The Valiant Women (5 page)

“Fire! Oh, Shea, how beautiful!”

He added more pith, small twigs, then the larger ones he'd put in readiness beside his drill. When it was really a fire, not the hope of one, he stood up.

“Keep it going,
chiquita
. I'll be back in a minute with supper!”

He cut off several slices of meat, skewered them on peeled acacia limbs, and rigged them on rocks built up on either side of the precious, cheering flame. He watched the venison while he finished skinning the buck, dumped the head and legs up the cañon, cut up the meat and carried it to camp in the hide.

Socorro greeted him with smoking meat, still on its skewer, and several meal cakes. They used these to catch the drippings. Even without seasoning and tough as the old deer's flesh was, it tasted flavorsome and strengthening.

“As you can tell,” Shea said, “this is not any tender young doe or fawn!”

“Yes.” Her eyes danced though her voice was mocksolemn. “I thought perhaps you found him expired among the rocks, a victim of old age.”

“He soon would have been.” Shea was glad that she'd made up her mind to be sensible about their necessities. He wanted to linger with her by the fire, watch the play of warm light and soft shadow on her face and throat, but the hide had to be scraped and the meat cut for drying.

He was slicing strips for jerky when Socorro brought the rock scraper she'd used on the rabbit skins and went to work on the part of the hide not heaped with cuts of venison.

At last they were through. He spread brains and intestines on the hide, edged a heavy long-dead iron-wood stump into the fire and lay down by Socorro, too weary for wild yearnings, just grateful she was there. Without her there would be only the haunting absence of his twin. She was not only Shea's miracle that had saved his life, but a promise of what that life could be.

“We'll take it easy today,” Shea said next morning as Socorro yawned and tossed back her long shining hair. “Eat plenty of venison, tan that hide, find gourds for carrying water, add some more cakes to your pile—”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “
Ay de mí
, a day of leisure!”

“Make the most of it,” he warned, building up the smoldering coals of the ironwood stump and skewering some venison above them.

It was a good day, busy without the forced pace of butchering. Socorro brought in
tunas
and bean pods. He helped grind meal, singed fine hairy needles off the
tunas
and worked on the hide, rubbing and kneading. It stayed discouragingly stiff.

“I think you must wear my rebozo a little longer,” Socorro told him. “Besides,” she twinkled, “it matches your eyes! Real
norteño
eyes you have, the shade of a storm sky!”

By late afternoon he had to admit she was right, though he didn't relish the idea of toting an offal-smeared hide. She'd found several gourds and he'd cut small holes in the tops, saving the pieces for stoppers, cleaning out the pith and seeds. They wouldn't hold much water but it could make the difference in survival. They'd also saved and cleaned the deer bladder for an additional canteen.

After she had bathed that night and washed her hair, he got a bit of yucca root and did the same, scrubbing himself from head to toes. He was still bony, but at least he didn't look like a skeleton wrapped in rawhide.

The water and breeze caressing his naked body made him think of the girl just a few strides away. He waded as deep as he could into the water, paddled about frantically like a frog in a teacup, and at last nature relieved his aching predicament. He was thankful for that, though he couldn't help but think it was a shocking sad waste.

III

They were up before dawn and breakfasted on the last of the fresh meat before Shea reluctantly covered over the fire that had been their companion and helper. He insisted that Socorro drink long after she protested that she was splitting.

“Sure, it's uncomfortable,” he agreed. “But we can make canteens of our bellies and use that much less of what we carry.”

He'd saved one of the buck's spikes for a dagger or tool and carried that in the snakeskin belt in the loose ends of which he'd secured the largest of the gourds and the deer bladder. The leather jug swung over his shoulder. With Socorro's rebozo kilted about him and the stiff deerhide across his shoulders, he looked barbaric enough without the strips of jerky fastened on the back of the hide to finish drying as they traveled.

Socorro had her knife fastened about her waist in the folded rawhide scabbard Shea had made for her, and the rabbit boots were fastened at her ankles. Meal cakes and
tunas
were tied in one end of her serape which draped over head and shoulders to hold the other gourds in the opposite side, tied in the corners to hold the stoppers in place.

