The Man from Misery

by David C. Noonan

  “Trust your avenging angel.”

  Emmet spurred Ruby Red up the slope to higher ground to find where the arroyo emptied into the river. It didn’t take long. After tracing the path of the watercourse for ten minutes, he came to a crest and saw the confluence six hundred yards to the east.

  Garza was standing by the river’s edge next to where the arroyo was disgorging. Emmet dismounted and pulled the horse out of sight. Slipping Big Betty from her sling, he took up a position on a horizontal slab of pink granite overlooking the vista. He wet his left pointer finger and held it in the air. A strong breeze was still blowing from the north. Several breaks of sunlight shone between the dark clouds, sparkling the western reaches of the San Rafael with diamond flecks.

  He gazed down at Garza, the red sombrero on his enemy’s back forming a perfect target. Emmet steadied the rifle atop the rock, and with a fiery eye, he aimed . . . You were so right, amigo . . . breathed in, out . . . what a beautiful place . . . waited for the calm . . . to die . . . squeezed off.

  From that distance, it took the bullet less than a second to reach its destination. Emmet had considered the topography, factored in the arc of the earth, and compensated for the wind. What he didn’t account for was the biting gadfly that Garza bent down to swat off his leg just as Emmet pulled the trigger.

  The shot stung a stone in front of Garza, who dove on the ground and rolled behind a downed cypress trunk for protection. Emmet cursed under his breath. Big Betty was a breech-loaded weapon. Garza had the Spencer and could fire many more shots without reloading. From here on, every bullet counted.

  Emmet eyed Garza’s horse grazing in a field fifty yards away. He sighted on the tip of the horse’s ear and fired. The bullet’s impact made the animal rear several feet in the air before it bolted across the field and out of sight. Garza’s means of escape was gone.

  Quickly, Emmet reloaded. He figured Garza knew the shots had come from his right side, so he maneuvered towards Garza’s left. The terrain where Emmet was hiding was studded with boulders. He duck-walked behind the larger stones and crept on his belly behind the smaller ones.

  Garza had not returned fire yet. Instead of fifty yards to his right, Emmet had now re-positioned himself thirty yards to Garza’s left, still six hundred yards away. He decided to bide his time behind a ten-foot-wide chunk of silkstone. As he waited, he watched a striped whip snake slither by his boot and into the long grass. After ten minutes, he eased his head over the rock; Garza was still crouched behind the cypress. Emmet contemplated the situation. Was enough of Garza’s body exposed to form a target? No.

  Several more minutes passed. Emmet looked again and saw Garza had shifted his body close enough in Emmet’s direction for another try, a small slice of his pants and vest now in view.

  He scraped Big Betty’s muzzle against the siltstone to form a small sighting groove in the rock. He aimed, breathed in, out—but before the calming breath came, three shots popped the boulder, spraying sand and pulverized rock into Emmet’s eyes. He rubbed them with his fingers until the specks watered out. When three more shots pinged the rock, Emmet decided to change plans.

  He scrambled down the backside of the hill, sliding on his boots and balancing himself with his free hand. He was able to straighten himself when he reached the ledge that ran above the arroyo, scurrying along the narrow bench.

  Now that he was hidden from view, Emmet intended to follow the arroyo and surprise Garza from behind. The ledge sloped down to meet the riverbed. Emmet stepped into the brown water, now only two feet deep. A piece of hickory driftwood came sloshing down, and he grabbed it with one hand as it passed, holding his rifle out of the water with the other.

  He floated along with the log, feet first, and wended his way down several sharp curves. The height of the canyon walls shrank as he neared the confluence, and eventually the walls merged with the bank. At times, his boots snagged on a submerged rock or tree root, but he would thrust his legs up to maintain his balance and continue his downstream passage.

  As he neared the location where the arroyo emptied into the San Rafael, he dug his heels into the streambed and let go of the log to stand up, but the surge of the water was stronger than he realized. It tossed him off balance and dropped him in the water, submersing Big Betty and the sidearm in his holster. He sprang from the water and boosted the rifle into the air, but the damage was done—his weapons were wet, and he knew they would not fire. If Garza had any idea the advantage he now has, Emmet thought, he would hunt me down and shoot me like a dog.

