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CHAPTER FIVE Before committing himself to a hastily thought out plan, Johnny decided to first see how many Comanche he was actually dealing with. He gave the water hole a wide berth and was nearly half way around when he crossed over a wide path of tracks. More than two horses had been by here, and recently. Johnny cautiously crossed the path, finding a set of three had cut off to one side. Following them, he came across two brightly colored ponies, tri colored pintos so popular with the Comanche, looking curiously in his direction. He also noted a stocky, plain bay tethered with them, the cut of the bridle familiar - the braided reins were his own work. It was the horse Beeker rode out on. The horses ears twitched, and all three of them turned their attention in another direction. Johnny sank into a shadow as one of the braves walked to the first pinto, fiddling with something in his hand. Ever so quietly, Johnny slipped his boot knife from its sheath, positioned himself in a ready stance, and rustled the bushes. He saw three sets of ears and one set of dark eyes immediately turn in his direction. Johnny rustled the brush again, and the brave moved in his direction with a curious tilt to his head. Beeker's Colt was tucked haphazardly in the waistband of the breeches. You're gonna come across the biggest, meanest jackrabbit you've ever seen, partner, he thought as the young Indian approached. Johnny's idea that the brave expected to come across a rabbit were confirmed when he saw the Indian pull out a very short throwing spear from his waist. Johnny grinned confidently. Throwing spears didn't work well in close quarters. He gripped his knife, waited a few heartbeats and sprung upward at precisely the right moment. The brave lifted the spear defensively, but Johnny knocked it aside and buried his knife to the hilt just below the brave's heart. The young Indian grunted and twitched in a valiant effort to free himself. Johnny clamped his hand over his victim's mouth, and was surprised when the Indian's hands found his throat. The power behind the dying brave's grip was surprising. Struggling to breathe, Johnny pushed against his foe until they both went down, rolling to the horses' feet. Hooves danced nervously by Johnny's head for a moment. He continued the roll until the brave's head was almost between the hooves of the closest pinto. Johnny felt the man's energy flag at the same time an invisible clock counted down in Johnny's mind. The second brave would be here momentarily if he heard any of the ruckus. He released the Indian and jerked out his knife, but still had to pry fingers from his throat. Johnny gasped for air. The brave's wide, dark eyes went dull as his life drained away and Johnny felt a pang of guilt. It disappeared when he saw a flash of motion in his peripheral vision. Johnny dove aside and the thrown knife pounded into the dirt behind him. He rolled as the second brave came at him with the biggest knife Johnny had ever seen. Johnny managed to kick him back a few feet and scramble to better footing. When he pushed off from the ground, he grabbed the hard object he felt under his hand. It was the first brave's throwing spear. Johnny managed to get into a crouch when the second brave swung the huge knife at him so close he felt the wind of the passing blade against his cheek. Johnny swung the spear and connected powerfully with the Indian's ribs. He was rewarded with a satisfying grunt. Johnny got to his feet, wielding the spear in one hand and his bloodied knife in the other. They both looked ridiculously inadequate next to the Indian's weapon, but the combination was enough to keep the brave from charging immediately. They faced each other, crouched at a ready stance, arms cocked and ready. They circled slowly. Johnny was panting heavily and the brave smiled slightly, realizing his slight advantage of wind. Johnny realized too late that the Indian had maneuvered him back in to a collection of large rocks. There was no way he could dodge aside without tripping, and the Indian knew it - white teeth flashed in a quick smile of confidence. The brave feigned a lunge, but Johnny held his ground and swept the spear in an arc. When the Indian took a half step aside to avoid it, Johnny lunged with the stained boot knife. The brave easily dodged the attack, but didn't count on Johnny's excellent balance and the reverse swipe of the spear which caught the brave on the side of the knee. The Comanche's leg gave way, and Johnny pressed his attack knowing the big blade would be difficult to handle in close, and he intended to get very close. Johnny plowed into