She looked regretfully at the sheltering tree, the savior water hole, the sand where they'd slept these past ten nights. “I'm sad to leave, Shea. This has seemed—
pues
, almost like home.”

“We'll find a better one,” he promised. “One where we won't have to worry about
Areneños
dropping in.”

“If we go north, we'll be in Apache lands.” She shrugged. “Much farther east are the fierce Comanches who raid Mexico each fall for slaves, mules and horses. They even raid the Tejanos who are said to have horns and eat babies raw.” She frowned up at him, hurrying to match his steps which he shortened to fit hers. “You've been in Texas. Is it true, the horns?”

Shea laughed at her perplexity. “Never mind,
chiquita
. Texans, the ones who aren't Mexican, look like any other Yanquis; in fact most of them came from Tennessee best as I can figure.” He gestured to the north. “What else is ahead of us?”

“Far northeast, hundreds on hundreds of miles through the deserts and mountains of the Apache, is Santa Fe. Beyond its province of New Mexico is the United States, though now that you say it has won the war with Mexico, I suppose it will take over all that region as well as California.”

“How do you feel about that?”

Her brow furrowed and at last she sighed. “Perhaps I should be very angry, but the truth is, Shea, that the Mexican government hasn't been able to defend the frontiers. My father often talked of it. The Apache laugh at the few soldiers in the forts or presidos. Missions and ranches have been abandoned. California and New Mexico are separated from Mexico by this vast wilderness controlled by Indians. Some of them, the Pima and Papago, are friendly enough, but the Apache terrorize them, too.” She shrugged again. “I think most Mexicans of the frontier want protection from the Apache and are past caring who gives it!”

“I'm not keen on winding up in country the United States may claim,” Shea said. “It's true Michael and I deserted before war actually broke out, which is why we weren't hanged, but since I didn't wear their iron yoke at hard labor, some army officer who saw this brand and remembered the San Patricios might give me a fair amount of trouble.”

“Sonora stretches far north,” she reassured him. “There are trappers in the mountains, but otherwise the Yanquis seem to have no interest in it.”

“It lies between the rest of the United States and California,” Shea growled. “California has ports for the China trade. Right now American ships have to go all the way around Cape Horn. First thing you know, there'll be soldiers and railroads and settlers flocking west. If the northern part of Sonora's the best route, you can bet the Americans will grab it!”

“I say they're welcome if they control the Apaches!”

Shea sucked in a disgusted breath. “Spare me the blue-bellies and I'll take care of the Apache!”

She shook her head. “You don't understand about Apaches. They're dreaded throughout New Mexico, Sonora and Chihuahua by the Pueblo Indians and Pima and Papago as much as by white settlements. Apaches call Mexican stockmen their herders who raise sheep, cattle and mules for them. For two hundred years they've been at war with Spain or Mexico.”

“Two hundred years!” Shea whistled. “Sounds like England and Ireland!”

“Spain created a Commandancy General of the Interior Provinces for the single need of fighting off Apaches. There were special
compañias volantes
, flying companies, cavalry to swiftly pursue raiders. But since Mexico won its freedom from Spain twenty-six years ago, the government has been too busy to spare much worry for the frontier. In order to get rid of the domination of the Spanish-born, Mexican Centralists, wealthy conservatives and the church allied briefly with the Federalists who stood for more equality and a loose federation of states. Once Spain withdrew, the two factions started a struggle for power. It's gone on ever since.”

“And lately Mexico has had to fight the Americans.”

“Yes. The Apache control the wilderness. Have no doubt about that!” She added bitterly, “The
Proyecto de Guerra
has just made things worse!”

“What's that?”

“Sonora created a special fund in 1835 to pay for scalps of Apaches. A hundred pesos for a man, fifty for a woman, twenty-five for children.”

“God above!” His stomach turned at the thought. “Women? Babies?”

“Some say they should pay more for women since without them the tribe would die out.”

These words from Socorro's sensitive mouth convinced him of the implacable hatred between Mexicans and Apaches. “But you say it hasn't worked?”

