The dust, lying thick on the El Paso street, splashed like water from under Brutus's and the packhorse's iron-shod hooves. A yellow tail of the dust, hanging in the air light as smoke, trailed out behind Ben and the horses.
Ben looked about at the town where he had once been deputy sheriff. It was a tough, wide-open place with twenty-five saloons and cantinas, and six brothels. The population was about half Anglo and half Mexican. Located on the famous El Camino Real, the town was on the important north-south trade route between cities in Mexico and Santa Fe in the New Mexico Territory. Also, it was on the well traveled east-west road between Texas and California. In spite of the war and many men off fighting, the town was still thriving.
He did notice that most of the pedestrians moving on the wooden sidewalks were women. A large percentage of them would lose a brother, husband, some relative in the distant fighting.
Ben smelled the tantalizing aroma of fresh-baked bread wafting to him from the restaurant just ahead, and his hunger soared. He had been traveling for many days and was looking forward to a cool bath and a good meal. After enjoying both of those things, he would take a midday siesta. In the evening he had a promise to keep.
Brutus's head snapped around as a pigeon dove down from a rooftop and landed in the street beside him. Ignoring the horse, the bird began to peck at something in the dust.
A cat, all teeth and claws, came from under the porch of the restaurant like a gray streak. It launched itself at its prey. The alert bird saw the cat and leapt into flight, fleeing into the sky in a flutter of fear.
The cat landed, its feet puffing the dust up in a yellow cloud. The cat was invisible for a moment. Then it came out of the dust, shook itself, and stalked back in under the porch.
"Gray Cat missed that time," Ben said to Brutus. The cat fed well, for many birds came to scavenge scraps of food dropped in front of the restaurant.
Ben came to the town plaza. There was no dust here, for the ground had been surfaced with gravel from the nearby Rio Grande. A huge Catholic church occupied one full side of the square, and the El Prado hotel, old but well maintained, the distant side. Located on the other two sides were a large general store, a hardware, a cantina, a saddlery and boot repair shop, and a few open stalls selling fresh fruits and vegetables. He continued across the plaza and entered Main Street, with its many establishments for buying and selling.
The Hanford Hotel, Ben's goal, was in sight a block distant. However, as Brutus carried him closer, he saw it wasn't the Hanford anymore. The three-story structure was undergoing a major transformation. A new wing, three stories like the main structure, was being added to the building. A slate roof had replaced the tin one and the brick walls had been cleaned and tuck-pointed. Ben could tell the inside of the hotel was also being refurbished because there was a tall pile of old doors and wainscoting and plasterboard being hauled away by men driving wagons.
A twenty-foot-long sign with bright blue lettering on a snow-white background was being hung across the front of the building. The sign read, "Palace Of Pretty Women." Someone was spending a huge sum of money on a new business, whatever that might be.
Ben was disappointed at not finding the Hanford a suitable place to eat and rest. He could turn back and take a room at the El Prado on the plaza. Instead he rode on across the town and went north.
* * *
Ben sat on the large, flat rock on the hill above Canutillo and looked down at the town nestled along the east side of the Rio Grande. He had sat on this very same rock countless times as a boy. Over those years he had seen the town steadily grow, until now it stretched along the river for nearly a mile.
He watched the last of the sunlight desert the valley and dusk rise up out of the cracks and crevices of the earth to fill it with gray. Near the bottom of the hill, a coyote, which had lain hidden in a thicket of mesquite bushes, came into sight stealing toward a band of sheep in a pasture near the town. Delving back into his memories, Ben thought the pasture belonged to Silas Dunlap. Too bad, Silas, looks like you're going to lose a sheep.
The dusk condensed to night, and a yellow square of light appeared in one of the houses in the town as somebody lit a lamp. Ben took that as a sign and rose to his feet. He could go the cemetery and not find anyone there to ogle him and then turn away without speaking.
Earlier he had located a patch of the beautiful red Indian paintbrush flowers. Now he picked a handful, and careful not to crush them, mounted Brutus and rode down the slope of the hill.
Ben entered the stone-walled cemetery, well tended by the church elders, and went to the far right side where the Hawkins dead were buried. There he knelt and placed the Indian paintbrush flowers upon his mother's grave.
"I miss you, old gal," he said softly.
He seated himself on the ground and leaned against his mother's headstone. The memories of her and his days as a youth pressed forward wanting to be released. He let them come, one after another unrolling across his inner eye.
There was pleasure in some; others had a sadness that brought mist to his eyes. As time passed, the real world around Ben turned black and the stars and moon became bright shining objects in the high dome of blackness overhead.
The sound of music intruded into Ben's reminiscences and brought him back to the present. He cocked his head and knew instantly the source of the music. It was coming from the People's Hall, the public meeting place for the citizens of the town. Tonight, however, the music told of a dance in progress.
A surge of desire to see Maude brought Ben to his feet. He retrieved Brutus from where he had been left at the cemetery gate. Drawn by the music and the probability that Maude would be at the dance, he walked into the town, going along the street dimly lighted by coal-oil lamps placed at each street intersection. His heart was beating a gentle tempo of anticipation.
Soon Ben could see dozens of vehicles, buggies, surreys, and wagons, with the teams of horses that drew them, lining both sides of the street near the hall. Light streamed from all the windows. A crowd of boys, young and too bashful to go inside and ask a girl to dance, milled about talking and laughing. Ben had once occupied that very same space. Then he had grown and become brave and had always gone inside and danced with the girls in the big hall.
