The mountain lion rubbed his massive head against the youth's shoulder. He turned his head and smiled. Qué es, amigo? he asked, his voice lilting slightly. The cougar rumbled and looked to the north, ears flicking back and forth at the darkness. There was no moon tonight. Rio looked at the roan and the bucksin pack horse, watching them for signs. Their ears also twitched toward the north, their eyes searching. The roan whinnied, but there was no answer.
Over 15 minutes, the roan continued to call into the darkness. Finally, there was an answer, when the hoofbeats were audible to his ears. He wished the horse would have shut up. Rio slipped to the other side of the fire where his bedroll, saddle and all his other belongings were seated on the dusty ground, removed a pair of Colt Bisleys that his father had used for many years, checked the rounds in them and slid them into their holster and covered them with his jacket and sat back down. The hoofbeats were closer now. 1-2-3-4. 1-2-3-4. 1-2-3-4. He pulled his thick black hair back behind him, wishing he had not lost the leather tie for his tail.
Within minutes, the hoofbeats slowed then stopped just behind him. The lion stood and splayed his front legs, lowering his head between his knees and baring his teeth, eyes glowing chocolate in the darkness, and growled low. The new horse shied and skittered sideways, its rider speaking softly and calmly to it. Rio could not tell anything about the rider from the voice, for it was too low to hear. The horse stopped crowhopping and stood, though Rio knew one more display of predatory instinct from the lion and the horse would be gone like a shot.
Estás facil, compadre. Está bien, he said. He settled his hand on the lion's wide forehead and the big cat calmed, sat down again. Rio looked up and called into the darkness. Está bien, señor. Mi no va a comer tú o tu caballo.
Está bien que nos no va a comer, a woman's voice replied in West. It shocked and relaxed him slightly, to hear a woman's voice come from the darkness. Habla este? she asked.
Perdón, señora. I speak este, he replied.
Good. You mind sharin camp with a stranger?
Depends, señora.
On what?
On whether my compadre decides he likes you or not.
Think I'm good to go?
Probably.
Speaking to the horse softly, she led him around opposite of Rio and his belongings, into the light radius of the campfire, and for the first time Rio could see her. Her hair was blond and messily braided down to her lower back, the tip of the braid brushing her reddened black duster where her belt would be beneath it. The Stetson atop her head was black and reddened as well, the hatband braided rawhide. She slung the saddle and packs down from her black gelding onto the ground, spread the blankets seperately on two sagebrushes, removed a brush and curry from a pocket on her duster and began to groom the foam from his coat. Her shirt was dark green and loose and laced up the front, her vest creamcolored and the jacket over it all tooled and wellworn like the leggings she was wearing over the faded fitted men's jeans.
Is there water around? she asked. In response he unscrewed his canteen top and poured some into his empty dinner tin and handed it to her. She nodded in thanks and held it to the gelding's muzzle. He drained it almost immediately. Rio poured more in and let the gelding drink until he was satisfied. Rio sat back down with his tin and his canteen and watched silently while she groomed the sweat away. She slipped the bridle off but did not appear to be worried when the gelding shook heartily, walked a few paces off and laid down in the dirt to roll then stood again and shook again. She waited with a rope halter in her hands, whistled softly. The gelding walked back to her obediently, stuck his nose in the loop she presented and waited with his head down while she tied the halter snugly. Dropping the lead on her saddle, she walked around it and slipped off her duster. The gelding tucked his legs beneath him and laid down. He didn't move when she settled against him, using his ribs like a chair back.
Where did you come from, señora? he asked. She tapped out a cigarillo and lit it, the sweetsmelling smoke wafting up to the stars. She looked at him steadily.
I aint older than you.
Señorita, then.
She blew a ring of smoke into the air, watched it go. Her gelding wrapped his head around and nuzzled her side; she leaned over and removed handfuls of grain from a saddle pocket, deposited them on the ground in front of his nose and leaned back against him. He nickered and began eating.
Where did you come from?
North.
I gathered that.
Quickern a rattler.
That's what Papá said.
I come from the town up the way, she said. She motioned with her cigarillo.
You live there?
Hell no. Just goin through, didn have anywhere better to go, so I stayed, she said. She dragged at the cigarillo, released the smoke into the air. They didn like the way I acted. Thought I should act like a lady. One of em tried to get sweet with me, so I shot him.
Rio's eyes widened. De veras, he said.
