Along The Fortune Trail (16 page)

T
omingo Saloon sat in the middle of the long row of adobe buildings that made up the one-sided street of Abiquiu. A fifty-foot oak tree grew directly in front of the saloon, throwing a shadow that slowly moved like an eclipse from building to building, one end of the street to the other, as the sun moved across the sky. Sammy and Blaine tied their horses to the hitching post and made for the archway entrance with Blaine moving in more of a hop than a walk.

The wall behind the bar had a long mural painting of vaqueros driving a herd of cattle. “Buenos tardes. Good afternoon,” came the greeting from the short, portly Mexican bartender. He was middle aged with thinning hair and a well-manicured, waxed mustache that was twisted into points on each end. His white cotton shirt was collared, accented by an ivory bola shaped like a bull's head with inlaid turquoise eyes.

“Hello,” Blaine said as he made his way to a table against the wall by the front window. He sat down and set his injured leg up on another chair.

Sammy walked to the bar. “Hola, señor. You have rooms for rent?”

The bartender slapped his hands on the bar. “I can do that, se ñor. One or two?”

“How much for each room?”

“One night?”

“Yes.”

“One dollar each room. Is less if you stay longer.”

“Just one night,” Sammy said as he put the silver dollars on the bar.

“Hey there partner, I could use a little pain relief,” Blaine said from the table. “How ‘bout pickin’ a bottle of somethin’ good. I'll pay the man when he brings it.”

“Mescal, señor? Is the best I have,” the bartender replied to Blaine.

“I reckon you oughta know. Bring it on.”

“I will bring it, señor. Go and sit,” he said to Sammy.

Sammy walked over to the table and sat down. “Pain relief, huh?”

“Yeah, she's throbbin’ pretty good. Plus, I could just use a drink. Gunnin’ down half a tribe of Apaches in close quarters ain't exactly a everyday thing.”

“No, it ain't.”

The bartender came with a bottle and two glasses. “You want to eat?” he asked.

“Later. I wanna drink for now,” Blaine said.

“Yeah, I'll wait for a while,” Sammy followed.

The bartender looked at Blaine's leg. Blaine saw him looking. “Is there a laundry house here … wash my pants?”

“I can do that, señor. Wash and fix: one dollar. You want a bath?”

“A hot bath? Caliente?”

“Si, señor. Hot. Big tub. One dollar.”

“Maybe later. I'll get you my pants in a minute. I gotta get my other pair to put on.” Blaine poured two fingers worth in his glass and drained it.

“I didn't see a livery when we rode in. Is there one around?” Sammy asked.

“What do you want, señor?”

“I wanna get my horse fed, watered, brushed, and stabled for the night.”

“I can do that, señor.”

“One dollar?”

“Si … I have a barn around back. I am Enrique Tomingo. Anything you want, I can do that. Okay señors?”

“Alright, Enrique. I'm Blaine Corker and this here's Sammy Winds. You can take my horse, too, but I'll stow my own gear. Everything but my saddle will stay in my room with me. Okay?”

“Si, Señor Blaine. You want your things in your room now?”

Blaine looked surprised. “How's that gonna happen?”

“I can do that, señor.”

“One dollar?”

“No charge, señor. But you can give the boys something if you want.”

“They can get my gear too,” Sammy chimed in. “You better get his stuff. He's not in the best of shape on his feet at the moment.”

“Si, señor. Right away.” Enrique turned and yelled at the doorway behind the bar. “Juan! Ernesto! Come here!”

Two boys about ten years old walked quickly from the doorway and came to attention before Enrique Tomingo. “Yes, Papa,” one of them said.

“Go and get everything but the saddles off the two horses in front, and put it in rooms one and two. Now.”

“Si, Papa.” The boys wore harachi shoes with brown homespun pants and white blouses. They hurried out the front of the saloon. Sammy and Blaine watched through the window as the boys quickly and expertly removed the saddlebags and other gear from Dobe and Seesaw.

“Your sons?” Sammy asked.

“The taller one is my son. His friend Ernesto works for me on Saturdays. They are good boys, señor.”

“Yeah, it is Saturday. I reckon I'd be drinkin’ ‘bout now anyways,” Blaine said as he poured another one and threw it back.

“Yes, señors. The piano player will be here soon and many people will come tonight. There will be card games too, if you like.” Blaine shifted his leg slightly on the chair and grimaced. “We do not have a regular doctor, Señor Blaine, but there is a old medicine woman I can get if you want for your leg. She is very good with dressings and healing paste. She knows all the plants and how to make the paste from them.”

