When Estanzio came for them, Gil again left Juan Padillo with the horses, and with a final admonition to keep a tight rein on Rosa. Once inside the canyon, Estanzio led them to where Mariposa waited. It was a final opportunity for them to talk before they closed in on the outlaw cabin.
“Before we go any farther,” said Van, “something’s botherin’ me. When Mariposa lets go with his cougar scream, we’re goin’ to have to cut loose on whoever steps out that door. Estanzio and Mariposa counted ten of these owlhoots. Four of ’em are out of the game, leavin’ six. When Mariposa throws the cougar scare into ’em, they may not all come boilin’ out in a bunch. Six rifles can’t kill a cougar any deader than one rifle. I reckoned this was a good idea at first, but if we only draw a couple of ’em out of that cabin, our shooting will warn the others. Shootin’ from cover, they can stand us off till Hell freezes, or sneak out a back door we don’t know about. If a couple of ’em managed to get out and up on that rim with rifles, they could make it hot for us.”
“We won’t risk that,” said Gil, “because we’ll have a couple of our men on that rim, above the cabin. Estanzio, you and Mariposa get your horses, take your rifles, and ride to that rim above the cabin. When the two of you are ready, Mariposa can do his cougar cry from there. Even if all six of ’em come out the door, there’s still nine of us, and we’ll have surprise on our side. Mariposa, you and Estanzio watch close. I’d gamble there’s a back door to that cabin, and some of these coyotes may run for it. You’ll be able to see us in the canyon. If you reach the rim before we’re ready, wait for us. After that, it’s time for Mariposa’s solo.”
Estanzio and Mariposa faded into the shadows, and Gil continued.
“We’ll spread out, facing the cabin. Nobody fires until I do. We’ll get within range, but no closer. After the first round of firing, hold your positions. If they don’t all come out that door pronto, we’ll have to depend on Estanzio and Mariposa catching them as they sneak out somewhere on the rim. Now let’s take our positions and be done with this.”
Again they crept down the canyon until they were within a few yards of the darkened cabin. Gil led them along the west wall until they were fanned out, forty yards from the cabin door. Gil thought he detected movement on the rim, and within seconds there came a hair-raising screech that would have been the envy of every cougar in Mexico. Even before it died away, there was the frightened nickering of horses and the terrified bawling of cattle. Then there was the thud of hoofs, as the animals fled to the farthest ends of the canyon. Suddenly the cabin door swung open and two men stepped out carrying rifles. A third followed, and the trio stood there uncertainly, as though hoping the menace had departed on its own. Since there had been no shooting, Mariposa let loose a second bloodcurdling squall which seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere.
“Damn it,” bawled a voice from the cabin, “he’s on the rim! Move out there where you can see to shoot!”
When the three moved away from the door, a fourth and fifth man emerged. Gil dropped the fifth man and Van the fourth, and there was a simultaneous thunder of rifles as the rest of the riders began firing. In seconds, five men were down, and the firing ceased. The silence that prevailed seemed all the more intense. Gil broke it with a challenge.
“You in the cabin,” he shouted, “you’re surrounded.”
There was no response, and he expected none. It had been a warning to Estanzio and Mariposa that they hadn’t been able to account for all the outlaws. Van had moved up beside Gil.
“Cover me,” he said, “and I’ll move in from the side of the cabin, make my way to the door and kick it open. I ain’t of a mind to stand here until daylight. With the door open, we can throw enough lead in there to be sure it’s empty.”
“That sixth man may be inside,” said Gil, “just waitin’ for such a move. There may be gaps between the logs, and you could be gunned down from what you think is a blind side.”
Then, as though in answer to his objection, there was a distant rifle shot. It came from somewhere beyond the canyon rim.
“There’s the sixth man,” said Van. “I’m goin’ to kick in that door and end this standoff. I’ll move in from the side, and if that door should move, pour some lead through it.”
