The Vaquero

Reno could see Wilson’s horse waiting at the base of the white boulders. He had brought water and provisions. Wilson left abruptly without supplies. Cussing the slickness of his boots Wilson scrambled down the boulders.

Reno picked up Wilson’s hat and knocked the dirt off. “Did you find the pearls Jefe?” 

“Some scattered on the ground, but no chests. Kiyiya was right.”

Reno held out a canteen. “What was it your madre told you?” 

Three days ago they had ridden to Pyramid Lake from Eagleville. Wilson had believed he was on the trail of Sam’s killer. Vivid dreams led him to his mother who he hadn’t seen in almost twenty five years. 

“Her people never told the white eye about the pearls believing that warnings about spirits would mean little to them.”

His visit to Cui-ui-Pah had stirred something in him–a forgotten memory. His mother had been expecting him. Wilson and Reno were invited to a powwow that evening. On the playa, smoke from campfires curled and blended into the dark sky. Flames played light and shadow, breathing life into rock, sagebrush.  Drums beat, pulsing, searching ancient frequencies.  Faces painted, dancers stepped into the circle. Voices chanted.

I-a-wah

I-a-wah

I-aw-mina

nu-a-wah

Kiyiya sat by her son.

She took his hands and looked into his eyes. “What has happened?”

Wilson told her about the giant. “Our friend was killed.”

“More may die. There is something you must do.” 

Leaving the cave Wilson and Reno rode for several hours on the playa–white and blinding and starkly beautiful against the blue sky. Mule deer scattered and they found themselves in grasses surrounding a spring fed pool. They stopped to water their horses. Leaving the oasis, they saw men in the distance–three men, two horses, and a mule. 

“Isn’t that Vary?”

“Looks like it.” Wilson unsheathed his Henry rifle. 

One of the men held Vary, while the other struck him.

“Where is it?” They didn’t see Wilson and Reno approaching.

Wilson fired, the bullet struck near their feet. “Let em go.”

Vary crumbled to the ground in a heap. “This is none of your business cowboy.” 

“Leave. I’ll blow your brains out.” Wilson’s voice low, unwaving. The men glanced at each other, got on their horses and rode off.

“Vary!” He was breathing. “Help me carry him to his shelter.” 

They laid him on the cot in his shack. His face was cut. Ribs weren’t broken, he’d have some bruises. “Bring some water. I’ll look for salve.” The old man drank the water Reno offered. Wilson found some medical supplies in a cupboard…herbal poultice, salve, rabbit skins. The jar of salve didn’t smell carbolic, but of honey and sage. Wilson applied it gingerly. “Get some rest.” The old man shut his eyes. “Ride into town and bring back Babe and Hicks. We can’t leave him alone here.”

“Si Jefe.” Reno rode into the dark towards town. 

Wilson stayed up with Vary through the night checking on him, telling him stories of treasure hunters and wily widows. Out the window he could see the dust of riders approaching. So often on the receiving end of Vary’s hospitality, Babe and Hicks didn’t hesitate to help. Wilson and Reno let Vary know they’d be back soon to check on him. They saddled up and headed back into the desert.

“Kiyiya said if the pearls were gone, we need to find them and return them. Where do we begin?”

“Perhaps we should see what the Sheriff has found.”