THEY PLANNED TO LEAVE EARLY the next morning, making for a trail Lu and Bill had passed by in the dark the night before. The Mimbrachua women were up before dawn, and had hot corn mush ready even as the first rays of sunlight slithered down the western wall of the canyon.
Lu and Bill choked down their breakfast and had just begun to saddle their mounts when Gokhlayeh came galloping into camp. Apparently he’d spent the better part of the previous night scouting, and had startling news.
A party of military surveyors, fourteen in all, had begun the slow descent to the canyon floor. They were heavily armed and possessed a full train of pack mules. As soon as they heard, the Indians began to break camp.
“I guess we’ll have to go on without you,” Lu said to Gokhlayeh.
“Why?”
“You’ll want to stay with your people. Won’t you?”
“They will be fine for a day or two.”
Lu didn’t know whether to be pleased or disappointed. Gokhlayeh was far and away the most frightening man he’d ever met. The cold rage that hung at the corners of his mouth was as hard to look at as the sun. But Lu was intrigued by the headman as well.
“So you’ll come with us?” he asked.
“Of course. Unlike a white man, I keep my word.”
It took no more than a quarter of an hour for the whole tribe to be packed and ready to move. About half of their horses—to Lu they looked even mangier in the light of day—were saddled for use by the warriors. The rest of the animals dragged simple log sledges, each piled to maximum density with the most diminutive bits of junk and flotsam Lu had ever seen. The Indians took everything. Not just food and equipment, but river rocks and random sticks. Even the ashes from their fires were dug up and hauled away. Whatever wouldn’t fit onto the sledges they tied to their dogs. It was the most ramshackle, disorganized outfit Lu had ever seen. But it worked. In the time it took him to finish saddling Crash and harnessing Lucky, the Mimbrachua had completely dismantled their lives. The only sign of their ever having occupied this stretch of river was a mud-pie one of the children had made and left to dry on a boulder beside the river. And then even that was destroyed. A boy, one of their escorts from the night before, took the pie and flung it into the swirling waters of the Moreno.
When all was bound and packed, babies included, Gokhlayeh sent his people away. The men rode at the front, rifles across their knees, while the women and children footed it at the rear. Last to depart was the young woman Lu had taken an interest in the night before, still wearing her yellow bonnet and gingham dress. In the morning light, her face was even more heartbreaking. She gazed longingly at Gokhlayeh, obviously wishing she could go with him, then waved to Lu and raced away.
“Where will they go?” Lu asked.
“There is a good camp only a day’s march to the south,” Gokhlayeh said. “They will wait for me there.”
“How far do you think you’ll have to go? To escape the soldiers, I mean.”
“Escape?” Gokhlayeh scoffed. “It is the soldiers who should think of escape. We think only of blood.”
When his tribe had all gone, Gokhlayeh mounted his horse, the same rickety old plug he’d ridden into camp, and motioned for Lu and Bill to do likewise.
Gokhlayeh set an easy pace, not wanting to stress the animals unnecessarily. The way up was not as easy as the way down, Bill explained. If they weren’t careful, the horses could be injured by the climb.
“Fortunately for us, that mule of yours will quit before there’s any real danger. A mule does as much as it can and not a bit more. They’re smarter than horses that way.”
Bill and Lu chatted off and on during the ride. Lu told Bill all about his mother and grandfather—he got the impression that Bill had at least heard of Master K’ung, if not actually met him—and about his friends from school. Bill told Lu about his mountain lion, Sweetheart, whom he’d once saddled and ridden to satisfy a bet. Lu didn’t believe the story, but didn’t entirely discount it either. Bill was full of tall tales. He even knew a few about Jack Straw.
Gokhlayeh seldom spoke, but he did listen. And not just to Bill and Lu either. In fact, if Lu didn’t know better, he’d have guessed the Mimbrachua headman was listening to words only he could hear. Whenever the breeze picked up, as it so often did in the canyon, Gokhlayeh would cock his ear. Sometimes, after listening for a few minutes, he’d turn toward Lu and grin, displaying a full set of straight white teeth. Other times he’d gaze back at Bill with a hideous scowl. For some reason, Lu found the headman’s smiles vastly more disconcerting. It was hard to imagine Gokhlayeh taking pleasure in much of anything, unless it was the suffering and misery of a white man.
They stopped at least once every hour, to let the horses catch their breath, but they still climbed at a fantastic rate. By late afternoon they’d covered nearly thirteen miles, and had risen better than six thousand feet. The change in elevation was so abrupt that Lu began to feel sick. Twice he leaned over to throw up, but managed to clench his jaw and weather the storm. The third time he couldn’t help retching a little, and was unsurprised to find that the Indian mush came up nearly as easy as it went down.
