Good Water

by John D. Nesbitt

  Raimundo glanced at Gabriel. “I think Bill has a good idea. Go tell the others to move the sheep. You help them.”

  Lockwood said, “Tommy, I’ll take care of the horses. You can get started hauling water. Make sure all the buckets are full.”

  Gabriel left to go to the sheep. Lockwood took the reins of the two horses and led them away. Raimundo said something to Faustino ending with the word caballos and followed Lockwood. Faustino and Emilio stood up and headed for their two wagons.

  The camp had emptied out pretty fast. Tommy glanced around at the wooden boxes, one vacant chair, a small pile of folded canvas, and an empty washtub. He walked to the other end of the camp, looking for buckets. At the tailgate of the Villarreals’ wagon, he came face-to-face with Anita.

  She was wearing a red-and-brown dress with a low collar. Her long, dark hair fell loose below her shoulders and waved in the breeze at the edge of camp. A wave of emotion overtook him, a mixture of wonder and yearning. He stood with his eyes wide open, not knowing what to say.

  “You came back,” she said. “See? I told you.”

  He took her hands and gazed into her soft, dark eyes. “I didn’t know when I would see you again.” His eyes roved over her clear, tan face and open neck. Maybe it was the way he felt, but she did not look like a girl to him. She looked like a young woman. He pressed her hands in his, and she returned the pressure. “We came back for a serious reason,” he said. “Bill saw Cushman and his men in a camp about a mile from here.”

  “Do you think they will come today?”

  “No telling. They just got there and set their camp, started their fire. So you’d think they’re not going to move for a while. The first two times they attacked, they did it at night. But you never know. So the men are moving all the animals. Bill told me to bring in a supply of water.” Still holding her hands, he lost himself for a second in her eyes. Then he pulled himself back. “Where are those two buckets that make you look so pretty when you carry them?”

  She smiled as she withdrew her hands. “I’ll get them.”

  In less than a minute she returned.

  “Thanks,” he said, reaching for the handles.

  “Let me help.”

  “I think it would be better if you stayed here. Bill said for me to fill all the buckets, so if you can get some more together, I’ll go fill these.” He held his hands out, and she handed the buckets forward. But she did not release them until he kissed her. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

  He left camp on a fast walk, happy that Bill had given him the job he did. When he reached the creek, his sense of caution set in again. He kept an eye about him as he dipped the two buckets in the water.

  On his way up the hill, he saw the sheep moving. The herders were pushing them toward the west side of camp. The animals raised wisps of dust and particles of dry grass, and the breeze carried the distinct odor of sheep.

  Inside the enclosure, Tommy set the two buckets on the ground and took the two empties that Anita handed him. He pursed his lips at her and set off for the next trip.

  The sun had moved into early afternoon by the time he had eleven buckets and two washtubs full of water. The other men and boys had moved all the animals. Faustino and Emilio sat on boxes on their side of the enclosure, while Raimundo and Lockwood sat on their side. Tommy and Gabriel sat on the ground. It was the same seating arrangement as the evening before, with the exception that Ortiz was gone and someone had taken the chair away. Tommy imagined Ortiz still riding at his slow pace, perhaps stewing about how things had turned out, perhaps taking in the sagebrush and grass and prickly pear through dull eyes as the effect of the liquor wore off. At least he was out of the way.

  From where he sat, Tommy could see two chickens picking at the ground outside the wagon at the far end of camp. To the right of that wagon, a group of children laughed as they played with a dog. One of the women he had never spoken to was hanging children’s clothing on a rope stretched between two wagons. Beyond her, Tommy saw the swishing tail of a brown horse and the lowered head of the sand-colored burro with the striped cross on his front quarters.

  Milena and Eusebia appeared with plates of food and handed them out in the same arrangement as the evening before. No one made a comment except for the usual courtesies of thank you and you’re welcome. When Tommy received his plate, it consisted of a serving of cold beans with a few pieces of cold meat on the side. For his part, it was an improvement over breakfast, so he dug in.

  The meal did not last long. Everyone ate in a businesslike manner, and no offers came for second helpings. One by one, the plates went away.

