by John Horst
In short order Arvel was in the chair next to the bed. He was already feeling better and he did not feel so much like crying now.
He watched the man work. Billy was constantly working, just like back at his camp, the day they’d met when he was traveling to meet Uncle Alejandro for the first time. It felt good to be sitting and his bowels were already calming down. There were a few hours left until dinner and Billy set up a basin of hot water. He asked for Arvel’s left hand. “Steady as a rock, strong as ever. You ever shave left-handed, Captain?” Arvel nodded no.
“Well, it’s time to learn.” He put up Arvel’s shaving cup and brush on a table before him. He set up a shaving mirror. “Go ahead, Captain. You’re a grown man, and we’ll start treatin’ you as such.” He patted Arvel on the shoulder.
Arvel made it through his shave without spilling any blood and lay back, exhausted. Billy Livingston was not finished with him. “No sleepin’ Captain, ‘til bedtime.” He began messaging his weak limbs, starting at the shoulder and working down to his hand. “That’s good, you ain’t contracted yet.” He went to work on his leg.
Arvel winced, then smiled at Billy. “You might not get control back of your limbs, Captain, but, then again, you might.” Arvel began to cry. He could not help himself, and he was too grateful for Billy’s help.
“Thank you, Billy. Sure am glad you’re here, thank you.”
At supper time, Pilar did not think to check with Billy and brought the dinner prescribed by the doctor. “What the hell is that shit?” Billy picked up some of the gruel on a spoon and let it pour off, back onto the plate. He caught himself as he didn’t want to offend Pilar. “Sorry, Miss Pilar, but that will not do. And we’ll be dining at the dinner table anyway.”
“The doctor says that normal food will kill him, Billy.”
“Malarkey! Miss Pilar, you go on and make up your normal supper, what the Captain’s been used to all these years. Just cut it up good and small. We’ll be fine.” He patted Arvel on the back again. He helped Arvel transfer to the wheelchair and they were soon dining with the hands, outside in the cool breeze of the early spring evening. The men jumped to attention and all smiled when Arvel raised his hand to them. He beckoned them to sit down. Pilar reached over to spoon some food off the plate and into Arvel’s mouth. Billy stopped her. “Miss Pilar, Arvel’s practicin’ usin’ his left hand.” Arvel nodded and picked up a fork. He began to feed himself.
That evening Billy Livingston had a smoke on the porch outside of Arvel’s room. Pilar was there. She leaned over and kissed the Aborigine on the forehead. “God bless you, Billy Livingston.” Her eyes were wet but she was smiling.
“Aw, think nothin’ of it, Miss Pilar. He’s my mate, and I’d do anything for ‘im.” He felt a little embarrassed speaking so freely to the housekeeper. He watched her through the smoke of his cigarette. Pilar was not an attractive woman, but her strength of resolve and character made her beautiful. Everyone knew that it was Pilar who ran this ranch. Billy knew something else about Pilar as well. “Uncle Bob went off after ‘em.”
Pilar stiffened, caught herself and nodded emotionlessly. “He did.”
“Well, you don’t give that another thought.” He patted her hand. “He’ll be back to you sooner than you think.”
Pilar looked him in the eye and gave a weak smile. It was the first time anyone had ever let on that she was the old rancher’s woman.”
“I am glad you have come, Billy Livingston.” She headed off to bed.
Over the next days, Billy worked Arvel hard. Arvel never complained, refused, or cried out in pain, though he wanted to do so at least a hundred times. He slowly began gaining strength and could squeeze Billy’s hand with regularity. Billy had him standing and shuffling across the room. By the end of the second day, Billy came in to find Arvel working on dressing himself. He looked up at Billy and smiled crookedly. “I want to go get Rebecca, Billy.”
The aborigine didn’t blink. He didn’t tell Arvel that it was a ridiculous notion. He sat down, pulled out two smokes and lit one for Arvel. He grunted and stared at the floor. “We’ll have to tie you to Tammy.”
