Guns on the Border

Not wanting to risk Prew’s men finding them at Louisa’s home, Sam carried Jefferies to where he’d left the horses hitched in the cover of trees and brush. On the way there he’d heard Jefferies moan and felt him try to raise his head. ‘‘Don’t worry, Jefferies. It’s me, the ranger,’’ Sam said. ‘‘I’m getting you out of here.’’

‘‘I don’t think he’ll be coming after us,’’ said Sam. He eased him gently down against a tree near the horses, stepped over and took a canteen from his saddle horn. ‘‘I told him to come face me in the dark,’’ Sam continued as he jerked the bandanna from around his neck and wet it with canteen water. ‘‘He’s got a lot at stake. He can’t afford to lose any more men.’’

‘‘That was . . . good thinking,’’ Jefferies managed to say. ‘‘Now, if I . . . just knew where—’’

‘‘Near Choking Wells at the water tank,’’ Sam said, interrupting him. He stared at the harlequin mask on Jefferies’ face, eased it off over his bruised forehead and laid it aside. ‘‘It all happens four days from now.’’ He pressed the wet bandanna carefully against Jefferies’ swollen eyes.

‘‘That much I overheard.’’ Jefferies groaned. ‘‘Good work, Ranger.’’ He strained to open his purple eyelids and look at Sam. ‘‘Too bad we couldn’t . . . find out who is working with him inside.’’

‘‘Ever hear of a former lawman named Ike Sherard?’’ Sam asked, wiping the young captain’s swollen face gently.

The ranger managed a thin smile. ‘‘That’s right. I have. Spivey, the man I caught coming out of town, told me everything I wanted to know about Prew.’’

‘‘Spivey is the one . . . who ruined it for me,’’ Jefferies said. ‘‘Is he . . . ?’’ He let his words trail off.

‘‘I didn’t kill him,’’ said Sam. ‘‘I was on the verge of having to, but he slid off of the hillside, landed on a stone ledge.’’

‘‘Well, that’s . . . one more out of the way,’’ Jefferies replied through split and swollen lips. ‘‘I suppose you got the name . . . of the other inside man too?’’

‘‘No,’’ said Sam. ‘‘The other is an army sergeant. Spivey said Sherard won’t let his name out to anybody.’’

‘‘It figures,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘If Sherard let these outlaws know his connection . . . they wouldn’t need him anymore.’’

‘‘Yes, I do, just knowing we’re about to get these rats rounded into the same trap.’’ He looked closely at Sam through swollen eyes. ‘‘You stored the dynamite in a good place, didn’t you?’’

‘‘Yes,’’ said Sam. ‘‘I took care of everything. Are you going to be able to ride come morning?’’

‘‘Nothing feels broken,’’ Jefferies said, laying a hand to his ribs as if checking himself. ‘‘I just took a hard beating. Lucky for me you showed up when you did. I’ve got a feeling things were going to get a lot worse.’’

‘‘Lucky for both of us, Sabio set up a diversion on the other side of the stables, gave me the time I needed to get you out of there.’’

From the edge of the trees, Sam heard a rustle of brush and swung around toward it, his Colt out and cocked in one motion. ‘‘It is us, Ranger,’’ said Sabio, stepping from the trees into the open moonlight.

Caridad walked at Sabio’s side. A horse walked behind him, its reins dangling from Sabio’s hand. ‘‘If not for this noisy horse, you would never have heard us coming,’’ he said.

‘‘I know that, Sabio,’’ said Sam. ‘‘Much obliged for your help. I hope all went well for you?’’

‘‘Yes. I built the fire in three whiskey barrels in the bed of a buckboard wagon the way you asked me to. Caridad drove the wagon. By the time I rode away the barrels themselves had caught fire.’’ He stopped and stood with the ranger’s shirt and trousers sagging down around him. His free hand held the loose trousers at the waist. ‘‘Now, I must have my clothes back,’’ he said. ‘‘I have gone so long in a robe and sandals I can wear nothing else.’’

Beside him, Caridad stepped forward. Upon seeing Jefferies’ battered face in the moonlight, she gasped and ran to him. Sam stepped back out of her way as she took the wet bandanna and held it gently to Jefferies’ cheek. ‘‘What have they done to you, mi querido ?’’ she whispered tearfully.

Stepping away from the two, Sam stood beside Sabio, who said under his breath, ‘‘Look. She calls this one her darling.’’ He sighed. ‘‘If my Caridad cares so much for him, he must be a good man.’’

