Owl Dance

by David Lee Summers

  Fort McRae was quieter than the last time they were there. Two Indians had blankets with goods set out in front of the trading post. A soldier hurried through the compound on some errand. Over at the parade ground, some soldiers were organized in a diamond pattern. One threw a ball toward another who held a thin club.

  “What’s going on over there?” asked Fatemeh.

  “Looks like some of the men are playing a game of baseball,” explained Lorenzo.

  “Baseball?” Ramon’s eyebrows came together.

  “Yeah, some of the soldiers from back East have been teaching us. It’s kind of fun. If there’s time, maybe you can join us for a game.”

  Ramon nodded thoughtfully. “I’d like that.”

  Sergeant Forrest made his way around the wagon. “The major would like to see you right away.” He pointed in the direction of the commander’s office.

  Corporal Lorenzo led the way and Ramon and Fatemeh followed. A few minutes later, they found themselves standing in front of a wooden door. Lorenzo knocked and they heard a muffled “come in” from the other side.

  Stepping inside, Ramon and Fatemeh blinked in the comparative darkness of the office. Major Johnson stood up from behind his desk. “Good to see you.” He looked toward Lorenzo. “I want you and Sergeant Forrest to oversee the unloading of the supplies, then come on back. I’ll want your reports.”

  The corporal saluted, then walked out, leaving Ramon and Fatemeh alone with the major. Johnson indicated two chairs in front of his desk, then sat down.

  Ramon sat and placed his bag beside him. The chair was hardwood, but contoured and much more comfortable than sitting on crates in the back of the covered wagon. Fatemeh sat down next to him.

  “Thank you for coming,” said the major. “I wasn’t sure you would after I heard about the trouble in Socorro.”

  Ramon inclined his head. “I’m a little surprised you asked for our help.”

  Major Johnson smiled and sat back. His blue eyes seemed to twinkle in the faint light coming in through the room’s one window. “You saved this installation, Mr. Morales and I’m grateful for that. You demonstrated powers of observation that eluded my men.” The major sat forward and stroked his long, brown mustache. “It’s true I became concerned when the wanted posters were delivered, but I spoke to Sheriff Hillerman in Socorro and I got the impression there was more to the story than meets the eye. Because of that, I spoke to your cousin Eduardo in Palomas Hot Springs. He’s well respected in these parts and told me what really happened.” The major shook his head. “I haven’t had any dealings with Randolph Dalton, but I’ve known enough men like him to believe your side of the story.”

  Ramon nodded, satisfied. “So, if we help you, you think you can get my name cleared?”

  The major cleared his throat and folded his arms. “I’m working on that.”

  Fatemeh inclined her head. “Your answer doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence.”

  “It’s the most honest one I can give.”

  “So, what exactly do you want us to do?” asked Ramon.

  The major let out a breath and his shoulders relaxed. Ramon sensed relief that he was asked a question he could answer. “Most of the forts in New Mexico Territory buy their beef from L.G. Murphy and Company in Lincoln County.”

  Ramon nodded. “I know. Murphy’s a rancher and a business owner out that way. His store is the only source of feed for the whole county.”

  “The problem is a gang of rustlers has been ambushing Murphy’s men each time they try to bring the cattle over to this part of the state,” explained the major.

  Ramon leaned forward and his eyebrows came together. “That seems like Sheriff Brady’s problem.”

  The major pursed his lips and shook his head. “It’s happening in Socorro County, outside his jurisdiction. Sheriff Hillerman up in Socorro hasn’t been responsive to my requests for help. He says he can’t spare the deputies.”

  Ramon sighed, disappointed his former deputy would give such a poor excuse. When he was sheriff, he knew all too well how important it was to help out the forts in the county. They were often the only places ranchers and farmers had to trade their goods in such a sparsely populated territory. It sounded to Ramon that Hillerman had just decided he didn’t want to face the danger represented by a band of rustlers. “So, where exactly are the rustlers striking?” he asked, deciding to keep the conversation focused on the business at hand, rather than saying anything bad about his former deputy.

