After America (59 page)

“Are you sure about this, Miguel?” Cooper Aronson asked. “It could add weeks to our traveling time, and I don’t need to tell you that every day we’re out in the wilderness is another we’re at risk.”

“I saw them, too, brother,” Adam said, speaking with quiet confidence. “They were road agents for a certainty. And a meaner crew than we saw in Crockett. They looked … I don’t know … professional.”

“He is right,” Miguel said. “They were agents, and I suspect they may have been the ones responsible for Palestine. They were close enough for it to fall within their territory if it is true that Crockett was the northern extent of the other gang’s turf.”

He cast an inquiring eye over at the camp whore called Marsha. Of the women they had taken in after Crockett, she had adapted best to her new role with the Mormons. That did not make her particularly reliable or pleasant company, but she was better than her two sullen friends who sat apart smoking hand-rolled cigarettes and furtively drinking from a hip flask they passed between each other. The Saints did not prevent their drinking—that would have been unfair given that they raised no objection to Miguel taking a sip at the end of the day—but they did not encourage the women to feel comfortable doing so in their presence. Marsha sat well away from the two women but still maintained her distance from everyone else except Miss Jessup, who formed a bridge of sorts between the two groups of women.

“Well, Marsha, do you think it’s true?” Trudi asked, in a gentle voice. “From what you knew. Are the men Miguel and Adam saw today likely to be agents claiming the country north of Crockett?”

Marsha glared momentarily at Miguel, who had, after all, blown the head off her man, but she softened under a supportive shoulder pat from Miss Jessup. Sofia rolled her eyes at her father, but he motioned her to be still. There was no sense holding a grudge against this woman for the company she had kept, not when she might be of some use to them.

“Could be,” Marsha offered. “The boys didn’t like to talk much about that sorta thing. They’d brag all day on a shootin’ or some pillage. But old Tom, he cracked down pretty hard on discussin’ things like that. You know, turf and politics.”

Miguel nodded. “Old Tom was the last man we hanged, yes?”

Marsha glared at him. “He was. And he was a good guy, too!”

Sofia snorted. “He was a murderer and a rapist who got what he deserved.”

“I am sure he has gone to his reward,” the vaquero intoned in a flat voice before addressing Aronson again. “You know my feelings about the agents. They are Fort Hood men. Perhaps not the lesser rank of them. They would just be thugs for hire, expendable. But the leaders of these gangs, they must answer to Blackstone, and to run their gangs as effectively as they do, they must have some training. The camp today, it was like the army with its discipline. I believe had we delayed long on that ridge, we would have been caught by them. They are not amateurs, and we will have a hard time staying away from them if we pursue our original route. This is why we must divert to the northeast. We cannot go west and into the lands directly controlled by Fort Hood. To them you are federales. Seattle’s people. You will not find an easy passage there.”

Willem D’Age leaned forward from his perch next to his fiancee Jenny, on the end of an expensive-looking leather couch. He used a small log to open the grille of the wood stove. Tossing in more fuel, he took up the case with Aronson.

“Miguel might be right. We did have trouble with those Texas customs and excise people a few days after we left Corpus Christi. You said at the time it was almost like they were waiting for us. And to tithe us as they did, I still do not believe that to be legal or just.”

Miguel folded his arms and nodded. “It is as I said. Out here justice is a bullet. These customs men, they pretended to tax you?”

Aronson snorted.

“No pretending about it, my friend. They took ten percent of our herd and supplies. Said it was a border fee or some such thing. They had papers and issued us with a receipt. It was all very official. Right down to the platoon of Texas Defense Force soldiers standing watch over the transaction. But they also said we would need to pay more tolls if we used the state roads to offset the cost of our protection. That’s how we came to ride through the agents’ territory. It seemed to us we would have nothing left if we tarried long in Blackstone country.”

Miguel stroked the rough beard on his chin and grunted.

“I have heard similar tales of federal ranches similarly taxed despite the exemption from Seattle, although it did not happen to me. Why take something piece by piece when you can have it in one bite, I suppose.”

