Lady Luck Chapter Four: Tucson Is Paradise

Open-mouthed, eyes blinking, a disappointed Roy watched Buck and Mano gallop out the gate. Dang, he ain't said hardly a word to Mano since they got to the Chaparral. He wanted to tell Mano how grateful he was to have a job and a place to stay. Mebbe they'd all like him well enough and he could stick around. If he jus' didn't make anybody mad.

Joe had told him to clean and sort the tack. Roy looked down at the tangled pile of leather, ropes, bridles, and harnesses. Sure was a lot of it. Seemed like Joe had found every piece of leather in the whole durn ranch and plunked it at Roy's feet. He sat under the covered bunkhouse porch and sighed. Well, at least he was in the shade and smellin' fresh desert air. Next to him was a bucket with water, some saddle soap, a sponge and a clean soft cloth. It was gonna take him days to get all this suppled up and clean. Roy sighed again and reached for a bridle strap.

"Roy?"

"Yes, Joe?"

"Can you do all the long harness first? We need to hitch up the buckboard in a little while and head to Tucson for supplies."

"Sure thing, Joe."

Roy picked out all the bits of leather that made up harness for the buckboard and set to work with enthusiasm. Joe observed him, surprised. He never had seen anyone work on harness like Roy. The boy was quick, methodical, and doing a fine job with only one good arm.

Joe glanced at the sun. No time to watch now. Better get moving. They'd be taking the buckboard and four pack mules. He headed off to make sure the rig and wheels were sound and not termite chewed. Dang termites could make dust of good wood before you knew it.

"Joe?" Sam's deep voice cut through the still morning.

"Yeah, Sam?"

"Take Roy with you in the buckboard. Pedro and Reno can lead two mules each. That should give you plenty of men to get the job done and get back here tomorrow. You stay in town one night only, you got that?" Sam's eyes narrowed and his tone was firm. He stood tall. "Stay outta trouble. Don't get drunk."

Joe just grinned and nodded.

Sam slapped him on the back and laughed, "Well, all right now." He knew Joe'd keep the boys in line. His little brother was a good man. Joe made Sam's job as foreman of the Chaparral a whole lot easier.

By the time Joe got back to the bunkhouse porch, Roy had cleaned the harness and assembled it, ready to be fitted. Even the little brass tacks and buckles gleamed in the sunlight. Joe was impressed. If Roy kept this up, he'd make a top hand real quick.

"Roy, give me a hand hitching up the team. Then you and I will drive into town." Roy's mouth popped open and his eyes widened, but he didn't say a word. He rose, scooted the pile of tack over to the bunkhouse wall, and marched to the buckboard.

"Pedro, Reno!" Joe called as he fetched the team from the corral. The two men jogged over.

"Si, Joe? What do you want us to do?"

"Pedro, you and Reno get your horses and fetch two pack mules apiece. We're going into Tucson for supplies. Besides the buckboard, we're gonna need mules to haul everything back."

"Whoo-wee, Tucson!" Reno whooped, waving his hat in the air.

"You can cut that out right now!" Joe admonished "We're going quick, staying over one night, and leaving early to get back here pronto. No funny business, no fightin', no getting slung in jail for disturbing the peace. Just do your job and earn your pay."

"Sure thing, Joe" said Reno, subdued, disappointed.

Pedro shoved Reno in the back in the direction of the corral. Meantime, Roy had finished hitching the buckboard and was poking under the front seat.

"We got everything, Roy?"

"I think so, Joe. Water, shotgun, shells…."

"We'll take a bite o' this too, I think." Joe tossed a small sack to Roy, who peeked inside. Beef jerky. Roy grinned. Well at least they wasn't gonna starve.

Pedro and Reno rode up leading the mules. Joe slapped the reins down on the team and the buckboard lurched forward. Roy almost lost his balance, grabbed the back of the seat with his good arm, and settled in, watching all around him as they drove out the gate and past saguaros that seemed to touch the sky.

"I ain't never been to Tucson, Joe," Roy said after a few miles.

"Never?"

"Nope. Ain't really never been nowhere till I met up with Honch and he got killed and then I met up with Mano."

