Good Water

by John D. Nesbitt

  “You’re welcome.” He put his hat on his head. “I guess I’d better go find a place where these horses can eat some grass.”

  As he turned away with the horses, he became aware that Red and Raimundo had been watching. No harm done, he figured. He hadn’t done anything out of line.

  Then it occurred to him that someone else might have taken in the scene as well. Looking back, he saw the dark stare of Faustino Romero. Tommy breathed in, stood up straight, and walked away with the horses.

  New thoughts flooded in. If Anita was sixteen, Faustino might have been stuck on her for as much as a year or more. And he might have a motive for taking his horses out and brushing them when he did. With the families all so close, he would have an idea of when the girls would come out to wash laundry, boil corn, or do whatever work they did outside. Faustino would know when the family had killed their last pig and therefore what they had for dinner.

  Privacy might be a small commodity in a group like this. And yet, Tommy had known of families with fourteen or sixteen kids, Mexican and otherwise. Some of these families lived in small houses, and Ma and Pa still found enough privacy after the first few kids to produce a few more. As he heard more than once among the bunkhouse hands, if people want to do something, they’ll find a way to do it.

  Tommy stopped the horses and climbed onto Pete so he could ride bareback. He was sure he was going to have to wander a ways from the village in order to find grass. He had at least another hour of daylight, and if the grazing was good, he could loiter in the light of the moon.

  The sun was slipping behind the hills when Pete lifted his nose to the breeze and nickered. The other horse perked up as well. Tommy peered to the east and saw a horse and rider poking along in his direction. He relaxed his gaze for a minute, and when the pair drew closer, he saw that it was Gabriel on the old, dull-brown horse with thin hindquarters. Tommy waited, listening to the sound of Pete and the other horse munching grass.

  Gabriel was riding bareback with a hemp halter and rope that some punchers called a McCarty. He stopped the horse and slid off.

  “Hey, Gabriel, did you come out to check on me?”

  “No, my father sent me out to look for a burro.”

  “What kind? I haven’t seen one.”

  “He’s an old burro. Grey. He belongs to Milena, and he doesn’t come back for two days. My father said, since you are out here, we can look for him and bring him back if we can find him.”

  Tommy looked at the two horses that were engrossed in cropping grass. “I guess I can,” he said. “I can always stay out with these boys a little longer. We’ll look for the donkey before it gets too dark.” He pulled Pete around, put his hands on the horse’s withers and backbone, and boosted himself onto the solid back. Gabriel swung aboard the old horse, and the party began to amble northwest.

  Tommy did not bother to keep his voice low as he asked, “Do they just let these donkeys wander all over?”

  “Most of the time, they use the burros for work. For sheep camps, or to carry firewood. But this one, he is old, and Milena doesn’t have any sheep to take care of. Well, she has sheep, but another person in the family takes care of them. And the old burro, he doesn’t go very far.”

  Tommy studied the landscape ahead of him. “If he came out this way, he might have ended up on Cushman’s land, and they would have run him off. The animals don’t know the difference, but you can see where someone plowed the section lines a few years back. Cushman always told us to run off anything that didn’t belong.”

  Gabriel nodded, and his horse jolted along.

  Dusk fell as they continued to angle northwest. The red-orange sunset faded to a pale yellow, and the rangeland was speckled with low shadows. Tommy picked out a section line and rode toward it. Out of caution he did not cross it but rode alongside of it. Gabriel caught up and fell in next to him.

  “See, this is the line,” said Tommy. “Cushman’s pretty jealous. He told us not to step foot on his land again, and I don’t want to unless it’s necessary.”

  They were headed north now, with the sunset at their left. As they came to a low rise, Tommy saw something out of place. Up ahead and to the left where the land dipped and rose again, a small heap caught the fading light. Tommy rode ahead, keeping to the side of the line. The closer he got, the more he began to dread. Fifty yards away, he said, “That might be it.”

  With his heart beating stronger, he nudged his horse and crossed the section line. Gabriel rode along beside him until the old horse stopped. Pete snuffled and turned his head aside, and Red’s horse milled. Tommy hung on with his legs and got the horses to stand still. He separated the ropes and slid off.