“So do we do as Miguel suggests and ride around these men?” Adam asked, surprising the cowboy and causing Aronson to raise his eyebrows, too. The lad had developed a very mature sort of confidence. Miguel suppressed a smile as he saw young Sally Gray glancing approvingly at the boy, an interlude that his daughter very studiously chose to ignore. She would just have to accept the situation, he thought. The two Mormon youngsters had been spending a great deal of time together when the boy’s duties allowed, and although Miguel could see that Adam was drawn to the exotic in Sofia, there was no doubting the attraction of one’s own kind in the end.

He did not imagine they would be zipping their sleeping bags together, however. The Mormons maintained a strict propriety regarding such things. Even D’Age and his fiancee still slept apart. For Miguel, who felt Mariela’s absence like a suppurating wound, it was an impressive display of abstinence. What he would not give just to lie down with his wife one last time. Just to tell her of the things there had never been time to discuss in the rush of the everyday.

He rubbed at his eyes as they blurred and watered. Nobody noticed the weakness.

“I do not suppose we can hope to stand down this gang if we encounter them,” Aronson mused.

Again, before Miguel could answer, Adam spoke up.

“Not a chance,” he insisted. “They looked sharp and mean. The best we can hope for is to never see them again. I suggest we move before first light. They will have outriders, and the cattle do raise a dust cloud.”

Sally Gray, sitting next to Jenny, nodded vigorously but remained quiet.

“What say you, Willem?” Aronson asked.

“I’m with Brother Adam and Miguel, Cooper. I fear these men might be the perpetrators of that mass murder. And if they are, we will get no quarter from them. Not out here. I think it best if we take ourselves as far away as we can, as fast as possible.”

Aronson sat quietly, weighing his responsibilities as their leader. Miguel could see Adam’s impatience in every line of the youth’s rigid stance. He had placed himself over near the main entry to the large, open lounge area, and unlike the others he was still cradling his carbine as though ready to use it at a moment’s notice. Silence fell save for the crackling of the fire and the tinkling of cutlery on plates and bowls as a few of them finished their evening meals—beans and beef stew. Miguel gave Adam a look as if to say calm down, and the boy did visibly relax somewhat. Sofia meanwhile was as quiet and watchful as a cat.

“All right,” the Mormon leader said, at last. “I have to agree. We have not the numbers or, frankly, the ability to tangle with men like this and survive the encounter. I suggest that we bed down early tonight and make a start before sunup in the morning. I’ll tell Ben and Maive when they return from their patrol.”

Miguel nodded in satisfaction as the official meeting started to break up. He had a watch to stand at two in the morning with Adam and hadn’t yet eaten, having not long before come back from tending the horses, a role he had taken over after the death of Atchison. He took a ladle of stew from the big pot on top of the potbelly stove and tipped it carefully into a beautifully delicate china bowl, the sort of thing Mariela would have loved to have back at the ranch, something for good company.

“Fancy a drink, cowboy?”

He looked up from his stew, surprised to find Trudi Jessup holding a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“You found that here?” he asked.

Miss Jessup smiled. “They have a cellar. Had one, I mean. Awesomely stocked, too. This is a fucking 1990 Echezeaux Grand Cru!”

Miguel shook his head in bafflement.

“I have had some Tempranillo now and then, but I am not much of a wine drinker. This is good, then?”

“Actually, it’s corked,” said Jessup. “But what the hell. It’s an imperfect world. Glass?”

He shrugged acceptance, and she poured him a solid slug. It had no cork floating in it that he could see, but perhaps she had strained it out. He would have.

The Mormons were clearing away the leftovers of the meal and drifting off to wherever they had found themselves a bed for the night. The two camp whores were still smoking, but he could see in the window reflection that one of them was grinning wickedly at him. Sofia was staring out into the darkness. Miss Jessup raised the bottle inquiringly, smiling with great warmth. Miguel felt very uncomfortable.

“My wife …” he said awkwardly.

She regarded him with a strange questioning look, her head tilting slightly and a weird smile quirking one side of her mouth. Then her eyebrows shot up and her mouth made a surprised little O.

“Oh! Sorry, Miguel. I didn’t mean to give you any ideas or have any ideas about, you know … that. I mean, Jesus. How horrible. I’m not even …”

Sofia was watching them now, her attention drawn by the exchange.

Miss Jessup leaned forward, speaking in a lower voice. “I’m not even that into men, you know. I’m not a complete dyke, more sort of … manbivalent.”

