El Paso Way (10 page)

After he buried the bodies, Dutton wanted to build a fire and make some coffee, but he remembered that the camping supplies were with one of the other riders. All he had was some jerky and a sack of raisins that he always carried with him, in case he had to ride a ways out of town. He was more than a ways out of town now; he figured he was close to New Mexico Territory. With only a few hours of daylight left, he supposed it best to head up into the mountains, where Valdar likely wouldn't be, maybe shoot a deer or pronghorn, have a warm meal, and head out toward El Paso the next day with a full belly and a fresh start. Yes, that was a plan that would likely work and not take him to his grave any sooner than he wanted to go.

* * *

Enrique gave all their food away for two reasons. First, he knew it would please Geronimo and buy them lasting friendship. Plus, it would prove that he not only had the knowledge of making Apache weapons, but he could also use them. To give up his food meant he could hunt and kill for survival. Such a man would be worthy of his freedom and welcome in the land of the
Nnee
.

Though the event with the Apache had been worrisome, it turned out to provide them with a new level of confidence. Pang rode with his head higher, looking about the wilderness with interest, curiosity, and an alert eye. The Apache riders who now accompanied them also provided strength in numbers. Though Geronimo had told them about the posse that looked for Valdar, Enrique was certain that the Apache way of tracking and capture was more dependable than any civic procedure of the Anglo settlements.

The Apache were on mounts from their own remuda—which Enrique believed were likely confiscated or stolen—but that was the Apache way. One of the braves, Perro Alto (Tall Dog), rode a bay mare and carried his repeating rifle in a deerskin scabbard. He was an excellent tracker, which was why Geronimo had sent him. He was named for his slender frame, taller than most Apache, and for his ability to sniff out the enemy.

The other brave, Torro Rapido (Quick Bull), rode a black-and-white paint, mostly white, and always held his rifle. Geronimo had said he was quick to shoot, which was not always good, but might be in their pursuit of the Demon Warrior.

They rode for two days and crossed the Pedregosa, and Tall Dog led them to two mounds of dirt. He dismounted, grabbed a handful of soil from a mound, and sniffed it.

“Fresh graves,” he said. “Two days.”

The Apache walked around, inspecting the ground, then pointed northwest. “Many riders, head that way.” Then he pointed east. “Other riders, look like eight, go that way.” Then he pointed northeast. “But lone rider go that way.”

Enrique was positive the posse had had a confrontation with Valdar, which explained part of the division. But the solitary rider he couldn't understand. “One rider?” Enrique said. “Why just one?”

“Whoever he is, he hides in the Pedregosa,” Tall Dog said.

* * *

Dutton squatted and placed on a roasting skewer some backstrap slices, which were of a deer he'd killed the prior evening. He'd spotted the doe along with two yearlings foraging near a mountain draw. They were at least two hundred yards away, but he knew he had just as much chance with a long shot as he did trying to get closer and challenge their keen senses. Unfortunately he gut-shot the doe and had to track her blood trail another hundred yards before finding her dead farther down the draw. He hated the thought of an animal suffering and always did his best to make a quick kill. On the trail he couldn't prepare all the meat; he could only take what he could eat that night. The coyotes, buzzards and crows would certainly find their prize on his behalf.

He moved the coals in the fire around until the flames shot higher onto the meat. He rose quickly as his horse, tied behind him, let out an alerting whicker.

As he looked at the horse, he noticed it peering off to the south, its ears turned forward like thistle cones, capturing whatever had alerted its senses. That's when Dutton spotted the Apache, sitting on a bay horse on a distant bluff, the morning light highlighting specific details of the brave's features: his hair, his skin, his breechcloth, his rifle.

Dutton stood there in a staring contest, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed his horse's head move. Another Apache, on a black-and-white paint, appeared farther east, on another bluff, with his rifle aimed at the sheriff.

Dutton fell to the ground quickly then crawled behind a boulder. He pulled his six-gun and peered back over the boulder. Both Apaches were gone.

