Good Water

by John D. Nesbitt

  Back at the lean-to, he moped for a few minutes until Gabriel appeared with a lantern and a tan crockery plate of food. The sight of the food restored Tommy’s faith in the Mexicans’ sense of hospitality, and the aroma raised his spirits right away. Half of the plate was covered with beans, and the other half had a soft-looking meat soaking in a red sauce. Gabriel handed him the plate and hung the lantern on a nail overhead. Tommy sat down on a saddle and dug in as Gabriel crouched on his heels and hugged his knees.

  “This is unbelievable. It tastes so good that I want to eat it all at once. I was starving.” He took another spoonful. “What is it?”

  “Chicharrones. The skin of the pig.”

  “Oh, cracklin’s. Fried pork rinds.”

  “That’s right. Then they cook it in the red chile.”

  “I can’t believe how good it is. Perfect combination with the beans.”

  “The last of the pig. We kill it about a week ago, and we fry the skin then.”

  Tommy recalled that he had eaten pork each day with these people. “Does your family eat a whole pig in a week?”

  “Oh, no. Each house takes a share. Next time, maybe someone kills a sheep, and everyone takes some.”

  “That makes sense.” Tommy pointed his spoon at the fire pit, where Alejo was leaning over and laying some of the split kindling in place for a fire. “Is someone going to cook something?”

  “Not right now. I think Faustino wants to speak.”

  “Oh.” Tommy noticed that the tripod had been taken away. Alejo crouched and struck a match, and a small flame grew at the edge of the crisscrossed kindling. The light reflected on the man’s dark features, and for a moment, Tommy imagined being in another time and place. In his fancy, he was a captive among the Apaches.

  Gabriel’s voice brought him back. “There’s Faustino now.”

  Alejo was still crouched, fanning with his hat, as Faustino came into view and stood by the fire. The flame brightened, casting a glow on the white embroidery of his black jacket and hat. On second glance, Tommy saw that the man wore a gunbelt with inlaid black holsters and white-handled pistols. To all appearances, he had dressed for his speech.

  Tommy finished his meal and held his plate forward. “Thanks, Gabriel. That was wonderful. Please tell your mother.”

  “Do you want more?”

  “Oh, no, thanks.” Tommy was disappointed with himself for turning down the offer, but he wanted to be polite, and he imagined the family wanted to hear what Faustino had to say.

  Gabriel took the plate. “I’ll be right back.”

  Tommy watched the plate go away. He could have eaten two more servings of that delicious food, but he told himself to be satisfied with what he had. He turned to Red and said, “Do you know anything about the speech coming up?”

  Red shook his head. “News to me.”

  Alejo stood up and chatted with Faustino as a couple of other men joined the group. Raimundo came out of the house and headed for the gathering. Gabriel hurried over to the lean-to and motioned to Red and Tommy.

  “Come on. He’s going to talk now.”

  Tommy said, “Do they want us to listen?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s important.” Gabriel stood on his tiptoes and blew out the lantern.

  By the time they reached the area lit by the fire, another man had arrived. Tommy counted them. Raimundo, Alejo, Faustino, a man who could only be Faustino’s brother, and two men Tommy had not seen before. With eight households in total and one of them belonging to a widow, that left one man missing. Tommy figured he was out tending to sheep. Another boy about Gabriel’s age showed up and stood behind one of the men Tommy did not know. Ten altogether, all men and boys.

  Faustino began his speech in Spanish, with what seemed like a set of preliminary expressions of courtesy. Then, to Tommy’s surprise, he switched to English.

  “Here is the problem we have today. In the first place, the big rancher Cooshmon does not like us. That is nothing new. Always there is someone who does not like Mexican people, and this one he is jealous because he wants all the pasture. Bien. And now he wants us to leave. I say, why? We have been here two years, and now he wants us to leave? Is it for the grass? Or is it because we have sheep? Or is it because we are Mexicans?” Faustino held out his hands, palms up.

