Desolation

Darla looked up to the front of the house where she saw Norb approaching the window.

“Herb?” he called from outside the house. “There’s a group outside the gate asking for help.”

“Thanks, Norb. I’ll get my dad.” Pen’s high-pitched voice carried easily from the kitchen to outside the house’s thick stucco walls.

She poked her head into the great room, or what she called the parlor. “Hey, would one of you mind and getting my dad or Jas? I think they’re in the canyon, but I’m not sure.”

“Sure, Pen,” Darla answered, “I could use the walk.”

She quickly jotted down another thought.

I will have to write down why Herb insists on calling everyone by a truncated name. I’m Dar; Steve is Stepha, short for Stephan; his daughter Penelope is Pen; his son Jason is Jas; their friend Norbert is Norb; and so on.

Anyway, duty calls. I will write something down here every time there is something to share. I want there to be a record of what has happened for my son and for all the other sons and daughters who come after us.

She secured the pen to her freshly written page, closed her book, and headed out the door.

As she passed the kitchen, the aromas from the brunch Pen was cooking made her want to stop and savor; her belly rumbled some more, but this was no time for food. She speed-walked toward the towering cliffs and the cave’s entrance, suspecting that’s where the men were working. She stopped at the opening of Horseshoe Canyon. It was a natural ring of immense cliffs and rocky spires surrounding a flat basin that was not visible, blocked purposely by a bramble of landscaped spiny plants. From here, she could see what she knew to be the slit of the cave, but there didn’t appear to be anyone around, nor were there sounds of activity. But she knew the canyon’s shape enabled them to hear anything coming from its mouth. Cupping her hands like a megaphone, she yelled, “Herb? Jas? Are you out there? Norb says there’s someone at the front gate…. Hello, can you hear me?” Her words echoed off the cliff walls.

Out of the slit darted Herb, his rifle slung around his shoulder, followed by Jas, also carrying a rifle. They ducked down a natural walkway leading from the caves to the basin, and were out of sight; the echoes of their footsteps were the only evidence of their presence. The receding reverberations were replaced by distant trotting hooves, muffled by the canyon’s acoustics. They erupted out of the bushes in front of her and thundered right past. Herb bellowed “Thanks, Dar” over his shoulder with Jas right on his heels. Dar thought Jas tried to smile, but it didn’t work very well. Just as quickly as they had appeared, they vanished around the front of the house and continued down the dirt road toward the front gate, their horses’ sprinting hoofbeats vanishing with them.

56. A Trap?

Phil and Norb, arms shaking, held their guns on the strangers, who complied with their hands weakly held upward.

One of them, a dark-skinned man with a thick Mexican accent, asked, “Joo mind if we put our hands down? We’re kind of tired?”

Phil and Norb exchanged a look, considering the request. Norb nodded silently.

The man whispered, “Thanks,” and put his hands down. Next to him were two women. They guessed one was the man’s wife, with a similarly dark complexion; the other was white. The white woman was the worst off, with cracked lips and a bad sunburn. A towel covered her head, mostly hiding her face, as she gulped eagerly at the water bottle Norb had brought her, like a baby at its bottle during feeding time.

Galloping hoofbeats alarmed the strangers, who turned their weary gazes to the clearly armed riders.

The Mexican man held his hands back up, as a show for the oncoming pair. He looked up with the biggest unassuming grin his face could muster in the heat.

“What’s your business here?” demanded Herb, his gun pointed in their direction.

“Our truck break down three miles and our friend badly hurt, and our other friend here is bad off,” he said, watching the men’s faces to make sure they understood him. “You have medico… ah, medical supplies?”

“How was he hurt?”

“Ah, he shoot by gun.”

“What’s wrong with her?” asked Jas.

“She have too many heats,” he said looking at her, and then back. “She need más agua and rest.”

Herb hesitated, thinking, and then said, “Jas, ride the sick woman back to the ranch, and have O look after her. And let her know we have someone else we’re bringing in who will need treatment for a gunshot wound.”

“Okay, Pop,” he said and then coaxed his quarter horse forward.