"I'm still not happy with our interpretation of that scene," Zack said, his thoughts dragging him back.
"Me either, White Man. I got to ask myself why those boys separated the way they did."
"You suppose they were searching for something? That patch of level ground is not like the surrounding terrain, almost as if it was made that way for a purpose." He slipped the Jeep into low 4-wheel drive, the engine roared, and they started off after Tav's vehicle.
Eagle Feather stared ahead, musing. "This area must get storms, maybe occasional high winds and rain. The terrain everywhere else is shaped by the weather into shallow arroyos and mounds. Like you say, there's nothing flat and level anywhere else, just there."
"Maybe there was a platform there once? Or a building?"
Eagle Feather shook his head. "Even so, the wind would have cut furrows in it by now."
"Maybe, maybe not. It's protected by the configuration of the land to the west, shielding it from the wind."
Eagle Feather shrugged.
The caravan drove east along the Mojave Trail on packed sand. Small dunes fingered in from one side or the other. The sun shimmered on white salt beds nearby. Blackbush and sage edging the road had coats of dust. Several miles along, the road bent right, traveled south for a time. When it swung east again, Tav turned off onto a narrow, rutted passage tightly bordered by creosote brush. He pulled in a couple of car lengths to leave room for Zack, climbed out, and walked back to the Jeep.
"Step out a minute. I'll show you the lay of the land."
Zack and Eagle Feather joined him in front of the Jeep. They looked south across a flat valley to rising hills.
"Where's Susan?" Zack asked.
Tav grinned. "She's loving the AC. I gave her the tour as we drove along anyway. She's got her head buried in a map right now."
"Are we headed toward those mountains?" Eagle Feather gestured toward the purple peaks piled up in front of them."
Tav nodded. "Those are the Woods Mountains to the right, and Hackberry Mountain is that tall one to the left. Our road will take us to Watson Wash at the base of Hackberry, then left along its flank. At this time of year I'd expect the sheep camp to be somewhere near Hackberry Spring, up on the mountain's shoulder. We'll need to watch for any sign of sheep as we go along."
Tav grimaced. "If they had sheep dogs, they'll find us first; they'll be hungry by now."
The caravan moved on. The road was no longer gentle; hidden gullies and shifting sand kept Zack busy, bumps often lifted their heads toward the canvas roof. When they reached Watson Wash forty-five minutes later, their muscles were sore from hanging on.
The road, such as it was, turned left and the SUV slowed to a crawl. Eagle Feather leaned out and scanned the mountain slopes as they rode. Bright deposits of gypsum far up the mountain shoulder fooled them more than once, appearing as sheep-like dots. The rounded summits were mostly bare, pinyon and juniper filled the upper washes and patched the slopes lower down, scrub filled in toward the flats.
"It'll be hard to spot them through all that vegetation." Zack's face was close to the steering wheel, peering out and up. But when they did find the sheep, there was no mistaking them. They covered the hillside like white dots on dominoes.
Ahead, the SUV turned off the rough track into a sandy wash, climbed it until the wheels spun. Zack pulled up behind. Everyone climbed out. Blue ran circles around the vehicles, expending his pent up energy.
"We walk from here," Tav said, and started up the deep sand.
All four were in good physical shape, but it wasn't long before they were gasping.
"How high are we here?" Susan asked, when they stopped to grab a breath.
"No more than 3500 feet or so, it's a bit over 5000 feet at the summit," Tav said. "It's not high, but steep. There's a psychological effect here in the high desert. You don't expect it to be as high as it actually is."
They left Big Blue off lead. The dog disdained rest and disappeared beyond the head of the wash through a clump of sagebrush.
"If they had sheep dogs, Blue will find them for us," Eagle Feather said.
He was right. Ten minutes later Blue's baying voice floated down to them.
"That's what Blue says when he's found something," Zack said.
Near the head of the wash they heard thrashing in the brush and Blue bounded out accompanied by two Shetland sheepdogs. They looked like miniature Collies to Zack, sable and white, one a smaller version of the other. At the sight of the four humans, both dogs sat still and eyed them cautiously yet expectantly. Their fur was matted with dirt and coated with seeds, and their ribs showed.
