Waco said, “Well, our romance isn’t making much headway, but it’ll pick up.” He nodded and added, “And that gun isn’t loaded.”
Sabrina looked down at the gun, and suddenly he snatched it from her. “That was your best chance to shoot your lover. Here. The gun’s loaded. Just don’t believe everything I tell you.” He laughed at her, and she shoved the gun back in her holster and started making a fire for breakfast.
CHAPTER 16
As Marianne stood on the front porch of the house, she lifted her eyes and saw that sunlight burned against the earth, catching at the thin flashes of mica particles in the soil. The day was already hot, the heat dropping on the tin roof layer on layer until it was a substance that could be felt even in the bones. Heat was a burning pressure in this country, she had discovered, and sometimes the gray and burnt-brown desert and heat rolled back from the punished earth to make an unseen turbulence. She took a deep breath and noticed that the smell of the day was a rendered-out compound of baked grass, sage, and bitter dust.
This was one of the few times she could relax. As she stood there, over in the east the land at first had been only a looming in the darkness, dim and vague, but now night was leaving, and the features of the land began to show themselves. At first it was only a darkness beneath the shine of pale stars. Finally low clouds began to appear, and timber far off stood massed solidly with a brooding atmosphere that seemed to haunt her. Slowly the light arose as she stood there, and the earth began to take on form. She waited until the sun rose and the whole eastern sky was alight. Far down by the creek, birches stood whitely in their cleanliness, and squirrels trilled high up in the oak trees. It was a time she had learned to steal from her situation. Now she glanced overhead, noting that the stars, gold and brilliant, were disappearing, nothing but faint pulses of light. Daylight then flowed over the land. The smell of dust lay rank and still upon the earth, and Marianne could not help but let the memories, bitter as gall, come to her.
The worst memory always came, bringing with it something almost like a physical pain. The day that she had arrived at the ranch, she and the man she now knew was Trey LeBeau had gotten off a train. He had obtained a wagon and a team, and they had left Fort Smith in the early hours. Even then it had seemed to her he was anxious and was somehow careful and stealthy in his movements.
She remembered how excited she had been when they left town and began crossing the prairie. She asked him questions along the way. What kind of tree is that? Does that river have a name? He had smiled and answered her. She did not notice at the time, but there was a sharkish, dangerous look about him. However, she had not the experience to see it.
After two days’ travel, he pulled up and said. “There it is. Your new home, Marianne.”
That moment came back to her now, and she felt all the keenness of the disappointment. She had seen pictures in books of fine ranches with corrals, barns, and cattle browsing in the background.
There was none of that here. High on the rise stood a house with a tin roof that was red with rust and almost past reflecting the sunlight. It was a small house with a porch running along the front with windows in the upstairs. Perhaps it had been painted at one time, but now the rain and the wind and the blowing dust had rendered it a pale gray so that there was nothing artful, beautiful, or romantic about it. She remembered how her heart had sunk and how she was aware that he was looking at her strangely. “Not what you expected, is it?”
She had managed to say, “Not exactly.”
He had laughed and then driven the horses down, and as they approached the house, men came out. She remembered running her eyes from one to the other, and when they pulled up the team he said, “Boys, I want you to meet my new wife. That small fellow there, he’s Al Munro.” A short man with pale blue eyes and prematurely silver hair stared at her. There was something deadly about him.
“That big fellow there. That’s Zeno Shaw. Don’t ever get him mad at you. He’ll crush you like a bug.”
Shaw was a man whose face was scarred with the memories of many fights. He grinned at her and said, “You got you quite a good-looking woman there, Trey.”
The use of the name, she remembered, was the first time she had found out that this was Trey LeBeau.
The other three men were introduced. Rufo Aznar, a Mexican with a terrible scar on the right side of his face, Breed Marcos, a muscular half-Apache, and Boone Hagerty, a big, fine-looking man, but with a cruel look about him.
