Forty Lashes Less One Read online

  It was a still pool, but not stagnant, undercutting a shelf of rock and mirroring the cliffs and canyon walls. Joe Dean dismounted. He led his horse down a bank of shale to the pool, then went belly-down at the edge and drank with his face in the water. He drank all he wanted before emptying the little bit left in his canteen and filling it to the top. Then he stretched out and drank again. He wished he had time to strip off his clothes and dive in. But he had better get the others first or Frank would see he'd bathed and start kicking and screaming again. Once he got them here they would probably all want to take a bath. That would be something, Norma in there with them, grabbing some of her under the water when Frank wasn't looking. Then she'd get out and lie up there on the bank to dry off in the sun. Nice soft white body Joe Dean was pushing himself up, looking at the pool and aware now of the reflections in the still water: the slope of the canyon wall high above, the shelf of rock behind him, sandy brown, and something else, something dark that resembled a man's shape, and he felt that cold prickly feeling up between his shouder blades to his neck.

  It was probably a crevice, shadowed inside. It couldn't be a man. Joe Dean got to his feet, then turned around and looked up.

  Harold Jackson bare to the waist, and a blanket over one shoulder, with his beard and tribal scars and streak of white paint stood looking down at him from the rock shelf.

  How you doing? Harold said. You get enough water?

  Joe Dean stared at him. He didn't answer right away. God, no. He was thinking and trying to decide quickly if it was a good thing or a bad thing to be looking up at Harold Jackson at a water hole in the Little Ajo Mountains.

  He said finally, How'd you get here?

  Same way you did.

  You got away after we left?

  Looks like it, don't it?

  Well, that must've been something. Just you? No, Raymond come with me.

  I don't see him. Where is he?

  He's around some place.

  If there wasn't any horses left, how'd you get here? How you think?

  I'm asking you, Sambo.

  We run, Joe.

  You're saying you run here all the way from Sen - tinel?

  Well, we stop last night, Harold said, and kept watching him. Up in the Crater Mountains.

  Is that right? We camped up there too.

  I know you did, Harold said.

  Joe Dean was silent for a long moment before he said, You killed Howard and Dancey, didn't you?

  No, we never killed them. We let them go.

  What do you want?

  Not you, Joe. Unless you want to take part.

  Joe Dean's revolver was in his belt. He didn't see a gun or a knife or anything on Harold, just the blanket over his shoulder and covering his arm. It looked like it would be pretty easy. So he drew his revolver.

  As he did, though, Harold pulled the blanket across his body with his left hand. His right hand came up holding Howard Crowder's .44 and he shot Joe Dean with it three times in the chest. And now Harold had two revolvers, a rifle, and a horse. He left Joe Dean lying next to the pool for Shelby to find.

  They had passed Clarkstown, Shelby decided. Missed it. Which meant they were still in the Little Ajo Mountains, past the chance of having a sit-down hot meal today, but that much closer to the border. That part was all right. What bothered him, they had not seen Virgil or Joe Dean since noon.

  It was almost four o'clock now. Junior and Soonzy were riding ahead about thirty yards. Norma was keeping up with Shelby, staying close, afraid of him but more afraid of falling behind and finding herself alone. If Shelby didn't know where they were, Norma knew that she, by herself, would never find her way out. She had no idea why Shelby had brought her, other than at Virgil's request to have a woman along. No one had approached her in the camp last night. She knew, though, once they were across the border and the men relaxed and quit looking behind them, one of them, probably Virgil, would come to her with that fixed expression on his face and she would take him on and be nice to him as long as she had no other choice.

  We were through here one time, Shelby said. We went up through Copper Canyon to Clarkstown the morning we went after the Cornelia Mine payroll. I don't see any familiar sights, though. It all looks the same.

  She knew he wasn't speaking to her directly. He was thinking out loud, or stoking his confidence with the sound of his own voice.

