Trail of the Hanged Man (4 page)

While Violet cradled her unconscious, blanket-wrapped brother in the back of the wagon, Lawless kept the team at a smooth steady
pace. The trail ran string-straight across the desert. It was barely wider than the wagon and full of pot-holes. But with the help of the morning light he avoided most of them and kept the wagon from bouncing around too much.

The Bjorkmans’ ranch was only five miles to the south-west. It wasn’t much – half of Greenwater Canyon and 300 acres on which sat a stout, two-bedroom log house next to a barn, corrals and an old windmill to pump water into the well. According to Violet, Sven Bjorkman worked at the surveyor’s office in Santa Rosa. But his dream was to raise horses and sell them to the army stationed at Camp Furlong.

For the first few years surveyor work had been plentiful and it seemed like his dream would come true. But then lack of rations and supplies had driven many of the Apaches from the
reservation
. Hiding across the border in the Sierra Madre, their marauding bands had all but shut down surveying parties and now, as Lawless drove the wagon past the corrals, he saw they were empty and that the barn and fences needed repairing.

Ahead, the glow of a hurricane lamp showed in the window of the squat log-house. As Lawless reined up the team, the door opened and a man wearing patched working clothes and holding a scattergun, stepped out.

He was a big robust man, not as tall as Lawless but much broader and thicker in the chest. He had friendly blue eyes and a blunt cheerful face that was half-hidden by a blonde beard inherited from his Norsemen ancestors.

Not knowing Lawless, he quickly leveled the shotgun at him. But on recognizing Violet, his distrust turned to concern. Lowering the shotgun he quickly asked her what was wrong.

Fighting tears, she explained that Joey had been shot. She didn’t say who shot him, which surprised Lawless, but instead described her brother’s condition and asked Sven to ride with them to the reservation to talk to Almighty Sky.

He looked puzzled. ‘But Almighty Sky is a shaman – a
shape-shifter
who can supposedly predict the future – not a doctor.’

‘I know that,’ Violet said. ‘But we need his permission to … to.…’ Tears choked off her words.

Lawless leaned forward on the wagon seat until he was right in Sven Bjorkman’s face. ‘We brought Joey here, mister, because his sister thinks the only person who can save him is a Mescalero girl, some kind of healer who lives on the reservation. I don’t know her name, but—’

‘It’s Lolotea,’ a woman said, appearing in the doorway.

Lawless looked at her. She had dressed in a hurry, missing some of the buttons on her blue cotton dress. He guessed she was on the good side of thirty. She was everything he liked in a woman – small, shapely, with brave blue eyes, a mouth made for smiling and tawny sun-streaked hair pulled back in a bun. He found her wholesomely pretty yet at the same time genteel – a rare quality in this harsh desert country – and couldn’t think why she’d settled here.

‘Y-yes, that’s her,’ Violet said, sniffing back tears. ‘Will you and Mr Bjorkman ride with us to the reservation? You’re acquainted with Almighty Sky. Maybe if you asked him, he’d let her help Joey.’

‘Go with them, dear,’ Ingrid said as her husband hesitated. ‘See what you can do.’

‘Be glad to,’ he said. ‘But I can’t promise anything, Violet. The Mescaleros have always been friendly toward us. But it’s not their nature to trust strangers. Nor have they ever let white men speak to Lolotea. They are afraid, I think, we might steal her gift.’

Lawless, who found it hard to take his eyes off the woman, said to Sven, ‘More likely they’re worried we’ll find out she’s a fraud.’

‘She’s no fraud,’ Ingrid said. ‘No one off the reservation knows what her powers are, but she definitely can heal people.’

Someone squeezed past her and stood looking up at Lawless. He saw it was a boy – no, a girl, no more than twelve, with short black hair as shiny as a crow’s wing and big, expressive, black eyes.

‘I seen her do it once,’ she said.

‘Hush, Raven,’ Ingrid said.

‘It’s true, Momma. Two years ago Running Wolf’s son, Lame Dog, was attacked by Comanches. They pinned him to a tree with a lance and left him for dead. The Apaches expected him to die. But Lolotea talked to the Spirit God and Lame Dog lived.’

‘You
saw
him cured,’ Lawless said doubtfully, ‘or heard about it? Which is it, miss?’

‘I saw it,’ Raven said.

‘You sure?’

