by Jory Sherman
“No,” Anson yelled, but it was too late.
The bull cocked its head and aimed a homtip straight at his horse’s belly. The horse tried to get out of the way, but was knocked back by other cows and the white bull’s horn rammed into its side. The horn went in so smoothly, at first Anson thought he was mistaken. That it was only an illusion. But, his horse staggered and went down and the bull’s horn rose in the air, dripping with fresh blood.
The roped cow began to run and shake its head, trying to throw the loose rope. The rope had come loose when his horse went down. Anson heard Peebo’s horse scream and then the scream was shut off and the herd picked up momentum, sweeping past him like some mindless tide.
Anson choked on the dust and closed his eyes to keep the grit out. When he opened them a split second later, he saw the cattle running at great speed away from him and the dust closed over them. He heard the rumble of their hooves for several seconds and then a silence that was as monumental as a giant rock.
“Peebo?” Anson called.
No answer.
“Peebo, answer me.”
Anson heard a groan. He started to walk to toward the sound. He stopped by his horse and thought that he had never seen so much blood before. The ground pooled with it and still it came. A string of entrails lay like a coiling mass of gleaming wet snakes and his stomach churned at the gruesome sight.
A few yards later on, Anson saw Peebo’s horse, more disemboweled than his own, and blood splattered and flung in all directions. A lake of blood began to form around the horse’s belly and, beneath the silence, he heard the buzzing of flies.
Peebo lay several feet beyond and Anson’s heart dropped in his chest. He feared his friend was dead, for he lay so still.
“Peebo?”
“Ahhh.”
Anson knelt next to Peebo, saw that he was breathing. He reached down and touched a hand to Peebo’s cheek. Peebo’s eyelids quivered for a moment, then slowly opened.
“Anything broken?” Anson asked.
Peebo stared at Anson for several seconds before he answered. “Nothing I can feel right off.”
“Can you get up?”
“Son, if I’m still alive, I can get up.”
“Want some help?”
“No. Just let me talk to my feet and legs for a minute. I want to stand up. They want to lie down.”
Anson waited. Finally, Peebo grunted and sat up. He looked down at his boots. He waggled his feet from side to side. “Yeah, they still work.”
Peebo stood up slowly, groaning as each part of his body moved to a new position. “They gone?” he asked.
“They’re gone. We lost the horses. Both dead.”
Peebo swore.
“If you feel like it, let’s strip the saddles and bridles from the horses and start walking back to the ranch headquarters .”
“How far?”
“Not far. Half a day, if we keep at it.”
Peebo looked around, saw the dead horses. He winced, shook his head. “Might as well get to it,” he said.
They performed the gruesome task of removing saddles, saddlebags and bridles from the dead horses. Anson looked up at the sky and got his bearings. They started walking west, Peebo following a few yards behind Anson.
The two men crossed several trails winding through the scattered mesquite groves and gradually began to encounter more open land, and places where Box B hands had cleared the land of trees. They kept shifting their loads, but they did not stop.
They saw branded cattle grazing on high grass and Anson knew they were getting close to the ranch. “Not far now, Peebo,” he said.
“I’m getting my bearings.”
The two walked into an expansive grassland and then found the first fence made of mesquite. They crawled through it, pulling the saddles behind them and that’s when Anson saw the dun horse grazing by itself near some cattle.
“Say, Peebo, isn’t that …”
“Yeah, that’s where I put him.”
“Well, I’ll be damned.”
“We can ride double.”
They walked up on the dun. Peebo laid his saddle and bags down, carried the bridle over to the horse, speaking to it in gentle tones. He slipped the bridle over its face and then examined its leg.
“He’s all healed up from the snakebite,” Peebo said.
“I see.”
“Let me saddle him up and we’ll ride to the ranch.”
Anson said nothing. When Peebo was finished tightening the single cinch, Anson walked over to the horse and rubbed its nose.
“I’m glad I didn’t shoot you, boy.” He set down his saddle, bridle and kept the saddlebags slung over his shoulder.
Peebo smirked, then climbed up in the saddle. The horse whickered. “Well, come on, son. Climb up behind me.”
Anson grabbed Peebo’s hand, stuck his left foot in the empty stirrup. Peebo pulled him up and Anson swung his leg over and sat behind the cantle. He felt the tiredness in his feet and legs drain away.
“I know the way now,” Peebo said, and turned the horse toward the ranch.
“Pretty fine old horse,” Anson said.
“He’ll do.”
“I’ll come back later and get my saddle.”
“Yeah. You might want to ride this old horse back. He’s taken a likin’ to you.”
“Shut up, Peebo,” Anson said.
They rode in silence for a time, straight into the falling sun. They passed vaqueros who waved from a distance and the air was sweet with the scent of summer. Anson patted the dun on its rump, felt the power in its rippling muscles.
“You know, something, Peebo.”
“What?”
“I never could have made a loop big enough to throw over that white bull. His horns are just too damned big.”
“I know. I thought of that when I saw the bastard up close.”
“I’ll get him one day, but it won’t be with a rope.”
“You got it figured out yet?”
