"Chapter Ten
The two men moved silently in the pre-dawn darkness, the glow of the rekindled fire being their only source of light. The steep rock walls reflected that light as they tied up their bedrolls. The leftover coffee from the previous night was reheated and the horse was brought out from the corral in the back.
Cimmaron spoke softly as he saddled Arena. As Mano leaned forward on his crutches , he watched the Indian secure the two leather pouches Neetz had prepared, before going over to a rock near the wall's edge. Cimmaron pulled aside a brush from behind the rock and bent down to grab something. It was Mano's holster and pistol. He handed Mano the holster, empty, as he placed the revolver in a leather tote strung over his shoulder. Mano didn't question the man's motives. Cimmaron was taking a risk in returning him, Mano realized. If this was how he wished to handle things, Mano had no choice but to respect the decision.
As Mano buckled the holster, Cimmaron walked over to a thin crack in the rocks, reached in, and withdrew a lever action rifle. He placed the firearm in a scabbard on the saddle before asking Mano for hs crutches. He cinched these down and then gestured for Mano to mount Arena. With one swift move, Cimmaron helped lift Mano aboard. He took the reins and began to lead the horse and rider out of the narrow and winding draw. When they reached the opening to the desert, Cimmaron began to jog.
"Cimmaron" Mano whispered. "Will you not ride with me on Arena?"
"No. Arena cannot carry two men if we are chased. This is how I always travel with Mum. I am fine."
The man was true to his word, Mano learned. The Chapparral was at least forty miles away, but once Cimmaron settled into a steady jog, Mano realized that the journey was well within the Indian's ability. His gait was smooth and effortless. Mile after mile, Cimmaron maintained the pace, never breathing heavily or seeming to tire.
He clearly knew what he was doing.
Once the sun rose, Cimmaron abandoned the main trail and began leading Mano and Arena closer to the hills, winding around rocks and vegetation whenever possible. He used any bit of cover he could find as the two men proceeded. This added time and required extra effort from the man on foot but Mano understood the tactic. It was one of the learned behaviors which had allowed Cimmaron to survive.
Whenever the two men needed to cross large open spaces, the Indian would slow his gait, or stop completely, to evaluate his surroundings before going forward. In the middle of one of these crossings Cimmaron stopped quickly. He turned and pulled Mano from the saddle. In one motion he withdrew his rifle, grabbed the reins, and pulled Arena to the ground. Quickly he drew the animals legs in tight against its body. It was all done so smoothly that Mano could tell the two of them had done this many times in the past.
Cimmaron gestured for Mano to lie down close behind the horse. As Mano did so, Cimmaron reached into his leather tote and handed Mano his revolver. Slowly, the two men looked over the top of the prone horse. Several hundred yards away two Apache men rode into view, their pace unhurried. Cimmaron lowered his head, as did Mano.
The two listened intently, not moving a muscle. They could hear the hooves of the Apache horses stepping through the sand. At length, Cimmaron carefully raised his head. He nodded to Mano who looked up to see the Apache passing out of sight. The two remained on the ground another full five minutes before slowly rising.
Once Cimmaron seemed satisfied that the threat had passed, he helped Mano aboard and placed the rifle in its scabbard. He did not ask Mano to return the revolver. As the two men resumed their journey Mano thought back to the comment about Arena's ability to become a rock. Cimmaron was right. The coloring of the buckskin blended in with the terrain so well that two sharp-eyed Apache never recognized them from a distance of two hundred yards.
The men travelled another two hours before Cimmaron again slowed his pace. He came to a complete stop and listened, before staring back at the ground they had just covered. In the distance rode a lone horseman, heading their direction. Even from a mile away, Mano knew the identity of the solo rider. He looked , from this range, like a black sack of potatoes with a black cowboy hat, seated on a horse. Mano grinned. No one sat a horse quite like Buck Cannon.
Cimmaron led Arena to the top of a swale several yards away and turned the animal broadside to the oncoming rider The rider slowed, clearly seeing the profiles of the two men and the horse.
