A Coffin for Santa Rosa (11 page)

For three days now they had searched every canyon, valley, water hole and plateau within a fifty-mile radius of Devlin’s ranch for Brandy and the stolen mares, and found no trace of them.
Worse, Tall Tree’s superstitious nature had surfaced. The famed Mescalero tracker had overheard the riders talking about ‘Shadow Horse,’ and now believed they were trailing a
shape-shifter
. For all they knew, he might have turned himself into a mountain lion or an eagle and was mocking them from on high.

‘Bad medicine,’ he told Devlin and Gabriel as they camped in a ravine that night. ‘Not know what animal we look for. Search forever. Never find.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Devlin. ‘We’re not dealin’ with a
shape-shifter
or a shadow. He’s a goddamn horse, like any other goddamn horse, and he’s out there somewhere with my mares an’ we’ll find him.’

‘Not true,’ Tall Tree said solemnly. ‘All die in desert if continue.’

‘What makes you think that?’ Gabriel inquired.

‘Evil bird leave sign on rock. Say if we look more we all die from poison water.’

‘Good Christ,’ raged Devlin. ‘First shape-shifters an’ now evil birds. By God, I’ve had my fill of this!’ He stabbed his stubby finger in Tall Tree’s impassive face. ‘Listen, you ignorant heathen. You signed on to find my mares an’ you better find ’em or so help me Jesus I’ll leather you with my chaps!’

‘Easy,’ Gabriel said, pulling Devlin aside. ‘Won’t get anywhere by threatenin’ him. He’ll just disappear in the night.’

‘Then talk to him, Gabe. Make the sumbitch understand that either he earns his money or when we get back to Santa Rosa I’ll have him thrown in the brig.’ He stormed off to his bedroll.

Gabriel hunkered down beside the fire, rolled a smoke, lit it and handed the makings to the Mescalero. They smoked in silence for a while. The wind had died down and the night was eerily still. The only noise came from the occasional crackling of the fire, the snoring of a weary rider or a distant coyote
yip-yipping
at the moon.

Gradually, the flames flickered out. The glowing embers
reflected redly on their faces. Gabriel waited patiently. It was strange, he thought. He had little or no patience when dealing with whites, but with Indians his patience seemed inexhaustible. Was there some significance to this?

Overhead, the moon hung like a luminous orb in an indigo sky. About them the rocky, barren hills shone like pewter. After an hour or so Gabriel rose, stretched the stiffness from his legs and then sat cross-legged next to the dying embers. He yawned, wondering as he did if the motionless Apache would ever speak.

Presently, Tall Tree began to rock back and forth. Gabriel ignored him. Next the young Indian took a tiny bag of yucca pollen from his pouch. Rubbing the pollen between his palms over the fire, he chanted under his breath in Apache. Gabriel couldn’t hear what the Mescalero was singing but whatever it was it ended as abruptly as it started. Then as if protected by his ritual, Tall Tree stared off into the darkness and spoke to Gabriel in Apache.

‘I have heard of you, Tall Man. Your name is known to The People.’

Gabriel, having learned from the Raramuri that it was rude to reply too quickly since the speaker may not have finished, kept silent.

‘It is told around our fires that you were dying once and the Sacred One came to your side and begged
Yusan
, the creator of life, to return your spirit to you.’

‘This is true,’ Gabriel replied in Apache. ‘Lolotea did save my life in this fashion.’

‘It is also told that because of this your medicine is very powerful.’

‘This also is true.’

‘Almighty Sky has said as much.’

‘This pleases me,’ Gabriel said, ‘for Almighty Sky is the wisest of all Mescaleros and would not say this if it were not true.’

Tall Tree nodded vigorously as if reassuring himself that he
had nothing to fear. ‘This medicine,’ he said presently, ‘would a man be unwise to believe it is powerful enough to protect him from the evil bird?’

‘He would not be unwise at all,’ Gabriel said. ‘He would merely be proving to others that he has the courage to believe what he knows is true.’

Again Tall Tree nodded, this time slowly and solemnly. ‘It is as I thought,’ he said after a long pause. Rising suddenly, he stepped over the ash-covered embers and melted into the darkness.

Dawn came. Like a silent, invisible brush it painted the dull gray sky with streaks of opalescent pinks and yellows that gradually turned the western slopes of the barren hills the same incredible colors. Even the faces of the weary riders, as they crawled out of their blankets, gulped a quick cup of coffee and saddled up, were tinted yellowy pink, so that everyone’s skin had an unnatural glow.

‘Well, you were right,’ Devlin said as he and Gabriel saddled their horses. ‘The injun didn’t take kindly to my threat. Sumbitch has skipped.’

‘I doubt that, Mr Devlin.’

‘Then where the hell is he?’

‘Lookin’ for tracks most likely.’

‘In the dark?’

‘Full moon last night. More’n enough light for an Apache.’

