SAM AND DOE RODE BACK to the ranch the next day. Two wagons of goods were to be delivered to the end of the road in one week. Sam decided Miguel and his train would surely be back by then. There was barley to seed in the fields—once they could be irrigated, that is—farming tools, rope, nails, wire, and carpenter tools.
A wild wind swept dust across the desert floor around them. Dark high clouds that promised rain forced them to pull their rain gear loose from behind their saddles as they leaned into the freshening breeze. Soon muddy drops pelted them and slowed their progress along the dim little road, skirting the erosive ditches from previous downpours. The air, cleaned of the dirt, had the strong smell of greasewood.
Frequent, distant thunder rolled across Iron Mountain as they crossed over the pass and started down the long canyon trailing the gray rain. Reaching the gate, Sam heard the burros bray, and General Crook answer.
Doe searched Sam’s face in the rivers of rain streaming off the brim of his hat. “Our family is here!”
“I reckon so!”
When they reached the corrals, Sam started to unsaddle the horse and mule, but two men rushed out and took them, instead, tying them to the hitch rail and showing them to the security of the porch.
On the wide veranda, in a faded gold vest under a giant tasseled sombrero, his boots oiled bright, stood Miguel. He hugged Sam and swept the giant hat off to the polished tile floor for Doe. “Señor, the burros told us you were coming.”
Sam turned to see the large line of assembled people. The entire group bowed and smiled as Miguel introduced each one, including the children and did a good job with the names. Sam decided he would learn them with time.
When the vaquero finished his introductions, Sam smiled. “Welcome back home. Your home and our home. We will raise our families and fix this great hacienda into the place you remember. There is not much money, but we will eat good, and there will be a school, and we will be happy.”
A roar went up from the small crowd. With a flourish, Miguel escorted them into a completely clean house. Sam hugged Doe under his arm as he propelled her along with him.
A giant feast had been laid on, and a great new table, polished smooth by talented hands, filled the dining room. An ancient chair with a high back was at the end, and a lesser carved oak one sat at the table head. Benches were lined along the table, cruder than the rest but no doubt hastily made for the occasion.
“I hope you do not dislike our work, but we wanted to surprise you.” Miguel looked proudly for approval from the waiting crowd.
Doe hugged him and, taking off the wet Stetson with deliberate grace, raised her head and smiled. “Welcome to our hacienda. All of you.”
“We are very pleased.” Sam nodded and hugged her as she finished her short speech. “Be seated.”
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THEY WERE LIKE ANTS SCURRYING around the valley. The irrigation system was repaired, and the farming tools were packed in from the end of the road. The cold of winter nights and warm sunny days that heated the valley allowed the barley to sprout and green up from the once-barren fields.
Miguel, Sam, and Doe had checked the cattle, branding mavericks on the range. Using the bald-faced horse, Sam would sweep in and rope the longhorns while the older man caught their heels, stretching them out. Doe carried the branding iron from the glowing fire and administered the mark. Once this was done, they moved on to the next item on the list—castration. Castration of the longhorn bulls was an important process if the Durham bulls were to improve the stock. Miguel had overlooked many before to provide the needed manhood to produce more calves.
Sam rode down into a ravine swinging the rope, when a thick-horned heavy-necked male turned back to charge. There was nowhere to go, but in such a confined space, the bull couldn’t use all his strength. Still, he managed to knocked over the sorrel easily, pinning Sam under the horse against the bank of the ravine. Hooking and butting the horse only added to the pain as Sam reached for his empty holster. Somehow his gun had jolted loose in the crash and was somewhere beneath the marauding brute. Raging in his deep voice, the bull slashed the air with horns that had crossed the Mediterranean Sea with the Moors who invaded Spain.
The sorrel horse screamed in pain as the bull battered both horse and rider in the narrow confines of the wash. A shot rang out, and another, and the bull fell with a thud. The rifle’s report echoed across the mountains. The sorrel horse struggled off his injured rider, shaking himself until the stirrups popped, then running off. Dragging his left leg, Sam caught the reins, then collapsed to the ground.
“Sam, you all right?” Doe slid down the mountain side on the General.
She tried to boot the rifle in the scabbard, but couldn’t hit it right. Finally, she shoved it half in and left it there. Out of breath, she rushed through the sandy wash to him him. Miguel, who had been hazing in another bull, came riding in as fast as his cowpony could go.
Sam was on his back, holding the reins and feeling the damaged leg through his pants. He shook his head. “Looks like I’ve really done it now.”
“Is it bad?” She slid in front of him, dropping down to feel the leg.
He groaned through gritted teeth. “Just get me on the horse.”
She ignored him and examined the leg with her hands. “Be still.”
