Dorothy Garlock (6 page)

The evening was cool, and after a glance at the men she turned to the wagon to fetch shawls for herself and Jacy. She had started to climb inside when she heard a mournful wail that pierced her heart like a dagger.

“Maa . . . maaa!”

As Johanna turned from the wagon, her heart seemed to stop beating. Jacy was standing with her hands clasped tightly over her ears, her gaze riveted on the two Mexicans squatted by the coffeepot, their features clearly outlined in the flickering light of the campfire. They were staring at Jacy with something like disbelief on their faces.

The plaintive cry came again and trailed away on the evening wind.

“Maa . . . maaa . . . !” The call to her mother came repeatedly in the seconds that follow. Jacy’s eyes were wide with terror, her body paralyzed with fear. For an instant the scene around the campfire was suspended in silence, although the echo of Jacy’s hauntingly hopeless cries hung in the evening’s stillness.

“Johanna! It’s them! It’s them! They shot Papa . . . and hurt Mama. Mama begged them not . . . to hurt me—”

The two men stood up in unison as if mesmerized by Jacy’s stare.

“Madre de Dios! La hija, la virgen!”
Mother of God, the daughter, the virgin. The words tumbled from the man’s lips.

Johanna’s mind scrambled for comprehension. She stared at her sister as if transfixed. The fact that she had broken her long silence had not yet penetrated her senses. Johanna ran to her and put her arms around her. Jacy’s anguished eyes never left the men beside the fire.

“Oh, Johanna, it was so terrible what they did. I wanted to die, prayed to die! I’m sick! I’m going to throw up!” The contents of Jacy’s stomach came up and out and covered the front of her dress. Johanna tried to draw her back, but Jacy turned, pointing a shaky finger at the Mexicans. “You’ll burn in hell! You’ll . . .”

A black-clad figure, moving with incredible speed, emerged out of the shadows as Johanna pulled Jacy toward the wagon.

The Mexicans shifted their attention to the man, awareness of their desperate predicament plainly visible on their faces. The men behind them faded into the background, and they stood alone beside the fire. Luis faced them, feet apart, his body bent slightly forward, his face expressionless but for his narrowed eyes. His hands hovered over the twin guns on his hips.

“Perros!”
Dogs. The word, when it came, was hissed through tight lips.

The two men glanced quickly at the men standing around them, and then at Burris. There was no help there. Then they looked at the slim, black-clad figure facing them. They knew in that awful instant that they were going to die. In desperation, they reached for their guns.

Luis’s hands flashed down and his guns sprang up. Their guns had scarcely cleared their holsters when he fired. One of the men was flung back as if struck a tremendous blow. The other staggered and went to his knees, his face wolfish, teeth bared in a snarl. He lifted his gun and Luis fired again. A hole appeared between the man’s eyes and he fell backward, the back of his demolished head disappearing in the short prairie grass.

The roar of the guns was so unexpected that Johanna and Jacy were paralyzed with shock. They gazed with horror at the two dead men and at Luis, who was shoving his guns into his holsters. The reality of what they had just witnessed began to take hold, and they clung to each other.

Burris stood as if his feet were planted in the ground, then slowly lifted his hands, palms out.

“Where do you stand?” Luis waited, his stance loose, his eyes missing nothing.

Burris shook his head and his hands at the same time. “I stand alone, señor. I stand alone.”

“When I see you again I will kill you.” The words were softly spoken, but the import was heavy.

“Now see here . . . I ain’t never set eyes on them afore they come ridin’ in a few days back. I don’t know nothin’ ’bout what they’ve done, hear?” Burris looked at Red. “I ain’t never had no trouble with Macklin riders, Mr. Redford, you know I ain’t.”

Red looked at him coolly. “Only ’cause you was afeared to, Burris.”

“I ain’t like them Mex—”

“Sleep with dogs, you’ll get up with fleas,” Red quoted dryly.

“But . . . this here’s my place and . . . I ain’t no gunfighter.”

“Then I guess you’d better clear out of the country. Luis ain’t one to repeat hisself.”

The men watched him go. Not a sound was made until the sound of hoofbeats dimmed, then a few angry curses were flung after him. Red walked over and looked down at the dead men by the campfire.

