Flora's Fury: How a Girl of Spirit and a Red Dog Confound Their Friends, Astound Their Enemies, and Learn the Impo (33 page)

An hour later, we rode away in an orderly file, two by two. Captain Oset ordered one of the privates to stay behind and gave me his mule, a particularly mangy specimen named Evil Murdoch. Horses didn’t last long in Arivaipa, she explained, which was why they rode mules, despite being a cavalry regiment. I’d never ridden a mule before; they are wonderfully strong as pack animals, tough as leather, but have a nasty reputation for being stubborn, irritable, and vengeful. Evil Murdoch didn’t immediately pull any tricks, but he had an aura of
Just you wait and see
about him.

When I had been marching around the Barracks, toting a heavy rifle and a heavier pack, I had envied the older cadets who had progressed to mounts. Let the horse do the hard work while you sit in splendor. Better to be a bouncer than a strawfoot, the Army saying goes. Well, whoever said that had never bounced through Arivaipa on the back of a swayback mule. Evil Murdoch had a spine as bony as a fence post. Within fifteen minutes, my thighs were burning and my feet were going numb.

And it was hot. Pigface, was it hot. The heat was dry like a blast oven, evaporating every drop of sweat, sucking the moisture out of my mouth, my eyes, my skin. Clara had found me a beat-up old sombrero with a very wide brim; I followed the example of the others and pulled it low over my face, then pulled up the bandanna Clara had given me, in a vain attempt to filter out some of the dust.

I rode at the head of the file, next to Captain Oset, so we didn’t have it as bad as those at the end. The file-closer must have been spitting gravel. The other soldier dogs didn’t seem to mind the heat; they trotted along ahead of the file, alert and happy But it was way too hot for Flynn; he rode across my pommel, draped in a piece of canvas provided by Clara.

Captain Oset was very chatty. As soon as she realized I was a greenhorn, she wasted no time describing Arivaipa’s charms in detail. Arivaipa’s charms were not in the least bit charming. Everything in Arivaipa, Captain Oset pointed out proudly, was trying to hurt you. The cacti scratched with nasty thorns; the rocks were as sharp as knives. If you stood too long in one place you were liable to end up swarmed with nasty black ants that stung like bees. The sun tried to fry you, sucking all the moisture out of your body, out of your soul. Buzzards and hawks wheeled overhead hopefully.

There were poisonous spiders, poisonous cacti, poisonous scorpions, poisonous snakes, poisonous lizards. There were mountain lions, wild bulls, wild horses, and javelina. There were outlaws, cattle rustlers, renegade broncos, miners gone crazy from the sun, and lone-wolf bandits, any of whom would kill you over a slice of bacon, a canteen of water—or a misguided remark about a shirt.

And, of course, there were the chupacabras.

What on earth had Tiny Doom been thinking to hide out in such a Goddess-forsaken place? If it had been me, I’d have picked someplace nice and distant—and civilized—like Porkopolis or even Ticonderoga.

“At least,” said Captain Oset cheerfully, “we don’t have to worry about any Broncos popping out from behind a mesquite bush and pulling our hair. They stay on their side of the Line now, and we stay on ours. Everyone’s happy and it’s a whole lot safer around here.”

“Why are they called Broncos?” I asked.

“’Cause they are as wild as wild horses. They don’t call themselves that, of course. They got their own name, Dithee. The People, I think it means. Oh, it was hot times in Arivaipa back in the day when the Broncos were on the ride. Before my time, of course. But you hear stories. Major Rucker was here back then; he’ll tell you. Broncos behind every cactus, just waiting for a chance to put a bullet in your back. They are great warriors.”

“But we beat them.”

“Well, I don’t know that we beat them, exactly. More like they just decided to retreat into the mountains.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? They got a different way of thinking and they keep their own counsel. They ain’t friendly to outsiders. Anyway, now we got peace. Of course, every once in a while, some miner hears a rumor about jade or gold on the other side of the Line and takes himself over for a look-see. Gets sent back in pieces, well barbecued. But otherwise, it’s peace between us. Now in Arivaipa, it’s the weather, and the banditos, and the chupas.” She twisted in her saddle and shouted, “Hey, Nobby, blow dismount!” Then back to me: “We do forty-five on, fifteen off here, Captain, to save the mules.”

As it turned out, walking through Arivaipa was worse than riding. Much worse. When the fifteen minutes were up and the bugler blew remount, I welcomed Evil Murdoch’s razor spine.

