The Border Empire (5 page)

“Damn it,” Dantzler said, “when the boss gits back from Chihuahua, he'll want to know what happened to Shag and the hombres ridin' with him. Boudlin, you and Shatiqua mount up, back-trail these horses, an' git back here pronto. I don't want Kazman climbin' my carcass, an' me with no answers.”

Shatiqua and Boudlin dropped the poles of the corral, allowing the six weary horses to enter. They then caught up their own mounts and saddled them. Shaking his head, Dantzler watched his companions mount and ride off toward the east. He had little doubt the seven missing men were dead, and he didn't relish breaking the news to Kazman when the surly leader returned.

 

Wes and Maria had stopped to rest and water their horses.

“We ride to Chihuahua or Namiquipa?” Maria asked.

“Chihuahua,” said Wes. “Namiquipa may be only a village, controlled by the outlaws. I hope Chihuahua is enough of a town for us to ride in without arousing suspicion. There's a chance, when those horses return riderless to their home corral, some of the gang may back-trail them. Once they find those seven dead men, they could easily begin tracking us. But we'll lose them when we reach Chihuahua.”

“Per'ap,” Maria said. “How well you speak the
Español?
”

“
Muy bueno, señorita
,” said Wes.

She raised her eyebrows, and he broke into a bawdy song in Spanish.

“
Bueno
,” Maria said.

She began firing questions at him in Spanish, and just as rapidly he fired back every answer in an accent as fluent as her own.

A little more than an hour before sundown, they reached a clear, deep-flowing stream. “We'll stay the night here,” said Wes.

“Do you wish me to cook the food?” Maria asked. “It is woman's work.”

Wes laughed. “It is the work of anyone who wishes to eat. But go ahead. Long as the fire's out before dark.”

He unsaddled the horses and removed the packsaddle from the packhorse. Gratefully, the animals rolled and then made their way to the stream to drink. Wes took the time to divide the gold coins he had taken from the outlaws. Half of them he returned to the saddlebag, and presented it to Maria. When she looked at the contents, she caught her breath.

“I do not know there is so much in the world. Why do you give it to Maria?”

“It's half of what I took from the outlaws,” Wes said. “If something happens to me or we become separated, you will not be poor.”

“Per'ap it be stolen from the poor.”

“Maybe,” Wes conceded, “but we have no way of knowing, and no way of returning it to those from whom it might have been taken.”

“Is true,” said Maria. “
Gracias
.”

After supper, Wes picketed the three horses well away from the stream.

“Why you take them so far from the water?”

“For the same reason we'll be spreading our blankets there,” Wes said. “Indians, outlaws, bears, or cougars all need water, and the farther we are from it, the less likely we'll have to fight any of them.”

“It still be light,” said Maria. “You will go to the stream with me while I wash?”

“I reckon,” Wes said.

She slipped out of her too-big clothes, and Wes followed her to the creek. She still had the bit of soap he had given her the day before.

“You do not wash?” she asked as she began soaping herself.

“I reckon I'd better not,” said Wes. “It'll wash all the
Mejicano
off.”

She laughed. “I fix more. Come.”

The water
did
look tempting, and having stripped him to apply the stain, he decided she wasn't about to be shocked now. Quickly he removed his hat, gunbelt, and boots. He then slipped out of his shirt and Levi's. Careful to leave his Colt within reach, he got into the cool water. She immediately flung his face full of water, and he retaliated. Following a pleasant time in the water, they crawled out on the grass to dry.

“We were like the
niño
,” said Maria.

“
Sí
,” Wes agreed. “Like the child that I never was.”

“Never?” said Maria wonderingly.

“I don't feel like I ever had a childhood,” Wes said. “My mother didn't want me, my kin were ashamed of me, and I never knew who my father was until he was dead.”

Her eyes met his, and the bleakness and regret in them stirred her to her soul. She crept close, put her arms around him, and he responded. Their emotions spent, they lay there in silence, watching the silver stars bloom in the deep purple of the sky. Mosquitoes began to feed on them, and they arose.