‘I said so, didn’t I?’ Seeing doubt lingering in his eyes, she added angrily, ‘Can believe me or not, I don’t care. Who are you, anyways?’

‘Ra-
ven
!’ Ingrid chided. ‘Mind your manners.’

Raven ignored her. Grasping her father’s hand, she glared defiantly at Lawless. ‘You heard him, Pa. He good as called me a liar.’

‘Hush,’ Sven said gently but firmly. ‘You know better than to speak that way to your elders. Now, go indoors.’

As if God had spoken, Raven obeyed without argument. Giving Lawless a final glare, she squeezed past her mother into the house.

‘Please forgive her,’ Sven said to Lawless. ‘Raven doesn’t mean to be rude. She’s just set on speaking her mind.’

‘No harm done,’ Lawless said. ‘But if you aim on taking us to the reservation, better saddle up.’ He looked back at Joey, still unconscious in his sister’s arms. ‘I doubt the boy will hold on much longer.’

‘I’ll get my horse,’ Sven said, and ran to the barn.

Ingrid looked long and hard at Lawless, trying to place him. ‘I don’t think I’ve seen you before.’

‘No, ma’am. I’m just riding through.’

She nodded, understanding. ‘It’s a harsh and unforgiving land,’ she said. ‘I often wonder why anyone would not keep on riding.’

Huddled in the rear of the wagon Violet fought down her tears. ‘I surely wish you’d come with us, Mrs Bjorkman. You
and
Raven. Then Almighty Sky couldn’t refuse us.’

‘Sven will be more than enough,’ Ingrid assured. ‘It’s his family the Mescaleros respect, not mine. Sven’s father, Johan, once saved Almighty Sky’s life. From that day on the Apaches have been our friends.’ Seeing Violet’s disappointment, she added, ‘Tell you what: I’ll fetch you some tobacco and coffee. Almighty Sky seldom gets any now that the Indian agent has cut their rations. It’s little enough as treats go, but it might help
persuade
him to let you see Lolotea.’ She hurried into the house.

Lawless leaned back against the wagon seat and watched her through the open door. He found her pleasing to look at. She crossed in front of the lamp, its glow turning her tawny hair gold. Back now to him, she took a can of coffee from the pantry. Opening it, she poured some into a smaller can, capped it and returned the first can to the shelf. She then took tobacco and
cigarette
papers from a drawer. His eyes never left her. She moved with uncommon grace, seemingly unaware of her sensuality, and he ached to put his arms around her.

The urge was so strong it surprised him.

He’d known a few women in his life, but none was the
permanent
kind. That was to be expected. He’d never stayed in one place long enough to even get to know the whores he’d bedded, let alone the names of women he considered worth marrying.

Besides, he’d always figured he would end up dying alone.

He wondered if it was too late to change; if he could find a woman like this one, to settle down and raise young’uns. There was still time. He wasn’t sure exactly how old he was, but he knew he couldn’t be more than thirty-five or forty. If he really wanted those things, all he had to do was ride back to Borega Springs and work steady for Sheriff Tishman—

He heard a mocking laugh. It interrupted his thinking, and when he looked around he realized the laugh had come from him.

Marry?

Settle down?

Raise young’uns?

Dream on,
hombre
.

A horse came galloping up. Lawless looked into the rider’s honest face, a face full of strength and integrity – a face that promised a woman devotion and stability.

‘Let’s ride,’ Sven Bjorkman said.

Lawless raised the reins, ready to slap the horses.

‘Wait! Take this with you.…’ Ingrid ran up to the wagon and offered him a small cloth bag containing coffee and tobacco.

Lawless took the bag, feeling as he did her small strong fingers trapped under his. It felt like he was holding sunshine. He didn’t want to let go. But the love in her eyes was only for her husband and he grudgingly turned her hand loose.

‘Thank you, ma’am.’ He touched his hat politely.

Ingrid smiled and turned to her husband. ‘Hurry back, dearest.’

Sven blew her a kiss and spurred away.

Lawless, knowing he would never hear those words, savagely whipped the team with the reins. The startled horses surged ahead, jolting everyone, dragging the wagon behind them.

‘Not so fast!’ Violet shouted. ‘You’ll start Joey bleeding again.’

Lawless tugged on the reins, slowing the team. He had never known jealousy before. The strange emotion caught him
off-guard
, leaving him embarrassed and disappointed in his behavior.

Apologizing to Violet, he silently vowed not to let it happen again.

