The Border Empire (3 page)

“
Vaya
con Dios, Senor Stone,” Gomez said from the doorway.

Wes lifted his hand in farewell and rode away. Having waited in the brush, Empty soon caught up to him, and they traveled westward. What Gomez had told him had come as no surprise. The man's obvious fear at the very mention of Mexico City said more than words could have. Wes recalled the legend that had arisen around Frank and Jesse James. Outlaws and killers, the very land through which they had ridden abounded with friends who had willingly hidden them from the law. But the James boys hadn't been able to buy the law, and that had proven their undoing. The Sandlin gang, however, had stacked the deck in the most diabolical manner possible. Empty ranged ahead, and Wes felt better for having the hound with him.

 

Wes chose a spring with good cover. There he built his almost smokeless supper fire, dousing it well before dark. He moved well away from the spring, spreading his bedroll near where his horses were picketed. While Empty would warn of any approaching danger, the grazing horses were an added precaution. An unfamiliar sound caused a grazing horse to raise its head, listening. To a trained ear, the absence of the
munch-munch-munch
of a grazing horse was as eloquent as a shouted warning. Wes slept, awakened once by the cry of a distant coyote. He waited until good daylight before lighting his breakfast fire, and then built it beneath a tree so that the leaves would dissipate the smoke. After breakfast, he saddled the grulla, loaded the packsaddle on the bay, and rode west. Ahead, he knew not how far, Wes could see a mountain range that seemed to run the length of the land, from north to south.
⁴

“Empty,” said Wes, as they approached a stream, “it's time for rest.”

Troublesome though it was, when Wes stopped to rest the horses, he removed the packsaddle from the bay and unsaddled the grulla, allowing the animals to roll. It might soon become a luxury neither horse would enjoy, when Wes was forced to ride for his life, but he would allow them their simple pleasure while he could. He estimated that in a day and a half, he had ridden well over a hundred miles. He had no idea how far he was from Chihuahua or what he would do once he arrived, but it was a place to begin. Continuing to ride west, his keen eyes caught a series of black specks against the blue of the sky. The specks soon took shape, as they spiraled downward. Buzzards!

“Empty,” Wes said, “something or somebody's had a bad day.”

As Wes rode nearer, he could see wisps of dirty gray against the sky. Smoke, from more than a single fire. Again, this time unbidden, Empty forged ahead. He returned, and this time there was no approving grunt. He whined, distressed. It was enough for Wes to dismount, leaving his horses among concealing trees and brush. He continued on foot, his hand near the butt of his Colt. He came upon the clearing suddenly. Where once a house and small barn had stood, there was only smoldering ruins. But the charred remainsof the buildings were only a small part of the tragedy. The Mexican couple—probably man and wife—lay facedown a few feet apart. Both had been shot in the back, not once, but many times, long enough ago for the pooled blood to have dried. But Empty had found something more. He whined once before trotting off among the trees to the west of where the house and barn had stood. Not knowing what to expect, Wes followed. On what might have been a door from the burned house, a young girl—maybe a year or two older than Wes—had been spread-eagled. Her ankles and wrists had been bound with rawhide, and she was stark naked. Taking the knife from his boot, Wes hastened to cut her bonds. First he freed her ankles, and the moment he loosed her hands, she came at him in a kicking, clawing fury. In her brown eyes was a look of madness, and her strength was such that she dragged Wes to the ground. She fought him for the knife, with every intention of gutting him if she got her hands on it. Wes fought his right arm free and drove a fist into her jaw. It stunned her long enough for him to get to his feet and return the knife to its sheath inside his boot. Finally she sat up and looked at him.

“Do you speak English?” Wes asked.

“Yes,” she hissed, “but I hate it and the
gringos.”

“I freed you,” said Wes, “and I had nothing to do with what happened here.”

The sun was warm, but she began trembling, as though with a chill. Huge tears rolled down her cheeks, and she spoke through clenched teeth.

