Mariana's Knight

by W. Michael Farmer

  Yellow Boy’s eyes were shining and clear, like those of a big hunting cat, when I asked, “Did you get Tally?”

  He nodded toward a greasy-looking sack sitting by the fire and said, “Look.”

  Moving closer, I saw the sack was a bloody pair of long johns with the arms and legs tied in a knot. I knelt down beside it, untied the knot, and pulled it open. The bearded head of Red Tally stared back at me, a bullet hole through what had been his good right eye. I knew Yellow Boy had made sure Tally’s head was blind so it would stay that way in the Happy Land. I clenched my teeth to keep from gagging and stared at the head of the man who had brought me so much grief and nearly killed me. The patch over the left eye was gone, and the socket stared back at me never having known my image. The heavy, red beard seemed to engulf the rest of the face in a ball of fur smeared with dark, dried blood.

  The nausea passed. I felt grim satisfaction settle in my belly, a meal fully consumed, but leaving a bitter aftertaste. There was nothing but a great feeling of emptiness left in the middle of my chest. What Stone and Tally started so long ago was nearly finished. I still had the bullet I had promised for Oliver Lee. Now I wondered if I would ever use it. My thoughts formed an image of a naked, headless corpse lying somewhere out in the desert for the coyotes and buzzards to pick over. How ironic, I thought. The man who made my father disappear will also vanish without a trace, and here I stand holding the sack with his sorry, rotting head. Again, I thought of what Rufus had said about reaping and sowing. I retied the sack and put it where I knew it would stay in the shade because it was already starting to stink.

  Yellow Boy hadn’t moved. I sat back down beside him and whispered, “Tell me of this victory. I want to know all.”

  “First, I drink and wash. Find my cigarros, Hombrecito. I tell you while we watch day.”

  He got up, drank deeply, and bathed in the little stream by the fire. I wrapped Rufus’s body in his ground canvas and blankets and pulled him up under the ledge where it was cooler. I rummaged through our gear until I found Yellow Boy’s shirt and coat and handed them to him as he pulled the water from his hair, sliding it through his fingers. He tied off his hair with his big, red bandana, pulled on the shirt, and slipped the army jacket over his shoulders. I looked over at his rifle leaning on Elmer’s pack rack. One cartridge was missing from the tube magazine.

  Yellow Boy found his gun belt and checked the revolver’s load before buckling it on. Stuffing some rags, a straight stick, a small bottle of coal oil, and a box of cartridges in an old flour sack, he picked up the Henry and nodded toward the Sharps. “Hombrecito, bring Shoots Today Kills Tomorrow and a blanket. We climb up, clean guns, smoke, and speak of end of Tally.”

  From up on the watch point, we could see a beautiful, clear morning covering the valley. The air was cool. The sky colors over the Organs were delicate, gauzy purples, reds, oranges, and a soul-lifting turquoise that glimmered for a while to the south before it faded into a brilliant morning blue. Small groups of cattle moved through the grass, and mottled delicate, light-green mesquite thickets and rugged, pine-green creosote bushes spread below us. There were no riders anywhere in sight.

  We spread the blanket, sat shoulder-to-shoulder with our backs to a boulder, and began cleaning our weapons. I had to work to get the stain left by Stone’s blood off the Sharps’ stock. For all the abuse I’d given it killing Stone, the stock showed no cracks and no stains that couldn’t be removed with coal oil and a little frantic rubbing. Yellow Boy’s stick was just long enough to push a coal-oil-soaked patch down its long barrel. It took several cycles of soaked patches followed by clean, dry ones to clean it.

  Yellow Boy was smooth and efficient cleaning the Henry. Soon he raised the loading spring tab and twisted the loading gate at the end of the barrel. He carefully slid the cartridges he had levered out of it for cleaning back down the barrel. After the last one was in place, he pulled one cartridge out of his gun belt and let it ease down the remaining three inches left in the magazine tube. The bullet made the magazine full again. He carefully closed the gate, eased the spring tab back down on the cartridges, and laid the Henry across his knees.

