She Wore It Tied-Down

by r. William Rogers

  “Not hardly,” the man insisted. Turning to his friend, he said, “Stoney, go tell the doc there’s a wounded fella out here.”

  “Much obliged,” Dolly said and returned her attention to Wayne.

  *

  She shifted in the overstuffed chair, hoping to find a better fit. Unable to, she opened her eyes. She heard a soft moaning and pushed her way stiffly to her feet. She stretched and crossed the candlelit room to where Wayne lay on a narrow cot. The doctor had patched him up pretty good, judging from the looks of it, saying he would probably come around sometime during the wee hours.

  “You awake?” she whispered.

  He stirred.

  She placed a hand on his shoulder, nudging him gently.

  He stirred again, this time working himself onto his back. “What happened?” he asked, placing a shielding hand up to ward off the glare of the candle that rested on the small table near his head.

  “You took a bullet. Luckily it only grazed you. A half inch more to the right and you’d be—”

  He forced a grin. “Reckon I’ve just been livin’ right.”

  “Yeah, I reckon.”

  He touched the wound gingerly, squinting against the pain. “You do any good findin’ them fellas? I’d hate to think this was all for naught. Especially after just now getting shed of the arrow wound.” He lingered his fingertips on the still healing neck wound.

  “Sorrrry,” she offered, with genuine sympathy.

  “So now what? Am I gonna live?”

  “The doc says you’ll do just fine,” she assured him. Hoping to put him even more at ease, she added, “I spent some time over at the saloon after you were brought over here to the doc’s office. I asked around and was told more of the same things we already knew. They told folks they were going to head across the Chupadera Mesa to Bingham.”

  “How’d that woman who fell make out?”

  “She didn’t,” Dolly said, with heartfelt sadness. “To make matters even worse...I was told that she had two young children.” Dolly’s eyes suddenly shown moist and glassy. “Sure ain’t right.”

  “All the more reason to put them fellas outta their misery,” he said softly, then continued, “She may not have been the most upright citizen around Santa Fe, but she surely didn’t deserve to die at the hands of that lowlife an’ leave them kids without their ma.”

  “They’ll all pay for their transgressions,” she vowed softly, while narrowing her eyes with a determined vengeance.

  They talked a while longer until she felt in her heart of hearts that he was indeed alright. She then retired to her room at the hotel, determined to get as much of a goodnight’s rest as she was able to under the circumstances.

  She arose late the next morning and took her sweet time getting everything together before rounding up the horses and heading over to the doc’s to pick up Wayne. Arriving there, she was pleased to see that the doc had redressed his neck wound as well and assured them that both wounds would do just fine. They expressed their thanks and appreciation, by doubling the asking price of his fee to a well-deserved six dollars.

  They rode out to the south with neither one of them knowing what lay ahead.

  But from what folks had said about the Chupadera Mesa, and beyond, they were sure wondering why the Jacobs bunch were fool enough to head in that direction.

  Chapter 22

  They worked their way south out of Santa Fe, pretty much satisfied to just let the horses find their own way down the steep switchbacks. The severity of the terrain was brought to the forefront as they passed a weather-beaten wagon, probably a freighter, that had slipped over the edge. It now lay on its side, twisted and broken.

  As they continued to work their way down off the shale plateau, the sparsely scattered Ponderosa Pines gradually gave way to junipers and piñons, until finally the pair found themselves on the floor of a valley of sorts that looked to stretch for miles. Glad for the respite, they dismounted and loosened the cinches to allow the horses a blow.

  “Sure is pretty country around here,” she commented, as she scanned the jagged snow covered peaks that stretched along the western horizon.

  “Don’t let it fool ya none,” Wayne said, as he shoved the rump of the pack mare out of his way. “This whole part of the country from now on until we get to wherever it is we’re goin’ is Injun country. And make no mistake about it, they know it’s theirs an’ things can get mighty ugly in a big quick hurry.”

  She nervously glanced around, almost as if expecting to see a bunch of redskins right then and there. “Well...be that as it may, dodging the likes of a passel of Indians every now ’n then is a small price to pay for finding that Jacobs bunch and giving ’em what they got coming.”

  “That may be easy to say right now, but wait until...well, let’s just hope that it never gets to the point of where we’re on the short end of things with a bunch a Mescaleros or Lipans.”

  Her nervousness remained as she again glanced around. Reaching for the cinch, she began pulling it tight around the buckskin’s middle. “With that in mind, what say we get back in the saddle?”

  They rode until well past midday, stopping only briefly for a bite in a cluster of piñons that served well in keeping them hidden should anyone happen along.

  Refreshed, they continued along with the terrain having assumed a slight rising characteristic with the mountains on either side of them pinching down to what appeared to be a saddle that would allow them access across the range that only that morning had appeared so far away.

  Having run out of valley floor, they now climbed steadily, with the trees changing from the scrub junipers and piñons to Douglas Fir and Ponderosa Pine, until suddenly they found themselves on the crest of the low-lying range. Patches of snow were scattered hither and yon, but the sky remained clear and the late-afternoon temperatures mild.

