Scent of Tears

by M. Juan Knecht

  Chapter Fifteen

  As it often happens, the things you worry about the most, never come to pass. A storm blew in, but it came the morning after we got off the mountain. Once the cattle saw the green country and started downhill, they limped along at a respectable pace. At the lower elevation there was little snow and much rain. Of utmost importance to the success of our venture was the abundance of grass for the cattle and horses. It was a vibrant, green country with plenty of trees and streams.

  Dodge guided us to an expansive meadow with sufficient feed to let the horses and cattle fill up after their struggle over the mountain pass. We rested for a day, shoeing horses when the rain stopped and sitting around a fire trying to keep warm when it didn’t. Dodge cut some branches and laid them lean-to style so there was a leaky place to try and get out of the rain. He produced some cards, but I refused to release any of the gold I was carrying to the men. Now that we had made it to Oregon, I didn’t need Gotch-Eyed Juan deciding Dodge was cheating him at poker and have the camp erupt in gunfire. Even with dried beans serving as chips, there was grumbling about the cards being marked. As I feared, Dodge was somewhat of a card sharp. Soon all the beans in camp were in his pocket. Lucinda made him give the beans back when she cooked dinner. The tall man’s face fell when he handed them over.

  The following morning the sun broke through. We were back in the saddle, pushing the cattle North, as Dodge pointed the way.

  The country was not inhabited that I could tell. There were few obvious trails. We rode by one stone fireplace standing amid a burned-out cabin. Dodge shot a deer, so we ate venison. I was no fan of deer meat but it was a change. Having lived on deer for many years and in many locations, Dodge carried some seasoning that I had never tasted. The exotic seasoning greatly improved the taste of the meat, which was a good thing. On the second day after the mountain crossing, one of the pack horses bucked his pack saddle off for no apparent reason. The whole mess landed in the creek. Our flour got wet and in less than a day, became moldy. The sack containing the salt broke, so our salt supply was gone as well. In all of this rich forest green it looked like we were going to starve to death.

  Lucinda didn’t invite me into her tent again. The cold wasn’t an issue as much as the rain. Two people in a wet tent didn’t make the tent any less damp. The floor of the tent was as wet as the grass outside. Nobody’s bedroll or blankets ever seemed to dry out.

  We pushed on for five days making good time. On the evening of the fifth day, two Indians came out of the trees just before dark. Dodge didn’t seem alarmed and said he had seen their shadows long before they came to parley. Dodge walked off to where they were standing and talked with them for a good half an hour. When he came back, he motioned me over. Lucinda saw this and came over to put her two cents in. By this time Dodge had stopped ogling her. He also seemed to understand the impossibility of giving Lucinda orders, so he only glared at her when she came up to our strategy session.

  “They want five head of cattle to let us pass without trouble,” Dodge said.

  “That seems a little rich,” I replied.

  “They’ll take one animal and be grateful for it,” Lucinda said.

  Dodge stepped back and rubbed his shoulders against a large redwood.

  “Maybe, they’ll take twenty-five heifers when we are asleep, or butcher us and take them all,” Dodge said as he finished scratching his back on the tree bark.

  “You are carrying a Henry Rifle. Gotch Eyed Juan is a dead shot. The Castro brothers have rifles and I have a shotgun. We can deal with a few Indians.”

  Dodge raised an eyebrow.

  “How many Indians are we dealing with?” he asked.

  “Why would I know? You are the Indian...”

  Dodge rudely interrupted her, “See, that is the point. I don’t know how many Indians there are out there. That makes me think we should offer them three heifers and hope for the best. Does this Spanish Hellcat make the decisions for this outfit?”

  Dodge fixed me with his mountain man stare then repeated himself.

  “Does this Spanish hellcat make the decisions for this outfit?”

  “If you want to take over cooking for the camp and you think it will do any good, tell her she has to be quiet. I would be interested to see how that works out,” I replied. At this, Dodge rolled his eyes.

  After a heated debate, Dodge and Lucinda agreed on two head, which Dodge cut out and delivered to the Indians before dark. I wondered how many miles away our destination was. I also wondered how many Indians I was dealing with and if there would be any cattle left come Spring.

  Dodge came back and sat down next to me by the fire.

  “Those are Modocs out there. It’s hard to tell with Indians, but I believe they were upset by the short count. They didn’t have any firearms that I could see, but we need to be out of here soon as we can get the cattle started.”