  Then he reached inside his vest and produced two cigars and a box of sulfur matches. He cut off the ends to be lighted before handing one to me. He bit off the mouth plug of his and spat it away. I did the same. He lighted each one, we blew smoke to the four directions, and then we sat silently for a while in our little cloud of blue smoke as the morning began its race for midday. I trembled a little inside. I knew Yellow Boy’s smoking with me meant I’d been accepted as a man.

  “Now I speak of Tally,” Yellow Boy said.

  “Yes, please. I have to know what happened.”

  “When I run out of canyon, I see dust from Tally’s horse. He rides toward El Paso Grande del Norte. Es maybe tres o quatro long shots for Shoots Today Kills Tomorrow. He rides hard at first, and distance between us gets longer. Then he slows un poco and stops to look back. He stares long time for man riding away from death. I raise no dust. His eye didn’t find me in mesquite. He stopped too long, and I got one long shot closer. I run close to the earth. At last, he turns and rides at easy trot straight for the Rio Grande and Mexico. I run easy and steady. The earth is warm, pero the air is frio. Tally, he know he must not ride hard or horse won’t make it to the river. I gain on him.”

  I sat envying him that run as I listened. I knew Yellow Boy probably hadn’t even been breathing hard as he gained ground on Tally’s horse. Yellow Boy took a long drag on his cigar and slowly blew the blue-white smoke out in a long stream into the morning air above his head. He said, “I know he stops to give the horse water at Jacob’s Tank. I think maybe he’s foolish enough to rest there. He rides. I run. Soon the night comes. The moon climbs mountains and watches our race. Tally stop at Jacob’s Tank. I pass Tally and his horse and find place to watch and rest. Tally gives horse water, then he drink and wash in the tank. He hobble horse, ease saddle, sit by tank to rest as moon climbs high. I rest, watch for a while, and then run for river until moon starts to hide in far mountains. I run far around Jacob’s Tank. Tally never knows I am there. Tally rests. I run. I stop at place called Boat Rock.”

  I nodded and smiled. I knew Boat Rock was way off the beaten path. Yellow Boy took another long drag on his cigar and stared over the valley, apparently reliving those moments. I waited for him to come back to me. Finally, he said, “I stop and climb up rock to rest. My Power says I kill Tally at Boat Rock when the birds sing next day.

  “Sun comes. Birds sing. Soon Tally come, and I stand on Boat Rock. I raise my arms, sing, and ask help from grandfathers to kill enemy. Tally stops one long shot from Shoots Today Kills Tomorrow. He sits on his horse and watches me. I see him but don’t move. I sing with my arms high toward west, and I hear him laugh.”

  I could hardly believe Yellow Boy would expose himself that way, but he often surprised me in his approach to many situations. Over the years, I’d seen his morning prayers and heard his songs to the great Apache god, Ussen, many times. In a flash of lucidity I realized how important spiritual things were to him—even more important than the danger posed by Tally.

  Yellow Boy continued, “Tally say, ‘All right, you dumb red bastard, stand there, and I’ll kill your ass.’ I no move. He aims rifle and shoots one time. His bullet hits far in front of Boat Rock. I still no move. I sing, but the birds stop singing. I hold Yellow Boy rifle high.”

  I pictured Yellow Boy standing on that rock in the morning sun, and it wasn’t hard to imagine Tally’s rage at his first shot being short. I wondered if Tally had any thought he was headed for the Happy Land. I figured probably not.

  Yellow Boy said, “Tally rides forward until he is half long shot from Shoots Today Kills Tomorrow, then raises his rifle and shoots again. His bullet hits only Boat Rock and sand. I still no move, just hold Yellow Boy high. He says, ‘You damned ignorant heathen, you wanna die, don’t you? My pleasure to oblige you. You just hard to see ag
ainst the damned sun.’ ”

  I smiled, picturing the scene, anticipating the rest.

