by Tony Masero
Tarfay nodded, his attention still fixed on Mama Bass, ‘Yes, appreciate that. I left the rest of the men still on Scart’s trail. Damned fellow’s trickier that a snake in a sandbox.’
The mother superior of the convent came up behind them, she was a nun called Sister Emerito Quinlan and had learned her skills earlier in the hard training ground of the battlefield at Gettysburg, she was now an experienced nurse and responsible for running the hospital.
‘Gentlemen,’ she said softly with the trace of an Irish accent. ‘I have to ask you to leave, we must attend to this poor lady.’
‘How is she, Sister?’ asked Tarfay.
‘Most severely wounded but her physical makeup is remarkably strong and she seems a determined creature. We hope for the best.’
‘By the look of her, it’s a miracle she’s alive at all.’
‘That’s the truth,’ said the nun. ‘We have removed the lance head and our surgeon will be tackling the bullet wound when her strength is recovered. The rest we leave to nature and God’s good graces.’
‘She needs anything; you’re to come to me, Sister. Sergeant Bayou Tarfay, I’m a Ranger here with the Major. Anything at all,’ said Tarfay, never taking his eyes from the woman in the bed. ‘Mama Bass has been a real fine person and a loyal friend and she’s not to go without. I’ll be back for her when I can, you tell her that, will you?’
‘I’m sure she’ll be glad to know she has a friend,’ smiled the nun.
Tarfay turned to the Major, ‘I’d like leave to go take a look at my place.’
‘Sure’ nodded the Major understandingly. ‘Take Cornpone along with you. Do what you have to out there and then come on back, we’ve still got a parcel of bad fellows out there raising a ruckus.’
Tarfay tugged his chin beard thoughtfully. ‘Hell of a thing. Those poor kids having lost their Ma in a shoot out and now are either dead or taken captive by Indians. I don’t care to think on it.’
Tolomey agreed, ‘It’s poor enough and there’s too danged much of it going on right now. But we have bigger things to think of, Sergeant. I don’t want you running off trying to track these kids down on your own, you hear me?’
‘I hear you,’ said Tarfay, nominally agreeing but as he looked at Mama Bass he was doubtful he could obey that command.
********
When they got there the place was no more than a scar on the landscape.
As Tarfay and Cornpone rode down the hillside all they could see was a wide blackened circle of burnt out timbers and the busted down corral fencing. The only thing left standing was the barn.
The charred wooden beams of what had once been Tarfay’s ranch house rose in a bleak totem to its memory. He sat in the saddle, leaning across the pommel and looked for a long moment. Then, shaking his head, he felt Cornpone nudge his arm.
‘I guess that’s where he was,’ said the Ranger, indicating with a jerk of his chin.
Tarfay looked at the scattering of stripped bones and torn remnants of cloth. All that remained of Delgado lay on a scurried and darkly stained patch of beaten dust.
‘Coyotes,’ murmured Tarfay. ‘Buzzards.’
‘They didn’t leave much,’ observed Cornpone.
Tarfay slid from the saddle, ‘I’ll get a shovel,’ he said, walking towards the barn.
As Tarfay began to dig a grave for the Mexican’s remains, Cornpone quartered the area in a wide circle looking for sign.
‘Hell of a lot of them,’ he called across to Tarfay. ‘They rode out southwest. Appears they had a whole bunch of ponies with them, some cattle too.’
Tarfay was knee deep in the grave, ‘They were mine, the rest probably animals they picked up on the raid.’
‘A herd that big makes an easy trail to follow.’
‘Any sign of the children?’ asked Tarfay.
‘Nothing I can see.’
‘Then they’ve taken them.’
‘Looks that way.’
When the bones were laid in the grave, Tarfay drilled a burnt post into the ground as a marker at the head. ‘Sorry it ain’t more, amigo,’ he apologized to the small heap of piled earth. ‘Best we can do under the circumstances.’
Cornpone had a small fire going and after fetching water from the creek was boiling up a pot of coffee.
‘What do you intend?’ he asked.
Tarfay crouched down beside the fire. ‘Reckon I have some responsibility to those kids and I ain’t too fond of what happened to my people here.’
