The Spanish Pony by Paul Stansbury
Pete Monsen finds an injured boy on the trail, and rescues him with the help of his dog Pyrite and his burro Esperanza.
"What's got holt of your tail, Pyrite?" Pete Monsen shouted, breath turning into a dense vapor in the cold morning air. He tugged at his curly grey beard as he watched his Catahoula Shepherd splash down the narrow, rain-soaked trail and disappear around a ragged outcrop of rocks. "Come back here, dog. I ain't got time for you to go runnin off." Hiking up his waist overalls, he pulled his burro's lead. "Come on, Esperanza. Let's see what's got him all upset."
Rounding the ledge, he found his dog whining as it nosed a large brown bundle lying in a puddle between the trail bed and cliff. "Whatcha you find there, boy?" he asked. "Looks like someone lost their top pack. Think it mighta been the storm?" He turned and tugged at the straps holding the panniers on Esperanza's back. Satisfied they were snug and his mining gear and provisions were secure, he added, "Whatcha think, girl? Musta been a real rip snorter. Tends to get that way in the mountains. Ferocious in one gorge and calm in the next. Strange. Whoever it was didn't notice. Unless..." he inched to the drop off, peering into the deep recess, "...they got knocked off the trail." He studied the scrub and boulder-filled ravine. "Can't see nothin. Wonder what the devil happened."
Pyrite jumped and yelped. Startled, Pete clapped a hand to his chest and whirled around. "Hot damn, dog, you almost caused me to fall over the edge." Pyrite froze, staring at the bundle, tail lifted slightly, left front foot pulled up toward his chest. Pete reached for his Sharps carbine. "Whatcha got there? A rattler?"
The bundle moved. Pyrite yipped.
Pete drew a bead, ready to fire, then a small, skinny leg poked out followed by a soft moan. Pete lowered his weapon. "That ain't no rattler." The bundle unfurled as a boy with thick black hair matted to his tawny cheeks sprawled in the muck. His left arm bent unnaturally below his shoulder. "I'll be jiggered," whispered Pete, shoving his rifle back into its worn leather scabbard. "You damn near got shot." Another moan escaped from the boy. Patting Pyrite's head, Pete said, "Good boy." Pyrite relaxed, wagging his tail as Pete knelt beside the boy. "How'd you manage to end up here?"
Another moan seeped out of the boy's mouth.
"Pyrite, that one's broke for sure," Pete said, pointing to the boy's left arm. "Bet he got a good knock on the head too. Ain't no way we can leave him here. Got to find a dry spot and warm him up. I think I remember an overhang down the trail a bit. You stay here while I go look." Pyrite lay down next to the boy, while Pete grabbed Esperanza's lead and headed down the trail. Pyrite kept watch until they reached a turn in the trail and disappeared.
A half-hour later, Pyrite yipped, seeing Pete and Esperanza round the bend. Pete waved. Esperanza, free of her load, bounced along the path. Pyrite stayed near the boy until Pete approached, then jumped up and trotted over for his obligatory pat on the head.
"I see you got everthin under control," said Pete. He eyed the boy. "Don't look like this'n has moved an inch." Kneeling, he placed a hand on the boy's chest. Feeling its steady rise and fall, he said, "Well, he's alive. Found a spot down a ways. Once we get him there and warm him up a bit, maybe he'll come to."
The boy let out a groan as Pete picked him up. "Sorry kid, but I got to, and it'll probably get worse fore it gets better." He placed the moaning boy face down, legs and arms straddling Esperanza's back, then strapped him down with a length of rope. "Slow and steady," he whispered in the burro's ear. He gave a gentle tug on her lead, and they started down the trail, Pyrite following. Ten minutes later, the trail leveled, and a hollow about five feet high and ten feet across opened underneath a large outcropping. Dry earth lay underneath. The panniers Pete removed earlier from Esperanza lay inside.
"Here we are. Home sweet home," said Pete, ducking as he led Esperanza under the ledge, her ears lightly scraping the overhead. Pyrite found a soft spot in the sun to lay down.
Pete frowned. "Here's where the pain is gonna get a lot worse," He lifted the moaning boy from Esperanza and laid him on a blanket at the back of the hollow. Grabbing a bag of prairie coal, Pete pulled out a few dung cakes, piled them up and lit a small fire. Then, he scrambled up and down the slopes on either side of the hollow to gather dead scrub. Returning with an armful, he broke it up and tossed it onto the growing fire.
Pete turned his attention to the boy, removing his wet knee-high boot-moccasins. He examined them. They had stiff rawhide soles curving upward over their toes. "Humphh, right intrestin," he muttered before tossing them by the fire to dry out. He shook his head and grumbled, "Now comes the hard part. If you was a growed man, it wouldn't be so bad, but..." Pulling off his own dusty campaign hat, he rubbed his bald head with a calloused hand and frowned. Lifting the boy to a sitting position, he peeled the heavy, damp, canvas sack coat from the boy's right arm. The wet fabric resisted, and the boy groaned with each yank until it pulled free.
Pete looked at the boy's crooked left arm still inside the other coat sleeve and whispered, "I'm sorry, kid." He sucked in a deep breath, grabbed the coat's left cuff and jerked with all his might, hoping to remove it in one motion. The wet canvas clutched the boy's arm, refusing to abandon its grip. The boy's eyes popped open as he screamed at the top of his lungs, then passed out again. Another wrench and scream, and the sleeve came free.
Pyrite ran over, snuffling as he nuzzled the boy's face. "He'll be okay," huffed Pete, wiping sweat from his brow. The boy wore a red flannel shirt over a dingy union suit. Pete pulled out his Barlow knife. Hesitating, he put it back in his pocket and looked at Pyrite. "No. Ain't gonna do it. This looks like a storebought shirt and they cost too much to cut up. Why, I paid a dollar for my shirt over in Bisbee." He pushed Pyrite back from the boy. "You stay. There's gonna be some kind of ruckus break out here in a second, and I don't want you in it." Pyrite backed off, sighed, then plopped down on his haunches.
Pete rested a knee on the boy's chest, grabbing his left arm at the shoulder and above the elbow. Holding tight, he pulled hard to stretch the muscles and align the fractured bone ends. The boy howled, kicking his feet and thrashing his right arm, while Pete bore his knee down on his chest to keep him from rising. "Just a little bit more," he said, running a hand up and down the boy's arm, checking for alignment. All the while the boy screamed, writhing in pain. Pete lowered the boy's arm to his side then placed a hand on his forehead. "Think that's got it. You rest a bit before we bind it up."
Panting, the boy raised his head and glared with fierce obsidian eyes at the wiry old man looming over him. Lips quivering, he tried to speak as his vision closed in around Pete's weathered face and pale blue eyes, the last thing the boy saw before everything faded to black.
"I think he's played out," sighed Pete, sitting back. He patted Pyrite's head. "He'll be quiet for awhile, so I oughta use the time to bind up that arm while he's out. No need to cause him no more pain than necessary."
The sun hovered above the tips of the western peaks when the boy opened his eyes.
Pete took a draw on his clay pipe. "How ya feelin?"
"I... I... what happened?" stammered the boy.
"All I know is we found you rolled up in a knot, lying in the mud. You been out most of the day."
"My horse?"
"Didn't see no horse. Name's Peter Monsen. Everone calls me Pete. What's your name, young feller?"
"Josiah Harris. I gotta find my horse." He tried to sit up, then fell back, gasping as pain surged through his left arm.
"Oh, forgot to mention that you broke your arm, Josiah. You'll do okay if you're careful and don't put no weight on it."
"But I gotta find my horse."
Pete took another puff. "Probably on his way back to where you come from. If you don't mind me asking, where might that be?"
"Outside anyways."
"That's a fur piece away from here. You come all the way by yourself?"
Josiah stared intently at Pete a moment before murmuring, "Yeah."
"Why?"
Josiah scowled. "That'd be my business."
Pete held up his hand and smiled. "Sure nough. Don't mean to be prying into a man's business." He looked toward the setting sun. "Gets dark quick in the mountains. We'll stay here tonight and let you get some rest. In the morning, we'll head back to your place."
