by P McCormac
‘Have you stuck the hog, fellas?’ he asked.
‘Hog?’ Eulitereo queried, looked puzzled.
‘You don’t light a fire without a hog to roast.’
The man snorted several times in imitation of the animal he had mentioned. The vaqueros stared curiously at the newcomer. He had leafy sprigs tucked into various parts of his clothing. They looked like cottonwood leaves. The skin of his face was stretched like rawhide and deeply etched with age lines. The man climbed stiffly from his horse and squatted by the fire.
‘I had daughters once that served me coffee,’ he said, and looked slyly at Eulitereo. ‘Do you have daughters?’
Eulitereo shook his head. ‘No, señor, I have two fine sons.’
‘Very wise. Very wise.’
The man nodded his head then looked around as if to make sure no one was close enough to overhear his next remark.
‘My advice to you is to drown daughters at birth. Otherwise they’ll grow up with sharp nails and pointed teeth.’
The old man stared pensively into the fire and then softly began to sing again. Seeing the man was distracted, Eulitereo poured coffee and handed him the mug.
‘You have lost your daughters, señor?’
The stranger took the proffered mug and stared vacantly into the distance. Not answering Eulitereo’s question, he continued his soft chanting once more.
‘I think he’s mad,’ whispered Felipe.
‘I don’t suppose you have squirrel?’ the old man said suddenly. ‘I do have a hankering after roasted squirrel. Mind you, take only the young ’uns. The old ’uns are tough. Their daughters make them like that.’
The vaqueros were looking fearfully at the stranger. To their superstitious minds, madness was associated with satanic possession. Some were marking the cross on their torso while others were making the protective sign against the evil eye. Eulitereo reached across and gently urged the man to drink the coffee.
‘Are you hungry?’ he asked. ‘What is your name?’
For answer the stranger took a twig from his pocket and began scratching in the earth.
‘My name is writ in dust. The wind will blow and I will vanish along with my name. I have no sons, you see. My wife gave birth to vixens. They lashed me with their sharp tongues and tossed me out into the storm.’ He looked shrewdly at Eulitereo. ‘Did you ever think why God did not have daughters? He only had a son, you see. God is all wise. He knew about daughters – Jezebels and Magdalenas.’ Suddenly he frowned. ‘Herod had a daughter. She couldn’t get a boar’s head so she had John the Baptist’s head instead.’
The old man nodded pensively. His listeners were spellbound, listening to his foolish talk.
‘I’ve ate muskrat. Bit like chicken that was. You sure you got no squirrel?’
Eulitereo shook his head. ‘No squirrel, old man. We got beans and tortillas. You’re welcome to that.’ He nodded to the cook. ‘Give him a helping of beans, Juan. Then make ready to move out.’ He stood up. ‘OK, fellas, siesta over. Time to do some work.’
As the men bustled about packing away the camp, Felipe pointed to the old man, still seated by the fire, taking no notice of the activity around him. The plate of food was held limply in his hand. He was making no attempt to eat.
‘What about him? We can’t leave him like this. Perhaps the madness is only temporary. Will we take him with us? If we leave him I don’t think he will survive.’
‘You’re right, Felipe. Get one of the vaqueros to tie a lead rope to his horse. Mebby we’ll meet someone who knows who he is.’
When the herd set out again one of the vaqueros led the madman’s horse. The strange, foolish old man seemed quite content to be guided along. And he never tired of singing his song of fools and daughters, repeating the same verse over and over.
CHAPTER 18
‘You got a gun, Preacher?’
Alward looked back at his father with a frown on his face. He was leading the blind man’s horse and had been lost in contemplation. Ever since his father had told him of Monday’s role in putting out his eyes, he had been agonizing over the happenings of the last few days.
‘Guns are the instruments of Satan,’ he said. ‘The devil invented gunpowder for Cain to murder his brother. All men who bear guns are children of Cain.’
In truth Alward was weary of the deception but he was not sure how to bring it to an end. He worried his father might still harbour ill-will against him and was working on some way of revealing his identity without too much trauma for the blind man. After all that had happened to his pa, Alward could sense he was teetering on the verge of a breakdown.
