Mariana's Knight

by W. Michael Farmer

Rufus nodded toward them. “Yes, sir, I been up and down ’em a time or two, and I was a-prayin’ they warn’t no Apaches waitin’ to pitch rocks on me and send me to the grandfathers via a quick trip to the bottom. Reckin I was just lucky those times. Ain’t no need to be fearful now, though.”

  “Has Yellow Boy been down it?” I asked.

  Rufus spat a brown stream toward the edge and nodded. “Yellow Boy’s rode up and down that there trail many a time. It ain’t a bad trail ’cept in the part that’s called the Eyebrow. The trick is when we start down the trail, just sit back, relax, and let yore pony find her way. She’s shore-footed. Ye’ll be fine. Don’t know nothin’ about how Elmer’ll do on a narrow windin’ trail, but I think he’s got the right temperament fer it, and he’ll follow Sally near anywhere. Ye ride down ’tween Yellow Boy and me, jest as usual.”

  All I could do was nod and swallow again. Yellow Boy and Rufus checked the cinches on the horses and Sally and the pack rig on Elmer twice. Then we mounted and followed Yellow Boy down and around the steep, convex curves off the top ridge.

  The trail we followed started in the north corner of the canyon and tracked down the southern back wall. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be, at least not until we got about halfway down the southern wall and hit a narrow squeeze between the cliff and a long drop down. This was what they called the Eyebrow. I could see why. It hung on that vertical cliff like the eyebrow on a giant. This was where the Apaches used to lure their pursuers before pushing boulders and stones down on them.

  I still remember feeling the cool morning air floating up around me from below, the calls of birds in the lush trees down in the bottom, and above us, nothing but a great empty hole with blue sky. As Rufus had instructed, I just let Midnight pick her way along, and we eased past that scary, narrow stretch. Elmer jogged along as if he had lived on that trail all his life, and, for all we knew, he might have already been up and down the Eyebrow a few times.

  Below it, the trail widened out, and the descent, while steep, was much easier. At the southwestern corner of the canyon, the trail made a sharp right turn and began tracking down the southern face cliffs.

  It took us most of the early morning to work our way down. As the trail incline became less and the trail widened, we crossed several small streams. Near the bottom of the canyon, Rufus pointed to the remains of a rock wall and said, “Frenchy Rochas built that ’bout ten or fifteen year ago.”

  As we neared the mouth of the canyon, we saw Frenchy’s small, stone house. Rufus said, “It’s only got one or two rooms, but it’s strong as a fort. It’s the reason I decided I’d build one, too. ’Spect it’ll last a while, that one will.”

  Yellow Boy stopped and surveyed the scene, looking toward one spot, then another, as if weighing the value of each. In a few minutes, he turned back up the trail we had just traveled and led us unerringly to a small spring hidden by a thicket of bushes next to the northern wall. It was within a quarter mile of Frenchy’s cabin.

  The canyon there was passable on a mount for no more than two or three hundred yards before the walls became so steep a rider had to get off and walk. A good stream of cool water ran right down the middle.

  Turning to Rufus and me, Yellow Boy said, “Safe here. Agua es bueno. We see all range toward south and riders when they come. Rest animals now, then ride to Alamogordo.”

  Rufus and I unloaded, fed, watered, and rubbed down the animals. Then we all lay back and rested. I stared at the cliffs and found it hard to believe I had ridden down them. We were not far from the mouth of the canyon. Looking south, we were still high enough to have good view back toward the Organs and White Sands, and we could see little black groups of cattle scattered here and there over the range.

  Rufus pointed toward some buildings three or four miles away and asked, “Know what those buildin’s are, Henry?”

  They were obviously part of a ranch, but whose ranch I had no idea, so I just shrugged my shoulders.

  “Well, sir, that there ranch is owned by Oliver Lee.”

  He had my attention then, and I studied the ranch house and outbuildings closely. How ironic that we were planning to kill the men he’d had murder my father within sight of his own ranch house. I hoped when he heard what we’d done, he’d know I was coming for him.

  As we rested, Rufus and Yellow Boy looked over the canyon and picked out spots that formed a triangle from which to set up a cross fire in the canyon, two places on either side of the canyon and a point farther up the canyon, all well protected by brush and boulders.