“What the—”

Moments later he saw four riders coming into camp, two on mules with a pack burro trailing, and the two Apaches trailing behind. He stood slowly, his six-gun still in his hand but held down.

“Who goes there?” he said.

“We come in peace,” said the lead rider, who appeared to be a Mexican wearing a sombrero and serape.

As they rode into camp, the lead rider dismounted, and as Dutton gave a hard look at the second rider, he recognized the face. “You're that Chinaman—Pang Lo.”

“I am,” Pang said. “You cannot arrest me now.”

“I don't plan to,” Dutton said, holstering his revolver.

All but the Apaches gathered at the fire. The sheriff invited them to share his meal, and Enrique tried to convince the Apaches to join them. The three of them talked over coffee (donated by the new riders) and fire-roasted venison, and then shared their knowledge and experiences and agreed to work together to find and kill Valdar. Tall Dog and Quick Bull eventually dismounted, after Enrique coaxed them with the sight of the steaming backstrap.

“I can't figure how someone can be so wicked,” Dutton said.

The Apaches continued to eat vigorously, taking large bites of the meat and licking their fingers. Pang did not eat much of the meat, just warmed his hands over the fire. Enrique had finished eating and was washing the meal down with fresh coffee, for which Dutton expressed his gratitude.

“Father Gaeta said he is the work of Satan,” Enrique said. “No good can come from him.”

“I'm not so sure Satan could beat this feller,” Dutton said. “He's one bad
hombre
.”

“Where do you think he is now?” Enrique said.

“I'd say he's at least two days ahead of us,” Dutton said, “but he'll ride much slower with those women.”

Pang looked up at them. “Then we should ride faster.”

“We will, son,” Dutton said. “As fast as our mounts will let us.”

“Don't worry,” Enrique said. “We are much stronger now, being six instead of five.”

Dutton squinted, calculating in his head. “Six?”

Enrique grinned. “Ah, but you have not met Sereno, our desert watchman who is out there but does not ride with us.”

Dutton gazed out across the mountain slopes. “All right, I'll have to take your word for that one.”

Dutton looked out at the horizon, the pinkish haze fading away to a brilliant blue. He couldn't help but smile, thinking of how he had hoped for an answer, and it amused him to think that it had come to him in four languages: English, Spanish, Apache, and Chinese.

* * *

Valdar and his
compadres
ran into a camp of three renegade Apache, and they shared their tequila and opium. It was not hard to convince them to join up with Valdar, especially after they raided a small settlement of Mexicans, killed the men, raped the women, ate their food, and took their horses and a young girl at the age of puberty. They kept her pure, however, knowing that a young virgin would bring a premium price.

Their night camp was always a fiesta, with tequila and opium, but Valdar made it very clear the women were off limits. “They must be clean when we cross the border,” he said. “If they are not, I lose money, and I do not like to lose money.”

One of the renegade Apache slipped off into the darkness to relieve himself, and he came back with a prisoner. The sight of this young Indian made Valdar lose his rheumy smile and rise to his feet.

“Where did you find him?” Valdar said, noticing blood on the boy's pant leg.

“He was watching me piss,” the Apache said. “He tried to run away, but I threw my knife into his leg. He could not run anymore.”

Valdar walked up to the boy, grabbed him by his chin, and lifted his face up to look in his eyes. “He looks harmless.” Then Valdar suddenly smiled. “Ah, there is a man in Chihuahua that likes boys, and he pays well.” As he looked the young Indian over, he pushed the boy's head sideways and noticed the scar on his neck. “Hmm, someone tried to finish this one off and they failed. Are you a troublemaker,
Papagito
?” Valdar lost his smile. “It could be that you are a lucky one. Well, I assure you, your luck has run out.”

* * *

Enrique rode next to Dutton the entire day, leading the new posse into the New Mexico Territory. He liked this Sheriff Dutton, and he wasn't sure if it was because of his steadfast, willing nature or the respect he seemed to show them all. Regardless, it was nice to have the extra man, whose duty fit the same purpose.

