El Paso Way

by Steven Law

  They came to a knoll dotted with barrel cactus, yucca, agave, and fluff grass, around which a trail led to a lowland stream. The horses could smell the water, and the sorrel tried to pick up its pace, but Enrique would not enter a foreign area too swiftly, especially one of higher and greener grasses, with contents below unknown.

  They found a bend in the stream where the water pooled, and figured it to be the best place to let the horses drink and to fill their canteens. Enrique checked the water first to make sure it wasn’t poisoned with alkali, and nodded to the others to bring the horses ahead.

  Once they had had their fill and a good rest, they continued on for more than three hours following the stream, which meandered south; then they found the trail to Hachita that Don Benjamin had told them about. It was a trail first made by Spaniards and kept in use by ranchers and miners and now mostly the people of Hachita. It was a trail that Valdar wouldn’t take, but a good one for them to gain ground and a better chance at meeting him in El Paso.

  Dusk was upon them, and Enrique mentioned the idea of camping for the night.

  “Good idea,” Dutton said, already dismounting. “Always good to camp near water in these parts.”

  Pang, the tireless one, stayed mounted and peered east down the trail. Enrique patted him lightly on the knee. “I know, mi amigo. We will start out again bright and early.”

  “There is still an hour of daylight. We could get that much further at least.”

  “In this land we cannot deny the gift of water. We must take advantage of it. Who knows when we will find it again?”

  Pang kept looking down the trail, but he gave in to the wisdom of his friend and dismounted. He gave the reins to Dutton, who took both horses to a mesquite bush and tied them up. He unsaddled Pang’s horse for him, too, since the Chinaman never seemed to catch on when it came to gearing up or gearing down his mount.

  After unsaddling his horse and giving it some grain, Enrique walked down to the stream with his canteen in hand. He knelt before the shore, laid his sombrero down, pulled the cap, and dipped the canteen into the cool, glistening water. He adored the sound of rippling water, and it brought back several memories of his life along the Santa Cruz, during those first few days following a rain. He listened closely, watching the motions of the current and the cascading light, offering back his own distorted reflection. Such moments of peace seemed few as he grew older, and he wondered why. He could almost hear the laughing voices of children playing in the water, like the ones near Tucson. As he smiled at the thought, he suddenly realized that he wasn’t imagining those voices.

  He stood slowly, looked across the river, and saw movement. A smile came to his face when he saw Sereno, but then he noticed that Sereno had a serious look about him and quickly vanished.

  He heard the voices again and looked farther downstream, but he saw nothing humanlike that could make such sounds. He capped the canteen and walked along the shore. He came to a bend with rich grama grasses and reeds as tall as his chin. As he peered around the bend, the voices of laughter grew louder, and their source came vividly into view and froze Enrique without a breath.

  They were his age, he supposed, standing thigh-deep in the water washing each other, laughing and sharing conversation. One stood behind the other, cupping her hands and lifting water up on the other’s back and shoulders. The other washed her own front by reaching down and lifting water to pour over her head, face, and breasts.

  Enrique had rarely thought about women sexually, and when he did it was usually during trips to Tucson with the priest. The priest would warn him to be cautious of the girls in the city. They would lure you into a trap and you’d find yourself without a heart or a home. He trusted the priest completely, and he did as he said, but it still didn’t stop him from looking. Point was, this was the first time he’d ever seen women naked.

  They weren’t particularly pretty, like some of the women he’d seen. The one behind stood a good three inches taller than the other, and she was slender and very dark-skinned. Her long black hair was slick and wet and draped over her shoulder, partially covering her breasts. The other was more voluptuous with larger breasts and hips, and her skin and hair lighter like that of an Anglo.

  Enrique was not sure what to do at the moment, but his natural male curiosity drove him to get closer for a better look. He stepped back into the grass and hunched low as he crept forward. The coolness of the water seeped in through the soles of his boots. He took several steps, hearing their voices grow louder and louder, and he could faintly see them through the reeds.