"No."
Pete raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"Can't go back till I find it."
"Your horse is probably halfway back there anyway, looking for water. He didn't come our way, and," Pete said, pointing at the edge, "I didn't see no horse over the side. So, the only way he had to go was back down the trail. We'll find him along the way."
"That ain't what I'm talking about."
"What is it then?"
"That's none of your concern."
"That may well be. But you're in no shape to be tramping around these mountains by yourself."
"Am too."
Pete shrugged. "Well then, git up and go wherever it is you need to go."
Josiah glared at him, then rolled on his right side, wincing. He struggled to his knees, sucking in ragged breaths, eyes squeezed shut. He stood up on shaky legs, managing a single step before he fell to the ground, screaming in pain.
"I thought so," said Pete. "Tell you what. Why don't you eat something anyway before you start out? Help get your strength up." He snapped his fingers. "I got somethin you might like." He got up and rummaged through the panniers until he found his prize. "Here tis," he said, holding up a can. "You ever seen one of these?"
Josiah nodded. "Seen one at Helvey's Mercantile."
"An airtight of peaches. Never seen one before I bought a few over in El Paso. I'll tell you rightly, I don't know how they got peaches to grow inside this tin contraption. The clerk said that the peaches inside this here thing tastes like a summer day in Georgia. You ever been to Georgia?"
"No."
"Me neither." Pete held out the can. "You game?"
Worn down from hunger and pain, Josiah mumbled, "Mebbe."
"Okay then." Pete dug his knife out of his pocket and proceeded to cut and pry the lid away. He examined the contents then sniffed it. "They sure is sweet, all peeled and everthin." He pulled a fork from his kit and dropped it in the can. Spearing a peach half with his knife, he said, "I'll take this and you're welcome to the rest." He held the can out for Josiah.
Josiah looked at the can. "How am I supposed to handle that with one arm?"
Pete smiled. "We'll figure somethin out."
After a restless night, Josiah awoke to Pyrite's cold nose pressed against his cheek. He rubbed the dog's head with his free hand.
"He's hungry, but too polite to eat before you get up." said Pete. "Got some hot coffee and hardtack. Dip it in your coffee to soften it. If you got a sweet tooth, I think I got some maple sugar somewheres."
Josiah rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Sure. Can you help me sit up?"
Pyrite, tail wagging, eyed Pete.
"First things first." Pete tossed a jerky cut to Pyrite. "If you need more than that, go find you somethin." Pyrite lay down with the jerky squeezed tight between his paws and began to lick and gnaw the salty, smoky meat.
Pete held up a square of hardtack. "Spect I better bust this up for you," he said, picking up a flat stone and setting it on his thigh. Laying a thick, tan cracker on its surface, he cracked it into pieces with his pick hammer. He dropped them in a tin cup filled with coffee. "Let em soften up whilst I get you set."
"I'll have some of that maple sugar in that if you don't mind," said Josiah, nodding toward the cup.
"Already done it," Pete said, handing the cup to Josiah. "Once you're finished, we'll start on our way back."
Josiah set the cup between his legs and fished out a lump of hardtack. He popped it in his mouth. "Appreciate the offer, but like I said, I'm looking for somethin and I can't go back till I find it," he sputtered around the hardtack.
"I remember you sayin somethin like that." Pete rubbed his chin. "How old are you?"
"Fifteen."
Pete eyed the boy. "Sure you are," he chortled. "I figure you to be more like twelve or thirteen."
Josiah shrugged. "So what. I'm old enough."
"You got family?"
"Yeah."
"Do they know where you are?"
Josiah looked away, chewed the hardtack for a while then mumbled, "Still tough as an old boot."
"You didn't answer my question. Do your folks know where you are?" asked Pete. Sullen, Josiah continued to chew, ignoring Pete's question. "Well then, I'll just have to take you to the sheriff."
"No," screamed Josiah, coffee and hardtack spewing from his mouth. "He's the reason..." He fell silent, turning his head away from Pete.
"Reason for what?"
"The reason I got to find the Spanish Pony," rasped Josiah. Tears rolled down his cheeks while he wiped his face against his shoulder.
Pete cocked his head. "What you know about the Spanish Pony?"
Josiah licked his lips. "Heard some fellers talking about it at Helvey's Mercantile. They said the pony would lead you to a hidden treasure. One said he'd seen it and tried to follow it but the pony disappeared into the mountains."
"And you believed them?"
"The man swore it was true."
Well, I guess that's good enough." Pete rubbed his forehead. "What's all this got to do with the sheriff?"
Josiah wiped his nose. "Coupla days ago, Sheriff Rannahan showed up with a feller from the bank. They said Pa took out somethin called a discount to pay the taxes and that they was gonna give us a week and if we didn't pay up, they'd take the ranch."
"What'd your pa say?"
"That's the thing. Pa's gone. He threw in with some other ranchers to drive a herd up to Abilene. He was gonna use his share to pay the bank." Josiah shook his head. "It's like they waited till he was gone."
"And what about your ma?"
Josiah hung his head. "Rannahan wouldn't listen to her."
"Why's that?" asked Pete. Josiah remained silent. "Could it be cause your ma's an Indian?" Josiah scowled. "No offense meant," said Pete. "But you got the look and them cactus-kickers you're wearin sort of give it away."
Josiah stared at Pete with piercing black eyes. "Mescalero," he whispered. He curled up his fist and pounded the dirt. "I ain't gonna let him take our ranch," he yelled. Pyrite looked up from his remaining nub of jerky, barked then returned to his breakfast.
"So, you thought you'd set out to find the Spanish Pony to lead you to the treasure."
"Yeah."
"That's right admirable of you, but that's a tall order even for a healthy man. You can't make it on your own with that busted arm and I ain't gonna leave you out here to die. If you was a growed man, that'd be different."
Josiah pointed a finger at Pete. "You could go with me - be my partner. I'd split the treasure with you."
Pete smiled. "An intrestin proposition." He studied Josiah's pleading eyes for a moment before he said, "You got a deal, but first, I reckon I better take you back so's you can heal up."
Josiah brushed a tear away. "That'd be too late."
Pete relit his pipe and took a long puff. "Well, you never know." He stood up. "Finish up your coffee and hardtack while I pack up. We got to be heading back. Now, tell me how we get to your place."
The trail wound steadily down through the Chiricahua Mountains. Midday, they stopped to share a cut of jerky and the last airtight. Apricots. They ate in silence for awhile before Pete spoke. "I think just about everyone has heard some tale or another about that Spanish Pony of yours. One I heard about had it all start about seventy years ago durin the Mexican War of Independence. 1810 I think. That was even before I was born. The Mexican indios revolted against their Spanish rulers. Kindly like when Texas busted loose from Mexico. Back then ever little town was run by a political boss called an Alcalde -"
"What's that?" interrupted Josiah.
"Alcaldes were fellers put in power by Spain. Most were crooked as Pyrite's hind leg -"
"Kinda like the sheriff?"
"Yeah. They purty much did whatever they wanted as long as they kept Spain's coffers full of money. As the story goes, there was this Alcalde who ran a town just south of the border. By all accounts, he was a particularly bad man. Seems he owned a gold mine and used his political power to force the indios to work there. They was little more than slaves.
"Once the gold was minted into Spanish doblas he sent some to Spain and the rest he kept. They say he had some of the gold cast into a statue of a horse so big it took several men to carry it. He called it El Poni Español."
Josiah wrinkled his brow. "The Spanish Pony?"
"Sure nuff. Well, when the Alcalde's indio miners joined the revolt, they was more hell bent on revenge rather than independence, and they took out after him. So, he packed up his treasure and fled across the border into these same Chiricahua Mountains. With all that loot he was hauling, he couldn't outrun 'em. So, as the legend goes, he found a cave where he stashed the loot, including the Spanish Pony. He then fled to Santa Fe where he got shot dead cheatin at poker. People's been lookin for his Spanish Pony ever since."
Josiah shook his head. "But the man at Helvey's said the Spanish Pony was a horse, not a statue."
Pete shrugged. "Suit yourself. How your feet holdin out? We got a fur piece left before it gets dark."
