Texas Blue

chapter 17



Across the border



DUNCAN WOKE SLOWLY ONE PAIN AT A TIME. HIS mouth was so dry he thought he must have eaten the sandy dust around him in his sleep. His entire leg throbbed as if it were slow-roasting on a fire, yet the rest of his body was so cold he couldn’t stop shaking. And, on top of everything, something was jabbing into his back over and over, harder with each blow.

“You dead, mister?” Each word was punctuated by another stab.

Duncan figured if the outlaws had been the ones poking, they would have just fired a round to make sure he was dead and not asked. “No,” he tried to say as he rolled over and grabbed the stick. “But I’ll make you wish you were.”

He jerked the branch toward him so fast the pile of rags on the other end squealed and let go.

Duncan’s leg was worthless. He pulled himself out from under the rock with his arms. “Who are you?” he demanded, as if he had some right to know.

The figure before him reminded him more of a character in a nightmare than a real person. She couldn’t have been five feet tall. With the scraps of clothes layered all around her and her sombrero, she looked like some kind of huge, colorful mushroom. He wouldn’t have been sure she was female except for the squeal, and half her face was draped in black as though she considered herself in half-mourning.

The creature grabbed back her stick and hurried a few steps away. “I’m Toledo, named for the town in Spain where I was born, and you, mister, are a dead man talking to me.”

Duncan tried to sit up but couldn’t. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know, old woman.” He stared at the pile of rags, knowing that if the wound on his leg didn’t kill him in the next few hours, one of the outlaws would. If an old woman could find him, surely a lookout would. As soon as it was full light, he’d be an easy target. If he tried to move toward the border, he’d leave a wide trail of blood for anyone to follow.

“Folks don’t like rangers on this side of the border, and they have good reason. You Texas devils come down here and cause nothing but trouble. You’d better vanish or they’ll be using you for target practice in an hour.”

Duncan tried to focus. “I don’t much like being here,” he said, as he spotted her cart sparkling in the first rays of dawn. The old woman was a tinker; her wares of pots and pans and brooms hung from her cart much like her clothes hung from her body. “Any chance you could help me get to the river?”

“There are guards watching the river,” she answered. “I saw them last night when I passed. They had a wild-eyed horse staked out to catch you, but he got away.”

“She broke free. I knew she would.”

“Sí.” Toledo snorted. “And she unsaddled herself also. A very wise horse you have, Ranger.”

Duncan guessed his horse was halfway back to the ranch by now. He knew his only hope of staying alive now was to bargain with the woman. “I could pay you if you helped me.”

She laughed. “I could just sit here and wait until you die and then take all your money. I’m too old to go helping half-dead men who sleep where they do not belong.”

He swore. She was right, and from the way he felt, she wouldn’t have to wait long to collect his coins. He thought of pulling his gun and demanding her help, but she didn’t look like a woman who’d fall for that. Right now she could swing that stick and knock him out before he could clear leather with his Colt.

“Name your price for helping me,” he said, knowing he’d have little chance surviving the day, and if he did, he’d be too weak to make it to the river, much less swim across.

“I want your word that you’ll help me make a little money to tide me over the winter, but I’ ll not ask anything of you until you can walk.”

“You’re not asking me to do something illegal?”

She shook her head.

“How do you know I won’t walk out and forget your problem?” The lawyer part of him wanted to make both sides clear, even though he realized it might cost him his life. He doubted that he had enough life left to be of much help to her. The sun seemed to be fading even though he could still feel its warmth on his face. If he passed out now, in the open, he had a feeling he’d wake up dead.

The woman rattled on as if he were paying attention. “Because if I help you, I’ll be risking my life, and when you’re well, even if I ask you to do the same, you’re honor bound. I haven’t figured out what, but I bet I can make use of you.”

She stared at him and shifted her weight. Her skirts moved just enough for him to see the rifle at her side. “If you get away without making me a little money, I’ll find you and kill you along with every relative you have. Don’t doubt Toledo. I’ve done such a thing before and I’m more than capable of doing it again.”

Duncan didn’t see any choice in the matter. Either way he was probably counting his time left by hours. “All right. You have my word. If you can get me out of this mess, I’ll help you, but if we don’t do something fast the only way you’ll be helping me is to bury me.”

She poked him again with her stick. “Wake up,” she ordered. “Wake up.”

He rolled over, trying to ignore the pain in his leg. She helped him to his feet, and then with the stick as a crutch and the little woman holding him up on one side, they made it to the cart. While he held on to the little wagon, she pulled everything from the floor, shoved him in, and began dumping her goods on top of him.

As she worked, he looked up just as the wind caught the scarf covering one side of her face and lifted it long enough for him to see what she hid. Twisted scars rippled from her eye to her neck, reminding him of a dried-up riverbed still echoing the water’s flow. The left side of her face was deformed, but not unbearable to look at. He found it surprising one so old could still be so vain.

With no care, she dropped something heavy on his leg, sending fire shooting through his entire body. He fought down a scream, but the effort cost him. As layer after layer of fabric and boxes and tools rained down on him, Duncan’s mind slipped into muddy water until he heard nothing, saw nothing, felt nothing.

The old lady named Toledo was forgotten, as were the battles. In his mind he was home, lying in the cool grass, staring up at Whispering Mountain, waiting to die.

He had no idea how long he was out, but slowly his mind drifted from the peace of the dream through muddy waters where no thoughts made sense. Two people were carrying him. One had his shoulders, one his feet. From what seemed like miles away he could hear the old woman’s voice yelling for them to be careful and not kill him too soon.

A moment later they dropped him, and then, like panicked children, they picked him up and begin half carrying, half dragging him again. The old woman yelled for them to hurry before someone saw them. He slipped away, welcoming the darkness this time.

He had no idea if minutes passed or days. When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on something soft. He tried to move but couldn’t budge. He felt as though the last ounce of energy in his body remained in his mind, and if he struggled too hard even that would leave him.

He heard the old woman named Toledo say, “You better take care of him. If he dies I’ll beat you both.”

Gently, he felt someone pulling away his clothes. Warm water washed over him, and Duncan managed to open his mouth. A hand cupped the back of his head and let him take a long drink. When he finished, he let out a sigh and relaxed, trusting the hands moving over him, washing away blood and wrapping his wound.