  Emmet grabbed onto a jut of sandstone and climbed out of the stream. The only edge he had now was the element of surprise. He was amazed at how much distance he had covered in so short a time and figured he had positioned himself behind Garza. Here, the bank dipped down, allowing him to climb out of the ravine and attack. Removing the socket bayonet from its scabbard, Emmet fixed it to Big Betty’s muzzle and took a deep breath.

  It was Chickamauga all over again, waiting in a trench, bayonet fixed, ready to go over the top. He hoped he had reached this location undetected, but, for all he knew, Garza could be standing on the other side of the crest waiting to blast him to kingdom come. There was only one way to find out.

  Emmet stormed up the slope, jumped over the edge, and ran at Garza, whose back was to him, the sombrero staring at him like a big bloodshot eye. Garza did not hear Emmet’s footfalls until he was just twenty feet away. When Emmet saw Garza turn around, he unleashed a piercing rebel yell and lunged. Garza raised his rifle to fire, but Emmet parried it away and, with a great upward swing, knocked the gun out of his hands and out of reach.

  The twisting motion put Emmet off-kilter and forced him to one knee. Garza grabbed Big Betty’s barrel, and the two men struggled in a tug of war for control of the long gun. Emmet back-stepped several paces and twisted the gun so the bayonet pointed at Garza’s midriff. When Emmet thrust, Garza let go and flipped sideways, causing Emmet to propel forward and embed the bayonet four inches into the dead cypress.

  Before Emmet could unstick the bayonet, Garza’s fist hammered him on the side of the head and knocked him to the ground. Emmet was dazed, and a second powerful blow almost reeled the sky into darkness, but he knew this was like every battle he had ever been in—a fight to the death. He jumped up, and both men assumed wrestler stances.

  The hated enemies made several feints at each other, but then Garza side-kicked Emmet’s left leg, dropping him to one knee. Garza charged, forcing Emmet to shield his head with his arms from the assault. “This is for my cousin!” Garza screamed as he delivered punch after brutal punch.

  Blindly, Emmet groped for Garza’s shoulders and, with great force, shoved him back. Garza lurched forward again, the momentum tumbling both men into the river. Garza’s hands were as strong as iron, and he grabbed Emmet by the throat and forced him underwater. Emmet twisted and turned to break the vise-like grip, but his left leg was pinned beneath his body. He held his breath and tried to pry Garza’s hands from his neck. He rocked his body back and forth until his leg slid out from beneath him, allowing him to shift his weight to his right side.

  Emmet tomahawked Garza’s face with both fists, knocking him backwards. With his right foot wedged between two rocks for purchase, Emmet sprang from the water with a sudden surge of power and clamped his hands around Garza’s throat.

  Garza struggled as Emmet extended his fingers and locked them in place. Garza thrashed in the water, but Emmet’s arms were two solid rails of steel, and he channeled all his fury into them—fury at the man who murdered Faith’s parents, abducted innocent girls, tortured the King, killed the woman he loved; fury at the men who stole from the poor, bullied the humble, and left a wake of sadness and grief behind them. All this raw emotion strengthened his resolve and the grip of his fingers, and he squeezed with such force that he felt Garza’s windpipe crack under his thumbs, and even then, even after the last air bubbles broke the surface and the body went still, he held him under for anot
her minute.

  He released the body, and the wind nudged it back to the bank. Emmet stumbled onto the shore and flipped himself on his back. “That,” he panted, “was for Mariana.”

  He lay there for ten minutes, spent. Eventually, he tilted his head up and gazed at the purling water. Dragonflies with colorful wings flitted across the sawgrass. In the shallow waters of the opposite bank, a blue heron stood motionless on its reedy legs. As he viewed the tranquil scene, he realized any new life he made for himself from here on would be without Mariana, and then his hollowing grief returned, forcing his head back to the ground.

  CHAPTER 40 THE ROAD BACK

  “Faith, you can come out now,” Emmet shouted as he dismounted.

  The girl eased herself from behind the bushes. “Is he dead?”

  “Yep.”

  She raced to him and hugged him around the waist.

  “It’s over, darling,” he said. “This whole nightmare is over.”

  “Are we going to bury Mariana?”