“No,” Anson said, “but I will. I’ll put the Box B brand on that wild sonofabitch and we’ll put him in with some big cows, see what we get.”
“I can see your heart’s set on gettin’ that bull.”
“He’s really something,” Anson said.
“Biggest bull I ever saw.”
The bull was even bigger in Anson’s mind as they rode on, flushing quail from the grasses, jumping rabbits and roadrunners. It was still wild country, Anson thought, but he was going to tame it someday and that white bull would be the start of a herd of cattle that would be the envy of every rancher in the Rio Grande Valley.
He was almost disappointed to be going home. He wished he could stay forever out in the brush, chasing down mavericks and putting the Baron brand on their rangy hides. He was glad now that he had not caught the white bull, even though they had lost two horses.
“Let him be wild a while longer,” Anson said, just blurting it out without thinking.
“Huh?”
“Oh, nothing,” Anson said, as a smile came to his lips.
“I heard you son,” Peebo said, to Anson’s surprise.
He thought about that last cow he had branded and wondered if the white bull had sired the calf she carried in her belly. Perhaps, he thought, the herd he envisioned had already started to form.
“That’s what Juanito told me,” Anson said.
“There you go again. Talkin’ to yourself, son.”
“Juanito said whatever you dream and believe is true, will happen.”
“Maybe.”
“No maybe about it, Peebo. You just got to believe, that’s all.”
“Faith?”
“Yeah. Faith.”
45
URSULA HEARD THE front door slam shut. She jumped at the alien sound, dropped the tin plate in her hand back into the washbowl. It sank beneath the soapy bubbles and disappeared.
“David?”
“Urs. Come quick.”
She grabbed a cloth and dried her
hands as she walked from the kitchen into the front room. David stood there in the center of the room, a pale ashen cast to his face, molded into an eerie visage by the feeble orange light from the single lamp glowing on a table by the door.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said.
“I’ve just been talking to Matteo.”
“Well, that would scare me, I know.”
“Don’t joke. It’s serious.”
“What’s serious?”
“Matteo plans to attack the Baron ranch.”
“Attack the Baron ranch?”
“He says he has a trained army. His Mexican hands.”
“Maybe you’d better sit down and tell me all about this, David.”
“Yes, yes.” Clearly agitated, David sat on the divan. Ursula wadded up the damp cloth and sat in a chair facing him.
“Now, what’s all this about Matteo and his army?”
“It’ll take him a week or two to get all his men together. But he has been training them to fight like soldiers. After Martin brought that wagon back, Aguilar went into a blind rage.”
“Serves him right.”
David took off his hat and set it next to him on the couch.
“Reynaud is in it with him, I think.”
“Reynaud is a snake,” she said.
“Anyway, he wants to know if I will fight in his army and I’m terrified.”
“Just tell him no.”
“It’s not that easy. He said if I don’t fight with him, then I can move out, that I have no job with him.”
Ursula sighed.
She squared her shoulders and drew herself up straight in the chair. “David, if Matteo picks a fight with Martin Baron, that means my son Roy will be in the thick of it.”
“My God, I didn’t even think of that.”
“So, you have no choice.”
“I don’t?”
“No. We’ve got to warn Roy. And Martin, too. You can’t work for a man like Matteo. He’s—he’s evil.”
“Christ,” David said, dropping his head into his hands. “Oh, Christ.”
“David. There’s no decision to make. We have to leave. Now. Leave everything here. Just ride off.”
“My God, what if Matteo sends his men after us? He might shoot us down like dogs.”
“Well, there’s another reason right there.”
“What?”
“If Matteo would do something like that, then you can’t possibly ever trust him, let alone work for him. So, we have to go.”
“What if he sees us?”
“Shh,” she said, leaning over to whisper to him. “We’ll wait. We’ll pack what we can and leave after Matteo goes to sleep. We’ll hitch up your buggy and leave in the dark.”
“He’ll hear us. Someone will. He’s sent for all his hands. He’s mad, I think.”
“Crazy, you mean.”
“Yes. Crazy.”
“All right. We’ll just take two horses. We don’t even need saddles. Just bring two horses here and we’ll ride over to Roy’s and tell him what’s going on.”
At two in the morning, David and Ursula rode away from the Rocking A Ranch. No one saw them leave. No one came after them.
Late the next morning, sleepy and weary, they rode up to Roy Killian’s house and were greeted by Wanda Fancher and her mother, Hattie.
“Where’s Roy?” Ursula asked.
“He’s working out back, painting a room we built. I’ll go get him.”
“You two look like you’ve rid a piece,” Hattie said.
“We have,” David said. “I’m David Wilhoit.”
“Step down, both of you, and I’ll put on a pot of tea.”
“Thank you, Hattie,” Ursula said, her voice laden with weariness. David helped her dismount. As they were walking to the house, Roy and Wanda came around the side and Urusula wondered if her son had married the woman she had arranged to move in with him.
“Ma, what are you doing here?”
“Roy, you and Wanda better come inside with us. We have a lot to tell you.”
A half hour later, Roy had his horse saddled and was saying good-bye to Wanda. “I’ll be back tonight,” he said.
