Lost in Laredo

by Vivi Holt

  Antonio relaxed back into his saddle, frowning. He never could abide people being cruel to animals. There was no need for it – it served no purpose other than meanness. His eyes narrowed and he steered his bay closer to the road’s shoulder and out of the man’s way. The man didn’t even look up at him as he bounced past, his heavy frame jolting the horse’s back beneath him. Soon he had disappeared around a bend in the road ahead, still in a hurry.

  That was something Antonio had lost his taste for – hurrying. He’d started out that way, rushing here and there in his search for Maria and Consuela. But after two months and with no leads, he’d reduced his pace to a steady plod, his heart dropping along with the intensity of his search.

  Shadows lengthened along the roadsides where mesquite grew, dry and brittle. He’d set up camp soon. If he could find a place off the road with a bit of cover, so much the better. At the curve in the road, a straggly patch of oaks shielded his view of whatever it was that lay beyond.

  So when he saw the burro standing forlornly on the side of the road, it surprised him. He studied the horizon – no sign of the man who’d been dragging the animal behind him. With a quick glance in each direction, it soon became clear the creature had been abandoned. Its sides still heaved from the exertion, each breath revealing sharply protruding ribs beneath a patchy hide. The creature looked all played out.

  Antonio took a quick breath, his eyebrows low, and dismounted. “What’s happened to you then, tio?” he asked the burro as he stepped slowly toward it.

  The animal jerked its head up and acted as though it wanted to run, but didn’t have the strength.

  “Shhhh …” He grabbed hold of the rope that was fixed around the creature’s head and trailed off into the dust at his feet. It jerked away again, but this time it couldn’t move even though it tried, since he had a firm grip. He stroked the burro’s neck and it shook its head, pulling away with everything it had. “No, no, no … do not do that. I will not hurt you. Bueno, bueno. I take care of you, si?”

  The burro stopped resisting and dropped its head, as if resigned to its fate. Antonio continued patting it and pulled a limp carrot from his pocket that he’d stowed away for the horse for later. He always gave the horse a little treat of some kind at the end of the day, but today it only seemed right to give it to the dejected creature in front of him.

  It nosed the carrot with interest, then grabbed it between its teeth and munched happily.

  “¿Ves? ¡Te lo dije!” He rubbed the burro’s nose and scratched behind its ears. It pushed closer for more, thrusting its forehead into his chest and almost knocking him off his feet. “Hey! Feeling better already, I see.”

  He knew the animal shouldn’t travel much further that day without more nourishment and rest. He could see marks all over the burro’s neck and back where the whip had landed. Some welts were red, and blood oozed from others. He took the bay’s reins in his other hand and led both animals behind him down the road. There was a creek or spring up ahead – he could tell by the pattern of trees. They’d all camp there for the night and take a much needed bath.

  As he walked, he made a habit of letting his eyes wander over the road, up into the distance, to the left and to the right. Ever since he was a boy in Mexico, he’d learned to be aware of his surroundings and to read what he saw. He’d lost his father at a young age in a battle with U.S. Army soldiers, and had grown up with violence as an ordinary part of life.

  A set of boot tracks on the road caught his eye, similar to ones he’d seen earlier that day. The heel of the shoe dug deeper into the dust than the rest of the sole did. He frowned. Whoever it was walked fast, but alone – there were no tracks indicating any kind of horse or companion. It had rained a couple of nights earlier, so there weren’t many tracks to confuse it with.

  He glanced up the road. The sun was setting to his right, sending the last of the day’s heat out over the plains. He raised a hand, still holding the bay’s reins, to shield himself from the glare. There was no one else around – the mustachioed traveler was the only other person he’d seen since morning. He glanced down again at the tracks, even as his feet obscured them, and saw they veered sharply to the left. He stopped, and the horse almost stepped on him. “Whoa,” he whispered, and both animals halted.

  His eyes followed the tracks until they disappeared into the grassy verge near a copse of cypress that hid the stream he’d sensed earlier. A set of boulders stood in front of the trees, and his eyes narrowed. The owner of the boot tracks was behind one of those rocks. Likely someone had spied him heading down the road and thought they’d jump him as an easy meal ticket.