  From here what we want to hit is Growler Pass, Shelby said. Top the pass and we're at Bates Well. Then we got two ways to go. Southeast to Dripping Springs and on down to Sonoyta. Or a shorter trail to the border through Quitobaquito. I haven't decided yet which way we'll go. When Virgil comes in I'll ask him if Billy Santos said anything about which trail's best this time of the year.

  What happened to the two men last night? Norma asked him.

  Shelby didn't answer. She wasn't sure if she should ask him again. Before she could decide, Junior was riding back toward them and Shelby had reined in to wait for him.

  Junior was grinning. I believe Joe Dean's found us some water. His tracks lead into that canyon yonder and it's chock-full of green brush and willow trees.

  There's a tank somewhere in these hills, Shelby said.

  Well, I believe we've found it, Junior said.

  They found the natural tank at the end of the canyon. They found Joe Dean lying with his head and outstretched arms in the still water. And they found planted in the sand next to him, sticking straight up, a spear made of a bamboo fishing pole and a mortar trowel.

  Chapter 13

  They camped on high ground south of Bates Well and in the morning came down through giant saguaro country, down through a hollow in the hills to within sight of Quitobaquito.

  There it was, a row of weathered adobes and stock pens beyond a water hole that resembled a shallow, stagnant lake a worn-out village on the bank of a dying pool that was rimmed with rushes and weeds and a few stunted trees.

  Shelby didn't like it.

  He had pictured a green oasis and found a dusty, desert water hole. He had imagined a village where they could trade for food and fresh horses, a gateway to Mexico with the border lying not far beyond the village, across the Rio Sonoyta.

  He didn't like the look of the place. He didn't like not seeing any people over there. He didn't like the open fifty yards between here and the water hole.

  He waited in a cover of rocks and brush with Norma and Junior and Soonzy behind him, and Mexico waiting less than a mile away. They could go around Quitobaquito. But if they did, where was the next water? The Sonoyta could be dried up, for all he knew. They could head for Santo Domingo, a fair-sized town that shouldn't be too far away. But what if they missed it? There was water right in front of them and, goddamn-it, they were going to have some, all they wanted. But he hesitated, studying the village, waiting for some sign of life other than a dog barking, and remembering Joe Dean with the three bullets in his chest.

  Junior said, Jesus, are we gong to sit here in the sun all day?

  I'll let you know, Shelby said.

  You want me to get the water?

  I did, I would have told you.

  Well, then tell me, goddamn-it. You think I'm scared to?

  Soonzy settled it. He said, I think maybe everybody's off some place to a wedding or something. That's probably what it is. These people, somebody dies or gets married, they come from all over.

  Maybe, Shelby said.

  I don't see no other way but for me to go in there and find out. What do you say, Frank?

  After a moment Shelby nodded. All right, go take a look.

  If it's the nigger and the Indin, Soonzy said, if they're in there, I'll bring 'em out.

  Raymond held the wooden shutter open an inch, enough so he could watch Soonzy coming in from the east end of the village, mounted, a rifle across his lap. Riding right in, Raymond thought. Dumb, or sure of himself, or maybe both. He could stick a .44 out the window and shoot him as he went by. Except that it would be a risk. He couldn't affo
rd to miss and have Soonzy shooting in here. Raymond let the shutter close.

  He pressed a finger to his lips and turned to the fourteen people, the men and women and children who were huddled in the dim room, sitting on the floor and looking up at him now, watching silently, even the two smallest children. The people were Mexican and Papago. They wore white cotton and cast-off clothes. They had lived here all their lives and they were used to armed men riding through Quitobaquito. Raymond had told them these were bad men coming who might steal from them and harm them. They believed him and they waited in silence. Now they could hear the horse's hoofs on the hard-packed street. Raymond stood by the door with a revolver in his hand. The sound of the horse passed. Raymond waited, then opened the door a crack and looked out. Soonzy was nowhere in sight.

