A different child shared his saddle, a girl who squealed to a woman sitting on a picnic blanket, “Momma, I caught a fish.” The mother in the dell framed by the loblollies and dogwoods. Her beauty on full display in the blinking sunlight. Her hair black as coal, her eyes bluer than the April sky, and the mouth that whispered, “Yes, Emmet, I’ll marry you.” The loving smile that brightened her face after she spoke those words, and the soft lips with a trace of dandelion wine on them as they kissed. The woman leaning her head on his shoulder as they watched the girl skip through a field of blue-star and rose mallow along the shore of the lake. Enjoying the play of shade and shine on the trees. The image of the husband and father who had abandoned the mother and daughter long forgotten in the red glow of fresh love, and the wedding plans they made that day. The plans that would allow the three of them to carve out new lives. The plans that would transform Emmet from a gun-for-hire vagabond into a man of peace and place.
That was the plan. That was the way it was supposed to be. But Fate is a marksman who never misses, and even the most rock-ribbed plans of lovers can turn into cinders and ash.
Lucita broke Emmet’s reverie when she leaned forward and said, “Thank you for saving me from those men.” She hugged Emmet before placing her hands back on the horn. He let go of one of the reins and patted her hand with one of the hands that had just taken the lives of three men.
“You’re welcome, darling,” he replied. “I promise I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Now his free hand moved to his pocket and he rubbed the photograph nestled there, the one that he, the mother, and the girl had posed for that same happy day. It was the last relic of a life that might have been, and he knew his promise to Lucita was a false one. His power to protect her or anybody else was limited, and he could do nothing if Fate decided to intervene again.
Emmet and Lucita encountered nobody else on the trail. It took an hour and a half of arduous riding before Reno’s bungalow came into view. In the distance, Emmet could see Mariana sitting on the porch, sewing.
“Block your ears, Lucita,” Emmet warned. He pulled his revolver and fired four times into the air. Soapy and Billy came out from behind the wagons, and Chiquito sprinted from beneath the cottonwoods, followed by Abe, Zack, and Frank. The door of the bungalow flew open, and Reno rushed out. As Emmet pulled up, Soapy yelled, “What in blazes is going on?”
Emmet curled his arm around Lucita and helped her off the horse. “Salazar’s on to us,” he said. “He took Major Kingston prisoner. We need to get out of here. Fast.”
“You warned him not to go,” Zack said.
“Too late for regrets. Soapy, take Billy and hitch the wagons. Everybody else, grab your belongings, and get ready to leave. Reno, we need a place to hide; somewhere that’s out of view and difficult to find, but not too far away.”
“I know a place,” Reno said. “I’ll get my things.”
Mariana pointed to the girl.
“This is Lucita,” Emmet said. “Please tend to her. She’s coming with us.”
The outside of the bungalow buzzed with activity as everybody kicked into action, hitching wagons, stashing gear, dousing the campfire. Soapy moved the horses into position in front of the cannon, while Billy yoked the mules to the Gatling gun. Emmet dismounted, ran inside the bungalow, snatched the maps and the war bag that held the major’s money, and tossed them in the back of the wagon.
Reno followed him out of the house carrying a sack of his own. He sat down on the porch, took out a pencil, and scribbled on a piece of paper. He set the paper on a cushion, ran back into the house, and emerged with an armful of cans and jars. As he crammed the containers into the bag, Emmet shouted at him, “We’ve got enough food. Let’s go.”
Reno waved, scooped up his bag, and ran to join Emmet. Billy was sitting on the mule-drawn limber ready to depart when he yelled out, “Mr. Alvarez, you forgot your letter.”
Reno didn’t hear Billy, but Emmet did. He watched Billy hop off the chest that served as a seat, snatch the paper off the table, and stuff it in his back pants’ pocket. Just like Billy, Emmet thought. Always interested in other people’s business. Emmet assumed the boy intended to return the letter to Reno later—after he had read it, of course.