“Come on,” Wes said. “Let's get under those blankets before the varmints raise a mob and carry us off.”

 

 

B
y the time Shatiqua and Boudlin reached the arroyo where their seven companions had died, the stench was unbearable. They stood on the rim and viewed the carnage below, speechless.

“My God,” Boudlin said, “I ain't never seen nothin' like this. What you reckon was the cause?”

“Hell, how should I know?” said Shatiqua. “Maybe some hombres bushwhacked 'em and took the horses they was bringin' to Namiquipa.”

“That don't make sense,” Boudlin replied. “Why didn't they take the horses our bunch was ridin', along with the others?”

“We're gonna be needin' some answers for Kazman when we ride back to Namiquipa,” said Shatiqua. “Them horses went somewhere when they left that arroyo. We'd better git down there and do some trackin'.”

They studied the tracks of the horses as they had left the arroyo.

“Nobody's drivin' them broncs,” Boudlin observed. “They scattered every direction.”

“The shootin' could of been done from the rim,” said Shatiqua, “but it would of took two gunmen to kill 'em all. They wasn't a bunch of shorthorns.”

“That means they'd of left their horses back a ways and snuck up on foot,” Boudlin said. “All we got to do is ride in a circle, an' we'll find some tracks.”

“Hell, you'd have to be blind not to,” said Shatiqua, “with all them horses wanderin' around loose.”

“Suit yourself,” Boudlin said. “Where I come from, a man reads sign well enough to know a horse with a rider from a horse without.”

Boudlin began circling and soon found the place where Maria had left the packhorse. Following the tracks of the packhorse were tracks of a second animal, and finally tracks of a third. There was a profusion of tracks near the creek where Wes and Maria had spent the night.

“Three horses, three riders,” Boudlin said triumphantly, “and they rode west. I reckon we'd better follow 'em and see where they went.”

“They're headed straight to Chihuahua,” said Shatiqua, “where these tracks will be lost among a thousand others. Besides, there'll be rain before we ride ten miles. No trail.”

“You aim to tell Kazman that?”

“If I have to,” Shatiqua said. “He'll never be the wiser. Besides, it's the truth.”

“I'm a mite tired of bein' stuck in Namiquipa, never seein' nobody but that slicked-up varmint Kazman,” said Boudlin. “I wonder where Sandlin is.”

“I been with this outfit five years,” Shatiqua said. “I ain't never seen Sandlin, and I don't want to. I know of at least one hombre that got curious about Sandlin, an' one day he wasn't around no more. Sandlin's bad medicine.”

From beyond the mountains to the west, a rising wind swept in thunderheads, and for almost two hours there was a drenching rain. Wes and Maria took shelter beneath some trees, which did little to keep them dry.

“Tarnation,” said Wes, “that rain just blew in from nowhere.”

“Sí
,” Maria agreed. “Is no rain in winter, but per'ap every day in summer.”

“How long is summer?” Wes asked.

“Start in May, end in October,” said Maria. “It rain again
mañana
.”

The clouds were soon swept away, and the sun quickly dried their clothing.

“What you do when you reach Chihuahua?” Maria asked.

“I haven't decided,” said Wes. “I'll likely have to spend some time in the saloons, if I'm to learn anything about the Sandlin gang.”

“Saloons?”

“Cantinas,” Wes said.

“I go with you,” said Maria.

“It's no place for a woman,” Wes replied.

“with my hair short and a
sombrero,
I no be woman,” said Maria.

“If you aim to travel with me,” Wes said, “I want you to have clothes that fit. But if I get you a shirt that's the right size, there won't be any doubt about you bein' a woman.”

Maria laughed. “I fix that.”

