Duster (9781310020889) Page 4

  Anyway, we made it back all right even if we were getting a little pinched in the feet by then.

  Old man Trembel had a tight-built cabin made out of logs, like most folks did around Dog Town then, as there wasn't much lumber to be found. The only thing different about his place was that it sort of leaned toward the river like it was trying to fall over but wasn't quite ready yet.

  He had a sod shed out back where he kept his wagon and barrels for carrying water into town, and there was a flimsy sort of pole corral attached to it that looked like it wouldn't hold in anything bigger than a month-old colt. A good-sized calf could have butted the thing down, but I guessed Trembel's mules was too dumb to know that.

  We went straight on back to the corral, past his rubbish heap of old bottles and bits of broken harness and stuff, and we put our saddles up on the top cross poles. We did it real gentlelike so the whole thing wouldn't fall down.

  There was a pair of real likely looking gray mules in the corral along with a pair of the scrubbiest animals I ever saw.

  "Guess which ones we get to take to my cousin Ramon," Jesus said. It wasn't any question and really didn't need an answer.

  Right then, Jesus looked about as low-down as either of those old mules Trembel had palmed off on Ramon Nunez.

  "I'll take the brown," I said before Jesus could say it first. Of the pair of them neither was worth shooting, but the brown looked the more likely and seemed to have the most of its original hide left. The other one might of been black once upon a time, but now it was so grizzled and grayed and scarred up it would be hard to put a name to its color—other than dirty old mule, which pretty well covered the subject.

  Jesus's black had about the spindliest looking shanks I'd ever seen on a live animal too. It looked like it might take a notion to go down to its knees any time.

  As for my brown, it looked all right except for being probably twenty-five years old and having a barreled-out belly. Then the thing turned its head—it had been standing sideways to me—and I could see where it had run into some heavy thorns or maybe got clawed by a cat when it was little. The thing was ugly enough before I saw where the right side of its head was one big scar and there wasn't any eye in its head on the offside.

  "You sure can pick 'em, Duster," Jesus said with a heehaw. "Thanks for giving me the good one."

  "There ain't no good one between them," I told him, "but they're better than what we had when we come here. Let's catch them and get on our way before someone comes by and sees us with these tallow factory rejects."

  "Darn it," Jesus said. "A prairie wolf would think twice about eating either of them if you shot it and staked it down by a water hole for him." He shook his head sadly and looked very wise, like he was contemplating on the fates of mules and men. Maybe he was, too. I never could tell about him.

  We crawled through the poles, though, and took our bridles in to catch up our transportation to Fort Ewell and to some proper horses befitting a cowhand.

  The mules were no trouble to catch. They stood there real quiet and let us put the bridles on and then they led real easy to the fence so we could get the saddles in place.

  "This ain't so bad," Jesus said when we was finished.

  I wasn't so sure yet, but I took the poles down from the gate and Jesus led the mules out.

  I was ready for anything when I crawled up on the brown, but it didn't twitch. I'd been sort of expecting a good workout from that old mule because I've been told that a mule can pitch higher and harder than any horse that ever lived. They say a mule that don't want to get rode won't toss or crow-hop like a horse. Instead it just sort of explodes in all directions at once, and it takes a better rider than me to hang onto one any way short of being tied in the saddle.

  I didn't find out about it that day. That one-eyed old mule just sat there and didn't budge.

  I could see Jesus was ready, too, so I kicked the mule up to a walk—or at least I tried to. First, I thumped him a little with my heels, then I tried really laying into him with the shoes Ma had had made up for me. It didn't work at all. The mule just stood there.

  Jesus was having the same trouble with the black, the only difference being he was wearing spurs and could gouge harder. His mule finally showed some life. It reached its head around and clamped down real hard with sturdy, yellow teeth. Lucky for Jesus he had some good heavy tapaderos over his stirrups or he'd of been walking with a limp for a few days, boots or no boots.

  When I looked around, I could see old man Trembel sitting on his back stoop, chewing some tobacco and watching the fun we was having.

