miles might not be far enough, either--this time,' Billy said.
Maria just looked at him. He was in disgusting condition, filthy and drunk. His weak eyes dripped rheum down his cheeks, which were red from years of drinking. But he had been loyal to her and her children for many years. Billy was the only man who had been good to Joey, when Joey was small.
He had bought Joey his first saddle. He just walked up with it one day and gave it to Joey, when Joey was six. It was Joey's happiest day, the day Billy brought him the saddle.
Maria was with Juan Castro then, her second husband, and her worst. Juan Castro was so jealous that Maria never dared tell him that Joey was her son, so she pretended he was her dead sister's child. Even so, in that same year, Juan Castro sold Joey to the Apaches. Maria was away in Agua Prieta, helping her mother die.
When she returned to Ojinaga and found her son gone, she was wild. She told Juan Castro she would kill him the first time he went to sleep.
He beat her--he had beaten her many times--and left. Maria never saw him again, but she didn't have to kill him. His own brother did it, in a fight over a horse.
At that point, she went to Billy Williams and begged him to go trade with the Apaches to get her son back. Maria had never sold herself. She had never been with any man she didn't want.
But she was desperate; she offered to be with Billy Williams, if he would go save her son. She had never said such words to a man before. She considered herself a modest woman. She had picked badly, when it came to men, but she had picked for love.
Joey was her firstborn, and she knew the Apaches would kill him if he angered them, or else they would trade him themselves, farther and farther north, so that she could never find him.
Maria didn't want to live if Joey was lost, and yet, she had her children to raise, the two she had by Juan Castro. Rafael, the boy, had no mind and would die without her care; Teresa, the girl, was bright and pretty and quick, but born blind. Rafael lived with the goats and the chickens.
Teresa, his sister, was never far from him, for she was the only one who could understand Rafael's jumbled words.
Maria knew she wouldn't have the strength to raise her damaged children unless she got Joey back.
If she lost her firstborn, she would give up.
She would whore, or do worse than whore.
Billy was said to be a good scout, since he could talk the Indian tongues. For the sake of her children, she didn't want to give up.
So she went to Billy Williams and offered herself. To her surprise, Billy Williams, who had often pursued her and even tried to marry her, looked embarrassed.
'Oh no, that wouldn't be right--I couldn't have that,' Billy said. He tilted his chair back, as if to remove himself from the slightest temptation.
For a moment, Maria felt hopeless. She had nothing else to offer, and now the man was refusing what he had often sought.
'It wouldn't be right,' Billy repeated.
'Don't disturb yourself about it, Mary. I'll find Joey.' He found Joey, far to the north, in the Sierra Madre, but the Apaches wouldn't trade him. All he could tell Maria was that Joey looked healthy and could speak Apache better than he could.
A year later, when Maria was so unhappy Billy feared she would die, he went again to the Sierra Madre; but again, he had to return and report failure. He had taken enough money that time to buy Joey, but Joey was nowhere to be found.
He had escaped, and even the Apaches couldn't catch him. Since then, no one had caught him.
He showed up in Ojinaga a week after Billy's return, just as Maria was slipping into hopelessness.
Later, Joey claimed that it was his years with the Apaches that enabled him to rob gringo trains so easily. The Apaches held a hard school, but they knew much. Joey learned what they knew, and he had not forgotten it.
'Tell me your news,' Maria said. 'I'm here and Joey's not.' 'The railroad's hired Woodrow Call, that's it,' Billy said--he was glad to have it out.
'You know who that is, don't you?' 'I should--he hung my father and my brother,' Maria said. 'And my brother-in-law. My sister's a widow, because of Call.' 'Well, that's who they've hired,' Billy said. 'It's a compliment, I guess. A railroad wouldn't spend that kind of money on just any bandit.' 'Do you know Call?' Maria asked. The name sent a chill through her. She had loved her father and her brother. They had done no more than take back horses that the Texans had taken from them.
No living man had caused her as much grief as Woodrow Call: not the four husbands, three of whom beat her; not the gringos, who insulted her, assuming that because she was a brown woman, she was a whore.
Now Call wanted Joey. He wanted her firstborn.
'I know the man, but the acquaintance ain't real fresh,' Billy said. 'I rangered for him about a month once, but he turned me out for drinking on patrol. I'm older than he is, and I've drunk when I had a thirst, all my life. It don't affect my vigilance much, but the Captain didn't believe me. Or didn't like me or something. He turned me out.' 'Would you recognize him?' Maria asked.
'Why, yes. I expect I would,' Billy said.
'If he comes here, show him to me,' Maria said.
'Why, so you can kill him?' Billy said.
Maria didn't answer. Billy knew better than to repeat the question. Repeating questions only made Maria close up more tightly.