When Gokhlayeh called a halt, Lu didn’t even bother to unsaddle his horse. He just lay at the side of the trail, head propped on a rock, sucking air.
“Chew this,” Gokhlayeh said, pulling a sprig of gray leaves from under his belt.
“What is it?” Lu asked. The leaves were sweaty from being pressed against the Indian’s belly.
“Medicine. Chew it.”
Lu put the leaves in his mouth. The leaves were so bitter it made him want to scrape the skin from his tongue with a sharp rock. But Gokhlayeh was watching, so Lu kept right on chewing.
“Feel better?” Gokhlayeh asked after a few minutes.
Lu nodded. He couldn’t actually tell for certain whether he did or not. The desire to throw up was as strong as ever, though Lu guessed that could be as much a result of the bitter leaves as the elevation.
When he could take no more, Lu dug a hole and spat the vile leaves in. Bill and Gokhlayeh had gone in search of firewood, so Lu didn’t much worry about being caught spitting out valuable medicine. The bitter taste stayed with him for a good long while, only subsiding when he took a pull from one of his water-skins. After that, he really did start to feel better. In no time he felt well enough to unpack Lucky and unsaddle Crash.
For supper, Gokhlayeh had brought along a small pot of corn mush, which he boiled over the fire. Lu offered to supplement it with a pinch or two of pemmican, but Gokhlayeh flatly refused.
“Mimbrachua do not eat such filth,” he said.
“I don’t know about pemmican, but a beefsteak would taste pretty darn good right now.” Bill smacked his lips. “And a hot biscuit to soak up the juice.”
“Biscuits,” Gokhlayeh spat. “Chokes me just to think of them.”
“Ever et one with bacon drippin’s and coffee?”
“In prison. The biscuits were moldy. The bacon rotten. And the coffee muddy.”
“Prison? Why, no wonder you’ve got no taste for ’em. Derned things prob’ly destroyed your buds.” Bill took a finger of mush from the pot and stuck it in his mouth. “Still, I reckon a moldy biscuit’d still taste better than this muddy cow-plop you savages are so fond of.”
“Was that girl your daughter?” Lu asked, changing the subject. “The one with the …” He made a slashing motion across his nose.
“She is an orphan,” Gokhlayeh said.
“How long has she been like that?”
“Since she was little. Eight or nine.”
“Why? I mean, what did she do?”
Goklayeh glared at him. “How old are you?” he asked.
“I’m …” Lu stopped. “Do either of you know the date?”
Bill and Gokhlayeh looked at each other. Gokhlayeh shook his head.
“Feels like July to me,” Bill mused. “Don’t it feel like July?”
“Then I guess I must have had a birthday,” Lu said. “A week or two ago.”
“Well dang, happy birthday.” Bill slapped Lu on the back. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
“Darn, that’s a good one. I met my Sue when I was just fifteen. At least, I think I was fifteen. It’s gettin’ harder and harder to keep the years straight. The older I get, the more time seems to want to twist out from under me.”
“I killed a white man when I was fifteen,” Gokhlayeh said. “My first.”
“What did he do?” Lu asked.
“I do not know.”
They started again at first light.
“Your friends have finally crossed the river,” Gokhlayeh told Lu as they saddled their horses.
“Really?”
The headman nodded. “But they are on a difficult path. One of the worst in all of the Hell Mouth. I doubt they will reach the top any time soon.”
“How do you know all this?”
Gokhlayeh smiled. “I told you. Nothing happens in the Hell Mouth without my knowing.”
Lu looked at Bill, who shrugged.
It was a fine day, sunny but cool. The trail climbed at an even steeper angle, but Lu suffered no further bouts of nausea. By noon they’d reached the eastern edge of an enormous plateau. There was one last slope still to climb, and it looked to be fairly steep, but Lu guessed a day’s ride, day and a half at the outside, would more than do the trick. By sundown tomorrow he’d be clear of the Hell Mouth.
“See that finger of stone?” Gokhlayeh pointed to a sliver of pale rock, rising like a knife from the opposite end of the plateau. “The path you need begins at its base.”
“Aren’t you coming?” Lu asked.
“It is time that I return. There are white soldiers down there waiting to be killed.” He smiled and Lu’s blood ran cold.
“You will be safe from here,” Gokhlayeh continued. “We have reached the end of Mimbrachua lands. There are no more warriors ahead. No scouts.”
