The younger ones loved to play hide and seek. They waited impatiently for Chica to give them their due. She was not bold and reckless when she was with them. She reverted to a childlike state, grasping to recreate the childhood she never had and this always made her particularly happy. Alanza was not a good participant, however, and whenever it came time for Chica to hide, the pony would constantly seek her out, and find her before the children could finish counting. They protested, and despite being scolded by all, Alanza would simply shake her head and snort. She liked to play as much as they. Chica led her to a narrow slot which opened to a box canyon. The children sometimes kept goats here when they needed to contain them. They had collected piles of dead graythorn, and placed it in the gap. Alanza was irritated, and pawed the ground, calling out to Chica and standing on her hind legs, to get a glimpse of her mistress over the newly formed hedge.
Finally, when Alanza was adequately sequestered, they could play in earnest. It was the children’s turn to hide, and Chica would have to go find them all. It was always this way. The children all got to team up on Chica, but she had to find each one individually.
A brother and a sister hid together, at the bottom of a canyon. Chica found the others easily, but these two were being tricky. As Chica wandered further away from the others, she detected the unmistakable metallic scent of rain, but there was no sign of it. The sky was a cloudless blue. She walked further, and considered going back for Alanza. She did not like to wander far on foot and the two siblings were being especially difficult to find.
Finally, she gave up. A feeling of foreboding inspired her to end the game. She called out to them, telling them they had won, to come in for the great prize. She listened and waited. She continued to call for them as she walked, and was drawn to the sound of water rushing. She could finally make out the muffled cries and ran in the direction of the sound. The children had found a good hiding place at the base of a slot canyon and, while preoccupied, became stranded by a flood of brown water. It was running faster and more furious by the minute. They were stranded in a little island, which would soon be under many tons of angry water, full of debris and ready to take them to their deaths. Chica ran back toward the village and began a loud song-like call to Alanza repeatedly. The pony heard her and began to pace. She pawed at the thorn bushes blocking her path. She ran in circles looking for a way out. Finally, she ran hard, jumped, and cleared the barrier before her, running in the direction of her mistress. She loped up to Chica, snorting and nodding her head energetically.
The children were frantic. They knew what floods like this could do and had lost members of the family to them. They squeezed together on the very top of the little remaining ground, watching in horror as the earth around them became saturated, then turned to a muddy soup. They called out to Chica.
Chica jumped on Alanza’s back in one motion. She rode hard across the rushing water, and Alanza quickly became bogged down in the loosened, muddy earth. She got close enough to the mound and grabbed the girl. She pulled her onto her lap and turned Alanza around. She made it back to safety.
She wheeled about and rushed toward the boy, but Alanza could not negotiate the water, and began to founder. They drifted downstream and crashed into the bank of rocky ground on the other side, which was, at least closer to the boy. He was crying now. He was holding fast to some brush which was bound to be washed free at any moment. Chica feared the worst. She rode Alanza up the other bank and threw a rope around the brush the boy was using to keep from being washed away. She tied the other end off to the saddle horn. She dropped to the ground, pulled her boots and gun belt off. She threw her sombrero on top of her traps and waded, barefoot into the rushing water. She held onto the rope and reached the boy. He held onto her now, desperately. His face showed no understanding of what was happening. He was completely overtaken by panic. Chica gained control of the child and tied him to her waist. She waited. She watched the water rise until it was up to her chest and held the boy next to her, which seemed to calm him. This was the first time in her life she was truly afraid. This was not an enemy she could shoot or stab or outrun. The energy of the rushing water was awesome, and Chica knew that if it continued to build, or any large debris flowed down over them, they would not survive.
She began to pray, but could not remember the fancy prayers the priest had taught her, so she just began to call out the names of Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and every saint name she had ever heard. She dug her toes into the muddy earth beneath her feet, and held onto the rope, which vibrated steadily. She was certain she could feel Alanza’s heart beating; the bewildered animal looked on at Chica, just a few yards away. It was as if the horse knew the danger her mistress was in, and stood, resolutely, keeping the rope taut, the lifeline between her and her beloved.
The girl had gone back to the village for help, and several of the family were now waiting helplessly on the bank. There was nothing they could do for the pair, and looked on desperately, as the water was now up to Chica’s neck. She held the child tightly against her chest, raising him up until he was nearly sitting on her shoulders. Broken sticks and branches had torn Chica’s shirt to shreds and then into her back and neck. She was certain she would not sit down for a week. She thought about the Pendejo. She wondered what he would think if she did not return. She was sorry that she had left him again, and resolved to go to him if she were to survive this ordeal. She prayed some more.