He tied Brutus, went along the side wall to a window, and peered into the hall. He scanned the couples promenading to the music. He saw Lester dancing with one of his wives. Three of his other wives were seated with the men and women on the benches along the walls and calmly waiting their turn to dance with their husband. Maude wasn't in the hall.
Ben continued on to the rear of the building, where there were no windows. He stood in the darkness and listened to the delightful music, dampened by the intervening wall but still easily heard. He could make out the sound of two fiddles and a piano. The piano was part of the furnishings of the hall.
All the musical instruments were being skillfully played, and Ben felt his feet wanting to move to the music, as they had done many times with a girl in his arms. The music was a waltz, a lively one. Without consciously deciding to do so, Ben began to step and swing in rhythm with the music. He held his arms as if clasping a willing girl and whirled about on the hard-packed ground.
Ben stopped embarrassed by his actions, and backed up to stand against the wall of the hall. He would listen to one more piece of music and then leave.
He saw a shadow move among the trees that grew at the border of the hall's rear yard. The figure hesitated, pressing to the trunk of one of the trees. After a moment the person moved, coming slowly into the yard. It was a woman in a dress and Ben thought he recognized her.
"Maude, is that you?"
"Who's that?
"Cowardly Ben."
Maude came through the night separating them with quick steps and grabbed Ben by the arm. "Please forgive me for saying that," she whispered huskily.
Astonished at Maude's action to take hold of him, Ben placed his hand lightly on top of hers. The friendliness of her greeting, the touch of her hand made his blood rush with a joyous thrum. He laughed, something he hadn't done for many a month.
"Tell me that you forgive me," Maude said again.
"There's nothing to forgive. But I'll say it. I forgive you."
"Good. Did I see you dancing a minute ago?"
"You were here? You spied on me."
Maude laughed lightly. "Not spying. I just happened to be there in the trees."
"Why aren't you inside with the music and dancing?"
"I didn't want to go inside. Ben, why didn't you ever ask me to dance? Those last couple of years before you went off to war, I was at the dances and you were too."
"I saw you there. I couldn't help it for you were the prettiest. But you were too young for me."
"I was never too young for you. My mother married at fifteen, and my father was twenty-five at the time."
Maude peered hard through the darkness at Ben. "I wished a thousand times that you would ask me to dance. But you always passed me by and asked one of the other girls."
Ben remained silent, overwhelmed by the discovery of Maude's feelings toward him.
"All you had to do was ask and I would've danced forever with you," Maude said. "Then you left and came back wounded and wouldn't talk with anybody. Just ride that big Brutus through town with your hat pulled down."
Ben was astounded that Maude had not mentioned the ugliness of his wounds. They must frighten her as they did everyone else.
"Listen, Ben, hear the music?"
"Yes."
"Ask me to dance. Like you should've done years ago."
Ben fought through the flurry of emotions Maude had brought to life in him. He stepped back and bowed to her.
"Miss Bradshaw, would you like to dance?"
"It would be a pleasure, Mr. Hawkins."
Ben caught Maude by the waist and the hand and whirled away with her in the night. He felt her easy response to his lead, joining with him, picking up the tempo of the music. They spun about with their steps in perfect synchrony with the beat of the melody.
By the time Ben had made a dozen steps with Maude, he was totally caught up in the music and the nearness of her. He felt her soft breath, light as the fluff of milkweed on his cheek. Her hair glistened gold and silver in the moonlight. He smelled her sweet woman's perfume. Ben smiled in the darkness. The perfection of the night was so great that he wanted it to never end. It was just fine to be alive. How could the touch of a woman change the world so much? Did Maude feel the same way? He wished he could see if Maude was smiling too.
The musicians inside the hall broke into the melody for the cuna, the dance of the cradle. To perform the dance, each partner had to circle the other's waist with their arms and swing around and around, leaning back to form the top of the cradle, and at the same time they would move their lower bodies inward to close the bottom. When Ben pulled Maude in close and circled her waist with a firm hold, she cried out with pain.
"What's wrong? Did I hurt you?"
"My ribs are sore."
"Did Lester hit you?"
"No, I fell off a horse. It's nothing, Ben. I just fell."
"Fell?"
Ben took Maude by the hand and led her to the comer of the hall, where there was a little light from the nearest window. He took her face in his hand and turned it so he could see. Several raw, swollen bruises marred her lovely features. Lester had struck her in the face as well as the body. Now Ben knew why Maude hadn't gone inside to dance. She was ashamed of the beating Lester had given her.
Hate for Lester burned across Ben's mind and his fists closed with the need to strike and punish. The man had made a terrible mistake, and he had been warned.
Maude sensed the tension in Ben. "I fell, Ben. Are you listening? I fell. Don't you do something to get in trouble with the law."
"Nothing will happen. You fell, so why should I be mad at anybody?"
"All right then. It's getting late and I had better go."
Maude drew Ben back into the darkness behind the hall. She caught both of his hands in hers. "Ben, it wasn't Lester. I really did fall off a horse. Now promise that you won't do anything foolish."
"All right. I promise not to do anything foolish." Silently he thought, I'm just going to do something that has to be done.
"Good." Maude reached up and touched Ben's scarred face. "You're still the same Ben Hawkins under all of that."
She spun about and ran into the night.