by Frank Hayes
“Meet Ringo,” she said. Virgil looked at the gelding that stood alongside Jack. He had a Roman nose and a blind eye. Virgil figured he couldn’t have been more than fourteen, three hands way short of Jack’s sixteen-one. He was a full-on buckskin right down to the black stripe that ran down the middle of his back. “He was born where we’re going. Pop found him alongside of his mother after she had snapped her leg in a hole. Put a bullet in her, then brought him home to me. Had to bottle-feed him for the first couple of months. Maybe don’t have that three-bars pedigree like your horse, but he’s got a heart like a locomotive, tough as nails, can turn on a dime and give you change. Won barrels on him three years running, till I got married. So like I said, you won’t have to be looking over your shoulder for him or me because we’ll be right alongside you.” Virgil said nothing. He knew when he’d lost a fight, even one he’d never been in, so he just threw his saddlebags over the saddle and led Jack from the barn. Marian followed. When they got outside, each of them checked their girths before mounting. Virgil noted Marian kneeing the gelding’s abdomen, then tightening the cinch. Virgil’s saddle sat snug on Jack, so he put his left foot in the stirrup and sprang up. He watched her step up, throw her leg over, then settle into her seat with the grace of a ballet move.
“Let’s go to the High Lonesome,” she said.
The sun had broken through. The late autumn sky was blue and cloudless. Within ten minutes, the ranch complex had disappeared. They were leaving a dust trail along with scattering rocks as they began a gradual ascent toward the distant tabletop. For the first hour they rode side by side. When they reached any level areas they broke into a light canter, but most of the time they were climbing. The terrain was rough and broken. Mostly desert with hidden arroyos and rock outcroppings, there was little green to interrupt the earth tones. An occasional yucca or piñon could be seen, twisted into modern art by winds that, when they blew, scoured the land, sandblasting everything on it. Finally, about three hours into their trek, Marian pulled Ringo to a halt. Virgil followed her lead.
“I think we better take a break. Your horse needs it.” Virgil looked down at the lather which stained Jack’s neck. He didn’t argue. After he dismounted, he loosened Jack’s cinch.
Once he saw how wet he was, he removed the saddle, setting it on a huge rock. Then he reached into one of the saddlebags. He took out a good-sized piece of terry cloth, then started wiping Jack down. The horse stood quietly, breathing noticeably. Virgil rubbed his flanks, the saddle area, working up to his neck and finally his face. The towel was heavy with moisture. The late-morning air meeting with the wet caused a little steam to rise. When Virgil wiped Jack’s face along with the area of his throatlatch, Jack gave a contented snort. Lastly, Virgil wiped the inside of his ears. He noted a tiny trace of blood on the cloth, evidence of some ear mites that had tried to find a home. When he had finished, he glanced at Marian, who was sitting on one of the boulders that were the most dominant feature of the immediate landscape. She had finished with her horse long before Virgil. Virgil walked over and sat beside her. She handed him a bottle of water. Virgil popped the cap, then took a long drink.
“That’s my fault,” Virgil said apologetically. “That’s my fault.” He pointed to Jack, who was still standing quietly where Virgil had left him. “I’ve not been putting in the time with him lately, like I should. He’s out of shape. So am I.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Virgil. We all get busy. Life interferes. Some things get put on the back burner. It was Jack’s turn. Besides, I don’t think you’re out of shape from where I sit. In Jack’s defense, he’s what Pop used to call a bottomland horse. Ringo here is part billy goat. The mustangs that roam this land have never seen the inside of a barn. You’ve got a good, solid horse there. He just needs some time to adjust. So do you. We’ve been riding uphill for the last three hours. We have that and more to go to reach the top. The air is starting to get thin. We’ve probably climbed up close to fifteen hundred feet. Takes some time getting used to.”
“Guess I never thought about that,” Virgil said. “Pretty rough up here. Nothing for cattle to eat but dirt.”
“You’ll see, it’s a lot different up top,” Marian replied. “Anyhow, I suggest a little break now and a lot more walking for us.”
