A companion piece to DAWN

 

At first he ran. The adrenaline sang through his veins and his goal was speed, speed and the need to put distance between him and this place, these events. He threw the horse at the landscape, bent low over the saddle, urging it forward, his shoulders and back tense and his ears tuned for the sound of pursuit.

Gradually, though, when no pursuit materialized he started to relax and began to think, to plan. He eased the pace of the horse and let himself become more aware of the territory through which he passed. He studied it, drew in the way of it. Then he began to use it.

Employing every trick he knew, and he knew a lot, he faded like a shadow at high noon into the harsh and arid landscape.

Ten miles to the North and almost two hours later he came out of an arroyo onto a reef of solid rock and shale. The arroyo was a popular passageway for wild horses and cattle. His tracks were now just another set of indentations in the shifting sand; the rock would hide where he changed directions. Taking stock of his surroundings, he headed for a boulder-strewn ridge a mile or two in the distance.

Using what cover was available he approached the hill. Man and horse climbed the ridge moving stealthily from shadow to tree to the lee of a leaning bolder. They crossed the summit at a point where a group of straggly trees and shrubs disguised their silhouette against the skyline.

He stopped on the far side, a few yards down from the top of the ridge. The horse shook its mane and grunted in pleasure when its girth was loosened and it was tied in the sparse shade of a straggly Palo Verde. It blew out a rolling snort and reached for a patch of sun-seared grass.  Johnny crabbed his way back to the ridgeline. Hunkered down in the dubious shelter of a half dead bush, he settled in to watch his back trail. With a blade of grass between his lips and his arms resting on his drawn up knees, he scanned for any indication that he was hunted.

The sun had almost reached its zenith and the heavy heat pressed down on the landscape like a flatiron, forcing life to retreat. Nothing moved but the wind and the shimmering waves of heat. He watched intently for a time then breathing out a sigh, he settled in and allowed his mind to travel back over the morning’s events. He’d forced the images and feelings back and down in order to concentrate on escape. Now they pushed their way to the front of his mind.

Ramon, he thought, and Paco and Ticho, the blood and the smells and the shattering sound came rushing back with a vengeance. He shook his head and ran a hand over his face. No, he wasn’t ready to face those memories yet. Instead he focused on the other amazing event of the morning. An angel in a three-piece suit, driving a team of mismatched bays, arriving in the nick of time to snatch Johnny Madrid from the jaws of death.

He shook his head and grinned. Who’d have believed it? And not only a rescue, but the man offered a thousand dollars, and here his grin faded, if Johnny would spend an hour of time with Murdoch Lancer.

Murdoch Lancer, well well, now there was a name to conjure with. His very own daddy, Johnny snorted. This morning’s rescue was the first thing the son of a bitch had ever done for him and it didn’t begin to pay the debt he owed. Not nearly enough to pay for the way he’d thrown the two of them out. Not close to enough to make up for all the shit that followed.  Nope, to Johnny’s mind, that was a blood debt.

A movement out on the desert floor caught his eye and his focus sharpened. No, he sighed in relief, just a coyote out looking for lunch. Good luck, amigo, he thought. A smile crinkled the corners of his eyes as he watched the small predator pause in its purposeful journey to check out the litter piled against the base of a cactus. Not finding anything to his liking, the coyote cocked its leg and then trotted off, intent on his hunt.

Johnny returned to his thoughts and the eyes that just a moment ago had sparkled with humor turned cold. Lancer. He hadn’t thought of him in a long time. He’d always meant to pay his old man a visit, get some answers, keep a promise. But for some reason, he’d never gotten around to it. Now the son of a bitch had issued an invite, an invite with a thousand dollar hook. He could think of only one reason for an offer like that.  He’d bet that whole thousand that his ‘father’ wasn’t lookin’ for a warm family reunion. The old man wanted Johnny Madrid. His mouth quirked into a bitter smile. And Johnny Madrid he was gonna get. Johnny wondered if the bastard had any idea what it was he’d just asked into his life.

High, thin and lonely, the cry of a hawk cut through the sweltering silence. Johnny took one more hard look. Still nothing moved. Satisfied, he rose and made his way back to the horse, tightened the girth and swung up into the saddle. They started on, heading north.

The land stretched out in front of him, lifeless, limitless, empty and available for as far as the eye could see. No walls, his mind whispered, no bars, no boots or chains or whips. He let out a sigh and released another bit of the tension that he wasn’t even aware he carried.  Limitless space, he thought, limitless possibilities. Suddenly he laughed. He threw his arms wide, turned his face to the sun and he laughed. The horse flicked his ears back at the sound, he could feel no hand on the reins but the weight on his back was perfectly balanced and controlled so when the triumphant shout echoed across the desert floor he merely lengthened his stride and surged ahead.

They pushed on through the heat of the day, headed north. Johnny snagged some green mesquite pods from a tree they’d passed. He chewed on those, spitting out the hard seeds. Late in the afternoon they came across a well-traveled game trail and followed it to a natural stone tank nestled in a jumble of boulders. Still filled with water from the winter rains, the little oasis provided a welcome respite. Johnny watered the horse and allowed it to graze. He refilled the canteen that had been strapped to his ‘borrowed’ saddle and dunked his head and shoulders in the cool water. They rested there for an hour and resumed their trek, heading north.

