You've heard tales of the mountain, I'm sure. Everyone has. Why should you want to know more than tales? The truth can sometimes be disappointing; it tends to slay the imagination and gloat over her corpse. Wouldn't you rather live believing that the mountain was inhabited by a wizard of some sort, who, in the manner of Zeus, used thunder and rain as instruments of his whim? He was a man who some say was an outlaw, some say a man of God, and most prefer not to know. They preferred to leave him up there, a crazy man to hi mountain, alone to hover on the fringes of life. Only he wasn't alone. I was there, and my brother, and his daughter. But no one cares to hear that side of the story; it rather detracts from the image of a man on top of a mountain, perhaps leaning on a staff, with his white beard blowing in the wind as he guides a thunderstorm with one gnarled hand, the clouds dark behind him.
His hair wasn't even white, you know. It was dark grey, as the clouds of his storms, which he didn't actually control. Living on the mountain gives you a chance to see what the weather will do before it actually does it, and he used that to his advantage. Not that he ever needed to have a plan. He was one of those people who will go into something with no clear way of how to get out and end up, through complete improvisation, looking like he knew what he was doing all along.
His daughter, I think, inherited a little of that talent. She was a pretty thing, as unlike to me as night and day. Not that I don't have some charm, but it's wild, as wild and fierce as thunder and rain. You wouldn't call a storm pretty after all, would you? And while I tell you that there was no magic at all in the mountain man or his story, I must contradict myself, for I feel in me some of the powers of my people. The wind calls my name, and rock guides my feet, and the sun and clouds shelter me alike. The very air holds me, nestling me between earth and sky. No magic perhaps, but I feel my soul is rooted in the earth, and perhaps it tells me things that others have forgotten to listen to. Others like my mother and brother.
So, if you're sure you want to hear the tale of how the thunder man tried to leave his mountain with the help of a simple Qechua woman who hears the earth speak, I suppose I can tell you. And if the truth diminishes the legend, please don't blame me. I am but a teller of the tale.
VVVVVVVVVVV
I liked to climb up to the top of the mountain in the evenings. Not the very top; that's where my master, Pedro Rivera, prefers to sit and watch the world from high above. And that is where he heard the first rumblings of thunder that he used to change our fate. I was below, sitting in my outcropping of rocks and watching an eagle soar below. It is a fine thing, to be above and eagle, though at the moment I was wishing that we could exchange places. Would that I could fly away from this barren mountain, past the great river and the home of my people to lands unknown. The wandering of my people is in my blood, and it ran vigorously that morning as the clouds began to gather. I could feel the storm in the air that day, but the rock beneath me was unsettled. Somehow I knew this storm would be different.
VVVVVVVVVVV
"Hear that thunder, Pa?" Little Joe called to his father from his paint horse.
"Looks like we may get a little wet." Ben Cartwright glanced up at the swiftly gathering clouds.
The rider beside Ben also looked up. "El Hombre de Truenos does not like travelers crossing near his land." He said.
"El Hombre de Truenos?" Ben's oldest son, Adam asked his father's old friend.
"It's a legend in these parts. I'm surprised you haven't heard it. They say there is an old man, a wizard of sorts, in these mountains who controls the storms." He glanced from one rider to the other. "People do not go up that mountain. Those that do… sometimes they come back with tales of strange things. Sometimes they do not come back at all."
"A wizard? And you believe these legends, Sebastian?" Ben asked. He had a hard time believing that his old, level headed friend was putting much stock in myths.
"At the heart of every legend is a truth, sometimes an unpleasant one." Sebastian said.
"Either a truth or a drunk who wanted to make up a good story." Antonio Rivera, another friend of Ben's replied.
Ben laughed. "I guess that's true. Either way, I'd rather not get caught in a storm. Is there any place around here where we can shelter, Sebastian?"
"Not unless you want to go back to Colorado City." Sebastian said. "But I thought you were in a hurry to get back to your ranch?"
"Not too much of a hurry." Ben glanced at his eldest son. They had been down in San Luis for the wedding of Sebastian's daughter, and Adam had agreed to come back to the Ponderosa for a two week visit afterward. In Ben's mind, the two weeks began once they got back, so the longer the journey took, the more time he would have with the son he hadn't seen in over a year. Accompanying them were Antonio Rivera, Esteban, who Antonio referred to as his personal aide, but who Ben saw as a personal servant, and Sebastian Gonzalez.
"Well, I'm not afraid of a little water if you're not." Joe said. Ben grinned at him. Sometimes he thought his youngest son enjoyed getting drenched.
And drenched they got. It felt like they were standing under a waterfall, and soon the road began to resemble a creek.
"Ben! Let's get off the road and take shelter!" Antonio shouted above the noise of the storm.
"Alright!" Ben could barely see through the downpour as he tried to navigate his horse off the road. The wind was nearly blowing him out of his saddle.
