I felt lightheaded, and Flynnie was panting hard, his drool dried up. We needed to get water soon. I vaguely remembered hearing from Buck’s stories of her time in Arivaipa that the fat barrel-shaped cacti were full of water, but they were also full of spines. My knife would be no match.
The faint sound of singing drifted by on a hot waft of wind. After tying the sleeves of my jacket around my waist, I slung Snapperdog over my shoulder and followed the tune along the road, eastward, down into a wash and out again. The singing grew more distinct, and soon I could make out the words:
“...seven girls are going to the graveyard, but only six of them are coming back...”
A woman sat in front of a sagging adobe building, grinding corn in a matate held between her knees. As I approached, she quit singing, stopped grinding. Without a word, she dashed into the building and returned a few seconds later, carrying a clay jug. The water tasted tangy with iron and slightly gritty, but it was wet and wonderful. I lay Flynn down in the shade and poured water into his mouth until his tail began to wag again.
“Are you all right?” she asked, fanning Flynn with a cornhusk.
“Ayah, madama. Thank you. My horse took a scare with a rattler a ways back and dumped me, ran off. I’m afraid I’m a bit disoriented. Can you tell me where I am?”
“The Dos Rios stage stop.”
“Where are the two rivers?”
She laughed. “Oh, they come when it rains.”
“How far is it to Fort Sandy?”
“Ten miles to the south.”
Fike Cutaway. Close but no cigar! Still, the stage stop was a lot closer to Fort Sandy than Barbacoa was.
“When is the next stage to Fort Sandy?”
“There ain’t one, not for a few days, now. It was scheduled for tomorrow, but Taylor and his cowboys came in yesterday on their way from Calo Res, and they said Jefe, the stage driver, was in the pokey. Shot up Miner Pete for making cracks about his shirt. The magistrate is coming next week, so there won’t be a stage until then, and after, too, maybe. Judge McAvoy is a hangy judge. She likes her law and order, and she don’t approve of people who shoot up other people over fashion errors. I saw that shirt, it was mighty loud. Jefe don’t have very good taste, but you daren’t tell him so to his face. Anyway, I don’t wager we’ll see a stage anytime soon.”
All that information was making me feel dizzy. Or maybe it was the sun. I sat down on a barrel and the stage lady refilled the clay jug for me.
“Here, now, take it easy You look as fried as a hunka bacon. Where’d you come from?”
“Calo Res,” I said after I’d emptied the jug. “My horse was startled by a rattler, dumped me, and ran off with all my gear. I guess I’m a bit bunged up.”
“Here, sit in the shade and I’ll get you something stronger than agua.”
“I got to get on to Sandy Can you hire me a horse?”
“Banditos cleared me out of horses last week, and got my cow, too. Burned my outbuildings. Here, drink this, but careful now.”
I felt a bottle being pushed into my hands and raised it to my lips without opening my eyes. I almost gagged on the licorice flavor, but managed to swallow. The liquid burned a trail down my throat and into my stomach, but suddenly the pounding in my head eased up.
“What the fike was that?”
“Madama Twanky’s Tum-O. Works on worms, headaches, and the Arivaipa polka. Here, you keep the bottle, I’m as healthy as a horse. Just don’t drink it all, it’ll kill you for sure.”
“What’s the Arivaipa polka?”
“It’s them dance you do when you drink bad water and your tum starts to bubble. Come on inside, and I’ll dish you up some beans. I made them last week, and they came out mighty tasty”
“I really have to get on to Sandy” I followed the stage lady into the adobe building; it was dark and cooler inside. Much cooler, and as my eyes adjusted to the shadows I saw why A cage containing an ice elemental was suspended from one of the vigas. In Califa, caging elementals is against the law, but I guess we were a long way away from Califa now.
“You posted at Sandy?” the stage lady asked.
“How did you know I’m a soldier?” I asked, startled.
“You’re wearing issue boots.” The stage lady took a clay bowl from a niche in the wall and ladled beans out of the clay pot hanging over the fire. “I did a hitch myself, some time ago, and I know them boots well enough. You rest up and eat your beans. Captain Oset and the patrol from Sandy usually swing by here in the afternoon, on their way back to the post. You can join up with them then.”
