Basque Moon

by Julie Weston

  “I rode ahead and when I realized he’d stopped, I rode back. He’d built a fire near one of them white deadheads that’re all over the place. I kicked the fire apart and he jumped me. While we was wrestling around, one lick of fire got started uphill. I managed to trip the bastard . . . oops . . . sorry, but there’s no other word for someone like him . . . and was stomping it out when he hit me with his rifle, right across my cheek here. Lucky it didn’t break. Then he ran, got on his horse, and took off. About then, the rain came.” Ned began walking again.

  “How’d you know I was following you?”

  “I heard you scream.” His laugh carried, and she stopped asking questions.

  As they neared the sheep camp, Nell could smell the usual mutton stew cooking on the stove. The horse was tethered to the sheep camp itself, not usual, and was still saddled. It had known where home was, that was clear. “Alphonso,” she called, not wanting to surprise him. “I’m here and I’ve got a cowboy with me.” He appeared in the doorway, clad in hat, boots, oilcloth, and ready to mount his horse. “I fell off,” she said, and gestured to the animal, “and he ran away. I’m sorry. I hope you didn’t worry.”

  The stern expression did not leave Alphonso’s face. His hand gripped the rifle, although it was pointed toward the ground. Nellie noticed his finger was in the trigger guard. Clearly, he did not welcome the cowboy.

  “This is Ned Tanner. I suspect you know him. I’m not vouching for him, but he stopped a fire that the other cowboy set. Or so he says.” She glanced at Ned. He, too, carried a scowl, but looked battered and worn. “And I believe him.”

  Alphonso stepped back inside, then came out without the gun, but carrying a pot, and moved down the stairs. He pointed to Nellie’s arm and motioned for her to unwrap it, which she did. With the touch of a butterfly, he lifted it upright so he could inspect the stitches and nodded his head. He emptied a few dried-up pieces of green from the pot and shook the green mess out of the cloth, and climbed up into the wagon again.

  “What in hell happened to your arm?” Ned reached to take hold of it, but Nellie wouldn’t let him. The pain had grown intense after she fell off the horse, and she had ignored it with all the other action going on. On the walk back, she found a comfortable position for her arm, hooking her thumb into her belt. But now it pained her again.

  “Wolfman Pitts sliced it with a knife.” She didn’t feel like going into any more explanation, and Ned seemed not to need one.

  The sheepherder came out with another pot of spinach or whatever it was, and, once again, patted clumps of it on her upturned forearm, wrapped the cloth around it, securing it a little tighter with the kerchief from around his neck. It had worked before, so she let herself be ministered to. She touched Alphonso’s arm. “Gracias.” He gave her a quick, shy smile.

  The three of them ate in companionable-enough silence around the firepit. The long evening was cut off by clouds and passing storms, this time some distance from them. Ned left the campfire once to ride to the top of the ridge and inspect the forest below, looking for signs of smoke, an indication that the fire might have continued under the surface. He reported he could see nothing. He couldn’t speak Basque any more than could Nellie, and Nellie didn’t feel inclined to talk much to Ned. She told Alphonso, and thus Ned, about the campout at Fourth of July Lake and the tourists, not mentioning how she happened to get there or anything about the fight with Pitts. When she mentioned Pearl’s name, Ned looked up from rolling a cigarette and listened more closely, but then he seemed to shut down. After a while, he took a bedroll from his saddle and laid it out by the fire. Alphonso motioned for Nell to sleep inside again and she gratefully followed his order, taking Moonshine with her. She hoped she wouldn’t wake to a dead sheepherder or a dead cowboy, but figured she could do nothing about either.

  CHAPTER 17

  Nellie awoke with the idea of getting Ned to take her back down to the moonshine camp, but without telling him where she was going and persuading him to leave her off and go away. She needed to search Pearl’s tent and the other tents to see what kind of guns they had. She assumed that by now, Pearl had returned to the camp. But maybe she hadn’t. Still, with Wolfman Pitts dead, Pearl was probably in no danger from the other men or from Goodlight. Until Nell satisfied herself that there weren’t two guns of the same kind and make, she couldn’t know if Pearl had shot Pitts. What Nellie would do with that information, she wasn’t sure. Pearl had saved her life; did she owe Pearl the same duty?