  Our strategy was to get Stone, Tally, and their riders to come up the canyon several hundred yards past Frenchy’s house. Then the shooters on either side would lay into them, while the shooter up farther would keep them from escaping that way.

  The major weakness of this plan was that it would be mighty hard to get them out, if they retreated and reached Frenchy’s house. We debated about whether one of us should get in the house, but then we decided that if any escaped, they would ride past it to try and get away. If the house was open, at least they’d run for cover there and we’d have them. We chewed on that for a while and decided it was worth the risk to leave Frenchy’s place open.

  CHAPTER 40

  FISHING IN ALAMOGORDO

  After sleeping for a couple of hours, we saddled the horses and Sally and rode through the brush across the hot flats toward Alamogordo. Once we found the dusty road running to Alamogordo from the San Agustin Pass, we made good time. Yellow Boy hung off several hundred yards to one side of us and out of sight, in case we needed him. Within a half mile of Alamogordo, he pointed toward a thicket of mesquite where he’d wait to escort us back to Dog Canyon.

  Rufus and I planned to ride into Alamogordo, visit some stores to get a few supplies, ride up and down the streets, and generally make sure anyone from Stone’s outfit knew we were there. If we were lucky, they’d follow us back to Dog Canyon. Then all we’d have to do was wait for Stone and Tally to arrive.

  Since I hadn’t been in a town for over six years, the place seemed very busy and filled with people. Rufus told me Alamogordo was a railroad town built in 1898. There were businessmen, who were providing ranchers and miners supplies; and ranchers and cowboys, who were in town for a little entertainment, or to buy, sell, or ship cattle and horses. Mexicans and a few Chinese laborers, who worked for local merchants, hurried up and down the streets or sweated in hard labor around the rail station. There were hundreds of horses, either in corrals or tied to anything that wouldn’t move. Fancy women walked up and down the streets under colorful parasols. All of the saloons and whorehouses stood over in what was called Block 50.

  I saw cottonwood saplings planted everywhere, and I couldn’t remember ever seeing so many small trees in one spot before. A train filled with passengers and cattle was just starting to roll toward El Paso and gave a long farewell whistle as it chugged passed us. Rufus laughed in good humor as he watched me take it all in.

  We rode up and down several streets in Block 50, but we saw no one we recognized. Finally Rufus said, “Henry, what’s say we tie up to that store over there and get me some chewin’ tobac? We’ll find you a cold sarsaparilla, and then we’ll sit in them chairs in the front of the store fer a while and see who we can see.” I nodded, still speechless at all I was seeing.

  Rufus motioned me to sit in a chair while he went inside. I could hear him talking and laughing with the man at the counter, as if he had known him for a long time. Then I noticed a cowboy leaning against a post under a big red sign for a gun and ranch supply store and staring hard at our side of the street. I had an uneasy feeling I recognized him, but I had no idea where I’d seen him before. I watched the riders and buggies moving up and down the street. Each time I took my eyes off them and looked back, the cowboy was still staring.

  Rufus came out and handed me a cool bottle of sarsaparilla. Before I took a swallow, I pointed with my chin and said, “That fellow has been staring at me ever since you went insi
de.”

  Rufus nodded and said, “Yeah, I kinda ’spected he would. When we rode by, I seen him watching us. I’m purdy shore that there is one of the fellers that was with Stone the first night he come up to the shack and stole Lil’ David. Finish that sarsaparilla, son, then we’ll mount up and see if we got us a fish a-trailin’ our bait.”

  The sarsaparilla was a real treat. I hadn’t had anything cool and sweet like that since the night Daddy and I had visited Doc Blazer. I took my time drinking it, and then we mounted up. The cowboy under the red sign still hadn’t moved. Rufus swung down the street toward him, and I followed. We just ambled along down the middle of the street looking in storefront windows. When we reached the cowboy, Rufus paused and stared for a few seconds. Then Rufus’s eyes got large, his jaw dropped, and he quickly turned his head and set Sally at a trot down the street. I had to kick Midnight to keep up with him. It was the finest acting job I’d ever seen. I shot a quick look back and saw the cowboy climbing into the saddle on a dun-colored mustang.

  I caught up with Rufus well outside of town, as the cowboy followed us at distance. Rufus looked over his shoulder, grinned, and said, “Looks like we found us a fish. Yes, sir, fishing here in the desert is fun, ain’t it?”