  Leading the two horses, he walked forward, conscious of stepping on Cushman’s land. Gabriel had slid off and was walking with him. They stopped a few yards from the dead burro.

  The animal lay with its front legs crossed and its head stretched out. Its body had swollen in the summer heat, and a dark crusty stain was visible on the ribs behind the shoulder. Closer, Tommy saw where the blood had soaked into the ground below the chest.

  Tommy met Gabriel’s eyes in the fading light.

  “He’s dead,” said Gabriel.

  “Someone shot him. Not a hundred yards from the line. They could have chased him away, but they shot him like a dog.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The old scrap lumber had a musty smell as Tommy held a piece upright and split it with a hatchet. He understood that the gente, or people, had hauled in several wagonloads of salvage lumber and had cut it up to make their houses, sheepherder shacks, and outbuildings. Split and broken pieces, trimmed-off ends, lumber warped beyond use, and termite-eaten pieces ended up on the woodpile. From there, Tommy was transferring it to a smaller pile of usable firewood.

  From across the yard came the light, laughing voices of Anita and Elsa. Red was helping them dip the boiled corn out of the cauldron, and it sounded as if he was keeping the two girls entertained.

  Off to the right and beyond the fire pit a ways, Faustino Romero sat on a chair and shined a saddle. Using a cloth that he dipped in a can of oil, he wiped the leather straps and the wooden tree. The Mexican saddle had a large, flat, wooden pommel as well as other parts of the wooden frame visible. Faustino again wore a clean set of clothes, the likes of which a merchant would wear. He also wore an ornate sombrero, black with white stitching, round with a large, upturned brim.

  Close to Faustino stood his uncle Alejo, Elsa’s father. Alejo was short and dark-complexioned, in contrast with his nephew, who had a light complexion and was as tall sitting down as Alejo was standing up. As they pattered along in a low conversation, Alejo kept his eye on Red. Well should he, Tommy thought. Elsa, at two years older than Anita, was almost spilling over with womanhood.

  Tommy felt a mild resentment at having to work by himself, on his knees, splitting weathered lumber, while Red frolicked with the girls. On the other hand, he didn’t mind being left out of the watchful stare of Alejo and Faustino.

  Anita separated herself from the others and carried a pail toward the house. She was wearing a light blue dress that swished as she walked. She veered in Tommy’s direction, so he stood up.

  “See?” she said. “This is what it looks like when it’s cooked.”

  The corn looked as he would have expected, swollen and dull-hued and not very interesting, but he appreciated Anita showing it to him. He thought she was sharing it with him because he had invested some work in it, what with hauling the water and coaxing the fire into flame.

  A dog began barking, so Tommy moved to his left to get a better view of the yard. Coming up the slope from the creek were two riders he recognized—Fred Berwick and Walt McKinney.

  Tommy stepped forward with Anita close by, and Red did the same with Elsa a couple of yards away. Faustino and Alejo came closer as well, so Fred and Walt had something of an audience.

  The two riders stopped. Fred wore clean clothes as was his habit, and his light tan ves
t caught the sunlight. He was clean-shaven as usual. Walt, on the other hand, had a few days’ worth of stubble the color of dirty straw, and his clothes looked as if he had slept in them for a while. He was wearing his six-gun today, a Colt with a small, rounded, yellowish handle sticking out in cross-draw position. He did not look at anyone in particular as he took out the makings for a cigarette.

  Fred let his eyes sweep over Tommy and Red. With a squint he said, “Good mornin’, boys. Kind of surprised to see you here, but it’s all the same. I’ve got a message from Vinch Cushman.”

  Red had his thumbs in his belt and his head tipped back. “Go ahead.”

  “Well, it’s like this. Vinch is doin’ what he said he would. He’s brought in a crew of men with mules and scrapers, and they’re cuttin’ a lateral ditch. As soon as they close off the creek, the water will flow into a low spot and accumulate to make a pond.” Fred paused.

