A Woman Clothed in Sun

by Jeanne Williams

  Other warriors had followed that daredevil charge. Enough broke through to keep the lance and machete men busy while carbines spat toward the banks and the river. A few warriors fought their way back past Luz’s men and ran after the fleeing women, but when the last shot echoed along the cliffs by the eagles’ nest, scores of painted bronze bodies lay scattered, tangled with their horses and with one another.

  Not all were dead. Vaqueros, most of them marked by the battle, dispatched with machete or knife the wounded, who could neither ask for nor expect mercy, as well as horses too badly hurt to live. As knives flashed around scalplocks, Matthew started to protest, but Quil spoke in his ear. “It’s not pure vengeance. The government pays a bounty on Indian scalps.”

  Matt tied part of his shirt around his freshly wounded arm and went to see how his men had fared. Tomás was dead, his red hair now a deeper scarlet; the grizzled old sharpshooter who had foretold that some must die lay with an arrow in his throat. One man groaned, his head caved in by a hoof. Matt cleansed and bandaged him with the rest of his shirt, then checked the other breastwork. One man was lanced through, but the others seemed to be out looting Comanches.

  His carbine held above his head, Matt waded across the Rio, past islands of human and animal dead. Young Changa was having a prickly pear poultice bound over one buttock by Luz, who helped him tug up his bloodstained trousers before turning to Matthew with a laugh.

  “Here’s one monkey with a sore tail! He’ll want to ride home on his belly!”

  “How many dead?”

  “Only one,” called Luz over his shoulder, in a hurry to join the scalp takers. “You should have been a general of the armies, Don Mateo!”

  Four men dead, one seriously hurt, many lesser injuries. Matt moved slowly down to the river, faint from loss of blood, revolted at the joking laughter of the vaqueros as they brandished Comanche hair. He could understand their joy at defeating a dread enemy who for years had killed or enslaved them at will, but … Matthew shrugged. The bounty paid for these scalps would be more money than most of these vaqueros had seen or would ever see again.

  They returned to Tres Coronas carrying two hundred and twenty Comanche scalps.

  Don Celestino insisted on making the ride to help Matt select his stock, but it caused his damaged leg much pain. His lips were pale and the grooved lines along his mouth seemed to grow deeper as he watched his men cut out the seed cattle he and Matt had picked. They also selected some of the heavier shorthorn strain, some Spanish “blacks,” and several many-colored Mexican cattle.

  “God wills that I must thank a gringo for protecting my herds and people,” the Don said, as they rode back. “So I do thank you, heartily—and God, too, for I love this land of mine better than I’ve cared for any mortal except my son. If I could, I’d cover and protect it with my body. Some think there is silver in this earth and have offered me riches to let them rip it up. I would as soon tear open the belly of my bride.”

  “Other Comanches may come,” Matthew warned.

  “So will death and drought,” shrugged the Don, his hawk eyes crinkling at the edges. “But you’ve shown my men they can outwit and vanquish these Comanches they have dreaded since they sucked from their mothers’ breasts. And we have arms now. During the Comanche Moons, we’ll post lookouts, and ambush again if we must.” He looked speculatively at Matt. “Luz is my natural son. When Carmen was young, she had beauty as great as her present bulk, and there are other sons of my loins on this ranch who will have some share in it after I am dead. But if you’ll be my foreman, I’ll give you a house of your own, land for you and your descendants. You would grow prosperous much faster than you will in that mountainous bend across the Rio.”

  Startled, Matt gazed at the Don, saw the fierce old man was not joking and looked about the stretching pastures, rich with cattle, horses and sheep. He had to consider the offer, for it was a breathtaking one, but not for a moment did it speak to his heart, and so he shook his head.

  “A thousand thanks, Don Celestino, but I must return to my own country and my own place.”

  “And your own woman?” smiled the Don.

  Matt laughed. “My own wife,” he corrected.

  They rode in silence until they reached the sheep ranges and Inocencio ran out to kiss his master’s hand—the hand of the son of the man who had torn out a child’s tongue, so that Inocencio could only bleat his words.

  The sheep seemed plump and content with their sparse grass. They had been sheared not long ago, and leggy young lambs frolicked about or pestered their mothers.