  Faustino took out his pocketknife and was rubbing his thumb across the edge of the blade when he stopped and frowned. He wrinkled his nose and looked up. “Huele a humo,” he said.

  Tommy looked at Gabriel.

  “He says it smells like smoke.”

  Lockwood stood up. “No one has had a fire going, have they?”

  Raimundo looked up from his seat and shook his head.

  Within a few seconds, Tommy and Gabriel had joined the four men at the opening of the camp. They were all turned toward the southwest, facing into the breeze. Women and children had gathered at the other end of the camp, gazing in the same direction.

  Smoke was lifting off the ground in a line about two hundred yards across. Low flames licked into the grey cloud, which rose and thinned out in the wind.

  “It sure is a fire,” said Lockwood. “We’ve got to try to stop it.” He looked around at the others. “We’ll have to go out in the open, but we don’t have much of a choice.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  A frenzy took over the camp as several people shouted orders at once. Faustino and Raimundo had an argument about whether the group should try to hitch up and pull out or whether the people should stay and fight off the fire. Raimundo prevailed, saying that Cushman’s men could shoot their horses and burros and leave the whole group in a worse position. Meanwhile, Lockwood was calling for gunnysacks, while women were ordering children to take cover. Two dogs were barking, children were crying, and one goat that was tied to a wagon was bleating.

  Anita came out of the confusion and asked Tommy, “What does he want? What does Bill want?”

  “Gunnysacks.” Seeing that she didn’t understand, Tommy said, “Burlap bags. You know, like grain sacks.”

  Her face lit up. “Oh, yes. Come with me.” She led the way to her aunt’s wagon, where Eusebia and Leonila sat holding each other in the lee and shadow of the wagon box. Anita spoke quickly and climbed up into the wagon. She dug through blankets and valises, then leaned over and pulled up a bundle of burlap bags.

  “Perfect,” said Tommy. “Just the thing.”

  She tossed it to him, and he caught it. He did not wait for her but took off on a run. He found Lockwood trying to make himself understood to Milena. He was making a rectangular figure with his hands and saying, “Bolsa. Bolsa.” When he saw the bundle, he pointed and said, “Sí, sí. Bolsa.”

  “Costal,” said Milena. “Costal de yute.”

  Tommy flopped the bundle on the ground, and Lockwood dug out his pocketknife. He cut the twine that bound the sacks, then pulled out two loose bags. He gave one to Milena and took one himself to a nearby tub. He plunged the bag into the water and sloshed it up and down. Milena did the same in the next tub.

  “Jesus,” said Lockwood. “Three words for everything, and I know two. Bolsa. Saco. Come to find out they call it a costal.” He looked at Milena and said, “What the hell is yute?”

  She understood that much English. She paused in her soaking and held up a corner of the burlap. She rubbed her thumb on the coarse woven fabric. “Yute,” she said, in two clear syllables.

  “Gracias,” said Lockwood. Then to Tommy, “There’s three words for fire, too, but it’s in plain view, so all you have to do is point. Damn, these things take forever to soak up the water. Okay. We’ll go with these two. You keep soaking more of these.” He pulled
the dripping burlap bag out of the tub, and a stream of water ran off of it. “Here,” he said, calling to Raimundo and then handing it to him. He pulled the other sack out of Milena’s tub, again spilling water. “Más,” he said, and he took off on a run, bending over with the weight of the soaked burlap.

  Milena was poking the next bag with a stick to move it up and down in the tub. Tommy sloshed the bag he was working on. The level of the water had gone down in the tub with just one bag, and he could see they were going to need more water before this was through.

  Faustino and Emilio took the next two heavy, dripping bags and ran for the front line. Milena and Gabriel began soaking the next pair of sacks as Tommy poured two buckets of water into each tub. He hurried over to the opening and looked out.

  The four men were beating at the flames with the burlap sacks. Sparks and black debris flew up. The men coughed and kept swatting as the smoke billowed up and over them. Tommy did not see any of Cushman’s men. He imagined they were waiting to see how things developed. The sound of voices at the water tubs reminded him that he needed to go back.