  Ned and Alphonso were not talking to each other, but neither were they scowling. Ned helped make coffee, stirred the fire, and waited on Nellie with a plate of potatoes and fried sausage, the hot Basque kind—chorizo. When the sheepherder once again checked Nellie’s arm and re-applied the green stuff, Ned found a clean white handkerchief in his saddlebag and offered it to the cause. “It’ll be ruined,” she warned. Moonshine stayed close by Nellie.

  The cowboy shrugged. He rolled up his sleeping blankets and saddled his horse.

  “Ned, I need a ride back down. Would you let me come along with you?”

  Alphonso raised his head to look at Nellie and then at Ned. “You stay aqui?” It came out as a question, but Nellie wondered if he meant it as an order, maybe instilled by Gwynn before he left her there.

  “I must get back, Alphonso. I need to find my camera.” She didn’t mention that she also wanted to straighten out the arrest for murder. How she would do so depended on what she found in the moonshine camp, she hoped. “I’ll be safe.” After the peaceful night, she didn’t think the sheepherder was worried about her safety, but she could never be sure what he was thinking.

  “Sure, I’ll give you a hitch to wherever you want to go.” He didn’t wink or leer, so she was certain he had something else on his mind. He turned to Alphonso. “I’ll keep an eye on her, if you’re worried.” They stared at each other for a long minute and Ned added. “I owe that much to you, and to her.” Alphonso nodded.

  Nellie suspected that was as close to a confession of beating up the sheepherder that she would ever hear. Nell didn’t have much to gather up, so Alphonso helped her swing up behind the cowboy without hurting her arm. He had given her a small leather bag filled with green leaves and motions to boil and reapply the poultice when the old one grew dry. He also motioned with two fingers cutting the thread that held the skin together and said, “Dos, tres dias.” Nellie called Moonshine, who followed them out of camp.

  As with Sheriff Azgo, Nell wondered what to do with her hands and came to the same conclusion. She would have to hold onto Ned, but she did so by gripping his sides at belt level. This was the second time she was this close to a man, and she found the experience unsettling but not unwelcome. What was unwelcome was the gun butt digging into her own waist. “Can you move that thing?” She poked at it.

  The cowboy laughed and did as she asked, shoving the revolver into the front of his pants, as near as she could tell. After that, they moved along in amiable silence. The storm had left all the greenery refreshed, and even the sagebrush had a more intense color of gray-green. The evergreens and sage smelled brand new with the edge of kerosene that sage always carried. The track they followed had already dried out from the brief but heavy rain shower, but not enough for the horse to kick up dust into their faces. Not too long after they began the downhill trek, Ned rode back into the forest, dismounted, and searched around. A few black sticks marked where Hank must have tried to set the fire, but there was no sign of embers or smoke of any kind. Satisfied, he climbed awkwardly back into the saddle in front of Nell and they moved along again.

  “Why did you stop him?” Nellie ventured. She crooked the thumb of her left hand into his belt and let her arm ride more comfortably than if she used her hand to hold onto him. When no answer came, she wondered if he had heard her or was ignoring her.

  Ned stopped the horse again, motioned to keep quiet, and pointed down the hill and off to their right. A group of antelope grazed, their pronghorns distinct in
the sunlight. Because the two of them on their horse were in the shade, the animals hadn’t seen them. Moonie apparently didn’t see or smell them, as he sat on his haunches, waiting for the horse to start up again. They watched for a few minutes and Ned clicked to the horse to move on. He began humming and soon Nell was singing the words along with him. “Home, home on the range . . .”

  They moved down the mountain at a steady pace, sometimes trotting when the track became flatter and wider and by midmorning, they had met up with the Fourth of July Creek road, if it could be called a road. Certainly it was wider than the track they had followed, and to Nellie looked more well traveled than when she and Pearl had followed it by flanking it.

  “Where was it you intended going?”

  “To the moonshine camp. I have to find something.”