“They use me, defile me,” she said bitterly. “I swear, by the horns of
el Diablo,
they will be sorry they do not kill me. I will find them, and they will die.”

“Do you know the men who did this?” Wes asked.

“Bandidos,”
she said. “Seven of them. They have many horses. They demand food we do not have.”

“So they murdered your parents,” said Wes.

“Before my eyes,” she said, the tears increasing.

“I'll think of some way of burying them,” said Wes, “but first I must find you some clothing.”

“No,” she said, “it does not matter. They take everything but my life. Let us do the burying, before the
busardos
come. Even more terrible than their dying was having the
busardos
take them, while I am helpless and can do nothing.”

Wes had known his share of women, but he suddenly felt awkward and self-conscious in the presence of this naked female who just didn't seem to care.

“Come on,” he said. “You can wait with the horses while I figure out some way to bury your dead.”

She came willingly, and Wes led her away from and around the clearing, so that she wouldn't have to see the dead bodies. Empty growled as they approached the horses, not trusting this stranger.

“You'll be safe here with my horses and my dog,” said Wes. “You might as well know my name. I'm Wes Stone. Who are you?”

“Maria Elena Armijo,” the girl said.

“Wait for me here, Maria,” said Wes.

Beyond the remains of the cabin, much of the land had eroded, leaving deep gullies. One of them became the grave of the girl's parents. Wes placed them side by side and caved in the banks of the gully. They should have had better, he reflected, but without a shovel, it was the best he could do. Suddenly Wes was startled by the frantic barking of Empty, followed by the patter of departing hoofbeats.

 

 

T
he grulla was gone. Swiftly Wes removed the packsaddle from the bay, mounted the animal, and lit out in pursuit. He was guided by Empty's barking, and he soon caught up, for the hound had headed the horse. The confused grulla was galloping in a circle, and Wes, galloping the bay alongside, seized the grulla's reins. But again the girl's eyes blazed with insane fury, and she flung herself at Wes, shrieking and clawing. They tumbled to the ground in an ignominous tangle of arms and legs. Thoroughly angry now, Wes managed to slam a right to her jaw, and she went limp. From his saddlebag he took a pair of yard-long rawhide thongs. With one, he bound her ankles, and with the other, her wrists. He then slung her, belly-down, over the packhorse. Riderless, the grulla stood with the reins dragging. Empty kept his distance, regarding the horse with suspicion, until Wes was in the saddle.

“Empty,” said Wes, “how did I ever get along without you?”

By the time Wes rode back to claim his packsaddle, the troublesome girl had come to her senses. Wes slid her off the bay and sat her down with her back against a pine. She regarded him in silence, and he found himself facing a dilemma. What was he going to do with her? He began with a question.

“While I was burying your kin, why did you take my horse?”

“I go after the
bastardos
who ruin me,” she said.

“Naked, without food or weapons?”

All the defiance leaked out of her, and her eyes couldn't meet his. Clinging to her was dirt and bits of leaves, and she seemed pitifully thin. Wes couldn't help feeling sorry for her, because it seemed she was concealing her grief behind her hatred for the outlaws who had brought her world to an end.

“If I turn you loose,” Wes said, “do I have your promise that you won't do anything foolish, such as stealing my horse or scratching my eyes out?”

“You have my promise,” she said, and this time her eyes met his.

Wes removed the rawhide, freeing her hands and ankles. She sat there, her back to the pine, watching him. Wes spoke.

“What am I to do with you?”

“You have been kind to me,” she said, “and you may do anything you wish.”

“Damn it,” said Wes, “I don't want your body.”

“I cannot fault you for that,” she said bitterly. “It has been violated by
perros
.”
⁵

“You are not the first to be violated,” said Wes, “and I think no less of you. First, we will go to the spring, so that you may wash yourself.”

