Along The Fortune Trail

by Harvey Goodman

  Sammy looked at Blaine. “Guess we better follow the general,” Sammy said.

  “I reckon so.” They fell in line, leading their horses behind the boys with Blaine pulling up the rear at a limp.

  After they finished, they went in and had coffee and visited for a while. Margaret and Claire were in good spirits, and their hair was freshly washed and combed. They wore clean dresses that Emily had given them. Emily made up a bag of food that had chicken and biscuits and oatmeal squares for their trip. “Here's some food to take with you. I hope it lasts you for awhile,” she said as she placed the canvas bag on the table.

  “Thank you, ma'am. We'll be fine. We've each got a lot of jerky and hardtack. We even picked up some tortillas this morning,” Sammy said.

  “Sammy here's a pretty fair hand with his fishin’ rig too,” Blaine said. “And we'll sure enough see game.”

  Sammy reached into the pocket of his long coat and pulled out four small leather pouches and put them on the table. “I took this off one of those Indians … their leader I think. It's gold. We want you ladies to have it. I used a little to buy saddles for those ponies, but the rest is yours.”

  The women looked at one another, and there was momentary silence until Daniel spoke. “Emmy and I don't want it or need it. I have my wife back and our boys have their mother again. You give it to these gals here, Claire and Margaret. I'm beholding to you men for my wife's return. I can never repay you for what you've done.”

  “I didn't mean to give offense, sir,” Sammy said, suddenly aware of the possible affront to Daniel's sense of honor and now feeling a little stupid for having broached the subject in this particular setting. “We just figured they should have it. But we'll give it all to Claire and Margaret if that's what you want.”

  “No offense taken,” Daniel said. He extended his hand to shake Sammy's, then Blaine's. “Please, give it to them.”

  Claire suddenly felt very awkward, and Margaret looked anxious. “I don't want it,” Claire said.

  “Me neither,” Margaret followed.

  Sammy felt the dumb ass and was determined to extract himself from the situation as quickly as possible. “Let's figure this out latter on,” he said, putting the pouches back in his coat. “We oughta get goin’.”

  “Yeah, we oughta,” Blaine seconded.

  Sammy and Blaine brought the ponies around front as Claire and Margaret said their goodbyes to Emily. The women cried as they hugged each other. They promised to write each other. Then Emily led them in one last prayer as a group, something they had done together many times during their months of captivity. The men respectfully stood back and watched the scene unfold, aware of the intense bond between the women.

  The women held hands and prayed. They stood silently clutching each other, as if summoning strength from each other against the emotional scars that each knew would confront them in their lives ahead. Then Emily hugged Blaine. “I'll never forget you, Mister Corker … either of you. I wish you Godspeed. If you're ever this way again, you always have a place to stay.”

  “Thank you, ma'am. You take care.”

  Emily went to Sammy and led him away from the rest of the group as they said their goodbyes. She faced him, keeping her back to all so as not to be heard. She spoke softly. “I believe Claire is with child.”

  “Ma'am?”

  “She's pregnant. So if anything should overtake her, you'll know why. She'll need that money. You make her take it.”

  “I'd already planned on it.”

  “She's got nobody else in Santa Fe—just her home. She said her folks in Texas disowned her when she ran off and got married. They didn't like the boy. She doesn't feel like she can ever go back—that she'd be shamed. Now with an Indian baby on the way …” Emily shook her head in worry and continued. “If Margaret's mother has moved on for some reason, you leave her with Claire. The place she lives, Cordova, is not too far from Santa Fe. She's only sixteen.”

  “We'll make sure she's in a safe circumstance before we move on.”

  “Thank you, Mister Winds.” She hugged him. “God be with you and bless you.”

  “And you too, ma'am.”

  The cowboys helped Claire and Margaret get mounted up on the Indian ponies, now replete with saddles and blankets and the buffalo coats tied on. They all waved as they rode out of the yard at a trot toward the southeast into a light breeze. The mid-morning sun was warm, and the pastel sky was swept with brush strokes of wispy clouds that hovered innocently and victoriously as witness to the glorious spring day.

