El Paso Way (5 page)

The boy's lessons in arithmetic were past the basics and were now mostly exercised with random quizzes by Father Gaeta.

“Enrique,” the priest would say as the boy carried water from the river. “How do you calculate the volume of water inside that clay pot?”

“The easy way, Father, or the hard way?”

The priest laughed. “The easy way, of course.”

“I pour the water out of the odd-shaped pot and into a perfectly square crock. Then I calculate the volume of a cube.”

“Very good, my son.”

Father Gaeta made Enrique's lessons enjoyable, which helped him learn. Though the priest didn't have many books, the boy read sparingly from what was there, and not too much at once—such as the Holy Bible. Enrique often read and reread the book of Job, the Song of Solomon, and the prophets, such as Jeremiah, Daniel, Jonah, or his favorite, Nahum, the comforter, who gave a message of judgment, and a verse that Enrique had memorized:

Keep your feasts, O Judah, fulfill your vows, for never again shall the wicked come against you, he is utterly cut off.

Though there was little in the priest's library, Enrique enjoyed what was there, which consisted of a two-century-old book on learning by Sir Francis Bacon that he thought to be rather pompous and, at times, off track and boring. There was a book of Scottish poems, partially burned, that Father Gaeta said he'd acquired from a settlement that had been ransacked by Apaches, but its content was touching, nonetheless; and another favorite was a tattered copy of Benjamin Franklin's
Poor Richard's Almanac
. Enrique liked the verse, mostly for its clever wit. He often thought that if reading were like sustenance, then the Holy Bible would be the main course of a meal and the
Almanac
like a sweet dessert.

He liked his duties, and enjoyed his education, but what he loved most was his time alone in the wilderness. Every day he would find his favorite spot on top of a bluff overlooking an arroyo and a deer trail. Not only would he see deer, but also many other animals and birds, such as kangaroo rats, pronghorn, coyote, gray fox, ringtail, coati, quail, and porcupine, but he was there for the deer.

Sereno always accompanied Enrique on his hunts, too. On his first hunt away from the mission, Enrique sat upon the rise overlooking a bend in the deer trail. Usually before he ever saw the deer, he would hear a strange whistle, one that sounded like a rare bird, but nothing at all like any of the birds in the Sonora. It was more than a coincidence that the whistle came shortly before deer came around the bend, and once Enrique had figured it out, he started looking for Sereno somewhere among the desert plants, hiding but watching. He rarely ever saw his
amigo
sombra
,
his shadow friend, but the first time he did was also the only time he'd ever seen Sereno smile.

Father Gaeta had shown Enrique how to use a bow and arrow, a gift the priest received from a friendly Apache chief. Enrique was fascinated with the weapon. The bow, made from the wood of a mulberry tree, was painted on the inside by a red dye, and a golden dye colored the outside. An emblem of the sun was also painted on the inside, in the same gold color, laid on top of the red.

The arrows, which Enrique had to learn to make, were made of the same mulberry wood. He used a method that the priest had taught him, which the priest said he was also shown by the Apache. Every time the boy went to the wilderness, he looked for mulberry trees, and would break off small limbs and take them back to the mission. At the mission he would cut the limbs to approximately two-foot lengths, remove the bark, and scrape the wood, then lay them in the sun to dry. The Apache arrows that were given to him were decorated with black, red, and blue stripes, but Enrique just used red dye, the color of blood, which also symbolized the color of the justice that lingered in the back of his mind.

Feathers could be obtained from red-tailed hawks or eagles, and sometimes buzzards, but Enrique was superstitious about using feathers from a scavenger and relied solely on the others. When he found the feathers—and sometimes he would find a complete dead bird—he would cut the quill down the center, scrape out the marrow, and cut the feather into five-inch lengths. He would store the lengths in a leather pouch until it came time to make new arrows. He'd attach the feathers with wet sinew and piñon pitch, another technique the Apaches had shown the priest and that was passed on to Enrique.

Arrowheads were something else that Enrique looked out for while wandering throughout the wilderness. The Apache claimed that they were left by ancestors for their descendents to find, already shaped by nature with flat and pointed edges. Enrique had found scores of arrowheads, which he kept in another leather pouch. When he made his own arrows, or repaired them, he split the end of the arrow, inserted the flat end of the head, and wrapped it with more wet sinew. But there were times when an arrow was broken and too short to add the weight of a stone or flint to the end, and was simply sharpened to a wooden point, which was just as deadly.