Josiah tipped his head back, draining the last drops of syrup from the airtight onto his waiting tongue. He licked his lips. "I'm okay."
"What about that busted wing of yours?"
Josiah frowned. "Hurts."
"That's to be expected. Ain't got it tied down too tight, do I?"
Josiah shrugged. "No, it's okay."
Pete stood up. "Come on. Time to get goin. I'd like to cover some ground before it gets dark." Pete extended his hand. "Need some help?"
Josiah shook his head. "I got it."
Pete shrugged. "Suit yourself. While you're getting up, I'll fetch Esperanza."
Josiah crossed his legs, leaned forward, pushing himself up with his right arm. Feeling a sharp stabbing pain in his hand, he winced as he stood. Shaking it in pain, he looked at the ground to see a scorpion scurrying away. He stomped on it, grinding the creature into the dust.
"What's all the commotion about?" called Pete.
Josiah looked at the back of his hand, seeing only a small, red, stinging blemish. "Nothin."
"Well then, let's git going," said Pete.
Shadows crawled from the western peaks across the rolling foothills as Pete and Josiah left the mountains and continued their journey eastward. Pete led Esperanza while Josiah walked a few paces behind. His head pounded, muscles aching. Throat thick, he had trouble swallowing. Shaking uncontrollably, his legs spasmed, causing him to crumple to the ground. Whimpering, Pyrite dashed to him, ears back, tail sinking between his legs.
Hearing the commotion, Pete turned around. "What's going on?" He saw Josiah's writhing body and ran to the boy.
"I... I ca brea," slurred Josiah. His eyes fluttered.
Pete placed a hand on his forehead. "You're burning up."
"Gah... to... kee goin. Gah to fine... the... Po," he slurred, raising a trembling arm and pointing upward. "Ee's... ri... ere."
Pete saw a angry crimson welt on Josiah's hand. A purple blister oozed in its middle. "What happened?"
"Scor... Scor..."
"Scorpion? You got stung by a scorpion? Why didn't you say somethin?" He patted Pyrite's head. "Stay here with Josiah. He's got the rigors."
Looking around, Pete spied a thicket of white oaks. Grabbing his miner's axe, he set off to cut some firewood. Forty minutes later, as the sun dipped below the far western slopes, a fire crackled next to Josiah, who continued to convulse and moan in pain. Pete cut a chunk of jerky and tossed it to Pyrite. Placing a hand on Josiah's dust-dry, burning forehead, he whispered, "Wish I could ease your pain." Pete buried his face in his hands. After drawing in a few deep breaths, he bolted upright, snapping his fingers. He looked at Pyrite. "Damn old fool is what I am," he cried, scrambling over to the panniers. He tore through their contents until his fingers found what he sought. "Got it, Pyrite" he rejoiced, retrieving a small, corked bottle. "Gilbert's No. 10 Laudanum," he chortled. Pyrite yelped, dropping his gnawed jerky and ran over to investigate. "Won't cure him, but at least it'll ease his pain while he rides this out..." He clenched his jaw. "...if he rides it out." Pyrite sniffed the bottle and backed away.
After the stars came out, Pete looked up into the sky. Drawing in a deep breath, he said. "Lord, I've tried my best to stay outta your business. Figured you had enough on your mind without me pestering you for this and that. I've done purty good at that so far, but I done run up on somethin that changes things. As you probably know, I got a real sick boy on my hands. Seems like everthin that could go wrong for a young feller has done gone wrong for him and all at once. Lost his horse, busted an arm, and to top it off, got stung by a scorpion. And that's not to mention that some scoundrels is trying to steal his pa's ranch. It's that scorpion sting what's got me worried. I seen bigger and tougher than him die from one of them stings. Thing is, he don't deserve to die and there ain't much I can do to stop it. Only thing I can do is dose him with Gilbert's No. 10 to keep him comfortable. So, if you can see it in your heart to save him, I'd be right thankful."
Pete kept the fire burning and administered the laudanum at regular intervals through the night. As a sliver of orange appeared on the eastern horizon, his eyes grew heavy and his head nodded, drifting between wakefulness and sleep. Josiah stirred. Pyrite nuzzled his master. Opening his eyes, Pete asked, "What's that, boy?" Josiah stirred again. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. Pete wrapped an arm around Pyrite's neck. "Fever's broke. I think he's gonna make it."
Josiah opened his eyes. "I'm thirsty," he rasped.
Pete looked up and whispered, "Thanks." Then he grabbed the canteen and helping Josiah sit up, held it to his lips. "Just a sip."
"What happened?"
"You damn near died on me. You been out since yesterday." Wide-eyed, Josiah looked around. Pete placed a hand on the boy's chest. "Steady, you're just comin out of it." He lifted the canteen to Josiah's lips. "Here, take another sip."
Josiah let the water trickle down his throat, then shook his head. "I found him."
"Found who?"
"The Spanish Pony. A palomino with a golden coat and silver mane. He was leading me to the treasure."
Pete shook his head. "How I wish. We're partners, remember? Sorry, but you was dreamin about that horse. The laudanum done that I spect."
"No. I found it."
"Look around. Do you see a horse?"
Tears welled up in Josiah's eyes. "No."
"I reckon you're gonna be weak and hurtin for a coupla days. Problem is we can't afford to stay here till you're feelin better. We gotta leave now if we're gonna get back before they take the ranch.
"No."
"So's here's what we're gonna do. I'm goin to cut some poles outta that white oak thicket and make a drag for you to ride on while we head back."
"But."
"But nothin," said Pete, pickin up his miner's axe.
Too weak to walk, Josiah lay on the drag Esperanza pulled as it bounced and lurched over the rugged terrain. Through the constant sways and dips, pain assaulted his broken arm and aching muscles while he fought to hold his nausea at bay.
Pete followed the directions Josiah provided. Behind them, the sun dipped in the western sky. They reached the crest of a long, low rise when he saw in the valley below a small adobe rancho surrounded by a few outbuildings. An hour later, they arrived at its front door.
Pete used his hat to knock the dust off his clothes, then shouted, "Hello the house." The door creaked open and the barrels of a shotgun poked out. Pyrite growled.
Josiah wriggled off the drag. Standing on shaky legs, waving his right arm, he called out, "Máá," then slumped back onto the drag.
A diminutive woman with long black hair burst through the door. Laying the shotgun down, she ran toward Josiah crying, "Shi' ishkiin!"
"Careful, he's got a busted arm," warned Pete as she rushed past. Esperanza threw her head up. "Steady girl," he said, tightly holding her lead.
Presently, the woman approached Pete. She studied him with piercing black eyes before she asked, "You will help me get him inside?"
"Gladly, Mrs. Harris. Name's Peter Monsen, but everone calls me Pete," he said, touching the rim of his hat.
"My name is Kushala," she said.
After Pete helped her get Josiah inside, out of his dirty clothes and into bed, he excused himself to go outside and tend to Esperanza. The late afternoon sunlight softened into dusk as he removed the panniers and crossbuck saddle, then left her free to graze. Pyrite in the meantime bedded down outside the rancho's door. Pete drew some water from the well to wash up. He cut a slice of jerky and tossed it to the patiently waiting Pyrite before knocking on the door.
"Come in," said Kushala. Pete pushed the door open and entered. Kushala lit a candle, placing it on a roughhewn table near the rancho's kiva fireplace.
"How's Josiah?" Pete asked, looking at the dark doorway to the back bedroom.
"He ate a biscuit and drank some bear root tea. Now he sleeps."
"That's good."
"His horse came back two days ago. I thought he was dead."
"Sorry. Sometimes, young'uns lets their dander run ahead of common sense."
Kushala pursed her lips, then drizzled molasses on some sourdough biscuits. "Help yourself."
Pete pulled up a chair. "Thank you, ma'am." He picked up a biscuit and took a bite. He savored the soft tangy crumb and sweetness of the molasses. "Sure beats hardtack. Did he tell you why he took off?"
"He said he left to find treasure," Kushala said shaking her head. "There's the bear root tea I brewed for Josiah or you can have some pulque."