Damn straight, señor. I dont like bein fucked with. They chased me out. I thought poor ol Spider here wasnt goin to make it, she said. She patted the gelding's shoulder affectionately, then her eyes fell on the white-and-black mountain lion that was watching her and the horse coldly. She motioned at him with her cigarillo. Where'd you get the cat.
Oh, Fuego Blanco and I have been together since I was a kid. My people think I'm godtouched.
Godtouched, huh.
He nodded gravely. Guardians of the gods are always sent in animal form. Humans are afraid of animals because they cannot understand them.
She flicked the cigarillo out into the shadows, the dying orange tip extinguished in the wind. I just want em to understand that if they try an eat me or Spider they'll get shot, she commented.
Fuego wont eat your horse.
I'm holdin you responsible if he does, she said. She extracted jerky and a fifth of dry whiskey from a packroll by her saddle and supped shortly on that, then put the fifth away when the jerky was gone. She laid down against her horse with her hat over her eyes.
Señorita, are you going back north?
To town?
Sí.
Hell yeah. I got to.
Why?
They still got the White Munster and some other shit at the hotel.
The White Munster, señorita?
My packhorse. He's a big sonovabitch.
-
He was cooking what looked like two skinned rabbits on the spit and a pot of coffee over the coals. Her hair was mussed and black hairs stuck out in places from her braid. She rubbed her eyes groggily and watched him absently, blinking to clear the sleep from her eyes.
Buenos días, señorita.
Mornin'.
Tienes hambre?
Mm. She stretched backwards over her horse and he heard her vertebrae pop. Breakfast sounds like a good thing, if'n I'm goin back north, she replied and looked at him. You goin north too, I spect.
He nodded.
What you want up there? That town aint shit.
I'm looking for my nephew, he said. He poured her a cup of coffee and handed it over. She took it with a nod of thanks and sipped slowly.
You speak East awful good. Where'd you learn.
Papá was an educated man. Self-educated, but intelligent still. He taught us all East.
Us all?
I have two sisters and a brother. He looked at her squarely in the sudden sharp beam of the morning. You speak West well, for a gringa, he said. He handed her part of a rabbit carcass and poured her another cup of coffee, gave the whole rabbit to Fuego and started on the remaining half.
My father taught me when I was little.
Mexicano? he asked.
No, from California. Was a vaquero, a damn good one, she said fiercely. A challenging light glittered in hard gray eyes.
Was?
He's dead now, she muttered after a pause, and drank more coffee.
Lo siento.
Hn. Dont be. He was a sorry bastard when it came down to it, she said. She slung the dregs of her coffee into the brush with the rabbit bones and stood up. It took a minute more, but Spider followed her example and trotted off into the brush. She walked a few yards off and squatted behind a sagebrush.
Standing again, she stood facing the sunrise, unbraided her hair and let it flow loose down her back and shoulders. The leather strip used to tie it went into her pocket. It takes a day and a night to get there from here, she called to him.
Then we should get started now, shouldn't we?
If we stop an rest at noon for a couple hours, we can go on through the night an not worry about overheatin anything.
Sounds good to me.
She whistled and walked back to camp, set her hat on her head and slipped out of her jacket, picked up her duster and put it on. Spider came trotting up to her and stood by her side while she groomed him off again and slung the blankets on his back and saddle on those. She buckled the breast collar and the two cinches, strapped her small packrolls and jacket behind the saddle and bridled him, putting the halter away in the middle of the rolled-up jacket. She stepped on and waited while Rio put out the campfire, handing him the lead for his packhorse when he stepped on his mount.
Whats your name, cowboy, she asked. He noticed she had a tendency to ask questions as more like interrogatory statements.
Rio Sanchez, he told her. She looked at him skeptically.
If thats your name you're the lyinest sonovabitch that ever goddamn was.
Spose that makes me a lyin sonovabitch, then.
You're Cuchillero? You oughtta be dead.
I'm his grandson.
I be goddamned.
Maybe so.
Goddamn.
Who are you, señorita? he said dryly. She didn't answer for a minute, staring at him.
Rian McCarty.
You wouldnt be Justice McCarty, would you.
Might be.
Mm. Guess that makes us a couple of feared and well-known killers.
In the eyes of a lot of people, yeah.
Will that get us killed?
Maybe. I gotta better chance than you alivin, though, if'n somebody starts shootin.
Whys that.
You're Mexican.