And finally, almost as quickly as it came, the waters began to recede. In another hour, they were down to her waist, and after another hour, she was able to wade through the receding flood, holding onto the rope, and making it back to Alanza. She lay down with the boy and held him in her arms. He was shaking from fear and exposure, and the sun beating down on them felt good. It felt good to be alive, and Chica said another prayer, thanking the Virgin for sparing them. She promised to pay tribute when she saw the priest.
And by sundown the torrent was nearly gone, nearly a memory, Chica and the boy rode Alanza back across the muddy remains to the family waiting on the other side. They cheered and cried and hugged. Chica was pleased. She was, once again, the hero of the Indios. She was proud that she was so heroic and she was proud of Alanza. She was afraid, but she never lost her nerve, and she behaved with grace and courage. She knew in her heart that if it were not for her, the children would be dead.
They made their way back to the village, and the women pulled Chica’s clothes off, bathed her, and tended to her wounds. Like some great, mythical warrior, she was home from battle, and the mere mortals were awestruck by this goddess’s presence. She was the closest thing to an immortal that they would ever behold, and they treated her accordingly. That night, they dined on elk and drank and celebrated the survival of the children. It was more gratifying to Chica than her experience with the traveling show people. She was proud.
She stayed with the Indians for another week. Her abrasions were healing and she could tolerate her clothes covering them by then, and she was able to sleep and rest and dream. She mostly spent time watching the children, enjoying them enjoying the gifts she had brought.
The women never questioned Chica about anything. They did not know why she was so good to them. They never knew when she would appear to them, and never gave it a thought to ask her anything about her life. Of course, they remembered nursing her back to health when she had been wounded by the gambler’s little gun. And this was no small task as Chica was at death’s door when she wandered into their lives, but Chica had repaid them a long time ago.
They knew that Chica was an outlaw, and likely a loose woman, but they could not help but love her. Chica was what every one of them dreamed of being, in a sense. She was fearless, and answered to no one. No man, no chief, no boss, not even to any form of society or government that they could see. She did adhere, loosely, to some form of Christianity, but it seemed to them that Chica even seemed to be master of that realm. As if Jesus Christ himself would have to conform to Chica’s world, ra
ther than the other way around.
And now she had defeated death by Mother Nature, the greatest adversary of all. Chica had beaten the flood. She had robbed death of the two children, and she had once again robbed death of Chica.
XVI Subterfuge
The handsome young Texan sat, dried blood pasting flat his curly hair. Two men sat across the table from him. They played cards while they waited. He had been ambushed and they had gotten the best of him. He could do nothing now but wait for what was to come. He asked for a drink of water, and the men ignored him. He asked again, and one stood up and kicked his chair backward, causing him to strike his head on the floor. He once again lost consciousness.
When he awoke, the man in the mustard ditto suit was sitting at the table. He did not know this man. The little shack was crowded now. He figured he was at an abandoned mine, and sitting in one of the outbuildings there.
“So, you are one of the Arizona Rangers?” The old man did not look up from his cards.
“I cannot say I know what you are talking about, Mister.” He remained polite.
One of the henchmen threw the Ranger star on the table. ‘We found this on him.”
“Oh, so you are not so fond of the star, I see.” He put the cards on the table. “By the end of the night, you will wish you had eaten that star, boy.” His lips curled into a sneer.
“You can go to hell.”
The henchman stood up and approached him. The young Ranger anticipated another beating. He decided that he would do something before they finished him. He stood on his feet and, using the chair, pushed back against the wall and transferred his weight to his trussed arms. He kicked sideways at the man. The heel of his boot smashed the man’s jaw, dropping him to the floor. The Texan kicked again, down with the rowel of his big Texas spur and punctured the man’s throat. He put all the weight of his body onto the rowel of the spur, and drove it to the man’s spine, severing the artery in his neck. The man began gagging on his own blood.
The old man stood up, and the young Ranger tried the same trick, this time only gashing the old man’s cheek. The third man hit him hard across the face, and knocked him back to the floor.
The old man felt the gash on his face. He looked down at the henchman on the floor, bleeding out. He would not live long. He turned his attention to the Ranger and ordered the second henchmen, “Get him upright.” He grabbed the badge and shoved the star’s clasp through the man’s cheek. The young Texan would not cry out.
“You are tough.”
He motioned for the remaining henchman to leave. He took a stick of dynamite from his pocket and began working a fuse into one end. “A half stick’ll do.” He looked up at the Ranger and smiled. He struck a match.
The Ranger looked up at a sign over the door. It read No Smoking. He pulled his tongue free of the pin, and spoke with difficulty. “An open flame’s not very safe,” he nodded toward the sign and the old man turned to look.
“You have a good sense of humor, lad.” He lit the dynamite. He let it burn awhile, smoke began to fill the room. He placed it under the young man’s chair. He looked at him. He simply said, “Good bye,” and walked out of the little shack. An ear and the star were recovered and mailed to Dick Welles.
