Mariana's Knight

by W. Michael Farmer

  “Hmmph,” Dave grunted. “Good work, Albert. I guess when you convict him, Albert Fall will lose his chief enforcer. We oughta have free rein in the next election and not have to worry about being hustled for weapons by the sheriff’s deputies every time we go to town.” He glanced over at me, winked, and said, “That’ll be real fine, Señor Henry, real fine. Your papa there is doin’ the civilized people around here a real service, goin’ after Oliver Lee.”

  I didn’t have the foggiest idea what he was talking about, so I just stayed as close to the stove as I could and nodded like I understood what he meant.

  They talked about the impact of those indictments on local politics through the toddies and cocoa, through supper, and well after I dozed off in Sutherland’s parlor. Daddy finally shook me awake to walk down the hall and climb into bed under a down comforter. It felt good to drift back to sleep, knowing I’d be out of the cold and sleeping in my own bed the next night. It felt like years since I’d seen Mama, Maggie, and my brothers.

  Next morning, we were up early for breakfast. Glorietta cooked some fine huevos rancheros and a big pot of hot coffee. She had spiced them up good with dried red chilies.

  Soon, Mr. Riggs brought the buggy and horses around, and we loaded up and were ready to go. Daddy made sure the rifle was loaded and easy to reach under the seat, and he slid his holstered revolver up his side a notch. Sutherland said, “Wish you’d wait another day or two until you had some company on the way, Albert.”

  Daddy squared his jaw and said, “No, it’s time to get on home. We’re lonesome for the family, and we’ll be there tonight. You know I can take care of business if there’s trouble, and I’ve got a good man with a gun right here with me, too, so we’ll be fine.”

  Sutherland was somber as the wind whipped his long black coat around, and he said, “All right, you know best. I’m sure you’ll be fine. It’s just so damn windy and cold that it’s not gonna be a pleasant trip. Vaya con Dios.”

  We waved good-bye and headed down the road toward White Sands. The sky was mottled in black and gray clouds that swirled along at a good clip, and it looked like it might rain. I didn’t care. We were headed home, and nothing was going to stop us.

  CHAPTER 14

  FRIENDS ON THE ROAD

  We were just a mile or so outside of La Luz when three men from the direction of White Sands rode up onto the road in front of us. As soon as they appeared, Daddy said, “Hmmph.” Two stayed on the left side, one on the right. They were too far away to recognize any of their features, and as we rode along, they stayed just far enough in front so we couldn’t recognize them. It was obvious they weren’t letting us out of their sight.

  When we stopped to let the horses rest, they stopped too, but they kept their distance. When we started again, Daddy put the rifle on his lap. He also pulled the stay strap off his Colt in its holster and checked its load. Usually, he kept an empty chamber under the hammer, but I saw him drop a cartridge into it so he had a full load.

  I grinned. We were finally going to have it out with those men who had threatened us. Maybe it would be a fight like he’d had with El Tigré, and I would get to see it. It never occurred to me that with all the lead flying I might get killed or wounded.

  I wondered when he would give me the rifle so he could use his revolver. I was grinning and burning for action, thinking this was just like a game with my school friends, but Daddy was deadly serious. I noticed him glancing over at me once in a while. I guessed he wanted to see if I was scared, and he seemed satisfied that I wasn’t.

  In a little while, a rider passed the other three and came toward us. Daddy said, “It’s Judge Hill, Henry. I wonder why he’s out on a cold day like this.” Judge Hill was a justice of the peace. I knew he and Daddy had known each other for years, and Daddy affectionately called him “Hump.” He was a big, jolly man whose vest buttons strained to hold his blue floral print vest closed over a big belly that hung over his pants. His white shirt showed between every button on his vest. His porkpie hat was pulled down close to his eyes, and his big duster overcoat flapped in the wind. He had a big, crooked pipe jammed in his mouth and rode a big, bay mare, and she was moving down the road smartly.

  We stopped and waited as he rode up to us. The judge stopped and said, “Morning, boys. Kinda cold for a ride, ain’t it? Lookin’ for varmints with that rifle?”

  Daddy nodded and said, “Morning, Judge. Yes, sir, we’re looking for varmints all right. Hump, did you notice if one of those men you just passed had a red beard and one eye?’