  “And?” said Red.

  “And,” Fred continued, “if anyone crosses the line to interfere, there’s goin’ to be trouble.” His eyes settled on Tommy, and he said, “Sorry to be the one to have to carry this kind of news, but that’s the way things are.”

  “I’m not surprised. And I don’t blame you.” At the edge of his vision, Tommy saw that Raimundo and Gabriel had joined the semicircle facing the visitors. Fred had his hands crossed and resting on his saddle horn. Walt had hung back, watching, and even though he had lit his cigarette, it seemed as if the two of them might leave.

  Red’s voice rose on the air. “Who killed the donkey?”

  Fred did not flinch. He said, “I wasn’t there.”

  Walt said nothing as he slouched in his seat. With his shifty eyes, dirty-looking stubble, drooping cigarette, and wrinkled clothes, he looked like a saddle tramp.

  Red spoke again. “I think it was a cheap thing to do.”

  Walt sat up a little and held his cigarette between his thumb and second finger. His stubbled chin moved as he said, “You shouldn’t worry about it. It’s none of your business.”

  “I just think it was a sneaky thing to do, like some egg-suckin’ dog.”

  Walt stiffened. He said, “You might want to watch what you say. There’s more than one way to dig your grave with your mouth. Fat men eat too much, and stupid men talk too much.”

  “Tell that to your pal Lew Greer. They call him the fat man here.”

  “Why don’t you tell him, the next chance you get?” Walt turned his horse and began to move away.

  Keeping his voice down, Red said to Tommy, “I think he shot that donkey. And all the time I figured Greer did it.”

  Tommy shrugged. He was keeping an eye on the riders.

  The horses sauntered away, hips shifting and tails switching. Two dogs started up and went after them, barking. They were the usual two dogs, medium-sized, mixed breed, one light and one dark. Gabriel began to take off after them, and Raimundo said something in Spanish. Gabriel stopped.

  The dogs kept following and barking. The riders reached the creek and crossed over, splashing in the low water. The brownand-black dog followed, still barking. Tommy wished the dog would turn back. Up on the other side, in a matter-of-fact but deliberate manner, Walt drew his pistol and shot the dog. It yelped once and slumped in a heap. The horses took off at a gallop.

  Faustino’s face went hard, and so did Raimundo’s. The girls had an expression of fear and disbelief. The incident had happened so quickly, with no buildup and no trailing away, that it took a moment to sink in.

  Red gave a tight, sideways scowl. “Sons of bitches,” he said.

  “You might have said more to them than you needed to.” Tommy moistened his lips as he watched the last of the retreating horses.

  Red shook his head. “They’ve set their minds to trouble, that’s what.”

  Tommy went back to splitting wood as Anita carried the pail into the house. Red walked with Elsa to resume ladling out the corn, but the merry laughter was all gone. Gabriel crossed the creek to bring back the dead dog. Raimundo, Alejo, and Faustino stayed in a close group and talked things over in Spanish.

  The stack of kindling grew, with the pale yellow of the interior of the old pine lumber contrasting with the weathered grey exterior. Tommy stayed focused on keeping his fingers and thumb clear of the hatchet head. Once in a while he looked up and around. Both of the girls had gone inside, and Red was busying himself with the horses. The men continued talking.

  Gabriel stopped to visit, his shoes and lower pant legs wet from crossing the creek.

  “I’m sorry about what happened,” Tommy said.

  “There’s not much we can do.”

  “Walt didn’t have to do what he did.” Tommy motioned with his head. “It looks like the men have plenty to talk about.”

  “That’s Faustino. When something happens, he wants everyone to listen to him.”

  “Is he some kind of a leader in your group? I thought your father was.”

  “My father is older, and he knows many things, so people listen to him. But Faustino is important, too. He is like a mayor. He helps manage all the papers, and he helps with the money.”

  “You mean he lends money?”

  “Sometimes he does that, too. But he collects money, to pay the taxes and to buy the things we need.”

  “Oh, I see. He makes trips to buy supplies, like flour and beans and rice.”