“Well, this is Marianne. Marianne LeBeau for a while anyhow.”
As she stood on the porch watching the sun slowly illuminate the land, she felt again the keen pain of that revelation that had come to her like a bolt of lightning. She remembered thinking, Mother and Father were right, and Sabrina was right! I’ve been a fool!
Unable to bear the memory, she went out to where someone had put up a wire fence and a few chickens cluttered around. She opened the gate then opened the cabinet, took out some chicken feed, and began to scatter it, calling to them. They came clucking and fluttering around her feet, and she watched for a moment as they were fed.
“Let’s have one of them for lunch.”
Quickly Marianne turned and saw that the man she had once loved but now hated, Trey LeBeau, was leaning against a post grinning at her. The sight of him that once had pleased her so much was now hateful, and now he said, “Come on out of there. I’ll have Zeno pluck a couple of those chickens.”
She hesitated, and Trey’s smile disappeared. There was a lupine expression in his face. “Did you hear me, Marianne? I said come out here.”
She came out slowly and locked the gate, and he came over to her, threw his arms around her, and held her figure against his. He kissed her roughly, and she could do nothing.
“You ain’t got much spirit for a bride. I expect a little action out of a good-lookin’ woman like you. Sleepin’ with you is like sleepin’ with a dead woman.”
Marianne was used to such talk. It had pained her to the heart when she had first heard it, but she had to learn to endure it.
He said, “Come on in the house.”
She followed him in, and the fetid odors of male sweat, tobacco, and alcohol were rank. The place was a wreck. “Clean this place up. Make yourself useful.”
“Looks like a man could get more use than that out of a good lookin’ woman.” Breed Marcos, the half-Apache, was grinning. He was thin and muscular and carried a knife that he constantly whetted when he was sitting still.
Al Munro was the smallest of the men. He had pale eyes, and there was something carnivorous about him. Marianne realized he reminded her of a panther she had once seen in a zoo.
She began to clean the house, knowing it was futile. LeBeau seemed to get pleasure out of tormenting her and found ways to do it. Her mind was dull, and she tried to make it so. Whenever she got close to one of the men, he might reach out and grab at her until LeBeau said, “Find your own woman. This one’s mine.”
Sunset was approaching, and a visitor had come to the house. He was a half-breed, but the Indian side of him did not show. Marianne did not know what business he had with LeBeau, but she knew it was something dirty. Desperation had caused her to think up the only plan that seemed at all possible. She had written a letter and sealed it and taken what money she had, thankful that LeBeau had not found it. When the man left, she could hear the cursings and laughing of the men inside. They were engaged in a wild poker game.
“Please wait a minute.”
The half-breed turned and stared at her suspiciously. “What do you want?”
“I have some money here and a letter. If I give you the money, will you mail the letter for me?”
“Why don’t you get Trey to do it?”
“No, I can’t. The letter’s to my father, and then I asked him to send you five hundred dollars more. All you have to do is post the letter at a post office.”
“I’m not gonna get LeBeau down on me. He’d kill me like a snake.”
&n
bsp; “He will never know. I’ll never talk. There’s nearly two hundred dollars here, and you’ll get five hundred more. My father’s a wealthy man. It says in the letter he’s to mail it to you if you’ll write your name on it. You could pick it up at the post office in Fort Smith.”
The half-breed hesitated and glanced at the house. The noise was increasing. It seemed they were all getting drunker by the minute. He took the money and the letter and said, “This could get me killed, but I need the money. Don’t ever say nothin’ to nobody.”
“I promise I won’t. My father will be happy to give you the money. He would give you even more if you asked for it. You’ll just have to wait until the letter gets to Memphis, and he’ll probably wire you back. Just tell him your name.”
The half-breed stood irresolutely then turned and walked away. She watched him go, knowing that this was her only hope. Looking back, she remembered that LeBeau had left no trail. He had used a false name until they got back to the Territory, and now she watched the man ride away. She found herself praying that he would mail the letter and not drink it up as she feared.