  He came to a point where he thought he was close enough and parted the reeds with both hands for a better look. But what he saw most of was not the women, but the long neck of a blue heron, which after it saw him, leapt into the air and whisked its wings into an alarming flight. Enrique fell backward, making a loud splash into the water, and the laughing voices of the women ceased.

  “Dios mío!” Enrique said, under his breath, his buttocks and elbows deep under the water.

  He decided to try and crawl out, and as he rolled around, a water snake slithered through the grass near his arm. He stood abruptly and yelled, but the harmless snake, as scared as he was, headed out to the stream.

  His alarm became their alarm, and the women screamed at his sight, covering their breasts and high-stepping out of the stream. When they made it to shore, they ran faster away from him, toward a lean-to shelter farther upstream.

  When they left his view, Enrique could hear their frightened voices, and suddenly another figure appeared. He was a large, pale man with a completely bald head, large bushy eyebrows, and wearing a long white cotton robe and thong sandals. He marched downstream in long strides, head high pursuant to whatever the women had reported to him.

  Enrique still stood, as frozen as he was when he had first seen the women, yet now dripping wet and afraid in a peculiar sort of way.

  “Who goes there?” the man shouted from across the stream.

  Enrique could not gather the words to respond.

  “Who are you and what is your business?”

  “I am sorry, señor. I didn’t mean to frighten anyone. I was just filling my canteen.”

  The man got as close as he could without getting into the water and studied Enrique with ice-blue eyes. “Ah, a Mexican. And a wet one at that. Besides filling your canteen, what is your business near my river?”

  “I am Tohono O’odham, not Mexican, and I am traveling, señor. To El Paso, with two others. They are behind me on the trail.”

  The man’s intent eyes never blinked. “El Paso, eh?”

  “Sí, señor.”

  Suddenly and without warning the man smiled and belched a hearty laugh. “I guess you filled your eyes as well as your canteen, eh, Papago?”

  Enrique looked away, embarrassed.

  “Come,” the man said, waving his arm. “Take a break from your travels and join me for supper. Bring your friends!”

  Enrique could hardly turn him down, but he feared the embarrassment he would feel seeing the women again. He supposed that his embarrassment was just punishment for his lust. The priest had warned him about it, but at least all he did was look. Touching the premarital flesh was something that the priest warned would bring dire consequences, and something Enrique was certain he would not do.

  Dutton liked the idea of a hot meal and agreed to the invitation, and though cautious, Pang made no objection as well. Enrique thought it best not to mention what had happened with the women, mostly out of fear of what kind of questions they would ask him.

  The men took their horses and gear across the stream to the canvas lean-to and were greeted by a jovial host. A dozen chickens, ducks, and geese walked about near the dwelling.

  “Ah, we have a trio of trailblazers! Welcome! Welcome to my humble home!”

  Dutton walked up close to Enrique and whispered in his ear. “For a fat feller he’s sure got a lot of fire under his robe.”

  Enrique sighed and
continued on.

  “My name is Mulcov,” the man said. Almost every time he talked, he ended with a laugh. Sometimes a little chuckle, other times with one all the way from the bottom of his big stomach.

  Enrique introduced his companions and himself.

  “Such a variety you are! Come, come inside and rest your weary feet.”

  The lean-to leaned against a large, rocky mass that jutted out from a hill next to the stream. Enrique had seen his share of such dwellings, but none this large. It was as wide as the nave of the mission and half as long. White canvas made the roof and sides and was rolled up in the front and tied off. A rug covered most of the floor area, the rest pruned of all vegetation and brushed clean with a broom. A rough-hewn table stood near a center support pole made of pine from the mountains. A lantern hung on the pole, shedding just enough light to attract biting insects. Mulcov lit several candles. Enrique kept looking around for the women.

  Mulcov asked the visitors to sit. Several empty wooden kegs were positioned upside down around the table. Their host sat with them on the end and rubbed his hands together vigorously, his blue eyes gleaming.

  He raised his hands and clapped them twice loudly. “Woman! Bring us drink!”