“Carlos, you and Paco see what these varmints was apackin’. Get the guns off ’em and anythin’ else anybody wants. Ain’t no use lettin’ Burris make a profit off ’em. Some of you get shovels—not that they deserve buryin’, the dirty, murderin’ bast—” He broke off and looked guiltily around. “We’d ort t’a strung up the sons of bitches,” he muttered.

“Hangin’ woulda been too good for ’em, Red,” Paco protested. “What we ort t’a done was nail their balls t’ a stump ’n’ shoved ’em over backwards.”

“What Luis done was fight,” Mooney said. “He give ’em a chance. But, dadburnit, he was sure takin’ hisself a chance takin’ on both of ’em.”

Behind the wagon, Johanna held her sobbing sister in her arms. Then she bathed her face with a wet cloth and talked quietly to her until she calmed. Then Johanna lit a candle, lowered the canvas flap, and helped her sister undress for bed.

“Keep talking, darling. Please keep talking. I’m so afraid you’ll stop. Tell me everything. We’ll talk it out and then it will be a part of the past and we won’t have to mention it ever again.”

“How can you say that?” Jacy sobbed. “You know I can never forget it. I’ve got this . . . thing growing inside me. I hate it, Johanna! Hate it! Why won’t it die? I’m ruined, and you know it. Every time anyone looks at me they’ll . . . know.” Jacy turned her face into the pillow and sobbed.

Johanna sat beside her, searching for comforting words to say.

“Jacy, dear.” With gentle fingertips she turned the tear-wet face toward her, and a pang of anguish shot through her heart. There was such futility in Jacy’s eyes. “We’ll face what comes together,” she said. “Our parents are gone, but think about this, Jacy. You’re going to have an extension of Papa and Mama. They’ll live on in the baby.”

“No.” Jacy shook her head and Johanna saw in the forlorn look the death of a young girl’s dreams. “Johanna, I’m so ashamed I can hardly look anyone in the eye. Oh . . . I miss Mama so much!”

“I know you do, and so do I. Mama wouldn’t want you to hate the baby. She was a wonderful mama to me. I owe her so much. She took me to her heart and loved me when my own mama deserted me and Papa.”

Tenderly she pushed Jacy’s brown hair back from her face. It had been a long day and one full of emotions. Jacy was exhausted but so keyed up that she couldn’t relax. Nature, however, was strong enough to cope and finally Jacy fell asleep, her hand still holding Johanna’s in a tight clasp.

Johanna sat beside her sister for a long time before she blew out the candle and left the wagon. The moon was up and flooded the camp with light. The small fire in the center of the circle of wagons burned low under the coffeepot, left there for the night guards. The silence was absolute except for the sounds of horses cropping the short grass and an occasional blowing and stamping. Without these famililar sounds, Johanna thought, one might think the world had gone away, except for herself, on a tiny island in a sea of straw-colored grass.

Slowly she sank down on the crate and leaned her head back against the wagon wheel. She was weary and closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them she saw a figure come out of the shadows and walk across the center of the camp toward her. As he passed the campfire she saw the gleam of the silver-handled pistols. She rose to her feet and stood waiting for him to reach her. He approached to within a few feet of her and stopped. She could see only his silhouette as he stood with his back to the fire.

“The señorita? Is she all right?” His voice was soft but deep, his accent Spanish.

“She had a terrible shock, but it was for the good. She’ll be all right now.” Johanna spoke to him in fluent Spanish. “Thank you for what you did.” She added the last hurriedly, because he had turned to walk away. He looked back at her now.

“Good night, señorita.”

“
Buenas noches,
Luis.”

Johanna watched the tall, slim figure slip back into the shadows and disappear. She sat down again. The silence of the night made itself felt after he left her and she knew, without analyzing it, that here was a man who shared only a small part of himself with other people.

*  *  *

The next day was unbearably hot, but they were moving toward the mountains, whose purple shadows seemed to reach toward them promising cool breezes and a relief from the relentless sun and clouds of dust that hovered over them.

The river crossing began when the first faint streaks of red appeared over the eastern horizon. The air was alive with excitement, and for Johanna and Jacy, so long under their own dark cloud, the challenge to reach Macklin Valley across the miles of desolate, dangerous terrain spoke of adventure and lifted their spirits.