"Oh, how'd you meet Mano," Joe asked.

Wait. What did Mano say? Don't say nuthin' 'bout nuthin'. Sweat beads popped out on Roy's forehead. He squirmed.

"Oh, Joe, that's a long story," Roy stammered. "I...I...I don't wanna talk about it now."

"That's all right, Roy," Joe said in a calm voice, smiling slightly. He'd find out later. We'll see how Roy holds his tequila. Joe chuckled to himself.

"Well, Roy, Buck Cannon likes to say Tucson is paradise. Paradise. We'll see what you think when we get there."

Paradise. Roy liked that idea. He liked Joe. He settled down in his seat to stare at the saguaros and nodded his head.

Mano and Buck grimaced as they rode into the yard of the C-Bar-M. The corral gate—which like the rest of the corral was made of small rough-hewn cedar logs—was indeed down, blown by a high wind no doubt.

"Hombre, I told you to use nails," Mano said, shaking his head.

"I use nails but I gonna need some help from you this time, S'nor Montoya."

"Sí," Mano sighed and nodded.

At least the cabin was clean. One room with an open-fire kitchen and sleeping and eating areas—it was plain and functional. Big John's men had used it for a line shack that summer and had been given orders to leave it in good shape or face a pounding from Buck. Not a man doubted Buck. Cleanliness was preferable to getting knocked around.

Buck and Mano fed and watered their horses, took a drink from the well for themselves, rolled up their sleeves and set to work repairing the corral. In a few hours, the crude gate latched again.

"I got to get John to send a crew up here to put up a new co-rral," Buck said. "His men be using this place more than you an' me."

"I leave that to you, compadre. Buena suerte." Mano held little hope that Big John Cannon would part with either men or supplies, but if anyone could talk him into it, Buck could.

"Mano, how 'bout we take Rebel and Mac and see if we cain't spot them mavericks? Bet we got about ten or fifteen up here anyway."

"It's getting late, amigo. How about you do the scouting and I will stay here and fix us some of those beans you like so well, eh?"

"Tha's a good idea, amigo. A-dios."

Mano smiled to himself as Buck strode over to Rebel, mounted, and galloped out. Truth was, Mano needed to be alone to think...or not to think. It had been many weeks since he had been alone...not to mention many weeks since he had been with a woman. Ay yi yi. Mano shook his head and sighed. He fetched a bucket of water from the well and walked inside the cabin where he busied himself preparing supper and singing, "Li de di di...la gallina."

Buck and Rebel galloped up the crest of a hill that offered a good vantage point. Buck's sun-strained eyes scanned the horizon, alert. Looked like, oh, a dozen or so mavericks grazing on some sweet grass in the south valley, not too far from a spring fed pond. Good water on this land. No wonder John always wanted it. Buck smiled, glad it was his and Mano's and not Big John Cannon's, even though it was a whole lotta work. Well, them little fellers'd stay put till mornin'. Buck shifted in his saddle to survey the rest of the area.

"What the…?" Buck's jaw dropped. He grabbed his binoculars and peered through the lenses. Down in the arroyo, as big as you please, a herd, oh thirty, forty, of the purtiest mustangs a man could ever hope to see. They looked young. Yearlings. Oh, my, my, my...and on their land. He kicked Rebel….

"Whoa," Joe pulled the rig up to Tucson's livery stable in late afternoon. The street was quiet, hot, dusty. Roy, who had nodded off a few miles back, sat bolt upright. He jumped out to unhitch the rig. Reno and Pedro led their mounts and mules around back while Joe jawed with Mitch who ran the livery.

"Double grain feed and rub 'em down," Joe said. "We'll be by in the morning to pick up the rig and settle up."

"Aw right." Mitch nodded and spat a stream of tobacco juice in the corner. Like Joe, Mitch was a man of few words. He offered Joe a chaw and moved off to tend to the horses when Joe shook his head no.

"Hey, Jose, Reno and I are kinda thirsty, you know. We have been in the saddle a long time," Pedro announced, rubbing his backside. Joe looked at the two hands and laughed.

