El Paso Way

by Steven Law

  The new day brought more heat, thirst, and fatigue than the day before, and after half a day of walking, with only one stop for water, it took both the sheriff and Pang to hold up Mun Lo and keep her going. Each step was a struggle, where their feet felt heavier and harder to lift and move forward. The heat fell heavy on their hatless heads and scorched their faces to a dry and cracking redness. Before long, the sheriff lost his balance and all three fell. Enrique turned to them, and with exhaustion and sorrow for their misery, he fell to his knees.

  The Sonora and all the regions around it were tough lands to reckon with, and few knew it all as well as Enrique. Only his Apache neighbors, who were as much a part of the land as the trees, plants, and rocks, knew better how to survive the desert. Enrique found it amusing when a gringo who passed through figured all he needed was a good supply of water. Hydration was important, but the sun and protection from it was what one needed to consider most. A hat shaded the face from too much heat, as did loose clothing of light color, and a tree was a desert traveler’s best friend. It just so happened that they had fallen into an area of the lowlands far from any trees or streams and their hats were taken by Valdar and thrown into his fire. The protection they needed was nowhere near.

  Enrique thought about removing a serape, or shirt, or some garment to lay over Mun Lo and protect her face from the sun, but it was too dangerous to expose any skin. Their faces were already red and would likely blister. Enrique looked up into the bright sky, and reminiscent of the day when he was a boy and tried to bury his parents’ bodies, the long beams of sunlight came down upon him. He knew he was too far away for the priest to save him now.

  He looked back at his friends, who lay exhausted and weak. He rose slowly to his feet, searched, and found more barrel cactus and gave water to each of his friends in a curled agave leaf. He dropped water into Mun Lo’s mouth and rubbed it on her cracked lips. She winced at the pain. He gave water to the others, too. Not much, but just enough to soothe their dry mouths and throats.

  Enrique looked at the sheriff, who sat with his knees against his chest, his arms around his knees, and his face buried between them. Then he looked at Pang, who held his sister’s head in his lap and wept. It was the first time since they had met that Pang appeared defeated. A feeling that Enrique knew he had to avoid for himself.

  Don Richard Benjamin

  When he woke, it was to the sound of whickering. His eyes peeked open to a blurry image of men in wide sombreros lifting his friends onto horses. He thought it was a mirage until he felt his own body being lifted and draped over another man’s shoulder, then propped up on one of the animals. Enrique fell forward and rested his head on the horse’s mane. The horn of the saddle pushed sharply into his chest. He hardly had the strength to open his eyes, let alone raise his head, so he lay there, with the smell of the horse and saddle leather in his nose—the smell of salvation.

  The next time he woke, he was being carried into a cool adobe and laid in a bed. He could hear voices in both Spanish and English, but still did not have the strength to rise up and acknowledge who was speaking. He felt his clothes being removed, and a cool cloth dabbed over his forehead. He opened his eyes slightly to see the face of a frail old Mexican woman. She moved the cloth away, and he heard her wringing out water, then felt it drop onto his dry, parted lips.

  At first the water stung, but eventually it felt good, as it did when she wiped it over his body. He wasn’t sure how long she did this before he fell asleep again, but the next thing he remembered was hearing children’s voices as they were laughing and playing. He opened his eyes to the dimness of an adobe room. What amazed him most was how comfortable the bed was, and he noticed that his pillow was feather-stuffed and covered with white linen. He rose to his elbows and studied the four-poster bed and the hand-sewn quilt that lay over him. Across from the bed was the door to the room, and it was closed. Next to the door was a chair, and folded on the chair were what appeared to be his clothes. Beside the bed was a stand made of the same wood as the bed, but he could not identify the type of wood because of its dark color. The stand was covered with a lace doily, and on the doily rested a porcelain washbasin.

  He rose slowly from under the covers and realized he was naked. He wrapped himself with the quilt as he got out of the bed and walked toward the chair. Unlike most adobe structures Enrique had been in, this one had a wooden floor, and the planks creaked as he walked over them.