Enrique's quiver, which was also part of the Apache gift to the priest, was made of deerskin, as was the cover for the bow. He'd carry as many as ten arrows, along with his two pouches of feathers and arrowheads, and a coil of extra bowstrings. The bowstrings, which Enrique had to replace at times, were made from the sinew of a deer's loin, or from the legs, which he saved from every kill.

The boy practiced by shooting into a target made of deerskin stretched against plank boards he'd found at the mission. He painted a red dot the width of his hand in the center. It was difficult for him at first, not only to hit his target, but to pull the string at all. The priest assured him that carrying heavy buckets of water, and lifting them as he walked, would strengthen his arms so he could pull the bowstring like a man. This challenged the boy, and he worked his arms endlessly, and within a year he could pull the string and hit his target proficiently, even much better than the priest.

The priest often challenged Enrique, too, by sitting at the table, rolling up his sleeve, exposing a pale, wiry arm, and challenging the boy to an arm wrestle.

“Let's see if you've grown, my son,” the priest would say, encouraging Enrique to try and move his arm. It was a measurement for both of them, however, not just Enrique. When the day came that he was able to move the priest's arm any distance at all, Enrique would know he was that much closer to handling the tasks of a man. The priest, Enrique knew, would also know that it was time to prepare the boy for starting his life outside the mission.

The boy had always wanted to learn all about hunting and the wilderness from his grandfather, and even though it began that way, his grandfather never taught him about hunting big game. That he learned from the priest, passed down from the Apache and Tohono O'odham, even the gutting and quartering.

One day, after a kill, Enrique was quartering the meat from a mule deer and packing it on the back of his burro when he heard a noise, and then he saw several javelina playing not far away at the base of the bluff. This was only the second time in his life he had seen these animals, and he was quite taken by their piglike appearance, with a grayish, bristly hide.

Though this sighting was somewhat treasured as a rare moment, their initial sound was almost haunting, and before long something disturbing brought Enrique to a moment of despair.

The largest of the javelinas, a boar, kept jumping on top of another, smaller one of the species. From the noise the smaller one was making, the boy could tell it did not like the activity that was taking place, and that the boar was forcing the other to play his game. There was only one other circumstance where Enrique had heard similar noises, and that was before he had seen Valdar with Amelia. The noisy grunting—he wondered if Valdar had learned those noises from a javelina, even though Enrique still did not know what it was all about.

On his return to the mission that day, Father Gaeta met Enrique to admire his kill.

“Ah, what a fine sack of meat,” the priest said and patted Enrique on the back. “You have perfected the art of hunting, my son.”

Enrique did not answer, only unpacked his burro and went inside the mission to put away his things. For a moment Enrique stopped and closed his eyes; then he lay down on his bed and stared up at the adobe ceiling. The priest had followed him inside, and came up to his bedside and sat at his feet.

“What is troubling you, my son?”

Enrique lay with his eyes closed. “Today I saw two javelina.
Pecari angulatus.
”

The priest smiled. “Ah, hunting is not your only strong point. You know your animals well, too.”

“But there is something that I still don't understand.”

“What is that, my son?”

It had been more than a year since the massacre of his family, but the scenes were always as vivid as the day they happened. He thought more, however, of Amelia and what might have become of her, though his thoughts rarely reflected any hope. It was something about which he often wondered what the priest thought, but he never had the courage to ask, in fear of hearing a hopeless answer.

Enrique opened his eyes and looked at the priest, at his full brown beard and studious green eyes. For more than a year Enrique had learned to trust those eyes, and like his grandfather, the priest had become a man whom the boy admired. He also feared getting too close, but now, more than ever, he felt the need to open up to the father.

“What do you think happened to Amelia?” the boy asked.

The priest swallowed and looked away, scratched his beard and shrugged. “I can't be sure.”

Enrique kept looking at him and noticed a bit of fear in his eyes. “I've been wondering about something.”

“What have you been wondering?”

“During the deer hunt, when I saw the javelinas, this boar, with tusks, jumped on the back of a smaller one. It reminded me of the last time I saw Amelia. She was with this man you call Valdar, and before I saw him, he was making very strange grunting sounds. When I saw him leading her away, I could tell she was not happy, just like the small javelina that squealed and tried to get away.”

A brief silence fell between them, and the priest looked intently at Enrique.

“That is something we've never talked about in our education,” the priest said. “And I apologize for that.”

The boy only looked at the priest, anxiously awaiting his explanation.

The priest looked at the floor and kept rubbing his beard. “Have you ever noticed, Enrique, the power that certain animals have over others?”

“I'm not sure what you mean, Father.”

