Maria's Trail (The Mule Tamer) (21 page)

At one point the game was interrupted as the
dealer suddenly lost control. The windy man had been farting for some time.
Everyone just accepted it, but the dealer had reached his breaking point.
Maria’s presence was likely the catalyst. She’d cast her spell on him and the
vapors unraveled him, the thought of a lowlife leaking the poisons from his
body in the presence of such a beauty was simply too much. He turned; face red,
veins bulging and his eyes as wild as a roped mustang. He looked at the man. “I
swear, you son of a bitch, if you do it one more time, I’m putting a bullet in
you.”

The man suppressed his grin and sat, chagrined.
He did not look at the dealer or anyone at the table. Maria tried to settle
everyone down. She spoke into her cards. “Let me light another smoke, dealer,
that’ll help.” She did and blew a big cloud in the direction of the windy man.
“If that don’ do it, we’ll get the boy here,” she pointed at Hedor, “to blow
his breath around, it might improve the air.”

They all laughed but the dealer was not amused.
He had such rage these days and nothing seemed to help. He stared at his hands
and continued to fume.

She won a big pot and couldn’t help herself.
She reached over and grabbed the Negro by the arm and gave it a squeeze. “How’s
that one, Big Black?”

He turned his head a little sideways. “Yeahuh.”

Maria was ready to call it a night when the
dealer suddenly stood up. His face was now beet red and he pulled his six
shooter. He fired and killed the windy man.

The scrawny man leapt from his chair in horror,
“Sonofabitch, you are a tough one!” He quickly shut his mouth to avoid
offending the dealer further, then muttered under his breath, “Shootin’ a man
for fartin’. This is a goddamned wicked place.”

Big Black and his scrawny companion escorted
Maria to the whorehouse. The young fellow was a bit smitten now, as well, but
knew that Maria was out of his league by a mile. He also knew that Big Black
would kill him if he tried for the Mexican beauty. He walked along and talked
incessantly, mostly about the town and Big Black. He had known the man the
longest and knew what happened to him.

“He used to be smart, lady. He was settin’
charges and had his face over a tampin’ iron and the charge went off, blew the
damn iron right through his head. He flopped around like a gill hooked fish and
damn if he didn’t live after they pulled that steel from his head. That’s what
happened to Big Black. Now he can’t talk ‘ceptin’ that one word. But he’s all
right. He knows what’s goin’ on.”

They arrived at the brothel and Big Black stood
by, awaiting orders. The scrawny man looked the place over. He’d known it well
enough, though the whores were so put off by his rotting mouth that they’d
never give him any commerce.

“You can’t stay in here, lady. Come on with us.
We got a good place, me and Big Black. You stay with us.”

And she did. It was one of the shotgun shacks
she’d passed when she followed the boy down the alley. It was a wreck but had a
good bed. It was Big Black’s bed and he offered it to Maria. She took him up on
it and she slept well. Big Black took a chair outside her door, like a faithful
hound.

She stayed with them for a week and extracted
as much as she could from the hellhole. Eventually, no one would give her a
game. The place was beginning to wear on her nerves; it was evidently a magnet
for stupid men. Everywhere, men were behaving badly, getting drunk, falling
over, and vomiting great gouts in the street until the place reeked of it. The
sound of shooting guns was incessant and sometimes made it difficult to sleep.
One man died under the window of Big Black’s bedroom, gut shot, but not before
wailing for more than an hour. Maria resolved to put a bullet through his head,
just to get some sleep. As she’d gotten up, he had a sort of fit and mercifully
died on his own. She could finally settle down and have a few hours rest.  

She was up early this day and had gone down to
the brothel to fetch Alanza. The scrawny man was sleeping and Big Black was at
his job, which was to collect beer bottles from all the saloons and deliver
them to a small brewery at the end of town. It kept him in food money.

Early in the morning, Canyon del Muertos was at
its least horrible. Those who were awake were too drunk or sick to cause
trouble; everyone else was generally passed out. Alone, she tacked up Alanza,
even the little tobacco-spitting boy wasn’t around.

