by Tony Masero
‘Howdy, Delgado,’ greeted Cornpone, still smiling broadly. ‘Real sorry for the interruption.’
Tarfay ushered the children inside and Cornpone nudged the Ranger as they mounted the porch steps, ‘Looks like the old fox was in the hen house again,’ he whispered.
‘Leave it be,’ growled Tarfay. ‘Mama, can you get something to eat for these kids? Its been a while for them.’
Mama Bass grunted and waddled inside brushing the two children before her.
‘Don’t you worry,’ Cornpone called after them. ‘She don’t bite, just looks like she does.’
‘Delgado,’ Tarfay called the Mexican over. ‘There’s an Indian war party out, so stay sharp. Two bands of rustlers from over the border been reported too.’
‘I will watch, senor,’ Delgado promised, hitching his pants up.
‘Keep to the house and watch those kids don’t wander off.’
‘You are not staying, senor?’
‘No, we have to ride on but I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
‘Don’t worry, senor. I will watch everything fine.’
‘I know it. We’ll get us a bite, pick up some supplies and be on our way. We’ve got some ground to cover.’
‘As you say, senor. I will see to the horses.’
‘Thank you, Delgado.’
As the Mexican hurried off with the two ponies, Cornpone leaned towards Tarfay, ‘Beats me how the hell those two get it on, him being so tiny and her being so monumental and all,’ he confided.
‘Maybe he’s right well equipped to the task,’ Tarfay answered with a warning look.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Cornpone followed Tarfay inside.
Mama Bass was rattling pots and shoving kindling into the stove when they entered the large living space. Tag and Eloise sat to one side looking bemused and unsure.
Tarfay was irritated at first when he noted how uncomfortable they were and then he remembered all they had been through over the last days. His attitude softened at the thought.
‘You kids, there’s a bunk room back there,’ he said, indicating a side corridor running past the kitchen. ‘Why don’t you go along and sort out your sleeping arrangements. There’ll be blankets in a chest in there. Mama Bass will give you anything else you need.’
‘You going to manage this?’ asked Cornpone, watching the children’s sullen backs as they wandered off.
‘It’ll take them time,’ said Tarfay. ‘They just got to get on with it, there ain’t no changing things.’
Within the hour, Tarfay and Cornpone were on their way. A quick bite of sandwich and their saddlebags loaded with supplies and they were gone, riding north over the hills and soon lost to sight.
Mama Bass fussed over the children, she said little, never seeming to express herself with more than a grunt or two. But with the instinctive nature of youngsters both of them knew she was a kindly soul at heart and were not put off by her statuesque appearance and basilisk stare.
It was Delgado who did most of the talking but after they had eaten he was soon off to attend to his chores outside and it was Mama Bass who escorted them to their beds with a lit candle and who sat her huge bulk down in a corner until they had both fallen asleep.
Over the next few weeks they were to find that Mama Bass’ patience was inexhaustible. Her expression never altered and she handled each household task with no apparent expectations. When Eloise finally gave in and burst into uncontrolled sobbing as she got to thinking over the loss of her mother, Mama Bass sat herself down on the porch rocking chair and rested Eloise’s head in her voluminous lap and stroked the girl’s hair gently until Eloise ceased and slept as if in her own mother’s care.
Delgado had Tag help him around the property making light repairs and holding the mustangs whilst the Mexican mounted them and trained the animals to be effective cow ponies. He was an excellent horseman and took a delight in passing on his expertise to the boy and soon Tag became a more than adequate horseman himself.
Tag though, would often lay awake at night. He had allowed no show of his grief nor had released himself from it as Eloise had. He kept the bitterness buried deep and waited each day for Tarfay to return with knowledge of the capture or death of Scart Benjamin. On his wakeful nights he would often hear the repeated unions of their carers. The two seemed inexhaustible and avid, their copulations both noisy and frequent and the thin walls did little to disguise the frequency. It was the only time he was to hear Mama Bass utter anything other than her usual monosyllabic grunts. There were enough of those it is true but now and again the diminutive pleas in her native tongue were soft and lyrical amidst the battering of the bedstead against the wall.
