Vengeance Road (23 page)

“Tell us a story, Lil,” I says.

“Why? 'Cus I'm Apache and in this moment our folklore might appease you rather than annoy?”

“'Cus I don't know any good stories—how 'bout that?” I says with a glare.

She pulls her knees to her chest and considers this a moment. Jesse quits sketching in his notebook to stoke the fire, which is lit more to keep away any hungry coyotes than it is to provide warmth. Sparks go dancing.

“I think I know of the mine you seek,” Lil says finally.

That gets all our attention.

“The Needle, Black Top Mesa—they are all within distance of a mine I know.”

“Those are landmarks from Pa's journal,” I says, surprised. “You been poking yer nose in things, Lil?”

“Only once. I asked to look, but you did not answer. I figured you'd have said no if it were important.”

“Asked? You never asked.”

“Yesterday morning, while you slept.”

“Damn it, Lil. Course I didn't answer if I were sleeping. You don't do that. You don't just take things that ain't yers.”

She inclines her chin. “White Eyes take our land and Ussen's gold. They take it as though it were always theirs. Least I put the journal back after looking.”

“I still—”

“Hang fire,” Jesse says. “Who cares if she read the journal or not.” He turns to Lil. “Do you know how to find the mine?”

Lil sits a little taller and adjusts her smock dress. “Before I came unto this earth, my tribe faced conflict three moons into my mother's fifteenth year. A group of Mexicans rode into the canyons from the south and traveled beyond what the journal calls Weavers Needle, and into a gorge east of a black-topped mesa.

“They came to retrieve gold from a family mine. A treaty was to be signed soon and the mountains would then belong to White Eyes. The leader of the Mexicans, Miguel Peralta, feared his family grant would be ignored and that he would lose his mine forever. He told us this when our tribe warned them to leave the yellow iron be.”

I feel a chill spread over my limbs.
Peralta.
Like the trail approaching the mines from the south, the very route I reckon Rose is taking.

“Our men warned the Peraltas to pack their mules and ride home. The gold belonged to no man, and words on a bit of paper could not make it so. But the Peraltas dug there, pulling the yellow iron from a deep pit for days.

“We tried to discourage them. Our warriors entered their camp as they worked, slaying mules but no men. Still the Mexicans would not take heed. So our tribe gathered among the ridges, hundreds strong, and when the Peraltas left for Sonora our arrows flew like rain. I do not know if any survived, but gold lay scattered there for years to come. The story has been told at our stronghold many moons since, and I have walked the trails on the hottest days to show my gratitude to the warriors who defended Ussen.”

“So you know where it is?” Jesse says, sitting straighter.

“I do not. I have never seen the mine.”

“But the trail. If yous walked the trail where yer people ambushed the Mexicans, you at least know the proper canyon, and points near the mine.”

She shakes her head. “I cannot take you there.”

“What! Why not?” His voice is getting too loud, the veins in his neck too defined. “You can save us time and guesswork deciphering map clues. You can take us clear to the right canyon.”

“You have no more claim to the mine than the Peraltas,” Lil says.

“Goddamn it!” Jesse snarls, jumping to his feet and pacing. “What in the hell is the point of having a scout when she don't show you the way nowhere?” He turns on me. “You get her to see reason, Kate. She's yer scout and we had a deal. We help you get Rose if'n the gold can be ours.”

“Gold?” Lil says, turning toward me. “You said you did not want the gold, that you would not touch it.”

“I
don't
want it,” I says. “I don't want nothing but Rose and his men dead.”

“And your deal with them?” Lil glances 'cross the fire at the boys. “It conflicts with ours. You lied.”

“I didn't.”

“I cannot help you,” she says, standing. “I
will
not help you.”

“Lil, come on.”

But she goes on marching for her bedroll, her shoulders held back firm, her dark braids swinging.

“Where's the blasted mine?” Jesse shouts after her. “Goddamn it, tell us. Tell us you worthless, no-good—”

“Jesse!”

“She knows, Kate.” He throws an arm after Lil. “She knows everything! We could hike straight to the damned thing and she won't help. Yer scout is worthless, and I ain't gonna apologize for something that's true.”