“Is this the way your dad would have come?”
“There is another route, about a third shorter, but it’s three times as difficult. Dad is tough, but he’s not stupid. He would never go that way alone at his age. No. He came this way.” When they left their resting spot half an hour later the only thing on Jack’s back was an empty saddle and the saddlebags.
* * *
Two more stops and almost six hours later found them within a quarter mile of the top of the plateau. Whatever warmth there was from the midday sun had come and gone. Nevertheless, Virgil could feel rivulets of sweat running down his back. Much of the last few hours had been on foot with both him and Marian leading their mounts.
“Virgil, I need to stop for a minute.” Virgil held Jack close, not unhappy for the break, while Marian sat down on a rock, then slipped off her shoe. She withdrew a piece of shale from inside. Virgil noted the red mark on her sock. “Should have stopped sooner,” she said.
“I’ve got something for that,” Virgil said. He went to his saddlebag, took out a first aid kit, then knelt down and dressed the cut on Marian’s instep.
“You must have been a Boy Scout.”
“Always be prepared,” he replied. “I think you better get back on Ringo. The friction of walking is only going to make that worse.”
“I guess you’re right,” she said. “We’re almost to the top. There’s an old line cabin not too far away. Might be a good place to spend the night, then we can get an early start. Tomorrow, we won’t have to walk. Be a lot easier on the horses, too. Then we can start looking for Dad.”
“I can’t believe cattle ranged up here. Nothing but scrub pine, cholla, and rock.”
“Wait till we get on top. You’ll see. It’s a different world. I love it.”
“I’ve always wanted to see a different world.”
“Well, give me a leg up on that one-eyed horse of mine and follow me. You won’t be disappointed.”
17
The fatigue of the long day’s trek to reach the plateau no longer mattered in the slanting sun of late afternoon. Virgil wasn’t disappointed. The land was showing a different face. Huge rock cliffs, barren land broken by a mere hint of green from scrub plants and cactus that struggled to eke out existence, were replaced by solid pine and aspen golden in the setting November sun. Wild grasses held firmly to the soil. The land, more green than brown, showed gradual undulations and little of the treachery underfoot that they had earlier endured to reach it. Virgil’s eyes roved the scene in genuine surprise.
“Now you know why the reward was worth the journey,” Marian said.
Virgil nodded his head. They had been standing next to their horses and the slack reins they held allowed each of the horses to drop their heads for the first taste of fresh graze since the start of their trek.
“That line cabin’s a little farther on,” she said. “A good place to end the day.”
“Why do they call it a line cabin?”
“You know, I’m not really sure. There’s a couple of them up here. Maybe they got their name in the old days. Stringing line, barbwire, along boundaries. Hands had a roof overhead while they were running wire, because it wasn’t efficient to head back to a bunkhouse twenty miles away at the end of each day. Besides, you couldn’t always count on good weather, especially in the time of spring or fall roundups. So they probably got a lot of use. I know ours did for a lot of years.”
Marian stepped up into her saddle. Virgil did the same. They rode in silence at an easy lope for the next twenty minutes in a westerly direction. The sun was in their eyes most of the way, broken occasionally only by s
ome low-hanging branches.
“There it is.” Marian pointed in the direction of a clearing up ahead.
They dropped their heels in their stirrups, squeezing them into the flanks of each horse, eager for their destination.
The cabin was built of rough-hewn logs cut from trees that had previously occupied the clearing. Virgil could see the remains of stumps scattered throughout the area. The cabin stood as a ghost, a reminder of a past that Virgil knew was rapidly disappearing. He wondered how many men had sheltered here in the last hundred years, what their stories were, how each life had played out. Alongside the cabin was a lean-to, which looked like a more recent addition or, more likely, the fourth- or fifth-generation replacement of the original part of the corral. No doubt over the years, it had offered a place out of the rain, wind, or snow to the hundreds of horses that stood under its eaves.