  The major took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “To be honest, I’m not sure. I’d like you to ride over to Lincoln with Sergeant Forrest and Corporal Lorenzo. The three of you will escort the cowboys back.”

  “I could do that.”

  “What about me?” asked Fatemeh.

  Ramon inclined his head. “This sounds like dangerous work. Cowboys and rustlers…I think it might be best if you stayed here at the fort.”

  “We’d be happy to make room for you,” offered the major helpfully.

  “Or you could stay with Eduardo and Alicia,” said Ramon.

  Fatemeh narrowed her gaze and scowled at Ramon. “Is it really any more dangerous than facing pirates at sea or someone hell-bent on destroying Fort McRae?”

  Ramon shifted uncomfortably. “I suppose not.”

  “I’m going with you, Ramon.”

  Someone knocked at the door. Major Johnson tried to suppress a smile, apparently thankful for the interruption. “Come in.” He stood.

  Forrest and Lorenzo entered and saluted. The major returned the salute and told the soldiers to stand at ease. He turned his attention back to Ramon and Fatemeh. “Take a couple of days to freshen up and visit with your cousin.” He turned to the soldiers. “You men will take that time to gather the supplies you need. You’ll accompany Mr. Morales and Miss Karimi to Lincoln, where you’ll meet with Mr. Murphy and make arrangements to come back with the cattle coming this direction.”

  “Yes, sir.” The sergeant and corporal snapped a salute.

  Ramon looked at Fatemeh. “I hope you know what you’re doing, corazón. You’d be a lot more comfortable at Eduardo and Alicia’s.”

  “Wherever you go, I go,” said Fatemeh, firmly.

  << >>

  Randolph Dalton sat in his office in Socorro, reviewing reports from the last week. He had a full complement of miners again and production was finally back at the level he wanted. It had taken longer than he expected after the dynamite shack exploded and scared off so many of his men. Of course, they had been further spooked by that Persian woman who spouted off about the Earth striking back when it’s hurt. That kind of talk was especially dangerous around the Mexicans and Indians he liked to employ for low wages. He thought she would be a simple problem to deal with.

  Dalton lay down the sheaf of papers and opened the ledger. He thumbed through the records—months of the lowest profits he had seen since coming to Socorro. Indeed, the Persian woman’s words were bad enough. They drove off workers, who went home and talked to their families. That made it difficult to recruit new miners. However, that wasn’t the worst problem.

  What really galled him was that Ramon Morales rescued her. The sheriff had questioned his power and authority. That made Dalton look bad and kept buyers away. He turned to the most recent entries of the ledger. Production levels might be up, but sales were still down.

  To make matters worse, he had Morales—had him in his grip—and yet the former sheriff had managed to get away. One loyal man was dead. Another was crippled. Morales cost him money and made him look weak. Even Sheriff Hillerman wasn’t listening to him like he once did. Dalton realized he held a page of the ledger tightly in his grasp. He let go, then did his best to smooth out the page. Once Ramon Morales was dead, everything would be fine again.

  Dalton pulled out his pocket watch. The day was almost over. He looked forward to going home and having a nice meal. He gathered his papers, stood, and took them to the filing cabinet.

  When he t
urned around, he saw the door was open. Silhouetted in the afternoon light was a thin stranger. A coachman’s hat, like an Englishman might wear, adorned the stranger’s head. “I hear you have a problem and you’re looking for the best way to solve it.”

  The voice belonged to a woman.

  Dalton laughed and looked the figure up and down. Indeed, he now noticed she wore a skirt. He stopped laughing when he realized she pointed a gun in his direction. “So, what can the likes of you do for me?”

  A gunshot shattered the air and exploded in the wall just above Dalton’s filing cabinet.

  “I don’t take kindly to being laughed at.”

  She took a step further into the office and Dalton could discern a businesslike coldness in her gaze that he saw in few men. Certainly she seemed more determined than the likes of Sheriff Ray Hillerman or even those miners he’d paid to do in Ramon Morales. Dalton’s lips turned up in a grim smile. “Perhaps we do have some business to discuss. Why don’t you have a seat and we’ll talk things over, shall we?”