  He led the horse and burro over to the nearest mesquite bush and looped the reins and rope around a branch. He pulled his Colt Navy conversion revolver from the holster on his hip, cocked the hammer and crept forward, knees bent, eyes on the largest of the boulders. Grass crackled beneath his boots and he paused, listening for any sound. If they got the jump on him, he’d be a sitting duck out there in the open. He had to find some shelter. He headed for another of the rocks, a smaller one, but couldn’t get cover enough unless he squatted behind it.

  When he came around the boulder, he saw the owner of the tracks and his eyes widened. It was a woman! She was crouched on the ground, her back to him, peering around the edge of another rock, watching the road. He decided to back away … and promptly stepped on a twig.

  The snap caused her to spin around, fear on her face. “Ahhh!” she cried out and stood to run.

  He put up his hands. “It is all right, señorita. Bueno, bueno – oof!” She’d run straight at him, slamming directly into his chest and slapping his face and chest as hard as she could, yelling all the while. Finally he grabbed both her wrists. “Stop, señorita! I will not hurt you!”

  She pulled and lurched, eyes wide and face red, until she slumped, breathing hard, against the side of the rock.

  He released her wrists. “Bueno, señorita. Do not be afraid.”

  Her eyes were still wild with fear, but as she stared at him, her breathing calmed and she ran a hand through her hair, smoothing it back. “What do you want?” she finally asked, her voice hoarse.

  “I thought you were an outlaw going to jump me,” he admitted.

  She frowned. “Me? No …”

  “Good to know,” he said. He rubbed his face and grimaced. “You hit hard.”

  She managed a half-smile, but only for a moment. “Well, you deserve it, sneaking up on a person that way.” She had a strange accent.

  He carefully put his revolver back in its holster. “What are you doing all alone out here?”

  She shook her head and straightened her skirts. “I am walking to … well, the next town. Wherever that may be.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “You do not know where you are going?”

  She frowned. “I meant to walk to Fort Worth, but I went the wrong way. When I saw that, I thought it might be better to keep going this way.” Her shoulders sagged. “I think I should have turned around anyway. I haven’t seen a town or even a house the whole day.”

  “I am headed to Waco. I think that is the next town of any size along this road, but I have not traveled it for a long time.” He walked back toward the road. It seemed strange for a woman to be out here on her own, but sometimes Texas was a strange place. If she wanted to, there wasn’t anything he could say to stop her – he knew that much about women. And he didn’t have time to take care of some gringo woman who got lost on her way to Fort Worth. He needed to find his family – figuring out what to do with her would just get in the way. Besides, he could smell trouble from a mile off, and she reeked of it.

  As he untied the animals from the mesquite bush and led them back out onto the road, he did his best not to think about her. He wanted to set up camp soon – it was almost dark. But when he glanced back, she was picking her way over the dusty ground, hot on his trail. He sighed, his brow furrowed. What was she doing out there alone? He couldn’t just leave her, much
as he wanted to. But if she needed his help, she’d have to ask. He wasn’t going to take it upon himself if he didn’t have to.

  He continued down the road, pulling the bay and the burro behind him. Several minutes later, he heard footsteps and turned to see the woman, marching briskly down the road and catching up fast, her head held high in determination. In one hand she carried an old carpetbag that looked as though it’d been through a battle. Over the opposite shoulder she had a large bundle wrapped in a cloth. He shook his head. She wasn’t from around these parts, that much was clear enough. It was also clear she wasn’t going to leave him be.

  When he reached the spring he’d been heading for, he unsaddled the bay and rubbed it down while the burro drank its fill from the stream. Then the horse took its turn. When they were done, he led them off to picket in a nearby grassy clearing. He wandered back to the spring to find the woman seated there, having built a fire and started cooking something in a pot. An opened, label-less can lay in the dust beside her. “So I guess you are camping here tonight, then,” he said.

