Chapter Seven

Cimmaron placed a chair near the entrance and gestured for Mano to come and sit. For himself, he grabbed a stool and placed it near the chair, next to a small pile of thick alder limbs. He took one, several inches in diameter, and held it next to Mano to gauge its length. Once the Mexican sat, Cimmaron began to cut and carve the limb. At its top, he whittled a round tenon. Taking another, shorter limb , he placed it under Mano's arm pit and slid the curving stick until a length of it fit comfortably in the joint. Grabbing a larger knife from a group of blades he had in a leather roll, Cimmaron hacked the piece to length. Setting the large tool back in its spot on the roll, he pulled one out which had a blade only a few inches long. He eyeballed the arched, shorter piece he had just produced and held it against the longer limb until it pleased his eye. Making a mark , he turned the piece so that the bottom of the curve faced him. He braced the wood between both knees and began to carve a mortise to hold the tenon of the longer branch. As he was working, he noticed Mano eyeing his tool roll.

"Me Pop was a smithy. There was much I never got to learn from him, but he taught me to make a proper knife and how to keep a keen edge." Cimmaron pulled the knife from his belt and handed it to Mano. It was virtually identical to the one he had given to Buck Cannon. " You can feel the balance, aye, Montoya?"

"Si" answered Mano as he eyed the razor sharp edge.

"A month after me Pop died, the Old Apache took me back to where we were attacked. Those animals had thrown Pop's tools all over looking for things they wanted. They burned the wagon, but left the tools. I dug through the ashes and the sand and found his files and stones, some hammers and chisels; everything I needed to make good , sharp tools. The Old Apache made sure I left plenty of tracks in case any of the attackers returned. He said they needed to know I was still alive, knowing it would trouble them. He knew the way of the Apache mind."

The two men talked casually in the warm morning sun as the crutches took shape. Down below, Neetz and WeeLassie continued their routine, the little burro constantly shadowing the graceful woman.

"The burrito, she thinks she is a dog," laughed Mano.

"No, Montoya, she thinks she is a person. A person with four legs. She was around when the Old Apache brought me to this place and she was here when Lark and Mum came to live. She is at least thirty years old, but when she is near Mum, she acts like she is three."

Mano exhaled a low whistle. "Thirty years? Dios mio! The cougars have let her live that long?"

Cimmaron snickered. "There is a lion in these rocks with a broken tail. I saw WeeLassie break it. She is no little deer, she fights back. The cats know to leave her alone. That one is very protective of Mum, too. If she sees, or hears, or smells something , she will let Mum know."

" I have been wondering of that, Cimmaron," Mano began. "It is, of course, none of my business, but there are those who would gain great honor to hold your scalp."

Cimarron spit on the ground. " The Old Apache told me that Cochise would show me respect, and that is true. Cochise has never once sent anyone after me. Soldado has never bothered me either, although I believe he knows I am here. He and his men use the lower canyons at times, but I am told he fears me. If he were to catch me in the open, it would be different, he would try. With Susurro, that was never an issue.

But aye, Montoya, there are those who come here and try. Young bucks, boys who are in too big a hurry to prove their manhood. There were many in the early years, not so many now. When they try, I kill them, and send their horses back empty. Their bodies are never found."

"Here, try this." Cimmaron held up the crutch as Mano rose. The fit was good, the handle situated at a comfortable height. "Mum will be up soon. I will have your other crutch finished in a wee bit."


Neetz insisted that the two men remain seated as she served lunch. The succulent tomato slices spurted juice down Mano's chin as he bit into them, The fresh mild peppers with the smoked meat and small squares of flat bread made for a perfect mid-day meal. Neetz and Cimmaron spoke in the casual way family members often do, seamlessly slipping between Kiliwa and English as they talked. Mano smiled and thought of the many times he and Victoria did the same thing, as the Cannon men stared, not understanding the words.

" I've got to take WeeLassie down to me horse, " Cimmaron told Mano. He'll be needing some water and I've got to look at some other things. I've been seeing a single Apache pony lately. Hope to not see it today."

"Well, Cimmaron" smiled Mano, " It is a fine time to learn to walk with my two new wooden legs." He placed the crutches under his arms and swung himself out to the edge of the cave. He followed Cimmaron for a while as the Kiliwa went down to get WeeLassie and the water for his horse.

The trip back up to the cave tired Mano. Neetz had warned him that his stamina would be tested; she was right. He made it back to the cave's entrance and plopped down on the chair he had occupied all morning. Mano looked at the crutches, which had performed admirably. The alder was springy enough to flex, yet stiff enough to support his weight. They were light, easy to handle, stable. The Indian's level of skill was evident. He was a craftsman. Fitzgerald would be proud of his son, Mano thought.

It was getting too warm to sit in the direct sunlight. The last of the thinning storm clouds were passing as the sun began to dry out the land, so Mano moved his seat back into the shade of the cave's ceiling. Neetz joind him.