She said nothing and, taking her hands, he helped her to her feet. She went ahead, and leading the horses, he followed. There was a runoff from the spring, the water flowing over some large stones. She seated herself on one of them. From his saddlebag, Wes took a small square of soap and presented it to her. When she seemed at a loss as to what to do with it, Wes took it and soaped her thigh. Getting the idea, she took the soap and finished her bath. She then slipped into deeper water and, submerging her body, washed her hair. Finally, dripping, she stepped out on the grass.

“Let the sun dry you,” said Wes, “and I'll find something for you to wear.”

He had two changes of clothes in his saddlebag. While they were only denim shirts and Levi's trousers, they would have to do.

“Get into these,” Wes said. “I reckon they won't fit very well, but you can't go anywhere naked.”

“Where I be going?” she asked.

“With me,” said Wes. “I can't leave you here.”

Wes almost laughed when she donned the shirt and Levi's, for they swallowed her. In the front of the shirt, she held her own, but the sleeves covered her hands. The legs of the Levi's extended well over her feet.

“Gracioso,”
she said, looking at herself.
“El tonto.”

“No,” said Wes, “you don't look funny, and you don't look the fool. Here, I'll roll up the sleeves of the shirt and the legs of the Levi's. Until you can do better, you'll get by.”

She still viewed herself with some amusement, but with shirtsleeves and the legs of the Levi's rolled up, she could manage.

“Where you take me?” she asked.

“Where do you want to go?” Wes asked. “Do you have kin?”

“I wish only to find the
perros
who kill my
padre
and my
madre,”
she said.

“How are you to do that?” Wes asked. “Had you ever seen any of those men before?”

“No,” she replied. “I hear them speak of Chihuahua. While they are taking their turns with me, one of them laugh and say I am something they do not share with Sandlin.”

“Sandlin,” said Wes. “Maria, are you
sure
of that name?”

“I am sure,” she insisted. “I can do nothing else, so I listen.”

“We're goin' to trail that bunch,” said Wes. “I have plans for them.”

“For why do you want them?”

“Maybe I'll tell you later,” Wes said. “Let's just say for now, I have as many reasons for wanting them dead as you do.”

Wes lifted her up on the withers of the grulla and mounted behind her. The bunch had made no effort to conceal their trail. It led west, and there were tracks of at least twenty horses, all of them shod.

“They have steal many horses,” said Maria.

“Yes,” Wes said. “These will be driven across the border and sold in Texas. How long had they been gone when I found you?”

“They ride in at dawn,” said Maria.

“We're a good five hours behind them,” Wes said.

They rode on, traveling more slowly, for the grulla was carrying double. Empty ran far ahead, for he still didn't trust the stranger who had taken the horse. While Wes didn't confide in the girl, there was a chance they might catch up to the outlaws sometime after dark. Wes had no doubt that these thieves and killers were part of the Sandlin gang, so he would take no chances when he eventually faced them. He was a little uneasy, because he had no idea how Maria Armijo might react. If her fury again got the best of her and she gave away their presence, Wes might find himself outgunned. He might quickly become the hunted instead of the hunter if even one of the outlaws escaped.

“We're going to stop before dark, cook some food, and eat,” Wes said.

“We be close enough for them to see the fire in the night,” said Maria.

“Maybe,” Wes said cautiously. He didn't want her getting ideas.

They reached a stream where the outlaws had watered their horses, and many of the tracks where the animals had left the water weren't entirely dry. The bunch wasn't more than an hour ahead, Wes decided, and darkness was only an hour away. He dismounted and helped Maria down. By the time he had removed the packsaddle and unsaddled the grulla, Empty had doubled back. His hackles rose, and he regarded Maria with anything but friendliness.

“The
perro
does not like me,” Maria said.

“He hasn't forgotten you took my horse,” said Wes. “Behave yourself, and he'll get over it.”

Choosing wood carefully, Wes built an almost smokeless fire. Filling the coffeepot with water, he put it on to boil, while he sliced thick slabs of bacon into his skillet. Maria watched with interest.

“I reckon you're hungry,” Wes said. “Sorry I didn't think of it sooner.”