Gil didn’t doubt the cabin was empty. The bodies of five men lay before it, and like Van, he believed the shot they’d just heard accounted for the sixth outlaw. But still he was uneasy, as that old premonition dug its claws into him. Van approached the cabin from the north side, and Gil kept his eyes on the closed door. Van reached the hinged side of the door, kicked it as hard as he could, and it slammed against the inside wall. But there was a spark of life in one of the outlaws sprawled before the cabin. Partially through caution, partially from weakness, he eased his pistol free. In the still of the night the cocking of the weapon seemed inordinately loud. It was the most unmistakable sound a frontiersman ever heard, and as Van turned, his Colt was in his hand. There was a roar, and a tongue of flame seemed to leap from the ground. The slug drove Van against the cabin wall, and he hung there, barely conscious. Somewhere, rifles roared, but to him they seemed muffled and far away. He slid to a sitting position, his back to the cabin wall, and the next thing he knew, Gil was beside him.
“You’re right…more…than you’re…wrong,” he mumbled.
Ramon and the rest of the riders surged into the cabin. With the aid of a sulfur match, Ramon found candles on a shelf, and lighted two of them. Vicente Gomez helped Gil bring Van into the cabin. Wooden bunks had been built along the walls, with only thin straw ticks over bare wood. They lifted Van onto one of the bunks, and even in the poor light from a guttering candle, they could see the blood soaking the front of Van’s shirt. Gil held his breath as he unbuttoned the shirt, praying the slug hadn’t pierced a lung or some other vital organ. He sighed with relief when he found the wound was high, just under the left collarbone. Unless the lead had struck a bone and been deflected elsewhere, there would be an exit wound. Having similar thoughts, Ramon brought one of the candles closer. They lifted Van enough to strip off the shirt, and with Ramon holding the candle, they found the exit wound above the shoulder blade. At least it was clean, with no lead to be dug out, but it was serious none the less.
“No bueno,” said Ramon, “no malo.”
It was one of those things that could go either way. Many a man on the frontier had received a superficial wound, only to die from infection. There was the sound of approaching horses, as Estanzio and Mariposa returned. Gil looked up and found the Indian vaqueros watching silently from the doorway. Estanzio raised one finger. The outlaw gang was finished. Gil had known they were a resourceful outfit, but this night they outdid themselves. The cabin had a fireplace, and already there was a fire going. Hanging above it, suspended from an iron rail, was a cast-iron pot that had been filled with water. Ramon had sent Estanzio and Mariposa to help Juan Padillo bring in the horses. Soon Rosa was there, wishing to help, but not knowing quite how. The riders were searching the outlaw cabin.
“I need some whiskey,” said Gil. “Enough so that I can pour some of it into this wound and the rest down him when the fever comes.”
Their search unearthed all manner of things, including some stick candy, but no whiskey. They found a tin of sulfur salve for the doctoring of livestock, but that was all. Gil cleansed the wound with hot water and applied some of the salve, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. Fever would come, and with it, killer infection.
“Ramon,” said Gil in desperation, “I need something to cauterize this wound, to prevent infection, to fight the fever when it comes.”
“Maguey cacto,” said Ramon. “Much alcoholico. Make pulque.”
“I need some of this cactus medicina,” said Gil. “Where and how do we get it?”
“Juan Padillo find,” said Ramon.
“I’ll go with him at first light,” said Gil. “There is much to do. Choose two riders to stay here with Van and Rosa, then you take the others and ride back to
where we left the rest of our horses and cows. Drive them here, so that all of our stock is gathered in this canyon. We’ll be here until Van’s able to ride.”
“Comprender,” said Ramon. “I find and tell.”
Gil saw him speaking earnestly to Juan Padillo. Juan was less talkative than Estanzio and Mariposa, and Gil wondered why Ramon had chosen him. Van had begun breathing hard, and Gil chafed at the delay. He had heard of the potent maguey liquor called pulque, but the sap had to ferment for a day and a night. Granny Austin had called the maguey a “century plant,” because it bloomed only once in its lifetime. The rising sap produced the bloom, and only a maguey about to bloom could be “milked.” Evidently, Juan Padillo knew how to draw the sap and where to find the plants. Gil was still uneasy. Allowing time for the maguey sap to ferment, he was still twenty-four hours away from being able to help Van. By then there would be a raging fever. Rosa came over to the bunk and stood looking at the restless Van.
“Malo?” she asked.
