by Stephen Bly
They rode at a steady pace into the eastern mountains.
The first night they camped near the divide along a narrow creek. The Señora, still in her Sunday dress, was forced to build a fire and prepare a meal from the supplies the men stole from her kitchen.
The beautiful, immaculate Señora now looked like a disheveled peasant. Walking barefoot dragged her dress in the dirt, causing the hem to fray. She tried her best to keep her hair well-pinned.
Porter loosened her hands only to let her cook and tend fire. Five times she determined to pull the small pistol and kill Porter. Five times, she resisted the urge.
Lord, a few days ago I might have done it. But now… what if Brannon is on his way? What if he trades the cattle for me? What if there are more days to sit and talk and laugh and dance? Not until it is over… only then… only then can I shoot.
Given a blanket at night, still bound hand and foot, her only victory was convincing them to tie her hands in front of her, so she might sleep more comfortably. She kept her hand on the pistol grip all night.
The next morning, she rinsed her feet in the stream and tried to wash her face. She cringed at her soiled dress and the lack of soap to cleanse her sticky hands. Without a comb or brush, she finally left her hair the way it was.
They traveled the crest the second day. Porter frequently eyed the trail behind them. She was surprised he knew the mountains so well. And she was surprised they allowed her to ride unmolested. She was seldom the topic of their conversation.
Instead, the men talked of selling the cattle and what they would do with five thousand dollars each. There was no talk of the capture of Baja. But there was plenty of hushed dialogue about doing away with Brannon.
She did not know how much was serious and how much exaggeration—meant to throw her off their real plans. But she could tell Adobe Wells would be much more than an exchange of courtesies.
During the first two days, as she gathered firewood, she searched about for poisonous plants to grind into the men’s food. On the third day, she cooked them a feast instead. She fried beef strips with onions, peppers, and green olives. She rolled them in the last of the large tortillas they had stolen. She also managed a peach dumpling out of an airtight of peaches, and sugar and flour.
After they stuffed themselves, the man called Bill came over to tie her up. “Señora, that was a mighty fine meal, but I got to tie you up.”
She held forth her hands.
“I don’t get it,” he whispered. “We’re treatin’ you like dirt, and you fix us a feast.”
“Bill, you will be judged for your behavior some day, and so will I. I will not be able to use your inhumanity as an excuse for mine.”
“They cain’t judge us if they don’t catch us,” he bragged.
“There is a higher judgment than the law of the land.”
He looked into her eyes. “You mean,” he glanced toward the sky, “the judgment of God Almighty?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t believe in all that religion stuff.”
“You will one day.”
“Not me.”
“Yes, Bill, you will believe. There comes a day when every person believes.”
“When’s that?”
“On Judgment Day. But of course it will be too late to make a stand then.”
Bill turned back to the others. She heard him mutter, “Them Mexicans is sure superstitious.”
It was the last conversation she had with any of them except Porter, who talked repeatedly of how poorly he had been treated in the South before the war and again in Mexico.
On the evening of their third day from the ranch, they reached the northern tip of the mountain chain and looked down and across the desert floor at Adobe Wells. They slept that night in a mountainside clearing.
The next morning they worked their way down to the wells, as tension mounted.
Señora Pacifica was bound on the ground beside a sage near the wells. The men walked about the ruins trying to determine whether to be at the wells when Brannon approached or let him arrive first.
Movement in the sage startled her.
She strained to see the source.
A snake! Oh Lord, no!
She reached slowly for her little gun as the four-foot long diamondback slithered toward her.
If I scream, it will strike for sure. If I shoot it, I have lost my weapon… my last resort. If I don’t…
She clamped her eyes shut and prayed. She felt the rattler pull itself up across her lap. She thought she would faint. She strained but could not open her eyes.
She tried not to breathe.
Lord, it’s stopped in my lap. I’m going to cry… I can’t stop… Lord, I can’t stop…
I can’t shoot it on my lap.
She thought about pulling the gun to her own forehead and squeezing the trigger before the snake could sink its fangs into her.
Lord, I don’t want to die. Not here… not now… not like this. Oh Lord, I’m going to die!
Then, like a dark cloud moving on, the thought passed, and she composed herself. She felt the snake slither off her lap. She slowly counted to fifty and squinted her left eye, then her right.
She saw no movement or slithering thing.
She assessed her surroundings and herself.
Though she felt numb and perspiration cascaded down her face, she had won.
Soon she and the men rode back up the mountains to the east.
NINE
Stuart Brannon wanted twenty-four horses and a chuck wagon. What he had were six tired ponies and a nearly empty grub sack.
But Brannon knew all that would change. As soon as they made it back to the hacienda… as soon as he purchased a remuda… as soon as the cattle were ready to drive to Arizona… as soon as he said good-bye to the Señora… as soon as he acquired some sleep.
They drove the cattle for one full day after the Mexican troops departed. The next morning they started up a low row of foothills, on the other side of which, Ramon assured him, they would sight Rancho Pacifica.
Brannon and Howland rode point.
“Mr. Brannon, do you think Porter is out there somewhere, waiting to try to take this herd back?”
