Sunlight was finding its way through the junipers and lighting the morning mists in the tall pines when Rufus poured cups of black coffee, and we sat back to eat the last of his beans and tortillas. The air was cool, almost cold, and filled with the scent of pines. It was paradise, and, although I was having trouble keeping my eyes open, I was very glad to be closer to the lair of the men we were after. A little later, while Rufus and I washed up the pots and pans, Yellow Boy checked his weapons then sat and smoked.
Rufus filled a pot with water and opened a big sack of beans from the supplies. He scooped two double handfuls of the beans and tossed them in the pot to soak and grow large before he put them on the fire to cook. He rummaged through the supplies again and dug out the coffee beans, corn meal, dried fruit, potatoes, and bacon to put them where they were easy to find when he was ready to cook. Yellow Boy watched with a smile on his lips and after a while said, “Rufus you make my women look bad with your cooking.” Rufus grinned, shook his head, and said, “Yellow Boy, I didn’t know you could tell such tall tales. Why if yore first wife, Juanita, heard that she’d whack you with one her sling rocks.” Yellow Boy grinned and nodded.
We all stretched out on our blankets to rest, and I fell into the deepest sleep I can remember. Rufus woke me as the sun was starting to slide behind the mountains, casting long shadows from the peaks and hills. Yellow Boy was gone, and Sally was saddled. After I returned from a trip to the bushes, Rufus handed me a cup of coffee and a plate of beans from the bubbling pot hanging over the fire. “Here ye go. Careful now, it’s hot. I’m a-gonna light out fer Lincoln now and visit Mrs. Darcy. Yellow Boy’s gone down to visit Juanita. Said he ’spects to be back sometime tonight. I got to take the rifle. The only thing ye gotta worry about till Yellow Boy gets back is cats and bears. I scouted around fer an hour and ain’t seen no sign, so ye oughter be fine. If’n one shows up, remember that they’s afraid of fire. Ye’ll be all right, won’t ye, Henry?”
He spoke with such concern but with such obvious longing to be gone, I had to laugh. “Sure, Rufus. I’ll be fine. Go on and see Mrs. Darcy, and find out what you can. How soon you reckon you’ll be back?”
Rufus scratched the back of his head and said, “Aw, I’d guess in a couple or three days. I’ll put a bee in her bonnet about what we need to know and then wait a day or two while she sniffs around. Don’t worry, though. I’ll stay hid.”
With that, he swung up onto Sally. I handed him the rifle, and he was off through the juniper bushes and trees down into Pete Gaines Canyon to find the trail to Lincoln.
I spent the rest of the daylight hours scouting around the area, memorizing the locations of hiding spots, paths through the bushes that led into camp, and potential getaways down into the canyons or across the ridge back toward Tularosa. I felt free, somehow released from a burden I’d felt for a long time.
The sun dropped behind Sierra Blanca, and it was soon full dark. I stayed close to the fire. When Yellow Boy appeared in its circle of light, I jumped up in surprise and relief.
He grinned and motioned me down with his hand. Then he disappeared into the darkness for a few moments and then reappeared, holding a short bow and a quiver full of arrows.
He said, “I make this for you. It is good weapon. I give it sooner, but Rufus was teaching you to use Shoots Today Kills Tomorrow. Now you learn to use bow. I teach you.”
He put the bow and quiver of arrows in my hands. It was a short, recurved bow, no more than about four feet long, the kind used by horsemen. It was made of mulberry wood, carved smooth with the heartwood on the inside, and its back, reinforced with sinew. A leather cord around its handle provided a steady grip, even for a sweaty hand. It was a work of art, and I wanted it as soon as I saw it. Upon trying it, I found I could pull it back to full draw and hold it only for a few seconds before my arms started to fail me.
The arrows, made of cedar, were tipped with sharp iron points and fletched with wild turkey feathers. They were a little longer than my arm, and when Yellow Boy showed me the balance point on one, I saw that all the other arrows balanced in almost exactly the same place on the shaft. The quiver was made of cougar hide because, as Yellow Boy said, “Cougar is great hunter, quiet, always finds game.”
I was so thrilled I could only mumble, “Muchas gracias, Señor Yellow Boy. Es muy bueno. I’ll make you proud. I’ll shoot a strong bow.”
