by Cole Shelton
They rode in dreadful silence to the creek and reined their horses on the willow-lined bank. The place where the Navajo village had been for many generations was filled with Zimmer’s steers. The two riders saw no Navajos, no hogans, no circles of stones where cooking fires once burned, no mustangs . . . just bare grass and munching beeves.
The sun had settled below the western rims and an eerie full moon was rising as Luke and his Navajo friend splashed across the creek. Luke glanced at Honani. The Indian was thunderstruck, at a loss for words, blood draining from his face as he rode slowly and painfully over the land he still knew like the back of his hand.
Luke watched his Indian friend head his pony right to the cave where the tribal elders used to sit and smoke their pipes. He rode with Honani to the exact place where the big village cooking fire once burned day and night.
The Navajo slid from his saddle, bent down and parted a clump of grass.
The stalks of grass were fresh and green, but when the Navajo pulled some up, the moonlight showed him burned earth. Honani kept walking, his eyes on the ground. He found other black patches, remnants of old Indian fires, then two cooking pots half buried in the clay. He picked up a maiden’s necklace, a rusty knife and finally stood where his own dome-roofed hogan had once been. Crouching, the Navajo touched the remains of burnt poles protruding from the soil.
Just then Luke heard the whinny of a horse.
‘Honani,’ Luke warned sharply. ‘We have company.’
Shadowy riders were coming their way, etched like ghosts against the rising moon. Instinctively, Luke rested his hand on the Peacemaker nestling ready in his leather holster as Honani remounted his pony hastily. Luke counted seven riders weaving between the cattle as they approached the willows.
He heard sharp, staccato voices in the night.
‘There they are, Mr Zimmer.’
‘Over the creek.’
‘Yeah, right by that cave.’
‘Told you we’d seen ’em.’
Luke saw Dallas Zimmer now, massive and flabby-bellied, astride a snorting black stallion with fire in its eyes. The rancher had always carried too many pounds but he looked almost grotesquely big in the moon glow. What on earth could Sierra see in a man like him? But then, Luke reminded himself bitterly, the cattle baron was rich. That obviously covered a magnitude of sins as far as she was concerned. Luke kept his eyes firmly on Zimmer as the big man urged his horse into the water. He hadn’t had much to do with Zimmer in the past, but he recalled one Thanksgiving Day when the arrogant rancher had tried to swindle him in a horse trade. Luke had quoted a price on two mustangs he had for sale, but when he’d delivered the horses Zimmer smugly insisted the deal was for three, ‘take it or leave it’. Shrugging, Luke left it, but just as he was about to ride back with the two mustangs, Zimmer relented and sent his ramrod after him. Patrick O’Neill, the dour Irish ramrod, ate humble pie and the deal was done. Luke hadn’t forgotten the incident and he was sure Zimmer hadn’t either.
The riders forded the creek, hoofs stirring the water into foam. Flanking Zimmer were two men Luke knew. One was the sallow-faced ramrod, O’Neill, riding a chestnut horse. The other was Heck Halliday, who joined the Union army the same day Luke and Honani signed on. Halliday didn’t fight many battles. In fact, like some other soldiers on both sides, he’d deserted after just a month. Luke had often wondered where Halliday had ridden off. Now he knew. The deserter had come back to the Triple Z. There were four other riders, two of them lean Mexicans, the other pair shifty-eyed and unshaven.
All Zimmer’s riders were heavily armed. O’Neill wore twin Colt .45s, Deserter Halliday brandished his army rifle, the Mexicans had gloved hands resting on guns and the other two riders had Colts drawn and ready.
‘You’re trespassing!’ Zimmer bellowed.
‘Like hell we are,’ Luke disagreed, facing the semi-circle of guns. ‘This is open range, Navajo land.’
Dallas Zimmer squinted, recognizing him now. Mockingly, the cattle baron greeted, ‘Well now, if it ain’t our soldier-boy, Luke Dawson, come home from the war.’
‘Where are my people?’ Honani spoke up loudly.
Irked by the Navajo’s urgent question, Zimmer snapped, ‘Button your lip. Speak when you’re spoken to, Injun!’
‘I want to know where my people are,’ Honani repeated defiantly.
‘And he has a right to ask that question,’ Luke said, backing up his Navajo friend.
‘An Injun has no rights,’ O’Neill guffawed.
