by Jory Sherman
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Cast of Characters
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
By Jory Sherman
Praise
Copyright
This one’s for the Bell Boys:
Noel and Cohen
There are no men born ahead of their times. There are only visionaries, and there are circumstances; everything else is hindsight.
—“Pellegrino’s second law”
Charles Pellegrino,
Unearthing Atlantis
Cast of Characters
The Box B Ranch
MARTIN BARON — patriarch of the Baron family
CAROLINE BARON — Martin’s wife
ANSON BARON — son of Martin and Caroline
LAZARO AGUILAR — blind boy raised by Caroline
ESPERANZA CUEVAS — Lazaro’s nanny
LUCINDA MADERA — Baron cook
KEN RICHMAN — Martin’s friend
ED WALES — publisher of the Baronsville Bugle
JIM CALLAN — typesetter
PEEBO ELVES — wrangler
TIMOTEO FUENTES — ranch hand
EDUARDO MEJIAS — ranch hand
MANUEL LAGOS — ranch hand
PACO CASTRO — ranch hand
EMILIO FORTUNA — ranch hand
RAMÓN MENDOZA — ranch hand
CARLOS QUINTANA — ranch hand
JULIO SIFUENTES — ranch hand
CARMEN SIFUENTES — Julio’s wife
SOCRATES — freed slave
The Lazy K Ranch
ROY KILLIAN — son of Jack and Ursula
URSULA WILHOIT — Roy’s mother
DAVID WILHOIT — Ursula’s husband
WANDA FANCHER — Roy’s friend
HATTIE FANCHER — Wanda’s mother
PLUTO — freed slave
JULIUS — freed slave
The Rocking A Ranch
MATTEO AGUILAR — owner of Rocking A Ranch
LUZ AGUILAR — Matteo’s wife
JULIO AGUILAR — baby son of Matteo and Luz
FIDEL RIOS — ranch hand
HECTOR OBISPO — ranch hand
NUNCIO — ranch hand
TOMASO — ranch hand
DAGOBERTO SANTOS — ranch hand
PEDRO CASTILLO — scout
Others
MICKEY BONE — a Lipan Apache
DAWN BONE — Mickey’s wife
JUAN BONE — young son of Mickey and Dawn
JULES REYNAUD — a Frenchman
DR. PATRICK “DOC” PURVIS — town doctor
LORENE SISLER — niece of Doc Purvis
NANCY GRANT — schoolmarm
ALLEN OLTMAN — Texas Ranger
MILLIE COLLINS — waitress
KENNY DARNELL — Ranger, Caroline Baron’s brother
DAN SHEPLEY — Ranger
JIM-JOE CASEBOLT — Ranger
CULEBRA — chief of Mescalero band
TECOLOTE — Mescalero
OSO — Mescalero
LOBITO — Mescalero
ABEJA — Mescalero
CONEJO — Mescalero
1
MICKEY BONE, THE homeless Lipan Apache, the wanderer of the wild lands of Texas and Mexico, came upon the ancient stone by accident. He had walked away from the little camp he had made in the brasada, that thick jungle of mesquite and sand and black loam, to relieve himself, when he looked down and saw it lying half-buried and caught between the trunks of two mesquite trees. It was obvious that the roots of the trees had turned the stone up, for it was tilted on its side, the top leaning against one tree, the bottom jammed at an angle next to the other. A thin shaft of sunlight, stabbing through the leaves of a tree, illuminated the stone as if it were a holy object set upon some primitive altar.
He stared at the stone intently as he sprayed the ground with his urine, listening to the whispering sound of the spattering piss, wondering if he was not hearing the voices of the ancient ones Dream Speaker had told him about more than a week before he had crossed the Rio Grande back into Texas.
When he was finished, he buttoned his fly and bent down to pick up the stone. He had to pull and wrench it from between the two trees and he nearly fell over backward when it came loose. He had seen the odd markings on it, but now he brushed the dirt and moss away from the flat surface and watched the glyphs appear as if by magic. He did not understand the writing, the symbols, but he knew they were old, the way he knew the mountains of Mexico were old and the earth itself was old.
He rubbed and rubbed until all the petroglyphs stood out in stark relief. There were circles within circles, spirals, and strange little stick figures with big round eyes and grinning mouths. There, too, were depictions of stars and round things that had radiating lines encircling them, and a crescent moon among these globes. One of the globes had wings attached to it, feathered wings that were neatly cut into the stone. Next to this was a cross that seemed to vibrate, for its outlines were traced, not once, but three times as if it were a living thing, growing out of the rock.
