Mariana's Knight

by W. Michael Farmer

  Rufus squinted and said, “First time, he was with Caballo Negro. Ol’ Caballo, he remembered me, when his son couldn’t hit a durn thang with that rifle. Caballo knowed I was a purty fair shot and brought him to the ranch for me to train. So we had us a talkin’ instead of a shootin’. We weren’t exactly friends, ye understand, but we weren’t enemies, neither. We made us an agreement, and I told him I was glad to teach the boy to shoot and fer ’em to use my water and to stop anytime. He told me in purdy good English he’d be back for the boy in three moons and that none of his people would bother me. And they ain’t since neither.”

  I asked, “Rufus, is this Yellow Boy a better shot than you?”

  Rufus nodded. “He shore as hell is, Henry. It’s about like comparing ye to me, as to compare me to him. He could be a big time pistolero if he wasn’t no Indian. But he just shoots when he needs food or to defend himself or to settle accounts against enemies, but that there is another story fer another time.”

  Rufus took the opportunity to spit, and then he said, “Yellow Boy carries that there Henry ever’where. He’s like a ghost when he travels, too. Has this black-and-white pinto he rides, but once he slides out of sight into the mesquite and creosotes, he just disappears. It’s a-scarifyin’ the way he becomes invisible like he does. The soldiers and tribal police purdy much leave him alone ’cause they respect him, and they know how well he can shoot. They ain’t stupid.”

  Daddy said, “Rufus, how’d you say you got your first cattle? Weren’t they from Mexico?” I knew Daddy was going ask that question because of his business with the grand jury in Lincoln. Maybe he thought Rufus was stealing stock for his herd, too.

  Rufus nodded and spat again, making a little ping sound in the spittoon. “Yes, sir, durin’ the ’forty-nine gold rush and the war, stock got free from wagon trains passin’ through El Paso. Then they was some from the free ranges north of the Rio Grande that just wandered across the river and started breedin’ wild and free down there in the Bosque along the river. I had a few cows and was just barely gettin’ by. Then Mr. Fremont come by my shack and told me about this bunch of strays south of the river in Mexico. Said he was a-gettin’ a crew together to git stock fer their ranches and wanted to know if I wanted to come along. He said he’d give his crew members a quarter of any stock caught to split between themselves, plus some wages. I said shore, so we spent about a month runnin’ and brandin’ cattle out of the Bosque along the river on both sides. I managed to wind up with about fifty head, and they’s a real bull with ’em. Hell, I ain’t needed to buy no stock since.”

  Daddy laughed and said, “You’re right there, Rufus. Keep that bull busy, and you won’t need to find stock in the Bosque anymore.”

  Rufus grinned and spat again in his little spittoon. Tobacco juice etched the corners of his mouth, and his Sunday-best white shirt showed a few more brown spots and streaks. He said, “Well, sir, I’ll tell you, that old bull is about as run-down as I am, but I ain’t heard the cows complainin’ yet, and none of this old bull’s herd is, either.” Daddy laughed again, and I saw Mrs. Darcy blush. At that point, she excused herself to bring out more hot apple pie for dessert.

  I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. At the end of the meal, everybody just leaned back in their chairs, dropped their hands down by their sides, and sighed. I wasn’t even sure I could get out of my chair. I felt like a fat pup after that meal, and my belly was about as swollen as a fat pup’s belly, too.

  It took Rufus and me another couple of days to finish repairing the fence around Mrs. Darcy’s backyard. On Tuesday night, Mrs. Darcy and Rufus sat in the kitchen talking for a long time. Daddy sat in her parlor reading his notes from the grand jury meetings, while I read Huck Finn. After a while, Mrs. Darcy came out of the kitchen, brought me a glass of buttermilk, and brought Daddy some coffee. Her eyes were red, and she didn’t look very happy, but she spoke kindly to both of us before she returned to the kitchen.

  The next day, Rufus loaded up his pack mule with his supplies, saddled his riding mule, and told Mrs. Darcy good-bye. She laughed and joked with him, but I saw her eyes begging him to stay. I watched him swing into Sally’s saddle with a grunt and a groan. When he was aboard, he leaned over the saddle and stuck out his hand for mine.