  He picked up his clothes and studied how neatly they were folded. He set them on the floor, and as he sat naked in the chair he heard footsteps and suddenly the door opened. He fell startled to the floor and covered himself with the quilt again, then looked up into the face of the old woman.

  “Dios mía! I am sorry, señor!” she said, backing out and quickly closing the door.

  “Where in God’s name am I?” Enrique said.

  After he was dressed, he stepped over to a window and looked out into a court fenced by an adobe wall, and there played the children he had heard. There were four of them, all boys, and they played with toy guns and swords all made of wood. One of the boys fell, and the others took advantage and acted like they were annihilating him with their weapons. The make-believe victim did a fair job of imitating agony and death. It was disturbing to Enrique to think how, as children, they had likely never experienced real tragedy. For their sake, he hoped they never did.

  He stepped out of his room and found himself on a railed balcony overlooking a dining room. Several servants, all Mexicans, walked about cleaning and preparing for a meal. He recognized the elderly woman who had tended to him, as she walked up the stairs toward him. Eventually she came up from the landing carrying fresh bed linen and smiled sheepishly at him.

  “Good to see you are better, señor. You should come downstairs. Our patrón will want to see you.”

  Enrique ran his fingers through his hair and looked back down into the dining room. “Excuse me, señora, but where am I?”

  “You are a guest at the rancho of Don Richard Benjamin.”

  He looked around the room again, then back at the woman. “But how did I get here?”

  “Several of our vaqueros were out riding and they found you and your friends. They are all fine. But the young China girl is still very weak. Come. Follow me.”

  The woman set the linen down on a table and Enrique did as she asked. At the base of the stairs they went opposite to the dining room and down a long hall, sided with tall windows that displayed the court where the children played. Then, to their left was a den with a rectangular desk covered in leather. Sitting behind the desk was a sandy-haired gringo with long sideburns and a thick mustache. The mustache was darker than his other hair, with a hint of red, and it was waxed and curled upward on the ends. When they entered the room, he looked up at them with intense blue eyes and a friendly smile.

  “Ah, I see you’re up and at it,” he said, standing. He walked out from behind the desk and shook Enrique’s hand. “I am Dick Benjamin. Welcome to my ranch.”

  “Gracias, Señor Benjamin. I’m Enrique Osorio.”

  “Please, Enrique, call me Dick. And have a seat.”

  The rancher pointed a hand at a stuffed leather chair that matched the covering of his desk. He sat in a similar chair, only with a taller back.

  “You folks were almost done in out there. Good thing my foreman ran into you. I’ve already met your sheriff friend. He’s a little dried up and hungover from the sun, but he’ll recover. Old cowboy, he says. He’s out right now working with the vaqueros, waiting for you to get better.”

  “I appreciate your hospitality, Dick, but I am better and we must get going.”

  “Now, hold on to your breeches there, amigo. You need to eat a good meal before you take off. It’s late afternoon. I’d appreciate it if you’d all be my guests for dinner tonight. Then, you can take off bright and early in the morning.”

  Enrique nodded slowly.

  “And I know what you’re after. You and every
other bounty hunter that winds his way through this country.”

  “With all respect, señor, I am no bounty hunter.”

  “Yes, I know. Mr. Dutton explained everything to me. He also assured me there would be no stopping you. I admire a man with a mission, and I want to help.”

  “You’ve already been a great help, señor.”

  “Ah, but I can do better.” The rancher opened a drawer on his desk and pulled out a Bible, not much bigger than his hand. He opened it and pulled out a photo that had been lodged between the pages. He handed the photo to Enrique. The Criollo was stunned by the beauty of the woman, with long, wavy brown hair and eyes like black beads.

  “She and I were to be married. The day before our wedding she came up missing. I was afraid she’d gotten cold feet, then one of my vaqueros rode in with a broach that she had been wearing and a piece of her skirt that was torn.”

  “What happened to her?”

  “Valdar.”

  Just like any other time, the sound of that name stabbed at every nerve in Enrique’s body.

  “He grabbed her while she was out riding. She must have been too hard for him to handle. She was a ball of fire, that woman. We found her two days later floating facedown in a creek. There was no doubt she’d been raped, and her throat was cut.”

