by Mari Collier
Chapter 19: Christina in Love
“Christina Anna, where are you?”
Brigetta was shouting in German. She'd already checked every hiding place in the house and in the washhouse. The spring day was growing warmer. The billowing clouds chasing each other across the blue Texas sky were lost on Brigetta. She was too busy searching for her daughter to look skyward. It was ironing and housecleaning day, and the morning half gone. Sixteen-year-old Christina would ride in the morning, but she always returned to help with the cleaning and food preparation.
She trudged upstairs one more time to check Christina's room, knowing what she would find or wouldn't find. Brigetta made a hasty survey through the armoire and the small closet. She already knew which dress was in the ironing, which dress was in the wash, which dress Christina was wearing, and the spare clean dress was gone. Gone too were the extra pair of clean, cotton stockings, and other linens. Brigetta gritted her teeth. Did she now make a spectacle of herself running down to the one, old hand who doubled as a bunkhouse cook and general flunky and asking whether Christina was back? Or did she just send him after Martin and the boys to go after Christina? But where had Christina gone? Why? Christina had been moody and then suddenly full of song, singing in that horrible, chirpy soprano until one wanted to box her ears. Or else Christina would sit quietly sewing while deep, deep sighs filled the room.
Brigetta sat down and rapidly wrote a note to Martin in German. What did it matter who was with Christina? That was Martin's little girl and he would be furious. He had to know now. She walked briskly to the front of the bunkhouse where she knew John would be making futile attempts to appear busy.
“Du are to take this to Mr. Rolfe immediately. Vait it cannot. Be as fast as can be.”
Brigetta marched back to the house and started the weekly ironing. As she grew older she had begun to appreciate all the help Toni had over the years and quietly had enlisted the help of one of the ranch hand's woman. She watched to make sure John left with some appearance of haste. She knew around Martin the man never appeared to dawdle.
Martin looked up as John approached. What was wrong? John did not ride that mule of his unless forced into it. He dropped the posthole digger and accepted the note.
John was swaying back and forth on his heels and watched his boss's face and lips tighten. He'd figured something was wrong, but hadn't gotten to the solution.
“Y'all want me to take a message back?”
Instead of an answer, he had Martin's blue eyes locked on his own.
“Who rode as a guard with my daughter this morning?”
John cleared his throat. “Well, I do believe it was that Ortega fellow y'all had doing the wood cutting fer next winter.”
Marty was beside his father, hurriedly buttoning his shirt. Like his grandfather Rolfe, he sensed when something was not right. “What's wrong, Papa?”
Martin replied in German. “Christina has run off with Ortega.”
Marty whirled on John. “Which way did my sister ride?”
John found himself confronted by another pair of cold, blue eyes. He stomach started upward. This man was dangerous and John had spent his life not having to confront danger.
“Uh, ain't quite certain sure about that, Mr. Rolfe. They could have gone towards Schmidt's Corner or maybe towards them dinky mountains where y'all get yore wood for winter. Y'all want me to take a look when I get back.”
“No, I don't want anyone near where they might have ridden.” Marty turned back to his father. “Papa, we're going to have to trail them and Grandpa died too soon to teach me much. We need Uncle.
“Kendall told Auggie that Uncle was finishing the deal concerning the depot today. I'm riding to the Rearing Bear and if Uncle's not back, I'll go into Schmidt's Corner. Y'all get everything ready, horses, food, gear, and for God's sake don't go near their tracks.”
He ran for his horse. Martin stood speechless; stunned by the vehemence in Marty's voice. It was like listening to his father. If possible, his lips tightened even more. He was a Texan. He would find those tracks and be on the trail by the time Marty returned with Lorenz. Let them find him.
Chapter 20: A Hanging
Lorenz was on his haunches, slowly moving back and forth across the ground leading off the Rolfe ranch. Marty was a few feet behind him and leading Lorenz's gelding and his own horse. The rest of the men were mounted, but well behind them waiting for a signal to move forward. Finally Lorenz raised his arm and Marty approached and handed him the reins.