“Thanks, Enrique. My amigo here and a good woman did a nice job already. It's just sore is all. Could I see her in the morning if I wanted?

“Si … I think so. I will inquire of her.”

“Okay. How much for the mescal?”

“One dollar.”

Blaine put five dollars on the table. “Here's for the mescal and my pants and extry good care for our horses. You can give any leftover to your boy and the other young man.”

“Gracias, Señor Blaine.”

The boys came back in the saloon carrying the gear and walked through to a back hallway. Blaine gingerly pulled his leg down from the chair it was propped up on and stood up, pausing momentarily before beginning to hobble after the boys. “I better change these pants while I'm still sober enough to do it.”

“Give a holler if you can't manage it,” Sammy said.

“Oh I can manage ‘er now. I got mescal management in charge,” Blaine replied as he disappeared into the hallway.

Sammy poured himself a drink and took a sip. He knew from the bottle that it was homemade, but was surprised at the quality. Most of the homemade stuff he'd tried tasted more like turpentine or kerosene than alcohol, except for the whiskey that the Taylor brothers brewed at he Twin T. They knew how to make it right. He drank the rest in one swallow and felt the wave of warm calm descend on him. Sammy poured another and drank it, then another. The ordeal of the previous day kept entering his mind as something that needed to be recognized, and then released to burn in the fire of the spirit he now consumed.

He relaxed and looked around the saloon, taking it in and appreciating the atmosphere. An upright mahogany piano resided at the back near a pot-bellied stove, and a dozen tables with chairs filled sat on the multi-colored tile floor. The plaster walls were adorned with brightly colored serapes, spread and affixed at intervals. Three old men occupied a table at the other end of the room and were presently eating.

Blaine limped back into the room and over to the bar holding his wadded-up bloody pants and his right boot. “Here ya go, Enrique.”

“They will be ready first thing in the morning, Señor Blaine.” Enrique took Blaine's pants and disappeared into the room behind the bar.

Blaine made his way to the table and sat down breathing hard. “I couldn't get my damn boot back on. Leg's too swollen to bend enough. How ‘bout a hand.”

“I can do that, señor. One dollar,” Sammy smiled, his eyes glazed and half open.

Blaine looked from Sammy to the bottle on the table, which held noticeably less than when he'd left. “Are ya sure?”

Sammy got up and grabbed the boot from Blaine who extended his leg up as Sammy pushed the boot on. “Forget the dollar—give me some makins,” Sammy said.

“I'll go ya one better. I'll roll it for ya. You pour.”

The men sat and drank and smoked and talked of all that had happened in such a short time. And they talked of the women and their tribulation and of the detour to Santa Fe and of what was ahead. They drank and smoked as the late afternoon faded into evening.

They didn't pay any mind to the medium-height thin man with the sombrero, who floated easily by them like a breeze toward the back of the saloon. Then the alluring melody of a Mexican folk tune lifted from the piano keys as his fingers danced with precision. Juan and Ernesto appeared from the back and lit wall lamps and two overhead chandeliers that had previously been wagon wheels, and people began to drift in.

Out of nowhere, she stood before them. Her thick, black hair was long and tumbled over her bare shoulders with the lustrous sheen of misted silk. Her skin was pure like almond ivory, and her large brown eyes peered at them from an angelic face with refined features. She wore a blouse and long skirt that fit loosely but could not hide the rare and sensuous figure that generated instant heat in men. She was beautiful and completely voluptuous. “Do you want to eat now?” she asked.

Sammy and Blaine both sat transfixed, staring at her with mouths slightly open as if observing one of the world's wonders. Her eyes widened and her eyebrows rose slightly, signaling that she was in search of an answer. Sammy regained some semblance of awareness and smiled as his head fell back a little. “Yes, ma'am. The mescal appears to be all gone, and I believe we're hungry. What do you have to eat?”

“Carnitas, beans, and tortillas. Very good.”

“Yes, ma'am. We'll have it! And a pitcher of water too, por favor.”

She smiled at them, then turned, and was gone. “Did I just see that?” Blaine asked. “Did I just see the most beautiful woman I ever seen … right here in whatever the hell the name of this town is?”

“Yep, you surely did.”

They ate like drunk, ravenous men, each having a second plate. Soon after their meal, the mescal and fatigue took its toll. The evening was festive at Tomingo Saloon, with music and card games and dancing as the piano player played to a large crowd. But Sammy and Blaine were not there to see it. They had turned in and slept soundly through the noise of the night.