  Shortly after starting down the other side, they found a spring bubbling up from out of a scattering of rocks and marshy grasses. They followed it as it worked its way diagonally down the mountainside, finally entering a picturesque ravine.

  With thoughts of stopping for the night paramount, and the sun nearly touching the next crest that lay to the west, they made camp alongside a pool of crystal clear water that they had startled a buck mule deer away from during their approach.

  With the protection of a dense overhead canopy of tree branches to help dissipate the smoke, they decided to risk the convenience of a small fire, but not before propping their rifles within easy reach against the bases of a couple of handy tree trunks.

  The welcome warmth of the blaze was a blessing that was further taken advantage of as Dolly heated some beans, scorched a pan of bacon, and built a boiling pot of coffee over.

  With every morsel of the meal having been polished off, despite the condition of the bacon, they allowed the fire to die down after wrapping themselves in every piece of clothing and blankets they could lay their hands on.

  After awakening several times during the dark hours, Dolly was finally able to fall into a deep sleep that lasted until first light had grayed the skies to the east. She had just opened her eyes and was right on the verge of stretching out the kinks, when the sound of fluttering horses lips demanded that she instead remain motionless.

  As far as she could tell, the sound had come from somewhere farther down the hillside. With that in mind, she moved only slightly until she was able to see the expected movement. She swallowed dryly; it was a single file of mounted Indians, and within easy hearing distance, to boot.

  Reaching over, she placed a palm over Wayne’s mouth, causing him to awaken, while at the same time letting him know to keep his mouth shut.

  She placed a finger against her lips. “Shhh,” she whispered and then used the finger to point out the Indians. Fully expecting their own horses to give them away, but certainly glad that so far they hadn’t, they remained motionless until the line of Apaches had disappeared into the trees.

  “That was close,” she
said softly. “What kind were they?”

  “I’m pretty sure they were Apaches,” he answered, while continuing to watch the way they had disappeared.

  “So what now?” she asked.

  “Good question…especially since they’re headed in the same direction we was wantin’ to take. Maybe we should just stay here for a spell and lay low until they get a ways away. With any luck atall they’ll veer off after a bit and we won’t hafta worry none about runnin’ up their backside.”

  “That’s all well ’n good, but how will we know whether or not they veer off unless we can see ’em do it...unless of course you’re a whole lot better tracker than I am.”

  “Good point,” he conceded. Scrambling to his feet, he said, “C’mon, we better get a move on then.”

  They made quick work of tying everything onto the pack mare, managing it while all the while keeping an eye peeled over their shoulders.

  When they resumed their journey, they were now sorely aware of every little sound and movement that had been until then normal occurrences of the forest. They rode slowly and deliberately, with Wayne in the lead. The tracks that the Indian ponies had laid down were easy enough to follow. Especially since not only were they sticking to the game trail, but the ground was soft as well from what must have been a recent rain.

  They followed the trail as it wound its way down the slope until, after reaching the bottom, it turned westward. Once they left the line of tracks, they began breathing easier and headed up the grassy knoll that kept them to their desired southerly bearing.

  *

  For not only the rest of that day, but the next three as well, they talked little, electing instead to keep an eye out for Indians or anything else that could create unwanted problems. The line of Apaches had indeed split off to the west that first afternoon and they were able to continue their journey without fear of being attacked…at least right away.

  On two separate occasions, they were fortunate enough to spot riders off in the distance that they felt sure were Indians. But by them remaining cognizant of what was around them, Dolly and Wayne managed to continue undetected, while keeping their hair in the process.

  As the fourth day was drawing to a close, they noticed a definite change was again taking place in the surrounding terrain. The trees were getting sparser and they had not seen any water to speak of for the entire day. Realizing that they had been climbing steadily for the past few hours, it stood to reason that everything was adding up to them fast approaching the Chupadera Mesa.

  The fella in the Cattlemen’s Saloon, back in Santa Fe, had said that the Chupadera was a high, waterless expanse of gentle sandstone ridges and shallow valleys that was frequented by Apaches as a favorite route to crossing between the Los Piños Mountains to the west and the flatter terrain to the east. They remembered that he had also said that the mesa would eventually turn into the high plateaus of the Llano Estacado.

  With that in mind, they remained vigilant as they made camp in a smattering of large boulders that would do well in helping to hide a small fire from prying eyes. If they’d of had their druthers, they’d have opted for doing without, but because of the altitude and the cold freeze that was sure to come that night, they saw no other way.

  With the soft orange glow from the fire ricocheting its warmth from one rock to the next, they settled in to a very comfortable, if not completely relaxed, night of rest.

  Chapter 23

  The next morning found them mostly rested and with every hair still in place. But being of the realistic breed of most travelers in that part of the country, they in no way were fool enough to think that the Indians would leave them alone forever...unless of course they were fortunate enough to catch sight of the redskins well before it was the other way around.

  They continued across the arid mesa, and although they spotted small bands of Apaches from time to time, luck was with them each time and they avoided any confrontation. Finally, shortly after midday of the third day of the crossing, they topped a rise that was thick with yucca and prickly pear. Nestled below them in a stretch of flat terrain was a town of sorts.