  << >>

  A week later, Ramon, Fatemeh, Sergeant Forrest and Corporal Lorenzo rode into Lincoln. The town was in high country on forested land and Fatemeh was struck by certain similarities to Newhall, California. Like Newhall, there were few buildings. One of the biggest was a long two-story structure with a sign identifying it as the Lincoln County Courthouse. Another large building had a sign that simply proclaimed, “General Store.”

  The riders hitched their horses outside the store. When they entered, a young man behind the counter eyed them suspiciously. “Can I help you?” he said.

  Ramon tipped his hat. “We’re from Fort McRae. May we have a word with Mr. Murphy, please?”

  The young man frowned, then took in the sight of the two soldiers. “I’ll go get him.” He left through a door behind the counter.

  Fatemeh looked around at all the items in the store. It was an impressive selection for such a small town. The store was dominated by farming supplies, but there was a section for clothing and another for food. She took a look at some women’s dresses hanging on a rack. Lifting one of the sleeves, she caught sight of a price tag and whistled.

  Ramon stepped up beside her. “Do you like it?”

  “Not at that price. There were nicer dresses for less in Los Angeles.”

  Ramon shrugged. “Sometimes things cost a bit more in small towns like this, because of how much it takes to get it here.”

  “This much more?” She showed him the price tag.

  Ramon caught his breath. “I see what you mean.”

  A throat cleared behind them. They turned around and saw a thin man with a goatee and slicked-back hair. “My name is Lawrence Murphy. I understand you were looking for me.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Ramon. “Major Johnson at Fort McRae sent us.”

  “Come to my office.” Murphy led Ramon and Fatemeh toward the same door the clerk had exited through. On their way, Ramon caught Forrest’s and Lorenzo’s attention and signaled that they should follow. A moment later, they all found themselves in a lavish office that rivaled anything Fatemeh had ever seen. It was certainly nicer than Major Johnson’s office, featuring fine brass lamps and a marble fireplace. Looking toward the floor, her eyes went wide as she recognized a Persian rug.

  Ramon and Fatemeh took seats across from Murphy, while the soldiers sat on a couch at the back of the room. Murphy sat in a high-backed leather chair behind an ornately carved oak desk. “I presume Major Johnson has told you all about the problems we’ve had with rustlers.”

  “That’s why I’m here,” said Ramon. “I’m…familiar with the area, as are these gentlemen.” He indicated the soldiers at the back of the room. “The major would like us to ride with your men and see what we can do to assure the cattle get to the fort.”

  Murphy frowned. “And the lady?”

  Fatemeh opened her mouth as though to speak, but Ramon cut her off. “The lady cooks for us. She’s also a curandera.” When Murphy looked perplexed at the word, Ramon explained further. “She’s a healer—a doctor. If there’s gunplay, she can help.”

  Murphy nodded thoughtfully. “I’d heard there were some women doctors. Didn’t hear about no Mexican women doctors.”

  “I’m not Mexican,” said Fatemeh before Ramon could interrupt. “I’m Persian—like the rug you walk on.”

  Murphy scowled, but before he said anything, Forrest raised his hand. “Sir, perhaps you can show us where most of the attacks occur.”

  The storeowner nodded. He opened a drawer in his desk and brought a map out. He laid it across the top of the desk. The two soldiers stood and approached. Murphy pointed to a pass between mountain ranges labeled Sierra Sacramentos and Sierra Oscuras. “My men usually camp at the outlet of the pass, before crossing into the Valley of Fire.”

  “The Valley of Fire?” asked Fatemeh wide-eyed. She pictured a literal, flaming valley.

  “It’s a valley of jagged red and black rock,” explained Ramon. “Very treacherous country.”

  “They say one of the mountains in the area used to be a volcano,” continued Lorenzo. “The red rock is lava that hardened.”

  “I’m surprised you bring the cattle through there,” said Fatemeh. “Isn’t there an easier way?”

  “Not without going over a hundred miles out of our way.” Apparently Murphy was unfazed Fatemeh asked the question. “We’ve looked at other routes, but we’d be just as vulnerable to rustlers—or Indians—going another route.”