‘I thought Apaches were afraid of the dark. I was told they think if they die at night their spirits will get lost.’

‘Just ’cause they’re afraid of somethin’,’ Gabriel said, ‘doesn’t mean they won’t do it; ’specially if they believe they’re protected by powerful medicine.’

Tall Tree had not showed up by the time everyone was ready to ride. Disgruntled, Devlin decided not to wait any longer. With Gabriel riding beside him, he led the riders out of camp. There
was only one trail out of the ravine. It led across a landscape as barren and pock-marked as the moon. There was no sign of life, not even the ever-present ants. All around them the desolate hills had been bleached white by the relentless sun.

They rode slowly, stopping every hundred yards or so to let Gabriel dismount and search the ground for hoof prints. But even his trained eye could find no sign of Brandy or Devlin’s mares in the hard, ash-colored dirt. Finally, the trail dead-ended at the foot of a sprawling, rocky escarpment.

Cursing, Devlin called a halt. Everyone dismounted and drank from their canteens. They then wetted their bandanas and wiped away the salt caking their horses’ muzzles. Devlin, knowing Gabriel knew the territory better than anyone save the Apaches, asked him if he thought they should go back or find a way around the cliffs. Before he could reply, Gabriel saw a familiar figure descending the rocky slope ahead of them. It was Tall Tree, rifle in one hand, a twisted piece of iron in the other, and Gabriel felt a sense of relief.

‘Ask him,’ he said, thumbing at the approaching tracker. ‘Looks like he’s found somethin’.’

‘Dammit to hell,’ said Devlin, exasperated. ‘If I live to be a hundred and ten, I will never understand injuns. I mean, why the devil didn’t he just tell us where he was going?’

‘Trust,’ Gabriel said. ‘Apaches live by it an’ expect us to do the same.’ He waited for Tall Tree to join them. Their gazes met, each man silently conveying respect, and then the tracker held up his find.

It was a twisted horseshoe, with a nail hanging from it. ‘Find on trail last night. Belong to saddle horse, not mustang. Fall off as run downhill. Recognize?’ he said to Gabriel.

‘Uh-uh. Ain’t Brandy’s.’

‘Belongs to one of my mares,’ Devlin said, pointing at the shoe. ‘See, there’s my Box M brand. Had my smithy make ’em special in case rustlers burned another brand over mine.’

‘Smart,’ Tall Tree said. ‘Unless rustler eat horse.’

‘Never mind the jokes,’ Gabriel said, seeing Devlin was about to erupt. ‘What about the mares? Did you find ’em?’

The tracker nodded. ‘All horse other side of cliff. In canyon like box. They find water hole near rocks. No hurry to leave.’

‘How big is the entrance to the canyon?’ Devlin asked Tall Tree.

‘Not so big. Wide as small river maybe.’

Devlin turned to his men. ‘Boys, we’ll block it off with rocks and trees an’ whatever else we can find. That way, we won’t have to worry about losing any of the mares when we round ’em up. Nice work,’ he said to Tall Tree. ‘I’ll see you get a bonus.’ He stepped into the saddle and motioned for his men to do the same.

The Apache looked questioningly at Gabriel. ‘Not know bonus.’

‘Extra money. More than what he promised you.’

‘Why?’ asked Tall Tree. ‘I just find horse like he want.’

‘It’s his way of rewarding you. He knows how hard it was to track in this kind of terrain.’

The tracker absorbed Gabriel’s words. Then, straight-faced, he said: ‘Think I find mares too soon. Wait another day, maybe two, get bigger bonus.’

‘Tall Tree,’ Gabriel said, grinning. ‘There’s a lot of white man in you.’

On entering the box canyon Gabriel and Tall Tree left Devlin and his men deciding where to build a barricade and quickly
climbed to a ridge. From here they could see the herd gathered about the spring at the closed end. The water welled out from under some boulders, forming a shallow pool that minerals kept discolored.

Through his field glasses Gabriel identified Devlin’s mares among the wild mustangs, but could not see Brandy. As if reading his mind, Tall Tree nudged the gunman’s arm and pointed to a rocky ledge jutting out halfway up the cliff. Gabriel focused the glasses on it and felt his pulse quicken as he saw the Morgan standing there, proudly keeping watch over his herd.

‘Go tell Mr Devlin that his mares are safe,’ Gabriel told Tall Tree.

‘You stay here?’

‘For a spell, yeah.’

‘Wise,’ Tall Tree said, smirking. ‘Hard work build wall in sun.’

‘Get out of here!’ Gabriel aimed a kick at the young Apache. But he dodged it and, laughing, hurried down the slope, nimbly jumping from rock to rock. Gabriel couldn’t help chuckling. Once you understood how the Apache mind worked, you realized they had a wonderful, dry sense of humor.