“Ummph, Hombrecito. Bow is not your strength. It is arrow. Find good arrow. Shoot straight with any bow, and you kill. Your arrows good. I make them. Mañana, you begin.”
“Bueno. I’ll work hard to learn this new weapon, brother,” remembering the day he’d told me, “We are one blood.” I put the bow and quiver of arrows by my blanket. Yellow Boy pulled a cigar from inside his cavalry jacket and lighted it with a twig. He lay back with his hands behind his head and stared up at the night sky, puffing contentedly.
Early the next morning, when the sun had just floated over the mountaintops and the shadows from the ridges had pulled away from our spot, the bow-shooting lessons began. At fifty yards, Yellow Boy could easily put all twenty of my arrows in a tree a foot in diameter. I was lucky to hit the forest, but he was patient and taught me how to balance the arrow, aim, and follow through. I soon learned the key to accurate shooting was having the concentration to keep my eye on the target and to concentrate on form and follow-through. We quit after a couple of hours when I was getting tight and tired in my back muscles, and the tips of my draw fingers were nearly bloody from the sinew string. As I got sore, my accuracy grew worse.
Later, we sat by the fire and had some coffee and bacon. The air was cool, and birds sang in every bush and tree. Yellow Boy finished his coffee, handed me his cup, and went for his pony. He brushed him down while I cleaned up the frying pan and toted a bucket of water from the spring.
When I returned, he handed me a piece of buckskin that had an odd design laid out on it and said, “Cut leather. Follow lines to make cover for your bow fingers. Your fingers don’t understand string and must grow hard. With fingers covered you still learn until fingers know bowstring. Shoot many times today. Get better. I go now. When sun is gone, I return. Adios.”
I saluted him as he disappeared through the junipers and down the little trail. I worked on the bow, shooting nearly all day. My target was a big piece of elk hide strung between a couple of saplings. As I learned to focus on the elk hide, shutting out every distraction, the arrows clustered closer and closer to its center. When the light began to fade, I was shooting twenty arrows out of twenty into the elk hide at a range of fifty yards. My shoulders and arms ached, but the leather shooting patch I’d cut from Yellow Boy’s pattern saved my fingers.
For the next three days, he patiently instructed me in the use of the bow and arrows. As I learned to sink all my arrows into smaller and smaller circles on a target, I began to feel more confident I could survive anywhere. In addition to weapons training, Yellow Boy started me running again. At midday, every day, I ran up a path through the tall trees toward the ridges below Sierra Blanca and back down again. Near the top, the air was thinner, making it hard to breathe, but the air was cool and fresh, the running, exhilarating. Yellow Boy cautioned me to run quietly and be aware of my surroundings because bears were there, and men might be nearby. Five days passed, then six. Still, Rufus had not returned.
CHAPTER 36
RUFUS RETURNS
I thought maybe Stone or Tally had murdered Rufus as they had Daddy. Maybe Sally had stumbled and thrown him or rolled over on him, breaking bones or killing him. Maybe he’d been snakebit, or a cat or a bear had killed and dragged him off. When I broached these ideas to Yellow Boy, he just shook his head and said, “No, Rufus es bueno. He come back soon.” Even as he spoke, I saw the slightest frown of doubt on his face. I could tell he was trying to decide what to do about finding him.
On the night of the eighth day, I lay down to sleep in a black despair, certain Stone or Tally had killed Rufus and were trying to find me
. That meant I’d have two murders to avenge. I twisted around in my blanket, unable to sleep, trying to figure out what to do next. The coals from the fire and a quarter moon were the only light.
After a while, I started to doze off, and then I felt Yellow Boy squeeze my arm. He put fingers to his lips and sat up on his blanket, cupping a hand to his ear. I strained to hear anything for a couple of minutes, and then I heard the steady breathing and push of bushes as some animal moved toward us. My heart started pounding, and I heard Yellow Boy cock the Henry.
I moved up on my knees, pulled my knife, and waited. Yellow Boy was on one knee, in a crouch, with his rifle sighted toward the marauder. The sounds drew closer and stopped. Whatever it was, it was sizing us up.
An irritated voice floated on the cold air saying, “Now where in the hell did I leave that boy?” I can’t explain how overjoyed and relieved I was.