It was of little surprise to Tag, who was, after all a farm boy and had good knowledge of the natural ways but compared to the silence of his own mother’s widowed bed it was an education into how joyous a sexual union could be.
Two months passed and with Eloise at work with Mama Bass in the house and Tag busy in the yard, the days went quickly enough. Tag had quieted down some, his normal recklessness held in check after the events in Tamaloosa and as he adjusted to the terrible loss of their home his hands and brain were kept busy by Delgado, which did much in the healing process.
When the Indians came, they were a silent trio who appeared without warning and were suddenly in the yard out front of the house.
Delgado was in the barn at the time and it was Tag who came out onto the porch with a fresh baked biscuit in his hand and saw the three men sitting patiently on horseback. Each one had a white stripe painted across his face and carried a lance. One held a Springfield rifle over his lap and another an army Colt stuck in the belt of his loincloth. The shock was complete and it took Tag a moment to overcome before he ran over to the barn and called Delgado out.
Delgado came with a rifle in his hand and approached the three cautiously, over his shoulder he told Tag to stay where he was inside the barn.
The Mexican spoke to them in their own tongue and after a few moments the spokesman for the three began to make demands. He wanted the mustangs it appeared, and coffee and liquor.
Delgado called for Mama Bass to bring them coffee and tobacco but refuse them the ponies and told them there was no liquor to be had as there was none in the house.
The Indians laughed when they saw Mama Bass. Her great size brought a ready smile to their faces and these froze as Mama Bass forewent her normal silent restraint and gave them a loud earful in their own Apache tongue. Cowed apologetically under the onslaught, the Indians seemed to accept Delgado’s gift and be prepared to leave the homestead alone.
They were turning their ponies away and Tag could see Delgado’s shoulders sag with relief, when suddenly the one with the Colt, dragged the weapon out. He whirled the pony in a tight loop that demonstrated magnificent horse control and fired from the saddle, blowing a hole in Delgado’s arm and knocking the small Mexican forward into a stumbling run.
Delgado screamed at them to get into the house and Mama Bass caught Eloise around the shoulder and was pushing the child before her when one of the braves launched a lance from horseback that thudded into her broad back. With a whoop two of the Indians jumped down and set about Delgado who, using his one good arm, slashed at them with the rifle, using it as a club.
The pistol-bearing Apache stayed mounted and controlling his rearing pony he loosed off another shot that slammed into Mama Bass who still stood on the porch covering Eloise. The slug caught Mama Bass in the left side and she staggered to the doorway, reaching up to hold the jamb and push Eloise inside.
Tag was racing across to join them and he was over the porch railing and standing by the rocking chair when he saw Delgado stagger and drop to one knee as a war club dashed his hat off as it hit him on the side of the head. A bullet came Tag’s way but the porch post took the impact and he ducked as the timber splintered and erupted in a cloud of fragments.
The yard was full of disturbed dust and gun smoke now and Delgado was
down on both knees when Mama Bass launched herself from the porch and fell onto his attackers. Wounded and with the lance still planted in her back she barged into the two Apaches, buffeting them away as if a boulder rolling down a mountainside.
The two Indians laughed, both in embarrassment and outrage as they scampered aside and crouched looking at the big angry fat woman. Mama Bass began to help Delgado to his feet but the man on horseback drove his pony into her and knocked her aside. Mama Bass fell to the ground and rolled over, the lance in her back snapping off as she did so, laboriously she tried to climb to her feet again.
Tag had made it to the doorway, he knew there were no other firearms in the house but dashing past Eloise he ran to the kitchen and picked up the large knife Mama Bass used for gutting chickens. He ran back outside to see that the horseman now had a looped lariat around Mama Bass’s ample chest and was in the process of dragging her along the ground.