  The high plain was mostly flat, affording the chance to make good time on the fresh horses. They rode for several hours at a steady, easy lope, abreast of each other, the women in the middle with Blaine and Sammy on ends. Both the cowboys observed how well the women sat the saddles and held the reins. After a brief stop to eat and rest, they started out again at a walk. Claire asked Sammy, “Would you be riding faster if we weren't with you? You're not taking it easy on our account, are you?”

  “Well … no.”

  Claire turned her head and looked at Margaret, who was keenly interested in Claire's comment. “Come on, Margaret. Let's see what they've got!” Claire kicked her heels to the horse and leaned forward as the animal leapt to a full gallop. Margaret instantly followed Claire's lead, and the soft sod flew as the Apache ponies galloped with all they had.

  Blaine looked over at Sammy, noting the vacant space between them. “I reckon they wanted some wind in their face.”

  “Yeah, well no doubt they need it.”

  “Should we give chase?”

  “Nah, let ‘em run. We'll keep ‘em in sight. Sure looks like they can ride.”

  “I know. They look like they're goin’ to a land grab.”

  Run they did. The feeling for each of the women was exhilarating and liberating, as if an act of purging the horror of the cave. They raced on, with the only sound being the steady drumbeat of hooves rumbling over the ground in a concussive drone as the air rushed by and the expanse of the moving plain melted into a massage of the soul. Claire and Margaret were both smiling.

  “They ain't gonna be in sight much longer,” Blaine said several minutes later.

  “Yeah, they're getting small quick. Those ponies have some stay. We better get.”

  Dobe and Seesaw received their master's commands and took off in a full gallop.

  The cowboys’ horses ran with the spirit of chase, knowing instinctively they were after the ponies that had a head start, but running as if they were only yards behind rather than facing an insurmountable lead. On they galloped, with the specks they were chasing growing no larger after a long run. “They can't keep that pace goin’!” Blaine yelled.

  “Neither can we! They're carryin’ less weight!”

  They kept their horses running full out for another half mile, then finally backed off to a lope again. “I'm not runnin’ my horse lame tryin’ to catch ‘em,” Sammy said.

  “Yeah, I guess we'll catch up when they want us to.”

  After two more miles, they caught up to the women, who had their horses at a walk. “I reckon you'll be able to outrun anything that's chasing ya,” Blaine said as they pulled up alongside.

  “Aren't they wonderful! They can really run!” Margaret exclaimed with an exuberant smile.

  Claire looked happy too. “That was grand!” she said.

  “They're good horses. They're yours now,” Sammy said.

  Margaret leaned forward and rubbed her horse's lathered neck. “I'll call him ‘Windchaser.’”

  “I think he done caught it,” Blaine smiled.

  Margaret laughed. “How much more will we ride today?” she asked.

  Blaine looked at the sun. “It's gettin’ on now.”

  Sammy glanced up. “Yeah. It looks like another two hours across this plain to that forest ahead. We'll camp there if you gals have some travelin’ left in you.”

  “Don't worry about us,” Claire replied.

  “Easier sai
d than done, ma'am,” Blaine mused.

  Chapter 38

  They made their camp in a clearing of trees with an hour of daylight left. The temperature was mild, and Blaine collected fuel and made a fire while Sammy stripped and hobbled the horses. The women laid out bedding and prepared coffee and the meal. They sat on the ground around the fire and took their supper, eating off tin plates and drinking coffee from tin cups. Blaine also drank from his new second canteen, filled with two bottles worth of mescal from Enrique Tomingo. He asked Sammy if he wanted some, but Sammy declined, saying that the previous night's bottle still had him feeling “fogged.”

  “I need the fog. The day's ride got this throbbin’ somethin’ good,” Blaine said, feeling the relief as he ate and alternated sipping coffee from his cup and mescal from his canteen.

  “Anybody else want some mescal?” Blaine asked, his leg feeling better from the medicinal effects and his current position on the ground.

  Claire looked up from her plate. “I think I would like to try some, Mister Corker.”