At the point of their crossing the riverbed was solid rock, and though the water barely reached the bottom of the wagon, the current was swift enough to be a real danger. Even with Luis guiding them and the extra precautions of heavy ropes secured to either side of the wagon and outriders alongside, the vehicle skidded on the moss-covered stones. Finally, the wagon rolled safely onto the riverbank and Luis wheeled his black stallion to plunge back across for the dainty sorrel mare that had been tied to one of the freight wagons. It was evident from the way he handled her that he was immensely proud of the horse. He led her up to the wagon where Jacy and Johanna sat as they watched the heavier wagons make their crossing, then swung out of the saddle and approached the excited mare. He talked to her softly, gently stroking her nose and neck.

Jacy never took her eyes off the man and the horse, and when he saw her looking at him, he smiled. He led the mare over to her and held out the lead rope.

“She’s beautiful!” she cried out involuntarily, then laughed. Johanna felt tears spring to her eyes. The sound was so familiar and so . . . dear.

“
Sí,
she is!” Luis spoke softly and gave Jacy a searching look, so penetrating yet so filled with understanding that she was compelled to meet his eyes.

As the significance of his words dawned upon her, color flooded her cheeks. Her breath seemed to stop, and her pulse to accelerate. For what could have been an eternity, their eyes held, and then he smiled. It was as if they had reached an understanding that needed neither words nor actions to make it more real.

He mounted the stallion and looked at Jacy once again before he splashed back across the river, leaving her holding the mare’s lead rope.

“Well, now.” Mooney tugged at the brim of his battered hat. “Luis sets a mighty big store by that mare, missy.”

Jacy gave the rope a tug. The mare bobbed her head up and down and moved close to the hand that reached out to pet her. The young woman turned a beaming face toward Mooney.

Johanna couldn’t believe the change in her sister. Just twenty-four hours ago she had been a silent, brooding girl whose spirit appeared to be broken. Now it seemed as if the floodgates had been opened by last night’s tears, and a large portion of the depression that had gripped her for months had been washed away.

The wagons and the horses had all crossed the river, and still Luis hadn’t come for the mare. Mooney climbed down and led the horse to the rear of the wagon and tied her rope securely to the tailgate. Jacy moved to the back so she could be near the mare. Johanna could hear the murmur of her voice and occasional laughter. After months of her sister’s silence, Johanna treasured every sound that Jacy made.

The trail followed a torturous route. This was the “mean” country Mooney had talked about at the beginning of the trip. It was a baked and brutal land, sun-blistered and arid. The trail snaked through stands of organpipe cactus, prickly pear, and cat’s claw. The desert throbbed with its own strange life and death. The desert allowed no easy deaths, only hard, bitter, ugly ones. They traveled on in silence, while the sun grew hotter as it rose higher in the sky.

The swaying, bouncing motion of the wagon was conducive to drowsiness, and Jacy lay in the hammock, her face turned so that she could watch the mare trotting along behind the wagon. When she was sure Jacy was sleeping, Johanna spoke to Mooney.

“Does Luis have a family in the valley?” She asked the question abruptly. Mooney said nothing. He cut off a chew of tobacco with a long, thin blade and didn’t look at her. Johanna turned on the seat so that she could look into his face, hoping to read something from his expression. “Is there some reason why you don’t want to talk about Luis?” she asked quietly, and waited patiently for him to shift the cud in his mouth.

“It ain’t that . . . exactly.”

Johanna took a long breath and held it. “Well, go on, Mooney.” She said it lightly, with a small laugh, in an attempt to ease the tension between them.

“Luis is the ol’ man’s son.” Mooney said the words right out and looked at her to see her reaction. She was smiling.

“Is that all? I thought he was an outlaw, or something worse.”

“It ain’t nothin’ to smile ’bout, Johanner. The ol’ man hates him worser than a rattler.”

Johanna looked startled. “Hates his own son? I find that hard to believe.” And remembering their meeting beside the campfire the night he had killed the Mexicans, his concern for Jacy, and his quiet dignity, she added, “He can’t be that bad, Mooney.”

“Well, it’s the God’s truth, and you’ll find out once you get to the valley. Ol’ Mack’s a hard case. He hates most thin’s he don’t understand. Guess that’s why he’s got such a powerful hate for the Mexicans.”

“Luis is Mexican,” Johanna said, now aware that Mooney had more to tell. “That’s obvious to me despite the blue eyes and his height. But why would Mr. Macklin marry a Mexican if he dislikes them so much?”