There wasn't much more shelter once they got off the road, but there was an outcropping of rock that Ben could barely make out to navigate toward.
"Hey, Pa!" Joe hollered. "Can you hear that?"
"I can't hear anything, son!" Ben strained his ears, trying to catch whatever it was that his son heard.
"It sounds like…" he trailed off as the loud roaring filled all their ears.
Simultaneously the horses went wild, and with good reason as a wall of water burst through the trees toward them. Ben shoved his weight forward as his horse came up beneath him in a rear, forcing the animal's front legs back down. With the ground this wet and slippery, a rear could be fatal. He drove his legs into Buck's side, and the horse leaped forward. There was a rise ahead of them; if they could make it, the flood would pass by behind them. As the horse galloped he glanced back. Adam was behind him. Where was Joe? Ben tried to turn Buck around, but the horse was in a full out gallop of terror and paid no more attention to his rider than if he'd been a fly. The horse scrambled up onto the rise and tried to keep going. Ben pulled as hard as he could on one rein, and Buck twisted in a circle, rearing again. This time before Ben could get him back down, he felt the horse begin to fall sideways. There wasn't any time for Ben to even think about clearing his leg from the horse before he felt the weight of the animal crash on top of him.
Buck was instantly up and galloping away; Ben wasn't quite to spry. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adam leap from his horse and kneel beside him.
"Pa?"
"I'm alright." Ben managed. He felt dizzy – like he'd just spent the past three hours downing some expensive brandy. He clutched at his son. "Joe…"
Adam didn't answer, or if he did, Ben didn't hear it. All he heard was the endless rushing of water, and then he didn't even hear that anymore.
VVVVVVVVVVV
This is where you'll argue and say that my master knew all along that Antonio Rivera was traveling this way and had planned the storm accordingly. And this is where I will simply shrug. Who can say? Pedro Rivera had spent years in these mountains, an entire lifetime. Perhaps some god had decided that it was time for him to receive a gift, a boon if you will. But it takes a cunning man to act upon the opportunities presented to him, by the gods or no. He called me to him as the sun was just peering over the mountains, unsure if it wanted to give light to the day. The first few rays lit up his daughter, Miranda's hair, golden as the light itself. I'd always wondered what it would be like to have golden hair. It would make it harder for me to cloak myself in darkness, but it seemed to lend her a sort of purity.
"How many were there?" Miranda was asking her father. I wondered why he had told her of the travelers.
"Six."
"Six men lost in a storm." She said. "But you won't help them?"
"I may help some of them. At the moment I must think." He said. I knew the look in his eyes. He didn't need to decide what to do; he already had. But he didn't want to tell her everything.
"Think about what?"
"I would not have this opportunity pass so easily, my daughter."
"Opportunity?"
"Yes. One of the men who is now at the mercy of me and my mountain was known to me once. In another lifetime."
"Who is it?"
"My brother and your uncle. Tell me, Miranda, do you have any memories of a life beside this mountain?"
She was clearly puzzled by his abrupt question, but she knew, as I did, that her father never broached a subject without reason.
"Not really." She finally said. "I remember voices, singing me to sleep, and a woman who would kiss me goodnight. Was that my mother?"
"It was."
"Why did you ask?"
"I wanted to know if you remembered anything of the Val Rosandra. It was my ranch, also in another lifetime. Miranda, would you believe that I, your father was once one of the wealthiest men in all of Mexico?"
"What happened?" she asked. I leaned closer, for I had not heard this story either.
"My brother Antonio ruined me. The night your mother died, he made it look like I had murdered her. I escaped – with you – and took refuge in these mountains. And since then I have known no other life."
"And now your brother is one of the ones who are lost in the mountains?"
"Yes."
"What will you do?"
She is so gentle, she was surely worrying about her uncle's life despite everything her father had just told her. But he smiled at her.
"I will not kill him, not yet at any rate. As I said I must think."
"And you wish to do it alone?" she knew her father well. He did wish to be without human companionship, though not alone. He wanted me, his creature of the night. As Miranda left, he beckoned me forward.
"You heard?"
"I did. What would you have me do?"
"I wish to know more about the company. Follow them for a while, Naira. Try to keep them from finding their way back to the road if necessary, but don't show yourself to them."
"I will." I left him and climbed down the mountain as silently as a breath of wind.
There were only five of them, not six. I wondered briefly where the other was as I studied the remaining men and tried to pick out which was Antonio Rivera. Two were easy to eliminate; they were both too young, which left the three older men. One looked too much like a book keeper who had once strayed into the mountains, gotten lost, and spent the entire time blubbing until he was found again. For all his faults, Antonio would have to be a man of power, as both of the remaining two men were. One was thin and narrow, like a ridge line on a mountain, and the other looked like a stout oak tree who had weathered hundreds of seasons. I picked the former. He had shifty eyes.