the brave's chest with his shoulder and felt a hot sting along his side. Twisting, he drove his own knife into the left side of his foe, feeling the tip nick off a rib as it buried deep into the chest cavity. With an explosive exhale that spattered blood all over the rocks, the Indian collapsed, clutching his chest. As the brave fell, Johnny pulled out his knife. Panting heavily, Johnny stood with his arm pressed tightly against his right side and fought off the wooziness that made him sway. The Indian groveled, dying slowly as blood frothed from his mouth. Johnny waited until there was no more life left before he turned to go. Slowly, he wobbled his way back to Mark's location. Before calling for the boy, he caught his breath and forced himself to stand straight. Mark burst from the brush, holding the gun tightly with both hands, the barrel leading the way. "Whoa, there!" Johnny yelped, dancing sideways out of his path. "Hold on! Here, I'll trade ya." He handed Mark the throwing spear as he retrieved his gun. "What happened to you?" Mark asked breathlessly, pointing at Johnny's side. "Are you really Johnny Madrid? Where are the Indians?" Johnny laughed and his side flared in pain. He squatted down to ease the sting and slip the gun back in his holster. "Slow down before ya run outta wind, boy." "You really are Johnny Madrid, aren't ya? You said your name was Lancer!" "It is. I changed it when I gave up gun fightin'." "When did ya do that?" "About two years ago when I found my family." "Where's the Indians?" "Over there." Johnny indicated the direction with a tilt of his head. "Did one of 'em stab ya?" "No, I think it's just a graze. Shall we find your mama so she doesn't worry herself to death?" "Sure!" Mark headed off, admiring his spear. "Thanks for the knife, Johnny. So what's the idea?" "Idea?" Johnny followed his excited friend, trying not to wince with the throbbing pain of his side. "Yeah, you said you had an idea when you left." "Oh, yeah. I'll tell you and your ma at the same time, okay?" "I can't believe I'm friends with Johnny Madrid!" Johnny chuckled, then exhaled sharply to extinguish the pain it caused. When they reached Lise, she was on the ground and waiting with open arms. Mark ran to her, excitedly telling her about Johnny's true identity. She pretended surprise and awe, and found Johnny with her eyes as she hugged her son. Lise stood immediately when she saw Johnny was hurt. "No, I'll be fine. We have to get movin'," Johnny insisted. "We need to stop the bleeding first." She pulled a shirt from her bag, ripped it into bandages and ordered Johnny to take off his torn and bloodied shirt. The cut was long, but not too deep, and bled profusely. Lise's wrapping slowed it considerably. Mark sat quietly, fighting fatigue and unusually quiet. "Thanks," Johnny said, picking up what was left of his shirt. "Now let's go. I have a plan." Before they moved to the watering hole, Johnny gave Mark an appraising look. He was amazed the boy was still on his feet. Mark desperately needed to rest, but his eyes were alive with excitement. "No need in all of us walkin' when we got horses," Johnny commented as he motioned Mark to mount up. The boy was so light Johnny's side barely twinged when he gave the boy a leg up on the sorrel. "Hang on, now." While Lise and Johnny lead the two horses to the water, Johnny informed the woman that Beeker hadn't made it. The woman gasped. "I could have made the choice to go with him," she said lowly. "Mark and I would be dead." "You didn't go with him, so there's no use thinkin' that way. This area's more dangerous than I thought if the road isn't safe. I think I have a way to save our skins." By the time they reached the water, he'd quickly outlined his plan. Lise grinned at the audacity of it. Johnny left Lise to water the horses and refill the two canteens. Mark's physical appearance was getting worse; his skin had a waxy appearance and the shadows and planes of his face were sharper. Johnny had the boy slide onto his own back and he carried him to where the Comanche lay. He was a light as a feather and didn't bother Johnny's injury at the least, and most notably, was still quiet. When Johnny set him down by the remains of the Indians' fire ring, the boy fell asleep instantly. Moving quickly, Johnny began to gather what he needed to make his plan work and conceal the bodies. When Lise joined him a little bit later, she tied the horses and checked Mark. Johnny watched as she ran her fingers lovingly through her son's hair and kissed him lightly on the forehead. For a moment, her true weariness showed in her eyes, but by the time she'd moved to Johnny's side, it was replaced with fierce determination. "Let's get to work," she said shortly as she dug into the pile of things Johnny had collected.
