Mariana's Knight

by W. Michael Farmer

  Doc Blazer said, “Yellow Boy is off the reservation hunting somewhere, or maybe he’s slipped back down into Mexico to see his second wife. In any case, according to the army, he’s not supposed to leave the reservation, but he’s not breaking any rule because I gave him a pass letter. Unfortunately, that damned agent Stottler thinks he makes the rules. You’ll see the best hunters often quietly leave the reservation and come back. I don’t know when they go, but they always come back because their families are here.”

  I nodded and asked, “Does he still have his Yellow Boy rifle?”

  No Foot spoke up quickly, “Yes, he still has the Yellow Boy. He shoots best among us. He never comes home without meat.”

  Doc Blazer leaned back in his chair and sucked through his teeth as he said, “Henry, I’ve seen Yellow Boy drive a ten-penny nail through a board at two hundred yards with a bullet from that rifle. It was so far that the only way I could see the nail at all was an occasional glint from the sun off its head. His shooting skill is impossible to believe until you’ve seen it. He might even top Oliver Lee, who I heard hit a plank at nearly a mile with a Winchester one Fourth of July a few years back.”

  Daddy said, “Come on, Doc. I’ve heard that story, too, but I don’t believe it. A man can’t even see a plank at a mile using iron sights.”

  Doc raised his brows and looked at us over the top of his glasses. “He sure as hell can if you tie some ribbon to it.” Daddy nodded and let the subject drop.

  After dinner, Doc poured some brandy for himself and Daddy, gave No Foot and Quick Knife cigars, and gave me a sarsaparilla from out of the spring where he kept the bottles cold. We sat around the big adobe fireplace relaxing, telling stories, and letting the dancing fire warm us through to our bones. Sleep was filling my eyes when I heard Doc ask Daddy about the Lincoln indictments. I snapped awake. Even No Foot and Quick Knife leaned forward and cocked their heads to listen.

  Daddy took a swallow of brandy and said, “Well, I got thirty-two indictments, nearly all of which will send men, and in a few cases prominent men, such as Oliver Lee, to jail. Many people are not happy about those indictments. If Lee and his crowd don’t do away with me or my witnesses, they’re gone off this range to being behind bars at Fort Leavenworth.”

  Doc’s eyes narrowed in concern. “Do you mean someone will try to murder you, Albert?”

  Daddy pulled the envelope with the note out of his pocket and handed it to Doc, who read the note aloud, then stared at the fire for a couple of minutes. When he handed it back, he said, “Damn, Albert, that’s a murder threat if I ever saw one. Are you going to back down?”

  “No.”

  Doc nodded and said, “I was afraid you’d say that. Now, listen to me. The army is sending an escort here the day after tomorrow for Quick Knife to haul a load of lumber to Las Cruces. You wait here a couple of days and ride across White Sands with that escort. At least you’ll get back to Las Cruces alive.”

  Daddy shook his head. “Thanks for the offer, but we have a family we haven’t seen in nearly three weeks. I’ve been all over this country since I married. I’ve fought outlaws, Apaches, and Mexican bandits. I’ve been wounded five or six times, and once I thought I’d probably die. I’ve killed several bad hombres who made the mistake of threatening me. I’ve come close to shoot-outs with Albert Fall and Oliver Lee over this and other business, and I’ve always come out on top. There’s a crowd in Las Cruces and Mesilla who think I’m protecting myself by hiding behind Henry here because they think nobody would deliberately hurt an eight-year-old boy. Well, I intend to prove that I’m not afraid of those cowards. I can take care of us without any help from the army.”

  Doc slumped further down in his chair and silently gazed at the fire. There was no sound except the crackle of burning piñon. I reckon he knew how stubborn Daddy was when he got his dander up. I sat back in my big chair there in the warm glow of that room, listened to them argue about our safety, and thought, Nobody can beat my daddy.

  Then No Foot spoke up. “Fountain, you’re our friend, a good friend. All of us here owe you much.” He waved a hand between himself and Quick Knife. “Quick Knife and No Foot will ride with you tomorrow. Some other man can drive the lumber wagon for Doctor Blazer. He will give us a paper to go with you, and you will be safe. Young Henry will be safe. Your woman and children will be happy you come home. We’re strong, good fighters. Men will not attack you when we are there. You know this is true.”

