“O’Brien! Bronco! It’s Ranger McCutchen. I need a word with you.” McCutchen stood well clear of the house so he could see anyone leaving out the back.
“You can stop all the yelling. I hear ya’, and there ain’t nobody else around.” Bronco emerged from the barn and stood with his arms crossed. “Let me guess. You been tracking someone and the trail led you straight to my ranch. You saw my boys taking my newly acquired goats to the north hill. You chased ‘em like a banshee, startling half the herd to death, and now you come to make recompense for the critters. You didn’t hurt my boys did you?”
McCutchen burned, the jackass of a rancher chaffing him already. He knew Bronco wouldn’t give him any useful information, and probably do his damnedest to waste his time. It would have been more efficient to drop him where he stood and search the premises, but the old cuss was too prominent in the community. “Good. Let’s just cut the crap, why don’t we. Yes, I tracked someone to your ranch. I already found their tracks leading away to the south—three horses and a wagon. That’s at least one person more than what I’m looking for. But I guess you knew that.”
Bronco snorted and hacked a dirt-encrusted loogie. “I reckon.”
McCutchen kept his hand on his Colt as he dismounted and strode toward the disgruntled rancher. “I’ll overlook the prank you pulled with your boys diverting me while the fugitives made their escape. But without a little cooperation from you, I can’t guarantee the safety of anyone I find in the company of said fugitives.” He pushed past Bronco and into the barn.
Bronco followed hot on his heels, making no attempt to stop him. “Now I know you ain’t threatening the lives of my family, but you better listen close, Ranger.” He waited for McCutchen to turn and face him. “I don’t know nothing about any fugitives. My daughter and I helped some folk out this morning that was caught in a flash flood. I gather the tracks play out the truth of that well enough.” He paused and narrowed his eyes.
McCutchen nodded.
“We brought ‘em back here so they could get sorted out. After dinner they offered me a business deal—one that I accepted. That deal stipulated that if my daughter accompany them and their goods just a mite further then we could keep the last wagon when they were done with it. Me, being the protective father that I am, sent my maid along with her. To keep a watchful eye.”
“O’Brien, dammit. You can’t expect me—”
“I ain’t finished!” Bronco cut him off, standing on his tiptoes and pushing into the ranger’s face. “If any harm comes to my daughter or my servant from the hands of you or anyone else, then you’ll have to answer to me, and I’ll bring a judgement that’ll make Sodom and Gomorrah blush.” He hacked another loogie inches from the ranger’s boot.
McCutchen drew his Colt .45 Flat Top and pointed it at the old man’s head, bridging the short distance between them. He had killed people for less. “Look, you hardheaded old cooter. As far as you’re concerned, I’m the one that brought the fire on Sodom and Gomorrah in the first place. And I got plenty more of it for you and yours.”
Bronco pushed his forehead into the barrel of the ranger's pistol, glaring at him. McCutchen, in turn, used the barrel to back the rancher slowly in a circle so he could scan the barn thoroughly. As much as he wanted something to be out of place, he couldn’t see it. He scattered some papers on the old man’s desk. “What are these?”
“Pamphlets,” O’Brien spit again at the ranger’s feet, “protesting the likes of you invading the privacy of simple citizens such as myself.”
McCutchen recognized the foreign language. “In German?”
“Naw, in ancient Hebrew.”
McCutchen ground his teeth. Workshop, desk, tools. It was the barn of an activist pain in the ass. He wasn’t going to win this round, and his fugitives were putting daylight between them.
“You’ve played me today, and gotten away with it. But I wouldn’t gloat if I were you. There are a lot of transgressions a man can be found guilty of. I’ll make sure one of them finds you in the end.” With that he holstered his Colt, turning his back on the old bastard before he could see him grin.
“This’ll do. Come on, everyone grab a shovel and start digging in a different spot.” Chloe unloaded shovels from the back of the wagon. “Just dig up the surface enough to make it look like we buried the stuff here.”
Chancho spit in his hands and rubbed them together. “And you’re sure the marihuana’ll be alright?”
“Chancho!” Nena chided him. “What he meant was, are you sure you won’t get in trouble for hiding the marihuana.” The unlikely group started working beneath the shade of a large pecan tree surrounded by a thicket of unruly live oak.
Chloe smiled and wiped her brow. “Marihuana. Booze. It ain’t no fun to have a hidey-hole if you don’t get to use it.” She turned another shovel full of dirt before driving the tip into the soft soil again with her boot. “And who’ll ever find it? Naw. He finished building that trap door in the barn this past winter. He’s already started stocking up on his favorite whiskeys. He’s got the whole operation mapped out in his head. Hiding your marihuana’ll only make it more fun. Nothing’s more fun for my daddy than sticking it to the law.”
“I apologize, Miss O’Brien.” Chancho dipped his head as he continued to dig. “I didn’t mean to infer more importance upon our humble harvest than on you and your family’s wellbeing.”
“Oh nonsense. I understand your concern. And I’ll personally take care of turning the leaves so they dry evenly, just like you showed me. They’ll cure up nice in the cellar and be waiting for you when you return.”
Muddy worked his shovel quickly, turning scoop after scoop of soil without looking up. “Just keep digging.”
Chancho rededicated himself to the shovel and tried to think positively. If they could lose the rinche, eventually the dust would settle. He still had Muddy and Nena. Together they could circle back and pick up the rest. Muddy’s old cavalry compañeros could help them hide out. But he couldn’t stop wishing that none of the mess had ever happened.
