A Coffin for Santa Rosa (5 page)

Despite the broiling heat Gabriel wasted no time in digging up the coffin holding Raven’s father, Sven. Next he insisted Raven choose the place where she wanted her parents buried. It took her a few minutes to find the right spot. But eventually she picked a shady area at the base of a nearby rocky outcrop and then together they dug a grave wide enough for the coffins to lay side by side. Raven then said a brief prayer asking God to take care of her folks and to arrange for them to ‘meet again in heaven.’

As she and Gabriel concluded the prayer by murmuring ‘Amen,’ the Morgan seemed to sense Raven’s sadness. He came up and nuzzled her with his soft black nose, making snuffling sounds as if trying to say he was sorry for her pain. She stroked his forehead, whispering softly to him.

Meanwhile, Gabriel filled in the grave and covered the
fresh-dug
dirt with rocks to prevent scavengers from digging up the bodies. Then throwing the shovels in the wagon he prepared to start back to Deming.

‘Aren’t we going to make a cross?’ Raven asked.

‘No point in that.’

‘Then how am I going to remember where my folks are buried?’

Gabriel drew his Colt and fired three shots at the rocks directly behind the grave site. The bullets ricocheted, each one chipping off a piece of rock before whining aimlessly into the desert. Pointing at the three silvery streaks the lead had left on the stone, he said: ‘Now you got a permanent marker. Not one that, come next spring, will get washed away by rainstorms or floods.’

She looked at him, big dark eyes shining with admiration. ‘Reckon you weren’t behind the barn, either.’

For once he was caught off-guard. ‘Barn?’

‘When they were givin’ out brains.’

‘Ahhh,’ he said, pleased. ‘So some things do sink in, huh?’ Fondly tousling her hair, he climbed onto the wagon-box and picked up the reins. ‘C’mon. Jump up. Want to get rollin’ while there’s still daylight left.’

After they had traveled west a few miles the trail narrowed and snaked through a natural gap in the low rock-strewn hills. Known as
Pasa duro de Piedra
, or Hard-Rock Pass, it was a perfect site for an ambush. Gabriel, remembering the bushwhackers, instinctively looked up at the rocky slopes looming on both sides of them. Everything looked normal and he wondered why his belly was knotted up – a sure sign of pending trouble.

Seeing his uneasiness Raven said: ‘More broomtails?’

Gabriel ignored her sarcasm and kept his eyes peeled. They rounded a bend that curved between two giant boulders and there, confronting them, was a line of riders blocking the trail. Raven counted ten of them, all armed with rifles that were aimed at her and Gabriel.

‘Gabe—!’

He’d already seen them. ‘Easy does it,’ he warned. ‘Don’t do anythin’ foolish or sudden.’ Reining up, he kept his right hand
away from his Peacemaker and looked behind him.

Ten more armed riders appeared, blocking off their escape.

Facing front again, Gabriel wrapped the reins around the wagon-brake, rested his hands on his knees and waited for the inevitable.

‘Who are they?’ Raven whispered, ‘rustlers or lawmen?’

‘Neither,’ Gabriel said as the riders slowly closed in on them. ‘They’re Double SS boys.’

‘Mr Stadtlander’s men? How’d he know we were here?’

‘Lylo Willis told him, most likely.’

‘That snake,’ Raven said angrily. ‘I knew I should’ve shot him.’

John Welters, the foreman of the Double SS, now rode out from riders and confronted Gabriel. ‘I’ll take your iron,’ he said, extending his hand.

Then, when Gabriel didn’t respond, ‘We got orders to shoot if you don’t cooperate – you’n anyone with you.’

‘You’d fire on a girl?’

‘Not on purpose.’ Welters, an erect ex-cavalry man in blue denim whose sun-strained gray eyes were almost as pale as Gabriel’s, turned and indicated the riders. ‘But the boys know how deadly you are with that Colt and they ain’t goin’ to be too particular about who else gets hit once they start shootin’.’

‘Let her ride on out,’ Gabriel said, ‘an’ I’ll surrender peaceably.’

‘Can’t do that. Mr Stadtlander said I was to bring in all—’

‘It’s OK, Gabe,’ Raven said, rising. ‘I don’t mind keeping you company.’ Calmly, she climbed into the rear of the wagon.