  “This fall the rams will batter the ewes, and in spring you can see a sight that pleases me more than the entrechats and jetés of any ballet troupe—and I have seen the best of Paris, Havana and Berlin!” said the Don. “Take a start of sheep, Mateo. Nothing gladdens the heart more than to see hundreds of lambs playing, full of good milk and gay spirits!”

  “No,” said Matt, giving Inocencio tobacco and brown sugar. “Thank you, but I prefer cows. I don’t understand sheep.”

  “Follow your will,” said the Don, “but one day sheep will earn more wealth than cattle.”

  His face was drawn now from the pain in his leg, and they pressed on toward the ranch, passing the campo santo by the church, where five new graves bore garlands and ribbons. The man with the kicked head had not survived the journey home. But the widows and families of those who had died were proud in their mourning. Their men could have died as sport for the Comanches or in defending their own hearths; as it was, they had fallen while protecting Tres Coronas and died as heroes. The Don had promised that none of their families would ever want.

  Matt’s cattle, two hundred head, and a dozen good horses, cloth, serapes, a big copper bottle and Chihuahua-purchased glass, hinges and tools, all the Don could spare, were readied for the journey home.

  Don Celestino had ordered ten of his men to see the small caravan safely to Matt’s valley. Matt was having a last meal with the Don before taking his leave, a meal served by María, who never seemed to take her dark wondering gaze from Matthew except when he looked up and she turned away in confusion.

  “You didn’t take her to your bed,” mused Don Celestino. Doña Anatacia had not joined them so he could speak freely. “Your wife must be a fair woman indeed!”

  Embarrassed for the girl, who was within earshot, Matt answered diplomatically, “María is too pretty a girl to court with one’s mind on Comanches.”

  She looked at him with a glow of happiness, and when she brought them peach brandy in the heavy antique goblets, she knelt almost to his hand and murmured, “Go with God, Don Mateo. May our Lady protect you and all that is yours.”

  “Even your wife,” smiled the Don, when María’s skirts had whispered out. “It’s well you go, Mateo! I’d lose all my people if you stayed long. You’ve gained not only livestock but men as well—if Changa can be called one!”

  Matt blinked. “What do you mean?”

  “Before they left with your livestock, Quil and Changa appeared before me. They asked my permission, if you consented, to stay with you and be your men.”

  So that was why Quil had asked Matt if he had any slaves!

  “I knew nothing of this,” Matthew said slowly, touched but not wishing the Don to think he had coaxed away the two.

  The old hidalgo laughed. “Women need coaxing, men who are worth having do not. Nor does a man serve well if his wishes lie elsewhere. Quil is the best man I have ever had, at dull work as well as at tailing the bulls or throwing them by their horns. At trailing and taming wild horses he is without equal. Changa, for all his tricks, is more man than monkey.”

  “I’m glad to have them, of course,” said Matt. “But I hope we won’t have to fight any more Comanches!”

  “Well, there are Apaches, and there will be bandits, both gringo and Mexican,” shrugged the Don fatalistically. “But let us hope you will be established in power before the human wolves sniff your scent!”

 
“You’ve been very generous,” Matt said. “If I can ever be of assistance, let me know.”

  “You mean that?”

  “Of course,” said Matt, surprised.

  “Then come with me.” Don Celestino rose and moved into the house, turning toward Doña Anatacia’s rooms.

  Matt stopped, blood pounding in his ears. Don Celestino spoke without turning. “Get me an heir, Mateo.”

  “But—the señora—”

  “We have spoken. She would welcome your child. I shall adopt him, naturally.”

  Matt knew it was an honor. But to be picked for this like a prize bull, even by hidalgos! He didn’t know whether to laugh or refuse.

  As it happened, he did neither. The Don vanished through an arch. Before Matt could follow, a door opened. Anatacia’s fragrance reached him along with her hesitant husky voice.

  She stood in the doorway, her long black hair loosed over her shoulders. The filmy white robe barely concealed the proud thrust of her high petal-tipped breasts, the nipples erect. She was a magnificent woman, imperious in her need, irresistible.

