of riders, Mexicans by the cut of their getup, was moving across the desert below us, at least a mile away. Ahead of them, two men on horseback charged as if their lives were in the balance. One had lost a hat, the other whipped his horse with his as they leaned toward the setting sun. Then one of the horses of the men out front stumbled, and the rumbling of many hooves was overlaid with the squeal of the animal and that distinctive crack of bone. The other rider didn’t stop but kept on. The men closed ranks upon the fallen man, and two dismounted, strode up to him, and drew pistols while the others continued after the lone rider. The man on the ground clasped his hands together and his mouth moved, but we couldn’t hear him. Their guns barely a foot away, they shot him through the head. When he fell, they shot him again, then shot the horse, too. The chase had crossed another rise and was out of our line of sight, but before another minute passed, we heard a volley of gunfire.
Udell took my arm, saying, “Let’s get away from here.” Aubrey and Mary Pearl had followed us, and hurried, too.
We ran to the carriage. Udell drove as fast as he dared, stayed on the road for a bit, then suddenly turned off by a copse of ironwood. He pulled the horses to a stop along a natural pond, and told us all to get out. Hooves approached. Birds scattered noisily. Udell said, “Spread that blanket on the ground.” We laid it over the muddy bank and took the second coach blanket, too. Aubrey spread it over Mary Pearl’s lap while Udell and I put the feed bags back on the horses’ heads. I pulled the rifle from under the front seat and tucked it under, too. We joined them on the blanket in a circle, taking poses and laughing and chatting as if we’d been having a picnic.
No sooner had we caught our breaths than the air filled with the din of horses. Udell pulled the rifle from my hands, putting it down the length of one leg. The men had circled the hill and were coming toward us. One of them shouted, “
i Alto!” and
they pulled to a stop with a clatter and the drawing of pistols. The men pulled kerchiefs over their noses, but stayed mounted while two eased out from the rest toward us. One man rode his horse up against our carriage, looking inside it as if there might be someone hiding.
He reached out a hand, slowly, and patted one of our horses on the rump with an almost kindly gesture. The animal muttered into his feed bag, but nothing more. Then the man holstered his pistol, strapped low on his leg. He eyed us. A pair of vicious spurs dressed his heels, flashing in the sunlight. On his horse’s left shoulder, the Bar-M brand of Rudolfo Maldonado.
I held my breath. A patch of foam hung on the flank of one of our horses. From where I sat, I could see it clearly, but from his point of view, he couldn’t know we’d run those horses unless there was foam on the other side.
The rider turned, thrust his chin toward the south, and at once, the band of men sped away in a clattering flurry. We were left quaking together on the blanket, wondering what we’d just witnessed. When I tried to stand, I found my legs cold from the dampness that seeped through the blanket; my knees shook as I hurried to the far horse, looking him over carefully. There was no foam. No reason for them to suspect us of lying, other than that heavier smell of a just-run horse.
Aubrey said, “Mary Pearl, quickly, get in,” and he jostled the wet blanket into a bundle at their feet. Udell’s face was grim and hard. He took the reins. I took the rifle. We turned the horses toward home and made dust.
Chapter Five
December 17, 1906
Last night I said good night to Udell in the dark, outside the house. The night had been crisply cold; the stars all seemed only a few feet over our heads. The moon hung like a lantern, low in the sky. He had put his hands against my cheeks but he did not kiss me. He had only held my face and said, “Be careful.”
Then I took
Udell took my arm, saying, “Let’s get away from here.” Aubrey and Mary Pearl had followed us, and hurried, too.
We ran to the carriage. Udell drove as fast as he dared, stayed on the road for a bit, then suddenly turned off by a copse of ironwood. He pulled the horses to a stop along a natural pond, and told us all to get out. Hooves approached. Birds scattered noisily. Udell said, “Spread that blanket on the ground.” We laid it over the muddy bank and took the second coach blanket, too. Aubrey spread it over Mary Pearl’s lap while Udell and I put the feed bags back on the horses’ heads. I pulled the rifle from under the front seat and tucked it under, too. We joined them on the blanket in a circle, taking poses and laughing and chatting as if we’d been having a picnic.
No sooner had we caught our breaths than the air filled with the din of horses. Udell pulled the rifle from my hands, putting it down the length of one leg. The men had circled the hill and were coming toward us. One of them shouted, “
i Alto!” and
they pulled to a stop with a clatter and the drawing of pistols. The men pulled kerchiefs over their noses, but stayed mounted while two eased out from the rest toward us. One man rode his horse up against our carriage, looking inside it as if there might be someone hiding.
He reached out a hand, slowly, and patted one of our horses on the rump with an almost kindly gesture. The animal muttered into his feed bag, but nothing more. Then the man holstered his pistol, strapped low on his leg. He eyed us. A pair of vicious spurs dressed his heels, flashing in the sunlight. On his horse’s left shoulder, the Bar-M brand of Rudolfo Maldonado.
I held my breath. A patch of foam hung on the flank of one of our horses. From where I sat, I could see it clearly, but from his point of view, he couldn’t know we’d run those horses unless there was foam on the other side.
The rider turned, thrust his chin toward the south, and at once, the band of men sped away in a clattering flurry. We were left quaking together on the blanket, wondering what we’d just witnessed. When I tried to stand, I found my legs cold from the dampness that seeped through the blanket; my knees shook as I hurried to the far horse, looking him over carefully. There was no foam. No reason for them to suspect us of lying, other than that heavier smell of a just-run horse.
Aubrey said, “Mary Pearl, quickly, get in,” and he jostled the wet blanket into a bundle at their feet. Udell’s face was grim and hard. He took the reins. I took the rifle. We turned the horses toward home and made dust.
Chapter Five
December 17, 1906
Last night I said good night to Udell in the dark, outside the house. The night had been crisply cold; the stars all seemed only a few feet over our heads. The moon hung like a lantern, low in the sky. He had put his hands against my cheeks but he did not kiss me. He had only held my face and said, “Be careful.”
Then I took
Similar Books