‘You’re going after them then?’
‘Maybe,’ Tarfay answered vaguely.
‘You know the odds against that, don’t you?’
‘Pretty thin,’ agreed Tarfay.
‘It’s a big band going by the sign. Lot of Indians, hard to say where they’ll end up.’
Tarfay stared into the fire and watched the flames, ‘I know, it’s damned nigh impossible but I reckon I have to make the effort.’
‘The Major won’t be happy.’
Tarfay nodded, ‘Yep, he gave me explicit instructions not to go.’
‘They’ll bust you down or run you out of the Rangers.’
‘Could be. Though, my way ain’t always their way.’
Cornpone chuckled, ‘Obstinate ass, ain’t you?’
Tarfay took the offered mug of coffee and got to his feet, ‘Sometimes,’ he admitted.
‘Reckon I’ll mosey along with you for a spell,’ said Cornpone.
Tarfay studied him a moment, he was thinking of the things he should be saying to dissuade his companion but finally decided that the man was old enough to make up his own mind and so said nothing.
‘You thinking of heading straight out?’ asked Cornpone.
Tarfay cast a sad glance around, ‘Ain’t much point in staying here,’ he said.
Within the hour the two were mounted up and following the broad trail that led south and west.
********
The small town of Cabraville had started life as goat ranch supplying a nearby Mission House back in the 1830’s. Normally a transient population of around a hundred and fifty, all those that occupied the place permanently were a small group of people surrounding a crumbling jailhouse, general store and livery stable, it was no more than a stopping place on the way north.
Both Rangers knew the resident sheriff, an old hand called Nate Ford, who guarded the place along with his Mexican wife Isabella. The couple lived above the jailhouse and Isabella cooked for her husband and the inmates, which was a thing of dubious value to the local judiciary, as Isabella’s cooking was so renowned it often meant that prisoners would suffer a return visit to the jail just for her meals alone.
‘Howdy, Isabella,’ said Tarfay, slapping off the dust with his hat as he sprung the door latch to the kitchen.
‘Senor Bayou, how nice,’ she was a handsome woman, sturdily built with dark hair and molten chocolate eyes. But not a lady to suffer fools gladly and she had a sharp tongue and attitude to match when the occasion demanded. ‘But you keep your dust outside, I am cooking here.’
And she was indeed; both Rangers could tell that by the luscious smells issuing from the cooking pots behind her.
‘Sorry about that, Isabella,’ Tarfay apologized. ‘Your man around?’
‘He is out with the work detail just now.’
‘That sure smells good,’ said Cornpone, looking over Tarfay’s shoulder and licking his lips with the prospect of a fine meal.
‘Look you two,’ advised the Mexican. ‘You will go outside and wash yourselves on the porch, then maybe, I will let you sit at my table.’
There was no brooking any argument with her and the two Rangers turned to do as they were told. Tarfay glanced over at the rack by the door leading from the kitchen. It was here that the cell keys were kept and the number told Isabella how many meals she had to prepare for the inmates that day. He counted three keys dangling.
‘She say where Nate was?’ asked Cornpone as they sloshed water into the washbowls on the por
ch.
‘With his prisoners, guess he’s farming them out for some labor time.’
It was common practice and was the way the jailhouse had been built in the first place, an edifice supplied by convict labor. A rugged building made from thin red brick molded together with white mud yet showing some weather wear in places now, as the original sunbaked bricks poked out from jagged corners and showed plainly where the skin of adobe had fallen away.
Spruced up, the two re-entered and found Isabella laying out the long kitchen table.
‘How have you been, Isabella?’ Cornpone asked, his eyes lighting up as she laid a basket of fresh baked pinole bread on the table.
‘I have been good, and you senor Cornpone?’
‘Fine, but mighty hungry just now.’
‘I see this,’ Isabella arched a warning eyebrow. ‘But you must wait until Nate is here, no?’
The two seated themselves and Isabella brought them coffee from the stove.
There was some banging about in the sheriff’s office next door and shortly, Nate Ford came in followed by three men who all looked hot and dirty.