  The following day, when we got out of our bedrolls, we were greeted by a heavy fog. Fog seemed to be a normal occurrence on Oregon mornings. This mist was so heavy I couldn’t see past my horse’s ears. I circled the cattle three times before I decided some had drifted off. Dodge had ridden ahead to find a crossing for one of the rivers we still faced. Riding further away from the herd, I saw some cattle tracks and started up a draw when I heard a muffled yelp. I reined Luna up and strained my ears. I heard a full blown scream that could have only come from Lucinda.

  I had not ridden Luna when we went through the mountain pass, in the hopes I could keep her fresh if I got in a jam. I didn’t want to ask for her courage and agility if she was worn out. Having decided the herd was free of foreseeable problems, I saddled her that morning, and now, was damn glad I did. When the scream rang out I headed back to the camp as fast as my horse could carry me. Despite the poor visibility, Luna knew she was headed toward the other horses. She opened up into a full run over the uncertain footing on the wet grass and fallen logs. For a minute all I could hear was the soft clods of dirt that Luna was throwing up behind her, as she dug her hooves into the turf.

  As we blew into the camp, I saw shadowy figures locked in battle. Two Indians were on Gotch-Eyed Juan, knives flashing. The fifteen-year-old Castro boy lay face down on the ground with an ever-widening pool of blood spreading out from his head. I started to rein Luna in so I could fight the Indians off Juan, when I saw two more figures wrestling Lucinda up onto a horse. As I brought Luna to a stop, one of the Indians leaped up behind her and whipped the horse away from the camp. I changed directions and opened Luna up in pursuit. I could barely see them through the fog, which caused me to lift my romal to over and under my mare. Luna was such a willing animal I had never put the whip to her before. She brought out another level of speed I didn’t know she had. Behind me I heard the roar of Dodge’s Henry Rifle as he opened up. Something zipped through the leaves and branches and I realized it was a bullet from the heavy rifle. I had a momentary picture of Dodge accidentally shooting my horse out from under me with the Henry.

  Gaining on the Indian and Lucinda, I took down my riata and shook out a loop. Braided rawhide tends to kink when exposed to moisture and this rope was no different. As I swung the loop, it twisted and got caught on my stirrup. Cursing loudly, I had to reach down and free the rope. Luna seemed to know we were after the other horse. She stretched out and covered the ground while I got the riata coiled back up. Lucinda was fighting tooth and nail, scratching and elbowing her kidnapper’s face. The brave was having a difficult time controlling the horse and keeping Lucinda’s fingernails out of his eyes. She twisted around in the Indian’s grasp and I saw her open her mouth wide to bite him. The Indian’s horse was laboring under the weight of two bodies and Luna was closing the distance. I came into range and pitched a loop around both of them. The Indian felt the rope tightening around him, but his hands were full, grappling with Lucinda. I dallied and slowed Luna down enough to bring the rope tight then pulled them both of them off the horse, onto the ground.

  I wa
s off Luna and running toward the Indian before Luna had stopped her slide. The brave unsheathed his knife and cut my rope. Lucinda staggered away from him. I dropped down on my knees and picked up a rock. Getting back to my feet, I spun around, holding the rock at arm’s length. The Modoc brandished the knife and I threw the fifteen pound rock overhand toward the center of his body. He put up his knife hand to ward off the blow and took the brunt of the rock on his wrist.

  The knife flew from his hand. As he looked around to see where his knife went, I was on him. He was out of breath from fighting Lucinda and I was able to slip around behind him and get a forearm under his chin. He struggled like a madman as I tried to shut off his air. I would have choked the life out of him, but Lucinda saved me the trouble.

  Most young women would have been hiding behind a tree, sobbing in fear and saying their prayers. Lucinda, however, searched out the knife and picked it up. She ran to us, raising the knife over her head. Using both hands, she drove it into the Indian’s chest. She pulled the knife free and arching her back, stabbed him again. He was still struggling and I was afraid Lucinda would miss her target and accidentally stab me in her frenzy. She was pulling with all her might to get the knife out of the Indian’s breastbone when I felt him go limp.

  I rolled out from under him and had to drag her off of him. We both sat down on the ground wheezing. Thinking that there might be some more hostiles around, I stood up. I caught Luna and got the shotgun from its scabbard. I looked at the skyline and into the trees. Lucinda, watching me pick up the shotgun, got to her feet.

  “I could have got loose by myself if you had given me five more seconds.”

  “Your gratitude is overwhelming.”

  She walked over to me and put her left arm around my neck, then drew her open mouth up to mine. Despite the bodies and the danger that might still be lurking in the brush, I responded to her. My arms went around her waist and I pulled her close to me.

  “Charlie,” she said.

  “What?”

  “I think my arm is broke,” she said.

  Letting her go, I stepped back and looked at her arm. The elbow was swollen so badly it stretched the fabric of her blouse. I gently helped her over to Luna and half lifted, half pushed her up on my horse. Luna looked around at me with a puzzled look on her face.