“I’ve been pondering it. His conscripts have made a run for the border, and most of his hired guns are with the Mexican troops. He can’t possibly have more than five or six men left. And they aren’t cattlemen. Personally, I think Porter’s a coward.”
“If they can’t drive the herd, there’s no reason to risk their lives gettin’ it?”
“That’s what I’m thinking.”
Howland pulled his hat down and swung out around a calf that wandered too far into the brush. Then he rode back. “They could try to scatter the herd just for spite.”
“Yep. I was thinkin’ that, too. But my best bet is that Porter rode for the border. He’s about exhausted his recruits around here. Now up in Arizona there’s always some riffraff hanging around mining towns.”
“Then he could come back after us with new men?”
“Maybe. But by then I expect we’ll be in Arizona, and he won’t try such a scheme up there. No, more than likely Porter will get shot trying to rob a bank somewhere and die claiming he never got a fair shake at life.”
They worked both sides of the point, keeping the lead animals grazing in the right direction. About an hour later, Brannon rode up to Howland.
“Mr. Brannon, these seem to be fine -looking animals.”
“I think we’re buying some good stock, Earl. You got your thirty head picked out?”
Howland pushed his hat back and let it dangle by the stampede string. “Whatever you cut out for me will be fine , Mr. Brannon.”
“Nope. The first thing about the cattle business is knowing how to select good stock. You pick out thirty head by the time we get to the hacienda. We’ll brand a Flying H on each of them.”
“Flyin’ H? Yeah, that would make a good brand.”
“Ride back there
and relieve Ramon. Tell him to ride point a while. I want to make sure we’re aiming at the right hacienda.”
Within moments, Ramon galloped up to Brannon.
“You might want to save the strength of your pony,” Brannon cautioned. “We’ve worked these horses harder than we should have.”
“Yes, but we are near the hacienda now.”
“What direction?”
“Northwest, over that pass. We should be able to see it in the distance.”
“How much farther?”
“About ten miles from here… seven from el paso.”
Brannon and Ramon rode ahead of the herd and stopped at the pass to scan the valley floor. On the far side, closer to the mesas and the desert, lay Magdalena… just a dark green blot on the landscape. Much closer to them, but still almost imperceptible, was a tiny blur of trees and adobe.
“Rancho Pacifica,” Ramon called out. “Perhaps one of us should ride on ahead?”
“I suppose so, but our horses are played out. It would be best to ease on down the mountain with the herd.”
After cresting the pass, the cattle also seemed to sense home. They stopped grazing and began a slow trot toward the hacienda.
“El Brannon,” Ramon called, “someone is riding out from the ranch.”
Brannon squinted at the horizon. A small, thin trail of dust drifted their way. “Go see who it is. And you might as well ride on in.”
Ramon spurred his tall, gray horse and flew down the gently sloping mountainside. The figures were only two specks when they met, and a moment later Ramon galloped hard for the hacienda. The other rider raced toward the herd.
Brannon trotted down the slope to meet the rider whom he recognized immediately. “Estaban, what is it?”
“It is bad… very bad. El Brannon, they have taken her, and I could not stop them.”
“Taken who?”
“La Señora! Porter and four men came to the ranch on Domingo when all were at the fiesta. They kidnapped
Señora Pacifica.”
“Kidnapped?”
“Yes, and they burned the hacienda.”
“It’s burnt to the ground?”
“Only the big house. The walls stand, but the roof collapsed and most of the inside is lost.”
“How do you know it was Porter, Estaban?”
“I saw him with my eyes. Felicia, Franco Grande, and I were there.”
“Why didn’t you stop them? Why didn’t you do something?”
“I tried, Señor. We held them back for a while, but when Tomas and his family came home from Magdalena, Porter threatened to shoot the children unless Señora went with him.”
“Why did he take her?”
“Because of you. He left a note that said you must drive the herd to Adobe Wells. There he will exchange La Señora for the whole herd.”
“Adobe Wells? Drive them clear up there?”
“He said he would not arrive in Adobe Wells until after you get there.”
“I don’t believe it. Where did Ramon go?”
“To the hacienda. He could not believe my words either.”
“Estaban, can you vaquero?”
“Yes, Señor.”
“Then take point,” he shouted and spurred the blue roan.
Lord… no, no, no… this can’t be happening. Not now. Not the Señora. Lord, protect her! Protect her life. Protect her honor!
Long before he reached the outer walls of the grounds, he could see the remains of the big house in the middle of the hacienda. Most of the damage was in the Señora’s side of the building. The roof still partially covered the main room, and the south wing appeared unscathed.
He galloped through the gates past the oak trees and jumped from his horse. He ran to the front of the house where Ramon quizzed Felicia, in tears.
“El Brannon,” Felicia cried. She rose, threw her arms around Brannon and sobbed more loudly.
“Did they harm her? Is she injured in any way?”
“We must go after her,” Ramon demanded.
“Yes… yes,” Brannon replied, still cradling Felicia. “Have the people take care of our horses. I will want El Viento, if he hasn’t been stolen. Run the cattle on what is left of the grass on the north side of the hacienda and have someone prepare food for us. We’ll need twenty extra horses to move the cattle.”