Cimmaron helped Mano down. As Mano balanced himself on his one good leg, The Indian untied his crutches. He handed them to Mano and then held out the leather sack Neetz had prepared. Cimmaron looked back to the rider, who was now less than a half mile away, moving in a cautious zig zag pattern. Cimmaron mounted Arena and began to ride away.
"Cimmaron," Mano spoke respectfully." I must thank you for your kindness. I must thank you for the generosity you and Senora Fitzgerald showed me. Please know that the location of your home is sacred to me. No one will know of it."
"Aye, Montoya. I have known this from the beginning. You have honor, as does the one who rides this way. You are welcome , Montoya."
' Con su permiso, Cimmaron, " Mano asked. "May I be allowed to tell Ruiz the story of the missing vacas? He should know this."
Cimmaron paused . " I would like that. Aye, I would like that very much."
Mano held out his hand and Cimmaron responded in kind. Rather than shake his hand, Mano took it, and turned it palm up. Reaching inside his jacket he withdrew the amber rosary. The stones glowed in the sunlight as he folded the chain in Cimmaron's hand.
'You will see to it that Senora Fitzgerald gets this, si? It is a gift from a son to a mother."
Cimmaron gazed at the bright beads quietly before gently placing them in his shirt pocket. "This will mean a great deal to Mum, Montoya. She will be honored and humbled to receive it. She thinks highly of you."
Cimmaron reached forward and untied the leather pouch on his saddle. He withdrew a knife in a leather sheath and handed it to Mano. On the face of the sheath, in silver thread, was a beautifully stitched cross. Underneath, in red, were the letters M M. The knife bore a smooth mesquite handle with a silver band at the butt. The band held a polished piece of obsidian. Mano withdrew the blade, the sharp edge shimmering in the sunlight. He could think of nothing to say.
He swung away from the horse and held back his head, the face showing no sign of its usual playfulness. "Good bye, Cimmaron" he said, as he shook the man's hand.
"Amigo!" corrected Cimmaron.
" Si !" laughed Mano. "Adios amigo. Via con Dios !"
Cimmaron smiled, the same sad smile Mano had seen those many years earlier. "Adios, Montoya."
Cimmaron gave Arena a nudge and the horse and rider began to walk away slowly, before picking up the pace. Mano watched them for a minute before pushing himself back to the top of the swale.
Buck was less than one hundred yards away, and when he saw the solitary figure on the skyline, he steered Rebel directly toward Mano.
'Such a beautiful day to be out here, eh, compadre?" boomed Mano as Buck drew near. Mano lightly pounded his chest with his fists as he took a deep, somewhat exaggerated breath of air. " A beautiful day for a walk, wouldn't you agree, Buck?"
Buck wasn't buying a bit of what Mano was trying to sell .He pushed back the brim of his hat and rested his forearms on the pommel. He stared at the horse and rider who were quickly disappearing from sight. ' That who I think it was?" he asked.
Mano turned and looked the same direction.
" Oh, that was a caballero,' grinned Mano, " a gentleman, Senor Fitzgerald. He stopped to ask of my welfare. I assured him that the Chaparral was near and that I had no need of his assistance. And you, Buck? Where are you coming from on such a fine day?"
"Two-back" drawled Buck, still staring out to the rider. "We went into Tuscon the night Mackadoo come back alone. Wasn't nobody seen hide nor hair of you. Couldn't track your horse in the rain, weren't no tracks to follow. Next day we find yer hat on the front porch. Got a letter in it. Good thing Victoria was there 'cuz she was the only one who could read it. She said it was writ by a woman, a woman who learned to write proper, like in a school. Didn't sign her name. Just said you done broke yer leg and you'd be back soon.
Well, Mano, wasn't a one of us who could figure it out but I thought of the nuns at Casa Cueva. I jist took a ride down there, but nobody there seen ya neither. I got to talkin' to Vaquero..."
"Vaquero!" interrupted Mano. "How is my amigo? He is well, I trust?"