  If anybody was going to shoot at anybody going for water, Soonzy decided, it would have to be from one of the adobes facing the water hole. There was a tree in the backyard of the first one that would block a clear shot across the hole. So that left him only two places to search two low-roofed, crumbling adobes that stood bare in the sunlight, showing their worn bricks and looking like part of the land.

  Soonzy stayed close to the walls on the front side of the street. When he came to the first adobe facing the water hole, he reached down to push the door open, ducked his head, and walked his horse inside.

  He came out into the backyard on foot, holding a revolver now, and seeing just one end of the water hole because the tree was in the way. From the next adobe, though, a person would have a clear shot. There weren't any side windows, which was good. It let Soonzy walk right up to the place. He edged around the corner, following his revolver to the back door and got right up against the boards so he could listen. He gave himself time; there was no hurry. Then he was glad he did when the sound came from inside, a little creeking sound, like a door or a window being opened.

  Harold eased open the front door a little more. He still couldn't see anything. The man had been down at the end of the street, coming this way on his horse big as anything, and now he was gone. He looked down half a block and across the street, at the adobe, where Raymond was waiting with the people, keeping them quiet and out of the way. He saw Raymond coming out; Harold wanted to wave to him to get inside. What was he doing?

  The back door banged open and Soonzy was standing in the room covering him with a Colt revolver.

  Got you, Soonzy said. Throw the gun outside and turn this way. Where's that red nigger at?

  You mean Raymond? Harold said. He left. I don't know where he went.

  Which one of you shot Joe Dean, you or him? I did. I haven't seen Raymond since before that.

  What'd you do with Virgil?

  I don't think I know any Virgil.

  Frank's brother. He took us off the train.

  I haven't seen him.

  You want me to pull the trigger?

  I guess you'll pull it whether I tell or not. Harold felt the door behind him touch the heel of his right foot. He had not moved the foot, but now he felt the door push gently against it.

  I'll tell Frank Shelby, Harold said then. How'll that be? You take me to Frank I'll tell him where his brother is and them other two boys. But if you shoot me he won't ever know where his brother's at, will he? He's liable to get mad at somebody.

  Soonzy had to think about that. He wasn't going to be talked into anything he didn't want to do. He said, Whether I shoot you now or later you're still going to be dead.

  It's up to you, Harold said.

  All right, turn around and open the door.

  Yes-suh, captain, Harold said.

  He opened the door and stepped aside and Raymond, in the doorway, fired twice and hit Soonzy dead center both times.

  Shelby and Junior and Norma Davis heard the shots. They sounded far off, but the reports were thin and clear and unmistakable. Soonzy had gone into the village. Two shots were fired and Soonzy had not come out. They crouched fifty yards from water with empty canteens and the border less than a mile away.

  Norma said they should go back to Bates Well. They could be there by evening, get water, and take the other trail south.

  And run into a posse coming down from Gila, Shelby said. They didn't have time enough even to wait here till dark. They had to go with water or go without it, but they had to go, now.

  So Junior said Jesus, give me the goddamn canteens or we will be here all day. He said maybe those two could paint theirselves up and bushwack a man, but he would bet ten dollars gold they couldn't shoot worth a damn for any distance. He'd get the water and be back in a minute. Shelby told Junior he would return fire and cover him if they started shooting, and Junior said that was mighty big of him.

  There, Raymond said. You see him?

  Harold looked out past the door frame to the water hole. Whereabouts?

  Raymond was at the window of the adobe. He worked his way over to the right, coming in on the other side of the tree. You'll see him in a minute.

  Which one?

  It looked like Junior.

  He can't sit still, can he?

  I guess he's thirsty, Raymond said. There he is. He thinks that tree's hiding him.

  Harold could see him now, over to the right a little, approaching the bank of the water hole, running across the open in a hunch-shouldered crouch, keeping his head down behind nothing.

  How far do you think? Raymond said.

  Harold raised his Winchester and put the front sight on Junior. Hundred yards, a little more.

  Can you hit him?