On the packhorse was part of a bolt of cotton muslin intended for use as bandages. When they stopped to rest the horses, Maria partially untied the pack and brought out the muslin. Wes watched in silence as she ripped off a two-yard length of it. She folded it lengthwise until it was only a few inches wide. She then removed her shirt and wrapped her upper torso with the muslin. When she tied it securely, her chest was virtually flat. She then donned the shirt, buttoned it, and jiggled herself around. There was no tell-tale movement beneath the shirt, and she grinned triumphantly at Wes.

“Maybe you can become an
hombre,
after all,” said Wes.

Long before reaching the town, Wes and Maria could see twin towers reaching into the western sky.
⁸

“Is church, per'ap,” Maria said. “My
padre
be here once, and he say they
elegante
.”

The town was strung out, separated from the railroad and the depot. There were hills to the north and south. The streets were teeming with horse- and mule-drawn hacks, pack-laden mules, and crude two-wheeled carts drawn by donkeys. On the street leading to the railroad depot was an elaborate building that Wes eventually learned was the State Palace. To the rear of it was a
plazuela,
with a fine monument, and beyond that was the building whose twin towers they had seen from a distance. Across the railroad tracks, to the west, were the markets, shops, hotels, cafes, cantinas, and the shoulder-to-shoulder residences of the poor.

“I need
sombrero,”
Maria said.

“You also need clothes that fit,” said Wes. “Before we attract too much attention, I reckon we'd better find a store. You still aim to become an
hombre?”

“
Sí
,” she replied.

“I reckon I'd better buy myself some Mexican clothes,” said Wes. “I feel pretty good behind this
Mejicano
stain of yours. I don't have
Mejicano
eyes, but changin' out of Texas duds might help.”

They reached what appeared to be a mercantile, and it was somewhat isolated, likely because there was penned livestock. There was a pen of sheep, one of goats, and a third of pigs. A pair of mules looked over the rails of a makeshift corral. There were no horses, mules, wagons, or carts in sight, and the place looked deserted.

“This is an ideal place,” Wes said. “Nobody else around. With any luck, maybe we can get in there an' out without bein' seen by anybody but the storekeeper.”

They looped the reins of their horses around the hitching rail. Empty lay down next to Maria's black. While the dog hadn't become friendly to Maria, he had accepted her. With Maria leading, they entered the store. The old Mexican storekeeper was careful not to appear too curious. He allowed them to choose their purchases. Maria selected high-heeled riding boots, a loose-fitting cotton shirt, matching cotton trousers with a sash, and a wide-brimmed straw
sombrero.
Wes chose straw-colored trousers and matching shirt, and finally a wide-brimmed straw
sombrero.
He would keep his Texas boots. Maria paid for her purchases and Wes paid for his without a word being spoken. Quickly the storekeeper wrapped and string-tied everything in brown paper except the
sombreros.
Leaving the store, they mounted and rode in search of a lodging house or hotel. The lodging house they eventually chose was between the railroad and the street that seemed to house only cantinas, cafes, and bawdy houses.

“I speak,” Maria said as they prepared to enter the lodging house.

The old Mexican woman wore a shawl that obscured everything except her wrinkled face. She looked at Maria, then at Wes, finally fixing her eyes on Empty, who eyed her with suspicion. She finally pointed to Empty.

“
Uno
, dos, tres,” she said.

Maria nodded, paying what she asked. They were led down the hall and shown to a room. There was no key. When they were alone in the room, Maria laughed.

“No
perro,”
she said, pointing to Empty. “He
hombre
.
”

“I noticed that,” said Wes. “If they serve grub here, he eats at the table with us. I reckon we'd better get into our
Mejicano
garb and find a place to stable the horses.” Maria's new clothing was more in line with what a Mexican would wear. Her boots were simple, the shirt and trousers homespun.

Wes removed his hat, gunbelt, and boots. He then stepped out of his familiar Levi's and denim shirt, eyeing with some distaste the cheap Mexican clothing. It was loose-woven, a light tan in color, and appeared to be only a cut or two above burlap. The shirt fit well enough, and although he missed his belt, the trousers were adequate. The legs were long enough to conceal his Texas boots. The ungainly straw
sombrero
was the worst.