I didn’t relish the idea of sitting around, but on the other hand, I relished less a ten-mile hike through the Arivaipa desert. And the throbbing in my head had receded but not vanished completely.
“Thank you.” I took the bowl from the stage lady and sat at the rickety table. I wiped the greasy spoon off on my shirt and dipped it. The beans were soft as lard and so spicy I could hardly swallow them. Coughing, lips and tongue burning, I hastily guzzled the coffee the woman laughingly set in front of me.
“Everything is hot in Arivaipa,” she advised, patting out a couple of tortillas and throwing them on the griddle. “What’s your handle?”
“Captain Nyana Romney” I answered when I was through sputtering. “Enthusiastic Regiment.”
“I’m Clara. Sometimes they call me Clara Que Sí! But mostly just Clara.”
“Madama Clara, you said there’s been no stage. Have you had any other travelers recently? Any strangers coming through?”
Shaking her head, Clara dropped the tortillas in my bowl. “No. We got banditos, but I know them. They ain’t strangers.”
I could feel the tortilla with my tongue but couldn’t taste it. I wasn’t sure if I would taste anything ever again. I gave the other tortilla to Flynn. But my headache seemed to have vanished now, conquered by the Madama Twanky’s Tum-O and the chiles in the beans.
I said, “On the road, before I got dumped, I thought I saw jaguar tracks. I didn’t know they had jaguars in Arivaipa.”
“Oh, dear me, no,” Clara said. “They got a chupa over at Sandy and of course we got coyotes and javelina, but I ain’t never seen any cat tracks. A jaguar, you said. You mean a panther?”
“A large cat.”
“I ain’t heard of such a thing. After them banditos came through, La Bruja gave me a protection charm to throw around my whole spread. Ain’t nothing triggered it so far. More beans?”
“No, thank you, madama.”
The fact that Clara hadn’t seen Espejo made me feel cautiously optimistic that he was still behind me. He may have floated away on the wings of the storm, but I had outpaced him. As long as I was ahead of him, I didn’t care where he was. Keep your eyes forward, Nini Mo said. Don’t keep looking over your shoulder; it’ll put a kink in your neck.
So close now, it was galling to wait, but waiting was the only sensible thing to do. I hadn’t come this far to end up dying of heat stroke. While I finished my tortillas, Clara pestered me with questions, which I answered as vaguely as possible. Save your lies, Nini Mo said, for when you really need them.
Eventually, to escape her, I went back out to the ramada. It was hot there, but at least it was quiet. Even in my shirtsleeves, the heat was baking me dry. The sky hung over the adobe like a blue-hot steel kettle, and the ground radiated heat, like an oven.
Somewhere out there, not very far away, was Tiny Doom. Soon I would meet her. It occurred to me that I probably wouldn’t know her when I did. She wouldn’t dare risk showing her own face for fear someone would recognize her. I quickly charged my sunshades with a Refraction Charm that would allow me to see through a Glamour. Now, when I met Tiny Doom, I would know her. That thought was both exhilarating and terrifying. The beans churned in my stomach; I took another swig of the Tum-O and soon felt a lot calmer.
It was hard to believe that I had left the City, what, only a week ago? Maybe less; I was a bit hazy about time. The City seemed a zillion
miles away. By now Buck must have heard that I had disappeared. I wondered how she had taken the news. She would be pissed that I hadn’t followed her orders. Of course, I was glad to have learned that she wasn’t such a lap dog after all, but it still stung that she hadn’t trusted me, even after our heart-to-heart. I did feel bad about Poppy—when this was all over, I’d send him a note letting him know I was all right.
And Tharyn. Funny that I could miss someone I had known for such a short time, and had liked even less time than that. But I did miss him. How quickly I’d become used to having him around. To trusting him. To not being alone.
But really it was too hot to think, and so I did not. Just sat and waited.
Sometime in the afternoon—I’d forgotten to wind my watch, so it had stopped ages ago—a cloud of dust puffed up on the horizon. The cloud slowly got closer, and then resolved into a small group of mounted soldiers, approaching the stage stop at a slow trot.
