The younger man recognized the gatekeeper as a valuable and loyal servant and intended to reward him with something when he left. Well before then his wagons would depart. Their loads might not be as valuable as those already on the road, but he would have opportunity to more fully examine the hacienda's offerings.
He wondered vaguely who might now own the property. A bronze cannon thrown from the roof caught his interest. The weapon would be handsome on his own wall, but such a piece would also be too obvious, and some might believe he went too far. Better to finish off the cellars, choose furnishings, and discover what lay in the many drawers. There were guns buried in the strong room, he had seen them, and there could be other important discoveries that he could save from the peons who would surely steal them.
The young man stood on the gallery and surveyed his temporary domain. How fortunate they were that the gringo Dark Shadow had departed. The North American fought like a devil, and he could not imagine facing such a killer. This was better. The Federales could come and make their investigation. Dark Shadow would be lost in the mountains, and no one would hear of him again.
27
Joshua Logan was not lost in the mountains. Sombra Preta had not even reached the foothills.
They had ridden steadily until the sun threatened the horizon. Then Logan had swung them aside, and they had made camp beside a sink that provided the animals with forage and water.
Logan had found his appetite small, and when he tried to sleep his mind insisted on reviewing and planning until he wondered if he might not get more rest in the saddle.
In the morning they started early, Logan impatient with the boy's hunger, and plodded eastward toward the still unseen rise of the great mountains.
By afternoon, Logan knew he had gone more than far enough. If he did not rest, his body was going to give up on him. He could feel the warnings with an old familiarity. His reserves were used up. He had to stop and stop now.
Logan led the way up a small seep that came from a brush-choked draw. They forced the animals through and, as he had expected, the draw opened into a bowl-like depression that would be invisible unless looked into from its rim. There was at least a day's forage for the animals, and the water they had followed ran from beneath a rock and would be fit for drinking.
Logan said, "I'm downright weak, Uno. We will camp here until I feel better." He piled off his horse and let the boy care for the animals. He threw down his buffalo robe, curled an edge under for a pillow, removed his boots, placed his Spencer close by, drew his blanket to his chin, tipped his hat over his eyes, and fell into instant sleep gripping Punto's silver handled Colt in his shooting hand.
Off and on, Logan heard Uno working at their camp. At times the boy sang softly to himself, and he talked regularly to the burro. Logan felt pleasure that he had allowed the burro to trail along. In the east, children had animal pets of all kinds. In the west the outlook was often different with animals treated as animals and only favored horses receiving personal names. Logan figured it was good for a boy to have a pet, and the burro would give Uno a tie to the life he was leaving behind.
Logan's plan was to rest through the day and the night In the morning they could again be on their way.
Only it did not work that way. Before morning, Logan was aware of a small fever, and when the light came he knew he was not in condition to ride anywhere. A heavy lethargy made moving an effort, and he had to force himself to eat and drink.
His wounds both itched and burned, and Logan believed it was time to get the bandages off and see how they were healing. Uno helped with the removal, but it was not a pleasant experience. Blood had hardened, and freeing the cloth reopened small weepers and hurt like the devil tearing loose.
The wounds he could see did not look too bad, red at the edges, but not the fire of early infection. The puncture through his thigh was a mystery because it had never hurt as badly as it should have. It had bled little, and now seemed to be rapidly healing. The Winchester that had shot him was a .44-40 and there should have been a large exit hole, but there was only an already closed dimple that looked as if a .22 caliber had gone through.
Juan of one eye's knife slash into his side was not as pleasing. Logan could not get a clear look and relied on Uno’s opinion.
"When the mother of Dos sewed the wound some meat was pinched, Sombra Preta. That meat does not look good." The boy paused before announcing, “I believe it should be salted."
Logan knew what he was seeing. Raw flesh had been pulled together for sewing, and some had been left exposed and unprotected by skin. Salted? Logan was not so sure about that.