Mark startled awake, momentarily confused about where he was. Then he remembered Johnny Madrid and everything fell in place. My spear! he thought frantically, feeling around the ground and breaking into a grin when he found it. He tested the weight and examined the chipped rock blade with a satisfied sigh, then looked around to find his mom and Madrid. He gasped when he saw two Indians crouched nearby. One turned in his direction at the sound and it took a moment for the boy to realize one of the Indians was his mother! "M. . . ma?" he said, shocked. When she smiled at him, he laughed. "You look just like them!" Lise was wearing full buckskin shirt and breeches, as was Johnny, but what shocked Mark the most was his mother's hair. She'd pulled it back into a severe ponytail and braided it with the same leather strings he'd seen in the Comanche's hair. Her skin was reddish brown, and her light brown hair was now coal black! By the time he got to his feet, she'd come to his side. Mark couldn't help but reach up to touch her hair. "I used charcoal from the fire pit for my hair and some red clay dirt on my skin," she explained. "If I get caught in the rain, we're done for!" Mark felt his mouth hanging open as he fingered the buckskin clothing and the knives at her side. "Well?" Johnny asked, getting his attention. "Think we'll pass?" He rose to his feet and held his arms out, turning a slow circle for the boy. His natural coloring complimented the disguise. "Jeepers! You scared me! I thought you were real Indians!" Mark laughed and took his mother's hand. She led him to the fire pit. "Is it my turn?" "Sure is. We've been altering some of this stuff to fit." Lise held up a sleeveless shirt to his chest. "Had to cut off the sleeves to use for pant legs. You're a lot smaller than the former owner. Let's get this on. . ." When Lise pulled off the boy's shirt, Johnny had to fight to keep the grin on his face. Mark's body was covered in bruises and every bone was clearly visible. The boy must be in constant pain, Johnny realized, feeling his heart breaking in his chest. At that moment, he resolved that this boy would make it to Dodge and that train come Hell or high water. Mark's eyes were the true measure of the boy and Johnny made himself focus on them. Right now they danced with life, bright and vivid, and as a result, Johnny's smile became effortless. Johnny returned to packing their things in the braves' carry bags, which resembled saddle bags. "There's tracks of a whole lot more Comanche that lead away from here. I think they're at the other watering hole and places between. We'll ride around them and keep our distance, but not actively hide. That'll make them suspicious. If we don't get too close, we can ride right through to Dodge." "How long do you think it'll take?" Lise asked as he cinched down Mark's clothing using braided rawhide ties as a belt. She gave the boy a handful of soot to put in his hair while she worked. "I figure we can make it just after dark if we keep moving." "Our train leaves at noon tomorrow," Lise said excitedly, hope in her voice. "We'll get there ahead of time, just like you said." She glanced at Johnny as she fitted the tailored buckskins to Mark. "We should have risked our lives and bruised our bodies in the first place, huh?" "Yeah!" Mark said, taking the comment seriously. "We coulda hired Johnny Madrid from the git go, and been on that train yesterday!" "It's Lancer, Mark," Lise laughed. Mark wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Oh yeah," he said, then brightened again. "Johnny, were you really in all those places in the book?" "I don't know," Johnny said honestly. "I haven't read the book." "Juarez?" "Yes." "Sonora?" "Yup." "Nogales?" "Mark," Johnny warned. "San Luis? San Diego? Chihuahua?" "Mark!" Johnny laughed. Lise started giggling, unable to help, and continued altering the buckskins. "Did you really wing Ricardo 'The Whip' Escamilla to teach him a lesson?" "Whoa!" Johnny held up his hands in surrender. "Hold on a minute, partner! I'll make you a promise." Mark instantly looked suspicious. "Do I have to behave or somethin'?" "I was just gonna promise you that I'd go through your book with ya and tell ya what really happened, all right? We'll go through it page by page . . . " Mark's expression was like a bright flower opening in the spring. "BUT . . . " The boy's face collapsed. "I knew it," he muttered. "There's always a 'but' ". "Mark!" Lise said between giggles. "That's not true!" He gave her a look that clearly expressed his response, complete with