Maria's Trail (The Mule Tamer)

by Horst, John

  The Indios finally found her after she’d fallen from Alanza again. She was sleeping at the base of a slot canyon, not more than a mile from their home. Alanza was a good scout and seemed to know the trail, seemed to know where to take Maria to get the help she needed. The Indios had little trouble getting them to Maria’s special Hogan. She slept there another five days.

  When she finally woke her fever was gone and she could keep food down. The Indios had cleaned her wound and it was beginning to heal. She could breathe better now and it did not pain her so to move about. She’d keep the bullet as a souvenir, lodged under her shoulder blade for the rest of her days, and whenever the weather was changing, Maria would know by the ache from the little lead slug.

  She smiled at all the faces peering in at her when she was finally with them once again. They loved and admired Maria so much and could not bear the thought of losing her.

  She had no fortune now, but at least she had all her guns. Her vaquero outfit was still good and the Indios had cleaned it and readied it for her, so she was not in such bad shape. She looked through her things and found a small roll of cash in one boot, then another; in her gun belt was a slot and she kept cash there, there was more in her war bag and under her saddle skirt.

  The old man taught her well. She remembered his story as she looked over the cash she now had. He told her an old story of a man who’d been shipwrecked, Robinson Crusoe was his name, and he had gunpowder from the wreck. He had hidden it in little caches everywhere in the event that, if lightning should strike it, not all would be lost. This is what the old man told her to do with her money. Never keep it all in one spot. So she had some seed money, a few hundred dollars, with this the fortune could be remade. It didn’t bother her so much at the time, she was lucky to be alive.

  She stayed with them for nearly a year and was eventually as good as new, perhaps even better than she was before being shot, as she had no mescal or cigars or bad places to go and gamble to wreck her health. She was becoming a fixture with the little band but knew she’d eventually have to move on. This was not her home; this was not how she wanted to spend the rest of her days. The wanderlust had once again taken hold.

  Chapter XVII: The Mule Tamer

  Maria spent the next two years crisscrossing the desert. Making her fortune and becoming a hacendada no longer seemed so important. She just wandered and looked for adventure, looked for a game. She was a little lost now as the games and small skirmishes just did not pay off in entertainment value as well as they used to. She was drinking more mescal these days and it was becoming difficult to get a good game. She’d developed a reputation in Arizona, the incident at The Cage, then at Canyon del Muertos where she’d shot up the three men and even in Flagstaff, where she was famous for killing the dealer, had made it difficult for her to get by. No one wanted to gamble with either their money or their lives with the beautiful wild Mexicana.

  This is when the gringos started to make her angry. They were hypocrites. They could gamble, fight, kill, but when there was a chance they’d be bested by a Mexican and a woman, they’d run the other way, like a cur with its tail between its legs. They liked to look at her, liked to try to bed her, but they would not play cards with her and soon she was run out of the bigger places in the territory.

  She soon developed a remedy for this lack of cash source. She became an excellent thief. She’d steal anything that was of value, portable and not tied down. She was careful about it; she’d never steal from the poor or from honest working men. But she would steal from big companies: mining companies or the railroad or the stagecoach lines. She’d steal from other thieves or anyone who insulted her, just as she’d done with Colonel Gibbs when she’d taken his fancy rifle.

  Whenever she was run out of a town or settlement or refused a game, she took the same path, a habit she’d formed. It went along the lines of stealing whatever she could, downing half a bottle of mescal, then galloping Alanza up and down the street, emptying her six shooters into the saloons and brothels on each side. This is how she became known as the beautiful devil.

  The loot always made it to the Indios, in one form or another. Most of it she’d turn into cash and purchase foodstuffs for them. Sometimes she’d splurge and get the little ones candy or toys. For the women she’d buy coffee, tobacco and sugar. It was the one thing in her life that gave her some satisfaction and made her a little happy.