  Judge Hill’s brow wrinkled in concern as he took the pipe out of his mouth and looked back up the road toward the men who were moving slowly out of sight. When he turned back to us, he said, “Why, no, none of them looked like that. I didn’t recognize them. They just nodded howdy to me as I passed. I thought they were just regular cowboys headed back to Texas. They all had Texas rigs. Why?”

  Daddy hesitated, then said, “Well, I’ve been threatened since I got all those indictments in Lincoln. Got a note from a red beard with one eye, who, along with another fellow, followed us down from Doc Blazer’s to Tularosa yesterday. He was riding a gray, and one of those cowboys up yonder is, too. I have a Winchester and a Colt, so I can take care of myself, but now I’m worried about Henry here catching a stray bullet if there’s a fight.”

  I was indignant but afraid to say so. I could take care of myself. Daddy didn’t need to worry about me, no, sir, not me.

  Judge Hill looked back up the road again. The riders had disappeared in the distance. Turning back to us, he said, “They looked all right to me, but you never know about killers, do you? Why don’t you stop at Luna’s Well and wait there to ride back with the mail wagon from Las Cruces? I’d ride back with you now, but I’ve got to be in La Luz for some business with Dave Sutherland Monday.”

  Daddy shook his head and said, “Thanks, I’ll give waiting at Luna’s some thought, Hump. Tell Sutherland you saw us and we said hello. We stayed the night with him last night, and Glorietta packed us up a big lunch. Well, we gotta get on down the road to Mesilla before it gets too late. Adios.”

  The judge tipped his hat, grinned around his pipe, said, “Adios, gentlemen,” and we passed on.

  It couldn’t have been more than another mile before we saw the three riders again. They seemed to have paused in the road, and then they were riding again in the same formation, still too far away for us to see who they were and what they looked like.

  Daddy kept the rifle on his knees. In a couple of hours, we got to Pellman’s Well on the northern edge of White Sands. We hadn’t seen another soul except the men in front of us. It was nearly noon, so Daddy pulled into the corral, watered the horses, and put their feedbags on. My little paint pony was a good traveler. We hadn’t had a bit of trouble with him following us. Under a gray sky mottled with dark clouds, we ate our lunch. We took a full hour to eat and let the horses rest, since it would be a long pull up San Agustin Pass later in the afternoon.

  Daddy stayed on the wagon, but I got out and ran around in the corral, using my finger as a pistol barrel to shoot at bad guys through the corral bars. Our escorts had disappeared up the road again, but Daddy kept the Winchester at hand while he ate and rested.

  We got back on the road and were almost to Luna’s Well when we met the La Luz mail wagon. Santos Alvarado had just left the mailbags from Tularosa off at Luna’s Well for pickup by the mail wagon from Las Cruces. He was wrapped in a big, wool serape and had a quilt over his knees and another thrown over his shoulders. About all you could see under his hat were his black eyes, bushy eyebrows, and a big mustache under a wide, flat nose. Daddy stopped the team as Santos pulled up and stopped almost axle to axle with us.

  Daddy said, “Buenos tardes, Santos. Como esta?”

  Santos grinned, apparently honored that Daddy had spoken to him in his own tongue. He replied, “I’m fine, but it’s a cold day for a ride, Colonel Fountain. I guess you’re on your way home from Lincoln, eh
?” He nodded toward the rifle and furrowed his brow questioningly.

  Daddy grinned and said, “Sí, Santos. We’re going home, finally.” He nodded toward the rifle and added, “There’ve been some threats made against us, and we just want to be prepared if they’re more than threats. Did you pass three men on the road before you got to us?”

  Santos nodded. “Sí, señor. One on a big gray and two others on bays. When they saw me, they turned off the road and galloped toward the Sacramentos. They were too far away for me to tell too much about them, but they looked and rode like cowboys. Why do you ask?”

  “Well, they’ve stayed out in front of us most of the day, and we were followed by a couple of men from Doc Blazer’s yesterday. I’ve got the feeling that some ranch hands are being used to keep an eye on us for some reason. It’s probably nothing. Keep the mail rolling there, Santos. We’ve got to get on home. Adios.”

