Chapter nine

Although Cimmaron hadn't returned by the time Mano and Neetz retired, he was there when Mano awoke. Cimmaron eyed him before going to the hutch and grabbing two mugs. By the time Mano had stretched and walked to the table, Neetz was already pouring his drink.

"Gracias."

"Mum thinks you are ready to return, Montoya. I will go fix WeeLassie's pack so she can carry you. You can't be riding her bareback. Your leg would bump into the rocks."

'WeeLassie? " chortled Mano. "With all due respect, Cimmaron, she is very small, even for a burro and I am no boy."

Cimmaron pointed to the large china hutch behind Mano. "If she can carry that up here from the bottom, she can carry you down from the top. She is as sure footed as the desert sheep who live in these rocks. "

"Aye, it is true. " chimed in Neetz. "You would have a hard time of it on your crutches, Montoya. It is very steep in places. " She examined the bandaged wound on Mano's forehead as she spoke. "You will need to wear the splint for at least two months. If you choose to have a white eyes look at your leg , it is up to you, Montoya."

"No, Senora Fitzgerald. I have no need for anyone to try to improve what you have done. I give you my word. Two months."

'Two months and a half' "

Mano leaned back and laughed. "Two months and a week."

"Two months and a week." smiled Neetz, nodding her head.

Their appetites back, the three ate a large breakfast as plans were made for the return of Manolo Montoya. Cimmaron would need to modify the frame pack for WeeLassie so she could carry the man. Neetz would pack some supplies and food for the men. If they could get down to Cimmaron's horse by dark, the men could leave for the Chaparral before daylight.

Mano joined Cimmaron at the cavern an hour after they had eaten. The pack was already on the burro as Cimmaron eyeballed and cut pieces of wood for Mano's "saddle". It ended up looking more like a perch. It would seat a man rather high in the air, offering protection for the broken leg, but the ride would be precarious. With Cimmaron's help, Mano climbed aboard WeeLassie. There was nothing about it he liked. From the rider's perspective the animal below looked no bigger than a dog. Compared to a horse, the burro seemed ridiculously short. The "saddle" was comfortable enough, Cimmaron had done a fine job in that respect, but Mano couldn't shake the feeling that he and WeeLassie might tip over at some point.

Cimmaron sensed Mano's reservations and seemed to find it most amusing. Unlike the Mexican, the Kiliwa had no question as to WeeLassie's abilities.

The maiden voyage, from the cavern to the cave , was something Neetz would remember for a long time. With her son leading the burro, the man aboard pitched left and right, backward and forward, shouting various insults and expletives in Spanish, holding onto the wooden frame for dear life.. Cimmaron tried to look away to keep from laughing out loud,with limited success. Both men were grinning like boys by the time they reached the cave.

Neetz's good bye to Mano was short and sweet. A long hug and a heartfelt, "Vios con Dios. It has been an honor to have a gentleman in our home."

"Vios con Dios, Senora Fitzgerald. Two months and a week. You have my word." promised Mano. 'Gracias."

Mano assumed his perch atop the burro as Neetz placed several leather bags on the pack. She gave Cimmaron a kiss on the cheek and the two men began their journey from the oasis.

The trip terrified Mano. At times the drop over the smooth rock faces seemed impossibly steep, a slip from WeeLassie would result in serious injury, possibly death. Other times the threesome moved along skinny rock trails with sheer drops on either side. Often Mano wanted to close his eyes. but dared not to for fear of being tossed from his perch. It was a white knuckle ride from the cave until the moment the two men and the burro reached the desert floor. Mano had never been so happy to stand on terra firma, even if it was only with one good leg.

After unloading WeeLassie's pack, Cimmaron took an large woven basket and walked out of sight around a large rock in the deep winding cleft where they stood. Several moments later he returned with a similar basket filled with horse manure. He tied the load on WeeLassie's pack and, with a spank, sent her on her way home.

"Pick a spot and set your bedroll, Montoya. There is something you will want to see. "

Mano unrolled the blanket set Neetz had prepared for him before grabbing his crutches and following Cimmaron into the deeper recess of the sheer walled, narrow draw. Fifty feet past the large rock, the walls narrowed so much that Cimmaron had been able to place timbers overhead, providing a covered area. There was a wooden fence with a gate and a water trough at the front. Behind the fence in a stall some thirty feet deep stood one of the most beautiful horses Manolo Montoya had ever seen.

