LEAPING FROM THE RAFT, pistol in hand, Carlos marched straight at me. My eyes fell on that brutal scar that ran from his forehead through his hairline. He ordered me to my knees and pointed the gun at my head. His finger was on the trigger. “You went by that cliff on purpose!” he roared.
It was impossible to keep my voice from quavering. “I did my best to get to shore. Honestly, I tried my best.”
Rio sprang ashore, tie-rope in hand. The raft, with Diego still aboard, was rocking in the eddy. Carlos glared at Rio, glared at me. He glanced above the cliff to see if there was a way to climb above it and get back to San Rosendo Canyon.
When he saw there wasn’t, he gave me a swift kick. I saw it coming—right at my ribs. I fell back, taking only a glancing blow. Carlos whirled and pointed the gun at Rio. “You deserve it more than him!”
“Where we landed, you came out ahead,” Rio told him.
“How is that, Texas?”
“It just wasn’t possible, trying to hike out by staying high. The road to that ranch followed the bottom of San Rosendo Canyon for a reason. A big canyon like San Rosendo has its own side canyons, and they would’ve stopped us for sure. We would’ve had to turn back. Maybe after two hours, maybe after two days. It would have been impossible.”
The man holding the gun was cooling down, at least a little. “You’re only guessing.”
“It’s an educated guess. I’ve lived in the Big Bend my whole life. The river is the easy way to travel, and look how fast it is right now. From here, we could be out of the canyons in a matter of hours. Look how much daylight is left. There’ll be other roads into Mexico once we’re past the canyons. The country won’t be so rugged.”
Still suspicious, Carlos was at least listening to reason. I could see it in his cruel features. This might be working out to his advantage after all.
Carlos ordered Diego to come ashore with the guidebook. Our captor retreated with it to a rock ledge at the back of the beach. He put the pistol down and began to turn the pages. For the time being, the storm in his brain seemed to have subsided. Rio, Diego, and I waited on the raft. We ate the last three energy bars.
The swallows began to work the river again, and the weather continued to improve. A magnificent double rainbow spanned the canyon downstream. Carlos looked to the sky with apprehension. I wondered why rapidly improving weather had him worried. The answer hit me: The storm had given him cover. Airplanes and helicopters would soon be able to fly again. He might not have much time left to get off the river and vanish into Mexico.
I ran this line of thought past Rio. He agreed, and said that Carlos was getting more and more desperate. We better figure out how to shake him, and soon. If a helicopter showed up—Big Bend’s River Ranger might come looking for us—there was no telling what Carlos would do.
“What are you two jawing about?” Carlos barked.
“The rainbows . . . the weather,” Rio said.
“Lots of rapids the next fifteen miles. Twelve miles from here is a rapid where it says, ‘Bad at any level.’”
“Upper Madison Falls. Worst rapid on the Rio Grande. We’ll have to go to shore and scout that one for sure.”
“That’s at Mile 55. It says the deep canyons end at Mile 63.”
“That’s right. Twenty miles downstream from here.”
Slowly, Carlos kept turning the pages. Each map covered about five miles. “Yes, it’s true, and the land is flatter, as you said. I see a few roads on the Mexican side, but there is no telling where they go.”
“Ranches, would be my guess.”
“But how far from the river are the ranches?”
“Don’t know.”
“Who is meeting you, and when?”
“A driver from Terlingua—I don’t know who it’s going to be—three days from now. We’re ahead of schedule.”
“What mile you get picked up?”
“Mile 83—Dryden Crossing. Forty miles from here.”
Carlos turned another page and discovered something that made him smile. “Why didn’t you tell me this before, Texas?”
“What’s that, Carlos?”
“Half a mile before we get to your road at Dryden Crossing, there is a trail to a village in Mexico. The village of Agua Verde is only a mile from the river! There is a landing strip there, and a road south. Can you recognize the trail from the river?”
“If I was watching for it. I’ve never been through the Lower Canyons before. Just spent a lot of time looking at that guidebook, wishing I could.”
“Wishing you could go through a rapid that’s ‘bad at any level’?”
“Most people portage.”
“What does that mean?”
“Carry everything around the side. It takes hours. We would camp at the end of the portage. That’s what my dad usually does.”
“I don’t think so . . . I couldn’t get to Agua Verde today if we did that. Look, the storm is breaking up. I’m not staying on the river another day. I think you can row Upper Madison Falls, hot shot.”
“I won’t know till we get there.”
“I agree,” Carlos said with a sly grin. “Let’s not waste time talking about it.”
“Fine by me,” Rio said. “Hold on a few minutes, though. The canoe is going to be nothing but trouble, as you’ve already seen. The water is just too big. See that brush downstream? Dylan and I will hide it in back of the brush . . . twenty minutes, no more, we’ll be back.”
“I’ll think about it,” Carlos said with the same sly grin. “There, I thought about it. You’re right, Texas, that canoe is nothing but trouble, and your cousin shouldn’t be risking his life in it.”
He wheeled around with his pistol and sprayed a clip full of rounds down the length of the canoe, low along the hull. The sudden, shocking bursts from the fully automatic pistol registered with brutal effect.
Quickly, professionally, Carlos jammed a new clip into place.
“What did you do that for?” Rio demanded.
To remind us he’s a murderer, I thought. Diego, who clung to my side, didn’t need reminding.
Carlos laughed. “To save me twenty minutes. And to save you an extra trip to this wasteland to come and get it.”
Carlos announced that I would take his place in the front of the raft and make sure his chicken stayed in the boat. Carlos would be riding on the tarped gear behind Rio, “because the view will be better from the back.”
We were soon underway. I suppose I was in a state of shock. With so many bad rapids coming up, I should have felt fortunate to be riding in the raft. As it was, I felt numb. My whole life I had taken freedom for granted. There was nothing sweeter, unless it was life itself.
Diego and I sat on the front thwart, centered in the raft in front of Rio. I thought about something Diego had said, that kidnapping victims, children included, were always killed if their families couldn’t make ransom. Somehow, when it came time to make our move—whatever that might be—we had to make sure we didn’t leave Diego behind.
Was there any chance, at the end of the line, that this vermin would let the three of us go?
Why would he, knowing we would put the authorities on him first chance we got?