  Santos nodded with a light smile and said, “Adios, señores. Hace un paseo bueno a su casa.” (Have a good ride home.)

  The horses loped right along in that half walk, half canter of theirs, and Daddy seemed to relax after Santos had told him the three riders had ridden off toward the Sacramentos.

  We passed Luna’s Well and were two or three miles from the Black Mountain cut just before Chalk Hill when we met Saturnino Barela driving the Las Cruces mail wagon to make the pickup at Luna’s Well. He was another friend of Daddy’s. He looked like a wild man, but he loved Daddy.

  He didn’t wear a hat like most people, and his hair was long and whipped into twists and snarls. Most of his face was covered by a big, wooly beard that reached halfway down to his belly. He had two of the brightest eyes I’ve ever seen. Sitting on his wagon seat, he blocked the view of a wide span of the Organs behind him. He had big, gnarled hands and didn’t wear gloves, and, sitting out in that cold wind, all he had on was a wool shirt and a leather vest. He left the shirt open for two buttons down from the collar. I could see what looked like bear hair all over his chest and the backs of his hands. Between the hair and those piercing eyes, he looked like a man a body wouldn’t ever want to cross, a troll straight out of a Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale.

  I knew Saturnino usually drove alone, but that day, there was a group in a wagon riding along with him. An old man drove the other wagon and had two women with him, and there was a young man, maybe eighteen or nineteen, riding a horse alongside them. I could see the tension on Daddy’s face relax as Saturnino pulled up, stopped, and nodded hello.

  Daddy said, “Buenos tardes, Saturnino. Como esta, hombre? Aren’t you freezing out in this wind without a coat?”

  “Buenos tardes, Señor Fountain y Enrique, mi muchacho. Es bueno to see you. This little breeze? It’s nothing for a man who grows his own bear coat, eh? Hahaha.” His laugh came rolling up from his belly in a deep, guttural roar, and we laughed with him. I could tell he was a man who liked to laugh. When he recovered a bit, he took in a deep breath, then asked, “Hombre, what are you doing with that big gun on your knees, trying to find a bear to make a coat? Hahaha.”

  Daddy and I laughed with him again, and then Daddy, eyeing the people with Saturnino, said, “No, no bears, just extra comfort. Who are your friends here?”

  Saturnino looked back over his shoulder at the wagon and said, “This is Señor Ruiz and his two daughters on their way back from visiting family in Las Cruces. I just met them at Chalk Hill.” Señor Ruiz nodded his brown, weathered face toward us with dignity, but he didn’t say a word. The women had quilts in gay Mexican patterns wrapped around them, and they smiled and nodded hello but said nothing.

  Saturnino turned his right hand toward the boy on the horse, but before he could say anything, the boy said, “It’s a pleasure, Mr. Fountain and Henry. My name is Fajardo. I work for Señor Ruiz and his family. He has un ranchito near the norte end of the Jarillas. I speak Americano muy bien, si?”

  Saturnino scowled at him for his impertinence and for interrupting his introduction to Daddy, but Daddy just laughed and said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Señor Fajardo, and yes, your English is very good. Where did you learn to speak English? From Señor Ruiz and his family?”

  “Oh, no, Señor Fountain. When I was a muchacho like Señor Enrique, I worked in Señor Dieter’s store in Tularosa por mucho años (for many years). I learn nuevo (new) words each day and practice with all who understand mi mal (my bad) English and will listen. I wanted to speak with those three men about a mile in front of your wagon when we saw them, but they rode off the road and kept their distance. They didn’t even wave at us. I’ve never seen them before, and they didn’t wear their hats like any vaqueros, uh . . . cowboys, I know. I ask Señor Barela who see them also, but he think they are just cowboys. You see them, señor?”

  Daddy shook his head, and I saw he was gritting his teeth. He looked like he had that night in Tularosa when Jack Stone and Charlie Bentene walked over to our table and called our friend Roy a liar. Pure blazing fury is what I saw. I knew then that if I were a grown man I’d never want to cross him.

  Saturnino stared at the cloud over Daddy’s face and frowned. “Something is wrong, Señor Fountain?”