“Take the eagle, for example. A rabbit is doomed if the eagle sees it with its exquisite eyesight and calculates that it can swoop down in time to grasp it in its claws before the rabbit can reach cover. And the rat has a similar power over insects, and the insects over smaller insects. But the eagle, its only predator is man, which would mean that man's only true predator is himself. The basic difference between man and animal is their ability to feel levels of emotion and consider consequences. Antonio Valdar is an evil man who cares nothing of either and thinks more like an animal. That is why he treats other humans the way that he does.”

“I see what you mean,” the boy said, “but what does that have to do with Amelia?”

The priest reached and put his hand on the back of Enrique's. “Do you remember when I taught you biology and the characteristics of life?”

“Yes, of course I do.”

“One characteristic, reproduction, is what the javelinas were doing. They were making little javelinas. Humans do the same thing, only it is to be done with compassion and desire from both man and woman. One thing that humans can do, that animals cannot, is take the act of reproduction for pleasure, and some force it on other humans for selfish pleasure. There is no desire from the other, nor is there any compassion. It is an act of lust and not love. It is an act of evil.”

“And that is what Valdar was doing to Amelia?”

“Yes, my son. I'm afraid that is right.”

“What will happen to her?”

“It is hard for me to suspect, and you are very young to be told such things.”

“I am old enough to see it happen, but not old enough to understand it?”

The priest sighed and gently patted the boy's forearm. “Yes, right. Well, Valdar, he looks for ways to feed his evil desires. A young, innocent girl is one of those ways. There are people who like to enslave such girls for that same selfish pleasure and will pay money for them. Valdar has likely captured your sister to take her and sell her into such bondage.”

Though Enrique trusted the priest's explanation, Amelia's fate still wasn't clear to him. He had never felt the desires or compassion that caused a man to feel that way toward a woman. Nor had he ever felt the lust that the priest spoke of, and knowing what it had done to his
hermana
, he was certain he never wanted to.

“I just hope she is okay,” the boy said.

The priest tightened his lips and nodded. “I do, too, my son.”

A sound of a stone hitting the windowsill prompted them to look out. The priest peered out first then Enrique joined him. Enrique spotted Sereno dashing into a stand of willow near the riverbank.

Enrique was sure that the priest had seen him, too, and offered him a humorous mimicry of the priest's quizzing. “What are the genus and species of that varmint I see hiding among the branches?”

Father Gaeta chuckled. “That would be the ever so punctual
Orphanis hungrius
. It must be time to eat.”

Pang Lo

He woke to a blurred image of Vin Long's face and to the coolness of a wet cloth on his cheek. Vin dabbed the cloth above Pang's eye, which caused him to wince at the pain. Pang closed his eyes tight and pushed Vin's hand away, then opened his eyes again and looked out into the room. Objects started to come into focus—the bricks in the wall, the iron bars.

“You were out all night,” Vin said. “And now almost half the day.”

Pang closed his eyes and reopened them, and tried to get a clear view of his friend. He tasted blood. “What—what happened?”

Vin dipped the cloth into a porcelain bowl then wrung out the water. “I thought they had killed you.”

“Who?”

“The deputies. They brought you here from the saloon, and after the sheriff left, they beat you. You're a damn fool.”

Pang recalled the incident at the saloon, and that was the last he could remember. “Am I a fool for demanding justice?”

Vin dropped the wet, wadded cloth on Pang's chest and left it there. “One does not stick one's head into a beehive and demand honey.”

Pang grabbed the cloth and tried to rise up, but a quick dizziness sent him back to the cot.

“You lie still,” Vin said. “You have much healing to do.”

“Why does my stomach hurt so much?”

Vin took the cloth back and dropped it into the bowl. “Do not complain. Be grateful you're alive.”

“I have to get up. I have to go after Valdar.”

“Do not worry. A posse of more than thirty men are already after him.”

“Posse?”

“Sheriff Dutton. He received word that a man had been killed south of town. He rode out with one of the deputies and found a man hanging naked from a cottonwood tree, along the bank of the Santa Cruz. His stomach was cut open and his entrails pulled to the ground.”

“Who?”

“A gambler. A fancy-dressed man who was in the saloon when you went in blurting Valdar's name. So he went after Valdar and met his death. The sheriff had to act and formed a posse.”

Pang tried to rise again. “I should go help him.”

This time he was knocked down by both dizziness and Vin's hand. “You are more of a fool than I thought!”

“You don't know how it feels, old man!”

Vin stood angrily. “Since you are still a young man, I will forgive you for your ignorance. No, my dear Pang, you are too young to remember the Opium Wars. I watched my father's head fall off his body from the swipe of an imperial soldier's sword. Don't think that I didn't want revenge, too. But I had a wife and a newborn child. I had them to think about. Their lives and our future.”