  He went on. “Maybe it is all of these things. He is jealous. He is full of hate. He wants to take our water so that we should go.” Faustino paused and waved his arm. “But nobody wants to go. We are all stubborn. Muy tercos. ¿No es cierto?”

  A rumble of agreement went around the group, followed by comments. Tommy caught words he knew—casa, borrego, tierra. House, sheep, land. He heard the word zopilote. That was the new one—buzzard. Then he heard a word, quite clear, that he didn’t know. Alacrán.

  He turned to Gabriel. “What does that mean, alacrán?”

  Gabriel cupped his hand, held it downward, and moved his fingers. “Big spider.”

  Faustino cleared his throat, then again, louder. When he had the floor, he said, “But I think we should go. Leave before he does any more damage, before he hurts anyone. We come back with the law.”

  “No, no, no,” ran the voices. Tommy picked out another word several times—aquí. Here. The people wanted to stay here.

  “Very well,” said Faustino. “We know he wants us to leave. But I ask, why now? Why, after two years?”

  No one came forth with an answer.

  “Well, here is what happens. Here come these two boys, young Americans. I want to say Yankees, but maybe they are from Texas. I do not know. But they work for Cooshmon, and he does not like them. I do not know why. But he runs them away. They come here. Then Cooshmon kills a burro and a dog, and he wants to cut our water.”

  Tommy felt all the eyes of the group as they stared at him and Red. He did not agree with Faustino’s version of the cause or even of the order of the events, but he did not know if he had a voice in the argument.

  Faustino put the heels of his hands on the jutting white handles of his six-guns. Raising his head so that the firelight caught his face and the underside of the brim of his sombrero, he said, “I am not afraid to stay and fight. Neither is my brother.”

  All eyes turned to the brother, who stood with his arms across his chest and his fists pushing out his biceps.

  Faustino held his hands at chest level, turned outward a little. “We have choices. We can leave and come back later. We can stay and fight Cooshmon, who is angry with these boys. Or we can stay, let the boys go, and see if Cooshmon still gives us trouble. I do not decide, because I am one and you are many. But I will say this. I am not afraid.”

  Alejo stepped forward and spoke. “Que se vayan.”

  No one looked at Tommy and Red. The men all seemed to be making an effort to look at nothing in particular. Tommy turned to Gabriel and asked, “What did he say?”

  “That you should leave.”

  Red said, in a low voice, “I wonder what the rest of ’em think.”

  Tommy felt a chill. He drew his elbows against his ribs to try to keep steady. In answer to Red, he said, “No one else is saying anything different.” He let his eyes wander over the group. Raimundo did not avoid him, so Tommy spoke to the man who had been their host. “It’s not necessary to take a vote. We’ll go. Or at least I’ll go. Red can decide for himself.”

  “I won’t stay where I’m not wanted.”

  As the two boys turned and headed toward the lean-to and their horses, Raimundo said, “You don’t have to leave tonight.”

  “It’s just as well,” said Tommy. “Let your people be at peace.”

  “This gives me pain,” said Raimundo. “I would not turn you from my house.”

  “I don’t see it that way. You don’t need to apologize.”

  Raimundo seemed relieved. “You are good boys. You show good understanding.”

  “Thanks. We don’t have any hard feelings.” Tommy gave him a nod of assurance and continued on his way to the lean-to.r />
  Gabriel lit the lantern again to show light for the boys as they packed their gear. The group of men around the fire broke up, and the fire died down. Alejo had not been prodigal with the wood to begin with, and the split pine lumber burned fast. The night drew into just the lantern, the boys, and the horses.

  Tommy pulled the leather strings tight to hold down his bedroll and war bag. He led Pete out a few steps and snugged the front cinch. Gabriel was still holding the lantern for Red, so Tommy stood alone with his horse between him and the light.

  A faint rustle caused him to turn to his left. In the semidarkness he saw the form of a young woman.

  He spoke in a low voice. “Hello, there.”

  Anita’s voice was soft and lovely to his ears. “I came to say goodbye.”

  “That’s very nice of you.”

  “I brought this for your horse.” She held up her hand, and he saw that she had a corn tortilla.

