by Jory Sherman
“Is this the one who will die?” Bone asked, looking over his shoulder and up to the place where Dream Speaker sat.
“That one is dead,” someone said, and Bone looked around and saw Little Bird standing there. “You killed him.”
“No. I did not kill Big Rat.”
“Go, Hueso. You bring death with you.”
Bone looked beyond the woman and saw Dawn and Juan standing by the horses. She was holding the reins. He walked past Little Bird and she hissed at him like a snake.
Perhaps, he thought, I did kill Big Rat. Maybe death follows me like a shadow.
He rode from the camp with Dawn and his son on the barebacked horse and he heard the keening from the women mourning the death of Big Rat and the sound sent a chill up his spine even as the sun was hot and poured down on him and made lakes dance on the land and glisten like tilting mirrors. And the water disappeared as he rode through the desolate land that was empty of all life and he knew in his heart that the whole earth had been like that once and would be again someday.
43
THE WAGON AND its team stood just outside the Rocking A barn. Matteo, Reynaud, and several hands stared at it as though it was some strange vehicle suddenly landed from the sky. Luis walked around the wagon, feeling its wooden sides, looking into the bed. Matteo stood there, watching, his eyes hard as black agates, his lips pressed together in a tight frown.
“Oye, mira,” Luis exclaimed. He pointed to the left front wheel.
“What is it?” Matteo asked.
“There is a chain and a lock. The wagon is chained to the hitchrail.”
Matteo and Reynaud walked around to the other side of the wagon. They looked at the chain wrapped around a spoke and around one of the posts of the hitchrail. A large lock hooked the two ends of the chain together.
“What in the devil?” Matteo said.
“I think Martin Baron is trying to send us a message,” Reynaud said.
“A message?”
“Look at the chain. The lock. That’s the kind they use to shackle slaves.”
“Mierda,” Matteo said.
“Oh, Martin is one sonofabitch, I think.”
“You let the bastard get away when he took those slaves from me.”
“I had no choice. We were outnumbered. See here, Matteo. We’ve been over all this before. Baron was smart. He knew where to wait for us. He knew how many we were. He hid beside the road. We were caught by surprise. The same could have happened to you.”
“Luis,” Matteo said. “How many men did you see when you were attacked?”
“I only saw one. The one who hit me.”
“And Paco, how about you?”
“I saw two, I think.”
Matteo growled in his throat as if ready to chew Reynaud to bits.
“What went wrong?” Matteo asked.
“It was dark. They caught us by surprise.”
“Did you see Martin Baron?”
“I did not.”
“Did any of you see him?”
Paco and Luis shook their heads. Reynaud shrugged.
“I think I killed one of the Baron men,” Reynaud said.
“You think?”
“I shot him.”
“And you rode away, leaving my men to fight alone,” Matteo said.
“I do not know how many men Baron had. There could have been a dozen or more.”
“What of David?”
“He was caught by surprise,” Paco said. “He did not say much to me. I think he knows more than he is saying.”
“See?” Reynaud said. “Even your own man admits that we were caught by surprise. As far as that goes, you didn’t even see him or whoever it was haul that wagon and team up here.”
“Shit,” Matteo said.
“What should I do about the lock and chain?” Luis asked.
“Break it. Cut it. Then, I want you to gather all the men and bring them here.”
“Yes, patrón,” Luis said.
At that moment, Matteo saw his wife, Luz, waddling toward them. He turned his head, surprised that she had left the house. Her belly was swollen, using up all the fabric of the light dress she wore so that he could see her knees below the hem.
“I saw them,” she said in a calm voice.
“What?”
“I saw Martin Baron and another man bring the wagon back.” She stopped next to the wagon.
“When did they come?” Matteo asked.
“Early this morning. They were very quiet.”
“Why did you not awaken me?”
“I called your name, Matteo. You could not hear me. You were loud in your snoring.”
“You should have shaken me.”
“I did shake you. You were in the arms of the aguardiente. I thought you were dead, my husband.”
Matteo glowered at her.
“I was not drunk,” he said.
“No? Then, it must have been someone else in my bed. The man I tried to awaken was muy borracho.”
“Cállate,” Matteo snapped.
“Do not raise your voice against me or I will think you are the same man who staggered into our bedroom last night and yelled at me that you and Paco and Luis had drunk all the brandy in the Rio Grande Valley.”
“Woman, shut your mouth.”
“I will,” she said. “I came to tell you to bring Cora, the midwife.”
“What? You are having the baby?”
“The baby is knocking on the door. I broke my water a few minutes ago.”
“Why did you not say so, woman? Paco, go and get Cora. Bring her here quick to the house.”
Paco stood rooted to the ground for several seconds until Matteo withered him with a look from those steel black eyes of his. Then, he took off running.
“Thank you, my husband,” Luz said sweetly.
“Go back to the house and wait,” he said.
“Don’t you want to know who the other man was who came with the wagon? He and Martin had two horses tied to the back. And after they put the wagon here, they rode away. They seemed not to be in a hurry.”
“Who was this other man?” Matteo demanded.
“I do not know,” she said. “But he was a big man.”
