Lady Luck Chapter Five: Rescued
Hooves thundered outside the cabin and Mano guessed that Buck had returned. His friend could never just ride in quietly; always he had to make a grand entrance. Buck burst through the cabin door.
"Mano...Mano!" Buck rasped, gasping for breath.
"Buck, Buck!" Mano shouted back although his face by then was only inches from Buck's.
"Mano, guess whut I seen?"
"Whut?" Mano grinned, mimicking his friend.
"Huh?" Buck blinked, puzzled. He continued. "Well, look here, we got about fifteen or twenty head o' cattle, mavericks. But we got somethin' a whole lot better 'n that." Buck paused to suck in air and swell out his chest in pride, "We got thirty head o' young mustangs!"
Now this was interesting! "Are you sure compadre?" Mano asked, unconvinced.
"Shore I'm shore!" an indignant Buck replied.
"Thirty head, you say?"
"Sí, ameego. Thirty!"
"Well, tomorrow we will go and gather them up. That is going to make coming up here worth the ride, hombre."
"Worth it just to spend some time away from Big John, ain't it, Mano?"
"Well, that, too, is true." Mano agreed, smiling again.
Buck had missed Mano's humor-someness. His friend and partner never took nothing too serious. At least rounding up horses and cattle would give him something to con-sider instead of all that had been happenin' last few weeks. Buck understood old friends. They wasn't always what you thought they was. To have a friend set you up to hang, shoot. Well, that old friend was dead and Mano was alive and tha's what he needed to remember. Jest gotta forget the rest.
Mano was thinking along similar lines himself. Life was good. Ahora, the opportunity to work and feel clean again. Clean with honest sweat and toil. Shaking his head, which seemed now too full of thoughts, Mano heaped steaming spoonfuls of pinto beans (his only specialty) onto the two tin plates already laid on the table.
"Please," Mano gestured with his hand for Buck to sit down.
Buck took a deep whiff. The cabin was clean, real clean. And they was plates, forks, napkins, and mugs on the table. His stomach growled as he smelled the beans. He remembered he hadn't eaten since that big meal of Victoria's the night before. Buck sat down without ceremony, tucked a napkin under his chin, grabbed a spoon, leaned in, and started shoveling beans into his mouth, which was very close to the edge of his plate.
Mano grinned and shook his head. He let go his worries. Food and friendship, who could ask for more? He, too, sat down, but even though he was hungry, he ate with more reserve, although he enjoyed the food as much. He nodded to the stack of soft warm tortillas on a plate in the middle of the table, and then helped himself to one.
Buck grabbed two tortillas with his left hand and bit, adding a chunk of tortilla to the mouthful of beans he was chewing. These was good. Mano must have been practicing on Roy. Them beans tasted fine, and now here he'd done made tortillas, too. Mebbe Victoria was givin' him lessons?
Mano was pleased he had remembered to swipe the tortillas and spices before Buck and he had left the rancho. His sister could cook, and he could steal her cooking...that is how it should be. Satisfied, he savored his tortilla and beans and tried not to watch Buck gobbling his meal, bean juice trickling down his chin. Ay yi yi! His good friend had absolutely no table manners.
After the food, the two men drank cups of fresh coffee—Mano sipping and Buck slurping. The coffee was good—hot and strong, although Buck had heaped a big spoon of sugar in his. It was fortunate that Buck had remembered sugar, because for Mano that was not a priority. He preferred his coffee just as it came—unless it was laced with un poquito de coñac. Eh, now that the thought had occurred to him, he rose and retrieved a small bottle from his saddlebags. He poured some into Buck's coffee as he passed, then flavored his own with a more generous measure. Ah, this was fine, sitting here in silence and sipping un carajillo, especially this coñac which he had lifted from Papá's stock during his last visit to the Rancho Montoya.
"Mano?" Buck's voice intruded.
"Sí?" Mano replied lazily.
"Don't you worry 'bout Roy. Joe'll look after him."
It had not occurred to Mano to worry about Roy, but he nodded in agreement.
The sun shone strong and bright through the streaky windows of the bare rented room where the Chaparral boys had spent the night in Tucson. Pedro blinked and dunked his head in a basin of water. It had been a bad idea to take that bottle of tequila to bed with him.
Reno rose, stretched his back and yawned. Well, it wasn't his bunk, but the bed hadn't been too bad. Since they hadn't stayed up all night playing cards and drinking, he'd had a good night's sleep.
Joe shook Roy for the third time. "ROY!" he yelled in his ear. Roy's eyes popped open wide and he stared straight at Joe, startling the cowboy who jumped a step backwards.
"Yeah, Joe?" Roy croaked. His voice sounded funny, his tongue was sour and his throat kinda dry. His head felt a little foggy, too. He couldn't remember last night.
"C'mon boys, let's get going!" Joe headed out the door, down the hall, and outside, in the direction of the livery stable. They still had to load the wagon and pack mules, and he wasn't too sure he could count on Pedro to move anything without dropping it. Dang, he hadn't noticed that bottle. He was getting old.
The bunkhouse boys ran to catch up with Joe as he strode across the street. Pedro lurched. Reno loped. Roy just stumbled. At the livery, they set about hitching the buckboard team, saddling the horses and putting the pack saddles on the mules.