  Yellow Boy allowed himself a tiny smile as he continued, “He walks his horse toward Boat Rock slow, careful. He watches and waits for me to move. I can tell he is ready to spring, muscles shake like lion hunting deer. He moves until he is a bow shot from rock. I see Tally face, his eye, his beard, but I no move, just hold Yellow Boy high and sing to the grandfathers. He stops, lowers his rifle sight, and laughs mighty laugh. Then he raise rifle to aim. I drop to one knee and fire. My bullet hits his eye, and he fall backwards from his horse. I watch, but he no move. I climb down from rock walk over to him and say, ‘Red bastard not dumb. Red bastard lives.’ ”

  I burst out laughing at this, and Yellow Boy joined me. It was the first time I’d ever seen him laugh so hard. Then, after we’d settled down, he said, “I pull his body into the mesquite, take his clothes, his guns, his head. Then I wrap his head in clothes Rufus calls long johns and left body there for vultures and coyotes. My father taught me it’s not good to cut dead, but this time I decide to take his head so you could see it and do with as you will. Now Tally has no head in Happy Land. He walk forever with no eye, no mind, no head.”

  I nodded. The image of Tally wandering headless with no mind in the afterworld was satisfying. Once I killed Oliver Lee, my father’s death would be fully avenged.

  Yellow Boy finished his story by explaining, “When I leave, I take my tracks away and ride Tally’s horse to resting place in mesquite until moon comes. Then I ride to Jacob’s Tank and drink and rest before I come here.”

  We sat and smoked until the cigars were gone. Then Yellow Boy touched my shoulder and said, “Rest now, Hombrecito. I watch. You watch when sun is there.” He pointed toward the mid-afternoon sky. Suddenly, I was very weary. I stretched out on the blanket and began to doze.

  CHAPTER 46

  THE COST OF HONOR

  We climbed down from our perch overlooking the basin as it got dark. I cooked us some hardtack and beans over the little fire. After we ate, I took a shovel and walked to the end of the canyon. I climbed up high to the flat spot under an overhanging shelf and buried Tally’s head so it wouldn’t get washed away and found after a thunderstorm. I shoveled dirt on top of it, packed it down, and swept the area so it looked unused. I stared at the spot for a while, prayed that the price I’d paid for that head was worth it to Daddy, wherever he was, and I thanked the grandfathers for Yellow Boy.

  We loaded the gear on Elmer and put Rufus’s body, wrapped in the canvas ground cloth, across Sally. She was skittish at first, rolling her eyes and not wanting to carry the smelly canvas-wrapped body, but after Yellow Boy settled her down, she was steady with her load the rest of the night. With the moon on the rise, rifles across our saddles, we trotted out of the canyon and made a long, flat arc south by southwest around Cox’s ranch, up over Baylor Pass, and down the other side. We stopped to rest the animals a couple of times before we cleared the pass and again near the back side of Van Patten’s ranch. A good hour before dawn, we rode up the trail to Rufus’s shack. It had been a hard ride and a hard return with only Rufus’s body there with us.

  We left Elmer and Sally loaded, and the horses saddled, while we watered and fed them at the corral. I didn’t want Buck to look in on the place and find a couple of strangers there with Rufus’s body. There was no telling what he might think or tell the sheriff. As the sun began to brighten the eastern sky, we led the animals up the trail toward the back of the canyon as the cattle stared at us.

  We off-loaded Elmer at the storage cave. I was wondering what Yellow Boy had in mind for Rufus’s body when he led Sally farther up the canyon. After about three hundred yards, he stopped at a pile of rocks against the canyon wall and motioned for me to help him as he picked up the stones, one by one, and put them to one side. Soon the rectangular mouth of a small cave appeared. It was about waist high and three or four feet wide.

  Yellow Boy nodded toward it. “One time Rufus dug new mine. He found no gold and no silver, so he stopped digging when mine not far into cliff. He say work too hard for no money.”

  When we finished moving the stones, I knelt down and looked inside. It wasn’t more than ten or twelve feet deep. It was a perfect burial vault for our friend.

  Gently we took his body off Sally. Yellow Boy passed me a canteen of water, and I washed Rufus as best I could, crossed his arms, and wiped the dust off his glasses. I backed into the shaft, pulling the body on the ground cloth all the way to the back. By the time I crawled out, the sun was high, and it was getting warm.

  We rubbed the animals down and hobbled them so they could graze around the canyon while we washed, ate, and rested. Lying down in the shade of a big boulder on the south wall of the canyon, we slept through the heat of the day. I was physically exhausted and emotionally drained, and my sleep was deep and dreamless.