Gabriel, sensing she was up to something, slowly drew his Colt and handed it, butt first, to Welters.

‘And the rifle.’

Gabriel reached behind him, picked up the Winchester and gave it to the foreman.

For a moment Welters and the riders relaxed, as if danger
had passed.

In that moment Raven leaped from the wagon onto Brandy’s back, kicked the startled Morgan into a gallop, and charged straight at the riders milling around behind them.

Caught off guard, they tried to close ranks. But they were too late. Raven and the stallion burst through them and were in the clear before the riders could even think of shooting her.

A few half-heartedly raised their rifles, but they were basically decent men and no one could pull the trigger.

‘Too bad,’ Welters said, watching Raven ride off into the desert. ‘Out there, she’s buzzard meat.’ He turned back to Gabriel, adding, ‘Boss has been waitin’ a long time for this.’

‘That makes two of us, John.’ Gabriel took the makings out of his shirt pocket and began rolling a smoke.

Raven kept Brandy at a full gallop until she was several miles from the pass; then a quick look back told her she wasn’t being pursued. Only then did she slow the Morgan to a walk so the powerful stallion could regain his wind.

Ahead and on both sides of them was empty, open wasteland dotted with cacti, mesquite, and greasewood. Much of it was monotonously flat. But here and there gullies and low rocky hills broke the landscape while in the distance mountain ranges made up the horizon. The sun was starting to sink below their glowing peaks, warning that night was approaching. But Raven, though alone and without food or water, wasn’t concerned. She felt at home in the desert, having grown up here and spent much of life learning how to survive in the wilderness.

Most of her knowledge came from the Mescaleros. They had no equal when it came to existing in this vast, harsh terrain and, though she was unarmed but for her slingshot, she had no fear of going thirsty or hungry.

But she was afraid that Gabriel would be killed by Stadtlander. From what she’d overheard Gabriel telling her mother, and what little he’d told her himself, his former employer was a ruthless, powerful rancher who was determined to hang Gabriel for shooting his only son, Slade.

It didn’t matter to Stadtlander that Slade had been a gutless, drunken bully hated by almost everyone in Santa Rosa; or that he and his worthless whiskey-sodden pals, the Iverson brothers, had raped and killed Gabriel’s former girlfriend; or even that Slade had cowardly shot Gabriel in the back first, before Gabriel whirled and gunned him down. No, none of those things mattered: all that the ageing, crippled rancher cared about was seeing Gabriel, a man he’d once loved more than his son, dangling from a rope.

‘Somehow I’ve got to save him,’ Raven thought aloud as she guided the Morgan eastward. ‘And I got to do it fast.’

Brandy pricked his ears at the sound of her voice then tossed his head, flared his nostrils and snorted as if ready to do battle.

Raven responded by rubbing the stallion’s ears. At the same time she desperately tried to think of how she could rescue Gabriel. Nothing came to her. And as she rode on, she became more and more despondent.

It was then she heard a screech high above her. Looking up, she saw a bald eagle drifting on the thermals. She’d seen bald eagles before, though not often, but on those occasions the huge black, white-headed birds were soaring over the Rio Grande Valley or winging toward the mountains.

This one seemed to be deliberately hovering above her. Reining up, she watched it for a few moments, wondering as she did what was causing the eagle to remain overhead.

Suddenly, the huge bird folded back its wings and dived toward her. Surprised, Raven watched it plummeting straight down, talons extended, its savage cry reaching her ears. It never dawned on her that she might be the target. She knew golden and bald eagles snatched lambs and piglets from farms and on rare occasions were known to go after small dogs, but never a grown human being. Yet, even as she kept her gaze fixed on the eagle, it continued to dive toward her. In seconds, she realized, it would be upon her; and though she couldn’t believe it, when it still kept coming she was forced to accept that she was its prey.

At the last instant, just before the eagle attacked her, Raven slid off the Morgan and ducked behind some rocks.

The eagle flew past her, screeching, and landed atop a nearby piñon tree.

For several moments girl and eagle stared at each other.

Raven, having never seen an eagle or any other bird for that matter behave this way, wondered why it was acting so strangely. It was almost as if it were trying to attract her attention. She knew that was impossible. Birds didn’t have that kind of reasoning. Or did they? Come to think of it, she’d often heard strange tales of how animals and humans communicated with one another told around Apache camp-fires.