‘Okay, soldier-boy,’ Zimmer said, still ignoring the Navajo. ‘You’ve been away for some time, so it seems you have some catching up to do. This land, Sundown Valley, is no longer open range. As you can see, I’m running my beeves on the grass here and no one’s objecting – no one, Dawson. By buying more cattle and having this extra land, I can afford to put on extra hands, thus providing valuable employment opportunities for the right kind of men, some of who are with me right here and now. A fine bunch of boys!’ He grinned, showing big, tobacco-stained teeth, with two missing right below his left nostril. ‘All hand picked too.’
O’Neill grinned in unison. ‘A pleasure to work with them.’
‘Where have Lance Corporal Honani’s people gone?’ Luke demanded.
Halliday raised his bushy eyebrows. ‘Lance Corporal, eh!’
‘He didn’t desert, unlike you,’ Luke said.
‘It mightn’t be healthy to talk like that to my esteemed rider, Mister Heck Halliday,’ Zimmer warned him.
‘Damnit, where have the Navajos gone?’ Luke insisted.
‘Who knows?’ Zimmer replied, shrugging his flabby shoulders. ‘One day they were here, the next day they’d up and gone. Ask my riders. They came to the ranch house and told me.’
‘Mr Zimmer’s right,’ O’Neill said. ‘A couple of the boys and me were searching for strays in Sundown Valley. We trailed them to the creek that’s just behind us, right to this very spot. We expected to see the Navajos but they simply weren’t there. They’d just vamoosed, got up and left everything. We didn’t go trailing them; figured it was their business why they’d pulled up stakes and left.’
‘My people would never leave their land,’ Honani protested emphatically.
‘Well, Injun, they did,’ O’Neill told him flatly.
‘I was one of the riders who discovered they were gone,’ Heck Halliday spoke up. ‘Damn shame! I had my eyes on one of them Navajo fillies. What was her name now?’
‘Fancy name, Flower-of-the-Dawn,’ O’Neill said.
‘Yeah, that’s right.’ Halliday grinned lustfully. ‘She might have been an Injun squaw but she could have warmed my bed any night!’
Like Zimmer’s lawman son and probably others, Heck Halliday regarded Indian girls as being fair game for any white man. As Halliday chuckled, Luke knew that Honani was itching to grab his rifle so he restrained his angry friend with a low-toned warning. ‘Hold it! There are seven of them.’
‘Fact is,’ Zimmer said, ‘I instructed my boys to leave the lodges and suchlike in case our Injun friends came back. Then time went by. The Injuns never returned. I figured Sundown Valley was land being wasted so I decided to use it, run some surplus cattle there and give some good, honest white men jobs. Uh, a coupla greasers, too. The Mex boys have been loyal. Might even let them drink in my town saloon one day if they keep up the good work.’ The big rancher paused and then said, ‘There was no point leaving empty hogans for rats to infest and snakes to crawl into, so I gave the order to burn them.’ He smiled, showing his wolfish teeth again. ‘Reckon it was the only sensible thing to do.’
‘Real sensible, boss,’ O’Neill agreed, nodding gravely.
‘You burned our homes,’ Honani accused hoarsely.
Zimmer leaned forward in his saddle. ‘What did you expect us to do? Leave them to rot?’
‘Apart from anything else, they were in the way of Mr Zimmer’s cattle,’ O’Neill concluded.
‘Surely someone checked where the
Navajos went,’ Luke challenged.
‘My men had more important chores,’ Zimmer shrugged, ‘like branding new calves and suchlike. Right, O’Neill?’
‘Right, Mr Zimmer,’ the ramrod confirmed, nodding.
The Navajo looked around him, eyes brimming with tears.
Luke had never seen him cry, not even when they were confronted with terrible sights of death and mutilation on the battlefield, but the Navajo could hardly hold back right now. This land was part of him. He was part of this land. It was enshrined in his deeply held spiritual beliefs. This was the Indian’s worst nightmare. In fact, he’d been cut deep, like a long, sharp knife slashing his flesh.
‘My people would never have just got up and left,’ the Indian repeated.
‘Well, they did,’ Zimmer said finally. Dismissing the Navajo, he fixed his eyes on Luke. ‘I suppose by now you’ve heard of my impending wedding to Miss Sierra Cooper. In view of your previous . . . uh . . . friendship with my bride-to-be, I’m willing to compensate you for your loss. I’m offering you a good well-paid job on my ranch.’