  He took it and said, “Thanks.” He held it under Pete’s nose, and within a few seconds the horse had curled his lip and taken in the delicacy.

  Anita’s voice was soft as she said, “He likes it.”

  “Yes, he does.” Tommy met her eyes in the imperfect light. “I hope I can see you again. I hope this isn’t adios.”

  She smiled and said, “No, just hasta luego.”

  “I don’t think your father is angry with me.”

  “Oh, no. He knows that you are going away so that there will be peace here. Time passes. Things change.”

  “I hope so.” He held out his hand, and her fingers touched his.

  She faded back into the night as Gabriel came forward with the lantern. He led the way through the yard as Tommy and Red followed with their horses. Raimundo appeared as they rounded the front corner of the Villarreal house. Alejo and Faustino stood a couple of yards back.

  Both Tommy and Red had taken their gunbelts out of their saddlebags and had buckled them on. With his pistol on his hip and his rifle in the scabbard, Tommy felt equipped and capable. He could see that Alejo and Faustino were looking over the horses, rifles, and six-guns.

  Raimundo stepped forward and shook hands with both of them. “You will come again to my house,” he said. “You are always welcome.”

  “Thank you,” said Tommy. “And thank you for everything while we were here.”

  Red’s voice was forceful. “Thanks from me, too. We’ll be back.”

  Tommy led his horse out a few steps and turned him. He set his reins, grabbed a hank of mane, and held the saddle horn to pull himself aboard. He settled in and said, “So long, Gabriel.”

  Red swung up into the saddle, pulled on the reins to make his horse tuck his head, and backed up a couple of steps. He looked around as if to find a face at the edge of the light, then tipped his hat and said goodbye to Gabriel. He touched his spurs to his horse, and the two riders moved out of the lamp-light.

  A hundred yards from the houses, as they rode into the night, Red spoke. “That was quite a speech he worked up.”

  “I think he’s used to it.”

  “Seemed to me he had things out of kilter, but I didn’t see a way around it. He was determined to get rid of us.”

  “Sure seemed that way.”

  Red sounded a bit haughty as he said, “Don’t know how good a judgment it was. We could have been of help to them.”

  “Maybe he didn’t think they needed our help.”

  “Puh. It was because of you, you know. He’s got eyes for that girl, and he didn’t like you gettin’ in the way.”

  Tommy held his tongue. Maybe Red was just getting even for Tommy saying he had provoked Walt McKinney. None of it mattered much, once things had taken their course. And besides, Anita had come out to say goodbye. That was something to keep to himself and appreciate.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Red was sitting on his bedroll and smoking a cigarette when Tommy woke up. The horses were making a commotion, shuffling their feet and breathing hard.

  Tommy rose up on one elbow. The world filled in around him. To the east, sunlight was breaking through a thin wall of clouds. The Mexican village was about a mile west. He and Red had come this far in the night, downstream, until they found bushes tall enough to tie the horses. The creek did not make any sound, not like the stream on the Muleshoe that splashed and burbled over rocks.

  He had thought of the Muleshoe before he went to sleep. Here on the dry, almost treeless plains, he recalled a night in late winter when the full moon shed its light on a heavy blanket of snow that lay on the pines and cedars. He had thought of that scene many times. Life at the Muleshoe had been cold and windy, and when the weak sunlight of spring began to melt the ice, the mud took over. But he remembered the good parts, like that one pretty night, the gurgling stream, the deer and elk, the blue grouse, and the snowshoe hares. It seemed like a world away, that time before Vinch Cushman or Red Armstrong, but it was less than six months ago. He left because he was making half a man’s wages. Now he was making nothing.

  “What’s wrong with the horses?” he asked.

  “Nothin’. They’re just restless. One moves, and then the other does. They need to be used more.”

  “Maybe they’re hungry.” Tommy sat up and flipped the blankets aside.

  “They ate all day yesterday. They could do with a ride.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  Red blew out a stream of smoke. “We could go to town.”

  “To town? What for? We were just there a couple of days ago.”

