We don’t see no one. No sign of life beyond the hawks soaring and the lizards sunbathing on rocks ’long the shore. It’s eerily empty, this land. My mind starts drifting to Lil’s tales, ’bout mountain spirits and angry gods; to the ghost shooter Will mentioned, preying on folks from his perch in the ridges.
As we guide the horses through a narrow pass where rust-red rock climbs high to either side of the Salt, goose flesh dances up my arms despite the heat. These rocks do look angry—like tombstones and corpses and giant, blood-drenched blades. Like men frozen by vengeful spirits, cursed for all eternity. Darn Apache folklore and tales ’bout ghosts. Like I don’t got enough to worry ’bout already.
A few hours before sunset, we happen upon a sight: burnt-red rocks and buttes that tower tall, the river cutting a deep blue slash between ’em. It’s running fairly wide here, just like Will promised. Even looks deep enough to swim in. Short trees and brambly shrubs and tall, wild grass sprouts up ’long the shore.
We carry on with the river, riding ’gainst the mild current.
“Not much farther and we should find Waltz,” Will says.
“Should?” I echo.
“We never actually been to the place ourselves. We’s only visited him at his home in Phoenix. Once.”
“So how in the hell we gonna find him here?” I says, batting a hand at the rugged land.
“No faith,” Will says, shaking his head.
“Shut it, Will.” Jesse angles toward me in his saddle. “Waltz said so long as you follow the river and keep looking to the south, you couldn’t miss him. It ain’t like this is well-traveled land and he needs to hide from strangers.”
“Someone lives beyond that rise,” Lil says, pointing to a small butte ahead that borders the Salt.
“How do you figure?” Jesse says, squinting.
“The dirt path curving round the rock is worn, but not from the water. It is from travel there. Feet and hooves. See how the grass and shrubs are beaten back?”
Now that she’s pointed it out, it do look like an obvious man-made path.
“Huh,” Jesse says.
“Well in that case, I’m washing before we call the day quits,” Will says, dismounting Rio.
A devilish smile breaks over Jesse’s face, and he swings offa Rebel to join. “We’ll keep our drawers on this time,” he adds, smirking at me over his shoulder as he unbuttons his shirt.
“Darn right, you will,” I says.
A moment later and he’s nearly all pale skin, charging into the shallows and diving under. My stomach does a thing that feels like hunger when I know it ain’t. Will and Mutt join Jesse in the river, rowdy and playful, and suddenly the water looks divine.
I toss my Stetson down with my gear.
“You like him too,” Lil says.
“What?”
“The older one. You like him.”
“Christ, Lil, do you ever mind yer own business?”
“Liluye,” she says.
“I ain’t . . . I don’t . . .” I exhale hard. “I’m going in, that’s all. I ain’t had a proper wash in days, and I want one before we head into the canyons.”
I pull off my boots. Lil just shrugs and pats her pony on the rump. I don’t gotta defend myself to her. I want a wash, and gosh darn it I’ll have one. I start undoing my pants and realize I’ll have to swim in my underwear and the undershirt I swiped from Evelyn back in Phoenix. It’s completely indecent, and I can’t believe I’m doing it, but it’s hot and I stink and Lord knows when I’ll get another chance to bathe. Plus, I got a shoulder wound needing cleaning.
I strip off my flannel and drop it with the rest of my gear. “You coming?” I ask Lil.
“I washed last night. I will walk.”
“Walk where?”
“White Eyes always need a destination,” she mutters. “They do not know how to simply be.”
I watch her go, then wade into the water. It ain’t cold, but it’s still a brutal shock after a full day riding beneath the blistering sun.
“By God do I know why you didn’t clean with us at White Tank,” Jesse says. His eyes linger somewhere ’long my middle, and I fold my hands over my chest, thinking the undershirt mighty thin all of a sudden.
“Now that you know she’s a girl, you’d think you’d have manners round her,” Will says. It’s an expected jab, but there’s something awful sharp in the tone of Will’s voice. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he were fussed ’bout something.
As Jesse lunges for his brother, shouting playful curses, I run forward and dive in. It ain’t terribly deep, maybe to my hips, but plenty easy enough to get a good clean. The boys go on wrestling and I take a moment to scrub my scalp and limbs and see to my shoulder, then float on my back and admire the endless blue sky. It’s so big and calm, it almost looks like a lake hovering overhead. I breathe easy, and right as I’m about to fold outta my float, something grabs hold of my ankle, yanking down. I barely get in a gasp before going full under. For a moment, I think a water snake’s got me, but this is too strong. Before I get a chance to kick or lash out, it releases me, and I resurface in a coughing fit.
Jesse’s paddling an arm’s length from me, grinning. “Sorry, couldn’t help it.”
“You damn rascal!” I shove water his way. “Yer lucky that weren’t my sore ankle. What happened to having manners?”
Will rolls his eyes. “He don’t got none. He just pretends otherwise.”
“Shut it, Will.”
“You shut it, Jess.”
“Shut it all, y’all!” a voice barks from the shore. It’s followed by the unmistakable clank of a shotgun being pumped.
Chapter Eighteen
I turn slowly.
Standing on the riverbank is a haggard-looking man wearing a mean snarl.
“Out,” he orders, emphasizing with the shotgun. “Outta the water right now.” He’s got a slight accent, only I can’t place from where.
“Waltz, put that blasted thing away,” Jesse says. “It’s me, Jesse Colton. From Wickenburg.”
“Jesse?” Waltz echoes. “Abe’s boy? Gosh, you’s grown. Last I saw you, you didn’t have so much muscle. And Will were still a scrawny thing.”
“That were over three years back.”
“Was it really? Time’s gone a-flying, I guess.”
Waltz lowers the shotgun. He’s older than I expected. Gray sideburns and faded beard and wrinkles stretching over his skin like cracks in parched desert earth. When Jesse said Waltz and Abe were mining buddies, I pictured someone closer to my pa’s age, somewhere round forty. But Waltz looks easily twenty years past that.
“How is old Abe?” the man asks.
“Dead,” Jesse says.
“I’m sorry to hear that. Abe were a good man.”
Jesse grunts. “So why the firearm and threats, Waltz?”
“Heard shouting from the house and thought you might be looking to cause mischief. Can’t be too careful, you know. These mountains ain’t been nothing but trouble lately—endless gunshots from the range, vultures flying in circles. I keep hearing hoofbeats in the night too, like an outfit of ghost riders passing through, but every time I crawl outta bed and light the lantern for a look, there ain’t a sign of nothing.”