The stone was not heavy, and the writing was only on one side. Excited with his find, Bone carried the rune back to his overnight camp to show it to his wife, Dawn. As he walked through the thick mesquite jungle, he rubbed the glyphs with the tip of his finger as if to touch the hand of the person who had inscribed the symbols on the stone.
Dawn sat outside one of the old adobe huts that early settlers had constructed and abandoned to nature. She held the baby to her breast, a fold of her open dress over Juan’s head to keep the sun out of his eyes. She crooned to the child and rocked back and forth to put him to sleep.
Bone approached and squatted next to her. He lay the stone on the ground, face up, so that they both could see it. He studied the symbols for a moment, wiped away a small clod of dirt lodged in one of the etched grooves.
“What is that?” Dawn asked.
“It is an old stone. Left here by the ancient ones.”
“How do you know that?”
“Look at the markings on it.”
“Scratches.”
“No, look at them. They mean something.”
“Do you know what they mean?”
“No.”
“Then what good is it?”
“It reminds me of what Dream Speaker told me. He said that the days of the redman are numbered on this earth. He said there had been many tribes here before us and they have all disappeared.”
“I do not like such talk.”
“This rock is proof that what Dream Speaker said to me is true.”
“Who are these tribes?”
“I do not know. Dream Speaker does not know. They were here and now they are gone. This is all they left behind.” Dawn sucked air through her teeth three times to show her disbelief.
Bone picked up the rune, handed it to Dawn. She drew back away from it as if it were an untouchable thing.
“It will not hurt you.”
“I do not want it near me.”
“I am going to keep it.”
“Miguel, you are loco.”
He rubbed the face of the stone gently as if commanding it to give up its secrets. He stared at it, tilted it several ways so that the sun struck it at different angles. Dawn turned her face away so that she would not have to look at it.
“When I was carrying this stone back here, I was thinking of what Dream Speaker said and those things I thought while we were riding here. We are not far from Matteo’s now.”
“I do not like Matteo Aguilar.”
“I was thinking that we no longer have a home. We do not have a people. You are Yaqui. I am Lipan Apache. Soon, I think, we will be like those old ones Dream Speaker told me about. We will just disappear and we will never be seen again.”
“Do not talk this way, Miguel.”
“It was what I was thinking.”
“I do not think of my people anymore.”
“No, because they are gone. They are lost to you, forever. And, my people are lost to me.”
“What about little Juan?”
“He is of another tribe now. He is of mixed blood.”
“So, your blood and my blood is now his blood and he will make his own tribe one day.”
Bone shook his head. “I do not know. Dream Speaker said nothing of this.”
“Well, he is an old man. An old bitter man who has seen too much of life and now sees his own death.”
Juan was asleep. He had stopped suckling and turned his face away from his mother’s breast. Dawn looked down at him, touched one closed eyelid to make sure. Her touch was light as a down feather. The baby did not stir.
“Blood,” Bone said.
“What?”
“Maybe the blood of the old ones is in us, as well. Maybe Dream Speaker was wrong. Maybe the people did not go away, but took their blood to other tribes, bigger, stronger ones. So they disappeared.”
“Or they did not disappear,” Dawn said.
Bone lay the rock back down between his moccasined feet. He wished he knew what the markings meant. Someone had left a message for him, or for another person, to find. He was sure that whatever was written on the stone was important. It had taken a long time to cut the lines. Perhaps the inscriber had used an antler tip or a piece of hard flint. It was something that was done with care and took a long time.
“Why do you take me to the ranch of Matteo?” Dawn asked.
“I have given this much thought, my woman. We have no home. We have no people. Matteo has said that I will always have a home with him. Our son needs a place where he can grow tall and strong.”
“Matteo is Mexican. He is not Apache. He is not Yaqui.”
“It is said he has Yaqui blood.”
“Who says this?”
“I think his uncle or father told me.”
“He killed all of his family.”
“Then he has Yaqui blood. Or maybe Apache blood.”
“You are loco, Miguel.”
“You and Juan will be safe there. It is a big ranch. The biggest ranch in Texas, maybe.”
“I will go where you go, my husband. But I do not like this Matteo.”
“He gives us money. Did the Lipan give you money?”
“I do not want to talk about this. I am here. I will go with you.”
“Good. We will be there before the sun sets this day.”
“Take Juan. I will get on the horse, then you will give him to me.”
He watched her as she caught up her barebacked horse and climbed on it. She was as lean and lithe as a panther. He liked the way she moved. He got up and walked over to her horse and handed her the sleeping baby. She took the child in her arms and nestled him against her exposed breast. Bone wanted her just then, but he knew this was not the time.
He went back and picked up the stone, and stuck it inside his shirt. It was flat and did not weigh much. Then, he went to his horse and lifted himself up in the saddle.