‘Not interested, Zimmer,’ Luke said bluntly, bristling.
If Zimmer hadn’t been backed by six heavily-armed riders, some of whom looked like vultures spoiling for a kill, he’d have been tempted to put a slug in a certain part of the smirking rancher’s anatomy that would have sabotaged his wedding night. However, he’d told the Navajo to hold back and he had to do the same himself.
‘Think about it,’ the cattle baron urged.
‘I already have,’ Luke said. ‘I’m headed for home.’
The rancher declared, ‘I realize you’re just home from a war so you’re not into making big decisions yet. Look, Dawson, I’ll leave the offer open until after my honeymoon.’
‘We’ll get out of here,’ Luke said quietly to Honani.
The Indian took another look at the seven men and their guns and realized, albeit reluctantly, the wisdom of Luke’s advice. He asked cautiously, ‘But should we turn our backs on them?’
Before Luke could reply to his Navajo friend, Zimmer yelled at him, ‘One last thing, Dawson. Don’t trespass on my range again. Same goes for the Injun.’ But then his tone mellowed. ‘Of course, if you join my outfit, you can ride across Sundown Valley any time you like.’ He paused before adding, ‘Look, I’m a reasonable man, so although I don’t usually put Navajos on my payroll, I’m willing to make an exception in your friend’s case.’ Condescendingly, he said, ‘Yep, because he’s served in the army, I’ll give him a job, despite him being an Injun.’
Honani was shaking with rage, so once again Luke spoke softly under his breath, warning his Navajo friend against making a rash move right now.
‘Think about it, both of you!’ the cattle baron boomed.
Zimmer turned his big black horse and started back for the creek, followed by O’Neill, then Halliday and the other shadowy riders.
‘Like you, I don’t trust them, so just ride away slowly, keep your eyes wide open and one hand on a gun,’ Luke advised his saddle-pard.
Luke nudged his horse and started riding for the three tall pines that stood in front of the old Navajo elders’ cave. Glancing around, he saw the Triple Z riders retreating across the creek. The arrowhead pines blocked out the moonlight, shielding Luke and Honani as they put distance between themselves and the Triple Z men.
Once they reached the cave, Luke halted his horse and looked back. Zimmer’s men were lost in the night. Still wary, however, he wasted no time in riding to the ridge trail, finally halting his bay by a clump of sagebrush.
Honani came alongside him, declaring hoarsely, ‘I could have killed him.’
‘His time is coming but it’s not yet,’ Luke said.
‘My people gone! I cannot believe this has happened!’
‘Hard for me to believe, too,’ Luke said soberly. ‘As long as I’ve lived on Old Wolf Ridge, I’ve seen smoke from Navajo fires rising and Navajo hunters coming to and from your village.’
‘The elders and the medicine man must have approved leaving the village,’ Honani conceded reluctantly, shaking his head in utter despair. ‘But why?’ Then his eyes narrowed as he suggested darkly, ‘Maybe Zimmer and his men lied? They could have come with guns and forced my people to pack up their belongings and leave so they could steal their land.’
‘We’ll find out,’ Luke vowed to his close friend. ‘If that actually happened, we’ll make Zimmer pay, that’s for sure.’
‘If they were made to leave, or even if they left peacefully of their own accord, there is only one place where they could possibly be,’ Honani decided with his arms folded over his heaving chest. He looked north where moonlight made distant peaks glisten like fresh snow. ‘My forefathers belonged to a Navajo clan, the Armijo, who came from Na Dené Canyon. This sacred canyon is beyond the mountains, two, maybe three days’ ride from here, on the other side of Whispering Pass, through Apache Territory, under the red butte that towers over all the other canyons. My father twice took me and other young braves there. He used to say Na Dené Canyon was powerful medicine. Perhaps they have returned there?’
‘Probably that’s what happened,’ Luke replied.
‘I need to ride to Na Dené Canyon,’ the Navajo said firmly.
‘Listen, Honani,’ Luke said. ‘As you know, my spread is an hour’s ride from here. You’ve met my brother Caleb before and he’ll be there. It’s been a long war and a helluva long trail home. You need to rest and get some shuteye, same as me. You are welcome to have a bed for the night, more if you want.’
Honani considered. ‘I will not rest, I will not sleep, until I see my people.’
