The Alamosa Trail

Chapter 18

The boys were in pretty high spirits. They were two weeks on the trail, heading back home. The horses, though only recently broken, were well under control. Jim was riding point, Gene had the left flank, Barry the right, while Frank brought up the rear.

The women were helping as well, Jim having positioned them so that their mere presence would help keep the herd moving in the right direction. To do this, he put Brenda on the left and Marilou on the right. Katie was riding with him, and it was she who made the observation that her two daughters had changed places with each other, Marilou switching to the left while Brenda shifted to the right.

“Why did they do that?” Jim asked. “They didn’t like where I put them?”

“It’s not that they didn’t like where you put them—it’s that they had their own preference as to who you put them with,” Katie replied. “Mar ilou prefers Gene, while Brenda is partial to Barry.”

Jim chuckled. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, you’ve been so busy getting the horses ready to drive back home that you haven’t been paying any attention to the budding romances.”

“Oh, wait a minute. This isn’t good. If your daughters start pairing off with Gene and Barry, where does that leave Frank?”

“Sorry I don’t have a third daughter,” Katie said. “But I guess Frank will just have to be on his own.”

“Yeah, I suppose so,” Jim answered. “But he’s a mite older than the other two. If he and I sort of get left out of this, I reckon we’ll do all right.”

“What makes you think you are being left out?” Katie asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jim. Are you completely blind to what’s going on around you? Do you think your seeing me bathing that day was an accident?”

Jim paused for a moment before he answered. “I wasn’t sure it actually happened,” he finally said.

“What?”

“I thought maybe I dreamed it,” Jim explained.

Katie laughed out loud. “Well, tell me this, Mr. Jim Robison. Did you think it was a pleasant dream? Or was it a nightmare?”

“Oh, it was the best dream I ever had,” Jim replied. “Better than the best dream, since now I know it wasn’t a dream at all, that I really did see you nak—that is, I mean uh . . .” He paused, blushing in embarrassment.

Katie laughed again and put her hand on Jim’s arm. “Maybe you’ll have that dream again sometime soon,” she suggested.

Katie’s suggestive remarks, though welcomed by Jim, did make him uneasy, and he looked around quickly to make certain there was no one to overhear them.

“What are you looking around for? Are you afraid someone might have ridden up here just to listen to what we were talking about?”

“No, I, uh, was just wondering when Ortega would be getting back with our fresh supplies,” Jim lied.

Ortega wasn’t coming back with supplies. He was in Chihuahua at that very moment, meeting with Capitán Eduardo Bustamante.

“You say you know where the men who committed the murders in Escalon are,” Bustamante said.

“Sí,” Ortega said. “There is a reward for them, is there not?”

“A very large reward,” Bustamante answered. “But I am sure, Senor, that you are not providing the information only for the reward. You are doing it for the love of justice, are you not?”

“Sí,” Ortega replied. “I am doing it for the love of justice and my country.”

And the fact that, with the others dead, the herd of horses would be his, Ortega thought, though he dared not say the words aloud.

“What do you think happened to Ortega?” Frank asked as they were ready to break camp the next morning.

“I don’t know,” Jim replied. “He should’ve been back two or three days ago.”

“Maybe the law got him,” Gene suggested.

“Why would the law get Ortega?” Katie asked.

“When we were coming down here, we found a dodger on him,” Jim said. “He claimed it was for someone else who was also named Hector Ortega. He said that was a very common name in these parts.”

“But none of us believed him,” Barry said.

“Yeah, we all figured it was him,” Gene added.

“Jim, we’re going to need to know one way or the other if the law got him,” Frank said. “ ’Cause if he’s been caught, then we’re goin’ to have to get our own supplies. As it is, we don’t have enough to even make it back to the border, let alone all the way up to Colorado.”

“I know,” Jim said.

“If you’d like, I could ride on ahead, see what I can find out,” Frank suggested. “And if I can’t find him, I’ll buy the supplies myself.”

Jim stroked his chin. “I don’t know, Frank. That could be a little risky,” he said. “I’m not that keen on the idea of one of us separatin’ from the others.”

“Frank’s right about one thing. We’re going to have to have more supplies soon,” Katie said. “We are almost out of everything.”

“It may be risky,” Frank said. “But I figure I’m as good a choice to take the chance as anyone. You might not have noticed, but our other two pards here have sorta fell in love. And I reckon you’re a mite interested in Miz Katie yourself. That leaves me as the only one unattached, so to speak.”

“Frank, listen. We didn’t plan on nothin’ like this,” Gene started.

But Frank chuckled, and held up his hand to interrupt him. “Don’t you boys be worryin’ none about me,” he said. “I’m fine with the idea. Truth to tell, I’m not ready to settle down with any one woman yet. I kinda like the sportin’ girls that you find in the saloons. Uh, no offense meant to you and your daughters, Miz Katie.”

Katie laughed. “No offense taken, Frank.”

“So what about it, Jim? Shall I go on ahead this morning and see what I can find out about Ortega? Or do you want me to just forget about Ortega and get some supplies?”

Jim sighed. “One of us should go on ahead and find out what’s going on,” he said. “But I think I’m the one who should go.”

“Why you and not me?” Frank asked.

“Because like it or not, I’ve taken on the role of leadin’ this band of ragtag cowboys,” Jim answered. “And I wouldn’t be much of a leader if I sent someone else out to do what I should do myself.”

“Jim, you’re the leader, that’s true,” Katie said. “So don’t you think your job should be here, with us?”

Jim shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he answered. “And you don’t, either. You just want me here because you’re worryin’ about me.”