"Yeah, I'll bet you are. Why don't you head on over to the cantina. Roy and me'll be there directly after we take the Chaparral order to Wiley's and check on things at the feed store. No trouble, y'hear?"

"Of course not, Joe. Gracias, amigo," Pedro and Reno scuttled across the street toward Rosa's Cantina faster than cockroaches out of a pantry.

Roy smiled. He liked sticking with Joe.

"Now don't say nothin' while I dicker with Wiley at the general store. He always tries to charge us more than he oughta," Joe admonished Roy, who nodded.

"You kin trust me, Joe. Not a word."

True to his word, Roy said nothing, staring blankly even when Wiley asked him how he was.

"New hand. He don't say much," Joe said, fighting not to laugh.

Roy stared, mouth clamped tight.

"We'll be by 8:00 in the morning to load up the order, Wiley," Joe said after the negotiations had concluded. "Make sure Harris at the feed store has our salt blocks and grain down here by then, too."

"You got it, Joe," said Wiley, who much preferred dealing with Buck Cannon than Butler. Buck could be distracted by a free or not so free apple. Joe stuck to business.

"I didn't say nuthin', Joe," Roy said as they walked out of the store.

"No you didn't. You did real good, Roy."

At the cantina, Pedro and Reno sat at a round table near the window, shoveling in enchiladas, tortillas, and beans, washing it all down with beer. Roy and Joe walked in.

"Well, thanks a heap for waitin' on us, Pedro."

"Ah, Joe, amigo - I er - I was - very hungry, you know?"

"I suppose you've got the same excuse, Reno?"

"We ordered for you, Joe, but we told 'em not to bring the food till you got here. Didn't want it gettin' cold."

As if on cue, a brown eyed senorita with long wavy black hair emerged from the kitchen, holding a laden tray resting on an ample hip. Her full red skirt swished as she moved. The folds of her white blouse suggested a becoming shape beneath. She paused at the table to deliver plates of enchiladas and mugs of beers, flashing a smile before sashaying back to the bar.

"Oh, well, thanks," Joe stammered.

Roy's jaw gaped again. If it stayed like that it'd be full of flies before long, Joe thought to himself, grinning.

"Take a seat Roy," Joe pulled out a chair as he sat down.

The only noise was that of hungry men chewing and guzzling pitchers of beer. Rosa's was a much better choice than El Toro Loco where the whiskey was fine but the food was not. This cantina had an excellent cook, Old Rosa herself, a short round woman in a greasy apron who seldom emerged from the back. Her husband, Ramón, a large, jovial, sweaty hombre, tended bar. The beer was okay, but the pretty senoritas, well they were the salsa on the side, so to speak. Easy on the eyes.

Bellies full, the Chaparral men sat with cups of hot coffee in front of them, leaning back and jawin' about the events of the last few days. Roy sat quiet. He had no idea what most of it was they was talking about. So he sipped his coffee. Then Joe said he'd fetch him another one from the bar, which was mighty kind of him. Dang, that coffee shore didn't taste like Honch's or Mano's. Kinda strong and a little bitter after ya swallowed.

After a couple of cups, Joe started asking Roy about Mano, how they'd met up. Roy knew he had to keep his mouth shut about that. Mano had ast him to. Why was that? He didn't know. But Mano ast him. Roy's eyelids grew heavy and Joe's face got kinda blurry. Roy couldn't exactly understand him no more. Roy started to say somethin' about stagecoaches that he knew he shouldn't oughta. Then Joe got real blurry...and Roy slumped in his chair, head thrown back, out cold.

"Aw, hell!" Joe swore. That brandy he'd laced Roy's coffee with had been too strong for a young man not used to drinking. He was gonna have to wait to pry the story outta Roy.

Shoot. They'd have to get bedded down for the night now. Since Roy was gonna be no help at all, that meant dragging him to the boarding house. Well, better get on with it. Reno grabbed one of Roy's arms and Joe, the other. Pedro gathered their gear and tossed some money on the table.

"Gracias, Ramón. Hasta luego, amigo."

Before Ramón could lift a hand in reply, the guys bumped out the door, hauling the unconscious Roy like a 200 pound sack of potatoes, his dead weight making him even heavier than they imagined possible.