Their shadows stretched out impossibly long in the last of the afternoon light when they stumbled on another water source. A small stream trickled through the bottom of a sloping gully. Another couple of weeks and it would be dried up and gone, but for now it would provide enough water for man and beast. Normally Johnny would have kept on traveling into the cool of the evening but he’d pushed the horse hard and he himself was long past tired. The weeks of captivity (or was it months, he’d lost track) the beatings, the poor food had taken their toll. Once again images surged into his mind, blood and cordite, voices raised in anger and despair, sudden flashes of scintillating pain. He forced them down and concentrated instead on what he had to do right now. 

His camp, such as it was, was made in the shelter of an outcrop of solid rock and tumbled stone that he hoped would retain the heat of the day and give him some comfort through the cold desert night. He didn’t plan on lighting a fire. He’d seen no sign of pursuit but some chances weren’t worth taking. He had nothing to eat but again he didn’t feel comfortable firing the gun. Sound traveled far in the desert quiet. He could do without food for another day. It wouldn’t be the first time.

The horse was settled for the night and made comfortable. A place was made for Johnny’s own bed, with the saddle pad as a mattress and the saddle as a pillow. Everything was done but he was restless. God knows he was tired, worn out and ragged, but he couldn’t seem to settle. He paced the perimeter of the camp, checked the horse again and finally sat down by his saddle and cleaned the gun as best he could. He sighed and leaned back, using the saddle as a backrest. The stars overhead filled the sky with splendor and he let his mind roam.

As soon as he crossed the border he’d get a hot meal and a bath and a shave. Mother of God, what he’d give to be clean again! To be rid of the lingering stink of that cell and the sour sweat that had washed over him on that bloody hillside. He shook his head and banished those images.

Boots, he needed boots. Sandals were no good for riding. He’d already rubbed a raw spot on the outside of his ankle. And new clothes, he grinned, something bright and loud that shouted of life and living, not this empty, dead white. He looked with loathing at the dirty cotton he wore. Prison clothing, peon clothing. Flashes of white cotton blooming red in the harsh morning sun invaded his mind. He scowled, sat up straight, and wrapped his arms around his knees.

A drink, oh yeah, he’d like a drink. Tequila, a bottle of the good stuff, and maybe something warm and soft to drink it with. His smile faded as he remembered that the last drink he’d had had been shared with Ramon and Paco before…. He frowned again and shifted restlessly, disciplining his thoughts once more.

Yup, he’d have it all, just as soon as he reached the border, a bath, and food, clothes and a woman.  He wondered how the women who’d been left behind by their failed ‘revolution’ were faring. He frowned again and picked up a small stone, examining it then running his thumb again and again over its rough surface.

He’d take care of everything once he got to the border. Once he got out of Mexico everything would be fine. His lips thinned. Then maybe he’d feel more like himself.

Luckily he had the means to buy what he needed. Earlier this morning, before heading north, he’d circled around to visit a certain distinctive rock formation. He’d kept a stash there, well hidden. Runnin’ money, squirreled away for a day like this. So tomorrow he’d…his head came up suddenly. Tomorrow. He drew in a sharp breath. This morning, last night, there wasn’t going to be a tomorrow. Suddenly he could feel his heart pounding in his breast and he drew in another deep breath. He reached for the canteen to ease his ash dry throat but stopped halfway, staring at his hand. It was trembling, shaking like a leaf in the wind. He closed his fist, squeezing till the knuckles were white, willing the tremor away. His heart beat harder and his breath came in ragged gasps but no matter how hard he struggled there wasn’t enough air.  Eyes wide with naked fear he looked around the camp. Mother of God, what’s happening to me? He drew up his knees, wrapped his arms around them and buried his head in the dusty fabric. He pulled in tight on himself, fighting the strange feelings rushing through his body and the images that flashed and flamed in his mind, clawing desperately for control.

A low guttural groan slipped past clenched teeth, causing the horse to raise its head and stare. Its long jaws moved slowly as it chewed the sparse grass and watched the man rock, again and again, back and forth where he sat huddled on the stony ground. 

It will pass, he whispered. Hold on and it will pass. He repeated it over and over again to himself. Hold on and it will pass. And eventually it did. His breathing evened out and slowly his heart stopped beating wildly, like a wild thing trying to escape from his chest.

He drew in a deep ragged breath, and then another. It’s leaving he murmured and raised his head. It’s gone. 

But it left him wrung out, drained and shaken. His muscles felt like water and his shoulders and arms ached where he’d held on tight to keep himself from flying apart into the darkness. What was it? Dios mio, what happened? He was Johnny Madrid, gunfighter, cool and in control. The man he was didn’t break down and shake like a woman! His breathing started to quicken again and he clamped down on it, hard. He wouldn’t allow it again. The prison, yes, it must have been the prison and the bad food and the fever he’d run after they’d used their whip on him. It must be that. That and the day today, spent in the hot sun with no hat. That’s what it was. That’s what it must have been. He took a deep breath and stood. It wouldn’t happen again. Ever.

He wandered over to one of the still warm stones and settled his shoulders against it, breathing in the starlight and the velvet darkness, letting the soft night settle into the core of him and sooth his raveled spirit. He needed sleep, was desperate for it but he wasn’t ready to risk it yet. He turned around, placed his crossed arms on the rock and lifted his eyes to the sky and then drew in a sharp breath of surprise. He smiled.

There she was, the queen of the night sky, La Luna. He had bid her a sad good-by this morning just before dawn yet here she was, waiting for him again.

“Buenas noches, mi señora. Estoy todavía aquí”. He lowered his head to the rough surface of the rock and shuddered.

 

Fini

 

“Buenas noches, mi señora. Estoy todavía aquí.”.. - Good evening, my lady. I’m still here.