She had everything in order and led Alanza down
the main street, known affectionately as hell street by the inhabitants, and on
toward Flagstaff. She didn’t want to talk to her two companions. They’d fallen
in love with her. They weren’t a bad sort, but there was no sense in getting
too caught up in goodbyes. There would be no profit in it for any of them.

She was preparing to mount when she saw the men
behind her. She knew they intended trouble and thought it might be better to
fight on horseback. Then, reconsidered, the stupid men might shoot Alanza. She
continued to walk.

They’d been up all night but hadn’t had much to
drink. They were planning an early morning robbery, and Maria was simply in the
wrong place at the wrong time. They’d been hoping for a swipe at her for the
past several days and here was their big chance. She’d taken money from two of
them playing cards, the third one just wanted to rob her.

They wasted no time and went for their six
shooters. They didn’t mind shooting someone in the back and Maria was famous
for the Bisbee incident. They were fairly terrified of her. She wheeled and ran
toward an alley; she did not want Alanza in the line of fire. She had her
Winchester ready, pointing at the closest man when Big Black appeared out of
nowhere.

He knocked her back and Maria flew like a rag
doll several feet down the narrow pathway. The bad men now had their guns
trained on the big man. They all fired and Big Black stood like a mountain,
absorbing bullet after bullet, closing on them, doggedly, without hesitation.
He smashed a bottle over the head of the first man and dropped him. The second,
now dumbfounded by his ineffective fire, tried to retreat and Big Black hit him
hard on the nose, dropping him to his knees. The third man continued to fire,
too unnerved to shoot well enough for a killing shot and too petrified to try
for an escape. He too went down.

Maria was on them, watching as Big Black
finally crumpled, first to his knees and then falling face down, like a great
dark giant, into the dusty street.

She pulled at him with all her strength, turning
him over onto his back.

He looked up at her and nodded, “Yeahuh.”

She looked at him. He had been hit with more
than a dozen bullets in the abdomen, most meant for Maria. She held him gently
in her lap and cradled his great head. Bending down, she kissed him gently, on
his bloody lips. “Tell me your name, my love, tell me your name.”

“Yeahuh…Henry.”

She held him and watched him expire. “You go on
to heaven, my love, my Henry. I will see you there soon.” Big Black was dead.

Maria retrieved her Winchester from the alley
as the men began to stir. She emptied the rifle into them, pulled her six
shooters and emptied them. No one would be able to identify them when she was
finished, that was her intent. She finally mounted Alanza and they rode off.

Hedor followed her and caught her when she was
halfway to Flagstaff. He’d been crying over Big Black, his face and eyes puffy
and red. Maria finally stopped so that he could catch up. She waited for him to
speak.

“Lady, I…, I.”

“You may not come with me.”

“I don’t know.” He looked at the reins in his
hand. “I don’t have nowheres else to go, lady. Can’t go back there. Can’t.”

“You go home, boy. Go to where you were born,
go to your mother, boy, and live. Don’t go to such places again. Go home.”

He was crying and Maria moved Alanza close to
him. She offered him a wad of bills but he wouldn’t take it. She shoved the
money into his dirty shirt pocket and patted him on the chest. “Go on, boy.
Take this and go.”

She wheeled and suddenly pulled up. Looking
back, she said, “Muchacho, his name was Henry.”

Flagstaff

Maria felt drained. The death of poor Henry and
the ugliness of Canyon del Muertos had put her in a funk and she now rode along
wondering why she’d put herself in such a place. The big man died for her. She
hadn’t wanted this to happen, never intended to put him in danger and was a
little put off by it all, as she didn’t need his help. She could have killed
the men easily had he not intervened, she knew that. She was ready with her
Winchester and she was certain they’d lose their will to fight once she dropped
the first one. The others would have been easy to finish off, then. And anyway,
she’d put a good bit of distance between herself and the bad men. She’d never
seen a bandit yet who could shoot a six shooter better than she could with a
Winchester, especially at that distance. She’d had the upper hand.