A warm, gold-blue morning had chased the dawn away by the time they reached the Mescalero reservation. There were no signs or fences indicating where Indian land began, but one look at the barren, sun-scorched earth that rejected cultivation and was home to rattlers, scorpions and Gila monsters told Lawless they were now on the reservation.

Ahead, in a barren valley surrounded by bleached-white hills and towering sandstone cliffs, the main village stood alongside a shallow creek. The greenish, copper-tainted water moved
sluggishly
past a group of squaws scrubbing their clothes on some flat rocks. Others carried clay pots of water to their fires, where older women were boiling the water to make it fit for drinking. Squalor surrounded the cluster of grass-thatched, dome-shaped wickiups, most of which needed repairing. Grubby, half-naked children played in the dirt outside each doorway. Nearby, goats and dogs nosed amongst the litter for anything edible.

The sight depressed Lawless. He had no love for the Mescaleros, or Apaches in general. Over the years they had often ambushed him on both sides of the border and but for his
accuracy
with a rifle, would no doubt have lifted his scalp. But to see the once-proud nation dying a slow miserable death brought him no pleasure.

He looked away, disgusted, and saw a herd of gaunt ponies grazing on the scrubland not far from the Indian Agency. The log-walled house, with its living quarters in back, stood alone on higher ground. Presently, it was not open and a long line of old men and women stood waiting outside a closed door marked: Food – Supplies. They watched impassively as Sven rode past,
followed
by Lawless, Violet and Joey in the wagon.

Lawless met the gaze of several of the Apaches and saw nothing but defeat and humiliation in their dark solemn eyes. No wonder the braves keep breaking out, he thought
compassionately
. I’d sooner be a hunted renegade holed up in Chihuahua than stay here, half-starved and waiting to die.

When they reached the outskirts of the village they were
confronted
by two mounted reservation policemen. Former army scouts who had fought for General Crook against Geronimo, both had graduated from Carlisle Indian University and spoke flawless English.

The younger man, Charlie Horse Nose, blocked the wagon’s path with his pony while the other, a fierce-eyed Apache of forty wearing a red head band and a blue cavalry tunic over his shirt and breechcloth, rode up to Sven and demanded to know why he’d brought strangers on to the reservation.

‘These people are my friends,’ Sven said. He indicated Joey, adding: ‘This girl’s brother is near death. We must see Almighty Sky immediately.’

‘He is in council and cannot be disturbed,’ the policeman said.

‘Jim, for God’s sake,’ Sven said. ‘It’s urgent. The boy may die any moment. Please … take us to him.’

James Tall Tree looked first at Joey and then at Violet, who gave him an imploring look. ‘Let them pass,’ he told Charley Horse Nose.

The young policeman grudgingly backed his pony out of the path of the wagon.

James motioned for Sven to follow him, whirled his pinto around and led the way into the village.

Although they had seen Sven Bjorkman many times in the past, the presence of white strangers attracted a crowd of men, women and children. Emerging from their dwellings, they walked
alongside
the wagon, dark solemn eyes fixed on Lawless, Violet and Joey, their expressions a mixture of curiosity and resentment.

Shortly, James Tall Tree reined up outside the large
council-and
-ceremonial wickiup. Dismounting, he told Sven to wait and ducked inside.

Lawless tied the reins around the brake and went to jump off. But Sven signaled to him to remain on the wagon. It was
considered
impolite he explained, to dismount before they were invited.

They waited in silence, ignoring the sullen stares of the Apaches gathered around them.

Ten agonizingly slow minutes passed.

Lawless looked back at Violet, who still held Joey cuddled to her, and smiled reassuringly. She didn’t respond. Cheeks wet with tears, she kept her face pressed against her brother’s and continued to cry without sound.

Guilt ate at Lawless. Despite knowing he had reacted as any man would after having his horse shot out from under him, he could not shake the thought of killing a boy of fourteen. It was a nightmare he knew would haunt him to his grave and silently damned the day he had left Chihuahua and crossed the border into New Mexico.

Finally, James Tall Tree emerged from the council wickiup. Good news, he told Sven. Almighty Sky had agreed to talk to them after he was done ‘making speak’ with the Elders.

‘How long’s that going to take?’ Lawless said.

The Apache policeman shrugged. ‘You cannot rush wisdom, White Man.’

‘Tell that to Joey’s corpse,’ Lawless said.