The treachery of two sons and the vicious blinding were brutal blows. Also, from being an independent businessman to a blind beggar was one hell of a fall. Alward wasn’t sure how the old man was coping with his drastic change of fortune.
‘I take it that’s a no,’ Gallagher said dourly. ‘What if we’re attacked by bandits or Apache?’
‘The Lord is my guide and protector, blind one. Do not fear to put your trust in the Lord. Faith is my shield and trust is my spear.’
The truth was that Alward did not have any weapons. When he had fled from California Crossing he had ridden out without even a shirt on his back, so insistent had been his brother Monday’s urging. All he had, if it could be called a weapon, was the cutthroat razor he had been about to use when he was interrupted in his ablutions. Alward had stuffed it in his pocket before clambering on Monday’s horse and fleeing the vengeful Mexicans. Anxious to find out his father’s feelings towards himself, he began to quiz him.
‘Can you find forgiveness in your heart for your sons?’
‘Humph!’ the old man snorted. ‘You tell me, Preacher. I took Monday into my confidence about Catlin and her man. Told him I had sent word to her and was hoping to find O’Leary and send him on to her. He spilled all that out to Rachel and Cornwell. Then he busted my head with the shotgun. When Rachel burned my eyes he made no move to help me. You tell me, Preacher – should I forgive him?
‘Now I’m riding round the country with a dumb-ass, holy peculiar and you think I should forgive my bastard son and thank him for his betrayal? I ain’t that kinda man. I tell you this – if I could find someone as would put a bullet in Monday’s brain and then finish me off, I’d gladly give him everything I owned. My own son. . . .’
At that point Gallagher’s voice trailed off.
‘You mentioned you had two sons,’ Alward remarked as casually as he could. ‘Was he as bad as this here Monday fella?’
‘Huh, Alward? I bin thinking about Alward since all this happened. It was Monday as found Alward’s knife in the alley and planted it in my mind it was him as was gunning for me. Then Alward runs and Monday is found rolling about in the alley with a knife cut. Said as Alward had cut him and stole his horse.’
‘He cut his own brother!’ Alward exclaimed.
The pieces were beginning to come together for the youngster. The extent of Monday’s perfidy was stunning. Monday with a set of cunning devices had succeeded in exiling his father and brother. In a well-planned coup he had dispossessed the Gallagher family. Unless Alward was mistaken, Monday was now in charge of all the Gallagher assets in California Crossing.
‘The bastard, bastard by name and bastard by nature,’ he cursed with some feeling.
‘What’s that, Preacher? You see something ahead?’
‘No, no, I was just praying for your bastard son, is all.’
‘Pray he gets leprosy. I curse the day I whelped him. Through him I lost my son and my eyes and my living. And now tell me again, Preacher, as I should forgive him.’
Father and son lapsed into silence then, each lost in his own bitter reflections until they were hailed unexpectedly by a rider coming up on them.
‘Hello there, fellow travellers.’
Alward was jerked out of his ruminations. He looked around to see a horseman coming up behind them. Horse and rider were covered in trail dust, evidence
of hard riding. Alward reined in and waited while the man caught up with them.
‘This sure is a lonely trail, fellas. You’re the first travellers I’ve come across since I started out this morning. I’m kinda lost. Wonder if you can point me in the direction of Matador Chimney? I think this north-westerly trail is the right one but I would feel more comfortable if you fellas could confirm the location.’
By now the man was alongside them and was looking askance at Alward’s unkempt appearance.
‘We follow the Lord’s path, my friend,’ Alward told him. ‘I do believe this road will lead at length to Matador Chimney. If you care to accompany us we are not averse to company.’
‘No, thanks, fella.’ The man looked Alward up and down with evident distaste. ‘I’m particular who I travel with. Can’t abide saddle bums, for sure. You smell like you crawled outta a coyote’s asshole.’
‘My friend,’ Alward replied, trying to curb his anger at the man’s contemptuous tone, ‘I have been washed in the waters of Babylon. Though my outer raiment is of the grime of this earth, my soul shines with the holy light of the Lord. Bide a while and pray with us.’