Lorenz took the reins, grateful to stand upright. He'd been on his haunches for an hour or more this morning, and a night of sleeping on Martin's sofa hadn't improved his disposition. When he, Marty, and Kendall arrived at Rolfe's headquarters, night was already falling and Martin and his men had managed to foul up the ground for yards around.
“Sorry it took so long, Martin. I'm not as good as Uncle Herman.”
Martin simply nodded. Neither Lorenz nor Marty had reproached him for mucking up the tracks, but he knew they were a day behind and now his little girl would be damaged goods in the eyes of the world. Listening to Brigetta cry all night had not helped.
Lorenz and Marty mounted their horses and the rest followed behind them as they led out. The group included Lorenz, Kendall, Martin and his three oldest sons, Marty, August, and Ernest. Jake Halen, a trusted, off and on Rolfe hand, rode with them.
The going was slow as Lorenz led them southward. Martin was certain that the two couldn't possibly be planning on going through Arles. Christina might not have wit enough to know that as Yankees, the Rolfe's and MacDonald's were a hated bunch, and a white woman with a Mexican would cause bloodshed, but Ortega should realize the latter. It was, mused Martin, one of the few times he had admitted that Christina might not be as bright as his boys or her mother. He wasn't even sure he should have blamed Brigetta for not keeping a better eye on her. He hadn't noticed anything and neither had his boys. They would have been the first to tease or accuse Christina if they had seen or guessed anything.
As evening approached Lorenz chose a camp nearly a day's ride from where he had nearly gut-shot his father almost twenty-three years ago. It was one of the few unfenced open stretches of river left and the river here wasn't much; enough to water your mount and wet your throat, but far better than a dry camp.
“Shouldn't we have pushed on? They can't be going on to Arles.”
“Martin, I don't think they'll both go into Arles, but Ortega probably will to buy supplies. That'll take part of their day or longer. I'll be up by first day's light and the rest of you all can follow behind again. I have a hunch they'll be slower in finding water as they won't want to be seen until they are well past Arles. We'll catch up with them in less than three days.” And that, thought Lorenz, is strictly a wild guess.
The next two days were almost as frustrating. Marty dogged Lorenz trying to absorb as much as he could about reading sign. Late in the fourth afternoon they found where they had camped. Lorenz motioned everyone to ride up.
“They camped here for longer than one night. Someone, I'm guessing Ortega, rode into Arles for supplies. They didn't move on until two days later. We're closer, and I say let's keep going. Those clouds are starting to build in the south. If they bring in rain tomorrow, I could lose their trail for good if they decide to hit the main roads. My tracking was never as good as Uncle Herman's, but I'm betting they won't try the main roads until they're farther away from Arles.”
“Let's hope to God you are right,” Martin snapped in German.
The air and ground were still warm and rain was looking closer and closer. He ignored Martin's crossness, knowing that if this were his daughter he'd be just as relentless. They moved out in single file, the rest following him.
The next day at midmorning, Lorenz found what he'd been searching for: a mind connection. He no longer needed to trail, but couldn't disclose this fact by suddenly motioning them onward. Martin might not realize something was different, but Marty w
ould. He could pick up the pace and did; he knew where the two were going.
They were headed for Mexico. Fool girl, thought Lorenz. Christina knew nothing about how to live in poverty. He dismounted less and less. At least the two had stayed off the road after trying to confuse anyone following them by riding on the road and then cutting off of it when they found a rocky stretch of ground. Ortega, like most men, didn't realize it took more than that to throw off a determined tracker. The wind grew brisker and he sent the thought command to find shelter early from the coming storm into Ortega's mind. He motioned Martin to catch up.
“Martin, I'm thinking they'll look for a place to camp early to keep out of the wind and rain. This country's been tame a long time. They might try to find a riverbank with an over hang, but that's not too safe in a downpour, plus, it would be on someone's land. It's more likely that they'll head for a rancher's line shack. Did Ortega say whether he's worked for other ranchers in this area?”
“Ja, he worked for Edwards' Triple E.”