  I said, “Rufus, be careful going through White Sands. Daddy says he heard there’s some new bushwhackers from Texas roosting in there.”

  He spat a dark brown stream of tobacco juice several feet and said, “Thanks fer remindin’ me, Henry. I’ve heard that, too. Reckon I’ll cut around the big mesquite thicket on the south side and miss it all together. Y’all be careful, too. Take care now.” He touched the brim of his hat with a one-finger salute toward Mrs. Darcy and said, “I’ll see you in a few months, Sarah.” Then he headed down the road toward Mescalero while Mrs. Darcy and I waved him out of sight.

  CHAPTER 10

  THE NOTE

  After Rufus left, Daddy and I were in Lincoln another eight to ten days. With Rufus gone, I played in Mrs. Darcy’s backyard and read some more of Huck Finn while Daddy was with the grand jury. Sometimes, I’d even go over to watch Daddy presenting evidence to the grand jury. They were a grim bunch of businessmen and big ranchers who didn’t ask many questions and always voted the same way on the evidence: indict. Daddy told me the evidence he had collected was tight and impressive. He also said the grand jurors knew that any indictments they returned were likely to get men killed on both sides.

  We left town a day before the end of January. On the morning of our last day in Lincoln, the grand jury returned about thirty indictments, so Daddy knew there was going to be war. Several of the big ranchers in the association Daddy worked for had come to Lincoln to watch his progress and to do a little dickering on beef contracts with the army up the road at Fort Stanton. Up on the second floor of the courthouse where the grand jury had returned the indictments, the big ranchers were standing around talking, all jovial grins, slaps on the back, and cigars.

  Daddy wasn’t grinning because he knew men were about to die over a few cows. Even so, to Daddy, stealing was stealing, and it had to be stopped. Each side thought they were in the right. The big ranchers and Daddy believed they had the law on their side, and they were determined to set things right. Even at my tender age, I could sense that Daddy was calmly holding a lighted match while standing on a keg of gunpowder.

  After the grand jury completed its business, I helped Daddy collect his papers as he packed them into his trunk. Mrs. Darcy swept through the door to the grand jury room, spied us, and rushed over to hand Daddy a small, white envelope.

  Breathless, she said, “Mr. Fountain, a man I’ve never seen before stopped by my house and asked me to give you this. I told him you were just across the street, but he said he knew you were busy, and he was in a hurry to get on the road.”

  Daddy thanked Mrs. Darcy for her kindness in bringing the envelope to him, and she gave a funny little curtsy. It looked kind of like a semi-bow combined with a one-step jig. “Won’t you and Henry have lunch with me before you leave? I have plenty, and you’ve been such wonderful boarders. It’s my treat.”

  Daddy nodded and said, “Why, thank you, Mrs. Darcy. That’s very kind of you. We’ll be right over. Tell me, just out of curiosity, what did this gentleman look like?”

  She put a hand to her jaw and thought for a moment, then said, “Well, he either had only one eye or he squinted on one side so much that it looked like one eye was gone. He was dressed like a rancher going to church, but it looked like he’d been out in the sun too long without his hat because his face was very red. He had a long, red beard with gray streaks that reached to the middle of his chest, and he wore his hat pulled down close to his eyes, and it was creased and rolled like a Texan’s.”

  Daddy thanked her and said, “You’re very observant, Mrs. Darcy. You’d sure make a good witness in a court of law.”

  Mrs. Darcy blushed and smiled. Then her face darkened a bit, and she said, “I’m not so s
ure he was a rancher, though, because his hands were smooth, and he wore a big forty-four on his hip and had another pistol holstered under his coat.”

  Daddy nodded and said, “Hmmph. I don’t believe I know the gentleman.” He packed the last of his papers away and said, “We’ll be right over for lunch, Mrs. Darcy.” She grinned, curtsied again, and swept out down the back stairs.

  Daddy opened the envelope and took out a single folded sheet of paper. I was standing right beside him as he read, “If you drop this, we’ll be your friends. If you go on with it, you’ll never reach home alive.”

  After he read it, Daddy just snorted and mumbled, “Sorry cowards.” Then he saw me staring at the paper and realized I had seen it. He folded it, put it back in the envelope, and stuffed it in his jacket with one hand while he tousled my hair with the other. “Henry, you’re white as a sheet. Don’t let that note bother you. Cowards who were afraid to give it to me personally wrote it. Those cowards won’t have the nerve to face me. Everything will be fine.”