Pang was touched by the man's words and felt regret for his hasty tongue. “I meant no disrespect.”

Vin patted his shoulder. “I know. Your father was a good man. You have to know he would not approve of you thinking this way.”

“Yes, and it is quite a burden on my mind. But I have nothing now. A tailoring business is nothing. Without a family I am nothing. That evil bandit took everything I have.”

Vin looked at Pang with a compassionate smile and put his hand on his. Perhaps, Pang thought, the old man was seeing the situation differently.

“Do you think that Dutton will stop Valdar?” Pang said.

Vin sat silently for a moment, then looked at Pang solemnly and let out a sigh. “I am not a predictor. All I know is what I see before me.”

“And what do you see?”

Another sigh. “A grasshopper.”

“Then tell me, what should I do?”

“It is not for me to tell you, Pang. It is for you to decide.”

“I don't understand.”

“You have been taught. You know the answers. You know the way. Just remember . . . a leopard stalks its prey before it attacks.”

Pang thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said matter-of-factly. “It does.”

Vin nodded, then stood and walked to the cell door to summon the jail keeper. Deputy Bain approached with his spurs clanging and keys jingling. He looked through the bars and grinned smugly at Pang, then unlocked the door. Pang rose up on his elbows.

“When can he leave?” Vin asked.

“Maybe never, old boy. Probably hang the sumbitch.”

“They bury his father tomorrow. He has a right to mourn.”

The deputy grabbed Vin's arm and pulled him out of the cell, then slammed the door shut behind him.

“He'll have to mourn there on that cot. Besides, he's not going nowheres till the sheriff gets back. Now, you go on and git outta here.”

Vin turned, looked solemnly at Pang, and gave him a nod. The deputy locked the door then pushed Vin away.

As the deputy walked away, Pang realized his dilemma. His impulsive behavior had landed him in this position. He should have never gone to the saloon. If only he had stayed with his father, he would be with him now to pay his last respects and then go off on a well-planned mission to not only find justice, but save what was left of his family.

Hopefully it was not too late.

* * *

A wedge of light was cast through the small, iron-barred window, and it soon vanished with the setting sun. Pang lay sore and uncomfortable on the cot, in a quiet darkness save for the sound of cicadas outside and the hint of light from the oil lamp on the sheriff's desk. He was sure the deputy sat there, probably sleeping, or cleaning his gun, or playing solitaire.

Though Sheriff Dutton might not seem to be on his side, he likely had saved Pang's life by stopping him when he did. It was only when he was gone that the deputies reconvened their battery. In public the sheriff wouldn't have wanted to display any sort of affection toward the Chinese because it would mean political ruin. Pang's father had taught his son this reasoning of the whites. What Pang couldn't understand was how a man could follow any direction but that powered by his own heart. Maybe such ill reasoning was required to live among the people of this culture. He couldn't be certain. There were too many things about the whites that he couldn't understand.

* * *

Though rising from the cot was painful, Pang was feeling stiff and cramped and needed to stand. He made his way to his feet and shuffled slowly across the stone floor to the steel-barred window, where he could now see a crescent moon. It wasn't much to look at, but Pang envied its freedom, especially to see over all the earth, and he wished he could look down on the lives of his sister and his fiancée.

Trying to regain his health, he exercised his breathing and stretched his muscles by squatting and leaning from side to side.

He'd been in the jail three days now, trying to be patient. There was no sign of the sheriff's return. Pang wondered if the posse would be enough to take Valdar and his men. It was hard to know such things. Regardless, Pang was dedicated to seeing justice done, whether by Dutton, him, or anyone else.

During Vin's visits, he had been bringing Pang soup and herbal tea for nutrition. He'd asked for something to ease his pain, but Vin did not believe in the man-made medicines. “It is better to heal naturally,” he'd said.

Pang heard the front door to the office creak open, and the deputy spoke. “What are you doin' here so late? I fed 'im earlier. You don't need to bring 'im nothin' else.”

Then Pang recognized the voice of Vin. “But he needs this special tea to help him heal.”

“What's special about it?” the deputy asked.

“It is filled with herbs, and a bit of opium to help ease his pain.”

Opium?
Pang thought.
What has gotten into the old man?

“Let me see,” the deputy said.

Pang walked over to the jail door and watched the deputy lift the porcelain lid off the teapot and sniff. He made a sour face.

“That smells like hot horse piss! You gonna make 'im drink it?”

“Yes, he will drink it.”

“Well—hell now, this I gotta see.”