eye roll. Lise bit her lip to control her laughter, then nodded in acquiescence. "Okay, maybe it is, but this time it's serious." "What, then?" he said with a pout. "You have to be quiet and rest when we say. Deal?" Johnny cocked his head aside, waiting for a response with hands on hips. "How often will that be?" the boy asked cautiously, still looking for the downside. "We'll see how you do, all right? That all right with you, Lise?" "Sounds fair," she agreed. "There. You're done." She wiped her hands on her pants and stood. Mark pursed his lips in momentary thought. "When do we start?" he asked. "As soon as we mount up. Deal?" Johnny put out his hand for a deal-making shake. The boy looked at it. "Don't we spit on our hands first?" "Mark!" Lise laughed, amazed at what came from her son's mouth sometimes. "Where do you get these ideas?" "Bill Cody's Wild West, Volume One." "I should have known," she mumbled. "We don't need spit," Johnny said seriously. "Just trust." Mark nodded in agreement and enthusiastically shook hands, his small hand swallowed up by that of the ex gunfighter's. "Let's pack up." Johnny released the handshake and moved toward the horses. Lise picked up the bag of clothes and books to follow, but Mark stopped her and untied his bag from hers. "I don't need these," he said, rummaging through the collection. "Just this!" The worn and dog-eared copy of Border Tales of Johnny Madrid slipped easily under his buckskin shirt as he dropped the rest to the ground. "Are . . . are you sure?" Lise asked, stunned. "Ma," Mark said patiently. "I know those by heart. This is a whole, new adventure!" He swung an arm around, indicating their surroundings and patted the book hidden away. "The rest of 'em can't compare!" With a brilliant smile, he pushed his bruised little body to follow his hero. Lise watched him go, an old pain flaring in her heart as she pushed down the thought that this new adventure could still be his last. CHAPTER SIX The smaller pintos were thinner than the coach horses. Johnny felt better having Mark tied to him with one of the ragged shirts, not wanting the boy to risk a fall. It also kept Johnny’s hands free. Mark took advantage of the situation and pushed the limit of exhaustion reading from his remaining book as they rode. As promised, Johnny clarified each incident. Mark was mildly disappointed to find that the first few encounters he read had been glorified beyond recognition, but Johnny managed to add his own insights and point of view and make it seem like a whole new book. The ex gunfighter even added in new parts and incidents. By the time they stopped for a mid morning rest they had successfully skirted the second watering hole and a group of four Indians acting as lookouts. Johnny knew it was time to stop when he felt Mark tuck his book between his stomach and Johnny’s back, too weak to hold the volume up any longer. The boy’s voice trailed off, and Johnny felt Mark’s head drop against his back. Lise slipped from her horse with a grim expression and went to Johnny’s side, holding her arms up to help her son. Once untied from his riding partner, Mark slid to the ground. Lise had to physically hold him up by the shoulders and walk the boy to a shady spot where he was asleep before he sat down. Johnny made sure the boy had water, then the horses, then gave Lise and himself a few sips. While Mark slept, Lise insisted on inspecting Johnny's wound. Riding hadn't helped. The shirt bandage was soaked with blood, and spots bled through the buckskin. "Just wrap it tighter," Johnny said nonchalantly. As she did so, his eyes constantly scanned the terrain. Satisfied they were safe for a bit, he glanced at the boy. "I bet he misses his family," Johnny said softly, trying to see things through Mark's eyes. "Especially his father. They are very close." She finished the wrap job and sighed. "It was so hard on Len when we left. The two of them said their goodbyes." Absently, Lise began to brush at the sleeves of her buckskin shirt. "He wasn't thrilled about this trip, but he saw my point. So did Billy and Krista. When they saw us off, they were so attentive and sweet, but I'm sure they thought they'd never see Mark again. I'm the only one . . ." her voice broke into a sob, and she forced herself under control. Johnny fiddled with the shirt in his hands. "After the first day on the coach, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. But now that we've met you, I know this is right." She found his eyes and held them with her own. "We're grateful. I'm grateful." With a weak smile, Lise squeezed Johnny's forearm to drive her point home. After, she walked to her son's side and settled down, falling