Arvel looked up at him. “Are you serious?” He was working on the next sentence. He had difficulty by times, with many of his words. His mind knew them, but his tongue didn’t want to utter them. He thought hard again. “I didn’t think you’d ent..ent..consider it. Billy. Is it a fool errand?”
Billy left the room, came back with one of Chica’s pistols. “Here, mate. See what you can do with it.”
Arvel turned the gun round in his left hand. He held it out straight and aimed at a spot on the wall. He cocked the piece and squeezed the trigger. He reached up, pushed the latch, the gun breaking open at the hinge. Billy handed him a box of cartridges. He moved his right hand slowly, but it still would not work. He thought for a moment, placed the gun between his knees and picked the cartridges from the box, placing them one by one in the cylinder. He closed the gun, looked up at Billy Livingston and smiled.
“Good, Captain. Very good. We’ll work on a rifle after lunch. When shall we leave?”
VII Down Mexico Way
Dick Welles missed Chica at Uncle Alejandro’s ranch by six hours. The Jefe was given strict instructions to pass on to Dick Welles. He was not to follow her, under any circumstances. Instead, he was to find Colonel Kosterlitzky and join forces with him directly at San Sebastian. The old Jefe smiled and simply shrugged when Dick balked at this plan.
“You know my niece, Capitan. I do not know what she has in mind, but she does not want you going after her or Gold Hat. She was mismo específico.”
Dick nodded respectfully. “I understand, Jefe.” He knocked the dust from his chaps as he climbed up to the veranda, disappointment in his eyes. Del Toro gave orders, then grabbed Alice Walsh by one arm and Uncle Bob by the other, escorting his American family to the table.
“I am pleased you are here, Alice.” She smiled at him, putting the best face on despite the weight of the anxiety hanging upon them all. She gave his arm a squeeze.
“And Maria, she is okay?”
“Fine, she has Dan George and the mother superior of the convent in Bisbee. What she has planned, I do not know, but you know Chica.” He suddenly grinned widely. “You don’t really know my niece so well, I think, Alice.”
She thought back to the wild creature she witnessed carrying out the carnage only days ago. She smiled back. “I thought I did, but I apparently do not, Alejandro. I apparently do not.”
“Well, she will get our Rebecca back.” He suddenly welled up and let out a little cry, he bit the back of his hand, stopping the outpour of emotion.
“Now, now, Alejandro.” She choked back her own tears. “You are going to get me crying again, and I just not long ago stopped.” She placed her hand on his cheek, brushing a tear away.
“I know. I am sorry, Alice. I cannot bear to think of our little girl with that demon. He was retired, you know. We did not let him run about like this down here in Mexico, you know that. He stopped all his murdering ways and lived out his time in an old fort in the desert. We forgot about him, many thought he was dead, and now this.” He smiled weakly. “I wanted to send men to help Chica, but she wanted nothing.” He laughed again, “Except for three old feed bags. That is all she wanted, Alice. Of all my riches, all my things that I could give her on this ranch, she wanted three old feed bags.”
The table was soon laid and talk turned to Kosterlitzky, the Mexican Cossack. Del Toro loved him. He came from Russia and soon became more Mexican than the Mexicans, according to Uncle Alejandro. He was a warrior and a just and decent leader though often his rurales were used for less than honorable deeds. He wanted to go after Gold Hat years ago, but other priorities kept him from it, and as Gold Hat had been behaving, there did not seem much need to follow him up.
He was now organizing a force in San Sebastian, between the Del Toro ranch and Gold Hat’s stronghold in the Chihuahuan desert outside of the settlement kno
wn as San Joachim. Kosterlitzky knew better than to chase after the bandit. It was a waste of resources, and he knew that the scoundrel would be heading back to his base soon enough.
Chica knew this too, and she did not want Dick Welles missing the opportunity by chasing her. With the combined force of Mexicans and Americans, they would be able to wipe out Gold Hat’s operation forever. And besides, Chica did not want an all-out battle with the bandits while they were on the move, as Rebecca and the other captives would be in particular danger. Gold Hat was a wily and calculating slave trader, when his back was against the wall, he never hesitated to kill his hostages so that there would be no witnesses to attest to his barbarity.
