The drink did seem to be taking hold, and Juan was unresisting as Maria positioned his arm on the thick table. When her patient’s body began to fall sideward, the woman motioned Punto inside to help hold him in place. She said only, "The drink is powerful."
The woman twisted a leather thong around Juan’s upper arm shutting off the blood. She spit on her hands like a woodchopper and measured her swing with the ax. Punto decided that he would look away.
When she struck, Maria swung as if splitting a knotty root. The ax fairly whistled. It slashed through Juan’s flesh and bone with little slowing and embedded itself in the table.
Punto had not turned his head, and he saw the jagged end of Juan’s forearm fly away. Blood spurted for an instant, but immediately stopped. Juan’s body convulsed, but Punto held him upright. When he relaxed, Juan of one eye was unconscious.
Punto felt his knees tremble and sweat had popped on his body, but Maria had only begun. Her iron frying pan glowed fire red with pulsing heat. She gripped it in a thick rag and held Juan’s limp arm with the other. With some care she placed the flat of the glowing pan bottom firmly against the chopped off stump. Blood and fluid hissed, smoke rose, and the stench of searing meat struck Punto’s nostrils. Despite Punto’s weight, Juan thrust himself erect before his senses rebelled and his body again collapsed. Punto knew the man had been unconscious, but the ferocity of burning pain had for the instant brought him back.
Maria studied her work making sure that the stump was sealed. She grunted approval and called for whiskey.
Punto said, "There is pulque, pour it on."
The woman was adamant. "It must be whiskey."
Cursing, Punto sent for whiskey, and after her own swilling Maria poured the alcohol over the charred stump. This time, Juan was beyond pain and did not stir.
"So. It is done." Maria returned her tools to their places. She handed the bottle of knockout drink to Punto but kept the whiskey. "When his pain is great allow him one swallow. Do not give more or he may not waken.
"Have a woman with a whisk keep flies *from the stump. Flies annoy the wound and may cause the red worms to crawl."
Punto had heard of searing wounds closed, but even in the war he had not seen it. He wondered if Juan would live through the agonies ahead. If his man died, he would kill the woman as requested, but he could do no more.
There was no hotel, but the Rooster cantina had beds. Punto had Juan moved there, and hired the ugliest crone he could find to fan away the flies. Soon his men would be drunk and nearly any woman would become fair game. Again he had done the best he could,
Before his men became helpless there were things to do. Punto had the horses tended to and made arrangements for his own sleeping place in a nearby home. He would eat, and then he would sleep. The following day his men would arrive with the head of the long shooter on their pole, Or they might be a day later. He had driven his band hard getting to Caliente, and Diego might not move as swiftly.
Punto was anxious to be gone. He heard the howls of one of his wounded being attended to by the woman Maria but felt no reaction, Among the wounded, only Juan of the one eye was from his ranch. Those groaning and moaning would be left here at Caliente to find their own ways. They were of no concern to Senor Wesley Seer.
When Juan could ride they would depart for the Sierra Madre range, and beyond those rugged peaks lay his hacienda. Those from his ranchero now numbered only himself and three others. With Juan of one eye, they were enough, but without the Yaqui, Senor Wesley Seer could even be attacked by his own men. The gold that he would carry was more than enough to tempt most men.
Logan held the girl tightly and let moments pass. He rocked her a little, swaying their bodies as if dancing, and he talked.
He spoke of danger being past, and of her friends and family waiting for her at home. He tried to feed the strength of his own spirit into her, willing her to have courage of heart and mind.
He released her to bring the clothing from the horse. He avoided sudden movements and kept his eyes from her face and body. He made his chuckle rueful and friendly as he handed her the garments.
"You won’t want to keep these rags once you’re home, Julie, but they’ll do for getting there.. You get dressed, and I’ll go round up a horse that’s running near here."
Logan left his canteen with unneeded directions for her to drink long and deep as they had plenty of water. He promised to quickly return and trotted away.