Buck looked at Mano for a few seconds before resuming his story. "I asked Vaquero if he knowed a woman who could write proper Espanol and who might be holding you. He said "no' but I could tell he knew more than he was lettin' on. When I left Casa Cuevo I remembered that necklace you liked so much in Tubac, so I headed that direction. You wanna know what I learned ?"
" Ah, unfortunately I know the answer to this , Buck." Mano responded, sadly. "The rosary is no longer there. Alas it had been purchased."
"Yeah. The storekeep said a well dressed vaquero came in and bought it. Said the man like to laugh and tell jokes. Remind you of anyone you know, Manolito?"
"Si, it reminds me of many men I know. This fellow, I must admit, he sounds most enchanting."
"Yeah... enchantin'... Jist the word I was thinkin' of. Well, I just headed home to the Chaparral and what do you think I find but little ol' Manolito Montoya hisself, taking a walk. In the desert. On crutches. With a bandage on his head."
' Oh, it is little more than a scratch, Buck and a ...si ... a broken leg... But that is not what is important! What is important is that I am well and will soon be home. Where I have been for these last few days is of little importance, wouldn't you agree, Buck?"
Buck didn't respond. He looked at Mano until his gaze fell upon the knife. "Quite a knife you got there, Mano... A smart man once told me that there were only two ways for men like us to have a knife like that, and..." Buck looked around, "I don't see no dead, red headed Indians ."
Mano had nothing to say. Buck owned the same knife. He was fully aware of its origin.
'Well, amigo, " Buck said. "I'll be sure to let Victoria and John know you're comin'. I'm guessing you'll be there by dinner time."
Buck gave Rebel a light kick and the horse began to walk away.
"Amigo!" shouted Mano. "Wait! I have reconsidered! Perhaps I have had enough fresh air and exercise for one day. Yes, yes, I am sure of it, now. Perhaps you could give me a ride to the Chaparral ?"
Buck stopped and looked at Mano. "No need to be bangin' that broke leg against the side of a horse. Go pick yerself a shady spot in them rocks over there and I'll send out the buckboard. I imagine it'll be Victoria and Big John what comes to get ya. She's been worried sick."
"Si,that does sound like my sister. Muchas gracias, Buck." Mano dropped the facade. " It is good to see you again, amigo."
"Good to see you, too, compadre." smiled Buck. He gave Rebel a kick and the horse took off at a quick pace. Within a few hundred feet, Buck kicked again and the two took off at a full gallup.
Ten minutes later Mano situated himself in a nice little nook in the rocks. He kicked out a few smaller rocks with the leg of his crutch and lowered himself down to the sand . After repositioning the pistol he wiggled his rear end into the sand until it conformed to his body. He took a deep breath and surveyed his surroundings. A lizard climbed a rock and stared down at the man.
"Ah, little one. You have chosen to join me on this beautiful day. Welcome."
The lizard turned its head four or five times as though it needed to fully analyze what it was seeing.
"Perhaps, little one, you would care to join me for a meal?" Mano offered. "I have a sack of most delicious food prepared by my good friend, Senora Fitzgerald. She is an accomplished cook."
The lizard didn't move, seeming to be interested only in the man's voice.
Mano untied the leather bag, reached in, and withdrew its contents. Mano stopped and looked out to the desert before releasing a loud laugh which sent his new friend scurrying for shelter. He looked back at the object in his hands.
A green gingham dress.
Author's note
First and foremost, thank you for taking the time to read this story. Your input ,through comments and critiques, are appreciated and welcomed
The presence of the Catholic Church is one of the blocks in the foundation of The High Chaparral. While Victoria and Manolo were raised Catholic, that element is rarely brought into the story line of the series. Understandable, to an extent. I thought it would be interesting to visit that part of Mano's life at a time when he had no where else to turn.
I was also interested in the Mother/Son dynamic which is also rarely addressed. We do have Blue and Annalee's relationship , which is referenced heavily in the beginning of the series, but it pretty much runs its course after a few episodes.. The Blue/Victoria relationship is a different animal entirely. That leaves the majority of featured relationships as either Fathers/ Sons, Siblings, or Uncles/Nephew. I have followed VStar Traveler's lead in referring to Senora Montoya as "Maria".