“Ask your hand, Jake, if he knows where the line shacks are located. I know he's worked for Edwards. If their prints swing in that direction, we'll ride hard.”
For the first time in five days, Lorenz saw hope in Martin's eyes. Martin motioned Jake forward and the situation hurriedly explained.
“I can scratch you all out a map.”
“Do so.”
All three men dismounted and Jake took a stick and hurriedly scratched an outline in the dirt. “That's Edwards' land and his home. He put cabins here, here, and here. This one up towards the hills is actually the closest 'cause the other two are on the other side of the road.”
Lorenz studied it briefly and nodded. “Thanks, that's probably where they're headed.
“Martin, do y'all trust my hunches?”
Martin looked at him dumbfounded, his face reddening. “Y'all ain't trusting to being like your mother, are y'all?”
“Not entirely, but these tracks have been moving towards the southwest. I think he's headed for shelter tonight and then riding hard for the border for the next two to four days before stopping for supplies again.”
Martin's lips tightened and he nodded his assent.
“Let's ride.”
“Jake, y'all lead the way until we're about a mile within range. Then I'll make sure that they are there. We don't want to scare them off.”
Martin's eyes may have looked doubtful, but his chin was set, and he nodded. The men spurred their horses into a run. At nightfall, they stopped for a quick supper of jerky heated in water.
“I say we keep going if Jake can lead us in the dark.” Lorenz glanced up at the cloud covered sky. “There's not going to be much light from the moon, but maybe it'll be enough since we'll have to go slow.”
“We keep going.” Martin's voice was hard.
Around midnight, Jake held up his right arm and Martin and Lorenz moved up beside him.
“It's about a mile or so from here. This ain't much of a place for us to bed down.”
“It'll do. Martin, you all get some rest. I'll scout on ahead and see if they're there. I'll be back in a couple of hours for some sleep. Post someone as a lookout. I don't want one of Edward's men to start shooting, and we don't want to shoot any of them.”
To his satisfaction, Lorenz saw smoke coming from the line cabin when he was near enough to see its outline and two horses hobbled nearby. He turned his gelding around and headed back to camp. Marty was the lookout and recognized Lorenz's whistle. He added his horse to the remuda and gratefully wrapped the blanket around himself before falling asleep. Lorenz had been asleep less than two hours when Martin shook his shoulder.
“Y'all are living dangerously waking a man like that.”
“Ja, but Marty says it will soon start to break light.” Desperation edged his voice.
A desperation Lorenz understood. Martin had but one thought: get Christina to safety. He couldn't disagree with him. Ortega had no intention of marrying Christina. He'd gleaned that much from Ortega's mind.
No one bothered with breakfast. They simply saddled the hobbled horses.
“Are we riding in or walking in?”
“Martin, I'd rather take Marty and sneak down there and wait for them to walk out. No one gets hurt that way. If Christina walks out first, he's yours.”
“We'll follow slow like. If someone walks out fine, otherwise I kick the door in.”
“Why not just open it? There's no lock on a line shack.” Lorenz reminded him.
“It would make me feel better.”
Lorenz pulled on his boots and rolled up his blanket. He joined the rest and saddled his horse. The younger boys were too skittery; too ready to fire.
“Put that revolver away, Kendall. I don't want it going off accidentally.”
“It wouldn't, Pawpaw.”
Lorenz looked at his son. The answer was too confident, too cocksure. Martin's son August was holding a rifle.
“Nobody rides with their guns out. We're not expected, and I don't want Christina accidentally shot. Now put them away.”
He ignored the sick look that crossed his son's face. Kendall's practice with guns proved his natural abilities. His aim was deadly, but when a group of men started shooting at a building, anyone could be hit. Fool kid crossed his mind.
“I suggest we ride in as close as possible without being seen. We can put Kendall and Ernest in charge of the horses and we'll sneak up close. With luck, we can grab the first one that comes out. If not, we'll take Ortega when they come out ready to ride.”
Martin swallowed. “I can't think of anything better.” He looked at Marty who was swinging into the saddle. Marty looked back at the group.