“Malo,” said Gil.
“Triste,” she said. “Muy triste. He bueno hombre.”
Her eyes were somber. She was sorry.
“Gracias,” said Gil. “At dawn, I go with Juan Padillo for medicina.”
“Whiskey,” she said. She had begun picking up some English.
“Si,” said Gil. “While Juan and me are gone, you look after Van for me.”
He pointed away, then to her, and finally to Van.
“Comprender,” she said, pleased. She flashed him that half smile, still a little sad, but the remembered sorrow had begun to fade from her eyes.
They felt safe enough in the seclusion of the canyon to have a breakfast fire before first light. There had been some provisions in the outlaw cabin, including coffee beans, bacon, dried apples, and several kinds of dried beans. While waiting for first light, some of the riders had begun going through the confiscated weapons and ammunition. There were three Colt revolvers, with a supply of ammunition. They’d found an iron skillet, and Rosa was on her knees before the fire, frying bacon. Van had spent the night in fitful sleep, and seemed to have some fever. It would rise as the day wore on, and Gil feared it would be rampant before they could concoct the medicine to combat it. With the first gray light of dawn, he looked at Juan Padillo, and the vaquero nodded. One of the useful items they had found was a large old army canteen with a stopper. Gil had cleaned it up, and into it would go the maguey sap. As he and Juan rode out, Ramon and the riders he had chosen to go with him were saddling up. Juan Alamonte and Pedro Fagano would remain at the cabin with Van and Rosa. Gil and Juan left the canyon at the south end and continued on down the winding creek Juan seemed to know exactly where he was going, and Gil followed in silence. He desperately wanted some idea as to how long this trip might take. When they had been on the trail an hour, they reined up to rest the horses.
“Muchos cacto?” Gil asked, holding up the canteen he hoped to fill.
“Uno,” said Juan, holding up one finger.
They rode over mostly stone-studded slopes where there was little moisture and the hoofs of their horses kicked up dust. It was the kind of land on which most cacti native to Mexico seemed to thrive. As far as Gil knew, he’d never seen the maguey, and when they found one, he was astounded at the size of the thing. He had seen a ripe pine-apple once, and this big maguey reminded him of the foliage at the stem end of that pineapple. The leaves were thick and broad at the base, tapering off to sharp points, and flared up like a mass of green flames. The farthest tips were over their heads. Juan raised his hand, and Gil remained in the saddle while the vaquero dismounted. He parted the broad leaves of the maguey until he was able to reach the base of the plant from which the bloom would rise. He backed away, shaking his head, mounted his horse, and they rode on. Gil lost count of the many plants Juan inspected and rejected. He believed they were a good thirty miles south of the canyon when Juan eventually found what he was seeking. This maguey was as large or larger than the one they’d first found, the difference being that this one had formed a large bud near its base. Left on its own, the plant would raise a stalk with a bloom at the top. With his Bowie, Juan carefully cut around the outside of the bud. Then he pulled the bud loose, like taking the cork from a bottle, leaving a natural bowl. Even as he watched, Gil could see the sap seeping into the hollow of the stalk.
“What happens to the maguey after we take the sap?” Gil asked. Without thinking, he had spoken in English. To his surprise, Juan answered him in English.
“Him die,” said Juan. “Sap make stalk, stalk make bloom. No sap, no stalk, no bloom.”
Gil thought it took the bowl almost an hour to fill. Juan went to his horse, and from the saddlebag took a bone spoon. Gil handed him the canteen. Carefully Juan spooned the sap into the canteen until the maguey’s bowl was empty. They waited while more sap collected. The August sun bore down unmercifully. Sweat dripped off Gil’s chin and soaked the armpits of his shirt. Juan waited with the patience and determination of an Indian, saying nothing. Six times the bowl filled, and Juan patiently spooned the liquid into the canteen. After that only a little sap collected. The flow had ceased.
“Him dead,” said Juan. He handed Gil the canteen. “More?” he asked.
Gil tilted the canteen until he could see the liquid. One more time would have filled it. He weighed the odds. They were far from the canyon, and might search until dark without finding another maguey about to bloom.
“We’ll go with this,” he said. “Gracias, amigo.”