A loud whinny from Brandy interrupted her thoughts. The Morgan, in an effort to protect her, angrily charged the piñon tree. Though he couldn’t reach the perched eagle, the stallion reared up, snorting with rage.

Unconcerned, the eagle suddenly launched itself into the air, circled once overhead and then flew off.

Raven emerged from behind the rocks. Still puzzled, she gazed after the eagle. She realized it was heading toward the Mescalero reservation. Triggered by the thought, she suddenly remembered Almighty Sky, the tribal shaman famous for his legendary shape-shifter abilities. Was the eagle really Almighty Sky, she wondered, or was it just a coincidence? And if the bird
wasn’t the wily old medicine man, had he used his powers to make it attack her so she’d remember him and know she wasn’t alone?

She couldn’t decide. But Almighty Sky had always been friendly toward her and her folks, and having no one else to turn to and with time running out on Gabriel, Raven swung up onto the Morgan’s back and rode in the direction of the reservation.

Stillman J. Stadtlander’s home sat atop a grassy knoll
overlooking
the Rio Grande Valley. It was a fancy three-storey mansion with ornately carved windows and a Roman-styled portico shading the front door. Built upon the site of the original single-story ranch-house, the mansion was a tribute to its owner’s colossal ego and powerful influence throughout New Mexico.

Now, as sunset cast eerie shadows over the mansion and its outer buildings and corrals, Stadtlander sat on the porch, hunched over in his wheelchair, watching his riders escorting the wagon up the grassy incline toward him. As they drew closer his gaze fixated on the driver, a man he’d grown to hate with such intensity it drained all other emotion from him. Motioning to the Mexican servant beside him to hand him his crutches, Stadtlander gritted his teeth against the agony that every movement sent knifing through his arthritis-ravaged body and dragged himself to his feet.

Pain made him dizzy and he swayed momentarily. But when the servant went to help him, the old rancher cursed him so vehemently the young man cringed as if struck.

‘Goddammit, I can stand on my own!’ Pain struck again and this time Stadtlander winced and had to fight down a gasp. Glaring at Gabriel, still some distance from him, the rancher’s leathery, jut-jawed face contorted with rage. ‘I’d sooner die,’ he told the servant, ‘than give that ungrateful, murderin’ bastard the pleasure of seeing me trapped in a wheelchair!’

His words were drowned out by the noise of the horses’ hoofs and the creaking and rattling of the old wagon pulling up in front of him.

Ordering Gabriel to get down, Welters turned to Stadtlander. ‘What do you want me to do with him, boss?’

‘Beat him,’ Stadtlander said flatly.

Welters cocked a reproachful eyebrow at the irascible old rancher. ‘Sure that’s what you really want, Mr Stadtlander?’

‘You questionin’ me, John?’

‘No, sir. Just makin’ sure I heard right.’

‘You heard right. Now you’n the boys get to it. Beat the sonofabitch till he can’t even crawl and then lock him in the barn. Come daylight,’ he said speaking to Gabriel, ‘I’m personally going to put a noose around your neck an’ watch you kick an’ dance until you choke to death.’

Gabriel eyed the enraged, crippled old man as if he pitied him. ‘I’ll do my best to make sure you ain’t cheated,’ he said grimly.

They were the last words he would speak that night. Welters clenched both hands together in a single fist and clubbed Gabriel on the back of the neck. Stunned, Gabriel dropped to his knees. The foreman grudgingly signaled to the ranch hands and they closed in and began punching and kicking Gabriel until he lay senseless and bleeding in the dirt.

It was almost dark when Raven reached the Mescalero reservation. She hadn’t been there in over a year; in fact not since the day she’d begged Almighty Sky to let the Sacred One, Lolotea – a beautiful young blind girl with premature white hair who possessed spiritual healing powers – leave the reservation and come to the Bjorkman farm to save Gabriel’s life.

Now, as Raven rode into the main village, she was appalled at the squalid conditions. The dome-shaped hogans all needed
re-thatching
, trash and discarded whiskey bottles lay scattered everywhere, and every man, woman and child she passed looked listless and half-starved.

She rode on, attracting little attention from the downtrodden Apaches gathered about their fires, and finally reined up outside Almighty Sky’s hogan. A small circle of blanket-shrouded elders sat silently in front of it. Motionless, they stared impassively into the flames. Raven smelled a pungent odor and knew they had been drinking fermented mescal.