  The back of Ned’s head moved from side to side. “You’ll take me there, won’t you? You can just drop me off and continue on your way. I can get back to the main road on my own.” If no one is in the camp, she added to herself. Her plan, only half-formed, if that, seemed more hazardous as they neared the moonshine operation. Still, she must prove her own innocence by showing who killed Wolfman Pitts.

  “I have a better idea. Why don’t you and me just ride off into the sunset?”

  Nell laughed. “Just like in the moving pictures? Or in Zane Grey?” What a romantic suggestion. She could almost wish he were serious. She squeezed him ever so lightly. “How gallant you are! But what would I do without my camera? And what would you do without your cattle? We’d both be out of our elements, wouldn’t we?”

  It was Ned’s turn to laugh, but his didn’t sound like he was entertained. “No more cattle for me. I quit when I stopped Hank from burning down the forest. I won’t take orders from O’Donnell no more. I’ll stop and get my gear and head on back to the Coast. Find me a job, a real job, ’stead of playing at cowboys and steers. This country’s too dry for cattle anyhow. They’re ruining the high country. Same with maggots . . . uh, sheep.” He reined in the horse. “I’m serious, Nellie.”

  He turned his profile toward her with his brown eye on the side facing her. “You honor me, Ned, by asking.” She touched his cheek with her fingers. He was so close, she could see where he had missed a small bunch of whiskers near his ear when he had shaved that morning. His smell of perspiration and shaving cream mixed pleasantly with the sage aroma where the horse stood. The flannel of his shirt felt soft against her arm and she could hardly resist placing her head on his shoulder and wrapping her arms around his strong body and saying, “Ride on.” It would be so easy.

  It was then a long whining sound grew in the distance. “What is it?” Nellie couldn’t identify what she was hearing. Moonie barked, startling Nellie, and giving rise to guilt. She had completely forgotten about her dog, who had been ambling along with them.

  “Automobiles. Let’s get off the road. Someone’s coming in a yank.” He climbed down, helped Nellie down, and they led the horse and dog into a stand of trees. The whining stopped, ratcheting down rather than coming to an abrupt halt. “More than one, sounds like.”

  Nell studied their surroundings. She had ceased paying attention when Ned made his unexpected proposal. “Ned,” she whispered. “I’ve got to get to the moonshine operation before anyone else does. Please help me.” She began to walk hurriedly in the direction of the operation. She knew exactly where she was now.

  “You can’t go in there alone. Come on, we’ll ride the horse. That’ll be faster than anyone bushwhacking from the autos on the road. We can come up from the rear and see what’s going on.” He mounted and hoisted her up. “And what about your dog?”

  “I don’t know.” Nellie was confounded. Moonie had given away her presence more than once. She couldn’t let that happen at the illegal still. His presence or even his smell would cause their dogs to bark too. “Let’s let him follow partway. Then I’ll have to tie him to a tree.” She had never done that before and hated the thought of it.

  “Will he mind a direction to stay?”

  “He has in the past.” She remembered a risky situation in the winter when coyotes menaced the two of them. He had minded Rosy. Would her moondog follow her order? “But if there are dogs there, and there were last time I was in the camp . . .”

  “You might be going into a buzzard’s nest, you know.”

  Nellie had to decide. Ned furnished a short piece of thick twine. At her direction, he loosely coiled it around the dog’s neck and then a small tree. “Stay Moonie. I’ll be back.” She looked at Ned. “And if I’m not, you can get him.”

  They moved quickly between trees and over hummocks, as if the horse were used to this activity. “Crazy woman,” Ned muttered.

  Less than five minutes later, Nellie could see the tents of the camp. No one seemed to be around. She spied Pearl’s tent and pointed it out to Ned. “That’s where I need to go first. I can get in from the back, maybe.” Once again, they dismounted. Ned dropped the reins of the bridle to the ground and he and Nell moved forward, keeping themselves behind trees or shrubs. Still, no one appeared outside. The camp looked much as it had when Nellie had been detained there. The fire was out, but the cooking pot hung over it. Small stacks of gear lay here and there, dusty and disordered. Bottles and tin cans still littered the grounds, still filthy with dog excrement and pieces of pipe. It was as if the last few days had never happened, that she had never left. The huge still by the creek reflected the only activity: a fire burned beneath the largest metal pot. Someone must be tending it and had moved away, perhaps to relieve himself, perhaps to get more firewood. As if in answer, the sound of an ax on a tree rang through the forest, breaking what had seemed a strange silence. On cue, the flap of one of the tents facing the fire opened and Dick Goodlight crawled out. “Pearl!”