A
fter breakfast the next morning, Sammy bought two old saddles and tack from Enrique Tomingo for a small piece of Ten Loco's gold. The cowboys packed on their gear and the extra saddles, and were down the trail toward Emily and Daniel's place before eight. Smoke came from the chimney, rising against the blue sky of morning, as they reined up in front. “Hellooo the cabin,” Blaine yelled as they prepared to dismount. The door opened and Emily and Daniel stepped out on the porch. Their boys came out just behind them and closely flanked their parents, the youngster's eyes wide with interest and curiosity about the cowboys’ every move. “Good morning,” Daniel said.

“Mornin’,” came the almost simultaneous reply from Blaine and Sammy.

“Come in and have breakfast,” Emily said.

“Thank you, ma'am, but we just ate. We're gonna saddle up those Indian ponies and we'll be in,” Sammy replied.

“They're in the corral around back. I can help,” Daniel said.

“No need.”

“Can I show ‘em, Paw?” Grayson eagerly asked.

“Me too!” His little brother pleaded instantly. Daniel looked at Sammy and Blaine, trying to detect whether or not they wanted the company, knowing that his boys would be full of talk and questions.

Sammy sensed it. “We'll take all the help we can get,” he said.

Daniel looked down at his sons. “Okay boys, but don't be meddlesome, and stand clear of those horses while they're saddling them.”

The boys jumped off the porch and stood in front of the cowboys, awaiting further instruction. “How is your leg this morning, Mister Corker?” Emily asked.

“About the same, ma'am. Not any worse I don't think. So that's good.” Blaine's answer sounded more like a question.

“I can change those bandages for you,” she said.

“Changed ‘em out this mornin’, ma'am. Poured some whiskey on too ta kill any germs. But thank you. I
would
favor a cup of coffee, though, if ya have any made.”

“I do.”

“Well, we'll be there in two shakes.”

“Which way men?” Sammy asked of the boys.

“Follow me,” Grayson said, and he began to march off toward the corral. He noticed his brother wasn't in proper formation. “Get in line!” he ordered.

Little Torbin quickly fell in behind his older brother and marched in-step as they had practiced many times before while playing soldier.

Sammy looked at Blaine. “Guess we better follow the general,” Sammy said.

“I reckon so.” They fell in line, leading their horses behind the boys with Blaine pulling up the rear at a limp.

After they finished, they went in and had coffee and visited for a while. Margaret and Claire were in good spirits, and their hair was freshly washed and combed. They wore clean dresses that Emily had given them. Emily made up a bag of food that had chicken and biscuits and oatmeal squares for their trip. “Here's some food to take with you. I hope it lasts you for awhile,” she said as she placed the canvas bag on the table.

“Thank you, ma'am. We'll be fine. We've each got a lot of jerky and hardtack. We even picked up some tortillas this morning,” Sammy said.

“Sammy here's a pretty fair hand with his fishin’ rig too,” Blaine said. “And we'll sure enough see game.”

Sammy reached into the pocket of his long coat and pulled out four small leather pouches and put them on the table. “I took this off one of those Indians … their leader I think. It's gold. We want you ladies to have it. I used a little to buy saddles for those ponies, but the rest is yours.”

The women looked at one another, and there was momentary silence until Daniel spoke. “Emmy and I don't want it or need it. I have my wife back and our boys have their mother again. You give it to these gals here, Claire and Margaret. I'm beholding to you men for my wife's return. I can never repay you for what you've done.”

“I didn't mean to give offense, sir,” Sammy said, suddenly aware of the possible affront to Daniel's sense of honor and now feeling a little stupid for having broached the subject in this particular setting. “We just figured they should have it. But we'll give it all to Claire and Margaret if that's what you want.”

“No offense taken,” Daniel said. He extended his hand to shake Sammy's, then Blaine's. “Please, give it to them.”

Claire suddenly felt very awkward, and Margaret looked anxious. “I don't want it,” Claire said.

“Me neither,” Margaret followed.

Sammy felt the dumb ass and was determined to extract himself from the situation as quickly as possible. “Let's figure this out latter on,” he said, putting the pouches back in his coat. “We oughta get goin’.”

“Yeah, we oughta,” Blaine seconded.

Sammy and Blaine brought the ponies around front as Claire and Margaret said their goodbyes to Emily. The women cried as they hugged each other. They promised to write each other. Then Emily led them in one last prayer as a group, something they had done together many times during their months of captivity. The men respectfully stood back and watched the scene unfold, aware of the intense bond between the women.