The riders’ coats were brown with dust, their faces hidden behind bandannas, their hat brims pulled low. They looked more like bandits than soldiers, and they were mounted on mules, not horses. With a jangle of tack, the patrol ambled to a halt before the stage stop and the lead rider shouted the dismount command. The troopers dismounted, drawing their panting mules over to the water trough; one private tossed his reins to another and began to pump. The mules brayed in anticipation. Two dogs, a shaggy poodle and a tiny terrier, weaved their way between the mules, pushing to be first at the water. At the sight of the soldier dogs, Flynn whined and pulled, but I held on to his collar as I scanned the dusty figures, looking for the boss. But none of the soldiers wore an officer’s jacket or shoulder boards, or any other sign of rank.
So who was in charge? The soldier at the pump finished filling the trough, and with a cheerful “Hang on! Hang on! There’s more than enough for everyone!” pushed out of the jostle.
“Captain Oset!” Clara offered her a clay jorum. She took it, saying, “I hope that’s not water, Clara! I got too much of a thirst to waste on anything so bland.”
The captain pulled her bandanna down; her blue eyes flashed in a sunburned, dust-encrusted face. She drained the jorum dry in one draft. I had loosened my grip on Flynn; now he leaped off the porch and began to sniff at her boots.
“Get back here, Flynn!” I said hastily “Sorry, he thinks everyone is his friend.”
“And I’ll bet they are, charming boy.” Captain Oset bent down and scratched Flynn’s ears. He flopped over onto his back to make it easier for her to pet him.
“This is Captain Romney,” Clara said helpfully “She’s been waiting on you, Bea.”
“Oh, ayah?” Captain Oset stepped out of the glare of the sun, hand to her eyes, peering at me.
I took a deep breath and launched into a lie. “Ayah. I’m Nyana Romney, Enthusiastics Regiment. From the City General Fyrdraaca sent me to deal with your chupacabra problem.”
Captain Oset’s brow furrowed, and I pressed the lie further. “Didn’t you get the General’s letter?” I was pretty sure there had been no letter; when I’d left Califa, Buck hadn’t answered the request yet, and even if she had done so after I left, there was no way the response would have made it to Arivaipa yet.
“No.”
“Well, I guess I outpaced it. Here are my orders.” I retrieved my jacket from inside the stage stop and fished out the orders I’d forged in Barbacoa. All that slaving in Buck’s office was finally paying off. I defied anyone—particularly a captain from some backwater post—to tell the difference between my rendition of Buck’s signature and the real thing.
As she read the orders, I said, “I’m eager to get on to Fort Sandy How soon can we leave?”
Captain Oset handed the orders back to me. “I’m mighty glad you’ve arrived, Captain. That damn chupa has been driving us all to distraction. In the last month, it’s gotten half the post’s herd, and this after it decimated most of the stock in the valley. We’ve done all we can to trap it, but it’s a sneaky old thing and gets away every time. I think we’d kind of hoped that the General would send an entire company”
“Nope, just me. But I’m all you need. I’m the best in the business.”
“How many chupas have you caught?”
“Well...” Here was the flaw in my plan. I had never actually seen a chupacabra, much less captured one. But I didn’t intend to actually capture it; I planned on finding Tiny Doom and leaving before my skill as a hunter became an issue. “I have to say that chupacabras are not very much found in the City. But I’ve taken on criminals and deserters, and I’ll wager I can handle a chupacabra.”
“They are mighty hard to track,” Captain Oset said. “We had our scout on it and she couldn’t find diddly. La Bruja’s good, too. When she ain’t drunk, that is.”
“Well, she didn’t have Flynn,” I said. “This dog is the best tracker in Califa. He could find a single snowflake in a snowstorm. He once tracked a pigeon on the fly from Pudding Pie to Barbary That’s sixty miles.”
Captain Oset looked at Flynn skeptically. He didn’t look much like a tracker, not with his tongue hanging out and his belly rolled up to the sky, paws flopped back.
I said hastily “Don’t let that soft look fool you. He’s a killer when he’s on the nose.”
These lies seemed to satisfy Captain Oset. “Welcome to Arivaipa, Captain. You can get your gear and ride back to Sandy with us.”
“She got dumped, Bea. Horse ran off with her gear.” Clara had been standing at my elbow. “That’s why she’s been waiting for you.”
