The Mule Tamer II, Chica's Ride

by John Horst

“Where is she now, mother?”

  “I don’t know. She left me in Bisbee. Dan George went with her and an old nun. They all three went into the desert. She told me to get you and to tell you to get to San Sebastian.”

  Uncle Bob leaned in the door. He suddenly spoke up. “My God, that’s two hundred miles into the Chihuahuan desert.”

  Arvel looked up at him and then to his mother. He began to move, to try to get out of bed and suddenly fell to the floor. Pilar and Umberto were there instantly and got him back into bed. Pilar gave him more of the elixir ordered by the doctor and Arvel soon fell back into a deep sleep.

  Alice watched Uncle Bob over her cup of coffee. She was always fond of the old fellow and never had any animosity for him, as did her husband, for taking their boy to the Wild West.

  He knew what she was thinking and began. “There’s no question that he can’t go.” Bob was not an emotional man, but held back the tears as he thought of his favorite man, friend, nephew, partner, lying in the bed in the next room as helpless as a newborn. He looked up at Alice and had to look away.

  “No, no doubt, Robert. But what do we do?”

  “I got the word out to Dick Welles as soon as the men delivered the news to us that you and Chica were alive. He’s working up a plan and he’ll be here with a posse tomorrow. We, I’ll ride with them.”

  “What will I need for the journey?” Alice stared into the man’s eyes.

  Bob nearly choked on his coffee and stopped from blurting out an answer. He knew that you did not tell Alice Walsh that she could not do something. “I’d, I would rather you stay here, Alice, stay with Arvel and help him. It is terrible country down there…and, frankly, Alice, I’m too old for it, and…”

  “So am I.”

  “Yes, so are you.” He pulled a cigarette from its packet and struck a match, offered her one. They smoked together. She would only smoke with Uncle Bob and thought that her secret was safe, as fine upper-class ladies from Maryland did not take tobacco.

  “Robert, Arvel is in the best hands possible with Pilar and Umberto. He is either going to stay the way he is or he is going to get better, with or without me. But little Rebecca can benefit from my being there when we find her. I’m going, and I will not hold you up, and if it kills me, then I will be out of my misery, Robert.” She stood up, and suddenly did not seem so frail and worn out. She had renewed purpose. “I’d rather be dead than continue on without my little granddaughter. The sooner we were on this expedition, the better.”

  Alice slept late, was awakened by the sound of a troop of men. She peered through her window at the source of the commotion. They had come from every part of the territory when they found out her boy’s family was in danger. Dick Welles was there, speaking with Uncle Bob. An old priggish man stood between them. She dressed quickly.

  Uncle Bob looked up from his conversation. “Alice, you remember Dick?”

  “Of course.” She shook him by the hand.

  “This is Mr. Hennessy.” The Irishman bowed and removed his hat. Uncle Bob gestured with a sweep of his hand. “These men have all come to help, Alice. They are here to do whatever needs to be done to get Rebecca back.”

  This was an overwhelming gesture, as there were more than fifty men, white, Mexican, Indian, Negro, people of all walks of life of all levels of education and income. It was Alice’s turn to fight the tears and she suddenly felt heartened at the notion that they would soon have her little granddaughter back, safe and on her way to Maryland.

  “Mr. Hennessy here is offering a large remuda for us, Alice.”

  “I am sorry, Mrs. Walsh, but that is the extent of what I will be able to do. Me heart is failing me,” he coughed a rattle, deep from the base of his chest, the death rattle of a man not long for this world. “I am afraid I would be little use to your party.”

  “Your help is greatly appreciated sir.” She smiled at him and he averted his eyes.

  She looked on at the others. They were good men, tough men. They were all well-armed. This was not a well-meaning bunch of amateurs. This was a force that would make Sombrero del Oro pay. He would pay by turning over little Rebecca or pay with his life. She suddenly felt queer. These were not the thoughts of an old line blueblood abolitionist. These were the thoughts of someone who had everything at stake and who would do whatever she needed to get her little girl back. She suddenly felt invigorated, excited to get on the trail.