“Scalp hunters have taken hair from friendly Indians, too. They've even killed Mexicans and collected for them! And, of course, it's infuriated the Apache. They raid worse than ever.”

He decided not to tell her his low opinion of the fighting abilities of her countrymen. Whatever else could be said about the United States Army, it had been outnumbered tremendously all the way. Why, at Churubusco, there'd been fifteen thousand Mexicans against six thousand Americans.

But the frontier Americans were a ferocious lot, often carrying vicious Bowie knives in addition to better firearms than most Mexicans had.

Mexico had no small-arms factories and used mostly European discards like the Jaeger, a Prussian flintlock.

Flintlocks were fired by a spark and couldn't be trusted in rain when the power was damp or the spark failed. Many U.S. soldiers had percussion rifles. A watertight percussion cap held powder that could be ignited by a blow.

The Texas Rangers were equipped with Colt revolvers, fantastic guns that could fire six times without reloading.

Of course, Shea hadn't blamed the poor common Mexican soldiers for not wanting to fight. Dragged from their homes and families who often knew starvation without them, brutally drilled and treated, the peons fought a lot better than anyone could have expected. But if troops like that had been the defense of the frontier, it was no wonder the Apache ruled the roost.

“This ranch we're headed for,” he said. “What do you know about it?”

“Only that it's there. Enrique told me as he was dying. He used to take trade goods to Tubac and Tucson. The ranch must have been one of his stops.”

“Do you know the name of that mountain?”

“It's called Pinacate for the black beetle found hereabouts. Enrique told me when we first sighted it that the Papagos think one of their principal gods, Elder Brother, has one home in a cave there. His other dwelling is at Baboquivari, further northwest. It's also said that Padre Kino, a Jesuit who founded many Sonoran missions, climbed Pinacate and from there could see to the gulf and the Vermilion Sea, or Sea of Cortez, while beyond, westward, he saw Baja California.”

“That must have been a rare sight. But right now I'd rather spy that ranch!”

The morning cool was gone. They stopped talking since that took energy and dried the mouth. At mid-morning Shea called a halt beneath a big paloverde in a dry arroyo.

They drank the contents of one gourd rather than sipping just enough to wet their mouths. “I'm for drinking what we need as long as we have it,” Shea said. “We can travel faster that way and feel a lot better. If you agree.”

“It's all in God's hands. But,” she added practically, “let's have some chunks from that hundred-headed cactus yonder and carry some with us when we go on.”

Shea, with great care because of the vicious curving thorns, carved off the top of one protrusion and took out a big piece of the pulp. They ate slices of it along with a few bites of venison and walked till the sun was straight above.

They had been following the cañon from the top. Now it ended in a jumble of boulders and rocks scattered with ironwood and acacia. Resting in the shade, they ate and drank.

“Might as well sleep if we can,” suggested Shea. “Stirring around in this heat makes us need more water. If we leave midafternoon we can walk till twilight unless we're real lucky and find water.”

They both slept, finding a sandy hollow between trees and rocks. As they drank from their third and last gourd before starting on, Shea had a nightmarish flash of crawling through the lava, drinking his few pitiful drops of urine. He couldn't stand that again, but, Mary Mother, it mustn't happen to Socorro!

Of course, back down the cañon was water. But they couldn't stay at that
tinaja
forever, they had to make the break. Even so, walking away from the end of the cañon gave Shea a strange feeling and he guessed Socorro felt it too. They were leaving their place of refuge and familiarity.

They made for Pinacate, luminous blue to the northwest, following animal trails as often as possible, several times detouring to see if there was water at the end of a promising track.

All they found were crusted hollows. Shea had tried to keep oriented by looking back frequently and lining the
tinaja
cañon up between a distant pyramid-shaped cone and a long reddish crater. If they didn't find water tomorrow, he'd leave Socorro with the deer bladder and gourds filled from the jug and take that back to the
tinaja
. If he got back to her with two-thirds of the jug, it'd carry them an extra day. By then, even if they found no water, surely they'd make the ranch.