  CHAPTER 41

  CHALLENGE

  Yellow Boy confirmed that the cowboy who followed us out of Alamogordo had come all the way to the mouth of Dog Canyon then turned back toward Alamogordo, riding at a pretty good gallop. We figured Stone’s cowboys might be back that night. That didn’t happen, but we were ready and watched in shifts all night under a big moon that would let us see them coming from a couple of miles away.

  When dawn came, Rufus cooked us a little something to eat in his Dutch oven before he and Yellow Boy jawed for a while. They decided Stone still must be coming in on the ten-o’clock train from El Paso. Rufus wanted to be sure Stone and Tally came after us while we had the advantage in Dog Canyon, so we saddled up again and trotted off toward Alamogordo. Yellow Boy hid in the same big mesquite thicket outside of town to cover us when we rode back. It was close to train time when we got there, and a small group of ranchers waited on the passenger platform when we rode by. Rufus had tied Little David in the expensive saddle scabbard so it was easy to see on his saddle from Sally’s right side.

  We rode a couple of blocks up the street past the train station, then stopped and dismounted and led Sally and Midnight into an alley to wait for the train’s arrival. Rufus said, “Now, when that train comes, we’re a-gonna ride back down the street slow and easy, like we’re ridin’ to church. I’m gonna be on the side closest to the tracks ’cause I want Stone to see us. I want him to see Lil’ David tied to my saddle. He’s gonna believe right off I’s the one that put a hole through Bentene, and he’s gonna know I ain’t hidin’ out in Mexico a-peein’ in my pants ’cause I’m ’fraid of him, neither. I’m hopin’ he gits madder’n a cornered rattler when he sees us ridin’ down the street big as you please. That way, he won’t waste no time in comin’ after us. If’n that happens, we got him.” Rufus clenched his fist and shook it as if he had Stone by the collar.

  We waited about half an hour before we heard the train’s whistle moaning from the tracks back toward El Paso. Then we mounted and eased partway out of the alley so we could see down the street toward the train station. Soon the engine with a couple of passenger cars and several freight cars rumbled past the station and stopped with the passenger cars beside the platform. Rufus and I slowly rode out of the alley and down the street toward the station.

  We saw several women and children, followed by Stone, Red Tally, and a couple of well-dressed men in derby hats, stepping down from the train just as we started moseying along. The small group of ranchers and cowboys that had waited on the platform walked over and surrounded Stone and Tally. They were shaking hands, slapping backs, and laughing at jokes. I saw Tally’s eyes catch sight of Rufus and me and begin tracking us like a hawk watching a rat scramble for cover. Rufus stared right back at him. Tally gently put his hand on Stone’s shoulder and wrinkled his brow toward the street to turn his attention toward us. Stone paused in the middle of a big belly laugh, his eyes narrowing to slits when he saw Rufus and me sauntering down the street. Rufus looked toward him, nodded with a grin, and spat a big, brown stream of tobacco juice toward the train as we continued our leisurely trip out of town.

  When we were out of sight, Rufus said, “Won’t be long now, boy. Let’s git!” We rode at a fast jog back to Dog Canyon. When I looked over my shoulder from time to time, I saw no one following us, and that was a relief, even with Yellow Boy off to one side covering us. We unsaddled Sally and Midnight at our little camp behind the thicket, then tied them to bushes next to water and grass about three hundred yards up the canyon from Frenchy’s house. We took care to make sure they weren’t easy to see but still visible. Farther up the canyon, Rufus built a small fire that put out just enough smoke to smell and for someone to see if they were riding up the canyon looking for camp signs.

  CHAPTER 42

  AMBUSH

  From the canyon entrance, Yellow Boy kept watch for riders while Rufus and I set our trap. It was well into mid-afternoon when he rode up the canyon and said, “Cinco hombres, they come. They are here when shadows reach tree.” He pointed toward a scraggly apple tree that had probably been planted by Frenchy Rochas years before.