  Daddy stared into the fire after No Foot spoke. I could tell he was giving No Foot’s offer serious consideration. A long time passed as they waited for him to make up his mind. Finally, he shook his head, and, looking directly at No Foot and Quick Knife with watery eyes, he said, “You are true friends. Any debts to me you have paid many times over. Friends have no debts with each other, and that’s as it should be. I’m honored that you want to travel with us to protect Henry and me, but I’ve lived in this country a long time, fought many battles in the desert and in the courts, and I know these men who threaten us. If I show the first sign of fear, they’ll be like wolves that smell blood early in the hunt. I must show them I’m not afraid and that I can defend my family and myself. I must never show them I need help when I’m threatened. If you ride with me tomorrow, then they’ll know they’ve given me fear, and the threats and intimidation will only get worse. I cannot and will not live like that. My young son here, I know he doesn’t want to live like that, either. Do you, Henry?”

  I said, “No, sir.” I was ready to leave right then if it meant facing and beating those men who were trying to scare us. I thought Doc had the saddest face I’d ever seen, but Daddy grinned real big and said, “See, gentlemen? I’m raising a warrior.”

  No Foot grunted, “I understand, Fountain. A man must go where his spirit leads him. Tomorrow travel safe. You are in our hearts. We go to the warmth of our wives’ beds now.”

  After they left, Doc tried once more to get Daddy to travel with them, but he wouldn’t have it. They were quiet for a while and then started talking about reservation business. I was warm and comfortable sitting in that big chair by the fire and dozed off.

  The next thing I knew, Daddy was shaking me awake in our bedroom and telling me to get dressed. It was time to get on the road. I could smell fresh bread baking down the hall as I rolled out of bed, splashed some water on my face, and got dressed. Daddy said, “Hurry up, Henry. We have to eat and get on down the road. We’ll be home in one more night, and you can finally sleep all you want in your own bed.”

  Tikila had fixed us a hot meal of bread, bacon, fried potatoes, and strong black coffee. It was good eating. The sun was just starting to give good light at the top of the canyon when Quick Knife brought the horses and wagon around, and we loaded up. Some doves were calling, and everyone’s breath made steam. I pulled the buffalo robe over our seat while Daddy checked the loads on his guns. Once more, he levered a round into the rifle’s chamber, put the hammer on safety, and laid it under the seat where he could reach it without hesitation. Smiling through her mass of wrinkles, Tikila gave us a sack lunch and said, “Adios, señores.”

  Daddy said, “Gracias, señora.” He and I shook hands with Doc, and Daddy said, “Don’t look so worried. We’ll be fine.”

  Doc nodded, gave a little hand salute, and said, “I sure hope so, my friend. I sure hope so. I wish you’d wait. Be real careful on the White Sands road.”

  CHAPTER 12

  THE ROAD TO TULAROSA

  We said adios and took off in the deep, dawn shadows along the road. The way the cold air caught our breath and that from the horses, people might have thought we were a small steam engine rolling down that rocky road with streamers of light shining in the mists through the trees. Daddy and I were in good spirits. We were headed home.

  After two or three miles we rounded a turn, and there sat an Indian on his horse holding a beautiful, little brown-and-white pinto on a lead line. Daddy handed me the reins and reached for the rifle, but, as we
rolled slowly toward the Mescalero, he relaxed, put the rifle back where it was and took the reins back from me. We stopped within ten feet of the Indian, who had one leg crooked around the horn of a McClellan cavalry saddle, its bronze-colored patina scarred and scratched from years of use and abuse. Daddy told me this was Man Who Sees Far. He sat straight on his pony. His long, gray hair was tied back with a red bandanna, and his face was covered with streaks of dark shadows from deep wrinkles.

  Without speaking, Man Who Sees Far waved his hand out from his chest and flicked his palm up in a hello. Daddy said, “Man Who Sees Far is on the road with the coming light. Why do you wait here?”

  Man Who Sees Far said, “Fountain, you helped me with the man who cheated me in Tularosa. I have a debt. This pony is part of what I owe to you.”

  I thought it was about the prettiest paint pony I’d ever seen and hoped maybe Daddy would let me ride it when we got home.