  I said, “Yes, sir.” I knew Daddy never let anybody scare him. Even so, I wished I had a gun to help protect him.

  We slid the trunk down the steps to where we could pick it up as we left town and crossed the street to Mrs. Darcy’s. That meal was a lot more than just lunch. It was more like Sunday dinner. There was a pot roast, various preserved vegetables from her garden, and a big slice of her apple pie. Daddy drank several cups of her strong coffee, and I had a couple of glasses of buttermilk.

  As we were leaving, Mrs. Darcy became teary-eyed. She shook hands with Daddy using both of hers. Then she leaned down to give me a tight hug against her big, soft bosom. She shook her finger at Daddy and said, “Now you men have a real safe trip, and be sure to stay with me whenever you’re in Lincoln.”

  I nodded and said, “We will, Mrs. Darcy. You sure make good pies.” She smiled when Daddy said, “Henry’s right about that, Mrs. Darcy. Thanks for the great lunch and all of your many kindnesses. We’ll be sure to stay with you the next time we’re here.”

  Right on time, a stable boy brought Buck and Sergeant prancing up the street from the livery, all hitched to the wagon and ready to go. Daddy sauntered across the street and got the trunk with his indictments and other papers. He loaded up the rest of our gear while I scrambled onto the seat. Daddy, not far behind me, stepped on board, and taking the reins, he softly said, “Hey, Buck.”

  Mrs. Darcy stood in her doorway and waved good-bye as Buck and Sergeant high-stepped it out of town.

  CHAPTER 11

  AN EVENING WITH DOC BLAZER

  That afternoon was one of those cold, bright days where you almost had to squint your eyes shut to see. The sky was deep blue; there were no clouds; there was no wind; and there was no sound except the steady rhythm of our horses strutting along and the jangle of the harness. The stillness that had settled in the air relaxed us for a time. Daddy drove as if lost in thought, and I watched the sides of the trail for birds, jackrabbits, and other varmints to shoot with my finger pistol. We headed up the north road toward the Mescalero turnoff with Buck and Sergeant snorting and prancing along, obviously glad to be out and moving again.

  A few miles up the road, Daddy stopped, pulled the rifle out of its scabbard, filled the magazine, levered a cartridge into the chamber, set the hammer to safety, and put it across his knees. He checked the load in his revolver, too. “Just being careful, Henry,” he said. After that, it wasn’t long before we turned off toward Mescalero. Daddy wanted to visit and stay the evening with Doc Blazer, former dentist, sometime innkeeper, and trading post operator in Mescalero who played a big role in keeping the peace between Apaches and whites. Doc had a sawmill he and the Apaches operated, and he and his wife made a little money on a few rooms he rented out to travelers in his big old adobe house.

  Daddy had been friends with him for years. He said Doc and his Indians knew more about what was going on in the Tularosa Basin cattle country than any reporter or politician in El Paso, Mesilla, or Las Cruces, and Daddy wanted and needed that news. He also wanted Doc’s advice on tracking down some of the names on the grand jury indictments.

  The ride to Doc’s place was through tall pines growing along a road that wound back and forth and up ridges and down passes through the mountains. There were patches of snow on the ground, and I could occasionally see Sierra Blanca, white and majestic, rising through breakouts in the trees. It was colder going up to Mescalero than down in the valley on the road from Lincoln. The shade from the big trees holding court along the road cast sleepy shadows where the sun managed to break through. Even up high in the mountains, there wasn’t any wind that day. It was an easy ride.

  We got to Doc’s place well before dark, but the shadows from the mountains were making it hard to see much in the distance. I remember Doc Blazer as a big man with a gray beard, and although he must have been close to seventy then and rounded in the shoulders, he still had all his teeth. We tied the buggy up under the porch that wound around the second floor and provided shade for the first. Daddy asked the housekeeper who met us at the doorway where he could find Doc. She smiled and pointed to the stairs that ran up to his second-floor office.

  Doc gave a little whoop when he saw Daddy and me walk into his office. He hopped up from his desk beaming, shook hands with me, and said, “I’ll declare, Albert, who’s this new law partner of yours?” Daddy told him I was Henry, his youngest son, his assistant, and a fine candidate to become his new partner.