  “Mateo,” she said again. Her eyes met his directly, though her lips trembled. “My brother wants an heir. But—that’s not why I’m here for you like this. Love me, Mateo. This one time!”

  She reached out her hands, wistful, imploring. Matt swept her into his arms and bent his mouth to hers.

  The Don walked with Matt to the front of the house where Luz held Storm. And there was a wagon filled with the iron hinges, glass and tools that were part of Matthew’s wage, and bundles with green leaves sticking out.

  “A gift for your lady,” explained the Don. “There are six small peach saplings there, and four young pomegranates, as well as seed from our best squash, melons and beans and sacks of cornmeal. Tell her I hope they thrive and bear much fruit, as I trust she will.” The Don gripped Matthew’s shoulders. Moisture made his russet eyes even brighter and more piercing.

  “Vaya con Dios, gringo! If you tire of the other side, cross the Rio to Tres Coronas!” He turned as quickly as his leg permitted and went inside.

  Matt shook hands with Luz. They wished each other luck, and Matt rode north.

  He caught up with his herd at sundown, joked a minute with Changa, who’d devised a hollowed-out cushion to protect his wounded rump, and came alongside Quil.

  “A nice start you have,” Quil said, nodding at the mixed cattle. “Better to begin with fewer and work for a good beef animal that can stand this country.”

  Roans, grays, blacks, duns, linebacks and a sprinkling of red shorthorn mixes; horns from the curving, hooking sort to the straighter type of the fighting bulls to the smaller ones of the bred-up stock.

  “Be fun to see what we get out of this bunch,” Matt laughed. “We’ve sure got every kind!”

  “At least no cow’s a slave to others because of his color,” Quil said, bitterness edging his voice.

  “I come from a plantation with slaves,” said Matt. “But I don’t think it’s right. I wouldn’t have brought slaves to the Big Bend, even if I hadn’t left in a hurry.” He hesitated. “Quil, I’m glad you want to work for me.”

  “Don Celestino told you?”

  Matt nodded. They rode on, their agreement more solid than any written, sealed contract. Ahead of the cattle, sometimes out of sight, sometimes grazing, the horses moved north. When they showed signs of scattering, Quil gathered them with a shrill whistle and rode among them for a while. Most of the horses had been broken by him. He knew their qualities and called them by name.

  On the third morning they crossed the Rio. The scattered debris of skulls and bones, some still joined, others dragged apart, marked the spot where the Comanches had met defiance instead of dread. With whooping and gusto, the vaqueros hustled the stock across the river and up the Texas side, through passes and canyons, bleak desert and climbing rocks until, just as the last sun turned the palisades to flame, they drove the herd into the hidden valley.

  Matt’s heart thudded painfully. He strained to see a sign of Rachel and barely made out some kind of structure near the coyote’s spring. Muttering something to Quil, he rode around the herd, past the cantering horses. His urgency passed to Storm. In spite of his long journey, the big gray horse neighed and surged into a gallop.

  Wind stung Matt’s eyes, but as he neared the old camp place, he saw the small adobe house. Rachel came out, her arms rising toward him as she called his name. She was thinner and browner, but beautiful still. Oh God! So beautiful!

  Matt swung down from Storm to embrace Rachel, find her lips, feel the sweet softness of her body against his.

  “Oh, Matt! I was afraid! So afraid you wouldn’t get back!”

  “Vacas!” exulted Lupe, pointing at the herd. “Por Díos, Don Matthew, I knew you would get them! And men! And horses! You are a grandee!”

  “Not by a long sight,” Matthew chuckled. “The men, except for two very good ones, will go back to Tres Coronas tomorrow.”

  “You’ll find men as you need them!” Lupe assured’ him.

  Matt, arm still about Rachel, gazed at the house. “You two built this?” he marveled.”

  “It wasn’t hard,” said Lupe. “Only time and work.”

  “There’s only one room, but we’ve started the second,” Rachel added.

  Matt laughed. “You women must share the room till we’ve finished others,” he decided. “The men can sleep in the cliff lean-to.”

  The cattle were fanning out now, as Matt had instructed, all along the meadow, and the horses had frisked to the far end, past the line of vision. The vaqueros were riding forward, sweeping off their sombreros as they saw the women.