asleep quickly. Johnny hunkered down in the shade and kept watch. After a quiet hour of hearing nothing but insects buzzing, scrabbling lizard feet and swishing horse tails a motion in the distance caught Johnny's attention. He watched the spot with cool eyes, noting that whoever it was, they came from the heart of the badlands. The dark patch of motion shimmered in the heat of the sun, looking like something rising from a great, undulating sea. Johnny squinted hard, willing his eyes to separate real from imagined. The dark spot grew like a lengthening shadow, and it took many minutes for Johnny to realize what it was and break into a grin. "That explains the Indian uprising around here," he said lowly to himself. Sitting there watching the shadow grow bigger, Johnny considered his options. Would it be better to stay ahead of that, or let it pass and follow behind? His inner clock was telling him it was time to move on anyway, so he approached the resting pair to get their input. Lise woke with his approach, but Mark took a little longer and needed assistance to sit up. "Got somethin' to show ya," Johnny said with a gleam in his eye. That got Mark's attention and his eyes cleared immediately. Lise helped him to his feet and they went to Johnny's vantage point. He pointed at the dark mass. Mother and son frowned then Mark's face brightened with realization. "Buffalo!" he said with wonder. "Can't be," Lise said in surprise, shading her eyes. "I heard they were about wiped out around here." Quiet for a few seconds, she finally agreed. "Never thought I'd see the likes of that," she said, her voice soft in awe. "Well, it could explain the uprising - Indians trying to protect 'em. If that's true, we can use them as a diversion." "Diversion?" Neither Lise nor Mark could tear their eyes away from the sight of the herd of massive animals. "Yeah. The Indian's attention will be on them, not us. Let's get moving." Mark was rooted. "Can I see 'em up close?" he whispered. Lise stopped in her tracks. "Mark," she said in a warning tone. Johnny, on the other hand, smiled brilliantly and put his hand on the boy's painfully bony shoulder. "I plan on getting' so close you can count their eyelashes. That close enough for ya?" Mark's eyes glowed, but the energy there did not go to his legs. Lise and Johnny had to help him to the horses, but he didn't seem to notice his infirmed state. He chattered constantly about everything he knew concerning buffalo and buffalo hunting. "Wild Bill Hickock and Bill Cody are buffalo hunters! I love my Wild Bill book!" Mark stopped abruptly and glanced sideways at Johnny with a grin. "But not as much as yours, Johnny. I still can't believe I'm ridin' with Johnny Madrid. It's like a dream!" Not sure how to reply, Johnny helped the boy up behind his mother. Mark made sure his remaining book was secured, and then leaned wearily on his mother's back. He's getting' smaller every hour, Johnny thought sadly, remembering Lise's words about the boy withering away before her eyes. He shoved the thought away, and swung up on his pinto. Well aware of the bright eyes that watched his every move, he pressed his arm firmly against the raw wound in his side and didn't wince. "Let's go," he said, directing his pony toward the wandering herd. It was a herd small in number, but the size of the animals astonished the Sullivans. They approached from an angle and blended in with the stragglers that hung on the outer edge of the main group. The center of the pack was no where Johnny wanted to be if this herd began to run. Since they were going in the general direction of Dodge, Johnny decided to stay with them and see what happened; the creatures were good cover and concealment for now. Mark’s questions about his book fell off the closer they had gotten to the herd, and Johnny was greatly amused by his growing expression of astonishment. “They’re so big!” Lise breathed as they weaved their way among the scattered beasts. “And smelly!” Mark added. “Their eyes look so wild!” Johnny appreciated the detail Mark noted. Johnny had only seen buffalo once before and the eyes are what he remembered. The seemed so small for such a large animal and the white that surrounded the dark brown centers was always moving as they scanned their surroundings. They reminded Johnny of the colorful glass eyes of a porcelain doll he’d once seen in a shop window. The ponies were quiet at ease around the beasts. They danced at first, expecting a hunting charge, but settled down easily. Speaking calmly, Johnny told Lise to stay close. The occasional brave he saw in the periphery marked the depletion of the Comanche. There used to be many more of them