He was buckskin toned with a sandy tail and mane. He wasn't built like any of the animals from the Chaparral. He was taller, leaner, with a deep chest. His haunches seemed oversized, muscular, as though he was wearing a suit one size too small. This made his legs look spindly in comparison. Mano ran his learned hands over the animal's legs. They were well muscled and the joints were tight.

This was a special type of horse. His lanky build would preclude him from working cattle, he wouldn't be able to cut. The top heavy appearance would make him a poor choice for carrying heavy loads or being ridden double. An animal such as this required an extremely capable horseman. Those long legs could snap easily in the hands of a careless rider, the knees could give out early in life if one pressed the horse too hard, too often.

This animal was bred, with great care, for two related purposes; speed and endurance. Mano whistled softly several times. His eyes relayed his appreciation for the animal to Cimmaron. It had a certain quality Mano couldn't deny. It was built a lot like a horse both men knew. One man called the animal Gaucho. The other knew him as Susurro.

'Let me guess," Mano said as he examined the horse's teeth. " Sonora? Maybe fifty miles south of Rancho Montoya?"

"About fifty miles would be correct, Montoya."

"Gaucho came from that Rancho. My father bought a horse from them but tricked one of the wranglers into giving him Gaucho instead of the lesser horse he had bought. Aye yi yi the breeder wanted my father's head. He never, ever, sold a single horse to Don Sebastian again. I suppose it was only fair that my father never got to breed Gaucho."

'This one does not have the speed of Susurro but he is very fast. He can do something which Susurro could never do. He can become a rock in the daylight. He blends in well. I call him Arena."

Mano nodded in agreement with the name. He liked the horse, very much. Ever since he and Buck had acquired the C bar M his eyes had scouted every horse he saw. Arena wouldn't be Buck's cup of tea, but Mano had clear sights on breeding at least a few horses like this one.

" Buck Cannon and I have a small ranch in the hills. One day we will breed such a horse. " Mano told Cimmaron. " We have several good mares but nothing like Arena to breed them to. It is a shame that this one has been gelded."

"No, Montoya. Arena would have been a poor choice. He is only seven years but he is slowly going blind. This is nothing you would ever wish for your worst enemy to go through. "

'I am so sorry to hear this, Cimmaron." Mano meant every word.

'This ranch, Montoya, where would it be?" the Kiliwa asked.

'Do you know of the Peterson ranch about forty miles above the Chaparral ?"

" Aye. I know Peterson. We gather pinon nuts in that area every fall. Sometimes we snare a turkey or two. I give one to Peterson."

"That is it!" smiled Mano. "That is our place now."

" Good thing to know, Montoya. I will check out your stock. If I see one I like I will take him once Arena can no longer see."

'Ay Monolo Montoya," lamented Mano with a grin. "Will you never learn to keep your mouth shut?"

Mano noticed Cimmaron didn't laugh with him. The Mexican realized the Kiliwa was telling him the truth. There would come a day when Cimmaron would need a new horse and the man had just made it clear where the horse might come from. It made Mano uncomfortable. There wasn't the slightest doubt in his mind that if Cimmaron saw a horse he liked at the C bar M, he would take it and he, Manolo Montoya, wouldn't be able to do a thing about it. Mano sighed. Buck Cannon did not need to know this piece of information.

As darkness fell, Cimmaron lit a small fire and heated some of the food Neetz had prepared. Mano commented on the two medium sized leather pouches she had given them before they left, in one of which the food had been taken. Cimmaron shook his head and chuckled. "If Mum knows I will be gone for a day, she packs enough food for a week. If I am to be gone a week, I must remind her I have but one horse."

After the two men had eaten, they spoke for a while before crawling into their bedrolls. Mano stared into the sky, the thought of losing a well bred horse foremost in his mind.

"A pheasant" he said.

"What?" answered Cimmaron.

" The pheasant is a most beautiful bird, wouldn't you agree, Cimmaron"

" Aye, Montoya. A most beautiful bird indeed. Why?"

Perhaps, Cimmaron, one day when I find a most beautiful and capable horse missing from my ranch, I will find a hand carved pheasant in its place."

There was a pause.

"Perhaps, Montoya, perhaps."

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