Delgado was only semi-conscious and as he wove dazedly up onto his feet he was set about again. A club struck his mid-section doubling him over and the other Apache speared him from the back. The two Indians dragged out their sharp flinthead knives and repeated the process, stabbing time after time until Delgado’s shirtfront was a streaming river of blood. Again and again they jabbed at him, screaming and whooping as the Mexican slid over onto his side, his hands waving feebly.
It sickened Tag to see and to him it was like watching a turtle that had been turned on its back and was struggling ineffectually to rise as Delgado attempted to feebly hold back the remorseless assault. Tag pushed Eloise behind him and stood ready in the doorway of the house, the knife held out before him.
One of the Apache’s bending over the Mexican leaned hard on his lance, pushing it down with all his body weight and driving the spear right through Delgado’s squirming body and effectively pinning him to the ground. They turned then and with war cries and calls of victory watched their companion dragging the great mass of Mama Bass backwards and forwards across the yard, her body slowly turning and rolling as the dress was scraped from her back. When the rider’s pony was streaming with sweat and frothing at the mouth the Indian dropped the rope’s end and Mama Bass slewed to a standstill.
Miraculously, she still lived and moved feebly amidst the dust, her fat cheeks ripped raw and her wounded body leaking blood.
The Indians ignored her and the two on foot ran over to the corral to fetch the mustangs. The horse rider slid from the saddle and approached the porch.
Tag felt the heart pounding in his chest, half in fear and half in rage he shouted at the approaching brave and stabbed threateningly with the knife. Calmly the Apache climbed up onto the porch and slid the Colt back in his belt. He stood over Tag and for the first time the boy could take in every ominous aspect of the man.
He was not tall but his long black hair was kept in place by a broad loop of cloth about his forehead. The white band of paint stood out clearly against his darkly tanned skin and the face was as impassive as Mama Bass’s. He wore a white shirt and dark vest with a long loincloth over bare legs and knee high moccasin boots.
In one swift and sudden movement he caught hold of Tag’s wrist and twisted, forcing the blade from his grasp. With what might have passed as a smile, he brushed Tag aside and stepped inside the house. Eloise uttered a shuddering gasp as he strode past her and began to explore the interior. Pots were thrown aside and china smashed as he burrowed through the rooms. Taking a sheet from one of the beds he began to throw items he considered worthwhile into the cloth. Eloise’s brush and comb, a mirror and some sacks of dried beans. There was little enough to take of value but what there was he took, seeming only frustrated when every bottle he found appeared to hold nothing alcoholic.
Tag and Eloise crouched speechless by the doorway, and Tag was unsure of what was the best thing to do. So far the Indians had ignored the two of them and they were so busy with either the house or the horses, Tag decided it was perhaps possible for them to slip away. Taking Eloise’s hand and holding a finger to his lips, they backed carefully away through the doorway and out onto the porch.
A shout from behind spun them both around and they saw that the yard was now full of Indians on horseback. A great mass of Apache pressed into the dusty yard and beyond them Tag could see a herd of horses been driven in and the two Indians at the corral were jumping up and down and calling out victorious greetings.
The Apache inside the house came out at the noise and brushing past Tag and Eloise joined in the celebration.
At the head of the crowd sat a stern-looking Apache, taller than the others. He wore a black shirt and an ammunition belt decorated with silver disks. He was a handsome man and Tag wondered if he was indeed half-white as his skin was lighter in color than those around him. His pants were baggy cloth stuffed into his moccasin boot tops and he couched a rifle in the crook of his arm.
Easily he cocked a long leg over and slid from the pony’s back and stepped up onto the porch. With a few words to their attacker, he leaned past Tag and Eloise, ignoring them as he glanced inside.
Frustration gave way in Tag and he looked at the Indian pugnaciously. ‘What do you intend to do with us?’ he asked.
As if noticing them for the first time, the Apache glanced at Tag and then at Eloise.
‘You live here?’ he asked in English.
‘Of course,’ spat Tag.