‘‘I must tell you, Ranger, on the way here I saw Prew and his men riding out of Esperanza,’’ said Sabio, pulling his robe down over him and straightening it.

‘‘So he decided to leave tonight,’’ Sam said. ‘‘Then Jefferies and I need to get mounted and move out ourselves. I don’t want to lose Prew and his men.’’ He walked from the trees to where Jefferies lay with his head cradled in Caridad’s arms.

Catching up to him, Sabio said, ‘‘But he cannot ride tonight. Look at the shape he is in.’’

Jefferies raised his head from Caridad’s lap and said, staring through swollen eyes, ‘‘Oh, yes, I can ride.’’ He sat the rest of the way up and took the wet bandanna from Caridad’s hand. Struggling to his feet, he said to Caridad, ‘‘The fact is I’m a lawman, Caridad. I’ll explain it all to you later. But right now, the ranger and I have to get after these men. They are about to commit a terrible crime against the American government.’’

‘‘I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Caridad,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘Things are going to get dangerous—’’

‘‘If you do not take me along, I will follow,’’ she said, cutting him off. ‘‘Sabio will not let me go alone. So he will come too.’’ She looked back and forth between Jefferies and the ranger, then asked, ‘‘Why are we wasting time here? If you must go, let’s go.’’

‘‘Just as far as the border trail,’’ said Sam, looking at Sabio, then at Caridad. ‘‘But you both have to stop there, without any argument about it.’’

Helping Jefferies into his saddle, the four rode quietly into Esperanza, where even in the middle of the night, the townsfolk had ventured out warily and looked all around, making sure Prew and his mercenaries had left. When the townsfolk saw the whores from Mexico City walk toward them on the dusty street, many picked up sticks and rocks and stared menacingly at the bedraggled women.

‘‘What do you putas want?’’ one of the towns-women called out to the dark shadowy figures.

‘‘We have no way home,’’ one of the whores replied, holding a blanket wrapped around her naked breasts. ‘‘El capitán told us we would have transportation.’’

Dark laughter rose and fell. ‘‘As you can see, el capitán is not here,’’ the same woman called out.

‘‘Now it is time you pay for disgracing us with your nakedness, your drinking and your fornication on our streets!’’ he called out to the whores.

But as he raised the rock threateningly, Sabio, Caridad and the two lawmen rode in out of the darkness and Sabio shouted in authoritative tone, ‘‘Jorge! People! What are you doing to these women?’’

Seeing Sabio, the man dropped his stone and stood looking ashamed of himself. The other townsfolk did the same. ‘‘The mercenaries are gone, Padre,’’ Jorge said, looking down at the ground and only facing Sabio with quick glances.

‘‘Jorge, Jorge.’’ Sabio shook his head patiently. ‘‘Why must I keep telling you, I am no longer a priest?’’

Shrugging, Jorge said, ‘‘You are still my padre.’’ He swept an arm toward the others. ‘‘You are always our padre.’’

‘‘What can I do?’’ Sabio said to the ranger before swinging down from his saddle and walking over to the farmer. ‘‘If I am your padre, tell me what is going on here.’’

‘‘They have left these putas stranded with us,’’ Jorge said, gesturing toward the women who stood in the dark with their heads lowered.

‘‘Oh?’’ Sabio looked at the whores, then back to Jorge and the other townsfolk. ‘‘Then, I say make them welcome here until I return and can help them find a way home.’’ He turned and smiled at the whores.

‘‘But we have never allowed these sort of women to live and practice their profession in Esperanza,’’ Jorge said quietly. ‘‘I don’t think we can do what you ask.’’

Sabio bent down and picked up the stone he’d dropped and said grimly, ‘‘Then who will cast the first stone? Certainly I cannot!’’ He looked all around at the gathering, seeing Louisa look down to avoid his eyes. ‘‘Can you, Jorge? Are you an innocent, without sin?’’ He held the rock out for him, but Jorge folded his hands, refusing to take it.

‘‘No, I am not without sin, as you know, Padre,’’ Jorge said. ‘‘We thought this was what we should do. Forgive us, por favor.’’

‘‘I forgive you, of course, even though I am no longer a padre,’’ said Sabio. Making a quick sign of the cross toward the man, he added, ‘‘And I pray God will forgive you.’’ He looked around at the townspeople. ‘‘I forgive each and every one of you.’’ Turning toward the whores he said, ‘‘And I will forgive each of you, personally. As soon as I return from my journey with these two American lawmen, I will hear your sins, and we will spend some time together—’’

‘‘Sabio,’’ Caridad said from atop the horse she shared with Jefferies, ‘‘we must go. There is much we have to do to prepare for the trail.’’