  “No. I’m bringing her back to town. She was a churchgoer and deserves a proper burial. Hop up on Ruby Red.”

  She mounted the horse and said, “I’ll make room so you can fit her body on.”

  “No. I’m gonna carry her. You ride.”

  “It’s a long way back,” Faith warned. “It would be much easier to let the horse do the work.”

  “Listen, I never got to hold the first woman I loved after she died because I lost her in a fire. This time will be different. I’m gonna hold on to Mariana as long as I can. Let’s go.”

  They set out for Santa Sabino in silence, Emmet holding Mariana in his arms, lumbering side to side, Faith atop Ruby Red, moving at a slow pace. Emmet thought about everything that had occurred since he had received the telegram seven days ago. Conflicting emotions battled inside him: his sense of redemption at having saved Faith and the rest of girls, swamped by his grief at losing Mariana; the warmth of his heartfelt reunion with the King after so many years, chilled by his torture and accidental death; his relief at coming into so much money so quickly, darkened by the realization that he still had no home or place to go.

  They walked for two hours without stopping before Emmet needed a break, the front of his denim shirt black with sweat from the heat of the blanket he had wrapped Mariana in. He sat on a rock, still holding her, while Faith uncorked the canteen. She took a swig and handed it to him. He took a long pull, handed the canteen back, and wiped his mouth. When he passed it back, he noticed her eyes were fixed on the road ahead.

  “Somebody’s coming,” she warned.

  Emmet turned and saw a wagon rolling towards them from the opposite direction.

  “Could be trouble,” he said. “Bring me the spyglass.”

  She dismounted and handed it to him.

  “Hold Mariana while I take a look.” Faith sat on the rock, and Emmet gently rolled the dead woman into the girl’s lap. He peered through the eyepiece and sighed with relief when he recognized the driver approaching them in Soapy’s wagon.

  “It’s Pedro,” he said.

  When he got nearer, Pedro shouted from the wagon, “Is Garza dead?”

  “Yep,” Emmet yelled back.

  “Then we did it!” Pedro yelled. “All of us. The cousins are dead, and the army has gone home.” He pumped his fist into the air, and screamed, “Santa Sabino is free!” He immediately lowered his hand and rolled to a stop when he saw Mariana’s lifeless body. “What happened?” he asked, the excitement draining from his voice.

  “Garza,” Emmet answered.

  “We couldn’t save her,” Faith added. “I couldn’t pull the stakes out in time.”

  He looked at Emmet. “I’m so sorry for her, and for you. Come, let’s bring Mariana’s body to Father Ramirez.”

  Emmet and Pedro took the body from Faith and placed it in the wagon as if it were a fragile piece of art. Emmet climbed in the back. Faith tied Ruby Red to the back of the wagon, jumped onto the toe board, and sat next to Pedro.

  “You must be Major Kingston’s niece,” he said. “I’m glad you’re safe. Now, let’s get you back, too.”

  And then with a flip of the reins, Pedro roused the horses and turned the wagon back toward Santa Sabino.

  The muddy roads slowed them down, and they entered the village from the south in the early afternoon. The clouds had cleared away, and the strong sunshine made the adobe buildings shimmer. Emmet heard noises of celebration as they approached the center of town. Hundreds of villagers swarmed the main plaza, chattering excitedly, exploding firecrackers, and dancing in groups.

  Emmet eyed Soapy standing on the edge of the crowd. He waved to him, catching his eye, and pointed to the church. Soapy waved back and pointed to the same place. Pedro maneuvered the wagon next to the San Lazaro church. Soapy scooted around the edge of the crowd toward them, only to slow his pace to a crawl when he saw Mariana’s body.

  Soapy looked at Emmet and asked, “Are you okay?”

  He nodded.

  “Poor Mariana,” Soapy condoled. “She was a brave woman to go into battle with us.”

  “I met her six days ago,” Emmet replied, “but I felt like I knew her for twenty years.”

  “I know you had feelings for her,” Soapy said, wrapping his arm around Emmet’s shoulder.

  Emmet nodded again.

  Next Soapy looked at the girl. “You must be Faith. I’m sorry about your parents and your uncle.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Garza?” Soapy asked.

  “In hell,” Emmet replied.