‘Well, not any more,’ sniffed the Indian. ‘I am Telkashay of the Chokonen Apache and you will come with us now and live with the Chiricahua.’ With a jerked chin at their Colt carrying captor he turned on his heel and leapt back up onto his pony again. With a loud cry, he raised the rifle above his head and the horde turned as one, yipping and whooping they began to move off.
Tag and Eloise looked around in bemusement until a strong arm was placed around their waists and they were swept off their feet and carried over to a pair of ponies. The Indians mounted and dragged the two children up behind them, then dug in their heels and urged the ponies after the war band.
Tag looked back over his shoulder, hoping to catch sight of Mama Bass and see if she still lived but all he could see just before the hill hid Tarfay’s home from sight was the porch roof blossom into flame and a pillar of dark smoke reach up into the blue sky above.
They rode relentlessly.
It was exhausting as the Apache continued on travelling southwest without rest. Their raiding was over it appeared and with a captured herd of five hundred horses and all their spoils the band was heading back to their homes in the Santa Rita Mountains.
Tag learned this from Telkashay as they travelled and he soon gathered that the English speaking Apache was a half-breed and a respected warrior chief. The Apache was not an abducted white but his father had married an Apache woman, both were deceased, having been slain by Mexican scalp hunters and as a result Telkashay had learned to hate not only the whites but also Mexicans in particular.
After three days of ceaseless travel they finally rested. Tag and Eloise had no opportunity to discuss their plight and despite the fact that the two wished to stay together, this was eventually not to be. The two slept deeply, their experiences and the incessant movement had worn them both out and so there was little opportunity for Tag to think of escape.
It seemed to Tag that he had barely laid his head down when they roughly awoken, thrown over a pony’s rump and the remorseless journey began all over again. Although, Tag tried to keep track of their route it was impossible, the Apache wove in ways that soon lost Tag. Although he knew they were generally heading southwest by the position of the sun, their direction altered due to natural obstructions and the evasive techniques put into play by the band.
On the fifth day the band separated into two parties.
It was only when they reached the foothills of the mountains and the party slowed that Tag realized that his sister had been taken by the other group.
When they reached the Apache camp it was to a loud greeting by singing squaws and
Tag was surprised by the number of wickiups that stood in the broad valley. They dotted the slopes alongside a broad stream and he could see the smoke from many fires. Industrious men lay down arrow and spear making tasks and joined the crowd of greeting, the women as well set aside preparing hides and basket weaving and wailed loud cries of greeting. Children and young boys ran excitedly alongside the proud war band as it made its return. The smell of wood smoke and cooking meat was in the air.
It was in such a way Tag received his first taste of what to be his life for some time to come.
Chapter Four
‘I don’t know how she done it,’ said Major Tolomey, looking at the great mound of Mama Bass stretching the white sheets upwards like a voluminous mountain range.
They stood in the hospital room of the convent at Rio Charro. Sisters of the Daughters of Charity with rolled-up sleeves and starched headdresses hurried around the ward behind them and there was only the sound of their hushed whispers in the background.
‘She walked the whole damned way?’ asked Tarfay in disbelief.
‘Some thirty miles before she was picked up by a péon in a cart. Bullet in her side and a lance head still in her back, let alone all the cuts and bruises. Beats all to hell it does. Woman must have one darned remarkable constitution.’
Tarfay studied the sleeping figure; the ugly face was even more destroyed by the pummeling it had received. Mama Bass snored gently, her blood-lined and bruised nasal passages dilating with the regularity of an air pump. One eye was puffed up and shut and there were numerous cuts and abrasions across the swollen layers of sunburnt and flayed skin. Tarfay guessed that there was a lot worse hidden under the sheets.
‘Delgado?’ asked Tarfay.
The Major shook his head, ‘She says ‘no’. Sorry, Bayou, I ain’t been able to send anyone out there yet. Both companies are on patrol but I reckon the kids are taken and Delgado slain. It was pure luck I could get a message through to you.’