"Pulque, if you don't mind," said Pete. "You've got a brave boy there, ma'am, despite him barkin at a knot. No disrespect intended." Kushala poured some pulque into a cup and handed it to him. "He said you was expecting some unwanted company."
Kushala scowled. "Tomorrow, I think."
"Hmm," he said, taking a sip, "we'll have to see about that, won't we?"
Josiah slept until mid-morning. When he opened his eyes, Pete was sitting next to his bed, sipping on a cup of coffee. "How ya feelin partner?"
Josiah rubbed his eyes. "Hungry."
"Good sign. I'll let you get your clothes on while I go and tell your ma you're up. Be careful, you'll still be a bit shaky."
Pete walked into the front room where he found Kushala leaning over a tub, scrubbing Josiah's filthy clothes on a washboard. "Josiah's up," he said, rinsing his tin cup. He hung it on the wall over the sink. "He's putting on his clothes."
"How is he?" she asked.
"Fair to middlin, which is a darn sight better than he was a coupla days ago."
Josiah slowly walked into the room. Kushala looked up from her washing, squeezing the wet fabric until her knuckles turned white. "Máá," he whispered, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he lowered his head.
"I spect you two have some things to discuss, so, I'll go out and check on the animals," said Pete, grabbing his hat. Pyrite, tail wagging, came trotting up as Pete stepped out into the bright morning. "Nice morning ain't it? You seen Esperanza?" asked Pete. Pyrite yipped. "Well, let's go find her."
Behind the rancho, Pete found the burro with some goats grazing on feather grass. "Found ya some friends, I see." Filling his pipe, he sat down for a smoke. After he finished, he walked to the hog pen and dumped some maize in the trough. Pyrite barked at the hogs who ignored him while they jockeyed for a spot to eat. Pete looked up to check the sun's position in the sky. "Come on Pyrite. Time to get back," he said. "We may be gittin visitors soon."
Entering the rancho, Pete found Josiah eating some blue corn porridge. "I see you got your appetite back. That's good. You'll need your strength. We're likely to have some business to tend to in a while." Kushala wrinkled her brow. "Don't worry, ma'am. I've given your situation some thought and I got a plan."
"What is your plan?" Kushala asked.
Josiah looked up from his porridge. "Yeah, what?"
"Kushala, you got some paper and a pencil?" asked Pete.
"Yes."
Pete smiled. "Good, fetch em and I'll explain whilst I write."
A little before noon, as Pete and Josiah sat outside the rancho keeping watch, Pyrite stood up, letting out a low growl. Staring to the north, he lifted his tail, pulling his left front foot up toward his chest. Pete squinted, searching the horizon. "You see anything?" he asked Josiah.
"Looks like some dust kicked up by riders."
"Time to go inside and git ready," said Pete.
Twenty minutes later, two men arrived at the rancho.
"Kushala, you stay here," said Pete. "Josiah, bring that paper and pencil and stay behind me." He grabbed his carbine and stepped out of the house. Josiah followed, stopping in the doorway. Pyrite settled in beside him, barking once as the two men on horseback trotted up. Pete waited until they were about twenty feet away before he called out, "That'll be far enough. State your business."
"I'm Jake Rannahan, Sheriff of Grant County," said one of the riders. He nodded toward the man accompanying him. "This is Mr. Winton Hoch of the Lordsburg Bank and we're here to foreclose on this property for non-payment of a past due discount. And unless you're Tom Harris, I suggest you stand down."
"My name is Peter Monsen and I stand here on behalf of Mrs. Harris."
Rannahan spit. "Squaws ain't got no say in legal matters."
Pete leveled the carbine holding the butt firmly against his hip. "Mr. Sharps says differnt."
Rannahan smiled. "You really want to go up against the two of us with that single shot?"
Pete eyed Rannahan. "I'll shoot you first, then I'll take my chances with Mr. Hoch." He shot a glance at the banker. "If that's okay with you? Besides, Mrs. Harris is inside, and who knows if she's got her peppergun in hand."
"No need for hasty actions," said Hoch, voice shaking. "Jake, maybe we should hear Mr. Monsen out."
Curling his lip, Rannahan looked at Hoch then turned toward Pete. "Well?"
Pete looked at Hoch, then Rannahan. "Either of you high-binders got a Writ of Execution on this property?"
Rannahan stiffened. "Yeah."
"Then, I'd like to see it."
"It's registered with the county clerk," sneered Rannahan. "You can go to Lordsburg if you want to see it."
"See here Monsen," Hoch blustered, "it's not in dispute that Tom Harris arranged a discount with the Lordsburg Bank with a balance due of $67. We are here to collect or the property is in forfeit."
"When's it due?"
Hoch chortled, rocking forward in his saddle and pointing at Pete. "That's the thing, Mr. Monsen. Harris signed an on-demand discount. That means it was issued with no fixed maturity date, requiring repayment in full whenever the lender demands it. We gave the woman a week to come up with the money. That's fair enough in my estimation. The Lordsburg Bank, being the lender of record, now demands payment in full forthwith, or the property is forfeit."
With his left hand, Pete reached into his pocket and pulled out a small canvas bag tied at the top with a drawstring. He pitched it toward the men. Clinking, it landed in front of Rannahan's horse. "Pick it up."
"See what it is, Hoch," grumbled Rannahan. The banker started to dismount.
"You git it, Rannahan," said Pete. "That'll make it official and legal like." Hoch, looking at Rannahan, eased back in his saddle. Pete raised his carbine to his shoulder. "Now, Sheriff, and keep those hands where I can see em."
Rannahan swung his right leg over the horse's hindquarters and slid off, eyes locked on Pete. Stepping forward, he scooped up the bag, peering inside at its contents. "I'll be damned," he muttered.
"What is it?" Hoch asked.
Emptying the contents into his hand, Rannahan held it out. "Gold coins."
"Lemme see," said Hoch. Rannahan dumped five shiny coins, about an inch and a half in diameter, into Hoch's waiting hand. The banker examined them, then said, "My, my. Spanish doblas. Haven't seen many of these lately."
"By my reckonin, they's worth just at seventy-five United States dollars," said Pete. "More than enough to settle Mr. Harris's debt with the bank. What's left you can hold for my partner, Mr. Josiah Harris, that's him standing behind me, until he gits around to pick it up."
Hoch slid the coins into his coat pocket. "Certainly Mr. Monsen. Glad we could settle this business peacefully. If you're finished, the Sheriff and I will be on our way."
"Not so fast," said Pete. "Josiah, I believe you have something for Mr. Hoch." Josiah walked over to the banker and held out the paper and the pencil. "That'd be a receipt confirming the payment and everything else we have discussed. If you would be so good to sign it and hand it back to Mr. Harris, we will consider our business concluded and you can leave."
"Don't sign it," snarled Rannahan, slowly easing his gun hand toward his pistol. Pyrite let out a low growl.
"Rannahan," Pete warned, "he can sign it with you standin or layin face down in the dirt. It don't matter to me."
"Jake, leave it be," said Hoch, grabbing the receipt and signing it. He handed it back to Josiah. "Now, can we leave?"
"Hold on," said Pete. "Josiah, if you'd be so kind as to go back inside. I have a little more business with these two." Josiah walked past Pete and back into the rancho. Pete looked at Rannahan. "Git on your horse." Rannahan stood still, jaw clenched, glowering. Pete met his eyes. "Don't try me, Sheriff."
"Jake, let's go," implored Hoch. With that, Rannahan mounted his horse.
"One more thing," said Pete. "If anything bad happens to these folks, I will hear of it. Now, git." Pete waited until he could no longer see the dust kicked up by their horses before he went back inside the rancho.
Early the next morning, Pete gathered his gear and packed up to leave. As he tightened the straps on Esperanza's panniers, Kushala joined him. "You leave too soon. Josiah will be sad he did not get to say goodbye."
"Got a lot of distance to cover. Besides, he needs to sleep. He's had one heck of an adventure. You tell him I said adios and that I'll check in once in a while. Don't forget. Him and me are partners." He gave a final tug on the straps and called for Pyrite. "That does it. Make sure you keep that receipt in a safe place. Thanks for the hospitality."