They dismounted by the corral gate, nothing more than rails piggybacked on one another to slide across to open or close the entrance. Marian held both sets of reins while Virgil slid the rails across to create the opening. He could tell by their resistance that they hadn’t been moved in a long time. Marian led both horses through while Virgil reset the rails. Then they unsaddled the horses. The two horses, free of the strictures of their rigging, took a step or two, then lay down in the dirt to roll, sending clouds of dust skyward.
“I almost feel like doing that myself,” Marian said.
“Well, if that water pump over there is still working, maybe we’ll have a comparable option.”
They carried the saddles and bridles over to the lean-to, where they found a couple of homemade saddle racks. After setting each one, they covered them with the saddle blankets. Grabbing the saddlebags, they then slipped through the bars of the corral and walked to the front of the cabin. After a few futile attempts, Virgil finally had to give a substantial kick to get the door open. Even then, he had to put his shoulder to it to be able to enter. The musty taste of age along with the absence of sunlight hung heavily in the air.
“Nobody has been in here in a long time,” Virgil said.
“Last time I was here, I was a girl.”
Virgil smiled.
“What?” Marian said. “What?”
“The way I look at it, you’re still a girl.”
“You say the nicest things, Virgil, but I have no illusions. The years have left their mark. When I was here last, my whole life was ahead of me. The promise of all my youthful dreams.”
She paused for an instant.
“Well, enough of memory lane,” she said. “Let’s get this place functioning before dark. If you’ll scrounge up some wood, I’ll see if I can get the mustiness out of here.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Virgil said, stepping back out through the door and walking away from the cabin.
By the time he returned with his second load of deadfall, Marian had swept the place out, let in some fresh air, and spread a couple of threadbare blankets she had found in a battered cedar chest. Before the shadows completely invaded the cabin, Virgil checked the fireplace, then built a good fire. He had filled the wood bin, so while Marian started getting together a meal, he went back outside. He put hobbles on the front feet of each horse, then let them out of the corral to graze. Even without the hobbles he doubted they would go far. There was a plentiful supply of mixed wild grass. For a few minutes he watched them eagerly moving from clump to clump. An almost Zen-like tranquillity pervaded the scene. There was the barest hint of a whisper moving the tips of the pines. If he stood really still he couldn’t feel the nagging pain in his lower back, a memento of a long day in the saddle and an even longer day on foot. Finally, he headed back to the cabin.
Marian had packed a frozen steak, which was well thawed by the time she laid it on a rack in the fireplace alongside of a couple of potatoes and a halved butternut squash. She had washed a couple of plates and some cutlery in the outside pump. By the time they were ready to eat, Virgil had returned the horses to the corral and grained them down.
“Well, it’s not turkey with all the trimmings,” she said as she laid the food on the heavy plank table. “But it’ll have to do.”
“It’s a lot more than I would have had if I’d made this trip by myself.”
For the next few minutes, they attacked the meal with gusto. Marian was the first to sit back from the table.
“I can’t remember the last time I ate like that,” she said.
Virgil, who was finishing off the last bit of steak on his plate, nodded in reply. Marian got up, went to the fireplace, then with a ragged towel reached in to a coffeepot that had more age on it than either of them. She set it on the table with a thud.
“That must have come out here with the first wagonload of settlers,” Virgil said.
“Well, it’s been here since I can remember.”
Marian poured the thick, dark liquid into a couple of metal mugs that had been hanging on the wall to the left of the fireplace.
“Looks like a matched set,” Virgil said. “Any half-and-half?”
“Sorry, we’re going to have to drink it black.”
Virgil put the steaming cup to his lips, then took a sip.
“My, my, that’ll take the enamel off your teeth. Let’s see if we can soften the blow a little. Be right back.”
Virgil got up and went outside. He was back in less than a minute.
“Here’s something we can add to make it go down a little smoother without taking the lining off our stomach.”
He unscrewed the cap off a pint of whiskey, then added a dose to each cup. They picked up their cups, warmed their hands on them, savoring the aroma, then finally took a sip.