  “Why is this silly mare looking at you?”

  “Nobody else but me has ever been on her back. You should feel honored.”

  Lucinda laughed. Luna took a step and Lucinda’s injured elbow swung loose, causing her to whistle through her teeth. I was shaking from what had happened, but kept moving. I led Luna and the Indian’s horse back to camp. Gotch-Eyed Juan was laid out under a tree. He was still alive, but not by much. Dodge had dragged the three dead Indians a short way from the camp and left them in a row. The two Castro brothers had laid their cousin out and were using the short-handled camp shovel to dig a grave.

  “Were those the Indians who thought they got shorted on the beef?” I asked.

  “Sure were,” Dodge said, giving Lucinda an accusatory look.

  “Old man, they might still have attacked us if we gave them twenty-five head.”

  “They seemed pretty war-like,” I said, looking at the blood that soaked Juan’s jacket.

  “Year or so ago the Modoc attacked an emigrant train near Tule Lake. Took a couple of young girls as hostage and killed the other sixty people in the train. I heard the Modoc women killed the two female captives because their good looks got them squaws jealous. You’re pretty lucky your husband was mounted on a fast horse. Otherwise, you might have been entertaining some bucks tonight and be sold to slavers by the end of the month. Course, you are so God-awful mean they might have made you the chief or turned you lose to save themselves.”

  For once Lucinda was silent. She went over and knelt down beside Gotch-Eyed Juan, gently opening his coat and pulling his shirt aside so she could look at his wounds. His breathing was labored, but other than that, he made no sounds.

  “I don’t think Juan can ride,” Lucinda said.

  “Make up your mind, trail boss,” Dodge said to her. “If we stay here and nurse the Mexican, those Modoc's might come back and kill us all.”

  I thought about the pickle we were in. Without the kid and Juan, we were shorthanded, whether it came to a fight or moving the cattle further North.

  “You know how to sew someone up?” I asked Dodge.

  “I kin sew a feller up when I have to.”

  “Then please stitch Juan’s wounds closed and let’s see how he does on a horse,” I said.

  “Waste of time. Those Modoc knives ain’t too sanitary. He’ll die of infection in a couple of days no matter what we do now.”

  “Californio’s are tougher than you think. Get your herbs or whatever you famous scouts use to heal cuts and help me, “ Lucinda said.

  Lucinda and Dodge huddled over Juan. Dodge had some cat gut that he boiled in water. He then got out a needle and went to sewing the gunman’s wounds closed. Half-way through, Lucinda told him he was a handless, awkward man. At that, Dodge got up and walked away. Lucinda took the needle and finished stitching the terrible knife wounds. I had never been more proud to be a Californio. The needle was dull and took some force to make it penetrate Juan’s skin. Lucinda had difficulty getting her injured arm to cooperate. Yet Juan never uttered a sound, and Lucinda never turned away. Even though it made me queasy, I went over and helped with the stitches, feeling thankful that I had experience with an awl in repairing tack and sewing up horses who had been horned by wild cattle. Juan had six long slash marks from his neck to his belt and another puncture on his left thigh. The skin was laid open enough that the flaps twitched as I stitched them together. Juan finally passed out and the task was easier. Lucinda moved over and let Dodge pack a poultice on the wounds while she tore one of her skirts apart with her good arm. With my help, she wrapped the poultices in place. When we were done, it wasn’t pretty but it was our best effort.

  Dodge pointed at Lucinda’s arm and after a moment’s hesitation, she held it up for him to look at. He took out his knife and cut the sleeve away from the arm. Her elbow was swollen larger than I thought possible. Dodge prodded it a little and asked her to bend it. She tried and then let it hang limp. Her nostrils flared but other than that, you would never know she was badly hurt.

  “Looks like you dislocated your elbow. I don’t think it’s broken.” Dodge reached up and untied the neckerchief I wore around my neck. After looking at Lucinda for a moment, he raised his eye brows. She nodded and he tied her elbow to her waist to keep it immobile.

  The Castro brothers finished burying their cousin in the soft, wet dirt of the Oregon forest. Lucinda went to her bedroll and came back with a Bible. She stood over the grave and said a long sentence in Latin, made the sign of the cross, then nodded at the brothers. Dodge piled rocks on the grave so the animals wouldn’t dig up the boy’s body. After a moment , I joined in. Soon all that could be seen was a pile of rocks. All of this was done with no words. After these duties were finished, the vaqueros lifted Juan onto his horse and strapped him on as best they could. We mounted our horses and went to moving the cattle up the trail.

  Scent of Tears