  When I awoke, Yellow Boy was up and had built a small fire near the mouth of the mine. He sat cross-legged near it, facing toward the sun in an attitude of meditation, his lips moving in a wordless chant.

  I washed the sleep from my face and walked about collecting a few wildflowers. I brought these back and left them floating in a bucket of water. Then I walked down to the shack. It was lonely, unkempt, and deserted. When I stepped on the porch, the boards creaked as I walked across them and opened the door. Sunlight streamed through the broken windows, highlighting dust motes slowly drifting in the warm, stifling air. A smell of old smoke, the residue of cooking on the iron stove over many years, seeped from the dry, cracking, wooden walls.

  A thin blanket of dust covered everything. Memories of happy times, struggles to learn, stories of battles fought and won, treks made, and thoughts about what the writers stacked in the corner had said flew at me from everywhere. I stepped to Rufus’s old cot and his little bedside table and found his Bible. I’d seen him read it often. He hadn’t carried it with him on our trip because he’d thought it was hypocritical to have it in his pocket after he had decided he was going to kill someone. However, I knew he’d thought that it was all right to read it after he’d done his crime and made penance. I blew the dust off the old book, looked around the room once more, felt a shudder of grief, and closed the door.

  As I walked back up the canyon, the sun was beginning to slide behind the Floridas, turning the long, streaking clouds a brilliant red and orange. Yellow Boy still sat in quiet contemplation, the little fire burning some pungent-smelling sage he had found. The air was very still, and the smoke rose in an arrow-straight plume, slowly disappearing into the darkening sky. I carried the bucket of wildflowers into the mine and lay them carefully near Rufus’s canvas-wrapped body.

  Then I went outside and found his rifle with my gear. I was carrying it to the mine to leave with the body when Yellow Boy raised his hand for me to stop.

  “Why you do this, Hombrecito?” he asked. “He does not want weapon on other side. He wants you to live long time. You keep it, and use it to stay alive.”

  What Yellow Boy said made sense, so I deferred to his judgment and kept the rifle. I asked him if it was appropriate to read some scripture over Rufus. Since Yellow Boy had been a scout for the army in his younger days and understood what the white eyes did with their dead, he lowered his gaze and said, “Sí, book has wise words and sings good songs. Read words. Read while you can still see its tracks.”

  The dark shadows of the dying day were creeping up the canyon toward us, and the perfume from the flowers in the mine floated out to us as I stepped to the opening with the Bible, faced the setting sun, and turned to the third chapter of Ecclesiastes. Yellow Boy came and stood beside me, tall and straight, with his rifle in the crook of his arm as I began reading:

  To everything there is a season,

  and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

  a time to be born, and a time to die;

  a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

  a time to kil
l, and a time to heal;

  a time to break down, and a time to build up;

  a time to weep and a time to laugh;

  a time to mourn, and a time to dance;

  a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together;

  a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing;

  a time to get, and a time to lose;

  a time to keep, and a time to cast away;

  a time to rend, and a time to sew;

  a time to keep silence, and a time to speak;

  a time to love, and a time to hate;

  a time of war, and a time of peace.

  Yellow Boy sprinkled some golden pollen on the canvas with the flowers. Then he made a complete circle about the fire, stopping to face each of the four directions and say something in Apache I didn’t fully understand, but I caught a few words, including power and grandfathers. I stood by, respectful of what he did, as he had respected me and the words I used.

  When he finished, he said, “Now, Hombrecito, we close this place that holds Rufus’s bones.” He picked up a stone and put it in the entranceway. I picked up one and placed it beside his. We worked into the night. The last stone was in place as the shadows from the moon came.

  When we finished, he took four stones the same size and put them together in a square in front of the pile of stones covering the entrance. Each corner of the square pointed in a cardinal direction. Then he sprinkled golden pollen in their center. He stood up, facing the west. Putting his fist over his heart he said, “Adios, mi amigo bueno. Ride with the sun.”

  He turned to me and said, “Now we eat and smoke. I sweep the tracks away from here. No one knows where Rufus Pike rests. Only me, only you. Go. Fix our food.”