  “Can you feed ten men?” Matthew asked.

  The women quickly stewed jerked meat with Don Celestino’s gift of cornmeal. There were piles of strawberrylike pitahayas, and wafers made from baked and powdered sotol heart, of which the women had prepared a store. But what made a feast was the honey, into which the vaqueros dipped wafers and sometimes fingers, smacking their lips.

  “Don Mateo,” chuckled one man as the late moon rose on the circle lounging about the fire, “your women have prepared for your homecoming!”

  “They’ve done well,” said Matt proudly, letting Juanito crawl on his lap.

  Watching Rachel’s quick, graceful movements as she brought food, the hot craving in his loins grew more imperative by the second, and his mouth was dry in spite of eating and drinking. As soon as the meal was cleared away, he handed Juanito to Quil and caught Rachel by the wrist.

  He didn’t want to go into the house, close to the men and their loud speculations. He led her along the valley to the coyote spring.

  He spread his shirt and she her dress on the fine silt. She was naked and trembling, sweeter than the honey she had given him that night, and he stroked and caressed and kissed her until he could restrain himself no longer. As he entered her, as slowly as he could for she was almost virginally tight, she cried out in pain and pleasure, meeting his need, and he possessed her like the storm compelling him.

  He was home. She was his wife. Their new life had begun.

  XIII

  The vaqueros left early next morning for Tres Coronas, though one of them, a sinewy, yellow-eyed rider with hair of raw gold, offered to work for his food until Matt could pay him. This Rico had a wildness about him, and Rachel was glad when Matt told him many thanks, but they didn’t need another man. Rico left with the others but he looked back, and for a moment Rachel went cold in the pit of her stomach.

  She moved hastily toward the peach and pomegranate trees. Changa, who had fallen worshipfully in love with both her and Lupe, came to help plant the trees, digging deep, wide holes to accommodate the roots, while Quil and Matt rode up the valley to get an idea of where and how to pasture the herd.

  When the men came home that evening, they had decided the valley and bottom land would graze the cattle till midwinter and two slightly higher meadows outside the valley would carry them ti
ll spring, when some could be driven to Fort Davis. They spent the next few days digging two earthen tanks near pasture springs. After that came shelter for the people, for though the sun still warmed the days, it was cold at night.

  Both Quil and Changa had worked with adobe. With three men and two women working at it, a new large room was quickly added onto the existing one. Its walls were three feet thick, double layers of bricks a foot and a half long, almost a foot wide, half a foot high and weighing about sixty pounds each.

  Usually the women mixed clay and dried grass into the molds and left the lifting to the men, but when the men had to bring rocks to build the great fireplace or fell timber for the beams and doors, Rachel and Lupe stacked bricks.

  When the walls rose eight feet high, peeled tree poles were laid across them, with peeled sapling sticks in between. On top of this ceiling went loads of earth which Lupe, Rachel, and Changa trod down with their feet, moistened with water, trampled again and left to be hardened by the sun.

  As the men shaped and fitted door and window frames from rived cottonwood, fashioning a massive door and setting it on the iron hinges brought from Chihuahua, Lupe and Rachel plastered the big room inside and out with mud plaster, smoothing it with their hands. Lupe knew where there was a gypsum deposit near the river, and Changa rode with her to bring some back. Ground to powder and mixed with water, it provided a glowing whitewash, which the women rubbed on the inner walls with pads of soft hide. Uneven places in the earthen floor were filled and leveled, the whole was soaked with water and packed so that it dried almost as hard as tile.

  The women were glad to move inside to cook, and this room, twenty by thirty feet, now served as their sleeping quarters while the men slept in the small original chamber and work began on the next room, joined to the main one by an inner door.

  This smaller room was given to Lupe and Juanito and Rachel and Matt had the original room. Changa and Quil, sleeping in the main room now, decided bachelors were better off in separate quarters, and a long single-roomed building was started for them about fifty feet behind the main structure. They would eventually build other rooms that would join to shape a patio. The women worked on this while the men went hunting, for food had to be stored up as a reserve for the winter.