  “I’d like to know what Vinch is up to, if he’s really bringin’ in a grading crew.”

  “I would guess he is, or already has. Fred said he had already started.”

  Red spit away a fleck of tobacco. “He says what he’s told to say. And besides, we need some grub.”

  “We still have what we bought.” Tommy reached for his boots.

  “Just a couple of cans.”

  Tommy pulled on his boots and stood up. “Why don’t we do it this way? Rather than load up everything, we can leave the camp as it is. I’ll stay here. You can do what you want to do, and I’ll mind the camp and keep to myself.”

  Red took a long drag on his cigarette. “I guess I could. You don’t seem to be in a very good mood.”

  “Oh, I’m all right. Sometimes it just feels like I got filled up on things. Maybe a day on my own will help me empty out.”

  Red lifted his head and looked across the creek to the north. “This should be a good place for it.”

  Tommy set his hat forward to block out the glare of the sun. Up on the rangeland away from the creek, heat rose from the ground at the same time that it poured down from above. Now in late morning, the air did not stir. The only sounds came from the shift of Pete’s hooves, the drag of the lead rope, and the grazing of the horse as he tore and munched the dry grass.

  Small black ants and larger red ones went about their work in the bare earth between the clumps of curled grass. So did the dry-backed grey beetles and the smaller black ones. Somewhere out there, Tommy knew, there were sparrows and larks and blackbirds that would eat these bugs and others. Maybe the birds were shaded up right now, like the rabbits. He looked up and saw a lone hawk floating in the sky.

  The world seemed to stretch away forever in all directions, though he knew that the Mexican village lay to the west, and beyond that, the White Wings Ranch had its building and corrals. To the south and west lay Fenton, where Red would be satisfying his curiosity or at least his restlessness to be doing something and going somewhere.

  Tommy glanced over his shoulder toward camp. He had wandered quite a ways as he let his horse graze. For as much as he liked being alone out under the open sky, he felt an uneasiness, a sense of having left his rifle, his pistol, and his saddle next to a bush in full view, almost a mile away. He should go back.

  He gave a tug on the lead rope. Pete raised his head, turned, and fell into line. Tommy struck a course across the prairie, keeping an eye out for snakes as
always. A greyish-brown bird, smaller than a meadowlark, rose up from the sagebrush and flitted away. Tommy stepped aside to avoid a gopher hole and looked back to see that Pete did the same.

  As the land sloped down toward the creek, he saw the tops of the chokecherry bushes where he and Red had tied the horses. He was a hundred yards downstream, where the creek spread out and made a mudhole. He smelled the stale water and saw a cloud of gnats hovering at eye level. He turned left to go downstream a ways further before he would cross.

  The creek took a turn between two low ledges of pale clay. Beyond the gap, the area widened out into a green, grassy area. Tommy was about to take a peek when he saw the tan hip and white rump of an antelope.

  He sank back and took the slack out of the lead rope, then turned and retraced the way he had come. He passed the muddy area on his left and continued upstream until he reached a dry spot across from the camp. The water was about a foot wide and three inches deep at this point, so he jumped across. Pete jumped as well and settled with a heave of breath.

  Tommy felt jittery as he tied the horse to a bush, then leaned over the saddle on the ground and drew the rifle out of its scabbard. The antelope might not stay long. This was the time they would come for a drink of water before they laid up in the middle part of the day. He took a deep breath to steady himself. He might get one shot at best.

  He did not know what the approach was like from this side of the creek, so he decided to go back to the spot where he had gotten as close as he did.

  Within a few minutes he was crouched at the low ledge where the water flowed. He did not dare walk around through the gap. He ran too great a chance of spooking the antelope—if they were still there. He was going to have to crawl. And so he did.

  Crawling on all fours was hard enough, but carrying the rifle and making sure he didn’t poke it into the dirt called for an awkward, hobbling motion. He worked his way up the slope, and once on top, he had to keep crawling until the creek bottom came into view. As it did, he crouched lower and lower, hoping to see the animals before they saw him.