There's a glint in his eyes I ain't never seen before—an angry fire. I remember Pa's note to me in Wickenburg, that warning.
Gold makes monsters of men.
The promise of riches is turning Jesse into someone I don't recognize.

“It's yer own damn fault,” I says to him.

He glowers. “Pardon?”

“I told you not to mention the gold round her, or our deal, and you did. So don't go cursing me or Lil for something that's yer own error. And don't you dare try to preach to me 'bout lying to her by omission, or how I'm the villain here. I'm just trying to avenge my father so his soul can rest. But you? Yous got this lust for gold, this burning desire to do whatever yer father couldn't, and yer so damn drunk on the thought of success, you can't even realize how selfish it is.
And
you lost me my scout.”

“Yer . . . I could . . .” Jesse takes a step toward me, away, back at me again. “Christ almighty!” he roars, and stomps off toward his bedroll.

Will's still sitting there on the other side of the fire, watching with interest as he cleans his pistols.

“Thanks for backing me up,” I says to him.

He shrugs. “I ain't the one who struck a deal that conflicts with another I already got going.”

I'm so mad, I could throw something. Lurching to my feet, I storm away from the fire and pace round a cactus till my blood ain't boiling so hot.

I can't change that the truth's out there, that Jesse spilled everything and Lil's prolly gonna walk at first light. Alls I can do now is focus on getting to the mine and them Rose Riders on my own.

My mind races back through Lil's story. I remember Pa talking 'bout his first days in the Territory. He'd been in his early teens, heading west with his father and damn near half the country, hoping to get rich on gold in California. The land they traveled 'cross was all considered Yankee soil back then. I remember him saying so. But just a year prior, it had belonged to the Mexicans, and war had raged over borders. I reckon the treaty Lil mentioned is that of Guadalupe Hidalgo, the agreement that named much of the southwest American soil. In Arizona, everything north of the Gila River—the Superstitions included—was no longer part of Mexico.

A few years later and after gold were a bust, Pa and his father were back in Arizona, running cattle with a small crew. It were an even bigger Territory then. I remember Pa saying something 'bout a purchase that extended Arizona south in the hopes a transcontinental railroad could be built through the area. Well, that train still's barely reached Yuma, let alone Tucson, where Pa's pa took ill and never recovered, and Pa went on to meet and marry Ma.

I touch the journal, still tucked in the back of my pants, and silently curse Jesse. He'll blame this on me somehow. Tomorrow it'll be my fault Lil's gone, I just know it.

When I make my way back to camp, Lil's already asleep and the Coltons are getting ready to retire. I grab my bedroll, and as I'm unfurling it Jesse steps up behind me.

“I'm sorry,” he says. “I lost my temper. It weren't like me.”

I grunt and go on spreading out my bed.

“Want one?” he says, offering me a rolled cigarette.

I straighten. “Is it half as vile as dip?”

“Not even.”

Pa used to fancy a pipe, and it always left his shirts smelling like cedar and musk. Something 'bout the memory makes me want to smoke with Jesse now. Not 'cus I'm forgiving him but 'cus the thought of having those scents on my clothes is as close to Pa as I'm ever gonna get. I never got to smoke with him, and even though he told me it weren't fitting behavior for a lady, I think he'd like the thought of me enjoying one now in his memory. 'Sides, I ain't never been much of a lady to begin with.

I take the cigarette from Jesse and hold it between my lips. He strikes a match and steps close to light the smoke for me, using his spare hand to shield the flame from any wind. I puff on it like I seen him do. There's the subtle taste of oak and spices, then I start coughing.

“Jesus,” I says, buckled over and nearly losing a lung.

“You'll get the hang of it,” he says, smiling.

“Maybe I don't want to.”

“Say, Kate.” His voice is real serious. I straighten, the cigarette forgotten in my grasp and dangling near my knee. When I meet Jesse's gaze, his eyes are narrow like always, but there's something pained there too. He's gonna apologize and mean it. He's gonna promise to stop being such an ass.

“You wouldn't mind letting me look at that journal of yers, would you?”

I bring the smoke back to my lips, trying to mask my disappointment. I manage an inhale and exhale with only the slightest muffled cough.