  She studied him intently with her big blue eyes. “If you do not mind. I thought I might join you, since I … well.” She shrugged.

  “De nada,” he replied.

  She shook her head. “What is ‘de nodda’?”

  Antonio rolled his eyes. Great – she didn’t know Spanish. Well, he didn’t know whatever language it was she spoke, so they were even. “It is fine,” he explained. He sat and watched her stir the pot, which she’d set over the fire on a small frame of green sticks. She pulled some burnt-looking beef jerky from her bag, sliced it up and mixed it in. He figured he’d wait his turn to cook his own supper.

  Just as he was about to ask, she handed him a plate. His eyes widened in surprise. “Gracias.”

  She nodded with a sweet smile. Her face was pretty despite the dust and grime covering it, and her hair fell in straw-blond ringlets around her face. “Graces to you too, sir,” she replied.

  He looked at the stew of jerky and baked beans. They weren’t the frijoles he preferred, but he’d often eaten like this on various cattle drives and in the bunkhouse. It was one of Cookie’s specialties.

  She had her own blanket. He was glad, since he didn’t like the idea of giving up his bedroll and didn’t carry a spare. They hardly spoke as they readied themselves for bed. She lay down on her bedroll and stared into the waning fire, a forlorn look on her face that made his heart ache.

  He banked the fire and covered it with ashes until the flames finally died away. They didn’t need it for heat this time of year, and they sure didn’t want to draw attention to themselves with Indians and bandits and rogue soldiers running all over the place. He shook his head – Texas was nothing like Montana Territory, that was for sure. At least up north you had some idea of where your enemies might come from. In Texas it could be anyone, anywhere, at any time.

  He glanced in her direction. She hadn’t moved. “Where is your accent from, lady?”

  She blinked. “I’m from Holland.”

  “Oh.” He wasn’t sure where Holland might be. Away over the ocean no doubt.

  “And you?” she asked.

  “Mexico. What is your name?”

  “I am Lotte Velden.” She shifted onto her back and looked up at the branches overhead and the stars beyond them.

  “My name is Antonio Sanchez,” he said.

  Lotte didn’t respond.

  Antonio waited a minute, then sighed and pulled his bedroll out of a saddlebag. He took off his hat, set it on his saddlebag, sat on the bedroll and tugged off his boots, all the while watching her as her eyes drifted shut. Trouble. For sure, she’d be nothing but trouble.

  3

  Paradise Valley, Montana Territory

  Dan Graham slapped at a fly and missed, cursed beneath his breath and squinted in the sunshine. Dang flies were everywhere around the herd this time of year. He looked over the small herd of cattle wandering ahead of him and saw Coop waving a hand to discourage several of the heifers from escaping down an embankment beside the Yellowstone River.

  They were almost done with the spring roundup, and had gathered the cattle in from every nook and cranny in the north section of the valley. Most of the stock had the distinctive Paradise Ranch brand on their shoulders, but some of the younger ones didn’t. He intended to find every last one of them and brand them before mid-summer. It was a big job, but one he relished. There was something so satisfying about marking hundreds of new longhorns with the mountain-peak-in-a-circle brand each year.

  He missed having Vaquero on the roundup. Even though he was silent most of the time, he always brought so much confidence and strength to the team. A cowhand like that was hard to find.

  Dan wondered what he was up to at that moment. They’d received a letter at the ranch from him a week or so ago. He was passing through Fort Worth, Texas on his way to Laredo. Dan hoped he’d find his wife and daughter. He couldn’t imagine how that must feel, to lose your family. He’d never been married, though he was beginning to feel like giving it a try now that things had settled down at the ranch. The life of a wandering cowpoke wasn’t suited to matrimony, but now that he was cow boss on a reputable ranch, it might be the perfect time.

  A whistle from Coop caught his attention. He glanced at the cowpoke and saw him pointing along the riverbank. Just down the way, he noticed the outline of a dark cottage in a clump of junipers. He nodded and dug his spurs into the palomino’s sides. Goldy, his gelding, had been his horse since they left Fort Worth, and he loved to ride the animal. Goldy had a gentle gate that never jolted, which made spending the day in the saddle more enjoyable than it might otherwise have been.