Kushala stroked Esperanza's neck. The burro leaned into her. "Does she have a name?" Kushala asked.
Pete smiled. "Her name is Esperanza, but like all Spanish ladies, she has more than one. Her full name is Esperanza la Poni Española."
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Rounding the ledge, he found his dog whining as it nosed a large brown bundle lying in a puddle between the trail bed and cliff. "Whatcha you find there, boy?" he asked. "Looks like someone lost their top pack. Think it mighta been the storm?" He turned and tugged at the straps holding the panniers on Esperanza's back. Satisfied they were snug and his mining gear and provisions were secure, he added, "Whatcha think, girl? Musta been a real rip snorter. Tends to get that way in the mountains. Ferocious in one gorge and calm in the next. Strange. Whoever it was didn't notice. Unless..." he inched to the drop off, peering into the deep recess, "...they got knocked off the trail." He studied the scrub and boulder-filled ravine. "Can't see nothin. Wonder what the devil happened."
Pyrite jumped and yelped. Startled, Pete clapped a hand to his chest and whirled around. "Hot damn, dog, you almost caused me to fall over the edge." Pyrite froze, staring at the bundle, tail lifted slightly, left front foot pulled up toward his chest. Pete reached for his Sharps carbine. "Whatcha got there? A rattler?"
The bundle moved. Pyrite yipped.
Pete drew a bead, ready to fire, then a small, skinny leg poked out followed by a soft moan. Pete lowered his weapon. "That ain't no rattler." The bundle unfurled as a boy with thick black hair matted to his tawny cheeks sprawled in the muck. His left arm bent unnaturally below his shoulder. "I'll be jiggered," whispered Pete, shoving his rifle back into its worn leather scabbard. "You damn near got shot." Another moan escaped from the boy. Patting Pyrite's head, Pete said, "Good boy." Pyrite relaxed, wagging his tail as Pete knelt beside the boy. "How'd you manage to end up here?"
Another moan seeped out of the boy's mouth.
"Pyrite, that one's broke for sure," Pete said, pointing to the boy's left arm. "Bet he got a good knock on the head too. Ain't no way we can leave him here. Got to find a dry spot and warm him up. I think I remember an overhang down the trail a bit. You stay here while I go look." Pyrite lay down next to the boy, while Pete grabbed Esperanza's lead and headed down the trail. Pyrite kept watch until they reached a turn in the trail and disappeared.
A half-hour later, Pyrite yipped, seeing Pete and Esperanza round the bend. Pete waved. Esperanza, free of her load, bounced along the path. Pyrite stayed near the boy until Pete approached, then jumped up and trotted over for his obligatory pat on the head.
"I see you got everthin under control," said Pete. He eyed the boy. "Don't look like this'n has moved an inch." Kneeling, he placed a hand on the boy's chest. Feeling its steady rise and fall, he said, "Well, he's alive. Found a spot down a ways. Once we get him there and warm him up a bit, maybe he'll come to."
The boy let out a groan as Pete picked him up. "Sorry kid, but I got to, and it'll probably get worse fore it gets better." He placed the moaning boy face down, legs and arms straddling Esperanza's back, then strapped him down with a length of rope. "Slow and steady," he whispered in the burro's ear. He gave a gentle tug on her lead, and they started down the trail, Pyrite following. Ten minutes later, the trail leveled, and a hollow about five feet high and ten feet across opened underneath a large outcropping. Dry earth lay underneath. The panniers Pete removed earlier from Esperanza lay inside.
"Here we are. Home sweet home," said Pete, ducking as he led Esperanza under the ledge, her ears lightly scraping the overhead. Pyrite found a soft spot in the sun to lay down.
Pete frowned. "Here's where the pain is gonna get a lot worse," He lifted the moaning boy from Esperanza and laid him on a blanket at the back of the hollow. Grabbing a bag of prairie coal, Pete pulled out a few dung cakes, piled them up and lit a small fire. Then, he scrambled up and down the slopes on either side of the hollow to gather dead scrub. Returning with an armful, he broke it up and tossed it onto the growing fire.
Pete turned his attention to the boy, removing his wet knee-high boot-moccasins. He examined them. They had stiff rawhide soles curving upward over their toes. "Humphh, right intrestin," he muttered before tossing them by the fire to dry out. He shook his head and grumbled, "Now comes the hard part. If you was a growed man, it wouldn't be so bad, but..." Pulling off his own dusty campaign hat, he rubbed his bald head with a calloused hand and frowned. Lifting the boy to a sitting position, he peeled the heavy, damp, canvas sack coat from the boy's right arm. The wet fabric resisted, and the boy groaned with each yank until it pulled free.
Pete looked at the boy's crooked left arm still inside the other coat sleeve and whispered, "I'm sorry, kid." He sucked in a deep breath, grabbed the coat's left cuff and jerked with all his might, hoping to remove it in one motion. The wet canvas clutched the boy's arm, refusing to abandon its grip. The boy's eyes popped open as he screamed at the top of his lungs, then passed out again. Another wrench and scream, and the sleeve came free.
Pyrite ran over, snuffling as he nuzzled the boy's face. "He'll be okay," huffed Pete, wiping sweat from his brow. The boy wore a red flannel shirt over a dingy union suit. Pete pulled out his Barlow knife. Hesitating, he put it back in his pocket and looked at Pyrite. "No. Ain't gonna do it. This looks like a storebought shirt and they cost too much to cut up. Why, I paid a dollar for my shirt over in Bisbee." He pushed Pyrite back from the boy. "You stay. There's gonna be some kind of ruckus break out here in a second, and I don't want you in it." Pyrite backed off, sighed, then plopped down on his haunches.
Pete rested a knee on the boy's chest, grabbing his left arm at the shoulder and above the elbow. Holding tight, he pulled hard to stretch the muscles and align the fractured bone ends. The boy howled, kicking his feet and thrashing his right arm, while Pete bore his knee down on his chest to keep him from rising. "Just a little bit more," he said, running a hand up and down the boy's arm, checking for alignment. All the while the boy screamed, writhing in pain. Pete lowered the boy's arm to his side then placed a hand on his forehead. "Think that's got it. You rest a bit before we bind it up."
Panting, the boy raised his head and glared with fierce obsidian eyes at the wiry old man looming over him. Lips quivering, he tried to speak as his vision closed in around Pete's weathered face and pale blue eyes, the last thing the boy saw before everything faded to black.
"I think he's played out," sighed Pete, sitting back. He patted Pyrite's head. "He'll be quiet for awhile, so I oughta use the time to bind up that arm while he's out. No need to cause him no more pain than necessary."
The sun hovered above the tips of the western peaks when the boy opened his eyes.
Pete took a draw on his clay pipe. "How ya feelin?"
"I... I... what happened?" stammered the boy.
"All I know is we found you rolled up in a knot, lying in the mud. You been out most of the day."
"My horse?"
"Didn't see no horse. Name's Peter Monsen. Everone calls me Pete. What's your name, young feller?"
"Josiah Harris. I gotta find my horse." He tried to sit up, then fell back, gasping as pain surged through his left arm.
"Oh, forgot to mention that you broke your arm, Josiah. You'll do okay if you're careful and don't put no weight on it."
"But I gotta find my horse."
Pete took another puff. "Probably on his way back to where you come from. If you don't mind me asking, where might that be?"
"Outside anyways."
"That's a fur piece away from here. You come all the way by yourself?"
Josiah stared intently at Pete a moment before murmuring, "Yeah."
"Why?"
Josiah scowled. "That'd be my business."
Pete held up his hand and smiled. "Sure nough. Don't mean to be prying into a man's business." He looked toward the setting sun. "Gets dark quick in the mountains. We'll stay here tonight and let you get some rest. In the morning, we'll head back to your place."
"No."
Pete raised an eyebrow. "No?"
"Can't go back till I find it."
"Your horse is probably halfway back there anyway, looking for water. He didn't come our way, and," Pete said, pointing at the edge, "I didn't see no horse over the side. So, the only way he had to go was back down the trail. We'll find him along the way."
"That ain't what I'm talking about."
"What is it then?"
