I DIDN’T HAVE LONG TO WAIT.
I heard the horses’ hoofbeats before I saw them. There were ten men as the old woman had said, dressed in greasy buckskins and dirty clothes. They rode up to the dead horse and studied the sign around the horse.
“Think we got her, boys,” I heard one of them say.
He started following her drag marks, and the others followed along behind.
As they neared where she lay, I rode out of my concealment.
“Howdy, boys. What you looking for?”
“An old Indian. But it ain’t no concern of yours. You just ride on, and we’ll take care of our own business.”
“Don’t think I’m going to do that.”
“Why, you want some of the scalp money?”
“I don’t collect scalps. I don’t like scalp-hunters much either.
Especially ones who’d follow and kill an injured old woman.”
“Boy, you’d better hightail it out of here before we kill you, too.”
“Reckon you could try. Don’t think you’re likely to succeed.”
“Hell, boy. There’s ten of us and one of you. You think you can take all of us?”
“Maybe. Won’t know until I try. You boys want a minute to make your peace with your Lord?”
The leader reached for his pistol. The Army Colt I had drawn and held beside my leg came up and I shot him from the saddle. I turned it on the others and began firing. I drew the other Army Colt with my left hand and began firing it as well. I heard the sound of the Henry firing also.
In a few minutes, all the scalp-hunters were on the ground. I dismounted, dropping the Army Colts and drawing my Remington from my right holster. I went among them, shooting each of them who were still alive in the head. I reloaded the Remingtons and went back and picked up the Colts, reloading them as well. I went to Ghost and holstered the Colts in their saddle holsters. Then I went to the old woman.
“Still alive, old woman?”
“Sí, white man. But you killed them before I could. Why you not let me kill them?”
“When men start shooting at me, I just naturally shoot back. Sorry I didn’t leave more for you to kill.”
“You shoot good.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’m going to leave you here for a few minutes while I go and find some wood for splints for your leg. Then I’m going to set those broken bones. Reckon it might hurt when I do. Think you can stand it?”
“I am Mescalero.”
“So you keep telling me.”
I walked away to look for saplings that would serve well as splints. After cutting a few, I returned to her. I looked over the dead scalp-hunters and chose the one with the cleanest clothes. It was a difficult choice since all of them were filthy. But since there was no open wound, I thought it might not matter. I cut some strips from the buckskin one of them wore and went back to the old woman. I took the rifle away from her.
“Just a precaution, ma’am. If I hurt you too much, I’m wor-
ried you might shoot me. I’ll give the rifle back to you when your leg is splinted.”
I put one hand on her thigh just above the knee and grasped her ankle in the other hand. I jerked the ankle down and around. I could see her teeth clamp together and saw the pain in her eyes. But she made no sound.
“Reckon you are Mescalero.”
I wrapped the cloth I had taken from the scalp-hunters around her left leg. I placed the saplings along her leg over the cloth on all four sides and tied them tightly in place with the raw-hide I had cut from the scalp-hunter.
“Reckon that should do.”
I picked her up and carried her to the secluded place I had left Lady Red and the blacks. Quicksilver Ghost followed me. Then I went back and stripped the guns and ammunition from the scalp-hunters and went through their pockets for anything else of value. I stripped the ones wearing buckskins of their clothes. I thought the buckskins might come in handy.
Then I gathered their horses and brought them back to the secluded area. I stripped them of saddles and bridles and pick-eted them.
I carried one of the scalp-hunters’ rifles and one of their pis-tols and gun belts over to the old woman.
“These are yours.”
She took the weapons and examined them, checking if they were loaded. They were. She looked up at me.
I built a small fire and shaved some jerky into a pot that I had filled from the spring.
“Go and pull up some of that flower over there, the yellow one,” the old woman said. “And over there is some squaw cabbage. Cut up the bulbs of the flower and add them to the stew. Then add some of the squaw cabbage.”
I did as she said. When the stew had cooked, I brought the pot over to her. I filled a spoon, blew on it to cool it, and held it toward her. She took the spoon from me.
“I feed myself.”
“I know. You are Mescalero. How’d you end up out here all by yourself?”
“When we discover they near, we pack up ranchería and left.
The warriors all away. I ride off to lead scalp-hunters away from women and children.”
“Figured, since you were old, you were the most expendable?”
“What expendable?”
“Means you had the least to lose.”
“Sí, that was what we decide.”
“Where did your people go? I will take you to them.”
“I am dead to them. I have sung my death song.”
“Well, you sure don’t look dead to me. What do you want to do now?”
“Leave me. I die soon.”
“Old woman, I didn’t kill those men so you could die. Reckon you’re just going to have to get used to me. I figure it’s going to be about a month before you can ride. So you just lie back while your leg heals.”
“You foolish, white man. One night I might kill you. I am Mescalero.”
“Sí, old woman. You are Mescalero. And one night, you might try to kill me. Reckon I won’t sleep too sound for a while.”
She made a sound that seemed half derisive and half humor.
I walked away to the horses and cared for them. I took the buck-skins I had stripped from the scalp-hunters and took them to the stream. I submerged them in the water and weighted them down with rocks.