The four traveled throughout the night and the following day, stopping only long enough to rest and water the horses and themselves. They carefully stayed back far enough to avoid being seen by Prew and his men, at the same time keeping their trail dust in sight. Before leaving Esperanza Jefferies purchased a horse and a tough little donkey from Jorge. Caridad rode the horse. Sam secured the leather supply bag of dynamite and grenades to the donkey’s back with lengths of rope.

When they arrived at the border trail, the four riders made camp for the night. The next morning the two lawmen headed out before dawn, leaving Sabio and Caridad to await their return. The following morning as they broke camp and prepared for the trail, Jefferies felt both of his battered cheeks and said, ‘‘You might think it sounds foolish, but I believe just being around Sabio has caused me to heal quicker.’’

Sam looked at him. ‘‘Is this Sabio the priest or Sabio the brujo we’re talking about?’’

‘‘I know he’s a hard one to figure out,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘But it’s a fact that he stopped me from bleeding to death and took out the bullet with his bare hands. I saw it with my own eyes.’’

‘‘Not to cast aspersions,’’ said Sam, ‘‘but there are Hindus on the other side of the world who have been doing that sort of thing for hundreds of years.’’

‘‘Then that only proves my point,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘If they are holy men, then why isn’t Sabio too?’’

‘‘I never said he’s not,’’ Sam replied. ‘‘I believe there are powers greater than what we understand. But since you saw and felt that power firsthand as you did, I suppose it’s only natural that you believe it stronger than I might.’’

‘‘I see what you mean,’’ said Jefferies. ‘‘It’s easier to believe something is real once you’ve held it in your hand.’’

‘‘Yep,’’ said Sam. ‘‘But all that aside, I expect there is something holy about saving a life, regardless if a man does it with his bare hands or with a tray full of surgical instruments.’’

‘‘What do you make of Sabio?’’ Jefferies asked, keeping watch on the distant rise of dust as they neared the border.

‘‘He’s a man born with extraordinary gifts,’’ Sam replied, gazing ahead. ‘‘Neither he nor the rest of the world understood them or knew what to do with them. The church leaders saw his power and tried to use it to prove their own beliefs. But they expected Sabio to be perfect, and the man is far from it. He thought he had to be perfect too.’’

‘‘But because Sabio thought he had to be, every time he fell he thought God was punishing him, taking away his gift.’’ Sam shook his head. ‘‘Now he goes from thinking one day that he has his gift back, stronger than ever, to thinking the next day that he’s lost it for good.’’

‘‘What exactly is his gift?’’ Jefferies asked. ‘‘I know he can stop bleeding. But what else is it? What is this power?’’

‘‘I expect he’d have to be the one to tell you what it is,’’ Sam replied. ‘‘It’s all about faith somehow. I expect if he really knew what it is, he wouldn’t be so tortured by it.’’

Jefferies shook his head. ‘‘So, the believers, the faithful in Esperanza whose lives he’s touched, still call him padre.’’

‘‘And the ones who don’t believe, or who have no faith in anything or anybody, call him a brujo— a witch.’’

‘‘I call him what he called himself the day I met him,’’ the ranger said. ‘‘He’s Sabio Tonto, the wise fool.’’

At midmorning the next day, they crossed the border and rode toward the badlands station and water stop at Choking Wells. Five miles from the water stop they watched the dust settle and knew Prew and his men had stopped. ‘‘They’ve ridden down onto the flatlands to Choking Wells,’’ Sam said. Motioning toward a mesa rising up ahead of them, he added, ‘‘There’s where we want to be for now. If we ride about halfway up we can look down on every move they make.’’

The two of them stopped. ‘‘I’ll take the cut-in connectors, go find a place along the lines and wire the army camp,’’ Jefferies said. ‘‘They’ve got to be warned.’’ As he spoke, he sidled up to the donkey, rummaged through the leather supply bag and came out with the telegraph cut-ins.

Looking at the connectors and the coil of wire in Jefferies’ hand, Sam said, ‘‘I’ve got a feeling you’re going to find the wire has been cut between Choking Wells and the army camp.’’

‘‘I’ve got to try.’’ Jefferies reached back and shoved the connectors into his saddlebags.

‘‘I know,’’ said Sam. ‘‘When you’re finished, follow my trail up. I’ll be waiting at the end of it.’’ With no further discussion, they turned their horses in opposite directions and rode away.