  She went to visit the padre. It was bittersweet to see the place at the church where the old man and old woman raised her. A new family had taken over and the padre introduced Maria to them. They offered her a meal and it felt so queer as nothing had changed except the people. The chairs and tables and plates and stove, all of it was exactly as she’d left it when the old folks were murdered and she ran away from God and the church. They let her see her old room and this was different; they had three small children living in it now. It was nice to see children’s things and she did recognize the chamber pot that had caught her little Rosario when she was born.

  She rode out to the desert and visited Rosario that day. She found the spot where she amputated Crisanto’s leg and then, a little farther on, she could see the remains of Rosario’s grave. Her bullet wound suddenly ached and she had to leave. She had to ride on to the west and visit the lady fence. There were only good memories there and she needed some now. She should not have visited the padre.

  But the lady fence and her companion were gone when she arrived. The store and the house behind it were shuttered and the place looked as if it had not been occupied for some time. This was mostly Kosterlitzky’s doing, as he’d been tough on the bandits in the region, thus the lady fence had no real commerce any longer. She’d moved on with her companion and Maria was truly heartbroken to find them gone.

  She broke into the home and climbed the stairs to the garret. The bedframe was there but the mattress was gone. She opened the window and let the sea breeze in. It felt good on her face and she closed her eyes and remembered back to the first time she’d visited. So much had happened to her in all that time. She remembered Juana, her chubby little body pressed against hers in bed, how she was always eating, it seemed.

  She thought about Juana. She missed her and hoped that she had babies by now, hoped that she and Ulla were happy down south with the Guatemalan workers and the coffee plantation and the Germans. She suddenly felt like she would cry and she didn’t understand why; this had always been such a happy place for her. Her bullet wound ached again.

  She took Alanza down to the beach and they camped by the surf. She didn’t want to be alone up in the garret and Alanza always comforted her. She was always nearby watching over her, ready to sound an alarm, to give her own life for Maria if that was what was required of her.

  They ate and Maria had half a bottle of mescal and listened to the lapping of the surf. She went for a swim and sat naked next to the fire to dry. She felt good being naked. She thought of men when she was naked and considered that maybe this was what was lacking in her life. She liked men. She loved making love, at least the one time with Crisanto, and imagined it might be better with a partner who was not mostly dead.

  By morning she was ready to travel again. She wanted to see the Indios. She’d gotten some money and would buy them some things. It was when she was with the Indios that she was happiest and it made her feel like it would be possible, perhaps someday, to have what they had. To have children to nurture and love and this made her bullet wound ache again. It went all the way down to her womb and she wanted to cry again. It seemed that she wanted to cry almost all the time now. The only way for her to keep this from happening was constant travel and mescal; lots of mescal.

  So she rode with purpose to the Indios and stopped off to see Uncle Alejandro, who was thrilled and begged her to stay. He worried about her. Maria did not look well. She looked haggard and worry-worn and just not as pretty as she once was.

  “Please, child. Stay. You will never want for the rest of your days. We have good
men here. Find one, find the most handsome boy and I will make you queen of the hacienda. I will make all your troubles go away.”

  She felt like crying at his words and her wound ached. She smiled weakly. “I know, Uncle. I know this thing and I thank you for it. I must make one more trip and then I will return.”

  He nodded sadly and Maria thought she could discern just a hint of a tear in his eye. The old man loved her and did not want to lose her. He feared what the next trip would do to his precious charge.

  Maria made him this promise and had every intention of fulfilling it. As she rode off, she looked back at the old Jefe. “I will be back, Uncle. I promise you, I’ll be back.”

  She rode into a small hamlet and was furious to be, once again, denied a game. Now even in the little places she was known, or at least not given any respect or consideration. This bunch was especially disrespectful: rude and angry and self-righteous. They would not give her a game and told her that gamblers and tramps and Mexican whores were not welcome in their town. They stood back, not willing to fight, none of them even armed, yet they talked like tough men, they talked and Maria got angry and stormed out.