Logan had avoided her eyes for two reasons. Mostly, he did not want Julie to see his concern for her. Sometimes a woman read a man’s eyes easier than his words, and the fact was that Julie Smith would have to ride the road home alone. Josh Logan had work down south. The second reason for avoiding Julie Smith’s gaze was that Logan did not want her to see his own pain. His bruised hip ached bone deep and affected his thinking, particularly his patience.
That he was fortunate to be moving at all was not unrecognized. Only the greatest of luck had blocked the ambusher’s bullet from smashing his hip and leaving him helpless, but Logan also did not care to consider how sore the hip would be for the next few days. He could not favor the wound. He had to ride, and he had to catch up. He had not finished off Erni’s killer, and that he would do if it took his dying breath.
Now that Punto was awake to the danger behind him, Logan’s chances of surviving this war were even smaller. If he could reach Punto before the man realized his ambush had failed and that his enemy was still on his trail, Logan might get him, but the girl was going to eat into his time, the bruised hip would slow him more, and a marrow-deep physical weariness was beginning to drag both thought and movement.
He was too old for it. Logan was doing his best, but he was bitterly aware that once the efforts of this hunt would have barely challenged him. Once, Dark Shadow would have hounded the fleeing bandits like death itself. He would have been tireless and merciless. He would have lured them and trapped them. He would have rushed and retreated and killed them until the few left living fled in all consuming fear.
Dark Shadow could have done that. Old Josh Logan could only hope to hang on, to husband enough energy to again get within shooting range, and this time to take his shot at Punto himself.
He would attempt no more killing games. If he had another chance, Logan would make Punto his target. If he got others thereafter so be it, but he feared his candle was short, and the villain responsible would have to be executed now, while Logan still had the strength.
He found the horse with its dead rider still caught by an ankle grazing less than a mile from the shooting scene. The second horse foraged nearby. Logan gathered reins, then jerked the body free. The corpse had little in his pockets, but he carried an almost new belt knife. Boots, the rider had boots, and they looked small enough to fit a woman’s feet. Logan fought them free and tied them behind a saddle.
He returned quickly, worried that Julie Smith might do something desperate, but he saw her sitting on a hump of buffalo grass, dressed in bandit’s clothing, just waiting for him.
It came to him that the girl had not spoken since her throat strangled scream of warning, and that made Logan fearful. He had known survivors of terrible acts who never spoke again. In every case they had been women, and Julie Smith’s horrors could take that fork.
He pulled up, and studied her openly.
"Well now, Julie, clothes do make a difference, don’t they?"
Her voice was small, but she answered, and Logan’s relief was profound. "Right now they are wonderful clothes, Mister Logan."
In dismounting, Logan groaned aloud and saw the alarm in the girl’s face.
"It’s nothing important, Julie. That hombre laying in the hole bounced a bullet off my ammunition case, and it bruised my hip a bit. It’ll wear off in a day or so."
Logan gave her the reins to hold and walked to the dead bandit. He saw the three solid hits on the small figure’s chest and marveled how the man had survived the first. He recovered the rifle, and it was a decent piece.
The corpse had nothing else.
Logan chose a hummock near the girl’s and took a moment to suck on a straw. When he felt ready he told her how it had to be.
"Them outlaws hit our town mighty hard, Julie. They killed my Erni, did you know that?" He saw her nod through sudden eye tearing of his own. He hawked his throat clear and went on. "I’m out here hunting ’em down one at a time, or all at once, however it turns out.
"Way it is now, you're going to have to help me go after them." He saw her alarm and was quick to soothe it. "I don’t mean that we are going to go after them together. What has to happen is that you’ve got to make your way home alone."
Again he saw fear cross the girl’s features. Well it should, because there could be dangers riding north alone. The trail ought to be clear, but no one could be certain that it would be.