“We cannot take the herd,” Ramon protested. “It will slow us down.”
“It’s our only way of contacting them. If they don’t see the cattle, they won’t reveal themselves.”
“But my sister!”
“I pray she will have God’s wisdom and peace, Ramon. She is in His care now. They know they must keep her safe, or we will never trade away the cattle.”
“Perhaps I should ride after the troops?”
“Even if you catch up with them, it would be too late. We have to take care of this ourselves,” Brannon insisted. “We’ll leave at daylight tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow! It is my sister you insult,” Ramon stormed.
“We can help Victoria best by getting this herd to Adobe Wells as quickly as possible. We will let them rest one night and then drive them for twenty-four straight hours. That way we can arrive at the wells before noon on the next day. There is no way we can get the cattle there any quicker.”
Ramon gave instructions to the people who gathered. Each had a task, and each understood the urgency of the matter.
Finally, Felicia released her grip on Brannon and sat down on the bench near an oak. “Señor Brannon, please forgive my forwardness. My broken heart is no excuse for behaving so poorly.”
“It’s a good enough excuse for me.”
“You are very kind, Mr. Brannon, and you remind me very much of my father.”
“Tell me what happened. Tell me everything.”
As she finished, Brannon sat down beside her. “So Estaban has been scouting the mountains to find us?”
“Yes, he has taken it hardest of all. She forced him to leave the Rancho with me and Franco Grande. Estaban feels he has dishonored Don Rinaldo.”
“To disobey the Señora would be the only dishonor. He did not do that.”
“Perhaps… if El Brannon talked to him.”
“I’ll speak to him.”
“Señor, are you a man of prayer?”
“It seems like I’ve been doing a lot of it lately.”
“We are all praying for the Señora. Someone has been in the chapel ever since they took her.”
“God will hear,” Brannon encouraged.
“Do you know how important she is to us?”
“And she is important to me also.”
“No, not in that way. Señora Pacifica is a friend to everyone who lives here. If any family runs out of food, she is the one who has plenty. If the babies get sick, she comes to the house and sits through the night with the parents. If there is a birthday, she supplies the piñata. If a man gets drunk and beats his wife, she forces him to stop or to leave.
“She makes sure we hear the sacred words of Scripture and teaches us the songs of Heaven. She tells us about the heritage and culture of our people. She reads us stories about life in the city. And she informs us about what is happening in the world.
“She listens to our heartaches and cries with our sorrows. She pushes her way into no one’s home, but is joyfully welcomed in all. There is only one Señora Pacifica. We need her very much. She is our stability and our identity. We live better lives because of her love and example. Does this make sense?”
“Felicia, I understand. Maybe I understand all too well.”
For the next two hours, the air rang with the sound of busy, anxious people. Words were less gracious, tempers shorter. Petty annoyances loomed larger. Many grumbled because El Brannon had not yet gone after the abductors.
When all the residents of the hacienda gathered at the tables behind the main house for supper, Brannon stood to address them.
“Mis amigos, no quiero que… anyone to think that I am
slow in rescuing the Señora. My desire is to reach her in the fastest possible time and then do all in my power to secure her safe release. We will trade this herd and a thousand more, if necessary, to see that she returns to the hacienda. I will not return to my home until she is safe among you, and her abductors face the just punishment for their actions.
“In such a pursuit, it is necessary to have strong men, strong horses, strong weapons, and a strong reason. We now have the reason and the weapons, but we must wait this one night so the men and horses and cattle will be strong as well. To go more quickly would guarantee failure. And, I can assure you, I do not intend to fail!
“May God have mercy on Señora Pacifica. May God have mercy… de todos nosotros!”
Ramon spent most of the evening pacing from the bunkhouse to the barn to the main house, repeating again and again. After the evening meal, in the long shadows of twilight, family after family came up to Brannon and expounded their sorrow and fear over the Señora.
“She cares for us. In the city no one cares.”
“She makes us laugh.”
“She made us all feel important.”
“She is lonely, Mr. Brannon. Since the death of Don Rinaldo, she is very lonely… but not as lonely as we are without her.”
“We are simple people. We live a simple life. But Señora made us proud of our life.”
“She is our angel.”
Brannon rested most of the night, but he slept little. The scratches on his face now only faint streaks, but the worry-lines about his eyes grew more intense.
Lord, I know Porter’s type. He doesn’t just want the herd. He wants to kill me. He’ll use her to get even with me and kill us both, if he can.
I still don’t have this world figured out. A good, brave man like Don Rinaldo is gunned down, coming out of his own chapel, while some devil like Porter roams free. Lord, let me find her safe and well. Let me bring her back to her people. Bring her back to me! I’m really scared of losing her.
]
Brannon knew to drive the herd so far and so fast would be a harsh strain on them, but this was not a time for worrying about fat cows. He and his men threw the whole herd out on the trail toward Adobe Wells and kept them moving in a narrow file. They allowed the herd to graze in the morning for a short time, and again in the evening. The rest of the time they moved. Brannon and Ramon led. Howland rode the uphill flank. In all, they were eight men.