“A big man?”
“Yes, very big. Bigger than you. Bigger than Reynaud.”
“I do not know this man,” Matteo said. He looked at Reynaud. Reynaud shook his head.
“I think you have seen this man before, Matteo,” she said.
“If I saw him, I would remember him. Where did I see him?”
“A week ago, he was in the barn with the other slaves.”
“With the slaves?”
“Yes. Do you not remember?”
“What are you saying, woman?”
“The man with Martin was black, my dear husband.”
Matteo swore.
“Socrates,” Reynaud said.
“Was that his name?” Luz asked in that sweetest of her many voices. “I did not know. He was a very big man and he rode his horse well.”
Matteo brought his hands up, held them in a strangling stance as if he wanted to choke Luz at that very moment. “Vete,” he ordered, and waved her toward the house.
Luis crept away, trying his best to go unnoticed. Matteo saw him out of the corner of his eye.
“Bring all the men quick,” Matteo said. “Run.”
“Is Luis going to bring your soldiers?” Luz asked.
“Yes. Go in the house. I will talk to you later.”
“I will go,” she said. “Do you want me to prepare your bedroll?”
“I will prepare it.”
“So, my husband goes to war, does he? I will be a widow, then.”
With that, Luz turned and began to waddle back toward the house. She bore a faint smile on her lips. Matteo stared after her, the veins swollen in his neck, his voice strangled to silence by the grip of his rage.
“War?” Reynaud said.
Matteo whirled on him.
�
�Yes,” Matteo said. “War. You did not kill Martin when you had the chance. So, you are going to get your chance again.”
“Isn’t this somewhat extreme?”
“Extreme?”
“Drastic.”
“Drastic?”
“Declaring war on one man, I mean,” Reynaud said.
“Reynaud, you are stupid. You have taken my money, eaten my food, slept in my house, and you have not done the one thing you came for.”
“What is that?”
“Kill your enemy, Martin Baron.”
“I was going to get around to it, when the time was right.”
“Well, the time is right. I am going to get those slaves back and the land Baron stole from my family.”
“He did not pay for the land he owns?”
“He did not pay enough,” Matteo said.
“How much is enough?”
“His life will be enough, Reynaud.”
Matteo walked toward the house, leaving Reynaud standing there.
“What about the wagon?” Reynaud called after Matteo.
“Fuck the wagon,” Matteo said.
44
THE LONGHORN KICKED and swung its head from side to side trying to shake off the rope around its neck. Anson kept the rope taut, dragging the cow toward the fire. The cow bawled in protest and stiffened all four legs so that it plowed four furrows in the ground for the last ten yards.
Peebo was waiting by the branding irons stuck in the coals.
“Fun, huh?”
“Yeah, Peebo, more fun than I’ve had since my last toothache.”
“This is a hell of a way to brand cattle. One here, one there, a couple here, three there.”
“Every little bit counts,” Anson said, swinging out of the saddle. He hung on to the reins, pulled his horse toward him so that the rope stayed tight. “Now, help me throw this maverick down and you can put the iron to him.”
“It’s a her, ain’t it?”
“Don’t get smart.”
“It’s your turn to rope the next one,” Anson said.
“Let’s get this one burned first.”
Anson walked the length of the rope, running his hand along as he went. He circled the longhorn cow and came up from behind. He grabbed the horns close to the boss, dug in his heels and twisted. The cow struggled to get away, dragging Anson around as it turned, shaking its head to break his grip. Anson bent the neck of the cow even further and weighted it down with his body until the animal’s legs collapsed beneath it. The longhorn kicked and struggled, but Anson pinned it to the ground until it wore itself out.
“Now,” Anson yelled at Peebo.
Peebo jerked both irons free of the hot coals and raced to the fallen cow. He pinned its hind leg with his boot and rammed the iron with the square at its head. Hide and hair hissed as the brand burned into the hide. The hairs smoked and disappeared leaving a raw burned square figure in the hide. Quickly, Peebo jammed the other iron with its small B directly in the center of the square. The cow bawled and tried to kick Peebo away. He kept pressure on its leg so that it could not move much.
“There,” Peebo said, and stepped back.
“Now, come around here, Peebo, and grab the end of this one horn.”
“Hell no,” Peebo said.
“It’s going to try and hook me the minute I turn it loose.”
“Damned right.”
“You sonofabitch.”
“Let’s don’t be bringin’ my mother into this, son.”
“You bastard.”
“My father, neither.”
Panting from the exertion, Anson set himself. He gathered his feet under him, pushed hard on the jutting upper horn. Then, he pushed on it for leverage and stood up. He jumped to the left and ran as the cow swung its head. The long horn just barely missed catching Anson’s leg. The cow got to its feet, shook itself and turned its head so that it was looking straight at Anson.
“Hoo, hoo,” Anson shouted and grabbed the rope as his horse stepped away to take up the slack.
“That cow wants some of your hide,” Peebo said. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“What?”
“The rope. You need to get it off that cow.”
“No. I’m holding that cow hostage.”
“Hostage?”
“You saw the tracks. Why we came here.”
