Rubio: The Legend (Ben Blue) Page 5

  Whatever the reason, horses found water where other animals couldn’t, so I followed along. The pony was carrying two water sacks, but couldn’t get a drink from either one. He was as bad off as I was.

  The moon was waning, when I came upon a place of bare rock, and could follow no more. So once again, I found a place out of the wind and slept. The sun was above the horizon when I woke from a fitful sleep. In the desert there are few trees and vegetation to hold the warmth of the day. The warmth goes with the sun, and what little light the moon adds, holds no warmth. Since my only blanket was on the back of my missing pony, I had to scoop into the warm sand and curl into a ball, but it was still cold.

  I said thank you to the Changing Woman and her sons for bringing warmth back to the earth. I didn’t know the proper chant, so I just said, “Thank you.”

  My horse with the water bags was somewhere up ahead, and I needed to find him, so I walked on casting about looking for any sign that would tell me I was on the right track. Now and then, I would find a stone that had been turned by a hoof. I hoped it was the hoof to a pony and not the hoof of a big horn sheep or the nose of a coyote looking for a meal.

  I found the trail near mid morning, when I walked off the rock shelf, but last night’s winds had all but wiped out much of the trail. The farther I left the rocks behind, I found myself walking among stunted and windblown brush. The brush acted as a wind break and preserved enough of the trail to keep my spirits up. This part of the mesa was much greener than the other end. There must be water underground, but I didn’t know how far below it was or exactly where to dig, so I walked on.

  I was at the low end of the mesa, where the ground below had risen and the ground on top was lower. At that point it would be a simple matter to climb down to the desert floor, but I was following the tracks of my pony.

  The trail was leading me nearer and nearer to the edge of the mesa on my right. I didn’t mind being close to the edge, but I was concerned that I might skyline myself and become a target for a well aimed arrow. So I stayed well back and tried to become a part of the brush.

  Up ahead, I could see a ragged cut in the rim of the mesa. It looked like a natural pathway to the ground below. The closer I got to it, the more I could see where animals of all kinds had churned up the sandy soil by going either down or coming up that trail. As I crouched and scampered from the security of the brush, I spotted my pony’s tracks among the rest.

  Once again, I had hope, that I might find my pony and water. I could walk out of here, and I had walked greater distances. But without the horse I would be at a grave disadvantage against two mounted warriors. I would be able to disappear easily without a horse, but to disappear wasn’t part of my plan. My plan was to hunt down Scar Face and kill him. If it meant killing the other one as well, then so be it.

  The trail down to the desert floor was steep but it was no more problem than watching where I put my feet. At this point, the mesa top was only about two tall pine trees high above the talus below. It was crowded with brush and boulders. The tracks I was following were not older than half of a half of the sun’s journey.

  After a short distance the trail leveled off and continued a good long way before dipping and going down some more. Game trails usually take the easiest route from one place to another, but this one seemed to be taking the hardest path. It would have been no difficulty to go almost straight down, but this one traveled the face of the mesa much longer than it needed.

  Then it came to me that the animals were going somewhere other than the desert below. I soon found out why. Tucked away in a wide crack I found a seep spring that had, over the years, washed out a small bowl in the soft stone base where it dripped.

  It was almost empty from recent use, but I lowered myself to it and sipped the warm water. The bowl was littered with bits of leaves, pine needles, and other clutter. Cleaning it out as best I could, I found a little more precious water at the bottom. My question was, should I wait for the bowl to give me enough water to last until I found another spring, or to go on and hope to catch up with my pony and the water bags?

  Living in dry country has taught my people to drink when there is water, so I settled down to wait. The wild things wouldn’t come as long as I was there, but at that moment, I thought only of my own needs. When I was gone, they could have all the water they needed. But for the time being, I had to be selfish. It didn’t take long for enough water to drip into the bowl so I could satisfy my thirst. I walked on.

  I walked the day away following the pony tracks. He was roaming this way and that way. There was no direction to his travel, and I was forced to follow. I saw where he would stop and feed on a bush of some dry grasses. I found myself out in the open, with no cover or a place to make a stand. If the Apaches came upon me there, I’d have little chance. But it would not be an easy scalp for Scar Face to take… he would have to pay for it with his own blood.

  For two days, I followed the faint trail of my pony, I was falling behind, but I kept putting one foot in front of the other. Fortune smiled on me and led me to water enough to keep going.

  It was past the sun’s high mark by a half on the second day when I saw the big black birds circling. There was something down or dead up ahead. If it was my pony, then I might still save the water bags and blanket. The birds were swooping down and others were flapping upward, so they were still feeding. That many birds meant whatever was on the ground was larger than a rabbit or a coyote.

  As I rounded an outcropping of rock against the mesa wall, I could see them swooping and squabbling. Some were sitting on boulders waiting. I couldn’t tell what was on the ground from that far away, but it was not the color of sand that was my pony’s color. Although there was much confusion around the body, I was fairly sure it was not a horse. The closer I got the more I became sure it was a man.