"We'll just have to look for him." The oak tree was saying.
"Ben, be reasonable. We don't have any food or supplies. Even if we found Little Joe, we wouldn't be any good to him except to starve with him." The book keeper was filling out my expectations of his grit.
The oak tree – Ben, apparently – didn't take to kindly to it. He drew himself up. "We will find him, and I think I know a thing or two about surviving in the wilderness." The shouting seemed to leave him breathless; he wavered, and one of the younger men stepped forward to support him. I couldn't place him, like a rock or tree, but somehow more fluid, yet unchanging despite it all.
"What if someone went back to Colorado City to get supplies while the rest of us stayed here and searched?" he asked. "We only have one horse left anyway."
"Alright, but who will go? Sebastian?" the mountain ridge man gestured to the book keeper, but he shook his head.
"I'll stay here with Ben."
Well, maybe I was wrong about him. The other young man stepped forward.
"I will go, señor. I am the fastest rider out of us except for Mr. Cartwright, who will want to stay and look for his brother."
"True. Alright Esteban. Come back to this place with the supplies." As the younger man dashed away, Antonio placed a hand on Ben's shoulder.
"I'll take Adam and go look around. You and Sebastian stay here for a while and rest your head."
"I doubt I'll do much resting, but thanks."
"Just imagine you're back on your ranch after a hard day's work."
Adam clapped Ben on the back, and I noticed a resemblance. Father and son?
"Don't worry, Pa. Whatever Little Joe's meant for, it's not drowning; he's too stubborn for that. More like going down in a gunfight, I'd say."
The other two left, and so did I. I wanted to stay and hear more, but I also wanted to make sure that Rivera wouldn't object to a member of the party leaving. I scurried back up the mountain, and Rivera met me halfway.
"Well?" he asked.
"Your prey won't be leaving any time soon." I told him of the missing party member. "They sent one away to get more food and more people to look. The rest are staying here to search."
He looked thoughtfully past me, as if he couldn't see me at all. I was used to him staring into space and waited. Finally his gaze returned and focused on me.
"Which one is missing?"
"His name is Joe Cartwright, his older brother and father are two of the ones down there. They're ranchers."
"Ranchers." I could see his mind putting pieces together, pieces that I probably had no idea existed. He could always see more than I could, even about myself. "If it weren't for my brother, my daughter would be the heiress to the largest ranch in Mexico. Perhaps I can restore her fate." The words were murmured, not to me, but I replied to them anyway.
"You want me to find the missing son?"
"Find him before they do."
"They won't." I said. I knew where he would have been carried in the flood, if he wasn't drowned. I hoped for the sake of Rivera's plan that he wasn't.
When I first saw him, I did think he was dead. He was lying face down amid the branches, logs, and stones that the flood had torn from the mountain and then thrown aside carelessly. But when I lifted his head, he was breathing. I didn't want to leave him where he could be found, so I carried him to a place where he would be safe from anyone looking for him. Yes, I carried him; don't look so shocked. I was raised by a woman who could intimidate wildcats. The life I have, I had to fight for using both physical and mental strength. While I may not know how to bake a pie or sew a shirt, I can carry a man on my back for two miles uphill, which is what I did. Then I went to report to my master that I had found the younger Cartwright and that he was alive and hidden.
"I'll send my daughter down to the place you say. Make sure she finds him."
I had thought that was his plan. It was sound enough, Miranda had never seen another man before in her life, except for my brother and her father, but she was a woman, even though she didn't fully understand what that meant. She would do her father's unspoken bidding.
I left Miranda with Joe Cartwright and went back down to see what his family was doing. Only no one was in the clearing where I had left them. I searched the ground for tracks and followed the first set I found. They led me to the older Cartwright, Adam. He walked with his eyes on the ground, searching for any sign of his brother. I followed him, captivated by his intent eyes and resolved demeanor. When he paused to sit on a rock, I crept closer, and saw on his face the concern and exhaustion he couldn't let his father see. My heart went out to him.
He stood and turned his back to me, and then in one smooth motion, he suddenly spun around and drew his gun.
"Who's there?"
How had he seen me?
"A spirit." I said.
"Come out into the open."
I stepped forward.
When he saw that I saw a girl, the hand that was holding the gun relaxed slightly. "A spirit?"
"A spirit of the mountain. I come to answer thy best pleasure, be't to swim, to dive into the fire, to ride on the curl'd clouds, to thy strong bidding task."
"Shakespeare." I could hear his surprise.
"The Tempest. One of his best works."
"I'd have to disagree."
"Oh? And are you one for the tragedies then?"
"No, I just find The Tempest to be a little too far fetched and mythological."
The corners of my mouth twitched. Pedro Rivera had said the same thing, but I, romantic dreamer that I am, stood by my favorite of Rivera's books.
"So you prefer…?"
"Twelfth Night. But I doubt you came to discuss the works of William Shakespeare."