  "Can these things walk or would it be easier to butcher them here and cart the meat down to Ramon Nunez?" I called over to him.

  Old man Trembel grinned some and spat, but he got up and wandered over our way real slow. "These mules been pulling a wagon fer fifteen year or more," he said around a big lump of tobacco. "They mought work better if you quit kickin' 'em—which they don't understand since it ain't never been done to 'em before—and make like they was pullin' a wagon again."

  He waved his arm in my direction and said, "That brown now, old Gert, she always was hitched on the right so she could see if Stardust turned to nip at her." He took hold of Gert's bridle and led her up beside Jesus's black.

  "And Stardust here—he's the one did the leadin'. When you want to go, Douglas, take a switch and reach over and tap Stardust on the rump. Jesus, you do the drivin' for both of 'em. It won't do no good to try an' neck rein them so, Jesus, you just saw away at the lines to turn Stardust anywhere you want him. And don't worry about Gert. Wherever you put Stardust, she'll be right alongside of him."

  Trembel cut me a good, long switch of mesquite but took his time to dig a heavy clasp knife out of his pocket and trim every thorn off smooth before he handed it up to me.

  "Here you go," he said. "Just a touch is all you need. No reason to lay it onto him heavy without you get mad at him. And don't expect to get there in a hurry."

  Jesus looked as doubtful as I felt, but I reached over and gave Stardust's rump a light tap with the switch. That old mule picked up into a walk without waiting for a word or a holler, and Gert went right along with him easy as you please. Jesus pulled and pushed at the reins until we was out on the road.

  The mules started to turn toward the river without being told—it was where they had gone every day for years to fetch water into the barrels—but Jesus hauled them back into line all right.

  "Watch your driving," I told him and pulled the brim of my hat down over my eyes. "I'm going to take a nap."

  5

  WE MUST OF been some sight going down that road, but there wasn't anybody much around to see us. These was big, long-legged old Arkansas mules we was delivering, and while they didn't seem to be in any hurry, they kept a fair pace.

  Since it was well after noon before we got a start, we knew it wouldn't be at least until the next day that we reached Fort Ewell.

  We neither one of us had so much as a blanket with us for the night. I had left my soogan and chunk of canvas groundcloth on the packhorse that was going on down to the Nueces with Ike Partley, and Jesus didn't own one. He'd been crawling in with one of the other Mexican hands when the night was cold enough for blankets.

  "Duster?" Jesus said after a time.

  "Hmmm?"

  "I just thought of something."

  "I'm glad for you," I said. "You'll be the caporal of the outfit in no time at all if you can think up things to worry about." I opened my eyes and shoved my hat back up so I could see where Jesus was taking us.

  "You're awful feisty for a young'un, ain't you?"

  "I got taught a lesson today about what happens when I listen to my elders. I leave things to the old folk like you and where do I wind up? On the back of a one-eyed mule somewhere in the middle of South Texas with no family to comfort me an' no pillow for my sweet haid."

  "That ain't all you're doing without," Jesus said.

  "What do you mean?"

&n
bsp; "That's what I was gonna bring up before you got so smart-britches on me. We got no blanket roll with us, right?"

  "Sure, but it oughtn't to get too cold tonight," I said.

  "And we got no chuck with us either, right?"

  "That's so too, but we can hitch our belts in a notch to make do until we get where we're going. Either that or eat some mule steaks if these beasts do what they look like they ought to and die of old age before morning."

  "Si. All this is so." Jesus eyed the back of my saddle. "But unless you got a hidey-hole on your saddle someplace, neither one of us was smart enough to carry along a gourd of water."

  Now, that did present a problem. I looked over at Jesus perched up on Stardust and said, "You're the caporal of this outfit already, being as you're practically growed. I guess it's up to you to wrestle up a water hole or something."

  "If I thought it would do any good I'd detail you to do that, but you're about as dumb as me," he said good-natured like.