  The birds scattered as I came among them swinging my lance. As they flew off, I was able to see what damage had been done by the birds and also by the ants. The birds had ripped the man open to get to his soft inner parts. They had also taken flesh from his arms and legs. He had been stretched out on the desert floor, with his hands and feet were tied to stakes driven into the ground.

  The damage done by the ants was as gruesome, if not so vicious. There was barely a scrap of skin left on him. His face and head had been completely stripped of all but jaw muscle and cheek muscle, both would be gone by sundown. There was no sign of any clothing, other than the sandals on his feet. But from the texture and color of his hair, I would take him for a Spanish man. This was far for a Spanish man to venture into wild country. I cut his bindings, without touching his body, and then piled rocks on him to keep the birds off. The ants would still feast on him.

  The few times I had been to the Spanish settlements, I had seen no Spanish men wearing sandals, only tall boots. Only their workers and their poor wore sandals.

  He had been staked in the sun near a south facing base of a butte. It wasn’t as tall as many in the Valley of Rocks, but it gave promise of having water. There were clumps of trees scattered on a knoll past where the body lay. It looked like a place where water might be found. So I walked toward it.

  The scrub trees grew thick at the base of the knoll, and on the ground I found tracks of many small animals and some desert sheep with the big curved horns. I was so concerned with the thick growth of trees up ahead that I almost missed the changing of the tracks. They weren’t leading to the grove of cedars. They were leading into the brush.

  I had almost missed the crack in the wall. The mouth of the crack was choked with small trees and brush of all sorts, but the tracks led into it. So I followed.

  Working my way through the brush, I found the crack to be open at the top. I couldn’t see that from the outside. I stopped long enough to string my bow and ready an arrow. I had no idea what I might find in this hidden passage. If it was Scar Face, I wanted to be ready to kill him on sight.

  The passage made a sharp turn to the right and then
opened up to a wide green area. The brush was plentiful, and there were patches of grass. It looked as though a great section of the butte had broken off and fallen and piled up around an area about a hundred paces wide and deep. Large sections of sandstone had fallen and the broken pieces overlapped each other as they came to rest on the ground, to make a tight wall around this place.

  Then I saw the pool, it wasn’t a large or deep pool, but it looked beautiful to my eyes. It was about the size of a sheep’s skin when it’s spread out. The water came from somewhere deep in the base of the butte. It didn’t flow fast but it caused the pool to over flow and run into the sandy soil and disappear. I lay in the grass and drank deeply.

  After drinking my fill, I went about to explore my little refuge. Back among the rocks on the other side of the open ground, I found where the man had made his camp. The ashes from his fire were there and his pack. When I unwrapped it, I found it was made of a long brown robe. I had seen those robes in the Spanish mans’ settlement. Those robes were worn by holy men.

  Inside the pack, there was a small square pack with many flat delicate leaves all stacked together and bound. The leaves were covered with symbols that I couldn’t make sense of. More important than leaves with their secret meanings was the small hand ax and the knife. Both were made from the smooth hard thing the Spanish man called steel. The small pack of leaves meant nothing to me but those tools did.

  It looked like the holy man had been here for several days from the look of his camp. He must have ventured outside and was seen by Scar Face and the other one. The holy man had died a hard death. They would have cut him many times to get the blood flowing into the sand and attract the ants. They probably cut his eyelids away so he could not close them against the sun’s glare. They would have taken all he had on him… his robe, the beads he wore around his waist and his carved talisman that had four ends.

  I also found his extra sandals, which I tied on over the souls of my tall moccasins. I had nearly worn through them walking the last few days. I decided to stay here for a few days and rest up. The holy man had chosen a good campsite, so I used it. It was far enough from the pool to give the animals a chance to drink.

  Jackrabbits were plentiful, and I shot one and roasted it on a long stick. I would have eaten it raw if I didn’t have a fire. Before the shadows grew long I went back to the pool and drank deeply again. Then I put out my fire and went to sleep.

  Chapter 8

  The moon had only traveled half its journey as it chased the sun, when I heard the sounds of movement near me. My eyes were opened with the first sound and searching the darkness. In one hand, I had the holy man’s knife, and in the other, I had his small ax. I didn’t know what was out there, but those were the best weapons I had for close up fighting…. I waited.

  The sound of movement continued, and I was able to locate where it was coming from. From my left, it was coming slowly, but steadily. The two things that troubled me were pumas and men… by men I meant Apache men. But it was neither. I heard a hard hoof strike a stone. It could be a horse, or a sheep. I didn’t think a buffalo could get through the opening of the crack. I wasn’t sure about a horse, but it would be a tight squeeze. I wasn’t too concerned about a sheep unless it was one of those old rams with their huge horns. They could be dangerous any time…. but very dangerous in the dark.

  I eased myself back deeper into the protection of some broken boulders and shattered pieces of stone. I waited letting my ears do the work of my eyes, and then I saw the form by moonlight. It was too tall to be a ram; even a large ram could not be that tall. It was a pony… it was my lost pony.

  I came out of the rocks speaking soft and low. He came to the sound of my voice and we were both happy to be together again. The water bags were hanging on one side, and the blanket had shifted to the side as well. I took the water bags and blanket from his back then I put him on some grass.