“Did you see any scouts?” Lu asked Bill.
“Pair of roughnecks ‘bout a mile back,” he said. “The one had a nice rifle, though he held it too far down the stock.”
“You saw them?” Gokhlayeh sounded surprised.
“Knew they’d be around.” Bill shrugged. “Ain’t much to it. Just got to keep your eyes peeled.”
Gokhlayeh sniffed, clearly annoyed. “Good luck,” he said to Lu, extending his hand for the boy to shake. “I hope you kill your bandits.”
“Thanks.” Lu considered saying something about the soldiers Gokhlayeh and his people planned to ambush and murder, but decided against it. He just couldn’t bring himself to wish death on someone he’d never met. “Thank your people for me,” he said. “I really enjoyed meeting them.”
Gokhlayeh nodded. “And tell Jack that the next time he tries to pass through my canyon, I will kill him.”
Then, without muttering a single word to Bill, he wheeled his horse around, gave it a swift kick in the ribs, and was gone.
“Well, let’s get along then,” Bill suggested.
“Do you think it was him that cut that girl?” Lu asked.
“Nope,” Bill said. “Can’t say who done it, but I don’t guess it was him. I’d bet whoever did do it was mighty sorry when old Gokhlayeh caught up to him, though.”
“Do you think he did? Catch up to him, I mean.”
“Yep. And I reckon you could hear that scoundrel’s screams from miles away.”
They camped that night at the base of the rock Gokhlayeh had pointed out to them. What Lu had taken for a mere sliver of granite turned out to be a monolith thirty feet wide and more than a hundred feet tall. A pair of red-tail hawks had built a nest at the top. As Lu and Bill settled down for the night, the male flew in with a rabbit carcass dangling from his talons.
“Darn,” Bill said, still chewing the pemmican Lu had given him. “Animals eat better than we do.”
The next morning, Bill guided Lu to the base of the slope, showing him the path he was to take. “All you have to do is follow it up and remember to stop ever-so-often to rest your stock. When you get to the top, head north. There’s a stand of pines a couple of miles away, perched right at the edge of a cliff. Your friends will happen along there eventually.”
“Are you going home?” Lu asked him.
Bill nodded. “Sweetheart must be gettin’ powerful hungry by now. She fancies herself a hunter, but without the stew I give her, I reckon she’d starve. But don’t tell her I said so.”
“I won’t.”
“Just one more thing,” Bill said. “You make sure Jack tells you all about this Yankee bandit you’re after. Don’t let him get away without spillin’ his guts.”
“Sure.”
“And don’t waste those bullets I give you. There’s only twelve, and I know you’ll be tempted to blast them at trees and what-have-you. You’re just fifteen, and the temptation’ll be strong. But don’t give in to it. Those aren’t no ordinary shells. You’ll see. If you feel you just have to blast somethin’, use that pea-shooter in your pocket. Save Sue’s bullets for when you really need ’em. Hear me?”
Lu nodded.
“Hear?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. You’re a fine boy and I’m right glad I give ’em to you. My Sue, she’d ’a been proud, too. That’s no lie. Sue couldn’t stand no lies. Remember that. She had ways of forcing the truth to come out.” Bill grinned. “You’ll see.”
They shook hands.
“Say ‘hey’ to Jack for me,” Bill said.
And then, with a tip of his hat, Bill was gone, galloping back across the plateau, hell-bent for leather.
Lu watched him for a few minutes, until he could just make out the figure of a man atop a horse, racing along at the center of a cloud of dust. When Bill was out of sight, Lu thought back over everything that the strange cowboy had told him. Most of it made no sense. At least, it didn’t make any sense yet. But Bill was more than he seemed. That much was obvious. Suddenly, Lu remembered something that struck him odd. Bill had said to make sure Jack told them all about the Yankee bandit they were after. Had Lu ever told him that the bandit was a Yankee? He didn’t think so.
Lu shook his reins, gave Crash his head, and began the long slow climb to the top.
Two days later, Lu was lounging against one of the pines Bill had directed him to, when he heard voices. He grabbed his shirt off the branch over which he’d spread it, and yanked it down over his head. It was still damp, but not uncomfortably so. There was a stream a few yards from where he’d set up camp, so he’d kept busy washing his clothes, the equipment on Lucky’s harness, and even Crash and Lucky themselves.
Soon as he had his shirt tucked in, Lu ran to the edge of the canyon and peered down. The voices were coming closer. After a few minutes he spotted them. All five, alive and healthy, and Jack at the lead. Lu could tell him by the brass buttons on his coat.
He was answered by a bullet striking the tree directly behind him.