  “When do we begin, Robert?”

  He looked a little nervously at Dick. “Dick’s running this show, Alice.” He waited for the inevitable and Dick suddenly looked up from his conversation with one of the men. He smiled broadly at Alice Walsh.

  “I’ve been told that you’ll be coming along, Mrs. Walsh.” He smiled at Uncle Bob. “We sure aren’t the youngest chickens in the pen, but we’ll give’m hell, won’t we, folks.” He touched Uncle Bob’s elbow and dusted off his chaps. “I believe we should get this show on the road right off, so, as soon as you’re ready, ma’am, we’ll ride.”

  Pilar and two hands carried Arvel out into the mid-morning sun. He was dressed and looked pleased at the little army who had come to show their support, to show that they were ready to make the ultimate sacrifice for him and his family. He cried again, and Pilar held his hand, stroked his back and held up a handkerchief to wipe his eyes.

  He was broken hearted as he was useless to his family, his wife, his little girl, his mother and his uncle. He was like a weak child and at that moment felt in his very being that it would have been better if he died on the train platform that horrible day. He wished he were dead. He wanted to thank the men, thank Hennessy, whom he’d known for many years. He used to make fun of the man and now, Hennessy, king of the skinflints, and himself dying of a bad heart, was there, to render aid, and Arvel could not form the words to adequately thank him. He patted Pilar’s hand and beckoned her, pleaded with her, to get him back to his bedroom.

  Hennessy was on him before he could leave. He patted Arvel on the shoulder. “My old friend, don’t give it another thought, your wife and babby will be back in your arms before you know it, I feel it in me bones.”

  Others approached and repeated Hennessy’s prediction. They patted him and squeezed his good hand. He broke down and the tears ran down his face in great torrents, the men had to turn away, get to their horses, get mounted or risk the same fate. They’d rather ride into the hale of Sombrero del Oro’s bullets than see Arvel Walsh reduced to such a state.

  Dick hung behind. He’d catch up to the men quickly enough. When Arvel was finally alone in his room, Dick snuck in. He sat down next to his partner and waited for him to calm down. He’d worked himself up into quite a state and Dick poured him a good bourbon and lit a cigarette for him. Arvel drank it down and breathed deeply. Dick looked at him, seriously.

  “You all right?”

  “No, I’m not goddamned all right, Dick.”

  “No, I mean, you’re not going to go do anything stupid, are you?”

  “What, like drool all over my pillow or shit myself?” He actually was amused at himself for saying that.

  “No, I mean eat a bullet or hang yourself, jump out a window.”

  He looked out his first floor window, several feet away. “Dick, you’re a real dope. How the hell am I going to do that? Unless you can figure out a way to commit suicide by defecation, I think I’ll be pretty safe.”

  Dick smiled at him. He felt uncomfortable asking, but he had to. Arvel saw what he was thinking and spoke up. “Don’t worry about me, Dick. I’m not that far gone. I’ll be all right. I’m miserable, and frankly, I wish I’d a outright died on that train platform, but I didn’t die and now I still want to play the game a bit longer.”

  Dick brightened. “I’m glad to hear that, Arvel. I think we both gotta lot to do yet.”

  “Right, and you remember that, Dick.” He worked hard to get the words out and Dick could see him struggling. “You are an old fart, you remember that. Let the men do the work, you be the b
rains of this operation, okay?”

  “Understood.” He leaned over and wiped Arvel’s chin, then his forehead. He looked so funny, out of place being the nursemaid.

  “What’s going on with Michael? How is he?”

  Dick became guarded. “Oh, okay.” He abruptly looked away, out the window.

  “You’ve seen him?”

  “No. No, I haven’t. But heard he’s okay.”

  Arvel fell back into his pillow. He wanted to fight Dick a little about Michael, then thought better of it. He watched Dick smoke. He was glad his partner’d hung back. Nothing more needed to be said and Dick sat back and smoked some more.