  In walked the shorter of the two women. Dutton quickly removed his hat and rose from his seat. Enrique swallowed and fidgeted on his. At least she wasn’t naked this time. Now she wore a huipil and moccasins. The woman set a clear bottle on the table, with a label printed in a language Enrique had never seen. She opened a trunk and pulled out four glass goblets and brought them to the table as well. She made no eye contact with any of them. Not even Mulcov.

  “Now, go bring the tamales. Andale!” Mulcov shooed her away with his hand, then looked to his guests with a broad smile. “Ah, it’s so nice to have guests!” he said, pouring them each a drink and setting the goblets in front of them. “I am so happy that I will share with you my best vodka from the home country. And my favorite tamales, like they make in the Yucatan.”

  After all the drinks were poured, Mulcov held his head up high. “As they say here in the Americas, salud!”

  He didn’t wait on them, but drank all of his in one swallow. Dutton tipped his back confidently and after swallowing stretched his mouth and wiped his lips with his fingers.

  Pang lifted his goblet slowly and sniffed. He turned up his nose and peered at Enrique. Enrique shrugged and looked down into the glass.

  “Bottoms up, lads!” Mulcov shouted. “Drink like that shapes the man and stirs the gods!”

  Enrique took a large swallow and came back choking. Pang tried his as well, with similar results.

  All the drama drew a belly laugh from Mulcov. “It gets better, gentlemen. The tamales will be made special for you tonight, with sweet brown beans and corn and, as a treat, pollo.”

  Enrique liked tamales, but he hadn’t had them in years. It was a traditional food made mostly by the people of the Mayan culture, but passed on to the Mexican generations as well. He wasn’t sure how different tamales from the Yucatán would be, but when the slender young woman, also wearing a huipil, came in with them steaming on a tray, he realized that they were much larger than any tamale he’d ever seen.

  “Ah, how grand!” Mulcov said, unwrapping the corn husks and diving right in.

  Enrique made the cross over his chest, then took a tamale from the tray. He untied the corn husk and unfolded it. They were prepared beautifully and tasted just as good as they looked. The woman who’d prepared them knew what she was doing.

  “So,” Mulcov said, “you all are heading to Paso del Norte. What is the attraction of that fine city?”

  The three men exchanged glances, Pang still blinking his watery eyes from his big swallow of vodka.

  Dutton decided to answer for them. “We have business there. We need to get there quickly, but our horses need a rest.”

  “And so do you, my friends!” Mulcov raised his glass again. “To your journey!”

  Enrique dreaded the idea of taking another drink, and apparently Pang felt the same and saw fit to knock over his glass, the contents pooling and quickly absorbing into the dry wood of the tabletop.

  “No worries, my friend,” Mulcov said. “We have more.” Mulcov grabbed the bottle, but Pang picked up his goblet and placed his hand over the top.

  “No, thank you,” Pang said.

  It was the most solemn look Enrique had seen on Mulcov since they met at the stream.

  Dutton decided to change the subject. “Quite a setup you have here, Mulcov.”

  A smile came back to him. “Ah, yes, this is my paradise.”

  “Ain’t none of my business,” Dutton said, “but I’m just curious, how a big ol’ boy like you makes a living out here in the wilderness. Just you and two little Indian gals.”

  Mulcov smiled proudly. “I left Russia with much money, and came to the Americas to start a new life. I spend many years in Mexico, doing business with the federales, but now I retire to a life of leisure.”

  Dutton grinned. “And them Indian girls, I reckon they’re part of that leisure?”

  “Ah yes, Mr. Dutton. They are not my wives, but better than wives! They cook and clean for me …” The Russian leaned forward. “And other things, too, if you know what I mean.”

  The laughed that followed, Enrique was certain, could be heard all the way to El Paso.

  “Kind of dangerous out here, just you and the women,” Enrique said.

  “Mulcov is afraid of no one!”

  “Not even Antonio Valdar?” Enrique said.