  Harold watched Junior slide down the sandy bank and begin filling the canteens, four of them, kneeling in the water and filling them one at a time. Yeah, I can hit him, Harold said, and he was thinking, He's taking too long. He should fill them all at once, push them under and hold them down.

  What do you think? Raymond said.

  I don't know.

  He ever do anything to you?

  He done enough.

  I don't know either, Raymond said.

  He'd kill you. He wouldn't have to think about it. I guess he would.

  He'd enjoy it.

  I don't know, Raymond said. It's different, seeing him when he don't see us.

  Well, Harold said, if he gets the water we might not see him again. We might not see Frank Shelby again either. You want Frank?

  I guess so.

  I do too, Harold said.

  They let Junior come up the bank with the canteens, up to the rim before they shot him. Both fired at once and Junior slid back down to the edge of the still pool.

  Norma looked at it this way: they would either give up, or they would be killed. Giving up would be taking a chance. But it would be less chancey if she gave up on her own, without Shelby. After all, Shelby had forced her to come along and that was a fact, whether the Indian and the Negro realized it or not. She had never been really unkind to them in prison; she had had nothing to do with them. So there was no reason for them to harm her now once she explained she was more on their side than on Frank's. If they were feeling mean and had rape on their mind, well, she could handle that easily enough.

  There was one canteen left, Joe Dean's. Norma picked it up and waited for Shelby's reaction.

  They'll shoot you too, he said.

  I don't think so.

  Why, because you're a woman?

  That might help.

  God Almighty, you don't know them, do you?

  I know they've got nothing against me. They're mad at you, Frank, not me.

  They've killed six people we know of. You just watched them gun Junior and you're going to walk out there in the open?

  Do you believe I might have a chance?

  Shelby paused. A skinny one.

  Skinny or not, it's the only one we have, isn't it? You'd put your life up to help me?

  I'm just as thirsty as you are.

  Norma, I don't know two days ago you were trying to turn me in.

  That's a long story, and if we get out o
f here we can talk about it sometime, Frank.

  You really believe you can do it.

  I want to so bad.

  Boy, she was something. She was a tough, good-looking woman, and by God, maybe she could pull it. Frank said, It might work. You know it?

  I'm going way around to the side, Norma said, where those bushes are. Honey, if they start shooting You're going to make it, Norma, I know you are. I got a feeling about this and I know it's going to work. He gave her a hug and rubbed his hand gently up and down her back, which was damp with perspiration. He said, You hurry back now.

  Norma said, I will, sweetheart.

  Watching her cross the open ground, Shelby got his rifle up between a notch in the rocks and put it on the middle adobe across the water hole. Norma was approaching from the left, the same way Junior had gone in, but circling wider than Junior had, going way around and now approaching the pool where tall rushes grew along the bank. Duck down in there, Shelby said. But Norma kept going, circling the water hole, following the bank as it curved around toward the far side. Jesus, she had nerve; she was heading for the bushes almost to the other side. But then she was past the bushes. She was running. She was into the yard where the big tree stood before Shelby said, Goddamn you! out loud, and swung his Winchester on the moving figure in the striped skirt. He fired and levered and fired two more before they opened up from the house and he had to go down behind the rocks. By the time he looked again she was inside.

  Frank Shelby gave up an hour later. He waved a flour sack at them for a while, then brought the three horses down out of the brush and led them around the water hole toward the row of adobes. He had figured out most of what he was going to say. The tone was the important thing. Take them by surprise. Bluff them. Push them off balance. They'd expect him to run and hide, but instead he was walking up to them. He could talk to them. Christ, a dumb nigger and an Indin who'd been taking orders and saying yes-sir all their lives. They had run scared from the train and had been scared into killing. That's what happened. They were scared to death of being caught and taken back to prison. So he would have to be gentle with them at first and calm them down, the way you'd calm a green horse that was nervous and skittish. There, there, boys, what's all this commotion about? Show them he wasn't afraid, and gradually take charge. Take care of Norma also. God, he was dying to get his hands on Norma.