"The way we will work it is this. You'll have the best horse we’ve got, and you’ll have this rifle, which is a good one." Logan held up the dead ambusher’s Winchester. "Do you know how to shoot, Julie?"
The girl nodded, so Logan handed her the rifle. She handled the gun strongly and naturally enough, so Logan said, "Aim around with it, and work the action. Shoot if you want to."
Julie worked the lever and aimed. She levered again, and a live cartridge ejected. The girl lowered the rifle unfired, but she also lowered the hammer and slipped the round back into the tubular magazine. That proved she knew more than a little about Winchester rifles. Logan was heartened. A woman who could shoot could hold off a pretty big crowd.
Logan went on. "What you'll do, Julie, is ride straight north up this valley. Just hold to the center where all of the horse tracks are. Late today you will reach the river. Cross immediately, but stop on the other side."
Logan took time to chew a little and to rise and look for dust. He had to get this next part just right.
"What I want you to do then is exactly this, and I want you to do all that I’m telling. Will you do that for me, Julie?"
Her eyes questioning, Julie Smith nodded.
"All right then, here it is. Across the river you will be in Texas. You will get off your horse and tie it securely to a tree. Make sure of that part. You don't want to walk all the way home.
"After you've looked around good to make certain sure that you're still alone go down to the river, get in and scrub yourself raw with sand off the bottom.
"Don't hurry, but don’t waste time. Be sure to get all the way under and give your hair a good rinsing out. Think of it as a baptism. Right there at the river you are going to leave all of this bad stuff behind. You are sort of being reborn, and the new Julie Smith is riding north to see her folks and her neighbors. Can you sense how that will feel, Julie?"
There were tears at her eye corners, but the girl again nodded. Logan felt encouraged to continue.
"Now, Julie, you know that Heavenly Father has a reason for everything that happens. I'm darned if I can figure through this, but we know the reason is there. You come from people that feel the same, and they will understand all that has happened and love you all the more for it"
Logan found himself standing and pacing. Talking like a Mormon was not really his game, but he hoped he was being real good at it at least this once.
"Now, what has happened to you is awful, Julie, but it isn't new to this world. It has been going on since before the Bible was written, and I'm afraid it will keep on happening. I'm figuring on making sure that this particular bunch don't do any more of it, and maybe you can take some satisfaction in that. Anyhow, you are still Julie Smith, and you know all of the things you knew before those bandits attacked our town. You are what you have always been.
"I'm talking to you like a grandfather because some you will meet will not understand. Others will not know how to act, and that will make them awkward around you. What you have to do is hard, but I have seen it done before, sometimes by women who stood entirely alone without the family and church that you will have for support.
"First, do not be shamed by what has happened. Remember that Heavenly Father has his plan, and that you have done no wrong. Look everyone straight in the eye, and make it a point to speak to everyone. Explain as much as you can to your family so that they know the exact truth of what has happened. Ignore outsiders as much as you wish. They only seek to satisfy their curiosity, and you do not owe them that."
Logan doubted that he had more to say, so he began his ending. "I know more than a little about these things, Julie, because I lived and fought right here in these very mountains even before you were born. I have seen women survive and prosper after acts too horrible to describe. You can do the same, and I believe that you will. Now, have you any questions for me before you head up the trail and home again?"
Tears finally flowed, and Logan held the girl close, wondering if he should talk more or just wait things out.
When she spoke the words were almost lost within wracking sobs, but they burned like fire and weighed on Logan’s soul.
"The one with the huge hat, Mister Logan, he was the worst. He..." Her voice failed then returned as desperate moan. "I could have a baby, Mister Logan. I could have a baby."
She was right, of course, and nothing could be done about it. Logan reached for a strengthening answer.
"Julie, you do believe that every one of us lived before in Heavenly Father’s Kingdom, don’t you?" He did not wait for an answer because he knew that was the Mormon belief.
"If that is true, and you bore a child would that not mean that Heavenly Father wished it so, and that during pre-existence the soul of the baby you might have would have chosen to be born? Isn’t that what the scriptures say?"