  “Ah, the Demon Warrior. No, he will not harm me. We made many treaties in Mexico.”

  “You have a treaty with Valdar?”

  “Of course! He is the source of my two women. He would not harm a good customer, would he?”

  The three men exchanged glances.

  Enrique developed a sudden distaste for their host. “If you will excuse me, señor, I am tired and wish to get some sleep. Thank you for the invitation.”

  Mulcov watched the Criollo stand and walk out of the lean-to without saying a word. Pang immediately followed and caught up with Enrique.

  *

  “What did I say?” the Russian said.

  Dutton slid down the last of his vodka and pushed the empty goblet toward Mulcov. “You seem like the harmless type, so I’ll fill you in so there’s no hurt feelings.”

  “Harmless? Of course, I would not harm a bug.”

  “Those two men out there lost their families because of Valdar. Their women were abducted to be taken to Mexico and sold. You are the end result of exactly what we’re going to El Paso to stop.”

  Mulcov stared at the table and furrowed his brow. “I see. But I mean no harm to my women. They have a good life.”

  Dutton stood on his feet. “They are your slave girls and you know it. Someone somewhere cries for them, but I doubt that matters much to you. So long as you get your vodka and meals on time, and a little wilderness poke when you so desire.”

  The Russian slammed a fist on the table. “I am doing nothing wrong! I’ve broken no laws!”

  “I’m not putting you on trial here, Mulcov. You’re just the pitiful end to a heinous crime. And there ain’t enough paper in the world to write all the laws that would cover a good healthy conscience.”

  “I will ask you to leave here, Mr. Dutton. Take your friends and go.”

  Dutton grabbed his hat and headed out of the lean-to. He stopped and turned his head back. “One more thing. If you think for one minute that Valdar respects any man, you’re fooling yourself more than anyone. You better dread the day he returns here and decides he wants the women back. And I can promise you he won’t be payin’ cash for them, or respecting any so-called treaty.”

  *

  The trio made camp a good twenty yards from the stream, laying out their bedrolls and building a fire for warmth and morning coffee. Enrique and Pang had spoken little since they’d left the Russian’s lean-to, but they had exchanged ma
ny glances, which were enough for them to know they both felt the same desire.

  Dutton settled in beside the fire and spoke of the unusual silence among them. “You boys need to let that all go and not get in the way of what we have to do.”

  Enrique only looked at him.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Dutton said. “It’s not healthy, Enrique.”

  “The only difference between those mujeres and mi hermana, and Pang’s fiancée, is that they are not ours. But they are somebody’s children. Someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, maybe even someone’s wife. I will not be able to live with myself riding away from here without helping them.”

  “How do you know they want to be helped?” Dutton asked.

  Enrique exchanged a look of frustration with Pang then stood up from his bedroll. He spat into the fire and gave Dutton a hard stare. “You go to sleep, Sheriff, and sleep well if you can. I’m going to rescue those women and see that they get back home to their families. If you want to stop me, I suggest you try now.”

  Pang rose quickly to his feet. “I’m going with you.”

  *

  Enrique and Pang crossed the stream and snuck into the Russian’s camp. The canvas in the front had been rolled down and a faint light glowed from the inside. Enrique wasn’t sure where the women stayed, but it was a good bet that they were in there with the Russian.

  Pang went around to the back side with a plan to sneak in between the canvas and the rock. He didn’t carry a weapon; he didn’t need one. His mind was always his best weapon.

  Enrique went to the front, giving Pang enough time to work his way in, and then flipped up the canvas. He fully expected to find them all sleeping, and he would wake them, overpower the Russian, and free the women. But never in his life did he expect to see them all awake; the big Russian sat on a barrel with nothing on but a linen wrap around his waist. His large, portly, ashen body glistened under the lantern light. The taller woman stood behind Mulcov, rubbing oil on his shoulders. The other woman sat on the rug in front of him washing his feet. The Russian raised his nose in the air and moaned, occassionaly mumbling the words “yes” and “wonderful.”