“That’s bad luck. At least your neck ain’t broke. Well, we’ll supply you, don’t worry. It’s a good thing we came by; we almost took the Lonesome Trail and bypassed this stage stop completely. We gotta rest and water, but we’ll leave in an hour or so.”
The Army in Arivaipa is not much; only four garrisons, roughly two hundred soldiers and fifteen officers in the whole territory They are all from the Steelheart Regiment, which has the reputation of being the most harebrained and scattered regiment in the Army which is why it had been languishing in Arivaipa all these years.
If the patrol was an example of the Steelhearts, then the reputation was pretty well deserved. A scruffier lot of soldiers I had never seen; they looked more like muleskinners than troopers. I didn’t see a full uniform among them; most of them wore canvas jackets and canvas kilts, their legs covered with thick leather chaps. Each trooper carried a rifle slung over his or her back; several of the privates wore side arms as well, normally allowed to officers only All carried enormous knives at their waists. It struck me as strangely amusing that all the outlaws I’d seen in Barbacoa had looked respectable and these soldiers looked like outlaws.
An hour later, we rode away in an orderly file, two by two. Captain Oset ordered one of the privates to stay behind and gave me his mule, a particularly mangy specimen named Evil Murdoch. Horses didn’t last long in Arivaipa, she explained, which was why they rode mules, despite being a cavalry regiment. I’d never ridden a mule before; they are wonderfully strong as pack animals, tough as leather, but have a nasty reputation for being stubborn, irritable, and vengeful. Evil Murdoch didn’t immediately pull any tricks, but he had an aura of Just you wait and see about him.
When I had been marching around the Barracks, toting a heavy rifle and a heavier pack, I had envied the older cadets who had progressed to mounts. Let the horse do the hard work while you sit in splendor. Better to be a bouncer than a strawfoot, the Army saying goes. Well, whoever said that had never bounced through Arivaipa on the back of a swayback mule. Evil Murdoch had a spine as bony as a fence post. Within fifteen minutes, my thighs were burning and my feet were going numb.
And it was hot. Pigface, was it hot. The heat was dry like a blast oven, evaporating every drop of sweat, sucking the moisture out of my mouth, my eyes, my skin. Clara had found me a beat-up old sombrero with a very wide brim; I followed the example of the others and pulled it low over my face, then pulled up the ban
danna Clara had given me, in a vain attempt to filter out some of the dust.
I rode at the head of the file, next to Captain Oset, so we didn’t have it as bad as those at the end. The file-closer must have been spitting gravel. The other soldier dogs didn’t seem to mind the heat; they trotted along ahead of the file, alert and happy But it was way too hot for Flynn; he rode across my pommel, draped in a piece of canvas provided by Clara.
Captain Oset was very chatty. As soon as she realized I was a greenhorn, she wasted no time describing Arivaipa’s charms in detail. Arivaipa’s charms were not in the least bit charming. Everything in Arivaipa, Captain Oset pointed out proudly, was trying to hurt you. The cacti scratched with nasty thorns; the rocks were as sharp as knives. If you stood too long in one place you were liable to end up swarmed with nasty black ants that stung like bees. The sun tried to fry you, sucking all the moisture out of your body, out of your soul. Buzzards and hawks wheeled overhead hopefully.
There were poisonous spiders, poisonous cacti, poisonous scorpions, poisonous snakes, poisonous lizards. There were mountain lions, wild bulls, wild horses, and javelina. There were outlaws, cattle rustlers, renegade broncos, miners gone crazy from the sun, and lone-wolf bandits, any of whom would kill you over a slice of bacon, a canteen of water—or a misguided remark about a shirt.
And, of course, there were the chupacabras.
What on earth had Tiny Doom been thinking to hide out in such a Goddess-forsaken place? If it had been me, I’d have picked someplace nice and distant—and civilized—like Porkopolis or even Ticonderoga.
“At least,” said Captain Oset cheerfully, “we don’t have to worry about any Broncos popping out from behind a mesquite bush and pulling our hair. They stay on their side of the Line now, and we stay on ours. Everyone’s happy and it’s a whole lot safer around here.”
Flora's Fury: How a Girl of Spirit and a Red Dog Confound Their Friends, Astound Their Enemies, and Learn the Impo Page 25