"True. I came to deliver a message." I said.
"A message?"
"Yes." I stepped forward. "May I tell it to you?"
"What is it?"
I took another step, and like lighting my fist shot out and grabbed his wrist, my fingers digging into a pressure point. He dropped the gun, and I shoved him backwards, sticking out my foot, so he would trip against it. He hit his head on the ground and laid there for the moment, unmoving. I turned and fled before he could get up.
"My message is not to trust strangers, Adam Cartwright." I said as I and disappeared into the woods.
VVVVVVVVVVV
At first everything had been dark and hard. Then slowly it had lightened, and he felt a gentle throbbing that grew stronger with every minute. Joe tried to go back to the dark place where there was no sharp pain in his head, but the light was persistent. Then he felt something else, something cool and damp on his forehead. He opened his eyes. Above him there was a soft face framed by hair that made him think of sunshine. Her eyes were the darkest blue he'd ever seen, like they were fathoms deeper than any other blue eyes.
"Am I dead?" he whispered.
"No." she smiled slightly, and instantly her eyes lightened, as if the sun were shining from beneath them rather than on them.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Miranda Rivera. And who are you?"
"Joe Cartwright." His throat felt like dry dust, but he couldn't take his gaze off her eyes.
"You hit your head." She went on. "It must have been in the flood."
Memory came rushing back to Joe. "I fell off my horse when he bolted. There was water… I don't remember anything else."
"You're lucky."
"Yeah." He started to stand, but as he did, the world seemed to try to tip him over. Miranda's arms gently lowered him back down.
"You shouldn't move."
"I have to find the others and see if they're alright."
"You're not well."
"They could be hurt."
She bit her lip thoughtfully. "I'll tell my father to send Usco to look for them."
"Usco?"
"He's an Indian that serves my father. If I tell him, will you rest?"
"Alright." Joe didn't like it, but it was better than nothing, and he was too tired to argue anyway. His head felt like someone was trying to squeeze it in.
"I'll go tell him now." She stood.
"Wait." Joe reached out and caught her hand. Her skin was as soft and cool as water. "Will you come back?"
She smiled again. "Yes."
VVVVVVVVVVV
Rivera did send my brother Usco out, but not to look for the Cartwrights. He gave him very strict orders to stay out of sight so that Miranda wouldn't see him and think her father was up to something, which of course he was. To say my brother was unpleased with his orders was to say the Colorado River was a trickle. But he went as Rivera bid, though he complained loudly to me on his way down the mountain.
"I go into exile while you stay here and lick the feet of your beloved master." He putted a dirty intonation on the word, but I ignored it. I called Rivera master because he not only saved my life but also gave me a new one. It was a sign of respect.
"Perhaps if you were a little more amiable, Senor Rivera would treat you better." I said, a little haughtily. But Usco had been a favorite of my mother, who had beaten me, so I didn't mind rubbing in his face that now I was the favorite.
"Amiable? Such tall words for such a short guera."
"And you would not bother pointing it out if you were not jealous of the fact that I can read and you can't."
He spit. "Who needs to read? You'll never leave this mountain as long as Rivera is alive."
"Neither will you, and not because you choose to stay, but because you're too lazy to leave." I turned and walked away, reflecting that my brother and I behaved very differently from Adam and his brother. If I thought my brother had drowned in a flood, I would have brushed my hands off for good riddance, and if I found him alive on the bank, I would have thrown him back in.
Even though he hadn't sent me, I went back that evening. I sat on the edge of their community like a beggar site at the edge of a fire, close enough to know there is warmth, but not to feel it.
Adam was skinning a rabbit they had found, and Ben was lighting a fire. I assumed the other two were looking for firewood, so I hid myself in a tree in case one of them saw me on their way back to the camp.
"Once Esteban gets back with supplies and more men, we'll have a better chance at finding him." Ben was saying. I could hear an 'if he's alive' left unspoken at the end of his sentence. I wished I could tell him what I knew – that his son was alive and being cared for by one of earth's angels at the moment.
The son didn't reply immediately, and I sensed his desperate need to comfort and support his father. Watching them reminded me of watching my brother catch fish out of the river with his bare hands; no matter how many times I observed it, I couldn't understand it, much less hope to mirror the action myself. And was it any wonder? My own mother had tied me to a tree and left me to die, and while I had observed Rivera's protectiveness of Miranda, there was a large part of him that he kept from her; even after telling her about her true heritage, he still kept much of himself from her. Not so with these two, who I could easily imagine as two trees that started out as separate and then were so close that as they grew they became one at the base. It was a mystery to me, one that I couldn't figure out.
"We'll find him. And soon we'll all be back at the Ponderosa." Adam finally said.
"Yes. Together for a little while." There was a longing in his tone that I couldn't understand.
"Maybe longer. I know how much you've needed me there now."
"We've always needed you, Adam. But you had to go after your dreams like I did."