  Nell motioned for Ned to stop. If everyone was in camp, how could she explore Pearl’s tent?

  “Pearl! Get your ass out here and whump up some breakfast. I’m hungry!”

  As if she stood right in front of Ned and Nell, Pearl’s voice rang out from her tent. “Fix your own breakfast, you lazy son of a . . .” The remainder of the epitaph was mumbled, and then Pearl appeared in the clearing as well. “Who was your servant this time last week? I been waited on for a few days, and I liked it.”

  The opportunity presented itself and Nell couldn’t let it pass. “Stay here,” she whispered in Ned’s ear. “I’m going in the back of her tent.” She kept her fingers crossed that Pearl had not refastened the stakes Nell had pulled when they escaped the moonshiners. As the young woman was not a diligent person, Nell felt she could rely on that assumption. She moved the skirt of the tent and it lifted easily.

  Even the smells remained the same inside the canvas rigging: sun on dust, sachet, perspiration, and the musty tinge of wet boots drying. Nell glanced swiftly around the small space, looking for Pearl’s carrying bag. Surely she brought it back with her. Rumpled sleeping bag, clothes tossed into a corner, dancing shoes dangling from the makeshift shelves by their ties—Pearl must have danced again the night before, hence the late-morning awakening for the occupants of the camp. No bag. Failure.

  The flap of the tent opened and Pearl stepped in, hunched over to avoid hitting the top of the opening. When she looked up, there was Nell. Her mouth opened, and Nell motioned with her finger to her lips. “Shhh.”

  “What are you doing here?” Her voice was low, but not a whisper. “I thought you’d be in jail by now. I was planning on coming down to see about you, soon as I got away from Dick again.”

  Activity outside the tent raised the level of sounds to cover her voice. Someone banged on the pot, two men’s voices talked, the dogs barked, first one and then the other, and then their barking coalesced into a howl. Both women turned toward the noise.

  Ned’s voice came from outside the tent in back. “Nell, get the hell out of there. The revenuers are coming.” The back edge lifted. “Hurry!”

  “Who’s out there?” Pearl looked f
rom the front flap to the lifting edge in back.

  “Ned Tanner. He brought me. How did you get here? I thought you were with the outfitters.”

  “Ned’s right. Get outta here. Now!” Pearl shoved Nellie to the back of the tent.

  “I can’t! I need to know where your gun is.”

  Pearl pushed at Nellie again, and Ned reached in to grab her arm. “Get out here. Now!” He pulled at Nell, then ducked down so his face could be seen. “You too, Pearl. Come out! I’ve got a horse in the woods and I’ll get you both away from here.”

  Nell was out and scurrying for the woods. Ned still crouched by the end of the tent, entreating, when half a dozen men trotted into camp in dark suits, guns raised and pointed. In their midst was the only man dressed for the wilderness, Sheriff Azgo, and his pistol was in the holster around his waist. She was so surprised, she almost forgot to duck behind a tree, but did so before his face swung toward the tent where Ned and Pearl argued.

  “Hands up!” the foremost suited man called. “We’re federal marshals. You’re all under arrest for illegal liquor manufacture.” He motioned for three of his men to destroy the still. They did, forming a half circle in front of it. Two men raised axes and pounded on the copper pot, crushing it in as slurry mash poured out like oatmeal. The screech of metal hurt Nellie’s ears. One man shot his rifle into barrels next to the still. Liquid spurted forth, draining in separate streams from each hole. He levered the gun and shot again at ceramic containers. They blew into large chunks, again spilling moonshine in cascades of clear liquor. A man came dashing in from the forest. “Hey! What’s goin’ on?” Too late, he realized exactly what was going on.