  Even though he indeed had nothing more to say the old partner and ranger captain didn’t yet want to leave. He squirmed a little in his chair and Arvel reached over, grabbed him by the hand.

  “How ‘bout one more smoke before you leave.”

  “Good idea.”

  IV Captive

  She awoke to darkness all alone in the dirt. No one was around her, none of the other captives or the boy, no one. She sat up and ached all over. She’d never known anything like this, never dreamed anything, anyone, any men could engage in such brutality. She’d been bleeding in many places and the blood had dried her petticoat and hair to her skin.

  She thought about what had happened to her and now that it was over, felt some sense of relief. At one point during the worst of it, when many men and many hands were upon her, she’d drifted off into a dreamlike state. She dreamed that she was floating above them all. She looked down and saw a form, like a poor animal that many other animals were savaging, and she wondered what the poor creature had ever done to deserve such cruel treatment.

  She saw her boy, sitting on a rock, holding the ball. He was watching the attack, and he was much younger, a toddler. He sat and watched the animals savage the poor helpless animal and the whole time he was sucking his thumb and pressing the rubber ball to his ear. She remembered back in the day when the child sucked his thumb, and she rubbed a habanero on it and let the child suck his thumb again and it made him gag and she laughed at him, telling him that it would cure him from sucking his thumb.

  She gagged now as she remembered back to the attack and she could smell the stench of the animals who’d attacked her, rotten breath, horrible body odor, greasy hair, filthy fingers with even filthier nails, digging and probing every part, every opening of her body, and now she had the odor up her nose, like the time her husband had them living next to the tannery in one of the hell-holes, one of many. The stench of tanning got up her nose and everything smelled of it, the bed linens, the boy’s hair, her own clothes. Now she smelled of the stench of her attackers, it oozed from her pores, oozed from her very being. She could taste it and taste the remnants of the attackers, like a thick coating on her tongue and teeth and she wretched and vomited until she had nothing more to give up. She was fading and she drifted off to sleep for a while. She awoke to someone nearby and was able to cast her eyes without moving her head, to a new tormentor.

  This one was diminutive. She tensed her body, waiting for another attack, but none came. The diminutive figure reacted when she moved. She was still alive, but just barely. The little figure leaned down and pulled her up to a sitting position. She poured water from a canteen into a cup and gave it to her to drink. She poured the remainder of the canteen all over the woman and it felt better than anything she’d ever felt in her life. She finished drinking and no longer wanted or needed to wretch. She looked up at her savior and comprehended that it was a child.

  The little figure looked down at her and breathed smoke through her teeth. Why was a little child smoking?

  The child bandit reached out and touched the woman’s once pretty red hair. “I knew you were in for it.” She looked around and found the woman’s dress, picked it up and beat the dust off it with her tiny fist. She handed it to the woman who put it on. The woman looked at the girl and wanted to ask her what she meant, but could not speak. She tried to speak and her throat burned and no words would come. The girl sensed that the woman was wondering and went on.

  “Anything different makes them more animal-like. You are different. You’re so big and pale and have spots all over your skin and your hair is all red. That is very big to them…and you are well made up there,” she pointed at the woman’s big breasts, casually, clinically, as if they were not private, that they were not personal or private parts of her body, no more personal or private than a milk cow’s udders.

  She thought about that, too. Thought about her lovely big breasts. She was proud of them. She didn’t have to do a thing to make them happen, just God’s gift. The men were always looking at them, they were magnificent, and now she understood that they were part of the reason for her being savaged the way she was. They were objects of deranged desire.

  The child gave her another drink. “You are very strong to go through all that and not be dead.”

  The thought of the girl witnessing the attack made her feel ill again. Another person had watched her in the most vulnerable state of her life, saw every part of her body, saw her placed in horrific and mortifying and humiliating postures, and she’d done nothing to stop it.