  This was no surprise to Enrique. All he could do was nod and offer the photo back to the rancher.

  “We tried going after him, but we lost his trail in Mexico. I’ve never gotten over it. But I’m too old to go after him. I have too much responsibility here. All these people depend on me, and I can’t turn my back on them for something so personal.”

  “I understand, señor.” Enrique could see the hurt in the man’s eyes, a hurt that he himself hadn’t felt in years, and wondered how the man still felt it after all this time. All Enrique felt now was a steadfast hardness. He supposed the steadfastness came from his head; a feeling he’d grown accustomed to with his education and time with the priest. The hardness was a lock on his conscience, a way of pushing away sentiment for anything or anyone, regardless of how serious the pain. The priest had warned him about that feeling, that as a Christian he would have to open his heart to peace, grace, and forgiveness and allow God to carry the load of his difficult past. He supposed he had never really allowed that to happen. Maybe it was actually an attempt to be rid of the horror of it all rather than an acceptance of faith. Enrique wasn’t sure, but he trusted Father Gaeta, so he supposed he trusted God. He just knew now that the path he had chosen was very clear to him, and that this rancher that stood before him needed justice, too, and Enrique wanted to help him.

  “Whatever you need is yours,” Benjamin said. “Clothes, food, weapons, horses—I’ll make sure you’re well equipped to make your journey to El Paso.”

  “I am very grateful.”

  “No, Enrique, I am grateful that the good Lord saw fit to lead you to me. Those bounty hunters that roll through here don’t have the passion or grit to get the job done. They often find themselves on the other end of the knife and food for the buzzards. But I’ve seen what your Chinese friend can do. And the sheriff tells me you have a lot of savvy with a bow and arrow.”

  “Señor, would you happen to know of a mulberry tree on your rancho?”

  The rancher wrinkled his forehead. “I’m sure we could find one. Why?”

  “I prefer to use the wood to make my bow and arrows the Apache way.”

  Benjamin grinned and walked over to a glass gun cabinet at the side of the room, opened it, and produced a bow. He handed it to Enrique. “It was a gift to me from a Comanche friend. Never thought to use it; I kept it here as a reminder of what it took to get this land. I reckon it might need a new string, but it is my gift to you if you can use it.”

  Enrique studied the entire assembly carefully. “Sí, it is very authentic.”

  The rancher smiled. “I’m sure it is. My foreman can take you to find a tree to make your arrows. We have several on the ranch.”

  Enrique nodded as the rancher came from behind his desk, put a hand on Enrique’s shoulder, and walked him through the house and out to the courtyard. The foreman, a vaquero of mature age, was close by, and he saddled a horse for the Criollo. Enrique had never been on a horse so tall. It was a bay with a black mane, and it seemed very gentle.

  The vaquero spoke to him in Spanish. “She is an old mare and has lost a lot of her spirit. But she will take you where you want to go and will bring you home.” He ended with a friendly smile.

  “Gracias,” Enrique said.

  *

  When Enrique entered the room, Pang was sitting in a chair beside the bed where Mun Lo lay sleeping. Pang acknowledged him somberly for only a second then turned his attention back to his sister.

  The elderly woman walked in behind Enrique, carrying another stack of folded bed linen. She leaned over and saw that Mun Lo was sleeping. She smiled and whispered, “Señorita?”

  Mun Lo’s eyes opened slightly, and she looked up at the woman, then over at Pang. When she saw her brother, she smiled, but winced and brought a hand up to her chapped lips.

  Chas Dutton walked in as well, and Enrique greeted him with a nod. “How’s she doing?” Dutton said.

  “She is weak,” Pang said. “Too weak to travel.”

  “We can’t afford to wait too long, Pang,” Dutton said.

  “We can’t just leave her here.”

  The old woman dabbed a damp cloth on Mun Lo’s lips. “She is in good hands here. You should go and do what you have to do.”

  Pang looked hard at Mun Lo, and she opened her eyes again and nodded her approval to him.