“Uncle's right. We don't want Christina hurt any worse than she already is.”
The land was rolling prairie with only an occasional oak or juniper. There were no high hills, gullies, or natural lines of shrubbery to hide a man. They stopped about a quarter of a mile away and handed the horses over to the two youngest. Kendall protested.
“Ernest can handle the horses by himself. I'm sixteen now.”
“He's right.” Martin looked at Lorenz. “We want as many people around that cabin as possible.”
Lorenz gave a curt nod. Why was it, he wondered, a man may have been deeply involved in violence at a young age, but then did not want his children to have the same experience. Was the drive to protect the young that strong?
“Hunker down and move quiet.” Lorenz gave the advice to all but Marty. “Nobody draws a gun or jacks in a shell unless we're fired at. When we're close, try to find a spot that hides your body.”
Light was breaking through the thick clouds as they moved through the new prairie grass, not yet really tall enough to hide them. All of them understood that dawn's grey light could play tricks with the eyesight and not reveal as much as daylight. Lorenz wondered if they'd ride today or wait out a rain. Probably ride as they would not want to be caught on Triple E land.
The line shack was several slabs of grey wood with a door and no windows. Metal roofing provided shelter from rain. This one had a stovepipe sticking up through the roof, but no smoke billowed upward this morning.
The door opened and Christina walked out and looked around for a place of concealment while taking care of nature's demands. Her blond hair hanging loose around her shoulders and down to her waist was a shock to Marty and his anger emptied bile into his mouth. He hadn't seen her without braids in years. No decent woman let anyone but her husband see her with her hair down.
Christina's light blue eyes looked for a tree or a bush in any direction. She finally decided upon the higher grass where Lorenz lay prone in a depression between the swells and ebb of the land. She walked rapidly as she hugged her shawl around her shoulders.
Ortega stepped out of the door and walked a couple steps, unbuttoned his fly, and brought out his penis to relieve himself. As he began the morning ritual, Lorenz rose and pulled Christina down. Marty, positioned on the east
side of the shack, stood with his rifle pointed at Ortega.
The man had enough presence of mind to start to move backward, still spraying out his liquid when Marty shot at Ortega's hands. Blood spurted as Ortega screamed, and Marty moved closer, a tight lipped smile of satisfaction on his face. He hadn't emasculated the man, but Ortega would feel pain from the organ that violated his sister until he swung. And Marty fully intended a hanging would be next.
Christina was flailing her arms and screaming, trying to get to Ortega. She ignored Lorenz's attempts to quiet her when suddenly Martin was in front of them.
“What have you done?” Martin shouted in German.
Christina's blue eyes where filled with tears and she stopped screaming Ortega's name long enough to scream, “Please, Papa, I love him.”
Lorenz was still trying to keep Christina from running to Ortega and had her arms pinioned when Martin's hand cracked against Christina's face.
“What is the matter with y'all? He's a Mex.”
Lorenz dropped his arms and Christina started stumbling towards Ortega.
Martin grabbed her and shook her. “Y'all are going home.
“Lorenz, get her out of here.” He spun and walked back to where the others stood around Ortega shouting while he walked.
“Marty, get the rope.”
Christina was holding her face, rocking back and forth, unable to accept the fact that her father had actually struck her.
Lorenz was almost as dumbfounded, but found his voice and shouted at Martin. “Y'all can't hang him here. That shot will bring Edwards men. We don't want a witness. Not with our boys here, and y'all need to grab anything they might have left in the shack. Kendall, y'all saddle Christina's horse for me.”
Marty ran into the cabin and picked up the canvas bag the couple had used to carry their goods. He rapidly stuck anything of theirs into it. He picked up a petticoat belonging to Christina and realized it was stained with blood. The son-of-bitch, he thought. Hanging's too damn good. He set his mouth and shoved it into the bag to hide away his sister's shame. As he stepped outside he saw someone had tied Ortega's hands with a belt, the two-fingered hand was dripping blood downward to leave stains on the grass.