  “Yes, and for other things.” Gabriel pointed at the pile of scrap lumber. “He bought all the wood.”

  “Ah-hah. So he’s kind of a banker, and kind of a business manager.”

  “That’s it.”

  “He looks as if he’s a little better off than some of the others. Got more money. Better-lookin’ horses. I guess that comes from not being married yet.”

  Gabriel laughed. “My father says that the people with money always have money, and poor people are always poor.”

  “I’ve heard that, too, and from the little I’ve seen, it seems to be true. My uncle’s that way. Says he was born poor and he’ll die poor. Maybe he will. Did Faustino come from a family with a little more money?”

  “A little. From his father’s side.”

  “Now, he’s kind of a cousin of yours, isn’t he?”

  “Yes. His mother is sister to my uncle Alejo. They are short and dark. His father, Don Patricio, was taller and not so dark. He said his family was from Spain. So he was always a little better. He had a hotel in Alamogordo. But he had bad drinking, and he lost too much money on horse races. One day he drank a glass of brandy, and he died. They say someone put something in his drink, to stop his heart just like that. Nobody knows for sure. But my father says that is the way life is. We never know the hour when death can come.”

  Tommy frowned. “So the two sons came here to try to make a better life? There’s not much money in homesteading.”

  “They go with the family. Everything was finished in Alamogordo.”

  “That’s too bad. Their mother, too?”

  “Yes, and their father did not have much by the time he died.

  My father says all Don Patricio had left was his pride and a few duros and pesetas.”

  “What are those?”

  “Spanish coins.”

  The voices of the three men rose on the air and went silent. As the men dispersed, Faustino picked up his saddle stand and carried it with the saddle to his house. Raimundo beckoned to his son, so Gabriel said goodbye to Tommy and took off to join his father.

  Tommy resumed splitting wood, and within a couple of minutes he heard footsteps and the jingle of spurs. He turned and stood up as Red drew nearer.

  Red had a stem of grass in his mouth. He shifted it from one side to another and said, “I think they’ve been talkin’ about us.”

  “They’re probably talking about the whole mess, and we’re part of it.”

  “I get the feeling that those other two don’t care for us. You’d think they’d be glad to have us. I don’t know how much these Mexicans are for puttin’ up
a fight.”

  “It doesn’t seem to me that they want to fight. They’d rather avoid it.”

  Red gave a slow shake of the head. “If it was my donkey or my dog, I think I’d do something about it.”

  “They’re not in a good spot. Both those animals crossed the line. I know animals cross both ways all the time and don’t know any better, but Vinch’s men have some justification. It’s not right, but they’ve got a leg to stand on.”

  “Well, I thought Walt was all right at one time, but I’ve changed my mind.”

  “I can’t say that I ever liked him, but I sure don’t care for him now.” Tommy’s gaze traveled to the Villarreal house. He imagined Anita inside, amassing the ground corn as Gabriel turned the handle on the grinder. “I don’t know how much good we’re doing here,” he said.

  “Oh, we can give it a little while. If they want us gone, we’ll be able to tell. But like I said before, they ought to be glad we’re here.”

  “Maybe so, but I’d just as soon not wear out our welcome. I think I’ll take the horses out to graze and make myself scarce for a while.”

  “Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No, it’s something I can do by myself. And I don’t mind being alone.”

  The shadows of evening were beginning to soften when Tommy led the two horses back into the village. He was tired and hungry, on edge and worried. He thought he would feel much better with a plate of food and the presence of Anita, but he didn’t know what to expect.

  He found Red lounging against the saddles in the lean-to.

  “About time you got back. I spent just about the whole day here by myself.”

  “No girls to keep you company?”

  “Seems like they’re keepin’ ’em inside.”

  “Huh. Well, I’m going to water these horses. Did you eat?”

  “Oh, yeah. Gabriel brought me some food on a plate.”

  The thought of actual food made Tommy’s stomach feel even emptier. As he led the horses to the trough and let them drink, he made himself be patient. If no one brought him food, he would have to get by.