“Doe, get me on the damn horse. I don’t aim to ride home in a travois.”
“Be still. You could make it worse.”
Sam ignored her. The damn leg was going to swell. He wanted in the saddle and back at the house before the pain killed him. “Miguel, give me a hand and get me on the horse, now!”
“No!” She tried to fight them, but Sam was up and hobbling toward the horse. She jerked the mule around to mount him. “You damn men! Go to hell.”
“Lead out, Doe. We need to get home.” Sam swallowed his pain. Miguel helped him into the saddle, and he bit down on another moan. Holding the saddlehorn, he felt the sorrel limping as they moved southwest across the mesa.
He had to make it back to the house. He simply had to. The pain in his left leg was throbbing as he hung it out of the stirrup.
Doe reined the mule back beside him and searched his taut face. “Are you going to make it?”
“Sure.” Sam tried not to show her the mounting sharpness. “I’m sorry, but we just need to ride.”
“You are stubborn as this mule, but I am sorry you are hurt.” She moved ahead so he did not have to pretend it was okay for her. Miguel rode behind her. Sam squeezed his burning leg with his hand and then had to let it back down beside the stirrup. Closing his eyes against the knife-like ache, he leaned forward to try to escape it.
After an hour, he hollered for them to stop. Breathing hard, he waved Miguel up to beside his horse.
“We’ve got to pull the boot off. It’s swelling, and I don’t want to cut the damn thing off.”
Miguel nodded, knelt and gently pulled on the scuffed Kansas-made boot. Looking up at Sam, he questioned how bad it was going to hurt him. The boot was coming off very hard, and the effort was forcing Sam to suck in his breath. Finally, the boot began to slide, and Miguel gave a quick start as he saw the swollen ankle in the sock ooze out of the vamp.
“You can’t ride in with that,” Doe protested, half crying.
“I’m tough as any Apache. Get on your mule,” he spit through his teeth.
Was he? He would tell her when he couldn’t make it. Pain began shooting into his hip as he clung to the horn. His world grew dizzier as they descended into the canyon, and Sam could barely see his horse’s ears.
The words that they spoke to him, he only grunted back.
The horse seemed to wobble under him as he clung to the horn with both hands half-way unconscious as bolts like thunder flashed through his whole body.
He couldn’t remember the gentle, strong arms that carried him from the horse to the feather bed.
Stripped of his clothes, Margarita examined the swollen limb and decided it was not broken. She and Doe applied cool packs to it as Sam tossed in a half-sleep and alternated between chilling and sweating. Once in a half-dream, he heard himself screaming. “Why did they kill you, Alicia? Why? Why? Why did they ruin my life?”
Margarita looked at Doe for an answer.
“His first wife, they kill her. Very bloody. It is the thing that eats him, the last one has not been punished.”
“Oh, my.” The woman who would serve as the doctor for this remote place was intent on relieving the swelling.
“Doe,” he mumbled. “Who is this crazy horse-shooter?”
“It’s all right, Sam.” She pressed her forehead to his cheek.
The next morning, he seemed better to the two women as he stirred, grabbing for his knee. “Did Miguel cut that damn thing’s throat?”
Doe sleepily shook her head. “He did that. They are already on their way to see if they can salvage the meat.”
“I need to….”
“Crazy man, lay down. They are not stupid. You have been out of your head all night. You are not getting out of bed.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He heard the irritation in her voice and laid back down. “But if Margarita will leave, I’ll swing out of bed for a minute, or you’ll have more problems….”
Margarita nodded and left the room.
He realized then how swollen the left leg was. In a while, Doe went out into the hall and called to her as breakfast came on a tray from the kitchen.
“Doe, somewhere there’s some whiskey in this place. I reckon I’m going to need some if I am going to stand this thing.”
She nodded and swept out of the room, noticing that he was only playing at eating. Sam sipped the coffee and squirmed on his rump, trying to find a place the leg hurt less. The whiskey that the search party finally found numbed his mind enough that he finally dozed off, but awoke sharply when he moved the injured limb.
The second day, with a crutch, he moved onto the porch when the sun got high enough to warm the tiles. Doe looked very tired as he sat in the chair beside her, the leg on a bench to hold it rigid.
“One who does not sleep, better go take a siesta. Go on. I’ll be okay. Besides, there are ten thousand people who would come lift my little finger if I needed help.”
“Are you sure?”
“You heard the patron.” He laughed.
She giggled, sounding relieved. “Well, the patron better behave, or I’ll scalp him.”
“Man alive, who in the world would ever keep a bloodthirsty Apache around for a house kitten?”
“No, you have a mountain lion.” She rose from her chair, smiled, and walked away.