Pang was also glad to have the sheriff along, and believed the man's desire to help him was now genuine. He understood how difficult it would have been, if not impossible, to show his support back in Tucson. But it was as if the dream of vengeance he had had was now coming true, only in a different fashion than he had wanted. He supposed it did not matter, so long as the end result, the recovery of his sister and fiancée, along with the destruction of Valdar, took place.

After riding for nearly two hours, mostly in silence, just absorbing the new energy and terrain, Dutton wondered what drove these men. Pang he understood, but he knew nothing about Enrique Osorio, or the two Apache. When he asked, Enrique told him how the Demon Warrior had betrayed Geronimo's tribe.

“You know Geronimo?” the sheriff asked.

“Recently acquainted.” He held up his hand and showed him the scar on his palm. “We are now blood brothers.”

Dutton told him about the run-in he had recently had with Geronimo, and Enrique told him that Geronimo seemed to be a reasonable man.

“So long as you are with us, and pursuing Valdar, Geronimo will not bother you.”

“That's easy for you to say,” Dutton said. “You're not affiliated with the white man's government. He hates it like no other.”

Dutton finally asked why Enrique was on this pursuit, and after a deep breath, Enrique gave him the short version of what had happened to his family, but the short version did not leave out the words “rape” and “cold-blooded murder.”

“Father Gaeta tried very hard to keep me from this journey,” Enrique said, “but he finally gave in, and told me that only God's will can prevail.”

“Well, if it's any comfort, if I'd have been through what you have, a desert storm couldn't have stopped me from going.”

Enrique looked at the sheriff gravely. “The desert storm is about to come.”

Dutton thought long and hard about these two young men and what they'd gone through, and a chill ran up his spine. It was even a greater chill when he learned about how the two men came together. Fate, he thought, was an incredible thing, and the most vivid evidence of it, like Pang and Enrique together, should have been enough to convince any man that these things do not happen by mere chance.

They rode on, and eventually Enrique wanted to know more about the sheriff. “Father Gaeta was the only white man I ever knew. What brought you here, Sheriff?”

“Darn restless feet I reckon,” the sheriff said, looking down at the rocky terrain. “My parents settled in Missouri and farmed eighty acres. I fought for the Union Army in the War Between the States, was only eighteen, barely escaped death a few times, and have the scars to prove it. I suppose it was that war that changed me. For some reason I couldn't go back to Missouri and be a farmer. I tried, but the simple life had left my blood. I wanted to try something different. I went to Saint Joseph, almost went west from there, but a poster advertising the Santa Fe Trail lured me to Westport. A scout on the trail kept talking about the thousands of acres of land in the new territories, raw and lawless, just waiting to be settled and tamed for cattle ranching, and that image never left my mind. It was just what my restless mind yearned for.”

“Did you stay in touch with your
mamá
and
papá
?”

“We exchanged a few letters. My pa died two years ago. Ma said they buried him down the road, in a community cemetery. She said that my brother was running the farm now and had bought another a hundred and sixty acres. My heart hurt a little, but I have never regretted leaving. I get a letter occasionally from my brother. He tells me how well he's doing, and that it sure would be good if I'd come back. Half of the old farm is still mine, he said. And that if I'd come, we'd buy more.”

“Do you want to go back?” Enrique said.

“Don't know how I could. With all I have to do here, I can't think about nothing else.”

“I've never thought about anything but killing Valdar. I cannot imagine justice without seeing his own blood on my hands. One time the priest asked me when that was over, what I would do. That was the first time I had ever thought of such a thing. I've never imagined my life without my search for justice.”

“Well, I'm sure it will come to you,” the sheriff said. “One thing at a time. If we make it through this alive, then we'll all decide what's next for us.”

Dutton was quite taken by his newfound confidence. He knew that it was partly because of the spirit and will that consumed all these men, a combined energy that was more powerful than he could have ever generated with the posse that retreated. Enrique and Pang, he knew, would never give in, and would carry on until the end. Something he knew he would have to do, too, and now he wouldn't have to do it alone.

* * *