  “Those men have been staying just in front of us for miles, just far enough away that we can’t recognize them. I received a death threat after the grand jury recessed in Lincoln. There were even threats before I left Mesilla. Yesterday, two men followed us out of Mescalero. Powerful people want me gone, and I believe they may have hired these men to ambush us. I’m not concerned about myself, but I have Henry with me, and I don’t want him to be around when the bullets start flying because I’ll kill those bastards. They know Henry is riding with me, and it doesn’t seem to make a bit of difference.”

  Fajardo stared at Daddy, his jaw hanging open in surprise. I could tell Señor Ruiz understood very little of what was said, and neither did the women. They just sat there and surveyed the mountains while they waited for the roadside chat to end.

  Saturnino’s eyes glowed from his shaggy head as he looked at Daddy and then over his shoulder toward where they had seen the men. He said, “Señor Fountain, why don’t you drive back to Luna’s Well with us and stay the night? It’s not far. Then we can travel back to Las Cruces together in the morning. It would be my pleasure for you and Enrique to accompany me. Por favor, señor, do this thing por Barela.”

  Daddy must have sat there for four or five minutes looking at the mountains and thinking. I could see his jaw muscles working and understood he was trying to swallow the fury he felt and to think rationally. His fingers nervously tapped on the rifle stock. We all waited for his answer. I hoped he’d say no. I was tired of traveling, and I wanted to see my mama. I was thinking those men were just trying to scare him off. I hoped we’d have a chance to get them.

  Finally, Daddy said, “Muchas gracias, Saturnino. But I just can’t let them scare me off. If I back down once, I’m done for as a prosecutor in this country. I know Henry’s tired, and I am, too. We want to be sitting by the home fire tonight. If they try anything, I won’t hesitate to blow holes in all three of them, and they know it. They’ll leave us alone. Saturnino, you’re a good friend. Come by the house for a hot toddy tomorrow evening, eh?”

  Saturnino smacked his lips together in a pucker of delight, grinning broadly, and said, “Oh, sí, señor. That will be very fine. Vaya con Dios. Hasta mañana.” With that, he waved adios as he and his little group passed.

  We sat there for a minute. Daddy looked over the countryside, and I figured he was trying to think where he might have to confront those riders in front of us. He checked the rifle’s load again, pulled out the Colt, cocked it, and let the hammer back down slowly as he took a deep breath and relaxed.

  He offered me the canteen. I took a couple of big gulps and handed it back to him. He had a swallow before screwing its top back on and tossing it down by our feet where it would be easy to reach.

  He said, “Henry, if those men come after us, get down on the floor here un
der the seat, take the reins, and make those horses run while I use the guns.”

  I rubbed my hands together and asked, “Do you think there’s gonna be a lot of shooting?”

  “I hope not, but if anything happens to me, you get as far away as you can with this wagon and try to hide in the desert. When it gets dark, make your way back toward the road and hide so you can see the people that pass by. Don’t let strangers see you. If we don’t get home by tomorrow night, there’ll be a big uproar, and Albert and Jack will come running with friends and posses. You’ll get cold, tired, and thirsty if you have to hide, so take that quilt with you and the canteen. Don’t lose your courage, and you’ll be fine. Do you understand, boy?”

  I nodded, slowly beginning to understand that this was serious business. Daddy hugged me and playfully gave me a gentle punch on the shoulder. He said, “We’ll be fine. We just need to be ready for the worst, and we’ll expect the best. You can handle it. I know you can. You’ve done a lot of growing this trip, and I’m real proud of you.”

  All I managed to say was, “Yes, sir. I can take care of myself. Don’t worry about me.”

  Daddy said, “That’s my man.” Shaking the reins, he got Buck and Sergeant moving toward the cut leading to Chalk Hill. It felt like it was getting colder, although the wind had died down a little. Daddy flipped his watch open and said, “It’s nearly two thirty.” He sighed and said, “We ought to be home in time for one of your mother’s good dinners. It sure will be good to get home, won’t it?” I nodded, too cold to say much as I sat there shivering in the wind.

  CHAPTER 15

  ATTACK

  The road toward San Agustin Pass cut through a Black Mountain spur that was about a mile long. The banks on either side were about ten feet high, and when you pulled up out of the cut there was a little chalky outcropping everybody called Chalk Hill. Not far from Chalk Hill was a big green creosote bush.