"Oh, you poor little things," Susan said. "You've had no one to care for you." She started toward them, but as she neared they moved a few steps away, looked back at her. "Oh, they're afraid."
"Maybe they want us to follow them," Zack suggested.
"It seems funny to see Shelties out here. You associate them with Scotland, places like that." Susan stood hands on hips, admiring them.
"If you're a shepherd, these are the dogs you want," Tav said.
They advanced; the dogs retreated in front of them through the brush. They broke free onto a slope of grass-like vegetation, Indian rice grass according to Tav, with boulders scattered about. All around them were the sheep.
Susan studied the black and white mottled creatures spread across the slope. "What kind of sheep are these?"
"Painted Desert Sheep," Tav said. "These sheep are a rare breed, particularly adaptable to the desert. They're hardy, able to withstand the extremes of heat and cold."
Zack glanced at Tav. "How is it you know so much about sheep?"
"Used to be a lot of sheep over in Fairfield Valley. Your average woollies had a hard time of it but these guys did fine. They're a double-coated breed and cast their wool in the spring, in nice big clumps. They've got this layer of hair underneath, rather than wool, so's they survive the heat well. Then, in the fall they grow back that thick wool coat. On top of that, they lamb twice a year, so your herd grows real quick. Didn't take the other sheep owners long to see the advantages and switch over."
"That one looks like a mountain sheep." Susan pointed to a large ram with curled horns eyeing them from a boulder.
"That's one of the Painted Desert Rams. They can grow to two hundred pounds and almost three feet at the shoulders."
"There must be a lot of money tied up in this herd," Zack said.
"No doubt."
Eagle Feather inspected the slope. He pointed to an arroyo that divided it. "I would put my camp above that arroyo near those pinyon pines, if it were me."
Tav nodded. "The runoff from Hackberry Spring comes down there in the winter season."
Zack strode toward the pinyon grove, the other three fell in behind, the dogs running ahead. Sheep baaed and grunted and scampered out of the way.
At the lip of the arroyo, Zack stopped to stare, hands on hips. There was a camp there, or what was left of one. The remains of tent fabric fluttered in the breeze on a wooden platform, held there by stakes. Cans of food, shredded sleeping bags, ripped clothing, personal items were scattered all up and down the rocky sides of the arroyo.
Zack lifted a bent utensil, dropped it. "Either someone had a large fit of temper or they're looking for something important.".
CHAPTER TWELVE
Col's bottom and inner thighs were afire before the first hour had passed on the trail. Their path led upslope, the incline gradually increased as they neared the abruptly rising granite ridges. They rode through a continuous forest of Joshua trees, 15 to 20 feet tall. At the occasional high point, the boys looked out over a forest of green sentinels thick upon the slope all the way to the far horizon. Scattered among the Joshua trees were Mojave Mound Cactus with round, bright red flowers, and the yellow-flowering Threadleaf Groundsel. Fallen limbs lay decaying underfoot on either side of the trail, sprouting new growth of their own. The sky blinked deep blue through the trees. Somewhere a kestrel cri
ed.
"Pretty fucking awesome," Julio said over his shoulder.
"If my butt didn't hurt so much I'd agree with you."
"I told you to relax, just flow with the movement of the horse like floating on a wave."
"Hard to relax when everything hurts. Besides, I never know when Rat is going to do his thing." The boys discovered the origin of Rat's name when the horse suddenly lunged forward trying to bite Julio's mount from behind. They maintained a half-horse interval after that.
"How about we climb down and take a break?"
"Negative," Julio said. "If you dismount now, you'll stiffen up and the pain will be ten times worse. Best to keep riding."
The way steepened. They emerged from the Joshua tree forest onto a rocky slope, here and there house-sized boulders loomed. The trail swung north along the flanks of the sharp ridges, it was difficult to find on occasional rocky stretches. The horses had to negotiate loose stone that tumbled and slid underfoot.