"Don't deny it Pa, you've needed me there more of late, now that Hoss…" he trailed off, and I cocked my head from the branch I was perched on. Who was this Hoss? Another son?
"I would have stayed longer after the funeral, but it was too much."
"I know. I was the one who told you to go, remember?"
"Yes. But that was then. Now…" with each sentence he left unfinished, I grew more interested.
"I chased my dreams, like you said. But there's something to be said for family too." He finally concluded.
I climbed down and left, having had my fill of being a beggar watching a banquet. Besides, I had another party to check on, this time a party of two. I climbed up to where I had left Joe Cartwright and Miranda. I sensed a presence a short distance away and saw Rivera, watching as well. I wondered if he was more interested in the development of his plan or concerned about his daughter's virtue.
"Your plan goes smoothly." I said quietly as I approached him.
"For now."
"Have they been talking long?"
"All afternoon. Her heart beats in time with his." As he spoke a sadness filled his voice that I didn't understand. He wanted her to leave this mountain and go on to another life. Later I learned that no father wants to let go of his daughter, no matter how better her life will be for it.
"I'm still not sure about his intentions though." Rivera continued. "He'll need to be tested."
"In what manner?"
"Your brother is gone, but his chores will still need to be done. That will do to start. Can you think of anything else?"
"I would like a house, Señor."
"A house?"
"Why not? So long as he is building."
Rivera let out a quiet laugh, and he put a hand on my shoulder. "I taught you too well. Stay here; I don't want him to see you, or her for that matter."
I hung back as he stepped forward and settled down eagerly to watch my master in action.
"Miranda." His voice boomed like his thunder. "How is it that I find you here, alone with this scoundrel?"
"Scoundrel?" Joe jumped to his feet, and I instantly liked him. He looked like a young pup ready to attack and old hound, unaware that the hound could rip his throat out if he chose. But I felt that even if he was aware of it, he would attack anyway.
"Yes, scoundrel. You lure my daughter alone into the wilderness, away from her father's watchful eye, and claim to only be talking?"
"I do." Joe snapped.
"Father, please, we were just talking." Poor Miranda. She clung to her father's arm, willing him to believe her when he had been standing above them the whole time and knew her words to be truth.
"Talking of what? Love?"
She hung her head.
"Miranda, love is a word that young men use rather loosely."
I nearly laughed when Joe took a swing at Rivera. Miranda shrieked, not sure whether to be on the side of her father or newfound lover. Luckily for her, the fight didn't last long; Rivera knocked Joe down like he was made of straw.
"Please, father, he does love me." At first I thought Miranda was rushing to her father's side, but instead she knelt next to Joe. From somewhere inside me there came a twinge, and I wondered briefly if a man would ever want to fight for me.
"Is that what you say, lad?" Rivera asked.
"Yes." Joe stood bravely, but I noticed that he leaned on Miranda just a little for support. "I do love her."
"Words are cheap." Rivera spat.
"Not when they're true." Joe glared straight at his eye with a gaze so intense I wondered how Rivera could stand it.
"Prove your worth then."
"How?"
"I'll give you a task. If you can do it by nightfall the day after tomorrow, then I'll accept your suit of my daughter's hand."
"What's the task?" Joe asked steadily. I was impressed; the thought of wavering didn't even seem to enter his head.
Rivera glanced up at the rock I was behind. "Build me a house."
VVVVVVVVVVV
I hadn't been serious at all when I'd told Rivera that I wanted a house. In truth I was happy sleeping under the stars and going into Rivera's log cabin when the weather was bad. I suppose it was a good thing I didn't really want a house, because even if Joe Cartwright managed to finish it, it probably wouldn't be much to look at, more like a shack than a house. Part of me wanted to go and watch, but another part wanted to check on the rest of the group. Maybe the earth was speaking to me again, whispering treachery in the night air. Who knows? I hurried back to their camp.
At first I thought that everyone was sleeping at first, but then I heard whispers. The first voice I recognized was Antonio Rivera's, a whispery hiss that barely reached my ears.
"So now that you've given away your only child, what other life ambitions do you have planned?"
"That's part of the reason I agreed to go with Ben back to Nevada after the wedding." Sebastian's voice was less snakelike; instead it was fringed with a bitterness that I hadn't noticed before.
"Really?"
"I was thinking of buying some land, maybe turning it into a ranch like the Ponderosa."
"How would you like to own the Ponderosa?"
"Ben Cartwright would never sell it."
"No. But he wouldn't have to if he were dead."
"If he were dead it would go to his sons."
Antonio gestured to the sleeping forms. "There's one of them. The other is most likely dead. All it would take is a couple of shots."