Logan rushed on before Julie Smith could develop an answer. "If Heavenly Father grants you a child you will love it because it is his wish, and the baby will be a part of you and your family." He placed a big palm under the girl’s chin and raised it. "Do not look down, Julie. Never bow your head except to the Lord. Look out, and keep looking out. Allow no one to make you less than you really are.
"You have stayed alive, Julie, where many might simply have died. There is a lifetime before you, and there will be a husband and a family of your own. I see it, Julie Smith. Perhaps I see it as revelation, because it is as clear to me as a morning sun."
Despite trepidations, and with his rifle ready, Logan led the way back to the Zapata Water. It was a necessary stop because the girl would have a long ride through the heat of the day before reaching the river, and the horse would need all the water available.
Punto had not even buried his dead. The horses shied nervously, and flies buzzed on the stripped carcasses. The girl trembled, but steadied with Logan’s hand on her shoulder.
"Do not fear the dead, Julie. They can harm no one."
Logan led the way to the trail leading north. He slid the ambusher’s Winchester into its scabbard on Julie’s mount. He hung the bandoleer of extra ammunition across the huge Mexican style saddle horn and believed she was ready to ride.
"Head straight up the valley to the river. Cleanse your mind and your body of all of the evils of this place before you go further. The road is clear from the river to your people. Before dark tomorrow you will be with them.
"And Julie, tell the bishop that you have seen me and that I am still on the trail. Tell him that I will continue until there is no one to make a trail to follow. Will you tell him that, Julie?"
He received only a nod, but when he slapped her horse across the rump, the girl heeled her new boots into the animal to urge it along. The horse went north, and Logan watched it travel with hope and sorrow in his heart. A few hundred yards along the girl looked back. Logan waved, but she turned away as if not seeing.
Finally he could return his thoughts to Punto and his band. Much of the day was past and there were things to do before he could again take the trail. His hip ached with a maddening persistence, but he could ride. First, he had to again climb the mountain path and bring his own animals to the Zapata Water. He woul
d plan further while he managed that time consuming task.
He left a horse tied to the same root he had used to secure Jose Perido’s animal, and for a moment he wondered if he was doomed to forever traverse this same small chunk of Mexican desert.
The way up the mountain had not gotten easier, and the need to grip the horse’s barrel with his knees increased his hip agony. The pain was sucking the energy from him, and Logan knew he would not pursue far during this daylight.
From the ridge he could judge Julie Smith’s progress along the trail, and she was holding to the valley center as he had instructed. Logan was pleased that she did not hurry her horse. Rushing now would make little difference in the end, and if her luck was poor, Julie might need all the speed and stamina the ambusher’s horse possessed.
There was another dust heading down from the north, but it was west of the girl’s track, and Logan recognized it as a band of goats being herded to the Zapata Water. He and the herder should reach the water at about the same time. Logan did not mind. He would exchange news, and perhaps he could purchase goat meat or even cheese from the drover. Different food would be welcome, and Logan began to look forward to the chance meeting.
The goats were at the water when Logan rode in. The herder presented himself, humble, sombrero clasped to his chest, and eyes downcast before his better.
Logan said, "Hola, amigo."
The herder’s voice was soft with humility. "Buenos Dias, senor." The haughty and arrogant Spanish had a century before taught the peasants of Mexico their place.
Logan crawled from his saddle, favoring his bruised hip, and muffling his curses.
The herder was solicitous. "Are you injured, Patron? Can I help you in any way?"
Logan spoke as if to an equal. "My hip was bruised by a rifle bullet, amigo, but it will heal." He raised his chin toward the fly burdened bodies some distance away. "One of their band shot at me, but his bullet struck my equipment. God was with me."
If the dead bothered the herder he did not betray it. It was likely that the goat man had seen more than his share of men who had been shot and left for the buzzards.
Dark Shadow Page 11