  The horse strode forward and Dan steered him past the cattle toward the cottage. There was no smoke coming from the chimney, and he wondered if anyone lived there. He’d never noticed it before, nestled as it was between the tall dark trees. The wooden walls were dark, causing it to fade into the woods around it. He reached it, dismounted and walked slowly and carefully around the outside. “Anyone at home?”

  There was no movement, no response. It must be one of the abandoned miner’s huts that dotted the territory. They were common enough, but not as much in this part of the state. Most of them were up by Alder Gulch, where Thomas had found the gold that had funded his purchase of three thousand head of cattle three years earlier.

  “Hello?” he called again. He stepped onto the porch, noting several of the boards had rotted. He stepped over them and knocked loudly on the door frame. Still nothing. He leaned to one side and peered through a small window. It was glass – at some time someone had cared for this structure, though it looked as though it’d been neglected for awhile now. Inside was a crib with a patchwork blanket spilling over the side. He frowned. That seemed out of place in the silent house.

  He saw a lump of some kind on the floor beside the crib … his eyes widened. Had it just moved? He pushed open the front door with an effort and stepped quickly inside. “Hello? Someone at home?”

  The lump on the ground shivered. He ran to it and gently rolled it over. It was a woman! He knelt beside her and felt her face – it was cold to the touch, but sweat dripped down her forehead and cheeks. He tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped her brow. “There, there … I’m here – everything’ll be just fine,” he whispered.

  His gaze darted over everything in the small space, checking for additional signs of life. There was a lopsided table with two chairs in one corner, an open can of beans and a canteen on top of it. Flies buzzed around the beans. There was a straw tick in another corner with a mess of linens and blankets, soiled and stiff looking. On the wall, standing guard over the bed, was a small porcelain angel hanging from a curved bracket.

  He frowned at the crib and slowly moved toward it. A mewling sound, soft and urgent, caught his ear, and he found a tiny baby lying on its back. Its face was pale and thin, its eyes closed. It opened its mouth to whimper again, then fell silent. He lifted it
to his chest, quickly unbuttoned his shirt with his free hand and tucked the baby inside it. Its cold skin touched his and he shivered at the thought of what the child must have already endured in its short life.

  He rebuttoned his shirt, then returned to the woman’s side. “I’m goin’ for a doctor,” he whispered to her. “I have your baby with me …”

  Her eyes flew open and she tried to cry out.

  “Don’t fret, Ma’am. I’ll bring the babe back with me. I just need to find it somethin’ to eat and let the doc take a look at it. I’ll bring the doc back with me, if I can.”

  Her eyes closed again and her breathing grew shallow.

  Dan hurried outside, got his own canteen and carried it back in. He held it to the woman’s lips. “Water,” he told her.

  She opened her mouth and gulped it down even as more sweat trailed from her face. He was careful not to let the canteen touch her lips. Some of the water splashed over her face, and he wiped it dry with his sleeve.

  On his way back to Goldy, he pulled his shirt collar aside and offered some water to the baby. It sucked it down greedily, then coughed. He pulled the canteen back, then offered it again and the baby swallowed another mouthful. Then he put it away, mounted his horse and swung him around to head for the retreating herd.

  He whistled and saw Coop stop still to stare back at him over the herd. As he galloped toward the cowpuncher, he noted his confused look. “I’ve found a woman and her baby in that cabin, both sick. Can you sit with her while I take the baby into Bozeman to the doc?” Coop waved a hand to show he’d heard and turned his mount toward the cottage as Dan sailed past on his way to town.

  Against Dan’s chest, the baby wriggled. It felt as though some of the child’s warmth was beginning to return. He only hoped it would be enough.

  Clouds covered the sky and the air was oppressively hot when Antonio opened his eyes the next morning. He sat up to lean on one elbow, rub his eyes and squint across the campsite. The fire sat cold and black in the dawn light. Lotte was huddled under her blanket on the other side of it.