  “I have gathered what I need to make more arrows,” Enrique said. “We can leave in the morning.”

  Dutton grinned. “Ol’ Benjamin gave me two Smith and Wesson .44s, a Henry rifle, and enough ammunition to take on Crook’s army. I agree with Enrique, we should leave as soon as we can.”

  Pang looked back at his sister, grabbed her hand, then kissed her forehead. “I will be back for you.”

  *

  That night the three men joined Benjamin and his foreman at his table, which held one of the biggest spreads of food Enrique had ever seen. The meal was served on silver, with a long platter holding four stuffed pheasants and beside the platter bowls of beans, squash, potatoes, and maize and three loaves of fresh baked bread. There was also a cloth towel on a plate that held warm tortillas. By each of their glass china plates were crystal goblets. A maid walked around the table and filled each goblet with a deep red wine. They were all dressed in new clothes, which Benjamin had also provided. Benjamin himself wore a black dress coat and a cravat, and his hair was slicked with tonic.

  Once all the goblets were filled, Benjamin held his up and clanged it with a spoon. “I would like to toast your journey.” Enrique and Pang, ignorant of this custom, slowly copied the other men’s movements.

  “To God and to passion,” the rancher said. “May both be with you to the end.”

  All drank from their goblets. Enrique grimaced at the bitterness, as he had never tasted wine before, but he liked the warm feeling it suddenly gave him.

  Benjamin prayed over the meal and they ate a great feast. Enrique could not recall ever having so much, or having food that tasted so good. Sure, part of that was hunger, but the food was still immaculately prepared. Not the priest, or even his mother, had ever prepared such a grand meal.

  *

  Enrique could not remember a morning where he had felt so much at peace, or such unwavering confidence. Like any normal man, he at first questioned how he could have such a feeling. Just like the horses that Benjamin had given them, and the many supplies, weapons, and foodstuffs, the feeling was overwhelmingly abundant. They were making a new start on this journey better equipped than they had ever been.

  Pang had his normal morning routine in the wilderness, with breathing and stretching exercises, and when he was done, he spent a few minutes saying good-bye to Mun Lo. Dutton
wasted no time preparing his horse and packing his goods, and while he waited on the others, he watched a young vaquero train a horse.

  Just as the sun made its appearance, Benjamin came out on the front porch of his ranch home and into the courtyard. His foreman stood at his side, and all of the maids and servants behind him. Benjamin shook each of their hands, and when he shook Enrique’s, he grabbed it with the other hand as well and held it tight. “I’ll be praying for you, son.”

  Enrique nodded and tipped his hat to all the servants, then mounted his horse. It was not the same bay mare that he’d ridden the day before, but a younger sorrel that the foreman said would handle the trail and the chase.

  He nudged it forward, and the others followed. He wasn’t sure how long it would be before they picked up Valdar’s trail, but it really didn’t matter. All he knew was that once the horses were warm they would lope until they found it, and until then all they had to do was head southeast. Southeast to El Paso.

  Mulcov the Russian

  All the years that Enrique had dreamed about this journey he had always envisioned it being with his grandfather. The details were simple; they would ride out, find Valdar and the renegades, see them, kill them, and all would be over. But now the harsh reality of the pursuit had set in. Ever since they left the mission, there had been obstacles, both human and natural, that interfered and challenged the will to carry on. Enrique was thankful for the wisdom of the priest, who’d taught him about the need for patience. If not for the priest, Enrique would have often been impulsive and not waited for the right moment. This was proven true when Pang came into his life, and when they met Sheriff Dutton, Geronimo, and the good rancher Don Benjamin.

  Enrique nosed the sorrel dead east now. He looked back occasionally to check on his friends. How different they all looked now. Dutton stayed with his Anglo cowboy gear—a felt hat, placket shirt and neckerchief, and chaps for the brush. Pang wore the clothes of a Mexican—a wide sombrero and a waist-length chaqueta with matching pantalones, the cuffs tucked inside his knee-high boots. Though he also wore a sombrero, Enrique stuck with his traditional serape and cotton pantalones.