‘Figured you’d say that,’ Luke said.
Honani had once told him that Navajos from his clan rarely farewelled friends with ‘goodbye.’ Rather, it was ‘Ya’at’eeh’, and the Indian uttered that final word as he made ready to ride.
Luke remembered what that word meant. It was ‘see you later’. He hoped this would be so.
The white man responded, ‘Yes, see you later, my friend.’
For a long moment Luke Dawson sat saddle, watching as the Indian he’d been with for four years now left him and rode north into the night.
He waited motionless in the saddle until Honani was finally swallowed by the darkness of the distant pine forest.
Sierra Cooper stood perfectly still as her dressmaker, Mrs Lisa Cowan-Jeffries, the local blacksmith’s wife, appraised the wedding gown she was making final adjustments to. It was an expensive white dress, conservatively high-necked, flowing in a pure white cascade to her shoes.
Dallas Zimmer, of course, was footing the bill for this dress, Lisa’s time and expertise. He wanted to have his new bride looking her best to impress the town of Spanish Wells and he could afford to do so. It would, of course, be Utah’s biggest wedding ever, and Cain Zimmer, his dandy brother, was coming all the way from Tombstone City by train, then by stagecoach, for the occasion.
Looking in the long mirror, Sierra knew she looked beautiful and this dress would be perfect for the occasion.
‘Are you happy?’ Lisa asked suddenly.
Sierra forced a smile. ‘Of course. What woman wouldn’t be?’
‘I was just asking, that’s all,’ Lisa said quietly.
‘You’re my dressmaker, and also my friend,’ Sierra said. ‘If there’s something on your mind, say it.’
Lisa bent down and checked the hem. ‘My husband Harry was in the Lucky Deuce saloon earlier. He knows I disapprove of alcohol, but he said he’d been working hard and needed a quick drink. Anyway, when he arrived home he told me Luke Dawson’s come home from the war. He’s alive and well.’
‘I’m aware of that, Lisa,’ Sierra said sharply.
‘Were you two . . . well . . . close?’
‘We were friends, good friends,’ Sierra replied, fighting back her tears.
The dressmaker murmured, ‘I heard you were more than friends.’
‘Whoever you’ve been t
alking to should mind their own damn business,’ Sierra snapped.
Taken aback by Sierra’s angry retort, Lisa said, ‘Sorry!’
‘Whatever Luke Dawson was to me, that was in the past,’ Sierra said firmly. Her voice broke. ‘In just over a week’s . . . time . . . I’ll be Mrs Dallas Zimmer.’ She swallowed. ‘That’s all that matters now.’
‘Hmm,’ Lisa Cowan-Jeffries said under her breath.
‘And Lisa, make sure Harry scrubs up and dresses respectable for the wedding,’ Sierra warned.
The dressmaker was about to remark that she was sounding like a Zimmer already but she held her tongue. Instead, she maintained near silence as she made a few final alterations to the dress.
Twenty minutes later, Lisa left Sierra and walked the three doors to her modest adobe home next to Major Wallace’s place.
Sierra locked her street door and stood there shaking.
Despite all that she’d said to her friend Lisa, she was thinking about Luke Dawson. In fact, she’d had him on her mind ever since she’d opened the door to him earlier today. The way he’d briefly held her, close and intimate, had brought back so many old memories.
Unable to hold back any longer, she wept bitter tears as she stumbled to the solid oak cabinet Zimmer had bought her as an engagement gift. She wrenched open the door and plucked a bottle of brandy from the shelf. Grabbing a glass, she flopped into a cushioned chair and poured herself a drink.
It would be the first of many drinks, tonight and every night between now and the wedding.
CHAPTER FIVE
Luke rode the lonely trail under the rising moon. It was a trail he’d ridden many times in the past and he knew every twist and turn, every fallen tree, every creek that bubbled through boulders and ferns. It was a slow, gradual climb. He heard the hooting of tree owls and the distant baying of wolves from the high country. He passed Lew Harbinger’s place, expecting to see lamps glowing and his mangy old dog on the front porch. However, the old trapper’s cabin was wreathed in darkness and there was no dog. Maybe Lew was having an early night. Hopefully they’d catch up in a week or so. He drifted by McPherson’s cabin. It looked bleak and stark and Luke figured no one had moved in after Clement and Constance had been murdered.