“Oh, the big white bull.”
“He’s in there somewhere.” Anson cocked his head toward the thick mesquite growth a hundred yards from where the cow stood. “Don’t you recognize this cow?”
“Recognize it? I never saw it before.”
“Yeah, you did. When we first saw the white bull, he had a bunch of cows with him. This was one of ’em.”
“Jesus,” Peebo said.
“I’m bettin’ that bull will see he’s lost one of his gals and come after her. Break out your rope while I get the other one off my saddle.”
“You want me to go get another unbranded cow? This is branding the hard way.”
“No. I want you to stand by with the rope looped up for when El Blanco comes runnin’ up here to get his sweetheart back.”
“Like I said, son,” Peebo said. “That’s doin’ it the hard way.”
Anson stood there, catching his breath. He hung his head. His shirt was plastered to his chest and back, sodden with sweat. He was covered with dust that clung to the fabric of his clothes so that he looked like a man made out of dirt.
“That makes an even dozen for the day,” Peebo said, as he got one of his ropes off his saddle. He began to build a loop. Anson nodded, unable to speak. His lungs burned as if they were on fire as he struggled to drink in fresh oxygen.
“That bull’s probably miles from here,” Peebo said. “I’ll bet he run off when you lassoed that cow there.”
“I’ll bet he didn’t.”
“You know,” Peebo said, as he walked toward Anson, still shaking out his loop. “I’ve noticed that we’ve been driftin’ westward the past few days. That mean anything?”
“We’ve been following that white bull’s tracks,” Anson said, a disarming tone to his voice.
Peebo stopped walking. He looked around him in all directions. He peered at the sky and marked the course of the sun across the great vault of heaven. He sighed, tipped his hat back on his head and scratched a spot that didn’t itch.
“Well, I’ll be a ring-tailed sonofabitch,” Peebo said.
“What?”
“You are one slick sucker, Anson.”
Anson had regained his breath and stood up straight. “Huh?”
“We ain’t been follerin’ that bull and his harem at all, have we?”
“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Peebo.”
“You’ve been herdin’ that bull back toward the ranch. Slow, but sure. I should have caught on a week ago.”
“It’s time we got back. Likely, we’ll need more help.”
“It’s that gal, ain’t it?”
“What gal is that?”
“That Lorene Sisler.”
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, Peebo.”
“Sure you do. Well, it don’t make no never mind to me. But, why are we standin’ here with ropes if you think that bull’s goin’ to come runnin’ up here on us?”
“There’s daylight left. I figure this is our best chance to smack a brand on that big old bull.”
“Well, I’m waitin’, son.”
Anson spoke to his horse, slapped him gently on the rump. The horse took a step to keep the rope taut. Anson walked down it to the freshly branded cow and she started bawling when she caught him coming close. Anson kept her moving and bawling as Peebo watched.
“Still waitin’,” Peebo said.
“About three or four days ago, I noticed some cows in the brush that looked familiar,” Anson said. “They were wilder than the ones we caught and branded. So, I started pushing them westward, closing off their usual places. You could see by the
ir tracks where they liked to be, where they had been.”
“I’ll say one thing, son. You’re a hell of a tracker if you saw all that.”
“Something I learned from Juanito.”
“Yeah, Juanito. He taught you one hell of a lot.”
“If only you knew.”
“So, you been drivin’ them slow-like thisaway. Now you say this cow’s one of that wild bunch.”
“Sure enough.”
“But you’re ready to go home.”
“I got that doom feeling, Peebo. Had it for a week. Like something’s going to happen and I can’t help it none.”
“Your ma?”
“Maybe. Yeah, ma, and pa, too. That’s the thing about that doom feeling. You can’t rightly put your finger on it. But, it’s there. I guess dread might be a better word.”
“Dread?”
“Yeah, dread. But, it doesn’t really put the meaning to what I feel like doom does.”
“Doom is just another kind of word for death, son.”
“I know. I’m not ignorant, you know.”
“No, you ain’t ignorant, son. You’re just peculiar.”
“Well, I got to get on back home. I can’t keep on out here with that doom feeling hanging over me.”
Anson made the cow bawl again when he jumped at it and waved his hat.
“I see what you’re doin’, son,” Peebo said.
“You just stay ready, Peebo.”
They did not have to wait long. The cow kept bawling its distress signal and soon they heard a crashing sound in the mesquite, then the rumble of hoofbeats. Many hoofbeats.
Anson was watching the bunch of mesquite where he had caught the cow, thinking the bull would come from that direction. But, he was wrong. A stream of longhorns came out of the thicket, not in a solid bunch, but from different directions. The white bull was not in the lead, as he expected, but came charging and bellowing from the rear of another column that seemed to come out of the dust thrown up by the preceding cattle.
He yelled at Peebo, but had to dodge a pair of young bulls with huge horns that braced him. He just barely managed to escape being impaled by them, or bowled over, and by the time he saw the white bull, he was off balance.
He heard Peebo yell something, and then the herd swarmed into the clearing, rampaging through the fire, tossing irons that clattered and rang like church bells. To his horror, the white bull charged toward his horse.