  “Good,” Soapy said with a hard toss of his head. He took his arm from Emmet’s shoulder and slapped him on the back. “This thing is finally over.”

  Father Ramirez appeared in the doorway and directed Emmet to place Mariana’s body in the sacristy next to her dead father. Emmet had not been inside many churches in his life. He studied it as he carried Mariana down the aisle. The building was dimly lit, with rows of wooden benches and a simple wooden cross hanging behind the altar. The smell of burning candles was strong. It was as quiet as a crypt, save for the muffled din of the villagers celebrating outside in the plaza.

  A tapestry depicting the Virgin of Guadalupe hung on the wall. Emmet recognized it, because Mariana had once described it to him: a lady dressed in a blue-green mantle with stars on it, supported by an angel at her feet. Emmet felt a pang of peace as he carried Mariana past the tapestry.

  After Emmet set the body down, the priest said, “I will make arrangements for her Mass and burial.” He exhaled a loud sigh, shook his head, knelt down next to her, and began praying. Emmet walked to the back of the church and rejoined Soapy, Faith, and Pedro.

  “What are your plans, Faith?” Soapy asked.

  “I want to be a nurse. My mother taught me well. I birthed a calf when I was six and a real baby when I was nine.”

  “What about returning to your parents’ home in Diablo Canyon?” Pedro suggested. “Your mother healed the sick there.”

  “That place is just my parents’ cemetery now,” she answered. “It was hard for folks to get there. I need to be where the people I want to help are.”

  “Well, then stay here with us in Santa Sabino,” Pedro said. “We have great need of someone with your skills.”

  “I don’t know anybody in Santa Sabino,” Faith said in a dull tone. She pulled down a lock of her hair, stroked it, and shrugged. “But, then again, I don’t know anybody in any other towns.”

  As Emmet listened, he knew she wasn’t pitying herself, just speaking the truth.

  “Stay with me and my family,” Pedro pleaded. “We have two sons, and my wife has always wanted a daughter.”

  Faith hesitated and said, “I need to think on it.”

  “Stay with us until you decide.”

  “You have one huge factor working in your favor,” Emmet offered. “Your uncle told me that if anything happened to him, he wanted you to inherit the family money. He wrote a letter to that effect. I have
it in my saddlebag.”

  “Lawdy!” Soapy yelled and then caught himself. He looked back to see whether Father Ramirez had heard him. In a quieter voice, he said, “I mean, that’s a lot of money.”

  The expression on Faith’s face didn’t change. “I don’t care about money.”

  “You do realize you’re set for life,” Emmet said, “and can do anything you want. That money can buy a lot of medical supplies and a lot of education so that you can do a lot of healing.”

  As Faith pondered Emmet’s words, the church door flew open, and an excited Armando rushed in and ran up to Emmet. “Everybody knows you’re in here!” he shouted. “They want you to come out. You are heroes. They want to thank you.”

  Armando recognized Faith and approached her. “I am so glad you are safe. Do you remember me?” he asked.

  “Of course I do,” Faith answered. “You were kind to me.”

  “Armando, you reek of kerosene,” Pedro complained, swishing his hand back and forth in front of him.

  “I know,” the boy replied. “I warned everybody to get out of Salazar’s hacienda, and, after they did, I set it on fire. I hope my sister is able to see the black smoke from wherever she is.”

  “Such a huge place,” Faith said. “It will burn for a while.”

  “Such an evil place,” Armando said with a scowl. Then he caught himself, and his grin returned. “What will you do now, Faith? Go back to your family?”

  “My family is gone.”

  “I’m sorry. Will you stay in Santa Sabino? Please stay.”

  Faith turned to Emmet. “I just met you today, and I don’t know anything about you. But my uncle put a lot of trust in you, so let me ask: What do you think I should do?”

  “When in doubt, darling,” Emmet answered, “it’s best to heed your heart. And it sounds to me like your heart wants to heal people. Santa Sabino is as good a place as any, plus you speak the language.”

  Soapy grabbed Faith’s arm and said, “I can send you all the medical journals and books I can get my hands on. Plus, Doc Blackmore is a close friend of mine back in Sweetwater, and he’d surely take some time to teach you some of what he knows. What do you say?”