  Two men had come in from the sheep and were waiting for the next two sacks. Tommy figured it was a good time to fetch more water, so he grabbed two buckets and ran down the hill. He yanked the buckets open-mouthed against the current, thinking he would fill them faster that way, but he was wrong. He had to settle down and fill each bucket with a steady hold. When they were both full, he ran with them back to the camp.

  Gabriel and Milena were sloshing away at the next two bags. Four buckets were empty. Tommy set down the two full ones, picked up two empties, and took off. Halfway down the slope, he looked back. Anita was following.

  “Go back!” he hollered.

  “I’m going to help.”

  “Go back. You’ll get hurt.”

  She set the buckets down and ran back.

  Tommy went on his way. He was filling the first bucket with his deliberate method when Anita surprised him by showing up. She carried two empty buckets in one hand and the chokecherry club in the other.

  “We need to hurry,” he said. He set the full bucket on a level spot and bent to fill the next one.

  A familiar voice sounded in back of him. “Just hold it right there, kid.”

  Both Tommy and Anita jerked around to see lean-jawed Walt McKinney holding a gun. His small upper teeth were closed down on his lower lip, and he had a few days of stubble on his face. As usual, his clothes were wrinkled and in need of a wash.

  “Now take your gun out real slow, kid, and hand it to me, butt first.”

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “What I’m told. Now you do the same, or you’ll end up with a hole in you.”

  “You’re a real traitor, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t make me cry. Now give me the gun.” McKinney’s eyes flickered. “Get out of the way, little sister.”

  Anita kept the club behind her as she moved aside.

  McKinney stepped forward, took Tommy’s gun, and stuck it in his own holster. Stepping back, he waved his yellow-handled Colt at Tommy and then at Anita. “Now give me the stick, girl. It’s too big for you anyway.” He lunged in an apparent attempt to catch her by surprise, but she swung with the empty buckets. He grabbed a handle and yanked, pulling her forward. The club slipped from her grasp and swung away. McKinney yanked again, and Anita let go of the bucket he had a hold of. The movement threw him off balance for a second, long enough for Tommy to pick up the club. McKinney flung the bucket aside, got his footing, and brought his pistol up to get it pointed at Tommy.

  He wasn’t quite fast enough. Tommy brought the club up and around and fetched McKinney a good one behind his left ear. McKinney’s narrow-brimmed hat tumbled away, and his yellow-handled pistol fell in the dirt. McKinney himself dropped like a sack of potatoes and went still.

  Tommy stood back with the club in his hand, waiting to see if McKinney would move. When he didn’t, Tommy said, “There’s no time to feel sorry. We still need to fill these buckets and get back before someone else comes.” He stood over McKinney, rolled the body a quarter of a turn, and pulled his six-gun from the holster. Standing up, he looked around and located the yellow-handled Colt. He picked it up, holstered his own gun, and stuck the Colt in his belt.

  He made short work of filling the rest of the buckets. He positioned them so he could grab and carry two with each hand. “Let me do this,” he said to Anita. “It’s not far. You can carry the stick.”

  Back in camp, Milena and Gabriel had reached a lull, as each of them had a bag soaking in the tub. Tommy set down the full buckets and took careful steps to the edge of camp. He expected to see more of Cushman’s men, but all he saw was the line of six men from camp, all of them beating at the burning ground, scattering sparks and ashes and black particles.

  Tommy ran back to the tubs. “Let’s take two more,” he said. He pulled at the sodden bag in Milena’s tub. He could not believe how heavy it was. As he hauled it out of the tub, the water level went down, and runnels flowed off the folds in the burlap.

  Just as he was about to pull the soaking mass toward him, he recalled the gun in his belt. He dropped the sack in the water, pulled out the gun, and looked around. Gabriel was on his way to the fire line. Tommy handed the pistol to Milena, and she put it in her apron pocket. He bent over and lifted the burden again from the water. He tried to fold the sack, but it was too ungainly, so he bunched it and hugged it as he took off running.

  Lockwood hollered at him and waved for him to come over. When he got there, Lockwood was standing up but not straight, and he was taking deep breaths. “Give me that one,” he said. “I’ve just about beat all the water out of mine. You can take it back.”

  “I came to help.”