‘Nate!’ snapped Isabella, just as the sheriff was about to greet his guests. ‘What you mean bringing those men in here covered in dirt? Outside! Quick you men,’ She waved a wooden spoon threateningly at the three prisoners. ‘Go, you will clean yourselves before you come in my kitchen.’
Hurriedly, the three men scurried outside to the porch.
‘Good to see you, Bayou, you too, Cornpone,’ said Nate, giving them both a broad smile and shaking hands all round. He was a stocky little fellow, hard edged but with a pleasant open face that sported a generous mustache. ‘You on somebody’s tail?’
‘You hear of an Indian party? Chiricahua. Travelling west with a large parcel of horse.’
Nate looked down his nose ruefully, ‘Did hear something. Supposed to be a party under that mean son-of-a-bitch Telkashay. They passed by some days since about thirty miles north of here. Didn’t come this way, thank God. There was more of them than we could handle. You’re not after them are you?’
‘They broke in my place and took some children in my care,’ Tarfay explained. ‘Young boy and a girl. Kids just lost their ma in a bank raid over Tamaloosa way.’
‘Oh, no,’ tutted Isabella sadly. ‘That is too bad.’
‘Who was it that bust the bank?’ asked Nate.
‘A piece of work called Scart Benjamin,’ said Cornpone. ‘Thought we had him cold, didn’t we, Bayou? The bastard got away though, busted up the town pretty bad on his way. Lot of people got killed there, including the kid’s ma.’
‘I heard of him,’ mused Nate, pulling back a chair and sitting down. ‘He’s a bad one alright.’
‘Yeah, you must have a flyer on him.’
‘Believe I do. You got some coffee for a working man, honey?’ Nate asked his wife.
‘What of the woman and man you have there minding your place?’ asked Isabella as she poured. ‘She is a Mexican or Indian, is she not? A big woman and the man I think he is Mexican also.’
‘Delgado they killed,’ Tarfay said solemnly. ‘Mama Bass, she’s survived, although God knows how. The woman walked thirty miles with a spear in her back and a bullet in her side to bring out the news.’
‘Chihuahua!’ exclaimed Isabella. ‘That is something, is it not?’
‘Sure is,’ agreed Tarfay. ‘Some kind of lady is Mama Bass.’
‘I must visit this woman,’ Isabella said hurriedly. ‘She needs company now, one of her own people I think. Where is the poor thing?’
‘She’s okay, the nuns are caring for her at Ranger Headquarters.’
‘Still, I will go,’ said Isabella decisively. ‘You think so?’ she asked her husband.
‘Honey, whatever I say you will do what you want anyway, so why bother asking?’
Isabella shrugged, ‘It is polite, that is why,’ she said offhandedly.
‘Look,’ said Nate, turning his attention back to the Rangers. ‘That’s a whole hornet’s nest you’re planning on heading into. Maybe there’s someone here who could help out.’
Tarfay looked at him questioningly, ‘And who might that be?’
‘Got a breed in here on a drunk and disorderly. Was planning on letting him out after he’s finished the six-month farm work we have on. Might be he’d be willing to do some guiding for you in lieu of the rest of his time. What do you think?’
‘Maybe,’ shrugged Tarfay. ‘Could be useful, not too sure of the way once we’re in those mountains.’
‘Who else you got in here?’ asked Cornpone.
‘Two other small-timers. Nothing special, one of them’s a fire-and-damnation sort, cussed out the blacksmith, and reckoned he should pay less for a horseshoe than was asked. The other started a brawl in the store. Mean tempered is all, fell over a stand and blamed it on old Josh, the storekeep. One thing led to another and he biffed Josh in the face and broke his nose.’
‘Temperamental types, huh?’
The three prisoners came in then, their eyes already hungrily examining the spread table.
‘Set down, boys,’ said Nate. ‘And if you’re ready, honey. We’ll tuck in.’
Tarfay was looking the prisoners over as they made their way to their seats. The breed was obvious, taller and larger than the other two, he held a solemn look to his bronzed features and was the only one clean-shaven and with his hair cut short.
Of the others, one was a small dark haired and heavily built bearded fellow, who moved fast and watched everybody suspiciously from the corner of his eye. The other a lanky, fair-haired, leisurely looking man with a long drooping fair-haired mustache down his jaw and with the relaxed look of cowboy about him.