Uno may have sensed his doubt. "It is sometimes best to salt a wound, Sombra Preta. Gonzales the iron master showed me how to both salt and to sear with a hot iron. These wounds should be salted."
Logan was pleased to hear the words of such an expert, and he believed he would prefer salting to searing, although neither sounded comforting.
"Are you sure it would not be best to leave the wounds alone?" Logan was hopeful.
His hopes were dashed. "No, Sombra Preta. I will get the salt."
The salt bit like a dozen vipers, and Logan felt sweat on his lip, but he made no sound lest the boy believe him weak. His heroism went unremarked, and Uno said only. "It is done. Now the wounds will heal."
After he relaxed and the sweat dried, Logan said, "We will have to remain in this camp another day, Uno. It would not be wise for me to ride."
"It is a good camp, Sombra Preta. We have water, and I will take the animals to grass when this is gone. The ranchero cattle are not here and no one will find us."
The boy had made a good camp, and Logan was vastly pleased that he had agreed to bring the youth along. With Uno caring for things he could doze and let his body and mind recover. Lordy, but he was tired to his soul. Perhaps they should remain in this camp for more than another day. Logan fell asleep thinking about it.
The extra day stretched to a full week. Logan lay in the sun letting its dry heat heal his wounds. Each morning and evening Uno studied the slashes closely. He pronounced them healing well, and remarked on the many scars Logan had accumulated.
"You have been a great fighter, Sombra Preta. I have seen no one with so many wounds."
"Great fighters do not get many wounds, Uno. Great fighters do the wounding—and call me Senor Logan, not Sombra Preta"
"To defeat Juan of one eye is a mighty feat, and the brothers Tomas and Tomasito were once bandidos, as was Senor Seer. All are now dead. You are indeed a great fighter, Senor Sombra Preta Logan."
As his strength returned, Logan managed a bath by rinsing a rag in the tiny stream and scrubbing his body. Uno willingly scrubbed what he could not reach, and with some of the sweat and dirt removed, Logan felt vastly improved.
He spent a morning trimming his beard to a manageable length and then razoring away the stubbly growth. By all of the gods, he was beginning to feel human again.
On the fifth day, Uno pronounced the stitches ready to come out, and Logan agreed. He could see most of those in his arm and some in his side. The wounds appeared closed and healed over. Uno carefully cut the stitches with Logan's straight razor and only slipped twice. Neither gash would require new stitching.
The boy examined his work with satisfaction. "Your scars will be handsome, Sombra Preta. The women of your village will know that you are a hero of many battles." He pinched his lower lip in thought, as Logan was want to do, and decided. "We must not ride for three more days to be sure that no wounds reopen."
Logan believed the boy right, but it was his duty to complain. "We will both take root in this place until we are like trees and unable to move when the Federales come for us." Logan glared around suspiciously. "Soldiers are probably surrounding us even now, Uno. Do you hear anything?"
Uno's grin was wide. A sense of humor— that was good because Logan believed it showed intelligence. "You hear only the wind, Sombra Preta. The soldiers will not find us here."
Logan said, "Sit close and we will practice English talking. Among North Americans you must know the language or you will be like the burro and unable to speak."
"Are we going among North Americans, Sombra Preta, and do they not speak Spanish?" The boy sat close, and Logan was comforted by his trust and confident acceptance.
"We may go north into Texas. I am not sure yet. Most North Americans believe that only their own language is important—and do not call me Sombra Preta. In English the name is Dark Shadow, but you should call me Mister Logan."
"Si, Mister Logan." The boy considered for a long minute before declaring, "Sombra Preta is better."
Logan guessed he was going to have a hard time with it, and he had been called Sombra Preta so often recently that half the time he did not notice.
Recovery was cut short when Uno returned from grazing the animals. "The cattle are coming, Sombra Preta. They will come to this water, and vaqueros may find us."
Logan asked, "How far away are they?"