“You be sure, hon,” Wanda said. Her eyes twinkled with suggestion. “Don’t you worry about your ma and her husband. That room’s ready for them.”
“Thanks, sugar,” Roy said.
“Should I tell your ma?”
“Tell her what?”
“About us, silly.”
“You mean …”
“I mean that this would be a good time to get married. While your folks are here.”
“Good Lord, Wanda, I can’t think about marryin’ at a time like this. If we have to fight Matteo Aguilar …”
“This might be our only chance, Roy.”
Roy climbed up on his horse, adjusted the pistol he wore, rammed the rifle more tightly into its boot. He leaned down and she stood on tiptoes. They kissed.
“We can talk about it when I get back tonight. Don’t say nothin’ ’till then.”
“Anything,” she said.
“Anything. Promise.”
“All right.”
He waved to her and turned his horse toward the Box B. Soon he had the animal at a gallop and Wanda watched him until he was only a dot on the horizon. Then she turned to go back into the house, a playful smile on her lips, a merry twinkle in her eye.
When she walked in on David and Ursula sitting at the table, she smiled wide.
“Mother Ursula,” she said, “I’ve got some good news for you.”
46
MARTIN LEANED AGAINST the back porch railing, listening to every word Dr. Purvis said to him. Dr. Purvis had suggested that they go outside so no one else inside the house could hear what he had to say. As the doctor spoke, Martin saw his world crumbling away, turning to dust, blowing away in the hot Texas wind that blew across the land in late April of the year 1861.
“She doesn’t have long, I’m afraid. Perhaps days. Weeks. I just don’t know. She could go at any time.”
“How can you know for sure?”
“The disease she has is advanced. We don’t know much about it. But, it has eaten her away inside. It’s already reached her brain and that, in my estimation, shows it to be in its last stages.”
“She’s a young woman.”
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Is there anything you can do for her, Doc?”
Purvis shook his head. “I gave her some salve for the lesions on her body. I gather you didn’t know how far the disease had advanced.”
“No. I knew she had spells. We—we haven’t …”
“Had relations? I gathered as much. She told me she was ashamed of her body, the sores on it.”
“What did you say about her brain?”
“This, ah pox, whatever its name, infects the brain in its last stages. She might go mad before she dies. You might have to take care of her when she, ah, loses control.”
“I’ll take care of her, Doc.”
“Well, that’s it, Mr. Baron. Al Oltmen wants to talk to you about another matter, if you’re up to it.”
“I’ll see what he has to say.”
“Fine. I’ll send him out.”
“Thanks, Doc. Do what you can for Caroline.”
“I will.”
A few minutes later, Allen Oltmen descended the porch stairs. He seemed properly sober about what he had to say and Martin welcomed any conversation that didn’t include the subject of death.
“Mr. Baron, I gather the news wasn’t good.”
“Doc didn’t tell you?”
“No, sir. I believe such matters are confidential.”
“You say you’re a Texas Ranger. I’ve heard of them over the years. Army?”
“No, sir, the army and Rangers don’t get along too well. We’re separate.”
“What did you want to see me about, Oltmen?”
“Well, sir, Sam Houston mentioned you. He’s pretty s
ick, you know, living down in Galveston. Sam doesn’t want war, thinks Texas was wrong to secede.”
“Hell, Sam must be getting up in years.”
“He’s seventy-six, I believe.”
“A hell of a man.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I met him once.”
“He remembers you, Mr. Baron. Charlie Goodnight spoke of you to him often.”
“Haven’t seen Charlie in a while, either.”
“No, sir, but that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Charlie and Mr. Sam, they both think you would make a good Ranger, especially if this country goes to civil war over the slave question.”
“Oh, I doubt if there’ll be any war,” Martin said.
“Sir, I think there will be. So does Sam. And, I’d like you to be a Ranger, not let the army grab you.”
“Why?”
“Well, in town I talked to Ken Richman and he told me about the slaves you freed from one of the ranchers hereabouts. If the army gets you, you’ll be fighting for the slaveholders.”
“Oh, I couldn’t rightly do that, Mr. Oltmen.”
“No, sir. With the Rangers, you’d be helping people. We could use you as a scout. We still have a problem with Apaches and Comanches and, mainly, that’s what we Rangers do, look out for folks and keep the redskins off their backs.”
“And, if there’s war?”
“Well, you’d not have to fight with the army. We aim to stay Texan, but we believe in the Union. Most of us, that is.”
“I don’t really want to fight anyone from the North.”
“No. I don’t either. I’m against this war, if it happens, as I believe it will. I have a badge in my pocket, and I’m authorized to swear you in as a Texas Ranger. It would keep the army from getting you and when the war’s over you wouldn’t have to explain why you didn’t fight Yankees.”
“I’ll think it over,” Martin said. “Thanks.”
Oltmen hesitated, seemingly unwilling to let the matter drop. He pulled a badge out of his pocket. “This is yours, if you want it. Should I leave it with you?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Oltmen.”
“Call me Al, will you?”
“If you see Charlie, tell him I said howdy, will you?”
“Yes, sir, I will.”
“And, you can call me Martin, Al.”
Al grinned. “Why, that’s fine, sir. I hope to see you again real soon.”