Uncle Bob was cheered by the news. He was not certain what good he’d be on this expedition other than to try and keep a protective eye over Alice, who now seemed more capable than he to handle the adventure. He watched Dick take the information in. He was pleased to have the man running the show. But now he began to have misgivings. What were they really doing if they weren’t going after Rebecca? Was it really their business to go halfway into Mexico to destroy a Mexican bandit’s camp and operations? It suddenly became a bit preposterous to him. He decided to speak up, after all, this was not really their fight. It wasn’t even the fight of the Arizona Territory or their Rangers, and what if Alice got hurt in all this?
He leaned forward. “Folks, I do not like to quibble over details, but is it really appropriate for us to be involved in all this?” They each looked at him as if he’d been speaking in tongues.
Dick replied, grinning a little sheepishly, “Uncle Bob, you are right, always the voice of reason.” He glanced at Del Toro. “I was getting a bit caught up in the moment. I…”
Alice cut him off, “It is what Chica…Maria asked you to do.” She looked at the men as if they’d suddenly lost their minds. “Of course it’s what must be done, and it shall be done.”
“But Alice,” Del Toro covered her hand with his own, “These men are correct. This is Mexico’s battle, and you all are a long way from home, perhaps it is best to leave it to Kosterlitzky. He has a good force, and he is a good man. He will bring them to justice.”
“But that’s not the point.” She sat up a bit straighter in her chair, and covered part of Del Toro’s great hand with her own. “Until three days ago, I had no idea that people like Gold Hat existed. I didn’t know that humans were still traded, like livestock. I didn’t know the heartache and pain suffered by so many at the hands of this brute, and now you tell me he’s out of retirement. That he could do more of these things to others. I don’t care about him being brought to justice, or punished for what he’s done. I want…I want.” She looked at Uncle Bob and smiled. “Robert, you know how remarkable what I am about to say is, but, this man, he needs to be snuffed out. He needs to no longer exist, and all who follow him need to die. ”
Uncle Bob grinned. “Then there is nothing more to discuss.” He looked at Dick Welles. “Are you in?”
Dick Welles smiled broadly and took a sip of his wine. “Uncle Bob, I was never really out.”
They stayed with Del Toro until the next day and the Americans enjoyed the hospitality of the old bandit, who’d opened his hacienda to every one of them. The cowboys and vaqueros sized each other up. Most of the Americanos had little knowledge of the considerable skill of the vaquero, did not know that their very craft had been originated by the Mexicans, and despite the gravity of the business at hand, Alejandro Del Toro had his men put together a fine Charreria.
The men showed the purpose of the big Mexican saddle horn as they roped running steer, stopping them in their tracks as smoke poured from the reata’s friction on the burning wooden horn.
One Vaquero showed his prowess at roping from the ground, and stopped a running mustang without the aid of a mount. Del Toro proudly told his guests that this came in handy if one ever found himself in the desert without an animal to ride. Then he shrugged, ironically, “don’t know what a man would be doing on foot in the desert with his reata, but…” he grinned sheepishly.
They watched the coleadero, the accomplished rider grabbed a bull by the tail under the man’s right leg, making a sharp turn and flipping the creature onto its back.
Another Vaquero performed the paso de la muerte, where he jumped onto the back of a wild horse from his own mount. He rode the animal, without the aid of a saddle or bridle, until it stopped bucking and began to follow the rider’s commands.
The women of the ranch gave a display of their riding prowess as well, one lovelier than the next; half wore beautiful long white dresses adorned with embroidery. These señoras and señoritas rode sidesaddle, seemingly glued to their mujeriegas as the skirts of their lovely long dresses decorated their mounts, while the others wore tight fitting vaquero pants and jackets and rode like men. They all sported lovely sombreros. Many of the Americanos were smitten, not only were the ladies beautiful, but they could ride with the best of them.
The men wandered about late into the evening. They’d refrained from imbibing too much as they were preparing for the long journey south and wanted to be sharp for battle, but despite this, they had a fine time touring and experiencing all the wonders of the Del Toro ranch. They were impressed with the old Jefe’s harnessing of water power, the big ceiling fans that kept the inside of the home and bedrooms cool, even during the hottest parts of the day.