Julio pointed ahead. "I think we're headed for that canyon up there."
Col's eyes followed Julio's finger but saw only a slice of shadow down the face of the mountain. It grew wider as they neared, at last revealed itself as a deep narrow slash between the mountain ridges. The trail worked gradually east, dropped back into Joshua tree forest for a short time, re-emerged into a wash and on into a canyon laced with Juniper and Pinyon. The canyon walls quickly grew precipitous. Tumbled logs and caches of brush here and there gave hints of the power of the water that roared through in the wet season.
After another hour of riding up the steepening canyon floor Julio stopped, swung down from the saddle. Col rode up next to him.
"There's a pool of water in the streambed at the base of those rocks. Hold the horses here while I go check it out." Julio saw the question in Col's face and grinned. "Yeah, you can get down. We all need a rest now."
Col half climbed, half fell out of the saddle. His legs were so stiff he could hardly move them. As he waited, holding both reins, he shifted his weight from foot to foot to get the blood flowing again. Everything that could ache did ache.
Julio was back. "Water's good, there's insect life on it, and I found a salamander in the mud. We'll take the horses down to drink." Julio took his reins from Col and led the way. While the horses drank, the boys sipped from their canteens and chewed on trail bars. Neither wanted to sit, instead strode about stretching their legs.
At the end of the break, when Col climbed back into the saddle, he understood why Julio had cautioned him not to dismount earlier. He thought for a while he would be physically unable to withstand the pain surging through his legs. He set his teeth and urged Rat forward. The canyon narrowed, solid rock ledge closed in and overhung them, left barely room for the trail that in places became the riverbed itself.
"This is not a good place to be if there is a thunderstorm upstream," Julio said.
"Does that ever happen in the desert?"
"From the debris in the river bed, I'd say yes."
The narrow passage hooked left, widened slightly before twisting right again. After another tight section, the canyon widened, the walls eased from vertical, and they faced a wide steep slope.
They reigned in.
"The head of the canyon," Julio said. He looked at his watch. "I'd like to make it over this pass and down the other side before nightfall."
"How far do you figure to the ranch?"
Julio shrugged. "I can't tell from this map. If darkness catches us, we'll have to find a place to camp."
Col stared up at the trail winding up the slope until it disappeared from sight high above. "We better get started, then."
The brief rest seemed to refresh both horses and men. The trail was well graded and their progress was good. At the top of the incline they faced a landscape of blackbush. Col reined in, looked behind them. A magnificent vista greeted him; the vast Joshua tree forest blanketing the entire western slope, the whiteness of the Kelso Wash, the purple rise of the Marl Mountains beyond. Far to the south, just within his view, were large sand dunes bathed in yellow by the lowering sun.
Julio put it into words. "What an incredible place."
Col nodded. "The strange part? It's all ours. I mean, there's no one else here."
"I think Uncle Roberto has sentenced us to a lonely summer."
"You regret leaving all of your girlfriends behind, no doubt."
Julio laughed, urged his horse ahead. "It's just you and me, baby."
A blanket of Goldenbush and Indian Paintbrush extended for most of a mile across the divide summit, then they were back in the pinyon forest. Darkness came quickly as they descended, the sun blocked by the mountain ridge behind them. Far below was a valley, maybe a mile wide, mountains rising on the far side.
When they stopped to rest, Julio studied his uncle's map. "If I'm reading this right, The Circle Ranch should be in that valley."
Col stared down at it.
Julio swung around in the saddle. "What do you think? Maybe another coupla miles?"
"I can't stay on this horse much longer than that."
"If we make it to the ranch tonight, you'll sleep in a bed." Julio smiled, glanced over his shoulder at the dusky sky. "I think we've just enough light to make it."
The trail still had a few surprises for them, steep sections with several layers of switchbacks. Col found riding downhill involved other muscles, adding new pain to the old. He was pretty sure he'd never walk again.