“This isn’t half bad,” Marian said. “I might just have to drink all my coffee this way from now on. Wonder if Starbucks ought to consider getting liquor licenses?”
They sat sipping coffee, exchanging small talk in the quiet of the evening for the next half hour. Only stirring to throw another log on the fire or to retrieve the coffeepot, which had been reset on a bed of coals. By the time they were pouring out dregs, Virgil’s pint bottle was half empty. Marian had just come in from the privy out back.
“I gotta say,” Virgil said, “when I got off Jack, I was glad. Haven’t been this achy in a long time.”
“Yes. It’s been a while since I spent that much time on the back of a horse myself. That medicine you brought has dulled the pain very nicely. Thank you.”
“You know, I wasn’t real thrilled with the idea of you coming along. But I’m glad you did. I would never have found this place. Hell, to be honest, I don’t even know if I would’ve reached the top of this mesa. I definitely bit off a little more than I could chew.”
“Well, I knew you weren’t jumping for joy at the prospect of me joining you, but why did you want to make this trip alone?”
Virgil didn’t answer right away. Instead, he poured a little from the bottle into his cup, which held no coffee. Then he took a long swallow.
“I’m afraid my reason was selfish. It wasn’t so much about your father as it was about me trying to get away. To be by myself, to kind of sort things out. I need to be able to move on but I was kinda stuck because of things that happened. Unexpected things that turned the world upside down. I guess there are no easy answers.”
“I can understand that. Life kind of jolts us when we least expect it. Like the call I got about Mom. Time stops, everything gets turned around. In the back of my mind I knew they weren’t going to be there forever. Losing her was one thing, but now . . . I mean, what you’ve told me. Now my Dad. I’m kind of reeling, trying to not lose my grip on a world that’s spinning out of my control.”
“Yeah, I guess we both forgot to duck.”
“The trouble is, I never saw the punch coming,” Marian said.
Virgil heard the catch in Marian’s throat and he looked away.
Night had overtaken the world. The fire threw broken light across the room. Shadows danced on the walls. Every time a log broke sparks flew up the chimney. Only the sounds of a light wind against the windows of the ancient cabin or the sudden hiss when flames found a pocket of moisture hidden in a log broke the silence. They sat a long time with their thoughts, staring into the fire as if it held the answers as to what would come next. Virgil reached for the bottle again, meeting Marian’s hand, reaching at the same time. The touch for each was electric. It was the first time their eyes met in the dim light. Her hand closed around his. He could see tears flowing freely from her eyes. No words were spoken. When he stood, she came to him. He buried his lips in the nape of her neck, then held her close. A shudder of surrender went through her body. When he drew back, she reached up to him till their lips met. He tasted his loss and hers in that first kiss. Much later, the fire ebbed as they held close, giving the warmth that only one human being can give to another.
* * *
The world looked different, maybe a little more hopeful, when they stepped outside the next morning, each holding a hot cup of black coffee.
“I sure wasn’t expecting this.” Virgil was reacting to a changed landscape. Sunlight bounced off trees and grass layered in white. Billions of tiny crystals clung to leaves and blades of grass, along with anything else that could give them purchase and the chance of evading the touch of a rising sun. A natural masterpiece, which would be gone in the blink of an eye.
“It’s the elevation,” Marian said. “Down in Hayward, they probably woke up thinking they had a heavy dew or a sprinkle. They don’t know what they’re missing.”
“Yep,” Virgil said as he put the cup to his lips for the last time.
“I’ll take that inside, Virgil.” She reached out with a smile in her eyes. Virgil handed her the empty cup.
“Better check on the horses. It’s going to be a long day.”
He watched as she turned, then walked to the cabin. He saw the first drips off the roof as the ascending sun started to claim its first victims. By the time he had fed and hobbled the horses so they could graze till he and Marian were ready to leave, the only white left was in patches clinging to the bases of evergreens. By the time the horses were saddled and ready for the day’s journey, even those reluctant patches were gone. Virgil handed Ringo’s reins to Marian.