‘Shove your prayers up your filthy ass. I hate all preachers and the like. If I weren’t in such a hurry I’d stop and give you a thrashing, blasted god-botherer! In fact I’ve a mind to put a bullet in your head just for the hell of it—’
‘Hang on there, stranger,’ Gallagher interrupted. ‘That ain’t no way to talk to a man of God. He ain’t done nothing to harm you. Ride on your way and leave the poor preacher fella alone.’
The man wheeled his mount about so he faced towards the blindfolded man. Suddenly he went still. A slow smile stretched across his pudgy face.
‘Well, well, well. By all that’s holy. Look what we got here.’ He swivelled his head back towards Alward. ‘Maybe there is a god after all. He sure as hell’s done me a favour today.’
Alward watched the man carefully. He had no idea what he had in mind but he was obviously a bully. Finding a preacher and a helpless, blind man alone on the trail had sparked off some cruel streak in that mean breast.
‘Pass on, friend, I will pray for you. The Lord does not abandon sinners. You will find forgiveness. . . .’
But the man ignored him and was dismounting. He walked over to Gallagher’s mount and took the reins in his hand.
‘Of all the people in all this godforsaken country I should meet, it would be you, the traitor Gallagher. This is my lucky day indeed.’
‘You know me, friend. How come you know me?’
The man’s smile grew broader.
‘I was there when Rachel put out your eyes. She let you go but the half-breed told her it was a mistake so she ordered you killed. Even put a price on your miserable old head.’
He drew a Bowie from its sheath. It looked long and deadly in his chubby hand.
‘I guess I’ll take your scalp back as proof I killed you.’ Suddenly the big man laughed out loud. ‘Learned to scalp from an old buffler hunter.’ He turned back to Alward with a twisted grin. ‘You watch this, Preacher. Scalping’s an art. The scalp has to be peeled – you don’t cut it off. Similar to skinning a rabbit.’
‘Leave him be, friend. Pass on your way. We want no trouble.’
Alward spoke in his normal tone. Gone was the preachy tone of the madman he had used since taking charge of his blind father.
‘Get down off that horse, Gallagher. This is gonna hurt a mite but then you’ll be dead and all your troubles will be over.’
‘Willingly, friend, willingly. I offer my neck to the knife. Do what you like with me. I have no wish to live. Along with my eyes I have lost everything I ever held dear.’
Gallagher slid down from his horse and stood submissively awaiting his fate. The stranger knocked the old man’s hat from his head. Gallagher’s grey locks looked dank and pathetic on his sweaty head. He bowed towards the stranger as if inviting the stroke of the knife. The man with the Bowie reached out and gripped him by the ear.
‘Stop that!’ Alward shouted, climbing down from his horse. He approached the two men. ‘This has gone far enough. Get on your way, stranger.’
The man leered at Alward.
‘Preacher, I ain’t got no quarrel with you. Just you stop there and watch a professional bounty hunter at work. Always bring back a trophy. A scalp is a kinda decoration as a man can show off to let people know he’s got balls. When the O’Leary women find out it was me, Nolan Lovell as killed Gallagher, I’ll rise in the ranks. Maybe even get into Gertrude’s bed.’ His laugh was slightly hysterical. ‘Now, wouldn’t that be something.’
Alward snatched at the man’s sleeve.
‘No. Leave him be!’ he yelled.
Lovell swung the Bowie and slashed it across Alward’s chest. The youngster jerked back as the blade bit into the sacking he wore as part of his disguise. The thick material prevented the blade from doing any damage.
‘Goddamn you, Preacher, you’re dead.’
Lovell let go of Gallagher and turned his attention to Alward.
‘Preacher, it’s all right. Let him do his work,’ Gallagher called out. ‘It will be a mercy for me to die. I have nothing to live for. There’s gold in my saddle bags. Take it and build yourself a church. Put my name on the floor of the entrance hall so that people can trample it underfoot as they go in and out. You can write, in memory of Gallagher, a blind old fool.’
Alward was backing away from the knife. At the mention of gold his attacker paused. His brutal face twisted into an avaricious grin.