I shivered at the slow grin that crossed Sebastian's face. He would do it and never think about it again. Rivera had told me not to be seen, but I couldn't let the only two decent members of this group die at the hands of rogues. I slipped from one shadow to another until I was next to the younger of the two men sleeping. His chest rose and fell steadily as if he were blissfully unaware of anything, but even in sleep his face still carried the worry for his brother. I lowered my face close to his ear, and whispered softly.
"Awake, if you want to see another day." Then I was gone, back to my hiding place. He stirred and opened his eyes. Instantly he saw Sebastian and Antonio with their guns drawn.
"What is it?" he asked. I saw his own hand creep to his gun.
"I thought I heard something. Maybe a mountain lion." Sebastian said.
Adam studied him in silence. I could see his mind was working, but I couldn't tell what was on it. It was plain he wasn't sure whether to believe them or not.
"I'll keep watch." he finally said. "In case it comes back."
The two villains couldn't argue; their chance was gone for the moment. I debated stepping forward and telling Adam what had happened, but I didn't. He wouldn't trust me after this past afternoon, and I didn't want to fail Rivera. I would just have to keep a close eye on things down here.
VVVVVVVVVVV
The light of a fire and the sound of someone singing had drawn Usco out of the woods. For a moment the two men stared at each other, then the stranger asked in a voice low with fear,
"Are you El Hombre de Truenos?"
"No." Usco said. "Just a man wandering in the woods."
"Oh." the stranger held out a thin metal bottle. "Want a drink?"
"Sure." Usco didn't know what was in the bottle, but when he took a drink, it felt like he had swallowed a flame. He forced his face out of a grimace and nodded, as if he drank that stuff all the time.
"Pretty good, hey?"
"Not bad." Usco said. He took another swallow. It went down easier that time. "What are you doing here?"
"On my way to Colorado City, but my horse went lame. You?"
"I'm a wanderer." Usco said. "My name is Usco."
"Esteban García."
Usco took another sip. "This stuff is really pretty good."
"Ought to be for what I paid for it."
"Hmph, money." Usco spit. "A man can get nowhere without it."
"And those who have it want to go nowhere."
"Exactly." Usco suddenly felt like his tongue was talking with another force. "Like that old man. He has money, tons of it, but what does he do? Sit on the mountain all day while I do his chores."
"Who has money?"
"No one." Usco shut his mouth. Rivera would beat him over the head if Usco told anyone about him.
"Have it your way." Esteban handed him the flask. "Have another drink."
Usco took the flask.
"I know what you mean, I used to work for a man who drove me into the ground." Esteban started laughing.
"What's so funny?" Usco's words were slurred.
"Well, I shot him and took his money."
"Ha! I should do that to this man! Only I don't have a gun." Usco slumped down dejectedly.
Esteban grinned and pulled out his pistol. "Think this would do the trick?"
Usco's eyes widened.
"We split the money, Usco, you and me. How about it?"
Usco nodded. His head felt so heavy.
"Where is this old man?"
"I'll show you."
VVVVVVVVVVV
Now you see why I would have thrown my brother into a flood.
It's not so much that he's a bad person, he just expects things to fall into his lap. And why shouldn't he, after the way my mother raised him? When she was alive he was a prince, her pride and glory. For the first ten years of my life, he lorded over me the fact that he could do no wrong – and I could do no right. If I had been brought up in a society where I could see how other families function, I might have yearned for my mother's love and my brother's companionship, but I was brought up in these mountains. My mother and my brother were the only two people in my world, and I decided early on that I didn't need either of them. When I tried to run away, my mother left me tied to a tree. As fate would have it, she died that night, and I was left alone there for nearly three days. Then fate gave me an apology in the form of Pedro Rivera, who stumbled upon me while searching for food for his four year old daughter. I've been his servant ever since, in the spirit of the word if not in the literal sense. And my brother? He stuck around, though they never got along. Rivera, while a man who was used to hard work, was also a man used to people doing what he told them to do, and my brother was to stupid to see that survival takes work, so Rivera was forced to use harsher measures than he probably would have liked. The result was Rivera scorning my worthless brother, and my worthless brother bitter against my master.
Miranda didn't like him either. Smart child that she was, she picked up on her father's dislike of Usco and took it to an extreme, snubbing him whenever she got the chance. I won't say I encouraged it, but I didn't lift a finger to stop it. I have my pride as well, and Miranda adored me, at least when she was younger. As she got older, and I became a strange combination of a literary woman and a woman who felt the earth move beneath her in the way of her ancestors, we became a little distant. I think we carried envy for each other in the back of our minds. I wished for a father like hers, and she grudged the attention he spent teaching me to read – something she learned under protest while I developed a passion for it – and how I was able to help him keep his mountain free from unwanted visitors.
But I had to admire her, especially now as her suitor labored to prove himself. Rivera was not a man who many could stand up against, but she didn't back down an inch. While Rivera stood watching as Joe cut down trees and sawed the limbs off, Miranda stood there too, silently cheering him on and ignoring her father's commands to go home. When Joe paused for his – very rare and even shorter – breaks, she could go over despite the withering glares from Rivera to give him a drink and wipe his face off with a handkerchief.