“Perhaps I am worrying about you. Is that so bad?” Katie asked.

Jim smiled. “No, ma’am. I don’t reckon there’s anything at all bad about that. I sorta like someone worryin’ about me. But this is somethin’ I’ve got to do.”

“But why . . . ?” Katie started.

“Don’t try to stop him, Miz Katie,” Frank said. “I’d rather go myself, but I know what Jim is talking about. If he stayed back now and let me go, he’d never feel right about it—especially if anything happened to me.”

“Frank understands,” Jim said. “I hope you do, too.”

Katie nodded silently. Then she said, “Please promise me to be careful.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Jim said. “I intend to be extra careful. I like the way things are turnin’ out between us.”

It was late afternoon and Jim was several miles ahead of the trail outfit when the shot sounded. The crack of the rifle and the deadly whine of lead searing the air reached Jim’s ears simultaneously. Only luck saved him. He had hunched forward in the saddle for a moment to adjust his rump just as the shot was fired. The bullet whizzed right by where his head had been an instant before.

Jim saw a puff of white smoke hanging in the air two hundred yards away. Flattening against his horse, he kicked it into a gallop and rode in a zigzag pattern toward the knoll below the little cloud of smoke. He drew his pistol and pointed it at the drifting white puff. If so much as a hair showed above the crest, he would blast it. He covered the two hundred yards in about fifteen seconds, charged around the knoll, then jumped from the saddle and rolled on the ground toward the cover of a nearby rock.

There was no one there.

Jim lay behind the rock for a long moment until he was absolutely sure he was alone. Then he moved cautiously over to where his attacker had waited in ambush. On the ground was the spent cartridge of a .44-40 jacked out of a Winchester by the assailant after firing. There were horse tracks nearby, and when Jim examined them, he was shocked to recognize the bar-tie shoe tracks of Ortega’s horse.

The man who had shot at him was Ortega! But why?

“Well, Senor Ortega, I don’t know what kind of a burr you got in your saddle,” Jim said aloud, “but I reckon I’m just the man to take it out.”

Jim swung back onto his horse and began following Ortega’s tracks. The Mexican knew he was being tracked, and he did everything he could to throw Jim off. He rode across solid rock; he tied brush to his horse’s tail to drag out tracks; he cut and recut his own trail. But, grim-faced, and determined, Jim hung on doggedly.

As he trailed Ortega, he wondered why Ortega had turned on them. Two possibilities came to mind. One was that, now that the horses were broken, Ortega might want to take over the herd for himself. The other possibility was that Ortega wanted the women, not for himself, but to sell to the bandidos. He knew that such an option wouldn’t be unthinkable for a man like Ortega.

Jim trailed Ortega for the rest of the afternoon, until darkness fell. That night, he saw a campfire on the trail ahead of him. He was pretty sure it was a false campfire, set by the Mexican in hope of luring Jim into the camp. So Jim moved cautiously through the night until he reached Ortega’s fire. Looking around carefully, he saw that he had been right. Ortega hadn’t camped at that spot and had no intention of camping there.

Jim continued until he came to a range of steep, rocky hills. He was certain Ortega wouldn’t try to navigate through there in the dark, and even if he did, Jim wouldn’t be able to follow his tracks. He decided that there was nothing he could do but stop and wait for the light of day.

From the position of the stars, Jim supposed that it was about two o’clock in the morning. He had been sleeping lightly when something woke him up. He lay quietly for a few minutes, listening to the sounds in the night. Wind sighed through the dry limbs of a nearby mesquite tree, his horse whickered, but everything else was silent. Still, Jim sensed something amiss.

Quietly, Jim rolled up his poncho, then stuck it under his blanket. That done, he crawled over to a small depression, slipped down into it, and looked back at his bedroll. From his position, it looked like someone was still in the blankets.

There was a sudden flash of flame from a muzzle blast and the crack of a rifle shot. A puff of dust flew up from the bedroll. Jim knew that if he hadn’t moved, he would be dead now.

Jim waited and listened. Finally, he heard what he was listening for. Someone was walking toward the camp, moving very quietly. Jim knew then that whoever it was, the would-be killer was coming in to finish him off at close range.

He waited for the nocturnal assassin to take his second shot. When he did fire again, Jim used the flame from the muzzle blast as a target. Aiming at the upper right-hand corner of the flame pattern, Jim pulled the trigger.

He heard a grunt of pain, then the sound of someone falling. Jim waited in the darkness.

“Senor Robison,” the assailant called. The voice was racked with pain, but Jim recognized it as Ortega’s. “Senor Robison, you have killed me, I think.”

“Why did you try to kill me, Ortega?” Jim asked. Playing it safe, he still did not show himself.

“I thought it would be easier with you dead,” Ortega said.

“Easier to do what?”

“To kill the others and take your women and your herd. Oh, my belly. It hurts. I have never felt such a pain. You shot me good, Senor.”

“Why did you turn on us, Ortega?” Jim asked, calling from the dark.

Ortega took a few more wheezing, gasping breaths. Then the sound stopped.

“Ortega?”

There was no response. Slowly, Jim moved through the darkness toward the place from where he had heard Ortega’s voice. When he got close enough, he could see the Mexican lying on his back. His pistol was on the ground beside him, and both hands were folded across his belly, as if trying to hold back the pain. His eyes were open, and though they reflected light from the moon, they had a glassy, lifeless look about them. Moving closer still, Jim nudged Ortega with this foot. Then he knelt beside him for a closer look.

Ortega was dead.