"That's none of your concern."
"That may well be. But you're in no shape to be tramping around these mountains by yourself."
"Am too."
Pete shrugged. "Well then, git up and go wherever it is you need to go."
Josiah glared at him, then rolled on his right side, wincing. He struggled to his knees, sucking in ragged breaths, eyes squeezed shut. He stood up on shaky legs, managing a single step before he fell to the ground, screaming in pain.
"I thought so," said Pete. "Tell you what. Why don't you eat something anyway before you start out? Help get your strength up." He snapped his fingers. "I got somethin you might like." He got up and rummaged through the panniers until he found his prize. "Here tis," he said, holding up a can. "You ever seen one of these?"
Josiah nodded. "Seen one at Helvey's Mercantile."
"An airtight of peaches. Never seen one before I bought a few over in El Paso. I'll tell you rightly, I don't know how they got peaches to grow inside this tin contraption. The clerk said that the peaches inside this here thing tastes like a summer day in Georgia. You ever been to Georgia?"
"No."
"Me neither." Pete held out the can. "You game?"
Worn down from hunger and pain, Josiah mumbled, "Mebbe."
"Okay then." Pete dug his knife out of his pocket and proceeded to cut and pry the lid away. He examined the contents then sniffed it. "They sure is sweet, all peeled and everthin." He pulled a fork from his kit and dropped it in the can. Spearing a peach half with his knife, he said, "I'll take this and you're welcome to the rest." He held the can out for Josiah.
Josiah looked at the can. "How am I supposed to handle that with one arm?"
Pete smiled. "We'll figure somethin out."
After a restless night, Josiah awoke to Pyrite's cold nose pressed against his cheek. He rubbed the dog's head with his free hand.
"He's hungry, but too polite to eat before you get up." said Pete. "Got some hot coffee and hardtack. Dip it in your coffee to soften it. If you got a sweet tooth, I think I got some maple sugar somewheres."
Josiah rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Sure. Can you help me sit up?"
Pyrite, tail wagging, eyed Pete.
"First things first." Pete tossed a jerky cut to Pyrite. "If you need more than that, go find you somethin." Pyrite lay down with the jerky squeezed tight between his paws and began to lick and gnaw the salty, smoky meat.
Pete held up a square of hardtack. "Spect I better bust this up for you," he said, picking up a flat stone and setting it on his thigh. Laying a thick, tan cracker on its surface, he cracked it into pieces with his pick hammer. He dropped them in a tin cup filled with coffee. "Let em soften up whilst I get you set."
"I'll have some of that maple sugar in that if you don't mind," said Josiah, nodding toward the cup.
"Already done it," Pete said, handing the cup to Josiah. "Once you're finished, we'll start on our way back."
Josiah set the cup between his legs and fished out a lump of hardtack. He popped it in his mouth. "Appreciate the offer, but like I said, I'm looking for somethin and I can't go back till I find it," he sputtered around the hardtack.
"I remember you sayin somethin like that." Pete rubbed his chin. "How old are you?"
"Fifteen."
Pete eyed the boy. "Sure you are," he chortled. "I figure you to be more like twelve or thirteen."
Josiah shrugged. "So what. I'm old enough."
"You got family?"
"Yeah."
"Do they know where you are?"
Josiah looked away, chewed the hardtack for a while then mumbled, "Still tough as an old boot."
"You didn't answer my question. Do your folks know where you are?" asked Pete. Sullen, Josiah continued to chew, ignoring Pete's question. "Well then, I'll just have to take you to the sheriff."
"No," screamed Josiah, coffee and hardtack spewing from his mouth. "He's the reason..." He fell silent, turning his head away from Pete.
"Reason for what?"
"The reason I got to find the Spanish Pony," rasped Josiah. Tears rolled down his cheeks while he wiped his face against his shoulder.
Pete cocked his head. "What you know about the Spanish Pony?"
Josiah licked his lips. "Heard some fellers talking about it at Helvey's Mercantile. They said the pony would lead you to a hidden treasure. One said he'd seen it and tried to follow it but the pony disappeared into the mountains."
"And you believed them?"
"The man swore it was true."
Well, I guess that's good enough." Pete rubbed his forehead. "What's all this got to do with the sheriff?"
Josiah wiped his nose. "Coupla days ago, Sheriff Rannahan showed up with a feller from the bank. They said Pa took out somethin called a discount to pay the taxes and that they was gonna give us a week and if we didn't pay up, they'd take the ranch."
"What'd your pa say?"
"That's the thing. Pa's gone. He threw in with some other ranchers to drive a herd up to Abilene. He was gonna use his share to pay the bank." Josiah shook his head. "It's like they waited till he was gone."
"And what about your ma?"
Josiah hung his head. "Rannahan wouldn't listen to her."
"Why's that?" asked Pete. Josiah remained silent. "Could it be cause your ma's an Indian?" Josiah scowled. "No offense meant," said Pete. "But you got the look and them cactus-kickers you're wearin sort of give it away."
Josiah stared at Pete with piercing black eyes. "Mescalero," he whispered. He curled up his fist and pounded the dirt. "I ain't gonna let him take our ranch," he yelled. Pyrite looked up from his remaining nub of jerky, barked then returned to his breakfast.
"So, you thought you'd set out to find the Spanish Pony to lead you to the treasure."
"Yeah."
"That's right admirable of you, but that's a tall order even for a healthy man. You can't make it on your own with that busted arm and I ain't gonna leave you out here to die. If you was a growed man, that'd be different."
Josiah pointed a finger at Pete. "You could go with me - be my partner. I'd split the treasure with you."
Pete smiled. "An intrestin proposition." He studied Josiah's pleading eyes for a moment before he said, "You got a deal, but first, I reckon I better take you back so's you can heal up."
Josiah brushed a tear away. "That'd be too late."
Pete relit his pipe and took a long puff. "Well, you never know." He stood up. "Finish up your coffee and hardtack while I pack up. We got to be heading back. Now, tell me how we get to your place."
The trail wound steadily down through the Chiricahua Mountains. Midday, they stopped to share a cut of jerky and the last airtight. Apricots. They ate in silence for awhile before Pete spoke. "I think just about everyone has heard some tale or another about that Spanish Pony of yours. One I heard about had it all start about seventy years ago durin the Mexican War of Independence. 1810 I think. That was even before I was born. The Mexican indios revolted against their Spanish rulers. Kindly like when Texas busted loose from Mexico. Back then ever little town was run by a political boss called an Alcalde -"
"What's that?" interrupted Josiah.
"Alcaldes were fellers put in power by Spain. Most were crooked as Pyrite's hind leg -"
"Kinda like the sheriff?"
"Yeah. They purty much did whatever they wanted as long as they kept Spain's coffers full of money. As the story goes, there was this Alcalde who ran a town just south of the border. By all accounts, he was a particularly bad man. Seems he owned a gold mine and used his political power to force the indios to work there. They was little more than slaves.
"Once the gold was minted into Spanish doblas he sent some to Spain and the rest he kept. They say he had some of the gold cast into a statue of a horse so big it took several men to carry it. He called it El Poni Español."
Josiah wrinkled his brow. "The Spanish Pony?"
"Sure nuff. Well, when the Alcalde's indio miners joined the revolt, they was more hell bent on revenge rather than independence, and they took out after him. So, he packed up his treasure and fled across the border into these same Chiricahua Mountains. With all that loot he was hauling, he couldn't outrun 'em. So, as the legend goes, he found a cave where he stashed the loot, including the Spanish Pony. He then fled to Santa Fe where he got shot dead cheatin at poker. People's been lookin for his Spanish Pony ever since."
Josiah shook his head. "But the man at Helvey's said the Spanish Pony was a horse, not a statue."
Pete shrugged. "Suit yourself. How your feet holdin out? We got a fur piece left before it gets dark."
Josiah tipped his head back, draining the last drops of syrup from the airtight onto his waiting tongue. He licked his lips. "I'm okay."
"What about that busted wing of yours?"
Josiah frowned. "Hurts."
"That's to be expected. Ain't got it tied down too tight, do I?"
Josiah shrugged. "No, it's okay."