  I noticed a concerned squint around Doc’s wide-set eyes when he then shook hands with Daddy and said, “I heard about the indictments from some stay-overs that had supper here with us last night. Albert, they were saying people around here won’t put up with any harassment from you and the big ranchers and that there’s big trouble coming.”

  Daddy grinned and said, “Let me guess. One of them had a long, red beard, one eye, and carried a gun in a shoulder holster.”

  Doc’s mouth dropped open, and he raised his eyebrows in surprise. “How in the hell did you know that?”

  Daddy smiled and said, “Nothing special. I got a note from him earlier today, but I didn’t have the opportunity to visit with the gentleman face-to-face. I reckon I won’t have a chance to hear his views. Doc, Henry and I were hoping we could visit and stay the evening with you.”

  Doc made a big, sweeping gesture toward the porch stairs. “We’d be delighted to have you. Dinner ought to be just about ready. Let me get somebody to stable your horses and bring your gear in. Come on. Y’all get washed up, and I’ll let Tikila know she needs to set a couple of extra places. By the time you fellows clean up, supper will be on the table.”

  Doc gave us one of his bedrooms and some hot water. As I was washing my face, I got real homesick and wished I were getting ready for supper in our own house on Water Street. I sighed and thought, Just two more nights, and we’ll be home. I’d learned a lot traveling with Daddy, but I was ready to see Mama, my sister Maggie, and my brothers. I missed them all, especially Mama, and remembering her, I felt the horse head watch fob in my pocket she had given me to be her knight and protect Daddy and how good she and Maggie always smelled and how soft and warm they were when they hugged me.

  Doc Blazer laid out a feast fit for a chief and even broke out a bottle of his best Madeira wine. Of course, all they gave me was just a little taste. I made a face that made them all laugh. I couldn’t imagine why anyone wanted to drink that stuff, but Daddy and Doc smacked their lips and sipped it. Tikila laid out a venison roast, fry bread, boiled potatoes, and peaches out of a can. Tikila was an old Apache woman, fat and covered with wrinkles, and she sure knew how to make great fry bread. I thought it was the best I’ve ever had.

  A couple of Apache men, No Foot and Quick Knife, who worked with Doc at the mill and who were friends of Daddy’s, had supper with us. They didn’t say much but obviously felt at home eating with Doc and Daddy. No Foot was an old man, still strong, nothing but sinew in his arms and legs. Doc said he
had survived many battles with the whites in his younger days. Daddy introduced me to them and told me he and No Foot had become friends after he got No Foot out of the army’s lockup for being off the reservation.

  I ducked my head under the table, saw that the man had two normal feet, and asked, “Why do they call you No Foot?”

  Daddy gave me a sharp look and said, “Henry—”

  The old man interrupted him and said, “It’s okay.”

  Then Daddy relaxed a bit and said, “He’s called No Foot because of his uncanny ability to avoid leaving tracks anywhere, anytime, even in snow.”

  I looked at him in awe and said, “Golly,” drawing a laugh from all the men. No Foot understood and spoke English very well and laughed aloud at the stories Daddy and Doc told as they reminisced about the old days.

  Quick Knife must have been about forty. He was short, and I could see his shirtsleeves bulge when he flexed his arms. Of course, I could guess how Quick Knife got his name, but I sensed Daddy wanted to honor him by telling me when he turned toward him and said, “This man is called Quick Knife because he’s deadlier and faster throwing a knife than most men are at shooting a revolver. He scouted for the army, tracking Geronimo in the early days.”

  Quick Knife gave the faintest smile and said, “Your father, he keep me from get sent to Florida with Geronimo after surrender to General Miles.”

  Later, during a lull in the conversation, I asked the Apaches, “Do you know Yellow Boy?”

  Their smiles disappeared as they cut their eyes to Doc Blazer. Doc looked over at me and, laughing, dropped his fork onto his plate.

  He wiped his chin, waved his hand at them, and said, “It’s good. You can speak. Henry and Albert have silent tongues.”

  They relaxed a little and No Foot said, almost in a whisper, “Yes, Yellow Boy we know. He’s our friend. He hunts far now. He’s not here.”