"I can see them on the farthest hills. They will come tomorrow."
"Then we will leave in the morning." Logan looked around. "If we have good fortune, cattle will trample most of our signs, and the vaqueros will not guess who was here."
Uno laughed, "They will believe we were rustlers, Sombra Preta, and they may chase us."
Logan said, "And they will quickly discover that we do not herd cattle ahead of us, Uno. They will not follow."
Logan hoped he was right. He had no wish to fight anyone. It was possible that a reward had been offered for him, as Punto had done at Caliente, but it also seemed doubtful that anyone would expect him to still be nearby.
Uno was right, and as they rode into the morning sun, cattle were spilling across the hills they had vacated. The cattle sought fresh grass and water because the forage on the ranchero was so poor they had to keep moving. Much like the buffalo when he had first come west, Logan decided. There would be a vaquero about, but he would be keeping a loose watch on the herds and might not come this way.
Their route led into the high mountains, and as usual Logan walked his animals. The easy pace allowed talking, and he discovered what little Uno knew about himself and tried to decide on how to choose a new home for the boy.
"My father was an officer in the army of Julio Diaz, and my mother was a Spanish lady of great beauty. Great grandmother Suarez, who is not my grandmother, said that my mother was taller and more slender than other women and that she died as I was born. Grandmother Suarez said that the people will not like me because they know that I will grow taller than they and that my legs will be long and straight like a Spaniard’s."
Uno sighed with elaborate resignation. "And it has been so, Sombra Preta. There have been other children without families who were taken in as sons or daughters, but no one has chosen me.”
Uno explained, "That is why I wished to ride away with you, Sombra Preta. Perhaps we can be bandits together, or perhaps I can help you kill other bandits the way you killed those of Ranchero Seer. If not those things, I will at least live where no one will know that I will grow taller and straighten"
The stories of magnificent parents were probably told to the boy to give him hope or expectations, but stranger things occurred. A handsome officer who rode on, and a disgraced senorita of breeding sent to a distant place to give birth, it could have happened. Logan studied the boy's shape, but he looked like other Mexican youths he had seen.
Logan said, "I am not a bandit, and I do not hunt bandits. I am returning to a village where the people have farms and businesses. I once hunted meat for the village, but I will not do that again." The thought had been in his mind, so Logan spoke it aloud. "Perhaps you should go to that village, Uno. Nearly all are North Americans, but they are a kind people, and you could have a place there."
"I do not know if I would like to live among gringos, Sombra Preta."
"Do not use the word gringo, Uno. It is a curse word. Call them Americans, and they will like it." Logan smiled to himself. "The North Americans have long legs and they are straight, Uno. Perhaps yours will grow the same."
The boy thought about it. "Perhaps I will go there with you, Sombra Preta. I too could be a farmer of squash and beans. I already have a burro, and I would need little more."
"It is a long way, Uno, and we may find a better place before then." Logan rode in silence thinking about it. "I do not think you should become a farmer, Uno. I believe you should enter a business and be first a clerk and later an owner of a fine bodega."
It was Uno's turn to contemplate his future. "Those who own bodegas become very rich, Sombra Preta." Silence, then, "I would like to be rich."
"You would not be rich, Uno, but you would be a man who could pay his way. You could marry and have many children. The people who live in my town like large families."
Uno said, "A man should have many sons, Sombra Preta. Do you have sons?"
Logan suffered a little. "No, Uno, I have no sons. I traveled far and married when I was already old. The wife I loved was killed by the bandidos. I will have no sons or daughters."
Uno accepted the fact with child-like certainty. "Then I will be your son until I have my bodega, and when you are too old to ride you may rest in the shade of my porch, Sombra Preta"
Logan grinned to himself, but spoke severely. "Then you must become expert in English, Uno. As your name is now Uno Logan, the people of the town will expect you to be able to speak their language."
"Si, Senor Dark Shadow. You see, I already speak well."