The deputy grabbed the keys off the hook on the wall, then walked over to the jail door and unlocked it. He stepped away and waved a hand for Vin to enter.

Vin stepped in front of him and winked at Pang, then turned back around and looked at the deputy.

“Well?” the deputy said. “Get on with it.”

“Vin took the lid off the teapot, grabbed the handle, then swiftly emptied the contents into the deputy's face.

The deputy staggered away and dropped the keys, his eyes closed, mouth open, coughing, gagging.

Before the deputy could open his eyes, Vin stood on one leg and like a perfectly balanced bird kicked him in the ribs. The young lawman gasped and fell backward, then lay on his side and wheezed. Vin squatted beside him and with an extended hand jabbed the back of his head.

The deputy went out cold.

Vin turned around to an astounded Pang.

“What are you doing, old man?”

“Saving your life. It's hard to say if or when the sheriff will be back, and word has gotten to us that a plan is in the works to kill you. Make it look like you were trying to escape, and then they would shoot you.”

Pang looked down at the unconscious deputy, still in awe. “So what do I do now?”

“You have to go away, Pang. Do what you will with your life, but there is no more life for you here.”

It was freedom he wanted, but now that he stood with it in his hands, he didn't know what to do with it. He knew he needed to go after Valdar, but he wasn't sure how, and this time he needed a plan. “I suppose you are right. I must go.”

“I've been wrong many times, but I have been right more. So you go now; there is no more time for talk.”

Pang bowed to his elder, then proceeded to walk away, but he stopped and looked again at the deputy. “Was that really opium?”

“No, no. You know I would never succumb to such treatments.”

“Then what was it?”

Vin smirked. “Just like the deputy said. It was horse piss.”

Pang spared a grin, appreciating Vin's cleaver wit, but he worried about what the old man might face for helping him. He was quite certain, however, that Vin wouldn't have done it without a plan to get out of it. So he decided not to worry, that he had enough of his own trouble to worry about.

To show his respect, he offered Vin a bow. The old man returned the gesture, and then, like a prowling lion, Pang went quietly out the door and slipped into the darkness.

* * *

Pang calculated that for breaking jail, and all the other things that the sheriff and his deputy would try to pin on him, he was already a dead man, so stealing a horse would make him no worse off. The problem at hand, however, was that he had never learned to ride a horse. When he jumped up on the horse in the alley, he realized that it was not as easy as he had thought it would be. He was sure that the horse wondered who this young man was who looked, smelled, and dressed much different than the horse's owner, and who hopped up on his back and did nothing but slap him on the withers. At least Pang knew enough to use the stirrups; that much he'd learned from watching riders on the streets of Tucson, but when it came to making the horse go, or perform any other maneuver, Pang wallowed in ignorance. Even though the horse finally gave in and took off out of the alley in an imperfect trot, when they got to the street Pang did not know how to direct him. He reached forward and pulled back hard on his mane, which caused the horse to rear and throw the Chinaman to the ground. Luckily for Pang the horse just trotted a few steps away and stopped.

He walked up slowly to the animal with his hand out, palm up. “I'm sorry, Mr. Horse, for my lack of knowledge with you. But if you give me another chance, I promise I will do better next time.”

The sorrel stud bent his neck back to look at the Chinaman, snorted, and whickered. The activity had drawn a late night pedestrian near the scene, and after assessing it long enough, he turned and ran to the saloon. Pang knew that he had no time to waste, and after petting the stud on the neck, he remounted. Several people came running from the saloon, and one of them yelled “Horse thief!”—which was all the motivation Pang needed to use what he recalled from a horse race he once saw on the outskirts of town. He took a deep breath and hollered “YAH!” causing the stud to lunge forward. Pang held on tight to the horn of the saddle and let the animal lead the way, past the onlookers and down the street, and before long out into the moonlit wilderness.

* * *

Pang had no idea how far he had ridden, but at least he knew he was headed in the right direction, south, where Valdar had taken his sister and his fiancée. He knew, too, that he had to be conscious of all directions, that a posse was also looking for Valdar, and that likely a new posse had formed and would be looking for him, an escaped prisoner and horse thief. It was quite an aggravation for someone who only a few days before was sitting innocently in his tent sharing a meal with his family, and who knew how that peace was broken. It angered him to realize that the men who held him in jail, and the men who would now pursue him, were referred to as peace officers, yet they did nothing to help him restore the peace. This being so, it felt inappropriate to think of them as men. Only cowards would allow such injustice to occur and not follow their own hearts. And if their hearts could not see what was right, and what was truly wrong, then they definitely were not sane men, but controlled by demons.