“Watch out for the mesquite,” he said to Dawn. “It is very thick here in the brasada.”
“I have been here before,” she said.
They rode out of the brasada and were on Rocking A land. Bone looked up at the blue sky and the thin drifts of clouds that floated on the high winds. He patted the stone inside his shirt. Surely, he thought, the stone would bring him the good luck now that he was coming back to work for Matteo Aguilar.
And Dream Speaker had told him he would not have to kill Martin Baron, or his son, Anson, owners of the Box B Ranch which bordered Aguilar’s Rocking A. Perhaps that Frenchman from New Orleans, Jules Reynaud, had already killed Martin, as he bragged he would. Perhaps, Reynaud would be gone from Matteo’s ranch by now. Maybe he had killed both Martin and his son, Anson. Bone hoped that was so. Matteo had asked him to help Reynaud kill the Barons, but he told Matteo he would not help Reynaud. But he did not tell Matteo why he would not help Reynaud. Bone would not like to kill them very much, for they had once been friends before Bone had taken Martin’s wife Caroline one day when she was near him. And he still did not know if she had been the one to go after him or if they had just come together in a natural way. It did not matter. He had his own woman now and did not need the forbidden loins of another man’s wife.
2
THE HOUSE TICKED as the cold wood in its floors and walls began to warm in the heat of the late morning. There was a hollow feel to it as Martin Baron sat next to Caroline’s bed, unable to glance another time at her cold, rigid body lying atop the spread, her hands folded across her chest, her eyes closed as if sleeping.
Martin thought it was ironic that Caroline had died in the month of May, a month of flowers and sunshine, a month when the Box B was stretching its legs, with Anson ready to build a herd that would make the Baron ranch the largest in the country, perhaps the world. A month when civil war loomed, after the firing on Fort Sumter just thirty days before.
The hollowness of the house was inside him, too. She had died during the night, with never a whimper, never a chance to say a final good-bye, never knowing, at the end, how much he loved her in those final moments, how sad he was that she was dying.
Esperanza Cuevas made no sound as she applied color to Caroline’s cheeks, as she gently brushed vermillion on Caroline’s lips and dabbed her eyelashes with wet charcoal she had prepared herself. The blind boy, Lazaro, Caroline’s adopted son, sat in a corner, utterly silent, listening with an intensity that furrowed small linear creases in his forehead.
Esperanza had bathed Caroline’s body when Martin was out of the room, and had only called him in when she had finished dressing the corpse, folding the hands and straightening the body so that it appeared to be at repose. She had done this because she could no longer stand the sound of Martin pacing the floor outside her mistress’s bedroom. Now, she looked at Martin before speaking to him. She did not pity him. He had shown no love
toward his wife the past few years and Esperanza had heard them arguing and fighting too much for her to relinquish any of her feelings for Caroline to her widower.
“I am finished,” Esperanza said in heavily accented English. “She is beautiful again.”
“Thank you, Esperanza. You and Lazaro may go.”
“I will help Lucinda with the lunch.”
“Yes, yes,” Martin said, still dazed by the tragedy that had befallen his household, still caught in the vise of a confused grief that numbed his senses, blurred his thoughts, so that he felt like something not fully human, a being that moved through a half-world in a strange, constricted motion that seemed disconnected from his actual body, as if he were wandering through the world of the dead while still breathing. He felt dead inside, but, oddly, both relieved and ashamed that he was not.
Martin was vaguely aware that Lazaro had arisen and floated across the room on silent bare feet and melted into Esperanza’s skirt so that they were a single person leaving the bedroom. He heard the door close, but had to look at it to make sure that his senses were still aligned with some aspect of the living world.
He had seen death before, but none had left him so shaken as Caroline’s. First he had seen his parents die horribly; then, he had watched his friend Cackle Jack die slowly from a terrible wound, and then there was Juanito Salazar, shot to death in his prime. Caroline had been dying for a long time, but he had ignored that dying, and her, as well.
He forced himself to look at Caroline’s face. Despite Esperanza’s care, it looked waxen, the skin darker, as if shadows were emerging from inside the corpse. He could not look at that graven image, and turned away. At least, he thought, I told her I loved her before she died. And he was sure that she had heard him. But he did not know if she believed him or not. Yet he had meant it at the time.
There was a tap at the door.
“Come in,” Martin said.
“It’s me, Pa,” Anson said, pushing the door open. “Doc Purvis should be here in a few minutes. I saw the dust on the road.”
“Who’s with him?”
“Too far away to tell. I sent Peebo after Purvis, so he’s there. I imagine Ken Richman will ride in with them.”
“All right. Esperanza, she put some color in your ma’s cheeks if you want to look at her.”