It took the group just ten minutes to gather their goods, hitch two limbers and a wagon, and saddle five horses. The caravan rattled north along the road away from Santa Sabino with Emmet and Reno in the lead. The horses’ hooves thundered along the trail and pushed swirling clouds of dust into the air. The iron wheels on the rigs spun like tops and carved up huge clods of crusted soil and clumps of broken brush.
The group rode for half an hour until Reno directed them up a small road to the west. They switched trails three times, each one narrower than the previous, finally reached a leafy knoll. The grass and undergrowth softened the thunder of the hooves but didn’t slow the group’s progress. Five minutes later, Reno pointed to a hollow.
“Billy, can you maneuver those mules through those trees?” Emmet asked.
“Watch me,” Billy yelled back, and then he hawed the mules and snaked the limber and Gatling gun through a copse of bald cypress with Soapy right behind him. “Like threading a needle,” Soapy yelled as he guided the horses and cannon through the same green spires and brought them to a halt in the shade.
Emmet studied the surroundings. The cypress trees formed a natural palisade to the south. Thick knots of alpine fir provided excellent cover to the north and west. A spring-fed pond acted like a moat to the east. The water was still, so the sound of intruders would carry, and the hollow afforded good grass for the horses to crop.
“Is this okay?” Reno asked with furrowed eyebrows.
“Perfect,” Emmet replied. He turned to Frank and Zack. “Go back to the last cutoff and picket by the huge boulders on either side of the trail.”
Frank bristled. “Who made you boss?” he said, his voice thick with challenge.
“I’d go, but I took a bullet in the leg,” Emmet said, “and I need Mariana to fix me up. You and Zack are great long-distance shooters, and it’s as good a place as any to ambush them if they’ve tailed us.”
“Cut the butter talk,” Frank said. “I’ll do it for the sake of the group. For now.”
“If Salazar’s men show up, rain fire on them,” Emmet said.
“I know what to do,” Frank said.
Emmet brushed him off with a wave and limped over to Chiquito and Abe. “Would you boys mind fetching some firewood?”
“Sure,” Chiquito said. Abe grunted.
Mariana grabbed Emmet’s arm. “Sit down,” she said, “and let’s take a look at that leg.”
CHAPTER 22 PRIVATE ROMERO
“Señor Salazar, come quick,” Ponce yelled.
Salazar and Juanita rushed down the main corridor of the house behind Ponce. Out through the front courtyard, they saw Bartoli standing next to an unconscious Mexican soldier who was draped over the neck of an Appaloosa, harness-caught. At first Salazar thought the horse had been hit, so much blood was dripping from the saddle, but as two of the vaqueros slid the soldier off, he could see the man had suffered a sucking chest wound.
“He’s bad,” Ponce said. “Probably not going to make it.”
“Bring him to the room off the kitchen,” Juanita said, “the one next to the cabinet with the medical supplies.”
Salazar brooded on the situation for several minutes. Why was the soldier here? Was he under Ortega’s command? Did he come with a message? Who shot him? He watched as the vaqueros lifted the soldier’s limp body onto the table. Juanita searched his pockets and pulled out a watch and a wallet.
“His name is Private Romero,” she said, “and he is under Captain Ortega’s command.”
“Get Miss Wheeler and Yago at once,” Salazar told her.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” Faith said. She was leaning over the unconscious soldier, tilting her head back and forth as she examined him.
“A
re you up to this?” Salazar asked.
She saw his eyes were fixed on the bandages on her cheek. “I’m all right,” Faith said. “I feel stronger.”
“Thank you for helping us,” he said.
“I would never help you. I’m helping him because it’s what my mother and father would expect me to do.”
“Can you save him?” Salazar asked.
“No. But if you have the right medicines, I can make him comfortable.”
“Juanita will get you whatever you need.”
Faith set to work with diligence, using scissors to clip the soldier’s blood-soaked uniform from his body. Juanita helped move the soldier up and down and left to right to remove the cut-away clothes from beneath him. As they maneuvered the soldier’s half-naked body, Faith pointed to the bullet wound.
“He was shot from behind,” she said. “The wound where the bullet went in is small. The front is a different story.”