‘Gold. Who could have foretold such good fortune for Nolan Lovell when he set out from Barren Drum this morning? I will have Gallagher’s gold as well as the reward for killing him. Now Preacher, are you gonna run or have I gotta stick this Bowie in your worthless guts? I’d as soon kill you as well as this old blind coot.’
While the man was talking, Alward pulled the sacking from his shoulders. As he backed away, he wrapped the material around his forearm. Lovell laughed in scorn.
‘You think that’ll save you, Preacher. Look, I’m doing you a favour. I would be sending you to your maker. You’d think a godly fella like yourself would be grateful.’
Lovell suddenly lunged forward. Alward leapt to one side. He was hoping to get around behind his horse. But the beast shied away, leaving him still exposed. The knifeman laughed.
‘I ain’t never stuck a preacher afore. Maybe you want to sing a hymn or something. My old pappy got religion. Used to beat me every day with a fence rail. Said as he was beating the devil out of me.
‘He would recite psalms as he raised the lumps. Let me see now. What psalm shall we have for you, Preacher? You got any requests? I know most of them. My pappy insisted I learn them off by heart so as I could recite them with him as he beat the living daylights out of me.’
As he talked the fat man was stalking Alward. They were circling warily. Lovell was confident. He was not expecting any resistance from a preacher and a blind man. He would stick the preacher, scalp Gallagher and take the gold he had in the saddle-bags.
CHAPTER 19
The horses breasted the brow of the hill and milled around, unsure which direction to go. Smelling the sweet grass and water, they poured down the hill in a dark tide. The Mexican drovers hemmed them in on both sides and kept the leaders from bolting.
In the distance could be seen the low buildings of the ranch. Eulitereo urged his mount into a gallop past the outside of the herd. He waved to Felipe to let him know he was riding on to the ranch.
‘Keep ’em tight,’ he yelled but doubted if his second in command heard him.
It did not matter. Felipe was an experienced vaquero and Eulitereo knew he could count on him to keep the herd under control. As he rode towards the ranch he noticed a small group of horsemen advancing towards him. Eulitereo kept on going, wondering if this was a welcoming committee come to help bring in the herd.
The group of riders and the lone horseman met about midway between
the herd and the ranch. They pulled up when Eulitereo raised his hand in greeting. The riders milled around as he approached. He was surprised to see they were all heavily armed with side arms and carbines.
‘Eulitereo Cardinalle,’ he called out. ‘I’ve brought the horses that were ordered. I’m looking for Frank Carter.’
A young woman nudged her horse towards him.
‘Señor Cardinalle, I am Catlin O’Leary. Frank isn’t here at the moment.’
Eulitereo studied her. He saw a handsome young woman gazing at him with serious brown eyes. He swept his sombrero from his head.
‘Greetings, señorita, it is a pleasure to meet you. Where can I hold the herd while I wait for Señor Carter?’
She turned to one of her riders.
‘Tim, you go with Señor Cardinalle’s men,’ she told him. ‘Take them down by the creek. They can water the horses and then let them graze on the north pasture.’
The rider cut away from the group and rode towards the herd. Catlin turned back to the Mexican.
‘You have caught us at a bad time, señor. If you and your men would make yourselves at home, we will be back shortly.’ She hesitated a moment before continuing. ‘I am sorry, Señor Cardinalle, you have come a long way. You do need an explanation. My father is missing. Frank has gone out to look for him. Since then I have had more serious news. Some people are hunting him. It is too complicated to explain it all to you now. Will you be patient and wait for us?’
Eulitereo shrugged. ‘I am sorry for your trouble, señorita. I understand you must help your father. We will camp by the creek and await your return.’
As he finished speaking someone hailed him. He turned to see one of his riders approaching. It was the vaquero assigned to look after the madman. Eulitereo waved the rider forward. He was trailing the lead rope. The madman was slumped in his saddle, his face obscured by his hat. Eulitereo turned back to the woman.
‘We found this poor fella wandering alone out there. He. . . .’ Eulitereo hesitated and touched his finger to his forehead. ‘He is not quite right in the head. For his own safety we brought him along. I did not know what else to do. I could not leave him.’