"Stop and rest for a while." she said when Rivera had gone off to see what the sky was doing. At least, that's what he said. I knew as well as Miranda that he liked to take a few hours to read in the afternoon, and he usually fell asleep about halfway through the allotted time.
"I can't. It'll be a race to get this done as it is." he lifted the canteen she handed him and drank greedily.
"Can I help?"
"A fine man I'd be if I let you do my work for me while sat back and watched from a lazy distance."
"But will you finish in time?"
"I will." he said. It was impossible, but the way he said it made me believe it. Miranda believed him too; she would have believed him if he said the sky was green.
"Joe..." she seemed a little unsure about saying what was on her mind, but then she grabbed his arm. "Why are you doing this for me?"
He paused, as if to collect his thoughts before speaking. "I've seen a lot of women in my life, Miranda, I've known a lot of women, even been in love with a few. But you..." he reached up tentatively to touch her hair, as if she'd disappear if he moved too fast. "You're the most beautiful woman I have ever seen, both on the inside and the outside."
She stared at him as if he was speaking a foreign language. "I've never seen another woman besides Naira; I wouldn't know if I'm beautiful or not."
"You are." Joe said. As I said before, she would have believed him if he said the sky was green. She had no notion of what a beautiful woman looked like, but if Joe Cartwright said she was beautiful, beautiful she was.
Joe grabbed both of her hands. "Miranda, come back with me to the Ponderosa. We can build a house overlooking the lake, close enough to the main house to go visit, but far enough away to feel like we're the only people in the world if we want to. And we can ride up to the high pasture in the summer and race across the fields, and in the winter, we'll sit by the fireplace with a quilt wrapped around us, close enough to keep each other warm..." he had leaned closer and closer with each word until their lips were only a hair's breadth apart. I stood and left, feeling mildly irritated at the same time I was glad for Miranda. My master's plan had worked; she would be an heiress to a ranch once again. And I would be left on this mountain to rot.
I went to Rivera in his log house and found him reading Don Quixote. He chuckled to himself as he read.
"She's head over heels, and he's her slave." I said. He looked at me over the top of his book, and I relayed to him the conversation I'd overheard.
"So there it is." he snapped the book shut. "You have something else on your mind?"
"His father and brother are worried about him." I said, speaking of Joe. "His father lost a son recently; it would be cruel for him to lose another. I think if you could see them, your father's heart would share their grief."
Rivera laughed, but it was warm as summer sunshine. "Always one with the pretty words, aren't you, Naira? So fetch his father here, and his honorable brother, and my incorrigible one, and that other weasel, Sebastian. I'll go tell the lad to stop building your house."
VVVVVVVVVVV
I left him. I wish I hadn't. I wish I would have stayed just a few moments longer. But fate will have her way, and if Rivera could play with men's lives, so could she.
Joe chopped down what felt like his thousandth tree and began sawing off the branches. It seemed to make the work go faster, to break it up this was. He arms ached, and he felt lightheaded, but every time he closed his eyes – even to blink – Miranda's smile flashed before him. It kept him on his feet despite the fact that his body wanted to drop to the ground and sleep for a week.
"Hold up a moment, lad." Miranda's father emerged from the trees.
Joe tensed, but his arms were glad for the break. Still, he wouldn't put it past the old man to delay him so that he couldn't complete his task.
"Miranda." Rivera took a deep breath. "This is your choice then? To go with him?"
"Yes." she said. Joe felt his heart beat faster at the single, simple word.
"Lad, I owe you an apology. But a man has to be certain when dealing with his greatest treasure. Now that I know that this is love, not lust, you may have her."
Joe felt like he'd received a warm handshake when expecting a cold slap. He blinked. Miranda recovered her senses before he did and took his hand.
"We can go to your Ponderosa, Joe, like you told me about."
He looked down at her and saw his future laid out before him in her blue eyes.
"Miranda..." a gunshot cut him off. He looked up to see Esteban and an Indian man standing nearby. Esteban had his pistol drawn.
"No one move." he said.
"What's going on, Esteban?" Joe asked.
"None of your business, Cartwright."
"Usco, what are you doing?" Rivera demanded. His voice lacked fear; in its place was a sternness that reminded Joe of his own father.
"Taking what's mine. For years I've worked and slaved for you, and what do I get? Nothing!"
"You never had to stay. You could have left if you'd wanted to, and I would have gladly seen you gone."
"And where's a man to go without money? But now I'll have it." his molten angry gaze slid from Rivera to Miranda and turned cold. "And maybe I'll have your daughter too."
Joe felt every muscle tense on his body, and his grip automatically tightened on Miranda's arm.
He glanced at where he'd placed his gun. He'd taken it off while working, and now it lay in the grass ten feet away. How could he get to it?