The next morning Dick Welles was shocked to see Del Toro and many of his men mounted, fully provisioned and armed to the teeth. The men each carried a big Winchester and at least one six shooter, and all had a deadly daga, carried in a sheath in front of their guns. They wore cartridge belts around their waist or in bandoliers across their chest. He was glad that they were on his side.
Alice was all ready and deftly rode to Del Toro’s side, she reached over and kissed his cheek. “God help the old scoundrel now.”
VIII Marta
Rebecca sat quietly in her little room in the tent. They were apparently camping at this place and she was not made to do anything. She found some leftover food and ate and had some time alone, out of the sun, away from the ugly dirty men. She had good dreams and was happy until she awoke and realized that she was not home. She began shaking inside and thought of her Daddy and Mamma and Pilar and all the good men at the ranch, especially Uncle Bob. She thought about crying, and decided it would not help and thought that forcing some food into her body would help. It did.
She started going through her little bag, the one Abuelita bought her in California when the diminutive form pushed back the flap of the tent and strode, with great purpose, into the room. She was a miniature adult, not much older than Rebecca. She looked officious and scary and silly all at once. She smoked a little cigarette and had a miniature vaquero outfit, to include a tiny six shooter and fighting knife.
She looked down at Rebecca holding her bag. In a flash she looked on at the child and she was now a little child herself, looking on at the captive girl’s little treasure. And just as suddenly, she stopped being a little girl and went back to her persona as junior brigand.
She put her cigarette between her teeth and grabbed the bag from Rebecca’s hand. She began pulling out the contents and placing the items on the cot. She picked up the rosary given to her by Pilar on her last birthday. “Hmm, you better not let the Maestro see this.”
“Who is the Maestro?”
“Sombrero del Oro.”
“Did he capture you, too?”
The little brigand looked severe at the remaining contents. “He’s my father.” She looked at a little pile of lacework. “What’s this?”
“Tatting. Where is your mother?”
The child shrugged.
“How old are you?”
The child shrugged again. She was never told her age, never had a birthday and did not know even what day or month she was born.
“What is this, tatting?”
“Just a way of making lace. Sailors used to do it, I’m making this f
or my Mamma.”
The girl found no value in it and let Rebecca keep it. She looked about officiously again.
Rebecca watched the girl move with authority around the room. She was not afraid of the girl and wanted to talk to someone close to her own age. “Were you the one crying last night, in the room next, in where the man with your father sleeps?”
“Hah! I don’ cry, and I don’t let that pig have nothin’ to do with me.” She seemed pleased with her response and looked on at Rebecca. The captive was a pretty and refined girl, she looked refined now, despite what she’d been through. She touched Rebecca’s earrings and saw a little string around her neck. She pulled on it.
“What’s this?”
“It’s called a Scapular. It’s meant to protect me.”
Marta looked it over and handed it back to Rebecca, who returned it to its place.
“That was one of the captives you heard crying. A boy.”
“What is your father doing with us? What did that man do to make that child cry last night?” She was not really certain she wanted to know.
The child brigand dropped her cigarette on the floor and crushed it out with the toe of her boot. “You do not know?” She grinned knowingly, a grin that a child of her age, whatever that might be, should not grin at notions that a child of her age should not know. “You are going back to our land, to live out your days as one of my father’s wives. The child was crying because the old man was doing what you’ve seen horses and cats and dogs do to each other.” She looked at Rebecca to see if she was comprehending and added, “what a bull does to a cow.” She smiled a crooked, cruel smile. Rebecca became shaky inside.
“I don’t understand. I am eight years old, well, almost eight, and I am not to be a wife to any man, not an old man, like your father.”
“Well, that is what will happen. My father has many many wives, and more than one hundred children, but he says his wives are no good now, most of the babies come out sick or dead, or don’t live very long, or have to be put down, like a bad horse, so he says he needs more wives, and that is why we went to your country and robbed the train and the settlements.”