Poor Henry. At least he died well. He died in
her arms and, like Crisanto, died knowing love in the last moments of life.
That was a good way to die and Maria was glad she could give him at least that
much.

She thought more about these gringos. The
further she moved north, the less she liked them. They all seemed so greedy,
obsessed with gaining wealth without working for it. At least in Mexico, it
seemed, most of the people were resigned to their fate. They’d be poor but make
the best of it without resorting to low living and murder.

She thought about the bandits who killed the
old woman and old man. Maybe the bad men were the same everywhere. She was so
tired now and she’d given herself a headache over all this thinking and worry.
She counted her money and had added only a thousand dollars to her bankroll
after expenses and after giving Hedor some of her cash. She hoped he’d take her
advice and move on. She liked him and felt sorry for him. He was too decent a
fellow to live such a life. 

When she hit Flagstaff her spirits lifted a
bit. It was a nice town and much cleaner than the hellhole from which she’d
fled. Flagstaff had industry. It had the timber trade and the railroad and
ranching. It had a decent, hardworking citizenry.  She saw a nice hotel and
decided to change her strategy a bit. She rode into a well maintained livery
stable and boarded Alanza there.

The people were kind to her, an old couple not
unlike the old man and old woman who raised her, and they willingly stowed her
traps. She removed her sombrero and vest, gun belt, pulled her trousers out of
her boots and hid the ornate Mexican stitching on the tops. She now looked
relatively benign.

She sauntered into a ladies shop and was
greeted by an older white woman who looked her over doubtfully. Maria expected
such and laid a wad of bills on the counter. “I need a nice dress, lady.”

The woman picked the money up and counted it.
She looked at Maria and smiled. “You’ve come to the right place, my dear. But
first, a bath.”

Maria, now dressed properly, like a lady,
proceeded to the Bank Hotel. It was the finest place she’d stayed in since her
visit with Juana. The lady had dressed her in dark grey and this muted Maria’s
complexion enough to allow her to blend in, at least a little. She’d decided
that she did not want to make a statement just now. Her fame at Canyon del
Muertos was flattering, but it did nothing to add to her bankroll and this was
foremost on her mind.

The clerk greeted her with deference. Maria was
learning that if she waved enough money around, it almost always resulted in
respect or at least, civility. People liked the color of green and were
invariable not so put off by a dark complexion when enough of it was involved.
She was soon registered and settled in for the night. The room was cozy, the
bed soft and comfortable.

Maria had surveyed the place when she arrived.
It had a grand lounge and dining room, with a small gaming area in a corner for
the more well-to-do patrons inclined to such activity. It made it possible for
them to lose their money without leaving the place, and this is exactly what
the proprietor had in mind. He’d brought in a card sharp from San Francisco, a
good looking man who dressed well in silk vests and fancy striped ditto suits.
He had dark hair and sprinkled it liberally with some sort of treatment which
made it shine like a new penny. Maria eyed him as she sat at a table. He was
soon standing beside her and introducing himself.

“Traveling alone?”

“Sí, ah, yes, my padre, eh, I am sorry, my
English, not so good. My father coming to see me here.” She pointed doubtfully
at the floor and gave him a shy smile.

She was magnificent and he snatched glances at
her without being too obvious. She offered to let him sit down. “You are a game
man?”

“Yes, ma’am. I run the tables here. Come from
California but been here since last year. Not a bad place. Money’s good and you
don’t have to duck bullets.” He grinned and liked her response to his
suggestion that he’d seen much danger. He looked as if he knew she was
impressed. “Do you play?” He was convinced that such a sheltered young woman
had not and wanted to impress her further by showing off his knowledge of the
games.

“Oh, no. Padre would not like.” She shifted in
her chair and looked down at her coffee cup. “He, well, he teach me one game,
call in our language veintidos, I think. I think that is what it mean, eh, what
it called.”

The man grinned. Her broken English was charming;
she was simply delicious. “Veintiuno, twenty one.”

“Ah, sí, that is the name, Twenty-One.” She
grinned. “I have played this game.” She looked away, a little shy about being
around such a handsome man. “But we have play for only button. Never money.”