Trail Hand

to drop down onto my back while at the same time throwing my feet up into his chest. By holding onto his arms, I managed to flip him backward over my head. Although I came up fairly quickly, he had already jumped back to his feet in what wrestlers call a “kip up”. It was a beautiful move, but one I was in no mood to appreciate.

We traded blows for a while with both hands and feet. I managed to backhand him with my left hand while at the same time sweeping his legs out from under him with my foot. But once again he was quick to recover, and rolled out of my reach. I was tiring quickly, and the Apache began taking advantage of that fact by grappling more, all the time trying to wrestle the Bowie knife from my grasp.

Once again Uncle Zeke’s words came back. “Use whatever you can. Whatever it takes.” So I let the Apache lock up with me once again, and then fell to the ground in a side roll, taking him down with me. We rolled over several times and my face was pushed down into the ground before we finally pulled each other straight back up to our feet.

Neither of us let loose of the other the whole time, until we finally came to a stop and stared, face to face, at each other, arms outstretched and locked. When the Apache made eye contact with me, I shrugged as if to apologize. The Indian was staring me squarely in the eye with a puzzled look when I sprayed his face with all the dirt I’d swallowed when we’d rolled over.

Instinctively his hands jerked up to his face as he tried quickly to wipe his eyes. When he finally looked back at me, it was with an expression of bewilderment. He looked slowly down to my Bowie knife, now embedded in his belly, and then back up at me. With his hand clutching the hilt, he fell over backward, dead.

Chapter Ten

For obvious reasons I didn’t hang around the camp any longer. I briefly considered going after the rustlers alone, but it was out of the question. I had almost no supplies, little ammunition, and the mule wasn’t fast enough to catch the herd. San Rafael was the only logical place to go since there I could remount, reequip, and find help. Riding Bruto would be slower than a horse, but at least he was solid and dependable, and would get me back to town. Once I managed to climb up on that enormous back of his, that is.

We must have been quite a sight; a gringo riding bareback on a big jack mule, weighed down with canteens and assorted bean sacks all tied to a wagon harness. Although the trip back to San Rafael wasn’t all that hard, when we finally arrived in town a little past noon, I was again on foot. I had been leading the mule for the last half hour, on account of his having thrown a front shoe hard enough to crack the hoof. I couldn’t help wondering what else would go wrong. After all I’d been through, a blacksmith’s own mule goes and cracks a hoof on me! It made me remember that old saying about the cobbler’s kid’s shoes.

After watering Bruto at one of the troughs scattered along the street, I left him hitched to a post outside of the livery with instructions to take good care of him.

I wanted to clean up, change clothes, and get something to eat, so I headed for the mercantile store, just down the street about four buildings away, on the side opposite the town’s only boarding house. The street was fairly deserted, but that wasn’t unusual for this time of day.

Folks around these parts like to siesta, so things usually quiet down from noon until early evening. Those that weren’t asleep were probably inside the cantina drinking or outside of town at the local social club, partaking of whatever pleasures of the flesh were available, heat allowing.

I was dog tired and hungry to boot, so, after entering the shop, the first thing I did was pull a large can of sliced pears down off the top shelf. Prying it open with a clasp knife the owner kept tied to a nail for such purposes, I gulped all the juice, and then used the point of the knife blade to pull out the pears. That sugary juice hit the spot and felt better than anything I could remember for quite sometime.

I finished the pears and took a box of ammunition off the counter and pocketed it away in my shoulder pouch. The storekeeper went by the name of Sam Martin. We’d been on good terms before, but, since he was usually a talkative sort, I found it strange that I’d been in the store almost ten minutes without him saying a word. He just kept staring at me from behind the counter like I was a ghost or something. I was about to ask him for a little extra credit toward a new pair of pants and a shirt, when Rosa Hernandez walked in.

After all I’d been through, she was more than just a sight for tired eyes, so I walked over and smiled. I was going to ask about her father when she suddenly smacked me right across the face with her riding crop.

“How dare you! How could you, after we all trusted you?” she cried. Rosa was about to hit me again even though I was still stunned from her first quirting.

“Hey, what was that for?” I said, grabbing her forearm in defense.

“You dare ask me that after what you did to my father and his men? You knew how important that herd was to us! Let go of me.” She was struggling to get her arm free, while at the same time kicking my left shin, hard.

“Ouch! Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Someone bushwhacked me out there and left me for dead. Here, just look at my head if you don’t believe me.” I let go and pointed. “And I mean up here on top, not where you just whipped me.”

“Rodrigo was there when you rode in and ambushed our men. The man who led the thieves was masked, but Rodrigo recognized you nevertheless. The big gringo with the bay horse is what he said.” She was still angry, although maybe now not quite as much.

“I swear to you, Rosa, it wasn’t me. Think about it, would it make any sense for me to come back here if it had been?” I asked. “The man who shot me and stole my horse was obviously part of the gang that rustled your herd. He left me for dead out there. It was all I could do to get back here in one piece. Trust me, I would never do anything that would bring you or your father any harm.” I was speaking more softly now.

She looked at me and raised her eyebrows slightly as if reconsidering the situation.

I raised my hands up to her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I’m telling you the truth.”

“Even if I were to believe you, Chavez would not,” she said after a moment of hesitation. “He is mad because after you convinced my father to change directions, you rode safely away. He says you had planned all along to leave them there in a trap.”

“Well, now you know he’s wrong,” I said firmly. “Maybe I can talk to him or your father. What do you think?”

“They wouldn’t give you the chance,” Rosa replied, shaking her head.

I glanced around uncomfortably. If the vaqueros were as worked up as Rosa described, they’d likely shoot first and ask questions later. The last thing I wanted was to be forced into fighting men I’d ridden with, especially those I’d grown to respect.

I went to the window and checked the street. It was almost deserted, except for a passing buckboard and a woman on her way to the seamstress. Thankfully none of the vaqueros was anywhere in sight.

“I can’t just stay here waiting for them to come over and lynch me.”

“If you can get to your horse and ride out of here, maybe I could meet you somewhere? After I explain things to my father,” she offered.

I shook my head. “I don’t want you in the middle of this. Besides, I don’t have a horse, mine was stolen, remember? I had to ride in on one of Chango’s mules.” I looked quickly around the store, and then grabbed a pair of saddlebags down off the shelf. After cramming as much as I could into them, I turned to Rosa. “I’ll have to let you pay for this now, but I swear I’ll be back to settle things. You have my word on that.”

She looked into my eyes. “I believe you. Don’t be foolish. Just go away now, quick, and don’t come back.”

Years of hard work and loneliness suddenly came to a head. Under different circumstances there might have been a chance for a good life here with someone who mattered. I don’t know why, but I somehow felt there still could be. Rosa made my heart ache every time I saw her, but it was a good kind of ache, the longing kind. She was a woman who any man would be proud of, yet any chance I might have had with her was about to be destroyed by a rotten dry-gulcher and a band of murdering horse thieves.

On impulse, I grabbed her in my arms and, before she had a chance to object, I kissed her, hard and long.