The women held hands and prayed. They stood silently clutching each other, as if summoning strength from each other against the emotional scars that each knew would confront them in their lives ahead. Then Emily hugged Blaine. “I'll never forget you, Mister Corker … either of you. I wish you Godspeed. If you're ever this way again, you always have a place to stay.”

“Thank you, ma'am. You take care.”

Emily went to Sammy and led him away from the rest of the group as they said their goodbyes. She faced him, keeping her back to all so as not to be heard. She spoke softly. “I believe Claire is with child.”

“Ma'am?”

“She's pregnant. So if anything should overtake her, you'll know why. She'll need that money. You make her take it.”

“I'd already planned on it.”

“She's got nobody else in Santa Fe—just her home. She said her folks in Texas disowned her when she ran off and got married. They didn't like the boy. She doesn't feel like she can ever go back—that she'd be shamed. Now with an Indian baby on the way …” Emily shook her head in worry and continued. “If Margaret's mother has moved on for some reason, you leave her with Claire. The place she lives, Cordova, is not too far from Santa Fe. She's only sixteen.”

“We'll make sure she's in a safe circumstance before we move on.”

“Thank you, Mister Winds.” She hugged him. “God be with you and bless you.”

“And you too, ma'am.”

The cowboys helped Claire and Margaret get mounted up on the Indian ponies, now replete with saddles and blankets and the buffalo coats tied on. They all waved as they rode out of the yard at a trot toward the southeast into a light breeze. The mid-morning sun was warm, and the pastel sky was swept with brush strokes of wispy clouds that hovered innocently and victoriously as witness to the glorious spring day.

The high plain was mostly flat, affording the chance to make good time on the fresh horses. They rode for several hours at a steady, easy lope, abreast of each other, the women in the middle with Blaine and Sammy on ends. Both the cowboys observed how well the women sat the saddles and held the reins. After a brief stop to eat and rest, they started out again at a walk. Claire asked Sammy, “Would you be riding faster if we weren't with you? You're not taking it easy on our account, are you?”

“Well … no.”

Claire turned her head and looked at Margaret, who was keenly interested in Claire's comment. “Come on, Margaret. Let's see what they've got!” Claire kicked her heels to the horse and leaned forward as the animal leapt to a full gallop. Margaret instantly followed Claire's lead, and the soft sod flew as the Apache ponies galloped with all they had.

Blaine looked over at Sammy, noting the vacant space between them. “I reckon they wanted some wind in their face.”

“Yeah, well no doubt they need it.”

“Should we give chase?”

“Nah, let ‘em run. We'll keep ‘em in sight. Sure looks like they can ride.”

“I know. They look like they're goin’ to a land grab.”

Run they did. The feeling for each of the women was exhilarating and liberating, as if an act of purging the horror of the cave. They raced on, with the only sound being the steady drumbeat of hooves rumbling over the ground in a concussive drone as the air rushed by and the expanse of the moving plain melted into a massage of the soul. Claire and Margaret were both smiling.

“They ain't gonna be in sight much longer,” Blaine said several minutes later.

“Yeah, they're getting small quick. Those ponies have some stay. We better get.”

Dobe and Seesaw received their master's commands and took off in a full gallop.

The cowboys’ horses ran with the spirit of chase, knowing instinctively they were after the ponies that had a head start, but running as if they were only yards behind rather than facing an insurmountable lead. On they galloped, with the specks they were chasing growing no larger after a long run. “They can't keep that pace goin’!” Blaine yelled.

“Neither can we! They're carryin’ less weight!”

They kept their horses running full out for another half mile, then finally backed off to a lope again. “I'm not runnin’ my horse lame tryin’ to catch ‘em,” Sammy said.

“Yeah, I guess we'll catch up when they want us to.”

After two more miles, they caught up to the women, who had their horses at a walk. “I reckon you'll be able to outrun anything that's chasing ya,” Blaine said as they pulled up alongside.

“Aren't they wonderful! They can really run!” Margaret exclaimed with an exuberant smile.

Claire looked happy too. “That was grand!” she said.

“They're good horses. They're yours now,” Sammy said.

Margaret leaned forward and rubbed her horse's lathered neck. “I'll call him ‘Windchaser.’”

“I think he done caught it,” Blaine smiled.

Margaret laughed. “How much more will we ride today?” she asked.

Blaine looked at the sun. “It's gettin’ on now.”

Sammy glanced up. “Yeah. It looks like another two hours across this plain to that forest ahead. We'll camp there if you gals have some travelin’ left in you.”

“Don't worry about us,” Claire replied.

“Easier said than done, ma'am,” Blaine mused.