Calandra Montevado had been angered by Trey’s action in bringing another woman. “I thought I was your woman,” she said acidly.
“Why, you are. This one’s just for fun.”
When he came over to put his arms around her, smiling, she suddenly produced a knife and held it poised over his stomach. “You take one more step, and I’ll open you wide, Trey. You keep your hands off of me. Have all the women you want, but don’t be comin’ to me.”
Trey knew that the woman was totally capable of cutting his heart out. He had seen that in her, and he had said, “It’s your call, Callie.”
Later on Callie found the captive young woman sitting in a chair. The men were gone on some errand, and Trey had told her to keep an eye on her. She sat down and studied the girl, who looked about sixteen years old. “What’s it like to be rich?” she said.
Marianne blinked with surprise. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’ve never been rich, but I’d like to be. I think it probably beats this life.”
“Have you been with—Have you been here long?”
“Too long.” Callie continued to stare at the girl. “I’m not surprised Trey was able to win you. He can do things like that, win women, me for one.”
“Why do you stay here? You could get away.”
Callie Montevado’s lips turned bitter. “Where will I go?” she asked. “Who would have me now? Don’t try to get away. They’d find you and make it worse for you.” She got up and left the girl. Actually she felt sorry for the young woman, but her life had not left much room for grief or sorrow.
The sun had been sharp and bright and blazing all day. Now it was settling westward and seemed to melt into a shapeless bed of gold flame. Far off the mountains broke the horizon, and the desert seemed to cool off instantly. The sun slanted down to the west, and the late summer’s light was golden, and already the night birds were beginning to make their lonesome calls.
Gray Wolf had gone hunting and come back with a fat young deer. He and Silas were cutting it up. Silas grinned. “This will go down pretty good. I’m about half-starved.”
“Where did Waco go?”
“Oh, he said he had an idea. That man don’t talk enough. I don’t know what’s going on in his head half the time.”
“Well, probably out looking for LeBeau.” He glanced over and saw that Sabrina had put her blanket down and was lying there curled up sound asleep.
Silas shook his head. “That girl’s in bad shape. She’s wore plumb out.”
“She’s had some good years.” Gray Wolf shrugged. “Now she has some bad years. You know, at the mission they told us about a story in the Bible about a man called Job.”
“Yeah, I’ve read that book.”
“One thing I read in it I agreed with,” Gray Wolf said as he stripped the flesh from the bones of the deer. “A man is born to trouble as the sparks fly upward. I ain’t sure about the rest of the Bible, but that’s true enough.”
“I guess we all know that. You know,” Silas said thoughtfully, “I heard an educated preacher once say that Job was the oldest book in the Bible, but I never really liked it.”
“What’s not to like?” Gray Wolf looked up with surprise. “It’s a pretty good story.”
“No, it’s not. Job was a good man. As a matter of fact, the Bible says he was a perfect man and upright.”
“You can’t get no better than that. I expect he went straight to heaven when he kicked off.”
“Well, it always bothered me that Job was probably the best man on the face of the earth, and God experimented with him. The devil told Him, ‘The only reason Job serves You is because You’re good to him. You made him rich and gave him a family. Who wouldn’t serve You?’ ”
“I remember that.” Gray Wolf grinned. “God said to the devil, ‘Well, that ain’t so. You just take it all away from him. Just don’t touch his body.’ And that’s what the devil done.”
“Stripped him down to nothin’. He had everything in the first chapter and from then on out he had nothin’.”
“Makes you think, don’t it?” Gray Wolf bit off a chunk of the raw venison, chewed it thoughtfully, and swallowed it. “That’s good, tender venison. Let’s get some of it to cookin’.”
They built a fire quickly, and as they were cooking the steaks, Silas said, “You know, makes you wonder about LeBeau. He’s got everything. All the money he wants, and does what he pleases. He’s a wicked, evil man, but he’s got everything most men want.”