  "Well, the mules can make out all right with prickly pear if we singe the thorns off," I said. "You got any matches?"

  He pulled his hat off and ran a finger around the inside band. When he was about halfway around he got a grin on his face and fished out a couple broken stubs of matches.

  "Maybe you're not so dumb," I said.

  We rode on until it got full dark since we weren't worried about needing any light to fix a camp and a supper by. I guess we were about halfway there when Jesus pulled us up for the night.

  The place he had picked out wasn't much more than a break in the tall stuff, but at least the thorns couldn't get at us more than about boot high. It was good enough for us, and there seemed to be plenty of prickly pear around.

  We took our saddles down and hobbled those old mules good and tight so they wouldn't go too far during the night. Then we made up some torches out of dry sticks and burnt the spines off some prickly pear so we knew the mules would have enough to eat. They'd get plenty of water out of those juicy pear hands too, so we wouldn't have to worry about that.

  Right about then, I was wishing we could say something of the like for our own selves. I didn't know about Jesus, but I'd been thinking about little else but water ever since he had pointed out we didn't have any—though I hadn't remembered being much thirsty before.

  Wishing wasn't having, though, and we sure didn't have. Once I picked up as smooth a pebble as I could find and popped that in my mouth since they say it will help. And it may help some folks, but the only thing it did for me was to get the insides of my mouth all gritty so that I crunched whenever I moved my teeth. I lost more water spitting out bits of sand than I ever could have worked up with that piece of rock.

  There wasn't much setting up to do for our camp, but we got real busy at it for a while. Jesus was just as busy as me, so I figured he had got thirsty too.

  We built up a good fire and kicked the brush back until we had room to spread our saddle blankets. They didn't smell too fine, what with having fresh mule sweat slapped on top of old horse sweat, but they'd be better than laying down on the little stickers and bits of rock and stuff. I was real careful to take a torch and study the territory for ants before I threw my blanket, and I sneaked a look at Jesus and caught him doing the same thing.

  After that there wasn't much for us to do, and not being so close that we had a whole lot to talk about we settled down on top of our blankets for a sleep.

  It must of been a couple hours later—I noticed the fire was about gone anyway—when Jesus shook me up."Wake up, Duster," he said and rattled my head around with some more shaking.

  I came awake quick then and started to ask him what fool business he was about, waking me up like that, but he shoved a hand over my mouth to keep me from saying anything. It worked. Almost kept me from breathing too.

  All in all it wasn't any too pleasant since it had been a while since Jesus had taken time out to wash. Not that I was in any condition to complain since I was every bit as dirty myself.

  "Shut up," he said. "I heard somebody coming."

  "Well, good," I told him, shoving his hand aside and sitting up. "Maybe they got a water bag with them. I could go for a drink even if it is in the middle of the night."

  "Don't be so stupid," Jesus said. "Now, who do you think might be taking this road at this time of night, eh?"

  He had a point, I had to admit, so I jumped up and the pair of us grabbed our saddles and stuff and slipped off a few feet where we could watch along the road without being seen.

  We hadn't hardly got hid before we could make out something coming along the road from down toward Fort Ewell. There wasn't much light, but the dust in the road stood out pretty bright, and we could make out some dark shapes moving on it and could hear the creaking and clinking of gear on a bunch of horses. They were moving at a pretty good clip and ought to carry right by us.

  It wasn't that easy, though. They got up to where we had made our fire and pulled up like they'd ridden out just to meet up with us for a friendly talk.

  "Ola," one of them called. "Como es', amigo?"

  They sat there waiting a bit and then another one called something out too quick for me to follow. I could feel Jesus moving a little close by like he was getting nervous.

  Then the first one said something that I couldn't understand the words to, but the meaning seemed pretty clear. It sounded like he was telling somebody to cut out the horsing around and step out real quick before the bossman got mad.

  I looked over toward Jesus and could make out that he was shaking his head at me. He reached out and took hold of my sleeve, I guess to hold me down in case I wanted to get up and go for a walk or a visit.