  Now she looked on at the child, smoking her cigarette, casually, as if nothing was out of place. She didn’t seem bothered by bearing witness to the attack at all. She thought again. What could a little child do to stop a dozen big men, even if she were part of their band? She couldn’t help feeling some animosity toward her, even if the child was helping her now. She was so confused. Another Mexican, but this one showed some kindness. She was so queer, dressed like a cowboy, a girl, a child, dressed like a man, smoking cigarettes, wearing a gun. It made no sense. And she was part of them. She was part of the bandit gang. Even though she was a child, she could not help to think that she was one of them, part of the gang who’d done this to her. Now one of the gang was helping her, giving her some water, ensuring that she would not die.

  She was fully dressed now, except that she could not find her shoes. She motioned to the girl and the child looked on and shrugged. She walked away from the woman and came back with some men’s boots, at least a third bigger in size than what she needed.

  “Come on, we’ll be moving out soon. You can’t be left here, you’ll surely die.”

  Rebecca rode behind an ugly fat bandit on a horse that was not gaited. It walked as if its feet hurt and jostled her constantly. She had to press up against the cantle, her boney behind riding directly on the skirt’s edge. The animal’s rump was so wide that the tendons of her legs pained her terribly. She had no stirrups so her feet dangled, unsupported and they soon fell asleep and tingled and ached. She did her best to not touch the bandit. He smelled awful and when they took breaks, and she was allowed to stand on her own, the stench permeated her nose, and she was convinced that the stench had gotten into her dress. She did not want to smell like the bandit. But despite her best efforts, she would doze and find herself resting against his back, and when she awoke, she’d pull back hard, straighten her spine and put as much distance as possible between herself and her captive.

  She drank from a gourd canteen often. Her father had taught her to eat and drink as much as possible when on the trail, and despite not being hungry or thirsty, she complied. She shook constantly.

  She felt as she did once when she’d seen one of the hands on the ranch get killed. He was a good man and a good friend and when he died it made her so sad and she shook and shook inside. She told her mother about the shaking and her mother held her tightly and told her that it was natural and it meant that she was a good girl with a good heart and it meant that she loved the poor dead man and it was normal to feel this way. Her mother kissed her all over the forehead and told her that she was kind, just like her father. She thought about this now, and wished her mother was there to hold her and make the shaking stop.

  She rode on and thought of her mother and father. She occupied her mind with what her father had ta
ught her when they went on their adventures in the desert. He told her to always think about where she was in the world. Always look at the terrain, look at the sun, look at the moon and the stars, remember the way any water flowed. Always know where you were. He taught her to think of the gait of the horse, how far a horse would take you every hour, so she counted the gait of the horse and it helped to take her mind off the terrible situation she was in and the stench coming from the fat bandit’s backside. She knew she was heading south and decided that she was probably in Mexico by now.

  At one point, she saw a mountaintop and thought it was familiar, and remembered seeing it when visiting her Uncle Alejandro’s ranch, off to the east, so now the mountaintop was to her left, and she reckoned that she was somewhere between the uncle’s ranch and the sea. They were going deep into Mexico.

  In the evenings, she was allowed to bed down on her own. She was sequestered from the other captives. She was lucky in this, as they were treated horribly and given little food and water. She watched throughout the day as one woman in particular, a tall, big red haired lady was especially ill-treated by the bad men. She thought about the hands at the ranch who had female dogs. Every time they went into heat, the male dogs would constantly follow them, constantly bug them and pick at them and pester them. The bandits likewise would not leave the big woman alone and as she walked along, now limping considerably from poorly fitting boots, they’d come up on her, throw a riata around her and drag her off for some time. A little later she’d show up again, filthier yet than she had been before, as if she’d been rolled thoroughly about the desert floor.

  Rebecca was special for some reason that she did not know, but took advantage of this as much as she could. She was sorry for the others, but depriving herself of things that would help her survive would not help them in any way. She found a sombrero and gourd canteen which she filled every time they stopped. She found a rebozo and put it around her shoulders, despite the heat. Her father taught her that. She was half Mexican, and had her mother’s features and raven hair, yet she had gotten her skin color and bright blue eyes from her father. She had to be careful in the sun.