‘The big fellow is Jimmy Two-Spoon,’ Nate introduced. ‘The beard is Mortimer Bender, and cowboy here is Link Denver. Fellas, these are two Rangers, Bayou Tarfay and Cornpone. What is your last name by the way, Cornpone? I never did hear tell.’
‘Don’t matter none,’ said Cornpone. ‘My folks were from Poland and it’s kind of hard to pronounce.’
The men all nodded greeting to each other and Cornpone reached out to help himself from the steaming dish of Arroz con Frijoles Negro that Isabella had set down. As his fingers reached for the ladle the small bearded, Mortimer Bender, piped up sonorously.
‘Let us pray.’
‘Mortimer’s of the religious sort,’ Nate explained and bowed his head dutifully as the little man continued in a deep voice and fervent fashion.
‘Thank you, Lord, for this fine spread and for this company in which we find ourselves. Forgive our sinning ways and may Your precious light shine on us and guide us all on the path of righteousness and truth. For, from the hand of the Lord Jehovah comes all sustenance in body and spirit and in this we give thanks.’
‘Amen to that,’ agreed Nate.
With the prayer over all the men were released from restraint and lunged forward filling their plates rapidly whilst Isabella watched with a mixture of pride at the success of her cooking and distress at the manner of its speedy dismemberment.
‘Why you have to eat like that?’ she complained. ‘You men, you have no manners.’
‘When you have a hole to fill,’ said Cornpone around a mouthful. ‘T’ain’t no point in waiting, senora.’
‘To think,’ sighed Isabella. ‘I have left a grand hacienda, my father and mother and all the fine quality of my life in Mexico for this.’
‘Ah,’ chuckled Nate, wiping a rakish finger along his mustache. ‘But you got me into the bargain too, honey. Best not forget that.’
Isabella raised eyes heavenwards and turned to collect a bowl of chicken from the stove.
‘So, look here, Breed,’ said Nate, turning to Jimmy Two-Spoon. ‘These boys are heading into Chiricahua country over in Arizona to find some Anglo children stolen away by the Indians. They need someone to guide them and I’m willing to leave off the rest of your sentence if you take up the task to help them out.’
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The half-breed, who looked more Indian in his features than white, sat back in his chair and said nothing for a full two minutes but only stared blankly at the wall opposite, apparently seeing nothing.
The others waited expectantly, their mouths half full of food.
‘He thinking on it?’ asked Cornpone. ‘Or falling asleep?’
‘He’s thinking on it,’ rationalized Nate.
At length, Jimmy leaned forward and calmly took some cut chicken and made up an enchilada for himself.
‘So?’ asked Nate. ‘What do you think? You know the country and the people, can you do this?’
Jimmy sniffed indifferently, ‘I can do it, question is, do I want to.’
‘Save you six months of hard labor,’ encouraged Nate.
‘You are asking me to go into the land of Telkashay, war chief of the Chokonen Apache. I think six months hard labor is a lot easier.’
‘You know this man?’ asked Tarfay.
‘I know him.’
‘You mean you’ve met him?’
‘Oh, yes.’
‘So?’ asked Cornpone in frustration at the half-breed’s dithering. ‘What’s he like?’
‘No one to take lightly.’
‘We ain’t intending to take him lightly,’ pressed Cornpone. ‘We aim to take the children back from him is all.’
‘That will be hard.’
Tarfay pushed his empty plate away from himself and met the half-breed’s eye. ‘You come or you stay, makes no difference. You start getting picky, it makes me wonder.’
Jimmy was silent only a moment longer, ‘I will go.’
‘Fair enough,’ said Tarfay.
‘I wonder,’ interrupted the cowboy languidly. ‘You making up a team here? Might be I’d be interested. I’ve sure as hell had enough of digging post holes just for punching a guy on the nose.’
Tarfay looked across at him. ‘This ain’t a Ranger outfit, you realize? We’re off the reservation here, in a manner of speaking.’
Nate studied him hard, ‘You ain’t got Ranger sanction on this, Bayou?’