There was no sign of Almighty Sky.

Wondering where the old shaman was, Raven dismounted. At once, two women in buckskin ceremonial dresses with red ribbons and sprigs of sage woven into their braids approached her. The younger of the two, a spindly girl no more than sixteen, carried an armful of blankets. The other woman, who was wrinkled enough to be a hundred, held a flaming torch in her withered left hand.

‘It is good you have come,’ she said, speaking Mescalero. ‘The
Wise One has been waiting for you.’

Raven frowned, puzzled. ‘How could he be waiting for me when I had no idea I was coming here myself?’

‘It is written,’ the old woman said simply. ‘Now, hurry. You must cleanse yourself before you hear the Wise One’s message.’

Even more puzzled, Raven allowed herself to be led to a small pool. The clear water was encircled by smooth sandstone rocks on which were painted ceremonial symbols and strange-looking serpents, eagles, and an Inca-styled dragon identical to one she’d seen in a picture book. She and her folks had been friendly with the Mescaleros for years and Raven was no stranger to the reservation, but she’d never seen these rock paintings before and wondered why she was being permitted to see them now.

After they had undressed her, the women insisted she stand in the shallow pool while they bathed her and washed her hair with soap made from a yucca root. The water was numbingly cold and Raven couldn’t stop shivering. At last, the women led her ashore and dried her with blankets scented with mint. They then wrapped her in a large red blanket, fastened it about her throat with a woodpecker’s feather and led her back to Almighty Sky’s hogan. There, they draped her clothes on a bush near the Morgan and told her she was now ready to see the Wise One.

‘Go inside, child,’ the older woman said. ‘Meet your future.’

Raven stood there a moment, nervously wondering what this was all about. The elders were no longer seated about the fire, which had burned down to embers; but smoke curling out of the smoke-hole in the roof of the hogan indicated they were gathered inside.

Here goes nothing, she thought and ducked through the low doorway.

Inside, it was dark save for a small fire burning amid a circle of stones in the center of the hogan. Almighty Sky and the same elders were seated around the fire. But unlike outside all the
men were now naked save for G-strings. None of them looked up as she entered; instead, they stared fixedly at an unusually tall peyote cactus growing in a clay pot positioned in front of the old shaman. The floor of the hogan had been swept clean and sage sprinkled over it. Raven vaguely remembered her father telling her that the Mescaleros considered sage to be a friend of the peyote. She hadn’t understood what he meant then, but now seeing it scattered on the ground she guessed this was what he was referring to. Next to the pot lay a deerskin pouch tied at the neck by a red string.

Almighty Sky sat with his back to the west. There was a place left for Raven in the circle that was south of the doorway. The old shaman, lidded eyes downcast, motioned for her to be seated.

Raven obeyed. But embarrassed to be naked before all these men, she kept the red blanket pulled tightly about her.

Almighty Sky nodded at one of the elders. He began beating a small drum. At the same time he chanted softly, all the while staring into the fire.

The old shaman untied the string around the pouch, opened it and reached inside with his left hand. He then began passing out handfuls of peyote buttons. He passed them to his right, which was to the south, and when everyone had two handfuls he served himself and then replaced the pouch next to the pot.

In the flickering firelight Raven saw that some of her buttons were green with tufts on them, the others dry. The green ones were the size of a silver dollar, the dried buttons no bigger than a small pebble.

The elder stopped beating the drum.

Almighty Sky now looked at Raven for the first time. ‘We, The People, are honored by your visit,
Ish-kay-nay
,’ he said, using the Apache term for boy or one who is indifferent to marriage or, in Raven’s case, tomboy. ‘Too many moons have passed since we last shared words.’

‘This is true, Wise One. But it was not because I did not want to see you, but because my mother and I moved a great distance away.’

‘This was told to me in a vision,’ Almighty Sky said. ‘I am happy for your new life. But I am much saddened by the loss of
Nah-tanh.
’

Raven frowned, surprised. ‘You heard about Momma’s death?’ she said, forgetting it was rude to ask him a direct question.

‘I hear many things,
Ish-kay-nay
. This particular sadness was whispered to me by the wind.’

‘While you were soaring above me?’

Almighty Sky didn’t respond.

