Desolation

“Norb and Phil, help the woman up onto my son’s horse,” Herb instructed. “You,” he said to the Mexican man, “step forward and put both your hands on the gate in front of me, and tell your woman to do the same.”

“Si,” he responded and then helped his wife up, mumbling something in Spanish. Her stance was wobbly. He steadied her and kept whispering in her ear, calm and soft. As Jas rode back, Herb checked out the two Mexicans, who carried an empty gun and a knife. Once they were sure that their guests were less of a threat to them than they were to their guests, he gave them more water and shade under the lean-to behind the gate.

~~~

“Any idea who’s at the gate?” Steve asked.

“Nope, but it’s been a while since the last visitor. Maybe another neighbor,” Darla guessed, squeezing his hand tightly, not minding its sweatiness. They were making their second circle around the inside of Horseshoe Canyon, enjoying the shade. Daily, at mid-morning or mid-afternoon, they walked this circuit; it was a way for Darla to exercise without tasking the baby, Steve’s break from the day’s work, and their way to spend some time with each other during the day. Sometimes, it was only a quick walk since Herb and Wilber seemed to be always working at a breakneck pace on some project, most recently in the caves.

“So are you going to tell me what the hell you boys are doing in the caves?” Her features and tone were serious, but Steve knew she was teasing.

“I told you, it’s a secret, but we’re almost done with it, just a few days more. I promise you it will be worth the wait,” Steve finished.

Darla felt a little guilty grilling him on what was obviously a good thing. “Okay, I’ll be patient. I’m sure it’s going to be great. Now quit talking and give me some whiskery sugar.” She repeated the phrase he had used back when they started this journey together. His bristles still felt odd against her face, even though it had been months and every man, in this way, looked the same. For just a moment she wondered if men would take up shaving again in the future.

Wilber and Joselin brushed past them on the way to the ranch house, perhaps with brunch on their minds.

“Steve? Darla?” Wilber called to them.

“Sorry, just sucking face with my husband,” Darla answered, but then noticed their nervous looks. “Let’s get back to the house and see what’s up with the strangers. I have a weird feeling about them.”

“Sure, let’s go then,” Steve agreed.

They all walked briskly back to the house.

~~~

After Jas gave the suffering woman into O’s care, he and his father set off at a fairly quick gallop along the shoulder of the road. Besides their weapons, Herb carried a backpack filled with medical supplies, packed by O just in case, and Jas carried some water and food. Herb was worried it might all be a trap. He warned his guys to be vigilant with the two Mexicans, although their exhaustion, and especially the white woman’s injuries, seemed to back up their story. About three miles down the road, they saw an old model Chevy SUV parked off to the side, almost into the bushes.

“Jas, watch the trees and all around you,” Herb said, cupping his hands around his mouth to direct his voice so that it wouldn’t be heard by anyone else close by. He pulled his horse forward in front of Jas’s and fanned his hand downward, telling the boy to slow down.

A woman popped out of the back of the truck and waved at them. Here it comes, Herb thought. He gritted his teeth and waited as he dismounted, drawing his gun and walking his horse, hoping it would provide enough cover, if they needed it. He motioned for Jas to do the same.

The woman’s expression changed from tired exuberance to terror. Not the response he expected. She backed up a few paces and yelled, “Please, we don’t want any trouble, it’s my uncle, he’s hurt badly. Somebody on the road shot him.” The woman’s words sputtered out of her mouth like water from a long-dry hose.

Herb gestured for her to back up as he walked beside the vehicle, the clop clop clop of his horse’s hooves the only sounds he heard. Looking inside, he could see a little child on the back seat, maybe a year old, sleeping peacefully, but no one else. When he approached the back of the vehicle, keeping his gun aimed in her direction, he peered through the hatch’s opening and saw a man lying there, unmoving except for his breathing. He looked unconscious, and not to be faking it. Plus, he was lying in the wrong direction for a sneak attack, with his head almost hanging out the back.

“Daaaaad,” his son called out to him in alarm. Herb spun and watched in shock as another man had come from behind, a rifle trained on his son, whose hands were already raised in defeat. Dammit! It was a trap.

The approaching man then pointed his rifle upward, following suit with his other hand.

“We don’t want trouble; we only want help for our friend,” he stopped behind Jas, who was saucer-eyed and pale. “Are our other people safe?”