  “Would you please call me Blaine, ma'am. I reckon we've been through enough together.”

  “All right, Blaine, but you must call me Claire.”

  “Well all right, Claire. Give some a this a whirl,” he said, and passed the canteen to Margaret to pass on. “Can I call you Margaret?”

  “If I can call you Blaine.”

  “You better.”

  “Call me Sammy,” Sammy offered. “In fact, let's just agree we're all on a first name basis.”

  “Yes let's,” Claire said, as she poured some of the mescal into her cup.”

  “Okay, Sammy and Blaine,” Margaret said.

  “Gooooooood,” Blaine said. He pulled out the makings and began to roll a smoke.

  Margaret decided to ask. “Can I have a little bit of the mescal, Blaine? Not very much. I'd like to try it.”

  “Sure you can. But careful, it's potent.”

  She poured a little in her cup as Claire had done and handed the canteen back to Blaine. “Thank you, Blaine.”

  “Right in with the coffee, huh? Well, let's see how that does,” Blaine said, as he poured some into his own coffee.

  Margaret and Claire took their first sip cautiously. “Oh … it made the coffee better,” Claire said.

  “I think it's making his leg feel better too,” Margaret said.

  Sammy smiled. “It's making him feel better, and his leg's goin’ right along with it.”

  They drank their spiked coffee and Sammy had his regular. Claire asked about where Sammy and Blaine were from, and the cowboys told the women all about the Twin T. and Homer and Reuben and the hands and Jacqueline and Lucilla and Raquel. The young women sat mesmerized, listening and asking occasional questions about something, but mostly just reveling in hearing about normal life and people.

  The conversation played on for a while, and then during a pause Claire grew thoughtful for a moment and changed the subject. “How were you able to kill all those Indians? There was only the two of you.”

  Sammy glanced over at Blaine, who suddenly looked a little more alert. “We opened up on ‘em. Surprised ‘em,” Sammy said.

  “This man right here can shoot,” Blaine said, motioning toward Sammy.

  “We can both shoot. Lucky in our shootin’ too. It just worked out for us. One of ‘em got away. You gals took care of those other two.”

  Claire had a look of recollection on her face. “Emily shot the one who came in. She was off to the side in the shadows. He never saw her because he was looking at us. She didn't hesitate for a second.”

  Then Margaret spoke. “I hit the other one in the head with the rock—a couple of times. He was there when they killed my father and the other men. He was part of it. They ambushed us. My father was still able to kill one of them before he died. I'm not sorry I killed him. I hope God forgives me.”

  “It's them that needs forgivin’, but first they needed killin’. You done the right thing,” Blaine said.

  “That's right,” Sammy agreed. “Don't you let that prey on you. They killed a lot of innocent people, and would have kept at it. You saved somebody's life—somebody who would have been innocent. You were brave to do what you did. Now it's time to get on with livin’. That's what your father would have wanted. That's what you'll do.”

  The morning ride was slow going through mostly forest with occasional stretches of open meadow. They saw deer and elk and several different bears that paid them no particular attention other than passing glances. In the early afternoon, they came across a trail that was well worn by horses and wagons. It looked to Sammy to be heading in the general direction of Española. He hoped they'd make it by sundown. They turned onto the trail and alternated between a lope and a trot.

  It wasn't far down the trail before Blaine took a turn for the worse. He continually shifted in the saddle in search of a position that would yield relief to his leg. He grabbed his mescal canteen and took a long pull, then slumped for a bit before hitting the canteen again. Sammy pulled up alongside him and could see the sweat on Blaine's pale face. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot. Sammy suspected Blaine was feverish, which meant infection was setting in. “How you doin?” Sammy asked. “You wanna rest for a while?”

  “Damn leg feels worse today than ever. But let's keep goin’. If I fall out of the saddle, then I guess we better stop for a rest. How much farther ya figure?”

  “Couple more hours. If you wanna stop before then, let me know.”

  “Okay.”

  “You look to be runnin’ a fever. Might wanna take it easy on the mescal.”

  “Ah, bullshit! It's keepin’ me goin’.”