Later, I saddled Ghost and put the pack saddle on one of the blacks. I rode a good way away from the camp to where I had seen deer sign earlier near a small stream. I didn’t want a gunshot to give away the location of our camp.
It wasn’t long until a young buck came down to drink. I shot him and dropped him with the first shot. He fell where he stood, so I didn’t have to trail him. I managed to get him onto the black’s pack saddle, and the horses and I rode back toward camp.
On the way to camp, I found a tree with a limb about the right height and horizontal enough to hang the deer. I tied my rope around his rear feet and threw the other end over the limb. I looped the end of the rope around one of the sawbucks on the black’s pack saddle and let him pull the deer up a few feet off the ground. I cut the deer’s throat to bleed him and removed the glands on his hind legs. Then I cut along its belly and cleaned the carcass of its entrails.
When I had finished, I lowered the deer back onto the pack saddle and tied it in place. I mounted Ghost and led the black back to the camp.
The old woman was still by the fire where I had left her. I dismounted and walked over to her, squatting on my heels across from her.
“Think you can eat some real meat tonight? Or should I make you some more stew?”
“I am Mescalero. I eat meat. Bring deer to me. I skin it and cut up meat.”
“Yes, ma’am. But how about I help you? You still can’t move around too well.”
She made that derisive sound again as I walked over to the black and led him back near the old woman. I untied the deer and let it slide down to the ground near her.
“It good deer. Only one shot. You might be better hunter than most white men. But you not Mescalero.”
“No, ma’am. I’m not Mescalero.”
“Now, do what I tell you.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pulled her knife and cut the head off the deer. She placed it aside.
“Brains make good buckskin.”
Then the two of us skinned the deer and cut the meat from the bone, laying it on the edge of the skin as we worked. When we had finished with the meat, she started gathering up the bones and breaking them at the joints.
“You put these bones over there,” she said pointing a ways from us. “We will roast them and eat the marrow.”
I did as I was told.
When I returned to her, she drew in the ground with her knife.
“Now, go find wood like this.”
She pointed to the ground where she had drawn sticks with a horizontal branch or a slightly vertical one.
“How long do want them to be?”
She held her hands apart about three feet.
“How many do you want?”
She held her hands up with all ten fingers open. Then she closed her hands and opened them again.
I went to the pack saddles and got an axe I had bought in one of the Mexican towns before descending into the Barrancas del Cobre. I found her the wood she wanted. I brought it back to her.
She dug a hole with her knife and placed one of the sticks in it with the limb pointing out to the side. She filled the hole and tamped it down with the handle of the knife. Then she dug another hole near the end of the limb and placed another stick in it with the limb pointing in the same direction as the limb of the first stick.
She pointed to a place about three feet from the first stick.
“You put sticks there.”
“So we’re building a rack to dry the meat?”
“Sí, white man. You not as stupid as I thought.”
“Look, old woman, I’m tired of you calling me white man. Call me Captain. Or call me hijo de puta. Or anything else you want. Just don’t call me white man anymore. Sí?”
“Sí, I call you hijo de puta or Capitán or something else.”
“Gracias.”
“Now, go cut wood to make the drying rack.”
I went back to the woods and cut some limbs about three and a half feet in length, thick enough so they wouldn’t bend with the weight of the meat. While I was in the woods, I also cut a couple of limbs with a horizontal branch just a little longer than five feet. I carried it all back to where the old woman was.
“Bueno. What long branches for?”
“Later, I’m going to make you some crutches.”
“I don’t need crutches. I am Mescalero.”
“Sí, old woman. You are Mescalero, and you won’t be able to get around except by crawling for about a month. So it seems to me, your choice is to crawl on your belly like a dog or use the crutches I make for you.”
She had an ugly look in her eyes as she stared at me. “Hijo de puta! I not use them.”
“Do what you want, old woman. But I’m going to make them for you anyway.”
She made another snorting sound, but this one had no humor in it.
“Clear the ground between sticks. Build fire.”
“Sí, old woman. I’ll clear the ground and build the fire. You cut the deer into strips.”
“You think I fool. Meat already cut.”
She pointed to a pile of cut strips on the deer hide.
“Well, I guess you ain’t useless. Just crippled.”
“Hijo de puta!”
I laughed and cleared the ground between the sticks and gathered wood for the fire. Following Jim Dandy’s advice from months ago, I looked for hardwood, fruit wood, and mesquite. I brought back what I had found and got the fire started. Then I laid the long sticks over the horizontal limbs and made the rack.
I went back to the woods and cut a few small saplings to use as spits. I returned to the fire near the old woman and began stripping the bark off the saplings.
I went to my saddle bags and got my coffee pot, some cof-
fee, and two cups. I put the pot on the coals to heat. When it was
boiling, I added some coffee, and after a while, I added some cold water to settle the grounds.
“Figure we might as well eat as the fire burns down to coals.”
I handed her one of the stripped saplings and reached over for a chunk of the deer she had cut. She did the same. We put the meat on the end of the saplings and held it into the fire. I poured two cups of coffee and handed her one. We sat there, saying nothing as the meat broiled.