  Daddy shook his head and said, “No, Man Who Sees Far, I don’t have any need for your pony. I told you when we settled with that shopkeeper that you didn’t owe me anything.”

  Man Who Sees Far didn’t move but said, “I owe you, Fountain. You take pony now.”

  Daddy shook his head again, much to my disappointment, and said, “I don’t need that horse. You keep it.”

  Man Who Sees Far still didn’t move, and, looking over at me said, “If you don’t take it for yourself, then take it for your son. Take it for your children. You take.”

  I saw Daddy’s jaw muscles rippling in impatience. I knew he wanted to get on down the road to Tularosa and not sit there arguing with an immovable Mescalero. Finally, he gave a little nod and said, “All right, Man Who Sees Far. Just tie the pony onto the back of the wagon, and Henry here will have it. Then we must be on our way. We have far to go.”

  Man Who Sees Far gave a little grunt of satisfaction, rode around to the back of the buggy, and tied the pony onto the back rail. Then he held up his right palm and said, “Adios, Fountain. Ride in peace.”

  I chirped up, “Muchas gracias, señor.”

  Daddy said, “Muchas gracias, Man Who Sees Far. It’s a good pony. Adios.”

  Without another word, Man Who Sees Far turned and rode back up the road toward Mescalero. I don’t think Daddy said another thing until we got to Tularosa early that afternoon. I studied every inch of that pinto as we rode along to Tularosa. It was hard to believe that such good fortune had suddenly just appeared for me right out of nowhere. I smiled. I knew it was going to be a fine day.

  We went another two or three miles before we went around another bend in the road and saw a breathtaking sight. Spread out before us was the Tularosa Basin, and, off in the distance, was the big sweep of White Sands reaching right up to the edge of the San Andres Mountains. I had never seen it from up high before, and although Daddy said he had seen this view many times, he stopped the buggy to marvel at its majesty. The sand was blazing white; the sky, a gossamer blue; and the San Andres, fuzzy gray with streaks of light brown. We stopped long enough to have a couple of good swallows from the canteen and to give the horses the last of our oats. Then we rolled off again toward Tularosa.

  I kept looking back over my shoulder to study that paint pony and imaging how I would ride and play with it when I got home. Then, about an hour before we reached Tularosa, I noticed two men were trailing along behind us, one on each side of the road. They had beards, long beards, and they stayed far enough behind that I couldn’t make out their features. I could see, though, that one of them had a red beard. It stood out well from the shadow of the man’s hat, and they wore long, duster overcoats. I told Daddy about them, and he just nodded and said, “I know, son. They’ve been on the road for the last mile or two. It’s a free country. They’re probably just going into Tularosa to have a good time on Friday night. The saloons in that place can get rowdy.”

  We finally reached Tularosa and stopped at Adam Dieter’s store. I was rubbing the paint pony while Daddy gave Sergeant and Buck a long drink at the trough in front of the store. I noticed Daddy kept his coat open with that .45-caliber Colt revolver both easy to reach and to see as our two distant companions slowly rode down the street toward us. Both of them had red faces, as if they’d been out in the sun too long without a hat. I remember thinking that wasn’t very smart for men who worked outside.

  I stared at Red Beard. As he passed, I saw that he was missing an eye. He gave us a twisted grin, touched his hat with a flick of his fingers in a kind of wave, and said howdy, as he and his partner rode by. Daddy seemed to be paying attention to our horses, but I saw his eyes following their every move. He told me to get the feed sack as they casually wandered out of sight down the street.

  We went inside Mr. Dieter’s store. After being out in that cold air all morning, the heat off the big, pot-bellied stove in the middle of his store was like a gift from heaven. A couple of local farmers and several old-timers had gathered around it, smoking or chewing tobacco, whittling, and talking. Mr. Dieter was leaning over his counter a little distance from the stove. When he saw Daddy and me, he said, “Well, look who’s here, gentlemen. It’s Colonel Fountain and his new law partner.” The men all turned their heads toward the door and the room got quiet as they watched us walk over to the counter.

  Mr. Dieter said, “Let me get you gentlemen some lunch. We just ate about an hour ago, and I think there’s still some frijoles in a pot there on the stove. We’d all be mighty interested to hear your views on what the Lincoln indictments mean for this part of the country, wouldn’t we, boys?” Heads nodded like they were all attached to the same string.