Yellow Boy said, “Aqui, Rufus.”
“Don’t kill me, boys. I’m a-comin’ in.”
Yellow Boy nodded at me, and I started adding wood to the coals and blowing hard on them to get a flame. In the time it took for the firelight to grow, Sally’s long mule face moved into the light, and there sat Rufus, big as you please, with his rifle across the pommel of his saddle.
“Howdy, ladies. Did ye miss me?” He tossed me the rifle and swung down from Sally. I saw Yellow Boy give a quick nod and move toward the fire. I ran up to hug Rufus, but he stuck out his old, gnarled hand, and we just shook hands like grown men. At that point, I realized he wasn’t about to let me act like a little boy anymore.
“Where were you?” I asked. “We were . . . I was scared Stone or Tally and their crowd had caught you and made you disappear.”
Rufus waved his hand toward the ground and said, “Nope. Ever’thang’s fine. Fact is, it couldn’t be better. Unsaddle Sally and brush her down fer a tired, old man, will ye? I’ll have a little coffee, and then I’ll tell y’all about my little trip. We’s gonna have to move fast to take ker of business.”
Then he glanced down at my sleeping blankets and said, “Great day in the morning, Henry. Where’d you get the bow? That there would make any Apache proud. You know how to use it?” He looked over at Yellow Boy and winked.
“I sure do,” I said. “Yellow Boy made it for me, and the arrows, too. He’s been teaching me to use it.”
“Well, that’s a mighty good thang to learn.”
Rufus wearily sat down by the fire as I led Sally up to the spring pool for a drink.
It wasn’t long before we were all sitting around the fire having coffee. Rufus had pulled off his old miner’s boots and was wiggling his toes next to the flames to get the blood circulating. He pulled out a briar pipe and a tobacco pouch I hadn’t seen before and filled its bowl while Yellow Boy and I waited to hear his story.
“This here pipe and fine tobac was a present from Miz Darcy. Some drummer left ’em at her place, and since she didn’t have any idee where to send ’em, she just give ’em to me. Said she’d rather kiss me if I smoked than if I chewed. Still got my chewin’ tobac fer working, though.”
I liked the smell of his pipe filling the night air. Rufus said, “Well, boys, I woke Miz Darcy up around midnight on the day I left, scratchin’ on her winder screen. Guess I’s lucky she didn’t plug me when she stuck her dead husband’s big dragoon pistol under my nose and nearly dropped it when she saw who I was. Well, sir, she let me crawl in and visit with her.”
“You have good visit?” Yellow Boy asked, a knowing smile barely on his lips.
Rufus grinned and nodded, raked a hand through his hair, and continued, “I told her I needed to know the whereabouts of Bentene, Stone, and Tally and that I didn’t want ’em to know I was a-lookin’ fer ’em. She told me, the last she’d heard, Tally was a whorin’ and raisin’ hell in El Paso. She was shore somebody had mentioned Stone was down to Fort Bliss with Cox trying to haggle a new beef contract. He’s supposed to catch the train up from El Paso to Alamogordo and meet the ranchers he’s a-representin’ fer the contract four days from now.”
My heart started beating faster at this news. Just four days, and I can have another shot at Stone. “Will Bentene be with him?” I asked.
Rufus took the pipe out of his mouth and tapped its ashes in his palm before throwing them to sparkle in the fire. “Prob’ly so. Ol’ Bentene come into town, got juiced up, and took a little target practice on the post office sign and the winders of a saloon. Got throwed in jail. When the deputy finally turned him loose, he told him he’d better not catch him in Lincoln when the sun was down or he’d put him in irons, trot him down to Las Cruces, and let him deal with the sheriff.”
Rufus dug more tobacco out of his pouch with his pipe. He casually asked, “Wanna hear the good news?”
Yellow Boy and I leaned toward Rufus. I could see the glint in Yellow Boy’s dark eyes that spoke of the joy of the hunt. I was feeling it, too.
“Ol’ Bentene said he was right sorry fer shootin’ up the place and said he’d just camp outside town with his men and come in sober durin’ the day until he was ready to ride down to Alamogordo. Deputy said that was fine. Guess where ol’ Bentene’s a-sleepin’, right now, this minute?”