Gray Wolf looked up, and his eyes seemed to glitter. “Well, he’ll lose it all one day.”
“You’re right,” Silas said. “He will. We got to remember that, me and you. Them two with us, they’re not Christians.”
“You figure to convert ’em?”
“Gonna do my best, Gray Wolf. You might give it a try, too.”
The sound of hoofbeats awoke Sabrina. She sat up and saw that Waco had come in. She watched as he tied his horse to a mesquite tree and got up and went to meet him. He was weary to the bone she saw, and she asked, “Are you hungry?”
“Yes.”
“Well, sit down. Gray Wolf killed a fat deer. The best thing we’ve had.”
“I can use it.” He moved over toward the wagons and slumped down cross-legged, leaning back. Fatigue was in his every movement, and she knew that he was exhausted. He had slept less than any of them, and now she was well aware of the discipline that he imposed on himself. She studied the shelving jaws of his big-featured face. His eyes, she knew, were sharp with a light in them, but there was a recklessness and something in him like a hidden heat. He was a tall man, and his shoulders were broad. His high, square shape made an alert form against the shadow of the wagon. There was a toughness to him and a resilient vigor all about him. He had discipline, she knew that, and as she pulled a chunk of meat off of the grill and put it before him, she said, “There’s two biscuits left from breakfast.”
“Sounds good.”
Sabrina watched as he ate the meat, hungrily tearing at it with his strong white teeth, and saw that he had plenty of water. Finally she asked, “Did you find anything, Waco?”
“Not really.” He gave her a sharp look. “Are you wantin’ to give up?”
“No.”
“I didn’t think so.” He finished his meal, put it to one side, then came to his feet. He moved slowly at times, but there was a hint of speed and power in him. “Come along.” He walked out of the camp, and she followed him with some trepidation. He walked quickly for all his fatigue. Finally he stopped and said, “Look at that.”
It was growing darker, but she moved closer and saw a stone flat and upright. “That looks like a tombstone,” she said.
“That’s what it was, but the wind and the sand and the rain have eaten it all away. Look. Whoever buried him made an outline of where the coffin is.” He pointed down, and Sabrina saw that t
here were a few stones that marked a rectangle. She watched as Waco suddenly moved forward. He began to pull his boot through the line of stones, digging a little trench. When he had gotten all around it, he kicked the stones back in the trench.
She could stand it no longer. “What are you doing, Waco?”
“Don’t know. Maybe trying to put off what has to come.”
“Like what?”
“Whoever this is, they had the same kind of dreams I have, I expect. Maybe a husband that found a wife and loved her. Maybe a wife that found a husband, but she only made it this far. I don’t know. It makes me sad.”
“You didn’t know whoever it is.”
“No, that’s true,” he said slowly, and she could see he was thinking deeply. “But whoever it is, when they were alive, they have the same hungers I do and the same problems probably. Maybe it was a husband whose life was cut short. His wife had to bury him out here in this wilderness.”
“Could have been a woman.”
“That would be even sadder to me.” He began to move away from her and traced the line of small stones that marked the grave into a trench with the toe of his boot. Then he carefully put the stones back in there.
When he stood up, she asked, “Why did you do that, Waco?”
“Don’t know. Feel sort of down, I guess.”
Suddenly she said, “Waco, I wish you could put that behind you. If you don’t, you’ll be like those men who took Marianne. Like you say LeBeau is. I wouldn’t want you to be that kind of a man. Don’t nurse grudges and hate until you are rank inside. You’ll be your own worst enemy. You weren’t meant to snarl at the world, be against people, be cruel.”
He took her hand and looked into her face. “When you lose something it hurts.”
“You’re thinking about the woman who ran out on you.”
“Guess I’ll never forget her. How she betrayed me.”
Again a wave of pity came as Sabrina was very much aware of his hand, the warmth and the strength of it. “I’m sorry, Waco.”
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