Now he was entirely confused.

What on earth did she mean by all of this? He felt his face beginning to flush as Sofia pushed herself up off the couch and walked over to join them, obviously intrigued by whatever was happening.

“Well, that is … excellent,” he improvised, gulping a mouthful of the expensive corky wine to cover his embarrassment.

“Oh God,” she snorted before descending into a fit of giggles. “Oh, no, I’m sorry. Look, Miguel,” she said when she had herself back under control. “I like you. And your kid. She’s tough,” she said, nodding at Sofia, who was now standing beside him. “And you saved my fucking life, if you’ll pardon my language … and you’re … different, you know. You’ll take a drink, for one thing, and you don’t get all pussy-faced when I curse up a storm. I’m just saying I’d like a drink is all, and if we’re gonna be on this trail together, I’d like us to be friends. Is that cool?”

Miguel forced a nervous smile. He thought he understood now. Sofia’s smile was softer, more natural.

“I miss my friends from the camp and the boat,” she said.

“Yes. Okay,” Miguel said. “Friends are good. I had two very fine lady friends on the boat that got us out of Mexico,” he said. “My wife, Mariela, God rest her soul, she liked them, too. Miss Julianne, a real English lady, and Miss Fifi, who had a neck as red as the merciless peppers of Quetzlzacatenango but a heart as golden as Montezuma’s treasure room.”

“Is that a joke, Miguel?” Miss Jessup smiled.

“It is,” he replied a little sadly. “One of Miss Fifi’s favorites. But I joke to make well my sadness. She is dead now, I’m afraid.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Trudi said. “It’s a hard world, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss Jessup. It is.”

Adam appeared just then, saving him from further entanglement and awkwardness. Miguel saw his daughter searching the room for Sally Gray, but she had disappeared into the kitchen to help with the cleaning.

“Miss Jessup,” said the boy. “Miguel. I’m going to bunk down now. Do you need me to wake you later? I got this new watch today. Found it in the study upstairs. It’s one of those that keeps wound up just by the movement of your arms when you walk. It has an alarm, too.”

“That would be good. Thank you, Adam,” said the cowboy, wishing he could offer the boy a drink as a way of keeping him with them a little while longer. Instead he spooned up a mouthful of stew.

Miss Jessup, who seemed to have recovered her poise entirely, reached across and took Adam’s wrist between her long brown fingers.

“That’s a beauty, Adam. A
TAG
Heuer. It’ll last you a lifetime if you look after it.”

“You think so?” he asked.

“Oh, for sure. Hey, I don’t suppose you can take a little drink, can you?” she asked conspiratorially, winking at him.

“Oh, no, ma’am. That would be sinful. For me, that is. You’re welcome to, though. And Miguel, of course. He’s Catholic. They drink
a lot.
”

She rolled her eyes and laughed, a warm full-throated sound.

“Oh, Adam, I was schooled by nuns way back in the last century, so I figured that out a
long
time ago.”

“Sofia,” said Miguel, “would you like a mouthful of wine? Miss Jessup tells me it is very good.”

“Oh, please call me Trudi. You’re making me feel like an old schoolmarm with the Miss Jessup thing. And yes, Sofia, it is a very nice wine, if slightly oxidized.”

Miguel was not a puritan. For a few years now he had allowed his oldest child a small occasional glass of wine and water with dinner, when appropriate. Both he and Mariela had always thought it best not to surround the taking of strong drink with too much magic and mystery the way the Mormons did.

“I’d like that,” Sofia said. “We had wine at home sometimes. But I don’t know how good it was.”

Miguel allowed her to sip from his glass before Miss Jessup—sorry, Trudi—topped it off. The Mormons were all gone now, although he could hear the sounds of cleanup coming through from the kitchen. Marsha had stretched herself out on the couch under a colorful Navajo blanket and turned away from them. The other two whores were still smoking and muttering together, but they had lost interest in Miguel and Trudi. Adam, who was looking a little excluded, glanced about cautiously before reaching out for Trudi’s glass.

“Perhaps just a sip,” he said. “To see what all the fuss is about.”

She beamed and let him take a mouthful, giggling again at the face he pulled.

“Tastes like cordial syrup or something,” he said, apparently unimpressed.