She pointed to the red mass of muscle and tissue mounded on the soldier’s stomach. The women eased the soldier onto his back, and Faith began to stitch layers of skin together in an effort to slow the bleeding.
“You have the skill of a doctor,” Salazar said.
“I’m just the daughter of a nurse,” Faith replied.
She saw Juanita look away. Salazar fidgeted with the soldier’s watch. Faith looked up when Garza entered the room and saw him step back when he saw her face.
Garza turned to Salazar. “Did you do that?”
Salazar shook his head. “She did it to herself.”
Faith saw Garza’s look turn from shock to disgust. He narrowed his eyes and snarled at her. “You stupid bitch.”
Faith said nothing, smiled at him, and resumed stitching the soldier’s wounds.
“Juanita, I’ll station Ponce outside,” Salazar said. “If the soldier regains consciousness and says anything, let me know immediately. You understand? Immediately.”
Juanita assured him.
“Yago, come to my office,” Salazar said. “I want to discuss something with you.” He closed the door harder than he intended, leaving the two women alone with the soldier.
“Your mother must have been a fine nurse,” Juanita said.
“She had a lot of experience from the war. When she and my father moved west, she set up a small clinic at our cabin to help the local farmers. She taught me many things. How to stop bleeding, set a broken bone, cut away bad flesh—even how to birth babies.”
“You have so much knowledge for one so young.”
Quickly, Faith sewed a continuous suture, passing the needle in a spiral across the length of the wound and tying it on each end. She snipped the ends off with the scissors. “We need more bandages and linen,” she said.
Juanita hopped up. “I’ll get them.”
As soon as Juanita left the room, Faith rushed to the cabinet and scanned the medicines. She snatched the brown bottle marked “Chloroform,” uncorked it, and poured some into a small empty vial set on another shelf. The colorless liquid gave off a sweet, pleasant scent. She capped the vial and slipped it into the pocket of her smock. Just as she returned the chloroform to the cabinet, the soldier stirred. He made a gurgling sound, his breathing shallow.
“Where?” he asked in a voice that was more wheeze than whisper.
“Señor Salazar’s house,” Faith answered.
“Message . . .” His voice faded.
“Tell me.”
No. I must . . .” The soldier stopped short and spit up a piece of dark tissue as smooth and slimy as a leech.
“Salazar’s not here, and you’re badly hurt.” Faith lifted his head and gave him a sip of water. “I’m here to make you comfortable. Tell me the message, just in case . . .” This time, Faith’s voice trailed off.
“Ortega . . . arrive . . . tomorrow . . . day early,” the soldier said, and then he coughed with great force, causing a mixture of air and blood to froth from his mouth. His body convulsed; his head popped up from the table and then settled back. Faith knew that saliva was damming up his throat and smothering his cough reflex. She heard the last rattle exit his lungs. Juanita returned as Faith was wiping foam from the dead man’s lips.
“He’s gone,” Faith said.
Juanita threw the gauze on the table. “Did he say anything?”
“Yes.”
“You were supposed to alert Señor Salazar,” she snapped.
Faith shook her head. “No time.”
Juanita crooked her head sideways and arched an eyebrow. “What did he say?”
“Captain Ortega has been delayed. He’ll arrive on Tuesday, a day later than expected.”
Juanita took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I suppose that’s good news. We could always use the extra time. Anything else? Did he say who shot him?”
Faith didn’t answer.
In a louder voice, Juanita asked, “Who shot him?”
“Indians.”
“Are you sure?”
“Actually, he said red niggers. Those are Indians, right?”
Faith saw Juanita relax her shoulders after hearing her convincing canard.
“Thank you, dear,” she said. “I’ll bring back a clean smock after I give that message to Señor Salazar.”
She opened the door and spoke to the guard: “Ponce, escort Miss Wheeler to the well so she can wash up. I’m going to Señor Salazar’s office.”