Pete stood up. "Come on. Time to get goin. I'd like to cover some ground before it gets dark." Pete extended his hand. "Need some help?"
Josiah shook his head. "I got it."
Pete shrugged. "Suit yourself. While you're getting up, I'll fetch Esperanza."
Josiah crossed his legs, leaned forward, pushing himself up with his right arm. Feeling a sharp stabbing pain in his hand, he winced as he stood. Shaking it in pain, he looked at the ground to see a scorpion scurrying away. He stomped on it, grinding the creature into the dust.
"What's all the commotion about?" called Pete.
Josiah looked at the back of his hand, seeing only a small, red, stinging blemish. "Nothin."
"Well then, let's git going," said Pete.
Shadows crawled from the western peaks across the rolling foothills as Pete and Josiah left the mountains and continued their journey eastward. Pete led Esperanza while Josiah walked a few paces behind. His head pounded, muscles aching. Throat thick, he had trouble swallowing. Shaking uncontrollably, his legs spasmed, causing him to crumple to the ground. Whimpering, Pyrite dashed to him, ears back, tail sinking between his legs.
Hearing the commotion, Pete turned around. "What's going on?" He saw Josiah's writhing body and ran to the boy.
"I... I ca brea," slurred Josiah. His eyes fluttered.
Pete placed a hand on his forehead. "You're burning up."
"Gah... to... kee goin. Gah to fine... the... Po," he slurred, raising a trembling arm and pointing upward. "Ee's... ri... ere."
Pete saw a angry crimson welt on Josiah's hand. A purple blister oozed in its middle. "What happened?"
"Scor... Scor..."
"Scorpion? You got stung by a scorpion? Why didn't you say somethin?" He patted Pyrite's head. "Stay here with Josiah. He's got the rigors."
Looking around, Pete spied a thicket of white oaks. Grabbing his miner's axe, he set off to cut some firewood. Forty minutes later, as the sun dipped below the far western slopes, a fire crackled next to Josiah, who continued to convulse and moan in pain. Pete cut a chunk of jerky and tossed it to Pyrite. Placing a hand on Josiah's dust-dry, burning forehead, he whispered, "Wish I could ease your pain." Pete buried his face in his hands. After drawing in a few deep breaths, he bolted upright, snapping his fingers. He looked at Pyrite. "Damn old fool is what I am," he cried, scrambling over to the panniers. He tore through their contents until his fingers found what he sought. "Got it, Pyrite" he rejoiced, retrieving a small, corked bottle. "Gilbert's No. 10 Laudanum," he chortled. Pyrite yelped, dropping his gnawed jerky and ran over to investigate. "Won't cure him, but at least it'll ease his pain while he rides this out..." He clenched his jaw. "...if he rides it out." Pyrite sniffed the bottle and backed away.
After the stars came out, Pete looked up into the sky. Drawing in a deep breath, he said. "Lord, I've tried my best to stay outta your business. Figured you had enough on your mind without me pestering you for this and that. I've done purty good at that so far, but I done run up on somethin that changes things. As you probably know, I got a real sick boy on my hands. Seems like everthin that could go wrong for a young feller has done gone wrong for him and all at once. Lost his horse, busted an arm, and to top it off, got stung by a scorpion. And that's not to mention that some scoundrels is trying to steal his pa's ranch. It's that scorpion sting what's got me worried. I seen bigger and tougher than him die from one of them stings. Thing is, he don't deserve to die and there ain't much I can do to stop it. Only thing I can do is dose him with Gilbert's No. 10 to keep him comfortable. So, if you can see it in your heart to save him, I'd be right thankful."
Pete kept the fire burning and administered the laudanum at regular intervals through the night. As a sliver of orange appeared on the eastern horizon, his eyes grew heavy and his head nodded, drifting between wakefulness and sleep. Josiah stirred. Pyrite nuzzled his master. Opening his eyes, Pete asked, "What's that, boy?" Josiah stirred again. There were beads of sweat on his forehead. Pete wrapped an arm around Pyrite's neck. "Fever's broke. I think he's gonna make it."
Josiah opened his eyes. "I'm thirsty," he rasped.
Pete looked up and whispered, "Thanks." Then he grabbed the canteen and helping Josiah sit up, held it to his lips. "Just a sip."
"What happened?"
"You damn near died on me. You been out since yesterday." Wide-eyed, Josiah looked around. Pete placed a hand on the boy's chest. "Steady, you're just comin out of it." He lifted the canteen to Josiah's lips. "Here, take another sip."
Josiah let the water trickle down his throat, then shook his head. "I found him."
"Found who?"
"The Spanish Pony. A palomino with a golden coat and silver mane. He was leading me to the treasure."
Pete shook his head. "How I wish. We're partners, remember? Sorry, but you was dreamin about that horse. The laudanum done that I spect."
"No. I found it."
"Look around. Do you see a horse?"
Tears welled up in Josiah's eyes. "No."
"I reckon you're gonna be weak and hurtin for a coupla days. Problem is we can't afford to stay here till you're feelin better. We gotta leave now if we're gonna get back before they take the ranch.
"No."
"So's here's what we're gonna do. I'm goin to cut some poles outta that white oak thicket and make a drag for you to ride on while we head back."
"But."
"But nothin," said Pete, pickin up his miner's axe.
Too weak to walk, Josiah lay on the drag Esperanza pulled as it bounced and lurched over the rugged terrain. Through the constant sways and dips, pain assaulted his broken arm and aching muscles while he fought to hold his nausea at bay.
Pete followed the directions Josiah provided. Behind them, the sun dipped in the western sky. They reached the crest of a long, low rise when he saw in the valley below a small adobe rancho surrounded by a few outbuildings. An hour later, they arrived at its front door.
Pete used his hat to knock the dust off his clothes, then shouted, "Hello the house." The door creaked open and the barrels of a shotgun poked out. Pyrite growled.
Josiah wriggled off the drag. Standing on shaky legs, waving his right arm, he called out, "Máá," then slumped back onto the drag.
A diminutive woman with long black hair burst through the door. Laying the shotgun down, she ran toward Josiah crying, "Shi' ishkiin!"
"Careful, he's got a busted arm," warned Pete as she rushed past. Esperanza threw her head up. "Steady girl," he said, tightly holding her lead.
Presently, the woman approached Pete. She studied him with piercing black eyes before she asked, "You will help me get him inside?"
"Gladly, Mrs. Harris. Name's Peter Monsen, but everone calls me Pete," he said, touching the rim of his hat.
"My name is Kushala," she said.
After Pete helped her get Josiah inside, out of his dirty clothes and into bed, he excused himself to go outside and tend to Esperanza. The late afternoon sunlight softened into dusk as he removed the panniers and crossbuck saddle, then left her free to graze. Pyrite in the meantime bedded down outside the rancho's door. Pete drew some water from the well to wash up. He cut a slice of jerky and tossed it to the patiently waiting Pyrite before knocking on the door.
"Come in," said Kushala. Pete pushed the door open and entered. Kushala lit a candle, placing it on a roughhewn table near the rancho's kiva fireplace.
"How's Josiah?" Pete asked, looking at the dark doorway to the back bedroom.
"He ate a biscuit and drank some bear root tea. Now he sleeps."
"That's good."
"His horse came back two days ago. I thought he was dead."
"Sorry. Sometimes, young'uns lets their dander run ahead of common sense."
Kushala pursed her lips, then drizzled molasses on some sourdough biscuits. "Help yourself."
Pete pulled up a chair. "Thank you, ma'am." He picked up a biscuit and took a bite. He savored the soft tangy crumb and sweetness of the molasses. "Sure beats hardtack. Did he tell you why he took off?"
"He said he left to find treasure," Kushala said shaking her head. "There's the bear root tea I brewed for Josiah or you can have some pulque."
"Pulque, if you don't mind," said Pete. "You've got a brave boy there, ma'am, despite him barkin at a knot. No disrespect intended." Kushala poured some pulque into a cup and handed it to him. "He said you was expecting some unwanted company."
Kushala scowled. "Tomorrow, I think."
"Hmm," he said, taking a sip, "we'll have to see about that, won't we?"