After a long pause Chloe picked up the conversation from before. “Besides, people’ve been jumping at shadows for months now. Everybody’s shooting at everybody, and the government is just making it worse.” She kept working the tip of her shovel with graceful movements while sweat dribbled down her face and neck causing the light fabric of her blouse to cling to her breasts.
“Wildcatters are littering the land north and west of here with derricks, exploiting the ignorant and robbing ‘em of the land’s wealth with the help of fat-cat bankers who’re making sure the government gets their share.” Chancho caught Chloe’s eye as they dug. She smiled before tugging her drooping blouse back into place and finishing her sermon. “The whole damn machine is chewing up the land faster than the common folk can respond to it.”
“I’ve never seen a boom town.” Chancho offered.
“You ain’t missing much.”
The four kept at it for another few minutes until the humus of the forest floor hung thick in the air. “Alright, that’s good enough. Just toss the shovels back in the wagon. Hurry up. We’re trapped if he catches us in here.” Chloe tossed her shovel in and brushed her hands off.
Chancho grabbed her by the shoulders, looking her in the eyes. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”
“Of course. Don’t be silly. What sort of trouble could me and Hermila get into?”
“The rinche, he is—”
“Oh he’s just a law man with a stick up his butt.”
Chancho smiled. “Well put.” He held her there a moment longer.
“Come on, we’re wasting time here.” She pulled away.
Chancho jumped into his saddle, now on the back of his new horse, a dappled grey mare, the shortest horse the O’Briens owned. She flinched with his sudden movements, so he stroked her neck until she relaxed. “Don’t worry little Bautizada, you’ll get used to it.”
Muddy saddled up while Nena embraced her new sister. “We are bound together now. You have pulled me from the river and protected my family. That makes you my family as well.” Muddy lead Bella toward them. Nena mounted with whisper quickness, her crossbow sticking up above her shoulder.
With a flourish Chancho bowed low from his saddle. “Thank you for your hospitality. Perhaps next time you will have a room made up for me?”
“There might be room in the barn.” Chloe beamed her rising-sun smile and winked. “Now git! Go on!” She waved her arms and the three friends rode out of the thicket and back onto the main road with nothing more than they could carry.
They rode south for two more hours, Nena in the lead and Muddy in the rear, working their way toward Brackettville through rough and isolated country. Seasonal streams ran in the bottom of draws and washes. Rocky peaks rose over a thousand feet above the valley, shadowing them by late afternoon. As the sun set behind the hills to the west they slowed to find shelter for the night. With any luck, after two very long days, they’d finally get some rest.
Pocked with caves and caverns of various sizes, the countryside promised convenient hideouts. Created by the chemical reaction between petroleum rising from its ancient burial and subterranean pools of water percolating through porous limestone, the caves evolved from cracks and fissures into intricately interlaced hollow spaces deep beneath the surface.
Chancho rode in between his two friends, sandwiched and safe, held up by their watchfulness. He knew they had learned to take no moment of peace for granted—to assume hard times were as close as their next breath. They were tough, strong and vigilant. He loved them for it, but it distanced him at times like these. Times when they felt they had to protect him, lest he get lost or be a liability. Even now he rode half dazed, completely unaware of his surroundings.
It saddened him that his helpless impetuousness brought his friends trouble. Sometimes old dreams tugged a new at him, suggesting God intended him for more. People like the O’Brien’s were suffering and fighting against their own ruling class just as the peons of the Mexican revolution, but they had so many more weapons available to them. Chancho jarred from his musings as Bautizada stopped.
Nena reined up Bella in front of him. Dismounting, she disappeared into the brush for several minutes before returning with a smile on her face. “This is the place. We’ll camp here tonight.” She grabbed Bella’s reins and led her through the brush. “But no fire, and no coffee.”
Chancho and Muddy groaned, but they were too tired to make elaborate preparations for supper or to stay up for story or song. Following Nena through the brush, Chancho finally saw what she had seen from the trail, an overhang in the steep canyon wall large enough to shelter them and their horses.
“There is a cave in the back, but no bats.” Nena unloaded supplies from her saddle bags.
“Bats?” Chancho looked around warily.
“Yes, bats. Small, winged mammals.”
“I know what a bat is. I was just wondering…”
“The opening to the cave is too small. Bats will not enter a cave mouth so small for fear of predators waiting on the other side. Besides, no guano.” She unrolled an animal skin full of jerky and dried fruit for supper.
“You had time to pack all this at the O’Briens’ ranch?” Chancho marveled.
Nena shook her head.
“She packed all this before we left the Catholic Hills.” Muddy smiled.
“Of course.” Chancho sighed, “You knew we would have to leave the wagons behind. You prepared for this.”
Nena tossed each of them some food. “It's my gift, just like yours is talking.” She silenced him with a glare. “Now eat. We leave before sunrise. If Bronco’s plan worked, the ranger won't catch up with us tonight.”
“If it didn't work?” Muddy tore a piece of jerky in his teeth.
Nena pulled her crossbow from its mount on her back and laid it down on the ground next to her. “Keep your Spencer close.” She sat up on her knees and bent forward to kiss him on the forehead. “I have already died once today.”
Within minutes they'd packed the rest of the food and created pillows for themselves with canvas-stuffed bundles of marihuana, the small supply they'd brought with them for trade. The last of the sun’s rays illuminated the bellies of wispy clouds barely visible through the trees. Darkness overtook them and they slept, so eager for rest that they failed to notice the two gleaming, yellow eyes peering out at them from the cave entrance.