  Horses can follow a scent almost as well as a dog or wolf. My pony must have picked up my scent at the water and tracked me across the open ground. However he found me didn’t matter… I was thankful to see him again. I didn’t know who to thank for my good fortune, so I tossed sand to the four winds. I rolled up in my blanket and slept again.

  Early the next morning, I saw a desert ewe at the water hole and was able to bring her down with a well placed arrow. I needed meat, and I needed her hide. I had already lost the trail of Scar Face, to the wind and time. But one so cruel and ruthless couldn’t remain hidden for long. His fame would keep those who lived in the desert watchful. I would take time to jerk meat and scrape hide…. And rest.

  ~~~~~ 0 ~~~~~

  I was almost at the limits of the four sacred mountains, so I was looking for any sign of Diné, but if I couldn’t find my own people, I would watch for Hopi or even Jicarilla Apache. The Hopi follow the same life as the Diné, but they live in mud houses like their cousins the Pueblo people. They were generally peaceful and always welcomed travelers. The Jicarilla were northern Apache and were much less war like than the Mescalero and Chiricahua farther south.

  There had been bad blood between the Mescalero Apache and the Diné from the time of the great walk from the north. We tolerated each other, but a man from either tribe would have a hard time if found alone… Scar Face was a Mescalero.

  Three days later, I found pony tracks going south, and I followed them. There were three ponies, and two were each carrying a man. The tracks showed the weight of the riders, but the other pony was carrying very little weight. It could be that there were two men and a child or two men and a riderless pony. I would see what manner of men these were.

  That evening, I saw their campfire, and I passed them by. The land we were in was rugged and green. The mountains were covered with great forests with streams running through it. It was green, but it would not do for planting corn. The soil was thin and rocky. Every part of it was on a hillside. There wasn’t enough grass for sheep.

  I found a place for my camp. There was water and enough grass and forage for my pony, but he wouldn’t get fat there. I hadn’t wanted to approach their camp at the end of day. Coming out of the gloom could mean flying arrows, so I waited for morning.

  Early the next morning, I was waiting for them to pass by my position. If they continued traveling in the same direction, they would pass by where I was hidden. If I liked the look of them, I would show myself. If I didn’t like their look, I would let them go by. If it was Scar Face, I would kill him.

  I waited with my lance as the only weapon in my hands, but my bow was strung and arrows were close by. I could see them coming a long way off. They were wary, and slowed now and then to look at my tracks, but they came on. There were two of them as I had thought, and they were leading a horse with no rider. They looked like a hunting party with no game… They were Diné.

  I rode out from my hiding place, where they could see me. They stopped as if they had seen a ghost or a demon. I raised my hand with the palm out facing them and called, “I am Diné… Navajo.” They started forward with caution. I told them the name of my clan, but they weren’t convinced, and each had a hand on his war club.

  “I am called Rubio… Walking Wolf and I mean you no harm. I am on a mission.”

  They looked at each other and then back to me. “We have heard the name Rubio. They sing his song at the fires… He gave Scar Face Red Hand his name and his scar… You are that Rubio?”

  I nodded and told them that I was the one who gave Scar Face his name. “And I will soon hang his scalp here on my lance with that of his friend.”

  They told me, the three of them had been hunting meat and were jumped by an Apache war party. Their companion was shot with an arrow and fell from his horse. “We looked back, and saw three braves chopping him to pieces. The pack pony with the meat was running free, but this one followed… they left us to follow the pack pony.”

  “Was Scar Face one of them?” I asked, but he gestured that he didn’t know. “How far to your village?”
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br />   “One half day.” He pointed to the southwest in the high lands.

  They led the way and I covered the rear, but I saw no sign of being followed. We climbed high into the foothills, where the pastures were green and the corn was brown. It was a nice little village, smaller than my own. But the air was cooler and water ran down from the higher mountains.

  The news quickly spread through the village, and young men started preparing for battle. Women were scurrying here and there. Some were wailing and others were consoling them. I was taken to the headman and introduced to the elders.

  “You are welcome in our village, Rubio. You may stay as long as you wish.”

  “I am here to get information, and then I must go.” I told him, “I am looking for Scar Face… He owes me his life, and I mean to collect it.” I told them what had happened to my family that had sent me on this long journey.

  The headman was looking into the small fire burning before him. He raised his eyes and looked into mine, “We have no war chief. Our young men have no experience with war. They know how to use their weapons but they don’t know how to make war…. You would be welcome to go with them.”

  The last of his words were not an invitation, but more like a plea for help. I had a mission to complete. My plan was to spend no more than one night in the village, and then be on my way. But the thought of those young inexperienced men and boys made my eyes burn.

  “I will lead your war party, but we must travel light. We will need to be ready before the sun tomorrow morning. Each man will take only his war club, his knife, his bow, and his lance. If they are wearing paint, put it on tonight, and tie their ponies outside their hogans. I will go through the village and rap on each hogan with a pony tied there. They are expected to mount and come to the fire.”