The ten miles from the stage stop to Fort Sandy seemed like a hundred. Captain Oset kept a steady stream of conversation the entire way; I tried to listen, hoping to pick up some clue about Tiny Doom, but the words began to blur into a haze of dust. The hundred miles grew to a thousand. By the time we arrived, the sun would have worn me to a nub. Finally, finally, the sun slanted down behind the western mountains and the air began to cool. To the east, huge black clouds began to build up over the mountains.

“We might get some rain, finally.” Captain Oset pointed. “It’s been over one hundred and fifty days now.”

“One hundred and fifty days with no rain?” I said, incredulous.

“Ayah. When it’s dry, it’s dry, but when the rain comes, you never seen so much water in your life. It’s all or nothing out here in Arivaipa. Hang on, Captain, I know it’s rough, but we only got a mile or two to go.”

A plum-colored dust was settling over the land, softening the harsh air and turning the mountains into silhouettes when we splashed across the Sandy River, muddy water barely coming up to our mules’ fetlocks. On the other side, three brushy wickiups stood under a stand of scraggly cottonwood trees.

“That’s not the fort, is it?” I asked Captain Oset. I had had another nip of the Tum-O and was beginning to feel a bit perkier. Now that we were so close, a nervous anticipation was beginning to stir inside of me.

She laughed. “Oh, no. That’s just a Bronco camp.”

“I thought all the Broncos lived across the Proclamation Line.”

“Most of them do. These stayed on this side of the Line when it was drawn up. We ration them, of course, and generally they aren’t much trouble.”

A boy sat in the dirt in front of the wickiups, watching us ride by. He was wrapped in a red blanket and the top of his head was covered in a crust of mud.

“What’s wrong with that kid?”

“Oh, Pecos? Nothing. That mud’s keeping the sun off his bald head.”

We rode past a low fence made of ocotillo ribs lashed together; inside, the enclosure was dotted with boards sunk upright into the rocky ground. The post cemetery. The boards were weathered and the sun had burned most of the inscriptions off. Two of the graves were fresh; miners, Captain Oset said, who had crossed the Line and been sent back in charred pieces.

We rode up a short incline and a yapping cloud of dogs dashed out of an arroyo, making the mules bray and dance. Evil Murdoch did a little soft-shoe, almost dislodging me, but somehow I managed to stay on, my thighs burning from the effort. Our soldier dogs ran to greet them and the reunited pack fell in behind our column. Flynn’s ears pricked up, but he didn’t bark in return, just looked down at the dogs from his superior position above them. Ahead, a flagpole stood in the middle of a barren, rocky ground. There, hanging limply was the familiar purple of the Califa flag.

Fort Sandy, Arivaipa Territory.

A
LL MILITARY POSTS HAVE
the same layout, so I knew that the crumbly adobe buildings on the southern side of the rectangular parade ground were officers’ quarters. The long, low building on the northern side was the enlisted barracks. There were no stables, only a corral, partially covered with a rough awning. Captain Oset detached, waving me to follow her, and we jogged across the parade ground toward the Commanding Officer’s Office while the rest of the detail headed toward the corral.

“The stables burned down a few years ago, and we haven’t had the troops to rebuild them,” Captain Oset said. “I fear Sandy ain’t the luxury you are probably used to, Captain. We got outdoor plumbing and our water is full of rust. Rope beds and mattresses made of cornhusks. But plenty of sunshine and fresh air. No, we ain’t at a loss for the sunshine.”

My heart was thumping, and I half expected to see Tiny Doom standing in a doorway or walking across the parade ground. But the only person I saw was a man in an officer’s jacket coming out of the COO. He stood under the ramada and watched us ride up. A small fawn-colored dog with floppy ears sat next to him.

“Ave, Major Rucker. Hey there, Sally,” Captain Oset said, reining in. So this was Fort Sandy’s commanding of' ficer, who had written to Buck asking for the chupacabra expert and then had given a year off his life to ensure its swift delivery. “Major Rucker, may I present Captain Nyana Romney, chupacabra hunter? Captain Romney, Major Powhatan Rucker.”

She swung down easily from her mule; after saluting, I followed suit and almost fell on my face. My legs were so stiff, I couldn’t bend my knees.

“Captain Romney got bucked earlier, Pow,” Captain Oset said quickly, grabbing my arm and pulling me up. “She’s real bunged up. She had a hard journey”

“Well, don’t just stand there, then, come on inside where’s it’s cool and have a drink, Captain. We are mighty glad to see you,” Major Rucker said.