Joe and Roy climbed up on the buckboard and made for Wiley's while Pedro and Reno followed, leading the mules. Joe made short work of sorting what goods needed to go on a mule and what remained in the wagon. Pretty soon everything was stowed. It was still only 8:30 in the morning when they rumbled out of Tucson.
Roy, lost in thought, paid little attention to his surroundings as the buckboard bumped along the Tucson road. Last night was still a blur. He was pretty sure he hadn't said anything about Stokertown, and he sure as heck wasn't gonna blurt nothing out now or ask Joe what he had said. Best just stay quiet and let Joe think whatever he wanted. That way he'd be keeping his word to Mano and doing that was pretty important to Roy. He was sure lucky Mano was such a good fella and had got him this job at the Chaparral. The boys was all so friendly. Joe shore seemed to like him. His arm was feeling a lot better today. Not doing much with it the last couple of days had helped it heal some, and pretty soon it would be good enough for him to do a regular day's work. The pile of tack was waiting for him to clean when they got back. He'd had a day away from that at least.
The buckboard lurched along at a lazy pace. Pedro and Reno trailed on horseback, leading mules. Suddenly Pedro saw something out of the corner of his eye that he did not like.
"Joe, Apaches...a la izquierda, ah, I mean to your left!" Pedro didn't shout, but his voice was clear with a hard edge. Joe shifted left and caught sight of a raiding party that had appeared just over the rise.
"Get ready, boys!" Joe handed the reins to Roy and slid the shotgun out from under the seat. The buckshot wouldn't do much but pepper them, but it might give 'em something to think about if the spray hit close to their faces.
The Apaches on Joe's left kept their distance. They maneuvered their horses just out of shotgun range and kept pace with the buckboard. Joe didn't like it. If they weren't going to attack, why were they just sticking with 'em? It was a puzzle right enough.
"Other side," Reno announced, loud enough to be heard but not shouting. These boys knew not to tip off the Apaches that they were wise to 'em.
Joe looked right and saw a similar sized bunch keeping up with them there, too. He remembered the flats were ahead, a wide open stretch where the Apache could charge in from both sides, making off with all the supplies, horses, mules, and maybe their scalps. Something had to be done and quick, before they reached the flats. He propped the shotgun between Roy and himself and grabbed the reins. To the left a little arroyo was coming up, too narrow for the buckboard. On the right, a trail opened, leading up into the hills, not great for the buckboard, but at least there was cover and they'd have the advantage of surprise. Decision made.
"Hold on, Roy!" Joe slapped the reins down hard on the team and yelled, "Yee-haw," turning the buckboard toward the trail. Pedro and Reno strove to keep hold of the mules and ride on either side of the buckboard, flanking it to provide some protection.
It was a long shot, but Joe was past caring. Apaches weren't getting their supplies or scalps. Not today. The Indians wheeled their ponies, quickened the pace and, whooping and firing, bore down on the Chaparral crew. Good thing the Apache were hopeless with rifles unless close up, but those with bows and arrows shot with deadly accuracy. An arrow whizzed just over the spot where Pedro's head had been a second before. At that very instant, Pedro ducked as his horse swerved to miss a saguaro, which the arrow pierced instead. Pedro and Reno spurred their horses while fighting to control the pack mules. Dust clouds swirled up behind them. They managed to get off an occasional shot, but between holding the reins and guiding the animals, none of them could do much. Roy unlimbered his arm from its sling, picked up the shotgun and let fly both barrels. He didn't hit a soul, but the noise, spray of buckshot, and the sight of a man with a weapon pointed at them made some of the Apaches back off a bit, which was okay with Joe.
Suddenly shots rang out ahead of them, aimed at the Apaches beyond. Two riders emerged from billowing clouds of dust, thundering towards the rig and men, firing around them in the direction of the Indians. Thank God, whoever these fellas were. The Apache, odds now more even, broke off the attack, turned their ponies and rode off. The horsemen pursued them a short distance, then pulled up as well.
Joe pulled the exhausted team to a stop. The men breathed hard. Sighs of relief echoed all around.
"Whew."
"That was close."
"Dios mío, I thought we were goners."
The four turned to look in the direction of their returning rescuers. Smiles broke out.
"Hey, Buck, once again you arrive just in time, amigo!" Pedro cried.
"Well, lookee here, Mano. If it ain't our friends Joe and Pedro and Reno and Roy!" Buck roared with delight.
"Compadres! What were you thinking?"
"Mano, Buck, boy, we're sure glad to see you." Joe's grin spread ear to ear.
"Tell ya what, boys, it's hot and dusty and you're a bit off course for the Chaparral. Why don't y'all follow us on back to our cabin? We can set a spell, git a cup of coffee and calm down a might before we all ride back to the ranch."
"Much obliged Buck, we'll do that. The horses need a rest anyways."
Laughing and grinning, they rode off together at a comfortable pace, heading for the C-Bar-M. Pedro, Buck, and Mano kept up a light banter, but Roy was too dumbfounded to say anything. His friend Mano had come to the rescue again. Dang, Mano could do just about anything. Roy blinked, scratched his belly, took a long breath and exhaled. He kept staring at Mano's back with his mouth open.
Joe glanced at Roy and shook his head. Flies gonna get in that boy's mouth one day for sure if he don't learn to keep it shut.