‘I ask you this, Wise One, because I followed a bald eagle here. And I am wondering if those were his eyes watching out for me or yours.’

Almighty Sky frowned, his face a thousand wrinkles. ‘Many strange mysteries occur when I stare into the fire,
Ish-kay-nay.
Not all of them have answers.’ Putting a peyote button into his mouth, he chewed it slowly and then swallowed it, his expression never changing. At once, the elders began eating their buttons, one after another.

Raven, who’d heard from her father how horribly bitter peyote tasted, especially the green tufted buttons, hesitated before eating one.

Immediately, a strange thing happened: the fire crackled and blazed as if stirred and in her mind she heard her name called. The voice belonged to Almighty Sky. It came from far off yet each word was as distinct as if he were talking into her ear. Raven looked across the fire at the old shaman. His eyes were closed; his lips sealed. He was chewing stoically, rhythmically, and in the flickering firelight his gaunt, wrinkled face was etched by eerie shadows.

Suddenly his eyes opened. They focused on her. She felt
herself drawn into them. Trust in me, they said. And you will come to no harm.

Almighty Sky’s assurance was all she needed. Popping a button in her mouth, she began to chew. Expecting the taste to be unbearable, she was surprised to find the peyote was tasteless as sawdust. Her mind wandered. She thought of various different tastes, all of which she enjoyed, each of those tastes becoming what she tasted: blueberry pie, lemonade, Gabriel’s buttermilk biscuits – even the licorice-tasting
Black Jack
chewing gum that her now-dead Uncle Reece had given her – all flooded her senses.

Swallowing the peyote, Raven began chewing another button and then another, all the time enjoying the variety of pleasing tastes that filled her mouth. Meanwhile, Almighty Sky’s voice continued talking to her. No woman, he explained, Apache or Pale Eyes, had ever been allowed to sit at a Peyote Ceremony. She was the first. The Sacred One, Lolotea, whose soul had recently joined the Great Spirit, had appeared to him in a vision and told him to invite Raven. She had chosen Raven, she explained, because she was pure at heart – and because of this the poisonous cactus would not taste bitter or unpleasant, or, more importantly, make her ill.

Raven felt her mind expanding. Everything became hazy. The room swam about her. She began to hallucinate. Suddenly, like a shower of exploding fireworks, a kaleidoscope of colors dazzled her eyes. She felt weightless, as if she were floating. Looking down, she saw herself seated in the circle with the elders. She watched herself chewing the peyote buttons. The buttons changed color and size then disappeared. The fire beckoned to her and she swooped down like an eagle and became engulfed in the flames. She expected to be burned. But the fire was her friend and she remained unharmed. She heard herself laughing. Thanking the fire for not burning her, she flew back to her seat in the circle.

Opposite, across the fire, Almighty Sky fed himself a handful of peyote buttons and instantly shape-shifted into a mountain lion, then an owl, then a rattlesnake with two heads. Raven watched as one head swallowed the other. Now a white woodpecker flew out of the remaining snake’s mouth. The little bird flew around inside the hogan, shaking tiny, soft feathers from its wings. The feathers floated down like falling snow but never landed, turning the air into a silent, swirling snowstorm.

Raven looked up and saw Lolotea’s angelic face smiling at her among the drifting snowflakes. The Sacred One spoke without sound. The feathers were sucked into her mouth until only one feather remained. It floated down and landed on Raven’s face, balancing on her upturned nose. She grasped it and held it tightly in her hand.

Waving it like a magic wand, she felt herself levitate and fly away. Suddenly, large wooden doors opened in front of her. She couldn’t see herself but she knew, as in a dream, she had entered a barn. A man lay sprawled on some straw. He was tied up, his face bruised and bloodied from a beating. Faceless ranch-hands entered carrying a rope. One threw the rope over the rafters so that a noose dangled. The other men picked up the beaten man, looped the rope around his neck and hoisted him up until his feet were off the ground. He hung there, kicking and choking.

Raven realized the dying man was Gabriel. She screamed and ran forward, grasping his legs and trying to support him so that he could breathe. But the men dragged her away and held her, helpless. The men now had faces. She recognized them as the riders who had jumped them on the trail. She turned her head away. But the foreman grasped her face and forced her to watch Gabriel die.

She fainted.

Everything went dark. Silent.