  The men on the horses didn't say anything at all for a while. They just sat there and waited for something to happen.

  I couldn't be sure, but it looked like there was six or seven of them and a couple of extra horses.

  Jesus and me hunkered down lower and lower in the brush and stayed just as quiet as we could. The riders, they just sat and waited, as quiet as us. I couldn't see too well, but it seemed like the Mexican who had done most of the talking kept looking our way while he sat there.

  I'd never heard anything so quiet as that night was. There wasn't any wind, of course, and no birdcall or coyotes. For a long time there I couldn't even hear their horses move or mules shuffle around.

  As it got quieter, I got to hearing the sound of my own breathing, and pretty soon the air whistling in through my nose sounded about as loud as if I was snoring so I breathed through my mouth instead. I felt better when I couldn't hear myself breathe.

  It seemed queer, but just a little while before I'd been about as comfortable as a body could be in that soft, night air. Now, I was commencing to feel downright chill. That must have been so, because I was shivering just the least bit.

  I glanced over at Jesus again, and real slow he lifted a hand up and laid a finger across his lips. Not that he needed to tell me that. Those riders just had to be Mexican bandits, up on this side of the border maybe to steal horses or cattle. Mostly they didn't come up north of the Nueces, preferring to stay down there in the Brasada, between that river and the Rio Grande where the brush was the thickest and they could hide the easiest.

  Whatever the reason, they was up to no good, riding through the night out in the brush like this. I didn't want to have anything to do with them, and I guess Jesus didn't, either.

  If they wanted to sit there the rest of the night, though, there wasn't anything we could do about it, so we just kept still, hoping they'd figure they had the wrong place and go off to wherever they were going.

  The thing was, they didn't show any signs of being tired of waiting.

  After a time, the one I took to be the leader stepped his horse a couple of paces straight toward us and took off his hat.

  "Bravo, Pedro," he said, right in our direction. I couldn't figure what he was up to or who this Pedro fellow was supposed to be. Then I found out.

  "E-e-e-e-
yah," someone screamed right beside my ear. "Ola, muchachos."

  I jumped so bad that I fell right straight through the clump of coma we were hiding behind. Jesus let out a yell and came up running—or he would have if a big, grinning Mexican hadn't had him around the waist. It didn't take me long to get my legs under me with the same notion, but by then, another Mexican had me by the arm. He was laughing so hard I might of got loose, but truth to tell is that I was too scared to try.

  The other Mexicans were laughing, too, and calling out in Spanish that I couldn't follow.

  "What's this all about, mister? Let go of me, you hear?" I guess I said a lot of things, but they didn't do any good except to make the bandidos laugh that much harder. So I shut up.

  "What we got here, eh?" the leader said. "We got some young gringo roostlers out in the Brasada, eh?" It must of sounded pretty funny to him he took on so, but Jesus set him straight with a bunch of Spanish talk that went on for a minute or more.

  The Mexicans all got off their horses and two of them led the animals back off the road out of sight. The rest of them crowded around us and the one by me turned loose of my arm. It was safe enough, that was sure. Up close, I could see all the artillery they was wearing, and I sure didn't want to cause them the expense of restocking their ammunition supply.

  Up close, I could see the leader was short, no taller than me, but real stocky. He looked like he could take into a bear for a rassling match and not be giving anything much away. He was most as hairy as a bear, too, with a droopy mustache and hair laying down on his shoulders.

  He was all loaded down with revolvers, too. There was one stuffed into a big old holster on his right side and another tucked in behind his sash on the left. And he had the biggest knife I think I ever saw slipped in next to the revolver in his sash. He looked like a hard one for sure, but if he hadn't smelled so bad I might have taken him for something of a dandy what with the hatband slung around his sombrero. That hatband was made out of metal—I took it to be silver, most likely—and even in the bad light, I could see how fine it was worked. It must of been all of three fingers high and it picked up every speck of light there was around. There wasn't any missing that band.