Josiah slept until mid-morning. When he opened his eyes, Pete was sitting next to his bed, sipping on a cup of coffee. "How ya feelin partner?"
Josiah rubbed his eyes. "Hungry."
"Good sign. I'll let you get your clothes on while I go and tell your ma you're up. Be careful, you'll still be a bit shaky."
Pete walked into the front room where he found Kushala leaning over a tub, scrubbing Josiah's filthy clothes on a washboard. "Josiah's up," he said, rinsing his tin cup. He hung it on the wall over the sink. "He's putting on his clothes."
"How is he?" she asked.
"Fair to middlin, which is a darn sight better than he was a coupla days ago."
Josiah slowly walked into the room. Kushala looked up from her washing, squeezing the wet fabric until her knuckles turned white. "Máá," he whispered, tears forming in the corners of his eyes as he lowered his head.
"I spect you two have some things to discuss, so, I'll go out and check on the animals," said Pete, grabbing his hat. Pyrite, tail wagging, came trotting up as Pete stepped out into the bright morning. "Nice morning ain't it? You seen Esperanza?" asked Pete. Pyrite yipped. "Well, let's go find her."
Behind the rancho, Pete found the burro with some goats grazing on feather grass. "Found ya some friends, I see." Filling his pipe, he sat down for a smoke. After he finished, he walked to the hog pen and dumped some maize in the trough. Pyrite barked at the hogs who ignored him while they jockeyed for a spot to eat. Pete looked up to check the sun's position in the sky. "Come on Pyrite. Time to get back," he said. "We may be gittin visitors soon."
Entering the rancho, Pete found Josiah eating some blue corn porridge. "I see you got your appetite back. That's good. You'll need your strength. We're likely to have some business to tend to in a while." Kushala wrinkled her brow. "Don't worry, ma'am. I've given your situation some thought and I got a plan."
"What is your plan?" Kushala asked.
Josiah looked up from his porridge. "Yeah, what?"
"Kushala, you got some paper and a pencil?" asked Pete.
"Yes."
Pete smiled. "Good, fetch em and I'll explain whilst I write."
A little before noon, as Pete and Josiah sat outside the rancho keeping watch, Pyrite stood up, letting out a low growl. Staring to the north, he lifted his tail, pulling his left front foot up toward his chest. Pete squinted, searching the horizon. "You see anything?" he asked Josiah.
"Looks like some dust kicked up by riders."
"Time to go inside and git ready," said Pete.
Twenty minutes later, two men arrived at the rancho.
"Kushala, you stay here," said Pete. "Josiah, bring that paper and pencil and stay behind me." He grabbed his carbine and stepped out of the house. Josiah followed, stopping in the doorway. Pyrite settled in beside him, barking once as the two men on horseback trotted up. Pete waited until they were about twenty feet away before he called out, "That'll be far enough. State your business."
"I'm Jake Rannahan, Sheriff of Grant County," said one of the riders. He nodded toward the man accompanying him. "This is Mr. Winton Hoch of the Lordsburg Bank and we're here to foreclose on this property for non-payment of a past due discount. And unless you're Tom Harris, I suggest you stand down."
"My name is Peter Monsen and I stand here on behalf of Mrs. Harris."
Rannahan spit. "Squaws ain't got no say in legal matters."
Pete leveled the carbine holding the butt firmly against his hip. "Mr. Sharps says differnt."
Rannahan smiled. "You really want to go up against the two of us with that single shot?"
Pete eyed Rannahan. "I'll shoot you first, then I'll take my chances with Mr. Hoch." He shot a glance at the banker. "If that's okay with you? Besides, Mrs. Harris is inside, and who knows if she's got her peppergun in hand."
"No need for hasty actions," said Hoch, voice shaking. "Jake, maybe we should hear Mr. Monsen out."
Curling his lip, Rannahan looked at Hoch then turned toward Pete. "Well?"
Pete looked at Hoch, then Rannahan. "Either of you high-binders got a Writ of Execution on this property?"
Rannahan stiffened. "Yeah."
"Then, I'd like to see it."
"It's registered with the county clerk," sneered Rannahan. "You can go to Lordsburg if you want to see it."
"See here Monsen," Hoch blustered, "it's not in dispute that Tom Harris arranged a discount with the Lordsburg Bank with a balance due of $67. We are here to collect or the property is in forfeit."
"When's it due?"
Hoch chortled, rocking forward in his saddle and pointing at Pete. "That's the thing, Mr. Monsen. Harris signed an on-demand discount. That means it was issued with no fixed maturity date, requiring repayment in full whenever the lender demands it. We gave the woman a week to come up with the money. That's fair enough in my estimation. The Lordsburg Bank, being the lender of record, now demands payment in full forthwith, or the property is forfeit."
With his left hand, Pete reached into his pocket and pulled out a small canvas bag tied at the top with a drawstring. He pitched it toward the men. Clinking, it landed in front of Rannahan's horse. "Pick it up."
"See what it is, Hoch," grumbled Rannahan. The banker started to dismount.
"You git it, Rannahan," said Pete. "That'll make it official and legal like." Hoch, looking at Rannahan, eased back in his saddle. Pete raised his carbine to his shoulder. "Now, Sheriff, and keep those hands where I can see em."
Rannahan swung his right leg over the horse's hindquarters and slid off, eyes locked on Pete. Stepping forward, he scooped up the bag, peering inside at its contents. "I'll be damned," he muttered.
"What is it?" Hoch asked.
Emptying the contents into his hand, Rannahan held it out. "Gold coins."
"Lemme see," said Hoch. Rannahan dumped five shiny coins, about an inch and a half in diameter, into Hoch's waiting hand. The banker examined them, then said, "My, my. Spanish doblas. Haven't seen many of these lately."
"By my reckonin, they's worth just at seventy-five United States dollars," said Pete. "More than enough to settle Mr. Harris's debt with the bank. What's left you can hold for my partner, Mr. Josiah Harris, that's him standing behind me, until he gits around to pick it up."
Hoch slid the coins into his coat pocket. "Certainly Mr. Monsen. Glad we could settle this business peacefully. If you're finished, the Sheriff and I will be on our way."
"Not so fast," said Pete. "Josiah, I believe you have something for Mr. Hoch." Josiah walked over to the banker and held out the paper and the pencil. "That'd be a receipt confirming the payment and everything else we have discussed. If you would be so good to sign it and hand it back to Mr. Harris, we will consider our business concluded and you can leave."
"Don't sign it," snarled Rannahan, slowly easing his gun hand toward his pistol. Pyrite let out a low growl.
"Rannahan," Pete warned, "he can sign it with you standin or layin face down in the dirt. It don't matter to me."
"Jake, leave it be," said Hoch, grabbing the receipt and signing it. He handed it back to Josiah. "Now, can we leave?"
"Hold on," said Pete. "Josiah, if you'd be so kind as to go back inside. I have a little more business with these two." Josiah walked past Pete and back into the rancho. Pete looked at Rannahan. "Git on your horse." Rannahan stood still, jaw clenched, glowering. Pete met his eyes. "Don't try me, Sheriff."
"Jake, let's go," implored Hoch. With that, Rannahan mounted his horse.
"One more thing," said Pete. "If anything bad happens to these folks, I will hear of it. Now, git." Pete waited until he could no longer see the dust kicked up by their horses before he went back inside the rancho.
Early the next morning, Pete gathered his gear and packed up to leave. As he tightened the straps on Esperanza's panniers, Kushala joined him. "You leave too soon. Josiah will be sad he did not get to say goodbye."
"Got a lot of distance to cover. Besides, he needs to sleep. He's had one heck of an adventure. You tell him I said adios and that I'll check in once in a while. Don't forget. Him and me are partners." He gave a final tug on the straps and called for Pyrite. "That does it. Make sure you keep that receipt in a safe place. Thanks for the hospitality."
Kushala stroked Esperanza's neck. The burro leaned into her. "Does she have a name?" Kushala asked.
Pete smiled. "Her name is Esperanza, but like all Spanish ladies, she has more than one. Her full name is Esperanza la Poni Española."
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