Dick Welles paced around the room, waiting for Arvel to finish reading the letter. The box of badges and ears sat on the desk, next to Arvel’s coffee.
The letter read:
Honorable Captain Welles:
Enclosed, please find some remains and the badges of two of your Rangers. They died horribly, yet honorably. Please be warned that the contents of this letter should be shared with no one. This is a matter strictly between you and me.
My requirements are as follows. It is necessary that you begin to work with our organization in all matters related to the Arizona territory and its borders. I represent a National organization with powers at the highest levels of this government as well as many governments around the world. Resistance would be futile.
In the event that you choose to ignore this friendly warning, please be advised that you will continue to receive packages containing the badges and ears of your Rangers. Additionally, you will be interested to note that we are in regular communication with your son, Michael, in San Francisco. As you know, he continues to have a particular problem with laudanum. His bad luck at the various gambling houses, unfortunately, continue to burden him.
I will look for your advertisement in the Daily Star. Please enter the following; “Will await instructions.” I will send you correspondence when I see you are ready to work with our organization. Please do not tarry, Captain Welles. I will wait until the twenty fifth of the month, at which time you can expect another package bearing another unpleasant surprise.
Sincerely yours,
A Friend
Arvel beckoned Dick to sit down. “This is a bad business, Dick. But we know something that they don’t know.”
Dick looked up. “What’s that?”
“That we’re a team, that you’re not corruptible. They think that they can get inside our organization through you. That’s good.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
“But what can we do about Michael?” Arvel looked Dick in the eye.
“And the men. Look, Arvel, you know my problems with Michael. He’s been a problem for me for years. But I have all the other men to worry about now, and I have an obligation to the territory. I’ve given this a lot of thought, and that’s why I brought you the letter. I’ve been sending Michael money for years. I’ve tried to help him, but, he’s not gotten any better. I’m afraid this is a hard bed he’s made for himself, and he’s just going to have to lie in it.”
“But these boys don’t fool around, Dick. If we don’t play this right, he might end up dead.”
“Then we’ll just have to play it right.”
“Who else knows about this letter, Dick?”
“No one.”
“We’ll keep it that way. Meaning, no one, and I mean no one, not my uncle, not your family, not Dan, not any other Rangers, okay?”
The reality of Rangering hit home. Up until this time, to his mind, only his own life was at stake. Certainly the Rangers reporting to him faced the dangers of lawmen, but this was assassination, and now Dick’s son was at risk. What next? Could Uncle Bob or the ranch hands, or Pilar, be in danger? It was a sobering thought. Who could these people be? An international organization, here, in Arizona? It was difficult to comprehend.
Dick sent his response to the newspaper, and received another letter. This time, he was given specific instructions on a planned Wells Fargo coach robbery. The expected take was a forty-thousand dollar payroll. The letter detailed exactly what would happen. There was an assurance that no blood would be spilled, providing nothing happened on the part of the Rangers.
Arvel studied the letter.
“What’re we going to do now, Arvel? We can’t just let them waltz off with forty-thousand dollars. That’s complicity.”
“Well, it’s your first test, Dick. You pass this one, and others’ll no doubt follow. It’s really the only way to keep Michael and the Rangers from being killed.” He lit a cigarette and offered one to Dick. He lit it quickly off of Arvel’s and paced around nervously, smoking.
“That’s not a good enough reason.”
“No, but it is also not the only reason, Dick. We’ve nothing to go on right now. We don’t know who these people are, or if in fact it is people. It might just be one person.”
“Or an international organization. My God, I thought we were going to be chasing down some cattle rustlers when I took this job. What have we gotten into, Arvel?”
“Don’t know, Dick.” He sat back in his chair and rubbed his forehead. It was a bad business, indeed. The villain was into dramatics, that was certain. “Let’s see what we’ve got, Dick. We know that, for forty-thousand dollars we buy some time, we learn more about this outfit, we save lives, in the form of the stagecoach drivers, our Ran
gers, and Michael.”
“Right.”
“And the alternative is to go ahead and intervene.”
“Right.”
“But you know they’ll be watching, and if there is so much as a hint of Ranger intervention, they’ll just not do the robbery, and we’ll get nothing, except to incur the wrath of whomever is writing these letters. And, we’ll lose his confidence in you, and we are back to square one, and can expect more ears and badges in the post.”
“And Michael effected, maybe killed.”
“Right.” Arvel lit another smoke. “So, the logical thing to do is let the robbery happen.”
“We can’t do that, Arvel.”
“Or maybe we can.” He began to grin. “Dick, you trust me, right?”
“With my life and with the lives of my family.”
The Mule Tamer Page 19