Well, that was an improvement over the Spanish, but the Dark Shadow stuff would have to go.
Micah did have a number of Mexican workers, and the Mormons looked more kindly on their darker skinned neighbors than did most Americans. In his own land the boy would be fortunate to become more than he was. Perhaps he should take Uno to Micah. In the United States anything was possible.
The way was long, and Logan would have many weeks to discover something better. In his heart, Joshua Logan knew that he hoped nothing would turn up. He liked the thought of Uno living among Erni’s people.
28
Logan had only rarely seen Micah from the south. His hunting mountains had been to the north, and as they approached, the silhouette of buildings was not familiar. Near the town a man plowing with a team of four tipped his hat, looked closer, then leaped to unhitch a horse to ride after the travelers.
They rode into Micah's only street before he was recognized, but Logan had seen a man with a rifle before they got that close.
Someone shouted, "It's Josh, Josh Logan is back," and the words were magic. The cry was repeated through the village, and men, women, and children rushed to greet him. Logan experienced a surge of emotion for these people with whom he and Erni had lived, and his first thought was, I have done right. This is where Uno should be.
Familiar faces crowded his route, and men slapped his knees in pleasure at his return. Logan pulled up before a new mercantile where only burned-out ruins had stood when he had left.
When he dismounted, the crowd parted as if cut with a knife. Everyone looked expectant, and there she stood, Julie Smith, as healthy and as pretty as if she had never suffered the cruelties of Punto’s band. Logan removed his hat, and said, "Julie."
He got no further because the girl rushed to his arms as if he were a long lost father. She crushed herself against him murmuring, "Oh, thank you, Mister Logan, thank you."
Logan's voice was hoarse, and he could only answer, "Now, now, Julie. We're both all right, and that is what counts." Women led the girl away and Logan took note that her belly was as flat as ever. That too had gone unexpectedly well. The Lord was surely standing closer to Micah than he had been when Punto's raiders had struck.
Bishop Heber Otis' smile was about to split his features, and Josh took the good man's hand with special pleasure. He guessed he had a report that most would enjoy hearing.
Everyone was anxious to hear, of course, so
Logan struck a deal. First he introduced Uno Logan as his temporarily adopted son. He promised to speak more on the matter later. He reached down to push Uno's hat from in front of his chest. There were no peons in Texas, here men stood tall, and the hat was held in one hand at the side. Logan had instructed him, and they had practiced, but old habits died slowly.
Logan's deal was that he would tell his story only once, but it would be to a town gathering. Before then, he and Uno needed to repair themselves, as their journey had covered most of old Mexico.
Bishop Otis had the answers. No one had occupied Josh's home, as they believed or wished to believe, that he would return. Ladies were already en route to open and air the cabin. If Josh would spend a few moments examining the reconstruction of the town since Punto's raid, the ladies would have his cabin ready with food cooking and water heating
The people of Micah had worked hard, and unless you knew where to look, no damage from the raid would be noticed.
Emit Baird's general store was rebuilt larger and more prepossessing with a wide porch and a loading platform for wagons to back against. The progress was indeed remarkable, but Logan was better pleased by the presence of weapons. Men had belted on pistols before they hurried to greet him, and others carried rifles or shotguns as if they were used to them. Logan expected raiders would have a tougher nut to crack if any again came this way.
Entering his cabin caused Logan to falter. When he had left, he had not expected to return, and memories of Erni rushed at him in waves. Clothing still hung from pegs, and wood he had gathered for kindling lay with his pile of dried cattle chips the women used for heating his bath water.
Until Logan had taught him, Uno had never bathed. At times he had plunged into streams, but a bath with soap had been a new experience.
Like all boys, he resisted baths for no identifiable reason, but as before, Logan got him into the hot water and saw that he lathered with the lye soap that stung like fire but cured almost everything including poison ivy.
Dark Shadow Page 28