The light faded to grey, objects beyond the nearest vegetation blurred, but the trail widened and flattened. They were in a yucca scrub flatland, in the valley they had seen from above. Alkali soil reflected the disappearing light enough to aid them on their way. A fence line appeared, took form as they neared. They saw it followed a road. A gate obstructed their passage.
"Almost there, amigo."
Col knew now he would make it.
Julio dismounted to open and close the gate. Col let him. He knew once he was down, it was for good. They rode on, past dark mounded shapes of cattle barely discernible from the yucca and barrel cacti.
A pinpoint of light appeared ahead of them. Then there was another gate and the shadowy shapes of buildings, one with light in the windows. As they approached, a porch light came on. They rode into its glow. A man stepped out on the porch, then a girl.
Julio called a greeting.
"You would be Julio Castro and friend," the man said.
"I am Julio. This is Col Budster. We have come to collect the sheep."
The man smiled. "You are welcome, then. Roberto told me to expect you. Climb down––come in. My daughter Kella will see to your horses."
Even in the poor light, Col could see Kella was a beautiful girl. He was badly in need of rest, food and drink, his entire body ached, but seeing the girl almost made him forget it all.
Julio dismounted, handed the reins to Kella. "Gracias, senorita."
She smiled, moved to Col's horse and took the reins. Flustered, Col smiled at her, tried to dismount, but his stiff muscles would not respond. To his horror, his foot caught in the stirrup and he fell hard to the ground on his back. He lay there, looked up at the girl, unable to move.
She laughed, her teeth white against the shadows. "You have had a long ride, poor man. Let me help you." She extended a hand.
Embarrassed, Col took it and managed to stand, mindful of the softness of her skin even through the pain.
Kella led the horses away, still smiling.
"I'm Frank Darnell," the man said, and shook their hands. "Glad to meet you boys. Come inside." As he led them toward the door he called out, "Debby, we have guests."
Frank Darnell was an energetic man; Col felt his vibrancy through his handshake. Tall, over six feet, the sleeveless T-shirt he wore revealed a farmer's tan dark against white skin. His shock of red hair was apparent in the full light of the house interior.
Frank led the way into a short hall, adorned with hats and boots, jackets and leather gloves. Th
e hall opened into a large room. A counter lined with stools segregated a kitchen space from the dining room, with a comfortable living room beyond. Large windows and wide glass doors lent a feeling of openness.
The woman behind the counter smiled, teeth white against cheeks rosy from stove heat. "Come in, boys. How about a bite to eat? Something to drink?"
"Debby, this is Julio Castro, Roberto's boy."
Debby came around the counter. Julio offered his hand but she ignored it, pulled him into a hug instead. Debby was the physical opposite of Frank; short, with delicate features, raven black hair worn long, ands dark brown eyes.
After the hug, she stepped back to look at Julio. "I grew up near your uncle in Concepcion, a small village near Monterey, Mexico. We were friends as children but I have not seen him for many years."
"When he wrote to ask us to mind his sheep until he could find another herder, we were happy to do it," Frank said.
Debby smiled. "Next he wrote to say you would come to collect the sheep. I could not wait to meet you"––she looked at Col––"and your friend."
"This is Colin Budster, but everyone calls him Col."
"You must have a hug also," Debby said, and gave him one. Col had difficulty standing, for his legs were numb.
Debby noticed. "Come, sit down and rest. You must be very tired." She led him to a chair. "How was your journey way out here?"
Col sat, feeling great relief. Julio settled into an overstuffed sofa and began the long tale of their journey to the ranch by truck, train, and horseback. Debby bustled about in the kitchen finding plates, serving chili on steaming rice. Frank grabbed chilled beers from the fridge for all of them.
Julio paused to catch his breath and sip his beer.
"What a wonderful adventure," said a girl's voice.
Col looked up. Kella stood in the doorway, her eyes on the boys as Julio told their story. She had her father's red hair, although hers flamed more softly with many golden hi-lights. Her features were delicate, her skin lightly tanned. To Col, her face was angelic, her green eyes hypnotic. It was all he could do not to stare.
"Come boys, eat. Your meal is ready," Debby insisted.
Under Desert Sand Page 7