Ponce motioned Faith out the door with a quick hand flip. She followed him through the kitchen and into the yard’s bright sunlight, the glass vial bouncing against her right leg. Big, quilted clouds cast fat shadows across the landscape. A lizard scooted across her path, and a breeze blew back her golden hair. At that moment, she didn’t feel bad about the soldier dying. She didn’t feel bad about lying to Juanita. The only thing she felt was a deep resolve: If the army was arriving tomorrow, she would make her escape tonight.
Salazar paced the floor of his study in front of the seated Garza.
“Ortega sent the soldier with a message,” Salazar said, “and we have no idea what it is. Plus we have no idea who shot him.”
“Relax, Enrique,” Garza said. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. It must have been Honeycut or one of his friends that shot him.”
“Unless the others have already arrived.” Salazar smoothed his moustache several times. “And where is Diego? Why haven’t he and Paco shown up yet? We should search for them.”
“Patience. They’re due later today,” Garza said.
Salazar sat on the chair behind his mahogany desk. A black porcelain statue of a stallion reared up from the left corner. On the right corner was a cherry hardwood humidor with its edges worn smooth. “If they don’t show up tonight,” he said, “I want you to take some men and search for them first thing in the morning.”
“First thing? Sure, Enrique, whatever you say.” Garza went to the glass cabinet, removed a bottle of brandy from the shelf, and pointed it at Salazar, who waved him off. Garza poured a tumbler half full, swirled the liquid around the glass, and sipped.
“You seem calm given what’s happened,” Salazar said tapping his fingers on the desk.
“And what’s happened?” Garza asked. “We have Kingston staked out in the yard. We know his men are hiding out at Alvarez’s bungalow waiting for more men to arrive. Once Diego and Paco show up, we’ll know exactly how many.”
“But we don’t know Ortega’s message.”
“Maybe he’s been delayed—maybe that’s the message. Maybe he’s arriving early. Either way, he’ll get here eventually, too.” Garza set the glass down on the edge of the desk. “You worry too much, Enrique.”
“It’s my job to worry. Tomorrow you search for Diego and Paco. If you don’t find them, go to Reno’s with all the firepower you need and bring me Honeycut and his two friends.”
“Okay. I’d welcome the chance to drop in on Mariana.”
“Ah, Yago, perhaps you still have feelings for her?” Salazar raised his eyebrows.
Garza circled his finger across the rim of the glass. “No,” he said. “That was many years ago. I’d just like to remind her of the good life she could have had. Anyway, I have no feelings for her, unlike you, who seem to be fascinated with the Wheeler girl.”
Salazar grinned like the devil, but a rap at the door startled him before he could reply. “Come,” he said.
Juanita opened the door and stepped inside. “I’m sorry to disturb you, señor, but you wanted to be informed of any news. The soldier regained consciousness for several moments before he died. He said Captain Ortega has been delayed and won’t arrive until Tuesday.”
Garza tilted his head back and extended his arms like he was carrying a bride over a threshold. “See, Enrique,” he said. “There’s nothing to be worried about. Did he say who shot him?”
“Indians,” she replied.
Salazar exhaled, and his body relaxed. “It looks like we have an extra day to prepare. Thank you, Juanita,” he said and dismissed her with a nod.
Juanita bowed her head and left the room.
Salazar said, “Now I will have a drink.”
Garza stood, removed a glass from the cabinet, and poured his cousin a brandy.
Salazar took a large gulp. “You asked me my plans for Miss Wheeler, and I will tell you. I intend to marry her.”
Garza’s body stiffened. “You’re out of your mind.”
“I’m not getting any younger,” Salazar said, tapping his chest. “She’s a healer. I’m going to need somebody to look after me. I believe this girl can help me live longer, just like my grandmother did for my grandfather.”
Garza’s face turned into a black scowl. “A longer life? You’re a fool. She’ll cut your throat on the wedding night.”
“You’re wrong. She’s different. There’s no evil in her.”
“No evil?” Garza said with a sneer. “Everybody has the capacity for evil. They just need the proper motivation. A healer? That’s nonsense, too. You could have any woman in Santa Sabino and yet you choose her?”
“I have had many beautiful women over the years, and I will have many more. This one is different.”
The Man from Misery Page 13