Meanwhile, Devlin had divided his men into two groups: one lined up across the narrow entrance, ready to drive the horses back if they made any attempt to escape, while the others collected all the available dead wood and rocks with which to build the barricade. Devlin himself pitched in. He ordered Tall Tree to do the same, but the young Apache disdainfully refused. Trackers did not carry rocks. And after telling Devlin that his mares were safe, Tall Tree sat on a rock and smoked.

The men soon ran out of material on the floor of the canyon. Now they were forced to climb the steep slopes and pry larger rocks loose, so that they rolled down and piled up at the bottom. It was back-breaking work, made even harder by the broiling sun, and every hour Devlin switched the groups around to give each man a rest.

Shortly, Gabriel returned and joined the work force. As he labored in the blazing sun he caught Tall Tree smirking at him. ‘Keep grinnin’ like that,’ he warned the Apache, ‘and I will make strong medicine so that an owl leaves you an evil sign.’ Owls were the worst kind of bad luck and Tall Tree lost his smirk. Descending from the rock, he began working feverishly to win back Gabriel’s approval.

By mid-morning the barricade was almost finished. Standing about six feet high, it had branches poking up along the top to discourage the horses from trying to leap over it. Finally, only a few more rocks were needed. Devlin impatiently yelled for the men on the west cliff to hurry. It was a mistake. A new hand named Tobler suddenly lost his footing and fell in the path of a boulder bouncing downhill. His scream brought the others scrambling to his side. He lay there writhing and groaning, his leg bent unnaturally under his body. His co-workers carried him down to the floor of the canyon. Here, Devlin had two men hold him still while he straightened out the leg. Tobler screamed in agony and fainted from the pain. Devlin bound the leg tightly between two straight branches and had him placed on a crudely constructed travois, which was tied behind his horse. He then told Tall Tree to take Tobler to Santa Rosa, adding, ‘Tell Doc Carstairs to fix him up good an’ charge everythin’ to me. Understand?’

Tall Tree nodded and rode off with the injured Tobler.

Devlin then ordered the rest of his men to get mounted. Exhausted, they trudged grumbling to their horses.

‘Men could use a rest,’ Gabriel said.

The hard-headed rancher bristled. ‘I don’t pay men good wages to take rests, mister. I pay them to do as they’re told.’

‘Tobler did as he was told, Mr Devlin, an’ got his leg busted.’

‘Not my fault if some damn fool gets careless.’

‘Responsibility starts at the top,’ reminded Gabriel.

‘Dammit, you telling me how to run my show now, gunfighter?’

‘I’m tellin’ you,’ Gabriel said gently, ‘that if some weary ’poke gets careless with his rope an’ causes one of your mares to break its leg, you’ll have to shoot it. That what you want?’

Devlin quietly seethed, but he couldn’t deny Gabriel’s logic. Striding over to his men, he grudgingly told them to take a short break. Grateful, they found what little shade existed, covered their faces with their hats and sacked out.

Devlin then rejoined Gabriel, who sat against a rock chewing on a piece of jerky, and began rolling a smoke. Finished, he offered the makings to Gabriel, who shook his head.

‘You don’t like me much, do you, Moonlight?’

‘Ain’t given it much thought, Mr Devlin. But I’d always heard you had a reputation for treatin’ men fair and honest.’

‘And you’re taking it upon yourself to remind me, that it?’

‘Caution’s the way,’ said Gabriel.

Devlin laughed disgustedly. ‘Coming from a shootist with your reputation that’s pretty ironic.’

‘Just ’cause I spent most of my life makin’ mistakes, Mr Devlin, don’t mean I can’t change my ways.’

Devlin had no comeback. He smoked in silence for a few moments. Then his impatience got the better of him. Rising, he stepped into the saddle, told his men to get mounted and pulled his rifle from its scabbard.

Gabriel immediately wheeled his horse in front of the burly rancher, blocking his path. ‘You won’t need that.’

‘Don’t push me,’ Devlin warned angrily. ‘You said your piece. Now get the hell out of my way.’

Gabriel didn’t move. ‘We’re dealin’ with broomtails, Mr Devlin – not Johnny Reb.’

‘What we’re dealing with,’ Devlin said, bristling, ‘is eight of my best broodmares. I paid a fortune for those horses and I’m not taking the chance of your stud goin’ berserk and bitin’ or maiming one of them.’

‘Then let me go in first an’ slap a loop on him,’ Gabriel said.
‘Once he’s out of your hair you won’t have any problem roundin’ up your mares.’

Devlin glared at Gabriel, trying to rein in his temper. All around him his men nudged their mounts closer, hands on their guns, ready to back their boss.

‘You really want it to come down to gunplay?’ Gabriel said. Though he spoke softly there was a dangerous edge to his voice and Devlin, veteran soldier that he was, knew when to retreat.

‘Easy, boys,’ he told his men. Taking out his fob watch, he checked the time then said to Gabriel: ‘Got thirty minutes. You ain’t throwed a rope on that black devil by then we’ll take him my way. You too, if you cause any trouble.’