“Look, it's just . . .” Jesse gazes in the direction of the cottonwoods. “I never thought this trip were smart to begin with, but I couldn't pass it up, and now we're here at the very first landmark, only it don't match the journal clues quite right. It ain't a good sign. 'Specially if yer scout cuts and runs. Will thinks the mine might be a hoax, despite her story. He said Waltz spent summer after summer in here and didn't find nothing, and we're just gonna get ourselves lost or killed or hunted by Apache.”

“And what do you think, Jesse?”

“I think Will's got a point.”

“Really?” I says, glaring. “You ain't just siding with him 'cus it's easier than standing on yer own two feet?”

“I don't do what's easiest, Kate, I do what's
right.
That's all I's ever done, and it's all I'm trying to do now. I wanna get gold for our family, the ranch, but I wanna be smart 'bout it.” He sighs heavy. “Look, I'm asking to see the journal 'cus I care 'bout you, and heck, I care 'bout myself quite a bit too and don't feel like dying in these mountains. Just 'cus yer pa said the mine exists don't make it law. I know how you can glorify a person after they's passed. I done it before myself. But did it ever dawn on you that yer pa had an awful lot of secrets? That he lied to you constantly? That maybe he didn't have everything exactly right upstairs?”

And there it is: that damn sermon. I flick my cigarette into the dirt.

“You wanna look?” I yank Pa's journal out and shove it into Jesse's chest. “Go right ahead! Be sure to let me know what you think 'bout my own sanity when yer finished.”

I turn and stalk off toward the cottonwoods, taking my bedroll with me.

“Kate, that came out wrong,” Jesse calls after me. “Hey, where are you going? Come on, Kate.”

I just walk faster.

I set up my bed beneath the sad trees and spit till the taste of tobacco's outta my mouth. When I risk a glance back, Jesse's already stretched out and reading with Will, looking anything but sorry as the fire glow plays over their features.

That night, I dream
'bout my mother, which is to say my dreams are a tangled web of clouded, foggy memories.

First I'm standing at the entrance to her and Pa's bedroom, my hand pressed 'gainst the knot-strewn door. I ain't brave enough to push it open and step through—Pa would have me by the ear—but it's cracked today, and I find the courage to peer through the slender gap.

Sun's streaming in their one window, lighting up the space. I'm young and short still and can barely see over the foot of the bed. The quilt's disheveled and lumpy. I ain't seen her in over six months. I ain't seen her in so long, I'm starting to forget what she looks like or even where we stood the last time we were together.

A memory of a kitchen that ain't ours surfaces, and a table that wobbled 'cus one leg were too short. A basket sat on it, woven with bits of brightly dyed wicker. I remember a lot of color in that house. Colors and shapes that felt like Ma. We don't got none of that stuff no more. It's like she got sick and Pa threw it all out.

Ma ain't moving in her sleep. I wonder if she might already be dead and Pa just ain't noticed. His hand reaches over my shoulder, startling me as he yanks the door shut.

“What'd I tell you 'bout staying clear of this room, Kate?”

I tilt my head back. He's towering overhead and looking mighty displeased.

“I wanna see Ma. I miss her.”

“I know you do. But I don't want you getting sick.”

“
You
get to go in the room,” I says, pouting. “You go in there every night.”

“'Cus I'm big and grown and strong. Yer little and can catch what she's got too easy. Now how's 'bout you help me with dinner while Ma sleeps?”

The memory dissolves, blowing like sand till it settles on a new moment.

Our neighbor Joe Benton is bringing me home in his cart. His dog had a litter that morning, and Pa took me over to see the pups. I watched 'em so long, he left to tend to our land. All day I stared at those tiny creatures, so plump and pudgy that they looked like rolls of dough. They couldn't even open their eyes yet.

I get a bad feeling during the ride home—a prickling sensation on my skin, a sense of dread. Something ain't right, only I got no idea how I know it.

When Joe's cart bumps over the rise separating our claim of land from his, Pa's in the distance, standing beneath our mesquite tree. It ain't till we're nearer that I can make out the shovel in his hand, the hunch to his back, the dirt he's throwing into a hole.