  Their best guess was that they had somehow managed to find Bingham.

  They sat their horses in thankful reflection.

  “Must be Bingham,” he said, with obvious relief. “I was beginnin’ to wonder.”

  “Me too.” She pointed to the vast expanse of whiteness that was visible far beyond the town. “That’d be the white desert that fella was talking about,” she offered, stating the obvious.

  They remained right where they were for a few more minutes, taking in the scene while listening to the sounds of the horses, coupled with the periodic creaking of leather.

  Finally, she broke the silence, “With any luck at all we’ll catch up to those scumbags and avoid having to cross that...that...” she waved toward the far horizon, “that whatever it is,” she finally concluded.

  “That would truly be a blessing,” he said and rocked his saddle sideways from where it had gotten a bit off kilter. “Danged fool horse must’ve lost some weight,” he said as he stepped down. “Cinch could stand a bit of tightening.” He lifted the stirrup and hooked it over the horn. Just as he reached for the cinch strap, the sounds of running hooves reached them.

  “Might wanna save your housekeeping for some other time,” she said and pointed behind them. “From where I’m sitting, I’d say those Indians could care less if that saddle was atop that mare, under her, or somewhere in between. What say you plant your backside in it while it’s still mostly on top and let’s get the heck outta here?”

  There was a brief moment of inaction while he came to his own conclusion as to the intentions of the three riders who were not only riding down on them at a dead run, but were now also screaming at the top of their lungs.

  What with him being blessed with quick to learn abilities got him into the saddle without even bothering to use the stirrup. He swung up two-handedly and was off like a shot with her right behind, pulling the pack mare along in her haste.

  They approached Bingham with plenty to spare as the trio of Indians pulled their ponies to a spirited stop at the base of the hill a good hundred yards or so behind them.

  Dolly and Wayne then pulled the horses down to a slow walk and hipped around to look behind them.

  “That could’ve been closer,” he said off-handedly. “Not that I’m wishin’ it was.”

  “It was plenty close enough for me,” she said and turned her attention to what lay ahead.

  The town was a meager existence of false fronted, bare wood structures, situated along a single width of dirt that could only have been named Front Street—that is if anyone had ever bothered to name it at all. Craning her neck, she counted a total of eleven buildings, six on one side and five on the other. There didn’t appear to be any signage that might indicate what was what.

  They rode between the rows of structures with the hopes of spotting a hotel. When that failed, they reined up at the water trough that was situated in front of what was most likely the only watering hole in town...for man or beast. There were two hitchrails in front of the saloon, both of which were full. They allowed the horses to drink their fill, then tied them to the porch support posts.

  To Dolly’s delight, the place was without a piano. At least she was unable to readily locate one as she glanced around the interior. They headed for a table in the back, while spying a body laying face down on the floor near the end of the bar. A splotch of crimson shown on the back of his coat.

  An aged, mostly-toothless woman shuffled toward them after a brief wait. “What’ll it be?” she asked, with complete indifference. A pinch of snuff bulged her bottom lip. Glancing around for a place to spit, she swallowed instead when none was readily available.

  Dolly winced.

  “What happened to that fella?” Dolly asked, gesturing to the body.

  The woman tilted her head toward a lone figure seated at a table across the room. “That fella sho
t him,” she said simply. “You two lookin’ fer somethin’ ta drink, somethin’ ta eat, a place ta stay, or somethin’ else?” she asked.

  “How about all the above?” Wayne informed her.

  They ordered food and coffee. The seemingly usual beef stew and cornbread was all that was available, but that suited them just fine. After that had been delivered, they wolfed it down, during which time they found out from the woman that there were a few rooms upstairs to let. They turned out to be priced anywhere from a half-hour rate to a nightly basis. After informing her that they’d be interested in two of them, at the nightly rate, they gave her the asking price of a dollar and a half apiece and finished their meal while she took the money to the barkeep.

  She returned shortly with two keys, tossing them onto the table. “All set. Take yer pick. The keys fit all the rooms. There ain’t no difference.”

  “Then why bother to even lock the doors?” Dolly asked.

  “Keeps the honest folks out,” she replied, and turned to leave.

  “Wait,” Dolly said. “What happened between them two fellas?” She again gestured toward the prone figure, while tilting her head in the opposite direction, indicating the man who remained seated by himself.

  “Misunderstanding would be my way of puttin’ it, but you’d do well to ask him. But then again, I’d be of a cautious nature while doin’ it. He’s mighty quick ta pull that shootin’-iron of his.” She picked up the empty bowls and was gone.

  Dolly continued to eye the lone gunman, as did Wayne. Finally, the man pushed his way up from his table and sauntered over to where they sat.

  “What’re you two lookin’ at?” he asked, with overflowing confidence. “You got a problem with me killin’ that no-account piece a crap?” He gestured toward the body.

  The man wore his holster on the left front, turned backwards while cocked to the right for easy access. It was a way not uncommon to many gunnies. Nate had informed her that it was the way of killers who were more of a determined nature as opposed to being lightening fast on the draw.