I didn’t have any idea and shook my head. Yellow Boy just looked at Rufus and waited for him to tell us.
Rufus looked at me and asked, “Remember that there little canyon outside of Lincoln where we went a-target shootin’ one Sunday with yore daddy? The Bonito River runs by it.”
I nodded, and he said, “Well, he’s right there. I’ve been a-watchin’ him fer the last three days. Most of his boys sleep in Lincoln blowin’ their pay on whiskey, cards, and whores. But ol’ Bentene, he sleeps on the sand by their fire and gits outta his blankets well after the sun comes up, and then goes to Lincoln to eat and maybe visit a whore or play cards mosta the day. ’Fore dark, he’ll buy another bottle and ride back to camp with his cowhands that’s too broke to buy a whore fer the evenin’. He studies some kind of map while he drinks, until he passes out. His men git up way ’fore he does and ride off to town. Yesterday, one of ’em told Miz Darcy they’s all supposed to leave fer Alamogordo around midday tomorrow and then meet up with Stone and Cox in a few days when their train comes in.”
When he said that, I gasped. Suddenly, I was practically shaking with excitement. I said, “That means we have to leave right now if we expect to get him before—”
“You know what else?” Rufus said, interrupting me. “He’s got Lil’ David in his camp gear. Yes, sir. I seen it!” Rufus was practically shouting with excitement when he told us this. “Ye’re right, Henry. I think we oughta go over there tonight, git my rifle back in the mornin’, and settle accounts fer yore daddy. Ain’t gonna be no better time.”
Yellow Boy, his mouth set in a straight line and eyes narrowed to fine slits, was up and moving toward the stock. He called over his shoulder, “I get my pony. We ride now, find Bentene while still dark.”
CHAPTER 37
RETURN OF LITTLE DAVID
I saddled Midnight and Elmer because Rufus needed a fresh mount if we were to get to Bentene before sunrise. We moved down the trail into Pete Gaines Canyon a quarter of an hour later with Yellow Boy leading the way because he knew a faster, but rougher, trail than the one Rufus had taken to Lincoln. We stayed close together and rode as fast as we dared on the dark trail. I was glad I was on Midnight because she was sure-footed and seemed to anticipate every move Yellow Boy’s pony made as we crossed running creeks, moved over rocky ridges, and picked our way down steep passes.
As we rode along, I thought about what we’d do when we found Bentene. Somehow, it seemed a shame to kill him in his sleep. Shouldn’t we make him suffer for what he’d done? I thought maybe we could sneak into his camp while he was sleeping and get the Sharps back. Then Yellow Boy could hold his gun on Bentene and have Rufus bust him across his face with the butt of the Sharps a couple of times before he shot him in the gut and left him to die a slow death. It se
emed only fair to let Rufus kill him after Bentene had pistol-whipped him.
In another scenario, I imagined walking up to him while Rufus and Yellow Boy hid in the brush, covering me. Bentene would have this surprised snarl on his lips when I told him who I was, then, too late, he’d reach for his revolver, as Yellow Boy shot him before he could get it out of his holster. I’d take his gun, and while he lay dying, I’d make a speech about how he was paying the price for killing Daddy and how we were going to get Stone and Tally, too.
The stars were disappearing into the night sky, and it was the deep black just before dawn when Yellow Boy dismounted on a high ridge next to a spring and motioned for us to do the same. He signaled for us to be quiet. We fed and watered our stock, tied them for a quick getaway, and then carefully worked our way down to the bottom of the valley below us.
When we were very near Bentene’s camp, Yellow Boy squatted by some juniper bushes and pointed toward a dark mass of trees to our right. I heard Rufus say under his breath, “I’ll be damned.”
There was a rutted road not fifty feet in front of us, and the mass of trees were not more than two hundred yards beyond and below it. As we squatted there, I realized we were directly across from the little canyon where Rufus, Daddy, and I had been shooting on that Sunday so long ago.
I heard some faint noises down in the trees, like horses or cattle moving around, and then the faint tinkle of steel cinch rings knocking together and leather being slapped. The low, red glow from a small fire began to grow down in the trees, and I heard occasional grunts and curses as more of Bentene’s men began to stir, followed by distinctive clicks as Yellow Boy and Rufus half-cocked their rifles to safety. My heart began to pound.
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