  She found some shade and sat there until dark. She had three bottles of mescal and downed two. She was completely drunk and looked for something to steal. She could find nothing here. The little settlement was just too small, the people too resourceful and hard working. They did not have time for the frivolities of the cattle or mining towns. There was no fun here, only hard work and severe and boring people. It was totally civilized and Maria did not like it much.

  She dozed a little and by midnight was ready for some action. She mounted up and galloped Alanza up the street. She surveyed the place and the people, more people than usual were milling about. She wheeled and pulled her six shooters, firing wildly at each side of the street, scattering the offensive inhabitants of the town. This was a little bit of fun and she stopped to reload. Suddenly, she was pulled off of Alanza and everything went black. She was out.

  She awoke in a little shack to find a man fiddling with her guns. She sat up slowly.

  “Ay, chingao!” She glared at her captor. “Pendejo, what are you doing?”

  “Waiting for you to wake up.” He placed the gun back in its holster and set the rig down, out of her reach.

  “Ay, look at my clothes.” She took a damp scarf and began brushing herself off. “Did you wipe me down, Pendejo?” She looked at him suspiciously.

  “I did. But not anywhere I shouldn’t.”

  “What?”

  “Not on your private parts.” He smiled at her. “Are you trying to get hanged, or are you just stupid?”

  She rubbed a knot on her head with her scarf, then looked at it for blood. “Ay, my head is sore.” She looked at him again. “What are you talking about, gringo?”

  “Do you not know of the troubles?”

  “No.” She was trying to focus. “Are you some kind of law, mister?”

  “No.” He pulled out a cigarette and lit it, offering her one. She refused it and pulled out a cigar, leaning forward so that he could light it. “So you don’t know about the murder of the family outside of town?”

  “No, I know nothing of any murder. Ay, you really hurt me, Pendejo.” Rubbing the back of her neck, she looked around the room. “So I am not arrested?”

  “No.”

  “Where is my horse?’

  “Beats me. Tombstone by now, shot dead, not certain. It ran off like its hind parts were on fire, heading south. Heard lots of shooting, so the towns’ folk were probably shooting at it. What kind of stupid stunt was that anyway, shooting up the town?”

  She rubbed her head then picked up her hat. “I don’ know, Pendejo. When I drink mescal, I do some things.” She stood up and stretched her back, blew smoke at the ceiling of the shack. “I really gotta go, Pendejo. Will you let me go?”

  “Not without a horse.” He looked at his watch. “I tell you what, let me go find your horse and you stay here. Don’t leave, understand?”

  “Sí, I understan’.” She reached for her gun belt and looked for his reaction. He allowed it.

  She waited until he was gone and then began looking around her little hideout. This was a strange gringo. He was dressed too well to have such a shop, the shop of a laborer. This could not be his shop; he was dressed like a gentleman. She wondered at his game. She started looking through drawers and broke a lock on a desk. He came in and discovered her.

  “Hey, stop that!” He pushed her away and began straightening up. “So, you’re a thief as well as a drunkard?”

  “I need money, Pendejo.”

  “Has working or getting married or doing something honest ever crossed your mind?” The man continued to put the place back in order.

  She spit on the floor. “I don’ need to work and I don’ need a man. I take what I want, Pendejo, like you gringos take and take from the people who have been here for hundreds of years. You are just as much a thief as me.”

  He laughed. “Well, you have a point there.”

  She looked him up and down. “You are a strange gringo, Pendejo. You don’ look very much like, like…”

  “Not very tough?” He smiled. “I know, I know. I’ve heard that before.”

  “Why are you not so mean to me, Pendejo? Most gringo white men don’ want nothin’ to do with me. They avoid even to look at me.”

  “I think you’re funny.” He smiled. He looked at his watch again. “You’d better beat it out of here.”

  “Why so secret, Pendejo?”

  “What’s this ‘Pendejo’?”

  “Oh, I don’ know, it just seem to fit.”