"Where's the money, Rivera?" Usco growled.
"What money?" Rivera's hand crept to his side. From the angle he was at, Joe could see a slight bulge under the loose shirt. A gun? Did Usco know he had it?
"Your treasure! You're always talking about how you came out of Mexico with your daughter and your treasure; now where is it?" Usco took a step forward, drawing a knife. In that instant Rivera pulled out his gun and two shots rang out, one from Rivera and one from Esteban. Joe lunged toward his gun, slid it free from the holster and pulled the trigger. Miranda gave a muffled scream, and then all was silent.
Instantly, she was at her father's side. Joe dropped his gun and joined her.
"I guess I made the right choice for my daughter." he panted. "Take care of her, Joe."
Miranda burst into tears, but Rivera held up a weak hand to wipe them away.
"Don't cry for me, my dear. I would have chosen this as the way to go. Tell your uncle to keep the ranch." his laugh turned into a wheezy breath. "Did I ever tell you that you look like your mother?"
"No." Miranda's voice was choked with tears.
"You do. Give Naira my books, any that you don't want." he gave a weak chuckle. "That's the treasure the old bastard was looking for. I brought two treasures out of Mexico, my books and you." he caressed his daughter's cheek and then turned to Joe. "I'd rather not have you see me die. Rather not have anyone crying over my last breath. Take her down to that outcrop over there. The view is one you won't find anywhere else in the world."
Joe gently helped Miranda to her feet. She felt so fragile in his arms, like a newborn foal that couldn't quite walk on its own yet. She leaned against him as they moved, weak with sobs.
VVVVVVVVVVV
That was where we found him. It was as easy as letting Adam get a glimpse of me in the woods to start to lead them there, but once we heard the gunshots, we all broke into a run. I got there first and dropped to my knees beside the old man that had cared for me since I was a child.
"My master." I said.
"No. My daughter." his voice was barely audible, and as I knelt beside him, his gaze shifted from me to the men running up behind me. One by one they crowded around.
"Well, brother, here you've been, in my grasp the whole time. But here, at the end, I forgive you. Don't bother trying to say anything." he gasped as he cut his brother off. "I don't have time for the apologies you feel obligated to give me. Ben Cartwright." he looked up at the Nevada man. "I see a sadness in your eyes. It might do me good to hear another man's troubles rather than thinking about my own."
I could see the man wondered how Rivera knew his name, but he didn't ask. Instead he lowered his head, as if fighting through a catch in his throat.
"I've... I've lost a son, you see."
"I know your pain; I have like the loss." he smiled up at Ben Cartwright's confused face. "You see, I've lost a daughter." he gestured down a slope to where two figures could be seen, looking out over the edge of the mountain. Ben Cartwright stood, and life seemed to flow back into his face as he recognized one of the figures.
"I told you he wasn't meant for drowning, Pa." Adam said.
I looked down at Rivera, and he smiled at me.
"You go now, and live the life you were meant to." he whispered. "I'll miss you, but you shall be free."
I looked up to stop the tears and felt a wind rustle past me and brush against my cheek as it fled. When I looked down I saw, not Rivera, my master, my father, but simply the body that had housed his spirit. I stood and turned away. Crying in front of people was something I was neither familiar nor comfortable with.
"Wait." A voice called from behind me, and I turned to see Adam following. I felt as if a slight breeze could blow me away as I looked up at him. "You were the one who woke me up that night."
"Yes." I said.
"Why?"
I could have said that Pedro Rivera didn't want anything to happen to them, but it would have only been part of the truth. I felt like a new life should begin by being open, even if it meant being vulnerable.
"I didn't want anything to happen to you." Not to your group, not to your family, to you. But I didn't add the last part. There was probably such a thing as being too open.
"I'm grateful." He said. He wanted to say more, I could sense, but neither of us had the words. One corner of my mouth lifted slightly in a smile.
"Have you ever read Macbeth, Adam Cartwright?" I asked.
"I own it."
"Señor Rivera once told me to read it if I got the chance. He didn't own it." I opened the door for him. It takes a cunning man to see an opportunity and make the most of it. Fortunately for me, Adam Cartwright is a very cunning man.
"Well if you would agree to accompany me to my father's ranch, I can arrange for you to read it."
"Alright then."
I knew where the horses were, so while Adam and I went to get them, the rest dug a grave. Ben Cartwright had thought that we would want to take the body with us to bury somewhere else, but Miranda had said no.
"This was the place he finally found contentment after years of looking south." she said. "This is where he would want to rest."
We paused at the grave before leaving so Miranda and I could say our final goodbye. She mourned a father, and I mourned a man who had set free both my body and my soul. And so El Hombre de Truenos truly did become one with the mountain, and the sky, and the wind, and the thunder. His so called spells and charms were overthrown, and all that was left was a cross on the mountain.
The End