  “All right, hoss.”

  Sammy dropped back by the women, who had been watching Blaine's erratic posture in the saddle. “He's not well,” Claire said.

  “No, he's not. I need to get him to a doctor as soon as I can. He looks to have a fever. I think his leg is infected.”

  “Maybe we should stop and let him rest,” Margaret said.

  “Yeah, he needs it. But the more we stop, the longer he goes without proper attention. We'll ride until he says he needs to rest. We should make Española in a couple more hours. Maybe they have a doctor there.”

  “I know Española,” Claire said. “There might be a doctor. But if not, it's only several hours farther on to Santa Fe, and I know a good doctor there.”

  They kept up a good pace as the afternoon wandered on. Sammy took frequent compass headings and was certain of the trail's destination. He also watched Blaine and worried over his friend's condition. Blaine drank water, but continued to work at the mescal to fight the pain. He was finally overcome with nausea and delusion, vomiting just before toppling from his horse in a slow motion roll. On the way down, he pawed at his saddle and the horse's neck, attempting to slow his descent toward the ground. He landed on his back with a thud. The sky above spun in a sickening whirl, and he turned his head to the side and vomited again. Then he blacked out.

  The Evening Star glistened in singular solitude against the dark blue sky of twilight. Blaine focused on it as his eyes slowly opened. He felt the cool of the wet cloth on his forehead and became aware of his surroundings. His head was cradled in Claire's lap as she sat propped against a cottonwood tree holding the cool compress on him. His pants lay beside him. A blanket covered him from the chest down. Margaret was cooking meat over a nearby fire. He looked up at Claire, whose face was silhouetted by early evening. Her long hair hung down near his face and moved gently with the easy wind. He thought for a moment he was being held by an angel. She was looking down at him and reached for the canteen next to her when she saw he was awake. “Here, you must drink some water,” she said, holding the canteen to his lips and gently tilting it to deliver the cool liquid to him. His thirst overwhelmed him at the first sip, and he brought both hands up from his side to take control of the canteen, gulping several mouthfuls, then pausing to get his breath and drinking more. He finally stopped
and looked at her, wondering how he came to be resting his head on her.

  His voice was raspy and not much above a whisper. “What happened?”

  Claire moved the cool compress around his face as she spoke. “You passed out. You have a fever, and I dare say it didn't mix well with the mescal. There is some infection in your leg, but I don't think it's too bad yet. We cleaned it, and Margaret made a poultice that's wrapped on. It should help.”

  “Margaret made a poultice?”

  “Yes. Sammy told her what to do. She boiled some yucca plant with elm bark and charcoal and flour.”

  “Ain't he just a bag of know-how. I'll tell ya, that boy's smart. How long have I been out, anyway?”

  “Three or four hours. Are you hungry? Sammy shot a turkey, and Margaret is cooking it right now.”

  “No. I don't reckon I could eat.”

  “That's the fever,” she said.

  Sammy appeared from the trees with both arms so full of wood that it nearly covered his face. He walked cautiously toward the fire peeking around the side of his balancing burden. When he got near enough for comfort, he pitched the load forward and it crashed to the dirt with prolonged rumbling as each piece wrestled in the clump for its ending position. “That oughta do for the rest of tonight and the morning,” he announced with the tone of certain calculation.

  “I think the bird is close to done,” Margaret said.

  “All right, Margaret. Let's see how our patient is doin’, and then we'll get to supper.”

  “Good … I'm hungry,” she said. “It sure smells fine.”

  “Well, that's cause you've done such a fine job cookin’ it. Just like you did makin’ up that poultice.”

  She smiled at Sammy and he could see the joy the young girl took in the simplest of compliments.

  Sammy walked over to the tree and looked down at Blaine, who had a blank stare. “Hey, amigo. Feelin’ alive?”

  “That's about all. But I sure am a lucky one for the care I been gettin’.”

  “That's a fact. We'll see about a doctor in Española in the morning. If they don't have one, we'll make a run for Santa Fe. Should make it by the noon or so. Get you to the doctor as soon as we can.”