  “It wouldn’t be good if the people around here caught you. They’d likely string you up, just for good measure. A bandit gang of Mexicans and Indians killed a whole family just outside of town. It was pretty bad. The leader wears a gold sombrero. Maybe you know him?”

  “Ay, chingao, sí, I know him, Pendejo. He is mal puro. One day, I will meet up with him and kill him, but he is like smoke, he is hard to catch.”

  “We’re meeting up in a couple of hours to go after that gang.”

  “You, Pendejo?” She chuckled. “You better not go after bandits or they will be digging a grave for you, especially Sombrero del Oro.”

  He took her by the arm and Maria was surprised and a little impressed with his resolve. “I appreciate your concern, Chiquita, but I’ll be just fine. How old are you, anyway?”

  “Guess, Pendejo.” Maria eyed him devilishly. She liked the attention he was giving her.

  “Sixteen?”

  “Hah! I have twenty-six years, Pendejo.”

  “Well, you won’t have twenty-seven years if you keep this up. Now, get on your horse and ride. Don’t stop.” He tossed a half-eagle at her. “And I don’t want to hear from you or see you in these parts again.”

  She turned to leave, then grabbed him and kissed him hard on the mouth. She thought for a moment and kissed him again, harder this time. “You kiss good, Pendejo.”

  She got on Alanza and rode past a couple of mules and realized they belonged to the pendejo. Another odd thing about him. Mules. Who rode mules? Mules were good animals but they were made to bear heavy burdens, pull great carts or plow fields and tear stumps from the ground. They were not made for riding, that was the purpose of a horse. She thought hard about the strange gringo. He was a very odd one.

  She could not believe her luck. She rode on. She had a lot of money from the man and he had let her go. She even lifted his watch and she believed that maybe he even knew it and let her. She could not understand that. He let her go. It was confounding enough that he captured her. Maria had only been bested once, and that was by Uncle Alejandro. Now she was bested by a gringo who looked for all the world like a complete alfeñique.

  She thought about kissing him. She liked that. Of all the men over all the years, he was the only one she’d ever kissed, ever really wanted to kiss, with the exception of Big Black, but
she only kissed him to send him off to heaven. She didn’t like to kiss him really, he was such a mess and all bloody and dying. She just did it, just as she’d done to Crisanto, to send him to a happy death.

  But this one, she wanted to kiss him and did and liked it.

  She rode aimlessly, without giving where she was going much thought. She headed north until she got to the Indios and was distracted by thoughts of the pendejo the entire way. They were happy to see her as always and accepted her gifts graciously.

  She stayed with them for a week and enjoyed their company, but the gringo kept intruding into her thoughts. It was ludicrous. What could she ever do with a gringo rancher? He was likely married, anyway, and she had no interest in married men.

  She could not get him out of her mind and finally rode back to the little town. She needed to know more about the man who rode on mules.

  She reached the town on a clear morning and found an older Mexican woman working on some washing next to the shack where the gringo had briefly held her captive. The woman had an indifferent look on her face as Maria approached her. She dismounted and tied Alanza, then sat down near the woman and lit two cigars. She handed one to the woman without speaking and the woman took it and clenched it between her teeth as she continued with her task.

  “Lady, I need to know about a man who lives around here.” The woman was listening, but did not look up. “He is a gringo and he rides mules like others ride a horse.”

  “I know this man. Señor Walsh. He has a mule ranch not far.”

  “Is he a good man?”

  The woman finally stopped and looked at Maria. She liked Maria, despite her manly dress. She could tell that Maria didn’t have bad intentions. “He is the best of men.”

  Maria felt a flutter in her belly and a pain at her bullet wound. She started to speak when the woman interrupted her. “He and his uncle are good men. They are good to everyone but they are extra good to us and the Indians. They have a good ranch and it is very grand, but they take care of their people on the land. There, people are treated with respect, paid well. They are a good pair of gringos.”