’t feel my legs, Captain.” Chica blew a cloud of smoke and looked on, indifferently.

  “We’ll get a doctor for you. Just try to take it easy.” The man was dying, and Arvel knew it. He could not help himself. Even the man who was poisoning him deserved to die with as little pain as possible.

  “I’m sorry, Captain. I didn’t want to poison you. The old man made me do it. He said he’d kill my mother, and I was too afraid to do what you said you’d do if anyone ever threatened your mother. I’m sorry, Captain. I’m a coward. I wanted to stop, you’ve been good to me. Better than I deserve. Captain…” He was fading.

  “Take it easy, son. It’s okay.” He looked up at Chica who was beginning to tire of all of this. She should have aimed higher and taken a head shot. She was beginning to regret that she had not.

  The young deputy became lucid again. “Please tell my mother what happened. Tell her everything. I want her to know. And please help a girl in the laundry in Tucson. She’s a Chinee girl, name Ging Wa. She’s a good girl, Captain, she saved my life.” He began coughing up ropes of clotted blood. Arvel pulled him up so he would not choke. He breathed more easily. “I have a bit of money saved in my room, Captain. Please split it between Ging Wa and my mother. Please, Captain. I know you don’t need to do any of this, but I am asking, please.” He reached up, felt the air, and touched Arvel’s face. “Captain, I wrote everything down about the gang. I got it in my room. Use what you can.” He breathed hard again, suddenly overcome with terror. “Oh, God, I’m scared. I’m, I don’t wantta die.” He convulsed and coughed hard, a gout of blood poured from his mouth and nose. He breathed in deeply and his throat rattled. “Oh, I’m, I’m scared.” He was dead.

  Arvel looked up at Chica, “Why’d you have to shoot him?”

  Chica was unfazed. She ignored the Pendejo’s question and his anger. He was tired. He was not thinking clearly. Of course the man needed to die. She waited a moment, then nudged the man’s head with the toe of her boot. When she was certain he was dead, she moved to get Arvel back in bed, as if the deputy had never stirred. She threw a blanket over the corpse and put her cigar out. Arvel lay back on the pillow, and began to lose consciousness again.

  “Pendejo, I have to tell you something.” She shook his shoulder. “Wake up.”

  “Yes, Chica, what is it?”

  “I have a swollen belly, Pendejo.” She had already decided she was happy to have a child, regardless of what his reaction might be.

  “That’s nice, Chica. I am sure Uncle Alejandro will be pleased.” He rolled onto his side. She slapped his backside.

  “Pendejo that is a mean thing to say about your baby.”

  “How do you know it is my baby, Chica? The baby could come out brown as a bean for all I know; we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “I know, Pendejo.”

  “How?”

  “Because you are the only one I have been with, Pendejo.”

  “Really? What of Uncle Alejandro?”

  “Pendejo, you are muy estúpido. Uncle Alenjandro really is my uncle. I never had anything to do with him.” She thought for a moment. “It is really kind of a terrible thought, Pendejo. What do you think I am? He is, so, so, obeso, and his breath stink.”

  “You little brat.” He turned back to face her. “All this time I thought you were with the old man. You just told me a story, to get at me.”

  “I am sorry, Pendejo.” She kissed him. “I just wanted to see how much you cared for me. You din’ seem to mind my story about Uncle Alejandro too much. I was very unhappy when you did not say to stop being with him.”

  “Which you were not all along anyway, so I don’t see what difference it makes.” He rubbed his head. “Oh, you give me a headache, Chica.”

  “But you din’ know, Pendejo. At the time, you thought I was with the old man. And you never said no, don’ do that. You hurt me, Pendejo.”

  “Chica, what do you want? You come and go, you steal, you lie, you run about like a reckless child. What am I to do with you?” He was certain now that he loved her. She made him feel less pain, just being with her.

  “How do you know I don’ want you to tell me to stop doing these things?”

  “Okay, stop doing these things.”

  “And why should I?”

  “Because I said so.”

  “And what am I to do?”

  He pulled her into bed and wrapped his arms around her. “I will show you.” He kissed her forehead, and felt her belly, felt the beginning of a baby. He fell asleep.