She was no longer wearing her leathers, having changed back to her skirt and blouse. In one arm she carried Mano's pants, a sewing box in her other. She placed the box on the little table which held the bible and withdrew a small set of scissors. Once she was comfortable in her rocking chair, she began to cut the stitching on the outer seam of the right leg.

"Tell me about your mother, Mon-toy-ya." she casually requested.

Manolo Montoya rarely thought of his mother much; she had been gone for more than twenty years. Yet, this was the third or fourth time in the last few days that her presence was considered, that her lessons were remembered. Something about Neetz put Mano at ease and the stories began to flow.

The woman laughed often upon hearing the antics of young Manolito, memories which made the storyteller himself laugh.

' To hear your stories is to know Dona Maria." Neetz grinned."My Lark was just like you as a boy. He could never sit still, either. Like the bird. he seemed to always be jumping from one branch to the other. He was such a happy boy. Even the mean squaws liked him. When I would be sent to snare rabbits or catch birds, the older women would take Lark into their tents to protect him from the younger squaws, the jealous ones who had stupid children."

Neetz cut the seam up past the knee and stitched it at that point. Reaching ino her pocket, she pulled out a piece of buckskin which she began to cut into strips. As she worked , she told Mano of her life. The conversation was relaxed, both parties willing to share and to laugh at each other's stories. Mano was captivated by her's.

Her life was not confined by the sheer walls of this oasis, as he had thought. Each fall, she would go with her sons to the mountainous country to harvest bags of pinon nuts and medicinals. They would return by way of the Apache camp where she and Lark were held hostage. There were still two old women there, squaws without men, who had nowhere to go after the camp dispersed. They welcomed Neetz and Lark. The two Kiliwa treated them better than their own people, who had forgotten them. While Cimmaron would go kill several deer for the women , Neetz would talk with them, share the pinon nuts, brush their hair. Their love for Lark brought laughter and toothless smiles. He was more of a grandson to them than their own flesh and blood, children who had left the camp before Cimmaron came to rescue Neetz.

Twice a year, at Christmas and Easter, Cimmaron would take Neetz to Casa Cueva, where she would spend a week praying with the women of the village, and celebrating Mass.

Mano sat up when he heard the words 'Casa Cueva'.

" Do you know a man there," he eagerly asked, "named Vaquero? He is the alcalde."

"Aye. I have broken bread with him many times."

"He is mi amigo." Mano told her. "A good friend...Does he know...does he know who you are?"

"He has never asked, no one does, but in his eyes I can see, aye,... I can see he does. He knows. He also knows it was a long time ago and some things are best left unsaid. Cimmaron and Lark stayed back in the hills so that the Apache would never see them with the Mexicans. Vaquero saw their respect for his people."

Neetz stitched three of the leather strips down one side of the flap she had made. She sewed three others on the opposite side and held the pants up for Mano to see.

" Go and put these on, Mon-toy-ya. Your leg can now fit."

Mano rose and took several steps. 'Would you be so kind?" he asked with a coquetttish smile, pointing to the buttons on the back of the gingham dress.

"Well of course, senorita." tittered Neetz.

When she had undone the buttons, Mano turned and gave her a rather unbalanced curtsy.

Mano was glad to shed the green dress and put on his real clothes which Neetz had laundered at some point. The pants went on easily as Mano tied the buckskin straps loosely around the splinted leg. The familiar grip of his left boot made him feel more like himself. He rose and hobbled to the wall where his shirt and jacket hung, choosing to don the shirt and his bandana only.

The sun was setting as Neetz began to prepare dinner. A few minutes later they heard Cimmaron's voice. He entered and began speaking to Neetz in Kiliwa, his tone serious. Her reaction was to shake her head sadly before she returned her focus to the meal.

'Is everything all right, Cimmaron?" Mano asked.

Cimmaron shook his head. " The pony was there again and I found who it belonged to. A young Apache. He's trying to find a way to get up here." He pointed toward the far end of the small valley. 'There are many , many canyons on that end of these rocks. Only one can lead a person here. This lad is brighter than most. He has found the right canyon and he''ll not be stopping until he finds this place. I'll not be havin' it."

Cimmaron placed a leather pack near the exit. Mano could see several throwing knives looped onto its exterior. A bow with a quiver of arrows joined the pack.

As he grabbed a few more items, Neetz rolled some of the meat she had been cooking into the flat bread and wrapped them with a cloth. She placed the food in the top of Cimmaron's pack. Her movement was practiced, Mano noted. They had done this before.

Cimmaron threw the pack and quiver over his shoulder as he grabbed the bow. Neetz gave him a kiss on the cheek,

"I'll be back after noon" spoke the son.

With that, Cimmaron took several steps and disappeared into the night.

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