Lu dove to the ground. Above him, a hole the size of a man’s head had been punched half-way through the trunk of a ponderosa pine. That was Henry’s rifle, no doubt about it. And it was likely a warning shot. If Henry had wanted to kill him, Lu knew he’d be dead, and probably headless to boot.
“Don’t shoot!” Lu screamed, standing up and waving his arms over his head. “Don’t shoot!” He could almost feel Henry sighting in on his face or chest, but resisted the urge to flinch. Lu just kept waving his arms, hoping he looked sufficiently harmless. It must have worked. No more bullets were sent after that first.
It took two hours for them to wind their way up to the surface. Jack appeared first, easing over the lip of the canyon with one pistol drawn and cocked. When he saw who was waiting, his face went as blank as a white-washed fence. It was the first and only time Lu ever saw Jack truly surprised.
“It’s me,” Lu said.
“Well, I’ll be danged.” Jack slid down off his appaloosa and shook Lu’s hand. “I never thought to see you again.”
The others were equally surprised and happy to see him. Chino was so overjoyed he got tears in his eyes. Sadie didn’t actually kiss him, but she did give him a friendly punch on the arm, which was almost as good coming from her.
They demanded to hear Lu’s story, and asked a fair number of questions as he told it. Lu was more than happy to oblige. He told them all about crossing the stone bridge, meeting Bill, and being taken to his strange little cave cottage. He told about the trip to see the Mimbrachua and their frightful headman, Gokhlayeh. He even told them about the scarred girl, and how he’d given her Sadie’s dress and bonnet, though he made no mention of the lacy bloomers. Sadie was less than thrilled to hear that Lu had rifled through her private possessions, and worse, given some of them away, but she eventually forgave Lu his trespasses, as that was the Christian thing to do. Lu didn’t tell them everything, however. He made no mention of his sleepless night in Bill’s cottage, nor of how Hank had chased him away from his chosen chair. Likewise, he said nothing about how he’d gotten sick during the long ascent. In short, he did his level best to make himself out a hero.
For some reason, Lu also stayed quiet about the bullets Bill had given him. He didn’t know why exactly, he just didn’t think he ought to say anything. And unlike the western models that Jack and Chino wore, Lu’s army holster had a fully closable ammunition pouch rather than open bullet-loops, so no one was likely to notice his newfound wealth.
After his story had all been told, Lu led his friends to the stream, where he set out a small feast of pemmican and water. Normally they’d have turned their noses up to such as that, but no longer. A few days of starvation rations had taught them to appreciate food in all its forms.
While the others ate, Lu cared for their horses. He unsaddled Henry’s, Jack’s and MacLemore’s in turn, setting them free to graze on the long grass at the water’s edge. Then he went to unsaddle Sadie’s horse, and was startled. It wasn’t Cinnamon. He looked at MacLemore’s horse again, and recognized Cody for the horse he’d ridden across the plains, but Sadie’s horse was nowhere to be seen. Her saddle, with all its flowery leatherwork, had been strapped onto the extra Indian horse Jack had traded Joseph for.
“What happened to Cinnamon?” Lu asked.
His question was met by hard stares.
“Gone,” Sadie said at last. “And good riddance to her.”
“Where’d she go?”
“Fell down crossing the river and broke her leg,” Sadie spat. “Can you believe that? Her hoof went over a rock and bang! Dang near bashed my skull in while she was at it. I’m better off, though. That there Indian horse is better than Cinnamon ever was.”
Lu could see she was lying, but knew enough not to say so. He didn’t tell her he was sorry either, though he hoped she’d be able to read as much from his eyes. Lu really was sorry, too. During the long trip across the plains, Lu had ridden untold miles next to Sadie and her horse. He’d always considered it a fine animal. Cinnamon had a way of lifting her front legs whenever Sadie spurred her to a gallop that Lu admired. He’d tried to get Cody to do the same, but always failed. Now Sadie was stuck on an Indian gelding only slightly more attractive than Crash. It just didn’t fit somehow.
“Does your new horse have a name?” Lu asked her.
Sadie shook her head.
“Its coat is a sort of a funny orangish color. How about Carrot?”
“That’s dust mostly,” Sadie said. “But still. Hey, Carrot!”
The only horse that didn’t look up was the one Sadie was shouting at. Even Lucky turned to see what all the noise was about. It must have struck Sadie just right, because she let out a deep belly laugh, and went right on laughing for the next few minutes, until tears started running down her cheeks.
“That decides it,” Sadie said, once she’d got control of herself. “Carrot it is.”