  Daddy shook his head. “We just had a sack lunch a little while ago. Thanks just the same, but we’re eager to get home and need to get on down the road. I do need forty pounds of oats for the horses, though. Henry has the sack.” When a murmur of disappointment rose from some of the men, Daddy said, “Next time any of you gentlemen are in Mesilla, I’d be happy to have a smoke with you and talk about what those indictments might mean.”

  The men nodded again and returned to their conversations. I gave the sack to Mr. Dieter, and he told me to take a peppermint stick out of the jar on his counter while he sent his clerk in the back to fill up the sack. Mr. Dieter and Daddy talked quietly while the clerk was gone. I only heard snippets of their conversation, but I remember Daddy asking Mr. Dieter if he knew who Red Beard was, and Mr. Dieter wrinkled his forehead in concentration, shook his head, and said something about Texas.

  The clerk soon reappeared with the sack of oats thrown over his shoulder, and we followed him out the door to show him where to put the sack on the wagon. Before we left, Mr. Dieter shaded his eyes with his hand and said, “Albert, you and that partner of yours be careful. Those strangers with the beards sound like trouble. Watch out for ’em.”

  Daddy said, “We will. See you next trip, maybe in the late spring.” Mr. Dieter waved and said, “Adios, you two. Vaya con Dios. See you when you come back through.” I saw him shaking his head as the door to his store closed behind him.

  CHAPTER 13

  VISIT WITH DAVE SUTHERLAND

  From Tularosa, we drove over to La Luz to have supper and stay the evening with Dave Sutherland, another old friend and political ally of Daddy’s. La Luz had been a prosperous little village before the drought came in ’89. There wasn’t much left when Daddy and I stayed that night with Mr. Sutherland. It was an easy buggy ride from Tularosa, and we could see the southern end of the White Sands and the black Valley of Fires in the distance to our right, as we trotted along. Mr. Sutherland owned a store in La Luz and had his home, an adobe hacienda, next door. We tied the buggy up and watered the horses before we stepped inside. With the sun falling behind the San Andres Mountains, it was already getting colder.

  Mr. Sutherland was leaning over the counter, talking to a short Mexican man, when we walked through the door. When he saw us, he yelled, “Well, I’ll be! They haven’t killed you yet, have they? Come on in here out of the cold, an
d let’s have a hot toddy and some hot cocoa for your partner there.”

  Sutherland was a tall, gangly man with a big, bulbous nose and a hunched back caused by years of bending over account books. When I first saw him, I thought of Ichabod Crane from the Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Even so, Sutherland had a gracious air about him that commanded instant respect. Daddy reached out, pumped Sutherland’s hand, and said, “We almost froze our tails off getting here, Dave. Those hot drinks will be lifesavers.”

  Dave laughed and said, “Serves you right for riding up and down the road in the wintertime.” Then he looked at me and asked, “How are you doin’ there, Señor Henry? You cold, too?”

  I stuck out my hand and said, “I’m fine, Mr. Sutherland, just cold is all, and that hot cocoa sure sounds good.” I was glad to be in the warm store. It had all those good smells of ground coffee, pipe and cigar smoke, new cloth on the bolt, saddle and gun leather, gun oil, lavender soap, and even the musty smell of oats kept in the back room.

  Dave said, “Boys, just settle in there by the stove while I get the refreshments.” He disappeared behind the backroom curtain, and I heard him say, “José, run next door and have Glorietta make a couple of rum toddies and a hot cocoa, and bring them back when they’re ready. In the meantime, take Mr. Fountain’s things on the wagon and put them in the back bedroom. Then take his rig over to the stable and have Riggs put the horses up. Tell him they’ll want to leave shortly after first light in the morning.”

  By the time Sutherland came back out, Daddy and I had our backsides well roasted, standing up next to that big, iron stove. He said lightly, “Gentlemen, refreshments are on the way.” He paused and, clearing his throat, looked slyly at Daddy and asked, “So, Albert, did you manage to get a grand jury indictment against Oliver Lee?”

  Daddy turned around, held his hands out and flexed his fingers to catch the stove’s warmth, and said, “Yes, sir, I sure did.”