He offered me his hand, and I shook it. His grip felt as dry and crackly as paper. The major was tall, and very very thin. In fact, he looked deathly. His cheeks were sucked in, his eyes sunk deep into their sockets, his dark skin as taut as leather over the skeletal frame of his face. He wore a pair of sunshades with green lenses, and when he smiled, his teeth were very white.

Captain Oset and I followed Major Rucker into the office, out of the blast of the sun into a blast of ice-cold air. Sally followed closely at Major Rucker’s heels, but Flynn refused to come inside, and so I left him sulking on the porch. The CO’s office was dim, its windowshades drawn, but there was enough light to see the source of the arctic air: another ice elemental sat in a cage dangling from the ceiling. Apparently, the Articles of War didn’t hold much sway at Fort Sandy.

I gave Major Rucker my forged orders. He took them without looking at them, then offered me a cigarillo that I refused and a glass of lemonade that I did not. The lemonade had bits of ice floating in it. I wondered where they got ice in the desert. Whatever the method, that was probably against regulations, too.

“We didn’t expect you quite yet, but I am mighty glad to see you,” Major Rucker said.

“I was able to travel very quickly.”

“Indeed. Well, I know how important this is. I hope Buck is well? It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her.”

“You know General Fyrdraaca?” I asked uneasily.

“Oh, ayah. Many years ago we were stationed together. Here in Arivaipa, as a matter of fact. She went on to bigger and greater things, while I still remain.” I recalled then that Major Rucker’s first name was Powhatan, just like my little brother’s. It’s an odd name, not from the family. I wondered whether Buck had named Pow for him, and why. I’d never heard Buck mention him.

Major Rucker continued, “I am content. Not all of us crave excitement.”

“It’s exciting here, Pow,” Oset protested. “We got floods, and chupas, and Broncos—how can you not call all that exciting?”

“True enough.” Major Rucker laughed. He hadn’t taken his sunshades off. “You are young, Bea—you like the fun. I was here when it was fun, and now I’m glad to be bored. I’m old and I just want my chair. Some people are good at pretending to be someone they are not. Not me.”

At his words, a shiver of paranoia went down my spine. Major Rucker picked up my orders and began to read them. Captain Oset threw herself down on the rickety velvet fainting couch against one wall and closed her eyes. I waited, hoping he would be as taken in by my forgery as Captain Oset had been.

He was. He dropped the paper on his blotter and said, “You’ll have to bunk in with Bea, but we can offer plenty of hot water. I’ll let you wash up and then we’ll meet and discuss your plan after lunch. You didn’t happen to bring any newspapers with you, did you, Captain?”

“No, I’m sorry, sir.”

Without moving, Captain Oset said, “They lost her luggage on the ferry Pow. Dropped it overboard while they were unloading it. Then her horse got spooked by a rattler and she lost the rest of her gear. Like I said, she had a rough journey.”

“Did you? Terrible luck,” Major Rucker said, and again that little thrill of paranoia slid across me. “Pity. We haven’t had a newspaper here in five months. We are way behind on news, and we could use a resupply of bog paper, too. Bea will show you where to bunk.”

Groaning, Captain Oset got to her feet. “Come on.”

Flynn was no longer waiting on the ramada; I heard barking and saw him running across the parade ground with the other soldier dogs. I didn’t call him back; let him have some fun for a while, blow off some steam.

“Are there are lot of rattlesnakes around here?” I asked as Captain Oset and I went down the ramada steps.

“Don’t worry about him,” Captain Oset answered. “The dog pack is good at killing rattlers. And it’s early in the season for rattlers, anyway Not hot enough for them.”

It seemed plenty hot to me. “How hot does it get?”

“Oh, this is just the beginning; it’s barely done winter. Believe me, it’s going to get pretty much hotter. You’ll see.”

I hoped I would be long gone before that.

The UOQ consisted of two rooms and a kitchen. The small parlor was crammed so full of an ornately carved suite (settee, two chairs, rocker, and parlor table) that there was barely room to move. It must have cost a fortune to ship that furniture from Califa. A large red lamp hung from the center of the low ceiling, and the scabby whitewashed walls were papered with the covers of beedle yellowbacks:
Broad Arrow Jack; Red-top Rev, Vigilante Prince; Nini Mo, Coyote Queen.
Behind the parlor was the bedroom, which contained two issue cots laid with hay-filled mattresses, two iron washstands, and a couple of chairs made out of old gunpowder barrels. Here the walls were draped in red velvet, and a plush red carpet lay underfoot.