  “You can help by taking this back to camp and staying there.”

  “But you’re all done in.”

  Lockwood gave him a hard look. The man’s face was streaked with sweat and dark ash, and his easygoing air was gone. “Don’t make me mad, kid. There’s women and children back there, and if any of these sons of bitches get in, there’d better be someone to help. And don’t be afraid to shoot, for Christ’s sake.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Good. Now get back there.”

  Tommy took the tattered bag, grimy and almost dry, and headed back to camp. Halfway there, he thought to look back, and he saw Gabriel carrying a worn bag as well. From the way he cradled it with one end flopping against his shoulder, he made Tommy think of a woman fleeing a burning city and carrying a baby.

  Inside the camp, the next two bags were ready to go. Tommy picked up the first one and tried rolling it. The bag was still bulky and awkward, but it was manageable. Tommy just finished rolling it when Gabriel showed up and said, “I’ll take it.”

  Tommy handed it to him and began rolling the next one. The whole process was a sloppy business, with water spilling on the ground, making mud as well as soaking Tommy’s shirt and pants. But it had to be done, so Tommy hung with it. He wrapped his arms around the dripping bundle and took off again for the fire line. Up ahead, Gabriel was making the exchange with Faustino, so Tommy headed toward Emilio. He stopped long enough to trade the soggy bag for the frayed, half-dry bag, then turned and broke into a run again.

  As he did, he lost hold of one corner of the burlap, the front half of the bag fell down lengthwise, and he stepped on the free end. Down he went, losing his hat and plowing his face in the dirt. He scrambled to his feet and gathered up the bag, then fetched his hat. Looking around, he saw all six men beating at the burning prairie. Up ahead, Gabriel was running into the enclosure. Tommy was glad no one had seen him, to make him feel like a fool; then he realized that everyone had to look out for himself. If he had twisted an ankle or broken his leg, no one would have seen that, either.

  Off and running, Tommy had almost reached the wagons, and was thinking about nothing more complicated than a wet burlap bag, when he heard a shot. He surged forward
and dashed into the enclosure. He tossed the bag toward the tub Milena was tending with her stick. Gabriel was bent over the other tub, pushing down on a bag and sending up bubbles. Anita was pouring water into her brother’s tub. Tommy ran back to the edge of the camp.

  Down the slope in the haze of smoke and dust and particles, two riders were charging at the men who were fighting the fire. The horsemen had come in behind the men on foot and were riding back and forth on the unburned grass. Both riders were large, hulking figures. Through the haze, Tommy recognized Lew Greer on a large roan he often used. The other man rode a sorrel horse that Red used to ride, so Tommy assumed that he was the second bulldog.

  As the men rode back and forth, charging and wheeling, they created a melee. Raimundo and the two men who had come from the sheep herd did not have weapons, so they faced the riders and darted to one side and another. Emilio was lying on the ground, pressing his hand to his thigh. Lockwood had his gun drawn, and he was moving from one side to another, trying to pick up a target. Faustino had both guns drawn and was standing square. He raised his right arm and fired just as the bulldog shot at him. The reports made a pop-pop! succession, and the heavy rider slumped and grabbed his saddle horn.

  Greer was wheeling. He came around with his gun drawn, then spurred his horse to make it bolt. He rode past his companion and showed no intention of helping. Instead, he aimed across the saddle and fired at Faustino, who fired back and kicked up dirt halfway to the wagons. Greer kept going on the large roan, which was picking up speed with its head stretched out. Greer fired one, two, three, but he was going too fast to hit anything except by accident. Faustino, with his feet still planted, shot four times, twice with each pistol, but he couldn’t catch up with his target.

  Lockwood, meanwhile, was turning, and his arm was sweeping. His gun barked, and Greer lurched in the saddle. He dropped his pistol and grabbed the saddle horn with both hands. He lost his reins, so the roan horse held his head to one side with the reins trailing in the air. Greer bobbled in his seat but held on as the horse galloped west. The other rider loped after him, the two of them looking like large hunchbacks on their way to torture a village. Half a mile out, the second rider tumbled from the saddle and lay still on the prairie. Greer kept on riding.