that guarded their livelihood with a watchful eye. Johnny knew that the families of those occasional braves were probably trailing the herd at a distance with all their belongings. They stayed with the herd for almost two hours. Sadly, he knew they wouldn’t get much further. The closer they got to Dodge, the greater the likelihood for white buffalo hunters and the Army. Along with the train came a demand for meat, and this small herd would be decimated in no time The Indian braves held a fruitless vigil; the buffalo’s time was short. The thought made him glance at Lise and Mark and consider their own position at the moment. His reverie was cut short with an instant change in the manner of the herd, and Johnny’s senses snapped into full alert. His pony tensed. Careful not to rush, he worked his way out of the herd with Lise on his heels so he could see more clearly what was around them. “Here they come,” Johnny said just loud enough for his companions to hear, pointing to a dark spot on the horizon between them and Dodge City. “Time for us to leave.” “Buffalo hunters?” Lise asked. “Wow!” Mark breathed. Johnny saw the boy’s eyes flick around, and knew he was putting together what was bound to happen. When he turned his wide eyes on Johnny, the anguish there told the retired pistolero that the boy’s idea of buffalo hunters being heroes was something he wasn’t too sure of anymore now that he'd seen the magnificent animals up close. “Let’s go,” Johnny ordered, urging his pinto into a lope. Lise followed, trying to hold onto Mark at the same time. Johnny realized he needed to get the boy and reined in, the timing of the inevitable confrontation ticking down in his brain. A glance showed him the hunters had split to hit the herd on either side. Lise pulled up alongside, and Johnny acted instantly, pulling the frail boy onto the withers of his horse. “Hang on to the mane,” Johnny said. When Mark got a good grip, he pushed the pony into a hard gallop. Mark leaned over the pony’s crest, a beatific smile on his face as he rocked in sync with the pony's neck. Johnny glanced back, pleased to see Lise on his flank and looking quite comfortable. The ponies' hooves pounded mightily as they ran. Johnny kept an eye on the hunters and calculated that they would be out of their way by the skin of their teeth. He watched as the hunters cut in to the herd, and was shocked when he heard the zing of bullets near them. “They’re shootin’ at us!” Lise screamed. Knowing the noise could cause the herd to stampede, Johnny wondered why the hunters would do such a foolish thing; then he looked the other way. The braves had grouped together and were charging the group of hunters on this side of the herd. The three of them were in the middle of a soon-to-be battle ground. “Faster!” Johnny yelled, leaning low. The sinewy muscles of the racing pony rippled smoothly under their legs as its neck stretched out even more. The pony's ears pinned to his crest. The wind made their eyes water and whipped their eyes to tears and the only sounds in their ears were pounding hooves, rhythmic breathing and their pounding pulse. By Johnny's mental calculations, they would make it – barely. The calls of the attacking Comanche and the sound of gunfire on top of the galloping hooves intruded their world, and the sound was deafening. Johnny glanced back and saw the small herd rumble itself into a stampede. He shuddered at the thought of being in the middle of that deadly chaos. The sounds of fighting eventually faded away but the ponies didn’t slow. Reining into a long arc back in the direction of Dodge, Johnny didn’t signal to slow down until his pinto showed signs of tiring. He glanced over to where they’d come from and the only thing marking the area of conflict was a cloud of dust that hung malevolently on the horizon. As Johnny reined in, so did Lise. When they finally slowed to a walk, the horses dropped their heads in exhaustion, blowing heavily and snorting with the dust. They were wet with sweat and froth hung at the corners of their mouths. While Johnny had sat back up, Mark kept low over the pony’s bi-colored mane. His fingers were entwined securely in the thick hair, and his cheek lay on the bobbing crest. “Mark?” Johnny asked quietly. “You all right?” He looked closer and saw that the boy’s eyes were closed. Every reserve of energy he’d built up with their rest stop was depleted. “We need to stop,” Johnny said a little louder to Lise. “No,” the boy’s voice whispered immediately. Surprised, Johnny looked down to see the hint of a smile on the boy’s lips. “Not yet. I wanna feel this a little longer.” His voice trailed off weakly, but the smile remained. |