  “When will you send the next shipment?” asked Forrest.

  Murphy picked up the map and began rolling it up. “Now that you’re here, I can get the men to round up some cattle and send them along any time. Give me a day to get everything arranged.”

  “Two mornings from now, then?” asked Ramon.

  “I’ll have the boarding house put you up until then. Don’t worry about the price,” said Murphy. “I’ll pick up the tab.”

  “That’s mighty kind of you,” said Ramon.

  Fatemeh looked around the office one more time. She admired the leather-bound books and two golden goblets on the mantle of the fireplace. If anyone can afford it, it’s L.G. Murphy, she thought.

  << >>

  As Billy McCarty rode through Lincoln, he caught sight of four people leaving Lawrence Murphy’s general store. He thought he recognized the woman as Fatemeh Karimi, the woman who had once helped him with a sprained ankle and who he in turn helped by rescuing her boyfriend. He wondered if the short, tough-looking guy with owl-like glasses could be the boyfriend. He hadn’t looked so tough when they pulled him broken and bleeding from a mine near Socorro.

  He might have ridden over and said something, but the sight of two soldiers stopped him from getting too close. If there were soldiers at Murphy’s, that could only mean one thing. They were likely to try taking some more cattle to one of the forts soon. Billy lowered his hat and rode on.

  A short time later, he came to a shack that sat on John Tunstall’s land. He climbed off his horse and led it to a water trough. Then he gathered some tin cans from the shack’s porch and carried them over to a nearby fence where he lined them up. As he stepped away from the fence, three shots rang out. Looking around, he saw that the cans were all down.

  Looking up again, he saw a woman on horseback with her gun drawn. She smiled at Billy, then holstered her six-gun. She tipped her strange flat-topped hat. “I hear there are some strangers of interest here in Lincoln County. What can you tell me about them?”

  << >>

  Fatemeh rather enjoyed the first part of the ride from Lincoln toward the pass between the Sierra Sacramentos and the Sierra Oscuras. The smell of pine pervaded the fresh air. Four cowboys and two dogs accompanied the twenty-five head of cattle L.G. Murphy sent toward Fort McRae. Not all of the cattle would be left at the fort near Palomas Hot Springs. If they made it that far, some of the cattle would be herded up river to Fort Craig.

  Fatemeh sensed the cowboys felt awkward around h
er. They were used to going on these kinds of rides without any women along. However, it seemed to help she was “attached” to Ramon. The cowboys were all respectful toward her, but she did catch them ribbing Ramon a few times about having his lady friend along. He not only seemed to shrug it off, but something in the way his lips turned up even when he was being teased, indicated he enjoyed it. She considered that and decided she liked that about him.

  About five miles out from Lincoln, the terrain changed. The pines thinned out and the landscape was dominated by low-lying scrub brush. Fatemeh knew that would be the case, but she sighed anyway, wishing they could spend a little more time among the trees.

  Finally, after about eighteen miles, they stopped and made camp at the summit of the pass between the Sierra Sacramentos and the Sierra Oscuras. They had been climbing and descending all day. Fatemeh wasn’t sure whether they were higher or lower than Lincoln, but from the campsite, she could look down and see the Valley of Fire spread out below them, like a dark red scar cut into the surrounding brown landscape.

  After tending to the cattle, the cowboys set up the bedrolls around a campfire. Ramon and the two soldiers lay their bedrolls near the cowboys, then Ramon came back and helped Fatemeh set up a small tent so she could have some privacy. In many ways, she would have liked to have shared in their company, but appreciated having a place to sleep without having prying eyes on her. She and Ramon cooked a simple stew for the men. Although she had been annoyed Ramon told Murphy she was a cook, she was pleased to see he shared some of the burden of his own lie.

  After dinner, the cowboy named Frank pulled out a guitar and strummed slowly. Fatemeh sat next to Ramon and held his hand, humming along with the music. The dogs, Duke and Maxmillian, trotted over and lay down by the fire. After a time, Frank stopped playing, and reached down, scratching Duke’s ear.

  “May I see the guitar?” asked Fatemeh.