Juan nodded, and they mounted up and rode out. Juan set a faster pace, knowing the job wasn’t finished. The sap still must ferment to be of any use. Gil only hoped there would be enough. He caught Juan’s eye and tilted the canteen, as though drinking.
“Much?” he asked.
“Little,” said Juan, shaking his head. “Pulque strong. Much kill.”
Gil had heard old-timers in St. Louis speak of the stuff, claiming it was at least 140 proof. He trusted Juan’s judgment. He would be very careful. They reached the canyon two hours before sundown, to find that Ramon and his riders hadn’t yet returned with the rest of the herd. Van tossed restlessly, talking out of his head. Rosa had found some rags, was soaking them in cold water and applying them to his face. There was no wind, and the sun had dropped to just the right level to beam all its August heat against the cabin and the canyon wall. Gil went outside, wondering where Ramon and the rest of the riders were. The sun had dropped below the west wall of the canyon when they heard a horseman coming, riding hard. Gil was out the door and waiting when Vicente Gomez reined up on his lathered horse.
“Cougar kill cow,” he said, “herd scattered. Find some caballos, some vacas. Find others mañana, mebbe.”
15
It was bad news. After a cougar kill, the terrified horses and longhorns might run for miles. Gil knew he needed to be with Ramon and the outfit as they sought to gather the scattered herds, but he dared not leave Van until the fever broke. He couldn’t help having doubts as to the medicinal benefits of the fermented maguey sap. All he knew of the powers of the stuff was what he had read and the little he had heard. Once the medicine was ready, he wanted to administer it himself. Lest he be tempted to use the mixture before it was ready, he decided Juan Padillo would say when the sap had fermented to maximum potency. Vicente awaited his response. Gil spoke.
“Vicente, catch up a fresh horse. Ramon left Manuel and Pedro here with Van, but I’m sending them back with you. I must stay here until there is some change in Van’s condition, and I’m keeping Juan Padillo with me. I know Ramon needs us all, but there’ll be nine of you, and that will have to be enough. Tell Ramon to continue the search until sundown tomorrow. The following day, he should drive the horses and cows he has gathered to this canyon. Left untended, a cougar scream could stampede them all again. Once the new gather is safe here in the canyon, we can always ride back and continue the search. Comprender?”
“Comprender,” said Vicente. He
unsaddled his tired horse and caught up another. Gil found Manuel and Pedro, and they went to saddle their own horses. It would be well past dark before the three vaqueros reached Ramon’s camp. Gil and Juan Padillo watched the trio ride away. Before they reached the south end of the canyon, they were lost in purple shadow. Gil walked to the cabin to see if Van’s condition had changed for the better, knowing it had not. He found the tireless Rosa still soaking rags in cold water and applying them to Van’s forehead, face, and neck.
“Rosa,” he said, his hand on her shoulder, “take a rest.”
“No tired,” she said. He was amazed at how rapidly she learned. But he thought he knew why she kept herself occupied, however trivial the task. Not only had she lost her parents, she evidently had witnessed their torture and murder. The horrifying scene had burned itself into her mind, and she was keeping it at bay the only way she knew how. She often fell prey to it at night, and wept in her sleep. Every man in the outfit had begun listening for the start of her nightmares, responding with a reassuring hand, calming her. She paused, pointing to the candle on the table.
“Candle,” said Gil.
She repeated it after him until she got it right. It had become a game. She would pick up or point to something, and he would name it for her in English. At first the Spanish-speaking riders had been amused, but as her English improved, they became envious. It had sparked a desire within them to better their own English. After all, were they not on their way to a country where familiarity with the language would be beneficial? Rosa’s sudden intake of breath startled Gil. Van had opened his eyes, and to their surprise, he spoke.
“Pretty senorita,” he mumbled. “Have I died and gone to Heaven?”
“Not yet,” said Gil, moving his stool closer to the bunk. “Juan Padillo milked a maguey plant. The sap has to set overnight until it ferments. Then it should have enough alcohol in it to kill any infection. After that, you get a strong dose of what’s left, to sweat the fever out of you. How do you feel?”
The Bandera Trail Page 19