  Rufus nodded and said, “We got ’bout an hour, Henry. Onct ye’re in place, keep the barrel of Lil’ David back in the leaves so some eagle eye in the bunch don’t spot it. Ye take the first shot, and try fer Stone. I’ll try to git Tally. Yellow Boy, drop the others then shoot fer Tally, too. We gotta get him fer shore. If’n they turn back and run, shoot the horses. That’ll make ’em run for Frenchy’s cabin. They ain’t gonna git outta here alive without no horse.” He paused, turned to me, and said, “I know ye ain’t reluctant to shoot at Stone. Can ye shoot horses, too, Henry?”

  My heart was pounding, and my mouth felt like I’d had no water in days when I said, “Yes, sir. I can.”

  Rufus squeezed my shoulder and smiled. Looking me square in the eye, he said, “Don’t be shy ’bout shootin’ the sons of bitches. They earned ever’ round we can put in ’em. An’ don’t be foolish and aim for Stone’s head. Put one in his lungs or heart, an’ it’ll all be over fer him. Now git up there and drop Stone like I taught ya. Today’s payback. Good luck, fellers.” I nodded without a word and took off.

  Yellow Boy started his pony up the canyon. Rufus and I walked back to the thicket. I pulled Little David out of the scabbard and picked up a saddlebag heavy with cartridges. Rufus loaded his Winchester and put an extra box of cartridges in his grimy old vest pocket and handed me a canteen.

  My spot on the south side of the canyon was about ten feet above and a hundred yards from where we hoped to catch Stone and Tally in a crossfire. Some piñons stood right in front of two big rocks that lay side-by-side, forming a nice notch in which to steady the rifle while sitting down behind them in cover. I opened a box of cartridges. Although I’d looked forward to this chance, I was so nervous I wanted to vomit, but the velvet smoothness of the stock, the smell of gun oil, and the feel of that first .45-70 brass cartridge in my hands made me steady up, and my nervousness soon vanished.

  I dropped the block on the Sharps and slid a cartridge into the breech calmly and deliberately. I tried, as Rufus had taught me, to be cool and “cakilatin’?” as I pulled the Sharps’ breech closed. As I rested the barrel forestock in the rock notch and looked along the sights, trying to imagine the sight picture on Stone, Judgment Day kept running through my mind. Sighting on the notch of a nearby piñon limb, I was able to hold the rifle steady on a sharp point. I was ready. It was a good day for justice, and if we weren’t successful, then, it was a good day to die. I pulled ten more cartridges from the box and lay them side-by-side on a little shelf protruding from the rock. I dropped the breech, reloaded, and sighted several times for practice. Then eased the rifle down and
sat back to wait.

  The water running down the middle of the canyon made the air much cooler than it was out on the desert, but it was still hot enough to bake bread. Sweat ran down the back of my neck in little rivulets. Reaching into my pocket, I felt the ivory watch fob my mother had given me, closed my eyes, and remembered the last time I had seen my father. He was lying on the ground, wheezing and gasping for his last breath, and his chest held two dark, bloody holes. Stone and Tally sat watching him die, glad to be rid of him, and patting themselves on the back for the superb job they’d done killing him. I remembered sitting in the wagon frozen in shock, not believing or fully understanding what had happened.

  I thought of how cold I’d been hiding under the tumbleweeds caught in that big mesquite bush and seeing the mass of tumbleweeds lift up as Yellow Boy found me. I remembered all the years I’d worked with that Sharps, all the rocks I’d carried for Rufus to get strong, all the miles I’d run in the desert, and all I’d learned in order to survive and be as tough and hard as any Apache boy or man.

  Lastly, I thought of my mother, and I hoped I’d be able to return to her soon. Perhaps I’d get my life back again if I tore it away from the men who had murdered my daddy and stolen my childhood.

  An hour passed, and there was still no sign of the riders. Birds were everywhere. Large flocks of canyon wrens covered the bushes, chirping. I wiped the sweat off my face with my sleeve and looked out through the notch hoping for some sign of the men we meant to kill. On the northern wall, close by Rufus’s spot, a coyote loped down a path through the bushes. His tongue was hanging out, and he stopped at the water to lap up a drink, roll in the stream, shake dry, and then lope on down the path on the other side. I sat back and had a pull from the canteen. The shadows were becoming longer and starting to fill the canyon. I wondered if Yellow Boy had misinterpreted the direction of the riders he had seen or if, perhaps, they were not connected to Stone and Tally. I thought maybe they were just some of Oliver Lee’s cowboys coming in from work.